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basketonthedoorstepofthefbi · 1 month

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Shaking (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: You have an anxiety attack in a public setting, but luckily, the doctor is there to help you through it.

Word Count: 2450

Warnings: Anxiety attack, mild cursing, mostly just ANGST and then comforting FLUFF

A/N: Wanted to write Spence comforting the reader during a panic attack. Fanfiction is better than therapy, right? At least, it’s cheaper! Also not my GIF

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“You don’t want to just order it online?” Spencer asked as you walked beside him down the sidewalk. His longer legs would typically mean that he’d be several steps ahead of you, but he always slowed his pace so you wouldn’t have to strain to keep up with him. He also walked on the outside of the path because, let’s face it, he was a gentleman.

You shook your head. “No, I want the whole experience,” you said excitedly as you walked, your face lighting up in anticipation. You were on your way towards a local bookstore, where the third book in your favorite series was being released today. The bookstore was going to be packed, but you were so excited to be one of the first ones in the door, to get your hands on a physical copy. “I don’t ever do things like this, but it’ll be something I think about every time I look at the book sitting on my shelf.”

Spencer nodded, lifting his hand, his thumb and forefinger in an O-shape as he spoke. “Ah, the age-old concept of symbolic treasures. One of the main reasons why souvenirs are such a prevalent part of going on vacation. Did you know the tradition dates back to Ancient Egypt?”

You shook your head as you continued to walk with him. Your boyfriend carried on without fault. “As far back as 2200 B.C, Egyptian Prince Harkhuf traveled to what is now known as Sudan and returned with all sorts of objects to present to his father, the pharaoh,” Spencer explained. His words spat out quickly, compulsively, as though they had to exit his encyclopedic brain. “He brought back items such as incense, ivory, even the skins of leopards to show off to his father.”

“I had no idea,” you told Spencer as you neared the bookstore, smiling sideways at him. You loved it when he spouted off facts like that, like he had to get the information out or else he’d explode. He had confessed to you more than once before that most people found it weird or off-putting or even annoying, but not you. Rather, you loved learning new things. Whatever information he had to share with you was always relevant in one way or another, and it was just one of the reasons why you loved spending time with him - he made you a more knowledgeable, well-rounded person.

Before either of you could say much else, you’d reached the back of the line of the bookstore. You checked the time on your phone. The store would open in about fifteen minutes. The line stretched down at least a full block, from what you could see. Lots of people dressed like characters from the books, shuffling their feet in excited anticipation.

There were at least a hundred people in the line, and after a minute or two, a couple dozen more had filed in behind where you stood. You pursed your lips for a moment, scanning the crowd until your eyes met Spencer’s.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, inclining his head to the side.

You shook your head. “Nothing,” you said. “Just… lot of people.”

Spencer nodded understandingly, then reached down to take your hand. Your fingers twined with his and he squeezed his palm against yours. “I’m right here,” he reminded you. You didn’t love crowds. They always made you feel anxious, perhaps even a little claustrophobic. You and Spencer had gone to a fairly crowded French film festival a few months ago and there hadn’t been an organized line to enter; rather, it had been a cluster of people, all pressed together. And you had felt like you couldn’t breathe. Spencer’d had to pull you to a seat off to the side so you could catch your breath, and you’d missed getting a seat up front like you’d been hoping for.

Right now, you were okay, though. There were people in front of you and behind you, but they weren’t flush against you like they had been waiting for the film festival to open. And Spencer was holding your hand, and you were outside, with the cool, spring morning breeze hitting your face. It was fine. You were going to be fine. You inhaled deeply and exhaled, then nodded your head, feeling the anxiety dissipate. “I’m good,” you told Spencer, looking up at him.

Spencer nodded. He squeezed your hand once again before letting go, only so he could wrap his arm around your shoulders and tug you so you leaned against his chest. He kissed the top of your hair. “It’s going to be just fine,” he promised you, and you just smiled to yourself.

About ten minutes later, the store opened. You only knew that because the line started moving, and more quickly than you thought. You squealed in delight and matched the pace of the people in front of you, Spencer by your side with an amused grin on his face. He loved books just as much as you did, if not more, but this outing was definitely just for you. He’d read the other preceding books in this series (literally just because you asked him to and it took him an hour, tops), but he wasn’t a total geek for it like you were.

You finally made it inside the bookstore, a small business, a local place. You’d been inside several times before, but you hadn’t realized just how small the building actually was until you stepped in now. It was two stories, but everyone was tightly packed, with the people and the bookshelves crowding around you as you made it fully inside the store. There was even a line to go up to the second floor, like a queue at an amusement park.

There was little to no breathing room. Everyone was talking as they waited their turn to grab a copy of the new book, and the sound seemed to bounce off the walls and the ceiling and smack you right in the ear. The air felt thick despite the front door and handful of windows being opened, allowing the cool spring breeze to ruffle the pages of the paperbacks on display.

But it wasn’t refreshing. Rather, it was another stimulant that caused the neurons in your brain to fire even faster. You felt your palms get slick. You felt your heart start to pound, and your knees wobble as you shuffled forward in the line. What were you even waiting in line for? You momentarily forgot, blinking a few times before looking up at the man beside you. Spencer was engrossed in looking around the bookstore, the corners of his mouth quirking upward as he seemed to find something amusing. But when his eyes came full circle back to you, they were immediately filled with concern. “Y/N?” He asked softly, placing a hand on your shoulder.

You couldn’t even hear him. The sound of his voice just bounced off your brain, like you were trapped inside of cellophane. All you could think was trapped. I’m trapped. No way out. Stuck. Caged. Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe.

You felt your breathing go heavy, and your eyes fill up with tears. Your cheeks were red, bright red, judging from how hot you suddenly felt. “Leave,” you managed to choke out, your voice coming out from your throat. It felt like your throat was lined with thorns, like the words you wanted to say kept getting caught.

Spencer nodded. “Leave? Yeah. Yeah, baby, we can leave,” Spencer grabbed your hand, tugging you along behind him as he murmured “excuse me, pardon me,” to the other patrons, to get through the crowd. Moving against the crowd was so much worse than standing still. All those eyes on you, seeing your red face and the anxious tears trickling down your cheeks. It was so embarrassing, freaking out like this is such a public space. Everyone thinks I’m a freak, you thought. Your anxiety became not about the crowd, but about your anxiety, about how you were being perceived. Your breathing picked up, quickened, and by the time Spencer led you out into the morning sun, you were fully hyperventilating.

The thoughts in your head were racing at the speed of light. You hated feeling nervous like this, but moreover, you hated that Spencer had to take care of you because of it. You felt like you had ruined the day because your head wasn’t on straight, because you couldn’t stand in a crowd of people and hear the cacophony of voices and tamp down your panic.

Spencer led you down the block, about twenty feet from the store, away from the crowd, and your breath was still coming out staccato, unstable as you looked down at your shaking hands. You were crying and hyperventilating and the whole world felt like it was spinning. Spencer kept his hold on your hand and stood in front of you, squeezing his palm against yours. His eyes, those light brown irises with little flecks of green, stared into yours. “Hey, Y/N,” he said, bending his knees so his face was level with yours. “Breathe with me, okay?”

You shook your head, your eyes clamping shut. You were so mad at yourself in that moment. You didn’t want to have Spencer take care of you, to have to drag you out of a bookstore because you were having a panic attack. “Baby, you’re trembling,” you heard Spencer’s voice laced with concern. “Look at me. We’ll get through this together.”

You opened your eyes slowly, and that’s when you realized your entire body was shaking. You looked into Spencer’s eyes and he released your hand so he could cup your face. His fingers anchored under your jaw, his thumbs rested on your cheeks, and his eyes were wide, full of worry, but his voice managed to stay soothing and calm. “Follow my breath, Y/N. Do what I’m doing, okay? In for four, hold for four, out for four.”

He inhaled for 4 seconds, and you tried to follow his lead, but you just couldn’t control your lungs. “It’s okay,” he assured you as your brows furrowed, presenting frustration. “C’mon, try again.” He inhaled for 4 seconds, and you managed to match him this time. “Hold for four,” you held your breath while Spencer counted. “And out for four,” you exhaled deeply. “Good, okay, let’s do it again.”

Spencer guided your breath for a few minutes, until you finally felt like you could do it on your own. And when you finally felt yourself coming down from the rush of panic that had sent you into fight-or-flight, you wiped at your wet eyes. “I’m sorry,” you croaked, and Spencer just shook his head.

“No,” he insisted, taking your hand and placing it on his heart. You could feel it beating through his long-sleeved t-shirt. “No, you don’t have to be sorry.” You rubbed your hand against his chest, finding it comforting as you hung your head. “Baby, look at me,” he requested, and you met his eyes.

“Please don’t ever apologize for having an anxiety attack, okay? For one thing, it’s not your fault. You can’t control the chemicals and waves in your brain and how your body reacts to situations,” Spencer began, his hand on top of yours that rested on his chest. You nodded, using the heel of your free hand to wipe away your tears. The crying was over, you were fairly certain, but god, did this suck. “You also should never feel ashamed for having a panic attack, Y/N. It happened, and we’re working through it. It’s a lot like boiling a pot of water, isn’t it?”

You let out a garbled sounding laugh and your brows furrowed. “How so?” You stammered out.

“Well, you set the pot of water on the stove, right?” Spencer began, and you nodded. “And then when it starts to bubble, that’s your anxiety. Some sort of external stimulant - the stove, or, in your case, the overwhelming feeling of being in a crowd - is causing the water to bubble. And when the external stimulant increases in intensity, so too does your anxiety. And sometimes, yeah, the pot boils over.” Spencer shrugged like it was no big deal. “But then you just turn the stove off, grab a dishtowel, and clean up the mess. Problem solved.”

You cracked a half-hearted smile. “So in this metaphor, you’re a dishtowel?” You asked, curling your fingers around the fabric of his shirt.

“Technically, I think it’s a simile, but yes,” Spencer grinned as he looked in your eyes.

“But the book,” you sighed, looking back at the bookstore, which was still filtering people in and out slowly. The patrons leaving the store clutched their new copies of the book in their hands, grinning and taking pictures with their phones, laughing with their friends excitedly.

“Do you want to get back in line and try again?” Spencer asked, and you bit your cheek pensively.

“I don’t think so,” you said softly, defeatedly.

“That’s okay,” Spencer said. You loved that he wasn’t coddling you, he was just feeling it out, seeing what you were up for. “Do you want to get brunch somewhere and come back? Maybe the line will have died down by then?”

You nodded, your lips curling into a small smile. “Yeah,” you agreed. You realized your hand was still over his heart, rubbing at his chest. Your movement halted and you retracted your hand, but before your arm could fall completely at your side, Spencer scooped your hand up and kissed the back of your palm. “What if we come back and they’ve sold out of the book, though?” You asked as Spencer walked with you in the direction of one of your favorite brunch places, just a short walk from the bookstore.

“There are twenty-two independent bookstores in the D.C. metropolitan area alone,” Spencer rattled off. “If this one doesn’t have it, we’ll drive around until we find one that does.”

“What article did you read that told you how many bookstores were in D.C?” You asked. You often liked to challenge him by asking him to cite his sources.

“No article. I did a search on Google Maps last night,” Spencer explained.

“What, because you knew I’d freak out when we walked into this one?” You asked him.

Spencer shook his head. “No, just wanted to have a contingency plan in case our first stop sold out before we got there.”

“Always thinking ahead, huh, Boy Wonder?”

“Damn straight.” A smirk formed across Spencer’s lips.

You shook your head. “You’re the best dishtowel a girl could ask for.”

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ginnsbaker · 7 months

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In Silent Screams (3/3)

Chapter word count: 11.8k+ Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader, Wanda Maximoff x Vision (past) Warnings in this part: Smut (F/F), Angst, Gaslighting, Blackmail, Mild attempted sexual assault

A/N: This is probably the most uncomfortable fic I've written after In Flames (for good reason lol), so I'm nothing short of amazed if you were able to go through every line in this three-parter. P.S. For some reason, third part was the hardest to write for me, I guess it's because a lot of the scenes now are the same ones from In Flames after R found out and switching perspectives was a lot harder than I anticipated :P

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

It all feels like a dream, starting from the moment she opens her eyes and a few rays of light have filtered through the slats of the blinds. For a few moments Wanda pretends she’s back to that day—to that first morning she woke up next to you as your wife. She can still vividly recall the setting: your old bedroom in Montauk. Less than a year out of college, both you and Wanda were being frugal about the whole marriage thing, opting out of checking into a hotel after the festivities the night before.

Wanda smiles to herself at the fond memory. She glances to the side, and the alarm clock reads 5:30. It's too early to be waking you up, or anyone in this sleepy town. Nevertheless, she has to talk herself into extricating herself from your arms if she wants to pull off a very special breakfast-in-bed. A hesitant decision, a quiet sigh, and Wanda's slowly pulling herself from the warmth of the bed. The wood floor feels cool against her bare feet, prompting her to reach for one of your used polo shirts hanging over the back of the desk chair.

She enters the kitchen, her hands immediately getting to work. The spinach and mushroom are her first go-to, swiftly layered with day-old bread, and custard mix, forming the base for her strata. Next come the eggs, which she sets to poach, anticipating the smooth burst of yolk that'll cascade over the muffin once all is said and done. And then finally, bacon—your favorite.

Sparky trots into the kitchen, inevitably drawn by the wafting aroma, his tail wagging in tandem with his eagerness. He settles by her feet, watching with those pleading puppy eyes, occasionally letting out a quiet whine that speaks of his impatience and hope. Wanda chuckles, bending down to ruffle his fur. “You think this will get you a piece, huh?” she teases. But, she already knows that she'll give in, sneaking him a piece or two. He's your and Wanda's baby after all.

After she’s finished plating the meal, she sets them on a tray and carefully carries it back to the bedroom. The morning sun presents itself more boldly, almost spotlighting you in bed. Your face is tucked beneath a pillow, the sheets haphazardly pooled around your waist, revealing the bare expanse of your back, without a care in the world. Warmth floods Wanda's chest. She places the tray on a nearby desk.

Breakfast can wait.

Slipping into bed behind you, she becomes a shadow to your form. Her fingers gently trace the curve of your shoulder, lightly skimming over your skin. A shiver runs through her, and she lowers her lips to your nape. The temptation is too great, and soon, her tongue joins the fray, drawing a wet path down your spine. And then, unable to stop herself, she begins to rub herself against you, a soft moan escaping her lips. The sheer fabric of the polo shirt she's wearing, infused with your scent, rubs tantalizingly against her sensitized skin, heightening her need.

She can't stop thinking about last night, and the times before. She can't stop thinking about you—having you, being had by you. However, as your muscles start to tense, indicating the micro movements of your awakening body, a soft “fuck” slips from Wanda's lips, distracting her rhythm. She waits, a small smile tugging at her lips, silently asking if you're ready to greet the day—together.

You lazily roll onto your back, causing Wanda to reposition herself, now straddling your abdomen. With a drowsy smirk, your eyes half-lidded, you murmur, “Good morning,” squinting at the enthusiastic goddess—my wife, you think possessively to yourself— hovering above you.

Her face lights up, her morning energy nearly palpable. “Morning,” she chirps back, leaning down to capture your lips in a short but sweet kiss. Breaking away only slightly, she gives you a playful eskimo kiss, her nose rubbing affectionately against yours. A giggle escapes you, and she continues until you feel her nose scrunch up from how hard she’s smiling, all the while relishing the sound of her laughter.

When she's done teasing you, she buries her face in your neck. Drawn to the soft, milky expanse of her thighs, your hands begin to wander. As your fingers brush the curve where her thigh meets her hip, the subtle absence of fabric gives you pause. She's without a stitch beneath your polo. Your thumb ventures further south, discovering the dampness tangled in her soft curls. Heat surges to your cheeks, and you bite your lip, stifling a moan.

Wanda notices the slight change in your expression and a devilish smirk forms on her lips. “Seems like you found a little surprise,” she teases.

“Did I?” you smirk, tracing the V-line leading to her hidden treasure, teasing her a little. Wanda's breath catches, her pupils blown. But just as she readies herself for whatever comes next, you suddenly shift upwards, unbalancing her slightly. Reflexively, her legs wrap around your waist, anchoring herself to you. Her hands fly to your shoulders, gripping them for support. With a swift move, you part the front of the polo she’s wearing, exposing the smooth curve of her breast to the cool morning air.

The sudden exposure makes her gasp, but before she can utter a word, you close the distance, taking a hardened nipple into your mouth. Her face contorts in unabashed pleasure, her world spinning as you draw her deeper and deeper into your mouth. It's messy and primal, yet at the same time, it's reverent and sacred—something she has only ever experienced with you. She can't help but squirm, fingers threading through your hair, pulling you closer, urging you on.

Keeping an arm firmly around her waist to ensure she stays secure, your free hand travels down her belly, fingers tracing a sultry path to her soaked center. You leisurely trace her slick folds, gathering her arousal, playing with it.

“Please, baby,” she arches and bucks, grinding her hips, “more...I need more.”

Your lips twist into a devious smirk, reveling in her desperation. Drawing back slightly, you gaze at the flushed, vulnerable state of her, taking a moment to commit the image to memory. “I love it when you’re this needy…” you rasp, the tease evident in your tone.

Oh, but she is. She needs you to claim her, time and time again. She never wants to be anything else other than yours once more.

You lean back in, trailing a path of searing kisses from her collarbone, down to the valley between her breasts. Without warning, you nip at her tender flesh, causing her to let out a surprised gasp. Marking her further, you suck and bite gently, leaving a trail of reddened spots, declaring your claim on her. With every purple bruise you leave, Wanda's moans grow more desperate, more wanton.

When you finally lift your head, her chest is littered with bites, then with a wicked grin, you dip your finger into her wetness once more, circling her entrance but never dipping inside.

“Tell me what you want.”

“I... I want you,” she admits breathlessly, biting her lower lip, eyes pleading. “Please, I need you inside.”

Not wanting to make her wait any longer, you slide two fingers into her, curling them expertly. Wanda's body arches off the bed, her inner walls instantly tightening around your digits, pulling them deeper. Every sound that spills from her lips, the way her body arches, trying to get closer, to feel more of you, tells you just how good you’re making her feel.

Your thumb finds her clit, rubbing it in tight circles, while your fingers continue to piston in and out of her. The room is filled with the sound of Wanda's ragged breaths and the wet, slick noises of your fingers moving within her. As you feel her body tense further, you take a chance and slide a third finger into her, stretching her, filling her completely. The sensation of being so full sends Wanda over the edge.

“Oh, God!” she gasps, her back arching, eyes squeezed shut. Her hands grip your shoulders tightly, knuckles white from the intensity of her climax. Her inner walls spasm around your fingers, coating them with her release, her entire body trembling in the throes of ecstasy.

You keep up the pace, not wanting to stop until she's wrung out from pleasure. Each stroke of your fingers sends aftershocks rippling through her. When it finally becomes too much, Wanda grabs your wrist.

“Enough,” she breathes out, a sated smile curling her lips.

You can't resist the allure of the taste she's left on your fingers. You raise them to your lips, deliberately and slowly, letting her watch as you savor her taste. The move earns a flustered gasp from her.

“You taste so good,” you murmur, your voice low and husky.

Wanda's cheeks redden, but her eyes darken once more, filled with a burning intensity. “Your turn,” she whispers, reaching for you.

Thirty minutes before she can call it a day, the sound of a knock on her office door sends a ripple of tension through Wanda.

She knows that knock all too well.

Taking a deep breath, she calls out, “Yes?” even as she mentally braces herself for who might be on the other side.

The person almost immediately steps in, and—unfortunately, she's correct about who she thinks it might be. Before she can utter a word, he says, “You know, I can't just come in without an appointment, right?”

“Exactly, Vision. You shouldn't be here without—” she starts to say, but he interrupts her by triumphantly holding up an appointment slip.

His cheeky grin widens. “Got one right here.”

Wanda eyes the slip, pursing her lips as she thinks of a retort, keeping her guard up. The game has changed, but Vision's audacity, it seems, remains the same.

“Alright, what do you want? And I wouldn’t entertain anything that doesn’t have to do with the course.”

“Just some clarification about our last lecture,” he says as he closes the door behind him, audibly locking it. Wanda maintains her composure, not letting it show that the small act alarms her in the slightest.

“Go on,” Wanda prompts, leaning back slightly against her desk, arms crossed defensively.

But Vision, without missing a beat, launches into something entirely different. “I miss you,” he starts, and Wanda's posture stiffens, her fingernails reactively digging into her arms rather painfully. “I realize I messed up, Wanda. I do. But I can change.”

“Vis—” she warns, trying to interrupt him, but he barrels on, his voice filled with desperation.

“And if, by any chance, you're pregnant, I'll step up. I promise. I'll be responsible,” he continues, his voice quivering slightly. “You have no idea how happy I’ll be if you are.”

“I'm not pregnant,” Wanda whispers, struggling to keep her emotions in check. It's one thing for him to disregard her boundaries and be reckless with his words, but to assume that she would continue a pregnancy, knowing he's the father? Even the thought of it is sickening.

“And I would still choose not to be even if you were successful in your plans,” she adds, just to spite him.

Vision looks as if he might be sick, his complexion turning pallid, and a faint sheen of sweat forming on his forehead. Wanda has never seen him struck by her words this hard, and she realizes she doesn't have any idea what he might do next.

“I just... I thought…” he stammers, eyes glistening, “I just wanted to matter to you, b-by—”

“By what, Vision?” She cuts him off, her tone icy. “Hoping you'd lock me down by trying to knock me up?”

Vision’s face crumples further, tears spilling over. For all his stature—tall, lanky yet broad-shouldered—in this moment, he's stripped of that facade. His body shake as he tries to hold back sobs. “I didn't... I didn't think it through,” he manages to say between choked breaths.

Wanda almost pities him, but she shakes her head. “If you’re not here for school, you need to leave.” Her voice is cold, but inside, she's fighting a storm of guilt for the hurt she sees in him.

Just then, the shrill ring of Wanda's phone startles them both simultaneously. Vision's eyes dart to the screen as her caller ID lights up, displaying your name. In a split second, desperation and panic take hold of him. He lunges for the phone, but Wanda is quicker. She swiftly grabs it from her desk, tucking it safely into her purse.

“What the fuck are you doing?” she hisses, her back pressing against the desk.

Vision's eyes burn with an intensity that chills her. Taking slow, deliberate steps, he looms over her, his presence imposing in the small confines of her office. “That’s her, isn’t it?” he demands with barely suppressed jealousy. “She's coming to get you now?”

Wanda backs away slightly, her breathing erratic. “Vision, you need to think—”

“I am thinking.” His voice drops to a low, menacing growl. He tilts his head, eyes never leaving hers. “And maybe I'm thinking of doing something you won't like.”

“No!” Wanda pleads. “Look, Vision—okay, okay, let’s talk. Just not here. We can go to your place.”

His gaze narrows, considering her offer. “When?”

“Soon.”

Vision shakes his head. Not good enough.

“Tomorrow,” he states without room for argument, his eyes drilling into hers. “Same time. Like we used to.” The allusion to their previous meetings isn't lost on her.

Wanda's throat constricts, “Fine,” she whispers, barely audible, a clear note of dread in her voice. She hates the familiarity of this situation. Most of all, she hates that she's put herself in this position to begin with.

Suddenly, Vision reaches out, his fingers nearly brushing the side of her face. Wanda instinctively shrinks back, but the space between the desk and Vision offers her little room to escape. Her back is to the wall, both literally and figuratively. She can feel the cold press of the desk behind her, contrasting with the heat emanating from Vision's body. It’s obvious what he's thinking, what he's restraining himself from doing.

Horrified and trapped, Wanda closes her eyes, waiting for the inevitable. But instead of the touch she anticipates, she hears Vision's harsh intake of breath. The realization that she's retreated from him seems to strike a nerve.

Without another word, Vision pulls away sharply, as if burnt. He turns on his heel, storming out of her office. As soon as he’s gone, her legs give out from under her and she slides down to the cold floor, clutching her chest as she struggles for air. The walls of her office seem to close in on her, trapping her in her own spiraling thoughts.

As the room begins to blur, the sharp buzz of her phone breaks through her spiraling thoughts. Instinctively, she reaches into her purse, pulling out the phone. Your name illuminates the screen, and with it comes a flood of emotions—relief, safety, love.

The mere thought of you—so close, just beyond these walls—stops a panic attack from consuming her.

“Would you like to go bowling?” Wanda asks you as soon as she fastens her seat belt.

The randomness of the suggestion takes you aback, and a hearty laugh escapes your lips. But as you glance over to see Wanda's reaction, expecting to see her sharing in the moment's levity, you're met with a pained expression.

Your smile fades immediately, replaced by concern. “Hey, are you okay?”

Wanda mentally curses herself, realizing just how easily you can read her, see past her defenses. Needing to come up with something plausible, she quickly blurts out, “I had something super spicy when you called earlier. Didn't handle it too well, it seems.”

The corners of her mouth quirk up in a weak attempt at a reassuring smile, hoping you'd buy the lie, or at least not press further.

You don’t. “Hmm… how about we take Sparky out for a stroll today?” you suggest.

“A walk sounds great,” Wanda replies, her voice softening.

“Good,” you say, starting the car. “Let's head to the park. A bit of nature might do us both some good.”

The engine rumbles softly as you shift the gears, transitioning smoothly from one to the next. And then, almost instinctively, you reach out to take Wanda's hand, your fingers lacing with hers in a gentle yet firm grip. You hold her hand throughout the entire ride home, giving her fingers a reassuring squeeze whenever you feel them tremble between yours.

That night, while you sleep soundly beside her, she finds herself unable to sleep. She spends the empty hours simply studying your peaceful face. There's a childlike innocence in the way your lips part slightly, a soft snore escaping occasionally. It's endearing, and it makes Wanda smile, even through her turmoil. She imagines traces of age on your face—the lines that will mark years of laughter, the silver that will streak through your hair. She tries to picture herself beside you, her own face carrying the weight of the years, both of you holding on to each other until the last breath. Her smile is teary as she hopes and hopes that this is where she's headed—to this future.

Because tomorrow, she will have to see Vision, and if everything goes well, she'll never have to see him again. Then she will finally express how she needs you to take her back to Manhattan or anywhere far from here, so she'll never have to relive this nightmare she’s created.

The next day comes like any regular day of the week. She kisses you goodbye as you head off to work, and she feeds Sparky to his heart's content before getting into a pinstripe blue blazer set. She fails to notice just how good she looks in this well-fitted ensemble, the fabric hugging her waist perfectly. Her focus is solely on feeling powerful, as she knows she'll need all the strength to finally put an end to things with Vision.

Wanda takes a deep breath, then another, and then two more, before she finally gathers enough courage to knock on the door. Vision answers almost immediately, as though he had been anticipating her knock down to the very second.

The man before her now looks wholly different from the one she had encountered just yesterday. His blue eyes are bright and clear, his face clean shaven. The scent of a cologne she doesn't recognize wafts to her. New, she thinks. It's heady and distinctly masculine, unsettling her slightly.

“Wanda,” he greets with a charming smile, one that reaches his eyes, but doesn’t quite touch the soul behind them. For a moment, she's transported to the countless afternoons she spent here, entangled with him with nothing—not even air—separating their sweating, writhing bodies. His lips quirk into a sly, familiar smile, as if he too remembers those days and expects this visit to be a similar occasion.

“Vision.” Gripping her shoulder bag tighter, almost using it as a shield, she quickly sidesteps him. “May I?” she asks, though it sounds more like a statement as she makes her way into his apartment.

He chuckles softly behind her, the sound dripping with memories she would rather forget. “Of course. After all, you've always felt at home here.”

Wanda's stride falters for a fraction of a second at his words, the implication threatening to pull her under. But she needed to keep her wits about her. If she wants this conversation to go her way.

“Let’s just get to the point, Vision,” she says curtly.

“I intend to,” he replies, closing the door behind them with an intentional finality. Wanda allows herself to glance around, seeking even a brief distraction from what's about to unfold. His apartment is in disarray, a stark contrast to his appearance. Her eyes are drawn to one particular piece amongst the chaos—the finished nude painting he had made of her. The realization catches in her throat. It appears he’s finished it.

Wanda shoots him an expectant look, urging him to speak first.

Vision clears his throat, attempting to sound casual but failing. “Wine? Or should we skip the formalities?”

Her eyes narrow, her patience waning. “We skip.”

“Alright.”

He sighs and drops onto the couch. “Look, I've said sorry over and over, but I’ll say it again. I'm sorry, Wanda. I'm sorry for being careless that night.” His voice lowers, “But I don't regret it.”

Wanda's eyes flash with disbelief. “You don't regret it?”

“No,” he murmurs. “What I regret is that it didn't result in... well, you know.”

The implication is clear, and Wanda feels bile rise in her throat. How could he say something so audacious?

She opens her mouth to retort but he continues, raising a hand as if to hold off her words, “I want to keep seeing you. I can’t stop. Because, believe it or not, I'm in love with you.”

Wanda feels as though the ground has been pulled from under her feet. Every instinct tells her to run, but she knows that this won’t have an ending if she does. Wanda swallows dryly and closes her eyes, trying to piece together a strategy, a way to get through him, a way to get out of this unscathed, a way to ensure he won’t tell anyone about this when she leaves.

“I-I believe you,” she starts. “I think I’ve always known, no—felt, that you l-love me.” Vision nods to her words, his lips curling into a hopeful smile.

“But I have to be honest with you, too,” she continues, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “I took advantage of those feelings, Vision. I knew, deep down, that you felt this way and I still... I still let it happen. And for that, I'm deeply sorry.”

He stiffens at her words, a frown forming on his brow. “Wanda—”

She raises her hand, signaling for him to let her finish. “I don’t love you. It's Y/N. It's always been her. From the very start. What happened between us, it was a mistake, one that I haven't forgiven myself for. Especially because of what it means for Y/N.”

She takes a shaky breath, looking into his eyes earnestly, “You deserve someone who can return your feelings, who can love you wholeheartedly. You're a handsome, intelligent, passionate young man. There are many out there who would consider themselves lucky to be with you—”

But Vision vehemently shakes his head, unwilling to accept it, refusing to acknowledge their end. “I want to keep seeing you.”

“You can't,” Wanda insists, a few tears slipping down her cheeks. “It's over.”

Vision's eyes flash dangerously, the calm veneer shattering in an instant. He takes a step forward, trapping Wanda with a threatening look.

“You think you can just fuck me and then discard me like nothing?!” he hisses.

Wanda backs up, startled. She feels her control starting to slip away. “Of course not. I… you were my friend. I cared—I care about you. But I shouldn't have let it get this far.”

He scoffs, not a word of hers reaching his ears. “So, it's all a game to you? You get to decide when to play and when to stop?”

“No, it's not a game,” she replies, desperate for him to understand. “But I can't keep lying to myself or to you. I can't keep hurting Y/N or you.”

His gaze snaps back to hers, and there's a glint of something dark and foreboding in his eyes. “Maybe you should've considered the consequences of your actions, Wanda.”

She swallows hard, sensing the danger in his voice. “What are you saying?”

“Maybe Y/N should know the truth,” he surmises, his voice dripping with malice. “Maybe she should know exactly who she's been sharing her bed with.”

Wanda feels like she might faint anytime. Panic rises, threatening to choke her. “Vision, please,” she pleads, “you can't do that.”

His eyes remain steely. “Why not? She deserves to know, doesn't she?”

Wanda takes a shaky breath, grappling for words, trying to appeal to his sense of reason. “Yes, she does. But not like this. Not from you. If anyone should tell her, it's me.”

“But you'll never tell her,” Vision says, his voice laced with accusation. “I see it in your eyes, Wanda. You don't have the balls to be honest with her. Because you're afraid. You're afraid she'll walk away.”

Both are poised in this high-stakes game, each waiting, anticipating, guessing what card the other will play next. For a heartbeat, Wanda feels disarmed, Vision's threat too sharp and too real. But as the seconds tick by, something shifts in her. She straightens up, pulling herself to her full height, and when she speaks, there’s no fear or hesitation in her voice.

“You’re not going to tell her,” she declares.

“And what makes you so sure?”

“Because you know I'll hate you,” she says. “And if there's even the slightest chance that I'll change my mind, then doing that wouldn't be it.”

Vision lets out a humorless laugh, but the look in his eyes betrays his indifference. “You think there's a chance you'll change your mind?”

“No,” Wanda says firmly. “It's over.”

The defiant look that had been painted across Vision's face begins to crack. He looks smaller somehow, like he's shrinking back into himself. His shoulders slump, and the facade of control and confidence he'd donned earlier dissolves. The boy from yesterday, the one who seemed so heartbroken, returns in full force.

“Wanda,” his voice trembles, almost as if he's on the verge of tears. “Please, I’m all alone. I told you my life, I told you about my parents, nobody in this world cares about me! And I know I said I’m fine and I can survive without them, but why should I when I have you, Wanda—”

She can't help but pity him, his brokenness tugging at her heartstrings. But she knows that relenting now would mean drowning in the same cycle all over again.

“Vis, you will find someone. Someone who isn't me, someone better for you. Trust that.”

“How can I want someone else when I had you,” he insists with unwavering stubbornness, his eyes growing more frenzied, and Wanda shivers at the unsettling sight before her.

“Maybe you had me,” she says tearfully as she decides to finally drive a stake into his heart. “But not in every way like Y/N has me.”

Before she can register what's happening, Vision's hands are suddenly around her waist, pulling her forcefully against him. The initial shock and his assertiveness make her freeze for a split second. As he starts rubbing himself against her, she feels the unmistakable hardness growing between them.

“Vision, stop!” she protests, trying to wriggle free.

“Can you feel that?” he whispers hoarsely, clearly misinterpreting her struggle, mistaking it for their first time together and all the other times she eventually gave in to his advances. “That's how much I want you. Need you.”

Tears of frustration and fear spill from her eyes. “This isn't right, Vision. Let go,” she pleads, placing her hands against his chest and pushing with all her might.

“Wanda, just—maybe if we—you’ll see. You’ll see that you love me, just let me—”

Her fist connects with his cheek, causing him to stumble a few steps away. For a while, they both freeze in horror, the gravity of the situation sinking in. In his moment of delirium, Vision comprehends what he was about to do to the woman he claims to love, and guilt claws at his guts, wrenching his insides.

On the other end, Wanda's chest heaves with shock and distress. She stands there momentarily paralyzed, the aftershocks of the ordeal still rippling through her. Tears blur her vision, but she refuses to let them fall, not now, not when she needs all her strength. Her gaze meets Vision's only briefly before she pulls herself together. She wraps her arms around herself, and then rushes to the front door.

He yells, “No, Wanda! I…please let’s just—”

But his pleas fall on deaf ears.

Wanda goes straight home after the whole fiasco with Vision. She locks herself in the bedroom, crying for hours, paying no attention to Sparky's worried barks from outside the door. She tells herself that it could be worse, trying to talk herself out of going to the police. If she goes to the authorities, she'll have to give a statement. This would inevitably lead to an investigation into their past, revealing things she doesn't want you to know.

Drained from crying, Wanda's eyelids grow heavy. As sleep overtakes her, vivid dreams flood her mind, each presenting an alternate reality. In one dream she’s back in Vision’s apartment, his arms wrapped around her like a chain, and every time she tries to pull away, the chains grow tighter, pulling her back into his prison. A cold dread settles in her heart, as she struggles and fights, desperate to wrench herself free from his grasp.

The next scenario places her in a world without Vision. It's a life untouched by his influence, where she walks unfamiliar streets and meets faces that do not recognize her. Then, in a sudden shift, she's back at her office on that fateful evening, but the events unfurl differently. The temptation of Vision never materializes. She leaves, unburdened by the weight of a choice she didn't make.

But the relief is short-lived. These dreams meld into a harrowing nightmare, saturated in hues of red and black, where you discover her secret. She tries to call out, to explain, to mend, but her voice is swallowed by the deafening silence of the dreamscape.

In her seemingly endless silent screams, Wanda wakes up. The remnants of her haunting dreams still clutching at her, making her jolt upright. The fabric of the sheets sticks to her body, drenched in a cold sweat. Each breath comes in ragged gasps, as if she's been submerged underwater and has just broken the surface.

The bedside clock reads half past six and panic sets anew. You could be home in an hour, given that you haven't been extending your hours at the office lately. The realization pushes her into a frenzied urgency. Throwing off the sheets, Wanda rushes to the ensuite bathroom. The cold stream from the shower brings a semblance of clarity, washing away the residues of her nightmares.

Wrapped in a towel, with droplets still cascading down her skin, she dashes to the kitchen. She pulls out ingredients, her hands working methodically, albeit with a haste that speaks of her need to keep busy, to keep the demons of her subconscious at bay. She manages to prepare a simple but appetizing meal, but the mere thought of taking a bite threatens to turn her stomach inside out.

The dining table is set, and she seats herself, her gaze distant once again. And she stays there, lost in her own head.

It’s how you find her when you get home at 9:15 in the evening.

You’re quiet tonight. Alarmingly so.

She asks you how your day was, and you respond tersely with a simple, “Good.” She attempts to get you to elaborate, maybe share an anecdote like you usually do, but you dismiss her efforts, attributing your lack of interest in conversation to fatigue.

But Wanda can’t stand the silence. When it’s quiet, the voices in her head are even louder.

So she decides to tell you about her day instead. She swears to herself this is the last day she’ll ever lie to you with a straight face. She talks about the final projects her students have begun submitting. As she describes her favorites, your interest particularly sharpens when she mentions the portrait projects. You pepper her with questions, mostly about who made which, and Wanda offers names that probably wouldn't mean much to you.

After you finish eating, you thank her with a small smile. It's only then that Wanda feels she can breathe again. She leans in, pressing her lips to yours, her longing evident. However, just as she tries to deepen the kiss, you pull away, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Showered without me?” you tease, but it lacks the usual lilt in your voice. She simply nods in response. You playfully tap her nose, whispering, “Naughty girl.” Then, without another word, you're on your feet and heading up the stairs to the bedroom.

She proceeds to clear the table and wash the dishes, all while the sound of the shower fills her ears. She allows herself a small smile, chiding herself for being overly affected by her dream.

By the time she makes her way up to join you, she discovers you've already drifted off, turned away from the vacant space beside you that's meant for her.

She’s positively shaking as she takes the short walk from the parking lot to the classroom, the dread building up inside her like a swelling storm. The thought of facing her class, and especially Vision, sends shivers down her spine. The recent events—the horrifically inappropriate advances and Vision's glaring sense of entitlement—play over and over in her mind.

Her feet eventually take her to her destination, but she remains outside for a full minute. The thought of facing Vision again is almost enough to turn her around. But another, stronger, voice reminds her of her duty, her commitment to her other students, and her own integrity. Moreover, she doesn't want to be alone today, here the haunting events with Vision could replay in her mind without any distractions.

She pushes open the door. It appears to be a typical day, with her students clustered in small groups, engrossed in conversation and seemingly oblivious to her arrival. She swiftly surveys the room and, to her relief, doesn't spot the familiar blue eyes that usually fixate on her by this time.

When she starts her lecture on the final topic of the semester, it flows seamlessly. Still, the end of the course can't come soon enough; continuing here is untenable. She can’t keep teaching here, when these hallways keep reminding her of the mistake that almost cost her everything.

You've been leaving the side of your bed cold for almost two weeks now. Sometimes, your careful movements stir her awake, and she watches you, bleary-eyed, as you go through the motions of prepping for a run, a habit you've picked up quite recently. At first, Wanda would always ask where you’re headed and if she can accompany you. But you'd consistently dismiss her offer, always seeming in a rush to hit the pavement.

She thinks it’s good for you—the exercise. The only aspect of your new hobby that she dislikes is that you typically go before sunrise, where everywhere is still too dark and eerily quiet, and her imagination runs wild of all the worst things that could happen to you while you’re out on your run.

And Wanda wouldn’t admit it, but she can't help but internalize the consistent rejection of her offers to join you. She wonders if there's a deeper reason behind it. When you're out and she's left alone with her thoughts, Wanda can't help but let the guilt seep in. Has she become too transparent? Has something given her secret away? Did you find out about her affair? How would she even begin to explain?

But then you return after your run, with a sense of tranquility, as though the exercise had been a cathartic release of some pent-up tension. However, something still feels amiss. Perhaps it's because she hasn't slept with you since the night she discovered she wasn't pregnant with Vision's child, and all that has passed between you are brief, perfunctory kisses here and there. She wants to discuss it with you, but she doesn't want to appear too eager or guilty. Instead, she remains committed to being a good wife. And even though being a good wife was never about housework, Wanda ensures that every corner of the house sparkles and shines.

Meanwhile, you go about fulfilling your own household responsibilities seamlessly. From tending to minor repairs to ensuring that bills are paid on time, you continue with the routines that have always defined the dynamic of your relationship. There's no sign of resentment or dissatisfaction in your actions. It's almost as if everything is back to normal. This confounds Wanda even more. She starts to question her own memory, wondering if perhaps this distance, this new version of you, has always been present and she just never realized it. It's possible that you've become this way while she was preoccupied with her affair, and she didn't notice how you slowly adjusted to her unavailability.

Of course, she only has herself to blame. She's determined, however, to rectify it and make it up to you.

Which is when the idea strikes her. The dream vacation to Hawaii that both of you often fantasized about but never took due to financial constraints and a tight schedule. With the money from her teaching job, she now has the means to turn that dream into a reality. A surprise trip might be the perfect remedy to rekindle the connection that has worn out due to your busy lives and... her unfaithfulness.

She knows it doesn't atone for her sins, but it's a step in the right direction.

It should have been the perfect day for her surprises. She has two of them—the surprise trip and the news of her resignation from the university. She had just handed you the box with all the Hawaii trip details, and you were about to dive in, when there was a knock at the door.

Two men in dark suits have arrived at the house, looking for her. Detectives—Rogers and Barnes. Wanda uncovers the real reason behind Vision's absence from school, and it wasn't due to personal family matters or a decision to pursue education elsewhere.

He's been in an accident, and they suspect foul play.

Their questions start off simple, touching on the basics. But soon, they feel like piercing arrows as they delve into the phone calls between them, how close they were, and if she ever set foot in his apartment. Throughout the interrogation, Wanda manages to keep a straight face, though deep down she knows she probably can't fool detectives of their caliber. Yet, she silently prays that you don't see past her mask.

“That’s enough,” you interject firmly. “My wife has answered your questions. Unless there’s anything else directly related to your investigation, I believe we’ve covered everything.”

Your intervention when their questions grow more intrusive suggests she's managed to keep you in the dark. The realization that you're still on her side floods her with immense relief.

“Very well. Thank you both for your time,” Rogers says.

But Wanda isn’t done. She has her own questions. She needs to know if Vision's involvement with her is the reason they're here, probing. She wonders if he might have informed the authorities about their inappropriate relationship, and if that somehow relates to his current situation.

“Wait!” Wanda exclaims, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She contemplates asking her burning questions, but with you observing from the side, she suppresses her urge to do so. Instead, she conveys her worry—she is, after all, his teacher.

“Is he… is he okay?”

Wanda's complexion turns ashen upon catching the look on Barnes' face, instantly realizing he's fully aware of her and Vision's relationship. She can barely hear Roger's response, her blood rushing in her ears.

“…that he’s stable. However, he remains in a coma. It’s uncertain when or if he’ll wake up, but let's hold onto hope.”

Oh.

Her secret's safe—for now. But she... she has to be certain. She needs to tie up any loose ends, if there are any.

It's reckless to visit Vision's apartment in daylight, especially right after a visit from the police.

Exiting her car, Wanda's sandals softly scrape against the ground. She pauses to scan her surroundings, her gaze flitting from one building to another. The neighboring houses and apartment complexes stand silent, their stillness almost eerie, as if they've been forsaken. She knows that not many reside in this part of the town, a fact that had made Vision's apartment an ideal hideaway for their secret meetings.

She cautiously approaches Vision's unit, her hand shaking slightly as it reaches for the door knob: locked. A memory surges—Vision handing her a spare key during one of their early encounters. Retrieving it from her bag, she hesitantly fits it into the lock, preparing herself for what she might find beyond the door.

It opens with a muted creak, and a blanket of darkness envelops her. Hesitating at the threshold, she fumbles for a light switch, her fingers brushing against the cool wall before finding it. She'd half-expected Vision's belongings to be packed up, perhaps by a landlord who wanted to move on from the situation. But everything appears untouched, as if frozen in time; dust hasn't settled, and the items scattered about give no indication that the place has been vacant for weeks. It occurs to her that the ongoing investigation might be the reason the apartment remains untouched.

Wanda moves quickly, knowing she shouldn’t linger. Heading straight to the bathroom, she swiftly gathers her toothbrush and a few other personal items she had left behind. As she emerges, her gaze is drawn to the corner where Vision's easel stands. It used to hold a portrait of her, a work he'd wanted to submit for his final project, capturing her in a light she had never seen herself. But now, it’s empty.

A cold rush of panic seizes her. She clutches the edge of a table, her breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. Had Vision decided to move the painting for some reason? Or worse, had the detectives seen it and taken it as evidence? The painting wasn’t just art; it was tangible evidence of their affair.

But then, in the midst of her mounting fear, a memory jolts her—there was another painting, the one Vision had purchased from the gallery where she used to work. With a newfound urgency, she hurries to his bedroom. The scene is disarrayed, with sheets and pillows strewn about. Ignoring the mess, Wanda goes directly to the cabinet where she remembered he last stored it. She yanks open the doors, and her eyes dart around, searching, but the painting is nowhere to be found.

Desperation grips her. If the detectives come across either painting, they'd have more reasons to scrutinize her further than she's comfortable with. Such involvement would be near-impossible to hide from you. Wanda proceeds with caution, scanning the apartment for any lingering items that could connect her to Vision. Unexpectedly, she finds a piece of her lingerie nestled within his sock drawer. Swiftly, she snatches it up. Before departing, she meticulously wipes away any fingerprints from the surfaces she's touched, then dashes to her car.

Once inside, she pauses to draw several deep, steadying breaths. It's overwhelming to think that this is now her reality, teetering on the brink of exposure.

She eventually finds herself falling off the edge when she discovers Natasha’s email on your laptop, mere moments after the crushing realization that you hadn’t bothered to open her gift.

Her instinct is to craft a lie. She searches her mind rapidly, trying to come up with a plausible excuse for the intimate handhold. Maybe she could say it was an old friend from the past, or perhaps a distressed student she was comforting. But one glance at the photo and she knows, deep down, that any excuse would fall flat. The way Vision looks at her, with such unmistakable affection and wonder, betrays any innocence she might claim. Trying to explain this to you or anyone else would be an exercise in futility.

Wanda had played out various scenarios in her mind about how you might discover the truth, but she never imagined it would be through seeking the expertise of your best friend. It was perhaps naive, but she had hoped you wouldn’t notice anything or, if you did, that you'd confront her about it.

But why would you come to her? She's been pushing you away for months, and the only time she truly showed you how much you mean to her was when she was so relieved that she wouldn't be carrying the consequences of her indiscretions in her womb.

In case you need them, the subject of the email says. Need them for what? Wanda wonders. From the way Natasha worded the message accompanying the photos, it doesn't appear you're just discovering the truth now.

No, it seems that you’ve known for a while. Which means—

The pieces fall into place, a chilling realization creeping over her. Wanda's breath catches as she pushes the laptop away, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. The way you had carried yourself, especially around the police—it was far too serene, too measured. When they mentioned Vision's name, you didn't so much as flinch or even show a flicker of surprise.

Her heart beats painfully against her ribs. The calm demeanor, the calculated way you’d been moving about—it wasn't out of ignorance. You knew. And for how long? The thought terrifies her. How many days or weeks has she been living this lie while you watched, silently knowing everything?

Your silence, amplifying her betrayal, eats away at her conscience. The quiet before the storm, she thinks. And she's right in the middle of it.

“Wanda?”

She’s hiding in the bathroom, staring at her reflection in the mirror, practicing a smile and a thousand more expressions even though she's barely holding it together.

“Wanda.”

She couldn't shake the thought of you knowing. Did you have any involvement in Vision's accident? You've never intentionally hurt even the smallest creature, let alone another human being, right?

“Wanda!”

She nearly leaps out of her skin as the bathroom door slams open, and you stare back at her, looking just as startled and taken aback.

“Hey,” she says, forcing a smile.

You narrow your eyes at her, and she shivers under your intense scrutiny.

“Are you okay? You’ve been in here for almost an hour.”

Wanda nods quickly. “I'm fine.”

You continue to watch her for a moment, before saying, “Alright.”

Just as you're about to step away, Wanda remembers the plans for later. “About the dinner tonight,” she starts hesitantly, “with your colleagues from the bank... should we cancel?”

She's desperately hoping you'd say yes. She can't bear not knowing what's going on in your mind. The way you act as if everything's normal is suffocating her. Does she even still know the real you? Every moment you're not cursing her out or confronting her betrayal feels like an eternity.

But you shake your head. “No, let's do it. We already promised them.”

Wanda's heart sinks a little, but she nods in understanding.

“I'll go grab some wine real quick,” you say before leaving the bathroom, leaving Wanda alone once again with her thoughts.

Later, as the last of the guests leave, she's certain you've picked up on her distress, noticing how you kept glancing at your watch and drifting out of conversations. She senses your gaze on her as she escorts Scott and his wife to the car, acutely aware you're observing her every move from the bedroom window.

Though they're older than both you and Wanda, they've only been hitched for two years. Wanda can't help but wonder if maybe things are smoother for them because they waited to get married. But then a familiar warmth washes over her. The memory of how deeply in love she was with you surfaces. Even if you had waited six years to propose, she’s sure that had you suggested it within the first few months of dating, she would've said yes in a heartbeat.

Truth be told, she doesn't regret it now, the timing of it, and everything in between.

All she's uncertain of is how tonight will unfold.

The house lies shrouded in an inky stillness, almost like it’s holding its breath. She carefully climbs the stairs to the bedroom you both share, one uncertain step at a time. The door is slightly open, and you're standing by the window, your silhouette thin and brittle.

“What happened, Y/N?” she asks as she stops a few feet from you. Your eyes are closed, and your body trembles. Though she should be consumed by fear, her only desire is for you to open your eyes, hoping to find the person she fell in love with over a decade ago still there.

“What did you do? Did you cause his ‘accident’?” she continues. But you remain silent, unmoving. “Y/N?”

Still, nothing. Wanda is slowly but surely losing her sanity.

“Did you hurt him? You did, didn’t you? Jesus, Y/N. Talk to me,” Wanda pleads, and then out of desperation she screams, “Tell me what you did!”

“No!” You roar with a primal intensity, reminiscent of a wounded animal in the wild, and the sheer force of it makes Wanda recoil. But she doesn't move away from you. Not at this crucial moment, when she senses how close she is to losing you. “You tell me what you did!”

You stalk towards her menacingly, until you're mere breaths away, and Wanda wants to reach out and touch you, but she knows she'll be burned.

“How you fucked him over and over and over! How you lied to me… over and over and over,” you tell her brokenly.

“Y/N, please–”

“Don’t. You don’t get to talk to me now,” you say, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes. “You didn’t think I’d know? I wouldn’t feel it? I knew from the very first night. Because I know you, Wanda. Every thought. Every look. Every fiber of your being. I know you and I fucking hate you! I didn’t want to hurt him, I wanted to hurt you!”

The confirmation she's been dreading, along with the murderous glint in your eyes, saps the color from Wanda’s face. “Oh my god,” she chokes out, hand clamping over her mouth in horror. “Y/N…”

You try to walk away, but your legs give out, and you crumple to the ground, knees first, like a puppet with its strings cut. The tears flow freely now, unburdened by pride or anger. A raw, guttural sob escapes your lips, echoing the pain in your chest. Wanda, too, collapses, a mirror reflection of your despair, her body shaking as sobs rack her frame.

How could she have ever been afraid of you, especially knowing what you've been through? Beneath it all, she sees the woman she deeply loves, now appearing so fragile and torn apart, all because of her own mistakes. “I'm so sorry...” she whispers, her apology a mere drop in the ocean of hurt between you.

“Was there anyone else aside from him?” you ask suddenly, looking at the carpeted floor before you.

“No,” Wanda answers earnestly.

You offer a wry smile. “He must be really special then.”

She frantically shakes her head. He's not. No one is. It's always been—

“Do you love him?”

“No,” Wanda responds hastily, almost too hastily for your taste. And by the look on your face, she's crushed by the realization that no matter what she says next, your trust in her words may be irrevocably broken. “I thought I did, but no,” she admits. She can't bear the thought of deceiving you further and aims to leave no question unanswered.

“Did you…” you start, staring intently at the ceiling, and Wanda knows exactly what you’re asking even before it comes out of your mouth. The fact that you have to ask leaves her utterly heartbroken.

“...ever love me?”

This was her doing. The very second she acted on impulse and succumbed to temptation was when she truly lost you.

“I love you,” Wanda murmurs, her tear-filled eyes meeting yours, stubborn for her words to reach you. “I know how fucked up that sounds to you right now. But I do, I love you, Y/N.”

“You love me?” your voice falters, making you wince. “You have a truly unique way of showing it.”

How does she prove it? How can she make you believe? Wanda scrambles for tactics, for miracles, for a do-over.

“After all this,” you continue, “you might as well have killed me. Being dead might be painless compared to this.”

“Baby, please don't say that,” Wanda's voice breaks, choked by tears she can't hold back. She feels the urge to reach out, her fingers itching to touch you.

“You don’t get to call me that anymore. Even hearing you say my name makes me sick.” Your voice is steady, each word dripping with cold resentment.

“You can stay,” you say after a while. Wanda senses a fragile hint of hope blossoming within her. But it's quickly crushed when you add, “Stay in this house, for as long as you need. But I'm leaving.”

And it’s here where the panic sets in. The realization that she's on the brink of losing you entirely, not just emotionally but physically as well, hits Wanda like a freight train. The walls of the room seem to close in on her, and the weight of her decisions and mistakes press heavily on her shoulders, making her feel as if she's sinking.

“No,” she whispers. “Please, don't go.”

You start to slide your wedding ring off, and that’s when Wanda loses it. She launches herself at you, capturing your lips into a heated kiss. In the split-second it takes for the golden loop to slip off your finger, a flood of memories rushes over Wanda—the scent of rain as it patters on the roof of the reception, the song playing in the background as you and Wanda sway to your first dance as a married couple, the warmth of your hand intertwined with hers. Those fragments play in a demented, rapid slideshow, and time stretches and contracts, maddeningly so.

For Wanda, it feels like someone's drilled a hole in the base of her skull, letting all the sorrow rush in like a merciless flood. Everything else is white noise. For that brief instant when her lips slot against yours, you don’t push her away. Wanda pours everything she has into this kiss, hoping you'll feel her truth in it. But then, before she even has the chance to deepen it, you’re pulling away and it’s—

It’s over.

Stubborn as always, Wanda tries to hide in your neck, and you feel her tears sliding down your throat. She clings to you with all her might, holding on for as long as she can. But when she feels you gently place your wedding ring into her palm, her face crumples with a pain so profound, she knows she may never recover from it. And then you begin to rise, lifting yourself from the floor. As she instinctively clings to your leg, you take another step, causing Wanda to stumble forward from the sudden loss of support.

“This can't be the end. It just can't,” Wanda murmurs to herself like a mantra, as if repeating it will change the course of reality. She's almost certain you hear her, but it doesn't change your stride; you just keep walking away.

The ring burns in her palm, a searing reminder that her promise of loving and cherishing you always means nothing to you now.

Wanda can't quite figure out how, but you've chosen to remain in the guest bedroom for the evening. She'd heard the engine of your car roar to life, but then it fell silent after just a few moments. Peering out, she’d seen you stepping out of the car, phone pressed to your ear.

Who had you been talking to? An intense curiosity had consumed Wanda, making her wonder who had been on the other end of that call. In the short window they'd been estranged—no, just temporarily separated, because Wanda refused to believe that you'd entirely lost your affection for her—could there have been someone else? Someone waiting in line for their turn?

Now, she stands hesitantly in front of the guest bedroom door, hands clenched in her sides, torn between giving you space and continuing to fight for her marriage. She's torn, but not clueless. It's not just about barging in or holding back; it's about the aftermath. She stands there, frozen, trying to figure out which move won't blow everything to smithereens. Because the time she has with you is running out and there might not be a tomorrow.

Or a you and her. Ever again.

Wanda finally sinks to the floor, her back flush against the cold, indifferent wood of the door. Sparky, pads over, his little claws making almost no sound against the floor. He nestles himself on her lap, making his bed there for the night. She wraps her fingers around his soft fur, his warmth seeping into her, but his presence is a double-edged sword. As much as she adores him, he's going to be the only thing of you she gets to keep, and it's going to be a painful reminder from here on out.

In an act of despair, she presses an ear flat against the door, searching for the tiniest murmur, the faintest shuffle. Anything to tell her what's happening on the other side of this barrier. A barrier that was never there before. She's on the outside, and the thought that you're moving on, building a life sans her, is terrifying.

It's a cruel irony, she realizes. Here she is, just a few inches from you, yet completely and utterly in the dark. And so, she sits, hoping against hope, that at some point during the night, she'd hear the door creak open, and you’d scoop her in your arms and take her back.

She waits, because that's what love does—it waits, even in the darkest of times.

The next morning, Wanda wakes up, surprised to find herself in a bed instead of on the hard, cold floor. She doesn't recall making the trip, but the idea that you cared enough to ensure she slept on something warm and comfortable almost makes her heart leap out of her chest.

However, her happiness is short-lived as she opens the closet and discovers that some of your things are missing. To a stranger, the differences wouldn't be obvious, but she knows which shirt and trousers you chose, and she understands the implication. It means you won't be returning tonight, and perhaps not tomorrow either. When she goes to the bathroom, she finds only one toothbrush, and that's enough to make tears well up in her swollen eyes once more.

“Thanks for picking up,” Wanda says, her fingers gripping the phone tight, holding onto it like she’s drowning and it’s her only lifeline.

“Well, you've called enough times. Figured I'd give you a break,” Natasha's voice, though distant, is biting, as frigid as the coldness that Wanda has been feeling in her bones these past days.

“I need to know where she is. Please.”

A sigh on the other end, followed by a chilling silence. “You think after everything, you still have the right to know her whereabouts?”

“She's still my wife,” Wanda counters, but it’s weak.

“She was your wife,” Natasha fires back, unrelenting. “The last I checked, people who love their partners don't sleep with college kids.”

The words hit Wanda harder than any physical blow could. She's taken aback, gasping for air as if she's been sucker-punched.

“I—”

“She loved you,” Natasha continues ruthlessly, “more than you ever deserved. And you threw it away, for what? Some fleeting thrill?”

Loved? Past tense? Had Natasha just assumed—

Or was that word coming directly from you?

Pushing down the slightest twinge of sympathy that threatens to surface, Natasha picks up on Wanda's faint, broken breaths on the other end. She can tell Wanda's on the verge, and it's familiar, too familiar. It's almost exactly the sound she caught when she was on the phone with you the other night.

“I never meant for this to happen,” Wanda barely manages to say.

“Well, it did,” Natasha snaps, her voice cold. “Intentions don’t change actions. And actions have consequences.”

Wanda’s voice comes off a little strong this time, thick with conviction. “Maybe I deserve this, Natasha. Maybe it’s my time to pay for all the wrongs I’ve done.”

“You think?” Natasha scoffs.

“But you... you’ll never get it. You’ll never understand why I can’t just let go, why I can’t give up on her,” Wanda says.

“And why’s that?”

Wanda's voice trembles with the knowledge that what she's about to say is a cheap blow. “Because you've never been married. You've never committed yourself to someone in the way I have with her.”

That stings, and Natasha can feel her own anger rising.

“Don’t think for a second that just because I’m not married, I don’t understand commitment, pain, or betrayal,” she says, voice low and measured.

Wanda swallows hard. “I didn't mean to—”

“Of course you didn't. But here we are, yet again,” Natasha cuts her off. She sighs, leaning back in her chair, “I’m not telling you where she is. She needs time, Wanda. Time away from you. If she wants to talk, she’ll find you.”

That's the last thing Wanda wants. She worries that distance will solidify your resolve, turning her from an immediate regret to a distant afterthought.

“I need to see her, Natasha,” Wanda pleads, “Just tell me where she is.”

“Why? So you can make things even worse?”

After a tense pause, Wanda plays her last card, “Remember that night after we all went out? The night you and Bruce...” she trails off, not needing to complete the sentence.

Natasha stiffens, instantly knowing where this is headed. “Don’t you dare, Wanda.”

Wanda forges on, “I never told anyone, never used it against you. I kept your secret. You owe me, Natasha.”

The feeling of Bruce's hand against her cheek, the humiliation, the denial—all of it comes rushing back. She never thought Wanda would throw that night back in her face.

“You're really going there?” Natasha laughs hollowly.

“I’m desperate, Natasha. I love her. I can’t lose her,” Wanda’s voice breaks.

The line goes quiet, stretching seconds into what seems like hours. Finally, Natasha exhales heavily, the weight of the decision clear in her tone. “I'll give you an address. Show up, try to talk to her, but if she asks you to leave, you respect her wishes. Understand?”

Wanda swallows dryly. She knows Natasha can enforce her terms if she wants, which means she has no other choice but to comply. “Understood.”

Natasha's parting words would later linger in her mind for hours.

“This doesn't mean I've forgiven you or that she ever will. But you get your shot. Make it count.”

Wanda’s been standing outside the diner for what feels like a long time. She hopes her outfit—a parka over a crisp white v-neck and high-waisted jeans—makes a good impression. A glance in the reflection of the diner’s window confirms her red hair looks glossy and radiant, cascading in waves down her back.

Time and time again, Wanda had turned over every conceivable strategy to win you back. But in the end, they all hinged on the one thing she feared most: agreeing to a divorce. The very thought threatened to break her from the inside, but her desperation to make things right, to show you that she's changed, made this painful decision a necessary one. Wanda had taken so much from you, taken everything you had to offer and discarded it carelessly. Now, it was her turn to give something back, even if it meant letting you go, legally.

She tells herself, repeatedly, that their love story isn't defined by a marriage certificate. They won't end just because their marriage does. She had to believe this; it was the only way she could find the strength to move forward.

Steeling herself, Wanda takes one step forward. Another. Until finally, she’s there.

“Hey,” Wanda greets, doing her best to sound casual as she slides into the booth opposite you.

You give a nonchalant nod, mouth full of your Reuben sandwich. “Hi, Wanda.”

The scent of your cologne is the first thing that hits her, and it’s... different. This one's sharper, crisper, with a hint of citrus, perhaps. It's as if you're purposely shedding parts of yourself that she's grown accustomed to, distancing yourself in the most elemental ways. There's a new watch on your wrist, sleeker than the one she gifted you on your last anniversary. Even the way you hold yourself seems altered, shoulders squared and posture more rigid. Every detail screams of a transformation, a conscious effort to morph into someone she wouldn't recognize.

But why? To hurt her? To move on? To forget? All of the above? It's been just a week, yet the differences are already evident. Wanda dreads to think how much more will change if she goes months without seeing you.

This isn’t going to be easy, and that’s putting it mildly. “Sorry for cornering you like this. You rarely return my calls and it’s been almost impossible to match our schedules,” Wanda admits.

You concentrate on chewing your food, trying to appear perfectly disinterested in what she’s saying. As you take another bite of your sandwich, Wanda studies her intently, looking for any fleeting sign of emotion, but there’s nothing there but a chilling detachment.

“Natasha told me you’re already talking to divorce lawyers,” she continues. She's woken up next to you for more than a decade; she’s not easily deterred by the display of indifference. “If you’re decided that it’s what you really want, then I’ll give it to you. I’ll cooperate.”

“Okay.”

Wanda notices the fleeting moment your eyes dart to her left ring finger before you quickly look away.

“I, uh, got something for you,” she says.

“No, thanks.”

Wanda’s heart sinks as you dismiss her before even knowing what it is. Determined, she pulls out the small ring box and places it on the table, feeling a pang in her chest. “But it belongs to you,” she murmurs.

“What’s this?”

“It’s your wedding ring,” she says, pointing out what you already know. Your expression darkens, frustrated that she misses the underlying meaning of your question—not about the ring itself, but rather its significance right now.

For a split second, Wanda harbored a fragile hope that seeing the ring might stir something within you.

But then you're shaking your head, beginning to say, “I don’t want—”

“I understand,” she says, her shoulders sagging as she leans back into the booth. “But I'm returning it to you, and I’m keeping mine. What you decide to do with it is up to you. However, holding onto it on your behalf isn't something I can do.”

The ring she slipped onto your finger five years ago held all her promises, all her devotion to you. So it hurt that you no longer accepted that, no longer recognized it as yours. And she didn't want to be the guardian of that pain anymore.

“Fine,” you say, reaching for the tiny box and Wanda releases a heavy sigh of relief.

“So, you've got your ring back, and I'll sign the divorce papers once they're drawn up,” she says, mustering all her courage for what she's going to say next. “And then, I'll come for you.”

She watches in surprise as you nearly spit out your coffee, a few droplets escaping past your lips. As you hurriedly reach for a napkin, Wanda can't help but offer a gentle smile, always finding your occasional clumsiness endearing even in the middle of breaking her heart.

Your wide-eyed stare meets hers, speechless.

Her smile fades slightly, replaced by a melancholic self-awareness. “I didn’t want to believe you when you told me that night that you hated me. But I guess that’s better than indifference.”

“I don't hate you, Wanda,” you say. She can tell you're telling the truth, and she smiles a little at that.

“You have no idea how much that means to me,” she laments. “Thank you.”

She takes a deep breath, knowing she needs to be clear, to lay everything on the table. “I’m not going to give up on you, Y/N. On us. What we have, and I’ve thought a lot about it, is something I’ll never find in another.”

“I’m not telling you this to get a reaction out of you,” she continues, “I know you’re not exactly thrilled at the idea of me pursuing you, but,” she falters, the first sign of her vulnerability. “This time, I want you to know everything. I don’t want you to be blindsided by my intentions, so I’m giving you a heads-up.”

“Wands,” you say, the nickname slipping effortlessly from your lips, and she has to fight the instinctual urge to reach for your hand across the table. “You can’t torture yourself like this.”

“I’m not,” she assures you. “I just refuse to give up on my dream.” She senses the skepticism in your eyes, and she can't blame you, not after everything that happened in the recent weeks. You’re my dream, Wanda had confidently and lovingly written in her vows. The memory of that day, with the weight of those words, is as vivid in your mind as it is in hers.

She's always been the type to hold onto what she loves, never letting go without a fight. But seeing the dark circles under your eyes, the sunken weight of your cheeks, she knows the very sight of her is taking a toll on you. And so, she’s leaving, for your sake.

“I'll see you soon,” Wanda says, getting up to leave. She hesitates for a moment, considering whether to go for your cheek, if you'll allow her. However, the lack of response from you pushes her to take small, shaky steps toward the door and out of the restaurant.

It isn’t over. Wanda’s made up her mind: she won't give up on you. Maybe she's the villain in this story; and hell, there's probably someone out there, all primed and polished, perfectly poised to love you without the scars and rough edges. Except, she doesn’t care, even if she knows she’ll be diving headfirst into the storm.

She swears that someday she'll be on her knees, asking you to marry her again.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x vision #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #my writing #category: angst #iss #my fic #wanda x reader #wanda x y/n #natasha romanoff #vision

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sepherinaspoppies · 21 days

Text

The One That Got Away

pairing: Dark! Book Aemond Targaryen x Modern! Reader

summary: After she escapes Aemond Targaryen, back home to the modern world her family decides to throw her an eventful baby shower where she is constantly being reminded of the father of her unborn child.

warnings: mentions of dark! book Aemond, mentions of forced marriage, and future spoilers to my main story.

wc: 4,864

main story masterlist

my masterlist

notes: this was supposed to be a small drabble lol but I got carried away lol. btw maybe this can be read as a stand alone but I do suggest to read the first two parts. this is a spoiler drabble so read if you must or come back to it when the story is finished!

gif by @gameofthronesdaily

As of late, she had begun to feel strange.

It was not the same ill feeling she felt when she first found out that Aemond Targaryen had knocked her up. No, this was different. Odd.

The closest she could describe it was multiple sets of eyes watching her every single move. From crossing the street, to walking to the mercado and perhaps even sitting on the toilet as she peed.

It was an unsettling feeling that blossomed into slight paranoia. Alys was the first to have warned her about this after she escaped. Saying she too felt something lingering by days after she fled Aemond and settled into the modern world but it was gone once Alys met her.

However, that strange feeling was always creeping around, never disappearing. And even though Alys had promised that Aemond would never find her with the many spells and seals she encircled around to protect her, she still didn’t feel quite so easily convinced.

Late at night, she would pray for that strange yet uncomfortable feeling to be gone and to never come back. But most importantly she prayed to the Gods for the very memory of him to vanish completely from her mind.

The Gods, nevertheless, didn’t seem to want to grant her daily prayers as cruelly as they were.

She was near the third trimester in her pregnancy when her primas Gabriela and Mariana decided to throw her a baby shower. While she was in no social or partying mood, considering her six month belly weighed her down every time she walked, she reluctantly gave in to their pleadings. (female cousins)

Mostly because she desperately needed the distraction.

So she let both Gabriela and Mariana organize the shower. Her only request was to keep the party small, with only her, her abuela, them and the rest of her primas and tias. Seeing as her extended family that resided deeper inside the pueblo, did not know about her pregnancy. And she wanted to keep it that way. (aunts, town)

But did Gabriela and Mariana ever listen? No.

The pair had practically invited half the town over with people she had never met before. It came as a huge surprise after she got done from her shift at Doña Maribel’s shop, just how many people showed up.

The whole street was filled with baby blue, pink, and white balloons with a huge banner with her name on it. Her neighbors, mostly the women, approached her with congratulations and a small gift. She, of course, thanked them for their kindness.

Meanwhile her tios happened to be making carne asada in the middle of the street and placing bets on the gender of her baby. If she wasn’t so paranoid about Aemond searching for her, she too would’ve also joined in on their bets. (uncles, roasted meat or barbecue lol)

Her primas were the first to greet her while eagerly showing the decorations they had made, the party games they had planned, and the many gifts she had been gifted.

“We made these little pins for the gender of the baby, and all of us are wearing what we think the little frijolito is going to be. Now it’s your turn to pick!” Gabriela says holding two pins, each adorned with a baby bottle with either pink or blue. (little bean)

She looked at both very hesitantly, unable to just pick one. She had heard stories from multiple customers that came from the shop, how they just knew the gender of their baby by the feel of their bump or mood symptoms.

After weeks of trying to feel something or to establish some type of connection for it, she sadly could not get a good feel of what it was.

Though, the only thing that did matter was for the little frijolito to be happy and healthy. When reading Fire and Blood, she remembered reading how Rhaenyra Targaryen had birthed a daughter with dragon-like birth defects and a scaled tail.

She prayed that she wouldn’t hatch an actual dragon as well. Birth sounded painful and unpleasant enough as it was.

She pinned both decorative pins to her shirt earning several dissatisfied ‘aw’s’ from her surrounding family.

“I’m pretty sure it’ll be a boy,” Her abuela added in, sitting adjacent to her on the small couch. “I carried five boys and my belly was as low as yours. When I carried your mama, my belly was higher and rounder from the sides.”

Some of her tias nodded in agreement. But it was her tia abuela, Dora, who examined her from head to toe, doing what she did best; stirring the pot. “Yes and her belly is very big which means it’ll be a tall baby. Tell me, hija, is the father a tall man?” (great aunt, daughter)

The room went impossibly quiet so much that she could hear a hair pin drop. She saw her abuela shift uncomfortably against the couch as so did the rest of her tias and primas. Although she had not mentioned who or what exactly happened to her family, they all had an inclination of what stemmed between the father of her unborn child and her.

“Yes. Yes he is.” She answered with a fake smile.

Dora raised an eyebrow, more than intrigued to know more. “¿Cuánto mide?” (what’s his height?)

In the corner of her eye, she saw her abuela give her sister a harsh look, the same one she’d give her when she was little whenever she did something wrong.

“I don’t know his exact height, tia. I just know he is a lot taller than me.” She informed, trying not to let her voice waver at the small flashback she had of Aemond, standing in front of her where he’d forced her to marry him against a Weirwood tree at Harrenhal. It was the first time she really took in his massive height. And it was also the first time she felt truly smaller and inferior than him.

You’re safe. You escaped. He’s gone. He’ll never find us.

Dora did not let her sister’s harsh stare get to her, and instead fixated her eyes on the way she kept rubbing her heavy bump. “Will we ever get a chance to meet him?-”

“Hermana,” Her abuela warned with a stricter and more stern tone to her voice. (sister)

“Que? I just want to know more about the father so I can figure out if the clothes I bought would be a right fit or not.” Dora shrugs, feigning an innocent look on her face. Though, it was transparent enough to know she was lying. (what?)

Truth to be told, she never really quite liked her tia abuela. No one ever did. Not even her mama or abuela or quite shockingly her own daughter. Dora was known to be a pretentious chismosa, sticking her nose into other people’s business and going as far as to twist people’s words for the sole purpose of her own enjoyment. (gossiper)

Multiple times her family called Dora out for her bad mouthing. But the older woman stuck around like a moth to a flame, awaiting for new chisme to spread. (gossip)

“Well, if the clothes don’t fit we can always buy new ones. So stop being a metida, hermana.” She watched amazed as her tia abuela only huffed, crossing her arms on her chest and for once kept quiet for the remainder of the party. (someone who is other’s business)

To dissipate away the eminent tension, Mariana had brought out custom baby shower tablas of loteria she and Gabriela had ordered from Etsy. She laughed at the ‘La Botella’ being replaced with a biberón and ‘La Sirena’ being replaced with a pair of lactating breasts that tia Diana joked it’ll soon look like hers whenever she’d give birth. (cards of the game loteria. The bottle. Baby bottle. The siren)

As per usual, they played with money involved. She had won seven rounds out of ten against her family and earned around five hundred pesos until her tios decided to join in and tried to defeat her. Keyword, tried. But they never did and pinned four hundred more pesos to her dress. All five of her tios had playfully cursed her out as they kept drinking their Coronas.

“Alyssandra, bienvenida!” Her abuela welcomed a bashful looking Alys holding a gift. The green eyed woman wore an all black outfit, jeans that Alys had once confessed to her were her favorite stylish invention of the modern world (besides non toxic makeup). (welcome)

“I hope I’m not too late for the celebration,” Alys pointed out, taking a seat in front of her. “You kept my nieta safe those many months ago, you’re always welcomed here at any time, Alyssandra.” (granddaughter)

Safe.

She let out a humorous laugh. Safe was the opposite of what Alys had done to her. Kidnapped and held hostage was a better fit for words. She had been magically transported to a world she only knew existed in a book, and met one of her favorite book characters, Aemond Targaryen. A man who she thought to be a kindhearted friend by promising to return her back to her universe.

Instead Aemond Targaryen had betrayed her trust and loyalty by destroying what she needed to get back home. Thus forcing her to marry him. It was then when she realized who he truly was hidden behind empty promises; a man who was crazy and obsessed with her.

And everything had happened for a stupid sapphire that held a high sentimental value to Alys.

Alys narrowed her eyes from where she sat but suddenly softened when she saw the permanent bruises on her wrists where Aemond had tied her down for their intense wedding night.

Multiple times did Alys apologize for sending her to the arms of a delusional man. From what Alys remembered, Aemond didn’t go as far as bounding her whenever they slept together. Alys had let Aemond take his pleasure with a feign smile ultimately to play her game of survival.

She didn’t quite so easily forgive Alys and she doesn’t think she’d ever will.

“I still am sorry for what I did.” Alys’ voice softly wandered on her head.

“I know,” She replied back through her mind.

As the day turned into night, it was finally time to open gifts. However, not without having cake, her abuela brought out a delicious looking chocoflan. A cake she previously loved but thanks to Aemond, she no longer was fond of it.

Her abuela cut the biggest slide for her and the little frijolito and called out the rest of the family to come have a slice. In an instant the chocoflan was gone but her abuela secretly whispered to her that she had more in the fridge saved just only for her.

It took her over an hour to unwrap the stack of gifts she received and she was grateful for the many boxes of diapers as they would come utterly in handy. She’d been gifted a dark green crochet hat with matching mittens from her abuela, a pair of red mal de ojo bracelets for spiritual protection from tia Imelda, a mini thick cobija Mexicana from tio Eduardo, and several gender neutral clothes. (evil eye, mexican blanket)

It was Alys’ gift that made everyone’s head turn in confusion.

“They are scrolls. I found them as I was cleaning my bookshelf and I thought they might be useful to your babe,” Alys explained as she fully opened one of them, revealing hieroglyphics and scriptures in a language she didn’t understand.

“What’s… High Valyrian?” Mariana asked ever so curious, over her shoulder.

Alys interrupted her before she had a chance to speak. “It is a language originating from the land of Old Valyria.”

Her youngest prima Sofia’s eyes lit up in interest, “Oh cool! Is it like the Sith language from Star Wars?”

It was Alys’ turn to look at the young Star Wars fan in befuddlement. “What’s Star Wars?”

Sofia scoffed in shock and explained in full detail what the fictional universe that was Star Wars. Well at least she hoped it was fictional. At this point, if Luke Skywalker was real in another universe or in a galaxy far, far away she wouldn’t be astonished. Though, if the opportunity presented itself, she wouldn’t mind traveling to that world to meet Anakin Skywalker. If the real Anakin Skywalker looked anything like Hayden Christensen, within a heartbeat she’d run to Alys to do one of her spells.

“Who are the Targaryens?” Gabriela questioned reading one of the scrolls that had a list of Valyrian houses.

“Nobody.” She sharply replied, starting to feel somewhat vexed.

“They are the people who descended from Old Valyria and speak High Valyrian. They are the only ones who can read these scrolls-”

One flesh. One heart. One soul.

“Alys.”

“They sound magical,” Sofia replied, full of awestruck. Only if she knew that they were more than just that.

“Why did you say that these scrolls would be useful to the baby? Is the baby part Targaryen or something?” Mariana jokes, making her family more intrigued by the edge of their seats.

“Can’t have my seed go to waste, my love. You shall swell with my child soon enough. A perfect babe born from our love.”

Stop. No more. You are safe. He’ll never come. This is your baby more than it is his.

“You are mine. You’ll never leave me…”

“Hija?” She heard her abuela call out her name as she broke out in a run.

She wanted to get out, every second that she was there, being reminded of the man who impregnated her made her feel nauseous. Maybe it was because of the frijolito or just pure fear. She didn’t know, but either way it was a feeling she didn’t want to have.

She did not spare anyone a glance, not wishing for anyone to see the panic and wretchedness.

“I love you.”

In an instant, she grabbed the nearest thing she could find and emptied out her stomach until Aemond’s voice stopped circulating in her head.

“Are you okay?” A soft voice spoke behind her.

She turned around seeing a man around her age, tall with black hair and dark brown eyes. His hand extended a red solo cup that he softly murmured was water.

She nodded, easing the worry on his face. “Yea just a little sick is all.” The worrisome never faltered on his face, if anything he looked more concerned. “There’s some gelatina inside, I could grab you a plate? When my sisters were pregnant all they ate was gelatina to ease the nausea.” (gelatin aka jell-o)

“No it’s fine, I’ll-” He waved her off, sprinting inside before she could even finish. He brought a small plate of gelatina de limon to an empty table, motioning for her to sit. (lime flavored gelatin)

He watched intently as she took a few bites into the gelatina, humming when the color came back to her face. She sure did feel better, small little kicks to her belly confirmed that the frijolito felt the same.

“Better?” The dark haired man asked.

“Yes, thank you.” She nodded, giving him a soft smile.

“I’m not sure if you remember me. I’m Armando,” He bashfully confessed with a tint of pink on his cheeks.

Of course she most definitely remembered him. The boy next door she had a huge crush on when she was little. Only that he was not so little now.

“I do remember you. It still feels like just yesterday when we were sitting here on these tables eating the paletas de hielo after school.” She smiled fondly at the memory. Unbeknownst to her Armando would use the money his parents would give him for school lunch, to buy their paletas de hielo just so he could spend more time with her. It was his favorite part of the day. (popsicles)

Armando laughed as he too looked back at the memory. “I would’ve come a lot sooner to catch up. But I had some business to do in Oaxaca and Merida. I wasn’t sure if you’d remember me since it's been more than thirteen years but I needed to see you just once more before I left.”

A part of her felt touched that he had come all this way, and the drive she knew wasn’t easy. “I’m surprised you remembered me,” She quipped back.

“Who would ever forget you?”

It was her turn to bright pink. She couldn’t find any right words, but what could anyone say? Armando’s confession had been honest. Since she had left al otro lado, there hadn’t been a day where he wouldn’t stop thinking about her. (to the other side/ the states)

She decided to briefly change the subject instead. “I see that you didn’t change your mind about going to Oaxaca after all these years.” For as long as she could remember, Armando more than often would say that he wanted to live in Oaxaca, especially near the coast. What she also didn’t know was that it was her who he wanted to live there with.

“No I didn’t. I’m building a house there since my papa left me some terreno there after he passed away. You should come visit after it’s finished, soon.” Armando sincerely hoped she would. (land)

Aquí vas a terminar de enamorarte conmigo. He thought to himself. (here you are going to end up falling in love with me)

The idea of going to Oaxaca sounded not so bad. But traveling with a big and heavy belly sounded tiring and draining. Perhaps after she’d given birth when the baby was past its infancy.

“I leave in four days and I’d like to see you again. Or perhaps you wanna come with me?” The dark haired man asked, quirking a brow.

“So what do you think of Armando?” Her abuela slyly probed, after she’d just given her goodbye to Armando. She should have known her abuela would be closely watching their interaction. “He’s gotten taller,” She jokes with a playful look on her face. Her abuela rolled her eyes, “You know that’s not what I mean.”

She knows what she means but the talk of men was not something she wished to continue further. If she had met Armando first rather than Aemond, she definitely wouldn’t mind the conversation. But yet, Aemond had been thrown into her path unwelcomed.

“When you left for the states with your mama, Armando would ask everyday when you were coming back or any news of you. We thought he’d eventually get the hint that you were gone for good but that boy still asked about you. It wasn’t until your abuelo finally broke the news to him that he stopped coming here.”

She remembered that day when she left, her mama barely gave her time to say her goodbyes.

“He seems to be doing alright.” She pointed out, picking up dirty plates to place them inside the sink. “Oh, he’s doing better than alright. He got offered a position to work at a law firm in Oaxaca and his mama told me he’s also building a house over there. I heard it’s beautiful and spacious.” At the last sentence her abuela wiggles her brows, teasing.

She hummed in acknowledgement, knowing where the conversation was going towards. “Good for him.” Although Armando gave her a sense of kindness and genuinity, she was in no way ready to be involved with someone romantically. Aemond, too, seemed kind at first until he had betrayed her trust and went completely haywire and delusional. He had shown her a different side to him once she figured out their well thought out plan to transport her back home, was all a lie to get her to marry him and never leave.

Aemond and Alys both shattered that illusion of the fairytale love she wished to have.

What’s not to say Armando had an evil and dark side to him as well?

“El es un buen hombre con un muy buen corazón, tiene trabajo estable. Te lo digo para que lo pienses,” Her abuela advised, gently squeezing her forearm, “A house like the one he’s building, deserves a family to live in.” (he is a good man with a good heart, he has a stable job. I say this so you can think about it)

Her abuela’s eyes then trailed to her swollen pregnant belly. “One must make sacrifices that we don’t always want or agree with for our children.”

The party began to slowly falter close to ten, she never was one for sleeping early but after such a long day she and the frijolito needed much necessary beauty sleep.

Although her abuela said she’d clean, she ended up doing it herself as cleaning gave her a sense of control and some therapy clear of anxiety. She went ahead and took all the gifts up to her bedroom where it was much more quiet and alone amidst others.

She plopped herself down on the bed, opening a small bottle of lavender oil to rub to her belly that Doña Maribel suggested was good for calming stretch marks. She did not mind them, she knew it was natural for her body to expand to fit the babe, but what did bother her was the itchiness to it.

Not only did the oil soothe itch, but the frijolito loved it when she would firmly massage the spot where it rested. She once massaged the side of her belly only to find out the dragonling was ticklish there.

She nearly screamed when she heard two loud knocks at her door, revealing a certain black haired witch.

“Mind if I come in?” Alys asked, her head popping inside the little crevice of the door. As much as she wanted to be alone, she muttered a simple yes. Alys made herself comfortable by plopping down to the left of her on the bed.

“I wanted to apologize for what happened earlier, I was out of line to give you those scrolls in the presence of your family.” Alys admitted, her enchanting face etched with sincerity.

She sighed, “You were. I have a feeling my family will ask me more questions about it.”

Alys made a face that suggested she was thinking about something, “I could always make them forget it. Just say the words and I’ll do it.” Alys promised.

“No, no more magic or anything of what I used to think was fictional. I mean it Alys, I don't want to ever think of Aemond Targaryen.”

Alys understood what she meant, after her version of Aemond died at the Battle Above the Gods Eye, she too didn’t want to think of him. The only thing that mattered was her son, her beautiful little boy that was taken too soon. She regretted not saving him sooner and transporting him to this new world she found. Alys had a feeling that he’d love it here, this country full of colors and great food.

Even if Alys could bring him back from the dead, her son’s body resided in the Riverlands.

“What if…” Alys thought before continuing, “What if I could take the memories away? Just the ones of him and-”

“Forgetting doesn’t change what happened,” She bickered a little too loudly causing the babe to stir and kick all around.

“I know, I’m sorry.”

Alys began to admire the many gifts she’d been given, never in her life had she seen so many boxes that read to be diapers. She had only used scraps of linen she’d find lying around and cleaned it when her son did his business. Disposable diapers sounded less work but the thought of the amount of waste in this world seemed unappealing and would much rather keep the scraps of linen.

“This isn’t really your thing, is it?” Alys motioned her head to the side where her window was, her family still celebrating outside with the whole neighborhood.

“Not really. This whole thing was organized by my primas and tios. But now that I look back on it I think this was an excuse for my family to throw a party and drink,” She chuckles, even more when she sees her tios, Mario and Pedro dancing together (most likely drunk) to an uncoordinated cumbia.

Alys also lets out a chuckle of agreement, “Your tio Chema kept giving me Coronas after Coronas. I’m amazed that I’m not drunk.”

She smiles, knowing damn well tio Chema loves to get anyone drunk. He’d even pour an ounce to the dog’s kibble too if he could.

“But you are quite lucky you know,” Alys turns to her with a solemn look in her forest green eyes. “To have a family who loves you so much enough to throw you a grand celebration for the babe that you carry.” All that Alys got in return was being called a whore when she was far enough to show. Of course, Aemond hadn’t been one of those people. He rejoiced when she first told him months after he took her as his bedmate.

“I didn’t.” Alys shrugged. Even though she despised touch, she placed her hand on top of Alys’ and gave it a squeeze. Alys’ eyes began to incite with tears at the gesture, but she quickly shrugged the feeling off.

“This isn’t about me, this is about you. I know you said no more Westeros talk but I’ve been meaning to give you this for a while now and I wish not to keep it anymore.” Alys placed a medium sized box on her lap. Whatever was inside had some weight into it.

“You already gave me a gift, Alys-” She declines but the older witch shakes her head and gestures for her to open it.

She unwraps the green ribbon and opens the top of the box, revealing some kind of oval shaped rock. The color was a mixture of teal and violet, its edges were rough and scaled to the touch.

It was not just some rock. It was an egg.

“Please tell me this isn’t what I think it is, Alys.” She murmured anxiously, distancing herself from the object. Alys proudly smiled, “If you assume this is a dragon egg, then yes you’re correct.”

She immediately places the dragon egg back in the box, afraid of the little thing hatching in a world that it isn’t supposed to be hatched. “You can’t just give me a dragon egg! What if this thing hatches? Dragons aren’t-” She babbled before she was rudely interrupted.

“Relax, I have enchanted it into a stone. It will not hatch here, I made sure of it.” Alys reassured, placing the egg back onto her hands.

Still startled, she shook her head. “Nope, I can’t accept this Alys.” She gave the egg back. If anyone were to walk in it’d look like they were playing a game of hot potato.

“Yes you can and you will. Besides, it’s not like it’s for you; it’s for the babe.”

She narrowed her eyes, it was still a dragon egg. “How did you even get a dragon’s egg anyways?”

Alys sighs, sitting back down on the bed taking a trip down memory lane. “My version of Aemond gave it to me. After I told him I was with child he made sure to give me one of Dreamfyre’s eggs. Though, Aemond died shortly after and it did not hatch. My son however, was sad about it but I knew if it hatched Aegon the Younger would send his men to either kill it or to take it for himself since his own dragon died. So I kept the egg for myself.”

She still had many more questions to ask but for now it would suffice. She walked to the crib that she purchased not too long ago and placed the teal-violet egg next to some dragon plushies she knew the frijolito would like.

“Thank you Alys,” She told Alys with a smile before releasing a long tired yawn.

Alys nodded, grabbing her purse, another fashionable invention she loved from this world, deciding to give the young girl some rest. She suddenly came to a stop at her bedroom door.

“You know, you deserve happiness. I believe that young boy with the curls will give you and your babe just that. Give him a chance, take that risk and follow him.”

With that Alys left.

Four days later, she knocked at Armando’s door with her belongings in her hands and left with him to Oaxaca. A month later, they both married in a small Catholic church next to their families. True to Alys’ and her abuela’s words, she was happy with Armando.

Unbeknownst to her, her true husband had been watching through the flames.

“Oh, my love it seems like you have forgotten who you belong to. Fret not, you will learn soon enough.”

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#prince aemond #aemond fanfic #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd fanfic #aemond one eye #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x you #dark aemond x reader

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idkwhatever580 · 1 month

Text

More than you’ll ever know

[{pairings: Natasha romanoff x reader}]

{prompt- Natasha comes home from a long mission to find y/n curled up in her hoodie.}

(she/her pronouns I might use they/them in the mix as well. Just whatever I write lol)

[|warnings~ cursing probably. Tad bit of angst not a lot but lots of fluff|]

An; I actually hope this turns out good bc idk what to do if y’all hate it. It’s probably gonna be cringey but I live for that anyways sooo hope y’all enjoy!

————————————————————————————————————————

Nobody’s pov?

Natasha walks into her room and sets her duffel bag down on the floor with a sigh. She immediately looks around for her girlfriend and frowns.

“What the fuck?” She mumbles tiredly.

She takes a good look at her room and sees everything a mess. Trash and clothes everywhere. The sheets are a stray and the floor is covered in dirty laundry. Natasha huffs.

All she wanted was to come home from her week long mission to her girlfriend and the least she expected was a clean room.

She quickly realizes that y/n isn’t in their room and she decides to leave the cleaning for later and switches over to the task of finding her beloved.

She steps into the hallway and says “Friday? Where is y/n/n”

“Mrs. Y/n is in the third floor lounge room ma’am.” The ai quickly replies.

She mumbles a quick thank you and starts her trek to find her girlfriend.

Natasha steps in the elevator and Friday already knows where she wants to go so it starts moving. Natasha stretches her aching muscles a bit and the bell dings.

She steps out to find the lounge in a similar state as their room except for there is a mound of blankets on the couch. She smiles knowing that the amount of blankets y/n uses is unreasonable but cute.

She silently walks to y/n’s pile and slowly uncovers her one layer at a time.

Y/n’s Pov

I am sleeping in the lounge and I feel my blankets being torn away from me.

Okay maybe torn is a bit dramatic but hey I am the girl I’ve always been.

I quickly grab the hand that is above my face to stop them from touching me. Although my eyes are closed I grip their wrist tightly and say,

“If you so dare say one word I’ll have Natasha beat your ass when she gets home”

I hear a familiar chuckle and my eyes open widely and I see my girlfriend. I immediately jump over the edge of the couch into her arms and she says,

“Are you gonna make me beat myself up?”

I glare at her as I pull away from the embrace and then I look around and finally realize how bad it’s gotten.

Usually whenever Natasha leaves I can handle myself but sometimes my mental health gets worse and I find myself unable to get out of bed. So that’s where this has gotten me.

I look at Natasha and she has a concerned look on her face and she says,

“Детка, what’s all this?”

I suddenly break and tears start welling up. I feel awful for having her come home to a depressed mess like me. I quickly try to give her an explanation.

“I don’t know! I- I just stopped picking things up and then next thing I know it’s a whole depression room”

I hide myself in her neck and a few tears fall, but she comforts me and says,

“Oh, Детка, you always know you can ask anybody in the compound for help. Don’t just lock yourself up. Come on. Let’s go to our room and get you in a bath.”

I look down and nod my head. Instead of making me walk she carries me like a koala and I hang onto her tightly.

She gets a bath running and helps me in and then I say,

“You’re not getting in with me?”

She smiles and looks down at me and says,

“I’m gonna do something really quickly okay? I’ll be right back just relax.”

I pout but nod my head nevertheless knowing she probably has to go give some paperwork to Nick or something like that.

After about 10 minutes she comes back in and I smile at her.

“You’re such a cutie”

I say to her. She sits down on the toilet next to me and smiles and says,

“I’m the cutie?”

I nod my head and explain further,

“You’re so baby girl. Like. Just cutie pie.”

Natasha chuckles a bit. Oh god. How her laugh makes me blush. Even after two years of dating she never fails to give me butterflies.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been called cute before… most people would say that I’m quite the opposite.”

I pout at her words and quickly quip,

“Well then, I guess most people don’t know you and that’s literally so tragic because if I never met you I don’t know what I’d do.”

She smiles at me and says,

“Why don’t we get you out and let’s watch some movies?”

I hum and get out. She helps me dry off even though I protest she doesn’t let me do it myself, so I just let her do her own thing.

She gets me my favorite pjs and we go to the room and I freeze.

Everything is gone and cleaned. All the trash. All the clothes. I look to Natasha and say,

“Did you do this?”

She shrugs her shoulders and says,

“Maybe I did. Maybe I didn’t.”

I roll my eyes and give her a kiss on the cheek. We get into the bed with fresh sheets on them and I immediately cuddle into her side. She goes for the remote and I shake my head and say,

“I just wanna lay here with you. No tv. No nothing. Just us”

She smiles and nods her head and says,

“I like that idea. I love you.”

I smile and kiss her softly. Deliberately avoiding saying ‘I love you’ back to her knowing it’s a pet peeve.

She pouts and I find it so cute and she says,

“Say I love you back.”

I look at her and say,

“Why?”

She fake gasps and says,

“You have to if you love me! Do you not love me?”

I shrug my shoulders and say,

“Maybe I do. Maybe I don’t.”

She pouts at me using her words against her and she says,

“You’re mean.”

I look at her and decide to be nice again so I say,

“And you’re the smartest, kindest, most loving, cutest, person on this earth. I love you so so much more than you’ll ever know.”

She blushes and smiles at me. I look at her and say,

“I’m sleepy”

Then as if on queue, a big yawn comes out from me, and Natasha giggles a bit. She snuggles closer to me if that’s even possible and says,

“Sleep baby. You’ll need your energy for tomorrow”

I groan when I remember that Natasha and I are training together. I’ve gotten out of training with everyone else this past week knowing they’d never make me do anything since Natasha romanoff is my girlfriend, but she won’t let it slide.

I decide to worry about it tomorrow and just focus on the fact that my baby is home and all is well in the world. Even if it isn’t.

——————————————————————————

An: I hope y’all like it! It’s a bit long but I couldn’t find a good place to finish it. And I wanted to add more lol. Please please please leave some constructive criticism for me lol. I need to work on my writing I’m sure. And feel free to leave requests anywhere :)))

#fanfic #avengers #marvel #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff

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tip-top-cloud-surfer · 1 year

Text

I'll Carry You - Hangman

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin / Fem!Reader (Wife!Reader)

Word Count: 0.9k

Warnings: Third Person POV Focused on Hangman; Fem!Reader - only description is that the reader is a woman; No use of Y/N

This work, all of my other works, and my entire blog are 18+ Only.

Summary: Hangman and his wife attend a naval ball. When her shoes give her blisters, Hangman ensures that she gets back to the car comfortably.

A.N. Disclaimer - I've never been to a naval ball, but it just works as the setting of the story. Sorry for any inaccuracies.

Master List

Naval balls were always long nights full of humorous fun and a lot of naval politics, which Jake both enjoyed and detested. If he wasn’t so intent upon climbing up the ladder as quickly as possible, he wouldn’t have cared for any of it.

But luckily, Jake had his wonderful wife by his side the whole night to help him keep his sanity.

Jake had no trouble selling himself—he never had that problem, as anyone who knew him would have pointed out—but his wife knew how to rein him in. She pinched him when he was supposed to simply shut up. She always managed to soften his edges and smooth out his more abrasive tendencies, which many people pointed out.

It was their first naval ball as a married couple and well, if Jake wasn’t allowed to brag about his career, he was going to brag about his wife.

Her dress drew compliments from the admiral’s wives and eyes from some of the younger men in uniform. But Jake stuck to his wife’s side like glue and he was never shy about wrapping his arm firmly around her as a metaphorical middle finger to the horny boys who seemed to think that they could just stare at her and Jake wouldn’t notice.

And as for the starers from his squadron, some of them would be doing extra pushups tomorrow.

And of course, the newlyweds had fight off several questions about when a little Seresin would be joining them like they were Olympic fencers. And his wife always seemed to be able to sense the question coming because the number of times that she pulled his drink away from his lips right before someone asked some version of it was scarily high.

Jake had to commend his wife for her composure that night. He knew that she wasn’t exactly the most social person, but she put up a calm smile and chatted politely just the same.

And even when the captain that Jake was trying to butter up mispronounced her name three times, she never dropped her wide ‘work’ smile. It wasn’t her usual smile, the smile that she shot him when they danced or he pulled her just a little closer into his side.

But Jake could see his wife’s work smile dimming and the exhaustion setting in her eyes.

Jake gently grabbed his wife’s hand and rubbed his thumb along her own. He also had a sneaking suspicion that her shoes were uncomfortable based on the weird stutter she started to walk with. And so, even though he knew that some of the other aviators gunning for the same promotion that he was were going out to the bar to sweet talk the brass, he had other priorities.

“Thank you for talking with me, sir. But I’m afraid we’ll have to excuse ourselves for the night,” Hangman stated politely.

“Of course, of course,” the captain replied with a kind. Jake felt his wife’s hand press on his back just as the captain added, “Off to relieve the babysitter?”

“No, just need to check on the dogs, sir,” Jake lied, forcing his usual work smile.

They didn’t have a dog waiting for them back home but the captain didn’t need to know that. And it was just an easier response that ended the conversation on a faster note.

“Oh, of course. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, Hangman. And it was nice meeting you, Mrs. Seresin.”

“It was nice meeting you as well, Captain,” she responded with a kind nod.

Jake squeezed his wife’s hand and led her over to the Dagger table to say goodbye to everyone. And after several hugs of goodbye, the Seresins finally walked out of the event space. Once they were out of view of the vestibule, Jake led his wife over to one of the benches.

“Sit,” Jake urged her despite her confused expression.

But when he reached down for her ankle, she quickly put the pieces together. Smiling softly, she leaned back and rested her body weight on her hands.

“How did you know?” she asked softly as he undid the strap on one of her shoes.

“You were walking funny. And leaning on me more than usual,” Jake replied, pulling off her shoe and reaching for the other. “You could have just told me.”

“I know. But it’s hardly the first pair of shoes that have given me blisters before.”

“Still,” Jake stated, placing her shoes on the bench beside her, “tell me next time when it hurts.”

“I will,” she promised softly as Jake stood up. She glanced out at the parking lot as she straightened up herself. “Should I really be walking through the parking lot barefoot, though?”

“Who said that you were walking?”

“Jake, you really don’t have to carry me,” she insisted, shaking her head. “I’m fine. I’ll just put my shoes back on in a second.”

“It’s not like it’s the first time that I’ve ever carried you,” Jake pointed out, causing his wife to sigh.

“Just don’t drop me,” she replied, standing up.

With practiced ease, she bunched up her dress a bit and climbed up onto his back. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders as Jake hooked his arms underneath her knees. Once he was sure that she was secure on his back, Jake leaned over to grab her shoes and turned for the parking lot.

His wife rested her head on top of his own and pulled off his hat so that she could press a proper kiss to the top of his head.

“You’re such a showoff, Seresin,” she murmured, running her hand through his soft hair.

“And you love it, Seresin,” he shot right back at her with a grin.

#top gun: maverick #top gun maverick #hangman top gun #hangman x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin imagine #hangman fanfiction #hangman fluff #jake seresin #hangman x wife!reader

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ihavemanyhusbands · 10 months

Text

The Black Kaiser's Nightmare

Duncan Vizla x Assassin!FemReader

A/N: Shout out to beelmons and G for their endless support and help with my fics <3 :') where would I be without y'all?

Summary: You run into your long-time nemesis in the last place you ever expected, but things take a turn for the worst when you find yourself stuck with him during a snowstorm.

WC: 7.2k words

Warnings: SMUT! (18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI), enemies to lovers speedrun into the bed, mentions and depictions of violence, fighting, accidental assassination of a third party, some serious bickering, abundant cursing, rough sex (unprotected, don't do it at home!), choking, very light knifeplay, dirty talk, slight degradation mixed with some praise, rampant sexual tension, ooey gooey lovesick fools who are just SO SO STUBBORN, I think that's it but lmk if I missed anything!

You are responsible for your own media consumption!

----

Triple Oak, Montana.

It’d been a while since you’d last found yourself in such a quaint little town, especially in the middle of winter, but you supposed you’d been in way worse places. It was barely even on the map, which made it a convenient place to lay low.

You didn’t have to worry about interacting with many people, and you sure as hell didn’t think you’d encounter anyone you knew. At least for the time being, you felt like you could relax just a little bit while you made plans.

In a few more days, you’d continue driving north and cross the Canadian border into Saskatchewan, where you were meant to carry out your next assignment. Your target was a skeevy arms dealer that had to move his whole operation out of Serbia and was now shacked up somewhere in the vast prairies.

You’d been tracking his activity for some time, slowly narrowing down the list of possible locations. You’d also scored some insider information about a big upcoming transaction with a terrorist cell, and your goal was to get to him before the sale was finalized.

Successfully eliminating him would pay handsomely, and you were already planning on a months-long vacation in which you’d go fully off the radar. Preferably somewhere by the beach, where you didn’t feel the constant threat of frostbite.

You pulled into a small gas station — the only one to be found in a long stretch of the highway between the town and more secluded cabins — and occupied one of the three measly pumps. There was only one other old pickup truck next to you, but the owner was nowhere to be seen.

You blew hot air into your hands as you walked into the convenience store, eager for some coffee despite how shitty it was.

“Hey Lou,” you said to the now familiar attendant, the little bell above the door ringing as you pushed in. “How’s it goin’?”

“Eh, slow, the usual,” he shrugged. “At least it’s decently warm in ‘ere. They say there’s gonna be a snowstorm over the weekend, starting tonight.”

“Shit, really?” You groaned, not only because you loathed the freezing temperatures, but because it would set you back by a few more days.

“Yup, perfect time to cozy up with the missus back at home.”

You poured yourself a large cup of black coffee and snapped the lid on top. On the way back to the register, you grabbed a couple of magazines and a pack of Ding-Dongs to eat on the road.

“Well, lucky you,” you said, putting everything on the counter. “I gotta find ways to keep myself busy and warm in case I lose power.”

As you spoke, the door to the restroom opened behind you and a tall, rugged-looking man stepped out. His eyes instinctively flickered between the two of you, even if he couldn’t see your face. He lingered close to the back, trying not to bring attention to himself.

“You sure you’ll be good all by yourself out there?” Lou asked. “Enough supplies and all?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. I can take care of myself,” you said, fishing cash out of your wallet. “Give me thirty on number two, also.”

“You got it, tough gal.”

You chuckled as he rang you up, glancing outside. The man behind you tensed, gripped with the dread that came with sudden recognition. Your voice was one he knew well, the very same one he’d heard all seventeen times he’d almost died. Well, eighteen if he counted that one brief altercation in Belfast.

And that laugh… How many times had it been directed at him? Taunting him, teasing him, driving him utterly mad.

It was perhaps the only thing that stopped him from actually getting rid of you that one night you slept so soundly at some shoddy little hotel in Madrid. He’d watched your chest's steady rise and fall from his spot in the darkness, and he just couldn’t bring himself to do it.

And now he’d most likely have to pay for the consequences of his mercy.

Lou looked over your shoulder at him, but you didn’t immediately notice since you were absently flipping through one of the magazines.

“Need anything else, Duncan?” He offered. “Pack of Winstons?”

Your skin prickled at these two very familiar details, but you didn’t move, still staring down at the magazine without actually reading. It was probably a mere coincidence. Really, there had to be dozens of Duncans in the world that just so happened to smoke Winstons.

But then, a very particular smell reached your nose — cheap cologne you didn’t know the name of, with strikingly bitter notes that had flooded your nostrils when his hands were tightly wrapped around your neck.

You glanced up at the fisheye mirror above the register… and there he fucking was, in all his deadly glory. The Black Kaiser himself.

You couldn’t help an amused huff, especially after hearing the faintest rustle of a knife being unsheathed under his coat.

“Are you sure you want to stab me with that, old man?” You said slowly over your shoulder.

“Less impersonal than a gun. I owe you that much, don’t I?” he said with that deep, gravelly voice of his that always made a stubborn tingle form at the base of your spine.

Your hand just barely inched towards the hidden holster of your gun. “Oh, but you know I get a little crazy when the knives come out.”

Lou looked between the two of you, confusion and a tinge of fear in his eyes.

“Uh, you two know each oth—”

Before he could finish his sentence, you whirled around and shot Duncan’s head. He ducked, but not before hurling a large knife at you in return. You dove out of the way, hearing it whizz right past your ear, and it sank into Lou’s forehead with a wet thud. His body slumped behind the counter, blood spraying over the stuff you’d intended to buy.

“Hey!” You yelled from your hiding spot. “I didn’t even get my change back!”

“You’re not gonna need it anymore,” he said gruffly, his voice not too far from you. “But before that… want to tell me what the fuck you’re doing here?”

“I could ask you the same,” you said, glancing up at the fisheye mirror once more.

Unfortunately for you, you couldn’t get a very good look at where he was, but you couldn’t stay put. You slowly began to inch to the end of the aisle, staying low. “Let me guess, you missed me so much these last three years that you decided to hunt me down.”

He scoffed. “Three years was not nearly long enough time away from you.”

You dove around the corner to the next aisle, but he wasn’t there. You started pulling yourself forward, but suddenly you were flipped onto your back. You were about to whip your gun around, but it was harshly knocked out of your grasp, sliding against the linoleum. You thrashed against the weight that pressed down on you, but he pinned your hands down beside your head.

“Who sent you?” He asked.

“No one sent me, you paranoid geezer!” You sneered, driving your knee up full force right into his crotch. “Not everything’s about you.”

He growled at the pain, swaying to the side, his grip on your hands relaxing. You pushed him off of you, scrambling to get to your gun. Right as you managed to get a hold of it, he was on you again, pulling you back by the legs. You tried twisting around all the way, firing another shot semi-blindly. It narrowly missed his shoulder, shattering one of the windows.

“Can’t kill me without paralyzing me, eh, little Nightmare?” He taunted.

“Oh, you’d like that wouldn’t you?”

You swallowed a scream as he stepped on the hand you held your weapon with, his heavy boot cracking your wrist. Your fingers splayed involuntarily due to the pain, and he bent down to take the gun. He kept it pointed at you as he removed his boot from your wrist and grabbed your arm.

“You’re coming with me,” he stated, starting to pull you up.

“Like hell I am!” You spat, but you froze as you felt the barrel pressed against the back of your head.

“You were saying?”

He dragged you to your feet, leading you through the broken window, glass crunching under your boots. The wind seemed icier than it had been when you first arrived, which made you remember Lou’s warning about a snowstorm.

There was no way in hell you’d be stuck with him during it, so you’d have to find a way to weasel out of his grasp… and kill him in the process.

He led you towards his truck, but you pretended to trip at the last second, bending down and retrieving a knife you had hidden in your boot. You stabbed backward, aiming for his femoral artery, but he moved and the knife stabbed into his thigh muscle instead.

“Motherfucker,” he hissed through clenched teeth, but he didn’t let go of you, tightening his grip on your arm. He fired off a warning shot into the air, which made you flinch a little. “Try me again and I won’t hesitate to put the next bullet through your thick fucking skull. I only have so much patience.”

He shoved you into the passenger seat of the truck, managing to tie you up with the seatbelt. Your bound hands were still slick with his blood, and you smiled triumphantly at him as he slid into the driver’s seat, immediately peeling out of the gas station.

“This is what gets you hard, isn’t it?” you said, raising an eyebrow at him. “You’re kind of a sick fuck, old man… but I didn’t expect any better from you.”

He said nothing, instead momentarily glaring at you. He grunted as he pulled the knife out of his leg, tossing it out of the window. You grumbled about him owing you a knife, but he continued to ignore you. He drove mostly in silence, winding through the icy roads as he gripped his wounded leg with one hand.

So far, it had been one of your tamest encounters. Really, it had all sort of felt like a game, but neither of you had won quite yet. After all, a game such as this could not be left unfinished.

Usually, the circumstances were vastly different. Your respective agencies had assigned you the same target a couple of times, and it always turned into a competition on who would finish the job first. As it turned out, the two of you were very competitive.

You’d left plenty of souvenirs on each other every single time you crossed paths – broken bones, an assortment of scars, and bruises as dark as the midnight sky. You wondered vaguely how much more damage you might make by the end of the day.

Why neither of you had succeeded in killing each other was… a bit of a mystery. Maybe he saw something in you that reminded him of himself, or perhaps he was growing soft with age. He would never admit it, but he’d had plenty of fun in this deadly dance with you so far, and it seemed a shame to let it come to its conclusion so soon.

He’d have to do it though, after some thorough interrogation.

Soon enough, he pulled up a long gravel road hidden among the tall pine trees. In the clearing ahead, you saw what you supposed was his cabin. It was modestly sized and a little dilapidated, but at least it seemed to be sturdy enough to withstand harsh conditions.

“Nice place,” you said sarcastically. “I don’t suppose you have many visitors?”

“Rarely,” he said without looking at you. “I like the quiet. No one’s going to bother us here.”

“You mean no one’s gonna come running when you scream?”

He grunted, readjusting his position in his seat. You were mostly tied up at the arms so your legs had some room to move. Rookie mistake on his part, which you would definitely take advantage of.

Before he could pull up in front of the actual cabin, you leaned back and kicked at the steering wheel. The truck swerved to the right, throwing you against the window. He tried to correct it on time, slamming on the brakes, but the snow made it careen right into a tree.

It wasn’t a tremendous crash, but the windshield still broke, glass raining down on both of you. You were both disoriented for a moment from the whiplash, but then you began to untangle yourself from the seatbelt. You kicked at him when he tried to reach for you, but he managed to pin your legs down.

“Can’t you stay put for one fucking second!?” He growled, fully bracketing you between his sturdy legs as he freed you from the seatbelt.

You panted heavily, trying to thrash beneath him, but he only pressed his legs tighter against your sides. A small, high-pitched whine escaped your lips as you felt the air being squeezed out of you, and you stopped moving.

“Satis…fied?” You managed between gasps.

“Not nearly,” he said, grabbing a fistful of your hair as he pulled back. “Come here.”

He kept a firm grip on it as he dragged you out of the truck and towards the cabin. He wobbled a little with each step, his leg still bleeding some.

“I warned you about the knives,” you said. “Even if you didn’t let me finish having fun.”

He chuckled sardonically. “No, you’re mistaken. The fun is only just beginning.”

He led you inside and locked the door behind him, making you sit down on a rickety chair. He bound your hands and feet with duct tape, wrapping some of it around your torso and the back of the chair for good measure. You decided not to struggle for the time being and instead ponder on your next move, covertly glancing at your surroundings for anything useful.

When Duncan was sure you wouldn’t be able to bolt, he went to grab something from an adjacent room, returning with his version of a first aid kit and a bottle of vodka. He looked at you from the corner of his eye as he undid his pants and lowered them to his knees.

“I didn’t realize it was that kind of fun,” you said, raising an eyebrow.

Still, your gaze was drawn to his crotch first before trailing further down to the injury you’d caused. Rolling his eyes, he plopped down on the bed, which creaked a little under his weight.

He took a long swig of vodka and then poured some on the bleeding gash, hissing through his teeth. Your expression of slight amusement didn’t change as he glanced at you once more, taking out a needle and thread.

“I have to be careful about infections, who knows where that knife of yours has been?” he said.

You merely watched as he began stitching himself up without so much as a grimace. His breathing was slow and steady as he concentrated, and you found yourself entranced by the precise movements of his hands.

An obscene thought about those hands wriggled into your mind, but you immediately pushed it away. It was all the more reason for you to get the hell out of there, especially now that his pants were down.

As he was finishing his stitches, you leaned forward onto your tiptoes and then threw yourself back as hard as you could. The chair broke apart under you, the force of the blow and the angle in which you fell spraining one of your wrists. The adrenaline made you barely register the pain, and you quickly wriggled out of the tape wrapped around you.

You pulled a Swiss army knife out of your boot and hastily sawed off the tape binding your ankles. He swore as you stood, lifting your arms and slamming them down to free your hands. You stumbled towards the front door and yanked it open.

Outside, the wind howled ferociously and a thick flurry of snow limited your vision of your surroundings. You felt the unforgiving cold slicing through you as you hesitated, knowing deep down that your chances of survival were very slim.

Still, you were reckless enough to try and brave it. You started towards the steps when you were yanked back once more, your back pinned against the wall and Duncan’s hand around your throat.

“You just don’t fucking learn, do you?” He growled.

“You only caught me because I hesitated, old man.”

His grip tightened a little in warning. “Didn’t anybody teach you never to hesitate?”

“There is a very fine line between foolishness and courage, you know…” The corners of your mouth twitched, an amused gleam in your eye. “I wonder how often you cross from one side to the other.”

He clenched his teeth and an absolutely devious, cheshire cat grin spread across your face. The mere sight of it made his blood boil with both rage and arousal, and he felt it flowing southward. Your back instinctually arched towards him, as if you could somehow sense the sudden influx of violent desire, and became infected by it.

You stared at each other for a charged moment before he suddenly fell upon you, intent on devouring you. His lips clashed with yours in a fierce kiss and you buried your fingers in his hair, tugging at it as you retaliated.

You bit his lower lip hard, making him groan into your mouth. You used this opportunity to slide your tongue against his, and he moved the hand that had been around your neck toward your jaw. Without thinking, you pressed harder against him, your fingers about to slide under the hem of his sweater.

He clasped your wrist to stop you, assuming you were reaching for some hidden weapon. You whimpered slightly, painfully reminded that it was in fact sprained. He pulled back to look at you, both of you panting heavily and still clutching each other tightly.

“I fear that line was blurred a long time ago, and I suspect it’s the same case with you,” He murmured.

His words broke through your daze and you immediately pushed him away from you, cradling your injured hand against your chest. A maelstrom of emotions roiled inside of you, predominantly confusion and a worrisome throb between your legs.

“And what now?” You asked, glancing out of the window. “It’s clear neither of us are going anywhere any time soon.”

“Now we weather the storm,” he said, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

“No, seriously.”

“I am being serious.”

You huffed in annoyance, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I… can’t believe I’m asking this right now but, maybe we can… put the killing each other thing on hold for a few days?”

“So you were coming for me.”

“No! I wasn’t!” You threw your hands up exasperatedly. “Not that it’s any of your fucking business, but I have work further up north. This was just a pit stop.”

He assessed you for a moment, trying to find any clues that you were lying. You stood your ground, keeping your eyes on his face. He sniffed, leaning against the wall to get his weight off his injured leg.

“I’m fine with a temporary truce, but only if we both keep our weapons in plain sight at all times.”

“I am a weapon myself, big boy.”

“So am I. I suppose we’ll have to keep an eye on each other as well, then.”

“Fine,” you huffed, stomping to the couch and pulling it over to the kitchen. “I’ll stay on this side of the cabin, you can stay on the other side.”

“What!? This is my house!” He scoffed.

“Yeah, well, I’m being generous by letting you keep your bed. Not to mention, your life.”

He rolled his eyes, limping back over to his bed. “Whatever you say. Now, can I please fix my stitches in peace for one fucking second?”

———————

There was no sleep for the entirety of the first night.

The cabin creaked and groaned, straining against the disastrously strong wind. Your breaths fogged up in the air as you shivered under the thin blanket Duncan had given you. The cold seemed to seep into your very bones as if punishing you for your decisions. To distract yourself from the chill, you kept an eye on his prone form across the room, knowing well he wasn’t sleeping either.

When dawn broke, a thin grayish light filtered into the room. The storm raged on and all you wanted to do was doze off, but you were still on edge. You clenched your jaw to keep your teeth from chattering, irritated by a headache. Your mood didn’t get any better when Duncan rose from his bed, crossing towards the kitchen.

“What do you think you’re doing?” You inquired, not moving an inch.

He stopped in his tracks. “I’m hungry. Don’t you want to eat?”

Your stomach growled in answer and he lifted an eyebrow in slight amusement. You unwillingly threw the blanket off of you, getting up with an annoyed grunt.

“I’ll give you the food. Let’s see what you’ve got,” you said, rummaging through the cabinets.

“I could just show you…”

“No, stay on your side. Even better, why don’t you go sit back down on your bed?”

He followed orders, not really wanting to start quarreling with you so early in the morning. You finally found some oatmeal packets in one of the cupboards, and you took out a few and poured them into a pot along with some water. You left it to boil over the stove top, crossing your arms over your chest and turning to face him.

“How’s your leg doing, anyway?” You asked.

“Fine. Why do you care?”

“I really don’t.”

He chuckled. “Good thing you’re a better assassin than you are a liar.”

You sighed deeply. “Well, it is your house, I should at least have some manners.”

He scoffed, still amused. “We are way past manners. Our only courtesy to each other would be a painless death.”

“Oh, really? Painless?” You arched an eyebrow. “Did you forget Lisbon? And that grenade launcher you stole?”

“Okay, well, I wasn’t technically aiming at you. You just happened to be in the way,” He argued. “And it’s not like you haven’t given me the same sort of treatment…”

You shrugged one shoulder. “It’s only fair.”

The two of you lapsed into silence as you turned your attention back to the pot. Once the oatmeal was ready, you spooned it into two bowls and walked to the invisible line that divided the cabin in two.

He got up and met you there, reaching slowly for his bowl so as not to seem threatening. Not that you were viewing him that way, anyway. At least not in the clearly exhausted state he was in.

“Careful, it’s hot,” you said. “Need me to blow on it first?”

He raised an eyebrow at you, resisting the lure of your impish grin. He figured it was perhaps the more masochistic part of him that made him so drawn to you. Always pushing him, testing him, keeping him on the edge. He would never admit it to himself — much less to you — but it made him feel alive in a way he hadn’t for a really long time.

He muttered a quick thank you before heading back to his side of the room, plopping down on the bed and immediately digging in. If he burned his mouth, he showed no indication of it, but you still huffed in amusement.

When he was done, he said nothing as he lied down, his back to you once again. A little confused and wary, you watched him as you slowly ate. Soon enough, his breath evened out into a steady rhythm, and you assumed he’d fallen asleep.

You glanced over at the dining table, where the two of you had laid out all your weapons, and considered them for a long moment.

It seemed too easy to have such a window of opportunity. Normally, you’d have jumped at any such chance, but once more, you hesitated. Not out of any sort of newfound benevolence, but something deeper than that. Something that had been gnawing at you since the previous night.

In the end, you opted not to do anything. Surely, it was bound to be a mistake to not have killed him at that moment. But that would be a problem for another day, perhaps when the storm was over.

You sat down on the floor by the foot of the couch, back resting against the frame. Sleep deprivation was starting to hit you as well, and you knew that if you were to lay down you would certainly fall asleep. Instead, your eyes focused on the suspiciously peaceful sight of Duncan sleeping.

The longer you stared, the blurrier the lines seemed to get. Literally. His broad form was smudged into a single sphere, and without much thought about it, everything suddenly went black.

Until… Shit.

How long were you asleep?

It had been long since you’d last awakened to a man in front of you, let alone holding a knife to your face. The blade shone in your half-open eyes, reflecting the setting sun outside the window. You must have been unconscious for over two hours. Stupid, so very stupid.

You blinked the haze of sleep out of your eyes and followed the glint to his fingers, his forearm, up his broad chest and shoulders, until it finally landed on his face.

“So, the game ends at last, huh?” you muttered, your gaze not wavering from his.

“Could’ve ended long ago, but it didn’t,” he said, once again looking every bit the coldhearted killer he was. You could still see, however, the presence of doubt in his dark eyes. “Why didn’t you kill me?”

“I knew you weren’t actually sleeping…”

“Even so,” he pressed, straightening to his full, imposing height. “You didn’t even try. Why?”

You blinked, not really having an answer, not one that would satisfy him at least. What's more, you had a set of questions of your own, ones that would likely also have no answer.

The words slipped before you could even think about them. “Why did you kiss me?”

Silence hung between you like a heavy drape. You were cornered in more than one sense. Windows for precaution and escape had long since closed, maybe even since the moment you ran into him in that little gas station. And through hardships, you learned that if there’s no way back, the only way is forward.

The wound in his thigh didn’t seem to bother him as much anymore, so there was no way you could outrun him. You looked down to avoid his scrutiny and he used the back of his knife to force your chin back up.

He didn’t speak, but his eyes bore into yours, almost as if seeing through them into parts of you that were foreign even to yourself. The flat part of the blade trailed up to your cheek in what could be interpreted as a caress.

Your hand unconsciously intended to return the favor, running up his knee to his thigh, extra cautious around his wound. You noticed a change of pattern in his breathing, and so you looked down only to find one of the answers you sought — the print of his hardened cock cruelly imprisoned within his pants.

“Oh,” you breathed, surprised. Then again, when the reality of what you were looking at fully sank in. “Oh.”

Your hand moved on its own accord again, slowly slipping further up his thigh. Again, he tightly grabbed your wrist before your fingers reached their target, and you hissed in pain. He immediately let go, withdrawing the knife as well.

“Are you hurt?” He asked.

“A sprained wrist isn’t gonna kill me,” you said, keeping your hand on his leg to drive your point across. “Now that, on the other hand, has to be taken care of.”

“Taken care of, huh?” He rasped, his voice hoarse with want and self-directed anger because of it.

He raked a hand through your hair, gathering it in his first and pulling your head towards his crotch. He pressed your cheek against his bulge, his hips bucking ever so slightly.

“And how do you suppose that’s gonna happen?” He added.

“I have a few ideas if you’re open to them,” you panted, ignited in a way that almost fully consumed you.

His eyes searched your face for a moment, drinking you in as he searched for any indications of doubt, and then he whispered, “Are you sure?”

This time you didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

He saw the feverish gleam of hunger in your eyes as he pulled away and unbuckled his belt, pushing down his pants. The outline of his cock was even more prominent through his briefs and you couldn’t help a sharp intake of breath at the sheer size of him. He was still holding onto your hair, stepping closer and effectively cornering you against the couch.

You boldly started to reach for the hem of his briefs, but he said, “No. I want you to use your teeth.”

“Getting a little bold there, old man,” you said with a smirk, keeping your eyes on him as you dipped your head to plant a soft kiss on his thigh, right by his stitches.

He winced slightly at the contact, but you could see his cock throb against the fabric covering it. Your smirk only widened, “But I gotta admit I’m pretty impressed so far. Didn’t even have to slip a blue pill in your oatmeal.”

He gripped your jaw, clicking his tongue in disappointment. “I think you need more proof, actually. Allow me.”

With his free hand, he roughly tugged down his briefs and his cock finally sprang free — so thick and long and just fucking perfect — hitting his lower abdomen. The head of it glistened with precum, which he spread with his thumb. You shifted in your seat, biting your lip as saliva flooded your mouth.

“Open,” he ordered.

You immediately complied, wondering when the fuck you’d gotten so obedient. He gripped the base of it and fed it into your mouth slowly. You wrapped your lips around it, feeling it slide smoothly against your tongue.

A small groan escaped him, his head tipped back at the first rush of pleasure. You hummed a little in response and he felt the vibration of the sound against his shaft. His hips began to move again, shuttling his length deeper into your mouth, until you could feel the head of it reach your throat.

He let you steady yourself by placing your hands on his legs, his hand returning to the back of your head as it bobbed up and down. Then suddenly, when you’d reached the very base, he kept your head down. Your nose was against his pelvis, your deep, even breaths fanning against the fine hair that curled there.

Your nails dug into the flesh of his legs as you staved off your gag reflex as best as you could. Still, you couldn’t help but squirm a little, already pretty slick between your thighs.

He cursed under his breath as he let you come up for air, an obscene string of saliva connecting your lips to the tip of his cock.

"If I knew you were such a cock drunk slut, I would have dropped my pants much earlier just to shut you up,” he said with a smug grin, looking down at you.

“More bold words from someone who’s only gonna last this round. I’m gonna have to take care of myself after you’re done,” you taunted lightly, making him pull at your hair.

You kept eye contact with him as you stuck your tongue out and traced it over a large vein on the underside of his shaft. You left a trail of wet, sloppy kisses as you made your way back to the tip, and he lightly slapped it against your tongue a couple of times before pushing your head back down on it. His balls tightened momentarily as he sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, and you knew he was enjoying himself much more than he let on.

"Well, if it's gonna be only one, might as well make good use of it, don't you think?" He said, pulling you off of him and making you stand up.

His lips were on yours in the next moment, just as desperate and hungry as the first kiss. He kicked his pants off the rest of the way and yanked your sweater off along with your thermal undershirt. He reached for your pants, but you slapped his hand away, extricating yourself from his lips to undo them yourself.

As soon as they were off, he turned you around and bent you over the back of the couch. There was a wet spot in your underwear that made him smirk, but he also couldn’t deny the way his cock throbbed at the sight.

“This is in the way…” he grunted, tugging at your bra strap.

Before you even registered what was happening, he brought the knife back out and sawed the bra off of you. You let out a gasp that was both surprised and indignant as he proceeded to rip your panties off with his bare hands, tossing the scraps of fabric aside.

“Hey! Those are the only ones I have here!” You huffed, glaring at him over your shoulder. “Unless you have a secret stash of women’s underwear, you seriously owe me.”

He nudged your knees apart with his leg. “I don’t think you’re going to need them while you’re here. You were already ruining them yourself, anyway.”

Before you could retort, you felt him push inside of you slowly, grabbing your hips as he let out a low moan.

“Fuck…” you sighed without thinking, leaning your elbows against the back of the couch.

“Yeah? Does that feel good?” He cooed condescendingly.

“In your drea–”

His hips snapped into yours harshly, interrupting you. You felt the heat of him against your back as he leaned over you, his breath fanning across the side of your face.

“If I were you, I’d be careful about lying again. I might just stop and leave you all drenched like this, with your hands tied behind your back so you couldn’t touch yourself.”

He felt you clench around him at that and his smirk turned victorious. He kissed and sucked at your shoulder and neck, making sure to leave plenty of marks. His thrusts were hard and deep at first, hips barely pulling back as his weight pinned you down.

You let out a sound that was a strange mix between a whimper and a gasp as he bit into the tender flesh of your shoulder, hard enough to leave teeth marks behind. The jolt of pain mixed with pleasure – not to mention the slight shame that came with the feeling of your arousal dripping down your inner thighs – only fueled the fire that was steadily growing within you.

Then, a little mindlessly, you pleaded, “Harder. Fuck me harder.”

He straightened immediately, readjusting himself to start pounding into you at a nearly punishing pace. You bit your bottom lip to try and keep quiet, but wanton sounds of pleasure escaped your throat despite your efforts. He was hitting a spot that made your head spin, tugging you backward onto his cock to meet his thrusts.

The lewd sound of flesh slapping together, along with your collective pants and groans, filled the room. He reached forward to grab your throat again, keeping you semi-upright as he continued to take you. In truth, he was focusing hard to stave off his release. He had plenty of stamina for his age, but the way your cunt took him so perfectly, as if molded just for him, was enough to have his balls tightening again.

But he would never hear the end of it.

Your legs began to shake a little as the coil in your belly tightened, threatening to snap. “I-I think I’m gonna cum, fuck…”

“Not yet,” he said firmly, immediately stopping his motions.

You cursed him under your breath, beyond frustrated. You pushed your hips back, intent on fucking yourself on him, but his firm grip stopped you. He landed a firm smack on your ass, making you involuntarily clench around him. He hissed, feeling the strong urge to give in and continue fucking you until you came all over his cock, but he kept his composure. He wanted to keep indulging you for as long as he could, still not fully believing he wasn’t just having a dirty dream.

“Do that again and I’ll rip your fucking head off,” you snarled as he pulled out, grabbing your arm and leading you toward the bed.

“I told you I was going to make it count.”

He tossed you onto your back on the bed, crawling on top of you and pushing your knees up to your shoulders. He positioned himself between your thighs and sank back into your cunt with no further preambles, his strong body covering yours once more.

His hands cradled your head as he began to move again, reaching impossibly deeper than before. You clawed at his biceps as he ground his pelvis against you, making your brain practically short-circuit.

“There we go… See? I knew you could take more,” he said, kissing the corner of your lips. “Are you scared I'll pull out again? You keep sucking me back in.”

Too dazed to form words, your lips chased his so he would kiss you properly. Your tongue trailed over his upper lip enticingly, and he opened his mouth so his tongue could meet yours. This kiss was deeper, less frantic, finally giving yourselves a chance to taste each other properly.

Soon you were clenching around him again, too distracted by your mounting pleasure to continue kissing him properly.

“Fuck, don’t stop, Duncan. Please, please, please, just like that,” you begged desperately, moaning as he moved to kiss your jaw.

“Yeah? You want me to fill you up, too?” He rasped against your skin. “Claim this needy cunt all for myself?”

You nodded eagerly, face contorting with ecstasy as you held onto him for dear life. Your muscles seized up as your climax washed over you, overpowering your senses. His hips stuttered as you cried out, your hot flesh molding into his like the deepest embrace.

He kissed you again as he felt his own release rippling over him, groaning into your mouth as he shuddered, unable to hold himself back any longer. He thrusted hard a few more times before remaining fully inside of you, and you felt heat flooding your cunt.

A whimper of slight overstimulation escaped you, but he soothed you with a whispered praise in your ear. You couldn’t help but smile beatifically, almost purring in content as he kept his cum inside of you.

As you both rode out your highs, your kisses turned lazy, almost tender, and even the way he held you felt different. Somehow, in some deep recess of your mind, it seemed right… and that scared you a little.

Still, you tried not to let it get to you then. Not as he leaned his sweaty forehead against yours, still panting, and said, “I think I tore my stitches.”

You chuckled. “You should probably take care of that, then.”

“In a minute…”

He disentangled himself from you, pulling out and sliding his body down between your legs. You tried to draw your thighs together, but he stopped you, planting a kiss on your mound.

He spread your lips with two fingers so he could see his cum trickling out of you, but then he pushed it back in with those same fingers, making your hips jerk slightly.

“T-this was a one time thing, you know,” you breathed, trying to sound firm.

He barely glanced up at you, seemingly unbothered. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

But only an hour or so later, you found yourself riding him on the couch. Then, he took you against the wall, over the kitchen counter, off the edge of the bed, and subsequently on the floor. He seemed intent on making sure you never questioned his endurance ever again.

Even throughout the night, you slept sporadically, pawing at each other whenever you stirred. Not many words were exchanged during this time, but that didn’t mean your mouths weren’t put to good use. As usual, you both wound up with bruises, bite marks, and scratches all over each other, but the intention behind them couldn’t be any more different.

The storm died sometime during the night, but instead of fleeing right away, you let him hold you until dawn broke. There were too many new questions floating about in your head, but you weren’t really sure you wanted the answer to any of them for the time being. Perhaps it was simply best to let what happened remain in the past and simply move on.

As quietly as you could, you got up from the bed, cleaned yourself up, and dressed. You sheathed your weapons, avoiding looking at him as you prepared to leave. When your hand was on the doorknob, his voice stopped you.

“You didn’t kill me again,” he said. “Should I take that as an indication that you like me?”

You looked over at him, frowning. “Absolutely not. I’m serious, this was the last time it’ll ever happen.”

“I’m not sure I can trust your word.”

You huffed, irritated. “Well, you’ll have to. I intend to keep it.”

You yanked the door open, about to stomp outside, but you heard the creak of the bed as he sat up.

“You know, I’m going to be in Portofino in a few months. I heard it’s beautiful there in the summer, and I figured I could use a vacation.”

“Are you trying to make yourself an easy target?”

“...Maybe.”

“And if I decide not to hunt you down?”

He raised an eyebrow. “If?”

You grimaced. “All I’m saying is don’t get your hopes up. I’m a very busy gal, I don’t have time to play cat and mouse with you.”

“And who’s who in that analogy, hm?”

You shook your head, rolling your eyes. “Goodbye, Duncan. Truce is over, do you hear me?”

“I’ll see you in Portofino. Make sure you bring sunscreen.”

The door slammed shut behind you.

---——-

Part 2 out now!

#duncan vizla fanfiction #duncan vizla x fem!reader #duncan vizla x reader #the black kaiser x reader #the black kaiser fanfiction #polar fanfiction #duncan vizla smut #the black kaiser smut

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froggibus · 11 months

Text

Your Summer Together - Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Shoko Ieiri

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x gn! reader, Suguru Geto x gn! reader, Shoko Ieiri x gn! reader

Genre: pure fluff hcs

Summary: just some hcs of what your summer would be like while dating one of the core three

CW: established relationship, s2! Shoko, Geto and Gojo, they’re still students at Jujutsu Tech in this, mentions of drinking/smoking

so I think it’s plain to see that JJK2 is rotting my brain rn. shoko’s design is absolute PEAK and I am in love w all three of them. this is meant to take place around 2006 while they’re still students at the academy, but you could probably take it either way. anyway, would love some JJK requests of these three if anyone else has brain rot 😭 also I am now completely caught up on the manga and idk what to do w my life

————

Satoru Gojo:

lots and lots of sweets

definitely takes you to the arcade so you can watch him set the high score on games

“babe are you watching? babe pls”

he is CLINGY too

always following you around and practically glued to your side

whenever one is seen without the other, Geto and Shoko always ask where your “carry on” is

he is the EXPERT at sneaking around too

knows every single place you can make out during the day without getting caught

and makes a point of using ALL of them

takes refuge in your room whenever he’s done stuff to piss someone off (usually Yaga)

probably sleeps more in your room than he does in his own

like to the point your bed always smells like him and there’s always candy wrappers on his nightstand

gives you lots of random gifts too

from pretty flowers he found to expensive jewelry and clothes

just loves to spoil you

takes you to almost every summer event

fireworks? he’s taking you to the best spot in the city

expect lots of beach days too

this man will drag you out every day and make you watch him show off in the water

"babe babe watch this"

also ice cream dates!!

being stuck between two flavors so Gojo gets one and you get the other and the two of you share

really it’s just an excuse for him to have more sugar

you will be sick to death of him by the end of the summer

Suguru Geto:

expect lots of third wheeling from Gojo

like lots

like you cannot get rid of this man no matter how hard you try

sneaking around a lot to avoid Gojo

lots of sleepovers in each others dorms (and hiding from Yaga)

takes you around the city and shows you all of his favorite places too

expect lots and lots of random dates too

like going to the aquarium and then having sushi???

but also plans really cute activities for the two of you

takes you to places with really good views to watch the sunset

and plans for you to spend a night in the city just to get away

doesn’t like the beach but will definitely go if you want to (although he spends the whole day laying in the sand unless you beg him to come in the water)

looks damn fine in a bathing suit too

movie nights w the core three!!

definitely more of a reader and will compare the book to the movie

and you, Gojo and Shoko will be telling him to shut up

after everyone falls asleep on the couch, definitely starts being more affectionate to you

also brunch dates!!

this man is a sucker for brunch

tries to get one last get away with you at the end of the summer too

Shoko Ieiri:

expect lots of teasing from Gojo and Geto

but dw because there will be absolutely NO third wheeling

knows every place in the city she can get alcohol + smokes

takes you to a bunch of cool lowkey places that you’ve never heard of before either

she’s not a big fan of public events or big crowds, but you can probably convince her to go to a couple

lots of lazy mornings and afternoons together

also gets away with way more than the other two because she’s way less annoying

so less sneaking around too

cannot cook to save her life so more often than not you guys go out for food or order take out

staying up way too late + sleeping in together

makes you watch all of her favorite movies and watches you the whole time to see how you react

not nearly as horny as the other two but definitely gets some affection in too

you guys go bathing suit shopping and she insists on seeing every single one on you

gets you all flustered with her comments too

not one for the beach but Gojo probably drags everyone out at some point

she’ll help you apply her sunscreen but will not swim unless you drag her out there

Gojo probably throws her in at some point and she almost kills that man

she is the cocktail queen!!

like she will make you the tastiest, coolest, prettiest cocktail you’ve ever seen in your life

Gojo and Geto definitely treat her like their personal bartender

also takes lot of pics of the two of you together + has them strung up above her bed

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ralvezfanatic · 5 months

Text

Outfits and Naps

Spencer Reid x FTM!Reader

FEM-ALIGNED DNI - You will be blocked if you interact with this post. This is made for trans men/mascs, not women.

Reader is bored at home, not having much to do. He decided to try on some outfits he bought earlier, and then falls asleep.

Warnings: Mostly focused on Reader. Slightly feminine outfit mentioned. Dysphoria is implied if you squint really hard. Practically just a random drabble I randomly came up with. Reader has a cat because cats are very cool. Also, guys.. please don't sleep in your binder..

Word Count: 1.2k

Spencer was away at work, so it was only you and your childhood cat (that you got at 17.. so more of a teenage-hood cat), Mr. Whiskers the 3rd (and since it was such a long name, you shortened it to Mr. Whiskers. Although you stated his full government name was Furball Whiskers the 3rd.) at home.

You didn't have much to do, it was a peaceful day and you decided you were going to order takeout for dinner when Spencer came home. So, cooking wasn't an option. Having set your mind to takeout, there was no way you could cook. You already knew what you were going to order, so you couldn't change plans.

So there you were, sitting on the couch, your cat next to you, sleeping while you were bored out of your mind. You pet him for a whole, sighing as you tried to come up with something to do. Calm days were actually really boring. As you thought, you scrolled through your phone, switching between apps trying to get an idea.

Maybe you could take a walk? No, too cold, and you felt bad leaving Mr. Whiskers alone.

As you scrolled through your phone, you saw this post which reminded you of some outfits you bought and wanted to try on earlier, but always put aside. Happy that you found something to do, you stood up, rushing to your bedroom, your cat soon following behind.

You threw your phone on your bed, heading to your closet and pulling out some boxes where you stored the outfits. You carried them and placed them on the bed to open and take the clothes out.

You decided to wear your binder while trying on clothes, so you knew how they'd look when you go out. You go get it, and put it on after a few minutes of struggling.

Now you stood by your bed again, your cat sitting in the middle of the bed, waiting for the boxes to empty.

“Which one looks better Mister? This? Or.. this?” You ask him, holding out a cropped turtleneck with the shoulders cut in your left hand, and a white, sleeveless button up shirt in your right.

Mr. Whiskers turned his head to the left, sniffing the air a bit, which had made you think he chose the turtleneck, but then he turned his head to the right, so you thought he changed his mind. Finally, he just spun around in a circle trying to get comfortable on your bed before lying down and not picking anything out for you.

“Thanks..” You mumble, wondering why you even bothered asking a cat for help. You decided you would try both of them, hoping to style them for future use. You set the button up shirt down and put on the turtleneck. You had to find a nice pair of pants now.. which was difficult because you knew this turtleneck would look great with a skirt, but you weren't that comfortable yet.

Finally, you decided on a pair of black jeans, because you couldn't figure out what else to wear. You thought you looked nice, and snapped a mirror selfie of your newly created outfit and sent it to Spencer.

That's how you spent your afternoon, mixing and matching different shirts and pants, trying out different outfits, taking pictures, and sending a few to your boyfriend, asking for his opinion.

Not that he was helpful, that man said you looked absolutely stunning in each outfit you created. And also he usually stuck with sweater vests and slacks.. so he didn't really know he was supposed to help with.

You gave up after his third, “They both look great.” and his second “It’s you, anything looks good on you.”

Obviously, he wasn't helping, so you just sent him pictures of what you decided looked better, which he still enjoyed.

Finally, you tried out all the new clothes you got, and managed to style each of them. You put everything away, and sat on the bed, telling yourself you were only sitting to think of something else to do, but instead ended up laying down and falling asleep.

Spencer opened the front door, and was surprised when Mr. Whiskers didn't rush over to sniff and inspect him. “Y/N! I'm home.” He called out, closing the door behind him, only to be met with silence. Puzzled on why he arrived home to be met with a quiet house and no greeting, he ventured further into your house. He grew slightly nervous, which was only normal considering his job, but kept calmed.

He walked into the bedroom, slowly opening the door, hoping you just fell asleep and the animals were locked in with you.

As he opened the door, he was met with the cutest view, and he felt his heart melt at what was in front of him. He smiled, taking out his phone to snap a quick picture before walking up to the bed.

You laid in bed, wearing a pair of your boyfriend's sweatpants, which were baggy on your smaller body, along with your binder that you didn't take off after trying on clothes. In front of you was Mr. Whiskers, which you held close, hugging him as if he was a plushie.

He had been asleep, but woke up when Spencer entered the bedroom. He only looked up to him, but stayed comfortably on the bed under his owner's arms.

Spencer couldn't help but let out a small chuckle at the sight, finding it absolutely adorable how you slept with your cat. He also saw how you still had your binder on and decided to wake you up, now knowing how long you had it on.

“Love. Get up, you need to get that binder off.” He shook you lightly, trying to wake you up in a nice manner. You grumble and shoo him off, trying to pull your cat closer, but he decided to get up when Spencer started to wake you. “Y/N, get out of your binder..” He insisted, shaking your shoulder now.

You groaned being woken up from your nap and shook your head no. “Mm.. 5 more minutes.” You mumbled, hiding your face in your hands, turning away from your boyfriend.

Spencer laughed and shook his head, finding your sleepiness amusing. “No, get up Y/N. Now.” He laughed, grabbing your arms and pulling you up to a sitting position.

As he managed to sit you up, he smiled at your now barely conscious self. “I was having such a good nap ‘Pence.. you should have joined me instead of waking me.” You mumble, leaning your head on his shoulder and wrapping your arms around his own.

“Sweetheart, as good as a nap it was.. and as cute as you look in my sweatpants and your binder, you shouldn't be sleeping with that on! Now go change, I'll give you one of my sweaters if you want too.” He smiled, pressing a kiss on your temple. “And then we can cuddle and nap if you want to.” He added on, knowing that'll be good enough motivation for you to go change.

You turn your head to look at him and smile, pressing a quick kiss to his mouth before getting up to change out of your binder, rushing so you could cuddle up with him.

#spencer reid x male reader #spencer reid x trans reader #spencer reid x ftm reader #spencer reid #criminal minds x male reader #bau x male reader #male reader #criminal minds #x male reader #trans reader #ftm reader #criminal minds fic

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the-hidden-empire · 1 year

Text

Darth Vader:

How they are during you’re pregnancy:

Warnings: +18 nsfw/ fluff

Not proofread

- Knew before you did.

- “You’re with my child.” Was all he said out of the blue, in a completely calm demeanour.

- You were flabbergasted.

- He left you to process the news while he dealt with it in his own way.

- He requested you’re presence in you’re shared chamber.

- You had been avoiding him sense he spilt the news.

- You both knew it too.

- You couldn’t face him.

- So he followed you’re force signature.

- Automatically he could already sense a second force signature while following yours.

- He was agitated that you kept moving.

- You could feel his force signature lurking behind you.

- You tried to but you’re self more time by reaching one of the crowed hallways, to throw him off you’re signature.

- Just as you were about to turn another corner, the door had shut and locked itself blocking you’re exit.

- Frustrated you huffed to yourself.

- You could hear him before you could see him.

- “Enough. Stop running. You’ll strain yourself and the child.” He irritably warned

- “If you don’t I’ll be forced to put you to sleep. Follow.” He continued as he awaited you to follow him.

- Once you arrived at your chamber, you embraced each other without any exchanges of words.

- You’re communication was through the force, and you both knew how much this child already meant to you both.

- He allowed you only on simple missions as he knew you needed to be kept busy. He’d accompanied you as you began to show.

- But once you hit third trimester he had you benched from any missions.

- He did leave you in charge of communications. You just wouldn’t be active in the field.

- He notice three force signatures from you as you progressed with you’re pregnancy.

- He knew even before the doctor confirmed.

- you were carrying twins.

- Of course he’d have two sets of twins, it was a Skywalker thing he mused.

- Feels he doesn’t deserve a second chance, but he’s not going to take it for granted.

- Mentally preparing himself to be a father, a good one at that.

- He grieves for his lost family.

- You comfort him in his darkest moments.

- His fear is channeled into pure rage on the battle field.

- Completely ruthless in his work.

- Holds you’re bump in you’re chamber without his suit.

-He loves feeling them kick, especially when you hold him from behind, and he can actually feel it.

- You rest you’re foreheads together and enjoy the quiet moments together.

- Already had started a special force bond between his unborn children. They latched on to his signature before they were even born.

- You started wanting him more and more.

- Vader just wanted to be inside of you at all moments of the day. Especially once you started to show.

- He could even feel you’re burning desire for him through the force.

- He made sure to satisfy you anyway possible. You’re sexual needs always came first to him.

- Wanted you all to himself.

- Marked you’re whole body. He wanted everyone to know he did that to you, put those babies in you.

- You’ve both have never had so much sex in your lives.

- You would send each other images of filthy things you wanted to do to each other. Complete filth.

- You couldn’t get over his stamina.

- His troopers knew not to interfere during private moments between you two.

- Vader was away when you’re water broke.

- He knew though.

- You screamed for him through you’re force bond.

- You decided you would have them in Vaders fortress and not some medical room in the middle of a planet you had no connection with.

- It was a long labor process. Twins were not easy.

- Of course you’re husband picked the medical team. He had trust issues.

- You were screaming at the doctors, midwives, droids, and whoever else misadventures you’re way demanding for you’re husband.

- “Get out.” The Sith Lords voice filled the room with terror.

- The medical staff quickly retreated to give the husband and wife time to correlate.

- You took a glass that had been on the table and chucked it the wall right beside him (which he of course stoped mid throw)

- You screamed at him where he had been, and what took him so long. Cursing him for what he had done to you.

- Of course he was three solar systems away in mid attack.

- He could feel the agony that coursed through his wife’s body.

- He used the force to help relieve some of the pain.

- But he had to let the medical team help.

- He watched by you’re side as you held his hand with such force it would break a regular man’s hand.

- He wasn’t scared for once, he felt he was prepared this time, and that he had the power to intervene if anything went wrong.

- He wasn’t going to lose a second chance and fatherhood.

-And he for sure wasn’t going to let harm come near his wife.

- You ended up delivering two health girls.

- The midwives quickly cleaned up your daughters and yourself before handing one child over to each parent.

- “Padame.” You smiled at the smile child in you’re arms who you assumed got her blue eyes and dirty blonde mop of hair from her father.

- “Shmi.” The rough modulated voice spoke quietly, trying to not to upset the delicate infant in his hold.

- You both silently agreed to the names.

- You felt a change in your husbands force signature.

- You could feel his contentment looking at his tiny creation.

- For once you’re relationship with you’re husband felt complete, like the missing puzzle piece has been found.

- That night he held all three of you. He had never felt more in love.

- The inner Anakin was starting breaking through Vaders harsh exterior.

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silentmoths · 1 day

Text

A lick and a promise

Its been *squints* Seven months since i cooked.

god damn its been seven whole ass months CRIES

Boothill got me so fkn good i cant even BEGIN to explain why he's such a comfort character for me ok he just IS.

Boothill x Reader (fem but it's really only mentioned in regards to anatomy.)

NSFW

Enemies to Lovers (kinda?), Smut, Hurt/comfort (kinda?), Oral sex, fingering, boothill is a gd kendoll (sorry boothill genatalia nation i just...wanted to write this like he was a ken doll LEAVE ME-)

7k words, NOT PROOFREAD

The first time you run into the Galaxy Ranger known as Boothill, you’re not sure what to make of him.

You were just an unsuspecting casualty, the pilot, nothing more. Flying ships for the IPC had to beat minimum wage, right? This was your first real gig with them, something a little more secure.

If you managed to make it off pier point without having a gun aimed at you that is.

A…cowboy. You’d heard about them, of course, but seeing one in this day and age was almost unheard of unless you travelled to planets far out in the west, ones untouched by the IPC and their ‘modernizations’.

Yet this cowboy also seemed to be touched by said modernizations, considering almost all of him was made of metal. Hell, all of him might be synthetic, nanotechnology was a terrifying thing, it could eat away the organic and replace it with the inorganic, mimicking skin and its blemishes, hair and all its different shades, like the curtain of black and white you see before you.

“Han’s where I can fudgin’ see em.” He warns quietly, pistol pointed directly between your eyes. You do as he asks, why wouldn’t you? You weren’t being paid enough to put your life on the line for…whatever the hell you were carrying, you didn’t know, the IPC didn’t enforce ledger-checks- You tell the cowboy as much when he asks.

“Yeah that tracks.” he mutters with a roll of his visible eye. “Lookit’ you, still wet behind the darned ears.”

“D-do I get a pardon i-if I told you it was my first day on the job?” you manage to squeak out, a terrible habit really, opening your mouth in times you should really stay silent…but the cowboy cracks a grin, a very sharp-toothed grin.

“Ah heck, really?” He chuckles, shaking his head as he spins his pistol in his hand and tucks it away into its holster. “Look I aint’ got no beef with ya. ya ‘ aint even wearin’ an IPC uniform-” “C-contract work.” You cut in with your explanation, only scolding yourself after the fact for, once again, interrupting the one with the gun. “The IPC really gettin that desperate, huh?” He snorts, his robotic fingers flexing as he himself goes to check the ledger, it was obvious he’d done this a few times…perhaps thats why the IPC had started hiring a third party, someone new for him to kill.

And yet he doesn’t kill you.

He ties you up, sure, but he’s not an entire ass about it, he even apologises when he pulls the rope a little too tight and you squint.

“S’a formality.” He mumbles as he ties the knot tight “y’understand.”

“I guess…Just…thanks for not killing me I guess, Mr.Cowboy.” You shrug, perhaps you were still in a little bit of shock, perhaps you were coping with humour and ‘funny’ comments…perhaps, inside, you wanted to cry because of course of all the times to be held at gunpoint it was your first day working for the IPC.

“Name’s Boothill.” He corrects. Boothill, huh? You’d read about that…some eons old name for gunslinging cowboys who should have been dead.

After you had been discovered, set free, and promptly fired, you decide to look up this ‘Boothill’ character; you find little other than his bounty…whoever he was, he kept himself pretty closed off…made sense for a galaxy ranger.

The second time you encounter Boothill, you’re working on a satellite array. It’s a shit job, it was freezing cold out here, and the welding masks given to you and your coworkers by your bosses were cheap, low quality, offering little protection from the welding torch and its bright, concentrated glare.

After your firing from pier point, no other freighting company was willing to take you on, and in a desperate attempt to get some damned food into your belly, you’d taken this job on some far out meteorite, repairing this shitty, run down satellite so the IPC could extend their reach further.

If the bosses had bothered to do a background check, they would have seen the unfortunate mark next to your name.

’Banned from all positions within IPC jurisdiction’

But considering the shit pay, shit hours, and shit accommodation? The old hand’s out here didn’t really care much for the ‘official’ rules; so long as you weren’t being actively hunted.

There was no sun out here, so every few hours there was a mandatory UV break, in which you all got to return to the little sleeping pods that were nothing but glorified transport containers with a wall sectioning off one third to make a bathroom; just to sit beneath a UV bulb.

Whoever had lived in this one before you had stuck up a picture of a beach on the wall you had to stare at beneath the lamp, and faintly, you wonder if they ever made it there- or had they just keeled over dead from overwork? That seemed more likely, considering nothing had been cleaned out of your pod when you’d arrived.

As you bask in your shitty, simulated sun, an explosion wracks the entire facility, sending you toppling to the floor as the world spins, cracks apart, opens like the gnashing teeth of some horrific space creature.

Was it a space creature? Had the meteorite collided with something it shouldn’t have? You didn’t want to find out, but you sure as fuck weren’t about to stay here and probably die once the oxygen field around the place sputtered out. The emergency guide tape’s you’d been forced to watch are nothing to help against the real thing, a real emergency. There are sirens blaring, the stark white light’s had all died, replaced by that infuriatingly anxiety inducing red as you struggle to put your space suit on.

Just make it to a shuttle, they weren’t far, thats all you had to do.

It’s a mantra you tell yourself as the ceiling above you begins to crack and crumble, your time here was up.

As you wrench open the door to your pod, you collide with someone. Considering you yourself looked like a glorified marshmallow in the emergency suit, you certainly weren't expecting the person you collided with to be as…hard as they were, solid like steel to the point you’re sent toppling back and unceremoniously onto your back, like a turtle.

A familiar pistol is pointed at your helmet.

No fucking way.

Boothill stands there, grin on his face and a gun in yours as he looks you up and down before howling with laughter. “Now what in the hay is that?” he wheezes as you struggle, only to stop when you push the visor of your helmet up, revealing a face he recalls. “No fudgin’ way-”

“You again!” You screech, flailing your limbs as you attempt to stand in this…ungainly suit. “What the fuck are you doing here now!?”

“I could ask you the same mother forkin’ question!” He barks back, yet despite it all, he withdraws the pistol and even shows some mercy, reaching down to pull you back onto your feet “the fork you doin here?”

“Well, someone got me fired from my last job!” you snark at him “and now it looks like I'm out of another, what did you do!?” “Blew up tha’ satellite!” He chuckles as if he’d just won at an arcade game and not caused millions of credits in damages. You open your mouth to…you don’t even know- Shout? Scold a wanted criminal? Beg for mercy? When the world tilts again, the sound of rock cracking and metal creaking fills your senses; resulting in you simply screaming out of fear.

This was it, this was where you died. On a rock, in the middle of space, blown to smithereens by a cowboy. Except, the cowboy reaches down, and for a moment you think he’s going to kill you, just to stop the screaming. Instead, he grabs your arm and yanks you upright without a word, tugging you along behind him like you weighed nothing in this stupid marshmallow safety suit. (perhaps, to a cyborg, you didn’t weigh anything.)

Boothill cares little for the smoke and the flames, and you are just a leaf in his wind, guided through it all with scary precision until there is suddenly nothing and you realise what he’d just done.

This fucking cowboy galaxy ranger had just leaped off of the edge of the meteorite, dragging you along with him.

Correction; this is how you die, once you left the gravitational field, you’d just be stuck…floating in the void of space forever…no one would ever find your body-

Before your thought can finish, you crash into something hard, a ship, you realise, you had fallen into the open loading hatch of a ship, unlike boothill who landed on his feet, you’re simply a pile on the floor.

You hear the cowboy laugh as he turns to look at you, and you thank the fact that you’re face down from keeping your likely red, teary face from his scrutiny.

“Y’alright down there?” He asks.

“Peachy.” you mutter back, your muscles ached, but the adrenaline was already beginning to wane, suddenly the suit felt…heavy, impossibly heavy as you listen to the sound of the ship’s hatch closing. “Why’d you save me?”

Boothill thinks on it for a moment. Why had he saved you? It wasn’t really his M.O, saving people, especially when they worked for the IPC…he supposes a part of him felt a little bad… you hadn’t been working for them directly last time…and because of his stunt, you’d lost that job and had resorted to working for them in this backwater shithole of an array.

“Eh, Y’aint worth killin.” he responds after a moment “S’not like you’re the mother fudger I’m looking for anyways.”

Something about the way he says it…stings. Not worth killing?

Slowly you sit up, a terribly ungraceful affair in this stupid space suit as you pull the helmet off entirely and toss it to the floor, there was no point hiding the tears anymore.

“Wh- hey now! What’s got in yer’ boot?” Boothill balks at your teary face “what’s tha’ matter?”

You hate how stupid you must look, crying, red in the face…embarrassing really. But after the scare you’d just had, you don’t have the forwithall to keep your composure anymore.

“Whats the matter?” you mutter, staring at the cold, metal floor of the ship “what’s the matter is that you have single handedly managed to lose me not one, but TWO JOBS!”

You don’t mean to shout, really, you should be thanking him for saving your life.

“I’m BANNED from working for the IPC!” you cry “I wasn’t even meant to be working here! But where else am I meant to go!? EVERY job is somehow overseen by some division of the IPC, I can’t work anywhere else! Now you say I’m not even worth killing!?”

Boothill stares, the gears turning as he simply takes the emotional vitriol thrown his way. It had been…a long time since he’d found himself faced with this kind of problem.

“Aw shirt…” he mutters, realising his words had only worsened the situation. He takes a knee, pulling his hat off as he watches, he sees the way you’re shaking, your fingers flexing; he might be ‘old fashioned’, but he could recognize a panic attack. “C’mere, let's get this great forkin marshmallow suit off ya.”

You don’t even have the faculties to push him away as cold, robotic fingers begin tugging away at the velcro, the zippers and the straps. Breathing was getting harder, everything ached. Only once the galaxy ranger had pulled you free of the confines of that damned suit could you expand your chest properly. Too small, you realised, the suit you’d been given was way too small.

“Easy, easy, easy.” Boothill mutters as he sits you down “jus’ breathe.”

Easy for him to say, did a cybernetic cowboy even need to breathe?

He could see the struggle, but what the hell was he meant to do about it? It wasn’t wrong..the IPC had their fingers in so many pies… finding a job untouched by them? That’s like finding a needle in a haystack.

It wasn’t often Boothill felt…guilty. But somehow…you’d managed it.

“Aw c’mon, don’t gimme the waterworks.” he sighs “Look…ah’ll admit I forked up your job prospects, I’ll fudgin’ take that responsibility… will ya at least lemme see if I can help?”

“What can you do!?” You cry at him “If the IPC catches wind that I’ve somehow been caught up with you again-”

“Lemme take ya to a planet the IPC don’t care ‘bout.” He cuts in suddenly, an idea forming in his mind. “Been there plenty, they’re good folk, they’ll help ya.. Ya just…gotta trust me.” A planet untouched by the IPC? That seemed like a pipe dream…

“Impossible.” you mutter “any planet the IPC finds, it conquers.”

Boothill grins, that same toothy grin you remember from your first encounter with him. “I know, right? But this one? This one’s special.”

Eyama II was a small planet with little in the way of resources the IPC wanted or needed, a dwarf planet no less, nothing but a speck of dust floating through their air filters. It was a self-sufficient, homely type place…if he was being honest with himself, it’s where he would want to retire if he ever saw his goal through…living the simple life he used to know before the IPC had ripped it from him.

He knows it’s not the most…elegant solution, but he knew some fine folk there, some fine folk who might just be willing to help the poor outcast he’d created. -

It’s a long trip. It had to be if it was out of the IPC’s gaze…but that did mean a long trip with Boothill.

In a tiny two person at most ship.

You didn’t really know what to expect, if he’d just tie you up and put you in the corner…but as it turns out…he’s somewhat hospitable… ok more than somewhat.

After you’d calmed enough to be reasoned with, he’d handed you a bottle of nondescript nature. Without much thinking, you’d taken a swig, eyes widening at the distinctly alcoholic taste. It wasn't anything strong like whiskey, but it was enough of a shock.

“Malt juice.” He clarifies as he takes a seat at the helm, setting the warp drive “figured it’d help calm ya nerves.” You blink down at the bottle before slowly taking another, more temperate sip.

It…wasn’t bad…actually it was pretty good. It burned your throat just enough to keep you in the present.

You both talk…small things, you ask him how he knew of this planet, and tells you about all the planets he’d visited that weren’t under the IPC’s thumb, how all of them were nice, simple places.

He tells you that he thinks you’d like Eymaya II, he thinks everyone would like Eymaya II. It had rolling hills and green valley’s. The people were mostly farmers, ranchers, common folk just going through the motions to get by, but not in the same nihilistic sort of way most did. Good, honest living, as he says.

Part of you wonders if there ever was a time this ranger worked a good honest life, if this whole…cowboy thing was a facade, or if it was real, remnants of a past he couldn’t return to. You’re not sure if it’s his conversation, the malt juice, or both, but you eventually begin to open up, about your home life, about your terrible habit of cutting into conversations when you were nervous, all of it.

And when you begin to fall asleep? Your head nodding slowly where you sat, you feel a cold, metal hand rest on your shoulder.

“C’mon, you need ta’ rest.” He tells you, guiding you to the cot that looked seldom, if at all used.

For a wanted criminal who had put you out of two jobs and nearly killed you both times…he was surprisingly kind.

He wasn’t wrong about this planet. It was beautiful, the air was fresher than you could ever recall, living in the city.

Apparently, the look on your face says as much. Boothill chuckles, tilting his head softly as he watches you take it all in. “Told ya ye’d like it.” He hums, something in his mechanical chest whirring with..pride perhaps? Satisfaction? He wasn’t entirely sure, but seeing a face that, so far, all he’d seen from was fear and upset finally show…wonder…it felt good. He wanted to see it more, perhaps even a smile one day.

He takes you to the inn, sets you up with Jodie, an elderly woman who had been around the block quite a few times, she didn’t put up with Boothill’s antics, more like…a curmudgeonly aunt at first as she barks at him for not calling in sooner, only for it all to melt away into an almost familial warmth as the cowboy explains himself, explains you.

“now child I know you did not lose this poor thing not one but TWO jobs!” She scolds, hands on her hips.

There is a lick of satisfaction as you watch boothill shrink beneath the innkeeper’s rage.

“Donchu’ worry hon, we’ll getcha set up here, somewhere this block for brains can’t accidentally getchu fired. Only thing that’ll do that around here is laziness…you aint lazy, are you?” she asks, turning to you and squinting her beady, aged eyes at you, making you stiffen up as well.

“N-no ma'am!” you bark instantly “I-I promise to work hard and earn my keep!”

This atleast, seems to settle her some, and before you know it, you have a hot meal and an ice cold drink in front of you, and you want to cry again.

You actually feel…somewhat sad when boothill has to leave…anxiety twisting in your gut… would you really be okay here? Would you survive?

But he pats you on the shoulder and grins, and something about it is…comforting.

Something about it made you want to try.

It’s five years until you see Boothill again.

Jodie had grown too old to continue running the inn, and somehow, against all odds, it was you who had taken over. The entire place was yours, and you were happy.

Not a day goes by where you don’t wonder how you ended up here, but then you recall, the enigmatic cyborg cowboy who had hijacked your ship, and then blown up a satellite array.

Somehow, your outlook on him had turned from disdain to…a strange sort of affection. The frigid anger had melted away, and what replaced it was a sense of…thankfullnes for what he’d done for you. Working here, away from the almost all-encompassing reach of the IPC had opened your eyes to just how…corporate everything felt, and how it so desperately wasn't you.

It’s a late evening, you’re closing up for the night, the bar had emptied of all it’s usual late-staying regulars, and those who had rooms rented for the evening had already retired.

You’re polishing a few glasses when the door swings open.

“Well now, there’s a face I ain’t seen in a forkin long time.”

The voice is familiar, and has you turning, a small smile tugging at your lip. A mixture of feelings racing through your chest.

“Well well, come to let me collect your bounty, Sir?” you snicker, placing the glass you’d just polished beneath the malt juice tap to pour him a glass.

Boothill laughs, sauntering in with the swagger you remember as he drops into the stool closest to you. “How’ve you been, Boothill?” you ask him, setting the glass in front of him and waving away his credits. You owed him one drink, atleast, “what’ve you been up to?”

The galaxy ranger snorts, throwing some of his long hair over his shoulder “How long ya’ got there, sweetheart? S’gonna be a long story.”

“I own the place now, and we’re closed, so all the time in the world.” you hum, deciding to pour yourself a glass as well after locking the door. “Shoot, really? What happened to ol’ jodie?” He asks, voice tinged with legitimate concern as you drop into the barstool beside him.

“She’s fine, she’s fine..just old is all.” You assure him, finding a little comfort in the relief that washes over his features.

“Ah, fork don't scare a guy like that.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair “thought Jodie had up n’ left us.”

“Nah, she’s got a while on her yet.” you snort, taking a sip of your drink.

The conversations run long into the night, catching up, listening to the thing’s he’d done, places he’d seen…IPC operations he’d torn apart at the seams. He listens to you too, as you tell him about how things have been here, catching him up on anyone he asked about. It was like talking to an old friend. You weren't sure…what boothill was to you…a friend? An acquaintance? It was…complicated.

More malt juice enters your systems, you ask if it actually has an affect on him.

“You know…being a cyborg and all..” you mumble, feeling a distinct warm dusting to your cheeks as the malt settles.

Instead of responding with words, the galaxy ranger reaches out and takes your hand into his. He feels…

Warm.

“You tell me, darlin.” He chuckles after a moment, watching you though half-lidded eyes. You barely even notice, more curious about how the alcohol affected him. Without even thinking, you run your fingers along his exposed arm; you weren’t going crazy, he was warm, almost humanly so.

Your fingers continue to wander without much thought until they brush along his jawline; the sudden transition from steel to skin is what finally snaps you out of your own thoughts, pulling back with a squeak.

“O-Oh aeons I’m sorry!” you fluster at his face, his eyes are wide and his mouth slightly ajar. “I-I got carried away I’m-”

His hand reaches out again, clasping yours and pulling it back towards his face as he rests his cheek into your palm.

“Don't.” He murmurs, softly, softer than you’d heard him before. “Keep goin…please.”

A realisation settles across your mind.

“You…you can’t feel most touch…can you?”

He doesn't look you in the eye, but he does sigh, only burying closer to your warm palm, worn after years of working hard…but still human.

“S’not that I can’t feel…I can…but..s’mtimes it’s so forkin dull I might as well not…but..my face is…”

“One of the few places you can feel.” You finish the sentence for him, feeling a pang of sympathy. You didn’t know how long Boothill had been like this, but you could wager long enough that he was more desperate for a kind touch than he probably even realised.

“Yeh…” he mutters, his lips turning down into a frown “sorry…ah know it’s probably-”

“Shut up.” you mutter, turning to face him fully, your other hand coming to rest on the other cheek as you watch this man, this gunslinging galaxy ranger, falter. His eyes widen before he shuts them entirely, leaning into it, starved of this type of affection.

“F’ya don’t stop this bullshirt m’gonna think you might have some feelin’s for me, darlin’..”

You didn’t know if thats what it was…but you didn’t want to stop either, a part of you wanting to sate you own selfish curiosity…another part wanting to do this for him.

“It must be a lonely existence, living like you do.” the murmur leaves your lips before you even notice you’d spoken out loud, thumbs stroking over his cheek bones. Boothill stares at you in silence for a long moment, his gaze calculating, probing.

“I thought ya’ hated my forkin guts…” He mutters.

“Perhaps once, for a little bit, I did.” You admit “But then you brought me here, and I’ve never been happier..”

A beat passes, then another, and another. Boothill stares at you, the feel of your hands on his face something he wasn’t ready to give up just yet.

And then he leans forward, lips crash together and the taste of Malt juice and perhaps a little bit of oil is on your tongue.

You don’t pull back, if anything, you lean into it shamelessly.

Robotic hands grip your waist as your own finally shift from his face to wrap around his shoulders. At some point his hat goes flying off elsewhere, but neither of you care; too strung tight, too wound up to care.

His teeth are as sharp as they look, but he’s careful with them as he nips at your bottom lip, swiping his tongue over the little beat of blood he manages to draw.

“Shirt-” He mutters against your lips, his eyes shut tight, you can hear his inner mechanics whirring, like a mechanical heart about to rabbit from his chest “fudge, if you don’t stop me now darlin I’m gonna keep taking-”

“Then take.” you mutter back at him, tangling your hands into his surprisingly silky hair and yanking. “Take what you want.”

“Oh trust me, I would but..” Boothill’s growl trails off, and for a moment he looks…embarrassed. You can’t for the life of you figure out why until he steps closer, your knee brushing between his legs- oh.

“Flat as a forkin’ brass tack.” he mumbles.

You’re not sure why, it might just be the curse of your horrible humour, but your attempt at not giggling only sets you off into laughter that you attempt to muffle into his shoulder.

“Ey, watchu laughin at?” you expect boothill to be…mad at your outburst, but you can hear the amusement in his voice, feel the tremble of his own laughter “t’aint funny.”

“It kinda is.” you snicker out, pulling back to look him in the face. He looks a little sheepish, but thankfully, mostly just amused. “It’s okay…we’ll figure something out..”

His toothy grin settles back into a dangerous little smirk as the moment passes again, the kind of smirk that makes your belly twist a little. “Oh yeah, I got some other tricks up my sleeves.”

Without much more to say, you find yourself being lifted, thrown over the cowboy’s shoulder- as you open your mouth to say something, you’re interrupted with a harsh slap to your ass, resulting in nothing but a squeak.

“Where’s yer room?” He snickers as you glare at him.

You consider not telling him, being a brat, but the charming smile he returns to you is… yeah it does something stupid that goes right to your crotch.

“Upstairs…first door on the left.” you mutter, flustering at the way his grin widens.

If you didn’t know better you’d almost describe Boothill as practically skipping up the stairs, the angle for you however was a little trepidatious, and you find yourself clinging to him for a little more stability, right up until he carefully tosses you down onto the plush of your bed, landing with a soft thud.

He’s back on you, and your hands are back on him without him needing to ask; you can see the relief it brings, the way his eyelids flutter and his brow pinches as your fingers glide across his cheek, down his chest and along his arms, still warm, you note…

His lips return too, his own hands untucking your shirt just to get under it, metal fingers gliding over the smooth of your belly, up the your sides as he groans into your mouth. You wonder how much he can actually feel, if it was still dull, or if the alcohol had heightened his mechanical touch sensors somehow. You didn’t care, he looked happy, legitimately happy, like a dog being scratched behind the ears as you indulge him.

His lips move from yours and he begins to nip and taste elsewhere, his nose brushing against your own as he leans in, nuzzling at your cheek, nipping at your jaw, revelling in the little sounds of pleasure he pulls out of you, especially when his wandering hands wrap behind your back and find the clasp of your bra, it comes undone with a surprisingly expert tug and you moan softly at it.

(Who could blame you? You’d been wearing the damn thing all day.)

You wished there was something you could do for him, something to pleasure him like he was doing for you, but you forced yourself to be content with touching him, running your hands through his hair, scratching at his scalp and tugging at the soft strands; running your thumbs over his cheeks, tracing the shells of his ears.

Boothill however, seemed just as hellbent on touching you, but he had far more room to move, to explore, to play.

Metal thumbs find your nipples, embarrassingly hard and sensitive after being trapped in the confines of your bra all day, and you moan as he rolls them both, back and forth in a slow, methodical rhythm that leaves your breath light, and your stomach twisting in knots.

Pointed teeth find your throat, nibbling and worshipping every inch of skin they could catch. You’d have to wear a scarf tomorrow if he kept that up, lest the regulars at the bar notice the strange bruising… but you don’t stop him; you were all in on…whatever this was now.

A metal hand pulls away long enough to pop the buttons on your shirt, leaving the plane of your torso open and exposed to his gaze, nothing short of hungry as he stares down at you.

“Fudge…” he mutters, his voice husky “That’s a nice view…”

“Tease.” you huff.

“Tease? Oh ah’ll show you tease.” He snickers, his mouth returning to your skin, working lower, biting at the junction of neck and shoulder, nibbling along your collarbone before the cowboy shifts further, his tongue darting out to lap at one nipple whilst a hand works the other.

You gasp and moan, a hand quickly coming to muffle your cries, cheeks alight with embarrassment at the sudden outburst. Boothill only chuckles, his eyes trained to your face as he lays, settling between your legs as he rests atop you to continue his work, but at least he doesnt pull your hand away, too engrossed on what he could feel opposed to what he could see and hear.

He switches breasts while his free hand trails down, over the soft plane of your belly and to your belt, unbuckling it with ease and sending the strap of leather flying across the room before those fingers return, popping the button of your work jeans and dragging the fly down. You groan softly in appreciation at the relief it brings, only to feel those metal fingers working the waistband down.

Just what was he planning? you wonder internally as he gives your nipple one last, harsh suck before releasing it, making you keen beneath your hand.

“Feelin good, darlin?” he whispers. He sure sounded like he was feeling good as he nuzzles against your skin, nipping at your stomach and trailing lower, hands gripping at your jeans, pulling them and your underwear away in one swoop, leaving you open, exposed, and embarrassingly wet. “Y’sure look it..” he adds with a low whistle “aint that a sight.”

“B-boothill-” You mumble, an attempt at closing your legs out of embarrassment only sandwiching his head betwixt your thighs. He grins at you; it’s such an endearingly handsome thing, it makes you feel like this wasn’t a first time thing between you both, like he knew you, like he was comfortable with you, which only added to the heat in your belly.

“Aw don’t go gettin all fudgin’ coy on me now.” he snickers “After all those drinks’ ya’ gave me downstairs, I’m still kinda thirsty.”

His metal hands part your measly human thighs with shameful ease as he leans in close; you squeal when you feel his hot tongue lave down your inner thigh, warm breath so achingly close to your cunt it was maddening.

But it seemed Boothill was just as desperate as you were, his mouth attaching to your cunt after only a moment, taking in your squeal as his teeth gently roll your clit, the added danger only serving to make you wetter.

“F-fuck! Boothill-!” you moan out, forsaking keeping yourself silent as your own hands scramble across the sheets, searching for something, anything to ground yourself as his tongue laps at your folds with fever; they eventually find and settle in his hair before giving it a tug.

Boothill groans, the sting is only arbitrary, but he loves it, he loves being able to feel something. The warm plush of your thighs around his ears, the heat of your cunt as he sucks on your clit, only made sweeter by your cries. He’d missed this, he’d missed this a lot..

“Y’aint seen nothin’ yet, darlin.” He growls low and loving against your thigh in the brief moment of reprieve he gives you. You stare down at him with hooded eyes,your knees already trembling from his vicious onslaught; he nips the soft, sensitive flesh of your thigh with a cheeky smirk, holding up a pair of fingers, watching your face as he slowly drags them through your wet folds, collecting your slick; you gulp. “Like a’ said, I got a few fun lil’ tricks up my sleeves.” His mouth returns, lapping and pulling you right back into the overwhelming, wonderful pleasure as a slick metal finger circles your entrance, slow, methodical, torturous. You nearly sob with relief when he finally presses the digit inside, the metal actually making it easier. He hums his approval at how easily his finger is sucked in, pumping it slowly in and out, in and out; taking things at his pace- perfect.

After a little while, you feel that finger beginning to probe, to prod and search for your G-spot, and before long he finds it, signalled by a loud gasp and a sharp tug at his hair, only pulling his mouth closer, his tongue working away at your clit like he wasn’t driving you absolutely mad with pleasure.

Once he’d found the spot, he retreats, slowly adding the second finger and beginning the cycle again, stretching you, filling you stupidly well; it was an absolute tragedy that he didn’t have a dick…at this point you were so stupidly horny, you would have climbed on top of him just for a chance to ride him.

(somewhere in the back of your mind, the saying ‘save a horse, ride a cowboy’ reverberates)

As you’re right at the height, right at the edge, he suddenly stops, his fingers cease their movements and he pulls his head away, resting his chin on your naval as he stares up at you with such a stupidly loving look that it makes your heart twist; his chin was absolutely drenched in your slick, but he looked so very content.

But you weren’t.

“B-boothillllll-” you whimper, tugging at his hair again, why had he stopped!? Now of all times? You could feel his metal fingers pressed against your G-spot, but unmoving, they did little to pleasure you. You clench around them, but that too, yields little results.

“Sorry sweetheart, just wanted to see your face when I did it.” He chuckles, his smile twitching up in the corner.

“D-do whAT-” your question cuts off abruptly when the fingers inside you suddenly burst to life with vibrations, the strength of which you’d never experienced before. Your body coils and you nearly scream as he rams those fingers into your G-spot, stars exploding behind your eyes whilst pleasure cuts through your belly like glass.

“That.” He hums, satisfied as he returns that sinful mouth of his to your clit, adding another layer of pleasure. His fingers were harsh and rough, crooking into your G-spot one second, and then splaying out the next, dragging rough and harsh against your walls; his tongue however was soft, gentle, slowly and carefully rolling circles around your poor little nub. You were going to go crazy, he was going to drive you insane and you were absolutely letting him. Your body reacts on its own, thighs squeezing hard around his head, spine arched upward; your hips prevented from bucking thanks to one of his arms, wrapped solidly around your thigh and holding you down to the sheets, forcing you to lay there and take it.

You knew the walls here were decently soundproof, but even you began to question if they could muffle out your cries, made worse when Boothill suddenly sits up, pulling you up along with him, practically folding you in half as he continues to feast on your pussy like he hadn’t eaten in centuries, his vibrating fingers plunging somehow deeper.

At first you struggle for air with the new position, your knees almost at your chest, but then he switches the angle of his fingers and aeons-, you didn’t think it could get worse than this. But the pleasure this new angle brings, it’s new, its terrifying and you don’t quite know how to articulate that to the galaxy ranger causing it all. Your hands scramble clawing and tugging at any part of him you could get ahold of, his name falling from your lips along with incoherent babble, desperation and worry all balling into one feeling you couldn’t describe as he continues to piston those fingers into you, hitting your G-spot with such accuracy, the flame in your gut turning from a high heat to a near-volcanic overload as you jerk and struggle.

The final straw is when you crack open an eye, catching sight of him, staring back at you with such…love, such unbridled affection.

You scream his name as you cum, harder than you’ve ever cum in your life. Your faintly feel yourself make an absolute mess of his face, arms, your back and the sheets below you as your world turns white.

–

A soft, damp cloth carefully rubbing over your skin slowly pulls you back into reality, rousing you from the soft and gauzy subspace of post-orgasmic bliss. You try to shift, to sit up…to…something- but a hand carefully manoeuvres you to lay back down on a thankfully, dry patch of sheets.

“Easy, darlin’” Boothill’s familiar southern drawl hushes you down “Nearly done.”

You crack an eye to find him carefully cleaning you off with said damp towel. Methodical but careful. You’re trembling from the exertion, but boothill looks absolutely fine, the bastard.

In fact, he looks better than fine. A smile plastered on his stupid face as he works away, wiping sweat and other…fluids, off of you.

When he was done with that, he wraps you in a clean sheet and lifts you, sitting you down on the trunk at the end of your bed, just so he could change the set you’d obliterated with your unexpectedly rough orgasm. You sit there, watching him, half asleep and pleasantly dozy before he pulls you back into bed, pulling you into his side. A glass of water is pressed against your lips as he encourages a few sips into you.

You spend the night sleeping with him curled around you; the quiet whirr of his mechanical body providing a pleasing, soft white noise while hands stroke through your hair.

–

“Do you have to go so soon?” You ask as he reaches for his hat.

He’d been here a week, and it had been…for lack of a better word; wonderful.

But all good things had to come to an end you supposed. The look on his face was enough to tell you what you didn’t want to hear.

“I gotta. I ain’t done yet.” He tells you quietly, despite this, he holds out a hand, a silent request for you to walk with him…the inn and the bar would be fine for a little while.

“I’d ask ya t’come with me, but that’d be the biggest forkin mistake I could ever make.” the cowboy admits. He wanted you to, he’d never felt so content as he had in this week, but bringing you meant putting you in danger…aeons know he’d done that enough already.

“Will you…at least come and visit me?”

Boothill snorts as they meander their way towards his ship “O’course I will.”

“How often?”

“S’often as I forkin can.”

You both stop beside the ship, it had a few more dings and dents than you remember, but it was still in surprisingly good condition.

“Well…” you mumble “at least you know you’ll always have a room at the inn while I still run it.”

“Y’mean yer’ room?” He snickers. “I forkin hope you intend on running the place as long as possible, I pulled in a good favor from jodie to get ya yer’ start ‘ere.”

You smile at him. Boothill thanks every aeon in existence that his cybernetic eyes had a camera function, so he could save that face and look back on it when he was drifting through the universe.

Slowly, he pulls his hat from his head, holding it to his chest as he leans down to press his lips to yours, one last time for the road.

“I’ll be back as soon and as often as I forkin can…y’hear?” He murmurs, you nod; fighting away the sting behind your eyes as you step back.

“I hear…and…Boothill?” you ask as he turns around to step onto his ship, looking at you over his shoulder.

“Thank you.”

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alienpossession · 8 months

Text

Ricky rented the canoe around 10 AM from one of the local vendor. But ever since he went away from the shorr, no one knew his whereabouts

---

The boat appeared unnoticed.

Over the course of the hour, Jared lifted his head and scanned the horizon a few times, taking a nap and earning a natural tan was very nice, but he didn't like being in the dark. He was used to being in control, looking out over the empty beach and the hazy calm sea. The eye caught on a small, barely noticeable dot, but he quickly forgot about it. Until the next look at the sea. The dot got a little bigger until it was obvious that it was a boat. There was no wind, and quietly swaying it was pulled to the shore by the current and the tide, it seemed to him that the boat was completely empty.

The third time he woke up, when the tide began to tickle his feet, noon was long gone and the sun was starting to set, he too should have gone home. He stood on the sand and stretched out, his whole body tensed, stiff muscles tensed and woke up. He yawned and looked back. The boat stuck to the sand, it was rocked by the oncoming wave, from here one could see the leg thrown on board, swaying in time with the wave.

He yawned again, thinking that the boatman had also taken a nap, but something was wrong. Why would anyone let themselves dose off in such a small vessel which could be carried away by the current?

He yawned again and walked carelessly to the boat. Inside lay the body of a tattooed blonde guy looking drained and sun-kissed from the many hours he spent under the sun. He looked drained despite there's a bag with small food and packed bottles of a bluish liquid resembling water in his tiny boat

He put two fingers on his neck and tried to feel for a pulse, barely noticeable and very weak, it was bad. Jared grabbed the tattooed guy arms and pulled him to the sand, then knelt beside him and tried to remember the resuscitation technique. He pressed his chest a few times, then breathed air into his mouth, no response, just a strange squelching in his throat. He turned the guy on his side, tried to shake out the water, a thick bluish liquid began to drip from the guy's mouth. It gathered in a puddle and did not soak into the sand. Jared barely paid attention to it, he turned the guy on his back again, he was already breathing and even opened his eyes, but immediately closed them.

"Lie still," Jared said. He turned his back on the boat, hoping to find a mobile phone in the bag, not noticing how the bluish thick liquid stretched out and crawled into the guy's mouth, his eyes turned completely blue, and his body fluttered. Soon there was nothing left on the sand but a slight bluish body, his limbs quivered and he tried to get up.

Jared dumped the entire contents of the bag into the boat, it seemed that the bag belonged to some researcher, but there was no phone in it.

Thirsty from the whole saving effort and still not finding any clue, Jared pulled out one of the water bottles, popped the lid off, and took a deep sip. Instead of water, something thick and bitter filled his throat, the bottle fell from his hands and fell on the sand. Jared doubled over and tried to burp the disgusting liquor, but it remained in his throat. He tried to breathe but stuttered, his throat blocked, he felt cold tentacles stretching in all directions and towards his head. At that moment, he was hit from behind, Jared fell to the shallow water, gasping, something did not let him breathe, and his blood began to boil as he grabbed his throat, turning paler every second went by. The body of the recently rescued tattooed guy then piled on top of him and they started to wrestle. His eyes were blue, and blue was leaking from his ears and nose. The two went on pushing each other before the tattooed guy eventually got the upper hand

The two of them eventually kissed underwater and that's when the tattooed guy's neck bulging before he unloads sticky goo right onto Jared's mouth. He then dragged Jared back to the surface and throughout the whole ordeal, the goo completely infiltrated his head and body. He was trapped, in seconds his brain was covered in slime, his body and arms were twitching. The body that dragged him then picked up the bottle from the ground and splashed even more of its contents into the back of Jared's throat. He fought for every inch of his body, but he could not help but feel how he was slowly losing control, the cold was spreading from the bottom up, the limbs were icy and blue. Slime spread over his body and Jared felt like he was drowning in it. He finally gave up when he was flooded - not by slime, but by orgasm.

His body opened its eyes and met the gaze of the man above it. One blink and their blue eyes were back to normal, their brains and memories synchronized. The feeling of being in control of two bodies was unusual, but it adjusted quickly. The guy from above extended his hand, and Jared's body immediately grabbed it and stood on the sand again. They swayed as they looked at each other, both able to communicate without words.

Both reached for the bottles in the boat, popped them open and poured the contents inside themselves, greedily gulping down the bulk of the slime. It is enough for many bodies, in the human body it could multiply uncontrollably.

Another story from a follower which I altered a bit to make it fits to the pictures I have. Hope you like it

#male possession #alien possession #alien expansion #alien transference

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thesherrinfordfacility · 9 months

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i did not break my own heart last night thinking about the missing 1941 scene and have it sat in my brain all of today spinning around like a fucking microwave in order to not make you lot suffer with me. and i somehow feel i may be right about this so buckle up and lets break it down.

so yes, following on from this post, i think that there is going to be a third 1941 scene. twice is a coincidence, three times is a pattern. it's been literally set up like that by even bringing back 1941 into s2 in the first place. but we're missing a crucial detail because it does not - at all, really - explain how they went from evading danger from hell and having a cosy candlelit bottle of red to celebrate, to the bastard 1967 scene. we all know this, this is nothing new.

the symbolism of nightingales is probably going to cast a shadow on this. these two excellent analyses look at the meaning of nightingales in the context of R&J, and the relation that the song has to this point in time, respectively. in summary; it's a song that should be around in 1941 courtesy of vera lynn and others, and the nightingale itself carries the meaning of love being hidden and forbidden by way of it singing under the cover of darkness, before being replaced with reality and soberness - represented by the lark. the Dinner of '41 scene is set in the bookshop at night; this would parallel - that they are safe and concealed, and truths can be shared, but the writing is on the wall that stepping outside would be to shatter the illusion, so to speak. it might be that the song itself gets miracled up onto the record player, or a wireless lying about - whatever. note: i don't think they'll dance though, not given crowley in ep5, "you don't dance"... but then again, if there ISNT a kiss in s3-1941, an aborted dance seems like the next best option... the cowardly one, but i'll take it

this would also track with aziraphale having his epiphany after the church in s1-1941; specifically, in my eyes, that he doesn't necessarily just realise he loves crowley, but that crowley by way of saving his books loves him too. this is only supported by the whole of the s2-1941 scene of trusting in each other as the only way to pull off the trick, the subterfuge. this is then, again, also important in the context of what i think happens in s3-1941.

i do think aziraphale is going to bring the books up again, and what crowley did, because it needs to be addressed. the Nazis/furfur confrontation has scared him, regardless of whether he saved them both, more than he realised. its put things into startling perspective. i think he's going to bring up the books, and actually question crowley a little more as to why he did it. the repeated use of, and subsequent weird reaction crowley has to, the use of the term "friend" in s2-1941 would indicate that this is going to be a focal point in s3-1941. are they just friends? is crowley disappointed that aziraphale is still referring to him as that, after what he did? 'saving' aziraphale in the church, and then saving his books? or is aziraphale just saying 'friends' so hesitantly in both instances because he's not completely sure where crowley stands?

we as the audience know the answer to this, but they obviously do not. if one of the crucial themes of s3 is going to be resolving miscommunication, it makes sense for this scene to be the first, and last, time they communicate properly... at least, until they sort out the issues that culminated in the Final Fifteen.

so let's say they start getting into a very roundabout way of discussing what they mean to each other. there will need to be the sobering, ice-water-over-the-head realisation however, as s2-1941 demonstrated, that they cannot belong to each other, because they manifestly belong to heaven and hell respectively. crowley is still being spied on, and it firmly places aziraphale in their line of sight too. it's going to bring up the holy water discussion; why crowley asked for it - to protect himself, whether by taking out demons or taking out himself, as long as it means he - and most importantly, aziraphale - does not get hurt.

they actively confess that they want to be together, in a way that is more than they are now. aziraphale wants to, but says that they can't, because it's too dangerous. crowley suggests that no one ever has to know, they can hide it (there, in the bookshop, whilst the nightingale is singing), and even if they are found out, they can run. "hell won't just be angry; they'll destroy you..." // "no one ever has to know".

aziraphale doesn't want to have to hide it, doesn't want a halfway measure- is still thinking in black and white. crowley however thinks that something is better than nothing - thinking in the grey. but ultimately, as long as they are still shackled, they cannot do what they want, and it puts the other in danger. "surely the great thing about being a demon is that you can do whatever you want" // "you sound jealous, angel...". instead, aziraphale promises that the day that they are no longer tied to heaven or hell, they can be together; crowley scoffs, thinking that that will never happen, so they will never happen, "you're so clever! how can someone as clever as you be so stupid?!"

the reason they can't right now is because they could be caught. they would have to skulk around, be ashamed, feel guilty - and aziraphale is tired of feeling like that. because only having crowley in secret would hurt more. not being able hold his hand, or dance with him, or kiss him, unless it was in the bookshop. if hell were to find out, crowley would be killed, true, but if heaven were to find out, aziraphale could be cast out. and if crowley survived hell long enough to see aziraphale fall - he'd never forgive himself, and in a way, i don't think he'd ever forgive aziraphale either.

it's tearing them to pieces, but they have to stop whatever is happening between them in its tracks. it's acknowledged, but it's not named. this gives them plausible deniability; if they called it 'love', it would be undeniable. so, aziraphale asks for crowley to go; asks him to leave before they do something they can't come back from. crowley doesn't listen - crowds him, gets in close, and aziraphale is powerless to stop it. doesn't want to stop it. he's selfish by nature, a selfless kind of selfishness, but he wants this with all his being. and then - "this is too fast, crowley, please don't..." // "im sorry, angel. please... please, forgive me". aziraphale never gets to answer, to grant him that, because boom - the actual first kiss.

so. now that i've had to make you read that, i'm going in for the kill. let's look at everything that follows - and look at how the above might recontextualise it.

1967: the offer of the picnic, the Ritz? ie. the literal lyrics of berkeley square? aziraphale has caved in the interest of giving crowley a weapon to use if all else fails, to protect him, but that's as far as he's willing to progress. everything else is still too painful; he's on the brink of tears, promising that one day they'll be able to do what they want, to be open about how they feel, but not yet. they can't. crowley tries to push, "ill give you a lift, anywhere you want to go..." (him offering again to run away? a second chance to leg it?), and aziraphale reminding him that they can't, he can't... don't make him go too fast again, it's not fair. it also sets up perfectly that aziraphale and crowley don't speak for the next 40 or so years (as far as we're aware) until armageddon is threatened.

bandstand: mostly this is still centred around the apocalypse contextually, but i think with the above hypothetical scene in mind (the offer to hide, to run away, to be together), aziraphale is sent back to remembering their mutual confession that they've nonverbally agreed not to bring up, because it's not safe, and it's too painful. they've skirted around it, and returned instead to a tentative kind of friendship at the beginning of s1, but they're still not safe to address why seeing each other again, being so close to each other and not being able to touch is so painful. anyway - aziraphale refuses their side, but the above scene would re-view this as 'our side can't exist yet, you know this! you know why it can't!', and crowley leaves, again after pushing a bit more than aziraphale can stand.

alpha centauri: basically a facsimile of the above; same steps, same dance. but this time, crowley harks back to aziraphale's foolish (?) hope that they will be together, without having to run away, when the day comes that they don't have to answer to heaven or hell. and aziraphale smacks him right back, echoing crowley asking for aziraphale's forgiveness in kissing him, "i forgive you." crowley knows exactly what aziraphale is getting at, there - he's answering crowley's whispered plea to forgive him for pushing, for trying to force him, for acting in desperation. but he's also not answering that - he's skirting around that very thing, forgiving him like a knife would, slicing back at crowley for not only insulting aziraphale on something that is likely a genuine insecurity of his, but also putting him back in his place, for their safeties, because them being together just cannot happen. not yet.

and "please forgive me" in 1941 might seem out of character, but idk if it is; crowley knows that doing what he's about to do will hurt aziraphale, aziraphale has (hypothetically) told him as much, but he needs to do it - and seeks not benevolence or forgiveness as crowley-the-demon, but actually seems aziraphale's forgiveness, as crowley-the-person. the echo would certainly match the tone given here, in multiple ways:

the ritz: i mean, what is there to say? yes, their song is literally playing on the piano, and heralds the shift in their being out from heaven and hell, the day has finally come where they can - again, going by this entirely hypothetical scene that ive concocted - actually be together as they want to. and the nightingale literally singing outside, but as @shoemakerobstetrician beautifully pointed out, god remarks that it's covered up by traffic. so actually, if we again refer back to R&J interpretation of the nightingale, the love is still hidden, still somewhat under wraps, but can only just about be heard over the noise of the streets outside. the prohibition of them being together, of loving each other, is dwindling. and one day, it'll stop singing altogether. that day is coming, it will come, and then they can do what they please. so whilst the ritz scene may well be a mark of them starting the next chapter, it's slow to take hold, there's still hesitancy - which absolutely makes sense when we see that they are still very tentative with each other come the beginning of s2.

s2 general: aziraphale realises their freedom first; he gets excited by the dance, and being able to show his love to crowley, completely and without barriers, in the form of the ball - what he has read to be the best way to do so. he touches crowley more. he shares his bookshop with him, gifts it to crowley as being his as well as aziraphale's, this safe space that is so wholly theirs that crowley has the power to grant entry. the same with the bentley - aziraphale sees it as theirs, and crowley silently agrees, granting aziraphale the same power. crowley is comfortable in the bookshop to remove his glasses, has a place for them. the bookshop becomes tidier, more minimalist, to make crowley more comfortable in it (it is more cluttered in s1, im certain of it). it might just be the grading between s1 and s2, and lack of clutter, but the yellow is more prominent - his literal favourite colour. everything just screams that aziraphale is ready to make good on his promise from s3-1941.

crowley... for once, is the one not quite catching up. not realising the little dates here and there are literally poses them as a couple (although yes, the coffee shop one is to prep crowley for the goob jumpscare), that aziraphale has granted him the power to grant entry. aziraphale literally asking, practically begging, crowley to help him hide goob. the mf colour of the walls. the colour of the bentley. it's not until nina outright asks him if they are together that he realises how careless they've been - but wait, is it careless if they have nothing to be careful of? well, arguably crowley does, hell are still hanging around him like a bad smell... but this is what he wanted! this is what he was pushing aziraphale for! so, does he risk it? he's not sure, but he's certainly realising that aziraphale is ready, if nothing else. and by the time the ladies stage their little intervention, crowley finally realises that the confession he started in 1941 now can be fully aired, can come out into the open.

the Feral Domestic: *fingers at temples* i know i have been fairly vocal about my interpretation of this scene, and frankly - until we get this hypothetical s3-1941 scene, i stand by it - but let's say this speculation about the scene is true, and re-examine the key points in the Final Fifteen that would completely turn on their heads in terms of meaning:

literally, harking back full circle to what aziraphale promised in 1967 as what they would do when they could fully acknowledge their love, and what they did as soon as - on paper - they were free at the end of s1. this is however before he's spoken to by nina and maggie, so maybe this is what crowley was planning in terms of confessing fully to aziraphale, but after their meddling he realised that yes, they need to actually talk about it again. he doesn't understand why they're telling him what they are - because he's existed so long in gestures and gifts and not talking, literally dismissed it now as a viable option, that it doesn't even occur to him to try talking again.

which is why he does something brave, and tries to tell aziraphale instead (say it out loud, make it undeniable, put a name to it, "i love you", something that i think was crowley's actual intention before aziraphale interrupts him) when he comes back to the shop... he's so nervous, because it's vulnerable, and because the last time he did, they ended up hiding for 50-ish years.

next up:

now, im reluctant to think that aziraphale lied in the Feral Domestic, because i do think the key thing at work is his paramount need to do the Right Thing (ie. make a difference in heaven). whilst metatron obviously manipulates him, im not entirely convinced that aziraphale wholly sees through it. i don't think he knew that metatron was up to something, i think the shaking off of this naivety is going to be part of his s3 character development. but this sentence - again, especially in context of the hypothetical s3-1941 scene - must on some level frighten him. especially if you take this meta into account, aziraphale must realise at least that they were never safe, even when they were denying what they were and how they felt, it didn't make a bit of difference. now, metatron could have just been talking about the arrangement, not referring to any romantic elements of any kind, but the threat of it? no wonder he pushes for crowley to join him in heaven; he could keep crowley safe there. they could be together, and heaven - in his eyes - would be able to say a word against it.

then:

the fear sets in; crowley was too late in telling him, acknowledging that they could be together, realising what aziraphale was saying to him without words, and now heaven has come for him. plonked them right back where they were in s2-1941, but perversely mirrored; instead of hell coming for crowley with violence, heaven came for aziraphale with kindness. crowley doesn't have a magic trick he can just do on the fly, perform it perfectly when the need for it is greatest, and has to cling to the hope that aziraphale still sees them as the barrier to them, the reason they can't be together. and in true miscommunication fashion, i think aziraphale does see it, but what metatron said lingers, and in addition to being inside the institution, changing it from the inside out, in order to make a difference... he knows that whilst it's exactly the opposite of what they wanted, he needs to make them safe. better to be inside the tent pissing out, than outside the tent pissing in.

but aziraphale doesn't tell crowley what metatron said, because instead he either deliberately tries to deny the implications of it (cognitive dissonance king behaviour), or he doesn't want to panic crowley and is trying to convey to crowley that he can't speak his concerns, not when the metatron could still be watching, and instead just needs crowley to trust him, take his hand, and join him in heaven where they can be safe. doesn't tell crowley that heaven hasn't captured him in shackles again, but he's willingly held out his wrists because it's the safest thing for him, and them, to do.

so it's one thing to look at what crowley's saying, but aziraphale's reaction? before, i just found it to be out of confusion, him not really understanding what crowley was saying, but tbh i never paid much attention to it (david stole this bit of the scene - not to put down my beloved michael here, but he did). and i know others have remarked here that aziraphale is flitting his eyes to the window and looks scared and stressed, but i don't completely think that its because he's scared that metatron is watching (although, now, i will accept with the rug thing and hypothetical s3-1941 in context it is definitely playing a part), but also because he's just starting to recognise that this is a repeat of the s3-1941 scene, "this sounds familiar, we've been here before... oh, we've definitely been here before... oh shit. i still can't do this, not unless he comes with me. we still can't be together, not in the way crowley wants. the way he's trying again, now, to ask for."

but the issue is: crowley wants to run away together. again. and i totally get why, but once again, going back to 1941: it's exactly the solution that will not work. they cannot run from this. heaven, and hell, will find them. they will come for them. it wasn't an option in 1941, it wasn't an option in 2019, and it isn't an option in 2023. aziraphale begins shaking his head - crowley is confessing, but a) aziraphale doesn't run from things, it isnt in his character, and b) it's just putting them back where they started - something that they have to hide. it defeats the purpose.

and this? yeah, im sure on neither side it was meant the way im about to interpret it, more of an unspoken thing, idk... but if the bookshop is indeed their place of safety, and is where they (as far as crowley sees it) can speak and keep their love, it makes sense that crowley is telling aziraphale he needs to stay. the bookshop can be interpreted so many ways - it represents their relationship, or that crowley means him, himself - but what if we looked at it like crowley is trying now to covet it, because it's protecting them? what if he's saying, "well, if you won't run away with me, we can't be free to have our relationship as we wanted it, not unless we stay here... heaven has come for you, has come for us, and whilst they're here we can't move. so what other option is left remain in this bookshop? to never leave it, and what we have inside it, because there's no other option in which we can be together if you won't run with me."

and what if aziraphale is saying, "no, i have an option, and that's to be together in heaven! they won't be able to do anything, not when im in the position the metatron has offered me, that can be our new bookshop... nothing lasts forever - this bookshop won't last forever, it's compromised, and we can't continue to secret away what we feel inside it, it's time to move forward."

welcome to the line that breaks my heart the most in this whole goddamn scene - and tbh i think is fairly self-explanatory in the hypothetical s3-1941 context. that aziraphale is trying, once again, to tell crowley that he is offering himself, letting them be an 'us', as crowley says shortly after - that before he couldnt do it, and these arent the best of circumstances, but they can finally do it and not have to hide in the bookshop. but crowley reminds him, "hey, i was in your shoes, remember. i wanted us to be together then, and you told me you couldn't, didn't want a halfway measure - well, now i don't either. and this will be a halfway measure, because i don't think us being together in heaven is going to go the way you hope it will. i understand a whole lot better than you do." in any case, it would explain why aziraphale choses this moment to look so devastated. this is what he promised crowley, but now crowley - to his mind, in the things left Unsaid - doesn't want it... him.

and then... back to the nightingales. they're not singing at all, not even under the rumble of traffic, like they were at the Ritz. they're completely absent - day has broken, the things unspoken have now been said, and there's no denying them anymore. from crowley's point of view, there was nothing to stop them this time, but if aziraphale won't run with him, then they have to go separate ways, because there is no other way. aziraphale knows there's the possibility that the only place they could actually be safe is heaven itself, that the bookshop was never as safe as they hoped it had been, but that crowley might actually come to see that. but the fact that crowley is resigned to just... returning to 'reality', to a world that's still turning where they aren't together? despite everything they've just said? "we could've been... us." well, that hurts.

and then... the kiss. now. im still of the mind that the kiss was an Issue. i definitely think it was meant out of love and desperation, and out of possibly being a goodbye. this would echo the hypothetical s3-1941 kiss... but it was hurtful. it was abrupt, and harsh, and not at all romantic (imo). it was possessive, and almost cruel. i do think still it was a last ditch attempt, a temptation, to get aziraphale to change his mind, before crowley leaves the shop and returns to the 'real world'. but it hurts aziraphale in many different ways - but with 1941 put in there, too? crowley is just testing his resolve, trying to push him, come around to giving in. crowley asked him to forgive him the last time he kissed aziraphale, and this time - this time, aziraphale is giving him what he asked for.

#did i just do a whole ass meta based off of a completely hypothetical non-existent hc of the third part of 1941?#yes - yes i did #but the Implications would not leave my brain #make of this what you will if you even got to the end and if you did frankly congratulations #good omens

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bloodyjuls-blog · 1 year

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The worst of us (part 2)

Here's the second part. We gonna have a third part and maybe fourth amongst this week (I go to Uni) (let me know if you like the drama or less drama for next part)

"Hi, y/n" Leah said. "Hi capi how are we doing" I said in a shaky voice. "what's up y/n, are you crying?" Leah said concerned by my tone of voice. "it's just that i messed up in a way" you said with a shrinking voice. "what did you do y/n and why do I get the feeling it has something to do with Alexia" Leah said more seriously. I told her what I had heard in the locker room... "but that's ok innit" "she visualized with you in the long run" she said calmer. "yeah but you know how much I went through before I met her to have to deal with that" y/n she said calmer " "I thought you had everything under control y/n" Leah said flatly. "that's what i thought, everything was fine until a few months ago, she found the bottles in the dishwasher and didn't say anything. how the hell did she not say anything, being a footballer and drink without control" you said hysterically. "but you can go to therapy again, you can control it" said Leah. "I feel like all this pressure from marriage and kids, media, Giraldez, it's drowning me LEAH. Ahh fuck, I'm going crazy" "who do you think you are to cross the traffic light like that, fucking crazy" you said in a way that even you don't recognize yourself. "Y/N calm down now, I hope you're not driving" "Of course I'm driving Leah" "Alexia decided it was best for me to leave, it's all fucking over. I can't take it anymore" you said crying. "Don't do something crazy please, if you're going to drink, go home, it's safer" said Leah in a worried tone. "No tonti, I'm not going to do anything bad," you said more calmly. Yet another lie, I thought. Of course you spent the whole night drinking at the 24h market close to home. You'd be as dead as a doornail the next day at training

Next day at training

"Well girls, as we all know, we have the champions match day coming up, I want everyone to be plugged in and eager to win," said Jonatan. "Yes coach" we all answered in unison. Once on the court the group was divided by positions and it was my turn to play against Alexia. Not surprisingly, none of the girls spoke to me. They were clearly leaning towards the captain. That made me very angry, that I hadn't done anything wrong enough to be disowned. To say I felt bad was too little for everything that was crossing my mind at the time. One thing they tell you is not to mix work and home but when your home is your colleague it becomes impossible, let alone seeing her as beautiful as ever. In a different situation, the girls would be more supportive and condescending to me but no, today was the day to make my life a hell.

A couple of exercises later I felt like I was going to faint, the spring heat and the monumental hangover I'm carrying don't help. In one of those passes that I have to receive I get lost and my team yells at me in a way that is so fucking scary, those beasts are scary. Alexia looks at me with rage, I don't think I've ever seen her so upset with someone, not even with the fucking gals of real madrid. If these things happen to me because I'm stupid. To say that right now I was at my strongest mental point is a lie, but I was doing what I could. In one play we had to clear the ball and of course as my luck couldn't be worse today I had to receive in front of Alexia. Not having the physique today to give it my all, Alexia got there first and threw a missile in my face. "Ouch" I thought as I fell unconscious on the grass. Alexia approaches me and tells me in the most venomous way possible "let's see if you wake up and stop drinking. The example you set for the little ones. Very good, very good". At that moment I couldn't think of anything but pain and Alexia's words. I think if I had to compare it to anything it would be a stab in the back. Alexia knows my weak points and yet she uses them against me.

At the medical room they put ice packs and ointment on my face for the bruises. luckily nothing is broken beyond an eyebrow. I head home before and out of nowhere I get flashbacks of all those times I was told that I was not a good example, that I was not enough, that I should not spend my time in football, but what bothers me the most is that it reminds me of when my father told me that I was a bad example for my nephews, because of them I changed. Sometimes things do not turn out the way you want. And as I knew that this day was going to end worse I decided to take a flask of whiskey in my backpack. It was not a good idea.

As I go into the locker room to get my stuff I hear the girls laughing about something Alexia said. I let myself listen to her a little bit because I know that when I go in they will shut up and give me funny looks. I hear her say "maybe it wasn't the right time or she, all of a sudden her alcohol problem came back". But since she is so sneaky about telling my stuff to the others. "Alexia you can just shut up and stop telling my things, at least respect what I once in privacy told you" I said it in the most calm and broken way possible. Suddenly because of the alcohol I had already had. They all went quiet and went back to their things. Alexia looked at me and I grabbed my stuff and left. Bad idea, I couldn't drive with alcohol on me. Fucking alexia, fucking family club, fucking liquor. Angry, I got in the car to go to my special place.

In the locker room the English girls came in, joking about y/n had brought a flask of whiskey and hadn't hesitated to drink it during practice. All the girls reacted and started to worry. "What's up girls?" said Keira, still laughing. "What's going on here is that most of the people here have been making fun of y/n and her alcohol problems, thanks alexia, and now she has gone home in her car drunk" said Ana a little more upset. To tell the truth Ana has always been on my side, it has to do with the amount of years we have known each other, I consider her one of the family but with the alcohol recently, I have moved away a little.

Already in the car I'm a little dizzy, everything is spinning and the memories are killing me. To say that driving like this is ok is reckless, don't do it under any circumstances. A couple of hours later I find myself back in Alexia's neighborhood, wandering around like a fool, as if she was going to show up. I decide to go up the Tibidabo but in the vicinity I come across a curve which I try to maneuver as best I can but apparently it beats me. The only thing I remember is calling Alexia. "Hi y/n, what do you want" says Ale a little angry "Hi bonita, I want to hear you and I want you to know that I love you with all my heart" you say almost without air in your lungs because of the blow "and please forgive me for not being enough for you, I swear that everything makes sense, but there is nothing to do anymore. That you were always a family to me " "why are you saying that y/n, I'm getting worried ""where are you ""goodbye alexia, I love you" you said before you hung up and your whole world turned black.

#Alexia putellas #woso #fc barcelona femeni #fcb femeni #espwnt #lionesses #alexia putellas one shot #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine #woso imagine #woso imagines #woso x reader

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geekwritersworld · 1 year

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Little Artist -Part 2

Part 1

Pairing: Peaky blinders x siblingreader (more inclusion of Tommy for now)

Warnings: none

Summary: was a request, as stated in the previous part.

a/n: So, I decided to make a series of this cause I feel like the first part had series potential. Secondly, this part is quite short but it's vital to the third part. Also i am aware that the request is for a sister reader but i did try to be as inclusive as i could. Let me know what you think :)

Feedback is appreciated

The air chilled your fingers as you walked out of the university clutching your bag.

Somehow Tommy managed to listen to you for once, you thought.

Tommy refused, at first, to let you travel back to small heath from London on your own, he insisted on sending Isaiah to pick you up.

It wouldn't come as a surprise if Isaiah was somewhere around right now following you to make sure you were safe. If anything it would be a surprise if he wasn't following you right now.

You weren't fully attending university yet seeing as you still had a month of school left. However, during the days you were free you decided to get acquainted with the university and the city you'd be calling home for a while.

Once you'd gotten used to the idea of you moving to London for university, you couldn't ignore the little ball of excitement slowly growing in your chest.

It was such a freeing yet terrifying thought. You were afraid of moving away from your family, from the safety of your home, yet you were excited at the numerous opportunities that would open up for you in university.

Turning the corner of the building, focusing on your footsteps and keeping your head down because of the wind, the extra set of footsteps went unnoticed, the noise of the footsteps masked by the wind and the chatter of the rest of the students that had walked out of the university.

Having only been around in the university for less than 2 weeks, you didn't know anyone, but truth be told, you didn't exactly put any effort into making any friends or talking to anyone either.

There was something that made you feel out of place, you couldn't put your finger on it.

But you tried not to focus on it, instead you sped up your pace; pushing past a crowd of students.

Sitting down on your seat on the train, you couldn't help but wonder about the professor that had introduced himself today. There was something odd about him, the whole time for the first 45 minutes he glanced at you every few minutes. But you shrugged it off, you didn't want to believe that there was anything wrong with the university you'd wanted to go to for so long.

You jolted awake at the sound of the whistle and quickly realized you'd fallen asleep and had arrived at Birmingham, so you grabbed your things and stepped off the train, standing there for a second, you spotted a man standing by the pillar, his head down, cigarette hanging from his lips.

"Tommy" you gave a small smile " Not even surprised" you adjusted your bag looking at him.

Walking ahead a few steps in front of him, you felt the weight of your bag shifting, turning around you saw Tommy motioning you to shrug your bag off, so he could carry it.

You let him hold your bag, and then paused for a second before continuing. You wondered whether you should talk to Tommy about the professor, but then you realized Tommy in true Shelby fashion would probably exaggerate the whole thing.

Tommy noticed but let it go, he decided if it needed to be brought up he would, later on.

Aunt Pol greeted you with a smile, hugging you and ushering you indoors for a cup of tea.

"How's the University treating you?" she set her tea cup down and looked at you. "and i don't mean just study wise, you know that" she said before you could answer.

Giving a small smile you responded with "it's alright, it's only just begun so 'm not really expecting much"

Pol gave a small smile of acknowledgement, but didn't say anything further. Really, she just wanted to make sure you were alright, she was sure it couldn't be easy having to go through the new phase alone, she also knew you were like Tommy in more ways she'd like, meaning you wouldn't necessarily tell them if there's something bothering you. Most likely in true Shelby fashion, you'd either ignore it till it went away or you'd try and deal with it yourself.

Since it was still early in the day, Pol had to leave and head back to the betting shop while you decided to stay home and read. It was only around four in the afternoon, the trip to london and back had exhausted you, so you opted to stay home and rest.

Heating up the rest of the tea Polly had left in the kettle, you settled on the couch.

A little distance away, at the noisy betting shop, Tommy was hunched over the paperwork he'd acquired for the day. Unable to focus after rereading the same line twice, Tommy cursed, slamming the pen down and putting out the cigarette.

He straightened up and leaned his head back in his chair.

It had been a month since his last confrontation with the inspector, since his Aunt shot the inspector at the races. It unnerved your older brother to let you go unprotected around on your own considering there was always someone or the other threatening him or his family.

Tommy and Arthur once snorted at the fact that Polly had shot Campbell in time for you to be safe to leave for University safely without Campbell having the opportunity to threaten you.

Arthur had suggested that he could- on some days accompany you to London, and then was a little offended when you retorted that you'd rather your professors didn't disappear one after the other and surface at a lake blinded.

Of course he had Isaiah trailing after you, and he knew that you were aware of it as well, but there were of course certain points when you were alone.

His instincts told him something was very wrong. Ada had only the other day made a joke about how the current lack of threats and bloodshed was unnerving.

Little did she know her older brother wasn't joking.

Getting up from his seat he poured himself some whiskey and downed it one gulp, then he stepped out of his office, paying no attention to everyone in the betting shop quieting down at his presence, and strode right out of the shop.

He spotted Isaiah and Finn having a smoke down the street and he strode towards them.

"Finn" Tommy said in a tone that almost seemed like his younger brother had the most boring name known to him.

Looking up, both Finn and Isaiah straightened, knowing Tommy meant business.

"I need you to find Grace"

Turning around and heading back into the betting shop, Tommy pushed open the door and walked back into his office and shut the door.

That night, when Tommy returned he saw everyone gathered around the dining table, eating and talking, everyone except you.

You were nowhere to be seen.

"Where's y/n?" Tommy asked, putting away his hat.

Finn looked up at him "Asleep on the sofa"

"she looked so worn down this afternoon, decided to let her sleep" Polly put down her cup "wake her up will you, she's got to eat atleast"

Turning around to walk down the hallway into the living room, Tommy saw your sleeping figure on the sofa and moved to you.

calling your name he nudged you awake, he didn't expect you to startle awake before he even got close to you.

Standing there, while you snapped your head to look at him, he raised a brow. "You wake like that normally eh?"

Rolling your eyes, you rubbed your eyes and got off the sofa, walking past your brother.

When you entered the dining room after freshening up you were glad that they acknowledged you but didn't ask much about your day as you were in no mood to talk. Not to mention the fact that you had spotted someone watching the house was definitely not making it any better.

You hadn't even noticed at first, but when you'd walked closer to the window to open it you'd noticed a male figure too far to catch his face but close enough to know he was watching the house, at first you assumed it was one of the blinders and went and sat back on the sofa, but realized the hat was different. Not to mention had there been a blinder watching the house, Aunt Pol would have told you before she left that afternoon.

You had wondered how you'd bring it up with your family, but before you could think of a way, you'd fallen asleep. The exhaustion of the last few days had caught up and hit you hard, that not even this could keep you awake.

When Tommy had called your name to wake you, you had woken up scared for a second that the man watching the house had got in. And once you realized it was Tommy, you knew you wouldn't have to wait long to bring it up with Tommy because you were sure he'd talk to you about it before you went to bed.

And after dinner that was precisely what had happened.

Heading up the stairs to your room, the door remained open, you knew Tommy would bound up the stairs after you in a few seconds.

And he did, right on time a few seconds later.

"I presume you know why I'm here" Tommy sat down on your bed. You rolled your eyes but smiled a little at his antics.

sometimes you felt as though the Tommy before the war was still around in the little things such as this. In the sarcastic way he occasionally spoke to you with, just as he often did before the war. The only difference being, at that time it ended with him smiling and laughing at your frustration while you would playfully smack him, now, however- he would sit there expressionless while you would crack a small smile at the tiny glimpse of the boy your brother once used to be.

Folding away your clothes, you said "which one would like to hear first?"

"whichever one that made you pause at the station"

Continuing to shuffle about your room, organizing things, you got to the point " well, I've got this professor, he's strange, I'm not sure how but I've caught him staring at me quite a few times, not in a perverted way, i don't think" you shrugged "just in a way like- he knows something about me that I don't sort of way you know" Tommy's eyes narrowed.

"and then last few days on my way back, been feeling like I'm being followed, I don't think it's Isaiah since I know he's there, but like its someone else but it's probably just Isaiah and-" you paused to turn and look at your brother "have you had a blinder watching the house today?"

Tommy sat up straight and looked at you carefully "no"

Shoulders slumping, you sighed "well in that case someone's watching the house. Don't know who though"

"can you describe him?" Tommy asked.

"not really, he was a bit far off, but I think he wore a coat"

anything else?" Tommy pressed.

"I think, I could be wrong" you said " but I think he had a stick- a walking stick I mean"

#tommy shelby x sister!reader #peaky blinders oc #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders imagine #arthur shelby x sister!reader #tommy shelby imagines #peaky blinders fanfiction #tommy shelby #peaky blinders fanfic #tommy shelby x sister reader #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby angst #peaky blinders angst #geekwritersworld

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thewalkingwillowtree · 11 months

Text

Safe Haven

Series Part Listing Found Here

Neteyam x Original Na'vi Female Character

Summery: Seeking refuge, Xilä and her father venture to the lands of the Omatikaya clan, in the hopes that the Toruk Makto would be generous in allowing them to stay. This is her story about not only finding her strength, but finding love.

Warning: This story contains smut, violence & abuse (please don't read if these topics will affect you)

Some characters have been aged up. Neteyam in particular is 23.

Xilä is my own creation.

Part 4 - Breakthrough

During Xi’s four week mandatory stay in the healer’s tent, she had seen many patients come and go. Some were weary and completely avoided her, while others made polite conversation.

In her third week she became restless. Her only source of entertainment were the few times her newly proclaimed friends visited or in observing the Tsahìk in her element. The art of healing had become fascinating to her.

And so ever so shyly, she’d asked Mo’at if there were small things she could help with. Things to keep her busy.

Everyday after breakfast and the slew of medicinal tonics Mo’at would lay out for her, Xi would sweep the tent, clean out chambers and tidy bed rolls before being scolded back to resting. Tsahìk had noticed her interest and would ever so often offer up information about the ingredients or tonics she was using- Xi was entirely intrigued.

But her time was up now. By the end of week four she already knew at that point she was practically only taking up space in the Tsahìk’s tent.

So when Neteyam had told her she was not going to be staying with her father yesterday, Xilä had her doubts. First thing this morning though, when he came to collect her for their daily lesson, he told her to pack her things.

Xilä never owned many possessions before. Yet in such a short amount of time, she now had a pair of pretty boots, not one but three whole outfits that were specifically made for her and a small growing collection of little trinkets that Tuk would usually surprise her with during her visits.

Neteyam led her to Salveen’s tent again that morning- him carrying her packed things in a satchel he’d swung across his body.

When they entered, Xi was surprised to see a gruff looking male Na’vi who stood next to an excited, smiling Salveen. The elderly woman quickly smoothened her hair as though trying to make a good impression and then held her joint palms under her chin, her eyes misting slightly.

“Xi, well you already know Salveen, but ah- this is Jxo,” Neyetam said gesturing to the elderly male, “Salveen’s mate.”

The intimidating man gave her a surprising kind smile and polite nod, which she returned.

“They’ve offered to let you stay here, with them,” Neteyam finished.

“What?” Xi asked, in disbelief. “As in...to live? I- but, won’t I be intruding?”

“Never! You are welcomed here. My D’avi is all grown up now and has her own mate and home and I- well, it will be up to you of course, but my Jxo and I would be ever so happy if you stayed. Will you at least come see the space I set up for you?” Salveen rushed out, walking over to pull back a hung up privacy curtain that was not there yesterday.

“It’s not much right now, just your bed- I wasn’t sure if you preferred a hammock but Neteyam said you’d like this better, he mentioned you get cold often. I promise we’ll fix it up nicely. Jxo’s a woodworker, so he’ll build you something nice to store your things in and you tell us whatever else you need and we’ll- Oh darling, what is it?” She broke off, seeing Xi’s expression.

Xi was emotional, she felt choked up and was trying her best to stifle it. “Nothing,” she said, shaking her head with a tiny smile, “Thank you Salveen. It is perfect.”

She walked into the little space and grinned at the neat nest of furs, blankets and leathers. Pretty flowers were strung from the ceiling and there was a odd bright device, which illuminated the space in a soft homey glow. Xi had learnt it was a human contraption called a lamp.

“So…you will stay then?” Salveen asked, with a hopeful smile.

Xi, glanced from her to her husband who was still quietly observing them- his gaze soft upon his wife- to Neteyam who leaned against a beam with his own encouraging expression towards her.

“If you will have me, then yes.”

“Ohhh Jxo! She said yes! Well um- okay, let’s get you settled then.” Salveen was a whirlwind- she practically attacked Neteyam to get her satchel of belongings from him, immediately ushering Xi back into her little nook to help her move in.

Neteyam and Jxo shared matching amused looks then moved back into the centre of the tent to allow the women their space.

“You have no idea how happy you made my mate,” Jxo said gruffly.

Neteyam laughed, “Thank you again, for agreeing to this.” Turning serious he said, “Jxo, Xilä’s father…” he didn’t exactly know how to word it. “He’s not allowed to visit. I don’t want him near her.”

Jxo eyed him for a moment then nodded. “Understood,” he said simply, tapping the handle of the knife on his hip in response.

This was why Neteyam liked the elder. He was a man of few words but he was honestly the best.

Neteyam was greatly surprised at how fast a learner Xi was. In the following three weeks since they’d started her lessons she quickly adapted to the labyrinth of the Omatikaya forest.

She was a determined student. Anything he threw her way she was eager to learn, eager to put her best foot forward and every time she shocked him with her ability to succeed.

They had fallen into a simple routine which suited his schedule. Early every morning he would pick her up from Salveen and Jxo’s where he would more often than not be coaxed by the elderly woman to stay for breakfast.

From there they’d head straight for the forest where they would cover whatever lessons he had planned for the day. They usually shared a late lunch while practicing her English skills, then he’d walk her back to her tent before heading off to perform his other responsibilities.

All that being said, she still pissed him off. She got under his skin for some reason which he was quickly realizing that quite frankly, he found her attractive. It was mostly also her constant notion to obey and submit to his every suggestion or request- irking every fiber of his being.

He gave up trying to get her to stop saying sorry. Sometimes he felt like she was a lost cause but then she’d say or do something to prove him wrong.

Right now, as he corrected her stance as she held a bow, he bit down the need to snap at her. She was flinching at every brush of his fingertips.

It annoyed him that she didn’t trust him. He was not her father. He was not a monster. But he had to remind himself of his own father’s words. About having patience, about being nice.

“For shits sake, would you stop doing that? I'm not going to hurt you!”

And of course…she flinched, again and of course, she apologized.

It was moments like these that he never understood why his father chose him of all people to show her the ways of his people. It made him question the Jake Sully’s sanity.

Neteyam was a soldier, a great warrior. He thought himself a great teacher too, since he also trained many warriors beneath him. But this was different. He couldn’t be the hard-ass he usually was with his trainees. She was not like most of his students- she was not like any of them.

Xilä was soft, sensitive. Delicate.

He also had to keep reminding himself that she had a bad past- he wasn’t sure she ever knew what kindness was before she got here.

“Look, you’re going to need to start fully trusting me okay? I can’t keep walking on eggshells around you, worried that every time I touch you, you think I’m going to hit you or whether I’m going to hurt your feelings with every word I say. We’ve been in this together for more than three weeks already, Xilä.”

She put the bow down and faced him- her gaze averted. “If you think your words hurt me, they don’t. Say what you wish. I promise, it will not bother me,” she shrugged, not even seeming bothered.

“Why? Because you’re so numb to all the shit your father has said to you?”

She flinched again and shook her head silently, hurt written all over her beautiful face but Neteyam wasn’t deterred. He was frustrated, he needed to get her out of her own head- it was time to finally fix this. Otherwise, what was the point?

“It's true though isn’t it? You let him walk all over you and now you’re letting me do the same thing?” He stepped closer and she automatically backed away, arms wrapping around herself, head bowed in submission.

He followed her, matching her for every step she took. “Well see, I call bullshit…they do hurt you. Don’t they?”

She said nothing.

“But you can stop it. You can do something about it....You want to know what I think? I think you’re strong. I think you can get out of this fucking spell your father seems to have you under….Nothing to say? Fine. Let's play a game, shall we?”

She remained silent, but he could see that her breathing was becoming erratic. He knew she was shutting down.

“If I yell at you and call you names, what are you going to do about it? Hm?”

Silence.

“If I get in your face like this, what do you do Xilä?” He asked harshly, as he closed the distance between them.

“If I grab you and shake you, what do you do?” He gripped her arms in a firm but gentle hold. “Look at me Xilä, what are you going to do about it?!”

“Stop. Please- I- I don’t like this game.”

“We’re not playing right now sweetheart! You need to wake up! You let your father treat you like shit!”

“N- no,” she whispered.

“Yes, you do.”

“No.”

“Get mad Xi.”

“NO.”

“Come on. Do something!”

“NO!”

“Yell. Scream. Hit me dammit!”

WHAP!

She slapped her hands against his chest hard. “Let me go!” She hissed angrily as she shoved him.

His grip on her fell away at another shove and furious tears filled her eyes as she began yelling at him.

“Stop it! Stop it! I hate you!” Shove. “I HATE YOU.” Shove. “I hate you so much!” With one last shove she began to hit, slap and punch his chest, screaming curses of hate at him.

Her fists beating against him caused no actual pain to him, but he could see the anguish it was causing her. Over and over she pummelled him and he let her at it. This was good, he thought- she needed this.

When the fight left her, she sagged against his chest- fingers tethered in his warriors belt for balance as she breathed heavily. He was shocked to see that her face was dry. Not one single tear had fallen.

“Xi,” he cupped her cheeks and raised her face. “Look at me please... Eyes, Xilä.”

She peered up at him looking so broken, it tugged at his heart.

“Hey, it’s okay. You can cry.”

She sniffled, “But I can’t...It’s a Na’vi’s sign of weakness, remember?”

“No. No sweetheart it’s not. I am telling you right now it’s okay to cry. Forget whatever bullshit your excuse of a father has-”

“Neteyam.” The moment the first tear fell, it was like a dam breaking.

Her head fell against him and she cried, bitterly.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” he soothed, drawing her closer, stroking her hair a few times before cupping the back of her head with his large palm as she sobbed silently.

He held her for a long time, whispering soft words in her ear, letting her have her moment.

When her shoulders finally stopped shaking, he murmured, “You did good sweetheart. I’m proud of you.”

She looked up at him with puffy eyes, a purple nose and stained cheeks. “I don’t actually hate you. I don’t know why I said that,” she rasped.

He chuckled, “I know you don’t…and I don’t think you meant it for me,” he said, wiping away one last escaping tear.

“Oh,” she replied, understanding what he meant.

“We’re going to have to work on your punching skills though,” he teased, rubbing a palm over a pec.

She gasped, horrified, pressing her palms against his tear soaked chest in worry. “Oh my Eywa…I didn’t hurt you did I?”

“Not even a little, we’ll fix it though, don't worry. You’ll be a badass in no time.”

“Bad-ass…and that’s a good thing?”

“Oh definitely,” he replied, stepping back to pick up her discarded practice bow. “Now, are you up to giving this another try?”

She wiped her cheeks, determination peaking through as she strode forward to claim the weapon.

They had a breakthrough that day. Pretty much after that, there was a shift between the two. It wasn’t an instant fix of course, but in the following week, Neteyam noticed the subtle changes between them- the changes in her.

She no longer shied away from his touch or accidental brushes. She also took his teasing or tough corrections in stride and would occasionally jibe back at him.

Xilä trusted him.

Tonight was Xilä’s first communal feast. To say she was nervous was an understatement but Neteyam thought it was time- she had put it off more than enough- she needed to socialize outside of her small circle.

She'd been here for two months already!

“You ready?”

“Mhm.”

He smiled at her anxious fidgeting. “Xi. It's just dinner alright?”

“Right,” she nodded.

The clearing they entered was packed with Na’vis, Avatars and humans. Clusters of friends and families happily chatting and laughing as they ate. Neteyam was right, there was no segregation.

She stuck close to him as he weaved his way through the seated crowd.

Neteyam spotted his brother joking around with his friends and made a beeline for them. “Skxawngs,” he greeted them all, with a smirk as he crouched in front of his brother.

“Hey bro. I seriously don’t know how you two haven’t met yet but this is Xilä,” he tugged on her hand for her to crouch next to him and get comfortable, his tail running along her ankle encouragingly. “Xi, this is my brother, Lo’ak.”

Lo’ak jerked his chin in acknowledgment, barely glancing in her direction. “Hey man, where the hell have you been? We had training with dad. He’s pissed.”

“I know but there was an accident on my patrol shift, I got tied up. I’ll make up for it tomorrow,” he responded, trying to brush it off.

“He said he wants to talk to you,” Lo’ak said, jerking his chin towards their father.

Neteyam nodded and looked back to scan the crowd. “Xi listen, I hate to leave you right now but I’m going to be just there for a second okay?” He pointed over to where Jake Sully and his wife were seated.

“Okay,” she replied, staring at him.

“Okay, okay?” He asked, double checking, reaching out to give her hand a little squeeze.

“Yes,” she replied with one of her beaming smiles.

“Lo’ak will keep you company, right bro?” Neteyam jokingly ruffled his head and the younger brother pushed him away with a scowl, grumbling a “not a fucking babysitter” under his breath, but she heard anyway.

Xilä couldn’t help but follow Neteyam with her eyes as he made his way to his parents. She felt anxiety slowly creeping the moment he’d left her side...but this was good right? She had to learn to not always rely on him.

“....so pale and look at her ears-”

“Nah man look at her eyes.”

“...such a freak.”

“I dunno, she could be kinda pretty if you squint.”

Xi bit her lip as she heard the obvious whispers of Lo’ak’s friends muttering and snickering among themselves.

“Shut the hell up up assholes!” Lo’ak hissed at them before turning back to her. “...Aren’t you gonna eat?”

She shook her head in response and looked down at her feet so she could hide behind her curtain of hair, tucking her knee into her cheek.

Lo’ak sighed out loud as if annoyed. He grabbed a large leaf then began filling it with some of the dishes he and his friends were sharing out of, then scooted closer to her and nudged her thigh.

“Look, I’m sorry about them. They're just being skxawngs, I’ll talk to them. Have a bite, I’m sure you’re starving. If my brother’s the one training you, it probably means you burned a shit load of calories. I should know,” he joked.

“Thank you,” she said with a forced smile as she accepted the meal. Lo’ak was so very different from his brother she thought.

The food before her was unlike what she was usually served in the healing tents- although still extremely delicious, Mo’at had had her on a strict nutritious eating plan. Even the meals Salveen was now preparing for her were in keeping with the healer’s orders.

She took a hesitant bite of the meat and instantly lit up. It was probably the most delicious thing she ever had in her life. She tasted the cooked fruit next and up went her tail- sailing happily.

“You act like you’ve never had food before,” he said mockingly yet amused by her behaviour.

Xi licked her lips and deflated a little. She had forgotten she was in public for a minute there.

“You don’t like me very much, do you?” She asked.

He seemed genuinely surprised by her straightforwardness, so he returned the gesture. “Not really, no.”

She glanced over at Neteyam for probably the tenth time since he was gone. “Well that’s okay. I’m used to it, but at least you’re being honest upfront. What do you call this meat? It’s good.”

Lo’ak frowned. He didn’t expect that response. “…Uh, it’s fish not meat,” he said offhandedly, “and what do you mean you’re used to it? Do people usually not like you or something?”

She swallowed another bite of the fish, deciding it was officially her favourite. “Well yes, they usually do. It is the way it has always been. That is why I am used to it,” she shrugged.

“The hell…” he muttered. “I’m sure you're exaggerating right now…you’re saying it’s always been that people don’t like you? That’s a fucking lie if I ever heard one…what about back home? In your clan? No friends your age?”

“There aren’t many Na’vis my age back there and if you really think about it, who wants to befriend the daughter of the man they all already hate?”

Xi hummed when she ate another bite, “Do they serve this fish every night? I like it.”

Lo’ak stared at her incredulously. He had never been so wrong about a person in his life he thought foolishly.

He’d met her father numerous times since their arrival two months ago and decided that he was a foul sad excuse for a man- no wonder his people had shun him. He’d seen the way the man was slowly testing his father’s patience and wondered why he was even allowed to stay in the first place.

Lo’ak heard the rumours of the strangle wild girl and he had to admit maybe he did judge too quickly. He had flat out refused every time Spider invited him along to visit her when she was staying under the watch of his grandmother.

He guessed he could chalk it up to being childish because it seemed everyone in his life had suddenly taken an instant liking to the strange girl.

She was all they talked about at home for almost a month straight.

His parents were constantly asking for updates about her health from his grandmother and then it was them always asking Neteyam about her lessons. Lo'ak purposely zoned out any conversations once he heard the words Xi or Xilä.

Even Tuk, Spider, Kiri had all befriended her with no hesitation- he didn’t get it. He didn’t try to.

Quite simply put…Lo’ak was jealous.

“My brother obviously likes you, he spends all day with you,” he said, trying to show her that she was wrong.

Xi frowned, feeling a tad guilty. “Your brother has no choice to spend his days with me, your father appointed him as my-”

“My brother likes you. Trust me alright,” he said with an eye roll. He did a double take when he spotted something on her arm as she raised it to swat at a flying insect.

“So where’d you get the bruise?” He pushed, popping a handful of sweetened seeds into his mouth.

“It’s nothing,” she replied, shifting so that the almost faded mark was hidden from view- it was barely noticeable anymore, it surprised her that he could even see it.

“Your father do that a lot? Leave bruises?”

She frowned, “I thought you didn't like me. Why do you care?” Xi was annoyed by his invasiveness- they had just met for Eywa sake, who even asked questions like that to people they didn’t like?

“Because. I changed my mind. I like you. I think we should be friends,” he said with a wild grin.

“What?” She exclaimed, her head snapping towards him. “You- you want to be my friend?” She asked, confused. “Just like that? Why?”

He shrugged. “Why not? I think it would be a good idea anyway. Freaks should stay together, no?”

“Freaks?” She frowned. She’d heard the word freak, whispered behind her back before. Lo’ak’s friends had said the same thing not even ten minutes ago.

“Yeah, like a weirdo- not normal,” he smiled, wiggling his fingers at her.

She gasped- just noticing. “You have an extra finger!” She cried, reaching out to touch, then immediately pulling back, sheepishly.

Lo’ak laughed out loud at her reaction and she felt herself flush as a few people looked their way.

“Yeah, got an extra toe too,” he said, showing her.

Neteyam glanced back at the sound of his brother’s laugh. He and Xilä were both grinning. Lo’ak was obviously making her laugh too from the way he could see her shoulders shaking. He was glad that they were getting along.

“Neteyam.” Fe’ska, one of his mother’s good friends and a respected member of their council, crouched next to him, as he stooped before his parents, chatting with them. “Forgive me for intruding,” she smiled, glancing at his parents and then him.

“You are always welcomed Fe’ska,” Netiri said, squeezing her friends hand in greeting, Jake nodded politely.

“I was wondering whether you had an answer as yet Neteyam…about what we discussed a few moons ago,” she shot Neteyiri and Jake an apologetic look.

“I am not rushing of course, it is just..my Leati is quite eager for the match and I admit my husband and I are too. The council of course will also be relieved to know that you are in a secure match and that as Jake's heir- on the right path as future Olo'eyktan.”

Three pairs of eyes fell upon him expectantly and Neteyam swallowed. Every sentence that came out of Fe’ska’s mouth had him itching to flee.

“I apologize, I hadn’t given it any further thought yet but I promise I will try to,” Neteyam said dutifully.

“Well, that is all I ask. Leati will be most happy to hear from you. You know she can be a bit shy,” she laughed.

Neteyam chuckled at that, because in truth, Leati, Fe’ska’s daughter was the least shy person he had ever met.

When Fe’ska eventually left, his mother shot him a disappointed look. “Have you truly not decided yet? Leati is a lovely girl. What is taking you so long?”

“Neytiri,” Jake murmured in disagreement and she huffed but nodded.

Neteyam’s ears folded downward, he hated disappointing his parents. “I am sorry mother, I only want to be sure.”

Neytiri caressed her son’s cheek. “A bond between a man and a woman is for life. There is nothing wrong with wanting to be sure. I am sorry if I made you feel pressured.”

“It’s fine,” he said, standing. “I’m going to have my meal, I will see you back at home.”

Jake and Neytiri bore matching frowns of concern at their son's retreating back.

Dun Dun Dunnnnnn. *Hides*

So this is a little bit of a filler, more to come in the next part.

But heyyyy. We've got Lo'ak! Yay! A rocky start I'll admit...but at least he and Xi are friends now.

As always, let me know what you guys think :)

Ps. I'm sorry our boys were meanies today.

@jakesullyfatjuicypeen @granddearduck @riatesullironalite @strawberri-blonde

#neteyam #neteyam x oc #neteyam avatar #neteyam fic #neteyam x reader #neteyam fanfiction #neteyam sully

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