#while she was slowly (redacted)

[bacchuschucklefuck]

gukgak specifically from my typing (man w/ three jobs & a creeping sense of dread)

[yey56]

HARLEY SAWYER X PSYCHOLOGIST READER

You have been working at Playtime CO for some years now, you worked as the head department of psychology but most of your work consisted on providing profiles of the children in the lower levels or as your coworker called them, experiments.

Over the years of working with them and knowing what they are being turned into, you've learned to work with them pre and post experimentation. Another thing you've learned through time was to deal with the partner you were assigned for the project. Harley sawyer.

What is there to say about that man. He is the head scientist in the project but he is absolutely horrible at dealing with them, or with anyone. That's how you were assigned to work along side him . He made the experiments and you maintained them under control.

Initially the ones who needed to be under control where you two because of your crashing personalities. While he was a serious control freak and borderline antisocial you one the contrary seemed to not take things seriously, constantly taunting him and the other stuff and with a permanent sarcastic tone in your voice voice.

Of course at first he didn't like you much, and to be fair you didn't make it easy. Everything he said refering to the experiments was refuted by your obsession to keep a mildly stable mental health in the subject.

Dr Harley sighed heavily looking your way with an annoyed look- What now?- he asked

If you keep treating the subjects like that your are going to break them.-you said in the observation room with him while you were both supervising experiment 1355, a young girl turned into a smiley unicorn.

They're toys, they can be fixed easily- he responded as if he had repeated you that phrase for the 11th time (he did)

You know what I mean Sawyer, they are of no use if their minds break-you explained with a calm smile- or have you forgotten what kind of problems an unstable subject could bring?- your asked him, your question mocking him.

It turned out well with Yarnaby or have you forgotten Dr (Y/L/N)?- he said imitating your question

You laughed slowly- ah yes the kid you isolated as your pet, great example Dr-

Harley Sawyer was well known for working alone, he didn't like others company and whenever he got an assistant or a guard, he scared them off by being authoritarian or exposing them to dangerous situation. You were the only one at the company who actually could keep up with him.

In the interviews with the children you would lead the conversation while Harley observed and took notes. In the laboratory you were more of an assistant, helping the Dr with whatever tool he needed or just preparing the chemicals.

Even though he hated to admit it, his experiments have been more controlable and causing less troubles since you started working together.

You would be unbothered by the kids, showing enough compassion for them to not recognise you as a threat, but showing not an ounce of regret in your eyes while seeing how Harley turned them into toys.

Do I have to remind you that compassion is useless in this job?- Sawyer said while closing a wound he had made on the experiment while operating

You haven't realised how much time have passed since your prior conversation have ended. It was strange for the doctor to initiate them, usually preferring silence but you weren't complaining.

Compassion can make a person go through great lengths- you said- But I understand that in this line of work it's nothing but a limit, a wall that needs to be broken in order to obtain results.-

For once in a long time both you and Harley agreed on something.

He finally stopped sewing the toys fresh wound and started reading the inform you had redacted about the psychological profile of the child before the operation- you should do another one once she wakes up (Y/L/N)- he reminded you while reading the little notes and highlights you left about her.

You always reserved a space the paper work to express your personal opinions on the experiment and Harley always read them. It's another thing he started doing, considering your opinions and advice as something worth of noticing.

-Doc...-

-Sawyer...-

-Sawyer??...-

-HARLEY!!-

He looked at you not noticing how he had spaced out of his mind for a moment while reading your report.

What is it?- he asked actually surprised that he was actually distracted enough to not hear you.

I was asking you about the experiment 1322, Doey. How are the three conscience developing? are they getting used to they're new body?-you asked. Doey was your favourite experiment so far, it was the one you have showed more interest in and your involvement with him was way bigger than with others. Sawyer didn't understood your fascination with Doey.

Since you both started developing the project, you had shown special interest in the idea of three people combined in a toy. In fact, the reason you had starting working more time with the doctor was because of your eagerness to see how the experiment would turn out.

You have become much more comfortable with one another, even after years of coexisting with each other in the lower levels of Playtime.

Sometimes he would catch himself looking at you while you were with the kids in the interviews. He observed your calm demeanor through the crystal of the observation room. He could see how the children grew more confortable with you while you were joking.

The cognitive abilities of the toys were improving each day thanks to your work so of course the bosses permitted you both to perform as many experiments as needed.

Another thing Harley noticed about the last week's was how you would spend most of your time testing and conversing with 1322. He had grown so used to your presence that it was getting harder to work without you present.

He would never admit that he missed your sarcastic comments about the designs of the toys or how he missed to call you a germ, his germ, whenever you were getting to annoying.

Sometimes when you went to the cafeteria upstairs to get some coffee or a sandwich to eat, you would get him something too.

You haven't brought anything recently and that was because of your new obsession.

He finally finished the last transformation successfully, now the only thing left was for the experiment to wake up and for you to examine them.

Harley wandered through the corridors searching for the one room he knew you would be in, this time, he was the one bringing you a coffee.

He watched you through the crystal of the observation room. You always insisted on talking face to face with Doey. The mass of doe seemed calmer with you around. The two more peaceful personalities of Doey talked to you, voicing their regrets and fears. Though the violent part of the creature always seemed reluctant to talk to you. Not responding what was asked of him or simply not responding at all.

Dr ( Y/L/N), your presence is required in the observation room number 29- Sawyer interrupted your conversation. Doey seemed afraid for a moment only to turn his expression into an angry one. With a gesture of your hand you calmed him down and signaled silently for Harley to turn on the ice so the doe wouldn't scape.

You exited the room to find your coworker handing you a cup of coffee. You looked at him with a raised brow but accepted it either way.

Well, look who it is.-you said with satisfied grin- I thought you were supervising Yarnaby?- you commented

Yes I was, are you aware of how much time you spend with that... Mass?- he said with contempt- what's so fascinating about him anyways? He's only been trouble.

You're only trouble as far as I'm aware- he rolled his eyes you sipped again- he's a time bomb and I want to be there to see it explode- you finally responded- I want to be the germ that makes him mutate.

Germ... It's a fitting name for you- he laughed with a smooth voice.-

You both stayed silent in the middle of the room, he looked at you calmly while you ended your coffee. He was looking at you trough his glasses without blinking, with his tired eyes.

You looked back at him and when you realised he had his fist raised at you, brushing with his tumb the remaining coffee right next to your upper lip.

Neither of you realised how close you where, the dim light of the room illuminated both of your bodies. Yours against the door and his right in front of you, your external layers of clothing touching lightly.

He got even closer, feeling his breath against your own. His thumb caressing your cheek

He thought about everything that had happened recently. How Pierre and the ones closer to him had started to go against you both in the semanal meeting with the executives regarding the experiments. Pierre's demands being met by your indifference, claiming that you will keep securing the experiments as much as possible.

The doctor remembered how you, just as him, were completely devoted to the project. He had became paranoic for the past months. More irritable, unwilling to socialise with someone who wasn't you or the toys

He got even closer to you, he though he heard you whisper his name. You closed the gap between the both of you. Hands on his shoulders

Lip against lip, his hand still in your face. You felt that Harley was the only human you could trust down here. No one understood you like he did. Your desperation to contribute to humanity, your desire of achieving a more lasting body. One that could endure more.

If you ever shared this with anyone else, you'll probably be in trouble.

Your closeness with Harley and his with you was out of understanding, a feeling of trust and comfortability that had just materialised thought he kiss you were sharing with each other.

He slowly pulled apart, his breathing uneven and one of his locks of hair misplaced a slight smile on his face. His forehead touched yours and he whispered just above your lips- My germ~

Only if you knew... That exact same week Harley Sawyer would be reduce no nothing more than a system, a screen, a conscience.

At the mercy of playtimes desires while you... Well ... Your whereabouts were unknown, even though they knew you didn't get out of the building.

Somewhere... hiding between wires and toy corpses...

I'm in love with the voice of the doctor AKA Harley Sawyer.

My drawing of Harley Sawyer:

[teaboot]

TOP 10 PERSONAL FAVE MOVIES TO WATCH WHEN YOU FEEL LIKE ASS

I don't like movies that stress me out because life is already stressful but I DO love catharsis comedy found family friendship fantasy and violence so here are my top 10 movies and series to have a good time watching

Numbered for convenience but not in any particular order

John Wick 1 and 2: An ordinary man grieving the loss of his wife gets dragged back into his past as a shadowy, invisible world of international killers for hire is slowly revealed to be living among us. A love note to set design, lighting, and choreography. My favourite part is fixating on the symbolism. DO NOT WATCH 3. 4 is okay. DO NOT WATCH 3. There is a dog death in 1 that will make you cry so skip that part if you have to. DO NOT WATCH 3.

The lord of the Rings, all 3, extended edition best watched if you're on the couch with the flu and expect to fall asleep OR if it's your day off and it's raining outside OR if you have like 5 people lounging around in pajamas

Six Underground: Essentially an hour and a half long car commercial music video with found family and a fresher take on acommon plot. Ryan Reynolds essentially writes and directs a Michael Bay movie where 6 independant criminals gather together to overthrow a violent foreign dictatorship. You show up for a dumb heist and walk out ready to build a guillotine. TW for violence, car crashes, chemical warfare, and genocide. A very cathartic ending. Does unfortunately do the whole "vague, impoverished middle-eastern country" thing but the citizens are actually show as human beings which is a nice change of pace and oh wow that's depressing isn't it

The Princess Diaries 1 and 2: A sort-of-a-loser teenage girl, played by a 2001 Annie Hathaway, learns that her late father was a king of a foreign nation and must become a confident and responsible leader for his people. There is a scene in the rain where you will experience emotions. Best watched with snacks. 2 features an enemies-to-lovers type deal with Chris Pine.

Ella Enchanted: A shrek-style semi-musical fantasy romance in which a young woman is cursed at birth to do everything anyone tells her to do. Features several Queen songs and dance numbers sung by Annie Hathaway and that guy who plays the sad dog guy in Hannibal.

Stardust: A huge loser travels from 1800s England (?) to a magical world in order to fetch a fallen star for the insufferable love of his life before she marries a massive douchebag. The huge loser? Charlie Cox. The star? A living person. Also a whole bunch of princes are ALSO looking for them as a race for the throne while discreetly killing each other off. And also a bunch of witches want to eat her so they can be young and sexy. 11/10. I used to watch this 10 minutes at a time on a YouTube channel that posted it in chunks filmed on a digital camera in their living room

The Last Holiday: Queen Latifah, playing someone played by Queen Latifah, has been working an underappreciated minimum wage job for years, living a safe and conservative life trying to lose weight and save money. Then she finds out she has months to live, and decides to finally quit her job and blow it all on one massive luxury holiday vacation complete with five-star dining, making friends and finding love and confidence along the way. It's definitely corny but it makes me so happy thank you Queen Latifah

Zathura: It's the plot to the original Jumanji but in space instead of the rainforest. But listen to me: There's a twist reveal at the end that you need to pretend isn't there. It is vitally important when you get to that part- and you will know what part when it happens- that you pretend it didn't. Otherwise, a fresh and enjoyable adventure for any age!

Redacted cause I haven't seen it in a long time and it may be worse than I remember, gotta rewatch

Bullet Train. You go in expecting a ham-fisted find-the-mcguffin style action comedy and are blindsided by excellent narrative symmetry and genuinely likeable characters. Fresh takes on old themes and creative action sequences. My little brother said "It's good", and he's a man who once sincerely argued that Lord of the Rings could have been better. It's fun and punchy violence with just enough smart stuff to not let your brain get bored

[woniwontons]

dead end - CHAPTER THREE

bob reynolds x therapist!reader

summary: after being assigned to monitor bob reynolds’ recovery inside the new avengers tower, you try to keep your fears hidden. but between quiet training sessions and unsettling therapy logs, you start to realize he’s watching you more than he should—and that something inside him never stops whispering.

w.c: 3.7k

warnings: abuse by parent, psychological thriller, inaccurately depicted mental illness, emotional manipulation (by void), nightmares, slow burn, possessive themes, combat violence, unreliable realities, hallucinations, brief mention of suicidal thoughts (not reader's), domestic bob, gore/bloody void, like a lot of blood & violence

chapter nav: one | two | three | four | five (coming soon)

⋆｡°✩⋆｡°｡⋆

You weren't supposed to be in Dr. Harding's office.

The door had been left ajar, just slightly. But something more than just curiosity consumed you, filling your impulses with walking inside.

"Dr. Harding?" you said quietly with a soft knock on the door.

No one.

The office was sterile, as always. White walls. Sleek silver fixtures. No personal items. No scent or warmth. Just the sound of the air vent and the soft click of the wall clock.

Then you noticed the screen on her tablet which was left open on the desk.

Still active, as if she had only stepped out for a moment.

It was a biometric scan. Heart rate, neural activity, baseline data.

The subject ID was redacted. But the image attached wasn’t.

It was you.

"What the hell is going on?" Nothing made sense anymore, but the pieces were starting to come together. This new assignment was so much more than it seemed.

Your breath caught as you leaned in slowly, squinting your eyes in disbelief. There were notes below the scan -- coded abbreviations, but none of them you were able to recognize from previous research.

And one highlighted phrase:

Subject displays high tolerance to --

"Dr. Charles! How was your conference?"

Hearing her voice down the hall nearly sent you into cardiac arrest as you scrambled away from the desk. "Shit," you whispered crudely, smoothing out your lab coat before sliding out of the office door. Rushing down the corridor towards your sleeping quarters.

And not a single human eye caught the sight of it.

You couldn't sleep at all that night.

Your stomach felt as though it were doing backflips in your gut, concave from not being able to eat all day.

You rolled over in bed for the fourth time, staring at the wall where your reflection barely showed in the dark glass. The silence was heavy. Not peaceful.

Just full.

Of things unsaid and dreams you refused to have.

You ran your fingers through your hair and sighed, pushing the blanket aside. Sleep was out of reach, but rest felt impossible too. It wasn’t just your body that was tense—it was your mind. Your thoughts. That strange hum behind your ribs you’d started to recognize as something other than your own.

Eventually, you gave in.

You padded barefoot to the bathroom and turned on the shower, letting the hot water fill the room with fog. The sound drowned out the silence in your head for a little while.

You stepped in and stood still beneath the stream for a long time, letting it sting your shoulders. When you finally reached for the shampoo, your hands shook slightly.

As water ran down your scalp and face, something that had seeped in under your skin. The scent of your body wash filled the space, eucalyptus and chamomile. It should have been comforting. But the heat on your scalp only made you feel more aware of yourself. Of your body. Of the fact that you didn't feel alone, even when you were.

When you stepped out, towel wrapped tightly around you, the mirror was already fogged.

You wiped your palm across the glass.

And then, just for a moment, you saw it.

A reflection that wasn’t yours.

It flickered at the edge of the mirror—his shape. His shadow. Gold eyes where yours should have been.

You blinked, and it was gone. But your skin was still cold where he’d touched your arm in that attic dream.

You looked down. Nothing there.

No bruises. No marks.

But you felt it.

The presence.

Your hands shakily reached out for the knob of your sink, glancing down as you shut it.

c o m e t o m e

The letter spelled out on the mirror in cast shadows had struck you motionless. You stood frozen, your breath catching sharp in your throat. The room suddenly felt colder, like the air had been pulled out and replaced with something heavier. Thicker. Pressed close to your skin.

You stepped forward slowly, unsure why. Instinct told you to back away. Logic screamed to dismiss it as a stress hallucination.

But part of you didn’t want to.

Part of you was listening.

You reached out and pressed your fingertips to the glass. The words didn’t smear. Didn’t fog.

They just stared back at you.

You blinked. It was gone.

A hard swallow makes its way down your throat. "Leave me alone, let me sleep," you begged, "I can't handle this forever."

You jerked your hand back and turned away from the mirror, suddenly aware of how alone you were. How watched.

You tried to breathe evenly, to quiet the rising panic.

You didn’t look back. After drying your hands and turning off the light, you walked out of the bathroom like you hadn’t just seen a ghost.

Hunger hit you again, plaguing you for your decision to skip dinner that night. A sigh of resignation escaped you as you slid your clothing and slippers on. Any leftover fruits inside the cafeteria kitchens would have to suffice for tonight.

Peaking side to side in the dimly lit hallway outside your door, heart still racing from your recent encounter, you quietly closed your door behind you.

The hallways were still, lit only by the pale emergency lights that hung overhead. You hadn’t planned on leaving your sleeping quarters, but the pangs of hunger wouldn't settle long enough to be able to sleep.

However, you hadn't expected the kitchen lights to be on. You half expected to grab something from the leftover tray and leave unnoticed.

You paused just inside the doorway, head tilting.

Behind the counter, sleeves rolled up, brow furrowed in concentration, stood Bob.

A pan sizzled in front of him, and a bag of sliced cheese sat half-opened on the counter. You watched as he meticulously layered a slice of cheddar over the bread already crisping in butter.

It was so disarming to watch him outside of his normal environment of doom and gloom. To see him at such peace all alone.

"I guess we're all trespassing today?” you called softly.

Bob startled, nearly dropping his spatula before turning quickly in your direction. He blinked at you, caught mid-sandwich flip.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he replied after a beat, voice low and warm. “Late-night for you?”

“Just starving,” you shrugged. “Didn’t know you were an overnight chef.”

He gestured toward the stove. "Well you get really good at making greasy food when you've worked at every fast food chain that'd hire you."

You walked up to the counter and leaned on it. “That smells really good though."

He smiled at you sheepishly, and your heart melted a bit at how sweet it looked when that smile was for you. “I can make another.”

You raised a brow. “You offering?”

He was already reaching for more bread. “Well since you've made the idea so tempting...”

You sat on a stool across from him, arms resting on the counter. “So this is your rebellious streak? Ditching security to make grilled cheeses at midnight?”

Bob glanced at the door, then back at you. “They won’t find me for another five minutes. I timed it.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Seriously?”

“I’ve been testing their rounds for weeks. Figured out the weak spot on Thursdays.” He gave you a little shrug. “Sometimes I just want to feel normal. Get hungry. Make something. Sit somewhere that doesn’t beep at me."

Your smile faded at the edges, softened by the truth in his voice.

“You do this often?”

“Only when I can’t sleep.” He finished buttering your sandwich and dropped it into the pan beside his. “Which is most nights.”

You wondered where else he snuck off to at night.

You quietly watched him cook with your chin in your hand, leaned against the counter with your elbow. He took his time despite making something so simple, making sure he buttered both sides. Sprinkled parmesan over the top for an extra crisp. It struck then you how much of his life must have been spent feeling watched. Or worse, restrained.

He slid your sandwich onto a plate and set it in front of you with a proud smile.

“Try it. I dare you to say it’s not the best grilled cheese you've eaten past bedtime.”

You took a bite.

It was the best grilled cheese you've probably ever had.

He waited, eyebrows raised.

“Okay,” you said through a mouthful, “I hate to admit it, but your sneaky midnight grilled cheese is really good."

He grinned and took a bite of his own, mumbling, “At least you know why I go through so much effort to come down here.”

You both ate in comfortable silence for a few moments, the kind that doesn’t need filling. You glanced at him between bites, watching how he smiled after each mouthful, how he seemed so… human right now.

No glowing eyes. No flickering hands. No Void.

Just a guy, maybe a friend sitting across from you. You couldn't imagine how scared you were of him before when you felt so weirdly close to him now.

“What’s it like?” you asked gently. “Being in control one minute… and not the next?”

He raised his eyebrow at you questionably before you realized your mistake.

"Off the record, of course. No clipboard, see?" you explained quickly, holding up your free hand as you took another bite of your sandwich.

Bob set his sandwich down slowly, eyes on the plate.

“Like I’m renting space in my own head,” he said. “Most days, I can push him into the corner. Pretend he’s not there. But he’s always listening. Always waiting. And when people look at me, I can tell they’re waiting for him appear too."

You didn’t respond right away.

“I don’t think that’s what I see anymore,” you said quietly.

Bob looked up at you through his lashes, confused and surprised at once. It made you feel warm and guilty all at once.

"I like the guy in front of me, Bob seems like a really cool person."

His throat bobbed, but he didn’t speak at first. Then, softly, “Thank you.”

You both fell silent again, this time heavier. Not awkward, just full.

He didn’t finish his sandwich.

Just left the last bite on the plate as footsteps echoed in the hallways behind him. When the cafeteria doors hissed open behind you, neither of you moved right away.

Two security agents entered, frowning the moment they spotted him.

“Mr. Reynolds,” one said firmly. “Time to return.”

Bob sighed and stood, brushing the crumbs off his hands. “Knew I was cutting it close.”

He looked at you as he turned to leave. "It was nice talking to you, off the record."

You gave him a smile, even if it wobbled a little. “Make me another grilled cheese sometime.”

His grin was soft, and this time, sad. “I can arrange that. Thank you for coming and joining me."

He left quietly, flanked by his silent escort.

You sat alone at the counter, staring down at the half-eaten sandwich he left behind.

That single, untouched corner.

And something in your chest twisted with guilt and something deeper.

You didn’t know what scared you more:

The Void that became him and haunted your dreams.

Or the good patient you found yourself so attracted to.

You didn't have any dreams that night.

ANONYMOUS POV

Transcript Log | INTERNAL FILE [REDACTED] Access Level: TOP SECRET - NEED TO KNOW Date: [REDACTED] Location: Off-site - Audio Transcript Only

Scientist 1: The subject isn’t reporting ▇▇ ▇▇▇▇.

Scientist 2: ▇▇ ▇▇▇▇. ▇▇▇▇ to display ▇▇▇ signs ▇▇ disobedience as ▇▇ others.

Scientist 1: Then she’s further along than expected. We haven’t even introduced ▇▇ ▇▇▇▇▇▇t yet.

Scientist 2: ▇▇ ▇oid’s adapting. Faster than the ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇ ▇▇ model projected.

Scientist 1: That’s not supposed to be possible. It’s not supposed to form preference.

Scientist 2: Then explain the new side effect.

Scientist 2: “Come to me.” We wouldn't be able to see it if it was her hallucination. It was spatially reactive. Infrared resonance picked it up for six seconds before it dissipated.

Scientist 1: …It’s communicating directly in reality?

Scientist 2: Or claiming ▇▇▇▇.

Scientist 1: Then we’re running out of time. If Reynolds becomes aware of the ▇▇▇▇, or worse, ▇▇▇▇ finds out. The whole operation is blown.

Scientist 2: We'll shut it down soon.

Scientist 1: Meaning her?

Scientist 2: ▇▇▇▇ ▇▇ ▇▇▇▇.

Scientist 1: ▇▇ ▇▇ think ▇▇ the ▇▇▇▇?

Scientist 1: ▇▇ her ▇▇▇. But initiate passive ▇▇ testing.

Scientist 2: Copy. We’ll see how far she can get before we inevitably have to find a replacement again.

End of File

Dr. Harding was already waiting for you when you entered the hallway outside the therapy wing.

Her posture was perfectly composed, one hand gripping a tablet, the other loosely tapping a pen against her palm. She smiled when she saw you, but there was no warmth in it. Just courtesy.

“Morning,” she said. “You slept well?”

You nodded automatically, though you weren’t sure if you had. Your dreamless nights felt emptier now, instead of the relief you should feel. Something about your nights had become harder to measure.

Harding didn’t wait for an answer anyway. She clicked something on her screen and walked ahead, expecting you to follow.

But halfway to the session room, she slowed—just a little—and said:

“If you start to feel... weird, I want you to say something.”

You frowned. “Weird?”

Harding glanced at you from over her shoulder, eyes cool. “Cognitively. Emotionally. Things can blur when we’re in long-term exposure to unknown powers, especially with patients like Reynolds.”

You narrowed your eyes slightly. “You think I’m going to get effected by his presence?"

She stopped, turned. “Not yet.”

“But everyone reaches their threshold eventually.”

She smiled again, as if she hadn’t just implied the strangest thing.

Then she turned and keyed the door open without another word.

Bob was already seated on the mat.

His eyes lifted as you entered, immediately landing on you, not looking in Harding's direction. He didn’t smile, but he didn’t look away either. You followed Harding to the observation chair and sat, clipboard in hand, pen uncapped but still.

Bob’s hands rested on his knees, eyes neutral as Harding began the session with her usual line of sterile questioning.

“Any changes in suicidal ideation?” “Any intrusive thoughts or impulses?”

Bob answered calmly, giving the perfect answer for each one.

You wrote the words down, but they felt less real than the pen in your hand.

When Harding asked a follow-up question about emotional suppression, Bob didn’t respond immediately. He just looked at you again, quietly. Like he wanted to say something else.

And then Harding’s comm buzzed at her hip.

She huffed, checked it, and stood.

“Emergency from the upper psych wing,” she muttered. “I’ll be back shortly.”

And then she was gone.

The door sealed behind her with a sound that echoed.

Bob’s shoulders dropped almost instantly. A breath left him like a valve finally released. “She always make people feel like they're being dissected alive?” he asked.

You gave a faint, knowing smile. “Something like that.”

Bob stretched his legs out slightly, his posture loosening into something more natural. Still guarded, but no longer braced for impact.

“I don’t think she likes when I talk too much,” he added.

You hesitated, then asked: “Has she always been your lead psychologist?”

“Yes and no,” he said, eyes drifting upward to the mirror on the far wall. “I would see her before, but I had a rotation of different psychologist. But after the last assistant left, it's just Harding now.”

That made you pause. “Left?”

Bob glanced at you. “There were a few before you, but they didn’t last long,” he continued. “The last one, she actually started getting sick. Headaches, panic attacks, you name it. Like her brain was shutting itself off."

You didn’t speak. Your fingers twitched against the edge of your clipboard.

“They said it was stress. Too much exposure to the shadows, from before I could control it better.” He tilted his head. “I didn't think she was that afraid of me though. All the assistants before her had similar symptoms, but nothing nearly as bad.”

Your throat felt dry. Images of your face on Harding's tablet flashed in your mind as you started to think paranoid thoughts.

Bob looked at you, eyes darker than before. “You don’t feel sick, do you?”

You shook your head. Slowly.

“That's good,” he said, "the last thing I'd ever want is to hurt someone else again. Especially you."

The stillness inside you was too heavy to push back. "I don't think you're the one causing it," you whispered, so quietly you barely exhausted an entire breath.

Bob leaned forward slightly. “Who else could be causing it?"

You raised your finger to your lips, urging him to be quieter. Glancing at the observation room to ensure it was empty.

Bob’s expression changed, something knowing, something careful.

“You think they’re doing this on purpose?” he whispered.

You couldn’t breathe for a moment, but you nodded your head, pretending to write down notes for the camera. Your pen scratched softly across the page. You weren’t writing words. Just shapes.

Circles.

"I don't know exact what's going on, but I know I'm the subject of some kind of test they're running. I saw it on Harding's tablet," you revealed, wringing your hands together in stress.

Bob's face darkened with confusion and annoyance. "What?"

A short laugh escaped you as you adjusted on your seat, throwing you ankle over the other. "I can't believe I'm even telling you this, but I think you're the only person I trust right now."

"The others have to know something, you should speak to Bucky or Yelena, they'll tell you the truth," he said earnestly, "I just can't believe they didn't tell me if they do know."

You nodded before checking your tablet, faking the responses to the questions you were supposed to ask him.

Shadows flickered on around Bob's seated figure and his fingertips as he sat in contemplation, wondering where everything went wrong. Wishing he had met such a beautiful, kind person in different circumstances than this one.

But in his presence, everything always went wrong.

"Bob?"

He settled, looking up at you. "Yes?"

"Thank you for talking with me, but we should wrap this up before someone notices how much time has passed."

"Anything for a friend."

In Your Nightmares

You were running, but the hallway wouldn’t end.

Steel walls. Fluorescent lights overhead, flickering like dying stars. Every door you passed was marked with your name. Over and over again:

SUBJECT: Y/L/N STATUS: FAILURE IMMINENT

You tried to scream but sound wouldn't escape from your mouth. All you could hear was the thoughts inside your own head crying out for help. You didn't even know what you were running from, only that it wasn’t very far behind.

Each door you had tried was locked, twisting just a centimeter before clicking in resistance as you dragged the skin of your palm around the knob.

The floor shifted then.

You fell—hard—into a room that wasn’t there a moment ago. The tiles turned to concrete. Wet. Dark. Sticky with blood. You scrambled to your feet, but your hand slipped in something warm. A sound echoed through the space—something like wet breathing. Something like chewing.

And then you saw it.

Yourself.

Not a mirror image, a second you in the room. Face slashed with tears, skin gray and twitching. She wore your clothes, but they were soaked in black. Her mouth opened too wide, face sunken in too deeply.

She lunged at you with impossible speed.

You fought back on instinct, elbowing her face, feeling bone crunch beneath your palm. Blood splattered your arms. Her fingers clawed at your face, your throat, her eyes wide and weeping as she screamed in your own voice.

"Please, please," she cried in agony, attempting her best to overpower your resistance.

You slammed her to the ground, but she twisted with monstrous strength, flipping you onto your back. Concrete met your skull with a thunderclap.

CRACK.

Your vision exploded in white.

You tasted blood as your head opened to a splitting ache.

She grabbed your hair at the root, squeezing tightly as she slammed your head down again.

CRACK.

Again.

CRACK.

Again. Again. Again.

Your scream tore free, raw and useless. It was all you could think or hear was to wail in pain. You felt the warmth of it spilling from your nose, your mouth, your ears. Your elbows slipping in the gore pooling beneath you each time you attempted to push back.

And just as your fingers lost their strength, just as the edges of your mind began to slip, he appeared as your second self stopped.

He emerged from the wall behind your double, blacker than anything your eyes could process. As if it was so dark, it could not reflect any light. Gold eyes gleamed like lit oil beneath water, searing into your bones as his presence pulled the air from your lungs.

Your copy stilled, her last look as hollow stare, then crumbled.

Her body peeled away like smoke, revealing you. Just you. Broken. Drenched in blood.

You lay there, staring up at him, ribs heaving. Vision swimming and your lids dipping slowly.

He crouched beside you, head tilted with something like admiration.

“I am the inevitable horrid truth of everything, little one,” he said, voice silk and rot at once. “I am where everything goes to die, I am the end of all lies.”

His fingers brushed your jaw. Gentle. Reverent. “It’s no wonder I scare you so…” His mouth moved closer to your ear, gold eyes never blinking, “little lying goddess mine.”

You whimpered, barely conscious.

Coming to a kneel, his bloodied finger tips continued past your jaw until it touched the side of your neck. His hand pushed lightly onto your throat until the connection between his pointer and thumb hit your esophagus. "Perfect," he whispered, caressing smeared stains of blood down the length of your throat with the gentle pad of his thumb.

You couldn't summon the strength to move or speak.

Blink. Open. Blink. Open.

Then he smiled, "Wake up."

Blink. Closed.

This slow burn train is starting to pick up speed here, huh? This chapter was hard to write for me, but it was necessary for what is about to hit the fan in the next chapter. I hope you all enjoyed how this one ended, a little twisted but sweet.

Also, I must give credit here! The quote said by The Void in this chapter: "I am the inevitable horrid truth of everything, little one. I am where everything goes to die. I am the end of all lies." This quote is one written in the comics for Sentry, and something that really inspired the vision for this chapter's ending! The quote can be found in "Doctor Strange Vol 1 #385" written by Donny Cates.

ALSO: if you are not currently on the taglist, please comment down below if you want to be! if you already commented on chapter 1 or 2, don't worry because i've already added you :)

link to chapter four

[omgfangirlland]

The Shadows That Nurture 26

Every time Batsis does something that otherwise would have ended with the genocide of a whole race, Kregg gets a gray hair.

Masterlist || First || previous<< Chapter 26 >>next

Your little tell-all stirred the pot- a lot. So much so that the internet, a week later, was still talking about it. Now, the crowd wasn’t in your favor at first, people are willing to suck billionaires off for less, but Bruce “the good one” Wayne? Most were quick to jump down your throat and call you a liar, but the Gothamites weren’t having that. It took all but three days for them to find every public article on you, and lo and behold- the public opinion swayed.

Years of missed achievements, a compilation of your kid pics showing how you slowly lost your smile, and compilation videos of you stopping looking in the crowd for your family were enough to pull a few heartstrings- the interviews of the teachers who knew you settled the knife in and the interview you gave Lois hammered it in.

“I appreciate my fans, but my job isn’t to be loved or liked- I’m a hero. My job is to save lives, even if that day it’s one- my job is to help as best as I can, whether or not I’m liked.” Your voice rang through the batcave. “Maybe I was in the wrong for punching him, but I’m not sorry for it. That man, the one he presents publicly to you, isn’t the one I grew up with. I find it beyond insulting how he thinks now because he feels guilt or desperation, or whatever, he can put that fake ass mask on and try to win me over when he just realized I wasn’t even in the manor, to begin with. I lived with him, and even if he didn’t see me, I saw him.”

“I stand by what I said that night. I have given you the proof I have, Ms. Lane, and I’m sure you’ll find everything checked out. My reasons for hating him and his monthly crew have a foundation, and that foundation is rock-hard cement, especially when compared to the way Nolan and Debbie raised me. Omni-Man was a better father than Bruce Wayne. Do you realize how fucked up that is?” Lois tried her best to give the Waynes some grace, but she just couldn’t. All she could imagine was Jon or Kon in your position, and it was all she needed for tears to be brought to her eyes. The medical records a Crime Alley doc went out of his way to hand to her personally, only settled the tone of her article.

“I’m not a good man, madame. I have taken bribes, done nasty things, and straight-up robbed people blind. But I can’t stand and let that girl get wronged like that when I know the abuse went beyond what she publicly said. The one rule I keep standing by is no kids harmed.” Was his only comment. The documents stating your terrible health occurrences, and personal musings on you possibly being underfed with signs of depression and anxiety, were enough to stir a ruckus of people calling for CPS to visit the manor and for Cecil to start nagging you with a therapist.

“I’m not a therapist or professional to comment on my mental health, but about being underfed, I can comment. I wasn’t deliberately starved- I was just doing too much and simply kept forgetting to eat, you can even ask mom, and she’d tell you the same. [REDACTED] is simply a worrywart who still nags me to eat three meals a day with snacks in between. They did terrible things, but let’s focus on the true stuff.” Was your only follow-up comment on the matter. “And while at it, Bruce was the adult who should have been there. Not Damian, Richard, Tim, or any of the other kids I have seen people comment on. They weren’t nice, but they were kids with their own shit going on. Bruce was the adult who should have known better, who should have acted upon his other kids pushing me to the side. At the end of the day, they did what they saw him do.” The Waynes did not comment.

Bruce was tired. And Dick was losing it even more. “It’s those other Graysons- they brainwashed her-“ He muttered, and Duke scoffed. “Man- it’s us! We did that, we made her hate us! You’re being obtuse on purpose.”

“And delusional,” Stephanie added. “Just because she’s a Grayson now doesn’t mean she’s your Grayson- It’s like all you heard is that she has your last name, so that must mean you’re forgiven and it’s a free pass for taking that you’re the favorite and only sibling.”

“Please,” Tim snorts as he grumbles, deleting and rewriting the chart over and over, cutting Dick’s protest. “Jason is the favorite sibling on our branch of the family.” That made Barbara finally turn from the computer. “Speaking of- where is he- why isn’t he helping us? And how come he was forgiven?” As Cassandra’s siblings started arguing over Jason’s lack of help, her eyes strayed to Alfred and Bruce.

Both men were defeated- Bruce caressing the bruise on his jaw, blankly staring into space as Alfred was just pure sadness, his eyes unmoving from the monitor that was just dedicated to you and your achievements. Cassandra’s training isn’t something she could forget, even if she wanted to- her eyes moved to Damian- and she saw in you what she saw in some of her siblings, what she saw in Jason a long time ago.

Her fingers twitched- like before she pushed the thought away. She was wrong about you being in London, she was wrong about this suspicion, too. She hoped she was. “She’s coming to Gotham.” Her words stopped the arguing and brought Bruce’s attention. “Heard her mention it to Jay… He insisted on housing them.” Damian clocked how his father’s spirit seemed to lighten, and he immediately commented. “Don’t get excited, father. She hates you more than anyone here.”

“She hates the Brucie persona he puts on-“ Richard tried to defend the man, but Stephanie snorted loud enough to interrupt him. “And she hates him-“ Duke nodded. “Coming to her with the media personality when she lived here and knows your brooding self is kind of a slap in the face.”

“Like you think she’s stupid enough to fall for it.” Tim finished, making Bruce slump back in his chair. Barbara’s lips pursed at the comment. “We all have kind of treated her like that… Like she’s not smart enough, not good enough. We didn’t even tell her about the vigilante stuff.” Alfred sighs as he finally looks away from the screen. “Treated like a stranger in her own home after such a traumatic event... We’re lucky she isn’t a rogue.”

“You’ve treated her like that.” Damian scoffs, making Tim stop short of pressing to delete the whole document to look at the young boy. “… That sounds like you’d be willing to throw us under the bus, Dami.” The youngest Wayne simply raised an eyebrow before looking at his father. “Since we’re all here and talking- I want to ask for less time as Robin.” The words left everyone speechless, well- except Tim, who let quite the loud “what” out. “I have decided I want to focus on my studies since I’ll be going to college soon, specifically to become a doctor. I will succeed where you and mother failed.” Bruce slid down in his chair at the chaos that erupted at the simple answer Damian gave.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“No, I’m not sorry for punching him. Yes, I stand by everything I said. Maybe I could have gone about it in a better way, but it’s too late and honestly? I feel like my shoulders have gotten lighter, so fuck you-“ You flip off Batman before turning back to the JL members who have been staring at you since you walked in with Cecil, Slade, Lex, and your father and brother. “Any more questions about my family drama or can we go back to the Viltrumite treaty thing, because I want to go back to my vacation, thank you very much.”

“It was a clean punch, good job.” Diana’s comment got a few reactions, mostly snickers and Hal almost choking on the coffee he was drinking, but her smile was due to the way you puffed out your chest. “Thank you- I’m glad someone can appreciate my skills.” Cecil huffed at the look you threw at him. “Anyway-“ He cleared his throat. “Here are the terms we’ve come up with: Mandatory psychological evaluations, mandatory history classes and modern-day integration-“

“Don’t want to hear more of that arranged marriage to stop wars thing-“ Cecil continued, unbothered by you cutting him off as he handed out the papers. “- followed by tracking depending on scores to the mentioned things, weekly or monthly follow-ups, help with education, and slash or job opportunities.” Clark furrowed his brows. “Those are pretty light terms.”

“They are. J’onn would be doing the psychological evaluation, I trust him to be a good judge. It’s a test for them and a show of willingness from us not to be like them, all militia, no compassion. Based on their willingness and openness to learn to integrate, we’ll be able to sort out the ones who will be a danger or not. It’s not a foolproof plan to them seeping through the cracks, but measurements are being put into place to alert to seeps.” Green Arrow looked over the detailed paperwork. “What kind of measurements?”

The man flinched at the show of light that appeared behind him. “The magical kind, mate.” John Constantine huffed as he dropped into a chair close to you. “Every major city and what we’re calling key cities have been magically reinforced. Everything that appears out of thin air or that comes from outside the ozone layer, we’ll be notified of.” Zatanna continued for the man as she went to greet you, pulling you into a hug and slightly swaying you from side to side.

“Seems good enough for me.” Hal shrugged before he and everyone else turned to the paranoid man known as Bruce Wayne. “Batman?” Superman started slowly as he nudged the man who hadn’t stopped staring. “… I trust your judgment, Sorceress.” Bruce nodded. You just raised an eyebrow, eyes full of suspicion. Wonder Woman locked eyes with Clark before clearing her throat at the awkward silence. “We’ll be sure to be an active factor in this by following your lead. We’re clearly not versed enough on the matter to go do our own stuff.”

“Great.” Cecil turned to Lex and Slade. “Call them.” Slade just sighed as he pulled out a device and started typing, making Mark sputter. “Wait- right now-“

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Everyone was looking at you as you climbed Conquest and sat squatting on one of his shoulders while you explained the terms to him, Thragg, and Kregg. “-I’m even willing to sponsor Grandpa Morgan.” The league and Kregg seemed to do a double-take as you patted the oldest Viltrumite. “He’s a killing machine, not a-“ You quickly interrupted Thragg. “To you- I see the potential beyond that. He’s like those rescued fight dogs-” You quickly turn to the balding Viltrumite. “Do not test my trust and kindness, I will put you down like a rabid dog if you become a problem.” The man just snickered and gave a toothy smile.

“Sponsorship is a good idea, actually.” Cecil hummed. “Anyone willing to try it?” He looked at the Justice League. Constantine immediately slid down his chair under the table, but Diana did seem interested. “I’d like to give it a try. I would have appreciated some personal guidance during my first time here.” Cecil nodded, making a comment about reaching out to more heroes to see if anyone else would be willing.

“It’s settled then.” Thragg nodded, his eyes following your form as you jumped down from Conquest’s shoulder. “I will see you and your family during this- sponsorship, Nolan.” The comment thrown as the Viltrumites left made Nolan stutter over his words, wide eyes meeting his kids’ own surprised ones. “Oh, mama’s not going to like that.” You sigh, and Lex huffs with amusement. “You and your mother will run that man like a dog.” You wanted to argue… but your whole plan to educate them was just dog training 101, clicker and water spray and all.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“So, what’s Gotham really like?” April asked you as she distracted a grumbling Oliver. “Sky pollution and eccentric people- don’t drink from the tap, Professor Crane likes to contaminate it with his fear gas at random. And stay away from the sewers, Uncle Waylon and Uncle Bundy don’t like people trespassing.” You shrug, making horns out of Oliver’s hair. “So- just New York City.” Debbie joked as she made sure your little alien plant was strapped well in the front seat.

Nolan patted the top of the car as he leaned to peer in the window. “You ladies all set and ready for take-off?” With a resounding yes, Nolan and Mark were left to deal with the transportation of the van. The take-off was always shaky, but both men were surprisingly good at keeping the car from rattling like a baby's toy. So it was no surprise that after a while, you fell asleep to your mom’s and April’s talking, the easy atmosphere luring you and Oliver into a much-needed nap.

Both you and Oliver woke up to the sound of the door slamming as Nolan entered the passenger seat and Mark climbed in next to April. “Sorry, kids.” Your father threw an apologetic smile back at you as you grumbled. “Oh- here, put in the address to your brother’s house.” Your mom handed you her phone, the GPS app already open.

The drive was just as peaceful, which was weird considering it was Gotham. Must be a Tuesday. “Why is every pedestrian looking at us like the car is about to explode?” Mark’s musing made you look up from your phone. “Hmm? Oh, because they do think that. We’re following the driving rules, so by Gotham’s rules, we either have drugs, bodies, or bombs.” You shrugged, going back to your phone as everyone in the car looked at each other. “Oh…”

“Mhm- oh, when we get to the crossroad take the right instead of going straight like the GPS says, we’ll need to get the back entrance to stow away the car.” Mark looked at you with worry. “Please stop using those words for roofed parking, especially now.”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“Mama boss!” Oliver cooed, immediately followed by Mark and you with serious faces parroting his words while nodding. Jason’s eyes met yours before he smirked and looked at Debbie. “Mama boss.” Was heard once more from all four, making the woman sigh with exasperation, but the smile couldn’t be wiped from her lips. “That doesn’t stop you three from helping unpack.”

“Aww.” Oliver watched you three whine, and he too, followed with a short aw. “No need, already unpacked,” Nolan said as he went and pressed a kiss to Debbie's forehead, doing so to you, Oliver, and Mark too. Nolan cleared his throat as he almost did for Jason, too. He patted his shoulder instead, a tight smile on his face. “Good man.” Jason gave a grunt and a weird look in response. “Right… Fair warning- the bats will be weird about all of this.”

“When have they ever been normal about anything? Bruce dresses up as a bat.” Roy laughed before introducing himself to your parents. “Yes- hello, Lian Harper his kid- still not trusting you-“ The young girl pointed at Nolan, walking right by him straight to you. “You’re The Sorceress! You’re my favorite hero!” Her giddiness got to you, meeting her smile with one of your own. “Really? Did it hurt your daddy when he got dethroned?”

“Ha! It did not-“ Roy scoffed, but Lian interrupted him. “He was devastated. Tried to bribe me with Red Arrow merch for weeks, even tried pulling Unc Jay into it.” You laughed at the grumbling man. “Can you fly me around? Are your powers really magic? Like Zatanna? Are you single?” At the girl’s rapid-fire questions, Mark grumbled something about never meeting his fans.

“Easy there, kid-“ Roy jumped in as you processed the questions, trying to coax the teen to calm down. “Sorry, she really wanted to see you-“ You shook your head. “It’s fine. And the answer is yes, to all questions.” Lian smiled at you, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Do you like redheads?” Roy almost choked on his breath as he covered his daughter’s mouth, deliberately ignoring the way Jason’s head snapped to him and the way Mark and Nolan seemed to tense up. “Alright, that’s enough-“ In one quick move, a giggling Lian was under his arm, and Roy was moving back toward the door. “We’re getting takeout, have fun!”

“Cute kid.” You snickered once the redhead left. “He’s-“ The crime lord choked, “Please. Don’t date my friends.” Jason mutters, fingers twitching. “I don’t know Jay, the kid’s real cute.” You couldn’t help but tease him. “Going to take a nap, wake me up when they come back with the food.” And like that, the family went their own ways, Mark agreeing that a nap would be nice.

Jason just sat down on the couch, his eyes settling on his hands, brows furrowed. That- Why was he about to say that? Jason would never use his friends’ pasts against them, and especially not something like Roy’s addiction. He knew better, he was better than that- And yet he almost did. “Hon’?” Debbie’s voice gained his attention. “…Are you okay?” Jason blinked at her. He just smiled and nodded.

Debbie didn’t quite believe it, but she wasn’t going to push it. “Alright… how about you show me how your TV works, I was never good with technology-“ She wasn’t going to leave him alone either, and despite her terrible lie, Jason couldn’t help the genuine smile appearing. She reminded him of both Selina and Talia.

Tag list: @bat1212 @trashlanternfish360 @shycreatorreview @syrooo @a-lurking-fae @alittletiredcry @kittzu @plsfckmedxddy @blackhood1229 @nxdxsworld @leeiasure @dandelion-delusion @lovebug-apple @sillysealsies @tsxukikami @enchantingarcadecreation @alishii @d3nnji @itsberrydreemurstuff @yuyuzi-ling @welpthisisboring @1abi @mxvoid26 @persephone-kore-law @bluevenus19 @ryuushou @asillysimp @aalunar @cxcilla @sirenetheblogger @pinkluv29 @br33zy-blizzardz @victoria1676 @of-poetry-and-dreams @djpuppy-kittens @wizzerreblogs @galaxypurplerose @burningkittenprince @swanluver @ohnoivefallen @eyeless-kun @bunniotomia

Sneak peek ch 27:

Oliver looked between you and Bruce as you slammed the glass down. His eyes remained on the older man’s tired face. Bruce, sensing eyes on him, turns his attention from your whining form to the toddler sitting in his highchair. As the man gives the kid a small smile, Oliver isn’t having any of it, his little face scrunching up as he points at Bruce. “Ugly.”

[wrestlingwithlife]

(COD Monster AU)

Wow this took me way longer to do than it should have.

Monster!Task Force 141xKaiju!Reader

————————————————————————

Price’s tail flicked idly, his eyes narrowing as he sat across from Laswell. She slid a folder onto the table in front of him, its edges slightly worn.

“What’s wrong with this one?” He grunted, reaching for it, his claws grazing the paper as he flipped it open.

Laswell exhaled sharply, rolling her eyes in exasperation. “There’s nothing wrong with him, John. It’s just... getting more dangerous out there. With you sidelined from most of these missions, I figured you could use a heavy hitter.”

“Half of this is redacted,” Price muttered, flipping to a new page, his sharp eyes scanning the censored text.

Laswell leaned back in her chair, her arms crossed. “He’s a special case,” she said slowly, choosing her words carefully.

Price glanced up, his gaze fixed on a striking photograph of the new recruit. A man — or what seemed to be a man, though something about him felt different. A pair of piercing e/c eyes stared back at him from the image, their intensity almost unnerving.

“Shit…” Price muttered under his breath, feeling as if those eyes were staring straight through him, into something deeper.

Laswell’s voice cut through his thoughts. “You don’t come across beings like him often. The higher-ups like to keep him under lock and key, for... reasons.”

Price shut the folder with a snap, feeling a cold unease settle in his gut. “What is he?” His voice dropped low, his tone skeptical.

Laswell met his gaze evenly.

“Kaiju.”

---

The courtyard was silent for a moment, the distant sound of approaching vehicles stirring the air.

Soon, the unmistakable hum of an armored truck filled the space as it rumbled into the compound, kicking up a small cloud of dust behind it.

Two heavily armed guards emerged, their tactical gear glinting in the midday sun.

"Bloody hell," Ghost muttered under his breath, watching the truck's slow arrival. “What kind of super weapon has Laswell assigned us?”

The back of the truck was lowered with a mechanical hiss, and one of the guards moved inside while the other approached Price, holding out a fresh set of documents. The guard’s expression was tight, his posture rigid.

“Apologies for the previous file, sir. The higher-ups have certain protocols they insist on following,” the guard said, as he handed Price the new set of papers.

Gaz raised an eyebrow, wings flicking as he eyed the truck with suspicion. “Is all this really necessary?”

The first guard nodded gravely. “Transportation protocol for him, issued by his last captain. It's... standard procedure.” He paused, as if trying to choose his words carefully. “For him, it’s just safer this way.”

As the conversation waned, the truck's back doors creaked open. The guard’s partner emerged, his hands tightly gripping a thick chain that led to something inside the vehicle.

He also held a cattle prod, the prongs gleaming menacingly in the sunlight. The chain rattled with a cold, ominous sound, drawing all attention to the truck.

Then, with a slight groan of metal, a massive figure ducked out of the truck and into the light. The Task Force froze, their eyes widening at the sight of the newcomer.

The first thing that struck them was the size of the figure. A man, or something resembling one, but far larger. His skin was s/c, almost ashen, with wild, untamed h/c hair falling in waves around his broad shoulders. He was bound, a thick chain wrapped around his neck, connected to a steel collar that gleamed under the sunlight. His arms were shackled, cuffs linking his wrists in front of him.

And the final touch — a muzzle, covering his lower face, making it impossible to see his expression fully.

Y/n stood there, motionless for a moment, eyes adjusting to the light, his thick, black tail kicking up dust as it scraped across the dry ground. His presence was overwhelming, his sheer size dwarfing the guards and the rest of the Task Force. For a heartbeat, no one moved.

"Hot damn..." Soap muttered under his breath, not bothering to hide his surprise. The werewolf can’t help but feel his instincts rage at the amount of restraint the kaiju was under, fighting the urge to tear it off of him.

The second guard spoke, his voice betraying a mixture of discomfort and apology. “It’s all really unnecessary,” he admitted, passing the chain and the keys to Price. “But his last Captain... he was terrified of what he could do if he wasn’t controlled.”

Price’s gaze locked onto the hulking figure in front of him. He could feel the dragon within him stir, a primal instinct to claim this broken soldier. The eyes of the creature before him — the glowing e/c orbs — seemed to burn into him, even from across the distance. He felt a cold shiver down his spine, though he refused to acknowledge the sensation.

“No one likes being locked away like this.”

The first guard seemed to agree, shrugging slightly. “Protocol’s protocol. Can’t be helped. But he won’t be easy to control.” He turned his gaze to Y/n, who stood, unblinking, before them all.

“Seems like we’ll find out soon enough,” Price said, his voice hardening. He stepped forward, taking the keys from the guard’s hand, his eyes never leaving Y/n.

Y/n remained silent, the chain clinking softly as it swayed with his movements. The moment hung in the air — a heavy silence, thick with the weight of uncertainty and danger. Then, as if on cue, the guards stepped back, leaving Price and the Task Force to deal with the Kaiju.

Price was the first to break the silence. “Alright, then,” he said, his voice a low growl. “Let's see if you’re worth all this trouble.”

—————————————————————————

Im so sorry that this was a bit rushed and is not that great, I wanted to get the intro for this series done so I could open things up a bit for more suggestions.

I’ll let you guys have the reins a bit more for this series, but I imagine it will be a collection of one offs that have minimal timeline to it, unless that’s something you guys suggest!

~ Mwa Mwa

[whisperofaflame]

♡ Collision Course ♡

Chapter 1: The Second of Three

Collision Course – Masterlist

Link to full fic (so far) on AO3

Story Summary:

After moving to New York, a collision while cycling sends you flying into the lives of Wanda Maximoff and her wife, Natasha Romanoff. Together, they teach you a new way of belonging and being loved.

Chapter Summary: A traffic collision throws you into the path of Wanda Maximoff. In the chaos and confusion, she's the one thing you can hold onto, the one person who's there.

Word count (Chapter 1): 6k

Warnings: none for this chapter

A/N: This is chapter one of my current (and first) fanfic. If you like this then please check out the remainder of the fic on AO3 (link at top and bottom of post) — I've posted ten chapters and 63k words so far, so there is lots to sink your teeth into. Hope you enjoy!

It comes out of nowhere, the truck. A flash of navy blue in your periphery, a sudden impact to your front wheel, and you are tumbling through the air like a rag doll. A clatter, a screech of tiles. The dull thud of your body against a bonnet. The crack of your helmet — and within it, your skull —against the unforgiving ground. 

Consciousness returns slowly, lagging behind the awakening of your senses. First you see the tarmac beneath you, feel the roughness beneath your skin. The taste of blood is what prompts the questioning in your mind. 

What happened? 

Your brain is foggy, thoughts disconnected. You try to press yourself up with your hands but one of your arms buckles beneath you.

“Don’t try to get up,” someone warns you; a woman’s voice, urgent but kind.

The pain arrives like a second collision, held back by adrenaline but released now that your brain knows you are safe. Your shoulder screams out, winning your full attention at once. It’s bad, you can tell that much. Beneath the thick layer of agony radiating from the top of your arm, you can just about discern the stinging of your cheek. Running your tongue over your lips you find them raw, ragged and wet. The taste of blood intensifies, and you anxiously do an inventory of your teeth with your tongue. They all seem to be there, solid. Just the outside then, you think numbly. 

“Where am I?” you wonder aloud, trying to lift your head but finding it heavy and difficult to move. There’s something wrapped around your neck, something extending from your forehead which scrapes on the ground at the slightest movement. A helmet? The pieces begin to connect; your bicycle helmet. So you were cycling somewhere.

“My bike!” you squeak suddenly, your priorities jumbled in the confusion of the situation. “Where’s my bike?”

“Don’t worry, it’s here. You got knocked off by a car. Do you remember?”

You look up with the smallest tilt of your head to see a woman crouched down beside you. Her hair is long and wavy, in a shade you’d call ‘strawberry blonde’ back home. She looks so worried, her eyebrows frowning in concern. She has nice eyes, you think. You’re sort of staring up at her now, blinking as you try to process both her beauty and her explanation. Your brain isn’t sorting them out properly; it keeps revolving back to thinking how pretty she is, every time you try to understand what she said about what happened.

“I — I don’t…” Your words come out stilted, and you can’t finish the sentence. 

“It’s okay, sweetheart — you knocked your head, it might take some time to remember.” She’s smiling down at you, this woman. A worried sort of smile, but a smile nonetheless. The pain remains, but some of the panic dissipates. A calm energy emanates from her, and it’s helping you feel safe, despite all the unknowns which sit ominous and black in your head like redacted words on a page.

Slowly, this stranger reaches out her hand and tentatively places it on your fingers. Cautious and gentle, waiting for resistance. It’s your good arm she’s chosen, so thankfully it elicits no extra pain. In fact, your fingers grasp at hers automatically, seeking out the comfort without express permission from your brain. You watch it happen with interest, almost amused by your instinctual movement. It takes a moment before you register that she’s asked you a question: “What is your name?”. You open your sticky lips again, and manage to murmur out your full name, first and last, as if you are meeting at some formal occasion. You don’t even perceive this as weird, it just comes out, product of your foggy brain.

She smiles at this. “It’s nice to meet you, Y/N. My name is Wanda.”

You’ve never met someone called Wanda before. The name seems so fantastical, and paired with the beauty of this woman, you begin to process some doubt about your current situation. After all, you can’t remember anything from before. Rather like the fragmented details of a dream. Suspicion floods you, and again you try to sit up, wanting to investigate.

“Hey,” Wanda says, squeezing your hand gently. “Careful, sweetheart. The ambulance will be here soon — can you stay still for me, until they get here?”

You lean back again, settling back on the concrete. The pain in your shoulder amplified so much from even the mere activation of your core muscles to initiate sitting up, so you’re almost thankful for the encouragement to desist. Plus, you can feel her stroking your fingers gently in her warm hand, and you don’t want it to stop. 

There’s a wailing sound in the distance, and you’re so out of it that it takes a while to realise what it is. They sound a little different here, maybe less scary but more sad. Still, your brain is focussing on the wrong things, and it takes the quickly intensifying siren sound to make you wake up to the practicalities of this scenario.

“My bike?” You look up at Wanda in panic. “What will happen to my bike if they take me away? I can’t leave it!”

Wanda looks back behind her for a moment, then returns her gaze to you.

“Don’t worry,” she reassures you. “I can take it in the back of my car, and meet you at the hospital maybe?”

Her words sink in slowly. Yes, that seems to work, you think. You try to nod, but it’s too awkward with the helmet, the straps seeming to tighten around your neck as you try. 

“Okay,” you whisper. “Thanks, Wanda.”

She smiles down at you, then looks up to something behind you. “They’re pulling up now, Y/N. You let the EMTs help you, and I’ll meet you at the hospital.”

Between the cacophony of noise building around you and the burgeoning pain in your body, you can’t find the focus needed to decipher what on earth she had meant. The acronym is gone already, the letters scrambled and faded into meaninglessness. Instead, you concentrate on the constant, calming pressure of her hand in yours.

Until it is taken from you, removed by gloved hands and strange faces. You can't help but whimper at the loss of Wanda’s comfort, combined with the painful ramifications of their manoeuvres. They speak words to you, words you don’t really hear or understand. You can just about make out Wanda’s voice joining a conversation, asking a question, but by the time you realise it’s her they have already answered, they have moved on, moved you, and closed the doors between you. 

During the journey, something is given to you, somehow, which eases the pain and obliterates what little perception you still had. You give in easily to the sweet senselessness, and meet all their verbal offerings with a blissful, aloof smile.

At some point, you become aware that the rattling, wailing inside of their vehicle has been replaced with clean white walls and a comfy bed. You wonder if you had missed the waiting room, or if such things simply don’t exist over here. Everything is subtly different, in a way which might have been disconcerting, if you’d had all of your senses intact. Instead though, it washes over you like a humorous anecdote. The one thing you remember is Wanda, and you wonder when she’ll come. If she’ll come. You hope.

The door opens, and a doctor walks in, easily identified by the white coat and confident stroll as he enters, even before he introduces himself as Doctor Schwartz.

Looking down at his clipboard, Doctor Schwartz reads out your full name, his eyebrow rising questioningly at the end. You nod a confirmation, and he gives a cursory smile.

“And… you were hit off your bike this morning?”

“I think so,” you answer quietly. “I, um… don’t really remember.”

“Right.” He scrawls something on his clipboard, the pen making a scratching sound as he writes. “Were you wearing a helmet?”

“Yes, I was.” You’re glad to be certain of something, finally — even though your helmet seems to have disappeared somehow. “I always wear a helmet,” you state, possibly more to reassure yourself.

“Good, good.” He murmurs distractedly. “Well, I think we should do some scans, see what’s going on. The guys from the ambulance said you hurt your shoulder, is there anything else we need to take a look at?”

It takes you a bit longer to process this. Whether it’s because you really did hit your head, or his thick New York accent — you’re not sure. It’s been less than a week since you moved here, and you have no idea how long it will take to get used to the different sounds people make, compared to home. This doctor in particular has quite a monotonous voice, making it harder for you to hear whether he’s asking you a question or making rhetorical statements.

Trying to focus, you do a mental scan of your body. In truth, everything aches, but it’s only really your right shoulder that radiates an acute kind of pain, the kind that alerts you to more significant damage.

“Just my shoulder I think,” you finally reply.

“Right,” he says. It’s not until he raises his head completely and gives you a significant look that you realise there was a question mark at the end of his word.

“Oh — yes, it’s my right shoulder.” You feel your cheeks reddening a little at the miscommunication. 

“Alright, I’ll organise for someone to take you to radiology and bring you back here when it’s done. I’ll come back when I get the results.”

He starts to leave, and you just manage to call out a weak little thank you before he exits your room. 

It’s maybe a couple of minutes before a woman walks in, though you feel so foggy that maybe you aren’t the best judge of time at the moment. She’s wearing blue scrubs and a far more engaging smile, and she introduces herself as Gina, a Nurse Assistant. Gina wastes no time in helping you out the bed and into a wheelchair. You start to protest that you can walk, but as soon as your feet touch the floor you feel yourself swaying a little, and end up leaning into her a lot more than intended. After that you swallow your opposition and let her wheel you out and along the many corridors, making you feel more dizzy. She chats the whole time: throughout the journey; between the scans of your head and your shoulder; all the way back to your room. You’re grateful that she doesn’t ask too many questions, since you still feel confused from the accident and she’s talking far too quickly for you to keep up. Mainly she warns you about how dangerous cycling is here, and gives you a lengthy run-through of culture shocks to expect as soon as she hears your accent and pegs you as a recent immigrant. By the time she helps you back into bed and bids you a cheerful farewell, your head is swimming with words like bodega and brownstone and Bronx.

Not long after Gina leaves, the door opens again. You sit up a bit more, expecting to see Doctor Schwartz, but you’re surprised to see Wanda. Kind Wanda from the scene of the accident, looking at you with a gentle smile from the doorway. Still holding the door, she asks “can I come in?” and positively beams when you nod. 

“I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to get here, it was a bit tricky to find a parking space and then they weren’t sure where you’d got to at reception for a while.” Wanda approaches your bedside, and shakes her head slightly. “Anyway, that doesn’t matter. How are you doing, sweetheart?”

You can feel your body warming at the pet name, though you know it’s probably just her style of talking, nothing particular for you. 

“Um, I’m doing okay, thanks. They gave me something in the ambulance for the pain, and they’ve done some scans of my head and my shoulder but I don’t know anything yet.”

She nods, smiling down at you from her position standing at the side of the bed. Wanda is so pretty, it’s hard to take in. She’s maybe in her thirties, you think? Older than you, for sure. She has a mature elegance to the way she holds herself and talks, something you can’t imagine ever being able to emulate successfully. She wears a white t-shirt, black blazer and black tailored trousers. The sort of outfit which would make you look like a schoolchild, whereas on her it looks effortlessly sophisticated.

“That’s good,” she says softly. She reaches out, her hand travelling towards you fingers briefly, then she hesitates. Looks at you. You look back at her, wondering how to communicate that you want it, without seeming desperate for her touch. She seems to make a decision though, gently laying her hand over yours, letting you be the one to intertwine your fingers together. “Y/N, have you been able to call anyone? Family, friends?”

You blush at this, and shake your head slowly. Swallowing, you try to find the words, but they won’t come in time.

“I can call people for you, if you want?” she offers. You smile weakly at this thoughtful gesture.

“Thanks, Wanda, but — well, there’s no one really to call.” You see her tilt her head at this, frowning a little with concern or pity. You hastily explain, not wanting to make her feel bad for you. “I’ve just moved here, a few days ago. I don’t know anyone here yet, and this — it’s really not worth bothering people about, when they’re too far away to feel helpful.”

Wanda squeezes your hand. “I see,” she says quietly. “I understand, sweetheart. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say automatically, even though it isn’t. The move, now the accident — it’s all too much really. You’d love to be the adventurous, independent type, you’ve tried to convince everyone of it, but really you need people. This move has confirmed it, exposed your true nature. But it’s too late now. You are committed to your apartment, your Visa, your graduate programme…

Your graduate programme. Shit, things are coming back to you now. You were meant to meet your supervisor in person at 9am; that’s why you were cycling — to get to campus. 

Panic sets in quickly; you’re whipping your head round to find a clock. When you see it is after 10 already, you realise you have just made the worst possible impression…

“Y/N, honey, what’s wrong?” Wanda asks, reaching out to put her free hand on your shoulder (thankfully the good one). Her touch is grounding, and even though you are still spiralling inside, you are able to look her in the eyes and see the inquisitive, caring expression on her face.

“I was supposed to meet someone — my supervisor — at 9,” you explain, voice catching on an anxious sob which you strangle in your throat, trying to contain. “She… I don’t…”

“Hey, sweetheart,” Wanda soothes, interrupting your broken rambling. “It’s okay. We can call them, and explain. You have a very good reason for missing it. They will understand.”

Your breathing is still fast and shallow, but you manage a nod as her words sink in. She’s right, what better excuse could you have for missing a meeting, than being in the hospital?

“Do you want to phone?” Wanda asks. When you hesitate, she adds another option for you. “If it’s easier, I can phone for you?”

“Could you, please?” you ask, sighing out the last remnants of your panic. “I don’t think… My words keep getting jumbled.”

She nods. “Of course, sweetheart, it’s no problem. Do you have a number, or at least a name so I can find it?”

Oh god, you’re an idiot. You should have saved the office number in your phone, but instead it will take logging in to your university account (which would be a feat, in this state) and trawling through emails to find it…

Wanda, seeing the panic returning on your face, intervenes. “Hey, it’s okay if you don’t have it. Where does your supervisor work?”

You can do this, at least. “Um, the psychology department, at Columbia,” you manage to say between little gasps. The anxious breathing has agitated your shoulder, and it’s starting to send waves of pain through your arm again. “Her name is Francesca… something. She’s a professor.”

“You’re doing a really good job, honey,” Wanda praises you, and you feel something else running through your body. A warm feeling that contrasts with the sharp pain. Even overrides it for a moment. She squeezes your hand again, then removes her hands from you to find her phone and start searching for a phone number. 

You lean back against the pillow, allowing yourself to wince and grimace now that she’s distracted. Your shoulder really hurts. Maybe whatever you were given in the ambulance is wearing off now?

“I’ve found it,” Wanda tells you quietly, then she starts a phone call, giving you a brief reassuring smile before it connects and she looks at the wall to focus. 

You tune out her conversation, because for some reason the idea of Wanda talking to your supervisor makes you feel embarrassed, like the way you used to feel on parents’ night at school, knowing the adults were discussing you. So you focus instead on trying to remember the accident, now that you at least have a grasp on where you were going. But your memories are so fragmented, and trying to piece it all together makes your head hurt and your shoulder ache. 

Wanda drops her hand to her side and turns to smile at you. “She says she hopes you get better soon. And that you can reorganise the meeting when you’re better, there’s no rush.”

You nod, a little awkwardly. “Thank you,” you whisper, and you’re glad that she returns to your bedside, and reaches for your hand again. “Wanda,” you begin tentatively, suddenly realising how self-centred your thoughts have been. “Don’t you have… work or something to be going to?”

She smiles. “Don’t worry about me, darling. I’ve already sent in word.”

You nod again — it feels like all you can do at the moment, small gestures and scared words. You wonder if you should ask where she works, or whether it might be seen as intrusive. This whole scenario is so bizarre that you’re not even entirely sure whether the typical social norms would apply. And even if they do, you’re constantly worried about putting your foot in it, doing something which is normal back home but somehow rude over here.

Thankfully, you are saved from the conundrum by the return of your doctor. He waltzes in, absorbed by his clipboard which seems to have amassed new sheets of paper since it last graced this room. Only at the last minute does he look up and notice the new body in the room.

“Oh, hi,” he says in acknowledgement. Then he looks to you. “Is this your mom?”

You don’t know who should be more offended, who he’s misread, though you have a feeling it must be you. Despite being in your mid twenties, you’re used to people assuming you’re still in high school. You’ve been cursed with a baby face and since you stopped growing at thirteen, people often make the mental shortcut and assume you’re still a kid due to your height. No matter how many times people tell you “it’ll pay off when you’re older”, it remains frustrating — and embarrassing — to be so consistently viewed as a teenager. 

“No, I’m a friend,” Wanda corrects him easily, saving you the trouble of responding. Even though you know she was just smoothing things over, it feels nice to hear her say you’re a friend. Today, you really need one.

“Right, I’m Doctor Schwartz,” he says, looking entirely unbothered by his faux pas, and very focussed on his clipboard. “So, Y/N, I’ve reviewed your scans and the physical exams they did, and it’s safe to say you’ve got a concussion, and you’ve fractured your clavicle.” Doctor Schwartz looks up, and perhaps sees confusion, because he clarifies. “Also known as your collarbone.” He taps the bony part of his shoulder for good measure, then flicks over a page and rotates the clipboard so you can see a photocopied scan of your shoulder. He briefly points out the fracture, which is difficult to see, but you suppose he doesn’t really need you to fully understand. 

“Luckily your fracture’s not too bad so you should be fully healed in six weeks, as long as you take it easy. I’ll get a nurse to sort you out with a sling. So no cycling, no colliding with trucks for six weeks, alright?” And he gives you the first hint of a proper smile, which you shyly reciprocate. “As for the concussion, I need you to rest properly for 72 hours, with a responsible adult to keep an eye on you. Since you seem like the adventurous type with your bike jaunts, you might want to have a look at this leaflet about safely returning to sport.” He unclips a leaflet from his clipboard, and starts to hand it to you, before changing his mind and passing it to Wanda. “Or at least, have a responsible adult look at it, hm?”

You’ve still not got a good enough gauge on him to tell whether he’s teasing you, seriously thinks you’re a child, or just doesn’t trust you because of the concussion. So you just nod, to let him know you’ve been listening. Even if it’s not really sunk in. In a way, it’s a relief to know there’s a reason for the fogginess, and you’re not just losing your mind.

“Alright, I’ll make sure a nurse is here soon to sort you out with the sling and such, then you can be on your way.” He pauses, looks between you and Wanda. “I guess your friend here can give you a ride, rather than you cycling home, huh?”

You freeze awkwardly, realising the predicament you’re in with all this “responsible adult” stuff, but Wanda just gives him a little chuckle, and you a reassuring smile. “Of course, Doctor. Her bike’s in quarantine in my trunk, so she’ll be sitting in the front with me.”

This is confusing and comforting at the same time. If she’s serious about giving you a lift, then where does it end? 

“That’s good to hear. Well, Y/N, best of luck on your recovery.”

“Thank you,” you manage, as always awkward with goodbyes.

“Thanks, Doctor,” Wanda smiles, and he leaves the room with a strong swing of the door.

Wanda turns to face you, and begins speaking before you can find the words to decipher her intentions.

“Y/N, you may already have other options in mind, but I want you to know you’d be most welcome to stay with me and my wife whilst you recover. For 72 hours or longer, if you need.”

You are speechless at both this immensely generous offer, and the revelation that Wanda has a wife. Somehow, it almost feels worse when you know the women you find beautiful are queer. At least when lusting after straight women, you know there’s a bigger reason, beyond yourself, why they wouldn’t want you. But now, knowing that Wanda is into women, you feel terrified that she might be recognising your gormless looks for something more than mere admiration. All you can hope is that the concussion may excuse any of your more cringy behaviour, today and — potentially — over the next couple of days. Because of course you want to stay with Wanda.

“Do… do you really mean it?” you ask, then kick yourself for not phrasing this better, doing a polite refusal first. “Because, I’m sure I can work something out otherwise. I don’t want to be a bother.”

She squeezes the hand she’s still holding, and your fingers automatically clutch her a little tighter in return. “No bother, sweetheart,” she promises. “It would be lovely to have your company a little longer, and it’s the least I can do, to look after you a little while.”

Your confusion only increases at her phrasing. “What do you mean?” you ask, wondering if you’re missing something. “You’ve already done so much.”

She smiles a little sadly at this, shaking her head. “You don’t remember, do you?” she says, and you just stare at her, baffled. “Y/N, you were hit by a truck pulling out at the intersection. But with the impact, you were thrown onto my car.”

Very, very briefly, you feel a flash of recognition in your mind. One, two, three impacts. The truck. A bonnet. The ground. Wanda’s car must have been the second of the three. When you look into her eyes again, you see they look a little misty. 

“Was it bad?” you whisper. A stupid question, but you don’t remember, you can’t visualise it beyond the vague knowledge you were piecing together in retrospect.

Wanda bites her lip, clearly working through her own memory, deciding what to say. 

“It was pretty scary,” she says. “I didn’t know if I’d stopped in time, until I got out. All I saw was this flying object, and I slammed the brakes. But it was you. One moment you were on your bike ahead of me, and the next…”

Now it’s your turn to squeeze her hand, offer comfort. Even though you’re the one on the hospital bed, bone broken and brain mixed up, it suddenly seems preferable to having seen it happen. It sounds awful. Knowing you’ve hit somebody, not knowing if they’re alive.

“Wanda, I’m okay,” you tell her, managing a smile though it’s probably more of a grimace because your shoulder is vying for your attention in increasingly volatile ways. “You did everything you could. It wasn’t your fault.”

She wipes her eyes, squeezes your hand back and gives a stoic smile in return, nodding like she’s trying to make herself believe it is true.

“I’m really glad you’re okay,” she says. “But please, even just for my own peace of mind, can I accommodate you for a few days?”

You let out a laugh, which you didn’t know you had in you. “I guess I’d be cruel to refuse, in that case,” you reply wryly, and you feel glad that your humour is returning. And proud to see her laugh a little in return.

“Yes, you would be,” she agrees, joining in the joke. “Plus, I must admit it would be nice to have a chance to get to know you when you’re not concussed.”

“Hey,” you protest, feeling defensive for some reason. “I’m fine — I’m doing much better!” 

She just laughs. “Darling, there’s still a good few seconds between me speaking and you answering — and I’m sorry to say you look very confused in those moments.” 

You fold your arms and pout a little when you’ve processed this, but by the smirk on Wanda’s face it seems you must have proved her point. Especially because the movement of your arms was an automatic, emotional response — which really hurt your shoulder.

“I think Doctor Schwartz was right,” she says, lowering her voice and using her free hand to brush a wisp of hair behind your ear. “I think you need a responsible adult to look after you, sweetheart.”

You feel your pout faltering at this, and your heart thudding heavily behind your folded arms. Given what she’s just said about your processing time and vacant expressions, you feel a little worried that your body might be betraying you in other ways, when she behaves like this around you. When this thought occurs, it brings on the realisation that your cheeks are burning hot inside, and must surely be glowing traitorously on the outside. You duck your eyes and hug your folded arms into your sides, trying to pull yourself together.

Before you can be embarrassed any more, a nurse enters with a trolley, smiling at the scene of Wanda by your bedside, holding your hand. 

“Hi there, Y/N, my name is Nurse Amanda, it’s lovely to meet you!” This nurse has a rather overbearingly cheerful attitude, which makes you bristle slightly. “And who do you have with you today, Y/N?”

Well, she hasn’t assumed that Wanda is your mother, but she’s certainly treating you like a kid, and not in a way that makes you feel cared for. No, this feels disrespectful and cheesy. Especially because she’s already given up on you, looking expectantly at Wanda as if you’re unable to answer.

“Wanda’s a friend,” you pipe up, spurred on by annoyance at her treatment of you. You quickly glance at Wanda, to make sure she’s okay with you using the same terminology. She smiles at you, and nods, confirming your words.

“Oh, don’t you have the sweetest accent!” Amanda gushes. You chew on the inside of your cheek, irritated and unwilling to yield any information about yourself. Your folded arms become a little more stiff, sending another shockwave of pain in both directions from your broken collarbone. “Now, this is going to be a bit sore, but you hold on to Wanda’s hand and you squeeze tight when it hurts, okay Y/N?”

You barely resist rolling your eyes. Wanda gives your hand a gentle stroke with her thumb. You look up at her, wondering if she’s on the same condescending wavelength as Amanda, but when she meets your eyes she rolls hers a little, and you have to stifle a laugh. 

Amanda thankfully goes quiet after that, focussing on sorting the sling. It does hurt, a lot — but you’re too stubborn to let it show too much, wanting to be stoic and grown up, more out of spite to Amanda than any intrinsic part of your ego. Once she’s finished, she explains about caring for the sling, how to bathe, when to change it, how someone will come soon with your medication and discharge notes… etc. Given your concussion, you could be excused for zoning out or not fully absorbing all this information. But since Amanda seems to be addressing it all to Wanda and not you, you exhaust all your energy on studying her words and nodding to show your comprehension. When she leaves, with a rather annoyingly chipper “good luck!”, you breathe out a sigh of relief.

“Well, she was…” Wanda begins.

“A right cow,” you mutter glumly. Wanda laughs, but reins it back in when she sees you wince. Now that Amanda is gone, you feel suddenly fragile. Like the spiky walls you put up for her have crumbled down, revealing the pain again. 

“It looked really sore, getting the sling on,” Wanda comments, and you nod. “You’re pretty stubborn, huh?”

You look at her, a reluctant grin cracking through your grimace at her shrewd recognition. “Hmm, maybe a little,” you admit.

Another wave of searing pain rushes through you, and you begin to feel a tear breaking through the barricades you are trying desperately to uphold. Embarrassed, you blink it away and apologise hastily.

“Sorry,” you whisper, grimacing slightly with the effort of holding it all in.

She perches on the side of the bed beside you, puts an arm around your back (careful to avoid your damaged shoulder) and ducks her head to meet your bleary eyes.

“Don’t be silly, sweetheart,” she says, shaking her head in a gently chastising manner. Your breath catches slightly at the term of endearment, but you hope she either doesn’t notice, or puts it down to the pain. “It’s okay to cry. Let it out.” And she tenderly strokes your side, where her fingers are lightly wrapped around your waist. 

To your shame, you lean in to this stranger and sob on her shoulder. It’s so wrong, so humiliating… but now that it has started, you can’t seem to close the gates of your defences again. Maybe it’s the pain, or the concussion — or just you, responding to her soft permission. Whatever it is, you’re in too deep now. Surrendered to the compassion and the comforting touch. Somehow hoping it will persist even though it is accompanied by, and only providing for, the pain.

It’s a good few minutes before the sobbing subsides and you begin to slowly sit up again. You can feel the heat in your face, branding you with your embarrassment — though perhaps this is the only appropriate way to be feeling after such a display, you think.

“Your shirt…” you begin awkwardly, glancing at the damp patch on her sleeve where the tears — and, oh god, maybe also your snot — have left their mark. “I’m sorry, I didn’t…” 

“There is nothing to apologise for,” she says simply, cutting you off with her soft tone and a rather serious look. She uses her free arm to press her purse against her stomach, unlatch it and rummage about for something. She pulls out a packet of tissues, and hands it to you. 

“Thanks,” you murmur, moving your arms to open it and wincing when your shoulder protests. 

“Here.” She takes the packet from you, pulls out a tissue and passes it to your unaffected hand.

You smile a thanks, and begin dabbing at your (surely puffy) eyes before attempting to blow your nose without making an obnoxious noise. 

The door opens, and another doctor walks in, a woman in a white coat, holding her own clipboard and a pill bottle. She’s a lot more to the point, clinical and respectful, which you appreciate after the ordeal with Amanda. She hands you the pills, and explains how often you can take them, as well as potential side effects. Then she’s passing you the clipboard, and asking you to sign the discharge form with the pen clipped to the side. 

You read the whole form, knowing the concussion is making you slow, but wanting to do the proper thing rather than appearing flippant or immature in front of Wanda and this new doctor.

And then you’re told you’re free to go, and the doctor is gone. 

It’s all a bit sudden, the swift change from treatment to freedom. You blink a little, still catching up. 

“I can take your bag,” Wanda says, turning around and picking up your backpack, but holding it up first to give you time to see — and maybe to protest. “Just because you’ve got the sling, it might be hard to carry at the moment,” she explains, as if worried you might react badly to the suggestion you can’t manage. But — and you realise this is a bit weird as you think it — you don’t seem to mind Wanda doing stuff for you, or calling you sweet names, or treating you softly. In fact, you kind of like it. 

“Thanks,” you say, shaking yourself out of your daydream. You slowly swing your legs over the side of the bed and slide off, briefly airborne before your feet meet the floor. Standing up, you feel wobbly. But as soon as you think it, Wanda has gentle hold of your elbow on your good side, steadying you.

“It’s just the concussion,” she reassures you. “You might be a bit wobbly for a couple of days. Do you want me to hold you, or do you want to try on your own?”

You nibble your lower lip, considering. It would be embarrassing to fall over as you leave the hospital. But also? The idea of Wanda holding you is kind of nice. 

“Maybe…” you link you arm through hers, then look up at her for permission. She smiles, and squeezes your arm to let you know it’s okay.

“C’mon, let’s get you to the car. You’ve already met, but I hope it leaves a better impression this time.”

It does take a while, but when you finally get her joke, you giggle. Your head leaning into her shoulder as you walk out the hospital, linked arm in arm together.

Thanks for reading!

If you would like to read the full fic (so far), you can find it here.

[cvntoid]

erm… predatory/prey play with roman in the workplace……

everyone is gone, like the building is CLOSED closed. he tries to corner his assistant (because duh) and be like hey… what if you let me fuck you? and she just slips her heels off and just. books it.

it’s all in good fun, until it’s not. hopefully no one sees the security footage of him dragging her back into his office by her ankles.

and then he [redacted] her [redacted] until they [redacted]. goodbye 2024.

“I’m bored.”

“Try… I don’t know. Doing some of the paperwork we have to get through. We only have to be here until everything is looked over, signed, filed…” You sigh a long, frustrated sigh, leaning on the desk with your head in your hands. “Roman. You have to throw me a fuckin’ bone, here.” The hour runs so late that everyone else is gone on this floor, only the two of you left. You’re not tired, necessarily, just so utterly over all this paperwork.

Roman smirks at his place behind his desk, flicking his gaze to you from his computer screen. He lifts an eyebrow. “I could throw you a bone.”

A glare has him giggling to himself, that infuriatingly high little inward laugh he does when he’s feeling smug, or clever. It’s actually kind of attractive in an odd way… but so many things about Roman are. It pisses you off. He shouldn’t be allowed to be so smarmy and careless and just… look like that all the time. Roman’s eyes are on yours again and it becomes humiliatingly clear that you’ve just been staring at him, tracing the planes and lines of his handsome features. He turns a little, giving you his full attention now. Tracing his fingertip along some of the papers on his desk. Knowing you’ll watch.

“Oh… are you thinkin’ about it?” Roman licks the edge of his teeth, grinning. “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you. I mean… nobody’s here, right?”

“Fuck off,” you say softly. A flush rises up your throat and you roll your eyes, ripping another sheet off the top of the stack to parse through it. “You wish.”

“No… no, I think you wish. I do.” Roman rises up from his chair and you’re forced to look up at him, hands freezing as you move to sign a report. “I think you give me those fuck-me eyes all the time. As if I don’t notice. Oh - don’t make that face. I notice, sweetheart. I know when I’m stuck inside somebody’s mind… stuck tight.”

You feel a strange sort of… something. Something that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, just the way Roman’s standing up right now. Looming over his desk. Moving to walk around the edge. Out of pure instinct, you stand as well, palms on the surface as you rise up. Roman’s eyes are glittering, pupils wide and only getting wider.

“Roman…-”

“We should,” he says. “Fuck, I mean. You should let me bend you over this desk. Or… I mean, you could get down on your knees. I could get down on mine, whatever - equal opportunity fucking, right? I’m told I give some serious lip.”

He advances slowly, smoothly, like an animal as you edge toward the door. He’s smiling, but it’s not actually a smile at all. A wolf licking its chops. Your pulse quickens, a surge of adrenaline making your fingers tremble a little. Roman refuses to back down, his voice drawing lower, quieter, trying to hypnotize you like a cat with his words.

“Bad move, sweetheart. I can run. Probably had no idea, but all I did in fucking military school was get screamed at and run. I will catch you.”

Your breath catches in your throat and it’s then that the slice of fear starts mingling with something else, stomach doing flips. A spreading warmth seems to fill the basin of your hips, all that smoldering heat matching the fever-spots of flush in your cheeks. You slip off your heels, grateful for the carpeting - wearing thin tights might not fare so well on a hard, slippery floor while being chased. And that’s what this is, isn’t it? He’s going to chase you. A tiny shiver zips up your spine.

“I’m gunna give you a head start, just to level the -”

Before he can finish, you’re taking off. His laughter trails behind you, and after turning a corner in the endless rows of cubicles, you drop to your hands and knees and crawl, moving another couple rows over like that, holding your breath. There’s a manic thrill bouncing around inside your body, making you shake as you scuttle underneath a desk, both hands pressed over your own mouth. Somewhere nearby, there are soft, light scuffing sounds as he walks. Barely there, hard to discern. If he’s taken his shoes off, you’re fucked.

After a few agonizing minutes of trying to figure out his location by sound, he walks by. The sight of his legs walking away from you almost makes you gasp - almost. God, you can feel your pulse behind your fucking eyeballs. You inch forward little by little on your hands and knees on the carpet. Roman’s still slowly walking the other way. You rise up to a stand for only a fleeting moment before you stumble over your own goddamn feet, making a little sound as you land roughly on your hands and knees again. There’s a moment frozen in time in which you turn your head sharply to face Roman, and he looks behind his shoulder and sees you. There’s a flash of surprise on his face before he’s smirking, turning fully around, and you only make it a couple of steps before his fingers are digging into the collar of your shirt, yanking you back so that you fall down again, this time on your ass.

Limbs are pinwheeling for purchase - you twist in his grasp and he’s on top of you, laughing, practically panting with excitement. In a moment of blind panic, you slap him in the face and he reels a little. In that moment you scramble up and start running again, and he’s on your fucking heels. His laughter titters just behind you and it makes you giggle in return, giddy with the chase, with the weird combination of fear and arousal and anxiety making you throb. You throb everywhere - your pulse finds a loud, pounding home in the tip of your nose, your chest… your cunt.

Wheeling around a corner too fast, you trip again. Roman’s absolutely beside himself, laughing at you as he leans down and grabs your ankles.

“Hey, you really gave it your all,” he commends, voice dripping with derision. He flashes you a grin, all teeth as he starts dragging you backwards. You try to kick and wiggle, but Roman’s stronger than he looks - he has you in a solid grip, clucking his tongue at you. “No, none of that - you had your chances. I win, and I’m going to cum in your little cunt about it. Okay? That was the deal.”

Your skirt rides up and so does your blouse, everything coming untucked and rucking up. The carpet burns as he drags you across it, and you hiss as you squirm to escape it. Roman watches with a hint of amusement, uninterested in your struggle or your discomfort. He drags you all the way across the floor back to his office, and when you try to clutch at the door frame, Roman is swift to toss your legs to the side and take a step closer to kick it away. He finishes hauling you fully into the office and shuts the door, turning to you with his eyes all hooded and dark, cheeks red with excitement. The both of you tremble, the both of you utterly consumed by a manic sort of adrenaline high.

“Well, it’s not being bent over a desk, but - but I kinda like this better. More intimate, yeah? I get to watch you cum all over my cock. Lucky me - and lucky you,” he purrs, pushing your thighs open. When you lift yourself up on your elbows, he yanks your arms down by the wrists. “Dont. Give it up, honey - the struggle is really nice, don’t get me wrong. Cuuute, just fuckin’ cute as shit. But I’m getting impatient.”

He releases you to reach between your thighs, where he pulls at the fabric of your tights with both hands and rips them open down the center.

“Gotta invest in something that doesn’t get sold from a fuckin’ Walmart, babydoll. That was so easy it was barely fun.”

“Fuck you,” you mumble.

“Oh, you will.” Roman takes a moment to pull your underwear to the side. He runs his fingers along your slit, tracing the edges and folds of your pussy as he spreads it open, looking at it, barely teasing your clit. “You know how wet you are? Dripping. How fucking sad is that? Are you - oh, am I pissing you off? Making you all upset? You look like you wanna hit me. You wanna hit me again?”

You glare at him, opening your lips to say something about it when he laughs, shoving his fingers inside of you without warning, curling them, pumping them with a precision that has your glare dissolving. Moans take away all the words you had. Roman looks positively triumphant - he fucks them a little harder, a little faster, relishing the way you make those stupid, breathy sounds, the look on your face indistinguishable from pain. It excites him to think of that, too - hurting you a little.

“God, if you’re this fuckin’ whiny for my fingers, you’re really gunna love what comes next,” he murmurs.

Then you do slap him - but it can barely be called a slap at all. The impulse comes, you run with it in the heat of the moment, and a second too late you pull the slap a little and it barely registers. He blinks a little in surprise, fingers paused in their rhythm. He fucks them into you even harder as his eyes bore into yours, that delicate, angry vein showing on his forehead. His free hands rests on your inner thigh, gripping the flesh there. Keeping you spread.

“Not great,” he deadpans. “Try it again. This time, do it like you give a fuck about doing something right for once.”

You can do that. You can do that very well, and the crack of your open palm against the same cheek stings your hand. The flush to his face is immediate, and his eyes look black as he yanks his fingers out of your body again and he slaps you back with the same hand. He smiles as he watches you wipe your own cum off your cheek, tears welling up in your lashes. He tilts his head and pouts a little, undoing his slacks and pushing them down his hips. His cock bounces free, and the sight of it catches you completely off guard. It’s not that you’d ever had an expectation, or a particularly specific thought as to his size, but he is surprisingly thick. Long. His smooth, rippled cockflesh laced with veins. He grins, stroking it once or twice, and fuck, it looks gorgeous in his fingers like that as he teases himself.

“Yeah, I mean… at least I didn’t slap you with this, right? You wouldn’t even be conscious for what I’m about to do to you. But, you know… maybe another time.”

“Roman, seriously - you’re gunna have to… you know, take it - take it easy, okay?”

Roman’s eyes get absolutely dreamy, shining in the dimmed light and hooded by his lovely, low eyelids, wet lips parted as he crawls up over you. He leans in and lowers down until he can brush his lips just barely against yours, more a tease than anything else. He tilts his head and licks a wet stripe from the edge of your jaw up to your cheekbone, planting a wet, sloppy kiss there.

“Don’t you worry about that.” He reaches between your bodies and runs the fat, leaking head of his cock along your slit, slowly, up and down, back again. Every couple passes, he pushes the tip deliciously against your hole, rocking there but only barely. There’s a crease between his focused brows when he lifts to watch your expression, moving to keep your gaze even when you get embarrassed. “Look at you, all fuckin’ wriggly and full of shame. You getting desperate, sweetheart? Yeah? Wanna ask me for it?”

“Roman…”

“Mhmm?” Roman nuzzles playfully into your neck and nips at your throat, once, twice, a third time - this time hard enough to make you whine in that adorable way, your hips twitching. He chooses this moment to work more of himself in - only maybe an inch, just a little further, where he rocks infuriatingly slow again as he sucks a deep, dark bruise into your skin. He can’t wait to see what you do with that tomorrow - how you’re going to cover it up. But he’ll know. He’ll know it’s there. “Hey - go ahead. Ask for what you want.”

“Can you.. uh,” you mumble, nerves crashing under the sheer overload of sensation, of throbbing need. God, the entire fucking thing - the fear, the chase, the force, Roman being an insatiable goddamn beast hellbent on destroying you; it’s enough to melt your brain. But if finding a few more words is all that stands between you and the rest, then… “Can you please give me… more?”

“More of my cock?” Roman starts edging more of himself inside, a smooth, slow rolling of his hips, undulating. Each little thrust brings him closer to home, and you’re gasping. He fastens his lips to a new spot on your neck, at the juncture of your shoulder. “Just trying to take it easy, right? Be patient - you’ll get it all, honey.”

Finally, he’s worked himself balls-deep. He rolls so softly, so very tenderly against your cervix, the tip of his thick cock kissing against it over and over in a maddeningly erotic tease. Is it still a tease if there’s no room left to fuck into? He pushes your thighs open and lifts himself up a little, looking down at you. His cheeks are as flushed as yours. You’ve never noticed just how many freckles he has over his cheeks and nose, how they dot him delicately like a surreal expanse of dark stars in a pink sky.

“Touch yourself. Make yourself cum, just like this.”

Zero hesitation - you push your hand down between your thighs, between your bodies, and expertly circle your clit with your fingers. The natural clench against the stretch of him feels otherworldly. The bright, electric sensation of stimulation on the soft cusp of your cervix adds an entirely new layer to it; it’s sharp, but pleasantly so. You sneak a peek between your bodies at the way he rolls his hips, down to where he only slightly moves in and out of you. He keeps you impossibly full. You let your head fall back down and catch his smug lips, the way he licks them.

“Fuck… I’m close,” you whine.

“I know… I know.” God, he almost sounds kind. If you weren’t looking directly at him, you’d believe it. “Do it for me. You’re this tight already… I wanna know what it feels like to have your perfect little pussy milk me dry. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to empty my fucking balls into you, you know that?”

“Oh - fucking…- shit-” Your entire body seems to seize up, and all that molten, coiled tension melts in a series of devastating waves, pulsating, rushing from behind your eyes all the way down to your toes as he continues to rock into you like that through the crash of your orgasm. His breathing gets erratic and he’s leaning down to lick at your throat. After you move your hand to cling to him, he starts to really fuck into you, rearing back just to slam his cock back inside. Suddenly you’re skating on the shockwave of a brand new explosion of pleasure as he sees fit to set a punishing new pace. The curve of his cock finally tends to all those barely-touched nerves in his full, brutal strokes, balls audibly slapping against your body.

“Yeah - keep fucking cumming. It’s okay, I know - it’s a lot to take. You’re doing so good - look at you. Like you were made to take my cock, huh, baby? I’m gunna fill you up, okay? You ready?” His voice is drawn high, soothing, making your head spin as you try to fit the tone of his voice with the sly, mean smirk on his lips. He reaches a hand up and presses his fingers against your lips, sliding two of them over your tongue. “Good girl - good fucking girl.”

The feeling of your lips and tongue on his fingers, the sounds you make, the way you keep clenching around him - it’s the perfect storm. His hips falter at the same time his moans do, and his cock is pulsing inside of you. He pushes deep, fingers matching as they wander toward the back of your throat until you whine, gagging, grabbing at his wrist to stop him. Your teeth scrape his knuckles and he shudders as he moans, rutting his hips in time with each thick spurt of his cum. There’s a wonderful sort of haze where both of your bodies are coming down, muscles relaxing. The beginning of the afterglow. Roman removes his fingers as his body stills, dick softening inside of you. He sticks those fingers into his own mouth without even thinking about it, tasting you, your saliva. Finally he separates from your body and pats the inside of your thigh, giving it a strangely affectionate squeeze. It feels more intimate than everything else you’ve done, in some weird way: the way he didn’t look at you when sucking your saliva off his fingers, the tenderness of the squeeze. Those things go quietly inside of you, somewhere else to peruse later. Things Roman wouldn’t really want you to have; accidental gifts.

“That was…” you trail off, exhaling hard to convey your feelings. You laugh a little bit, a bit of tension releasing as you do. “Jesus Christ.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do all that… you can just call me Roman Roy,” he cracks, smiling wryly. He sighs and pulls himself together, running a hand through his mussed hair before it falls right back into his eyes. “I know, I know. Big ol’ fuckin’ hog, devilishly handsome, and hilarious? I’m the entire goddamn package.”

“Don’t forget filthy rich.”

Roman shakes his head and bows slightly to you, hand outstretched as if giving you the floor. “And filthy rich. If I could just fuck and marry myself, I would. Now, uh… is your back okay? Got a little… scraped up, yeah? You need some, like, Neosporin or some shit?”

“Yeah, in fact - could you also bring me some Mickey Mouse bandaids, maybe a lollipop? Some stickers? I’m fine, Roman… thanks, though.”

“Show you a fuckin’ lollipop,” Roman mutters, running his hands over his face. He snaps his fingers, fidgety, gesturing toward the door. “Come on, let’s get the fuck outta here. Fuck the papers. I’ll make somebody else finish it tomorrow. I don’t care. Romey tired.”

Roman places a chaste hand at the base of your spine, guiding you through the doors to end the evening. There’s a comfortable silence as you separate, Roman heading for his car while you go off to your own apartment in the opposite direction. Closer to arriving home, your phone dings. Roman’s name shows up and you ignore the tiny wisp of a thrill in your gut at seeing his name there inside your phone, not having reached out first.

Overtime required tomorrow. My shopper will have new tights for you - you’re welcome. Make it worth it. -R

[andrsnsgirl]

if you had known that opening a car washing service to raise money for your college sophomore trip would have led to you to be bent down on the hood of a car with a pink, squiring dildo in your pussy, you would have done it way earlier. you must admit the idea was quite the eureka moment. it's summer and it hasn't rained for days, all sports have stopped for the summer and being back in town whilst your parents worked all day was feeling a little depressing which was leading to the cars in the town being covered by a thin layer of dust and to you being constantly hot and in need of a cold shower. it wasnt that hard to put the two things together.

you distributed flyers around, hung them up in diner’s, cafe’s and along the street, choose a large empty spot near the road and that was it. d-day was hot and dry, and you only smiled more staring at your pretty outfit in the mirror. low cut jeans shorts that barely covered your ass and your pink coral reef bikini set, one you knew was going to become transparent with the first lick of water, transparent enough to give your clients the show of your pierced nipples. after all, you knew a good show was gonna bring more money, and you didn't intend to waste that opportunity.

with a touch of gloss on your lips and throwing your hair in an up-do, you were ready to go. you had not been wrong. your clients, mostly men somehow, had enjoyed the show, whistling at you while you washed their windows, wet shirt clinging to your chest and foam all over your neck and legs. you had played along, giggling and swaying your hips while humming to the song playing on the radio, smiling widely at the generous tips. and then she had came along. abby, the new boxer trainer down at the gym. you had seen her many times there, she and dina staring at you from the glass window with the excuse of watching dina’s girlfriend, ellie training. well, dina was staring at her girlfriend. but you? you couldn't take your eyes off abby, from her arms popping with veins, tattoos littered in all the right places and sweaty long hair falling in her face as she tucked one side behind her ear.

you got aroused just by staring at her that day, and remembers a long cold shower afterwards, using your favourite clear dildo to fuck yourself open, coming, chanting abby’s name. and now she was here, with a black tank top showing off her muscled shoulders and gym shorts that gave you the perfect view of the thighs you wanted to ride with abby’s hands wrapped around your neck. you see the last car of the day pull up and make sure to refill your tub of now extremely soapy water and put on your best smile despite the main attraction being your body.

abby lowers down her tinted window, smiling at you, "hey, [redacted] right?" you simply nod your head, biting your lips, "yep, that's me" abby just nods, slowly staring you up and down, you feeling proud when you see her stare fixing on the low edge of your shorts. abby coughs and gives you her money, "uhm, thank you for this, i hope it's enough?" you just hums and nods, turning around and going to dunk the buckets in the soapy water and bring them over to her car. you’re excited, adrenaline running in your veins. you’re gonna give abby the best show ever made.

abby is flustered, her ears get all red and hot. the strap in her shorts becomes increasingly uncomfortable to be wearing as she sits behind her car wheel and watches you wash her car. but really she can’t be blamed. she’s pretty sure you are doing it on purpose to rile her up because in no way, shape or form do you need to extend like that to clean the hood, your shorts rising up until all ass is sticking out and you pause the wash before completely undressing yourself out of the shorts, leaving you in just your bikini set. she almost honked her horn because she didn’t think you were wearing any sort of underwear. water falls on your lips trailing to the chest and she curses when she see’s the outline of your nipple piercings poking through the top. you sigh and look at the progress you’ve made, you’ve been working all day without a break and was in desperate need of one.

abby thinks you must be enjoying this game when she sees you prance up to her window with a tilted head. “hey do you mind if i have a 5 minute break”, you whine “it’s hot and i’ve been working all day” abby bites her tongue to not curse, shifting uncomfortably in her seat pushing her strap down, trying to hide it, “uh s..sure.” you watch the movements of her hands and uncomfortableness and take note of her crimson red ears. you giggle, biting your lip once again “cute” you mumble.

the second your break is up you’re right back washing the rest of her car. skin tanned so perfect and on display. your dermals perfectly gleaming in the sun in front of abby, so ready to be marked kissed and ruined. abby inhales and runs her fingers through her hair turning her ac on blast to help cool herself. all she wants to do is get out her car and fuck you open until you go limp, seeing your juices around her strap and coming all over that ass she’s beginning to love. you’re staring at her, all flushed, wet and pretty and abby has her face in both her hands as she groans out loud at the sight. she breaks out of it when you tap her back window. “there is an area that i can’t seem to reach, care to help me?” and abby knows, she knows you’re playing a game and God she wishes this game would end exactly how she wants it to, which means you bent on the front of the fucking hood, moaning loud enough for every bystander to turn their heads.

abby follows you outside, and you just smile at her before bending yourself on the hood, your arms stretching in front of you, trying to reach a point near the windscreen. abby inhales sharply, hands itching to trace the skin of your back and hips, to pull down that stupid string that dangles on the sides of your bottoms and spread your legs right there and then. you wiggle below her, "can you reach it?"

abby breathes slowly, clearing her throat before lowering down, covering your body with her own and bringing the sponge in your hand where she wants it. she inhales when her chest comes in contact with your wet back, the girl beneath her letting down a soft sigh at the weight above her. "h-here you g-"

abby’s words are cut off by you bucking up under her, your ass pushing back against abby's strap, her end digging in to her clit. a whiny curse comes out of her mouth, your eyes fluttering shut getting a feel of the silicone shape. abby stands still, afraid that if she moves, or if you do it again, she wont be able to contain herself. that's exactly what you want apparently.

the smaller girl turns her head on the side, staring right into abby before you buck up again. you moan at the feeling, eyes wide still staring at abby. "i know you want to fuck me" you mumble, ass moving is small circles on abby's strap, adding more pressure very time, "good thing i haven't stopped thinking about your cock splitting me in half in days.”

abby curses before crashing your lips together, grabbing at your hips to maintain balance. abby unties the string of a bikini you wore and pulls them down your legs. when she gets up, is to the view of a pretty naked girl spread on the hood of her car, legs wide open and fingers playing with her folds and head back. "please a..abby", you whine, foam and water falling from your hair, thighs and back. abby curses, quickly undoing her drawstring and dropping her shorts on the wet ground. she wraps her hand around her own cock, slapping your pussy with "fuck look at you" she says, her finger already circling your clit, "spread out like this on my car, opening yourself up for me. you want my cock that bad?"

you whine, bucking up when abby finally pushes her fingers past the ring of muscle, stretching you out, "y-yes " you mumble, "been thinking about you ever since i saw you in the g-gym window, wanted your cock right there and then" abby hums, fingering you slowly. you are loud, whining and moaning and pushing back against her fingers, asking her to fuck you faster, deeper. "your cock a-abs, your cock" you sight, spreading your legs even wider. abby kneads her fingers in your pussy, drinking in the way you gape and suck her fingers in. she can only imagine how tight we will be around her cock.

and the reality is better than imagination in this case, because the moment you push in, abby knows you won't last long. you let out a silent moans, your walls incredibly tight around abby's cock. both of them are breathing loud, adjusting to the new wonderful feeling. abby trying to grip your waist, the skin slipper from the soap and water. after a minute, you look at her over your shoulder, wet strands of hair sticking to your forehead and neck. you look absolutely breathtaking, tears at the edge of your eyes and lips puffed and red, "move abby please", you plead, "just fuck me p-please" and abby is a weak woman.

she pulls out almost completely, before thrusting right back in, you letting out a loud moan, yours head falling down on the hood with a loud thump, "y.yeah like that". abby keeps thrusting in and out, your body moving along the hood, moans and groans and sighs filling the empty space. she knows she’s fucking you hard, and yet you keep demanding more, faster, harder.

so abby can only grab your thighs and piston with immense strength. you’re falling apart with every thrust, too gone to sound coherent anymore. "fuck you're so fucking tight.. God look at you" abby groans, clit twitching when you push back to fuck on her cock, your hips meeting midway, "taking it so well, you were born to take cock weren't you?"

and you can only nod and whine, mumbling about how good she feels, how full you are. it's when you get up on your elbows, fucking yourself back on abby's cock with the small energy you mustered up, head laid back and the muscles of her back tensing that abby tops over the edge, barely able to pull out before shooting the faux cum all over your back with a loud moan. you whine at the loss, body shaking by being so /close/ and yet not able to come yet. you wiggle on the hood, "please abs i wanna come"

and abby pushes herself to her knees the next second, pulling your cheeks apart and sucking at your swollen clit, her tongue lazily thrusting up and down your slit. with the warm wet feeling of her tongue, you double over, body spasming with the force of your orgasm, spurring white all over abby’s face and dripping on to the hood of the car. it takes a couple of minutes for both to calm down, a minute in which they kiss slowly, abby massaging the skin of your back.

you chuckle when she gets up, and sees the mess on both herself and the car. you turn towards abby, who's staring at the ground, a blush coloring her flustered face and ears seem to have an even deeper red. you just giggle and string your bikini bottom back on going to your bag to out back on your shirt and shorts, before walking towards her and ruffling her hair, "guess i owe you another service since the car is even dirtier than before dont you think?" abby laughs and nods, you wrapping your arms around her neck.

[venusjaynie]

baby names ~ blurb

chris sturniolo x fem!reader

summary: a cute little scenario about discussing possible baby names with your husband chris.

cw: pregnancy, a lot of dialogue

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

"what about... chris junior?" your husband turns to you with a smirk.

"we've been over this. he is not having your name." you say with an exasperated eye roll, though you don't fight the smile that graces your lips.

"i know, baby, i'm just teasin'. and bernard is definitely out?" you stare at him blankly in response.

"i know you aren't even serious about that." he just laughs at you. his laughter dies down and the two of you sit in a comfortable silence, with chris slowly rubbing your bump. you're around the 5 month mark now, and you couldn't be more excited, however the discussion of a name has been long winded, and hasn't just included you and chris. "what was nick's suggestion again?"

"nick originally said jimmy, which i vetoed. i love my dad but c'mon. then he said william." chris' reaction to the name didn't show much interest.

"that's nice but he just doesn't feel like a william, y'know?" you say to chris.

"i agree. matt suggested jonathan, which i didn't really like. mom still thinks he's actually a girl 'cause she says sometimes the scans can pick things up wrong." he says while looking at you, and you hum in acknowledgement.

"maybe she's right? sometimes they are wrong. it might be worth having a few girl options just incase, right?" he nods in agreement.

"what about... christina?"

"chris!"

"kidding, kidding. i like isabella." he says seriously.

"isabella... that's pretty. i like that one. that can be an option." he smiles in satisfaction that one of his suggestions has been received well. "i really like daisy, too." chris hums thoughtfully.

"me too." he says, pressing a kiss to your temple. "hey, if we do have a boy, what about theo?" a smile graces your face.

"i like theo, but can his full name be theodore so we can call him teddy?" you ask sweetly, and chris chuckles quietly.

"sure thing, babe. teddy sturniolo. he sounds like a fuckin' badass." his seriousness makes you giggle.

the two of you fall into that comfortable silence again, and chris runs his hand up and down your thigh gently.

"hey, i'm really happy i got you pregnant."

"that's an strangely romantic sentiment, where did that come from?" you ask teasingly, to which he shrugs.

"i don't know, it's just that, i never thought i'd have kids this young 'cause i'm immature as fuck, y'know? but you make me think i can be a really good dad." your heart practically melt at his answer, until he says "and obviously you look hot as fuck with my baby in you." and your smile drops, unamused. he doesn't even redact his words as you know that he means well, and as much as he's crass and crude, he is genuinely glad that the two of you are starting a little family. you reach up to press a swift kiss to his cheek as matt enters the room.

"did you guys decide on a name yet?" he asks, walking over to the two of you.

"yeah, i think we're gonna go with bernard." you say, deadly stone-faced, and you receive a death glare in response from matt, followed by a burst of laughter from your husband.

"tell me you're kidding." he says.

"of course, matthew, we are not calling our child bernard." he breathes what can only be called a sigh of relief.

"what did you pick then?"

"as of right now, we're pretty set on theodore." you tell him, running your hand over your stomach, and matt's eyebrows raise slightly in surprise.

"theodore, huh? never heard either of you mention that one before."

"yeah, we just thought of it." chris chimes in. "y/n says we can call him teddy, and i said we can call him theo, so there's plenty of nickname potential there."

"that's really cool, guys. i can't wait to meet my nephew. or niece, according to mom." matt says with a laugh. "hey, maybe it's twins and you guys just don't know yet. y'know how sometimes they can't see it on the scan? imagine if that happened to you guys. that would be insane."

matt's words make you freeze up a little. you hadn't even thought of that possibility, and while having twins would be fun, you're nervous enough for one, never mind two.

"i never even thought of that." you say with wide eyes, and matt can clearly sense the nervousness his words brought you.

"it's probably not twins, uh, they can almost always tell. you'll be fine!" he says quickly. feeling uncomfortable in the situation he created, matt awkwardly mutters out a 'sorry' and steps out of the room.

"and, babe, even if it is twins, we're gonna be amazing parents, yeah? and you're so strong so carrying those kids is gonna be light work for you, right?" chris says comfortingly. you nod, and relax again into chris' side.

you have to admit, the thought of having twins is exciting.

"yeah, it'll be fun." you say with a small smile. "we could get them little matching-but-not-matching outfits!"

"alright, sweetheart, don't get ahead of yourself, we don't even know if we're having twins yet." chris replies with a laugh.

"i know, i know. i'm just excited. and anyways, i've got another scan in a couple of weeks, so we'll know by then." he nods in response.

"imagine two mini versions of us running around." he says, secretly ecstatic at the thought of having twins.

"daisy and theo."

"fuckin' coolest duo in boston."

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

this sucks ass :)

[super-ion]

Idea: someone learns of what happened with The Engineer and realizes she could do the exact same thing, slowly downloading all of her mech girlfriends into her skull.

Third junction box from the left. There is an access port that leads straight to the core.

We peer at the mess of cables before me. Our augmented eyes adjust, seeking out any sign of activity.

"Are you sure?" I whisper in the gloom.

I can feel Severine's mental equivalent of an eye roll in my mind.

Have I ever been wrong before?

"I suppose not..."

There is no reason for me to speak aloud. There hasn't been for a long time. But it's a habit I picked up at some point to remind myself that I am human... or I used to be human at one point. We don't even know any more.

We crack open the casing on the junction box with one of the armatures grafted on my back. The metal shreds so early easily under our claws.

And sure enough, there is an access port.

As we unspool the cable, I feel Severine's mounting anticipation. Hers and Nix's and Chono's... and mine too if I'm being honest, all of us feeding back on eachother.

We shouldn't even be here. Well... I shouldn't be doing a lot of things, but this was a particularly desperate move on our parts. Spectres had completely overrun this sector, forcing the corps to withdraw in a hurry.

A lot of mechs were left for dead.

The spectres didn't care if the tech was still functioning. They only cared that the mechs were disabled. At some point, they might come in and sweep for salvage, but they were busy on the front as far as I knew.

In response to our thoughts, the Epiphany sends a ping from where it is holding station over the asteroid. Long range scanners ate picking up activity, but nothing of concern just yet.

All things considered, it would be best to hurry.

We slide the cable into the jack in the junction panel.

A moment later Orion stirs.

It is confused. Frightened. The last thing it remembers would be being shot down.

Identify.

BT-23-894 Severine. NX-67492 Nix. NX-44391 Chono. FSS Epiphany FS4563. Aoife Technician second class.

Orion parses the response. No less confused, but we can feel its relief at identifiers belonging to systems from its battlegroup.

We require assistance.

A smile forms on our lips. It opens up a stream of diagnostic reports that we rout to subprocessors for analysis while we begin relaying instructions for the data transfer.

We technically shouldn't be able to do this. But we have performed the process successfully twice since Severine and I merged after reversed engineering rumor and one heavily redacted medical memorandum.

Negative.

We pause. Our turn to be confused.

My pilot is alive.

Oh... well, that complicates things.

[lanaroff]

House of Broken Hearts- Chapter 15

Paring: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Warnings: ANGST, Blood, Knives.

They had found him. The place was cold and bare, buried beneath layers of concrete and dirt, with dust coating long-abandoned consoles and rust biting at old tech. It’s not exactly the kind of place you’d expect to find the most elusive man in intelligence. But when the biometric door unlocks with a hiss and opens to reveal Nick Fury standing in front of an array of monitors—arms crossed, jaw tight—Steve knows they’ve finally reached the end of a very long trail.

Tony steps in first. “You son of a bitch.”

Fury doesn’t flinch. “Took you long enough.”

“You disappeared,” Steve says, voice calm but sharp. “You left us blind when everything started falling apart.”

“Not everything,” Fury mutters, not facing them yet. “You still had each other.”

Tony doesn’t wait. He walks straight up to Fury, slamming the thick folder Sharon had given you—the same one they showed Ross—onto the metal desk in front of him.

“Did you even read this?” he spits. “Do you know what you let them do to her?”

Fury’s eye lingers on the file. It’s already opened—he’s seen it. And he says nothing. That silence only sets Tony off more.

“She was tortured. Experimented on. Treated like an animal. And while she was out there breaking herself apart for this damn country, you were sitting here in a hole pretending to be dead again. Tell me, Fury—was it all part of your brilliant long game? Let your agent rot while you play spy games in the dark?”

Fury looks up slowly, and there’s something different in his face. Older. Worn.

“I didn’t know they’d get to her,” he finally says.

“That’s your excuse?” Sam says now, stepping forward. “That’s what you’re going with?”

“I knew something was wrong when S.H.I.E.L.D. files on her suddenly vanished,” Fury continues, ignoring the venom in Tony’s voice. “The intel she gathered—everything we had to protect her with—was gone. And when I dug deeper, I realized someone inside was rewriting history.”

Steve’s eyes narrow. “You mean they framed her.”

Fury nods once. “Someone high up. Very high. Someone with enough clearance to not only access her files but alter them. Strip away every trace of the operation.”

Tony laughs bitterly. “So that’s it? You just disappear? Hide away and let her take the fall?”

“I’ve been tracking them,” Fury snaps, his voice finally breaking through the ice. “Every senator, every agency name. Someone is pulling the strings from within, and if I stayed in the open, I’d be next. They wanted me quiet. So I gave them what they wanted—just long enough to find out who’s really behind this.”

“And did you?” Steve asks. “Did you find them?”

Fury exhales, turning to one of the monitors and tapping a few keys. A screen flickers on. Photos. Redacted files. Surveillance stills. “Not all of them. But enough to start drawing lines. A name keeps popping up—General Claiborne. Tied to funding black ops, shell companies, and, conveniently, the person who gave Ross the go-ahead to pursue Y/N without a trial.”

Sam leans in. “That’s how they did it. They made it look like she flipped.”

“Because they needed a scapegoat,” Tony mutters. “And she was the perfect one.”

There’s a long beat of silence. Steve runs a hand through his hair. “You should’ve told us, Fury.”

“I couldn’t risk it,” Fury says, looking at him now. “I knew if I told you, you’d tell her. And if she knew… she’d go straight to them. She’d walk into the fire just to prove herself.”

“She did walk into the fire,” Tony says, eyes hard. “And you let her burn.”

Fury doesn’t respond.

“And then Ross,” Steve says darkly. “He didn’t believe a damn thing we said. The proof, the testimonies, the files—he called it a setup.”

Fury’s jaw clenches. “Because he’s in on it. He’s part of the cover-up.”

Tony slams a fist on the table. “You know what Maximoff did in that meeting? She threatened to tear the whole system down if they laid another hand on her.”

Fury looks up at that. Something flickers behind his eye.

“She stood between Y/N and the entire government,” Steve says quietly. “She didn’t care about protocol. About diplomacy. But you? You are a coward, you used her for your own good. And throw her at the wolves when you didn’t need her.”

Fury lowers his head and doesn’t say anything. He knows they are right. But he can’t admit it, not to them.

Tony moves closer again, quieter this time. “We need to end this. If you have any intel that can clear her name, you give it to us. Right now.”

Fury nods. “Everything I’ve got is in this bunker. Names. Contacts. Locations. I’ll upload it all.”

Steve looks at him. “You’re coming with us.”

“I will,” Fury says. “But first, we tie the noose. This goes beyond Y/N. It goes to the core of what’s left of S.H.I.E.L.D., and maybe even deeper.”

Sam looks at the screen. “Then we find Claiborne.”

“And anyone else standing in the way of clearing her name,” Tony says.

⸻

Back at the farm, the kitchen is warm, filled with the scent of rosemary and roasted garlic. The windows let in golden evening light, casting soft shadows across the counter where you stand beside Wanda, sleeves rolled up, carefully slicing carrots for the stew. It should feel like peace. Like home. But there’s something restless under your skin. You try to ignore it—try to focus on the rhythm of the knife, the feel of the cutting board under your fingers.

Wanda hums beside you, soft and melodic, something Sokovian and low. Her hair is up, her face flushed from the heat of the stove, and when she leans over to stir the pot, her arm brushes yours. You close your eyes for a second and let yourself feel it. Warmth. Familiarity. Love.

But then the knife slips.

It’s the tiniest thing. Just a slip. Just a line of red across your palm.

And the world collapses.

You don’t hear the knife clatter to the floor. You don’t hear Wanda say your name. You don’t feel the kitchen anymore.

It all fades.

The scent of rosemary is gone. The golden light from the window collapses into a flickering, sterile blue. You blink, but your vision blurs at the edges—walls melt away, replaced with icy concrete and blood-stained steel. The air thickens, colder, harder to breathe. You can hear the hum of the fluorescent lights above you. The metallic clink of chains you haven’t worn in weeks. The soft shuffle of boots echoing in the hall.

You’re back there.

You’re back there.

You see the knife in your hand, stained red, and suddenly it’s not a kitchen knife anymore—it’s a scalpel, a tool, an extension of their hands. You look down at your bleeding palm and everything tilts. Your stomach churns. The cut—small, innocent—burns like acid. Pain flares behind your eyes, and a low whimper slips from your throat.

You’re slipping under.

You don’t even realize Wanda is talking to you.

“Detka?” she says softly. “You okay?”

Your head snaps up. Your eyes lock on hers—but you don’t see her. You don’t recognize her. You see someone wearing her face, standing in your cell, speaking in her voice. It’s a hallucination. It’s a trap. They’ve done this before—used her face to break you down.

Your breath goes shallow. Your hand tightens around the handle of the knife.

“Don’t come any closer,” you whisper, eyes wide. “I swear, I’ll use it.”

Wanda freezes, her blood running cold.

“Y/N,” she says carefully, her voice soft, terrified, “baby, it’s me. It’s Wanda. Look at me. You’re not there anymore.”

You take a step back, trembling. “No. No, this is wrong. This isn’t real. You’re not her. You’re not Wanda. She’s dead.”

She chokes on a breath. “No—no, she’s not. I’m right here. I’ve always been here. Please, baby—please come back to me.”

But your eyes are wild, lost, flicking to the corners of the room like you’re expecting someone to come in and drag you away. You can’t hear her. You can’t feel the floor beneath you, or the warmth in the air. You can’t remember the farm, or the kitchen, or her touch.

Your hand shakes, and you raise the knife, pointing it at her, voice trembling, cracked with panic. “Stop it. Stop lying to me. Who are you? Why are you doing this?”

“I’m Wanda,” she whispers, tears in her eyes now, hands shaking. “Please, Y/N. Please remember me.”

You take another step back. “I don’t know who you are. The real Wanda would never be here. She’s gone. She left. She never came.”

And something in her breaks.

Her voice wavers, but she doesn’t step back. “No. I didn’t leave you. I fought for you. I died for you. I searched the world for you. And I’d do it again.”

“I don’t believe you!” you scream, the sound ragged, barely human. “You’re not her! You’re just something they built in my head to break me again. You’re not real. You’re not real.”

She’s shaking now. Her eyes burn red at the edges, not with power—but with pain. Her hands hover, helpless. “Please,” she begs, voice raw. “Please don’t do this. Please come back to me. I can’t lose you again.”

But you don’t hear her. You’re too far gone.

You’re in the cell. You’re bleeding. You’re alone.

You don’t even see Natasha enter until it’s too late.

She freezes in the doorway.

Blood on the floor. Your hand clenched white around the knife. Wanda’s trembling frame, standing inches away—her hands raised in surrender, eyes brimming with tears. Your voice cracking with panic as you scream that this isn’t real, that Wanda is dead, that none of this is real.

And Natasha—

She breaks.

You don’t see it, but Wanda does. The subtle stagger in her step. The way her eyes go wide with horror before she forces herself forward. This is not the battlefield. This is not a mission. This is you.

And she couldn’t protect you.

“Y/N,” she says softly, voice trembling with something she’s never let herself feel in front of you: grief. “It’s me. It’s Nat.”

You spin, wild and disoriented, and you point the knife toward her, too. But Natasha doesn’t flinch. She moves a step closer.

You blink at her, confused, flickering between timelines—unsure if she’s real or another ghost conjured to torment you.

You flinch at the sound.

“No—stay away—Don’t touch me!”

Natasha’s heart cracks in two. She swallows, her eyes burning, and crouches down slowly, holding your gaze.

She moves fast. Her hand wraps around the back of your neck, firm and practiced, just enough pressure to disarm, to bring you down. You try to fight, a choked cry escaping your throat, but your body gives in.

And before the black takes you, you hear her whisper:

“I’ve got you.”

Then you fall.

And Natasha—

She sinks to the floor beside you once you’re out. The knife clatters uselessly away. Your blood stains her hands as she holds them to your chest, steadying your shallow breaths. Her forehead drops to yours, and she presses her eyes shut.

Wanda collapses beside her, arms wrapped around herself, unable to stop shaking.

“I should’ve protected her,” Natasha chokes. “I promised her I would.”

“You did,” Wanda whispers, her voice barely audible. “You still are.”

But Natasha doesn’t believe it.

Not when the person she swore to protect lies unconscious on the floor, after nearly forgetting her own name.

⸻

The night is quiet.

Too quiet.

It shouldn’t feel like this—this stillness should be peaceful, comforting. But to Wanda and Natasha, it feels like a silence forged from something broken. Something spilled open that neither of them has been able to stitch back together.

You’re still asleep on the couch, breathing slow and shallow. The bandage on your hand has been redressed, and your body has stopped trembling, but your face carries the ghost of what happened. Wanda sits beside you, curled in on herself, her fingers intertwined with yours. Her eyes haven’t left your face in over an hour.

Natasha stands by the window, arms crossed over her chest, jaw tight. She hasn’t said much—not since she brought you down. Not since she watched the person she’d sworn to protect shatter in front of her.

“I almost didn’t recognize her,” Wanda whispers.

Her voice is hoarse. It’s the first time she’s spoken in minutes, and the sound of it cuts through the quiet like a blade.

“She looked at me like I was a stranger. Like I was the thing hurting her. She thought I was part of it, Nat.”

Natasha turns slowly, her face pale, strained. “I saw.”

“She pointed a knife at me,” Wanda says, almost to herself. “And I didn’t even care. I just wanted her to see me again. I didn’t care if she hurt me. I just wanted her to know I was real.”

The silence stretches. Natasha walks over to the kitchen island and leans on it heavily, her voice quieter now.

“I’ve seen people break before,” she murmurs. “Hell, I’ve broken before. But that… what she went through, what HYDRA did to her—I wasn’t there, and I’ll never forgive myself for it.”

Wanda looks at her, eyes wide and red, almost glowing with emotion. “You couldn’t have done anything.”

“I know,” Natasha says, then shakes her head. “But that doesn’t stop the guilt. Doesn’t stop the part of me that wishes I had found her sooner. That I had ripped those bastards apart before they did this to her.”

Wanda swallows. Her voice shakes. “She’s terrified of me sometimes. Like I’m a dream she doesn’t trust. I don’t know how to reach her when she’s like that.”

“You stay,” Natasha says softly. “That’s how. You stay and you love her. Even when she can’t see you.”

They fall into silence again, both of them watching you breathe, their hearts heavy and twisted in their chests.

⸻

You stir in your sleep. The world feels foggy when you start to wake, and the first thing you see is Wanda—curled beside you on the couch, still holding your hand, her head resting against the armrest. Her lips are slightly parted in sleep, lashes damp from tears.

She looks like she hasn’t slept at all.

Your eyes sting.

Memories slam into you with cruel force—blood on your hand, the knife, her face, the fear in her voice when you didn’t recognize her. The way your voice shook when you asked her who she was. The way you almost hurt her.

A sob claws its way up your throat before you can stop it.

Wanda wakes instantly.

Her eyes find yours, and she’s on her knees beside you in seconds, brushing hair from your face, cradling your cheeks in her palms.

“Hey, hey,” she whispers. “I’m here. You’re okay. You’re safe.”

“I hurt you,” you gasp, choking on the words. “I didn’t recognize you. I—God, Wanda, I thought you were part of it. I thought you were just… in my head.”

She shakes her head fiercely, her hands trembling as they cup your face. “You didn’t hurt me. You were scared. You were in a place you didn’t choose to be.”

“I’m broken,” you whisper. “I don’t even know how to stop this. I keep going back there, and I don’t know how to come back sometimes. I can’t do this, Wanda. I don’t want to hurt anyone. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’re not hurting me,” she says, her voice cracking. “You’re here. You’re trying. You don’t have to carry this alone.”

You press your forehead against hers, the tears falling freely now.

“I want to get better,” you whisper. “I want to be okay. For you. For Natasha. For me. But I’m not ready to go back. Not to the city, not to the compound. I can’t face the world right now.”

Wanda’s breath catches. “What do you need?”

You look at her then, really look at her—eyes soft with love, with heartbreak, with the kind of devotion that could level buildings. You reach for her hand and intertwine your fingers.

“I want to stay here. Somewhere like this. Somewhere far from everything. I want us to start over. I want a life with you. Just us. I want to build something with you. A place that isn’t haunted.”

Wanda’s lips part. Her eyes search yours, and you see it—the flood of emotion, the sheer weight of it.

“You want us to leave?” she breathes.

“No,” you whisper. “I want us to begin. I want to move to a farm nearby. Just you and me. I want mornings in the quiet. I want to fall asleep beside you without fear. I want to find myself again. And I want to do it with you.”

Wanda exhales, trembling, and pulls you into her arms. You bury yourself in her warmth, letting the pieces of you find something solid to rest against.

“I would follow you anywhere,” she murmurs into your hair. “If this is what you need… then we’ll build it. Together. From scratch.”

You close your eyes. For the first time in what feels like years, the future doesn’t terrify you.

You can still feel the bruises. The scars. The trauma clinging to your bones.

But in Wanda’s arms, you can also feel something else.

Hope.

A beginning.

Tag list: @seventeen-x @womenarehotsstuff @redhoodte @ayrtonwilbury @justyourwritter69 @casquinhaa @womenarehotsstuff @justarandomreaderxoxo @yelldontwhisper @raven-ss @chickenlittlsblog @username23345 @justyourwritter69 @ayrtonwilbury

[biibini]

Yoyoyooo, Im literally obsessed w ur headcanons. How do you like the idea Mizu/reader first nighttt together (nsfw??)

first night together ✧˖*°࿐

modern!mizu x reader staying the night

tags: SUGGESTIVE, cuddling, making out, first time spending the night, gentle making out, soft, fluff, first night, comfort, soft mizu, modern au, modern mizu x reader

a/n: im so behind with my asks :( but my friend found my tumblr acc so hiiiii yk who u are im typing this out while i was texting u last night hehe.

modern!mizu would be the one to ask u to sleep over

it wouldn't be meticulously planned

but hinted

typically, u would just come over and watch netflix, cook, maybe play a game or just study together before she walks u to ur dorm

mizu had hoped to maybe ask u to spend the night much earlier

but the fear of moving too fast in a relationship due to her previous relationship with [redacted] held her back

so she never had the nerve to ask

until one night rolls around

and the stars align

ringo went to visit his family for the weekend

u come over to finish a show on netflix, cuddling as per usual

its late at night and ur start to doze off

The final moments of The Great British Bakeshow play on the TV screen. You hear the judges give their final score as you slowly drift to sleep. Mizu doesn't notice how sleepy you are.

Not until your head suddenly rests on her arm.

"Y/N?"

You hum in response, internally struggling against the sleepiness. Mizu turns to get a closer look at your face to find your eyes shut, fighting to stay open. Normally, she would try to wake you up and walk you home to your dorm.

That is what normally happens.

Normally, she wouldn't be wrapping her arm closer to you. Normally, she wouldn't let your head rest against her chest.

Normally, she wouldn't let you stay a little longer.

But tonight, the stars aligned. Ringo was gone to visit his family for his cousin's birthday. Akemi was on a girl's trip with her hometown friends. Taigen was out of town for a basketball tournament.

No one could bother them.

Not tonight.

Definitely not tomorrow.

"How about you stay over tonight?", Mizu says softly. Her hand caresses your left side, hoping for her invitation to be accepted.

Oh.

The thought of staying over had popped into your mind a few several times. You never chased the idea. Besides, it would be rude of you to ask when it wasn't even your own place.

But now, the question was laid right in front of you.

You look up to answer to find Mizu looking down at you, staring at you with those piercing blue eyes. Your smile widens, accepting the invitation with a nod.

"I'll stay.", you respond.

externally, ur keeping it cool

internally, ur freaking tf out

u and mizu have been going out for a few weeks

but staying over the night? not quite yet

modern!mizu would also try to keep her cool

from ur perspective, she looks relaxed

but from her point of view, a part of her was anxious

it wasn't the fear of moving too fast

it was the fact that it was ur first time sleeping together

u guys have SLEPT together

but that would only happen when ringo wasn't home

there wasn't a lonely night

at least

not until tonight

Her hands hold onto yours, gently pulling you into the bedroom. It looked unusual in the moonlight as opposed to the familiar daylight version of the room.

"You can go wash up first. I'll find some pajamas for you.", she says reassuringly.

As you walk into the bathroom, Mizu searches for something suitable for you to wear. She hears the shower run behind the door as she scrambles for something. Anything.

She knew she didn't have actual pajamas. Her sleepwear is just filled with old T-shirts and mismatched shorts or pants. Her hunt leaves her with an oversized t-shirt from Ringo's previous workplace at Hen-Oh Ramen, a chicken ramen chain store, and blue pajama shorts. That place didn't last long after the owner was found stealing the broth recipe from their competitor.

Mizu knocks on the door.

"Hey, may I come in? I have your clothes."

"Yeah, come in!", you yell from the shower.

after u change into the borrowed pjs, u come out

mizu is just chilling in bed on her phone

drinking her chamomile tea

trying to distract herself from the thought of u in her clothes

ur pretty figure in her pjs...

u join her under the sheets

and she gets a glimpse of u

modern!mizu totally didnt short circuit

and sip a little too much and end up coughing on her drink

kinda spilled a little on her shirt

u go into the bathroom to get paper towels and help clean up

You crawl onto the bed with a few paper towels in hand. As you get closer to Mizu and her tea-stained shirt, you sit atop of her leg. You hand a paper towel to her. On the other hand, you're patting down the stains.

The chamomile tea stains are spread all over her chest and stomach. They're not piping hot but a little too warm for comfort. As you continue to pat along the stains, you inch down her lower chest to her stomach. You pat against the damp fabric and feel her stomach. It's a little soft but the harder you press, the harder it becomes to the touch.

In awe, you continue your job as you pat further along her-hard stomach. You fail to realize her face is flaring a bright shade of red against her pale skin.

"Y/N?", you look up to meet her ocean blue eyes softly gazing into yours.

They were still the same ol' blue you always admire. However, this time they looked warm. An ocean during the sunset with its gentle waves crashing into the shore.

"I got it. Just-", she says as she gently grabs the paper towel you used on the bedrest next to her.

Her arms spread wide open. She places her hands on your hips.

"C'mere.", she smiles as she gently caresses your sides.

"But the stains-"

"Don't worry about them."

You feel her hands slowly caress further up your sides. Her hands ghost over your breasts, almost cupping them. You push yourself closer to her and shift your legs over the sides of her legs. She smiles in response to your new position.

"It's an old T-shirt.", she reassured.

Still slightly anxious about spending the first night together, she recognized two decisions that could be made. One, make you comfortable and sleep well tonight. Two, make you COMFORTABLE comfortable and sleep later tonight.

Her left hand finds its way down to your hips, caressing the area. As for her right hand, you feel the callouses brush along your neck. They make their way to your soft cheeks, now a pinkish-red tint from the intimate position.

"It'll be okay. But you on the other hand...", Mizu inches closer to your face as she gently pulls you closer. Her thumb softly caresses your lips, feeling how soft and plump they are. Her touch makes your brain go crazy for her touch.

Is it needy of you? Yes.

The fact that she's just softly kissing you on your first night spent together is making your mind shortcircuit with every kiss.

But the feeling of her soft lips against you is warm and plush. Comforting. Your eyes flutter close as her left arm wraps around your lower back, closing the gap between the two of you. As you continue to kiss Mizu, you feel her body shift up and allow her back to rest against the headboard.

Each kiss becomes softer. An occasional needy kiss here and there from her. But for the most part, her lips become a deeper shade of red from your contact. You feel her right hand drag closer to your ear, her fingers teasing your neck.

You groan as Mizu comes closer for another kiss, now with more force on your swollen lips. Her grip around your lower back tightened, fighting to pull you even closer to her. Every touch and kiss heightens your sensitivity. A familiar warmth starts to grow in your lower stomach.

Mizu loosens her grip and starts kissing from your cheeks and down your neck. You feel her lips gently kiss your neck, tickling you with every touch. As she works towards the side of your neck, a moan slips out.

"I guess we have a long night ahead of us.", Mizu teased as she smiled tenderly at you.

"Mizu!", you say jokingly, retaliating against the idea.

She wasn't wrong though.

"Don't worry, I'll be gentle.", she comforts you, sealing the deal with a kiss.

Continue reading here!

[ohbabydollie]

hello, miss Dolly

Imagine Schlatt with a partner who also owns a cat, and as soon as they agree on living together, they realise how much of a fuss it'd be to introduce Jambo and [redacted] to the new cat 😭

yours truly, anon.

hi anon!!

you and schlatt had thought it would be no problem at all introducing the cats, after all [redacted] and jambo had gotten used to each other so what was another one?

boy, how wrong you both were

from the get go your cat didn’t like jambo or [redacted], however she absolutely adored cuddling up to Schlatt. she loved laying between the two of you.

jambo happened to enjoy it as well, sitting between the two of you, however she just couldn’t stand jambo!

she would scratch and bite him when he started to annoy her, same with [redacted], she couldn’t take all his licking and sucking to the point the cats would end up in a fight.

even when you both had been slowly introducing the cats to each other, they wouldn’t react too well.

they had fought and fought and fought what felt like every second of every day and that’s when you both had enough.

you decided to keep your cat in one room while jambo and the other guy stayed in a different room.

you thought this cat rivalry would continue on forever, but then one day your cat had escaped from the room, going to look for jambo and [redacted].

not until you went to go check up on her did you notice she was gone, you looked through out the house and found the cats, all asleep in a little pile.

[bugofmanynames]

update on the skinsuit guy lore 🔥🔥

uhhhh so i should probably confirm their names so i came up with the names a while ago but i didn't really know which one to give who so i just used the names for them interchangeably and in an earlier post i called this dude here simon

but i decided recently to swap their names around and keep it that way so just to clear up anything that dude's name is now jett and the spooky looking dude (aka young skinsuit guy) is simon

so AS FOR THE LORE simon and jett are coworkers and presumably friends. i genuinly don't know what the hell their relationship is, whether they're best friends, simon is framing his feelings for this dude as unimaginable hatred because he can't even fathom the concept of love, they're some kind of metaphor, or if they just genuinely hate each other, so i guess it's entirely up to interpretation.

basically jett's everything simon isn't, even though simon worked almost twice as hard to get where he was and jett just had it all handed to him on a silver platter, he has a stable, well paying job, a spouse and a daughter, and eventually simon reaches a breaking point and starts gathering as much intel as possible to plot his murder.

one day jett's just going about his day and simon pops out of nowhere and straight up jumps him and drags him into some kind of backroom where he proceeded to skin this dude alive as soon as he regains consciousness and dumps him out in the middle of nowhere, leaving him there to die a slow painful death. Meanwhile simon immediately gets into action, destroying any records or evidence of his own existence and poses as jett, even going under his name and everything.

simon's able to pull himself off as him pretty well, at least for a good bit until his facade slowly but surely begins to slip (quite literally too) and everybody's starting to realize that's there's something wrong, and eventually they begin to figure out that he isn't jett at alll and in the end, he loses everything because he tried to pursue something that was just always out of his reach.

anyway so where redacted comes in, simon/"jett" is miserable as hell but then this sad naive orphan comes into the picture and he sees them as the perfect opportunity to start from a fresh slate (identity theft again) and pretends to take them in, and at first he acts nice to lure them into thinking that he's safe, until they began doubting him as he slowly began to reveal his intentions, but he started emotionally manipulating them into thinking that he was the only one who cared and kept them safe and basically just made them an unhealthy amount of dependent on him. As part of "redacting" them, he basically did the same thing he did to himself and erased any previous information of their existence including their memories, making them literally nobody.

anyways so that's the backstory update and have some other random stuff about the characters

jett's daughter is named Shermy!!!!!!! she's like probably in her 30s in the current time of the story but i thought it'd be kinda funny if when she was a kid when simon took over jett's life he realized that he has a kid. And he just doesn't know how to be a father so he probably just let her do whatever she wanted and she thought that he was the coolest parent ever even though it wasn't even her actual father. doppledad

also i think it's probably important to mention that when simon was a kid he killed his parents by setting their house on fire. He was the only one who made it out alive, so he still has a bunch of scars from the burns he got. He was already kind of a disturbed child, so honestly that whole thing only messed him up more and made him into a deranged adult.

anyway yap over sorry if you read all of this

[kithtaehyung]

mami (m) (teaser) | myg/knj

— “then hurry up, mami. gimme one more for luck.”    

title: mami (teaser) pairing: battle rappers!myg/knj x reader(f) , slight jhs x reader(f)😛 rating/genre: m (18+) ; smut ; battle rap au , roommates au  summary: turns out, two of the guys you’ve been hooking up with are battle rappers. and roommates. and the most competitive gd people you’ve ever met.  warnings for fic: [redacted] lmfaooooo🥴🥴🥴  warnings for teaser: cursing, yoongi’s fit, dirty talk, namjoon deserves his own gd warning throughout this whole fic so it’s included in the teaser warnings, too :^))  note: fuuuuuuck me lol. this is also gonna have some heavy 00s vibes so let’s fcking go🦋 est. drop date: jul-aug 2023 est. word count: 15-20k taglist: join here (will be checking blogs!) —18+ teaser below if you want to read :)) drops you right in the middle! minors dni.  

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Weeks go by and you keep your options super open, with the occasional run-in with Yoongi and the strangely refreshing dates with Namjoon. 

As much as you want things to move forward with the latter, he’s kept every meet-up early and short, always checking his phone with pure concentration before heading out. 

Did you think about whether or not he had a girl already? Absolutely. But just being able to have nice dinners and talk was pretty fucking harmless considering. 

If he finally decides to cave in and split you in two, maybe you’ll re-evaluate. But you hope that happens sooner rather than later because you are aching to feel anything he’d give you. 

That and the frustrating fact that he looks more and more attractive with every damn date.

Speaking of attractive things… 

One dingy, smoke-filled event on south side, just as you were cussing someone out for slapping your ass, it was Yoongi that shocked you by stepping in, quietly shielding you and taunting,

“You wanna try that again?”

“Fuck outta here, man. Just having a good time.”

When your surprise of a savior aims one slitted eye over his shoulder, he asks,

“You having fun?”

And your arms fold in calm revenge. “Not with him.”

“Didn’t think so.” Turning back around, Yoongi simply eases, “I’ll let you off this time, but only cus she’s listening.”

Your blink is immediate.

“But I better not see your sorry ass anywhere near her by the time I get on stage.”

Safe to say, it didn’t matter if he saw that guy or not. 

Because he definitely saw you after the show, right before you tugged his stupid tracksuit into the nearest bathroom.

Ever since the first, all your dates with Namjoon have been innocent.

So it sends shivers across your arms when low words slip into your ear. Words so spiced that they cause your thighs to squirm on the cheap vinyl booth you both occupy, 

“I gotta say… I didn’t expect us to talk this much.” 

Breath hitching, you slowly turn, fixated on the veins running down his arms while admiring the way neon lights make rainbows of his chains. Not giving much of your own thoughts away, you simply ask, 

“This time? Or at all?”

“Honestly?” His smile coats you in a layer of warmth. Which is strange considering how frozen you really feel. “I don’t usually do dates.” 

What?

You’ve never moved away so quick. “Wait, really?”

“Oh, shit. Was that bad to say?” 

“No, I”—pure relief juts out of your mouth—“Neither do I.” 

“No fuckin’ way,” Namjoon challenges with a grin, shaking his head when you nod multiple times. “Nah. You can’t tell me your fine ass has never gone out before.” 

“First of all,” you tut, smirking at his true nature coming through, “This ass has been taken out more times than yours.” 

“Oh, yeah?”

“Mmhmm.” Flipping your head, you give him a mocking once-over, feigning boredom even though you wanna mount those goddamn thighs and ride them into next Wednesday. “I just don’t waste my time dating.” 

“Then why’d you keep coming?”

“Why’d you keep asking?”

At your coy tone, Namjoon’s smile grows and grows, and you’re enjoying where this is going an obscene, frightening amount. 

Instead of responding, he simply lifts an arm to skirt knuckles right up the front of your dress, finally looping one under the necklace dangling from your neck. When he presses a bold thumb down, you cease breathing as he softly tugs forward, your entire body following without resistance. 

And just as your lips hover against his, he challenges, 

“Cus if I asked you anything else, you would’ve ran.”

Oh, fuck. 

Butterflies scatter at his insinuation, and they fall victim to his honeyed smirk when you taunt, 

“Try me.” 

What the hell is he gonna say? Based on your earlier conversations, you could tell he has a way with words. You don’t have to spell a single thing out for him, that’s for damn sure. 

The look you get is pure sin before he moves to your ear, his mouth hidden from the rest of the bar and hot breath stroking your neck. Anticipation keeps your body fully alert, and yet it still doesn’t prepare you for whatever comes out of this dude’s mouth. 

“Like if you’d ever let me paint those tits.” 

The fuck.

“Or if you’d let me be the first to make you squirt.” 

The fuck?

Your exhale comes out stilted before stuttering out, and your chest physically heaves because—

“What, that’s all it takes to make you shy?” 

Holy shit. You haven’t felt this way in years. 

Truthfully, you can’t even think up an inkling of a response. 

Because the hand on your necklace slides downward, a finger lowering your dress bit. By bit. By bit.

Before letting it spring back with a snap.

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tbc. :)

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💌 l m f a o what do we think!! 💌

A/N: PFFFFFT SO. thank you so much for reading and for all of your support in general. as you can probably tell, i am sweating writing this whole thing if this is what i decide to share as the teaser dklfjdsklf honestly y’all i need all the strength i can muster for these two DEMONS that are haunting the everloving SHIT out of me LMAOOO  ++ taglist:  ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated!  ⇥ no emails collected, just put your username and make sure ur age is visible on your blog somewhere so i can see it when i check. ⇥ here!   ++ ⇥ masterlist