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ginnsbaker · 29 days

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My Sundown

Summary: You’ve been a Hydra agent for as long as you can remember, when Wanda Maximoff and her brother, Pietro, volunteers for Hydra's human experiments.

Word count: 10K+ | Tags: Wanda Maximoff x GN!Reader | Warnings: Only mentions of smut. Hurt/comfort. Reader is a little older than Wanda. Some angst. | A/N: I missed writing for Wanda, and have always wanted to write canon-ish oneshots for the MCU character. Main Masterlist

When they first bring her in, she looks like she's been through hell—eyes hollow, skin pale, a storm simmering just beneath the surface. Her hands tremble, not from fear, but from the sheer, unbridled power flowing through her veins. The room seems to shrink under the weight of it, as if even the walls are aware of what she’s capable of. The other recruits are scared and jittery, but she’s different. Her brother too—both rough around the edges, like two sides of the same scarred coin.

“Where did they round up these rats now?” you mutter to Lev, who’s standing dutifully beside you—the only person you've let close enough to be called a friend in all your years with Hydra.

“Sokovian volunteers,” he corrects you, eyes fixed straight ahead, mirroring your own unblinking focus on the twins. Maybe he feels the strange energy coming off them too, or maybe it’s just the routine numbness that sets in after years of blindly following orders.

You nod slightly, though the term volunteer feels like a cruel joke. No one truly volunteers for this.

“Agent.”

Dr. List’s voice yanks you out of your thoughts, dreary and impersonal. He calls everyone that way, as if you're just another tool, interchangeable and anonymous. It’s an intentional tactic—strip away the names, and you strip any sense of humanity.�� Without a name, you’re not a person; you’re just a weapon at their disposal.

But you know he means you.

You step forward. “Sir,” you reply, maintaining a ramrod straight posture, your eyes fixed on a spot just beside his perpetually scowling face. It seems all villains share that same dour expression, but if this woman—this girl—makes it through the experiments and officially joins the ranks, she might just break the mold, looking more like an angel than a monster. You quickly shake off the thought, stifling a grimace at the odd turn your thoughts have taken.

When you risk a quick glance at her, you catch a ghost of a smirk playing on her lips, as if she knows exactly what you were just thinking.

“You’re to oversee Wanda Maximoff’s progress,” Dr. List continues without sparing you a second glance. “Ensure she complies. If she doesn’t…” He lets the threat hang, but you don't need him to spell it out. You know what Hydra does to those who don't meet expectations.

“And the boy?” you ask, genuinely curious about the other twin.

Dr. List gives you a sharp look, like he suspects something. Questions are frowned upon here, but ever since you laid eyes on Wanda, a persistent tingling has crept up the back of your neck.

To put it bluntly, she unnerves you, and you'd much prefer to deal with her brother.

“Strucker decided to…take a more hands-on approach with him,” Dr. List says.

“Understood, sir,” you reply crisply, reaffirming your commitment to your orders. You steal another glance at Wanda, only to feel a rush of heat when you realize she’s been watching you the entire time.

Wanda looks even more formidable once she’s showered and changed into fresh clothes. You can’t decide if it’s because the sinister gleam in her eyes remains untouched or because the grime and hardships of life on the streets have been washed away, revealing a haunting beauty beneath the dirt. Clean, she’s striking—but that beauty only makes her more dangerous. You’ve tried to delay any direct interaction with her, but this morning, Dr. List visited to follow up on the initial assessment, leaving you no more time to postpone. After a week of stalling, you’re out of excuses, and there’s a lot of ground to cover.

As she steps out of the small bathroom, her damp hair clings to her shoulders, softening her otherwise sharp features. The moment she becomes aware of your presence, her gaze locks onto you, and she begins to comb the wet tendrils back with her slender fingers. Your hand tightens around your keycard involuntarily as you take a deep breath, reminding yourself that Wanda is just like any other volunteer who entered the organization and never left its walls to see the light of day. Besides, you’re armed, and Wanda is not. It’s ridiculous to be this on edge around someone who's at a disadvantage.

“You,” Wanda murmurs, her accent rolling off her tongue like a slow, winding river.

“Shall we begin?” you ask, keeping your tone even and detached. You can’t afford to let her see how much she frighte—affects you.

Wanda ignores your request. Instead, she tilts her head slightly, studying you with a keenness that makes your skin prickle. You meet her stare, determined not to show any cracks, even though your heart's hammering away.

Finally, she nods—a small, almost imperceptible movement.

You clear your throat and motion towards the small cot given to them as beds. “Please, have a seat,” you say.

This time, Wanda complies without a word.

You glance around the room, searching for a seat, and silently berate yourself for not arranging one beforehand. It’s a small oversight, but it makes you feel foolish. With no other option, you settle against the farthest wall, opposite her, and lean against it, though it doesn’t make you feel any more grounded than you did a second ago.

In your hand is a file detailing everything Hydra knows about her, which isn’t much. You open it with a practiced ease, flipping through the pages, but you’re aptly aware of her eyes on you, watching your every move.

“Wanda Maximoff,” you start. “The procedures you're about to undergo are highly experimental. Hydra won't be held responsible for any injuries, no matter if they're permanent or temporary.”

Including death. But you are prohibited from disclosing this to avoid causing panic or stress among the subjects.

Wanda says nothing, her expression unreadable, but you can sense she’s lingering on a thought. Not sure what it is, you go on, falling back on the lines you've memorized these last few months.

“These procedures will enhance your natural abilities, giving you powers beyond what you may or may not currently possess. However, there are risks involved. Do you understand the nature of these risks?”

Wanda nods again. It’s the same answer you’ve received from countless other volunteers, most of whom had no idea what they were truly signing up for. But there’s something different about her, something in the way she holds herself that tells you she knows exactly what she’s getting into—and she’s not afraid.

“There will be a series of physical and psychological evaluations. We will push you to your breaking point and beyond. It is crucial that you cooperate fully. Resistance will only make the process more difficult, both for you and for us.”

You scan her face for any sign of fear or hesitation, but she's a blank slate. It’s as if she’s made peace with whatever fate awaits her here. That bothers you more than you’d care to admit.

“We will also be conducting interviews throughout the process,” you continue. “These will assess your mental state, your thoughts, your fears. Everything you say will be documented, and nothing will be private.”

Wanda's eyes narrow a touch, the first sign of any emotion since she sat down. It’s subtle, but you notice it. Maybe the thought of her mind being picked apart like a lab specimen is getting to her more than the threat of physical harm. Or it could be something else entirely.

“We’ll begin the physical tests tomorrow,” you say, closing the file and hugging it to your chest. “For now, you should rest and eat as much as you like. Your room is monitored constantly. If you need anything, just ask, though your movement around the facility will be restricted.”

The mask of indifference slips back into place. Wanda leans back on the bed, propping herself up on her elbows in a display of casual ease.

“Do you have any questions?” you ask, mostly because you have to, not because you really want to know. You figure she won't ask anything—most are too scared or too defeated to speak up.

But Wanda Maximoff isn't most people.

“Why do you do this?”

You can’t help it—a faint smile begins to creep across your face at her question. Most volunteers, when they ask anything at all, are fixated on their own impending ordeal, too scared of what's coming.

But Wanda isn't asking about herself; she's asking about you. It feels like forever since anyone showed that kind of interest.

Pausing at the doorway, you turn your head just enough for her to see the profile of your face.

“I do what I'm told,” you say, dodging the deeper question she posed—the real why behind your actions. The truth is, you stopped asking why a long time ago. Reasons tend to blur into excuses when moral lines are crossed in an organization you once trusted.

You're already tapping your keycard against the scanner when Wanda speaks again.

“Will doing what you're told bring them back?”

Her question spins you around so fast it's almost like whiplash. How did Wanda know about that? Was it just a wild guess meant to throw you off? Whatever it was, it worked.

You open your mouth to reply, but the words stick in your throat. You don’t even remember the last time you even thought about them. You've never shared this with anyone—not even Lev. Only a handful of Hydra figures were ever privy to your past.

Wanda couldn't possibly know. Unless—

“Good night, Y/N,” Wanda says, her tone dismissive as she curls into a fetal position, turning her back to you.

If your theory holds, Wanda might be the key Hydra has been searching for—the one who can unlock the powers of the scepter that have eluded so many others. Her apparent ability to read minds could be the very breakthrough Dr. List has been waiting for.

Finding yourself hesitating to report this discovery surprises you. It’s almost ironic how your conscience decides to kick in now, just when Hydra's goal seems tantalizingly close with the acquisition of the twins. You know what Hydra would do if they realized just how special she is, and the thought of them twisting her into something monstrous is something you can’t even begin to imagine.

In the days that follow, you keep quiet about your suspicions regarding Wanda’s innate abilities. You tell yourself that Dr. List will probably uncover them through his experiments soon enough. It’s definitely not because you're worried about what they might do if they decide to fast-track her program.

Yes, you’re just staying out of it, certainly not because you want to protect her.

At least, that's what you keep telling yourself.

Your next face-to-face with Wanda comes a week later.

Though you have merely been observing her through a two-way mirror, you've been plagued by sleepless nights since your last meeting, and not even the strongest sedatives at your disposal have helped. Thoughts of her well-being nag at you, despite Hydra's strict rules limiting interaction between volunteers and handlers to prevent any emotional attachments. Such attachments have formed before, and Hydra has always dealt with them ruthlessly.

When you enter her room, she's in the same position as before—curled up on her cot, making herself appear small and almost childlike. She looks up as the door closes behind you, her eyes meeting yours with a quiet recognition.

As you step closer, the hollowness of her cheeks, the dark circles under her eyes, and her pale complexion are unmistakable. The word weathered hardly does justice to the toll her first week has taken. You know exactly what she’s been through. The tests here aren’t just tests—they’re torture, meant to break people down, body and mind. Even with her powers and confidence, Wanda shows the same signs of strain. She's slight, frail, and clearly, she's had as rough a time as anyone else here.

This time, you come prepared with a metal chair and a freshly prepared tea set next to it, and take a seat across from her.

“How are you holding up?” you ask, although the answer seems painfully obvious.

Wanda shrugs, barely moving, as if the effort to appear okay is too much for her. But then she surprises you.

“How long until Hydra enhances my powers?”

You weren’t expecting that. After everything she’s been through, she’s asking for more? You thought she’d be wary, maybe even broken by now. But the question says otherwise. She’s been through hell, and she’s still pushing forward, demanding more. Is she courting death?

“You seem in a hurry,” you say, hiding your worry behind a soft chuckle.

Her eyes narrow. “I didn’t come here to wait around. If they want to use me, they need to make me stronger.”

Use me.

How disconcerting. She’s asking for more—more pain, more trials. As if everything she’s endured isn’t enough, as if she needs it to become something greater. It’s reckless and foolish, to say the least.

“We’re moving as fast as we can—”

“Move faster.”

“Wanda,” you say quietly. “What you’re asking for... it could break you.”

“I’m already broken,” she declares, cold and matter-of-fact. “If I weren’t, I wouldn’t be here.”

It’s only when you notice the disgust in her eyes that you realize you’ve been looking at her with pity. Wanda is about to snap back, likely to tell you she doesn’t need your sympathy, when her expression shifts abruptly to one of curiosity.

She tilts her head, studying you—or maybe, with the mirth in her eye, it’s more like she’s mocking you.

“You look at me like that again, and I’ll ask you a question,” Wanda says, her voice low, almost a whisper.

You stiffen, uncertain of what's coming next, but before you can say anything, she continues.

“Do you want to fuck me?”

The question startles a laugh out of you, abrupt and a bit too loud—almost like you're trying to convince both yourself and Wanda how absurd she’s being. But as the laughter dies down, you feel your face heat up, your cheeks flushing a telltale red that you can't hide.

“No,” you say, your gaze dropping to the floor as you shake your head. You clasp your hands behind your back, one finger nervously picking at a cuticle. “This isn’t what this is about.”

Wanda smirks slightly, her lips twitching, amused by your discomfort. “Isn't it?”

For a split second, you start to doubt everything. Did you really want to sleep with her? It's been ages since you've even considered intimacy with anyone—maybe too long. Life here doesn't leave space for that kind of thinking, and even if it did, the situation wouldn't allow it. Your heart's been shattered so often you're sure there's nothing left to give—especially not to someone you've only known for a week.

Wait—love?

This is, at best, lust—nothing more.

“No,” you repeat with more conviction.

Wanda’s smirk fades into a slow, knowing smile. “Fine. Just know the offer stands if you ever change your mind.”

A proposition. It’s not the first time you’ve received one, but this offer sticks with you longer than you’d like. Wanda’s already spent too much time in your thoughts, and you’re desperate to shake her off and get back to the task at hand. But she makes it maddeningly hard to do so.

Without looking at her, you clear your throat and begin the routine interview. You refuse to focus on the fact that she’s just openly considered a physical encounter with you—and you’re definitely not considering it in return.

“Have you noticed any unusual side effects since the last session? Headaches, nausea, dizziness?” you ask, skipping the pleasantries.

“No,” she says dryly. “No headaches. No nausea. No dizziness.”

You jot down her answers, ignoring her evident disinterest in the proceedings.

“Any changes in your sleep pattern?” you continue.

“No.”

“Any unusual pain or discomfort?” you ask, forcing yourself to meet her gaze, but her focus is on the rings on her fingers. The prisoners—volunteers, you correct yourself—aren't supposed to keep any personal items. It baffles you how she managed to hold on to those cheap pieces of metal and silver.

It takes Wanda a moment to respond. “Just the usual soreness.”

You suspect it's more than just soreness. She’s probably downplaying the pain, so you make a note beside her answer.

“Alright, we’ll keep an eye on that. Any changes in your mood? Irritability, anxiety, anything like that?”

Wanda shrugs. “Depends on the company, I suppose.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “Noted. We’ll stick with the same regimen for now. Any concerns or questions about the next phase?”

“What happened to them?” Wanda asks, steering the interview off course.

Annoyance flares up as she probes again, prying into your business. “Don’t you already know?” you snap, your patience wearing thin.

But Wanda doesn’t even blink. She isn’t scared, and that just irks you even more. She should be, if she knew what you’ve done to others who’ve pushed your buttons. You’ve never hesitated to throw your weight around with those who make your job harder.

“Sometimes what really happened and how we remember it are two entirely different stories,” she says, taking a deep breath before she continues. “Our mind protects us from the truth. It obscures what’s real, and what’s not becomes all we remember.”

You're stone-still, your mind drifting back to the past Wanda keeps prodding at. You don't even have a picture of your family anymore. Their voices are gone from your memory, and you're barely holding onto their faces. It used to tear you apart, thinking about them, but now there's just emptiness. You realize Wanda can’t rattle you—she has no leverage because there’s nothing left inside you to disrupt.

You’ve got nothing.

“Y/N?” Wanda presses, her features tightening with concern.

You consider throwing her blunt words right back at her, but you hold off. Instead, you set the clipboard down on the counter with a soft clack. Turning to the medical cart, you grab a tray of needles and tools, then bring it over to her bed. Wanda's eyes widen slightly, and she scoots back as you sit down on the edge of the mattress. It’s satisfying to finally see her react with something other than that usual smug, unshakable attitude. You pick up a syringe, fill it with a bright yellow liquid from an unmarked bottle, and swipe a cotton ball soaked in alcohol over the top.

“What’s that?” Wanda asks evenly, though you can detect traces of doubt in it that suggest she’s trying to put up a brave front.

“Supplements.”

Wanda raises a skeptical brow.

You lift the syringe slightly, letting it catch the light so she can see exactly what you’re holding.

“May I?” you gesture toward her arm.

Wanda eyes you warily, then gives a quick nod.

With her consent, you scoot closer until your knees almost touch. You gently roll up the sleeve of her scrubs, exposing her arm. This close, you can see the goosebumps on her skin and feel the slight tremors running through her. You hadn't noticed before, but she's shivering—not from the cold, but probably from a fever.

Instinctively, you press your palm against her forehead. Wanda flinches but doesn’t pull away. Slowly, she settles into your touch and lets out a small sigh.

“You're hot,” you blurt out, and then quickly realize the unintended double entendre. Fortunately, Wanda lets it pass without comment. You retract your hand and hold the syringe up to her arm, poised but something stops you.

“What are you waiting for?” Wanda prompts impatiently.

You're thinking of straying from the usual protocol, knowing the yellow meds might worsen Wanda's condition, especially with her fever spiking. Deciding against it, you put the syringe down and grab another bottle off the cart, this one filled with a clear liquid.

“Change of plans,” you murmur, prepping the new syringe. You nod at her for her arm, and she shifts closer, making it easier for you. When you depress the plunger, it's quick—so quick that Wanda barely feels the needle's prick.

You pull out the needle and press a small bandage onto the spot. “All done,” you announce.

Wanda massages her arm, feeling no real pain at the injection site. “T-Thanks,” she murmurs softly.

You acknowledge her gratitude with a nod and start collecting your notebook and tools. As you rise to leave, Wanda's hand shoots out, her fingers wrapping around your wrist urgently. You turn, meeting her striking, green eyes.

“I’m sorry about your family,” she murmurs quietly. Her words solidify your suspicion: she came to Hydra with powers already in tow. Mind reading or memory extraction would be invaluable to Hydra, and now, with even more power at your fingertips, you find yourself hesitating to use it.

If Dr. List catches wind of your hesitations, the reprisals will be brutal.

You glance down pointedly at where she's holding your hand, but Wanda doesn’t let go.

“It was a long time ago,” you whisper.

“Time doesn't really heal that kind of loss,” she says, still holding onto you.

“No, but you learn to live with it,” you reply, feeling the truth of your own words.

Wanda's hold slackens but remains. You feel awkward standing there, yet something holds you back from pulling away. You hadn't realized until now how starved you were for such a simple, human connection.

“I lost my parents the same way,” she shares.

“I'm sorry,” you say, and you really mean it. You can't read Wanda like she seems to read you, but in this brief moment, with the walls down, you decide to ask, “Is that why you came to us? To avenge your parents?”

Wanda's grip loosens completely, and she lets go of your wrist. You rub the spot where her fingers were, still feeling the warmth she left behind.

“‘Avenge’,” she spits out. She draws her knees to her chest and hugs them close. “I hate that word. Pietro and I, we're here to stop them. I wish… I wish they’d just leave Sokovia alone. They won’t leave because we can’t fight back.”

Your own past with Hydra comes to mind as she speaks. Back then, you joined because you were out of options. No country to fight for, no people to call yours. It strikes you how different Wanda's motivations are—rooted in something far more personal and noble. She deserves more than what Hydra can offer.

Wanda looks at you, waiting for an answer. When you don't say anything, she pushes, “Do you think we made the right decision coming here?”

You're all too aware of Hydra’s real agenda. They're not about peace. They're here to extend their control, to bend the world around their so-called divine mission.

“Sometimes, you don't know if it’s the right choice until it's too late to change it,” you say, knowing it’s not much of an answer. It's just the bitter truth you've come to know. It's all you can offer Wanda.

“Can you do me a favor, Y/N? Will you look after Pietro?”

The same way you’ve been looking out for me, Wanda thinks to herself, relieved that there’s only one telepath in the room.

“No promises,” you say.

Wanda gives a slight nod and starts to withdraw again. She settles back down on the cot, turning away from you, the conversation clearly over.

Lev sneaks into your room just before midnight, the door giving a soft creak as it swings open. Though friends, you typically keep to your own spaces. You blink sleepily at him, fighting to sit up and shake off the grogginess.

“Dr. List decided to skip ahead,” Lev says in a rush, closing the door with a gentle click. “He’s moved forward with exposing the twins to the scepter.”

“When?” You're wide awake now, sitting bolt upright in bed.

Lev’s eyes dart to the small window in your room before returning to you, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows hard. “An hour ago.”

That can’t be good. It’s far sooner than anyone had anticipated. Dr. List’s decision to advance the timeline without further testing could have unpredictable consequences. You swing your legs off the bed, your brain ticking through the possible scenarios.

“What’s the status now? How did Wan—the twins react?” you ask, grabbing your jacket and shoes and throwing them on without taking your eyes off Lev.

He shakes his head. “I don’t know. They rushed them to the Observation Chamber right after the exposure. Everything’s been kept under wraps.”

You pace a few steps, mulling over your next move. Exposure to the scepter has been lethal for everyone. Even with Wanda's unique abilities, there’s no guarantee she’ll pull through when others haven't.

“We need more information. Can you get access to the observation logs?”

Lev nods, though his expression shows his apprehension. “I’ll try. But security has been tighter since the exposure.”

You catch the anxious twist of his mouth at the idea of sneaking around, and choose to spare him the risk. His relief is palpable when you tell him, “I'll handle it myself.”

He sighs in relief. “Be careful…”

Only a select few can get into the Observation Chamber, and your badge isn’t on that list. You're going to need something stronger than just caution.

You slip your underwear back on, feeling Laura’s eyes tracing the contours of your body.

After Lev left, you headed straight for her. Laura Brown, the Hydra director's daughter, hadn't seen you in almost a year, but the nature of your previous encounters left little doubt she'd be open to reconnecting.

Laura reclines on the bed, a sheet loosely draped around her, smirking as she watches you. “I knew you'd come back eventually,” she purrs, a gleam of satisfaction in her eyes.

You straighten up, deliberately avoiding her eyes as you button your shirt. “I need a favor, Laura.”

She leans back against the headboard, the sheet falling to her waist and revealing her bare chest. “This sounds serious.”

“I need to get into the Observation Chamber. Tonight,” you say. You despise asking her—or anyone, really—for favors, but you need to see Wanda. It's imperative.

Laura's eyebrows go up, her smile growing. “Direct and desperate. What's in it for me?”

“What do you want?” you ask, even though you already know the answer.

She thinks it over, then answers, “Keep me company tonight, no strings attached. Just like the old days.”

“Done.”

Laura claps her hands, clearly pleased, and tosses you the badge from the bedside table.

You pick it up, feeling a bit degraded, like you're picking up coins someone's thrown your way. “I'll be right back,” you promise.

The guards give you weird looks as you show up at the Observation Chamber. They had clear orders: only Dr. List or Baron Strucker can go in. But dropping the director’s daughter’s name does the trick. You flash her badge and they let you pass, no more questions asked.

The hallway is pitch-black. This place had been sleeping until now, woken up by the fact that Pietro and Wanda Maximoff hadn’t died like the others who met the scepter. Clearly labeled doors mark the new, grim function of the space.

You think about heading straight to Wanda's room, but you remember her earlier request and decide to check on Pietro first.

The soft beeping of monitors greets you as soon as you step inside his room. He's in rough shape, alive but barely hanging on. You quickly check the chart posted next to the door—it shows low blood pressure and a high dosage of Epinephrine administered, with a note that his chances of survival stand at only 57% as of 11:30 PM.

He looks much thinner and more worn than the last time you saw him, his condition evidently worse. His eyes are bloodshot, his skin pale and stretched tight over his bones. As you move closer, you notice his body trembling, a sheen of sweat covering him despite the room's chill.

Quickly, you pull the extra covers from beneath his bed and wrap them around him, trying to stabilize his shivering. Then, you snag a water bottle from a nearby stand, helping him take slow, measured sips.

Pietro looks at you, his eyes filled with confusion and pain, struggling to form the words. “Who are you?”

“Just someone who made your sister a promise,” you say, scooping up some water in your palm and gently drizzling it over his head. Pietro sighs in relief. “Get some rest now, and try not to die.”

His eyes flutter shut in seconds, his breath smoothing out as sleep claims him. You linger just a moment to make sure he's really out, then hurry off towards Wanda's room. Your heart pounds in your chest, fear pulsing through you. Pietro was in rough shape; how bad might Wanda be? You cling to a shred of hope that she's holding up better.

The air stays heavy as you enter Wanda’s quarters. You tread lightly, making sure not to disturb her sleep, and check the medical chart by her bed. Unlike Pietro’s dire prognosis, Wanda's stats are steady, but still troubling. Her breaths are regular, without the distressing shivers that torment her brother.

What strikes you is how normal, how peacefully she's sleeping, despite her recent exposure to Loki’s scepter.

Relieved to see her condition isn’t more severe, you end up at the foot of her bed. There isn’t much to do after confirming she’s stable, and you know you should head back to Laura. But leaving Wanda’s side proves difficult once you're there. Almost immediately, your mind floods with ideas on how to get her out of Hydra’s clutches. If they fully realized her potential, it wouldn't just be dangerous for her—it'd be catastrophic for anyone in their path. Internally, you start plotting escape routes and thinking about who might be willing to help.

It’s strange to think how you went from one of Hydra’s most devoted agents to scheming against them.

Lost in your plans, you're jolted back to the present when you feel a gentle nudge against your thigh. Wanda's foot is pressing against you. She's awake. You look up to find her eyes open, wary and searching.

“Y/N,” she murmurs, her voice raspy from lack of use. “What—what happened?”

You subtly shift on the bed, making sure her toes aren't touching you anymore. You're not sure when you became so acutely aware of Wanda’s proximity, or of the points where your bodies meet.

“What do you remember before all this?” you ask.

She rubs her forehead, straining to recall. “There was a room... a stone emerging from the scepter. Bright lights… then nothing.”

You nod, already knowing half of what Wanda just told you. This is the first time anyone has lived to tell about their experience with the scepter, and you were hoping for more insights into how it unleashes its power. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about trying it yourself, wondering if you could resist its effects. Being Hydra, curiosity about power was a constant temptation.

“You weren't supposed to be exposed to the scepter yet,” you admit quietly. “Dr. List sped things up, maybe because he suspected—”

“Pietro,” she cuts in, her thoughts finally catching up. “Was he exposed to it too?”

“Yes.”

Her eyes widen, clouded with worry. “Is he okay?”

“He’s alive,” you say. “I just saw him before coming here. He's stable, but it’s precarious.”

Wanda’s face crumples as soon as the words leave your lips. Before you can react, she throws her arms around you, her face buried in your shoulder. You freeze for a moment, uncertain how to respond. It’s been so long since you’ve held someone like this, since you’ve allowed yourself to care enough to even consider it. But then you feel it—tears, warm and wet against your neck. She’s crying.

After a moment, you hesitantly wrap your arms around her, holding her as she trembles against you. You can feel her fear, her desperation. It cuts through your defenses, the ones you’ve built so carefully over the years.

You tighten your hold on her, offering what little comfort you can, but inside, you’re battling your own fear. You can’t afford to care about her this much—not here, not now. But as you hold her, feeling every shake of her body, you know it’s already too late.

Wanda's sobs slowly subside, and you pull back slightly, intent on offering some kind of reassurance despite how foreign it feels to you. You reach up, brushing away her tears with your thumb, trying to find the right words, but they don’t come. Instead, as your hand lingers on her cheek, she pins you with a quiet stare. Before you realize what’s happening, Wanda leans in and presses her lips softly against yours.

The kiss is brief, just a fraction of a second, but it leaves you utterly breathless. She pulls back almost immediately, watching you, waiting to see how you’ll react. For a heartbeat, you're stunned, but then something ignites inside you, something you’ve been holding back without even recognizing it.

Acting on pure impulse, you reach up, grasp the back of her neck, and pull her in for another kiss. In an instant, you take control effortlessly, letting the animalistic and Hydra part of you come to the forefront. Your thumb presses roughly against her chin, coaxing her mouth open, and you slide your tongue in, staking your claim. Wanda responds with a gasp, her hands clutching at your shoulders, but you’re too far gone to think about anything except the taste of her, the way her body molds against yours.

You tilt her head back, deepening the kiss further, your other hand sliding down to grip her waist, pulling her closer still. The feel of her, the heat of her skin under your fingers, it’s intoxicating, and you can’t get enough. You've never allowed yourself to want someone this much. Just as you think you can't hold back any longer, Wanda's hand captures yours and guides it under her shirt. You're startled to find out she's wearing nothing underneath when your knuckles brush against her hardened nipple. That unexpected discovery is what compels you to pull back.

Wanda's lips leave yours with a wet sound, and she begins kissing down your jaw to your neck.

“Wanda, wait—”

“It’s okay, Y/N,” she says. Her breath is hot against your skin, and you feel her tongue trace a line up to your pulse point, leaving a fiery trail that makes you shiver. “You can claim your reward, you can have me.”

Her words snap you out of the haze, that single word—reward—ringing in your ears like a warning bell. You quickly place your hands on her shoulders, pushing her back gently but firmly.

Wanda blinks, confusion and hurt flashing in her eyes as she looks up at you. “What’s wrong?” She knows she’s attractive and has already glimpsed your desire for her during your visits, reading it in your thoughts. It’s why she finds your rejection so absurd—frustrating, even, given her openness.

“I'm not here for that,” you say, your voice coming out rougher than you intended.

“Then why are you here?”

You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks, unaccustomed to openly discussing your feelings. “I came to see how you're doing after... after the scepter.”

“I'm fine,” she answers flatly.

You nod, still feeling the residual heat of her closeness. “Do you feel any different?” you ask, partly out of concern but mostly to shift the conversation elsewhere.

“I'm just tired,” Wanda says, closing her eyes and running a hand through her tousled dark hair. “Can we do this tomorrow?” She sounds a bit let down, assuming you're here just for a routine check—looking for any new powers or changes—as if she had hoped for something more personal.

“I'm sorry,” you quickly say. “I’m not here on any official orders. In fact, I shouldn't even be here.”

This revelation softens her look, her eyes narrowing slightly with renewed interest.

Taking a deep breath, you continue, “I'm working on getting you and Pietro out of here. It's not set yet, but—”

“Out of here?” Wanda cuts in, her eyebrows knitting together in puzzlement. “Why would I want to leave?”

“You got what you came for, right? The power of the scepter? Now you can leave. Hydra isn’t what you think,” you explain, trying to make her see the danger.

“Look who's acting all self-righteous all of a sudden. You've been here for years, and I've seen you do things,” she retorts sharply.

“Stop looking into my mind,” you snap, irritated by her knack for sifting through your thoughts without permission and using your past against you. Just because she can doesn’t mean she should.

“You’re saying I’m wrong?” she sneers.

You shake your head. “Look, I’m just trying to help—”

“If you really want to help, just do your job.”

Her words hit you harder than any physical blow could. You knew better than to let someone get this close, to allow your emotions to cloud your judgment. But there’s no one to blame here but yourself. Wanda didn't even have to do much to earn your solicitude; it was your own doing, your own need to make things right that led you here.

Hydra’s training kicks in like second nature, and you shut down the emotions before they can show, your face hardening into a mask.

“Alright, Wanda. I'll do just that.”

It’s easier the second time you’re with Laura that night.

After Wanda's dismissal, you find Laura’s body to be the comfort you need. You lose yourself in her, the way she responds to every touch, every move you make. Pushing everything else from your mind, you focus solely on her, making her come again and again until she’s too bone-tired to do anything but black out beside you.

After it's over, you slip out of her bed, leaving her to sleep off the night’s weariness, and return to your room. You don't think about Wanda. Not even once.

In the following days, Wanda's recovery is swift—too swift for your level of clearance. Dr. List decides she’s beyond your oversight and assigns her to a higher clearance team. You’re left dealing with new recruits, volunteers who are eager yet naïve, none of whom survive the brutal exposure to the scepter. Each failure hardens you a little more, cements the necessity of detachment.

But even with countless deaths on their hands, Hydra doesn't back down. If anything, they’re more driven now, hungry for more power, spurred on by the success of the twins. Pietro develops superhuman speed, a skill Hydra quickly puts to use by dispatching him to enemy territories for intel. Wanda’s abilities become more varied, showing signs of what could be categorized as psionic powers. She demonstrates capabilities that suggest telekinesis, manipulating objects without touching them, and telepathy—which she employs at her whim.

Sometimes you wonder if she ever peeks into your mind anymore. But then, with the kind of power she wields, why would she even bother with what you're thinking? You're not special. Not even your badge, which doesn't get you into sections of the base without currying favor with Laura Brown first.

The Sokovian base is sprawling, and encounters with either of the Maximoff twins are rare but unavoidable. Pietro remembers your visit that night. Now and then, he nods at you politely. Wanda, on the other hand, acts as if you don’t exist. If you pass her in the hallways, she looks through you as if you're invisible. So, you make it a point to stay out of her way, blending into the dull walls and shadows as much as you can.

This detachment suits you in a way. It allows you to focus on your duties, on surviving one day at a time in an environment where the stakes are always high and the consequences often lethal.

It leaves you with nothing to lose, because there's no one left to lose.

Weeks pass quietly until rumors start floating around that Wanda's been seeing someone inside the complex. It’s hard to call it dating, really, since concepts like love and trust struggle to take root in a place as bleak as this. It’s probably just two people keeping each other company through the colder nights. Still, you can’t shake off how much this bothers you.

But it's not surprising. The twins' popularity has only grown, especially since, months later, no one else has matched their extraordinary feat of surviving an Infinity Stone—a term you picked up only after Hydra discovered what was really behind Loki's scepter.

Sometimes, you find yourself observing Wanda from afar, trying to figure out if there’s any substance to the rumors. Who makes her laugh? Who does she choose to sit with at meals? The more you notice your own scrutiny, the more you recognize a feeling of jealousy stirring within you, an emotion that’s prevalent among your peers but not in this regard. You're bewildered and annoyed by your own reaction—why should who Wanda spends time with matter to you? Whatever she does, whoever she fucks—it's none of your business.

You hate this feeling, but you combat it by heading to Laura’s room every night, as if she’s the cure you need to keep yourself in check.

“They’ll betray us someday,” Lev murmurs as you both amble through the dense woods, taking a rare break from the base for a smoke. He breathes out slowly, watching the smoke curl upwards. You don’t have to ask to know he’s talking about the twins.

“No sooner than Hydra will throw us under the bus when the Avengers show up,” you reply, stepping around a fallen branch. “We’re all expendable. You know that, right?”

Lev takes a deep drag, his gaze fixed on the trail ahead. “Yeah, I know,” he says at last, releasing a plume of smoke. There’s something in his eyes, a look that tells you he’s not saying all he could about the twins.

You eye him suspiciously. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

Lev glances at you, the corner of his mouth twitching as if he's deciding how much to share. After a moment, he nods.

“Okay, I wasn't planning on telling you this yet, but I've been handed a special assignment—the Maximoff Contingency Plan,” he reveals.

You scoff at him. “You’re the contingency plan?”

“No, not just me,” Lev chuckles darkly as he tosses his cigarette to the ground and stomps it out. “I'm involved, but it's more than that. We're working on a weapon, one that borrows from the tech of the Infinity Stone.”

The seriousness of what he's saying sinks in. Leveraging the power of an Infinity Stone means they're not messing around.

“And what's this weapon supposed to do?” you ask, not sure if you want to hear the answer.

Lev’s expression darkens. “You know what weapons are supposed to do,” he says tersely, turning to head back. “Let’s go.”

Hydra does not tolerate treachery. Even the mildest punishment is a swift death—a quick end, but an end all the same.

It’s only a matter of time before the Avengers find the Sokovian Base. Tensions had been mounting and Hydra's movements had become increasingly aggressive, drawing unwanted attention. When it all goes down, you’re in your room, scrambling to suit up and arm yourself with pistols—not to confront the Avengers, who are essentially gods, but to fight for your way out.

As the base descends into turmoil, you hear that Wanda and Pietro are attempting to escape. Hydra has a ruthless protocol for such situations: eliminate the entire unit to prevent any leaks. It's cleaner to destroy and rebuild than to let loose ends compromise the organization. Knowing about the contingency plan to eliminate the twins, you grab your radio and contact Lev, asking where he is.

“You’re just in time. I need backup. I've got Wanda Maximoff in my sights, waiting for the right moment to take her down,” he radios back.

“On it, I’m with you,” you reply, feeling the sweat bead on your forehead as you move toward his location. When you get there, you find Lev, poised and ready, his eyes fixed on the target through the scope of his rifle. You scan the surroundings, looking for hazards until you spot Wanda among the debris. Iron Man's missiles have turned the area into a deadly maze of flying rocks. From her fingertips, streams of red magic swirl, skillfully steering the massive boulders away from crushing both Hydra agents and civilians.

Wanda isn’t trying to escape—she’s helping fend them off. Seeing her save these lives, something inside you breaks. Lev has his rifle aimed at her, ready to pull the trigger while she's busy playing the hero. The possible outcomes flash through your mind: Wanda dead or imprisoned by the Avengers. The thought is unbearable. You've spent months pretending you didn't care, but now, faced with the reality of losing her, you realize all you want is for her to live, to be free—something you've long given up for yourself.

You're about to dissuade Lev, to argue her worth, her potential, anything to stall, when an explosion nearby startles Wanda. She turns, momentarily distracted, and Lev's finger tightens on the trigger, ready to end it all.

But you're faster.

He collapses with a shocked gasp, the life leaving his eyes as he hits the ground. The noise of his body falling draws Wanda’s attention. She turns just in time to see what you've done—for her. Her eyes, wide and questioning, boring into yours.

Why did you save me? They seem to ask you, those green orbs that have hunted you ever since you looked into them. There's no time for lengthy explanations—not that you have a solid one anyway. But with each passing second, the chance of escaping undetected by these so-called superheroes dwindles.

“You need to leave, now!” you yell at her, but she doesn't budge. Instead, she looks at you, really looks at you, for the first time with something other than disdain. It’s the same look she gave you the night the scepter awakened her powers. It’s a look that tells you that maybe she’s been pretending too, these past few months.

You’re about to sprint toward her, to drag her to safety if you have to, when a blur of motion sweeps her away. Pietro appears out of nowhere, whisking them both out of the base before the Avengers close in.

For a second, you're left standing there, surrounded by the wreckage and the friend you just betrayed and killed. There's no time to grieve, no time to second-guess leaving his body behind—it's pure instinct that forces you to move quickly. You head towards an exit known only to the most important figures of the organization, a piece of information you picked up from Laura. She wouldn’t have given it away if you weren’t frequently sleeping together, those personal liaisons caused by trying to forget Wanda.

It’s strange, in a way, how you both just ended up saving each other.

Several weeks after the Avengers demolish the Sokovian base, Wanda finds you at a small cabin you own on the outskirts of Novi Grad. The modest structure sits on a 2-acre plot near the woods—a spot you picked up when your stint in Sokovia stretched past thirteen months. You never really planned on settling here; you thought you’d be moved to another location and sell this land at a profit eventually. But life, it seems, had other plans.

You’re chopping wood beside the cabin when you feel her presence. Dropping the axe, you straighten up and spot her at the edge of the clearing. Your eyes quickly sweep her surroundings for any sign of Pietro, but it appears she has come alone.

“Why did you do it?” she asks once she's close enough. You take a few moments to take her in, hardly believing she's actually here, and touched by the thought that she sought you out. You've missed her presence, even though the last few months have only found you both inhabiting the same compound, breathing the same air but never speaking.

Sometimes, lying in bed at night, you wonder why you can’t shake Wanda from your thoughts. You’ve even entertained the idea that she might have hexed you, that her magic has somehow ensnared your mind and… maybe your heart. It seems like the only logical explanation, because since the day you met, Wanda has never really left your mind.

“I did what I thought was right,” you finally answer, tucking your hands inside your pockets, not knowing what else to do with them.

“He was your friend,” Wanda points out softly.

Your lips curl into a strained smile; of course, she’d know. She knows things about you that you'd never voice out loud. Wanda’s ability to read minds makes hiding anything impossible. Does she understand how deeply you care for her? She must. Wanda has always seen right through you, so why does she need to ask?

“Did you ever think about me after that night?” she asks out of nowhere. The night the Infinity Stone changed everything, when you were closer to her than you’d ever been before.

You're taken aback by her directness. This, too, she probably knows the answer to because you've thought of little else.

“Everyday,” you say.

That night, you invite her to your home, the first person ever to share the space you once believed would always be just yours. Your living room is snug, with a three-seater couch and a medium-sized TV mounted on the wall. There’s also a fireplace that lights up the space with an amber glow as you hand Wanda a cup of hot chocolate.

You and Wanda find yourselves chatting about lighter topics. She shares her favorite shows from childhood, and you're surprised to learn she’s a big fan of American sitcoms. You enjoyed them too when you were younger, but not to the extent that you'd watch entire seasons over and over like Wanda did. Your preference leaned more toward books, gobbling up Agatha Christie novels when you were younger.

While you're in the middle of sharing a particularly funny memory from one of those old sitcom episodes, Wanda suddenly leans in and kisses you. Though your first instinct is to dive back into the kiss, you pull back instead. The last time you were this close, things escalated quickly before they crashed and burned.

“Are you sure?” you ask, searching her eyes for an answer. Learning from past mistakes, you want to make sure it's what she really wants.

She nods, her eyes steady and invitingly dark. “I’m sure.”

You close the distance between you, kissing her to your heart’s content. Before long, clothes are discarded, and you move from the couch to the bed, leisurely exploring each other, discovering how to bring one another to new heights of pleasure.

As you lie next to her afterward, breathless and tangled in the sheets, you realize there’s no way to pretend anymore—you care too much to go back.

The quiet doesn’t last long.

Tony Stark’s experiment goes awry, giving rise to Ultron—a global threat with ambitions that soon become clear. It seeks to bring about what he perceives as peace, by any means necessary. And just when you thought you and Wanda might have found some peace, she tells you she’s joining Ultron.

“It’s too dangerous,” you tell her. The twins and a robot against the entire Avengers team? The numbers alone put the odds against them. “We can stay here, help the people around us, and actually make a real difference.”

She shakes her head, her jaw set. “You don’t get it,” she argues. “You never will. You’re not…”

Special. Go ahead, Wanda, say it. Say what you really think of me.

“...you don’t have powers. You don’t know what it’s like to be able to change things and then just stand by, powerless.”

You were bracing for it, but it hurts all the same.

“So what am I then, Wanda? Just a bystander? Someone not worth listening to because I don't have powers?”

“I’m saying I have to do this,” Wanda mutters solemnly. “I’m the only one who can do this.”

You can see in her eyes that she’s already made up her mind. You’re still racking up your brain for something that might make a difference but she speaks again.

“I’m doing this for Sokovia,” she says quietly. “For everyone who's suffered because of Stark.”

You say nothing. Her fierce loyalty is one of the things you adore about her.

Wanda steps closer, her hand reaching out to touch your face, her thumb tracing the line of your jaw. “I’ll come back,” she promises. “When this is over, I’ll come back to you.”

You nod, resigned to the reality that you must let her go. “I’ll be here,” you say, your voice thick with regret that you can’t do more to protect her, to make sure she’s safe. “Waiting for you, right here.”

Pietro Maximoff dies riddled with bullet wounds—over a dozen of them. You learn the details of his death through a tabloid, days after witnessing Novi Grad being torn from the ground.

A week later, Wanda comes back to you, just as she promised, but she’s not the same. The light in her eyes is gone, replaced by a ghostly void. It’s a look you know all too well, the same one you’ve seen staring back at you in the mirror for years.

A loss of purpose.

In the days that follow, you try to restore some normalcy, but nothing feels right. You cook meals she barely touches, sit beside her during long stretches of silence, and listen when she occasionally finds the strength to talk. It's tough, seeing her struggle, but you stay by her side, hoping things will begin to heal.

But they don’t.

Every day, you see it—the guilt, the pain, the loss. She tries to find reasons to keep going, but nothing seems to hold. And as much as you want to be the one to help her, to pull her out of this darkness, you know you're not enough. Not this time.

Wanda is adrift, and no matter how hard you try, you can’t anchor her to this life you’re trying to build. She’s lost her brother, her home, and whatever sense of justice she thought she could achieve by joining Ultron. And you—you’ve been running from your past for so long, and you’re simply tired of it.

You start thinking about what’s best for her, about what she needs to move on and find a new purpose. Deep down, you recognize that maybe the best way for her to truly heal is if you step aside.

Like Wanda, you don’t trust Stark. So, with the skills you’ve honed during your time with Hydra, you manage to find a way to contact Steve Rogers instead.

The conversation happens one afternoon, over a phone call. You tell him everything—your past with Hydra, the things you’ve done, and why you’re ready to turn yourself in. He listens without interrupting, letting you confess everything. You mention that Wanda's with you, and make it clear this isn't about trying to reclaim some lost sense of patriotism. You're doing it for her.

“You did the right thing by coming to me,” Steve says when you finish. “Wanda has so much potential. She deserves a chance to become who she’s meant to be.”

“I know,” you reply, your voice dropping to a whisper. You’ve known it all along, perhaps better than anyone. It’s why you’re doing this, even though it feels like tearing yourself apart.

Over the course of the conversation, you and Steve work out an agreement. You’ll serve a reduced sentence in exchange for all the intel you have on the remaining Hydra heads still out there. You’ll act as an informant, helping to bring them to an end, once and for all. And maybe, after you’ve paid your dues, there’ll be a chance for you to live something close to a normal life. When the call ends, you're washed over with a feeling of real freedom, despite knowing it might cost you Wanda all over again.

Later that night, you find Wanda in the kitchen, stirring a pot and humming a tune you don't recognize, looking more alive than she has in weeks. Seeing her like this is bittersweet; she’s here, but soon, you might not be.

She notices you and gives a small, relieved smile. “You’re back,” she says.

“Yeah, I had a craving for this specific brand of red wine…” You say, tossing out a casual lie since you did swing by the grocery store, and errands are a regular part of your routine.

“Red wine?” Wanda perks up. “Perfect, I’m just about done with dinner. It should pair nicely.”

The kitchen smells foreign but amazing, and you can't help but compliment her. “It smells incredible in here,” you say as you start setting the table.

Wanda smiles softly as she turns down the stove and grabs a bowl to serve. You set out two wine glasses and place them on the table.

You pour a generous amount of red wine into each glass and watch as Wanda carries the meal over.

“Thanks for dinner,” you say with genuine appreciation.

“Try it and tell me what you think,” she urges, her lower lip caught between her teeth as she watches you with anticipation.

You take a bite, the flavors unique and perfectly blended. Looking up, you see her watching you, eager for your reaction.

“Well?” she asks impatiently.

You laugh, then wipe the corners of your mouth with your thumb. “Don't you already know?” you tease, hinting at her telepathic abilities.

Wanda pretends to be offended, crossing her arms. “I haven’t read your mind in a long time.”

You can’t help but be a little skeptical of her claim. “Since when?”

Wanda blinks, her gaze veering away as she hesitates, clearly not eager to revisit the memory.

You give her a gentle nudge, mimicking her earlier prodding “Well?”

Wanda turns to face you, her bottom lip pushed out slightly in a pout. “Since I saw you were sleeping with the director’s daughter.”

Saw? Did she see everything I did with Laura? The thought that Wanda witnessed it all like a scene playing out in front of her makes your stomach twist. You blush, mortified. “I’m sorry you had to see that,” you mumble, looking away.

Wanda shakes her head, trying to dispel her lingering jealousy. “I shouldn't have been peering into your head that much to begin with,” she says softly.

Your ears catch on a particular phrase. “‘That much’?”

It’s Wanda’s turn to blush, her cheeks flushing deeper as she quickly downs the rest of her wine and then holds out her glass for a refill. Deciding to show some mercy, you pour her another glass without prying further. The conversation stalls into an awkward silence until you finally decide to break it by giving your verdict on the dinner.

“By the way, this is delicious,” you say, adding another serving to your plate.

Wanda's face lights up, her smile stretching so wide that she looks almost like a giddy child. But then, she is young. You can’t help but imagine how she'll fit in with them. Steve, in particular, seems like he’d be good for her. Even though you don't know him well, that one phone call was enough to get a sense of his character and leadership. He seems like the kind of guy who'd really look out for Wanda, in ways you can't.

“Are you doing anything tomorrow?” Wanda suddenly asks.

Your smile falls a little, but you manage to keep it there. You wish she could read your mind now, that she could understand the choices you’ve made today better than you could ever explain them. You’re not abandoning her—you’re setting her free from this life. You've done too many unspeakable things to ever truly deserve a quiet life with her. Eventually, your past will catch up to you, and the opportunity for Wanda to do something good might slip away if she’s still tied to you. You wish she could see how much you care for her, how much she’s changed you. Because of her, you’ve felt the desire to be good again, to be human again. To open yourself not just to grief, but also to love.

You wish—

“Maybe we can visit that lake you mentioned? I've spent my whole life in Sokovia but never really left Novi Grad,” Wanda suggests.

“Rain check?” you say, trying your best to sound like tomorrow isn’t goodbye. Steve wanted to move quickly, and you’ll be expecting him and a small squad tomorrow, no later than noon. “I’m thinking I might just stay in, catch up on some reading.”

Wanda cocks her head, a puzzled look on her face. You’ve been the one pushing her to get out of the cabin more, so your answer isn’t what she’s expecting. But she likes the idea. She just wants to spend time with you. The hole Pietro left in her heart is only bearable when she’s with you.

“Okay,” she mumbles, starting to clear the dishes. You place a hand over hers, silently telling her you’ll take care of it later. Leaning in, you plant a soft kiss on her lips.

“You want to go to bed early?” you whisper quietly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

She looks up at you, a playful gasp escaping her lips.

“Just to sleep,” you add quickly. I just want to hold you all night, one last time.

“I might not be sleepy right off the bat, maybe if you tire me out—”

“Naughty,” you chuckle softly, giving her nose a gentle tap.

“You love it.”

“I—” Love you. You want to say it, but you don’t want to make it harder for you both when the time comes.

Without another word, you grab her hand, holding on to this moment, to her, for as long as you can.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #wanda maximoff fanfiction #pietro maximoff #gender neutral reader #hydra #avengers age of ultron #Steve Rogers

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bisayawa · 11 months

Text

freckles & blades & helping hands

✎___ husband!diluc × spouse!reader

✎___ a/n: domestic fluff (literally just a soft scene of diluc shaving his scruff), i aged diluc up a bit i think. use of the pet name honey. somewhat inspired by @/mmmairon's art of beefy, gentle, kind diluc :> 730~ words, not proofread; art by ary scheffer.

"do you need any help?"

legs swinging on the counter top, you lean in & stare, eyes glazing over the handsome lines of your husband's face on the mirror. he has a few crow's feet near his temples. whenever you point it out, he'll always say the wrinkles are evidence of you, you who make him smile & laugh & chuckle until his stomach hurts. it's evidence of a life laughter, he'd say.

the sharp stipple of the razor cuts through the silence.

"no, honey," he says, turning his head & angling the blade to the scruff on his jaw. "it's alright."

the words are spoken softly. it was jarring a few years ago, hearing words of buttercream & sweetness come from a man such as diluc, hulking, dignified, broad-shouldered, almost always with a dour expression on his face.

there was a handsomeness to the gloom before. the sharpness of brows, the bite of his frowns, the particular wrinkle when he scrunches his nose... but you have to admit, the allure is multiplied tenfold when he's all honeyed & dewy-eyed, softer than a cloud.

"i could do it for you, you know?"

his eyes never leave the mirror.

"i still don't understand this... fixation you have," he angles his face in an almost-quarter turn. "i'm just shaving, hon. it's no event you have to witness."

"of course, it is." you lean a little closer. "it's like an unveiling. my husband is showing his true face, one without scruff or stubble."

"an unveiling― ?" his shoulders shake & he puts down the razor for a few moments, small bouts of giggles floating through the room.

he rights himself.

"behave. i'm never gonna finished in time." his stern voice is all for show. he's smiling as he says the words.

a beat passes.

"but isn't it though? they'll finally see all your face. happy wrinkles & all."

he's struggling to fix his lip into a line, unable to stop it from curling into a smile. he's repeating your last few words, mouthing them out as he brings down the razor.

the silence after then is sweet, filled with curious looks towards his face filled with foam & other little chuckles.

"so..." your voice cuts through.

"so...?"

"could i do it for you?"

he taps the razor on the marble sink, shucking hair & foam off the blade.

"you don't know how..." another swipe of the razor.

"you could teach me." tap tap.

"i've..." swipe. "already started." tap

"just the basics." swipe. "an impromptu lesson, yeah? against the grain & all that?"

"it's with the grain, honey."

"right, yeah... i knew that... so are you gonna teach me?"

"hm..."

"oh? usually it's a big, disapproving hrrrnn..."

"you've catalogued my grousing?"

"yup yup, because i am a good spouse who tends to the needs of my husband."

he laughs at that, quietly. another wrinkle on his temple.

"alright, alright... here..."

he gives the razor, grasping it in your hand. he's gentle, careful, righting your hold of the blade.

"okay... here's how it should be..." he guides your hand towards his cheek, speaking in soft murmurs. "just like how my father taught me. listen."

he pulls down, a swipe against his face. hair & foam give way for his pale skin.

"there. let the blade do the work, honey. don't push too harshly."

he makes another swipe, his hand still guiding yours.

"here, just like this." swipe swipe swipe. "you wanna try?"

your small palm finds the back of his neck, pulling him close. brows furrow in concentration as the razor anticipates the next swipe.

"careful, honey, okay?" the warmth of his hand leaves. "i trust you."

shaking fingers steel themselves. the blade goes still before landing on the softness of his skin. it coasts across his jaw, cold metal kissing warm flesh. the line is carved against the shaving foam, no longer obscuring his face.

the swipe is finished. the trust was not betrayed. the result of your work is there upon the blade, as patches of coarse hair & crisp shaving foam.

"how was that?" you murmur.

"wonderful." he's staring into your eyes, not at the razor like you expected. "would you like to keep going?"

"yes, please." you poke at his newly shaven jaw. "i've never noticed your little freckle here."

"i have a few." he pinches your nose. "let's keep going. maybe we can find a few more."

#my fic.#diluc x reader #genshin x reader #diluc x you #diluc x y/n #genshin impact fluff #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact drabble #diluc ragnvindr

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 month

Text

Wicked Games 6

Warnings: non/dubcon, cheating, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Steve Rogers

Summary: you had a one night stand. Or did you?

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The clinic waiting room reflects the silent turmoil of your existence. You sit in the rigid plastic chairs and stare at the wall. Your mouth still tastes of bile. Only minutes ago, you were in the bathroom, spewing up your guts. It’s as if you’re own body is trying to convince you of reality. You don’t need this test, idiot, you’re fucked.

When your name is called, you follow the dour nurse to a room. She goes over your chart and your reason for coming. She puts the clipboard in the plastic pocket mounted on the door and shuts it behind her as she goes.

The doctor is thirty minutes behind. She gets you a stick to pee on and takes blood to send to the lab. The first test comes back positive but the second will take longer to process. It doesn’t matter. It’s really just repeating what you don’t want to hear. You are pregnant.

The detached treatment has you feeling even more dejected. You’re given a stack of literature at the front desk before you go. You toss it in the bin by the building entrance and trod on.

It isn’t just the child, it’s the father. You know deep down it can’t be your husband’s. It’s been too long since you... did that. As much as you want to lie to yourself, you can’t. All that’s done so far is dig the hole deeper.

So, you don’t have much of a choice. You can’t afford it. Not financially, physically, or emotionally. An innocent child doesn’t deserve to be dragged into the mess you’ve made.

First, you need to leave. You already have a plan. You’re packing your bags as soon as you get home. Wendy said you can crash for a while. You’ll have to figure it from her couch. Once you’re settled, you’ll go to another clinic and do what needs to be done.

It isn’t the baby. Your marriage was already over. It just hurts. It’s not acceptance, it’s giving up. You can’t fix this. You tried so hard and it just didn’t work. The wasted time if worse than the wasted effort.

A car honks but you barely notice. There's always someone raging in the streets. It comes again, shorter than before, and an engine whirs up to the curb, sliding in between two parked cars. The silver paint glares in your vision.

“Hey,” the window rolls down, “how’d it go?”

You stagger and face Steve Rogers as he hooks his elbow over the open window. You shake your head, “Excuse me?”

“I was right.” He says. It’s just a fact, not smug. Just a statement.

“Stop. Please. Leave me alone. I told you--”

“You can’t run away from me.” He clicks free his seat belt and opens his car door. Before he can get out, you’re on the move. He catches up to your easily. “It’s mine.”

You splay your fingers in frustration and keep walking. Please, just go. “No, I’m married. It’s up to me and my husband.”

“I know you haven’t been fucking him.” His language has you skidding to a stop. You turn to him, aghast. “I can smell it. For a few days after.”

“It would be more than a few days ago,” you snap.

He scoffs, “yeah, it would be.” He stares at you and your heart flips.

“Have you—have you been following me?”

He doesn’t answer, just looks back at you. He doesn’t need to say it. You know.

“How long?” You hiss.

“Look, that night...” he begins.

“No. That night nothing! It’s over. One night and it’s not going to be the rest of my life. Alright?”

“I’ll take care of you and the baby. Your husband won’t be happy to know that you and I--”

“He’s not going to know, Captain.” You snarl. “He can’t know. Alright? This is a mistake but it can be undone. Got it? So go and live your superhero life while I scrape the barrel.”

“You’re going to leave him anyways so why are you doing this?” He asks. His tone is so fucking annoying. As if it’s all so easy.

“How do you—oh my god, oh my god. Please, back off.” You put your hands up and take a step back.

“You can’t just get rid of my baby,” he follows you as you fall back into step.

“Go.”

“No, I won’t let you.”

“I’m begging you--”

“Just like you did that night. I know you didn’t forget.” He grabs your arm and pulls you around to face him. “You can’t. It was the best night of my life and you just disappeared. I can’t let you go again.”

“Let go of me,” you wriggle in his grasp.

“I’m trying to help you. I’m telling you that you don’t need to do all this. I can help with the baby. Please.”

You stare up at him defiantly and tear away from him, “I don’t need you to save me. That was my first mistake. Thinking that a man could ever do that.”

You turn and stomp away. He calls your name but you keep going. You can’t look back. You’re terrified. Deep down you know if he doesn’t follow you then, he will find you later. This whole time he’s been playing your shadow and you never even knew it.

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #series #drabble #wicked games #captain america #marvel #mcu #avengers

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hqbaby · 4 months

Text

four — just a little

mess it up — gojo x reader & sukuna x reader

⁀➴ when i told you i’m fine, you were lied to. when the love of your life falls for someone else, you decide to move on—by pretending to date your best friend, the campus fuckboy.

previous — masterlist — next

word count. 1.8k content. profanity, alcohol consumption, a lil bit of tension???

booger: r u up?

It’s 4 AM and you should not, in fact, be up. But you are. And apparently so is Sukuna.

You contemplate ignoring him. You can get back to him in the morning and act all high and mighty like, “I’m a proper human being with a life, so no, I don’t stay up until 4 AM like you, loser.” It’s not like anything good has ever come from you replying to his late-night/early-morning texts. You recall another time you replied to him at this hour; the two of you ended up almost getting arrested after sneaking into a reservoir.

Alas, you’re still up and you’ve been rotting your brain on your phone for hours, so your better judgment has gone the way of your last few brain cells.

you: what do u want

You watch as he types something. “Damn, so hostile,” probably. He deletes it. Then, he types again. “Why are you up?” maybe. Deletes it. Then, “Wanna fuck?” before he remembers who you are. He types again and actually sends the message this time.

booger: be there in 5

Part of you wants to prank him. Go to sleep and let the poor guy pound on your door until one of your neighbors—probably the grumpy old lady who lives beside you—scolds him and threatens to call security. It’s a good prank. You go as far as thinking about it.

When gets there, he’s got his hood pulled over his head. He’s wearing a pair of sweatpants, black sunglasses, and a serious expression on his face.

“Damn, you look so cool,” you say. He cracks a grin and you crack up. “What the fuck are you doing? You look ridiculous.”

His face falls into a frown as he steps into your apartment, closing the door behind him. You’ve already left him behind, crashing onto your couch as he changes his shoes into one of the slippers you keep for him by your door.

“You’re a real bitch, you know,” he says. He sheds the sunglasses and pulls his hood away. You’ve ruined the whole vibe he was going for. “Aren’t you gonna offer me a drink or something?”

You lift your head and point at the console table by the door. “There’s a bottle of Cuervo there,” you tell him. “Get it for me.”

He huffs but does as you say anyway. He picks the bottle up and walks over to you, sitting on the floor in front of the couch. “You’re a shitty host,” he says as he opens the bottle.

“You’re an intruder,” you say, snatching the bottle away from him before he takes a sip. You raise it to your lips to take a swig. “Why are you here?”

“Am I not allowed to see my girlfriend?”

You choke on the tequila. “What?” You cough as he laughs and pats your back. “Don’t say shit like that.”

He grabs the bottle from you and chugs a good amount. “I love teasing you,” he says, pinching your cheek. “It’s so easy.”

You slap his hand away and sit up. “I hate you.”

He just grins and passes you the bottle. “You love me,” he chirps. “Wouldn’t put up with me otherwise.”

“Haven’t you heard? Everyone’s saying I’m incapable of love.”

You don’t know why you say that. It’s not part of the script, the usual back and forth between the two of you. For a moment, you worry that you’ve said something wrong.

“Who says that?” He looks serious now. Like he’s about to beat someone up. You know, the usual. What were you even worried about? “You got a gun for me to use on them?”

You laugh at his dour expression. It’s true, of course, that people have been spreading this new rumor that you’re a cold, ruthless bitch who doesn’t have room in her heart for someone, let alone a boyfriend. It’s why you broke up with Satoru apparently. You know it’s stupid and people don’t really know what they’re talking about, that they’re bored and just making shit up, but for some reason, you can’t shake the thought.

What if they’re right?

You put the Cuervo on the floor beside Sukuna and hug a throw pillow to your chest. “I had a dream.”

“Is this where you break into song?”

You roll your eyes at him. “I’m not talking to you anymore.”

He doesn’t take the challenge lightly, immediately hopping onto the couch beside you and dropping his head onto your lap to stare up at you. He bats his lashes at you and says, “What did you dream about?”

You place your hand on his face. Then, you feel something wet on your palm.

His fucking tongue.

“You’re so gross,” you whine, wiping your hand on his hoodie. “What do girls even see in you?”

He smirks. You’ve just given him an opportunity and you wholly regret it now. “It’s not so much what they see, but how big it is,” he says, amused by the disgusted face you make. He pokes your cheek with his finger now. “Tell me about your dream.”

“No.”

“Please.”

“No.”

He pouts, his lower lip jutting out as he looks at you with big eyes, practically getting teary-eyed now. He’s a great actor, you’ll give him that. He’d probably get better grades if he was a theater major.

“I wanna know,” he says softly. “Tell me.”

There’s something about the way he looks at you that feels unnervingly familiar. You’re used to his antics, you’ve had to deal with them since the two of you were in high school, but it’s moments like this that you remember just how much you know each other. It’s a constant thing, always lurking beneath your banter and jokes—it just surprises you when it’s in your face.

You place your hand on his shoulder and sigh. “It’s stupid,” you say. “I just keep having these dreams where I’m running from something. Different things every time. Zombies, ghosts, clowns—”

“You run away from clowns?”

“Clowns with murderous intentions.”

“Okay. Valid.”

You shake your head, smiling now as the teasing reminds you of who you’re talking to. It’s just Sukuna.

“Anyway,” you say as you stare off into your empty living room. “I just… run. And I get to a point where I feel safe until I realize that I’ve actually been cornered. I wake up before anything happens.”

When you look at him again, his brows are furrowed, already in deep thought. He considers your dream carefully. You wonder if he’ll crack another joke, change the tone of the conversation, but of course he doesn’t.

“What do you think it means?”

You squeeze the throw pillow beside you. “I don’t know,” you say. “I should probably ask Nobara. Psych majors know all about that shit, right?”

He nods. “Yeah, they got that Freud dude.”

“I’m not sure that Freud dude is necessarily accurate about dreams.”

“You never know until you try.”

The two of you are quiet for a moment. You can hear the air conditioner buzz, the fridge rumble. You’ve gotten used to these sounds of silence, what with you being more alone than you’ve been in a while. This time though, you can hear Sukuna’s breathing. Quiet, but steady, a reminder that you’re not completely alone this time.

“Is that why you’re still up?” he asks eventually. “You can’t sleep?”

“You’re making fun of me.”

“I’m not.” Earnest. Sincere. “I just wanted to know.”

You look at him skeptically, but he just stares up at you from his place on your lap, blinking in the light of your living room.

“I mean, it’s not just the dreams,” you tell him. “I’ve been feeling a little lonely, you know. Since… Satoru.”

He cringes at the name but schools his expression before it turns into a full on snarl. “Still don’t know what you saw in that guy.”

“He was good to me,” you say. “He didn’t do anything wrong.”

“He must’ve if you broke up with him.”

You hesitate, but you find it in yourself to insist, “He didn’t do anything wrong.”

Sukuna stands up. “If you say so,” he says. He reaches his hand out in front of you. “Come on. You gotta sleep.”

You stare at his hand. “You don’t think you’re taking me to bed, do you?”

“I am taking you to bed.”

He stays there for a moment, watching you watch his hand, unmoving. “I’m not getting in bed with you. Chill, bro.”

A beat.

“It’s not that,” you say, taking his hand and letting him pull you up. “It’s just…”

He raises a brow. “What?”

Yeah. What?

“Nothing,” you whisper. This is stupid. “You can sleep beside me. It’s fine.”

It’s his turn to be taken aback. Suddenly, he thinks that your hand being in his feels terribly comfortable. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say, pulling your hand away. You pad over to your bedroom, walking straight ahead without looking back. Pretending like you don’t care if he follows. “We’ve slept in the same bed before. It’s no big deal.”

But it is. Somehow, you feel like it is.

You’re already under your blanket when he follows you into the room. He stands at the foot of the bed a little awkwardly. Like a lost puppy.

“When was the last time you slept in the same bed as a girl you didn’t fuck?”

He’s sheepish now, stripped of all his usual brazen demeanor. “A long time.”

His hand reaches for the hem of his hoodie.

“What are you doing?” you ask, eyes wide. “This isn’t—”

“Relax,” he says, pulling the hoodie off his head. He’s wearing a t-shirt underneath. Plain red, one you’ve probably seen more times than you can count. “I just run warm is all.”

You feel your face heat up. What did you think he was doing?

Your best friend slides into bed beside you. This isn’t anything strange for the two of you. You used to sleep over at each other’s houses back when you were in high school and one of you wanted to avoid the chaos of your home. You’ve slept beside each other before. It was never a thing.

But it’s been a while since then. You’re no longer the kids you were, all playful and shameless.

It feels different this time. Somehow.

He’s keeping his distance and you can feel it. Your body is turned away from him, but you can feel his eyes on you. He wants to be closer to you.

You want to be closer to him too.

“You can—”

His chest hits your back as he rolls over to lie directly behind you. “Is this okay?” he asks quietly. You can feel his breath on your neck.

You swallow. “Yeah, it’s okay.”

You feel his hand carefully move around your waist. He doesn’t touch you, his arm hovering just above the thin fabric of your top. “Is this—”

“Yeah.”

He rests his arm on your waist and you feel yourself relax into his touch. He wasn’t lying when he said he runs hot, it feels like you’re melting against a furnace. Still, somehow, you can’t find it in yourself to mind.

If anything, you might just admit that you like it. Maybe. Just a little.

notes. soooo the besties are doing a thing 👀 how do we feel about reader and sukuna so far 👀 we also haven't seen much of gojo yet but next chapter is gonna be interesting ;)

#hqbaby.miu #hqbaby #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #gojo #gojo x reader #sukuna #sukuna x reader

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narraboths · 1 year

Text

“You got anything to tell me about yesterday’s interview, Ponytail?”

Being cornered by one’s editor is rarely a good sign. Being cornered by a harried Snapper Carr one month into her tenure as a rookie reporter would be enough to give others nightmares for a month. Maybe ulcers. Kara, though, she’s been having a great week, and she’s not about to let anyone ruin it.

“Nope.” She pops the p a little. Something about Snapper’s moroseness always pushes her to be spitefully chipper.

“Nothing out of the ordinary?”

“Not at all.”

“Hm.” Snapper nurses the thought with that dour, toothachey look that Kara’s come to learn is directed at her just as much as it is a sign of his general displeasure with the world. He pulls out his phone, jabbing at the screen. “So do you mind explaining to me why my cub reporter is on the front page of every gossip rag from here to Metropolis as the Mystery Blonde Caught in Luthor’s Web?”

That can’t be right is immediately the tip of Kara’s tongue but it freezes there, along with the incredulous laugh threatening to burst out of her, because Snapper is shoving his phone in her face and–

“It’s not what it looks like,” she blurts out, instinctively, then winces at her own choice of words. Great save. “I was just being considerate.”

It’s true, really. She was only holding the door open for Lena as they left L-Corp (Lena was on the move the whole day, they did half of the interview in the back of her Range Rover, flitting between offices), and it only happened that Lena’s hand fell to her forearm, a completely innocent gesture, as innocent as Lena’s smile, as the way she swayed a little closer, saying thank you as she strode by. And sure, Kara may have felt mesmerized for a single, fleeting moment, suddenly so deeply flustered by the gentle weight of Lena’s hand that she almost cracked the door handle in two, but who wouldn’t? Lena Luthor just has a remarkable presence. Why are they letting paparazzi camp out at the L-Corp doorstep, anyways?

“I’ve never seen Luthor that affectionate with anyone.” Snapper eyes Kara suspiciously, his face screaming why you of all people, bumbling rookie who can barely even spell?. “I’ve never seen any of the Luthors affectionate with anyone at all.”

“Guess it’s just my natural charm, sir.” Kara flashes the most annoyingly innocent smile she can, then squares her shoulders. “Did you actually read my article?”

There’s a beat of silence, Snapper staring daggers at her. Then finally, finally, he lets out an annoyed huff.

“Of course I read it. It’s going out first thing tomorrow.” He pockets his phone, then rubs his face with a tired motion. “Make sure this doesn’t happen again.”

“You got it, boss.”

It happens again.

It happens again a bunch, really. (Kara at the L-Corp gala, at Lena’s table, the two of them in lively conversation, shoulders pressed together – she was telling me about L-Corp’s new green energy initiative, sir –, the fond smile and almost-teasing tone when Lena calls “yes, Miss Danvers?” at her press conference – she’s just nice! It’s not a crime! –, the candid of them on the CatCo balcony when Lena’s in house for her cover shoot, Kara gesturing excitedly and Lena leaning against the railing, hanging onto every word, a jacket two sizes too big wrapped around her shoulders – you know it gets cold out there. At least there’s no photos of her wrapping the jacket around Lena, their hands brushing together, the faint blush along the lines of Lena’s throat. That’d probably look pretty suspicious.) Snapper’s face takes on increasingly vivid shades of purplish red.

“Do we need to go over the meaning of journalistic integrity again, Danvers?”

Kara decides to take graduating from “Ponytail” as a win.

“We’re not– it’s not anything untoward,” she shoots back, arms crossed, only slightly blushing. In anger, certainly. “I’m doing my job. I grilled her on L-Corp still holding a contract with the government for anti-alien defense systems that Lex negotiated, just last week. There’s footage.”

“Yeah,” Snapper grinds his teeth so vehemently that Kara’s afraid he might crack a crown. “Footage of her hugging you in the hallway afterwards, too. What the hell were you doing?”

“She just thanked me, sir.” The vein on Snapper’s neck looks ready to burst. Kara makes a mental note to recommend meditation at a less belligerent time. “She said my question made it possible for her to make a public stance and really send a message.”

Snapper looks like he’s nearing an aneurysm.

“Hell, Danvers, that sounds even worse!”

It sounded pretty great, actually, Kara thinks, after the borderline unprofessional row they had in Lena’s office when Kara first broached the subject. It felt pretty great, too, not just Lena’s declaration, her renewed commitment to reject everything Lex and Lillian stand for, but the warmth of Lena’s pressed against her, her lips brushing against Kara’s cheek, the low murmur of “you’re such a wonderful friend” in her ear that gave her such a strange shiver. At least that much thankfully escaped the prying eyes and cameras.

“Either I don’t go near her, or CatCo continues to have the leading stories on one of National City’s most high-profile citizens.” She gives Snapper the steeliest look she can muster without letting her heat vision flare up. “And my covers are currently bringing in our biggest numbers. Sir.”

Snapper grinds his teeth again, but his shoulders sag just a touch, and Kara knows she’s won this round.

“You’re on thin ice, Danvers. Back to your desk.”

Kara complies with a grin and a thumbs up, and decides to take a break half an hour later, when Alex forwards her an article titled Bosom Buddies: Lena Luthor Out And About With CatCo Gal Pal with a subtle mix of skull, knife, and eyeroll emojis. She does save one of the photos, though, the one where Lena’s head’s thrown back in adorable, delightful laughter.

“Can you explain this one, Danvers?”

Snapper doesn’t look angry this time. No, he’s strangely calm, somewhat elated, even, slamming a whole bundle of newspapers down on her desk, jolting Kara out of her reverie. Half of them are National City publications, Kara vaguely notes, but there’s Metropolis and Gotham and Central City in the mix, too, as if it was the story of the century. Must be a slow news day.

“Of course, sir. I think the proper term is ‘first date’?”

To her greatest surprise, Snapper barks out a laugh, loud and gruff.

“You’re now barred from any future reporting on the Luthors or L-Corp,” he tells her, not without a touch of satisfaction. If Kara hadn’t been walking on sunshine for the past thirteen hours, twenty-eight minutes and forty-one seconds, since the first tentative press of Lena’s lips against her own, she might’ve felt a bit miffed. “Cat Grant’s setting aside a little time later in the afternoon to chew you out personally.”

Kara nods happily along. Withering tones and grim disapproval, the usual spiel, as if anything could dull that buzzing, electrifying feeling coursing through her body since last night, the weightless, feverish joy that grips her every time she thinks of Lena’s last text and everything can’t wait to see you again tonight could possibly entail.

“Yessir.”

“Congratulations, Danvers.” Snapper raps his knuckles against her desk. “Let’s spare each other the heartburn from now on.”

(Kara shows up with a hickey on her neck and the headlines of Lena Luthor Packs PDA With New Girlfriend the next day. Snapper refuses to look her in the eyes for the rest of the week.)

#supercorp #supercorp fic #my fic

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benedictscanvas · 7 months

Note

hey love! im sorry your request box hasnt been what you were looking for but maybe this will work! can i request a ball with benedict bridgerton where feelings are only realized when one of them dances with someone else? i dont really mind if its reader or benedict but i just think it would be cute!! hope you’re doing well <3 <3

hello my lovely. you're the sweetest, thank you so much for such a gorgeous request. I've got a pretty similar fic where Benedict realises his feelings, so I was super excited to do the other way around, I hope you enjoy <3 <3 | 1.5k words, fem!reader

There is a woman in Benedict’s arms and it isn’t you and you think you might throw your lemonade at her. Accidentally, of course.

You don’t know her, and if the reasonable side of your brain was in charge, you’d probably think she looks quite lovely. Her hair is adorned in elaborate braids and her smile is demure but still a little goofy - she isn’t shrouded in the fake humility that she finds so many ladies of the ton carry around with them.

But still you find yourself fantasising about a large lemonade stain painting the front of her dress, the poor girl hurrying away in her shock and distress.

Away from Benedict. Who’s now laughing. At something the girl has said, no less. Why, you’d never seen him laugh at any lady of the ton who wasn’t either his sister or, once, Lady Danbury.

And yourself, of course, but you didn’t count.

At least, you didn’t think you counted. You didn’t think you wanted to count, content to while away the balls and the promenades by Benedict’s side, sometimes Eloise’s, whispering about so-and-so’s hat or whats-his-name’s hair. He’d never asked you to dance, although you’d never wanted him to before. Now that he was dancing with someone for the first time you could recall, however, you could feel that changing very swiftly.

”You know, looking vexed in the corner isn’t likely to win you many adoring suitors, Miss Y/L/N.”

Eloise always knows just when to get on your nerves and she’s grinning at you slyly when you turn to face her, finally breaking the spell that Benedict and his new dance partner had placed on you.

”Since when have you believed that was my endeavour, dear Eloise?”

”Since you’ve spent the entire night glaring at pretty young Miss Pennyforth. It’s making you look rather jealous, to the untrained eye.”

You turn away from her, fixing your eyes on her brother yet again. They’re not talking anymore, just staring at each other as he twirls her again and again. Maybe it was better when they spoke after all, because now your stomach is twisting into something that does indeed feel a lot like jealousy.

”Yes, well, you know better than to think I’m jealous. Though I do seem to be in a foul mood.”

Eloise nods exaggeratedly, a pretend-sympathetic pout on her lips.

”Yes, you poor thing. And it obviously has nothing to do with the brother of mine that you can’t take your eyes off.”

You pointedly look at her again but she just dissolves into giggles at the look on your face.

”If you have a point, Eloise, I suggest you make it.”

”Oh, no point at all. Only that the one ball where Benedict decides not to stand with you and ruin his prospects all night, you seem to be very dour indeed. With no correlation, of course.”

You glower at her as best you can. You have the irritable feeling crawling out of your stomach through your throat that you might be about to cry, and you refuse to do so here, or to allow Eloise to think it’s her fault if you do.

”You run along and find Penelope or I shall tell your mother there’s a gentleman asking after you.”

She gaped at you, quite genuinely.

”You wouldn’t,” she murmured, but then promptly hurried away when you fixed her with a look that told her you most certainly would. It was a lie, because you could never bring yourself to do that to your friend, but it was a ruse that allowed to slip away from the ballroom.

You cast one last glance over your shoulder at Benedict to see him kissing the back of Miss Penny-something’s hand and your eyes began to sting.

- - -

There was a little bench hidden away to the left of the grand entrance, just dark enough to not be spotted by those near the carriages. You managed to shed a few tears in private, silent silly things, and you wiped them away angrily.

It was only Benedict. Quiet, mischievous, generous Benedict. He was creative and caring and could come up with the most brilliant insults you’d ever heard. Obviously, he also had a beautiful face, but you’d never given it much thought. All the Bridgertons were beautiful, it felt like a requirement.

”Did Lord Tennesby try to talk to you again?”

You sighed deeply, closing your eyes with your head bowed. Of course he’d find you. If anyone was likely to be looking for a quiet spot for a moment’s reprieve, it was him.

You wiped at your face in vain before looking up at him with what you hoped was a convincing smile.

“I’d be halfway back home if that was the case. What are you doing out here?”

Why aren’t you with Pennyfuzzy? was the unspoken second question that you couldn’t quite bring yourself to ask, knowing how spiteful it would come out. You wished you had realised you might want more from Benedict in the comfort of your own home, where you could take a week to process those feelings and prepare for how to deal with them.

Instead, you’d just have to see what happened in this conversation and go from there. Sounded promising.

”I was going to ask you the same thing. Have you…been crying?”

”I think it’s the flowers,” you point over at the hyacinths in the nearby flowerbed, “They often get the best of me this time of year.”

”Daphne’s ball last year was filled with hyacinths and you didn’t so much as sniffle.”

You frowned at him.

“I probably sniffled.”

“You didn’t. I would have noticed. I would have offered you a handkerchief like the dashing young gentleman I am.”

It was enough to pull up your frown at the corners, which in turn propelled him to take a seat beside you on the bench. You busied yourself with a crease in your dress when you talked to him.

“Maybe you’re not as dashing as you think.”

“I’m incredibly dashing,” he argued, pointing his chin upwards in that silly, mighty way you always giggled at, “I swept Miss Pennyforth off her feet just moments ago.”

Like an ice cold bucket of water poured right over you. You almost shivered.

“Ah, Miss Pennyforth. Has someone finally captured your wayward attention, Mister Bridgerton?”

You looked up at him and tried not to sniffle or snuffle or anything else that might give you away. He was just looking puzzled.

“What? No, I meant I quite literally swept her off her feet. I got the steps wrong, according to Eloise, who helped me up once she had a hold of her laughter.”

You blinked at him.

“You fell?”

“Into quite the heap. Miss Pennyforth was a good sport about it all but she did end up with a rather unfortunate lemonade stain all down the front of her dress. I think she was a little embarrassed.”

He had the decency to look a little embarrassed himself. There you had been, ready to hurl the contents of your cup at the girl and Benedict had solved your predicament for you. A twinge of guilt tugged at you.

“I’m sorry I missed it,” you said honestly, face overtaken by a wry smirk since Benedict had not sat down singing her praises. Still you had to be sure, “She was looking a very good dancer before I left, I was afraid she might steal away my conversation partner.”

It ended up sounding far more transparent in your intentions than you’d hoped. But you held his eye contact defiantly when he grinned.

“I knew you missed me,” he said, smug, “I took one look at your face and I could see it plain as day. Really, you should have hidden it better.”

“I don’t enjoy these events and you know it, Benedict.”

Back to his first name and by the light in his eyes, he’d noticed the switch. He stood up and held out his arm for you.

“I know. I’m very grateful for it. Now come along, I’ve done my duty to my mother dancing with that girl and now I would like to do my duty to myself.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, not moving a muscle.

“I would like to make fun of the Featheringtons with my most cherished friend. Would you do me the honour?”

Something skipped inside your chest. Light and airy again, no longer weighed down and chained to something churning your stomach. His most cherished friend. Despite the evening’s revelations, that sounded heavenly.

“Is Eloise inside waiting for you then?” you can’t help but tease and he promptly puts his arm back by his side with a huff.

“You are intolerable. I’m going without you.”

“No - wait!” you laughed, following after him gleefully as he turned away from you and started walking. You managed to catch him on the stairs, threading your hand into the crook of his elbow with ease as you did.

The smile he sent you would take at least the next week to contemplate but you had time. You could be a very brilliant 'most cherished friend' for now.

(and you were far more cherished than you knew, of course, but he wasn't quite ready to tell you yet)

---

if you'd like to request something of your own, please see this post for characters I write for and two super brief guidelines. thank you for reading, sunflower <3

#benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton imagine #benedict x reader #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton x reader

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whirlybirbs · 29 days

Text

— BURNER CELL ; 1 ; DABI ; 荼毗

summary: you end up at the league's bar, unbeknownst to you or your drunk friends. you just want to go home. set in the early days of bnha. pairing: dabi / f!reader ; quirkless word count: a cool 1.6k tag: humor, maladjusted dabi meets normal adult woman, flirting, canon-based world building, slight au, univeristy student!reader a/n: this is silly and short but man i really want to write dabi pining over a normal, quirkless person and frothing at the mouth when she doesn't text back for an hour the tag | next →

What's the whole bit about 'secondary locations'...?

You're not sure how you even got roped into this — it's a Thursday, for fuck's sake. You have class tomorrow, and by the time you manage to shepherd the gaggle of girls back into their respective Ubers for the night, you won't be back at your apartment until well into the early hours of the morning.

You wince into your beer, hoping silently that your cat won't be too mad. Mizu can stand to skip a meal here and there, after all. He's a big boy. (Literally.)

In the booth in the back corner, there's a wave of raucous, tipsy laughter from your friends and their new acquaintances. One of those guys — the one who smells like cigarettes and cheap cologne — has his arm around Nuri. She seems totally into him despite the glimpse of yakuza affiliations painting his skin beneath his purple shirt collar.

Worry tugs at your heart just as the door to this dour, smoke-filled bar opens. A handful of denizens enter, but you pay more mind to the rows and rows of meticulously stacked liquors from behind the bar.

This place is weird.

Unsettling.

It's oddly silent, with some too-quiet music coming from the beat-to-shit jukebox in the corner. The loudest thing in here is the drunk conversation from the group you came in with, and the occasional tinkering of glasses from the sparse few patrons posted up in various booths.

You lean onto the bar, sigh, and take another long swig of your stale beer.

Note to self: Kamino Ward has the most mid nightlife imaginable.

Suddenly, someone is shambling up to the stool beside you.

They smell like cinder and smoke. Like a fire on a cold night. It's not entirely unpleasant, but it flicks some sort of DNA-deep warning bell in the back of your mind. Fire. Run.

Your lashes flutter over, mid-sip. Then, your eyes widen incrementally as the dawning realization of just who's sitting there slams into you. It's the sort of realization that feels like a baseball bat to the back of the head.

You muscle down the mouthful of flat beer before your lips part in silent astonishment.

Of all the bars they picked... It had to be the League of Villains' haunt?

Because of course, it had to be. It just had to be more than some scummy, ten-years-their-senior washed-up yakuza throwing drinks at them and promising them a good time, huh? It had to be a secondary location after a too-loud, too-hot nightclub downtown. It had to be this secondary location.

Dabi clears his throat.

You snap your jaw shut.

"Thought you were gonna catch flies for a second there," comes a rasped, rough chirp — wholly unbothered.

He isn't looking at you. He's looking ahead, presumably trying to discern what kind of drink he wants tonight. Piercing, turquoise eyes flick about the top shelf.

You have to peel your eyes off him.

Your tongue runs along your teeth as you nod, drumming your fingers against the bar. This is bad. Not ideal. Not great. "Sorry."

You slide a look back over your shoulder and catch Nuri's horrified expression. You follow her frantic eye movement to the other side of the room — it's a screaming look over there — where you spot the other well-known heavy hitters who have carved out their spot in recent news highlights.

You whip your head back around, mild horror set in your face as you take another pitiful swig of your shitty, shitty, shitty beer.

This is why there's that saying about secondary locations.

You press your palms to your eyes as you lean onto the bar.

"What's wrong with you, pretty? Bad break-up?"

Is he... seriously talking to you right now?

You pull your hands away from your tired eyes, your lips parted again but this time in total dejection. Your make-up is a little smeared; the dark circles beneath your eyes are mostly thanks to finals, but the running mascara doesn't help.

You're cute.

You wouldn't usually be his type, but... Touya's in a good mood tonight.

Your eyes rake across his face.

He isn't entirely bad-looking. The deep, purple burns serve as a reminder of just how dangerous the man before her is. The staples digging into his flesh glint in the light. Your eyes narrow in on the trifecta of piercings on his right nostril. He's tall — lanky, even.

The bartender, the guy who you're realizing is definitely the one and only Kurogiri from those wanted posters you saw on the outskirts of campus, must have slid him the gin soda that's in his hands. He levels your gaze with his own, punctuating it with a slow sip.

"I'm sorry...?" you ask, your brows knotting.

"Y'know," he remarks casually as he leans back in his chair and sips his drink; turquoise eyes flick back over his shoulder, to the gathered booth, "S'typical — dance the night away, try to forget that gut-wrenching heartache, get a lil' sloppy... Our buddy Giran loves the heartbroken ones."

Oh. So the smelly one is Giran. Good to know.

Great. Awesome. Super duper.

Your eyes flit shut in quiet frustration. You shake your head. "No. No, I... No, I look like this because I have friends whohave terrible taste in men. Like your buddy Giran—"

Then: "No offense."

Dabi actually laughs. It's a raspy sound — like a wheeze and a cough and a chuckle, all wrapped into one mildly unsettling package.

"Yer funny," he remarks, pointing with the deeply scarred finger that's holding his glass, "I like that."

"Thanks," you offer up pathetically, "I sorta feel like the court jester right now."

"That so?"

"Gotta jingle my bells a bit little more so you don't turn me into a walking ashtray."

Dabi's grin aches — the staples along his burnt jaw tug lightly and glint in the light. Oh, you're fun. He leans forward onto the bar, his forearms braced against the smooth mahogany. "So you know who I am?"

You stare absently at your half-gone beer. "Yep."

You pop the 'p'.

"That freak you out?" he asks into his drink.

"What's the answer you wanna hear?" you ask, your brows screwed up in resignation. You just want to go home. You totally want to go home with all your skin intact and no grafts needed.

"I wanna hear your digits. What's your cell?"

...It's relatively smooth, all things considered. It takes a second for it to even register that he's asking you that and not some phantom apparition floating somewhere behind you. You even double-take for good measure.

"Y'said you weren't all heartbroken, so I'm assuming you're free game," he supplants, "Unless you got a boy toy or somethin' — not that I care, though."

"And what if I'm some sort of nark?"

Dabi's brow quirks.

"I mean," you shake your head as you realize how bad the mere suggestion sounds, "I'm not but, you don't even know who I am—"

"—Giran wouldnta' brought you an' your little idol group here if he didn't trust you were clean—"

"Great. Awesome," you mutter, taking a long swig of your beer, "Hold on, we're not Girls' Generation—"

"Yea, but yer all pretty," he comments casually, leaning back against the bar as he spreads his legs. He takes up a lot of space. He's dangerously close to encroaching on yours, "What're you? University students?"

You sigh. "Right on the money."

"How th' hell did you all manage to land here?" he sounds incredulous.

"I couldn't tell you," you mumble as you finish off your beer, "Nuri is the one shacked up with Giran. She met him at the last club we were at. I'm sure it's love at first sight an' all that. Couldn't stand to part ways, so we're here."

"Riiiiight," he rasps; the gin burns his tongue, "S'a little late for a school night, ain't it, pretty?"

"You wanna tell them that?"

"Might not have to," Dabi rumbles as he juts his jaw their way, "Looks like your little troupe is on th' move."

Oh, thank god. You catch a glimpse of Nuri kissing Giran on the cheek, and the others giving their goodbyes. You're fast to reach into your way-too-little purse, snag your phone, and then unlock it with ease. Within all of five seconds, the rideshare is called.

You hesitate.

Then, you hand him your phone.

The contact screen is open.

The grin it earns you is mildly unnerving — but there's some charm to it. He's got pretty eyes, and his voice is nice enough to listen to. He didn't incinerate you either, and he called you pretty plenty of times to feed your ego properly.

You watch him enter his information. It's no doubt the number to some shitty burner he might not have in a week, but... whatever.

"Thanks for the conversation," you offer weakly as you stand; Dabi is a bit shameless with the way he rakes his eyes across your figure. His version of flirting is a little rudimentary but... it's working, "And not melting my face off, I guess."

"You leak my number," he sips his drink, "No one will ever find your body."

Right.

Cool.

Awesome.

"Didn't plan on it. On that note — my ride's here."

"Get home safe, pretty."

Dabi swigs his drink. He's tracing your figure with his eyes.

"Sounds fake when you say it," you call over your shoulder with a burst of bravery as you walk backward a few steps, hand on the door as you hold it open for your friends, "Aren't you supposed to be, like, a villain or something?"

Oh, he likes you.

And you fuckin' hate secondary locations.

#burner cell #dabi x reader #dabi x you #dabi imagine #dabi todoroki #dabi bnha #dabi mha #mha imagine #bnha #mha #dabi x y/n #touya x reader #touya x you #touya todoroki

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godihatethiswebsite · 2 months

Text

Tethered Bonds

✽ Poly 141 x f!reader (Omegaverse AU)

A lucky stroke of fate led you right into the arms of your alpha soulmates. But is it everything you dreamed it would be or just the continuation of a nightmare?

Main Masterlist ✽ Ao3

°•. ✿ .•°.•° ✿ °•.°•. ✿ .•°.•° ✿ °•.°•. ✿ .•°

✽ Part Two - The aftermath

So many of you came out of the woodwork for this story and I couldn't be more grateful for all the kind words of encouragement! I'm truly flattered by the amount of love this received for being something that randomly popped in my head on a whim ❤️

I'm glad I was able to get this part out so quickly. It might be a tick before part three, but I've already got some of it worked out. I'll still try to keep chipping away at it while I work on my other series~

Trigger warnings: swearing, angst, depression

“I saw them the other day.”

“...saw who?”

“My scent matches.”

There’s a pregnant pause as your therapist of four years takes the information in, caught off guard by the abruptness of the statement but also the further implications behind the words.

Dr. Miranda has been your life raft and confidant ever since you’d first gone to your family with the appalling reality of your newfound situation. An omega like yourself; she specializes in the treatment and rehabilitation of women who've endured abuse at the hands of their packmates and the dredges of society. Highly recommended by the United Designation Resource Center for psychological trauma.

It had taken you over a week following the incident to gather the strength to confront your fathers on the thorny subject - too ashamed of admittance and too anxious of their response. And even then it was done over the phone in the most uncomfortable video call of your life, the dour atmosphere so at odds with that blessedly clear mid-afternoon sky, its temperate climate and soft summer breeze carrying along an enchanting melody of carefree innocence.

Inside, it was raining.

The wretched bond was a gravity well, sucking you down into a chasmic abyss and siphoning your once bountiful vibrancy. Responsibilities fell by the wayside, locked away in your self-imposed prison as if the globe would simply stop moving if you only ignored its rotations. Not until both your fathers made the three hour flight up north did you muster the courage to finally remove the makeshift barricade guarding your front door, talking through the deceptively difficult act with them on the other end of the phone as the two alphas supported you during the twenty five minutes it took to overcome the all-consuming panic and usher them inside.

They stayed with you for the better part of the month, taking over where depression had failed you in your efforts to function alone. Your parents allowed you space to look after yourself, clearing away the physical filth of your living quarters and, in doing so, sweeping away the cobwebs of your teetering sanity. They scrubbed at putrid greasy plates while you scoured tainted flesh under a scalding hot stream, the dead skin cells contaminated by his poisonous touch spiraling down the drain along with your tears.

The harsh truth of the matter is that there is no escape from your own body. You come screaming into this world given one to do with as you will, to mold and shape based on lived experiences with no regard for the decisions and circumstances made outside your control. There is no space to slip between the weaved threads of time, no hands to turn counter clockwise when you make a mistake. Just a grim acceptance that the life you once aspired to was forevermore out of reach.

There was only so much to be done given your situation. As much aid as your family offered, they were as helpless of bystanders as the soul in your meat suit. Chores were completed, accumulated bills paid, a hearty meal piled high on your plate combating the recent gauntness of your face. You were cherished and fussed over like the wee babe found scattered amongst family photos in your childhood home, cradled in their arms when the horrid presence came calling, dragging a hot poker through your insides and causing mental anguish at all hours of the night.

The more time they spent around you, the more apparent it was that you could no longer stay there. The closer the proximity to your bonded alpha the more power he held to disrupt your life.

That's how you landed in Dr. Miranda’s lap. Before you'd even set foot on the tarmac arrangements had been made for a new life in a new city on the other side of the country - spiriting you away on a mission to regain your independence, the distance easing the damage he could do even as the strained bond churned.

Initially dreading having to confess the horrors you’d endured to some random unknown, she’d worked diligently to soothe your broken nerves in both demeanor and environment. A kind omega in her early forties, the subtle crows feet and laugh lines only accentuated her cheerful personality, disarming in her ability to draw out your insecurities and work with you through the trauma in a way that didn’t feel intruding.

Dr. Miranda was a veritable well of understanding, always encouraging of whatever pace you set, careful of the fragile boundaries constructed to guard your heart from further damage.

She operated as part of a larger business that provided therapeutic services and catered to all designations alike. You’d been thrilled to find there was a separate entrance away from the cacophony of the common room, bypassing the headache of having to wait amongst strangers and leading directly to her office in the back right corner of the building.

The space itself was considerably cozy, low lit warmth all plush and homely. The spacious couch against the back wall invited you to stretch out comfortably, decorative pillows available in a colorful assortment of textures - catering to a discerning omega’s personal preferences. A small diffuser wafting light refreshing mists operated as both a handy descenting spray and an emotional pick me up. Every accommodation purposeful, given special care for your emotional easement and wellbeing.

You appreciated the effort she put into making her office feel more like a living room than a sterile setting. It was easier for you to converse when it felt like you were speaking with a friend.

Bit by bit, Dr. Miranda coaxed you from the sheltered recesses in which you’d burrowed; not just a guiding hand through the concrete dust and collapsed rubble, but a mentor recovering your confidence, reminding you of the path you once walked independently and peeling back the suffocating layers that kept you from standing on your own two feet.

In hindsight, you probably could’ve broken the news of your scent match a bit less abrasively - probably should’ve led with it too.

The pair of you had been engrossed in a topic that was moreso a follow up from your last session rather than anything of actual import. Your brain had been functioning on autopilot the past twenty odd minutes, making sounds vaguely human enough to get by without requiring proper attention. Honestly, most of her words had been drowned out by the incessant buzzing in your ear that had been slowly growing in volume, throat clenching and knuckles flexing, more aware of the sweat dripping down the back of your nape than anything she had to proffer.

Eventually the dam just broke. The words slipped out like grease, lubricated in a film of oil too slick to be contained and begging to be addressed.

There’s a struggle on her face to try and maintain some level of professionalism after the sudden revelation. Knitted eyebrows spiked before smoothing back down, jaw almost dropping until she remembered herself and switched it from an ‘o’ to a relaxed flat line. She mirrored your own position on the couch from her velvet wingback chair, sitting cross legged with an air of casualness. Her only remaining tell was her hands fidgeting in her lap as if her fingers itched to shake you down like a coconut tree or pry your brain open like a valuable specimen.

Knowing the scarcity of scent bonding, this may have very well been the first time she’s come across this scenario - whether in her personal life or from her spot opposite you in her seat.

“How are you feeling about the encounter?” A loaded question if ever there was one, giving you plenty of breathing room to start the conversation however you needed and giving her a chance to compartmentalize.

You tried to focus on the initial emotions, remembering that first brush of sweet alpha pheromones on your olfactory senses. The rush of endorphins as your inner omega staked her claim with that first gulp of built up citrus infused drool.

“I didn’t know I could feel like that...” There was a breathy quality to your tone as you visibly brightened, gazing at the plush rug in the center of the room without actually viewing it, a glow to your smile that was soft in your reminiscence. “They don’t prepare you for that first whiff at the Academy. It’s almost like…”

How could you explain in the span of a few sentences what the most ardent poets struggled with over the course of a lifetime?

“It’s like when someone grows up not being able to breathe properly and they don’t even realize it’s a problem. To them it’s normal to be in a constant state of dyspnea because that’s all they’ve ever known. No one else might be complaining about it, but no one’s asked them about it either. They just assume that's how your lungs are supposed to function and carry on none the wiser.”

Dr. Miranda nodded along, ever patient as you attempted to spew out your thoughts in an at least semi-coherent structure.

“But then, one day, they’re walking behind a guy who’s fumbling with his attempt to shove a small object back in his pocket and watches as it falls to the sidewalk. They pick it up off the ground like a good citizen; strike up a conversation. Ask him about the strange contraption the guy calls an inhaler - learns there's another way to breathe. And so they go home and tell their mom what’s been going on with them and she takes them to see the doctor who gets them one of their own. And when that first dose of medicated mist gets sucked into their lungs…”

The image of a wide eyed innocent gasping in a world full of untold possibilities as if reborn from the ashes of their previous life, no longer chained down by the invisible restrictions tethering them to the globe, eyes glistening full of wonderment at how something so small can be something so cosmically life altering.

With each new breath, they soar.

You’re pulled out of your musings and back to reality as your own lungs expand, something weightless shimmering in your gaze, glassy eyed and perfectly at ease. “Now I know why they call it living.”

The words are floated around the space with a sort of reverence akin to hearing a favored childhood fairy tale read aloud at their mother’s knee. Something wistful and longing and filled with effervescent hope.

“Sounds heavenly...” Her own voice was just as breathy, living vicariously through the moment she herself hasn't experienced. Curling her legs up under herself, Dr. Miranda encouraged, “tell me more.”

“There were two of them,” you went on, smile turning playful and newly invigorated. “The first one was just this big bulk of an alpha. I mean, seriously, he was properly huge!” Animated arms opened wide for emphasis, your grin reaching almost the same diameter. “Built like a fucking linebacker or something. I can only imagine what he must do for a living. Kinda gives off scary vibes, but like… in a non sketchy way? He dresses a bit like a drug dealer, but feels more like a gym teacher. Maybe that’s just me being biased ‘cause he smells like a cupcake, I dunno.”

The energy you gave off was infectious. Dr. Miranda couldn’t help but join in with amused laughter, endeared to the way you were lighting up the room. It wasn’t often she got to see you like this, glimpsing the lighthearted woman you were before the accident. It was a welcome sight after so much negativity. “And the other?”

“Fuuuuck me, Doc.” You groaned good naturedly, head falling back to rest against the spine of the couch as your limbs went limp. “Swear to god he was the prettiest guy I’ve ever seen in my goddamn life. Gorgeous smile. Like, I’ve always been a casual fan of coconut, but after that encounter…” You shuddered. “I just wanna roll around in an entire box of fucking samoas.”

“And do these tasty specimens have names?”

Just like that, you wilted.

The temperature shifted rapidly, a violent change that dragged out of your whimsy and back into a world where life didn’t discriminate between those deserving of heaven and those who broke their way in to taint the ghosts at peace.

She picked up on it immediately, back straightening as if you weren’t the only one in the room with a chill suddenly dripping down their spine.

Your admission came from a voice far more fragile than she’d heard in a very long time. “...I never got to ask.”

Recounting the excruciating memory was like shoving needles underneath your nailbeds, bringing up the other person in the room keeping you from wanton bliss, describing the torture you’d endured witnessing them existing with their own omega unaware of the damage she’d inadvertently done. You relayed their moment of recognition and sympathy. The confusion on the poor omega’s face.

How you turned tail and fled like a coward from the scene.

“I panicked,” came the strained confession, stumbled out in a frantic rush that spoke volumes of your frazzled mental state. “I-I didn’t know what else to do! I couldn’t just waltz up to them all willy nilly and throw a wrench in whatever the hell kinda life they’d already built. I mean, she was right there! How was I supposed to fawn over the men who should’ve been mine to keep when they were never mine to begin with?!”

You flinched away from the unwanted flashback of silvery bite marks, the pale white indents plastered on her skin displayed proudly beneath the collar of her coat like an olympic medal. So at odds with the ones mirrored on your own flesh, hidden now under a thick cotton turtleneck that you fought the urge to scratch.

Dr. Miranda listened closely, keen eyes analyzing the familiar body language and monitoring your growing levels of distress. She watched as you picked apart a loose hanging thread with jittery deftness until inevitably too much unwound and fluffy white stuffing poked out between the seams of the pillow clutched like a life jacket to your chest.

“I can only imagine the hurt you must’ve felt in that moment…”

Where once your voice had been full of life, now there was only a grave emptiness. Color had been sucked from your aura the same way it had been from the room. There was no hiding from your devastation in the tiny office, the frayed threads of the cashmere pillow a reflection revealing the true turmoil roiling beneath the skin. It rotted from the inside out, exposing the vulnerable squishy interior and keeping you reliving the same brutal lacerations again and again and again.

“...I hadn’t even considered it a possibility, you know…?”

Hadn’t allowed yourself the concept of hope.

“And suddenly it was right there - the answer to all my problems. For a brief moment, I was shown a glimpse of a better life. A future… one where I didn't wake up with earth shattering headaches and relentless nausea and I’d actually have energy to do more than just be a useless fucking couch potato and there could be laughter and healing and–”

You weren’t sure at which point in your stream of consciousness you’d started crying, nor when you fitfully clawed into the padded fabric, shredding the delicate material as it twisted and stretched in your trembling hands.

“I wish I never ran into them at the store... I wish I could’ve kept living in stupid fucking ignorance. At least then they could’ve just stayed made up characters in my head. Anything would’ve been better than this–” you spat angrily, chucking the mangled remains of the pillow on the ground and gritting your teeth through the onslaught of tears. “Having them ripped away from me like some sick fucking joke! Like the universe hasn’t already crushed my hopes and dreams and laughed in my face for wanting a normal fucking life!? Well guess what, gods? You win! Okay?! You fucking win! Take my heart! I don't want it anymore!”

Consoling arms encapsulated your quivering form, the comforting florals of Dr. Miranda’s airy omega scent projecting like a protective blanket and overpowering the tart bitterness of your once sweetened pear turned ashen in your mouth.

The floodgates opened. They couldn't be stopped.

“I’m just so fucking sick of this!” Your screams of devastation become muffled against the softness of her pink knitted sweater, harsh blubbering sobs broken up by heaving gasps as you mourn the life you’ll never have. “I hate him... I hate him! I don’t wanna do this anymore! I just want my fucking life back!”

There are no words that can fix the lesions of the heart. There’s no comfort of a better tomorrow that she can wax poetic whilst drying your tears. Sometimes grief cannot be mended - only managed. And sometimes that means accepting the bad days with the learned knowledge that not all anger is made of evil.

Holding you close, lulling you into a guarded safety with a placating purr, she grants you reprieve from the mask that you wear.

Not much more was discussed in the aftermath. The remaining time was dedicated to helping you stabilize from the emotional trauma, bringing you down carefully to avoid dropping into a catatonic state. She’d witnessed it with you before - at the start of your visits. When the grief was still too near and your triggers splayed out like a million mouse traps all primed to go off. Avoiding them was all but impossible in those early days. Three hours of your life were forever lost to time, the only proof of its occurrence the foggy aftermath filled memory of cold dampened skin and sweat soaked weighted blankets clutched tight in a dark room, uncontrollable trembles wracking your form and a bone deep exhaustion as if you’d just ran ten miles.

Dr. Miranda never once left your side.

Trudging your way back to your vehicle, the air inside the car was only mildly warmer than its outer counterpart, sinking into the rigid cloth seats and listening to the laboured clicks of the old engine grappling to turn over in the bitter cold. Snowflakes gathered on your coat began to melt as it finally gave way, puttering to life and filling the space with dense heated air.

You huffed out a loaded sigh, absentmindedly scratching at the already abused skin as you felt his presence poking experimentally across the bond. As if you didn’t have enough on your plate without him adding his delightful input, sniffing around your emotions like a trained bloodhound attuned to your melancholic brooding.

He was a spiteful thing; had been since he first opened his eyes the next morning from his drug induced stupor and found the pretty thing he’d coveted had just up and vanished. You never knew when he’d invade the sanctity of your mind. The flicker of amusement from his end was the telltale proof this was all just a sick game.

The bonds didn’t allow any actual communication. There were no words passed back and forth, no sudden powers of telepathy. Just intense sensations - emotions conveyed as though tangible and speaking ideas down an invisible phone line.

The whole point of a mating bite in the first place was to bring a further cohesion to the packs. As an omega, you were the fixed point in space around which all other members orbited. A mediator of sorts; it was your job to smooth the serrated edges of an alpha’s instincts, regulating their emotional needs and nurturing them to achieve a sense of balance - and vice versa.

An omega’s naturally empathetic nature meant you were frequently prone to becoming easily overstimulated. It was an alpha’s duty to soothe your frazzled nerves.

He liked to abuse his privileges.

Sometimes he went days without pestering, others his tiresome machinations seemed unending. The longest reprieve had been just shy of three weeks, lured into a false sense of optimism that just maybe he’d overdosed and freed you from his haunting clutches. His return was a hot knife stabbing into your skull, grinding and drilling like a makeshift lobotomy for the clinically insane.

You were grateful for the miles between now softening the blows. Once he’d begun to feel the strain on the flight to your current city whittling away at the strength of your bond, he’d lashed out in unbridled fury. You’d spent the first leg of the trip huddled on your knees in the airplane stall, his mental punishment sawing into your ribs and expelling the simple breakfast you’d eaten an hour prior.

Sobs of anguish turned to tears of relief as time went on and his reach stretched thin across the continent.

The bond withdrawals came afterwards. His presence still lurked in the tether that binds you, but no more than a casual thought in the back of your mind, the quiet voice that whispers on the edge of a canyon daring you to ‘jump’.

The bond withdrawals were now the worst of your worries. It was hard to function on a day to day basis when the same distance granting you a second chance caused you to become physically - sometimes violently - ill. Instances like that, Zofran was your best friend.

Buckling your seatbelt, you waged an internal battle over whether or not to do the responsible thing of making a second attempt at grocery shopping (despite your best efforts over the past two days, you hadn’t yet figured out how to miraculously will food to materialize in your barren pantry). Statistically speaking you were most likely safe from another encounter… unless they’d pulled a you and hadn’t left with their wares either.

But if you didn’t have the luxury before to keep putting it off then you certainly hadn’t acquired it now.

Math was on your side as you emerged with a full cart of goods and a lack of new therapy material. You’d still been the most skittish paranoid thing ever, scurrying quickly through the aisles like the CIA was out to get you, scanning your periphery and emerging quickly from the self checkout lanes to hurry towards your car. But just because you’d been successful in your venture doesn’t mean you weren’t followed along by fuzzy raised brows and curious - if not judgemental - looks.

It was an odd notion - being terrified of the one thing that should’ve made you feel secure. It was all you could do to distract yourself from the frustrating realization that this was a game you’d be playing for the foreseeable future unless you shelled out the extra cash to bypass doing the chore yourself.

That would have to be a worry for another time. Right now, all you desired was to curl up in your tiny studio apartment with a home cooked microwaved meal and lose yourself in the diversion that was the food network channel.

But first: caffeine.

You ignored the nagging ghost of responsibility tugging at your ear as you pulled into a parking spot alongside the main road, stepping out of the warm confines of your car and hurrying inside the nestled hole in the wall you frequented a few times a week for a caffeinated boost.

Large crowds still bothered you even with the reassurance he wasn't there, as if he could somehow physically slink out of the bond formed between you and hide amongst the chittering rabble waiting for an opportune moment of weakness to strike. Thankfully you’d arrived after the mid afternoon rush - although there were still a few stragglers with the same mindset as you eager to escape the frosty air with something warm on an otherwise picturesque snowy winter’s day.

The chiming bell above the door hailed your arrival, festive drink flavors assaulting your nose and instantly watering your mouth. Smoky chestnut praline, rich peppermint mocha, enticing caramel brulee. Cranberry laden pastries, chewy gingerbread cookies; all folded together in a Christmasy mix laced with the pleasant aroma of freshly ground coffee beans.

Your mind zeroed in on exactly what it wanted, pinpointing the most succulent fragrance amongst the bountiful bouquet, cutting through the sea of heavy pheromones belonging to the other patrons and hitting something raw inside your weary soul.

The veritable nectar of the gods.

A rich shot of bold espresso. Sweetly caramelized with smooth, creamy, chocolatey undertones. It zapped your spine with a jolt of adrenaline, awakening your senses while simultaneously soothing them. The first relaxing sip of a perfectly hot beverage. The golden liquid flowed down the back of your throat and alleviated the tangled knots still keeping you on edge, settling like a sturdy hand on your shoulder and allowing you the chance to breathe easy.

Something about the blend had your inner omega preening, ears perked up and startling a small purr from your chest that had you blinking down at your torso in surprised confusion. You’d barely stepped foot inside the cafe and suddenly the craving had expanded tenfold, something ravenous and feral urging your steps towards the counter that you had to fight to withstand.

Shrugging off the intense hunger as a simple lack of shoving something slightly more substantial in your mouth before leaving this morning, you adjusted the strap of your purse more securely on your shoulder and raised your eyes level to the awaiting interior.

Right into the most alluring shade of brilliant azure - sparkling like sapphires and already fixated on you.

°•. ✿ .•°.•° ✿ °•.°•. ✿ .•°.•° ✿ °•.°•. ✿ .•°

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abyssruler · 2 years

Text

flowers and unplanned proposals

xiao x gn!reader

if someone gifts an adeptus with flowers, it means you are proposing to them, and if they take it, it means they accept the proposal. unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on who you ask), you weren’t aware of such a custom. or — xiao thinks you’re married, but you just thought flowers would look nice on him.

fluff. comedy-ish. accidental malewife acquisition. featuring reader being clueless, xiao being hopeless, and lumine and hu tao being your biggest supporters

It started with a walk on the road as an acquaintance accompanied you.

There’d been a wild flower by the side, with white and lilac petals that you’d thought, rather presumptuously, would suit the dour faced adeptus beside you. So, you plucked it and impulsively handed it to him, a smile on your face and a shocked one on his.

His fingers closed around the flower’s stem, the stern lines of his face softening as he gazed at the tiny petals that glittered in the sun.

You’ve never been rid of him since.

Your friend Xiao could be described as protective at best and possessive at worst. It’s not a bad thing, of course! Caring for a friend is always a good thing in your books, but sometimes, you think he takes the word ‘caring’ to an almost extreme degree.

Take, for instance, now.

“Xiao?”

He hums from his spot on the sill of your window, not even sitting, no, he’s crouched on it, balanced on the thin ledge at the tips of his toes and keeping his eyes (which oddly glowed like a cat’s) peeled for any danger. Like this, he almost looks like a bird perched on a branch.

You let out an awkward laugh. “You know, I appreciate you doing this for me, keeping me safe and all, but I think I can spend the night on my own safely.”

His head whips to you so fast you almost feared he’d get neck cramps, an expression of surprise and… hurt? on his face.

“You… don’t want me here?”

You’ve never backtracked so fast in your life. “No! I mean, yes—but not in the way you’re thinking!”

He looks forlorn now, stepping down the windowsill and shoulders hunched in a similar manner to that of a cat pulling its ears down its head. “Is this what the Traveler meant by sleeping on the couch?”

You’re not sure what to do, but it seems like he wants to sleep on the couch? Puzzled, you smile encouragingly even though you don’t quite understand his words. “Er, if you want to sleep on the couch, you’re welcome to do so?”

His face falls.

✧

“And, I don’t know, he just became all—sad? Just, I felt so bad for basically kicking him out of my room, and now that I’m thinking more on it, I should’ve just offered to let him sleep beside me. Like a, um, a sleepover!”

There’s a distinctly bashful look on your face and, oh god, you’re drawing little circles on the table with your finger, an almost dreamy glint in your eyes.

Sweet Jesus that doesn’t exist in this world, Lumine is going to barf.

She slams her hands on the table, startling you in the process as she leans down and says with an exasperated face, “Have you considered that maybe you actually like him and he—”

“What?!” you squawk, mouth open in disbelief and a mortified look contorting your features. “That’s—don’t say such things, Lumi!”

She drops back down her chair, leveling you with a look that basically said, are you for real right now?

“It’s written all over your face—”

You quickly slap both hands on your cheeks, turning your head away. “I don’t like him! How could I ever… he’s an adeptus and I…”

“And you made an adeptus sleep on your couch,” Lumine deadpans.

She can feel the way your face burned at the reminder. You slump over the table, burying your head in your arms and bemoaning your decision. “I didn’t mean to disrespect him…”

“Oh, I’m sure disrespect was the farthest thing you did to him,” she mutters beneath her breath. Broke his heart, shattered his hopes and dreams, devastated him—Lumine can name a few more.

But then, you suddenly straighten up, determination lining your face. There’s a look in your eyes that tells Lumine she should probably stop you from doing whatever idiotic thing—however in good faith it might be—that you’re about to do.

“I should give him some flowers as an apology. He always gets so… not exactly happy but—warm, that’s it. He feels warmer whenever I give him flowers.” You smile, reminiscing on whatever moments you had with him. You stand up, looking down at the empty plates all over the table before looking at her apologetically. “I’m sorry, could you foot the bill this time?”

Lumine sighs. She’s still got money from the last commission Ningguang made her do, so she supposes she can do it. Just this once. “Fine, but you’re paying for our next outing!”

You beam, thanking her before running to the nearest flower shop or wherever it is you’re going to be getting those flowers from.

“Make sure to let him sleep on your bed next time!” Lumine yells to your retreating back, ignoring the strange, almost scandalized, looks from nearby patrons.

✧

You find him at your house, completely ignoring how strange it is that a friend has complete access to your house including a spare key and extra clothes on the closet just for him. It’s simply become the norm, is all. And he’s a good—you don’t quite know what to call him, roommate? you’ll settle for friend—friend, helping you with the chores and often accompanying you to the market when you need new groceries—but only during the early mornings, of course. You know how much he dislikes crowds.

“I’m home!”

The response comes immediate and, judging by the direction, it came from the kitchen, “Welcome home.”

The large bouquet of glaze lilies interspersed with roses and qingxin flowers is heavy on your arms as you walked to the kitchen. Xiao is there, a broom in hand which he sets aside once he sees you and what you’re carrying.

“Here!” You grin, extending the bouquet forward and into his arms.

He accepts it, a flush to his cheeks and looking distinctly flustered by the gift. “I… thank you.”

“It’s an apology.”

His eyes snap to yours, iridescent gold piercing through you. There’s something almost vulnerable in the way he’s gazing at you, hands tightening around the flowers.

You fiddle with your fingers. “Well, I wanted to say sorry for making you sleep on the couch. If you’d like, you can sleep beside me tonight.”

Something in him relaxes, tension bleeding out of his posture as he smiles, small and near unnoticeable to anyone who didn’t know him so well.

For some reason, the sight of it makes your heart leap.

Lumine’s words repeat in your mind.

Have you considered that maybe you actually like him?

No, you think with dread, absolutely not.

✧

“Yes,” Hu Tao crows in delight, “You’re absolutely in love!”

“See, that’s what I tried to say yesterday, but nooo. Oh, Lumi, Xiao is just a friend,” Lumine grouches, imitating your voice and utterly failing because while she may be strong enough to fight monsters and gods, that girl has absolutely no talent when it comes to mimicking.

Your palms cover your face that feels warm to touch. “I do not sound like that. And it’s true, we really are just friends!”

“Of course, because friends do things like living together and sleeping on the same bed and holding hands—” You open your mouth to protest, but Hu Tao doesn’t let you interrupt, “—don’t deny it! I saw you last week near Liuli Pavilion, and he was holding your hand and carrying a bag of food!”

“He’s just really helpful! He’s an adeptus,” you argue, though it sounds weak even to your own ears.

“And do all adepti live with a human, do they sleep with them—”

“You make it sound so lewd, Lumi!”

“—do they hold their hands and go grocery shopping at five in the morning with them?” Lumine pierces you with those honey gold eyes of hers. “Did you know I barely have anything to do in the Adventurer’s Guild here in Liyue besides babysitting and errands because someone—namely, an adeptus who coincidentally goes by the name Xiao—keeps killing all the monsters within the area?”

Hu Tao cackles. “He always asks about you whenever I encounter him at Wuwang Hill.”

You level her with an incredulous look. “What were you even doing there?”

“Hiding bodies, duh!” At your horrified look, she winks. “Just kidding!”

You shake off Hu Tao’s laughter and pinch your lips together. “Look, it’s—we’re just friends. That’s all there is to it.”

Lumine huffs, “Yeah, sure, because friends like you two give each other flowers everyday. How does your house still have space in it for more?”

You would’ve refuted her words, would’ve argued that no, you don’t give each other flowers everyday, just on a regular basis—but Hu Tao’s sudden silence concerned you more than what Lumine said. The funeral director turns her head to you with wide eyes.

“You gave him flowers?” she asks, an odd tone to her voice.

Your brows furrow at her uncharacteristic seriousness. “Um, yes? I do it all the time.”

She leapt forward, grabbing your shoulders and lips twitching into something you could almost call glee. “And he accepted it?”

“Why wouldn’t he?”

Hu Tao lets go of your shoulders to tilt her head back and laugh. Not the nice little giggles she does after a successful prank, no, this is more manic. The kind that wouldn’t make you think, oh how sweet, but instead makes you think, oh this girl belongs in a facility.

Even Lumine seems confused by her reaction, joining you in watching her like she’s just grown two heads. Hu Tao takes one look at both of your expressions and dissolves into another fit of laughter.

“Oh, dear. And you don’t even know what it means!” she says in between laughs.

Lumine, having had enough of being in the dark, grabs Hu Tao’s face with both hands and forces her to look at her in the eye. “What does it mean?”

Hu Tao grins, gaze darting to you. “When you give an adeptus flowers, it means you’re proposing to them.”

You and Lumine gape, understanding dawning on your heads, though there’s horror on your part at what it could mean.

But Hu Tao doesn’t stop there, “And if they take it…”

You await her next words with bated breath, Lumine seemingly on the edge of her seat as well.

“…It means they accept your proposal.”

Lumine’s screech of delight at this newfound information drowns out the metaphorical sound of your world falling apart and being built anew.

✧

You come home in a daze, eyes blankly staring ahead and unaware of your surroundings until you blink, and suddenly, you’re sitting at the dining table, a plate of steaming shrimp balls being placed in front of you.

Xiao crouches by your chair, examining your face with worried eyes. “Are you well?”

Your throat shrivels up. All the words and arguments you’d been planning to say earlier dying on your tongue. So, instead, you nod. He doesn’t outwardly look relieved, but the softness in his touch belies his care as he places a single stemmed qingxin flower on your palm.

It’s still fresh, you notice, dew gathering on the petals and the scent still present.

Xiao sits on the chair opposite yours, looking at anything and anywhere but your eyes. “I plucked it from the highest mountains of Jueyun Karst, blessed by Cloud Retainer and said to ward away unwanted dreams.”

You stare down at it, at the white petals that feel soft against the pads of your fingers, heart beating out of your chest and hands clammy and breaths labored, a pleasant twist to your gut as you realized that he’d gone out of his way to climb a mountain and have it blessed by an adeptus just to give it to you. There’s being friends, handing each other flowers they saw on the road or bought at a shop, and then, there’s this.

Your mouth feels dry, your chest feels full, and there’s something on the tip of your tongue begging to be let out.

“Xiao,” you start, finally gaining the courage to look up and meet his eyes. “What are we?”

His lips part, eyes widening the slightest amount that tells you he’s unsure what brought this question on and how to answer it.

You shake your head. “Never mind. Just tell me this—are we… engaged?”

At this, Xiao seems to relax. “No.”

You barely have the chance to feel a mix of relief and disappointment, though why you’d feel disappointment at having proof that you and Xiao really are just friends—

He smiles, a small one but no less brighter for it. “We are married, aren’t we?”

And oh.

Oh.

It’s not until now, with the confirmation of everything you dreaded (everything you’d hoped and wanted and yearned for desperately) that you realize how much you’ve longed for something more with him—how much you’ve longed for him.

“Xiao,” you say, eyes crinkling at the corners and cheeks aching with the intensity of your smile, “I love you.”

He startles, blinking up at you with wide eyes, red creeping up his cheeks, but before he can say anything you know he’s not quite prepared to say yet, you continue, still a little indignant at discovering you’d been married without a clue.

“But I demand a proper wedding ceremony!”

word count: 2.2k

edit: the semi part 2 y’all have been asking for

#if you’ve read my other xiao fic ‘the adepti’s guide’ i want u to know that this is a look into reader hu tao and lumi dynamic in the future #but more chaotic and insane #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #xiao x reader #genshin xiao x reader #gn reader

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yanderenightmare · 1 year

Text

JJK ! IMAGINE

Okkotsu Yuta x darling

TW: yandere

He’s silent for the most part – pensive and gentle with you – barely touching you aside from mellow strokes lacking a lasting feel and featherlight kisses that only barely leave your skin wet.

Everything seems somewhat virginal. Awkward. At a distance…

But you know he watches you when you sleep – and it gives you goosebumps every night.

He’ll sit in the chair by the window instead of lying next to you, his dour gaze lingering on you and your shape draped in the thin duvet. He’ll listen to your soft snores, and watch you dream – thinking about what he wouldn’t do to keep you like that, safe and sound and perfect – coming up short.

There’s so much ugliness in the world… he needs to keep you from it.

“Yuta…” You croaked groggily, waking up and squinting at him where he still sat in the dim moonlight. “You’re freakin’ me out…” Twisting in the sheets, you pull them aside to free space on the bed before yawning. “Come to bed already.”

He sits for another moment and you think he’s gonna stay there like every other night, keeping guard or whatever it is that he’s doing – but then he stands. Taking your invitation silently, lying down on his side of the bed, making the mattress sink – and it’s only then that you regret it, feeling your heart flare with dread, reminded of how he’s a psycho who’s had you trapped in his house for months without telling you why.

You lie awake in wait of his touch – but it never comes.

Snores come first.

You roll over again, looking at him – disheveled strands of dark hair splayed on the pillow, tired circles beneath heavy eyes – his face serious even in his sleep. It was strange… he didn’t look like a man capable of hurting anyone. But though he’s never hurt you, aside from keeping you here against your will, you know he’s very capable of violence. You’ve seen the bruises he dregs home, but more than that, you’ve seen the blood drenching his white clothes when he comes home bruise-free.

He doesn’t sit in the chair at all the night after. He comes straight to bed alongside you. And you suppose him lying there doesn’t make much difference for you so long he keeps his hands to himself – which he does until you fall asleep.

It’s sometime later in the night when you awake to the feeling of him brushing cold fingers over the exposed skin of your shoulder, down your upper arm, and further upon your hip.

Your breaths stick in your lungs as he shuffles closer, soon pressed flush against your back – his lips at the shell of your ear.

He wraps his arm around your midriff and presses himself harder into you, and it’s only then that you realize he’s crying. Stirring against you in suppressed sobs as he buries his face into your hair.

You cringe. Listening to him sniffle as he holds your body snug. Opening your mouth and closing it again, you suck your lip in hesitation before calling his name. “Yuta?”

“I’m sorry for waking you-” He apologizes – and you wonder if you should just stay quiet, maybe he’d settle down and return to his side of the bed soon. But it seemed a little unlikely.

“Why are you crying?” You ask instead.

“I’m scared…” He says, placing his forehead against the nape of your neck, both arms locked over your stomach and tugging you close for comfort.

You tense at his warmth – never having been so close to him before. Swallowing thickly. “Scared of what?”

His breath shivers against your back where he has his head bowed as his fingers dig into your sides enough to make you release a tiny whimper. “Scared that I won’t be able to protect you.”

You shiver a bit now, scared to move. You’re voice weak. “Protect me from what?”

He lifts his head and places a kiss on your shoulder. Nuzzling against the grove of your neck. “You shouldn’t worry about it.” He dismisses, gently, in a whisper, in that lilt he so often uses with you as though he fears anything louder would rattle you. “It’s my burden.”

He shifts and scoots himself perfectly behind you, holding you snugly in strong arms.

“Sleep, I’ll keep you safe.”

#yandere jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen #yuta okkotsu #yandere yuta #yandere okkotsu yuta #yandere yuta okkotsu #jujutsu kaisen x reader #yuta #jujutsu kaisen yuuta #jujutsu kaisen yuta okkotsu

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moonstruckme · 8 months

Note

Just thinking about reader being in the position of having to take care of poly emt!marauders 🥹 whether they’re physically hurt or just mentally /physically tired, reader is there for them!!!! Instant self care night and spoiling the boys to the max, anything to make them feel better and help prevent work burnout. Reader may not be a medical professional but def knows how to take care of the boys individually and together <3

Thanks for requesting love <3

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 931 words

You’ve been waiting to hear someone’s key in the door for the past half hour. You feel oddly like you’re preparing for guests, having gone out to get a bunch of food and drinks you don’t always keep stocked and making sure all the blankets are washed for when the boys get home. You’re almost nervous.

James had texted you a few hours from the end of their shift to warn you that the other boys might be in a dour mood when they got home. He was sparing with the details and naturally showed no concern for his own mental state, but you gather it was a rough day. You know it’s bound to happen, in your boyfriends’ line of work, but it still breaks your heart when it happens to them. You wish desperately that you could sequester them in their own little bubble of happiness, where none of the bad things in the world can touch them. God knows they deserve it.

A key twists in the front door, and you all but jump up, hurrying to fetch the blankets from the dryer.

“Hi, angel,” James calls into the house, false cheer in every note of his voice.

“Hi,” you reply from behind an armful of blankets. “How are you, loves?”

Sirius looks sullen, but Remus manages a half-smile. “Been a bit better,” he says, “but alright.”

“Yeah, I heard.” You deposit the blankets in a heap on the couch, walking over to Sirius and snaking your arms around his middle.

“I tattled,” James says to Remus’ inquisitive look. Remus only hums.

Sirius’ strong arms bind you tightly to his front, his face pressing into the juncture of your shoulder and your neck. “Thanks,” he murmurs into your skin.

You pet his hair. “Do you guys feel like watching a movie? I got snacks. Or we could have a shower?” You’re rambling a bit, but it’s hard to stop. “Or if you just feel like going to bed, I get that too. I washed the sheets.”

Remus takes a big breath. Gives you another smile. “That all sounds so nice, dovey. I’m game for a movie.”

You smile back at him, giving Sirius a good squeeze before releasing him. “Alright, settle in on the couch,” you instruct. “I’m going to go grab some things from the kitchen.”

“I’ll help,” James says instantly, making to follow you. But you turn around, setting your hands on his chest.

“Go sit down,” you tell him gently. “I’ve got it.”

He raises his eyebrows at you but does, pivoting back towards the couch.

“Fuck, it smells good in here,” Sirius says, and you smile to yourself. You’d lit his favorite candles an hour before you knew they’d be getting home.

“These blankets are so warm.” James is snuggling up underneath one when you come back in, Sirius having made himself comfortable in the space between Remus’ legs. You start distributing snacks.

“They just came out of the dryer,” you say.

“Sweetheart.” Sirius looks at you, his gray eyes already a bit less solemn. There’s a few dozen thank yous and I love yous wrapped up in that one word. You give him a little smile to let him know you hear them.

You’ve gotten Remus a few different kinds of chocolate, and his lips part in surprise when you dump them all on the coffee table in front of him. You wanted him to be well supplied. If anyone broke Remus’ heart, you’re positive chocolate would come spilling out.

“Does anyone want tea or hot chocolate or anything?” you ask.

James shakes his head, and Remus says, “We’re well stocked here.” His voice is soft, warm with fondness. “Sit down with us.”

You cozy up to James’ side, letting him tuck you underneath an arm and trying not to mind that he smells a bit like hospital. Remus lets Sirius pick the movie, a testament to how upset they must all be, and you nose affectionately at James’ cheek.

“Do you want to have a shower?” you ask him quietly. “I know you usually like to wash the day off of you.”

“I will soon,” he replies, turning his face to smear a kiss across your forehead, “but I think I just want to do this for a little while first. Be with you guys.” You look up at him, and he smiles, seraphim. “You’ve really prepared quite the setup for us, haven’t you?”

You turn your cheek into his chest, having a hard time congratulating yourself when your boyfriends all seem so heartbreakingly glum. “I know you’ve had a hard day,” you tell him.

“Mm.” James drops another kiss on the top of your head, giving you a heart-aching squeeze. “Well thanks, angel. This is really nice.”

You look at Remus and Sirius on the other end of the couch, the latter with his cheek squished up against your boyfriend’s chest, scrolling through options on the TV while the former wipes a smudge of chocolate from the corner of his mouth. You tilt your head back to see James. His eyes are a bit wearier than usual behind his glasses as he smiles down at you.

“Are you okay?” you ask softly.

His smile falters, brows pulling up a bit in the middle at the concern heavying your tone. He rubs your upper arm, and you wriggle your arms around his waist in return, hugging him awkwardly.

“Yeah,” he tells you, no false lightness undercutting the candor in his voice. “We’ll be fine, sweetheart. We’ve got everything we need right here.”

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euphemiaamillais · 8 months

Text

poker face - snowjanus x reader

a game of strip poker with your roommates turns into something a little more…

modern!snowjanus x reader roommate au

cw: 18+//threesome//oral (f. and m. receiving)//fingering//piv sex//anal//stripping//drinking

‘you guys are so unfair,’ you whined as you removed a sock, having lost to their higher hands. they’d changed the rules so it was only the loser that had to strip, and unbeknownst to you, both the boys were more than amateurs at the game.

‘it’s only the rules,’ coriolanus teased, taking a swig of his beer.

you watched the two boys exchange glances as sejanus dealt another hand to each of you, communicating in their own psychic way. it vexed you, the two of them did that a lot, especially when you brought a guy home.

‘well, it’s not like they’re the real rules,’ you shook your head, picking up the cards and sighing as you found yourself with a two pair, again.

a smile flickered upon coriolanus’ lips as he saw his full house, and he once again looked at sejanus, who didn’t seem too put off by his straight. still, it could’ve been better, but by the dour look etched upon your features, they could tell you were disappointed by your hand.

they moved their chips forward, coriolanus bargaining the most, and you sighed, knowing that it was likely you’d be the one clutching at a blanket by the end of the evening, attempting to shield your body. you don’t even know why you’d agreed to this, but you couldn’t deny that you were dying to see the boys undressed. you’d accidentally seen one too many-a-things to pique your curiosity, especially when either of them wore grey sweatpants.

‘fuck,’ you sighed as coriolanus put his cards down on the table, revealing he had a full house.

sejanus raised his brows nervously, but sighed with relief as you showed your defeated hand. his straight would mean he didn’t have to remove his clothing, which was scarce, as both boys were lounging around in sweatpants and shirts. there wasn’t much to take off.

‘this isn’t fun if i’m the only one who’s going to be stripping,’ you frowned, but coriolanus just laughed.

‘shouldn’t have agreed to play with us,’ disappointment filled his eyes when he saw you remove another sock. ‘oh, and rule change… next time you lose, you need to take off a real item of clothing. no more socks or watches.’

you shook your head, and reached for the glass of red wine perched on the coffee table. if you had to continue, you decided that you could at least get a little help from the liquor, just as the boys did.

sejanus dealt a hand this time, and your lips curled up with a grin when you realised you’d gotten a royal flush. you wanted to bet big this time, and pushed all your chips in. both boys could see you struggled to keep a poker face, but sejanus let out a defeated sigh when he realised he only had a pair.

‘well boys, which one of you is stripping?’ you giggled, showing your royal flush.

coriolanus showed his full house, a little disappointed that you’d won this time. beginner’s luck, he supposed. sejanus tossed his cards down, a little disgruntled that he’d lost. because you’d made such a hefty bet, you’d raked up all their chips, grinning.

‘come on sej, what are you going to take off, pants or shirt?’ you teased, watching as a blush crept across his cheeks.

he pulled off his shirt, revealing a muscular and taught torso, causing you to giggle again, face burning. coriolanus didn’t mind either, and you caught his eyes going wide as your roommate removed his shirt.

‘see, that wasn’t so hard now, was it?’ you cajoled, basking in the giddiness of your win.

you dealt the hand this time, body humming in anticipation. you wanted to luck out again this time, but frowned when you scooped up your cards and were left with merely a straight.

this time, it was coriolanus who lost, and you watched as he too removed his shirt. you noticed a dog tag dangling from around his neck, obviously from when he’d joined the army on an impulse, or so he’d said, and felt your mouth water a little at the sight of his well-toned chest.

‘oh boys,’ you sighed, clucking your tongue. the alcohol had made your lips a little loose, and they seemed acutely aware that you were now the most clothed one there.

another hand was dealt. you had finally been defeated, and sighed as you decided what would be best to remove. you couldn’t deny the burning between your thighs as the two of them sat on the couch, shirtless, while you were sat cross-legged on the floor.

you could be extra teasing and remove your bra from underneath your dress, but then if you lost again, you’d run the risk of being only in your panties. however, it wouldn’t be as fun if you pulled off your dress, wanting to make them wait. you saw the way they were eyeing you, slouched over, eyes fixated on your every movement.

you lifted up the back of your dress, and unclasped your bra. you were a little relieved you’d chosen to wear the pretty one, baby blue and lacy, and as you slipped it off your arms, you heard their breaths catching in their throats.

‘you’re such a fuckin’ tease,’ coriolanus sighed, running a hand through his golden curls.

‘hey, just think about what she’ll have to take off next, coryo,’ sejanus laughed, but coriolanus still frowned with displeasure.

‘you never said which order i had to remove the clothes,’ you murmured, tossing the bra at the couch.

coriolanus caught it in his hands, a surprised look creeping across his cheeks as he realised what he was clutching. he could smell the faint scent of your perfume, miss dior, was it?—and felt his cock twitch a little in his sweatpants. god, it would be hard to keep hiding the fact that he wanted your lips around his cock.

‘mhm, well next time, i’m going to make you remove that dress,’ he replied, causing sejanus to let out a guffaw.

it was no secret between the boys that they both wanted you, enthralled by your pretty smile and the way you were always so touchy with them. they’d been planning this for a while now, hoping that you just couldn’t refuse the game—and you’d been more than willing when it had been suggested. secretly, you fantasised about taking both of them, watching as one stretched your pretty little hole out while the other fucked your throat.

‘oh really?’ your brows quirked up. ‘you’re going to make me?’

coriolanus nodded, eyes dancing with want. you pursed your lips together with curiosity, forgetting that you were supposed to actually be playing poker.

‘coryo,’ sejanus laughed, watching as the two of you shamelessly flirted. he felt a little pang of jealousy with the attention not being entirely on him, but he was sure he wouldn’t be left out with the way you’d been eyeing his big arms before.

‘what do you think, sej?’ coriolanus inquired, turning to look at his friend. ‘think i can make her take her dress off?’

sejanus pressed his lips into a thin line, eyes narrowing in on you. your face was flushed now, and though you tried to hide it, you were trembling a little nervously. he nodded his head.

‘yeah,’ he mumbled, breath catching slightly at the thought of your naked form.

you stood up from the ground, and made your way over to the boys who were draped across the couch. you stood between them now, watching as their eyes flickered to the bottom of your dress, which barely covered the top of your thighs.

‘well, are you going to make me?’ you mused, fingers clutching at the hem of your dress.

coriolanus’ hands grasped at your thighs, and you couldn’t hold back the gasp at the feeling of the cold touch on your skin. they travelled to grip at the hem, brushing your own clutching hands away, and he hiked the dress up past your panties.

‘oh my,’ he sighed as he revealed a pair that matched the bra you’d tossed at him some time earlier.

sejanus let out a groan, and unable to keep his hands to himself, he grabbed your arm. unlike coriolanus, his touch was warm; pleasant. the alternating sensations sent your head into a spin, and you let your eyes flutter shut.

coriolanus pulled you down against his thigh, and your eyes opened again, watching as he slipped the dress over your head. you shivered at the feeling of the cool air brushing against your bare skin. both boys groaned at the sight of your breasts, perfectly pert, nipples cold and hard. sejanus couldn’t help himself, and ran a hand over the sensitive skin.

‘oh,’ you sighed as he stroked your nipple.

your core burned, and you found yourself clenching around coriolanus’ thigh, searching for a way to relieve the tension. he could only watch in awe, eyeing your perfect body. he felt the wetness from your panties as you began to grind against his thigh.

‘fuck,’ you groaned, body humming with pleasure as sejanus continued to run at your hard nipples. he had both of his hands cupped around your breasts, watching as you continued to search for release against coriolanus’ thigh.

he couldn’t have that though, the way you were gasping, and the friction of your cunt upon his leg made the blood rush to his cock.

‘she’s so pretty coryo,’ sejanus sighed. ‘i wanna fuck her.’

you were a little taken aback by the words coming out of his mouth. sejanus was usually sweet, you would expect coriolanus to speak with that sort of frankness. it only made your thighs burn more, knowing that they both wanted you.

‘yeah? how does that sound, princess?’ coriolanus asked, shifting a little uncomfortably as he tried to accomodate for the straining bulge in his sweatpants.

‘i want you both,’ you mewled, looking all pathetic already. you’d had such control before, teasing them, and now you were a mess, rubbing your wet pussy against coriolanus’ leg.

‘both?’ coriolanus gasped. ‘greedy, are we?’

you nodded dumbly, rutting helplessly against him. you could feel yourself coming undone, but before you could edge your way to your orgasm, coriolanus pulled you off his lap and put you down between himself and sejanus.

both boys are straining in their pants, and you can see how hungrily they’re eyeing you. the wine removed any shyness you’d had about your body, but you’re still very conscious of the fact that you’re in nothing but your panties.

‘don’t tease her so much, coryo,’ sejanus’ tone was laced with a tone of plea—he wanted to get on with things, he just couldn’t help himself, he was throbbing inside his boxers, tip dribbling a little with precum.

you smiled innocently at sejanus, but your eyes were dancing with desire, and the heat between your legs had not ebbed. you could see how hard he was, and wanting to help him, you ghosted a hand over the bulge.

he let out a groan, and coriolanus watched greedily, jealous that the attention was removed from him. you couldn’t help yourself, and slipped your hand past the waistband of his pants and boxers, beginning to palm his cock. he was thick, and throbbing against your hand.

‘didn’t know you were so desperate to fuck me, sej,’ you teased, pulling his cock out before your eyes.

your mouth watered, but you were aware of coriolanus’ heavy-breathing, laced with jealousy. you settled onto your knees on the couch, ass perched close to coriolanus’ face, and bent down to give sejanus’ cock a kiss.

‘fuck,’ he sighed, and you looked up at him through your thick lashes, seeking his permission. ‘go ahead.’

you moved the flat of your tongue around the tip of his cock, licking up the drops of precum, circling until you were satisfied that it was all gone. coriolanus groaned at the sight of you watching you glide your tongue across sejanus’ cock, and couldn’t ignore the fact that your ass was practically presenting itself to him.

you moved your tongue up the underside of sejanus’ cock, watching as he groaned, hand fisting in your hair. you felt coriolanus’ hands on your ass, but were too distracted by sejanus that you didn’t notice him sliding your panties down your legs.

you wrapped your lips around sejanus’ tip, and began to take him further in your mouth, watching as his hips bucked at the wet warmth of your saliva coating his cock. you let out a gasp as you felt coriolanus’ fingers glide across your wet folds, and pulled away from sejanus for a brief moment to see him fingering you from behind.

‘so fucking wet, look at her, sej,’ coriolanus cooed, thumb pressing against your clit.

you gasped, but moved so you were taking sejanus down your throat again, head bobbing as your tongue slipped up and down his thick shaft.

‘i wanna make you cum,’ coriolanus mused, watching as you squirmed from his touch.

sejanus’ hips twitched a little as you took him fully in your mouth, balls slapping slightly against your chin. he couldn’t help but buck against your lips, watching as you gagged. your eyes pricked a little with tears, but you pushed them away, determined to take him as deep as you could until he was coming down your throat.

coriolanus bent his head down and buried himself between your thighs, tongue lapping gently at the slickness pooling at your hole. your pussy looked beautiful from behind, and it tasted even better, just as sweet as he’d imagined. you moaned against sejanus’ cock, the hum sending him over the edge.

‘jesus,’ sejanus huffed out as he came down your throat.

thick, hot ropes slid onto your tongue as he slipped himself out, and you swallowed him up, even taking care to suck a little at the tip to make sure all his cum was making its way down to your belly. he whined from the feeling of your lips around his overstimulated tip.

sejanus had to pry you off of him for fear he’d be coming again, and you turned your attention back to coriolanus, who was currently fucking your hole with his tongue. you whined at the sensation, eyes trained on sejanus, who’s lips were curved into a grin at the sight of your fucked-out face.

‘coryo,’ you whimpered, moving away from him.

as much as you were enjoying the sensation of his mouth on your cunt, the position was uncomfortable. you turned around to face him, and forced him down against the couch, hovering over him teasingly.

‘i’m going to sit on your face, and you can finish what you’re doing,’ you commanded, watching as coriolanus gripped your thighs, dragging you down so you could perch your cunt upon his face.

‘i can’t believe he’s letting you boss him around,’ sejanus laughed, surprised that his friend had surrendered his usual dominance to you of all people.

‘mhm, well he’ll get to tell me what to do once he can make me cum,’ you remarked, groaning as his tongue worked effortlessly at your clit.

sejanus came to sit on the other side of you, not wanting to miss out on all the fun. you leaned in to him, your noses brushing as you let out another gasp as coriolanus’ tongue pressed against your sensitive nub, lips suckling in an attempt to bring you to your pleasure.

sejanus’ lips were soft against yours, and you moaned into the kiss, too far gone with the pressure of coriolanus’ skilled tongue against your dripping folds. he wrapped his hands around your neck, fingers catching in your hair, pulling you closer. you opened your mouth, allowing him to slip his tongue inside.

you were so desperate, at the same time grinding against coriolanus’ mouth, feeling yourself unfurl beneath him. heat burned at your core, the tight knot in your stomach forming. coriolanus’ cock was hard again as he felt your juices coat his lips, wanting nothing more than to bury himself deep inside of you.

moaning into sejanus’ mouth, you clenched your thighs and felt yourself come undone, skin dancing with the fire of your want. you wondered if coriolanus was suffocating between your thighs, but he continued to lick at you as if you were his last meal, lapping up all the delicious slick that you dripped onto his tongue.

‘so good,’ you gasped into sejanus’ mouth, his fingers tickling the nape of your neck.

you pulled yourself off of coriolanus, who’s lips were wet with your juices, and you felt your core tingle again. he looked so hot, drunk on your pussy, blue eyes wide with a hunger to have you all to himself.

sejanus and you parted for a moment, watching as coriolanus grabbed at your naked form, his hard cock pressing into your back. you let out a sigh, rubbing your ass against his cock, and he cast a pleading look.

‘wanna fuck you now,’ he begged, a little pathetic.

sejanus coughed, reminding coriolanus that he had to share you, after all, you had more than one hole. it would be cruel to deny them their pleasure.

‘i’m sure you boys can decide who gets what,’ you drawled, letting coriolanus pull you into his lap.

both boys were silent for a moment, debating with one another through their eyes; coriolanus’ boner pressing into you, a reminder of just how much he needed you. he wanted you to be his, but sharing you with sejanus was only fair, especially when you’d been so insistent.

‘coryo?’ sejanus quirked a brow.

coriolanus pursed his lips, growing increasingly aware of the way your ass ground against his cock. he didn’t know how much longer he could take it, or if he’d finish without even being inside of you.

'should i fuck you in the ass, hm?' coriolanus murmured in your ear. your cheeks burned, but you nodded hazily, too distracted by the thought of both of them inside of you.

'sej? does that suit you?' you asked, lips pursing as you felt your core begin to soak with heat again.

he didn't know what to say, words caught in his throat like dirt. of course it suited him. he had dreamed of a time like this, burying himself deep inside of your cunt, watching you moan his name...

'yeah, 'course,' he managed to utter, and you cast a soft smile.

sejanus laid back against the couch, and you left a pouting coriolanus to clamber onto sejanus' lap, straddling him. coriolanus watched as you wrapped your hand around sejanus' cock and stroked him a few times, thumbing the precum on his tip. when you decided he was wet enough, you lowered yourself around him, gasping as his thick cock stretched out your walls.

coriolanus gripped at your waist from behind, stroking the small of your back with his ringed hands. he'd pulled down his sweatpants, and his cock, long and throbbing, was pressing right against your ass. you moved up and down on sejanus, hands stroking the smooth expanse of his toned chest, watching as he moaned as you clenched around him.

'so good,' sejanus sighed as the sound of his cock sliding in and out of your wet pussy echoed across the room.

struck with jealousy, coriolanus barely gave you warning as he pressed himself inside your other hole. you gasped, brows knitting together at the slight discomfort of his long length shoving inside of you.

‘is she tight, sej?’ coriolanus asked, groaning as he began to buck into your hole.

your head swam with overstimulation, core burning as they both filled you with their cocks. you couldn’t help but gasp as you rode sejanus, feeling coriolanus’ cock pressing against a particularly tight spot in your hole. you were in a daze.

‘so tight,’ sejanus mused, gripping at your hips, attempting to bury himself fully inside of you.

‘it’s too much,’ you murmured, already completely fucked-out on their cocks.

coriolanus’ cock throbbed as he felt your hole squeezing around his cock, clenching as sejanus stretched your pussy. he didn’t know how much more he could take, his balls aching to shoot their load into you. he thought of you being filled with both of their cum, watching the pearly stuff dripping out of your cunt and ass. that sent his head into a spin.

‘fucking hell!’ coriolanus grunted, sound of his balls slapping against your mingling with that of your wet cunt against sejanus’ cock.

‘she’s so good, isn’t she?’ sejanus mewled, his thighs trembling a little beneath you.

‘taking us so well,’ coriolanus said, breath hot against your ear. the feeling of the hot air sent a shiver down your spine, and you could feel yourself being pushed over the edge.

‘gonna…’ you huffed, a little exhausted. ‘cum.’

the boys laughed, watching as you fucked yourself dumbly on their cocks, groaning and sighing with delight as you came undone, cunt gushing with wetness. sejanus moaned at the feeling of your slickness coating his cock, a milky ring forming round the base as your pussy slipped on and off his shaft.

‘such a slut, fucking yourself stupid on our cocks, huh?’ coriolanus cajoled, fastening his pace.

he tugged on your hair when you didn’t respond, and you let out a cry, feeling the stinging feeling of your hair strands standing on the ends of your scalp.

‘you gonna answer me? or have we fucked you so good that you can’t answer,’ coriolanus shook his head. ‘such a little whore.’

you moaned as you felt sejanus tremble beneath you, spilling his load inside your cunt. he whimpered a little as he came, cheeks burning and red with abashed innocence. you’d just felt so good, the way your wet walls clenched around him, taking him so well.

‘god,’ sejanus mumbled, continuing to thrust lazily into your pussy as his cum trickled out.

‘oh sej,’ you giggled, pressing a kiss to one of his reddened cheeks. he looked so sweet, big brown eyes welling with a bashful expression.

‘couldn’t help myself, you’re just so good,’ he mused, grunting as you changed position, sliding off his cock so your ass was pressed pertly against coriolanus’ cock.

‘want you to cum in my pussy too, coryo,’ you murmured, turning back to glance at him.

he frowned, but he couldn’t say no to the offer. he pulled his cock from your ass, throbbing and red; and a small groan played upon his lips as the pleasure ceased for a second. you both moaned as he slid into your wet, cum-soaked cunt, and he gripped at your hips.

feeling extra teasing, you reached down to grab at sejanus’ now flaccid cock, watching as his hips writhed at the excess stimulation. his eyes were stretched into a look of wide-eyed plea, but the sounds that were stumbling from his lips suggested he was yearning for it.

‘please, too much,’ he uttered, but his cock came to attention again, hardening as you ran your hands up and down.

coriolanus was close, clutching at your hips so hard you could feel the bruises forming. he loved the way your skin turned red between his fingers as he pounded you, another way he was making you his. your wetness, mixed with the feeling of sejanus’ cum, made his own release threaten to occur.

‘gonna fill you up, hm? such a slut, being filled with both our cum, taking it so well,’ coriolanus grunted against your ear as he pounded into you.

sejanus whimpered as you squeezed at his tip, hips thrusting helplessly, and a moan escaped your own lips as coriolanus gave a final, rough buck into your used cunt. he felt spurts of hot, sticky cum paint your walls, dripping down his aching cock.

coriolanus fucked the cum back into you, watching with an impish grin as your cunt sucked in his load; his cock was dripping with it too, and he felt turned on wondering whether it was his or sejanus’ that was costing him. either way, you were their’s now.

‘so much for strip poker,’ you laughed, breath heavy with exhaustion.

sweat beaded all of your skin, your breasts glistening beneath the ambient light of the room. you cast your eyes to the cards and chips strewn across the coffee table; your clothes tossed carelessly on the floor. your head swum with the heady excess of your bliss, and you sighed.

‘well, i’m not going to say no to another round,’ coriolanus murmured, causing the three of you to give an exasperated laugh. you wondered if you’d ever look at strip poker the same way again. probably not.

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