#Fanfic Feature Friday
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Fanfic Feature Friday!
Hey! Welcome one and all to another fine fanfic rec!
Hey! You! I know you! You’ve been here before! Well, thanks for coming back! And you! I don’t know you, but welcome nonetheless! For joining me on this fine Friday, I have a little fic for you! A Xena fic to be precise. Are you ready? I wasn’t when I read it, so brace yourself. Harnessing Desire by Xenaawp! Click the link, give the author some props, and don’t forget to come back next week…
#ao3#archive of our own#Fanfic Feature Friday#Gabrielle#Gabrielle x Xena#lgbtq#Xena#Xena Warrior Princess#Xena x Gabrielle#XWP#featured
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it's still Friday! for a few more hours! so that means... i didn't miss fic feature Friday this week. 🫡
even tho i do ship obikin, i didn't always, but their relationship has always been important to me! and this one is great because you can read it as romantic OR platonic, which i appreciate. 💞 (and it's truly lovely either way!) acts of service ARE ways to say 'i love you.'
He already knew because the answer has always been there. Hidden in small gestures. In making his caf every morning. In having his back on the battlefield. In letting him use his lightsaber without asking first. In lecturing him for ten entire minutes every time Anakin ends up in the medbay. In letting him put his cold feet under his legs after only one long look of resigned suffering. In caring for him, no matter how it exasperates Anakin.
⇒ Other recs
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Fic Feature Friday
Original concept link
Thanks for the tag @strugglequill <3 <3 <3
Title: A Pouch Of Galleons Author: @phantomato Fandom: Harry Potter Ship(s): Orion Black/Tom Riddle | Voldemort Rating: Explicit
Summary: Lord Voldemort’s return to Britain after a decade abroad is not so triumphant as he had hoped. Without resources or support, he turns to Orion Black to earn the money he’ll need to flourish.
I will always love rare pairs and when fics have included a Black family member. Pay attention to the tags! Phantomato is a great writer.
~~~~~~ Open fandom tag: @stopme @soup-of-the-daisies @roalinda @bullets-from-another-dimension @thistlecatfics and whoever has read this far, consider yourself tagged. c:
#fic feature friday#hp fanfic rec#hp fic rec#hp fic recs#tom riddle#lord voldemort#orion black#the most noble and ancient house of black
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It's Fic Feature Friday!
I decided to just go rooting through the bookmarks I have on ao3 from when I first started reading fics (I don't even know if I left kudos on this, tbh. I'll have to reread it properly later) for this week.
Hope someone enjoys it! :)
For a refresher on Fic Feature Friday, see @the-last-dillpickle's original post
Julie and the Phantom's Fluffy Alive AU Goodness:
hey we're taking on the world (i'll take you where you wanna go) by haha_im_stads
Summary:
“I have an idea.” The other three stared at Reggie, expectantly, motioning for him to continue. “I say we each pick something we’ve always wanted to do that we’ve been too scared to do before tonight. Something crazy - not anything boring or some stupid cop-out shit. Actual things on the bucket list.
--
or Julie and the Phantoms have just been signed to No Ghost Records and to celebrate, the band decides to do things they've always been scared to do. From skinny dipping to love confessions, the band is in for one hell of a good night
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New Feature
Going to post a new feature here. Once a week, I will post a chapter of a fan fic I wrote for the 2008 NaNoWriMo event, a story I called Reflecting.
Having been unhappy with Ryan's departure and the lack of a proper finale for "Friday the 13th: The Series", as well as similar sentiments about the CBS late 80s "Beauty and the Beast" ending and the loss of Catherine on that show, I came up with an idea to fix all the problems that annoyed me.
This is fan fic, remember. Just my way of giving characters I liked proper, happy endings. I hope you will enjoy it. But I'm just happy sharing it, regardless. For this week, here is the prologue.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Reflecting - Prologue
Friday the 13th: The Series
Lewis Vendredi made a deal with the devil to sell cursed antiques. But he broke the pact, and it cost him his soul. His niece Micki, and her cousin Ryan inherited the store... and with it, the curse. With their friend Jack Marshak, they vowed to get everything back.
Their mission was never easy, they sacrificed much and suffered often. Yet they grew - as people, as friends, as a family. They were resolute, determined to remove this horror from the world.
But an encounter with an evil man and his attempt to raise the Antichrist nearly destroyed Ryan’s soul. Instead, he was transformed back into a child, his memories gone. Sending Ryan away for his own safety, Micki and Jack continue their mission with their friends, Johnny and Rashid.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Beauty and the Beast
Vincent: This is where the wealthy and the powerful rule. It is her world, a world apart from mine. Her name is Catherine. From the moment I saw her, she captured my heart with her beauty, her warmth, and her courage. I knew then, as I know now, she would change my life forever.
Catherine: He comes from a secret place, far below the city streets, hiding his face from strangers, safe from hate and harm. He brought me there to save my life; and now wherever I go, he is with me in spirit. For we have a bond stronger than friendship or love...and although we cannot be together, we will never, ever be apart.
Such was the story begun of two souls with all the odds against them. Yet they persevered and overcome everything to fall in love. Fate intervened, however, in the form of an evil man named Gabriel. He did what nothing else could - separated Catherine and Vincent, perhaps forever. Vincent avenged her death and saved their son, but was left without his true and only love, believing her dead and gone, his heart shattered.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A year has passed since Ryan’s departure and Catherine’s death. Yet their stories are not over, for the lives of all concerned are about to cross in a story of love and hate, life and death, resolutions and second chances for a happily ever after.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Next Week: Chapter One
#friday the 13th: the series#micki foster#80s tv#ryan dallion#jack marshak#curious goods#beauty and the beast#vincent#catherine chandler#father#fanfic#fan fic#story#new feature#reflecting#my story#nanowrimo
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01 — 𝘎𝘖 𝘈𝘏𝘌𝘈𝘋 𝘈𝘕𝘋 𝘊𝘙𝘠, 𝘓𝘐𝘛𝘛𝘓𝘌 𝘎𝘐𝘙𝘓
༊*·˚ LUST FOR LIFE — task force 141 x reader
featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price
warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, legal age-gaps, inexperienced reader, virgin reader, corruption kink, slight power imbalance, praise, degradation, light dom/sub, slight daddy kink, oral, vaginal sex, your father's a dick, very minor soapghost, aftercare
series masterlist. read on ao3. fanfic playlist.
// NSFW CONTENT UNDER THE CUT //
Stay in your room, your father had said. Don't bother us tonight, your father had said. They are dangerous men that do dangerous things, your father had said.
Yet, here you were, standing at the bottom step of the stairwell, hiding behind the wall adjoined to the living room, listening in to the men on the other side.
You were bored out of your brains. It was a Friday night, and like hell was your over-protective father going to let you go out or party. And the fact that he wouldn't even introduce you to his only friends? Or let you leave your fucking room?
It had left you pissed off to no end, so.
Here you were.
"Bloody close," you hear a voice grunt, deep and gravelly. It sends heat to your stomach immediately, and it's almost embarrassing.
You hear the sound of a hand slapping a shoulder, and the bark of a laugh. "Aye, still got the cash you're gonna owe me?" This voice has a -- Irish? Scottish, maybe? -- lilt to it, humour and kindness embedded into its layers.
"He'll find a way outta paying," a third voice chimes, laughter in its tone.
Someone else clears their throat. "You're all gonna get yourselves indebted to each other at this rate," a fourth voice says, sounding almost resigned.
"You all need to shut the fuck up before she sticks her nose down 'ere."
Your spine straightens, and fury simmers in your blood. Did he have to be such an asshole? Why was your father so... so anti your existence? Why was he so ashamed of you, yet so overbeating?
"She's not a kid anymore, you really oughtta to lay off," the man with the scottish accent says, slightly stern in his delivery.
"If you met her, you'd understand how fuckin' annoying she is. Always wants me to deal with her emotions, as if they're my fuckin' problem," your father replies venomously. Your stomach has dropped to your feet, you're sure of it.
There's a low whistle in response, and a silence settles behind the wall. An unsettling one, full of animosity. The fact that you can tell that from behind the wall says a lot.
"I'm gonna go out and get some drinks. Maybe some dinner. Needa get out of this fuckin' house for a bit," your father says with a grunt, sounding like he's gotten up from the couch. "Call if you lot need anythin' while I'm out."
A few grunts of agreement, and after a few seconds, the front door opens and slams shut.
You let out a small breath of tense relief, eyes fluttering shut as you deeply exhale. The immediate relief of having your father out of the house is immense.
"I feel bad for her," you hear the third man speak, voice quiet and low. "You hear how he speaks about her -- what's he like with her?"
"Gaz, whatever you're thinkin', drop it," the first speaker grits out, impatient and tight.
"He's right," the scottish one says with a huff, "Poor kid. She's legal and he isn't letting her out on a Friday night? 'Nd he fuckin' wonders why she's upset."
"He must have his... reasons," the fatherly voice of the fourth speaker says, although his tone says otherwise.
You swallow, slowly creeping off of the bottom step and onto the wooden floors. Front pressed to the wall, you move just the slightest bit, to allow yourself a small peak into the loungeroom.
There are four men, like you'd expected, and they're...
They're big. There's no other word that comes to mind, except for big. Tall, broad, packed with muscle. Military-grade men.
Your mouth is suddenly parched of any moisture, and your brain turns to putty.
Selfishly, stupidly, you spend another dangerous moment to admire the four. The couch curves, the four of them seated on it, facing the TV hung on the wall. They're backs are to you.
Or.
One second, they're all blissfully turned the other way, and in the next, one's head turns, and deep brown eyes meet yours.
Your eyes go wide, and you immediately dart for the stairs, heart in your throat.
Rushing up, trying to stay quiet but still hurrying, you make it to your room in record time. You shut the door behind you, chest tight and breaths harried as your back presses to the wood.
Stupid, stupid girl, you think.
They are dangerous men who do dangerous things.
That's what your father had said, wasn't it? So what were you thinking, risking a look? For what purpose?
Then, there's a knock on your door.
Your eyes go impossibly wide, and your lips purse together as you slowly move away from the door. With one breath, you train your face into a pleasant, kind smile as you slowly open the door, only allowing a bit of your room to be shown.
"You're his daughter, ain't ya?"
You have to crane your neck, eyes going up, and up, and up, until you meet the man's eyes.
The skull balaclava shouldn't cause your face to heat, or your breaths to quicken, but they do.
"I -- um, yes, I'm really sorry for eavesdropping," you mumble, eyes flitting to the floor and hand squeezing the door in an anxious gesture.
A hand grabs your chin, forcing your gaze to meet the man's chocolate eyes once more. They're imploring, impossibly so, and your thighs squeeze together against your better judgement.
"Come watch the game with us," he says, and although the sentence isn't a demand, it feels like one.
So, like the good girl you are, you nod, his grip loosening as you do.
You forget that you're in your tiniest sleep shorts and your thinnest tank top as you follow him down the stairs, his large hand resting on your lower back.
This was the most touch you'd ever felt from a man that wasn't in a familial way, and your nerve-endings feel like they've been electrocuted.
Whatever conversation that was happening silences as soon as the two of you walk into the lounge room, your hands squeezing each other painfully tight.
Your anxiety was warranted in this situation, wasn't it? Surely, it was okay to be scared of four men whom you'd never met.
Four sets of eyes are trained to your body, and there's a slight tremble in your hands as you sit in the spot balaclava had gestured towards.
It seats you in the middle of the four of them, and your heart beats impossibly faster as you settle into the leather, feeling so small in comparison to the men surrounding you.
It's a new, albeit not entirely terrible, feeling.
"What's your name, sweetheart?" The man furthest to your left asks, and when you meet his eyes, they're warm and kind. His lower face is mostly covered in a beard, and he's wearing a light brown hat.
You bite at your inner cheek, gaze flicking back to your thighs as you weakly say your name.
Their gazes burn your skin, like a living force, and your hands form nervous fists in your lap. The warm yellow light of the living room lamp creates a warm, safe ambience that doesn't exactly fit the emotions swirling inside of you.
You flinch only slightly when a warm hand moves to rest on your knee, the thumb rubbing comforting circles on it that ease your tight muscles slightly.
When you look to the owner of the hand, it's to see a warm grin and a faux mohawk.
"You're so tense, lass," he says, his mouth quirking into a knowing smirk. "We don't bite."
"Don't speak for all of us, Soap," the man sitting on your close left says with a charming grin, his eyes meeting yours when you turn to him. "I'll ask nicely, love, don't worry."
You nod, slowly, in some sort of trance. This entire situation doesn't feel entirely real, more like a figment of your deepest desires.
Ones you've never let yourself think about, except for the darkest of nights and the dirtiest of feelings.
"Don't scare the girl," the man with the balaclava says, eyes narrowing on the two men beside you.
"Says the one with the fuckin' mask, ya weirdo," the scottish one says with a scoff of a chuckle. Your mouth pulls into a soft grin without you realising, and the hand on your knee tightens ever so slightly.
"I'm Price," the man who you've deemed the most sensible of the group says with a warm smile. His head gestures to each of the other three men respectively. "That's Gaz, Soap, and Ghost."
You can't say that you're all too familiar with the names, nor how...different they are, but you nod nonetheless, reserving the names in your memory.
"Father dearest never talked about us?" Gaz asks, eyebrows softly furrowing in question.
You shake your head, almost apologetic in the movement. "He doesn't like to tell me much, he's, ah... private."
There's a few returning grunts of understanding, and they settle your nerves just a little bit more. For men of their size, they were surprisingly good at keeping you feeling safe and comfortable.
"What're you doin' all alone on a Friday night? Pretty young thing like you, 'nd you're not at a club? A date?" Soap asks, and if you notice that he's moved just the slightest bit closer to you, you don't say a word.
You feel your face heat, and you murmur out your reply. "Never been to either," you admit, pulling at a thread in your sleep shorts with nervous jerks.
Ghost settles further into his chair, legs spread in an almost dominant way. "Surely you've at least had your first kiss?"
If you could get anymore embarrassed, you're sure you'll combust on the spot.
You softly shake your head.
"Aw, love, you're adorable," Gaz says, a hint of a smirk on his features. His dark eyes glimmer in the light, and you lick your bottom lip to wet it.
Price's arms rest on his knees, and his eyes seem trained on you, debating some sort of inner conflict, before they firm with some kind of resolution. "Y'know, we've been training rookies lately," he states, but with a knowing undertone that everyone in the room seems to pick up on except for you.
"That we have," Ghost says, his voice sending shivers down your spine as he nods in agreement with Price.
"How about we train you, bonnie?" Soap asks, his hand moving just the slightest bit higher on your thigh.
You swallow, mouth dry.
"Um. Like, train me... how?" You ask, although there's some part of your brain that knows all too well what area they're thinking of.
Gaz's hand moves to sit at the nape of your neck, stroking in soothing movements that leave your eyes half-closed and glassy. "How about I show you how to kiss, love?"
Your stomach hollows, and your chest rises and falls in heavy beats. Nervously looking around the room, you squeeze your eyes shut as you nod shortly.
Soap's hand tightens around your thigh, a barely hidden warning. "Words, baby, or you're goin' back to your room."
The threat instantly has words flying out of your mouth. "Yes. Please. Just... be gentle?"
All four men seem to huff a laugh at that, but Gaz nods, dimples showing as his smirk deepens. "I can do that."
He pulls you in, and your eyes flutter shut as his lips meet yours.
The feeling leaves you entirely dazed, your nervous system alighting with signals as your thoughts seem to pause, if only for a second. It's nothing like you'd expected, and butterflies erupt in your lower stomach.
He pulls away, not having breached your mouth, and you must look as out of it as you feel because he laughs.
"That good, love?" He asks, teasing and entirely prideful.
You nod, a bit too fast and enthusiastic, before his hand pulls away from your nape. The loss is mourned, briefly, before your attention pulls away from Gaz and instead to Soap.
"Gotta learn from all of us," is all he says, before his lips crush against your own. Where Gaz was tentative and soft, Soap is all energy and desperation.
His hand squeezes your thigh, and when it had moved from your knee to pushing against your tiny shorts, you haven't an idea.
You can't find it in yourself to care, with his relentless attack on your mouth, your lips, your mind.
When he pulls away, you realise it's because Ghost's moved to stand, and his hand is in a tight fist in Soap's hair, pulling his face away from yours.
"Actin' like a fuckin' mutt," Ghost mutters, tone laced with vitriol. It's degrading, and yet Soap doesn't seem phased in the slightest.
You're about to inquire about that when your attention's caught by Price, his knees spread and patting his thigh. "C'mere, sweetheart," he says, and like a dog on a leash, you do.
His unbelievably large hands grab your hips as he seats you in his lap, and with how he's got his legs spread, it forces you to sit over his groin.
It's a compromising position, and the heat that rushes to your core is an entirely unknown feeling.
He doesn't move his hands from your body as his eyes devour it, before they meet your gaze with a warmth to them that has you shivering.
"Show me what the boys have taught you, hm?" He says, and with shut eyes and a stiff movement, you press your lips to his.
He groans, pleased, his thumbs rubbing circles where your skin's been revealed by your tank top. No one's ever touched you there, not in this way, and it has your pussy wet.
When he pulls away, he licks at his lips, as if he's devouring your taste.
"You're so pretty, sweetheart, mm? No wonder your father's got you all locked up," he says, and the reminder of the source of your anger has you wanting to do entirely too reckless things.
Like kissing the four men he warned you about.
Like doing more, maybe.
...Maybe.
His hands force your hips down, and you let out a small whimper when your clit presses against his belt buckle, the action sending pleasure shooting up your spine.
He raises a brow, catching the change in expression and your small sound. "What's wrong, pretty?"
And then, he pulls you down again, deeper this time, and the movement has your breath hitching, core burning with need.
"Oh, you naughty little girl," he says, and the words have your mind turning into some sort of mouldable clay, entirely able to be controlled by whatever these men wanted to make of it. "So needy, ain't ya?"
Someone presses against you from behind, and a belt buckle presses against your lower back.
"My turn to feel those lips, innit?" Ghost says from behind, leaning down to whisper his next words next to your ear. "See what all the fuss 's about."
The idea that you're being passed around, like you're some kind of... of whore has you entirely speechless in the most positive of ways.
You feel filthy, and you love it.
Leaning your head back, you manage to make eye contact with the large man, before his lips press to yours, upside down.
He devours, all encompassing, his tongue slipping into yours without any hesitance. You're clumsy, unsure, but he makes up for it with experience and dominance. The entire act has you woozy, needy for more of them, more of their touch.
You don't expect for Price to start forcibly rotating your hips, forcing you to grind against his lap, but it forces a moan from your mouth, the sound getting devoured by Ghost's overpowering tongue.
"Who knew she'd be such a desperate slut?" Gaz asks, as if you're not there, as if you're just something to be observed. It causes another moan to leave your mouth, and Ghost detaches himself from you with a grunt of his own.
"Think she liked that," Soap says, amused and proud, in a strange sort of way. "Wanna be used, baby? Taken by men nearly twice your age?"
"Yes," you say, on a groan as Price's motions speed up, the pleasure so new and different and good.
Then, he stops, and a whine comes out of you before you can stop it.
Price makes a condescending noise in response. "Poor babygirl needs all the attention, hey? Needs her little pussy played with?"
"She looks like a goddamn mess, cap," Gaz says, his hand coming up to rest on your head. He gives comforting pats, not unlike one would with an obedient puppy.
Ghost's hands come around your waist, and before you even process what he's doing, he rips your sleep shorts in half, leaving you completely bare.
"Didn't think to wear panties, dumb girl?" Ghost asks with an appreciative groan, his large hand cupping your now exposed pussy.
With a whimper, you shake your head, your eyes squeezed shut at the embarrassment and nudity. No one had ever seen it before, and now, four of your father's friends were getting an eyeful.
"Lemme see if she's nice 'n wet for us," Soap murmurs, picking you up from Price's lap in a princess carry.
It doesn't even last two seconds before he's splaying you over the now empty couch, your hands pathetically covering your most private of areas.
"None of that, sweetheart," Price says with a 'tsk', grabbing both of your wrists in one hand and pinning them to the couch above your head, leaving you effectively defenceless to the men.
Soap's hand moves down your stomach, before he pauses for just a moment. "This okay, baby?"
You nod, because yes, this is most definitely okay.
Gaz gives you a stern look, so you quickly fix your mistake. "I -- yes, sir, it's okay."
There's a surrounding sound of approval, and Soap smirks from where he stands beside your hips. "Sir, aye? Like the sound of that."
With that, his finger slides down your pussy, and your eyes shut with a soft moan. His hands are rough, scarred, calloused from years of work on the field, and they're so much larger than your own.
"Think she likes it, sir," Ghost says, taunting Soap, whose eyes are completely transfixed on your glistening pussy.
"Not the only one," Price says with an approving murmur, his hand tightening around your wrists. The sense of powerlessness has you aching with desire.
Soap's finger continues to rub against your slit, not breaching your entrance, instead continuing to tease and amplify his touch. Your eyes are shut, too embarrassed to look at the mess you're likely causing on the fabric, and too nervous to see the expression on the men's faces.
"Do you play with your lil cunt often, princess?" Ghost says, voice darkened with lust.
Your face feels like it's burning, but you nod. "Sometimes. I -- ah," you break off with a moan as Soap's thumb presses against your swollen clit.
"Be a good girl and answer when spoken to, love," Gaz says with a sound of disappointment that has you aching to amend your mistake.
"I'm sorry, sir, I, yes. Sometimes 'm just needing to, um, y'know..." You trail off, trying to preserve any amounts of dignity you had left. You were aware that masturbation was normal, but you'd never discussed it with a single soul, and talking about it felt like laying your soul bare.
Price's other hand moves to gently brush your hair from your face, the gesture so at odds with Soap's sensual movements.
You're about to say something, what, you aren't exactly sure, when Soap's finger roughly enters your soaked pussy. A loud whimper escapes your lips at the sudden intrusion, and the sheer size difference of his finger compared to your own.
"Aww, baby, it's alright," Soap coos, and it's so fucking condescending. It's cruel, almost, as if you're so dumb that you can't even form your own thoughts.
Which is, honestly, more true than you're willing to admit.
"'Atta girl," Ghost groans when your whimpers only increase with every thrust of Soap's finger.
Gaz's hand moves down to replace Soap's thumb on your clit, using the pads of his fingers to roughly circle around it. That sensation, mixed with Soap's intrusion, has your back arching slightly from the couch.
"Think she's close, Cap," Gaz says, conversationally, again treating you like you're not entirely capable of voicing your own feelings or thoughts.
"Mm, that right, sweetheart? Close already?" Price echoes, the hand not around your wrists going to squish your cheeks together, causing your lips to pucker. "What a pathetic girl, hm?"
Those words, those demeaning, humiliating words, only stoke the fire in your stomach, and your eyes burn with unshed tears as you shakily nod.
As soon as you do, however, Gaz pulls away, and Soap's finger leaves your pussy entirely. You groan, eyes opening slightly to see what could've possibly caused them to stop.
"You look so upset, baby," Soap laughs, and his smile is no longer the jovial one it had been mere minutes before -- no, it's been replaced with something much more predatory, something much more dangerous.
Dangerous men.
Ghost moves, then, moving your legs with much more care than you'd expected from the large man, before moving to kneel at the end of the couch where your legs had been. Hooking your knees over his shoulder, he effectively folds you in half.
"W-what are you doing?" You ask, almost frantic, utterly confused at your current state.
He leans down, hooking his balaclava over the tip of his nose, before there's searing wet heat at your core, causing you to throw your head back with a loud moan.
Gaz chuckles, "So dirty, love. Like having the big bad Ghost with his head between your legs, huh? Like having the attention of men with blood on their hands?"
Oh, and the confirmation -- the proper, hard proof, that they killed, that they truly were as dangerous as your father had said --
"Yes, fuck, please, oh my god," you ramble, almost incoherent with your words as you body trembles with the feeling of a mouth at your pussy. "Jesus, don't stop."
You can hear laughter around you, some words being passed between the men, but your focus is entirely on the tongue dipping into your folds, licking at your essence like a man starved. Like you're his only salvation.
Soap's hand is in Ghost's hair, a complete parallel to the kiss the two of you had shared, and he's pushing Ghost further against you, manhandling him like a toy for you to grind against, for you to take advantage of.
"I'm gonna, oh, please, I'm close," you cry out, eyes squeezed shut yet again as Ghost's ministrations only double in enthusiasm.
"Yeah, sweetheart? Gonna cum all over his face? Go on, ride it, there we go," Price eggs you on, his hand patting down your hair, massaging at your scalp as you lose yourself to the pleasure of it all.
You cum with a desperate keen, tears finally spilling down your cheeks as you ride out the high, embracing this moment for the beauty it is.
It doesn't hit you, not at first, the full extent of your actions.
Ghost pulls away after your whimpers turn into ones of overstimulation, pressing a soft kiss to your inner thigh, your twitching pussy, and then your inner knee as he carefully sets your legs back down on the couch.
"Such a good girl, aye?" Soap asks, rubbing at your tense calves with expert strokes and pressure. "Did so well for us, darlin'."
Your head feels like it's been filled with cotton, and your mouth is in a similar state as you nod dazedly.
You're not sure when, but at some point, Price gently moves you to lay your back against the cushion of the couch. "Need you to drink something for us, sweetheart, okay?"
Gods, this part? Them treating you like a princess, like you're something worthy of taking care of, it's almost as good as the orgasm they'd given you.
Gaz comes into view with a glass of water, and when he gently moves your chin to open your mouth, you let him pour it down your throat.
It feels almost like you're entirely too weak to do anything by yourself, like your ability to function has been completely removed by these men. It's intoxicating, the kind of feeling that could be as addictive as the most threatening of drugs.
The water slides down your throat, and it's as if it cools you from the inside out, your heartbeat slowly coming down from the quickened pace it was previously at.
Price picks you up, cradling your head to his chest as he sits down, the other three settling down on the couch as well. Gaz, sitting beside Price, moves your legs to sit over his lap, your feet in Soap's. Ghost sits to Soap's left, his eyes focused on you as you get comfortable, burrowing your head closer to Price.
If you could stay in this moment forever, you think that you'll be a very happy woman.
Closing your eyes, you drift into a space between sleep and awareness, and when they flutter open again, you realise that your previously exposed pussy and legs are now hidden by your sweatpants that had been laid on your bed, ready to be put away.
Price's hand is in your hair, softly playing with the strands. His hand encompasses your entire scalp, almost, and if you weren't completely exhausted, that fact alone would have you ready to get on your knees.
"What're we gonna do?" Gaz whispers, and you realise with a start that they must all think you're still dozing. "I mean, we seriously fucked this up."
"Not yet we haven't," Ghost interrupts, voice still gravelly and low, but with a hint of warmth. "This doesn't change anything."
"This changes everything!" Soap hisses back, incredulous, his hands stilling from where they were rubbing into your feet with practiced movements. Were they all trained masseuses, or something?
No. Trained killers, your mind unhelpfully supplies, and a chill runs down your spine.
Oh god. Oh god. What had you done? Seriously, what the actual fuck had you done? You just.
You just lost your virginity to four of your father's very lethal, very dangerous friends. Friends who are nearly twice your age, at that.
Oh. God.
"Laswell will be expecting correspondence by three," Price mutters in a voice akin to a whisper. "You boys know what we have to do."
What? What were they talking about? Who was Laswell? What did they have to do by three?
Your mind whirrs, like a hamster in a wheel, before the sound of keys jingling on the other side of your front door has your entire body freezing.
Oh god.
Oh. God.
"Shit," Gaz grumbles, and between one thought and the next, you've been bundled up into a warm chest, the movement fluid and shockingly quick. A hand at the base of skull softly pushes your head against a warm neck, and your legs hang over a muscled arm. "I'll take her upstairs. Be quiet and quick."
There's murmurs too quiet between the other three as you're taken up the stairs, two steps at a time, by the man whose fingers had been on your pussy, at most, only an hour ago.
You're aware that you've been taken to your room when the door clicks behind you, the familiar path to it engrained in your memory, even with your eyes closed and in someone else's arms.
The smell of vanilla and caramel is a comforting and familiar one, and you realise that you'd left your candle burning all night.
It's really the least of your worries, but that thought manages to snag at your conscious like an annoying fly.
"I'm so sorry, kid," Gaz whispers, gently laying you down underneath your bedsheets, before pulling them up and over your lazed form. "I'll try my best to talk some sense into 'em."
You're not sure what he could possible mean -- what the fuck was even happening, what your life was even becoming, but his words are nothing if not sincere.
His tone is almost... apologetic, in a way, and you reserve that thought for later. When you're not pretending to be awake, when you're still not slightly out of it from your first orgasm caused by someone else, when you're not in the middle of the worst moral conflict of your life.
Your window's slightly open, allowing a soft breeze to brush over your still slightly heated skin as Gaz presses a soft kiss to your forehead, brushing your hair back.
"Get off me!"
Your father. That's your father's voice, and it sounds panicked, angry -- not unusual, but still, the cause of it was nearly always you.
And those specific words, what --
"Y'know, Laswell found out somethin' pretty interestin' the other day," a voice that you recognise as Ghost's says, tone mocking interest.
Gaz moves away from you, before going to the window and looking out at whatever scene is happening down there. Somehow, he hasn't realised you're not asleep -- you'd kept your breathing pattern the same as it usually was when you're asleep, some youtube video you'd watched months ago finally coming in handy.
You can hear them all clear as day through the small opening of the window, and Gaz can too.
"Aye. Somethin' 'bout some info bein' leaked," Soap continues Ghost's train of thought, and you're so lost it's almost pathetic.
But, you continue to listen, desperate for any source of understanding for whatever the fuck was happening down there.
"You can't possibly think it was me!" Your father yells, his voice full of venom and rage. To have it not be directed at you is a rare moment, and you allow yourself a small breath of reprieve.
"We know it was you," Price says, before sighing loud enough for it to be heard from your room. "The way you spoke about that kid of yours was enough to cement the idea."
"She's a fuckin' waste of space, and where do you get off on caring how I treat my kid? Has nothin' to do with the job!"
Those words hurt. Like an actual, physical wound, almost.
Gaz swears under his breath, and you can feel the tension ooze out of him like a wave. It's... oddly comforting.
There's the sound of a fist hitting a jaw, and it takes everything in you not to race to the window and look at what's going on yourself.
"Jesus fucking christ!" Your father hisses, and you put two and two together. One of the three men down there had punched him -- if you had to take a guess, it was Ghost.
"You've never been one of us, and you'll never be one of us. You sellin' us out was the last straw, mate," Soap snarls. You can hear him spit on the ground, before another sound of fists flying makes your heart race.
There's a moment of silence, until two things happen in the span of five seconds.
First, your father screams, "Please! Don't --"
And then...
A bullet.
The sound of a trigger being pulled.
The sound of a bullet ringing through the air.
The sound of a final breath.
Your eyes fly wide, and you immediately stumble out of bed.
Gaz's gaze meets yours, and there's nothing but apology in them. No guilt, just apology.
He doesn't stop you from looking out the window, where your father's body lays in the grass, blood leaking from the wound now sitting between his eyes.
And when you turn to him, he doesn't stop you as you land a punch to his jaw.
a/n. CROSS-POSTED TO AO3 ummm so did i PLAN for this to become an actual fic? no. not in the slightest. but i was writing the fingering bit and was like. what if her dad died? and there's an actual plot? so uhhh here we are! anyways hope yall enjoyedddd if u guys know me u know polyamory is my SHIT so there will very likely be more poly!tf141 x reader to come. ty for reading mwah mwah mwah
#🤍 : lust for life#⌨️ : love's writing#cod mw2#ghost cod#cod x reader#ghost mw2#john soap mactavish#mw2#simon ghost riley#soap cod#tf141#tf141 x reader#john price#kyle gaz garrick#captain price#price x reader#gaz x reader#soap x reader#ghost x reader#gaz garrick#cod#kyle garrick#gaz mw2#gaz cod#soap x ghost#soapghost#call of duty x reader#task force 141#task force 141 x reader#cod smut
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Fixing the view
Eddie Munson x optician!reader
A/N: I was just bored at work, okay? And my first contact lenses customer being some dangerously cute guy wasn't helping at all. I know, this one's a bit specific, but I just felt like writing it.
Summary: When Eddie’s contact lenses become an unexpected issue during a night in with friends, you step in to help, revealing a softer side of Eddie you hadn’t noticed before. What starts as a simple favor quickly becomes a quiet, intimate moment, leaving both of you questioning if there’s more beneath the playful banter.
Warnings: Brief eye contact discomfort, Mild physical contact (touching face, applying eye drops), slight romantic tension, reader being an optician
Taglist: @violettsoul @evileyeandthecattywhumps
Masterlist
Wordcount: 817
If you want to be tagged in coming fanfics or if you want to request something, feel free to send me a dm or an ask. 🥰 Likes, comments and especially reblogs are always welcome. 🤗
You hadn’t exactly planned on spending your Friday evening in someone's basement, but when Gareth asked you to join them after their gig you couldn’t say no either. With your beer in hand, you were trying to follow Gareth’s theory about Jar Jar Binks actually being a Sithlord, but your focus was quickly shattered as you noticed Eddie Munson blinking way too much than what would be normal.
“Hey Munson,” you called out, cocking your head as you faced him. “Are you trying to tell me some secret in morse code for the past thirty minutes or what the hell is wrong with you?”
Eddie stiffened, feeling a flush rise to his cheeks he awfully tried to cover by feigning indifference. “It’s nothing, really. I think I just fucked up my contact lenses,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Your eyebrow arched and couldn’t help that amused smile creeping across your lips. “How the hell did you do that?”, you said, crossing your arms and giving him a look that dared him to answer. But he just shrugged, clearly hoping you wouldn’t push any further.
But much to his dismay you stood up, moving toward him with that I’m done with your crap look. “Alright, let me see. No way I’m going to watch you squint like that for the rest of the night.”
As you stood right in front of him, he immediately threw his hands up, instinctively trying to put some distance between you. “Hell no!”, he called out, a bit too quickly, “I’m not gonna let you touch my eyes!”
You sighed and rolled your eyes, but there was a teeny tiny smile tugging at your lips. “Jeez, Munson, stop bitchin’ around, okay? I’m an optician. I actually know what I’m doing.”
“Yeah! Stop bitching around!”, called Gareth, clearly amused by the scene unfolding in front of him. Eddie shot him an irritated look, but everyone around just leaned back, sipping at their drinks, leaving him with no support.
Then he looked up to you, weighing his options, his gaze locked with yours as if he was challenging you. After a moments thought he sighed, reluctantly shifting to face you. He grumbled something under his breath and leaned back in the chair, letting you step closer, way closer than he’d expected, actually.
“Alright, look up,” you instructed. You placed a hand on his shoulder as he did as you said, his head tilting back so you could take a look. At first he flinched when he felt the gentle touch of your fingertips on his cheek. And to his surprise his mind started to race as he couldn’t help but notice how close you were, feeling your breath on his skin, warm and soft, just like your touch. A shiver ran through him, his skin tickling under your touch. And hell, he kind of liked it. Just for a moment, before he cursed himself for it.
You inspected his eye with a determined look, gently lifting his eyelid to locate the contact lens. For a moment he held his breath, silently admiring the features of your face he never really paid attention to before, the curve of your lips, the little crease between your brows as you were focused on his contact lens that stuck to his upper eyelid. He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry as you took your time, your hand resting lightly against his face. And for a split second he wondered if you were intentionally taking this long.
“I got some eye drops for dry eyes. I think that’ll help,” you said and turned to fish a small bottle out of your bag. And as soon as you turned around, your fingers no longer on his skin, he already missed their soft warmth.
With the bottle in hand you gently held his chin to lift his head again, pinching his eyelid with your other hand and holding his eye open, then you pressed the drops in. He blinked rapidly, the contact lens finally slipping back where it belonged, a couple of drops streaking down his cheek. You reached forward without thinking, carefully wiping them away.
“See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?,” you said teasingly, but your hand lingered on his face for a moment longer than necessary, the hint of a smile playing at your lips until you finally leaned back.
Eddie couldn’t fight the grin that slipped onto his face and he felt like some idiot. But soon he huffed, rolling his eyes and trying to regain his usual smirk. “Yeah, whatever,” he muttered, but didn’t pull away as quickly as you expected, seemingly enjoying the unfamiliar warmth of your presence.
And as you took a stepped back, you noticed the slight blush that crept up his neck, finding it oddly satisfying to see him, for once, at a complete loss for words.
#stranger things#did i just kinda romanticize contactlenses? maybe#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie x you#eddie x reader#eddie munson#eddie x optician!reader#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson fanfic#eddie stranger things#eddie munson stranger things#stranger things fanfiction
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Little Pet - M.S.
Controversial fanfic.
Based on a dream I had (and a fantasy of mine too).
Summary: in which, Matt hasn’t been paying attention to you that much and you reach your limit, initiating an argument with him. After a few minutes of screams, he leaves frustrated. Hours later, he comes back, finding you still mad at him, and he decides to try a different tactic with you this time.
Warnings: CNC KINK, smut, initial non-consent, unprotected p in v, pet names.
If you’re not into this topic, please keep scrolling and don’t read.
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You’d been simmering for days, the resentment growing with each passing hour. Matt’s inattentiveness had been a constant thorn in your side. You'd tried to bottle it up, to ignore the gnawing feeling of being overlooked, but it had become too much to bear.
When the final straw came as he ignored you again the entire day, you exploded. Words tumbled out as screams in a torrent of frustration, the pent-up emotions finally finding their release. Matt's response was less than ideal, his indifference only fuelling your anger, making the argument escalate.
Hurt and disappointed, you watched as Matt stormed out frustrated, joining his brothers to record another Friday video. Left alone, the anger simmered in you, overthinking everything, every interaction between the two of you.
When Matt finally returned hours later, his entrance was met with a cold silence. He saw the storm still raging in your eyes, making a familiar irritation twist his features. Instead of attempting to address the issue head-on, he chose a different tactic, hovering over you, pulling up your skirt, and forcefully taking your panties off abruptly, followed by the unzipping of his jeans, and freeing his hard length.
“What the hell, Matthew?!” You speak up, irritated, trying to stop his strong hands. But instead of listening to your complains, you feel him rubbing his tip against your entrance, making you gasp sharply. “Stop it” you said firmly, but even if you tried to squirm away, he holds your hips harshly, leaving the marks of his fingers on your skin. “Shut the fuck up, slut. I’ll teach you a thing or two about respect”.
With a swift, decisive motion, he lines himself up with your entrance and thrust forward, sheathing himself to the hilt inside your welcoming heat. A low groan escapes him as your tightness envelops him, your body stretching to accommodate his girth. “Fuck, you feel incredible,” he grunts, his hips beginning to move in a slow, deliberate rhythm. “So fucking perfect.”
“Matt” You complain trying to get him off you. Yet, he sets a steady pace, each thrust driving deeper into your body.
He picks up the pace, his hips snapping forward with each thrust. The slap of your bodies colliding echoes in the room, each impact sending ripples of pleasure coursing through you both. “You like that, don't you?” He taunts, pulling your shirt off you and leaning down to capture your nipple between his teeth, biting down gently. “Tell me how much you love it.”
Hearing you whine and still squirming beneath him trying to escape, he speaks up. “What's wrong, babygirl?” He purrs, his hands finding their way to your hips, rolling you over and guiding you to straddle him. He gives your ass a playful squeeze, his fingers digging into the supple flesh as he positions you above his length. “Why don't you ride me?” He suggests, his voice low and seductive. “Show me what a good little slut you can be.”
“I don’t want to! Stop it, Matt” you say wriggling on top of him, using your hands to push him away. Ignoring your feeble protests, he grasps your hips firmly, positioning you above his eager cock. He gives your ass another firm squeeze, his fingers tracing the curves of your cheeks before slipping between them to guide his member towards your slick entrance. With a determined thrust, he sinks back into your welcoming heat, his cock sliding home with ease. Your tightness wraps around him like a velvet glove, each twitch and spasm of your inner walls sending waves of pleasure coursing through his veins.
“Ride me, babygirl,” he commands, his grip on your hips tightening. “Make yourself cum on my dick.” You don’t listen to him, still angry that he thinks he can just fuck you after all the awful things he said to you hours ago, and not paying attention to you for the past two months, you’re still trying to squirm away.
“Still trying to get away?” he chuckles, his voice laced with a hint of mockery. “Not so fast, sweetheart.” With a firm hold on your hips, he keeps you grounded atop his lap. He keeps moving his hips, grinding upwards to hit that sweet spot within you. “Fuck, that's it” he encourages.
Your continued struggles only amuse him more, “Looks like someone's having trouble sitting still,” he teases with sarcasm. “But I've got news for you, babygirl. This is where you're staying.” Without warning, he gives your ass a sharp spank. The sting of his hand against your skin is immediately followed by a surge of pleasure as he thrusts upwards, hitting that sweet spot once again.
A fresh wave of anger surges through him, fuelled by your continued defiance. He gives your ass another punishing spank, harder this time, the sound ringing out in the quiet room. But instead of trying to mount him, you wriggle even more. “Damn it!” he curses, his grip on your hips tightening. “Stop fighting me!”
Despite your desperate attempts to free yourself, he maintains his ironclad grip on your hips, keeping you pinned above his throbbing cock. Each movement designed to remind you who's in control here. The slap of skin against skin fills the air as he spanks your ass repeatedly, each strike punctuated by a grunt of satisfaction. “You're going to sit on my cock until I say otherwise.”
One of his hands trails up your sides to grab handfuls of one of your breasts. He pinches and twist your nipple roughly, eliciting yelps of pain that mingle with your ongoing moans of discomfort. “Shut up and take it like a good little slut.” His free hand’s thumb starts rubbing your clit in quick circles.
As you continue to writhe above him, your initial cries of pain gradually morph into breathy moans of reluctant pleasure. Despite your best efforts to resist, your body betrays you, responding to the relentless stimulation of his cock buried deep inside your tight heat, slowly beginning to meet his upward thrusts halfway with your downward bounces. “Look at you,” he taunts, “Fighting it one minute, then riding me like a bitch in heat the next.” He tightens his grip on your hips, guiding your movements as you start to grind down onto his shaft. The change in your demeanor is palpable, your earlier resistance melting away under the onslaught of building ecstasy. “That's it, babygirl,” he purrs. “Let go and enjoy it. We both know you want this.”
As you begin to move atop him with tentative strokes, he can feel your resistance crumbling, replaced by a growing need for release. “Show me how much you love taking my cock.” Your moans grow louder, more desperate, as you start to pick up speed, your hips moving in sync with his. “Don't fight it anymore,” he commands, his voice strained with exertion. “Just let go and fuck yourself on my dick.”
“It hurts” you moan while you bounce on his dick. “Hurts, daddy, please.”
“That's right, babygirl, tell daddy how much it hurts,” he groans, his fingers digging into your hips as you bounce on his cock with increasing urgency. “You love hurting so bad, don't you?” He thrusts up to meet your downward motions, driving himself deeper into your clenching cunt with each stroke, as you nod frantically at his question.
He leans up to capture your lips in a bruising kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth to tangle with yours. As you make out passionately, he reaches to fondle your tits, pinching and rolling your sensitive nipples between his fingers.
Feeling your body finally surrender to the pleasure, your whines of pain transforming into mewls of pure bliss, sends a surge of pride and arousal coursing through his. His cock twitches inside you, threatening to spill its load prematurely. “Look at you, fucking loving every second of it,” he growls, his voice rough with lust. “You're such a dirty little whore for daddy's big cock.” With renewed vigor, he guides your movements, and he thrusts upward, hitting that sweet spot inside you that makes your back arch and your pussy clench around his length. “That's it, take it all,” he encourages. “Daddy's gonna fill you up so good.”
After a few minutes, your whimpers get louder and louder signalling impending release, Matt flips you over again, laying you on your stomach and he keeps fucking you relentlessly as he watches your plump ass cheeks jiggle with every thrust. “Mmmph need… n-need to cum, daddy.”
Matt snarls possessively at the sound of his nickname falling from your lips, your impending orgasm only serving to heighten his own building pleasure. “Not yet, slut. You don't get to cum until I say so…” He bites down on your shoulder, the sharp sting mingling deliciously with the intense pleasure radiating through your body. “Beg for it. Beg for permission to cum on my cock like the desperate little whore you are…” Matt's hand snakes between your sweat-slicked body and the mattress, finding your aching clit and rubbing merciless circles around the sensitive nub, making your eyes squeeze shut. Using his free hand, he grabs a handful of your hair and yanks it, making you face over your shoulder at him.
“Open your eyes,” he demands. “Look at me while you beg to come undone on daddy's cock.” As if obeying an unseen force, your eyelids flutter open, revealing glazed, lust-drunk pupils staring back at him. In that moment, he knows you're completely lost to the pleasure, your mind shattered by the overwhelming sensations he's inflicted upon you.
“Please, Matt… ‘m sorry for screaming at you… sorry, please, please let me… let me cum, please.” A devilish grin appears on his face at your pleading. “Go on then, slut. Cum for me.” Your walls clench deliciously hard against his hard cock, covering it in your juices, making his eyes roll back and his self-control slip. You feel as his dick lets hot spurts of cum fill your pussy and a whimper escapes his lips. Your legs are left shaking from the intense sex you two had and he collapses on top of you while you two are left panting heavily.
After a few moments, he helps you roll over and he watches you intently, drinking in the sight of your tear-streaked face, your puffy lips parted. “You look so beautiful like this,” he murmurs. “All fucked up because of daddy.”
He lays down beside you, bringing you closer against his body. His arms wrapped around you. Your head rested on his chest letting you hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. As he traced gentle circles on your scalp, his fingers seemed to possess a magical ability to melt away all the earlier tension. His hands moved to your hips, kneading them with a gentle pressure that sent a wave of pleasure through your body.
“I think you've earned yourself a reward, babygirl,” he murmurs, nuzzling into your neck. “How about daddy takes you out for a nice dinner tonight? Somewhere fancy where everyone can see what a perfect little pet you are.”
You nodded in agreement, a smile spreading across your face. As you stood up, feeling your legs tremble a bit, you give yourself a second before you start to make your way towards your closet to see what you’ll wear for your date tonight.
He watches as you stumble towards the closet, your legs clearly struggling to support your weight after the intense session you just had. Part of him wants to scoop you up and carry you the rest of the way, but he resists the urge, wanting to see you push through the discomfort.
“There's my brave little pet,” he encourages, his voice filled with admiration as he watches you manage to walk without his help. “You're doing so well, sweetheart.”
Once you reach the closet, he gets up from the bed and steps up behind you, his hands coming to rest on your hips as he leans down to murmur in your ear. “And don't forget, babygirl,” he purrs, you feel his hot breath against your skin. “No panties tonight. I want easy access to my favorite toy.”
#sturniolo triplets#sturniolo triplets imagines#the sturniolo triplets#sturniolo#matt sturniolo#matt sturniolo imagine#matt sturniolo smut#chris sturniolo#chris sturniolo smut#chris sturniolo x reader#matt sturniolo x reader#matthew sturniolo#matt stuniolo fanfic#matthew sturniolo smut#matthew sturniolo imagine#matthew bernard sturniolo#matthew sturniolo x reader#chris sturniolo x you#christopher sturniolo#chris x reader#christopher owen sturniolo#nick sturniolo x you#nick sturniolo#nick sturniolo x reader#nicolas antonio sturniolo#nicolas sturniolo
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🥏 Where to find good XF fanfics
👽 On Tumblr
@lilydalexf has an encyclopedic knowledge of fics and continues to be an invaluable resource. You'll find a boatload of themed fic lists, individual rec posts and helpful answers to anon asks.
@txf-fic-chicks-blog seven years of almost daily recs, with well-written blurbs and a lot of fun, run by @kateyes224 and @piecesofscully. Look out for their themed days: "Casefile Monday", "Tumblr Tuesday", "Editor's Pick Wednesday", "Post-Ep/Missing Scene Thursday", "Novel Length Friday", "Smut Sunday", and the very cool "Because You Watched"
@msrlibrary a well-tagged library of MSR fics; each entry includes a short excerpt and a nicely chosen image from the show.
@201daysofxfiles a rewatch blog by fandom veteran @wendelah. Each episode in season 1-7 is paired with its own fic rec post.
@enigmaticxbee an aesthetically pleasing and neatly organized rewatch blog that is packed with great content, including excellent fic rec lists categorized by season, story type, trope, and more. Each episode guide sometimes features related fic recs.
@thatfragilecapricorn30 posts one fic rec every Friday, accompanied by a nice writeup.
@randomfoggytiger curates many fic rec lists sorted by often fun and creative categories.
@cecilysass has a google doc titled "fics I love", which is a fantastic fic list categorized by story type, complete with thoughtful blurbs. She's also shared two episode-related fic rec lists on Tumblr: here and here.
@pookie-mulder writes a monthly fic journal with good recs.
**self-promo plug** I post fic recs on my Tumblr blog @fine-nephrit under #nephrit's fic rec. Plus, I reblog others' fic recs that I come across!
👽 Rec Communities
XF Book Club: the best thing ever, an absolute gem that deserves to be preserved for posterity. During its run, 270 fics were recced and discussed in depth here. The community's intelligent and insightful comments on this blog are sometimes even more enjoyable to read than the fics themselves.
The Fic Filter (xf tag): well-curated selections with short blurbs.
Multifandom Het Recs (xf tag): a major rec site's xf section that offers nice "why this must be read" writeups. @het-reccers
Crack Van (xf tag): another major rec site with a big xf section, featuring endless recs and blurbs
Fancake (xf tag): another major rec community's xf section boasting an extensive thematic tagging system
👽 Personal Blogs
Emily Shore aka Naraht: meta essays, fanvid recs, fic recs—great stuff aplenty
Bad for the Fish aka Scarlet Baldy: fantastic fic list paired with highly enjoyable reviews and analyses of the fics she's read. @badforthefish
Ramblings of a Mind Untamed: reviews of a dozen or so classic fics
xxSKSxx XF Fanfic Recs: still active in 2024! @xxsksxxx
X-Libris: more of a fic library, this is the best place to download nicely-formatted ebooks of pre-AO3 oldies. What I love most is the incredibly detailed and extensive tagging system.
👽 Individual Rec Lists with good writeup
Character Manifesto - Dana Scully: a character analysis and 10 Scully-centric fic recs, categorized by "best of .." selections. Amazing format and choices!
Character Manifesto - Fox Mulder: same format as above for Spooky
bachlava's awesome fic rec essays, covering classic fics and slash fics
ShipRecced blog's classic MSR fics and newer MSR fics recs
luminary's 16-fic rec post
RivkaT recs fics and writers @rivkat
Anna Otto's favorite stories
Syntax6's rec list on her site, great rec list on Tumblr and FTF rec list @syntax6
👽 90s Old School Rec Sites
The Basement Office - Musea: a treasure trove of extensive fic lists with lovely written blurbs, recced by a group of talented writers from back in the day
The Other Side - Fanfic Recs from Beyond the Grave: a large collection of 'scary' or 'spooky' story recs with nice blurbs. Beautiful web design.
the Rookery - Favorite Authors: nice commentary on a list of classic fic writers
X-Files Fanfiction 101: an intro guide to fic categories and what to read for each
The Primal Screamers: a fun site run by a mailing list that hosts fic recs with blurbs, and a 'Coffee Talk' section full of delightful discussions of canon
Idealists Haven - Elemental Fanfic Archive: an archive with rec blurbs
Chronicle X: a large, well-organized archive with blurbs, plus a 'Can We Talk' discussion section of novel-length fics, plus a total of 46 author interviews. Simply incredible!
👽 Special Mention
The X-Files Lost and Found: a fic finder message board that is miraculously still very active today—How wonderful! Its FAQ page hosts a huge collection of well-categorized themed fic lists (not recs), including "Classics (or, Your Fanfic Education is Not Complete Until You've Read ...)".
Where do you find your next read? What did I miss? Reblog and share your favorites!
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How Many Licks? (Just Bite It)
Angus Tully x fem!reader
Summary: You work at the University’s mail room sorting packages and trying to keep yourself from boredom. However- not that you would ever admit it out loud- you look forward to Thursday afternoons when Angus Tully stops by.
Based on my post Dominic Sessa looking like he bites people.
Word Count: 1,900+
Notes: She/her pronouns, Afab reader, Christmas mention, biting, cunnilingus, unprotected sex, unsafe sex, semi-public sex, sex at the workplace, overstimulation, quickies, reader being a brat, calling each other ‘slut’, everyone involved is over the age of 18
Notes: Huge thank you to my friend, Mera for helping me come up with what to call Angus because there is no way I’m moaning that name either fictionally or irl. It’s like moaning ‘Ulysses’ or ‘Cornelius.’ Please be nice as this is the first fanfic I’ve ever posted on Tumblr and first ever reader insert I’ve ever written. I tried being as neutral as possible when describing physical features but please let me know if there is anything that takes you out. Specifically I tried saying bite marks instead of bruises because not all skin tones bruise easily but I’m sure I missed some.
Comments, likes, and reblogs are appreciated 💕💕💕
Minors DNI
Your bright red stockings paired well with your wool black dress that hits you mid-thigh. You couldn’t see Angus from this angle, but you could feel his gaze rising up your legs and to the garter belt as you climbed the ladder. You knew he was a boob man but it was too cold for a v-neck dress. You put his package on the top shelf specifically so you could show off your legs when he arrived.
“Thanks, I got them Black Friday shopping.” You tell him, stepping down the ladder, his package on your hip. “Which is what I assume this is?” You shake the box in your hands. It’s not heavy but you can tell it’s packed to the brim.
“Hope so,” You hear him unwrap a lollipop and pop it in his mouth. You cringe as you hear him bite the lollipop.
You step off the ladder and tuck the box under your breasts, pushing them up more. “If you keep biting them, I’m going to start hiding them when you stop by.”
He smiles obnoxiously. “Then you would’ve hid them away by now.”
You roll your eyes, putting the box on the counter. “It’s disgusting.”
“No, it’s actually pretty tasty,” He smirked and took the used lollipop stick out of his mouth. “Wanna guess what flavor it is?” Angus sticks his artificially red tongue out.
“You’re such a slut.” You roll your eyes and shake your head.
---
The piles of new shipments kept the two of you hidden from the public eye as Angus got on his knees, pushing you against the wall. Your stockings had been quickly disposed of, tossed over his shoulder before you could say anything. His mouth was on your left knee, pressing a kiss as he opened your legs. One warm hand rests on your stomach, balancing himself.
He places a sloppy, open mouthed kiss on your inner thigh, above your knee. He licked upwards and bit down, sucking on the flesh between his teeth. He mirrors his actions on your left thigh. You hissed, knowing (and loving) that it would leave marks.
“You smell fucking amazing,” He says against your skin, his big brown eyes looking up at you. Motivated by your scent, Angus’s kisses get sloppier and while his bites are quicker, it is no less painful as he moves upward your legs. You glanced at the entrance to the office, double checking you could freely respond to his actions.
“God, you’re fucking soaked,” Angus said smirking, the cold air making your clit pulse. His thumb lightly moved over your lace covered pussy.
“Did you get jealous of the lollipop? The way I licked,” You jumped as his tongue touched your clit, the lace of your panties adding to the friction. “And bit?” His teeth graze against it.
“God, you’re such a dirty slut,” You tell him, only half teasing.
“And you’re a loud slut,” Angus teases and pushes your dress upwards. “Bite on this.”
You wordlessly accepted and clamp down on the polyester fabric. He slowly pulled down your red panties to show him your beautiful pussy. Since your lower half and most of your torso was visible, Angus greedily took in the sight of your bare stomach and underboob. He kisses your clit and spits on it. He traces his tongue over the sensitive nub and gives you slow, deliberate licks, creating a bigger mess between your thighs.
You let out muffled moans, your fingers tangled in his curly hair and grinding your hips for more friction. Angus once told you he would die a happy man if that meant being between your legs. Today is a good day to test that. You grip his hair, forcing his mouth to wrap around your clit, an action he responds to with a hum of approval. The vibrations make your hips roll and back arch. You can feel him laugh because he knows he has you where he wants you but you cannot care about that now. You hold his head there, pleading whimpers begging for more. Angus removes his hands from your pussy so he could grip your thighs for balance but makes no effort to loosen your grip.
Embarrassingly, it doesn’t take you long to reach your peak. Not when his mouth is making you feel so, so good. Your dress falls down as your mouth opens, a strangled cry echoing in the room, and your nails dig into his scalp as you cum. Angus keeps licking you as if you’re not melting around his mouth. As if your legs are not shaking in his hands from overstimulation. Eventually you cannot take it anymore and you have to push him away. Still, he licks up the mess you’ve created on your thighs before standing to face you with a satisfied smirk.
The intensity of your orgasm leaves you feeling dizzy so his hands stay on your hips as he rises. Though his face is painted with arrogance, Angus gently sits you on the table your boss reserved for processing packages. He lifts your dress over your head and tosses it to the side, impatiently but gently. Your nipples pebble because of the cold air and his lustful gaze.
Eyes never leaving yours, Angus unbuckles his belt and pulls his cock out. He pushed you against the table, kissing you at the same time. You wrap your arms around his neck as you taste his mouth- a combination of your pussy and his strawberry lollipop.
His hand gently pushed your thighs wider as his other hand slipped a finger between your entrance. His thumb gently rubbed your clit in exactly the way you taught him so you couldn’t help the moans that escaped your mouth. He slid another finger in and you gasped out a “Yes!” You rode his fingers, chasing your pleasure. Your moans ricocheting off the walls, not caring how slutty you acted.
But he cared.
Angus pulled away from your breast, not bothering to wipe away the string of spit connecting his lips to your breast. The hand on your thigh paused your movements and his fingers slowed.
“Tell me you’re my slut,” he smirked. You whined in response. “Come on, say it.”
He gently lays you back on the table and takes his shirt off. Angus turned around to see the clock on the wall ticking down the minutes until your boss came back from lunch.
“Tick tock.” He said, emphasizing each word with the tap of his cock on your entrance. “Tick, tock.”
You had no doubt he would elongate this. Last time you pushed your luck, you weren’t caught, but you didn’t you cum either. Angus had the biggest shit eating grin when he came in the following day and you begged him to fuck you.
But you still weren’t going to give him the satisfaction.
And he knew that.
“How does it feel to be a slut?” He murmured against your ear. Angus buried his face in the crook of your neck, biting down and pulling satisfied moans out of your mouth. “To be my slut?”
“I’m not your slut,” You protested between your moans.
He stopped biting your neck to simply nip at it, moving downwards to your breasts. Your trembling fingers grabbed at the curls on the back of his head, encouraging him. Agnus took a nipple into his hot mouth causing your left hand to dig into his shoulder and your right hand to pull his hair. Angus let out a muffled moan of pleasure and sucked on your nipple harder. There was tension building in your stomach but you couldn’t release it until you were around him.
“Say it,” Angus said as he alternated between your breasts. “Say it and I’ll fuck you.”
“Fine! I’m a slut!” You cried. “I’m your slut! Now please! Fuck me!”
Angus chuckled and slid into you. You instinctively wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer. His eyes fluttered as he felt your heat surround his cock. He stared down at you as he found his rhythm. his fingers finding your clit again. Angus’s fingers moved in the same rhythm as his hips.He moved his hips faster, forcing your back to arch off the desk. Moaning, you clenched around his cock.
Angus kept his pace but his mouth suctioned around your breast as his tongue swirled around your nipple faster. The hand not on your clit reached over to grab your other breast, rolling the nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
“Keep going…” You whined, almost begging. The tension was reaching its peak. “So… close…”
Hearing you cry out, Angus pulled away from your beast and watched you fall apart.
He tried to fuck you through your orgasm but he couldn’t help but he wasn’t far behind you. Not when pleasure washed over your face. Not when you squeezed him like that. Not when your voice echoed like that in the small room. With a stuttering groan, Angus came inside your pussy while biting your shoulder.
Your legs loosened around his waist as your body relaxed but your pussy still clenched around his twitching cock, taking every drop of him. Angus’s body relaxed and his mouth loosened its grip on your shoulder. But you can feel his teeth scraping against your tender skin. He pressed gentle, open mouth kisses against your neck as he pulled out of you. You whimpered as he did that, already missing him inside you.
Tiredly and lazily, he kissed his way down your body until he got to his knees again. Angus spread your legs again, watching his cum dripping out of you and pooling on the table. You felt his mouth cover your pussy once again. Though tired, you couldn’t help but arch your back a little when you felt his tongue lap at your sensitive pussy, cleaning you. Angus pulled away before you could cum, though you are thankful he did as your body was not ready to accept another orgasm.
He helped you to your feet and kissed you gently on the mouth. You returned the kiss, leaning against him for balance. However, your orgasms still left you a little tired so you had to break the kiss to retain your balance. Not that Angus minded, he still kissed you, this time peppering them on your neck. Your hands loosely held his neck before you noticed the clock.
“Unless you have a turtleneck for me in that package, don’t you dare leave another hickey on my neck,” You told him as your wits came back to you and he laughed against your skin. He kissed your neck and went to his package on the counter.
“As a matter of fact,” He said, tearing it open and digging around, not caring he was still naked. “I do.”
He pulled out a knit black sweater with a thick, folded turtleneck. You accepted it and marveled at how soft it was.
“For me?” Your eyes were wide.
“Yeah, well, you always complain it’s cold down here, ” Angus shrugged nonchalantly but you could see color rising to his cheeks.
“Plus you know,” He brushed your hair off your shoulder. “It’ll hide those bite marks I left behind.”
You look down at your body to see a map of bite marks and bruises identical to his mouth and fingers. You snatched your new sweater from his hands and threw it on.
#angus tully#angus tully x reader#angus tully imagine#angus tully smut#the holdovers#smut#fanfic#reader insert#mine#my fanfic
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Fanfic Feature Friday
Let's celebrate another week alive with a fanfic!
Welcome to another wonderful week! At least, I hope it’s wonderful, I’m writing this a bit in advance! But for you this week, I have found a delightful like fic for you guys! It’s a Marina fanfic! be mine for always (I’ll be yours forever) by AzureInk! I think you’ll like it! Click the link and show the author some love! Thanks for reading! Spread the love and read on! Type your…
#ao3#archive of our own#carina#carina deluca#carina x maya#Fanfic Feature Friday#Fanfic Friday#lgbtq#marina#maya bishop#maya x carina#featured
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I had every intention of doing my Fic Feature Friday yesterday, but life had Other Plans* for me so I didn't. 🫠
But anyway, I hope you'll indulge me a little because I wanted to share my own Christmas fic again, even though it's been 3 years (!!!) since I wrote it. There's lots of fluff, bad puns, fake relationship shenanigans, and only one bed!
Anakin gestured at himself, "I want--" then pointed at Obi-Wan, "You to come home with me for Christmas. To my mother's house."
Obi-Wan rubbed his eyes. Perhaps he had fallen asleep at his desk and was now dreaming. There was no way this was real. But Anakin was indeed sitting there in front of him, smiling—or maybe he was actually wincing—and asking him to come with him to his mother’s house. The two of them were certainly on friendly terms at work, and they had been out for drinks after work many times over the years, but they were nothing more than that and never had been.
⇒ Other recs
#fic feature friday#obikin#fanfic#christmas fluff#modern au#fic recs#*the husband has been in the hospital since Thursday so 🫠😂🏃♀️🤪
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my friend rashid: a fic rec list
welcome back to iwtv fanfic friday! this week's theme was born out of my love for rashidmand, but of course i couldn't stop there, so i've included some featuring real rashid as well. on that note, if you're looking for a sign to write a fic featuring real rashid or rashidmand, THIS IS IT.
drawing in a subject by nestorius (e, 1.7k words)
Armand interrupts. (immediately post season one reveal, teensy bit character study, daniel's "inexplicable" desire for rashid. made for me in a lab)
a memo from human resources by nestorius (not rated, 2.5k words)
The pitfalls of having a vampire boss. (the real rashid prelude to above. his relationship with louis in this drives me wild. i still believe this is rashid's lore and you can't stop me.)
Live your role by Thunder__Puss (e, 1.5k words)
Louis and Armand bed down in the penthouse. Rashid overhears a bit more than he'd care to. (ARMAND PLAYING RASHID IN BED WITH LOUIS ... THIS IS WHAT DREAMS ARE MADE OF)
honey and pineapple by duri (e, 3.5k words)
Rashid pays Daniel a visit. (hey girls did you know that uhmmmmm... armand wants daniel so bad. like OH MY GOD)
I like your getup, if you know what I mean by cannibalenthusiast (aka yours truly) (e, 1.7k words)
His brain conjures the image of Rashid standing primly with a plush towel draped over his slim wrist. “For your jizz, Mister Molloy,” he says. Daniel snorts and spits onto his hand. (sorry to be reccing my own work but it was my first one for the pairing and i'm proud of it ok? daniel jerks off thinking of rashidmand and rashidmand sort of unknowingly provides a helping hand. it's important to me)
Taking All That A Person Can Give by anonymous (e, 6k words)
Daniel fantasizes about "Rashid". Set during and after 1x05. (mind the tags on this one! daniel and armand both get tortured. sexually. awesome crazy work.)
honeysuckle sips from your rolling hips by ultraviolet_glow aka @lesbians4armand (m, 1.4k words)
It was the viscosity that got to him, Daniel thought. Something deeply obscene, sensual about the viscosity of honey compared to the viscosity of blood. Both were natural, bodily fluids, if you thought too hard about it. Thick and dripping and sweet. (YAAAAY more wet dreams for daniel!!! this is just one of many awesome rashidmand fics violet has written <3)
honey and pineapple by softestbutch aka @softest-butch (e, 1.8k words)
He’s thinking of you, Rashid. Louis felt Armand’s body flush at the use of the name. He ran the flat of his tongue over the wound in his neck, continuing to drink. Our boy. He wants you. (awesomeeee take on the 1.5 scene with a little bit of loumand as well. i can never get enough)
#iwtv#devil's minion#fic rec#iwtv fanfic friday#iwtv fic#rashid#!!!!!!!!#as always my beloveds feel free to make your own lists or send in your own snippets or what have you!! have fun!!!
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~Fic Feature Friday~
Original concept link Thanks for the reminder @strugglequill (a true fandom hero) ⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.
Title: Poster of a Girl (link) Author: LeftSideDown (@broomsticks here!) Fandom: Harry potter Ship(s): Sirius Black/Bellatrix Black Lestrange Rating: Mature CW for Noncon/Underage Summary: It’s not a tragedy that she’s born a boy. Sirius loves all her older sisters, and they accept her too.
I do enjoy me some Black family fics and this one features a trans girl Sirius! ⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚. Open fandom tag! @stopme @jmagnabo92 @thistlecatfics @artemisia-black @annabtg @jamesunderwater @everyone else who wants to do this, consider yourself tagged, can even @ me on post you make!
#sirius black#fic feature friday#bellatrix black#bellatrix lestrange#hp fanfic rec#hp fic rec#hp fic recs
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This week's fic feature Friday is smutty smut smut so... don't like, don't read! (Guidelines for FFF originally posted here, but the only real rule is >1 year old.)
I actually have another one of @floating-in-the-blue's fics queued up to read that I was intending to use for this week but uh... I haven't been able to read it yet and strip poker is apparently a thing right now and I just (re)read this beauty (and it's SO FUCKING GOOD), so we're going with it!
Alex/Luke/Reggie/Willie Smut: It never failed to amaze Willie that these three loveable idiots hadn’t yet worked out how much they loved each other and also wanted to bang each other. But he was going to change that. Because Willie was convinced that he had to get them kissing first before he could get them to kiss him and he was growing impatient.
(gonna link the original post that includes a beautiful moodboard/edit too!)
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SCARLET & SHADOW
ᱬ The Darkling x Scarlet Witch!Reader ᱬ
[aleksander morozova x wanda maximoff!reader]
series masterlist & synopsis • thera's masterlist
chapter four.
▪︎ haunted ▪︎
You were no powerless otkazat’sya, Aleksander finds out the hard way. He’s pushed you too far, and he’s left to deal with the aftermath of the new knowledge he half-regrets he gained. On the other hand, you see something bad about this new world that wished you had never seen.
warnings: again, the big bad darkling himself is a warning, he gets kinda pushy and intimidating, aleksander hates liars but is a big one, faint spoilers about the darkling's book story, our baby wanda, her powers, mental instability, bad coping mechanisms, and a whole lot of heartbreak, wanda!reader cuts her palm to prove something, a whole lotta tension between you and the general, no beta we die like wanda
word count: 6.0k
(author's note: bro even my heart broke writing this long-ass chapter, haha. shadow daddy and magic mommy super angsty slowburn!? i just wanna finish this short series and be free from the confines of my crazy fanfic ideas, guys. let me go!)
The smell of paper.
Aleksander walked through the rows of bookshelves, his eyes skimming the spines of the books, searching for the one he wanted. He continued down the row, almost reaching the end, when he stops and his eyes settle on the sight of you, reading on a small couch tucked into a dark corner of the room.
What impeccable timing he had, he thinks as his thoughts shift from the book he was looking for to the woman who’s been plaguing his thoughts as of late. Just in time to get answers to his questions.
After being in Ryevost for a week, his presence was required in Kribirsk, overseeing the status of the troops there. But no night passed when he wasn’t thinking about you, in particular. Aleksander’s eyes zoom in on the book you were reading.
History of Ravka. How unexpected.
A strange feeling stirred within him the longer he stared at you. He’s seen you before, he just doesn’t know where. He glances around the room, checking if anyone else is around to see the two of you. When he’s certain that no one is there to witness, he slowly moves closer to you, coming to stand a few feet away from the couch.
You notice eyes studying from near the shelves. But ever since you became employed in the Little Palace, you had grown accustomed to a certain Shadow Summoner’s presence. Slowly, you turn your head to the right side of the sofas to see him.
“Moi soverenyi.” You bow your head as you stand.
“Hello, Miss Maximoff," he greets, his voice low and almost teasing. Funnily enough, he finds his gardener not in the garden, but the library this time.
"I find myself surprised. I thought you prefer being in the garden." His tone was light and nearly sarcastic. Was he in a good mood today?
“It’s a Friday, sir. My day off." You smile a little.
"So it is,” Kirigan mutters, his gaze going back to studying your features, his eyes roaming over your face once again. Now, to the important topic. "Miss Maximoff… you and the children… Henrik, Dmitri, and Katyusha…”
You perk up at their names. “Yes, sir?”
“Where are you from again?”
You nearly, very nearly answered Sokovia. Thankfully, you did not. But something in you grew agitated as the Darkling stepped closer, awaiting your response.
“We came from a small town in Tsibeya. Korsov. Barely even in the maps,” you reply smoothly, fingers grazing the rough pages of the history tome you were devouring earlier.
“Ah… Korsov. Indeed, quite a small town in Tsibeya, hm?” General Kirigan hums, his eyes flitting to your hand. “... But Tsibeya is so dangerously close to the Fjerdan border, don’t you agree?”
At his words, you start to have a bad feeling. He appeared to be implying something. “... Yes, it is, moi soverenyi,” you reply quietly.
“And you did not encounter one single drüskelle in the many days you trekked from here to the Little Palace?” The Black General finally drops what he’s been intending to ask for a month now, his endlessly dark gaze piercing through your soul.
Your heart nearly dropped into your stomach. If you thought he was onto you before, this was the confirmation.
Before you could respond, he continued, slowly circling you. “Drüskelle are very unjust in their ways of imprisoning and killing Grisha, did you know that?” He adds,a faint smirk on his face.
The smug bastard knew he caught you in his trap.
“Fortunately enough, sir, we encountered no drüskelle on our journey.” Your voice was cool and calculated as you watched him stop circling you. Kirigan raises a brow.
“Aside from drüskelle, Tsibeya is also notorious for its bandits, thieves, traffickers in its vast forest,” he points out, sounding amused. “Are you sure? When almost always, my soldiers would encounter one or more of these during their assignments there?”
Fuck.
You retained your composure as you answered, “None, General. I’m forever grateful to the Saints above that we were blessed with smooth travels that time.”
“Hmmm… the Saints, hm?” The Darkling muses, smirk ever present as he flips a page on the book you were reading. The next page revealed an illustration of the Unsea. There was a glimmer in his eye as he looked at it. “That’s quite strange, Miss Maximoff.”
“Sir…?”
“Because I seem to vividly recall young Dmitri gushing over how you took down a drüskelle in your journey. Henrik also spoke of how you… bribed two Grisha slavers to be on their way.” He turns back to you expectantly. "But you'd made them close their eyes."
A spike of cold runs down your skin. You weren’t sure if the children sold you out or not—it was unlikely since the general had Heartrenders for torture and interrogation and also, they were innocent kids! Either way, the man in front of you knew about what happened in your journey to the Little Palace.
No use hiding now.
Aleksander sees your demeanor shift into something icier. Guarded. Quite different from the quiet gardener who peacefully tended to her plants or the affectionate adopted mother who gives out sweets to her children.
You were just getting more and more interesting, weren’t you? He smirks wider.
“Are you going to keep your general waiting?"
And to think this had been the man you shared your grief to just over a month ago.
“What matters is that the children are here in your palace. Safe and sound and with their people, sir,” you counter, standing your ground fearlessly.
The Black General had absolutely no idea who he was messing with right now.
“I do not tolerate lies, Miss Maximoff,” he spoke slowly—ominously, his features hardening. You watch as the flames in the lamps nearby flicker and vanish completely as shadows engulf the space around you.
Much to his surprise, you didn’t so much as react at the sight.
“I doubt drüskelle or anybody else with ill intentions would just let 3 children and a young woman escape without any trouble,” Kirigan challenges, stepping closer until he was merely an arm’s length away from you. “So, how did a little otkazat’sya gardener with no combat experience like you do it, hm?”
“...”
He scoffs. “Are you truly going to make me drag it out of you?”
Menacingly, you tilt your head at him as you dauntlessly meet his gaze above you.
The Black General suddenly felt a chill run down his spine, something that rarely occurred.
Who were you, really?
You open your mouth to speak when—
CREAK!
The heavy wooden library doors loudly open, two of his most trusted men running in. The shadows around you quickly vanish and the lamps flicker back on. A little irritated, he turns around.
“... What is it, Ivan?” He keeps his voice reserved, hiding his displeasure at the interruption. He had been so close. So damn close.
“General, the Durasts have completed the new sandskiff prototype at Kribirsk. It is ready to be launched as soon as possible,” Ivan reports, his gaze momentarily shifting to you before returning to Kirigan. “Will you be accompanying us there once more, sir?
You await his response, but you can’t help but let the tiniest hint of a smile appear on your lips. Saved by the bell. His eyes flicker down, brow slightly twitching. He sends you a glare which clearly meant that your conversation was not at all over.
Your seemingly innocent smile grows wider as you bow, “General.”
Who was so smug now?
Holding back a snarl, he swivels on his feet, fists clenched. “Come,” he sharply orders his Heartrender, quickly leaving the library.
You pick up the book you had previously been reading, examining the illustration of the Fold on the page. When you turned to the next page, there was a drawing of a heavily cloaked figure surrounded by shadows.
The Black Heretic.
You had only seen one other likeness of the man—at an almost abandoned wishing fountain not too far from the Little Palace. An engraving depicting the reign of King Anastas, the creation of the Fold, and the prophesied Sun Summoner to solve their problem.
As you reach out, fingers tracing the drawing of the Black Heretic curiously, the memory of your silhouette in the Book of the Damned suddenly coursed through your mind, Agatha’s voice echoed in your ears.
“You’re supposed to be a myth! A being capable of spontaneous creation!”
“This is Chaos Magic, Wanda. And that makes you… the Scarlet Witch.”
“Harbinger of Chaos!”
The sculpture of you in the now-destroyed Darkhold Castle flashed before your eyes.
“The Scarlet Witch is not born; she is forged. She has no coven, no need for incantation.”
“Your power exceeds that of the Sorcerer Supreme. It is your destiny to destroy the world.”
Quickly retracting your hand from the Black Heretic’s drawing, a deep frown marred your face. What was that just now? You return the history book to the shelf, disturbed.
What was crucial was that General Kirigan did not successfully interrogate you. Yet. Never, you pray. Hopefully, he’ll be off for a long time in Kribirsk for a very important Second Army job or whatever Ravkan military business he needed to do.
ᱬᗢᱬ
For once, it seems like the heavens did heed your wishes. Because apparently, they had found the infamous Sun Summoner during their last trip to Kribirsk. Not without casualties, though. There was reportedly a drüskelle attack on their way back home aside from the volcra that had attacked the passengers of the sandskiff.
From the gardens of the Little Palace, you briefly catch sight of General Kirigan on his black stallion, a woman riding on the saddle in front of him. As the Shadow Summoner helps his newfound Sun Summoner down the horse, ushering her into a secluded entrance in the palace, he stops in his tracks, looking behind him with narrowed eyes.
Aleksander swore he felt someone watching them.
But there was nobody except the oprichniki guarding the way in.
Without another thought, he follows the Sun Summoner inside. Fortunately, the new presence of the Sun Summoner—Alina Starkov—takes up the majority of his time for the coming days, especially after she was successfully presented to the Lantsov monarchs in the Grand Palace.
She will change the world, General Kirigan reportedly announced to everyone present. And the Fold can be destroyed with enough training. Somehow, it made you pity the poor girl thrown into this prophecy.
Speaking of the Grand Palace, the head servant handed you a letter of some sort. A job offer. It seemed like Queen Tatiana was quite enamored with the new, blooming flower beds in the Little Palace. The ones which you’d mainly worked hard on earlier this year, aside from the fruits, vegetables, and herbs you grew.
As you walk through the paths of the garden, reading and debating over the contents of the royal letter, someone nearly hurls past you, making you drop the letter.
“I’m so sorry! I wasn’t looking where I was going!” A girl’s voice cries out as she picks up the paper from the ground. The only thing you could see was her blue, Etheralki kefta until she hands it to you.
“... Miss Alina Starkov,” you acknowledge with a bow of my head as you gratefully accept the letter. “It should be me who’s apologizing. I was reading while walking.” You smile warmly at the younger woman.
“Please, you… really don’t need to bow… ma’am…” she trails off anxiously, averting her gaze. She seemed to also be cradling her sore arm. You’ve never met the old woman, but you heard from Henrik and Dmitri that Baghra was notoriously strict and kind of scary whenever Grisha trained under her.
For a moment, you wondered why it was not General Kirigan who was training Alina.
“If it makes you uncomfortable, Miss Starkov, I’ll stop.”
“T-Thank you.” She stared at the bed of moonflowers nearby. “It’s beautiful here. I haven’t been to this part of the palace before. All the flowers… the vegetables... the colors and the scents… it seems so unreal."
You chuckle, “It’s all very much real, thanks.”
“Oh! You're the palace gardener,” she realizes. “The flowers are gorgeous! You must have magical hands, ma'am.”
Funny. The general said the exact same thing just months ago.
“Just one of the gardeners here, Miss Starkov. I’m assigned to the very tedious sections to maintain, but I'm glad you’re pleased. Perhaps one day, you can help me give the plants more sunlight with your powers,” you lightly suggest. At your words, she grows hesitant—her voice full of doubts.
“That is, if I can,” she mumbles, making you give her a sympathetic look. A young girl with the weight of the world on her shoulders. She reminded you of yourself when you were young—long, long ago.
ᱬᗢᱬ
Aleksander is laser-focused on Alina for a long while, working to gain her trust and persuade her to join his cause—to use her powers for Ravka. All the while, he barely has time to think about the other matters, including his unfinished conversation with you. Additionally, every time he managed to get a glimpse of you, you just seemed to get away and escape.
His frustration slowly builds. He can’t help but wonder what was going through your mind—you truly were hiding something from him. And despite his busy schedule with the Sun Summoner, the General can’t shake the feeling that the conversation you both left unfinished is important. He quietly resolves to talk to you to clear things up as it was nagging the hell out of him.
It was an unwelcome distraction from his goals with Alina. Alina was supposed to be the priority now.
Unfortunately for him, for some reason, you were incredibly good at evading his presence. The situation becomes more and more of a challenge. He almost orders Ivan to retrieve you himself and throw you into his office (or the underground cells) for interrogation. Almost. But he was not that desperate. Yet.
ᱬᗢᱬ
“Is she here?” Aleksander asks two of the oprichniki, who were standing guard over Alina at the entrance of the private palace gardens. They nod.
“Good. Keep an eye on her wherever she goes,” he orders before walking deeper into the gardens. Then, he pauses, a delighted look on his ageless features.
Look what we have here… he thinks as he finds you and Alina interacting.
Aleksander stands back for a moment, hiding within the shadows, watching the two of you talk and smiling together. He overhears part of your discussion, and a part of him is taken aback by the genuine care and reassurance you offer to the young Sun Summoner.
It seems like your kindness did not only extend to the three Grisha children you’d somehow brought into his palace.
“I don’t believe that it's power that's your problem, Miss Starkov,” he hears you welcomingly tell Alina as she walks beside you. “It must be knowledge. Knowledge can be gained, in time.”
“You really think so, Wanda?”
One dark brow of his elevates. Hmm, first name basis already with one another? How quaint.
You smiled at her. “I'm certain you will be a wonderful Sun Summoner. And although I’m no Grisha like you, you are in good hands. With Baghra and… the General, too…” you trailed off.
Aleksander’s eyes widen slightly at your words to Alina. He's a bit surprised by your confidence in his teachings, but he’s even more pleased to hear it.
"Indeed, the knowledge and guidance I can provide will help you, Miss Starkov."
Speak of the devil and he shall appear.
The corners of his lips curved into a slight smile as he approached. Alina gasps in surprise, while you instantly freeze as your head almost snaps to the sound of the voice behind you. Kirigan’s gaze flicks back to Alina for a moment as she clears her throat, before looking back at you. He tilts his head slightly, studying your expression.
Alina looks back and forth between you and General Kirigan, clearing her throat as she senses some… tension between you and the man who’d appeared out of nowhere.
Returning to your senses, you bow as he walks closer to you two. “General Kirigan.” Slowly, you back away from them. “My apologies. You and Miss Starkov must have important matters to discuss. Excuse me—
"No, you stay.”
The Black General raises a gloved hand, immediately stopping you from leaving. When he speaks, there is a firm command to his tone. You halt.
You briefly wondered what chaos would ensue if you simply just used your magic now to vanish into thin air.
"You may go, Alina.” He turns to the Sun Summoner briefly. “I’d like to have a word with you about the… flowers, Miss Maximoff.” The younger girl nods slowly, eyes flitting between both of you briefly, before leaving—the oprichniki following her.
Aleksander waits until Alina leaves, before returning his full attention to you. The look in his eyes is intense and serious. He’s been trying to catch you for quite a while now, and he’s not letting you leave that easily.
“Moi soverenyi.” Your voice was… just civil. Polite. Not as cordial and friendly as when he last met you.
He takes another step towards you, and in the fading light of the garden, he seems imposing with his height and black kefta. "You’ve been avoiding me, little gardener,” he grunts lowly.
“You wished to speak about the blooming flower bed, sir?” you ask in a faux clueless tone, fully aware that it was not what this conversation was about.
“Don’t play dumb with me, Wanda,” he warns. “Such an elusive mouse you are… hiding around in my palace.”
“I was not avoiding you, sir,” you placidly justify yourself, not at all scared to look him straight in the eye. “You appeared to be quite preoccupied with the Sun Summoner's arrival.” You shrugged.
"—It's hard to fool me, Miss Maximoff.” His voice was silky, mocking you gently. "But weeks and weeks of evasion from me was quite impressive, I’ll have to admit. Makes me wonder why you’re so adept at it."
“...”
The Shadow Summoner can’t help but feel a sort of satisfaction at your silence, as if he’s won an unspoken game. He watches you for a moment before he speaks again, his voice smooth.
"Tell me," he mutters. "Did you really think I’d forget about that unfinished conversation we had in the library?"
You blink almost innocently. “Everything’s just been so hectic with Miss Starkov’s arrival, sir,” you say, hands clasping behind your back. “I can’t quite recall. My sincerest apologies.”
The man scoffs at your feigned ignorance.
“You may forget, but I never forget, little mouse.” Those abysmal eyes locked on yours. He reaches out and takes a stray lock of your hair, running it between his fingers slowly. You stiffen—the leather of his horse riding gloves almost touching your face.
“I normally dislike repeating myself, but I’ll spare you some kindness, so let me rephrase.” Kirigan retracts his hand, leaning over you. "You took down a drüskelle and escaped Grisha traffickers. How?"
“Again, does it matter how? The kids are safe in the Little Palace.” Your same response in the library weeks ago. The Black General is not satisfied with your vague answer and his hand moves from to your chin, tilting it up slightly so you’re looking directly at him.
"I want to know." There was a not so subtle hint of force in his calm tone. Despite being so close to you that he could count your eyelashes, his gaze is intense and unyielding, trying to dig beneath your surface.
“... Fine. With my hands,” you almost hiss out. That wasn’t a lie… exactly. You used your hands to manipulate energy, which knocked the holy soldier unconscious before the children could see anything.
The general’s expression remains serious as he listens to your brief response.
"For the drüskelle… hmm... and the Grisha slavers? What did you do?” he murmurs, pushing you for a more detailed reply.
“I bribed them,” you say. Just like what the kids believed; you gave them gold and silver. If mind manipulation counted as bribing.
The Black General was in disbelief. He seems annoyed by your refusal to share any details, and his fingers close around your chin more, holding it in place so you can’t look away from his intense gaze.
“Liar.” He was nearly eye-to-eye with you as he leaned down. "Do you expect me to believe that you escaped the attacks of drüskelle and Grisha dealers with just your hands and a bribe?" he asks, fully skeptical of your claim and demanding a better answer from you.
“And if that is what happened?”
“Then you must be Grisha. Or an assassin, maybe, if you used your… hands to defend yourself and survived those trained, armed fighters,” he sneers. “You keep lying to me, little gardener. It makes me have second thoughts. You say you’re not Grisha. When were you tested?”
You stare at him passively, unanswering.
“Well?” he asks, waiting expectantly.
Before he could react, you grab your soil knife from the satchel you carried around to work in the garden.
And consequently slice your palm open.
“!?”
Kirigan’s eyes widened, completely dumbfounded at what you’d just done. You stare at your bleeding palm, rivulets of crimson dripping down your wrist and forearm, droplets pitter-pattering the pavers.
Then, you raise your palm to face him.
“Not. Grisha.” That’s all you whisper, hauntingly unfazed. It was true. No sunlight. No shadow. No elements or whatever manifestations of the Small Science at all.
“...”
Much to your surprise, he closes the space between you and retrieves a black handkerchief from within the pockets of his kefta, tenderly taking your bloodied hand and applying pressure on the lacerated flesh.
“I will fetch a Healer—”
“No,” you refuse, making his brows furrow.
“... No?” he echoes.
Silence engulfs both of you as the afternoon light morphed into the evening.
You withdraw your hand from his leather-clad one, pressing the cloth yourself. Your tone was uncharacteristically frigid to him. “It’s just a cut. I’m sure your Healers have more important soldiers to attend to,” you snapped, stepping farther away from the General.
“... I have a theory,” he says suddenly. His brows are still furrowed slightly, deep in contemplation as he gazes at your injured hand. "You’re not a Grisha. You’ve proven this yourself. But... what if you have powers, nonetheless? Or abilities? Skills?"
He studies you carefully, looking for any reaction to his theory. But you carefully school your face into neutrality.
“Otkazat'sya can't have powers.”
Kirigan quirks a brow, not buying your reaction. He knows you too well, by now. All those visits in the garden, those talks with you...
"You’re not telling me the whole truth again," he mutters, the hint of a smile on his lips. "I can sense when you're lying, little mouse."
It makes you want to punch his pretty face.
He knows he’s caught you in another lie—and he’s enjoying watching you try to deny it despite your failed attempts.
"Admit it. You’re not an ordinary otkazat’sya, are you?”
“But I am," you insist.
“No ordinary otkazat’sya would slice their hand that deep without so much as wincing,” he opposed. “If you were any other person, I’d throw you to my Heartenders for questioning. Maybe you are an assassin, if not Grisha.”
“And why haven’t you, General?”
“Because, my little gardener, you could always tell me the truth,” he says, his tone slightly mocking again. It’s clear that he can sense your internal struggle and is simply waiting for you to crack. “This bothersome cat and mouse game of yours will soon be over.”
“And even if there is something special with me, will you use me the same as you're using Miss Starkov, General?” You look up at him in challenge. This time, it was you who strode closer to him.
The smirk on his face is replaced by a glower.
He grunts, insulted. "What makes you think I’m using Miss Starkov?"
“She is young. Barely past nineteen. Innocent. Easily manipulated. And you are a much more powerful older man. The complete opposite, moi soverenyi.”
The title escapes your lips with suspicion.
Then, you snort. “Unless... those looks and interactions you give her are true love, feelings that have blossomed from you two being so alike. Two sides of the same coin. Light and dark. Sun and shadow.” You tilt your head at him, pressing the handkerchief tighter against your palm. “I’m not blind, General Kirigan.”
Said man lets out a small scoff, unamused and slightly insulted your insinuation that he’s taking advantage of a young and inexperienced Grisha girl.
But were your words false? Or was he hurt because it was true?
"What you call manipulation, I call training. Helping to shape and control a powerful Grisha. To make her a Saint, a savior of Ravka. And Alina...” he mutters, reaching out to squeeze your shoulder—a warning. “Alina is special. She is all that matters now. She is the future. She is the one.”
“Hmm…”
The General quirks a brow at your noncommittal response. "No arguments? No retorts?"
“You will hurt her if you do not stop,” you advise him.
He lets out a low, mocking scoff. "Since when do you care about her heart?"
“General, she is good. Pure. Bright and determined, but so young, unsure of her way in the world—”
“I do not wish to speak of Alina right now.” He returns to the previous topic, the shadows growing ever more prominent as the sun sets. “The matter at hand is you. But you haven’t been cooperating with me and don’t seem to plan on doing so.”
He removes his hand from your shoulder, dusting off imaginary dirt from his kefta.
"Hence, I shall ask the children myself. Surely, even if their eyes were covered, one of them took a peek—”
Seething from anger, you almost growl. “You will do no such thing.”
What if you just used your magic again to put this bastard in his place? That would teach him. Still, you were not that reckless. No.
Kirigan doesn’t like you speaking to him in such a hostile manner, but at the same time… he loves it. He can’t help but feel a slight thrill as he looks at the protective fire in your eyes.
He’s got you where he wants now.
"Watch your tongue, Miss Maximoff. You’re speaking to your general.”
“I'm not one of your soldiers,” you sharply rebut.
The Shadow Summoner pauses for a moment, his eyes narrowing at your words. You’re right—you’re not one of his soldiers. You don’t wear a kefta, you’re not trained and raised in the Second Army, like so many of the Grisha in the Little Palace. He should be annoyed or irritated by your defiant tone, but he can’t help but feel intrigued, his interest in you ever growing.
"No, you’re certainly not. But you’re employed in the Little Palace. My palace," he replies, his tone holding a hint of wry amusement. "I will summon the children to my office. With a bit of prying and prodding plus a trusted Heartrender by my side, I'm sure one of them will squeal—"
“Don't you dare.”
And for the briefest moment, the Darkling swore he saw your irises flash red as you seize his hand with your bloodied one. The handkerchief falls to the ground. Aleksander feels your grasp on his hand, your fingers curling firmly around his wrist as you speak—so tight you might break bones. He can practically feel the heat radiating from you, your rage almost palpable. He’s never seen you so… volatile. So furious.
It’s a side of you he’s never seen before.
He wants to see more of it.
Yet, the red was gone as soon as it appeared, making him doubt his own eyes. You let go of his wrist and distance yourself immediately, taking a deep breath, closing your eyes to calm yourself. You turn around, pacing on the garden path.
The general studies you silently, watching you closely as you try to rein in your anger. What did he just see?
“I... overstepped. Forgive me, moi soverenyi,” you whisper. Your eyes were normal again, as if nothing ever happened.
He takes a moment to gather his thoughts, before finally speaking.
"Indeed you did." His tone returned to its usual calm and cool state. The man doesn’t seem particularly upset about your outburst, in fact, he almost looks… impressed?
"Whatever punishment you wish to—" Kirigan doesn't care about that right now, interrupting you.
"What was that, Wanda?”
“... What was what?” You were genuinely confused.
“Your eyes. Just now.” He steps closer, the darkness growing around both of you. “For a second, I swear—”
He wasn’t sure if it was just his imagination.
"—They were red, Wanda. I think they were." He frowns, retracting. "No. They were. My eyes do not fail me."
Upon his words, you realized you’d slipped. He’d seen a glimpse of it. Your powers. All because you couldn’t keep your emotions in check.
It was as of someone submerged you in ice, a pit hollowing your stomach.
“... No... This... This was a mistake,” you suddenly whisper, eyes shut tight. The shadows around you vanish as Kirigan’s brows creased in confusion at your words. “Oh god, I should have just left them here... I should’ve left long ago…”
“Wanda—”
“I never should have come here.” Your voice breaks, a tear sliding down from your eyes as you endlessly whisper to yourself. “I never should have… oh god… it’s all my fault… this is all my fault.”
You’ve put the children at more danger because you remained here in the Little Palace. Why did you have to meddle so much into things? You were a danger to anyone and everyone around you. You should have stayed alone in your little cabin in Tsibeya, waiting to die.
Gritting your teeth, you pick up the bloodied handkerchief on the ground and hand it to Kirigan, who was stunned by your behavior.
“But your hand—”
“I don’t need it anymore.” Your voice was hoarse with emotion.
“What—”
Indeed, when he looked at your bloodied hand… there was no cut at all. No blood on your palm or any that he’s seen dripping to your wrist and arm. Even the droplets on the ground were gone. His eyes widen as he looks at the handkerchief. Fresh and clean.
His head snaps towards you.
Teary-eyed, lips wobbling, hands trembling as you gazed at him, face illuminated by the lamps by the garden path.
“I only wanted to make sure they were safe,” you choke out, shaking your head. “Visit them every few weeks or so while… while…”
Aleksander realizes he may have screwed up as he watches your wrecked state before him.
“... While I just nurture something instead of ruining it all the time.” You tearily glance at the majestic flower beds you’d created. The food you grew from the soil. The fruit of your hard work. Real. No witchcraft at all.
Was it worth it, though?
You clench your trembling hands, glaring at the Shadow Summoner. “You truly wish to know what happened with the drüskelle and the slavers? Fine!”
You almost sounded insane as you scoffed. The General was silent. Frozen.
“I do have certain powers, General Kirigan. Powers beyond your wildest imagination. Powers that not only topple empires, but worlds. Powers I never wanted and powers I never wished to use again,” you huff out, no longer caring about hiding secrets. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”
He swallows, seeing the crazed look in your eyes.
“You want the truth? I’m a damn witch. I use magic. The so-called thing you and your Grisha label as merzost? An abomination? I could eat it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner and still have seconds. There you go,” you chuckled humorlessly. “And if I were any madder than I was now, I would have killed you right when you threatened to interrogate the children.”
Wiping your tears, you give him a hopeless smile, eyes glowing red. This time, it wasn’t a mere flash. Your eyes were glowing.
“But do you know why I didn't? I can’t. Because that would add one more person’s blood to the countless souls I’ve killed over so many millennia… the thousands I've tortured with my pain..." You ran your fingers through your hair.
Witch. Magic. Countless killed. Millennia.
Your jaw clenches at your own words as you scoff tiredly. The red vanished from your eyes. "Perhaps I truly am meant to be alone."
Aleksander doesn’t know how to react to your revelation. He only knows that he hates what you just said. However, as he removes his leather gloves—reaching out for you as he slowly steps forward.
You frown. “What... What are you doing—”
His bare hand cups your cheek. His thumbs—calloused, yet warm—graze your cheeks to wipe your tears. Your eyes flutter closed at the sensation.
It felt nice.
However, when your eyes close, you see it. Hear it.
All of it.
A snowy land. A frozen lake.
"I'm a human amplifier."
"I'm sorry! I need your bones!"
"If she wears my bones then you won't be able to push her or her sister around anymore!"
"You must fight. Fight!"
Water. So much water. Drowning.
The Cut. Blood. Fire.
“Aleksander!”
A woman restrained and stabbed. A man falling to his knees before vengefully killing royal soldiers with shadows. Journals. Morozova’s journals. Merzost. The creation of the Fold.
"What did you do?"
“I made something.”
The volcra. The screams.
“Aleksander is the Black Heretic.”
The night of the Winter Fete. Crows. Alina Starkov. Malyen Oretsev. Two children running in a field. The Stag. The Darkling’s true plans.
“Fine. Make me your villain.”
The expansion of the Fold.
“You cannot claim what was not given to you.”
Nichevo'ya. Scars. The fall of Ravka from the inside out.
So much death. So much screaming.
There came another Lantsov prince. A ship. The Sea Whip. The Firebird. The death of Mal.
The obliteration of the Fold. The sun vanishing. Sand… so much sand…
All of it, in just a split second.
“Without me, know that they will come for you.”
“Let them come.”
“Alina… you make sure… there is nothing left of me… please…”
A thornwood tree.
Screaming. More and more screaming.
The making at the heart of the world.
"My name is Aleksander Morozova, but I have had a hundred names and I have committed a thousand crimes. I am not sorry. I do not repent! All I did, I did for Ravka!"
Make it stop.
Make it stop!
“No!” you screamed, unconsciously pushing the Black General away—sobbing harder and falling to your knees, clutching your throbbing head and covering your ringing ears, overwhelmed by the barrage of voices and images flashing through your mind. "It hurts... it hurts!"
Then, as you open your eyes, your heart sinks.
Although it was evening—no one else around, the palace garden around you fell dead—flowers wilted, trees black and leafless, not a single form of life present. The lights of the lamps had been snuffed out.
Black and corrupted like your fake apple orchard when you read the Darkhold.
And you hear someone wheezing from beside you.
Your eyes widened—the general's shadows had mostly protected him, but red wisps of energy still coiled around his neck as he struggled to breathe, on his knees.
“No! Stop! Stop, I’m sorry!” you cry out, standing and making the wisps vanish.
You cover your mouth, feeling revolted at what you’d just done. It was Westview all over again. General Kirigan—no, Aleksander Morozova stares up at you—coughing—both of you reeling from shock.
He was speechless, as well.
“I’m sorry… I’m sorry…” you hiccuped. The ruthless, terrorizing Darkling himself seemed horrified at you. That spoke volumes in itself. “I’ll… I’ll fix it. I’ll fix it, I’m so sorry… I didn’t mean to…”
Hands glowing with a mix of red and black mist, you revert the garden to how it used to be… before you accidentally killed it. Like nothing ever happened, just like how the cut on your palm mysteriously vanished.
The Black Heretic couldn't believe his own eyes. His little gardener was... something else entirely.
Not Grisha. Not a Shadow Summoner. Not a Sun Summoner. You were something far beyond that.
“Wanda—” Aleksander finally says, pulling himself up, approaching you cautiously.
“Don’t.” You shake your head, voice barely a whisper. He stops that instant. “Don’t… Don’t come any closer. Please. I might hurt you again. I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to hurt anyone... I’m not a monster.”
Your words broke Aleksander’s heart.
He’s heard them before from his own lips.
You swallow, staggering from the visions you saw. A premonition. Just like when you read Ultron’s consciousness.
“I looked into your head and saw annihilation,” you remembered yourself saying to the love of your life, when he was no more than an hour old.
“Look again,” Vision replies.
Your chest heaves with the effort you need to breathe. You had to get out of here now. But you had only one wish.
“You have kept them safe, Wanda. All this time,” Aleksander whispers, tone almost pleading. "I understand now. How you protected them. Why you protected them yourself. Please—"
“... General Kirigan, please... all I ask of you is that you make sure they’re safe,” you beg the Darkling, lips wobbling. He immediately understands.
Katyusha, Henrik, and Dmitri.
You shake your head in disagreement, sadly smiling.
"There is no safe place. There is no haven." Baghra's words momentarily echo through Aleksander's head from when he was thirteen. His heart thumps faster and faster. "Not for us."
"There is no place for me here, General. Not anywhere." A tear trails down your cheekbone, your voice shaky. "Not with anyone. Not for me."
"Wanda, wait—"
You exhale. "Goodbye, General Kirigan."
In a blink of an eye, you were gone.
The only thing left of you—on the ground—were your satchel of worn-out gardening tools and a white envelope. Frowning, he picks it up. A job offer from the Grand Palace to be one of the gardeners there. He frowns, crumpling it in his hand.
Aleksander stares at the garden, in disbelief of what just happened and how you did it. Crickets sounded out from the bushes. He touches his throat, remembering the crushing feeling of those wispy, crimson streaks in the air constricting his airway. Almost like a Heartrender, but oh so different.
Wispy, crimson streaks… magic...
Aleksander then realizes why you’ve been so familiar to him all this time.
You were the woman who had been haunting his dreams not so long ago.
Yet, you did not seem to know it at all.
And now, he had driven you away because of his greed. He feels the bile creep up his throat.
That night, as he returns to his room in a daze, his strange dreams of the faceless woman with powers return.
Only this time, you weren't faceless anymore.
to be continued.
So he finds out but kinda regrets it! I wanna make this man grovel soon, hehehehe. I honestly also love how I was able to mix some of the show's, book's, and Wanda's iconic lines from her MCU movies here in this chapter. 💖
Anyways, reblogs are super super appreciated as well as comments and hearts! I love getting feedback from any of my readers! 🥺
taglist: @idohknow @robertthehoover @the-desilittle-bird
#thera.writes#the darkling#darkling x reader#aleksander morozova#aleksander morozova x reader#scarlet witch#wanda maximoff#shadow and bone#multiverse of madness#wandavision#grishaverse.works
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