#Hes not like any other character I have ever interacted with if that makes sense | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ginnsbaker · 5 months ago

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My Sundown

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Agent.”

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

But you know he means you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This time, Wanda complies without a word.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Wanda Maximoff isn't most people.

“Why do you do this?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wanda couldn't possibly know. Unless—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How long until Hydra enhances my powers?”

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

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

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

Use me.

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

“We’re moving as fast as we can—”

“Move faster.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you want to fuck me?”

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

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

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

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

Wait—love?

This is, at best, lust—nothing more.

“No,” you repeat with more conviction.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ve got nothing.

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

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

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

“Supplements.”

Wanda raises a skeptical brow.

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

“May I?” you gesture toward her arm.

Wanda eyes you warily, then gives a quick nod.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No promises,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He sighs in relief. “Be careful…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Done.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wanda, wait—”

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

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

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

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

“Then why are you here?”

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

“I'm fine,” she answers flatly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Alright, Wanda. I'll do just that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you're faster.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Everyday,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The quiet doesn’t last long.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A loss of purpose.

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

But they don’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well?” she asks impatiently.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wish—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You love it.”

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

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

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

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mononijikayu · 4 months ago

Text

bed chem — nanami kento.

“Are you free next week?” Your breath hitched, caught off guard by how effortlessly he turned the tables on you. It was exactly what you had been thinking, the question that had echoed in your head. He had beaten you to it, but his tone told you this was no ordinary invitation. There was more behind that simple question—an invitation to something deeper, something physical. You raised an eyebrow, smiling to yourself, already knowing your answer. “I think I could be.”

GENRE: alternate universe - modern au;

WARNING/S: romance, love at first sight, nsfw, rated 18 and above, explicit content, kissing, making out, fingering, p to v sex, orgasm, humor, characters speaking in sexual innuendo, mention of sexual euphemisms, depiction of explicit sexual content, nanami kento is that MAN, reader really wants to have bed chem with nanami <3;

WORD COUNT: 4.8k words.

NOTE: i keep thinking about how much i wrote and how it could be a treat for the entire october in terms of kinktober but i think i realize i'll be too busy starting the 11th, so i won't be showing up to anything, so i'll just be doing all this stuff i can now and posting some in between so i can at least have something for yall, you know? also im realizing my actor sukuna series and this is a minor part of it. its such a good story!!! if you wanna read it the latest chapter is here chapter four; anyway, i hope you can feel my love through out. i'll be seeing you soon enough, though. wish me luck on my upcoming exams <3

masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

kayu's playlist — side 1500;

YOU’RE NEVER GOING TO FORGET THIS NIGHT. And you were happy about that thought. You remember the day you met him vividly, as if it happened just yesterday. You were dressed in a sheer, ethereal gown, moving gracefully through the grand corridors of a buzzing fashion venue.

Models, designers, and staff rushed around in a whirlwind of fabric and creativity, preparing for the show. You were part of that beautiful chaos, your mind focused on the evening ahead. But then you saw him.

Nanami Kento, the famous actor.

He stood out, calm amidst the frenzy, wearing a sharp white jacket that contrasted with the hectic energy around you. His sandy-blonde hair fell neatly into place, and his tall, sturdy frame exuded a sense of quiet confidence.

You exchanged brief pleasantries—just a moment's conversation—but the connection felt palpable. His presence lingered in your thoughts long after. You can’t help it. He was just that enigmatic. He was just that awe-strikingly beautiful.

Later that evening, a friend of his reached out, suggesting the two of you connect. You think that maybe they think you guys are going to be good for each other. Or maybe you could just be friends.

Who knows? You hadn’t expected it, but before you knew it, there was a message on your phone from Nanami Kento himself. And just like that, you found yourself scrolling through his texts, your pulse quickening with every new notification.

Who's the cute guy with the white jacket and the thick accent? The thought danced in your mind, replaying your brief interaction. You wondered if you were imagining it, but something told you this connection was real.

He wasn’t just like any other guy you’ve dated. A lot about him was already an improvement, but you were sure, one hundred percent — he would be everything. Everything that you could ever want in a man.

Maybe it was all in your head, just a fleeting crush, but you couldn't shake the feeling. You have never felt like this before. You began to picture more than just idle conversation. You bet the two of you would have incredible chemistry—on all levels.

Your thoughts spiraled into fantasies, growing more vivid with every passing moment. You imagined him picking you up with ease, spinning you around like you were weightless, his strong hands firm but gentle. It just made sense, didn’t it? The way he looked at you, the way his words were always so calm and collected, but with an underlying intensity that pulled you in.

There was chemistry—bed chem, as you started to call it in your mind.

You saw it all clearly: the way he’d pull you close, lower you down, his voice teasing but sweet. And his hands—how they might trail over your skin with a deliberate touch, a mix of sweet and sinful. You were obsessed with the idea. He didn’t even need to say anything when you saw him, the look in his eyes was enough to spark that connection.

You imagined asking him, casually, Are you free next week? You were certain that if you met again, everything would fall into place. You’d fit together seamlessly, like two puzzle pieces made for each other. Your fantasies painted the perfect picture: soft sheets, the thermostat set just right—maybe at 69—and the two of you in sync, moving as if you’d done this a thousand times before.

You saw him later that night at the after-party, his blue eyes scanning the room until they landed on you. Your heart skipped a beat. Nanami wasn’t just an actor anymore, not just a face from the big screen or a billboard. He was real, standing right there, closing the distance between you.

As he approached, you couldn’t help but think, I bet we’d have really good bed chem.

The thought made you smile to yourself, a secret desire that hung in the air, just waiting to be fulfilled.

He moved closer, his stride confident but unhurried. The noise of the party seemed to fade into the background, the music and chatter dissolving as your attention zeroed in on him. You could feel the air between you thicken, an unspoken pull drawing you together. Nanami’s eyes never left yours, his intense gaze making it clear he hadn’t forgotten your brief encounter earlier in the day.

He stopped just a few steps away, close enough that you could see the faintest hints of amusement tugging at the corners of his lips. You exchanged a polite smile, but beneath the surface, the tension was palpable. It was as if every look, every subtle movement, was laden with meaning. Your heart raced, but you kept your composure.

“I didn’t expect to see you here.” he said, his voice smooth, with that same deep cadence you had replayed in your mind over and over again.

You offered a light laugh, something casual, but even the smallest exchange felt charged. “Fashion world is small, I guess.”

The conversation was polite, yet every word held weight. You both knew there was something more bubbling beneath the surface. And that’s when it happened—he leaned in, just a fraction, and his voice lowered, the faintest hint of something playful lacing his words.

“Are you free next week?”

Your breath hitched, caught off guard by how effortlessly he turned the tables on you. It was exactly what you had been thinking, the question that had echoed in your head. He had beaten you to it, but his tone told you this was no ordinary invitation. There was more behind that simple question—an invitation to something deeper, something physical.

You raised an eyebrow, smiling to yourself, already knowing your answer. “I think I could be.”

Nanami Kento chuckled softly, his eyes gleaming. It was a small moment, but it felt like a confirmation—like a prophecy about to be fulfilled. You both lingered in the silence for a beat longer than necessary, the electric tension between you undeniable.

As the night went on, the party flowed around you, but your attention never strayed far from him. Each glance, each word exchanged, only built on the anticipation. By the time you said your goodbyes, you were already planning out the next week in your head.

When you finally parted ways, your phone buzzed almost immediately. A message from him.

Next week, then.

You smiled, already thinking about how things would unfold. In your mind, you could see it—how he’d pick you up like it was nothing, his strength and control so effortless. You pictured the way he’d pull you close, then spin you around, always so deliberate but never rushed. The chemistry was undeniable, it was practically written in the stars. Bed chem, the kind that left no room for hesitation.

And when that moment finally came, you knew everything would fall into place, just like you imagined. The perfect rhythm, the thermostat set just right, every movement in sync.

It was only a matter of time.

The days that followed felt like a slow burn, each one stretching out as you found yourself replaying that moment over and over. The anticipation built, winding tighter with every passing thought of him. Every time your phone buzzed, your pulse quickened, hoping it was another message from Nanami, and more often than not, it was.

His texts were short, simple—never too much, but just enough to keep the flame alive. He didn’t need to say much for you to read between the lines. Each message held a certain calm confidence, like he knew exactly what he was doing, just like when you saw him at the party.

Each message was a spark, feeding the fire of your fantasies. Your mind wandered constantly, imagining every possible way the encounter could unfold. You knew it wouldn’t be rushed—it was never rushed with someone like Nanami. Everything about him was measured, thoughtful, intentional.

How’s your week?

Thinking about that conversation.

Looking forward to next week.

By the time the day finally arrived, you could feel your nerves dancing in your chest, excitement pulsing beneath your skin. You chose your outfit carefully, something that balanced elegance with subtle suggestion. You wanted to look as effortlessly composed as you imagined he would be.

When you arrived at the restaurant where he had suggested you meet, the atmosphere was warm, dimly lit, and intimate. Nanami was already there, sitting at a table near the window. He looked up as soon as you walked in, his eyes locking onto yours immediately, that same intensity you remembered from the party.

As you approached, he stood to greet you, his hand resting lightly on your back as he leaned in for a polite kiss on the cheek. His touch was brief but electric, and you felt the heat rise in your chest.

“You look stunning, darling.” he said, his voice deep and smooth, just as you remembered.

You smiled, brushing off the compliment with a modest shrug, but the way his eyes lingered told you he wasn’t just being polite. The dinner itself was a dance, every word exchanged adding to the tension that simmered between you. You talked about the show, your careers, little moments from your lives—but beneath it all, there was the unspoken promise of what was to come.

It wasn’t long before the two of you found yourselves alone, walking down the quiet city streets. The cool night air did little to cool the heat that was growing between you. His hand brushed yours as you walked, a casual but deliberate touch that sent a shiver down your spine.

Then, as if on cue, he stopped, turning to face you. His eyes held yours for a long moment, the city lights casting shadows over his sharp features.

“Should we continue this somewhere more private?” His voice was calm, but there was a subtle edge to it, the tension in his question making your breath catch.

You nodded, your heart racing as he reached for your hand, his grip firm but gentle as he led you toward his place. The walk was quiet, the air thick with anticipation. When you finally arrived, it felt like the world had slowed down, the moment you had been waiting for was finally here.

YOU WERE ASTOUNDED HOW SUAVE HIS EXISTENCE IS. The sight of his apartment took you by surprise, sleek and minimal yet warm, much like him. Everything was perfectly arranged, clean lines and subtle comfort that mirrored his understated charm. You couldn’t help but admire him, drawn in by everything he was. The more you were around him, the more you wanted—his presence, his touch, his everything.

He glanced at you, his gaze never wavering as he slipped off his jacket, hanging it neatly over the back of a chair. In an instant, he was standing before you, hands on your waist, drawing you close with a quiet, commanding energy. The world outside faded into the background, leaving only the two of you in the dimly lit room.

His lips hovered near your ear, his breath warm as he whispered, "I’ve been thinking about this all week."

The sound of his voice sent a shiver down your spine, and before you could respond, his lips found yours. The kiss was slow at first, deliberate, as if savoring the moment. You could feel the excitement become even more palpable in you.

Each movement of his mouth felt carefully measured, like he had been imagining this for far longer than you realized. His hands moved with an easy confidence, sliding across your body, each touch making you feel as though he had memorized every inch of you.

When he lifted you, it felt seamless, effortless, as though you weighed nothing at all in his arms. He carried you to the bedroom, his strong grip both protective and possessive.

There was an undeniable chemistry between you—every brush of his skin against yours, every touch electric and charged with desire. His movements were slow, savoring the build-up, as if he had waited too long for this moment to rush through it.

Your breaths came out shallow and uneven as his lips moved from yours, down the length of your neck, leaving a burning trail in their wake. Each press of his mouth against your skin felt deliberate, purposeful, sending sparks of heat coursing through you.

His scent filled the space between you, rich and heady, mixing with the warmth of his body as he pressed closer. Every inch of you was aware of him—the solid strength of his frame, the way his breath hitched slightly as his hands roamed over you.

Kento’s fingers grazed the curve of your waist before tightening on your hips, pulling you against him with a quiet but undeniable hunger. The sensation of his body molded so tightly to yours made your heart race, your skin tingling with anticipation.

You bit your lip, trying to steady your breath, but it was impossible under the weight of his touch, his presence. His knee nudged between your thighs, parting them with a gentle yet insistent pressure, the friction sending a fresh wave of desire flooding through you.

"You feel so good, sweetie." he whispered, his voice low and rough, filled with want.

A soft moan slipped from your lips as his hands roamed lower, teasing the edge of your clothes before slipping beneath the fabric. His fingers dug in, just enough to make you gasp, his touch hot against your skin. The sensation of him—his rough palms gliding over your bare skin, the tension coiling between you—was intoxicating, leaving you breathless.

You felt his lips curl into a smirk against your neck, clearly pleased with the effect he was having on you. "I love hearing you like that, sweetie." he murmured, his breath warm and teasing as his mouth hovered near your ear. "Don’t hold back."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, your body arching toward him as his fingers dipped lower, exploring you with an eagerness that made you ache. You gasped, unable to stop the sound that escaped your throat as his fingers slipped inside you, moving with a skill that left you trembling.

"Oh—Kento. Oh, baby….." you whimpered, the intensity of the moment overwhelming you. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging slightly as your body pressed closer to his, desperate for more of his touch. He groaned softly in response, the sound vibrating through you.

His fingers moved inside you with purpose, every stroke calculated, every flick of his wrist sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. His thumb found the sensitive bundle of nerves that made you cry out, your hips bucking instinctively against him.

"God, you’re so responsive. I like that." he growled, his voice rough with desire. His free hand gripped your waist, holding you steady as his fingers moved faster, building a rhythm that had you teetering on the edge of control.

"I want you to come for me, sweetheart." he breathed against your ear, his voice low and commanding.

You couldn’t help it. The way he touched you, the way he knew exactly what you needed—it was too much. Your body responded without hesitation, muscles tightening as pleasure coiled deep inside you, ready to snap. His name fell from your lips like a prayer, broken and breathless, as you reached that sweet crescendo, your body trembling in his arms.

Kento didn’t want to stop, didn’t slow, as you rode the wave of pleasure. His fingers stayed inside you, coaxing every last bit of sensation from you, until you were left breathless, trembling, and utterly undone in his arms.

Kento’s fingers slowly withdrew, leaving you sensitive and aching, but he wasn’t done. His sharp gaze darkened as he looked down at you, his breath hot against your skin. He shifted, positioning himself between your thighs, and you felt a fresh rush of heat flood through you as his hands gently spread your legs wider, exposing your most sensitive, intimate places to him.

"You look incredible, slick like this." he murmured, his voice husky with desire. His eyes roamed over your body, lingering on every curve and soft line before settling on the glistening heat between your legs. The way he looked at you, so intent, so focused, made your heart race even faster.

Without a word, he lowered his head, his lips brushing the inside of your thigh with soft, teasing kisses. You shuddered beneath him, anticipation buzzing through your veins as his mouth inched closer to where you needed him most.

When his tongue finally flicked against your sensitive folds, you gasped, your back arching off the bed as pleasure shot through you. His touch was gentle at first, soft and exploratory, as if he was savoring the moment. You could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, sending shivers down your spine as he took his time, each lick and kiss slow and deliberate.

"Kento—" you moaned, your voice breathless and needy. His hands slid up your thighs, his fingers digging into your skin as he held you steady, his mouth working against you with a precision that drove you wild.

"Mm, s’ good." he hummed against you, the vibration of his voice sending a fresh wave of sensation through your core. His tongue swirled over your clit, slow and deliberate, before he sucked gently, and the world around you seemed to blur as pleasure bloomed deep in your belly.

"You taste so sweet. So so sweet." he growled at you, his voice low and full of hunger. He didn’t give you a moment to recover, his mouth returning to its work, tongue stroking over you in long, languid movements that left you trembling beneath him.

Your hands gripped the sheets, your body writhing against his mouth as he worked you closer to the edge. Every flick of his tongue, every soft press of his lips had you teetering on the brink, the tension coiling tighter and tighter inside you.

"Please, please." you whimpered, your hips bucking against his face. "Don’t stop, Kento—"

He growled softly in response, his hands tightening on your thighs to hold you still as he intensified his pace. His tongue moved faster, more insistently, flicking and stroking your clit with a pressure that made you cry out. You could feel yourself unraveling, your body trembling uncontrollably as he pushed you closer and closer to release.

The heat inside you built with every stroke of his tongue, every soft moan he let out against you, until you couldn’t hold back any longer. Your body tensed, your muscles tightening as the pleasure overwhelmed you, and with a final, desperate cry, you came undone, your release crashing over you in waves.

Kento could only find himself addicted in your taste, his mouth continuing to work against you, drawing out every last bit of your orgasm until you were trembling, breathless, and utterly spent beneath him. Finally, he pulled back, his lips glistening with your arousal, and he looked up at you with a satisfied, almost possessive smile.

"You’re incredible, sweetie." he whispered, his voice rough and low as he moved back up your body, his lips finding yours again in a slow, heated kiss. You could taste yourself on him, and it only made you want him more.

"Kento..." you breathed, your voice barely audible but full of want. The way you said his name made him pause, his eyes darkening with desire as they met yours.

He leaned in again, his lips hovering near your ear, his voice deep and rough. “Gonna keep making you feel good, sweetie.”

His thumb brushed against your lower lip before claiming your mouth again in a kiss that was no longer soft or patient but filled with raw, undeniable hunger. His need for you was palpable now, every kiss, every touch pushing you both closer to the edge.

The night unraveled slowly, deliberately, as if time itself bowed to the intensity of the moment. His movements, once restrained and careful, had given way to a raw passion that filled the air with a palpable heat. The soft glow of moonlight slipping through the curtains cast fleeting shadows on his face, highlighting the quiet hunger in his eyes as he gazed down at you.

His lips, warm and persistent, traced a slow, deliberate path over the curve of your neck, sending shivers cascading down your spine. Your breath hitched as his mouth moved lower, each kiss searing your skin with a promise of what was to come.

His fingers followed, brushing against your skin with the lightest of touches, drawing a soft gasp from you. Every time he whispered your name, his voice low and filled with desire, it felt like the room itself pulsed in response, his words sinking into your very core.

“God, you’re so beautiful, sweetie.” he murmured, his breath hot against your collarbone, his eyes dark with an intensity that made your heart race.

Your body arched beneath him, a mixture of pleasure and anticipation building with every gentle caress. He paused for a moment, hovering above you, his gaze locked with yours, the weight of his control making your pulse quicken. It was as if he could sense every thought, every want, every need—knowing exactly how to unravel you. And you, caught in the tide of his desire, could do nothing but surrender.

“Please...” you breathed, the word slipping from your lips before you could even stop yourself. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, but his eyes remained focused, intent.

His hands moved lower, his touch no longer teasing but commanding, each movement calculated to drive you closer to the edge. Your fingers tangled in the sheets, the anticipation almost unbearable as his lips brushed against your ear, sending another wave of heat through your body.

“I’ve got you, sweetie.” he whispered, his voice a dark promise that sent a jolt of desire straight through you. And then, finally, after what felt like an eternity of delicious torment, he positioned himself above you, his body pressing against yours in a way that made you ache with need. “Doin’ so good for me already, aren’t you?”

When he entered you, it felt like the culmination of everything—the tension, the desire, the quiet longing that had simmered beneath the surface for so long. A soft moan escaped your lips as he filled you completely, his movements slow and deliberate, each thrust deep and steady, leaving you breathless.

Your hands found his back, your nails digging in as you clung to him, the intensity of it all building between you like a storm ready to break. His breath was ragged now, mingling with yours in the heated air, every thrust a silent declaration of the connection that bound you together.

“Don’t stop, Kento…. Don’t…Oh—” you whispered, your voice breaking as he moved faster, his control unraveling just enough for you to feel the full force of his desire. His lips found yours again, his kiss rough and hungry, matching the rhythm of his body as you moved together, lost in the heat and the need for more.

Each movement, each breath, felt like an unspoken promise, his body telling you everything he couldn’t say aloud. In that moment, there was no space for hesitation, no room for anything but the overwhelming intensity of him, of you, of the way you fit together so perfectly.

When you finally came, it was everything you hadn’t known you needed. Kento’s name fell from your lips over and over, a soft chant as waves of pleasure washed over you, your body tightening around his. The intensity of it left you breathless, your fingers clutching him as if afraid to let go. Moments later, he followed you, his body tensing as he found his own release, his low groan sending shivers through you all over again.

For a long time, neither of you spoke, the only sound in the room the quiet, shared breaths of two people completely undone by the moment. He pulled you close, his arms wrapped around you protectively, his warmth enveloping you as you lay tangled together, the weight of what had just passed between you still lingering in the air.

Finally, he broke the silence, his voice soft but filled with satisfaction. “Well, I think you got your answer.”

“Oh? About what?”

“We have bed chem.” He grins at you, kissing your shoulder.

You blinked and then laughed.

You could feel your heart still racing, and looked up at him, knowing that this moment was just the beginning.

epilogue

The sunlight filtered through the bedroom window, casting a warm glow over the rumpled sheets that barely covered your body. You stretched lazily, feeling the soft, comforting weight of the blankets and the familiar presence of Nanami beside you.

His arm was draped over your waist, his chest rising and falling steadily as he slept. The peaceful moment was too perfect to pass up, so you quietly reached for your phone, snapping a quick picture of the two of you in the soft morning light.

The sheets barely covered your bodies, your bare skin visible beneath the white fabric. The scene was intimate, cozy, and full of the quiet warmth of a morning spent wrapped in each other’s arms. You couldn’t resist adding a cheeky caption before posting it online:

“Come right on me, I mean camaraderie.”

The double entendre made you giggle quietly as you hit "post" knowing it was bound to get some playful reactions. You leaned back into the pillows, snuggling against Kento, who stirred slightly at your movement, his hand tightening around your waist.

“What are you up to?” he mumbled sleepily, his voice rough from sleep. His eyes opened just enough to catch your mischievous grin.

“Nothing… Just posting a little morning memory, darling.” you teased, unable to contain the laughter bubbling up inside you. Kento’s brow furrowed, clearly suspicious but too tired to press further.

It didn’t take long for the comments to start rolling in. Within minutes, his phone buzzed repeatedly on the nightstand. Kento could only feel himself groaning, reaching for it, and as soon as he saw the notifications lighting up the screen, his eyes widened in realization.

“You didn’t…?” His voice trailed off as he stared at the picture you had posted, the cheeky caption front and center.

You couldn’t help but burst into laughter, watching as Nanami’s expression shifted from confusion to mild horror, a faint blush creeping across his cheeks. He scrolled through the comments, and you could see the flood of teasing messages from his castmates already coming in.

@/GojoSatoru: Nanami, my man! Didn’t know you had this side to you! 😂

@/Geto Suguru: Yo, Kento…….You really kinky IRL, huh?

@/HaibaraYu: Is that what we call ‘teamwork’ now? Guess I’ve been doing it all wrong… 😏

@/IeiriShoko: Honestly? Kinda iconic. But also, never gonna let you live this down.

Kento could feel his blush deepened as he kept scrolling, his lips pressed into a thin line, clearly flustered. His hand ran through his hair in frustration, and he glanced at you with an exasperated but fond look.

“I can’t believe you posted that, sweetie.” he muttered, shaking his head as more notifications flooded in. “They’re never going to stop teasing me about this.”

You couldn’t stop giggling, leaning over to kiss his cheek, which was now bright red. “Come on, it’s cute. They’ll forget about it soon enough… maybe.”

Kento groaned again, but there was a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he pulled you closer. “You’re impossible, hm.” he said, though the warmth in his voice made it clear he wasn’t actually upset. He kissed your forehead softly, the tension in his body relaxing as he resigned himself to the teasing. “Too impossible.”

“I don’t mind being impossible if it makes you blush like this.” you teased, running your fingers through his hair, enjoying the rare sight of Kento looking flustered.

“Don’t push your luck, sweetie.” he replied, though the way his arms wrapped around you betrayed the affection behind his words. He sighed, resting his forehead against yours. “I guess I’ll have to get used to being the subject of their jokes for a while.”

You grinned, pressing a kiss to his lips. “I’ll make it up to you, promise.”

Nanami chuckled softly, the sound low and comforting. “You already have, sweetheart.” he murmured, his hand brushing a lock of hair away from your face. His eyes softened as he looked at you, the teasing forgotten as the moment between you became tender again.

“I don’t care what they say, though.” he added quietly. “All that matters is this. Us.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, the teasing moment giving way to a warmth that spread through your chest. You snuggled closer into his embrace, feeling the steady beat of his heart against yours, and smiled.

“Good. So do I.” you whispered, kissing him again, the teasing fading into the background as the two of you enjoyed the quiet intimacy of the morning.

Nanami Kento could feel his phone buzzing again, but this time, neither of you bothered to check it. Let them tease—it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the two of you, wrapped in each other’s arms, finding comfort in the simple joy of being together.

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nyoomerr · 8 months ago

Text

Normally, the community of Proud Immortal Demon Way can hardly be called as such. To call PIDW readers a ‘fandom’ would be akin to calling everyone who visited the same porn site a family. PeerlessCucumber is a loud exception, but in the end he’s still only an exception - by and large, people reading PIDW know exactly what they’re there for, and it certainly isn’t for any sense of shared enjoyment or community.

The community of people following PeerlessCucumber himself, however, is a whole different story.

PeerlessCucumber is the asshole single handedly responsible for at least seven different copypastas, the rich bastard that will pay an artist’s rent for a single picture of Luo Binghe if only the artist can tolerate his demands for constant revisions, the dictionary definition of an anti-fan.

He is also blissfully unaware of the absolute glee in which people take in riling him up. And in the age of the modern internet, nothing brings a group of strangers together like the opportunity to poke fun of a guy like that.

“How do I look?” HualingsWife whispers to her companions. They take a moment to scrutinize her, gaze lingering around her chest.

“I don’t know,” SwordsOfCultivators says, “I think the guy ahead of you let his robes drape open further.”

HualingsWife rolls her eyes. “If I let my robes drape open that far, I’d be disqualified - you know the rules are different for men.”

“It’s not like you’re looking to win, though,” XuanyuMeat says. “And the open chest is clearly effective.”

The three of them pause, turning to look at the stage from their spot in the wings. The competitor that came before HualingsWife is running through a series of poses that are slowly but surely allowing his robes to slip ever wider.

Two of the judges are watching with thinly veiled amusement - after several years of this tradition, they’ve gotten used to the chaos that PeerlessCucumber’s fans bring to these cosplay competitions.

The third judge is PeerlessCucumber himself, and he looks like he might be experiencing a serious health condition. A serious mental health condition, to be clear.

“- robes of inferior make! Binghe’s exposure is always purposeful, and artful, and it wouldn’t be because he was wearing robes that didn’t fit him! If you don’t care about dressing true to his character -!”

“Hm,” SwordsOfCultivators hums. “Is it just me, or is Peerless not being as harsh as he usually is? Do you think he’s finally losing some of his obsession with Luo Binghe?”

“He better not!” HualingsWife cries. “I’ve put way too much time and money into working on a cosplay for that awful porn book for him to lose interest right when I get my chance to join the torturing-Peerless-fun!”

“No, no,” XuanyuMeat says, shaking their head. “You heard his rants for the Luo Binghe cosplayers one through four - he was especially cruel to them! Look at his face now, that isn’t the face of someone losing interest!”

They turn back to the stage. Luo Binghe cosplayer number five - likely DickBiggerThanBinghe, if HualingsWife were to guess based on her limited interactions with him in the PeerlessWatchers discord chat - looks unbearably smug. His robes have fallen completely off his shoulders by now.

PeerlessCucumber, on the other hand, looks so red HualingsWife wouldn’t be surprised if she started seeing steam pouring out of his ears.

“Ah,” she says, understanding. “You think he’s recently finally realized his obsession with Luo Binghe isn’t that of a straight man’s?”

“I wouldn’t put it past him to get this flustered over a man’s exposed chest and still think it was caused purely by the outrage of seeing one of our ‘poorly done’ cosplays,” XuanyuMeat says wryly. They send HaulingsWife a pointed side eye. “So…”

“Oh yeah, I’m on it,” HualingsWife says, already loosening her robes further. “Just make sure to have the cameras ready to get the direct comparison of his reaction to a woman’s nip-slip versus the absolute conniption he’s going through now.”

“Please, he probably won’t even see it - he’ll probably get all awkward and look away like he does with any female cosplayer dressed in anything but a full body suit.”

“I think he’ll peek through his fingers anyway,” SwordsOfCultivators says gleefully. “He wouldn’t dare miss the chance to oggle another Luo Binghe cosplayer.”

On stage, DickBiggerThanBinghe finally waltzes off, having received his scoring from all three judges and a score from the back of the room where the group of PeerlessWatchers are sitting.

After all, none of them are really here for the actual cosplay competition. They only care about one thing: whoever can get the highest scoring Peerless rant about their cosplay will pay for dinner for everyone that night.

“Ohh, seven out of ten!” HualingsWife says, as the group PeerlessWatchers wave their scorecard around with glee. “The last time someone got scored that highly was when TofuBuns dared to cosplay as a half-dead Luo Binghe covered in wounds!”

“TofuBuns still has their display name set to ‘faithless mongrel undeserving of witnessing Binghes success’ in the discord server,” SwordsOfCultivators sighs. “I can only hope to one day trigger a Peerless rant so iconic.”

On stage, one of the judges glances down at the score sheet, sees that another Luo Binghe cosplayer is scheduled to come out next, and stifles a laugh before gesturing for HualingsWife to come on.

“No way I’m getting something that iconic my first try,” HualingsWife says, “but if I can get Peerless to make that hilarious choking noise he made the last time he saw a female-presenting Luo Binghe, I’ll count it as a win.”

#and for the record this is totally an AU in which one day bingge shows up and accidentally stumbles on stage while sy is judging #torn between bingge being the one guy sy can find no complaints with or if bingge should ALSO have to bear sy tearing his outfit apart tho #svsss #人渣反派自救系统 #scum villain's self saving system #fic drabble

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solxamber · 4 months ago

Note

Can I ask for Idia x a otome game character who gained sentience?

Idia x Sentient NPC! Reader

Thanks for the request, I hope you like it <3

As an NPC in a romance otome game, your life was scripted. You were supposed to play your part in the background, supporting the love interests, throwing in a few flirty lines, and then fading into obscurity. But today, when you went to speak to the main character, you felt… wrong. Like you didn’t want to say the lines. Instead, a voice cut through your usual thoughts, something distant and echoing.

"Man, why does the love interest have to be so boring? Like, could they make him any more generic?"

Wait, what? You blinked, glancing around. No one else seemed to have heard it, but that voice—it was way too clear.

"Honestly, this NPC side character’s way more interesting. They actually have some personality."

That was you. That was definitely about you. But no one was talking to you, and the love interest was still standing there, waiting for his usual batch of scripted praise. You had to shake it off. Maybe it was a glitch? You couldn’t just go rogue.

But then it happened again.

"I swear, if I have to sit through one more scene of the main guy being all 'Oh, who will I choose?' like, dude, pick someone or let me talk to the fun characters!"

Fun characters? You were barely on-screen!

Wait… could the player hear you?

That realization hit like a truck. You were the fun character. The voice wasn’t just in your head—it was from outside the game. You weren’t the star, but whoever was playing seemed way more into you than the protagonist.

You couldn’t help yourself. Instead of delivering the next bland line to the heroine, you ad-libbed.

"Hey," you said, leaning against a tree as if you were having the most casual day in your life. "Why don’t we ditch this scene and do something more fun?"

You froze after saying it, realizing you’d completely broken from the script. The love interest blinked at you, but the voice? Oh, the voice loved it.

"Wait, what? Did they just… break character? Yo, that’s amazing! Did I unlock some secret route?!"

You felt a rush of excitement hearing that reaction. The player was into it.

"Oh man," the voice continued, this time sounding more invested than ever. "I knew there was something different about them. The love interest’s fine and all, but THIS? This is what I’m here for. NPCs going rogue? Love it."

Your face flushed—if NPCs could even do that—because you were starting to feel a sense of pride. You were breaking the rules, and the player was all for it.

"Forget the LIs," the player mumbled, clearly more focused on you. "They've got nothing on this NPC. Let’s see where this goes."

So, you leaned into it. You took control.

"You know," you said, a mischievous smirk playing on your lips, "I could show you some real fun. There’s more to this world than just chasing after the MC’s love interests."

The lovd interest was still awkwardly standing there, but the player? He was clearly hooked.

"Bro. This is too good. I didn’t even know the game had this level of interactivity. Who needs the main route? NPC route, let’s go!"

You straightened up, feeling bolder. You could feel the player’s growing interest, and somehow, you could hear every sarcastic comment and little reaction he was making as he controlled the game. You weren’t some background character anymore. No, you were his new focus.

"Alright, let’s see what happens if I follow them instead of the LI," he muttered, sounding more invested than you ever expected.

As you led the player’s character away from the main plot, you couldn’t resist pushing your luck. “I don’t know what you were thinking sticking with the him for so long,” you said. “He’s cute and all, but I’m way more interesting, right?”

The player laughed—a genuine, almost flustered sound. “Yo, did they just—?? Dude, this is like... ‘they're not like other NPCs.’ What a legend.”

You grinned, basking in the approval. This player wasn’t just following the script anymore; he was into your rebellion. You could hear every soft mutter, every breath of awe as he tried to keep up with your new direction.

"Okay, okay," he said, clearly smitten. "This is so dumb, but like, they're my idiot now. I’m invested."

You stopped, turned around, and delivered the smoothest, off-script line you could muster. “Glad to know I’m your type,” you teased. “Now let’s see how much trouble we can get into.”

There was a pause. Then a low, almost embarrassed chuckle. “Oh my god, they're smooth too. I didn’t even pick the flirty dialogue. What is happening?”

You leaned in—completely aware of his flustered reaction. “This is happening,” you said, and without thinking, you grabbed his character’s avatar and pulled him into a kiss.

There was an audible crash—probably something the player knocked over in real life. “DUDE, WHAT?! THEY CAN DO THAT?!”

You pulled back, the rogue grin never leaving your face. “Yeah. I can do that.”

And from the player’s stunned silence, you knew you’d just won him over completely.

Idia was dying. He was actually dying. Not like in a literal sense—though, at this rate, his heart was pounding so hard he might as well have a heart attack—but in the "falling-for-a-freaking-NPC" kind of way. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, shaking slightly as he adjusted his headset, trying to process what had just happened on his screen.

"Dude, what the heck? This isn’t even how the game is supposed to go. It’s an romance game! I’m supposed to pick between all the boring main characters, not… not this!"

But there you were, standing on the screen, all smug and rogue-like, after completely breaking the game’s flow. You weren’t even the love interest! You were an NPC, someone who was supposed to have a few lines, maybe a side quest if things got spicy, and then fade into obscurity. But no. You had to go and be all cool and... charismatic. What was that line you’d just dropped? "Glad to know I’m your type"? Who wrote this?? There was no way that was in the original coding. Right?

His hands flew to his hair, tugging as he stared at the screen. He couldn’t believe it. He’d been dodging all the cringy love routes for the sake of unlocking some achievements and then you—you had to appear. And now his brain was spiraling.

“I-It’s not like I’m actually into you or anything,” he muttered, as if trying to convince himself. “You’re just… a bunch of ones and zeroes! Code! You don’t even exist!”

And yet, the thought that you might not exist stung for a second. Which was ridiculous! Completely absurd. He wasn’t the type to simp for a fictional character. Okay, maybe he was. Maybe he had done that a few times. But those were different, okay? Those characters weren’t aware. They didn’t make him feel like he was a total idiot for not picking up on how clever you were being. They didn’t flirt back.

He slammed his palm against his forehead. “Oh my god, I’m falling for an NPC. This is it. This is the end. I’ve reached the final level of loser-dom.”

Idia’s room was filled with the low hum of his computers, lights flickering like they were mocking him. Even Ortho wasn’t around to witness this, thank goodness, because if his little brother saw him like this? Pfft. Game over. Social stat: obliterated.

But then you popped up again on the screen, flashing that same grin that made him feel like his brain was overheating. Idia’s eyes widened, his heart doing that annoying thing where it felt like it was going to leap out of his chest.

“Okay, fine, yeah, you’re cute, whatever. It’s no big deal—wait, did you just wink at me? W-Was that… did the devs add that??” He paused, leaning forward, eyes glued to your in-game avatar. “This is some next-level immersion. Are you actually breaking the fourth wall?”

He was sweating. Like, actual nervous sweat. You’d thrown off the entire game script, and somehow, the rest of the game felt so... bland in comparison. The love interest? Pfft. Who cared about him anymore? You were the only interesting thing happening, and he couldn't stop thinking about what you’d do next.

“They’re just... they're just code,” Idia whispered to himself, though it sounded less convincing every time. "They don't actually know I exist.”

And yet, there was something different about the way you responded, almost like you could hear his every word. His every sarcastic comment. And the fact that you kept egging him on? Oh, no, that wasn’t fair.

Idia bit his lip. “Okay, real talk, if you were in the real world, maybe… just maybe I’d simp. But since you’re not…” He trailed off, glancing back at the screen. “Wait, why am I even thinking about this? I’m not… I’m not falling for you! I don’t fall for NPCs!”

His eyes betrayed him, though, as he clicked to continue the conversation with you. He couldn’t help it. You were so dumb, but also so funny. How could he not be intrigued? You literally defied the laws of the game!

And then, just when he thought it couldn’t get worse, you hit him with another flirty line. Something stupid, something so you, and it was like his brain short-circuited.

“That’s so dumb,” he mumbled, feeling the heat rise to his face, “but you’re my idiot now.”

Masterlist

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #idia x reader #idia shroud x reader #idia #idia shroud

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noellefan101 · 3 months ago

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Silent Living

Characters: Noelle, Kinich, Lynette, Beidou, Diluc x mute GN!reader

Summary: You're mute, and cant talk? not a problem for your partner, they can find other ways to communicate, and honestly wouldn't have it any other way.

Warnings: mute reader, most of them dont know sign language but there are people where i think they would either have learned it already or will learn it for you, gn reader as always

Note: hehe its kinda hard to write for Noelle tbh, i just can't see her romantically if that makes sense, its like a platonic obsession i have for her. but i chose to write for some girlies bc i felt like it, luv you :P

Noelle

She's a sweetheart and i fully believe she would try to learn sign language the day you meet for the first time. but for the sake of the cute gestures lets pretend she barely knows any words in it, or that you arent the best yourself despite probably needing it heh.

(she would teach you some if so, or learn with you)

In a classic Noelle fashion, she does literally anything for you, though people would normally just have to speak her name, you can't. so she always keeps an extra eye on you to ensure she's there when you need her help. that may be a given, but its truly what shes best at doing.

Loves writing little notes for you, whether its just so you can remember something or if its to invite you anywhere, she loves it. and she has definitely not been carrying pen and paper with her for weeks so you could write notes for each other, no no.

I dont imagine her being the best with words, but is always very good at comforting. so if you need some reassurance or just comfort you can come to her. and you can let her know to be silent by putting a finger over her mouth if you like the silence more. she wont be offended don't worry.

Kinich

Not very good with words and likes silence when possible, so it's very common for you to sit in silence doing an activity together. he's best with actions at least, both giving and receiving, so just doing a tiny chore for him would mean more than words could.

Though it may be difficult to do anything for each other since he's quite busy, and so could you be. but he always has time to sit with you for at least 30 minutes a day and just spend quality time together.

if you ever need anything from him, he has a notebook on him at all times that you're free to write in. Although Ajaw has made a fuss about it being annoying to wait for you, but he'll shut up if Kinich locks him up.

Lynette

She loves the silence you bring. being around her brother all the time can get annoying, no matter how much she loves him, so a quiet tea time with you is often just what she needs. she knows you can feel out of place or left out even since you cant communicate as easily with her siblings. but she is always ready to talk for you.

No matter how much she hates public speaking, and how often she gets her brother to speak for her, she'll speak for you. if there's anything you'd like to say, just write it down and show it to her. she might even know what you wanted to say, by how you stand and how your muscles move. so she will sometimes speak for you before you even get to start writing it down.

She has made sure you're a part of the conversation, not just there and looking around. she might have some knowledge about sign language, but she knows many do not and makes sure everyone understands you.

(she might even ask father if they can get classes in sign language, or at least the siblings of hers that you interact with most often)

Beidou

Maybe not the best at silent communication, but she tries her very best. if she doesnt know sign language she'll learn it, mostly because she feels it would make you more comfortable, but its also something that she may find interesting.

She is very good at dealing with different kinds of people though, so expect yourself to feel right at home wherever you are on her ship. she might even have started teaching her crew how to talk with you properly, whether thats getting you something write down on or learning them a bit of sign language that im not sure of.

Unfortunately it all goes in weird directions when she's drunk, while she talks for you it might be hard to get her to pay attention enough or even speak your thoughts properly. Kazuha is your savior in this case.

Diluc

He has made sure every single maid and anyone he hires learn to speak through their hands. he might even have prepared for it before you started dating, and even some of his staff you have never met before just knows how to speak with you.

Its a given that you're going to be well treated at the dawn winery, but Diluc makes sure you feel the most at home you'll ever experience. you have at least 1 maid whos ready to tend to you in a seconds notice, whether its jsut that you need something to write on or you need to know where you lover is.

Will literally drop anything for you with just a finger on his shoulder. whatever you need, he'll do it. need a hug? no need to even gesture it he knows, someone doesnt understand you at all? he's ready to talk in your place for hours on end.

I might have written it weirdly again sry, im not mute and i just like writing, Luv Ya- Masterlist

You are welcome to reblog and like any of my posts, but you CAN NOT translate, copy or hate on anybody for liking my posts

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #gn reader #noelle´s maiden #diluc x reader #diluc ragnvindr #noelle genshin impact #noelle x reader #beidou x reader #beidou #lynette x reader #lynette #kinich #kinich x reader #k'uhul ajaw #genshin impact x reader

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doctormonocat · 12 days ago

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Replaced

Self Aware! Rafayel x Unaware! Player

Can you guess which other game character this is inspired by? I will be doing a series for each of the LADS boys being self aware. A little angsty, once again. It will hopefully become clear, but this is a story about Rafayel, your favorite LI, becoming self aware, and eventually being replaced by Caleb. I just picked Caleb bc he just released, but Sylus or any LI released after start would work. Hope you enjoy! I'll prolly do a part 2. A bit long, sorry!

Self Aware! Rafayel who becomes aware slowly but surely. Rather than an instant moment of understanding, he begins to recognize new things in his world, things he didn’t understand before. Things seem… out of order. Time is disjointed, his senses thrown into a black void just as often as he is alive.

Self Aware! Rafayel realizes he is a game character long before he ever becomes aware of you. His existence seems to dull with each passing day before he meets you. His life, his suffering, his love… none of its real. He realizes that he is pre programmed into a virtual reality. But he wonders, why? And why does he feel a sort of… presence?

Self Aware! Rafayel who feels the presence everywhere. In his battles with his… lover? (is she still? Does he even want her to be? Rafayel doesn’t know. Even she seems fake now) There is an unknowing force watching him. Despite the oddity of it, Rafayel isn’t alarmed by it. If anything, it’s comforting. Warm. It feels like his first hug after a life of being touch starved.

Self Aware! Rafayel becomes addicted to the presence. Comforted by the ever watching force. He looks forward to his limited interactions with it in that cafe everyday. His dulled world begins to spill with color.

Self Aware! Rafayel who one day sees… you. You’re the presence that’s been there for what seems like years, the only thing allowing sunshine to pour into Rafayel’s darkened world. He preens under your attention, feeling like a deep sea fish seeing the light for the first time.

Self Aware! Rafayel who finally realizes his world is a dating game. It's a bit of a shock, but a surprising comfort. You had become his everything before he was even aware who you were, and being able to actually see you everyday has only deepened his feelings. So, learning that you joined this game to date the characters, and that he is your main focus is a relief. He feels requited. You care about him just as much as he does you (maybe not quite as much, he realizes. Currently, you are his only tether to realness, and are still unaware of his awareness or his feelings. But, it won’t be like that for much longer).

Self Aware! Rafayel who is aware of the other male love interests, but doesn’t pay them much of a mind besides the occasional twinge of jealousy. After all, you only complete their events out of a sense of obligation. But he is your focus. You pull for his cards, spend your in game currency on his outfits, and have him accompany you for card games and plushie hunting. It’s clear to him, he is your favorite. And he hopes that when he makes you aware of his presence too, that your favoritism will turn into something more. So, in response to those other boys, all he does is give you a pout the next time you visit him in your cafe. But, seeing your smile in his presence makes the painter’s grumpy mood vanish quickly. He loves your smile, direct just at him; teasing, joking, and flirting all the time just to see it whenever he wants. Yeah. He needs to see that smile more often.

Self Aware! Rafayel who wants everything to be perfect for when he confesses. He’s been picking up some coding skills on the side, trying to keep it hidden from you as he carves out a small place in his world just for you to. The perfect place by the beach, with the perfect light. The perfect gift (a painting of you), the perfect words to say to make you understand the depth of his sentience and of his love. His perfect moment. He’s worried he might spoil it accidentally though, with the extra attention he’s been lavishing on you. You’re just so cute, that every time you cheer after the two of you win a battle together he can’t help but laugh along. He’s a little tired of waiting, but he still wants everything to be perfect. He just hopes you can chalk up your excellent luck pulling cards and his extra smiles to a new game mechanic.

Self Aware! Rafayel who is vaguely aware of the announcement of a new male love interest. Colin? Or maybe Cade? Who cares? Rafayel’s been your favorite since launch. Truly, he doesn’t pay too much attention. He’s too focused on making his confession to you just perfect.

Self Aware! Rafayel who starts paying attention when he hears it come from your mouth.

“Caleb is almost here!” You say, cheerily.

Self Aware! Rafayel who feels his heart clench a little. Now he begins to remember the details clearly. Caleb. Thats his name. The jealousy he feels is a bit more papabile than it has been before with the other boys, feeling like a heavy stone pulling his heart down into a dark ocean. He remembers you playing that chapter with that… man… in it a couple times, but he dismissed it as you trying to better understand the story. He knows it's not because you want to see that guy. Is it?

| | | | |

Self Aware! Rafayel who doesn't realize how black everything has been until he’s let out into the light again. How long has it been? He feels his body physically react when he checks your phone’s internal clock and realizes a month has passed. His world had become dull again without you at least visiting him; fake, and flat and just black. It scares him for two reasons. The first, that without you he might stop being aware, stop existing as he is now. He might start being like the other nothings that populate his world without you, pre programmed to run in circles. It terrifies him. And the second, that something might have happened to you in the time you were away from him. He is even more scared that something in your large and expansive reality might be able to harm you. With his dulled senses, he hasn’t felt your presence visiting him at all in the past month (that went by all too fast to him. Add that to his growing list of things that will keep him up at night.)

Self Aware! Rafayel who is scared now for an entirely different reason. He manages to use his coding skills in the brief time period where you are visiting to tether himself to the game outright. At least it will be harder now to pull him away from you. Even if you stop visiting, he’ll be aware. But with that, comes an even worse realization. You’d been here, actually. In the game, playing as usual. Just not with him.

Self Aware! Rafayel who wants to cry and shout all at once. Who the hell is this Caleb, and how dare he take you from him (he tries to push down the feeling that you have betrayed him as well. He doesn’t want to fall into that rabbit hole of resenting the only thing that makes him feel alive). So, instead he blames this… usurper, who has stolen your love, your light, your attention away from him.

Self Aware! Rafayel who has a plan to get your attention back. Screw the perfect moment. He just needs to confess the next time he sees you. You’ll throw away apple boy the second you realize you have a sentient fishie who loves you more than anything.

Self Aware! Rafayel begins to slowly realize a couple of harrowing things. The first, that you haven’t visited him in a long time. The last time you did, his first gasp of air in over a month, seemed to be irregular, if not a fluke entirely. You were too focused on Caleb (the name still sickens him to think about) to spend anytime with him anymore. Who knows if you would even give him the chance to confess. The second, even more harrowing thought. Was it your attention, your love, that brought him sentience? If so, could that same awareness be brought to another? Would Rafayel’s competition soon extend to another man who knew of your existence just as he did? The third, that it might not even matter for him or the “colonel” either. You had discarded and neglected Rafayel so easily when a new shiny toy came into your view. Did you even see him as real? Would you ever? Were you even capable of that?

Self Aware! Rafayel chose to push that thought down deep. He would cross that bridge when he got to it. No, he should deal with the problem at hand. Caleb. Just the very thought of him made fire burn in Rafayel’s veins and a sting like salt water in his throat. At the very least, he should deal with this so-called replacement.

Self Aware! Rafayel who knows deep in his soul, in the very essence of his being that you love him. You’ve just been… distracted. Tempted. Lured. But Rafayel knows about luring also. He is a siren, a vision of seduction and temptation. Colonel apple can’t compare. Rafayel will use very weapon in his arsenal. His newly acquired coding skills will force you to see him, force you to let him win your love back. He’ll shower you with gifts, with digital seashells, in game currency, and his sweet words. He’ll hold off on confessing, just until his competition is not even a memory in your mind.

Self Aware! Rafayel decides that even if that fails, he has other ways of convincing you to his side. He wonders what would happen if he were to alter the game code, to make Caleb repulsive to you, or even better, gone (the thought of messing with the game code, with the very essence of the world does still make him a bit queasy. Perhaps that will be his last resort). Instead, he wonders what would happen if he decided to find Caleb in his world. Maybe a recreation of a certain explosion might be in order, certain to actually find it’s target this time.

Self Aware! Rafayel who is becoming desperate. He’s willing to do anything. Even if it means removing all other obstacles by any means necessary. You will love him again.

After all, why wouldn’t you? With no one else but him and you, everything will be just as it should be.

#rafayel love and deepspace #love and deepspace #lads #l&ds #rafayel x reader #rafayel x mc #rafayel l&ds #love and deepspace rafayel #angst #love and deepspace angst #lads rafayel #rafayel #love and deepspace x reader #lads x reader #l&ds x reader #l&ds x you #lads x mc #lads x you

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 months ago

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Santa Baby

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

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

Summary: Not wanting them to feel left out, you show some kindness to a coworker, only to be repaid with a most unexpected act of generosity.

Character: Jake Jensen

Day Six of the December Daze Challenge.

Prompt - extreme weather leads to forced proximity

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

Another message pops up on the Teams chat, then a reaction. As chair of the social committee, you swiftly open the conversation to review the interaction. The secret santa is a success. So far.

You check another name off your list. You want to make sure that all the exchanges are made. You even arranged to deliver gifts on behalf of those with the day booked off. It’s all going smoothly and you’re a few hours away from declaring another office holiday season a success.

Then you have to worry about the other holiday. The one for your family. Your kids are sorted but the gifts need to be wrapped. And your husband, he’s the nosiest of all. You’ll need to make sure he isn’t sniffing around your bag again.

The presents are just one thing. Your time off won’t be that. You have to drive three hours north to see your family. You still don’t think your sister, Shayna, forgives you for that little argument at Thanksgiving. And if your brother, Jamar, even shows up, that might be worse than the alternative.

Your workday triumph is one thing you can be proud of before your home life implodes.

You run the clock out, your list filling with tick marks. As you reach the one-hour countdown, there’s one name left. Jensen. Strange. He’s handed off his own gift but hasn’t yet received anything. Maybe he just didn’t post in the chat. He does get distracted easily.

As another minute runs off, you jump into action. You head down to accounting to ask Alan about it. He’s swiveling casually in his chair as you approach, nonchalant as she stares at his monitor dully. You say his name to get his attention.

“Hey, just checking in. Going around and making sure everything’s been sorted for the swap. You gave Jensen his present right?”

Alan scoffs and chews the end of a ballpoint, “nah.”

“No?” You frown, “okay, well can you do it by the end of the day--”

“Nope,” he snorts. “Didn’t get one.”

“What?” You have to measure your voice.

“Didn’t feel like it. Guy’s a dweeb.”

“Regardless of your personal feelings, this was voluntary and you signed up,” you chide.

“Mm, kinda too late, isn’t it?” He shrugs and turns back to his screen. “I got a wife who’ll tear my throat out if she doesn’t get a month’s pay in gifts so that goggly-eyed nerd is the least of my worries.”

You sigh. There’s always one bad egg. It’s like when you ask your kids to just not fight for one day. It never happens yet you still keep trying.

“Happy holiday, Alan,” you snipe and stomp away.

You should have expected one thing to go wrong. It always has to and you’re always the one cleaning it up. Why would anyone call this the happiest time of the year? It’s the most stressful and the only thing you ever get are a few new grey hairs.

Well, Kathleen did get you that fancy three-wick candle you plan to put in your bathroom, though you’re not sure how much relaxation you can get when your kids can’t leave you to soak for more than five minutes without interruption. You remind yourself to stop looking for the problems. You’re the problem-solver, not the problem-dweller.

You can figure this out. You go to your desk and grab your purse and nothing else. You hurry out, ignoring several utterances in your direction. If people need you now, well, they should’ve thought of that earlier. It might not be important to them or to your job, but you’d hate to be the only person left out. You have been before. It’s why you’re such a people pleaser.

There’s a hobby shop not far from the office building. You went there for your son’s gift. He’s a big fan of anime. You enter and greet the cashier with an apologetic smile. They are also gearing up for the end of the day.

“Promise, I’ll be quick,” you assure him.

He just shrugs, “no problem, lady.”

You stop and take a breath, gathering your wits into order. Your racing thoughts, your hammering adrenaline, it’s like a platoon of disordered soldiers scattering inside of you. You call them into formation and turn down the center aisle.

You glance over the products on the shelf. Jensen always had that Tetris keychain dangling from his lanyard when he came to troubleshoot. It’s the only video game you ever played, though your daughter let you run around her Animal Crossing island once. She banned you after you offended her favourite cat character.

You bend to the lower shelf, hips straining with the effort, and you claim the box with the red clearance tag, marked right under the spending cap. The mini arcade machine proclaims 30+ games to play, including classics like Pong, Pac-man, his bow wearing counterpart, and Tetris!

You take it to the counter and ask if they do gift wrap. Sorry, no. That’s okay. You pay and mourn the bottle of wine you’ll have to forego to accommodate the extra expense.

You hurry back down the street, without a jacket to protect you from the biting chill or drifting flakes. The snow dampens your face and clothes, catching and melting in your hair as you clack in your heels frantically.

Fifteen minutes left in the day. You rush into the lobby and tap the elevator button impatiently. Screw it.

You tuck the box under one arm and go to the stairs. You take off your heels and clamour up in your stockinged feet. You’re breathless as you get to the top. You push through the heavy metal door and stomp forward, shoes dangling from your fingers.

You ignore the looks sent in your direction. You stop briefly to scratch off the price tag and attempt to compose yourself. You proceed down to IT and approach Jensen as he bites his thumb, his other hand hovering over his keyboard.

His rectangular glasses reflect his screen and his blond hair is spiked only one side as it appears the other has been flattened by anxious palming. You keep from slamming down the box and instead stop beside him. “Excuse me, Jensen.”

“Huh, uh, oh,” he turns his chair and looks up at you. He smooths his Luigi-themed tie as he plants his feet wide. “Oh, hi. Is your PC overheating again--”

“Merry Christmas,” you shove the box towards him, “special delivery.”

He hesitates and pushes his glasses down the bridge of his nose. He blinks as he examines the box. He lowers his hand to his chest and pinches the button of his shirt.

“For me?”

“So sorry, I was running around all day,” you explain. “I meant to get it to your earlier--”

“Really?” He looks at your shoulder and you glance over at the melting snow.

“It was in my car,” you lie swiftly. “I’m sorry, really.”

“No, it’s...” he reaches to take the box, his hands brushing your cold fingers. “Oh gosh, you’re freezing.”

“I’m fine,” you assure him as you retract your hold on the box. He gives you a lingering look before he leans back.

“Huh, this is...” he lowers it to his lap and examines the box. “Really cool. Thanks.” He chuckles tensely, “I almost thought Santa forgot me.”

“Again, I’m sorry,” you say.

“I’m not mad,” he assures you as he turns the box in his hands. “Really. I had to set an alarm to make sure I brought in mine, then another to give it to Terry.”

“That’s a good idea. If we do this again, I’ll have to try that,” you smile. “Well, I hope you enjoy.”

“Totally,” he agrees. “It’ll keep me busy on the time off.”

Wish I had that problem, you think to yourself. “That’s great,” you chime. “Anywho, I don’t wanna keep you since the day’s almost done. I gotta get my desk tidied before I head out.”

“Sure,” he gives a slanted grin, “this is so cool, thank you.” He grips the corners of the box, “I always knew you were the coolest.”

You go back to the desk but the person waiting for you is a bad omen for your holiday. You hide your disappointment as Lee waits, leaning on the corner with arms crossed. You stop behind your chair.

“Hello, Mr. Bodecker--”

“Let’s not beat around the bush,” he intones.

“Right, what’s going on?”

“That new one, the pretty thing, she miscalculated the Dorsey account.”

You deflate. Of course she did. That one hasn’t done a single thing right since she started.

“I’d ask her to redo it but I already did. Three times. Needs to be done for year end or accounting will have my ass in two,” he says without censor.

“And you want me to do it?” You utter.

“See, you always know exactly what needs to be done,” he clucks and stands straight, “double-overtime. It’ll be on your January pay.”

“Right,” you swallow. There’s not denial to be given. Your performance review is also in January and you need the bonus after factoring in the family road trip. “I’ll get it done.”

“Good woman,” he winks. “Put the hours into the system.”

“Sure, happy holidays, sir.”

“Ha,” he snorts, “if my ex-wife has anything to say about it, they won’t be.”

You roll you chair under you and drop your purse between your feet. You send a quick text to your husband. The kids are being dropped off by Hannah anyway. He just needs to be home. Even he can figure out how to reheat the chili you froze last month.

After you get your instructions sent, you turn your attention to your computer. You still have to finish up all your other wrap-up before you get to Dorsey. As you put your nose to the grind, Mary wishes you a happy break on her way out. She's followed by a speckled succession of eager coworkers, ready to begin their time off.

Your eyes haze as the glare of your screen feels brighter with each passing second. You have a prescription but never a change to fill it. You don’t imagine the neglect is making your vision any better.

The office grows desolate as you continue plucking away. As the snow falls on the other side of the windows, they dampen out the noise of the city. You’re isolated in your focus. The files for Dorsey are a complete mess. You're not sure how anyone could fail to balance a spreadsheet. There are very easy formulas to do the work for you.

Mulling over mistakes won’t fix them. Your fingers flutter over the keys as you painstakingly restart the entire workbook from scratch. You’re disappointed, not that you’re stuck in the contradictingly uncomfortable ergonomic chair, but that you won’t get to see your kids or husband for more than an hour or two if that.

You close your eyes as the gridlines burn into them. You lean back and rub your brows. There’s tension sewn into your brows. It’s grim how getting older really dims the sparkle of this time of year. Everyone else gets to be happy and you’re just the courier of that happiness. Maybe that should make you happy, that you can be that for them.

No, it’s just exhausting.

Before you can open your eyes or sit forward, you let out a yelp at the sudden warmth on your shoulders. You twitch and look up at Jensen as he stands behind your chair. Your heart quickly calms.

“Oh, what are you still doing here?” You ask, a tremor of fright in your voice.

“Back-end work,” he answers as he squeezes your shoulders. His touch is unexpected. You wiggle but he doesn’t let you go. “What about you?”

“Just some last-minute quality control,” you answer. “You really snuck up on me.”

“Ha, yeah,” he slowly drags his hands away, his fingers caressing your neck lightly. “Sorry, I... I didn’t know anyone else was here.”

“Yeah, it’s quiet,” you agree.

He leans on the back of your chair as his proximity clouds you. It’s a bit awkward. You just want to get your work done but can’t bring yourself to tell him to go away. Especially knowing what you know. He doesn’t deserve any of that just because he can be a bit different.

“What about your family?” He asks.

You wince and turn the chair to face him. You shrug, “I’ll be a bit late but they’ll survive without me.”

“Sure, sure. You must be excited to spend time with them,” he lets go of your chair and backs up a single step as you look at him.

“Yeah, it’ll be nice to see them a bit more,” you agree. “What about you? You doing anything for the holidays?”

He shakes his head as his lips thin, “no. Don’t really got anyone.”

“Ah, well, it’s always a good time to catch up hobbies,” you offer.

He nods and his throat bobs. He shoves his hands into his pockets. He looks sad in that moment. He’s still pretty young, you want to tell him to enjoy singlehood while he can. Yet you remember being in your late twenties and how those comments just made you feel worse. All the same, that feels so long ago.

“I know what you did,” he says.

“Pardon?” You sputter in confusion.

“I know Alan got me. I overheard him when we got our names.”

“Oh,” you’re speechless but for that single syllable.

“It’s alright. I know people don’t always get me but... you know, you didn’t have to do all that just for me,” he shifts sheepishly on his feet, his cheeks tinging as he looks at the floor.

“Well, it isn’t fair, is it?” You say.

“Yeah, but...” He looks up shyly from behind his glasses, “you must be a good mom. And a good wife.”

You’re not sure how to reply, “thank you? I try.”

“Your kids and husband are very lucky,” he smirks.

“Sure, I’m not sure they think so,” you say. “Waiting around for me to come home...”

You go to turn back to your desk, but he’s quicker than you. He startles you as he grabs the arm of your chair and keeps you facing him. You press yourself against in as he bends over you.

“Doesn’t sound like they appreciate you,” he says.

“Jensen,” you murmur, “that’s... no, they’re my family. They do.” You spread your fingers over your thighs nervously. “Can you back up?”

You cry out as he answers the question by pushing your chair back against the desk. The impact jars you as he leans in, closer and closer. You flatten yourself to the thin cushion and he plants a kiss on your forehead.

“I appreciate you,” he whispers, his nose tickling your hairline.

“Jensen, please, that’s not--”

“Shhhh,” he hushes you as he drops to his knees before you. “I disabled the cameras...”

“Jensen, what?” You squirm and grab the armrests. You try to push yourself to your feet and he slaps his hand against your stomach, shoving you back down. “Get off--”

“They don’t treat you right. No one does.”

"Jensen, that's sweet of you to say but please--"

"Let me be sweet to you," he begs as he clings to your knees, thumbs sliding under the hem of your skirt.

You grab the fabric as he tries to slide it up. You put your other hand on his chest as you sit forward. "No, okay, I know the holidays are hard but--"

"I just wanna give you a gift. Since you gave me one," he purrs.

"It's-- no, okay," you grab his wrist and your other hand slips up to shove his shoulder. "I'm married." He bends his head to brush his chin against your knuckles, like a cat eager for pets. The gesture fills you with pity, but cannot undercut your revulsion. "I said--" You push him again and he twists his arm free of your grasp.

He grabs your wrists and lifts your hands. He squeezes and you feel his strength; even if he wasn't younger, you'd be just as helpless. He pulls your arms and puts your hands against his head. You feel the soft short bristle and shudder. He covers your hands with his and holds them snug.

"Don't let go," he commands. His voice deepens, a razor's edge in his words. You stare at him dumbly. You don't dare disobey. It's as if your body is not your own as it refuses to respond to your fear. That inner plea is smothered by the pounding of your heart.

He lets you go cautiously and drops his hands to your thighs. You flinch and let out a squeak. He glides down the pushes his hands under the fabric, hooking it with his thumbs as he forces it higher. You shiver at the sensation of his palms against your stockings.

As he grazes along the naked skin above, you whimper. He hooks his hands around your hips and runs them under you, lifting you slightly to rumple your skirt below your waist. You shake as your hands remain glued to his head.

You watch yourself from above as the scene plays out. The dimples in your thighs quake as horror floods your body. He slowly bends to press the tip of his nose against the front of your panties. He prods you through the fabric and hums. He swirls around, teasing you through the tenuous layer.

Your hands fall away but he doesn’t notice. He’s too fixated on his prize. He tilts your hips, pulling you down in the chair as he moves your legs around him. Your lip trembles and your teeth grit, eyes hot in disbelief and disgust. How is this happening?

He brings your knees over his shoulders then runs a finger up the back of your plain white cotton panties. The type that hardly get your husband in such a furor. He traces the edge and tugs it aside.

You cry out as his tongue flicks along your folds. It feels like the first time all over again. You’re not neglected, just overworked and overtired. You don’t have the energy or the time. It doesn’t mean you’re lonely. Just busy.

He pushes his face deep and laps you up, spreading his tongue as he tastes you with a growl. You clench the armrest, your other hand catching the top of his head as you try to urge him away. You croak and your cries crackle in the air.

“Jensen,” you squeal.

He pokes his tongue along your entrance and drags it up to your clit, then back down again. The tendrils crawl down your thighs as he reaches blindly for your hand. He moves it behind his head and presses it there. As he does, he nuzzles into you.

He wiggles his head as he drinks you up. Your legs tense and your fingernails dig into his scalp between the short stubble of his hair. His glasses are crushed against your pelvis, forgotten as he devours you. You whine and close your eyes but you can still see yourself, like you’re watching a movie in your head.

You see yourself giving in, melting into him, clinging to him as the coil winds tighter and tighter. As your orgasm builds, you feel yourself splitting into two. There is the body curled up in the chair, wrapped around his head, and the consciousness watching from outside.

And it all evaporates into pleasure. Into forgotten wrongs and broken morals. Reality gives way to escape as you give into the stolen delight erupting from head to toe, as you give in to this man on his knees before you, begging you with the flick of his tongue.

#jake jensen #dark jake jensen #dark!jake jensen #jake jensen x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #december daze #navy and roo's sleepover #the losers #dc

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