#Ray is still not done and I need to draw more

[happytheoristdreamer]

Meet one of the guys! 

This is Ray.

He is originally from the SwapFell (Red) universe but then I decided to do my little spin on him and his brother. So he’ll have his (wild) moments...but overall he’ll be tamed...  ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Oh BTW, I made a tumblr account for “Date ME!”  (click on it)

I’m still not done with the page but I’ll update there. I will start introducing the guys one by one <3

[ririkookiemonster]

no textbooks here — JJK

Summary: being a model in the art class was common for you, but this time, you gave a chance to be the female model in biology class. it was for educational purposes anyway, how far could it go?

Pairing: male model jungkook x female model oc

Genre: Smut

Warnings: human sexuality/ biology class au, university au, voyeurism, unprotected sex (DO NOTTT unless you wanna be a mama) public sex, sex ed au, nipple stimulation, cock stimulation, kissing, multiple orgasm f, missionary, riding, cumming inside, no use of contraceptives specified, shy jk at first, they both are so cute at the end.

Word count: 5k+

Writer: riri🪵

Writer’s note: omg its finally here! i was thinking to write smth ab this ever since i read a voyeurism smut ab sex ed and i hadddd to write one. i love how cute jk is. i love the scenes where they well… get passionate. too cute ahhh. lemme know if you liked it. to be added in the taglist, fill the google form given below or leave a comment!

MASTERLIST

🖇️click here to be added in the taglist🖇️

You paused for a moment, taking a deep breath before nervously pushing open the classroom door. The soft creak of the hinges seemed louder in the stillness, amplifying your unease. As you stepped inside, your eyes immediately scanned the room. It was as you expected—empty, save for one person seated at the front: Mr. Jung, the lecturer you had been told about. His presence was commanding but gentle, his smile warm and welcoming, like a ray of sunshine on an otherwise dreary day.

“Come in, come in!” he called out with a bright tone, his gaze locking onto you as you hovered awkwardly in the doorway. His voice had a way of cutting through the silence, easing some of the tension you hadn’t realized you were carrying. You stepped forward, your footsteps quiet but deliberate as you made your way to his desk, each step a small victory over your nerves.

“It’s great to meet you,” Mr. Jung said with a friendly nod, his voice smooth and calm. His smile lingered, putting you at ease, if only slightly. He pushed a sheet of paper across the desk in your direction, his movements unhurried. “I just need you to fill out this liability waiver.”

The words were said so casually, but the simple task still felt like a small hurdle. You stood across from him, fingers lightly brushing the paper as you picked it up, your heart still racing just a bit, though his calm demeanor had begun to settle the unease that had gripped you since you walked in.

“Just the standard agreement,” Mr. Jung continued with a calm, practiced tone. “You’ll be paid at the end of the class. And... you’re aware that this is a practical demonstration, meaning you’ll be fully naked?”

“Yes... Of c-course,” you stammered, the words tumbling out awkwardly. You reached for a pen from the stand, trying to ignore the sudden wave of nervousness. Your eyes skimmed over the document—standard terms, conditions, rules, payment details, and all that. You’d done this sort of thing before for life drawing classes in the art department, so the nudity didn’t bother you as much as it used to. Still, this was the biology department, and that made it feel... different. Without much thought, you roughly scribbled ‘Y/N’ at the bottom of the page, the pen shaking just a little in your hand.

As you set the pen down, your gaze drifted around the room once more, and that’s when you noticed something or rather, someone you hadn’t before. Sitting off to the side, near the blackboard, was a guy you hadn’t seen when you first walked in. He was quiet, almost too still, which explained why he had escaped your attention earlier.

He looked up, and your breath hitched for a moment. His piercings were the first thing you noticed. his lips, eyebrow, and ears all adorned with silver hoops and studs that caught the light. Despite his edgy appearance, his eyes were surprisingly soft, a stark contrast to his sharp jawline and the strength in his build. Even beneath the loose, black T-shirt he wore, you could tell he was well-muscled, his broad shoulders and solid frame evident.

Your gaze continued downward, noticing his dark blue jeans tucked into chunky, black combat boots. His medium-length curly hair was pulled into a loose ponytail, a few strands escaping to frame his face. Everything about him radiated a kind of effortless cool. And, if you were being honest, this man was HOT.

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your composure as you realized just how much this guy's presence added to the tension simmering beneath the surface.

He glanced at you for just a fraction of a second, barely acknowledging your presence before averting his gaze, his expression unreadable. It was almost as if he didn’t want to make eye contact. “This is Jungkook, third-year, and the male model for today’s demonstration,” Mr. Jung explained, nodding toward the guy. “Please, take a seat next to him.”

You gave a quick nod and made your way over, sitting down in the chair beside him. Jungkook’s hands rested in his lap, fingers nervously intertwined. It surprised you to see that, beneath his tough, bad-boy exterior, he seemed just as anxious as you were. Sure, he was undeniably attractive—more than that, really. but the way he fidgeted made him look kind of... cute. You couldn't help but wonder how someone who appeared so effortlessly cool could be just as nervous about this as you were.

And then it hit you: you were both about to be naked. Fully.

But, of course, it was purely for educational purposes—nothing more than a biology lesson where the two of you were simply models helping students learn. Still, the thought had your stomach doing somersaults.

You cleared your throat, hoping to ease the tension between you two. “Hey…are you nervous?” you asked, leaning slightly toward him, trying to break the ice.

Before Jungkook could respond, the door swung open with a loud bang, and a flood of students poured in, filling the once-quiet room with laughter and chatter. You watched as they settled into their individual seats, each equipped with small, built-in desks, their attention mostly focused on their own conversations rather than the two of you.

Whatever nervous conversation you had hoped to start was quickly drowned out by the buzz of the classroom coming to life. You stole another glance at Jungkook, catching him briefly biting his lip before his gaze returned to his lap. It was clear neither of you was prepared for what was about to happen, but there wasn’t much time to dwell on that now.

Once the room settled and Mr. Jung began the lesson, you couldn't help but scan the students seated before you. Their eyes were on you-curious, almost probing. You were relieved that they were all first years, strangers whose names and faces you didn't know. It made things a little easier. Still, a few boys in the crowd kept sneaking glances in your direction, and you swore you caught some of them smirking, making your nerves spike even more.

After about five minutes of introductory remarks, Professor Jung's voice called both you and Jungkook to the front of the room. Your stomach twisted as you slowly stood up, feeling Jungkook rise just behind you. The two of you walked forward in unison, the students' gazes growing heavier with every step.

"Good morning, everyone," Mr. Jung addressed the class. "Meet Y/N Y/L/N and Jeon Jungkook. They'll be the models for today's lesson." His voice carried easily through the room, formal yet calm, as though what was about to happen was routine.

Then he turned to face both of you. "If you could both remove your clothes, please," he said, his tone polite but firm. You felt a sharp wave of mixture of excitement and anxiety rise within you, knowing the moment had finally come. and you two began two began to undress in front of the class.

You always enjoyed the thrill you got from being naked in front of the art classes you had modeled in. You like being a muse. You liked the feeling of all their eyes on your body and you expected this to be no different. You pulled off your white sweater over your head, followed by your tank top. You slowly began to unbutton your baggy jeans and slipped them down to the floor, pulling off each leg in turn until you were just in the simple baby pink underwear you had chosen to wear today.

You glanced next to you, where Jungkook was also down to his Calvin Klein underpants. You glanced over as he pulled them down and almost gasped out loud. His cock, although soft, was massive. You could see its outline from the white underwear he was wearing. It hung down limply between his legs, framed by a thin patch of newly grown hair, as if shaved recently.

You hastily turned your eyes back to the class and unhooked your bra, exposing your firm breasts. Then you removed the final item of your clothing, your panties, slipping them down your knees, revealing your own trimmed bush to the watching eyes. Not gonna lie, you were kinda embarrassed. You could have shaved or waxed. But you were here as a model anyway. You just wanted your paycheck for the day.

Your eyes scanned through the crowd. Some of the students looked embarrassed, red in the face, others looked excited. One boy right at the front was watching both of you with curious eyes, a big grin on his mouth. You and Jungkook stood there, upright and completely naked, as Professor Jung walked back and forth in front of you both, talking about various parts of anatomy and pointing at them by his telescopic pointer.

"Here we see,the female nipples are not yet aroused. The areola are widened and flat and the nipples themselves are not yet hard." Mr Jung explained, the end of the pointer hovering an inch from one of your nipples.

"And below," he continued, moving the pointer to indicate the area between your legs, "Is the Vulva. Not to be confused with the Vagina, of course, which is the interior part we can't see at the moment. In this, as you can see, the subject has chosen only to trim and not remove her pubic hair."

Some of the students nodded, while others just kept gaping at you. You were enjoying them all looking yourself naked, especially the guy in the front with a strange twinkle in his eyes. You felt yourself getting a bit aroused, your heart thumping loudly in your chest.

Mr Jung then moved on to Jungkook, pointing out at his much smaller nipples than his penis and testicles. The pointer then moved to his dick and balls, as the professor went on about the anatomy of a male’s cock. It was unusual that he made no mention of the fact that Jungkook’s cock was well…. big.

"Okay," Mr Jung said, striding back in front of you. "Y/N, if you could lie on the desk please? Yes, like that, lift your legs up. Perfect.”

You followed Mr Jung’s instructions and laid on the desk, your feet facing the students. Under his direction, you opened your legs up and put your feet on the desk so that your opening was all on display of the students now. You felt a strange feeling of thrill arising in your chest yet again, but you couldn’t see the reactions of the crowd, as you were looking up at the ceiling.

Soon after, Professor Jung began indicating parts of your vulva with his pointer.

"This outer area here is the labia majora," he explained, the cold metal of the pointer touching your lower petals, making your lips slightly open because of the sensation.

"The vaginal opening, and above the labia minora. This subject has fairly small labia minora but it's not uncommon for them to be much bigger and extend beyond the labia majora." Mr Jung continued, the pointer gently kept touching you, as if almost being teased. You felt yourself getting wet from the sensation and kept praying that it wouldn’t be visible.

"This is the urethral opening where urine is excreted from and also female ejaculate, we'll cover that in week five. And finally, the clitoris, also called the clit. Boys take careful note exactly where that is." He joked as the pointer came to rest on my clit, nestled under its hood. The class tittered dutifully.

"Thank you Y/N, you can stand up again," Mr Jung asked. Once again, You both stood naked and motionless before the class as he continued to drone on about the concept, that was arousal now. Soon again, Mr Jung turned to both of you again.

"Now, remember how we saw that the subject was not showing any signs of arousal…?"

There were a few nods from the class, and Mr Jung smiled. "Jungkook, can you rub or suck Y/N’s nipples please? We need you to stimulate them, and we’ll see what outcome we get from that.”

Jungkook glanced at you nervously, and then made his way to you until he was facing you. He lifted one hand up to your breast and cupped it gently, then very carefully he rubbed your nipple with his thumb. It felt nice and you felt a burst of pleasure rush through you.

"Look!" Professor Jung said, his voice was getting excited. “as we expect, the areola has tightened and contracted and the nipple has hardened as blood has rushed into it..”You were enjoying the stimulation Jungkook was providing you by using your tits as stress balls that you felt your breathing was getting deeper. Thats when you heard Mr Jung’s voice again.

"See how the subject's breathing has also changed. Jungkook, give the other one a suck, see how much you can stimulate it."

Jungkook bent down and took your other sensitive peak into his mouth, his tongue, warm and wet, lapping against your skin as if trying to explore the most of it. He started sucking more effectively, his teeth gently grazing on your nub, making you feel hot and bothered. You let out an involuntary gasp, which seemed to please the professor to heights as he gestured excitedly to the class.

"Okay, that's enough," He said as Jungkook returned to his original position beside you. The professor indicated your saliva glistened nipple with the pointer, and flicked it back and forth with the end, making you gasp again.

"Look, it's very hard and so much larger now. That's the result of the extra stimulation we saw. There are other signs of arousal we can look at on the female in a moment, but first let's have a look at arousal on the male. Is there anyone who can tell me the most obvious signs of arousal in the male of the species?"

There was a slight hesitation evident in the class which was quite expected and understandable. After a few seconds, a girl in the left wearing yellow shirt cautiously put hand up.

"Erection?" she asked, biting her lip in nervousness and embarrassment.

"Exactly!"Mr Jung chirped. "Increased heart rate, change in breathing, even hardened nipples are some signs when a male is sexually aroused, but the most obvious sign will be the enlargement in penis size as the blood rushes through the Male genitalia, also called erection."

Mr Jung turned back to you, "Y/N, can you get on your knees and stimulate Jungkook’s penis with your mouth please?”

You almost got a heart attack as you heard that. Yes, you were here just for a biology lesson but the thought of sucking Jungkook’s huge cock in front of the whole class sent a bolt of lightning straight to your cunt. The professor reached behind the desk and handed you a cushion, that you put on the floor in front of Jungkook’s feet and knelt on it, your knees buried in it for support. Jungkook’s cock was inches from your face. It was still soft, but long. You gingerly reached up and held it, your hand surrounding all the way round his girth.

You felt the warm member twitch in your hand, as you wrapped your other hand around it too. Its bulbous head was red and there were three prominent veins visible on it. You took a dee breath before leaning in and putting his thick shaft in your mouth and you knew that now, it was Jungkook’s turn to start breathing heavily.

As your tongue played with the head of his cock, you swore you heard an ‘ah’ leave his mouth, his Adam’s apple bobbing as you felt it pulsing and swelling. You bobbed your head back and forth, only getting a couple of inches in your mouth, but using your hands to jerk his shaft too.

The class was absolutely silent and they watched in rapt attention as you continued to work on him. You could feel their stares on both of you. You felt kinda excited and thrilled doing this in front of so many people that the weird pleasure caused your cunt get more wet with your slick, aching with need. You took his cock out of your mouth and looked up at it, still holding it in both hands. It was fully erect now, warm and slick with your saliva.

"Perfect!" Mr Jung exclaimed, "And quite an impressive specimen as you can see. Notice how the veins in the penis have become more prominent and also how the scrotum has become tense and doesn't hang down so low. Thank you Y/N, I think you can let go now." he said, causing a ripple of nervous laughter around the class and lightening the tension.

You stood up and came back to your original position, wiping the wetness around your mouth and chin with the back of your hand. Jungkook meanwhile, turned back to face the front, his big cock still pointing straight upwards in salute.

"Now, I mentioned there were other signs of female arousal. Let's see if any have presented themselves. Y/N, if you could turn around and bend over the desk for us please?”

You did as he asked, soon following his next instruction to spread your lips with your hands.

You were bent over the desk now, your hands on your cheeks spreading them apart to give the audience a view of your asshole and cunt wide open. You felt the cold metal of the telescopic pointer against your ass when you heard professor Jung again.

"So, who can tell me what signs of arousal we can see here?”

You couldn’t see who was talking, but a guy with a deep voice cleared his throat and spoke up, "She's wet professor,"

"Good," said the professor, "The vagina has produced some fluid to aid in lubrication, and you can see it's practically dripping out in this case. The act of stimulating her partner has clearly caused her to become quite aroused. Anything else?"

There was silence from the class. "Come on," he encouraged.

After a few more moments, a nervous female voice said "Labia are engorged?"

"Yes! You can see that is quite obvious here," the pointer touched your lips. "In fact, the whole vulva is slightly swollen and engorged with blood now. Her clitoris also looks a lot bigger and redder now." You just stood there, bent over the desk, your nipples pressed against the cool wood as everyone stared at your swollen hole.

“On to the next part of the demonstration. Y/N, can you come round the side of the desk please, yes bend over the desk again. That's right, so they can see you from the side. And Jeon, come behind her and penetrate her."

You instantly felt your heart racing at thousand miles per hour as soon as you heard the professor say that. This man, with a HUGE dick was going to what, fuck you in front of literally everyone? Considering your state right now, you desperately wanted him to fuck you, as you could feel your pussy throb for him, but in front of the class? It was kinda… interesting but it sure was a turn on for you.

You felt Jungkook approach you from behind, his hands lightly rubbing the flesh of my ass cheeks, his hardness pressed against your opening. You could feel his head teasing your folds when he slid himself inside your pussy in one swift movement. You cried out at the feeling of being stretched and opened by him, even though you were wet as fuck. Being filled up by his cock let pleasure rushed through your body and you felt every part of yourself tingling with energy.

You were bent over the desk, your head turned to the class. You could see their faces watching You as Jungkook started thrust inside you, your cunt gripping him tighter after another thrust.

“Ah fuck, so tight!” Jungkook moaned out, his pace quite rough as his one hand was on your cheek, spreading them apart so he could see your asshole and pussy clenching around him, swallowing every inch of him. Your loud cry with every thrust only fueled his arousal as he fucked you with reckless abandon.

The professor was pacing up and down, still talking to the class, occasionally gesturing towards both as he explained something. Either of you both couldn't understand what he was saying, your whole attention was taken up by the relentless pleasure. You felt a pit in your stomach as you felt a tingling sensation of climax rising inside you, which made you slightly anxious; you felt it would be embarrassing to lose control and orgasm in front of the class.

Suddenly, professor Jung’s voice interrupted, "Stop right there then Jungkook, that's great."

Jungkook breathed out, and pulled out, as you let out a whispered whine and glanced around. He held his hard cock in one hand and it was covered in your essence. You felt empty and open, as if something you needed had been taken away from you and left you incomplete. The professor was pointing out the creamy wetness on Jungkook’s cock.

"Okay, I think it would be interesting to demonstrate a couple of other key sexual positions." Mr Jung continued. "Y/N, would you mind getting on your back on the desk so we can demonstrate the missionary position?”

You nodded and laid on the hard desk before professor Jung passed you the cushion to put under your head. Luckily, it was a sturdy, old fashioned oak desk, and it hardly moved as Jungkook added his weight to it, climbing on top of you between your legs.

"Now, we saw in the previous position that the penis can stimulate the g-spot, but the clitoris would need manual stimulation. In the missionary position however, the male's pubic bone can provide some clitoral stimulation." He then continued to say something about it being the most common position, but at that point, Jungkook’s huge cock entered you again and you completely switched off.

Our gaze locked together, Jungkook began to fuck you hard again, both of you breathing heavily as his one hand groped your right breast. You loved the feeling of him inside you, fucking you as deep as he could go, and you felt the same feeling rising up in you again.”

"Jungkook, please. Can we demonstrate some kissing, let's try to make it slightly realistic for the class." professor Jung told him, before going back to talking to the class about how the vaginal canal lengthens during arousal.

Jungkook leaned over, his lips grazing over yours as he sucked on your bottom lip, his tongue grazing between them as if seeing permission to enter your mouth, and in the next moment, you felt his tongue inside your mouth as you both let out a shaky moan. He was warm, and tasted of mint. His loosened locks from the ponytail hair hung down over your face.

The combined sensation of the passionate kiss with hard thrusting into your core suddenly spiraled you out of control and you felt myself go over the edge. An intense orgasm washed over you, consuming your whole body. You screamed and dug your fingers into Jungkook’s back as you rode wave after wave of pleasure that coursed through you, your pussy convulsing violently.

“oh my god!” you breathed out, throwing your head back in pleasure.

Jungkook slowed, and kissed you again as you came down from your high. Mr Jung was continuing to talk to the class, "So, we weren't going to do the female orgasm until week three, but never mind. As our subjects have accidentally demonstrated already, it's interesting to note that only around 25% of females can climax from penetration alone."

Jungkook was slowly moving his cock in and out of your soaking cunt now, giving you a break after your orgasm, but it felt amazing. You were already hoping that you’d be able to meet up with him privately for a more intimate sex session. And he was a great kisser.

"Fantastic," said the professor, "But we're running out of time, so let's move on to the male orgasm." You heard a groan, this time from Jungkook almost like a whine as he pulled out from you, and got off from the table, helping you do the same.

Mr Jung fetched a chair and placed it in front of the class. "Jungkook, please on the chair. and Y/N, if you mount him. Let's make sure everyone can see properly." Jungkook followed, sitting on the chair, facing the crowd as you walked over to where Jungkook was sitting on the chair, your legs weak and shaking from the orgasm. You could feel your juices running down your thighs. You glanced at the crowd once and saw they were squirming in their seats looking all hot and bothered.

You turned my back on the class and straddled Jungkook, sinking down onto his cock, feeling him filling you once again. “Oh my god, Y/N.” Jungkook moaned, throwing his head back from the sensation.

Professor Jung was behind you pointing out the details of the penetration and how your lips gripped his penis and-all-that. He pointed to your exposed asshole, "We'll cover anal sex in week four.”

You started to ride Jungkook, wrapping your arms around him as you rode him on the chair. You wanted the sensations to last forever, the thought of thirty pairs of eyes watching your lips wrapped around his cock only spurred you on even more. You started fucking Jungkook as hard as you could, leaning in to thrust your tongue in his mouth.

"Okay Jungkook, when you're ready you can climax inside her." Mr Jung said, folding his arms and stepping back slightly to allow the class a good view. Jungkook hands grabbed your ass and he spread your ass with his fingers as you rode him.

“Oh yes, fuck! yes” You moaned out as you felt yourself coming again. You cried out as your whole body shook and your cunt contracted around his swollen meat. His fingers gripped your ass tightly, and he let out a low groan as you felt him unload his hot ropes of cum inside you, his cock throbbing and pulsing.

You held each other tightly as you took heavy breaths. You saw how worn out he was, how his big doe eyes were staring into your, and how his bottom lip twitched slightly as he lets out ragged breaths. You could see his mole under his bottom lip and a scar on his left cheek from the first time up this close.

He was beautiful.

You couldn’t help yourself, as you grabbed his face in your hands and kissed him sensually, to which he immediately responded to, kissing you back gently, as he felt you thumb caressing his scarred cheek. Even the professor was momentarily speechless. There was not a sound from anyone in the class.

Finally, You pulled off, breathing heavily and lifted yourself off his cock and floods of cum poured out of you, covering Jungkook’s cock and thighs with your slick and his release. Both of you were in quite a state, covered in sweat and cum.

Mr Jung quickly regained his composure, his signature smile back in his face. "An excellent demonstration from our two models." he began, "Please give them a round of applause."There was a smattering of clapping from the class for a while before he continued.

"The semen in this position is leaking out of the female. If they were having sex for breeding purposes, the missionary position would be better."

The bell for the end of the lesson rang and he raised his voice over the sounds of the rest of the class getting to their feet and packing up their things. "The homework for this week, please try to engage in the sexual act yourself with as many partners as possible, but please ensure to use protection and get tested for HIV with your partner. Better be safer than sorry. Also, I'd like two thousand words on your experiences, due in before the lesson next week."

The class filed out and Jungkook and you retrieved your clothes and hastily got dressed. The professor came up to us with a smile.

"Not too bad for a first attempt," he said, "Same time next week. you’ll get your pay by 6 in the evening.” He smiled as he exited the classroom, leaving both of you alone in the classroom. You sighed as started you started to walk up to the door to leave before you heard Jungkook’s voice behind you, stopping you in your tracks.

“Hey… Y/N?” He took some calculated steps towards you, his hand shoved in his pocket as he continued,

“I had well… fun in today’s lesson.”

You bit your lips nervously, nodding slightly, “I did too. You were amazing.”

Your words caused Jungkook to chuckle a little, as he walked close to you, looking down at you. “I’d want to experience everything with you again. Not in lesson’s though….”

You nodded, before he continued.

“You wanna go get coffee to celebrate our demonstration with me after you get cleaned up? I’ll wait for you outside the locker room’s bathroom. You can take as much time as you want.”

You could feel your cheeks heating up, you were definitely flustered.

“I’d love too….”

taglist:

@jkslipppiercing @rispwr @iarchmybaculaa @jmstoesblog @lovelyglares @jeonaissance @maimurachulsoo09 @whatifyoulivelikethat @erotica-ficx @frmisnow @kookiecrumb @luvismenu @paletangerine

click here to be added in the taglist or just dm me.

-riri🥞

[somejazzinthemorning]

snapshot.

Carlos Sainz x Reader [Warnings: overuse of pet names because i'm a romantic, masturbation, mentions of sex. not beta-d so sorry for typos or mistakes ] - Word Count: 1K

you capture a candid photo of your boyfriend sleeping. little do you know, this innocent act sparks some ideas in his mind.

(i needed to do something after i saw him in boyfriend mode taking photos of his girl. hope this is a good way to make my comeback. soon i'll post about the little break I took. love you all. hope you enjoy) 🫶🏼

The morning sun pours its golden rays through the curtains. You wake up with its gentle kiss. The warm glow envelops you, seeming to prickling your naked skin. You find yourself nestled in its embrace, entangled in a sleepy haze, locked in the limbo between dreams and wakefulness.

You sigh as you open your eyes.

The gentle glow of the light dances around you, creating a peaceful ambiance that centers on the man lying next to you. Carlos. His head rests on the pillow; hair falling in disarray over his forehead.

Owning the image before you, your eyes don’t shy away from taking in the whole scene—the slightly parted lips, the shadow of his long eyebrows, the naked chest rising and falling with the rhythm of his slow breaths. There’s a serene vulnerability about him in that morning light, a beauty that begs to be immortalized.

And you know you can’t trust your mind for that. You can’t afford to have time tarnish it.

So you shift in bed and reach for the nightstand where your phone rests, and you aim the camera at Carlos. For a second, it seems a crime to so casually steal that image of beauty and serenity with something as mundane as a touch on a screen. Beauty like that deserves more effort.

Carlos stirs slightly, a fragment of a smile playing on his lips as he mumbles, with his eyes still closed,

“What are you doing?” There’s drowsiness in his voice, laced with a hint of amusement.

“Nothing,” you whisper softly. “You just looked so pretty.”

He smirks and runs his hands over his face. “I should feel violated,” he teases, extending his hands towards you, “My turn, now.”

Handing him the phone, you watch him. His gaze shifts to you with a different glint. You’re sitting on your knees in bed, the sheets around your legs, and nothing but your hair covering your chest. Reclining in bed, he points the camera at you. Instinctively, you cover your chest with your hands, the modesty you still hold translated into something similar to a pose.

Carlos lets out a soft groan. “No, no,” he protests, “you can’t hide those from me.”

“You want a photo of my boobs?”

“Sí, to have it as a keepsake in my wallet.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes and giggle at the sight of him. The sleepy eyes. The messy hair. The ridiculously overly feminine case on your iPhone that looks absurdly small in his big hairy hands. And all of this bathed in the soft glow of morning light and the memories of last night when you loved each other to sleep... God, you feel so lucky to have found this man.

Tilting your head to the photo, a faint smile grazes your lips as your gaze lingers on him, disregarding the phone pointing at you.

“The hair,” he directs.

This time, without even noticing, you were already obeying. You sweep your hair back, leaving the strands to cascade down your back. The soft sound of the clicks locks this moment into eternity. Looking down, you see the streaks of light cutting through your chest, drawing parallel lines over your naked bosom. You pass your fingers over it. Click. You take a deep breath and look in the direction of the light. Click. Your arms stretch over your head, in a casual stretch like you've done any morning, without a camera aiming at you. Click.

When you look back at your boyfriend, he’s smirking.

A mischievous twinkle awakens in his eyes. He’s enjoying this. Probably way more than you.

You let your fingers rest over your lips. Click. And then they hover over your jawline and your neck, which is still sore and probably painted with small hickeys. Click. Patiently, they glide over the curves of your chest with a fatherly touch, a tease enough to make your skin erupt into goosebumps. Before you dare to touch yourself, you look up.

“Do you like this?” His voice cuts the silence. And God, it’s so much deeper than before. “Tell me, love. Do you like having me here… watching you?” You nod. “Go ahead then. Play with them.”

You obey his command, gently pressing your fingertips against the buds on your chest and grazing over your nipples. Without realizing it, you squeeze your legs together. Carlos probably notices it because he moves in his place. When you look up, his hand is cradling his cock over the blanket. The power of his words and the sight of his hand on his cock are enough to make your breath hitch. You intensify your touch, tracing circles around your nipples, feeling them harden under your touch. Click. Your eyes never leave him as you continue to play with yourself, knowing you're putting on a show for him. The thought sends shivers down your spine and makes you wetter than before.

His hand doesn’t move too much, almost like he’s saving himself for you. You can see the tension building in him, the way his muscles are tense and his jaw clenched. It's a game of self-control, and you both know it.

"Spread your legs," he commands in a low voice. You obey without hesitation, spreading your legs wider and giving him a full view of your body. Click. "Fuck," he mutters through gritted teeth. "I want to be inside you."

The mattress shifts, and as you look in his direction, you can see him crawl towards you. His eyes are dark with desire, and there’s a hunger in his gaze that makes your heart race. Reaching for your chest, he kisses the spot your fingers are still pinching. He circles his tongue around your hard nipple, making you shiver, as if an electric current is flowing between the both of you. You arch into his touch, wanting more.

And then his teeth graze over your chest, ever so slightly, before he bites into it, making you gasp and whimper. The combination of pleasure and pain has you gripping the sheets tightly as he continues to tease and torment your sensitive nipples.

His hot breath is fanning over your face as he looks down at you, panting and begging for more. A smirk plays on his lips, knowing he has you right where he wants you. “Such a good girl,” he praises, before leaning in to kiss you again. This time, his tongue is demanding and forceful, exploring every inch of your mouth. You moan into the kiss, your hands reaching up to tangle in his hair as you desperately try to deepen the connection.

His fingers trail down from your chest to your stomach and then lower, slipping between your legs. The other hand keeps holding the phone, registering it. You take a couple of seconds to notice it, but you’re shaking. Burning.

“You’re so wet for me, baby,” he growls, before abruptly pulling away from you and returning to his seat. Arousal is dripping down your thighs as you watch him recline against the headboard. “Go ahead. Touch yourself.”

The memory of his lips and teeth seem to feed your body and arousal. You’re burning. The feeling of the sun on your skin only feeds that feeling. A warm tingling spreads through your chest and down to your core. You slide your fingers down. And God, you’re truly wet. You didn’t realize how hot this little game had turned you. You push your knees further apart, which earns a satisfied groan from your boyfriend.

"Do you want a photo of that too?" he asks.

You nod eagerly, feeling the heat radiating off your body. Without losing eye contact with him, you slide your fingers down to your throbbing center, spreading your folds and teasing yourself with light touches. His eyes are dark and intense as he watches you pleasure yourself under his gaze.

"Fuck," he groans, snapping another photo of your hand between your legs. You moan at the sound of his voice. "I love watching you, baby. You look so pretty."

Carlos repositions the phone to make you be right at the center. It’s a masterpiece. Your body fits perfectly within the frame of the phone. Your skin taken by the streaks of light, golden sunshine gilding your naked body almost like blessing the pleasure you're implying on yourself. You’d later learn that you looked unreal in those photos—something pulled out of a painting, shadows and light in perfect harmony. But in that moment, you just felt needy and desperate.

"Can I move?" You ask, your voice shaking with need.

"You can do what the fuck you want, baby," Carlos replies, his eyes never leaving you as he slides out of bed. You feel a surge of confidence and power as you take his spot, spreading your legs wide.

Your fingers slide over your wet lips, teasing yourself with light touches. Carlos sits at the end of the bed, watching intently. The sunlight streaming through the window catches on your juices and they sparkle in the light.

Your eyes meet his, and he nods encouragingly. You let out a breathy moan as you start to move your fingers in circles over your clit. The pleasure builds quickly within you, and you hear Carlos let out a low growl.

You slide two fingers inside of yourself, the wetness making it easy for them to slip in. You let out a loud moan around your fingers, imagining they're Carlos' instead. The thought of him filling you up makes your walls clench around your fingers.

You can feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, but you want Carlos with you. "Carlos," you cry out his name, hoping he'll join in and take over where your fingers are currently working.

But he doesn't move from his spot at the end of the bed. He continues to watch you with dark eyes, his hand still hovering over his erection but not touching it.

You can see the longing in his gaze and it only fuels your desire further. You want him desperately, to be taken by him until all sense is lost.

You call out to him again, pleading for his presence and touch. You long for him. His hand tightens around his erection as he struggles to hold onto control. Your eyes lock with his, and he lets out a small laugh of helplessness.

"Use your words, baby," he grunts. "Tell me what you want."

"Please, come here."

"Not yet."

"Can I?... Please? Can I cum?"

"Yes. Go ahead. Give in for me."

You comply, arching your back and pushing your hips forward. Your fingers glide in and out of your body at a rapid pace, your breaths becoming shallow and erratic. Carlos' gaze never wavers from you, and the sound of his gentle moans fills the room.

Climax is imminent.

You can feel it building, a searing warmth spreading through your veins, threatening to consume you completely. You know you're on the edge, but you want to prolong this moment, revel in the pleasure of it all.

When you open your eyes, he's standing by your side. The camera is focused on your face, but his eyes? His eyes are fixed on yours. All his attention is on you.

"I'm—," you gasp, meeting his gaze, your voice barely audible. “I'm so close.”

“I know, my love,” he whispers. Click. “Let yourself go for me.”

As the words leave his lips, you feel yourself start to unravel. Your body trembles with ecstasy as your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave. You let out a guttural moan, your fingers still working their magic on your slick folds. It hits you like a wave, stealing your breath and lifting you higher, as you cry out his name and arch your back, almost like being pulled towards him by an invisible force. The camera continues to click as your body convulses, capturing every bit of your ecstasy, your face twisting into a mix of pain and pleasure.

As you come down from your high, you're aware of Carlos moving around the room. The bed dips slightly, and then he's beside you, his hand reaching out to touch your sweat-damp skin.

“Can you take me now?,” your voice low. “Please?”

Had this one in my mind all day so I just needed to sit down and write it down before it would vanish. I know I've been MIA, but I see all the support you keep giving me. You're all incredible. Hope you enjoyed this one silly thing. As always, all feedback is appreciated. 🫶

[xwritingdixonx]

To Kiss or To Kill. | Daryl Dixon |

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Masterlist

Summary: You and Daryl's relationship did not start kind. It did not begin as a friendship that turned sour over a quarrel. It began with fists and insults and continued this way until unforeseen circumstances leave you discovering that maybe Daryl and you were cut from the same cloth.

Warnings: rivals to lovers trope, daddy issues, language, descriptions of fights + bodily injuries, brief mentioning of homophobia, attempted SA, Reader is mentioned to be bisexual.

Word Count: aprox. 10k

Era: Prison to Alexandria

A/n: This is not my proudest work and I definitely think I could've done better with the material but I hope it can still be enjoyed!

Song recommendations: Ultraviolence - Lana Del Ray, Daylight - David Kushner , Sun Bleached Flies - Ethel Cain

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A lemon is sour from the start and rots with age.

The relationship you shared with Daryl could be described as said lemon.

It was nearing the end of summer. And though this meant the end of scorching heat, the winter proved to be a difficult season for survival. This morning at the prison had begun like any other. Daryl, Maggie, and Glenn we’re set out on a run to find any supplies necessary for the growing community. With all the new folk after the fall of the Governor only a few weeks before, it put more pressure on the group in their endless searches.

The town in which the prison resided did not hold many options when it came to scavenging but there was one place not yet explored. Pike County High School, the only high school in the small town of Zebulon, Georgia. Daryl thought the plan was futile. What was he to find in a high school besides dusty textbooks and inappropriate drawings in the bathroom stalls?

But none the less, Rick sent the trio on their way with a list of items in hand.

The school was as Daryl expected. Papers were thrown about the floors. Windows were broken leaving glass shards to crunch underneath their boots. Desks and chairs were thrown about. And worst of all, there was an eeriness that loomed the chaotic halls. But there was something else hanging in the air, stillness.

Maggie banged her gun on the rusted lockers and waited for any walkers to make themselves known. But the silence that followed was so loud you could practically hear the wind gliding through the shattered windows. Daryl took it a step further and threw a chair down the hall, creating a loud clattering noise as it collided with the wall. Yet still, nothing.

"Alright," Glenn muttered, his uneasiness just as high as the others. "Let's get what we need and get the hell out." Glenn pulled the list from his pocket, "Daryl find the nurse's office, take whatever you find no matter how unimportant it seems. Rick asked us to find some good books for the kids." Glenn passed the list over to a very unamused Daryl.

"Guess I ain't smart enough to find some books."

Daryl walked the halls of the school, crossbow in hand, keeping his ears peeled for any movements that weren’t his own. The silence unsettled Daryl for two reasons. There could be someone residing here which would make sense with the absence of walkers. But he could not shake the thought that there were once children who roamed these halls. Kids who were Carl’s age now. Kids who were planning who they wanted to be, and what they wanted their lives to be. But now their dreams were just as grim as these empty halls.

He spotted it as his gaze wandered from the walls to the floor.

Droplets of deep red stained the tile, varying in size and opacity. Daryl dragged his fingers along the droplets, smearing the coagulated blood. The blood was not as dry as Daryl had hoped.

Daryl drew his bow closer to himself, resting his finger on the trigger, and slowing his steps as he followed the trail of crimson dots. They led him exactly where he needed to be, the nurse's office.

The wood door creaked open, the natural light from the windows lighting the room. The scene worsened in the room. There were now blood smears staining the floors, cabinets swung open and drawers left agape. Someone had obviously barged in in a hassle, with desperate need to help themselves.

What concerned Daryl was the adjoined room to the far left, he could not see into the area unless he approached it directly. Keeping his bow up, he proceeded. Just as the tip of his bow peeked its way around the corner, it was knocked from his hands with a single blow.

Daryl had not known what knocked his bow from his grasp but he sure as hell felt the hit to his jaw.

The punch you had thrown sent a throbbing through your right hand, and the tendons in your arm fizzled with the sudden force. The man reacted quickly, grabbing you by both arms and pulling you away from the wall you had been hidden behind.

You ripped an arm from his grasp quick enough to unsheathe the blade on your thigh. The struggle continued, both of you equally pulling at the other in an attempt for dominance while simultaneously avoiding the cut of the blade. Random objects clattered to the ground in the tussle, including an old coffee mug falling and shattering.

The wound you had acquired on your leg was not helpful in this situation. Had your adrenaline not been so high, you would have dropped long ago. While you struggled to keep yourself standing, Daryl was simply shocked at the brute force of the woman in his grasp.

You paused for a moment, your grip on your knife tightening until your knuckles turned white. Just then you were able to look at him. Daryl saw the determination in your eyes. And though there was determination, there also seemed to be a pleading.

But with one forceful shove, you fell back, your leg buckling under you and your head hitting a cabinet.

A painful gasp left you, feeling the poorly done stitches rip your wound open again. Dropping your knife, your shaking hands grasped at the wound on your thigh as you pulled your back up against the cabinets. Your chest heaved with a mixture of adrenaline and pain. The skin on your thigh seared hot, every nerve around the wound throbbing.

Had you been paying attention, you would’ve noticed the man grip up his bow that was now aimed at you. It gave him time to examine you. You did not look dirty and unkept as other survivors had. Your hair was pulled back into a messy braid at the back of your head. Clothes black, all the way down to your boots. Holsters for weapons hung from your hips and thighs. And a pair of dog tags dangled around your neck.

“Daryl!” Maggie and Glenn came rambling through the door, weapons drawn. Daryl held a hand up to them, signaling that he was fine. The school was not one of great size, it did not surprise Daryl that they’d heard the tussle.

With the arrival of two new faces, you made an attempt to grab the blade you’d drop. But Daryl was quick and kicked the blade away leaving your hand to smack against the tile floor. Now left with no weaponry and not even a stable body to defend yourself, you’d figured you’d start begging to them or praying to God.

“I-I just want to leave. I’m-“ The sudden sharp tingle in your thigh cut your words short. You clenched your jaw tight and shut your eyes waiting for the muscle spasm to pass. “You’re not going anywhere on that leg.” Maggie holstered her gun and met you on the floor. There was a hesitation to her but in her heart she knew leaving you would be a death sentence. “My daddy can help you.”

“Maggie…”

“Glenn.” Maggie’s tone was stern, sending her husband a threatening glare.

While Maggie began to ask you questions, she motioned for the two men to scavenge the room. “What’s your name?”

“Y/n…”

Maggie pulled a handkerchief from her back pocket, scooting even closer to you. She motioned for you to lift your leg, “I’m Maggie. That’s Glenn and then Daryl.” She slipped the fabric beneath it, tying it in a tight knot around your wound. You winced at this, resisting the urge to pull her hands off of you.

“How many walkers have you killed?” Your eyebrows furrowed at the question. Had you known you were meant to keep track, you would’ve started long ago. “I don’t…know…a lot?” Your words were stuttered and shaken considering the pain you felt. You saw the man you had just fought glance at you from the corner of his eye. You began to debate if you should feel guilt for attacking him.

“That’s okay,” Maggie gave you a kind smile, “How many people have you killed?” She watched your face falter and your eyes shift to the ground then back to her. “Eight, I think.” Maggie gently nodded, her tone becoming slightly more serious “Why?”

“I’ve been alone for a long time.”

Maggie’s eyes met yours and for a moment, while you held each other's gaze, there was an understanding. An understanding that only another woman could begin to fathom.

Your arrival at the prison was nothing short of chaotic. The run starting as three and returning as four, though a possibility, was not expected.

A man with a beard pulled Daryl aside beginning to hound him with questions, Maggie supported you as you stood while Glenn ran off shouting the name Hershel. Much of everything after that was blurry. You could remember the man with the white beard mainly due to his kindness and gentle touch while he took care of your wounds. And you remembered the name Rick being tossed about in conversation.

"Let her rest." Hershel patted Glenn on the shoulder, muttering him a thank you for his help.

You lay flat on your back, your head and leg propped up with a pillow. You could not say it was the comfiest bed you'd ever laid in. You weren't even sure it was cozier than where you slept the night before. You fought the tiredness away, unsure of falling asleep in an unfamiliar community. But the medicine Hershel gave you made you drowsy. And soon every muscle felt heavy and your eyelids heavier.

You were unsure of how long you'd slept, only being startled awakened by the clank of metal. Rick noticed his mistake immediately pulling his hand away from the door of the cell, now standing with a guilty look on his face. "I'm sorry. I forget how loud these things are." You took a deep breath in an attempt to calm your beating heart. Rick entered the cell, opening the foldable chair Hershel had previously been sitting on.

"Was gonna drop these off for when ya woke up." Rick held up a glass of water and some type of protein bar. You adjusted yourself into a more proper sitting position, sending Rick a nod. As your mind awoke you became very conscious of your lack of pants, pulling the blanket farther up your waist. You were grateful that Ricks seemed to avert his eyes.

"I'm Rick.” His accent was noticeable.

“Y/n.” Just like your own.

“Maggie and Daryl told me a little bit about you but I wanted to speak with you directly.”

Rick held a certain type of authority to him. He spoke to you politely while still holding himself with dominance. A certain awkwardness became present when Rick spent a tad bit too long racking his brain for a question. “M’sorry about attacking, uhm… Daryl.” You decided to cut the awkwardness yourself.

To your surprise, Rick chuckled at your apology. “Please don’t apologize.” He looked at you, still with a smile on your face. “You were doing what you thought was right.” Rick shifted in the metal chair, resting his elbows atop his knees. "Did you serve?" Rick pointed to your neck, "Is that how you learned to fight?" You instinctively reached for the dog tags hanging from their chain.

"No no, they were my dads." You rubbed the smooth metal anxiously, feeling the indents of the letters and numbers imprinted. "I was an only child, only daughter at that, so my dad was rather protective of me... He had me in every boxing or self-defense class he could afford." A chuckle followed your words, reminiscing on the memory. Rick could understand your father's need to protect, having two children of his own.

"Rick." A gruff voice interrupted your conversation. The man named Daryl took up the doorway. When his eyes met yours, he seemed to falter under your gaze. He nudged his head in the opposite direction, asking for Rick to come with him. "Alright." Rick stood from the chair with an exasperated sigh, "Imma leave this right here for ya." Rick placed the water and protein bar on the chair in his place.

On his way out, he turned to you, "Maggie's gonna bring you up some clean clothes and help you get washed up. That alright?" His kind, yet tired, eyes sought an answer. You nodded and muttered a quiet thank you in return.

Your time in the prison since then could only be described as isolating. The injury on your leg kept you mostly restrained to the bed in your newly appointed cell. So, most of your time was spent with Maggie, Hershel, and occasionally Rick coming and going. Maggie cared for you in any way she could, nourishing you with food and assisting you in showering and changing. She had seemed to take a liking to you, as you did her, and you assumed you could now call her a friend.

However, there was another you don't think you could call much of anything.

Maggie helped you outside to the courtyard after you’d expressed that you were going mad looking at the same four walls. She’d left you with the book of Little Women, a blank leather journal, and a blue ink pen. “Holler if you need me, okay?” Maggie gently patted your shoulder before departing to meet Glenn only a few yards away.

Being outside after your imprisonment for the last 5 days, revived something in you. The heat from the sun's rays provided warmth on your skin but the cool breeze prevented you from overheating. You could not remember the last time you'd been outdoors without your head on a swivel or without the fear of being someone's dinner.

You could not focus on your book or your journal with the people who walked about the courtyard throwing glances your way. Everyone had heard about, the girl with the leg injury, with time. Random passers-by flashed you smiles, small waves, or even shy hello’s all of which you felt inclined to return.

“Y/n?” Though the voice was familiar, it did not stop the annoyance of having to put your pen down once again. You looked to the man, “Hi Rick.” Rick gleamed with a smile on his face “I’m glad to see you out here.”

Rick took it upon himself to take a seat at the table across from you making it obvious he desired to continue this conversation.

"Were you able to think about what we talked about?" Rick came by yesterday evening with a proposition for you. He invited you to join in with the group of people who went on runs for the community. Once you were fully healed, of course.

The only downside to this was who your main run partner was to be, Daryl. Rick saw something between you that you weren’t quite sure you saw yourself.

Daryl felt a wave of awkwardness standing behind Rick as he spoke to you. The same awkwardness he felt only a few days before standing in that doorway. Daryl knew of Rick's plans having been talked to about it only a few hours before.

He felt no need for a run partner. He was perfectly fine going about on his own but Rick thought the opposite.

What if something happens to you?

What if you get stuck somewhere?

We can’t afford to send search parties out for you.

All valid arguments from Rick. But Daryl had no desire to hear any of it. His stubbornness made him deaf.

Daryl could very clearly see you now. Whatever dirt and grime washed away revealed a remarkable woman. Your hair appeared soft and your dark eyes almost sparkled with the sun. He could see the definition of muscles on your biceps, highlighted by the short sleeves of your shirt. How you composed yourself screamed confidence as if you knew you were too pretty for a world so ugly.

And it infuriated him.

“Yeah, I uh...I wanna help any way I can.” Rick seemed pleased with your answer though the person behind him did not. You shifted in your seat, feeling Daryl’s eyes burn into you. In an attempt to redeem yourself, you spoke again, “If there’s anything I can do now, I want to.” Rick nodded at this, “We’ll find ya something.”

You could hear Daryl scoff from behind Rick. And though you tried to ignore it, you could not help the sour look you gave him in return. Daryl saw this as an invitation to continue his pronounced distaste.

“Don’t need someone who can’t walk holding me down.”

"Don't need someone who couldn't fight a girl holding me down."

Your response was quick-witted and more degrading to Daryl's masculinity than his insult to your injury. If you weren't mistaken, Daryl's eye twitched.

Rick stood from his seat to begin their exit, knowing the lengths of Daryl's temper. "You ain't nothing I couldn't handle." The chuckle you responded with and the glint of excitement in your eyes at the looming argument tested Daryl even more. "Sure, Daryl."

It was the first time you'd ever spoken his name to him. And he never stopped thinking of it for days to come. The way it rolled off your tongue and sounded with that southern twang. It left him restless at night and irritable during the day.

When your leg had healed and you'd grown tired of cleaning the library or serving daily meals, your first outing with Daryl was set. And it started just as rocky as it ended.

"Ya get bit, I ain't gonna hesitate to put a bullet in yer head."

"Why wait? I'm standing right here."

You remained quiet after that, not wanting to push the tension even more. But even the simplest of questions left Daryl huffing and puffing. It started with you asking how his morning was going. And it ended with you asking why he was such a prick.

It was a silent ride home.

You'd like to think you'd tried to find his good side in those beginning days but you soon began to question if such a thing even existed. Any time you were kind to him, he retaliated with anger. It brought out a certain type of frustration in you that you didn’t know was possible.

Within your time at the prison, you'd made yourself an esteemed part of the community. You used your [now useless] degree in agriculture to help build the gardens and begin the planting of any seeds you could find. Rick took a heavy trust in you and appointed you a seat on the prison council. And you'd shown your skills in scavenging, even when you had Daryl breathing down your neck.

It was difficult to pinpoint exactly when this whole charade started. Perhaps it had started in the nurse's office, in the courtyard, or on your first run together. But it did not matter where it began because there was one thing for sure, there seemed to be no end.

You both had a hold over another, in a way no one else did.

Daryl hated your confidence because he lacked his own. He hated that you were quick to go toe to toe with him. Because many others were too scared. He despised that you were so smart, a college graduate. And he especially hated when you spoke so highly of your father. Because he didn’t have a father to talk about at all.

But there was always a ting of something in all of his hate. Jealousy.

You hated his ego. You hated the fact that he contradicted everything you said. You hated when he called you names. Princess, he’d say or, miss college graduate. You hated that he never even tried to get to know you; to know that you weren’t this pretentious brat he painted you to be. Despite being with each other on a regular basis, there was a lacking of personal connection.

Neither of you truly knew the other. Where did he grow up? Has he ever broken any bones? What was his favorite candy as a child? When did he have his first drink?

Daryl pondered the same of you. Who taught you to braid your hair? You spoke of your father but never your mother, what happened to her? Why the dog tags? Have you ever loved another?

It was a day familiar to all the others. Your hot morning tea whirled about in your mug, your feet gliding gently around the grounds of the growing garden. After all your laborious hours in the Georgia heat, it was gratifying to see the various plants take bloom. Knowing there'd soon be a garden big enough to feed the community gave you satisfaction and perhaps a sliver of peace.

"You comin' or what?"

And there goes another blissful morning pissed down the drain.

Your long braid fell from your shoulder to your back when you looked at the disgruntled man. "We might need to find you a new mattress." You made your way to him, shoving your mug into his chest, "You can't ever seem to find a good side to wake up on." He scoffed, involuntarily taking your mug. The two of you, along with Michonne and Glenn, were set out on yet another run. Not one of great importance nor would it take that long of time but nonetheless it was still time spent around him.

Daryl followed behind you as you continued your way back to the prison, mug still in hand. "Michonne and Glenn are waitin' while yer staring at some fuckin' bushes." It was your turn to scoff, "They're not bushes. It's food. And a lot of fucking work."

Oh, Daryl knew how much work it had taken from you.

In the weeks he'd spent out in the gardens, his eyes worked more than his hands. He couldn't not look. You wore a tank top every day with the same black gardening gloves and dog tags dangling from your neck. The muscles in your biceps were always highlighted from the hours of digging. The blistering sun always had you drenched in sweat leaving your skin constantly glossy. Words couldn't describe the way he felt when it was dripping down your neck and into the crevice of your breast.

He was outraged for the entire three weeks.

"Whatever."

The mug in his hand became very apparent to him. "When the hell ya give me this?" He now strode beside you, approaching the car at the gates. You smiled to yourself, "A while ago."

Daryl would have preferred to ride his bike to avoid being trapped in such a confined space with you. But it was, “A waste of gas” as Rick would say.

You weren’t exactly sure what Daryl had done. But he had particularly did you in today. So greatly that you almost walked home. Glenn had to beg you to come back. Perhaps it was the way he glared at you that threw you over the edge. So cold and hostile. Or the way he stepped all over your feet, cutting you off mid-sentence, always thinking that he was right. You were simply always wrong.

This particular run would change the trajectory of your relationship forever. 

You and Daryl had split in the strip mall, deciding to cover more ground separately. The strip was usually overrun with a hoard of walkers but as of late, they seemed to be diminishing one at a time. It had become clear enough to begin digging at the stores it held. Some random clothing stores, liquor shops, a CVS pharmacy, and dead restaurants.

You were rummaging about the pharmacy, most of it already picked through. 

Examining the bottle of prenatal vitamins in your hand for Maggie, you heard footsteps. Thinking it was Daryl you spoke. "It's not like these expiration dates even matter anymore." Blind to your danger, you turned to face him.

Before you were given time to react to the two strange men, you were grabbed by the back of your neck, pulling at the nape of your hair, a blade held to the side of your throat. The bottle dropped from your hand, clattering to the floor. You grasped the man's arm attempting to keep the blade from your skin but you'd failed; cuts appeared on the delicate skin.

"Stay." The other man reached for your gun belt, unholstering your weapon and keeping it for himself. You kept your calm but your eyes widened with fear. "Scream and you'll die." The short man with the knife moved it away from your throat, his hand freeing your neck. The other man, who had taken your gun, now had it pointed at you.

It was loaded. You knew because you were the one who'd loaded it that very morning.

"Ya can't just come into the place we've worked so hard to clean up and start taking things...we need some form of payment."

"I have my bag." You offered hoping they would merely steal your things and go. Slowly, not taking your eyes off them, you moved your pack off your back. "There's food and ammo and other supplies." Your bag was snatched from your hands with haste. "Thank you." It wasn't genuine, just taunting.

"But that's not what we want." Their eyes looked at you more hungry than any walker. Once you realize what they meant, tears begin to blur your vision. You could feel them begin to come closer to you. Feeling helpless and too stunned to cry out for Daryl, you weren't sure if you should start fighting or begging.

Daryl heard your continuous screeches from down the way, dropping his bag of clothing. "Y/n!" His feet carried him to you swiftly. You cried his name shoving one man off of you from your pinned spot against the shelves. It was foolish of Daryl to begin shooting so wildly.

Luckily you moved to the floor in avoidance of the bullets, covering your head and blocking your ears.

You kept yourself crouched on the ground, deaf to what was happening around you. Until a hand grabbed your bicep and hoisted you from the ground, "Come on, we gotta go." For once you were relieved to see Daryl.

But you wouldn't be for long.

"We shouldn't have split up!" Daryl shouted. He was walking too fast for you to keep up, as he did at times. You trailed behind him stumbling your way over the branches and leaves in an attempt to make it back to the road with his bike. "You always got stupid fuckin' ideas!" Daryl's adrenaline was still pumping, too ignorant to think of you. He muttered to himself, “Course there was people, walkers don’t just clear out by themselves.”

He marched onto the blacktop.

"Ya talk big game just to not do nothing to help yourself." Daryl was angrily throwing the green brush off his bike, removing it from its hidden spot in the treeline. "Always talkin' 'bout yer daddy and what he did for ya." Daryl said this more to himself but it didn’t fail to reach your ears.

"Well, where was he now yuh?" Daryl turned around to face you, his chest heaving. Only to catch you in the midst of buttoning your pants. Guilt dreaded him.

You didn't care to hear his insults. And you had no desire to get on that bike and be so close to him right now. 

"I.." Words couldn't find themselves in your mouth. All you could focus on was the way everything felt frozen yet moving at an intense speed at the same time. Daryl saw the way you struggled with yourself.  

There was a twisting pain within your chest as your panic only grew. "Y/n." Daryl put his frustrations aside, the situation becoming clear to him now. He swallowed down his pride and reached a hand out to you. Before his fingertips could even graise the fabric of your shirt, you took a step back. "No." You spoke gently, looking out to the woods instead of to Daryl; all you could fathom now was the desire to escape. 

"Y/n," Daryl repeated more soft, "We gotta go home." 

"I don't want to." You turned back to him abruptly. He could see the tears irritating your eyes. Where your hands lay across your chest, you could feel your rapid heart. 

"Why not?" Daryl couldn't understand why you wouldn't want to go home. It was safe, it was comfortable. Two things you desperately need right now.

"I can't, I…I can't get on the bike right now." Your frustration with yourself was growing. 

Why couldn't you just get on the bike? 

Why couldn't you breathe? 

Why didn't you listen to Daryl and not split up? 

Why was Daryl being so kind to you suddenly? Was it pity? You hated pity.

"Alright." Daryl watched the tears begin to roll down your cheeks. "We can walk, it's alright." There was no way of making it back to the prison on foot before sundown. Daryl knew this. But it was a sacrifice he was willing to make for you.

Daryl gripped the handles on his bike, walking the heavy machine down the road with you in tow. You were seemingly able to calm yourself down. The only thing remaining now was shame. You were embarrassed that Daryl had seen you so vulnerable. And you were even more embarrassed that he had to save you.

All the countless years felt wasted. All that time spent in the ring or on some thin gym mats. All those tireless nights where your father wouldn’t allow you to rest until you got one more. It was a phrase all too familiar.

You knew Daryl was annoyed having to walk, his huffs and buffs gave it away. The sun was beginning to set. "Daryl we can drive." You tried to persuade for the third time. "S'fine." 

"Daryl, it's getting dark." 

"S'fine!" He shouted back frustrated with the disappearing sun. You stopped in your tracks. "I know somewhere we can sleep."

You could hear the soft sounds of the water flowing down the river bed. The moon allowed a glow onto the water, gleaming with the current. Crickets and cicadas chirped in the night air like music to your ears. Despite the struggles of being in the wilderness alone, nights like this made you miss it. 

"What ya doin' over there?" Daryl asked sitting a few feet behind you at the fire. "Nothing."

You pushed yourself from the ground, making your way back to him. Daryl bitterly smoked his cigarette. You didn't need to ask to know why he was so irritated, you could already imagine. Perhaps catching the fish for dinner was what did it. Or the hundreds of pounds of metal he walked for miles. Or maybe he actually was mad about having to save you. Or the simple fact that he was stuck out here with you. 

You couldn't pick one.

No words were spoken, just the sounds of the wilderness and the crackling of the fire. It allowed you to think.

You began to wonder if you'd ever actually hated him. Because how could you hate someone you'd grown such an attachment to? How could you hate the person you screamed out for in your time of need? There were countless days where he'd anger you so much you thought you might actually strangle him. But somehow you always went right back. You always met him at the gates or stumbled upon him at breakfast. 

Staring off into the fire you began to accept that you all along had been trying [and presumably failing] to win him over. "You okay?" Your eyes looked from the fire to him. His cigarette no longer present, "M'fine." You replied. 

Daryl would be lying if he said he wasn't worried about you. Just because he didn't care for you at times, didn't mean he doesn't care about you. "It happened a couple times out on the road. I could handle it then...I just..." You shifted where you sat, "Got surprised today was all." To hear this wasn't the first time but a time of many, gutted Daryl. 

You had become more afraid of encountering a man than a walker. 

Daryl was never angry with you. He was more angry with himself, unable to protect you from finding yourself in such a situation.

"Wasn't yer fault. M'sorry." Shockingly, Daryl's guilt overshined his ego.

You let out a deep sigh looking back out towards the water. You knew his apology was sincere but you couldn't find the courage to acknowledge it. "I was just thinking about how I miss it out here sometimes. The sounds, the views, the peace."

Your confidence and sharp tongue did not seem present at this moment. Looking back to him, he seemed completely entranced by this newfound gentle side of you. "But that's only one percent of it, isn't it?" Daryl never took his eyes off yours, the fire casting an orange glow within them. "Yeah."

The other ninety - nine percent was the actual survival. All the bloody fights. The permanent anxiety. The sleepless nights due to fear. The painful emptiness of your stomach. The constant blisters on your ankles [that never healed] from running or walking. And the unbearable hopelessness. 

"Were ya always alone?" Daryl had always been curious. You shook your head, "No." He nodded his head and looked away, leaving it at that. He had no desire to make your night even more miserable by talking about the ones you'd lost.

"It was just me and my brother for awhile."

"Meryl?" 

Daryl furrowed his eyebrows knowing he'd never mentioned him before. 

"Maggie's talked about him briefly." 

"All nice things?" Daryl asked sarcastically. 

"Not really." Your attempt to stifle your laugh was a failure, the smile lingering. But this did not anger Daryl the way you thought it would. Instead, he had his own small smile, scoffing and shaking his head. "He wasn't the best at times...but he was my brother ya know?"

You nodded muttering a, yeah. 

Daryl flicked the butt of his cigarette into the dying fire. Knowing this was the first and potentially last time you'd ever speak to another so tenderly again, you continued. 

"I was an only child. My mom died in childbirth when I was eight…so I never got siblings." 

"M'sorry."

"Don't." You didn't say it to be cruel. You grew up hearing sympathy after sympathy, you did not need anymore. "I was never alone though. I had my Dad. And my aunt and uncles helped take care of me so I was surrounded by my cousins all the time...I guess I did have siblings in a way." A nauseating wave of nostalgia rose in your throat, silencing you for a mere second. 

"My mom died when I was young too. 'Cept my Dad was just some drunk asshole, didn't care 'bout nobody but himself." Daryl couldn't deny his slight envy towards you. You grew up with a father who cared for you and your safety. It made him wonder how you'd ended up alone in the end.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't need yer apologies Y/n."

"I know."

The fire was no more. Only red hot embers burning on the rocky gravel. And it made you think that perhaps it was symbolic that the fire was slowly diminishing as your conversation grew more gentle. 

A few minutes of silence had passed before either of you spoke again. "Look at us, talking to each other, treating each other like human beings for once." You joked with a laugh in an effort to replace the depressing mood. 

You actually heard Daryl chuckle even though he lowered his head in an attempt to hide it. His eyes glanced at you, your own cheeky smile dimpling your cheeks. If this is what having a personal connection with Daryl was, it was dangerous.

Why did it take so long? 

Was what you wanted to scream at him.

I could've loved you if you'd just given me a chance. 

"Maybe we have more in common than we ever allowed." 

Daryl broke eye contact with you, staring down at the glowing embers, chewing on his bottom lip. And he did the only thing he ever learned how to do when he felt something. "Night Y/n." 

You didn't know why you expected anything different. 

"Goodnight Daryl." 

Daryl took his vest off, rolling it up and using it as a makeshift pillow. He turned away from you, his back tauntling in your face. 

You stayed up a little while after, too overwhelmed by thoughts to rest. Unbeknownst to you, Daryl could not rest either. In fact, he did not sleep that entire night, only allowing himself ten-minute naps here and there. The only sense of relaxation he felt was when he'd check over his shoulder and see you in blissful sleep. As if nothing and no one had ever touched you. 

When Rick asked what'd happened, Daryl lied. Saying you'd been outrun by a hoard and had to crash somewhere safe for the night. The days continued on, and what happened that day was not spoken of again. But there had come an understanding that Daryl and you were indeed, more in-common than ever allowed.

Patrick approached Daryl and you at breakfast as you mapped the run for the next morning. "H-hi!" Patrick greeted sheepishly, giving a small wave to the table. Maggie and Glenn greeted him first. Then you, pulling your attention away from the map on the table to him; giving a polite smile and nod. "Hey Patrick, everything okay?" Rick asked from where he sat beside Daryl. "Yeah..." Patrick was nervous on his feet, awkwardly pushing his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose. "I wanted to ask Daryl and Y/n if I could join them out there?" 

There was suddenly a stiffness in the air. Glances were exchanged between the lot of you. "Patrick I-" Rick scratched his beard awkwardly, finding a response for the boy.  Patricks's confidence plummeted. He had spent hours building up the courage to ask, only to be met with stiff glances. 

"How old are you Patrick?" It was an odd question for you to ask but it did not come without reason. "Uhmm fifteen." 

You rose from your seat making your way over to him as gently as your feet would allow. Come, you spoke gently reaching an arm out to him. 

Patrick began to walk with you. 

"I was younger than you when my father began to enroll me in fighting classes…a short time after my mother died.”

Pausing your words, you continued your stroll until you stopped just before hitting the grass. "He told me that you could never be too young to be prepared for what the world was to through at you...What does that mean to a little girl who only wanted to play with her Barbies?"

Patrick listened to you intentively, entranced by the way you spoke.

Looking out to the green gardens, you seemed lost in thought for a second.  "I don't think your question is outrageous. I just don't think you're prepared." Patrick seemed to understand this answer more, nodding his head.

You knew the day would come when the prison folk grew tired of looking at the same walls and more curious about the world beyond. Especially the children. You'd seen the group of kids over by the fences, close enough to look at the walkers but far enough away for safety. It was often that they were scolded by the adults. 

"I know I’m not a fighter. I’m not like you or Daryl or even Carl. But I just wanna…” Patrick paused, “be brave for once.”

You couldn't help but smile at the innocence of the boy. 

"You can't go out there knowing nothing Patrick." He had finally begun to accept defeat but the long face and disappointed eyes tugged at your sympathy. 

"I can teach you. Just as my father taught me." Patrick's eyes lit up with hope. "Th-thank you Y/n." He gleamed with excitement, reaching a hand out to shake yours. You were truly at a loss of words with no choice but to shake it in return. 

You'd spent day after day out in the field with Patrick. You taught him how to block blows, how to hold and use daggers, and much more. He was skittish and shaky most days but he was trying. In place of your days with Patrick, you were skipping your usual days with Daryl. You truly hadn't thought he'd mind much. If anything, you assumed he'd be happy to finally have a break from you.

"I feel like this wouldn't hurt that bad." Patrick commented. Carl was punching the book Patrick held, having begun to invite himself to the practices. Thick index books were the closest thing you'd find to a punching bag. You chuckled, "It hurts more than you'd expect."

Daryl approached the three of you. You could hear his footsteps. You’d recognize them even in the dead of night. They were gentler than normal as if he wished to not disturb. "It hurts more if you have rings on." Patrick looked at you curiously, "Did you used to wear rings Y/n?" You nodded happily. "All the time.”

You turned to finally face Daryl. "Hey." You greeted, taking the last few steps to meet him. "Hi." Daryl looked about, chewing on his bottom lip. "You ain't been showing up for runs." It almost, almost, sounded as if this upset him. "I've been here," you motioned to the young boys, "You know that." 

Daryl nodded.

Of course he knew. He saw you every day, always wanting to come over and join but never allowing himself to. 

"You really serious 'bout all this?" Daryl nudged his head to Patrick and Carl. You let out a deep sigh. You asked yourself the same question. Was this serious? Did you really plan on taking a kid outside the gates? There was a chance this was all for nothing at all. But what you did know was that it kept your mind at peace and your days busy.

"I don't know. I thought we could at least take him down to the river. It's nice down there, it's not far, would get him outta here for a few hours." 

The river.

"Alright."

"Alright."

You sat alone at dinner that night, needing quiet time after hanging out with teenage boys for the majority of your day. You poked about your rice and veggies, still working on the copy of Little Women. "Hey." Daryl greeted. The day was growing late, the sun beginning to disappear from beneath the trees; he'd presumably just gotten back.

"Hi." You looked from your page, secretly happy he was giving you an excuse to put it down. Daryl's eyes looked anywhere but your own. "I-uh...got something for ya." Daryl dug into his front pocket, grabbing the handful of metal. He placed the rings on the table, making their own clattering noise together as they fell.

You seemed bewildered at this. "What...uh." Daryl chewed nervously on his thumb. He'd searched through this town and the next to find them for you, rummaging through old antique stores and dusty jewelry boxes. Picking out the ones he thought you’d like; which could mean nothing at all. “You didn't have to."

"S'fine." You nodded, the smile finally creeping it’s way to your features. "Thank you, Daryl." You were flattered. Flattered to think that for once, he'd actually listened to you. "Do you wanna go get dinner and come sit?" You offered.

"Yeah, I'd like that."

A certain closeness was growing. The arguments slowly became banter. And the war of dominance diminished. You began to work together as partners, mapping runs and brainstorming improvements for the prison. Instead of using your skills against each other, you’d began to find the perfect balance between.

Daryl joined you most days with Patrick. He found that he had no desire to go beyond the gates unless you were in tow.

There were moments when sheer frustration retook hold of you. But never did it reach the lengths as before. It came with reason, with a pleading, instead of merely arguing of who was right and who was wrong.

You turned the rings on your fingers about as you walked to the dining area outside. Daryl was a ways away, smoking his morning cigarette. “Morning.” You greeted, crossing your arms and taking your spot beside him. “Morning.”

The end of summer was near, mornings were chillier than usual but days still hot from the sun. There was a curtain of peace over this particular morning. The smell of Daryl’s cigarette filled your nose along with the morning dew. His presence comforted you. “I think it was around this time last year when you guys picked me up.”

Daryl blew the smoke from his lips, “Yeah, biggest mistake ever.” He joked. This earned a laugh from you. Daryl watched the joy on your face; it scrunched your eyes and accentuated the apples of your cheeks. “Yeah, I bet.”

He couldn’t take his eyes from you and a heaviness weighed within his chest. Because he knew, just as you did, that it was not only friendship lingering. It was more.

“I think I’m gonna go out, make sure the path to the river is clear.” Daryl knew what this insinuated. “We’re taking him out today?” Daryl had begun to hope that all of your time with Patrick was nothing, that it was merely something to fill up the days. “It feels like a peaceful day…” You could hear the uncertainty in his voice. “Besides, Patrick’s not been feeling good, I doubt he’ll even want to go. It’s the effort that means something to him.”

Hmm, Daryl hummed. You nudged your elbow into him, “Keep an eye on him for me, okay?” Daryl hummed in response again. “D…” You nudged him again as if needing a more reassuring answer for your verbal contract. The nickname perked his ears and heated his cheeks. Looking to you, he nodded.

You gave him a thankful smile. “Be safe!” Daryl shouted to you as you began on your way.

Arriving back to the prison you could feel within your gut that something was wrong. The sympathetic eyes that Michonne greeted you with solidified this.

Daryl recognized your footsteps entering the cell block.

“What's happened?" Daryl rushed to stand in front of you, blocking your path. It was eerily silent. “Come on.” Daryl placed his hands on your shoulders trying to turn you away. You shoved his hands from you, slipping past him.

"Y/n.” Daryl could not stop you from continuing on. Your expression was stuck in a state of confusion and shock as your feet guided about the chaotic cell block. It smelled of metallic blood and bitterly sour. Almost as though you'd stuck your nose in a gaping infected wound. When you'd turned your head to glance into a cell, you saw him.

Patrick lay still on the ground, an arrow lodged in his skull. An airy gasp left you, clutching your hands to your chest. It was as if you couldn't take your eyes away. Your eyes still not yet communicating to your brain what you were looking at. But when it did, the only thing you could seem to focus on was the arrow. An arrow.

Daryl watched the realization settle on your features when you turned to him. For once, Daryl felt a sense of fear. And it only worsened when you began towards him. 

It was as quick as a breath. You unsheathed the dagger on your hip and aimed it at him. 

"Y/n no!" 

Daryl caught your wrists, the blade mere inches from his right eye. Though he stopped the blade, your brute force did not stop him from being shoved into the closest wall.  

"I told you to look out for him!" You yelled through your glassy eyes.

He had no words for you, pure guilt blocking any defense or insult.

"I had to." You scoffed at this, "I can't trust you to do anything." 

"Y/n it's not his fault. It was an accident." Rick reasoned with you.

With his back pressed against the wall, he had fully submitted himself to your wrath. His guilt would let you kill him now if you'd like. His hands around your wrist did not hurt nor squeeze to withhold your strength, they began to merely rest there.

Your rapid breathing began to slow to deep inhales and exhales, ones that moved your entire chest. Your eyes remained steady on his, the world drowning out around you. 

While his eyes showed remorse, yours burned with anger; eyebrows furrowed, hot tears slipping down your cheeks.

With one forceful shove, you ripped your arms from Daryl's grasp, his back bumping the cement wall. The dagger made a clattering noise to the floor, having been lost from your grasp in the process. You stood there for a moment looking to Daryl as if waiting for something.

"M'sorry."

His apology only seemed to anger you, your face once again turning hateful. You took a few steps back before making your exit.  

When time came to take care of the ones lost, you helped dig their graves; in defiance of everyone telling you not to. Your hands covered in splinters from the blistering wood of the shovel’s handle. The once thriving and growing prison become melancholy, a heavy cloud of sorrow always above.

You and Daryl had not spoken for days. You'd ditched any planned runs that had been scheduled. But without fail, Daryl waited every morning for you, on the off chance you'd join him again. And when you never did, he kept an eye on you from afar. 

You had become quiet and distant. He seemed to only find you chatting with Maggie or Glenn and on the off chance, Rick. You were on fence duty every day presumably taking out every bit of anger on those poor dead bastards.

You'd been out there day after day, nothing but water in your system, running off of pure spite and grief. You'd be out there till your adrenaline wore off and your body gave up on itself from exhaustion. If Daryl wasn't mistaken he had spotted you crying on some days; but that bloody pipe never left your hands.

You had begun to wake up earlier than Daryl, always managing to slip away from him just in time. You ignored him at every meal and walked by him as if he was a ghost. 

Daryl couldn't deny the itch of missing you. He longed for you to look at him again, to smile at him and call him names. He began to even miss when you yelled at him, as cruel and loud as you could be. 

Daryl couldn't continue on like this. You were torturing him.

He had awoken particularly early this day, ensuring he was in the kitchen long before you; knowing you never skipped your morning tea.

Exhaustion was all you could feel. Your body raged against your decisions every day. Your arms were sore, hands red and raw from gripping the damn pipe so hard. But you could not allow yourself to be around him. You couldn't stand to be trapped in those cells, indulged with pity.  

Wrapping the strap of the fingerless gloves around your wrist, you wandered into the kitchen. Glancing up, you saw him, stopping your steps. The kitchen was dark on this early morning, the sun not yet fully risen. 

Every thought Daryl had vanished from his mind. Every speech he'd rehearsed or apology left him in an instant. He hadn't known seeing you face to face, alone, would leave him so breathless. Daryl could see your exhaustion even in the dim light. Your usually neat braid had been done in haste, it was sloppy and hairs fell messily into your face. The constant emotional distress dragged on your features.  

"I had to see ya."

You crossed your arms over your chest, closing yourself off from him. "So you just waited for me here." Your tone was venom to him. Daryl swallowed sharply, second-guessing his actions. "Ya get yer tea every mornin'." It would be flattering to think he'd memorized your everyday routine if it was any other time. But you couldn't find that now. 

"Was gonna go out..."

He wasn't. Daryl would only go if you were in tow.

You scoffed at him. Had he truly gone through all this effort just to ask you to join him on a sleazy run? 

Your attitude hurt Daryl more than he'd like to admit. "Just wanted to see if ya wanted to come with me?"

You knew why he actually was here. Scratching the skin on your arm nervously, you said, "No Daryl." 

“Why the hell not?” Your mouth dropped agape. Astonished at his mere audacity. “Why not?” You repeated back. Daryl looked at you blankly. Should he apologize? Or should he begin his stubbornness rant about all the ways it wasn't his fault? You shook your head, "You're pathetic."

The fire was lit once again.

You'd insulted his ego and his efforts to meet you here. But most of all, you'd insulted any feelings he'd developed for you.

Daryl's face switched from hurt to a hateful glare in a second. You didn’t care to continue on with him, turning and disappearing into the hallway. Daryl’s anger took hold of him as he rushed after you. “M’pathetic?” He followed after you, stomping like a child.

You ignored him, continuing on, letting the door slam in his face when you exited outside. Daryl following suit in your path did not falter. Carol and Rick turned their attention to the commotion.

Daryl and you spewed insults at each other. You'd reached down in yourself, past the grief and guilt, and pulled any degrading thing you could manage to say to him. And he did the same. No words you said could possibly cut him as deeply as his actions cut you.

"I shoulda left ya out there!" 

"Yeah I wish you fucking would've..." You took a step closer to him. "But you couldn't because you fucking needed me." 

"I don't need you." 

"You fucking need me." You repeated. 

"Yeah? Then you need me!"

"I don't fucking need you! I never needed you."

Daryl lowered his tone, narrowing his eyes. He was mere inches from your face, your foreheads almost touching. “Ya didn't need me out there, hm?" He watched your furrowed eyebrows falter. Daryl knew he was crossing a line but couldn't find it in his heart to stop. "Where was yer daddy that day, yuh?"

Your glassy eyes looked up at him attempting to form your own degrading insult. "What? Say it, come on say it Y/n." He egged you on.

You only think about yourself, just like your father.

But you refrained, swallowing your words along with your tears. "Fuck you." Daryl watched you walk away, wiping at your face. "Fuck you!" Regret dreaded him. He watched as you continued on, your body shaking from a mixture of adrenaline and tears. He could have run after you then, apologies spewing from his mouth but his stubbornness kept him still.

The prison fell that same day.

Amid chaos and destruction, Daryl could only find himself to look for you. And when he finally accepted defeat, he could only pray that you'd made it out.

You had fled on your own. Fighting your way through to return to the comfort of the wilderness. After a few strenuous days on your own again, you'd found Carol and Tyreese; joining them with the girls. The blisters on your feet had returned as did the heaviness deep in your chest.

You thought about him more than you'd like to admit. And Carol did her part in reminding you of him on the daily. You'd begun to dwell on how you'd treated him in those final days. You’d denied yourself the comfort of his company. You urned for him to be gentle to you once again. To speak to you so deeply and sincerely as he had before. To comfort you amidst your grief. All the draining nights of crying yourself to dehydration, you desired for him to be there.

You’d never been hugged by Daryl but in your mind, his touch would’ve healed a thousand gaping wounds.

"I regret it deeply now." You'd say to Carol.

"I'm sure he feels the same." She'd respond.

A longing for your life to return as it was among those prison walls struck you down every hour of every day. The wish to go back to that morning and accept his offer. To take his hand and go beyond the walls. Maybe one more day together would’ve fixed everything. And you wouldn’t be left with the guilt of leaving things off on a bad note; never to see him again.

The smoke rose above the tree line, only making you more anxious. With Tyreese and Judith safely at the cabin, [or so you thought], you kept guard at the road. Keeping an eye for anyone making an escape.

Kill them if they weren’t one of us. Carol instructed.

But the sound of gunfire made you unsure of anyone’s survival. Fuck, you muttered to yourself out of frustration. You glanced constantly down the road and amongst the trees, hoping for a familiar face.

You turned your last surviving ring anxiously about your finger. A rustle in the woods grabbed your attention. You gripped your gun closely in your hands, stepping towards the tree line. When it was deemed clear, you continued on, your boots crunching on the leaves.

Your ears perked at a sudden snap of a twig. Whipping your body around, you pointed your gun.

Daryl aimed his bow to you, the tip of your weapons mere inches from the other. Your breath caught in your throat. His eyes were tired, his face bruised. But you couldn't say you looked any better.

Both your fingers lingered over your triggers, though neither of you would shoot. Daryl lowered his bow. Looking at you with teary eyes. You lowered your own weapon, looking to him with the same unsure gaze. There seemed to be a mutual understanding that neither of you had the energy to fight. Daryl wanted to reach out to you but the looming fear of rejection didn’t allow him. "Y/n?" Maggie snapped you from your daze. “Maggie?” You rushed to embrace her, discarding Daryl.

The weeks spent on the road proved to be difficult. Everyone grew more hopeless by the day and this hopelessness only grew when it became loss after loss. There was no time to heal from one loss before having to mourn another. First Bob, then Tyreese, and then Beth. You’d glued yourself to Maggie after Beth just as she did for you after Patrick.

Daryl mourned Beth in private. You wanted to be there for him, to provide him a shoulder to cry on. But he’d shut you out, just as you’d done to him. And besides, you never even tried, too focused on Maggie to consider it more than a thought.

You and Daryl had become strangers once again. There was no room for forgiveness, no time to spew apologies to each other, and no space to coddle each other through the pain.

Alexandria came to the suffering group, shining a new light of hope and a more secure future.

But this meant you could not hide from him anymore nor him you. The known could no longer be left unspoken.

You’d slipped away from the main house to the house next door that belonged to the group but was yet to be used. Daryl was first to notice your absence, asking where you’d gone so late. When he was told, the urge to follow after arose.

The front door was left unlocked, allowing Daryl entry. “Y/n?” The house was dimly lit, an amber glow looming from across the room. Daryl saw your figure sitting on the couch in front of the fireplace. A liquor bottle sat atop the coffee table reading, Honey Whiskey, along with an empty glass seemingly for him. The other was in your hand, resting on your thigh. He couldn't help but think how perfectly you the liquor was; bitter yet soothing and sweet.

Daryl didn't know what told him to sit beside you but he did not resist the urge.

Nothing was said, the both of you staring off into the gas-lit flames. Your eyes studied the fake logs that were engulfed by flames, comparing it to how real wood burns. Daryl craved for you to speak to him. He didn't care if it was hurtful. Any words, cruel or no, were better than this silence. "Y/n..."

"I forgive you." Daryl went still. You hadn't given him time to breathe.

"What?"

Just then you turned, your freshly cleaned hair falling over your shoulder. The fire cast a glow on your features; highlighting the bridge of your nose and emoting a sparkle within your eyes.

“I said I forgive you.” It was the gentlest tone you’d ever spoken to him in, almost a whisper.

“I don’t think I had reason to be angry in the first place. I was just trying to blame someone that wasn’t myself.” You reached forward, popping the cap from the bottle and pouring Daryl a glass. You handed it to him, along with a slight smile. It tugged at his heart.

“M’sorry…bout what I said that day. 'Bout your Dad...Wasn’t right.” Daryl swirled the liquor about his glass, wondering where you’d found it. You took a deep breath before speaking on, “My daddy disowned me.”

The dog tags around your neck suddenly felt as though they weighed fifty pounds. It was a burden you carried around your neck every day, hoping the weight would be lifted lighter if you just spoke highly. "Why?" Daryl couldn't help but ask. You hesitated, your mouth gaping but no words following. "Because I loved a woman." You flashed Daryl an insecure smile, unsure of how he'd react. "I lost her about a month before you guys picked me up. That's why I was alone."

Daryl felt a whirlwind of emotions hit him at once.

How many times had he thrown your father in your face like some jealous brat?

“I think I resented ya a lot. Thinking ya had a father that rolled out the red carpet for you." Daryl had found his own courage in a now empty cup. You took note of this, pouring more for him. "I know, D."

"M'sorry."

"I know that too."

After that, a soft silence fills the room. The two of you sit peacefully, content with the weight slowly lifting from the shoulders of your friendship. But there was another topic to relive before you could truly sweep up all of the choked-off fragments and furnish them with conclusions.

“Patrick uh…”

“Ya don’t gotta talk about that Y/n.”

“No, I need to.”

The liquor wasn’t persuading you to talk nor to act a certain way, you’d barely drank any.

A deep sigh left you and you rested your back against the couch. “Patrick talked about his parents a lot. He said that his mom wanted him to be brave…That’s why he wanted to go out, he said that he felt like a coward. He’d always been safe in Woodbury then the prison.” Your words were quick and shaken.

Daryl listened attentively, taking sips of the whiskey in hopes it would calm his mind. “He thought that if he went out, even once, he would be brave… like us.” You motioned to you and Daryl. A smile rose on your face. “He also just really wanted to impress you, he was so excited when you started joining us in the mornings.” You took a sip from your own cup finding strength in the liquid.

“I know you always thought it was silly but…Patrick reminded me a lot of my cousin. He was my best friend until my aunt moved to a different state. I promised to keep in touch but I started college, got distracted, and only saw him on holidays.”

Your words trailed as if unsure of what was to be said.

“Until he jumped off a fucking overpass.” You could feel Daryl’s sympathetic eyes looking at you. “In his note, he said he knew he was a coward but he couldn’t be here anymore.” Your lip began to quiver but you quickly covered it with a swig of liquor. Daryl was left to think while you choked your tears down.

"They were brave." Daryl said in hopes it would relieve some of your guilt.

You placed your glass on the table beside the couch. "And dead they are." The tears could no longer be drowned in whiskey. You covered your face with your hands. Your body trembled violently, sobs racking your chest. Daryl put down his own glass. “C’mere…c’mere please.”

Daryl scooted closer to you, grasping for you to meet him halfway. You met him gladly.

You gripped your arms around him tighter, resting your head on his shoulder. A deep sigh of relief left both of you, melting into the other's embrace. “You’ve never hugged me before." You commented with sadness, your words mumbling against the fabric of his shirt; now wet with tears. "I know. M’sorry.” He could hold you all night if need be, to make up for all the nights he hadn’t.

He smelled of pine from the soap he'd used to wash. But the familiar scent of motor oil and cigarette smoke could never be washed from his skin. At first, it annoyed you. You'd complain that the oil gave you headaches and scold him about his unhealthy habit. But now, no four walls of any house could provide you the safety and comfort of Daryl's broad figure.

You pulled away from him but your hands did not leave him. They dragged down from his back to rest comfortably in his own. Your soft skin caressed his calloused hands. Your forehead rested against his. He did not remove himself from you but merely looked down, avoiding your gaze. "Ya been drinking a lot Y/n, ain't in the right mindset right now." You shook your head, "No Daryl...”

Your nose bumped his own as you scooped your head down, capturing his lips in yours. You taste of the bitterly sweet liquor, your lips still slightly damp from the tears that fell only moments ago. He resists before giving in to his longest desires. It made his nerves feel fuzzy. “I love you.” Your words mumbled against his lips.

The kiss turned from gentle to desirable in time, lips moving in sync together. His hands moved to either side of your face, ensuring to keep you close. You began to lay back, hoping Daryl would follow. He was quick too, ensuring his body weight did not crush you.

Needing a moment to breathe, you parted from him. Your back relaxed against the plush couch all your tense muscles turning to putty beneath him. Daryl's head fell to your chest. He felt your own heartbeat, just as quick as his own. "Love ya too."

Daryl's hands freely wondered you. He gripped your thighs, feeling the jagged scar on your thigh through the thin pajama pants; remembering the day you met. "I fell down a hill." Daryl stopped his lingering hands, "What?" There was a ting of a smile on your face. His eyes sparkled with admiration. "I was fighting a walker and I fell downhill. I think I got stabbed by a tree branch or my own knife, I never knew." You admitted shamefully. Daryl dropped his head to your chest again, chuckling.

His laughter sent vibrations through you, triggering a laugh of your own. You bring your hand to the back of his head, stroking his messy brown hair. “Why don’t you stay here with me tonight?” Daryl lifted his head, the fire dimly lighting the right side of his face. He nodded.

"I'd like that."

[kc-rising]

I Need Help

Hey folks, serious post. I've mentioned what's going on with me a couple times but never really went into much detail; I've been having severe pain in my left side for over 3 months now. Doctors can't figure out what's causing it, no X-rays, CT scans, ultrasounds, or blood work show anything. I've seen multiple specialists and gotten no answers. I finally got one of them to send me to physical therapy which I started last week.

My co-pay for specialists is very high and my physical therapy counts as specialist visits according to my shit insurance.

I'm going to be out $600 in the next few weeks because of this. I'm already out more than $500 because of the previous doctor visits and imaging done. So that's over $1100. And this is assuming the PT fixes me. I hope it does, I'm so tired of dealing with this. More bills are still coming in as well so who knows how much I actually owe...

I really hate asking for real life money, especially right now with all the Palestinian gfms going around, but I'm struggling, my job pays like shit (in the US? shocking I know /s) and I haven't been able to work a full shift for the 3 months this has been going on. All of this is excluding my normal medical costs for unrelated issues, which are expensive enough as it is.

I'm going to drop some links here.

Help Me Pay My Medical Bills

If you donate leave me your Tumblr url and a request and I'll doodle something for you:

I'll draw Flight Rising dragons, non-FR dragons, animals, dinosaurs, kaiju, pokemon, any kind of creature really, furries, etc.

Here are some examples of my work from this year's Art Fight

These obviously aren't doodles but they're the most recent pieces I've made and are most accurate to my current style. The more you donate the more time I will spend on your request.

Links:

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(please ignore my deadname on venmo and paypal)

** If you can't donate I would greatly appreciate reblogs **

[innorogers]

Hypnagogia

Steve Rogers x Reader (You / OFC)

Summary: How could you ever think, for a second, that he’d want to be with anyone else?

Warning: Fluff / He had an ex / Strategic mastermind Steve

Characters: OC, Tony Stark, Maria Hill, Bruce Banner, Natasha Romanoff, Sam Wilson, Sharon Carter

Also: Thanks in advance for repost or any feedback ❤️ Let me know if you want to be included in the taglist (DM, comment, repost and tag, whatever works)❤️ You don't need to read the previous chapters but it will definitely enhance the experience if you do.

1: Insomnia | 2: Lucid | 3: Reverie | 4: Nightmare | 5: Awakening | 6: Dusk

The room was painted gold and white, sunlight penetrating through the glass wall, leaving a trace on the table, drawing a clear line between shadow and light. The air was cold—the AC was so strong that anyone who entered the room would feel a chill. 

Steve’s fingers tapped on the desk as he observed the dust dancing in the air, making nonsensical but beautiful twirls and circles, driven by the movement of the air.

The ray of sunlight moved slowly but eventually settled on his finger, causing a sparkle to reflect off the walls from the simple silver ring he was wearing. The reflection hit the wall like a starlight, and that made him smile.

He was relaxed, confident, and content. His body still echoed with the sensations from your night together, and a barely visible curve appeared on his lips as his eyes caught the ring’s reflection.

No one else in the room noticed, except for Commander Hill, who was sitting in front of him. And she felt so sorry for General Ross, the UN Secretary, projected on the screen and connected to this meeting.

Everyone could tell that Steve was in a good mood. His polite smiles and gentle diplomatic words suggested a calm, serene, and approachable Captain.

But Maria knew better.

When Steve was relaxed and calm, he became even more dangerous. That state allowed him to assess threats, predict outcomes, and shift the momentum of any confrontation with a single command.

He’d become a master symphony conductor of chaos, orchestrating every maneuver with grace and confidence. In that state of calm, Steve could decipher not only the strengths of his allies but also their vulnerabilities, using that knowledge like a painter, artfully blending raw power with disciplined strategy.

He could read a war room like a map—the ebb and flow of combat were as clear to him as written instructions, allowing him to think several steps ahead of his enemies.

Just like he was doing right now. The silence that filled the room had lasted for more than three minutes. The tension was palpable, yet Steve, the one who had initiated this standoff between both sides, was staring at the wall, following the reflection of his own ring like an idiot. 

Maria almost grinned. Steve knew exactly what he wanted, and wasn’t going to back down. He was still, unwavering. Like a panther poised to strike, he waited, while the UN Secretary-General on the screen was losing his shit.

Thaddeus Ross looked just as Maria remembered him before the Civil War—probably because he hadn’t aged during the Blip. He wore that familiar expression of pain, frustration, and anger, the same one he always had whenever he had to meet with Steve. He would have much preferred having this conversation with Tony, but Tony would sooner lick a rusty nail than be present in this meeting.

“Captain Rogers, we appreciate the Avengers’ cooperation and all that you’ve done for the world… for the universe.” Ross sighed, rubbing his temples. 

Maria looked down, suppressing a smile. 

Here we go.

“But let’s be clear. Agent Frazer is a trusted MI6 operative and a respected diplomat. Accusations like this require hard evidence, not speculation. We need to know exactly what happened on your end and why he’s being held.”

“I understand your concerns, Secretary, but this isn’t a simple matter of diplomacy gone wrong. Agent Frazer isn’t who you think he is anymore. Something changed when he entered our compound.” Steve replied, rubbing his thumb along the ring, his tone slipping into full Captain America mode.

“Changed?” Secretary Ross was losing his patience. “Like… a chameleon? Look, you’re holding an international agent without concrete proof. I need more than your word to justify this to our affiliate nations.”

“Well, you didn’t seem to need evidence when half the people in this room disappeared because a purple raisin snapped his fingers, did you?” Sam raised an eyebrow. “I’m afraid our word is actually the one thing you can rely on.”

Maria spoke up before Ross lost his shit over that comment: “He was fitted with a retinal device that was transmitting data. Whatever was sent, it wasn’t the actions of a regular agent. We traced it to a secure hub that's heavily encrypted. We’re not accusing without reason.”

“Oh…A retinal device?” Ross’s face was straightforward ‘are you kidding me’: “And do you really believe that the Brit Intel possesses this kind of tech? Who does this stuff besides you or Wakanda? Ok…” He put a hand on his forehead: “Where is it? This retinal device?” 

“We can’t share it yet.” Steve responded. “There are elements of this that go beyond a single agent. Frazer might not have been acting on his own, and he might not even be fully aware of what’s been done to him.”

“Oh…Oh…You can’t share it?” Ross nodded sarcastically, feigning understanding. 

“Sure, I’ll just go and tell the 216 representatives that you’re not ready yet. We should just sit and wait until you feel prepared. You’re holding and interrogating a UN Special Unit agent and accusing him of espionage and treason—those are serious claims, Rogers! And you’re still not providing actual evidence!” He nearly slammed the table in frustration.

But Steve remained immovable, now resting his hand on his jaw, his lips grazing the ring as if observing Ross’s imminent meltdown with mild amusement. He waited for Ross to calm down before speaking again, his tone patient.

“We’ve seen this kind of manipulation before. This technology—it’s something we’ve encountered from organizations that use people like Frazer as pawns. If we give you the full picture, we risk exposing more than we can afford right now.”

That’s a nice way of saying: I’m not revealing my girlfriend’s information to you, assholes. Maria tried to suppress her smile, keeping her expression serious.

“That sounds suspiciously like speculation.” Ross countered, his temper barely under control. He couldn't believe how difficult it was to reason with Steve and was amazed Stark ever put up with it.

“It’s not.”

Of course it is.

“Well, Captain, you’re implying this goes beyond Frazer, but without solid evidence or a proper investigation, you’re asking us to take this on faith. That’s a dangerous request, and we can’t accept that.”

You say that, but you’re exactly where Steve wants you. Maria thought, watching with awe. She had worked with some of the greatest tactical minds, but Steve’s natural ability to manipulate the flow of situations still amazed her.

“It’s not an act of faith.” Steve replied diplomatically. “I understand the difficulties of your position, Secretary. I’m asking you to trust our judgment. You know the Avengers don’t act without cause. We’re not holding Frazer out of suspicion alone. Something’s been compromised—maybe even within your own ranks. If you push too hard for full disclosure, we might end up tipping off whoever’s behind this.”

Ross’s expression shifted.

There it is. Maria noted. The bait was set.

“Are you suggesting there’s been a breach within the UN itself? That’s a serious accusation, Captain.”

Steve sighed. “It’s not an accusation—it’s a possibility. This is bigger than Frazer. If we’re wrong, we’ll take the heat. But if we’re right and this gets out before we can stop it, more than just Frazer’s life will be at risk.”

Ross sat back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

Maria held her breath. 

Everything was unfolding exactly how Steve wanted.

“Look, Rogers, I’m bending over backward here. I could escalate this to the Security Council, or worse, handle it diplomatically—which wouldn’t end well for the Avengers. But I’m offering a compromise, and you should think about it carefully.”

Steve remained impassive, his gaze steady on the screen, waiting for Ross to continue.

“You bring Agent Frazer to the UN Headquarters.” Ross leaned forward, as if offering something generous. “And we’ll conduct a joint interrogation. Your people, our people—all present. We’ll see everything firsthand, no secrets, no games. It’s a big concession on my part, but I’m willing to do it for the sake of transparency.” Ross crossed his arms, clearly expecting Steve to appreciate the ‘favor.’

Maria raised an eyebrow. 

Checkmate.

It was exactly what Steve had wanted—moving Frazer to a controlled environment, where they could monitor both him and the UN’s reactions.

“That’s a reasonable compromise, Secretary.” Steve replied after a long pause, offering a diplomatic nod, his expression neutral, his voice steady. “We’ll escort Frazer to the UN HQ and work with your team. But remember, once that interrogation starts, what comes out might not be something anyone’s ready for.”

Ross exhaled heavily, convinced he had won. 

“Good. I’ll notify the necessary parties. The UN appreciates your cooperation, Captain.”

“Sure.” Steve responded calmly, watching as Ross disconnected from the meeting.

As soon as the screen went dark, Maria couldn’t help but smile. “Finally, something went as expected.”

Steve leaned back in his chair, a small smile tugging at his lips. He pulled out his phone, ready to text you, but paused for a moment, sighing.

“Just hope I don’t regret this mission.” he murmured, referring to bringing you to the UN HQ with the team.

“Oh, come on, she’ll be fine.” Maria said, rolling her eyes as she began organizing the documents scattered across the table. “Don’t make me go over this again.”

“What are you worrying about?” Sam called from the other side of the room. “I think it’s a great idea. She goes undercover, uses her powers to check for secret passages, weapons, surveillance—anything shady. And if someone’s controlling Frazer, maybe she can pick up on it, and we can trace it from there.”

“Thank you, that’s exactly what I said.” Maria agreed, gathering the last of the files and opening the door for them. “And Ross is right, you know. Every piece of tech we have? She’ll be wearing it. We’ll make sure she’s fully covered. Plus, we’re all going, and you’ll be stuck to her like a fridge magnet on Bucky’s arm, so stop worrying.”

“Well, now that the mission is settled, let’s get to the important stuff.” Sam winked as they walked down the hallway, throwing an arm around Steve’s neck. “So? I see a ring on your finger. Is that… the ring? Engagement, maybe? So soon?”

Steve chuckled, walking ahead: “What else it would be?”

“Of course it’s not an engagement ring!” you protested, blushing as Dr. Lin examined your finger with far too much excitement.

“It’s a high-frequency, multi-sensorial ring capable of real-time biometric and geospatial transmission, with micro-electromechanical systems that monitor and broadcast vital stats, and GPS included.” You repeated the clarification Steve had given you.

“Ew!” Robert dropped your hand like it was burning. “It’s a tracking device?!” 

His eyebrows shot up with incredulity: “Honey, I thought your ‘not-my-boyfriend’ was just some fling avoiding responsibility, but now…I’m worried. Is he some kind of psycho? This thing is connected to an app, isn’t it? So he can track you? Wait… does he work here? I bet HR would love to hear about this.”

“He’s not a psycho!” You laughed, finding his conclusion hilarious. “Far from it.” You said as admiring the way the ring caught the sunlight.

“Okay, sweetie? No. Nononono. This is NOT normal.” Dr. Lin leaned back in his chair, shutting down your screen and rearranging the desk so you were facing him. 

“Listen, I think we’re walking on thin ice here. Now, give me his name. No more secrecy. If I know him, I’ll tell you everything. If I don’t…I’ll hack into the employee system and dig up all his dirty little secrets. Come on, chop chop. This is serious—how did you even agree to this?”

Too caught up in his horror, Dr. Lin didn’t notice the whispers in the back of the lab or your co-workers discreetly pulling out their phones to take pictures. Neither did you.

“It’s just for a short period…” You explained. “It’s for my safety, so he knows I’m okay.”

“That’s what all manipulative stalkers say!”

“Aww, Robert.” You were touched by his genuine concern. “You’re so sweet for worrying about me.” You rubbed his shoulder. “But really, don’t worry. I know what I’m doing, he is fine.”

“Says the girl who only interacts with plants and has zero social life.” Robert shook his head. 

“Look sweetie, I don’t want to see you on the news, floating in the Hudson in a garbage bag, okay? Now give me his name.” 

He pulled out his phone, scrolling through the employee database. “Is he an agent? Because that seems like something an angry agent would do… Here, let me do some background checks…” His voice trailed off when he looked up to see Steve standing beside him.

“Good afternoon.” Steve greeted, smiling politely.

“C-Captain.” Robert blinked, glancing around to make sure he was in the right place. “Um, this is the R&D lab, Cap.” What are you doing here? Dr. Banner and Mr. Stark are regulars, but you?

“I know,” Steve replied with a polite nod and leaned down pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. 

“Hey you ready? The car’s waiting.” He naturally picked up your bag and took your hand, nodding again to Dr. Lin. “Robert.”

You know my name?! 

Dr. Lin was jaw dropped as you were held by Steve and left with a wave and a smiling ‘I’ll see you later’, he also had to squeeze down a scream like a fangirl when Steve put his arm around your shoulder and gave you another kiss.

“That was… dramatic.” You laughed as Steve pressed another kiss to your forehead.

“More dramatic than your ‘Revelio’ moment?” Steve chuckled. “No, I think we’re fine.” He took a deep breath. “It was bound to happen sooner or later. At least now, whoever’s after you might think twice before making a move.” His grip on your hand tightened as you walked toward the car. “Come on. Let’s go over the plan one more time before we enter the lion’s den.”

“Ugh…” you groaned. “Again?”

The cars pulled up to the United Nations Headquarters in New York, the convoy blending seamlessly into the pulse of flashing lights and bustling streets. Sleek black vehicles came to a smooth stop in front of the ionic compound, its towering glass façade reflecting the late afternoon sun as flags from every nation fluttered in the breeze.

You couldn't help but smile.

Ever since Natasha had pulled you out of Siberia and Tony had done everything in his power to ensure your freedom, walking these streets –or any streets–  still felt like a gift. You never missed a chance to take it all in, but every time the city’s buzz—the constant hum of people, the soft melody of urban life—hit you, it was like this  invisible symphony that no one else could quite detect. It was overwhelming and yet comforting at once, as though the very chaos of the outside world was an affirmation that you were part of it. 

You stepped out of the car with Steve, Sam, and Maria close behind, as normal as always, if it weren’t for the human shield they were forming around you.

You were equipped with the latest Stark technology: retinal lenses calibrated to detect even the smallest anomalies, neuro-memory transmission implants capable of syncing with your mind (and Jarvis plus Friday), and discreet sensors were embedded into your gear, capturing and relaying data on anything that might emerge from the shadows. Everything Bruce and Tony had invented, inspired by your unique abilities, had been utilized, enhancing its powers.

And of course, Steve had insisted you wear the latest in protective gear, woven with advanced fibers that could withstand almost any physical impact. It was sleek, lightweight, and practically invisible—more like a second skin than armor.

But the reassurance in Steve’s eyes when he saw you wearing it was unmistakable. You’d sharpened your powers over time, and this was far from your first mission, but nothing made him worry less. He hated unpredictable situations, especially when it came to you.

You began to scan the surroundings. The heightened senses kicked in, eyes sharpening as you observed the compound. Your gaze fixed on the walls, seeing beyond the layers of concrete and steel, into corridors filled with armed security, advanced surveillance systems, and hidden passageways. Your mind – and everything Tony put on you– cataloged every detail: a vault hidden below the west wing, an array of weapons stored in an underground chamber, a strange device tucked behind a sealed door you couldn’t quite identify, but it wasn't a threat, just something heavy. Ew, was someone having sex in the basement? Well…who are you to judge?

As you reached the delegation, Steve stood tall, projecting calm authority as he greeted Thaddeus Ross.

“Secretary Ross, we appreciate your cooperation in handling this situation together. Agent Frazer is in your custody now.” He nodded as the car that held Agent Frazer with maximum care entered the building.

“Good to see everything went smoothly, Rogers.” Ross said, his eyes sweeping over the group. “Let’s hope this brings us closer to the truth.” Whatever the fuck that is.

“I’m sure it will.” Steve affirmed, his tone steady. “Commander Hill and I will be part of the joint interrogation. Captain Wilson and Dr. Lancaster are here specifically for the New Era Project.” He glanced at you and Sam, who both nodded in silent acknowledgment. “I believe Tony mentioned it before our arrival.”

Secretary Ross scowled, but Steve’s logic was irrefutable. The New Era Project was a groundbreaking collaboration between the Avengers and the UN, designed to bridge the gap between their efforts and resources. 

Both sides would exchange personnel—scientists, strategists, and field agents—to oversee, analyze, and integrate their respective strengths. It was more than just oversight; it was a mutual exchange of knowledge and expertise, aimed at building something greater together. Although fraught with tension, the project promised mutual benefit—Stark Industries’ cutting-edge tech paired with the UN’s global infrastructure.

But right now? Steve was doing what Steve does magnificently —controlling the situation like a puppeteer with his invisible strings of strategy.

Secretary Ross also knew through Tony how Steve was resisting this initiative, and Stark wasn’t going to risk starting Civil War 2.0 over any UN proposal, even though this time they were actually really considering humanity’s future and peaceful, technological solutions. 

But yet, here was Captain Rogers, offering two agents himself for cooperation on this project.

How could he say no?

“Fine.” F-You Rogers, F-You. Ross said with a forced smile: “But since Agent Frazer’s mission had been…a failure, I’m sure there will be no opposition from you if we send other agents, right?”

“As long as they aren’t brainwashed before coming in, I think we’ll be fine.” Steve patted the Secretary’s shoulder, joking a bit to ease the situation and ignoring the “Fuck you is not funny” face Ross just made.

“C’mon, let’s keep the wheel moving,” Secretary Ross growled.

You were walking a few steps behind him, both of your rings hidden in your pockets. Wearing them at the Avenger’s Facility? That was fine, where everything was under control and not a fly would pass by unnoticed, but here, neither you nor Steve wanted to be the spotlight of distractions or gossip that could lead to unanticipated events.

As the entire delegation began to move inside. The Secretary started the introductions of their side: “Dr. Yamato, head of Criminal Minds and War Behavior Analysis.” Ross gestured toward a sharp-eyed woman with a composed demeanor. “She’s one of the best in psychological warfare and behavioral profiling.”

“Colonel Marcus Bryant, specialist in Military Strategy and Hostage Negotiation.” He said as the Colonel gave a brief nod.

“And finally, Agent Elena Vasquez, cybersecurity and intelligence expert.” Ross introduced a woman with a sharp gaze and quick reflexes. “She’ll be handling the tech side of this, tracking any potential data leaks or anomalies.”

There were a few more nods exchanged, each member of the delegation poised for the task ahead.

As they reached the main entrance, another figure approached with confident strides. Ross turned to introduce her.

“And this is Agent Sharon Carter, head of Diplomatic Security.” Sharon, dressed impeccably in a tailored suit, extended a hand with a polite smile.

“Captain.” She greeted Steve with professional ease. Her voice was polite, and nothing in her demeanor was out of line, but the familiarity between them didn’t escape your notice. There was a warmth in her eyes—a brief flicker of something that hadn’t entirely faded.

There was history there, subtle but unmistakable.

“Sharon. It’s good to see you.” Steve shook her hand with a warm smile. “You look great.” Though his focus never wavered from the mission at hand, a hint of something unspoken passed between them.

Your stomach tightened for just a moment, a flash of curiosity and unease passing through you, but you quickly refocused as Ross motioned everyone toward the compound for the formal debriefing. Sharon and Steve moved on, her interaction flawlessly professional, but that brief moment still lingered with you.

The UN HQ was as imposing as expected, but a day inside the building wasn’t enough to scan the entire place. You had superpowers, but is not like you are a machine, duh. And even with Stark’s enhanced tech, nothing new came up on your radar. Of course, you'd discreetly planted a tracking device for Tony to hack into their systems, but that was child’s play for him—he’d hacked SHIELD years ago, and the UN wasn’t much more of a challenge.

You frowned as you walked alongside Sam for what felt like the fifteenth lap through the hallways, waiting for the interrogation to wrap up.

Oh…this is so unfortunate. This building had the new edgy architecture style, encouraging horizontal workspaces and transparency through their walls of glass. So you could see… Steve and this gorgeous, agile, fierce, super-intelligent, attractive-as-hell Agent Carter chatting, sometimes chuckling, patting his shoulder.

What could they be talking about? “Oh, you’re so beautiful, like a golden rose in a summer garden. Look at you with that sexy-as-hell black suit and fine stilettos. Would you have dinner with me? Oh what? No, I’m not in a relationship, just with some weirdo that talks to plants and has x-rays in her eyes.”

“You know…” Sam was observing how your fingers were tapping on the desk over and over, maybe mumbling some unhearable words in a language he couldn’t understand. So he said in a very low voice, “That’s way in the past, okay? Things just didn’t work out for them. I think they didn’t even try… It was chaotic during the Sokovia Accords, running away, homeless, going from here to there, hiding in Europe… And then, the Blip. No one had the mood to be in a relationship… Well, not that I know, I was out in a limbo. But still, I think that’s like…so over.”

“WHAT?” It took you like 30 seconds to actually process what he was talking about. “They were…? They were…dating? In a relationship?”

Sam opened his mouth. And then closed it. And then he stood up.

“I’m gonna get some coffee. You want some? You look like you could use some coffee…yeah, so I’m just gonna…alright.”

And he was out. Leaving you with your jaw dropped. But then you looked back to the interrogation room and everything just made sense.

Oh my God. These two would have beautiful and incredibly blonde kids with that perfect silky skin, tall silhouette, gracious walk. If it’s a boy, it would be like Steve Rogers 2.0, and a girl would totally be Miss Americana. They’d be like this perfect cliché advertisement poster with the house in the countryside, white fences, a backyard full of roses, Sunday barbecues, a golden retriever, and kids playing baseball.

And what would you do? Well…if you survive this dark hidden organization that’s highly likely to use, torture, and experiment on you, maybe you could ask for a transfer to Wakanda. You never met Princess Shuri,  but Tony speaks so well about her, and the projects they have over there are so amazing.

You wouldn’t have to see Steve’s wedding of the century if you were in a cage in the woods, right? And the weather there is so good for the plants, oh you could finally have the Epiphyllum oxypetalum you’ve always wanted. And if anything, you could talk to it until you are old.

And Bucky is in Wakanda too! You’ve never met him, but hey, you could always bond over “remember those days we got two shots of electrowave in our bodies so we could get those injections that made us recover faster? Old times, huh?”

Yeah, that sounds okay. You could live with a broken heart; people do that all the time, right? Your body and mind were already quite shattered, so it wouldn’t matter if your soul and heart was a fucking mess too. You nodded as you decided and looked up at Sam, who was approaching with two coffees in his hands.

“Do you think Tony would allow me to take my plants to Wakanda?”

“What?” The Falcon hesitated for a moment, then he switched the coffee he was handing you: “Okay, girl, take the decaf.”

“Hey.” Steve’s voice broke through your spiraling thoughts as he approached, his hand lightly brushing your arm. You hadn’t even noticed he’d left the interrogation room. “We’re ready to go. We’ll probably have two or three more of these sessions, but we can’t keep the interrogation going forever. Maria will stay here for this shift, and Nat will take over tomorrow... hey, you alright?”

“What?” You realized you were biting your fingers. “Oh, um… yeah, it’s unusually quiet over here. Nothing’s happening, no extra readings, no signs of any… vibrations or energies in the air. We’ve covered everything we needed.” You actually had more than needed, but there were high frequencies in the air—signs of recordings—so you didn’t want to give too many details.

Steve nodded as he observed you giving a final look around the place. He knew what you were implying, so he tilted his head toward the exit. “I’ve already said my goodbyes, so we’re good. Let’s go.”

‘Your girl is concerned. You might want to talk to her.’ Sam gave Steve a look, the kind of Avenger’s sign-language they used for silent communication as they were walking out.

‘What?’ Steve didn’t get a thing what Sam was trying to say with those rolling eyes.

‘I said she seems upset, maybe talk to her… about stuff.’ Sam insisted.

‘You want me to hire more staff?’ Steve gave up, opening the door for you. “You suck at this, Sam.”

“Look, man…” Sam laughed, raising his hands. “You know what? Forget it.” Oh, he was going to enjoy this later. But then his phone pinged with an incoming message, and he frowned, showing it to Steve. “Hey, I’ll take this one.”

“I seriously doubt it’ll lead us anywhere, but yeah, go ahead,” Steve nodded. It was an army contact from Sam’s, probably had something to spill about Agent Frazer’s past. “I’ll see you at home.” There was no chance he was leaving you alone.

“Tony is sending the Iron Army to escort you.” Sam said, checking another message just like Steve’s: “Y’all wait for it, alright? Keeps me chilled.”

“Yup, think that’s the best.” Steve agreed, looking up at the sky as he nodded.

It was a long drive from the UN HQ back to the compound, but you were grateful for the journey. You always enjoyed watching the view outside the window, the streetlights passing by, tracing lines along the highway at night. The smooth, steady movement of the car always calmed your mind.

Steve noticed your unusual silence. You’d been so excited on the way there, but now you were lost in your thoughts—and not in the good way he remembered. Your gaze was fixed on the traffic lights outside, your face shadowed by the night.

“A penny for your thoughts?” He lowered the AC and took your hand; you were freezing.

You sighed. You were never good at lying or hiding your thoughts from him, especially when you were pouting, sad, and... angry?

“I don’t want you to break up with me and leave me. I’ll have to go to Wakanda… and I’ll end up digging Vibranium and talking to flowers and succulents for the rest of my life.”

“What?!” Steve nearly hit the brakes, torn between looking at you and driving safely. “Wh—what are you talking about? Why would I…” Didn’t he propose just yesterday? You seemed so happy this morning, looking at the shining ring and all. What happened…? Ohh! He remembered Sam’s muted signals and connected the dots.

“Babe… no…” He reached for your hand, noticing your eyes starting to redden. “It’s not what you think, okay? Look, I... I would never...” He was surprised, a little frustrated, and also... amused.

Were you jealous? He wanted to comfort you, but he couldn’t help the small smile creeping up. Did you care this much?

“But… why would you go to Wakanda?” He drove with one hand, gripping yours tightly with the other. He loved your comebacks, but he was always intrigued by your reasoning behind them.

“You’re right.” You looked down. “I wouldn’t go. I’d rather stay here and watch you fall for someone else than… than not see you at all.” The thought stung more than you expected, a pang in your chest as you almost sobbed.

“Hey… no, what are you even thinking?” Steve’s arm slid around your shoulders. “Come on, don’t say that. I’d never… that I could even look at anyone else?”

“Well, why wouldn’t you…” You grabbed a tissue and wiped your nose. “Prettier, hotter, smarter, taller, incredibly talented, agile, fierce, stunning legs, beautiful smile… impeccable résumé and…” You mumbled the most important part: “...memories.”

“I don’t live in the past.” Steve said after a pause. He almost never used your full name, and when he did, you knew he was serious. His hand gripped yours firmly, refusing to let go. Not now, not ever.

“I just want you. Don’t ever think I’d look for someone else because…” He glanced at you, smiling. “You’re…”

Before he could finish, you caught sight of a blinding light approaching behind him—fast, like a bolt of lightning.

“Brakes!” You yelled just as a fiery laser shot streaked past, slamming into the ground ahead. The explosion sent debris flying, and a smoking crater appeared in the middle of the road.

Steve reacted instinctively, throwing his arm in front of you to keep you from lunging forward as the car screeched to a halt.

The vehicle skidded wildly, barely stopping in time. He swerved hard, tires screeching again, and the car bolted down the highway at full speed.

“Was that the Iron Army?!” Steve growled, his knuckles white as he gripped the wheel tighter. “I thought they were escorting us?” His words trailed off as a series of rapid beeps echoed inside the car. The HUD on the dashboard flashed red, and in an instant, the Iron Army drones, which had been circling above, descended into a tight formation, blocking the road ahead with weapons locked.

“Go! Gogogo! I’ve got the comms!” You shouted looking back, bracing yourself as the car jerked from side to side. Your fingers flew over your mobile device, checking the connections. “System’s down.” You pressed your earpiece, connecting to Jarvis through a secondary hub. “Jarvis?!”

“There’s more incoming—hold tight!” Steve warned over the growing roar of engines as he dodged fire from the drones, veered sharply to avoid incoming fire, weaving the car in zigzags as explosions rocked the pavement next to you.

“Those drones have tracking sensors!” Now why the fuck you developed them to be so damn perfect?! You cursed under your breath, ducking as another drone whizzed overhead, firing a barrage of missiles. 

The impact sent the back wheels of the car into the air momentarily before Steve hit the gas, speeding through traffic.

“Comms down. We’ve been compromised.” You said as ripping out the chip from your phone and chucking it out the window. Reaching for Steve’s, you disabled it too. “These things have trackers.”

“We’re on our own.” Your eyes darted across the highway as you quickly scanned the drones’ movements. 

You leaned toward Steve, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Babe, I need you to trust me and do exactly what I say…”

He shot you a sideways glance, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes despite the chaos. “Oh that’s a first…”

“Take the next exit!” you commanded, spotting a key weakness. The car swerved down the off-ramp, taking a sharp turn under the bridge. “Now, slow down.”

“Slow down? We’re being chased by killer robots!” Steve’s voice was filled with disbelief, but he followed your instruction.

“Trust me.” You said, scanning the crumbling infrastructure above. “I’m going to make them hit that column over there. It’s weak, and when it falls, the impact will throw us out onto the next street. Just take that street after, and we’ll be free. Ready?”

Steve gave you a quick, impressed nod. Fuck, he was so turned on. “Ready.”

“Now, slow down and punch it!” 

The car came to an unnerving crawl before Steve slammed the gas pedal again. The drones locked onto the car, unleashing a barrage of fire at the bridge’s support column. It crumbled in an explosion of concrete and steel just as you predicted. The impact sent the car soaring forward as debris rained down around you. In a controlled swerve, Steve navigated through the chaos, landing on the next street.

“Shit, that was close…” You glanced back as the explosion faded in the distance.

Despite the situation, Steve couldn’t help but smile, shaking his head in awe. How could you ever think, for a second, that he’d want to be with anyone else?

“Drones,” You suddenly noticed, approaching from a side street. “Babe, turn left.” You were using your powers to their maximum potential. “Empty street on the right, go around it.” You clicked the back of your ear, and the lenses you wore enhanced your readings. “Iron Army on our twelve. We gotta ditch the car.”

“I don’t think…” Steve slammed the brakes as the car drifted, barely missing a wall by inches. Dark shapes of drones were closing in fast, their red targeting lights flickering ominously through the night. Then, up ahead, you saw it—the Iron Army.

Shots fired from the drones, hitting the pavement near the car. Sparks flew as explosions rocked the street around you, and the army of hacked robots was approaching by air.

“Go straight!” you shouted, just as Steve hit the gas, forcing the car into a sharp turn down a narrow alley. You braced yourself as the vehicle skidded around the corner, barely avoiding the collapsing dumpsters.

“It’s a dead end!” Steve said as the headlights illuminated a brick wall.

“Undo your seatbelt, drift at the end, and give me your hand!” you ordered, eyes fierce with determination as you watched the enemies surrounding the car. 

You blinked at him and added, “Will a minute be enough to disappear?”

Inspired by your confidence, Steve sighed with a smile. “It’ll have to be.” He held his breath slightly as the end of the alley neared. The tires smoked as the car drifted, nearly lifting off the ground, and everything happened so fast, yet so slow.

The car took a side hit from the attack right as it lifted off the ground, fishtailing through the air. With his seatbelt undone, Steve was thrown from the seat. He grasped your hand tightly as you both were flung away.

The Stark Tech Tony and Bruce implanted in your palm activated, covering your hand like a second skin. A repulsor blast shot out, and with that surge of energy, you both were propelled in the opposite direction.

Steve’s instincts kicked in, and he hugged you tightly, shielding you from the impact. At the same time, you raised your other hand, shattering the glass with another blast, saving him from harm. You both tumbled through a building’s window as the car exploded behind you.

Steve landed on top of you, protecting you with his hands and body, his face covered in ash and sweat. But he laughed, even while panting heavily. His heart was racing, resting on your shoulders as he caught his breath.

“Oh…” You panted too, your heart racing. “That was close…”

“God…” Steve grinned, laying his forehead against yours, utterly relieved and impressed. “You have no idea… how much I fucking love you.” You wonderful, perfect, incredible genius. His heart was about to explode with all the pride and love he felt at the moment.

“Yup, me too. Come on. We gotta move.” You noticed the Iron Army and drones’ lights behind the smoke of the explosion. “That fire will cover our temperature scans, but not for long. Come on, over here.” You quickly got up and held his hand as you exited the building.

“Here, I need you to throw this, with all your strength, as high as you can.” You reached into your jacket, pulled out a small spherical device, and handed it to Steve. He threw it with a quick flick, hurling it high into the air. The second it reached its peak, the device burst open, releasing a thick, shimmering cloud that expanded rapidly, enveloping both you and Steve entirely.

“What’s that?”

“Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder.”

“What?”

“A nanotech cloaking device that disrupts sensors and bends light, creating a temporary optical camouflage, making everything go unnoticed by any scan detection. Even Stark Tech.” You held his hand as you moved swiftly and silently, cloaked by the swirling cloud.

Steve sighed as you slipped into an alley. “How many Harry Potter references are we having?”

TBD

Continue to:

8: Lull |

9: Vigil |

10: Eclipse |

Is past midnight but I still managed to post it on Friday! <3 I'm actually in the car posting this, lol, but I'm not driving! So this was SUCH a fun chapter to write, i LOVE this machiavellic mastermind super strategistic Steve!! (I'm so turned on by him) So thank you for sticking with me thus far! Now I have a question, would you do the honors and complete this for me?

Just let me know! (I'm actually near finishing it, and Idk if I'm changing it but who knows!!! :D )

Tag list: @vioplay19 / @jamneuromain / @steviebbboi / @heletsmelovehim / @otterlycanadian

[perlelune]

no body, no crime | Coriolanus Snow | vi.

Your childhood friend returns from his exile in district 12, but he's not the sweet, quiet boy you once knew anymore.

Warnings: NON-CON, Plinth!Reader, Gaslighting, Drugging, Murder, Forced Marriage, Forced Pregnancy, Loss of Virginity, Somnophilia

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

An eternity seems to fly by as you wait for Coriolanus to do what you’re too terrified to do on your own. During the agonizing minutes, you picture William’s face. The confusion, the hurt. Tears skip down your cheeks as you curl over the blankets, knees against your chest.

Hopefully your reckless actions haven’t ruined what you two have. Maybe one day, you’ll even jest about it, the pre-wedding jitters that caused you to hide for a week.

It’s the meager hope you cling onto as the soft tap on the door draws you from your thoughts.

Coriolanus nudges the door open, a silver tray between his hands. A matching porcelain kettle and cup sit on the tray.

The mattress sinks as he sits on the edge of the bed, placing the steaming teapot at your bedside. Your gaze drags over the colorful roses painted on the porcelain set. 

Tearful eyes rising to his face, you ask “H-How did it go?”

His long fingers drape over your cheek, wiping your tears as he smiles down at you. “Everything’s alright.” His deep soothing voice brings you comfort as it rolls over you. “Things will work out the way they’re supposed to, just like I promised you.” He collects the tea cup from the tray. The steam rising from it caresses your face.

“It’s my own personal blend of chamomile, peppermint and lavender, for your nerves.”

“I don’t need that.”

Concern sways in Coryo’s blue orbs, his thumb collecting another stray tear.

“You had an emotional day. It’ll help you sleep, trust me.”

You don’t reply, laying the side of your face against the pillow. Do you even deserve to sleep soundly after causing the people in your life so much unnecessary distress?

Maybe this is what you deserve, unending nights wrestling with your own mind while you drown in a river of your own tears. After all, if you hadn’t overindulged in alcohol that night, you wouldn’t be here. You still remember the way Coryo described it. Were you truly that desperate to bury Sejanus’ memory, to forget?

Coriolanus strokes the crown of your head.

“I just want you to get one good night of rest. You need it. Do you really want to spend the entire night torturing yourself when you’ve done nothing wrong?”

For a while, silence hangs between the two of you, Coriolanus letting you weep as he patiently cups your face. The aromatic scents of the herbs he mixed in the tea tickle your nose. You have to admit, it smells heavenly. Like peace. The thing you’re craving most at this very moment. For your thoughts and emotions to fall silent, allowing you to drift into a dreamless slumber.

So you surrender.

You sit up and graciously accept the cup Coryo offers you. As soon as the first few drops of the warm liquid coat your tongue, a heady, pleasant feeling swaddles your mind. It makes your body feel heavy, pleasant warm tingles swirling over your flesh.

“I’m starting to feel…”

Coryo’s beaming face starts blurring in your line of sight. Your grip on the cup weakens. He assists you in holding it, tipping the rim against your lips so you gulp another sip.

“Drink more. All of it.” You heed his instruction. The drowsiness grows tenfold. Your lids sag. Your body slumps over the pillows. You feel the soft brush of Coriolanus’s lips on your forehead. “Sweet dreams, princess.”

You awake from the best sleep you’ve had in literal weeks, a wide smile stretching over your lips as you unfurl from the sheets.

Unlike the nights before, you didn’t wake up in the middle of the night, screaming, crying or tossing and turning in bed.

You pivot to the sun rays spilling from between the curtains. You bask in the rejuvenating warmth kissing your skin. For a while, you stay like that, in awe that your mind isn’t crowded with anxious thoughts. Instead, you’re calm, rested, your head light as feathers. Even your grief is a faint noise when it’s usually so loud, its uproarious presence twisting your heart first thing most mornings. 

It’s a newfound serenity you haven’t known in many weeks.

Even the bone-deep ache sitting in your limbs cannot cast a pale on the day. As you step in the rose-scented bath that’s been drawn for you, the soreness lingers. You grimace a little.

Perhaps you slept so heavily, your entire body is tense from it.

But as you lie back and let the hot water work its magic, the pain starts to fade. You let the strange sensation melt away, smiling once more.

You enjoy your bath. A bright, wonderful day awaits you.

When you’re done, you put on one of your favorite day dresses and hop down the stairs.

You find the entire Snow clan having breakfast in the dining room.

Coriolanus peeks from above the morning paper, his face brightening as his gaze flicks over you.

As you approach the empty chair near Grandma’am, Coriolanus rises and pulls it for you.

“Good morning,” you chime while plopping into your seat.

Tigris beams at you. “Good morning. I see someone’s feeling better.”

You tuck your hands into your lap as a maid places a scrumptious plate of eggs and meat in front of you. Your stomach growls at the sight and you pick up your fork, excited to dig into the food. You haven’t had a proper meal since you left Ma and Dad’s house.

Although, even that is a fuzzy memory, as you can’t remember the last time all of you sat down and had a proper breakfast as a family since Janus passed away.

It’s been too hard.

Shoving the fork into your mouth, you acquiesce, “Much better.” You hum as the flavors melt on your tongue.

The corner of Coriolanus’s lip quirk as he observes you. He returns to his seat and bends forward.

“I take it you’ve had a restful night, princess?”

“Yes, and I have you to thank for that. I don’t know what’s in that tea exactly but it works wonders.”

“I’ve had the opportunity to experiment with many natural remedies while working under Dr Gaul.” A glint dances in his blue eyes. “Some plants have the most…fascinating benefits.”

“I think I’ll take some with me home, if you don’t mind. Not just for me but Ma has struggled with sleep ever since…”

Your voice dwindles as an abrupt wave of sadness passes over you.

Tigris grabs your hand and squeezes it across the table.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

Coriolanus nods in agreement. “She’s right. Take it one day at a time, princess.”

You ponder what he just said. You are feeling markedly better today, but you loathe thinking about your mom and dad alone.

You swallow a wide lungful.

“Maybe I should go back home tomorrow.”

Coriolanus’ gaze narrows, his smile vanishing momentarily before sliding back into place.

“This early? Shouldn’t you rest a bit more first? It’s clear that you need it.” He studies you for a long time. “You can’t be here for others when you aren’t healed yourself.” You shudder. Sometimes the blond seems to possess the uncanny ability to peer right inside your head. He reaches over the table to place his hand over yours. “Don’t rush it. Like I told you before, our home is your home.”

You don’t find it in yourself to argue, Coriolanus’ gentle yet firm grip on your hand and his smile chasing away your doubts.

“O-Okay.”

Satisfaction glimmers in his gaze at your response.

As Coryo advises, you remain with his family a little while longer. Everyday, he finds gentle words to convince you to extend your stay. It doesn’t take much for you to believe him as you trust him fully, his caring demeanor reminding you of your brother. If Coryo thinks you need a bit more time, he must be right. He only wants what’s best for you.

So a few days turn into a week, which eventually becomes two weeks. Surprisingly, you and the Snows’ daily routines twine with ease. In the morning, you have breakfast together in the dining room. Then you tend to the roses with Grandma’am while she hums songs to herself, an endearing habit you’ve grown quite fond of.

And you usually spend the rest of the day with Tigris, chatting or playing board games, or on your own, reading most of the time. Coriolanus’ library is massive enough to rival the one you have at home. You never run out of things to do in the gigantic penthouse, even sometimes cleaning and cooking to pass the time, efforts Coriolanus never fails to praise you for.

Whenever he returns home to a spotless house or one of your delicious meals, his blue eyes light up with happiness.

And of course, at night, Coryo talks to you in your bed while you dutifully drink your tea, regaling you with stories about his apprenticeship and the University. Most of the time, you never get to learn how they end because you fall asleep.

Thanks to Coriolanus’ herbal mixture, your sleeping schedule is back to relative normalcy. The only downsides are the tea’s peculiar side effects, as near everyday you wake up sore and aching. But the slight inconvenience is minor compared to the benefits you’ve experienced.

All is good and well until one day glimpses of lost memories flash in your brain.

You’re starting to remember the night of Clemensia’s party.

It first happens as you’re gardening with Grandma’am. You’re watering one of the rose bushes when something rushes back to you, something so vivid the watering can in your hand clatters to the ground.

You stumble back, your breaths quickening. Placing a hand between your shoulder blades, Grandma’am helps you find your way to a nearby bench. You collapse atop the bench, your mind whirling.

Her wrinkled features crease in concern.

“Are you alright, sweet girl? Should we call a doctor?”

“I’m fine, grandma’am. Just got dizzy for a bit.”

You smile, hating that you just lied to the older woman. You’re not fine. You’re starting to remember things, things that don’t match up, make no sense.

Terrible things.

I knew you’d feel just perfect around me.

Chills bounce across your spine. Your fingers tighten around the edge of the bench as your breath flows back to your lungs.

You come to a decision. 

You need to talk to Coriolanus. 

Your brows squeeze together in frustration as the balding man checks your pulse and shines a light in your eyes again. It’s the third time tonight. Coriolanus insisted upon it.

“I told you there was no need for a physician, Coryo.”

“Grandma’am said you almost passed out,” the blonde retaliates.

You heave out a deep exhale as you glance at Tigris and Grandma’am standing nervously by the wall. They’re wearing the same concerned expression. 

You wished Grandma’am hadn’t made such a big deal of your little moment in the garden. You feel fine…well, physically at least.

You flash a feeble smile at Coriolanus.

“I didn’t…it was just a dizzy spell. Nothing honestly.”

Brows knitting, he turns to the bespectacled older man at his side.

“Doctor?”

As the man nearly approaches you again, you shoot him a warning glare. You refuse to be poked and prodded once more. Lifting his hands, the man falls back.

He adjusts the stethoscope around his neck.

“I see nothing wrong,” he says. Your shoulders sag in relief. “Still, I’d recommend that your wife takes it easy, sir.”

His words make every hair on your skin stand on end.

“I’m not his wife,” you snap.

Coriolanus’ jaw ticks. 

He turns to the others and instructs, “Everyone, leave us alone.”

There’s a flicker of hesitation on Tigris’ face. She lingers at your doorstep after Grandma’am and the doctor take their leave.

“Are you really sure that you’re okay?” she asks.

You purse your lips. “I’d feel better if everyone stopped fussing over me.”

She nods before leaving as well.

As soon as the door to your bedroom closes, Coriolanus sinks to one knee in front of you. He takes your hands in his, his thumbs brushing circles into your skin.

His cobalt eyes are wide and worried.

“Is something wrong?”

Your stomach knots. “Coriolanus…”

“Yes?”

You draw your hands back, placing them on your lap. His gaze tracks the tiny motion and he squints. 

“That night…” You lick your lips, nerves flaring as your fingers bounce. Just these two words have Coriolanus’ attention on you sharpen in a way that turns your blood to ice. Still you gather your courage and continue, “Did I say no at any point, tried to…stop it? Did…Did you, Coryo?”

The moment your doubts are uttered aloud, you loathe yourself. It’s an awful thing to even suggest. But you can't shake the feeling that there is something Coriolanus isn’t telling you. 

And maybe you always felt that way, like something isn’t quite right, but you craved so badly to have a piece of your brother near that you ignored the glaring signs. 

Shock paints Coriolanus’ handsome face.

“What? I already told you everything that happened, that I was drunk, we both were.”

You peer at Coriolanus. It hurts. So goddamn much. A knife twisting in your chest, again and again. Especially that look of utter betrayal on his face. You don’t want to casually toss those kinds of accusations at your friend. 

But your mind…

It’s bursting at the seams, moments you’re beginning to recall seeping through the cracks. You can’t ignore that. Not the sick echo of Coriolanus’ lustful tone. Not the terrifying glint swaying in his blue eyes. Not the way he panted and grunted above you as you told him to stop. Or at least you think you told him?

You’re not even sure. You’re torn. Coriolanus wouldn’t do that…right? Someone you trust. Someone Sejanus trusted…with you.

Tears swell in your eyes, threatening to break past the confine of your lashes.

Anger flashes in Coriolanus’ eyes. “Really?” he scoffs, bolting to his feet. “You don’t trust me?”

He blurs in your tear-stained vision, distorting to hazy colors you don’t recognize anymore.

“Coryo…” you sob.

He hunkers in front of you again. The anger vanishes, making space for disappointment and sadness.

He cradles your face, his tone softening.

“I would never hurt you,” he mumbles. “How could you even imply…after everything I’ve done for you.”

A shaky breath flutters through your lips. You search Coriolanus’ face, hoping to find something. A truth, an emotion, a lie. Anything, really. Any proof that you’re not crazy, that your mind isn’t just spinning wild stories out of thin air.

Nothing comes up. Coriolanus’ face is a perfect mask of genuine concern and sincerity, right down to his glistening gaze. Doubts even begin to creep inside you beneath his intense stare. 

But the longer you look into his eyes, the more unnerved you grow. 

Something is off. No one can convince you otherwise. Not anymore.

Goosebumps erupt all over your skin.

“I-I think I need to go home now, Coriolanus.”

You don’t want to be here anymore, in this house you don’t know, with this man…you’re beginning to realize you don’t know either.

You want to be back home, your real home. You crave the safety of your own bed, of Ma’s warm embrace, of the familiar walls of your childhood home.

Instead of acknowledging what you just said, Coriolanus flashes you a bright grin.

“We can discuss it tomorrow.”

A sinking feeling spreads through you. You frown.

“But Coryo-”

He leans to place a tender kiss on your forehead and you freeze. Every cell in your body longs to flinch away from him but gut-gripping fear keeps you in your spot.

“Tomorrow, princess,” he whispers. He fondles your cheek. You can’t tamp down your shudder. Coriolanus’ brow pinches as he gets to his feet. “It’s getting late. You should go to bed.”

Coriolanus heads for the door. 

“Sweet dreams,” he coos, smiling. But it doesn’t reach his eyes. 

When the door slams shut, a sound you never heard before echoes from outside. The sound of a key slotting and turning inside a lock. The kind of sound suggesting you’re now trapped in the room.

Your gut sinks.

You find yourself wondering; will tomorrow ever come?

[ginnsbaker]

In Silent Screams (3/3)

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

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

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

-

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

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

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

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

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

Breakfast can wait.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tell me what you want.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

She knows that knock all too well.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Soon.”

Vision shakes his head. Not good enough. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Alright.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And what makes you so sure?”

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

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

“No,” Wanda says firmly. “It's over.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But his pleas fall on deaf ears.

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

You’re quiet tonight. Alarmingly so.

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is he… is he okay?”

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

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

Oh.

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

“Wanda?”

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

“Wanda.”

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

“Wanda!” 

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

“Hey,” she says, forcing a smile.

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

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

Wanda nods quickly. “I'm fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N, please–” 

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

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

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

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

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

“No,” Wanda answers earnestly.

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

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

“Do you love him?”

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

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

“...ever love me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s over.

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

Or a you and her. Ever again.

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I—”

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

Loved? Past tense? Had Natasha just assumed—

Or was that word coming directly from you?

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

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

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

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

“You think?” Natasha scoffs.

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

“And why’s that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay.” 

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

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

“No, thanks.” 

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

“What’s this?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your wide-eyed stare meets hers, speechless.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[thebottomfromhell]

wait: you the moment Muzan was asking that person if they looked sickly? before he killed them I mean what if, that happened again with someone else(reader, perhaps?) but they end up being blind (and he didn't know until reader subtly points it out)? like he asks and reader says 'I'm not sure what you're asking, but you sound pretty healthy.' all genuine smiles and all

I would change the scene a bit for it to make sense, but Muzan encountering blind reader is a lovely idea.

So, also I did this one before others I still owe cuz I'm literally sick, and I always become lazy when sick, and it was the one I needed to think the least. I should feel better by Monday, but I wanted to keep the promise of 2 post per week.

Muzan encounters GN Blind Reader in the scene of the alley

Warnings: Mentioned non-character human death, Implied life-threat to reader and Open ending.

You were born blind. Your mother more often than not said you cried a lot, both as a baby and as a toddler, scared, because you couldn't see anything. The second you didn't have someone touching you you feared you got lost or abandoned, so you cried. You stopped crying when you started to grow up, thankfully your parents were quite wealthy, so you never had problems with being sustained, even if with your current condition living a normal life, like getting a job and starting a family, is harder than normal.

You never let that bother you, though. Also, your other senses do help you around a lot. You can hear, smell and touch your way through most places, so as long as you have your loyal can, you are more than fine. This night, you can sense due the lack of sun rays in your skin, is a busy one. You don't even know what took you so long, since you were only buying some sweets in a shop you go a lot. Since the woman that makes the sweets knows about your condition, sometimes she sneaks some more samples, thinking you don't realize the rations are bigger than normal. Still, it's an endearing gesture.

But the crowd tonight is making it harder to go home, it's too loud and full tonight, so using the temperature of the walls you guide yourself to an alley, there the stones are colder since they didn't get the sun's heat during the day. Then... there is a scent of blood. You know how it smells, since you were little you were able to recognize your mother's periods to the smell in the kitchen when the cooks are cutting the meat. But in those times the smell was diluted, but now it's strong, pungent. Is someone bleeding out? Should you call for help?

No, if it's so bad, it's probably a murder in the alley, if you draw the attention to yourself you might be the next victim, so you make the best to calm yourself. You are blind, so as long as you pretend to be oblivious to what is going on, you might have a chance to flee. You have done this before, not with MURDER, but you have had your fair share of stories of finding people having sex in alleys, and pretending to not know.

"What are you doing standing there like a freak? Can't you see what is going on?" Says a voice, it's rather sweet and soft, clearly manly, you would dare to bet it's a healthy man from his twenties to his mid thirties. In any other situation, you might have even been smitten by the voice. But now.... "No sir, as you might have realized... I can't see. Did I interrupt on something?" You ask, trying your best to keep your nerves under control. You hear steps, shoes with platforms from the west? Is the murder someone wealthy? They are comming towards you. And you know it's not the victim. The victim would beg, run, shove you to scape... not walk calmly towards you.

You move your staff on the ground, making little hits from side to side, hoping it will make this person keep it's lenght as distance. He stops when you hear the edge hit his leg. You stop the movement. "Scaping the crowd, huh? Seems we are not so different from one another. I'm sorry for my tone earlier, I needed some time alone, the city can be upseting at times." Before he sounded as if he was containing his anger, but now... it's gentle, even nice. You can feel hands, not so big or thick, but very strong, in your shoulders, as he guides you to turn around back to the streets. "This alley is infested by pests, let me help you in the way out. Let's go sit somewehre else." You let him, because you are afraid of what he will do if you don't.

You do relax in the crowd for once, though, since is improbable he will do anything to you in front of other but... no one is reacting. Shouldn't he be covered in blood? Then again, he doesn't feel wet, even id the faint smell is still there. Also, he moves you gently, making sure you don't trip or bump into anyone or anything, constantly telling your the name of the streets you are going and describing them for you to know where you are, more or less. He is precise, you know exactly how to go home from here. Part of you wonders if you should tell the authorities, but... would they believe you?

"Here. Here we should be able to rest." You both sit on a bench, there is something off about this man, but you don't know what. "So, what is your name? You don't have to tell me if you don't want to." You nerviously grip tight the bag where you have your sweets, not knowing how to react. "Y/N...." you answer, if only to be polite. "Y/N. It's a pleasure to meet you. Do you live nearby? Have anyone who is supposed to pick you up?" You don't give the exact location, but you asnwer "I live near by. With your descriptions I should be able to get home from here by my own."

"Is it really? Then, I have other matters to answer to, so I will stop keeping you. We might see each other again." He says and... gone... you use you staff after some seconds of silence to check and he is really gone. Or farther than the staff's full lenght's reach. How? You didn't hear any steps or sense any movement. He is just gone. What? How?

You stay in the bench for a while, could it be that you have gone mad? Is this a dream? Was it part from your imagination? Was the man a ghost? You stay a while trapped in your thoughts before going home. Some days pass, weeks, more than a month, and you get to almost forget about the experience. It probably wasn't what you thought, and you will never se that man again, so why worry.

Then, one night your father tells you to go to the main room to meet his new business partner adopted son's. He is a lot younger than you, around half your age, but it seems it will be your job to entertain the child while your parents make business. The kid is very quiet while everyone else is here, it makes you wonder if he is even there. Then, you hear it again. "I told you we would meet again, Y/N." You freeze, it isn't coming from the child, is it? "How would you react if I told you I can give you sight?" You are blind under the situation, no pun intended... Just who the hell is this guy?

"My name is Kibutsuji Muzan, never repeat it."

[melrodrigo]

lunch - t.c. drabble

Tara Carpenter x Fem!Reader

Summary: You want to recreate Lunch with your girlfriend.

A/n: This was purely for my entertainment. Tell me ur favs from the album?

It was Billie Eilish’s fault.

It definitely wasn’t yours, turning on the new HIT ME HARD AND SOFT album and skipping to Lunch for something to listen to while you watched your own girlfriend make lunch. You’d been more than obsessed with the snippet she let out recently, and Tara had suffered the consequences.

The rays peeked through the window and reflected her brown hair, making it a shiny auburn—a color you adored. Tara in the sun was something you couldn’t believe you were around to witness, almost daily at this point, watching as her dark brown eyes sparkled and shone. The tan skin that would turn olive at the right angle, and lips that brightened with the sun.

You couldn’t lie—the vibrations of the music mixed with Tara’s tied up hair and pink cheeks were enough to have you feeling some type of way.

It definitely didn’t help that she was lip syncing and swaying to the song ever so slightly, smirking a little whenever she looked up and caught your eye.

You make your decision in a split second. It’s the easiest thing you’ve ever done you think, coming up with this stupid plan.

You saunter over to Tara, trying to act nonchalant. She eyes you a little but lets it go when she sees you stop at the head of the kitchen table and sitting down.

“If I could, I would totally eat you for lunch.” You lean over to wrap your hands around your girlfriend and whisper in her ear, trying (and failing) to sound sexy.

“Gee thanks, what a charmer you are.” Tara says and hides the soft smile that comes naturally.

Luckily for her, you could only see one side of her face, the lopsided smile hidden on the either side. You let out an unimpressed huff.

“Okay but for real I totally would.” You try again, snaking your head and letting it rest in the crook of her neck, peppering the tender skin with light kisses.

Tara hums a little and continues cooking, continuing to sway to the music. She’s made up her mind already, but it’s nice to see you beg and grovel a little more.

“I love it when you cook.” You mumble against her, gripping her waist and urging her to turn around.

She gives up on trying to make food a few seconds later when she can tell you aren’t going anywhere.

You draw her in, cheeky smile while you stare at her lips shamelessly. Those perfect lips, tasting to you like how ambrosia would to a mortal; it’s near fatal. She fits right in between your thighs, her small frame easy to maneuver.

Tara was insecure about her height. Something you tried to show time and time again was nothing—in fact, you enjoyed the height difference a little too much to admit—always made Tara moody on a particularly shitty day.

“God, I love you.” You tell her, eyes finally shifting up to her eyes. Her eyes twinkle; you know you’re close to getting her to crack.

“You’re so desperate.” She whispers, leaning into you. It isn’t meant as an insult, and you don’t take it as one.

It was merely the truth; and you hated that she knew it.

“You need a seat? I’ll volunteer.” You sing along, letting go of one of Tara’s hands to point to your face, giggling as Tara rolls her eyes.

The sight of the brunette getting closer is enough to get you to stop.

“Still hungry?” She asks, and you think you might just die. It takes everything in you not to salivate openly. She’s tilting her head, a sign she’s decided she’s won.

So maybe you really owed Billie Eilish a kudos, you think as Tara stands up and drags you out of the room.

“Thank god Jojo Siwa invented gay pop.” You say, laughing a little nervous. It was a bad habit of yours to joke when you got excited.

It seems to fall on deaf ears, the girl in front of you not paying attention to any of the words pouring out your mouth now.

“What-what about lunch?” You gesture to her unfinished cooking wildly, knees buckling against her frame pushing you against her bedroom door.

“Fuck lunch.”

[i-am-church-the-cat]

I have a flower shop/tattoo parlor maxiel + loscar AU building from a tropical storm into a hurricane in my head so here are some thoughts

+ When Max hires him, this is what he says to Logan’s arrangement: “It is not the worst thing I’ve ever seen. I can make it better.” What he really meant was that Max could make Logan better, but he wouldn’t come to understand that until later.

+ There’s a phone that sits on the back wall of Max’s shop. The first time it rang while Logan was working, he’d mistakenly answered it. He’d watched Max’s face go bleach white from across the shop as Logan answered “Hello, this is Verstappen’s Floral, how can I help you?” The barrage of angry Dutch he’d gotten back in return had shocked Logan into silence, making it easier for Max to steal the receiver from his hand. Now, Logan knows to just let it ring.

+ Oscar is pretty sure Daniel only gave him an interview because their moms are in a book club together. The owner of Honey Badger Tattoos was always friendly and outgoing but he was notoriously possessive about his art. In the ten years the shop has been open, it’s had four employees. Daniel Ricciardo, the founder, Daniel Kvyat, Daniel’s partner who he bought out after the first year, Lando Norris who worked part-time at the front desk, and now Oscar.

“I’ve never had an apprentice before, I probably wouldn’t be very good at it,” Daniel says during his interview. He’d said he liked Oscar’s work and already showed an interest in teaching Oscar more of his signature American style. But the guy was still hesitant, fidgeting with excess nerves. “Just ask Lando.

Lando nods from his seat at the front desk which Oscar can see from the open door of Daniel’s office. “He doesn’t know what he’s doing half the time, I wouldn’t trust him to teach other people.”

Daniel does not look like that’s the support he was going for, wincing at the dry criticism but not arguing.

“That’s fine,” Oscar confirms with a shrug. He’s already done the majority of his apprenticeship under Mark Webber. But when the man decided he’d had enough of the South of France and was selling the shop and moving back to Australia, Oscar had to look for somewhere else to work. “I only have six months left before I can get my certification.”

Daniel doesn’t look very reassured. Oscar can take a hint so he decides to get out before he’s kicked out.

“Hey, it’s cool, mate, thanks for meeting with me anyway-”

“Can you start next week?” Daniel asks, leg bouncing up and down and rocking the desk he’s sitting behind. He sees Oscar’s confused expression and sighs. “I really need more help here.”

“Yeah,” Oscar decides, not looking a gift horse in the mouth. “I’ll text you my schedule.”

And that’s how he starts working for the Honey Badger.

+ “This is a tulip,” Max is saying in French, word draw out and pointing at the multi-colored bulbs. Logan has tried telling him that he’s lived in Europe for the majority of his life at this point and can do his job in English, French, and Spanish but Max doesn’t believe him. At least Logan’s starting to pick up more Dutch.

Logan is rescued from his impromptu language lesson by the bell on the door ringing. He turns towards the sound, customer service smile already in place.

“Hi, welcome to Verstappen Floral, how can I-”

“Oh, it is you again.”

Logan stops and looks at Max who is frowning at the guy who just came in. The man is curly-haired and tanned, with tattoos scrawled over the majority of visible skin. His grin is big and toothy when he shoots it at Max.

“Hey, Maxy, aren’t you happy to see me?”

Logan blinks in shock at the nickname. Even their regular customers don’t get to act that familiar with Max. Logan doesn’t get to act that familiar with Max.

Max crosses his arms, lips pursing. “For the last time, I do not know what these flowers mean. I speak four languages and plant is not one of them.”

“Always a ray of sunshine, aren’t you, Max?” The man asks, unphased by Max’s grouchy demeanor. He leans forward onto the glass counter, certainly leaving smudges behind, but Max surprisingly doesn’t yell at him about it. “Lando sent me to pick up his order.”

Lando is someone Logan knows. He comes in about every other week and talks to Max about streaming and video games that partly goes over Logan’s head. He always leaves with a red and white bouquet, though the flowers change each time.

“Why could he not come get them himself?” Max grumbles, heading in the direction of the cooler where they kept to-go orders. Daniel shrugs and wraps his knuckles against the glass.

"He was late for a meeting or something, you know I don’t ask about his other job,” Daniel supplies. He changes his focus to Logan and the blond is met with the full force of the man’s mega-watt smile. Logan blames his mom’s genes for how easily he blushes. “Hey, you’re the new guy, right?”

Logan opens his mouth to answer but Max is suddenly im between them, Lando’s bouquet in his hands.

“Yes, this is Logan, no, he does not want any of your garish tattoos.”

Daniel pouts at Logan’s boss. He wonders how it doesn’t look strange for a guy who’s at least 30 to be pouting.

“Don’t be mean, Maxy. I wasn’t even going to mention the tattoos.”

Logan racks his brain for tattoo shops nearby. They obviously have a close relationship outside of just Lando. And Lando did say he worked for an artist…

“Oh hey, are you the Honey Badger?” Logan asks, moving his head to be seen around Max’s wider frame. Daniel jerks his eyes away from Max’s, as if he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. “I pass by there all the time. Not a lot of shops do American style out here.”

Daniel’s face lights up, looking between Logan and Max. “Max, you hired an American?”

Max sighs, more long-suffering than Logan thinks is necessary. “This is why I did not want you to speak with him. I knew you were going to be weird about it.”

“I’m not being weird!” Daniel argues. “I’m just surprised!”

Max and Daniel have another weird silent staring contest. Logan clears his throat reluctantly and they both snap to him.

“Um, where’d you learn to do that style?”

Daniel looks ready to excitedly burst into the story of his tattooing style and his interest in America, but Max cuts him off by pushing the bouquet into his chest.

“We do not have time for that, these are going to wilt. Take these to Lando.”

“Bossy, bossy,” Daniel murmurs, picking up the bouquet gently. He doesn’t sound annoyed by Max’s demands. Rather amused, actually. He shoots Logan another grin over Max’s shoulder. “I don’t envy you, mate. But hey if you want to talk tattoos, come by the shop sometime.”

“Definitely!” Logan agrees before Max can say anything else on his behalf. Daniel shoots him a one-handed finger gun before turning back to Max. His smile becomes a lot less joking and more sincere.

“See you later, Maximus”

Max loses some of his prickliness, voice soft when he says, “Goodbye, Daniel.”

+ There’s a man talking to Lando at the front desk when Oscar comes in that day. It’s neither of the two Oscar is used to seeing who come talk to Lando pretty regularly. Oscar’s pretty sure one of them’s his boyfriend and the other is his business partner but he can never tell which is which.

“Did you leave Logan alone at the shop?” Lando is asking while Oscar sets his station up.

“Well, I had to do it at some point,” the guy says, his accent reminiscent of German or Dutch. “What is the point of hiring another employee if I cannot leave for a few minutes?"

“Daniel never leaves me alone here,” Lando points out, a tad resentful. Oscar snorts.

“That’s because he has control issues,” Oscar claims. Both of the men look at him, one in amusement and one in confusion.

“Who are you?” The mystery guy asks. Weird, Oscar was going to ask him the same thing. He looks to Lando who makes the introductions.

"Max, this is Oscar, Daniel's new apprentice. Oscar, this is Max, one of our neighbors."

Oscar frowns. "I thought Max was your..." he trails off, leaving space for Lando to fill in the blank. He waves his hand.

"Different Max. This is Max Verstappen, he run's Verstappen Floral."

The new Max is still looking at him strangely. "Daniel does not take apprentices. He says he is a bad teacher."

Oscar shrugs, not sure what to tell him. He doesn't know how he got the job either. Luckily, he's saved from having to respond by Daniel coming out of the back office.

"Oscar, good, you're here, I wanted to talk about-" Daniel stops abruptly when he sees Max standing in the lobby. His entire demeanor shifts when he says, "Max, hey! What are you doing here?"

Daniel is normally a friendly guy, sometimes too much in Oscar's opinion, but he's practically glowing as he bounds over to Max. While Max's expression doesn't shift, his body language opens up to Daniel like one of his blooming flowers.

"I am talking to Lando about our stream tonight," Max answers. "He has not been very forthcoming with the details."

Lando tries to protest but even Oscar can see that it's a lost cause. This new guy showed up and suddenly it's like nothing else exists to Daniel. His boss giggles at nothing and that's when Oscar decides to get back to work.

[motherofdogs1010]

Siren I (Dark!Thomas Shelby x Reader)

Summary: A new singer has come to Small Heath and has unfortunately enraptured the soul of a big-time, Birmingham gangster...

Warnings: 18+ only, eventual NONCON/DUBCON smut, forced marriage, dark!Tommy, obsessed!Tommy, singer!reader, eventual pinv sex, eventual pregnancy, dark shit will be happening

A/N: Song used ''Young and Beautiful"- Lana Del Ray

Dividers @firefly-graphics Banner @vase-of-lilies

Tommy was skeptical when Harry had said he found a singer, the man saying that he needed Grace more for the bar tending than her singing. Harry had said that Grace protested but soon enough shut her mouth once he had found a suitable singer for the pub, someone Harry had said was the daughter of his best friend.

Tommy had been in the snug with his brothers when he heard a woman singing, her voice lulling him in a way that differed from Grace's soft singing.

It intrigued Tommy so much that he stood from his seat, ignoring the looks of his brothers and walking out of the snug to see a woman standing on one of the chairs.

Her voice was hauntingly beautiful as he listened to the song.

I've seen the world, done it all, had my cake now Diamonds, brilliant, and Bel Air now Hot summer nights, mid-July When you and I were forever wild The crazy days, city lights The way you'd play with me like a child

Her hair hung in thick curls and her eyes were drawing him in as lightly swayed as she continued her song, Tommy noted that the other men in the bar were calm as they listened. He never realized how calm a pub full of men could feel even when Grace had been singing away her tunes.

Will you still love me when I'm no longer young and beautiful? Will you still love me when I got nothing but my aching soul?

She wore a black dress, a odd color to wear since most of the women here in Birmingham tended to stray away from such a funeral color unless necessary. Tommy took a drag of his cigarette as he went to lean on the bar, listening to the song that felt almost like a sad love letter in a way.

Dear Lord, when I get to Heaven Please let me bring my man When he comes, tell me that you'll let him in Father, tell me if you can

His mind, for once, felt calm like the voices of tunnels were no longer existing in his battle-wounded mind as Tommy ignored Grace's presence. The woman singing felt as if she was one of the mermaid singers drawing him into the sea from his ship, ready to drown him so he could be with her forever.

All that grace, all that body All that face makes me wanna party He's my sun, he makes me shine like diamonds

Peace was not something Tommy had been granted since the war, using drugs, alcohol, and prostitutes to just get by.

But her voice was drawing him so well and his mind was quiet!

Quiet, can you believe it?

He needed that quiet, he needed her! Tommy brought the cigarette to his lips and inhaled the nicotine as he mind began to unravel as he listened and watched.

Will you still love me when I'm no longer young and beautiful? Will you still love me when I got nothing but my aching soul? I know you will, I know you will, I know that you will Will you still love me when I'm no longer beautiful?

He needed to possess her for himself, break her down until all she knew was him and that healing voice singing for her whenever he wanted, whenever he needed.

France had changed Tommy and it wasn't for the better. He wasn't the same man who envisioned himself working with horses and laughing along to the newest joke John had come up with.

Will you still love me when I'm no longer beautiful? Will you still love me when I'm not young and beautiful?

"Another one, Tommy?" Grace asked, holding the whiskey bottle.

Another song was what he needed and he was going to do whatever it took to have it all to himself.

Her time singing had come to a close that night, Y/N in the back room of the Garrison collecting her purse and lighting a cigarette as Harry came into the room with a small envelope.

" 'Ere you go", he said with a grin. "How's Small Heath holding to your expectations?"

"It's certainly not California", she remarked and he chuckled.

"Ya use to all the sunshine", Harry joked before leaving.

California, specifically Los Angeles, had been her home and before that, France had been her temporary home as she was a nurse during the war.

Coming home had been something of shell-shock for her, she had witnessed blood and guts and heard the screams of men she was treating to coming back home with her mother where she was expected to be normal. She tried for her family's sake, she truly did but in the end, it felt suffocating and thus, her move outside of America.

Collecting her things, Y/N looked inside the envelope at the bills given to her when she heard the door open once again.

"Hello there."

[winxwiki]

On the Winx reboot leaks

Long post, leaks analisis, spoilers if you don't want to see it under Read More. Seeing the Rainbow artist names attached onto these pictures and the development renders, these are 100% real. On top of that, It's not the first time Rainbow got something leaked, received feedback and acted accordingly. Remember the negative feedback on the 2023 easter eggs designs? Poof, gone. Remember the positive feedback on the 2023 leaked group design? Suddenly, Rainbow started using that Bloom at press events.

I genuinely believe that Rainbow "leaks" stuff now on purpose to receive feedback without actually needing to announce anything final to broadcasters.

Let's see.

From the Lorem Ipsum we can tell this isn't remotely final, but a group test. We're back to Bloom with a ponytail (they really like it!) and Tecna does have robotic limbs. Each girl's design seems to reflect their elements:

Stella has stars, the sun, wings at her feet and light, even light rays on her wings and top

Bloom seems to have scales of some sort and patterns on her leggings. Maybe to indicate that she's an artist? Or meant to represent the breath of life?

Musa, the smallest, got some musical sheet onto her. Overall not the most musical inspired design. Everybody kinda looks like an ice skating ballerina.

Flora got flowers. Really most obvious one there.

Aisha's hair is a bit too much, I prefer her civilian braids more. I like how her dress has wavy patterns of sorts and sparkles that look like shining waters on her shorts and skirt. They can do better on her though. Wings look like they got splashes of water. It's still cool that Rainbow is experimenting more with black textured hair than any american animation studio, so kudos for that.

Tecna looks like she's wearing a circuit but looks the most generic. Probably because she has too much going on with a full bodysuit with patterns. I don't like the accessory on her head.

Proof that these are real: these obvious dev documents

They even got an alt with their "civilian" hairstyles, but it says "transform". Which means no hairstyle or design is final so far.

It seems Musa and Tecna share skintones, Bloom has her own, Stella and Flora share it too, Aisha has her own and is the darkest. I think we can make Stella and Flora a little darker each in varying degrees, to show that Stella is tanned and Flora is a dark skinned latina.

There is a lot of focus on the designs we saw leaked that got positive reception. It's likely they will be finalized, since they went as far as making a test animation with that Bloom design.

A lot going on here in this room already giving Bloom so much personality. Her own shelf with the name with a heart-shaped B. A guitar? A sketchbook and school supplies. Bloom is back to drawing again, we last saw that in World of Winx but in the main series it was always just left implied by her earth room's belongings and her huge drawing desk, yet it was never expanded upon. Hopefully her being an artist can finally shine through her personality.

Most importantly, she's back to being silly, goofy and expressive again. Of course, the reboot is back to square one with the story and characterizations. I hope more quirks that were not explored in the main series get more attention in the reboot (again, like Bloom being an artist!)

The Trix now got a symbol and individual faces while sharing the same body. Icy's design is nearly identical to the original, I actually like the small cuts showing skin on her chest, so she doesn't feel too covered up. Midriffs are back and so is 2000s fashion.

Important detail, Icy is taller than Bloom. Is it her heels? Regardless, we got some more body diversity.

Some more notes:

Artist is credited as Pasqualino Masciulli, a real 3d artist at Rainbow

Date is 17 April 2024, for some reason they're using the wrong format. This is VERY recent. They're NOWHERE near done!

It says episode 106. It must be a reference to the reboot itself, Season 1, episode 6, as the old series episodes in total were 208. This means the series has at least finished writing and storyboarding, but they haven't finished with the character designs yet!

Further proof that fucking nothing is done yet, the leaker said this. From what I just noted above, I believe it. They're not remotely done.

This "Damien" motherfucker looks ai generated, doesn't fit the style in the slightest with his weirdly realistic face and the belts details and clothing folds are all over the place. Shame to whoever did this.

Who even is this guy? Is he the new character Iginio was warning us about? He doesn't look bad but they can do even better. Definitely a fascinating choice for the sexy bad boy, because I know that's who he's gonna be.

Don't fucking use AI for your art, though. It looks like shit.

Interesting, no specialists in the leaks. No Roxy or Terra either though.

This outfit is a mix of 2 outfits from season 2. Which means they're studying their own old designs. The same goes for another Bloom render and concept.

Fascinating detail: they're using 2000s dress up pixel dolls as reference. Learn from the masters! This dress doesn't resemble anything and doesn't seem to be a civilian dress but a transformation one, with all the glitters and stars around.

Last but not least, absolutely atrocious 2000s fashion is back (this is a good thing). We can hope a little but it's surprising how in 5 years they haven't done shit yet. That's some development hell. Either Iginio is really passionate about making this the second coming of Christ or they don't know what the fuck they're doing.

Free hopium tanks!

[seat-safety-switch]

I love my fireworks, say all my neighbours as they cram a flimsy plastic tube full of low-yield explosives. Surely everyone in my community will also appreciate them. If not, they are some kind of Grumpy Gus and are not invited to the block party cookout. Friends, I can tell you this right now: I am not going to that barbecue.

As you might have imagined, the residents of my area of the world like to shoot off a bunch of Roman candles when they feel like it. Sure, fireworks are fun and all, but I feel like if you're burning three or four hundred dollars worth of illegal noise-and-light generators every couple of weeks, you might as well just take up smoking again.

At first, it was a lot of fun. Very festive. It helped the community spirit, even if all the dogs were constantly terrified and kept trying to chew through a fence to escape. Ol' Ray down the block lost a finger trying to grab onto what he called a "Winky Sprinkler," though, and then everything changed.

Once there was a scent of blood in the air, it became a competition. Ray needed to "make it worth" his sacrifice, so he started amping up his production. Bigger shows. Coordinated by electronics. More frequently. This drew the ire of another rich asshole (Bob Winsome, who used to own the Ford dealership) with poor impulse disorder, and soon the two of them were getting up to a night-time artillery show that the police were not equipped to stop, mostly because they were at the doughnut store or trying to knock over a casino for some quick cash in the retirement fund at the time.

Nearly every night became a terror of pop-pop-pop. although I am very good at ignoring troublesome noises, those noises are usually generated by my own car while I'm driving them. Not constantly happening while I'm trying to focus on my usual problems: things like "why is this bolt stripped," and "where did this pile of wires I just cut through go to?"

As the Constitution says, though: "fuck 'em if they can't take a joke." After one particularly rough night of having exploding munitions going off directly over my head while I was trying to find the origin of some faint valve clatter, I decided to respond in kind. A friend of mine, who will be called Millie Teri for reasons that are about to become clear, loaned me a couple pieces from her private collection. I had myself a patriotic parade that night. Courtesy, of course, of some army bases didn't really pay too close attention to what they listed on eBay. That's what they call "taxpayer value," even if I did have to technically buy the low-shrapnel M107 flash shells twice.

I had expected to draw a truce after demonstrating my superior firepower, much like how French tourists can shut down any discussion of cheese. After bombarding both rich pricks' homes, however, it soon became apparent that the dickheads blamed each other for the massive destruction wrought on their properties, and refused to believe that a belligerent third party could have done such a thing to them just for "several months of sleepless nights courtesy of constant 120dB outside noise."

After the mutually-assured destruction finished, though, I never saw or heard another fireworks display from Ol' Ray or Bob Winsome. If they ever find an identifiable chunk of either of their bodies, we'll probably have a pretty cool tribute at the funeral using up whatever unexploded fireworks they have still left in the scorched remnants of their family homes.

[midnight-mourning]

DCA Promptober Day 30: Birthday

I have chosen violence with all of my promptober responses, this one is no different. That being said, hope you enjoy!

Word count: 1531

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"Robots can't have birthdays, silly!"

You set down the box you're carrying, glancing up to Sun, "You don't think?"

"Of course not," He scolds, pulling out another strand of streamers to hang up, "We're not born, we're made!"

You pull a bag of balloons out of the box, "Yeah, but still, there was a point where you didn't exist, and now you do. I'd still consider that a birthday."

Sun seems to ponder your words for a moment, rays spinning idly.

You blow up a few balloons, watching as he puts his fingers under his chin, staring at the ground as he taps his foot in thought. It makes you giggle and lose the air in you'd built up in your balloon. 

He comes to a decision finally, nodding once as he looks back to you, "I suppose you're right! Though, I can't seem to recall when that would be, to be honest."

"Well, we could always pick a day," You get more supplies out of the box, there should be a staff bot stopping by with cake and pizza anytime now, "If you want."

You start organizing party supplies, counting out what party favors you have and may need to run and grab more of for prizes and such during games. The bot helping you has gone quiet, and you assume that the conversation is therefore over. That doesn't last, however. 

You feel Sun's presence before you see him, he bends down to your level, tone in awe, uncertain, "Really? You mean that?"

You nod. 

"Would, would today be alright? After, after the party, of course."

You smile, using both hands to cup his faceplate, "Of course," You kiss him softly, then pull away, "If that's what you'd like. Moon can pick his own day, if he wants."

Sun's rays spin rapidly, and he has to use his hand to stop them. He speaks dazed, "Today is fine, he said."

You chuckle, "Today it is, then."

You finish setting up for the party, and it goes off without a hitch. Sun, very excited at the prospect of celebrating his own 'birthday' only does the basics of cleaning up, leaving up the decorations and the likes to give them an additional use.

You order another cake from Chica's, and after some calculated thinking, manage to come up with a decent gift for him and Moon both. 

To Sun's disappointment, Moon gets to go first, as the cycle hits just right for it. 

"You know I can't eat cake, right Star?" Moon chuckles as he sits down across from you at the miniature table. You'd stuck a party hat on his head, and while it looked silly with his other hat, it simply had to be done.

You flick on the lighter, lighting the candles, "True, but you still get to make a wish! So let me sing and just sit there looking pretty, alright?"

"Alright," His tone is smooth but with the quiet noise of his fans you know the comment flustered him. 

You sing, and once you're finished, Moon blows out the candles by clapping once, the resulting air extinguishing them. You cheer and after smearing a bit of cake across his faceplate, hold out his gift. You found some stars and moons themed wrapping paper lying around, making for the perfect gift, even if you'd just come up with it during the previous party.

He finishes removing the frosting from his features, "You didn't have to get us a gift, you know. This was a 'last-minute' decision as you would say."

"Well, I would also say that it's your birthday, and I got you a gift," You hold up Sun's gift in your other hand, wrapped in red and yellow paper, "And Sun! I figured you would argue otherwise."

Moon snickers, taking his present from you, "You would be correct."

He takes a moment to shake it, but doesn't seem to figure out what it is. He then methodically unwraps it revealing a sketch book.

"You always talk about wanting to draw, but with being the naptime attendant not getting to so..." You trail off.

He hums, then laughs. Then, reaches over and takes your hand, pressing it to his smile, "It's wonderful, thank you."

You cough, face hot, "There's um, a couple little sketches in there of mine, to get you started. And a message. But don't look at it until you're alone! Okay?"

"I won't," He promises.

After that, Sun becomes very impatient, insisting on opening his present before blowing out his candles. 

You laugh as he all but snatches your gift to him from you, ripping it open in a rush, "You're supposed to make a wish first!"

"Wishes can wait, this is far more important!" He says, finally disposing of the last of the packaging. 

Inside awaits a music box, which he immediately starts winding the key to. Once wound, the box pops open, a small glass couple are revealed to be dancing to Pas de Deux, from the Nutcracker. 

Sun's stare is hyper focused on the box and its occupants, hardly moving an inch as the tune plays, and the couple spin round and round. When they finish, there's a click as a small compartment opens, you put your hand over Sun's before he can reach into it and grab the paper inside. 

"Ah, ah, that's for later, please," You glance up at him, slightly nervous, "What um, what do you think?"

His words are soft and full of adoration, "Oh Sunshine, I love it. It's so thoughtful! I didn't know you'd remember how much I like the song."

"Of course I would. I introduced you to it, didn't I?" You tease.

Something clicks for him then, "This is your music box. I, I can't have this, it belongs to you."

"Sun, I gave you both something that meant a lot to me, so much so that I want you to keep it as a way to think of me, yeah?"

His hands entwines with yours, nodding once, "Yeah."

"Good. Now, how about that wish, hm?"

He nods again, "Right! The best for last!"

You light the candles for a second time, and sing once more. However, when Sun goes to clap out the candles, one stubborn candle remains lit. He claps again, and again. A final large clap makes it go out, only to lit back up again. 

Your snickering becomes audible, and he catches on to what's happened. 

Sun gasps, "Starlight! You would pull a prank on me?"

You burst out laughing then as his scolding raises in volume, having to take several minutes to calm down again. 

The memory fades out as you sit down at your kitchen table, scootching your chair in after a moment. 

There's no one sitting across from you, there's no one else in your home. It's just you, a lighter, and some unlit candles sitting on a cake. 

You stare at the cake for a moment, then grab the lighter. One by one you light the candles. You'd considered adding a joke candle this year, but you don't think you have the heart for it. Maybe next year, you always tell yourself. 

On a nearby wall is your calendar, today's date circled. It's the one from that following year, you never could bring yourself to take it down and replace it, instead utilizing your phone and a calendar in your office instead. That one was much more subtle with its markings. Just a small note scribbled in the corner of the day's square. It made you feel guilty each year you wrote it down so unceremoniously.

It's relatively dark in your apartment, a singular light on over the sink. It makes the shadows caused by the candles that much larger, and the flames seem to burn that much brighter. You've never been a fan of fire. That only got worse after what happened. 

You're stalling, you know it. You'd better start before the wax starts dripping into the frosting and wastes a perfectly good cake. Not that you were very hungry anyway. 

You lick your lips, voice unsteady, "Ha-Happy birthday to you... Happy birthday to you..."

Tears start to well up and fall soon thereafter, your throat begins to tighten, but, you continue. 

"Happy, b-birth d-day dear-" Their faces flash through your mind once, but it's more than enough. A sob wracks through you and you have to stop singing. 

Your hands come up to your face, crying openly but embarrassed, even in the comfort of your own home. 

After a minute or so, you take a deep breath, collecting yourself. The candles are still burning. You owe them this.

You pick up after the point you left, to save yourself a little grief, "H-happy birthday t-t-to you..."

You wait another moment, your sniffling being the only noise in the quiet kitchen. Then, you blow them out, and you're left in half-hearted darkness. 

You wipe your eyes and sigh, "Happy birthday, boys. I love you."

You stare at the cake like it's somehow going to make them appear. Make the last several years disappear along with your heartache and grief like some bad dream.

It doesn't.

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Man I am NOT treating you all nicely with these last few huh? Bah, you can handle it I'm sure, besides, we've got one more that I think you'll really enjoy. Or at least, I'm going to :) 

Promptober list is here, and if you'd like to check in on the Spoovember schedule you can find that here. Thanks for reading!!

[agatharkn3ss]

Witch references: Lorelei

As I continue having fun with finding the little references hidden all across Agatha's episodes, I keep finding lots of allusions to stories of alleged witches and women persecutions. They are just too delicious not to share and I wonder if there are any similarities we can draw between these stories and what we are seeing in the show.

In this post I will focus on the legend of Lorelei. I found her reference in episode 2, when Agatha enters her living room. There is a prominent painting on the wall to the left.

After some editing and searching I finally found it! The painting is called "The Lorelei" by Albert Pinkham Ryder.

The painting is based on a poem by Heinrich Heine:

"The Lorelei"

What is it that fills me with sadness And weighs down my spirits like lead? An old story that drives me to madness For I can’t get it out of my head.

Through the gorge, a deep river is flowing; The air cools, soon day will be done; Westwards, the cliff-tops are glowing In the rays of the setting sun.

And then, if you lift your eyes higher. You can pick out a figure up there: Her jewels are shining like fire, And she’s combing her long golden hair.

Her combing is slow and erotic, And so is the flow of her song: The melody’s strangely hypnotic, And her voice is compellingly strong.

The man at the helm gives a shiver As fear strikes his heart like a stone. He’s now blind to the rocks in the river; She transfixes his eyes with her own.

That then is the story’s sad ending. And the helmsman’s as well, I’d surmise; And if anyone’s case needs defending It is the Lorelei’s.

In her legend, Lorelei was accused of being a witch, because men lost their heads because of her. But even the priest was not immune to her charms, so he did not send her to death, but to the monastery. On the way to the monastery, accompanied three knights, she came to a rock above the river Rhine. She begged permission from her companions to look down on the river once more, to see where her beloved who had left her had gone. She threw herself from the rock into the deep, and her three companions jumped after her The cliff has forever retained the echo of its name.

So in folklore, Lorelei became an evil seductress who lives on a large rock above the Rhine River. Much like the sirens of Greek mythology, she beguiles sailors with her singing, luring their ships to destruction.

Lorelei's story is an example of a woman being persecuted for her looks, then turned into a femme fatale character, to suggest she was evil all along.

If you think about it, the archetype of "femme fatale" fits the definition of a witch to the dot - "a beautiful, and seductive woman whose charms ensnare her lovers, often leading them into compromising, deadly traps. Her ability to enchant, entice and hypnotize her victim with a spell was in the earliest stories seen as verging on supernatural; hence, the femme fatale today is still often described as having a power akin to an enchantress, seductress, witch, having power over men. Femmes fatales are typically villainous, or at least morally ambiguous, and always associated with a sense of mystification, and unease."

I will leave it to you for your own interpretations - this could be just an homage to the women's tragic stories throughout the ages. Or maybe Agatha relates to the story because of her own experience. Or that maybe the story has some truth to it and Agatha actually has some connections with the events. It could even be a nod to the character of Rio. Who knows?...