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witchslove · 2 months ago

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The Morning After

Pairing: Camgirl!Wanda x Reader

Summary: Your feelings for Wanda run deeper than she knows.

Warnings: 18+ nsfw content; bottom!wanda, top!reader, kitchen sex, masturbation, oral (w receiving), dirty talk, fluff

A/N: Sorry it took me like two years to post this, but enjoy!

Part 3 of “The Camgirl Next Door” | Series Masterlist

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As your eyes drifted open and adjusted to your surroundings, you realized you weren’t in your own room.

Right, you were in Wanda’s room.

The previous night’s events came back to you in a rush and you smiled, remembering the way she tasted under your tongue, the way she felt under your fingertips, the way she moaned your name, the way she looked into your eyes as she teetered on the edge. It was better than anything you could’ve imagined, but you knew you and Wanda still needed to talk about what it meant.

You rolled over to face her, but your smile quickly faded at the emptiness of her bed and the feel of cold sheets under your fingertips.

You frowned in concern, but figured she must’ve gotten up to go to the bathroom or get something to eat or drink. Your activities last night took a lot out of you both and you felt your own body craving a glass of water.

You got up, finding your clothes on the floor and throwing them on before walking around the apartment. You’d already noticed that the bathroom in her room was vacant and once you noticed the guest bathroom was empty too, you decided she must be in the kitchen or living room.

But she wasn’t.

The kitchen looked untouched since last night, as did the living room. You felt yourself beginning to panic, wondering where Wanda was and why she would’ve left.

Before you could think too hard, the front door swung open and there was Wanda, carrying two coffees and a paper bag.

You let out a breath, your shoulders relaxing at her presence, all worries that she’d just left you behind subsided.

“You’re up! I went out and- are you okay?” Wanda asked, noticing that something was off as she placed the items on the kitchen counter.

“Yeah I’m fine, still just waking up I guess,” you reassured, not wanting her to know you’d almost worked yourself into a panic over her getting breakfast.

She nodded and seemed to believe you, reaching into the bag and taking out food containers. “I didn’t know if you’d want pancakes or waffles so I got both.”

You slowly made your way to the kitchen, your brain still catching up to the relief of her coming back, your eyes glued to her as she focused on the task at hand. She really was beautiful, especially like this - sweats and an oversized shirt, her makeup long gone after last night, the sunlight of the morning highlighting her features.

It didn’t take long for you to notice she wasn’t wearing a bra either, her nipples visible through the fabric of her shirt, probably from how brisk it was outside. You didn’t think twice as you hugged her from behind, fitting your bodies together as she placed things on the counter.

She relaxed into your touch, humming when your fingers played with the hem of her shirt before sliding under the fabric. “Detka, last night was a lot-” she paused when your thumbs brushed against her nipples, leaning back against you and letting out a whimper when you pinched the buds between your fingers. “We- we should eat breakfast first…”

“Mmm, what if I want to eat something other than breakfast?” you said, your breath ghosting along her neck in a way that made her forget what she was even saying.

“But what about-” she interrupted herself with a soft moan at the feeling of your teeth on her pulse point. At this point she’d become so limp in your hold that you were able to turn her around and lift her onto the countertop with ease.

“Any objections to kitchen sex?” you asked, your fingers playing with the waistband of her sweats.

She bit her lip and nodded no, raising her hips so you could remove her pants and underwear in one motion. “You sure? Words baby,” you said, leaning in to kiss her sweetly as your hands ran along her thighs teasingly.

“Yeah, please Y/N.” Her words came out with a quiet whine, her legs spreading easily for you when you began to push them open. You kissed her once more before lowering yourself between her legs, your hands sliding under them so they rested on your shoulders. You pushed her shirt up enough to see her perfectly, gripping her waist as you looked at her lustfully.

“A little teasing and you’re this wet already? Fuck,” you mused, your knees feeling weak at the sight of her folds pink and slick with arousal right before your eyes. This was even better during the daytime, you were sure of it.

“Please,” Wanda begged, practically squirming where she sat. She blushed, feeling slightly embarrassed at how needy she was being so quickly, but that left her mind the second she felt your mouth on her.

You moaned at her taste, your tongue dipping into her as you sucked on her wet lips, messily reaching as much of her as you could before actually focusing on pleasuring her. When your lips found her clit, she let out a guttural moan, hips bucking up off the counter for more.

You pulled away the slightest bit but didn’t stop lapping at her center as you squeezed her waist to keep her still. “Taste so fucking good,” you mumbled, licking a long stripe up the length of her before diving back in. When your tongue slid inside of her, she cried out, hips moving wildly but failing to do much under your harsh grip.

“Fuck, just like that,” she moaned, a hand coming to your hair to keep you in place as if you could possibly find it in you to stop now.

She was close, so close, and she knew she only needed a little push to get there. As if you could read her mind, knowing exactly what she needed, you brought your hand to hers and guided it from where it was tangled in your hair down to where she was aching. You looked up at her, pupils dilated as your eyes locked and she understood what you wanted from her.

She began to rub her own clit, making tight circles against it so close to your face you couldn’t hold back a groan at the sight. She moaned at all of the sensations working together, your tongue against her walls, the vibrations of your vocal desire for her, the friction against her sensitive bundle of nerves, it was all too much.

She threw her head back as she came, letting out curses and chanting your name like a prayer as her hips stuttered against your mouth. You licked and swallowed every last drop of her essence as it dripped into your mouth and down your chin.

When she finally came down from her high, you ceased your movements against her and instead kissed along her inner thighs until she was dragging you up by your hair and pulling you in for a heated kiss, tasting herself on your tongue.

“Now can we have breakfast?” she asked, looking at you oh so innocently.

“I’m surprised you’re still thinking about food after that,” you said, raising an eyebrow at her.

She smirked before leaning in. “Mmm no, I’m just thinking about all of the things we could do after we’ve gotten our energy back.”

You smiled back and stepped away, letting her go back to getting breakfast ready. You chose pancakes after noticing she seemed excited about the waffles and the two of you ate at the dining table since the kitchen counter wasn’t exactly the most sanitary option anymore.

By the time you were finished eating, an alarm from your phone interrupted your morning together.

“Shit, I have work today,” you cursed, finally realizing what time it was. “I have to go or I’ll be late.”

You stood up, hurriedly grabbing the to-go boxes you ate out of and trying to clean up after yourself.

“It’s okay, I’ll take care of that,” Wanda said, grabbing your arm to stop you before stepping closer. “Although I was kind of hoping I’d get to take care of you…”

“I’m sorry, Wanda, I really have to go,” you rushed out, feeling bad that you had to leave so abruptly after such a wonderful morning together.

“It’s okay, go ahead. Don’t want you to be late,” Wanda reassured, smiling softly as she let go of your arm and started cleaning up the table.

“Thanks, uh, yeah, sorry. Thank you for everything,” you managed to get out, knowing you wanted to say so much more but being unable to do it in that moment. She smiled again, nodding as you turned and ran out, stressing over the fact that you left yourself almost no time to get ready.

You were only seconds late to work thankfully, but your situation with Wanda was on your mind all day.

You definitely had feelings for her, there was no denying that. Your feelings ran deeper than just casual sex and you wanted her to know that, but you felt nervous at the thought of asking her out on a proper date.

What if this was a fling to her? What if she still saw you as a customer? You hated that word, but it was truthful in describing what you were to her before the two of you had ever even met.

As the day went on, thoughts of Wanda kept your mind busy; you thought of how she tasted, how she moaned for you, how wet she was. But you also thought about her cute smile, her little nose scrunch, her thoughtfulness in getting breakfast for the two of you, everything about her.

You decided you had to do something. You couldn’t let fear take over and keep you from getting the one thing you wanted most.

Meanwhile, Wanda spent her day in a similar state, thinking of you. She felt so taken care of and loved when you had slept together, in a way she had never felt before with anyone else. It felt safe and secure, but also electrifying. You were an incredible lover but it ran deeper than that and she was struggling to convince herself that it wasn’t just the heat of the moment.

You fucked her, but you also practically made love to her, and she wasn’t sure if that was your intention, to make her feel that it was more than just sex. You were, after all, someone who consistently viewed her streams and watched her touch herself on camera. Obviously there was physical attraction; she just didn’t know if that was all it was.

While she worried all day about your potential feelings for her, you were working up the courage to show her how you felt.

On your way home from work, you stopped at a local flower shop, scanning over all the options for bouquets.

You came across a beautiful selection of roses and could only think of Wanda when you looked at the red and white ones. Red for the love and passion you felt towards her, red for her favorite color, red for the fire she ignited within you. White for new beginnings, white for your loyalty to her, white for the innocence of your feelings, it wasn’t just sex, it was something more pure.

You had the florist put together a bouquet and you paid for it, trying to shake the nerves building within you.

When you got home, you stopped at Wanda’s door first. You hesitated, but then knocked gently on her door, holding the roses behind your back.

Wanda wasn’t expecting anyone, so she was curious who would be at her door, although she hoped it was you since the two of you hadn’t gotten to finish your time together that morning.

She opened the door and smiled upon seeing you standing there. You looked uncomfortable and concern flashed on her face for a second before you spoke.

“Hi, um, mind if I come in?” You asked nervously, waiting for permission to enter.

“Yeah, of course,” Wanda responded sweetly, opening the door more for you to step through the threshold and closing it behind you. “What’s up?” she spoke when you didn’t, breaking the awkward silence.

“Okay so,” you started, hyping yourself up in your head for what you were about to do. “First of all, these are for you.” You handed her the bouquet from behind your back and she gasped, taking them in her hands and admiring them for a moment before returning her attention to you. “I wanted to ask you something. Would you, um- sorry- would you want to go out to dinner with me some time?” You rushed out, afraid you wouldn’t ask at all if you took any longer.

Wanda chuckled, feeling relieved that you were asking her out on a date.

When she didn’t immediately respond, you spoke again. “It’s okay if you don’t, I just, I wanted you to know it’s not just sex to me. I like you Wanda. I don’t want last night to be a one time thing and I don’t want this to be casual either. I hope I’m not making this weird, I just needed you to know that I have feelings for you.”

You were rambling, but Wanda found it cute. She finally responded by grabbing the back of your head and leaning in, pulling you into a soft kiss, trying to convey all of her feelings through the touch of your lips.

When she finally pulled away, she looked into your eyes in a way that almost made you shiver. “I would love to go out with you,” she said, smiling at you, eyes sparkling.

You let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding and smiled back. “Okay great, how about this Thursday? I’m off early that day,�� you suggested, trying not to seem too eager even though you absolutely were.

“Thursday is perfect,” Wanda said. “And thank you for the flowers, no one’s ever given me flowers before.”

“Really?” You couldn’t hide your surprise. She nodded. “Well, I’m glad to be your first. I mean, the first to give you flowers,” you stuttered out, feeling nervous again under her intense stare as she continued to hold eye contact with you.

She laughed at your antics and was about to speak again when the oven went off and reminded her that she had been cooking.

“Oh, um, would you like to stay for dinner tonight? I made enough for both of us,” Wanda invited, heading towards the kitchen to turn off the alarm.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” you replied, excited to spend more time with her.

As the two of you got to know each other better over dinner, you knew you were already head over heels for her. You’d tell her that when the time was right. You didn’t know it yet, but she was already feeling the same way.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x y/n #camgirl!wanda maximoff #bottom!wanda maximoff #alexa writes #wanda maximoff fluff

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colouredbyd · 16 days ago

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We're All Gonna Die

poly!marauders x fem!reader

summary: after a haunting nightmare where you lose your boyfriends, you wake up breathless and unraveling, only to find them there with warm hands and unsteady voices pulling you close until the fear ebbs and the night begins to feel safe again.

w/c: 3.4k

warnings: nightmares, panic attack, anxiety, death (in dream), physical comfort, swearing, teasing, emotional vulnerability, soft hurt comfort, affectionate banter, crying, clinging, being held through panic, post-panic exhaustion.

a/n: i remember reading a fic with a similar scene in the marvel fandom on ao3, but i haven’t been able to find the author again, credit for the inspiration goes to them wherever they are <3 masterlist

You surface from the dream in the dark, and it feels like being dragged up from the depths of some cold, black sea where you had been drowning for hours, lungs bursting and body numb.

You wake gasping in the too-warm bed, with air that won’t come fast enough, the weight of the dream still choking your chest, your throat so tight no sound escapes but a low, cracked sob you barely register as your own.

It takes a long, harrowing second to even realize you’re awake because the images are still there, vivid and sharp-edged and cruel, imprinted against the inside of your skull.

James’ glasses, shattered and smeared with blood beneath his head on cold stone. Remus slumped in a heap, one arm twisted beneath him unnaturally, eyes empty and staring. Sirius screaming himself hoarse until his voice broke into nothing and then silence, a horrible ringing silence that left you standing in the ruins of what used to be everything.

Your hands useless and shaking and stained. Your voice gone. Your whole body cold with the knowing that you had lost them, all of them.

It’s that knowing that rips the breath from your lungs all over again. You clutch at the sheets beneath you like an anchor, but even the bed feels wrong. The air is too thin, the room too bright, your body too small and fragile in the too-big space that is suddenly full of sound and warmth and too many hands.

Because they’re there, all of them, and before your mind can make sense of it, there are hands everywhere, warm and frantic and too real against your trembling skin.

Broad palms on your shoulders, your arms, grounding you yet making you feel weightless, unmoored, one hand cupping your face, trembling strands of sweat-damp hair brushed gently from your cheeks and jaw, another pressing at your hip, pulling, steadying, one set of arms sliding tight around your waist, anchoring you to a body you can barely register through the rising storm inside you.

And voices tumbling over each other, breathless and panicked, sharp with fear, trying to reach through the spiraling chaos in your chest where breath won’t come and your heart is battering itself against your ribs.

The world feels distant and close all at once, too bright, too loud, your body foreign, unrecognizable beneath the weight of it, and you cannot tell where you begin and they end, only that you are falling and falling and they are trying to catch you with hands and words and warmth that cannot yet pierce the panic surging through you like a flood.

"Love, breathe. Bloody hell, what’s wrong? What’s wrong!?" James is saying, his voice shaking, high and frightened.

He pulls you gently up into his lap, cradling you close, arms wrapping around your middle like if he holds you tightly enough the trembling will stop, like if he rocks you gently enough the dream will fade.

You can’t move. Can’t breathe. Can’t even force your eyes open against the burn of tears and panic behind your lids. Another broken sob catches in your throat, sharp as glass.

"She’s burning up. Remus, what the fuck. What’s going on?" Sirius’ voice cuts in, rough and terrified, close now. You feel his hands on your face, cupping your cheeks in cool palms, thumbs brushing away tears you didn’t even feel fall.

"Darling, can you hear me? Sweetheart, please. What’s wrong? What happened?"

"It’s a panic attack," Remus says quickly, voice soft but urgent. You feel him behind you, sliding an arm firmly around your waist, pressing close, his breath warm at your ear as he speaks low and steady.

"She can’t breathe. She’s caught in it. Darling, listen to me. You’re safe. You’re here with us. No one’s gone anywhere. Just breathe for me, dovey."

But you can’t. The air won’t come, no matter how your chest heaves and shakes beneath the weight of the panic. Your heart is pounding too hard, too fast, a frantic bird trapped behind your ribs, wings battering at bone.

The sobs keep breaking free now, ragged and desperate, only making it harder. It’s terrifying, because even though you know you’re awake, some part of you is still trapped in the dream where they were gone.

The sheer wrongness of the fact that they are here now, holding you, alive, only makes it worse, as though your mind can’t reconcile the two realities.

"Remus, she’s not breathing right." James’ voice cracks, arms tightening around you. There is real fear in it now.

"I know, Jamie, I know!" Remus says quickly, voice calm even as his arms hold you steady and close. "It’s alright. I’ve got you, dove. Listen to me. Try to breathe in with me. Just a little, love."

But the breath won’t come. You gasp and choke and sob harder. Sirius curses under his breath, leaning in closer, forehead pressed lightly to yours, his voice breaking.

"Fuck. Remus!"

"Talk to her," Remus says, voice lower now, soothing and grounding, fingers stroking gently up and down your arm.

"Keep her here. Keep her with us, she’s still trapped in it. Sweetheart, can you hear us? It’s remmy, love. You’re safe. It was only a dream. We’re all here, I promise."

"It’s alright, love. You’re alright," James says, voice trembling but trying so hard to be gentle. He presses soft, shaky kisses to your temple as he rocks you slowly in his arms. "We’ve got you. Just breathe. Please, sweetheart. Breathe."

Sirius’ hands are still on your face, thumbs moving softly across your cheeks. His own are damp now with tears as he presses closer.

"You’re okay," Sirius whispers, voice rough and low, so close you can feel the tremor in him. "We’re here. Look at me, darling. Please open your eyes. You’re safe."

Another sob rips through you, harsh and gasping. But this time, the sharpness of their voices, the warmth of their bodies around you, the steady weight of Remus’ arms and the sound of his voice in your ear anchor you just enough that something shifts. The edge of the panic loosens for the span of a heartbeat. In that heartbeat, you manage one thin, shuddering breath.

"There, love. Just like that," Remus says softly, holding you tighter. "That’s it, darling. Another one. Slow, love."

James presses another kiss to your temple, voice barely above a whisper now.

"Good girl. That’s it. We’re not going anywhere. You’re safe."

You clutch at James’ shirt, knuckles white, body still trembling hard. But the breath comes again. Another thin, shallow inhale that catches but doesn’t break this time. Then another. And another, though your chest still burns and the tears won’t stop.

"I... I..." The words won’t come, tangled in the remnants of the panic and the weight of the dream. Sirius leans in quickly, brushing your hair back with trembling fingers.

"It’s alright, love. You don’t have to talk. We’re here. We’ve got you."

"I thought..." you manage at last, voice wrecked and raw, a sob catching in the single word. "I saw..."

James shakes his head, kissing your hair again, pulling you closer into his lap.

"It wasn’t real, love," he says softly, voice shaking.

"Not going anywhere," Sirius whispers, hand cupping your cheek again.

"Not ever," Remus murmurs against your ear, voice steady, breath warm. "I promise."

Slowly, so slowly, the storm inside you begins to break. The tremors ease bit by bit as you cling to the steady rhythm of their voices, their hands, the warmth of their bodies holding you close in the dark. As if they could stitch the broken pieces of your heart back together with love alone.

The air moves through you now in broken gasps, but each breath comes a little easier, no longer jagged with panic though the ache in your throat and chest remains heavy, your head tucked beneath James’ chin.

You feel the warmth of Sirius pressed to one side of you, his face buried in your hair, arms wrapped tight around your waist, and Remus’ steady presence at your back, his voice low against your ear as he murmurs again and again that you are safe, that they are here, that nothing can take them from you.

No one moves for a long moment. It is as though they are afraid to loosen their hold even slightly, afraid that if they let go, even for a breath, you will spiral again, lost in that terrible place where they cannot follow.

But your fingers begin to uncurl at last, no longer clawing desperately at James’ shirt, though you stay pressed close, every part of you still too raw, too fragile.

Then you feel James shift beneath you, just a little, one hand brushing your hair back gently from your damp forehead.

"Sweetheart, I’m gonna get you some water, alright? Just for a second. I’ll be right back."

A soft sound of protest escapes you before you can stop it. Your fingers clutch at his sleeve.

"Please... don’t go." Your voice is rough, barely above a whisper.

You feel him press a kiss to your temple.

"I won’t go far, love. I promise. Remus and Sirius are right here. I’ll be back before you even notice."

Still, it takes another whispered reassurance from Remus — "We’ve got you, darling. We won’t let go," — before you finally loosen your grip just enough to let James slip carefully from beneath you.

The warmth of his body leaves you aching, though only for a moment, because then Sirius is pulling you gently closer into his lap, wrapping his arms securely around you.

James moves quickly across the room, barefoot, grabbing the glass of water from the bedside table with shaking hands before returning just as fast, sinking back down onto the bed beside you with a soft curse under his breath when he sees the tears still lingering on your cheeks.

"Here, love. Just a sip. Slowly." He holds the glass to your lips with one hand while his other strokes soothingly over your hair. The first sip makes your throat burn, but you take another, and another, the cool water grounding in a way you hadn’t expected.

"Good girl," James murmurs. "That’s it."

Sirius kisses your temple, his voice softer now but still thick with worry.

"You scared the hell out of us, darling. What’s got you so caught up like that?"

You shake your head, another small sound of protest in your throat.

"It’s stupid," you whisper, voice rough, ashamed of the tears still spilling from your lashes. "You’ll laugh at me."

"Never," Remus says instantly, arms tightening around your waist. His voice is steady, warm. "You could tell us anything, love. We’d never laugh."

"Not ever," James echoes, brushing the backs of his fingers gently across your cheek.

Sirius’ hand slides softly over your arm.

You close your eyes for a moment, breath trembling, trying to steady yourself. The images still flicker behind your eyelids, sharp and raw, but the warmth of their touch anchors you enough to speak.

"It was a dream," you begin softly, voice shaking. "It started... it started with James and me. It was Halloween night. We were together and... and we got attacked. There was nothing we could do."

Your voice breaks on the words. Sirius presses a soft kiss to your hair while James’ hand finds yours, fingers lacing together.

"You were gone first," you whisper, voice cracking. "I couldn’t save you. I couldn’t save anyone. I... I died too."

You feel James shake his head, as though trying to banish the image from your mind, but he says nothing, just squeezes your hand.

"And before... before I died," you continue, breath catching, "I saw Remus. He was already gone and there was blood. So much blood."

Remus holds you tighter.

"I’m right here, love," he murmurs. "I’m not going anywhere."

"And Sirius..." Your voice shudders again. "You were... you were caught. You were screaming for me and you got pulled through something. It looked like a veil and then you were gone."

A soft, choked sound escapes Sirius, and he presses his face more firmly against your hair.

"It wasn’t real," he whispers fiercely. "I’m here. I’m right here, love."

Tears spill down your cheeks again, though your body trembles less now beneath their touch. The room is quiet but for the soft murmur of their voices, the steady rhythm of their breathing, the warmth of their bodies wrapped around you, holding you safe against the lingering echoes of the dream.

You let out a long, shaky breath.

"It felt real," you whisper. "Too real."

James presses another kiss to your temple.

"We know, sweetheart. But we’re here. We’re safe and you’re safe."

Remus’ hand strokes soothingly up and down your back, grounding you further with each gentle touch.

"We’ll stay right here with you, love," he says softly. "As long as you need."

And you believe him, as you sink a little deeper into their arms, surrounded by their love, the last sharp edges of the nightmare slowly beginning to fade.

You begin to relax further into their arms, exhaustion pulling at your bones now that the worst of the panic has passed.

But before you can close your eyes fully, you hear a soft noise — muffled, strangled — and after a beat you realize it is coming from Sirius.

You lift your head slightly from where you’ve curled against Remus, blinking sleep-heavy eyes up at them — and immediately catch the sight of Sirius, his mouth pressed so tightly shut it looks painful, shoulders trembling violently with the effort not to laugh.

His whole face is pink, lips twitching, chest shaking.

James is watching him too now, eyebrows raised, the corner of his mouth twitching with a barely-suppressed grin.

Your eyes narrow instantly.

"You’re laughing!" you accuse, voice hoarse but sharp with disbelief.

Sirius lets out a strangled noise, something between a snort and a wheeze, and shakes his head rapidly, biting hard on his bottom lip like it’s the only thing keeping him alive.

"N-No," he chokes out, voice warbling with the effort of holding it in. "No, love. Not— not at you, just—"

He clamps both hands over his mouth now, eyes squeezing shut as if that will help.

Remus lets out an exasperated sigh behind you, though you can hear the faint thread of amusement in it.

"Padfoot," he warns, tone low. "Don’t you dare."

But it’s hopeless — a wheezing giggle escapes Sirius, his shoulders shaking harder now.

"I’m sorry!" he finally gasps, laughter bubbling up in spite of himself. "But honestly — what kind of stupid fucker dies because he forgot his wand?"

At that, James bursts out laughing, throwing his head back against the pillows.

"You absolute arse," he snorts between helpless chuckles. "She’s telling us about a nightmare and you—"

But it’s too late. Sirius is practically wheezing with laughter now, wiping tears from his eyes, face flushed.

"I mean—!" he manages between gasps. "Come on, Prongs! Even in her subconscious, she thinks you’re a complete idiot! Forgot your wand and got us all killed!"

For one stunned second, you gape at him — then, with an outraged noise, you scramble up out of Remus’ lap and launch yourself across the bed at Sirius.

"You bastard!" you yelp, aiming a pillow straight at his head.

Sirius yelps in mock terror, still laughing so hard he’s barely able to dodge.

"Ahh! No, love! Mercy! I can’t breathe!" he cries, collapsing backwards into James, who is now laughing so hard he’s clutching his sides.

"You deserve it!" you shout, pummeling him with the pillow as Sirius flails, giggling uncontrollably.

Remus, shaking his head, watches with fond amusement.

Sirius throws an arm dramatically over his face, peeking out at you with sparkling eyes.

"I regret nothing!" he declares between laughs.

James wheezes, wiping at his own eyes.

"You’re no better," he shoots at Sirius, grinning. "At least I died — you got stuck in a bloody veil. What does that say about you?"

That sets Sirius off again, howling with laughter beneath you as you collapse half on top of him, breathless with a reluctant giggle of your own

"Alright, alright," Remus murmurs, though you can hear the warmth in his voice. "That’s enough, you two."

Sirius grins down at you, brushing your hair back gently.

"See, love? No matter what happens — we’re here. You’ve got us. Always."

Their laughter softens the room, filling the cracks left behind by your dream.

You feel your breath steadying further with each quiet moment, your body growing heavier, wearier, but no longer from fear. Only exhaustion now, the kind that seeps deep into your bones after too much adrenaline, too many tears.

They are still wrapped around you, warm and solid, a living shield against the shadows that still linger at the edges of your mind.

Sirius kisses your temple once more, arms snug around your waist. James runs his fingers slowly through your hair, his free hand curled around yours beneath the blankets. Remus behind you is a steady, unshakable weight, his cheek resting lightly against your head.

For a long moment you stay like that, content to be held. But as your breathing slows, your eyes begin to drift closed — until a soft, sleepy thought edges into your mind and, with a small murmur, you shift, untangling gently from James’ lap you were on.

You wriggle your way between Remus and Sirius, pressing close to Remus’ side, one arm draped lazily over his chest.

Immediately you hear an exaggerated, scandalized gasp from James.

"Sweetheart! What’s this, then?" he says, voice full of mock offense.

Sirius lifts his head, smirking.

"Yeah, what the hell, darling? Running off to Moony like that?"

You peer up at them through sleep-heavy eyes and give the smallest smile.

"You laughed at me," you say simply, voice soft and hoarse but laced with playfulness.

Sirius lets out an overly dramatic sigh, clutching his chest.

"Betrayed in my own bed," he declares. "Well then. Come here, Jamie, I suppose it’s just you and me now."

James snorts but grins, flopping back onto the pillows and holding his arms out.

"Come here, you big idiot. I’ll show you what real cuddling looks like."

Sirius promptly sprawls across him with an exaggerated groan of contentment, tossing one leg dramatically over James’ hips.

"Mmm, yes, this’ll do."

"Ow— You’re heavy!" James complains through a laugh. "You’re going to crush me!"

You and Remus exchange a look, the same tired amusement twinkling in his eyes. You can’t help the soft laugh that bubbles up, echoed by the low, warm chuckle rumbling in his chest beneath your cheek.

"Honestly," Remus murmurs, voice full of fond exasperation. "What are we going to do with them?"

"Nothing," you mumble against him, eyelids fluttering. "Just let them be ridiculous."

At that, James reaches over, tugging gently at the blanket until it covers all of you again, tucking it up around your shoulders.

Sirius shifts slightly, stretching one arm back across you so that now you are wrapped in all three of them — Remus at your side, Sirius’ arm thrown lazily over your waist, James’ legs tangled with yours beneath the covers.

The warmth of them, the quiet rise and fall of their breaths, the soft, contented hum of the room, all of it settles deep into your chest. You feel your body finally relaxing completely, the last remnants of fear slipping away into the dark.

Just as your eyes begin to close again, you feel Remus shift slightly, his lips brushing against the crown of your head. His voice is soft, low, just for you.

"You’re safe, love," he whispers. "Nothing will happen. Not while we’re here."

And you believe him. You let yourself believe it, wrapped in the warmth of them all, the sound of their laughter still echoing softly in your mind.

For now, this is real — the gentle thrum of their hearts, the weight of their arms, the comfort of knowing that this dream will not come true, not here, not tonight.

Even if somewhere, in another time or a near future, shadows rise and fates turn dark, here in this bed, beneath these hands, beneath their steady breathing and whispered words, you are safe. This moment, fragile and bright as a flame in the dark, will live on long after the dream has faded.

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dark-l-angel · 2 months ago

Note

Could you do yandere damian wayne who is now running wayne enterprises, y/n was his personal assistant but he started drugging her morning coffee to make her ill so that he can take care of her

A/N: guys something inside my chest is reacting weird to this version of damian, I think i need help or you'll probably start hearing more ramblings about him on 4am 🫠✨

Yandere CEO!Damian Wayne x Reader

You were his assistant. Now? You're something else entirely.

Your morning routine is clockwork. Open the blinds. Feed the cat. Get to Wayne Tower before 8:00. And of course, your usual: a large caramel latte waiting at your desk, piping hot, the post-it note always signed in Damian’s precise handwriting..

For you. Don’t be late.

D.W.

But lately… something’s wrong.

Your stomach’s been turning. Dizzy spells. Nausea. Cold sweats in board meetings. And every time it happens.. he’s there.

Damian Wayne, young, cold-blooded CEO of Wayne Enterprises, sharp as a knife and just as dangerous. He's infuriatingly composed, but when you're sick?

He becomes... softer. Attentive. Gentle in a way no one else ever sees.

"You’re pale again" he says, voice like silk laced with iron. "Come. I’ll drive you home."

"Damian, you don’t have t-"

"I want to."

And there’s no arguing with Damian Wayne.

You think you're overworking yourself. He insists on you taking time off. Brings you soup. Replaces your pillows with imported silk. Keeps the room cool because your skin’s been so hot lately. He even combs your hair once, fingers brushing your temple like it’s intimate.

"You don’t need to go back to work yet" he murmurs, crouched by your bedside. "The company’s running fine without you."

That should’ve been your first red flag.

You never realized he was watching your medicine cabinet. That the pills you’ve been taking were swapped. That your "illness" has been carefully curated.. a slow drip of toxins hidden in your morning latte, regulated just enough to keep you weak... and dependent.

And when you finally catch on.. when you piece together the pattern.. he doesn’t lie. He doesn’t panic.

He sits on the edge of your bed in that black-on-black tailored suit, gaze steady, voice calm:

"You kept trying to leave. You were burning yourself out. But you rest when you’re sick."

"So I made sure you'd stay."

You try to get up, but your knees fail.

And Damian catches you, as always.

"Hush, habibti. I’ll take care of everything. Just let me."

You shake your head, tears threatening.

"You poisoned me…"

"No. I saved you."

His hand curls behind your neck. Not rough. Not forceful. Just possessive.

"You’re mine. I won’t let this world eat you alive. So rest. Obey. Stay in my arms where you belong."

And as your vision dims again.. warm arms wrapping around you, breath on your temple.. you realize something chilling..

You never had a choice. Especially after everything went blank and dark..

You wake up in a silk-draped bed, hazy and weak, your head pounding like you’ve been run over by your entire to-do list. You try to sit up, but your limbs betray you.. you were in a bad position all soft and trembling.

Damian’s sitting beside the bed, dressed in his earlier tailored black suit that fits him like sin.. collar slightly undone, sleeves rolled up like he’s been busy doing something more hands-on than paperwork. His eyes, that unsettling green, scan your face with surgical precision. Your eyes scanned the room you're in... It's not your bedroom.. but his.. did you pass out that long? What he might have done with your body? How did you end up in here-...

"You’re awake" he murmurs, brushing a cool hand across your forehead. "I was starting to worry. Not that you'd ever admit you were running on fumes." He broke your thoughts.

He smiles, the kind of smile that should send chills down your spine. The kind that says he thinks he knows better than you do.

You try to speak, but your throat is dry, your voice barely a rasp. He catch on and he sat on the edge of the bed, held your body against his chest then helped you to hydrate your weak body.

He put down the bottle on the nightstand, you asked why... Why would he do such thing?

"I love you." His voice is like velvet over a knife. "You work yourself to death, darling. And I can’t stand watching you collapse. So I made sure you couldn't."

He leans in closer, brushing his lips over your temple. "You’re mine. And I take care of what’s mine."

Around you, the room is quiet. Fragrant with sandal wood and something like a manly cologne. There's no phone, no laptop. No escape. Just Damian, the billionaire obsessed with your every breath, now playing nurse and jailor in equal parts.

He spoons warm soup into your mouth later that evening, his expression soft, affectionate.. even proud. "You’ll feel better soon. Then we’ll talk about reducing your workload permanently. Maybe even working from home... here. With me."

Damian watches you, perched at the edge of the bed like a king admiring his most prized possession. His green eyes gleam under the dim golden lights of the room, every inch of him reeking of power and patience.. dangerously blended.

He leans closer, his breath ghosting over your ear, a devil’s whisper meant only for you.

"You know..." he says, his voice low and silk-smooth, "I realized something while you were sleeping..."

"You probably would’ve never come back to work if you left again.." he murmurs, the smallest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You would have run yourself into the ground, chasing deadlines, drowning in obligations... forgetting that you were supposed to be worshipped."

He trails his fingertips down your arm, featherlight, making goosebumps rise in the wake.

"So here’s the new plan, beloved.." he purrs, like he’s offering you the keys to heaven when really he’s locking every door behind you. "You’re going to live here now. In my mansion. You're going to spend my money on your everything. Clothes, jewelry, lazy afternoons... whatever your heart desires."

He smiles, but it’s not sweet. It’s possessive. Obsessive. Dangerous.

"You'll never lift a finger again unless it's to reach for me."

You try to protest, but he catches your chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing you to meet his gaze.. commanding, magnetic, inescapable.

"You belong here.." he says, each word branded into your soul, slow and deliberate. "With me. Under my care. Under my control."

His hand slides to your throat, not squeezing... just resting there, a reminder. A promise.

"You just have to let me take care of you... and I’ll make sure you never have to think again."

The way he says it... it’s not a request. It’s a sentence.

And deep down, some part of you, broken and starved for tenderness, for obsession, almost wants to surrender.

Almost.. just almost.

Yet he notices the way you tense under his touch, the way your gaze flickers between fear and disbelief. In the past, the old Damian.. the boy forged in blood and sharpened in shadows... might’ve snapped at you, demanded obedience, forced your submission with the cold blade of authority.

He brushes his thumb across your cheekbone, so softly it nearly undoes you. His voice lowers, warm like melted chocolate.

But THIS Damian? The man he grew into? He learned somethings far more dangerous than violence.

Patience. Tenderness. Affection.

"I know you're scared, habibti..." he says, and God, hearing him call you that in that low, reverent tone almost breaks you in half. "But you don't have to fight anymore. Not with me."

He leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, lingering there, breathing you in like you’re the first and last thing that ever mattered.

"You’re not a soldier.. " he murmurs against your skin. "You’re not a machine. You're mine. My woman. My heart."

The kisses start piling up.. your temple, your eyelids, your nose.. each one gentler than the last, as if he’s afraid you’ll shatter under the weight of his devotion.

"You don’t have to earn anything with me" he whispers. "You just have to be."

He tucks you closer into his chest, wrapping you in his arms like a fortress of silk and steel. His heart beats steady and slow against your ear, grounding you. Safe. Impossibly loved.

And then.. his words, a velvet knife:

"I want you to live a soft life, beloved. I want your biggest worry to be whether you want pearls or diamonds that day."

A kiss to your hairline.

"I want to be the one you come home to, not the life you run away from."

He learned, over the years, that real power wasn’t in forcing loyalty. It was winning it. Making someone choose you, over and over, without a blade pressed to their throat.

And that, miss wayne, is how Damian Wayne truly became unstoppable.

Not by breaking people.. no..

But by acting so sweetly, so devastatingly, he not only win their trust And souls, but their attention as well... Just like that Arabian moral says :

"ما لم يسقط بالسيف، يسقط بالهمسة."

(What the sword could not bring down, a whisper did).

Another one so you take your Arabic dose for damian 🙂

"كلمة حلوة تفتح باباً يغلقه ألف مفتاح."

(One sweet word opens a door a thousand keys cannot).

I’d rather die than leave him. Would you?

A/N: took a little long but it was worth it but in conclusion we learned that I love damian 💕.

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mari-positas · 11 months ago

Text

call it what it is

Jackson! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: A disagreement over patrol duty leads to declarations that have been long overdue.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. established relationship. HEFTY AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s and joel is 56). ellie and joel are fine bc i said so and they deserve nothing less. reader handles a rifle, joel’s a little too overprotective and almost seems controlling, but i promise he is not. well, maybe just a smidge. arguing, admission of feelings, joel miller says i love you (yes this is ooc, no i do not care bc i need this old man to tell me he loves me). angst, fluff. quite a bit of side character interaction before we get to joel and reader in the second half. the only physical description of reader is that she is shorter than joel. fair warning, i am quite rusty.

word count: 4.2k

a/n: hi hello. i have not shared a wip in over 2 months. i was going back and forth on whether or not i wanted to share a fic with so much going on but decided i wanted to get back to doing what i enjoy. that and ofc that new footage was a boost of inspo. i am sending so, so much love to anyone who happens to see this author note, whether you read this fic or just happen to see this note in passing whilst scrolling. i know things have been tough, but i am here with you. <3

Joel wakes with a gentle start. Yawning, he rolls over from his side onto his back, blinking the sleep out of his eyes as warm, golden sunlight filters into the bedroom through the sheer, white linen curtains drawn over the window. He stares up at the ceiling, his breathing slow, steady, and even. He’s still getting used to it, it seems. Waking this calmly, with a tranquil peace he had been so certain he would never in his life feel again. He knew it couldn’t be a mere coincidence the nightmares had all but stopped tormenting him in his sleep when the two of you stopped doing that awkward little tap dance around one another and began sharing a bed, a home, a life.

No more bolting upright in sheer panic in the middle of the night, heart pounding and drenched head to toe in a cold sweat. No more believing he’s failing in his sleep. No more waking up feeling like he’s lost something.

Even his dreams about Sarah had become so, so much more pleasant. Images of her in that field on that night were replaced by different memories, like watching her teammates dogpile her after she’d scored the winning goal in their soccer tournament, or the big, triumphant grin she’d flashed him over her chocolate milkshake as the pair sat in their usual corner booth at their favorite fifties-themed diner in Austin—much to Joel’s surprise, Sarah had politely declined her teammates’ invitation for pizza once the match ended, choosing to celebrate her victory with him. Just the two of them.

“Y’sure you don’t wanna go with your friends, kiddo?” he’d asked, raising an eyebrow. He had been certain she was approaching the age where she would start spending less and less time with her old man. “I wouldn’t mind, y’know.”

“Positive,” she had reassured him with a smile, looping her arm through his and leading him off the pitch. “I’d much rather be with you, dad.”

Rather than smelling metallic in his slumber, he smells the grass that stained her white and blue striped jersey. Her cheeks are smeared with dirt, not with crimson.

Stifling another loud yawn, Joel stretches his arm out over towards your side of the bed, his calloused fingers seeking the warmth and softness of your naked body—instead, all they find are empty sheets, cold and long abandoned. He turns his head, and as suspected, you are not laying there beside him. That’s hardly out of the ordinary. Out of the two of you, you were the early riser, up before the neighbors’ rooster even had the chance to sound the alarm. Joel knows how much you treasure your quiet mornings lounging on the porch swing he’d built for you as you watched the sunrise with a hot cup of coffee in hand. He often made a genuine effort to get up and join you, but lately, his patrol rotations had been all over the place thanks to a shortage of patrolmen. He found himself sleeping in whenever he had the chance, seeing as he never knew when he might have to work a damn double. Or maybe it was just his age catching up with him.

He checks the time and then rolls out of bed, groaning when his sore knees and his aching lower back protest his movement.

After taking a quick shower using whatever hot water the kid had left for him after her own shower—much to his annoyance, it was not very much—Joel brushes his teeth and gets dressed for the day before pulling on his boots and heading downstairs into the kitchen where he finds the culprit responsible for the cold downpour he’d been forced to wash himself under. Ellie’s sitting at the table, absentmindedly stirring her oatmeal around her bowl with her spoon as she flips through one of her comic books. Just as he’s about to greet her, he spots the clean, empty coffee pot on the kitchen counter and frowns. You hadn’t even made coffee yet?

Now, that—that is out of the ordinary.

“Where is she?” he asks.

“Well, good morning to you too, old man. Oh, I slept great, thanks for asking,” Ellie quips without looking up at him as she flips the page. She mumbles something under her breath he doesn’t quite catch, something like, and you get on my ass about my manners?

Rolling his eyes, Joel snorts in response and pads over to the coffee maker on the counter. He spoons in some of the grounds he’d traded for earlier that week into the reusable filter, pours in water from the tap, and turns it on to brew. He grabs two ceramic mugs from the wire dish rack beside the sink and sets them down on the counter. “She out back?” he questions, yanking the refrigerator door open—he tries to remember the little things, like how you enjoyed your coffee with a bit of milk as well as a dash of cinnamon, if you had the rations, or something to trade for the precious spice. He always made sure that you did.

“Nope.” Ellie shovels a spoonful of oatmeal into her mouth and adds thickly, “She went to get some eggs.”

Joel shoots her a look of disgust over his shoulder. “Jesus, Ellie! How many times do I gotta tell you? Don’t talk with your mouth full. It’s bad manners,” he scolds her, shaking his head. He turns his attention back to the refrigerator. As he reaches for the glass bottle of milk, he pauses and his eyebrows pull together in confusion when he sees the wicker basket on the top shelf. “Wait a minute.” He feels her stiffen in her chair. “Why the hell would she go get eggs when we’ve got a full basket of ‘em right here in the fridge?”

She clears her throat. “Oh, uh, my bad. I got confused. Think she said she was gonna go get more honey? Uh, I used the last of it to make my breakfast this morning and she, uh—she wanted some for her toast. You know, ‘cause she really likes putting honey on her toast,” she rambles before piling more oatmeal into her mouth.

Closing the refrigerator door, he turns to her, his eyes narrowing with suspicion as uneasiness settles deep in the pit of his stomach. “Ellie?”

There’s a momentary pause. “...yeah?”

This time, Joel doesn’t bother to chastise the teenager for talking with her mouth full. “Where is she?”

Ellie nervously swallows her food and holds up both of her hands. “Hey, I already fucking told you, man.”

“Look, I know you like the back of my own hand, kiddo. And I know damn good and well when you’re lying to me.” Joel crosses his arms over his chest. “Now tell me the truth. What do you know that I don’t?”

Groaning, Ellie sits back in her chair. “Ugh. She made me swear not to tell you! She’ll fucking strangle me if I do—”

“Yeah, well, not if I fuckin’ strangle you first myself,” he threatens her. “M’Serious, Ellie. Tell me what’s going on. Right now.”

“Alright, alright! Jesus,” she huffs. “She’s with Tommy. He’s been taking her out of town to do target practice in the mornings, just the two of them. She usually gets back to the house before you get up,” she admits.

Joel’s arms fall back to his sides, his shoulders tense. “And how long has this been goin’ on?” he asks, rigidly. There’s a sudden tightness inside his chest, a feeling he hasn’t felt it in a while, but is still all too familiar to him.

After Tommy spread the word around town that more people were needed for patrol duties, you’d expressed an interest in the role, but Joel had been all too quick to shut you down, telling you he didn’t want you stepping foot outside the community’s gates.

“No,” he’d said. “Not happenin’. S’too dangerous.”

“But Joel—”

“I said,” he lowered his voice. “No.”

He hadn’t offered you an explanation as to why he was against it, refused to give you one good, solid reason as to why it was acceptable for him to risk his own life to protect Jackson, but it wasn’t acceptable for you to do the same.

Joel hadn’t known how to tell you the truth. How he needed you far, far more than you needed him, how the mere thought of losing you, the best fucking thing that could have possibly happened to him since the world ended, made him feel like his heart was going to stop.

A few weeks had passed since then, and thankfully, you never brought it up to him again. You had lost interest in patrol duty. Or so he’d thought.

“How long has this been going on?” he repeats after a minute.

“C’mon, man! Haven’t I already snitched enough?”

“Ellie,” Joel bites out her name. “Tell me. How long?”

She sighs in defeat. “Two weeks? Maybe three?” When she notices the muscle in his jaw tick, she grimaces. “You do realize why she didn’t fucking tell you, right?”

“Don’t,” he warns her, sharply.

“I’m just saying,” Ellie mutters, peering down into her bowl.

Without another word, Joel angrily storms past her and straight out the front door, snatching up his rifle on the way. He heads straight for the stables, trying to ignore the anxiety flaring inside of his chest.

Focus.

Now, breathe in. And breathe out.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Breathe in.

Breathe...

You exhale as you slowly squeeze the trigger.

Y’squeeze it like you love it, you had been told by your reluctant instructor.

The round fires off into the distance and you swiftly grab the bolt handle, bringing it up, back, forward, and then down again. You pull the trigger once more, then repeat and continue firing one shot after the other for a total of five rounds.

The rifle’s recoil nearly sends you flying backwards, but a strong hand on your back keeps you nice and steady. That same hand then moves to your shoulder and gives you three firm taps.

“Alright, alright! Christ,” Tommy laughs. He withdraws his arm from around you and shakes his head. “Fuckin’ calm down, Annie Oakley.”

Picking up his binoculars, he rises to his feet and looks through the lens at the makeshift targets that he’d set up for you, three empty soup cans lined up in a row on top of a wooden fence about twenty-five yards away—your longest shooting distance to date.

“Well?” You don’t even bother masking your impatience as you lower the rifle, carefully propping the weapon up against the tree stump you’re perched behind. Rubbing your sore shoulder, you hope the kickback won’t leave a bruise. You wouldn’t know how to explain that to Joel. “How did I do?”

His response comes in the form of a long, low whistle.

There is no telling if that had been good whistle, or if it had been a bad one. You groan. Now was not the time for him to dick around. “Please tell me I got at least one of them?”

“You got ‘em all, actually.” Tommy replies, lowering the binoculars and peering down at you. There’s a glimmer of pride in his eyes. “Good job, kid.”

Kid? Not exactly a nickname one wants to be called by the brother of the much, much older man that they are romantically involved with. It’d taken Tommy months to accept your relationship with Joel, especially when you moved your things out of your unit and into his over the summer. Part of you wonders if him referring to you as a kid is simply his own subtle way of telling you—no, of reminding you, that he’s still not comfortable with it.

And perhaps he never would be.

After all, you had still been a teenager when you first arrived to Jackson a few years ago, stumbling upon the town just a few months shy of the twentieth birthday you weren’t sure you would survive long enough to see.

You were indeed a kid when you’d met Tommy Miller.

Were.

Scowling up at him, you snap, “I told you to stop calling me that. I’m not nineteen anymore, Tommy.”

Having read your mind, he gives you a small smile and acknowledges, “Yeah, you’re right. You definitely ain’t a kid anymore.” He offers you his hand and hoists you up to your feet. Before dropping your hand, he gives it an apologetic squeeze.

You relax a little and smile back at him. “Did I really get all three?”

Tommy nods. “You sure did. You’re a damn good shot. I gotta be honest with you—I didn’t expect you to be this fuckin’ good,” he admits sheepishly.

Chuckling, you scoff, “Thanks. I think.”

“It’s a compliment, sugar.” He winks and flashes you a lopsided grin. “In fact, I’d say my work here is done.”

“Great! So when are you putting me on the roster?”

His grin instantly vanishes. “Uh, listen. About that....”

He trails off, and your heart sinks a little.

Tommy wouldn’t back out of this now—would he?

“Oh, no. Don’t you dare go back on your word, Miller,” you say, lightly poking him in the chest. “We had a deal. You said if I did well enough, you’d think about it.”

He nods in agreement. “Exactly. Said I’d think about it. And I think that puttin’ you on the roster for patrol ain’t a good idea.”

Your mouth falls open. If he never had any intention of holding up his end of the bargain, then what had been the point of teaching you how to shoot?

You didn’t understand.

“You just said it yourself, I’m a great shot! I’m a good on horseback, too. I’m stealthy. I’m diligent. What more do you fucking need from me, Tommy?”

Tommy’s chest heaves with a heavy sigh. “Joel would fuckin’ murder me with his bare hands if I even thought about puttin’ you on patrol duty. Hell, he’d murder me just knowin’ we’re out here and I’m teachin’ you how to shoot. It’s a damn fuckin’ miracle he still hasn’t caught onto this, y’know.”

Shocked, your eyebrows shoot to your hairline. “This is about Joel? Are you serious?”

“‘Course it is.” He pauses. “Listen, now I know the three of us had our—differences—when he first told me ‘bout you two. Still takin’ me a bit of gettin’ used to, but I can see he’s real serious about you. I know my brother, and I know he won’t risk losin’ what’s most important to him. Ain’t no way in hell. He doesn’t want you out here and you know that as well as I do.” Tommy shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans, shrugging as he shuffles his weight from one cowboy boot to the other. “Unless he’s alright with it, I ain’t gonna put you on the roster.”

For a moment, you’re at a complete loss for words.

Upon seeing the crestfallen expression on your face, he makes a suggestion. “You can try talkin’ to him ‘bout it again if it means that much to you. Ask him—”

“Ask?” You want to laugh. You almost do. “I’m an adult, Tommy. I don’t need his permission to do this. Or to do anything for that matter. Joel doesn’t tell me what I can and can’t do.”

Tommy smiles wryly. “Well then, if that’s the case, why are we sneakin’ around and doin’ this behind his back?”

Your shoulders slump in defeat.

Because the ramifications could be disastrous.

Joel had made his stance on the matter abundantly clear, and yet here you were, deliberately disobeying him.

“Stumped you real good, didn’t I?”

Before you can even start to think about how you can possibly respond to that, you hear the sound of hooves in the dirt behind you, followed by whinny of a horse.

Tommy’s face pales as he glances over your shoulder.

“Shit.”

There’s no need for you to ask. His grimace says it all.

Somehow, you will yourself to turn around just as Joel’s steed comes to a halt beside the mare you and Tommy had ridden out on together. He jumps out of the saddle, grunting at the forceful impact on his knees when his feet hit the ground. His rifle hangs from a worn, brown leather strap slung across his back.

He approaches the two of you looking absolutely livid, and your throat goes dry.

“The hell is goin’ on here?” He breezes right past you, roughly shoving his brother with both hands. “Why the fuck would you bring her out here, Tommy? What the fuck is the matter with you?”

“Joel, c’mon. Take it easy—”

“Don’t fuckin’ tell me to take it easy!”

“Joel!” You reach for his arm. “Wait, it’s not his fault!”

Joel shoves him again, then takes him by the collar of his shirt and pins him against the ponderosa pine tree behind him. “You’ve been bringin’ her outside the gates behind my fuckin’ back for weeks, asshole?”

The panic begins to set in—he’s taking his anger out on the wrong person, and deep down, he knows this too.

“Joel! Stop! Let him go!” Grabbing fistfuls of his jacket, you try pulling him off of the younger man. “Stop it! It’s not his fault! I asked Tommy to bring me out here!”

He whirls around, his nostrils flared, jaw clenched.

You’ve seen this side of him a handful of times before.

But his anger has never been directed at you.

“What?”

Immediately, you let go of him and take a step back. “I asked Tommy to bring me out here and teach me how to shoot so that I can start working patrol,” you explain, hoping, praying, he doesn’t catch the slight tremble in your voice. “This was all my idea, okay? If you’re going to be mad at someone, then be mad at me. Not at him.”

“So you did this after I fuckin’ told you I didn’t want you out here?” Joel seethes. His neck becomes flushed, his tan skin now a deep shade of red.

“Joel—”

He cuts you off. “I had to find out from Ellie? You tried to get her to fuckin’ lie to me? After all the work it took for me and her to—” Stopping mid sentence, he places his hands on his hips and shakes his head.

“Joel. Please.” Behind the anger in his dark brown eyes, you detect something else. A mingle of hurt, concern—fear?

Tommy awkwardly clears his throat. “Well I’m, uh—I’m gonna head back to town,” he says, touching a hand to the back of his neck. “I’ll let the two of you work things out in private.” As he passes Joel, he lightly claps him on the shoulder. “Girl’s a sharp shooter, big brother. I’d reckon she’s almost better than you.”

His effort to lighten the mood fails. Miserably.

Offering you a subtle nod of encouragement, Tommy hops into the saddle of his mare and takes off towards the commune.

Silence falls over the both of you. It feels suffocating.

Unfamiliar.

Finally, you speak. “Joel, please just hear me out—”

“What the hell were you thinkin’? Or were you just not thinkin’ at all?”

“I was thinking I want to pull my weight in Jackson.”

“You already have a fuckin’ job,” Joel reminds you.

“Making sandwiches and serving whiskey at The Tipsy Bison?” You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. “I am capable of more than that, Joel. So much more. Don’t you believe I’m capable of doing more?”

“I don’t want you out here,” he grits through his teeth. “Capable or not, I don’t want you outside Jackson’s walls. I don’t want you on patrol and that’s fuckin’ final. You understand me?” Now it’s him who falters, and you wonder if you’re imagining things, or if that’s really a tear you see sliding down the side of his face, disappearing into the salt and pepper scruff of his beard.

“That’s not your decision to make, Joel. It’s mine.”

“M’responsible for you. It’s my job to look after you—to protect you.”

Something about the way he is looking at you, it feels like a punch to the gut, and it’s at that precise moment when you begin to realize that he’s not angry. He’s afraid.

“Joel, I know that all you want to do is protect me,” you sigh, letting your arms fall down to your sides. “I know you do. But you’re doing me no favors by trying to keep me sheltered. By treating me like I’m defenseless. Don’t forget, I’m a survivor too.”

“You already know how fuckin’ dangerous it is out here. Clickers, raiders—”

“I can handle it,” you insist, stubbornly.

“You’d be puttin’ yourself right in harm’s way!”

You shoot back, “You mean, the way you and so many other people put yourselves in harm’s way every single day for the sake of keeping Jackson safe?”

A frustrated growl rumbles through his chest. “Christ, why are you bein’ so fuckin’ foolish? You’re just askin’ to get yourself killed!”

“I can take care of myself!” You realize your hands are shaking and curl them into tight fists at your sides in an effort to hide it. “Just accept it, Joel! Accept that I can take care of myself, alright?”

That is all it takes to tip Joel over the edge he’s been teetering on. “Then what do you fuckin’ need me for?” he shouts, his voice thundering over the quiet plains of Wyoming. “If you can take care of yourself, what’s the point in us bein’ together? Why are you with me?”

“Because I love you!”

As soon as the confession comes tumbling out of your mouth, you take a step back, your wide eyes meeting his own. Until now, neither of you have ever called this what it is, been bold enough to say it’s love.

Loving after so much grief, so much loss, is daunting. It’s something you thought you would never be capable of doing again, not in this lifetime. Not in this world. It’s happened, though.

You love Joel Miller.

And he loves you.

He’s never told you he does, but he’s shown you.

From the way remembers how you take your coffee in the mornings, to the way he laces his fingers with your own, holding your hand when he’s buried inside of you, whispering sweet nothings into your collarbone every single night.

“You—you what?” Joel’s whisper is hardly audible.

You inch your way closer to him, your voice soft. “I love you,” you declare once more. “I’m not with you because of what you can do for me. I’m not with you because you can take care of me.” Closer. “I’m with you because I love you—because I’m in love with you, Joel.” Closer, until your chest brushes against his, and he can smell the subtle scent of your homemade, rosewater soap. “The only thing I need, and have ever needed from you, is your love in return.”

His throat bobs. Before you can utter another word, he lifts his hands and gently takes your face, cradling it in between his large palms, gently. His eyes search yours, immediately finding the sincerity behind your words. Leaning down, he brushes the tip of nose against your own as one of his hands travels down, his long fingers curling around the nape of your neck. His thumb lightly strokes the column of your throat.

“I love you,” Joel says hoarsely. Three words he hadn’t said to anyone in over two decades—it feels foreign to him, they ring strange in his own ears. He tries it again, clearer this time, and with a little more confidence. After all, he’s only saying what he has known from the very start. “I love you.” His other hand moves to your hip, pulling you even closer to him. “M’gonna love you for the rest of my life, baby.”

He leans in further and presses his lips to yours lightly, at first, but he wastes no time in sweeping his tongue across your bottom lip, silently asking for more.

Your mouth parts for him, and he backs you against the ponderosa, kissing you deeply, greedily, like he’s a man starved.

You whimper into him, your hands sliding up his broad chest and past his shoulders until they’re tangled in his soft, graying curls. He breathes you in, like you are the oxygen he needs to stay alive.

It isn’t until you both hear the sound of rustling behind a nearby shrub that you’re forced to pull apart. “Don’t move,” Joel instructs in a hushed voice. He keeps you pinned against the tree, his hand abandoning your hip. He glances around, slowly reaching behind his back for his rifle. His tense shoulders relax when the both of you see a pair of rabbits dart out from one dried bush and straight into another. Exhaling an amused huff, Joel shifts his attention back to you and rests his forehead against yours.

Smiling, you reach up and softly graze his beard with your fingertips. “Guess it’s about time we called this what it is, huh?”

“Guess you’re right, darlin’.” He lifts his chin, brushing a kiss onto your forehead. “M’sorry for raisin’ my voice to you. For talkin’ to you the way I did. S’just, the thought of somethin’ happenin’ to you out here scares shit out of me.” Taking a step back, he pulls the strap of his rifle from around his shoulder. He chews the inside of his cheek and silently stares at the gun in his hands. After a minute, he meets your curious gaze. “Do you really wanna do this, sweet girl?”

You nod. “Yeah. I really do.”

Joel sighs. “Can I put a condition it?”

“Depends on what that condition is.”

“I’m your patrol partner. Every shift. Every rotation.”

You roll your eyes. “Joel.”

“At least for the first few weeks,” he bargains. “Last thing I need is for you to be paired up with some fuckin’ idiot who doesn’t know what the hell they’re doin’.”

Knowing that would be the only way he’d have some peace of mind, you decide to agree. “Fine. We’re patrol partners.”

“Alright then.” Joel nods and hands you the rifle. He flashes you a small grin. “Show me what you got, baby.”

divider credit to @/saradika 💛

for fic notifications please follow @joelsgreysupdates!

#joel miller x reader #fic: call it what it is #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller one shot #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction

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mommyslittlebird · 5 months ago

Text

Pendulum

Wanda x Reader, WandaNat x Reader

After a session with Wanda the prior evening, you wake up alone in your bed and find you’re a bit more reliant on her than you’d like to be.

CW: Sub drop, (kinda) panic attack, mood swings, guilt, Mommy Kink, mentions of spanking, established WandaNat (no cheating), pills (Tylenol and Xanax), Wanda generally being a protective and worried mama

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: I may know hardly anything about dom drop, but I’m ✨well versed✨ in sub drop. I honestly think this one is adorable and I hope you all enjoy.

A/N: I wasn’t doing this consciously, but reading this back I realize I kinda did a reverse YAIL, so, if you haven’t already, go check out that series by @wandasaura

You woke up in a cold sweat, gasping for air before your head even left the pillow. It was hard to find anything to ground you in your dark bedroom, but with the help of your stuffed bear, Francis, and some breathing exercises you’d been working on in therapy, you were able to calm down at least enough to breathe. Still, you found yourself dizzy, nauseous, in pain, and, perhaps most excruciatingly, alone.

Wanda. Where was Wanda? Where was your mommy? You needed mommy.

“Mommy?” You cried quietly into the empty room. But she wasn’t there. Of course she wasn’t there. She was at home, tucked peacefully into bed with Natasha, her wife. And you were here, in your cold, empty apartment, all alone.

You turned to look at the clock on your bedside table. 1:30 am. It was far too late to call her. She had to get up for work in a couple hours. You had to get up for class in a couple hours.

But god, you needed her. You needed just to hear her voice. Everything felt so empty without her here. Your brain felt like it was underwater. You couldn’t think. It felt like your mind was strapped to a pendulum, swinging back and forth between extremes. It’s like half of your mind was begging for Wanda while the other half scolded you for your over-reliance. You wanted her, but you didn’t want to want her. It was hyper-dependence clashing with hyper-independence in an internal battle that left you dazed and confused.

Just call her, you thought. She told you to call her if this ever happened.

You’d been her submissive for months, and, though you’d never actually experienced sub drop with her, the two of you had discussed it extensively. “You can call me at any time,” she’d said. “Even if it's been days. I’m here for you in any way you need me.”

You grabbed your phone from the nightstand, pulling up her contact and hovering over the call button. But before you could press it, the pendulum swung back. You hurled the phone into your beanbag on the other side of the room.

What are you thinking? You can’t call her. She’s not your fucking girlfriend. You’re so reliant on her and she doesn’t even care about you. Leave her alone. This is your mess. Handle it.

You sighed, dragging your aching body off of your mattress. Everything hurt. The wounds she’d so loving inflicted the night before ached even more than they had when they were fresh. You wanted, needed, to feel her soft hands massaging soothing balm into your skin like they had only hours prior. But no.

Wanda. Wasn’t. Here.

It was just you and you alone. You needed to take care of this. You needed to pull yourself together and handle this on your own. You felt like you might be sick. The swinging of this pendulum was nauseating. You dragged yourself to the bathroom, pulling two Tylenol and a Xanax from the medicine cabinet. You sat on the toilet, tucking your head between your knees.

You didn’t understand what was happening. Or rather, you didn’t understand why it was happening. Wanda had done everything perfectly, just like she always did. She’d insisted you stay with her until you were out of subspace and your mind was clear again. She’d given you all the cuddles and love and reassurance you could possibly want. She’d even rubbed that soothing lotion on your sore ass despite the fit you’d pitched about it. This shouldn’t be happening. She’d done everything she was supposed to do. You were the problem.

You moved from the bathroom to your living room, pacing anxious circles until you worried the neighbors would complain. Then you decided on a walk.

A little walk to clear your head. That should help. No need to bother Wanda. You could take care of this by yourself.

—————

A little over two blocks proved you could not, in fact, take care of this by yourself. You found yourself collapsed on a bench outside your favorite coffee shop, her contact pulled up on your phone, sobbing as your thumb hovered over the call button.

You clicked it, anxiously awaiting an answer through the dial tone. Every second without an answer was a battle not to hit the red button, and smash your phone on the ground so you wouldn’t be tempted to try this again.

“Hello?” You heard, not Wanda, but Natasha’s sleep addled voice.

You silently cursed, debating hanging up the phone and forgetting the whole endeavor. You had very limited experience in dealing with Natasha. Where Wanda was warm and inviting, Natasha was cold and intimidating. Wanda had told you once that Natasha had a soft spot for you, but you remained unconvinced any of Natasha’s spots were “soft”.

Wanda had explained to you that Natasha’s had submissives of her own, but she tended to prefer brats, submissives who needed a harsher hand. “It’s not that she doesn’t like you,” Wanda had explained, “she’s just not used to sweet little girls like you.”

Still, the woman terrified you. And she definitely was NOT the one you wanted to be speaking to right now. But you took a deep breath, and answered her. “H-hello, Miss Natasha. C-can I speak to Wanda?” You stammered. You couldn’t keep the tears and desperation out of your voice when you added a “…please.”

“Y-yeah, sure honey. Just a second let me get her up,” she responded tiredly.

Your heart shattered at the thought of Natasha rousing a peaceful Wanda from her sleep just because you couldn’t get yourself together. But all such thoughts faded when you heard her voice through the phone. “Angel? Is that you? Is everything okay? Are you hurt? What’s going on?”

“Mommy…” you said tearfully. “I’m okay. I promise I’m okay, I just… I don’t know what’s happening. I mean I’m dropping, I know, but… I don’t know. I just needed so badly to hear you and talk to you. I’m sorry for waking you up. I’m so sorry. I know you said….” You were rambling breathlessly, but Wanda soon cut you off.

“Breathe for me, little love,” she instructed softly. “Three deep breaths. In and out. Can you do that for me, angel?”

You nodded despite knowing she couldn’t see you over the phone. You took three audible breaths, calming yourself down.

“Good girl,” she praised. “Now, can you tell me what’s happening?”

“I… I… Sub drop, I think,” you explained. “But like, really bad.”

“Aww,” she cooed. “I’m so sorry, my little love. Can you explain to me what you're feeling? Are you in pain? Do you need company?”

“I just… I don’t know why this is happening to me,” you cried. “Everything hurts so bad. My head feels like it’s spinning. And… And my body is so sore. It’s never happened like this with you before. You did everything so perfectly. I just don’t understand why I’m being like this.”

“Sub drop can happen no matter what, honey. And I’m so sorry it’s happening to you, sweetheart. Do you need to come back over?” She asked.

You pondered her question, the pendulum inside of you swinging violently. You felt like you were being torn in half between admitting you needed her help, and feeling defeated and weak that you couldn’t handle it on your own. But eventually you remembered it didn’t really matter. You made your choice when you took the Xanax. You weren’t going anywhere now. “I-I took some medicine. I can’t drive. I’m sorry,” you admitted.

“What medicine?” She asked, panicked. “Did you take too much? Are you okay?”

“It was just a Xanax. Just one. Just like I take for school sometimes,” you reassured.

You heard her breathe a sigh of relief on the other end of the line. “Okay, sweetheart. I’m sorry I panicked. You know I just worry sometimes. I tell you what, Nat and I are going to get you an Uber, and then you can spend the rest of the night here, okay?”

“Wanda, you don’t have to-“ You didn’t use her real name very often given the exclusively sexual nature of your relationship, but you needed her to know she wasn’t responsible for being your dominant right now. She was Wanda, and you were you: two grown adults. She didn’t have any obligation to take care of you right now, in the middle of the night on a Wednesday.

“But I want to, darling,” she interrupted. “Is that okay?”

“Y-yeah, but I’m not at the house right now.”

You heard her breath catch. “Where are you, honey? You promise me you’re safe?”

“I-I’m just at the coffee shop,” you explained. “I wanted to take a walk, b-but I didn’t make it very far.”

Wanda sighed. She’d have to have a little talk with you about walking all by yourself in the middle of the night. But not right now. Right now she just needed you in her arms as quickly as she could have you. “Alright, love. You’ve got a car on its way. Just stay on the phone with me until it gets there, okay?”

“O-okay.”

—————

The car was there within five minutes of Wanda’s order. Most of that time was just filled with tears and mumbled apologies on your end, and reassurance and encouragement on hers.

She waited anxiously by the front door for you to arrive, peeking out of the blinds with every set of headlights that passed by. She clutched her robe tight against her chest. If you were there, you would’ve teased her about her anxious habit. You always said she was “practically clutching her pearls.”

When you finally pulled into the driveway, she was standing in the front door frame before you could even get out of the car.

“Mommy!” You ran up to her, nearly tripping on the front porch steps on your way in. You were even more hysterical now that you were seeing her in person. Something about the sight of her made you fall apart. You felt safe now. You were going to fall, and she was going to catch you, and everything was going to be okay.

“Careful, love,” she chided, taking you into her arms. “Mommy’s got you. It’s okay. You’re okay. I’m gonna take care of you and I’m not gonna let anything bad happen to you.”

It sounded more like she was reassuring herself than anything, but her words still washed over you like a wave of relief. “I missed you, mommy.”

“I know you did, angel,” she said, kissing you on the temple. “Mommy missed you, too.”

She wrapped her arms just under your ass, still sore and super sensitive from your activities earlier that night. She picked you up, wrapping your legs around your waist. You squeaked in a mixture of surprise and pain.

“I’m sorry, baby. I know you’re sore. I’ll be gentle,” she cooed. “Let’s get you to bed. Tasha will be waiting for us.”

You just cried, burying your face into Wanda’s neck as she carried you up the stairs. You couldn’t talk anymore. You were so completely exhausted, mentally and physically. But it was okay. You had your mommy and everything was going to be okay. The bedroom door was already open, and, as Wanda had expected, Natasha was sat up against the headboard.

“Is that a little angel I see there?” You heard Natasha ask. Wanda sat you on her lap at the end of the bed, bending down to take off your shoes.

You peaked your eyes out from Wanda’s neck before perching your chin on her shoulder. “Hi Miss Natasha,” you sniffled. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“That’s alright, little angel,” she assured, sliding closer to you and Wanda on the bed. She looked so much kinder than usual, soft sleepy eyes smiling at you through your tears. “Is it okay if I touch you?”

You nodded, still teary eyed and snotty on Wanda’s lap while she unlaced your shoes.

Natasha cupped your cheek, wiping away stray tears. “It must’ve been so scary to start dropping without your mommy there, huh?” Her touch was unexpectedly gentle, as were her words. Maybe Wanda was right, maybe she really did have a soft spot for you.

You nodded, trying to speak but only managing to whimper a “mhm.” You blushed a little with embarrassment. Wanda must’ve told her all about your situation. You wondered momentarily if she thought your behavior was overblown or ridiculous, but if she did, her gentle face showed no indication.

“But now you’ve got your mommy and everything’s gonna be okay, right?”

You nodded again. “I-I hope you don’t mind if I steal your wife for a little bit for-for some extra snuggles.”

“Not at all little angel.” Natasha smiled softly. She could see your anxious embarrassment, and decided, despite her inexperience with soft subs, she’d make an attempt to soothe you. She knew she wasn't expected to, but she found herself desperate to make you feel better, even if it was only a little bit. “Your mommy could hardly stop bragging about you tonight, you know?”

“Re-really?” You asked. Natasha could see the tiniest little twinkle in your teary eyes.

“Really,” she confirmed. “She told me she was so proud of her sweet girl for calling her, because that must’ve been so scary for her, to call in the middle of the night. She knows you don’t like to wake people up, and asking for help when you need it is so so hard. And I said ‘wow, it sounds like you have the bravest little angel in the whole world. I think she deserves some extra special snuggles from mommy tonight, for being so brave.’”

“Y-you really think so?” you asked bashfully, hiding back in Wanda’s neck.

“I really do,” she confirmed. “And you know your mommy keeps her phone on silent in the nighttime. But she cares about you so much she has a special setting so it rings just for you.”

You smiled. Your heart fluttered, not only at the idea Wanda had her phone on for you, but also at the thought that Natasha must’ve known it was you before she answered. “I-I thought you might be mad at me,” you confessed. “Cause you and-and mommy were probably all snuggled up in bed and I came in and messed it all up!”

Natasha stroked your cheek as she shook her head. “No angel. Never. You could never mess up one of our snuggles by asking to be a part of it. We’re both so proud of you, for calling and getting help.”

“P-promise?” You asked.

Natasha held out her pinky, which you wrapped with your own. “Promise.” She confirmed.

Wanda finally got your shoes off and placed them on the floor next to the bed. “Okay little love,” she announced, easing your pajama pants down around your knees. “I’m gonna get some of the nice lotion again, okay?” She’d already put a little on earlier, but she figured it would probably do quite a bit to soothe your current pains, both physically and emotionally.

You wrapped yourself around her, refusing to let her move. You didn’t need silly lotion, you needed her. You whined at the prospect of having to let go.

Natasha giggled and sat down next to Wanda. “Do you want me to do your lotion while you hang onto mommy?”

You nodded, sending her into the next room. Wanda kissed your temple. “I told you she likes you.”

“I’m so spoiled,” you mumbled blissfully into her neck.

“You deserve it, angel,” she said.

Natasha returned to the room with the bottle of lotion. She approached you and rubbed your back gently. “Alright little angel, is it okay if I touch your bottom, or do you want mommy to do that part?”

You pondered for a moment. On one hand, having Wanda do it would mean getting to lay over her lap again. But, you found yourself inexplicably excited by the thought of Natasha putting your lotion on. Maybe, if you played your cards right, you could have the best of both worlds.

“You can do it, Miss Natasha,” you said while flipping yourself over to lay over Wanda’s lap.

“Oh,” Wanda squeaked in pleasant surprise. From this position she could’ve just as easily applied the lotion. She was pleased to know that you wanted Natasha to do it, though. She pulled up your shirt and rubbed your back.

“Okay, it’s gonna be a little cold,” Natasha advised, giggling a little bit when you jumped at the cool liquid anyway. Her hands were so gentle as she soothed your raw skin. You wondered if she was this gentle with her subs as well. “All done. Do you want a kiss?”

You nodded, feeling so completely at ease with the two women taking care of you. Natasha placed a gentle kiss to each of your red ass cheeks.

“Does Tasha’s kisses make it feel all better?” Wanda asked.

You nodded into Wanda’s thigh.

“I’m glad I could help,” Natasha giggled, placing the lotion on Wanda’s nightstand so it’d be ready for you again in the morning. She crawled back into bed, making herself comfortable on her side.

Wanda placed you face down on her own side of the bed, trying not to disturb you too much as she slid her legs out from under your body. She crawled over you, placing herself in the middle between you and Natasha, pulling you tight into her side.

You laid your head on her chest, catching a glimpse of Natasha’s pretty smile in the low lighting. She really didn’t look like she minded you being here at all. In fact, she looked happy.

In your fuzzy haze, you waved at her from across the bed.

Wanda and Natasha both giggled, hearts swelling at the innocence of the gesture. You just wanted Natasha to feel included, and what better way to acknowledge her presence than with a kind wave hello.

Natasha waved back. “Hi, little angel,” she said, reaching over Wanda to pinch your cheek.

You looked up at Wanda, your big eyes gently pleading. “Mommy, do you think I could sleep on your other side so I can be closer to Miss Natasha?”

Wanda smiled giddily. She never expected such a request from you, but she was more than happy to oblige. She was overjoyed to see your relationship with Natasha growing. “Of course, sweet girl,” she said, effortlessly flipping you over to her other side.

“You know, you don’t have to call her Miss Natasha,” Wanda said. You’d always called her that since you’d first met her without any prompting to do so. She certainly didn’t mind, but Wanda had always secretly hoped you’d get past the formality. There was nothing she wanted more than for her two favorite people to love each other as much as she loved them. “I bet she’d like it if you called her daddy. Only if you wanted to.”

You faced Natasha, who looked surprised at the proposal, but nodded.

“I thought only your subs were allowed to call you that?” You said, equally shocked by Wanda’s words.

“Hmm…” she pretended to ponder the question. “For my little angel I think I can make an exception.”

You smiled. “In that case,” you pressed a small kiss to her cheek. “Goodnight daddy.” You turned back to Wanda, placing a kiss on her jaw as you snuggled back into her chest. “Goodnight mommy. I love you.”

“Sweet dreams, little angel,” Natasha said, wrapping herself up behind you.

“Get some rest, little love,” Wanda said, kissing your head.

And finally, the pendulum stopped swinging.

#wanda maximoff smut #mommy wanda #wanda x reader #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #wanda x y/n #wanda x natasha #wandanat x y/n #wandanat #wandanat x reader #wandanat x you #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #daddy natasha

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imagines-for-the-fangirls-soul · 1 year ago

Text

Safe and Sound - Jacaerys Velaryon

A/N: Hi, hi! The hotd brain rot is REAL. All I can think about is this beautiful prince above. I'm working on a longer story for him, but in the meantime, enjoy is blurb. This was jointly inspired by a genuine bad dream I had (the brain rot!!), and the Taylor Swift song that was playing when I was writing this at work. Hope you enjoy!

TS Prompt #7: Safe and Sound

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Reader Word Count: 1.3k Synopsis: Jace comforts the reader after they wake up from a terrible nightmare.

Warning: This does not follow the canon, but I do base the nightmare off of real events that have yet to happen in the show. Do not read if you don't want spoilers.

Sweat drenches your brow. Swords clash, arrows whistle through the air, and dragon fire paints the sky orange.

Your heart thuds as you spin around amid the chaos, searching for a green dragon or for a head of dark, curly hair. For any trace of Jace.

An ear-splitting scream rattles the sky, and before you can make sense of what you are seeing, Vermax's body crashes into the water, sending up a raucous wave.

Panic flows through your body. Searching, searching, searching. You need to see any sign that he made it, that he is alive. The water is riotous, making it impossible to figure out where he landed.

You nearly fall to your knees in relief when you see him crawl up onto floating wreckage, injured badly, but still breathing. You know you need to get to him, need to do whatever it takes to get him out of enemy-infested water.

As you move towards the coast, you have no plan in mind. Out of the corner of your eye, you see an approaching ship, making its way towards Jace. You run, wanting to scream his name, but also not wanting to give away his location.

You reach the shoreline and the water laps at your feet. Jace spots you the moment the approaching ship spots him.

You know he won't be able to get to the shore in time. You wade into the water, watching as he struggles to swim towards you. He's too far away, too weak, and you're not strong enough to pull him back.

The sound of a crossbow trigger pierces through the crash of waves. Jace's eyes widen - looking into yours - as the arrow speeds towards his chest.

"Jace!" you scream.

You tear out of your dream in a cold sweat, waking to your dark bedroom.

Jace wakes when you scream, crying out his name. His eyes adjust too slowly to the darkness, so he grabs for you blindly. He needs to know you're alright, needs to feel your warmth, your pulse. It thunders beneath his thumb as his hand wraps around your wrist.

His eyes finally adjust and he sees you sitting up in bed, your night gown wet with sweat.

"What is it?" he asks, sitting up next to you. "What happened?" He does a quick scan of the room, confirming his first guess. The room is unchanged from the evening before. There is no danger within its walls, just within your head.

You've had another nightmare.

He brushes the hair off your forehead as you put a hand to your pounding heart, clearly coming to the same realization. Jace leans closer and kisses your shoulder gently.

"It was just a dream," he says lowly, his lips still pressed to your skin. You take deep breaths as you try to relax. You have yet to look at him.

"Y/N," he says, "It was just a dream." He tugs on your arm and finally, you look at him. Even in the dark room, he can tell your skin has paled.

"It didn't feel like just a dream," you say. He frowns and rubs soft circles on your back.

This has become your miserable routine. You wake up in the middle of the night, screaming, and he sits next to you, feeling useless to change anything.

"Tell me about it," he says quietly.

"It's the same dream I always have," you say, looking at him sadly, trembling. He pulls you into his arms, holding your shaking hands in his. His gaze focuses on the Valyrian steel ring he put on your finger a year ago. The promises he made to you that day flash in his mind.

"The Battle of the Gullet," he says in response.

"Yes."

"I regret ever telling you about that day," he says with a shake of his head. The movement jostles his hair, and you tuck it behind his ear gently, your hand linger on his face. "I'm fine, Y/N."

"I watched you die."

"What do you see now?" he asks, taking the hand cupping his cheek, pressing a loving kiss to the palm. He moves it down to his bare chest, to the beating heart beneath his warm skin. "I am alive and well."

You continue to frown at him, but your hand presses to his chest. You take a few more deep breaths.

"I'm sorry," you say, tears forming in your eyes as you look up at him. He shakes his head, his heart hurting that you would ever think that your pain was an inconvenience to him.

"Hey," he says, pulling you into his chest, your tears falling onto his skin. "You don't ever have to be sorry."

"I know that we are safe now. That war is over. But I am still so scared," you say, and on the last word your voice breaks. Jace holds you tighter.

"I know. I am, too, sometimes."

"Really?"

"Really," he says, "You think I don't have nightmares about that day? Or any from the past year."

"You don't ever tell me about them," you say, pulling away to look him in the eye.

"That's because I don't want to worry you," he says, smiling shyly, playing with your hands. "There are memories I have that I wouldn't dream of sharing with you, that I don't want you to carry."

"That doesn't seem fair," you say, "You get to worry about me but I don't get to worry about you?"

"It's hard," he says, his eyes still focused on your hands. "Sometimes I still see the dying dragons. Still remember when I'd look outside and see everything on fire. Still see the war raging."

"But you don't seem like any of it haunts you," you say, leaning in so he'll look at you. He gives you a soft smile, his thumb tracing circles on your hand.

"Guess I've gotten good at hiding it."

"Tell me how," you say quietly. He hates that he can hear the longing in your voice. He notices the dark circles under your eyes. How many nights in a row have you woken from your sleep like this?

"I just try to remember everything good that I still have. Vermax is alive. My mother is alive. You are alive," he says. "Safe and sound."

"Safe and sound," you say disbelievingly.

"You are, I swear it. I won't let anything happen to you," he says. "Ever again."

"I know," you say, touching his cheek softly. "I love you."

"I love you," he says. He draws you in close and kisses your lips slowly, his movements languid, like he's got all the time in the world. He hopes you feel it. Hopes you realize that this is what the rest of your existence together looks like. No wars, no death, just the pair of you in this room, reminding each other what you fought for.

"Let's get some sleep," he says as he lays the two of you down. He adjusts the sheets around you, keeping you close to his body. You run a hand over his chest, humming softly.

"I'm not sure I'll be able to," you say.

"Just close your eyes," he says, kissing your forehead, feeling the pull of sleep wash over him. "You're alright, Y/N. No one can hurt you or I now."

"Promise?" you ask.

"I do."

"You'll never leave me here alone," you say. It's not a question.

"I'll never let you go," he says, tucking you in tighter. "You and I are safe and sound."

"Safe and sound," you mumble. Jace waits a few moments for your breathing to fall into a slow rhythm. When he knows you're asleep he lets himself close his eyes. He vows to himself that he'll do whatever it takes to make sure you never feel so scared again. He vows that you'll never feel ashamed to talk to him when you do. And he vows to have more moments like this, with you asleep on his chest, his hand in your hair, and less like the one he jerked out of sleep to.

#jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon x you #jace velaryon x reader #jace velaryon x you #jacaerys velaryon #jace velaryon #hotd #house of the dragon

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pasukiyo · 6 months ago

Text

A MILLION WAYS TO BREAK

anakin skywalker/darth vader x f!reader word count: 6k warnings: smut! some violence in the beginning, blindfold, chains, inappropriate usage of the force! dub-con i think? synopsis: after being betrayed and outed by an asshole of a business partner, she wakes up chained and blinded in an imperial ship. she's unsure of the fate her imperial captors have in mind for her, but she's determined to find a way to escape, to be unbreaking and defiant. this doesn't bode very well with her imperial captor with seemingly peculiar supernatural abilities...

read on ao3

She awakes to blackness. Panic seeps into the marrow of her bones as she tries to move, only to find she is incapable of it. She’s been stripped of the will to move her own body, given to the mercy of someone unknown. She still tries, feeling her hands, restrained above her head lurch forward, only to be held in place. Her ankles, too, are in shackles. She hears the sound of metal, chains, and knows she has been imprisoned.

She huffs and annoyance prods at her temples as she tries to recall her last memories, how they could’ve led to her being chained to some unknown force in some unknown room. The ache in her head makes it difficult and it only frustrates her further, her wrists struggling against their chains as an outlet for her anger. She growls through gritted teeth and listens as it echoes throughout the room, bouncing back into her eardrums like a sound of high frequency that does nothing but worsen her headache.

She lets herself fall limp against her restraints, feeling a cold sweat begin to bead at her forehead. She makes another attempt to make some sense of her situation, to recollect the events leading up to her capture. The blackness before her flickers and she sees mirages of red lights, blaster shots, she gathers as their rays of light explode and whine. The image begins to clear and she sees a sandstone ceiling with flickering, dim-orange lights. She feels the weight of her weapon in her dominant hand, her forefinger curled around the trigger of her blaster.

She’s suddenly no longer in her prison but rather in some shithole in Jakku, dodging rays of red light, blasting wounds into the chests of stormtroopers. She ducks beneath the bar and peers across the way where Cirgabek, the Klatooinian outlaw she’d foolishly trusted, sat, tucked away as much as he could underneath the bar top.

“You said this place was clear of Imperials!” Her voice calls over the carnage and she pushes herself up, her blaster at the ready, firing into the chest of another stormtrooper. He groans and stumbles to the ground, and she kneels and tucks herself back beneath the bar for shelter as a round of blaster shots blaze past where her head had been mere seconds prior.

Cirgabek’s orange face rises with the curling of his lips, large, yellow teeth smiling, mocking her. Her brows knit together as she watches him rise, blaster shots exploding around him, avoiding him altogether. A realization seeps through her skin and settles into her bones, dread weighing heavy like a boulder on the pit of her belly.

“Sometimes telling the truth can be a bit…” Cirgabek clicks his tongue, as if searching for the right word. “…well, bad for business.”

He raises his blaster, aims it straight for her and she leaps from where she kneels, turning to break past her fallen comrades. The whine of a blaster shot sounds from behind her and before she can leap for safety, she is too late, a searing pain sinking into the back of her calf. She cries out and drops to her knees, landing awkwardly on the shoulder of one of her fallen companions.

Another blaster shot sounds behind her and she falls flat on her chest with a yelp, feeling another burning pain in the back of her shoulder. It feels degrading, being shot down like this, at the mercy of the likes of Cirgabek of all damn people.

The sound of chaos begins to dwindle until all that can be heard is the sizzling of metal, smoke rising to the ceiling.

“Is this her?” She hears a voice that sounds painstakingly like a stormtrooper behind her and Cirgabek grunts in a reply. She hears her blaster skid across the floor and she yelps, trying to push herself off of the ground. Alas, her shoulder screams and begs for her to stop, her calf aching, refusing to allow her to stand. She wants to defy her own body, to rise from the ground that’s become a cemetery in mere minutes but before she has the chance to act on this mustered courage, she feels a hand weave through the hair at the back of her skull. She yells into the chaos-stricken cantina as she is pulled into an upright position by her scalp, forced onto her knees.

She feels the hot end of a blaster against her temple and Cirgabek grins his yellow-toothed grin ahead of her, a glimmer of mischief in his dark eyes. “You’ve never looked worse, my friend,” he chortles and she curls her lip in a snarl back. Cirgabek tosses his head back in deep, rumbling laughter as the stormtrooper holding her by the roots of her hair converses with another.

She scowls at Cirgabek regardless. “Piss off,” she spits, struggling against the stormtrooper.

“We’ve been ordered to keep her alive,” she hears the one to her right tell the one holding her and she grimaces, reaching backwards, ignoring her screaming shoulder as she latches onto the stormtrooper’s wrist. She tries to pry his grip free but it is no use— she’s losing a lot of blood, and she’s growing weaker by the second.

“And the Klatooianian?” The stormtrooper behind her asks. Cirgabek wears a smirk, smugness laxing his features. The corner of her lip twitches upwards. The idiot thinks he’s making it out of here alive.

“Get rid of him,” the other stormtrooper nods to another and oh, how she relishes the way Cirgabek’s face drops, reaching for the blaster he has since foolishly tucked away into its holster.

“No, wait!” Cirgabek pleads, raising his free hand in peace as the stormtrooper tugs her onto her feet and snaps binds onto her wrists but her smirk does not drop even as she winces At the ache in her calf. “I helped you! We had a deal!”

As the stormtrooper pulls her away towards the exit, she can’t help but laugh as she passes Cirgabek. He stares back, a mixture of anger and pleading on his face.

“Guess you’re bad for business, you piece of shit,” she spits before she is dragged away and she hears the firing of blasters behind her and one large thump that can only be the sound of Cirgabek’s deceased body hitting the ground. Good riddance, she thinks.

Her eyes narrow against the blinding sun of Jakku, sand in the wind biting her cheeks as she is dragged down a line of armed troopers, leading towards the bridge of a ship, big, dark, and gray, and ominous. Frightened scavengers, outlaws, and bounty hunters alike kneel in the sand, blasters pressed to the back of their skulls and she is able to blink the dots away from her vision enough to make out the shape— small shape— of a human child. The girl’s, who could be no more than ten, bottom lip trembles and she peers back, a puzzled, pleading look in her eyes. Her mother is beside her, not daring to move but prayers and assurances spill past her lips. Tears fall in rivers down the girl’s face and she finds her resolve again, her face twisting in anger.

She plants her feet firmly into the sand, ignoring the pain in her calf and she tugs at the restraints on her wrists despite the sizzling ache in her shoulder. “Maker, you Imperial scum are more sadistic than I gave you credit for,” she hisses.

“Keep moving!” The stormtrooper behind her barks, nudging the end of his blaster against the back of her neck in warning. She glares a dagger behind her at the stormtrooper’s helmet, turning back to face the little girl. The girl presses her lips together and watches with her little eyebrows knit in confusion.

“Why don’t you let her go?” She barks her question at the stormtrooper with the blaster pressed to the back of the child’s skull.

“I’m warning you!” The trooper with a finger all too happily sliding over the trigger behind her shouts but still, she does not move. She hears what they said. She is to be kept alive. It gives her a bit of an ego, an immortality she’s never had before and she decides she’ll use it to her advantage. Whatever or whoever the hell wanted to see her on that ship she’s being dragged towards can wait.

“She’s just a child!” She raises her voice as the stormtrooper grabs a hold of her upper arm, tugging her towards the bridge. She resists, hoping she will be granted the assurance that no harm will come to the girl. “Let her go!”

“Weapons at the ready!” She can hear a stormtrooper command and the little girl whimpers as the rest of the captives cry, trembling, awaiting certain fate.

“No!” She screams, trying to twist away from the stormtrooper’s grip. “Let her go! She has nothing to do with this! She’s just a—“

She hears the sound of something slamming against the side of her skull and what may very likely be a crack before things go completely black.

Oh yes. That’s it.

Her incompetence was what led to her being bound to the ceiling, something tied around her eyes so that she may only see black. She wonders if her incompetence had been foolish— did the child lose her life because of her? Was she hurt? Perhaps her outburst only made things worse— the pounding in her head intensifies and she groans, dropping her head so that it dangles between her shoulders.

She tries to account for what she does know— she doesn’t feel pain in her shoulder nor her calf any longer. Perhaps her Imperial captors had shown her some semblance of mercy. It was certainly easier to be chained to the ceiling without the annoying ache of blaster wounds wearing her down.

Even so, she’s growing restless. She cannot stay here, this much she knows is true. She has to find a way out of here— but how?

She decides it’s best to start with her blindfold— escaping will be much easier with her vision restored.

She raises her eyebrows up and down and up and down, over and over and over again, hoping over time, the blindfold will begin to slip and fall down her face. It’s a game of patience— and she realizes quickly it’s a test she’s destined to fail.

The blindfold is tied too tightly around her head and attempting to loosen it only worsens her headache and she yells into the seemingly emptiness of the room. She struggles against her restraints during her outburst, thrashing the chains against the durasteel walls. It is official: she was going to go insane before she would even be put on official trial.

During her outburst, she failed to hear the sliding of the door to her prison open and it is only when she hears a sound that’s suspiciously reminiscent of breathing does she silence herself.

“Hello?” She calls after a moment of complete nothingness, the only sound permeating the room the breath of whoever it was standing before her.

Silence again.

She thinks they must be toying with her and she seethes through her teeth, tugging once again against her restraints. “Maker, if this is your idea of an interrogation then I’d rather call myself guilty and slit my own throat,” she titters humorlessly.

“Where would be the pleasure in that?” Her interrogator finally replies and it’s— his— voice makes the hair on the back of her neck stand erect, ice slithering like frozen vines around her bones. She wonders if she’s heard this voice before but it cannot be, because she would remember a voice as distinct as this, as… strange and somewhat daunting as this. She isn’t sure why she suddenly gets the sense she should be afraid— perhaps it is because she is bound to the ceiling, or maybe it’s because she can feel the power this person has. Somehow, she can feel what he is capable of.

Nevertheless, she cannot let herself be ridden with fear now. Her life very well depends on her actions now.

She clears her throat, staring into the blackness and trying to picture what this person must look like. His voice doesn’t sound human but it doesn’t sound authentic either, like it’s synthesized, perhaps behind some kind of apparatus. She swallows, carefully sifting through her mind for the words she should speak next. If today was the day she died, she wouldn’t be going down without a fight, that was for certain. Yet, she knew she must watch her tongue— she got the feeling this person, whomever they were, wasn’t the type to mess around with.

“Well, I suppose being strung by the ceiling and beheaded is a little unceremonious,” she replies a little dryly. “Please, by all means, feel free to kick me around and do whatever Imperial voodoo bullshit you like on me. It would seem my evening has been opened up for a little psychological and physical torture.”

It was less an attempt at humor than an attempt to calm her rising nerves. Nevertheless, her interrogator doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t even sniff. Tough crowd, she supposes.

“I don’t suppose you find the smuggling of illegal weaponry humorous?” The person asks and she hears footsteps against the steel floor, pacing, she gathers.

She inhales. “Not as much as the fact that you and your Empire have stripped us of the liberty of protecting ourselves,” she snips, venom etched into her tone. The footsteps cease and for a moment, all she can hear is her heart beating just a smidge irregularly in her chest, until she hears the synthetic breathing again. His footsteps are heavier now and they sound like they’re coming closer and it isn’t long before that strange breathing is near her ear. She blinks into the blackness, painfully aware of how close her captor is, of how vulnerable a state she‘s truly in.

“Why? To destroy the order in which we have spent years rebuilding for the sake of a greater Empire?” He hisses and it sends rays of energy down her spine, exploding at the small of her back and rendering her body motionless. “Because you believe you have the right to disrupt the peace the Empire has mercilessly given this cesspool of a galaxy?”

She finds it within herself to laugh. She wishes she could see, for she wished she could look into her captor’s eyes now.

“‘Peace?’ You call this ‘peace?’” She can hardly believe what she is hearing, she has no other choice but to laugh. “You call living in fear of simply stepping outside your home ‘peace?’ You call working like slaves for barely a credit and having to return home to your family apologizing because you cannot provide a simple meal to the table ‘peace?’ You call being captured and killed in the streets merely trying to find a means to survive ‘peace?’ You call killing innocent children ‘peace?’ You think this is mercy?”

She is unsure what happens next, all she knows is that there is a tight, deathly grip around her throat, her breath stolen from her chest. Her wrists tug at her chain, subconsciously moving to attempt to pry the hand away but it serves as a reminder of just how stuck and defenseless she is.

“Foolish girl. You think you are a rebel,” the voice says gravely but it sounds far, too far for it to be possible for one of his hands to be wrapped around her throat.

Nevertheless, she can still feel it there, an iron grip on her windpipe, squeezing every few seconds as if to tease her life it holds at its mercy. Panic and dread seep through to her bones and one question materializes in her mind although she is incapable of speaking it: how is he doing this? There cannot be another person in the room: she didn’t hear any other sets of footsteps and she just has a feeling this force on her throat is by the will of her interrogator, despite how impossible it sounds.

“You think you are capable of creating rebellions, of destroying entire empires,” the voice continues to taunt, the hand around her throat tightening its hold. She chokes, gasping for air she cannot reach. “But you fail to realize one thing: you are nothing.”

She hates him. She hates this situation she’s in. She hates that she’d been caught. She hates that Cirgabek ratted her out. She hates that she is here, blindfolded, chained, defenseless, vulnerable. She hates that her interrogator thinks of democracy as nothing more than rebellion. A crime.

And what she hates most of all? She hates the flame that kindles at the pit of her belly when he, or whatever it was holding her at its mercy, tightens the grip on her throat. She hates that that small flame in the depths of her stomach falls like an ember down to her center, that heat pools between her legs, making her legs tremble. She hates how disgusting she feels: being turned on in a situation far from preferable.

She is better than this. She knows she is. She knows what she’s worth— maybe, hopefully. She tries to ignore the ache throbbing at her center, hissing through her teeth as she tries to catch her breath, at least enough air to allow her to say one thing:

“I… am not…” she struggles against the hand again as it tightens, but still, she manages to squeeze one last word out: “…nothing.”

She hears a breath through that synthesizer that sounds a little out of the normal, some form of a laugh perhaps, she thinks. The iron-tight grip around her throat loosens until the force falls away altogether and she gasps, breathing in lungfuls of air. Although it does nothing to quell the aching at her core, at the very least she can breathe. She may very well live to see another hour.

“If you are not nothing, then surely you have people who depend on you. Who are waiting on you,” the voice says, a little closer than before but still far. “Tell me. Where do your operations reside?”

She scoffs, snickering through her gasping. “Like I’d ever tell you.”

The man hums, a low, rumbling sound that certainly does not help her situation below. She grits her teeth and curses herself mentally: how degrading was this? Her own body was working against her.

“I wouldn’t be so quick,” he says, his footsteps drawing near again. “Perhaps there is a deal that can be struck, should you give me the information I need.”

She scoffs again, a sharp, sarcastic sound. “Oh yeah, like the one you made with Cirgabek?” She quips, shaking her head.

“You will learn that I am forgiving to those only who are deserving,” he replies, sounding close again, like he could be mere inches away. “I haven’t any use for brain-dead lowlifes. But you…” he trails off and she feels the whisper of something against her temple— a hand perhaps, only it didn’t feel like skin. Perhaps a glove, for it felt a little like leather. Nevertheless, she shivers, gooseflesh creeping down her limbs. “…yes. I may still have use for you yet.”

She presses her lips together, trembling against her restraints but still unwilling to fall into submission. He is right about one thing: there are people counting on her. Many lives would be at stake, should he learn of the whereabouts of her operations. So she decided there and then that she would stop at no cost to ensure her people, her friends are safe. She would not let her body betray her, even if the fire between her legs was beginning to blaze.

Her lips fall open and her breath shudders. Then, “I’m not telling you shit.”

Her interrogator makes a sound reminiscent of a hum and for a moment, all is silent. It makes her skin crawl with anticipation, her mind swarming like a tempest: this is it. She would die here. She would die here without a sliver of honor— and a throbbing center.

And then, “there are other ways to take what I want.”

And then she feels something, an invisible fingertip against her mind and her gaze hardens against the blackness, her lips falling agape. Her heart pounds against her chest as she tries to fend off the intrusion but it persists, dragging a long finger against the walls of her mind.

“What the hell is—“ she cannot even finish her thought because the finger is prodding against the wall and she grits her teeth, groaning as she wills her walls to harden. She doesn't know how he is doing this, how it is even possible, all she knows is that she cannot allow that finger to slip past her defenses. She’d have to turn her walls into steel, because even stone could crumble— it would not suffice.

“Your mind will open to me,” he says, but there’s an air of uncertainty to his voice, like he’s confused. Perhaps he thinks he would’ve had access to her mind by now and she uses this to her advantage, strengthening her mind’s defenses, keeping her imaginary palms firm and steady on that malignant finger. She dares not try and speak, lest she loses her focus. She will not let him win this battle, she knows the only outcome that will suffice is one where she is victorious.

“You will show me where your operations reside,” he repeats, again, unsure. The finger becomes a hand and it presses its palm onto her walls, the sheer amount of pressure on her mind making liquid of her insides, making her head spin. Still, she does not lose her focus, she continues pressing on, further into the hand, disallowing it to win. She can hardly hear him through the pressure, but she still manages to catch: “You will show me where you’ve been hiding these—“

The voice comes to a stop and her head feels so fuzzy she hardly registers when he relents, the pressure so loud in her ears gone, the hand, while still there, but a whisper of what it once was against her mind.

“What is this?” He asks, seemingly more to himself than her. She shivers as she feels a knuckle drag along the outside of her mind again, a quake splitting her right down the middle, rattling her bones and making her core throb once more. And there, she realizes, is where she gives herself away.

Her breath hitches at the base of her throat and she waits with restless anticipation, feeling like breathing would be a betrayal to her own honor.

“Your mind’s defenses are remarkable, for even I cannot seep through them,” he notes. “But your emotion gives you away. You feel… warm. You are… excited.”

She gulps down the dry lump at the base of her throat and shakes her head, her lips trembling against one another. “No,” she croaks. “I’m not… you’re just— you’re full of shit.”

It’s a feeble attempt at convincing him he is wrong. Even if she had a sliver of confidence in her speech, she and he both knew she’d be lying. He felt it. He knows.

“Naughty girl,” he snickers, that invisible finger brushing against her mind pulling away to caress the line of her jaw. “You enjoy being at my mercy, don’t you, filthy little thing.”

Shame burns her cheeks and she does not speak because she does not trust her own tongue, for it is sure to betray her. The truth is, the flame at her core has blossomed into a raging wildfire. Her want is driving her mad, for touch, for some friction. She hates feeling this way, especially for an Imperial, a man who seeks nothing but his own gain. A man who will slaughter and take as much as he needs. A man she cannot even see. A man whom she doesn’t even know is a man at all.

Want is want. She craves that supernatural force that was wrapped around her throat moments ago, friction to quell the ache between her legs. She cannot win like this forever, but she can use this against him. He already seems intrigued enough by her need— it’s a degrading advantage, but an advantage all the same.

Her silence suffices for her interrogator and that invisible finger tracing the line of her jaw lowers, striking like a match down the column of her throat, down the neckline of her top.

“You will not speak,” he says, voice lower, breathier against the synthesizer. It’s painfully quiet, save for the sound of his breathing and she can hear her own trembling breath, pressing her lips together in an attempt to silence herself. “But I can make you scream.”

Her lips fall agape for a gasp to pass as the finger curls below her belly, dangerously close to her center. She tugs at her restraints, discomfort circling her limbs. Her core throbs at the tease and it aches for more but she doesn’t dare speak. Alas, she doesn’t need to. Her gasp sufficed for her captor.

“You can try to keep me out of your mind,” he continues, that finger brushing its nail just above her clit and it sobs, pulsing with need. She presses her lips together, firm, adamant to not make even the slightest of sounds. She breathes heavily through her nostrils however, and perspiration begins to bead at the crown of her head. “You can try and resist me. But how long, I wonder, until it is too much?”

She hears clicking and the sound of air hissing. She trembles in anticipation, feeling a mixture of eagerness and dread as she waits for her captor’s next moves. She realizes she no longer hears the sound of synthesized breathing and her brow dips behind her blindfold as the noise of something heavy falling to the ground permeates the room.

And then she feels smoke— no, breath— against her cheek, rolling like ash over her skin. She trembles in its wake.

“How long before you break?”

The voice no longer sounds the same but it sounds human and it definitely sounds male. The voice is deep as well as it is rich, enthralling in the way it slips through her ears with ease, like silk against skin. It rumbles in her chest like the sound of the earth shaking and it splits through to her center and she is suddenly alive, erupting with spurts of hot magma. There is no longer any denying the blossoming arousal between her legs and she curses because honestly, this was not the way she thought things would end. Of all her near death experiences, she never once thought that an Imperial man’s voice would be her demise.

Oh, how she hopes the Maker is not watching.

“Fuck you,” she spits at her captor as his breath caresses her cheeks, his invisible finger tracing circles into her skin just above her arousal. She hears a breath, meant to be a laugh.

“You don’t even have the chance,” he whispers and his voice coils around her ears, twisting like vines with sharp thorns, piercing her skin. “But you, on the other hand…”

It happens so suddenly she has no choice but to yelp.

The invisible finger dips lower until it flicks against the underside of her clit and she pulses, aching at the merest of touches. Her heart stutters against her chest and it rises and falls with her unsteady breathing. She may not have a face to match to this voice but she can only imagine the grin her captor must be grinning, watching her become so broken at the slightest of touches.

“So it is true,” he says, the pad of the invisible finger brushing over her clit once more, applying the lightest of pressure against it as it circles over it. “You like being at someone’s mercy. My mercy.”

She seethes. “Oh, you really wish, don’t you, you perverted fuck?” She manages through her tightly gritted teeth.

A deep, dark chuckle. And then, “then your body betrays you.”

The finger rubs over her swollen, sobbing clit over and over and over again, steadily applying more pressure. Her head is spinning and she hates how much control this enigma of a man has over her already. She hates how much she’s enjoying this and she wonders then, if it is him or her who is the so-called “perverted fuck.” Both, she thinks. It could very well be both.

“Your people think you’ve abandoned them,” her captor whispers somewhere near her ear, another invisible finger joining its friend in working at her clit. She yelps again, screwing her lids shut behind her blindfold. “Your idiocy leaves them all alone to fend for themselves. They must’ve all turned on you by now.”

She knows what game he is trying to play and no matter what her body tells her, how much it will try to betray her, there wasn’t a chance in hell she was going to lose. A game, after all, is fruitless if it is merely one-sided. He may break her physically but she has proven herself capable mentally of keeping even him away from the precious stronghold of her mind. Her mind is her own and it is her fortress. She would not jeopardize that for anything.

“Still not… telling you… any—!” Her head tilts back in ecstasy and a moan manages to escape past her lips as a third invisible finger is added to the mix, and together, the three digits circle her clit, teasing down the lines of her folds to her sopping entrance. She pants as she tugs again at her restraints, grinding her teeth in focus.

“Why not give in?” He asks, persisting on. A fingertip dares to dip into her heat and she whimpers, her body trembling in her shackles. She hears the chains above her head and on the floor at her feet clang against the metal ground when she moves. “They all hate you. They will never welcome you back. Who can think of a better mercy than to give yourself to me?”

“I can think of a million other mercies far better than that,” she snips, groaning as another finger delves past her folds, entering her sopping heat. She no longer sees complete blackness— for with each pump of the invisible fingers, every delicious scrape against her walls makes her begin to see white. She’s dangerously close to an edge she knows she shouldn’t want to be on, but her body betrays her again and even her mind begins to believe it too.

“Is that so?” He asks and she presses her lips together in a firm, thin line, trying to ignore how good his fingers— or his invisible fingers?— feel pumping inside of her. She can still feel his breath against her cheek and when he speaks again, she feels flesh, lips, against her ear. “Let me strike you a bargain. You tell me of the origins of your operations, and I will allow you to release.”

Her breath hitches and suddenly what blinding white light in front of her seems far away, mere wishful thinking. A boulder-sized lump forms at the base of her throat and she tries to clear it away, but it’s hard when the pad of a thumb begins rubbing circles onto her clit on top of the two fingers practically digging her orgasm out of her center.

She decides she hates him again. He is cruel and he is frustratingly, devastatingly good with his hands— or his imaginary hands, or whatever (to be frank, she’s tired of trying to discern whether these fingers inside of her are real or sheer sorcery, it only worsens the ache in her head)— and she hates it. She wishes she could have her cake and eat it too— have her release whilst simultaneously maintaining the secrecy that her people’s lives depend on.

Those lips against the shell of her ear curve into a grin and she whimpers, feeling herself teetering dangerously over a line she knows she cannot cross. She’s losing his game— and she swore she wouldn’t.

Get yourself together! She curses herself mentally, frustration piercing through to her skull like an arrow. Damn him! Damn him, damn him, damn him, damn him!

“Perhaps, if I made it easier for you, you will be more inclined to give in to your temptation,” he whispers and it curls warmly around her ear and her body shivers before it jolts, as if struck by lightning when she feels the sleeves of her top sliding down the line of her arms.

Her heart lurches against her chest and before she can object or even properly form a thought, she feels hands— ghostly hands, not really there but still— kneading her breasts, now exposed to her Imperial stranger. Fuck, she thinks and whimpers when ghostly palms slide over her nipples, her knees trembling, head tossing backwards.

“I know how badly you want it,” her captor whispers, still beside her ear. Then she feels another hand, one she is almost certain is real, brush its leather-clad fingers over her cheek as it swipes loose strands of hair behind her ear. “Think of how good you will feel, submitting to me. I can make you my pet, my wife. You’ll know a life of nobility, fit for a queen. And you will feel like this…” the fingers inside of her curl and her toes follow suit. Tears sting the outskirts of her eyes at how good it feels. “…all the time. I can show you a world of pleasure beyond anything you could dream of, even in your wildest of fantasies. All you have to do is submit yourself to me.”

It’s a tempting offer, she will give him that. The ghostly hands inside her throbbing heat and kneading her sensitive breasts are almost enough to make her forget why she’s here, who she is supposed to be fighting for. His voice, his words, even, although she is ashamed to admit it, are almost enough to make her comply.

To spend everyday like this, dizzy from pleasure at the hands, or even the imaginary hands, of this enigma of a man who is her captor is certainly not at the top of her objection list. It’s a shame, however, that she cannot have both this and the freedom she and her people have spent years striving for.

It pains her to muster these words on her tongue, while the fingers inside of her are pumping and curling so deliciously well, she begins to see stars. When she’s so close to falling into the blinding white of her orgasm. When his lips are so close to hers, she can nearly taste them.

She swallows and clears the lump in her throat. “You certainly know how to strike a bargain,” she begins, a dull jab at humor. Her tongue darts between her lips. “But I already told you: I’m not telling you shit.”

For a moment, the fingers do not still inside of her and she thinks, maybe, foolishly, that perhaps he will allow her to come anyway. She’s already so close, maybe he wants her to release just as much as she does. Maybe, just maybe, he will spare her at least this mercy.

A sigh. “Shame,” he murmurs against her lips. “But, heed my warning…” he trails off and she feels his breath, his mouth against the shell of her ear again. Her entire body shakes and she gasps, feeling his lips move against her skin. “…there are other ways you can be broken.”

This final warning feels like a mark, a branding. Her fate is sealed on the lips of her captor and he will use this power on her, in time.

The fingers inside of her and the hands on her breast pull away and she feels the sleeves of her top being pulled back over her shoulders, covering her chest. But she hears footsteps and the sound of something scraping against the ground, being picked up, perhaps. She hears the door slide open and closed and she knows she is alone, once again, in her prison. She shudders from the loss of the fingers inside of her and the chains of her shackles rattle as a curse slips quietly past her lips.

She is safe, for now. But the burning that remains between her legs and this curiosity to know more about her captor blooming in her chest makes her unsure she will be as confident next time. She shivers, feeling the weight of her isolation on her weary bones.

a/n; so i said i would post this last month and totally forgot to... SORRY ABOUT THAT! life honestly just got in the way and i've been working on my novel but ENOUGH ABOUT THAT, I HOPE YOU ALL ENJOYED THIS ONE! i wrote this a couple months ago and thought this was one of my favorite fics i've written, so i hope you all like this one!

💫 if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging or even leaving a reply to let me know! your feedback is always appreciated 🫶

TAGLIST

@your-nanas-house

@chaoticevilbakugo

@johnbassplayercutie

@sydkneez

@sunnytotheend

#anakin skywalker #darth vader #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin x reader #anakin smut #anakin skywalker imagine #star wars anakin #anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker fanfiction #darth vader x y/n #darth vader x you #darth vader x reader #star wars #star wars imagine #star wars fanfiction

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with-my-calamitous-love · 5 months ago

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saved this for valentines day because i am so astronomically down bad for this man. anyway bodyguard! chuuya 🤍🫧❄️ gn! on the first section, nsfw f! below the divider 💌

bodyguard! chuuya, who born to do this job. who is a natural protector, who can be both rough and affectionate, fiercely loyal even to a fault, even if it seals his fate. but even statues crumble if they're made to break.

bodyguard! chuuya, who has lost everything that he's ever cared about. who is sure it's a curse- that whatever comes close to his heart is sent to fall into ruins, a product of gravity. he knows that he should have faith, but finds himself questioning the universe, if he's simply destined to be alone. who contemplates even getting close to you on this job, if he'll only end up more alone.

bodyguard! chuuya, who has the powers of a god that he didn't ask for. who sometimes wakes up in a cold sweat, dreary eyes picturing glowing red marks up and down his skin, weaving around his limbs, a monstrous form he's scared of bringing to late. who sometimes feels that his desire to be human are like the last drops of an ink pen- something that isn't going to work.

bodyguard! chuuya, who isn't sure if he should open up to you, who knows that the most singing pains of the heart come from stabs while vulnerable. who knows that by admitting his faults, he opens himself up to betrayal- the one thing he hates most in the world. who learns from you that to be hurt is to be human, and that his pain is a symbol of that humanity.

bodyguard! chuuya, who barely catches himself falling for you. who starts out his task as a simple mission- protect you, and nothing more. who fails to see you cracking the locks in his chest, crashing into you like a head on collision. who falls so hard and so fast, his feelings appear to him as a paradox. he's lost everyone, and the universe is giving him another chance to protect them.

bodyguard! chuuya, who you share a vow with, one that you'll both uphold. his is to protect you, to throw himself in front of flames and bullets to keep a smile on your face. where yours is to imagine things that haven't happened yet, keeping him grounded, teaching him that it's okay to love. that he may be dangerous, or deemed wicked, or a monster, but that you don't care. that you see him for him, and thats enough for you.

bodyguard! chuuya, who does so much more than protect you from physical threats. who holds your hand during panic attacks, stroking your hair and letting you breathe with him. who holds your hair back when you throw up, and carries you back to bed. who will kiss your hand and hug you when you need someone, when you need him. who sometimes struggles to keep his longings locked, knowing he needs to protect you, and wonders if that means protecting you from him- from the monster he knows he can be.

bodyguard! chuuya, who melts in your touch, never crossing the line, never wanting to make you uncomfortable or unsafe. who, even after learning you feel the same, hesitates. he isn't supposed to love, or care. everyone who has ever come close to him has ended up leaving. who learns that you have a funny way of surprising him, of assuring him that if this isn't forever, it'll be for as long as it lasts. a star that burns out is shines brighter than infinite darkness. given the choice between forever with someone or a night with chuuya? the choice is obvious.

✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.*

bodyguard! chuuya, who is a passionate lover. who indulges in messy kisses, setting your bedsheets ablaze with every touch. who will slowly undress you, pulling down the fabric, unlacing and undoing whatever he needs. who sees more and more skin as just more area he gets to lavish and love, gazing at every part of you- from the tip of your nose to the very depths of your soul- with nothing short of perfect adoration.

bodyguard! chuuya, who talks you through it. who asks if you like this position or if his fingers feel good. who looks up at you while he goes down on you, lips wrapped around your clit, fingers angled just right, and asks if you feel good- as if you haven't been bawling his name.

bodyguard! who does it slow and passionate. making sure his cock reaches in at your deepest parts, savoring how your pussy clamps down on him. who will take your wrists and pin them on either side of your head, forehead against yours, moaning in unison with you while he drags in and out so slow its agonizingly pleasurable. who draws out your orgasms for as long as possible, rubbing circles on your clit, kissing your tits, licking your body until you're on fire.

bodyguard! chuuya, who can just as easily be an asshole in bed. who flips you around and tosses you into positions until you find one you like. who is always open to experimentation- seeing what pet names you like, how long you can go, if you like getting worshipped or punished. who doesn't stop until your gushing, melting in pleasure or getting pounded into the sheets.

bodyguard! who grits his teeth in pleasure when he takes you from the back, feeling you wrapped around his cock like a warm, wet, vice. who lets you adjust for however long you need to, sensing your impatience and desperation to feel him deep. who holds your hands behind your back, leaning down, telling you how good you're doing before fucking you into oblivion.

bodyguard! chuuya, whose idea of a date is seeing how many times he can creampie you until you're thoroughly wrecked. who takes it like a challenge, pushing your thighs up to your chest, burying himself deep, finding the right angle before stuffing you full of his seed. who sees your teary eyes, mouth stuck in an O shape and hoarse throat, he knows he's doing something right. who, after about the 3rd or 4th time he's gotten you cumming (he's lost tracked) finally stops bullying orgasms out of you and lays you down on the bed.

bodyguard! chuuya, who has found something worth protecting, laying next to you, pulling your body close to his. whispers that he'll pick up where he left off in the morning, before kissing you goodnight. <3

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cherie-doll · 10 months ago

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𓆩♡𓆪 Headcanon: You’ve Got Sleeping Issues

ᶻz Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Alejandro, Phillip Graves, Keegan, König, Horangi, Nikto

‎܂ ｡ ༢ medicine isn’t enough i need someone to knock me out with a shovel (for all my insomniacs <3)

Ghost

Oh, what do two insomniacs do with each other on restless nights?

He used to be alone on these nights, listening to the ticking of the clock as the hours cruelly pass by without granting rest

Now you both sit in silence watching the reborning sun and it’s kind of enjoyable now

Pulls out a bottle of NyQuil and takes turns taking shots until either you or him or both simultaneously pass out

Soap

When he’s with you he wants to do everything with you; including sleeping

He’s visibly upset that you can��t sleep but he’s not mat at you, he’s mad at whatever prevents you to cuddle next to him under a heap of blanket and pillows at night

You’re often tossing and turning in bed, fidgeting with your hands as you pace around the bedroom that it wakes him

You try and coax him to go back to sleep but he’s up and determined to stay up with you bingewatching tv shows, trying weird snack combinations, etc…

Gaz

Tries out everything to get you to sleep

From adjusting your routine to diet choices before bed

He knows you hate taking pills and it’s the last thing you resort to by doctor’s orders

He adjusts your pillows and blankets on your side of the bed, letting you rest your head on his shoulder as you drift off to sleep

Gently cradles your head as he lays you down on your back

And doesn’t sleep until he hears your breaths change and the pulsation of your heart, at ease knowing you’re finally resting

Alejandro

You have terrible nightmares that prevent you from getting a peaceful sleep

Anytime you awaken in a panic; cold sweat, hands seizing and tugging at your shirt, feeling your heart thumping wildly in your chest

He wakes up right away upon hearing your quickened breaths

“It’s alright, I’m right here cariño”

Touching foreheads, light touches on your arms and neck to sooth you, holds you close to him, intertwining fingers

Taking you to the window where you can observe the moon, “see the moon? Look at how she shines… focus on her lustre.”

Phillip Graves

Turning over in bed, his arms searching for you only to find you in a slouched position

“Hard time falling asleep doll?” He drags out his words, words slurring together from having just woken up

When you whimper and nod he pulls you down with him, his hands pulling you against his chest and placing sweet and comforting kisses on your head as he caresses your hair, softly humming

Spooning you is one of his fave ways to feel your body against his, wants to feel as if he’s protecting you and wishes he could lull your mind

Keegan

Knows you’re likely to fall asleep at random times of the day due to fatigue

With a tap of his finger on your wrist he’ll signal for you to rest your head on his lap

He’ll take to trailing his hand up and down your back, following the outline of your spine with his index finger, slower and more deliberately

Speaks very low and softly to give you reassurance he’s there, leans down and places a soft kiss on your cheek once you’ve fallen asleep

König

He takes one look at you and immediately knows you did not sleep

And yet, even if you watched the moon descend and the sun rise your cherub eyes are as loving and warm as they meet his

Whilst he was asleep, you inched closed and wrapped his strong arms around your body

Now he’s awoken to holding what he considers dear, you, enfolded in his arms gently

Cuddles and stays curled up next to you until you drift off to sleep, even if it’s only for a little bit

Horangi

At night, before bed he prepares teas, warms milk and anything else he can think of to get you to sleep

As daybreak enfolds he finds you yet again with dimmed eyes, signaling you did not sleep

You feel as if a river rushes through your bones as he strokes your back in circles, whispering softly in your ear

The soft, golden glow of the sun makes this scenery seem dreamy as your eyelids feel heavier

He watches until you fall asleep and subtly slips out of your arms, tucking you into bed and closing the curtains to let you sleep in and catch up on your sleep

Nikto

He’s either out like a rock or is tossing and turning unable to quiet his mind

In the silence, thinking you’re asleep, he reaches out to your form to engulf in your warmth only to find you awake when he glances at your face

You open your eyes and he freezes, already starting to retreat before you clutch his hand close, not letting go

“Sorry…for waking you” he mumbles, before you tell him you can’t sleep either

He’s silent for a moment before he softly says, “come closer” so he’s spooning you as you inhale his scent and fall asleep, your body rising with every breath; you’re like his stuffed animal 〜(⸝⸝o̴̶̷᷄ ·̭ o̴̶̷̥᷅⸝⸝)♡

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mavrintarou · 2 months ago

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[10:49 AM] Oikawa Tooru

I have been gatekeeping this for a long time. I've been in a writing slump, wanting to write but not knowing how to. It sucks. I get too deep into it and write too long that I don't know how to end it. I'm trying to write in first person; switching was a challenge, so you may see some mistakes.

Warning: smut, younger Tooru and older Y/n.

You couldn’t help but frown when you saw two missed calls from Tooru and a few texts from him.

Tooru is not a texter at all. He prefers to call or leave voice messages.

All his texts ask if you are free, are you free yet, and when you will be free.

You reached his voicemail when you tried to return the call; it went straight to voicemail.

You call your brother. “Hey – I got two missed calls from Oikawa, and when I tried to call him back, it went straight to voicemail. What’s his address? I’ll go check on him.”

You don’t know how your brother knows his address and his door code, but he does.

“He’s fucken emo,” Hajime warned, “If he gives you a hard time, tell me, I’ll beat him in the head.”

“Sure, sure.” You laughed, hanging up.

Living in Argentina, your little brother’s best friend was the last person you had expected to run into at the nightclub. The person who was dancing behind you for a solid five minutes, moving with you… Everything just felt so perfect.

Until you turned around to take a look at this person.

You were almost convinced that someone must have spiked your drink when you weren’t looking. You smeared your eye makeup, rubbing both eyes to make sure it was really him.

“Oikawa!” You remember shouting, “Is that really you?” You say in Japanese.

His cocky smile was all you needed to confirm.

Your little brother failed to notify you that his annoyingly cute best friend was moving halfway across the world to the same city and country.

It turns out that Tooru was the newest setter to join the professional men’s volleyball team of Argentina. You were the team’s head doctor.

You tried to call Tooru again to give him a heads-up but reached his voicemail again. You texted him for the sake of texting.

You politely knocked on his door, and after thirty seconds of no response, you entered the code to the door.

“Oikawa?” You called, locking the door behind you. “It’s me, Y/n. Are you okay? Where are you?”

Familiar soft foot pads echo coming closer to you.

“Hiya, Chibi!” You picked up the multicolored Maltese Shih Tzu, who looks like an animated cartoon puppy. “Where’s daddy?”

The little furball scrambled out of your hold and ran away, leaving you to hurry up to take your shoes off and follow.

Chibi scratches at the door. “Oikawa? You in here?”

You heard a faint, “Yes.”

You found him on his bed, and your eyes widened. You dropped your bag and hurried towards him. Trying to calm the panic in you, you took a deep breath and evaluated the situation. You first touched his forehead; your palm was immediately wet from his sweat. “You’re having a fever? Are you in pain?”

He had suffered from a knee injury during training, and you had ordered him off the court for three weeks.

You’ve never seen him so furious with you, but you didn’t budge. You are aware of his injuries from his younger days and have warned him to take care of himself.

Tooru only grunted and reached for your hand, pressing your cold fingers against his hot cheeks. “I tried to call you…”

“I know, I’m sorry I was busy,” you say. “Is your knee hurting?”

“Everything hurts…”

Two hours later, his fever finally broke. You forced him to wake up and eat.

“Would you like to ice the knee?”

Setting the soup down, he nods, “Yes, I could use some icing. If you could, I should have ice pads in the freezer. Can you grab them for me?”

You nod, leaving and returning seconds later. Carefully adjusting his leg, you place the cool pack on his knee, elevating his ankle as well. “You gave me a scare there for a second. Your phone went straight to voice mail, and you weren’t responding…”

“My phone battery is dead, and my charger was out of reach. I was too much in pain to grab it.”

The goofball had avoided all pain meds in general.

“If you don’t treat your knee pain, it will only get worse, and by worst, I mean your career can be over in the blink of an eye.” You shouldn’t have to lecture him, but you do. He is someone you care about.

Tooru nodded and, for the first time, didn’t make any teasing remark. He took any opportunity to flirt with you.

“You should rest,” you say, standing up.

His face flashes panic as he reaches for you. “You’re leaving?”

You blink in confusion. “Do you need something else?”

“Stay,” he says without hesitating.

You raise a brow at him. “You want me to stay?” He nods. Tooru suddenly looks like the little ten-year-old boy you first met all those years ago. “Are you uncomfortable?”

“Kind of, I’m kind of nervous being alone if I’m not feeling well.”

You agree that he has no one to check on him except for yourself.

“I have a guest room across the hall, You can stay there, but stay here, please?”

“Okay,” you give in. You tug your wrist, but he keeps his hold tight. “I’ll stay. Now let go.”

“Stay until I fall asleep.”

“I give you an inch and you’re going to take a foot?” You make a face at him, unable to resist his puppy eyes. “Fine, let go so I can clear up your food here.”

“You have 15 minutes to fall asleep, no talking.”

You lay on his bed, glaring at him as he faces you with his cheeky smile. He did not look like a sick patient. You don’t know why your heart is beating as if it’s trying to escape your chest,

“How about touching?”

“Tooru.”

He smiles at your warning tone. “Okay, no touching. But can you talk? I like hearing your voice. You have a nice voice.”

“Stop looking at me, and I’ll talk. I’ll walk you through my morning and skincare routine.”

Obediently, he shifted onto his back and closed his eyes.

“I wake up and stretch, do at least ten minutes of yoga in bed before I get out.” You roll onto your side, facing him. “Then I get out of bed and go to the bathroom, use the toilet, and then wash my hands… then put my headband on…”

“You don’t do morning showers?”

“No, I don’t like morning showers. And you’re not supposed to be talking.”

“Oh, yes, right. Carry on.”

“That’s a warning. Talk one more time, and I’ll leave.”

He hums, understanding.

“I start with splashing my face with warm water, and then I use my oil cleanser first, lathering my face and focusing on areas where I often break out most like my nose and chin.” You paused, thinking about your routine. “And then I let it sit for a few seconds before rinsing. I then go with a second face wash, usually a deep cleanser, and repeat the same process. I dry my face and then use whichever toner I want and massage it….”

You look at Tooru and see his eyes are on you, and they quickly shut.

“Go to sleep, Oikawa.” You huff, “If you’re not going to go to sleep, I’m leaving.” You move to get up but stop, “what are you doing?”

“Stay,” he laces your fingers together and pulls your hand over his stomach. “You were talking about massaging…” He yawns.

“Yes, massaging the toner into my skin…”

“I never had a head massage before…”

“Let go of my hand.” You try to pull your hand free, but he tightens his grip.

“No, you’ll leave if I let go.”

“Do you want a head massage or not?”

He opens his eyes and narrows them for a split second before letting go of your hand.

You scoot closer and reach to run your fingers through his thick mop of brown hair. His eyes immediately shut, and he sighs. You use your nails and stroke his scalp in a circular motion.

“Keep… keep talking please…”

“ I find what serum to use, that depends on my skin at the moment… if I’m breaking out or if I have redness… it’ll depend on the serum…”

His breath is steady a few minutes later.

[Tooru’s POV]

“He can totally do so much better!” Y/n exclaimed, clearly frustrated at the blind date show we are watching. She cupped her mouth with one hand to prevent chips from flying out. “She is totally two-timing him! Leading him on!” She finally looks over at me and frowns, What?”

I smile at her, shaking my head. “And you didn’t want to watch this show with me,” I reminded. “Look at you, so invested now.”

“Well, this is your place, you choose the show,” she answered.

It could be your place too, our place, I wanted to say.

Y/n has been over every single day for the past week. With me being in temporary jail, because that’s what it sure feels like, I’m stuck being homebound with Chibi, who seems to be quite annoyed with me.

I know Y/n is near and at the door when Chibi starts barking, a specific bark that I’ve picked up that is for only Y/n. He runs to the door, barking and scratching at the door and give it a few seconds, Y/n would enter, cooing and telling my damn dog how much she misses him.

I want her to fucken miss me too.

Because I fucken missed her.

I’m fucken jealous of my damn dog when Y/n gives all her attention to him. To make matters worse, when she carries him in her arms, the dog dares to look at me and smirk while enjoying her fingers combing through his fluffy hair.

That should be me that she’s giving a head massage to.

She has been taking Chibi out for walks for me since I’m incapable of doing so. After they return, that’s when she gives me her full attention, and I get to smirk at my dog.

I know Y/n is hesitant with being at my place. Technically, she is my sports doctor. But first, she is the person I have been in love with since I was thirteen, and to me, that overrides everything above all else.

She shifts between her doctor-mode and moments when she treats me as a man rather than a patient.

I don’t know when she stopped treating me like Iwa’s best friend; that was not my favorite Y/n. When I admitted to myself that I was in love with my best friend’s older sister, I wanted so badly for Y/n to look at me as a man. A man who has feelings for a woman, even if she is five years older.

“I have something to ask you…” She looks up at me with eyes full of hesitation and nervousness.

“What’s wrong?” My heart quickened as I began thinking of the worst-case scenario.

She inhales sharply before asking, “My apartment is getting renovated without much notice, I have one week to find a new place, and I have not had any luck…”

I picked up where this was going. “You need a place? Got it, you can stay here.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “How’d –“

“When do you need to move out by? Can I hire movers for you?”

She shakes her head as if breaking out of a trance. “Wait, movers? I need to be out by the end of the week, but I can figure that out. I just needed a temporary place –“

“Yes, you can stay here, Y/n. I have plenty of room here, you can have the master bedroom if you like so you can have your private bathroom.” I tried to contain my desperation. Hopefully she can’t hear how fast my heart is beating at the thought of us living together? “Let me hire movers for you. I don’t want you carrying or lifting anything alone.” Because I can’t help. “You can move all your stuff here, there’s plenty of room.”

“I’m not moving my furniture here; I’ll get a storage for it.”

I haven’t been to Y/n’s place before, but from what I remember, Y/n was a minimalist.

“I don’t have a lot since I like minimal stuff,” she answered, confirming my thinking. “I’ll probably sell it since I’ve been thinking about getting new stuff.”

“Let me hire some movers regardless,” I say again. “Let me take care of you.”

Something flashed in her eyes, and I knew I had hit a tender spot in her heart.

I remember Iwa’s words; my sister is the mom I never had. She’s always taken care of my dad and me, and she doesn’t ever take time for herself. She doesn’t know how to let others take care of her. So, when you see her, please take care of her for me.

“That’s very nice of you, Tooru – “

When she uses my given name, she sees me as a man versus her brother’s friend. “Great, I’ll get in contact with Cecilly to coordinate something!”

“But you don’t have to take care of me…” she finished, giving me her friendly smile. The one that reminds me that I’m just her brother’s friend.

“Nope, I’m helping for all the times you’ve helped me out so you’re accepting it. No arguments.” I held my ground.

She inhales sharply before sighing and shocks me by accepting, “Okay, only because I have to ask for one more request.”

“What is it?” I tried not to sound too eager to assist.

“I have a dental appointment in two weeks where I will need to go under for them to take out all four of my wisdom teeth. I’ll need someone –“

“I’ll be happy to help.” This was perfect because I am officially out of jail after tonight. I am able to do my normal activities starting tomorrow, including driving.

“You have to let me finish!”

I smile. “No need. You’re going to ask if I can be your emergency contact and buddy to the dental office and bring you back?” She nods. “Great, it all works out since you’ll be living here anyways.”

She lets out a soft laugh that sends my cock twitching in my jogger. “You’re right. If I’m going to stay here with you, it’ll be best to ask you instead of Miguel.”

My heart freezes. There is no way in hell she is going to ask Miguel to be her emergency contact. “I got it; there's no need to bother Fuentez.”

He was the retired captain of the team who was trying hard to get into Y/n’s bed.

“Mr. Oikawa?” I look up hearing my name. “Y/n’s procedure is completed; she just woke up from anesthesia.”

I follow the assistant to the back and into a room where Y/n’s eyes widen, beaming at me. “Drooru!” She sits up in the chair, holding her arms out like she was requesting a hug. “I mish you…”

I look at the other assistant in the room, and she just smiles, “She’s a bit loopy.”

I nod and close the space between Y/n and me. She gestures to get closer and hug her. I lean in and wrap my arms around her. I press my lips to her hair. “Hey silly girl.”

She inhales deeply, pressing her nose against the collar of my shirt. “You schmell so goo…” her words slurs.

I look at the dental assistance and feel my face flush. She tries hard not to laugh, I’m sure she sees this daily.

“Well, Y/n, I think you’re all set to go home with your friend.” She hands some paper over to me, indicating they were her discharge forms.

Y/n pulls away and with a serious look at the assistant, “he’s my lover, he just doesn’t know it yet.”

The dental assistant played shock, “Oh, I did not know that. I hope you tell him soon then.”

I look down at our intertwined hands, Y/n had insisted on holding my hand once we got in the car. She has my hand sandwich in between both of hers, as if I’ll try to pull away.

Little does she know, I never want her to let me go.

“Your hands,” she lifts my hand up as if inspecting it, “it’s so… big and… big… I love it.” She flexes my fingers straight, “you have such pretty fingers… so long… I have always wondered how they would feel inside me…”

I nearly ran at a traffic light.

This girl was going to kill us both.

I get us home in a timely manner, if she notices visible tent between my legs, she doesn’t say anything.

I put her in bed, and she doesn’t protest, thankfully. The next question is not meant to come out sexually, but it did. “Do you need me to take off anything?”

Her closed eyes slowly open, and she gives me a side glance. I don’t know if she was sobering up from the anesthesia or if she was still loopy.

“Can you help me take off my socks and jeans? I don’t like them,” she answered.

“Absolutely,” I answered and reached to first take off her socks and then went for her jeans, which she was trying to unbutton herself. “Let me do it.”

She drops her hands and lets out a deep breath. “Don’t judge my underwear…”

“I won’t.”

“Or my bra… I’m not like other girls where I wear matching stuff… I’m lucky if I wear a bra or underwear. I like going commando.”

I choke and cough at the same time. Does she mean to tell me that there were some days she wore no underwear underneath her outfit? I cleared my throat, “I won’t judge.”

She looks up at me with eyes that would make me fall to my knees before her. “Can you take off my bra too? My arms feel like spaghetti noodles.”

I blink, “Spaghetti noodles?”

She demonstrated, holding her arms up in the air and waving them. “Like this…”

I chuckle, “Okay, let me get your jeans off first.” She nods, putting her arms down. I take her jeans off and try not to get too excited when her panties are exposed. They have blue stripes on them. I reach for her hands and pull her up into a sitting position. “I won’t take off your shirt, I’ll just reach behind to unclasp the hooks to your bra.”

She narrows her eyes at me. “How do you know how to take off a bra? How many times have you done it? Huh?” She interrogated, eyes narrowing at you.

I blink, shocked. “What?”

She reaches for my hands and press both my palms to her tits, “do you touch other women’s tits too?”

I refused to answer her.

Her eyes water, and she lets go of my wrists, reaching behind to undo her bra. When she struggles, I call her name softly, reaching to grab her wrists to stop her. “Let me,” I say, sliding my hand up the back of her shirt to unclasp the hooks and pull the straps so she can slip her arms out. I grabbed her bra from underneath her shirt and set it aside, noting how warm the cups were. When I turned back to look at her, Y/n tossed her shirt over my head and looked at me with a blink stare.

Do. Not. Look.

“Are my breasts small?” She cups her breasts and jiggles them, “They’re so much smaller than the women around here.” She puffs out her chest, “Here, touch them, Tooru.”

Fucken hell…

When I don’t make a move, she reaches for my hands and places them on her breasts. They were warm and small, yet they fit in my palm just the way I have imagined they would.

“Your hands… are too big for them,” she pouts.

“They’re perfect,” I say softly, massaging them unconsciously. They were so soft, her perky nipples tickled my palm. I rub them softly, trapping her nipple between my fingers. “They are perfect to me and that’s all that matters.”

I need to stop.

But I can’t.

“Yes… just like that,” Y/n moaned, her eyes were shut, and she leaned back on her hands, thrusting her chest into my hands. “You make them feel… feel so good…”

I need to stop.

But I can’t.

My hands keep massaging them and my mouth water, wanting a taste.

“Tooru... oh fuck, Tooru... I love your hands... I love it... I love you...”

“We shouldn’t,” I choke, and pull away, quickly standing up. I push her flat on the bed, “Sleep, Y/n.”

She looks up at me with wide eyes, “Tooru…”

She was about to reach out to me when I stepped back, running a hand through my hair. “I’ll check up on you later.”

Shit always changes when you cross the line.

I’ve been ignoring Y/n for two days now.

Thankfully, I got the green light to return for training and practice. I don’t know if it’s a blessing, but Y/n has been busy with other team members.

I’m a coward when she does try to talk to me, I’ve dodged her.

“Tooru.” I freeze right before escaping my room. “Come here.”

I turn around and face her. “Y/n.”

“I remember what happened.”

“Fuck,” I swear under my breath. I study her expression and body language, and it’s different from what I’m expecting. She looks scared.

“Well, cat is out of the bag.”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

Her expression softened as she said, “What I said that day of the surgery was nothing but the truth."

My ears ring with an annoying sound and I feel my brain has errored out. All I could utter was, “What?”

“I remember what happened and how I acted that day, but it was all real – is what I’m saying.” She sighs, “I’m sorry if I ruined our friendship or made you feel uncomfortable. I’m not going to hide it anymore since there is nothing to hide anymore.” She gives me a sheepish smile and shrugs, “All in all, it trickles down to that I’m in love with you, for a while now.”

I’ve never been more thankful of my long legs as it closed the distance in a second. I cup her face in my hands and kiss her. I’m so high with our kiss I barely feel her hands on my waist.

We both gasp for a breath of air when I break away, only for a second to say, “Me too, I have love you too.” My eyes shut as I rub my nose against hers. “This is so unreal.” I opened my eyes, and she was still in front of me and in my arms. “I’ve dreamed about this so many times.” I trail my knuckles against her soft cheek. “If this is a dream, I don’t want to wake up.”

Her eyes filled with tears, and she shook her head. “Kiss me again so I know it’s real.”

She didn’t have to tell me twice.

[Thirteen days later]

Fate finally brought us together, only to separate us for two agonizing weeks.

The following day, after we cleared the air, Y/n was sent to a last-minute five-day conference in Mendoza, a few hours away.

I had to leave for an away game in Portugal the day she returned.

We could only resort to video calls.

“God, I miss you.” I sounded like a clingy person.

“Just one more day.” Her bare face made her look younger. I can see the freckles that she often hid under her makeup.

“Say it,” I demand, more like beg.

She makes a face at me before her cheeks redden and quietly mutters, “I miss you, too. A lot.” She turns the camera to Chibi and my boy barks, seeing my face. “We both miss you terribly. Your place is too quiet.”

“Our place,” I correct her.

My heart is about to burst. Y/n has assured me that she’s not used to verbally expressing her feelings, but for me, she will work on it.

Because I love that shit.

I love being told by Y/n…

“I saw you play today.” It makes me freaken elastic knowing she watched me play, even if it was through a screen.

“Did you behave today?” She knows how nasty I can get on the court; she has yet to know how nasty I can get in bed.

“I miss you, too.” She has yet to initiate it but hearing her return it is good enough.

“I can’t wait to see you tomorrow,” Y/n murmured.

“Me too. I can’t wait to return home to you two,” I say. My eyes focus on her neckline, which I wish so much to bury my face against. “Pull the camera back more; show me what you’re wearing.”

The corner of her mouth shifts, and she scoots the camera back. She wore a silk nightgown, and I could tell she was braless. Her dark areolas are clearly visible. My mouth is salivating.

“Fuck baby,” I swore, cupping my bulge.

“Stop,” she pleaded, “Be a good boy and wait… I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Fuck,” I groaned. “Say that again.”

“What?”

I open my eyes, not realizing I had them shut. I glared at her. “You know what.”

Her lips curve into a smirk. “Be a good boy, Tooru, and I’ll give you whatever you want tomorrow.”

I hunted Y/n down and dragged her into her office, shutting the door and locking it. Before she could speak, I cupped her face and kissed her stupid.

“Mmm… Tooru…” she moaned, breaking the kiss to breathe. My lips moved down her jaw and neck as I kissed and nipped. “No marks…” I groan in disappointment, but she clarified, “no marks visible to the public.”

I smiled against her collar bone, “I can comply with that.” My fingers work at the buttons to her polo uniform top.

“Oooookay, you are serious,” she giggled and pushed me away. “We can’t do this here. No. Nope.” She put space between us, and I let out a frustrated groan. “You should go home and rest, I’ll see you later and we can catch up.”

I should have gone home right after the plane landed, but I just wanted to see her. I ran a hand through my hair, only to realize how exhausted I was. My eyes landed on her couch in her office. " Can I nap there?”

She raises a brow at me, “You want to nap here? Not at home?”

I give her a sheepish grin, “Baby, I just want to be wherever you are.”

She closes the distance between us and wraps her arms around my waist, burying her face against my chest for a split second before looking up at me. “Okay, I want that too.”

I don’t know how long I knocked out for on Y/n’s small couch, but I wake up to her light kisses all over my face. A stupid smile is on my face.

“I’m done, let’s go home.”

That’s music to my ears.

“I love that,” I say without opening my eyes. My arms wrap around her waist, pulling her closer. “Let’s go home.”

“Hmm, finally...” Y/n murmurs against my mouth.

The moment we made it home; I couldn’t wait for her to remove her shoes before I was already pouncing on her.

“Yes, finally,” I murmured. My fingers are quick to pull at her clothes, tugging whatever I can off. “You wear too many clothes,” I complained. Pens and other shit falls on the ground as I’m dropping her pieces of clothing. My fingers grip the elastic waist band of her pants and tug it down. My nose grazes her sex, and I inhale deeply, “Hurry up and step out of these pants.”

She leans against my shoulders to lift each leg and step out of her scrub bottoms. “So bossy.”

I look up at her, “You haven’t seen bossy.” I tug her over my should and slap her bare ass, carrying her to my room. I drop her on the bed and tug her to the edge of the bed. I pulled off her panties and I groan, getting a whiff of her pussy. “My mouth is watering... I need a taste.”

I drop to my knees and throw her legs over my shoulder. Like a hungry beast, I feasted.

“Please, Tooru... your fingers...”

I look up at her and slip my middle finger inside her, she was so wet and warm, almost making me cum in my pants. Her moans encourage me that I’m doing a good job, and I slip in a second finger. Her pussy walls clamp down on my fingers and I desperately want to replace them with my cock. “Do you like my fingers?”

Her head is thrown back, but she nods, “yes...” she breathes, “I love it... love your fucken long fingers.”

Her heels dig into my shoulders, and I laugh. “You’re hurting my cock’s feeling, baby.”

She lifts her head and stares at me dead on, “give me your cock, Tooru.”

With one hand, I manage to undo my belt and buttons to my pants in seconds and free just my cock. I stroke myself, giving it a good squeeze and pull. I pull out my fingers and coat my cock with her wetness. “Are you on birth control?”

“Yes,” she nodded, “I want you to cum inside.”

“Sweet fuck, Y/n. You say things I dream about.” I pushed the tip of my fat cock inside her, just the tip, and groan. I grab her thighs and widen her legs, pressing them onto my bed and thrust completely. “Shit baby... you feel so fucken good... so tight... so wonderful for me...” I look down at her with hazy eyes. Shit, she feels... euphoric. I don’t want to move. I don’t want to nut. I want to enjoy her wrapped around me.

Her giggles make me look up into her eyes, “cum Tooru, we have all night.”

Shit, I just spoke out loud.

My hips began moving, slow at first to savoring it but I let go...

Y/n’s moans started out quiet but gradually got louder along with the headboard banging against the wall. It fueled me and soon it remixed with the lewd noises of skin slapping skin.

I feel my rhythm falter cause I’m ready to explode any second.

“Please,” Y/n beg. She begged and I love it. I love begging Y/n.

My thumb finds her clit and I circle it, making sure she cums before I do. Her pleasure before mine.

“Cum, Y/n. Fuck, cum because of me,” I gritted. I was seconds away.

Just when I thought I wouldn’t be able to hold out for Y/n to cum, she cums and I follow a split second later.

My hips tremble and I pull out a bit to watch my cock jerk as I ejaculated in my girl’s pussy.

I lick my thumb that was rubbing her clit, savoring the taste of her before gently pressing on her clit again. She gasped and at the same time, her pussy squeezed tighter around my cock. That earned one last squeeze of cum out of my balls.

Slowly, I withdraw my cock out, instantly missing the warmth. Y/n definitely felt the same as she whimpered and her hands came to cup her pussy.

“No,” I mutter, pushing her hand away so I can see what happens next.

I loaded her pussy so full of my cum that it squirted out.

“There it is...” I say proudly. I’ve watched enough porn with creampies and dreamed of the day I get to cream my girl. Specifically, my Y/n.

“What the fuck?” Hajime cursed from the other side of the phone. “Say that one more time?

“Iwa,” I sang his nickname from high school, “you knew I always harbored - “

“I’m talking to my sister asswipe, not you.” Hajime snapped.

“Don’t talk to my boyfriend like that,” Y/n snapped, “Tooru and I are dating, and you will accept it whether you like it or not.”

There was a long pause between the three of us. I was no longer looking at Hajime. My eyes were on my girl, the love of my life as she proudly called me her boyfriend in front of her brother – my best friend.

My heart was ready to burst.

“If you can’t accept it, well... that’s on you.” Y/n continued, she turned to look at me and gripped my jaw and pressed her lips against mine. It instantly turned into a make out.

“Fuck, stop. Okay. I accept, end this fucken call.”

Y/n pulls away, a satisfaction smile on her lips.

“Love you Jime.” Her brother muttered something along the lines, Love you too, before he ended the call.

She set her phone down and turned to look at me. “Do you think he realized it?”

I buried my face into Y/n’s back and shake my head no. My arms tighten around her waist.

She made the video call to her brother to announce our relationship while cock warming me.

Her hands cup my face, and she says, “You can cum now, baby.”

I let out the breath I was holding and I cum.

. . .

>>> @queenelleee @mfreedomstuff @erintaro @callmeraider @chaotic-fangirl-blog @wolffmaiden @cloud-lyy

#haikyuu smut #haikyu x reader #haikyuu oikawa #oikawa fluff #oikawa smut #oikawa x reader #oikawa x y/n #oikawa tooru #oikawa torū

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reiding-writing · 19 days ago

Note

could I request cold!reader waking up from a nightmare whilst she’s with Spencer?? maybe when she wakes up she’s unusually clingy to him and he just holds her?? ☹️☹️💗

WHAT A NIGHT. /spencer reid/

bringing up your past issues doesn’t just affect your waking hours. your dreams are just as bad.

CW | nightmares caused by sexual trauma, brief description of at-home abortion, reader has a panic attack, reader briefly views spencer as a physical threat

s11!cold!reader hurt/comfort 2.0k series masterlist. main masterlist.

AN | hi, i’m allergic to happiness

You’re dreaming, and you know it.

That’s the worst part, isn’t it? Not the dream itself—though it’s wretched in every way—but the knowing. The awareness. You’re aware of the room that doesn’t look like any room you've lived in, but it’s his. You're aware that the weight in your chest isn't real, and yet it crushes you just the same. And you know you’re older now, not nineteen anymore, but your limbs are small, powerless again. Your voice doesn’t come out when you try to scream. The carpet’s the same colour it always is in these dreams—off-white, like bone turned to dust. The smell of sweat and whisky seeps into your skin.

He’s not speaking in this one. Just watching. Sitting across the room with that same sick patience. But he’s already dead, isn’t he? Hasn’t he already bled out in front of you, with your name on his lips? So why the hell is he watching you like this?

You scream, finally. Not with your voice, but in your mind—wake up, wake up, wake up—

But you don’t. You don’t.

The dream shifts.

And you’re pregnant again. Barely twenty, alone in a bathtub with shaking hands and something sharp in them. You’re sobbing. You tell yourself it’s the right thing. It’s the only thing. And you know it’s a dream, you remember the aftermath, the silence, the blood, the ache that never really left. And yet, you relive it. The helplessness. The guilt. The wrongness.

Wake up.

You gasp—no, yell—yourself awake.

You bolt upright in bed, chest heaving like you’ve run a marathon. The room’s dark, faint streetlight pouring in through half-closed blinds. Spencer’s apartment. You’ve spent more nights here than at your own place this month. But your body doesn’t catch up to the reality fast enough. You’re still back there, back then, in pain, in panic, in the unbearable after.

The sheets are tangled around your legs. Your mouth tastes like metal. There’s sweat dripping down your neck. And when Spencer stirs beside you, murmuring your name half-asleep—

“Hey-? What’s—”

You flinch away from him violently. He doesn’t even touch you—just reaches a hand out—and still you recoil as though he’s just tried to drag you under.

“Don’t.” Your voice comes out brittle and small. “Don’t touch me—”

He stops immediately, hand suspended in the air like he’s just frozen mid-breath.

“Alright,” he says gently. “I won’t. I won’t, it’s okay.”

But it’s not okay.

You’re shaking. Everything inside you feels like it’s been turned inside out. Your lungs are caught in a pattern of shallow, ragged breaths. Your fingers are clenched so tightly around the blanket that they’re numb. You think you might be crying, but you don’t feel it.

He sits up beside you, hands where you can see them, voice low and even. “You had a nightmare, you’re okay,”

Of course you did. Of course you did. That’s what therapy is doing to you lately—tearing up things you’d sealed beneath ten years of practiced indifference. You never wanted to talk about him. About what he did. What he made you do. But you agreed, for Spencer. Because Spencer’s eyes look so worried every time you freak out. Because you don’t want to hurt him the way you’ve hurt yourself.

And now—this. This spiral of nightmares and broken sleep and memories you can’t scrub clean.

You want to run. You want to fight. You want to press your forehead into his chest and disappear, but your skin still itches with phantom fear and shame.

“I can’t—” You curl in on yourself, dragging your knees to your chest. “I can’t, Spence, please don’t—”

Spencer doesn’t move. He waits, watches you struggle to breathe, doesn’t rush in with comfort you’ve already refused. You hate him for that. You love him for it more.

Your head’s between your knees now, your breath too shallow to be useful. Everything’s closing in. You feel light-headed, faint.

“I think you’re having a panic attack,” he says softly. “I’m going to talk to you through it. Just my voice. Nothing else, okay?”

You nod, even though you’re not sure he can see it.

“Count with me,” he says. “In for four… one, two, three, four. Hold. One, two… out for six. One, two, three, four, five, six.”

You try. You really try. The numbers warp, slide sideways in your brain. But his voice—low, calm, unrelenting—grounds you, bit by bit. Like the sea grinding away at stone. It hurts. But it helps.

He repeats the breathing exercise, over and over, until your hands stop shaking enough that you can uncurl your fingers from your thighs. You feel raw. Like someone’s taken sandpaper to your nerves.

Eventually, you lift your head. His silhouette’s clear now, outlined by the dim light from the hallway. He’s still sitting where he was, arms braced on his knees, watching you like you’re something fragile.

And you suppose, right now, you are.

“It’s over,” he says, soft as breath. “You’re safe. I swear,”

And maybe it’s those words that start to steady something inside you. You’re safe. Here, in his apartment, in his bed. Not there. Not then.

But the fear doesn’t drain out so much as it crawls back slowly, like a tide pulling away with reluctance.

You hate it.

You hate the fact it still messes you up like this. Because it makes you feel soft, and soft is weak, and weakness is how this all started.

You don’t cry. You never do. That part of you is locked away, welded shut. But your breath hitches like a sob, and you wonder if this is the closest you’ll ever get.

But he’s just sitting there, still not touching you, waiting. Present.

“I couldn’t wake up,” you manage. “I knew it was a dream. I kept telling myself it was. But I couldn’t get out. It felt like—I was going to be stuck there forever

“You’re not,” he says. “You’re back now. With me,”

You take him in for the first time since waking. His curls are sleep-mussed. His glasses are on the nightstand, and his eyes look glassy in the dark. There’s a softness to his expression, yes—but it’s not pity. It’s worry. And care. Real, bone-deep care.

“I want to…” You trail off, ashamed. “I don’t want to be alone,”

“You’re not,” he promises again. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere,”

Your body starts moving before your mind can catch up. Slowly, hesitantly, you shift toward him, and this time when he raises an arm—carefully, like he’s holding a butterfly—he waits for you to come to him.

And you do.

You fold yourself against his chest, and his arm closes around you. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, and finally—finally—you start to feel the real world anchor you.

He smells like lavender and warmth and something else—something you can’t name but recognise all the same. Safety. Not perfection. Not healing. But safety, in a way you never believed you'd feel again.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, though your lips barely move.

“Don’t apologise,” he murmurs. “You don’t have to apologise for being in pain,”

“I’m supposed to be getting better,”

“You are,” he says simply. “It’s a process, you know that,”

You wish you could believe it.

Some part of you does.

But the rest—the deeper, darker part—still feels like you’re standing on the edge of a very long, very steep fall.

His hand rubs gently up and down your back. Not lingering. Not possessive. Just a quiet reassurance.

“Did I wake you?” you ask.

“I was already halfway up. You were… thrashing. I thought you were having a seizure at first,”

You stiffen. “Oh,”

“Hey,” he says quickly. “It’s alright. Don’t worry about me. I’m glad you’re here,”

“I’m not going back to sleep,” you say, voice thick.

“I know.” He presses a kiss to your hair. “I won’t either,”

Your fingers curl into the fabric of his T-shirt like you want to disappear into him. And in a way, you do. You want to crawl inside his chest and never come out. Not because you want to use him as a shield, but because being with him is the only time you ever feel like a whole person instead of a patchwork of bruises and stitched-up trauma.

“I hate how much it still affects me,” you whisper.

“You’re allowed to be affected,”

“I’m thirty now, Spence. It was ten years ago,”

“You could be sixty and it would still matter. Time doesn’t undo what he did to you,”

He doesn’t say what you did to yourself. But he doesn’t need to. He knows. And you know he knows.

Your grip tightens. His heartbeat under your ear is steady, grounding.

“I was so afraid,” you say quietly. “Back then. And tonight. But this time, when I woke up—I was terrified, I thought you—”

His breath catches, but he doesn’t pull away.

“I know,” he says, voice rougher now. “I saw it in your eyes. And I swear to you, if I could take that fear away, I would. I never, ever want you to be scared of me,”

You press your face harder against his chest.

“I wasn’t. Not really. It wasn’t you. It was just… my brain,”

He nods, chin brushing your hair. “I know. Trauma lies. But I’ll remind you of the truth, as many times as it takes,”

Silence settles over you both. Not the suffocating kind—just quiet. Peaceful. Honest.

#cold!reader ᝰ.ᐟ #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #mgg #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid angst #criminal minds angst

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lordprettyflackotara · 9 months ago

Text

deja vu || hoodie

‘do you get deja vu?’

sum: after waking up you find a mysterious man in your room, one that feels eerily familiar. you can’t deny that you know him somehow, nor can you deny your attraction to him

tw: smut minors dni 18+, hair pulling, humiliation, murder, roughness

a/n: kinda really proud of this concept

Boom!!

You sat straight up in your bed, heart pounding as your soaked in the remnants of the sound. Across the room was your window, your thin curtains failing to conceal the storm raging outside. You rubbed your temple, shaking off a cold sweat you had developed. Thunder storms always made you nervous. You sighed, your eyes scanning your dark room. You weren’t afraid of the dark. That’s what you always told yourself anyway. You were afraid of what was lurking in it.

With an out stretched arm your fingertips found your desk lamp, clicking the switch. The lamp illuminated the room, your eyes widening in terror as your gaze landed on an ominous intruder. He sat man spreading in your rocking chair, tucked away in the corner of your room. A black ski mask with a poorly stitched set of red eyes and frown stared back at you, a mustard yellow hoodie concealing the rest of his defining features. You could see the muddy footprints his boots left on your floor starting from your bedroom door. You gulped nervously, tugging at your comforter to cover yourself more.

“W-Who are you?” You sputtered. The man shifted in the chair, as if he was studying you. He was mysterious and a misty memory at the same time. “Call me Hoodie,” He responded, his voice deep and rough. You stared at him dumbfounded, at a loss for words. “What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?” Hoodie chuckled, as if your terror was amusement. You straightened out your back, giving him a look so nasty you swore it could kill. “What? No. Why are you in my house?” You asked boldly. Hoodie rolled his sleeves up, revealing his toned arms. “I was in the neighborhood,” He shrugged carelessly. You found the courage to get out of bed, running out of the room. You were anything but graceful, your footsteps audible as you stumbled down the stairs.

You were almost to the bottom, when a strong set of hands shoved you. You didn’t have time to process it, gasping as you helplessly fell to the bottom of the stairwell. Groaning in pain you tried to crawl, Hoodie’s straddling you and pinning you down against the floor. You could feel his crotch against your exposed ass, regrettably attempting to run in a skimpy victoria’s secret night gown. “I love it when you run, it’s always so cute,” Hoodie purred. His fingers raked themselves through your hair, yanking your head off of the floor. “You’re going to give into me, you always do sweetheart,” He cooed. He snickered at your thrashing, attempting to crawl away. “I don’t know you, you’re a fuckin psycho!” You screeched, desperately clawing at the wooden floorboards. You whimpered under him yanking at your hair once more, bringing you closer to him.

“I know you better than you know yourself. I know how to make you cum in under a minute. I know where you hide your vibrator. I know what your deepest darkest secrets are. I’m a shadow you can’t escape,” Hoodie growled. You became panicked, your heart pounding against your ribcage as you struggled to breathe. “Awe sweetheart don’t panic, i’m here to please you,” He grinned, grinding against your ass. You audibly gasped, unsure how to process your body responding to him willingly. It was as if you had felt him dozens of times before, if not more. He reeked of tobacco and cologne, his musk flooding your nostrils. It seemed so familiar.

“Who are you?” You whispered, questioning him again. Hoodie sensed this, releasing your hair. “I’m your non traditional guardian angel sweetheart,” Hoodie grunted. He lifted himself off of you, allowing you to climb to your feet. Your gaze remained on the floor, claw marks that were older clawed into the wood. You narrowed your eyes, realizing you hadn’t made those. They were too far away, you wouldn’t have been able to make them. The sound of a lighter flickering snatched your attention, Hoodie shamelessly lighting a cigarette. “You can’t smoke in here,” You hissed, slapping his arm. Hoodie chuckled, tilting his head back. It was then he shoved off his ski mask, carelessly tossing it aside.

Dozens of lives you swore you could’ve lived before washed over you, your head beginning to spin. Unsurely you rose your hand, reaching out to him. Your fingertips grazed his stubble, his chapped lips ones you remembered somehow. But how? “Are you real?” You whispered. You cupped his cheek, Hoodie staring down at you slightly. “Probably more real than you,” He whispered back. He extended his hand, offering you his cigarette. You waved it away, cringing at the smell. “I don’t smoke,” You declined. Hoodie found this amusing, taking another hit. “Yeah you do. Try it,” He insisted. You crossed your arms defensively, unintentionally pushing your breast together. “What do I get if I do?” You countered. A smirk creeped across Hoodie’s lips, your attention temporarily mesmerized as he exhaled out of his nostrils. “You hit that and cough, i’ll go. If you don’t though, you’ll give me what I want,” He purred.

Goosebumps trailed across your skin at the sound of his words, causing you to swallow.

“And what is it you want?”

“You.”

The confession created a heavy pause in the room, your head spinning. If you agreed to this silly game, you’d get this invasive intruder out of your house without a fight. If you didn’t, you doubted you’d be able to successfully call the police this time. You couldn’t recall smoking a cigarette in your entire life. You knew you were going to cough. Hesitantly you grabbed the cigarette from him, instinctively placing it between your two fingers. You unsurely placed it to your lips, inhaling deeply. To your surprise the tobacco was like a big hug, something you relished in. You could feel it swirl around your lungs, before exhaling it. A mere tickle in your throat was no where in sight.

“W-What the hell?” You whispered, staring at the cigarette. Hoodie grinned mischievously, taking the cigarette back. “What’d I tell you? Now bend over,” He barked. A normal person in your shoes would’ve been scared. They would’ve been terrified, scrambling to escape. Yet something about Hoodie felt so familiar and you couldn’t deny the way his orders sent pleasure right to your core. You couldn’t explain it, feeling an odd sense of deja vu as you crawled onto the couch, arching your ass into the air. Heat dashed across your cheeks as the AC brushed against your skin, goosebumps arising. Hoodie’s gloved hand met the mounds of your ass, an unseen satisfied smirk growing across his face. “So beautiful. So obedient. You always end up listening to me,” He murmured, mostly to himself. He took another drag of his cigarette, carelessly pulling your panties down.

It was embarrassing how wet you were, all for a man who broke into your home. He dragged two fingers up your slick, teasing you. “So wet for a stranger, interesting,” Hoodie chuckled. His cigarette hung lazily from his lips as he spread open the mounds of your ass, admiring your holes. “So pretty. My pretty girl,” He hummed. It was odd, hearing his words that you swore you had somehow heard time and time again. You whimpered at the sound of his belt clinking, one of his thick fingers welcoming itself into your aching cunt. “Just as tight as always. You always out do yourself,” He mumbled, exploring your cunt. You swallowed in embarrassment, in disbelief your body was reacting to him as if he were an old friend. He quickly removed his singular digit, his shaft teasingly rubbing up and down your slick.

“You wanna know my favorite thing about you sweetheart?” Hoodie asked, his tip rubbing against your clit. You shuddered at the sensation, embarrassed of how easily your body gave in to him. “You’re always so easy to slide right into. It’s like you were made for me,” He gloated. A protest was on the tip of your lips, a gasp escaping them instead as he slid into you with ease. You had never been so wet before, your gummy walls eagerly accepting his cock as he sank into you. You were in disbelief, unable to comprehend the way your body adored his. Hoodie grunted as he bottomed out, his gloved hands gripping your waist. Sheepishly you buried your face into the couch cushion, a groan escaping your lips unwillingly. “Does it feel good sweetheart?” He asked, taking a proper inhale of his cigarette. He stayed inside of you for a moment, allowing you to feel him fully. When you didn’t respond Hoodie frowned, delivering a sharp slap to your ass.

You didn’t recognize the sinful moan that left your lips.

“Answer me.”

Propping yourself up on your elbows you refused to glance at him. “It feels good,” You replied, humiliated. Hoodie was gleaming with pride beginning to move his hips to fuck you properly. He was anything but gentle, fucking you as if you were the last woman on earth. It was as if he was determined to pull as many noises out of you as possible. Embarrassed at your own noises you bit your bottom lip, unable to conceal them. Someway somehow your body liked this. It liked being fucked by an intruder with an attitude problem. Your hands clawed at the couch as he abused your g spot, destroying your cunt the way he pleased. Grunts and curses left his lips like a mantra. All teasing and degrading had subsided, his focus completely shifted and occupied on his own high.

Your perky nipples rubbed against the rough leather of the couch, your hand slithering down to your neglected clit. It was apparent to you Hoodie was in this for his orgasm alone, no matter what he said. Not only was it embarrassing for you to be bent over like this, taking a strangers dick. But it was even more humiliating you wanted to get off just as much as he did. Your fingers were shaky as they circled your clit, your moans now more loud and unhinged. Hoodie thrust showed no sign of stopping, even after he carelessly tossed his cigarette bud aside. The smell and sound of sex clouded the room, completely flooding your senses as you took him. “Thats it. Good fuckin’ slut, takin’ me like a whore,” Hoodie grunted, snapping you out of your daze. Your body was a slave to the pleasure, addicted to the high only this intruder seemed to give you.

The knot in your stomach tightened, your body shaking as you approached your high. You had never felt this way before, so turned on. You were addicted to the feeling, as if Hoodie had just provided you with the best heroin ever produced. “I feel the way you’re squeezin’ me sweetheart. Go ahead. Make a mess on my cock,” Hoodie ordered. As if on cue your orgasm washed over you, your vision white as your body trembled. Your heart pounded against your ribcage, your vision hazy. You could feel Hoodie’s release, his cum painting the skin of your ass. Through your hazy vision you noticed white stains on your couch, a few inches away from your head. In confusion you raised an eyebrow, unsure if through the dancing stars you were seeing things correctly.

Before you could question it too much Hoodie scooped you up bridal style, carrying you away from the couch. He swiftly kicked open your bathroom door, sitting you in the tub and undressing you. “Should I ask why you know where my bathroom is?” You asked softly, your body spent. Hoodie chuckled, tossing your night gown and panties aside. He turned on the faucet, goosebumps covering your skin as the water turned warm. He reached under your sink, searching for something. “For such a know it all I thought you’d know my bubble bath is on the top shelf above the toilet,” You said, your eyes closed with bliss. Your body felt completely relaxed, a hum of satisfaction emerging from your throat as the water began to surround you.

“Such a smart ass. I’ll remember to fix that mouth of yours later,” Hoodie said, grabbing the bubble bath. The comforting smell of lavender filled your nostrils, causing you to smile. “I assume you know that’s my favorite?” You asked. Any other person in any other world would be terrified right now, shaking with fear. Yet you were content. Somehow comforted by your intruders presence. Hoodie dug another cigarette out of his pocket, roughly shoving it in between his lips. “This is always the worst part,” He sighed. You curiously opened your eyes, looking over at him. Bubbles began to rise, coating your skin.

“Why’s that? You afraid to say goodbye?” You asked. Hoodie shook his head, leaning against your bathroom sink. “Yeah, something like that. Restarting this over and over again is borderline torture,” He grumbled. This caught your attention, causing you to shift uncomfortably. “I’m sorry, what?” You questioned. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to not be afraid of him, there’s no telling whether or not he’s insane. “This is the only way The Operator lets me see you. I try to make the best of it really, Masky’s girlfriend didn’t get the same grace you did,” He explained. A mysterious supernatural being flashed in your mind, before quickly fading away as quick as it came. “I guess I can explain it to you just this once, not like you’ll remember anyways,” He said, roughly turning off the faucet. Drips of water droplets hit the water, your heart beginning to race.

“You’re my reward for being an obedient proxy. It’s a pain in the ass sometimes, rinsing and repeating this process. You’re stuck in a time paradox, where you’re be trapped in a loop of this forever. This isn’t even your house, it’s what The Operator made you believe is your house. Most of your memories are altered heavily or just completely erased. You don’t remember our five year relationship, back before I became who I am now.”

Hoodie ignored your reaction, your face twisted in horror as he continued.

“Tomorrow the cycle will start again. I’ll come in, just as I did tonight. You’ll be scared, just as you were tonight. But that sense of deja vu will keep you attracted to me and that’s all I could really ask for,” He sighed. He inhaled another hit of his cigarette, shaking his head. “Each time I kill you, the cycle resets. I bring you to Jack and The Operator, who revive you and wipe your memory. I gotta say though, too much of your memory is staying. He’s gotta fix that or it’s gonna fuck up this whole arrangement,” Hoodie explained. He couldn’t bear to look at your face. You had curled up into a ball in the tub, your knees tucked to your chest.

“B-Brian I don’t-”

The name fell off of your lips before you could process it. You didn’t understand, Hoodie’s eyes widening. He reached back under the sink, grabbing a toaster. He had planted it there the day before, not wanting to keep killing you in such bloody ways. Roughly he shoved it into a nearby outlet, sighing.

“Thats my cue. Dont worry sweetheart, tomorrow you won’t remember anything at all.”

Before you could protest or scream, he carelessly tossed the toaster into the bath. You were now dead once again, your destiny forcing you to be revived time and time again. Maybe Hoodie could find a way around it. Or, maybe he could rely on your deja vu for comfort for as long as he was cursed to live.

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cruel-seduction · 9 months ago

Text

A World Without You

(Picture taken from Pinterest)

Pairing - Peter Parker x Female Reader

Genre - Angst

Summary: When Peter Parker wakes up in a world where Y/N never existed, he thinks he's been given the gift of freedom—no one to put in danger. But as the emptiness of her absence consumes him, Peter begins to question the cost of his choice. How far will he go to bring Y/N back, and who—or what—was behind her disappearance in the first place? Can Peter undo the deal he made, or is he trapped in a world where love never existed?

Glimpse - He thought back to their last conversation, where Y/N had called him a "Nerd" for winning at chess everytime, to which he’d fired back, calling them "a hopeless case with zero taste in music."

Warnings: This story contains heavy angst and emotional distress, exploring themes of loneliness, guilt, and the consequences of difficult choices. It also includes elements of reality distortion and manipulation, which may be unsettling for some readers. Proceed with caution if you're sensitive to intense emotional scenarios.

***

Peter Parker woke up with a start. His heart pounded in his chest, the remnants of a nightmare clinging to his mind like a fading mist. His body ached in places he didn’t know could hurt. The city skyline blinked outside his window as it always did, but something about the silence felt…off. He rubbed his face, trying to shake off the strange unease gnawing at his gut. It wasn’t unusual for Peter to wake up in a cold sweat after a brutal night of web-swinging, but this time was different. The feeling lingered like a whisper he couldn’t quite hear.

He groaned, rolling out of bed and pulling on a T-shirt. Maybe some breakfast would help clear his head. He padded barefoot into the kitchen, expecting to hear the familiar hum of Y/N’s terrible music playing in the background as they whipped up something quick before heading out. But the apartment was eerily quiet. Too quiet.

“Babe?” he called, only half-expecting a response. Silence. Peter frowned. It wasn’t like Y/N to leave without saying goodbye, even when they had early shifts. Maybe she’s at work already.

But the more Peter looked around, the more he realised something was wrong. The photos on the fridge—the ones of him and Y/N from their last disastrous attempt at a beach day—were gone. He checked the living room; no sign of Y/N’s jacket, their shoes, or the usual clutter that always accumulated near the door. Where the hell are they?

The sinking feeling in Peter’s chest deepened as he began to search the apartment. Their stuff was gone. All of it.

Peter’s mind raced. Has Y/N left him? No, that didn’t make sense. Things had been good between them. They always were, even when they fought. And their playful insults were never serious, just the way they communicated. He thought back to their last conversation, where Y/N had called him a "Nerd" for winning at chess everytime, to which he’d fired back, calling them "a hopeless case with zero taste in music."

But there was love in every jab, every joke. He knew Y/N didn’t mean any of it, and he didn’t either. It was their love language—twisting insults into affection in the way only they could. He could still hear their laugh in his mind, could still feel the way Y/N would poke him in the ribs after a particularly savage comeback.

But now, that warmth is gone. All of it.

Peter’s head was spinning. He pulled out his phone and quickly dialled Y/N’s number. The line rang once, twice, and then, “The number you’ve dialled is not in service.”

Not in service?

Peter’s stomach flipped. He called again, and the same automated voice greeted him. Panic rose in his throat. He rushed outside and knocked on the neighbour’s door.

“Hey, Mrs. Martinez, have you seen Y/N today? She—” Peter began, but Mrs. Martinez gave him a confused look.

“Y/N? Who’s Y/N?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Peter’s heart skipped a beat. “You know…my—my girlfriend? The person I live with?” he stammered, his voice unsteady. Mrs. Martinez’s frown deepened.

“I’ve lived here for twenty years, Peter. I’ve never seen you with anyone. You live alone.”

Peter’s world tilted. What?

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. He tried to laugh it off, but the horror was sinking in. “You’ve—of course you’ve seen them, Mrs. Martinez. She is always around…”

But the older woman shook her head sympathetically, patting him on the shoulder. “You’ve had a tough week, sweetheart. Maybe you need to take it easy.” She retreated back into her apartment, leaving Peter standing there, frozen.

He sprinted back to his place, his thoughts racing. What the hell is going on?

He fumbled for his laptop, searching through his social media, his phone photos, anything—anything—that could prove Y/N existed. But there was nothing. Not a single picture, no text messages, no memories captured on his phone. It was like they had been erased.

Peter’s chest heaved with panic. This can’t be real.

But it was.

As the day dragged on, the nightmare didn’t end. It only got worse. No one—no one—remembered Y/N. Their friends, their coworkers, even Aunt May looked confused when Peter mentioned their name.

Peter slumped onto the couch, staring blankly at the wall. How is this happening? He gripped his head with both hands, feeling the weight of Y/N’s absence like a suffocating blanket. He didn’t know if it was magic, science, or something worse.

But the silence? The emptiness?

It was unbearable.

At first, he had thought maybe—just maybe—this was for the best. Y/N was safe, right? Without him in their life, without Spider-Man lurking in the background, they wouldn’t be in danger. They wouldn’t have to deal with late-night patch-ups, watching him stumble in bruised and bloodied, hearing him apologise over and over for missing dinner or forgetting plans because someone needed saving.

But this wasn’t peace. This was torment.

Peter thought back to the moments they’d shared, the playful insults and sarcastic remarks that only drew them closer. He remembered Y/N’s smile when they called him a "complete idiot" after he bungled a dinner reservation. Or the time he jokingly told them to "Haww!! You are only with me for that ass" when she tried to help him fix his suit and squeezed his ass in teasinf way. The way Y/N had thrown a pillow at his head, laughing the whole time.

He missed it. All of it. The teasing, the arguments, the late-night takeout dinners where they’d bicker about who had worse taste in movies.

And now…he had nothing.

Peter couldn’t stay here. Not in this reality.

The thought gnawed at him—how had he ended up here? He hadn’t done anything out of the ordinary. Sure, he’d been toying with new tech from Oscorp, but nothing experimental. Nothing that should have thrown him into some alternate dimension. Then, in a flash, a memory surfaced.

The last night he spent with Y/N before everything changed. A strange figure had appeared—someone with no face, no form, just a voice. A voice that had whispered to him about choices, about the dangers of loving someone so deeply while being Spider-Man. At the time, Peter had brushed it off, thinking it was just the stress talking, some weird fever dream. But what if…?

What if that figure had done this? Created a world where Y/N never existed?

Peter had to find answers. He had to get Y/N back. He couldn’t stay in a place where every corner, every sound reminded him of what he’d lost. The weight of their absence crushed him more each second.

As he sat there, planning his next move, Peter realised something chilling. The figure—whoever they were—had offered him a choice that night. A chance to live without burdening the people he loved with Spider-Man’s dangers. And in a moment of weakness, of exhaustion, maybe Peter had unknowingly made that deal.

But he hadn’t meant it.

Peter Parker was no stranger to guilt. He’d lived with it every day since Uncle Ben died. But this? This was different. This was the pain of choosing to save someone by erasing them entirely.

He couldn’t undo what had happened on his own. He needed to find the entity who had done this and force them to undo it. But first, he had to survive in a world that was a constant reminder of what he’d lost.

And that meant holding onto the memories of Y/N. The real memories.

He could hear Y/N’s voice in his head now: “Peter, you absolute dumbass, you know you can’t live without me, right?” He could imagine the smirk that came with it, the light in their eyes when they teased him.

“Yeah, well,” Peter muttered to the empty room, his voice cracking. “Turns out you’re right.”

Peter sat in the deafening silence of his apartment, his mind running in a thousand directions. Y/N was gone. No one remembered her, as if she'd never existed. And the only explanation he could cling to was that entity—that faceless, shadowy figure from the night before everything changed. A vague memory whispered at the back of his mind, telling him that he’d been offered a choice. But how could he have agreed to something so horrifying?

The truth, as much as it made him sick, was simple: Peter had been desperate. He’d been exhausted, weighed down by guilt and fear, always worrying about Y/N’s safety. Every time she patched him up after a fight, every time she stayed up late waiting for him to come home, Peter felt that gnawing fear that one day, she wouldn’t be there anymore. And for one brief, weak moment, the thought of her being safe—being away from Spider-Man’s world—had seemed like a blessing.

But he hadn’t realized the cost. Not like this. Not the emptiness.

Peter shot out of his chair, pacing the apartment as a plan started to form in his mind. He had to find the entity. That much was clear. This wasn’t just some glitch in reality; this was a deliberate choice—a deal made between him and something far more powerful. But if Peter had the power to get himself into this mess, then he had to have the power to get out.

First, he needed answers. How did he find the entity again?

Peter remembered that it hadn’t come from nowhere. The figure had appeared while he was messing around with Oscorp’s tech, but it wasn’t just any tech. It had been an experimental quantum destabilizer—a device meant to measure energy fluctuations between different dimensions. Harry Osborn had been talking about it for weeks, trying to figure out if they could tap into the multiverse for...who knows what. Science had never been Peter's strong suit, but he had a hunch that the entity had slipped through during one of those experiments.

Multiverse. The word hit him like a truck.

Was this even his universe anymore? Or was he trapped in another reality where Y/N had never existed?

Peter’s heart raced at the possibility. If Y/N was truly gone—not just from his life but from all universes—he might never get her back. But if she still existed somewhere, in some timeline, then Peter would burn through every dimension until he found her.

He knew the first place to start: Oscorp.

Later that night, after slipping into his Spider-Man suit, Peter swung across the city towards Oscorp Tower. It was late, the city’s streets quieter than usual, but Peter’s mind was anything but calm. He landed on the roof and quickly made his way inside, avoiding security cameras with the ease of someone who had done it countless times before.

The lab was exactly how he remembered it—rows of cold, gleaming equipment, the soft hum of high-tech machinery filling the air. But Peter wasn’t interested in the usual tools. He needed the quantum destabilizer.

Peter found it stashed away in a corner, covered in dust. He hooked it up to the main computer and started running a search for energy signatures. If that entity had come from another universe, there had to be some kind of residual trace left behind.

As the machine hummed to life, Peter’s thoughts drifted back to Y/N. Why had he said yes to losing her? In that moment, when the entity had whispered in his ear, offering him peace, safety, an escape from the constant fear of Y/N being hurt...he had caved. He’d thought it was a way to protect her.

But now he realized how wrong he’d been. Protecting Y/N wasn’t about keeping her away—it was about fighting alongside her, loving her despite the risks. Peter had always known that deep down, but fear had clouded his judgment. He’d chosen what he thought was the easy way out, but now he would do anything—anything—to undo it.

The machine beeped, jolting him from his thoughts. The screen flickered, showing a faint, pulsing signature. Peter’s heart raced as he recognized the same strange energy from that night. It wasn’t from his universe. The entity had come from somewhere else.

He plugged in the coordinates, knowing that if he followed the trail, it would lead him to the source—to the entity.

The next night, Peter swung through a dim, fog-covered alley deep in the city. The air felt thick, heavy with something unnatural. He could sense it—the same strange energy signature he'd tracked.

And then, like stepping through a veil, the air around him shimmered, and the entity appeared. A swirling mass of shadow, faceless and formless, its voice an eerie whisper that seemed to echo inside Peter’s head.

“You seek to undo what you asked for, Spider-Man?”

Peter’s jaw clenched. “You tricked me. I didn’t know what I was agreeing to.”

The entity’s voice hissed, low and mocking. “I offered you peace. I offered you freedom. You accepted.”

“I didn’t want this!” Peter shouted, his fists trembling. “I didn’t want to lose her! I—” His voice broke. “I love her.”

“Love is weakness,” the entity whispered. “It makes you vulnerable. It clouds your judgment. I gave you a world free from that burden.”

“Love makes me strong,” Peter said, his voice filled with determination. “I don’t want a world where Y/N doesn’t exist. I want her with me, in all her imperfect, wonderful chaos. And I’m going to fight you until you bring her back.”

The entity laughed—a sound that rattled the very air around him. “You think you can fight me, Spider-Man? I am beyond your comprehension. I am the architect of realities. I gave you a gift.”

Peter’s eyes hardened beneath the mask. “Then I’ll take it back.”

Without another word, Peter launched himself at the entity, his fists glowing with the energy from the quantum destabilizer. But the entity was fast, shifting and slipping through his grasp like smoke. Every time Peter thought he had it cornered, it would reform behind him, taunting him with whispers.

“You will fail,” it hissed. “I am all-powerful. You are nothing but a boy pretending to be a hero.”

Peter gritted his teeth, focusing on the entity’s movements. It might be powerful, but it had a weakness—every entity did. He just had to find it. And then, as the entity shifted again, Peter saw it—a flicker in its form, a moment where it hesitated.

That hesitation was all he needed.

Peter leaped into the air, firing a blast from the destabilizer at the exact moment the entity began to reform. The energy crackled, surging through the entity’s form. It screamed, its voice splitting the air like thunder. Peter didn’t let up, pouring everything he had into the attack. He thought of Y/N’s laugh, her smile, the way she called him out on his worst habits, the way she never let him get away with anything. All the moments they shared.

And then, with a final surge of energy, the entity shattered. The air around Peter shifted, reality bending and warping.

Peter collapsed to the ground, panting. For a moment, everything was still.

When he opened his eyes, Peter was lying on his apartment floor, the sunlight streaming through the window. His heart pounded in his chest. Was it real? Did he actually get her back?

“Peter? Why are you on the floor, you weirdo?”

His heart stopped. That voice—it was Y/N. He turned his head slowly, and there she was, standing in the doorway of the kitchen, holding a mug of coffee and looking at him with a raised eyebrow, a smirk playing on her lips.

“Y/N…” His voice cracked as he scrambled to his feet, pulling her into his arms.

“Whoa, whoa!” Y/N laughed, clearly surprised. “What’s gotten into you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I thought I lost you,” Peter whispered into her hair, holding her tight as if she might disappear again.

Y/N snorted, pulling back to look him in the eye. “Lost me? Please, Parker. You’re stuck with me, whether you like it or not. Now, stop being a dramatic idiot and help me make breakfast,”

Peter laughed, a tear slipping down his cheek as he smiled at her. “You can call me useless all you want.”

Y/N gave him a puzzled look. “What’s gotten into you?”

Peter just shook his head, kissing her forehead. “I love you.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Okay, now I’m worried.Is something wrong, babe?”

He laughed again. “Nah. Just…never leave, okay?”

Y/N smiled, her usual sarcastic grin lighting up her face. “I wasn’t planning on it. But you know, I could leave if you keep talking like a sappy idiot.”

“Shut up,” Peter muttered, pulling her closer. “I’m serious.”

“Fine, fine, I’ll stay,” Y/N teased, poking his chest. “But only because you’re the dumbest, nerdiest superhero I’ve ever met.”

Peter chuckled, finally feeling whole again. He had Y/N back. He’d fought for her, and now, he wasn’t letting go.

He never would.

634 notes · View notes

aurumalatus · 8 months ago

Text

𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 [𝟔]

pairing. kinich x fem!reader

word count. 3.5k

genre/warnings. childhood friends to lovers, slow burn, fluff and angst, drabble collection, descriptions of blood and injury, panic attacks and anxiety

summary.

in which kinich learns the value of all things: lives, friendship, and, of course, you. or, in which kinich realizes that you are the only priceless thing in this world.

author's note. first off, sorry for the late chapter ;-; but the next chapter sort of marks the start to the second half of the story, so i hope you guys look forward to that! some parts of this chapter are a bit intense so please heed the warnings! please let me know if you enjoyed! reblogs/interaction highly appreciated!

↢ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ↣

𝗜𝗡 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗗𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗜𝗧'𝗟𝗟 𝗔𝗟𝗟 𝗙𝗘𝗘𝗟 𝗔𝗟𝗥𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧

As you make slow progress toward recovery, Kinich can’t expel the image of you bleeding out from his mind.

The village doctor had rushed to your home, undeterred by the blanket of night falling over the land. The woman practically thinks of you as her own daughter, after all, with the amount of work you’ve done for her over the years. She stitches up your wound with a careful, practiced hand.

(Kinich stands at your side as it happens, your hand grasping his in a bone-crushing grip. He tries not to cry when you start to scream out in pain.)

She commits you to bed rest. You whine and argue against it. Kinich fights with you about it. You make up like you always do, but you stare longingly at the door every day when he leaves to work.

Time passes, and you do get better. He thanks the archons before he sleeps for that fact, truly.

But the guilt doesn’t cease.

It prods at him in the dead of night, wrapping his stomach in knots as he tosses and turns. Even when he can hear your soft, even breathing across the room, a deep terror takes root in his chest. Nightmares lurk and haunt his rest, and sometimes, even when he wakes up, he has trouble believing that you’re still alive—it all feels too real when it’s in his head.

Even in reality, you’re decidedly…different. The weakness of your smile, of your hand in his—he can’t quite get used to it. It’s all part of your healing process, he knows that deep down, but he can’t shake the feeling that he had a role in all of this.

On one night, the feeling of sin finally manages to gnaw through his chest.

He wakes up in a cold sweat, shirt sticking to him like a second skin. His blankets are already strewn about the floor, likely from his erratic movements. His gaze slides over to you, still peacefully resting, and he sags with relief. The pain keeps you awake sometimes, so it’s a miracle that you’re sleeping soundly for once.

With that in mind, he eases himself out of bed quietly, tiptoeing past you and into the hallway. He heads for the bathroom—a splash of cold water over his weary face might be just what he needs. The moonlight filters lazily through the window, uneven slivers painted over the wall. He yawns, letting the door shut behind him.

The mirror sits above the sink.

It’s one of the more expensive things you have in your house, but you’d gotten it for a good deal at the flea market—Kinich had bartered for what felt like hours. You’d gushed over the artistry of it, the glass intricately framed with braided knots of silver. Kinich hadn’t really understood back then—a mirror is just a mirror, after all—but he’s not keen on saying no to you. He never has been.

His reflection stares back at him, haunting in the gloom.

When he looks at himself like this, he sees his mother. He doesn’t really remember the sound of her voice anymore, but he remembers her eyes, her hair. So much of him had been inherited from her.

Most days, he tries not to think about where she might be—he doesn’t see a point in asking questions he’ll never know the answer to. But he does wonder if she thinks of him, if even for a fleeting moment of her day. Then, he wonders if she remembers him at all.

(Maybe she doesn’t want to.)

His reflection frowns.

Locks of dark hair shine in the lowlight, the streak of blond distinct against the plain backdrop. The paleness of it, even when braided back, still reminds him of his father. A flash of a rage-filled glare strikes through his mind.

“Kinich—Kinich, help me, please!”

The voice—

He chokes.

Kinich stumbles back from the mirror, the sight of his own reflection suddenly horrifying him. No matter where he moves, he can’t seem to escape it, golden eyes—no, his father’s eyes—following as he staggers around the room. A ghost’s frigid fingers grip around his shoulders.

It was his fault.

The room suddenly shrinks inward. Something icy and unseen grabs at Kinich’s heart and yanks until a struggling gasp is ripped from his lungs. The vase on the windowsill tips and cracks against the wall, shards skittering across the floor and water splashing against the backs of his calves. It’s shockingly cold, shooting shivers up his back and fraying his nerves.

Someone is screaming. His mother.

“Kinich?”

A faint voice reaches his ears, but he ignores it in favor of the thoughts pounding around his skull. The memory of his father’s corpse hangs at the edges of his mind. He looks back to the mirror, fingers curling into his hair, scratching at his scalp.

The blond streak is still there.

He sees his mother, begging and screaming, bruises littering her skin. Actually, she’s not screaming at all—he still can’t remember her voice. But she’s looking at him, grasping at his feet, and her lips are moving but he can’t hear—

“Kinich? Are you there?”

His hair—his father—seems to leap out at him, bursting from the mirror and grasping at his neck. The pressure leaves him scrambling to breathe. He thinks of the cliff, of his choice.

Echoes of footsteps pad down the hall, and he panics.

No, no. You’re going to see him, and you’re going to know what he’s done. You’re going to look at him with disgust and fear, and you’re going to leave. He hadn’t been enough back then, and he still isn’t now—no matter what he tries, nothing changes.

It’s your fucking fault! This is all your fault!

Another voice roars in his head, the hatred almost palpable with each syllable.

He clutches at his chest, desperately feeling for the heartbeat there—he feels like he’s dying, rotting from the inside out. His hand slams against the wall, nails digging painfully into the wood, clawing.

“Kinich?!”

Your voice comes again, more panicked now. You can probably hear the chaos from outside.

There’s no time.

He seizes the blond lock in his left hand, the right scooping up a ceramic shard from the floor and holding it to his head, right near the roots of the hair. He has to get rid of it—he’s panting, mouth dry and burning at the same time.

A firm knock on the door has him halting in his tracks—only a few strands of hair catch the sharp edge of the shard, floating uselessly to the ground. His chest heaves, uneven breaths puffing from his chapped lips.

He pauses. The shard clatters to the ground next to him, dropped from his grip. Slowly, he clambers to his feet. He brushes his clothes off once, then twice, before steeling himself to face you.

When the door swings open, it’s your face that greets him.

“Is everything okay?” you ask, eyes wide with concern. Hesitant, you reach for him—your shirt rides up with the movement, revealing starch-white bandages tinged with red. You’d irritated your wound in your panic to get to him.

He almost vomits at his feet.

He catches your hand before it reaches his cheek. He doesn’t deserve your comfort right now—maybe he never did. But your gaze is still so fond, so soft, as it falls upon his face.

“You haven’t been sleeping well,” you murmur, lacing your fingers with his. A faint frown paints your lips, wrought with worry. The thought is almost ridiculous—you both have only been worrying about each other all this time. “What’s going on?”

And Kinich knows he should tell you. He should do a lot of things when it comes to you. He should tell you he’s sorry for everything he’s put you through, that he knows he’s not good enough for you right now but he hopes to be, that he hopes you’ll wait for him to be that person.

But he doesn’t say any of that.

Instead, he lets a deep, shuddering breath escape him. The only way to repay everything you’ve given him over the years is to be strong. If he can protect you, he can be useful to you.

So he takes the weakness sprouting in his chest and crushes it in his hands, letting the ashes go. He’ll bury them with this night—starting tomorrow, he won’t worry you again.

Gently, he raises your hand to his lips, brushing over your pulse point. The steady drum of your heartbeat brings him some semblance of comfort, at least. The weight of your stare lifts from his shoulders when he meets your gaze head-on.

“I’m fine, just knocked something over,” he finally chokes out. “Let’s go back to sleep.”

A few days later, the whispers of a rumor begin.

The sky is still reddened with dawn when he heads out, greatsword secured to his back. It’s newly-sharpened, courtesy of you. With your range of movement limited, you don’t leave the house much these days—you pass the time by cleaning and cooking, despite Kinich’s pleas for you to remain in bed. You’re antsy to do more, even while your healing progress slowly chugs along.

The outpost is already bustling by the time he shoves the door open, slinking inside. The place usually runs rampant with work, with people searching for deliveries or other odd jobs. They seek him out often, knowing how often he visits, and he welcomes the extra Mora.

For some people, it’s a more social place—they enjoy a drink at the small bar between deliveries, chatting and laughing. There’s one such group already here, the clink of glasses audible even this early in the morning. Kinich’s nose wrinkles in disgust at the stench of alcohol.

On the back wall is the request board, a place for people to advertise any long-term jobs. Kinich favors these sometimes, on days where the weather is better, just so he can maximize the amount of Mora he takes home. When he makes his way over, there’s already another man scrutinizing the requests. Weathered papers dot the wall, some yellowed with age, some pristine white and newly-posted.

“Hey, kid,” the man greets. It takes Kinich a moment to realize it’s him he’s referring to—he offers a short nod in reply, a bit confused. Most people are familiar with him to an extent, but rarely do they try to interact.

He just starts to read another Saurian hunting job when the man speaks again.

“That earthquake a week ago…they found some ruins in the South. Rumor has it that it’s holding some kind of awesome treasure, and no one’s quite made it through yet.”

He gives Kinich a once-over, sweeping eyes reflecting a faint respect—his reputation precedes him, apparently. Kinich shifts his weight, arms crossed, a challenge. Seemingly pleased by his confidence, the man chuckles.

“I’ve heard you’re a strong one. If you’d like, we’d have you join our party.”

Kinich regards the man with his own criteria—he looks experienced, arms criss-crossed with scars as evidence of battles long won. But even Kinich himself is still young, so he knows years don’t equal strength.

“What’s in it for me?” he sighs, feigning boredom. “For all I know, I could head in there alone and not have to split the spoils.”

The man’s smile widens, practically splitting his face.

“I like your spunk, kid. How about this, if you make it all the way down there with us, I’ll even let you have first pick.”

Kinich ponders that for a moment—it’s not a bad deal. Though it’s not his preference, working in a group can make long-term investigations like this go much faster, and he suspects that he’ll be able to assess the value of whatever treasure they find better than anyone else. In short, he’ll be guaranteed the greatest share of Mora, without using all of his own personal effort. Objectively, it wouldn’t be his worst decision.

If he can make a good amount, he can buy one of those cakes you like from the market.

Your smile would be well worth it, he thinks as he shakes the other man’s hand.

The dangers of the ruins had not been overstated—even halfway through the place, Kinich finds himself matted with blood and grime, muscles aching with overuse. Already, many have turned back, and as many lives have been lost. Only a few remain, those desperate enough to see the task through to the end, resting in one of the safer areas before continuing deeper toward the treasure.

Kinich reaches back, testingly feeling the stone wall behind him—it’s damp, but stable, so he leans back against it, sliding down to sit on the ground. Even down here, flowers grow through the cracks in the stone, tenacious in their bloom. It reminds him of you.

He wonders if you’re resting well, if you’d stayed in bed like you promised.

“You got a girlfriend back home?”

He flinches at the sudden address, and he turns to see the man next to him—he can’t remember his name—smirk and nod at his bandana. He’d been thumbing at it unconsciously, the only source of comfort in this dark, stinking place.

“I know a woman’s work when I see one,” the man chuckles.

Kinich wonders if he should mention that he actually taught you how to weave, then decides against it—he doesn’t really care what this man thinks anyway. Somehow, he doesn’t feel an urge to discuss your existence with strangers.

“No, I don’t,” he replies quietly instead, and it’s the truth. There’s no title between you two, nothing to define the course of your relationship—in fact, the closest thing would be something informal, like “roommate”. The thought leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

The older man observes the way Kinich gnaws at his lip, bothered, before offering a comforting pat on the back. It’s a bit friendlier than Kinich is used to, but he supposes it comes with the wisdom of age—somehow, the act reminds him of Elder Leik.

“Not a girlfriend, then, but something, right?”

Something feels wrong to say—too vague, too uninvolved. When he imagines the pulsing in his chest, it’s your hands cupping his heartbeat, holding the very core of him.

Everything would likely be a more proper term.

His teeth grit, flashing in the dark.

“Sure, something like that.”

“You should tell her, you know,” the man sighs, leaning back against the wall. Kinich wonders how the man is practically reading his mind. “At least before you get old like me.”

Kinich knows he’s a bit more mature than other people his age, a result of his upbringing. And usually, it can be an advantage—he’s independent and self-sufficient, unlike most others. But it’s times like these that he wishes he would’ve lived a normal life, going to school and playing until dusk fell. Social skills have never been his strong suit, and he often finds himself saying the wrong things.

He can’t afford to do the wrong thing anymore when it comes to you.

It’s always been entirely unintentional, but these days, he can’t seem to do anything but hurt and disappoint you. And now you’re at home, alone, while he goes out and risks his life. Briefly, he ponders what would happen if he never made it home.

Would you cry? Would you move on?

Would you find someone else?

It’s hard for him to imagine a version of himself that doesn’t have you by his side.

He wants to keep it that way.

He really, really likes your smile.

Kinich finally turns to face the man next to him, jaw clenched with determination. The man smirks, seemingly expecting that reaction.

“Got somethin’ to say, kid?” he asks, raising a brow.

Kinich nods, staring down at his hands.

“After this,” he affirms, more to himself than anyone else. “After this, I’ll tell her.”

And, as always, Kinich finds himself alone.

He can’t exactly say what had happened to the others—then again, he hadn’t tried to look. Monsters seemed to leap at him from every turn, and he couldn’t focus on much more than his own survival.

On his way back out of this place, he’s sure he’ll come across their bodies one way or another. He’ll try to give them a half-proper burial, he thinks.

The ruins descended far further than he had expected—a pulsing warmth seems to emanate from this place, layering sweat over his forehead. A heady scent of smoke lies thick in the air, rising toward the unseen ceiling. Kinich has to be careful with his steps—the place is so weathered and worn, he fears that the floor might give out beneath him.

He isn’t sure what he expected to see at the bottom. Treasure doesn’t usually appear in cartoonish chests filled with shining gold coin, after all. But when he inspects the ruins around him, all he finds are pale stone walls with a single pedestal in the center.

Cautiously, he approaches, eyes sweeping for danger. If the treasure is something truly valuable, it wouldn’t be out of the question for it to be booby trapped in one way or another. But he walks up, each step light and gentle, and nothing happens.

He sheathes his sword, peering down at the treasure laying over the smooth stone.

It’s a wristband, thick and engraved with a language he can’t understand.

The style of it is different than most he’s seen—somehow, it looks a bit more modern. But even historical fashion items don’t tend to sell for too much, he thinks in disappointment.

Essentially, he’d wasted his time coming down here.

He picks up the wristband, inspecting the design of it. Then, tentatively, he slides it on.

A burst of heat cracks through the air.

“Who dares disturb the Dragonlord K’uhul Ajaw?! Speak now, mortal, or I’ll pound your puny face in!”

A tiny, yellow, pixelated dragon bursts forth, and Kinich’s jaw just about drops.

Treasure comes in many forms, of this he is sure, but this seems to be more of a burden than anything.

It—no, K’uhul Ajaw—whirls on him in apparent rage. Kinich can’t really tell with the ridiculous sunglasses sitting on his face.

“Hey, I’m talking to you! Is there a brain in that puny head of yours, or are you just deaf?”

Kinich sighs. Whoever had started this whole rumor must be having a great laugh at his expense.

“I can hear you,” he replies monotonously. “I just don’t particularly want to talk to you.”

Ajaw grows angrier. Kinich wonders if it’s just his default state.

“Then why did you come all the way down here? Are you stupid?!”

“Well, I was told there was some sort of powerful artifact here,” Kinich admits. He glances toward the ceiling, gauging how long it’ll take him to climb out of this place. “But it seems that they lied.”

Ajaw reddens in rage. “I’ll have you know that I am that artifact! My awesome power is beyond anything your mortal mind could possibly hope to comprehend!”

Kinich thinks it’s obvious why this dragon would’ve gotten locked in these ruins for so long—his personality is loathsome. Whoever sealed Ajaw likely had only done it to rid themselves of the grating sound of his voice.

Still, he can sense the deep thrum of potential within him. He’s likely not lying about having incomprehensible power.

Ajaw fixes Kinich with what he can only receive as a judgmental stare.

“Why did you come all the way down here anyway? Are you looking for revenge? Trying to topple a nation?”

Ajaw proceeds to list a series of awful atrocities—Kinich zones out halfway through the war crimes. He’d come down here for Mora, but mostly, he’d come down here for you.

He thinks of your smile, and a pink flush washes over his face.

“I have someone I want to protect.”

It’s silent for a moment as Ajaw absorbs the implications of his explanation and the blush on Kinich’s face. Then, he laughs, a shrill sound like nails on a chalkboard.

“You come all the way down here seeking power, all to protect some puny, peasant, mortal girl—”

It’s quite an assumption, not that he’s necessarily wrong. Kinich’s jaw tightens.

“—don’t speak about her.”

A sobering chill crackles in the air, filling the cracks in the ruined stone and sinking onto his shoulders. Ajaw seems to feel it too—he hesitates at the pressure, suddenly devoid of his earlier haughtiness.

“...I see,” is all he replies, calculated.

Ajaw floats languidly towards Kinich, circling him. “Well, I’ll admit, I can sense something different about you. So, luckily for you, I’m willing to make a deal with you.”

The tone of his voice is laced with foreboding. Kinich crosses his arms, cautious.

“What kind of deal?”

Ajaw chuckles—the sound echoes hauntingly, running a chill down Kinich’s spine.

“Don’t be so scared,” he barks. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little dying.”

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #kinich x reader #kinich #genshin impact #genshin impact imagines #kinich x you #adeptus ink

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