#concrete wall anchors

[fixdex-fastening-technology]

🔩FIXDEX Factory1 Anchor Manufacturing🧑‍⚕️From production to packaging, e...

[oblivioussloth]

Every so often I feel like I’m overreacting about the whole “being in a room that I haven’t gotten to design and decorate myself actively worsens my depression” thing but like I finally got to hang one (1) whole thing up on the wall and I feel physically high

[seattlefoundat]

Understanding the Importance of House Foundation Specialists in Seattle

[justblades]

⌕ FLIMSY FEELINGS, 18+

⟢ CHARACTER : blade x afab! reader WC : 1.4k

⟢ WARNINGS : EXPLICIT, MDNI. dubcon, somno, voyeur! blade, oral (fem receiving), sadistic masochistic themes, mutual masturb#tion, cunnilingus

⟢ A/N : we don't have much info abt his character rn but i tried my best with the available provided info as of the moment !! enjoy <3

raven hair ripples from the bitter cold winds blowing, the glint of crisp solferino hues show a reflection of an unknown person - someone the stellaron hunters just happened to pick up as they tread upon weaving the threads of fate, just how the screen play director foretold.

it was just blade and you alone, encompassed by the archaic, gunmetal gray walls. blade watches your slumbering figure as he wears a solemn face, lips pressed into a thin line, not showing any kind of expression at all except for a stoic mask.

is it really a mask? no one could tell. blade just proceeds to stride towards your body, feeling an aching sensation he needed to tend to. it's a feeling he'd come to despise - but it's still a part of his bodily function. even though he abandoned his old way of living and is now in a pursuit of his path to vengeance, there are trivial things he must fulfill at once.

blade slowly descends to your position, vision still not anchoring away from your dozing shape. humans truly are fragile, he thought to himself— to see someone in their vulnerable state, it feels quite intimate. it was an epiphany blade had for a long time ago he forgot when, but all he knows right now is there's just one thing that must be done.

he feels his pants grow tighter by the minute, the flickering light bulb casts a darker shade of monochrome gray on the crotch part. the navy haired doesn't delay any further and proceeds to get it done. blade unbuckles his belt swiftly, letting the item crash against the concrete flooring; followed suit is an act of self pleasure, he gradually wraps his dominant around his throbbing girth, reveling the wamrth he had to offer to himself in dead silence.

the stellaron hunter may not show it but gratification already courses through his system. at a slow pace, he continues to lean more towards your figure, his cock now at its full glory. its head twitches, itching for a sensation for it to be enveloped in; something warm, something tight and something alive. three qualifications that his mere hands could not satisfy.

perhaps that was your sole purpose for you being brought here in the stellaron hunters' temporary hideout. he rips your clothes with one clean cut from the cracked sword he brandishes, one of the many ways he showcases his astonishing swordsmanship. steadily positioning himself from your slit, a hot, rock hard feeling rubs on your lower lips.

blade's heart begins to pulsate against his rib cage, each beat becoming louder and faster in such an irregular manner. the more he got to feel your slippery cunt, the more eager he only got. and with one powerful thrust, he successfully makes his entrance inside you, his cock lavishing the comfort of your velvet walls clamping around his length.

he huffs a deep breath and only realizes it late as he catches a quick whiff of your scent— for some reason, he was drawn on. the male inches forward your neck, his hands tightly clasped on yours to make sure there would be no attempt of escape. presently atop you while you laid on your stomach, you could feel some faint but added pressure on your limbs plus a somewhat familiar presence from above.

blade was only detached from what you were feeling and only carried on with his own intentions. he rams inside you with no forewarnings, his tip fills you all the way up to the very brim. a breathy, whiny moan erupts in the vicinity that undoubtedly came from you but he heeds no mind to it— continuing to pound into your walls, intruding with such an abrupt pace and not in gradual motions.

in anything that he does, he emanates of destruction. a polar opposite of care, tenderness and love; it shows in his rough, vertiginious thrusts, his firm tight touch, and lastly, in his facial expression. you were not one bit shocked, if anything, you just accepted what is happening as of the present. being used as a cocksleeve for a passing feeling, it rips at your heartstrings but you were powerless before him.

you continued to pretend as if you were still dozing off in spite the mewl that you tried so hard to bite back, stifling more noises threatening to slip out. it would be far more awkward if you're awake as you weren't one bit acquainted with blade. not even shared glances, all the information you have is an overheard conversation from the hunters, only knowing his sole name : blade.

the swordsman eventually begins to drop his guard down, becoming more lax at letting his guttural groans come undone from his mouth. his bandaged hand wanders on your naked, exposed skin, traveling to places where he finds the most appealing. aside from the sound of skin slapping, clothes shifting and his jagged breathing were accompanied by the chime of his dangling scarlet earring.

a sharp pang of pain follows from a loud smack sound. it was his slender hand coming into harsh contact against the plush of your ass, leaving darker imprints from your complexion - it was no doubt, his spanking's seal. you could no longer play pretend as you wince from the pain, your eyes shot open and you turn your head.

your vision was then graced by the indigo haired, he took notice that you were awoken but as usual, he's cold as a gelid ice. he did not care.

when suddenly, he withdraws his cock from your pussy and flips your body around— thus making you meet his face, catching you off guard from your current dazed state. you slowly look up to meet his sharp gaze to the point that you could see your own image from his vivid cerise eyes. your very first locked gaze with blade, and mayhaps the last. his hand clasps on yours once again but only to bring it down to your cunt, he proceeds to uncurl your balled up fist.

he guides your fingers to stroke and pleasure yourself, your own digits prodding through your wet entrance. your breathing quickens, a foreign sensation brewing in the pits of your abdomen; meanwhile blade doesn't do anything but to watch on your expressions. "continue." blade commands ; his raspy, deep voice resounds into your ears.

you were struck with both of shock and nervousness, his tone laced with authority and coldness to it yet again. as embarrassing as it is to do it in front of a man you've never met in your lifetime, you obey his order, continuing to pump your fingers in and out of your coiling walls before his predatory naked eyes.

the navy haired pleasures himself at present, along with you - matching your rhythm. your legs spread open in front of him to feast upon that no man has ever tasted, an unfamiliar sensation wells in his heart. he groans and picks up the pace of him stroking his own erection, a feeling of release immediately dawning upon him.

with blurry vision, for a moment, you could see a hint of sadness and regret behind the vermillion windows of his soul. although the actions he's committing currently are lascivious and of lust, you swear to yourself there was something more than what meets the eye.

as quickly time flashes, strings of muddy white spring out from his cock, the liquids spilling into your exposed tits and your panic stricken face. he catches his breath in the midst of it, heavy panting echoes inside the enclosed vicinity. "i didn't order you to stop."

his words pierces your perturbed mind, he pertains to your masturbation ending just as when he reached his climax. the male swiftly gathers all the cum littering your skin with one hand and one movement, cupping the liquids carefully only to insert all of it into your pussy.

a moan bubbles from your throat, feeling his long fingers curl inside your sticky walls. blade, even though a stoic man most of the time, he's also full of surprises. he flicks his tongue over your clit, the pointy tip rubbing viscules and in circular motions on the specific spot.

your back arches, waves of pleasure crashing upon your lethargic self. blade doesn't halt and carries on to suck your walls out, margins of his sticky lips perfectly fitting with your lower ones. his tongue once again skillfully glides over your sensitive parts— earning him your climax as it spills out from your hole, adorning his sharp, masculine features as if your ejaculation was an accessory.

it felt ecstatic, as if your body drifts into the seventh heaven from blade's cold touches. in spite of the overwhelming gratification pooling in your body, hundreds of questions start to flare up in your mind, mainly about blade's identity. naturally, it rolls from your lips, a question he didn't see coming.

"what are you really?"

among the many blank faces blade shows you this night, he finally unravels a different one upon encountering your question. "are you really that fervent to know?" he rhetorically asks as a sneering smile creeps on his lips.

my masterlist !

[b00kdiary]

Okay, you write the most delicious smut, so I think the plus-size reader is watching Cassian and Azriel spar and gets lost in her imagination about what they could do to her. And the duo finds out (maybe from Rhys), and one night at dinner, they offer to make her dreams reality. If you already have something like this in mind, please feel free to ignore it. I just think Az and Cassian would be down bad for a plus-size reader 🙂

Take it | Azriel & Cassian (I)

Azriel x Cassian x Plus Size Reader

Rhysand's playing Cupid and his meddling has you experiencing something you never would have thought possible.

Warnings: Mature content (18+) mild violence, mature language, illusions to smut (smut in part 2)

PART II

MASTERLIST - 1 and 2

I knew I should have skipped training today.

From the moment Mor told me that she wasn't attending, that Feyre wouldn't be coming either and that I was alone with Rhysand, Cassian and Azriel- I knew I should have skipped.

Because now I was here, the scorching sun beaming down over my sweating skin, the barren wind a bare caress through my damp pleated hair- and my eyes unwavering upon the two Illyrian males before me.

Sparring.

"C'mon Azriel," Cassian taunted, hazel eyes gleaming with mischief as he danced around the Shadowsinger, his arrogant demeanour so at odds with Azriel's still, quiet form. "Don't tell me you're already tapping out."

Azriel smirked, the smallest tilt of his lips and I felt a shiver trace down the curve of my spine, watching as his powerful thighs rippled with every step he took, scarred hands angled out before him- waiting.

"And miss all the fun?" He mused softly, head cocking, a purely predatory move and the laugh that escaped Cassian was rough as if the banter between them made this all the more exciting.

It didn't usually affect me like this, I didn't usually feel such a strong, visceral response to the two of them. Yes, they were both unbelievably gorgeous and yes, I enjoyed watching them as much as any female did.

But it never affected me as much as it did right now, as strongly as it did from the moment I stepped onto the rooftop and greeted them. It had been hard to deny how my body felt then and it was even worse now.

Especially with them like this- shirtless, sweating, muscles rippling, powerful wings splaying wide, and taunts being thrown between them that made my thighs clench.

I pressed my back into the jagged wall behind me, anchoring myself down with the bite of the concrete against my skin, cutting in through the thin material of my legging and top. The shield I'd erected around me rippled, my emotions overwhelming my control over my magic.

Cassian grunted- raw and grumbling as he swung a fist out aimed for Azriel's rib but was swiftly blocked by a scarred hand shielding close to his tanned skin. Azriel gritted his teeth, his free hand slamming forward, palm connecting brutally with Cassian's shoulder, sending him stumbling back a few steps.

Cassian grinned, feral.

Azriel's eyes narrowed, tongue flicking out to moisten his lips.

And the wetness between my thighs grew and grew, the throbbing ache now incessant, so strong that no matter how hard I clenched my thighs shut it did nothing to quell the need. I swallowed against the dryness in my throat, my body thrumming the longer I watched them.

A deep grunt, a rough, taunting laugh, bodies colliding, wings erected high, sweat and blood over perfect tan skin, trailing down corded muscle and carved abs. Movement so fast that I forced myself not to blink in case I missed something, fighting so intense it was impossible to look away.

And a heat coursing through my body so forcefully I felt like I was going to explode.

'What do we have here?' A voice crooned through my mind, a voice like starlight and I jolted at the intrusion, 'The shield can hide the smell of your arousal, Y/N, but it can't hide the lust in your eyes.'

"Rhys," Cassian grinned, canines bearing to show the blood coating his teeth, and Azriel laughed softly as the male wiggled his brows, eyes upon our High Lord as he stalked in. "Care to join the fun?"

Rhysand smirked, a lazy sight, ringed hands tucked into the pockets of his slacks and my body grew hot, mortification filling me as his long legs brought him closer to where I stood. His violet eyes flash to me- knowingly.

"I think Y/N might be more interested in joining actually," Rhysand mused, his tone dripping with amusement and teasing, and I felt my eyes narrow irately as I glared up at him. "I'm sure she could take it."

My hands clenched as Rhysand's smirk grew, pearly teeth peeking through, seeing how my throat bobbed when Cassian and Azriel both glanced at me expectantly, panting.

"Alright angel," Cassian winked, and I managed a strained smile, feeling my cheeks growing unbearable hot- and Rhysand laughing through my mind. "You're sparring next."

'If only he knew that this wasn't the kind of sparring you were interested in,' Rhys taunted through my mind and I felt his claws racking down my mental shields, so strong I clenched my jaw to stop myself from snarling at him.

'Fuck off, Rhys' I sent a shock of my power through my mind and Rhysand's spine straightened beside me, though that smirk never once left his lips. 'I don't know what you're even talking about.'

'No?' He muses and I roll my eyes as his shoulder brushes mine, my body so stiff as I grab hold of my water bottle, my fingers shaking and weak as I uncap the lid. 'So, you're not having some very naughty thoughts about my General and Spymaster right now?'

'No,' I gritted out mentally, hating how I was falling for the bait, hating that he could see just how caught off guard I was. My eyes flutter as Azriel grumbles, shadows coiling around his lean waist and broad shoulders as he and Cassian circle each other. 'No, I'm not.'

Another rumbling laugh through my mind, a brush of Rhysand's shoulder against me, and the water bottle shakes in my hand as I bring it to my mouth, needing to distract myself desperately.

The mouth of the bottle touches my lip, the lukewarm water just barely tracing my tongue- and then my mind shifts.

And the images leak in.

Scarred hands cupping my breasts, toying with my hard nipples.

Canines scrapping my pulse point, my fingers curled around silken locks of dark hair.

I hear myself moaning as a head slips between my soft thighs, my eyes clenching shut as I rock my hips against the skilled tongue, back arching when another mouth finds purchase around my taut nipple.

I'm trapped between those two magnificent, corded bodies, massive wings shielding our nakedness- but I feel every touch, every kiss, every whispered praise as they worship me.

"Y/N!"

Another blink and the images are gone from my mind, replaced by the world around me again. And three pairs of eyes on me- all of them wide, unblinking, worried as they watch me.

"What happened, sweetheart?" Azriel breathes, chest rising and falling fast as he sucks in air, and I trace over the dark whorls covering his skin as I blink away the thoughts. "Are you okay?"

"I'm uh- I'm fine," I clear my throat, skin burning with heat and that embarrassment only grows when I spot my water bottle dropped at my feet, water already drying up on the concrete. Rhysand snickers as I swiftly reach down and grab it and my hands tremble as I hold it to my chest.

'You should tell them what you want, Y/N,' Rhys mutters through my mind and when I glance sideways at him, he merely smiles, bland and natural, as if he wasn't currently wading through my thoughts. 'They'd be more than happy to make it happen.'

"I think I'm done for today, boys," I manage a small smile, as I turn to grab my training bag at my side, glad for the reprieve from their eyes, even if I felt them wholly on my back. "Too fucking hot out."

'Y/N,' Rhysand called through my mind again, and the teasing was gone- replaced by something sincere.

'They won't be interested,' I hiss back, a lump lodging in my throat as I turn toward the males behind me, still standing watching me. ' I'm not going to embarrass myself by saying something.'

"I thought you wanted to spar?" Cassian raises a dark brow at me, hazel eyes watching carefully as I walk past Rhysand, not sparing him a second glance. "I'll go easy on you if you're scared, angel."

"Didn't she kick your ass last time, Cass?" Rhysand snorted, and I watched Azriel's lips tilt into a full-blow smile, a breathtaking sight as Cassian rolled his eyes, grinning as he flipped off the male behind me.

'You're lying to yourself if you think they're not interested in you,' His voice made me grit my teeth, my back steeling as I inched toward the door. ' Why don't you just find out?'

"Don't rough each other up too bad," I chuckle, ignoring the ache in my chest as I glance between the three of them, ignoring Rhysand's claws in my mind, "Seeing your pretty faces is the best part of my day."

Cassian grins, winking fiendishly at me.

Azriel smiles, red tinting his cheeks.

And Rhysand just cocks his head- almost as if to say see, I told you so.

I turn on my heel, my smile fading as soon as my back is to them and I'm walking toward that exit.

'Drop it, Rhys,' I warn, letting him feel how utterly serious I was, 'I mean it.'

***

'You're lying to yourself if you think they're not interested in you.'

Rhysand didn't know how wrong he was.

It was kind of him, sweet even, to say that two males as beautiful and perfect as Azriel and Cassian would have any interest in me, any sexual desire- even if it couldn't be further from the truth.

Not when I didn't hold a candle to Mor, who they both wholly desired, whose face and body and beauty were incomparable, something that I couldn't have, have never had, not in a million years.

And not when in all the years I've known them, neither of them have ever looked at me the way they look at her- with true lust. No desire, no primitive focus, no carnal need, I was their little sister, the female they loved but could never love like that.

I swallow down that bitter dose of reality as I make my way through the silent corridors of the House of Wind, my heels clinking against the smooth floor, as I get closer to the dining room. There's no sound in the house, unusual for this time of day.

I run my hands down the soft silk dress I wore, the dark green material clinging to my waist before cascading down my thighs, stopping mid-calf. It was more effort than I usually bothered with for dinner with the court, but Rhysand had insisted.

'A special dinner' he had said in his note 'Never hurts to dress up and celebrate our family.'

But as I turn the corridor, pushing past the ajar dining room door- it doesn't seem like much of a celebration.

"Y/N," Cassian greets, smiling over his broad shoulder at me, the material of his black shirt melding perfectly to every hard inch of him. I take a few tentative steps into the room and his eyes grace down my figure, over the dress I wore.

"Hey Cass," I mutter, brow furrowing as I take in the two glasses of red wine, a third sat empty and clean beside them and only three chairs surrounded the oak table Cassian stood before. "Where is everyone?"

My body shivers when something dances around my right ankle, the touch unbearably soft and I giggle when I glance down, noticing the shadow that wreathed around my calf, inching higher up my dress.

"Feyre's cycle started so Rhys is looking after her," Cassian said, wincing in a way that told me he was thankful not to be a female enduring that kind of pain. An amused snort came from behind me, and I didn't need to turn to know that it was Azriel, could feel his quiet scrutiny and recognise it anywhere. "And Mor and Amren had some Hewn City crap to deal with."

"So much for dressing up and celebrating the family," I mumble taking a few steps forward, and when Azriel places his large hand on the small of my back, I feel the touch through every inch of my body. I swallow, glancing over my shoulder at him, meeting those bright hazel eyes.

"It's just us three tonight," Azriel muses lowly, and my dress feels like a non-existent barrier between his hand and my back, his scarred thumb brushing soft circles there. "Is that alright Y/N?"

"Y-yes," I mentally curse myself for the stutter, my cheeks blazing when Azriel's lip tilts into a bare smirk, his eyes glancing to Cassian and gleaming with something dark. I clear my throat, managing a strained smile, "Me and my two favourite Illyrian males, should be fun."

"We won't tell Rhysand you said that" Cassian winks and I grin as Azriel leads me forward, his hand still on my back, burning and igniting my skin, guiding me to the chair- he pulls it out for me, his touch gentle as he helps me take a seat and tucks me in.

"He's my favourite High Lord though, so it's fine," I tease, waving a dismissive hand and I try to force myself to be calm and at ease as Azriel and Cassian take the two seats in front of me, their powerful bodies so foreboding as they settle into the chairs.

"Feyre's my favourite High Lady, Mor's my favourite blonde," I prattle on, ignoring their intense stares as I fiddle with my hands in my laps, trying to babble through my unease. "And Amren's my favourite short, angry person."

"We definitely won't tell Amren you said that" Cassian snickers and I release a tight breath of relief when Azriel begins to pour me a glass of wine, his eyes locking with mine as he hands it to me- my hand brushes his and I swear something flashes through his eyes at the contact.

"Thank you," I whisper, and I don't waste a second before bringing the glass to my lips, my eyes fluttering shut as I tip my head back, the bittersweet liquid sliding down my throat, and I keep drinking until it's all gone.

I feel the tingle the alcohol induces instantly, fae wine so much stronger than the regular stuff and it's exactly the kind of buzz I needed right now, the kind that distracted me from the way my body felt when in the same room as these two males.

I bring the glass back down to the table with a clink and only then do I realise the tense silence in the room. I blink away the haze, and when my eyes meet Cass and Az again, I'm surprised by the look on their faces.

Their eyes are dark, wholly dark- and zeroed in on my lips, watching every breath and move with predatory focus.

"Is-is there something on my face?" I raise a brow, chuckling uncomfortably and when I lift a hand insecurely to my mouth, Cassian releases a tight exhale, shifting in his seat so that he's leaning back, long legs and strong thighs spread under the table.

"No, you're okay," Azriel shakes his head, beautiful face soft with contemplation, though the darkness never leaves his eyes, the emotion behind them that I can't seem to decipher as he stares at my lips still. "That's a pretty shade of red, is all- don't you think so Cassian?"

"Definitely," Cassian mumbles roughly in agreement, a lazy smile pulling at his lip as he takes a long sip from his glass, his tongue flicking out to lick off the wine gathering there- and the sight was more provocative than it should have been. "Red might just be your colour, angel."

"Thanks, uh- it was a present from Mor for Winter Solstice," I swallow thickly, fighting the urge to grab the wine bottle and chug from it. "She said it was one of the most popular shades, I can't remember the name, but I thought it was funny to call it blowjob red."

Cauldron, the air shifts so fast, so severely at those words- blowjob red.

The second I say it it's like the darkness in their eyes, the intensity of their stares, their teasing remarks, it all slots into place- and their shields come crashing down. Arousal, stark and powerful, so raw and filthy that my core ached in response.

"Is that why you wore it tonight?" Azriel spoke, his voice like death incarnate, so quietly violent that my thighs clamped shut at the sound, at the heat behind every slow word. The air caught in my lungs as he cocked his head at me, predator eying prey, "To have us contemplating the feel of your pretty, red mouth?"

Pretty, red mouth.

Cauldron, I must be dreaming.

My lips parted- surprised, and for a moment, all I could do was blink dumbly, staring between them with confusion creasing my brow. They didn't speak, utterly silent as they watched me piece everything together, but I could sense their amusement when my brow furrowed deeper.

"I suppose it's only fair, for you to paint your lips that distracting shade of red, to wear a dress that hugs every curve on your body, it's fair for you to taunt us so mercilessly," Cassian smirks and my eyes widen at every word, at the sincerity behind them. "Especially since it seems we unwittingly were doing the same to you this morning during training."

Training?

Oh, shit, shit, shit- Cauldron fucking spare me.

"Unless Rhysand was being an asshole and lied to us?" Cassian continued, but his words were starting to blur now, the thrumming in my head overwhelming my senses, making it hard to hear, making it hard to see, to speak. "Y/N, did he lie?"

He told them.

He told them.

Fuck, he told them.

"Hey, hey, hey-" I flinch, my knee slamming against the table when something brushes over my hot cheek. Still, I calmed my alarm upon seeing the tendril of darkness flittering past my eye-line, Azriel's shadows caressing my face, anchoring me down from the panic that was building.

"I don't-uh-," I shake my head, tears lining my eyes and I clenched them shut- I wasn't sure why I felt like crying…embarrassment? Shame? Insecurity? I guess I could pick one and it would be right. "I don't know-"

"We were hoping he wasn't lying," Azriel coaxed gently, and my burning eyes lifted to him, his lovely face was so sweet, so unfathomably kind that it forced me to take a stabilising breath.

"You were?" I question hoarsely, my throat as dry as sandpaper as I glanced from Az to Cass, something coiling in me at the sight of their perfect faces, their broad shoulders, their massive wings, and their attention solely on me.

"Angel, if we haven't made it clear how badly we want you right now, then we must be shitter at flirting than I thought," Cassian snorted and I couldn't fight the smile, the breathy laugh that escaped me at his words.

He grinned at the sight, Azriel too- as if something as small as me smiling, laughing, made their day.

'You're lying to yourself if you think they're not interested in you.'

Dammit Rhysand was right.

"Rhysand wasn't lying, he's an ass but he didn't lie," I say, releasing a long breath and this time, when my eyes lift to them, when I meet their gazes, I let them see exactly how honest he had been.

I tuck a strand of hair behind an arched ear, and I don't think either of the males is even breathing as I push out of my chair, the wood screeching against the floor before I rise to my feet.

My chest aches as their gazes instantly drop down my body- over my breasts, waist, stomach, thighs, over every inch of me.

"I'm going back to my room," I whisper, and both of them go utterly still, and their eyes sharpen, primitive, completely Fae, so strong that Azriel's shadows quieten, and Cassian's wings twitch.

"Would the two of you care to join me?"

__________________________________________

@mis-lil-red @hyemishii @assaultsofthought @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @loveareum @infintyfandoms @sarawritestories @eerievixen @nyotamalfoy

Part TWO and all its filthy smut !

Comment to be added to the tag list!

Taking requests!

[florvaine]

lost comfort and found familiarity.

Escaping the prison was a mess, and Carl is devastated when he can only find his girlfriends red jacket, but not her. (afab! reader)

genre: heavy angst to fluff

warnings: death, blood, gore, panic/anxiety attack, !carls’ SA scene!, kissing.

-— DREAD BEGAN TO FILL THE PIT OF CARL’S STOMACH WHEN THE HEAVY REALISATION SET IN. That realisation was that the prison was overrun, the Governor and his goons having broken down the wired fencing with a tank and brought in dozens upon dozens of brain-deteriorated, famished walkers into the previously safe confines of the prison.

They had killed Hershel in cold blood using Michonne's katana, leaving his severed head to pool a red sheen on the grass. Somewhere in the time of his beheading bullets began to ring out around the borders of the prison.

Cars, trucks and military-grade vehicles began to fill the courtyard, Rick and the Governor are beating each other bloody with their bare hands by the overturned bus.

“Holy shit.” He hears you say, and once he looks to his left to find you, his heart hurts a little more.

You’re typically comforting smile has vanished like the peace had just a few hours ago, instead pulled in an open-mouthed look of pure shock and horror. Your eyes are blown wide, brimming with a small collection of tears. There’s dust and debris flying everywhere, staining your cheeks. A shotgun is tight in your grip, ammo stacked in your pockets and an army knife clinging on your belt.

He’s only ever seen you this devastated when the farm got set up in flames, and when you had been told that your brother had been bit.

Carl gulps, pulling you closer to him via the strong grip he has on your hand. Both of your palms are sweaty, but it was barely even registered as the tank that the Governor had hijacked shot another bomb into the crumbling, brick walls of the prison.

“We gotta go!” He says, running in the opposite direction of the explosion. You follow behind him, still holding his hand as an anchor to keep you aware of reality.

Your eyes drift around the series of events around you. The obliteration of your home, the snapping jaws of the decaying walkers that drooled and reached to take a chunk of flesh from either of your bodies. Bullets rain hell on everything that moves, sparks of orange and yellow shining from all directions, the scent of blood, gunpowder and dust is heavy as it clings to your clothes and hair.

You stumble, tugging on Carl's hand, "We have to get your Dad!" You point to where Michonne is helping him up, and the blue-eyed boy falters.

A loud bang followed by the sound of debris hitting the floor, a flash of heat passed over each of your skins. Between the flash, he sees his dad covered in splatters of blood, bruises and cuts stumbling towards a break in the metal fence.

Every sense in his body is muddled, an annoying, high-pitched ring in his ears makes his clammy hands raise upwards to press against them, sounds muffled as dust coats his tongue like thick, chalky medicine. His eyes flutter as the light passes, debris clinging to his lashes and dirtying his freckled face. Carl sniffs, his head turning around rapidly to see you again.

Except you were gone.

Just like the flash of orange light and thermal blast, you had seemingly dissipated into thin air. His first reaction is panic, in a form that roots his body into the concrete floor at the thought of you being hit by the bomb, therefore disintegrating instantly.

Carl feels sick to his stomach and he removes his hands from his ears, picking up his gun that clattered to the ground and spinning in circles to catch even a glimpse of you.

"Y/n?" He shouts even if his throat was aching from the particles in the muggy air.

There's no response, "Y/n!" He calls out with more urgency, his feet moving quick against the ground as another round of bullets pass beside him.

The shaggy, brown-haired teen dashes through a gap between the cell blocks, keeping as low as he could whilst running, pressing the sheriff's hat his father gave him just a few days prior against him skull.

Then everything stops. It's practically silent if you ignore the echoes of the snarling walkers that invaded the space. His eyes brim with salty tears, scrambling to pick up a too familiar red cloth discarded on the floor.

His heart is put on pause for a few seconds as he kneels down to claw at the jacket. Your favourite jacket. Bright red stained with black smudges and bloody hand smears, an open hole passes cleanly through both sides of the left sleeve, encircled in a deeper scarlet that dripped in a sickening curve of an open wound.

Time passes slowly, as if God himself was providing him time to grieve. You had slipped through the cracks of his callousing hands, the blood trapped under his fingernails suddenly more obvious as he scratched at the drying liquid on the jacket. His heart hurts. So does his head, a throbbing pulse that matched the pants and trembling breaths that exited his chapped lips. His body washes out any adrenaline or happy emotion an refills it with dread and mourning.

He feels like crying. Sobbing, screaming your name until his lungs collapsed and his throat was raw. Vocal cords torn, shattered like his heart that would no longer beat with the same life he had with you. His thoughts turned from joyous hope of a future with you and Judith outside the crackling prison to disbelieving hurt at the realisation you were not near him anymore.

With no body, their could be no funeral. Nobody in the limited black attire they collected throughout their time in the apocalypse. With no grave to bury you under, you could not rest.

But without a funeral or a tattered corpse of your being, Carl refused to believe you were dead.

The sound of bullets restart his heart again like a defibrillator, and he's back in the moment. There's shots in the courtyard, the boy scrambles up, clinging onto your jacket with harsh breathing.

There's two walkers further along the cell block. Carl ties the jacket around his waist. Rage slowly drips into the building acceptance in his mind, and the shotgun that he held previously was snagged up off the floor.

The gun is raised, aimed perfectly for the decaying heads of what used to be morally guided people. His breathing picks up slightly.

One shot rings out, bullet shells hitting the ground. Chunks of skin, bone and rotting organs spills over the floor and the walker hits the ground with a dull thud. He steps over the remains with what could only be described as a bitter mixture of anger and sadness on his face.

The second shot is fired, and the first victim is joined by the other. A mess of liquid ruby changes the grey hue of the floor, the sound of blood spilling like tossed water would usually sicken him.

His gaze drifts towards the bodies, and he is repulsed at the image of you, your hair splayed against the concrete and your eyes wide open yet unseeing, glossed over in grey as your plump lips turn blue, skin cold. Your chest does not rise. You are still, graceful and dead.

He blinks, and yet again you were gone. Carl looks up from the meaningless corpses.

His own dad looks back at him.

"Carl," It doesn't sound like him, there's a hint of liquid that gurgled in his throat as he spoke, and Rick gulps it down. He's breathing heavily. A collection of red patches adorn his beaten face, curls from his hair and stubbly beard pressed against the sweat gathered on his skin.

The two of them limp away from the remains of the prison, trauma and sorrow tossing and churning in their minds and stomachs. They had lost not only you, but Judith as well.

One of the only memories of his mother that he had. And the only hope that Rick had of raising one of his children without any fear even in the apocalypse.

That night the two of them exchanged no words.

-—-

1 month, 27 days and 17 hours.

That's how long it had been since Carl had last heard your voice. Him, Rick and now Michonne occupy a two story house in a leafy road surrounded by woods. They visit the neighbouring homes further down, once he even found a 112 ounces worth of chocolate pudding, and ate it in one sitting. Alone.

The words 'alone' has never been in the forefront of his mind this much before. He wonders if you would've enjoyed the pudding with him, or comforted him on his worst nights as his dad slept on the sofa barricading the front door. Maybe you would've stopped him shouting at his unconscious body.

He was terrified, that night. Because the sleeping body of his dad would sometimes look like you - except there's a bite on your shoulder and a bullet wound punctured between your closed eyes.

Now there was no resting body on the sofa as his dad was awake, alive and moving whilst Michonne helps the two of them work with their slightly tense familial relationship.

Sometimes he'd get bombarded with questions about you. He'd still answer with one phrase.

"She's alive."

The same tone, the same memory starting to form before his ocean eyes whenever he blinked. After a while it went from being a quivering statement of hope to an exclamation of law.

Every time you were brought up negativily, it ended in him storming out of the house and sleeping in a different one for the night, and coming back in the morning to his anxious dad who was very close to vomiting and a worried Michonne.

Carl knew you wouldn't just leave or give in that easily. It wasn't in your blood that stained the jacket he kept folded upstairs in one of the rooms.

He had washed it, any trace of what happened at the prison left in a stream of water; the hole from your bullet wound was sewn together as best as he could. No more smudges of soot and crumbling brick smeared down the hood and arms, no more scarlet hand prints that grabbed and tainted your clothing.

Carl had one mission that he would complete - he had to complete it before anything else.

And you were going to get your jacket back - alive.

-—-

Terminus was a horrible idea. It had been advertised as a safe haven for anyone in need of it, offering sickingly sweet luxuries that no other place had before.

Who knew it was run by cannibals that captured, disarmed and intended to eventually eat them? Not Carl, that's for sure.

They had barely escaped with their lives, and Carl could only wonder how many more times he could dodge death until it inevitably caught up with him.

But in the back of his mind, he knew he would avoid it for as long as he possibly could, because if he kicked the bucket then he wouldn’t see you again.

At least they found everyone else - including Judith. That was one miracle that Carl dreamed of, and it was accepted, so the last one was you.

Many nights and days he had spent wondering where you were, if you were thinking about him too, some other days passed with tears and muffled screams of your name; those days he’d be comforted by the tight arms of his dad or Michonne wrapped around him.

Carl would sometimes have nightmares of that grimey, old man that pinned him against the floor, Michonne and Rick having to see him at his most vulnerable in that moment. That was the one time he was grateful you weren’t there. Not because he didn’t want you to see him so shattered and broken, no.

He knew that whatever was going to happen to him, would happen to you too. And with the predator pinning him down, the company of his equally as vile creatures that held Michonne and Rick as captives. Nobody would be able to save you in time.

Part of his innocence was picked up and snapped that night. He fell asleep with your jacket over his torso, and he let his quivering frame curl into yours.

He wanted to see you again, in real life. Not a part of the fractured, twisted part of his imagination. He wished to hold you close against him, kiss you under the stars like you had done too many days ago. Everything Carl found that he thought you’d like was in a small pouch at the bottom on his bag.

A thin-chained necklace, a gossip magazine, a comic book. A small heart shaped rock that he had found. Most importantly, your jacket.

Carl was intelligent, observant. He could tell everyone had already grieved for you, mentioned your name in speeches of motivation saying ‘do it for her’. He hated it.

Another argument happened whilst they were all moving down the abandoned road, towards a new hope of life.

*

His father brought you up again when he saw Carl wearing your jacket. They had stopped for a break, sitting in the middle of the road whilst Daryl went hunting for anything they could eat.

“Carl,” He spoke, voice slow and gentle as if he was a ticking time bomb, “I think it’s time you let go of her jacket.”

Everyone’s eyes moved from his father to his son, eyes slightly widened and mouths clamped shut. The air becomes tense as the blue-eyed teen looks up at his father through the corner of his eyes.

Carl swipes his tongue over his lips, “Why’s that?” He spoke, Judith coo’s in his arms, pulling at the strings that tightened the hood.

Rick adjusts his stance, placing his hands on his hips and thinking of what to say to his son. His mouth opens and closes a few times before he speaks.

“I just think, well we just think that,” The curly-haired dad gestures to everyone with one hand, “It’s time to let go, son.”

Carl lifts his head fully, eyebrows knitted together in scrutising disbelief, “You all think she’s dead?” His tone is harsh, accusing and targeted to pierce their racing hearts.

Everyone knew that the mention of you being dead was something that the boy didn’t agree with. Stubborn as ever, Carl points his gaze towards his dad. His gaze as sharp as daggers and Rick knows hes in for the long run.

“She disappeared, Carl. We can only guess what happened to her.”

Carl hands Judith to Carol next to him and she takes her without looking at the boy, “You can guess, but I’m not guessing. I know she’s alive.”

“She’s got lost, nobody saw where she went. She’s alone.” Rick argued, his voice louder.

“She has a gun and a knife!” Carl replies, shouting over his father. Michonne stands up and removes her gun from her holster, as did Abraham and Tara when a branch snaps behind the wooded trees.

Daryl shows himself, empty handed. Everyone internally groans, but they give him a look to tell him to be quiet and point at the arguing boys.

Rick places his hands on his sons shoulder, looking down on him, “People have still died with a gun, kid.”

Carl pushes his dad away from him, face contorting into pure anger and vemon lacing his features, “Don’t touch me.”

“I’m just tellin’ you the truth, Carl.” Rick points at him, eyebrows raised and his voice returning to the soft, almost patronising tone from before.

“But it’s not the truth!” Carl argues, his anger put into lashing out against his own blood, “She’s alive, I know it! I see her, Dad!”

Michonne places a hand on Rick’s shoulder when she hears him sigh and prepare himself, “Don’t-”

“She’s dead! Trust me. She. Is. Dead. If you’re seeing her like I see your mother, then she is not alive anymore!”

It goes silent, a few birds fly overhead with calls of their scratchy language. Even in the open surrounded by trees it has never felt more claustrophobic than ever for the Grimes family.

Carl stiffens at the mention of his mother, the woman that birthed and nutured him through his pre-teen years. The woman he eventually ended up killing.

Rick takes his silence as an opportunity, “Let her go, Carl. That’s my only advice.”

Tears form in his lashline as he stares back at him dad, and the sheriff’s hat against his head has never felt more heavy than in this moment.

“But everyone saw Mum’s body.”

Rick has never turned around quicker than in that moment. The mention of his lovers lifeless body, deep cut in her lower stomach flashes under the glaze in his eyes and Rick swears he can see a white dress move through the treeline.

Carl continues, “We saw Mum’s body,” His voice trembles and he sniffs, “I knew she was dead more than anyone else here.”

It’s deathly silent. Everyone knows what he’s referring to, and everyone is scared shitless to say anything to either of them. Rick takes a deep breath, but doesn’t speak.

A droplet rolls down Carl’s pale cheek, and he looks down to ensure no one saw him wipe it away, “We haven’t seen hers. Until we see her body, I’m keeping her jacket. But when we find her, she’s gonna have it back.”

Rick only nods lightly, picking up the supplies he agreed to carry.

Nobody makes any objections to continuing to move further up the road - towards Alexandria.

-—-

You have never felt so close before. Yes, they were extremely suspicious and afraid of Aaron and his husband, Eric. Having been tricked into a cannibal house just a week ago does that to a group of people.

But walking up yet another road, littered with lifeless corpses of walkers with bullets making their brains paint the pavement. Carl knows only one thing.

He has never been this sure that he was going to find you.

Aaron is rattling on about what facilities they had. Running water, heating, electricity. Promises of necessaries they haven’t heard of for years now.

His dad is on edge, not particularly fond of the idea, but he knew that everyone was so tired and burnt out that they needed just the idea of a safe place to be just to bring more motivation to themselves.

So far, Aaron’s words of a 15 foot, metal wall that bordered Alexandria and protected the insiders was true, and Carl begins to feel more energetic and hopeful than before.

Carol notices this, and questions the boy, “What’s up, Carl?” She looks at him, and he looks back.

“She’s here, I know it.” He replies and then looks forward again, walking ahead of her.

Carol furrows her brows and decides to take harder and longer looks at the walkers on the floor.

The group arrive at the large, metal gate. The journey felt like hours for each of them, but extra long for Carl. He was antsy, and fully compliant to anything any of them told them to do. If Aaron or Eric told them to stop, he would. If they told him to go find a bird, kill it and bring it back, he would.

The gates finally screech open, Carl feels as if his heart is going to burst open. An alarm sounds in the back of his head but not one of worry, but one of intuition that told him she was here.

He looked into the gated community as the gate opened fully, and felt alienated as soon as he entered with his group. They were dirty, hair knotty and unclean against the pristine and organised residents of Alexandria.

People poke their heads out of houses and stare, smiling or looking upon them with apathy. Every face Carl doesn’t recognise.

They get told to hand over their weapons. Their refusal is argued, and eventually they give in. It’s hesitated and unsettling seeing all their guns and knifes piled onto a trolley.

Carl is the second to last person to place anything on the trolley, his handgun is held in his hands tightly as he walks over to the collection, placing it down and reaching for his knife-

“Carl?”

It’s a voice further along the pathway into Alexandria, and he looks up in slight confusion.

His blue eyes meet hers, they’re as recognisable as ever. Finally.

His body is practically overflowing with emotion - relief, joy, sadness and the most overpowering feeling of love.

The knife clatters to the floor, there are hands reaching for him, tugging on his clothes to hold him back and the leaders that he didn’t care to remember the names of tell him to stay put.

Instead he runs. It’s a run of desperation. He’s afraid that if he doesn’t run fast enough, you’ll disappear again in the aftermath of an explosion. You’re running too, a hand against your mouth to cover sobs.

The two of you meet halfway, arms wrapping around eachother as a form of physical touch to ensure that the other that this is real.

“You’re alive,” Carl whispers, breathing heavily and clutching the back of your head that was pressed against his chest, “I knew it.”

You’re both crying, holding eachother in a tight, cathartic embrace that released any inkling of doubt that the others heart wasn’t beating.

Carl’s hands clamber to hold you face in his hands again. You let him, raising your head to look into his eyes. He runs his thumbs against your soft skin, scanning your face.

His head lowers, yours lifts, and your lips meet in a greeting that was way past it’s due date. Eyes closed, experiencing something that has only been a dream for so long. You didn’t care that his lips were chapped, he didn’t care that yours were slightly cut up from you biting at the dead skin there.

It’s messy, teeth clashing and your noses bump one or two times, but all that you care about is that he’s here, and that he finally found you.

You pull apart, and your eyes fly open to witness his still closed like he was still in shock. His lashes flutter, and you make eye contact once again.

There’s a sense of melancholy realisation that slowly ebbs through him. The fact he hadn’t been there to witness you grow up alongside him during the time you were apart. He admires the change in your facial structure, features from before stronger and more prominent to show that you had grown up.

“You’re just as beautiful as I remembered,” His thumb wipes away a few of your tears and rolls over a small scar that streches up from your jawline to your cheekbone and his eyebrows furrowed in slight worry, “What happened?”

You press yourself further against his palms, relishing in the feeling of him again, “I survived, Carl.”

His name has never sounded so good before. His brain feels funny, his heart floating as he pulls you in for another kiss. It’s less messy this time, not that either of you care.

Carl pulls away again as he’s reminded of his mission, his forehead against yours, “Your jacket,” He gives you peck, and departs again, “I have your jacket.”

His hands leave your face to pull the rucksack of his back, and in panting breaths you gasp softly as he pulls the red fabric out of the bottom of the brown bag, holding it out to you.

“I cleaned it, sewed up the bullet hole,” He holds it up, showing the messy threading, “It’s not the best-”

He’s cut off by you taking it from him with a sniffle, pressing it against your heart and clutching it.

“I love you, Carl.” Your voice trembles, and he smiles, pressing a kiss against your forehead, brushing a few loose strands of your hair from your face.

“I love you too.”

You unzipped the red jacket, struggling to get it on; Carl moves forwards to help you slide it on over your arms again.

Where it rightfully belongs.

-—-

[2kmps]

NIGHTFALL

elk god x reader | wc 746

synopsis: you're a ranger always volunteering to take on the nightshift and no one wants to know why.

a/n: just a little practice piece. not proofread. no pertinent warnings. @vincentvalenfine , ty for the request!

No one dared to ask questions of you when you had volunteered to take up the lonesome night shift at the ranger’s station.

Workplace superstition wasn’t one to discriminate, whether that meant you were tweaking a bullet out of someone's chest in the operating room; sterile gowns splattered with carmine like a rorschach inkblot, adrenaline dampening the noise in the room while the surgeons honed into that sweet spot of impenetrable focus, or you were reclined in a creaky wooden chair, prodding agitatedly at your phone screen with a thumb because the service had turned to shit for the fifth time that night.

The reason why you were so adamant to burden the staggering quietness of the Atticus Forest behind aluminum walls that'd amplify the whispering winds and long claws of trees’ appendages trying to gain purchase into the metal went unchallenged, incurious—if no one knew why, they would be spared of knowing about you, bonding with you, catching your eye and expected to act in sympathy if you were to ever change your mind about the arrangement.

You, however, used the cover of nightfall, the endless shroud of darkness produced from a sprawling canopy of lush treetops to roam freely, uninhibited by the daytime shuffle of campers and hikers and other rangers scouting the trails for no-good-doers.

Every night you wandered out some ways from the station, somewhat nettled by the fact you were leashed from going far from the radio, needing to standby in case of contact, and whistled tunefully. It was a sweet sound that aroused the owls and sleeping doves, sometimes the tree frogs would chirp after you, suddenly turning the vast, placid place into a euphony of colorful sounds.

Only when the forest was at its noisiest did he come out from hiding. He did not know shame or fear of the sun, nor quail at the concept of walking among humans, but he preferred to share the forest with the untamed creatures and your company alone. 

“Orruth,” you greeted the lumbering thing as he came away from the trees; the gray of his skin, and gleaming white elk skull were a seamless blend in the inky black all around. “Are you in the mood to walk tonight?”

He did not speak any human tongue, not any that you were aware of at any rate. You were no linguist, but the things he said couldn’t have been mistaken as latin nor some other dead language from forgotten empires and cultures buried by concrete and gentrification. They were guttural, strong echoes that anchored you with awe, overwhelmed by power, the unfathomable words of an ancient who always tried so desperately to converse with you. There could never be a middle-ground between what he said and what you understood because you were never meant to know.

So, he whined instead, lowered his hulking form close to the ground for you to reach his face. You felt the fissures in his long nose, how dry and brittle the bone felt under your fingertips and observed the glowing pupils within hollow sockets staring back at you. Apart from his arms and legs, which were long, sinewy, and gray, his head floated mysteriously by a thick vapor you had ever shied from touching and he seemed to not want you to touch.

“I heard a complaint about a fire about eight kilometers away. I'm hoping it's just a few campers thinking they're above the law of the land, but we can never be too sure.” You explained this while he tucked the flat bone of his nose into your chest, mindful of the sprawl of his antlers as you adjusted to petting him around the eye sockets. “We keep finding animals—gored, disemboweled, almost ritualistically at some campsites. If your old followers keep this up, they may try to ban people from camping out here at all.”

He would probably like that, you thought in hindsight once he had had his fill and pulled away from you. In his own tongue, he tried to say something else. It remained indecipherable to you, but you could have from how he nearly flattened his body to the ground that he was offering you a ride.

“Just try not to throw me into a bunch of tree branches again, yeah?” you sat on the broad shelf of one of his shoulders, arms wound in the network of forks and beams of his antlers as he rose to full height, walking onward off the trail and through the trees towards distant piles of smoke.

[obsessedwithtoomanythings]

Anchor Up to Me, Love

Pairing: Alpha!Leon Kennedy x Omega!Reader

Warning: College AU, Knotting, Claiming Bites, Breeding Kink, Penis In Vagina Sex, Oral Sex, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, But Leon saves the day, cause we love him, Possessive Leon S. Kennedy, Protective Leon S. Kennedy, Violence, just a lil, Leon S. Kennedy Being a Little Shit, Leon S. Kennedy is a tease. Leon S. Kennedy is a Sweetheart, I slept for 2 hours last night cause of this, bon appétit, bone apple teeth, Leon Kennedy loves eating pussy change my mind, Loss of Virginity, Unprotected Sex, POV First Person

Words: 3.3K

A/N: I wrote this in one afternoon, it was not beta'd at all. I pulled this STRAIGHT out of my ass. THIS IS NSFW. IF YOU ARE A MINOR, PLEASE GO AWAY. Title from Anchor by Novo Amor.

The campus was buzzing with hyper energy, the students littering the quad as the weather finally warmed up enough for them to comfortably rest on the green grass. My sneakers slap against the concrete as I take a deep breath in, the fresh air mingling with the student’s scents and I can’t help but feel a twinge of loneliness at the sight of the couples sprawled across the area.

I have spent half my life terrified of everyone - especially alphas - since my father’s warning when I presented. “You need to be careful, pup. Alpha’s only want one thing. You don’t want to end up like your mother - God rest her soul.” The fear it caused has definitely contributed to my self induced isolation. The scent blockers stir in my stomach, and I place a hand over my gut softly as I continue to head toward the library. I couldn’t afford the textbook, and thankfully the library had a cheap copy, but it can only be used in the library. I huff in annoyance as I mount the stairs. I step into the air conditioned building, skin prickling beneath my tee shirt. Should have worn a sweater.

The library is huge, 3 floors of walls lined with books, and the loner in me cries out in joy at seeing how deserted the stacks are. Having memorized the way already, I walk toward where they keep the textbooks and I run my fingers across the bindings until I come across where my textbook should be. I glance around to see if it was maybe misplaced before I head to the front desk.

“Hi, I’m looking for the Understanding Earth textbook for Professor Fieldman’s class?” I ask, and the woman behind the counter looks up with a small smile.

“Oh, that’s a popular one today. There’s a young man in blue who asked for it maybe 10 minutes ago. He should be in one of the study rooms, I think Room C.” The one with the windows. I nod, glancing down at my phone for the time. That paper is due in 12 hours. I’ll have to suck it up and ask if he’s willing to share. I head up the stairs, the hushed whispers of students giggling on the second floor catches my attention as I rub my fingers over my arms to warm them. The straps of my backpack are becoming more and more noticeable the longer the bag rests on my shoulders, and the girls’ voices become audible. “Wasn’t he adorable? He’s in my criminology class. His scent is intoxicating.” I scoff at their words. I walk toward the closed oak door before lightly rapping my knuckles on the varnished surface, and I crack it open as I hear a voice speak. Please be a beta. Please be a beta. Please be a beta.

“Yeah?” The door opens a bit more and that’s when I see him, strong hands hovering over the keys of his laptop, bright blue eyes trained on me as I stand in the doorway, my cheeks probably red from embarrassment.

“Hi,” I say before introducing myself with my name. “I know this is probably weird, but Professor Fieldman assigned a paper due tonight and I need some sources. Would you mind if I shared the textbook with you?” I ask, definitely speaking too fast as the anxiety crawls up my throat, tasting an awful lot like bile. He chuckles and that’s when his scent hits my nose. Those girls weren’t lying. He smells like pine and citrus, which you wouldn’t normally assume would mix, but something about the way it mingles as it enters my nose, my whole body flushes,, and I wonder if it’s because of him being an alpha or just him in general.

“I’m Leon. Leon Kennedy. And no, I don’t mind at all,” he says kindly, scooting his chair over a bit and pushing the textbook closer to the chair next to him. I should not sit next to him. His scent is already almost overwhelming and I’ve been in here for all of 1 minute. I find myself walking forward as I hear the door close behind me and I sit down in the black mesh swivel chair next to Leon. He gives me a small smile before I realize he probably thinks I’m a beta. My scent blockers should be enough. When is my heat due again? I vaguely wonder as I slip my backpack onto the floor next to me and pull out my laptop, opening the document to this stupid paper. “The paper on your favorite mineral and its multitude of uses?” He asks, glancing at my screen and I nervously huff out a laugh.

“Yup. I went with obsidian.” I say as I look back at him. His eyes are like two pools of blue, oceans in their entirety and threatening to drag me under and drown me.

“Good choice. Quartz,” he points his thumb at himself with a small smile as he runs his fingers through his hair before training his eyes on his paper. We sit in comfortable silence for about 10 minutes before the first cramp shoots through my gut. I press a hand to the muscle, hoping pressure will relieve the ache before it increases. I tense up as I groan, dropping my head to the cool desk as my skin feels like it’s on fire. “Are you okay?” He asks, placing a hand on my back, and the warmth of his hand makes me release a very different kind of groan, which I try to muffle by clamping my teeth down on my bottom lip, so hard I may be drawing blood. Heat washes over me and I vaguely register that I am absolutely going into heat right here, next to this alpha I just met. I reach down for my phone to check, and that’s when I realize that I am a week early for my heat.

“I’m fine, I just need to go, I’m sorry,” I whisper, and I stand quickly, slamming my laptop closed much harder than I should before practically throwing it into my backpack, slinging the fabric over my shoulders before I feel a hand lightly wrap around my wrist, not restraining me, just… catching my attention.

“I’m sorry, I can go if you need the-” Leon trails off, his voice fading into silence as his eyes widen. “You’re an omega?” He asks, and I know my scent blockers aren’t very effective anymore. Not against a sudden onset of heat in the middle of the day. I nod smally, feeling tiny compared to this alpha, despite him still sitting down in his own chair. The place where his skin meets mine on my wrist tingles, sending sparks up and down my arm as I am suddenly extremely grateful that I didn’t wrap myself in a sweatshirt. I’d be sweating through it by now.

He squeezes his eyes shut tightly, taking a deep breath while facing away from me, as if he’s trying to compose himself before he speaks again. “Sorry, you’re just… You smell amazing…” He practically rasps, voice dropping to a painfully attractive octave. “I thought you were a beta when you walked in. You shouldn’t be out this close to your heat,” he mumbles, still unable to meet my eyes.

“I’m not due for a week. Trust me, I intend to go home,” I explain, and he nods as he lets go of my wrist. Without another word, I walk briskly to the door. I don’t breathe until I’m out in the fresh air, trying to wash Leon’s scent from my nose before I begin to practically sprint toward the parking lot where my car is. I’m almost there when I hear whistles behind me. Oh no.

“Where you going, pretty ‘mega?” My hands shake violently, slick pouring into the center of my panties due to the incoming heat, and I hear several sets of footsteps behind me. There are at least 3 of them. A cold hand lands on my shoulder and I yelp, dropping my keys to the tarmac as tears brim in my eyes. The alpha spins me around as his friends snigger behind him and his hard body presses me against the nearest vehicle, hands roaming over my jean covered thighs as the hot tears pour down my cheeks. His scent is vile, aggression and sweat wafting off of him in waves, and his nose runs along the column of my throat. “You smell so good, baby. How about you let me take care of your little problem?” His voice is gravely and harsh, tongue licking up my neck to taste my sweat. “God, I’m gonna knot you so-”

“Get the fuck off of her.” A voice says, and it takes my mind only moments to realize it’s Leon.

“Fuck off, finder’s keepers.” I squeeze my eyes closed so tightly that harsh colors flash across my darkened vision, and my hands push against his cotton tee shirt pointlessly.

“Then how about this?” The weight is gone, ripped from my body and I open my eyes to see that Leon has physically ripped the guy off of me and I watch as his body collides with the vehicle next to us, the white metal slightly dented from where his head hit before Leon’s fists tighten in his shirt, pressing him into the truck. “Touch my omega again, and you won’t be leaving unless it’s in a body bag.” Leon lets him go and we both watch as the alpha runs away, followed by his lackeys. If he had a tail, it’d be between his legs.

I sink to the ground, knees pressed to my chest and my hands press into the dark concrete. “Holy…”

“Are you okay?” Leon is there, crouching at my level. “They didn’t hurt you, did they?” I shake my head, hands twitching, begging me to reach out and touch him and I can’t stop them as one lands on his shoulder.

“I just want to feel safe... Can you hold me?” I whisper, and it’s only seconds before his palms skim along my bare arms. Feeling like I’ve been shocked with straight electricity, my gasp escapes as I shift to press my nose into his shirt, the blue cotton/spandex mix beneath my lips driving me up a wall and rushing more slick into the gusset of my panties.

“Of course.” His words are soft, fingers carding through my hair in soothing motions. His lips are soft as they press to my temple and I clutch his shirt tightly in my fists. “What do you need?” He asks, making sure to address me by my name.

“You, alpha…” I whisper, desperation in my tone. “Please…”

“Fuck…” Leon mumbles, nodding and accidentally brushing his nose through my hair, and he groans. “Okay, come on.”

The kisses are all tongues and teeth, lips connected as teeth nibble at the already plump flesh as the door opens. Thank god he has an apartment, cause Dad would never let me bring home an alpha for him to fuck me through my heat. The room smells overwhelmingly like him, air fresheners be damned. Palms on hips, slipping into the waistband of denim, untucking shirts, fingers dancing across skin and I tug on the hem of his light blue shirt, silently pleading for it to come off.

“Need something, sweet girl?” He chuckles, a teasing edge to his voice. A whine slips from my lips into his mouth and he pulls back to press our noses together, foreheads in contact as he looks into my eyes. “Use your words, sweetheart.”

“Off, please, Leon.” Well, he said words. I managed that. He peels the fabric from his chest, my eyes raking over the exposed muscles and soft flesh.

“Eyes up here, ‘mega.” His finger slides under my chin, bringing my eyes to his as our lips collide again before parting to remove my own tee shirt, dropping the cotton onto a pile on top of his. “God, you’re gorgeous,” he whispers under his breath. Before I can process the movements, my feet are off the ground before I feel the weight of the couch beneath me as he tugs on my waistband. “Can I taste you, ‘mega? Please?”

“Mhm,” I hum through my bitten lip, teeth pressing into the tender flesh as I help him remove my tight jeans, my panties flying somewhere in his apartment as he buries his mouth against my cunt without further question.

His name leaves my lips in a squeak as my fingers thread through his dark blonde locks, tugging the strands lightly as his tongue laps at my sex. Growls rumble from his chest as he sucks gently on my clit, the suction forcing gasps and moans from my mouth; I look down and find those intoxicating blue eyes locked on me, the wet sounds coming from my center absolutely lewd. How do people live without this?

“Do you want my knot?” The question should require more thought. More attention.

“Yes. Please alpha, need it.” Leon stands, lips and chin coated with my shiny slick, and I watch as he licks the fluid off his lips before using his fingers to wipe off the remainder before sucking them into his mouth. Oh fuck, that’s hot. Nimble fingers undo the buttons of his jeans, tugging the zipper down tauntingly. “Leon.” His name comes out as a frustrated groan, and I’m gifted by the sweet sound of his light chuckle.

“Patience is a virtue, sweet girl.” I groan, a small laugh of my own filling the air as he comes up to kneel between my thighs, the skin of my ass pressing against his thighs as he leans forward to rub his cock along the length of my core. “Fucking shit, got the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen, ‘mega. Have you ever had a knot before?” He asks, rolling his hips so his tip bumps against my clit and I shake my head no. “Have you ever had sex with anyone?”

“No…” I admit, hands coming up to press against my hot cheeks.

“That’s okay, ‘mega. Do you want to keep going?” I peek between my fingers to see his soft smile. He is willing to stop for my comfort. “I can make you come in other ways if you don’t want-”

“I want your knot, please Leon.” My hips cant on their own accord, rubbing against him and his groan quickly dissolves into a huff of laughter, the sound filled with affection and gentleness.

“Okay, baby. We’ll take this slow, okay?” His head nudges at my opening, pressing the head in. The slight burn doesn’t last as my body adjusts to him, his arms caging me in on both sides of my head filling each of my senses with nothing but Leon, Leon, Leon. It continues like this, him pressing his length pressing in an inch or two before he pauses, huffy breaths puffing against my face as his peppers my face in soft kisses, my hands cupping his jaw and nape of his neck to feel some semblance of balance as he splits me open. I have nothing to compare it to, but he feels pretty big to me. Finally after a painstakingly long time, his hips press forward, flush with mine, and we both release shaky pants at the sensations.

“Please move,” I whimper as my hands shift to dig into the firm muscle of his shoulders, dull nails leaving crescents in his flesh.

“Anything for you, my sweet little omega.” The sweet words are quickly drowned out as he begins a leisurely pace, and I can feel the drag of his cock against my walls at every movement he makes. Kissing is futile by this point; We’re practically just breathing into each other’s mouths. His pace begins to steadily climb, faster and harder as his deft fingers rub soft circles over my bud, my head thrown back in response to the new sensation. “Does that feel good, sweet girl?” I nod before his earlier command rings through my ears.

“Yeah, Leon… Feels so good.”

“Such a perfect little omega, my omega.” The possessive tone sends a wave of heat straight down my spine as he continues. “That alpha touching you earlier… God I wanted to rip his throat out…” Hips slapping harder against mine as my moans grow in pitch, his name practically the only coherent sound that can be heard from my lips.

“Yours, alpha. All yours.” The blonde nuzzles into my neck, teeth grazing across my sweat slicked skin. He speaks, and it takes a nip to my ear to realize he’s speaking, my focus being tugged between the wet sounds of us meeting, his teeth on my neck, his scent in my nose, and his dirty words in my ears.

I want to claim you.

Fill you til it spills from that tight little pussy.

Want my babies, sweetheart?

Knock you up, god you’d look so pretty carrying my babies, ‘mega.

I nod blindly, barely unable to form words anymore as I’m so fucked out, so cockdrunk.

“Yes, please, fill me. Want it. Want you.” I groan in protest as he pulls out, emptiness bringing tears to my eyes before his gentle caress causes me to peel my eyes open to meet his. I’m greeted with a new sight. This isn’t just Leon.

This is my alpha.

“Present for me, ‘mega.” I nod, flipping over so my knees press into the scratchy fabric of the couch, arms resting on the arm rest as my body arches for him practically unconsciously. This is how it feels to find your mate. Callused hands trace the skin of my back, rubbing softly over the skin of my ass before his tip presses against my opening again, sliding in much easier than before, the wet slick aiding in creating a smooth glide and I practically feel him in my throat as he resumes a fast pace. Mumbles of curses fall into the air, sweaty skin pressing to my back, giving him access to whisper in my ear.

“I want you to come for me. I’ll give you my knot if you do.” The rough tips of his fingers return to my clit, rubbing much faster circles as the band in my gut pulls tight. “Come for me, omega.” That’s all it takes. I come with a yelp of his name, followed by a chorus of ‘alpha’s mixing with ‘Leon’. He growls, leaning forward to press the expanding ring of muscle into my pussy as his teeth sink into the flesh of my neck, locking us together in every sense of the words.

Gentle hands maneuver us to our sides, his warm body spooning as he grabs the blanket from the back of his couch to drape it over us as the sweat on our skin rapidly cools in the now chilly air of his living room.

“Are you okay?” He whispers, lips pressing soft kisses across my exposed flesh, and he sounds almost guilty. I nod sleepily, reaching back to run fingers through his hair with a chuckle. “Something funny, cutie?”

“I don’t think sharing the textbook is gonna be an issue anymore.” At my words, we both burst into a fit of giggles, panting breaths as I turn my head to press our lips together before I gasp, hands coming up to my mouth.

“What?”

“My dad is gonna kill us.” I admit with a nervous laugh.

“Nah. I meet parents like a champ.” His face practically drips with confidence and I chuckle.

“Oh really?”

“Oh yeah. Look at my face. This is the face of ‘I’m absolutely not sleeping with your daughter’.” The laughter is uncontainable now.

Oh yeah. Definitely.

Tags:

Leon: @house-of-kolchek @bonnibuckets @athanasia-day @muffimtv Everything: @chaosandbubbles @kassiekolchek22 @akiramoon8088

[swamiiyasssss]

Make-up Sex w/ Vox Pt. 1

A/N: AHH TYSM all for the love on my previous Vox post. I still can't get enough of this man . I need to rearrange his wiring system. Enjoy this angsty/smutty drabble with our TV munchkin. Also...Small reference to THAT Margot Robbie & Di'caprio sex scene in Wolf of Wall Street.;)

NSFW BELOW

Arguments can get pretty nasty between the both of you. He’s loud, and you’ll be damned if you aren’t louder.

Although….you’d be lying if you said you didn’t get turned on by him angry and raging like that. You had a hunch he was like that too lol

Still, this recent argument, something about Alastor being ”touchy-feely” with you at a gala, ( ugh, you should let Vox just fuck him, he’s EVERYWHERE in your relationship ) made you mad. Like, really mad at him. This was certainly a first. You’ve been annoyed, teased, but never real deal pissed at the TV demon....

You’ve been aware of his insecurities, he’s a soft soul like that, but to outright insinuate you’re cheating on him?? With his nemesis of all people???? Someone slap this idiot.

You two stopped talking for the following days after the argument. A lot of side sneers, comments and eye-rolls. Certainly, a lot of pent-up energy, with nowhere to be released.

“Pass me the salt, please?” You gritt out the ‘please’, a real effort to begin peace negotiations. 

He grimaces. “Like you’re gonna pass yourself around to Him?” His eyes don’t leave the newspaper. 

“Fuck you,” Tears swell, your appetite is lost, and the day ruined. 

So this was the game he was playing? Fine, You’ll play it alright. 

You stumble back to your shared bedroom. You don’t notice him standing up, trying to apologise. He took it too far. He knew he’s been wrong, but he shares your stubborn streak. Still, he won’t loose the one anchor in his life; you. 

Too late. You’re out for blood.

 You’re gonna punish this man in the most delicious way possible, give him a taste of his own medicine. 

You manned your battle-armour, a sultry, deep purple lingerie, covering your figure with intricate lush lace patterns. And your thighs, the same one’s he literally melted for, were donned in sheer stockings. A pretty present ready to be burst opened. You were gonna make him go haywire.    

You braided your hair, wore your favourite jewellery, a necklace wit a diamond ‘V’ pendant on, a gift HE gave, and headed out to the door, ready for a ‘night out with the girls’, or so he thought.

“Where do you think you’re going?” His eyes are locked on your body, on your waist. Everywhere. Jaw dropped.

You clicked your tongue. "Friend's invited me to the club. I’ll be out late.” You made sure to sway your hips oh-so-slightly as you turned around to get your bag. “Don’t wait up for me.”

He barked a laugh. Electricity rippled around him. You smiled. This was too easy. “Wait up for you? Baby, what makes you think I’m letting you leave looking like that?” He starts coming closer.

You stand your ground. “Like what?” You bat your eyelashes; his knees almost buckle.

The hallway light dances on the curve of your waist. He teleports to you, just enough to cage you in against the wall. He claws the concrete next to your head. Blood rushes to your clit. Its ecstasy.

“Don’t fucking play with me, cute stuff.”

"You started this shit." You spit, grabbing him by his collar. His eyes flare into a neon red.

He trips on himself, almost falling on to you, and you watch his lips almost touching yours. "...You're finishing it too."

Something primal kickstarts in his wiring. HE THROWS you over his shoulder; you squeal, and teleports you both to the couch in the middle of the living room.

The leather bounces under your weight as he pushes you down. He's unbuckling his belt, taking off his clothes, muttering curses under his breathe.

"Fuck-- Aren't you just a peice of work."

" You planned this, didn't you? Slut."

"I'm gonna fuck this attitude out of you, beautiful."

You just sat there. Admiring him. Pitiying him. He wasn't ready for what you were about to say. You almost backed out, but Hell, this was too good.

As he was struggling with his buckle, you extended a leg, your high-heeled platforms already on. Your foot stops his palms on his beltline. He snarls. He looks up at you, glaring. "What are you doing."

You shake your head "I'm mad at you, Vox." With a heavy sigh, you drop the bomb. " When I'm mad, this TV demon isn't gonna touch me for a very, very long time."

His face is priceless.

It's not his fault you look so damn gorgeous in the lace, with his initial moving up and down on the curve of your chest. You're breathing hard; he's breathing harder. He needs to be in you, say sorry and be sorry in his own special way.

"And from now on, " You spread your legs farther, and you swear you can see his heart dropping in his chest. "It's nothing but short, short skirts around the house."

You curl your tongue. "Honey."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Pt. 2 coming soon !

[saltylandland]

Marko Grappling Drabble NSFW

I got possessed or smth idk

It started out small, as it always did. The slight pushing and pulling as you two cuddled in your nest. Slowly adding more weight and force into each pull, which in turn gets a push back.

Now you’re battling to get one top, to get the other to submit. Now Marko may have the advantage of strength, a full vamp vs a half. But you know all his weaknesses and target them mercilessly.

You two were in your relaxed clothing, Marko ditching the jacket, but he still has his jeans and crop top on. Which is still more than you, sporting on just your panties and a loose tee.

This was an important distinction, as there was less skin you could attack, and based on how you were wrestling it looks like Marko’s goals have shifted.

Using that one wrestling move you learned in middle school ages ago, you wrapped your leg around his pelvis area and rolled you two over successfully. Only to immediately be bucked off, Marko letting out a cackle that would put a hyena to shame at your failed attempt.

Now it was just a waiting game at this point, as Marko climbed back on top, he didn’t go for a headlock, as is his usual signature. Instead, gets himself in between your thighs and grinds down. Any attempts go to buck off were only met with mockery, and so you resigned yourself to making his goal as difficult as possible.

Pushing and kicking at his head when he bends down to your panties, the exaggerated ripping noise of your underwear makes you huff in annoyance. Diving his head between your thighs, he leaves sloppy kisses on your clit. One hand batting away your pushes, while the other that was still tightly holding onto your panties, held down one of your thighs to keep you anchored to him. Tonguing at your hole, loud sucking and slurping noises echo off of the concrete walls. The posters and blankets doing fuck all to muffle the noises he made. Occasionally humming to add vibration, he suckles on your clit while slowly moving his head back and forth. Revelling in the moans and keens as he eats you out.

As you start to jerk your hips as you get closer, Marko goes faster, spelling nonsense words with his tongue. As soon as you reach climax, Marko crawls up your body. Half delirious from the ruined climax, you still try to wrestle your way out, a little pissed that he ruined a climax due to his impatience.

But that resistance died fairly quickly as he gathered your limbs halfhazardly, pulling you in half as he unbuckled his belt. Pulling down enough to get his dick out Marko wastes no time and slips his cock in one fell swoop. With your legs over his shoulders and bent towards your chest, you feel all the breath leave you for a moment, leaving trails of scratches on his arms as you try to ground yourself.

Giving you a quick once over, he starts off at a brutal pace. His belt coming in harsh contact with your ass as he fucks you. Hugging you close to his body, he watches as your face morphs and you let out little ‘ah ah ah!’s as he pulls you back into his thrusts. But still, you weren’t completely bare and Marko wanted to see your tits bounce. With very little effort, he hooks his fingers in the distressed holes near the collar of the shirt and shreds them. Leaving a gaping hole that outlined your tits.

Slapping him on the arm, you curse at him because that was Paul’s shirt, only for Marko to shoot back, ‘then he’ll love how it looks on you now.’

Pinning your forearms together above your head, he focuses back on fucking you stupid, his free hand moving to toy with your clit and his mouth finding purchase on your chest, nipping at your tits as he fucks you just a bit faster.

It was around this time as you started to curse this boy’s supernatural stamina, leaving no breaks as he builds you up to another climax. And then bulldozes passed that to make you cum again and again

On your nth climax, Marko has yet to find his own climax, and doesn’t let up in anyway, fucking you boneless and switching from fingering you, to eating you out, to teasingly rubbing his cock on your clit, back to fucking you mercilessly.

This time, you can feel him hit something volatile. And he almost immediately senses your panic, as your legs kick out he goes just a bit faster, and just a bit harder with an excited smile. For what exactly? He wasn’t sure but he knew it was going to be great.

Soon enough, you came with a screech, nearly ripping his shirt right off of him as you squirted around his dick. Nearly pushing him out at the force of it.

He blinked.

He needed to make you do that again

And he needs to show the others.

[seattlefoundat]

Living in Seattle, WA, brings with it a unique set of challenges, 

particularly when it comes to maintaining the integrity of your home's foundation. From chimney problems to sinkholes & voids, and foundation settlement and sinking , homeowners must be vigilant in identifying and addressing these issues to ensure the safety and stability of their properties.

One of the most common concerns for Seattle homeowners is chimney problems. Due to the region's frequent rainfall and fluctuating temperatures, chimneys are susceptible to moisture intrusion, leading to the deterioration of masonry materials. This can result in visible cracks, leaning chimneys, or even complete collapse, indicating underlying foundation issues that require immediate attention.

[eupheme]

“you're mine, and i take care of what belongs to me.” Or “I can’t get enough of you” / “Does that feel good?” Prompts for Edward Deegan, please :]

ahh I can’t tell you how excited I was to get a Deegan request!!! I tried to do a little something with each one you listed - they were so good, thank you!! 💖

— only you (and you alone)

edward deegan x sole!survivor!reader

rated e | <1k words

prompts: “you're mine, & i take care of what belongs to me.”/“I can’t get enough of you”/“Does that feel good?”

tags: tiny bit of cabot slander (sorry), references to ghoulification, soft smut, feelings, PiV - an exploration of deegan's feelings towards sole!reader

Maybe, in the old days, he might have been embarrassed. The bare mattress on the old, creaking bedframe - he knows you both have memories of finery. Of what romance should be, what he could never give you - still thinking you deserve better, in the silence between dusk and dawn.

Edward Deegan has seen much, in the long years he's walked the Wasteland. There wasn’t a lot that surprised him anymore - not in the two hundred and some years that had passed since this all began.

Miles trekked across the Commonwealth in those early days, until his skin burned with radiation. Skin tightening, sloughing off.

Those now-blurry days of sickness, where he had begged for it all to just end. Only to come out on the other side - forever changed, and forever living.

Forever bound to the Cabots, with all their family secrets. As loyal and fierce as a old dog, after everything they've done for him.

With you in the picture, though - that dedication tips towards something that resembles real affection.

Because tonight, he's glad for his own room - that narrow space, tucked away in the basement. It sometimes felt so small, with the wide breath of his shoulders. All that shed armor piling up at night against the trunk in the corner, pieces creeping across the cracked concrete.

Suffocating, compared to the vast house and the sprawling floors, hidden rooms. All that empty space, untouched for decades.

Edward had never said anything. He had always known his place, and it wasn't his to question. Never even occured to him to think about it, until one of your early, off-handed remarks had him bristling. An urge to defend his employers, until he realized your comment had been wrapped in concern for him.

But if his room had been bigger - if for some reason, the house had been his for the night - then he wouldn't be so wrapped up in you now. He likes the way you cling to him, laid out bare beneath him on his bed and looking like you belong there.

Edward had always been good with hunches, but he still can't believe the luck that had led him to meeting you outside Bunker Hill. How he had been curious, and then pleasantly surprised - again, a rarity - when your reputation held strong.

When you had stuck around, after.

And then once more, when you had boldly stepped over the line of hired help, and became something more.

Always so good at following orders - and you do so here, too. Lips parted on a sigh as you answer his commands.

“Does that feel good? Tell me, doll.”

He always wants to know, and you always answer.

“Yes. So good baby, don’t stop-”

Now, with the walls closing in, your moans echo. Music to his ears, his own sounds bitten back and swallowed, so he can hear more of yours.

How they fill the small space, surrounding him like your embrace. The strong grip of your soft hands, where they anchor against his shoulder, the curve of his neck. Clinging to him as he grinds himself deep into the tight clench of your cunt.

Making every second count.

These visits too few and far between. His loyalties lie here, his trips outside governed.

You’re already stretched thin, making a name for yourself. But you always end up finding your way back here, if only for a night.

Maybe, in the old days, he might have been embarrassed. The bare mattress on the old, creaking bedframe - he knows you both have memories of finery. Of what romance should be, what he could never give you - still thinking you deserve better, in the silence between dusk and dawn.

Things he won’t say out loud, because he can already see your expression - the anger held in the pull of your brow, the narrowed slit of your eyes. A look so often thrown at others, but so rarely at him.

You had never batted an eye at any of it. Of his arrangement, of him.

If it was good enough for him, if he was there, it was good enough for you.

Always enough.

And as he brings his mouth down to yours - he feels how your heart mirrors his. Pounding beneath your skin, under the careful press of his thumb where his broad hand spans your throat.

Your lips greedily meeting his, hips rocking to meet the grindof his hips. Sighing with the soft swipe of your tongue against his, pulling back to murmur soft words and praise and his name - all things that will have to keep him until next time.

He’s never owned much, but tonight you’re his.

And he always takes care of what belongs to him.

His fingers swirl against your clit, tight circles that have you moaning into his mouth. Thighs tightening where they hook around his hips, urging him deeper. Your nails biting into the meat of his shoulders, pinching with each pound of his cock.

His cheek brushes against your nose, as he allows himself to want.

Committing to memory the sound of your cry as it breaks - pitching high, as you tremble beneath him. A warmth that starts somewhere behind his ribs before it pools low in his belly - feeling the way you flutter around his aching cock for the second time that night.

He’ll aim for one more before sunrise.

“I can’t get enough of you.”

It’s a confession - murmured quietly into your hair, unheard as you drift back down.

And just this once - he wishes for something more.

ahh anon thanks so much for sending this in! I love him & was so excited to get this!! 💖 and thank you so much for reading!!

[siythn]

Hi, love your writing style and stories. Would you be be able to take a request for a like enemies to lovers with Choso? Just a thought.

Scars Written Deep

CHOSO X READER! You've fought with enemies plenty of times. But when defeated, waking up in their bed is the last place you want to find yourself in. _________ ♫ GILDED LILY - cults ❝ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴏᴏʟ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱʟᴏᴡᴇꜱᴛ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ, ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ'ʟʟ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴍᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜ❞

Pain explodes through your body, white-hot and searing as an unknown force of a blast slams into you. It felt like being struck by a thunderbolt, the power immense and merciless. You were hurled backward with brutal force, your body flung like a ragdoll into the wreckage of what had once been a formidable barrier.

The impact was devastating. A wave of intense pain exploded through you as you crashed into a heap of twisted metal and broken concrete. The agony that followed was sharp and all-consuming, shooting through every nerve in your body with unbearable intensity. Your ears rang with a high-pitched whine, the sound of your pulse loud in the unsettling silence that followed the blast.

You can't quite remember how you came to be here. All your brain can pick up are you leaving home, coming here, fighting Choso, then an explosion. With the agony you find yourself in, you're surprised you can even think.

As you open your eyes, coughing slightly as dust tries to find an entryway into your lungs, you start to squirm to get up. It isn't over like this, some stupid explosion from who knows where. If you were to die, you'd rather it be in the hands of an enemy than be one unknown.

It only takes you a few seconds to realize you can't move, as you twist your head to look back, you're greeted with a slab of metal meeting your torso, down to your legs, covering half your body. Gasping for breath under the oppressive weight of the debris, you now feel the pain. It's hot and searing, radiating from your legs, trapped beneath the rubble.

The sharp, jagged edges of slabs of metal dig into your skin, the pressure is immense and immobilizing. Every attempt to move sent new waves of excruciating pain coursing through your body, each more punishing than the last. With a gasp of hope and widening eyes, you try and twist your body to no avail.

Beneath you, the ground was littered with rubble and broken glass; an uncomfortable to your stomach, reminding you of the force pressing into your back, pinning you down. You try to move, to escape the prison of debris, but torture lances through your body, anchoring you in place.

A minute falls past and a desperate cry leaves your lips, drowned out by the ringing in your ears, the sound of your distress is soon lost amidst the aftermath of the explosion.

Tears of frustration now fall down your cheeks as you try and move the metal. It won't budge, it's stuck on you; and now it's slowly starting to click, that this will be your fate. Either Choso will leave you here, making you run out of needed resources, or you die at his hands. You can't accept both, you'll find a way.

Every breath seems to be a battle in your body, chest heaving to draw in air through the crushing weight pinning your legs. You try to move once more, a whimper escaping your lips as a sharp pain lanced through you, the world tilting dangerously.

It seemed like pain engulfed you, immediate and overwhelming, its claws digging into your flesh with merciless intensity. Your head throbbed violently, a pulsating rhythm that matched the sharp, jagged breaths escaping from your crushed lungs.

The world around you started to blur into a chaotic swirl of dust and shadows, each particle of air heavy with the scent of destruction and cursed energy.

Your vision is now hazy, tears of ache and anger welling in your eyes, making the dusty air around you seem to swim. The dim, shadowy outline of the warehouse wavered in and out of focus, the sturdy walls now nothing more than a crumbling tomb.

In the disorienting aftermath of the explosion, your thoughts turned briefly to Choso, not out of concern (you'd rather be caught dead than ever show a hint of worry for that man), but out of a wary calculation.

If he was down, it could be your chance to escape, or if he approached, you'd need to be ready to defend yourself, even in this weakened state. But your thoughts were quickly overwhelmed by the raw, physical pain dominating your senses.

Your tiny glimpse of hope diminished as the realization started to set in.

Through the haze of dust and debris, a figure began to take shape, moving steadily through the chaos. You couldn't feel the massive amount of tears that you cried, mistaking it with dust. You feel your heart sink in a pit in your stomach at the sight.

It was Choso, appearing seemingly unscathed by the explosion that had incapacitated you. His posture was upright, his steps measured and calm—a stark contrast to the chaos around him.

The rivalry between you had always been fierce, a clash of power and wits, testing each other's limits at every encounter. But now, as your consciousness flickered dangerously low, you saw him differently.

There was a sway in his step, a slight falter that betrayed his disorientation from the explosion. His usual composed demeanor was shattered; even from a distance, you could sense his confusion.

Your heart sank further, not just from fear or pain, but from a deep, ugly seething resentment. There he was, your enemy, walking freely while you lay pinned and powerless. The sight of him, so composed amid the destruction, fueled a surge of anger through your veins, momentarily overshadowing the pain.

You strained to keep your eyes open, to keep him in sight, not willing to be caught off-guard. His figure became clearer as he approached. There was no sign of hesitation in his steps, no flicker of concern across his features—just the same cold, detached expression he always wore when facing you.

The familiarity made you want to die.

Your breaths came in shallow, ragged gasps, each inhaling a battle against the pain and the weight crushing down on you. It took up too much strength to keep your head lifted; finally giving it a few moments of peace as you felt your cheek meet the cold ground.

You tried to muster the strength to call out, to taunt or threaten him, to do anything to affect that stoic demeanor. But your voice faltered the words dissolving into a pained groan as darkness edged your vision. You tried to lift your head for a second, gritting your teeth against the surge of pain. "Choso," you managed to gasp out, though it felt like speaking through a mouthful of glass. Your voice was hoarse, barely audible above the settling debris.

He paused, his head turning sharply in your direction, his eyes—those deep, unfathomable pools—locking onto yours. There was a pause, a heartbeat of silence that stretched between you two. Then, surprisingly, his footsteps resumed, this time more deliberately, closing the distance between enemy lines. It was like you could feel the vibration of his footsteps, telling you your ultimate fate.

As Choso came closer, your determination faltered, the edges of your consciousness fraying under the onslaught of pain and imminent defeat. The world around you began to dim, the sounds of the crumbling warehouse fading into a distant echo.

With the last of your strength waning, your head lolled to the side, your eyes struggling to focus on Choso as he continued his approach.

Your mind screamed to stay awake, to remain vigilant, but your body betrayed you, sinking deeper into the cold, encroaching shadows of unconsciousness. The last thing you saw before darkness claimed you was the blurred image of Choso bending over you, his hands reaching out—whether to help or to harm, you couldn't tell, you didn't care.

The sight of him, an enemy moving unchallenged through the debris toward you, was the last image that burned in your mind before the darkness finally claimed you, swallowing everything into silent oblivion.

- ᴛɪᴍᴇꜱᴋɪᴘ -

Consciousness returns to you like a slow, creeping tide, pushing through the haze of disorientation and throbbing pain. Your eyelids flutter open, revealing a ceiling that is unfamiliar—smooth, white, and utterly foreign. Panic grips you instantly. Your heart races as you try to move, but agony lances through your body, anchoring you to the spot with its fierce intensity.

With a groan, you grip the sheets as you turn your head, inspecting the room you find trapped in. You're lying on a soft surface, a bed, most likely, but the comfort it promises is overshadowed by the confusion swirling in your mind.

How did you get here? The last thing you remember is the explosive clash with Choso, the pain, and then darkness. Now, here you are, in a room that looks nothing like the battleground you last saw.

The walls are plain, adorned with only a few pictures, and there's a window with curtains partially drawn, letting in just enough light to illuminate your surroundings. Attempting to sit up, a sharp pain shoots through your stomach, forcing a gasp from your lips. It's then you realize you're bandaged heavily, your movements restricted by the swathes of gauze wrapped around your chest and legs.

You lift the sheets to be met wearing an oversized t-shirt with baggy sweatpants. Under it are bandages wrapped around what seems to be every inch of your torso, while some are found on your left and right legs. A hint of red bleeds through the plaster, making you reminisce on earlier events.

"Easy. You're not ready to move yet."

The voice is startlingly familiar, causing another spike of panic. Your head snaps to the side, and there he is—Choso, standing just a few feet away, his expression unreadable. How? Why? When?

"What are you doing here?" Your voice is a hoarse whisper, fear mingled with confusion. "Why am I here?"

Choso doesn't move closer, respecting the distance between you, perhaps understanding that his presence alone is enough to unsettle you further. "You were injured. I brought you here to heal," he explains, his tone neutral. It's unsettling.

"This is a trap," you accuse, though the effort of speaking sends a fresh wave of pain coursing through you. You're not even sure of your own words, but the distrust has deep roots, hardened by past conflicts.

"It's no trap," Choso replies calmly, face not marking any emotion. "You were in no condition to be left alone. Whether you believe me or not, I couldn't just—" He stops, seemingly searching for the right words. "I couldn't leave you there."

Your mind races, trying to process his words and his actions. None of it makes sense. Why would your enemy choose to save you? What for? Is he lying? Why? Why, why why? The suspicion lingers, but your body betrays your desire to act on it, too weak to even sit up fully.

Choso watches you struggle briefly, his gaze intense. "You need to rest. Your body hasn't healed enough for you to be moving around."

"I don't need anything from you," you manage to grit out, though the pain is draining, making it hard to focus. Giving up, you lock eyes with him.

For a moment, neither of you speaks; the air is charged with a tense silence. 

Then, without another word, Choso turns and walks towards the door. Before exiting, he pauses and looks back. "There's food and water on the nightstand when you're ready," he says, indicating a small wooden table nearby laden with a jug of water and a bowl covered with a cloth. "I'll be in the kitchen if you need anything."

With that, he exits the room, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him. The sound of his footsteps recedes, and you're left alone, grappling with a cocktail of emotions—confusion, anger, vulnerability.

Each breath you take is a reminder of your physical state, the pain a constant, nagging presence that refuses to be ignored. If you could, you would run up and take him out from behind, give him a piece of the pain you've found familiar too. Your confusion of why runs deeper than your anger though.

Lying back against the pillow, you take a moment to assess your situation. The room is quiet, save for the soft rustle of leaves outside and the distant clatter of utensils. Choso's presence in the next room is unsettling yet strangely reassuring in a way you can't quite understand. Why would he help you? What did he stand to gain from your survival?

The questions swirl in your mind, but the exhaustion from your injuries and the effort of the brief interaction weigh heavily on you. Despite your distrust and your instincts screaming for you to get up and leave, your body has other ideas. The pain pins you down, and the fatigue is overwhelming.

As minutes tick by, your eyelids grow heavy, the edges of your vision blur, and despite your best efforts to stay alert, sleep begins to claim you once more. Before you drift off, a part of you acknowledges the need to heal, to regain your strength. You'll need it if you're to confront Choso about his motives if you're to escape this place. If you're still willing to fight him after this.

But for now, your body wins the battle against your mind, and you sink into a reluctant, uneasy rest, the sound of Choso moving quietly in the kitchen a distant, almost comforting background noise. As sleep envelops you, it's with the faint hope that when next you wake, you might be strong enough to seek the answers you need—or ready enough to fight if it comes to that.

- ᴛɪᴍᴇꜱᴋɪᴘ -

Weeks passed in a strange, silent routine as you slowly recovered in the unfamiliar house. Choso was a constant, albeit quiet, presence. Each day, he would come into your room to check on your wounds, his movements precise and methodical.

He hardly ever spoke during these visits, only offering brief nods or the occasional instruction on how to care for your injuries. You, trapped in a mixture of convalescence and confusion, the only response you would give him was a curt nod. You watched him in a wary silence, your mind buzzing with unasked questions and unvoiced suspicions.

One afternoon, as the sun filtered through the curtains casting long shadows across the room, Choso entered with his usual tray of medical supplies. He approached your side, his eyes briefly meeting yours before focusing on the bandages wrapped around your torso. As he began to unwind the soiled bandages with careful hands, the silence felt heavier than usual.

You watched his focused expression, noting the way his brow furrowed slightly in concentration. The room was quiet except for the soft rustling of the bandages and your shallow breathing. Something about the stillness of the moment, mixed with the weeks of pent-up confusion and frustration, made the words bubble up inside you, unbidden but unstoppable.

"Why are you doing this?" you blurted out, propping your arms up to get a good look at him. Your voice is a little hoarse from disuse in such conversations.

Choso paused, his hands stilling on the bandage. He didn't look up immediately, and for a moment, you thought he might just ignore your question and change of position. But then he straightens up slightly, meeting your gaze with a steady one of his own.

"Because it was necessary," he said simply.

"That's not an answer," you pushed back, your confusion turning into frustration. "Why me? Why save me, care for me, when all we've done is try to destroy each other? What do you want from me?"

Choso sighed a deep, almost inaudible sound. He resumed his task, breaking eye contact as his fingers deftly replaced the old bandage with a fresh one. "I don't expect you to understand. Not yet. But know this—I don't want to see you destroyed. Our enmity. . .it doesn't have to define everything."

"You expect me to just accept that? After everything?" Your tone was incredulous, expressing your anger and frustration, eyes searching his for any answer or hint of deceit.

He finished taping the new bandage and finally looked up, his expression earnest. "No, I don't expect acceptance, not immediately. But I do hope for understanding, eventually. There's more at stake here than our grievances."

You lay back against the pillows, processing his words. The idea that Choso, of all people, might have reasons beyond what you could immediately understand was difficult to grasp. It didn't erase the history or the pain, but it added a layer of complexity to a situation you had wanted to view in black and white.

"So, what now?" you asked after a moment, your voice softer, tinged with a reluctant curiosity, eyes drifting towards his.

"Now, you heal," Choso replied, his voice firm but not unkind. "And when you're ready, we'll talk. There's much to discuss, about why this all happened, and where we go from here."

As he packed away the medical supplies, you lay in silence, staring at the ceiling but seeing nothing, your thoughts a whirlwind.

There was so much you still didn't know, so many questions yet to be answered. But for the first time since you woke up in this unfamiliar place, you considered that perhaps there might be reasons worth listening to—even from a foe.

- ᴛɪᴍᴇꜱᴋɪᴘ -

Gradually, as your strength returned, the walls of the room that had confined you began to feel less oppressive, more like boundaries that could be pushed.

With cautious steps, you began to explore the house, curiosity tugging at you with each discovery. It struck you as odd, seeing Choso in such a domestic setting contradictory to the view you've always seen him as.

The house was simple and modestly furnished, but there were personal touches—a framed picture here, an old, well-loved book there—that made you reconsider the man you thought you knew only as a rival.

One afternoon, feeling stronger and more sure-footed, you ventured into the kitchen. It was neat and organized, with pots hanging in orderly rows and spices lined up like little soldiers. You touched the counters, the cool stone grounding, as a thought blossomed in your mind—a quiet thank you could be expressed in the universal language of a shared meal.

If you told yourself two months ago you'd be willing to cook Choso food, you would've cried from the hysterical shock of the statement. But as the days seem to pass, you can't ignore it any longer. The care he's bestowed onto you, you have to give something in return.

You found ingredients in the refrigerator and pantry—vegetables, herbs, some rice, and chicken. Cooking was a familiar, almost comforting routine, and as you chopped and stirred, you found a rhythm that felt meditative, healing in its own right. The aroma of herbs and simmering sauce filled the kitchen, weaving a warm, inviting atmosphere.

By the time you finished, the sun had dipped below the horizon, and the house had grown quiet with the deepening evening. You set the table, placing dishes of steamed rice, herb-roasted chicken, and a side of vegetables neatly arranged. A note beside the plate simply read, "Thank you," a token of gratitude from someone who still harbored doubts but was learning maybe not all was as it seemed.

Exhaustion from the day's activities caught up with you, and after setting everything up, you retreated to your room, your body demanding rest. Sleep came surprisingly easy, a deep, restful state that enveloped you wholly.

When Choso returned, it was much later. The house was silent, save for the soft ticking of the wall clock in the hallway. He paused as he entered the kitchen, a hint of surprise registering on his features when he saw the spread on the table. A small hint of a smile graced his lips, rare and fleeting, as he read the note you'd left. He sat down, alone yet somehow not by your presence, and served himself.

As he ate, the flavors and care put into the meal spoke silently of bridges being built, even if those bridges were tentative and unspoken. It was a small gesture, but for Choso, it was a significant acknowledgment of the complex, shifting ground between you. 

Tonight, the house felt a little less like a battleground and a little more like a home, even if just for a moment.

In your room, you slept on, unaware of the small breakthrough, the smile you'd brought to a weary face, and the silent thanks returned in kind for a meal shared in spirit if not in presence.

@siythn all rights reserved!

AUTHORS NOTE! - i tried best i could, ngl it was pretty challenging to fit a way to include enemies to lovers, but i hope you enjoy! ღ

[ginnsbaker]

In Losing Grip On Sinking Ships (19/23)

Chapter summary: "A person can love you with all their heart and not be any good at it."

Chapter word count: 7.5k+ | Tags: Angst, Therapy, Healing, Comfort, Fluff | Ship: Wanda x Female Reader

Author's note: Heavy on therapy. Some deep seated resentment surfacing. Kinda filler (lol 7k filler) but necessary :D Enjoy!

Masterlist 

Next part : Twenty

--

Nineteen

You storm out of Calliope's office, slamming the door behind you.

Behind that door, you can hear Wanda’s sharp, erratic breaths.

You can hear your heart pounding loudly in your chest.

Gradually, you regain control, your hand subconsciously moving up to wipe the saliva that had gathered at the corner of your mouth during the intense altercation you had just walked out of.

The frustration continues to boil within you, and you rest your forehead against the cool wall. You feel the irrational urge to bang your head against something hard, maybe even induce amnesia, if only to escape the memory of the details that sent you out here in the hallway.

This first session is leaving you as winded as a boxer who's just fought through all twelve grueling rounds. You'd assumed that first sessions would be gentle, akin to cautiously dipping a toe in to test the water. But when it comes to Wanda, it's never that simple. You both have a tendency to plunge headlong into the deep end. 

To be fair, Calliope was steering the conversation, posing questions and guiding the discourse. Since Wanda's infidelity and your struggle to rebuild trust form the core of your issues, it's almost expected that Calliope would probe into the beginnings of Wanda's affair with Vision.

Wanda dutifully chronicled her indiscretions with a man that’s nearly a decade younger than her, with most of the narrative making your ears burn with new information. Before you could rein in your emotions, you found yourself hurling intimate questions such as, “Did you enjoy sleeping with him?” and “Was he a better fuck?” Wanda appeared too taken aback to respond to your interrogations as Calliope merely observed quietly, gauging whether Wanda was ready to answer your questions honestly.

Her growing silence at your pointed questions only stoked your jealousy and rage, to the point that you almost called her a whore. 

And that's how you ended up here, leaning against the wall, thumping your forehead against the rough concrete, chiding yourself for almost crossing a line with the woman you're supposed to be reconciling with.

Slowly, you push yourself off the wall, the chill of the concrete replaced by a hot surge of shame and regret. You clench and unclench your fists, trying to expel the energy that had driven you to the edge just minutes before. You need to find your balance again. You need to breathe. 

Most of all, you need to apologize.

Despite the gnawing pit in your stomach, you drag your feet back to Calliope’s office.

You exhale a shaky breath before knocking softly on the door. “May I... May I come in?" you ask, your hand hovering over the knob.

The response comes from Calliope, a simple “Come in,” that is gentle–probably something you don’t deserve at this moment. You open the door to find Wanda huddled at the far end of the couch, looking terrified. Her eyes are red-rimmed, and her fingers clutch a tissue to her face. 

Guilt, fear, and anxiety, all clearly visible in her demeanor. The sight of her in such a state increases your shame tenfold.

Regret has your gaze anchored to your shoes as you utter your apology. You're not yet ready to claim your previous seat on the couch, not without knowing if it's okay. “I'm sorry,” you whisper to Wanda. “I didn't mean to...I shouldn't have...I lost control, and that's on me. I had no right to speak to you like that.”

Calliope offers you a small smile and gestures for you to take your previous seat. Then, she signals towards the spot you previously occupied, an unspoken invitation for you to rejoin them.

However, you remain rooted to your spot, waiting for Wanda's permission before making a move.

With eyes bloodshot and voice hoarse, Wanda looks at you and softly pleads, “Please, Y/N.”

At last, you gather the strength to meet her gaze and offer a nod of gratitude as you make your way back to your seat.

After you settle back into the couch, Calliope speaks up. 

“What happened here was intense, but it's also a part of the process. Confronting our emotions and learning to manage them is essential. But, we should always strive to communicate in a respectful manner," Her voice holds a hint of emphasis, and it's the closest thing to a reprimand that Wanda has heard from her. “But it’s a good thing that you returned here willingly, realizing your mistake and having the determination to face the consequences of your actions and apologize for it.”

Calliope continues, “Y/N, if I may, what led you to ask those particular questions?”

The question quickly brings a raw admission out of you–something you’ve buried at the back of your mind and never thought would come to the surface.

“I always wondered if Wanda strayed because I was lacking in some way. If there was something missing in me that Vision was able to offer her,” you confess, feeling a sudden wave of insecurity wash over you.

You are so engrossed in your thoughts that you don't see Wanda softly shaking her head in response to your words. 

You push forward, “If I were the one lacking, it would at least be something tangible I could fix. A clear problem with a clear solution. And perhaps that solution could serve as a sort of assurance for me, a guarantee that Wanda won’t do it again.”

“Honestly, it would've been easier if she answered yes to all those questions…” you chuckle softly, seeing the irony in the situation.

“It wasn’t anything you lacked, Y/N,” Wanda bites her lower lip nervously. “It wasn't about you being less or Vision being more… Frankly, being drawn to him then feels like… like a depersonalization. When I look back, I don’t recognize who I am at that moment.”

The term she used sounds unfamiliar in your ears. You look to Calliope, brows furrowed, trying to make sense of what Wanda was trying to say.

“Depersonalization is a state where a person feels detached or disconnected from themselves,” Calliope explains mildly. “They might feel like they're observing their own body from an outside perspective, or like they're in a dream or a movie. It's a form of dissociation, a mental process which produces a lack of connection in a person's thoughts, memories, feelings, actions, or sense of identity.”

“Depersonalization is often triggered by severe stress or trauma,” Calliope continues, looking at Wanda. “People experiencing it may make decisions that are out of character or do things that they normally wouldn't, as if they're on autopilot or being controlled by some external force.”

Wanda's nod comes slowly, her gaze on her folded hands. 

“During a moment when I... I felt so detached, I did something that I wouldn't normally do. I cheated,” She hesitates, swallowing hard. “But it wasn't because you lacked anything or because Vision was better. It was a reflection of my own personal problems and not about you or our relationship.”

For a long moment, you remain quiet, digesting her words, wrestling with yourself over whether you really want to believe this reasoning.

“Why didn't you come to me, Wanda?” you ask with a mournful realization that all of this could have been avoided if Wanda had simply come to you suddenly. “If you were struggling, I would've wanted to help.”

“I know,” Wanda mutters ruefully. “But at the time, I had just left my job at the gallery, and you were doing so well in your career. I–I didn't want to seem helpless, like a burden. I was battling self-pity, not to mention the grief from our failed pregnancy. I felt like I'd already failed you as a wife... I didn't want to seem even more of a failure.”

“I've never seen your struggles with pregnancy as a failure, Wanda, and certainly not your failure,” you gently interject.

“I'm aware of that, Y/N,” Wanda replies, her voice soft and almost bashful, as if she's just now coming to terms with how embarrassingly poorly she handled the whole situation. 

“But I couldn’t help but blame myself because I knew how much you wanted children. You wanted it even before you asked me to marry you. The reality of not being able to provide you the family you wanted... It felt like my heart was being torn apart. I was drowning in my grief and frustration. And just when I was starting to regain my footing, I lost a job that I was proud of. Moving to Westview seemed to rob me of my last sense of purpose. I felt lost, angry even.”

“Wanda, you're the person I wanted to raise a family with,” you say.

Wanda's lower lip trembles at that, and she reaches out, pulling another tissue from the box that Calliope had thoughtfully placed in front of her earlier.

After a long pause, you ask softly, “You were angry at me?”

“I wasn't angry with you per se,” Wanda admits, glancing towards Calliope automatically. It’s a topic that they extensively covered in the past. “It was only through my sessions with Calliope that I understood that my anger was not directed at anyone in particular, but at everything that was happening around me. I was lashing out at the world, and sadly, you were part of that world.”

That's a feeling you realize you can relate to. In hindsight, you recognize that you lashed out at the world for what Wanda did to you, and in doing so, hurt the people around you as well.

“I'm not here to provide excuses for my actions because there's nothing that could ever justify what I did,” Wanda says, her voice trembling slightly. “I know you’re–I know you’re still deciding if you want to be with me–”

“Wanda–”

“Please, Y/N, let me finish,” she interrupts, swallowing the lump in her throat as she braces herself for what comes next. “I know you’re still deciding if you want to be with me, which is why I want you to know everything—my thoughts, my feelings…to help with your decision.”

Wanda is laying it all on the line, placing the sole decision in your hands, baring her soul to see if you still want what you both had. Without the nostalgia of your old room in Montauk, the place where you two reconciled that night, you now see clearly both sides of the choice to try again with Wanda.

“I… I think I need some time to absorb all of these, Wanda. But I hear you,” you say. “And right now, I just want to say one thing: you're not a failure. You never were,” you say softly, reaching out to squeeze her hand. 

For years you’ve looked at your relationship with Wanda through rose-colored lenses. But it becomes apparent now that there had been problems, deep-seated issues in your previous marriage that you had failed to see.

Wanda squeezes your hand back, your fingers tightening around yours, as if trying to hold on to you. “Thank you. I’m still struggling to believe that, but thank you.”

Calliope, who has been quietly observing the exchange, finally breaks the silence.

“These sessions are not meant to be easy, and this one certainly was heavy. But you are here, facing the truth, confronting the past, and expressing yourselves honestly and vulnerably. That takes courage.

“I'm proud of both of you,” she continues with a smile, giving each of you an encouraging nod. “I can see that today's revelations are a lot to take in. Spend some time reflecting on what we've discussed today–together and individually. But, before I let you go, there’s one more thing.”

You and Wanda look at her expectantly.

“I have a task in mind for both of you. However, I want to ensure that you only undertake it once you feel at ease with it and have fully absorbed the discussions from today's session.

“Write a letter to each other,” Calliope suggests. “Put down everything you want to say. There are no rules. It can be long or short. The only condition is to be honest with each other.”

She pauses to let her instructions sink in. “This is not something you have to share with me or anyone else. But when you're ready, I suggest that you share it with each other.”

A little while later, you and Wanda step out of the room, feeling as though you've both just endured the toughest battle of your lives. But as the door closes behind you, Wanda reaches out and gently takes your hand in hers.

“Don't worry about earlier,” Wanda whispers, looking up at you with a small smile. “We're here to learn and grow, right?”

You nod, but the guilt still lingers. “I need to work on controlling my anger,” you confess. Today's outburst was a startling wake-up call, a side of yourself you hadn't recognized. You'd never really thought of yourself as someone with anger issues, but not only did you scare Wanda, you were also fearful of what you might be capable of if it happens again. “I can't always resort to yelling when I'm upset. It's not fair to you or to me.”

Wanda gives your hand a comforting squeeze. “We're in this together, okay?” she says. “We can talk to Calliope about it, work on it. We're learning, Y/N. Remember that.”

You stop in your tracks to face her fully, and then tug on her hand until she's stepping into your embrace. You wrap your arms around her, holding her tightly to your chest, feeling the warmth of her against you. Your lips find her hair, and you kiss it gently.

“Yeah,” you reply, the knot in your chest loosening just a bit. “We're learning.”

***

Agatha twiddles her thumbs, anxiety practically radiating from her. She hasn't felt this nervous since her first job interview decades ago, and the words she needs to say now are sticking in her throat.

Wanda, in the midst of cooking, hears the silence and turns to face her business partner. She drops the spatula on the counter and heaves an exasperated sigh. “What is it?” 

“I've got something to tell you,” Agatha finally says, avoiding Wanda's gaze.

Wanda tilts her head, studying her. “Alright, shoot,” she prompts, crossing her arms over her chest.

Agatha gulps, finding an interesting spot on the floor to focus on. She’s been rehearsing this for a while now but words just refuse to come out.

“I signed us up for the annual NYC Holiday Cup-Off,” Agatha announces.

Wanda's eyebrows shoot up, her face twisting into a bewildered expression. “The what now?”

“It's an annual coffee showdown that takes place every year on December 30th. A member of the organizing committee stopped by yesterday and required an immediate response. I agreed,” Agatha explains. “I mean, it’s a good exposure for us, right?”

“But the holidays are going to be hectic,” Wanda argues and resumes her cooking. “Also, Y/N and I are currently in the middle of fixing our issues. I don't want to add more to our plate.”

Before Agatha could reply, Peter interjects, “Hey, I'm totally up for helping out! And MJ will be on break from school soon, so she'll have some free time to pitch in too.”

Agatha turns to Wanda with a pleased look. “So, what do you say?”

It’s undeniably a huge opportunity to showcase their craft. Investors will be at the event, and many coffee enthusiasts will be looking to try something new. Their humble store in Queens would definitely benefit from the attention.

Wanda sighs, the corners of her mouth turning up in a small, resigned smile. “Okay,” she relents. “Let's do it.”

Just then, the bell over the door chimes and Peter immediately springs to action, leaving Agatha and Wanda alone at the counter.

“So,” Agatha starts, a curious glint in her eyes, “You and Y/N, huh? ‘In the middle of fixing issues’?”

Wanda's actions seem distracted as she avoids direct eye contact with Agatha, her hands busy with fidgeting in the utensils drawer. Finally, she retrieves a spoon to sample the marinara sauce she's been perfecting, an action that seems more about giving herself something to do than genuine interest in the sauce.  “Yes. We've started attending therapy together.”

Agatha's teasing grin quickly fades, replaced by genuine interest. Her voice softens as she asks, “Really? And how's that going?”

Wanda's response is accompanied by a small, nervous laugh, more a reflex than a sign of amusement. She continues to stir the sauce, using the motion to mask her unease. “We've had just one session till now,” she reveals, her voice catching slightly. “And, well, it was quite, uhm, heated.”

“Heated?” Agatha echoes, growing more curious than ever. “How so?”

Wanda's gaze falls, and she takes a moment to gather herself, her hands clasping the counter tightly. Finally, she looks up, meeting Agatha's concerned eyes.

“Our therapist wanted us to start from the beginning, you know? How I found myself attracted to my former student and such,” she explains, her voice cracking slightly. She takes a deep breath, attempting to steady herself. “And, uh, there were things Y/N had never heard before.”

She swallows, a look of discomfort crossing her face. “And then Y/N started asking questions, comparing herself to Vision. Asking if... if he was better than her.”

Agatha's eyes narrow in confusion for a split second, and then they widen comically as the realization hits her. “You mean... in bed?” she exclaims, surprised.

Wanda clears her throat before nodding, her face turning a shade redder. Agatha's eyes widen further, shock and concern evident in her expression. “Wanda!” she gasps, a hand flying to her chest in disbelief. “That's... That's quite the question to ask. What did you say to Y/N?”

“I didn’t say anything,” Wanda replies, her voice soft and reflective.

“Why didn't you just tell her she's better?” Agatha asks, puzzled.

Wanda shakes her head, her eyes downcast. “She wouldn't have believed me. It would've just turned into me lying to make her feel better and then me trying to convince her it's not a lie,” She pauses, her voice dropping further. “But, honestly, I don't think that's what she was really trying to find out.”

“I think she was trying to find a reason to blame herself... maybe thinking she was lacking something. Like if she figured out what she was missing, she could just fix it, right? But that’s now how it works, is it? It’s not that simple.” Wanda says.

Agatha nods slowly, absorbing Wanda's words. “That's a heavy conversation to have.”

“Tell me about it,” Wanda agrees, a weary sigh escaping her lips. Her hand reaches absently for the spoon again, but she sets it down, realizing that the sauce no longer holds her attention. 

Agatha sighs, rubbing her forehead before giving Wanda a perturbed look. “But, Wanda,” she continues, “Do you think dredging up the past is the best way to regain Y/N's trust? Therapy is supposed to help, not make things more complicated.”

Wanda's eyes wander for a moment, seeking an answer in the empty space before her. “I... I don't know, Agatha,” she admits helplessly. “But these issues, they've been hiding there, just out of sight. They were bound to emerge eventually.”

Wanda continues, “I think if we want to rebuild our relationship, we have to face these issues head-on, don't we? We can't just pretend they don't exist.”

Agatha studies her in silence for a beat, before asking, “But what if this pushes her further away? What if, instead of helping Y/N realize what she wants, it sends her running in the other direction?”

Wanda shakes her head. “We're not in therapy to convince Y/N to be with me. She's already made it clear that she wants that.”

“Then why go down this painful path?” Agatha argues. “It seems like you're digging your own grave.”

“Because I need her to be sure,” Wanda says. “I need her to believe in us again.”

She recognizes the steadfast glint in Wanda's eye. It's a look she's seen before, one that comes to the fore when Wanda is unmovable, unwilling to change her mind.

“I can see that,” Agatha says quietly. “But it's a fine line you're walking, Wanda. Healing is important, but so is self-preservation. Don't destroy yourself in the process.”

Wanda's eyes meet Agatha's, determination burning in them. “I know it's a risk," she says. “But it's one I have to take. Y/N deserves to know everything, to understand why things happened the way they did. If that leads to us being stronger together, then it's worth it. If it drives her away... well, at least I'll know I was honest.”

Agatha sighs, but it is later on followed by a knowing grin. “You really do love her, don't you?”

Wanda smiles, a sad but resolute one. “More than anything. And that's why I can't hide from the past. I have to face it, no matter how painful it is. For her. For us.”

They stand side by side in silence for a moment, each lost in thought. 

“I hope it works, Wanda. I really do.”

“Me too,” Wanda whispers, her voice full of hope and a touch of fear. “Me too.”

***

“A person can love you with all their heart and not be any good at it. But remember, you don't have to tolerate anything you don't like, no matter how much they love you.”

You shift in your seat, restless and unsure. Your foot taps a rhythm on the carpeted floor of Calliope's office as her words swirl in your mind, the temperature in the room seeming to rise with your anxiety.

“It doesn't sound like you're encouraging me to stick with Wanda,” you point out.

Calliope leans back in her chair, a good-natured smile playing on her lips. “I'm not here to encourage or discourage any particular course of action,” she says calmly. “What I am here for is to help you explore your feelings and understand what you truly want. Sometimes love isn't enough, and that's okay. It's up to you to decide what you can and can't accept in a relationship.”

As you chew on Calliope's words, trying to reconcile your love for Wanda with the reality of the situation, you find comfort in Calliope's lack of judgment, a space to think without pressure.

“You're right,” you mumble. “I just need to figure out what I can live with and what I can't.”

It's your first official solo session with Calliope after a tumultuous joint session with Wanda earlier in the week. Interaction with Wanda since then has been muted and bittersweet. Interaction with Wanda since then has been muted and bittersweet, marked only by a quiet dinner at her place and a walk with Sparky outside afterward. The dinner was sweet, filled with affectionate glances and gentle touches, but it lacked the spark that once ignited between you two in Montauk and the passionate days that followed.

Frankly, you're desperate to return to how things were before your outburst, but you have no idea how.

The subsequent days that followed haven't been any better. You remember the way Wanda would sometimes look at you with a silent question in her eyes. It could have been a simple, “Are we going to make it?” or as heart-wrenching as, “Have you changed your mind about giving us another chance?”

“So, tell me more about how you're feeling,” Calliope prompts, bringing you back to the present moment. “What are some of the emotions that have been coming up for you lately?”

“Uh, they come at different times in the day,” you say, chuckling softly. “In the morning there’s longing. Now that I’m no longer in denial of the fact that I’m still very much in love with my ex-wife, I miss her more terribly than the months we were estranged. I miss Wanda and I miss our old life together. I miss the routine I have with her. Just… being married to her. Then in the afternoon, I miss another relationship in my life–my friendship with Nat. She’s like a sister to me–well, I consider her one. I grew up without siblings and the only other familial love I knew in my life was my mother’s until she came along. Losing her hurt as much if not more than Wanda’s betrayal, to be honest.”

As you pause, feeling as though you're oversharing, Calliope gifts you a reassuring smile. “Just continue, Y/N. I'm here to listen,” she encourages.

You shyly return her smile before continuing, “Nights, well, they're a combination of guilt, anger, and a kind of despair that sometimes makes me wish I wouldn't wake up if everything remains the same. I'm not... I don't think I'm suicidal, but at times, it feels as though an abrupt end would be easier to deal with.”

Calliope takes a moment to process your words, her eyes softening with empathy. “It sounds like you're carrying a lot of pain,” she says. “But let's clarify something important–while it might feel overwhelming at times, it doesn't mean it's unmanageable. When you have thoughts about not wanting to wake up, it's a sign that you're longing for relief, not necessarily the end. It's vital to differentiate between the two. Now, let me ask. Has there been anything recently that's caused you pain? Something you believe you're still grappling with?”

You make it appear as if you have to think about it for a moment even though the response comes to you almost instantly.

“Uhm, there is actually…” you start. “Wanda and I haven’t talked about this because all conversations that have something to do with Vision are just painful to have basically. I don’t know if Wanda’s mentioned it to you before but, uh, Wanda told me herself that Vision filmed them having sex.”

“I see,” Calliope responds. “Wanda did mention that. We mainly focused on her experience though–how it was a direct violation of her privacy.”

You draw a deep breath, releasing it slowly as you prepare to delve into the matter further.

“Right. And as for me, knowing about the existence of such a video, it just... It haunts me. It's not like I've seen it or anything. But–but just the idea... It feels like an additional layer of betrayal. And on top of that, I’m livid that someone easily violated Wanda like that.”

“So, it's not just the affair itself, but the tangible evidence of it that exacerbates the hurt. Is that correct?”

You nod, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly.

“I understand,” Calliope says, giving you a sympathetic nod. “It's like an open wound that keeps getting poked. And every time it does, it becomes more difficult to heal.”

“Right,” you agree, your voice catching a bit as you swallow. The way Calliope has just articulated your feelings is validating, like she's reading your thoughts. “I deleted that video without seeing it. I knew it would just make me hate Wanda all over again. But, you know, sometimes I wonder if I should've seen it.”

Calliope nods, her hands resting comfortably in her lap. “It's totally natural to feel that way,” she says. “Curiosity, the need for closure, or just the urge to understand... These feelings can push us to do things like that. But it's worth remembering, not all answers make things better. Sometimes, they just hurt more.”

“Do you think I’d still be here, trying to make things work if I had seen it?” you wonder out loud.

Calliope takes a moment, her eyes thoughtful as she considers your question. “That's a tough one, Y/N. So many things could influence a decision like that. But you know, despite everything else, we often end up following our heart, even if it doesn't make logical sense.”

Her words seem to settle something inside you. 

You find your thoughts drifting, reflecting on the choices you've made and the paths you've chosen not to take. The video was a potential Pandora's box, one you knew you needed to avoid. The thought of violating Wanda's privacy, even after everything, feels wrong. 

You recognize your own responsibility of ensuring you don't place yourself in situations that might jeopardize what you and Wanda are rebuilding. For too long, you've felt as if you're just waiting for the next slip-up from Wanda, and you yearn to free yourself from that cycle.

“Nothing about love is logical, then?” you ask. 

“Love often doesn't follow the rules of logic,” she begins, her voice soft but clear. “It's a deeply emotional and sometimes irrational force. But that doesn't mean it's without structure or patterns.”

She pauses, studying your face to gauge your reaction. “In therapy, we often look at love through the lens of attachment and connection. How we express love, how we receive it, what we need from a relationship, and how we cope when those needs are not met. All of these aspects can be explored and understood.”

You take a deep breath, trying to wrap your mind around Calliope's words. “So, what you're saying is that while love itself might not be logical, understanding our own patterns and reactions in love can bring clarity?”

Calliope smiles, nodding. “Exactly. Recognizing your own needs, your triggers, and your boundaries can help you navigate the complexities of love. It can provide you with the tools to build a healthier relationship, not just with Wanda but with yourself.”

As the session starts to wind down, Calliope looks at you with a kind yet inquisitive expression. “Is there anything specific you'd like to talk about before we end today? Any thoughts or feelings you’d like to explore further?”

“Actually, there's something I've been wanting to ask, but it feels a bit awkward–especially with Wanda around,” you say, looking a bit sheepish.

Calliope leans forward, her eyes warm and attentive. “This is a safe space. Whatever you need to ask or discuss, feel free to do so. Remember, our conversations here are confidential.”

“Okay,” you say, wetting your lips. “Do you think...Do you think it's possible for someone to change? I mean, truly change? Wanda has hurt me in the past, and she's said it… it won’t happen again. She's working hard to prove it, but how can I be sure? How can I trust that it's not just an act, that she won't hurt me again?”

Calliope takes her time, carefully considering her words before speaking.

“I believe people can change,” she tells you squarely. “But change is a process. It's slow, and it's hard. And it's something that the person has to genuinely want for themselves. Change cannot be forced or faked.”

She pauses, looking deep into your eyes. “The question here isn't just whether Wanda can change, but whether you believe she can. Trust is a delicate thing, and it takes time to rebuild. It's normal to have doubts, to have fears. What's important is how you address those feelings and how you communicate with Wanda about them.”

You nod, her words sinking in. It’s a terrifying leap of faith, a gamble with your heart and your happiness.

“What if I make the wrong choice?” you ask, failing to keep the tremor out of your voice. “What if I trust her, and she betrays me again?”

“Deciding to trust someone will never not be a risk, Y/N,” Calliope says, placing a comforting hand on your arm.

“You're right,” you reply, taking a deep breath and feeling a bit more centered. “I need to focus on the now and communicate openly with Wanda.”

Calliope's smile is warm and understanding. “You’ve taken brave steps today, Y/N.”

The future is unwritten, and it's yours to shape. 

***

The enticing aroma of steak cooking fills your kitchen as you busy yourself with the final touches of the evening meal. As you fuss over the table preparation and positioning the scented candles you spread around the dining room, you're conscious of the nerves prickling at your skin. It's not like this is your first date with Wanda, but the anticipation of her arrival makes it feel as if it is.

Freshly bathed, you've even gone through the effort of applying a touch of makeup, just enough to give you that extra glow. You're wearing a nice shirt that subtly showcases your lean arms and compliments your figure. 

Maybe part of you is expecting, or at least hoping, for more than just dinner tonight.

The doorbell rings, sending a shiver of anticipation down your spine. Quickly, you wipe your hands on a kitchen towel and hurry to the door.

Wanda stands there, her beauty as stunning as ever. Her cheeks are lightly flushed from the winter chill, and she's bundled up in a thick, cozy puffer jacket. Nestled in her arms is Sparky, his tail wagging wildly in sheer joy at the sight of you. Seeing your little family at your doorstep, a jolt of affection sweeps over you, momentarily stealing your words, but you manage to find your footing, leaning in to greet her with a tender kiss. Sparky lets out a surprised yelp, sandwiched between you and Wanda.

When you release her bottom lip with a wet pop, Wanda peers up at you with a dazed smile on her face as she asks, “What was that for?”

With a nonchalant shrug, you answer, “I couldn’t resist, you're just too beautiful.”

She looks surprised as she takes in the romantically set table, the flickering candles, and the open bottle of merlot. “What's all this for?” she asks, her eyes meeting yours.

Trying to keep your voice steady, you shrug, offering her a casual grin. “No special reason,” you respond, gesturing to the lovingly prepared meal. “Just felt like making you dinner. Sparky can have ⅓ of my steak since I didn’t know he’s coming too.”

She turns to you with a wide grin on her face and says, “Oh, Y/N, you didn’t have to…”

“I wanted to,” you tell her sheepishly. “Is that alright?”

Wanda pulls you close, the fabric of your shirt gathered in her hand, and captures your lips in another searing kiss. “It’s more than alright,” she whispers, her breath warm against your skin.

Her hand releases your shirt, and she follows you into the dining room where the dinner you worked very hard on is waiting. You clink your glasses in a toast, and then you both tuck into your dinner. Conversation flows easily between you two, just like old times. 

Wanda shares anecdotes about her day, each story making you smile or laugh. When it's your turn, you talk about your first solo therapy session with Calliope. Wanda immediately reassures you that you don't need to share anything you're not comfortable with, but you shake your head, insisting that you want to be open with her.

The conversation takes a more serious turn when you mention Vision's illicit video of their affair. You see Wanda's eyes widen in surprise, but she remains silent, waiting for you to continue.

You take a deep breath, meeting Wanda's eyes. “It... It's been bothering me, Wanda. The idea of it. The violation of your privacy... and just the very existence of it. I didn’t know how to bring it up but talking to Calliope earlier helped me come to terms with it.”

Wanda's face pales slightly, her fork pausing in mid-air. “Oh,” she murmurs, the word barely audible. She sets her utensils down and takes a sip of wine, her gaze distant. “I... I see.”

“I want you to know,” you continue, reaching across the table to place your hand over hers, “I deleted it. I didn't watch it. Not because I was scared of what I might see, but because it was the right thing to do. For both of us.”

Wanda's eyes widen slightly, and something in her expression shifts. Her face is open and unguarded, and tears well in her eyes, not spilling over, but making them shine with an intensity that grips your heart. 

She opens her mouth to speak, but it takes her a moment to find her voice, a subtle tremble in her words as she finally says, “Thank you.”

Wanda's throat moves as she struggles to reel in her emotions. “Thank you for respecting me, even when I didn't deserve it.”

You smile and lean forward to place a gentle kiss on the back of her hand. “You’re welcome.”

As the last remnants of the Merlot are savored and the dishes are cleared away, a new energy envelops the room. The candlelight dances in Wanda's eyes and the warmth of the evening gives way to a different kind of heat.

The conversation slows to comfortable silence. Neither of you makes a move, but the air between you is taut with expectation as you regard her with an aching gaze. After a lingering moment, you both get up from the table, your movements mirroring each other's. The distance between you diminishes as Wanda steps closer, her hands finding their way to your waist.

You tilt your head upwards, meeting her gaze, and what you see makes your heart race. Her eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with desire. Her lips part slightly as her breath hitches, the slight tremble betraying her nervousness. You both want this, need this. And tonight, there's nothing holding you back. The past is behind you, and the future is waiting. For now, you have this moment, and it's more than enough.

As your lips meet in a passionate kiss, you can't help but think that this isn't just another step towards gaining back some semblance of what you two used to have. It's a leap of faith–being this close to her isn’t something you still need to be afraid of. This night isn't just about seeking physical comfort; it's about rediscovering each other in the most personal way possible. 

More than just dinner, indeed.

“No, don’t go,” Wanda’s arm swiftly wraps around your exposed waist, anchoring you to the bed–the very bed where you've spent hours making love to her. A soft chuckle bubbles from your lips as your fingers trace the hand splayed across your stomach, a gentle prison keeping you bound to the mattress alongside her.

“I just need to grab something, love, I’ll be right back,” you assure her, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead before carefully disentangling from her insistent grasp. 

Wanda releases you reluctantly, an adorable pout gracing her lips that sends a pang of regret through you, making you momentarily second-guess your decision to leave the inviting cocoon of her warmth. You smirk as you watch Sparky take your place beside Wanda and start licking at her face, making your ex-wife squirm and giggle from his attention.

Slowly, you make your way to the desk situated not too far from the bed. Over your shoulder, you can see Wanda propping herself up, the sheet falling haphazardly over her bare form, her modesty barely preserved by the silken material. The sight of her is momentarily distracting, but you manage to shake the thoughts away, focusing on the task at hand.

On the desk lies the letter you’ve penned for her. Calliope had recommended this as an exercise–writing down everything you wanted to say to each other in the form of a letter. At first, you found it a little odd. You've always been more of a face-to-face person when it comes to expressing yourself.

With the letter in hand, you make your way back to the bed, the anticipation causing your heart to hammer erratically against your chest. It's just Wanda. You've known each other for years, yet somehow, this moment feels as nerve-wracking as a first date.

As you climb back into bed, you hand the letter over to Wanda, looking into her eyes, now filled with curiosity and a hint of nervousness reflecting your own. 

“This... is for you,” you say softly, the letter in her hands feeling like a piece of your soul, bare and exposed for her to see.

Wanda looks genuinely taken aback, her fingers running over the sealed envelope lightly. “Oh, Y/N,” she says, sounding surprised and a touch guilty. “I didn't know we were exchanging letters tonight. I left mine for you back at my apartment.”

Her eyes flicker to you, apologetic, as she makes a mental note to herself to retrieve the letter as soon as she can. You reassure her, saying, “That's alright, Wanda. You can read mine without having to give yours. There's no rush.”

You watch as Wanda slowly unfolds it. She scans the contents of your letter, her eyes tracing the loops and lines of your handwriting. In that quiet, you can practically hear your own heartbeat, and the wait feels agonizing as you watch Wanda's reactions to your words—her brows furrow in concentration, her lips part in surprise, and her eyes, unsteady at first, gradually soften in understanding.

Wanda,

I need to begin with an apology. I've lashed out at you many times, and even though people say I have every right to be angry, I never want to hurt you with my actions or words. I'm sorry for that, truly.

I've loved you for a long time, Wanda, and even in the depths of all the hurt and pain, that love never stopped. Not even once. That, I think, was the hardest part.

Here's the truth: loving you is like breathing for me. It's this natural, innate thing that hasn't been shaken by everything we've gone through. I can't assure you that we'll end up with rings on our fingers again, but I want you to know what I hope for us. I hope for us to grow individually as people, to overcome our own demons, and to find our way back to each other, stronger than before.

I walked away before because I was lost, Wanda. I felt like I was drowning, and the person who should've been my lifeline was the one pushing me further under. It wasn't easy, stepping away from you, from us. But I was scared, and I felt like I had no other choice.

I can't promise that everything will be smooth sailing from here on out. I can't promise that I'll suddenly trust you like I used to. Honestly, I have no idea what's coming our way. But I can promise that I'll try. 

I'm still in love with you, Wanda, and I'm still here. I’ll keep trying as long as it takes.

Yours always,

Y/N

When she's done reading, she clutches the letter to her chest, her eyes closing for a moment, as if absorbing the words into her very being. Then slowly, she places it gently on the nightstand, her hand lingering on the paper as if reluctant to let go.

There's a vulnerability in her eyes that you haven't seen in a while. It takes your breath away, the rawness of it, the absolute trust she's putting in you in this moment. It's what you've been working towards, what you've been fighting for. And it's beautiful.

“What you wrote...” she pauses, her eyes glistening as she fights back tears, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth, “It means everything to me. Thank you.”

You reach across, brushing a stray tear from her cheek, your touch gentle. “I love you,” you tell her, your voice thick with emotion.

Her hand covers yours, her fingers squeezing reassuringly. “I love you too,” she whispers, the words a sacred promise, a reaffirmation of everything that you are to each other. Her smile deepens, her eyes sparkling with a love that's both old and new, and in that moment, everything feels right in the world.

Sometime in the middle of the night, you're pulled from the comfort of sleep by a relentless buzzing noise. In the dim light, you can make out Wanda's phone vibrating on her nightstand. Carefully, so as not to awaken her, you reach across her slumbering form to silence the persistent vibration.

Squinting at the bright screen, you find a flurry of unread messages and missed calls from unknown numbers and names you don't recognize. A feeling of unease begins to creep in as you fumble to unlock the phone, trying Wanda's birthday first, then yours, both to no avail. Your frustration mounts, and with a sigh of resignation, you power off the phone to quell its incessant buzzing.

But as you settle back into bed, your mind begins to wander into dangerous territory, forming connections and scenarios that you'd rather not contemplate. Who has been trying to reach her? Could there be others, aside from Valkyrie, who had vied for her attention? 

The seed of doubt sown, jealousy begins to sprout within you before you can stop it. You turn to your side, facing away from her, trying to shake off the unwelcome emotions. You close your eyes, willing sleep to come to you. The sheets feel cool against your skin, and you pull the covers closer. 

It’s not a war waged anymore with Wanda or what she did in the past.

It’s a war you’re now waging with yourself.

Taglist: @canvascoloredin | @justgotlizzied , @casquinhaa | @marvelwomen-simp | @sunsol-22 | @wandanatlov3r | @kyaraderuwez | @justyourwritter69 | @stanolsevans | @aliherreraaa | @diaryoflife| @justagurlwholikes | @lizziesplant | @cowxpoke | @sokovianbaby| @swiftie1-0-1 | @scarlettbitchx | @tercerspirit-22

[sweetandgentlecreature]

The Old Ball and Chain

Authors Note: So, uh…Was laying down to go to bed and had a thought. Definitely not quite my usual content, so I’m not going to add my taglist just in case this is too heavy for some readers. (Can you tell what part of my cycle I’m in?)

Pairing: Captain Syverson x Female Reader

Warnings: Simulated Dubcon, Bondage, Brief mentions of fingering (female receiving), and Unprotected p-in-v sex. I am an adult, and due to the nature of this content, all works created by me will be rated for those 18 years and older. Minors, DNI.

Time passes slowly when you can’t see the clock on the wall, ticking down to an undetermined amount of time spent on the bench. Ass hanging off of the edge, knees bent, ankles shackled and held aloft by cold chains anchored to the outside of the plywood partition. The hole is just wide enough for my bottom half to fit through, the opening carefully carved and wrapped in foam and leather for my comfort. Wouldn’t want to get a splinter, of course.

The room is dim and cold. Goosebumps dance and scamper up and down my arms, and I can’t tell if I’m shivering through the cold or in anticipation for what’s to come. Soon, the unmistakable sound of tires tracking through gravel tells me what I need to know. The engine comes to a stop just outside of the door, followed by heavy foot falls crunching their way up the path. My breath catches in my throat, and I swallow hard to calm my anxious nerves. The door opens as he steps inside, then closes with a heavy thud behind him. He doesn’t speak, but he doesn’t have to. That’s not a part of the agreement anyway. Ragged breath from the heaving chest of the beast on the other side of the wall paints a picture in my mind. He’s been thinking about this all day.

Rubber boot soles thud across the concrete floor with each determined stride, until he stands (what I presume is) before me. Slow, deep breaths in through the nose and out through the mouth pour over my bare skin and light me ablaze. When I close my eyes, I imagine the look on his face. Brow furrowed, eyes dark with lust, sizing me up as I lay open for him like a feast to be devoured.

He touches me, warm, calloused fingertips pressing at the inside of my knees to open them wider as he takes his stance between them. Still quiet, still focused, he runs them up my thigh, nice and slow, until they reach their sticky and sweet destination. I gasp as the crassness of his ministrations when I feel him pinch the lips of my quivering pussy between his forefinger and thumb, not too hard, just enough to bring my wetness to the surface. My cup runneth over and spills to the floor with the pitter-patter of a soft summer rain. Heat rises in my face, but before I can react, he slides a thick finger through my petals to collect the nectar, then slips it inside of me.

The intrusion, albeit a surprise thanks to the division between us, is a welcomed one, and I hum in delight as he explores. It’s a test, and it seems that I’ve passed when he takes it away again. My heart pounds in my chest and rings in my ears as I wait for his next move. Digging my nails into the wood beneath me, the anticipation is almost too much to stand, when… no. Surely he isn’t…but then he does it again. Slow, deep, and heavy, he takes another breath, then sighs in relief. I close my eyes when I hear him suck his fingers clean. I must be good enough to eat.

The rattle of what I can only guess is his belt loosening makes me shutter, followed by the soft pop of the button and the slow downward zip of his fly. He parts my swollen lips with the tip of his cock, hot and heavy against my eager flesh as he slides it through my folds to collect more wetness. One hand holds my leg as the other is braced against the partition as he brings it down to slowly insert himself inside of me.

It’s a snug fit, and the sting of the stretch to fit around him is delicious. A breathy little moan escapes my dry, parted lips as he settles inside of me. He’s patient enough to let me adjust, but the man is no saint. It’s not long before he draws himself out again, then thrusts inside once more. Again and again, slow at first but quickly gaining momentum, the chains that hold me aloft rattle against the board with each drive of his hips against mine. He chooses the tempo, and I buck my hips up to meet it.

Hard, harder, harder; fast, faster, faster, he keeps going. His breath is uneven and ragged as he seeks out his climax. My thighs tremble around him, toes flexing and curling with each deep thrust until I’m seeing stars. Just when I think I can’t take any more, he grunts, loud and thunderous as he comes undone. buried to the hilt deep inside of me. He stills, hands trembling as they support beneath my knees, and he doesn’t move until he’s finished. Sweat drips from my nose and I wipe it away with the back of my hand as he pulls away, leaving me full of his spent and dripping onto the table beneath me. My body aches, and pin-prickles burn the soles of my feet as I wiggle my toes for relief. Just then, the hinges of the barrier between us squeak as he drops the top half down to peer at me from his side of the wall.

“Fuck, baby. That was better than I ever imagined it could be.”

Nimble fingers work to loosen the snares on my ankles one by one, and he catches my feet, lowering them slowly to lessen the strain as I sit upright again. Giggling softly, I brush my sweat-dampened hair from my eyes.

“It was fun, wasn’t it?”

For weeks, we’d been practicing. Endless midnight conversations about the ins and outs of how this would work, evenings after work spent in the shop crafting the perfect platform to suit our needs. All of it leading up to the big show, and now it was over.

Sy grabs my foot, then the other, and begins massaging life back into them again. Once he’s done, he disappears to the sink in the corner of the garage to wet a wash rag with warm water to clean us up again. I wince as he glides it between my legs, but only for a moment, when he drops to his knees to get a better look. Rough whisker kisses brush along the inside of my thighs as he slowly works his way down, humming softly to himself as he takes his sweet time.

“You did so good,” he croons, beaming with pride as he takes care to wipe up the mess he’d left behind. With one final swipe, he tosses the rag towards the sink again and buried his head between my knees to make me shutter once more.

When his eyes meet mine, through a bramble of thick, dark lashes, I know that this is far from over. He smiles as he nuzzles against my mound, just as insatiable as the day we met. We share a silent truth in that moment, one that needs no words. I wouldn’t want him any other way.

“Happy Anniversary, Darlin’.”

[jiniretbabii]

Concrete:

An Reader x San Angst Drabble:

Warning: Minor language, unprotected sex. MDNI

The drive over to San’s house felt like the longest journey of my life. My grip on the steering wheel was tight, knuckles white, as if it could somehow anchor me to my decision. Tears dripped steadily from my eyes, blurring my vision, but I didn’t care. I was resolute, my mind set on ending this toxic cycle. San wasn’t the man I fell in love with anymore—his once loving and affectionate demeanor now replaced by coldness, harshness, and dismissal.

A flashback from last week replayed in my mind, a scene that solidified my decision:

“Why can’t you tell me what’s going on, San? We’re supposed to be there for each other. You keep shutting me out!” I had pleaded, my voice breaking.

“Just shut the hell up and fucking leave already. Your constant nagging isn’t helping shit but making me more stressed. I’ve got enough shit on my plate—the last thing I need is some nagging bitch up my ass all the time!” he had snapped back, throwing a vase against the wall, shattering it on impact. His words cutting deep.

The memory stung, and I bit my lip to keep from breaking down completely. I didn’t believe in text breakups; I owed it to myself and to him to say this face-to-face. Pulling into the gated driveway. I looked up through the glass window. He was pacing around, biting his nail, lost in thought. For a moment, something inside me softened. I shook my head, reminding myself why I was here.

I exited the car, anxiously making my way to the front door. Turning the doorknob my heart pounded.

Was this right?

Did I have the courage to face him?

How will he take it?

My the click of my heels on the marble floor echoing through the mansion's entrance. My fingers traced the smooth banister of the staircase as my heart pounded in my chest. San looked up as I approached, his eyes swollen and red.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice a mere whisper.

“San,” I replied, my own voice trembling. “We need to talk.”

He nodded, swallowing hard. “You’re done with me.”

“That’s correct. I didn’t think you deserved a text,” I said, my tone firm despite the tears threatening to spill over.

His voice was shaky, his eyes filled with unshed tears. “What can I do to fix this?”

I bit my lip, looking away to compose myself. “San, you can’t fix it. I’ve made up my mind. I need something concrete, something real. Lately, you’ve been avoiding me, acting different. You’re not the same man I fell in love with. You’ve become so cold to me. I can’t do this anymore.”

He opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. Instead, his tears finally broke free, streaming down his face. He reached out, trying to touch my hand, but I pulled away.

“I’ll always love you, but you can’t hurt me like this anymore. I can’t allow it,” I said, my voice breaking.

I turned to leave, but San got up and wrapped his arms around my waist, holding me tight. “Y/N, baby, please. I’m so sorry. Please, I can’t be without you,” he begged, his voice raw with desperation.

Tears fell from my eyes as I looked up at him. “I-I’m sorry,” I choked out, struggling to unlock his hands from my waist. His grip only tightened.

“Please, Y/N. I’ll change, I promise. Just don’t leave me,” he cried, his voice cracking with anguish.

I closed my eyes, the pain in his voice cutting through me. “San, you’ve had so many chances. I can’t keep breaking my own heart for you.”

He loosened his grip slightly, enough for me to turn around and face him. “I love you, San. But I need to love myself more right now. I need to heal.”

He nodded slowly, tears still flowing. “I understand,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I’m so sorry for everything.”

“Sorry isn’t good enough. How many times have you said sorry and keep DOING. THE. SAME. SHIT!” I finally snapped.

He sat in silence.

I continued, “it’s like talking to a brick wall sometimes. Fucking concrete. Doesn’t penetrate. Getting through to you feels like a burden and I’m so goddamn tired of it!”

“Baby-“

“I don’t need this anymore San. I can’t keep hurting myself.”

I leaned over, placing a gentle kiss on his cheek. “Goodbye, San,” I whispered, turning away for the last time.

As I walked out of the mansion, the weight of my decision settled over me. It was the hardest thing I had ever done, but I knew it was the right thing. Tears pouring nonstop.

Its over.

Damn it hurts.

As I walked toward my car, each step felt heavier than the last. The weight of my decision pressed down on me, but I knew it was the right thing to do. I fumbled for my keys, tears blurring my vision. Just as I was about to unlock the car, I felt a familiar grip on my arm, pulling me back.

“Y/N, wait,” San’s voice was thick with emotion.

Before I could react, his lips crashed onto mine, desperate and fervent. “I’m sorry,” he murmured against my lips. “I can’t let the woman I love leave me like this.”

I wanted to push him away, to remind myself of all the pain he had caused. But deep down, I couldn’t bear to see him hurt. His kiss was filled with a passion that had been missing for so long, and it stirred something inside me.

San’s lips moved to my neck, trailing kisses that sent shivers down my spine. He slid his hand down the side of my trench coat, exposing my shoulder. “S-San, please stop,” I whispered, but my voice lacked conviction.

“I hurt you, I betrayed your trust. You have every right to leave. But I can’t allow that.”

He couldn’t stop. It was as if he needed to prove his love, to make me stay. He lifted me onto the hood of my car, his kisses growing more tender and gentle, reminiscent of the San I had fallen in love with.

His hands held my hips, pulling me closer. Our kisses deepened, his tongue slipping into my mouth, exploring, pleading. “Baby, please, one more chance,” he begged between kisses.

I was silent, my mind a whirlwind of confusion and desire. “Please,” he repeated, his voice breaking.

One kiss.

“Baby, please,” he whispered again, his lips brushing mine.

A second kiss.

“I promise I’ll make it right,” he vowed, his eyes locked onto mine, filled with a raw sincerity I hadn’t seen in so long.

Another kiss.

My heart pounded in my chest, torn between the love I still felt and the pain he had caused. “One last chance, San,” I gasped for breath, my resolve wavering.

San’s eyes lit up with hope as he lifted me into his arms, carrying me back into the house. Our lips never parted, each kiss a mix of desperation and longing.

As we crossed the threshold, he kicked the door shut behind us. “I swear, Y/N, I’ll make it right. I’ll be the man you fell in love with again,” he promised, his voice filled with determination.

He carried me up the stairs to his bedroom, laying me gently on the bed. His hands were everywhere, rediscovering each curve and contour of my body, as if trying to memorize me all over again.

“San, this doesn’t change everything,” I whispered, my voice shaky.

“I know,” he replied, his eyes never leaving mine. “But I need you to know how much you mean to me. How much I love you.”

His words, combined with his touch, broke down my defenses.

Afterward, we lay tangled in each other’s arms, our breaths mingling. “I’ll show you, Y/N. I’ll prove that I can be the man you deserve,” San whispered, his fingers tracing patterns on my skin.

I looked into his eyes, seeing the hope and determination there. “I hope so, San. Because this really is your last chance.”

He nodded, pulling me closer. “I won’t waste it,” he promised, his voice filled with conviction.

His hand slowly slid down my body. Pulling away the fabric of the trench coat exposing the stockings I had on.

San's eyes darkened with desire, quickly he got up, immediately tearing off the coat, letting it fall to the floor. The sight of me in nothing but black lace lingerie made his breath hitch. Looking down I could see a tent starting to form in his sweatpants.

Yanking my legs apart, he climbs in between.

His hands slid up my thigh-high stocking-covered legs, sending shivers through my entire body. He began to kiss my stomach, each soft press of his lips causing my back to arch off the bed.

His hands roamed over my body, his touch both gentle and possessive. Positioned cozily between my thighs, he slowly pulled off my panties, the anticipation making my breath quicken. His lips found the spot I desperately needed him to touch, and he began suckling on my sensitive bud. A cry of pleasure escaped my lips as his tongue curled around it, the sensation overwhelming.

I gripped the silk bedsheets, my heels digging into the mattress. "Only I can make you feel this way," he groaned into the heat between my legs, his voice filled with a mix of possessiveness and love. His pupils were blown wide as he looked up at me. "Say it," he commanded softly.

I bit my lip, refusing to give in so easily. His response was immediate—he slid two fingers inside me, curving them upwards as he continued his assault on my clit. My cries grew louder, my body trembling with the intensity of his touch. "Say it," he urged again, his voice more insistent.

My only response was a moan, my mind too clouded with pleasure to form coherent words. His fingers worked faster, each movement bringing me closer to the edge. His tongue moved in tandem, driving me wild. I could feel my climax approaching quickly, the sensation building to an almost unbearable peak.

"SAY. IT!" he demanded, his voice a mix of desperation and command.

"I—I'm yours! Only you can make me feel this way!" I finally cried out, unable to hold back any longer.

San's movements sped up, his fingers and tongue working in perfect harmony. "F-fuck! San, I'm cumming!" I screamed, the climax hitting me with a force that left me breathless.

He pulled away just as my body began to convulse with pleasure, lifting me up and positioning himself at my entrance. He pushed inside me slowly, filling me completely.

“FUCK!” He groans out, his teeth sinking into my shoulder. Our breaths mingled as he carried me over to the banister of the staircase. I gripped the banister tightly, wrapping my legs around his waist as he began to move.

Each thrust of his dick was filled with love and desperation, a silent promise that he would never let me go. "Y/N," he whispered, his lips brushing against my ear. "I love you. I’ll make this right, I swear."

His words, combined with the rhythm of his movements, sent waves of pleasure through me. I held onto him, our bodies moving in perfect sync. “B-baby. S-so big.” I cried out.

The intimacy of the moment was overwhelming, each touch and kiss a testament to the love we still shared.

“Baby all for you. I fucking love you.” He gasp in my ear.

"San," I moaned, my voice barely a whisper. "I love you too."

His grip on me tightened, his thrusts becoming more urgent. "I’ll never let you go," he vowed, his voice filled with emotion.

His thrust became even more sloppy, harder, faster.

I couldn’t hold it in anymore, “GOD! CHOI SAN! I’M CUMMING!” I threw one arm around his neck, pulling his lips onto mine.

His dick pushing even deeper inside. Tongues dancing with each other, lips attached, devouring each other’s moans.

I could feel his dick twitching and convulsing. He’s was so close. One last thrust was all it took.

“Y/N!” He cried out. His nails digging into my flesh. The warm thick ropes of his cum filling me.

As we reached our climax together, the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of us. In that moment, all the pain and anger melted away, replaced by a love that was stronger than ever.

Still inside he carries me to the bed. Lying together, our bodies entangled.

We stayed like that for a while, wrapped in each other’s arms, our breaths slowly returning to normal. San’s eyes met mine, filled with a mix of hope and determination. "I’ll prove it to you, Y/N. I’ll be the man you deserve."

I nodded, my heart filled with a cautious optimism. "I believe you, San. Please don’t let me down."

He kissed me softly, a promise in his touch. "I won’t," he said, his voice steady and sure.

As we lay there, with the future still uncertain, I couldn’t help but feel that maybe, just maybe, we could find our way back to each other.