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sugarcoatedstarkey · 21 days ago

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Seconds

(Firsts - part two)

Pairing - Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary - part two to firsts, Rafe Cameron was your first everything.

Warnings - language, alcohol, public sex. (18+)

A/n- shoutout to anon who said this part should be called seconds! Love you! 🥰 I didn’t think I’d ever make a part two because nothing ever wrote as well as the first part, but part of the end plot came from the recent tell me lies finale!

Part one

Rafe Cameron.

Rafe Cameron was your first everything.

The first time you made out with someone it was with Rafe, both aged 15, you both had been each other's first for everything. The best of friends since age 5, so when he found himself standing between your legs at a party as you sat on the island bench chewing on some plain bread because the alcohol was making you feel a bit nauseous, you both just kissed. No question to it, he leant in and so did you.

You remember his hand holding your jaw as your lips moved together, tongues brushing each other and his other hand held your thigh thumb caressing your naked skin. Small giggles would escape both your lips as you kept kissing.

Nobody questioned anything the two of you did, knowing better not to get involved in your business. So when the two of you began getting heated, your hips grinding into each other and his arms wrapping around your waist, they knew it was time to give you space and left the kitchen.

You made out alot after that, but you were always just best friends.

The first time you both had sex was with each other. You had just turned 16, Rafe had been talking about watching porn a lot and said that some girl in your grade propositioned him at a party, saying something about a box full of condoms and no parents home. You didn’t like that one bit so you told him you also wanted to have sex, it was just agreed upon you’d have sex together.

The two of you had two shots of vodka to calm the nerves, it was in your bed when both your parents had an event. Equally both as nervous but he comforted you alot more than you did him. “Just tell me to stop if it’s too much” he kept saying as you both kissed and removed clothing, you told him you would and to stop worrying.

You had lit a scented candle and dimmed your lights down low, you didn’t feel nervous about being naked with him. You were nervous for the pain, your friends had told you how much they hated it the first time so you assumed you would.

But it was different, you had both done a lot of research on how to have sex, not just sex. Good sex, you weren’t sure how many blogs you had read with him. Looking up everything and anything about it, so when the time came, it was enjoyable, Maybe not as enjoyable as it was the 3rd or 4th time but it wasn’t as bad as your friends had said. The moment you saw each other naked that was when it changed for you, seeing his erect cock that stood for you made your inside churn. You were done for and you did nothing to stop it, that feeling grew and grew. When he gave you a real orgasm you knew you’d never be able to have anyone else.

Rafe was your first everything until he wasn’t.

Months went by after your birthday, you were still angry and hurt at Rafe but it was starting to fade because you never saw him. He lived right next door but he was never around when you were, your schedules never matched up anymore and that was a blessing in disguise.

Your family had received the invite to his engagement party, you had immediately said no to your parents but they were not letting you out of it. You spent weeks dreading the day, avoiding looking for a dress just hoping your mum would understand.

But when the night came a lot faster than expected you could no longer put it off, your mother had left you a dress hanging in the bathroom. It was beautiful, exactly the kind of dress you would have brought. There was no getting out of this party, so you had to figure out a way to make the night bearable.

Dressed in a pretty black baby doll dress you found yourself leaning against the bar, champagne flute between your fingers as you stared off into space. Moving from one foot to the other, feet aching from the stupid stilettos you decided to wear, you had secured a nice spot at the bar. Hidden behind some ridiculous ice sculpture of the lovely couple, you were unsure of how many glasses of champagne you had thrown back. Trying to blur the night out the best you could, you hadn’t spoken to Rafe yet. Your parents had been pulled away as soon as you walked in so you were able to run and hide before any greetings were made.

Apparently your hiding space wasn’t kept a secret for very long though, someone’s fingers grazed your hip causing you to wobble on your feet and fumble with the glass, the contents spraying over the marble floor at your feet. “Fuck you scared me!” You squeaked, coming face to face with Jeremy. Rafes' older cousin, Rafes, suddenly became a very hot older cousin. “Sorry! You did look like you were on another planet” he laughs, reaching over the bar he grabs the tequila and pours himself a generous shot. He grabs a rag and kneels at your feet, wiping away the liquid from the floor and the small amount that hit your feet. He looks up at you through his dark lashes and you quickly look away when the heat between your legs flare.

He steps up and presses the shot glass to his lips, your eyes glued to them as he shoots it back and licks the liquid from his lips, he gives you his famous dimple grin and leans against the bar. “So y/n.. how have you been? It’s been 4 years?”

“Yeah 4 years.. I’m good! Just turned 21!” You smiled, waving the glass of champagne in the air like you weren’t drinking at the age of 15, he grasps a glass of champagne and knocks it with yours. The two of you share a look as you both take a sip of the bubbles. “You look good”. He’s not shy and takes a long look at you, trailing him from top to bottom. “You too Jer”

“So I heard about you and Rafe, sorry about that. He can be an asshole” he says, he’s moved closer to you now. Both your forearms are rested together as you both stare out at the sea of people, your eyes finally find Rafe. He’s clenching his jaw as his fiancé whisks him around the room, flaunting her huge rock off.

“Mmm… doesn’t matter. It’s whatever”

Jeremy shoots you a sideways look as if to say ‘I don’t believe you’, he also watches Rafe walk round the room. He was angry for you, angry his little cousin would throw away such a perfect person for a girl who had a rich daddy and nothing else to offer. Anger spread through your veins as you stared at him across the room.

“He fucked me over on my birthday… I'm still mad. I just… I just want him to feel the way I do… hurt” you spill, swallowing the rest of your drink and slamming it on the table. Your cheeks and neck flushed pink as the alcohol warmed your body, you were hurt but most of all angry. Angry he’d do that to you and walk away like it was nothing… like he hadn’t just ruined your life again.

“What did he do?”

Rafe stands across the room, a permanent fake smile plastered on his face as he makes the rounds. Sipping on warm champagne even though he’d much rather be throwing back shots right now, he didn’t want to be here. He hated being around this many people when he was stone cold sober, hated that you were right across the room. Hated that his eyes kept drifting over to where you stood at the bar talking to his cousin Jeremy, hated that you probably found him so hot now. You used to tell him that his cousin was hot when you were both 16 and he hated it back then, he hates it even more now because he can’t do anything to stop the interaction. Hated the sick thoughts that spread through his brain when he imagined the two of you fucking.

Rafe isn’t sure how many times he’s looked over at you tonight but when everyone is made to take a seat to eat he hates that he can’t find you in the crowd and hates it even more that his cousin is missing too. Hates that he doesn’t know what you’re doing and hates that’s he not doing it with you.

Rebecca could sense something was off and sent him a look of disapproval, flicking her eyes over to her dad who was also watching the both of them. The whole thing was a joke, made to get married just for the business. But he put himself in this mess and couldn’t expect anyone else to get him out, even his father had no sway over the Jones family.

Rafes anxious foot tapping had caught Rebecca’s attention again and she gave his thigh a squeeze, unsure why he was acting the way he was. He wasn’t sure how long it had been since sitting down for dinner, staring down at the plate and trying to figure out if it was the entree or the main course, honestly they were all the same damn size but cost a shit tonne of his money. Rolling his eyes and clenching his jaw, he felt his phone vibrate with a message and your name appeared on his screen. His heartbeat was felt in his ears as he looked around the table before opening the message. ‘We should talk’.

Pushing his chair back roughly he excused himself from the table, letting them know someone was calling. Rebecca eyed him suspiciously but couldn’t be bothered dealing with his shit right now, sitting back in her chair and breathing a sigh of relief when he left.

Rafe however was not relieved, he was nervous, scared out of his brain at what you might say. He’s not even sure why he’s actually even coming to talk to you, he fucked up at your birthday party. If Rebecca found out she would be so pissed, her dad would pull the plug on the business deal. His whole life would go up in flames and his dad would kill him. However, as soon as you told him where to meet you he was taking bigger strides to get to you. He needed to apologize for the past 4 years, and needed to tell you what’s been happening.

However as he rounds the corner of the porch the muscles in his legs lock, his eyes fall to your naked frame. He didn’t even need to see your face to know it was you riding someone’s cock on a deck chair, he feels sick to his stomach but he couldn’t look away. The curves of your body had changed over the years, your hips grew wider. Your and thighs thick, his hands fisted at his side. Was this your form of revenge? Had you not meant to text him? Did you want him to watch you? Or were you hoping he’d see and run back inside?

His eyes fixate on where the guys cock disappears between the two of you, your head is thrown back and palms pressed against his chest. He can’t hear you from here but he knows your moaning, he still hears the sounds to this day. He so desperately wants to be the person under you, watching you come undone around him and feel your wet pussy. Anger bubbles in his chest when he sees who’s dick it is your fucking.

His fucking cousins… he sees red.

2 hours before

“Fuck what an asshole!” Rafe’s cousin exclaims, pouring you another glass of champagne. He shakes his head in disbelief at the idiocy of his younger cousin, he was always rooting for the two of you to open your eyes and start dating. “Yeah… I wanted to get him back. Tell Rebecca or something but I don’t know.. I don’t think it’ll do anything, he doesn’t care about me”.

Jeremy chuckles softly, the dimples on his cheeks causing your knees to weaken just a little, you felt like a 14 year old girl again. Creasing your brows at him as he shakes his head at you.

“That’s not the case at all… he hasn’t stopped looking over at you all night. I think he’s got himself stuck with the Jones family, however that doesn’t give him the right to treat you the way he has.. I have an idea”.

The next thing you know your agreeing to get revenge on Rafe; your agreeing to fuck his older cousin. The older cousin you actually did have a small crush on years ago. The older cousin you knew would be just as good as Rafe in bed maybe he even better?

“You're sure you're okay with this?” He questions, he’s taken his suit jacket and tie off now. The two of you sat on a deck chair as his hand lay upon your thigh. “Yeah”. He’s kissed you multiple times on the way to the garden, calming your nerves with each slide of his tongue.

His lips are on yours again and it feels slightly like how it did with Rafe, you liked the feeling of his soft lips and the way his tongue tastes on yours. He was softer like how Rafe was when you first kissed, his hands roamed your body stopping to caress certain areas. “We will get a text ready to send him” he whispers, his mouth now kisses down the length of your neck and you keep picturing Rafe. You shouldn’t but you do.

“When will we send it?”

He pulls away for a moment, fingers dragging down the zipper of your dress a shiver runs down your spine. Your own fingers unbuttoning the tiny little buttons on his white shirt, he was built like Rafe. Tanned and toned, everything you enjoyed in a man. “When I’m inside you, send it when you feel close to coming but don’t come until we know he’s seen you”

You nod your head going to open your mouth then ask him how he can be so sure he’ll make you come. “Don’t even ask the question that’s on the tip of your tongue, I’ll make you come don’t you worry”.

It all moves so fast, kissing, touching. His fingers are inside of you and bringing you to your first orgasm, he told you had to show you he could do it. You’ll remember the way his tongue felt on you till the end of time. “You ready?” He checks again, you can feel his hard cock against your opening. You lower yourself onto him without speaking and he chokes out a noise when you clench around him, your hands planted on his chest as you begin to find your rhythm. “Fucking hell” he grunts, his fingers dig deeper into your hips. He feels good, really good. You hadn’t been with someone in a while, always comparing them to Rafe. But right now all your mind could comprehend was the way his cock hit exactly where it needs to be, your pussy juices dripping around him with each thrust. “Oh” you cry, momentarily forgetting why the two of you are fucking in public, he halts his movements when he feels your walls begin the pulsate. “Wha- wait” you cry, he’s pressing send on your message to Rafe but you’re more focused on finding that white hot release.

Text Messages

You-

We need to talk 7.55pm

I’m outside 7.56pm

Rafe-

On my way 8.00pm

“I’m about to explode” you cry, the anger of waiting for him to reply has you wanting to scream. Your orgasm had been bubbling, ready to let rip. Until Jeremy paused your actions and said to wait for him to reply, he had also said he’d rather just fuck you right now rather then get back at Rafe but he said it was his idea and he had to see it through. Said something about you deserving your revenge.

When you could hear footsteps you began to rock on Jeremy again, neither of you certain it was Rafe but you didn’t want to miss your chance. You bounced against his cock slowly, the lights around the pool illuminated your naked body, you were sure he could see exactly where his cock was going and how wet you were from where he stood.

You put on a performance, rolling your hips and bouncing. Throwing your head back and whispering for Jeremy to grope your tits, they were Rafe’s favorite thing.

You hadn’t expected Rafe to move around the pool, he was now in your line of site and he stared you down as you fucked his cousin.

He licked his lips in desire and let his eyes roam your body, blocking out the fact you were riding a family member. “Oh fuck Jer” you cried and he winced at his cousins name but couldn’t tear his eyes away from you as you came, moans of delight filled the still air and you the sweat on your skin made you glisten under the moon. Jeremy followed close behind coming so hard the two of you shook and caused you to come again, you practically convulsed on top of him as you came down from your third orgasm. “Holy fucking shit” you whispered in shock, pushing yourself back up to see Rafe still watching you.

You looked right at him and tossed your hair over your shoulders bearing your perky tits for him, sending him a small wave. “Enjoy the show?”.

He couldn’t hide his anger, he practically had steam rolling out of his ears but the sound of his name being called from the back patio had him scurrying off back into, glancing back at you a few times.

“Well fuck… that was the best fucking revenge ever!” You laughed, Jeremy laughed with you and you lean your weight into his chest. “Always here if you need to get revenge on him again”.

🏷️ Tag list- @laylasbunbunny @maybankslover @h34rtsformilli @hallecarey1 @outerbankspov @cameronmedia @crunchy-leaves77 @vigilanteshitposting @pedrisgatorade @rafemotherfuckingcameron @s-we-e-t-t-ea @rafesthroatbaby @alltoomay @moremaybank @mrssturnioloo @darleneslane @tierra-0604 @gabys-gabs @definitelynotholly-blog @renmpsworld @delicatepiratecloud @speedycomputerfury @tiacordelia02 @bbycowboi @jscameron @rafegirly @loverofdrewstarkey @ijustwanttoreadlols @spookyscaryspoon @rubixgsworld @pickingviolets @wearemadeofstardust0 @one-sweet-gubler @skel-skell @imawhoreforrenandriddle @aaronhotchswife @drewstarkeyswifehoe @amorisxx @torrie421 @darleneslane @romaescapes @baconeggndcheez @capstellium @watersquirtpewpewboomm @ietss @electrobutterfly @1-800-imagines @kriissy4gov @theoraekenslover @blazebreaker

(if I have forgotten you please let me know)

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novaursa · 2 months ago

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Fire's Legacy

- Summary: A few moons after he came for you, Maegor finally took you as his under eyes of the Old Gods of Valyria. And it didn't take long for you to find yourself with his child. Now it's the time to bring that innocent life into the world of fire and blood, and all you can do is pray it lives.

- Paring: niece!reader/Maegor I Targaryen

- Note: This short story follows the events of Fire and Blood.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Next part: bloodline

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

- A/N: Unplanned post.

The day began like any other in the Red Keep, the sun casting a dull haze over the court. You could feel the weight of your pregnancy pressing against your body, every step a reminder of the life you carried within you. The maesters had said it would still be weeks, but something inside told you otherwise. You sensed it in the way your belly tightened, the sharp twinges that had begun early in the morning.

It was Maegor’s presence that both comforted and unnerved you. He had been a dark storm ever since you were taken as his wife, fierce and relentless in his possession of you. His touch was often rough, claiming, but there were moments, brief as they were, where you saw something softer flicker in his eyes. But softness had no place in Maegor's world, not now, not when he held the Iron Throne in a grasp as unyielding as dragonsteel.

He was seated on the dais, the Blackfyre sword at his side, when the pains became unbearable. You could not stop the gasp that tore from your throat, sharp and urgent. Maegor’s head snapped toward you immediately, the room around you falling into a hush. His dark eyes narrowed in on you, assessing, as you pressed a hand to your belly.

“It is time,” you whispered, breathless, and the realization hit you both at once.

The maesters scrambled to their feet, rushing to assist you, but Maegor rose faster, his steps heavy and purposeful as he closed the distance between you. He dismissed the maesters with a growl, sweeping you into his arms. His grip was fierce, but there was an underlying protectiveness you had rarely seen in him before.

“Visenya,” Maegor barked, his voice carrying through the hall.

The queen dowager appeared as if summoned by the very gods themselves, her face calm but her eyes sharp. She had always been an imposing figure, her silent strength a constant presence in Maegor’s life. She regarded you with a knowing look as Maegor carried you toward your chambers, her hands deftly organizing the chaos around her.

Once inside the room, Maegor set you down carefully, though his hands lingered on your arms, his gaze intense. He didn’t say a word, but you could feel the command in his posture. You would survive this, for him, for the child you carried.

Visenya took charge with an efficiency that belied her age, directing the midwives and maesters with curt nods and gestures. Maegor, however, refused to leave your side. His hand found yours, gripping tightly as the labor began in earnest. He watched with a burning intensity as each contraction wracked your body, his jaw set as though he could command the pain to cease by sheer will alone.

Hours passed, the agony becoming nearly unbearable, but you could feel the moment drawing closer. Maegor's face never wavered, though you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his eyes darkened with each scream that left your lips.

Then, suddenly, it happened. The first babe emerged, a healthy, wailing boy. The midwife handed the squirming child to Maegor, and for a moment, he simply stared, his face a mixture of disbelief and pride. His firstborn son.

“Your heir,” Visenya whispered, a rare softness in her voice as she looked upon the boy.

But before the moment could settle, another wave of pain crashed through you. The midwives rushed back into position, their hands working swiftly, and then, just as swiftly as the first, a second child came forth—a girl, strong and full of life.

“Twins,” one of the maesters muttered, astonished.

Maegor was silent, but the weight of the moment pressed down on the room. He held his son in one arm and, when the midwives offered, took his daughter in the other. His face, hard as stone and as fierce as the dragon he was, betrayed nothing at first. Then, slowly, a rare, dangerous smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“Two,” he said, his voice low, reverberating with something primal. “Two strong babes.”

Visenya’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction as she looked between you and the twins. “It seems the gods favor you after all, Maegor,” she remarked, though there was a glint in her eye that spoke of more than just familial pride. She approached, inspecting the babes as if they were her own creations, her approval unspoken but seen.

You, exhausted beyond measure, watched through bleary eyes as Maegor gazed upon his children, the weight of what had happened finally settling over him. He turned his attention to you, his expression unreadable, but there was something new in his gaze—a fierce possessiveness, yes, but also a deeper, quieter pride.

“You have given me a dynasty,” he murmured, low enough for only you to hear. “You will be remembered as the mother of dragons.”

And in that moment, you knew—whatever fears you had before, whatever doubts—Maegor had truly claimed you, not just as his wife, but as the mother of his legacy. The realm might tremble under his rule, but here, in this room, Maegor Targaryen had found something he valued even more than power.

His family.

#fire and blood #house of the dragon #game of thrones #asoiaf #maegor x y/n #maegor x you #maegor x reader #maegor targaryen #maegor the cruel

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autonomyofadeer · 1 month ago

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sevika and her baby ✧.*

16+

plot: sevika stumbles upon a hidden gem inside the brothel. who is to deny her her fun after a long day?

tags: genderless, zaun au, fingering, cunnilingus, choking, ribbon tying, spanking, sevika x reader, fem bodied reader

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

it's currently 10:04 pm, the brothel has been slow today for some odd reason. people whisper about a brawl that happened between silco's men and some barkeep, but i pay no mind. babette suddenly knocks on the wall to my room.

"y/n? there's a customer here for you." babette tells you, a sly hint of hesitancy in her tone. why was babette nervous? there was no time to be thinking these dumb questions, i had a client.

"thank you ma'am." i reply hastily. i jump out of bed, slipping on my fox mask, orange with hints of gold lacing along the edges. i tighten my black and gold corset, pulling the strings to cinch my waist. lastly i slip on my heels and i lie on the bed waiting.

after a few minutes, loud footsteps could be heard from across the hall. until they stopped at your room. a metallic hand pulls aside the curtain. my eyes go wide. it was the all known sevika, the woman that men scattered in the streets from. the most well known and powerful woman in all of zaun was now in your room, wanting your time.

"so.. what's your name doll?" sevika says, the words dripping from her tongue like pure honey. she strides towards me until shes stopped at the foot of my bed.

my mouth seems to go dry, my tongue being stuck in my mouth and suddenly i no longer know what to say. i have to admit, i was frightened of her and of all the stories ive heard.

"hm? cat's got your tongue? too bad.. wish i could hear your beautiful voice." sevika replies to herself, cupping my chin in her hand as she slips off my mask. she runs her fingers over my lips as a prompt. i slack my jaw and she easily slips her fingers into my mouth. i circle her thumb with my tongue, suckling slightly on it.

"jus' like that doll." she murmurs to me as she presses her thumb flat on my tongue, causing me to gag.

"such a pretty thing" she says to me as she moves over to the table of toys. "too bad you'll be ruined once im done with you." she tells me as one last warning. she grabs a set of ribbon ties and a blindfold.

my eyes flutter at the items she picks up. "y/n." i stammer out, "my name is y/n" i tell her as she moves back to the bed. i move into the middle of the bed as she kneels at the edge of it.

"such a pretty name for a pretty lass like you, yeah?" she tells me, my face going a pale pink. she suddenly pulls my wrist, spinning me around and onto my stomach. my face was now shoved into the pillow. i try to ask what shes doing, but it's to no avail.

she ties the ribbon around my wrists, binding my arms behind my back. suddnely she pulls my head up by my hair, a pained grunt escapes my lips. a silk blindfold is slipped over my eyes. the world goes dark.

metal clanking can be heard behind me, suddenly im spun around onto my back. god i wish i could see what she looks like, i start to imagine her body.. toned abs? c or d cup? what scars does she have? and suddenly i feel a little too damp in my underwear.

sevika moves closer to me, my lower half now balanced on her thighs. a ripping sound of fabric is heard as my underwear is shredded with her knife. "just trust me, okay?" she whispers into my ear before a moan is ripped from my throat.

her fingers pinch and rub at my clit as moans slip from my lips. everything seemed heightened due to the blindfold. i needed more- i needed her. i move my hips up closer to her, whimpering for more.

"so needy" she mumbles before giving a small slap to my clit. a strangled moan escapes my mouth.

suddenly all friction is moved away for a few minutes until i feel her hot mouth on my peppled nipple. i arch my back, up and into her mouth. small and soft grunts come from her mouth, only spurring me on. after a while of abuse to my breasts, a sharp stretching pain takes control of my body.

she easily plunged 2 of her thick, warm fingers into my dampness. i wince at the pain, but it quickly subsides as she starts rubbing my clit with her other hand. i go to say something, but im quickly cut off as she curls her fingers up and into just the right spot.

my vision goes white for a hot second until i feel her dragging her fingers in and out of me. every few seconds she curls her fingers inside of me.

"please- shit- sev!" i quickly moan out as i start to feel my orgasm approach. i start to grind my hips against her fingers, my thighs clamping around her waist.

"jus' a little more. almost there." she reassures me as she quickens her pace.

sharp and loud moans are drawn from my lips as i feel hot liquid drip down my core, i squirted all over her shirt and pants. a soft moan can be heard from her lips.

i groan at the loss of sensation as she pulls her fingers out, i can hear her licking my juices off her fingers. the dip at the edge of the bed suddenly dissapears as she gets up.

a damp and cold cloth strokes against my clit, sending a jolt down my spine. "easy, im jus' cleaning you up." she coos to me.

next thing i know the binds on my arms are coming undone, falling down at my sides. i pull them to my stomach as i rub the leftover marks where the ribbon was. i take off my blindfold to thank her for her service, but the curtain was already shut. she had disapeared like most of my usual customers. three silver and a bronze coin lay at my desk.

i wonder if i'll ever see her again.

thank you for reading if you got this far! this is my first post, not sure if ill do more. just depends on if people like my writing!

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no-144444 · 1 month ago

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persistent perstering- c.leclerc

Day 13 of fic-tober! fic-tober masterlist

summary: Ferrari drivers are persistent. You’re not looking for love. Too bad he is.

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You liked your job. Ferrari was a good place to work. You’d befriended many of your colleagues, you enjoyed the travel, and though your work was challenging, you felt good. You were the assistant strategist who, granted, usually had better strategies than your boss, but you bite your tongue to keep his massive ego alive. If you could slap him in his dumb fucking face, you would. You liked being in the garage, well, you would if it weren’t for one thing.

Charles LeClerc.

Ferrari’s number one, Prince of Monaco, il Predestinato, King of Monza, the Ferrari driver.

He was a pain in the ass. He followed you around like a love-sick puppy, he hung on every word you said, laughed too hard at all your jokes, talked too much, and he wasn’t exactly your type.

Well, no one at that moment was. You’d imposed an iron-clad dating ban on yourself when your last relationship ended badly. You weren’t interested in the Monaco dating scene, and even if you were, you wouldn’t start up again with Charles LeClerc.

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“Morning!” You called out to Carlos. The humid air made every piece of clothing you owned too warm, so you were in a vintage Ferrari cropped-tank. You loved your team, even before working there. Behind Carlos, was Charles, not that you knew that. Carlos smiled, coming over to you.

“How are you doing?” He asked with a smile.

“Fucking hot,” you chuckled. He nodded. “It's mad weather.”

“I know what you mean,” he nodded. “Charles’ here could barely stand getting out of bed.”

Charles stepped out from behind him with a bright smile. You smiled back politely, and somehow didn’t notice the way his jaw dropped when he saw you.

“Ready for tonight?” you asked them both.

“Ready,” Carlos nodded. “And hoping that you’re doing my strategy.”

You chuckled and followed him into the paddock, Charles tagging behind you both. “Sadly no, but I will be on stand-by for drinks afterwards, first round on me if things go wrong?”

“First round on me if things go right,” Carlos nodded.

“Well, good luck today,” you smiled. “Can’t wait for the sprint!”

“Thank you,” Carlos smiled and left to go to his side of the garage.

“Feeling ready for today?” you asked Charles, trying to be polite.

He nodded. “How bad can it be?”

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Very, very bad. Extremely bad. Awful.

Sprint went like this;

Lap 2: Charles Engine failure into the pits for a 20 second stop.

Lap 8: Carlos crashes with Norris

Lap 16: Charles into the barriers.

Double DNF with the feature race tomorrow and quali tonight? Yeah, you’d all be getting fined for staying late.

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You sat at your desk, looking over the strategy for tomorrow, disheartened at your prospects. Quali had ended 2 hours ago and Charles and Carlos were starting at the bottom of the grid, and it was your job to get them back up into at least the top 10, if not the top 5. Finally, the ball was in your hands in terms of strategy and no matter what, they were going to listen to your calls. The team had all left 30 minutes ago, the cars were fixed with no upgrades and some understeer, but they were drivable.

“Heading home soon?” Charles’ voice rang out through the empty garage.

“Nope,” you sighed.

“You’ll work yourself to death,” he sighed. “What are you looking at?”

“Strategy is in my hands tomorrow,” you blurted out. “And I’m fucking freaking out,” You let out a sad chuckle as you felt all of the pressure on your shoulders get heavier and heavier. “I don’t know what to do now. Austin is always a fucking ordeal, and with teh Sprint and you tow trashing the cars we’re so fucked, and they’re finally giving me the chance I’ve been asking for and if I fuck it up they’ll never promote me, even though they know it’s less than ideal circumstances.”

You took a deep breath as your eyes watered. He placed a hand on your shoulder. “It’s alright,” he whispered. “You can cry.”

You groaned, covering your face. “I don’t want to cry.”

He chuckled softly. “I think you might need to.”

You shook your head, taking deep breaths and wiping your eyes. “No, I-I’m alright.”

Your breathing quickened. Your heart raced. Your mind clouded. Your ears rang.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

This couldn’t be happening, not in front of your colleague, not in your workplace not-

And then his lips were on yours? His hands in your hair as you sat there stoic and frozen with anxiety, he fucking kissed you.

WHAT A CUNT.

You hastily pushed him off and gathered your things, hoping he would just leave you alone. He rushed out apology after apology until you finally turned to him and screamed. “Leave me the fuck alone Charles! Not everyone is in love with you, alright? I’m Carlos’ friend, not yours! I tolerate you, because I fucking have to, because it’s my job, and because I’m a fucking professional! If you cannot extend those same respectful luxuries, don’t come near me Charles. Just leave me alone!”

He stood there, shocked, as you stormed off to your hotel room.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

You walked into the paddock the next morning with your head held high and a plan for the strategy. You knew what you were doing, and the only time you’d have to see Charles today would be on your screen in a car driving more than 300 kilometres an hour. Perfect.

When you got to your desk, there was a small note on it with a bouquet of your favourite flowers.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

Dear Y/n,

I am so sorry about my behaviour last night, it was unacceptable. I panicked and I wasn’t sure what to do, but I know now that was not the way to go about it. I am so incredibly sorry, and I promise to leave you be from now on. Sorry again, Charles.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

A part of you felt bad, another didn’t. I mean, working with F1 drivers, you were used to tall egos on shorter men, with very little to back them up other than their money. You were sick of it, and to be honest, Charles just got the brunt of your anger because he was close to you, and he had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

And I mean, it was a pretty good kiss. But no, he’s a dickhead, right?

You huffed at your own stupidity. No way you were letting a man get you this confused about what you wanted. You didn’t want…? You wanted…? Fuck, what did you want?

“Hi,” Charles’ sheepish voice came from beside you. You whipped your head around to meet his eyes. “I just wanted to apologise in person as well. I am truly very sorry about last night, I put my own feelings above yours and took advantage, and I am deeply ashamed. I promise-”

And then your lips were on his?

How the tables turn.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

fic-tober masterlist

taglist: @anotherapollokid @theseerbetweenus @simbaaas-stuff @5sospenguinqueen @yootvi

#f1 fluff #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #formula 1 x you #formula one imagine #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagine #f1 smau #f1 social media au #formula one #formula one x reader #formula 1 #formula racing #ferrari #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x female oc

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anantaru · 1 year ago

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DAY 16 — DUMBIFICATION

kinktober 2023. — masterlist | ao3

kink. dumbification — dumbing down one's intelligence, treating you like their personal, little airhead who likes nothing more than to please them

𖧡 — including — tighnari, dottore, scaramouche, childe

𖧡 — warnings — fem! reader, dumbification, dom/sub dynamics, petnames: toy, cocksleeve, princess, baby, cockwarming, mean but only a little i prommy, dry humping, oral (male! receiving), both parties are consenting

𖧡 — TIGHNARI

you encounter a bitter chuckle and it pelts over your natural sensors when tighnari folds one arm around your waist as you straddle him— you're quick to swallow down a suppressed whimper when he swiftly rides your shirt up and rests it above your exposed breasts, revealing the glow of your juddering skin to his famished, gluttonous eyes.

"you're not allowed to move, okay?" he orders, his jaw tensed and constricted before adding to his somewhat condescending choice of tone, "just keep still while i continue my work load."

"you can do that, right?" and you nod all bubbly at him, quite excitedly, the untroubled feverishness that had been enclosing you from the inside now burned brightly and manifesting into something much more intense— your flailing hole clenching around nothing as you claw around his chest, you're so obedient to his orders it's almost unfathomable, or at least that's what tighnari always seems to think.

he gestures you to lift up your hips a little so he could line himself with your slit, your legs growing achy at the intentional, almost beguiling idleness on how tighnari took his sweet moment with you even though you could barely wait to feel him prod inside.

before at last, he rubs his bulbous tip over your aching pussy and aids you in taking all his inches down. he paws around your chest with one hand, cruelly trapping one erected nipple against his pointer finger and thumb before twisting it ever so slightly— again, this time with a tremor of judders spreading on your tit before your eyes toss back into the remotest part of your skull.

tighnari heaves out a satisfied hum at your obedience, the vibrations of his voice soothingly reverberating through your trembling skin as you swathe your arms around his neck, "fuck— so good, who would've thought, huh?" he praises, the sloppiness of your pussy making it quite easy for tighnari to sheathe himself entirely inside.

"but what else is expected," he heaves a shrill noise and stops himself in midst sentencing when you gush around him, his dick twitching and hardening when your slit oozes of your arousal and dribbles along the slopes of his balls, "—from someone, fuck! who has nothing else to offer other than this."

for reasons unbeknownst to you, this particular sentence didn't hit you as hard as you originally thought it would because, frankly— you really do give him everything he wanted, but so did he, occasionally, fulfill any wishes you had. call it a equivalent exchange, or you being way too air headed to realize that tighnari was using you for your body, a quick fuck so he could get rid of the aching pain in his groin and was able to focus on his piling work.

now, tighnari's heavy erection was making you feeling weaker and you swear, you can feel him throb inside your lower belly by how deep and thick he buried himself in, your fingertips digging into the flesh of his back when all you needed for was for him to finally move, or at least finish his jarring work load so he'd perhaps become a little more relaxed, and relatively nicer before pleasing you in a correct manner.

you furiously throb whilst gushing on his length and the man tosses his head to the side, his ears twitching of sensitivity due to the chain reaction of his groin receiving way too much overflowing pleasure before eyeing his work load up and down in an annoying glance, biting down hard on his tongue as he feels you writhe and twitch around his length— all the while shallowly thudding over his soaked shaft, his tip pressing into one tantalizing patch inside of your walls and ugh, what a bummer, finishing his task will be one difficult duty to fulfill.

however, you would never leave nor complain, you're way too excited and delighted to have a cock overbrim you to the hilt, your sticky walls peppering kisses around his shaft and warming him up as tighnari can leisurely carry on to finish his work for the night.

𖧡 — DOTTORE

dottore thinks it's amusing how much you liked for his cock to be warmed up inside your mouth with his velvety tip repeatedly prodding at the back of your sensitive throat— the harbinger was mischievous on his own accordance, and it's one of the reasons your attraction to him was like an intoxication, proceeding to do whatever he wanted you to do without pondering around his requests at least once.

"you're not crying, are you?" the man chastises with his eyes locked down on your body being slotted between his parted thighs, "it's not too much, right?" and his large palm soothingly trails over your cheek to brush the single droplet off your face. it was apparent that with his thick shaft being enclosed by your mouth, it was growing more difficult to breathe out nor answer him without muttering incoherently and making an even bigger fool out of yourself— yet despite that, for you, it was never too much, never too rough when he fucked your mouth or your sweet, perfect cunt for that matter.

because you see, you adored him, all of him and yearned for dottore to fuck you stupid, call you his airhead or precious cocksleeve, until you're nothing but a hiccuping mess of a person around his length with a mixture of saliva and his salty pre dribbling down your chin and gathering on the cold, office floor.

you swallow around his groin before hollowing your cheeks, your head spinning into a cloud with the feeling of him charging into your mouth without a single inch of remorse, your big puppy eyes fluttering up at him behind doused lashes as he brushes a large hand through your hair, your eyes brilliant of exclaimed trills happily pummeling at your affection for him.

it's a perfect situation in your eyes and there was nothing better than being used by the second harbinger, and so was he ethereal to you, the sounds of him talking in such low manners, for one without a threatening tone lacing the beginnings of his sentences has the reactive pearl between your folds throbbing, the wetness of your sticky cunt splattering all over your panties.

you continue to shower his length with affection, parading your warm tongue around the underside of his shaft, always putting the pleasure there especially prominent because well— dottore has trained you adequately after all, had shown you how to tackle him so he could feverishly cum down your constricted throat and spit his milky whites down the aching, used spots in your used mouth.

bobbing your head up and down, you swallow back the drool budding inside your warmth, yet leaving most of it prancing on top of your tongue so it could act as a lubrication, a choked moan suddenly rattling above your head as dottore conceals his lips with the back of his hand before coughing out— his pale cheeks scarlet red, his face twisted akin to a wicked, indulgent countenance as you curve your palm around his balls to smear the trickling saliva on the flesh.

how adorable his enchanting toy was to him, being so unbelievably skilled at taking his cock all the way up to the base, your lips moving in tandem with his strong thrusts into your wet warmth— utterly aware that for you, there was nothing more pleasing than to end a night with his seedy arousal marking up the entirety of your throat, using you as his own dumb, little cock sleeve, his pleasure-seeking princess, instantly parting your mouth the moment he simply told you to do you.

𖧡 — SCARAMOUCHE

"i must admit, i have neglected you," scaramouche hums quietly into your neck, his cold hands soothing over the slopes of your body as you squeal when his cock first enters you— committed to the usual rhythm on his hips, he had long since engraved it in his very own memories, his large cock parting your slit as you squeeze around him, quick to angle your hips a little so he could press himself in deeper.

you whine, your juices running down your plush ass before you shut your thighs around his hips, growing more constricted, "ah— it's okay, kuni," you take a moment to lock gazes with him while he eases himself back and forth your warmth— ugh, you're so tight it's truly unfair, and his cock was weighing down around the thudding splotches of your pussy before throbbing and thickening inside, perhaps giving you a taste of your own medicine.

so you could manage feel him, so your hands could helplessly fly up to his hair and rush him into a feverish, messy kiss.

"I really did miss you," scaramouche was the first to speak out again, smitten and yearning for more, his voice muffled by your lips and the tone of his voice buzzing while his dick continues to add some faint, hasty pumps into your slit, the velvety feel of his shaft reaching so far up and shamelessly shaping your most, delicious sweet spots which had your eyes curve back into the deepest spots of your skull.

despite everything, despite scaramouche barely reaching out to if it wasn't for getting his cock wet— you always seem to welcome him graciously and without asking irritating question, the ecstasy running through your entire nervous system as you wait and wait fro him.

although mostly being left behind and forgotten, yet you still show up whenever he does reach out and call you over— when he all of a sudden, in under a dime, tends to be so charming and longing towards you, kissing the crown of your head before addressing you as his most beloved toy— not that he voiced it out loud but his choked whimpers spoke more than a thousand words ever could, consistently greedy to clamp hard around the curves of his cock that you force him almost out of you again, copious amounts of your juices oozing out of your cunt and soiling his trimmed pubic hair, a reminder that you truly belong to each other.

𖧡 — CHILDE

you're clumsily falling forward into childe's clothed chest as you straddle his waist, immediately intertwining your arms around his neck as your forearms rest on his shoulders— your pretty frame wiggling deliriously and needful before billowing your hips against his concealed erection scratching over the tight confines of his pants.

"you missed this, didn't you?" he shakes his head at you, finding your shape on top of him to be the most delicious and sweetest in all around teyvat, without mentioning how you madly force your hips down on his cock— desperate and even more shameless that ajax cannot even fathom just how clouded your rational thoughts had become sometimes, always there when he craves you, not caring about the red flags of him obviously just using your body, only the thought of his perfectly carved cock being nestled inside you remaining on top.

for now, you love bouncing up and down his erection, even though he wouldn't let it spring free from his pants so you could rest it on the top of your tongue— the tips of his ears flushing red when you frustratedly whine at him, every thrust of your hips progressively growing faster and rougher that even childe had to suppress a couple moans and keep them locked inside his chest.

"I'll make it up to you later, baby," he drawls before moving the fabric of your panties to the side, your slicked cunt had long since soiled the flimsy material to the hilt that they instantly stick against the bridge of your pussy and thighs, just heavenly to present him a enchanting view of your swollen folds itching to touch his silken skin, his angry tip throbbing behind the rough garments of his pants and childe can sense that he was already leaking clear pre.

"you need to make me feel good before, yeah?"

there's a hidden rasp in his voice that you weren't able to discern for what it was, and that particular shade of a condescending tone pummeling against your ear shells weren't much of help— no two ways about it but sometimes the eleventh harbinger did give off the idea that he wasn't taking you seriously enough, that he believed you weren't able to ponder over more meaningful conversations, only faultless when you aided him in his painful groin getting the best out of him.

now, he plants his palms around your hips to drag your naked pussy against his shaft himself— but considering the fact that you weren't actually stupid, you knew that this "special" relationship, as he called it, was more of a convenience for the young harbinger, never needing to worry himself about finding someone for a quick fuck when he could just call you instead, being aware that you would jump the second he orders you to come over.

his cock was just that good, always so utterly fine when slipping inside and battering your creamy walls, hammering into the most sensitive parts that lie hidden within your silky slit before it's getting too much for you to bear— trembly fingers clawing at his chest in search of stability when you hide your face in his neck, the slow burn on his shaft expelling electric ripples that caused a belting havoc on your sensitive sex, pushing a pitchy whine hand in hand with a moan of his name from the tip of your tongue, a breathless heave finishing the sinfulness of your noises.

oh, well, childe can use you for all you care— since needless to say, you're getting your fair share out of it too, keeping your ass in a precise trace on top of him as you begin to rock your wet cunt over his groin, understanding that whenever he was on the edge of tasting his strong climax prodding at the knot in his lower belly— it will be much easier to make him comply to a simple request from you;

hmm, lets take an example: perhaps a new, costly bag from fontaine or a hand crafted, brilliant bracelet from liyue? childe will unfailingly say yes and agree to whatever you whisper into his ear, he simply cannot deny a single request when you're, night and day, so hungry to comply to him.

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headmasterseverussnape · 2 months ago

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Severus Snape, a small 16-year-old boy— too underweight and petite for his age, stood in his small bathroom glaring into the mirror as he brushed his teeth. Faster and faster, harder and harder he brushed. Brushing until he felt a metallic taste in his mouth. His eyes were bloodshot, his cheeks sallowish and his gums were bleeding as his mind was wracked with thoughts and memories he wished would just go away. His reflection glared back at him, his own dark lifeless eyes staring into his very soul that had been tormented for all his ‘pitiful’ life.

Oh, it was just another day. Just another day of being harassed and bullied by those ‘perfect little heroes’ known as the Marauders. His tormentors. It was another day he lost himself to the unbearable anger and pain that resided in the back of his dark little mind. Another day of causing disappointment to the one person he cared about, Lily Evans. Just another day of being treated less than a person because of his blood and class status as well as the way he looked.

He continued to glare at himself in the mirror. He hated it. He hated himself. He hated his reflection. He hated his father who mercilessly beat him and his mother on bad days, which was most days. He hated the marauders who tormented and harassed him for no good reason. He hated the teachers and staff who ignored him for not being popular, rich or a pureblood. He hated how he could SEE his poverty, his weakness, his filth. It sickened him.

His reflection was proof of his tainted blood. It was proof he would never be like the ‘heroic’ James Potter whom everyone seemed to love. It was proof he would never have the humor of Sirius Black, whose jokes could make anyone laugh even if they were utterly terrible. It was proof he would never be like Remus Lupin who was a coward but seen as shy and likable guy. It was proof he would never be like Peter Pettigrew who was pathetic in a way that added to the credibility of his tormentors, that made it seem so utterly impossible they could ever do any wrong.

He knew. He knew Lily Evans was taking a liking to them. He could see it in her eyes. Every time she’d glance at Potter or smile at Black’s jokes. He knew he was slowly losing her to them. It was only a matter of time and he knew he could do nothing to stop it.

“Heh.. they’re right... I must be pathetic... I can’t even hold onto one person… the one person that cared for me…”

Blood dripped down from his lips as he spoke, going into the sink’s drain and disappearing. He watched through the mirror as his blood fell to the bottom of the sink. He chuckled, how pathetic did he have to be? The grip he had on his toothbrush tightened, as he went back to brushing. Harder and harder and harder. Trying to get the filth to disappear. The filth no one but himself could see.

He dropped the toothbrush, as the memories of his torment pervaded his mind. He looked down at the sink as he spat out more of his blood, watching it disappear down the dark drain. Oh, how he wished he could follow.

He quickly glanced up at the mirror once more, looking through his dark messy and greasy hair. He clenched his jaw tightly, anger clouding his judgment.

Slamming his fist into the thing, he broke it and watched as it shattered into pieces. His knuckles were now bloody and bruised but he didn’t care. He’s had worse, why would he care about something as trivial as this?

“Pathetic. You’re so *pathetic*. So- so *weak!* It’s utterly humiliating-! No wonder *she* wants to be with them rather than you! You deserve this. They know it, she knows it- Heh. Even *you* know it.”

He slammed his fist into the broken glass again, letting his knuckles get scratched up and bruised even more. It was nothing he couldn’t handle. Not after the beatings and bullying he went through. This was- this was practically child’s play compared to what he’s already been through. He was numb to it.

#severus snape #professor snape #pro severus snape #pro severus #professor severus snape #severus snape angst #severus snape fanfiction #severus snape fandom #snape fanfiction #snape fandom #pro professor snape #anti snaters #Severus snape fanfic angst #I’m the real Severus snape

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stevesbabysittingservice · 1 year ago

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MIDNIGHT LOVE ✨;✩°𓏲⋆💤.*

steve harrington x fem!reader [4.2K] steve didn’t expect to have fallen madly in love with you, much less for his confession to be whispered in the dead of night after another nightmare renders him sleepless. (16+)

Sleeping was a privilege Steve Harrington lost a long time ago.

Finding himself sitting in his kitchen at half past two, his bruised knuckles tap against the marble countertop in time with the faint ticking of the clock mounted on the wall. It’s a steady sound, one that still lingers with an uneasy sense of worry thanks to a man named Henry Creel, but Steve still tries to keep in time to catch his lost breath.

Steve woke up in a sweat, chest heaving and heart racing after yet another collage of gruesome, disturbing images infiltrated his dreams. The sound of your piercing screams, one so loud that it could shatter glass, the amount of crimson pooling at your stomach and seeping through his fingers, the pain rattling in his chest, the light draining from your pretty eyes.

Even now, after being awake and stumbling aimlessly through his expectantly empty home, Steve’s still not really sure how much of it was real. In any other circumstance, Steve would like to say he’s pretty good at handling the aftermath of the catastrophes in his head, but something about this time felt different.

Steve can’t seem to decide what’s worse; the fact that his dream felt so real because, in some way, there was a significant level of truth to it, or because it hurts him that little — a lot — more since he’s almost certain he’s fallen in love with you.

He wasn’t prepared for that. He isn’t prepared for that.

“Fuck,” Steve breathes out, his voice shot and rugged from what little sleep he managed to get. His hands, ones covered in calluses and surface-level cuts, shake a little as he runs them through his bed-messed hair and down his face. “Fuck.”

Hot and cold flashes shock his body like a lightning strike, goosebumps rising on his uncovered legs and his chest rising with heat beneath his old Hawkins High Phys. Ed sweatshirt. Everything aches. The muscles in his arms and his legs, his head, the gashes and torsions littering his waist.

It’s only been a few days since the world fell apart and got stitched back together and Steve can’t seem to find any peace of mind, can’t even seem to relax for just one, measly second.

The weight of the world crushing his shoulders for the past three years, the physical toll his body has had to endure time and time again, all whilst trying to balance the necessity to protect the people he cherishes like family. It’s a lot to bear at 19. He’s almost certain he’s destined for every good thing in his life to turn to ruins.

“Baby?”

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

It’s almost embarrassing how quickly Steve swivels on the kitchen stool at the sound of your voice, warm and doe-eyed. The light of his life, the one thing keeping him sane, his version of heaven. Steve was starting to wonder if tonight would be the first time you didn’t notice the absence of his figure beside you in bed.

What a stupid, stupid fool he is to think you wouldn’t notice.

Steve’s features soften at the sight of you, groggy and sleepy and far too adorable for someone who’d have just woken up. Even though he’s bone-deep tired and still a little shaken up from his nightmare, the boy finds himself smiling faintly at your arrival, anyway. You always manage to make him grin, even without trying.

You're in his shirt, like always, the fabric light against your skin and the hem of it stops just short of your hips. Your sleep shorts are barely visible beneath, the only proof of them being the satin ribbon glinting in the moonlight, the once-tied bow now hanging, unravelled, at your thigh.

Like oxidized copper, day-old bruises stain your skin, shades of yellow and moss-green replacing the once burgundy and deep purple splotches that painted your knees. Scabbed cuts in the shape of a Demobat’s jaw litter the expanse of your calf like a fucked up puzzle, and the no-doubt scars waiting to form make Steve feel terrible all over again.

You’re alive, thank God, but that’s yet to be enough to ease the pain of wishing he could’ve done more.

Shades of blue and indigo paint over you like an oceanic kaleidoscope, a capsize of darkness making your cheekbones, your jaw, the muscles on your biceps and your thighs nothing short of a Goddess-like vision. As you further step into the kitchen, your presence alone makes Steve feel like the entire world has been set on fire and glittered sunshine and warmth.

Fuck. He really might be in love with you.

“Hey, baby.” Steve says a little guiltily and his voice is an octave or two lower than normal, almost like he’s afraid that breaking the silence that once accompanied him might ruin the heavenly sight of you.

“Steve, it’s.. it’s two in the morning,” you chide softly, voice a little raspy but Steve can still hear the worry seeping between your words. Your knuckles rub at your eyes, a weak attempt at knocking away the evidence of sleep and waking yourself up simultaneously. “What’re you doing up?”

It’s closer to three than it is two, and Steve’s been up for much longer than that. But he won’t tell you that. Not when he knows it’d get you even more worried.

“Thirsty,” he says, and the word comes out tougher than he meant it to. His throat honestly feels like sandpaper. “Needed a drink, s’all.”

Steve tilts his head towards the cup of water he’d poured that sits on the counter. However, in retrospect, the boy wishes he hadn’t given it much attention at all because the glass he motioned to is obviously untouched, condensation dripping down the sides and there’s a lack of lip or finger marks.

Your eyes flit between the glass and your tired boyfriend, an unconvinced look lacing your features, and it’s not long before you silently tread towards him. Steve knew it was a weak attempt at getting you back to bed. He knew you wouldn’t. Not without him, anyway.

“What’s wrong?”

Your question comes out more of a grumble than anything, but the concern is still there, still genuine. You know him all too well, and Steve was an absolute idiot in thinking he could get away with such a pathetic lie.

It’s like he’s in a hypnotic state whenever you’re with him because Steve isn’t quick enough to come up with another lie. He just watches you in awe. You draw close like a magnetic force, and the boy’s legs part automatically. In all honesty, he’d be a liar to say he didn’t expect that you’d crowd his space sooner rather than later.

Your hands find his in the dark and your fingers run across the bumps of his knuckles. The glitter in your nail polish catches the light peeking in through the window above the sink and it makes it seem like shooting stars are dancing across his bruises.

You’re so tender with him, he’s come to notice. Like he’s an expensive China doll, or a glass fixture hanging from the ceiling. You always stare at him like you're admiring him, too, even when Steve feels exceptionally unattractive, and you always make him like a teenager all over again.

“Bad dream?” you eventually answer the question Steve had forgotten about after a few moments of comfortable silence, mumbling against his temple.

Earlier on in your relationship, Steve felt nothing short of a burden. He’d keep you up at night, come stumbling upon your front door bloodied and bruised and in need of help, and drag you along on adventures you’d have never signed up for if you knew what they’d entail.

But, even amongst the terror, you never complained, not once, and Steve often thanks the God he doesn’t believe in to have found somebody as patient and understanding as you.

So, Steve can’t see a point in lying anymore. Not when you know him so well— not when you’ve seen him at his worst and stayed.

“Yeah,” Steve admits through a shallow breath, his lungs still constricting themselves even after he’d steadied his breathing maybe ten minutes ago. “Yeah, you could say that.”

Much to his delight, you wrap your arms around his shoulders before pressing yourself into him. Steve returns the favor instantaneously, your body still lingering with warmth from his bed as he slides his hands beneath your shirt and around your torso. If he died in this position, he’d die a happy, grateful man.

Steve basks in your company, his eyes closing briefly, and part of him thinks he could fall asleep like this if you’d let him. His face presses against your collarbone and he lets out a faint, satisfied hum when he feels you place a soft kiss on the top of his head. You’re so soft and warm and Steve practically melts against you.

Another kiss from you, a wordless I’m sorry. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Steve barely shakes his head, but it’s enough for you to notice. “Don’t wanna keep you up.” he says.

You pull away, then — not far, but there’s just enough distance between you both that Steve can glance up at you with ease. You give him a look, one he’s become far too familiar with after being with you for so long; eyes soft, but narrowed.

“I’m already awake, Steve,” you dismiss the boy gently, hand moving to card through his dark locks. You push them out of his face, forcing Steve to meet your intense, but kind gaze. “What happened this time?”

In any other circumstance, Steve would persist in his refusal to talk about his nightmares. He knows that any time somebody had asked, it was out of pure concern, which he appreciates, but it’s just hard. Sometimes Steve thinks talking about it might make it more real, more plausible.

Robin, when he’d shown up with dark circles under his eyes at work and she’d nagged him in her Robin-esque way; Eddie, during their weekly smoke sessions at his trailer in a lazy, off-handed way in hopes to come off as carefree as he’s known to be; Nancy, because once upon a time, she knew him better than anybody.

It’s difficult for Steve to open up to them, because, in his mind, they still harbor this idea that he’s the strong knight in shining armor they expect him to be. Admitting that he’s weak, troubled, and unable to move past the shit he’s dealt with in the last few years would break that façade, and Steve isn’t sure he can handle that kind of disappointment.

But you? You’ve seen it all, even despite his trying to conceal it from you out of everyone, and it’s never phased you. His weakness has slipped through the cracks of his porcelain walls, and you still like him, he thinks. He’ll never understand what he did to deserve your kindness.

“We were at the lake again,” Steve starts reluctantly. It honest to God feels like he’s tugging at an open wound. “You got pulled down, and I chased after you, but the bats..” he exhales sharply and he runs a hand through his already distressed hair, a telltale sign that he’s been restless for a while now. “I didn’t get there in time.”

The thought of you not being here with him stings, and it’s the kind of hurt that’s far worse than any real pain he’s ever endured in his life— though, Steve considers the idea of losing you to be as real as pain could possibly be.

In reality, Steve knows your getting gravely injured couldn’t have happened with the way things went at Lover’s Lake. Not when he insisted on diving for the group, not when he refused to let you go down with him, not when he made Eddie swear on his life to keep you safe if things went sideways. It wasn’t foolproof, not by any margin, but it was enough.

That doesn’t mean it doesn’t still scare him shitless, though.

“I’m sorry, baby.” you say as you press another kiss to his head, but it’s a little longer than the one you’d given him earlier.

“It’s okay,” Steve dismisses, and when your eyes meet again he tries to force a smile. It’s unconvincing, like always, but you don’t further pry about the nightmare, which he’s ultimately grateful for. He doesn’t want to relive it any more than he already has. “It’s just— shit, I don’t know.. annoying. It’s like my brain loves torturing me, or something. Never wants me to get any fuckin’ sleep.”

“They’re just nightmares, you know,” you remind him with a frown, and Steve wonders if you’ll ever get tired of sounding like a broken record. The amount of times you’ve had to piece him back together after he’d woken up a panicked, broken version of himself is probably in the hundreds, thousands. “They aren’t real. Henry can’t trick you anymore.”

He likes that you call him Henry instead of Vecna. It somehow manages to make his mythical, supernatural powers.. smaller than they seem. Like you aren’t scared of him. Steve wishes he has that kind of confidence.

But they are real, in some way or another. There are hints of truth mixed within the already existing storm of terror causing a riot in his head. Because, regardless of the outcome, Steve’s brain consistently morphs his reality into something far more sinister and tragic.

Sometimes he finds himself so deep within the jungle of contorted memories that he can’t decipher whether you're really sleeping beside him or if it’s another one of Vecna’s tricks.

“Feels pretty goddamn real.” he huffs out an exhausted laugh, one so humorless it’s almost as sharp as a knife’s edge. God, he’s exhausted.

“I know. I’m sorry,” you apologize for what feels like the millionth time, and Steve feels guilty you need to fix something you didn’t break. “I wish I could make it better.”

You do. In ways Steve could never replicate. The feeling of your heartbeat rattling against his, the warmth your body provides, the lingering remnants of your floral perfume, the taste of your mint toothpaste against his lips, the sound of your voice and the purity in your laugh; it provides Steve sanctum within a place that hasn’t had any peace or grace in a long, long time.

“We’re okay, you know,” Steve knows you’re not necessarily asking him for an answer, even if it’s framed like a question. “I’m okay, and you’re okay. So are the kids, and Robin, Eddie, Nance.. it’s just your brain’s way of trying to make sense of what happened.”

“Pretty shitty of it to make me relive all that crap.” says Steve, another humorless laugh sneaking past his tongue.

“I know, but they’ll stop eventually,” you murmur, and Steve knows it’s more wishful thinking than anything, but it warms his chest anyway. “It’ll just take time.”

Steve’s grip tightens around your waist and he shudders at the image flashing behind his eyelids. “It’s just scary, y’know?” he breathes out. “Thinkin’ about what.. what could’ve happened because we weren’t careful.”

“We were as careful as we could’ve been, baby,” you tell the boy, and Steve knows that’s somewhat true. It wasn’t like you guys had days to sit and think of the perfect way to defeat an evil, child-murdering guy with tentacles, but it was enough. “You just.. you can’t get stuck on the what-ifs, Steve. It won’t do you any good.”

Steve hums, then, because you’re right, but he doesn’t say much else. He still feels deflated, even in the comfort of your presence.

“Besides,” you start with a little shrug, your body more energized than it had been when you initially found Steve drowning in his own dread. “There are things that are way scarier than what ifs, anyway.”

Yeah, Steve thinks, like how I think I’m falling in love with you.

But instead, the boy exhales a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Mumbling against the material of your — his — shirt, he asks, “Yeah? Like what?”

When living in a shithole like Hawkins, a handful of supernatural things come to mind. The Demogorgon he saved you from in 1983, the Demodogs he was almost eaten by in ‘84, the Russians who almost beat him to a pulp in July of last year, the herd of Demobats you managed to beat up like Sigourney Goddamn Weaver—

“Taxes.” you blurt, and Steve doesn’t even have the chance to register what you’d said before a surprised laugh rumbles from his chest.

Fuck.

Steve's eyes snap up at you, and with wrinkled brows, he manages to half force out, half laugh, “What?”

Fuck.

“Any paperwork, really. Or me trying to cook,” you hum softly, the apples of your cheeks swelling as you let yourself drift back into the countless memories of kitchen mishaps you, and Steve, have shared in this very room. “I mean, you remember how Thanksgiving went. It was a total shitshow.”

One undercooked turkey, a load of burnt potatoes because you forgot to turn the oven down, and pumpkin pie that, oddly enough, had no pumpkin in it. It was a hot mess, really, but it’s probably one of Steve’s fondest memories— even if that's totally and utterly lame to admit.

He’s definitely in love with you.

“That..” Steve’s breath is shaky all of a sudden, and his voice wavers. “Yeah, you trying to cook is pretty scary.”

“Clowns are scary, too,” you add, almost for good measure. Your nose crinkles and Steve feels his chest bloom with heat at the sight of it. “They’re always smiling. It’s.. I mean, what’s scarier than that?”

Steve doesn’t mean to blurt it out, not really, but the compulsion to spill his flourishing feelings for you was far too burdening to ignore. Your hands were twisting in his hair, nails softly scraping at his scalp and you were staring down at him with your God-given smile like he’s a national fucking treasure or something.

If there’s one thing to know about Steve, it’s that he feels a lot. He’s passionate about a lot of things, and a lot of people, and trying to smother and conceal that part of himself only amplifies his emotions until he’s fit to burst. He throws his heart out on the line and lets it teeter like a trapeze artist and hopes that someone, somewhere, is ready and willing to catch it when it falls.

Most of the time it ends in tragedy and heartbreak, but Steve thinks that this time, you could be that someone to pick up the broken pieces with fragile hands and stitch them back together. He really hopes you’re that someone.

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Your body stills and your features contort into something Steve can’t decipher. You blink once, twice, before quietly muttering, “What?”

For a long, long time, home was just an idea that Steve was never quite able to grasp. A figure of his wildest, incapable dreams. His house, one that only seemed filled because of the old photos on the mantle and from the light bouncing off the chandelier, was never home. Hell— Hawkins as a whole isn’t home, either. Not anymore.

Steve hadn't known that home could be a person. Not until you.

“I think I love you.” Steve repeats, all his attempts at keeping his composure slowly wilting away with every second that passes.

Your gaze flickers across the expanse of his face, eyes soaking in every scar and every mark, every freckle and mole that litters his sun-kissed skin. One of your hands gently moves to cup the side of his face and your thumb slides almost methodically against his cheek, feather-like grazes across a silver scar he’d gained back in July 1985.

Steve can feel the warmth blooming beneath your angelic touch, a match to his body of flames, and barely above a whisper, you ask, “You think?”

His heartbeat begins to ricochet from his chest and into his now trembling fingertips. Steve’s veins feel like they’re pumping with acid, a new wave of anxiousness coursing through him like he’d been burnt from the inside out. It’s painful, in a way, but it’s a good kind of hurt. The kind he never wants to stop feeling.

So it takes Steve a moment, but he eventually shakes his head, his dark brown eyes flitting down at your lips before meeting your gaze again. He can’t help but notice the aquatic pools filling your lash line.

“I know,” Steve corrects himself, his tongue moving to wet his now dry lips. “I know I love you.”

Your breath hitches, then, and if the world hadn’t become a muted track in Steve’s ears, he might’ve missed it. You’re so, so quiet, all of a sudden, and there’s a large part of Steve that can’t help but start panicking because he’s convinced he’s already fucked this up.

“And that’s scary?” you ask him with a crack in your voice, words wobbling.

in a low voice, he admits, “Terrifying.”

Steve’s driven through heartbreak avenue so many times that his heart is probably more scar tissue than muscle, been dealt a bad set of cards after gambling his love away and left with nothing but the clothes on his back and the ghost of his ex-lover clawing at his chest.

He was black and blue most days, the haunting of what he could’ve done better always following him around like a fucked up shadow when he’d finally move on, only for him to just fall back into that same pit of regret he’d become oh so acquainted with.

It sucked, because getting his heart ripped out and stomped on time and time again was worse than any other pain he’s ever experienced in his 20 years of living.

But, what’s so scary, in Steve’s mind, is the fact that he’d do it all over again in a blink of an eye. He would take every punch and every jab, every insult and every ounce of hurt ten times over if he knew it meant that he’d find his way back to you.

Steve isn’t expecting you to say anything, much less do anything, so you can imagine his surprise when your hand is gentle as it cups the side of his face. He can’t help but lean further into your palm, his chocolate brown eyes unable to break away from your glassy ones.

In a soft, almost shaky voice, you tell the boy, “I don’t think you should be scared about that.”

Steve’s heart stops. “You don’t?” he asks, almost unsure because the uncertainty of your answer hangs heavy in the air.

“No. Because I..” you shake your head and lick your lips, too, pretty dream-like eyes darting across his features. And, with a faint, tired smile, you confess, “I love you, too, Steve. More than anything.”

Steve’s heart starts up again, quicker than ever before, because shit, that'd be enough for him.

Then, with unwavering confidence, Steve surges forward and captures you in a hurried kiss. Mouths slotting together in a heavenly disarray, the boy’s hands tighten around your frame and his mind goes entirely blank on everything that isn’t you because you’re his world he’d die orbiting around.

Steve’s kissing you with a level of fervid he didn’t know he had locked within him, and if the two of you were on display, it would seem like he’d been deprived of your admiration entirely. Your hand, the one splayed across his cheek, moves to his jaw and tilts his chin up ever so slightly and you deepen the kiss.

The boy can’t stop himself from trying to pull you impossibly closer, a new wave of determination washing over him as his desire to feel every ounce of you burns hotter. His tongue soothing over the accidental scrape of his teeth, Steve’s hunger only grows when you muffle out a faint moan against his lips.

You’re both panting when you pull away, a soft click sounding at the departure of your lips from Steve’s. Your forehead rests against his and Steve can’t help himself from trying to steal another kiss from you. You pull back, though, your eyelashes tickling his cheeks and Steve forgets entirely about the way the edge of the counter is digging into his spine.

“Can we go back to bed?” you ask him in a faint voice, eyes still closed and your nose bumps against his, your breath shallow against Steve’s face. The boy is left dizzy from your surging kisses, lips still tingling despite the loss of yours, and Steve almost misses the salacious hint in your request.

Almost.

The boy can’t bring himself to speak, but Steve nods, sneaking another kiss from you before he takes your hand in his and leads you back to the safety of his bedroom, socked feet padding against the floor sounding just as loud as the thumping his heart bounces off his ribcage.

And there, between rumbled sheets, Steve proves how much he loves you til the early signs of morning peak through his blinds, slivers of pink and orange rays mixing and painting your features gold.

Gentle kisses and rough hands, crescent moons adding to the constellation of freckles on his back, moans mixing with whispered sweet nothings echoing between his bedroom walls; a faint mantra of I love you, I love you, I love you encompassing you both.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x reader fluff #steve harrington x reader angst #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington angst #stranger things #stranger things fluff #stranger things angst #hurt/comfort #stevesbabysittingservice

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mustainegf · 1 month ago

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hiii can you please write reader helping 1984 era james during a panic attack? thank you!!! ps, i really love your stuff 😊

This is so sad, I’m such a sap for sad James, I feel so bad for him and his past, and everything he’s gone through :(

𝐌𝐀𝐌𝐀, 𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐘 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐆𝐎 ¹⁹⁸⁴

It's always the same in this house on Mother's Day. James in the shadow of the living room, his eyes far away, his movement slower than usual. I feel it, even before seeing him. The day presses upon his shoulders, even before he has risen from bed.

Lars already stands in the kitchen, his voice shouting through the thin walls. He's always got some story to tell, and today it's about his mom. Something about him being eighteen, sneaking out to some party, and coming home to her waiting with a smirk and a cup of tea. The laughter in his voice is a knife to the room, cutting through the silence James seems to be clutching to.

I glance over at him. He sits up on the couch, hunched, his hands clamped into the arms of the chair a little too tightly. His jaw is clenched, his lips pressed into a thin line.

Mother's day had always been brutal, as far as James was concerned. His mom had died when he was 16, a slow, painful battle with cancer that he never really got to process, not fully. And his dad? He'd left when James was 13. The scar still bled sometimes.

Lars is oblivious, his laughter filling the house as he pours another bowl of cereal. I want to stop him, turn the conversation in another direction, but it's too late. James is getting smaller in his skin, shrinking away from the room.

Then it does. He's off in an instant, out of the room and wordless, fists clenched. Lars stops midsentence, looking puzzled. I know better. I flash a hasty smile at him as if to say, it's fine, and follow James out into the hallway.

He paces around our little bedroom. His hands shake, his breathing hoarse. The door stands open, but somehow it seems shut to me. He doesn't notice me at first, he's too far inside his head, tracing and retracing the same dark grooves he always follows on days like today.

"James?" I say softly, coming in. He straightens, rigid, his back to me, his shoulders shaking.

"Don't," he says, his voice tight. "Just… don't."

But I just can't leave him like this. Not today. I shut the door behind me and take another step forward, to reach out for him, and he pulls away, turning to face me. His eyes are bloodshot, his face streaked with tears, and there's anger there, burning anger.

"I hate it," he spits, voice shaking. "Every fucking year. It's just this wound that doesn't heal. I wake up and it's just...there. Like she just died all over again. And Lars-" He breaks off. "He's in there, laughing, telling stories like everything's fucking fine, like we all have these great memories. But I don't. I never had that. My dad left. My mom…" He trails off, shaking his head harshly.

I step closer, my heart aching for him. "I know, James. I know today is hard for you."

"Hard?" He laughs bitterly, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. "It's not just hard, it's hell. I didn't even get to say goodbye to her. I didn't know how. I was just a stupid fuckin' kid trying to act like everything was okay. And now… now I hardly remember her voice anymore. I don't remember what she smelled like, or how she used to hum while she was cooking. It's all.. fucking gone." He starts pacing again, this time faster as his breathing quickens. "And my dad… He wasn't even bothered to stick around. He just left and was never seen again. What does that tell you about me? What am I?"

I move toward him slow and careful, like he's some injured animal that will strike out. "It doesn't make you anything, James. It isn't your fault. None of this is your fault."

But he's spiraling now, his breathing getting faster and faster as his chest rises and falls like he can't get enough air. His eyes are wild, unfocused, and I can feel the panic setting in, wrapping itself around him.

"I can't breathe," he chokes out, clutching at his shirt. "I can't-"

"James, look at me," I continue firmly, stepping in front of him, both of his hands in mine. "You need to breathe, okay? Just breathe with me."

He's shaking so hard now, and I help him down to the floor, kneeling with him while he struggles to pull in air. I know if I don't get him to calm down, it's going to get worse.

"Listen to my voice, okay?" I whisper, taking his face between my hands and making him focus on me. "Breathe with me. In… and out. Nice and slow. You can do this. Just breathe."

He nods, but it's shaky, and his breath is still ragged. I keep my hands on his face, making sure not to get my body too close, and make him panic more.

"In," I whisper. "Out. You're all right. I'm here. You aren't alone."

His breathing starts to calm, just a little, but enough. I feel his hands unclenching. But he's still crying, silent tears shooting down his face as he fights against not falling apart. It truly is heartbreaking hearing his little hiccups and sniffles.

"I'm sorry," he whispers with a breaking voice. "I'm sorry I'm like this."

I shake my head, tugging him closer as I wrap my arms around him. "You don't need to apologize, James. For this. Never."

We sat there for at least an hour, the two of us on the floor, holding each other. I can feel his heartbeat against my chest, the rise and fall of his breathing as it starts to even out. But I know the pain is still in his heart, and deep down, I know it always will be.

My heart shatters more with the though, the mere idea, that at the bare soul, he's just that same 16 year old boy, who needs his mama.

"I miss her," he finally whispers, hardly audible. "I miss her so much."

"I know," I reply softly, my fingers moving down through his wavy sandy hair. "I know you do."

As the minutes tick by, I can feel him start to come back to me, piece by piece. At last he tugs back, wiping at his face with shaking hand. "Thanks..." he whispers softly.

"Don't thank me, baby." I smile at him, brushing a tear from his cheek.

"All I want you to do, is remember her."

#mustainegf #metallica #request #metallica x reader #metallica fluff #james hetfield #reqs open #fanfic #metallica fanfiction #fanfiction #james hetfield x reader #james hetfield imagines #james hetfield fanfiction #james hetfield fic #james hetfield x you #james hetfield fluff #metallica imagines

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solar4seekstron · 13 days ago

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Megatron x Cybertronian!GN!Reader OneShot: Plan A - Megatron

Part 1

Part 2, Part 3,

TW/Tags: Bit of Angst, Toxic relationship, takes place after the movie, Megatron has trust issues. I think I’ll make a 2nd part but we’ll see. I like writing for our angsty boy.

After the war you chose to leave Megatron once he left a day before. You told Optimus and the others that you’ve made your choice and you believe you can help bring back D-16. Optimus was hesitant and asked reasonable questions. You told him that you’re willing to stay under cover and do your best. If anything like it becomes too much and if it calls for it. You’ll return to the Autobots. No connection or anything. You would just focus on trying to bring D back.

Your bond was broken from that die. When you told Megatron his way isn't right. But he only saw you as a traitor now. And so with that you carried out your plan. On the next day you transform into a sort of jet. And made your way to where Megatron and the high guard might be. As you kept flying, unknown to you. One of the guards detected you. Megatron knew it was you based on the shape, at least it must’ve been you. He had one of the high guards fly him to you. Getting right behind you on one of the high guards flying to you and before you even noticed and knew it. Megatron landed on top of you. Before telling the high guard that he’ll deal with you. Knowing he’ll be able to handle you one on one.

As he tried to get you to transform, you struggled to stay in the air. He continued, staying on top of you. So as you got lower, you transformed, finally getting him off as you both flew and rolled onto the ground. He was a few feet ahead of you and you were quick to get up. Your legs hurt from the landing. Almost losing your balance as you got up and you surely had a few dents on your body.

You watched as Megatron stood up and turned to you. That angry look in his red optics as he stared you down. He was way more than a few inches taller than you now. “Y/N…..” you backed up. Maybe you didn’t think this fully through.

”Megatron please listen to me I just came to ta-“ He charges at you. It was almost dark and at the same time you weren’t sure what to do. When you backed up you ended up tripping, landing on your aft as he got closer. You tried to protect yourself as he finally got close. Only using your arms to not anger him more with your blasters. Prepared for what ever blow he throws at you soon.

Only for him to stop in front of you. Letting out a few breaths as he stared down at you. He noticed you were shaking and wasn’t going to fight him. His face showed disappointment and his optics narrowed again as his fists fell to his sides.

He looked down at you thinking about what he’s about to do. He’d never hit you. Would He?

Your optics were closed until you finally opened them. You looked at him and you two stared at each other. You were shaking as he remained still. He continued to look at you with an almost tired but angry look. He then kneels down before grabbing your wrist as he brings you closer. You only looked down as you closed your optics. He analyzed you as his optics only closed a bit more. He finally spoke. His voice as dark and rough as before.

”Why….did you come? Prime make you a spy to use me?!” You stayed silent for only a second

”I……Megatron…I changed my mind….a-and…” Your optics start to gain tears as you spoke “I missed you Megatron….I-i can’t-“

”I have no room for weaknesses…no more.” He stood up pulling at your wrist making you stand up. He then held your jaw with a firm grip as he made you up look at him fully. You slowly opened your optics as you looked up at him. He’d then tilt his head to the side a little as his optics look down at you.

”Please Megatron. I just….I just can't live a life. Without knowing you’re out there. D. You’re still in there somewhe-“ His cervo on your wrist tightened causing you pain as he removes his cervo from your chin. Moving his hand to your neck. Gently squeezing. “D-16…..is dead….I Am Megatron.” He says as he leaned his face closer to you.

Now you were mad. You tried to pull your arm away but his grip was firm as he remained still. You used your other cervo to push against his chassis. “My spark belongs to D-16. Not. Megatron. D is still in there and I’ll only follow D-16. And if you can’t get that through your-“

In a fast movement, he pulled at your wrist. His other cervo that was once holding your throat was now around your waist. Both of your chassis together. “Now why is it D-16…instead of Megatron?…..Because I’m no longer weak…all…sweet?” You only had anger in your optics now. “You’re not the bot I fell in love with.” Your digits scratched at his insignia on his chassis. He did a really good job hiding how hurt he got from that……

“…..You’re just a con now.” You two stared at each other. Both of your optics narrowed. What you didn’t expect was him laughing. He was laughing at your face.

“Yes. I’m not him……” He leaned closer to your audio sensors, speaking in a deep voice. “I’m someone better.” Now you were really scared. As he continues to glare down at you. You try again to pull away until his arm is around your waist and his cervo on your upper back makes you stay close. His other cervo no longer holding your jaw. Moving to the back of your helm.

“This time, I can be a Better Conjunx for you.” Your optics widened as you kept trying to pull back. Only to feel Megatrons dermas against yours. Your own cervos pushing and hitting at his shoulders and chassis. His optics closed as yours remained open. Your cervos barely able to scratch his arm. The cervo behind your helm gently squeezed as a warning, making you stop but your cervos remain against his chest. Trying to create some distance.

He missed you. Oh how he deeply missed you. At first he wasn’t sure but knew he was going to be miserable without you. Despite his new found goal in life. You are the only good thing left. Might as well keep you seeing you’re here now. At first he didn’t trust you when you came. But he knows with his new cog and the power he holds….How can you ever protect yourself? Even from him now. He isn’t weaker then you now.

You can be his once more. By his side. Where you belong.

His kiss became more and more passionate. He deepens the kiss as he tilt his helm. His arm squeezing you closer to him and the cervo moved from the back of your helm to the nape of your neck. You were certain he would break your neck until he stopped. His head then leaned back a bit as he opened his optics once more. His optics not even a little softer.

”Y/N You may join me…but you are my Conjunx. Nothing more. Nothing less. And if you were to betray me in any way……Your punishment will become a part of your every being……” He meant it. You know he does. But you know you must stand your ground. Bring back D-16, stop him from this ‘goal’. You were going to suffer you knew this. But whatever comes your way. You can handle it..

”I’ll join you…” Megatrons finally shows a grin. Both of your forhelms touched once more as you knew what to do next. Both of your inner chassis open up and your sparks soon shine and glow.

You closed your optics waiting for the bond as his only stared down at you. His grin never left his face as his hold remained firm. Your bond with him is no longer soft and full of joy. But anger and…..distrust…..his love was there but it was so far. You have a lot of work to do. Megatron leaned forward, his dermas connecting with yours once more. This time you returned the kiss. Yours was gentle but the passion in your kiss was weak as his was more dominant.

Megatron then gets a comm from Soundwave asking where he was. Megatron growled into the kiss and pulled back. Removing his cervo once on the back of your neck to the bridge of his nose as he responds. His optics closed as he listened to Soundwave speak. You looked at his insignia. You know he’ll put one on you..eventually. His other cervo was resting around your waist continueing to hold you close. You looked down as you waited for him to finish. After a few nano cycles. His call ended and let you go. You were honestly happy to be out of his embrace. You didn’t know if that was a good or bad sign on your part.

”Follow me Y/N. It’s time you meet ‘the new team’…” He transformed. You did the same and flew over following him. You’re going to be stuck with Megatron for a very long time…

This was pretty fun to write and I hope you all enjoy this 😊

#transformers one #transformers one x reader #d 16 x reader #x reader

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probably-writing-x · 1 year ago

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The Stars That Shine

Summary: could you do something w conrad based off of mary’s song oh my my my by taylor swift 🥺

Author’s Note: Im so sorry I struggled so much writing this but I hope you love it and it’s what you were hoping for <3

It was like there was just something between you and Conrad that everyone else could see even when you couldn’t. You’d grown up in the house next to his in Cousins and so, every summer without fail, you spent every waking moment with him. It was like summer started so nothing else mattered. He was two years older than you and for the majority of your life he’d made that abundantly clear - he treated you like a little girl in comparison to him. He saw you in the same way he saw Jere, younger than him and so someone he had to be responsible for.

When you were 8, he threw you into the pool and then fought you when you tried to get back at him for it. You’d slipped on the concrete and cut your knee, and Susannah had told him he was too big to be fighting you. He’d patched you up with a plaster over the cut and bought you an ice cream from the van when it came past.

When you were 10, he punched a boy that jumped the queue in front of you over at the boardwalk. You’d been queuing to use the karts, and a boy had treated you like you were invisible. Conrad grabbed your arm and pulled you behind him, turning the guy around and clocking him in the jaw. He bruised his knuckles and you bought him fries from the stall to make up for it. You remembered it every time you ended up back at that boardwalk.

When you were 12, he got dared to kiss you one night when the group of you were all camping out at the beach. He refused at first and both of you forgot about it. But, later that night, he’d stopped you on the sand and told you that he never backed down from a dare. You ran away before he had the chance. Neither of you mentioned it after that day.

When you were 14, you realised for the first time that you liked him. He was getting ready for a date and you watched him fix his hair in the mirror, the pain settling on your chest that it wasn’t you he’d be with. He’d told you to wish him luck and you couldn’t find a word to respond with. A few hours later, Conrad had returned and told you dating wasn’t for him, he’d shook hands with you that he’d never go on a first date again. You’d laughed and taken the bet, hoping to God for just a moment that the next one would be with you.

When you turned 16, it was like Conrad saw you completely differently. You turned up in Cousins that summer and he saw you as a whole new person. He’d looked at you on the driveway like he was looking at a stranger, until his hand stretched out and he ruffled your hair on your head. You blushed under his touch and prayed he didn’t notice.

But there was just something so different about that summer. You felt Conrad’s eyes on you whenever he had the chance, the way he listened in to what you said just a little more intensely, the way he defended you when the boys started being dicks. The little things that just didn’t feel the same as they normally did.

It was that same summer that Conrad first took you out in his truck. His father had bought it for him for Christmas and got Jere one too - now that both of them could drive. Conrad had always complained that he’d have to wait for Jeremiah but it didn’t seem to matter now that he had his car. It started with just little trips to the store, spending a little longer with each other browsing through the aisles before he took the long way home. And then one night, when you couldn’t sleep, it felt like everything changed.

———

You made your way slowly downstairs, breezing past your parents’ room where they both slept soundly. With no real reason why, you just couldn’t sleep tonight. And there was only so long you could lay in bed waiting for sleep to take you.

You slip on a hoodie over your bralette and shorts and grab a pair of flip flops, heading out of the back door and into the yard. It was so much more peaceful at night. You’d sleep out here if you could.

It was rare you spent much time at home in this place, however. All of your best memories were made in the house next door - Susannah was the hostess and your parents always accepted that. You walk down the length of the garden alongside the hedged fence joins the two yards, your eyes flicking into their side.

That’s when you see him. Illuminated by the lights in the water, seemingly giving him an eerie glow, his legs drifting back and forth under the surface from where he sat at the edge of the pool.

“Con?” You hiss into the silent air and he instantly bolts his head up to look at where the noise has come from.

He smiles when he sees you, standing up from the poolside and wiping his hands on his shorts, “Are you stalking me (Y/l/n)?”

“Don’t flatter yourself Fisher,” You roll your eyes, wrapping your arms around yourself.

He smirks and makes his way over to you until you’re both stood in front of each other, separated by the short hedge between you.

“Why are you awake?”

Conrad shrugs, “I never sleep early.”

You nod, “I can’t sleep.”

You feel the way his eyes watch you, the way they seem to melt into your skin. The way you seem to heat up just a little under his gaze.

“Do you want to go somewhere?”

“Now? Con it’s like 1am,” You frown, glancing back up to him.

He shrugs, “Do you have anything better to do?”

And so, he disappears back into his house and you take the alleyway at the side of yours, waiting for him out the front against the passenger door of his car.

Only moments later, he steps outside, swinging his keys around one finger as he makes his way over to you. You both clamber in and he drives off without another word.

You look out of the passenger window at the passing cars and don’t notice the way he watches you. The way his eyes are on you as if they can’t be torn away. Conrad wasn’t exactly sure when things had changed - or if they’d ever changed at all. He just knew that he saw you now and saw someone he couldn’t be without. Like someone had made him see you in a completely different light. Had he always felt like this and only now realised?

“Have you seen the-“ You turn your head back around and notice his eyes solely on you, feeling a blush burn at your cheeks, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I just-“ He stops himself.

“Focus on the road Fisher,” You roll your eyes, drawing your knees up to your chest on the chair.

“That’s my sweatshirt,” He points out, turning another corner as the two of you drive down another country lane.

Eventually, he parks the car up on the hills overlooking the town, both of you still sat in the front seats staring out over the dark view.

“So why couldn’t you sleep?” Conrad asks you, leaning his head back against the headrest.

You shrug, “I don’t know. Just stuff on my mind I guess.”

He nods, “Go on.”

“Do you-“ You stop yourself, shifting in your seat so that you’re sat sideways, facing him directly, “Do you feel like… I don’t know, like this summer has been different than before?”

You watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows the lump in his throat, “In what way?”

“Come on Con,” You scoff, “I feel like I stranger showing up here again, I know you’re all looking at me like I’m a new person.”

He jumps the gun quickly to correct you, “It’s not like that, I know you’re still you.”

You roll your eyes, “Then why are you being so different with me?”

“I just-“ He stops himself, reaching out to brush your hair away from your face, as if he wants to frame your features in the perfect light, “It just feels like this summer I actually woke up. Saw what was right in front of me.”

“And what’s that?” You stop yourself from smiling, feeling so nervous with the way he cupped your cheek.

His thumb brushes along your jaw, until it is at the base of your chin, “You.”

Slowly, cautiously, like he’s giving you both the time to overthink, he draws you into him and you pull to him like a magnet. His breath fans over your lips before you close the space between you, his lips soft and uncertain against yours. You hadn’t kissed anyone before, you didn’t have a clue on what to do. But his hand keeps you pulled into him and his fingers are in your hair and his lips move against yours like they were meant to be there. He holds you like he’s been waiting to for a short forever.

Conrad’s hands move lower, pressing against your back to pull you into him, both of you angled awkwardly over the console of the car. He fumbles in his seat to draw you close to him despite the block between you and both of you laugh against each other.

“Terrible place for a first kiss,” He mumbles against you, his forehead pressing against yours.

You smile and pull away from him, “I think we’re just impatient.”

“Oh I think we’ve both waited long enough to do that,” He scoffs, “C’mere.”

One hand drops to draw his chair as far away from the wheel as it will go before they’re both back onto you, gripping and grasping at your hoodie to pull you over to him. You giggle as you clamber over onto his lap.

He grips your waist as you settle down onto his thighs, your noses bumping together in the small space.

“Hi,” You grin, holding both of his shoulders as if convincing yourself he was real.

His hands slip beneath the waistband of your hoodie, for no other reason than to convince himself that you were real too, that he could feel you there.

“Hi.”

———

You and Conrad had stayed together for the following year without any hiccups. He drove to your home, you drove to Boston, you met in the middle in Cousins. You spent Thanksgiving with his family, and he came to yours after Christmas. You called each other nearly every night and the long distance never seemed to feel like too far. All up until when the two of you were back in Cousins. Your parents hadn’t come this summer but you had, and you stayed at Susannah’s place. It was the most time you and Conrad had ever spent together, waking up together, going to sleep together, it was all you’d been wanting since he’d first kissed you in that car.

But all pieces of heaven come with tiny bits of hell. And it didn’t take too long for the perfect bubble to burst.

You’d been at the beach at a bonfire party, and you’d been accepting any drink that someone offered you. It was starting to hit you a little bit, the sort of buzz that warmed your veins and heightened your confidence.

“Where’s Con?” You frown at Jeremiah, squinting around the mass of bodies to try and spot your boyfriend.

“I don’t know,” Jere shrugs, “I think I saw him with Steven by the fire.”

You nod and trail your steps in that direction, stumbling a little on the uneven sand.

“Hey!” An unfamiliar pair of hands grab your waist, “Come and dance with me.”

You push them away and turn your head back to see a boy you don’t recognise, rolling your eyes.

“Oh come on, don’t be boring,” He encourages, “Dance with me.”

His hands snake around your waist again and you push them off.

“Get off me!” You exclaim, turning around to face him.

“Oh is that how you’re playing it?” The boy smirks, “What have you got a boyfriend or something?”

“I-“

“Hey, do you want to back the fuck off?” Conrad’s voice bellows from beside you, coming up towards the boy and shoving him square in the chest.

He stumbles backwards on the sand but catches himself before he falls.

“Who the fuck are you?” The boy scoffs, looking up to meet Conrad’s eyes before looking back at you, at the way Conrad shields you with his body, “You’re her boyfriend?”

“How about you leave her alone?” Conrad waves the boy off, watching as he walks off from the both of you before he turns around to face you.

“God he wouldn’t get off me he-“

“We’re going home.”

Conrad’s voice is cold, emotionless - a way you’d never heard him speak towards you.

“Wh-“

“We’re leaving,” He snaps once again, “I’m driving.”

“Con wh-“

He holds your arm in his grasp and tries to lead you away from the party, getting you as far as being just slightly away from the big crowd.

“Conrad get off me, you’re hurting me!” You exclaim, pulling your wrist from his grip, “What’s wrong with you?”

“(Y/n) you’re drunk and we’re going home,” He says harshly, looking at you with eyes that didn’t feel like his own, “Now get in the car.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” You wrap your arms over your chest, “Why are you being like this?”

“Because you’ve got guys fucking trying it on with you, thinking they’ve got a chance with you, and I’m stood right there (Y/n)!”

“Nothing happened!” You half-laugh, “He grabbed me and I told him to stop. What the fuck is wrong with that?”

“You think they don’t think they’ve got a chance with you?” Conrad raises his eyebrows, “Are you fucking blind?”

“No I’m not blind Conrad but I’m not going to fucking cheat on you with the first guy that shows me attention. Who the hell do you think I am?”

His shoulders drop a little like he’s realised the effect, but Conrad being Conrad will only let the mask slip for so long before he’s back to the coldhearted demeanour he seemed to have adopted for the night.

“Okay, we’re taking both of you home,” Steven walks over to interject, “I’ve not been drinking, I’m driving.”

You look at Conrad for a moment longer like you’re hoping he’s going to change his mind and reach out for you and apologise but he doesn’t make any move to do so.

He walks off ahead with Steven and you walk behind with Belly and Jeremiah.

Everyone is deathly silent on the drive home until you reach the house and they mumble a quick ‘good night’ before going into separate bedrooms. Conrad still hasn’t looked you in the eyes and, as you sober up more and more, you’re convincing yourself he never will.

“Con can we please-“

You pause as you watch him rummaging through the closet to pull out a pillow and blanket.

“What are you doing?”

“Sleeping downstairs,” He returns bitterly, turning around towards the door.

“You can’t be serious,” You scoff, “That’s it? You’re not even going to talk to me about it?”

“I’ve said what I wanted to say,” Conrad shrugs, “We’re not going to agree so now what?”

“We fight it out Conrad. We talk about it like fucking adults,” You shake your head, “We don’t just give up and act like each other’s worst enemy.”

He doesn’t respond.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“I’m unbelievable? I’m not the one with a guys arms around my fucking waist!”

“What the fuck was I supposed to do?” You yell, unbothered about every other pair of listening ears in the house.

Conrad doesn’t reply once more, stepping past you to walk into the corridor.

“You know what? Go fuck yourself Conrad,” You state coldly and he glances back only momentarily to watch as you slam the bedroom door, feeling it shake the room around you before you fall to the floor in tears.

The only other sound comes from his feet creaking the stairs on their way down.

—

The following morning, you’re up before anyone else in the house. You could barely sleep in the night, feeling oddly cramped in the spacious bed, feeling cold in the too-hot room.

Eventually, you give up on trying to sleep any more and instead make your way downstairs.

The couch is empty, apart from a small pile with the pillow and blanket stacked on top of each other. You frown a little at the sight, desperate for the calm of seeing Conrad asleep and peaceful. Your eyes draw outside to the garden where you can just about make out the shape of a body across one of the sun loungers, tucked away in the shade at the side of the pool.

He must be freezing.

You grab the blanket from the couch and tuck it under your arm, stepping outside as quietly as you can to reach Conrad.

His arms are wrapped over his chest and his heads tilted to the side, stretching out his prominent jawline. His breaths are calm and even and you’re conscious as ever to not wake him as you stretch out the blanket to lay over him.

You’re just about to turn away when you see his eyes start to flutter open just a little.

“(Y/n)?” Conrad’s voice croaks as you turn back towards the house.

You grimace a little and look down at the floor, “I- I thought you might be cold.”

Certain more than ever that this wasn’t the time to start up another argument, you start to make your way back inside with hurried steps.

“(Y/n) wait!” Conrad calls after you, “Will you stay?”

You pause in your steps and turn around to face him, “I-“

But it’s easier to not say a word, as if you don’t want to ruin the moment. You walk over to him slowly and he shifts over on the lounger so that there’s one thin half of it for you to lay on. He stretches out an arm and you lay down, resting your head on his chest whilst his other arm drapes the blanket over you. Both of you are silent at first, as if wanting to breathe in every ounce of contact you’d been missing.

“I’m sorry about last night,” Conrad says, trailing one hand up and down your back, “I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

You nod, “I’m sorry too. I should’ve just listened to you and I know you we-“

“Baby,” He speaks so softly you’re sure your heart swells at the feeling of him coming back to you.

You lean up slightly, just enough to rest on your elbow and turn your head to face him.

“I was in the wrong,” He assures you, “I’d been drinking and I saw you with that guy and I just flipped and I shouldn’t have.”

You nod, resting a hand on his chest, “It was kind of hot when you shoved him though.”

Conrad chuckles, wrapping his arm around your waist to pull you between his legs, letting you lay over his torso, “You think?”

You shrug, “Just yell at the guy more and not me next time.”

He smiles softly, “Noted.”

———

Arguments came rarely and calmly between the two of you after that day. When you did disagree, it was softer and sadder - less fuelled and less aggressive. Conrad never raised his voice at you, and you never raised your voice at him. You told him when you were upset and he told you when he was irritated. It worked.

You’d been together for five years before things changed again. You were a year out from graduating college and Conrad was practically waiting for the day when you would. He’d already graduated so he came to visit you on the weekends when he could, he worked a job in a research lab in Boston and he’d call you when he finished to tell you about what he’d done that day. The plan for after you graduated was to get the money to buy your parents’ Cousins house from them. The two of you, in Cousins, in the place you’d fell in love. It would be a dream.

You were back in Cousins for the summer after your third year of college and you were, of course, staying with his family and the Conklins. Everything had been completely normal until this one day where it felt like the whole house’s mood had shifted.

“Morning babe,” You yawn as you walk downstairs, into the kitchen where Conrad and Jere are speaking in hushed tones.

They stop abruptly when you walk in.

“Hey!” Jeremiah smiles a little too widely, “I’m gonna… I’m gonna head out.”

You frown as he hurries past you and turn back to Conrad.

“What was that about?”

He shrugs and walks over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist, “Jere’s Jere.”

You rest your head against his chest and breathe in the scent of cologne that clings to his clothes.

“Do you fancy waffles?” He suggests, his hands moving up to your shoulders to massage the skin over the material of your baggy t-shirt.

You pull away from him and narrow your eyes, “Waffles?”

“Don’t look at me like that, Im being romantic,” He rolls his eyes at you, walking away to get the ingredients from the cupboard.

“Oh I’m not complaining,” You grin, pushing yourself to sit on the countertop, “Did I forget an anniversary or something?”

“Can’t a guy do something nice for his girlfriend without an ulterior motive?” He questions you, walking over to open the cupboard beside your legs, pulling out the waffle iron.

You shrug, “We’ll see.”

As he stands back up, he leans in quickly to kiss you, “I’ve got some errands to run later but I’ll be back in time for dinner, Belly suggested we all go out.”

“Our for dinner? We never go out for dinner,” You frown, “Why would we-“

“Stop being so suspicious,” Conrad scoffs, “We’ll go somewhere nice.”

“You’re weird today,” You joke and he rolls his eyes at you once again.

—

Later that day, Conrad’s still out and you get a text from him telling you he’ll meet you at dinner rather than coming home first. You’ve been lounging around the house since he left, soaking in the sun in the garden before you came in to shower.

Belly knocks on your bedroom door as you’re laying across the bed watching The Office.

“Hey!” She grins, “Do you know what you’re wearing to dinner?”

You frown as she drops down onto your mattress, “No I’ll probably just put a jumper on or something.”

“I think-“ She looks around your room, “I think we should dress up.”

“Dress up? You’ll never get the boys to agree to that,” You laugh, “Where are we even going?”

She shrugs, “You’ll find out.”

You lean up onto your elbows and narrow your eyes at her, “Why’s everyone being so suspicious today? What aren’t you telling me?”

She laughs and her mouth moves like she can’t find the words, “I’m not saying anything.”

“Belly!” You exclaim as she hurries off from your bed.

“Just… wear something nice,” She sticks her head around the frame of your door, “Maybe that white dress that Conrad loves.”

You glance over to the closet and glaze over your appearance in the mirror. Maybe you should make an effort, it was rare you were ever going anywhere fancy enough to do anything like that. But they all seemed set on making this night a good one - who were you to question that?

Within the hour, you’ve done some light makeup, brushed through your hair and curled the bits around your face, and pulled on the white dress that Conrad loved so much.

When you step out to walk down the stairs, Belly, Steven, Taylor and Jere are all stood looking up at you.

“What the fuck is going on?” You laugh, “I feel like I’m going to prom.”

“Wh-“ Steven coughs, glancing at the others, “We’re just, um, you know, we don’t want to be late.”

You grab your purse quickly and hurry down the stairs, “Calm down, Im ready now.”

They follow you outside and you all walk over to Jere’s car where you go to open the back door.

“Um,” Belly stops you, “You can sit in the front.”

You look at her with a puzzled expression before climbing into the front with Jeremiah, watching as the other three pile into the back.

“Seriously guys what the fuck is going on?” You question as Jere pulls off from the driveway and starts down the road.

“What are you talking about?” Taylor shrugs, “We’re just hungry.”

“Everyone’s like treading on eggshells with me today, it’s weird,” You comment, “Con seemed like weirdly nervous before he left earlier too, I’ve never seen him run out of the door so quickly and I-“

You pause as the sights around you seem to change, Jeremiah taking a turn down a country lane.

“Jere this isn’t the way to the restaurant we need to go…”

You stop yourself once more as his face breaks into a grin that it’s impossible to hide.

“Seriously what aren’t you telling me?” You turn around to glance at the three of them in the back, all of their heads close together looking out of the windscreen.

Belly nods her head in that direction and you turn back to the front, your lips parting and every single sensation in your body seeming to ignite and disappear all in one moment.

There, in the exact spot where he’d first kissed you, is Conrad.

There’s a scattering of rose petals laid out across the grass and candles lining the edge of the cliff that dips down towards the town.

“Oh my god,” You exhale, glancing at the others in the car with tears already in your eyes.

“Go on, I think he’s waiting for you,” Jeremiah nods, squeezing your arm.

The other three look at you with widened eyes and bright smiles on their faces as you open the passenger door and step out.

“I was worried Jere would take you the wrong way,” Conrad calls over to you as you walk over towards him.

“Conrad this is-“ You stop yourself, glancing around at the sight that you’re sure is something out of a dream, “I don’t even know what to say.”

“You look beautiful,” Conrad reaches out his hands for you to hold, “I- God, I’d planned this whole thing and now it’s like I don’t know where to start.”

You step just a foot in front of him and squeeze his hands, looking up at him with watering eyes.

“(Y/n) I love you,” Conrad smiles back at you, “And there are a thousand words I could say now to tell you that, but nothing will be more important than telling you that I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life loving you. And so…”

“Oh my god,” You release again, watching as he lowers down onto his knee, reaching back into his pocket to pull out a small velvet box.

“(Y/n) (Y/l/n) will you marry me?”

“Oh my god,” You repeat once again as if they’re the only words going through your brain, your eyes spilling with tears.

Conrad looks up at you with overwhelming emotion in his eyes, “Well?”

“Yes!” You laugh, grasping either side of his face in your hands as he stands up onto his feet, “Of course! Yes!”

He looks down to push the silver ring onto your finger before wrapping his arms around your waist, lifting you up into his grasp before he lowers you down to the ground. His eyes shift into that same adoration they’d held for you when you first came here that night, and he leans in to kiss you with the same excitement as that first time too.

At the sight, a chorus of cheers extend from the car and you both glance over to see all four of them staring out the window with wide grins over their faces.

You laugh through the tears in your eyes and Conrad tightens his arm around your waist, pulling you as close to him as humanly possible.

In that moment, in that perfect moment, you think of your six year old self, when you’d been a blushing mess meeting Conrad for the first time. Your twelve year old self so terrified at the thought of kissing him. The sixteen year old self that first kissed him in that car. And every year since of loving him.

You see yourselves getting married, your families laughing and telling you they knew it would be this way all along. The two of you growing old together, watching your kids grow up too. And, eventually, being sat in the same spot on this same cliff overlooking this same town, with the boy who’d held your heart for your entire life.

The boy who’d always be your Connie.

#tsitp #the summer i turned pretty #conrad x reader #conrad x you #conrad x y/n #conrad fisher x reader #conrad fisher x you #conrad fisher x y/n #tsitp imagine #tsitp one shot #tsitp drabble #tsitp blurb #tsitp request #tsitp conrad #tsitp x reader #tsitp x you #tsitp x y/n

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oceandolores · 3 months ago

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | chapter 9

Dbf!Joel Miller x F!Reader

"𝘊𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵, 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘮 𝘩𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨,"

summary: it's the big day

warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI, AU, No outbreak. (TW) mentions of substance abuse/alcohol use disorder, adult content, religion abuse, violence, blood gore, mentions of death, sexual abuse, sexual content, domestic violences, ped0ph!l1a, cann1bal!sm, human traff1ck1ng, dad's best friend!Joel, HUGE age gap (i will not specify her exact age, but she's legal and Joel is 49), daddy issues, mentions of toxic family dynamic, Joel is widowed, Ellie is 16, angst, smut A LOT, forbidden relationship, soft and protective Joel, innocent and pure reader. your last name is Gibson. any other details will be explain throughout the story. inspired by the album Preacher's daughter by Ethel Cain and also mix with lana del rey vibes.

CHAPTER 9

masterlist of the series!

previous | chapter 8

next | chapter 10

The night was heavy with a silence that seemed to hum with unresolved tensions. Inside Joel’s dimly lit living room, the only sound was the soft ticking of the clock as Joel’s mind raced with thoughts of vengeance. He had just finished a tense conversation with Ellie, who had reluctantly agreed to stay home and get some sleep. Her concern had been palpable.

"Now, get some sleep, Ellie, I'll be right back." He said as he pick up his jacket and his truck's key from the desk.

"Wait, where are you going?" Ellie ask, "I need to go back to her house, I need to take care of her before her father's get home," Joel lies.

"Okay," Ellie said.

Joel closed the door behind him, the weight of his decision pressing heavily on his shoulders. As he made his way to the truck, he could feel Ellie’s anxious gaze lingering on him, a reminder of the fragile line he was walking. The lie about returning to your house to take care of you was a necessary deception, a way to keep Ellie from discovering his true intentions.

The truck roared to life, its engine breaking the quiet of the night. Joel’s thoughts churned like a storm at sea, the images of your pain intertwining with the dark intent driving him forward.

He gripped the steering wheel of his truck tightly, knuckles white against the darkness, he clenched his jaw over and over again, as he drove towards the bar where Jamie was likely to be. The truck's headlights cut through the inky blackness, but they could not penetrate the veil of anger that had enveloped Joel. He was determined to find Jamie and make him pay for the harm he had inflicted on you. Joel’s thoughts were a maelstrom of vengeance, interspersed with fleeting memories of the tender moments he had shared with you. Every time his mind drifted to your pain, it only fueled his resolve.

He will keep you safe no matter what it takes.

The anger roiling inside Joel was a storm at sea, a hurricane of grief and rage that threatened to tear apart the calm facade he maintained. His feelings for you were like a fragile flower in a storm, blooming amidst chaos but vulnerable to the fury of the winds. Each image of you in pain was a dagger to his heart, a wound that only deepened with every second Jamie remained free.

When he arrived at the bar, he parked a short distance away, his eyes scanning the scene with a predator’s precision. The bar’s neon lights flickered intermittently, casting an unsteady glow on the streets. He watched from the shadows, a ghost among the night, waiting for Jamie to emerge.

Inside the bar, Jamie and his friends were oblivious to the storm brewing outside. Their laughter and raucous voices filled the air, a stark contrast to the tension simmering in Joel’s chest. He remained hidden, his focus sharp, his patience unwavering. Every now and then, he glanced at the entrance, his resolve hardening with each passing moment.

As the night wore on, Jamie finally stumbled out of the bar, his steps unsteady and his demeanor reflecting the effects of heavy drinking. But just as Joel prepared to make his move, a shadow flickered at the edge of his vision.

Unbeknownst to him, someone had been following him, moving with the same stealth and purpose. The presence was unsettling, a silent observer whose intentions were cloaked in mystery.

Joel’s attention was solely on Jamie, his anger and determination a palpable force. Jamie, heavily intoxicated, staggered towards his car, fumbling with his keys. Joel slipped out of his truck, moving silently across the empty parking lot. He followed Jamie’s unsteady path. The scene was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves in the night breeze.

As Jamie clumsily tried to unlock the door, the keys slipped from his grasp and fell into a nearby drainage ditch. "Fuck, C'mon!" Jamie cursed loudly, his frustration evident as he bent down, reaching into the dark crevice. The night was still, the only sounds being Jamie’s muffled swearing and the distant hum of traffic.

He kept his eyes fixed on Jamie, who was now still crouched beside his car, struggling with the keys. The empty parking lot was dimly lit by flickering streetlights, casting long shadows that danced with the slightest movements.

Joel’s footsteps were soft, almost imperceptible as he approached Jamie from behind. His anger was a fierce, controlled fire, burning with the intent to protect you and ensure that Jamie faced consequences.

As Jamie struggled to retrieve the keys, Joel’s voice cut through the silence. “Looking for something?” The tone was calm, but the underlying menace was unmistakable. Jamie’s head snapped up, and he looked over his shoulder to see Joel standing behind him, a chilling smile playing on his lips.

Joel's smile was devoid of warmth, more of a grimace shaped by his dark intent. His brown jacket, now illuminated by the faint light, made him appear as a looming figure from the shadows. He stood with his hands casually behind his back, but his posture and expression spoke volumes of the resolve that lay beneath.

Jamie’s eyes widened in shock and fear as he recognized Joel. “Mr. M-miller?” he stammered, his voice a mix of surprise and trepidation. The night seemed to hold its breath, the stillness around them amplifying the tension of the encounter.

Joel's demeanor remained unnervingly calm. “Are you looking for something, Jamie?” he asked with a pretense of friendliness that masked the dangerous undercurrent of his intentions. His voice was smooth, like honey laced with venom, creating a facade of benevolence while plotting something darker. The contrast between his calm exterior and the turmoil brewing within him was as stark as light against shadow.

Jamie, visibly shaken, struggled to maintain his composure. “Uh, I, uh, my car keys fell,” he stuttered, his hands trembling as he tried to retrieve the keys from the ditch. “What are you doing here?”

Joel’s response was as measured as it was unsettling. “Oh, I was just out drinking at the bar with Tommy. I think your keys might have fallen too deep.” He offered the lie with an almost casual ease, as though discussing the weather rather than the dark purpose behind his presence. “Are you heading home?”

Jamie’s fear was palpable, his mind racing to keep his anxiety hidden. The dread of Joel uncovering his involvement in your assault was almost suffocating. He attempted to push aside his panic, focusing on the trivial matter of his lost keys. The fear of Joel’s inquiry seemed to magnify with each passing second.

“Uh, yeah,” Jamie said, his voice betraying his unease. He began to back away, clearly eager to escape the oppressive atmosphere that Joel created.

Joel’s smile remained, but there was an edge to it that hinted at something darker. His voice was smooth, as though offering a simple gesture of kindness rather than concealing a deeper, more menacing intent. “Well, do you need a lift?”

Jamie’s anxiety was palpable, his body language betraying his fear. He glanced nervously between Joel and the dimly lit parking lot, where the shadows seemed to close in on him. The weight of his recent actions and the looming threat of Joel’s presence created a sense of suffocating dread.

“N-no, it’s fine,” Jamie stammered, trying to maintain a semblance of composure. “I’ll just walk.” His voice was uneven, betraying his attempt to mask his fear with bravado.

Joel’s gaze was unyielding, a quiet storm of determination masked by a façade of concern. “You sure?” he said, his tone smooth and insistent. “the roads aren’t safe this time of night, and it’s not a good idea to be out here alone.”

Joel’s demeanor was calm, yet his presence was a heavy shadow, looming over Jamie. “I can get you home quickly,” Joel pressed, his offer carrying an undertone of menace cloaked in false kindness.

Jamie hesitated, glancing back toward the bar, where the distant sounds of laughter and music seemed almost mocking in their cheerfulness. “Okay,” Jamie then said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you,"

Joel’s smile widened, not with warmth but with a predatory satisfaction. He gestured toward the truck, his movements deliberate and controlled. “No problem,"

As Jamie climbed into the passenger seat, the world outside the truck seemed to dissolve into a blur of darkness and shadow. The engine roared to life, its vibrations a stark contrast to the icy resolve simmering within Joel. The truck rumbled into motion, each bump on the road a reminder of the storm brewing in Joel’s heart.

Joel's mind was a tempest, a relentless maelstrom of anger and righteous fury. His thoughts were as fierce and unyielding as a hurricane tearing through a desolate landscape. He was not swayed by fear or hesitation; the night and its secrets wrapped around him like a shroud, fueling his unshakable resolve. He had witnessed your pain, and it had ignited a fire in him—a fire that burned away any feelings inside him.

Jamie, on the other hand, was ensnared in a cocoon of fear and uncertainty. The truck’s interior was suffocating in its silence, punctuated only by the rhythmic hum of the engine. Jamie’s eyes darted nervously from the road to Joel, trying to gauge the other man’s intentions. The weight of his secret pressed down on him like a leaden blanket, each moment of silence more unnerving than the last.

Joel's face was a mask of cold determination, his eyes fixed on the road ahead with a relentless focus. The darkness outside was a metaphor for the storm raging within him, a canvas upon which his resolve was painted in stark, unforgiving lines. He was a man forged from shadows and steel, willing to embrace whatever darkness was necessary to shield those he loved from harm.

As the truck continued its journey, Jamie's unease grew palpable. He realized with a creeping dread that the streets they were navigating were not the ones leading to his home. The road was unfamiliar, winding through the outskirts of town where the lights grew sparse and the shadows deepened.

Jamie swallowed hard, his throat dry and constricted. The weight of his fear pressed down on him as he repeated, “Uh, Mr. Miller, I think you missed the turn.” His voice trembled, betraying his mounting anxiety.

Joel’s response was a mere flicker of acknowledgment, his gaze fixed resolutely on the road ahead, an unyielding expression carved into his features. The night outside seemed to close in around them, the darkness a heavy shroud that swallowed any remnants of comfort. Jamie’s fear mounted with each mile that passed, his discomfort palpable as the unfamiliar roads stretched into an abyss of uncertainty.

“Mr. Miller?” Jamie’s voice wavered again, his nerves frayed. He tried once more to engage Joel, but the older man’s silence was more intimidating than any words could be.

“Joel, are you okay?” Jamie’s question was almost desperate, a thin veneer of concern masking his growing dread. Joel’s eyes remained fixed ahead, his face a mask of cold determination. The silence stretched, a taut string of tension that seemed to vibrate through the air.

“You did this to her,” Joel finally spoke, his voice a low, dangerous growl that cut through the stillness of the night. The words hung in the air like a dark omen, and Jamie froze, his face draining of color. The realization that Joel knew, that Joel had connected the dots, was like a chilling blade pressed against his throat.

Jamie’s breath caught in his throat, his mind racing to form a coherent response. His usual bravado crumbled, replaced by a stammering mess of excuses and denials. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His words faltered, a mix of fear and confusion rendering him almost incoherent.

Joel’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles white as he continued to drive further from the city lights, deeper into the uncharted darkness. The truck’s headlights cut through the night, illuminating the path ahead but leaving the destination shrouded in uncertainty. Joel’s eyes were darkened with an intensity that spoke of a burning resolve. He was a man driven by a fierce need for retribution, his mind a tempest of rage and protective fury.

The truck roared through the darkness, its engine a ferocious growl that mirrored the storm within Joel. The relentless rumble seemed to amplify the cold fury burning in his eyes. Joel’s patience had frayed, and his control, once a bastion of composure, was now cracking under the weight of his rage.

"Don't you dare fucking lie to me," Joel’s voice cut through the night, a blade of ice that seemed to slice through Jamie’s crumbling bravado. The truck hurtled onward, the asphalt giving way to the rugged expanse of the desert, a barren land that seemed to echo the desolation of Jamie’s soul.

Jamie’s attempts at deceit faltered, his voice a stuttering mess of fear and desperation. The darkness outside pressed in, its oppressive silence broken only by the sounds of the truck’s tires shredding through the emptiness.

Joel’s anger reached its breaking point. With a roar that shook the night, he bellowed, “YOU HURT HER!” The words were a thunderclap, a declaration of war against the man who had inflicted so much pain. The truck veered violently off the asphalt, plunging into the desert’s desolate grip, its speed a reckless testament to Joel’s unbridled fury.

"Fuck!" Jamie clutched at the dashboard, his fear morphing into a primal terror as the truck skidded and swerved. "Please! Please! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" as Jamie screamed.

The landscape outside was a blur of shadows and dust, a chaotic dance of darkness that mirrored Jamie’s unraveling sanity. The desert stretched endlessly, an unforgiving expanse that swallowed the truck’s lights and swallowed the screams of its occupants.

When Joel finally brought the truck to a halt, the silence that followed was almost more oppressive than the storm of noise before. Jamie’s eyes darted around, seeing the monstrous transformation of Joel before him—a man driven by a fury so deep it seemed to burn from the inside out. The calm, collected Joel Miller was gone, replaced by a force of nature, a relentless predator with eyes like burning coals.

"Please, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry, Please, don't hurt me," Jamie’s pleas for mercy were swallowed by Joel’s unyielding gaze. The fear in Jamie’s eyes was palpable, a reflection of the terror that now gripped him as he realized the gravity of his situation. “Please, Mr. Miller, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

Joel’s response was cold, his voice a low rumble that held no hint of compassion. “And you must pay for it.” His words were a death knell, an inexorable judgment that left no room for hope.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!" Jamie’s desperate attempts to flee were futile as Joel locked the doors. The finality of the action was a chilling confirmation of Joel’s intent. Jamie’s sobs were raw, a chorus of despair that filled the air as Joel reached beneath the seat and retrieved the hammer.

The metallic glint of the hammer was a dark premonition, a cold harbinger of the violence that was about to unfold. Jamie’s cries for mercy mingled with the sound of the truck’s engine ticking as it cooled in the night’s oppressive silence. His pleas were desperate, trembling with the raw edge of fear as he realized the inescapable fate that awaited him.

“No, no, no! Please don’t! I’m sorry!” Jamie’s voice cracked, each word a plea for a reprieve that would never come. His eyes darted around in frantic desperation, searching for an escape that wasn’t there.

Joel’s expression remained a mask of chilling resolve. The hammer in his hand was a dark and unforgiving symbol of his determination, a tool of retribution that he wielded with a cold precision. As Jamie’s sobs grew more frantic, Joel’s grip tightened, his own emotions a turbulent sea of anger and grim satisfaction.

"No, no, NO!"

With a sudden, powerful swing, Joel drove the hammer into Jamie’s head. The impact was brutal and final, a shattering blow that resonated with a sickening thud. Jamie’s body jerked violently, the force of the hit sending a spray of blood and fragments across the truck’s interior. The sound of the hammer meeting flesh was a grotesque punctuation to Joel’s wrath.

***

The first light of morning filtered through the curtains, it cast a soft, golden glow over the room. You stirred from a fitful sleep, your body heavy and aching from the events of the previous night. The pain, particularly concentrated in your thighs and between your legs, was a constant reminder of the trauma you had endured. Each movement was a delicate balance between discomfort and exhaustion, and you willed yourself to remain still, finding solace in the dim sanctuary of the room.

Your gaze fell upon Joel, who had fallen asleep beside your bed. The sight was both comforting and surreal. His presence was a beacon of safety in the storm that had engulfed your life. Joel, dressed in a snug army-green t-shirt and jeans, looked worn yet strikingly handsome. His features were softened in sleep, a rare vulnerability showing through the rugged exterior you were more accustomed to. His hand rested gently on the bed, his fingers curled around yours, a silent promise of protection and care. His arm was draped across the bed, propping up his head in an awkward but tender manner.

The bucket of warm water and napkin on the nightstand seemed almost out of place against the backdrop of your shared anguish. They were symbols of Joel’s dedication to your comfort, a small oasis of normalcy in the wake of chaos. His thoughtful attention to your wounds was a stark contrast to the violence and fear of the night before.

A wave of conflicting emotions washed over you—relief mingled with guilt, gratitude with sorrow. You marveled at Joel’s dedication, his sleepless vigil a testament to his fierce protectiveness. His tired expression spoke volumes, each line etched into his face a story of his struggle to shield you from harm. Despite the crushing weight of your pain, there was a flicker of warmth in your heart for Joel’s unwavering presence.

You slowly extended your hand, gently squeezing Joel’s fingers. The softness of his touch was a balm to your aching body and soul. Carefully, you called out to him in a whisper, “Joel...”

He stirred, his movements slow and groggy. His eyes fluttered open, revealing the depths of his concern and fatigue. As he became fully awake, his demeanor shifted from the soft vulnerability of sleep to a sharp, focused alertness. He sat up, his gaze quickly assessing your condition with an intensity that spoke of his unyielding commitment to your well-being.

“Hey, you okay? I'm here, baby,” Joel’s voice was rough but filled with genuine concern, the harshness of the night giving way to the tenderness of the morning. His eyes searched yours, trying to gauge the extent of your pain and the depth of your emotional wounds.

As Joel's focus shifted solely to you, the outside world seemed to dissolve into a blur, leaving only the two of you in this tender moment of solace. The ache in your body was still present, a harsh reminder of the pain you had endured, but Joel's presence provided a comforting anchor, grounding you amidst the tumultuous emotions.

"I'm okay, but still hurt," you managed to say, your voice soft and strained. You shifted to a sitting position, wincing as the pain flared. Joel moved carefully to assist you, his hands steady and gentle. His concern was palpable as he looked at you, his gaze searching for any sign of distress.

“Where does it hurt?” Joel asked, his voice a low, soothing murmur.

“Everywhere,” you replied, your voice trembling slightly. “From my legs all the way up.”

Joel nodded, his expression a mixture of sympathy and determination. “Do you need anything?” he asked, his eyes filled with earnestness.

He reached for a glass of water from the nightstand, handing it to you with a steady hand. As you took a sip, your gaze wandered, and you noticed something that made your heart sink. There was blood on Joel’s forehead, a stark contrast against his otherwise rugged features.

“Joel, there’s blood on your forehead,” you said, your voice tinged with concern. You reached out instinctively, touching the area gently. “Are you okay?”

Joel’s hand instinctively went to his forehead, and he glanced at the blood with a faint, dismissive look. “Oh, it’s nothing,” he said quickly, attempting to downplay the situation. “Just bumped into something last night. It’s not a big deal.”

His words were calm, but there was a hint of something guarded in his eyes, a subtle shift that made you feel uneasy. Joel’s attempt to brush off the injury was met with a frown from you, his casual demeanor not fully masking the gravity of the situation. The blood on his forehead was a silent testament to the violence that had unfolded, a stark reminder of the lengths he had gone to protect you.

Joel’s attempt to redirect the conversation was gentle, but there was a firmness in his voice that conveyed his concern. “You don’t need to go to the church fellowship event today,” he said, his tone softer now, but still resolute. “You’ve been through a lot, and you’re not in any condition to perform with the dance troupe.”

The mention of the event brought a rush of urgency and panic. Your heart raced as you remembered the hours of practice and the responsibility you carried for leading the troupe. “No, Joel, I have to go,” you protested, desperation creeping into your voice. “I’ve worked so hard for this. I can’t just not show up.”

Joel’s expression grew more serious, his eyes darkening with concern. “But you’re still not well,” he countered, his voice steady but tinged with worry.

As the reality of your situation sank in, you looked around the room, realizing the intimacy of the setting. Joel was here, and your father had not yet returned. Panic surged through you. “What about my dad? Is he back yet?” you asked urgently.

Joel shook his head slowly. “No, he's not here yet, I already spoke with your mother, made something up so she's not suspicious, said Ellie wants to make sure you're okay and send me here because I told her to prepare for the event,"

Joel’s gaze softened, yet there was a steeliness in his eyes that belied his calm demeanor. “Look, doll, you’re not strong enough to perform,” he said, his voice tender but insistent. “I need you to rest.”

You met his gaze with a determination that belied your frailty. “I’m fine, Joel. I can do it.” Your words were firm, a declaration of your will to push through despite your condition.

Joel’s eyes held a depth of emotion, a storm of conflicting feelings swirling beneath the surface. The concern etched in his features spoke of a man torn between his protective instincts and the need to respect your wishes. His gaze was a turbulent sea, reflecting a depth of care that was both comforting and unsettling.

“Okay...” he said quietly, his voice like a soft breeze before a storm, “But, I need you to tell me right away if you’re not feeling up to it, or anything else. Promise me that.”

You could see the raw intensity in his eyes, a mixture of frustration and affection that made your heart ache. Despite his gruff exterior, his eyes were windows to a soul deeply worried for your well-being.

You nodded slowly, "I promise,"

Joel’s relief was palpable, though he still wore a worried frown. He reached out, his hand brushing against yours with a gentle firmness. “Good,” he said, his voice a low rumble of reassurance. “Now, let’s get you settled," as Joel help you to get up, you held his hand.

"Joel.." you say, "Thank you," you look into his brown eyes, "For protecting me,"

Joel’s eyes held a rare tenderness as you thanked him, a flicker of warmth breaking through the stormy depths of his gaze. The sincerity of your gratitude seemed to touch something deep within him, a part of him that had long been guarded and hidden. His hands, rough and strong, gently gripped your shoulders as he knelt beside you, bringing himself to eye level.

“I’ll do anything to keep you safe,” he said, his voice a low murmur filled with an intensity that spoke of unspoken vows and sacrifices. “I’d burn the world down to see you safe, to make sure you’re protected.” His words were like a fierce storm, powerful and relentless, but also oddly comforting in their sincerity.

The room seemed to shrink around you, the space between you charged with an electric intimacy. Joel’s presence was a fortress, a wall of unwavering strength that shielded you from the chaos and pain of the world outside. His promise was a beacon in the dark, a light that cut through the shadows of your fear and uncertainty.

You leaned in, drawn by the magnetic pull of his words and the fierce protectiveness in his eyes. Your lips met his in a gentle kiss, a silent expression of the gratitude and affection that words alone couldn’t fully convey. The kiss was tender, a soft melding of your emotions and his, a moment where the world outside ceased to exist, and all that mattered was the closeness you shared.

Joel’s reaction was immediate and instinctual. His hand moved to cup your cheek, deepening the kiss with a tenderness that belied his hardened exterior. It was a moment of raw vulnerability, where the strength of his feelings was laid bare in the gentle press of his lips against yours. The kiss lingered, a shared breath of solace and connection, a promise of protection and care that transcended spoken words.

As you pulled back, the connection between you felt stronger, the bond forged in the crucible of your shared pain and Joel’s unwavering resolve. The look in Joel’s eyes was a blend of fierce determination and quiet affection, a testament to his commitment to your safety and well-being. The room, once filled with tension and fear, now held a fragile peace, a space where the echoes of your gratitude and his promise intertwined in a delicate dance of trust and protection.

As the warmth of your kiss lingered, the delicate tranquility of the room was abruptly interrupted by a soft knock at the door. The sound jolted both you and Joel back to reality. Instinctively, you pulled away from Joel, the sudden shift in the atmosphere a stark reminder of the world outside this fragile cocoon of safety.

Your mother’s voice came through the door, tender yet laced with concern. “Sweetheart, you’re awake?”

Joel, with a subtle nod of understanding, shifted aside, allowing your mother to enter. Her gaze was a mixture of relief and worry as she took in the sight of you, still seated on the bed but looking more composed than you had the night before.

"I’m fine, Mama” you said, your voice steady despite the lingering pain. “I’m feeling better, just a bit sore.”

She approached you with a comforting touch, her maternal instincts immediately taking over. “Are you sure, dear? You still look pale."

You shook your head, a sense of determination anchoring your resolve. “I have to go to the church fellowship event. I’ve practiced so hard for this, and it’s really important."

The conversation between you and your mother continued, the urgency of the situation mounting. “But you’re still in pain,” she insisted, her voice edged with a mix of worry and frustration. “It’s not worth making yourself worse.”

“I should go, Ma. I’m fine, really,” you insisted, the determination in your voice evident. You understood the importance of this event, not just for yourself but for your family’s reputation and your father’s expectations.

Joel, sensing the growing tension and the need for him to avoid your father’s possible return, decided it was best to make his exit. He rose from his seat, his movements deliberate and calm despite the underlying tension. “Well, maybe I should get going,” he said, his tone professional yet carrying a hint of warmth. “Ellie needs my help to prepare for the event."

Your mother nodded, her eyes showing a mix of gratitude and concern as she glanced between you and Joel. “Thank you, Joel. I appreciate all your help. Please, let Ellie know we’re grateful.”

"Thank you, Mr. Miller," you said to him.

Joel gave a nod, a subtle acknowledgment of your mother’s thanks, and made his way to the door. He paused briefly, casting one last, meaningful look your way. The intensity in his gaze was softened by a flicker of concern, a silent promise that he was there for you, even if from a distance.

As Joel left, you turned back to your mother, her hand still tightly clasped in yours. The weight of the conversation and the urgency of the event pressed heavily on your shoulders, but you could feel a new layer of understanding and connection between you and your mother. The barriers that had once seemed impenetrable were beginning to show signs of cracking, revealing the raw, unspoken truths that had long been buried beneath the surface.

With Joel’s departure, the room felt slightly emptier, but there was also a sense of quiet relief. Your mother took a deep breath, trying to steady her emotions, and then looked at you with a mixture of resignation and determination.

Your mother’s expression softened as she saw the fear in your eyes, a fear she had known all too well herself. “Mama, please,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I don’t want to upset Father. If I don’t perform, he’ll be so angry, and I can’t… I can’t go through that again.”

She took a deep breath, her hand tightening around yours as she searched for the right words. Your eyes welled up with tears as you looked at her, the weight of your father’s expectations pressing down on you like a heavy shroud. “If I don’t do this, he will...I can’t take it, Mama. I can’t take it anymore,"

For the first time in a long while, your mother didn’t look away. Instead, she held your gaze, her own eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I’m so sorry for not protecting you, for not standing up to him. I’ve been a coward, hiding behind my role as a good Christian wife, but in doing so, I’ve failed you. I’ve failed as a mother.”

Her words hit you like a wave, a raw confession that peeled back layers of pain and resentment. You could see the torment in her eyes, the struggle between the life she had chosen and the daughter she had neglected. “Mama…” you began, but she shook her head, stopping you.

“No, let me say this,” she insisted, her voice growing steadier as she spoke. “I’ve watched your father take out his anger on you, and I’ve done nothing. I told myself it was for the sake of the family, for our standing in the church, but those were just excuses. The truth is, I was scared. I’ve been scared for so long that I forgot what it means to be brave, to be a mother who truly protects her child.”

She reached out, her hands trembling as she cupped your face, her touch tender but firm. “I’m sorry for every time I stood by and let him hurt you. I’m sorry for every time I didn’t speak up, for every time I told you to be obedient, to not make him angry. I was wrong, and I’m so, so sorry.”

Tears spilled down your cheeks as you listened, your heart aching with the weight of her words. You had waited so long to hear something like this, to have her acknowledge the pain you had endured. But it was bittersweet, the apology tainted by the years of silence that had come before it.

“I promise, I won’t let him hurt you again.”

The sincerity in her voice, the raw emotion in her eyes, stirred something deep within you—a fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, things could be different. “Mama…” you whispered again, your voice choked with emotion.

She pulled you into a hug, holding you tightly as if she could shield you from all the hurt in the world. “You’re my daughter, and I love you,” she said softly. “I should have said that more often. I should have shown it. But I’m saying it now, and I mean it. I love you."

You buried your face in her shoulder, the tears flowing freely as years of pain and longing poured out. It was a moment of profound connection, a bridge built over the chasm of fear and regret that had separated you for so long.

For the first time, you felt like you weren’t alone in this, that maybe your mother was finally ready to stand by your side. It was a fragile hope, but it was hope nonetheless, and in that moment, it was enough.

As you pulled away from your mother’s embrace, the warmth of her words still lingered in your heart, but the weight of your decision pressed heavily on your shoulders. “Mama, but I have to perform,” you insisted, your voice steady though your body still ached. “I can’t abandon my friends like that. We’ve worked so hard.”

Your mother studied you for a moment, a mixture of pride and concern flickering in her eyes. Finally, she nodded. “Alright, sweetheart,” she said softly. “But let’s get you cleaned up before your father gets home. We don’t want him asking any questions.”

With that, the two of you moved with quiet efficiency, working to cover the evidence of the previous night’s horrors. The bruises and soreness were masked with layers of foundation, and by the time you were done, you looked almost as if nothing had happened. The pain still lingered beneath the surface, but on the outside, you appeared fresh and composed.

Just as you finished, you heard the front door creak open. Your father was home. Your mother gave you a quick, reassuring glance before heading out to greet him. You followed a few steps behind, your heart pounding in your chest.

Your father’s voice was the first thing you heard, deep and authoritative as always. “How’s everything been while I was gone?” he asked your mother as he set down his bag.

“Everything’s been fine,” your mother replied, her voice steady. “How was New Orleans? How did the preachings go?”

“Productive,” your father answered curtly. “The congregation there is strong, but they need guidance. I gave them what they needed.”

His gaze then shifted to you, and your breath caught in your throat. You quickly smoothed out your expression and stepped forward to greet him. “Hello, Father,” you said, your voice carefully controlled.

He looked you up and down, his eyes narrowing slightly as he scrutinized your appearance. “Are you ready for today’s performance?” he asked, his tone as stern as ever.

“Yes, Father,” you replied, your heart racing as his gaze lingered on you. “I’ve been practicing hard,"

He nodded, his expression unreadable. “Good. Have you been a good girl while I was away? Helping Pastor Ben and your mother?”

“Yes, Father,” you said quickly, keeping your voice steady.

He seemed to study you for a moment longer, his eyes narrowing as if trying to catch something out of place. You held your breath, praying that the makeup was enough to conceal the bruises. Finally, he nodded, seemingly satisfied. “Alright then. We’ll head to the church together. I’ll go change first.”

With that, he turned and headed toward his room, leaving you and your mother standing there. “Make me a coffee,” he added over his shoulder to your mother as he disappeared down the hallway.

You let out a quiet sigh of relief as your mother turned to you, her expression a mix of concern and support. You weren’t out of the woods yet, but for now, you had managed to keep things under control.

As you waited in the living room for your father to return, the weight of what lay ahead pressed down on you. The church, the performance, the constant need to appear perfect—it was all so exhausting.

Meanwhile, your father, in his room, couldn’t shake the odd feeling gnawing at him. Something about you had been off since he walked in the door. You looked put together, your makeup flawless, your demeanor obedient—but there was something beneath the surface that unsettled him. As he changed out of his travel clothes, his mind kept drifting back to the look in your eyes. He knew you too well. You were hiding something.

On his way back to the living room, your father passed by your bedroom door, which had been left slightly ajar. Something in the room caught his eye, a subtle shift in the air, and he stopped. He hesitated for a moment, then slowly pushed the door open wider and stepped inside.

The room was as you had left it, seemingly in order, but as his gaze swept across the space, his eyes landed on something out of place—a wallet on the floor, half-hidden under the bed. His brow furrowed as he walked over and bent down to pick it up. As he reached for the wallet, a small slip of paper slid out and fluttered to the ground.

Curious, he picked it up, and as he unfolded it, a photograph slipped into view. His breath caught in his throat as he stared at the image—one that shouldn’t exist, one that told him everything he needed to know.

It was a photo of you and Joel.

Taken in a photo booth at the Houston night fair just a couple of weeks ago, the series of images unfolded like a nightmare. The first captured your innocent smile, Joel’s arm draped protectively around your shoulders. The next, you pressing a kiss to Joel's cheek, was enough to make his heart pound with a mix of disbelief and growing fury. But the final image—the one that made his blood boil—showed the two of you locked in a passionate kiss, your hands around his neck, fingers tangled in his hair, while Joel’s hands held you close, deepening the kiss with an intimacy that could not be misunderstood.

The reality of what he was seeing hit him like a punch to the gut.

The world seemed to narrow around him as he stared at the photograph, the air in the room growing thick with his mounting rage. How long had this been going on? How could you, his pure daughter? with Joel—the man who was supposed to be his friend, a man he had trusted?

His hands trembled, the photo crumpling slightly in his grip. The room suddenly felt too small, too stifling, as if the walls themselves were closing in on him. He could feel the anger, a searing heat that spread from his chest to his temples, blurring his vision with the sheer force of it.

In that moment, a dark cloud settled over him, a mixture of fury and cold calculation. He knew now that you had been lying to him, deceiving him in the worst possible way. The facade of control he held over you began to crack, and his anger surged.

You had been tainted by Joel.

His thoughts spiraled into a storm of biblical proportions, each one more damning than the last. To him, this wasn’t just a betrayal—it was an unforgivable sin, a defilement of everything he had tried to instill in you. The preacher in him seized on the gravity of it, framing it as the ultimate transgression, a stain on your soul that could only be cleansed through punishment, through retribution. You had not just sinned against him, but against God, against the very order of the world as he saw it. He was ashamed of you.

As he turned to leave your room, the photograph burned in his mind, each image seared into his memory as a reminder of the depth of your sins. His mind raced, formulating the words, the punishment, the retribution that would follow. He would make sure you understood the gravity of your actions, that Joel understood the consequences of his. This was not just a matter of discipline; it was a matter of redemption, of cleansing his family of the shame you had brought upon it.

"Father? What's going on?"

***

Joel entered his house to find Ellie already dressed. Tommy and Maria were there too, with Little Luke gurgling happily in his mother's arms. The small family was ready, waiting for Joel to join them for the church event.

As soon as Joel stepped inside, Tommy glanced at him, noting his distracted demeanor. "Joel, where’ve you been? We’re almost late for the service."

Joel stood still, his expression hard to read, his thoughts elsewhere. The tension in his body was palpable, and it was clear that something was weighing heavily on his mind.

Tommy exchanged a concerned look with Maria, then called out again, his voice tinged with worry. "Joel, you alright?"

Snapped out of his reverie, Joel responded in a low, gruff voice as he started walking towards the stairs. "I'm fine, Tommy. Y’all go ahead without me. I’ll catch up. Just need to take a shower first."

Tommy watched him go, his brows furrowed in confusion. Joel wasn’t acting like himself, and the unease in the room grew as they watched him retreat up the stairs. Maria shifted Luke in her arms, her expression mirroring Tommy's concern, but they didn’t push further. They knew better than to press Joel when he was like this.

As Joel closed the door to his room, the walls seemed to close in around him, the familiar space offering no comfort. He stripped off his clothes mechanically, his movements stiff, almost robotic, as if on autopilot. The cold bathroom tiles pressed against his feet, grounding him momentarily, but it wasn’t enough to quiet the storm raging in his mind.

He stepped into the shower and turned on the cold water, letting it cascade over his head, drenching his hair, and running down his body. The chill was sharp, biting against his skin, but it wasn’t enough to wash away the darkness that clung to him. The cold water was like a penance, a physical manifestation of the anger that churned within him. It flowed over his shoulders, down his back, mixing with the sweat and grime of the day, but it couldn’t cleanse him of the memories that haunted him.

As the water beat down on him, images from the night before flashed before his eyes, searing into his mind with a vividness that made him clench his fists. He could see Jamie’s face, twisted with fear and pain, as Joel confronted him. The sound of his own voice, raw with rage, echoed in his ears, mingling with the sickening thud of the hammer striking flesh and bone.

The first strike had been deliberate, calculated, smashing into Jamie’s skull with brutal force. He remembered the way the boy’s eyes had gone wide, the life leaving them almost instantly, but Joel hadn’t stopped. The fury inside him had demanded more, had driven him to raise the hammer again and again, even as Jamie lay lifeless on the ground. Each blow was a release, a catharsis, as the hammer connected with sickening squelches, turning bone to pulp, spraying blood in every direction.

Joel’s breath had come in ragged gasps as he continued to hit, his body acting on pure instinct, on the overwhelming need to obliterate the source of his anger. By the time he was done, Jamie’s head was nothing more than a ruined mess, unrecognizable, the blood spattered across Joel’s face and clothes like a grotesque reminder of what he’d done.

Even now, under the cold spray of the shower, Joel could feel the phantom weight of the hammer in his hand, the sticky warmth of blood on his skin. He could hear the dull thud of metal meeting flesh, the sound reverberating in his mind like a macabre metronome. It was a sound that would haunt him for the rest of his life, a grim reminder of the thing he would do for you. To protect you.

The cold water did little to numb the memories, the violence replaying itself in a relentless loop. Jamie’s face, the fear that had flashed in his eyes before the first blow had landed, was burned into Joel’s mind. The brutality of it, the sheer force of his rage, was something he hadn’t fully anticipated. He had known he was capable of violence—he’d done plenty in his lifetime—but this had been different. This had been personal. This had been revenge.

As the water pounded against his skin, Joel tried to focus on the chill, the sharpness of it, hoping it would pull him out of the dark spiral. But it was futile. The memory clung to him, heavy and suffocating, as if Jamie’s blood was still on his hands, refusing to wash away.

He had justified it to himself in the moment—Jamie had deserved it. For what he had done, for the way he had hurt her. Joel had wanted to protect you, to ensure that Jamie could never lay a hand on you again, and in that blinding fury, he had become something monstrous, something he had thought he left behind a long time ago.

The boy's voice still ringing in his head.

"NO!"

Jamie’s screams became strangled, reduced to guttural noises as the hammer struck again and again. The once-bleeding man now lay in a crumpled heap, his pleas silenced by the relentless assault. Blood splattered across the truck’s seats and floor, a vivid testament to the violence that had transpired.

Joel’s breathing was heavy, his hands trembling slightly as he surveyed the aftermath. The interior of the truck was a chaotic tableau of violence, with blood staining every surface, a stark contrast to the pristine desert night outside. The once-clear lines between justice and vengeance had blurred in the haze of his fury.

The desert around them remained eerily still, a stark witness to the brutal act that had unfolded within the confines of the truck. Joel’s eyes were hard, the rage within him momentarily spent but leaving behind a cold emptiness.

He turned away from Jamie’s broken body, the hammer lay on the truck’s floor, a silent witness to the dark turn of events. Joel’s thoughts drifted back to you, his resolve to protect you unwavering despite the blood that now marked his hands and the interior of his truck.

His fingers moved methodically, driven by a deep, visceral need to erase the evidence, to scrub away the blood that had stained not just his truck, but his soul.

He dragged Jamie’s body to the back of his truck, the weight of the lifeless form a grim reminder of the violence that had transpired. The tarpaulin was a makeshift shroud, hiding the brutal reality beneath its coarse fabric. As he carefully wrapped the body, Joel's movements were precise, each action a testament to his resolve to contain the fallout of his rage.

The interior of the truck was a chaotic scene of carnage, the once-pristine surfaces now marred by splatters of blood. Joel worked tirelessly, scrubbing away the stains with a rag that seemed too small for the enormity of the task. The blood, now a dark, congealed mess, clung to every surface. Joel’s efforts were relentless, each swipe of the cloth a desperate attempt to cleanse not just the physical space, but the emotional turmoil that lingered in the air. It was as if he were trying to erase the very essence of the violence, to wash away the sin that had seeped into the fabric of his life.

As he poured water over the dirt to dilute the remaining traces of blood, the sound of someone's voice cut through the silence, a chilling revelation that made Joel’s heart skip a beat.

“You’re gonna burn in hell,”

It's pastor Ben.

Ben’s voice echoed with an unsettling clarity. Joel’s body went rigid. He turned slowly, his heart pounding in his chest, as he faced the figure emerging from the shadows. Pastor Ben, standing with an air of grim determination, had followed him all this time, tracking the aftermath of the night’s violence.

It turned out Ben has been following you, watching you all this time—Ben had seen everything. He had been there when Jamie had assaulted you, and now he had witnessed the culmination of Joel’s fury.

“Joel, you’re a monster. I’ve seen you with her. You should be in jail, and you will burn in hell for what you’ve done. Murder is a grave sin, and you’ve committed it without remorse."

Ben's voice cut through the desert night with a chilling clarity. Joel’s body stiffened, and he turned slowly to face the source of the accusation. Ben stood there, framed by the dim glow of the truck’s headlights, his face a mask of grim determination and righteous fury. The weight of his presence pressed heavily on Joel, a stark reminder of the scrutiny and judgment that now surrounded him.

Ben’s condemnation was unrelenting. “You’re not just a murderer, Joel. You’re a depraved man who preys on innocent girls. You’ll face the wrath of God for your sins. You’ve defiled yourself, and you’ve defiled her.”

Joel, who had initially been uncertain about Ben's identity, now connected the dots. This was the pastor who had condemned him, the one you had spoken about. The pieces of the puzzle fell into place, and Joel's heart pounded with a mix of fear and rage. His secret had been exposed, and Ben’s condemnation was a direct threat to everything Joel was trying to protect.

Feeling cornered and desperate, Joel realized there was no choice but to eliminate this threat. He seized the hammer, his mind racing with a singular purpose: to silence Ben and protect you.

Joel lunged at Ben, the hammer’s cold metal a grim reassurance in his hand. Ben, recognizing the imminent danger, bolted into the darkness. The night air was filled with the frantic sound of their pursuit, Ben’s footsteps echoing in the still desert.

Joel was relentless, driven by a combination of fear, anger, and desperation. He tackled Ben to the ground with a forceful impact, the two men grappling in the dust. Ben struggled fiercely, but Joel’s determination and strength overwhelmed him.

With a grim resolve, Joel brought the hammer down, each strike a release of his pent-up fury and fear. The hammer met Ben’s skull with a brutal finality, each impact reverberating with the sickening sound of metal against bone. The desert was silent save for the harsh breaths of Joel and the final, dying gasps of Pastor Ben.

As the violence subsided, Joel stood over Ben’s lifeless body, the hammer still clenched in his hand. The reality of what he had done settled heavily upon him. The desert night was an eerie witness to the brutality, the air thick with the smell of blood and the weight of Joel’s actions.

Joel's thinking about you, his resolve to protect you unwavering despite the blood on his hands and the chaos that surrounded him. He had done what he felt was necessary to you, so nobody gonna take you away from him, but the cost of his actions was a burden he would carry with him, a reminder of the darkness that had consumed his life.

Joel’s thoughts snapped back to the present as he emerged from the shower, the cold water rinsing away the remnants of the night’s brutality. As he dried himself, he couldn’t shake the haunting memories of the violence he had committed. His hands, once steady and sure, now trembled with the weight of his actions. The sight of his blood-stained palms, now scrubbed clean but still bearing the marks of his deeds, reminded him of the dark path he had trodden.

He had buried them deep that known only to him. These actions, buried under layers of dirt and deceit, were the grim price he had paid to ensure your safety.

Joel’s resolve to protect you was unwavering. He was willing to sacrifice anything, to face any consequence, to keep you safe from harm. His thoughts were a turbulent sea, with the constant push and pull of guilt and determination. The darkness that had overtaken his life was a relentless force, shaping his every decision and action.

Yet, even as he clung to his resolve, Joel knew that every action had its price. These bones he's hiding will bound him to the consequences of his choices.

The world was a harsh and unforgiving place, and the karma of his actions would eventually come calling.

As he prepared to leave for the church event, Joel’s mind was a storm of conflicting emotions. He had done what he believed was necessary to keep you safe.

He will do anything to keep you safe. to protect you.

He will do anything. Anything.

And for the first time in a while, he pray to God to keep you safe and forgive these bones he's hiding.

145 notes · View notes

anki-of-beleriand · 9 months ago

Text

A Heart Made of Glass ch. 11

Summary: Ten years ago you left Wanda and the Avengers to heal your broken heart. You never stopped being a hero, just as you never stopped being in love with her. But life had to go on.

Now, after all that time, she is back and with her is a young woman needing help and an enemy that may not be as afraid as Wanda to lay a claim on you.

Pairings: Wanda Maximoff x Powered!F!Reader - Scarlet Witch x PoweredF!Reader - Past Wanda Maximoff x Vision

Warnings: Angst, drama, mentions of cheating, fluff, violence, smut, Switch!Reader, internalize homophobia, hurt, comfort, Wanda being a complete mess, anger management issues, jealousy, Requited/Unrequited love, idiots in love, swearing, mentions of alcohol. More tags as the story progess.

Author's Note: This story is a continuation of Dirty Little Secret I was really surprised at the response I got for the story, I did all the tags you guys ask for but if I forgot someone please do not hesitate to tell me. Thank you for the support.

I am back!! This chaptr took longer than I anticipated, I didn't know exactly how to continue even though I have an aidea of what I want. So here it is the new chapter, hope you guys like it!

Wanda is finally getting there, and Reader has to face so harsh truths about herself and those around herself.

Please, do remember English is no my mother tongue so forgive my grammar, spelling and funny mistakes.

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14 - Chapter 15 - Chapter 16 - Chapter 17 - Epilogue

Chapter 11

Wanda and Scarlet

Everyone left as soon as you disappeared with the twins upstairs.

The time seemed to pass without your consent, and by the time the twins had fallen asleep and you were back on the first floor the world around you felt different. You stepped into the living room, your shadows flickering to make sure you were alone while you wandered around the place to take a closer look at the pictures decorating the place. You had always like pictures, and in general, you were good at photography; you realized every single one of the pictures you were seeing had a single purpose: to tell the story of yours and Wanda’s life.

It started with a simple friendship, the both of you were young and as the images move through the years you could see fear behind the attraction, the realisation of love and the tentativeness of a relationship until, at the end, all you could see was a happy ending. You tilted your head, your eyes checking the images over and over again until they fell on a missing section. A missing part of the timeline.

“We broke up one day,” you held yourself tight, your ears twitching with your eyes narrowing lightly, the woman behind you approached slowly, her voice sending a shiver down your back.

Wanda wrapped her arms around herself, her voice carried the weight of unwanted memories.

“I was scared, it was the first time she said she loved me.” You turned slightly looking at the woman out of the corner of your eye.

“Did you cheat on her?” You couldn't help but ask, your voice dripping with old resentment.

Wanda finally stood beside you, and she was so much different than your own Wanda. Taller, calm, with a confidence that poured out of her with an electric jolt of power you were not familiar with. The woman dropped her eyes, then you found yourself looking into her green ones.

“I broke her heart, and then I started dating Vision.” Wanda pursed her lips, her eyes narrowing lightly. “I pretend to be normal to honour my parents by being what they expected me to be.”

You clenched your jaw, the tension evident in your posture.

“We almost got married until…I almost lost her.” Wanda whispered, her face breaking into a mask of pain. “She had disappeared on me, I couldn't reach her out and then, one day she…she came back and saved me and Vis…”

Wanda let out a bitter laughter, tears rolling down her eyes.

“I almost lost her because I was afraid and I just…I couldn’t let her go afterwards. I fought hard to earn her forgiveness, and her love again.”

You swallowed down your own tears, turning away from this Wanda before letting your eyes wandered around a story you had always wished for. You could feel the weight of her stare on you, the poking of her presence waiting for the right moment to either talk to you, or push for answers to questions you were not ready to hear.

In the end you stopped on the one picture you had feared, the one you had seen before but with a different individual smiling back at you.

“They look like you…and me.” You finally said turning to Wanda, this time around the smile that broke her façade was one of pure bliss.

The other woman stepped forward, her eyes drifting to the picture and then to you. She had seen enough inside your head to know this might hurt in ways she could only imagine, and a part of Wanda was completely baffled by the mistakes done without a single thought of the consequences. She had to wonder, though, how much of those mistakes grew into resentment and how many of them were fear of allowing love in.

“They were our little miracle.” Wanda whispered, her voice softened all of a sudden before she closed the distance between you and her, and this time around you couldn’t look away or stepped away from her overwhelming persona.

“They were possible because of you and me, Y/N.” Her words made you shiver, the touch of her skin against yours was electrifying. “We weren’t even trying, and when I found out it had been me the one getting pregnant I was scared of you finding out.”

“Why?” You finally asked furrowing your brows, Wanda cocked a brow with her eyes gleaming challenging at you.

“Because of your thoughts, because of your doubts.” Wanda sighed cupping your face with her hand, “when I approached you my main fear was of you thinking I cheated.”

Your body tensed hardening your stare trying to ignore the tenderness and the understanding in those green eyes you had dreamed about so many times. It still hurt. It hurt like the very first time you fell in love with her, and the first time you saw the video of her and Vision. You closed your eyes, but never stopped feeling the woman in front of you, so much like your Wanda, yet so different than her.

Wanda opened her lips, her heart yearning to get you closer to feel as if you were real. As if you were her Y/N, but she couldn’t stop feeling the coldness, the anger, the sadness pouring out of you from your every pore.

When Wanda spoke again, she did so with the same tone of voice she used that very first time. The one that had always told Y/N that she was loved that she was cherished, that she was everything Wanda needed.

“When I told her about the pregnancy, Tommy and Billy made sure to help me out. I don’t know how, and I don’t know why…” Wanda let out a breathless chuckle, “but when I told her, it just clicked. It was as if she could feel them, and she could sense the familiarity in them. They were as much hers as they were mine.”

“I felt them.” The words left your mouth before you could prevent it. You lifted your face to the ceiling, furrowing your brows while your powers ignited with the familiarity the twins brought to you. “It was strange, yet familiar…And I…”

You stopped right before you could say more than you meant to, you lifted your eyes only then taking notice of how close this Wanda was to you. You could feel her warm breath on your face, her eyes gleaming with a deep green that showed all the love she felt for you.

Correction, for the version of yourself in this universe.

Not you.

Never you.

Your whole demeanour changed in the blink of an eye. Your body tensed, and you stepped back until there was only coldness and distance between you and Wanda. And in that moment, your heart broke all over again for the things you had just discovered in a world that was not your own.

“I can’t…” You whispered; Wanda lifted her hand but she hesitated stepping back as well.

It was in that moment you thought about the videos you received; those chapters of a story Wanda had lived in world she had created. The twins that had come to life as the children of Vision, the sudden mess that became out of such a magic, and then the piercing pain inside your chest when you realized Wanda was even further away than where she had been the first time the both of you broke up.

Your mind quivered breaking into a flow of memories you had tried to contain behind the shadows, and your chest shrank into a deep void filled with coldness and emptiness that left you breathless with desperation clinging to your senses.

Wanda stepped back; she creased her brows watching as your powers flickered around her. You clenched your jaw tilting your head until your footsteps take you out of the house. The world around you trembled surrounding you in complete darkness until all that was left was the single, crimson light of Wanda gleaming in the distance.

“Why are you so hurt, Y/N?” She asked, and her voice was like a dagger piercing your soul and twisting the memories of what could had been.

Instead of answering, instead of voicing your frustrations you broke down with tears rolling down your cheeks and the woman you loved holding you tightly. You hugged her tightly knowing, in this world, she was yours as much as you were hers and, even if it was for a brief moment, you could pretend this was your life.

And that was all that matter at the moment.

________________________________________________

You had been watching the routine from afar.

Billy and Tommy were extraordinary, their powers had been developing along with their physical attributes under the watchful eye of your counterpart and Wanda. Your heart twisted every time they looked at you or addressed you in such a familiar and loving way. The way kids sought out their parents, and it broke your heart the same way it was breaking Wanda’s.

“You were quite good to them, though I am pretty sure Billy noticed you were not his mother.” The voice was familiar to you, you had heard him a thousand times teasing and overall being a complete nuisance until he was finally killed by Thanos.

Loki Odinson was looking completely different to the Loki you had met back home.

His hair was around his shoulders, and he was wearing a dark suit with a tie matching the green of his magic. He gave you a quick once over, his eyes cold and calculating, while his hand twitched around calling upon a spell. You turned completely getting your body ready for a fight, the god smirked and soon you let out a gasp filled with an exclamation of pain as your back hit the ground.

“Not as fast as you used to, I see.”

“You just wait until I get use to this stranger’s body, then you will wish I was this slow.”

“Indeed.” He replied with just a hint of sarcasm in his voice, he stood by your side stretching out a hand to help you up.

You eyed the hand before taking it, the strength he used was enough to tell you he was not someone to mess with. Yet, there was something different about this Loki; he was calmer, more collected and with a hidden force that made you curious just to know the story behind the Asgardians in this universe.

“So, you played for the good guys in this universe?”

Loki scowled at the question walking past you until he reached the porch steps sitting down.

“I have never been part of the bad guys, but I have never seen eye to eye with Thor or some of those idiots he calls friends,” Loki leaned back settling his eyes on you, “I find it insulting to label people in such a black and white vision of life, when you and I know, that people and everyone in general is just…”

“Complicated.” You finished narrowing your eyes at Loki, the young male smirked tilting his head to one side.

“Exactly. Now, let’s get down to business, how much do you know of what happened before you got here?”

__________________________________

Another day sneaked through the clouds, the sun shone right above the heads of the agents surrounding the area around the dome.

Yelena was playing with the knife you had given to her for her birthday, her eyebrows creased together while the TV got ready to play the same chapter of your boring life over and over again. Yelena wished whoever was controlling the show would at least get new ideas, or at least let all of you spice things up because this was getting ridiculous.

There was a loud beep coming from the screen, and the image in the TV flickered between colours and black and white. Yelena almost fell off her chair when you appeared on the screen, this time around the story was different, and for the first time Yelena wasn’t sure if this was a good or a bad thing.

“Natasha! You better come here right now!”

*****

The morning light sneaked through the bedroom curtains. The warm of a single ray of sunshine shook you from your slumber, without really opening your eyes you tried to cover up your face knowing that full consciousness poked through your brain.

Continuing with your marvellous sleep would not be possible anymore.

You furrowed your brows, turning to the side while stretching your arm to try and hug the woman you shared your bed with.

Wanda.

A jolt of electricity went from your brain to your body, your heart beating at an anormal speed while you sat down in the bed. You glanced around the room but everything was the same as the day before, and the before that one. You frowned lifting a hand to your face, your thoughts came crashing down without any specific order.

Your wife. Her name was…

You turned to your bedside table, your mind flashed the memory of a single frame with the woman holding onto you smiling brightly. Your frown deepened, the name dancing inside your mind but unable to make sense.

It's going to be okay, my love, don't take the pill. Don't take it and you and I will be together again.

The voice inside your head whispered, the sweet tone was familiar, your heart jumped with anticipation. You turned on your side ready to leave the bed when the door of the room opened and another woman came right in.

She had dark hair, her lips full and red, while those eyes gleamed with a strange light.

“Good morning, baby, did you sleep well?” She came onto you leaning in to seal her words with a kiss.

It felt wrong, but you answered to the kiss lazily with the pretension of being just awake for a couple of minutes. The woman narrowed her eyes though the smile never left her face, she leaned back before making her way to the curtains and opening them with a yank of her hands.

“Today is a beautiful day, and last night was just amazing my love, I really enjoy it when you let me use you hard.” Her words pretended to be flirty, with a teasing undertone she tried to converge with the sultry stare she sent your way.

You shifted uncomfortably, this time around you wandered through your body to validate the veracity of her words. You didn't feel sore, but of course it could also be the effect of the drug or whatever it was you were in. You stood up making your way towards the woman.

Agatha.

Your face broke into another smile, your arms wrapping around her before leaning in to suck on her pulse point. Agatha lifted her hands closing them around your biceps, a sudden gasp left her lips and she tilted her head to give you more access.

“I love it when you let me be in charge, love.” You whispered in her ear, your lips teasing the shell of her ear, your eyes narrowing when the fixated on the flickering reality behind the woman.

“Mmm, I can tell you want more, but today we have the event in the school and we cannot miss it, I'm still competing for first place in the desserts contest.” Agatha stepped back her eyes dark and dangerous, a hint of lust gleaming inside them.

This was the very first time you approached her out of your free will, and the woman was excited. If you were already looking Agatha out and making these advances it meant her magic was growing bending the reality and helping her get what she wanted. Soon Scarlet and Wanda would no longer be an issue and you would be next.

“Very well, but you won't escape, Missy, I will have you later on.” You winked at her turning to make your way to the bathroom, Agatha called out to you stepping closer while lifting a single pill in her hand.

“I will wait patiently for you, now be a good girl and take your medication and take a bath.”

Your smile never faltered taking the pill you put it right away in your mouth swallowing in front of the woman before entering the bathroom to get ready for the day. Agatha stood there for a moment, her eyes squinting trying to catch anything unusual but soon the shower started running and you started humming distractedly. The dark-haired woman smirked and left, the world around her flickering from purple to red.

*****

The day was bright and warm.

It was a complete contrast of the weather America had suffered in Norway. She glanced at the sky, then at the buildings around her, noticing for the very first time the forms of other people walking around the lanes in front of their homes. She frowned stepping back inside the house where Wanda had been recovering after her session with Agatha, she knelt beside the other woman lifting a hand to measure the temperature.

“Today I don't have a fever.” Wanda opened her eyes offering a half smile to the teen.

“That's good.” America sighed checking Wanda before sitting down on the floor. “You look weak.”

“I'm okay.” Wanda sat down slowly, she grabbed the pillows on the sofa tightly clenching her eyes close. “Scarlet is the one doing most of the work.”

America scoffed looking away from Wanda, that was another part of this crazy plan she didn't like. Whatever had happened before America came into the game, Wanda had detached herself from her powers and the part of her that had always been ready to fight for you. She had seen the suffering behind those green eyes, the pain in Wanda’s voice and the defeat in her posture, she had come to terms that you would never be Wanda’s and that she would always be in love with someone that didn't want her back.

The world had been unfair to you and Wanda, and the both of you had given into miscommunications and pride to even attempt a shaky friendship. America pursed her lips glancing at the coffee table where Wanda had placed the necklace she wore at all times.

“You are Scarlet.” America finally replied, locking her eyes with those of Wanda, “you and her are one and the same, you told me yourself that you could feel everything she did and that…”

“I know.” Wanda stood up on shaky legs, she pressed her lips together leaning in to grab the necklace. “Let's get ready, Agatha is finally confident enough that the world around her is of her own creation and we need to make the most of this chance to wake Y/N and get her help to break the spell.”

“Wanda?” America asked tentatively, she could tell the other woman tensed waiting for the question.

America hesitated before stepping closer, “are you sure this is going to work?”

“It has to.” Wanda sighed glancing to the floor, “Agatha won't rest until she had completed the ritual and drained me of my powers, then she would move onto Y/N…”

“And finally, me.” America wrapped her arms around herself, her eyes tearing up hating people around her kept being hurt because of her powers. Because of who she was.

Wanda put her hands on her shoulders, she offered a tender smile and her eyes gleamed with determination.

“Nothing bad is going to happen, we will make this work and then we will deal with Agatha.”

“Would you fuse with Scarlet?” America gauged Wanda's expression, she could see the fear behind those green eyes. “I mean, she is you after all and perhaps in that way you and Y/N…”

“Even if we were to do this, America, she is…she would never…” Wanda let out a heavy sigh, her hand putting her hair back holding onto everything she wanted to say, everything she had been experiencing ever since she got a chance to see you again.

“It's never going to happen, she doesn't love me anymore and I broke any chances to be with her a long time ago.”

America opened her mouth to say something but Wanda silenced her with a gesture of her hands.

“No, she is not…when I accepted this I knew what I was getting into.” Wanda couldn't help the bitterness in her voice, “I knew it would hurt and we would never be nothing more than allies, I just…”

There were no more words, Wanda strsightned up turning her back to the teen.

“I’m going to get ready, I suggest you do the same.”

Wanda didn’t say anything, without tuning around she made her way back to her room and got the bath ready. She held back her tears, tired of the pain this reunion with you had brought to her heart. She knew she had to pay for her sins, what she didn’t know was how high of a price she would have to cover for everything to at least be forgiven. She had been paying her mistakes from day one, without a single moment of peace or redemption.

The water fell on her washing away the painful pressure resting on her chest, her fist clenched tightly as she went along with the plan, with the memories, with everything Agatha made her lived all over again in order to get deeper into her powers. Wanda was not completely sure she understood, and Scarlet had been unable to be cooperative unless you were involved; everything turned out to be a complete mess, and the young witch had to wonder if perhaps outside this reality there was someone trying to help them out solve the mess they were in.

If there was someone out there that was not blaming Wanda for yet another invented reality.

Wanda closed her eyes, her body flinched with the sudden jolt of electricity that went through her limbs all the way to the very core of her soul. She clenched her jaw close, the world flickered for a moment until she felt the pulse of energy gathering around her hands. Scarlet was ready, and they were running out of time. With a single sigh, Wanda turned off the water and went to get ready.

They only had one chance, she needed to be fast if they wanted to safe Y/N and themselves before it was too late.

And, after seeing her weakened state, Wanda knew time was not on their side.

___________________________

Time was relative.

And, apparently, space bent to the laws of time.

Loki had been very clear in his explanation of the multiverse, and his role in getting you in the right timeline and the right body. You heard everything he told you, with your mind taking the bits you thought important while trying to understand those you found hard to believe in. The theory was solid, but it certainly was meant for someone with a deeper knowledge on these matters like Hank, Tony or even Bruce. You went along with the game, believing what the god was saying to you while formulating a plan that could help you out without disturbing the timeline or the multiverse.

But for Loki to make it work, he would need time, and that meant you would need to live in a world you already found was destroying you little by little.

Without a doubt, this universe was going to be the dead of you.

When you were young and left the Avengers, you used to torture yourself with the ‘What ifs’. What if you forgive Wanda, what if you had been enough, what if you and her were still together. What if.

You remembered those long nights in which you imagine a normal life with her, the thought of getting married and forming a family. These thoughts grew inside your mind until you hit the rock bottom and you had to start a real healing process, you had accepted what happened and you stepped out of the shadows to move forward. You were a hero, with or without the Avengers, you were still pretty much a person that could help others so that was what you did.

You never forgot Wanda, and those little what if scenarios would come at nights or on those specific moments in which you were alone with your thoughts. Your heart used to ache with the shadows of the past while facing the light of the future; and now, trapped in this world, you were face to face with the biggest what if there was dancing inside your mind.

What if you give yourself a chance to love her again?

What if you forgive her?

The door of the basement opened and closed with a heavy thud, you shook your head turning to see Wanda Maximoff coming down the stairs with a plate filled with sandwiches and a three glasses of orange juice. Your eyes went from the tray to the woman then back to the book you had been staring at, Loki snorted knowingly sitting down while flickering his hand around.

The lights grew in intensity, and Wanda shot a quick glare to Loki before shaking her head in defeat. She settled her tray on the table taking a seat right beside you, her eyes softening lightly as they read on your face the torturing thoughts dancing inside your head that multiply when you realised Wanda had prepared your favourite sandwich. The young woman offered an affectionate smile before turning to Loki.

“It is quite evident they had been dream-walking, whoever has been doing it, at least, has become quite adept at it and has been creating a complete mayhem while doing so.” Wanda grabbed a sandwich furrowing her brow while opening the book and showing some graphics filled with runes and letters you did not understand.

Loki tilted his head eating in silence while glancing at the graphics, he turned to you then back to Wanda who continued speaking while filling up in the gaps that you did not know. Those that you had not been a part of while on in this universe.

“When we first encountered America, she told us about the multiple encounters she had with strange creatures chasing her around the multiple universes.” Wanda pursed her lips furrowing her brows, “something happened though, there was a moment of peace and then when they came back, she fell into our world.”

“Is this the part in which everything else happened?” Loki asked tilting his head thoughtfully, “but there was a moment of peace as well, was it not? Stark mentioned a time of peace in which she was getting use to this place…”

“And to us, yes.” Wanda shifted lightly, her eyes flickered to where you were already finishing your sandwich, your tongue tucking out cleaning your lips before you went back to your food. She couldn’t help but smile at the gesture, it seemed that some things didn’t change in between universes.

“Dream-walking is a powerful technique, not just anyone can do it and whoever decides to enter in such a realm of dark magic usually gets affected,” Loki leaned back closing his eyes for a moment, “whoever is behind this know what they are doing, and they had probably been planning this for a very long time.”

“I’ve been having dreams I shouldn’t have, dreams with Scarlet sneaking inside a different reality.” You chewed on your lower lip drinking from the glass before continuing, “some of them are pretty real, everything that she does it’s usually pretty real, yet I know it is not Wanda. It feels different, she is different even if they look the same.”

There was a moment of silence in which you tried to ignore the stares from Loki and Wanda on you. You distracted yourself with the food and the beverage while playing with the ring on your hand, you shifted on the chair ready to speak until Loki beat you to it.

“You said you saw a rune before the explosion, right?” Loki inquired, he produced a piece of paper and a pen that lend you waiting for you to draw what you saw.

“Yep.”

Wanda observed as you drew the rune, she leaned forward softening when her nose caught up with the aroma of your shampoo and special scent that was innately yours. She couldn't help the hand that rested on your arm, nor the tenderness behind her caress. You shifted on the spot, your back going rigid the moment you felt the familiarity behind the touch.

“There is something I don't understand yet, why do you call her Scarlet and referring to her as a third individual?” Loki finally asked furrowing his brows, you scrunched up your nose turning to Wanda then to Loki.

“Because they are not the same?” You knew something was not right the moment those words left your mouth.

Wanda and Loki glanced at one another, breaking their eye contact almost right away.

“What?” You could see the hesitation but it was Wanda the one who answered.

“I am Scarlet, Y/N. That was my alias when I was part of the Avengers.” She clarified, you noticed just how closed she was to you, the twitched of her lips just as her hand cleaned up the crumbs of bread on your clothes and face.

“Okay, well…look, I don't know what happened there, but my Wan…” You scoffed at the slip, stepping back and giving your back to Wanda you spoke again, “Wanda and Scarlet are certainly not the same. If anything…Scarlet is more…”

“Daring? Powerful? Mischievous? Straightforward?” Loki cocked his head, he smirked when you turned to him, narrowing your eyes. “That's Wanda alright, I will add an annoyance, and a pain in the ass.”

“Thank you.” Wanda glared at Loki who bowed his head, the relationship was almost as confusing as seeing Steve squirmed when talking to Loki.

“I wouldn't describe it like that…” you trailed off remembering the dreams, the touches and her words.

You clenched your hands, this world was certainly driving you mad.

“Is it possible this Scarlet is from a different Universe?” You asked looking at the circle on the floor, “perhaps a more deranged and obsessive version of Wanda from a different Universe?”

Loki stiffened at the question, he shifted from one foot to the other before stepping forward with a flickered of his hand a book appeared out of thin air. He grabbed the article, turning to Wanda before stepping forward into the circle.

“A cup of tea would be nice,” Loki sat down on the circle opening the book in front of him, the world soon darkened only to ignite a green flame.

You stood your ground, stepping inside the circle making the magic around it flickered dangerously. Your eyes went black, leaning forward with your arms firmly placed at your sides.

“Answer the question.” You demanded to which Loki merely shrugged.

“Wherever there is a Wanda, there is always a Scarlet Witch, Y/N. They are one and the same.” Loki then twirled his fingers sitting Indian style while closing his eyes, the electric current of his magic pushed you away. “The fact that you are telling us there are two versions of Wanda only tells me what I should look for.”

“How can you know this? How can you be so sure that they are not two versions of different universes?”

“Because something like this has already happened before.” Loki waved his hand away frowning, “now, hush, I need to do this right or else I may take far longer than necessary and you need to go back to your timeline before something catastrophic happens.”

You observed the god with his hands position to the sides, flickering as the book finally revealed golden pages and he smirked. You were about to speak again but your body went completely rigid when a hand placed itself on your shoulder, you turned around only to see Wanda looking directly at you. Her touch was tender, and almost tentative, but it was enough for you to stop whatever you were about to do or ask. For a brief moment she waited, until you finally relaxed and stepped back.

“Come, this may take a while and I think we still have a conversation pending.”

You hesitated with your shadows flickering around you, whatever power or will to fight you had in you was soon eased out when Wanda sought out your eyes. You swallowed down your weakness before this woman, and without a single word you turned around and left the basement. The door close behind you with a flash of gold and green filling the basement before the closed door stopped any other intrusion from the magic.

You rested your back against the door, the young woman standing beside you bounced for a moment before she went into action and made her way to the kitchen. At first, you only follow her with your eyes, the confidence she was usually wearing faltered from time to time, and you could see the tension building up inside her while she grabbed the tea pot and got everything ready. Her back was turned towards you, but you were completely sure she was pretty aware of your presence and what you were doing.

After a while, and once it was pretty obvious Wanda had nothing else to do but wait for the water to boil you pushed from the door walking towards the kitchen and sitting down on a chair near the counter.

“When I first learnt about my powers, I started hearing this voice inside my head.” Wanda started talking out of nowhere, you sat down waiting for the story to continue.

“It was not a stranger's voice, it was mine though it held an influence and power that soon became part of me.” Wanda turned around, this time around she made sure it was impossible for you to look away. “While I was being experimented on, the voice kept on infusing me with confidence and power, I understood that the magic in me was talking but then…”

Wanda trailed off and her face broke into a painful mask of the past. The memories came rushing in, she lifted a hand to grab her arm hugging herself protectively. You swallowed down holding onto the counter, your heart twisted wanting to go over there and comfort Wanda. You clenched your jaw, looking away and hating the emotions running rampant inside of you.

“I was then given to my parents, my adoptive parents.” Wanda put a hand on her forehead, her voice breaking lightly. “She never told you?”

“She decided to cheat on me instead of trusting in me.” You replied through clenched teeth.

“It's so easy to judge others, isn't it?” Wanda shook her head leaning forward. “Have you ever asked her about the experiments? About the abuse? About the training?”

“Perhaps it was different from her that it was for you.”

Wanda leaned back, lifting her chin, “perhaps, but something tells me our worlds differ in the way we react to the past.”

“Does it make a difference?” You leaned forward, for the very first time spitting out anger while hitting the counter. “She broke my heart in the worst way and then…then came back with a set of troubles that only brought confusion and memories I didn't want!”

Wanda shook her head pointing a finger at you.

“If this is what you think then, you never knew her and you never understood her.” Wanda opened her mouth to say something else but she stopped, her eyes taking in the form of her wife and her heart yearning to have her back. To feel the sweet caress of her eyes on her.

“She should have been more open, then. I was patient! I was always there for her! Even after Pietro died…”

“What?” Wanda paled at this, she opened her eyes trembling while she approached you, a piercing pain breaking through her chest.

You blinked confusedly shrugging, the anger still lingering in your features.

“The day she became part of the team, that day Sokovia was destroyed. Pietro died saving Clint.” You hesitated to take notice of the pain crossing Wanda's eyes, “I'm sorry.”

Tears piled up in her eyes, her hand went to her chest. It was quite evident this news affected her greatly, even if her own brother was alive and her country was still pretty much a functional place with a stable government and amazing landscapes. You looked away, unable to face the tears or the sorrow coming from Wanda.

“And then, she lost you.” She whispered, leaning back, Wanda opened her mouth before closing it again.

You shrugged, passing your hand through your hair, everything was messed up. Your emotions, the situation, the fact your heart ached to comfort Wanda, that you still wondered if perhaps being with her was possible.

“I just…I want this to end. I don't know if this was…”

“You really don't understand,” this time around Wanda approached you with a tentative stare in her eyes. You stepped back the muscles of your face tense, with your chin lifted slightly.

“I think I understand enough after I saw her fucking Vision while she was still dating me.” You spat out, your eyes black while your powers flickered behind you.

Wanda had seen it.

The treason, the broken heart, the pride and the anger, but she had also seen the love, the nostalgia, the confusion as to what to do, how to proceed. She had seen enough to approach you, to place a hand on your shoulder. This Wanda had seen it all, and she had lived it before; the only difference was that she never hide herself from who she was and what she was experimenting with you. She had to face it because if she hadn't done so, she would have lost you and she was not ready to let you go.

It was getting harder to breathe, your thoughts came rushing inside your mind creating a spiralling of emotions that pierce through your very soul. Those green eyes were looking at you with understanding, there was a hint of sadness there but also hopefulness, and you just dropped your shoulders with your eyes glancing to the window.

“I can't look at you without remembering my pain,” you mumbled grabbing your chest, “I can't be here, and I can't be part of this fight if it means I have to be close to you. To her.”

“You still love her?” The question made you shiver, the darkness in your eyes increased and this time around the shadows wrapped around your body.

“It doesn't matter.”

“It does to me.” Wanda squeezed your shoulder tenderly, there was a hint of a smile but otherwise the woman was trying to be as open as she could be with you. “I can't believe she did what she did, it was something that crossed my mind but I never…”

“Yes, well, things are different in every universe, right?” You tried to move away but the hand tightened her hold and Wanda kept you closer.

“When I broke things up, and I started dating Vision something happened.” Wanda started, her voice carried the weight of memories while her magic flickered around you and her. “It was confusing at first, denying you, denying me, trying to convince myself that I was living in sin and that I have to change to be the perfect daughter, to be the person I was raised to be.”

You listened carefully, it was the very first time you heard Wanda after what happened. And while this experience was completely different to the one you lived with your Wanda you could perceive the similarities. The relationship with Vision, you running away, the conflict in the world, the need for the Avengers to save the day, everything came crashing down and the fight was almost lost because Wanda had lost herself and her mind. She was becoming a different person, her powers getting out of control. Until she was faced with her powers and the presence inside her mind.

“It was strange, at first, but it was as if I had created a different version of myself, a powerful one that had no limits on the magic she could use, my magic,” Wanda then let out a bitter smile, “I almost killed my Y/N when she tried to reach out to me, that was what made me snapped.”

“I don't understand…” you crunched up your nose, creasing your brows while replaying the story inside your head, “what do you mean another person? Powerful? I mean, my Wanda created a whole new reality for her and…Vision.”

“Are you sure it was for him?” Wanda stepped back letting go of you, “there is something about this whole mess that has been bothering me ever since America stepped into our reality.”

“You mean, besides my consciousness being trapped in the body of your wife?” The sarcasm in your tone made Wanda roll her eyes, though this time around she did smile.

“The magic feels familiar, yet tainted. As if there was something else in there.” Wanda leaned back against the counter, “you mentioned a Scarlet and a Wanda, I was never two different people in here, I became the Scarlet Witch and owed my powers the same day I decided to fight for you and your forgiveness.”

You tensed turning away from the intense stare Wanda was shooting your way.

“I don't pretend to defend my counterpart, her sins are her own, and her demons had been chasing her far enough to leave her alone in your world,” her words crashed the barrier in your heart, and not for the first time you longed to see your Wanda and comfort her. You had seen the loneliness, the misery, and the weight of her mistakes wearing her down.

“But, have you considered perhaps Scarlet is her way to escape who she really is? That perhaps, everything comes down to this Agatha and the world Wanda created for herself?”

You couldn't answer the question that left a burning mark in your mind, the house started trembling and soon the air filled with magic. You and Wanda turned to the door where the sheer strength of the magic being used was making it tremble on its hinges.

“What's happening?” You narrowed your eyes, your body getting ready for whatever would come out of the door.

Wanda approached the door tentatively, her hand stretched out but before she could reach the doorknob there was a small explosion. Out of instinct, you grabbed her through the shadows putting her out of harm's way while the hall got completely destroyed. Your arms wrapped protectively around Wanda, your eyes wide open as they glanced at the woman that was kneeling beside you.

“Are you okay?”

Wanda swallowed down, nodding, she looked away from you, turning her attention to the hall. There was no more magic, and everything was silent. The place looked trashed but otherwise the house was silent, with only remnants of humming power prickling at your skin. You couldn't help but set your eyes on Wanda, the woman holding onto you submitting to your protective embrace.

“Loki.” There was real concern behind Wanda's voice, with some reluctance she stood up getting ready to go down the stairs when Loki finally appeared behind the threshold.

“Loki! Are you alright?”

Wanda was on him in no time , her hand gleaming red scanned the body of the male frowning before slapping his arm. Loki scoffed, rubbing the spot she had hit, glaring at the woman.

“What was that for?”

“I told you not to trash the house!”

“Yes, well it wasn't my fault.” He stepped past Wanda, directing his eyes to you. “Tell me everything you know about Wanda and Scarlet, and what exactly do you know about this Agatha.”

You cocked your head, your nose crunching up with just a hint of hesitation in your eyes. The world might have changed in this part of the universe but Loki was still Loki; what could he do to help? What was more, why was Wanda looking at him as if he held the answers to this mess?

“We don't have time for this, but I'm not the Loki you know…” here Loki trailed off, his feet taking him to the teapot, every single moment measured and carefully designed for him to serve himself a cup of tea.

Wanda came behind you, you sensed her hesitation before she too stepped past you and joined Loki in the same activity. You couldn't believe the strangeness of this world, the obvious power these two individuals held, and the secrets behind their powers. You glanced at the mug in front of him, then at an admiring Loki.

“By mere chance, I ended up in a place where all the timelines are stories I can tamper without any effort.” He shrugged, taking a sip from his tea, “while witches and wizards everywhere need to dream walk or steal the powers to reach other realities, I can do so by stepping into the sacred timeline.”

“What is…?” You started and for the first time you saw real annoyance behind Loki's face.

“I could explain to you my part of the story, but I believe our main focus must be for you to go back to your world, and our Y/N to come back.” Loki shrugged, looking at Wanda sideways, “that's why I need you to tell me everything.”

There were many questions in your mind, but with a nod you opened your mouth telling them about your first encounter with Wanda, whatever you found out about Agatha and then the subsequent explosion that led you to this world.

___________________

Wanda was ready to hit someone.

She really was ready to give up and do something drastic. The red magic concentrated on her hand, her eyes gleaming dangerously until a soothing hand wrapped around her forearm, America was torn between being amused and slightly concerned. For what seemed weeks they had been trying to get their plan into motion but every time they got to it you were ensnared deeper into the hex Agatha had placed on you.

The days were changing slowly, instead of the temporal loop they had experimented on those first days, now it was possible to go from one day to another, different days, different scenarios. Agatha was growing stronger while Wanda and Scarlet weakened little by little.

“You told me we had to be patient.” America stated trying to block Wanda's eyes from the scene playing in front of her.

Wanda huffed looking away from you and Agatha.

“She is doing this on purpose, she keeps using Y/N by having her under a spell, and we…”

“We are working on a solution, and the solution is here.” America rolled her eyes, still not believing she was the adult at the moment.

America knew most of Wanda's reaction was jealousy, the other part was guiltiness. Whatever was happening in the basement whenever Agatha dragged Wanda down, America knew the young woman had to face things she was not ready to face. Wanda usually came from those sessions tired, drained and miserable, while it became difficult for her to handle her magic.

America pursed her lips glancing at you and Agatha, Agatha placing your hand on her abdomen while you looked at her adorably. The principal of the school and the woman America and Wanda had met the first time they arrived in Norway were smiling congratulating the happy couple.

“How did she get the…” Wanda couldn't even said it, she turned around and everyone seemed to be having a good time in the school grounds.

“Well, you told me that's what you did…”

“Her magic was not like mine, she really is draining all my powers and here I am…” Wanda turned around and walked away.

America followed her walking faster to keep up with the other woman.

“Wanda, it's going to be fine, this is what we have been waiting for, right? We got her distracted and then you tried to wake Y/N…” America then hesitated pursuing her lips, “you told me your counterpart would help, right? With the signal she would help…”

Wanda stopped her passing, she squinted her eyes before nodding curtly.

“She said she would help.” Wanda didn't want to share her concerns with America in regards to her counterpart.

When they had met, Wanda had been scared out of her mind. The woman standing before her held the full power of chaos magic while being a construct of an inexistent reality. She had spoken harshly to her, blaming her for your indifference and for you to seek out other arms to be happy. Wanda had seen her life in replay, the past and the mistakes, the pain and the wrong decisions, everything that had led her to be alone and forgotten, trapped in a hex out of her control.

“Wanda?” America asked tentatively, Wanda straightened up shaking her head before offering a shaky smile.

“Let's do this.”

America smiled nodding, Wanda sighed begging to whoever was listening to her that this worked, or else, she didn't know what would happen once Agatha had gotten what she came for.

“You know what to do, right?” Wanda asked a very enthusiastic America, the young woman nodded with a smirk forming on her lips.

“Yep, please, Wanda just go for her… I know things will be okay.”

Wanda watched as America left ready to join the rest of the teenagers she had known back at school, soon she pretended to be just like everyone else trapped into the loop while Wanda sneaked around ready to reach out to you. With a single tap into her magic, she signalled Scarlet and soon she felt the surge of power going through her body as an answer.

There was a loud bang, everyone exclaimed in surprise and soon people were laughing and clapping. While Wanda saw the subtle flickered in the reality, the purple changed into a light red. It was time. Without wasting more time, Wanda sprinted towards you spotting you right away while you laughed at some of the kids putting you away ready to show you some of their works and Agatha was distracted by the mother's asking about her pregnancy. The scene was so absurdly familiar, and stereotypical Agatha never noticed Wanda coming closer, or you walking into the school building.

The place was completely quiet, there was not much light but whatever light sneaked inside the building was enough for Wanda to locate you in the far corner of the building. Her heart skipped a beat, she glanced around knowing at any moment the reality could break and Agatha could get everything under her control.

“Y/N?” She called tentatively, you turned around with a scrunched-up nose and brows knitted together.

Your eyes met hers, and Wanda felt her breath taken away. You looked just the same, the way she remembered, with the same serious facade and the eyes filled with kindness and wonderment. She wished she could reach out to you, that she could gain your forgiveness…

The distance between the both of you shortened, but before Wanda could say anything you did something that left her and Scarlet defenceless.

You kissed her.

Wanda gave in right away, her eyes opened wide only to close slowly while she submitted herself to the kiss. Your lips on her sent an electric jolt through her body until her heart was twisting inside her chest and a hoard of butterflies exploded inside her lower abdomen. She forgot her own name, and everything stopped when your arms pulled her close and your warmth engulfed her with your teasing lips eliciting sweet whimpers of need.

For a brief moment Wanda forgot all about her past, she forgot the problem they were in and even why she had been looking for you. Wanda gave in, and kissed you back with the same tenderness, with the same need, with the same love.

“My Love, I missed you so much.” You said smiling tenderly at her, Wanda whimpered when you went back to her, your lips pressing tentatively before you pressed your forehead against hers.

“By the gods, Wanda, what's going on? Where is everyone? Billy and Tommy? Are they Okay?” You broke the kiss cupping her face in your hands, your questions soon went through her foggy mind, and Wanda felt as if a bucket of cold water fell on her.

“What?”

“Is it Pietro with them?”

Wanda felt her world crumbling around her, and you just went to kiss her again when a ball of purple mist came in between the both of you exploding and sending you flying away from Wanda.

You groaned, hitting the wall, hitting the ground with a heavy thud.

“Honey, I can't take my eyes off of you or you go back to Wanda's arms, tsk even after she fucked Vision you’re like a lost dog after her “

You pressed your hands on the ground lifting your face, your brows knitted together while Agatha held onto America and Wanda. You eyed the woman in front of you, she wore a dark dress floating just above the ground with America trying to grasp for air. Agatha smirked at you, her free hand twitching slightly until Wanda fell on the ground with a purple rope tightly wrapped around her neck.

“Wanda!” You stood up stretching your hands and your eyes darkening completely, you hardened your features stopping only when you heard the groan of pain from America and Wanda.

“Nu-uh, dear, I can be quite jealous and if you even care about these two you will lower your guns and…”

You were not even thinking about the threat, you had found an opening in the hex and in the powers used by the woman in front of you. Your fingers wiggled, and the shadows went into attack mode but you weren’t the only one joining the fight without giving it a second thought. Scarlet and Wanda had been planning it all along, they knew they needed one another to bring Agatha down, the same way the did that first time but they were not counting on you.

Or, the golden and greenish spark of magic that broke into their space, the explosion that followed blinded everyone, and soon they were there no more.

_____________________

The charts and the monitors were going into overdrive, Tony was trying to fix some of the readings with Monica and Friday helping him out while Carol was standing outside the dome getting ready for action.

Yelena and Natasha stayed behind, they had been watching the fill show for more than a couple of hours watching the time passed differently entering into days and nights as if time didn’t really matter.

Yelena was chewing on her lower lip, hitting the table as soon as she saw you running towards Wanda crashing your lips against hers.

“I told you! Didn’t I?” Yelena turned to Natasha pointing an accusing finger at her.

Natasha rolled her eyes trying to go back into the scene, getting other angles only to see Agatha freezing the scene around her and grabbing America harshly by the neck. She saw the way she roughed America up, putting her to her before making her way to the school. Her eyes went from one screen to the other, this time around she noticed Scarlet breaking the chains around her arms, legs and neck, almost crawling outside the house faltering before gathering some energy.

“Yes, Yelena, you told me, you are amazing at this but…” Natasha pointed to the screens, Tony and Monica coming over shaking their heads.

“Whatever the hell is going on is…” Tony trailed off turning around to see a huge explosion affecting the dome.

The earth trembled, and soon everyone right outside was running around screaming orders in different languages.

“Guys, you need to see this!!” Carol was standing right outside the trailer, her face was completely paled, with a hint of worry in her eyes.

Natasha was about to exit but stopped when Yelena grabbed her hand, she turned to her sister to see the concern in her eyes.

“That’s not her.” Yelena was completely serious, with just a hint of fear in her tone.

“I know.”

“Who was that?”

“I don’t know, Yelena, but…”

“Hey, you two, you better come out because we just got a huge problem right now.”

Yelena scoffed turning to Tony, “what could possible be more important than the fact that was not Y/N?!”

Tony tilted his head shrugging, “perhaps the fact they just disappeared.”

“What?!”

Natasha and Yelena soon joined the rest of the team outside the trailer, the cold winter breeze of the north hit them straight in the face. The town was left almost untouched, with people on the ground being attended by the medical team; the dome had disappeared but besides some buildings being scratched and the people around being confused and left on the spots, there was nothing else indicating something strange had happened.

Natasha stepped forward watching the streets, and the sky, her heart almost leaving her chest when she turned around to see everyone looking at her. Yelena came forward as well, she crossed the street glancing around until she realized she was right in front of the street Agatha had used to name the street you were living in.

“What…what happened? Where are they?” Yelena finally asked turning to Natasha who merely shrugged just as baffled as her sister.

Instead of watching the same destruction Wanda had provoked a few months ago, what they found was a city that had been frozen in time. With all the inhabitants trying to remember what had happened, why they seemed to be a little disoriented; meanwhile, Yelena and the others had to wonder where you and the others had gone to.

“Where are they? Where is Y/N?!” Carol asked turning to Natasha and Tony. “You told me this would be fine! That you guy would find an answer before anything happened! Well, guess what, something happened!”

But there were no answers, and while everyone was fighting over what they should have done, or discussing what they should do, Yelena grunted exasperated running back into the trailer ready to get her eyes square while watching the screens. Something must be hiding in the broadcast, something she probably missed, something that would bring you safe and sound back into their reality.

At least, that’s what Yelena hoped for.

______________________________________________________________

Next Chapter: Loki miscalculates and creates a vacoon in the multiverse, Wanda has to face her counterpart and two different versions of Reader, America is ready to save the day and it was Agatha all along.

#fanfic #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wandaxreader #female reader #imagine wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x female reader #Wandavison AU #Wanda x Female!Reader #MCU AU #Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader

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novaursa · 1 month ago

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Fire and Gold (the spider's offer)

- Summary: Rhaegar chooses you over her. And Ceresi never forgives you for it.

- Paring: sister!reader/Rhaegar Targaryen

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: the innocent

- Next part: whispers

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The throne room feels colder today, colder than you’ve ever known it. The stone walls seem to press in, the air thick with dread as the courtiers and nobles gather, whispering and shifting in their places. The Iron Throne looms above it all, its jagged edges catching the light from the torches. Aerys sits atop it, his fingers gripping the twisted swords, his eyes burning with the same fevered intensity that has defined him for years. But today, that fire is stoked by something far more dangerous—grief.

You stand beside Rhaegar, your husband, your brother, your only anchor in the storm of your loss. His hand is a steady weight at your side, though his face is a mask of calm, his violet eyes unreadable. You know him too well, though, to be fooled. The quiet rage he feels mirrors your own, simmering just beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to break free. For now, he waits, as do you, watching as the Kingsguard is brought forth one by one.

Varys is there, in the shadows, his hands folded neatly within the sleeves of his robes, his eyes flickering from face to face. There’s something about the way he stands, the way his lips quirk ever so slightly at the corners, that makes your skin prickle. He knows something. He always knows something.

Owen Merryweather, the new Hand of the King, stands to one side of the throne, looking uncomfortable in his role. He glances between you and Rhaegar, clearly aware of the gravity of what is about to unfold. The entire court has gathered for this, the spectacle of a Targaryen seeking justice for the dead, a child gone too soon. They’re all here to watch your pain, to witness the wrath of your father, and to see who might burn before the day is over.

Aerys leans forward on the throne, his nails scraping against the metal, his eyes wild. “Bring them in!” he bellows, his voice echoing through the hall. “Let’s see which of these so-called protectors failed my blood!”

The doors creak open, and the Kingsguard enters in their gleaming armor, the white cloaks draped over their shoulders like a mockery of the purity they are sworn to uphold. Ser Barristan, Ser Gerold, Ser Jonothor… and Jaime. Your heart twists at the sight of him, that familiar unease rising in your chest. He doesn’t look at you, his gaze fixed on the floor, but you can see the tension in his stance, the way his jaw clenches just a little too tight.

“Step forward!” Aerys commands, his voice snapping like a whip. “Each of you! Tell me where you were when my grandson was killed!”

One by one, the Kingsguard answers, their voices steady, their words rehearsed. They were patrolling, they were guarding the doors, they were doing their duty. It all sounds too perfect, too rehearsed, and you exchange a glance with Rhaegar, knowing he hears it too.

Finally, it’s Jaime’s turn. He steps forward, his armor clinking as he moves, his golden hair catching the light. He looks at the floor, then up at Aerys, his face set in a grim expression. “Your Grace,” he begins, his voice low but firm. “I was stationed outside the royal chambers. I did not leave my post.”

Aerys leans forward, his eyes narrowing. “And yet my grandson is dead! Where were you, Lannister? Where were you when my blood was spilled?!”

Jaime swallows hard, and for the briefest moment, his eyes flicker to you. It’s only a heartbeat, but you catch it, and it’s enough to send a chill down your spine. He knows something. You can feel it. You’ve felt it since that day, the weight of his gaze, the way he avoids you, the way he shifts whenever the subject of your son’s death is brought up.

You take a step forward, your voice steady but cold. “Tell me, Ser Jaime,” you say, your eyes locking on his, “did you see anyone? Anything unusual that day?”

He hesitates, just for a moment, and you see the guilt flash across his face. He’s hiding something. You know it now.

Before Jaime can respond, Varys speaks, his voice smooth and calculated as ever. “Your Grace,” he says, stepping forward with a small bow. “There are whispers in the wind, rumors that should be… considered.”

Aerys’s eyes snap to Varys, his expression darkening. “Whispers?” he snarls. “I want more than whispers! I want blood!”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Varys says, his tone soothing. “But whispers often lead to truth, if one listens carefully enough.”

The court is silent, the tension thick as everyone waits for the king’s reaction. Aerys leans back in his seat, his fingers tapping against the armrest of the Iron Throne. “Speak, then,” he hisses. “What do these whispers say?”

Varys pauses, his eyes flicking toward Jaime for the briefest of moments before returning to the king. “There are those who would do anything to harm your family, Your Grace,” he says. “And not all enemies come from beyond the walls.”

Your breath catches, your eyes darting to Jaime again. Varys is playing his game, carefully planting seeds of doubt. He knows something about that day, something he’s not ready to reveal yet. But you will find out. You will make sure of it.

Rhaegar’s hand tightens on your arm, and you know he feels the same dark certainty. Jaime shifts again, his face pale, and you see it—the fear in his eyes, the weight of the secret he carries.

Aerys’s eyes gleam with malice, his lips curling into a twisted smile. “Enemies within the walls?” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “I will see them all burn.”

The echoes of Aerys’s rant still ring in your ears as you and Rhaegar walk side by side through the dim corridors of the Red Keep. The weight of the day’s events presses down on both of you, though neither of you speaks. It’s been weeks since your son’s death, but the pain is still raw, an open wound that refuses to heal. Rhaegar walks with his head slightly bowed, his hand grazing yours every so often in a silent gesture of comfort, though even that feels distant now.

Your thoughts swirl, lost in the memory of your child, his laughter, the warmth of his small hand in yours. Now, only silence remains. You close your eyes for a moment, trying to block out the images, the feeling of his cold body in your arms, but it’s no use. The grief clings to you like a shadow, inescapable.

Rhaegar suddenly stops, his voice low, breaking the heavy silence. “He would burn the entire city,” he murmurs, his gaze fixed ahead. “Father… he’s lost.”

You nod, knowing the truth of it. Aerys’s madness has taken him beyond reason, beyond even the love of his family. The rage and grief over his grandson’s death have consumed him entirely, and his mind now burns with thoughts of destruction.

Before you can respond, you hear the soft shuffle of footsteps approaching. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Varys gliding toward you, his robes whispering against the stone floor. His face, as always, is unreadable, though there is a subtle gleam in his eyes—one that unsettles you.

“Your Graces,” Varys says smoothly as he reaches you, his hands folded within his voluminous sleeves. “Might I offer my condolences once more? The realm weeps for your loss.”

Rhaegar barely acknowledges him, his grief still too raw to bother with pleasantries. You, however, glance at Varys, your eyes narrowing slightly. There’s always something behind his words, some unspoken layer of meaning.

“What do you want, Varys?” you ask quietly, though not unkindly. The weariness in your voice betrays your exhaustion, the emotional toll of the past few weeks leaving you drained.

Varys offers a small, almost sympathetic smile. “Merely to offer… assistance,” he replies, his voice as calm and composed as ever. “These are dangerous times, and the king’s mood grows more volatile by the day. I fear that without a steady hand, the situation may spiral further out of control.”

You exchange a glance with Rhaegar, who straightens slightly, his expression hardening. “What exactly are you suggesting?” he asks, his tone wary.

Varys takes a step closer, lowering his voice. “Your father is grieving, as are we all. But his grief, as you’ve no doubt seen, has given way to… other impulses. Destructive ones. The wildfire, Your Grace… it is not merely talk.”

Your stomach clenches at the mention of wildfire, the same dread that had been brewing in the throne room now bubbling to the surface once more. You know of the vast stores hidden beneath the city, how Aerys has been obsessed with their use, seeing it as the ultimate solution to any perceived threat.

Rhaegar’s jaw tightens, and he takes a deep breath. “You believe he will use it,” he says flatly, though it’s clear he doesn’t need confirmation. The fear has been gnawing at both of you for some time now.

Varys nods, his gaze flicking between you and Rhaegar. “I do. And should he… act upon those impulses, I fear the realm would not recover.”

The weight of his words settles over you like a shroud. The thought of King’s Landing, of the innocent lives within its walls, burning at the whim of a mad king is too much to bear. You feel Rhaegar’s hand graze yours again, the warmth of his touch grounding you in this moment.

“And what would you have us do, Varys?” you ask, though part of you already knows the answer.

Varys hesitates for only a fraction of a second before speaking. “There are… alternatives, Your Grace. The king need not continue on this path. His… removal could be orchestrated quietly, without further bloodshed.”

You stiffen at the implication, your heart thudding in your chest. Rhaegar’s face hardens, and you can feel the tension radiating from him.

“You’re suggesting treason,” Rhaegar says, his voice low and dangerous. “Against my father.”

“Treason is such a harsh word,” Varys replies smoothly, not missing a beat. “I am suggesting what is best for the realm. For your family. For your children’s future.”

The mention of your other children makes your throat tighten, your mind flashing back to the child you lost. The pain is still too fresh, but you know Varys is right about one thing—there are others to consider. If Aerys’s madness isn’t stopped, the entire realm could burn, along with your hopes for the future.

Rhaegar looks at you then, his eyes searching yours for some kind of answer, for guidance. He’s always turned to you in moments like these, moments where the weight of duty threatens to crush him. You can see the conflict in his gaze—the love for his father warring with the knowledge that Aerys is beyond saving.

You take a breath, steadying yourself. “What exactly are you proposing, Varys?” you ask again, though this time, the gravity of the question hangs heavier in the air.

Varys steps closer, lowering his voice to little more than a whisper. “The realm needs a ruler of sound mind, one who can restore stability and peace. Your husband, Rhaegar, is that ruler.”

Your heart clenches at the enormity of what he’s suggesting. Usurpation. The throne, now held by your father, could pass to Rhaegar… if Aerys were removed. It would save the city, the people. But it would also mean betraying your father, a man who, despite his madness, is still your blood.

Rhaegar lets out a slow breath, the tension in his body palpable. “And if I refuse?” he asks, his voice quiet but firm.

Varys tilts his head slightly, his eyes gleaming with something close to pity. “Then I fear your father’s wrath will know no bounds. And the wildfire beneath this city will become more than just a threat. It will become a reality.”

Your steps slow as Varys's words hang in the air, heavy with implication, but you shake your head. The very idea of betraying your father—your father—twists something deep inside you. No matter how much he has changed, no matter how deep his madness runs, Aerys Targaryen is still your blood. Your father. The thought of conspiring against him makes your stomach turn, and when you look up at Rhaegar, you can see the same conflict mirrored in his eyes.

“No,” you say firmly, breaking the silence, your voice low but steady. “We will not betray our father.”

Rhaegar’s hand tightens slightly on yours, his gaze shifting to Varys. “She’s right,” he adds, his tone hardening. “You speak of treason, of taking the throne from him, as if it were something so simple. But he is our father, and despite everything… he still protects us. He would never harm his own blood.”

Varys’s expression remains unreadable, though there is the barest flicker of something—disappointment, perhaps?—in his eyes. “Your Grace,” he begins smoothly, “I understand your loyalty. It is admirable. But your father is no longer the man he once was. His madness is a threat to all of us, even to you and your family.”

You draw yourself up, squaring your shoulders. “And yet, he is the one who shields us from the vultures circling the crown. He is the only reason we are not surrounded by enemies at every turn. You speak in half-truths, Varys. You always do. But you offer no real proof. Just whispers, rumors. You ask us to betray the one man who has always protected us, without anything to show for it.”

Varys’s lips curl into a thin smile, though it does not reach his eyes. “Sometimes, Your Grace, whispers are more dangerous than any blade.”

You step forward, your gaze sharp, locking onto his. “You want us to betray him, yet you stand here offering nothing. No answers. You claim to know things—then tell me this, Varys: who killed my son?”

His mask of politeness slips just for a moment, a flicker of something darker passing over his face. He quickly recovers, inclining his head ever so slightly. “Ah, Your Grace,” he says softly, “if I had the answer to that, I would have brought it to you already.”

“Then you’re of no use to me,” you snap, feeling a wave of frustration rising. “Unless you can give us answers—real answers about who took my child from me—there is nothing more for us to discuss.”

Rhaegar steps closer to you, his arm sliding around your waist as he turns toward Varys, his expression as cold as yours. “We will not entertain any more talk of treason. Not unless you have something more concrete to offer than whispers and shadows.”

Varys’s smile remains in place, though you can see the calculating gleam in his eyes, as if he’s weighing his options. “Of course, Your Grace,” he says smoothly, bowing his head. “I understand your grief, and I will do all I can to uncover the truth of your son’s death. But know this: the truth you seek may not be the one you wish to hear.”

“Then find it,” you say, your voice trembling slightly with the weight of your emotions. “Because until you do, I will not speak of this again. Not of wildfire, not of my father’s throne. You want our loyalty? Give us answers.”

Varys’s eyes flicker with something you can’t quite place, but he nods, taking a step back. “Very well,” he says, his voice smooth once again. “I will do as you ask. But be wary, Your Graces. The realm is a dangerous place, especially when truth is buried in lies.”

Without another word, Varys turns and disappears back into the shadows, leaving you and Rhaegar standing alone in the corridor. The tension lingers in the air, but there is also a sense of finality to it. Varys has no answers for you yet, and until he does, there is nothing more to be said.

You turn to Rhaegar, your heart heavy. “I won’t do it, Rhaegar,” you whisper, your voice hoarse. “I won’t betray our father. I can’t.”

He pulls you close, pressing his forehead against yours. “I know,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “I won’t either. Not yet. But we need to be careful. We don’t know who we can trust anymore.”

You nod, leaning into him, the weight of the past weeks pressing down on both of you. The world around you feels colder, darker, and more dangerous than it ever has before. But as long as you have each other, as long as there is even the faintest hope of finding justice for your child, you will stand strong.

#a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #asoif/got #asoiaf x reader #game of thrones #got x you #got x reader #got x y/n #rhaegar x you #rhaegar x reader #rhaegar x y/n #rhaegar targaryen #house of the dragon #fire and blood #house targaryen #house lannister #fire and gold

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earthtoharlow · 2 months ago

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Don’t Like The Lights

Sequel to Flashing Lights series, must read Flashing Lights first to understand

Series Masterlist

16. March 14th

It was late and Maryse was exhausted, lying in bed next to Jack. She shifted under the covers and looked over at him before sighing, seeing him sleeping peacefully. The twins had been particularly active that night, kicking and moving making it hard to get in a comfortable position. At this point she was going to sign them up at Mockingbird Valley as soon as they were born.

She rubbed her belly, feeling another kick, but this time something was different. A sharp pain shot through her abdomen, taking her breath away. At first, she thought it was just the babies being active again, but as the pain grew stronger, she realized this wasn’t just kicking..

Maryse reached for Jack, who was still snoring next to her. “Babe…Jack…I think it’s happening,” she said as she started shaking him awake.

Jack sat up immediately, now wide awake. “What? You aren’t due for another few weeks!”

Tears welled up in her eyes as the pain intensified. “I know…it’s too early.” She whispered loudly, starting to panic. “It’s too soon, they’re not ready!”

Jack quickly got out of the bed, throwing on sweat sweatpants and a hoodie. Reaching for the hospital bag they had prepared weeks ago. “Hey, it’s okay. Let’s just get you to the hospital.”

Tears rolled down Maryse’s cheeks as she shook her head. “But what if something goes wrong? I’m not ready, I’m—”

“We got this,” Jack interrupted, his voice firm but gentle. “You’re strong, and our babies are going to be just fine. You’ve been carrying them for months, and they’re ready to meet us.”

She nodded weakly, still scared, but his words settled some of the fear bubbling inside her. “Okay,” she whispered, letting him help her toward the car.

With a reassuring squeeze of her hand, Jack said, “Let’s go meet our babies.”

As they sped through the dark streets, the hospital still a few miles away, Jack kept one hand on the wheel and the other resting gently on Maryse’s thigh. She was gripping her belly, her breathing controlled but strained as another contraction came and went. The tension in the car was intense and Jack wanted to lighten it up.

With a slight grin, he glanced over at her, his voice playful. “You know… if we time this right, they’ll probably end up being born the day after me.” His birthday was a few short hours ago as it was now past midnight.

Maryse, between deep breaths, shot him a tired but amused look. “You seriously think you’re that lucky?”

He chuckled, turning his attention back to the road for a second before looking at her again. “Hey, I’m just saying… twins love a grand entrance. They want their own day but close enough to remind everyone who their dad is.”

Her eyes fluttered shut as she braced through another contraction, and for a moment, he thought maybe his light-hearted joke wasn’t working. But as the pain lessened, she turned to him with a small smirk. “Let’s just hope they’re not as dramatic as their dad.”

He laughed softly, the sound a brief comfort in the intensity of the moment. “I don’t know about that. If they’ve got even half of your fire, we’re in for it.”

When they finally arrived, the doctors confirmed that she was indeed in labor but only three centimeters dilated. “You’ve got some hours to go,” the nurse with a sympathetic smile, helping her adjust the bed for comfort.

As Maryse tried to focus on her breathing, Jack sat beside her, tapping his fingers on the bedside table. At first, it was a soft rhythm, something to distract himself from the nerves, but it soon became obvious he was making a beat out of the rhythm of her breathing.

Maryse clenched her jaw, exhaling sharply. “If you don’t stop tapping,” she said through gritted teeth, “I’m going to get really mad.”

Jack froze mid-tap, eyes wide, then sheepishly pulled his hand away from the table. “Sorry, just trying to help,” he muttered, a crooked grin forming.

She shot him a look but then sighed, leaning back into her pillows. “Maybe help by not turning my labor into a mixtape.”

“Noted,” he said, settling back, a little quieter but still grinning.

In between contractions, Maryse looked up at Jack with a weak smile. “I’m hungry,” she whispered, her voice laced with exhaustion. “Can you get me something?”

Jack, eager to help, nodded quickly. “I got you,” he said, rushing out of the room.

A few minutes later, he returned, his arms overflowing with snacks—chips, candy, granola bars, a banana, even a couple of drinks. “I, uh… I wasn’t sure what you could have, so I just grabbed everything,” he admitted sheepishly, holding up the pile.

Maryse blinked at the assortment, then gave a small laugh despite the situation. “I can’t eat half of that, but I appreciate the effort.”

“Which one can you eat?” Jack asked, looking a little lost.

She pointed to the banana and granola bar. “Those will do. Thanks, baby.”

He handed them over, still looking concerned. “I’ll eat the rest,” he joked, trying to lighten the mood, but his eyes stayed glued to her, watching her every move with worry as she nibbled at the food between breaths.

“You should probably call your parents… and mine,” she said, in between bites

Jack hesitated, not wanting to leave her side for even a second, but nodded. “Okay, I’ll call them. But I’m not going far.”

Maryse squeezed his hand, appreciating his presence. “I know. Just… tell them it’s happening.”

Before Jack walked out the room Maryse stopped him. “Hey, babe?”

Jack turned around, “I love you, and so happy to be on this journey with you.”

She could see him getting emotional, Jack walked back and pressed a long kiss to her forehead, and then to her lips. “I love you more.”

“Yuck.” Maryse says with a grin before pushing him away. “Now, go call our parents and Urban so you can relax a bit.”

He kissed her forehead softly before stepping aside, pulling out his phone. “Hey, Mrs, Monet” he began quietly, trying to keep his voice calm, though the excitement and worry were palpable. “Sorry, Margot… It’s time. We’re at the hospital… yeah, for real this time.”

As he made the calls, Maryse breathed deeply, bracing herself for the next contraction. Knowing their families would be there soon brought her a bit of comfort. Even though things were happening faster than expected, she felt better with Jack by her side and their loved ones on the way.

Jack came back into the room after stepping out to make the call, his face slightly flushed from rushing back to her side. He took a seat next to Maryse, gently lifting her hand again.

“I just got off the phone with your parents,” he said, his voice calm. “They’re taking the next flight out from New York, but they probably won’t make it before the babies are born.”

Maryse let out a soft sigh, her face showing a mix of disappointment and anxiety. “I was hoping they’d be here in time.”

“I know, baby, but my mom and dad are on their way. They’ll be here soon,” he reassured her, squeezing her hand. “My mom’s gonna bring all the calm energy you need.”

She forced a smile through the pain, “Good. I need that right now.”

Jack leaned in and kissed her temple, his thumb gently rubbing her palm. “You’re doing amazing. Just a little longer, and we’ll have them here.”

She nodded, trying to focus on his words instead of the contractions. “You’re staying with me the whole time, right?”

“Of course. I’m not leaving your side,” he promised, his eyes steady on hers.

Maryse smiled and gave him a tired look, wincing as another contraction rolled through.

“Hey, Urban just got here. He’s in the waiting room.”

“Good. Maybe he can take some of your nervous energy because it’s making me nervous too.”

Jack chuckled, trying to play it cool but knowing she could read him better than anyone. “I’m not that nervous.”

She raised an eyebrow and let out a small huff, “Babe, I can see you tapping your foot like you’re working on a beat, again!”

He looked down, noticing his foot bouncing anxiously, and sheepishly smiled. “Alright, maybe I’m a little worked up.”

“Go tell him to come in here,” Maryse added, squeezing his hand, “Maybe he can calm you down.”

Jack nodded, standing up. “I’ll bring him in,” he said, giving her hand one last reassuring squeeze before heading out to get his friend.

When Maryse saw Urban walk in, holding his film camera with a mischievous grin, she narrowed her eyes at him. “You really brought a camera in here?”

Urban shrugged, still grinning. “Gotta document the moment, right?”

She let out a low groan as another contraction hit, her face scrunching up in pain. “I’m in way too much pain to yell at you right now… but trust me, I’ll make up for it later.”

Urban chuckled, holding up the camera defensively. “Hey, I’m just capturing memories.”

“I better appreciate these photos when this is all over,” she muttered, shifting uncomfortably as the pain intensified. “Because I swear, if I look like a mess in them, you’re gonna regret it.”

Jack chuckled, rubbing her back. “You’ll look amazing—“

Maryse gave him a tired side-eye. “Whatever.” But deep down, she knew she’d treasure the moments Urban was capturing.

Just as another wave of pain hit, Jack’s parents finally arrived. Maggie swept into the room, her eyes immediately going to Maryse, taking in her exhaustion. She wasted no time.

“You two,” she pointed at Jack and Urban, “go get some coffee. I can tell you’ve been getting on her nerves.”

Jack blinked in disbelief. “I haven’t! I’ve been—”

Maryse shot him a look, eyebrow raised. He fell silent, his argument dying before it began.

Maggie gave him a knowing smile. “Mmhmm. Go on. We’ll keep her company for a bit.”

Urban snickered, nudging Jack as they reluctantly headed for the door. “Told you she’d notice.”

Jack grumbled, glancing back at Maryse as she waved him off, already more relaxed with his mom by her side. “Yeah, yeah. We won’t be long,” he muttered, trying to salvage a little pride.

Maryse just smirked, leaning into his mom’s comforting presence as they left the room.

Maggie turned to Maryse with a gentle smile. “How are you doing, sweetheart? Feeling okay? I really hope he’s not driving you too crazy in here.”

She let out a tired chuckle, her body relaxing a bit now that the room was quieter. “Honestly, he’s been doing great. He’s just… really nervous, and it’s kind of rubbing off on me. But he’s been sweet.”

She nodded, her eyes soft with understanding. “He gets that way when he cares a lot. I’m so happy for you two. This is such an exciting time.”

Maryse smiled, her eyes tearing up a little. “Thanks… I can’t believe this is actually happening.”

His mom leaned over, squeezing her hand. “You’re going to be amazing parents. Both of you.”

That reassurance settled something in Maryse, the warmth of it wrapping around her like a blanket.

A few minutes later, Jack popped his head back into the room, grinning like a kid caught sneaking candy. “Can I come back in now? I miss you,” he said, eyes soft as they landed on Maryse.

She rolled her eyes, trying to suppress a smile. “You’re so cheesy,” she muttered, but the warmth in her voice gave her away. No matter how much she pretended to be annoyed, that sweetness was exactly what she needed right now.

His mom laughed, patting his shoulder as she passed him on her way out. “Alright, you two, I’ll let you have your moment.”

Jack quickly walked over to her bedside, leaning down to kiss her forehead. “I can’t help it,” he said softly. “I love you.”

Maryse rolled her eyes again, but this time, she smiled wide. “Ew. You really do.”

Before he could respond, her face scrunched in discomfort. She gripped Jack’s hand tightly, her voice shaking. “Get the doctor or nurse, please,” she urged, barely able to keep her breath steady.

Jack’s eyes widened with concern as he quickly stood up, rushing to the door and calling for help. A nurse hurried in within moments, checking Maryse over before nodding. “It’s time. You’re ready to push.”

Panic mixed with excitement flashed across Jack’s face as the room suddenly buzzed with activity. The nurses quickly started prepping everything while another handed him a set of scrubs. “We need to get you into these now,” she instructed.

Jack fumbled with the clothes, his hands shaking as he tried to put them on. He glanced back at Maryse, who was focused on breathing through the pain. He could tell she was terrified, but there was no time to dwell on that now. He had to be there for her.

“You got this, baby,” he called out, though his own nerves were showing. He finally got dressed and rushed back to her side, ready to hold her hand through what was about to happen.

Maryse gave him a tired but determined look. “You better be right here the whole time,” she said between breaths.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promised, squeezing her hand as the doctor arrived.

The doctor stood at the foot of the bed, ready for the arrival of their twins. “Alright, Mrs. Harlow, it’s time to push. Give me a big one,” the doctor said, voice calm yet firm.

Maryse didn’t even register being called “Mrs. Harlow,” too focused on the overwhelming pressure and pain. Her entire body trembled as she braced herself, gripping Jack’s hand so tightly that he winced, but he didn’t dare complain.

“You’re doing amazing, babe,” Jack encouraged, his voice soft but steady. “Just breathe. I’m right here. You’ve got this.”

With a final push, their son was born. His tiny cry pierced the air almost immediately, bringing both of them to tears. “It’s a boy!” the doctor announced, but before they could fully process it, the doctor encouraged her to push again. “One more, you’re doing great!”

But before she could catch her breath, the next contraction hit, signaling it was time for their second baby. “You’re almost there,” Jack reassured her. “One more. You can do this.”

She bore down, pushing with all her strength. Sweat beaded on her forehead, and the room seemed to fade around her, everything focusing on the task at hand. She groaned with the effort, her face contorting in pain, but she didn’t stop. The sound of the doctor’s calm instructions blended with Jack’s reassuring words, both keeping her going.

Jack leaned in, kissing the side of her forehead, his heart racing as much as hers. “Just a little more, baby, you’re almost done.”

Maryse screamed as she gave one last push, The doctor held her up, but the room fell into an eerie silence—she didn't cry

Her heart dropped. She looked over at Jack, panic in her eyes, and she squeezed his hand even tighter. “Why isn’t she crying? What’s wrong?”

Jack’s face paled, his eyes glued to their baby. “Come on, baby girl,” he whispered under his breath, his voice trembling. “Come on.”

The seconds felt like hours. The nurses quickly began rubbing her back, gently stimulating her, and finally, after what felt like an eternity, the sweetest sound filled the room—a tiny, soft cry.

Both Maryse and Jack let out a breath they didn’t realize they were holding, tears streaming down their faces. “She’s okay,” the doctor reassured them, “Sometimes it just takes them a minute.”

Jack’s legs almost gave out from the relief as he leaned over to kiss Maryse's forehead. “She’s okay,” he whispered, voice cracking. “They’re both okay.”

Once the nurses had cleaned the babies, they gently placed one in each of their arms. Maryse cradled the first twin, their son, while Jack held their daughter, his face lit with awe. The room was quieter now, the cries subsiding into soft coos, and the nurses hovered nearby, curious as they asked the question.

“So, what are their names?” one nurse asked, a smile on her face.

Maryse looked up at Jack, her heart swelling. This was the moment they’d talked about, dreamed about. She shifted her gaze back down to the tiny face in her arms, brushing a finger softly across her son’s cheek.

“Noah Thomas,” she said softly, pride and emotion lacing her voice.

Jack smiled, glancing down at their daughter, who was already settling in his arms like she knew she belonged there. “And this little one is London Paige,” he added, his voice full of warmth.

The nurses beamed. “Beautiful names,” one of them said, making a note on the clipboard.

As they looked down at their children, Maryse and Jack exchanged a glance, both overwhelmed by the love and responsibility that had just entered their lives. Noah, with his tiny features that mirrored Maryse, and London, with her resemblance to Jack, made the moment feel even more surreal.

“They’re perfect,” Jack whispered, leaning in to kiss Maryse's forehead again, unable to tear his eyes away from their babies.

Maryse smiled tiredly. “Yeah, they really are.”

The nurses gently took Noah and London to the adjoining station to check their vitals, Jack turned his full attention to Maryse. He leaned closer, cupping her face in his hands, brushing his lips against her forehead, her cheeks, and finally planting soft kisses all over her face.

“I’m so happy right now,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “You did amazing, babe. I can’t believe we just brought two beautiful babies into the world.”

Maryse laughed lightly, still feeling a mixture of exhaustion and exhilaration. “I couldn’t have done it without you,” she replied, her eyes sparkling with tears of happiness. “You were right there with me the whole time.”

Jack nodded, his eyes shining. “And I wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else. You’re incredible.” He paused, watching her with a tenderness that made her heart swell.

“I can’t believe we’re parents now.”

“Right? We are really doing this,” he replied, grinning ear to ear, his voice filled with excitement.

Just then, the nurses returned with the twins, both of them sleeping peacefully in their tiny blankets. “They’re doing great!” one of the nurses announced, beaming at the new parents. “Everything looks perfect.”

Jack’s eyes lit up as they approached, and he turned back to Maryse. “Look at them,” he said, pride swelling in his chest. “We made those little miracles.”

Maryse couldn’t help but smile as she watched him fall into that instant connection with their children. “They’re our world now,” she said softly.

She leaned back against the hospital pillow, she couldn’t help but smile at Jack, who stood by the bassinet, completely mesmerized by the tiny babies they had just brought into the world. She watched him, his eyes wide and full of love, and felt a warmth spread through her chest. All the pain and stress they had just endured felt like a distant memory. Before the exhaustion pulled her under, her mind wandered back to the whirlwind of the past year.

From the dizzying heights of success with her music career to the unexpected news of her pregnancy, it had all felt like a beautiful, chaotic dream.

Their late-night talks, the way he made her laugh when she was feeling down, and the countless times he had gently reminded her of her strength—it all played like a montage in her mind. The stalker incident, the Super Bowl performance, and the challenges of preparing for two little ones felt like a lifetime ago. Yet here they were, parents of two, ready to take on whatever came next.

She glanced at Jack again, who was still transfixed by the babies, his expression a mix of awe and pride. That sight filled her with warmth, and as her eyelids grew heavier, she felt a sense of gratitude wash over her. They had fought through it all together, and now, with their family finally complete, she knew they could handle anything.

***

AN: EVERYONE SCREAMMMMMM!!! Noah & London are hereeeeee ;) a day after Jack's birthday of course poor maryse haha please let me know what you think and if you like their names 🫶

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