#festivals r going to line up then

[seekerofrealitys-blog]

Saawan is starting from tomorrow too! Tomorrow will be the first Monday.....! (Om namah shivay!🙏)....

[romanoffsbish]

Kissing Booth

Natasha Romanoff x F!R (College AU)

Tired of your girlfriends on and off kind of love, you set off to see just how invested she is in keeping you | WC: 2,848

Warnings: Toxic-Ish themes | Jealous Nat | Blood

Smut: Public | Jean-Riding (R) | Oral (R) | Degradation (Slut)

18+ | Minors DNI

"Y/N Y/L/N's pledge to the campuses first ever, Mental Wellness Festival is: a one woman booth meant to stimulate your joy receptors; a smooch of serotonin. Fellas, swing on by and steal a kiss, from the palm of my hand, and enjoy your sweet treat. Ladies and They's lean in closer love, if you set the right price, you can take the grand prize—a kiss of your choosing; my lips taste like artificial cherry and melted chocolate if that's of any interest to you. All proceeds go to a fund set in place to create better avenues for those suffering to cope with their hefty course loads as they manage heavy thoughts too." Natasha read the words over and over again in her traumatized mind until her pure feelings came to a boil as she huffed and ripped the paper off of the wall of every place she'd found it.

———

It didn't matter though. Because even though she took them down within the same hour they'd gone up, when she stepped onto the quad lit up by stadium lights she saw that your booths line had wrapped around the diamond twice in the five minutes that it was open.

Her fists clenched briefly as she saw Wanda and Carol, her sorority sisters, eagerly stood in line. Then she shook her head with a near manic laugh. The redhead truly felt bad for the other people here who thought that you'd actually kiss them on their mouths. Foolish to even dream of it really, because you knew better than to let them taint your sweet lips with their lust.

Theirs was carnal; vile another way to express that they wouldn't care for you like she would. Hers was soul crushing, but in the euphoric sense, because you knew no matter what happened between you two, that you were never alone. Natasha might be away, or distant, but she'd never leave you to become another's prey.

Far too perfect for her to lose to her traitorous sisters. They'd be dealt with later, but right now, your (ex) girlfriend had to focus on creeping in the shadows. Watching to see just how far you'd push her buttons.

All Natasha needed was your patience for a month, not even the full thirty days honestly. It was only meant to be a break so that she could focus on her studies, the way her A+'s, and full marks had dropped to A-'s had scared her into thinking that space would help fix it.

It didn't, but she pretended it did because she could not psych herself out of sticking to her desired path. You clearly lacked the patience and respect only your mommy could teach you. The exams are literally next week, you've been so good up until this final stretch. Not bothering her with physical ambushes, or even texting her, which she actually scolded you for, to which you re-shared your location with her just to limit the contact you'd have to make with her through text.

That hurt her feelings a bit, but she refused to wallow in the mess that she'd made. Your feelings were hurt first, and the aftermath treated hers no kinder, and lord knows this wasn't the first time she's done this.

That was in high school, junior year, and you were distraught by the decision. Then Summer came with apologies, and forgiveness. Now, in your fourth and final year of undergrad, you're just used to it. For some reason she just kept getting away with it unscathed...

Until now at least.

The woman you craved watched you with dilated eyes that caught everything. She's only hiding to see who you flirt with, genuinely, and consequently putting them on her list of people whose life she must now ruin in relation to you. Her mind raced when you let an older woman peck your cheek, she had only given you $500, and yet you let the corners of your lips brush.

Natasha growled in place of a whimper, she couldn't get the infuriating image out of her mind, her eyes burned with frustration as she pictured you and the football captain's girlfriend leaving the field together.

The redhead wouldn't let that happen. Darcy Lewis, the gifted scientist, and lover to a Mr. Sam Wilson, would leave here sooner in a body bag than with you.

Natasha pictured shoving the overzealous woman off of a cliff, then she'd return so she could approach you as she dug in her deep crossbody fanny pack, to then slam her wad of cash into the full jar, pull you up into a bruising kiss, and lift the bowl as she kicked the table over, helping flip to the red closed sign for good.

It was $4,000 in hard cash, money she'd just pulled out this morning to get a cashiers check for rent and to pay her other bills; Natasha was pissed, you sure felt that in the way that she harshly nibbled on your lips, cracking open the silky smooth skin; bright red blood smeared your coffee stained teeth. Everyone's whispers of fury and shock were drowned out as your heart pounded wildly in your chest. Natasha hungrily sought out this elevated moment where she took a chance and recklessly guided your body around the corner until she could slam you up against a random concrete wall.

.... It paid off.

"Oh fuck," you huffed as your exposed upper back brushed against prickly vines, the crisp chill in the air instantly solidifying your blood against your skin. You could hardly care about the pain though as Natasha's thigh brushed against the bare cunt you'd sported beneath your skirt the entire night. That shiny metal chair was dripping with your essence as you saw your soulmate (ex-girlfriend) watching you with fury.

You were drenched, painfully needy, and screaming: "Natasha please—god I'm so fucking wet right now!"

"I know you are slut," she growled as her sharp canines grazed over the throbbing veins of your jugular. "I can feel your sticky mess through my jeans." You mewled at the rough press of your slick cunt to her pants, it had you seeing staticky stars. If she kept up a steady pace you were certain to be discovering galaxies. "Mmm, I need to cum mommy, need to cum so bad, please!"

"Yeah?" She scoffed, and you nodded frantically. "Well I need my money back, but instead I've donated it to do with these lips as I please so how about you shut it."

You didn't heed her warning, "Please, I'm sorry..."

"So fucking greedy," she growled, the glare she held as she pulled away from your neck sparked a thrill of fear to run straight to your core, your pretty eyes plead for reprieve, and naturally, the redhead gave in. "Go ahead slut, but make sure to let them hear you." Natasha's arms flexed as she expertly guided your core against the rough material of her jeans, and so you moaned out into the world her outwardly embarrassing title, letting everyone know they never stood a chance, it was a beautiful symphony to your on and off again lover that ended on a high note when she heard a familiar gush.

While you heavily panted, desperately breathing in the crisp night air that chilled your lungs into a hitch, she reveled in how the delicate rumble felt against her lips that were spread against the thin skin of your throat. Her tongue darted out, licking up the salty layer atop of your tacky skin, her teeth brushed back down, going the opposite way her tongue just had. The redheads goal of an endgame was etched into your exposed skin.

Your collarbones now decorated with her marks; ones that spoke of jealousy, and paired with a fragile love. You whimpered softly, the way her wet lips suckled on the already marked skin of your thudding pulse point bled off into the more painful side of things. Her wet tongue slid over the same spot in apology, then her lips founds yours after she kissed up the side of your neck.

Natasha's lips pressed against yours much softer than before, but you could tell she was frustrated with you. Which was fair, and matched as you stewed yourself, a part of you did feel guilty, but mostly, you felt broken.

But you weren't about to cry, no, you'd rather get mad.

It was what the naive asshole had earned. Natasha was great, a caring girlfriend who looked to you to smother with all of her love, the last six years together were a dream come true. A dream that faded into a nightmare whenever she becomes stressed, becoming someone you hardly recognize. She'd become dismissive, cold and quick to call for a blip; a break in your sacred union. Each time she said the same thing, "Just a bit of space is all I need, we'll be okay, mommy promises."

It was what she needed—never you, but she made it seem as if you'd happily agreed to her conditional love. As if letting you feel like her life could only improve if you were to leave it was something you took positively.

You were young, and carefree but not dumb enough to not know this wasn't healthy and maybe for your own petty thrill, you wanted to test her very limits. To see if she might just see what she risks losing, but you feel like all she got from this was more frustration. It only took a moment for her to huff that angrily against your chapped lips. "All I asked of you was for time Y/N."

You leaned your head back and pouted, eyes soft like a wounded puppy's. "We're better together Tasha."

Natasha sighed, "I know detka," she conceded with ease, her guilty face falling into the crook of your neck as she took in a calming breath. "I've been miserable without you honey, but we had to know that this could work. I'm going to have to travel for work, and I don't want to have to worry about you entertaining others."

"I'd never cheat," you hissed, "You asked for a break, that means we're no longer in a relationship Natasha."

"That's not what I meant and you know it Y/N," her nails dug into your sides. "Never have we ever ran a kissing booth during one, now stop being so difficult."

"I'm not being difficult Natasha, I'm doing charity work, and having a bit of fun as I do it." You shrugged and she frowned. "So breaking my heart is fun?"

You sighed softly, unwilling to unpack the hypocrisy of her words, "The only way this works out is if only your body leaves me in those times, but if you're saying random bouts of silence is the final answer th—." Nat cut you off, "You stopped texting Y/N, not me."

"Yeah, because you just wanted a 'good morning' and 'night' or an 'I'm home' after my classes got out, and you'd simply like it. Not even a 'morning love' or a 'glad you made it home safe' or an 'I love you.' in response."

"I needed to focus on school," she tried to defend, it was a pathetic excuse, and you both knew it. "Then you can do that Natasha, but I won't be waiting for you anymore, these breaks in affection are killing me."

"What? I-." You pressed your hands to her shoulders and attempted to push her away but she fiercely stood her ground. "What are you saying Y/N? Because I—."

"Need to let me go," you tiredly replied, "If I, um, if our relationship is too much of a problem for you on your journey to success then it's best we end this now."

Natasha's heart froze in her chest, the idea made her ill. "No!" Natasha fell to her knees, lips brushing over your abdomen before her hands lifted your skirt, and then her nose was nudging the wet skin of your thigh beside your cunt. "I'll do better honey, I swear to it." Her lips trembled, "No more breaks," her voice cracked and your heart sank. Your hands fell to the outline of her head that was buried beneath your skirt, her erratic breaths fanned across the sticky mess between your thighs and your body shivered. "Natasha, get up."

You felt the godly crafted curve of her nose nudge your clit as she shook her head, your mind was reeling with desperation, the same as her words. "I'm insane Y/N, clearly, because my reckless hypocrisy nearly lost me you, but I'm not so crazy that I'd actually let you go."

"Nat..." your muttering of her name cut off in a shaky breath as you felt her shake her head again, the thin twigs snapped as you threw your head back. "No," she murmured against the slick curve of your labia, a wet kiss made your hip jolt off the wall and slip more of her face between your folds. "You are my home Y/N."

Your heart stuttered as you heard her sniffle, her warm tears cascaded over the slick of your thighs and soaked into the cracks of your kneecaps. Hurting her wasn't something you relished in, but it was also necessary.

You knew that up until now things had been toxic, but you also knew your threat of dissolution wouldn't be dismissed. Natasha wouldn't let you go, she'd fell for you way back in middle school, she had the diary's in a locked drawer outlining your future together, the stars were aligned well before you knew, and they officially clicked when she made her move sophomore year.

After puberty gave her a much needed confidence boost she'd asked you out, using homecoming as an excuse, and you didn't hesitate to say yes. She kissed you after walking you home, her mind shifted when her lips pressed into yours, giving her a taste, and from that moment forward she has held on possessively.

Which is why you knew the moment your flyers went up that she would be all over you. A minute part of you lived for these raw moments where the insecurities her distance had created are edged out of your wary mind. Natasha wasn't a fan of breaking your heart either, but with who her parents are you can show her some grace, her expression was clearly a byproduct of their neglect.

Especially when she worked your body so perfectly. "Mmm, fuck," you gasped abruptly, mind exceptionally fuzzy as her despair had turned into the sloppiest head you'd ever received in your life. The noises were lewd, not even the school's festival could drown her out the more her tongue lavished away at your oozing cunt.

Natasha forgot what it was like to breathe for a long moment, her nose and mouth too busy working together to keep your mind fuzzy from pleasure. It was also her way of relishing the time she spent with your intimacy, fear clawing at her heart that this could be it.

The final time she was able to make you cry out her name, to make you feel this good, to love you as she always should. Her mind ran wild with the thought that you might've been scoping out your next lover tonight—could Wanda or Carol be better suited for you? No! She shook her head again and you came, crying out for her—you needed her, and her alone.

Natasha's nails dug into your ass, spreading your cheeks so that she could delve even further into your core with her tongue. Intent solely on drinking you dry, not that she ever really could, no matter how much she lapped away you never failed to become wet again. It was a vicious cycle that she endured with glee.

Your essence was something she always savored, but in this exact moment she found herself rushing to clean it up, her body now plagued with a persistent urge to cry.

Tears and slick intermixed on your thighs, creating their own slippery consistency that led to the redhead falling further into you as she tried to push herself up. You chuckled slightly before reaching a hand down to help her to her feet, the humor dying as soon as her face was leveled with yours. It was hard to feel joy when the love of your life looked so damn despaired.

"Oh Tasha," you coo'd, hands gentle as they cupped her  wet cheeks. "Please, don't leave me detka," she sobbed, her slick hands laid over yours, attempting to keep the comfort of your touch on her, even if it was forced. Fortunately, your intent was only to bring her closer as you pulled her face forward and into a sloppy kiss. The way she whimpered at the affection solidified your choice to stay and fight for the love you knew existed.

"Take me home baby, these lips are yours to keep."

[murdrdocs]

saber tooth | f. odair

description. just two days out from the Games, your mentor and best friend, finnick odair, comes to your room late at night in a mutual fit of insomnia to fulfill your (potentially) dying wish 

includes. SMUT 16+, fem!reader, oral f!receiving, fingering, loss of virginity sans p in v, canon-complicit angst, mentions of finnick’s trafficking, best friends to lovers, reader’s a tribute, finnick’s her mentor, extremely brief misunderstandings, soft dom finnick, pleasure dom finnick, brief mention of drug use (one line), finnick and annie were never together but he mentored her, he rlly cares abt r :((, giggly sex (sometimes), throw away line abt lack of body hair but i rlly like body hair

a/n: whaddup whaddup! this started as a blurb but it um ,,, clearly expanded. there’s no p in v simply bc im so tired rn however i would like to continue this in the future if my mind would allow it :) also the title has nothing to do with the fic i was just listening to easily by chuck inglish

word count: 4k+ 

part 2

A week of anticipation, festivities, and celebration for the Capitol, was a week of anxiety, tears muffled into pillows, and wishing to be somewhere else for you. 

The week leading up to the 72nd Hunger Games. 

The Reaping, Opening Ceremony, and the three days of training that followed were mostly a blur. Your body picked up on the techniques you would need to survive, and with the help of Finnick, you’d managed to commit them to memory. You remembered the way you’d been trained to sit and talk and the jokes you should slip into conversation with Caesar tomorrow night. 

All of their training was working, and Finnick had told you that you had a high chance of making it out of that area. A high chance. Nothing was guaranteed at this point in your life. Which is why you needed to do a few final things. 

The door to your bedroom slides open. You lift your head from the pillow and squint. There’s a little light coming from the hallway, and it backlit the figure. But even without it, you would know who was coming to see you. The only person who’d been coming to see you since the arrival at the Tribute Center. 

“Hey, Finn,” you mumble, resting your head back against the pillow that’s always cool. 

Finnick takes a few steps into your room, stopping to flick a switch that only turns on the lamps beside your bed, and the two ambient ones in the corners. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” his voice is raspy, as if he’s tired, but not to the point of already greeting sleep. It’s a little later than it should be, you were recommended to have gone to sleep two hours ago but you couldn’t. There was too much going on in your head, too many unsaid words and undone actions. You couldn’t sleep with your consciousness this awake. 

Finnick voices the matter. “You can’t sleep, can you?” 

You shake your head, deciding to sit up a little, your bare lower half still secure underneath the thick comforter. Your room was always cold, and the silk sheets mirrored the temperature. Physically, you were the most comfortable you’d ever been, wearing the softest cotton undergarments, and a silk button up nightshirt, your toes warm beneath fuzzy socks. But the weight on your mind was the complete opposite. 

With the way Finnick looks at your face, he can tell just how exhausted you are. 

“Want something to help with that?” He asks as he sits at the edge of the bed, close but entirely too far from you. “A drink? Pills? The Capitol has it all, you know.” The way he says it is the opposite of marveling, the words laced with annoyance and frustration. His tone prompts a small smile from you. 

“‘M okay. I trust my body to do what it’s supposed to.” Finnick’s head is turned down, but you see the way the corner of his lip curls up. 

He lifts his head to fully smile at you, one of sympathy and pity and sadness. His hand reaches out and his palm rests over the outline of your shin. Far too many layers are between the bare skin on both of you, but you don’t say so. You just give Finnick an equally sad smile, expressing your dismay for your situation, and you begin to pick at your nails in your lap. 

“What’re you doing in here? Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

Finnick shakes his head. “No such luck for me either.” He shrugs as if he’s used to it and you remember that he’s been in this position too. Just a few years ago, a young boy, your best friend, was sitting in this bed, with similar thoughts weighing on his mind. And now his best friend was in that position. 

You push the sheets back, exposing the beginnings of the skin on your thigh, and you pat the space beside you. “C’mon,” you encourage, not ceasing your patting until Finnick scoffs and slides his slippers off, crawling up to slip under the covers with you. 

The bed is larger than you’d ever seen, something your escort called a ‘bed fit for a king’, but Finnick chooses to sit right beside you, the heat of his body warming yours. 

“We could watch something. What plays on the television in the Capitol?” Finnick’s sitting so close to you that you can feel him shrug. Whenever you reach over to the bedside table, pulling the drawer open to grab the remote, you come back to sit even closer to him, where your arms are pressed flush against each other. 

“Mostly shows about the lives of celebrities here.” 

You gasp, turning to face him. “Is that rumor about you appearing on some reality show true?” Finnick’s ears redden and that’s enough confirmation that you need. Your head throws back with a hearty laugh, and you click on the TV with hopes of finding an episode. 

Finnick sits quietly beside you as you click through the channels, reading the titles and watching maybe a second or two of content before you decide to try the next thing. When you’ve gone through most channels, you land on the one that will play the Games. 

He says your name, as a warning perhaps, but you click it anyway, seeing that they’re talking about you. 

“Now the odds of this one making it out are pretty high. She’s pretty, smart, and trained by the Finnick Odair,” a clip of you and Finnick appears, one that must’ve been taken backstage during the Opening Ceremony. He’s standing close to you, crouched down just enough to meet your eye level. You’re obviously nervous, and he’s obviously attempting to soothe those nerves, cracking jokes with a hand held to your heart, both of yours over it.  “The Capitol’s Prince.” The announcer pronounces those words clearly, enunciated, making sure every late night viewer understands Finnick’s alternate title. 

Clips of Finnick throughout the years show and you grow silent, watching how he commands a room better than you ever could. 

“If she were to make it out, I’m sure she could become the Capitol’s Princess, right?” The announcer smiles just as the remote is snatched from your hands and the TV is clicked off, ridding the bedroom of the colorful hues and leaving you and Finnick with the yellow light from your lamps. 

“Why did you–?” Finnick’s interrupting. He’s thrown the remote to the side of him and he’s turned to face you. 

“I want you to make it out of the Games, I really do.” You nod, watching the way his chest rises and falls with breaths that fill the hesitant silence. “But, I don’t want what happened to me to happen to you.” 

“What do you mean? You don’t want me to be loved and adored by the Capitol?” You say it a tad bit sarcastically, but your tone dulls down when you notice how serious his face is. 

He shakes his head. “No, I really don't.” You scoff, beginning to get upset over the idea that a night that was turning peaceful, began to turn on its head. “Because everything comes with a price here,” he says your name, making sure you’re listening. “The ‘love’ the Capitol has for me is ingenuine, they love me like I’m an object. Not a person with thoughts and feelings.” 

“Finnick, I don’t think I understand.” But you do, you really do. 

He tells you as much, that same sad smile from earlier on his lips. 

Before you can speak, he does. “Look, I came in here to ask you what you want.” 

Your eyebrows furrow. 

“Before the Tributes I mentor get sent off, I like to fulfill their wish. In case they don’t…”

“In case they don’t make it back.” He nods. “So a dying wish?” Another nod. 

“So, what d’you want?” 

You know what you want. You’ve wanted it since you were a teenager, watching Finnick, the most loved victor, leave for the Capitol and come back weeks later. Since you watched him train Annie Cresta and everyone, including yourself, believed there to have been something between them. Since he walked into your room just 20 minutes ago. 

“What I want, I don’t think I can ask you for.” You speak low, your voice a whisper. Your head rests on the headboard behind you, turned to face Finnicks. 

He shakes his head gently. “I have connections. I can guarantee almost anything.” 

“No, Finn.” You don’t think you can ask him for this. Especially with what he’s essentially just told you. It would be selfish, it would be insincere, it would ruin the friendship you have between you two. 

“I can’t.” 

His head’s already facing yours, and he brings one of his hands up to cup your cheek, his thumb caressing the skin. 

“Yes, you can.” 

“No, Finn, I can’t.” Your eyes sting, as does your nose, and you know there’s no use in pretending the tears aren’t there. He’s seen them, he’s acknowledged them by swiping his thumb under your eye, catching the first drop. 

“I would do anything for you. Just say the word.” 

You search his eyes, his face, the tip of his ears, his Adam’s Apple. You’re looking for his tell. But it’s not there. It’s just Finnick. Your Finnick. And he wants the best for you. 

You’re the most vulnerable you’ve ever been at this moment; sitting in a bed in the Tribute Center, just two days out from the Hunger Games, a period of uncertainty that is life or death; your best friend, and unrequited crush, as your mentor, having to hold your pieces together at least until the end of this. 

There’s no point in hiding anything. You know you need to lay it all out. So you do. 

“Even take my virginity?” 

The air is still. Stiff. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t breathe. His thumb halts. He doesn’t blink. 

You sit there, watching him, holding in the sob that threatens to wrack across your body. 

“Forget it. I’m sor–” 

“Yes.” 

“What?” 

“Yes.” 

There’s a moment where you don’t act. A moment where disbelief trickles down your body like the tears from your eyes do on your face. 

“Finn…” 

“I would do anything for you. I have wanted you since we were young, but I thought…” 

“Doesn’t matter what you thought then. Not anymore. We go from here now.” 

And there is the nagging possibility that all of this could be because of your potential fate. Maybe he’s humoring you, or letting you in on that final step of human intimacy before your life ends. You prefer not to think about it. Especially whenever Finnick’s moving closer to you and you can feel his breath on your lips. 

Your lips are almost touching, the tanned skin of his face is right in front of you, the same goes for the pink of his lips. He’s almost there, then he says, “Are you sure?” 

“‘M sure.” And Finnick is kissing you. Finnick Odair is finally kissing you. 

He kisses you softly, sweetly, with precision and a gentle nature. As if he’s afraid that he’ll do something wrong and hurt you. 

You kiss him back in a similar fashion, just with added timidness that Finnick doesn’t possess. 

Your hands raise slowly, in choppy motions that are both due to your uncertainty, and the distraction of finally having the man of your dreams kiss you like you’re made of porcelain. But you manage to get your hands to Finnicks torso, palms pressed flat against his thin shirt so that you can feel the abs along his torso. 

You’ve felt them before, in time of play fighting, or whenever he would have you replicate his breathing or form. But touching along his torso in this circumstance is different. Now, your touch ignites a fire within you. It makes Finnick grip the back of your neck and pull you closer with one hand, the other sliding the covers away and hooking his hand at the back of your thigh, pulling your left leg over your right. 

Your hands slide down to the hem of his shirt, slowly starting to slide it up until he gets the hint and pulls away just enough for you to slide the shirt between you two, up and over his head. Then he’s back on you. 

When you sigh blissfully into his mouth, he starts to kiss you like he’s desperate to have you close. Like he wants to engulf your entire being until you’re intertwined. 

The best you can do is physically move closer to him, letting the hand on the back of your thigh guide you to straddling his lap. 

It’s then that Finnick pulls away from you. Your hands trail up to cup his cheeks, moving back to play with the golden blonde locks that seemed to never be out of place. 

He stares up at you, sea-green eyes pulling you even further into a state of enchantment. Whenever he tilts his head, eyes stuck on you, and kisses into your palm, you melt. His hand lifts to gently circle around your wrist, nimble fingers rubbing little circles into the skin. 

After a few moments of comfortable silence, Finnick speaks. “I need you to remember that even if I’m doing the work, you set the pace. You tell me what you like and don’t like. You tell me when to go and when to stop. Okay?” 

“Okay.” 

And then you’re back at it. His hands circle around to your lower back, pushing into the curvature to bring your chest closer to him. He uses the position to his advantage, dipping his head to kiss at the exposed bits of your skin; your neck, collarbone, the starts of your cleavage. He quickly becomes frustrated with the lack of skin, and you bite back a smile as you gently nudge his head back and begin to undo the buttons. 

He watches you in a trance-like state with a look that seems akin to awe. You can’t help but tease him just a bit, shifting in your position atop his crotch and slowing your work on the buttons. 

Finnick groans and his hands leave your lower back to push your own hands away, deciding to undo your buttons himself, grumbling something under his breath about you being a tease. 

When you giggle above him, Finnick has you pushed onto your back in what seems like the blink of an eye. Really, it did happen quick, but your eyes were already closed from giggling so hard, so reopening them to Finnick above you, your shirt opened and your barely confined tits in Finnick’s eyeline, is disorienting. 

“Jesus, look at you,” Finnick mumbles. And he is. His eyes are hungirly skirting over your figure, taking it all in. From your eyes, to the bra that you wear, all the way to the cotton panties that hug your hips. 

His gaze stops at your lower half for a while, watching your stomach rise and fall with your breaths and the way there’s definitely a little wet patch on your panties. 

“What am I gonna do with you?” He mumbles under his breath. The question is rhetorical, and meant only for him. But, in a fit of nerves, you answer anyway, needing to do something other than lay there. 

“I don’t know, Finn, there’s a lot that you can do. You can go down on me, give me your fingers, your cock.” 

His eyes lift to yours, shock evident within them. “Did you just say the word ‘cock’?” He laughs between the words, that perfectly pearly white smile greeting you. 

“Yeah,” you say, laughing through the syllables too. 

Finnick shakes his head with that smile still present. 

He swears under his breath but then his fingers are playing with the hem of your panties and you’re back under, focused on what he could possibly plan to do next. He hums, eyes on you, eyebrows raised. 

It takes you a second to realize what his intentions were, but you do soon enough. “Keep going. Please.” 

The tips of his fingers reach below the band of your panties. He begins to pull them down, just until your hip bones and the start of your mound becomes visible. At first, you disgraced the Capitols groomers' work of ridding your entire body of hair, but you can’t help but feel a little grateful that they did. You knew that Finnick wouldn’t care either way. 

You lift your hips, letting Finnick pull your panties over the curve of your ass. When they sit at the halfway point of your thighs, he lowers his head and presses his lips to the area right above the waistband. And he continues to do so, sliding your underwear down and kissing through the journey. 

The last kiss he gives you is on the arch of your foot, right before he guides the garment over the remaining part of your body, throwing them off to the side of the bed. 

Finnick sits back on his heels then, just looking at you, looking at your legs which are just almost crossed at the knee, your ankles together and one knee raised slightly above the other. You’re shielding the most vulnerable part of you, hiding it almost. But when his green eyes meet your center, briefly meeting your eyes, you slowly part your legs, allowing him to see you in all of your glory. 

Finnick sucks in a sharp breath of air, his chest rising with it. He doesn’t let it out until your legs are completely opened and bent at the knee, inviting him in. You sit halfway up on your elbows, watching him, waiting for him. 

It’s not long until he makes a move, just a few tense moments and then Finnick’s kicked into action. 

His calloused hands on your knees, sliding around to the back of your thighs as he lays on his stomach, directly facing your cunt. 

When he speaks, you can feel his breath on you. “I wanna taste you, sweetheart. Just for a bit. Is that alright?” 

His eyes are visible over your mound, but they’re not focused on you just this once. They’re focused on your cunt, scanning it, taking it all in almost as if he’s committing this moment to his very strong memory. 

You’re a little starstruck, reckoning with the notion that Finnick wants to give you head. Therefore, you sit there in stunned silence, attempting to find the words to deliver your over enthusiastic agreement. But Finnick takes your silence negatively. 

“You don’t have to say yes if you don’t want to, honey. Just wanna make you feel good. That’s what I’m here for.” And there are those eyes again. They’re pleading, but also making you feel comfortable, reminding you that you’re in charge. 

You smile gently, nodding. “Yes.” 

And the first lick has your head spinning. His tongue is warm, and wet, and he licks a long stripe from your leaking entrance to your clit. It’s slow, and methodical. He licks your juices up, but they’re coming back tenfold by the time he’s pressed a kiss to your clit. 

A surprised moan pushes up your throat. The feeling has your hips pushing into his face on their own accord, your elbows slipping out from under you and your head throwing back onto the mattress. 

Finnick disconnects from you for just a second to let out a pleased groan, but the absence is too much for you already. You’re wiggling your hips, searching for him. 

Finnick laughs and the sound has heat rising through you. “‘M still here. Not leaving this pussy anytime soon.” 

He lives up to his promise immediately. His mouth’s back on you, licking and sucking on your most sensitive parts. 

It’s now that you remember how experienced Finnick is. How knowledgeable he is about the general spots of someone’s body. And he’s able to apply that knowledge to your body, with the help of your zealous responses. 

You’re moaning, your back arching, your hands gripping the sheets. Your knees bend more, your legs spread more, it’s all more and more and more. You want more from Finnick. You need more. 

You’re communicating that fact when you finally have enough courage to fist a hand into Finnick’s hair, and it’s like he’s rewarding you when he slyly begins to probe a finger at your tight entrance. 

You’re clenched, far from relaxed, but with a deep breath, you’re loose enough for him to slide in to the first knuckle, then the second, then all the way, his single digit comfortable within your walls. 

Finnick fucks you with his finger, aiding the penetration with his pretty pink lips around your pink nub. He sucks, the pressure making your head spin, your consciousness in the clouds to the point where you don’t notice another of Finnick’s deft fingers teasing your entrance. 

“Another?” he asks, voice barely able to be heard due to his proximity to your cunt. 

“Uh-huh,” is all the affirmation you can give. 

It’s a little tight and uncomfortable at first, but once his digits are evened out and curling in you, and his tongue is lapping up your juices like it’s water, you’re riding so high in a blissed out state that discomfort is the last thing on your mind. 

Your approaching orgasm becomes known to you quicker than you can anticipate. It’s like all of a sudden there’s tension in your lower abdomen, begging for your attention, begging to be released. 

“Finnick, Finn,” he hums, not stopping any of his ministrations. “‘M so close. Almost there.” 

You hadn’t thought it to be possible but Finnick gives you more. His fingers fuck you faster and harder, his cheeks hollow as he alternates between sucking along your nerves and stroking his tongue is the areas that you’re most sensitive. 

It feels so fucking good, a pleasure you’d never experienced in your life. You couldn’t imagine being in this position with anyone other than your best friend, someone you trusted with your entire being. It’s as if he knows your body better than you do, because sooner than you would’ve liked, your back is arching and your legs are lifting off the bed and your nails are digging into Finnick’s scalp, all signs that your orgasm is right there and you cum with a loud cry that melts into breathy moans. 

Finnick pulls his fingers out of your cunt but his mouth stays on you, placing gentle kisses and kitten licks along the slicked area. When your legs have lowered and your breath has evened out, he pulls his head away from you, a wince leaving his lips. 

“Darling,” he starts, receiving an affirmative hum in response. “You’re pulling my hair out.” 

“Oh, shit, sorry.” Your hand lets go of his hair, your body burning with embarrassment. But Finnick’s bright laugh and content smile soothes you. 

“‘S okay,” he mumbles as he leans up and presses a kiss to your forehead, then your nose, then your lips. Your lips mold to his like they were created for each other, and the kiss is slow, methodical, loving. 

You whine when he pulls away, but his hands have already hooked under your thighs and he’s pulling you with him as he starts to sit back. 

You end up in the position you started in, sitting on Finnick’s lap, your hands on his shoulders. 

Under you, you can feel his bulge confined in his pants. You shift a little over it, your throat beating with your heart rate due to the anticipation. 

Finnick’s eyes close softly and his head throws back. Your hand rises to push back the bangs of his hair which lay on his forehead, in favor of resting your skin against his. 

“Sweetheart,” he groans. “We …. We can’t.” 

Your heart drops. 

“Huh?” 

“I wanna feel you, sweetheart, I swear.” His eyes open to stare at yours and you notice the sincerity in them. It doesn’t do much to lift your spirits, though. “But we can’t. Not yet.” 

Your eyebrows furrow, waiting for further explanation. It comes from him quickly. 

“I need you in your right mind in the Games. You need to be focused, and only thinking about survival. Nothing else.” 

“You’re so full of yourself.” 

He chuckles. “Maybe. But we have to play it safe.” A beat. “You trust me, right?” 

And you do. Wholeheartedly. 

[ginnsbaker]

In Silent Screams (3/3)

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

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

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

-

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

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

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

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

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

Breakfast can wait.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tell me what you want.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

She knows that knock all too well.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Soon.”

Vision shakes his head. Not good enough. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

The mere thought of you—so close, just beyond these walls—stops a panic attack from consuming her.

-

“Would you like to go bowling?” Wanda asks you as soon as she fastens her seat belt.

The randomness of the suggestion takes you aback, and a hearty laugh escapes your lips. But as you glance over to see Wanda's reaction, expecting to see her sharing in the moment's levity, you're met with a pained expression.

Your smile fades immediately, replaced by concern. “Hey, are you okay?”

Wanda mentally curses herself, realizing just how easily you can read her, see past her defenses. Needing to come up with something plausible, she quickly blurts out, “I had something super spicy when you called earlier. Didn't handle it too well, it seems.”

The corners of her mouth quirk up in a weak attempt at a reassuring smile, hoping you'd buy the lie, or at least not press further.

You don’t. “Hmm… how about we take Sparky out for a stroll today?” you suggest.

“A walk sounds great,” Wanda replies, her voice softening.

“Good,” you say, starting the car. “Let's head to the park. A bit of nature might do us both some good.”

The engine rumbles softly as you shift the gears, transitioning smoothly from one to the next. And then, almost instinctively, you reach out to take Wanda's hand, your fingers lacing with hers in a gentle yet firm grip. You hold her hand throughout the entire ride home, giving her fingers a reassuring squeeze whenever you feel them tremble between yours.

That night, while you sleep soundly beside her, she finds herself unable to sleep. She spends the empty hours simply studying your peaceful face. There's a childlike innocence in the way your lips part slightly, a soft snore escaping occasionally. It's endearing, and it makes Wanda smile, even through her turmoil. She imagines traces of age on your face—the lines that will mark years of laughter, the silver that will streak through your hair. She tries to picture herself beside you, her own face carrying the weight of the years, both of you holding on to each other until the last breath. Her smile is teary as she hopes and hopes that this is where she's headed—to this future.

Because tomorrow, she will have to see Vision, and if everything goes well, she'll never have to see him again. Then she will finally express how she needs you to take her back to Manhattan or anywhere far from here, so she'll never have to relive this nightmare she’s created.

The next day comes like any regular day of the week. She kisses you goodbye as you head off to work, and she feeds Sparky to his heart's content before getting into a pinstripe blue blazer set. She fails to notice just how good she looks in this well-fitted ensemble, the fabric hugging her waist perfectly. Her focus is solely on feeling powerful, as she knows she'll need all the strength to finally put an end to things with Vision.

-

Wanda takes a deep breath, then another, and then two more, before she finally gathers enough courage to knock on the door. Vision answers almost immediately, as though he had been anticipating her knock down to the very second. 

The man before her now looks wholly different from the one she had encountered just yesterday. His blue eyes are bright and clear, his face clean shaven. The scent of a cologne she doesn't recognize wafts to her. New, she thinks. It's heady and distinctly masculine, unsettling her slightly.

“Wanda,” he greets with a charming smile, one that reaches his eyes, but doesn’t quite touch the soul behind them. For a moment, she's transported to the countless afternoons she spent here, entangled with him with nothing—not even air—separating their sweating, writhing bodies. His lips quirk into a sly, familiar smile, as if he too remembers those days and expects this visit to be a similar occasion. 

“Vision.” Gripping her shoulder bag tighter, almost using it as a shield, she quickly sidesteps him. “May I?” she asks, though it sounds more like a statement as she makes her way into his apartment.

He chuckles softly behind her, the sound dripping with memories she would rather forget. “Of course. After all, you've always felt at home here.”

Wanda's stride falters for a fraction of a second at his words, the implication threatening to pull her under. But she needed to keep her wits about her. If she wants this conversation to go her way.

“Let’s just get to the point, Vision,” she says curtly.

“I intend to,” he replies, closing the door behind them with an intentional finality. Wanda allows herself to glance around, seeking even a brief distraction from what's about to unfold. His apartment is in disarray, a stark contrast to his appearance. Her eyes are drawn to one particular piece amongst the chaos—the finished nude painting he had made of her. The realization catches in her throat. It appears he’s finished it.

Wanda shoots him an expectant look, urging him to speak first.

Vision clears his throat, attempting to sound casual but failing. “Wine? Or should we skip the formalities?”

Her eyes narrow, her patience waning. “We skip.”

“Alright.” 

He sighs and drops onto the couch. “Look, I've said sorry over and over, but I’ll say it again. I'm sorry, Wanda. I'm sorry for being careless that night.” His voice lowers, “But I don't regret it.”

Wanda's eyes flash with disbelief. “You don't regret it?”

“No,” he murmurs. “What I regret is that it didn't result in... well, you know.”

The implication is clear, and Wanda feels bile rise in her throat. How could he say something so audacious?

She opens her mouth to retort but he continues, raising a hand as if to hold off her words, “I want to keep seeing you. I can’t stop. Because, believe it or not, I'm in love with you.”

Wanda feels as though the ground has been pulled from under her feet. Every instinct tells her to run, but she knows that this won’t have an ending if she does. Wanda swallows dryly and closes her eyes, trying to piece together a strategy, a way to get through him, a way to get out of this unscathed, a way to ensure he won’t tell anyone about this when she leaves.

“I-I believe you,” she starts. “I think I’ve always known, no—felt, that you l-love me.” Vision nods to her words, his lips curling into a hopeful smile.

“But I have to be honest with you, too,” she continues, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “I took advantage of those feelings, Vision. I knew, deep down, that you felt this way and I still... I still let it happen. And for that, I'm deeply sorry.”

He stiffens at her words, a frown forming on his brow. “Wanda—”

She raises her hand, signaling for him to let her finish. “I don’t love you. It's Y/N. It's always been her. From the very start. What happened between us, it was a mistake, one that I haven't forgiven myself for. Especially because of what it means for Y/N.”

She takes a shaky breath, looking into his eyes earnestly, “You deserve someone who can return your feelings, who can love you wholeheartedly. You're a handsome, intelligent, passionate young man. There are many out there who would consider themselves lucky to be with you—”

But Vision vehemently shakes his head, unwilling to accept it, refusing to acknowledge their end. “I want to keep seeing you.”

“You can't,” Wanda insists, a few tears slipping down her cheeks. “It's over.”

Vision's eyes flash dangerously, the calm veneer shattering in an instant. He takes a step forward, trapping Wanda with a threatening look.

“You think you can just fuck me and then discard me like nothing?!” he hisses.

Wanda backs up, startled. She feels her control starting to slip away. “Of course not. I… you were my friend. I cared—I care about you. But I shouldn't have let it get this far.”

He scoffs, not a word of hers reaching his ears. “So, it's all a game to you? You get to decide when to play and when to stop?”

“No, it's not a game,” she replies, desperate for him to understand. “But I can't keep lying to myself or to you. I can't keep hurting Y/N or you.”

His gaze snaps back to hers, and there's a glint of something dark and foreboding in his eyes. “Maybe you should've considered the consequences of your actions, Wanda.”

She swallows hard, sensing the danger in his voice. “What are you saying?”

“Maybe Y/N should know the truth,” he surmises, his voice dripping with malice. “Maybe she should know exactly who she's been sharing her bed with.”

Wanda feels like she might faint anytime. Panic rises, threatening to choke her. “Vision, please,” she pleads, “you can't do that.”

His eyes remain steely. “Why not? She deserves to know, doesn't she?”

Wanda takes a shaky breath, grappling for words, trying to appeal to his sense of reason. “Yes, she does. But not like this. Not from you. If anyone should tell her, it's me.”

“But you'll never tell her,” Vision says, his voice laced with accusation. “I see it in your eyes, Wanda. You don't have the balls to be honest with her. Because you're afraid. You're afraid she'll walk away.”

Both are poised in this high-stakes game, each waiting, anticipating, guessing what card the other will play next. For a heartbeat, Wanda feels disarmed, Vision's threat too sharp and too real. But as the seconds tick by, something shifts in her. She straightens up, pulling herself to her full height, and when she speaks, there’s no fear or hesitation in her voice.

“You’re not going to tell her,” she declares.

“And what makes you so sure?”

“Because you know I'll hate you,” she says. “And if there's even the slightest chance that I'll change my mind, then doing that wouldn't be it.”

Vision lets out a humorless laugh, but the look in his eyes betrays his indifference. “You think there's a chance you'll change your mind?” 

“No,” Wanda says firmly. “It's over.”

The defiant look that had been painted across Vision's face begins to crack. He looks smaller somehow, like he's shrinking back into himself. His shoulders slump, and the facade of control and confidence he'd donned earlier dissolves. The boy from yesterday, the one who seemed so heartbroken, returns in full force.

“Wanda,” his voice trembles, almost as if he's on the verge of tears. “Please, I’m all alone. I told you my life, I told you about my parents, nobody in this world cares about me! And I know I said I’m fine and I can survive without them, but why should I when I have you, Wanda—”

She can't help but pity him, his brokenness tugging at her heartstrings. But she knows that relenting now would mean drowning in the same cycle all over again.

“Vis, you will find someone. Someone who isn't me, someone better for you. Trust that.”

“How can I want someone else when I had you,” he insists with unwavering stubbornness, his eyes growing more frenzied, and Wanda shivers at the unsettling sight before her.

“Maybe you had me,” she says tearfully as she decides to finally drive a stake into his heart. “But not in every way like Y/N has me.”

Before she can register what's happening, Vision's hands are suddenly around her waist, pulling her forcefully against him. The initial shock and his assertiveness make her freeze for a split second. As he starts rubbing himself against her, she feels the unmistakable hardness growing between them.

“Vision, stop!” she protests, trying to wriggle free.

“Can you feel that?” he whispers hoarsely, clearly misinterpreting her struggle, mistaking it for their first time together and all the other times she eventually gave in to his advances. “That's how much I want you. Need you.”

Tears of frustration and fear spill from her eyes. “This isn't right, Vision. Let go,” she pleads, placing her hands against his chest and pushing with all her might.

“Wanda, just—maybe if we—you’ll see. You’ll see that you love me, just let me—”

Her fist connects with his cheek, causing him to stumble a few steps away. For a while, they both freeze in horror, the gravity of the situation sinking in. In his moment of delirium, Vision comprehends what he was about to do to the woman he claims to love, and guilt claws at his guts, wrenching his insides. 

On the other end, Wanda's chest heaves with shock and distress. She stands there momentarily paralyzed, the aftershocks of the ordeal still rippling through her. Tears blur her vision, but she refuses to let them fall, not now, not when she needs all her strength. Her gaze meets Vision's only briefly before she pulls herself together. She wraps her arms around herself, and then rushes to the front door.

He yells, “No, Wanda! I…please let’s just—”

But his pleas fall on deaf ears.

-

Wanda goes straight home after the whole fiasco with Vision. She locks herself in the bedroom, crying for hours, paying no attention to Sparky's worried barks from outside the door. She tells herself that it could be worse, trying to talk herself out of going to the police. If she goes to the authorities, she'll have to give a statement. This would inevitably lead to an investigation into their past, revealing things she doesn't want you to know.

Drained from crying, Wanda's eyelids grow heavy. As sleep overtakes her, vivid dreams flood her mind, each presenting an alternate reality. In one dream she’s back in Vision’s apartment, his arms wrapped around her like a chain, and every time she tries to pull away, the chains grow tighter, pulling her back into his prison. A cold dread settles in her heart, as she struggles and fights, desperate to wrench herself free from his grasp.

The next scenario places her in a world without Vision. It's a life untouched by his influence, where she walks unfamiliar streets and meets faces that do not recognize her. Then, in a sudden shift, she's back at her office on that fateful evening, but the events unfurl differently. The temptation of Vision never materializes. She leaves, unburdened by the weight of a choice she didn't make.

But the relief is short-lived. These dreams meld into a harrowing nightmare, saturated in hues of red and black, where you discover her secret. She tries to call out, to explain, to mend, but her voice is swallowed by the deafening silence of the dreamscape. 

In her seemingly endless silent screams, Wanda wakes up. The remnants of her haunting dreams still clutching at her, making her jolt upright. The fabric of the sheets sticks to her body, drenched in a cold sweat. Each breath comes in ragged gasps, as if she's been submerged underwater and has just broken the surface.

The bedside clock reads half past six and panic sets anew. You could be home in an hour, given that you haven't been extending your hours at the office lately. The realization pushes her into a frenzied urgency. Throwing off the sheets, Wanda rushes to the ensuite bathroom. The cold stream from the shower brings a semblance of clarity, washing away the residues of her nightmares. 

Wrapped in a towel, with droplets still cascading down her skin, she dashes to the kitchen. She pulls out ingredients, her hands working methodically, albeit with a haste that speaks of her need to keep busy, to keep the demons of her subconscious at bay. She manages to prepare a simple but appetizing meal, but the mere thought of taking a bite threatens to turn her stomach inside out.

The dining table is set, and she seats herself, her gaze distant once again. And she stays there, lost in her own head. 

It’s how you find her when you get home at 9:15 in the evening.

-

You’re quiet tonight. Alarmingly so.

She asks you how your day was, and you respond tersely with a simple, “Good.” She attempts to get you to elaborate, maybe share an anecdote like you usually do, but you dismiss her efforts, attributing your lack of interest in conversation to fatigue.

But Wanda can’t stand the silence. When it’s quiet, the voices in her head are even louder. 

So she decides to tell you about her day instead. She swears to herself this is the last day she’ll ever lie to you with a straight face. She talks about the final projects her students have begun submitting. As she describes her favorites, your interest particularly sharpens when she mentions the portrait projects. You pepper her with questions, mostly about who made which, and Wanda offers names that probably wouldn't mean much to you.

After you finish eating, you thank her with a small smile. It's only then that Wanda feels she can breathe again. She leans in, pressing her lips to yours, her longing evident. However, just as she tries to deepen the kiss, you pull away, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Showered without me?” you tease, but it lacks the usual lilt in your voice. She simply nods in response. You playfully tap her nose, whispering, “Naughty girl.” Then, without another word, you're on your feet and heading up the stairs to the bedroom.

She proceeds to clear the table and wash the dishes, all while the sound of the shower fills her ears. She allows herself a small smile, chiding herself for being overly affected by her dream.

By the time she makes her way up to join you, she discovers you've already drifted off, turned away from the vacant space beside you that's meant for her.

-

She’s positively shaking as she takes the short walk from the parking lot to the classroom, the dread building up inside her like a swelling storm. The thought of facing her class, and especially Vision, sends shivers down her spine. The recent events—the horrifically inappropriate advances and Vision's glaring sense of entitlement—play over and over in her mind.

Her feet eventually take her to her destination, but she remains outside for a full minute. The thought of facing Vision again is almost enough to turn her around. But another, stronger, voice reminds her of her duty, her commitment to her other students, and her own integrity. Moreover, she doesn't want to be alone today, here the haunting events with Vision could replay in her mind without any distractions. 

She pushes open the door. It appears to be a typical day, with her students clustered in small groups, engrossed in conversation and seemingly oblivious to her arrival. She swiftly surveys the room and, to her relief, doesn't spot the familiar blue eyes that usually fixate on her by this time.

When she starts her lecture on the final topic of the semester, it flows seamlessly. Still, the end of the course can't come soon enough; continuing here is untenable. She can’t keep teaching here, when these hallways keep reminding her of the mistake that almost cost her everything.

-

You've been leaving the side of your bed cold for almost two weeks now. Sometimes, your careful movements stir her awake, and she watches you, bleary-eyed, as you go through the motions of prepping for a run, a habit you've picked up quite recently. At first, Wanda would always ask where you’re headed and if she can accompany you. But you'd consistently dismiss her offer, always seeming in a rush to hit the pavement.

She thinks it’s good for you—the exercise. The only aspect of your new hobby that she dislikes is that you typically go before sunrise, where everywhere is still too dark and eerily quiet, and her imagination runs wild of all the worst things that could happen to you while you’re out on your run. 

And Wanda wouldn’t admit it, but she can't help but internalize the consistent rejection of her offers to join you.  She wonders if there's a deeper reason behind it. When you're out and she's left alone with her thoughts, Wanda can't help but let the guilt seep in. Has she become too transparent? Has something given her secret away? Did you find out about her affair? How would she even begin to explain?

But then you return after your run, with a sense of tranquility, as though the exercise had been a cathartic release of some pent-up tension. However, something still feels amiss. Perhaps it's because she hasn't slept with you since the night she discovered she wasn't pregnant with Vision's child, and all that has passed between you are brief, perfunctory kisses here and there. She wants to discuss it with you, but she doesn't want to appear too eager or guilty. Instead, she remains committed to being a good wife. And even though being a good wife was never about housework, Wanda ensures that every corner of the house sparkles and shines.

Meanwhile, you go about fulfilling your own household responsibilities seamlessly. From tending to minor repairs to ensuring that bills are paid on time, you continue with the routines that have always defined the dynamic of your relationship. There's no sign of resentment or dissatisfaction in your actions. It's almost as if everything is back to normal. This confounds Wanda even more. She starts to question her own memory, wondering if perhaps this distance, this new version of you, has always been present and she just never realized it. It's possible that you've become this way while she was preoccupied with her affair, and she didn't notice how you slowly adjusted to her unavailability. 

Of course, she only has herself to blame. She's determined, however, to rectify it and make it up to you.

Which is when the idea strikes her. The dream vacation to Hawaii that both of you often fantasized about but never took due to financial constraints and a tight schedule. With the money from her teaching job, she now has the means to turn that dream into a reality. A surprise trip might be the perfect remedy to rekindle the connection that has worn out due to your busy lives and... her unfaithfulness. 

She knows it doesn't atone for her sins, but it's a step in the right direction.

-

It should have been the perfect day for her surprises. She has two of them—the surprise trip and the news of her resignation from the university. She had just handed you the box with all the Hawaii trip details, and you were about to dive in, when there was a knock at the door. 

Two men in dark suits have arrived at the house, looking for her. Detectives—Rogers and Barnes. Wanda uncovers the real reason behind Vision's absence from school, and it wasn't due to personal family matters or a decision to pursue education elsewhere.

He's been in an accident, and they suspect foul play.

Their questions start off simple, touching on the basics. But soon, they feel like piercing arrows as they delve into the phone calls between them, how close they were, and if she ever set foot in his apartment. Throughout the interrogation, Wanda manages to keep a straight face, though deep down she knows she probably can't fool detectives of their caliber. Yet, she silently prays that you don't see past her mask.

“That’s enough,” you interject firmly. “My wife has answered your questions. Unless there’s anything else directly related to your investigation, I believe we’ve covered everything.”

Your intervention when their questions grow more intrusive suggests she's managed to keep you in the dark. The realization that you're still on her side floods her with immense relief.

“Very well. Thank you both for your time,” Rogers says.

But Wanda isn’t done. She has her own questions. She needs to know if Vision's involvement with her is the reason they're here, probing. She wonders if he might have informed the authorities about their inappropriate relationship, and if that somehow relates to his current situation.

“Wait!” Wanda exclaims, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She contemplates asking her burning questions, but with you observing from the side, she suppresses her urge to do so. Instead, she conveys her worry—she is, after all, his teacher.

“Is he… is he okay?”

Wanda's complexion turns ashen upon catching the look on Barnes' face, instantly realizing he's fully aware of her and Vision's relationship. She can barely hear Roger's response, her blood rushing in her ears.

“…that he’s stable. However, he remains in a coma. It’s uncertain when or if he’ll wake up, but let's hold onto hope.”

Oh.

Her secret's safe—for now. But she... she has to be certain. She needs to tie up any loose ends, if there are any.

-

It's reckless to visit Vision's apartment in daylight, especially right after a visit from the police.

Exiting her car, Wanda's sandals softly scrape against the ground. She pauses to scan her surroundings, her gaze flitting from one building to another. The neighboring houses and apartment complexes stand silent, their stillness almost eerie, as if they've been forsaken. She knows that not many reside in this part of the town, a fact that had made Vision's apartment an ideal hideaway for their secret meetings. 

She cautiously approaches Vision's unit, her hand shaking slightly as it reaches for the door knob: locked. A memory surges—Vision handing her a spare key during one of their early encounters. Retrieving it from her bag, she hesitantly fits it into the lock, preparing herself for what she might find beyond the door.

It opens with a muted creak, and a blanket of darkness envelops her. Hesitating at the threshold, she fumbles for a light switch, her fingers brushing against the cool wall before finding it. She'd half-expected Vision's belongings to be packed up, perhaps by a landlord who wanted to move on from the situation. But everything appears untouched, as if frozen in time; dust hasn't settled, and the items scattered about give no indication that the place has been vacant for weeks. It occurs to her that the ongoing investigation might be the reason the apartment remains untouched.

Wanda moves quickly, knowing she shouldn’t linger. Heading straight to the bathroom, she swiftly gathers her toothbrush and a few other personal items she had left behind. As she emerges, her gaze is drawn to the corner where Vision's easel stands. It used to hold a portrait of her, a work he'd wanted to submit for his final project, capturing her in a light she had never seen herself. But now, it’s empty.

A cold rush of panic seizes her. She clutches the edge of a table, her breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. Had Vision decided to move the painting for some reason? Or worse, had the detectives seen it and taken it as evidence? The painting wasn’t just art; it was tangible evidence of their affair. 

But then, in the midst of her mounting fear, a memory jolts her—there was another painting, the one Vision had purchased from the gallery where she used to work. With a newfound urgency, she hurries to his bedroom. The scene is disarrayed, with sheets and pillows strewn about. Ignoring the mess, Wanda goes directly to the cabinet where she remembered he last stored it. She yanks open the doors, and her eyes dart around, searching, but the painting is nowhere to be found.

Desperation grips her. If the detectives come across either painting, they'd have more reasons to scrutinize her further than she's comfortable with. Such involvement would be near-impossible to hide from you. Wanda proceeds with caution, scanning the apartment for any lingering items that could connect her to Vision. Unexpectedly, she finds a piece of her lingerie nestled within his sock drawer. Swiftly, she snatches it up. Before departing, she meticulously wipes away any fingerprints from the surfaces she's touched, then dashes to her car. 

Once inside, she pauses to draw several deep, steadying breaths. It's overwhelming to think that this is now her reality, teetering on the brink of exposure.

-

She eventually finds herself falling off the edge when she discovers Natasha’s email on your laptop, mere moments after the crushing realization that you hadn’t bothered to open her gift.

Her instinct is to craft a lie. She searches her mind rapidly, trying to come up with a plausible excuse for the intimate handhold. Maybe she could say it was an old friend from the past, or perhaps a distressed student she was comforting. But one glance at the photo and she knows, deep down, that any excuse would fall flat. The way Vision looks at her, with such unmistakable affection and wonder, betrays any innocence she might claim. Trying to explain this to you or anyone else would be an exercise in futility. 

Wanda had played out various scenarios in her mind about how you might discover the truth, but she never imagined it would be through seeking the expertise of your best friend. It was perhaps naive, but she had hoped you wouldn’t notice anything or, if you did, that you'd confront her about it.

But why would you come to her? She's been pushing you away for months, and the only time she truly showed you how much you mean to her was when she was so relieved that she wouldn't be carrying the consequences of her indiscretions in her womb.

In case you need them, the subject of the email says. Need them for what? Wanda wonders. From the way Natasha worded the message accompanying the photos, it doesn't appear you're just discovering the truth now.

No, it seems that you’ve known for a while. Which means—

The pieces fall into place, a chilling realization creeping over her. Wanda's breath catches as she pushes the laptop away, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. The way you had carried yourself, especially around the police—it was far too serene, too measured. When they mentioned Vision's name, you didn't so much as flinch or even show a flicker of surprise.

Her heart beats painfully against her ribs. The calm demeanor, the calculated way you’d been moving about—it wasn't out of ignorance. You knew. And for how long? The thought terrifies her. How many days or weeks has she been living this lie while you watched, silently knowing everything?

Your silence, amplifying her betrayal, eats away at her conscience. The quiet before the storm, she thinks. And she's right in the middle of it.

-

“Wanda?”

She’s hiding in the bathroom, staring at her reflection in the mirror, practicing a smile and a thousand more expressions even though she's barely holding it together.

“Wanda.”

She couldn't shake the thought of you knowing. Did you have any involvement in Vision's accident? You've never intentionally hurt even the smallest creature, let alone another human being, right?

“Wanda!” 

She nearly leaps out of her skin as the bathroom door slams open, and you stare back at her, looking just as startled and taken aback.

“Hey,” she says, forcing a smile.

You narrow your eyes at her, and she shivers under your intense scrutiny.

“Are you okay? You’ve been in here for almost an hour.”

Wanda nods quickly. “I'm fine.”

You continue to watch her for a moment, before saying, “Alright.”

Just as you're about to step away, Wanda remembers the plans for later. “About the dinner tonight,” she starts hesitantly, “with your colleagues from the bank... should we cancel?”

She's desperately hoping you'd say yes. She can't bear not knowing what's going on in your mind. The way you act as if everything's normal is suffocating her. Does she even still know the real you? Every moment you're not cursing her out or confronting her betrayal feels like an eternity.

But you shake your head. “No, let's do it. We already promised them.”

Wanda's heart sinks a little, but she nods in understanding.

“I'll go grab some wine real quick,” you say before leaving the bathroom, leaving Wanda alone once again with her thoughts.

-

Later, as the last of the guests leave, she's certain you've picked up on her distress, noticing how you kept glancing at your watch and drifting out of conversations. She senses your gaze on her as she escorts Scott and his wife to the car, acutely aware you're observing her every move from the bedroom window. 

Though they're older than both you and Wanda, they've only been hitched for two years. Wanda can't help but wonder if maybe things are smoother for them because they waited to get married. But then a familiar warmth washes over her. The memory of how deeply in love she was with you surfaces. Even if you had waited six years to propose, she’s sure that had you suggested it within the first few months of dating, she would've said yes in a heartbeat. 

Truth be told, she doesn't regret it now, the timing of it, and everything in between.

All she's uncertain of is how tonight will unfold.

-

The house lies shrouded in an inky stillness, almost like it’s holding its breath. She carefully climbs the stairs to the bedroom you both share, one uncertain step at a time. The door is slightly open, and you're standing by the window, your silhouette thin and brittle. 

“What happened, Y/N?” she asks as she stops a few feet from you. Your eyes are closed, and your body trembles. Though she should be consumed by fear, her only desire is for you to open your eyes, hoping to find the person she fell in love with over a decade ago still there. 

“What did you do? Did you cause his ‘accident’?” she continues. But you remain silent, unmoving.  “Y/N?”

Still, nothing. Wanda is slowly but surely losing her sanity.

“Did you hurt him? You did, didn’t you? Jesus, Y/N. Talk to me,” Wanda pleads, and then out of desperation she screams, “Tell me what you did!”

“No!” You roar with a primal intensity, reminiscent of a wounded animal in the wild, and the sheer force of it makes Wanda recoil. But she doesn't move away from you. Not at this crucial moment, when she senses how close she is to losing you. “You tell me what you did!”

You stalk towards her menacingly, until you're mere breaths away, and Wanda wants to reach out and touch you, but she knows she'll be burned.

“How you fucked him over and over and over! How you lied to me… over and over and over,” you tell her brokenly.

“Y/N, please–” 

“Don’t. You don’t get to talk to me now,” you say, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes. “You didn’t think I’d know? I wouldn’t feel it? I knew from the very first night. Because I know you, Wanda. Every thought. Every look. Every fiber of your being. I know you and I fucking hate you! I didn’t want to hurt him, I wanted to hurt you!”

The confirmation she's been dreading, along with the murderous glint in your eyes, saps the color from Wanda’s face. “Oh my god,” she chokes out, hand clamping over her mouth in horror. “Y/N…”

You try to walk away, but your legs give out, and you crumple to the ground, knees first, like a puppet with its strings cut. The tears flow freely now, unburdened by pride or anger. A raw, guttural sob escapes your lips, echoing the pain in your chest. Wanda, too, collapses, a mirror reflection of your despair, her body shaking as sobs rack her frame.

How could she have ever been afraid of you, especially knowing what you've been through? Beneath it all, she sees the woman she deeply loves, now appearing so fragile and torn apart, all because of her own mistakes. “I'm so sorry...” she whispers, her apology a mere drop in the ocean of hurt between you.

“Was there anyone else aside from him?” you ask suddenly, looking at the carpeted floor before you.

“No,” Wanda answers earnestly.

You offer a wry smile. “He must be really special then.”

She frantically shakes her head. He's not. No one is. It's always been—

“Do you love him?”

“No,” Wanda responds hastily, almost too hastily for your taste. And by the look on your face, she's crushed by the realization that no matter what she says next, your trust in her words may be irrevocably broken. “I thought I did, but no,” she admits. She can't bear the thought of deceiving you further and aims to leave no question unanswered.

“Did you…” you start, staring intently at the ceiling, and Wanda knows exactly what you’re asking even before it comes out of your mouth. The fact that you have to ask leaves her utterly heartbroken. 

“...ever love me?”

This was her doing. The very second she acted on impulse and succumbed to temptation was when she truly lost you.

“I love you,” Wanda murmurs, her tear-filled eyes meeting yours, stubborn for her words to reach you. “I know how fucked up that sounds to you right now. But I do, I love you, Y/N.”

“You love me?” your voice falters, making you wince. “You have a truly unique way of showing it.”

How does she prove it? How can she make you believe? Wanda scrambles for tactics, for miracles, for a do-over.

“After all this,” you continue, “you might as well have killed me. Being dead might be painless compared to this.”

“Baby, please don't say that,” Wanda's voice breaks, choked by tears she can't hold back. She feels the urge to reach out, her fingers itching to touch you. 

“You don’t get to call me that anymore. Even hearing you say my name makes me sick.” Your voice is steady, each word dripping with cold resentment.

“You can stay,” you say after a while. Wanda senses a fragile hint of hope blossoming within her. But it's quickly crushed when you add, “Stay in this house, for as long as you need. But I'm leaving.”

And it’s here where the panic sets in. The realization that she's on the brink of losing you entirely, not just emotionally but physically as well, hits Wanda like a freight train. The walls of the room seem to close in on her, and the weight of her decisions and mistakes press heavily on her shoulders, making her feel as if she's sinking.

“No,” she whispers. “Please, don't go.”

You start to slide your wedding ring off, and that’s when Wanda loses it. She launches herself at you, capturing your lips into a heated kiss. In the split-second it takes for the golden loop to slip off your finger, a flood of memories rushes over Wanda—the scent of rain as it patters on the roof of the reception, the song playing in the background as you and Wanda sway to your first dance as a married couple, the warmth of your hand intertwined with hers. Those fragments play in a demented, rapid slideshow, and time stretches and contracts, maddeningly so.

For Wanda, it feels like someone's drilled a hole in the base of her skull, letting all the sorrow rush in like a merciless flood. Everything else is white noise. For that brief instant when her lips slot against yours, you don’t push her away. Wanda pours everything she has into this kiss, hoping you'll feel her truth in it. But then, before she even has the chance to deepen it, you’re pulling away and it’s—

It’s over.

Stubborn as always, Wanda tries to hide in your neck, and you feel her tears sliding down your throat. She clings to you with all her might, holding on for as long as she can. But when she feels you gently place your wedding ring into her palm, her face crumples with a pain so profound, she knows she may never recover from it. And then you begin to rise, lifting yourself from the floor. As she instinctively clings to your leg, you take another step, causing Wanda to stumble forward from the sudden loss of support.

“This can't be the end. It just can't,” Wanda murmurs to herself like a mantra, as if repeating it will change the course of reality. She's almost certain you hear her, but it doesn't change your stride; you just keep walking away.

The ring burns in her palm, a searing reminder that her promise of loving and cherishing you always means nothing to you now.

-

Wanda can't quite figure out how, but you've chosen to remain in the guest bedroom for the evening. She'd heard the engine of your car roar to life, but then it fell silent after just a few moments. Peering out, she’d seen you stepping out of the car, phone pressed to your ear.

Who had you been talking to? An intense curiosity had consumed Wanda, making her wonder who had been on the other end of that call. In the short window they'd been estranged—no, just temporarily separated, because Wanda refused to believe that you'd entirely lost your affection for her—could there have been someone else? Someone waiting in line for their turn?

Now, she stands hesitantly in front of the guest bedroom door, hands clenched in her sides,  torn between giving you space and continuing to fight for her marriage. She's torn, but not clueless. It's not just about barging in or holding back; it's about the aftermath. She stands there, frozen, trying to figure out which move won't blow everything to smithereens. Because the time she has with you is running out and there might not be a tomorrow. 

Or a you and her. Ever again.

Wanda finally sinks to the floor, her back flush against the cold, indifferent wood of the door. Sparky, pads over, his little claws making almost no sound against the floor. He nestles himself on her lap, making his bed there for the night. She wraps her fingers around his soft fur, his warmth seeping into her, but his presence is a double-edged sword. As much as she adores him, he's going to be the only thing of you she gets to keep, and it's going to be a painful reminder from here on out.

In an act of despair, she presses an ear flat against the door, searching for the tiniest murmur, the faintest shuffle. Anything to tell her what's happening on the other side of this barrier. A barrier that was never there before. She's on the outside, and the thought that you're moving on, building a life sans her, is terrifying.

It's a cruel irony, she realizes.  Here she is, just a few inches from you, yet completely and utterly in the dark. And so, she sits, hoping against hope, that at some point during the night, she'd hear the door creak open, and you’d scoop her in your arms and take her back.

She waits, because that's what love does—it waits, even in the darkest of times.

-

The next morning, Wanda wakes up, surprised to find herself in a bed instead of on the hard, cold floor. She doesn't recall making the trip, but the idea that you cared enough to ensure she slept on something warm and comfortable almost makes her heart leap out of her chest. 

However, her happiness is short-lived as she opens the closet and discovers that some of your things are missing. To a stranger, the differences wouldn't be obvious, but she knows which shirt and trousers you chose, and she understands the implication. It means you won't be returning tonight, and perhaps not tomorrow either. When she goes to the bathroom, she finds only one toothbrush, and that's enough to make tears well up in her swollen eyes once more.

-

“Thanks for picking up,” Wanda says, her fingers gripping the phone tight, holding onto it like she’s drowning and it’s her only lifeline.

“Well, you've called enough times. Figured I'd give you a break,” Natasha's voice, though distant, is biting, as frigid as the coldness that Wanda has been feeling in her bones these past days.

“I need to know where she is. Please.”

A sigh on the other end, followed by a chilling silence. “You think after everything, you still have the right to know her whereabouts?”

“She's still my wife,” Wanda counters, but it’s weak.

“She was your wife,” Natasha fires back, unrelenting. “The last I checked, people who love their partners don't sleep with college kids.”

The words hit Wanda harder than any physical blow could. She's taken aback, gasping for air as if she's been sucker-punched.

“I—”

“She loved you,” Natasha continues ruthlessly, “more than you ever deserved. And you threw it away, for what? Some fleeting thrill?”

Loved? Past tense? Had Natasha just assumed—

Or was that word coming directly from you?

Pushing down the slightest twinge of sympathy that threatens to surface, Natasha picks up on Wanda's faint, broken breaths on the other end. She can tell Wanda's on the verge, and it's familiar, too familiar.  It's almost exactly the sound she caught when she was on the phone with you the other night.

“I never meant for this to happen,” Wanda barely manages to say.

“Well, it did,” Natasha snaps, her voice cold. “Intentions don’t change actions. And actions have consequences.”

Wanda’s voice comes off a little strong this time, thick with conviction. “Maybe I deserve this, Natasha. Maybe it’s my time to pay for all the wrongs I’ve done.”

“You think?” Natasha scoffs.

“But you... you’ll never get it. You’ll never understand why I can’t just let go, why I can’t give up on her,” Wanda says.

“And why’s that?”

Wanda's voice trembles with the knowledge that what she's about to say is a cheap blow.  “Because you've never been married. You've never committed yourself to someone in the way I have with her.”

That stings, and Natasha can feel her own anger rising.

“Don’t think for a second that just because I’m not married, I don’t understand commitment, pain, or betrayal,” she says, voice low and measured.

Wanda swallows hard. “I didn't mean to—”

“Of course you didn't. But here we are, yet again,” Natasha cuts her off. She sighs, leaning back in her chair, “I’m not telling you where she is. She needs time, Wanda. Time away from you. If she wants to talk, she’ll find you.”

That's the last thing Wanda wants. She worries that distance will solidify your resolve, turning her from an immediate regret to a distant afterthought.

“I need to see her, Natasha,” Wanda pleads, “Just tell me where she is.”

“Why? So you can make things even worse?”

After a tense pause, Wanda plays her last card, “Remember that night after we all went out? The night you and Bruce...” she trails off, not needing to complete the sentence.

Natasha stiffens, instantly knowing where this is headed. “Don’t you dare, Wanda.”

Wanda forges on, “I never told anyone, never used it against you. I kept your secret. You owe me, Natasha.”

The feeling of Bruce's hand against her cheek, the humiliation, the denial—all of it comes rushing back. She never thought Wanda would throw that night back in her face.

“You're really going there?” Natasha laughs hollowly. 

“I’m desperate, Natasha. I love her. I can’t lose her,” Wanda’s voice breaks.

The line goes quiet, stretching seconds into what seems like hours. Finally, Natasha exhales heavily, the weight of the decision clear in her tone. “I'll give you an address. Show up, try to talk to her, but if she asks you to leave, you respect her wishes. Understand?”

Wanda swallows dryly. She knows Natasha can enforce her terms if she wants, which means she has no other choice but to comply. “Understood.”

Natasha's parting words would later linger in her mind for hours.

“This doesn't mean I've forgiven you or that she ever will. But you get your shot. Make it count.”

-

Wanda’s been standing outside the diner for what feels like a long time. She hopes her outfit—a parka over a crisp white v-neck and high-waisted jeans—makes a good impression. A glance in the reflection of the diner’s window confirms her red hair looks glossy and radiant, cascading in waves down her back.

Time and time again, Wanda had turned over every conceivable strategy to win you back. But in the end, they all hinged on the one thing she feared most: agreeing to a divorce. The very thought threatened to break her from the inside, but her desperation to make things right, to show you that she's changed, made this painful decision a necessary one. Wanda had taken so much from you, taken everything you had to offer and discarded it carelessly. Now, it was her turn to give something back, even if it meant letting you go, legally.

She tells herself, repeatedly, that their love story isn't defined by a marriage certificate. They won't end just because their marriage does.  She had to believe this; it was the only way she could find the strength to move forward. 

Steeling herself, Wanda takes one step forward. Another. Until finally, she’s there.

“Hey,” Wanda greets, doing her best to sound casual as she slides into the booth opposite you.

You give a nonchalant nod, mouth full of your Reuben sandwich. “Hi, Wanda.”

The scent of your cologne is the first thing that hits her, and it’s... different. This one's sharper, crisper, with a hint of citrus, perhaps. It's as if you're purposely shedding parts of yourself that she's grown accustomed to, distancing yourself in the most elemental ways. There's a new watch on your wrist, sleeker than the one she gifted you on your last anniversary. Even the way you hold yourself seems altered, shoulders squared and posture more rigid. Every detail screams of a transformation, a conscious effort to morph into someone she wouldn't recognize. 

But why? To hurt her? To move on? To forget? All of the above? It's been just a week, yet the differences are already evident. Wanda dreads to think how much more will change if she goes months without seeing you.

This isn’t going to be easy, and that’s putting it mildly. “Sorry for cornering you like this. You rarely return my calls and it’s been almost impossible to match our schedules,” Wanda admits.

You concentrate on chewing your food, trying to appear perfectly disinterested in what she’s saying. As you take another bite of your sandwich, Wanda studies her intently, looking for any fleeting sign of emotion, but there’s nothing there but a chilling detachment.

“Natasha told me you’re already talking to divorce lawyers,” she continues. She's woken up next to you for more than a decade; she’s not easily deterred by the display of indifference. “If you’re decided that it’s what you really want, then I’ll give it to you. I’ll cooperate.”

“Okay.” 

Wanda notices the fleeting moment your eyes dart to her left ring finger before you quickly look away.

“I, uh, got something for you,” she says. 

“No, thanks.” 

Wanda’s heart sinks as you dismiss her before even knowing what it is. Determined, she pulls out the small ring box and places it on the table, feeling a pang in her chest. “But it belongs to you,” she murmurs.

“What’s this?”

“It’s your wedding ring,” she says, pointing out what you already know. Your expression darkens, frustrated that she misses the underlying meaning of your question—not about the ring itself, but rather its significance right now.

For a split second, Wanda harbored a fragile hope that seeing the ring might stir something within you. 

But then you're shaking your head, beginning to say, “I don’t want—”

“I understand,” she says, her shoulders sagging as she leans back into the booth. “But I'm returning it to you, and I’m keeping mine. What you decide to do with it is up to you. However, holding onto it on your behalf isn't something I can do.”

The ring she slipped onto your finger five years ago held all her promises, all her devotion to you. So it hurt that you no longer accepted that, no longer recognized it as yours. And she didn't want to be the guardian of that pain anymore.

“Fine,” you say, reaching for the tiny box and Wanda releases a heavy sigh of relief.

“So, you've got your ring back, and I'll sign the divorce papers once they're drawn up,” she says, mustering all her courage for what she's going to say next. “And then, I'll come for you.”

She watches in surprise as you nearly spit out your coffee, a few droplets escaping past your lips. As you hurriedly reach for a napkin, Wanda can't help but offer a gentle smile, always finding your occasional clumsiness endearing even in the middle of breaking her heart.

Your wide-eyed stare meets hers, speechless.

Her smile fades slightly, replaced by a melancholic self-awareness. “I didn’t want to believe you when you told me that night that you hated me. But I guess that’s better than indifference.” 

“I don't hate you, Wanda,” you say. She can tell you're telling the truth, and she smiles a little at that.

“You have no idea how much that means to me,” she laments. “Thank you.”

She takes a deep breath, knowing she needs to be clear, to lay everything on the table. “I’m not going to give up on you, Y/N. On us. What we have, and I’ve thought a lot about it, is something I’ll never find in another.”

“I’m not telling you this to get a reaction out of you,” she continues, “I know you’re not exactly thrilled at the idea of me pursuing you, but,” she falters, the first sign of her vulnerability. “This time, I want you to know everything. I don’t want you to be blindsided by my intentions, so I’m giving you a heads-up.” 

“Wands,” you say, the nickname slipping effortlessly from your lips, and she has to fight the instinctual urge to reach for your hand across the table. “You can’t torture yourself like this.” 

“I’m not,” she assures you. “I just refuse to give up on my dream.” She senses the skepticism in your eyes, and she can't blame you, not after everything that happened in the recent weeks. You’re my dream, Wanda had confidently and lovingly written in her vows. The memory of that day, with the weight of those words, is as vivid in your mind as it is in hers.

She's always been the type to hold onto what she loves, never letting go without a fight. But seeing the dark circles under your eyes, the sunken weight of your cheeks, she knows the very sight of her is taking a toll on you. And so, she’s leaving, for your sake. 

“I'll see you soon,” Wanda says, getting up to leave. She hesitates for a moment, considering whether to go for your cheek, if you'll allow her. However, the lack of response from you pushes her to take small, shaky steps toward the door and out of the restaurant.

It isn’t over. Wanda’s made up her mind: she won't give up on you. Maybe she's the villain in this story; and hell, there's probably someone out there, all primed and polished, perfectly poised to love you without the scars and rough edges. Except, she doesn’t care, even if she knows she’ll be diving headfirst into the storm. 

She swears that someday she'll be on her knees, asking you to marry her again.

[p3ndeja6]

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

stray kids x reader

bangchan! and hyunjin! edition (separate)

Content Tags: smut! cheating! toxicity! piv! riding! slight mommy usage! dom bangchan! sub hyunjin! creampie! squirting! jealous reader and jealous chan and jin! non established relationship! fwb type shit!

word count: 2.5k

NOT PROOF-READ (just lazy)

a/n: this is probably ooc since im not educated on skz fandom so please don't execute me for any inaccuracy. Also creating this bc we saw them at lollapalooza and started brainstorming after leaving the festival LMAO (they were all so fine)

Inspired by: (my favorite) song B.A.S by Megan Thee Stallion..

☆ dedicated to my best friend @lilmeowneow ☆

Bangchan

Ever since you’ve been sleeping around with chan and found out that you werent the only one who also has been fucking him; you wanted to be sad about it but you knew better… way better. So if he can sleep around with other girls, you can too and sleep with the other guys in your DMs. They were all great really, made sure to let them who really was in charge, but deep down you loved the way chan fucked you senseless everytime. He was the only one you would obey to when he told you to turn around and take it. The way he would make you feel, it  was like no other guy has made you feel before, the way he would be gripping your thighs as he pounded into you tight, wet, cunt.

But you had to keep the charade going.

One night you were in your apartment waiting for a guy that slide into your DMs for a quick fuck, he was cute and tall, might as well. You were getting ready and preparing the drinks into your room when you got a phone call, you looked at the caller ID and it was no other than chan, you chuckled debating to answer. But the guy was about to arrive soon. Fuck it

“Hello?” “ hey girl” “hi chan what brings this phone call?” “well nothing really wanted to know how you were doing and was wondering if you were free tonight?” you smiled, you knew what that meant, but you had to stay strong. “Ooh yeahh, no i'm actually busy at the moment-” 

At the exact time the doorbell rang, “what do you mean?” you walked towards the door and opened it to see him holding flowers, you smiled and let him in. “thank you so much for the flowers r/n!” you said into the phone to make sure you heard. 

On the other line he grew suspicious and was taken aback to have heard a male on the other side of the line. “Y/n? Do you have company over? Hello??” Y/n?” “If you want, just start heading towards my room and we can get started.” You saw him walk into your room and as he walked in you turned around and resumed the phone call.

“ so yeah chan i can really hang tonight im a bit busy” you slyly said. “Who are you with right now?” “nun” “nun who?” “nunya” you heard him groan on the other side of the phone. “Okay bye chan!” “no wait y/n-” you ended the call and blocked him.

“She fucking blocked me..” 

Days have passed and you were lying around your apartment watching tv, just letting time pass by and watching the sunset go down. Looking at the beautiful ombre of red and orange colors filling your living room. Then you heard the doorbell ring. It caught you by surprise because you weren't expecting anyone today. You get up and peek through the peephole and see no other than chan waiting for the door to open. You giggle and open the door, he looks up and scans you up and down,salivating at the way you look in your “i don't care” outfit. Booty shorts and a big t-shirt that was cut from the top that slips down your shoulders. 

“What a surprise to see you around here” you told him. “Yeah well i was just passing by and wanted to come and see you” “oh yeah? You wanted to see me?” “yeah of course” you let him in, not breaking eye contact with him. You eyed him up and down, wearing his black jeans and his leather jacket, seeing he was wearing his white wife beater. Feeling the wetness pool in your cunt. You look away to close and lock the door and once you turned back you felt a full body pressure on your lips, pushing you up against the wall. Kissing you harshly, gripping on your ass, “jump” chan says in between your lips.

He kisses you so passionately and roughly, he goes down your neck and sucks on your sensitive skin, he stops and looks at you for a second. “ I see he left his mark on you” you gave him a blank stare, “so?” still holding you, with his hands underneath your ass. “Can't believe you had another guy over” “oh yeah? Well i know you be fucking other bitches when you aint with me” he looks at you surprised that you knew that. You laughed in his face,  “well I was just saying!, i dont give a fuck who you have over, but you have no need to lie to me, might as well tell me” “seems like you” “no i dont, he’s definitely not hotter than me so i could care less”

 you rolled your eyes and grabbed his face and continued to kiss him, falling back down to the ground, you led him into your room and pushed him on the bed. He looked at you in lust, just waiting to be able to tear your tight pussy up. You take your shirt off, revealing that you weren't wearing a bra underneath. “Fuck baby” you push off his jacket as well and his beater. You were getting desperate, you needed him. It's been weeks since you had chan in you, the other guys couldn't compare to what chan made you feel. You took your shorts and your panties off and helped him get his off as well. 

You pushed him down the bed, ready to center you cunt on his big, thick, cock. “Ughh just sit on it already” chan said as he pulled you down. You let out a loud whiny moan as you were stretched open. You wasted no time in bouncing on him, you grabbed onto his strong shoulders and bounced. You and chan were a moaning mess, your tits bouncing at the rhythm of his pace. You looked at him, smiling with your lustful eyes, he looked up and smiled at you and chuckled. “What's so funny?” you asked and at that moment he flipped both of you over and now he was on top. 

He caught you by surprise, but you werent gonna deny his dominance. You could let him dominate you whenever and wherever he pleased. He grabbed onto your leg and threw it over his shoulder and leaned in. making him go deeper into you. “Fuck.. just like that daddy, m’need you so bad” “atta girl.. You.. take .. me .. s’so good” 

he grunted going feral at the nickname you just called him. “Y-yeah? Daddy? When it comes from you it sounds better ""oh? Others called you daddy too?” you panted out and rolled your eyes. You tried to be mad but the way he was having his way with your sensitive wet cunt, you couldn't bear to start an argument. Hearing the pornographic noises of both your slicks being pumped in and out of you, and the sound of his balls hitting onto your ass. He leaned forward pushing your leg so far up, hitting you in that one spot that did it for you.

You soon start to feel that tightening feeling in the pit of your stomach starting to fuel up. You were about to cum. “F-fuck chan, im gon’ cum” he grunted and deeply moaned “s-shit hold on baby, just hold it, i’ll tell you when” chan kept pounding into you so relentlessly. Gripping onto your thighs so tight, leaving bruises on them, you couldn't hold it in anymore, the pressure building up was getting too strong, too strong for you.

 “please! c-chan i can't-""one..more..second” tears started to form as you were fighting the urge from coming, you crossed your other leg behind his ass, pushing him slightly closer to you as if he wasn't close enough. “Y’yeah baby, you are such a good girl for me, no other guy can.. Fuck you like this.. You’re mine.. Only mine” you were looking away trying your hardest to keep in your orgasm that was so desperate to come out. Chan noticed and grabbed your face to make you look at him. “Hey look at me when im talking to you, no one..can fuck you this good like me, do you hear me?” “ y-yes! Yes daddy! You make me feel so good.. Only you!” “good..now cum for me pretty girl” the second he gave permission, you let out your loudest orgasm yet. The same time Chan came and pulled out to shoot it on your cunt. 

Mixing both your messes, he then shoved it back in with his dick. Making you whiny-moan. He stayed like that, inside of you. Both of you are trying to catch each other's breaths, sweaty and hot. You hold onto him as you look up at your ceiling seeing white. You both stayed like that until he pulled out of you slowly, watching both your cum spilling out of you. “Only for me” he said in triumph. You let out a laugh and looked up at him. He was confused by you laughing. 

You start to get up and get back into your clothes that were spread around your room, “nah christopher, i got some other guy taking me out for lobster and pasta later tonight” you walk past him, and he grabs onto your arm to make sure to get a good look at you. “What do you mean you got someone taking you out tonight?” 

He almost looks hurt that after a night of passion, you are going to spend the other half of the night with some random guy. “Yeah well I've been hanging out with him some time already and I enjoy spending time with him, plus he takes me out on dates and buys my clothes” you told him nonchalantly. He looked exasperated, how could you!

“Yeah well I can too!” “oh yeah?” “yeah!” “Then why don't you do it?”

guess we both aint shit

Hyunjin

“You like that dont you?” you panted out. A moaning mess you were as you were on top of hyunjin. He was sprawled out on your king size bed. He was handcuffed to the bed frame, he wasn't allowed to touch you while you rode him. You were punishing him

You had found out that he was having sex with the sweet girl that lived next door to you. She was sweet and all but you hated her. No need to give an explanation why. He doesn't know why he’s being punished, you do though.

“Ple-please y/nnn” he whined. God you loved the whiny noises he made underneath you, you yourself tried not to cum by the sounds he was making, begging to release. 

“C’mon jinnie, think why would mommy want to punish you this bad?” you said condescendingly. He looked away trying not to cum by your dominant persona.

You grab his face, squeezing his cheeks, holding him steady making sure he was looking at you. “No no no, i didn't say look away, did I?” he shook his head no, tugging on the handcuffs trying to break free, he just wanted to touch you hot, sweaty, skin. Grab on to your beautiful squishy thighs. 

“N-no! I have n-no i-idea why!” he was practically crying at this point. 

You stop your motion, making him open his eyes in a whiny confused look. “W-why did you stop?” “You seriously don't know why I'm punishing you?” still confused, he had no idea.

“ I saw you go to my annoying neighbor's house the other night. You got out of her apartment REALLY late; care to explain what you’ve been doing in her apartment for that long?”

He froze… he knew what he did. He had sex with her. Why? Because he knew that you hated her. You knew everything she did annoyed you. If you could do anything in your power to abolish her, you would. He knew what would have happened if you found out he’s been having sex with r/n. He wanted to push you.

In reality he was doing this to get back at you for sleeping around with guys that weren't him. He hated that you were spread open for guys that weren't him. He saw you hope out that guy’s black Challenger, pulling your skirt down. He knew, what other way to get back at you? Sleep with your annoying neighbor you hated with your dear life. 

Still panting, “why do you hate her so much? She’s so sweet and she bakes cookies”

you guys weren't together but you were together, and you hoped nobody catched onto you guys

you groaned in annoyance, began to bounce on his dick. He moaned at the sudden friction, he was literally on the verge of cumming. “Oh yeah? You wanna know why I hate her sooo much?” you were panting at the rhythm of you bouncing on hyunjin’s big cock. “Because ever since you’ve been coming around, she has been trying so hard to get into your pants, shes not sweet, she's evil, and she knows that.” 

you were angry, bouncing so aggressively on his dick, he couldn't keep up anymore, you’ve been teasing the shit out of his cock for almost two hours, he can't do this anymore. 

“you’re mine!”

“y-y/n im gonna cum!” he whined-moaned. You were so into the anger you built that you didn't hear his pleas. “Fuck! Y/N! Please please!” he was being so loud you were pretty sure your neighbor heard. “Yes! Yes! Just like that please!” 

You finally realized he was about to cum, you made sure he got louder for your neighbor to hear. 

“Yeah baby? You wanna cum? Get loud for me then, don't hold back baby” you demanded.

This set of hyunjin off, he let out the most stomach-twisting, pussy-gripping, toe-curling,yummiest orgasm yet. You kept riding him until you were getting close to yours. “p-please n-no more!’ m’too much, c-cant” “yes im not done yet baby”

You were so close to your climax, just a bit more. You bend back putting your hands on his knees, holding onto something as you fucked yourself on his dick. Mouth gaping open, eyes rolled back, moaning mess, you were fucking yourself to him reaching for your high. 

‘Mmh yes!, so so close baby” “fuck! m-me too!” 

You leaned back forward to kiss him and moan into his mouth, you let go and cried-moaned out loud, cumming all over his cock and the sheets, squirting all over. He came as well just by seeing the mess you made on him, his cum filling you up to the brim once again. You rode your high, falling down onto him panting, feeling light-headed.

You both stayed quiet, trying to catch your guy’s breath. Once you finally relaxed you slowly slid out of him, both of you moaning and the loss of warmth. You plop down next to him, “hope this teaches you to not go fucking around with that girl” you said to him. “Oh yeah? Well i guess if you werent fucking that guy in his car, i wouldnt have” he spat back. You leaned up and gave him a shocked look. “H-how did you know that?” “i saw you y/n”

oh 

“guess we both aint shit”

The next day, you walked out of your apartment and ran into your neighbor, she gave you a scared and awkward look, avoiding eye-contact. You smiled at her

“I know you couldn't make him feel that way the way i make him feel, you wished you were me, you wish your camera rolled looked like an onlyfans of him”

“Fuck you”

“He already does and it feels great”

[brackishkittie]

yeah it's still september but it's halloween time for me sooo

walking through a haunted house with abby and getting scared and clinging onto her every five minutes. her laughing and comforting you throughout the house and at the end ✨treats you✨ for being so brave🤭

in for it, abby anderson

— abby anderson x black!reader

synopsis: basically the request. 😭😭

c/n: just nastyyyy bro, car sex, fingering ( r!receiving ), pet names ( baby, babe, doll, sweet girl ), clit slapping, edging, and oral ( r!receiving ).

a/n: this was supposed to come out weeks ago but writers block kicked me in my ass omfg…

layout creds: @nysrage ( go check her out, her work is amazing btw. 🤭🤭 )

word count: 1.6k

it’s october and a cool festival opens up every year for everyone to go to, so you and abby decide to go since you guys already go there as if it’s a tradition. after doing mostly everything in eachother’s lines of sight, abby looks at the new haunted house they opened up and her eyes just light up like a little kid looking at a candy store. “babe look! they opened up the haunted house.” she smiles wildly as she looks back at you. abby knew you liked scary shit, but you had your limits and haunted houses were one of them. you feel a frown spread across your face when you saw it.

“ohh!!…abs are you sure you can handle it?” you ask hesitantly, trying to kinda sway her away from it for now. “..yeah?? why do you think I’m trying to get inside of it?” she grabs your hand when you say nothing and walks you over to the line. “I know you not getting sassy with me abby..” you squint at her but she doesn’t take you seriously. “oh you do NOT wanna see sassy.” she laughs and you just roll your eyes. you guys talk half of the waiting time and before you know it, you’re at the front of the line. “enjoy the house!” the employee smiles at you two and lets you both in. not even 5 minutes of being inside of the house, you cling onto abby’s arm. “jeez..and you were asking me if I can handle it?” she laughs and looks around in awe, “these people need a raise, look at how much effort they put! the little ugly dolls are looking at me funny.” she says as she gets a good look at them. you guys don’t even realize that a person in a realistic ass zombie costume was sneaking up behind you guys because when you two turned around? all hell broke loose the way you screamed bloody murder.

“holy shit..YOUR FACE WAS PRICELESS!” abby starts laughing at you at you and you just frown again, “that’s not funny.” you sigh and look around again, hoping that whatever the fuck that thing was wouldn’t pop up again and scare you. “I’m sorry babe, but look, if you can make it through the rest of this house, I’ll reward you at the end. got it?” she wraps an arm around you and you cling onto her once again. she places a reassuring kiss right on your forehead and leads you through the house once more. “they put too much detail into this place..I don’t like it one bit…” you say while your grip on abby gets even tighter. “baby it’s ok, I got you. remember that none of this is actually real so you’ll be ok. I promise.” abby smiles at you and you just stay quiet, you didn’t even realize that you were holding your breath. “how much more longer do we have in here?” you whine, “not that long baby, cmon you can do it. none of this is real.”

you were ok for awhile, trying your best to keep your cool but the feeling of being watched made your stomach do flips and turns. the only thing that kept you at bay was the fact that you were holding onto your girlfriend, abby. “abby I really don’t like this.” you utter, still looking over your shoulder every now and then. “you’re a brave girl, aren’t you? we’re almost out baby.” she rubs your shoulder and you relax, you don’t feel as tense anymore and not even 5 minutes later, you guys finally make it out of that horrible place. “seeee?? no need to be scared, we made it out in one piece.” abby shoves you playfully while laughing at the face you made in return, “remind me to never ever come with you to a haunted house again..” you cross your arms and abby kisses your forehead once again. “who are you gonna cling onto then, hm?” you paused, she was right but you kissed your teeth, “whatever..let’s just get in the car, they’re gonna close soon and it’s pretty late.” you say to her, she nods and wraps an arm around your waist while you two walk back to your shared car.

“mmfgh— fuck!” you moan out, her fingers deep inside of you, while her tongue skillfully attacks your clit. her eyes never coming off of you, she’s been thinking about getting you like this for atleast half of the whole night. the way you clung onto her, the way your body pressed up against her, the way you just had her head spinning. she was so proud of you, her brave girl going through a haunted house with her and now she just wants to reward you. “abbyyyy..fuck- too much…” you whine, gripping her hair even tighter and bucking your hips, “you can take it, baby, I know you can..cmon doll, you’re brave aren’t you?” she says while she’s still ramming her fingers in and out of you, driving you absolutely nuts. you try to move back but she pulls you back by wrapping a strong arm around your leg, “don’t fucking run.” she mutters. her eyes darkening as she said it, abby looked feral. she slapped your clit and you flinched, biting the inside of your cheek. your clit was so sensitive from all the stimulation and she was aware of that. very aware. abby pulls her fingers out and shoved them into your mouth. “be a good girl and stay still. I won’t tell you again.” you nod and she takes her fingers out of your mouth.

abby slowly rubs at your clit with her thumb, holding and squeezing your left thigh with her hand while she’s holding eye contact with you again. she started rubbing your clit faster and your breathing hitched. “a-abby please it’s too much!” your back arches as you grasp at her arm for support and try to push her away, “so fuckin’ disobedient..” she groans and slaps at your clit again. she shoves her fingers back inside of you and her mouth latches back onto your clit, her tongue swirling around your bud and sucking harder than before, “abby I’m gonna fucking cum! fuckkk!” your hips buck again and as soon as you feel like your gonna cum, abby completely stops. “you can’t cum yet. you didn’t listen, so now you gotta beg for it baby.” she smirks, “sit up and get on my lap.” she pats her leg and you move onto her, and as soon as you did, she pulls your shirt off and immediately starts groping and sucking at your tits. abby looked feral, the way her hand moved down to smack your ass and make its way back over to your ache, she was all over you. as she starts fingering you again, she kisses you sloppily, your lipgloss smudging as she kisses you, and runny mascara tears rolling down your face.

“abby pleaseeee- oh fuck!” you moan out, feeling yourself reaching your high again, “you wanna cum baby? hm?” she slurs, and all you can do is nod as her half-lidded eyes watch you lose yourself from her just shoving her fingers in and out of you. “abby please let me cum..it’s too muchhhh!!” your hand grips at her shoulder and your eyes roll back from all of the stimulation. “go on sweet girl. go ahead and cum for me baby.” abby starts kissing and sucking at your neck while pinching at your sensitive nipples. the stimulation was sending you insane at this point. you look disheveled and completely drained, “I know baby, it’s okay. you’re almost there.” you felt your vision get blurry and your legs go numb as you cummed all over abby’s fingers. “such a good girl. I’ll clean up and get you something to eat on the way okay?..but first maybe get some clothes on because I may have forgotten that we’re in a parking lot…”

tags: @vnus-starr @mariefilms @machetegirl109 🤎

[luveline]

hi!! i was wondering if you would write more ab spencer, r, and baby amanda from your single dad au? :o they’re so precious <3

Thank you for your request! ♥︎ fem!reader 1.6k

"How come you aren't hungover?" Spencer asks. 

You can barely hear him over the cacophony of the crowd. You're waiting for Hotch to finish his decathlon, the girls in their sunglasses, Jack and Morgan holding a homemade sign aloft. 

Amanda's sitting on the barrier with her weight against Spencer's chest, her soft brown hair splayed out against his collar like a wave. 

"I know the meaning of moderation," you say with a sweet smile. 

You might be imagining the pinking of his cheeks. "Not moderate enough, clearly," he jokes. 

JJ hadn't picked Henry up until three in the morning. Which is fine, Spencer will take Henry whenever he needs to, as per his self-ordained godfathering duties, but when JJ hadn't appeared at 11 like she'd promised, Spencer had obviously been worried. 

"Things got a little… out of control." You dip your face to his ear. "I've never seen Emily dance like that. It was crazy." 

"I wish I could've been there, but we had a date with Edward Tulane, didn't we, Amy?" 

Amanda tips her head back at her father's affectionate tone. "Daddy, I can't feel my butt." 

"Not your butt!" he says, taking her seriously but chuckling at the same time as he pulls her up and off of the barrier. With some careful manoeuvring, he's tucked Amanda into his chest, one hand held protectively over the bottom of her back. The other hooks behind her knees. 

"Is that better?" 

He speaks to her with the same fatherly fondness as always and every time you find yourself melty like butter in the summer sun. In Spencer's eyes, Amanda is the smartest, most interesting girl alive. You're tempted to agree. 

"I was worried it might be depressing for her," he says, tucking her hair behind her ear. "It's sad for a children's story, you know? But she's really interested, and it's important for kids to hear sad stories. Children who read stories with unhappy plotlines are more empathetic, and have a stronger sense of justice." He smiles at her. "Plus, I think it's her favourite so far. She asked if we could read it again, all in one go. It's gonna take hours." 

"That doesn't surprise me. I mean, she's yours. I thought you'd be reading her Tolstoy by now." 

"I'm saving Tolstoy for first grade." 

He's serious. 

Hotch runs through the finish line and the members of the BAU that are assembled cheer loudly. He doesn't seem embarrassed at all, only proud, ducking down to give Jack a sweaty hug. Then he, Jack, and his new girlfriend move away from the group. The remaining members of your team start to break away, too.

The girls all want to go home and die in their own beds. Rossi and Morgan have separate dates. You're thinking you'll go home and shoot the breeze until a more reasonable bedtime when Spencer turns to you with his usual genial smile.

"Do you want to come over? We're gonna make pasta and watch Fraggle Rock." 

Spencer's changed a lot since he became Amanda's primary caregiver, but some things stay the same. He loves doing things with other people and he'll always extend an invite if he thinks the other party might enjoy themselves. Going over for dinner feels a lot more intimate than his having an extra ticket for a foreign film festival, or late night takeout, though. 

"I don't want to impose," you say awkwardly. 

"Do you think you're an imposition?" Spencer asks in concern. 

"No, just, you know, I don't…" 

"Amy doesn't mind. Do you, sweetheart?" 

"What?" says Amanda's little voice. 

"Can Y/N come for dinner?" he asks. 

Amanda smiles, pearly white teeth and cheeks chubby with baby fat. "Yes! We're gonna make pasta and watch Fraggle Rock!" 

You laugh in delight. 

"We decided in the car," Spencer explains. 

"Here I thought you were telepathic." You direct your smile at Amanda's doe eyes. "I'd love to come for dinner. Thanks, baby." 

Spencer has the cleanest car any parent has ever had. You know he spent days choosing the safest one he could find in his budget, and even more days on a car seat. His apartment is just as clean but way more crowded, stuffed to bursting with Amanda's toys and his books. 

"I'm gonna change, do you mind?" he asks, leading you down the hall into the kitchen. Amanda had tipped half a juice box down his front, and the stickiness is clearly making him uncomfortable.

"No, by all means."

He smiles. "Stay here," he says with a feigned sternness, pointing one of his pretty fingers at Amanda. His daughter only giggles. 

You follow Spencer with your eyes as he leaves. 

"Will you take off my shoes, please?"

You look down. Amanda stares up at you, her round eyes pleading, one foot held a half inch off of the ground. 

You leap to action, and say, "Oh! Yeah, baby, no problem," as you get down on your knees. 

They're simple buckles and take all of ten seconds. Amanda holds onto your arm and lifts her feet one at a time so you can pull them off. Her small toes wiggle in her socks when she puts them back on the floor.

"Feel better?" you ask knowingly. 

"Daddy says shoes are a con-d-struct," she tells you. 

"They are!" you say, though whether you really agree might take some thought. "They're silly, huh?" 

"Yeah. If we walked with no shoes, we would have tough skin like trees!" 

"Like trees," you repeat. You love listening to little kids speak because they're so full of joy to share what they know, and Spencer Reid's kid? She is a walking book of facts. "That's so cool, did daddy tell you that?" 

"Daddy tells me everything." 

Spencer appears in a graphic t-shirt. You've only seen him dressed down through barely open hotel room doors or in photographs with Amanda. It takes a second for your brain to recognise what you're seeing. 

He's a genius, so he understands what you're doing immediately. 

"Oh no," he coos, bending down to take Amanda's shoulders into his hands. "I'm so sorry," —he kisses the top of her head— "I forgot all about your shoes. How will you ever get tree bark feet?" 

It's sweet to see how she responds to his affection. Her eyes squint closed and she smiles softly, giggling when he scratches her shoulders through her dress. 

"Thanks for releasing her, she can't stand wearing shoes when she doesn't have to," he says to you, nudging her out of the way to offer you his hand. 

You take it, letting him pull you up. He doesn't let go of you straight away, instead brushing his thumb over your fingernails, one after another. 

"I've been meaning to ask you to dinner for a while. I– I've never been any good at this part, I thought it would be harder, because Amanda's the only girl in the world I understand no matter how many books I read, and that's not going to last forever, but I…" Spencer's voice steadily quietens, until the tone he's using is dulcet, and his brows have pulled together. He's just as pretty frowning as smiling. "It feels easy, with you," he finishes. 

"Are we having macaroni?" Amanda asks. 

Spencer looks torn. "I was thinking rigatoni," he says. 

"Gross, dad." 

"Farfalle?"

"Bowties?" she questions suspiciously. 

"Is that better than rigatoni?" he asks. 

Amanda dwells on this, leaning her weight into your leg. It's an unthinking gesture that fills you with light. 

"We can't have macaroni?" 

You know from Spencer's bemused sigh alone that she's about to get her way. 

"Do you mind?" he asks you. 

Amanda pins you with a pout, raising her hands into a praying triangle. Her puppy dog eyes are killer and unnecessary. 

"Whatever you want, babe," you say hurriedly. 

She bursts off to her toys with an excited cheer. You're sorry to see her go, petrified of embracing yourself, and still majorly caught off guard by what Spencer said. He's wanted to ask you over for dinner for a long time, does that mean he likes you? And the way he'd held your hand — that's not an ambiguous affection. 

You like Spencer. All the small things that make him him, and the huge things too. His daughter, his books, his genius mind and his clumsy heart. If he likes you too, you might just combust. 

Spencer nips into the living room to put Fraggle Rock on TV. Amanda's sweet voice chases his heels, her singing a mixture of melodic gibberish and passionate recitation. 

You linger as he starts to gather what he needs for dinner. He's either not worried about what you think of his confession or trying to hide that he is, knee deep in a recount of the invention of boxed mac and cheese when you touch his elbow. 

"I know what you mean, about what you said before, I feel the same. It feels easy with you." 

You don't know what it is. But Spencer knows everything, so you aren't worried. 

He beams. His smile warps each word he says as he turns back to the saucepan he's filling with pasta. "Maybe we should get dinner without Fraggle Rock, sometime." 

"I don't know, I don't think it gets any better than this." You nod your head toward the living room, Amanda's singing an adorable echo. 

His smile grows impossibly bigger. 

"Me neither," he says. 

[obaex]

R A F E C A M E R O N

☼ sweet silence summary: rafe manages to say a lot to you without saying anything

☼ better start practicing summary: you see a soft and unexpected side of rafe, leading you both to confess your true feelings about the future ☼ the one that chases you (series) summary: jj makes a decision that will alter the course of your summer, driving you to figure out who you really are and who you really want.

☼ anything but you summary: when sarah and the pogues steal barry’s money, he concocts a plan to take the one thing the oldest cameron loves most to ensure he gets repaid in full.

☼ cross my heart summary: rafe disappears for the day and comes back with a big surprise

☼ see you in my nightmares summary: rafe is forced to make a decision that will alter the course of your future together, but how long can he live with the consequences of his actions?

☼ the three times duke tried to tell you something summary: rafe’s dog duke starts acting differently towards you, clearly trying to tell you something that you and rafe can’t seem to figure out on your own.

☼ untouchable summary: when a fight breaks out at midsummers, an unexpected ally reminds you who you are and whose you are

☼ reading between the lines summary: rafe tries, and fails, to tell you how he feels. or does he?

☼ island breeze + lights down low summary: rafe can't keep his eyes off of you, so he decides to do something about it

☼ (not) my girl summary: if rafe cameron is so sure he doesn't need to be seen with you at midsummers, you are more than happy to oblige (or) the time you drove rafe insane with jealousy.

☼ the blind date summary: your friends set you and rafe up on a blind date, but it doesn't go quite as you'd expected.

☼ the bet summary: two guys have their eye on you and when kiara baits you into a bet, it quickly becomes clear how your night will end.

☼ four (hockey player!ex au) summary: rafe knows he's screwed up, but when he offers you a way to make amends, you can't resist. the catch? he'll have to do the impossible.

part one part two

☼ smartwatch (drabble)

J J M A Y B A N K

☼ dying to tell you summary: after a normal beach day takes an unexpected turn, jj has something he needs to say

☼ stole the show summary: jj steals your attention during a music festival

☼ you, the ocean, and me

part one summary: jj is determined to put a smile on your face during your two week trip to the obx, but what happens when fun turns into something more? part two summary: life is picture perfect until the past comes knocking at your door, unwilling to let you go.

☼ pinch me summary: when you turn 17, your body begins to mirror anything that happens to your soulmate, but with so many marks and bruises, why is yours so hard to find?

☼ a little dirty summary: you find that watching jj work can be very… distracting

☼ lightning love summary: jj comforts you during a thunderstorm… or so you thought

☼ the bet summary: two guys have their eye on you and when kiara baits you into a bet, it quickly becomes clear how your night will end.

☼ you ruined my life (by not being mine) - coming soon! (sneak peek) summary: from the moment jj meets you, he’s determined to hate you, and when he can’t hate you, he’s determined to ignore you, and when that doesn't work and neither does forgetting you, well, what other option is there?

☼ jj comforts you when you're sick

© obaex please do not copy, plagiarize, or repost my work

[please-let-me-be-horny]

Fan Service.

(Ok! So this story literally took way longer than I thought it would. I may have gotten a little too invested in the characters. But !!!TW!!! This piece of fiction features questionable consent, r*pe and intox. This is entirely a fictional fantasy based off a dream one of my favourite mutuals had about The Good, The Bad, and The Neutral.)

The three of them stood shoulder to shoulder, gazing down at the panting, bleeding mess of their latest victim. Bad had done what he did best and made him suffer, whilst Neutral and Good kept an eye on the door. They knew their roles. They knew their responsibilities. Good made for a convincing underage girl. Neutral was tech savvy enough to locate where this creep was. Bad taught him the lessons he needed to learn. They had just gotten done with their first lesson and were taking a moment to let him recover for the next lesson. It was during this momentary break in the festivities that the chime of the library door sounded, drawing their attention back towards the entrance.

"you forgot to hang the closed sign in the window, didn't you, Good?"

"there was a closed sign?"

Bad let out a frustrated grunt, turning back around and sending a fist into the side of the librarians head, tipping him over in his chair and silencing him.

"your fuck up. Your responsibility. Go make whoever it is disapear, idiot."

Good huffed, trudging towards the front of the library.

It was only a small basement dwelling. A few book shelves lining a long and narrow space. Claustrophobic was the word that came to mind as Good shuffled his way between the shelves. He made no attempt to conceal himself, poking his head around a book shelf and spotting their intruder.

She wasn't wearing a police uniform, which was already a good sign. Instead She was dressed for comfort. A large, loose fitting shirt, baggy worn out jeans and a pair of trainers. She was also soaking wet from the heavy rain outside, shivering and dripping all over the floor.

"uhh...hello? Sorry, I only stopped in to get out of the rain...what's with the mask?"

Good took a moment, eye brows raised as he quickly thought up an excuse. "Uuh... fumigation...lots of uh...dust and stuff here, you probably don't wanna be breathing any of this in...here, come inside, it's safe, you just don't wanna hang around too long..." Nailed it. Good stepped out from around the book shelf, approaching the girl and reaching into his back pocket for the rag he had used to chloraphorm the librarian only a few hours earlier.

"are you sure? I really don't wanna be a burden if you're in here working..."

Good simply nodded, lifting the cloth up to her face and gently pressing it over her mouth and nose. By now any of the remaining fumes from the previous dosing of chloraphorm will have mostly faded, but it was gonna be more than enough for someone of such a small stature.

"o-oh! Thank....yooou?" Her voice faded quickly as her eyes rolled backwards. Good was quick to step closer and support her body weight, turning her back to his chest and begining to drag her backwards deeper into the library. "Shhhh sweetheart, let's get you out of these wet clothes....you'll catch your death like that..."

Hearing the sounds of heels dragging against the carpet, Bad and Neutral turned to watch as Good dragged the girls body across the floor and gently laying her down Infront of them.

"What kind of fucking "disappearing" act is this? You just gave us another witness to dispose of, you fucking moron." Neutral raised his hands to his temples, rubbing the growing headache out from the sides of his skull.

"look I'm not gonna send some poor girl back out into the rain, besides, I gave her the rag" His voice came out with a hint of exasperation on his tone, as Good began rummaging through her pockets to find her phone and purse, and tossing them to Bad. "you know I'm not good at thinking on my fe-"

"hhhnmh..." Their fresh hostage squirmed on the floor, her eyes fluttering slightly as she rolled onto her side, sleeping. The three of them stood motionless, ready to act if she woke up.

"you said you ragged her"

"I did! I didn't have time to apply a full dose, she only got the left overs of the librarians hit"

Both Neutral and Good continued to bicker amongst themselves in hushed tones as Bad scrolled through the girls phone, letting out a short and sinister chuckle. She was a following his blog. He even recognised the username from his notifications. Kneeling down, he reached down and offered her face a few firm slaps, drawing her out of her unconscious state, and holding her phone up to her sight line, showing her his blog. He didn't speak. He never did. He simply held a finger up to the part of his mask where his mouth would be, indicating silence as he gazed directly into her hazy eyes.

"y-you're....hmm you're eyes are priiiiiddyyyy...." Clearly she was still heavily dosed, speaking with a lazy tone and reaching up to place her hands on Bads face. Turning to the others, Bad passed her phone to Neutral, letting him scroll through the girls blog as Bad began removing her clothes.

"...are we sure it's a good idea to let him...you know..."

"only about as good as your idea to bring her into the shop instead of getting rid of her like I asked you to. Go lock the door. And put the fucking closed sign up this time."

Behind his glasses, Good rolled his eyes, and once again trudged off to the front, leaving Neutral and Bad to their own priorities.

"Bad, go get the tape. If she's gonna stay, we don't want her running off and getting us in trouble....though based on the things she has liked on your blog, I don't think she is gonna mind so much." Neutral was quite surprised by what he found in her likes. He knew Bad had an online following of perverts, but he hadn't expected to ever meet any of them.

Bad nodded, standing up and moving towards the back of the library to collect his toy box. Neutral remained with the girl, stepping over her hips and standing over her, he bent down at the hips to look into her dazed and puzzled eyes. "You, my dear, chose the wrong basement. But it's ok, I'm not going to hurt you. But we need to ensure your silence....so we're going to make a little movie for Bads blog...you seem to be a fan so I'm sure you won't mind." The poor girl only responded with a slow and hazy "w-wait...."

Neutral placed her phone in his pocket, before producing his own, and setting it up on one of the shelves. He fussed about the positioning and the light. Even going so far as to gently push her across the rough carpet with his boot in order to position her more conveniently for his video. He grit his teeth a little as his OCD began nagging at him. She was still wet. And it was soaking into the carpet causing an unpleasant squelching beneath his feet. It was too much for his senses.

As Good and Bad returned, they found Neutral stood over her naked body, folding her clothes neatly and placing them in a tidy pile on one of the emptier book shelves, having removed the rest of her clothing. As the two stood gawking at her, neutral was the only one still focused on the task at hand, rolling his eyes and snapping his fingers Infront of the two of them. "For fuck sake, get on with it."

A sinister chuckle escaped from Bads mouth, muffled and raspy as it rattled out from the base of his throat. Good on the other hand, was a little more hesitant. She looked so small and fragile alone down there by herself. "p-pleaash....n-no." the words came out with little to no strength behind them, she was practically whispering as her eyes swayed and rolled lazily in her head, as her jaw hung uncomfortably loose.

Things began to escalate quickly once Neutral hit Record in his phone. Good was first. And as always, was gentle. Unfastening his belt, he lowered his jeans, and produced his rapidly hardening cock, giving it a few lazy strokes as he moved down onto his knees, and began crawling into a position to mount her. "I'm really sorry, this won't take long...I promise I'll be quick about it, sweetheart...I'll try to make this enjoyable for you..." He whispered the words softly into her ear, his breathing was trembling as he lined his cock up with her exposed pussy, surprised and encouraged to find she was actually wet. She lifted her head once again, her eyes soft and empty as they gazed up into the lenses if his glasses, tears begining to well up in her eyes, before falling down her face and blending in with the rain. "S-stop....I...."

Meanwhile, kneeling down behind her, Bad had opened his toy box, an old aluminium tool box that had been "signed" with the bloody finger prints of his victims. sliding his finger tips across a series of cutting implements and hammers, he took his time deciding what he would use for her, ultimately deciding that any fan of his deserves to get an autograph...cut into their flesh. He shifted his position slightly, so his knees pinned her shoulders to the messy carpet, once again bringing a finger up to his face to shush her whilst Good began entering her body.

Neutral stood leaning against the wall, watching the two of them have their fun. The concept of going near that wet patch of carpet was giving him hives, but the act of watching his counterparts drug and rape an innocent bystander for blackmail materials was just another day for him. Even when Good started to become more desperate in his thrusts, panting softly and whispering his apologies, Neutral couldnt stop his body reacting as his own cock stirred and pulsed in his pants.

"I'm nearly....nearly done, dear, just keep still....it's ok, it's nearly over....I'm sorry...." Good's breath hitched in his throat as his first shameful orgasm pulsed through him, slamming his hips down into hers and filling her warmth with his own. He shuddered as she lay there motionless, sickened by his enjoyment of her soft and delicate whimpering, and the feeling of her insides clamping down on him to resist as she sobbed silently beneath him.

Bad relished in watching her face during all of this, tilting his head in morbid curiosity as his eyes scanned over her pained and miserable features. She looked so pretty like this. They always did. Good was done and Bad was eager to leap on his next meal. His muscles tensed and his back arched as he began to rise to his feet. But as Good pulled out of her, and stood up to distance himself from his own mess, Neutral stepped in, holding a hand up to bad to stop him for a moment. "No....give her a break first...."

Bad huffed behind his mask, his knuckles turning white as he clentched his chosen blade in his fist. The glare he shot at Neutral was acidic enough to burn through tungsten, but he did as instructed, freeing her shoulders of his body weight and standing over her. "Move her somewhere more comfortable....this floor is disgusting." He spoke casually, as if he hadn't just watched good rape her. Taking his phone, he paused the recording, and assisted in dragging her body further back into the basement, into a darker corner away from where the librarian lay.

"Don't be afraid...I'm not going to hurt you like the others will...but I need to prove a point..." Neutrals tone was flat. Like he was reading instructions off a manual. Even as he lowered himself onto his knees into a position straddling her chest, he was composed and emotionless. Unfastening his belt, he tossed his phone to Bad. "I'll be done soon...don't worry..."

Bad smirked behind his mask and restarted the recording as Neutral began stroking his cock. It didn't take long for him to get hard, especially watching her tears begin to run down her face. "That's it...make it look good for the camera..." Behind his mask, Neutral bit his lip. The feeling of his balls resting against the softness of her tits as he jerked off over her had him shuddering slightly. "Please, I j-jus-" Neutrals hand came down hard, slapping her across the face with his free hand, before moving it to grip her by the hair. "I'll fucking ask when I want you to speak..."

She lay there's, silently sobbing as Neutrals cock was pumped aggressively inches from her face. Though he wasn't cruel, Neutral enjoyed humiliating his hostages. He cooed softly, tutting as he smeared the precum leaking from his cock onto her face and across her eyes. "That's it...keep struggling, I'm getting close...." For the first time since they had entered the shop, Neutrals composure was slipping. There was a violent desperation in his voice now as he rapidly jerked himself closer and closer to climax. "Open your fucking mouth and ask nicely...be a good little whore for Bad"

She let out a soft whine as he pulled her hair, angling her face up towards Bad and the camera. "Beg your family to forgive you.... apologies for being such an eager little victim..." She swallowed hard, earning herself a slap for hesitating against Neutrals orders. "P-please m-mister....please cum....i-i'm sorry I'm such a p-pervert online....I'm s-sorry th-that I asked for this..."

Neutral let out a satisfied grunt as his orgasm hit, spraying his load across her face and tits as she looked up into the camera. She flinched and sobbed as each rope of his heavy load landed on his skin and mixed in with the rain and tears already covering her body. "hmm....there's a good little whore...ok Bad, she's all yours..." Neutral quickly regained his composure and stood up, tucking his cock back into his pants and dusting carpet lint off if his clothes and pants. "take the camera. Me and Good will get the car ready...I think we're done here".

As Neutral turned around, he came face to face with Good, who was stood, arms crossed, frowning at Neutral from behind his glasses and mask. "You're a psychopath, you know that?" Neutral simply waved him off and pushed him towards the front of the library, leaving Bad alone with their new victim.

From her place in the ground, the hostage watched as Bad casually picked his chosen blade up again, before squatting down and once again holding the young girls phone in his hand. Offering it to her, he revealed he had her blog open. He scrolled through for a moment, pointing out all the times she has unknowingly reblogged from his own blog. How he has been following her blog for a while. They were even mutuals. He smiled silently to himself as the realisation and fear began to creep into her eyes. Once more, he held a finger up to his lip, before moving the blade down to her skin.

"please don't, don't do tha-aaah!" Her words were cut short as Bad found a place on her exposed thigh, gripping the flesh with his free hand and spreading it thin for a cleaner cut, as he began to draw the blade across her skin, cutting into her. She struggled. She screamed. But it was all white noise for him. Even as the blood began to gather against the webbing of his fingers and collect under his finger nails, he continued, until his mark was complete. A small skull, encircled in a heart. His forever. And her forever reminder of him.

Satisfied with his work, he could begin focusing on his fun. He moved the blade, still dripping with her blood, up to her face, and pressed the edge of it firmly against her cheek bone, as he began to aggressively pull apart her legs, placing them on his shoulders and leaning forward to trap her, folded in half, beneath his body weight. She looked so pretty like this.

He was rough with her. Forcing his cock into her ass and relishing in her screams as he smashed his hips into the back of her thighs. He growled and huffed in an animalistic fashion as he gripped her legs against his body and pulled her body back and fourth to meet his aggressive, stabbing thrusts. It hurt for a moment before her body and brain began to melt. Soon her useless, doped up struggling stopped, replaced only by the whining and pained moans escaping her mouth as he pounded into her.

"ah....ah....ah..." She lay there helpless beneath him, gazing up into the eyes of the stranger she had lusted after privately. Even now, bleeding, bruised and on the verge of unconsciousness, she could feel the insides of her pussy heating up and warming up to her rapist, as Goods cum leaked out of her and down into her asshole, lubing up Bads cock as he fucked it deeper and deeper into her suffering ass hole. This wasn't desperation or humiliation anymore. This was Bads reward for the hard work he had done earlier in the day with the librarian. This was him claiming a worthy victim. This was Bad giving his fan something to remember. Even now as he got lost in his own pleasure, the knife held to her cheek began to cut into the side of her face as his thrusts became more and more feral.

"s-stop....stop I'm gonna...." She whimpered helplessly, letting out a pained and shameful moan of twisted ecstacy and sobbing as her eyes were locked onto his. She was cumming. She was experiencing an orgasm from being the free use doll of a sick and murderous stranger. He let out a sinister chuckle, feeling the muscles of her asshole tighten around his cock as he rutted into her harder. Her pleas for mercy only encouraged his desire to make her feel pain, knowing she has just exposed her own enjoyment on camera.

He didn't even warn her when he reached his climax. He didn't slow down or stop or grunt. He just fucked into her harder and harder as he sprayed the contents of his balls against the insides of her ass. His cock throbbed and pulsed angrily as each, solid thrust delivered more and more of this bastards cum into her tight virgin body. She was fully used. Covered and filled with the cum of strangers. All of it caught on camera.

Satisfied, Bad pulled out, and shifted his body to lay in the ground next to her, once more opening her phone up and gripping her by the hair, he posed next to her, knife to her throat, and took a selfie. He tapped on the screen for a moment, captioning the picture, before dropping her phone to the ground beside her and standing up. He collected his gear, gave the librarian another harsh kick to the ribs, before gently and affectionately russling the poor girls hair, and leaving the library to join his partners in the car outside.

She lay there, broken and used for a while, letting the feeble half dose of chloraphorm wear off. Once the strength had returned to her body, she sat up and checked her leg where Bad had cut into her, wincing in pain as she shifted to stand up. Collecting her phone, she opened it to check the photo Bad had taken of them. She didn't even need to open her camera roll, as her lock screen had been replaced with the selfie he had took.

The caption simply read "Fan Service".

[teddyeyeseddie]

The Cherrywood Motel

The Man With the Axe

rockstar!Eddie x housekeeper!reader

masterlist

(a/n: lots going on here, I am so sorry. do we hate eddie or do we hate eddie?:( )

warnings: angst, eddie is a player, drugs, alcohol, a sexual encounter, general rockstar lifestyle

tags: @yunnie-f1 @nope-thanks @meganwinchester -@daisyridleyyyy @ostricx - @aysheashea @emilyshortcake @ostricx@bebe07011 @miss-celestial-being @bblunuh @dandelionnfluff  @bibieddiesgf @erisdogwood @emxxblog @r-a-d-i-0-n-0-w-h-e-r-e

now playing:

Days passed with little sign of Eddie. He locked himself away and barely peaked his head out of the room, only doing so for the odd pizza delivery. If he was honest with himself, he was wallowing. 

He wasn't used to having to chase, most women simply falling in his lap at the snap of his fingers. He wasn’t used to having  to prove himself to be worthy. But, to be fair all the women he had in his bed were gone by the next day, the night long forgotten as well as their names. 

He knew you weren’t like that, he knew he had his work cut out for him. The drugs, money and fame didn’t impress you the way it impressed people from LA, desperate for any taste of Eddie’s lifestyle. He was always happy to oblige, gifting friends goodie bags of drugs at his parties and even going as far to have a dealer on hand at any and all times when he was back home. 

He lived for a party, lived to be in the fast lane. He rode it without his seatbelt on, not fearing the inevitable crash and burn that would launch him into a life of loneliness. 

So, that's where he has spent his last few days. He was either coked out, high on pills or smoking weed. Not to mention the excessive drinking that came with the pity party he was throwing himself, fueled by self loathing. 

He picks up the rolled bill from the end table, running it through his line as he makes sure to pick up all the remnants with the now crumpled hundred. He groans and throws his head back once he is done, smiling widely when he catches a glance of himself in the mirror, trying to create the face of someone who is actually happy. 

He walks towards the mirror, studying his face as he gets closer. He winces when he notices the bags that have formed under his eyes. There is dried puke in his hair from the endless cycle of drinking and hangovers. Hair of the dog, he would tell himself. 

He doesn’t recognize who he is, the bright eyed young rock star now aged by endless nights of partying. Sure, he was still as handsome as ever but the festivities he took part in took a toll on his body. 

He decides a shower would do him good. He backs away from the bathroom mirror, turning towards the shower in order to turn it on. He lets it warm up for a minute before stepping out of his pajama pants and boxers. He jumps in, letting the water soothe the ache that has settled low in his bones. 

He gets out of the shower when he hears commotion coming from outside. He turns off the water, grabbing a towel before quickly drying himself off and slipping back into his pajama pants sans boxers. 

He was in a rush to see who was causing all the ruckus, his hair was still dripping wet, droplets of water painting the expanse of his chest and back. 

He's shocked to see you standing there, tears in your eyes as a man screams at you. 

“I don't care what happened, you are going to buy me a new suit out of your little paycheck and I’m not taking no for an answer,” a man with silver hair screams, he is towering over you, veins popping out in his neck as he becomes more and more irate. 

“Hey, hey, hey big man, no need to yell at the girl,” 

“She poured bleach all over my suit,”

“Sir, you ran right into me, I tried getting out of the way,”

“I do not want to hear it, I’ll leave my information at the front desk. I expect a replacement by the time I finish my stay,” the man bites, turning towards Eddie who is now towering over him. 

“Think you shoulda kept your head up champ,” Eddie retorts, a smirk playing on his face as he crosses his arms over his bare chest, the cool October breeze causing his hair to stand on end.

“Who are you and why are you even inserting yourself into this?” The man squares his shoulders, looking Eddie up and down. 

“Kinda concerns me, you’re raggin’ on my sweets,” Eddie shoves the guy with each word, backing him up against a motel room door. He grabs a fistfull of the man’s shirt, his other hand coming to grab his jaw and force him to look at him. 

“You’re gonna go about your business now aren’t you?” Eddie’s hand now moves from his jaw to his throat, successfully pinning him against the door. 

“Hey! What’s all this?” A man shouts from behind Eddie. He curses to himself when he turns around, a policeman coming over to see what the problem was between the two men. 

Eddie ends up in the back of a patrol car, no boxers on and no one to call.

His eyes plead with yours as the cruiser drives away, silently begging you to help him.

You push into the precinct 2 hours later, having to finish your shift before you could go and pick up Eddie. You’d drained your savings knowing it would probably cost a pretty penny to bail him out. You stroll up to the counter, asking for Eddie as you pick at the torn edge of the envelope you’d stuffed the money in. 

“Hey sweets, knew you’d come for me,” a voice comes from behind you. You turn to see Eddie waiting for you, a tight t-shirt now adorning his formerly bare torso. 

“Like my new digs? Apparently I’m the best junior officer around!” he chuckles and points at the writing on the chest of the shirt.

You hold your tongue when you walk towards him, simply walking past him and out the door. He follows, your silence making his skin crawl. He quietly gets into the passenger seat of your car, his hands resting in his lap as he stays silent. 

“You know I could have handled it, Eddie,” you finally break the silence after a few minutes. 

“You don’t know what he would have done,”

“Nothing if I would have just bought the guy a new suit! He ran into me sure but I should have had a cap on the bottle,” 

“No! He was being a cocksucker and deserved a little roughing up,”

“You were drunk and high Eddie, I don't think you should be the one to decide who needs to be “roughed up” ,” you’re borderline in tears, the idea that Eddie came to your rescue making you feel so many emotions. 

“I’m not gonna’ sit there and watch someone rag on you. You of all people,”

“I am not yours to protect, Eddie,” you say, your voice now softer, some of the anger leaving your body as you continue to drive. 

Eddie looks over and sees the tears running down your cheeks, the moonlight causing them to glisten as they fall. Eddie thinks you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen, even with a red face and a runny nose he still wants to lean across the center console and kiss your tears away.

“M’ sorry,” you simply shake your head, not trusting you voice. 

You pull into the motel moments later, parking in between yours and Eddie’s room.

“Goodnight, Eddie,” you say to him once you are out of the car. 

“Sweets wait,” his hand grabs your arm, giving it a gentle squeeze as he tries to rein you in. 

“Just leave me alone, Eddie,” you shrug your arm away from him, retreating to your room and leaving him in the cold. 

That night, Eddie wallows some more. He punches the wall after a few drinks,  knuckles now swollen as he tries to roll a joint. He indulges in anything and everything before walking outside and to the bar across the street. 

He enters rather smoothly despite the plethora of drugs he is on, settling into a chair as he flags down the bartender. He orders a rum and coke, turning towards the dance floor to find his pick of the night. He spots a brown haired woman, dressed in a tight red dress and black heels. Eddie decides she’ll do.

Eddie turns on his flirting, bringing the woman a beverage before slipping his room number in the valley of her breasts before whispering a soft, “You know where to find me,” 

She comes like a bee to honey, only waiting a few minutes to exit the bar and head over to Eddie’s room.

It’s hot, heavy and dirty. 

She is loud, her moans echoing off the walls and making their way over to your room. You throw a pillow over your face, trying to do anything to drown out the god-awful moans and the pounding in your brain. You toss and turn while you have to listen to Eddie break your heart one more time. 

While you sit there fighting back tears, you realize that you have no place to be upset. You aren’t interested in him. He was some rock star that would probably ruin your life with drugs and parties, he wasn’t the man you were meant to be with. But here you are, heart broken and on the verge of sobbing as you listen to Eddie praise the girl between his legs.

“Feel good, sweets?” the nickname rattles in your brain, the tears coming back as he chants her name over and over and over. 

Finally they're done, the room now silent as you listen to soft rustling on the other side of the wall. You wait for a minute, waiting for the sound of Eddie’s door opening and closing, signifying that she’s gone. It never comes. 

The next morning, you’re up early. The clock reads 6am as you make your way outside and towards your car after getting dressed for the day. You duck into your car as soon as the door to Eddie’s room opens, a woman in a red dress emerging with heels in her hand. Your heart sinks when you see her try to lean up and kiss Eddie. He simply turns his head allowing the kiss to fall upon his cheek instead. 

Eddie woke that morning with a jump, forgetting much of last night and the name of the woman in his bed. He nudges her awake, telling her she has to go so he can make it to a meeting. 

“Do  you have something I can borrow? I’d like to see you again,” She purrs as she snakes her arm up his bare chest, attempting to push him back on the bed for another round. 

Eddie shakes his head, pushing her hand away before getting up from his place on the bed and handing her the dress from last night. 

“Need ya to get out soon,” he throws the dress in her direction before turning to head to the bathroom. He splashes water on his face, rubbing at his nose to release some of the dry skin that has accumulated there. He dries off his face before returning to the bedroom, the woman now dressed. 

“I uh- called a taxi. It will be here soon,” she says. Eddie simply nods before fishing in his wallet for money to cover her fare.

“S’ only fair if I’m kicking you out this early,” she politely takes the money and heads for the door. 

That’s when Eddie spots you, watching in the front seat of your car. He turns her head and directs her kiss to his cheek, waving her goodbye before ducking back into the room to avoid you. He couldn’t look you in the eye, not after that. He knew he fucked up bad this time. The first two being minor bumps in the road in his eyes, but this one took the whole fuckin’ cake. 

You stay away from the motel all that day, deciding to go and hang out with Christa. 

“So he’s gotten high at dinner, threatened a man  and had you pick him up from the police precinct, and now he’s fucking random girls? I thought this man was into you not into trying to ruin your life,” Christa says over a glass of wine.

“That’s the thing, I don't know why I care so much. Like he is so bad for me in every way, Christa,” you throw your hands up in the air, a groan escaping your lips as well. 

“Just ignore him, he’s just trying to find a little plaything to keep him busy in this little town,” You leave the Eddie talk at that for the night, the conversation naturally flowing to other things that didn't make you upset. 

You return back to the motel around 10 that night, pulling into the parking lot to find all the spots by your room were taken. Groaning, you turn your car around and go to the other end of the parking lot, finally finding one. You park your car and make your way to your room, the heavy sound of music flowing from Eddie’s room and into the open air of the night.

You push your way into your room, immediately falling into bed. You kick off your shoes and strip down to your t shirt before attempting to fall asleep. 

With the music and chatter that is coming from Eddie’s room, you toss and turn for a few minutes before deciding enough was enough. You’ve lost enough sleep over this man and it ended tonight. You pull on your sweatpants, throwing open your door and trudging past a few people who were seeking refuge in the form of cigs and silence. 

You push into Eddie’s room, seeking him out when a girl approaches you. 

“Where’s Eddie?” you question, she simply shrugs and smacks her gum as she looks down at you.

“Dunno, but if you find him, tell him we're out of blow,” you roll your eyes, scanning the room to find no trace of Eddie. You notice a line is forming at the bathroom, the person at the door banging on the it as he yells for the person inside to “hurry the fuck up,” 

You make your way over to the bathroom, cutting in front of the man before you knock on the door. 

“Eddie?” you shout, “Get out here!” 

Eddie appears moments later, denim vest on with no shirt. He’s sweaty and flushed, mind foggy as he looks down at you. 

“Heya sweets, long time no see,” he sings, hand coming to caress your cheek. You’re quick to bat it away, staring up at him with a scowl on your face. 

“Eddie it is 10 o’clock at night, why on earth is your room full of people who look like they’re about to go to a honky tonk,”

“They’re my friends, see this is hic- Marc,” he shouts, pointing at the man who had been pounding on the door moments earlier. 

“It’s Matt,”

“Matt, Marc. Who cares,” Eddie laughs as he walks away, he heads towards his end table, groaning when he sees they have run out of coke. 

“Eddie, listen to me. These people can’t be here,”

“Again, sweets. Who cares!” 

“I do!” you yell at him, hands on our hips as you try to look at least a little bit intimidating. 

“S’ cute when you do that,” he points to your hips, smiling widely as he looks back up at you. 

The two of you argue back and forth for a while, Eddie inevitably snapping at you in his drunken haze. 

“Goodness sweets jus’ get out of here! ” he shoos you away, a man approaching him with a half smoked joint, Eddie indulging as you turn away from him and retreat back to your room. 

You sit on the edge of your bed for two whole hours, listening to the beat of the music pulse through your room. You’re about to lay down when a soft knock interrupts the flow of music. 

You open your door, surprised to see a barely standing Eddie at your doorstep. 

“Sweets, my darling. Can you help me out?”

[iamdispleased]

Deciphering the Black Book pt. 2

BLACK BOOK ART CREDIT: @thirdchildart

Part One.

It’s the table of contents, y’all! Let’s do this.

Spoilers: Hatchetfield. At this point, it’s just Hatchetfield. It’d probably be easier to list what I didn’t talk about or allude to.

I’m not going to, but it’d be easier.

Ment.: H.P. Lovecraft

This is will be broken into parts, and then my analysis will follow!

1.

Part One - History and [S?t_f_d]

[?]

theatre

Part Two - Into the black

[Th?]/Kingdom

oblivion

Analysis:

The word ‘theatre’ shows up three times and the word ‘oblivion’ shows up twice in the table of contents. The Starlight Theatre is obviously super important to point where I don’t really need to say anymore on that right now.

Not gonna lie, at first, I thought it said ‘Random’ and pictured Willabella Muckwab writing random thoughts. I’d really like to see those. I bet she has crude doodles. Anyways— Kingdom!

‘The Summoning’ - “We dance around the pentagram, and take all our kingdoms back”

‘Oblivion’ is not just a word, but a concept heavily explored by H.P. Lovecraft and Isaac Newton, and the musicals themselves.

To some, oblivion is the state of total blackness, a place where everything is and is not, it is nothingness, and the knowledge that something resides within it. Take your pick. The point is to find what that means to you.

2.

3.

(totally stolen from: @hatchetfieldtheories)

Part Three - the men

The contents of this section are the same as part four. It was just flipped.*

Analysis:

If it is ‘the men’, I assume it’s about the Hatchetmen. Maybe some family history and stuff like that. Weaknesses, favorite characters from Alf, your guess is as good as mine.*

4.

A[?]

1 - [?]

2. Theatre

3. rea[lm] of [?]

4. america

oblivion

Analysis:

Oop! Here’s ‘theatre’ and ‘oblivion’ again! Honestly? Shrug emoji. My closest guess would be places that are susceptible to the Lords in Black/the Black and White. Why? Because of the words ‘theatre’ and ‘america’. Let’s take a look at this simple snippet from Black Friday:

“Only in America could Wiggly take root ... You think that in the Netherlands, they’d give a shit about some toy? No, they’re too busy on their paid vacations and the free healthcare.” - Uncle Wiley (spitting bars)

Number one looks like the same scribble as the first bullet in Part One, though.* For number three, I see ‘r-e-a’ pretty clearly, so ‘realm’ is context clues based. We’ll mosey on over to Hatchetfield’s little bio.

“In a realm outside of reality, somewhere in the crossroads of imagination and nightmares, there’s a place— a small, mid-western town, where the forces of evil and chaos tug at the fabric of reality. Welcome to Hatchetfield.” - Nick Lang

5.

Part 4 - The Lords in Black

Pokotho

theatre

believe

[?]

never

[Nibbly/Nibbles(?)]

[Queen?]

[?]

[?]

Analysis:

The contents under Part Four are the same as Part Three, but were flipped by the actual artist to fill space (I assume).

Here is that word ‘theatre’ once again! Why do I think the word under it is ’believe’? Simple! In the song ‘The Guy Who Didn’t Like Musicals’, we get this line nearing the end:

“You gotta believe in something, Paul, gotta believe in stupid Paul”

It looks like ‘never’, it reads like ‘never’, and the word ‘never’ just fits the vibe.

Okay, wait— I was going to write about Nibbly and the Honey Festival, because while the Honey Festival wasn’t founded until 1945, Nibbly and the word ‘queen’ could still coincide for whatever reason, but even with that, the Lords are usually listed in the order of ‘Pokey, Blinky, Tinky, Nibbly, and Wiggly’, but that might be one of the outliers, but I just remembered the Queen in White and something about that made me excited. We’ll see. What I was going to write about Nibbly still applies, though.

6.

Help Me Don’t [go]

In The Black, Po[kotho?]

wants me to

Analysis:

Not everyone wants to tango with the devils. It might be ‘Pokey’, but it’s the same either way, and the person who wrote this was most likely not Willabella, considering she seemed pretty chill with the Lords in Black and it’s coloring is different. Still looks like it was written in blood though. When you dabble in the dark arts, don’t forget to take a pen with you.

Overall:

My question is— what counts as lore? I think this does. Anyway. Again. If anyone figures out what the fuck that word is after ‘History and ????” in part one, hit me up. I’m gonna challenge the word to a duel. What’s it gonna do?? Fight back?? Part three will be out at some point. Okay, bye.

* I assume the artist occasionally used the same art, but warped it to make it look different, so more space could be taken up, and there would be no pain of having to go through It All. I think Part 4 - The Lords in Black is the proper way to read it, though.*

[abibliophobiaa]

hello lunieee

I would like to request some dad!Steve-

HAH

just kidding.

I would love some dad!Eddie in the summer playing with his tween kid - maybe running through the sprinkler or someone gets sprayed with the hose, maybe eating ice pops, but most important of all is Eddie being a nerdy, kinda lame adorkable dad that his kid both loves and cringes at. Bonus points if we are watching him and really feelin' a surge of attraction or affection based on his antics.

thank you love youuu 💕

Gone Fishing: Just Go With It…

warnings: r is pregnant, minor injury & barely edited — i needed something soft, sweet and fluffy today. (2.6k words)

dad!eddie munson x afab!mom!reader.

masterlist

——

It’s meant to be a joke.

A little Russian Roulette game, if you will. A precursor to the barbecue plans with your friends for the summer festivities to determine if the pitcher of sangria Robin put her heart and soul into will end up going to waste.

Once you’ve all taken your tests, Max and El have you all turn around and scramble the order. When ready, you all turn around to find the three tests face up on the countertop.

“Mine’s negative,” Robin says, dramatically wiping the back of her hand over her brow. “What a relief!”

But she’s met only with silence.

Until. “Holy shit,” Max breathes out, trying to not break out into incredulous laughter.

“That one is definitely positive,” El points out, hooking her chin over Nancy’s shoulder.

Two lines.

Two very dark lines.

So you…or Nancy.

Baby number four for her, or number three for you.

Shit.

Nancy bites her lip. Turns to you, smile a little hopeful despite the fact your nerves are buzzing to life at the prospect of another baby when you and Eddie hadn’t intended for another baby.

“Guess we have to take another,” she says, reaching for more test strips.

——

“Hey man, can you watch Quinnie?” Eddie asks, passing off the giggly two year old to her honorary uncle. “I’m just going to run to the bathroom.”

And they prove to be famous last words.

Words that change a lot.

Because as he’s washing his hands, humming a song that had been playing on the radio before he’d run inside, he spots the tests.

Multiple tests.

He’s seen a few since becoming a dad to know what two lines or a smiley face means.

He also knows that you, Nancy, Robin, El and Max had all gone to the bathroom at the same time to ‘take care of something.’

So despite it being his bathroom, in his home, he’s not sure if it’s your test.

But, he does know someone is pregnant.

Someone standing outside in his backyard just a few feet away.

The sudden realization hits him then. Either he’s becoming an uncle again to four, or a father of three.

Shit.

——

“And you’re sure?” Steve asks, carding his fingers through his hair. Eddie pulls the strips out of his pocket and Steve whisper-yells, “There’s pee on those!”

“Grow up, Harrington, they’ve got the caps on. We have bigger things to worry about.” Eddie holds the tests in the space between the two of them, bent low near the grill, far away from the rest of the guests.

In the distance he can see you and Nancy watching the youngest Harringtons and Munsons in the pool while the older “kids” watch on. James’ laughter echoes as Dustin and Lucas toss him up into the air and catch him, his little rubber ducky floaties keeping him from slipping too far beneath the water’s surface.

You’re glowing, Quinn bouncing on your hip, wearing the same brightly colored summer dress you’re wearing that flutters around your thighs in the cool summer breeze. And he wonders briefly whether or not you carry a little secret beneath your heart.

“So one of us is pregnant?” Steve exhales deeply as Eddie nods, running a palm down his face. “Look—I know I said I wanted six, but I’m overrun by girls at the moment, Ed. Do you know how terrifying throwing a fourth girl into the mix is?”

Steve’s gaze travels over to Nancy and his three little girls. One reaches out to grab at her little ‘cousin’ Quinn, while the other two try to quite literally become mermaids in the pool, little legs kicking behind them, spraying Mike Wheeler in the face until he’s redder than a damn tomato.

“What do you think we should do?” Eddie asks, flipping over the burgers on the grill, waving as you look over your shoulder and give him one of your wonderful smiles he loves so much.

“Should we ask them?” Steve wonders, tossing some cheese on top, both men watching with increasing nervousness over their present (potential) situations.

“No—no, you absolutely cannot ask them if they’re pregnant.” Eddie shoves the bag of burger buns into his best friend’s chest. “Start laying the buns in that container right there. Yeah, that one. But as I was saying…asking a woman if she’s pregnant is enough to get you as number one on their to-kill list. Do you not fear death?”

Steve seems to consider this, swallowing thickly as he lays out the buns in the tin container so Eddie can begin loading burgers on top. “Nancy will murder me in my sleep.”

“Exactly.” Once the burgers are loaded up, he calls out into the open yard that dinner is ready and then claps Steve on the shoulder. “Best plan of action is to be supportive, remain calm, and act natural.”

——

“Are the guys being a little weird?” You ask, running your fingers through Quinn’s little curls, the two year old dozing against your chest.

“You two married the weirdest guys in Hawkins,” Robin says, sipping her cup of sangria. “I’d say this is within normal limits for them.”

“Steve knocked my drink out of my hand,” Nancy points out, pulling at a piece of cookie and popping it into her mouth.

“And Eddie kept demanding I eat more,” you add, laughing at the memory of your overly eager husband adding more macaroni salad to your plate as soon as you’d finished your first spoonful. “He also kept asking me if I should be holding Quinn.”

The men in question are presently standing in the yard bare chested in their swimsuits, with the sprinkler running. The kids rush through the stream all taking turns, still donning their little pool floaties, little shrieks of joy and peals of infectious laughter warming your heart.

Because you and Eddie finally saved up enough to buy this home, and are now sharing it with your friends who are more likely family now, and seeing the happiness on all their faces has made all the endless hours of work, hardships and obstacles so worth it.

So no, you can’t help the fear that wedges into your heart if you disrupt all of that.

——

“J! NO!”

Quinn whines from Eddie’s lap as James leans over and snatches a marshmallow from the bag his daughter is insistent upon keeping clutched in her tiny palms.

“Quinnie, give me!”

Quinn’s newest favorite word in the dictionary other than Momma and Dadda?

No.

She uses it so often, Eddie sometimes forgets she’s picked up others throughout the past few months.

“NO!”

This time, her little fingers curl in her brother’s hair and give a harsh tug. Hard enough he winces and scrambles onto Eddie’s lap, knocking the wind from him when his knobby knee jabs him in the stomach, to try and alleviate the stress on his hair.

Catching his bearings once more, Eddie grips his daughter’s hand and unfurls her angry little knuckles, finger by finger until she reluctantly releases James.

“Quinnie, let’s be nice to your brother,” Eddie coos, bouncing her on his thigh as you start to rise from your chair, conversation with Nancy and Robin pausing to see the commotion. Wanting to show you he can, in fact, handle three kids, he shakes his head, reassuring, “I’ve got this.”

“NO!”

Steve glances over from beside him, braiding both his little girl’s hair into braids at the backs of their heads. Eddie frowns, and Steve gives him a sympathetic smile as his own littlest one trips over the leg of his chair and takes a tumble onto the patio below, scraping her knee and bursting into ear piercing wails, crying out for Mama.

——

“Chloe, do you want vanilla or chocolate ice cream for being such a good girl?” You ask, leaning your back against the kitchen counter as Nancy finishes putting a pink bandaid on her youngest daughter’s knee.

Hazel eyes that resemble her father’s peer up at you, fingers pointing to the vanilla container held up in your hands. “‘Bow sprinkle, pease!”

“She wants rainbow sprinkles,” Nancy clarifies as you get to work on her daughter’s ice cream, shoulders slouching, tears burning on your lower lash line. “Hey. Hey. What’s going on? You’ve been quiet tonight.”

Forearm pressing to your sweat-slick forehead, you sigh. “Eddie and I never talked about having another baby. We’ve been trying to save up for the house, we got the house, and now we’re really only just settling into the house. And I don’t even know how this happened, or how he’s going to react, or if he even wants another baby. We always said two and I-I—”

“Momma cry,” Quinn huffs beside Chloe, lifting at the edge of her frilly little summer dress.

You let out a weak laugh at that, sniffling noisily. “Momma is crying, yes sweetie.”

Nancy tugs you close as you join her and the girls on the counter, handing each of the greediest little ones a tiny spoon to likely smear vanilla ice cream on their faces with.

“We planned for James and planned for Quinnie.” With a groan, you grab your own spoon and shovel a spoonful of rainbow sprinkles into your mouth, needing a little sweetness to quell the nervousness bubbling in your belly.

“Well, it seems like that little one had other plans. I know it’s not ideal. But if you take away the house, if you take away all the other things stressing you out right about now, what do you feel?”

And that’s the thing. If you think about it. If you really think about it, you love your husband. Have for so many years now. You married him for all of the reasons you’d said in your vows. Wanted to take on life together, build a family, build a home.

Now here you are, still as deeply in love with him as you were that day, in the house of your dreams you never thought you’d own, with your sweet little boy who has love in his heart and joy in his laugh, and your little girl with her father’s tenacity and your features, and this unexpected little one, faceless and nameless and yet loved.

So so loved already.

“I’m happy. Just…really happy.”

“Then you’ll figure everything else out as you go.”

——

Outside, Eddie’s sitting near the bonfire with his acoustic guitar on his lap, strumming along to a silly song meant for the children. Made up, naturally. A tale of beautiful princes and princesses who wield swords and fight impressive dragons, of harrowing tales and defeating evil.

James sits on his lap, beaming bright, with chocolate smeared across his cheeks, heading into what is surely to be a lovely night of sleep induced by a food coma. Steve’s got his two older daughters, Olivia and Violet, draped over each of his thighs, their heads swaying back and forth and feet kicking as Eddie slips in and out of singing and speaking his stories.

The older kids in “The Party” have started cleaning up, weaving in and out of the house as you and Nancy make your way back outside the sliding glass door with Chloe and Quinn on your hips.

And later, as Steve and Robin show the kids how to safely play with sparklers, tips of their little fireworks exploding into colorful light, Eddie pulls you into his side and presses a kiss to your temple, murmuring he loves you against your skin.

You reply the same, turning your head enough so you can peck him once. Then again, humming into his smile. “Our first party in our new home.”

“The Munson home,” he says, kissing you once more.

And as his arms loop around your waist and James calls out “Mommy and Daddy look!” his little face illuminated in the dark, excitement blooming across his features, and your little girl dancing with Max and El off in the grass, you know you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

In this home, with your family, and these people.

——

Quinn is already down for the night when Eddie starts getting James ready for bed. The boy in question yawns and protests very little as his father lifts him once he’s done dressing for bed and lays him down in his bed shaped like a little race car that Steve had helped put together for him on his sixth birth.

“Can we read The Hobbit?” James asks, clambering over his father’s chest as he settles down beside him on the mattress.

“Yes, but only one chapter, okay?”

James nods his agreement and Eddie begins where they left off, using all the silly fake voices that James always laughs at. Those belly laughs that shake the boy, and warm Eddie from head to toe. Those same laughs that remind him he’s not his father. That reminds him that he’s been made for this; to be your husband, James’ dad and Quinn’s dad. He’s got his support system. His uncle who is more a father to him now than anything else and the strength of his friendships. All he needs, really.

As he finishes reading, and James’ eyes grow heavier, his head curling into Eddie’s neck, James whispers, “I love you, daddy.” Eddie replies the same. Lifts his head and finds you there in the doorway.

Sees the worry lining your brow, remembers the way Nancy had warned him you’d been a little upset as her, Steve and the kids had left, and he has an inkling why. But he doesn’t know for certain.

All he knows is no matter what, as long as you have each other, it’ll all be okay.

You’ll figure out the rest as you go.

——

“Hey, baby? Can you come here for a second?” Eddie calls, just as you finish brushing your teeth and pat your face dry.

Exhaling deeply, you slip out of the bathroom and find him already propped up against the mountain of pillows on your bed, bare chest on display. He’s added tattoos as time has gone by, meant to cover the tapestry of scars across his skin, the same ones that you’ve traced countless times over the years, forever thankful that he’s still here.

His hands reach out to curl around the fullest part of your hips as you lower yourself down onto his lap, a thigh bracketing each of his hips, your own hands resting against the heat of his chest.

He rubs gentle patterns there. Callus scarred fingers dance across your thighs, along the curve of your hips, over your ribcage, the smallest point of your back, the softness of your stomach. Eddie pauses there, dark eyes meeting your own, tongue dragging a slow line across his lips.

“Eddie…” you begin, but Eddie jumps in before you can say any more.

“I want you to know I saw the pregnancy tests in the bathroom. I don’t know if they’re yours, but I wouldn’t be upset if they are. We have this home, we have each other. I got that promotion to manager at the shop, we’ve been saving. We might not have planned for another one, but I think we did a pretty damn good job with the first two, and I would love this baby so much and I—”

“It was my test. Both of them. I’m pregnant.”

His fingers spread further across your stomach, before reaching up to grip at both your cheeks and pull you close for a lingering kiss that has your toes curling. Before you can say anything else, he’s rolling you over onto your back and shoving at the flimsy sleep shirt you’re wearing, pressing kiss after kiss to your midsection.

“I’ll take it that you’re happy?” you giggle, threading your fingers in the soft curls at the back of his head.

Another kiss, this time to your belly button. “So happy,” he says, a grin growing against your skin. “Hi Maisie, it’s your daddy. I already love you so, so much.”

“Maisie, huh?”

“We always liked the name, and I have a gut feeling.”

Several months later, Eddie’s right.

Maisie Munson enters the world.

Seven pounds, six ounces, and pure love.

——

——

[themusicsweetly]

Thank you for posting videos, pictures, and the Tribeca panel commentary on twitter. It is much appreciated. 🙏🏻

[ Anonymous #2 asked ]: Sarah, would you mind writing a S701 review since you were at the premiere last night? Don't mind spoilers and you can warn others if they don't want to read. Loved it when you did it before. Thanks!

Hello Anons! Thanks so much for both your asks! I hope you don't mind me combining both your asks.

You're so welcome, Anon #1! I so glad so many people enjoyed my posts about it! I'm very grateful that I've been able to go to these events for several years now. I know that so many of you don't get that opportunity, so I try to do what I can to bring it to you all even if only virtually. Things are always so much more fun when they're shared, anyway. After all, that's what fandom should be about! 💜

For anyone who missed it, you can check out my Twitter page for my full coverage of 92Y and the Tribeca Festival. But here's some GIF spam from my favorite of the videos I was able to capture this week!

Anon #2, yes of course I'll write up a summary of my thoughts. I know you said you don't mind them, but I will try my very best to not include any spoilers in it as I know it really does ruin it for some. But just in case:

~~~POSSIBLE SPOILERS FOR OUTLANDER 7x01 BELOW~~~ ~~~SERIOUSLY, DON’T @ ME THAT I DIDN’T WARN YOU~~~

Outlander 7x01, "A Life Well Lost"

As Caitriona + Sam have mentioned previously in interviews, 7x01 picks up right where 6x08 left off. No time jump or anything, which I was really glad for. The opening scene was SHOCKING and used something that I thought was really clever and really rude all at the same time lol. I can tell you that the audience gasped because of it. I feel this bit was extremely effectively done. Caitriona's micro-expressions really made it for me.

One thing that surprised me — and perhaps it shouldn't simply because Outlander has always been full of this — was that there were so many small moments of humor in this episode, despite the obvious dire situation Claire and Jamie are in (but really, when aren't they lol). There's a new small side character that both Claire and Jamie get to interact with that provides much needed comedic breaks. Even Jamie's menacing looks add to this. Claire especially, I feel, gets to use her biting wit (or just straight up cursing) to add some humor to the tenseness. There's one particularly funny scene that takes place on a boat and involves an interrupting officer that I so loved! The entire audience burst out laughing when we saw it.

While Caitriona + Sam were obviously amazing, I'll say the surprising standout actor in this episode wasn't them. I won't say who, but it's someone we're well acquainted with. There are moments straight out of the book that this actor just fully nails. We're so lucky to have such strong actors filling these side character roles and s/he is just fantastic. Their sincerity and conviction sold me completely.

As book readers can probably guess from the title and from where we are in the timeline, we know basically what will happen in this episode — and they to stick pretty well to it. Even so, it is still so satisfying to get to see it played out on screen. Claire's despair, hope, and heartbreak. Jamie's torment, anger, and determination. The relief of it all. It's all played so, so well across Caitriona + Sam's faces and in their line delivery. Sam said during the Tribeca panel that Jamie is perhaps "more frail" in this episode, and I think that can be said for both of them. Despite them being well versed in separation, I think every subsequent one after their 20 year split wears on them more and more. And they both play that so expertly, making the time that we do see them together just that much sweeter. I don't think it's too spoilery to say that yes, they do share several scenes together this episode so dinna fash!

As for Brianna and R*ger, their scenes are pretty well separate from the Jamie x Claire scenes. I don't really have much to say about them, except that they move certain other storylines that will become more important later on in the season forward. And only just so. While it was important to do so, honestly it felt a bit filler-like. That said, I am actually pretty excited for certain arcs for Brianna and Jemmy later on (while also hoping they don't include that storyline for R*ger... sorry, not sorry) and this brought them maybe half a step closer to it.

Other than the moment on the boat I had mentioned earlier, there are two scenes toward the end which I really loved. One was such a sweet moment straight out of the book with some really great book lines that I had very much wanted to hear. it is Classic™ Jamie x Claire, so you know Caitriona + Sam knocked it out of the park. The second is not a book scene (I believe?? I don't remember it anyway), but was a great one for Sam / Jamie. It's how the episode ends and I told a new friend I had met in the Tribeca line that the final moment of the episode reminded me of Batman's cape swooshing over the camera turning everything black. Lol take from that what you will!

Some other random thoughts:

Jamie x Claire are SO. SOFT. They say separation makes the heart grow fonder? Really, it makes those two grandparents softer AND I LOVE IT.

I LOVED seeing Caitriona + Sam's names appear as Executive Producers! The entire audience was singing along to The Skye Boat song and then burst out cheering when that came up.

I really hope Major MacDonald's wig gets snatched by Adso at some point because F him lol

Overall, I'd say I enjoyed the episode. Some might say it's a bit slow, which I wouldn't disagree with. But knowing that 1) they had to get this part over with the tie up the Season 6 cliffhanger; and 2) this is really going to be a jam packed season of action and emotion, I think I'm okay with that. I've heard it from more than one source that 7x02 is even better than 7x01 so I'm really excited! I'm also really excited to meet our newer cast members, as none of them featured in the premiere episode. The Hunters especially will be so much fun to watch!

Hearing Caitriona + Sam speak about not only this season, but their journey with Outlander overall makes me so grateful that the quality is still there after seven seasons. They're clearly still so passionate about these characters and are determined to do them justice in every way to the very end. And I think that most definitely shows up in their scenes. I'm super curious to see if there's anything noticeably different or better now that they've been promoted to Executive Producers. And of course, to see Caitriona's first foray into directing!! Until then, I'm looking forward to you all seeing the first episode for yourselves 💜

[sleepingdeath-light]

mixed race (japanese + native american) fiancé hcs ; 16+

requested by ; anonymous (14/04/23)

fandom(s) ; black butler

fandom masterlist(s) ; hub | main characters | main villains | anime only

character(s) ; alois trancy, our!ciel phantomhive, real!ciel phantomhive, sebastian michaelis

outline ; “hey! i hope youre doing well. if/when youreable to, would you mind writing some headcanons for o!ciel, sebastian, r!ciel, and alois (if thats too many, just the first 2 💜) with a gender neutral fiance who is partially both japanese and native american please? thank you very much in advance.”

warning(s) ; references to period typical racism, references to canon-typical violence, generalisations made as to not link the reader to any specific native tribe, author craps on british food in a few places (author is british, it comes from a place of love)

note ; this took ages to look up and research in order to try and not lock the insert into any specific tribe or tribal family for their native side — given how broad and diverse they are. hopefully this came across and wasn’t too disappointing to the requester or anyone else who might have been looking for a very specific type of representation.

Alois Trancy

this man isn’t the most sensitive or understanding in general — so he wouldn’t necessarily ‘get’ or question your religious practises

like if you’re spiritual and perform smudging in the manor then you’re only really going to irritate his demonic staff and prevent them from entering certain rooms for a while

on the other end of the spectrum, smudging is an excellent way of keeping claude and the triplets out of your rooms if you’re annoyed

this would amuse alois for sure — but his interests would be focused exclusively on the aesthetic and story based aspects of your culture

he loves listening to you as you explain the folklores and mythologies of your two heritages — wide eyed and quiet for once as he takes in everything you have to say

he has a particular preference for creatures and deities that explore the gorier aspects of life, and he’ll ask you to retell them often, but he’ll listen to any story you have to tell

and if you participate in cultural crafts like beadwork or shodo or anything along those lines, then he’ll gladly fund your work and might even pay you to make things for his person, his peers or just to display about the estate

he’ll also ensure that you’re never without clothing from your cultures and would prefer you wear it over things from england — be that a selection of richly dyed kimonos for you to wear during galas, or importing regalia from your tribe for you to wear during traditional dances and such if that’s something you partake in

if your tribe partakes in the tradition of getting facial tattoos, then he’ll be incredibly interested in their history and meaning for you

will celebrate and observe holidays that aren’t on the british calendar with you — whether that’s national foundation day, or something that requires travel abroad like a powwow

and in the same vein, he’s not afraid to send his servants after anyone who disrespects you whilst at his manor

Our!Ciel Phantomhive

ciel has a particular interest in the culinary/confectionary side of your dual cultures and would be very invested in trying and recreating the dishes you grew up eating

that, of course, includes sweet things like candies and desserts

(his favourites are dango and saututhig)

but it also applies to meals — especially those associated with specific holidays

so, for example, he would have sebastian recreate the seasonal flavours of namagashi if you opt to take part in any tea ceremonies

or he might recreate some festival foods like okonomiyaki or yakitori when it’s the right season

or if you’re craving something from a powwow, he’ll ensure you have access to things like corn soup, fry bread and so on

he never wants you to be without the comfort foods you grew up with, nor the things you crave

so he has the staff modify the manor’s menu and meal rotation to incorporate more foods from japan and from your tribe

(which is a relief as british food isn’t the most flavourful in the world)

he also insists on trying to learn whichever language (or languages) you’re comfortable with so he’s able to connect and understand more of his future spouse’s culture and world views

he struggles immensely with japanese, specifically with forming his kanji for some reason, but his pronunciation is pretty spot on

but he manages to pick up the language of your tribe pretty quickly

so he’d probably prefer to speak to you using that tongue if he wished to mention something privately

he’s also keenly aware of the history of conflicts faced by native americans — as well as the bigotry faced by immigrants in the uk

he did his fair share of studying at the beginning of your relationship and, well, he has eyes and the situational awareness to recognise how you were being treated

this makes him incredibly protective of you — he trusts you to take care of yourself (you are engaged to the queen’s watchdog, after all), but that doesn’t mean that he expects you to put up with outright horrific treatment by his peers or his people

in other words: sebastian and the rest of the phantomhive staff get some free target practise courtesy of people that insult the lord of the house’s fiancé

Real!Ciel Phantomhive

this man is the sort to spoil his partner however he can at every opportunity — and you are far from the exception

any food that you’re craving, he’ll have the ingredients imported and will hire a specialty chef (or train one) to make it for you

any clothing you desire, he’ll have hand made and imported

if you miss your family or wish to go home to celebrate a holiday, he’ll arrange a trip to the americas or to japan and send you there with supplies and gifts to spare

he’ll usually try to go with you, but there are times where his schedule just doesn’t allow it so you’ll be travelling alone (with dozens of personal attendants)

he’ll study every language you speak independently, learning them whilst you’re away in order to surprise you when you get home

he’ll decorate the manor with pieces of art that represent both of the cultures you come from — or pieces that were made by yourself/your relatives

if there are any local sports or games that you enjoy, he’ll arrange for them to happen at the estate

he’s an excellent partner in that regard

but he puts his business and reputation above a lot of the things he should be doing for you

like yes he’ll spoil and indulge and learn for you

but if one of his most important investors says something offensive then he won’t do anything to stop it

at most he’ll encourage them to keep that talk to his office, but usually he’ll just laugh along and encourage you to grin and bear it

he wants to defend you, really, but he can’t risk plummeting his business because of it

he doesn’t have the means to get rid of someone without it looking suspect — which would tank his reputation and out both of you at risk

if he can punish someone for being cruel, he will — like a staff member of his or someone on the streets

but most of the time he really can’t — so the most he can do is try to keep you away from it all

as his father taught him, his duties to his country and his business come first — only then can he be a husband and lover

Sebastian Michaelis

he spends most of his time with you switching between japanese and the language of your tribe — mainly because he doesn’t like the idea of anyone (or anything) listening in on your combinations and seeing him in such a vulnerable state

he has an incredibly low tolerance for any mistreatment of you (actual or perceived) and, unless instructed otherwise by his master, will just eliminate them immediately after their transgression

a lot of the time you don’t even realise what happened — only that someone is now missing

but you’re usually able to put the pieces together

if you have an argument, he’s usually able to gather how mad you are based on how many rooms have been cleansed and he’s no longer able to enter

the worst argument you had, to date, ended with you cleansing the entire manor and locking him to the outside and the basement for a whole week

(ciel found it hilarious)

if you’re ever feeling homesick, it’s a cakewalk for sebastian to get you back to your family — you can be there one day and back in england the next

but good luck explaining to either side of your family that you’re courting a demon

if you’re artsy and like creating things to honour your heritage then he’ll indulge you, fetching you the necessary materials and displaying the final result proudly

he has met both sides of your family and has scared the crap out of a few relatives when they accidentally almost cleansed him out of a room

(not a fun conversation to have)

he’s an excellent cook (naturally) and is more than happy to indulge any cravings you have for foods that aren’t a commonly sold thing in england

of course he’ll encourage you to eat full, hearty meals because he wants you to be as taken care of as possible, but he can’t say no to his mate and will usually give in if you’re particularly desperate for sweet things or street foods

he gives you a number of nicknames based on new or traditional pet names from your cultures

for example, some japanese pet names he might use are ‘ダーリン’ (daarin), ‘ハニー’ (hanii) (these are mainly used in notes sent to each other) — or, when speaking, he might something more traditional like calling you your given name or an a version with the appropriate suffix (depending on your preference)

and, of course, any other pet names depends on the tribe you’re from

[swampthingking]

regulus black’s guide to face painting and falling in love

halloween au <3

struggling artist reg - dad james - baby harry

tw: regulus briefly reflecting on his childhood (u know how it be) and reg inquiring about harry’s scar

The thing about being a freelance artist is this; you take work where you can find it.

Unfortunately for Regulus, that means he’s found himself occupying the Halloween Fair from 12 to 5PM as the face painter.

Regulus didn’t understand people’s obsession around fairs.

Well, he understood them. The hazardous rides that are operated by people who are either half asleep, or recently graduated from high school. The funnel cakes and apple cider. The apple flavored everything. The pumpkin flavored everything (which Regulus can’t find it in himself to hate, despite his best efforts. He sips his pumpkin spiced latte and glowers.) The pumpkin carving, corn maze, haunted house, haunted hayride, haunted arcade.

And of course, the children.

Just because Regulus understands the appeal around fall festivals doesn’t mean he likes them. He likes autumn, of course. It’s his favorite season.

That doesn’t mean he wants to sit outside, under the flimsy protection of a questionable tent, painting the faces of squirming, sugar-addled children.

Regulus doesn’t dislike children. He just doesn’t quite know how to… interact with them. He tries, because in all honesty, kids are funny. But they don’t always like him. Regulus is grumpy; stoic. He tries to joke, but kids don’t love dry humor, sarcasm, or straight faced deliveries.

Would he like to share his life with a husband and a child or two? Of course. But he doesn’t want to raise a child just for them to despise him. He doesn’t want to marry someone just for him to be disappointed in the father Regulus might be.

But Regulus also knows he doesn’t have great parental examples to go off of. And he knows what not to do. Knows what made him feel small. He still feels the things said and done that stick with him; the scars he bears.

He’s spent hours painting pumpkins, bugs, princess masks, Spider-Man, those motherfuckers from Paw Patrol. More characters from the provided booklet he can’t remember, on so many faces he can’t remember either. But it’s money, and money keeps him paying his share of the lease with Sirius.

Regulus checks his watch. 4:53PM.

The fair wasn’t as busy as it was earlier this afternoon. The clouds were dark and scowling, but were far too cowardly to start actually crying. He stood from the cheap stool, stretching his back, reaching for the paintbrushes to start packing up.

The brushes had been provided by whoever hired him, but he still had an intrinsic need to clean them properly. He can’t stand the thought of paint cemented into the hairs of a brush. And these brushes are perfectly good still. Regulus wonders if anyone would notice if he stuck them in his bag—

“Do you have time for one more?” A deep voice asked from behind him.

Regulus turned to see a beaming child in the arms of a man, wearing the same smiles. The same dimples. The same curly, brown hair. Even the same glasses.

Regulus was absolutely freezing, and he was sure if he touched this kid’s face, he would start to cry because if it. He desperately wanted to beat the rain before it started pissing down, but the boy was grinning, and Regulus’ heart squeezed at the thought of taking that from him if he declined.

So he nodded and said, “Yeah, of course,” and rolled the table of supplies in between the chairs they’ll sit in.

The man set his son down, thanking Regulus while the boy hurtled himself into the rickety chair, climbing into it like he was scaling a mountain. One muddy, red Converse kicked up onto the seat to haul himself into it, his knee slipping as he planted himself on the cushion.

“This is Harry,” the man gestures to his son, who was busy inspecting Regulus’ paints, his nose almost touching the pallet.

Now that there was no line and the fair seemed predominantly empty, Regulus could relax. Could handle small talk. He paused gathering the brushes he’d been in the process of purloining to give Harry a closed lipped, but genuine smile.

“Hi, little love. I’m Regulus.”

The man slid some cash in the tip jar before sitting in the chair beside Harry, knees spread, elbows resting on his legs. “And I’m James.”

He reached out to shake Regulus’ hand, not seeming to care that it was covered in paint. It was warm and firm, long fingers nearly encasing Regulus’ whole hand.

Harry smiled up at Regulus as he took a seat in front of him, his knees bracketing the boy’s tiny legs as he kicked the air. He had a small gap between his front teeth, and after he clawed the hair out of his eyes in that aggressive way that children do—like they have a vendetta—Regulus saw a webbed scar on his forehead.

“Cool scar,” Regulus acknowledged.

No, Halloween Fair face painters aren’t mandated reporters, but he was dubious anyway. Regulus had been a child with marks. With secrets. Children Harry’s age love to talk about anything and everything. It was part of their development. Regulus wanted to see where Harry took him, or didn’t.

But Harry’s smile only grew, like he was eager to tell the story. An abused child probably wouldn’t do that.

“I was running through the forest, and allullasudden, I just knew—” Harry’s eyes were wide, demanding Regulus not look away. “I was around, surround—” he looked up frustratingly at James for help, and James only started to whisper the word before Harry cut him off, the word coming to him. “—sur-rounded by these guys! They were in these black coats. And I was running super fast because I was ini-vib-sible, and then I tripped. There was this tree. I fell. My head hit the ground so hard, and I fought them off and escaped and the guy really wanted my ring, and he was really weird looking. And then, I have a scar.”

So, the entire plot of the Lord of the Rings, with a personal spin.

Regulus liked him.

“Tripped and fell into a table,” James mouths, exaggerating his words so Regulus could read his lips. His hands cupped around his mouth so Harry wouldn’t notice him spoiling his story.

“Hmm,” Regulus ponders, draping a paint-stained rag over his thigh to distract himself from a smile. “I think I’ve heard about that. That was you?”

“Yes,” Harry says with conviction. James is looking at his son with such adoration that it makes Regulus’ stomach hurt. He has to turn away.

“I can’t believe I’m sitting in front of the boy who saved the world.” Regulus mock bows to him just because he knows it’ll make him laugh. “Thank you for allowing me the honor to paint your face. Unfortunately, little love,” Regulus puts on a sulk. “the glasses will have to come off.”

Harry ripped them off one handed, throwing his arm out to James who was already reaching to take them. He folded the temples, tucking it into his shirt and letting them hang off the collar.

Regulus’ eyes may have lingered on the tan skin, and James may have seen him. The corner of his mouth was quirked when Regulus glanced back up at his face.

Oh, God. He was hot.

Regulus looked away, hoping the chilled, autumn air disguised the heat in his face. He turned to Harry, even as he felt James looking at him still.

“What are we painting?”

“Sméagol,” Harry says without a beat.

Regulus purses his lips. He would not laugh at this child. He would not laugh.

He sucks his lips into his mouth, his cheekbones aching.

“Really into Lord of the Rings right now, as you’ve probably guessed,” James offers, looking equally as affected as Regulus.

Regulus nods, turning away from them in attempt to turn his laugh into a cough. He fails.

He takes his phone out instead and pulls up a reference picture of the creature, then sets his phone on the tray off to his side. Harry glances down at it and smiles excitedly, legs pumping.

“Sméagol it is,” Regulus declares, mixing a grayish-tan into the pallet. “Ready?”

Harry flinches at the first few swipes of paint, but sits fairly still after he gets used to the temperature. He kicks incessantly, but they don’t land on Regulus, so he doesn’t mind. At one point, James asks permission to take a video to send to Harry’s mum.

Regulus hadn’t really let himself hope, but he was still a bit disappointed. He would get over it, he knew, but—

“Her wife is the one who’s been reading the books to him. She’s gonna be beside herself when she sees what he’s done.”

Oh.

Well, that changes things.

“Hm,” Regulus says, trying to keep his focus on Harry, and making him into the best Sméagol there could possibly be. But when he turns to look at the reference photo, he glances at James, who’s looking at him. James smiles softly, head cocked. Wondering.

Jesus Christ.

By the time Regulus finished, the sun was setting. He checked his watch. 5:26PM.

He wasn’t upset he’d stayed late.

Harry was the spitting image of Sméagol. Regulus has painted his entire face a warm grey, his nose a rosy pink, then added the wrinkles in darker grays and black, shading his face to take on the shape of Sméagol’s. He’d gently splattered brown freckles onto his face to look like sun spots. He even painted thin black tendrils of hair down Harry’s neck.

He was magnificent. Regulus’ favorite piece yet, truly.

James took more pictures, and Harry’s penchant for theatrics came to fruition as he crouched, feet and hands on the grass, crawling towards James like Sméagol does in the movies.

Regulus offered to take some photos of Harry and James together. James excitedly handed Regulus his phone, then scooped Harry up and propped him on a hip. Harry grabbed James’ hand, which was sporting many rings, and pretended to bite his fingers. It was futile, but James attempted to look terrified. He ended up cracking and breaking into a heart-stuttering smile, eyes squinting and cheeks giving way to dimples.

The pictures were adorable, naturally.

Harry broke character suddenly, gasping, a hand slapping on the top of his head. Regulus saw a raindrop sliding down from his hairline and wiped it away, just before it could drip onto his face and smear the paint.

“My paint!” Harry yelled, face contorting. Regulus had to look away from this glassy-eyed child with the grotesque face of Sméagol. The last thing Regulus wanted them to think was that he would laugh at a child’s sorrow.

To Regulus’ relief, James was also stifling his laughter as he set Harry on the ground, removing his own jacket to implement it as a shield above his son. The rain was picking up now into a light sprinkle. “Forgot an umbrella, babe. We’re gonna have to run super fast.”

“Daddy.” Sméagol-Harry looked up to James, sounding close to tears. “My paint,” he said, dejected.

Regulus absolutely didn’t think this through before he did it, but he said, “We won’t let your paint get ruined, love.”

He walked to his bag and rummaged around for his umbrella. He opened it and handed it to Harry, whose chubby hand wrapped around the handle, but wasn’t strong enough to hold it up against the breeze.

James and Regulus grabbed it at the same time, all three of their hands piled on top of each other. James’ was over Regulus’, so he couldn’t just pull away without ripping the umbrella from Harry, and he was absolutely not doing that.

James removed his hand with the barest hint of pink on his cheeks. He put his jacket back on now that his son was protected from the rain, thanking Regulus for holding the umbrella.

“Do you have another umbrella?” James asked once his jacket was zipped.

“Uh— no. But I can find one. I’ll ask someone. I’m alright.” He attempted to wave it off, despite knowing that he is anemic, and his fingers are already freezing.

“Okay, take this back, please. I can’t have you walking back in the pouring rain.”

“I’ll be fine. You guys take it.”

“Let us walk you to your car.”

Regulus cringed. “I… took the bus.”

James’ eyes widen. “You were going to walk to the bus stop, and then all the way home with no umbrella?”

“Yyyes?”

James raises a brow at him. He really hadn’t thought it through.

“Take your umbrella.” James goes to hand it back, then had to stop because of Harry’s death grip around the neck of it. James starts to, presumably, ask him to let go.

“What umbrella?” Regulus turns to pack up his supplies, avoiding looking at James. He knows playing this card probably won’t work but hopefully if he’s annoying enough, it will convince James to just take it. “I didn’t give you that umbrella. You came with it.”

James deadpans. “Okay, if you’re going to do that, we’ll just have to give you a ride home.”

Regulus spasms. “What? No, that’s— you don’t have to do that.”

“I didn’t do anything. You asked me for a ride.”

Regulus gasps, but he’s smiling. Damn it. “Oh, you’re good.”

Regulus lives fairly close, about 10 minutes away. The ride is almost silent. The radio is low, and Harry talks all about their day, sparing no details. What they saw, what they did, what he ate, who he talked to, what he thought about the corn maze (“Why can’t I eat the corn? Why is it there then?” to which James responded, “It’s not for us to eat.” to which Harry responded, “Why?” to which James responded, “I don’t know, babe. I just know they asked us to not eat it.” to which Harry responded, “Why?”).

His little thoughts bounced around the car until they abruptly stopped. Regulus peeked into the backseat to see him sound asleep, his mouth open, head lulled to the side. The blue eyes Regulus had painted on his eyelids stared back at him, and Regulus began to regret his artistic choice.

As they drove, Regulus couldn’t help but sneak glances over at James. He almost doesn’t want to look at him, but he can’t seem to stop. He’s stuck between wanting to remember him and not wanting to look at him so he can forget his face easier. At one point, James glances back, the gold frames of his glasses glinting from the streetlights.

Regulus’s house is dark, the porch light Sirius left on for him flickering, when they pull up to the curb. Sirius has gone into a Halloween frenzy, and it looks like a Spirit Halloween vomited all over the front porch and yard. Jack-o’-lanterns line each step, the carvings depicting various faces. Waterproof fairy lights in the shape of ghosts hang from the oak tree, twinkling like the flames of a candle.

“Thank you for—”

“Maybe I could see you again?” James says quickly, like he’d been thinking of saying it for a awhile, but hadn’t had the nerve to.

Regulus looks over at him, wide eyed. James ran a hand through his mussed hair, looking endearingly nervous.

Regulus grins, all teeth, and James returns it. “I would love that.”

[maxislvt]

Silent Night

Summary: Even rock stars get caught up in the holiday rush.

Warnings: R being gay, Wanda being a mommy, me projecting a tiny bit but that's what y'all are here for!

A/N: No, I am not addicted to popstar Wanda at all!! (I'm lying)

Event Masterlist

❃❃❃❃❃❃❃❃

The Christmas rush was not something to be ignored, especially if you were a musician. Where most people only had to start worrying around mid-November, you were forced to start all the way in October. Halloween had come and gone, but you were on crunch time in your studio.

Despite the weeks-long headstart, you had nothing ready to spark holiday cheer. You did technically have some songs. Several fully completed songs. It was just that none of them satisfied you. The Thunderbolts was a band filled with magnificently talented people. Your music had to be perfect. You didn't care if that meant you spent long hours in your studio. Your girlfriend, on the other hand, did care. Wanda was a festive woman and refused to celebrate the holiday without you.

Originally, you two had compromised. You'd do all your lyric writing at home and then spend a few hours at your studio mixing and sampling as needed. Regardless of what you did, you had to be done by 6 pm and spend the rest of the night at home with Wanda. The lack of your familiar hums and empty driveway upon her return home told Wanda you hadn't kept your end of the deal. One slightly annoying drive later, her suspicion had been confirmed.

"I know the fingerprint lock on the outside is to keep people from getting in, but I didn't know it stopped you from getting out."

Wanda's voice made you stop in your tracks. For a moment, you just sat there. There was no way it had been past 6 o’clock. You left the house at 12 that evening and only wrote about 12 lines you were proud of. Checking your phone to see it was 9:46 pm was a major blow to your confidence. "I, uh, I thought I had another hour?" The statement sounded more like a question. Mostly because you were genuinely confused. You slowly turned around in your chair. "I'm sorry, I think I just lost track of time. I —"

Wanda cupped your checks and slowly examined your face. "Baby, how long have you been here? You look like you haven't slept in days." The bags under your eyes were genetic, but they somehow looked heavier. The once perfectly soft skin on your lips had been chewed and rubbed raw. She pulled you close and forced you to rest your head on her stomach. This wasn't the first time Wanda watched you overwork yourself, but she was happy to be the one to pull you out of your habits. "Why don't we go home and rest up for a bit? I brought back some of that hot chocolate you like."

Normally, the promise of good hot chocolate and cuddles would be enough to get you to do anything, but you were far too stressed. You shook your head and pulled away. "I can't, I gotta finish at least one of these songs before we go home." Pulling away from Wanda's touch was near impossible, but you forced yourself to do it anyway. "Just give me another hour, I promise I'll be done."

Wanda sighed. This was clearly important to you and dragging you away from your studio wouldn't do any good. She’d lost count of how many times you’d snuck out to work on music. "Fine, but I have to help and you have to sit in my lap." She giggled at the embarrassed face you made. "It's either that or I take you home and wrap you up in blankets like a newborn cat."

You huffed in disapproval but stood up and allowed Wanda to sit in your chair. It was hard to tell what you were feeling exactly. Either stress had entirely consumed you or you were falling into Wanda's trap. Part of you hoped it was the second option. "I wrote a bunch of stuff earlier, but these are the only complete songs I have." You opened some files on your laptop. "Only two have music behind them right now."

Wanda nodded along as you spoke. Her hand slipped underneath your shirt and rubbed small circles on the skin of your stomach. Sure, Wanda had promised you an hour but she was going to get you home as fast as she could. "Lemme hear the two with music, we can work on the 3rd one last." She put on the headphones attached to your laptop. She tentatively listened to the song as she rocked you side to side in her lap. "This is beautiful, baby! Why don't you like it?"

A heavy yawn fell from your lips. "It just doesn't sound festive enough! I feel like I'm not hitting these notes right." Staying awake in Wanda's grasp was an endless uphill climb. Keeping your will to fight was even harder. "I was thinking of giving it to someone else, but I don't wanna let it go."

"We can make a duet." Wanda smiled when you excitedly turned around towards her. "Tamper with the notes a bit and split up the lyrics and we'll have our first song together." She peppered your excited face with kisses. "We can record it next weekend and then the company can release it on Christmas day if you want. "

The longer Wanda kissed you, the harder it was to ignore that familiar warm buzz underneath your skin. Sleep was calling your name, but you wouldn't give in unless Wanda prompted you to do so. "That's fine with me…just highlight the parts you wanna sing." Your eyelids felt heavier than the metal you made a living singing. Your highlighting and annotating were so hard to read, Wanda had to guide your head through the rest of it. You didn't even register the fact Wanda moved on to the other song until you saw a new file opened. "Wait, I don't remember…"

Wanda hummed softly. "Hey, I think you've done enough for today. Why don't we head home?" Her arms wrapped around your stomach, pulling you impossibly closer. She had you wrapped around her fingers. There was no way you'd say no to her now. "We can watch that reindeer musical you like so much. Then I can wrap you up in your favorite blankets. Doesn't that sound nice?"

That was it. You had fallen under another one of Wanda's magical spells. "You mean the one about Rudolph and the dentist elf?" The confirmation was all you needed. "Okay, I'm ready to go home now."

Wanda gave you another kiss before letting you stand up. "Don't worry about your car, I'll have someone come pick it up in the morning."

❃❃❃❃❃❃❃❃

The promise of a movie night and hot chocolate had seemingly reinvigorated you. Though you were hesitant and sluggish when leaving your studio, you couldn't sit still during the car ride. Wanda thought it was adorable.

"How did you get the shavings so small? Mine are all big and chunky." The lack of a break was still clearly affecting your performance a bit. Cooking had always been Wanda's thing. You were always her little lab rat or dish cleaner, never an assistant. Even if you were a mess in the kitchen, you were proud of yourself for making your fancy hot chocolate without much help.

Wanda giggled as she took a sip from her mug. "I told you to use the other side of the grater." Being famous came with its perks, but nothing would ever top having you all to herself. To Wanda, you were perfect. All your odd preferences and little quirks only added to said perfection. "Y'know, I think I might have my own little Rudolph just like Santa does."

You turned your head around so fast, you got whipped cream on your nose. "Really? Wait, did you buy the reindeer antler for Sparky!?"

Wanda laughed and shook her head. "No, I just meant you." She playfully licked the cream off your nose. "Every time I give you a compliment, you hop around repeating it for days." She placed her mug on the nightstand. "I'm cute! I'm cute! She thinks I'm cute," Wanda said, recreating the scene that had played just a few minutes ago.

You huffed your chest out in defense. "I don't sound like that! If anyone does, it's you…or maybe Bucky, he's been a real simp these past few weeks."

"Oh no, don't bring your little friends into this! You wrote an entire EP after I started publicly calling you my partner, lord knows what you'll do when we get married." Wanda turned away to take another sip of her hot chocolate. When she turned back, she was met with the cutest puppy dog eyes she'd ever seen.

"You wanna marry me?"

Wanda could only laugh. "Of course, I wanna marry you! You're too perfect to slip through my fingers." She cupped your face and kissed you on the lips. "Also, this totally proves my point."