#i fell asleep right after i published this

[quarzy]

no doodles today but i finished chapter 2 :)

[darkmatilda]

𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟𝐟 | 𝐬. 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: basically just two bookworms arguing about books and having a s3x right after

𝐚/𝐧: please read the note! so it's only a very short part of my upcoming fanfiction that has...25k words...i'm aware no one is going to read it all soo i'm publishing one of my favorite parts.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 3.1k

Maybe it was that one drink you had, but your legs seemed to take you in a certain direction.

You weren’t sure if Spencer was even home. But if you had nothing else to do, why not check? A short walk. You were a little desperate, after all, you didn’t have anywhere else to go. That’s how you justified it. You were going to him because you had no other option.

He opened the door, dressed in a wrinkled shirt, trousers, and a tie loosely hanging around his neck. His hair was in disarray, and you felt an urge to run your fingers through it and style it the way you wanted, but it would’ve been awkward.

"Hey. Am I interrupting?"

Surprised, Spencer shook his head.

"No... Actually, I was asleep."

"In those clothes?"

"I fell asleep while reading..." he explained, trailing off when he noticed your appearance. To put it modestly, you looked incredibly hot. For a long moment, his gaze lingered on your dress, visible beneath the open jacket and ending high on your thigh. "Very... nice dress. Is it... is it your mom's too?"

You chuckled.

"Can you imagine my mom, a school psychologist, in a dress covering half her ass?"

Embarrassed, Spencer raised his hands in apology and also chuckled softly.

"Sorry, I'm still half-asleep. Anyway... is there something wrong that you're here?"

"My mentally unstable ex-boyfriend of my roommate is lurking under our apartment.” You confessed bluntly “I'm a little scared to go back, and... I didn't know where else I could go."

It seemed like he was suddenly waking up quickly. He swung the door wide open, letting you in.

"Of course, come in. Is he dangerous?"

"He shows up every now and then and then disappears. It's like a lottery. Jude doesn't want to ever see him again, so we just pretend we're not here when it happens."

The inside looked just as you remembered. The lights were off everywhere except the bedroom, where he was probably reading. You allowed yourself to take off your uncomfortable shoes and set them by the door.

"Why don't you report it to the police?" His forehead furrowed with concern.

"Jude doesn't want to. And I don't want to do anything against her will. But I swear, if this happens again, I'll convince her. Or I'll do it myself."

"You should," he said, and suddenly a silence fell between you.

You weren't sure how to act. You'd barged in on him in the middle of the night, pulling him from his sleep. Not to mention, you hadn't seen each other since that conversation at the bar.

"Let me take your jacket," he said after a moment, as if remembering how to behave when hosting a guest.

You slowly took it off, revealing the full dress. Spencer momentarily let his gaze linger on it, but then he caught himself and turned away to hang your jacket. The glance didn't embarrass you in the slightest; if anything, you expected to catch him looking.

"Sorry if I woke you," you said, realizing you should probably apologize. It was only then that you began to feel a little awkward about the situation.

"You don't have to apologize. It's not your fault. And I'm glad I can help," he said, and once again, silence settled between you. Spencer placed his hand on his forehead as he realized you were still standing in the hallway. "Sorry, it's been a long time since anyone's visited, and I don't even know how to act... Do you want something to drink, or need anything?"

"I’m fine," you assured him, walking behind him into the living room. "I don't want you to act like I'm some important guest, Spencer. Or like you need to serve me."

"But you are an important guest," he replied.

A warm, gentle smile appeared on your lips.

"What were you reading?" you asked, leaning your lower back against the kitchen island, the two rooms connected as one. You glanced around the cozy interior, in soft, almost warm hues, where the darkness of the night blended with the orange light of the lamp. "Let me guess, some spine-chilling thriller?"

"I have spine-chilling thrillers every day at work," he snorted. "I was reading... Emma. Jane Austen."

Your eyebrows shot up.

"You fell asleep reading classic literature on a Friday night? Spencer Reid, what kind of man are you?"

"In a good way or a bad way?"

He stood across from you, his arms loosely crossed over his chest. Your eyes lingered on the first few undone buttons of his shirt.

"Of course, in a good way. Why would I judge someone for reading?"

"I don’t know," he shrugged. "Some people think it’s boring. And weird, especially on a Friday night. And what about you? What were you doing before your roommate’s ex showed up?" he asked, a playful glint in his eyes as he nodded meaningfully toward your outfit. "Were you reading too?"

You lifted your chin high.

"Exactly. I was reading my favorite Shakespearean drama in my favorite dress. And those incredibly comfortable shoes I left by your door."

"That goes without saying."

"I definitely wasn’t at any club."

"I wouldn’t even suspect you of that."

"I was doing what any God-fearing virgin would do," you said, bursting into laughter at the absurdity. "Alright, alright. I’m getting carried away. Now I actually feel like reading something. But nothing too classic—I don’t have the brainpower for it. Do you happen to have any romance novels?"

I'm afraid not."

"Really? You have more books in your home than the library in my hometown, and not a single romance? I’m not talking about dark erotica or anything—just something subtle. Friends to lovers, polite sex..."

Spencer choked on a laugh.

"Sorry, but are you drunk?"

You were just horny. 

"Not a drop of alcohol has touched my lips. I'm just hyperactive. That’s what the night does to me."

"Yeah, I can see that."

"So? Aren't you hiding any sinful books in there?"

He rolled his eyes, clearly amused rather than annoyed by your persistence.

"You're welcome to look," he offered, gesturing toward one of the shelves. "But I’m not promising you’ll find anything like that."

"But if I do, you owe me a drink."

“And if it turns out I’m right, then what?”

You bit your lip, pondering. 

“I’ll figure something out.”

“You know, I won’t enter a bet unless I know what I get in return.”

“And what do you want?”

“A dinner together,” he replied without hesitation. “Or breakfast, if you prefer.”

“Deal,” you answered just as quickly. You weren’t worried about regretting it—your blood was buzzing too much for that.

He extended his hand for you to shake on it, sealing the deal. Instead of letting go, you held onto his fingers firmly and tugged him toward the bookshelf. He stood so close as you examined the books one by one, taking some out to inspect their covers to see if they suggested any hint of romance. When they didn’t, he let out a short laugh, his breath brushing against your neck and sending a shiver down your spine. You didn’t let it show.

“Spencer…” you started after a while, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. “It counts if the book has a romantic subplot, right?”

“No, it doesn’t count! We agreed on a romance. A full-fledged, contemporary one.”

“We didn’t say contemporary.”

“I assumed it was implied since I mentioned owning Jane Austen books. Pride and Prejudice is a romance, among other things…”

“Ha! So you do have one. I won!” You raised your hands high in victory.

“…But it’s also a social and domestic novel. Doesn’t count.”

You poked him in the chest with your finger.

“You don’t know how to lose.”

He glanced at the spot where you touched him, clearly trying not to smile.

“Maybe I just care a lot about that dinner,” he admitted boldly.

You didn’t know what to say. You tried to look at him confidently, but it was hard to think and maintain eye contact with him at the same time.

“Or breakfast,” you murmured.

“Or breakfast,” he agreed. Realizing how close he was standing, he instinctively stepped back half a pace. “So, are you ready to admit my victory?”

You shot him a defiant look.

“Not a chance. I haven’t even checked all the books yet. I’m only about three-quarters through. Who knows what kind of BDSM might be lurking in the last quarter?”

“Seriously?” he asked with a sigh. “Okay, just look at me. Do I seem like the kind of guy who reads stuff like that?”

“Honestly, you look like the kind of guy who reads encyclopedias. But the one thing I know about people is that appearances can be deceiving. Still waters run deep.”

He shook his head in disbelief.

“You’re as stubborn as they come.”

“Maybe I just really want that drink,” you teased.

“I can make you one,” he offered unexpectedly.

“Seriously?” The suggestion caught you off guard.

Spencer shrugged casually.

“I don’t drink much, but some friends gave me a few bottles for my birthday.”

You hesitated, considering.

“I’m not really in the mood,” you admitted. You felt good, even without alcohol. “But I do have another request… Do you happen to have something I could change into? I won’t lie, this isn’t the most comfortable dress… though it’s absolutely stunning.”

He smiled softly.

"You’re right. And yes, I’ll find something for you to change into. Just… it’ll be something of mine."

Following him into the bedroom, you let out a small chuckle.

"You know, I didn’t expect you to have a closet full of women’s clothes. Plus, in my size. Although, who knows what girls leave behind at your place. It’s a tactic, you know? You leave a sock at a guy’s place to have an excuse to come back. Unless you didn’t like it, then you have to accept losing the sock."

He didn’t say anything, opening the wardrobe to find something appropriate for you. You’d been in his bedroom before and didn’t feel the need to look around; nothing had changed inside.

"Do you do this often?" he asked, inspecting a t-shirt. "Use the sock strategy?"

"No," you replied, shrugging. "I’m too straightforward for that. If I like it, I just go back and say 'Let’s do it again' Or I don’t leave at all. I’m a bit of a parasite too."

He chuckled at the comparison and finally handed you some clothes. You didn’t really look at them; you just needed something looser, something you hadn’t danced in for hours at the club.

"You know where the bathroom is, right?"

You confirmed and were about to head in that direction when you stopped.

"Wait," you said, turning back toward him. But then, you turned again, facing him with your back. "The zipper on the dress," you explained, pulling your hair to the front. "I could manage it myself, but I don’t want to risk breaking it. Could you…?"

"Y-yeah," he agreed after a moment, stepping closer.

He stood just behind you, reaching for the top of your back. Before he pulled the zipper down, there was a moment where he simply paused, unmoving. Your knees suddenly trembled, almost impatiently. Then, he tugged at the zipper, unfastening the dress, and the coolness and freedom teased your skin.

You could have said thank you and headed to the bathroom, but you didn’t. Something kept your body rooted in place, right there next to him, feeling the pads of his fingers on the lower part of your dress.

Even his breath, louder and irregular.

When you began to, slightly disappointed, assume that he wouldn’t do anything more, his lips found a spot on your neck, kissing it slowly. You inhaled deeply, your head instinctively tilting back, giving him more access, as if you had been waiting for just that.  He stopped for a longer time in this specific place, pressing on it harder, as you barely hold a groan. 

Your breath was given a free rollercoaster ride.

You reached your hand back, wrapping it around his head and pulling him closer to you. You felt him sigh directly into your skin, leaving another two hungry kisses on an exposed skin on your shoulder. God, why were you still wearing that dress?

You abruptly stopped, turning around and almost hitting the top of your head against his jaw. You didn't care about it, and the thought of apologizing never crossed your mind, just simply pushed him, planting a strong kiss right on his lips.

The clothes he gave you slipped from your hand and fell to the floor, but neither of you were concerned about it, as you were both too absorbed to care. You pushed him again, this time onto the bed, on which he sat, surprised by your suddenness. You saw red marks creeping onto the parts of the neck exposed by the undone shirt. 

"Spencer, Spencer, Spencer," you said, shaking your head in a mock reprimand. He tilted his head to the side, unsure of where you were going with this, his fingers impatiently brushing your waist on both sides. "You lied to me."

Your hands grabbed his face, positioning just under his jaw and lifting it upward so you could find his lips right against yours. 

“I lied to you?”

"“That's right. You said you don't read romances. But tell me, how does someone who doesn't do that know such practices?”

“Practices?” he repeated again, surprised."

His gaze was focused solely on your lips to which he tried to get closer, but you hadn't allowed him to yet. 

"This whole unbuttoning of the dress. And then, the neck”

With your index finger, you traced along the skin on his neck

“Did you like it?” he asked, his voice sounding a bit hoarse. He removed one hand from your waist and took your hand, the one you had been playing with.

“Did I like it?” you scoffed with a genuine laugh.“I’m like half naked now. Answer that for yourself”

Undressing was the element you hated the most. You became impatient and couldn't understand why your clothes couldn't just disappear from you, instead of threatening to burn your already overheated skin. Spencer didn't help, so slow in his movements. You had a feeling he was doing it on purpose. He probably enjoyed watching you struggle to untangle yourself from the dress. He waited a minute before helping you, effortlessly pulling it over your head.

Maybe slow wasn't the most accurate description.The way he touched his body wasn’t slow. It was like rationing a treat, breaking it into small pieces and savoring them one by one. Meanwhile, it gazed straight into your mouth, shouting, eat me!

It required incredible self-control and composure, but it resulted in something more than just pleasure. When he found himself right between your legs, his lips touching gently every single inch of your thigh and refusing to go further despite your pleas, you compared him to the previous guys you slept with. With them, on the other hand, you had to tell them to slow down, to do everything more carefully, and not to focus solely on their own needs.

“Does it feel right?” He asked, briefly lifting his gaze, his hands gripping your thighs.

Your back arched, probably enough of an answer, but you confirmed it with a soft moan.

"I'd rather you said it out loud. Does it feel right?"

"That's edging on sadism, do you realize that?" you whimpered, trying to release the tension by pulling at his hair.

He stopped again.

"Please, do it again."

It wasn't something he had to beg for.

The rest went similarly. You liked how his confidence and courage grew, but you also went wild when, at certain moments, the same gentle and sometimes awkward Spencer returned. It was a perfectly balanced mix.

"Can you talk to me more?" he asked over time, once he was already inside you. "I want to know how you feel about all of this." After those words, your forehead twitched slightly as you felt the onset of pain. "Does it hurt?"

"No," you whispered, accompanied by a faintly tired exhale.”A little. But it's normal I just didn't have sex for a while”

"No, it shouldn't hurt you. Do you want to stop?"

"Just... give me a moment."

He slowed down, almost stopping. You took a breath,pressing your forehead to his. You stayed like that for a moment, neither of you in a hurry. After all, where to? Outside, the night still reigned, long and patient, winter’s grip holding steady. You liked having his face so close to yours, joining them together and not speaking. For the first time, you could truly say that you enjoyed the silence.

You had always considered silence overwhelming, incapable of calming the chaos that arose in your mind. You preferred moments of wildness, loud sounds, and fast pace, but it was in that silence, which fell then, that you found a peace filled with intimacy.

You wrapped your arms tighter around his neck.

"It's okay, I'm ready."

After everything, you simply lay facing each other, tangled in one another. Actually, you didn’t like that expression "after everything." After everything—after what exactly? Sex wasn’t just about the physical act; it also included the long moment before and the even more significant one after. It was precisely that moment after which revealed the true you both. How much you cared for each other and how much you meant to each other beyond the bed. That was often missing in one-night stands; the perspective of quickly disappearing from each other's lives and being forgotten somehow intensified selfishness in people.

Lying there, you played with the hair on his forehead.

"You know, they say this is the moment when people are the most honest with each other."

"Do you want to squeeze a few secrets out of me?" he asked.

"Just one," you said mysteriously, turning onto your back. Before that, you noticed his eyebrows furrow.

He propped himself up on his elbow to look at you again.

"Which one?"

You pretended to hesitate before answering. You tried with all your might to keep the smile from appearing on your face, betraying you.

"I'm afraid that even now, you won't be honest with me."

"I'm starting to get worried."

"I'll tell you, but you have to promise to tell the truth. Give me your pinky."

"What?"

"A pinky promise, you fool."

“O-okay” 

Clearly surprised, he did what you asked.

"Now tell me the truth. You got any romance books at your place you're too embarrassed to admit to?"

He rolled his eyes.

"I'll find them," you teased. "I’ll get up right now and find them."

You pretended to get up, but he pulled you closer, preventing you from moving.

"You're not going anywhere."

i know some of you were curious about this fanfiction, so I'm tagging it.

@nightfullofparadox @bloodredrubyrose @lillaberry @miriamnox @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx

[ccsainzleclerc5516]

Eyes Only For You

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Warnings: a little bit of angst, fluff

“Hey, baby” You say smiling walking into the kitchen greeting your boyfriend who you missed so much after a whole day filled with meetings.

Lando was free for another week before returning to the races, and you really had a lot of work to do the whole week. You had a lot of meetings and events to attend so you’ve been out of the house and even out of the town most of the time.

You hated it when Lando was free and you had a lot of work to do and couldn't take full advantage of his rare free time. And so when such days happen, you always rush home at the end of the day, eager to see him and cuddle him and just rest in his arms.

That's how you thought it would be this evening too, but as soon as you entered the room and saw that Lando didn't even turn to you when you greeted him, you immediately felt that something was up.

“Hi” He says apathetically looking for something in the fridge and not paying attention to the fact that you finally came home after being away all day.

He was angry. You read it right away. You could tell by his tone, but you decided to ignore it at first.

You walked up to him from the other side of the kitchen island and hugged him from behind while he was still standing in front of the fridge looking into it.

“Where is Mila?” You ask.

Oh, and you were also babysitting Mila for the night. His brother and sister in law and Mila were in town so you offered to watch her tonight so they could have some time to themselves and go on a date.

“She fell asleep in the living room a little while ago.” He said not engaging in further conversation.

“I missed you today” You say leaving a small kiss against his bare back.

“Yeah? How was your day?” He asks taking the salad dressing from the fridge and walking up to the kitchen island where his chicken salad was.

“It was..hectic.” You say looking at him. “Been waiting to come home to you.” You say softly trying to get anything out of him, but failing when he continues to be silent and ignore you focusing on making his salad.

“Lan? Is everything okay?” You finally ask.

“Well,” He sighs and somewhat aggressively throws the soiled fork into the kitchen sink making you wince slightly. “It was up until two hours ago when some pictures of you from the Boss Show in Milan emerged.”

“What pictures?” You ask confused, immediately going over the events of that day in Milan in your head.

He pulls his phone out of the pocket of his shorts, unlocks it and throws it in front of you on the surface of the kitchen island. “Care to explain?”

You stare at the picture on his cell phone of you and Michele Morrone and you immediately remember the situation you had with him that day that you were not even aware that someone had taken a picture of it and published it on the Internet.

In the picture, you were leaving the fashion show and he was grabbing your elbow. You met him for the first time that day and you talked about nothing more than the looks from the show, but it was quite obvious to you that he was indirectly hitting on you here and there. You grabbed his attention and he didn't spare you a few compliments, but at no point did you give him reason to think you were interested in him.

When you were leaving the fashion show, you didn't even know that he came out after you. He grabbed your elbow before you walked over to the waiting car and asked if he could have your number to which you replied that you have a boyfriend and that you’re in a happy relationship.

“Oh my God..” You sigh before explaining what exactly happened in the picture.

“Did you give him your number?” Lando asks even though you had said you didn’t.

“Of course I didn’t, Lando?” You say a bit offended that he even had to ask such a thing.

“Why didn't you tell me right away instead of me having to look at the pictures of my girlfriend with that fucking- porn actor?”

“I don’t ever tell you when things like that happen because I don’t care about that stuff and because I’m not interested in anyone but you!”

“What the fuck? What do you mean ‘when things like that happen’? Do guys hit on you a lot?”

“Lando..please” You were already getting exhausted from this kind of conversation. You considered it so unimportant that you almost forgot it happened, but you could understand why Lando was upset about it.

“No, tell me, y/n!”

“Yes, guys do hit on me, but I never ever respond to any of that in any kind of way whatsoever!”

“Oh, that’s really nice. Very comforting.” He says sarcastically.

“What? Am I so unattractive that it comes as such a surprise to you?”

“No, fuck..of course not. I just-“ He sighs running his hands through his hair. “I just thought everyone knew you were mine..”

“Lando, as long as I know that I’m yours, it doesn’t matter what other guys think or try to do. And I can’t believe that you would even think that I was doing something behind your back. I can’t believe you don’t trust me, Lando?” It hurt you because you never gave him a reason to doubt you. Your relationship was pure and full of love for each other. Topics like this have never even been in the conversation.

He deeply sighs again and steps closer to you cupping your face making you look up at him. “It’s not you that I don’t trust, it’s others. I don’t want someone to steal you from me. I’m sorry”

“That could never happen.” You say looking up at him.

He pulls your face closer to his wanting to kiss you, but you move your head to the left avoiding the kiss.

“I’m going to change. I’m tired.” You move away from him and go to your shared bedroom.

Your mood was no longer up to par and you weren't as happy and excited as you were half an hour ago and you blamed Lando for that. On the one hand, you understood him, but on the other hand, you couldn't believe that he doubted you even for a slight moment.

It especially hurt you because you knew that girls are hitting on him every chance they get and that they obsess over him all the time not caring in the slightest that he has a girlfriend and yet you never showed him it bothered you because you know he only has eyes for you.

You took a quick shower and changed into more comfortable clothes. Although you were still sad about the things that went down with Lando, you wanted to see Mila and hang out with her in case she woke up because it was only 7 p.m. so you headed to the living room shortly after taking the shower.

You knew she was awake when you approached the living room and heard Lando and her chatting about the Minions that Lando had turned on on the TV. It was more of Lando's favorite cartoon than Mila’s honestly. You walked over closer and saw Lando

Lando was lying on the couch and Mila was lying next to him with her head resting on his chest while his arm was wrapped around her. The sight melted your heart. You loved their relationship. You loved seeing him spend time with her and bond and you loved the way she loved him.

“Auntie!!” Mila exclaimed when she saw you.

“Hey, cutie” You smiled at her sitting on the couch next to Lando and giving her a hug. “Are you guys watching the Minions?”

“Yess!!” She said excitedly.

“Wanna join us?” Lando asked, his eyes pleading for you to say yes.

You nodded your head bringing a huge smile to Lando's face. He opened his free arm for you so you can cuddle up to him. When you laid your head against his chest as well as Mila, he tightly wrapped his arm around you and kissed your head quietly whispering “I’m sorry”

You just looked up at him and kissed his chin without saying a word.

Halfway through the movie, Mila slowly began to fall asleep again. Lando was gently rubbing her back the whole time and when he would stop for a moment she would startle and say "Lala, more" so Lando had to continue until she fell asleep and you just found his gesture so adorable.

“I can't wait to see you like this with our own baby.” You said softly.

“What? Are you-?”

“I’m not pregnant, Lan” You chuckled. “I’m just saying, one day I hope.”

“You want babies with me?” He asked his fingers playing with your hair and looking into your eyes as you lifted your gaze up.

“Of course I do. I think about it often.” You admit that every now and then you find yourself daydreaming about your perfect little family and it makes you so excited about the future.

“Yeah? I do too, baby. I dream of holding you both just like this, waking up next to you, taking care of you.” He says pressing a kiss on your forehead. “Should we make it a reality soon?”

“I think we should, Lan”

[pitlanepeach]

From Eden | Chapter Four (4/8)

Oscar Piastri x Francesca Gold (OFC)

Summary — Francesca Gold is an introvert with a quiet life and a Youtube channel where she talks about books, drinks too much tea, and rarely ever shows her face. She prefers it that way - tucked into her London flat with her cat, Henry, and safely hidden behind a screen.

Oscar Piastri is a Formula 1 driver. Fast-paced, high-stakes, always on the move. He hasn't read a book in years, but he's watched every single one of Francesca's videos. Just for the sound of her voice.

Following her on Instagram was a moment of weakness. He didn't think she'd notice.

She did.

Chapter Warnings — Mentions of agoraphobia + severe social anxiety. A glimpse into a therapy session. Mentions of racing accidents. A tiny bit of angst, and then lots of fluffiness.

Notes — Yes. It happens. It finally happens. Our babies MEET. Also: I’m spoiling you all with these updates, but I’m writing like a mad woman atm. I wrote 3/4 of this chapter after work today.

Oscar’s face filled her screen, his hair mussed, white t-shirt hanging loose around his neck. The hotel lamp behind him cast a soft golden glow, and his voice was low and tired when he said, “Hey.”

Francesca smiled without meaning to, her laptop perched on her thighs and a mug balanced precariously on the arm of the sofa. “Hey. You sound half-asleep.”

He shrugged one shoulder, a lazy smile tugging at his mouth. “I’m not. Just tired. Long day.”

She hummed, shifting her laptop slightly. “You didn’t have to call me tonight. I know you’ve got another early start tomorrow.”

“I wanted to,” he said simply, like it wasn’t even a question. 

They fell into a lull, not uncomfortable. Oscar reached for something offscreen — probably a bottle of water — while Francesca scrolled back through the rough notes she’d been making for her book. Her screen glowed faintly, a scattered mess of plot threads, character traits, and one lonely bullet point that just said: Let them kiss, eventually.

“What are you working on?” Oscar asked, his voice soft, easy. His thumb rested against his cheek as he watched her like she was the most interesting thing on screen—not whatever was playing on Netflix in the background.

Francesca laughed quietly, the sound half-nervous, half-flattered. Her neck flushed warm. “The outline. For the book.”

“Ah, yes. The very-big-deal-but-trying-to-play-it-cool publisher thing.” His grin was lopsided and teasing, but his eyes were full of something else — something that made her stomach flutter. She’d told him about it the second Katie had left, unable to keep it to herself. That had been two weeks ago.

“Have you figured out the, uh, plot yet?” he asked, genuine curiosity softening the teasing.

“Sort of,” she said, chewing the inside of her cheek. “It’s messy right now. But I keep thinking about how to write two people who don’t make sense on paper. Like — different lives, different worlds. But they find this… perfect little space where things make sense. With each other.”

Oscar’s eyes held hers for a moment, steady. “That sounds good. Familiar.” 

She blushed, immediately looked back at her screen. “It’s just a first draft. I probably won’t like it by next week.”

He grinned. “Can I be the first to read it?”

“You don’t even read.” She shot back.

“I’d read anything if you were the one to write it.”

Francesca tried to hide the way her breath caught, but it was pointless — the screen was too intimate. Too real.

Oscar must have noticed. Instead of pushing, he leaned back against the headboard, stretching out those long limbs. “You’ve got your book. I’ve got my races. We’re both booked and busy for the next few months, huh?”

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “But… it feels a little less overwhelming when I’m talking to you.”

His brows lifted — like he hadn’t expected her to say that out loud.

She bit her lip. “Too much?” She was always second-guessing what she should and shouldn’t say to him. This whole getting to know each other while also maybe-flirting thing was still very new to her.

“No,” he said, his voice low, warm, and firmer than usual. “Not even a little.”

The screen flickered slightly as he shifted beneath the covers, yawning into his shoulder. “You keep working. I’m just gonna close my eyes and listen to you type. Don’t mind me.”

Utterly ridiculous.

She watched him through the screen, his face half-shadowed in the low hotel light, eyes still closed. For a minute, she just listened to the sound of his breathing, even and slow.

Then, before she could second-guess herself, she asked — quietly, like the question was delicate in her mouth, “If we’re both this busy… how are we going to make it work? The — uh — us meeting thing…”

Oscar’s eyes opened, slow and steady. He looked right at her — really looked. All the sleepiness disappeared in an instant.

“When you’re ready,” he said, voice steady and certain. “When you say the word — I’ll make it happen, Francesca.”

Francesca swallowed. “Even if it’s… months from now?”

“Yeah,” he said without hesitation. “Next week, six months. Next year.” He stressed the words. “When you’re ready, I’ll find the time. I’ll show up. I’ll be there.”

She blinked, unsure what to say, a warmth blooming somewhere deep in her chest. No one had ever spoken to her like that — like effort was the bare minimum, like she was worth rearranging a life for.

He smiled then, softer now. “You’re not something I’m just squeezing in whenever I have a spare five minutes, Francesca.”

She lowered her gaze to her laptop screen, biting back a ridiculous smile. “You really know how to mess with a girl’s focus, Piastri.”

His laugh was quiet, happy. “Good.”

—

Francesca sat cross-legged on her bed, laptop propped up on a stack of pillows. Sunlight filtered through the half-open curtains, painting soft, warm streaks across her duvet. Dr. Kapoor’s face filled the screen, serene and steady as always.

“You mentioned last time that you were ready to try something new,” she said gently, “something uncomfortable.”

Francesca nodded, fingers toying with the edge of the pillow she was hugging to her stomach. “Yeah,” she said. “I went for this, uh, stupid little walk. Literally just to the postbox at the end of my street and then straight back.”

Dr. Kapoor smiled. “A walk isn’t stupid.”

“No,” Francesca agreed with a small huff, “but it was hard. That’s what’s stupid.” She paused, then added, “I was out of the flat for ten minutes, maybe. No headphones. I looked at people.” Her voice dropped slightly, like saying it too loudly might unravel the fragile progress she’d made. “I didn’t turn around early. I wasn’t sick in my neighbours bush.”

Dr. Kapoor’s expression softened. “That’s a big deal, Francesca. How did you feel afterwards, once you got home?”

“Proud,” she admitted, wringing her hands together. “Also like I might never do it again.”

She laughed lightly. “You’ll do it again. Pride is a very strong motivator.”

Francesca hummed. “I journaled after. Like we talked about.”

“And what did you write?”

“That I was scared,” she said, looking down. “And I didn’t die. And I didn’t need anyone to come get me. I did it alone. It felt… weird. Good weird. Kind of.”

There was a long pause as Dr. Kapoor took that in. “That’s a great self-reflection. Honest.”

Francesca stared at a little chip in her nail polish. “I have spent years waiting for things to just magically get easier,” she said eventually. “Like one day, I’d wake up and it just wouldn’t be hard anymore. But that’s not going to happen, is it? Not even when I’m taking medication.”

“No,” Dr. Kapoor said, not unkindly. “It won’t. Not like that.”

The lump in Francesca’s throat tightened, but she nodded. She didn’t cry. That was something.

“Do you want to try something bigger this week?” Dr. Kapoor asked.

Francesca’s eyes flicked to the corner of the screen, to her own pale reflection. “Define bigger.”

“How would you feel about a short café visit? Ten minutes. Order something. Sit alone.”

Francesca blanched. “Oh god.”

“Trying is the goal,” Dr. Kapoor said warmly. “Not perfection. Not comfort. Just the attempt. You can always walk to the cafe and then go straight home. You could get a to-go drink. Or you could sit inside and just let yourself take up the space that you’re entitled to.”

Francesca gave a little shrug. “Would it be cheating if I wore my headphones and took a book with me?”

“Not cheating,” her therapist assured her. “That’s a very common coping mechanism. Just don’t let yourself  disappear into it. Try to take notice of the world around you, too.”

She managed a smile. It was small, but real. “Okay. Ten minutes. Book optional.”

Dr. Kapoor’s voice gentled again. “Is there anything else that you’d like to talk about?”

Francesca hesitated. Her thumb ran over the stitching on the pillow in slow, nervous circles. “I said yes to doing something,” she said finally. “To… meet someone new. Not soon, but eventually. I want to be braver by then.”

There was a quiet moment between them.

“Why?” Dr. Kapoor asked gently. “What is making you think that you need to be braver than you already are?”

Francesca blinked, her breath leaving her in a soft exhale. “I don’t know.”

“We’ve already talked about the book deal.” Dr. Kapoor recalled. “Taking on a project like that has taken a lot of bravery. Going for your walk? That took a lot of bravery too.” She pointed out. “I think, perhaps, you’re underestimating how much better you’re doing recently, Francesca. Six months ago, you couldn’t walk out of your front-door.”

Francesca stared at a small smudge on the screen. “I don’t notice it, when I’m doing well.” 

“Well,” Dr. Kapoor said, with an encouraging nod. “I’ve noticed it. I’m telling you. You are doing well.” 

Francesca smiled. 

— 

Francesca was curled up on her sofa, half-watching the podium interviews and half-scrolling through messages when Oscar’s name lit up her phone screen.

She found that she was smiling before she even answered.

He looked exhausted, glowing with sweat — post-race adrenaline still clinging to him. His cap was backwards, damp curls sticking out at the edges. “Hey,” he said, eyes bright. “Did you see that overtake?”

Francesca laughed. “Crofty lost his mind, Osc.” She stared at him, feeling ridiculously fond. “Yeah. I saw.”

Oscar beamed. “Felt pretty good. Not gonna lie.”

“You looked like you were flying out there,” she told him, her voice light. “Literally, at some points. I don’t understand how you can go around corners so fast and not just, like… tip over or something.”

Oscar huffed a quiet laugh. “Nah, only amateurs tip their cars on the apex.”

Francesca flushed. “Oh, shut up.”

There was a beat of silence, then his expression softened, dimples barely visible beneath the shadow of his cap. “Thanks for watching.”

She looked down, fingers tightening around her phone. “You don’t have to thank me. I like watching you.” She hesitated, then added with a small smile, “I might need to send a scathing email to Sky Sports, though. They don’t show you nearly enough on the main broadcast. I can’t deal with the onboard — makes me nauseous.”

He chuckled, low and warm, the sound curling around her ribs. “Yeah, I’d rather you didn’t ride onboard with me, honestly. If something happened—” He broke off suddenly, jaw tightening. His eyes flicked away like he’d said too much.

The air between them shifted.

Her stomach dropped. It was too easy to forget what he did. To pretend, for her own comfort, that it was safe. Controlled. Not dangerous.

She sucked in a slow breath, already feeling the panic creeping in at the edges. “I’ll call you later,” she said quickly, before he could say anything else. Before she could spiral.

Then she ended the call—like a coward.

— 

The paddock buzzed with celebration after Ferrari’s victory, but Oscar barely noticed. He moved quickly, head down, nodding absently at a few crew members as he passed. Lando’s driver’s room door was half-shut, muffled music playing from inside.

Oscar knocked once, then let himself in.

Lando looked up from where he was sprawled on the small couch, a half-finished protein shake in hand. “Alright, mate,” he said. “Don’t you have some post-race debrief to be at?”

Oscar shut the door behind him. “I need to talk to you.”

Lando sat up, brows lifting. “Francesca?”

Oscar nodded once. He didn’t sit — just crossed the room and leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. “She hung up on me. We were talking after the race. I said something—about my onboard camera, how I didn’t want her watching it, just in case something ever happened. She went quiet. Said goodbye. Ended the call.”

Lando frowned. “You think you freaked her out?”

“I know I did.” Oscar dragged a hand through his hair. “It’s so easy to forget how not-normal this sport is to normal people.”

Lando set his drink down. “Right. I get that. She’ll probably get used to it though, yeah? I’ve had girlfriends freak out about it too, but once they realise how rare the big crashes are—”

“This isn’t like that,” Oscar cut in, quieter now. “She’s not just someone I met last weekend.” He hesitated, then added, “She’s got her stuff. Anxiety — a lot of it. She doesn’t really leave her flat much. But she’s trying. She’s been pushing herself and… I think I went too far with it.”

Lando was quiet, thoughtful for once. “Okay. Give her space. Let her process. But don’t vanish on her. Send her a message. Let her know you’re still here. Let her decide when to come back in.”

Oscar let his head fall back against the wall with a dull thunk. “It’d be so much easier if she liked F1.”

“She doesn’t need to like F1,” Lando said with a small, knowing smirk. “She likes you.”

Oscar exhaled through his nose, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. He turned toward the door, hand on the handle, then paused. “You ever think this job makes it impossible to have a normal relationship?”

“All the time,” Lando said, not even pretending otherwise. “But look at Max. Lewis. Charles. They’ve all figured it out. Doesn’t mean it’s easy. Just means it’s possible.”

Oscar nodded once, not quite smiling, but something close. “Yeah. Alright.”

Then he left — already reaching for his phone.

—

iMessage — Oscar & Francesca 

Oscar: 

I’m sorry if I scared you. I didn’t even mean to say it. I’m so used to the people I care about being used to this stuff. I didn’t think. I’m sorry. 

Francesca:

pls don’t say sorry. im the one who should be sorry. i shouldn’t have hung up. i just felt myself getting worked up and that’s embarrassing, lol. i felt silly for it 

Oscar: 

You’re not silly. I promise. 

Francesca: 

um. quick question. when is your next bit of time off? 

Oscar: 

?

Francesca: 

i want you to come to london, osc

i need this to be real. 

Oscar: 

Wednesday?

Francesca: 

which wednesday? 

Oscar:

As in three days from now 

That Wednesday 

Francesca: 

Oscar.

Oscar: 

You said the words. No taking them back now. 

Send me your address. Don’t overthink this. 

I’ll call you in an hour, yeah? Just got a few more things to do before going back to the hotel

Francesca: 

okay <3

— 

iMessage — Francesca & Katie

Francesca: SOS actual sos mayday mayday girl down

Katie: …what happened did henry throw up on your laptop again

Francesca: OSCAR IS COMING TO LONDON TO MY FLAT ON WEDNESDAY AS IN. WEDNESDAY. IN THREE (3) DAYS. TO MY HOME. WHERE I LIVE.

Katie: OH MY GOD OH MY GOD I AM CALMLY SCREAMING

Francesca: i said the words like an idiot “i want you to come to london, osc” WHO EVEN AM I

Katie: i’m so proud of you

Francesca: i just stood there staring at my mirror for 11 minutes trying to decide if i should buy new sheets WHAT IF HE THINKS MY PILLOWS ARE WEIRD or what if henry bites him or what if i bite him

Katie: … fran.

Francesca: not in like a weird way i just i’m spiraling

Katie: you’re going to be FINE you like him he likes you he’s coming because he wants to not because your pillowcases are perfectly crisp

Francesca: but they’re not though they’re old and faded and they have little stars on them

Katie: which is exactly the kind of thing a soft boy in love would find charming now breathe make your outline order yourself some new teabags clean the bathroom and maybe light a candle

Francesca: i am lighting twelve candles. 

Katie: do not set your flat on fire before wednesday. he’s gonna fall in love with you, fran. just wait.

— 

iMessage — Oscar & Hattie

Oscar: Can I ask you something without you being annoying about it

Hattie: no promises x

Oscar: How do you know when something is real Like Not a fling Not a distraction But like. A real thing

Hattie: oh boy do i need to sit down for this

Oscar: I’m being serious There’s this girl Francesca I think I’ve mentioned her?

Hattie: only every time we talk lol go on

Oscar: She asked me to come to London To see her Like, properly Not just texting or FaceTiming anymore And I said yes. I am going. Wednesday

Hattie: wait THIS Wednesday?? as in three days??

Oscar: That’s the one We’ve both been busy. And now suddenly it’s happening. And I’m… I don’t know Excited. Nervous. Like I want to be good for her I want to make it easy

Hattie: Oof You’ve got it bad huh

Oscar: I think so She doesn’t have an easy time with people Or places She struggles with stuff But she’s let me in. Slowly And I just keep thinking If she’s brave enough to try I don’t want her to ever regret it 

Hattie: Wow Mum’s gonna lose her mind

Oscar: If you tell Mum before I do, I swear

Hattie: cross my heart but seriously you’re doing good and it is real because you care enough to ask all this just be gentle with her be yourself and don’t forget she has a cat

Oscar: I bought cat treats earlier Just in case

Hattie: I love that for you Let me know how it goes And if you panic and need someone to scream-text at, I’ll be on standby

Oscar: You’re a legend Thanks Hatt x

— 

iMessage — Oscar & Lando

Oscar: So I’m going to London on Wednesday

Lando: ok? for what? media? sim?

Oscar: To see Francesca

Lando: ??? WAIT LIKE SEE HER IN PERSON??

Oscar: Yes Lando In person With my eyes

Lando: bro it’s SUNDAY how did we go from “she hung up on me” to “I’m flying to a whole other country” in less than 2 hours

Oscar: She asked me to Said she wants this to feel real I told her to send her address and I’d be there

Lando: who are you and what have you done with my emotionally constipated teammate

Oscar: Growth x

Lando: ngl i’m kind of proud but also slightly terrified like you know you’re in deep, right?

Oscar: I’m aware Does it show

Lando: mate you just casually dropped that you’re making international travel plans because a girl said “I need this to be real” yes. it shows.

Oscar: I don’t want to mess it up

Lando: just be yourself and try not to talk about tyres during dinner or whatever

Oscar: Copy that

Lando: also tell her i can’t wait to meet her bring her to a race. eventually. when she’s ready

Oscar: One step at a time But yeah We’d have to work something out for her. To make it possible 

Lando: zac would sort something if u asked. i can always help out. she seems nice. worth it

Oscar: Thanks mate. She is 

—

Francesca stood in the middle of her living room, clutching a half-damp cloth and staring blankly at the coffee table she’d already wiped down three times. Henry was perched on the windowsill, tail flicking lazily, unimpressed by the chemical smell in the air. She’d cracked one of the windows open for him.

“Okay,” she whispered, mostly to herself. “Cool. This is better.”

The apartment smelled like fresh linen and lavender. She’d lit one of her aromatherapy candles — not a cheap supermarket one, but the fancy soy one she usually saved for special occasions or very bad days. The couch cushions had been fluffed. She’d washed her bedsheets, then panicked and washed them again. Just in case.

But now… now she didn’t know.

How was this supposed to go? 

Was he going to… stay in her apartment? Or was he just coming for the afternoon? She hadn’t asked, and he hadn’t said, and now it felt too late to bring it up without it being weird.

Would he eve want to stay with her?

Would that be too much? Too soon?

Francesca looked around her flat, and all she saw was a space that had, for a long time, been her sanctuary. Her bubble. Her little island of calm in a world that was too loud and too fast.

Letting someone into it — him, of all people — felt both right and utterly terrifying.

She moved into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and immediately closed it again. She didn’t even know what he liked. Was he a tea or coffee person? Did F1 drivers eat carbs? She only ate carbs.

“Get a grip,” she muttered, pressing her palms against her face. “It’s just Oscar.”

Still, her heart rattled against her ribs like it wanted to make a run for it.

She tried to shake it off — the nerves, the overthinking — but it clung to her like static. Taking a breath, she reminded herself of Katie’s advice from their last FaceTime: “Be more open. Talk to him when you start freaking out. He’ll appreciate it, and you’ll feel so much better for it.”

So, she reached for her phone. Hovered. Then typed — quickly, before she could spiral.

Francesca: hey, quick question. are you getting a hotel or do you want to stay with me? i totally don’t mind either way! just figuring out things out 

Her phone buzzed twenty minutes later — just as she was elbow-deep in laundry, holding a long-sleeved shirt like it had personally wronged her.

She wiped her hands on her joggers and grabbed the phone, pulse jumping.

Oscar: Hey, just boarding now — sorry for the delay. I’ve got a hotel booked, don’t worry. You don't need to worry about anything, actually. I never want you to feel pressured. We can do whatever feels right, okay? I’m just happy I get to see you.

Francesca stared at the screen, a strange pressure building behind her eyes. Relief, affection, nerves — all of it bundled up into one messy emotion that made her want to both laugh and cry.

She sat down on the couch, Henry immediately hopping up beside her and kneading at her thigh with his murder mittens.

Francesca: okay. thank you for being so normal about this (normal in a good way, not like, boring) also i am definitely spiralling a bit but trying to be chill about it. so you might be on your way to meet a full-blown anxious ghost x

Oscar: Lol You could be an actual ghost and I’d still like you I’ll text when I land x

She set her phone down again — more gently this time — and pushed down a girlish squeal. 

— 

Her phone rang again not long after Oscar’s message. She almost didn’t check it before answering — assuming it was Katie, maybe — but when she glanced at the screen and saw “Izzy (ugh)", her stomach sank.

She hesitated, thumb hovering. Then, stupidly, she answered.

“Francesca,” came the clipped voice, already laced with tension. “Mum wants to know if you’re going to bother coming in August, or if we should just stop asking.”

“I— I already told you that I probably won’t be able to make it,” Francesca said, already shrinking into herself.

Izzy sighed like she was exhausted. “It’s just rude, you know? You can’t keep isolating yourself and expecting everyone else to keep reaching out. I feel like we’re making all of the effort.”

Francesca said nothing.

“And honestly,” her sister continued, “you've turned yourself into some kind of influencer, and you post videos of yourself and pictures to thousands of people, but you can’t even make the effort to get over yourself and come to see us. Mum thinks you hate her.”

She felt the old heat behind her eyes, the way it always came — fast and uninvited. “What? No. Of course I don’t hate her. I’m just… I’m doing my best here, Izzy.”

“That’s not good enough forever, you know.”

The call ended five minutes later. It might as well have been one long exhale of shame.

Francesca sat for a while on the floor by the laundry basket, arms curled around her knees, trying not to cry. But Henry came to her again, head-butting her shin softly. And then she remembered: Oscar. On a plane, coming to see her. Choosing her. Wanting this.

She got up.

She wiped her face.

She washed her hands and re-tied her hair and changed into clean joggers. Then she took a deep breath and said to the empty flat, “he doesn’t get to meet that version of me today.”

Because maybe she couldn’t make her family understand her. But maybe she didn’t need to, not when someone else already seemed to — and liked her despite it all.

—

iMessage — Katie & Francesca

Katie: Hey, just checking in. How’s the heart rate? Has he landed yet??

Francesca: no idea. i think so? maybe? i’ve stress-cleaned everything. henry thinks i’m possessed or smth. also my sister called. so that was fun! but i’m… okay. i think. maybe.

Katie: Oh, babe. I’m so sorry. Do you want to talk about it? Or do you want me to say mean things about Izzy until you smile?

Francesca: i think i just needed to say it out loud to someone who gets it. i don’t want him to walk in and think i’m this emotional swamp of a person.

Katie: First of all, he won’t. Second of all, you’re allowed to be a little bit of a swamp. He likes you anyway. Third… you’re doing great. I’m so proud of you. Really.

Francesca: thank you okay. i’m gonna go stare at the door like a weirdo now

Katie: You got this ❤️ Call me later and tell me everything, okay? Even the awkward stuff.

Francesca: of course

— 

She heard the lift *ding* before she heard the knock.

The soft sound that made her stomach lurch.

Henry, traitorous and uninterested, didn’t even lift his head from the sunspot on the carpet.

Francesca stood in the middle of the living room, palms damp, jumper slightly too warm, and heart beating hard enough to echo.

Three gentle knocks. Measured. Like he wasn’t sure how loud to be.

She walked to the door before she could psych herself out.

And there he was.

Oscar, in a hoodie and a pair of loose sweatpants, hair slightly flattened and one hand gripping the handle of a duffle bag. He looked a little tired, a little travel-worn, and entirely too good.

He smiled, soft and a little unsure. “Hi, beautiful girl.”

She opened the door wider. “Hi.”

They stared at each other for a beat longer than necessary, until Oscar let out a breath and stepped inside. He didn’t touch her right away — just looked at her with that same warm focus she’d seen through every FaceTime screen.

“I didn’t know if I should hug you or—”

She stepped into him before he could finish, arms winding around his middle. He didn’t hesitate then — his duffle bag hit the floor and his strong arms encircled around her, sturdy and steady and real. She could feel his heart through his hoodie, fast like hers.

“Thanks for coming,” she mumbled, her voice catching.

He smiled into her hair, his hold on her tightening, and for a brief moment, she wondered how inappropriate it would be to ask him to never, ever let her go. “Thanks for letting me in.” He mumbled. 

They stayed there, tangled in the doorway, until Henry finally meowed in protest — as if to say shut the door, it’s cold — and Francesca laughed softly against his shoulder.

CHAPTER FIVE

[asheyxash]

love is the best medicine

pairing: producer jihoon x you troupe: already lovers genre(s), est. relationship, angst if you really really squint and zoom in till the max you can, so much fluff warning(s): like one curse/swear word count: ~1.5k summary: she realises she has caught the full blown of jihoon's cold, the full effects taking place as she's fully bedridden. jihoon on the other hand, doesn't know this because she doesn' tell him, afraid to make him sick again. he finds out though, and comes over to take care of her like how she did when he was sick a week ago. jihoon steals kisses on her lip, even after protests that he would get sick but he’d brush them off saying how he was immune, and touched, she finally kisses him back, learning that sometimes love is the best medicine.

APOLOGIES for this being posted so late i had a BUSY week, had to prep for performances, tests and yeah so sorry:(

work all mine, no reposting without creds, no stealing of published work, copyrighted:D

pt 2 of jihoon short series, read pt 1, "ever heard of taking a break?" here!

oh god, your immune system was weak as hell.

you groaned as your eyes fluttered open, before pulling the covers over your head. you were so wrong about not catching whatever the hell your boyfriend had last week. okay, you admitted it, your immune system was shit.

you could already tell you was spiking a fever just from how cold you felt even though the fan and air conditioner had been turned off yetyou were practically swallowing your body with the blanket and multiple pillows on top, shivering from how cold it was. you turned over, grabbing your phone to check the time- 8am. okay, you had to call in sick. typing in a quick sorry you can't come in because you were stuck in bed sick, not even sure if you had spelt everything right, you hit send and threw your phone somewhere on the bed. you collapsed back immediately, trying to go back to asleep. maybe you would sleep this one off, you told yourself, when you knew you really just wanted jihoon to cuddle with you all day. you knew that wasn't going to happen because he had been dying to head back to the studio after you nursed him back to health and recovery just a few days ago, and he was probably busy catching up on everything he needed to do, so you didn't want to disturb and interrupt him at work. besides, you really didn't want to keep spreading this bug back and forth, so you would have to toughen up and fight this one off by yourself.

somehow managing to stand up with the energy you had left, you wobbled unsteadily as you stood, holding onto the bed for support. you stumbled your way to the kitchen to grab some water, your hands trembling as they lift the jug of water to pour into a cup. your arms are unstable as you shiver uncontrollably, drops of water landing outside of the cup. suddenly, your hand loses its grip, and the whole jug of water crashes down on the counter, water splashing everywhere as you struggle to stop the water from spilling. you groaned- why was everything going wrong when you were deathly sick? grabbing a handful of tissues lying on the island top, you threw them around the puddle that was beginning to form, hoping to stop the water for now. your head was just about to kill you, as you sighed, your attempts to salvage any water failing and you were just about frustrated enough to leave everything there. wait, actually, that didn't sound much like a bad idea to you at all, as you groggily clambered back upstairs, making a mental note to yourself to clean that up when your headache cleared later on in the day.

as you practically layered blankets and pillows over you, you fell into a deep slumber, hoping some miraculous miracle would happen and you were feel much better after some rest.

“y/n? honey?” a soft and angelic voice belonging to your boyfriend floated throughout the house as the front door swung open. “y/n…? hello? I’m home! y/n- woah!” suddenly, his words cut off abruptly, as jihoon leaned forward just in time to grab onto the counter to prevent him from slipping on the small but dangerous puddle of water in the floor. he raised his eyebrows in alarm, muttering a what the hell under his breath as he immediately ran throughout the house, calling for you. his voice grew louder and more anxious as he panicked, his loud footsteps stomping up the stairs waking you up.

"Y/N!" he suddenly comes to a halt, stopping right in his tracks as he came to your room, noticing the door slightly ajar. he immediately barges in, only to see you piled under a heap of blankets and pillows, your cheeks flushed and your face pale. groaning, you barely make eye contact with him as you take whatever strength you have left to weakly throw a pillow which narrowly misses him and mumble, "what are you doing here?" "baby, are you sick?" he climbs onto the bed, squeezing next to you as he wraps his arms around your waist, wanting to cuddle but you gently put him arms off you.

"i'm just taking a short nap. um, about the mess downstairs, i'll clean it up later." you say slowly, pausing for his reaction as jihoon shakes his head, almost forcefully making you lie back down. "y/n, i'll handle it. next time, if you need anything, just tell me okay? you could've hurt yourself. also why didn't you tell me you were this sick? you obviously have a high fever, so you're on bed duty and you're not going anywhere." he gives you a look that shows he isn't hearing a word as you can only slump back into bed (not like you were complaining). "ji, i don't need this cold to spread between us again and again, i'll be fine after some sleep." you coughed softly, snuggling even deeper into the blankets as you hear him sigh while patting your back to ease the itch in your throat. you don't even see the look on his face, but you know his brows are creased with worry and he's frowning as you can't help but make out a small smile at that.

"nonsense. come here, i'm sorry you caught my cold." he gives you a sheepish look as you turn over, to see his arms wide open, welcoming you to roll into his warm embrace which on any normal day you would light up at the chance to considering how busy your boyfriend was yet this time you didn't. "y/n, you know i don't care if anything happens to me. i know you need me right now, so stop pretending you're fine. you're literally the most dramatic person when you're sick so come here. i took off work early to spend time with you right, do you not want me to take care of you?" he nudged your shoulder playfully as you rolled your eyes, croaking, "i am not dramatic!" you pouted as you squiggle into his arms, the warmth in his arms already making you feel better than before. "sure whatever you say babe, you're always right." he smiles cheekily, giving you a peck on your cheek as he taps your nose, making you sneeze. you shot him a look as he put up his hands in the air, surrendering. you whine and kick your feet on the bed, unpleased, "ji, you're supposed to make me feel better!"

"am i not doing that, also, overdramatic." he chuckles, climbing in back next to you as he pulls the covers on top of both of you. you scoff, but a smile appears on your face, "you're so full of yourself aren't you?"

"no, i'm full of love for you." you slapped him jokingly as he rubs his cheek in pain as you snort, "stop being so cringy." your voice is so weak it can barely be heard but jihoon simply answers by wrapping his arm around you, pulling you on top of him as he brings his lips onto yours. you gasp softly, about to avoid him yet again but he physically moves your head till your eyes are locked onto his, as he smacks his lips onto yours. you widen your smile, the sudden cloudy pounding, aching feeling in your body going away in just that moment.

you do pull away after a minute or so though as he asks what's wrong. "i'm feeling so much better, so you can go back to doing your producing thing." you give him an innocent smile, blinking your eyes almost begging him to get out saying how you were worried he would catch it again but he comes even closer. "i'm basically immune since i've gotten it once already. speaking of immune, didn't you say your immune system was strong as fuck or something like that?" he snickers, as you push yourself out of the covers, wanting to get up but after seeing jihoon's firm look as he crosses his arms akimbo, you slide back into bed.

"hoon?" you murmur.

"yes my love?" he asks, his tone so loving yet mischievous you're sure your cheeks aren't red for only one reason. "can you stay?" you ask quietly, as he breaks into a smile wider than a brilliant painter's stroke. he mumbles a yes or something to himself before clearing his throat, replying slowly, "of course baby, but i'll be back so fast after preparing your medicine, okay? just give me like 17 seconds." you look like you might throw up after hearing the word medicine as you look down, already throwing together a plan.

as you see the silhouette of jihoon walking out, you call out, "wait, hoon, i don't need medicine, you know, love is the best medicine! hey, jihoon, yah, lee jihoon-" only to hear running footsteps and a burst of laughter trailing down the stairs.

[ponderingmoonlight]

Haruta seeking revenge on Nanami's heavy pregnant wife

Pairing: husband!Nanami x fem!reader

Word Count: 2,1k

Synopsis: When Haruta hears about Nanami's wife, he is more than delighted to search and kill her. He didn't think about (y/n)'s very own abilities and her furious husband though.

Warnings: injury, language, pregnancy, really angry hot Nanami, not 100% proofread as I have to get going now and won't be able to publish this today otherwise

Tags: @idontknow1123 @creative1writings @dazaisdick @sanicsmut @arehzhera @mynahx3 @ploylulla @tzubaki @beatrexworld @kenstarsworld @wifenanami @arehzhera @mysuperrainbow @nanami-s-sunshine @nervoussongcherryblossom

You.

His heart almost beats out of his chest just thinking about the things these creatures are able to do. You live here, at Shibuya. When Nanami received the call about what is going on here, he instructed you to stay home with all doors closed. After all, you are heavy pregnant with his child. Despite being a great jujutsu sorcerer, you shouldn’t be on the streets right now. No harm should ever come to you.

But right now, you aren’t replying to any messages your husband sends you, not a single sign of life.

He yanks the blonde-haired man up by his ponytails, on the brick of losing his temper completely. Not only did this thing kill countless of his comrades on its way, but maybe him and his comrades did something to you. Why would you not reply to his countless messages? If they hurt a single hair on your precious body…

Nanami slams him into a nearby building with full force. Despite the abilities of that man, he won’t be able to survive that.

“Did you receive any sign from (y/n)?”, Nanami questions towards the two girls, kneeling in front of Nitta to inspect her wounds.

They might look bad, but she’ll survive if she sees Shoko within the next hours.

“No. No sign at all”, Nitta mumbles.

Everyone knows about the value you hold for Kento Nanami. No wonder, after all you are his precious wife, the only human being on this earth who is able to make his features soften and steal a smile from him. Yes, you are truly special to him. And the fact that you are not replying…Nobara swallows, the look on his face sending shivers down her spine. You should have been evacuated, out of Shibuya, maybe staying at Jujutsu High as long as the fight goes on. But it was already too late, it would be way too dangerous to leave now.

“What is going on?”, he mutters to himself.

“I’m sure your wife is fine. She’s tough, someone like that loser wouldn’t be able to bring her down.”

His eyes dart towards Nobara. Yes, she’s right. You have to home. Maybe you just fell asleep. The pregnancy made you tired all the time. Probably you’re laying on the couch, the chaos around you completely unnoticed. Yes, that’s how it must be.

“I am sure he wasn’t alone. Maybe someone found one of his accomplices. It’s best we bring them down before they cause more trouble. ”

Nanami strictly forbid you to go out on the streets. And that’s what you do, laying on the couch with the blanket your precious husband wrapped you in pulled up to the nose. You just woke up from a heavy sleep, lifting yourself up just a bit to look out of the window.

“What is going on down there?” you mutter to yourself.

Please, let Kento be alright. He promised to return to you, that nothing major will happen. Oh, how much you wished you could help. Your hands caress your swollen belly softly. Fighting is no option at the moment, though. All you can do is say here in safety until they successfully exorcised all courses around Shibuya. You sign to yourself, lids already hanging so low that you are on the brick of passing out again. After this nap, you’ll definitely call him.

“Still no sign…”, Nanami mumbles, the only response being your angelic voice which directs him to your mailbox.

“Maybe she’s just sleeping, after all (y/n) is pregnant, right? Would you like to call someone to look after her? Your shared apartment is only two blocks away, right?”, Nitta suggests.

“I can look after her!” Nobara interjects immediately.

“No, that wouldn’t be wise. We still have to look after the other assistance directors. There’s no way he worked alone. When the area is safe, I will go and look after her myself”, Nanami responses before putting his phone back.

You always sleep around this time. Surely everything is alright. After all, no one knows where he lives…right?

Haruta smiles to himself, body not moving an inch before the steps of his three opponents are gone.

“Your pregnant wife, huh? So killing her counts as a double kill, how exciting!”

-at your apartment-

Your eyes snap open immediately. The energy around you completely changed. What you feel here…Your whole body is tense, hands clenched into fists. That’s cursed energy, without any doubt.

As fast as possible you lift yourself off the couch, grabbing your throwing knives placed underneath the couch. When Kento got the call, you knew this has to be something big, that you might not be safe at Shibuya anymore.

“I know how much I’m asking from you, but please stay here and lock the door. At this point it would be even more dangerous to leave. Promise that you’ll be careful, sweetheart.”

Your husband wrapped his arms tightly around you, careful not to squeeze your sensitive belly in the process.

“I know my limits, Kento. I would never risk the life of our child for a fight. As much as I’d love to help you out, I will stay here until you tell me it’s over”, you assured him, placing a gentle kiss on his lips before he left your apartment with one last loving look back.

Kento. You should give him a call, at least message him about what you feel. As fast as possible you type his number, eyes darted towards the entrance. There isn’t much time left, whatever is on its way here will soon arrive.

“(y/n), I was dead worried about you. Are you alright?”

“Someone’s here. Someone with heavy cursed energy, Kento. I will do what I can, but-“

“Did you really think a locked door would be enough to keep your enemies out of here? Oh, look at you, congrats for putting a baby inside you! That was that blonde-haired man, wasn’t it? Y’know, I’m here because of him, so better be thankful. Come on, don’t look at me like that, let me give you a hug.”

Instinctively, you let your phone fall to the ground, your throwing knives leaving your fingertips at horrendous speed. As fast as possible you seek shelter behind your couch, escaping his blade just in time before he’s able to pierce through your shoulder.

Normally, you would have been able to dodge his attack easily, but with that heavy belly of yours, every sudden movement feels like a burden. You depend on your husband’s help, that’s for sure. The man with the blonde ponytail and ruptured face might not be an impossible strong opponent, but you are restricted. And one single hit might not only mean that he hurts you, but also your unborn baby…

You furrow your brows, eyes busy analysing his moves.

“You know who’s responsible for how wrecked up my face looks? Your husband! He even pulled my hair”, the man in front of you cries out, sword just about to hit you when you escape his force just in time.

“I get it, you have a really kickable face after all”, you press out, grabbing your katana under the kitchen table to dodge his attack.

You huff heavily, lungs feeling as if they’ll burst every minute while you taste blood on your tongue. Fuck, this is more strenuous than expected. Your baby kicks you uncomfortably in your guts, making you see stars for a second. A second in which he is able to place another hit, a second in which he is able to brush over your forehead with enough force to make your skin burst.

All you see is red, blood taking your sight almost completely. With a swift motion you try to wipe it away, try to get a hold of yourself. But before you are even able to breathe again, he forces his blade against yours.

“He’s already on his way, I would shit my pants if I was you”, you hiss through gritted teeth, jumping onto the table in order to have the higher ground.

You feel so damn tired. The heavy weight on your belly, the fact that you have to pee again and that you haven’t trained in ages. You aren’t dumb, you are very aware of the fact that you are fucked right now. But you know Kento heard you, that he is already on his way. You just have to fight back a little while longer…

“Oh, don’t worry about me”, he casually replies.

You stare at his empty hands, eyes wide open in horror. Where the hell did his sword go? Did he lose it while the both of you were fighting? No, you didn’t hit him so hard, this can’t be. But where-

A toe-curling scream escapes your lips when a scorching pain runs through your left thigh. You don’t dare to look don’t, this just has to be his blade.

“How?” you breathe out.

Calm your breathing, calm your pounding heart. You have to keep going, you have to-

Suddenly your shoulder bursts open, blood spilling over your husband’s shirt. You can’t breathe, whole body on fire. His sword, it’s still stuck in your shoulder. Just when it’s about to move out again, you grab the blade with your naked hands to stop it from piercing through you again, your sharp and fast breaths hanging in the air.

“Come on, why stop now when it’s getting funny? I was aiming for your fat belly next”, the guy in front of you complains with a pout.

Blood rushes through your ears, glossy eyes fixated on him in front of you.

“But fine, if you want it that way, I will use my own hands.”

Fuck, what are you supposed to do? If you let go of the sword that cuts through your palms, he will stab your unborn child. But if you lay here and do nothing, he will punch your belly with full force. You have to make a decision, you have to save your unborn child, the child you and Kento awaited for years now. The look on his face when he found out, the tears of joy that pooled his eyes…

You can’t die here. And so does your child.

With the last force you have left in your body, you kick his chest while still holding onto his sword tightly. Fuck, every movement hurts like hell, your blood spilled on the carpet you bought a few weeks ago. You can’t do this any longer, you need to get out of here, you-

“You have some nerves.”

His sheer presence is enough to make the man in front of you stop in his tracks.

“Kento…”, you mumble, wave of relief washing over you.

He’s here, your knight in shining armour, your loving husband. You did it. You held on just long enough.

“Didn’t you learn your lesson by now. Didn’t I teach you what you get for the things you do?”

His whole body is tense, the muscles underneath his shirt to tight that they might burst every minute. Kento grabs the neck of the man who attacked you earlier with full force, dragging him across the room.

“Give up and die already”, Kento hisses.

Tears start to pool this man’s eyes, staring at your husband with wide eyes while he throws him through the bursting window, down onto the streets of Shibuya, over 10 floors.

Without hesitation he hurries to your side, hand gently cupping your cheek. The threatful man from only seconds ago is gone in the wind. What is left is your loving husband who caresses your belly softly, lines of worry decorating his face while scanning over your bloody body.

“Don’t worry, this is nothing Shoko can’t fix. The…the baby is fine…”, you huff out.

“I’m so sorry sweetheart. I thought he was dead already, never did I imagine that…”

“Don’t think about it too much, Kento. This is in no way your fault. The most important thing is that the baby is fine. That’s all that matters.”

“But you matter too, (y/n). You are the love of my life. When you called me and I heard his voice, a part of me died. That he was able to injure you, that he put his hands on your delicate skin…I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I love you so much…”

Carefully, he wraps his arms around you and lifts your trembling figure off the ground.

“I love you too. But you have to admit I did pretty well”, you mutter against his chest.

“You definitely did. You are my wife, after all”, Kento replies with a small smile, carrying you to Shoko.

[phoebefrench]

Slowly, like honey

Summary: She often heard that photography would lead her to nowhere. In retrospect, it became clear that many simply lacked the ability to recognize the beauty that surrounded them. Fortunately, she had two people in her life who truly understood and celebrated every facet of her being.

Featuring: Charles Leclerc x Max Verstappen x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Google translate used for the french and dutch

All Y/N wanted to do when she got back to Max's apartment was curl up in bed and take the world's longest nap. It all started when she woke this morning an hour past her alarm, her boyfriends already gone, and she spilt coffee all over herself while rushing into her digital photography class. Walking through the front door, she was greeted by the sound of cooking in the kitchen and light talking. She slowly walked to the kitchen, stopping to pet Sassy and continuing on. Before making it all the way, arms wrapped behind her slightly scaring her as she was suddenly turned around. Closing her eyes and catching the scent of her boyfriend, she relaxed into his arms. "Hi Char," she mumbled. Slowly letting go, he responded "Mon chéri, how was your day?" She sighed, the day hitting her like a truck as tears starting welling in her eyes faster than she could stop them. His eyes tracked her face quickly, trying to figure out what was wrong, "Chéri, what happened, what's wrong?" Max, hearing the slight commotion and the suddenly worsening tears turned sobs, rushed out. He quickly walked to the two of them, taking her into his arms, "Schatje, come here. What's wrong, hmm?" She buries her head into his chest and just lets it all out, "It's so silly, everything that could have went wrong today went wrong. I slept passed my alarm after you both left, I spilt my coffee all down the front of my shirt, and on the way home I realized I left my portfolio at my desk in class." Max and Charles shared a look over her head and started silently figuring out how they could fix this. Charles starts by moving them to the kitchen, “how about we eat dinner and move onto the living room for a movie, hmm?“ Nodding she sits down, allowing them to dish the pasta Max had made, smiling slightly when they sat down as a bowl was put in front of her. They ate dinner silently, with both boys giving her some time to process her day without overwhelming her. Moving onto the couch, Max to her right and Charles directly to the left, both holding her tightly to them does she finally start to calm down. “How was your guys day?” She asked looking up at them both. Charles looked down and grinned, “Just another media day, mon cheri.” Max hummed in agreement, adding “It was an endless amount of people asking of us the same things,” he continued “did you get to work more on your project?” “Yes, I’ve finally figured out a location for the shoot and I’m excited to actually start shooting next week!” She responded, perking up at the fact that she was another day closer to presenting this project and have everyone see what she has been working hard on. Max and Charles both smiled, satisfied with the fact that their girlfriend seemed to being cheering up, and that they would soon see the gallery that their talented Y/N has been working hard on. “I can’t wait to see them, you have to tell us the date so we can make sure to be there,” Max stated. Charles nodded his head in agreement, “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” She nodded, her eyes slowly closing as the movie in the background got quieter, “You both are the best thing to ever happen to me” while snuggling down deeper into them. Max and Charles looked at each other, smiles shared as they responded, “Us too, love.” Just this moment was enough to completely erase all the small things that had piled up throughout her day as she thought about how lucky she was to have these amazing boys both with her as she slowly fell asleep.

———————————————————————————

This is my first time ever publishing fanfiction! Please let me know any suggestions, but please be nice!

I will take requests!

Should I make this a series?

[ha-rinrin]

Hiding From The World

Summary: After a meeting with Silco, Jinx goes missing, leaving you to go find her.

Pairing: Jinx x Fem!reader

Wordcount: 1k

Authors note: The long ass story is still not finished im so sorry guys im gonna try to publish it as soon as I can 🤞🏻. I also did this at 2am, sorry if its bad I literally fell asleep in the middle of writing it.

Masterlist

It's been hours since you last saw her. Jinx was supposed to come back to the hideout after a supposedly urgent meeting with Silco, but the minutes dragged on, turning into hours, and still no sign of her. You tried to convince yourself she was just blowing off steam somewhere, but you couldn’t shake the sinking feeling in your gut.

Without a second thought, you head to the one place she might be. It’s a little secret basement in an abandoned building tucked away in the darker parts of Zaun, somewhere she figured no one would ever think to look, when you and Jinx first stumbled on this little abandoned building while exploring Zaun’s hidden alleys. The structure was half-buried under layers of graffiti and rust, but Jinx saw it as treasure—something forgotten by everyone else but perfect for the two of you. Together, you’d set up this place over the months, stringing fairy lights from the cracked ceiling, stacking old crates to make makeshift chairs, and even securing it with a series of hidden traps to keep intruders out.

The shadows stretch longer as you approach the building, slipping past the creaky metal door and down the stairs that lead to the basement. You disable the traps one by one, the steps so familiar you could do them in your sleep. Finally, you reach the heavy door that leads into the basement, taking a breath before pushing it open.

And there she is.

Jinx is slouched on the floor, leaning against the wall with her knees drawn up to her chest. Her eyes flicker with a mix of frustration and exhaustion, and you catch the way her hands keep fidgeting, as if even while sitting still, she can't quite find peace. She looks up when you enter, and something in her expression softens ever so slightly.

"Y/N," she mutters, sounding almost relieved. "Guess I’m not as good at hiding as I thought, huh?"

You close the door behind you, crossing the dimly lit room until you’re in front of her. “Not from me, anyway.”

She scoffs, but there’s a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. You slide down to sit beside her, close enough that your shoulders are almost touching. For a moment, neither of you speak. The silence is comfortable, settling like a blanket around you both.

You glance over, studying her for a beat. “Rough day?”

She lets out a bitter laugh, rolling her eyes up to the ceiling. “Silco thinks he knows everything. Says I’m too… reckless, like he doesn’t know me by now.” Her fingers toy with a stray thread on her pants, pulling at it absently. “Sometimes I think he just doesn’t get it. Doesn’t get me.”

You nod, listening to every word. “Sometimes I don’t think he deserves to.”

Jinx looks over at you, that fire in her eyes simmering down, replaced by something softer, something almost vulnerable. She doesn’t say anything right away, but her hand inches toward yours, her fingers grazing your palm as if she’s testing the waters.

You intertwine your fingers, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “We don’t need him, you know,” you murmur. “We’ve got this place. It’s ours. Away from everyone else.”

She leans her head back, gazing around at the dim room, where the fairy lights cast soft, warm glows over the walls. It’s far from fancy, but it feels like home, like yours. The two of you worked to make it that way—a sanctuary in the chaos.

Her gaze drifts back to you, a small, genuine smile breaking through her tough exterior. “Guess that’s why I wanted to come here… I knew you’d find me.”

“Always,” you say softly, brushing a thumb over her knuckles.

For a while, you sit in comfortable silence, her head eventually finding its way to your shoulder. The weight of her against you feels reassuring, grounding, like the world outside doesn’t matter when it’s just the two of you in this little hidden corner of Zaun.

“You know,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper, “this place… I’d never let anyone else in here but you.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you turn slightly, pressing a soft kiss to her hair. “Good. Because I wouldn’t want to share it with anyone else.”

She smiles again, her eyes half-closed as she leans into you. In this moment, with the flickering lights casting shadows across the room and the muffled sounds of Zaun fading in the background, you both find a rare, quiet peace.

Jinx’s head grows heavier on your shoulder, her breathing slowing, steadying. You glance down to find her eyes closed, the furrow in her brow smoothed out. It’s rare to see her like this—unguarded, peaceful, away from the chaos that usually surrounds her.

Carefully, you shift, wrapping an arm around her to support her as you slowly stand up. She stirs slightly, but doesn’t wake, her head resting comfortably against your shoulder as you carry her over to the old, beaten-up couch you both dragged in here ages ago. Easing yourself down, you settle back with Jinx still in your arms, her body now draped across yours.

She mumbles something incoherent as she nestles closer, pressing her face against your chest. One of her arms wraps around you, clutching the fabric of your shirt as if you’re an anchor keeping her steady.

You can’t help but smile, brushing a few strands of hair away from her face, tucking them behind her ear. She looks so serene, her usual smirk softened, her breathing deep and calm. Gently, you stroke her back, your fingers tracing light, soothing circles as she relaxes even further against you.

The warmth of her settles into you, a quiet comfort that makes the dim room feel like it’s lit up with something more than just fairy lights. Holding her like this, feeling her heartbeat thrum in sync with yours, it’s like all the weight of the world fades away.

As minutes slip by, you let your head rest back against the couch, one arm wrapped securely around her while your other hand continues to run softly up and down her back. You could stay like this forever, hidden away with her, in a place that’s just for the two of you.

In this little pocket of the world, it’s just you and her, and for now, that’s all you need.

[x0x0josephinex0x0]

POV u gave your s/o a naughty photo book

Seventeen edition

Literally nobody asked for this but the concept has been living in my head rent free so im posting it so you can all suffer with me.

Warnings: suggestive themes throughout, and some mention of orgasms and other sexual topics, this is literally about giving someone a published book of your nudes so minors pls don’t interact. There are no sex acts described.

Seungcheol

It's Seungcheol's birthday, and all of his friends have left. With shaking hands, you had approached him to offer him "the last gift of the evening."

"I'm interested," he said, with one eyebrow raised. He got *that look* in his eyes -- the one where you knew the thoughts in his head were taking a nosedive into sin. You had given him a soft half-smile, the kind you knew made him crazy, before pulling the book out of your purse and handing it to him.

He looks...confused? Upset? It's hard to read his expression as he thumbs through the pages of the *book* you just handed him, his brow furrowed, a broad hand covering his mouth.

After awhile you just can't handle the suspense. "Do you...like it?" you ask him, trying to sound amused, but hearing how worried your voice comes out.

He looks up at you. "I've never seen this set before," he says quietly, gesturing at one of the pages.

You're a nervous wreck at this point — you think he might actually be angry with you — but you also have an inkling that Cheol is just trying to tease you, turn you on…and you have to admit it’s working. He’s got you blushing and stuttering and trying to keep him from being too angry. "It's new," you explain. "I got it for the shoot."

"Hmmm."

Cheol calmly shuts the book, standing up and walking over to you until he's standing directly in front of you. "You're gonna need to come with me," he says, and suddenly he's slinging you over your shoulder like you're Saint Nicholas's sack of toys.

He explains as he walks back to the bedroom with you. "Saying I liked the book is not quite the right word. Not strong enough. It's more like after seeing that book there was only one possible way the rest of this night was gonna go. It's that kind of book." He pauses. "And I'm appalled that this is the first time I'm seeing you in that set. How much time do you have tonight?" he asks.

"I've got all night," you giggle.

"You'd better have the set with you right now," he says as he tosses you onto the bed like a ragdoll. "We're gonna recreate every single pose in that book in person."

Jeonghan

“What is this?” Jeonghan asks you curiously, coming out of the bedroom with a package wrapped in black paper tied with a red bow. His eyebrows shoot upward as your eyes widen.

“That’s one of your birthday presents,” you say, trying to be smooth and failing.

“Huh,” he says, still watching you carefully — one might even say suspiciously. “Can I open it?”

“Is it your birthday?” you reply.

“In a month,” he says, casually slipping the ribbon off the package. “Why’d you get it so early? And why are you acting weird?” He fidgets with the tape in a vaguely threatening manner.

You deflate. “Well…maybe you should just open it now,” you allow, blushing red. “I’m leaving the room, though.”

“Why?” he calls after you. “Are you embarrassed?”

“Yeah,” you admit, flinging yourself onto the bed in the spare room.

"Huh," he says, suspicious. There are soft ripping sounds, and then...

"Holy *shit*," he curses from the other room, softly enough that you can tell he isn't angry, but loud enough for you to hear.

You hear a page being flipped. "Holy shit," he repeats. "Are they all like this?"

"That's the point of the book," you say, dying of embarrassment and shoving your face into a pillow.

"Honey, I'm gonna need you to come here," Jeonghan finally says.

You don't respond. You can hear him coming after you, and you lay still, hoping he'll think you somehow fell asleep in the last 3 seconds.

He doesn't buy it. "Come here, my love," he nearly purrs, his voice soft and tantalizing. "Don't make me beg."

Hesitantly, you turn your body to meet his eyes. He's leaning against the doorframe, and in his gaze is a kind of cat-like, predatory hunger you're not used to seeing on his graceful features.

He beckons you to him with two fingers, and you sit up to join him. In a swift move, he pins you to the doorframe by the neck -- gently enough that you can still breathe, but your knees go weak as you stare him down.

He grins at you wickedly. "This was payback for Cheol's birthday party, wasn't it?" he asks, waving the book in your face. "Well, I've got a couple of ideas for how to even the score once again."

Joshua

"This is a special gift," you say to him, "to commemorate our first Christmas together."

It is Christmas Eve, and you have just returned home from your parents' house, where you've been celebrating all day. You had told him about your family's tradition of opening one present on Christmas Eve, and he had agreed to participate. You'd picked your gift first -- it was a locket with his photo in it -- and then asked if you could pick his for him, to which he had agreed with a smile.

He makes a show of shaking the package, his eyes wide in anticipation. "It feels like a kid's picture book," he predicts. He rips the paper off the glossy, pure white cover and looks at you. "What is this?" he asks.

You smirk. "Open it," you say.

He does, and his jaw drops. "Baby," he says softly. "This is...wow." He continues to flip through the pages, looking up at you in open-mouthed awe as he does. "This one? Are you *kidding* me? You look so *good* in these photos!"

Your heart is thumping in your chest, a flush rising in your cheeks from his incessant praise of your lewd photos. "Oh, this one is art," he says, flipping the book around to show you. "Wait, let me show you which one was my favorite." He turns back a couple pages to let you look.

You beam at him. "You like it?"

"I *love* it, baby. Thank you." He pats his thighs, an invitation for you to come to him. And you can't help but listen, because his eyes are shining in those Christmas tree lights and making fireworks erupt in your stomach. You straddle his lap, facing him, as he gently places the book down and winds his arms around your waist, burying his face in your neck. "You're so beautiful. That was such a thoughtful gift, and I'm so glad we get to spend Christmas together."

He looks up at you, pushing your hair out of the way so he can see your face better. "Do you *want* one more gift from me?" he asks you carefully.

You laugh. "I want everything you've got, Joshua Hong."

Jun

“I was waiting for a special occasion to do this,” you say. “And I figured getting engaged to you probably qualifies.”

The room is lit up by a million fairy lights strung overhead. Jun is reclined on a huge bean bag, grinning up at you, the glint of his new engagement band in the dim light making you almost dizzy with joy.

A big projector screen is behind you, hooked up to a PowerPoint presentation you’ve displayed on your laptop. The title: 46 Reasons Why I Deserve Multiple Orgasms Tonight.

“Whew,” Jun laughs, looking up at you. “Do I need to hear all 46 to get your point? That’s a lot of reasons.”

“Are you saying you’ll do it?” you ask him.

“Now, hold on,” he says. “I want to see the PowerPoint.” He takes a sip of his champagne. “But you can expect that we probably won’t make it past the 20th reason.”

You shrug. “Fair enough.” You flip to slide one. There’s a QR code there for him to scan, which he promptly does, waiting patiently for it to load.

And when it does, he opens his mouth in awe. It’s a link to your boudoir gallery, and just the first image of you is enough for him to stand up and grab you by the face and start kissing you like he hasn’t seen you for months and he might never see you again, with enough passion that you’re dizzy.

“46 reasons,” he says in your ear as he lifts you up off the ground. “That first picture deserves 46 orgasms all to itself.”

You laugh. “Did you see any of the other 45 pictures?” you ask as he plants kisses all down your neck to your chest.

“Nope, but i think we’ll just have to settle for me being in debt to you for as long as we live,” he says, and fumbles with the buttons of your shirt.

Soonyoung

You’re doing the dishes in your sweats and a sports bra when Soonyoung comes hurtling around the corner in absolutely nothing but boxers and a bathrobe. “Honey?” you say, concerned. “Are you okay?”

“What is this?!” he asks you, his voice an octave higher than it normally is.

Your eyes widen to the size of dinner plates when you see what he’s holding in his hands.

“Oh,” you say. “Um… it was supposed to be a surprise for your birthday, but then I lost it,” you admit, embarrassed in more than one way, since his birthday was six months ago. “Where did you find it?”

“Never mind that,” he says, waving you off. “We need to talk about how these pictures have made me feel.”

“Do we?” you ask nervously.

He puts the book down on the counter and scoops you into his arms, his hands finding your bare waist. “Weirdly enough, my first thought when I saw those photos is that I don’t want anyone else to ever get to see you like that but me,” he says. He leans down and pecks you on the lips.

You stand on your tiptoes to kiss his nose. “You couldn’t lose me if you tried,” you tell him, tracing a hand down his chest and over his abs before you slide your arms all the way around his waist.

“I think we should get married,” he says, and you freeze.

“Really?” you finally say after a long while. “If that’s all it took, I would have done a boudoir shoot ages ago.”

Wonwoo

You’re standing in the doorway, hesitating. Wonwoo hasn’t spotted you yet - he’s busy playing a computer game, his mouse clicking at furious speeds. You can tell he’s engrossed, and decide to come back later, but just as you’re leaving, he calls your name. “Don’t go,” he says. “I’ll be done in a second.”

True to his word, half a minute later he removes his headset to turn and look at you with a smile. Your new relationship is still a little foreign to both of you, and the sudden fear of rejection is strong as you consider what you’re about to do.

“Hey, honey,” he says, reaching for you and pulling you into his lap, where you wordlessly bring your hands from behind you to in front of you, revealing the book. “What’s this?”

You take a deep breath. “Are you gonna laugh at me?” you ask him seriously.

“Only if you’re funny,” he replies.

You open to the first page. “I got them done a little bit ago and just got them back,” you say quietly. “I…wanted to show you.”

He looks up at you, his gaze curious. “Did you do these for me?” he asks, thumbing through the pages.

“Actually,” you say honestly, “I did them for me. We weren’t together yet. And I hadn’t been feeling very good about myself, so I did these. And it actually gave me the courage to talk to you.”

He’s silent for a minute, drinking in the sight of you on every page. Then — “they’re beautiful. *You’re* beautiful.” He gently presses a kiss to your shoulder. “Thank you.”

He throws the book onto the bed behind you and pulls you in so you’re fully facing him, straddling his lap. He reaches for you, kissing you like you’re air and he’s drowning, trying to tell you without words just what he meant when he said you were beautiful.

Jihoon

You’re relaxing on the couch after a long day, and Jihoon has just come over to you, wordlessly positioning himself on top of you and resting a head on your chest. You run your fingers through his fluffy hair and press a quick kiss to his forehead, using your other hand to scratch small shapes into his back.

You love that he’ll do this with you — you know he’s a bit shy about touch because of how it was when you’d first started dating, but you admire the progress five years, a marriage, and a whole child between you can make.

“Is she asleep?” you ask him now, and he nods against your chest.

“Just needed a brief daddy visit,” he says, yawning. “Oooh, I’m tired.”

“Can I wake you up?” you ask him softly.

He pushes himself up onto his forearms so he can look at you. “I’m listening,” he says casually, but his eyes are eager.

You laugh at how cute he is, and he grins. “Well,” you start, “I know we’ve both been busy lately…you know, with work and keeping a tiny human alive, and I wanted to do something special to reconnect.”

He sits up then, facing you on the couch. “Go on,” he invites.

You reach down and grab the book from under the couch. Jihoon watches you curiously, still looking at you as you hand it to him. “What is this?” he asks you.

“Open it,” you say with a mischievous look in your eyes.

He does, and he gasps. “Oh,” he says, and a blush heats his cheeks as he takes in the sight of you on the glossy pages — in the black velvet lingerie set he got you for Christmas last year.

He keeps looking from you to the book. “What are you thinking about?” you ask him, your soft voice making him shiver.

“I’m thinking about how I’ve seen you like this several times,” he says quietly as he flips through the pages, “and I’m still not sick of it.”

“That lingerie set was an investment,” you agree, and he smiles at you broadly.

He places the book down. “What are the odds you’re wearing it right now under your clothes?”

You laugh. “Why don’t you come find out?”

Minghao

“Remember those photos I took that one time?” you ask him while the both of you are sitting opposite each other on the couch, a mess of limbs tangled together.

“I think I’m gonna need you to be just a little more specific,” he says.

“The ones you encouraged me to take when I wasn’t feeling very good about my body.”

“Oh, those photos,” he says. “I remember them *and* what we did after.”

You blush. “I’m sure you do,” you say. “Well, I just got them back. Wanna see them?”

“Of course I do,” he says, reaching across the couch for your phone.

You hand it to him and watch as he scrolls through the gallery, his expression growing gradually more proud and impressed.

“Baby, these are amazing. Killer editing, and a perfect model.” He shakes his head. “I don’t want to minimize your feelings, but it’s pretty incredible that someone who looks like you can think you aren’t beautiful.”

“Really?” you ask him with a smile.

“Really,” he says. “Come here, sit by me.”

You obey, relaxing your head onto his chest. He kisses your forehead before continuing. “You know I have an eye for beautiful things. I love art, and I love to look at things that have the power to move your emotions. I mean, I’ve seen statues of the goddess Aphrodite in person. And yet the best thing I’ve ever seen is still your naked body. So it’s pretty crazy that you’re better than every piece of art I’ve ever seen and you sometimes still can’t see that.”

You prop yourself up on your elbow to look at him, and he kisses your nose, sending your heart into flips. “Well, I’m not saying that repeating the post-photoshoot activities would help me feel validated, but…” you say, trailing off.

Minghao gets the hint instantly, climbing on top of you and pressing his lips to yours. “Don’t have to tell me twice,” he says between kisses.

Mingyu

“Uhhh…Gyu?” you say, poking his arm. “You haven’t moved a muscle in like…fifteen minutes. Are you okay?”

He doesn’t respond, so you come around to his side of the bed. His eyes are fixated on the book in his hand. You know what’s happening now, and you kneel down in front of him, prying the book from his fingers. “Gyu, baby, look at me,” you say gently.

He meets your eyes with awe. “How?” is the only thing he says.

“How what, honey?” you ask him.

He clears his throat, shaking himself. He cups your face in his hands. “How did you take those photos without me noticing?” he asks in a strangled voice.

“It was literally so hard,” you admit. “Thank goodness for remotes so I could do them myself. It was a couple weeks ago while you were gone.”

“They’re edited in my style, too,” he says breathlessly. “The things you do to me.” He leans back, letting his eyes roam over your body, in a tight black dress you had planned on wearing out to your anniversary dinner. You stand up and lean toward him.

“Would you like dinner or dessert first?” you murmur to him.

He grins, a slow grin that lets you know he’s debating. “Hmm…let’s still go to dinner. It’ll give you time for me to let you imagine what I’m going to do to you when we get back.”

Seokmin

You are both already undressed down to your underwear and kissing ferociously when the doorbell rings. The two of you look at each other in a panic before standing up and throwing on bathrobes, giggling. Your heartbeat is in your throat as you look out the peephole and see a package on the porch.

“It was just the delivery guy,” you whisper back to Seokmin, who’s in the hallway looking dazed in his silky robe.

“Then come back here,” he begs you. “You’re driving me insane.”

But something is telling you to grab the package first. You slip your hand out the door and slide it inside, inspecting the address on the front.

Your eyes light up with recognition and you run to hand the package to Seokmin. He gives you a questioning glance. “Why?” He simply asks.

“Trust me, you’re gonna want to see that before we go any further.”

His eyebrows shoot up as he rips the package open. They widen as he opens the first page of the book. And with every photo he sees, you can feel the tension in the room boiling hotter. He’s grinning. “Oh, *honey*,” he says.

“Just for you,” you say, lightly dragging your nails over his shoulder blades.

His eyes roll back, and he shudders, smiling blissfully. “Cancel your meetings for today. You won’t be coming to work.”

You laugh. “Why not?”

“You won’t be able to walk after I’m done with you,” he says, pulling you into his arms and picking right back up where you left off.

Seungkwan

“Gosh, seriously…” he mutters under his breath, over the phone with you. You’re just a city away while he’s filming, but it is your birthday, and he feels terrible for missing it.

“It’s okay, love,” you reassure him. “We can celebrate tomorrow.”

“But you got *me* a gift?” He asks you incredulously. “For your birthday? Who does that?”

“I do!” You reply with a giggle, and he nearly curses at his phone again.

“I miss you too much,” he says.

“You won’t have to for much longer,” you say, and just then someone hands him the package you sent him on set.

“Do *not* open it around anyone,” you warn him.

“Okay,” he agrees, shutting himself in the bathroom. You can hear the sounds of him unwrapping the book.

And then he moans.

And then you hear what sounds like…clapping?

And then his voice is in your ear again. “Baby,” he groans.

“Umm…hello?” you ask, one part amused, one part worried.

“I’m here,” he says in a choked voice. “But I’m about to come home.”

“No, wait, you have to stay!!” you say, panicking.

“Like hell I do,” he retorts. You hear him leave the bathroom, hear him shout to the room, “I’ve just come down with a terrible bout of IBS, and I’m leaving!”

“You still there?” he says, and it sounds like he’s running.

“Yes?” you ask, torn between laughing and scolding him.

“I’ll be there before you know it, and you’d better be prepared for a long talk.”

The way he says “talk” makes it clear that very little will need to be said.

Vernon

He’s so mild-mannered that you’re hoping the photo book will do it for him. You’re hoping he won’t just say, “that’s nice, love,” as he peers with a clinical gaze at your lewd photos.

And you aren’t disappointed. Because while Vernon isn’t loud, his facial expressions certainly are. His jaw drops comically when he opens the book to a full page, practically nude photo of you. And he just keeps on getting more and more flustered, blushing harder and harder, and saying “damn, baby! These are *gorgeous*.”

He takes his time working his way through the book - stopping to trace the outline of your body on the page, in a way that makes you blush as though he’s doing it for real. “I love this color on you,” he exclaims, holding up a photo of you in an electric purple bra.

“Thank you,” you say, holding your hands up to your red cheeks.

He laughs. “Are you embarrassed?”

You giggle a bit. “Yeah, a little,” you admit. “The shoot, the book… it was all kind of a bold move.”

He nods, looking proudly down at the photo book. “Yeah, it was, baby. Don’t be embarrassed. I love it.”

He stands up and pulls you into a huge hug, resting his head on top of yours. When he pulls away, he grabs your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “While we’re making bold moves,” he says softly, bringing your mouth up to his for a kiss. And then, completely uncharacteristically of him, he lifts you off your feet into his arms to continue kissing.

Chan

You come home to see Chan pawing through a book laying stomach down on the couch. Every turn of the page, he erupts into quiet laughter and kicks his feet.

“What on earth are you reading?” you ask him, putting your keys in the dish and moving toward him to get a peek.

And then you gasp. “What are you doing with that?” you ask him, your face a mask of horror as you try to snatch it from him.

“This is for me, right?” he says, fending you off easily with one arm. “What’s the occasion?”

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” you grumble, giving up on the snatching as Chan pins you to his side. “No occasion, I just…thought you’d like it.”

“You thought right,” he says. “This is great.” He kisses you on your cheek. “I have a question, though.”

“Ask away,” you say.

“Did you feel like you had to do this, or did you want to?” He sounds genuinely concerned. This is one of the things you love so much about him — he asks you all of your thoughts and doesn’t seem to mind any of the answers you give, so you know you can always tell him exactly what’s on your mind.

“I wanted to,” you assure him. “It’s just, you’re gone so often, and I wanted you to feel like you didn’t have to miss seeing me…well. Seeing me like this, I guess.”

He slowly leans backward until he’s holding you on top of him. “I am gone a lot,” he agrees thoughtfully.

“You are.”

“But I’m here now,” he finishes.

Your gaze drops to his lips and then back up to his eyes. “You are here now,” you repeat.

“So,” he says, a question trailing at the end of his thought, one he won’t ask out loud.

You kiss him before he knows what’s coming.

[97linelover]

Unspoken words - Choi Seungcheol

18+ / mdi

summary: when your boyfriend comes back home after an fight, you did not expect your world falling apart.

content: idolxseungcheol , non idol reader, cheating, angst, crying, talking about other woman, fight, no happy end!

wc: 1.1k

a/n: decided to publish my first angsty fic, please remember English is not my mother language.

With heavy steps, Cheol walked through the quiet apartment. "Baby? Y/N?" His voice was shaky and full of regret, the light was dimmed, and the TV was running. He walked into the living room to find you cuddled in the thick white fluffy blanket you always used to cuddle.

He wanted to kiss you awake; he wants to tell you how much he loves you like he always does when he comes home late, but within the night he lost that right to do it. 

You fell asleep with concern written all over your face. He knows it because it happened far too often in the last few weeks. 

"Cheol?" Your sleepy voice brought him back to reality. "Y/N" he breathless said you threw the blanket off your body. "I was so scared, Cheol" you whispered. "It was pouring, and we promised to never leave in a fight." He knows that if you talk longer, you will end up crying, and he does not want to make you cry. He never wants to make you cry or upset.

But he will destroy your pure loving soul within seconds. 

"I'm sorry for being so bitchy, work has just been too much lately, and with you being away for Promo, I just felt tired, and then the rumor just brought me over the edge; the fear took over me, the fear of not being enough" you tried to play it cool, to play it cool that you really felt insecure next to Jihyo.

Seungcheol just listened; his heart broke with every word you said, and the love in your eyes when you looked at him was still fully there. "Y/N" his voice brought you back, and you looked at him. He rarely uses your full name, he always uses nicknames. 

"Cheol, what's wrong" you furrowed your eyebrows. "Can you please take out your phone" you followed his request. "Go to Twitter, please" His voice was weak, and you felt weird, you felt like puking. 

There was this gut in your stomach that made you feel unwell, you opened the app you downloaded to see the newest stuff about your boyfriend.

But there was no exciting news, there was nothing good at all, you swiped through the news tears already welling in your eyes. 

There he was. 

Your boyfriend of 6 Years, kissing her, Jihyo, the woman you were afraid of.

"Y/N" he whispered trying to explain himself. "It was just a kiss right?" You locked your phone, your voice weak "It was just a kiss; mistakes can happen" you said with tears in your eyes and a lump in your throat, your hands were shaking, and you felt like someone pushed a knife into your chest.

"It was not only a kiss" he said, and you squeezed your eyes shut. 

He cheated on you, the man you were sure he was your endgame cheated. 

"you fucked?" you said bluntly, your voice not the having the familiar warmth in it that he loved, and he shook his  head, "what did you do?". 

"Is it important?" he whispered, "Yes, Seungcheol it is. I want to know what could possibly be worth it to throw this relationship into the trash" you were braver than you would've thought. 

"We were at a club after our fight, and I drank too much, and then we landed inside the bathroom, and she sucked me off, and I got her off," and that was your breaking point. 

You took some steps back because you felt disgusted by him "please, I did not plan this" he whispered. "I was angry because of our fight, but I did not plan this" you scoffed "But you did, you went out after I poured out my heart to you, after I told you about my insecurities about her, and you go out and cheat on me with her" You felt the tears running down your cheek.

"you broke my entire trust, god I was so dumb, this was the reason we had our fight in the first place... and now it came true" you walked past him "you probably wanted her for a long time" you walked into the shared bedroom "No, I don't even want her now , I was not thinking straight, you're all I ever wanted" 

"Leave" you said with so much venom that he felt cold all of a sudden. He knew it was over; he knew there was nothing to fight for; he knew your past with your dad cheating on your mom; he knew about your insecurities, but he still decided not to give a fuck about it. 

"I will stay at Chan's place" he said quietly, and you sobbed. "I don't care, get the fuck out" he closed the door behind him, and you fell down to the floor. 

He did not even apologize.

He did not even fight. 

In the same night you packed your bags and went to a hotel, you felt like everything you believed in was fake.

You ignored every message he sent you, every page you followed, you unfollowed. 

You texted the members that it is for the best if you do not stay in touch, that you could not act like they aren´t together most of the times, you did not know that the members made sure that he knew how he messed up. 

And when Seungcheol texted you that the apartment was sold it was your time to gather all of your remaining stuff, he said he is at practice so you used the key to open the place you once called home.  But when you heard the TV running, you felt all the color leaving your face. You found all the stuff in boxes, some with your name, some with his. 

"Cheol?" you asked "yes, It's me, I m sorry I broke my ankle and I cant go to practice" his voice was weak. You walked towards the living room. "Oh.. how are you feeling?" you asked weakly, and he smiled "It would be a lie to say good; I did this myself," he shrugged. "I lost the love of my life, and now I can't even do my fucking job" At the mention of you, you felt like crying. 

"Everything happens for a reason; maybe in the end we were not meant to be, even if we thought we were perfect" You felt the tears once again. 

"I deeply loved you, fuck I was ready to spend my forever with you, but when I look at you all I see is pain and disappointment, Cheol, but it's okay because in the end I need to do what makes me happy, and you're no longer a part of that" this broke him completely.

You heard him sob, and you tried to ignore this ripping pain in your chest.

You turned around, "I wish you the best Seungcheol, I really do" you grabbed your stuff and walked out of his life.

There were so many words left unspoken.

[icarusflewsworld]

Rhysand & Cassian & Azriel X OC

Hello, here is the chapter 21 of a fanfiction on the world of Acotar where our three favorite Batboys are the mates of a single woman.

I would like to apologize to all of you for the huge late; especially when I said I would publish on Friday. I promise to make efforts to avoid this happening again, that said, I hope it will be worth it and that you will find the chapters good! 

! Don't forget to read the previous and following chapters ! : Here

Enjoy the read ! ❤️❤️❤️

Chapter 21

When Luxiana awoke, the three Illyrians watched her with a mixture of hope and apprehension. How would their soul mate will react after she had kissed all three of them last night?

Azriel was already sure he knew her reaction. In fact, he'd spent the whole night - his eyes onto the ceiling, leaning against the headboard - imagining the different expressions that might have Luxiana and in every scenario, she'd blush. By the cauldron, he was so eager to see what she was going to do. And now she was finally opening her eyes. He was about going to know. Maybe he'd even get to do it again and kiss her again. It was the thing he wanted most in the world right now. He wanted so much to touch her, to hold her, to kiss her, to possess her.

Rhysand was still sitting in front of Luxiana in the same place he'd been last night. The same spot where she'd kissed him. He'd spent the whole night looking at her and had thought of nothing else. Of absolutely nothing else but her. She had brought him a peace of mind that was beyond belief. She silenced his intrusive thoughts and healed his bruised heart without even knowing it. But the chaos and explosions she awakened in his body were far different from the new tranquility in his head. He had detailed her all night long, memorizing every feature of her face without even tiring of it, but it had taken hours before his heart resumed a calm, regular beat after the kiss she'd given him.

Cassian had lay down beside Luxiana. He rested his head on his forearm and fell asleep right after her with a huge smile on his face. No kiss had ever made him feel the way kissing his soul mate had, and he wanted so much more. He'd slept well and when he'd opened his eyes a few hours ago, his joy and excitement were still there, and even tenfold. He'd felt like jumping up and down and screaming at the top of his lungs. He'd never woken up in such a good mood. He rested his cheek on his palm and his elbow on his mattress to watch Luxiana as she struggled to sit up. Her eyes were half-closed, and while she had hardly moved in her sleep, her hair was a mass of tangled knots going everywhere. Cassian's heart was beating wildly in his chest. He probably wasn't thinking clearly because she was his soulmate and he was happy, but he thought she was so beautiful like that.

Luxiana's mouth was dry and pasty. She could hardly keep her eyes open and was still fighting sleep. In fact, she wished she could have rested longer. She'd slept well, but she'd forced herself to get up when she saw the three bare-chested Illyrians around her, staring at her strangely with shining eyes. She had farted in her sleep or something? She wanted to look at them to see what was wrong with them, but the morning sunlight streaming through the bay window straight at her wasn't helping to keep her eyelids open. Especially as the remaining alcohol in her blood made her muscles heavy and difficult to move.

She moistened her lips several times, making strange mouth sounds. She turned her head towards the males to stare at them one by one. Seeing that all three of them were looking at her with flaming irises and goofy little smiles, she thought they were mocking her. She let out a sort of hoarse growl. "What?"

Cassian and Rhysand's smiles widened. The Illyrian with the red siphons straightened up to sit behind Luxiana, who was facing the lord. Cassian leaned slightly forward to place his mouth next to Luxiana's ear. He closed his eyes for a second, taking a deep breath of his mate's vanilla scent. "We were just thinking about what happened yesterday, sweetie," he murmured in a deep voice.

Luxiana shivered imperceptibly, her lower abdomen disturbed from the morning by Cassian's warm breath on her lobe. She swiveled her head towards him, acting as if nothing had happened and as if she wasn't completely aroused. Their faces were now face to face, their lips only inches apart. Luxiana had to restrain herself from looking at the Illyrian's mouth while HE couldn't help himself. "What happened yesterday?" she repeated, frowning for more information on what he was talking about.

The three Illyrians glanced at each other with a mixture of concern, surprise and apprehension. Didn't she remember their kisses? Rhysand leaned forward, trying not to let his doubt show, and feigning an air of playful confidence and haughtiness. He caught Luxiana's chin between his fingers to turn her head towards him. "You kissed the three of us, darling."

Luxiana didn't like his tone and expression, as if she were a trophy he already took for granted. She widened her eyes and didn't even have to pretend for her cheeks to flush. She stepped back a little to free herself from Rhys's grip. "What?" She looked completely embarrassed and for that too, she didn't need to pretend.

Rhysand's hand fell limply back on his legs, Cassian's smile faded and Azriel's disappointment compressed his chest.

Rhysand tried to keep up a good front, but his smirk was more than a little false. Their soul mate couldn't remember kissing them. They'd taken a great step forward last night, but today they were back where they started.

Cassian had lost all trace of the joy he'd felt last night and since this morning when he woke up. He would have liked to kiss her again, but now it was lost.

Azriel crossed his arms, his throat tight. He could see her blushing, but it wasn't even because she remembered kissing them. He was so disappointed. "Do you remember anything from last night?" he asked gravely.

Luxiana frowned a little more, adopting a blank stare. "Uh, I remember that you came looking for me in my room, that we came here and I... I think we had a drink or two and..." She searched for words, pursing her lips. "We played cards, didn't we?" she exclaimed as if suddenly remembering.

Cassian let himself fall on his back, arms spread wide and a sad gaze on the ceiling. He blew out all his air. He was so disappointed. "So you don't remember anything. So you really had drunk too much," he muttered through his teeth more to himself.

"No I wasn't drunk, I am used to drinking," she took offense, glaring back at him.

Rhysand kept his false smile. He inclined his head. "Yet it’s true. You don’t remember but you kissed us and you even wanted to go further, you little innocent baby girl."

Luxiana pursed her lips, lowering her head to hide her blush. "I don't remember that," she grumbled through gritted teeth with a look that fled so embarrassed she felt.

Azriel squinted his eyes. A smile emerged on his lips. "You're lying," he breathed.

His two brothers turned hopeful heads towards him, and Cassian even straightened up to lean on his forearms.

Luxiana raised shining pupils of shame at Azriel. "No," she insisted, a little vexed. How on earth did this fae know when she was lying? And how could she forget to be careful in front of him?

Azriel's smile widened as his chest filled with relief. He grabbed Luxiana's chin firmly, hooking his fingers into her cheeks to pull her towards him and bring her head closer to his. Something in the Illyrian's heart exploded when his fingerprints touched Luxiana's bouncing skin. Their faces were barely a few inches apart. Azriel's smile turned carnivorous as he noticed his soulmate looking at his lips. "It's not very nice to lie. I don't like that very much," he really hated the idea of his soul mate lying to him. "Especially not when it comes from the little princess that you are." With his other hand, he tucked a lock of hair behind Luxiana's ear, following his movement with his eyes. "From MY little princess." He returned his authoritative, almost stern gaze to his soulmate's, but a playful glow could be seen shining in his irises. "You're never going to lie to me again, are you?"

Luxiana was completely hypnotized by Azriel's eyes and completely immobilized by the strange electric atmosphere that had developed between the two of them. She loved more than anything the possessive grip he had on her chin and his authoritative words. Her breathing was choppy and labored. "No," she managed to say in a strangled voice. It was all she could say. In this position, he could have asked her what he wanted, and she would have agreed.

The other two Illyrians watched the scene with intrigue, brows furrowed, their pupils oscillating between their soulmate and their brother. Cassian finally threw Rhysand an expression somewhere between confusion and amusement, which Rhysand returned. Who would have thought their brother so dominant and authoritarian. In 500 years, they'd never seen him like this.

Something flared in Azriel's chest at his soulmate's cooperation and docility. "Good girl," he murmured, sliding his thumb over Luxiana's mouth to caress its contours.

Luxiana swallowed hard as fire burned her lower stomach and chest. Damn it, she liked being called like that and she wasn't thinking clearly as her lips tickled her far too much under the spy master's caresses.

Azriel was still clutching her chin with his thumb and forefinger, but he put his other hand on her throat to grip her and pull her possessively a little more toward him. "So do you remember last night?"

Luxiana had to restrain herself from moaning when he grabbed her and pulled her towards him. She was far too disturbed by everything she was feeling, so she just nodded. It was all she could do now anyway.

Azriel leaned towards her to brush his lips against Luxiana's. He shivered imperceptibly at the tickle. "Do you remember when we kissed?"

The blonde's breath caught in her throat and an electric current surged through her. She wanted to break the distance but he held her motionless in place. She nodded softly again. She remembered well.

Cassian straightened up fully to stand on his knees and slide next to Azriel so he could be seen by Luxiana. "Then why did you make us believe otherwise?"

The blonde managed to tear her eyes away from Azriel's to look at Cassian. She was able to regain her smirk and her confidence, feeling in control again in front of Cassian. "Because it was quite funny to see your disappointed faces."

Azriel, noticing that he was losing his soulmate's attention, exerted pressure on her chin, bringing her head towards him and forcing her to look at him. "Tsk, tsk," he emitted, clicking his tongue against his palate in a sound of disagreement.

Luxiana turned her attention back to Azriel and lost her smile and confidence again. Damn, what power did he have over her? She felt ready to obey him without a care in the world. He intimidated her a little and excited her at the same time, it was crazy.

"So you lied to us, knowing full well what you were doing," Rhysand remarked, regaining his hopeful shining eyes and smile. "You devilish little creature."

Luxiana wanted to turn her eyes towards Rhysand a smile emerged on her lips, but Azriel, to keep her attention, pushed her roughly and laid her back on the mattress to positioned himself on top of her, one leg between hers. He still had one hand on Luxiana's throat but his other forearm was resting on the bed beside her face so he wouldn't carry all his weight on her. "Do you know what we do to the little princess who lies?"

Luxiana trembled with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. She felt as if molten lava was coursing through her veins. She even had to hold back with all her might not to throw herself onAzriel and kiss him again. She had loved it so much when they kissed last night. She wanted more, and if she weren't so intrigued and intimidated by Azriel above her, she'd surely have let herself go. "We kiss her?" she asked hopefully, pleadingly.

Azriel fainted for a second. His soul-mate beneath him was red-cheeked and so cute as she practically begged Azriel to kiss her. The Illyrian's heart had missed a long beat and he'd had to let out a sort of grunt at his erection, which had pulsed in his pants in repercussion to the excitement that had imploded all at once in his belly. The master spy smiled as he restrained himself from doing what his soul mate was asking for. He let himself fall on top of her a little more, pressing his pelvis against Luxiana's to make her feel his erection. He stroked his lips again with the blonde's before shifting his mouth to her ear to whisper, "No, we're punishing her."

Something exploded in Luxiana's body and her chest jerked as she heard the fae's words and felt his erection on her thigh. A mixture of excitement, provocation and reluctance ran through her. She glanced over Azriel's shoulder at Rhysand and Cassian, who were watching her with a playful, mocking smile on their lips. She reached out a hand to Rhysand with a pleading look. "Help" she mimed with her mouth without letting any sound out so Azriel wouldn't hear. But Rhysand only widened his smile, nodding gently from left to right. And Cassian began to laugh out loud in mockery. She opened her mouth wide in offence. She wasn't going to get any help from them.

But Azriel had felt her move. He straightened up to let go of Luxiana's throat and grabbed her outstretched wrist toward Rhysand to plate it over her head. "Tsk, tsk."

Luxiana's heart was pounding in her chest and could almost moan just feeling the bulge in Azriel's pants pressed against her leg. As much as she'd like knowing the kind of punishment Azriel was talking about, she was a little apprehensive. She wasn't here for that anyway, and above all, she needed some air. She was going to have to get out of this situation on her own. She had to pull herself together. "So no kisses?" she asked, putting on the most adorable face possible, having seen the Illyrian faint earlier. "I wanted kisses."

It worked, for Azriel's heart, as well as those of the two Illyrians behind him, missed a beat before slamming violently back against their ribs. In repercussion, the master spy loosened his grip on Luxiana's arm a little, long enough for her to escape from it and slid sideways between Azriel's arm and his legs. She scrambled out of bed, laughing, and none of the three Illyrians could catch her. She turned towards them while walking backwards towards the door to make sure they don’t go after her. "And I wanted kisses, what a shame..." 

She laughed even harder when she saw their shocked faces and wide-open smiling mouths. She extricated herself from Cassian's room. "I'm going to the shower, bye," and she scurried off down the corridor to her own room and into her bathroom. She closed the door, leaned against it and let herself slide to the ground. She took a deep breath before huffing. What the hell had happened? She'd loved it, but she had to pull herself together. She wasn't here for that. And they had far too much power over her, it scared her.

***

They were flying. Rhysand tightened his grip around Luxiana, whose legs around his pelvis and arms around his neck were barely squeezed, as if she wasn't afraid of falling. She looked all around her and into the void with shining eyes and sometimes closed her eyelids to enjoy the wind in her hair, as if she wasn't at all terrified of flying. But Rhysand was afraid. He was afraid of where they were going. He was afraid of how she would see them today. She was so fragile.

When she'd emerged from the shower and joined them in the dining room, she'd been much quieter than usual. She was trying not to look perturbed, but the three Illyrians could tell something was wrong. She seemed much less cheerful than usual and also much more distant with them. So they don’t even try to resume their morning's discussion or even to flirt with her. Something was really bothering her and when they'd wanted to know what was wrong, she'd simply asked Rhys when they were going to steal the Book of Breathing.

The lord had panicked a little and to give himself time, he had said he had to go to the Court of Nightmares today to put back the Orb of Truth they had stolen for their meeting with the queens. The three of them had wanted to go with Mor only but Luxiana had insisted on going with them. Rhys had warned her, telling her that the people they were going to become with Cassian and Azriel weren't really them. That it was all an act, but they were so terrified she'd be afraid of them.

They flew side by side with his brothers, and although they could have returned to the court of the nightmares teleporting there, Rhys had wanted so much to take Luxiana in his arms that he'd offered to fly. And Luxiana didn't even try to understand or ask Mor to teleport her there with her, as she threw herself into the lord's arms, screaming with joy, happy that she was going to fly.

The three of them landed in the entrance to the court of nightmares. The three Illyrians exchanged worried expressions. Azriel breathed a sigh as he glanced at the immense doorway to the nightmare court and then looked uncertainly at his soul mate. "Are you sure? We can drop you back at Velaris, it's not too late."

Luxiana rolled her eyes. Who did he think she was? "I'm sure."

Rhysand gritted his teeth. "Look, the person we're going to have to be, especially with you knowing you're human and in front of them, is... it's not really us. Please don't forget it."

Luxiana smiled confidently. "I will not, Rhys. I assure you I won't forget it." She drew her face closer to his, standing on tiptoes. "Don't worry, you'll still be the faes I kissed last night."

Rhysand raised an eyebrow and was finally able to smile, calming slightly for a second. He leaned over to give Luxiana a kiss, unable to resist the attraction of his mate's lips, but she dodged him at the last moment, smiling even more seductively and provocatively.

Rhysand opened his mouth wide in pleasant surprise as Luxiana reached out to grab Cassian's arm and hold onto him, pulling him towards the entrance to the court. Cassian laughed as he saw Rhys's disappointed face but he followed the blond.

Azriel was following them too, but he wasn't in the mood for laughter. He detailed Luxiana up and down from behind. She looked beautiful in that revealing, almost transparent black dress. Too beautiful. And this dress revealed a little too much. It was just a black lace backless fabric, with only two wide bands covering her chest and joining in the middle at her lower stomach. Both her legs were visible at the front. He closed his eyes as he passed a hand over his face. Hell, he'd fought Cassian and Rhysand to get her changed, but again they were two against him, telling him they didn't like it either, but they couldn't bring back a fully covered human. The others would suspect something was weird. Hell, he was going to kill the first person who laid eyes on her.

Mor was waiting for them at the entrance to the reception hall. She was a little stressed at the idea of seeing her parents again. When Luxiana noticed it, she let go of Cassian to give her a hug. Mor returned it with a tender smile. Fortunately, she wasn't going to stay a long time in the same room as her parents, she'd be able to leave early to go and put the Orb of Truth back in place. Rhys had wanted Azriel to do it as he had stolen it, but his master spy had refused. If Luxiana came with them, then he would stay with her permanently.

Azriel grabbed Luxiana's hand to squeeze it tightly. "Whatever happens, you stay close to me."

"Or one of us," Cassian added with a jaded look to his brother.

Luxiana smiled shyly as she nodded. Rhysand stood in front of her with a serious look on his face. "Don't forget, you have to look sad like we are ..."

"... make you suffer the worst atrocities." continued Luxiana. "I remember that too. Don't worry, I understand that you don't want anyone to know that you're little cute teddy bears. "

Cassian raised an eyebrow and wanted to say something, but Mor's laughter interrupted him.

Rhysand smiled and could do nothing else, for like Azriel, he was not in the mood. They were far too worried.

They regained their seriousness and decided to move. Their hearts pounded, apprehension and fear almost paralyzing them. Then they entered the room where countless high faes awaited them. All heads turned in their direction, and a stony silence fell over the place that had been alive with talk just a few seconds before. Faces grew pale and preoccupied. They all lowered their eyes, but Luxiana could see the sidelong glances of terror and horror they were giving them. Especially at Rhys. She turned her gaze to him and couldn't stop the corner of her lips from lifting for a microsecond.

Rhysand looked cold, no, icy. He was terrifying, and the power he exuded suddenly was oppressive. He looked at everyone with an evil expression, as if he was looking for his next victim. And that had a way of turning Luxiana strangely from the inside.

She glanced at the others to see Azriel almost invisible, melting into his shadows around him and dark-faced. It was the first time she'd seen his shadows around him in this way. He hurriedly eyed everyone warily, as if expecting one of them to jump out at them.

Cassian was chin high, back straight and chest puffed out. He looked confident, but there was no smile on his face, only strength, severity and anger.

Mor, for her part, had never seemed so haughty.

Luxiana kept her head down as if she wasn't happy to be there. Her arms were clutched to her chest, clutching her forearms as if she were uncomfortable in her dress. She had to play the game the way they'd asked her to.

A throne reigned in the middle of the room where they were all heading. Suddenly, one of the fae with short, curly blond hair and a glass of wine in his hands, surrounded by several other fae, let out an almost inaudible hiss as he stared Luxiana up and down. "Holy cow," he breathed to his friends. "She's the finest human I've ever seen. Maybe the lord can give her to us when he is done with her."

Luxiana had to restrain herself from smirking at his words. Oh, she'd be happy to give this fae a visit later and teach him manners and respect for women.

Rhysand, having heard it too, gritted his teeth. He wasn't supposed to show anything, but he longed to rip the tongue out of that bastard who spoke of his soulmate like that. He didn't want to scare Luxiana and that was the only thing keeping him from acting, but damn he would have liked to do it.

Cassian tensed, making his gait robotic and immediately looking less confident. How dare that bastard think he was worthy of laying eyes on their soul mate. He was going to wait until Luxiana left with Rhysand and Azriel so he could take the bones of that fae out from his body.

But Azriel didn't wait a second. A flash of anger electrocuted him through and through with violence. How dare he talk about his soul mate like that? How dare he look at his wife like that? He didn't wait to react and didn't even question himself, all reason and logic having left his body. He took Truth Teller out and threw himself at the fae, stabbing him in the eyes.

Everyone froze as the fae screamed, falling to the ground with bloody eyes. Azriel stood over him, breathing rapidly. He was killing everyone else with his pupils. "This human is ours ! Don't touch her, don't talk to her and don't look at her! If you do, this is what awaits you." His voice was cold, hissing and sharp.

Rhysand and Cassian held back to widening their eyes in surprise and did their utmost to maintain consistency in front of everyone. Azriel, realizing what he had just done and that Luxiana had just caught a glimpse of the cruel person he was, frozen in his movement.

The three of them, as one, slowly turned their gaze towards Luxiana. Their throats contracted and their stomachs turned as they saw her with wide eyes, a hand clamped over her mouth and a look of horror on her face.

The three of them began to panic, their chests vibrating with fear as they tried not to look like anything on the outside. "Luxiana!!!" shouted Rhysand in his head using his telepathy, hoping to reach his soulmate's mind. He deployed his power to stroke Luxiana's mental shield with a little more force than necessary. He so hoped she could feel him and let him in. But Luxiana was human, and there was no way she could have mastered her mental shield to that extent, and sense that Rhysand wanted to get in touch with her. "Luxiana," he begged mentally, knowing full well that she would never be able to hear him.

Yet Luxiana dropped her mental shield as she sensed Rhysand's power. In fact, she only retracted her shield a little, to protect her memories and her mind from Rhysand's power, but still allowing him to communicate with her.

But the lord couldn't see that. As far as Rhysand could feel, her shield had just given way, and it didn't matter anyway, since she was finally allowing him to enter her head. To him, it was only unconscious. Luxiana didn't realize what she was doing, but she must have sensed Rhysand's power in her head, and she now felt confident enough with him to unconsciously lower her shield. A current of joy pulsed in his chest before he remembered why he wanted to communicate with her. He extended his power to Azriel and Cassian, and in fact had no trouble even doing so to communicate with them, helped by their soulmate bond. "Luxiana," he murmured softly in his head.

The blonde jumped as if she didn't expect it. She was such a good actress. She looked up at Rhysand, her eyes still horrified.

"It's just me talking to you in your head with my power, don't be afraid. It's just me. You let me in unconsciously."

Luxiana frowned before returning her gaze to the fae kneeling in front of Azriel, still screaming in pain.

"Please, don't' be afraid," Rhysand continues. "Don't forget who we really are. "

"Azriel shouldn't have done that," Cassian growled in their heads, glaring darkly at his brother with his pupils. "He should have at least waited until you were gone."

Luxiana twitched as she heard Cassian's voice and almost mimed yet another jump. Luckily, she still had her hand in front of her mouth to hide her nascent smile.

Azriel grunted. "I'm not even going to apologize, he shouldn't have looked at her like that," he replied coldly via their link. "She's ours for fuck's sake and I warned you that if she went out in that outfit and someone looked at her a little too much, I'd scratch his eyes out."

Luxiana widened her eyes a little more, staring at Azriel at his words. Had he just said she was theirs? Surely he thought she belonged to them while waiting for her to fulfill the service Feyre owed them, but these words were doing a lot of damage to his stomach and chest.

Rhysand placed his hands in his pockets to clench his fists imperceptibly he forced himself not to let anything of his fear and anger show or to look too much at his soulmate. All the same, he glared at Azriel. "You just stabbed a fae' eyes out in front of Luxiana, you moron." Then he glanced sideways at his soulmate to address her. "Luxiana, listen, don't forget who we are, we ...."

"Calm down, everything's fine," she interrupted, speaking in their heads with a calm voice.

The three of them froze a little more. She was answering them. It was the first time they'd heard their soul mate’s voice in their heads, and she was telling them everything was fine.

"It's just acting, you told me to pretend, that's what I'm doing." She feigned a gasping breath as she regained her chest in her arms while lowering her head, but the confident, calm glance she cast at Rhsyand before, reassured him entirely.

Cassian couldn't hide his wry smile and hopeful eyes as he stared at their soulmate. "Didn't what just happened scare you?"

Luxiana chuckled in their minds, "no, that was incredibly sexy."

The three Illyrians glanced at each other in surprise before sighing imperceptibly in relief. Azriel grunted, vibrating with excitement.

Rhysand scowled at the screaming, bleeding fae on the ground. He waved his hand in a jaded manner in his direction to order the other faes to make the fae leave the room, which his friends did without question, gripping him by his arms and dragging him outside. Then Rhysand goes back in movement again to avoid arousing suspicion. He dropped onto his throne.

Chapters 22 and 23 : Here

[daydreamtofiction]

Malicious Compliance // Surgeon Strange x Reader

Masterlist | Request a Fic

Summary: After a brief meeting with the world renowned neurosurgeon Doctor Stephen Strange, he plans to make you his latest conquest. He’s only interested in one thing, but that’s okay, because so are you. (female reader)

Word Count: 4.6K

Warnings: Strong language, explicit sexual content, pre-sorcerer Strange (arrogant, cocky). Smut: no strings attached, dominance & praise, oral sex (receiving), light choking, unprotected sex (sort of?). Readers must be 18+

A/N: Just a quick lil oneshot for you all. I literally thought of this today and the whole thing poured out of me in one sitting lmao. I like it though, hope you guys do too!

His eyes are glaciers. Cold, hard, yet always moving. They flit towards the window, sunlight turning them the crispest blue, then back down to the notebook on the table in front of him. They warm slightly when he looks over to Doctor Palmer, roll languidly whenever Doctor West speaks. But in the end, they always seem to settle back on you.

He’s as hubristic as you’d expected; leant back in his chair, elbows on the armrests, taking up as much space as his body will allow. He corrects a colleague when they call him Stephen. It’s Doctor Strange, he says, voice so deep and rich it’s almost tangible. 

He watches as you press your finger to the inner corner of your eye, trying to rub away the tired itch beginning to take root there. You wonder how offended he’d be if he knew you fell asleep reading one of his published papers last night, how you woke up in your hotel room this morning with your cheek pressed to page seventeen of The Strange Palmer Method. It would make his blood boil, you think, to know his work had been used as a pillow. You resist the urge to tell him. 

Coffee burns the roof of your mouth. You wince and place the cup back down on the boardroom table, sift through the pile of papers in front of you as the room waits for you to speak again.

“Honey,” says Doctor Strange. 

“I’m sorry?” you reply. 

He points to your mouth. “It’ll help with that burn.” 

You stare at him for a moment before shaking your head. “Oh I didn’t- It was just a little warmer than I expected. Thanks, though.” 

The corner of his mouth curls and he turns to look down the length of the table, the flecks of silver at his temple catching in the light.

You clear your throat as you find the document you were looking for. “So, pending approval from the ABMS, we would like to roll out training for the Strange Palmer Method in all of our hospitals.”

“What about my new technique for stent placement?” asks Doctor West. 

“Oh please, Nic,” Strange scoffs. “We’re talking about actual revolutionary surgical procedures here.” 

Doctor West’s back straightens, you open your mouth to speak but he gets there first.

“Excuse me, my stent technique could drastically cut down the amount of time a patient’s brain is open on the table! Do you even realise-” 

“Mhm, why don’t you go win some awards and make national news, then maybe we can talk.” 

Doctor Palmer’s head falls into her hands as the other surgeons groan and shift uncomfortably in their seats. You’ve met your fair share of asshole surgeons in this job; travelling up and down the country stroking egos and exalting god complexes. But this man sitting across from you is, without a doubt, the victor of them all. 

“The stent technique is very interesting,” you say, easing the tension in the room. “But we would need to see the results of a study or trial of some kind before taking it any further.” 

“Very diplomatic of you,” says Strange. 

“Not diplomatic. I just know a promising procedure when I see it.”

“Hm. Are you a doctor?”

Your gaze turns to a glare. “I am.” 

“Where do you practice?”

“I don’t anymore. My job is to keep other doctors at the top of their game. Hence why I’m here right now with all of you.”

He’s almost smirking, head cocked slightly, twiddling a pen between his fingers. It’s fitting, you think, to see a surgeon take such pleasure in getting under people’s skin. 

You hate that you find him attractive. That you’ve managed to fall victim to a charm buried so deep beneath layers of pure arrogance that you have to dig to find it. If he wasn’t so beautiful on the outside, you’re almost certain you wouldn’t bother fighting to find something redeemable within. But the way your body reacts to him; the warmth, the buzzing deep in your belly, it must be there. 

The meeting finishes and you remain at the table, straightening the wad of papers in front of you and slotting them back into your binder as everyone filters out of the room. When you’re alone, you stand and walk to the large window, taking a moment to gaze out at the view. Your eyes skim New York City, admiring the blend of old and new; small stone buildings wedged between tall skyscrapers, the late afternoon sun glinting across metal and glass, pockets of green peppered amongst brick and mortar. You wish you got to come here more often. 

You pick up your briefcase and drape your jacket over your arm as you make your way out of the boardroom. The corridor is bright and quiet, but the bustling of the hospital is a low hum. You close the door behind you and begin to walk, unfazed by the sight of a figure leaning against the wall up ahead. 

His arms are folded over his broad chest, dark blue scrubs doing little for his tall, robust frame. His legs are crossed at the ankles as he rests his weight back against the wall, head stooped slightly, but his eyes are on you. 

“Doctor Strange,” you say with a polite nod as you continue past him.

He smiles, allows you to pass, but you feel him move behind you. 

“You don’t really think Doctor West’s procedure holds any merit?” he asks, catching up to walk at your side. 

“I do.” You furrow your brow. “You don’t think there’s merit in improving the efficiency of existing surgeries?” 

He shrugs. “Just not all that exciting when you compare it to what I’m doing.” 

“You mean what you and Doctor Palmer are doing…” 

There’s a chuckle deep in his throat, like he enjoys the back and forth, watching his opponents fight for their lives while to him it’s just a sparring match. He quickens his pace to slip in front of you, turning to face you and forcing you to halt in the middle of the corridor. 

“Be honest,” he says. “You’re impressed.” 

“Of course we’re impressed. Why else would the board have sent me here?” 

“No I mean you, specifically.” 

You glare up at him, hiding your amusement with an eye roll. “Yes, Doctor,” you say slowly, your words empty and biting. “I am very impressed.” 

His cupid’s bow deepens as his lips curve into a self satisfied smile, lines forming in his cheeks and the corners of his eyes. He knows you find him infuriating, but it only seems to encourage him. There’s a moment of silence, long enough for his gaze to trail the length of you, just once. 

“You know, I’d love to talk more with you about it,” he says, looking down at his obviously expensive watch. “Maybe over dinner. Have you eaten?” 

You draw in a deep breath through your nose, letting it out in a sigh as you begin to speak. “I don’t need your superficial attempts to woo me, Doctor.” You reach into your briefcase and pull out a pen and a business card, scrawling on the back of it and handing it to him. “This is where I’m staying. Come by around eight.” 

You’re certain he’s going to protest, pretend he actually wants to go to dinner, talk, that he was ever interested in anything that didn’t involve the removal of your clothes. You wait in suspense as his eyes flit down to the card in his hand, then back up to your face.

“I prefer to fuck in my own bed,” he says bluntly. 

A wave crashes in your stomach, rushing down into your core, the sensation so strong and unexpected that your knees almost buckle. This isn’t the first time one of your work trips has ended in you going home with a surgeon, but the way this one doesn’t try to feign the ‘nice guy’, doesn’t pretend to want anything more from you than your body, that’s new.  

“Unless I’m on vacation, of course,” he adds with a cocky smile. 

“Of course…” 

He flips the card over and plucks the pen from your hand. You watch as he scribbles on it and hands it back to you. 

“So this is where I’ll be tonight,” he says. “You said eight works for you?”  

You press your tongue to the inside of your cheek, unsure if you’ve ever met anyone as imperious as this. You slip the card into your pocket and move to walk past him, stopping as your shoulders brush and looking up at him. 

“I hope your dick is as inflated as your ego.”

He smirks to himself, remaining quiet as you continue to walk away. 

Your skirt is riding up your backside. You reach back to yank it down for the hundredth time before pressing the buzzer on the wall of the apartment building. The setting sun is just a glow beneath the horizon but the streets are still busy, the air warm with a pleasant breeze. You lean back to stare up at the building, the mirrored windows stretching so high you can’t see an end to them. You wonder which one is his. 

There’s a scratching sound on the intercom, followed by a deep voice. “Yeah?” 

“It’s me,” you say, glancing over your shoulders as if you’re on some kind of secret mission, scared of being seen. 

He doesn’t speak again, instead there’s a quick buzz followed by the click of the heavy front door. You let yourself inside, heels clacking against the glossy marble floor as you hurry towards the elevators. When the doors slide open, you pull out your business card, punch in the floor number he’d scrawled in the bottom corner. It begins to ascend, making your already swirling stomach turn. 

You pull down the back of your skirt again as you step out into the hall, peering down the length of it in search of his apartment. The door is tall and wide, dark timber and a heavy metallic handle. You knock but your knuckles barely make a sound, the dense wood swallowing the echo. 

Still, he comes. You regard him quietly as you step inside, the snug sweater and tailored jeans, a pair of sneakers making you feel entirely overdressed. He’s already grinning; a smug, confident smile that reignites the ire in your chest. You ignore him and walk further in, eyes wide in awe at the vast, industrial space.

You walk over to the window that stretches the length of the apartment, floor to ceiling, wall to wall, framing a perfect snapshot of the city. 

“Now I understand why you make the women come to you,” you say. 

“Hm?” 

“This place. It’s impressive.” You glance over your shoulder at him. “That’s the point, right? You like to impress. To show off.”  

He laughs quietly and makes his way to the kitchen area, opening the extensive liquor cabinet. “You want something to drink?” 

“I have rules,” you say abruptly, turning around to face him from across the echoey room.

He straightens. “Go on…” 

“Nothing that happens here can be used for any type of professional leverage, good or bad, by either of us.” 

“Of course-”

“This isn’t a date. I don’t spend the night, I don’t keep in touch, I don’t call when I’m back in town so we can do this again. This is just tonight. And it’s just sex. Understood?” 

“Understood.” He returns to the cabinet and takes out a bottle. “So, about that drink…”

You’re already gone, wandering off through a door at the rear of the apartment in search of the bedroom. 

You find it. It’s a dark, cave-like space, large curtains draped across another huge window, only the faintest glow of the sunset fighting through the fabric. It’s clinical, just as you’d expect from a surgeon; sleek furniture void of any clutter or knick knacks, exposed brick walls with the occasional piece of art - no photographs. There’s a full length mirror, a small couch, and a bed so large you could sink into it and disappear. You wonder just how many women have delved beneath those sheets before you. 

He appears in the doorway, looking you up and down. “You’re eager, little one,” he teases.

You roll your eyes, watching as he closes the door behind him and approaches you. You reach up to touch him, to kiss him, but instead he takes your wrists in his hands and lowers them back to your sides. 

“Mm, not yet.” 

You scoff in dispute, eyes following him as he strolls across the room and switches on the wall sconces, illuminating the area above the bed in a dim, warm light. 

“Look,” you say. “If you’re just going to mess with me then-”

“Well actually, after you left the hospital this afternoon, I got called to consult on a patient and ended up having to stay late. I just got home around fifteen minutes before you knocked on my door. So if you don’t mind, I would like to take a shower first. Is that alright with you?” he finishes sarcastically. 

You settle down, composing yourself and relaxing your shoulders. “Of course.” 

“Make yourself comfortable.” 

He pushes open a door to the right and you catch a glimpse of the luxurious, marbled master bathroom as he steps inside. The door closes behind him, leaving you alone again. You stand there for a moment, listening to him whistling to himself, his belt buckle unfastening and hitting the floor. Water bursts from the shower, the sound like soft static, and you immediately rush over to the mirror. 

You examine yourself carefully; fix your hair, press your nose to your skin and clothes, shift your underwear so it sits smoothly and undetectable beneath your skirt. Then you sit down at the foot of the bed, knee bouncing impatiently. You change your mind shortly after, moving to the small couch opposite the bed instead. 

Ten minutes or so pass, but it feels like an eternity. You picture him drawing it out on purpose, working the lather into his skin one section at a time, scrubbing at his hair for much longer than necessary, just to make you sweat. The water shuts off and you listen to him singing to himself, the hum of his voice through the door. When the door finally opens, steam escapes into the bedroom, the rich smell of citrus and cedar filling the air as he walks out, still humming quietly. 

You glance over at him, mouth falling open slightly to find him completely naked, your gaze falling immediately to the pronounced length hanging from his body as he pads across the room. You look away quickly, rolling your eyes and huffing with indignation. Of course he’s naked, you think, he likes to spar, and you’ve willingly stepped into the ring.

Droplets sit on his shoulders and roll down his torso as he moves around the bed. He climbs on and lays down right in the middle, hands resting behind his head, propped up slightly on the headboard. His hair is still damp, half-coiffed, the grey at his temples darker than it was before. His body is solid, the mystery beneath the scrubs now revealed to you in all its glory. His arms are thick as they flex either side of his head, divots of muscle creating shadows across his torso, cock resting proudly on his thigh as he parts his legs in wait. He’s exquisite, and you can’t help but bask in the sight. 

“So,” he says casually. “Are you just going to stay over there looking at me? Or are you going to come and sit on my face?” 

You glare at him, unamused. 

“What?” he shrugs gently. “You’re the one that said this was strictly sex. Forgive me for abiding by your rules.” 

“There’s a word for that, you know,” you reply. “Malicious compliance.”

“Mm, is it really malicious if I’m offering to eat you out?”

“Depends how good you are at it.” 

“Come here and find out.”  There’s no humour in his tone, but it’s still playful, like he’s goading you. 

You stand up and take a step towards the bed. 

“Clothes,” he demands. 

You stop, pressing your lips together tightly. His eyes never leave you, remaining locked on yours as you kick off your shoes and untuck your top from the waistband of your skirt. 

“They should study you,” you say. 

“Study me?” 

“Yeah.” You lift your top over your head and throw it to the floor, reaching down to unzip your skirt. “Look into how one singular person could possibly be such an ass.” 

“Clearly there’s a part of you that likes it, y’know, since you’re here… taking your clothes off for me.”

“What can I say? I’m partial to a surgeon. Think it’s the hands.” 

The skirt pools at your feet and you step out of it, extending your arms as if to say ‘ta da’. He smiles. 

No one has ever looked at you like this. So intense, like he’s studying every inch; relishing in every freckle and blemish, every curve and crease, mapping out the places he plans to touch, taste, explore. 

You continue towards him but he raises his palm, halting you again. “You haven’t finished,” he says. 

You glance down at yourself, then back up to him, letting out a grumbling sigh as you reach behind you to unclasp your bra. It pops open, the release of pressure on your skin as soothing as a deep breath. His gaze darkens as you slide the straps off your shoulders, watching your nipples harden as you reveal your bare breasts to him. 

“These too?” you ask, hooking your thumbs into the waistline of your underwear. 

“Mhm.” 

You take them off as gracefully as you can, shimmying them over your hips and thighs and kicking them away. His cock is hardening, swelling and rising towards his stomach. Your mouth twitches with a triumphant smile, but you suppress it as you climb onto the bed, crawling up to meet him. 

You lean down and press your lips to his, feeling your skin prick, arousal kindling in your core. His mouth is smart, but it’s also divine. The feeling intensifies, spreading through your belly and pounding between your legs as you sweep your tongue into his open mouth, feel his restraint wavering as your hot breaths mingle. You let your chest press against his, the feeling of skin on skin making you burn with need. 

You bring a hand up to his face, he brings his to your throat, bracketing it gently and peeling his mouth from yours. 

“I didn’t tell you to kiss me,” he says quietly. “I told you to sit on my face.” 

You pull back a little more, making eye contact, breathless as a million comebacks shutter through your mind. But in the end you say nothing, letting out a soft huff and slowly shifting your body up the bed.

You hold the top of the extravagant headboard with both hands and swing one leg over him, straddling his shoulders as his fingers reach up behind you to the small of your back. His touch is electric, lips searing as they plant a kiss on your inner thigh. A soft whimper escapes you in a breath, as though anticipation is its own foreplay. 

He wraps his arms around the backs of your thighs and pulls you down onto his mouth. Your grip tightens on the headboard, fingernails digging into the soft, cushiony fabric as he parts his lips against your centre, sucking softly on your already throbbing clit. Your head falls back when his tongue drags up the length of your slit, moulding itself to every pucker and groove, lapping you up like he adores you, and you wonder how many women have fallen for him in these moments. 

You groan quietly, closing your eyes as you focus on the flicks and strokes of his tongue, the sucking and swirling, the hums deep in his throat and he devours you. Your clit is sensitive, making you shudder, the pleasure so intense you can barely stand it. Your body raises up instinctively, but he tightens his hold on you, spitting on your clit and returning his mouth to the place that both aches and sings, somehow at the same time. 

You gasp in response, eyelids fluttering as you swear under your breath. He releases one of your thighs and you glance over your shoulder to see his hand wrapping around his cock. He begins to stroke it forcefully, working himself to the rhythm of his mouth, and you almost fall to pieces. 

“Oh my god,” you moan, slumping forward and pressing your forehead to the headboard. 

Your thighs clamp around his head, but it only spurs him on, making him bury his face deeper, and you can’t remember the last time he came up for air.

“I can’t,” you whisper. 

The nerves in your clit are screaming, dancing on the precipice between pain and pleasure. He continues to lap at your centre, pushing you to the edge until you’re clinging on for dear life. Pressure swells in your core, flooding you with a tingling heat that softens your bones and turns you to liquid. Until finally you’re there, falling, melting. 

He growls as your body begins to shake, working his tongue over you one last time before releasing you from his grasp. You collapse next to him, sliding down the pillows until you’re lying at his side. You’re breathless, chest rising and falling heavily as you stare up at the ceiling. 

He rolls onto his side to face you. “You’re quiet when you come,” he says, placing a kiss into the crook of your neck, another at the dip of your collarbone.  

“I’ve spent the past two years practically living in hotel rooms,” you reply. “I’ve learned to be inconspicuous.” 

“Hm.” He props himself up on his forearm and leans over you, his other hand trailing softly down the side of your body. “Let’s see if we can do something about that.” 

Before you can reply, he’s kissing you. His mouth is slick, it tastes of you. Your body is spent, limbs heavy, yet still you find it responding to his touch. He shifts further onto you, spreading your legs with his hands and settling himself between them. You can feel his cock nudging your centre as he rocks his hips, sliding along the soaking wet mess he left there and brushing his head over your clit. It’s sensitive, raw, makes you gasp. But he swallows the sound with a heady kiss.

He’s big. Thick. Hard. Maybe that’s where he stores his arrogance. He continues to tease you, soaking himself in the mix of spit and slick as he wraps his hands around your neck, kisses you so deeply you can feel him drawing a moan from your throat.

He pulls away and looks down at you for a moment. “Condom?” he asks casually.

You’re on the pill. Have been since you were seventeen. But still, you know you should say yes. Yesterday, this man was a stranger; a face you only knew from TV and the medical articles you’d read.

“No.” You shake your head and reach down, gripping his cock and directing it into you.

He chuckles, the sound deep and low. “What a good girl.” 

You sigh as he teases at your entrance, pushing the head of his cock in and out but never breaking all the way through. 

“Were you thinking about this today in the meeting?” he taunts softly. 

You groan and buck your hips, desperate for him to take you. 

He eases back slightly and tuts. “I saw you squirming in your seat. How hot and flustered you got when I looked at you. Tell me how much you wanted this.” 

“What I wanted,” you begin quietly. “Was to wring your neck.” 

The corner of his mouth curls into a smirk. “Really…” 

“Really.” 

He squeezes his fingers gently around your throat and you exhale softly. The desire is almost painful, your core throbbing, pussy aching. 

“Funny how things work out,” he says. 

You let out a stifled moan as he sinks into you, filling you so completely you’re certain you can’t take it.

“That’s it,” he mutters as he looks down, watching his cock disappear all the way to the hilt. 

You whimper and tighten around him. He sucks the air in through his teeth, returning his gaze to your eyes with a mischievous smile. 

“I’m gonna need you to not do that,” he says. “You’ll have me finishing in seconds.” 

“Are you telling me the great Doctor Stephen Strange lacks self discipline?” You contract your walls again, this time on purpose.

He bows, forehead resting on your chest, and growls deep in the back of his throat. Then suddenly, without warning, he draws his hips back and buries himself in you again. You gasp, fingers digging into the blades of his shoulders as he repeats his thrusts, building to a firm, steady rhythm. 

A small cry escapes you; a sound you’ve never heard yourself make before. He hums in response, keeping you pinned to the bed with his hands around your neck as he snaps his hips, punishing you from the inside out. 

“Wrap those legs around my back,” he demands. 

You do as you’re told, locking your ankles and gasping as he sinks further, the head of his cock kissing the deepest parts of you and sending jolts of pure electricity through your stomach. 

“You’re going to break me,” you whisper.

“Not this time. Maybe later,” he replies, still so arrogant it makes you want to reach up and slap him. 

But your hands are stuck to his back, nails digging into the smooth, taut flesh. Another unfamiliar sound falls from your lips, somewhere between a grunt and a hum. He likes it, you can tell in the way he closes his eyes to compose himself.

“Jesus,” he hisses.

His movements begin to stutter and he rests his forehead against yours. You feel his cock throbbing, your pussy growing wetter until it’s dripping. He lets out a long, satisfied groan and begins to slow down, every rock of his hips like the promise of another climax. 

“Don’t stop,” you whisper desperately. “Please don’t stop, I’m so close.”

He doesn’t open his eyes, but still he obliges; continuing to stroke into you as you squirm beneath him.

“Oh god,” you groan. “Harder. I need- harder.” 

He grunts, screwing his eyes shut tightly, and begins pounding his cock into you with such force you can feel your body shifting up the mattress. You know he already came, you know how sensitive he must be. But somehow, knowing that makes this all the more delicious.

The electricity builds again, every thrust like a lightning strike through your core. Your legs begin to shake and you finally let go, giving in to the current and letting it course through you. Your orgasm is intense, sharp and tingly, making you shudder, body stiffening until it passes. 

He slows to a stop, resting his full weight on top of you. You welcome the pressure, like a weighted blanket; warm and grounding, soothing the ache beginning to settle in your limbs. 

After a few moments, he slides out of you carefully, rolling over to lie at your side. “You want that drink now?” he asks. 

Hair sticks to your forehead with sweat, you brush it back, sucking in deep breaths as you stare up at the ceiling. “No, I’m good.” 

Silence envelops you, neither one of you speaking again until your hearts stop thumping. 

“So… I guess this means you’re going to approve the training for my method,” he says. 

You turn your head, glaring at him in stunned silence. 

“I’m kidding,” he says with a smile, greatly amusing himself. 

“God, surgeons are assholes,” you mutter.

[ilovegrumpyoldmen]

LOGAN HOWLETT X M!READER

PART TWO: PICK UP THE PHONE.

Btw: I won’t publish another part for a little while, I’m gonna be busy and I’m not feeling great.ALSO!!!! I’m making a tag list, if you want to be on it pls dm me!

————————————————————

I got back to my dingy ass apartment and flopped onto the couch, the drinks I had not quite sitting right. I groaned and fumbled my phone out of my pocket, causing the tissue with Logan's number to fall on the floor. "Ah shit." I grumbled, right, I have to actually talk to people to go out with them. Boo.

I picked up the tissue and typed in the number, pressing call. It rang... then again... and kept ringing until it sent me to voicemail. "Hey, this is Logan. M' busy so just leave a message nd' I'll get back to ya." His gruff voice was oddly soothing. "Hey," I cleared my throat. "It's Y/N, from the bar. I was just calling to see if you got home safe." I hung up, hoping for a call back.

Before I knew it I had dozed off while watching Gossip Girl. When I woke up I tried checking the time, picking up my phone only to realize it's dead. "Fuck me." I groaned and got up, grunting. I stumbled over to the outlet with my charger plugged in. I plugged in my phone and sat by the wall since the charger couldn't reach the couch. After a few seconds the phone powered on. There was two notifications on my home screen, 35 Missed Calls from "Logan" and a text that read "Pick up the phone bub."

“Fuck fuck fuck.” I frantically pressed call. It barely even rang before Logan picked up. “Fuck, bub why didn’t you answer any of my calls. Scared the shit outta me.” He growled. “Sorry, I fell asleep.” I heard Logan groan quietly. “I thought you were in trouble.” He said quietly. “I left you a voicemail??” Did it not send? I was sure I sent it. “Huh? The fuck is a voicemail??” Logan growled.

I burst into laughter. “Oh my god!!! How old are you?!” I snickered “Over 200, bub.” He sounded dead serious. “Oh.” I mumbled. 200??? Really??! Shit, that’s a lot older than me. I heard him speak but I wasn’t actually listening. “Bub? Hello?? You there?” He tried alerting me, I quickly hung up. What the fuck am I getting myself into?! He’s OVER 200 years old?!?!

[iceiclehorned]

starter for @crimsononiarataki

A few months had passed since the ending of the Vision Hunt Decree, and the difference in the people was undeniable. Spending day after day walking through the city, graciously greeting people from other nations around Teyvat, learning more about the cultures they have, and having that chance to go to Fontaine with her big brother had been everything Kamisato Ayaka had ever dreamed of. The lockdown had encouraged a depressive cloud to rain over the heads of all who had been locked within Inazuma, which had only left a weight over her heart.

Considering it had also impacted her favourite oni, Arataki Itto.

Granted, there would never be a shred of an outward appearance of entrapment, but she knew that the way he had been treated so viciously must have left some part of him scathed, right? Seeing somebody so expressive and witnessing that beauty firsthand was enough to lure her into spending time with him, her brother and Thoma. Her heart always warmed as the four of them experienced many adventures, even if they weren't deemed as grand as the traveller's. The memories were always replayed in her mind just before she fell asleep each night.

On this day in particular, the Shirasagi Himegimi had managed to get the day free from all responsibility whilst Kamisato Ayato and Thoma went into town to run some errands together. She knew that they would be gone a while, so she decided to grab the latest book she had purchased from the Yae Publishing House and opted to find a nice resting place outside, preferably under a big tree -- after all, the sun's gaze made her feel like a popsicle.

A few feet outside of the front gates, and her eyes seemed to fall upon the white haired oni she had been thinking about just moments before. Coincidences were not usually something she pieced together, but perhaps this truly was one? With an even stride, she closes the gap between them, her head moves itself back in order to even look at him.

"Itto... what a pleasant surprise," her soft voice calls to him, a fondness to it that could not be mistaken. "Is there something I can help you with?"

[alexawynters]

Scarlet Whispers - pt 2

Gif not mine

A/N: Not sure about the formatting, copy and paste didn't quite work out as planned. Title subject to change, not sure how I feel about it. This is my first published fic here so pls be gentle. Also I'm terrible at summaries.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female!Reader

Trigger warnings (let me know if I forgot to tag anything): Mentions of past child abuse, ongoing adult child abuse, stalking, horror, dubcon, kidnapping, stockholm syndrome, gaslighting, angst, smut. There will be bits of fluff tho.

Rating: M. Minors DNI

Master list here

You miss your stop.

Not only do you miss your stop, but you end up all the way at the bus depot before the driver notices you passed out in one of the seats. The driver, a kindly older gentleman, offers to give you a lift home since it is the end of his shift anyway. He takes pity on you, perhaps due to your tired and sad appearance. Interestingly, no one seems to notice the red wisps behind his eyes.

You appreciate his kindness, but you are anxious about returning home. A quick look at your phone reveals that it is well past 6 PM and you have missed multiple calls and texts from both of your parents. This is not going to end well. In simple terms, you are fucked. Fortunately, the man doesn't seem to notice your restlessness as your leg bounces nervously as he gets closer to your home.

As you exit the vehicle, you politely thank him and offer to pay for the gas, but the man refuses. His accent changes slightly as he says, "anything to help." You shrug it off, as it is not your concern where people are from. Your focus is on more pressing matters. After closing the door, you square your shoulders and mentally prepare for the absolute shit show awaiting you as soon as you step through the front door.

It shouldn’t surprise you that your father’s booming voice is the first to be heard. “Where were you?”

You start with the truth. “Dad I’m sorry, I was on the bus after my exam, I fell asleep with my headphones-”

”I don’t want your excuses! While you live here under our roof, you will show us some respect, you will follow our rules! You had chores to do today, why didn’t you do them?”

A bead of sweat trails down the back of your neck. You hate being interrupted, and you hate being asked questions when they clearly don’t want the answers. Besides, you are in your twenties, not a child. “As I was saying, I-”

This time your mother interrupts. “Don’t speak to your father like that. He asked you a question, we expect you to answer it!.”

You grit your teeth. “I fell asleep on the bus, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“Always with the excuses this one.” Your father laments. “Do you think your future employer is going to care about any of that? No. He’s just going to want to know why you weren’t there.”

It takes every ounce of your sanity to not snap that your answer is the reason WHY you weren’t there, and not simply an excuse. Instead you hold your tongue. They aren’t here to listen, they don’t care. They just want to yell at you, and for you to be sorry.

“I tell you, with behavior like that it’s any wonder at all you’d even be able to keep a job. They would probably fire you on the spot, and then you would be right back on our doorstep, our problem once again to pick up the pieces.”

It’s all hypothetical of course - you’ve never been late to any of your classes, but you have not yet had a job, you weren’t allowed to. You are sure you wouldn’t be late to it though if you were to treat it like your classes. You know you can’t tell your parents this however. Might as well bite the bullet and get it over with.

“Yes Dad, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? Saying sorry simply doesn't cut it! Sorry doesn’t fix the problem that you caused, so tell me, how are you going to make the problem right?” he demands. A vein throbs in his forehead. Absently you think about how he knows he should watch his blood pressure, but that would require him to watch his temper. Y/D/N could never.

You know what he is looking for, he wants you to do your chores now, but it’s after 8PM and your exam is at 8AM. If you do your chores now, that leaves you little time for last minute studying, eating, bathing, sleeping, and then catching the bus back to the university. Helplessly, you look to your mother for help.

“Don’t look at me, this is your mess you’ve created. If you had just done what you were supposed to, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. If you had just been good, you could be doing whatever it is you do with your free time right now.”

It had always annoyed you greatly that your parents were unaware of your academic achievements. While it's true that you didn't have the best grades as a child, once you entered university and chose a major, you became a straight-A student, even going so far as to make the President’s list the last three years in a row. However, in their eyes, you would always be the little underachiever they had to take care of.

Tears well up in your eyes. This situation wasn't fair. It was an accident. You had fully intended to come home and do your chores, but you couldn’t have known you would sleep through your alarm on the bus. You had been so incredibly exhausted that you experienced a vivid nightmare whilst awake. You were aware that you needed more sleep, but your degree was your only way out of this miserable place. You couldn't risk losing it all just because you missed a few hours of sleep now and then.

“Please?” You beg. You didn’t have anything else to argue in your defense. “I’ll leave my headphones in my bag this time, I’ll set multiple alarms, I won’t sleep, just please let me go study!”

Your parents look at each other, having silent communication. Seeming to come to an agreement, your mother speaks first. “Y/N we’re sorry it has to be this way, but you have already proven on multiple occasions that we can’t trust you to do the right thing. Tonight, you are going to do your chores even if it takes you all night to do it. Besides, we all know you’re not studying up there. For all we know you’re just up there masturbating in the window or something.”

Being stabbed in the chest would have been less painful. You don't understand why you're caught off guard; it's not like your mother hasn't said off the wall shit like this in the past. It's almost as if she thrives on finding the most hurtful and outrageous statements to throw in your face, as if you deserved them. As if you had ever done any of the things she accused you of. Like you were some sort of deviant, when all you wanted was simply the right to exist.

“What the actual fuck, Mom?!” you scream, having finally had enough. Both of your parents look taken aback. Rare is it for you to raise your voice at them, even more so to curse at them. “I know you’ve been pretty checked out of my life for a while now, but I’ve had a 4.0 GPA for the last three years. I don’t know where you got that… comment… from, but I can assure you that all I want to do is go to my room and study.”

“Now listen here young lady,” begins your father.

"No, YOU listen, Father," your voice dripping with sarcasm. “You were right about one thing, and that is I am a gods damned adult. I take my studies seriously, and while it may come as a surprise to you since neither of you have paid any actual attention to my life since I turned 18, though it could be argued you really stopped paying attention earlier except for when I was being an inconvenience, but I am actually a great student. This is my last semester before graduating with honors and again, a 4.0 GPA, and I will have my choice of job opportunities. I will leave this place, and you miserable old bats will have no one to be your punching bag anymore. Then maybe just maybe you can finally take a look at the flaws and fix what's wrong with your own marriage, instead of trying to break ME!”

Your chest heaved. It felt good to speak your truth, but as the silence grew, you began to realize that you might have made a mistake.

Your father has finally gotten out of his chair, looming over you. A resounding slap echoes across the room as your father backhanded you, knocking you to the floor. “You ungrateful, miserable little bitch! I don’t know what lies those ‘professors’ at the university have been filling your head with, but you have no future, and you are lucky your mother and I care enough to let you live under our roof! And so long as you do, you will obey our rules, and show us the respect we deserve!”

Fearful, you scramble back to the wall and attempt to push yourself to your feet. “If that’s the price of living here, then I will happily live in the University’s library. One week, that’s all I need!” You step forward to make your escape from this house, but this time your mother shoves you, and once again you find yourself on your knees.

You raise your hands in self-defense, but your mother sneers, "Do it, Y/N, hit me, and you'll be out on your ass faster than you can blink!" Crying, you lower your hands and prepare to allow her to strike you.

The lights went out all at once, and everyone froze. Has the power gone out? It couldn’t have, you could still hear the hum of the AC unit. So what was wrong with the lights?

The lights turn back on as suddenly as they had gone out, and all three of you look around in confusion. However, despite the lights returning, the room appears darker, creating an almost eerie atmosphere. The shadows cast a looming presence over all of you, sending a shiver up your spine. Your home, which you have lived in for around twenty ish years, suddenly feels foreboding, and you wonder if it's too late to flee. It almost resembles one of the nightmares you have been experiencing recently.

Red mist fills the room, a dreadfully sinister voice speaks. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

All three of you turn to the source of the sound - the corner of the room, as a red and black leather-clad boot, attached to black leather pants, steps through a portal and into the room. The Scarlet Witch follows, radiating her full glory. She warns, "If you wish to keep your body parts intact, you will never lay a finger on Y/N ever again."

You’re pretty sure your eyebrows have never been closer to meeting your hairline before and yet here we are. You don’t know who this unfamiliar lady is, nor how she seems to know you but God damned if that outfit doesn’t look as if it has been painted onto her. You blush at your sinful thoughts. Now is not the time, and you’re pretty sure you’re having a stroke of some sort. If nothing else, however, you are grateful for the reprieve from your beating.

Meanwhile, your parents had never taken well to being told what to do, by anyone, they certainly weren’t going to now by this costumed stranger. Your mother bristles. “Who is this Y/N? Another one of your little whores?” Completely disregarding the fact that you have never in fact had a partner in your entire life, and you don’t know whether to be pleased that she seems to think you’re capable of having a sex life or affronted that she thinks you’re some type of floozy. Your mother’s words, not yours.

“What? No, I-” You look helplessly from the floor between your parents and this woman you now recognize as the one from your visions, and the same one from your hallucination this morning. Is she here to help, or to hurt you? She has been your savior and aggressor in both; there’s no telling which she has chosen for now. Glancing between them, you are unsure how to de-escalate this situation. There is no way to convince your parents, for their own safety, that this woman is powerful and not to be trifled with. Nothing you could say, they would believe, and you were pretty sure this woman would kill your parents without a second thought if they didn’t tread carefully.

Seeming to sense your struggle, the woman speaks up in your stead. “As I’ve said, you would do well to keep your hands to yourself. I am here to take Y/N with me, and you will not stand in my way. This is your only warning, which I am giving to you out of consideration for Y/N.”

She reaches down for your hand to help you back up. Hesitantly, you take it, ignoring the shock that runs throughout your body, and begin questioning your entire reality. Take you with her? Who even is she? Where exactly is she going to be taking you? You had questions, and you would like some answers, but if you didn’t get your parents to stand down, you were pretty sure she would follow through on her threat. Sure, your parents were trash, but they were all you had. You loved them, and you were certain that, in their own warped way, they loved you, too.

She helps you up and proceeds to give you a thorough once-over, carefully inspecting your injuries. Her intense scrutiny makes you blush. Meanwhile, your parents remain silent, their thinly veiled anger evident as they observe your interaction. How dare this woman speak to them in such a manner? Thankfully, they wisely choose to keep quiet. Perhaps they also sense the dangerous aura emanating from this woman, perceiving her as a true threat. Then again, it could be due to the fact that she just stepped through a literal portal conjured out of thin air moments ago. Maybe they had been paying attention, but even you are unsure of what is real anymore.

Still holding your hand, the Scarlet Witch leads you back towards the portal she arrived through. "Come, Y/N, we have much to discuss." At this point, all you could do was helplessly trail after, hoping you weren't going from bad to worse. At least by leaving, your parents would be out of danger. As for yourself, well... It was clear that the Scarlet Witch wanted something from you. Hopefully, whatever that was would be sufficient to ensure your survival. Perhaps even enough to negotiate with.

At the last possible moment, your mother chooses, whether out of genuine love and concern for your well-being, or fear at the loss of her control over you, to reach out to take you from this bizarre woman. “Mother, no!”

Y/M/N finds herself promptly flung onto the wall behind her, and stuck there, unable to move. You aren’t sure who exactly screamed but you’re pretty sure it was every member of your family. The Scarlet Witch hadn’t even turned to look, the only indication she had even been involved is the raised hand, opposite the one holding yours, with dark, ink-stained fingertips, bent at slightly odd angles.

“Stop, please! Let her go, she won’t do it again, please! I'm sorry, please!”

Unsure of why you are begging for this woman’s life when she has spent the entirety of yours making sure you were miserable. Still, your heart lurched at the thought of anything happening to your mother. You didn’t like her, and if you never saw her again, that was probably for the best, but you certainly didn’t want anything bad to happen to her.

The Witch took a deep breath, seemingly to calm herself, before turning to face you.

In the softest voice you had ever heard she whispers “Detka, I-.” She opens and closes her mouth a few times, deciding what to say. To your absolute mortification and delight, she leans down to place a gentle kiss on your forehead, and promises “I will let them live, but I must say my piece.”

You nod, completely dumbstruck at everything happening in this moment. What. The. Fuck.

Y/M/N, still pinned to the wall, whimpers and struggles to move but is clearly unable to. The Scarlet Witch turns from you to face your parents. Another wave of her hand, and your mother slumps to the floor, alarmed, but otherwise unharmed. It is clear whatever the witch did, both she and your father are now restrained.

Footsteps approach the pair, and the lights in the house flickered ominously. Despite your mother being nearly 40 years older than her (or so you assumed, as you had no idea of this woman's age), the power emanating from her exuded confident malevolence. She showed no fear towards them, and for once, although ashamed to admit it, you were glad to see that they were afraid of someone else.

Though she was only about 5'6", the woman knelt before your parents, her voice filled with menacing intent. "I know everything you have ever done, everything you ever could do, and everything you ever will do. I know what you are guilty of. I know what you deserve, and I can assure you that it is not mercy. I will spare your lives and leave you unharmed due to the kindness of your daughter, the daughter you’ve abused for decades." As her head tilts, you can't help but feel that she becomes even more dangerous. "But if you ever try to take her from me again, I will seek retribution on her behalf, and I promise you it will be the most excruciating agony you have ever experienced. Do we understand each other?"

You squirm uncomfortably. This should not be doing things to you, but then again, no one had ever stood up for you. Ever. Gods you needed therapy. It’s fine. Little boxes, and this was for a little box for later.

The witch stood up and once again took your hand, leading you through the portal and leaving your parents behind. Perhaps for good, you weren’t entirely sure, and you suddenly realized you didn’t care. Anywhere was better than here; even if this woman was dangerous, at least for the moment, she seemed to care about you, and that was enough for you to follow her to the ends of the earth.

Again, therapy…

The pair arrive at a massive stone temple, which you would later learn is called Mount Wundagore, the Scarlet Witch's temple. It is built into a massive, rugged mountain with steep cliffs, situated above dense forests and enveloped in mist. The mountain exudes an air of mystique and possesses an eerie atmosphere. Scattered across its walls are depictions of the woman in front of you, accompanied by various runes whose significance you suppose hint at a potentially supernatural importance.

The Scarlet Witch does not make much of an effort for introductions, nor explanations, simply heads towards the entrance to her temple.

“What is this place?” you ask, hints of awe and fear in your voice

“Our home.” 

Your brain stutters. “I’m sorry, what now?” 

“Detka, do not pretend you did not hear me, I don’t enjoy repeating myself. This is our home.” Her accent sounds vaguely Eastern European, and becomes more pronounced the more irritated she is. You wonder when she started trying to hide it.

Your mind balks at the idea of this being your new home, it couldn’t be less foreboding. “Uhhh… this.. is a giant stone temple in BFE nowhere, with ice, snow, and-”

Movement startles you out of your reverie. Beings made entirely out of stone shift from foot to foot, as if adjusting their stance. Their eyes have the same red glow as the woman who leads you now.  

 “Are those rock trolls??” The stone guardians loom threatening, but make no move to engage, they await their Queen’s orders. “Right. Rock trolls. Why is this our home? WHERE is our home? And,” you spin, taking the aesthetic of the temple in, trying not to have an anxiety attack. “What do you mean -our- home? Who are you, and what do you want with me?”

You can’t tell if the faint twitch of the other woman’s lips is in amusement or annoyance at your ramblings, but in your defense, she had let you speak uninterrupted. You were known for getting entire paragraphs out if left unsupervised - it was a talent and a curse. Personally you felt she should be grateful you weren’t jumping down her throat, you didn’t know anyone else who would be taking this half as calmly as you were. Then again, you were still waiting on your Hogwarts acceptance letter at 25. 

“My name is..” she hesitated. “Wanda. I am.. I was an Avenger.”

You looked on blankly, hoping she would elaborate. The fuck was an “Avenger”?

"In my universe," (you filed away the fact that she implied the existence of a multiverse for later, as it was a problem for another time) "the Avengers are superheroes. Well, that's what we called ourselves - Earth's Mightiest Heroes. A bit arrogant, if you ask me. We dealt with threats that the military and ordinary people couldn't handle. We were the last line of defense. We saved the world countless times, but at a great cost of lives. We were vain, thinking we were above it all because we believed we were acting for the greater good. But try explaining that to those who were lost as collateral damage.

I digress. We.. were considered to be heroes. There were several of us, we were a team. A family. We lived together, fought together. Died together. Until we didn’t.”

Wanda explains the dynamics of the Avengers team, including how she and her brother Pietro joined. She mentions Pietro's death in the battle against Ultron, as well as the events leading up to and the battle against Thanos. She also covers the events of the “Blip”, and what happened afterward. However, she conveniently chooses to omit the events of Westview, as she didn't want you to know about that just yet.

“That’s.. wow. Wanda, that's a lot. Honestly, if I hadn’t seen your powers myself, I wouldn’t believe you. But all of that still doesn’t explain why you’re here. You mentioned your universe as being so fantastical, why would you come here? And what do you want with me? If you’re a hero, why are you here in what totally looks like a villain’s lair and not with your other superhero buddies?” You neglect to mention the unease creeping up your spine.

This is fine. Everything is fine. Right? Right. 

A look of utter despair crosses the witches face as she locks eyes with you before glancing away.

“I mentioned my team before, but I didn’t mention you.”

“…” You slow blink. This was not how you thought your day was going to go, and honestly, you were already getting a bit of a headache. Could she be less cryptic because that would be great. More details, fewer questions. Maybe another nap.

"Y/N, where I am from, you were also an Avenger. You had joined the team before Pietro and I, and were one of the few who made us feel welcome. Despite the fact that we had previously been enemies, you didn't treat us as ticking time bombs. Instead, you welcomed us with open arms. Your go-to tactics were kindness and understanding, which made it hard not to want to get to know you. When Pietro died, you were the only one who checked on me and cared. You taught me that grief is just love persevering. You became my closest friend, and over time, I couldn't help when those feelings began growing into something more.”

You swallow uncomfortably. It sounds like Wanda is telling you that in this other universe you both were an item. It’s not that you wouldn’t be honored to be with such an attractive woman, but it feels weird knowing that that was a different version of you. Someone with superpowers, someone likely more confident by the sounds of it. This feels almost as if you are intruding on something you shouldn’t, yet Wanda is the one telling you this; if it weren’t okay for you to know, she surely wouldn’t be sharing. You don’t really know what to make of this; if she has feelings for this other you, why is she here with this version of you?

“In the battle against Thanos, we learned that the source of your powers was an infinity stone embedded in your skull courtesy of H.Y.D.R.A. experiments, which altered your genetic DNA. Thanos had also learned you possessed this Mind Stone and sought to take it from you by force.”

Anguish on her features, the witch turns to you. “You were going to die, Y/N. We tried, I tried, so hard to protect you, to keep you away from him but at every turn he found you. If he had gotten the Mind Stone, he would have been able to enact his plan to rid the universe of half of all life. You told me.” She hiccups.

“Y-you told me it was okay, that you forgive me. That I needed to.. that I needed to destroy the stone to save the universe. I didn’t want to. I would have given anything else but that. But you held my hand and told me you forgave me, that you only felt me. Then Thanos came, and we were out of time. I was the only one with the power to do it because its magic was so similar to my own. I placed my hand to your head and I-.” She is unable to continue, breaking off into sobs.

Oh. So she had to sacrifice you to save the universe. Well. You agree with the alternate you, you didn’t blame her, and you would definitely forgive her. Awkwardly you try to find some way to comfort her. While obviously you were not the same person she had loved and lost, and you knew from your own experiences with loss that sometimes words just couldn’t cut it. Instead, you shuffle forward, making sure you were heard in case she wanted to refuse you, and pullher  in for a hug.

Wanda tenses in your embrace, as if she can’t decide if she wants to sink into it or send you flying. “The worst part,” she continues, “was that it meant nothing.”

If you were a dog your head tilt might have been cute.

“In the end, Thanos was still able to get the Mind Stone, and you were still dead, by MY hand, and it all meant NOTHING!” Wanda wrenches herself from your grasp, looking positively unhinged. You probably should have been scared. You weren’t. Her wrath did… things… to you. Therapy…

“All because Strange saw supposedly every possible future and CHOSE to let you die to save everyone else. As if there was no other possible outcome!”

Oh, that... that makes more sense. The other you was still dead, and Wanda was definitely suffering from PTSD from her involvement in it. Her little stunt with your parents was probably her way of trying to save you or bring you back to life. But in your universe, there weren't any superheroes, magic, or Thanos to protect you from (that you were aware of at any rate). So what was Wanda doing? This wouldn't bring her version of you back to life. You may have looked and sounded alike, and you might have made similar decisions, but you simply weren't the same person. The lack of the same life experiences meant that you had different personalities, despite having a similar genetic build.

“So we saved the world, and I left to live in exile. After the funeral, Clint handed me your belongings, and in them was a letter. A deed to a plot of land you had purchased in our names where we were going to build a house. I think it was supposed to be a surprise after we defeated Thanos. We had never lost before, not since Pietro - I don’t think it occurred to us that we could. So I drove out to see and.. Y/N I was still so new to my powers. They were still mostly subconscious. I was grieving and... it would be easier if I show you. May I?”

“May you.. what?”

A subtle smile appears on the witches' face at your ignorance. You are tempted to mention how beautiful she looks with that smile. Shaking off the thought, you ponder if she can read your mind, as her smile becomes knowing and a slight blush colors her cheeks. Ink-stained fingers reach towards your temple, but she hesitates, waiting for your consent, and your heart fills with warmth. You nod once, despite not really understanding.

Her charcoal-colored fingers, cold to the touch, make contact with your temple. Just as you're about to complain about the lack of warning, you're abruptly transported into a completely different world, surpassing the immersive experience of any 3D movie you've ever seen. You not only hear and see everything in every direction, but you can also feel and smell it all. It feels as if you are truly present in that moment. It takes a few minutes for you to realize that you are witnessing someone else's memories, to be precise, Wanda's memories.

She starts her memory with the unexploded bomb created by Tony Stark, which sat in the middle of the rubble of the Maximoff residence. In that chaotic scene, there were two children, the twins, hiding in fear under a bed. However, before you could offer any comfort, the scene shifted. The twins had been taken to HYDRA, where they were subjected to brutal experiments. Witnessing their suffering broke your heart, and despite your best efforts, you were unable to interact with your surroundings, although you desperately tried. Repeatedly you threw yourself against the walls of the cells in which the twins were held, hoping to free them from their hellish situation. You observed the twins' powers first emergence: Pietro's as he attempted to reach his sister's side, and Wanda's as she tried to defend Pietro from the scientists.

Scene after scene, each one as traumatic, if not more so, than the last, depicting all the events from Ultron and beyond. And then there's you. Except, it's not really you. You've certainly never possessed the power of teleportation, nor have you ever been so self-assured. This must be Wanda's universe's version of you. With bright eyes and a warm demeanor, you appear as a beacon of light in Wanda's otherwise bleak life. You observe as the version of you in this universe warmly welcomes the twins to the team, a stark contrast as to how the rest of the team treats the newcomers ranging from suspicious to openly hostile.

It’s surreal, watching yourself from outside your own body, knowing this version isn’t really you, but still no less real of a person. Wanda’s memories begin focusing less on missions and more on interpersonal relationships. Specifically, the one developing between yourself and Wanda. It’s intimate and you feel like an intruder watching this unfold. Sadly, as you grow closer, Wanda loses the only other connection she has - Pietro is hit by stray bullets while saving children. A true hero, and there was nothing anyone on the team could do to prevent it. You watch in horror both for the loss of Pietro as a friend, as well as knowing the absolute devastation this will cause your beloved Witch.

You can tell at this point that that’s what she was to you. It hasn't been long, but that bond has clearly already been sealed; you can see the signs in both your alternate self and Wanda. You would have to be blind not to. The loss of her brother does terrible things to Wanda and it’s all your other self can do to try to keep her afloat. “What is grief but love persevering?”

The scene shifts again. Time has clearly passed, and Wanda appears to have healed to some extent. She and the team have become much more cohesive, which delights both versions of you. Your relationship has definitely progressed, if the blush currently gracing your face, extending to your ears, is any indication. You feel the remnants of the emotions from your alternate self. They are not yours, but neither are they entirely unfamiliar. It makes for a disconcerting sensation to say the least. You don’t know Wanda like that, even though this version of you does. You wish you could view these memories dispassionately, free from your alternate self’s emotions that are bleeding through, but you suspect that’s not possible. Once again you try to reassure yourself that you are not the same person, no matter the genetic makeup.

Jarring you from your reverie, next you find yourself in another battle, and this one is massive. There are more superheroes here than you have ever seen before, either in Wanda's memories or in films. This must be the fight against Thanos she had told you about. Dread settles in your stomach like a stone, and for a moment, you contemplate what it will be like to witness your own death.

Traumatizing, for sure, though not for the reasons you had expected. While you are unable to interact with your environment, you are able to freely move about. Instead of looking at the memory entirely from Wanda’s perspective, you move to stand beside yourself. Wanda stands before you, ethereal, magnificent, yet utterly devastated. She knows what she has to do and pleads with you not to make her. It is unjust for a woman so powerful to suffer such loss, and still you implore her to sacrifice your life, her happiness, for the sake of the rest of the universe. It is unfair. It is cruel. You know it, but you ask anyway.

She never could tell you “no.”

You know the moment this universe's version of you had died when you witness the sheer devastation on Wanda's face. Most people would probably look away, but you couldn't. For some unknown reason, you feel compelled to witness this moment in all its horrifying detail, if only to gain a true understanding of the witch and the immense pain she has endured. There were surely few things more intimate than allowing someone to share their own memories, and here Wanda was, granting you unrestricted access to hers. The least you could do was accept this gift she was offering, no matter how painful it might be.

The images that follow blur together, evoking your personal experiences with grief and a sense of detachment from the world. The funeral is somber, one and all everyone dressed in black and grey. Wanda is present only in body, and you can’t blame her. Clint, the archer, hands her your belongings, including the letter she had mentioned. It unnerves you how detached Wanda appears to be at this moment, despite being surrounded by friends and colleagues. You worry about what lies ahead for her. So much loss in such a short time, it didn’t take a psychiatrist to know this would surely take a toll on her. You prayed that her friends came to check on her, but you had a feeling either they didn’t, or in her grief, she refused them entry.

Colors blend into one another and fade out. You find yourself standing on a plot of land in a town called Eastview, crouching next to Wanda as she collapses to her knees. Her body is wracked with anguished sobs as she finally allows herself to grieve. You wish you could interact with this memory, to hold her and alleviate some of her pain, even if only for a moment. Instead, you sit with her, sharing in her pain as she releases it all into the world. Wanda allows herself to experience her grief in its entirety, no longer burying her feelings beneath a veneer of numbness. Colors leech from the world around her, turning it greyscale. You're pretty certain that even at their strongest, the average person's manifestation of grief isn't supposed to do that, but then again, the average person isn't the Scarlet Witch. Briefly, you wonder what consequences this will have on her world. Your head feels fuzzy, and as your vision fades to black, you suppose you are about to find out.

You regain consciousness and find yourself in a world entirely devoid of color. Disoriented, you blink as the details of your surroundings slowly come into focus. In front of you stands... well... yourself. Or rather, an alternate version of you who appears to be from the 1950s, slightly older but still alive. Seated beside 1950’s you is Wanda, also monochrome and dressed in 1950s attire. Blearily, you rub your eyes. It has been a long day, and you are extremely tired, unsure if this is just an incredibly vivid hallucination or if you have actually passed out somewhere.

Alternate you asks Wanda a question, to which you aren’t listening, and she replies with a quip - you still aren’t listening, wondering where you are and why everything is in greyscale. What catches you off-guard though, is the surround sound laugh track that‘s garnered in response. It’s galling to admit but you jump, startled, and look around. There’s no one else in the house besides yourself, the alternate version of you, and Wanda. Where did that come from?

Alternate you replies to Wanda, and again with the laugh track. This time you are not as startled, but no less unsettled. What fresh hell is this? Could this be Wanda’s doing? It doesn’t seem like you can ask her though, as you’re just a passive observer in this strange situation. The last thing you remember, Wanda was grieving in Eastview at the plot of land which alternate you had purchased to start your life together after retiring from being superheroes. Strange grey wiggly woos (as you were starting to refer to her magic) were emanating from the witch, quite different from the familiar scarlet color you had grown accustomed to.

Perhaps this was her doing, if only subconsciously. You tried to recall, didn’t Wanda mention something about her powers being new to her and mostly unintentional? This could be what she had been referring to. Apprehension made a home in your chest as you found yourself dreading whatever was about to unfold before you. Oh no, Wanda, what did you do?

It doesn’t take long after observing the hijinks and mishaps, for you to realize that Wanda's grief had manifested through her powers. She had transformed the town of Eastview into Westview, resembling a 1950s-style sitcom town. Wanda, along with an alternate version of yourself (if you were truly still alive - that part you hadn't figured out yet), and the entire town were trapped. While it may have started unintentionally, Wanda became aware of it and began actively using her powers to maintain her idyllic town, keeping it isolated from the outside world and preventing the townspeople from leaving. In her grief, Wanda was essentially playing house, holding everyone hostage. However, despite her powers growing stronger, it was clear that the people living there were suffering. If you could even consider their existence as living.

There were even two boys - twins, just like Wanda was a twin. Your heart broke, knowing this could not possibly end well. While technically not "real" and not even "yours" at that, watching these boys be born, live, and grow caused you to cultivate a love for them almost as if they were your own. Your heart thumps uncomfortably in your chest; you didn't want to see how this plays out, but you didn't have a choice.

Despite the dysfunction in your parents, you had always wanted a family of your own. An attempt to break the cycle and bring new life - happy and healthy - into this world. You wanted to raise your kids with the love and care you had never experienced yourself.

You understood the motivations of the witch, but that didn't justify her morally questionable choices. Once again, you are condemned to remain on the sidelines, unable to take any action to resolve the situation. You are forced to witness this charade unfold, hoping and praying that it would end well for everyone involved, yet knowing that it would not. How could it possibly?

Despite your bias, after witnessing everything Wanda had endured, you found yourself wishing for the best outcome for her, in particular. Among all the people you could think of, she deserved a break from the misery that had plagued her life until now.

Eventually, it all came to a head when another witch named Agatha Harkness had infiltrated the town with a book called the Darkhold, attempting to convince Wanda to join her and increase their powers. If Wanda refused, the witch planned to take Wanda's powers for herself. Something about a prophecy regarding a Scarlet Witch.

Meanwhile, the alternate version of you had become self-aware of the true nature of Westview. This version of you pleaded with Wanda to prioritize the wellbeing of others over her own happiness, once again. They urged Wanda to defeat Agatha and free the townspeople, even if it meant losing her spouse and children. It was an impossible choice, and you questioned whether you could have mustered the courage to make the same decision in Wanda’s position.

Wanda defeated Agatha, not that you ever doubted her for a moment. She said goodbye to you, again, and then to her boys, and released her spell. The town was free, but her family.. was gone. Wanda was once again on her own.

A startled gasp leaves your lips as you awaken from the memories. It feels like it’s been ages, but from what you can tell, it must only have been minutes since Wanda first began sharing her memories with you. “Oh.”

Cringe. You wish you could have said something, anything more eloquent. Unfortunately, you feel as though you've just been hit by a Mack truck and could nap for a week. It doesn’t help that you were still feeling the effects of lack of sleep for the last couple of weeks. 

“I-I’m sorry, I don’t feel so good, is it okay if I lay down somewhere…?” A quick glance around the temple makes you second guess the question you were about to ask. Stone floors did not make a good bed.

With a tone much softer than she had been using, she replied. "Of course, Detka, you only need to ask." 

An elegant wave of her slender fingers and gone is the stone temple, replaced by a cozy bedroom. At a cursory glance, you can tell it is a sanctuary of comfort and tranquility, featuring a plush, inviting bed. The room is adorned with personal touches, such as framed photographs of you and Wanda, and artwork that is somehow absolutely your aesthetic. Shelves display a carefully chosen selection of your favorite books, each waiting to be explored. These items add character and give the space a feeling that is unique to you, even though you have never set foot in this place before.

“Come,” A glimpse of Wanda and you are surprised to discover instead of her red and black uniform, she is now garbed in an oversized sweater and some cotton sweatpants.

“You have been holding space for others for so long, it is time you took some well-deserved rest. You work much too hard.”

“Uh s-sure.” About to make a comment that perhaps you should also change, but looking down to find that you are wearing your favorite worn Legolas shirt and some pajama shorts.

“Right. Rest.” Part of you wants to ask when you can return to your home so you can finish studying for your exams, but based on previous conversation, context clues tell you that’s the least of your concerns right now, and Wanda probably wouldn’t be too pleased with that topic of discussion right now.

Wanda takes your hand, leading you to the bed and it takes your overworked brain far longer than you care to admit to realize that she means for you both to share it. Your brain short-circuits at all the factors at play here: Knowing that you yourself are touch-starved; this absolute enchantress of a woman dated an alternate universe’s version of you, even going so far as basically playing housewife and mother of your children, and here she was asking you to share a bed. Sure, she wasn’t asking you to sleep with her, but she was still asking you to share a bed next to her and what if you accidentally spooned her in your sleep, and what if-

”You’re thinking too loudly, malysh.”

“What? You can- you’re a mind reader?!” you panic, backpedaling mentally, praying to every deity that existed that you hadn’t had any unsavory thoughts in her presence, and nearly fainting as you recalled that you in fact, had some rather explicit thoughts from the moment you first saw her.. The mortification alone was enough to put you into an early grave. You weren’t sure how you had missed that during everything she had shown you, but you reasoned you were probably more focused on the physical manifestations of her powers. 

"Relax, Y/N. I don't intentionally read minds, at least not anymore. Sometimes, surface thoughts are so loud that I can't help but hear them. Like right now, you're practically yelling them at me," she said, trying to offer a reassuring smile.

Unfortunately, while you were no longer freaking out about having accidentally offended the witch, you were now spiraling down a different path. You were agonizing over the pain you had, and likely were still causing her by thinking so loudly. If you remembered any media involving mind reading, the person with the ability usually suffered greatly at the hands of others unintentionally. Naturally, the average person didn't know how to shield their thoughts, and you were afraid that you might be giving her a migraine. To the woman who had only tried to bring you to a safe place and offer you shelter. 

You began to hyperventilate.

Wanda could see that you were spiraling, even without being a mind reader. It was written clearly on your face. However, being able to hear your thoughts helped her identify the source of your anxiety, and she berated herself for not considering that earlier. This version of you lacked confidence, and it was now Wanda's responsibility to help rebuild it. At least, according to her.

"Your parents really did a number on you, didn't they, detka?"

Cool hands gently held your cheeks, pulling you out of your thoughts. Suddenly, Wanda invades your personal space, and the scent of vanilla fills your nostrils, momentarily distracting you from what was happening.

"We're just going to take a nap, okay Y/N? You don't have to worry about anything. I'm not bothered by any of those thoughts you have." A leering grin unfurls across her face.

“If anything I’m quite flattered by them.” She winks.

Heat flashes across your body, and you can’t tell if you were embarrassed, aroused, or both. Unfortunately, you knew your thoughts were likely betraying you. Gods, if only the floor could just open up right now and swallow you into the abyss. Yes, that would be fantastic.

"However, there is time enough for such things later. It's been years, Y/N, and I've just got you back. Nap with me, please?" The witch's eyes gaze longingly into yours, and well, when she looks at you like that, how could you say "no"?

She leads you to the bed and, with the practiced ease of her time in Westview, pulls you into her embrace as the little spoon. Earlier, you had been worried about accidentally touching her inappropriately or having a dirty dream. Now though, with her arms wrapped so protectively around you, sleep claims you almost instantaneously.

[dinthehottotty]

Untitled Drabble 1 (D.D.)

A/N: It's been like 3 years since I really wrote and I'm trying to get back into. So enjoy one of my 54 drafts I never published.

Warnings: Force Sensitive Reader x Din Djarin, unedited, angst, light smut, the helmet stays on. Breeding kink.

Din struck you from the moment you met him all those years ago. Back when you were both too young and too stupid. When Zi'an and his disgusting scoreboard of kills was the most of his problems and yours trying to figure out if you were actually hearing other people's thoughts or if you were crazy. A freshly enlisted New Republic Private that was too meek to be the hero and Galaxie's Baddest Boy with a chip on his not-droid shoulder. The peachfuzz on his lip starting to darken when you started getting called pretty.

A popular senator's daughter tired of cracking under the five-star resturant's happy glows despite suffering families that wander on the ground down below. When Mommy had used her codependency on you because she had no real friends. When she'd hold you in bed, stroked your hair and whisper in your ear that she wished that she could be there more to watch you grow. Then a narcissistic bug would bite her when you finally 'fell asleep' in her arms as she rectified herself with changing the world for you.

But kids don't understand that. Kids just want their moms to love them and protect them. They want the gooey support of kisses and awkward dance recitals. In your 'cute' years - the years ranging from baby face to strapped in a new flightsuit - you'd dream about those whispers like she cradled you in jailing arms and laughed until her head fell off. It would roll around, eyes rolling back as her smile twitches. You'd wake up and sob into coughing fits.

Because you realized something was wrong with you. The base was so loud the first formation you fainted despite the 'silence'. Voices shriek and sigh and crackled around. It was a lot to get used to. You were good with a vibroblade too. Quick enough and quiet enough to sneak up on an imp.

More realistically, your days were filled with reporting on nothing all day and drinking too much at the local bar because people's heads were fucked up. Because the empire was gone now you had to rebuild. Some people oozed with slimy thoughts. Violent little dreams delicately weaving innocent people into fucked up ghosts haunting folks. You were getting ballsy as you figured out you wanted to be ambitious and powerful like your mother. Because you'd simply decided you were going to live off spite.

And then you felt ice. The bite of electric claws running by your spine. Because he commanded attention. He was a void, eating everything up with his rage and pain. He was trained to kill and he had anger and resentment building. He was like jumping into space. A dazzle of burning suns drowning in the black waters of his beautifully dark mind. Because despite his rage he had this ridged respect of life. Sadness cooling him deeply.

You'd gone into the phase where you stopped wearing makeup and cut your hair short and now 'pretty girl' became 'boy'. And he didn't look at you right away. Being in a blaster battle in a bazaar with a local gang. They had a mandalorian. And you came out of it alive after chasing him down alley.

You could feel the burn of air getting knocked out you when he body slammed you into wall. When he tried to knee you in the balls you laughed and gave you the upper hand to take him down.

It didn't work though. He'd had infinitely more hand to hand combat experience and easily pinned you against the wall again. Then demanding you meet him back there tonight if you wanted inside information. Which you did.

And after the long week of planning out how you'd arrest Xian. It would give him guild rites and you could promote. Only he stuck around for a week longer because the ship he'd bought needed breif repairs in order to even get it off the ground.

He liked you. You could feel that, despite the ripple of his uncertain inner storms. And then you'd come back to your bunk to find him there, nervous and instead of his waves battering against you, it was calling for you, whirlpooling you in. You were drowning in the black ocean of his mind.

He needed to touch you. Attracted to your smile and free laughter. Drawn into your haunted expressions and shared sorrow. You drink it all up, sinking into the desperation clawing inside him. Something to fill him for a little while. Someone to comfort him and make him weightless.

So you stripped off your flight suit and he pulled off his gloves and touched. Everywhere. His raspy voice wrecked with his vocoder as he verbalized his desire to kiss you everywhere. Since he couldn't, he'd just touch. His hands were smooth from the gloves, hot and big. He touched you like he was sculpting his muse. Painting you in his mind, swirling in his midnight blue desolation. Painted in Din's mind like you were dawn warming him.

It was more romantic than it had any right being as his fingers kiss your labia, one thick digit curling inside the tight heat of your cunt. He was quick to explore it with you on your back, his other hand exploring your mouth in a similar fashion. You were left in a couple puddles, alone in your bunk, trembling. Your chin and thighs cooling with your drool, slickly leaking over your skin.

And you both grew up. Bumping into each other occasionally when he needed some information on a bounty and you were quick to name your price. Seeking comfort in the soft edges of flesh. He'd map your body with his hands or mouth - if you were blind from him - like it was religious. It made you shiver and quake under him. Everything, like he had to commit to replicating you.

Conversations not usually needed but would occasionally sink into these little secrets you hadn't told anyone else before. Like you mind abilities. He actually really liked after a while. Liked being able to truly express his feelings without words. He had a way of molding you like putty. The two guys before this dull and unexciting to the prayers his hands preformed on your body.

And then he'd gone off grid. Busy two years before emerging to you on some little speeder. But he'd had the kid now. And you much older. Much less cute. Definitely settled and nurturing. Which led to this.

"Fucking Maker!" You cry at the mattress when he slams you on it. Then your scrambling up the pillows with a squeal. Din's hot hands are tightening around you kicking ankles and jerking you effortlessly down your bed on your own ship. You were docked in Tatooine, happy to pay Peli rediculous prices for just a few hours of time alone.

"Running won't stop me." You're dragged until your feet could touch the floor. "I know you." He sighs against your neck. But you feel what he really means. What he's meant for a long time. I love you.

"Wouldn't run from a Mandalorian. That'd be stupid." You tease.. He pins you with his weight.

"What if he means to bred you?" He demands, leaning over you. You go straight dumb for a second. He lifts off you enough to let you roll over to gaze up at his helmet.

You can feel the spinning his words cause. "Really?" You ground yourself by latching into his open mind. The ever vast void of his mind sucking you in like a worm hole. It's a primal need that sinks into his belly. Something deep and brutal.

He holds you in this divine light of stardust. Like he was just a man who fell in love with all of the stars, never done climbing to reach and admire. He would snuff out every other light in the universe - anything polluting your space just to watch you shine.

"Yes. Can I put a baby in you?"

"Are you ready for that? To settle down and raise another kid?" His soul thrills and vibrates at 'another'. He gives a shaky breath as he buzzes with it. He fixates on it hard.

Many. He wants many children.

"Honey, your fixating on the wrong details," you hum, wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him down on top of your body. He chuckles over you.

"I'll give you everything. No more bounties if that's what you want. Just us." That us carries double meaning. Not just the two or three of you. As many babies as you wanted with him. He would give it to you all of the time.

He was ready.

"Okay," you hum. "Let's have a baby." Din sighs in delight. Not so much relief but in satisfaction. Like you'd granted him a miracle.

The moment so tender with the heavy edges of his mind suffocating you that you don't expect him lifting off you and using a vibro blade to cut the front of your pants wide open. You gasp when he nearly yanks you upright by the front of them and simply slices through the front.

"Din!" You begin, "I liked those!"