#i keep expecting to see him and he's not there and that's when it hits me

[madamechrissy]

Worst Behavior

Art in the center by Houhai673 on lofter

pairings- stepbrother! Sukuna x f! Reader (lil bit of Toji/reader)

summary - Sukuna’s dad married your mom while you were in high school, and you hated each other on sight. He endlessly picked on and tortured you. So much so that he became a fucking YouTube sensation from prank videos starring you! You come back home for summer break after a bad breakup, and of course annoying ass Sukuna is there, with his stupid smirk, ready to pick on you again, only to be derailed when he sees you're going out with his old friend Toji for a date. Turns out, Sukuna has had it bad for you for a long time, and making you hate him was the only way to guarantee you stay far away, but can he keep up the act?

content/warnings - MDNI, tw- stepcest, yandere sukuna, lots of pining, kinda one-sided lol, he's an asshole to you, reader hates him. Enemies to lovers - ton of sexual tension, jealous ass Sukuna. This chap - Fingering, MORE tension, protective Sukuna, fucked up dynamics, degradation, choking, overstim, Sukuna is down bad, yandere tendencies, oral sex (f receiving)

<<<part two - part four>>> (ao3 only:)

part three

You bump into Sukuna when you’re going to brush your teeth that next morning, he eyes his own shirt you’re wearing, the slight hint of the curves of your breasts and your pretty nipples pressed against it. Your breaths rise and fall, lips parted when his hand brushes against your upper arm, pausing before he drops his hand, brows lowering as he stares at you.

“Steal all my clothes?” He asks, earning your little mean ass smile that just makes him ache to make you cum so good you drool instead.

He truly does not feel bad he stole your panties last night, not when he got to taste you again, it takes far too much effort not to slip his own shirt up you, the one way too baggy, hiding your pretty little body - aside from those thighs. When you turn to look up at him, they press together just a bit, he can vividly imagine them squeezing either side of his head.

“Sure do, they’re comfy to sleep in.” Your words earn his irritation, but it’s half hearted truly.

He can imagine you wearing not just his old tee shirts, but a fucking button down, or maybe his jacket with nothing under it. “How many of my shirts have you stolen, hmm brat?”

“A drawer full.”

“Tch,” you smile, all mean and pretty, tempting him so badly it’s difficult to just stand there, especially in sweats that damn near show his thickening cock from just seeing you. “You really gonna steal my shit all the time?”

“You should steal mine, it would be funny to see my skirt not even making it over your thighs.” His jaw locks, it’s as if every time you speak you drive him more insane. 

“Ya calling me thick now?” He crosses his arms, your eyes drift down his bare chest now, heating up just a bit at the sight of him.

“You are thick,” you poke at him, he snatches your wrist now. “You eat all my damn food, yours, and get another plate - what do you expect?”

“I’m so done with you.” He shoves at you, you slip past and grab a tooth brush, bending over, and you’re clearly not wearing anything under them. He leans in the doorway, eyes flitting over your skin now.

“The roids make you hungry?”

“I don’t need those to bulk,” he splashes water that’s running, making you gasp out as the droplets hit your face, the shirt just slipping up more. “Don’t even wear panties when you’re wearing my clothes?”

“You keep cumming in them, so I guess I don’t have any,” you say, mouth full of toothpaste, he scowls right down at you, while you rinse, putting more toothpaste on the bristles. “What?”

“It was one pair,” two… three… this week at least. He doesn’t remember. “You probably like that I did it, sick little freak.”

“Me!?” You spit into the sink, and look away, washing your face now. “Why are you still just standing there?”

“What, I can’t stand here?”

“You’re so immature.”

“Me?” You dry your face now with a little soft washcloth, nodding.

“Mmhmm, why aren’t you busy pranking people? Such a fulfilling career,” his arm braces against the counter now, big ass body blocking the doorway, raising his stupid slutty eyebrow. You hate how your tummy flutters for him, how it clenches like that with just a look. “Why didn’t you just be a football star, I saw you yesterday.”

“Why do you give a fuck?” You sigh now, looking at your reflection in the mirror, bun half falling out, exhausted expression on your face.

“Just curious I guess,” he stands up from leaning in the doorway, when you hear doors open and shut downstairs. “Youtube that much money?”

“It really is, and much less damage on my body,” he’s serious and quiet, making you more curious about him. “Again why do you care?”

“Can’t even ask a question, huh?”

“You never have before.”

“Because you…” he is too close, bending at the waist now, fingers brushing against your cheek in a touch that burns, his lips quirk up as he sees your lips part with a gasp. “You…”

“I made you cum, now you want to know me? Cute.” You smack the fuck out of the hand touching you, scowling up at him.

“Oh fuck you.”

“For a virgin, you’re kind of a-”

“Good morning you two!” You hear your mom say, brightly bouncing up the stairs as she sees you two. “Breakfast.”

You two separate, barely able to breathe, a mix of wanting to kill him, and wanting to drag him down, bite at his stupidly glossy lips. How he had his fingers inside you, how he sucked on your tits, but didn’t even kiss you was confusing. What’s more confusing is why you keep picturing it, dreaming of more and more filthy images, right along with scarier ones.

Him kissing you, for example.

What would it be like, brutal and insane? All the hate poured into a passionate, messy kiss? Would he leave your lips swollen - bite them with those damn fangs he calls teeth, the ones that left a bruise right above your nipple. Or would it somehow be a little softer, a little slower - leading to the dangerous, awful thought tracks, of how it would be to fuck him.

You may be a virgin, but you’ve read more than enough smut to know sex, and watched more than enough porn. Would he give you those backshots, ask you to arch for him, then smack your ass when you don’t obey? Would he make you ride him, but talk shit the entire time? Or was there some possibility he’d be on top of you, maybe entwining a hand?

You have to stop that, stop thinking of it.

Of course the breakfast was horrible, when wasn't it around him? When you’re near Sukuna, instead of just hate, just annoyance, there’s even more bullshit, whereas before you could pretend none of it existed, now you know it does. Your body remembers him and reacts to every single shove like it’s a caress, every smack of each other’s hands like it’s some stupid foreplay.

You need to just fucking forget it.

It certainly cannot happen again, it will not happen again.

*****

Your friends invite you out to a party at the club later that day, and you’re eager to get the fuck away from the suffocating presence of your ‘step brother’ or whatever the fuck he is. The last thing you need is to spend even more time with him than you already have lately, the way even the scent of his cologne is messing with your senses more and more with each moment.

Usually busy doing something, he’s oddly just lurking around today, lounging by the pool with his stupidly good looking body just slick with sweat and droplets of water dripping. You almost went for a swim until you saw him out there, and rushed back inside before he could catch you practically staring.

Sukuna is thick, and it just makes him unbearably more attractive, if you were honest with yourself - which you are so not - you’d admit just how badly you’d love to feel him against you, feel his thick fingers touching you again. You hate him more for having such a stupid effect on your body, every look like he’s touching you, eyes like they’re undressing you.

Even now you’re flustered, touching up your makeup in the mirror of your room, while you text your friends, setting up a ride to go. You weren’t even that much into parties, but you sure the hell couldn’t just hang out here, not with the neverending tension between you and Sukuna.

You’re sure he knows what he’s doing.

And that makes it even more infuriating, as if it’s all some long standing prank set up. And you did mean what you asked earlier - why would Sukuna get into that, when he was getting drafted for the pros at some team far away? You would assume he’d jump at those opportunities, and find yourself wondering more and more about him. Just who even was he, besides some arrogant jerk?

“Hey sweetie, where are you going?” Your mom asks later, she’s highly overprotective but not in a way that has ever made you feel suffocated. Moreso, she clearly just cares.

You feel his sights set on you the moment he walks into the living room, see the way his gaze sits on your chest, he grabs a jacket again, making you roll your eyes. “Seriously, this again?”

He unceremoniously throws the damn jacket over your shoulders, this time it smells too much like him, it feels too good, the weight of it so heavy, when your mom just giggles like this is somehow okay behavior. “You really don’t even own any clothes, do I need to take you shopping?”

“These are clothes, Sukuna.” He snorts, his dad walks up, and the two of them are just oblivious to how much of a little shit Sukuna is. “I’m going to a club tonight, with a whole bunch of friends from school.”

“What club?” He asks, you raise your brows at him.

“You’re not my dad.” He grins, the thoughts on the tip of his fucking tongue - that he’d have you calling him daddy if he finally got a chance to fuck up your insides, but instead your mom cuts off those thoughts.

“Honey, why not have Sukuna go too?”

“Yes, you’d be safer,” his dad says, you look at them both, wide eyed.

“What now?”

“What sort of club are you going to? Where?” Sukuna’s standing next to his father, a spitting image of him, your head leans back as you scowl up at the ceiling, and you tell him where. “That one? That’s not a good area. I’m coming.”

“You don’t need to!”

“If he says it’s a bad area honey…”

“I don’t want him to go,” you cross your arms, the jacket thrown over you so unavoidable you don’t bother to argue. Sukuna’s dad sighs, looking as the two of you glare at each other. “That’ll be so lame.”

“Me, lame? You’re the nerd, pretty sure I was fucking popular - oh and I still am, every one of your little girl friends love me.”

“And they have bad taste.”

“You brat-”

“Sukuna,” his dad starts, while your mom says your name, simultaneously, full disappointment heard in their voice. You two get just a bit resigned, frowning now. “We’d prefer him to go with you.”

“Just to be safe.” Your mom says softly, you sigh now.

“I’m not a little girl.”

“You’re a tiny little-”

“Sukuna!” You shove at him again. “He doesn’t even want to go!?”

“Tch, I didn’t say that, you think I don’t have plenty of friends that will be there, run in the same circles.” You roll your eyes.

“You actually having friends is insane to me. Who’d deal with you?”

Sukuna can’t wait to bend you over something and beat your damn ass, it’s all he can think of at the fucking moment, while you’re tugging his jacket reluctantly over your body, swallowing you. The sight is too much, addling his already fucked up brain, while you finally look just a little resigned, when your mom starts getting on you.

“You two need to learn to get along, you’re right - you’re not a kid, so I expect you to behave maturely. We see that middle finger, young lady.”

“Ugh!” You pull it back, Sukuna can’t help but smirk. “Fine, you can come, who am I to stop you?”

“I’ll drive you.” You sigh again. “What, you wanna uber?”

“I already set up a ride, I’m good.”

“I’d feel better if Sukuna drove you,” your mom really doesn’t know what she’s saying, the thoughts and images of the past couple days swirling in your mind until you feel dizzy. “Especially if you drink.”

“My ride is literally here,” you look out front to see the car pull up now. “How about I come home with him then?”

“That’s fine.” They agree, you walk out quickly, avoiding Sukuna’s glaring red eyes that burn fucking holes in your back. You turn though, sighing a bit.

“I’ll see you there?” He doesn’t answer you, stomping over to his obnoxious ass jeep, a pretentious big fucking car for a pretentious big fucking man, slamming his door shut.

This will just be so fun.

*****

Sukuna does indeed have a shit ton of friends, and he seems otherwise occupied, holding onto the jacket he wanted you to keep thrown over your shoulders, sipping on a little glass of whiskey slowly. Meanwhile, you’re on your fourth free shot, as some guy who thinks you’re hot just keeps buying them. He’s currently trying to make small talk with you, but you can’t say you’re paying attention.

Your gaze keeps flitting to him, he seemingly ignores you, but instead he’s catching sight of you carefully, drinking you in every time you look away long enough, so he’s not caught in just how infatuated he is. Your friends do literally fawn over him, it’s actually sort of ridiculous how excited they get when he just looks in their general direction.

You suppose you see the appeal, if he wasn’t horrible, if he didn’t torture you constantly, and now take it to an entire other level. The teasing and pranks were one thing, the way he casually gave you the best orgasm of your life and mocked you during it, was quite another.

“Wanna dance, baby?” The guy - you don’t remember his name honestly - asks you now, you see the set of Sukuna’s lips as he looks across the crowded club, full of drunk giggling girls and guys all trying to get with them.

It’s a reason you’ve really never liked it, but the way he’s looking at you makes it even more of a reason to accept his offer, to dance with him, while you feel his gaze never leaving you. You keep catching his gaze when you spin, when the guy's hands slip to your hips, and you can’t help but relish in the way you feel Sukuna almost touching your body with his eyes.

The guy starts kissing on your neck however, so you push a bit at him, he stops and keeps dancing, the alcohol has hit just enough you’re a little lost in the dancefloor now, in all the bodies moving around you and the song. So gone your eyes flutter shut, and you feel his touch getting just a bit bolder.

You want Sukuna with you, on you, but what would that do, what would all of that cause, really? If everyone that knows you both, saw you dancing on him?

You try not to focus on it, to just roll your hips and dance, when you feel him touching you lower, again your ass, you pull back, shoving at him as he gives you a sleazy fucking grin, you notice you’re just further out than you expected to be now, more towards the exit. Your heart races, not seeing Sukuna any longer, for whatever reason that makes it all worse.

“Don’t touch me there dude,” your words make him laugh a bit, cupping your face, making you smack it off too. “Fuck this, I’m leaving.”

“After I bought you all those drinks?” He grabs your wrist when you pull off, the touch just disgusting you.

“Let go of me, stop being a creep.” You tug more when he pulls you harder, the grip so tight you feel it bruising. “Seriously-”

“Get the fuck off her.”

Sukuna’s suddenly shoved the man so hard there is a loud crack sound, literal lines dancing up the plaster as he frees you from his grip, he puts his hand on his throat, lifting him then, the boy just fucking dangles there. You try to catch your breath, hand on your chest now, watching him lose it, the boy just sputtering now.

“Bro, chill-”

“Hah, gonna call me bro,” he slams him again, as people turn now, hearing the rustle even over the blaring music. “I’m not your fucking bro, dumb little bitch boy. You’re never gonna touch anyone again once I break every finger you got.”

“Sukuna,” your hand comes to his shoulder, scared of what sort of trouble he’d get into if he does that, even though you wouldn’t mind the boy having none. He looks back at you, expression unreadable. “We shouldn’t go too far, right?”

“Can’t breathe!” He’s turning some shade of red now, while Sukuna keeps him suspended in the air, before throwing him unceremoniously to the floor, knocking the wind out of the guy. “Shit!”

“Say one more goddamn word.” Sukuna kicks him now, until he’s on his side, holding his stomach. “Not fit to fucking touch her, who do you even think you are?” He crouches down, a sadistic grin on his face.

“Sukuna we should go,” your soft tone hits him, when he’s about to punch him right in his dick. “Like, now.”

The security has been notified, and are headed in your direction. “You got lucky today, lemme find you again.”

“S-sorry, I am!” Sukuna sneakily punches him in one quick motion, undetectable by everyone but you and the boy who can’t breathe now, so quiet you didn’t even hear the blow.

“You are sorry, a sorry little piece of shit.”

“Come on.” You’re tugging him then, Sukuna finally leaves the kid laying there, taking your hand, inspecting your wrist. “I’m fine, promise.”

“Let’s go then,” he murmurs, holding it for two long, touching the glittery sweat that decorates your skin, before his eyes lock with yours. “Now.”

You nod, for once not arguing, for once just going with what he has asked, he snatches up that jacket, throwing it over you after he settles the tab, like it’s a second nature. It’s not cold outside, no it’s humid, the air is sticky and so hot, but the coolness of the leather feels oddly good.

His hand rests on the small of your back while he walks you to the lifted, obnoxious car, he has to help you up, it’s so high off the ground. When you’re in there, and he climbs up beside you, your mind starts running. Sukuna, who you never thought gave a shit about you - in fact you think he hates you - had just saved you from someone really mesing with you.

“Thank you, Sukuna-”

“Shut up.” You gasp now, his mood furious, he slams the door, chest rising and falling with how furious he is. “Wanted to fucking kill him, but you had to give me dumb puppy eyes.”

“What now!? I’m trying to thank you, ass!”

“Yeah, whatever. Didn’t want me to come out, right?” His hurt is laced in with his nasty tone, while he drives far too fast, the roar of his v8 ridiculously loud.

“Why do you act like you don’t care when…” You trail off, shifting in the seat now, his ruby eyes glint in the dark as he glares right at you.

“When what, brat?” His voice is harsh, jaw tense then, you take a shaky breath, blinking back the disorientation.

“When you seem like… when you…”

“Can’t even finish a fucking sentence.”

“Stop being a dick! God,” you cross your arms when he comes to a red light, he tilts his head to study you. “I’m trying to say something nice for once?”

“Yeah, why?” You sigh, looking back out the window, the passing lights making you just a little dizzy, slipping off his jacket now, shivering a bit as the air hits your bare skin. “Why start now…”

“You’re ridiculous, y’know that? You act as if you’re not the one that started this, started being a whole jerk to me day one.”

“Me?”

“You,” he scoffs, laughing without any humor, when he turns, headed toward your parents’ house. “I actually…”

“Actually what?” His voice is gruff, you sigh now, shaking your head, arms falling. You lean over, he tenses when he feels you come closer, so close he can inhale your scent in the big obnoxious jeep of his, a mix of something so sweet and the liquor you’d slammed back tonight.

“I liked you.” He grips the steering wheel, hearing the slight slur of your voice, his heart hammers.

“You are drunk,” you laugh then, soft and sweet, a hand touching on his arm, making him swallow nervously. “The fuck are you doing?”

“You get to grab me, my tits, my pussy, and I can’t touch your arm?” He almost loses it, as the girl he’s fucking desired since forever is too close, your lips just a couple inches, breath fanning his cheek gently.

“You liked me, that’s a joke.” He tenses under your fingers, arms bunching and rolling with his tense muscles. “You couldn’t stand me.”

“No, I did like you, I thought you were cool and shit, okay? But you started pranking me and being so fucking mean.”

“Yeah,” he pauses now, another red light, casting a glow over both of you, making him look intense then as it colors his skin. “You told me you hated me.”

“I do hate you,” he exhales, too close to you, when your hair brushes across his neck, the strap of your top slipping down your shoulder. “But tonight… well, you really looked out for me, you cared for me.”

“Tch, it’s nothing,” he begins to drive again now. “Think I’d let some mother fucker hurt you?”

“I didn’t think you cared,” he looks down at his hands for a moment, the tattooed ones, veins bulging from them with how tightly he’s gripping the wheel. “I am just trying to say thank you.”

“It’s nothing to thank me for,” you ease back, and he curses internally. “I’d never let anyone fucking hurt you.”

“Sukuna…” The way you say his name almost ends him, when his phone starts ringing. “Go ahead.”

He goes to hang up the call on his bluetooth, but instead it answers, and it’s the girl he’s been going out with here and there. He stiffens as her voice echoes through the car, you poke around at your phone, checking your texts. “Yeah, what is it?”

“Sukuna, you should come over tonight,” her insinuation is clear, you eye him for a moment when he looks at you, giving him a disinterested glance, texting your friend back instead. “We can get in the hot tub.”

“I’m tired, maybe another time.”

“Oh-” He hangs up, making you blink in surprise then.

“What?” He scowls your direction, before eyeing the road again.

“Famous slutty Sukuna turns down a booty call? Call the presses!” He snorts, rolling his eyes. “You can drop me off and go over, you know.”

“I don’t want to,” his voice is just a little hoarse, clinging to the steering wheel while you text. “Messaging Toji?”

“No, just a girlfriend. I haven’t talked to him today, I think he’s out of town for a couple days.”

“Hmm,” it’s tense and quiet in the jeep now, as he zips through the empty streets, lights flashing softly through the tinted windows. “You like him.”

“I guess I do.”

“You guess?”

“Yeah, he’s really fun, and he’s hot. He’s enjoyable and I feel pretty comfortable with him. Is that how it feels, a girlfriend?”

“I wouldn’t know.” You turn to him in surprise now.

“How wouldn’t you know? Mr. Dates everyone.”

“Never had a long relationship,” how can he, when he compares everyone to you? When all he can picture is your ass arched, grabbing your hair, sinking inside your cunt. It seemed hardly fucking fair. “Stop looking at me like that, gremlin.”

“Just surprised.”

“You’re being nice, stop it, fucking creepy.”

“Jesus, can I not be thankful!? Can I not be happy that you actually give a fuck about me?” He curses then, seeing tears glimmer in your eyes.

“I don’t know how you think I haven’t, every man I’ve chased has been just to fucking protect you.”

“No, it’s been some bullshit. Some long standing prank, like everything you do, including last night I’m sure- ah!”

“That’s it,” he pulls over once you’re off the highway, dark and secluded, swerving so quickly you jerk in your seat. He parks the car with a quick tug of the gearshift, before cupping your face. “I do care about you, stupid fucking brat.”

“I’m not stupid, and that’s not a great way to fucking show it!” You shove at him, but his grip tightens, leaning so low over you, until you can taste his breath, making your entire body flood with warmth. “Just admit you care.”

“I do, I just said it, when you gonna admit you don’t care?” You grip his wrist, glaring right up at him, tears threatening to spill. “How much you gonna say you hate me today, huh? How much all summer?”

“Don’t you want me to, isn’t that why you’re like this to me?”

He can’t say shit now, not when you’re calling him out on it, he leans lower, forehead resting against yours, breaths coming faster and faster, while your fingers brush against his wrists. He can’t answer you truly, not when part of you is right - he felt so terrible wanting you, he pushes you away, he is mean to you, to make sure he avoids the inevitable truth.

That he’s fucked up for you.

“Sukuna, just say something mean,” you whisper now, almost pleading, just like that moment in the bathroom. “Make it all normal.”

“Ya want that, me to be a dick to you?” You nod now, tears falling, his breath catches, the car humming softly underneath the two of you. “I protected you because there’s not a world where I wouldn’t, I’d never let someone touch you.”

“You do care.” He cups your face even tighter, huge calloused hands pressing on your delicate skin.

“Yes, I fucking said that, do you not listen for shit!?”

“Because we’re ‘family’ is that it?”

“No,” Your heart pounds in your chest now, his brow is resting on yours. “I don’t see you like that. That's how you want me to?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know you at all. I thought I did, but I don’t know a damn thing.”

“And you want to? Hah, why?” He eases his hands down, tilting your chin up with two fingers, his other hand brushing back your hair almost gently. “You’ve never tried to get to know me.”

“You made sure I wouldn’t want to.” He sighs now, avoiding the obvious, the complete truth of your words.

“I’m taking you home,” he pulls back, and you take shaky breaths now. “You need to sleep it off.”

“I don’t want to go home yet.” Your words make him pause, he puts on a cruel little fucking smirk then.

“Want me to finger you again, slutty brat? What would your mom say?”

“Fuck you,” you lean over, putting a hand on his to stop him from putting the car in drive. “You only touch me when you feel like it, huh?”

“You made sure to tell me you didn’t want it, now you do?” He raises a brow, flipping his hand to grip your wrist tightly. “Don’t you want Toji?”

“Are you going to fuck that girl in her hot tub?”

“Hah - are you jealous?”

“No, I don’t have shit to be jealous of. But since we’re asking,” you lean over, tugging his hand now, he swallows nervously as you put it on your thigh. “I liked you fingering me, okay? That’s what your conceited ass needs to hear?”

“Fuck,” he can hardly think, when you slip his fingers higher. “You’re shitfaced drunk then.”

“I’m not, Sukuna, but I’m just tipsy enough to admit it. That I like it,” you whisper those words, he moans when he feels your heat, burning him, you whine out softly. “That I want more of it.”

“Fuck me…” He touches you over your panties now, eyes locking with yours. “Think I’ll stop at fingering you?”

“Sukuna…”

“Slutty fucking virgin, want your step brother to take it?”

You slap him then, making him grin, panties soaking his fingers as your breasts rise and fall with your panting breaths. “You like it, don’t you? Freak.”

“I’m the freak, hmm,” his lips brush your ear now. “What is it you want, just tell me, ya need me to have you squirt again?”

“Yes,” he pulls back, lips parted now, your hips roll as he almost tugs back. “I wanna cum again.”

“Using me to get off? What, that’s your new plan, brat?” He’s smirking, but internally he wants to say so much more.

“If this is some game where you’re bored, fuck it, it f-feels good, and I’m too tired to act like I don’t want it. We can just… fucking forget it after the summer, can’t we?” He nods, lying like a mother fucker, but he’d take any of you. “Does it have to mean so much?”

It would mean everything.

“Nah, I like making you cum, shuts you up, dumb fucked out look,” he chuckles when you yank off his hand. “Didn’t even mind you pissing on me.”

“It’s not piss! Never mind, I am drunk, mnh!” He tugs you to him now, right in the car on the side of the fucking road, practically shoving you in the backseat. “Sukuna, what’re you doing?”

“Shh, you’re so annoying, it’s why I like you cumming,” he murmurs, laying you back in the seat, your thighs trembling when he slips up your skirt, hesitating while he imagines actually seeing you up close. “Soaked these already?”

“Shh,” he eases them down now, fully planning on keeping them for his collection, when he throws your thigh up over the back seat, eyeing your perfect, pretty cunt, fingers brushing across it, making you jerk. “Thought you wanna cum?”

“I do, but why back here? And why… Sukuna?” He’s shoved you up until you’re damn near folded in half, settling down the seat somehow with his big, lanky body, the backseat is huge but it still hardly fits his giant ass. “What’re you looking at it like that for!?”

“Shut the fuck up please,” you’re narrowing your eyes when he finally gets to part your puffy lips, opening them to reveal your tiny little hole, drooling out wetness. “You say you’ll forget after the summer, huh?”

“We’ll have to, we can’t.” Your insinuation is soft, it’s clear, he smirks up at you, pink locks falling over a brow, while one of his big ass hands presses on your stomach. “You have to finger me like that? You’re seeing like… all of me.”

“Yeah, nervous?” You shake your head, lying, he wants to tell you how perfect and pretty it is, but he instead leans down, finally tasting your cunt from the source with a swipe of his tongue.

“Ah! Sukuna!” You’re trembling, cunt pulsing around nothing, tugging at his locks to yank him up. “What are you doing?”

“I’m gonna eat you out till you’re crying, begging me to stop, saying it’s too fucking much,” he licks you again, you jerk for him, earning his grin, his teeth nip at your exposed clit, earning a scream. “So loud the cars are gonna drive by and hear your slutty moans, so loud huh?”

“You’re such a - oh my fuck.” He’s lapping at you then, burying his face against your cunt, drinking eagerly while your juices pour. “Mnh - y-you’re eating me… out and…”

“Will you shut up,” he raises a brow, you’d retort but he’s lapped at you again, tongue slipping up between your folds, as you tug his hair again. “Keep trying to pull me off, I like it.”

“You’re so freaky, you - ah!” You’re done for when he starts fucking you with that long tongue, in and out of your hole hungrily. He grabs you by the ass, dragging you against his face as one of your hands presses on the car door, the other trying to yank him off.

But then it feels too good.

Your cunt is gushing while he desperately drinks you, you never pictured this, someone just lapping at you like they’re starved. You pictured getting eaten out several times, but nothing prepared you for Sukuna, his strokes are mean, his chuckle fucking devious when you try to back off. He tugs you closer, firmer, fingers bruising, drinking you up.

“That’s it, your cunt can’t help it huh, so fucking messy,” he’s talking shit, you jerk again, and he slaps your hip. “Ah-ah, stop fucking running.”

“Sukuna… oh my… fuck it, there!” He grins, sharp teeth against you, every line brushing your plump lips while he fucks your hole with two thick fucking fingers, stretching you out so good you can’t take it.

“Just can’t help it, desperate just f’me,” he’s losing it as he tastes you, sweetness so perfect, he’d tell you if he didn’t have to hold back. If he didn’t know that whenever you move on, he’d be done for, instead taunting and chuckling, like he’s not almost cumming in his jeans. “Want me to make you cum with my mouth?”

“Y-yes,” you’re soft then, almost sweet, the mean little brat he’s obsessed with, pliant under him while your walls constrict. “Please.”

“You’re saying please, huh?” His voice is hoarse though, he can’t stand it, how good it feels, how good those words sound, whiny and soft as your eyes roll back, sinking against his leather seats. “Should I make you beg?”

“Fuck you,” he chuckles again, pulling his fingers out now, watching your hole twitch and convulse as he spreads you.

“She really wants them in her so bad, doesn’t she?”

“Just make me cum, just shut up and - ah!” He’s sucking your clit into his mouth, while you drip down his lips like a fine red wine, so perfect and rich. He could never leave this position, never get tired of you tugging his hair, arching your ass up for more of it, more of him.

Sukuna did not mind pleasing, but he’s never almost cum from it - it makes sense though, it’s you. Everything he’s dreamed about since he laid eyes on you, the filthy sounds of your messy cunt just gushing for him. He’s looking at you under those sooty pink lashes, mouth humming on your clit, sinking two fingers inside and angling them just so.

“Oh my - Kuna - y-you - ah!” You’re shattering now, he barely registers the stupid nickname, not when you’re clinging to his hair like that, soaking him, whimpering and shaking underneath him. “Oh my god - f-fuck…”

Your words are faded, hoarse, eyes rolled back in your skull with the combination of his fingers and his mouth, with how they work you, stretch you and fill you. You can barely function after it, blinking rapidly, thighs pressing against either side of Sukuna’s face, shaking with the aftershocks. You whine when he curls them again, releasing your clit, his lips coated in your slick.

“Never got eaten out, huh?” He murmurs, pressing a kiss, grinning as he watches your hips jerk, cunt convulsing around his fingers, squeezing him so good.

“N- no,” you manage, a little whisper, making him more possessive, more feral, being any of your firsts. He licks you again, swirling his tongue around your clit, you’re gasping now, while he moves his fingers again, and the soppy sounds of your wetness just echo. “Kuna!”

“What’s with the dumb nickname? Did I lick you stupid already, brat?” His words are dark, that mean tone to them, dripping with venom like his cock is dripping with precum - as if he doesn’t want more, all of you.

“Sh-shut up, just came out that way, but since you hate it,” you smile, fucked out and lidded. “Kuna- oh!”

He bites your clit then, with his sharp canines, you scream out hoarsely, it feels good, something that makes no sense. The pain pricks the receptors of your brain, pushing you to get close again. He's moaning, rutting his leaky cock under those jeans as he moves, noises almost like a whimper against your clit now.

“Too much, mmm, too sensitive,” you're jerking away then, hiccuping while the pleasure hits, sharp and hard just like the man between your thighs. His pink silky hair is like silk, glossy strands between your fingers. You're arching, he's dragging you back to his mouth, slipping out those fingers with a filthy pop.

“Ya asked me to make you cum, hmm?” You barely nod, his breath ghosting your cunt now, fingers sliding up and down between your slick, he moans as he watches it trickling from your hole. “Then I'll do it as much as I want.”

You're sniffling when he leans over you, rubbing your twitchy clit with the rough pad of his thumb, grinning down at you. He's taunting you, thigh pressing up now, right against where your cunt drools. You're struggling to maintain focus, legs threatening to close, if not for the thigh barring them to stay spread.

“Aww, can't take it baby?” You hardly register anything, mouth dry when he speaks it, cupping your chin. “Pathetic, look at you, crying and drooling.”

He swipes the drool, you want to retort, but he's moving his leg up again, smirking. “Ngh!”

“Can’t you cum again f’me? Since you’re only gonna do this for what, the next week?” He taunts, lips dangerously close, eyes so fucking dilated they’re black, fingers pressing harder on your clit, while you walls clench air. “Can’t talk, brat? What would you do if I fucked you then?”

Your eyes widen, you want to speak, tell him fuck off, tell him anything at all - something bratty, some witty little comeback, but you’re about to cum for a damn third time, when he pulls those fingers back. You’re desperately trying to get them back, tugging at his wrist now, he slips his soaked thumb over your fingers, smirking at you now.

“Taste it, how sweet you are, despite being such an evil little thing,” he’s almost affectionate, you almost like it too much, oversensitive cunt eager for more of him. Your lips are covered in your own juices like a gloss. “Is this all I had to do, to get you to shut up, be nice to me?”

You should tell him fuck you, but you’re licking your juices off instead, he lets out a soft moan, when your hand slips down his chest, feeling the hard muscles bunch and move underneath your palm. His heart is racing, just like yours is, the only sound in the car is that, your heart pounding, his heavy breaths stuttering, while he just looks down at you in ways he never has.

“Can’t talk at all, so stupid just from a few flicks of my tongue?” He taunts, whispering right against your lips, straight nose touching yours, yet he still doesn’t kiss you, he just wraps long fingers around your throat. “Asked ya a question, brat.”

“Fuck off.”

Your whisper earns his chuckle, it’s expected of course, but it’s a weak little attempt, a breathy cry, his fingers run down your cunt again, right between puffy lips, you’re arching off the seat, breasts nearly spilling from your top. His fingers tighten around your throat, making everything fuzzy, making you dizzier than the drinks or the dancing.

“Want me to fuck you, take your virginity? Ruin your perfect little cunt for anyone, is that really what you want?” You shake your head, but you’re lying, and his psychotic smirk shows he knows, his breath against your lips, squeezing harder. “I’d hurt you, I wouldn’t fucking take it easy on you - wreck it, so it only knows my shape.”

“Psycho - ah!” He’s got his fingers in again, squeezing your throat harder now, right under your chin, pressure so tantalizing and sweet - yet fucking terrifying. He’s strong, and he’s not gently squeezing, he’s choking you, watching you while your vision blurs.

“Like it, huh slutty step-sis, ya like me touching you, choking you, bet she’s dying for my cock,” you shake your head, spreading your thighs and raising your hips. “Body can’t lie, perfect little fucking body, fuck you for it.”

You want to ask what he means, but he’s got his fingers curled again, thumb pressing on your clit, while he chokes you. And if you thought his mouth and fingers were a terrifying combination, the floating sensation of him squeezing the oxygen out of you just added to it. You’re choking on air, on your own spit, while he works you, pressing right on your spot like he’s always had it.

“That’s it, pathetic little brat,” he whispers, cock almost busting then and there from your scent, your taste sinking into his tongue, he’d tell you you’re sweet like honey, so beautiful you make him ache, if this wasn’t just gonna be a memory. “Cum all over me, pretty little whore.”

You should hate that he called you it, that he’s taunting and degrading you, but the way he looks at you, while he’s rocking his fingers in your hole is too much, you do cum, and this time you’re so overstimulated and dizzy, you almost black out. Your vision is shrunk to a little pinpoint, shaking and sucking in greedy breaths when he lets your throat go, slipping his fingers out finally with a wet squelch.

“Can’t help yourself, messy cunt, spilling all over me,” he’s husky, sucking you greedily off him, pressing a kiss to your neck that’s too gentle, so he thinks better of it, sucking instead, moaning. “You love it, don’t you?”

“Shut up,” you’re gripping him though, head falling to the side, lost in him now. You’ve never really touched anyone aside from Toji for a moment, but you reach down, finding him. He groans, pressing his cock against your hand, and you feel just how huge he is. “Sukuna…”

“That’s enough for now,” he murmurs suddenly, with a ragged gasp, pulling back and eyeing the glistening, gossamer slick coating your cunt and inner thighs. He sighs, leaning down again. “I need to clean you up, you’re so fucking messy.”

“N- not anymore I can’t take it- oh fuck!” He’s licking you everywhere, but not even for your pleasure now, he’s not hitting those spots, not licking your clit, no… just everywhere he can greedily taste you.

“God why do you taste this good,” he whispers, nonsensical, you’re yanking him off, his eyes fucked up, almost scary in how black they are now, his stupidly long tongue lapping your juices that spill down his mouth. “You’re not getting my cock tonight.”

“Oh I swear you’re such a- ow!” He smacks your cunt then, firm and hard - the loud thwack just resonating in the small space. You’re shaking, struggling to catch a breath anymore, as just his smack makes you whine. “Jerk!”

“Aw, poor brat, can’t move, can’t think - desperate for my cock, hah well I am not sure your tiny little hole could handle it. Pathetic, aren’t you?” He whispers those words too low, again teasing you with the idea of a kiss, but never more. “It’s time to go home, yeah?”

“Sure,” is all you manage, you notice he’s oddly delicate when he helps you up, when he fixes your skirt, wraps you in that jacket. When he seatbelts you, and it’s so quiet, the ac turns on blasting cool air on your skin, you shiver a bit, when he cups your cheek for a moment. “Sukuna…”

“What, brat?” He murmurs, then you scowl, shocking him.

“You better give me my panties back! How many pairs are you gonna take?” He grins now, sadistic fuck, shaking his head and slipping the gear shift into drive. “Are you serious?”

“I’ll steal as many panties as you stole my shirts, annoying ass.”

“Creep!”

“Slut.”

“Dick, ugh! I can’t believe I…” You trail off, and he just smirks, lips still glistening under the lights. “It’s just for the summer.”

“Sure it is, brat.” He murmurs, you look away, and he swallows down the hurt - aching to say something, anything, to show you what he really feels, but nothing comes out.

“Sukuna-”

“Shut up, you’re annoying.”

“I just…” you trail off again, and he softens a bit. “Thank you for earlier, really. He freaked me out.”

“Yeah, I told you, nothing.” You just nod, leaving you two in the silence, where Sukuna’s sticking to his boxers, and your panties are in his pocket, as he contemplates just how he’ll make you beg for him, and how once he has you? You’ll never fucking leave him.

- @sukubusss @quinny23 @flowerymenendez @valleydolli @gradmacoco @lolliibunny @chosolover32 @tiredasiandaughter @nanam1nz @sukunabish @valentinegab3 @heichouaack @throwmethroughawindow @mizuwki @omkookie @lemonadesforsale @dannaya @maybe-a-bi-witch @fl4weriesworld @karvokr @pillkits @yummycastiel @fl4weriesworld @kitty-yaps @kitassecretgf @deathrye @musiclover2119 @goldenfawnwriting @sttaejoon-blog @lil-cinn @keiiate @sageosimps @paradisestarfishh @ohohostinkyyyyy @blitziwitch @b0nez9 @sukunaforlife @mihauh @gojodickbig @ashlantismorning @erenspersonalwh0re @uncertainlyours @t4ters @msniks @lnette04 @salemsays66 @chxngminji @poopooindamouf @hellovanie

[togetherjournalprompts]

He saunters, if he can even really call it that, towards me. So much arrogance in his eyes because he thinks he has me beat. By all appearances, he certainly does.

I had to drag myself into a sitting position after a hit I slightly underestimated. There was blood on my brow, dripping into my eye and on my lip. I could taste the metallic tang of it mixed with the salt and minerals of my sweat. My breath came in heavy pants that made my ribs hurt. Did I break one or two of them when I hit the wall?

"You thought you could come in here," my foe began to monologue. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, I needed to keep up the pretense just a little longer. The only people I let monologue in my presence are children, and my supers. He was neither.

"On MY turf!" Oh, definitely the wrong thing to say. "In MY lair!" A lair that belonged to Professor Fate, one of my supers, no big deal, right? "And do what? Defeat me with the might of your little science tricks? You know Chemist," he said my villain name with a mocking tone I didn't particularly care for. "You've been a joke among the new villains for years. It's about time one of us sho— Why...why are you laughing?"

I couldn't help it. The bravado of this child had finally made me burst into a laugh that sounded cold, cruel, and insane. It made my ribs hurt again, but by Science! It felt so good. This joker had no idea what he was really up against.

While I sat there, cackling like no bog witch had ever cackled before, I began to manipulate the very atoms around me. Chemical compositions made as easily as a child spills water. Compounds made to help the healing process. Hormones manipulated at an atomic level to speed my metabolism so I don't overdose on the good stuff. Lactic acid processing now faster than any human could do, refreshing my muscles, allowing me to stand tall and proud once again without being out of breath.

"Oh, child. Let me give you a quick science lesson," I sneered, elongating the beginning of 'science' into a hiss. "Chemistry can generally be seen as the building blocks of the world. You and me? We're just walking, talking, organic bags of chemical reactions," I explained as if he were five. "Those 'little science tricks'," I said, performing one of the childrens' favorite. Colored sparks in the air, like tiny fireworks, in blues, greens, and reds. "That is simply concentrating the oxygen in the air and a few metals here and there, then igniting it." He didn't understand what I was beginning to imply. I could see that much in his eyes.

It was my turn to saunter, step by threatening step. I manipulated light particles away from me, making the shadows appear deeper and more menacing. He took a step backward.

"This is just child's play. Much more damaging things can be done. And you know what I've noticed?" I was mocking him now. He was sweating. Was that fear? Oh, probably not at this point. That was the atoms around him moving faster, making the air hotter.

"What's that?" He asked, trying to sound brave. A small explosion cracked by his head, causing him to flinch. Another cracked with a loud bang near his knees, forcing him to stumble backward. I could see his breathing become more difficult. But then, that's to be expected when there's an increase in pressure from forcing as much oxygen around him as I could. Surprisingly hard trick considering I had to be creative about where I was getting all of it, but this would be well worth it.

"Us powered folks, supers and villains alike," I smirked, continuing to increase the pressure, pulling oxygen out of its bonds with the water in the air, making the air around us both dry. "We're not completely indestructible." His eyebrows furrowed in confusion for a split second. I could see the increase in pressure started rupturing blood vessels in his eyes. Glorious.

"No, certainly not. From the inside," I said with a wicked smile.

You pretend to be a small-time villain. At worst, you annoy the local supers but your crimes never hurt anyone. All fun and games until things change when a truly sadistic super villain invades your turf and murders a few of the supers. No one has seen the extent of your true powers until now.

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Clark Kent X Reader: Secret with a capital S

a/n: this movie was amazing, david corenswet Superman has my heart and soul

Warnings: none (i think), this is basically just fluff

Word count: 1.4K

You didn’t know he was Superman. He hadn’t told you — which ate away at him constantly — and somehow, you still hadn’t figured it out on your own. He was grateful, in a way, that you didn’t work with him. If you had, he knew he wouldn’t have been able to keep up the charade for long.

What he hadn’t expected, however, was how deeply it would affect him to see you in danger.

He hadn’t been prepared for his own reaction — and neither had you.

You were at your job, focused on the task at hand, when the first tremor hit. The lights swayed, and the coffee on your desk spilled across the papers scattered there. Everyone froze for a moment, looking at each other uncertainly.

And then the second tremor hit — harder.

“It’s an earthquake!” someone shouted.

You glanced out the window just as a giant creature came into view.

“That’s no earthquake,” you whispered.

Everything after that was a blur. One moment you were in your building, watching the Justice Squade — watching Superman — fight some monstrous creature. The next, you were on the ground floor, staring up in horror as the thing started to fall… directly toward you.

You couldn’t run. It was too massive. Too close.

So you closed your eyes. Braced for impact. For the end.

But it never came.

A burst of wind hit your face — sharp, sudden. You flinched, then opened your eyes.

He was there.

Superman.

Just inches from your face, arms straining as he held the weight of the creature above you. His eyes locked with yours — wide and soft, full of something you couldn’t quite name. Then they hardened with focus.

“You need to get out of here,” he said, voice tight. “I can’t hold it much longer.”

You nodded, heart hammering, and ran.

The sunlight hit your skin as you finally made it out from beneath the beast. You turned to look back just in time to see Superman’s arms give out. He disappeared beneath the creature.

Your hand flew to your mouth.

He’d saved you. Superman had saved you.

And now he was… gone?

No. Not gone. That didn’t seem possible. Trapped, maybe. Injured. But not gone.

You stood there, frozen, staring at the spot where he’d vanished, willing him to reappear. But with every passing second, the ache in your chest grew heavier. The tears were already burning at the corners of your eyes when you felt a hand on your arm.

You turned — expecting anyone but him.

Yet there he was. Superman.

Everyone else seemed too busy congratulating the Justice Squad to notice Superman’s iron grip on you. You let him drag you along, half stumbling, half jogging to keep up with his pace. What the hell was going on?

And then, as if he couldn’t do anything more surprising, Superman pulled you into an alley and kissed you. It took you a second to realize what was happening. But then you were pushing him away. You gaped at him for a moment before finally managing to speak.

“I— I have a boyfriend!” you blurted.

You weren’t sure what you expected him to do with that information — apologize? Back away? But smiling definitely wasn’t on the list. Then again, Superman kept on surprising you. He gave you a big grin.

“I know you do,” he said.

You blinked. “That… that makes no sense.”

And then the gears started turning in your head, and you seemed to remember that your boyfriend had interviewed Superman on various occasions.

“Wait—Clark’s mentioned me?”

Superman’s eyes widened. Then he let out a soft, disbelieving laugh, covering his mouth with one hand and shaking his head.

“You really have no idea, do you?”

You stared at him, confused.

And he smiled again — softer this time. As if letting a secret slip from his lips.

His hand moved to hold onto your cheek, and just as you were about to move away, he said something that made you freeze.

“You have a mole just above your hip bone.”

And the world seemed to stop. Because there was only one person in the world who knew that information. Only one person who’d ever cared enough to notice such a small detail. Your brows furrowed as you continued to stare at Superman. He caressed your cheek with his thumb, allowing you to come to terms with what he’d just revealed to you.

“Clark?” you whispered.

Superman gave you a soft smile.

“Hey, honey.”

You didn’t think. You just moved.

Your hands grabbed at his face, pulling him down into a kiss — desperate, trembling, relieved. Your heart was still pounding, still caught in the echo of near-death. His lips met yours without hesitation, arms circling your waist like he could finally let go, like he could finally breathe.

It was everything. Familiar and not. Clark, but not just Clark. Superman.

Clark Kent was Superman.

Oh my god. You were dating Superman.

And then your hand flew up — not to hurt, not really — but to do something. You smacked his chest, the impact dull against the solid wall of him.

“All this time?” you said, voice cracking. “You—you never told me?”

There were no tears now, just anger. Anger that he hadn’t told you.  That he hadn’t trusted you enough to share something so huge about his double life. Anger at all the excuses he’d made up.  Anger at all the danger he’d been putting himself in — every day — without you even knowing.

“I wanted to,” he said quietly. “Every day.”

“But you didn’t.” You shook your head, stepping back, running a hand through your hair. “God, Clark—do you have any idea what I felt just now? I thought you died.”

“I couldn’t tell you,” he said. “If anyone knew we were together, you’d be in more danger. I needed to protect you.”

You let out a shaky laugh, more bitter than amused. “You mean the way you just protected me? By throwing yourself under a building-sized monster?”

He didn’t answer. And your expression softened — just a little. Your scowl faded into a frown.

“I thought I lost you,” you whispered, voice breaking. “And the worst part is, I didn’t even know it was you I was losing. I thought I was watching a stranger die… while the man I love was safe somewhere else.”

You’d never told him you loved him before. You hadn’t intended to now — but the words had just slipped out. He wasn’t even sure if you realized it. But he had.

His hands were at his sides now, clenched — like he wanted to reach for you, but didn’t dare.

“I didn’t want to lie,” he said softly. “But I had to. And I hated every second of it.”

You looked at him. Really looked at him. And you saw him. Not Superman. Not the hero. Just Clark. Your Clark. The man who brought you coffee in the mornings. Who teased you when you fell asleep with a book on your chest. The man who made you feel safe… even when he was the one running headfirst into danger.

You stepped forward again, more slowly this time — and let your body crash into his. You held on tight, terrified that at any moment he might disappear from your grasp. His arms wrapped around you, shielding you from the world. Like he always had.  Even before you knew his secret.

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, still clinging to his suit like letting go might undo everything. And you kissed him again, more tender this time, your hands moving to hold onto his face as you did. When you finally pulled away, you looked him dead in the eye.

“You better not lie to me again,” you said, voice low but firm.

His smile was small but sincere. “I won’t. I promise.”

You searched his face for a moment, then nodded, satisfied. He kissed your forehead softly — a gentle, grounding thing — and you knew he didn’t want to let go either. But the distant sounds of celebration and shouting from the Justice Squad behind you said it was time.

He hesitated a second longer, then pulled back just enough to say, with a crooked little grin,

 “So Superman kisses you and the first thing you say is ‘I have a boyfriend’?”

You blinked at him in surprise.

“That’s what you’re thinking about right now?”

He raised his hands up. “Hey, I’m just glad you’re loyal.”

You smacked his chest again — this time just a little harder.

“Shut up, Kent.”

He laughed, really laughed — and you realized how long it had been since you’d heard that sound from him. His hand brushed yours one last time before he turned to go, stepping out of the alley and back into the world as Superman.

But now you knew. Now he was yours — all of him. And somehow, that made everything feel just a little less terrifying.

[littlejoels]

synopsis: clark forgets that he's still wearing his suit..

word count: ? words

warnings: smut and cursing!

laying out on the couch in an oversized tee that did nothing to hide your bare legs, a bowl of grapes half-finished beside you, you heard someone knocking softly on the door. blinking cautiously, you got up and you opened the door slowly, half-expecting to see a pizza guy who got the wrong address, but instead—

clark kent stood there.

well, in a tight blue suit still clinging to every inch of muscle, red cape fluttering in the breeze like it had somewhere better to be, and that damn ‘S’ on his chest gleaming, it was superman. his hair was ruffled, curl fallen low over his forehead, and he had the most sweetest grin across his stupidly handsome face. “hi.”

you blinked, confused, looking to make sure no one could see him, “oh my gosh.”

“i, uh—” he looked down at himself, actually noticed the way the suit hugged his thick thighs, his biceps, how the outline of everything was shameless and stupidly visible, “i forgot to change.”

your mouth opened, closed, and then opened again. “no shit, baby.”

“i was flying, and i got distracted thinking about you, and—well, i landed before i remembered i still looked like … this.” he gestured vaguely to himself like he wasn’t literally standing there dressed as the most recognizable man in the world, his bulge almost obscene beneath that alien fabric.

you leaned against the doorframe, biting the inside of your cheek just to keep your grin inside. “so you flew halfway across the city like a horny missile just to come over in costume?”

he stepped closer, one brow lifted, eyes dragging over you with delicious slowness. “i wasn’t planning on being horny.”

“you never plan on it,” you said, playfully, “but your dick seems to have its own agenda.”

he laughed, causing you to notice his shoulder shaking with him, “i missed you.”

your heart did that annoying squeeze again. you stepped aside, motioned him in. “get your spandex ass inside before someone takes a picture of this and sells it to the daily planet.”

he ducked his head, brushing past you, and you caught the faint scent of ashes and a little smoke. you shut the door behind him, turned—and nearly walked right into him.

“i should’ve changed,” he murmured, gaze stuck to your lips. he was about 6'4', so looking down at you, especially your lips was a common habit of his. “but then i wouldn’t have seen the way you looked at me when you opened that door.”

you rolled your eyes, but heat flared low in your stomach all the way down to your core. “you’re such a slut.”

“only for you.”

he leaned in, cupping your cheek, with a thick thumb dragging across your lower lip before you could even breathe out a warning. he kissed you, for the first time without rush.

your fingers curled into the sharp lines of his suit, gripping him by the waist as he pressed you into the door. the cape brushed against your bare legs, tickling you.

“God, this thing is so impractical,” you mumbled against his mouth, tugging at the red fabric behind him. “does it even do anything?”

“aesthetics ..”

“you’re such a whore.”

“and yet, you keep letting me in.”

you pushed at his chest, laughing, but he barely moved. his hands slid under your thighs and lifted you up so easily, you felt weightless. your back hit the wall by the door, legs wrapping around his hips, and suddenly it was all pleasure—his body pressed close, heat building fast, his cock straining against you through that suit.

“you’re still wearing the suit,” you whispered, teeth catching his earlobe, tugging until he groaned.

“you noticed.”

he kissed your neck slowly, his tongue followed suit, and touched your collarbone where your shirt slid down a little. “fuuuck—clark—”

“say it again.”

“clark.”

his name was a prayer and a curse, tumbling out of your moth as he swallowed your words, trying to breathe through your mouth. your fingers slid down, gripping the edge of his belt, and tugged harshly.

“take this off,” you hissed. “right now.”

he pulled back just enough to smirk, that infuriating, sexy smile. “why? i thought you liked it.”

“i like you .. but not trying to fuck a plastic action figure.”

he chuckled, and the sound rumbled through your ribs. “it’s not plastic. it’s kryptonian fabric.”

“and you’re still a nerd.”

but your hands were already slipping to the back, trying to drag the suit halfway off. it clung to him like a second skin, tighter than anything had the right to be. he helped, pulling it off in one swift motion, baring his chest, like a gift being unwrapped .. you licked your lips.

“you're staring.”

“damn right i am.” your fingers trailed down his chest, past the hard lines of his abs, tracing every part of him that no one else ever got to see. “all perfect and shirtless and probably bulletproof.”

“you could test that.”

“i am testing it,” you said, reaching between you and palming him through the suit’s lower half. he jolted, breath catching, arms tightening around you.

“fuck.”

“see? not bulletproof here.”

he growled as he lifted you again, this time carrying you across the room, feet never touching the floor. “you’re playing with fire, baby.”

“you’re the one who showed up in a skin-tight suit, clark.” his hands braced on either side of you. kissing your throat, down to your chest, biting lightly at the fabric of your shirt.

“and you’re not wearing anything under this.”

“very observant .. superman”

his tongue flicked over your nipple through the cotton and he sucked at it, slowly causing you to pull him closer by his gelled yet soft hair. “you’re gonna ruin my shirt.”

“i’ll buy you ten.”

“good,” you panted. “because if you don’t fuck me right now, i swear to God—” he silenced you with his mouth, indicating a long night ahead for both of you.

[katsukissed]

next time i’m takin’ you with me • kb x f!reader

⤷ long-distance, facetime sex, praise, dirty talk, mutual masturbation, soft dom!bakugo, explicit (18+)

he’s only been gone for two days.

but it’s already too long.

you’re curled up in bed, half-scrolling, half-pouting, your shirt stretched off one shoulder and your phone glowing softly in your lap.

you’re thinking about texting him.

you’re not expecting him to text first.

[22:17] katsuki: you up?

your heart jumps.

you snap a picture without thinking - your bare thighs under the sheets, a sliver of lacy underwear peeking out - and hit send.

[22:18] you: missing you

[22:18] you: this is your fault btw

he doesn’t reply right away.

and then you get a photo back.

it’s blurry. hastily taken. his hand is in his hair, his sweats are low on his hips, and his abs look stupid good in the hotel mirror.

[22:20] katsuki: i can’t fuckin sleep. need to see you.

your screen flashes.

incoming facetime call: katsuki 💥

you answer.

he’s in bed, shirtless, the hotel light dim and warm behind him. he’s got that look on his face - tired, frustrated, but soft when he sees you.

“hey,” you whisper, smiling.

“fuck, baby.” his voice is rough. “you look good.”

“i look like a mess.”

“yeah. my mess.” he shifts the phone, angles it so you can see the slope of his stomach. “lemme see you.”

you hesitate. he sees it. his voice drops.

“please.”

so you pull the sheet back. slow. teasing.

you’re in that old t-shirt he loves, no bra, those little panties he always pulls off with his teeth.

his breath hitches. “jesus christ.”

you slide the shirt off, let it fall behind you.

“you touching yourself yet?” he asks.

you shake your head, bite your lip. “waiting for you.”

he groans - low and dangerous - and you see his hand move. just a little. out of frame.

“fuckin’ love you,” he mutters. “open your legs.”

you do. shift back on the pillows, one hand holding the phone, the other trailing down slowly, eyes locked on him.

“look at you,” he breathes. “so pretty for me. all wet already?”

you nod. you don’t have words.

your fingers find your clit and his jaw tightens.

“wish i was there.” his voice is strained now, eyes dark. “wish i could fuckin touch you. bet you feel so warm.”

“katsuki- ” you whimper.

he slips his hand under his waistband and your breath catches when he pulls it out, hard and leaking and flushed red at the tip.

“that what you wanted?”

you nod, eyes wide.

he spits in his hand. starts stroking himself - slow, tight. you match his rhythm, fingers moving in slow circles, hips twitching up with every breath.

“fuck, you’re beautiful.”

“wish you were here,” you pant. “miss you.”

he groans again, head falling back.

“i’d have you on your hands and knees by now,” he growls. “face in the pillow. beggin’ for me.”

you moan - loud and breathy.

“keep goin’, baby. don’t stop.” his voice is shaking now. “wanna see you cum. wanna hear it.”

you’re getting close. your thighs are trembling. the phone slips a little and you don’t even care - you want to see him.

he’s got sweat at his hairline, lips parted, moaning softly now with every stroke.

“you look so fuckin good like this.”

you whimper, back arching.

“cum for me,” he growls. “atta girl. let me see.”

and you do - with a gasp, a cry of his name, thighs clenching around your hand. your whole body shakes.

he finishes seconds later - groaning, hips jerking, spilling over his abs, his breath catching in his throat.

for a moment, it’s quiet.

just breathing.

the sound of you both coming back to earth.

“you okay?” he asks softly.

you nod. “yeah.”

you smile. “you always know how to take care of me.”

he sighs, pulling the phone closer to his face.

“next time,” he says, voice thick and quiet, “i’m takin’ you with me.”

you fall asleep with the call still on.

his breathing in your ear.

his soft little “i love you” the last thing you hear.

⤷ @katsukissed

do not repost, translate, or plagiarise. reblogs are appreciated ♡

asks/requests are welcome!

[rawjutsu]

when the only way albedo can keep you safe is to make you his housewife !?

you should’ve known albedo was tense the second you stepped onto dragonspine.

his hand didn’t leave yours the entire climb. his eyes tracked every snowdrift, every shift in wind speed. he barely spoke unless it was to tell you exactly where to step.

“albedo,” you giggled. “relax. i’ve been here before.”

“yes,” he said tightly. “and the risk is still statistically unacceptable.”

you raised an eyebrow. “risk of what?”

he looked at you—really looked, like he was memorizing your face just in case.

“losing you.”

the trek was beautiful. a sharp kind of beautiful—the way frost flowers bloomed along cavern edges, glowing faintly under the pale light of his torch. he showed you where he’d painted constellations in the ice. where a rare crystal could only form under pressure and silence.

he even smiled when you gasped at a frozen waterfall, layered in shimmering blue.

“this is my favorite place in all of teyvat,” he said softly. “i don’t bring anyone here. i shouldn’t have brought you.”

“why not?”

“because,” he said simply, “i’m not confident i can protect you here.”

you laughed. joked that you weren’t some helpless princess. and then—because the universe loves irony—you both got ambushed not even ten minutes later.

you didn’t even see the lawachurl until it was almost on top of you. you ducked the worst of the blow, but its axe caught your thigh hard enough to send you sprawling, breath punched from your lungs.

you were on the ground, snow biting at your palms, when albedo moved.

it wasn’t human how fast he reacted.

it wasn’t normal how cold his expression turned, how silent he was as he summoned a geo construct from nothing and impaled the creature without a word.

you barely registered the flash of yellow light before everything went quiet again. too quiet.

you were still panting when he turned to you, face calm, voice flat.

“you’re injured.”

“barely,” you croaked. “just a scratch—”

“barely,” he echoed. “your femoral artery is less than two inches from that mark. if you’d moved left instead of right…”

he didn’t finish the thought. just helped you up and led you wordlessly to a nearby cavern.

you didn’t expect him to pace, hands twitching, muttering under his breath like he was solving a problem he couldn’t brute-force away.

“…if her reaction time had been 0.3 seconds slower—fatal. variable terrain risk: high. hostile spawn probability: increasing. emotional interference—unacceptable.”

“albedo,” you said softly.

he stopped.

then turned.

and something unhinged glinted behind his eyes.

“you won’t stop following me,” he whispered, approaching slowly. “you insist on being near me. in danger.”

you swallowed. “because i love you.”

he flinched. like he didn’t deserve it. like it hurt to hear.

“i know,” he said. “which is why i have to do something about it.”

“…what are you talking—”

“i ran the numbers.”

he stopped in front of you, breath frosting between you both.

“the only statistically sound way to ensure your continued safety… is to make you stay.”

“and the only thing strong enough to keep you still… is me.”

he pushed you down onto the soft furs in the corner of the cave—his emergency stash, always prepared.

his lips found your neck. his hands tore your clothes with frantic, deliberate force.

you gasped, clutching at his coat. “albedo—!”

“i’m going to breed you. i’ll fill you so full of my seed, your body will have to stay behind.”

you were soaking by the time he shoved his cock into you—slow and thick and mercilessly deep—until your breath punched out of your lungs in a broken moan.

“i’ll fuck the danger right out of you,” he growled. “replace it with something useful. something mine.”

he gripped your legs, folding you into a perfect mating press. his thrusts were sharp, clinical, each one angled to hit your most sensitive spot until you were choking on your own voice.

“you're perfect like this,” he hissed. “open. obedient. breedable.”

“you’ll stay warm in my bed. swollen with my child.” “no more adventures. no more risks.” “just me. and our baby. and your legs spread, full of cum.”

you sobbed his name, brain melting into static as his pace turned feral. he wrapped a hand around your throat, squeezing gently until your world narrowed down to the pulsing stretch of his cock and the trembling heat pooling in your gut.

“say you’ll let me,” he gasped. “say i can fill you.”

“y-yes, fuck—yes!”

he came with a broken groan, cock buried deep as he painted your walls white. thick ropes. so much. you swore you could feel it dripping out already.

but he didn’t stop.

“not enough,” he panted. “one round isn’t enough. you’re too fertile to waste this opportunity—”

“i have to be sure it takes.”

he flipped you onto your stomach, dragging your hips up as he mounted you again, rutting into your overstimulated pussy with a raw, obsessive need.

you lost track of how many times he came inside you.

only that he kept whispering nonsense into your ear the entire time—

“you’ll be so full. so safe. my little experiment. my wife.” “gonna keep you like this forever. bare and sweet and mine.”

you woke up hours later.

wrapped in his coat, hips sore, legs jelly.

he was sitting beside you, scribbling notes on a clipboard.

“subject is resting,” he murmured, not realizing you were awake. “multiple ejaculations. cervical lock achieved. probability of conception: high.”

you blinked.

“…are you seriously logging my pregnancy chances right now?”

albedo looked up, startled. then—

“yes,” he said calmly. “because next time, i’m not risking a single percent of failure.”

[anki-of-beleriand]

The Best Kept Secrets Ch. 1

Summary: Wanda was on the verge of breaking down when she was called to attend her brother's engagement party. Alone and unable to keep up with her mother's expectations she makes a deal with the devil that would lead her to discover a side of her that may either destroy her or bring the happiness she so craves for herself.

Pairing: Female!Reader x Wanda Maximoff

Warnings: au, Moder setting, No powered charcaters, cheating, idiots in love, unrequite/requited love, jealousy, drama, angst, broken hearts, homophobia, more warnings as chapters come in.

Author's Note: Hello guys! I know I have seen this before but thi time around I will take my time but ill force myself to write through this and finished it. This is the new, improve, version of a story that will tell you what happened to Reader in her everyday life. I hope you like it.

Thank you for reading, and giving me the chance to share this with you. Remember English is not my mother tongue, so apologise in advanced for any grammar, spelling or funny mistake you may find in here.

Chapter 1

 On a fateful evening

Electric blue broke into the sky falling with a single jolt of energy on the land.

The thunder rumbled with waves of sound crashing against the glass of the windows, the world around the villa trembled just as darkness consumed the room. The lights flickered once, then twice, and finally they gave in leaving the house in complete darkness breaking into gloomy shadows that danced into the night.

Time stood still.

The silence was broken by the wind and the drops of heavy water breaking into the land.

The Weather Channel had announced the storm early in the morning, and while you had not been averse to the idea of being trapped in such an Aegean paradise, you were not overly fond of being trapped in such a place with her.

Wanda Maximoff.

Your heart trembled at the sight of her deep, forest eyes. The frailty of her expression was accompanied by the beauty that had always charmed those around her.

You never thought you would see her again.

Not after she broke your heart.

And you decided to disappear.

A year Ago

 - Kent, England, King George's Club.

Morning light poured through the tree lines surrounding the golf course.

The wind from the sea was fresh, with a salty taste that usually made her relax and think of better times. There was not a single sound that could distract her from her goal, her hands closed tightly around the club with her eyes narrowed slightly as she pointed to the fifth hole. Taking a deep breath, she lifted her arms, turned her torso and then swung to the left…

…missing the golf ball for mere inches.

“FUCK!”

Kate Bishop winced, it was Wanda’s fifth attempt to hit the ball and the exercise was not going well for someone that had won several golf championships since she was 14 years old. Wanda grasped the club tightly, her body trembling with bad contained rage her eyes glaring at the ball as if the small, white object were to be blamed for her failures.  The morning glided through the land slowly, the heat turning into a freezing wind as the clouds changed into grey, darkened mounds in the sky.

Wanda stood frozen for a moment, her mind filled with memories of what had been a complete farce. The tears clouded her sight, she held her sobs tightly while her body trembled under the weight of the memories that brought heartbreak.

Wanda had loved Jarvis from the moment they had met.

She had fallen in love with his mind, his smile, and his lies. From the very first moment, Wanda had known it was a forbidden relationship, but the naive part of her heart hoped for a glimpse of something that would never be.

Wanda had loved him so much (she was still pretty much in love with him).

This was the reason why his deception had hurt so much.

Jarvis had betrayed her. He had used her. He had broken her in ways Wanda didn’t think possible to recover from.In the middle of the golf court, and without a warning, Wanda broke into painful sobs, her body trembling under the weight of her emotion she had been trying to hide from the world. 

In the middle of the golf course Wanda finally gave in, crying her heart out at the unfairness of the situation. She cried with the golf-club falling from her hands just as she wrapped her arms around herself; Wanda had her eyes closed with tears rolling down her cheeks and was ignorant of the young woman that was hesitating a few steps away from her.

Kate bit her lower lip with her right hand hovering closer to the crying form of Wanda, she could hear the sheer pain behind the other woman’s sobs. The way Wanda trembled while holding onto herself was enough to break Kate’s heart. She stepped closer unsure on how to approach the situation without creating more pain or desperation to her best friend.

“Hey, Wands,” Kate all but whispered, stepping closer until she offered the only comfort she could at the moment. 

Wanda welcomed the hug, hiding her face from the world in the crook of Kate’s neck, shaking as she sobbed and let go of all the pumped up emotions she had been holding for far too long. Kate closed her eyes wishing she could do something, anything, to heal her friend and to make the man pay for his transgressions.Kate rubbed Wanda’s back, brushing her hair soothingly as she held her close.

“It’s okay, Wands, it is gonna be okay, I promise you.” The word left Kate’s mouth before she could stop them, but even if she didn’t know how or when, she found it in her to promise Wanda a glimpse of hope for the future.

For what seemed like an eternity, Wanda cried and Kate held her tenderly allowing her to pour her heart out the way they had done so since kindergarten.

Kate had met Wanda at a younger age, and while she had been boisterous and loud and always competitive, Wanda had been the most logical and cautious one, always the voice of reason. The both of them had been together for the first love, and the first heartbreak, Wanda had been by Kate’s side when her father died, and Kate had been there for Wanda when the young woman had almost lost her brother. They had been through so much that, now that they are adults facing the real world, Kate didn’t know how to handle this situation. She didn’t know why she allowed the relationship between Wanda and Jarvis to spiral out of control, to get in the way of their friendship and, ultimately, to break Wanda the way it had done so.

“I am so stupid, Kate, so stupid…” Wanda whispered squeezing Kate tenderly before letting go, Kate hesitated stepping back her hands on Wanda’s arms, Wanda had her eyes closed and she was speaking to her friend as much as she was speaking to herself, “I should have known, I should have seen it…you warned me, everyone who knew warned me.”

Wanda knew she should have seen it from the very first moment they met. He had been in a relationship at that time, and ever since that first day Wanda had always been a shadow. A secret. The other woman. A lover, never a girlfriend, never a partner. Wanda should have done many things, and she should have known how things would end up; still a part of her had always hoped he was what Jarvis wanted, a part of Wanda had been so naïve into thinking they were meant to be together and that, by the end of everything, Jarvis would choose her.

How wrong she had been.

“Wanda…” Kate started hesitantly, she trailed off seeing the broken stare on her friend’s eyes.

“I should have known, Kate.” Wana sounded broken, detached from all emotions running through her.

Before Kate could do or say something, Wanda shook her head standing up while wiping her tears away.

“I think this is enough golf for today, don’t you?”

Kate opened and closed her mouth, she stood up locking eyes with Wanda. For a brief moment, Kate played with the idea of saying something, but the empty glance Wanda shot her way told her she just needed to forget for the time being. With a heavy heart, Kate nodded, trying to give Wanda the time she needed it to finally open up and tell her everything that had happened between her and Jarvis.

“Yes, I think you are right, it is almost midday and we should eat something for lunch before going back to the flat and get ready for Stark’s Gala tonight.” Kate mumbled, Wanda winced remembering the social event she was obliged to attend that night.

“I forgot about it,” Wanda passed her hand through her hair, wiping away the tears from her cheeks, “mother expects me to go and use the dress she got for me.”

Kate snorted knowing Wanda’s mother had been trying to control the social life of Wanda ever since she came of age and decided to be celibate and single. It was quite obvious, Wanda had been anything but celibate and single, but no one was to know that Jarvis had been the one Wanda had been dating; they were supposed to be friends nothing else nothing more. But since the relationship had been a secret Wanda’s mother, Natalya Maximoff, had tried to set her daughter up with the young single men in high london society. 

“So, she is also setting you up on a date tonight?” Kate asked, trying to divert the mood into more familiar, and mundane situations, Wanda rolled her eyes getting into the golf cart with Kate.

“No, not today, dad forbid her to continue the quest of hunting for a boyfriend or a husband for me.” Wanda said, shaking her head, if it hadn’t been because of her father she was pretty sure she would be going to the Charity event with some dumbass her mother thought appropriate for her.

Kate pursed her lips for a moment, her eyes diverting to the grass and the trees before turning to Wanda. 

“I guess…well, if you think about it, perhaps this could be your chance to…to finally meet someone new?” Kate ventured, she lifted her right hand opening the palm in a signal of peace, “I know it is too soon, but maybe you could think about it?”

Wanda sped up the golf cart while grabbing the wheel tightly in her hands, Kate yelped almost falling down understanding that her comment had been unnecessary. . At least, for now. The morning glided away with the sun touching the land with a cold embrace, the golf cart travelled down the camp swiftly leaving behind the many players that had just started the morning routine in the club. Kate grabbed the handler on the front while shooting Wanda a warning glare.

“You know this cart is not going to kill but probably just injures us?” Kate huffed. “I was just…it was just an idea, Wanda. You really, this situation is…I just want you to be happy.”

Wanda winced, taking a deep breath knowing that Kate wanted nothing more than for Wanda to be happy. To finally break the toxic cycle she had entered with Jarvis during their tumultuous relationship. 

“I’m sorry, I just…not yet, I am not ready yet.” Wanda whispered, slowing down her driving while taking the golf cart to the main building inside the Club..

Kate shook her head leaning back in the seat, “I know, Wanda. Look, I know it is not easy, and I know it is not fair but…you can’t let this situation get over your head. You can’t let him win.”

“I don’t want him to win,” Wanda mumbled, turning left and leading the golf cart towards the court parking lot. “This is just…too much. And I haven’t even had the time to mourn properly, to actually face what happened, to talk to him I mean…”

The place was already packed with societal crowds, Wanda trailed off trying to act as if nothing but bad luck had disturbed her golfing morning. Kate followed her inside the country house towards the showers, both of them offering polite and practical smiles to the people they encountered on their way to the changing rooms.

The place was not empty but at least in their chosen space they could continue their private conversation. Wanda sat fixing her socks and shoes while furrowing her brows, her words still hanging heavily above their heads.

“I don’t understand why you haven’t blocked him or stopped talking to him.” Kate finally blurted out, the question burning inside her mind since the relationship between Wanda and Vision exploded.

Wanda shrugged, focusing her attention on the make-up, “we are supposed to be old friends, no…we were not supposed to be anything else. If he stopped talking to me, it could be suspicious.”

A heavy silence fell upon them.

This admission shattered any argument Kate was ready to present to her friend, the deep implication of such a statement finally made sense of the puzzle the young Bishop had been trying to put together since Wanda had broken up things with Vision.

“We better hurry up, I am hungry and we need to get ready for tonight.” Wanda straightened up while glancing at her reflection, her forest eyes gleaming with unshed tears and heartbreak.

The table was already occupied by Jessica Jones and Gwen Stacy waiting for them, Wanda felt dizzy, her face drained from all colour and her eyes opened big as she set her them on the woman that had meant her downfall. Kate placed a single hand on her friend’s forearm, her eyes opening lightly as she led in.

“Wands, sorry i didn’t know…” Kate started, but Wanda clenched her jaw shaking her head.

“It’s okay, I know…let’s get this over with.” Wanda said though her voice had lost its usual  bite and emotion. “I have to act normal, remember?”

This last part was said with a bitter smile, and Kate had to wonder just how many times had Wanda put on an act inorder to cover her relationship with Jarvis. How long had Wanda submitted herself to be a simple shadow of the woman she really is. For the very first time, Kate could say that she felt actual hatred for someone, hatred for the man that had broken her best friend, her sister, in such a systematic and cruel way.

Jessica’s eyes lit up when she saw Wanda and Kate, the four of them had met during their High School years and their friendship had lasted since then. Wanda winced when Jessica wrapped her arms around her asking about her day and her life until then, Wanda tried to be polite and friendly, but it was obvious that something was bothering her. Gwen and Jessica interchanged knowing stares and they offered Kate and Wanda sympathetic smiles.

“I know what you guys are thinking about,” Gwen was the first one talking to Kate and Wanda, “but I know soon you will find the right man and in no time it will be me and Jessica, the ones all excited to be the maid of honour in your wedding.”

Kate almost choked on her water, Wanda rolled her eyes patting her softly on the back.

“Right, now I mean…we are happy for you two.” Kate said cleaning the water from her chin, she looked at Wanda out of the corner of her eye before turning her attention to Gwen. “But we are fine just being…maids of honor, right, Wanda?”

“Uh, yes, totally fine.” Wanda replied, forcing a tight smile that Jessica and Gwen didn’t buy.

“Look, Wands, I know Jarvis is your best friend, and that you were just as surprised as I was when he proposed to me but..”Jessica started while Wanda tried to conceal her emotions, “but you are also my friend and while the dynamic is going to be different, I want you to know that well, nothing has to change between us, and between you and Jarvis, he has been down as of late since you haven’t called him.”

Wanda sat there unable to form any words or even to react at what Jessica had stated so innocently. Kate placed a hand on Wanda’s thigh, a comforting gesture as he tried to take over the conversation.

“Pietro is also a little down since you haven’t been responding to his calls,” Gwen said furrowing her brows, “are you guys fighting or something?”

“No!” Kate exclaimed louder than was probably necessary, several people turned to her before she gave a sheepish smile and turned to the other two women, “It is my fault, I…I have been down since I found out Gwen will be married in two months, and Jess got engaged last week, I was dragging Wanda with me in an emotional comfort trip.”

Jessica and Gween soon turned their attention to Kate, their words meant to comfort the brunette in her role in their lives and the plans they could still make to enjoy their time together. Soon the conversation took an unexpected turn and Gwen was distracting everyone with the latest preparations for her wedding, Jessica was an avid listener taking notes to start the preparations from her own nuptials. 

In all this time, Kate could tell Wanda was holding it together by sheer will power but that, as the time passed and they kept hearing the fairytale narrated by Jessica and Gwen’s relationship the young woman would explode. And, just as predicted, the explosion came due to Gwen’s intervention.

“Pietro was fretting due to the amount of people being invited, but your mother and I tried to calm him down and explained to him the importance of a nice pre-wedding dinner, overall for those who are not invited to the main event.” Gwen fixed her hair giving a lighthearted giggle.

The conversation could have died there, no more was necessary but Gwen had always been naive and just a little dense about the reality of the world. She settled her grey eyes on Wanda, a twitch of the woman's lips told Kate she should intervene before Gwen said anything, but she was too slow to react.

“By the way Wanda,I have heard from a very good source that Victor Von Doom will be there, and your mother has already made arrangements for you to be escorted by him to the reception.” Gwen leaned forward placing her hand on top of Wanda’s one mistaking her dumbfounded glance for one of shocked nervousness.

Kessica opened her eyes with pure glee in them, she turned to Wanda with a smile, her face completely changed into one of happiness, the same expression Gwen was wearing while giving these news.

“Oh, Wanda, that’s fantastic!! Victor is such a handsome man, and he is a good man too.” Jessica said giddy by the news, “perhaps he is your knight in shining armour, I know Victor has been trying to get into business with your father, and this could be more than just business.”

Gwen nodded smiling, “I know Victor has tried to reach out to Pietro to ask properly to get you on a date. You know they both studied in the same Universityand Victor respects your brother and father.”

“Oh, asking for permission? How romantic…”

Kate watched the world crumble under her in seconds, she turned to Wanda and could see the red on her cheeks and the glint of anger in her eyes. 

“Excuse me?” Wanda couldn’t hide the anger in her voice, her eyes gleaming with animosity at the audacity coming from Jessica and Gwen. 

She knew Victor Van Doom, the man was a complete jerk and he had tried to get into her family for years. Wanda despised him, he was an arrogant jerk who could care less about her desires or her feelings. The fact that her mother had been dragged into this situation, and that she was planning to get the man into a party that she would potentially attend was insulting and quite frankly disturbing.

Gwen and Jessica blinked confusedly, they were taken aback by the obvious anger coming from Wanda. Kate could see Gwen and Jessica were not only confused but slightly hurt by this reaction, a flash of concern crossing their eyes, and Kate couldn’t help but feel sorry for them. They were really honest in their words, but the sheer innocence and naivety from them had always been a sore point for Wanda. 

“Van Doom is an imbecile whose reputation has been tainted by his inability to hold a business standing,” Wanda stood up, whatever frustrations she had been experiencing in the last month finally getting the best out of her. “Frankly I pitied the woman that fell into his hands, now Gwen, Jessica, if you excuse me I have an event to attend and I am already late to get ready for it.”

Wanda stood up leaving the table in a rush, Gwen sat there furrowing her brows torn between being offended and perplexed. Kate stood up as well, she shot Gwen and Jessica a smile placing her hand on top of Gwen's one.

“You better don't invite that man to the party, Gwen. Wanda really hates him, and the fact her mother is messing around to try and set her up with him is only going to end up really bad. I know Pietro would be against the idea of Van Doom coming to your party..”

Gwen shifted frowning, “Kate, I'm looking out for her. It has been so long since she dated someone, we all are getting either married or have a relationship going on whereas she is…alone. It's not right. I was just trying to get her to meet someone, perhaps dated and have a family on her own?”

“Kate, what we are trying to say here is that we are worried about you and Wanda,” Jessica continued pursing her lips. “We want you guys to experience the same excitement and happiness we feel with our boyfriends. To be loved and to actually have a future…”

Kate lifted a hand furrowing her brows for the first time, she turned her eyes to Jessica then to Gwen, they both had always been too naive for their own good. Kate straightened up wanting to leave her message pretty clear before going after Wanda.

“I understand your concern, I do.” Kate measured her words, pride in herself for being so good at being a grown up. “But you can’t expect us to be happy because you set her up with a man she obviously despises, or that all we want in life is to be in a relationship and get married. I get that for you guys it is the best thing ever, but Wanda, and even me, we are just fine the way things are.”

Then, Kate turned to Gwen, “you know Wanda wants to be happy, she is always looking for that spark, that one person that will change her view of the world and make her feel love. This is not what she wants.”

“Wanda wants to fall in love. To be loved and loved back.” Gwen nodded as if finally understanding, she softened her features, a flash of urgency growing in her grey irises. “Oh, no! I messed it up, didn’t I?I didn't want to…”

“I know, but Gwen you need to start listening to others and start listening to yourself and stand for what you think is right or not,” Kate hesitated before giving Jessica and Gween a hug. “It was good to see you guys, we…will talk later.”

“Please, tell Wanda I'm sorry and I will make sure no one she doesn't like is invited to my engagement.”

Kate walked away from the place rather relieved to know Gwen found a real man that cherished and loved her dearly. She didn't want to think what would have happened if a different individual had approached Gwen when she was younger. With determination behind her strides, Kate strolled down the halls towards the parking lot. In no time she found the car, Wanda was looking gloomily to the horizon, detached from what was happening around her while the tears gleamed under the thunder breaking into the sky. Kate huffed running under the rain before going into the car.

“Gwen and Jessica said they are sorry.”

“Hn, okay.” 

Wanda turned the engine on, she grabbed the wheel tightly, breathing deeply. Her face fell for a moment, then with a tired stare she turned to Kate.

“Will you go with me tonight?”

Kate nodded shifting in the seat, “you know I will.”

“Thank you.”

And with that, the both of them drive out of the club and into the highway leading to London. 

The sky bringing rain and a wind of change Wanda had been ignoring all day.

______________________________________________________________

- Oxford University, Bodleian Library -

The Bodleian Library was one of the oldest libraries in Europe, an architectural and intellectual marvel, the building was located one hour away from London at the heart of Oxford University.

The Library didn’t need to be at the center of the Oxford complex, to be the heart that led investigations in social studies, politics and international relations. In busy times, the building was always filled with students,investigators, workers and even tourists, it was a mixture of people from around the country and the world and it tended to be far too overwhelming. However, with Winter so close and Christmas vacations around the corner, the library became a silent sanctuary for those who were too absorbed in their studies to care for human interaction.

That was the reason as to why this library was your favorite place in the whole world. 

It felt like home for you.

The main room in the library was empty, there was only the librarian who was sitting on the far corner cataloguing some books. You sighed while stretching out while turning on the music, you grabbed the next book with your notebook filled with doodles and notes; you have been working on your thesis for more than four hours, not food or drinks, just you and the books. A pang of sadness went through your heart at the bitter reminder that regardless of the work you have done so far, you had yet to receive a proper job proposal. You frowned, lowering your gaze to the book you have been reading, ignoring your thoughts and your phone you tried to go back to your notes.

 “You know you look hot acting all nerdy and interesting like this?” You jumped at the sudden irruption in the silent setting, turning around you find yourself looking directly into the green eyes of one Natasha Romanoff.

The young woman was smirking at you while taking the sit beside you, she tilted her head grabbing the book you have been reading before grabbing your phone while pausing the music. You rolled your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips at the other woman’s antics. 

“Romanoff.” You tried to greet with a serious, non-sense tone of voice that your friend dismissed with a wave of her hand.

“Y/L/N.* She repeated just as formality, her grin growing winking at you. “So, what are you doing, hot stuff?”

You leaned back on the chair, your eyes drifted around the library before setting on Natasha. The brunette had been the first woman you met in the country, she had offered you friendship and companionship and for over six years, Natasha Romanoff was the best friend anyone could ask for. She had been there in the good and the bad, her friendship had saved you in ways you were not sure Natasha was aware of.

“I was finishing a mandatory reading for the lecture I am preparing.” You stretched out letting out a yawn while your stomach grumbled remembering you about your missing lunch.

Natasha lifted brow , chuckling at your red cheeks, “seems like you are hungry, wanna grab something to eat? I am pretty sure you are not forgetting to feed yourself or I will be very mad.”

You winced at the sudden change in the woman’s voice, she really was like a sister to you and Natasha took the role very seriously.

“I was too distracted, and I really wanted to finish this lecture.” You said softly, Natasha softened her feature winking at you while helping you put everything away.

“Come on, we can grab something to eat and then some coffee, in that place you like so much.”

You stopped what you were doing turning to a very eager Natasha, you narrowed your eyes at her until the young woman stiffened offering a guilty smile. 

“Why are you being so considerate and helpful?”

Natasha was a kind person, she could be protective and the person to go to if you needed help. But this kind of kindness, the fact that she came all the way to the library, and the sudden guilt in her eye and smile told you there was more to this impromptu visit that she led on.

“Can I be a kind soul with my best friend in the whole world?”

“Now, I know there is something wrong with you, what is it?” You asked, narrowing your eyes once more.

Natasha winced, grabbing your backpack while shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Her explanation came short as your stomach grumbled and soon you were blushing at the embarrassing sound. Natasha smirked once more, recovering her confidence while hooking her left arm with your right one. 

“Come, I am pretty sure you haven't eaten anything at all since the toast Yelena left you this morning.” 

“Well, I mean…I did have a coffee.” You mumbled trying to defend yourself, Natasha rolled her eyes while walking with you to the exit of the building.

“You really need to take care of yourself, Y/N.!” The cold breeze from the Oxford afternoon rushed through your face, wrapping your jacket tightly around your body and fixing your scarf as you followed Natasha down the stairs towards the yard.

A few minutes later the both of you were entering the café crossing the street from the main University building, the place was packed with students and professors while you two chose the only empty table inside. Natasha sat down tilting her head with her eyes on you, the young waitress that took your order let her eyes linger on Natasha before disappearing down the establishment.

“Lady killer, eh?” You chuckled, shaking your head before leaning in. “So, Nats, what do you want?”

Natasha laughed leaning back while placing her right hand on her chest faking surprise and indignation all in a single pout, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“You offend me, Y/N. I come as a friend to ensure you eat something instead of drowning in self-pity and books.” She said resting her cheek on her palm, her lips curling into a more sincere smile, her eyes gleaming with understanding and the knowledge that you had been beating yourself as of late for your lack of job offers. “How are you feeling? I wanted to talk to you this morning, but you weren’t there.”

You shifted chewing your lower lip while furrowing your brows, “I didn’t wanna talk.”

“I know.” You lifted your eyes to see Natasha offering a half smile, you snorted nodding. “I just…I tried so hard.”

Natasha could detect the defeat in your voice, she knew you had been affected by the lack of invitations and job offers that most of your classmates had already received. The program for your Master’s degree had opened the gates of private companies, organisations and even government organizations to reach out to the brightest minds in the program. You had been the number one student in the program, but you had been the only one who had not received a job proposal yet. 

“I know you think you are not good enough, or that you are not ready, but Y/N, you are.” Natasha put her hand on yours, squeezing tenderly while offering a tiny smile, you tried to smile back but your lips faltered.

“I just…I have worked so hard.” You mumbled keeping your mouth shut as the young waitress placed the food on the table, Natasha kept her eyes and hand on you waiting until you could finally let it go. 

“I worked hard everyday, I studied and I know I am smart.” You said but your voice lacked conviction, and Natasha knew right there and then that your poor opinion on yourself was getting in the way once more.

“Y/N, listen to me,” Natasha said firmly, “you are smart, you are the smarter person in that program, You will get what you need because it would be the one thing to get you to the place you are needed the most. I know it is hard, but you need to be patient.”

You snorted nodding, you knew that speech by heart. 

It was easier said than done, and you sometimes didn’t have the patience to wait for what you needed or wanted. You started eating and, as soon as the food touched your mouth you gave in to the hunger you have been feeling all day. Natasha observed you in silence, you ate glancing everywhere but at the woman sitting in front of you, finally when you were focusing on your coffee she took over the conversation once more.

“I know you don’t want to hear it, but you really need to be patient.” Just then Natasha put from her pocket a white envelope, you frowned, grabbing the object while turning questioning eyes to her. The young woman shrugged before explaining, “Tony sent the invitation yesterday, but since you didn’t come home I couldn't give it to you until now.”

You grabbed the invitation with trembling hands, this was an event prepared for some investors, students, and teachers of the different faculties Stark Industries worked with in the scholarship program. The same program you had earned 8 years ago, with trembling hands you grabbed the envelope and read the invitation.

Natasha offered a half smile, she finished her coffee and waited for you to talk.

“This may be your chance to actually get to know some important figures that can be interested in your job, don’t you think?” Natasha leaned forward pointing to the invitation, “and look at that.”

In the lower part of the invitation you read your name and then…

“Miss. Y/L/N and guest you are cordially invited…” You read he last part before glancing at a grinning Natasha, the woman had a glint of triumph in her eyes tha told you she had not only won her argument about you needing to be patient, but also she had gotten something out of the situation. “So, this is what you brought me here?”

You waved the invitation, Natasha leaned back her smile still in place.

“Yes, and no.” She stated softening her features. “I meant every word, Y/N, and that invitation shows Stark also believes in you, he knows you would hate for him to intervene, so he is giving you a chance by inviting you to a place where you can make connections.”

You snorted, shaking your head, your heart shrank with the cheer weight of your emotions.

“So, all I have to do is go to the party…with you?” You asked furrowing your brows, “why are you so interested in going?”

You couldn’t help but frown at the sudden change in attitude by Natasha, the young woman was suddenly shy, her eyes downcast leaning forward as if to tell you a secret. Now you were interested, this was the first time you saw Natasha acting all bashful and hesitant.

“Carol is going to be there.” Natasha was straightforward knowing by this point you didn’t need for her to pretend, and Natasha was really wanting to make you understand the great opportunity this party was going to be.

You opened your eyes in realization at the name of the Captain of the Royal Air Forces; this time around the blush in Natasha’s face was unmistakable and you couldn’t help but laugh. Natasha grumbled throwing her napkin at you rolling her eyes at being exposed so easily.

“So, you want me to go with you because you wanna get laid!”

“It is not because of sex, you idiot.” Natasha straightened up allowing the waitress to place the food and coffee on the table, once the young woman was gone Natasha continued. “Y/N she is…look last time it went awful, I just wanna have a chance to apologize and tell her…well, I just think I can…”

It was always funny seeing Natasha trying to grasp her language functions to explain exactly why she wanted to see Carol Danvers all over again after their failed attempts at a romance. You couldn’t blame Natasha, though, Carol was not only beautiful she was smart, and funny, and one hell of a woman. Natasha had been smitten from the beginning but her insecurities and past trauma, and past ex-girlfriend, had come in the way of her building something nice with the blond-haired woman.

You thought about this for a long time, when you heard about the Stark Industries Gala you dismissed the idea of going to such an event. You knew it was important, Tony had told you as much, indicating this would be the right place to start making contacts and get into the world you were so reluctant to be a part of. It was a necessity if you wanted to continue with your studies and get a respectable job, but you never thought you received a formal invitation or that your best friend would be so eager to go. Looking over at Natasha you knew you wouldn’t say no to her so, with a sigh you nodded curtly.

“Very well, we can go to function. But you better get me something nice to wear to this thing.”

“YES!! I love you!” Natasha exclaimed grinning like a fool, you chuckled rolling your eyes while the redhead steals some of your fries. “Let's finish this and go back to my place, I am pretty sure Yelena has something that can work on you.”

You shifted on the seat nodding, “hn, okay, I guess.”

“You don’t have to sound so excited,” Natasha gauged your expression before clearing her throat, “Look, I know you don’t like these things, and that this is not your main focus but…Tony is right, Y/N, you need the contacts and you need to start working on a network for your work This could be a chance for you to meet new people.”

“I don’t like meeting new people!” You exclaimed dramatically, Natasha shrugged.

“I know but it is not so bad and, who knows? Perhaps this is the place where you would finally meet the right person.”

You furrowed you brows grabbing one of Natasha’s fries while glancing at the smirking woman.

“The right person? I already know Stark, I think he constitutes the right person alright.”

Natasha rolled her eyes, “not that kind of person, dumbass, I am talking about the person that would finally make your heart beat just a little.”

You snorted in disbelief, while Natasha shrugged in a gesture that told you she was really considering this party to be everything you might need in life.

______________________________________________________________

Home House was a private club located at the heart of aristocratic London.

A palace built by James Wyatt under the orders of King George III. The palace was designed and built with high society in mind, the eccentric and intellectual class of early Eighteenth century England that was in the search of knowledge and conquest. With time, the Palace changed its history moulding itself as the beacon of culture, knowledge and power of the Empire transforming the world of Academics and cultural heritage; with the blessing of Queen Victoria, Home House entered the Twentieth Century  as the meeting place for those who had the power to shape the world.

Thus, that Tony Stark had chosen Home House as the venue for the Annual Stark Enterprise Gala was not a complete surprise.

Known as a genius, billionaire, married and philanthropist, Tony Stark was a man of business at heart. The preparation of his Annual Gala had taken careful planning, leading to a select group of guests that would lead the fields of politics, economics, and international relations for the upcoming year. Tony and his wife Pepper Potts had selected the Front Parlour alongside the Private Garden in the exclusive club to house the 200 guests they had invited over. 

Tony oversaw the event in person, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he observed those brilliant students that had earned the Stark Scholarship mingle with the high class and Europe leaders that may help them move forward in their careers.

The Club was filled with soft, classical music filled the room with the tender light of candelabra. The place was warm, and a great marquee was located in the garden to protect the guests from the rain; everything had been set up for students, investigators and investors to meet and talk about money and opportunities.

So far the Gala had been a complete success, people were mingling around and making good use of the new connections while some others had given in to the temptation of the free bar and the soft swing of the music.

Natasha had kept her word by getting you a dark cocktail dress that complemented your tone of skin and highlighted your honey-laced eyes. The high heels Natasha had chosen helped you look taller, but at not being used to that kind of footwear, your feet were hurting and you were holding yourself from the torture of walking around with such elegant hazards. 

So far the party had not been that bad, you got a chance to talk to several people and mingled around in interesting conversations. By the time Natasha left your side to join Carol, you had to face some eager, young men that had tried to give you a shot at flirting, with some cringe you let them down before moving out of the spotlight and hide In that little corner. The only one allowed to come at you was the cute waitress that had been your source of alcohol all through the night. 

Your eyes fell on the form of Tony, the man had his flirty smile on talking with every single person present in the room. His eyes darting around as if looking for someone, you winced knowing full well he had been looking for you most of the night. So far you were winning the hide and seek game Tony didn't know he was playing with you. 

Why did she accept to come to this event? 

You set your eyes on Natasha who was wearing the most revealing red dress she could find while talking with a blond-haired woman that at the moment seemed to be wearing her military uniform. You rolled your eyes, Natasha Romanoff was the reason you came to this party. Natasha Romanoff and her impossible libido, you snorted, emptying your champagne and looking around for your favorite waitress. 

“I surely hope, dear, that you didn't think I wouldn't find you before the night was over.” The voice of Tony Stark caught you by surprise, you winced turning around to see the man glancing at you amusedly, one eyebrow lifted with his hand nursing a glass of whisky.

“Tony, I wouldn't even dream of hiding from you. That would be too childish of me.” You said softly, Tony snorted, shaking his head while offering his right arm to you, after a moment of hesitation you took it and the both of you started walking around the room.

“I'm glad you came, even if you only did it to help Romanoff with Captain Danvers.” Tony spoke beside you leading you towards the garden.

You shrugged offering a tiny smile, “she really is quite smitten, and well.. I could use the distraction.”

Tony snorted, shaking his head, from the moment he had found you in the room he could see how uncomfortable you were and the pain you were enduring by wearing those high heels. 

“How are you doing, Y/N? Are you faring well with your studies?” He cocked his head, and those eyes gleamed with a tenderness you had seen just a couple of times.

“I am fine.” You finally said without much conviction, Tony raised a brow but didn’t press the matter.

With a roll of your eyes you continue, “I could be worse.”

This time around, Tony did laugh shaking his head while stopping the stroll facing the garden beyond the marquee.

“And, what about university? How about your investigation?” He asked genuinely.

“It is going just fine, to be honest. I am just…you know?” You shifted uncomfortably, you were not used to accept help or even ask for it, you had learnt a long time ago that accepting help would allow others to have control over you.

“No, I don’t know, that was one of the reasons I was asking you how you were.” Tony replied half amused and half exasperated.

“You know how I feel, why do you ask me these questions?” With a huff you turned your attention back to the party, your eyes wandering around the beautiful form of a brunette that seemed engrossed in a  conversation with another brunette with the most entrancing green eyes. You frowned, those eyes looked familiar. Tony cleared his throat and you returned your attention to him blushing lightly and being caught checking-out the other woman.

“Pepper missed you last weekend.” Tony stated, you flinched looking away.

“I know, she wrote me.” You mumbled letting out a heavy sigh. “Tony, look…I…I will end my studies pretty soon, and I will turn in my investigation, afterwards, I just…”

Tony waited patiently while you mumbled and babbled until you swallowed the lump on your throat.

“I haven’t received any formal invitation to join any…anything.” The words came rushing out of your mouth, and you clenched your jaw refusing to let the tears fall down. “I know that one of the conditions for my visa is to have a work, but apparently I am…not good enough.”

The sound of conversation, laughter and music became too much, you shifted on your feet while wincing with pain at the high heels. Tony placed a hand on your forearm; he had his brows put together shaking his head in a silent reproached that was mixed with amusement and exasperation. You blinked tilting your head at the reaction of the man in front of you, a man you had considered your big brother from the day you two met.

“You are good, Y/N, you are a genius in your area of expertise.” Tony smirked at you leading you into an adjacent room, you grew confused while your eyes settled on the open door leading to a balcony.

“I know, but…I mean, it doesn’t matter if I don’t get a proposal, or…” You trailed off narrowing your eyes at Tony. “What did you do?”

Tony lifted his hands in defence shaking his head, though his smirk only grew.

“I didn’t do anything; I merely offered myself to bring you over and introduce you to your new boss.”

“Tony…” You stated warningly standing still before following Tony any further, you glared at him. “Explain!”

Tony rolled his eyes standing in front of you, “I received a call a couple of days ago, they were asking for personal and professional reference from you. When I found out who was behind this credentials validation, I have to be the one to introduce you to your future boss.”

You stood there with a hammering heart, and sweating hands.

You were about to finish your investigation, by now every single one of your classmates had received an invitation or proposal to join some company, organization, or governmental agency. A part of you grew restless, and the doubts that had always plagued your confidence and self-esteem, had come back with a dark cloud that settled above your head and heart. Seeing the childish enthusiasm in Tony’s face told you the man wasn’t joking, but what it he…

“I didn’t intervene.” Tony was quick to read the unasked question, “I was asked to give references, nothing else.”

“Tony, I…” The words tangled in your throat, a lump forming in there that made it impossible to talk. You offered a shaky smiled that Tony returned with full confidence.

“Now, suck it up, kiddo, and let’s meet your new boss.” He said fixing your hair and dress making sure he didn’t mess with the makeup while leading you towards the balcony.

 —------‐—-

The moment Wanda Maximoff set foot on the club she knew the party would be a disaster.

The first sight that greeted her as soon as she entered the main room was that of Jarvis and Jessica hand in hand with Jessica showing on her recently acquired engagement ring. Wanda felt her world shattered when her eyes met those of Jarvis, the man smiled brightly at her approaching Wanda with Jessica by his side.

“Wands, looking good.” Jarvis leaned in but stopped when he noticed the glare coming from Wanda and the tension on her shoulders.

“Thank you, Vi…Jarvis.” Wanda tried to sound casual, to not raise any suspicions, but it was obvious Jarvis had caught up with her mood.

“Are you alright?” Jarvis asked tenderly, Wanda clenched her jaw, her eyes gleaming in disbelief.

Before anything could be said or done, Kate Bishop came saving the day. There young woman flashed a bright smile that didn't reach her eyes, Jarvis winced drifting her stare from Kate to Wanda, realization dawning on him. 

“Oh, Jarvis-Jar,” Kate smirked at the twitch coming from the man, he hated that nickname. “Looking good, congratulations to you and Jess, may the both of you have a happy marriage, full of fidelity and love.”

“Oh, Kate, that's so sweet.” Jessica giggled finally joining the group of friends, Kate offered a half smile before dragging Wanda away.

“Sorry, guys, Wanda and I have a commitment and we cannot be late!”

Before either Jarvis or Jessica could say anything, Wanda and Kate disappeared in the ocean of people looking for an exit to the garden.

The cold wind from the night was like a sharp caress on Wanda’s sensitive skin. She had her eyes closed taking a deep breath, aware of Kate’s eyes on her.

“Wanda,” Kate started tentatively, Wanda offered a crooked smile no her eyes in the distance.

“I should have known he would be here,” Wanda said closing her eyes to try and regulate the beating of his heart.

Kate hesitated for a moment before she set a hand on top of Wanda’s one, the young woman shook her eyes, and by the time she opened her green eyes were filled with unshed tears.

“I can’t do it, Kate.” Wanda mumbled brokenly.

Kate step closer but stop herself, if she were to hug her friend she was pretty sure Wanda would start crying. Wanda offered a crooked smile before emptying the glass of whisky she had grabbed from a tray; Wanda wished she could drink some more but she was a light drinker and it was not the moment nor the time to drown away her sorrows. Kate worried her lower lip on her teeth, before she too drank her glass of whisky making a face that brough a real smile to Wanda’s face. After a moment of hesitation, Kate decided to talk again.

“You know, we came and people already saw us, if you want, we can go.” Kate gauged Wanda’s reaction, she was hoping for her friend to just give in to get out of the place and not having to see Jarvis more than they should, however, just as Kate was about to pursue the topic some more Wanda’s eyes gleamed strangely.

“What? What is it?” Kate turned around, her eyes going wide before she turned to Wanda.

“Whose that talking to Stark?” For some reason, Wanda got her abdomen knotting at the sight of the young woman. There was something familiar about her, but…

Kate glanced up then back at Wanda, “I think she…I mean, it couldn’t be, but you know, perhaps?”

Wanda rolled her eyes, her lips curving into an exasperated but pretty honest smile.

“You didn’t say anything at all,” Wanda said raising a brow before nodding to the woman with Stark. “You know her?”

Kate winced torn between telling Wanda who was that woman, or letting her friend spiralled even more into depression because of Jarvis.

“Well, you remember last year? Halloween?” Kate said tentatively, as soon as she said Halloween Kate could see the glint of recognition on Wanda’s green eyes.

“Yes! God, that little…”

“Wanda.”

Before Wanda could react or actually said anything at all, a man in a wheelchair came to her. He was offering a kind smile and his eyes had not left those of Wanda as she smiled back, with a hint of confusion in her posture.

“Uncle Charles, I thought you wouldn’t come to this event.”  Wanda leaned in hugging the man who broke into a content smile.

“Well, I have an extenuating circumstance that needed my attention.” He glanced from Wanda to Kate, the other woman waved a hand to Charle before stepping back.

“Right, nice to see you, Mr. Xavier, I think I will be around.” Kate said walking backwards, Charles Xavier turned to Wanda and soon both of them were smiling.

“So I take it I am your extenuating circumstance?” Wanda observed as Kate was approached by a young woman, Wanda then returned her attention to Charles.

“Partially, yes. I also came here to meet with someone, now help an old man and take me to the other room, we need to talk.”

Wanda couldn't hide her wince, this sounded like one of those serious conversations she was not fancy to have any moment now. With a sigh and one last glare to the woman talking to Stark, Wanda took Charles out of the garden into the adjacent room .

—------

The universe had a strange way of working its design.

Your first real meeting with Wanda Maximoff was a complete disaster. You stepped into the balcony with Tony by your side, the young woman stood by Carles Xavier who directed his stare to the newcomers. Wanda had her green eyes on you, with a slight twitch on her eye and a fiery stare, you understood Wanda had recognized you. And she remembered you. Wanda narrowed her eyes, pursing her lips while you offered a half smile, full of amusement and challenge.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Maximoff herself,” You said rather impressed, laughter tainting your words, “isn’t it weird we always meet at parties? Hopefully this won’t end up like the last Halloween party, eh?”

The slap caught everyone by surprise, Wanda took a deep breath, her eyes growing big at her sudden reaction. She could see the flash of anger in your eyes, as well as the incredulity at what had transpired. But before anyone could do or say anything at all, Wanda clenched her jaw and left.

There was a moment of incredulous silence, before Tony turned to you with questioning eyes. You winced, pursing your lips while placing your hand on your cheek.

“I mean, I probably deserve that.” You said lamely, Charles Xavier laughed lifting his eyes to Tony then back at you.

“You are going to be surprised when you meet her,” Charles said, glancing at Tony, “that was what you told me when I asked you about Miss. Y/L/N.”

Tony chuckled, shrugging, “I think it is good to say we were all surprised.”

You chuckled nervously, your eyes drifting from Tony to Charles, blushing as you tried to explain.

“it wasn’t my intention, I swear I thought she probably…” You trailed off as whatever you could say about the topic would mean you would be in the spotlight for something you actually didn’t think necessary to mention at the moment.

“It is perfectly fine,” Charles said kindly, “my goddaughter has quite the temper, and I am pretty sure that whatever the story behind this circumstance is, I am sure it is not what you two had come to me to talk about.”

You had to agree with Charles, the reason behind the slap was not something you should be discussing at the moment, but you mind keep nagging you with memories of what had happened moments ago. Soon, Tony came forward stretching the hand of Charles before he pointed at you.

“As promised, this is my protegee Y/N,” Toney made a face and you stepped forward offering a tentative smile.

“A pleasure to meet you, sorry about…” You trailed off gesturing with your hands, Charles shared a laugh while Tony rolled his eyes.

“I was keen to meet with you, Miss. Y/L/N. I have heard of you from your teachers, the Oxford research team and of course, from Tony.” Charles then smirked, his eyes gleaming mischievous. “Now I have to add Wanda to the list of recommendations.”

You blushed mortified, but the older man merely snickered tilting his head with deep, sharp eyes pinning you to the spot.

“Very well, Y/N, let's talk about business.”

It was past midnight by the time you found Natasha talking with Carol in the parking lot. Your friend was looking satisfied, and rather smut when she caught sight of you. You couldn’t help the matching smile, a single brow lifted in a non-verbal communication with your best friend.

“Did you drink too much?” Natasha asked, passing you the keys of the car, you snorted, shaking your head.

“A couple of champagne shots, nothing else.” You let your eyes drift to the blond-haired woman waiting patiently, then back to Natasha who was grinning like mad. “So, you will have a good night?”

Natasha shifted hiding her blush before locking eyes with you. 

“You are one to talk, you disappeared most of the night.” Natasha chuckled at your reaction, placing her hand on your forearm. “Everything okay?”

This time around there was a genuine hint of concern, her green eyes gleaming lightly. You opened your mouth until your eyes found those of Carol then  you turned back to Natasha.

“Yeah, go back to your date, we will talk later today.” You shrugged, “lunch at the pub?”

“Count me in, be careful on your way back home.”

“I will, careful and…do everything I will do, Natasha!” You screamed, waving at Natasha who was glaring at you before guiding Carol to her car.

They disappeared into the night, with Carol Danver driving a luxurious car with Natasha sitting comfortably on the passenger seat. You stood in the parking lot long enough to see Wanda Maximoff stumbled out of the adjacent building leading to the garden.

You stood frozen in place, the young woman seemed to be tumbling over her own footsteps. Just before she crashed against the ground a pair of strong arms held her tightly, Wanda blinked a couple of times before her head lifted to meet a pair of honey eyes.

“You!” Her words came with a slurred, and you were not sure she was looking at you or someone else to your right.

“Wanda!”

You turned towards the newcomer, it was the same brunette you had seen Wanda with early that night. The young woman narrowed her eyes at you before rushing to Wanda.

“She almost fell down.” You tried to explain, your heart hammering against your chest when Wanda pressed her body against yours.

“I know you.” She all but whispered, her index finger drawing the edges of your chin.

You opened your eyes in panic glancing to Wanda and then to the other woman who came in wrapping her arms around Wanda. 

“Wanda, come…” Kate was not a rival to a drunk Wanda, and she almost lost her footing if you hadn't intervened.

Kate found your eyes, there was a hint of apology in her dark irises, and all you could only offer a half smile.

“She is quite a handful eh?” You commented, this time around you could see a ghost of a smile on Kate's face.

“Not handful, no loove able…” Wanda slurred leaning against you, her face resting in the crook of your neck. “Mm, jus’ ‘ired.”

Tears poured into her green eyes, and soon you had Wanda crying on you. You had stopped breathing, your eyes wide open while Kate merely winced waving her hand to a blue car parked at the other side of the parking lot.

“Can you help me out? I don't think I would be able to carry her on my own.” Kate all but mouthed with a hush whispers so as to not interrupt Wanda’s sobbing babbling.

You hesitated for a moment, your eyes drifting to your car then to Kate’s car and finally to the young brunette crying on your shoulder. With a heavy sigh, you nodded and soon you and Kate were taking a crying Wanda to the car making sure she was secured on the passenger seat before Kate closed the door letting out a huff.

“Thank you.” Kate stretched her hand your way, a single smile adorning her features. “Kate Bishop.”

You snorted, taking her hand, “Y/N Y/L/N.”

Kate locked her eyes with yours, for a moment you saw a spark of recognition that was soon replaced by polite gratefulness.

“Thank you for helping me with Wanda. She…” Kate trailed off, not sure how to explain the situation without giving out Wanda’s secrets. 

“No problem,” you said hesitating before glancing at the brunette that was now snoozing inside the car. “Are you sure you and her are going to be fine?”

Kate winced, nodding hesitantly. “Yes, I think we will, I live with another person so I guess we could handle her if necessary.”

“If you are sure.” You said stepping back, your eyes never leaving the sleeping form of Wanda. With a sharp jolt of concern shooting through your mind straight to your head you took another step back. 

“I guess…drive safe, then.” You mumbled glancing as Kate hesitated for a moment before going into the car and driving away with Wanda.

You stood there for what seemed like an eternity, the cold air of the night sneaking into your clothes making you shivered. For a moment, all you could see was the saddened expression of the brunette, the warmth of her body against yours, the tears and the drunkenly babbling. Then, memories of Halloween night almost a year ago came crashing back and you shook your head frowning.

Wanda Maximoff was a bitch.

That much you remembered.

Then, without another thought, you walked towards your car getting rid of your high heels while sitting on the driver's seat. With a heavy sigh, you turned on the engine and drove into the night towards the flat you shared with Natasha.

The night was finally over.

But your life had already changed in ways you could barely imagine.

______________________________________________________________

AN: So, this is the first chapter, i hope you guys enjoy it! tell me what you think and don't forget to like and share it you so want it!

[lvnleah]

zoo adventures | mary earps.

first mary fic, specifically for @earpskeeper 😌

Dating wasn’t what you expected it to be but when it came to Mary, things just came effortlessly. She accepted you for you and didn’t care, she loved you and that’s all that mattered. 

But what mattered even more was the fact that she didn’t care that you had two young kids. Dating as a mum was hard. You’d been on endless dates and when the topic of your kids came up, the conversation quickly became uneasy but with Mary, it wasn’t like that. 

Your little boy, Noah, was five and your little girl, Ivy, was one and a half. They were your whole world. Your wife carried Noah but you carried Ivy. Things don’t go to plan during your pregnancy. 

When you were six months pregnant, your whole world came crashing down. Maya had gone out one day to do a food shop but because of a drunk reckless driver she never returned home. She got in a car crash, her car was run off of the road and she died instantly. 

It ruined your life. 

You became a single mother, something you had never imagined you’d have to do. Now, just over two years later, you felt ready to start dating again. 

You had met Mary when Ivy was six months old. At first, you were just friends, you didn’t want to dive into anything too soon after Maya’s death. It had been almost a year since Maya had passed that you and Mary made things official. 

You felt the happiest you had in a long time. 

Mary never tried to erase Maya from your life, in fact, she encouraged you to talk about her and keep her memory going. On your first date, she didn’t shy away from the topic of your kids. 

In fact, she was the most interested in you being a mother than out of any of the girls you had been on dates with. Mary loved to hear about your kids, she loved to see the way your face lit up when you got to talk about your babies. 

Mary had never met your kids. You’d kept that boundary firm for a long time, not because you didn’t trust her, but because your children had already endured enough. You needed to be sure. Not just of Mary, but of yourself, of your heart, of the space you were finally ready to let someone into.

But recently, the conversation had shifted. You and Mary had been together officially for nearly a year now, and it felt right. It felt natural. The way she made you laugh, the way she let you cry when the grief still hit too hard, the way she never flinched when Maya’s name came up in passing. She never asked for more than you could give. 

So, you brought it up with Noah.

He knew Mary as “Mummy’s special friend.” You hadn’t hidden her. She was just a presence in your life he was aware of but not fully involved with. When you sat him down and told him Mary might come to the zoo with you one day soon, his eyes lit up.

“She likes football, right?” he asked immediately, bouncing on the sofa.

You smiled. “She does.”

“Can I show her my new boots? I got the red ones. Like Saka. She likes Arsenal, yeah?”

“I don’t know if she likes Arsenal, bubba” You laughed. “But she’d love to see your new boots!”

Noah was sold. He was five which meant he was curious, clever and endlessly chatty. You knew if Mary could handle even half of what came out of his mouth, she’d do just fine.

The day at the zoo quickly arrived. That morning, Mary flooded your phone with texts. It was anything from what she should wear to how the kids were and if they’d like her. You’d never seen her so nervous.  

You tried to send reassuring texts between wrangling Ivy into her high chair for breakfast and trying to get Noah to narrow down what toys to bring with you.

When you arrived at the zoo, Mary was already waiting by the entrance, pacing slightly and checking her watch in that way she always did when she was overthinking something.

You spotted her instantly, and your heart did that familiar little flutter, the one that still caught you by surprise, even now. She had her hair pulled back, sunglasses perched on her head, and a tote bag slung over one shoulder that looked suspiciously overstuffed.

You had Ivy in the pram, chewing on a teething toy, and Noah walking beside you with one hand clutching yours and the other gripping a small toy car. His chatter had quieted as soon as the zoo came into view, nerves setting in. As you got closer, he slowed down, then slipped behind your leg, peeking out at Mary from the safety of your side.

Mary noticed immediately, her smile turning softer as she crouched down slightly without getting too close.

“Hello! You must be Noah,” she said crouching down to Noah’s height, “Your Mummy’s told me a lot about you!”

Noah just hid behind your leg, slightly peeking around it as he curiously looked at Mary. He looked up at you, as if he was looking for permission to speak to Mary or to find out if she was okay or not. 

“It’s okay, bubba,” You said, crouching down beside him with your hand on his back, “You can say hello to Mary, remember I told you she was coming with us to the zoo?”

He shyly smiled, tucking his head into the crook of your neck, “Hi Mary.” He said with a small whisper.

“Hey, little man!” She smiled back, reaching out to tickle his stomach which drew a laugh from him. “Do you wanna know a secret?”

That caught Noah’s attention and he finally pulled his head out from the crook of your neck, “Yeah, I wanna know!” He smiled, his voice a tiny bit louder. 

Mary grinned and leaned in like she was about to share the biggest secret in the world. “I brought jelly babies,” she whispered, like it was classified information. “But you’ve got to help me eat them before the penguins find out!”

Noah’s eyes widened. “Penguins eat jelly babies?”

“They might,” she said with a wink, “I heard they’re sneaky like that!”

He giggled, looking up at you for confirmation. You just smiled, brushing his curls back gently. “I told you she was funny, didn’t I?”

Mary stood up slowly, giving Noah a moment to adjust, and then reached into that overstuffed tote bag hanging off her shoulder. 

“Actually,” she said, glancing at you quickly as if to make sure this was okay, “I brought something else too. For you both.”

Noah watched curiously as she pulled out a small, soft football-shaped Jellycat teddy. It was red and white with tiny stitched boots and the cutest, most ridiculous little eyes.

“I saw this and thought of you,” she said, crouching again to hold it out to him. “Think he might like watching the giraffes too!”

Noah looked at you again, uncertain for a moment, and you nodded gently. “It’s okay, bub. You can take it.”

He reached out slowly, fingers brushing the plush fabric before gripping it properly and pulling it into his chest like it was something rare and precious. “Thank you,” he said, soft but clear. “I love it!”

Mary smiled so wide you thought her face might split. “I’m glad.”

Then she turned to Ivy, who was now sitting forward in her pram, her eyes big and fixed on the bag, as if she instinctively knew something else was coming. Mary chuckled and reached in again, pulling out a pastel pink dragon with shimmery wings and soft felt horns.

“And for you, little madam,” she said, crouching once more. “A dragon to guard your snacks!”

Ivy let out a delighted squeal and kicked her legs. Mary held it out and, without hesitation, Ivy snatched it from her hands and immediately stuffed one wing into her mouth.

“She loves it,” you said with a smile, a little lump forming in your throat. “It’s not often that little miss is pleased easily.”

Mary reached forward and tickled Ivy’s tummy gently, drawing a happy babble from your daughter, and then stood to face you. “I didn’t want to show up empty-handed.”

“You could’ve shown up with just yourself and they still would’ve loved you,” you said honestly, your voice quiet enough that only she could hear it.

She gave you a look. It was soft, grateful, a little overwhelmed and then nodded once. “Still… wanted them to know I thought about them.”

You smiled, brushing your hand briefly over hers before nodding towards the zoo gates. “Let’s go then. We’ve got goats to meet.”

As the three of you made your way inside, Noah still holding Mary’s hand and his new teddy under his arm, Ivy chewing on her dragon’s wing like it was made of gold, you felt something shift. Just a little. Just enough.

Inside the zoo, Noah clung tightly to his new teddy, chattering about penguins and lions while you pushed the buggy up the gravel path toward the farmyard area. Mary walked slightly ahead with Noah’s hand in hers, reading the signs out loud in an animated voice for Noah’s benefit. 

She pointed out the “Tractor Trail” and “Cow Corner,” making exaggerated gasps that earned shy giggles from your little boy. When you reached the pen where the goats were, Noah’s eyes widened in awe while Ivy immediately let out a quiet, uncertain whimper from her pram.

Mary clocked it instantly. “You okay, little miss?” she asked gently, crouching to Ivy’s level. 

Ivy looked at her, then at the goats, then back at you and whined, holding out her arms in that tired, overwhelmed way she did when she wasn’t sure of something.

“She’s not the biggest fan of goats,” you said, scooping her into your arms as she nuzzled into your chest. “Noah’s the braver one.”

Mary grinned and turned toward him. “Think you’re brave enough to feed them, superhero?”

Noah looked up at you, then back at Mary, his face all nerves and excitement. “Can I?”

Mary nodded. “You bet! Hang on.”

She jogged over to the little machine near the pen and came back with a small paper cup filled with feed pellets. She held it out for him but stayed close, careful not to overwhelm him.

You stood just back from the fence, bouncing Ivy gently on your hip as Mary showed Noah how to hold his palm flat. He giggled the first time a goat’s tongue brushed against him, then squealed when another one tried to climb the fence. 

Mary laughed too, steadying the cup for him and making funny commentary about each goat’s name and what ridiculous things they probably ate for breakfast. You watched quietly. Ivy clung to your shirt, her dragon tucked under one arm and a thumb in her mouth, but her eyes stayed fixed on Mary and her brother.

Halfway through the zoo, the novelty began to wear off.

The midday sun was making Noah pink in the cheeks, and the crowds were getting busier. You were pushing the buggy with one hand while the other held Ivy, who’d started squirming, overtired but stubborn. And then came the voice.

“Mummyyyyy,” Noah whined at your side, dragging his feet. “I can’t see!”

“I know, baby, I know. It’s really busy.”

He tried to edge in beside you, but the buggy and your full arms made it impossible. He started to huff, his little body tense, and you knew what was coming. You saw all the songs from the crumpling face to the wobbling lip.

 A full meltdown was seconds away.

Before you could say anything, Mary stepped in. “Hey, buddy. Want a better view?”

Noah looked up at her, uncertain. His fingers gripped the football teddy tightly.

She crouched slightly, eye level again. “I could lift you up, if you’re okay with that? You’d be able to see everything from up there.”

He looked at you, wide-eyed. You nodded gently, smoothing a hand over his curls. “It’s okay, bubba. If you want to but you don’t have to.”

After a pause, he gave the smallest nod.

Mary smiled, “Alright! Hold on tight, yeah?”

She hoisted him up onto her shoulders with a small playful grunt, steadying his legs and gripping his ankles lightly. “Look at that view!” she said, spinning in a slow circle as Noah laughed, the whine gone completely.

He beamed down at you from his perch. “I can see the giraffes now, Mummy!”

“I told you she was strong,” you said, grinning up at him.

Mary carried him like that for the next hour. Through the aviary, past the lemurs, around the edge of the chimpanzee trail. He pointed things out to her, leaned down to whisper animal facts he half-remembered from school, and by the time you found a shaded bench to stop for lunch, he’d completely forgotten how to be shy.

You sat the kids down for sandwiches. Noah dove into his, telling Mary about the time he got chased by a goose at a park. Ivy, however, wasn’t having any of it. She rubbed her fists in her eyes and whined from the pram, twisting her body toward you.

“She’s done,” you sighed, crouching to unbuckle her. “Too tired to sit, too stubborn to sleep.”

“Want me to take her for a bit?” Mary asked, “You could eat your lunch then, I’m done with mine.”

You hesitated for a second. Not because you didn’t trust her, but because you knew how particular Ivy could be. She could go from cuddly to chaos in under thirty seconds if the hold wasn’t exactly right.

But you were exhausted. And your arms ached. And Mary just looked so calm.

“Sure,” you said softly. “If she lets you.”

Mary reached over the table, arms open. “Hey, little miss. Wanna cuddle?”

Ivy blinked sleepily, then leaned into her. Just like that. Like it was the most normal thing in the world.

You watched, a little stunned, as Mary settled her onto her lap. Ivy’s head dropped almost immediately to her chest. Two minutes later, she was asleep, a soft snore escaping past the thumb in her mouth.

You looked at Mary, wide-eyed. “How did you do that?”

Mary shrugged one shoulder, careful not to jostle her. “I'm a baby whisperer.”

You laughed, full and honest. You sat back, watching your little girl sleep in Mary’s arms, your little boy beside you finishing the crust of his sandwich, and for the first time in so long, the future didn’t feel like something to fear.

After lunch, the zoo was less busy. You’d found a quiet bench near a duck pond where Noah ran up and down, pointing at all the ducks. Mary was still holding Ivy, this time though she was strapped to Mary’s chest in the carrier. 

You smiled, watching the rise and fall of your daughter’s chest as she settled into the carrier like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like Mary had done it a hundred times.

“She’s fussy about who holds her when she’s tired,” you said, almost to yourself.

Mary just smiled. “She knows who’s a good cuddler then.”

You began walking again after lunch, the path looping around toward the elephants. Noah insisted on leading the way, bouncing a few feet ahead as he narrated every animal fact he could remember from the posters. But by the time you got halfway there, the excitement had worn off and the heat had caught up with him.

You saw it happen slowly, the dragging feet, the little frown, the way he started trailing behind rather than ahead.

“Mummy,” he whined, tugging at your arm. “My legs hurt.”

He didn’t argue, but his lip started to wobble, and you knew a full tantrum was about ten seconds away.

“I know bubs, I know,” you sighed, “Do you want to get into the pram?”

He nodded with a tired frown, “Okay then, hop in.” You smiled. 

He tiredly climbed into the pram, a little pout on his face. As you continued around the zoo, past the elephants, the lions, the monkeys swinging like chaos, it didn’t escape you how natural it all felt. 

How Mary chatted to Noah when he perked back up. She knew when to leave you to handle a fussy moment, and when to step in gently. How Ivy, your clingy little girl, hadn’t even stirred once in Mary’s arms.

By the time you made it to the gift shop at the end of the trail, Noah had perked up enough to climb out of the buggy again. He walked beside Mary this time, not in front, asking her questions about animals and telling her about his football boots again.

“Ivy needs something too,” he said seriously once you got inside. “She didn’t see the lions!”

“She was having a lion nap,” Mary said with a grin, shifting Ivy slightly in the carrier.

Eventually, Noah picked out a soft yellow duck for Ivy. “It’s like the ones at the pond. She likes ducks.”

You ran your hand over his curls. “She’s gonna love it, baby.”

Ivy remained out cold against Mary’s chest until you gently transferred her into the car seat, her duck tucked beside her. Noah climbed into his seat without protest, one hand still holding the red and white football teddy from earlier.

You shut the car door gently behind you before turning to Mary, “Thank you for giving them such a good day.”

Her hands made their way down to your hips as you leaned against the car, “Anytime, they’re great kids.”

You smirked before reaching up to place a kiss on her lips, one which lingered longer than usual, “I’ve been waiting to kiss you all day.”

Mary smiled softly against your lips, “Well, maybe we should do this more often,” she teased, brushing a stray curl behind your ear.

“I don’t think Noah or Ivy would mind either,” you murmured.

For a moment, the world around you, the tired kids, the sticky heat, the lingering day, slipped away, and it was just the two of you.

Then, with a little sigh, you straightened and glanced back toward the car. “I should get these two home before they both crash completely.”

Mary nodded, fingers still entwined with yours. “Yeah, but next time? Let’s make it a whole weekend. Maybe a little camping trip?”

You grinned, “Deal. But only if you promise to deal with the tantrums, you seem to be a baby whisperer.”

Her eyes twinkled mischievously. “Only if you promise to keep kissing me like that.”

[chardama]

Some late night contributions

Dick and Bruce do fight the older Dick gets. Which leads to Jason going over the Drakes whenever their arguing gets too much. This causes Tim and Jason to be close friends early on. Dick also goes over whenever Bruce ticks him off. Jack accepts this. He's getting along with his neighbors! And tim is socializing with people around his age! Bonus points! Dick and Jason are also exposed to all the spooky crap happening in Drake manor. Timmy not batting an eye at the food coming to life. Jason and dick watch as Jack literally flies around the kitchen ceiling, trying to capture flying evil toast.

"So you're dad's an alien?"

Tim, trying hard not to let ppl know Jack is actually possed. Tim who has spent DAYS without sleep curating a new identity for him unless shit hits the fan takes the blessing handed to him.

"Yes. He is. The fall made him forget his human years. We're working in it."

Dick: "cool." *texts Bruce and Alfred that jack is alien confirmed.*

Because Jason and Tim are so close, tim starts to realise when Jason's withdrawing. Tim then asks his dad if he can keep an eye out for Jason with his spooky powers. So when the entire Ethiopia fiasco happens, Jack manages to save Jason. This is also how Jack reveals his ghost king form. Jason gets injured by the Joker, but Jack does save him from the explosion.

Bruce and dick see the form, but their minds can't really comprehend it. (You can put your own description here tbh). Tim (who snuck on the bat plane) can see it because he's been exposed to Danny's ectoplasm so much. When asked for a description later, he lies through his teeth and gives the best description of a warped alien he can.

Jason doesn't die, though he is too injured to be Robin. Tim tries to take the mantle but gets stopped by jack bc 'Jason nearly died and you think im gonna let you go out there untrained!? Hell no!"

I actually had an idea where Danny like, shrinks down and pretends to be robin. Only to keep the sightings up and not let the media question Robin's where abouts.

The other option is , Jack tells Tim he can only be a vigilante after some proper training. Because he's getting memories from when he was vigilante, and he didn't have much help.

So Robin is down for nearly a year and some. Jason decides not to be robin anymore. He makes his own name.

Now tim, coming into his liminal abilities thinks he wouldn't make a good robin. (Im playing with the ages and timeline here) plus its also taking him longer to train because new abilities keep making themselves known

By the time tim is properly trained, it's a few months before Damian has arrived.

Now Damian is another subject in itself. When he gets to the manor he expects Grayson and Todd. There are no files on Drake, however.

Drake is apparently their neighbor that is a regular visitor. Regular enough to spend nights. Regular enough to spend the current summer there while his father is away. Damian classified him as a civilian at first when Grayson told him that tim wasn't a vigilante.

Yet.

Cue Tim giving Damian a run for his money. Bc Damian is a little snot nosed kid and has issues. Tim can sneak up on him. Tim can track him in the dark. Tim doesn't make any noise in the manor. He leaves behind no traces. He's caught all the knives Damian had thrown at him out of the air because tim is used to catching flying stuff from his dad.

Tim, currently at the end of the hallway, eyes glowing lazurus green as he holds one of Damians throwing knives.

He demands to know what pit demon is in the manor. Because this ain't natural. Todd and Grayson only shruggs.

"He's half alien." Grayson informs him. Damian would call bs if he didn't have decorum.

"You get used to it." Todd says. "Just don't let him stay in the kitchen too long. Things will start floating."

Jackson Drake? Yeah, he ain't human. Bruce is sure the man is a meta. Maybe a poor alien in disguise because Bruce knows he's a disaster sometimes but Jack takes the cake. 

The Drakes were their neighbors. Archeologists. Famous for bringing rare artifacts home and are the largest donors to the Gotham Museum. 

Then the accident happened.  

Jackson Drake had a serious fall while getting their latest artifact. A certain ring and crown that belong to an ancient king. He was rushed to the on-site medics and had to be air lifted to the nearest hospital. He had been in a coma for two weeks. A nasty bruise to the head and when he had woken up it was as if he was a different man. The media was all over it. It got worse when the change in attitude resulted in the divorce. 

Timothy Drake ends in the custody of Jack Drake.  Timothy knows that the man that woke up from the coma is not his father. But the new jack treats him so much better than old jack. The new jack actually listens to Tim. Actually helps him out with homework. Doesn't yell. Doesn't hit Tim. He lets time babble about everything. He even FEEDS Tim. He NEVER leaves him home alone. 

Tim knows that the new ring on his father's hand (that he had never taken off since that expedition) is the cause of it. Or maybe it's the floating crown that sometimes appears when new Jack shows him a ‘trick.’ he likes New Jack. He doesn't want New Jack to go away. 

Which is why he has to keep Bruce Wayne- (THE batman) away from his new father. The detective would suss new jack out immediately.  Because new jack treats Timothy well but he sucks at being human. 

It would help… if New Jack would stop calling the Waynes for every minor inconvenience that happened to Timothy that a regular person should know. 

Ex. 

Jack: tim is sick. 

Bruce, handing the phone to Alfred. : any symptoms-

Jack: he's green, but thats normal because im green sometimes.  But he's not doing all the things I do when im green-

Alfred: such as…?

Jack: well he hasn't learned to walk through walls yet. And he hasn't gotten ice breath though he is a bit cold. His hair isn't white yet.

Bruce, overhearing this: what-

Alfred: nausea perhaps? Has he eaten anything to make his stomach turn?

Jack: we did have some seafood from that new place by Mr.Freeze

Bruce, louder: W H A T

Alfred, writing down a list of supplies and recipes: we'll be there in a moment. 

[confessionsandcreampies]

you squirt for the first time for the blue lock boys

itoshi rin - his eyes widen the moment it happens, hand still between your thighs as he watches you twitch and gasp under him. for a split second, he’s frozen. then a smirk curls on his lips. “that was new.” he leans down, humming, “guess i finally found the right button to break you, huh?” don’t think he’ll let you rest. he wants to see it again.

karasu tabito - he pauses mid-thrust, shocked. then bursts out laughing, breathless and cocky. “holy shit, babe! that was hot.” he kisses your cheek like he didn’t just ruin you, whispering filth in your ear, “didn’t know you had that in you… think i’m gonna keep pushing ‘til i drown in it.”

isagi yoichi - he’s stunned, staring down at you with wide eyes, lips parted. “wait… did you just—? fuck.” he looks like he just won the world cup. you’re shaking, embarrassed, but he kisses you like you’re sacred. “you’re so beautiful like this,” he murmurs, already reaching for your hips again, hungry to feel it happen all over.

michael kaiser - “oh?” he freezes only long enough to see the mess you made. then he grins, slow, sinister, proud. “du bist so verdammt süss when you lose control like that.” his fingers never leave you, and he kisses you through your aftershocks. “let’s see how many times i can make you do that before you start crying.”

oliver aiku - “shiiit—” he groans, staring down at you like he’s found his new addiction. you’re trembling, hiding your face, and he just grins, pulling you back to look at him. “no way you’re getting shy now, baby. that was the hottest thing i’ve ever seen.” next round? he’s determined to do it with his mouth.

reo mikage - he gasps when it hits him, literally. then he laughs in delight, fingers still working you through it. “oh my god, princess. you squirted for me?” he looks like he won the lottery, kissing your thighs and humming, “now i gotta figure out exactly how i did it so i can do it again. science, you know.”

itoshi sae - he stills when he feels it, eyes narrowing. “tch… messy girl.” but he says it with heat behind his eyes, hand moving slow and deliberate. you’re whimpering, overstimulated, but sae’s not done. he wants to study you. “so this is what happens when i push you past your limit.” expect an experiment.

nagi seishiro - “…whoa.” he blinks like he just discovered a new game. you’re panting, trying to recover, and he’s staring at the soaked sheets like they’re a new high score. “didn’t know you could do that… kinda wanna see it again now.” lazy grin, but he’s already sliding back down, tongue peeking. “don’t tap out yet, babe.”

kunigami rensuke - his eyes sparkle. no thoughts, just pure, feral excitement. “oh my god. that was you?? that was me???” he fist-pumps like he just scored. immediately diving back between your thighs with a dumb, happy grin, mumbling, “i’m never letting another man near you. this is mine.” you’re not sleeping tonight.

shidou ryusei - “ohhhhh shit—” his face lights up like christmas. he starts laughing, feral and thrilled, eyes wild. “you just squirted? you’re filthy. i love it.” he slaps your thigh and grabs you again, already shifting positions. “nah, nah, you’re not going anywhere. i’m gonna wreck you. that was just foreplay, babe.”

yo hiori - he freezes with a soft gasp. eyes wide, cheeks flushed, pupils blown out. “oh… wow.” he’s respectful about it, even worried you’re embarrassed, but the way he stares at the mess he’s absolutely obsessed. his fingers trace your thighs like art. “can i… do that to you again?” already addicted.

ikki niko - he stares for a moment in disbelief. like his brain short circuits. then, “…that was hot as hell.” you’re covering your face and he gently pulls your hands away. “don’t hide. you think i don’t wanna watch you come undone like that?” he kisses your cheek, grinning, “next time, it’s gonna be worse.”

alexis ness - he pauses like a short-circuited robot. “you—wait. you just—? i did that?” the man has stars in his eyes. he giggles, high on power, glowing. “i’m amazing.” immediately pulls out his phone to change his name in your contacts to squirt king™. don’t worry, he’ll back it up with proof. again and again.

otoya eita - he groans low in his throat when it happens, so turned on it almost hurts. the way you fall apart under him, shaking, gasping, ruined, has his brain fried. “shit, sweetheart… didn’t know i could do that to you.” he kisses your knees, slow and reverent. “wanna feel that again. wanna make you squirt on my cock next.”

yukimiya kenyu - he flinches when it happens, shocked, then glances down at the soaked sheets. his brows shoot up. “…seriously?” he chuckles low, pride swelling in his chest. “you really let go for me like that?” he leans over you, brushing your hair off your face. “next time, warn me, or i’ll drown.” he’s joking. kinda.

barou shoei -

you were already trembling, thighs twitching around his head, breath caught in your throat. he had you spread out across the bed, knees hooked over his shoulders, and his tongue was relentless and hot against your clit, dragging slow at first, then faster, tighter circles with every moan he pulled from your throat.

and his fingers? thick, calloused, and pumping deep inside you like he knew exactly where to touch, because he did. he’d learned your body like it was a strategy, memorized it like a playbook. and tonight, he was going for the win.

your moans hitched, body arching. “shoei—w-wait, i think i—” but he didn’t wait or even flinch. he growled against your pussy like a man possessed and shoved his fingers deeper, curling just right.

and then it hit you. a white-hot rush, your entire body seizing followed by a a wet gush you couldn’t stop even if you tried. your legs snapped shut on instinct, hands flying down to cover your face in mortified horror.

“fuck— oh my god, i didn’t mean—shoei—wait—!”

but he didn’t let go. or stop. or care. he pried your thighs back open with strength you had no hope of resisting, and looked up at you like he’d just won the damn world cup. his face was dripping. his tongue dragged across his bottom lip slow and obscene, licking every drop of you off his skin like it was ambrosia. the deep guttural and ferocious growl rolling from his throat had you whimpering.

“you think i’m gonna let you run after giving me that?” he rasped, eyes wild with hunger. “you just fucking squirted for me. sweetest thing i ever tasted.”

you whined, trying to turn away. but he lunged, mouth sealing back over your soaked cunt like he’d die without it. no more hesitation. no mercy. he drank from you like he was parched, tongue fucking you through every twitch, every aftershock, every new wave that he dragged out of your overstimulated body. you were crying by the end. a pleasure so raw and filthy it broke you.

your man smiled into your pussy so fucking proud. “gonna make you do it again,” he snarled. “gonna fuckin’ drown in it.”

[sweetromanova]

High Risk, Higher Maintenance: Part Eleven🖤

Natasha Romanoff x Female Reader

Summary: Natasha’s orders: protect the brat politician’s lonely wife. The twist? She might actually like her. (Don’t tell Fury)

Warnings: manipulation/gaslighting, intent to hurt, minor character death, mentions of trauma, general emotional distress, injuries and gun violence

A/N: finale tomorrow?👀

Chapter Eleven

The guest room is too quiet, one of Stark’s minimalist suites high in the Tower.

You’ve been lying on top of the covers in Natasha’s clothes for hours, eyes glassy, still tasting formaldehyde and chapel incense at the back of your throat.

A soft knock, then Natasha’s voice.

“Hey. You should eat something.”

You don’t answer. Not at first. The thought of food makes your stomach hitch but the thought of one more second alone with the silence is worse. So, finally, you sit up. Every bruise protests. Natasha offers an arm, doesn’t insist but you take it anyway, letting her guide you down the corridor like you’re learning to walk again.

The elevator doors part and conversation dies when you reach the kitchen, hobbling into the space with all of your weight leant on Natasha.

Tony, Wanda, Steve, Bucky, each frozen mid‑motion. And at the centre island, head bowed over a mug, is Clint.

Your pulse spikes. The room tilts.

He looks up, swallows, sets the mug down. “I- Listen, I’m so sorry for what happened. I didn’t-“

Your vision tunnels.

“Shut. Up.” You almost snarl, voice flat, shredding the hush. “You knew.”

Clint flinches. “I didn’t know it was you. I never saw a name properly-“

“You knew enough to install them, keep the cameras rolling.” You snap, stepping forward.

“But-“

“You didn’t need a name.” You cut in, stepping forward, your crutch squealing across tile like it’s announcing every ounce of rage you’re dragging with you. “Did you watch me cry on my twenty second birthday when Evelyn cancelled dinner for the third year in a row? Did you watch me drink too much wine that night, slip in the bathroom, hit my head on the fucking tub? Did you call someone? Did you even stick around to see if I moved again?”

Clint pales.

You don’t stop.

“Did you watch while Evelyn slowly forgot how to love me? Did you log the way she used sex as an apology until even that wasn’t worth her time anymore? Did you make a fucking note when I stopped getting out of bed? When I stopped speaking to anyone? Or did you just mute it when I got too boring to be useful?”

His lips part like he might defend himself. He doesn’t. Because he can’t.

“I never watched the feeds.” He insists, voice cracking. “It was a passive protocol-“

“Passive?” You laugh, raw, ugly. “Six years of my life fed into your ‘passive’ little project.”

Natasha moves, tries to settle a palm on your shoulder.

You shrug her off.

“Tell me, what would you do right now, right now, if you found out someone was watching your wife?” You don’t wait for an answer. “Your pregnant wife, walking around her kitchen, getting undressed, vulnerable in her own home?”

His jaw twitches, like he hadn't expected you to know.

“What if they were watching your little girl sleeping in her bed at night? Filming her brushing her teeth, hugging her stuffed animals, whispering to herself about how her daddy saves the world?”

You step closer, eyes locked on his.

“What if they were watching your son, pretending to be the man of the house while you’re away? Watching him cry because he misses you, because you’re out being a hero while strangers monitor his home like a fucking science experiment?”

“Hey.” Natasha cuts in. “That’s enough.”

She’s not unkind but she’s firm. Of course she is, of course she would choose them over you.

“Of course you’re defending him.” You spit, rounding on her now. “Why wouldn’t you? You’re all SHIELD at the end of the day, just monsters in better costumes.”

Nat’s eyes flash with hurt. “I’m not defending anything-“

“You were holding me at night while I was still a subject in your files.”

Her mouth opens, no words. That silence scalds worse than any lie.

Steve steps forward. “Look, maybe we should-“

But you barrel on.

“Spare me the noble soldier routine. All of you know something, whether it’s about me or not. You all know of some mission, deep down that it’s wrong but you let it happen. And every single one of you stay quiet until there’s a body on a slab.”

Clint looks wrecked. Wanda’s crying. Tony stares at his hands like they might explain the universe.

You pivot towards the door.

“Don’t follow me. Don’t call me. Don’t come near me. I’m done.”

Natasha’s voice cracks behind you. “Please, just talk to me-“

“I’m done talking.” You jab the elevator button, never looking back.

“Please, we don’t know it’s safe-“ Wanda this time tries, her voice full of devastation. Because none of them could argue with you, tell you that you were wrong when you so obviously weren't

“Maybe ask your friend about the cameras. He might even give you the password then you’ll know if i'm safe.”

The elevator doors open, even aside you don’t turn your back to look at them, you can’t see them right now. 

And more importantly, you wouldn’t let them see you break.

⋆⋆⋆⋆

The cab ride home was silent. You didn’t speak and the driver didn’t try to make small talk. You couldn’t tell if he recognised you or if he was just so unbothered, that he didn’t care. Every streetlight that passed cast a pale glow across your bandaged hands, your hollow expression reflected in the glass. By the time the car pulled up in front of your house, your limbs felt heavier than when you'd left.

You climbed out slowly, crutches tucked under your arms, your body aching with every step. But it wasn’t the bruises that made you pause, it was the familiar sedan parked crookedly against the curb.

June's car.

Your stomach knotted.

You made your way to the door, already hearing the soft hum of her voice just inside. When you pushed it open, she turned from where she stood near the hallway, holding a folded jumper in her hands like it had some deeper meaning.

She blinked at you, startled.

“I was just- I came to pick something up.” She said quickly, wiping under her eyes. “Didn’t think you’d be back yet.”

You nodded, unsure if she meant emotionally or literally.

June looked… older. Or maybe just exhausted. Her lips were pressed tight in an effort to stay composed, but the redness in her eyes betrayed her. You knew she’d been crying. You glanced down at the jumper in her hands: Evelyn's. One she used to wear on rainy mornings when she worked from home. You remembered how much June had always fussed over her. They'd worked together for a long time.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered. “I know how long you worked with her.”

June swallowed hard but her expression didn’t turn bitter. Instead, her face crumpled in something softer, sadder.

“I’m not crying for her.” She said quietly, stepping forward. “I’m crying for you.”

That broke something in your chest.

You opened your mouth, maybe to argue, maybe to ask her not to but nothing came out, just a tight gasp of breath before you sagged forward, dropping into her arms like a puppet whose strings had finally given out.

June caught you with a practiced steadiness, one hand firm between your shoulder blades. She didn’t say anything else, just held you as the sobs started, shallow, broken then violent. 

You didn’t care that your bandages were dampening with tears or that your shoulder hurt from shaking.

You cried for everything. For Evelyn. For the betrayal. For the silence in your apartment that felt like it might never leave.

“I’m sorry.” You managed between breaths. “I’m sorry, I just…”

“Shhh honey, it’s ok.” June whispered, brushing a hand through your hair. “You don’t have to be sorry.”

After a long moment, she finally asked. “Where’s Natasha?”

You shook your head slowly, still pressed into her chest. That was all you gave.

And it was enough.

⋆⋆⋆⋆

Natasha had called sixteen times. Then once more, just in case.

No answer.

She’d messaged June. Nothing.

Her fingers tapped anxiously against the side of her comm tablet as she paced the edge of the breakfast bar. Everyone else had long since cleared out, the tension from earlier still heavy in the corners of the tower. 

The fallout lingered but this was different. You hadn’t checked in. You hadn’t said goodbye.

Finally, with a clenched jaw, she reached out to the agent she’d quietly tasked with tailing you home. 

Natasha didn’t want to invade, she really didn’t. But she couldn’t stop thinking about how fragile you looked, how your voice shook in the med bay, how tightly you’d held Evelyn’s ring before slipping it into your coat pocket.

“She got in a cab an hour ago.” The agent confirmed over the line. “Dropped her just outside her place. I think she went inside. No movement since.”

Natasha hesitated for a second, before picking up the phone to make a call she never thought she would.

She didn’t speak, didn’t explain, just quietly said: “Get me the link.”

It didn’t feel right. But it felt necessary.

She entered the credentials with reluctant fingers. The camera feed buffered once before revealing your living room, dimly lit by the flickering light of a small television screen. The feed had no sound currently, just soft, muted light and the shadows of two women sitting on the couch.

You and June were curled side by side, wrapped in a throw blanket, a pair of mismatched mugs resting on the coffee table. You were barefoot, knees pulled up, hair damp from a shower. You looked small but not crumbling. Tired but safe. An old movie, black and white, danced faintly across your faces.

Natasha watched the way June handed you a box of tissues gently, like she’d done it a hundred times before. She watched the way your head dropped against her shoulder. A deep, human ache bloomed low in her chest.

She whispered to no one. “At least you’re not alone.”

Still, it stung, watching through a lens instead of being the one sitting beside you, being the one you leaned on.

She closed the laptop softly and let her forehead rest against her folded hands.

You were okay. For now.

And maybe that had to be enough tonight.

⋆⋆⋆⋆

June’s voice had been patient for three days now, since you came back home. Too patient.

"She’s fine, Natasha."

"I’m here, she’s safe."

"No, she doesn’t want to talk."

But today, the restraint in her voice had slipped into something cooler. Not rude, not angry but tired. A soft wall going up.

You were already halfway down the hallway when you heard June on the phone again, her voice a little more clipped than usual.

"Yes, she’s still here… no. I haven’t left her alone. No, I’m not giving you a play by play-“

Your blood boiled before you even reached the room.

You snatched the phone right from June’s hand.

“You really can’t help yourself, can you?” You snapped, pacing the living room like a storm cloud with teeth. 

“You need to know where I am, what I’m doing, if I’m breathing?! What is this, new surveillance with a softer font?”

The line was silent.

“You don’t get to check in like I’m a fucking experiment, Natasha. You, SHIELD and the rest of the righteous bunch need to leave me alone.”

You didn’t wait for her to answer. You hung up.

Something in you snapped then.

You stood in the middle of the quiet, elegant living room, the one Evelyn always insisted stay tidy even when no one visited and you scanned the corners. The edges. The seams.

It was like your eyes just knew.

You crossed to the antique bookshelf, yanked a first edition from the shelf and found a glinting pinhole buried behind the spines. Without thinking, you grabbed the fire poker from beside the hearth and smashed the whole shelf down. A vase shattered. A sculpture toppled.

The rage felt holy.

You ripped a painting from the wall, behind the frame, another glint of black plastic and wire. Crash.

You stalked into the hallway, pulled down the ornate sconce Evelyn insisted was imported from Paris. Another camera. You brought the poker down again and again until glass and metal screamed.

The camera in the chandelier came down with the crash of crystal.

You were laughing now, wild, breathless laughter laced with tears. You passed the mirror near the foyer and your reflection startled you. Red-faced. Shaking. Alive.

But god, did it hurt.

June stood in the archway, a hand clutched to her chest, unsure whether to step in.

You held the poker in both hands, like a weapon and a lifeline.

“She said she didn’t know.” You murmured, voice trembling. “She said she didn’t know.”

The room was still, cameras gone.

But you’d never felt more watched.

⋆⋆⋆⋆

The funeral was a labyrinth of cold protocol and hollow rituals, each moment choreographed to honour a senator, not a woman you once knew. You moved through it like a ghost, your steps measured, your face a mask carved from grief and obligation. June’s steady presence was the only anchor in a sea of strangers and silent watchers.

The ornate hall brimmed with polished floors and towering pillars draped in black velvet, the scent of lilies sharp in the air. The murmurs of the crowd faded into a dull roar in your ears as the ceremony began, the flag-draped casket gleaming under the harsh lights, military officers standing like statues beside it. Every note from the somber band cut deeper than the last, a soundtrack to a loss that no words could truly hold.

There was no family here. No mother weeping openly, no brother stoic but trembling. No sister clutching a handkerchief. There was no one. It had always just been you and Evelyn against the world. Until it wasn’t. And now more than ever it was just you and the sea of faces that barely registered your presence beyond the expected widow’s role.

Work colleagues you barely recognised offered empty condolences, their eyes darting away quickly, as if afraid to look too long at the woman who had been married to Evelyn Prescott. Politicians in tailored suits whispered behind gloved hands, their concern mingled with calculation. This was not about mourning, it was a carefully curated spectacle.

You caught yourself wondering, not for the first time, if Evelyn had ever cared for you as deeply as the world believed. Or if you had been just another piece in the game, a role to play, a mask to wear. Has she spoken about you fondly at work? Had she proudly announced you as her wife when asked?

Your gaze drifted across the room and landed on the red head you knew would be here, Natasha. She stood near the back, hands folded tightly, eyes sharp and assessing with the rest of them. Your chest tightened. You hated her for showing up, for making this moment less yours. But even in your fury, a pang of relief flickered, maybe not all of them had abandoned you.

You thought about how Evelyn would have wanted this day to look, perfect, controlled, dignified. And so you swallowed the scream rising in your throat, settled the raw edges of your heartbreak beneath the polished veneer and became the widow everyone expected.

June squeezed your hand gently, her touch a small comfort in a room filled with cold strangers. You gave her a faint, grateful smile, but your mind was elsewhere, replaying every memory, every slight, every moment you stayed when you should have run.

The press cameras clicked relentlessly, capturing the mournful widow for the endless news cycle. You felt their eyes as sharp as daggers, judging, dissecting but you did not falter. This was your last performance, the final act in a story that had cost you everything.

You step forward, the murmurs quieting as all eyes turn to you. Your voice is steady, but each word carries the weight of every stolen moment, every broken promise.

“Evelyn Prescott was a force, a woman who carried the world on her shoulders, who fought battles most of us could never see. She was brilliant, fierce, and yes, complicated. She was a public figure but also a person, flawed, human  and sometimes... unreachable.”

A pause. You breathe through the sting of tears threatening to fall.

“Those of us who loved her, or thought we did, know that the life she led was not an easy one. It demanded sacrifices and sometimes, those sacrifices were born alone. Sometimes the brightest lights cast the darkest shadows.”

Your gaze sweeps the room, briefly catching the faces of colleagues who nod solemnly and the quiet understanding in a few eyes tells you they see beyond the headlines.

“I won’t pretend that everything was perfect. I won’t pretend that I was always enough or that she was always there. But I will say this, love, in all its forms, is complicated. And it’s worth every bit of the pain. She was worth every bit of the pain.”

You step back, the room silent but charged, a raw truth laid bare amid the expected platitudes. Had they expected you to go up there and scream and cry for a wife that they knew was never there for you? That one the same day it happened, she pushed you away while you were bloody and bruised? That half of them hadn’t seen the looks she gave journalists or eager interns, ready to please?

As the ceremony ended and people began to file past, you saw Natasha’s eyes meet yours briefly. No words were spoken but the unspoken weight hung heavy between you. A promise? An apology? Or just a reminder of everything left unsaid?

You turned away, the weight of the moment pressing down and forced yourself to move forward, alone.

⋆⋆⋆⋆

The house feels unbearably quiet once June leaves, the soft click of the front door echoing like a final punctuation mark to the day’s performance. You had made the older woman go home, take some rest, take as much time as she needed but you knew she’d be back the next day.

You stand there for a moment, the weight of the funeral pressing on your chest before sinking down onto the couch. The silence presses in on you, thick and suffocating.

Then there’s a sharp knock at the door.

Your heart jolts. Who else would be here? You didn’t expect anyone. You weren’t ready for anyone. But deep down, you knew there would only be one person who’d come to your front door.

You open the door to obviously find Natasha, standing there, her expression carefully unreadable but her eyes softening when they meet yours.

“I thought you might need someone.” She says, quietly.

You hesitate, the urge to slam the door warring with the desperate need for something, anything, other than solitude.

After a long breath, you step aside.

She steps in, and for the first time in days, the silence between you isn’t so heavy.

The soft click of the door closing behind her like a final punctuation. You don’t bother to look up. Instead, your hands find the bottle of wine on the counter. You crack it open, tilt it back and drink straight from the neck, the harsh liquid burning your throat but somehow grounding you.

After a long swallow, you finally break the silence, your voice low, shaky but deliberate. “Do you feel it too? That… invasion? That violation?”

You push the bottle of wine towards her.  “Like they’re crawling into my skin, watching me when I was… broken. Helpless. Agents were basically standing over my bed, watching me... watching you... watching us... ruin me in my own sheets.”

Your eyes flick to Natasha, challenging, desperate for some kind of response.

She steps closer, the air between you thickening. Her eyes are sharp, fierce with something like quiet anger and concern. “You’re letting this consume you.” She says, voice firm but not unkind. “It’s twisting you up inside. You can’t drown yourself in this.”

You laugh, a bitter, hollow sound that echoes in the quiet room. 

“I’m serious.��� She’s almost telling you off and for a second, in your clouded mind, it hits.

“You need to tell me or June, what you need. You need help and we want to help you.”

“You want to help?”

“You know I do.”

“Fine. Then help me forget, Tasha.” You move closer, sudden desperate hands tugging her blazer into your hands. “Just for a little while. Take my mind off this mess. Take me out of my skin. Like you used too.”

She frowns, scanning your face, seeing the jagged edges beneath the bruises, the raw ache behind your glare. “Not like this.” She says, voice dropping to something gentler but still resolute. “I’m here for you but-“

You finally meet her gaze and something cracks inside you, a flicker of vulnerability shining through the armour of rage and pain. Your voice softens, almost pleading. “Please. Just for tonight. I need you to- I need you to make it stop. Just shut it all off. Make me forget who I am, where I’ve been. What I lost.”

“I-“

“Not Evelyn, I lost her a long time ago…” You breathe, body pressed up against her own now. “You. In all of this, I lost you.”

Natasha hesitates for a moment then reaches out, resting her hand lightly on your arm. The touch is grounding, steady. “Okay.” She whispers. “I’ve got you.”

You let out a shaky breath and for the first time since everything fell apart, you lean into her, the only person who had been there, the only one you trust to hold the shards of you together.

⋆⋆⋆⋆

Her hand lingers on your arm, thumb brushing over the skin in small, anchoring circles. You lean into it without realising, exhausted from pretending you could carry the weight alone. Your eyes flutter closed, just for a second, just to feel something steady.

When you open them, she's closer. Her other hand comes up, knuckles ghosting along your jaw.

“You sure?” she asks, quiet, deliberate.

You nod. “Please.”

She leans in slowly, giving you every chance to pull away but you don’t. You meet her halfway, a breath, a pause, then your lips touch, and it's soft at first. Hesitant. Searching.

Then something shifts.

It deepens. Not just the kiss, but everything beneath it, grief, longing, shame, want. The way her hands find your waist, the way yours twist into the collar of her jacket like you might fall apart if you let go.

Clothes fall away in pieces, not rushed, but necessary. She moves with care, her touch never demanding, never assuming, just there, grounding you in this one small moment where you aren’t a headline or a ghost or collateral.

You're just wanted.

The sheets catch your knees as she lays you back. Her mouth finds your throat, your collarbone, a quiet whisper against your skin. “I’ve got you.”

And for the first time in what feels like forever in this circus, you believe it.

[yassbishimvintage]

SmokeScreen

Setting: Chicago, 1926 – The Sinners Universe (Prohibition Era)

After surviving turf wars, crooked cops, backroom shootouts, and deals with men who never kept their word, the Moore twins made it out of the chaos alive—but not together.

They’d always been a team. Smoke the muscle, Stack the mouth. The underground scene knew: if you crossed one, the other wasn’t far behind. But when the power vacuum hit the South Side in late 1926—after several big names in the Black underground fell or fled—every man had to pick a side.

And they didn’t pick the same one.

Smoke aligned himself with the Glass Saints, the volatile, whiskey-running Irish outfit out of Bridgeport. They were loud, chaotic, and violent—but they paid well, moved fast, and gave Smoke  the space to be more than someone’s brother. He wasn’t just a mouthpiece anymore—he was an ear at the table.

The Irish boys liked him. He could negotiate between whiskey barrels and blood feuds. He knew the jazz joints, how to smuggle in from Canada, and how to talk the G-men into looking the other way. But they also used him. Made him walk tightropes. Smoke doesn’t always see it—but Elijah does.

Stack didn’t choose the Bellandi Family for glamour or money. He chose them for stability. After years of bloodshed, they were the only crew who ran things with order. Logic. Discipline. They saw in Stack what others didn’t: not a brute, but a strategist. A man who could balance muscle with memory. And he was smart enough to not want to be a capo—but to stay close to the consigliere, pulling strings without sitting on the throne.

But the Bellandis hate the Irish. Old world tensions. Street wars. Bootlegging routes that clash like teeth. And Stack knew the day he shook their hand, he’d just put a crack in the bridge to his brother.

-

They don't talk as much now. No late-night drinks on the roof. No cleaning up each other’s messes. When they do speak, it’s terse—like two men tiptoeing around a war that neither wants but both expect.

Still, Elijah never lets anyone talk sideways about his brother. Not even his own crew. One soldier muttered once that Stack was “an Irish lapdog,” and Elijah didn’t say a word. He just pulled the man into the alley and left him with a broken jaw.

Because even if Stack betrayed every street rule Smoke lives by, he’s still his brother. And that love is carved deep.

“I don’t care if he signs his checks in clover and blood—he’s still mine,” Smoke once growled to the Bellandi underboss. “Don’t confuse that for disloyalty. But don’t test it, either.”

Smoke  still watches over Stack. Quietly. From a distance. Keeps ears on his name, makes sure no hits are out, occasionally intercepts a letter, a whisper, a threat. Stack pretends not to know.

But late at night, Smoke sits in his office, polishing his pistol, a half-lit cigar hanging from his lip, muttering the same thing every time:

“One of us is gonna get the other killed. God help me, I’ll still bury you like family.”

-

It had been four months, thirteen days, and a handful of hours since Elijah had seen his twin.

He didn’t count time in weeks anymore. He counted it in missed calls. Unspoken words. Ghosts that passed him in alleyways with red hair and Irish brogues. Every time a body turned up in a side street with .38 shells in the ribcage, Elijah waited for a name. Waited for his brother.

But Stack wasn’t dead. Not yet. Just gone.

And Elijah?

He was still here. Sitting in the dark, blinds drawn, shirt half-buttoned, sleeves rolled, the city's jazz bleeding in from the street like smoke under a locked door.

He opened the small wooden drawer at his nightstand. The one no one touched but him.

Inside it lay a worn velvet pouch—deep red, tied in black twine, soft from age. He pulled it out gently, like it was glass. The mojo bag.

Not Stack’s.

Someone else’s.

Someone he could’ve loved, in another life. Before the streets, before the war between the mobs, before loyalty became a weapon and love became a liability.

Smoke didn’t believe in much—not anymore. But he believed in this. In the way the bag warmed in his palm, like it remembered him. Like it forgave him.

“Another life,” he muttered. “Another me.”

He closed his eyes. Thought about her. About what she told him once when she stitched his side up after a fight Stack started and couldn’t finish.

“Mojo don’t stop bullets, baby. But it keeps your soul from hollowing out.”

She’d left. Or died. Or disappeared. Smoke never got the full story. Just the bag. Just the silence. Just the ache.

He wrapped his hand around it tighter.

And for a moment, he wasn’t a gunman. Not a Bellandi dog. Not Stack’s shadow. Just Elijah. Just a man who once had love and magic in his life. Before everything turned to business, blood, and betrayal.

moke knows Stack probably thinks he’s forgotten. That he’s sold out—to the Italians, to order, to rules and protocol. But Stack doesn’t know the truth:

Smoke hasn’t stopped protecting him. He’s just doing it from the shadows now. Like always. Like smoke.

And tonight, with the city sleeping and that old velvet pouch in his palm, Elijah remembers that there was a time before the streets took everything.

Maybe he can find a way back to that.

Maybe not.

But the mojo bag says there’s still something of him left that can be saved.

Even if Stack can’t be.

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@thevelvetwhispers @fakxmbj @atasteofmir @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @l-u-xwrites @khaleeispeace @chrisevansmentee @dollys-world224 @mirathebookworm @star017 @plan3tch1ld @spookysanta

[sturduststrails]

“Sue me” Ex!sukuna x reader

Exes to??

Masterlist

Pt.1. Pt.2. Pt.3. Pt.4. Pt.5. Pt.6. Pt.7

You’re both still on the couch.

Neither of you has moved.

But everything’s shifted.

The quiet isn’t calm anymore. It’s charged.

Like something’s about to crack open.

He looks at you, and this time—really looks.

Like he’s trying to memorize you.

Like he’s realizing this might be the last time he gets to.

“You know what else I remember?” he says, low.

You tilt your head slightly, wary.

“That night in the kitchen. After we fought.”

“You were wearing that oversized sweater. The one with the ripped sleeve.”

“You were crying but trying to make pasta like it didn’t matter.”

Your chest goes still.

“I walked in,” he says. “And you didn’t even look at me.”

“You just said, ‘It’s fine. I know you’re still mad. I’ll be quiet.’”

You look away.

“And I let you say that,” he says, voice cracking.

“I let you cook dinner for the person who made you cry, just because I didn’t want to feel guilty yet.”

You close your eyes.

God. That night.

“I’ve been thinking about that lately,” he adds.

“Not the fight. Not the words. Just… you, stirring pasta with shaking hands.”

You don’t want him to see your face right now.

But you don’t move.

And then—quietly, like the words are made of glass: “I used to think you stayed because you didn’t know better,” he says.

“But now I know you stayed because you loved me harder than I deserved to be loved.”

You inhale sharply. “And now?” you ask.

His eyes lock with yours. Unflinching. Finally.

“Now I’d burn that whole book if it meant I could hear you hum next to me again.”

Your stomach flips. Your throat goes tight.

“Don’t say that unless you mean it.”

“I do.”

“No, Sukuna. Really mean it. Not because it hurts now. Not because I said something you can’t ignore. Mean it like you would’ve meant it back then, when I was right in front of you and all you had to do was choose me.”

And for a moment—just a moment—you see it. All of it.

The regret. The ache. The way his fingers curl into his palm like he’s holding himself back from reaching for you.

“I didn’t know how,” he admits. “Back then. I didn’t know how to choose anything that made me feel that seen.”

“And now?” His voice is hoarse. Quiet.

“Now I see you even when I close my eyes.”

You hate how much that line hits.

You hate how much of you still wants to believe him.

And for the first time, your voice breaks when you ask: “So what do we do with that?” Silence. Heat. History.

And then he says it. Finally.

“We don’t lie about it anymore.”

Four days.

That’s how long it’s been.

No new messages. No late-night typing bubble.

Just silence.

Again…

It shouldn’t surprise you. You should’ve expected this.

But it does. Because for a second there—for one blinding second—he felt close again.

Closer than he had any right to be.

You keep telling yourself it’s fine.

That what you said was for you, not for him.

But still… you keep checking.

Quietly. Shamefully.

Like a habit you can’t break.

And on the fifth night, it happens.

You’re not even holding your phone. You’re brushing your teeth.

And it rings.

You freeze.

Look down.

His name.

Lighting up your screen.

You stare at it.

You let it ring once. Twice.

Then you answer.

You don’t say anything. Neither does he.

There’s only breath at first.

Tight. Uneven. Like he had to talk himself into calling you.

Then finally: “I’m outside.”

Your heart slams.

“I shouldn’t be,” he adds, before you can say a word.

“But I’ve been sitting in my car for an hour and—fuck, I don’t even know what I came here to say.”

You don’t move.

“I just… I didn’t want it to end like that. I didn’t want to be the guy who disappears again.”

You pause. Then quietly: “Then why didn’t you answer?”

A beat.

“Because everything I wanted to say felt too late.”

That’s when you move.

You walk to the door. Slowly. Barefoot. No coat.

You open it.

And there he is.

Leaning against the hallway wall. Hoodie, hood down. Eyes red, like usual and maybe he hasn’t slept since your last message.

He doesn’t smile.

He doesn’t come closer.

“I don’t know what you want from me anymore,” you say, voice low. I don’t want anything,” he says. “Not if you don’t want me back.”

You just stare at him.

And then, because the air is too still, too charged: “Why now, Ryo? Why come here like this?”

He rubs a hand over his face. Exhales like it hurts.

“Because I read that last message you sent… the one about the truth. About how I got to control the ending. And I realized I didn’t just write you wrong. I lived you wrong.”

You feel it then.

The weight of it. The sincerity.

The ache of something finally cracking open. But you don’t let him in. Not yet.

“You want me to believe you’re different now?”

“No,” he says, stepping forward, voice frayed. “I want to show you. Even if it takes everything. Even if I never earn it back.”

Silence.

And for the first time in a long time—

You don’t feel small.

You feel seen.

Not rewritten. Not rearranged. Real.

You step back. Just a little.

“Then come in,” you say. “But I swear to god—if you lie to me again, I’ll burn every word you ever wrote.”

He nods once.

And when he steps inside, it’s not with arrogance or ease.

It’s with care.

Like he knows this might be his last chance to get it right.

You’ve let him in. Not because you’ve forgiven him.

But because you need to hear it—out loud. From him.

No metaphors. No edits. No book to hide behind.

Just him. And you.

Finally face to face with everything that never got said.

He steps inside like he’s entering a place that doesn’t belong to him anymore.

And maybe it doesn’t.

You don’t offer him water. You don’t ask him to sit.

You just walk to the window, cross your arms, and wait.

The air between you is thick. Familiar. Awkward in a way that makes your chest tight. Like muscle memory trying to reattach after being torn.

He stays by the door for a second, then finally breaks the silence.

“It still smells like you.”

You glance at him : “It is me.”

His mouth twitches. Not a smile. Just a flicker of something—maybe guilt. Maybe regret. Maybe both.

He walks in slow. Takes in the apartment. The bookshelf. The throw blanket still tossed over the armrest.

“I thought you’d move.”

“I thought you’d never call.”

You both go quiet again.

And then he says it.

The line. The one that splits something in you:

“You used to say… after arguments… ‘Just tell me I’m still safe.’”

Your throat tightens. That ache from the past pulling at the present like a ripcord.

“You always asked me that when things got bad,” he goes on.

“And I never answered you properly. I’d walk out. Or shut down. Or turn it into a joke.”

You don’t respond. Just watch him.

“But I get it now,” he says, voice cracking.

“It wasn’t about being right. It was about not being afraid of the person who said they loved you.”

And that? That’s what does it.

You sit down, suddenly exhausted. Wrung out.

“Do you even know what that did to me?” you ask.

“Having to ask for safety from the person who promised it?”

He sinks into the chair across from you. Elbows on knees. Head in his hands.

“I didn’t deserve you,” he says. “I think I knew that the whole time. And I punished you for it.”

The silence between you isn’t empty now. It’s crowded. Full of the weight of years, of versions of yourselves you both pretended were fine.

“You wrote a book,” you say. “You got to process it. You got to be understood.”

“And you got to be misunderstood,” he whispers.

That lands. Heavy.

And for once, he doesn’t try to soften it.

You lean back. Breathe deep.

The anger’s still there. But it’s different now—less fire, more ember. More ache than rage.

“I didn’t need you to make me the villain,” you say. “I needed you to remember me.”

His eyes meet yours. Bloodshot. Raw.

“I remember everything,” he says.

“The way you hummed when you couldn’t sleep. The way you’d whisper, ‘we’re okay, right?’ after fights. The way you’d stare at the door like you were bracing for me to leave.”

You blink.

“Then why did you?”

His voice breaks.

“Because I thought I was protecting you from me.”

You laugh. Sharp. Bitter.

“No. You were protecting yourself from seeing what you were doing to me.”

And he doesn’t deny it.

Doesn’t flinch.

Just nods. Like he’s finally ready to carry it.

You both sit there, in that quiet. The real kind. The kind where there’s nothing left to hide.

And then you say it. Low. Almost too soft:

“I don’t know what this is.”

“Me neither.”

“But I know what it wasn’t.”

“Safe,” he says. “It wasn’t safe.”

You nod once.

And that’s where you leave it.

Not with a kiss. Not with a promise.

Just two people—staring at the pieces.

Maybe ready to pick some of them up.

Maybe not.

But finally, finally seeing them for what they really are.

Hi guys, this is one of the longest chapter i write, is one of my fav one too!! Get ready because the story is ending soon💕

taglist: @humeysaga

[thewretched1999]

── .✦ a small price to pay.

cw: none! pure fluff. wc: 1k

Leon doesn’t know what can tire him out more now, fighting bioweapons for a living or dealing with two toddlers alone on his day off.

Somehow he thinks it’s the toddlers who give him a run for his money rather than literal man made abominations trying to kill him at every turn. Toddlers, with their chubby little arms outstretched, making grabby hands and begging to be picked up, garbling words he didn’t understand but somehow—you do—tire him out more than bioweapons.

It’s mind blowing, really. 

Leon settles into bed with a loud, dramatic sigh, lying dead as a doorknob. He said he’d be able to handle them while you took care of things you’d been putting off, but it doesn’t look like he could.

As expected. You roll your eyes and flick the bedroom light off, sauntering towards the bed to join him. When he feels the sheets rustling besides him, he peers up from the pillow to see your poor attempts at hiding your amused smile. Lips pressing into a thin line when he narrows his eyes at you. 

What did he expect, really? You did tell him they were a handful and he just brushed you off, said something along the lines of babies being a handful and toddlers being a breeze, they watch over themselves at some point don’t they?

Wrong! 

“They don’t tire you out?” He asks tiredly, half joking, half serious.

You snort, settling underneath the covers besides him, hair almost dry as you comb your fingers through it, a small smile tugging at your lips. They do, being a mother isn’t easy, but you get used to the routine after a while. But you won’t give him the satisfaction, not when he was totting himself around as the fun parent earlier and getting them to say they love him more than they love you.

“No?” 

You say it as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and he doesn’t understand. Just stares at you for a moment as if trying to figure out if you’re fucking with him, like you’re just gonna say;

 ‘Just kidding, yeah. They’re hell on earth. But I love them.’

You don’t, though. He waits just in case, staring at you almost expectantly.

“This is what I deal with everyday, Leon.” You clarify. 

You laugh softly as his brows furrow. He groans and buries his face in the pillow again, how could he put you through this? Through twins? Both with his personality. 

All the annoying traits he had as a kid shone through today, he was assuming he’d spend his day off lounging around watching over them while they peacefully played with their toys—wrong. He spent it trying and failing to get them to eat their food and to not use the plates as toys. (They didn’t listen. One of them broke their plates and spilled their food on the freshly mopped floor. You got mad at him as if it was his fault. It was.)

Not to mention the tantrums they threw when he put the toys away, Once again he’s hit with the fact that you probably deal with worse every day. Jesus, he needs to take you out on a getaway trip or at the very least plan a date night soon, have a friend watch over them while he takes you out on a nice romantic night out.

“Sorry.” He mumbles.

Your face scrunches up into a scowl. Sorry. He’s sorry? 

Yeah right.

“No you’re not.” You scoff, getting comfortable on your side as best as you could, just about the only position you can sleep in comfortably this deep into your pregnancy, shifting closer to him and worming yourself under his arm. Not that it takes much effort anyways, Leon instantly clings to you like an octopus, careful not to put too much pressure against your bump.

“There’s another one of you on the way.” You grumble, hitching your leg over his hip. 

He grins down at you, smug and amused, yeah you’re right. He’s not sorry. You look good when you’re pregnant, gorgeous to him even when you’re complaining about feeling like hell all the time, swollen ankles and bags under your eyes from sleepless nights. 

You’re still the best thing around since sliced bread to him though. He could barely keep his hands off of you when you started to fill out a little more the first time, he’s basically counting the days this time around.

“Now you’re complaining?” He teases.

“No.” Another eyeroll. “I’m just saying.”

“Right.”

He knows you’re happy for a third, but he also knows you’re a trooper for bearing the weight of motherhood with no real complaints. His lips press against the top of your head softly, lingering for a moment before he tucks your head underneath his chin as best as he can.

“Italy, soon.” He mumbles. 

“Mhmm.” You hum. 

The bedroom lulls into silence, only broken by the soft sound of your breathing and the quiet sounds of the night, a cricket or two lingering outside the window, the hoot of an owl perched in the trees in the distance.

Maybe an hour or two passes by when there’s a knock on the door, it’s so quiet you don’t hear it but he does. Training and all that. His eyes snap open when the door quietly creaks open, small footsteps padding into the room hesitantly, tiny little sniffles too. 

“Dad.” A voice whispers, small hands push at his back urgently. 

Leon doesn’t have to ask to know what’s up, he has a really good guess at why he’s here. When he turns just enough to face his son, his arms stretch out on instinct.

“Up and at ‘em champ.” 

Leon heaves his son up, groans like he’s the heaviest thing he’s ever carried just to hear that little giggle, plopping him down gently in between the both of you.

“Careful with your mom.” He murmurs, adjusting his arm to sling over the both of you.

When everything goes quiet again, Leon takes the time to stare at the both of you, from your peaceful face with a little bit of drool slipping out your mouth, to the sight of one of the twins nestled in between you two, cuddled up against you.

Kids are a handful, but he wouldn’t trade this for anything else in the world.

[luffystrawhat01]

𝐋𝐔𝐅𝐅𝐘 𝐗 𝐅𝐄𝐌 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: 𝙁𝙡𝙪𝙛𝙛, 𝙈𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙨𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣, 𝙇𝙪𝙛𝙛𝙮 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙛𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 𝙞𝙣 𝙖 𝙙𝙞𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙮, 𝙏𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙚 𝙘𝙚𝙡𝙚𝙗𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙛𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙤 𝙗𝙖𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙚.

The party in the Flower Capital was wild and loud—the kind of victory only Wano could deliver after years of pain. Luffy should’ve been laughing with the crew, stuffing his face with meat, making wild declarations from rooftops.

But all he could think about was her.

Y/n had barely left his mind during the entire battle. The image of her bruised, fierce, beautiful—fighting beside him, risking everything—stayed like a flame behind his eyes. And now that it was over… he needed her.

He spotted her under a lantern tree, off to the side, nervously clutching a cup of sake as she nodded along to Robin’s words. Her cheeks were already warm from the drink—and from the way she noticed Luffy watching her from across the yard.

Before she could react, he was in front of her, grabbing her hand.

“L-Luffy?” she stammered.

“Come with me.”

“W-Wait, what—”

He didn’t give her time to overthink it. He tugged her away from the lanterns and music, down a narrow corridor of the castle, ignoring everyone they passed. His grip was firm, his strides confident—but there was something burning in his chest. Something restless. Something that had been building since Onigashima.

When they stopped, it was in a quiet room with sliding doors and dim lighting. The soft hum of the party became distant, drowned beneath the sound of her quick breathing.

“Why’d you bring me—”

He reached up, gently placing his straw hat on her head.

She froze.

“Luffy…”

“It looks good on you,” he said lowly, stepping closer. “I wanted to see it.”

Her fingers fluttered at the brim, flustered, her gaze ducking shyly. The hat tilted a little, slightly off-center, making it slide down and nearly cover her eyes.

“I-It’s too big,” she mumbled.

He didn’t move to fix it. Instead, he tilted her chin up with his knuckle.

“I like it that way,” he murmured—and then kissed her.

Y/n squeaked softly against his lips, her breath hitching as his mouth captured hers with far more heat than she expected. Luffy kissed like he fought—direct, intense, and with his whole heart. His hands slid down her sides, rough from battle, grounding her.

She whimpered quietly, hands curling into his shirt, heart pounding so hard she thought it might burst. The kiss deepened. He tilted his head, his lips tugging hers open, coaxing a shiver from her chest. She could barely keep up—his touch was overwhelming, but so good.

The hat slipped forward more, obscuring her vision. She gasped when his tongue brushed hers.

“L-Luffy…!”

He pulled back only for a second, grinning, breath hot against her lips. “What’s wrong, Princess?” he teased, voice low and rasped.

“I-I’ve never kissed anyone like that…”

“Yeah? Then I’m glad I’m your first.”

She squeaked again, face hot. “Y-You’re so… forward…”

“You like it,” he smirked—and then his hands were gripping her thighs, hoisting her up suddenly.

“Aah—!” She gasped as her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, her arms flying around his neck for balance. Her back hit the wall with a soft thud, and her heart was going wild. She could barely breathe with how close he was.

His hand slid under the edge of her kimono to hold her thighs steady, the touch not indecent, but firm—possessive.

“You always call me Luffy,” he said, brushing his lips along her jaw. “But right now… say it.”

“S-Say what?” she whispered, voice barely there, the hat wobbling precariously atop her head.

He nipped lightly at her neck, and she shuddered.

“Say what I am to you.”

Her lips parted in a shaky breath. “C-Captain…”

That did something to him. His grip on her hips tightened, a low groan leaving his chest as he kissed her again, harder this time. The straw hat tipped backward slightly with the movement, revealing her eyes—wide, dazed, and glossy.

Y/n’s lips trembled between kisses. She gasped his name again, overwhelmed but melting into him, her fingers tangling in his dark hair.

“You feel this too, right?” he whispered against her lips. “Not just the fighting… this.”

“I—I do,” she confessed, voice shaking, eyes shimmering. “I feel it. I c-care about you, Captain…”

“Good,” he murmured, forehead pressed to hers. “Then don’t run when I do this.”

He kissed her again—slow and consuming—as the hat finally slid off her head and landed gently on the floor beside them.

And in that quiet room, pressed between Luffy’s chest and the wall, her heart beating against his, Y/n knew she’d never feel safer. Or more wanted.

Wano Luffy will always have a place in my heart anyways should I make this a smut?

[suliigwp]

The Crown Cannot— Love You Back

Prince Charles Leclerc x Duchess! Reader

part of the TRONAB series

First Read All You Need To Know Here

SULI: IT IS HERE YES! I liked the format of this one, the next chapter will definitely be the same format, like present and flashback but that just worked with Charles situation cus he's locked up— OK NO SPOILERS JUST READ IT

Also can you spot the foreshadowing for a future chapter?😝hehe

Warnings: Charles getting locked up kinda not really, use of yn

For a breath, no one moved.

Charles Leclerc’s boots scraped softly against the stone as he wrenched back his arm, but the Assassin didn’t flinch. Her hand remained clamped to his collar, calm and vicious, like a predator merely allowing its prey the illusion of fight.

“I found him,” she said, louder now, the venom in her voice unmistakable. “Just past the southern ridge. A scout’s path—unguarded. He wore no banner. But I know a hound of the crown when I see one.”

Charles’s lip curled. “Unhand me, snake.”

Her grip only tightened. “You rode straight into the keep. What did you think you’d find here? A warm meal? A brother’s welcome?” She turned her eyes to Carlos, and for a moment, something unreadable flickered across her face. “Or did Max finally grow tired of silence and send you to finish what he couldn’t?”

Carlos’s jaw flexed. His hand came to rest on the hilt of his sword—not in threat, but in restraint.

He looked at Charles. Then at her.

“…Let him go.”

A murmur ran through the courtyard.

The Knight stepped forward, tense, eyes locked on Charles. “Your Highness—”

Carlos didn’t take his eyes off the Assassin. “Let. Him. Go.”

She hesitated, lips parted as if to argue. Then, slowly, she released her grip. Charles staggered back, breath hissing between his teeth.

He spat at the ground. “This is what Solmara’s become? Lost causes led by liars and knives?”

The Knight stepped forward, but Carlos was faster.

One clean, vicious punch—knuckles to jaw—and Charles hit the ground hard.

A few swords were half-drawn, but no one dared move. Carlos stood over him, voice soft but sharp:

“You don’t speak about my people that way. Especially while you breathe in my home.”

Charles coughed, blood at the edge of his mouth. “You think you’ve already won? You’re a ghost draped in old banners, Carlos. You and your little army of orphans and killers—”

Carlos tilted his head, almost thoughtfully. Then, quietly:

“Is the Duchess still at your summer estate?”

Charles froze.

The shift in him was instant. The blood drained from his face, eyes sharp with sudden, sick panic.

Carlos’s voice remained calm, unbothered. “The one with the pale pink gowns and the glass garden. What was her name again…?”

A silence swallowed the courtyard whole.

“You wouldn’t,” Charles breathed.

Carlos didn’t blink. “Try me.”

The Assassin, still beside him, watched without a word. The Knight did not sheathe her sword.

Charles swallowed hard. “She has nothing to do with this.”

Carlos’s voice dropped. “Then I suggest you start acting like a man who doesn’t want me riding east.”

A beat passed.

And then Charles did the one thing no one expected:

He lowered his head.

…

Solmara Keep, Lower Hold

The cold hit first.

Damp stone, slick with age, swallowed the light as Charles was shoved down the spiral stairwell. His boot slipped once, but the soldier behind him didn’t pause—just pushed harder.

He stumbled forward into the dark, jaw aching, blood dried in the corner of his mouth. His hands were bound, though not tightly. It was insult more than restraint.

The door groaned open, iron and rot, and the guard tossed him in with no ceremony. The stone floor caught him hard.

Then it was silence.

No torchlight followed. Just the heavy clang of the cell door behind him. And the sound of his own breath.

Charles sat up slowly, blinking against the dark. His ribs ached. His pride worse.

“The one with the pale pink gowns…”

The words echoed in his skull like a curse.

He’d laughed when Max suggested sending him. Called it a fool’s errand. But he went. Of course he did. He always did what Max asked. Always played the smiling cousin. The handsome pawn.

And now?

Now he was bleeding in the belly of a dead kingdom.

He leaned back against the wall, staring upward into nothing. His voice, when it came, was hoarse.

“I shouldn’t have said anything about the girl.”

A whisper.

Not regret. Just a simple fact. Carlos had been poised to let him rot. But the second Elenora’s name left his mouth, the knife turned.

He knew that look in Carlos’ eyes—the same one Max wore when he wanted to destroy something just to prove he could.

And—

No.

He wouldn't think about her here.

He drew his knees up, folding his arms against them. His fine court clothes were smeared with dirt, the silk collar torn from where the Assassin had grabbed him.

The Assassin. The ghost Max couldn’t kill.

“So she’s still breathing,” he muttered. “Of course she is.”

He laughed once. Bitter. Quiet.

Then his smile faded.

He wondered, not for the first time, if Max had known what would happen. If he’d sent him to be caught. To be tested. To see what Carlos would do. Or perhaps… to give the rebels something they couldn’t resist—a piece of the crown to ransom. Or ruin.

And if that was the case… how long until Max came?

Would he?

He turned his head toward the sound of footsteps. Distant. Slow. Growing louder.

Not guards.

He sat up straighter. A flicker of candlelight licked the corner of the hall. Shadows moved.

Someone was coming.

And Charles, for the first time, realized he wasn’t afraid of being tortured.

He was afraid of being forgotten.

…

Château Bellestre, Years Ago

The sky was the color of crushed violets. Summer rain clung to the air, but hadn’t yet fallen.

Charles stood barefoot in the gravel garden, hands behind his back, eyes on the girl in front of him.

She was a duchess even then—dressed in silver-trimmed linen, her hair pinned too tightly for someone her age. But there was dirt on her elbows, a scratch on her cheek, and a secret in her smile.

“You’re not supposed to be out here,” she whispered.

Charles grinned, boyish and unbothered. “Neither are you.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I live here.”

He gestured broadly to the hedges. “So do the foxes.”

That earned him a very small, very rare laugh. He treasured it.

They sat side by side in the grass, ignoring the rules, the lessons, the world pressing in from all sides. She picked at a wild daisy growing through the stone. He pretended not to watch her do it.

“Are you leaving tomorrow?” she asked, suddenly too quiet.

He nodded. “My mother says the Crown expects me back before the solstice. There’s a new tutor.”

She didn’t say anything.

He looked at her. Really looked. The soft shadows under her eyes. The small scar on her chin from when she’d fallen in the stables. The way she always held her hands like she was preparing for something.

“I’ll never forget you,” he said, simply. Not dramatic. Just true.

Her eyes met his—clear and certain, even then.

“You will,” she said, after a moment. “One day you’ll be dressed like your father, and I’ll be at court beside someone I didn’t choose. And we’ll walk past each other like strangers.”

Charles frowned. “No.”

“You’re a prince. Princes forget.”

“I won’t.”

He meant it. Even if he didn’t understand why.

She studied him for a long time.

And then, carefully, she reached for his hand.

Their fingers barely brushed, but it was enough. Enough to brand the moment into memory. Enough to stay with him, even now, all these years later, in the dark of a prison cell beneath the broken stones of Solmara.

Charles opened his eyes.

The damp. The blood. The silence.

But all he could see was her, in the garden, holding that daisy like it was a weapon.

All he could hear was her voice.

“You’re a prince. Princes forget.”

“I won’t.”

And he hadn’t.

…

The morning sun spilled through the narrow windows of the castle chamber, casting long, golden beams across the cold stone floor. Charles stirred beneath his woolen blanket, the familiar chill nipping at his skin as he sat up on the edge of the bed. The muffled clatter of servants moving through the corridors echoed faintly, already bustling with the day's duties.

At fifteen, Charles was no longer the carefree child who had once run wild in the castle gardens. The weight of his noble birth settled on his shoulders like a heavy cloak, though Max had yet to claim the crown, and their world still hummed with the relative calm of peace.

His mornings began with the sharp call of the steward, reminding him of the lessons that awaited. History scrolls, sword practice, rhetoric — the essentials for a future leader, but also a daily grind that left little room for frivolity.

In the great hall, Charles joined the other pages and squires, their voices low as they practiced sword strikes under the watchful eye of Sir Aldric. Charles’s movements were deliberate but fluid, betraying his natural grace. Yet, his mind often drifted.

After training, a quick meal of coarse bread and cheese awaited before he was summoned to the study, where scrolls and ledgers awaited his scrutiny. His father expected nothing less than diligence.

Evenings brought a rare kind of freedom. When the castle settled into a hushed stillness, Charles would wander the battlements, the cool wind tousling his dark hair. He found solace in the stars — silent witnesses to the hopes and fears he dared not speak aloud.

…

The sun hung low behind the distant hills, casting a soft amber glow through the high windows of the prince's private chamber. Charles sat quietly near the hearth, absently tracing the worn edges of a leather glove, his mind still tangled with frustration from the morning’s riding lesson.

His mother stood by the window, her hands folded neatly before her. Her voice was calm but carried a hint of concern as she spoke.

“Charles,” she began gently, “I’ve been hearing from Sir Edrin that you’ve been having some difficulty with the horse. It’s not unusual — but at your age, you must master it quickly. The king expects it.”

Charles glanced up, cheeks reddening. “I know, Mother. The horse… it just doesn’t respond like I want it to. I try, but it feels like the saddle fights me.”

His mother approached and rested a hand softly on his shoulder. “That is why I believe it would be wise to find a new tutor. One with patience, and skill enough to coax both you and the horse into harmony.”

Charles blinked in surprise.

“I have heard,” she continued, “that Lady Y/N—the duchess known across the lands—not only rides with grace but teaches others with great success. Her name carries weight in the stables and courts alike.”

Charles’s heart skipped at the mention of her — the same duchess whose childhood promise lingered in his mind like a secret melody.

“She is… talented,” his mother said, her gaze distant but warm. “I will speak with her, and if she agrees, you will have a new guide. Perhaps it is time to learn from someone who understands more than just the blade.”

Charles felt a flicker of hope bloom inside him. “Thank you, Mother.”

She smiled, the first genuine one of the day. “You will be ready, Charles. I believe in you.”

…

The castle courtyard was alive with activity—servants bustling to and fro, the clatter of hooves on stone, and the faint scent of hay and leather mingling in the air. The sun hung warm and golden in the sky, casting long shadows from the high battlements onto the cobbled ground.

Prince Charles stood near the stables, his cloak heavy on his shoulders despite the warmth, his gaze fixed toward the main gate. His fingers tightened unconsciously around the reins of a restless young steed, his thoughts tangled with the weight of the day ahead.

The announcement came before the carriage rounded the corner—a hush rippled through the nearby pages and squires as the polished wheels echoed softly against the cobblestones. A sleek, dark carriage approached, flanked by two attendants on horseback, their armor gleaming faintly.

Charles’s heart quickened. The name his mother had spoken days before was no longer just a whisper—it was real. Lady Y/N, the renowned duchess, famed across the realm for her grace and mastery of the saddle, was here.

The carriage came to a gentle stop. The door swung open with a soft creak, and there she was.

Lady Y/N stepped down with the poise of a woman who had long been accustomed to command and respect. Her riding cloak fluttered slightly in the breeze, revealing a simple yet elegant gown beneath, the fabric catching the sunlight like liquid silk. Her dark hair was pulled back neatly, and her eyes—sharp, clear, and alive with a quiet confidence—found Charles’s at once.

Time seemed to fold inward, the murmurs of the courtyard fading as their gazes locked.

“Your Highness,” she said, inclining her head in a graceful bow, her voice steady but carrying a softness beneath its firmness. “It has been some time.”

Charles felt an unexpected warmth flood his chest, a memory of youth and promises long ago resurfacing like a distant melody. He bowed his head in return, striving to hide the flutter of nerves beneath his calm exterior.

“Lady Y/N,” he replied, voice steady though a faint smile touched his lips. “Your journey must have been taxing. I trust it was safe?”

She returned his smile, small but genuine. “The roads were merciful, and the horses well-bred. As smooth a passage as one might hope for.”

Charles took a step forward, the distance between them suddenly charged with unspoken words. “I confess, I have been looking forward to this day. To learn from one as skilled as you.”

A flicker of something—warmth, maybe amusement—passed through her eyes. “And I, to teach a prince who shows such promise, despite… certain challenges.”

He gave a rueful laugh, his fingers tightening on the reins again. “My difficulties with the saddle are well known. I am grateful for your patience.”

“Patience is but the beginning,” she said, a glimmer of steel beneath her calm. “Skill comes with trust—between rider and horse, and perhaps between tutor and pupil.”

Charles met her gaze squarely, a quiet determination settling over him. “Then let us begin.”

She gestured toward a nearby horse, its coat shining like polished chestnut. “Meet Sable. She is spirited but loyal. A fitting companion for one learning to command not only the steed but himself.”

He approached the horse slowly, feeling the familiar nervous flutter in his stomach. As his hand brushed the mare’s flank, Lady Y/N’s voice cut through the moment.

“Remember, Charles—strength alone will not tame the horse. You must listen, understand her language. The same way you must learn to navigate the demands of your station.”

Her words lingered, a lesson not only in horsemanship but in life itself.

As the lesson began, Charles caught a glimpse of the woman before him—not just a duchess, not just a tutor, but someone who might help him unlock a part of himself he had yet to claim.

The afternoon stretched on, the castle walls standing witness to a quiet promise of growth, trust, and perhaps something more hidden beneath the noble veneer.

The training paddock stretched wide and open beyond the stables, enclosed by smooth wooden rails and soft, tilled earth that smelled faintly of dust and sun-warmed grass. A few curious onlookers lingered near the edges—stablehands pretending to sweep, a knight or two leaning on swords, pretending not to watch. But all eyes, really, were on them.

Lady Y/N stood tall beside the mare, Sable, her riding gloves tucked under one arm and her voice composed. The sun haloed her figure, casting golden edges on the fabric of her cloak. She looked perfectly at ease here, where leather and reins and instinct ruled.

Charles, meanwhile, stood a pace away from the horse, looking... well. Like a prince who'd fought wars, maybe, but not quite one who could mount a horse without ending up tangled in the saddle.

“You’re standing too stiff,” she said simply, observing him without judgment—but without coddling either.

Charles straightened. “I’m not stiff.”

“You are,” she countered, moving to Sable’s side. “Your shoulders are too tight. She can feel it. That’s why she doesn’t trust you.”

He frowned, bristling just slightly. “I wasn’t aware horses were so emotionally fragile.”

Y/N looked at him. “They’re not fragile. They’re honest.”

Silence stretched between them for a heartbeat.

“Try again,” she said, nodding toward the saddle. “Left foot in the stirrup. No—relax your grip. You’re not drawing a blade, you’re climbing.”

Charles exhaled, dragging one hand through his already-tousled hair. He moved toward the saddle, this time slower, following her instruction. As he lifted his foot into the stirrup, he felt her hand gently touch his elbow to steady him.

Her hand was warm. Brief. Gone in a second.

He swung himself onto Sable’s back—less awkward this time, though still with the grace of a knight in full armor. Once settled, he adjusted his grip on the reins and looked down at her.

“There,” he said, feigning confidence. “Better?”

She raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching. “You didn’t fall. I’m calling that a win.”

A laugh escaped him—quick and real. “Well then, I’ll try not to ruin your reputation as a miracle worker.”

Y/N stepped back, arms crossed lightly. “We begin with stillness. Let her feel you. Don’t move yet. Just breathe.”

He obeyed, shifting slightly, the leather creaking beneath him. Sable flicked her ears but stayed calm. Charles glanced down, watching the way Y/N’s eyes stayed fixed on him—not just instructing, but reading him.

“You’re thinking too much,” she said. “About the horse. About me. About how you look doing it all.”

His cheeks burned. “I’m not—”

“You are,” she cut in gently. “I can see it.”

He swallowed hard. “And what if I am?”

Her expression softened just slightly, but she didn’t look away. “Then you’ll learn. But not until you stop trying to be perfect.”

The words hung between them, deeper than just the saddle or the lesson.

He looked away first.

“Walk her forward,” she instructed, voice steady again. “Light pressure. Don’t jerk the reins like you're controlling a ship.”

Charles nudged his heels and to his slight surprise, Sable began moving—smooth, steady, and more obedient than she’d ever been before. His posture loosened, just slightly.

Y/N walked beside them for a while, quiet, observant. Her presence was calm, grounded. He hadn’t realized how much he missed that—her stillness, the way she always carried herself like she knew things everyone else was too afraid to say out loud.

“How did you learn?” he asked suddenly, glancing down at her.

She looked up at him. “By falling. Often. And getting back up before anyone could laugh.”

“That sounds lonely.”

“It was.”

Another pause.

“But useful,” she added. “It makes a person hard to shake.”

Charles said nothing, but the way he looked at her then—eyes narrowing thoughtfully, jaw a little tight—said he’d heard the truth buried underneath.

As the sun began its slow descent and the paddock glowed in that honey-gold light, Charles brought Sable to a gentle stop. No fight. No struggle.

Y/N looked up at him and gave the smallest nod. “Better.”

A beat.

“I’ll see you again tomorrow morning. Same hour,” she said, already turning to leave.

But just before she walked past him, her hand brushed lightly along Sable’s neck—and then briefly over Charles’s boot in passing.

“You’re not hopeless,” she said quietly, not looking at him. “You just need to stop pretending you don’t care.”

And then she was gone, cloak trailing behind her like a memory.

Charles sat still in the saddle, watching her disappear into the stone archway, and he couldn’t help it—he smiled.

…

Present Day

The iron door groaned open, scraping stone, its echo bouncing down the narrow corridor like a warning. Two guards stepped inside, grabbing Charles by the arms. He didn’t fight them. Didn’t speak. He hadn’t said a word since they dragged him from the tower two days ago—not when they cut the bindings too tight, not when the cold food was tossed to him, not even when they called him traitor prince with that smug, bitter spit on their tongues.

Now, they led him through the cold hallways of the keep—this wasn’t his home. Not anymore. The banners had changed. The colors were wrong. Carlos’s seal hung where his family’s crest once did too. Side by side.

They stopped before a heavy oak door. One of the guards knocked once.

A voice answered.

“Send him in.”

They shoved him inside.

The chamber was richly furnished. A long table carved from dark wood, maps pinned to the far wall, a decanter of wine untouched on a sideboard. Candles burned slow and steady, casting long shadows on the walls. It felt warm, comfortable—calculated.

Carlos stood by the window, silhouetted against the light, hands behind his back like a man surveying a kingdom.

“Leave us,” he said without turning around.

The guards hesitated, then obeyed. The door shut with a thud.

Charles didn’t speak.

Carlos turned slowly, his eyes dragging across Charles like he was inspecting an old sword—rusted, dulled, but still sharp in the right light.

“You look terrible,” Carlos said, tone light, almost amused. “Though I suppose that’s what days not eating in the tower do to a man.”

Charles’s jaw clenched. His wrists were red and raw from rope, his shirt stained and collar ripped. But he held his chin high. Didn’t look away.

Carlos moved toward the table and poured a glass of wine. “Would you like one?”

Silence.

“Suit yourself.”

He sipped, then leaned against the table, arms folded.

“Do you know why I called you here?” Carlos asked, voice smooth. “It’s not to gloat. Not entirely.”

Charles gave the faintest shrug. “You seem the type to enjoy your victories.”

Carlos chuckled. “Only the long ones.”

Then—he motioned toward the side door.

It opened again.

And in walked Ollie Bearman.

Charles froze.

The last time he saw Ollie was the night the castle gates fell. When the fires spread through the lower city and Charles was shouting for the guard to hold their ground—while Ollie disappeared through the smoke, sword in hand, only to reappear days later at Carlos’s side.

He was dressed in black now, trimmed in silver. A commander’s cut.

“Ollie,” Carlos said, voice dripping with pleasure, “was one of my first supporters. A clever one too. He saw the tides turning. He knew where the future was headed.”

Charles stared. “You stood beside my brother when we buried my father.”

“And I mourned him,” Ollie said, not flinching. “But he was blind, Charles. Your family clung to power like it was divine. They ignored the change coming.”

“You think this is change?” Charles growled. “You chose a usurper.”

Carlos raised a brow. “Words like that could cost you your tongue.”

A tense beat.

Then Carlos stepped closer, voice lower.

“But I didn’t bring you here to argue. I brought you here to offer you a choice.”

Charles looked up, sharp.

Carlos smiled. “You are, despite everything, still a prince. People remember your name. Your face. Some even love you for it. I could use that.”

“I won’t be your puppet.”

“I’m not asking you to bow,” Carlos said. “I’m offering you something better. Relevance.”

He circled slowly around Charles like a lion around prey.

“You join me. Publicly. Not as some prisoner begging for scraps—but as a voice of peace. The surviving prince standing beside the new king, helping the people move forward. You speak, and they will listen.”

“And what,” Charles asked tightly, “do I get in return?”

Carlos didn’t hesitate. “Your freedom. A place in the new court. Protection. Comfort.”

Charles’s eyes narrowed. “And if I refuse?”

Carlos smiled wider. “Then you rot in the tower until your name fades like dust off a forgotten tomb.”

He stepped back, motioning to Ollie.

“Your friend made the right choice. I’m giving you the same chance.”

The room went quiet. Charles stared at the map pinned to the wall, the ink still fresh over the borders that had once been his brother’s. He felt the fury deep in his chest, slow-burning—but underneath that… doubt.

Not in himself. But in how far this would go. How long he could last.

Carlos spoke again—soft now. Dangerous.

“You’ve lost everything, Charles. But you don’t have to lose yourself. You could be great again. If you’d only stop fighting ghosts.”

Charles looked up slowly, meeting his eyes. Something flickered behind his expression—rage, grief, memory. But his voice was calm.

“I’d rather starve in the dark than dine with snakes.”

Carlos’s jaw twitched.

And Charles, just before they dragged him away again, looked at Ollie—dead in the eyes—and said flatly:

“I hope the coin was worth it.”

…

The spring air was crisp that morning, sunlight spilling lazily over the courtyard as the horses were led out, hooves striking against cobblestone in rhythmic clatters. The paddock was alive with the smell of leather, grass, and the dust kicked up by training boots.

Charles adjusted the straps of his riding gloves, watching as Lady Y/N swung effortlessly down from Sable’s saddle, landing with a soft thud. She moved with that same practiced grace she always had—calm, sure of herself, every motion sharp and clean like she was born to command.

“Better today,” she said, tossing a glance his way. “You only tried to lead her into the fence twice.”

Charles rolled his eyes. “Progress.”

She smirked and turned to walk toward the stable doors.

And that’s when it happened.

One of her gloves slipped from under her arm. It fluttered down like a soft whisper and landed on the dirt behind her, unnoticed.

Charles bent quickly, picking it up. He turned it over in his hand once—light brown leather, warm from her skin, the inner seam stitched with silver thread. It smelled faintly of rosemary and dust.

He didn’t call out. He walked up to her instead.

“You dropped this,” he said, holding it out.

She blinked, surprised, and turned to face him. Her hand came up slowly to take it—but his fingers didn’t release it right away.

They touched.

Just the faint brush of skin on skin, warm through the glove’s edge.

And then she looked up.

There was something different in her eyes—something that wasn’t there when they sparred or rode or argued over posture. For a second, it was just the two of them. No titles. No duties. No names.

Just them.

Charles’s throat felt suddenly dry. He let go of the glove and stepped back before the moment stretched too far.

“…Thank you,” she said, quieter now.

He nodded once. “You’re welcome.”

She turned to go.

He watched her walk all the way to the stable, fingers flexing slightly, as if the ghost of her touch still lingered against his skin.

He didn’t know what had just shifted.

But he felt it.

And so did she.

…

The great dining hall was quieter than usual that night. Just a single long table, warm candlelight flickering off golden goblets and polished plates. No diplomats, no advisors. Just the Queen, her son the Prince, and the young duchess known for taming wild horses and stormier boys alike.

Y/N sat with perfect posture, though her riding boots peeked out beneath her gown, still dusted faintly with stable dirt. Charles sat beside her, still faintly flushed from their lesson earlier—he hadn’t said much since she corrected his footwork for the third time in a row.

The Queen sat at the head, her fork poised delicately between fingers that had signed treaties and silenced courtrooms.

“So,” she said lightly, sipping from her goblet, “I hear the lesson went well today.”

Y/N offered a polite smile. “His Highness was a quick learner. Sable responded to him by the end of it.”

Charles snorted softly into his wine. “Because she was too tired to keep fighting.”

“Or,” Y/N said coolly, “she finally realized you weren’t going to fall off again.”

His mother looked amused. “She’s sharper than you, Charles.”

“I’ve noticed,” he muttered under his breath, and Y/N caught the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

They went quiet for a few beats, the clinking of cutlery filling the space.

Then, as the Queen dabbed at her mouth with a cloth napkin, she said, almost absentmindedly:

“And you—Lady Y/N. Your family must be preparing for the summer wedding?”

The goblet paused at Y/N’s lips. “Pardon?”

The Queen blinked. “The betrothal to Lord Alric, is it not? The Marquess of Esthollow. It was arranged last winter, no?”

Charles’s hand went still around his fork.

Y/N’s eyes dropped to her plate, expression smoothing over like polished stone. “Yes. It was arranged… quietly.”

“Ah,” the Queen smiled faintly. “Well, it is wise. He comes from a powerful line, and his lands border the eastern passage. A strategic match.”

Charles didn’t say anything. He was staring at the flame of the candle beside his plate, jaw locked.

The Queen turned then, as if remembering something. “And Charles, we’ve had correspondence from the north again. The Valdanian house has formally renewed the proposal for Lady Elira.”

Y/N stiffened.

Charles blinked slowly, then looked up. “I thought that alliance was dissolved.”

“They've reconsidered. She’s of age now. It would secure the mountain passage and bring a strong alliance. You’ll meet her at the solstice banquet.”

Y/N’s throat tightened, but her face gave nothing away. Her fingers curled faintly around the edge of her plate.

Charles set down his fork with careful precision.

“I see.”

The Queen, oblivious or indifferent, rose from her chair, wiping her hands. “Well. I’ll leave you two to finish your meal. I have letters to answer.”

She left the room with a flutter of skirts and soft footsteps, the sound of her exit lingering longer than her presence.

Silence.

The warmth of the candles suddenly felt too hot.

Y/N kept her eyes on her plate. “I wasn’t aware it had been announced.”

“It wasn’t,” Charles said, voice quiet. “Nor was yours, it seems.”

She exhaled slowly through her nose. “Arranged after the winter frost. He sent a falcon with the formal token. I still haven’t answered it.”

“Do you want it?”

She looked at him then, finally—her expression unreadable. “Does it matter?”

Charles didn’t answer right away. His eyes searched her face for something—anything—but the distance between them suddenly felt deeper than ever.

“You were right,” she said softly. “We don’t get to choose.”

He wanted to say something—something sharp, something stupid, something that would undo it all. But his throat was dry and his thoughts knotted.

Instead, he just nodded.

They finished their meal in silence. But their hearts weren’t quiet.

The training yard had cleared out by late afternoon. A few tired squires lingered near the weapons racks, and the sky above was beginning to melt into a soft lavender haze. The clashing of steel had faded, but Charles could still feel the sting of it—his right forearm slick with blood from a deep, careless cut.

He hadn’t meant to take the blade wrong—it was a rookie mistake, one he’d scold himself for later. But for now, all he could focus on was keeping pressure on the wound and getting inside before the Queen saw.

He ducked into one of the side chambers, a quiet storage room near the armory. Cool stone walls. A small bench. Shelves of forgotten tools.

He sat down with a grunt, muttering under his breath as he fumbled with the fabric of his tunic. Blood had soaked through, and he was clumsily trying to wrap it with a piece of linen when the door creaked open.

“—What are you doing?”

He froze.

Y/N stood in the doorway, framed by fading daylight, hair pulled back messily from her face, riding cloak still dusted from the stables.

She took one look at the blood and crossed the room.

“You’re hopeless,” she said, kneeling beside him.

Charles gave a breathy laugh. “You keep saying that.”

“Because it keeps being true.”

She peeled back the linen he’d wrapped and clicked her tongue.

“Too deep for a bandage. Sit still.”

He watched her stand, search the shelves, and return with a small wooden box—sewing tools, meant for leather, but it would do. She poured water from the pitcher nearby, soaking a cloth and dabbing gently at the wound.

He hissed, jaw tightening.

“Stop clenching,” she muttered. “You’re making it worse.”

“I’m not clenching.”

“You’re practically vibrating.”

“I’m trying not to bleed all over your floor.”

She shot him a look.

He quieted.

Then she threaded the needle.

“Wait—no herbs?” he asked, a little wide-eyed.

“Do you see herbs?”

“No—”

“Then shut up and breathe.”

He did.

Her fingers were steady as she worked, stitching clean, quick. The pain was sharp, but he focused instead on her face—how serious she looked, how her brow furrowed just slightly with concentration. She leaned in close, and strands of her hair brushed against his shoulder. He could smell the faint mix of saddle oil and mint on her skin.

It was quiet.

Too quiet.

Her fingers slowed as she tied the final knot.

And then she just… stayed there. Kneeling beside him. Her hand still resting lightly on his forearm.

“You didn’t have to do this,” he said, voice rougher than he meant.

“I did.”

He looked down at her.

She wasn’t looking at the wound anymore.

“You can’t keep running into blades,” she said quietly.

“You keep patching me up,” he murmured, eyes searching hers. “Maybe I’m doing it on purpose.”

Her breath caught.

The space between them suddenly felt electric. Too much. Too close.

Her hand was still on his arm.

And she didn’t pull away.

For one suspended moment, neither of them spoke. Neither of them moved.

Finally, she stood.

“Try not to tear the stitches,” she said, gathering the supplies.

Charles nodded slowly, watching her. “No promises.”

As she opened the door to leave, he called softly after her:

“Y/N.”

She paused, looking back.

“…Thank you.”

The storm that night was soft—just wind brushing against the castle towers and distant thunder rolling over the hills like an old god stretching in its sleep. Inside, the library was warm, lit only by a few oil lamps. The fire crackled low in the hearth. Books lined every wall, most of them forgotten or left unread.

Charles sat on the rug beneath the window, tunic sleeves rolled to his elbows, a leather-bound book resting in his lap. He wasn’t reading it. Not really.

Y/N sat nearby, one leg drawn up, her head tipped back against the shelf. She looked relaxed—more than usual. Her hair was still damp from rain earlier that afternoon. Her voice was softer than usual when she broke the silence.

“Did I ever tell you,” she began, “about a girl I used to know? A princess.”

Charles looked over at her, eyes curious.

“No,” he said. “Who was she?”

“She wasn’t from here. From the northern isles. Her family visited once every few years—old blood, old traditions. She was blind from age one and ten.”

He sat up a little straighter.

“But that wasn’t why people thought she was strange,” Y/N continued. “Even as a child, she spoke like someone far older. Always saying odd things. Asking questions that didn’t make sense until years later. I used to think she was just… playing.”

Charles tilted his head. “And now?”

Y/N's fingers traced the edge of the book in her lap absently.

“She knew things, Charles. Things no one had told her. She’d say things like, don’t trust the sea during a crimson tide or you’ll meet your second life in a hall of iron and smoke. Stuff that sounded like poetry, or madness.”

He frowned. “And it came true?”

“Some of it. I didn’t notice at the time. I was too young. But as I got older, I realized... she saw more than the rest of us. Felt things we couldn’t.”

A pause.

“She vanished two years ago,” Y/N said quietly. “Just disappeared. Her family searched the isles, the forests, sent ships to the edges of the continent. Nothing. No body. No clues.”

Charles was silent for a moment, brow drawn.

“You think she’s alive?”

Y/N looked into the fire. “I don’t know. But I don’t think she’s dead.”

“Why?”

She turned her head slightly, giving him a look he couldn’t quite name.

“Because she told me I’d see her again. When I needed her.”

Charles watched her, the firelight flickering across her features.

“Do you miss her?” he asked, voice low.

Y/N nodded once. “All the time. I just didn’t realize how much until I understood who she really was.”

Another beat.

Then Charles said, “Sounds like the two of you had a lot in common.”

She glanced at him, something unreadable in her expression.

“Not really,” she whispered. “I was just pretending to be strong. She was.”

The sky was still gray when Charles slipped out of his chambers, boots soundless against the cold stone. The castle was hushed, wrapped in the final hour of night, the world still holding its breath. He didn't stop for breakfast, didn't call for a guard.

She'd told him to meet her at first light.

So he did.

The courtyard was soaked in dew. Mist hung like lace over the paddocks, and the stables looked half-asleep. But there she was.

Lady Y/N stood already saddled, Sable beside her—tall and calm and patient. She wore no jewels, no cloak lined in gold. Just a heavy gray riding coat, and boots with mud still clinging to the edges.

“You’re late,” she said, not even turning.

“I’m a prince,” Charles replied as he approached. “I arrive exactly when I mean to.”

She turned just enough to glance over her shoulder at him. Her expression was unreadable, but her eyes sparkled faintly in the dim light.

He mounted his horse quickly, the saddle creaking beneath him as he settled. They rode out together—no fanfare, no guards, no one watching. Just them, the open land, and the soft sounds of hooves breaking through the mist.

They said little as they rode.

Side by side, the wind catching their cloaks, the cold brushing their cheeks.

There was something in the silence between them that felt… safe.

Natural.

They passed the old streambed near the edge of the forest. A fox darted out across their path, startling Charles’s horse just slightly, but Y/N reached over without thinking—steadying his reins with one hand, her fingers grazing his.

He glanced at her.

She didn’t pull away right away.

Instead, she just murmured, “Relax your grip. You’re choking him.”

Charles huffed. “That’s my grip on everything lately.”

Y/N smiled faintly, not letting go. “Then no wonder nothing’s trusting you.”

He looked over at her again, properly this time. Her hair was half undone, her cheeks flushed from the cold. She looked… real. Not untouchable. Not perfect. Just her.

He didn’t say what he was thinking.

Neither did she.

But as the sun began to rise behind them, burning gold through the mist, he nudged his horse a little closer—just enough that their knees brushed now and then.

Not on accident.

And she didn’t shift away.

They rode for over an hour. Through silence, through birdsong, through the soft thaw of early light. And when they finally stopped at the hilltop overlooking the valley, Charles turned to her and said:

“You’re the only thing in this place that feels honest.”

She didn’t speak right away.

But she didn’t look away either.

And in that moment, beneath the pale sun and morning breeze, with the world quiet and still below them—

something changed.

The wind had crept in overnight, biting and sharp as it swept through the castle grounds. The air held that early winter chill that slipped through your sleeves and settled deep into your bones. Breath came out in faint clouds, and fingers went numb far too quickly.

Y/N stood beside the saddle post, boots pressed into half-frozen earth, fumbling with the leather strap under Sable’s neck. Her gloves were too thin. Her fingers, stiff and shaking, refused to thread the buckle properly.

Charles approached from behind, brushing his hair out of his eyes, his own gloves still clutched in one hand. He didn’t say anything at first—just watched her struggle for a second, a crooked smile threatening at the corner of his mouth.

“You’re supposed to be the expert,” he said.

She exhaled sharply through her nose. “My hands won’t listen.”

“Here,” he said, stepping closer. “Let me—”

She turned to offer him the strap.

And their hands met.

Charles flinched.

“Gods—your fingers are ice.”

She blinked, not expecting the jolt of warmth in his tone, or the way his hands—bigger, warmer—instinctively wrapped around hers.

“I—sorry,” she mumbled, trying to pull back.

But he didn’t let go.

He just held them. Gently. No teasing. No prince-like bravado.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he asked softly.

Her voice was small. “Didn’t think it mattered.”

Charles shook his head once and raised her hands closer to his mouth—not quite touching, not quite bold enough—but close. His breath warmed her skin as he held them between his palms, rubbing lightly with his thumbs.

She stood frozen—not from the cold this time.

Neither of them said anything.

She glanced up at him.

And in that quiet, with the horses shifting behind them and the wind curling around the stable doors, she whispered:

“Then warm me up, prince.”

It wasn’t playful.

It was soft. And it lingered.

He looked at her for a long time.

But didn’t let go.

…

Present Time

The heavy iron door groaned open.

Charles blinked against the sudden flood of torchlight. Weeks in the dark had left his eyes slow to adjust. The guards moved in quickly, roughly unlocking the bolt on his cell and dragging him forward by the chains.

He stumbled. His knees were weak from the cold, from the damp, from hunger. But he didn’t fall.

Not in front of them.

He didn’t ask where they were taking him.

He knew.

They took a different path this time. Not the stone hall with the cracked window. Not the empty war room where Carlos had tried to speak in velvet threats. This time… it was deeper. Underground. Older. The air was colder down here. More still.

A pair of heavy double doors opened before them, revealing a tall chamber lit by torches and oil sconces. A wide table dominated the center, scattered with parchment maps, seals, knives, and a half-drunk glass of wine.

Charles didn’t need to look to know who was waiting.

Carlos stood at the head of the table, back turned.

Not armored. Not crowned.

Just standing. Silent.

“Leave us,” Carlos said, his voice calm.

The guards hesitated.

Carlos turned slowly. His eyes burned in the firelight.

“I said leave us.”

The doors shut. The silence slammed shut with them.

Charles stood in the center of the room, his chains dragging across the stone. The fire cracked softly behind Carlos’s shoulder, casting flickers of gold across the side of his face.

Carlos looked older than he had the last time Charles saw him.

Tired. But no less dangerous.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Carlos said, “Do you remember the last time we were in this room?”

Charles didn’t answer.

Carlos stepped forward, slowly. “You were seventeen. Max had just been crowned I his own kingdom. I toasted your brother’s reign. You spilled wine on the map of the southern isles.”

His voice sharpened.

“I laughed. We all did.”

He stopped a few feet away, expression turning to steel.

“And a few years later, you stood beside him—when the time came to choose.”

Charles’s jaw tensed. “I stood beside peace.”

“You stood beside the man who tried to kill me.”

“He tried to save you.”

“Save me?” Carlos barked a laugh, short and humorless. “From what? From a future where I wasn’t his loyal little shadow?”

He turned away and walked slowly back to the table, palms pressing hard into its surface.

“You were my brother, Charles. Not by blood—but everything else. And you left me.”

Charles’s voice was hoarse. “I loved you.”

Carlos turned sharply. “Then you should’ve stood by me.”

Silence rang between them, heavy and hot.

Carlos’s jaw twitched. He lowered his gaze to the map, voice cooling.

“You thought I left you in that cell because I didn’t know what to do with you.”

He picked up a dagger and spun it slowly between his fingers.

“But you’ve always had a role to play.”

Charles didn’t speak.

Carlos’s voice dropped, smooth now. Cutting.

“You’re going to stand beside me at the new year’s feast. Dressed in your family’s colors. Hair clean. Wrists free. And you’re going to tell them I saved you. That I was right. That your brother’s death was necessary.”

“No.”

Carlos didn’t look up. “You’ll say I spared your life. That I showed mercy. That the kingdom will only survived because I'm taking the throne from a madman and his lapdog prince.”

“I’ll never say that.”

Carlos looked up now.

And smiled.

“I think you will.”

He stepped forward again, slow and deliberate, until the fire was lighting the space between them. Until Charles could smell the wine on his breath, the faint scent of steel and smoke.

“You’ll say every word I write for you. Because if you don’t—if you defy me, if you so much as blink the wrong way in front of that crowd…”

He leaned in close.

“…I’ll put her in your place.”

Charles froze.

Carlos’s voice dropped to a whisper, almost sweet.

“Your duchess.”

A breath.

“I know where she’s hiding. You didn’t think I’d forgotten her, did you? She’s clever—but not clever enough.”

Charles’s heart thundered in his chest.

“I could have her dragged here tomorrow. Dirty, bloody, on her knees before this very table. And you will stand right there and watch as her loyalty is carved out of her inch by inch.”

Charles trembled.

Carlos stepped even closer.

“Or… you can play your part. Smile. Nod. Lie. Be the sweet, broken prince everyone pities.”

Charles swallowed, eyes burning. “You’re sick.”

Carlos’ eyes saddened more.

“I’m king.”

Silence settled like ash.

Charles’s voice cracked, raw as he whispered:

“You’re not my brother anymore.”

Carlos turned his back to him.

“Neither were you.”

Then, over his shoulder, flat and final:

“You ride in two weeks. You’ll be cleaned, clothed, and prepared. The people will cheer. They’ll think they’ve got you back.”

He waved a hand.

“Get him out of my sight.”

The doors opened again.

The guards grabbed him—rough, wordless.

Charles didn’t fight.

But as they dragged him back down the corridor, head hung, knuckles bloodless inside his shackles…

He wasn’t broken.

Not this time.

He was burning.

@trashmouthsahra @lalala-by-bbnos @fergalaxy @maxswhore33 @b0nesandgh0sts @d160 @mimiastroos @deeppolicetyrant @princessria127 @mimiastroos @wertyuizxcvbnm @l4ndo-norizz @faithxyu

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