#nevertheless enter fic | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

captainkirkk · 18 days ago

Text

✩ WEEKLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩

It's accidentally been 3 months since I posted my last fic round up, so this post contains months worth of reading and so is much longer than normal. If you're curious, this round up includes the following fandoms (in this order):

ATLA

DC (Batman) & Danny Phantom Crossover

DC (Batman)

Star Wars (Prequels)

The Goblin Emperor

The Sunshine Court (AFTG series)

James Bond

Marvel (Spider-Man)

Red, White & Blue

Stranger Things

King Falls AM (Podcast)

ATLA

Academic Excerpts and the Mortifying Ordeal of Being Studied by Scholars Who Make It Their Full Time Job by Vinces

Zuko and Aang conspired early to keep the Firelord’s identity as the Blue Spirit a secret. Zuko unmasked would only make his spot on the Dragon Throne more tenuous during a time of upheaval in the post-war Fire Nation.

Nevertheless, the post-war academics are on it. Who was the Blue Spirit?

Aang and Zuko try their best to play it cool.

Aang’s pretty successful…

Zuko? Well, he’s trying his best. -- Or where two-thirds of the story is historical “articles” set in and referencing the world of Avatar and one third is Zuko (and Aang) navigating a world where there are academic papers speculating about the prison breakout they did together.

In Utter Hones-tea by agooseinhiding

The Jasmine Dragon has been formally invited to join the Earth King's retinue as he takes the monumental first step onto Fire Nation soil since the start of the Hundred-Year War! Truly, an honor.

Unfortunately, "The Jasmine Dragon" includes Li, the owner's grumpy nephew with an outrageously bad haircut and a wardrobe that's solely green, who knows way too much about the Avatar and his teachers, and who swears on his honor that he's totally, definitely not the Fire Lord.

Somehow, the other tea servers don't believe him. But they've never gotten a chance to prove it (or disprove it, in some cases) until now.

The Jasmine Dragon is going to the Fire Nation, and Hua Ming is going to show once and for all that shop-famous enigma Li is Lord Zuko himself, or she's going to die trying.

(She is going to die on this trip.)

Ft.: General Iroh playing the biggest prank in Fire Nation history, a five thousand yuan bet, and the Jasmine Dragon tea servers.

Taking a Break (In) by Duckduck_Scribblerswan (Caellie_E_and_Vaye_R)

Part 1 of a little bit of monicker in my life (Zuko has too many secret identi-teas)

After a few agonizingly slow seconds of exhausted, confused pondering, Zuko decided there was only one logical conclusion. “You’re right," he told the assassins, "I’m here to help you kill the Fire Lord.” Like a genius.

Caldera City is holding a festival to celebrate finally having enough funds to hold a festival! Although Zuko originally deemed himself too busy to go, Sokka managed to cajol him into attending his own party, in a knock-off Blue Spirit disguise for security purposes. Zuko sneaks back into the palace right in time to catch a group of assassins sneaking out. They failed to find the Fire Lord and assume he's reinforcements.

Zuko needs to find who ordered a strike on him before they do something stupid, like order a second one. Obviously, the most reasonable thing to do is join the assassins and hope they don’t figure out who he actually is. Obviously. There’s literally no other option.

Feat. Zuko's only two coping mechanisms (mortal peril and improv theater), the world's most incompetent hit team, and another knock-off Blue Spirit who's determined to prove this "Li" isn't who he says he is.

Kindred Spirits (sent from my iphone) by Duckduck_Scribblerswan (Caellie_E_and_Vaye_R)

Part 2 of a little bit of monicker in my life (Zuko has too many secret identi-teas)

Zuko just wanted to take a breather after a stressful political summit in the Earth Kingdom. Unfortunately, some passerby with good eyesight spotted him entering an apartment through the door as Li and leaving through the window as the Blue Spirit, right before he left for the Fire Nation. The Earth Kingdom puts two and two together and, appropriately, gets four: the Blue Spirit has kidnapped Li, and presumably the other Fire Nation refugees who have been disappearing across Ba Sing Se. They must save Li and bring the Blue Spirit to justice!

Unwilling to reveal himself as either the Blue Spirit, wanted in both the Fire Nation and Earth Kingdom for treason and petty larceny, or Li, who'll draw attention to his uncle's teahouse, Zuko does the next most reasonable thing: he panics.

Meanwhile, Mai, Suki, and Toph are busy investigating who's really at fault for the disappearances of these refugees, King Kuei has realized he can get away with some truly ridiculous antics as king, and the newspapers are getting suspicious of how protective Fire Lord Zuko is of these two random people he apparently picked up in Ba Sing Se. What's up with that, anyway?

Relieved, with honors by redrobin1989

A Fire Lord’s duty is to his people; Zuko seeks out the last Fire Nation soldiers of the Hundred Year War to send them home.

ASYLUM by asfearlessasamango

If Zuko was Azula, trapped in a golden palace with no family but Fire Lord Ozai for years. If Zuko was Azula, now trapped in a marble asylum with no way out that he can see. If Sokka visited. And the complications of a whole world followed.

DC/ Danny Phantom Crossover

Wanted: Dead and Alive by Astereae

“Hey, I do I... Do I know you?” Danny asks, a hand coming up to brush something off Tim’s cheek. “No,” Tim says. “We haven’t met.” “Oh, no, I do.” Danny says, and he smiles, teeth white and sharp. “You’re that guy who rearranged my guts!” Rearranged his- Tim glances at the knotted scars on the boy’s abdomen. He can see the shine and shadow of haphazard stitches that weren’t meant to hold forever, that tore and healed over. His- This- “WHAT!?” Nightwing shouts, equal parts confused and delighted. Tim’s fucked.

OR: Danny Fenton's been in GIW captivity for 4 months.

Tim Drake gets kidnapped by the GIW one Tuesday evening in May.

Considering how many of the Bats and the Birds have died and come back to life, it was only a matter of time for some people interested in the afterlife to come poking around. The detectives can't seem to uncover any information about the mysterious white vans, however.

And they keep losing the mysterious boy who seems to be the one person in Gotham to know anything at all.

it's a long climb up the dusty mountain by whitegeraniums (puertoricansuperman)

"The mission went," Dick echoes, a faint smile on his face. He's still in Bruce's arms, though he could easily escape if he wanted to. Something warm kindles deep, deep in Bruce's chest. Then he thinks of the other Dick, tense as a wire in his arms, shuddering at his touch.

"He had children." He says it without thinking. Dick's expression darkens. He knows where Bruce went tonight, and Bruce watches him piece together the implications of alternate dimension and evil Batman and children.

Or: When you've hit rock bottom, the only place left to go is up.

Star Wars

Misunderstanding Master by bgyeetusthefetus

“A beer please,” Obi-Wan said, his voice barely rising above the din. He placed the credits on the bar, his fingers shaking slightly as he did so./

The bartender looked down at him with a frown, his brows furrowing as he took in Obi-Wan's thin frame. “How old are you, kid?”

Obi-Wan shifted uneasily, suddenly aware of the attention he was drawing from the patrons around him. “It’s not for me,” he replied quickly, his voice steady despite the tremor in his fingers. “I’m just fetching it for my Master.”

Master is a bit of a loaded word in the wider galaxy.

The Goblin Emperor

Date With The Night by DontStopHerNow

Csethiro and Csevet conspire to give Maia a night outside the Alcethmeret.

Unfortunately, when Beshelar finds out, they have a lot of explaining to do.

queen of peace by astardanced

Csethiro broke abruptly free of the pack and came sweeping towards him with hands outstretched, probably hoping to do damage control.

“Serenity,” she said, ignoring her father, who seemed to be wanting to prompt her like a conductor. “We are honoured to have you here.”

Maia had very little experience with the specific social mortifications of an embarrassing family— his own having simply chosen to forget he existed— and it wouldn’t have been fair to make a judgement, but there was already an undeniable tinge of the ridiculous to the entire affair.

(Awkward dinners are part and parcel of the Emperor's role... but the Ceredada really are spectacularly embarrassing.)

The Sunshine Court (AFTG series)

i'm not the same as i was by perchancetosleep

The imminent return to Evermore has him jumping at shadows, and he is already at the end of his rope. Every ounce of energy every single day goes to pretending to be what is required of him—he has to override years of training (away, not towards) to perform adequately on the court, to uphold the Trojan standard, and he has to pretend that while he does it he is a functioning human and not simply a discarded toy too broken to be played with anymore.

It’s why he spent his time in Palmetto when he could walk watching every single Trojans interview and game he could, so he could memorize their speeches and their strategies and their game play so that he would not be a burden. Jean knows what he owes his new masters. And he will not fail.

(Or, Jean tries to fake it until he makes it at USC)

oh i was raised on little light by perchancetosleep

On the third Thursday of every month, Jean walks seven miles across town to visit his sister.

This is the deal that he’s struck with his sister’s foster—no, adoptive now—family. They used to claim that he could visit whenever he wanted, and it used to be Jean’s ability to sneak out of the Moriyama’s home that limited the frequency, but of course the Master had figured out where he was going, and now for years they’ve had him in their ear, telling them how Jean is unstable and disruptive and getting into fights and doing drugs, and of course they don’t want Elodie around that. She’s had a hard enough life as it is, and her good-for-nothing brother is just going to bring trouble and pain. But that won’t stop Jean from showing up, and so this is the deal that he had to make.

Jean will take whatever time he can get.

please i've been on my knees, change the prophecy by perchancetosleep

He can almost pretend, sitting in a warm house at the tiny kitchen table listening to Elodie talk about her dance lessons, that everything is normal. He can pretend that he can stay, that Elodie and him were never separated, and that everything is normal and he is good and he will get to keep this. But Jean had died in that fucking basement years ago, and he’s getting tired of forcing his body to keep going. Sure, Kevin had found a way out and made it to college and made a life, but he had a father waiting for him on the outside.

All Jean has waiting for him at home is a set of guardians that are going to be pissed off that he’s failing chemistry and that he didn’t do his chores and that he’s alive.

James Bond

Begin Again by Snoweylily

M held out the file in her hand and Q automatically took it. “It needs the new Quartermaster’s signature”. The reminder of the Major’s death, the kindly old beta who saw him for him, brought tears to his eyes, and he desperately hoped that the smoke would hide it. “... Okay. Who do I give it to?” “It’s quite a few years ahead of schedule, and quite frankly I’m not even sure if it’s going to work, but Boothroyd always spoke highly of you and you are one of the very few TSS workers still remaining. I’ve spoken to R, the only survivor with seniority over you, and she is quite adamant to remain in her current position with your approval... Which leaves you”. M held out a pen. “Quartermaster”.

Or, “I don’t just have one alpha”. Q grinned, bloody and feral. “I have nine. They’re called the double-0 program; perhaps you’ve heard of them?”

Red, White & Blue

darling, be gentle by SkyGem

In the time that he’s been dating Henry, Alex has been on the receiving end of no less than four shovel talks.

Or.

Okay.

That number may vary, depending on what exactly counts as a shovel talk.

Marvel

Intentions by MellarkandArt

“You’re just- you’re a really great kid and-“

“Mr. Stark,” Peter whispered, suddenly feeling very, very sick.

“Mhm?” Mr. Stark hummed, patting his knee.

“I- I don’t think I can do this. I’ve tried really hard to m-make myself want it, b-but I just don’t. I know you- but I can’t. I just can’t.”

Mr. Stark removed his hand and looked at Peter questioningly. “What are you talking about?”

Peter drew in a shaky breath, feeling the burn as tears fell down his cheeks. “I know you want me to be your- your- I don’t know, but I just can’t be that for someone again, it’s so- so much, and you’re married, you have a daughter, and it’s- I’m sorry. It’s just, it’s too- and I don’t even like you like that, I- I’m sorry.”

Now he’d done it, now Mr. Stark would be looking at him with a heartbroken expression, hurt and betrayed and…

Peter looked up at the man only to see nothing but shock and confusion on his features.

“Peter… Do you think that I have… romantic feelings for you?”

OR: Sometimes people’s intentions aren’t always clear, and Peter has been burnt often enough to know not to play with fire. Irondad, NOT ST*RKER, I promise!!

Stranger Things

Shovel Talks by unkreativstermensch (+ podfic)

“Oh,” Steve says. Then again, “oh,” a little quieter. His expression changes; from confusion to something pained almost. “Mr Munson, I don’t…” he takes a deep breath, his voice a little shaky as he continues. “I don’t think he…I don’t think he likes me like that.”

He doesn’t say “it’s not like that.” Neither does he say “I’m not like that.”

That’s the first thing Wayne notices.

or: Wayne decides to give Steve the shovel talk, only to realize he might not be the one needing one

King Falls AM

i can tell that we are gonna be friends by ace8013, flashsideways

Part 1 of when the radio lights came on (This entire series would be on this round up if it wasn't so damn long)

“I’m graduating this week and I know this is weird and that I met you like a few days ago but… They like, give you tickets? And I don’t know who to invite.” Sammy blinks. “Oh,” he says. “Is this- are you inviting me to your high-school graduation?”

or, Ben graduates from college on May 13, 2015.

to a given standard of normal by neversaydie

Part 5 of cock it and pull it (This series too!!)

The first couple of weeks are… difficult.

Some things are the same. The Jack Sammy remembers sitting across the desk from him in their dingy college radio studio, rambling about the possibility that the math building was haunted; the guy who pushed him into any risky broom closet or empty office he could find to make out, because he was always an adrenaline junkie even if it gave Sammy a heart attack; the Jack who roasted Sammy for his dad jokes even though his were quantifiably worse - he's still there. Mostly intact.

Other things… other things have changed.

[Jack and Sammy start building a life after the void]

the only hoax i believe in by taizi

“Sammy,” Ben says. “You gotta eat.”

Sammy opens his eyes. He isn’t hungry, but he pushes himself upright anyway.

“You better not have tried cooking again,” he says, aiming for light-hearted, angling for a smile.

He nails it. Ben’s eyes go bright and he scoots off the bed with a grin. Not so much fooled as willing to play along, grateful for the semblance of normalcy.

Fake it till you break it, Sammy thinks with the same grim determination that got him through all of high school, and all of college, and every second of every miserable day without Jack and before Ben.

He gets out of bed.

Wish You All The Best by FoxGlade

“This is gonna sound like a stupid question,” Ben says suddenly, “but what year is it?”

Well, Ben has said stupider things. “2018,” Sammy answers. Ben looks to Jack, who looks to Emily, who narrows her mouth into a thin line.

“That’s… maybe a problem,” she says.

(The Christmas magic of King Falls strikes again, giving Sammy a firsthand account of his own future.)

for a higher love by helloearthlings (everything this author writes would also be in this round up if I could)

“Supreme Court legalized same sex marriage this morning, 5-4.”

Ron could tell in an instant that Sammy already knew; something about him crumpled when Ron said it out loud.

God, the guy was – sad about this? Ron’s quiet suspicion about which way Sammy swung was absolutely confirmed – the straight and narrow of King Falls might be all woe is me over the fact that they didn’t have a monopoly on marriage anymore, but no one looked this wrecked if the decision didn’t affect them personally. The question was why this had put Sammy in some sort of drunken stupor.

[Ron, Sammy, and Pride in King Falls.]

#i am in too fandoms someone please help me #i'm considering switching to monthly fic round ups but idk is that something people would be interested in??#or does everyone prefer weekly round ups??#my posts #weekly fic round up #fic recs #atla recs #dc recs #dp recs #sw recs #tge recs #aftg recs #tsc recs #marvel recs #stranger things recs #kfam recs #misc recs #also happy new year everyone !!

300 notes · View notes

ghostofhyuck · 9 months ago

Text

Deja Vu

It’s been months since you two broke up and Jeno got a new girl now. She’s pretty, nice, and exactly his ideal type. And yet, the ghost of you still lingers, maybe because Jeno brings her to the places you two used to go.

Deja vu? Maybe. Or it’s just Jeno’s not over you.

Word count: 2.2k

Tags: angst, fluff, ex to lovers (?) cheating if you squint really REALLY hard.

Song inspiration: Deja Vu by Olivia Rodrigo

AN: TDS3 D3 Jeno went topless and it was a sign for me to finish this fic.

Also this is part two of this fic. Read it so that you can have more context, but this can still serve as a stand-alone.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“So, where is this ride going?” you asked.

“If I told you, it’ll ruin the surprise,” Jeno replied. A smile plastered on his lips as he took a quick glance at you before focusing on the road.

It was five in the afternoon. The sun’s slowly setting, and the sky’s painted in its godly gold. It’s bright and warm, as the sun’s shine passed through the window of Jeno’s Ford Mustang. You just finished your last exam for the semester. After nights of cramming and chugging down coffee, you’re finally free from the semester. Vacation is just around the corner, and what’s the perfect thing to celebrate the end of semester other than celebrating it with your boyfriend?

You watched as Jeno drove smoothly across town, going down the coastal area where the sunset’s more pleasing to watch. You slide across the bridge and the next thing you know, the sun’s following you through the long bay of your town’s beach.

Jeno knows how much you love the beach. It’s a safe place for you where you can get away from your university. So you two just usually hangout around the coast.

Your boyfriend parks the car near the baywalk. He quickly turns off the engine, and just like the usual thing he does, he leaves the car first and opens your car for you.

“You don’t always have to do this, you know that?”

“But I want to,” he said casually just like the way his arms wrapped around your shoulders immediately, pulling you closer to him. You only smile as he gives you a small kiss on the head.

“So, where are you taking me?” you asked once again.

Jeno only hums as he stops, that’s when your eyes widen at the shop in front of you.

“No way!” you shouted.

“They just opened yesterday, so why not celebrate with a cup of yoghurt?” Jeno smiled.

“Oh my god, I’ve been craving for it for so long!” you shouted.

Jeno only smiles, internally patting himself good job. He knows everything about you, and he knows how lately you’ve been obsessed with yoghurt. Whether it be a drink or served in a cup, you’ll love it somehow.

“Did I ever tell you that I love you?” you asked your boyfriend who only lets out a chuckle before stealing a kiss on you.

“I love you too bub, now come on, it’s a do-it-yourself, so get as many toppings as you want.”

When you entered the shop, you immediately separated from your boyfriend, eager to have a cup of yoghurt. Jeno watched as you grabbed a large cup before going to the yoghurt machine. He was smiling ear to ear as you moved to the topping and sauce section, picking carefully your toppings because you’re still a picky eater nevertheless.

Eventually, he joins you as he grabs a medium cup and picks some toppings that suit his taste. After weighing the cup and paying for the dessert, the two of you went out where an al fresco area can be found. You two sat at the corner, digging on the delectable treat that you two are having.

The sun is setting and you’re halfway on your cup, you could only stare at the sun. feeling overwhelmed but in a good sense. You finally finished your semester and your boyfriend brought you to a yoghurt shop. You couldn’t help but to smile. Things are better and you just feel so lucky to be here right now.

“Having deep thoughts again?” Jeno asked, knowing that you tend to space out sometimes.

“No, no deep thoughts,” you told him. “Just happy right now.”

“Oh really?” Jeno teases, “can I ask why?”

You only smiled, “of course because school’s over, and I have my handsome boyfriend treat me my favorite dessert at the moment.”

Jeno only smiled, gazing at you lovingly. He wonders if days are going to be like this. He likes this life of his. In this town where it’s just you and him, in a small yoghurt shop, with the sun setting on the background.

And as Jeno stares at you, he couldn’t help but be in awe. Thinking how lucky he is to have a girlfriend like you.

Your attention shifted to him, making him stare at you even more lovingly.

“Jeno,” you called out.

“What?”

“You’re spacing out,”

“What makes you think of that, yn?”

“Yn?”

Jeno’s eyes widened.

“Who’s yn?”

The girl in front of him is not you. Her hair is in a different shade, falling along her shoulders, unlike yours who you usually tie in a messy ponytail whenever you’re eating something. She’s pretty, definitely pretty that it can make anyone turn their head.

They stared at each other for a minute. That’s when Jeno realised that your name slipped onto his lips.

Fuck. He thought. That’s when he remembered. It’s been months ever since you two broke up. Months after that night that was full of frustrations and arguments. Jeno barely recalled what you two argued about but he knew that you were crying and instead of comforting you, he stormed out of your place.

You two didn’t break up that night officially, you called it quits over a text three days later. Instead of calling you, Jeno lets it be. Thinking that you two were just never meant to be.

Unlike you, Jeno found it easy to get over you. He’s a charming guy, so it was quick for him to find another girl that he can love again.

Or so he thought. Because as he stared at the girl in front of him, he couldn’t believe that he called her by your name.

“Nothing, it’s nothing, sorry,” he quickly apologised. Shifting his attention to the melted yoghurt on his cup.

Maybe it was his fault. For bringing her to the places you two went. Jeno knows that there are a lot of places where he can bring her, but why does he always end up in the coastal area? On a particular yoghurt shop that you love?

Jeno couldn’t help but to question it. He thought that he’s over you but it seems like the ghost of you still keeps on haunting him.

You who’s always cheery. You who always have a certain sweet treat every semester. You who loves bringing your polaroid camera and taking photos of the people you hang out with.

You, who was there for Jeno. Who loved him despite his flaws and even though he is lacking in some parts, you ignored it and loved him nevertheless.

He wasn’t perfect, but you weren’t looking for a perfect boyfriend. You love Lee Jeno no matter what. And you always say that to him.

“Hey Jen, I’m done here, should we get going now?” Jeno snapped out once again when she spoke out again.

He stares at his yoghurt. It’s all melted and doesn’t look appetising at all. He then glances at the sun and it’s barely touching the sea. If it was you who’s with him, you two will wait until the sun sets and set out when the stars are in the sky.

But you’re not with him anymore, and he’s with a new girl. Who’s pretty, who’s nice, and is exactly his ideal type. Jeno had accepted it, after all. It’s not only him who’s moving on. He knows that Mark Lee’s making a move on you. He watched as you laughed with him over a cup of coffee a few weeks earlier.

So it seems like you two are moving on. Good for you. He thought. You deserve someone better than him. While he knows that there are no other girls that can surpass you, Jeno hopes that at least for his side, he can be a better man for his new girl.

The ride home was nothing but an awkward tense. Jeno keeps on glancing at her, who’s too busy on her phone. If it was you, your eyes would linger on the view outside — even though you’ve grown up in this area, you always love staring at the view. But at some time, you’ll shift your gaze at Jeno, who’ll reciprocate your giggles with a soft chuckle. His free hand lacing around your fingers, never letting you go until you reached your place.

“Watch out!” and luckily, Jeno stepped on the brake quickly. His eyes staring at the dog that just passed by.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t —”

“No, of course not! The dog suddenly jumped out of nowhere,” she said in a soft tone, smiling as she pats Jeno’s shoulders. “You prevented it too, and there’s no accident that happened, so it’s okay.”

Jeno could only let out a sigh. Somehow, he feels like blaming himself because of the incident, if it wasn’t him thinking about you, then maybe he’ll be more concentrated on his drive. He tried to focus on the road, but you’re in his mind no matter how hard he tries to shake the thought of you.

He didn’t notice that he just reached her place. It was as if he was driving out of instincts.

“Thanks for dropping me off,” she said, smiling.

“No worries,” Jeno only said, and before she left, she gave Jeno a soft kiss on the cheeks. Jeno watches as she gets out of the car, walks through her apartment and closes the door.

But Jeno couldn’t move from his seat. He doesn’t know what to do. Frustrated, Jeno lets out a sigh as he rests his head on the headboard. He doesn’t want to fuck up. He already ruined your relationship, he couldn’t bear to ruin another one too.

“I’m so stupid,” Jeno whispered. He opens his eyes and looks at the road. He knows that deep inside, he’s not yet ready to enter another relationship. It’s too soon.

Not when you spent three years together, and broke up abruptly. Throwing everything you two had. Never had a decent closure or even a proper apology from each other because of what happened that night. No. The only thing Jeno wants more is to find closure from you, and perhaps, in the better light,

you two can finally move on and find someone better.

Jeno knows that partly, it’s his fault that things went downhill. So it's up to him to fix everything. He turned on the engine, and without any hesitation, drove to a familiar route that he memorised by heart. It was a gamble, but Jeno was willing to see the outcome of his indecisive decisions.

As he reached your place, Jeno didn’t hesitate to turn off his engine, leaving his car as soon as possible.

He walks towards your apartment, a sense of familiarity welcomed him. It felt like home and Jeno tries to brush off that feeling — that odd sense of missing a place that has been a home for him for years.

Jeno stops in front of your door. He lets out a deep sigh before knocking on the door. For a minute, no one answered.

He knocks once more. Two, three, four loud knocks, in hopes that it can be enough for you to open the door.

But within a minute, no one answered. Jeno took it as a sign. That maybe closure isn’t for you two. Jeno tried to ease his beating heart — he didn’t even notice that it had been beating abnormally ever since he arrived at your place.

So he turned his heels around, walking a few steps when he heard the door open.

“Jeno? What are you doing here?”

As he turned around, Jeno was shunned.

There you are, with your hair in a mess, wearing your favourite cinnamoroll-patterned pajamas. He saw how your round eyes became wider as he made eye contact with you — both yearning for something.

“I…I —” Jeno decided to go near you. “I just, want to ask you how you have been.”

That was stupid. That was so fucking stupid. Jeno’s mind was barely functioning when those words slipped out of his mouth.

But you didn’t take it into something. You were just surprised. Jeno’s in front of you. The sense of familiarity to the man in front of you is still there. His scent, presence, and the feelings you had for him. It’s all still there.

And you don’t know why, but maybe you just wanted to see if he still loves you.

Because instead of answering him, you grabbed him by the neck and smashed your lips onto his.

But in a quick second, you realised that what you did was stupid. You broke out of the kiss, and yet your hand remains on his.

Jeno’s gaze shifted from a surprised one to something more familiar. Lovingly. You knew that stare, you’ve always loved that stare of his. You know that because you’re the only one who he gave that gaze with.

And the next thing you knew, his lips crashed onto yours. You couldn’t help but to kiss him back with more intensity. His arms instinctively hold your waist as you attempt to balance yourself. He pushes you backward, making you two enter your apartment without breaking the kiss.

#nct dream #nct imagines #nct dream fic #nct fic #nct x reader #nct jeno #nct #nct dream imagine #nct scenarios #nct fluff #nct dream imagines #nct jeno imagines #lee jeno #jeno x reader #jeno imagines #jeno fic #lee jeno fic #nct dream jeno fic #nct jeno fic

449 notes · View notes

svndaysaweek · 7 months ago

Text

Addiction and Poisoning — {Feat. Minnie (& Miyeon)}

1.2k words

A/N: It’s been months since the last time I posted something. This might not be the best I’ve written, but I did write something, nevertheless. I’ve been feeling the need to release something, and @i-am-lifeform24 thankfully gave me a precious opportunity to write something!!! So I’m posting it here too. Check out other fics from the ‘Curated Companions’ also!

*Drug use, choking, bondage, a bit of angst(…?)

******

Once in for all. You head to the bar you’re regular at. Everytime you tip a glass there, you experience a weird dream and when you wake up you’re in your bed, no memories of how you even made it there.

It’s happened several times already. To the point where you start to doubt if it really is a dream.

A charming bartender, nice drinks, and the addictive dream-like scenes you fragmentarily see like a deja-vu.

There are different versions of it, but all follow the same sequence: sit down, empty a glass or two, a little chirpy chit chat with the bartender and the very next blink she’s riding you in a frantic manner.

What haunts you the most is that you lose old memories too. The damage is disturbing, since even at work you don’t remember major events that happened. You really should stop drinking, and you're aware of it more than anyone.

You can’t explain, but you feel like you should just go there again. It’s an addiction, maybe. You know you should stop, but you don’t.

******

The door swings open with the little bells on it quirkily ringing. It’s a dim bar, with the calm noise of people talking and laughing with clinking sounds. Over the counter she’s wiping glasses, not in a tuxedo but in a white sleeveless shirt, long blonde hair over a shoulder and a pair of orbs in her eyes with the aura that a quartz gemstone would exude.

Hot, but not red-hot. Erotic, but not foul.

The very eyes in your dreams that you made roll back.

“Hi, long time! The usual?” Minnie’s grin blooms quickly as if she’s been waiting for you. Then she fixes it the next second, recognizing how unusual it is for a bartender to be as turgidly excited as her.

“I’d love to.” With a bite on her lip she turns around, takes a bottle of whiskey. Then enters a room in the back for a glass.

Your hand automatically takes your phone out of the pocket. You see a message from an unknown number saying ‘Hey we need to talk’, but before you can check Minnie returns with the glass and serves it to you.

“Are you shifting soon? Never seen you in that shirt before,” A sip, and another. The latter is because it tastes rather different. “Ah, this? How do I look?”

Gorgeous!

Gorge-

Gor-

…

******

“Yeah, that’s it…” Minnie’s hands are planted on your chest while her hips are senselessly grinding on your cock. The pace skyrockets and her nails dig into you deeper and deeper.

But dangerously you don’t feel the pain. You can only feel how tight she’s squeezing your cock, how sweaty her thighs are, how hot her breath is and how good she’s fucking you.

“Fuck, it gets better everytime… How can I stop fucking you like this…” Her hands are now in her hair, arms open and messing her own hair a bit.

She squeezes her own breasts before slightly choking you with both hands. You try to reach for her hands, which are cuffed to the bed. Minnie seems to enjoy the surprised look on your face, as her face descends to be just above yours with a pearly giggle.

“Bet Miyeon is all too vanilla to do this stuff to you in bed,” She whispers it right at your left ear before nibbling on it, making you flinch a bit.

“Miyeon? Who is-“

“Never mind, boy. I have only you and you—oh, god I’m close—have only me.” Minnie’s teeth leave a deep mark on your under lip. Her glance is now beyond enrapturing. It’s a poignant hypnosis with a tinge of coercion.

Only when she cums and squirts on your cock with a rather lunatic moan is the bewitching scrutiny alleviated. The sound of heavy breaths and the tickle of her fingers stroking on your chest is all that you can sense.

And you’re sprawled on the bed, exhausted, with your consciousness fading out. “I have only you, Minnie” is what you lethargically repeat until all becomes dark.

******

You have no idea how you ended up on your bed. Again. The last place you remember you were at last night was the bar.

Was it the whiskey after all?

Before you could even get out of your bed a headache swirls inside your head.

I had intense sex with Minnie again in the dream again.

She mentioned someone.

I received a text from someone who wanted to talk with me.

What could all this mean?

All of a sudden, a loud knock on the door shakes you awake from your thoughts.

“Who’s there?” You shout, and you hear a frustrated, urgent female voice.

“Honey, it’s me! Please open the door and let’s talk!” On the other side of the door there’s a woman standing. Anxious, upset and unfamiliar.

“Do I know you?” It’s a genuine question, because you don’t recognize her at all. “Honey, this is not funny. At all. Why the hell have you been ignoring all my-” The girl tries to grab your hand which you swiftly evade.

“Sorry, but what are you talking about?”

You’re gazing at her eyes then you’re forced to shut your eyes because of a headache like being shot in the temple.

“Babe!” Down the hallway is Minnie. You are so confused by her calling you that, but it must’ve been the drink. Should’ve drunk less.

“Babe?! Excuse me, but do you know him? Honey, do you know her?” Miyeon looks shocked, terrified, even. “I do. Why are you asking me that? Who are you?”

Disbelief shades her face. “H-honey�� What are you talking about? I’m your fiancé! I’m Miyeon, don't you remember?” At the same time there’s a victorious grin on Minnie’s face.

“Seems the potion worked very well…” Minnie whispers in Miyeon’s ear, quiet enough for it not to make it to your ears.

You’re gazing at her eyes then you’re forced to shut your eyes because of a headache like being shot in the temple. Then all senses fuzz out.

******

“Don’t go too fast, Miyeon! It’s dangerous!” You’re on a bicycle following her, on a riverside road with cherry blossoms fluttering along the breeze. She briefly looks back at you, and the way her hair streams in the wind takes your breath. “You’re saying that because you can’t pass me!” She smiles playfully and speeds up ahead.

“What are you listening to?” She takes one of your earphones after sitting down next to you on the bench. “Just some classics. Autumn is a season of classics for me.” You turn your head in her direction and are stunned at how her look matches the color of the trees and sky ever so perfectly. She can only chuckle at your face.

“Oh my god, sweetheart, yes!” You’re down on one knee, putting a ring on her finger. She’s shedding tears with the happiest smile. “I love you, Miyeon.” You rise and hug her. Your hands are still shaking. Her shoulders shake from her crying.

“I love you too. I have only you. And you have only me.”

******

A/N.2: Check replies!

#kpop x male reader #kpop male reader #minnie smut #gidle smut

303 notes · View notes

lichenes · 2 months ago

Note

Heard you were wanting to write for Silco and I came running!

I was wondering if you could possibly write something fluffy between Silco and male reader? If you write for male readers of course, G/N is also fine. Perhaps Silco is having a rough day and the reader is there for him? I love reverse comfort fics and Silco has become one of my favs.

Thank you in advance and take your time. No sweat if this request isn't for you :)

We definitely have too little silco x male!reader stuff!! I shall do my part 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ Silco is a deeply flawed and intricately written character and I can't quite relay that in my writing but I hope I soon will get it... anyway!

CW: pet names (dove, my love), upset silco (as if he didnt have enough), lap sitting - scandalous!!

wc: 600

. * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚ . * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚. * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚. * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚. * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚

“Silco?” You asked entering his office. He was sitting in his chair, facing the ornate window of the room. Silco didn't respond. You assumed it was your cue to leave. Just before you closed the door he turned around and demanded your presence.

“Come here.” His voice seething with leftover anger. He preferred to work on his grievances alone, you knew that, so why was he so eager to have you by his side this time? You closed the door with a soft click and walked up slowly to his desk unsure what to do.

Your relationship was relatively fresh as he had asked you just a few weeks back to be his beloved. He then presented you with a necklace with a stone you weren’t quite familiar with, to encapsulate his devotion to you and consummate your relationship.

You'd toy with it when stressed or overwhelmed to ground yourself and keep yourself afloat, thinking about him. Your infatuation was something not many understood. Nevertheless, you persisted in your fidelity to the ruler of Zaun.

“Come here.” He emphasised. Your feet led you to his side as he patted his spread legs giving you a sign to sit in the most comfortable seat of all, his lap. And so you obeyed. When you were sitting comfortably he was holding you up by the small of your back and he was staring.

He was staring at your Adam's apple, as it bobbed up and down, and was trailing his sight down to the necklace. A wanton move was made soon after you noticed it. He cradled the piece of jewellery delicately and soon, he was tugging on it making you come closer to him.

You relaxed in his grasp and put your hands on the armrests of his chair to further steady yourself. “What did you want, dove?” Said Silco finally responding to your question, still holding you by your, de facto, collar. “Just wanted to check up on you.” You almost whispered, breathless staring at him, not wanting to break contact.

“Hmm… is that so?”

You nodded. “Correct me if I'm wrong, my love…” Your noses were almost touching. “But… I think you had something else in mind when you went looking for me.”

Admittedly you were feeling a little lonely, nevertheless you pulled away. Silco was many things but he never was this openly flirtatious towards you. He did profess his love to you, not actually bared his heart. Although slowly but surely, you were chipping away at his tough exterior.

“Forgive me my love.” You dared. “You seem to be bothered by something.” You put your hand in his hair and scratched his scalp lightly. Silco's smugness momentarily fled from his features, introducing a certain softness and returned back, just as soon. “Oh? Are you worried about me, little dove?”

You put your hands on his cheek. “Silco.” Your face went stoic. “Tell me what's wrong.” He couldn't deny you any longer so he folded. “It's…” You frowned slightly, beckoning him to keep talking. “It seems I can't catch a break with you, can I?” He chuckled. “Alright then.” He sighed and began explaining his latest quandaries. You were nodding along, listening to his every word and when he finished talking you offered advice which he gladly took.

“Also I think Finn is a shithead, but that’s just my opinion.” He chuckled at your sentiment. A moment of serenity was broken by his sudden capture of your lips. You gladly leaned into the kiss battling for dominance, losing nevertheless.

“What would I do without you, dove?”

masterlist

#x reader #writing #fluff #arcane silco #silco #silco x reader #silco arcane #silico x reader #silico #x male reader

189 notes · View notes

tsukii0002 · 6 months ago

Note

hi! So I had a little not really little fic that has been on my mind when I got home from school…

Imagine mc and the brothers were working at fall, dressed up as bunny boys again we love em and the manager suddenly put a special ‘fan service’ on the menu, basically if you brought the fan service on the menu you could interact with one of the workers like they will flirt with you, compliment you, kiss on the cheek maybe, etc…but because the brothers were not too comfortable with that except asmo but we don’t talk about him so it is only for the customers to interact with none other the our majesty..MC! mc is the energetic and says risk it for the biscuit type of person when they are taking a risk of getting their soul stolen or whatever, so they literally have no problem taking the place, flirting, kissing the customers cheek and being all affectionate besides, it’s okay right?……right??

I can imagine the brothers being all jelly jelly haha…especially Levi.

it is alright if you’re not interested in it! <3

I love the idea! I hope I can capture it well, again thanks for the suggestion 🤗! Thank you again for your patience and sorry for the grammatical errors.

"It's bunny season and at "The fall" you'll be able to find high quality services"

In this way they announced again the presence of the brothers on the site (this family gets into debt too often), with the novelty of the, never seen before, fan service option. The brothers were not very comfortable with this service but, as always, a fearless soul was ready to solve this problem. Mc entered the room in a costume apparently more provocative than the others, they didn't look as uncomfortable as the demons, they were ready for anything.

‘Don't worry, from this moment on I'll take care of this service’

And with a wink, the human began to work as if nothing had happened.

Lucifer

The customers looked at the avatar of pride with sparkling eyes "Show them the menu in a provocative way" they had asked him. They were really taking advantage of the situation, but, who the hell had made these suggestions?! "That's tough" Mc had appeared behind him, carrying several menus under their arm and that smile he knew so well adorned their face. With an overly sensual step they approached one of the customers and sat on her lap, opening the menu to show her. The demoness began to blush as she searched for the words to speak, Mc chuckled in a charming way as they pointed to the most expensive dessert in the shop "I think something this sweet would be perfect for someone as sweet"

It took him a while to react. Why did this human always have to rush forward without hesitation!?

He felt his pride shaken as he saw how all the customers focused all their attention solely and exclusively on Mc… his Mc.

He is able to do his job perfectly, but he would try to keep Mc busy with other tasks, not approaching the customers. Until the manager caught his eye.

He will be proud to see Mc being the most popular, but this would clash with jealousy, Mc is his and no one should forget that.

Eventually he would relieve Mc, he would rather work with all that nonsense than let his human become a celebrity desired by all.

Mammon

Mammon didn't know where to look, his cheeks were more than flushed when he was asked to "serve the demonus in a naughty way", What the hell did that mean?! The demon opened the bottle hesitantly, this time even the debt wasn't his fault, he didn't want to do that when Mc took it out of his hands, they winked confidently and with unexpected dexterity poured two glasses, splashing their fingers in the process. Nevertheless, they licked them in a very sensual way, as they innocently batted their long, long eyelashes. The breathless customers were even more petrified when Mc sat down between them and held out the glasses with a big smile "We should make a toast, shouldn't we?"

What he had seen was real? Since when Mc have such a naughty and sensual side… and, Why weren't they doing that to him!!?

Not happy with the situation, if he got paid for being jealous he would never worry about debts again.

After that he would not talk to Mc, first for embarrassment and secondly for jealousy, they should only do that with their first…

He'll try to do those jobs so Mc wouldn't have to do them, it's his human, only his. It didn't work out too well.

Unable to work well knowing that Mc does such jobs. Sometimes he would leave his post to tell customers that Mc don't cover that part of the menu.

Levi

He was about to faint. "Do an adorable bunny greeting" How could they ask such a thing to an anti-social otaku?! Surely they wanted to make fun of him and his hobbies. Suddenly he felt a pat on his back, it was Mc with their trusty smile "Leave it to me". Mc quickly adopted a magical girl pose with their hands imitating the ears of a rabbit, and as a deadly attack, they waved them while making an adorable gesture with their cute little face "Kyuu~" x1000 damage. The customers started to clap their hands blushing vigorously. Was Mc so powerful or maybe they were otakus too? They got even redder when Mc sat next to them saying "What can this bunny do for you?"

His face went through five shades of red before he could react. Did Mc just do what they just did?

How had he missed the opportunity to record it?!!! so adorable, so cute…. But other people had seen it!! That gesture was addressed to other people!!!!

His envy took over him completely, he had always dreamed of that kind of service, and on top of everything else Mc?!!!! It was every demon's dream!

He is not able to concentrate, since he only mumbles words of self-deprecation, the clients feel at some point afraid.

He would never be able to do those jobs, so unfortunately he drowning in his envy as he watches his Mc doing things he always dreamed they would do to him.

Satan

Satan was about to explode when he heard about this fan service, and when he was asked to "Shower them of praise and admiration" was the straw that broke the camel's back. He couldn't fake admiration, let alone when his anger was about to take over. He was about to head to the table when Mc took his place, giving him a knowing look. The human put their hands on the customer's shoulder and cupped their chin, looking at the (now paralysed) demon with eyes full of apparent admiration. One praise after another, one compliment followed by another and another, the kind words kept coming accompanied by the most adorable expressions from the human "I really am a lucky bunny to have come across such a magnificent customer"

He can't find the words, he can't describe how it feels to see Mc praising other demons in such a way.

He is full of wrath, but it's not the usual wrath, no, it's jealousy.

I would try to divert the attention of the customers by bringing up topics of conversation, talking about Devildom news and advising them on drinks and desserts from the menu, so they don't notice the fan service option.

Since that doesn't work, he would try to get Mc to quit the job, but they both know that if that happens they would never earn the money they need.

He would try to do the jobs himself, but he would do it in an artificial and dry way, he couldn't let Mc praise people like that, at least not people other than himself.

Asmo

At first he liked the idea, but the customers kept asking for more and more, to the point that when he heard "Feeding them adorably" he felt a shudder. A squeeze on the hand calmed him and Mc with their charming smile stepped forward like an epic hero. Carrying a tray with a large ice cream, they carefully sat down between the two customers who looked at them with wide eyes. Mc took a spoon and filled it, and after putting their hair behind their ear, shyly, they turned to one of the customers "Say ahhhh" The demoness's pupils turned into hearts when she saw Mc's blush with a tender smile, she opened her mouth and took the bite about to faint, while Mc filled the spoon again "Maybe the customers want to feed this little bunny next?"

Omg MC!!! how lovely and spicy, wait… How lovely and spicy with other demons!!!!

Asmo is not usually jealous, but seeing an unknown aspect of Mc makes him jealous, not because of the act itself, but because it was not directed at him.

He knows how sensual Mc can be, but it was the only thing he wasn't willing to share with the world. He tries to keep smiling but is not able to be his usual charming self.

He would follow Mc to every table to make sure they never did that to anyone but him again, and no one would complain, two for one, but in the end he would get scolded.

He would do everything he could to divert the attention of customers, both from the fan service and from Mc. And he is probably the only one who can do it.

Beel

Beel was always willing to do any job if there was food involved but "Holding a pocky in the mouth while the customer bites into it" was too much, he didn't like that sort of thing. However, the box of pocky had disappeared from his hand, Mc was at his side "Don't worry". With agility they sat on the couch under the attentive gaze of the customers, and with a sinuous slowness they took two pockies and bit them forming a V while they looked at a customer with a mocking smile. He didn't know which was redder, the customer who tried to bite it or the demonus spilled from his trembling hands. Mc laughed sweetly as they put the candy in the customer's mouth "Has the bunny got your tongue?"

He didn't know how to act, or exactly what to feel, the only thing that was clear to him was that he didn't like it, he didn't like it at all.

Mc was a kind person, but sharing food was too personal, a thing of the two of them. So he couldn't help but feel jealous…

He felt a sensation in his stomach, which was not hunger, as if it were shrinking. Every time he saw his human smiling at another demon in that way he liked so much, his stomach would shrink even more.

He intimidated the clients by looking at them, even though he was unaware of it. He is so focused on Mc that he is not able to do his job properly.

Although he wanted to do his part to keep Mc away from the clients, he couldn't, and every time he saw a group call out to his human, he felt he had failed to protect them.

Belphie

"Wear a ribbon you get as a present" was a pointless and annoying thing he wasn't willing to do. It could be worse, it could, but that strange service was awkward, yet buying a ribbon was an extra expense so it was impossible to take it off the menu. He lazily walked over to one of the tables when he felt his waist being grabbed, it was Mc. They smiled at him and walked over to the table in his place. Mc sat down and immediately several hands held out different ribbons, the human put on a flirtatious and hesitant expression as they looked at the different ribbons. The customers blushed as Mc slowly and smugly placed the ribbons on their bunny ears, on their neck…. "I think this bunny needs even more bows don't you?"

He didn't have to think long to know that jealousy was eating him up. How dare they even look at his human?

The jealousy showed in his expression, everyone could see it. He was on the verge of kidnapping Mc and hiding the two of them together for a nap.

He tried to make customers lose interest in the human, telling them Mc was unpleasant or clumsy, but when the demons ignored him, they could hear teeth gnashing.

There was no way he could offer anything better than Mc to the clients, so he tried to play the lovable demon card to make Mc not work.

He wouldn't try to do the job, instead, he would just sit there looking at the customers in a bad way, and make it everyone problem.

I've finally been able to come back!! the truth is that I've had so many things together, among them a horrible creative block, a burn out, the thesis... I will try to get into a rhythm little by little and answer everything I have in my mailbox. So if you have come this far, thank you very much🩷.

267 notes · View notes

fiendishfables · 1 year ago

Note

hii i just saw ur request page and thought i'd give it a try! soo, can i please have an nsfw oneshot w/dom! lucifer x reader ? i've just been thirsting after him sm...

anyways can it be about like him going down on reader, or just being talented with his fingers, cus we know what he can do with em 🫣

thanks so much!!

a/n: ahh, yes, thank you so much, my lovely, for sending in this request! This is my first attempt at responding to a request, so I hope its to your liking and doesn't disappoint. We love Luci!

warnings: nsfw, sex, cursing, use of pet names, first time as a couple, Luci being a complete dork

word count: 1.2k+

characters: 6646

notes: This is my first fic on here, as well as my first attempt at writing smut, so I apologize if its not any good. But nevertheless, enjoy!

Dom! Lucifer Morningstar x GN! Reader

Oneshot

Going down on you was something Lucifer had wanted to do the day he first laid eyes on you.

Don't get him wrong, he was a gentleman at heart and would continue to be until the day someone replaced him as King (which you both knew would never happen), but by the fiery skies of Hell- he wanted you. You. No other soul.

Lucifer had met you through Charlie, his own daughter and Princess of Hell. Your kindness had lead you to offer your services with helping his daughter with her whole idea of a rehabilitation hotel, meant for the sinners who wanted a second chance at life; wanting to fix their mistakes and be evolved into a better version of themselves. He had met you there when she had invited him to visit and see her progress. Its safe to say you two hit it off perfectly fine.

Now, exactly how you two hit it off doesn't really matter- all that mattered to you right now was the fact that his cock was buried so deep inside of you, that you could barley form a coherent sentence, let alone a singular word.

The room was dark, making the moonlight that filtered through the curtains the only source of light; the only thing that allowed for you to see the beautiful fallen angel hovering over you, both of your bodies sweaty and hearts pounding rapidly against your ribcages, as if trying to silently connect with one another through rapid pumps of blood. To express your emotions to one another through anything other than what he was doing now, which was stuffing you to the brim with his cock.

When you first saw it, staying quiet had become a big concern to you in your mind, what with the other residents of the hotel potentially being able to hear you both.

But that fear had quickly flown the coop as soon as he entered you for the first time.

Fuck, it was absolute heaven.

You were convinced that somehow, Lucifer had managed to descend the heavens down upon you in that exact moment; your most intimate moment. That any second, angels would be surrounding the pair of you and begin serenading you with a specific love song just for the two of you, or pointing angelic spears at your throats. Now, that thought did cause some momentary fear to shoot through your body, because the last thing you wanted was for some random angels (especially if they were exorcists, or Adam) to randomly appear in the room, just to be greeted with the sight of you, a moaning mess underneath Lucifer, drunk off of his length as it stretched you so wide you were afraid he might break you. But when you opened your eyes after the so slow, yet so delicious insertion of his cock...the room was still pitch black. No holy light. No angles. No song. Just you and him. You and Lucifer.

And that was the way it was supposed to be. No other soul, no matter angelic or demonic, could compete with what you two had. It was special; a connection that had to reach from the deepest pits of Hell, to the brightest place in all of Heaven.

For being one of the most powerful beings, Lucifer was being very careful with you; his fingers gripped your sides and hips, holding you in place securely as he rutted into you. Those fingers were sure to leave marks tomorrow. Neither of you minded.

"Oh...you're the best choice I've ever made, lovely- fuck..~"

Lucifers words only helped to fuel the fire that burned within your heart; the fire that represented your eternal, undying love for him. The tightening in your abdomen became much more noticeable too, coiling and constricting like a snake fighting to escape its confinements, or the talons of a predatory bird.

Except in this scenario, Lucifer was the bird, who held you oh so tightly in his sharp talons, and the last thing you wanted to do was escape. You'd allow him to devour you to his hearts content; until you passed out, fainted, or hell, till your heart stopped. He had you right where he wanted you and the smug little smirk on his lips whilst he turned you into this blabbering mess, was enough proof to show he knew it too. And he enjoyed it. Every. Single. Second.

His hands stayed perched seriously on your hips, as if you might just disappear if he so much as dared to loosen his hold. Not that you minded. You could hardly think straight.

"L-Luci..-"

Your attempt at saying his name fell flat, his next thrust replacing the messy words with a desperate moan from you, making your eyes roll back into your skull and a tremor of pleasure trailing its way through your body. He could reach places inside you that no one else had ever even dared to try. He was special in that way. Although he did lessen his movements after your butchered attempt at speaking. He looked genuinely worried and the sight did just enough to melt your heart.

"Are you alright, love? I didn't hurt you did I? Do you need anything? Do I need to stop? I can get you-"

He started to ramble, which he often did. His worst nightmare was hurting you; even just thinking about it made him shudder, as if he had just been doused with cold water.

But all it took was a weak smile from you and a kiss on his cheek to calm him and get him back in the movement again. You assured him that you were feeling the best you've ever felt in your entire life, both in living and in death, that all the pleasure you were feeling was making it hard for you to speak properly.

"I'm okay, Luci. You're just making me feel so many things-"

A finger then found its way onto your plush lips, slightly moisturized by your saliva having been produced by your fucked out state.

"Shhh, spare your breath, darling. I'm just glade you're holding up so well. Such a good beloved, you are."

Then: "You'll want it for when I make you scream."

Seeing you an absolute wreck because of him- because of his actions- his cock- it was almost better than the orgasm that ripped through him shortly after you came undone due to his words and continuation of his previous actions.

Ropes of his seed shot into you, stuffing you like you've never experienced before. His pale blonde hair stuck to his forehead, both your bodies damp with a light sheen of sweat. Your heavy breaths mixed together, as did the small chuckles that came from both of your lips. Thankfully, he kept his promise about making you scream.

Hell, meeting you had to have been the best thing to ever happen to him. To both of you.

No one would ever find themselves as to be so lucky, to know that the King of Hell found the taste of them the most enchanting out of all the souls both above and below.

Just try and doubt his love for you. He will be sure to give you a night that you won't ever forget, as many times as he needs to, until you're begging him to stop.

You are his, and he refuses to ever let you forget it.

1K notes · View notes

mrdixon · 11 months ago

Text

Be my Valentine?

pairing: daryl x f!reader

wc: 8k

warnings: 18+ content, carol being daryls wingwoman, daryls crazy shy and a loser (lovingly), second person but also you see a lot of daryls thoughts, shacking up, fingering, p-in-v unprotected, little bit of overstimulation, honestly this is just bad i apologize.

summary: daryl asks you out for valentines’s day.

A/N: smut fic and chapter 4 of a rugged muse will be up soon!!!!!! im dead ass extremely soryr this took me a week so ignore the fact that this fic is ass i am stressed out of my mind. i have so many fic ideas GENUINELY but i think i just make a lot of wips and then forget… and please please dont think im abandoning a rugged muse, school has just been really stressful on top of other stuff and im trying my best to shit out stuff for yall to read.

masterlist

“So are you asking her out for Valentines?” Daryl’s head turned to the grey haired woman who was baking up whatever she could make out of flour… and water. Carol raised a brow at him to which he scoffed, shaking his head and returning his attention to cleaning his arrows.

“Dun’ know wha’ yer talkin’ abou’,” he grumbled, kicking his feet up onto the counter. Carol sighed, swatting his feet off.

“Come on, I see the way you look at (Y/N).” Daryl glared at Carol and sat up straight, huffing.

“’s not like tha’,” he watched her stir the flour mixture with a look of curiosity and disgust. The woman rolled her eyes and chuckled to herself, finally adding some sort of seasoning to whatever she was making.

“She likes you too,” Carol hummed while grabbing a dish to pour the concoction in. Daryl sighed, leaning back in his chair as he thought it over. There was no way. No way that you would see him like that, he was just a sleazy red neck. You were completely out of his league, you two were too different.

“Nah,” he shook his head and stood up, taking his arrows before making his way to his basement bedroom.

“Just think about it!” He shook his head as he heard Carol call after him, walking down the stairs and into his bedroom. Daryl threw his arrows onto the couch, taking his vest off while entering the bathroom. He looked at himself in the mirror, and frowned. No way.

You were too sweet, so full of life. So pretty, so soft spoken. Compared to him you were an angel. You liking a guy like him was close to impossible. Nevertheless, Daryl looked into the mirror, trying to crack a smile.

“Hey…” Daryl’s cheeks flushed, this was stupid. His hands landed on the edge of the sink counter, dipping his head down as he tried to compose himself. He looked back up, trying a soft smile this time. “Do ya wanna be my Valentine?” He groaned and stepped away from the mirror, “bullshit.”

Daryl frustratingly stepped out of his clothes and into the shower, turning the tap on cold. He closed his eyes as he let his thoughts run around in his head. Asking you out would be nice… but so embarrassing.

His shower ended quicker than anticipated, his towel hanging over his shoulders as he left the bathroom. He picked out a black button up and some clean pants, so basically his usual attire. He ruffled his hair in the towel before tossing it into the hamper, and made his way back upstairs.

His hair was still damp and hung around his eyes as he walked into the kitchen where the fresh smell of bread filled his nostrils.

“Ya made bread?” Daryl furrowed his brows as he grabbed a glass of water, hearing Carol snicker.

“I did, someone’s here for you.” Daryl placed his glass down, turning to her. His eyes quickly met yours and he immediately brushed his hair back, cursing silently to himself.

You looked perfect just sitting there at the counter, your eyes wide as you took in his appearance. It made him feel slightly insecure to be quite honest, but he also noticed how there was some sort of admiration in your gaze. You both kind of stared at each other, just taking each other in. Carol watched this whole thing, clearing her throat.

“Okay… I’m gonna let you guys do your thing, bread’s still hot so don’t eat it.” Carol winked at Daryl before exiting the kitchen. Daryl practically rolled his eyes at the wink but quickly recovered. He looked back over at you, noticing how you rubbed your hands together. He knew that was some sort of grounding technique you used when you were anxious, so why were you feeling anxious right now? He rubbed his chin, and grabbed his glass while walking over to you. You straightened up, offering him a soft smile. His adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed, and sat down next to you.

He discreetly looked you up and down, but you noticed, and it made you even more anxious. Daryl took a sip of his water, unsure if he should speak first.

“So—”

“I wan—”

You both spoke at the same time, reverting back to awkward silence. Daryl huffed, drinking more water and felt slightly more self conscious about how loud he swallowed. You on the other hand, stared off to the side, wishing you also had some water to wet the dryness in your throat.

“You first,” Daryl rasped. You slowly turned back to him, your thoughts vanishing from all you wanted to say to him.

“Um,” you cleared your hoarse throat. “You first, I kind of… forgot what I was gonna say.” You lied, you literally were going to ask him out for Valentines. As cheesy as it is, you both being grown adults, but still… it’d be nice.

Daryl froze, is this the time? He watched you carefully, giving himself the benefit of the doubt. He gulped down the rest of his water, taking a deep breath before opening his mouth.

“Wanna be my Valentine?” He cringed mentally as the words slipped out his mouth, regretting it entirely. “Or don’ I was jus’ jokin’… or somethin’ I don’ know.” He looked away, the tips of his ears red. You almost chuckled at his embarrassment.

“Yes.”

Daryl’s head snapped back towards you, his eyes wide. You sat there and smiled at him while his mouth was agape. You could almost see his thought process, but his eyes were dead set on you. You tilted your head, waiting for him to respond with a cheeky little grin playing on your lips.

“Jokin’?” He asked to which you shook your head, still with that same cheeky grin. Daryl said nothing, finally breaking eye contact and rubbing his chin. “Serious?” He asked to confirm once again.

“I’m serious,” you laughed, his heart swelling at the sound of your sweet laughter. “I’ve been meaning to ask you the same thing,” his jaw dropped at your last statement. Maybe he was as oblivious as Carol said he was. You laughed at his expression, reaching out to nudge his knee.

“Well shit,” he laughed unbelievably. “Okay then, I’ll pick ya up tomorrow?” He felt hazy just looking at you. He couldn’t imagine someone like you looking at him like that, shot by cupid’s arrow.

“Yeah, sounds nice.” You smiled again. He felt the butterflies in his stomach seeing the skin around your eyes crease when you smiled, and he almost reached out to caress your cheek. You stood up before he could and his head raised as you went. “So, I’ll see you?” Your head turned over your shoulder to look at him as you walked towards the door.

Daryl swallowed, standing up to move over to you. “Yeah,” he breathed and looked down at you. His heart thumped in his chest as he stared at your lips, watching them curve into your signature smile. He so desperately wanted to know what they felt like on his, if you wanted that is. You chuckled, lifting a finger to his lip and tapping it softly. He wanted to throw up at your touch, in a good way of course, stumbling back unexpectedly.

“See you then, Valentine.” You winked and left the house. Daryl stood there dumbfounded, his stomach all twisted in knots.

“Told you.”

Daryl frowned as he turned to see Carol leaning on the wall behind him. He rolled his eyes and walked by her, nudging his shoulder into hers.

“Shut up,” he mumbled as he walked back downstairs into his bedroom. He needed another cold shower.

“Ya have ta shoot me or somethin’, I can’ do this.” Daryl grumbled into his hands while Carol paced the empty space around his bed.

“You seriously have no idea where to bring her?” Carol mumbled, staring down at the archer as he groaned and rolled around the bed. It was honestly a delight seeing her friend so distraught over this, the most she’d seen him utterly swooned.

“No, wha’ the hell I don’ look fer these things..” he groaned while Carol walked up to the side of his bed and smacked his head. He swatted her away, pulling the blankets over himself.

“What about that cabin by the lake a few miles out the gates? You could probably take her on your bike and… shack up.” Carol chuckled, grabbing the blanket and throwing it off him. He glared at her, sitting up.

“We are not shacking up.” He grumbled, “’sides, I don’ think she’ll like it.” Carol snorted, nodding reluctantly.

“I’m sure she would, especially if you stayed the night at the cabin.” Daryl scoffed, rolling his eyes as he got up and thought it over. Carol watched him pace the room, rolling her eyes as she walked up to his dresser. Daryl turned his head to watch the woman rummage through his clothes, biting back a snarl as she tossed clothes out haphazardly. “Jesus christ you have a lot of… the same clothes.”

“Doesn’ make a difference wha’ ‘m wearin’,” Daryl shrugged as he walked up to her, and the two of them stared down as his identical articles of clothing. Carol huffed, side eyeing him.

“It does actually, you have to look all neat and clean for her. Shows you care about her,” Carol picked out a pair of dark wash jeans and another black button up, but at least one that had minimal rips and wrinkles. “Here, this should be good enough.” Daryl looked down at the outfit she set out, grabbing the clothing.

“Ya gonna clean this mess up or wha’?” He gestured to the heaps of clothing on his bed. Carol rolled her eyes as she pushed him into the bathroom.

“Yeah, yeah. Go change, your girl is waiting.” Daryl swallowed thickly at that comment, he felt his stomach swirl with all kinds of emotions. Excitement, fear, and nausea swarmed his stomach and he had to lean over the sink to ground himself. He had never felt this anxious before in his life. Sure he’d been on dates before, but this was different somehow. It was you he was taking out. You that he had a little school boy crush on.

Daryl ran his fingers through his hair nervously, quickly changing into the clothes Carol picked out for him. The shirt was quick tight on him and he had to pop a few buttons so he could breathe, was this the appeal he was going for? He groaned in embarrassment as he looked at himself, why was he so nervous? He wasn’t usually like this, at least not until he realized his feelings for you. He tried to convince himself you liked him back, otherwise you probably wouldn’t have agreed to go on a date with him.

A date. Daryl blushed as he came to the realization that this was in fact a date, and he was taking you out to a lake. Alone. At a cabin. He felt like he was gonna hurl.

He turned on the tap and splashed cold water onto his face, gasping for air as he just. Kept splashing his face. After he calmed his heart rate he reached for his cologne he kept by the sink. In fact it was the one, and only one, that you complimented him on every time he wore it. He sprayed himself generously, making sure he didn’t completely reek of cigarettes. Speaking of, he needed one desperately.

Daryl left the bathroom, brushing off his shoulders and making eye contact with Carol. The woman gave a warm smile, walking up to him and fixing his collar.

“Well there you go,” Carol grinned, turning around to grab something off his workbench. Daryl furrowed his brows curiously, his eyes narrowing as she turned back with a small bouquet of flowers. “Here, my Valentines gift to you.”

Daryl rolled his eyes, taking the bouquet from her as she snickered and punched his arm gently.

“It’s for (Y/N),” she explained. “Picked out all her favourite flowers, just don’t mention that I picked them.” The grey haired woman winked and punched his arm gently. Daryl shook his head, clutching the flowers in his hand before leaving his room and ignoring Carol’s calls of encouragement.

Daryl left his house and literally walked across the street over to yours, knocking on your door three times as he waited patiently. The longer you took to answer the door, the more he felt insecure. What if this was all a joke and you didn’t actually like him?

His insecurities were all cut short as soon as he heard your frantic footsteps as you ran up to the door and opened it. He was taken aback by your appearance. You were wearing a cute little white dress and you had your hair up, if anything, you looked more like an angel. You smiled breathlessly, leaning against the doorframe with one hand while the other fixed your heels.

“Sorry I took so long, I had to…” You trailed off, not wanting to admit you were trying to pick a good bra. If he saw it tonight or not, at least your boobs looked good. “…find my shoes.” Daryl waved your apology off, holding the flowers to you.

“I got ya these, hope ya like ‘em.” Daryl murmured shyly. He watched as your eyes lit up at the bouquet, seeing you inspect each flower. Your gentle fingers skimmed over the soft petals, and his heart fluttered when he saw your soft smile.

“Oh, I love them.” You sighed delightedly, taking the flowers from him before moving back into your house. “Give me a moment, I’ll just put these away.” Daryl gave you a curt nod and let you do your thing as he stood outside awkwardly. He felt his face grow hot as he thought about how happy you looked after his small gesture, only hoping your happiness would be prolonged when he took you out.

You quickly walked back out, adjusting your dress before grabbing his hand. You chuckled when you felt him tense up, and squeezed his hand comfortingly. Daryl looked down at you and sighed, letting himself relax and squeeze your hand back.

“I was thinkin’ we’ll take my bike an’ I’ll take ya some place, ‘s pretty nice.” Daryl murmured as he walked you over to the front gates. He felt a little scared and wondered if you could feel his heart beating through his fingertips. He wondered if you could feel his hand sweating, he hoped it wasn’t.

“I’m excited,” you responded, feeling him squeeze your hand in shared excitement. He didn't admit it, but you could tell he was just as excited, maybe even more. He held your hand firmly as you made it to his bike, this wasn't your first time riding with him, but this was different.

He let go of your hand to help you onto his bike, and a warmth spread through you when he laid his hand against your lower back. He offered his free hand to you which you graciously accepted, allowing him to help you onto the bike. Once you were settled he rubbed your shoulder gently before getting on in front of you.

Your arms immediately embraced him, wrapping around his waist as you pressed up behind him. Daryl choked, letting out a breath as he started up the engine.

“Hold on tigh’ fer me, ‘kay?” Daryl drawled softly, you nodded against his back and gave him a little squeeze. He tried to suppress the shiver that ran through his body but ultimately failed, closing his eyes in embarrassment before eventually driving out the gates of Alexandria.

The ride to the lake was lengthy one, but Daryl made sure to take the scenic route so you wouldn't get that bored on the way there. You’d never get bored with him though. You two could literally be in bed sleeping and it’d still be fun for you, just the idea of being with him made things exciting.

The sun shone through the trees and your hair blew in the wind, giggling when Daryl revved the engine playfully. He watched you carefully in the side mirrors, stifling his own laughter. Your arms remained around his waist but you leaned back, closing your eyes. Daryl’s heart stopped when he felt you lean back, your arms loosening around his waist.

You felt a hand tug on your wrist, and you were ultimately pulled back against him.

“Don’ do tha’,” he furrowed his brows and made eye contact with you through the side mirrors. “You’ll fall.” You just chuckled and squeezed around his waist just a little tighter, hoping it gave him some reassurance.

Little did you know though, it made him feel nervous. The close proximity of you two was making his heart beat faster and his face grow warm. He swerved a tiny bit on the road, swallowing thickly as he pushed all thoughts out of his head and focused on not killing the both of you right now.

Thankfully, you both arrived at the lake shortly after. Daryl drove over to the cabin, parking the bike there as you hopped off and ran towards the lake. His heart dropped as you suddenly ran, his legs following after you.

“Hol’ on, I dunno if there's walkers or not!” He called after you, watching you pause and look down at the ground. His gaze followed, finding a picnic blanket and some food. His face flushed, this was Carol’s doing for sure.

“Oh wow…” you giggled while biting your finger, “ain’t you the romantic?”

Daryl groaned internally, throwing a hand over his face as he forced himself to chuckle nonchalantly.

“It uh, it ain’ much…” he gestured for you to sit down, which you did, and he soon joined you on the blanket. Your arms wrapped around your knees as a soft smile remained on your face, looking out at the view ahead of the both of you.

“This is perfect,” you murmured. Daryl’s head turned to you, admiring the glow on your skin. He wanted to say in return that you were perfect, but he held back and looked out at the view. The sun bounced off the lake and into his eyes, making him squint and turn away. You noticed and reached over to brush through his hair, “too bright?”

Daryl sheepishly tucked his hair behind his ears and nodded, turning towards the food to switch the topic. You chuckled and reached for the sandwiches, taking a bite and humming.

“’s good?” Daryl raised a brow while also taking a bite, “I ain’ even gon’ lie. Carol made the food.”

You laughed mid chew, covering your mouth as you savoured the tastes that mingled on your tongue. You placed a hand on his shoulder as a sweet gesture that meant you didn't mind, you were just glad he took you out.

He looked at your hand on his shoulder, now noticing how close you two sat together. He ate his sandwich slowly, just keeping his eyes on you while you looked out at the lake. He just wanted to lean in and kiss you, but he didn't. It’d be too soon.

You finished your sandwich and stretched, enjoying the warm breeze. You then abruptly stood up and walked towards the lake. Daryl shoved the rest of his sandwich into his mouth and followed you quickly, not wanting you to hurt yourself accidentally.

“It's hot, let's go for a swim.” You smiled at him. He furrowed his brows in confusion until you immediately started pulling your dress off. His face flushed a bright red as he looked away, hearing you take off your boots.

“(Y/N), maybe we should jus’…” he looked over at you and swallowed. You were just in your undergarments and was now stepping into the water, he sighed and stood by. You giggled as you slipped under the water, jumping back up with a huge grin on your face as you shook your head.

The water was cool, not too cold but just enough to ease the heat on your body. You looked over at him as he stood close by, his eyes avoiding looking anywhere but your face. You chuckled at his flustered expression, sinking into the water so your entire body was submerged.

“Why don't you come in? It’s really nice in here,” you murmured before leaning back and swimming on your back. Daryl thought about it, but shook his head.

“Nah, c’mon yer gonna get sick.” Daryl tried to persuade you into coming out of the water, but in all honesty he just wanted you to get back into your clothes. “’s gonna get dark soon, we should head in.” You frowned playfully, splashing water at him.

“Let me have some fun,” you teased and watched as his eyes closed in a bit of frustration and fluster. He sighed and let you swim around, moving back to clean up the picnic blanket. He decided it could work as a towel since he wasn’t even sure if there were towels in the cabin. He dusted off the blanket and held it while clutching your dress in the other.

You smiled at him and decided it was time to head in. Just seeing him stand by the lake and watch you protectively made your heart flutter, and you dunked your head into the water before standing up. Daryl’s eyes trailed down your body that glistened from the moisture of the water, quickly wrapping the blanket around your body. You shook your head chuckling as you picked up your boots and took your dress from him. He wrapped an arm around your waist and led you over to the cabin. You were enjoying the closeness between the two of you, it was quite a shift from your usual encounters.

Daryl opened the door to the cabin and let you step in first, his arm leaving you as he walked over to the campfire.

“Go ahead an’ dry up a lil, I’ll start a fire.” He murmured to you and you excused yourself to the bathroom. As soon as you shut the door you squealed quietly, clasping your hands over your cheeks as you tried to calm your heart rattling. The thought of spending the night with him, alone? It made your inner teenage girl’s stomach twist into knots.

After realizing how uncomfortable it would be to wear your wet undergarments you decided to just go without them, and quickly stripped yourself of your bra and underwear. After drying your body with the picnic blanket, you slipped back into your dress and let your hair be damp. You checked over yourself in the mirror and made sure to toss your wet undergarments into the hamper before leaving the bathroom.

Daryl’s head turned over to you as soon as you stepped back into the living room, you saw the way he swallowed after taking in your appearance. He was crouched over by the fireplace, a nice warm heat emitting from it. You moved over to him and sat down on the carpet, grabbing a soft blanket off the couch and putting it over your legs. He bit his lip, running his fingers through your wet hair gently.

“Here, let me.” He gently guided you to sit in front of him and began to ruffle your hair to try and dry it. You smiled and closed your eyes while leaning your head back to give him better access. His big calloused fingers ran over your scalp while occasionally shaking your hair in an attempt to rid of the moisture that settled among the strands. After a few minutes of that and finding out it didn’t do much, Daryl’s hand flittered down your neck and along your shoulder. The gesture sent a shiver through your body and he flinched back, resting his forehead against the back of your head in embarrassment. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, it was nice.” You murmured while leaning back against him. His breath hitched when he felt your body on him, his hands moving to your waist.

“Why don’ we get on the couch? I got no clue wha’s been on this floor,” he snorted. You laughed in response and nodded, your heart jumping in your chest as he picked you up. A little giggle left your lips as he settled you down on the couch next to him, and you quickly threw your legs over his lap. He chuckled at your amusement, grabbing the blanket and putting it over the both of you. He seemed to be more comfortable around you and it overwhelmed you with joy.

He rested his head on his hand as he stared admirably at you, and his other hand landed on your knee to stroke it gently over the blanket. You looked back at him just as admirable, the hand holding his head up came down by your head, letting you rest on it. His eyes softened as he looked down at your relaxed state, stroking the side of your head comfortingly.

“This is nice,” you murmured and closed your eyes. His hand kept stroking your head and you could feel him shift his body closer. His hand came down to rest on your cheek and your eyes fluttered open at his touch. He didn’t shy away when your gaze locked on his. He didn’t know what took over him but he leaned in closer, his thumb rubbing your cheekbone.

“Can I kiss ya?” He whispered against your cheek, you could even feel his heartbeat from how close you two sat together. You looked into his eyes, seeing a deep sea in his. You licked your lips as he got closer, nodding gently and closed your eyes as his lips fitted to yours.

You felt all warm inside as you two kissed, your brain turning to mush when his hand moved from your cheek and into your slightly damp hair. He rubbed the back of your head, the kiss remained long and tender. He was the first to pull back, taking in a breath of air before smoothing your hair down. His face was tinted pink, and you imagined his ears were too.

You were slightly dazed from the kiss, your mind hazy. But you did know one thing, and it was that you wanted more.

You reached for him, cupping his cheeks and rubbing the stubble that lay there. He groaned softly and pressed a hand on the couch by your hip, leaning in to kiss you once more. This new found confidence that ran through his veins was exhilarating. His lips moved against yours more desperately, and a hand cradled the back of your head.

His hand left the couch and instead grabbed your hip, rubbing it gently with his thumb as he continued kissing you passionately. You couldn’t help but let out a small moan into his mouth and he took the opportunity to snake his tongue into your mouth. You could feel the hesitation in his movements and his hand slid over your hip to your lower back, pulling you closer. After feeling you kiss back he started to straighten up and ran his fingers through your hair.

You had to pull back to take a breath, pressing a hand on his thigh as you leaned up to his level. His breath hitched and he reached up to wrap his large hands around your waist. Looking down at him like this made goosebumps rise on your skin, his pupils were blown wide at the sight of you. He looked at you like you were sent down from heaven by god just for him. His hands itched at your waist like he was begging to touch you further, his head tilting to the side as he reached up to trace over your cheek. You let out a soft chuckle and stood up on your knees to move yourself over him, placing a knee on each side of his lap before settling down on him.

Daryl closed his eyes as soon as he felt your body on top of him, leaning back against the couch. His rough hands ghosted over your thighs, unsure if he was able to touch you or not. You shifted yourself over his lap, rubbing against him slightly and eliciting a groan from him. The sound shot a wave of heat in your lower region, pressing his hands on your thighs. Your body jolted when he squeezed your plush thighs in return, kneading your skin gently while one hand moved onto your back and pulled you against him.

“Is this okay?” He murmured low and sultry against your neck, and he smirked a little when he felt your body trembling under his touch. You bit your lip and nodded, moaning when he squeezed your thigh. “I need ta hear ya say it.”

“Yes..” you breathed against his face, arching your back when his hand pressed down on your lower back. “This is… better than okay,” he smirked at your comment, leaning in to kiss you gently. This side of him was different than you’d ever seen him before. So full of confidence and completely taking over your body. His lips parted from yours and wandered over your jaw, kissing the little spot right under your ear.

You moaned airily as he continued to kiss your neck, suckling gently while one of his hands rubbed your back. Your hips stuttered a little as you tried to refrain from grinding against him, and he knew. You could feel the smirk on your skin as he trailed his free hand up your thigh, slipping it under the skirt of your dress and dragging it over the curve of your rear. His hand paused after his calloused fingertips brushed over your soft skin, peering up at you through his eyebrows.

“Are ya not wearin’ anythin’ under ‘ere?” Daryl drawled dangerously, his finger tapping your bum periodically. When you didn't respond he brought his hands down to the hem of your dress, rubbing the fabric slightly. “Can I look?”

“Please,” you mumbled involuntarily and your face grew hot when he chuckled at your eagerness. He continued to rub your thighs, moving his way up and under your dress before lifting it up. His pupils dilated more at the sight of your exposed pussy, his eyes rolling back slightly as he fought to hold back.

“Jesus christ, ya really…” he growled under his breath before lowering your dress. You whined a little since you wanted him to go further, but at the same time feared this was as far as he wanted to go. He brought his hands onto your ass and lifted you up so he could placed you down right on…

“Oh,” you hummed which soon turned into a moan as he basically spread you over his erection. The rough material of his jeans rubbed against your clit, sending waves of pleasure throughout your body as you practically rode him through his clothes. He groaned into your ear and grabbed your hips to slow you down, then biting your earlobe.

“Calm down, don’ wan’ this ta go too fast.” Daryl’s rough voice grumbled into your ear. He nudged you off of him so you were standing in front of him, and he leaned back against the couch before whispering, “take yer dress off.”

You grabbed the skirts of your dress shyly, biting your lip as his gaze pierced right through you. He suddenly sat up straight and furrowed his brows in concern, worried that he went too far.

“Or don’.. you don’ have ta if ya don’ wan’..” he shook his head and grabbed your arms to rub them reassuringly, “y’know I’d never make ya do somethin’ you don’ wan’ ta do.”

Your heart swelled at his sweet words, leaning down to plant an innocent kiss upon his lips. His hands loosened around your arms as he felt reassured you weren't uncomfortable. You pulled back to place a few more kisses on his cheeks and then his forehead.

“I want to, it's just… been a while.” You looked down in embarrassment and felt a hand rub your thigh comfortingly. You smiled at the gesture, you didn't expect him to be so sweet during all this. Like you did… but then again you never imagined this would happen in the first place.

The look he gave you as he waited for you made you want to just part your legs and let him have his way with you, but you relented. Instead you slowly stepped back and undid the straps of your dress, eventually dropping it to the floor and revealing the entirety of your bare body.

Daryl rubbed his chin as he gazed over the length of your body, his body slowly moving back against the couch. He shifted himself so his legs were slightly apart, presumably to ease the tension in his pants.

“C’mere,” he beckoned you over and reached for you. Your legs moved on their own and you practically threw yourself into his arms, settling onto his lap. He cradled you like the precious thing you are, supporting your weight with one arm while the other stroked up and down the side of your thigh. “Look at you,” he murmured and brought a hand up to your cheek, brushing the stray hairs that lay there. “So pretty.”

You pussy throbbed at his words, feeling pathetic at how easily aroused you were. He leaned back as you suddenly pushed yourself up and straddled him once again, making sure your warmth was settled right above his erection. Suddenly, you felt super conscious over the fact you were really wet. You wondered if he noticed, and he did. You bit your lip and looked down at where you were sitting, your face growing hot as you noticed the slightly damp spot on his jeans.

“Oh god Daryl,” you muttered and tried to sit up. He immediately grabbed onto your hips and pulled you back down onto him.

“Don’,” he pressed his face into your neck, his eyelashes brushing against your skin when he closed his eyes. His nose pushed against you as he took a deep breath of your scent, the sweetness filling him with the primary thoughts of arousal. His thumbs pushed into your pelvic region while the rest of his fingers squeezed your butt affectionately.

You sighed and threw your head back when the warm wet feeling of his tongue graced your neck, his beard scratching you in all the right ways. You needed to feel more of him and so, you grabbed the collar of his shirt and started unbuttoning the first few buttons before he grabbed your hands.

His breath caught as he held your hands, gently pushing them away from his shirt. You couldn’t see his expression but you assumed he didn’t want it off. You silently resigned from his chest, letting your hands fall onto his biceps. He breathed heavily and kept his head down to avoid your gaze, feeling ashamed of what lay under his shirt.

“’m sorry- I jus’,” he sighed and put his hands on your waist. You understood what he meant, he wasn’t ready to show that part of him just yet. You carefully cupped his jaw and tilted his head up, melting at the sight of him. He looked so worried, frightened you’d think of him any different for what was on his body. “Can we jus’ leave my shirt on?” He whispered so quietly that you almost didn’t catch it.

“Of course. Just like you, I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to do.” You smiled sweetly at him and kissed him gently, hoping it’d ease his anxiety. He relaxed in your hands, closing his eyes and breathing a sigh of relief.

“Wha’ did I do to deserve ya?” He rubbed your sides with his thumbs which only stirred up more feelings of adoration… but most importantly lust. He noticed the slight impatience emitting from the way your body shifted more frequently, and a smirk appeared on his face. “Poor girl,” he teased as he reached for his belt.

You felt like a starved animal as you awaited the sight of his cock, your hands scratching at your thighs to keep yourself from undressing him completely. He didn’t make you wait too long and gave you what you wanted, pushing his pants and boxers just enough to pull his length out. Your eyes widened in both curiosity and nervousness, he was big. Sure you’d had quite a few dicks in you before but his was, different. He chuckled nervously after you didn’t say something, but you quickly replaced his hand with your own.

He choked on his own spit at the feeling of your dainty hand touching him. He’d fantasied about this moment before rather he’d like to admit it or not. He threw his head back against the couch as you slowly started moving your hand up and down his length, his own hands clutching at the cushions.

You felt a sense of pride in you after realizing how much pleasure you were giving him, and you felt yourself more antsy and aroused at the sight of him like this. Daryl let out a loud groan before looking back at you, noticing how wet you had become. His thigh was soaked from the amount of grinding you’d been doing on it.

He brought his right hand to his mouth, sticking his middle and ring finger into his mouth to get them nice and slicked up. You continued to stroke him as he did this, letting him eventually move you closer to him.

He looked into your eyes for silent permission which you graciously gave, and soon his wet fingers made way to your core. Your eyes shut when you felt those cold and calloused fingers on your clit, feeling him circle the extremely sensitive bundle of nerves. You squeezed his cock unintentionally and it made him let out a whimper, his face flushing after he made the sound.

Your hips bucked wildly at the digits circling your clit while your hand wrapped around his length to pump him faster.

The cabin was filled with noises of just the both of you moaning, and if you listened closely you could hear the lewd sounds of his fingers pumping in and out of your sticky wetness. You cried out softly when he curled his fingers, moving dangerously close to that soft spot in you. Your hand jerked him faster, eager to make him finish all over your hand.

Daryl cursed under his breath, his hips bucking up into your hand as he sped up the pace of his fingers moving in and out of you. You moaned loudly, your eyes were squeezed shut from the pressure building up inside of you, threatening to release. Daryl groaned as he felt your walls clench around his fingers which he soon pulled out, making you stop your ministrations on his cock. He chuckled at your little whines of protest and grabbed the back of your head in order to pull you down, your lips crashing against his.

Your hands moved onto his chest, clutching his shirt in your fingers as you tried to stabilize yourself from the overwhelming arousal and lust that was flowing through your body. Your breaths were hot and mingling, his tongue moving against yours with authority, and you let yourself be taken. He continued to kiss you while guiding you over his cock, pulling back momentarily to help you lower yourself onto him.

You held onto his shoulders while you sunk down onto his length, the stretch painful. You let out a soft whimper, holding still with only the tip in. Daryl furrowed his brows and started to lift you off, but you shook your head.

“No… just let me… let me adjust,” you mumbled, blinking away the tears that had made their way into your eyes. Daryl shifted uncomfortably under you, feeling terrible that you were in pain. He listened though and sat as still as he could, kissing the area under your eyes and rubbing your hips calmingly. You were so tight and he worried he didn’t prepare you enough, your eyes still closed and brows furrowed in pain.

“(Y/N) c’mon, ‘m hurtin’ ya.” He frowned purely out of concern for you, he was more worried about your pleasure than his own. You held your ground and kept sinking down little by little, and he couldn’t help but moan a little as your walls constricted and adjusted to the size of him. You kept pushing yourself to take more, wanting this moment to last as long as it could. You finally plopped down onto him with a loud cry of both pain and pleasure, leaning your body fully against his. He groaned deeply, rubbing your back as he kissed your neck to distract you from the pain.

You kept your eyes closed, feeling almost defeated as you let your body relax and adjust to his huge girth in you. You laughed a little at that and it made Daryl a little confused but he didn’t question your little giggle. Instead he just kept kissing what ever skin he could get his lips on, trying to make you feel more pleasure than pain. He dragged his hand up your thigh, up your side, and over to your breast. You gasped softly as he touched you there, biting your lip as he circled your hardened nipple.

Your hips rocked accidentally from the touches on your tit, your walls constricting again at the sudden movement. It was still painful to move but it felt closer to getting better, though Daryl felt guilty he was getting more pleasure than you were. He just wanted you to feel good. He decided to latch onto your other nipple while he toyed with the previous one, determined to make you feel amazing.

It worked slowly. Your mouth was agape and you let out whimpers and whines occasionally, testing the waters and moving your hips slowly. The abrupt movement had Daryl grabbing your hips, his mouth breaking away from your breast. He breathed heavily and looked up at you, a light sheen of sweat was evident on his forehead. The heat between you two plus the fireplace was palpable and he gingerly thrusted up into you, watching closely for your reaction.

Thankfully, no pain was evident in your expression. Bliss took over you, throwing your head back as you slowly started picking up the pace and rocked your hips against him. His fingers dug into your hips to keep himself grounded, but mostly so he wouldn’t cum in three seconds. He grunted low in his throat, watching your body move mesmerizingly above him. The feeling of his cock dragging up and down your walls was extremely pleasurable. You felt so full of him that you could trace the one outstanding vein that ran up his entire length with just the feeling of it in your pussy.

You felt hot despite your lack of clothes, your mind swirling with the thought of him and the fact that the two of you were literally having sex. You moaned softly and let your head fall forward. Your forearms rested on his shoulders, one hand moving into his hair as you brought him close to your lips once more. You were desperate for the taste of him, you didn’t know you had a thing for the taste of tobacco and meat, but you did. At least coming from him you did.

He moaned gratefully into your mouth, pulling you against him before palming your breasts as he bucked his hips up. You swirled your tongue around his, savouring the taste of him. The moment was perfect, your sweaty body pressed against his clothed one. You pulled back from the kiss to look down at him, his eyes were glazed over with lust and his cheeks were adorably flushed. Your thumb rubbed his cheek as his lips parted, his heavy breaths warm against your face. The feeling of being stuffed with his cock sent your eyes rolling back into your head as he pulled you harder down onto his cock, and you immediately went back in for a kiss.

His hands pawed at you desperately, like he needed more of you. You knew one thing for sure, and it was that he liked your ass a lot. He moved his hands down there to guided you up and down on his length, biting your bottom lip teasingly. You moaned as the friction was starting to get to you. You felt that knot tying inside of you, threatening to snap at any moment. Your fingers curled into Daryl’s hair, tugging it lightly which gave him the hint.

“So close already?” He taunted, but he was feeling it just as much as you were. You whined desperately as you bounced on his cock, eager to release. You had to lean back and brace yourself with your palms on his thighs to ride him properly, your head thrown back as you let the moans and cries escape your mouth freely. His cock twitched inside of you, the sight of you like this was better than he imagined, and it really was him making you feel like this.

Daryl let out a few whimpers, reaching forward to cup your breasts in his hands. He kneaded the flesh, squeezing it a few times before pinching the sensitive buds that hardened with arousal. You had to cry out his name when he did this, your nails digging into his thighs the faster you moved yourself.

He dropped a hand from your breast and down between your thighs, his rough thumb rubbing your already sensitive clit. One of your hands shot forward to wrap around his waist, your body shaking violently at how overstimulated you were feeling at the moment. Your cries were like music to his ears, he wanted to hear more. Your scratches at his wrist held no intentions of stopping him from rubbing you like this, but you could see your vision go blank at how overwhelming the pleasure was getting for you.

“Daryl!” You cried loudly, your grip loosening on his wrist, and your hips stuttering as you finally reached that high. You could see stars and you threw your head back so far that Daryl had to hold you up, thrusting lazily into you before quickly lifting you off so he could cum on your thighs. He let out an exasperated groan while pulling you into his arms, letting you lay on him as you recovered from your intense orgasm.

Daryl had a shy smile on his face as he rubbed your back, kissing your sweaty forehead. “You okay?”

“Mmm,” you hummed sleepily. The session took a lot out of you, but you were beyond thrilled. You wanted to say more and he could sense that, but you were too tired to even lift yourself up. Daryl grabbed the blanket that was tossed to the side and carefully wiped your thighs. Your body ached for rest, your thighs would surely be burning in the morning.

Daryl stood up with you in his arms, letting out a small huff as he cradled you to his body. The fire had long fizzled out, a new one resonating within you two. He kissed your forehead and carried you over to the bedroom where he lay you down. He stripped of his pants but kept his shirt and boxers on before slipping into bed next to you. Your half sleeping body slid over to him, pressing yourself against him fully.

Never in his entire life would Daryl have imagined he’d be shacking up with you on Valentine’s day. He wrapped his arms around you, nuzzling against your head as he closed his eyes. A soft smile remained on his face, happy to be in this moment, with you.

#divider by cafekitsune #mrdixonposts #daryl dixon #the walking dead #daryl x reader #norman reedus #twd daryl #daryl x y/n #daryl dixon smut #twd smut #twd fluff #daryl dixon x reader

800 notes · View notes

mylovelookup · 8 months ago

Text

Modern au

#Farleigh’s birkin is purposely only there bc of Em #she’s right #and India is probably sobbing in the background #Farleigh probably carries around something sharp and a hard copy of Deathless #and when Alessandro Michele left Gucci he hid from the world for a week #to cry #Venetia is only carrying a small bag of party favors and a small lighter with Pamela Anderson in a bikini on it #the lighter never works but she still carries it around in her tiny useless Jacquemus bag #felix is only carrying trash in his bag #literal trash #don’t dip your hand inside bc you might encounter a health hazard #his bottega veneta bag has seen it all #Oliver has to carry everything for him #nevertheless enter fic #but it fits the Romeo and Juliet au too #…I might do Oliver next time idk idk #saltburn #fanart #art #my art #mine #my fanart #saltburn fanart

143 notes · View notes

maxiemclaren · 5 months ago

Note

Hii!! I wanted to request a Max verstappen fic. Its readers first time in the paddock after they public their relationship. So max just being very gentle with her like entering while holding her hand or guiding her with a hand on the small of her back. Him being a protective partner and during the media session he answer questions about her very gentley and smilingly...

Its okay if your busy but do consider it.

Its okay if

The Lover Boy

Pairing - Max x fem!reader

Warnings - mentions of anxiety, but mainly sweet Max fluff

Summary - Max and y/n decide to show up to the paddock after announcing their relationship, y/n is nervous but Max is there to wash away her worries.

a/n - I LOVE HIM, yes I google translated words because all I really know in Dutch is “kinderen eten rijst” which literally means children eat rice LMAO. Also sorry this took so long I literally had no motivation and went MIA.

“Schat, are you almost ready?” He yelled from the living room. “Yes, Max just a moment!” you say from the bathroom, where you were trying to hype yourself up for going to the paddock with your boyfriend. Just earlier this week you made your relationship public.

Earlier that week

“Max, I’m ready to make our relationship public” You say leaning against your boyfriend during your movie night, it was after many months of thought and deliberation you were tired of hiding. There is nothing wrong with having your relationship known but keeping it to yourselves, and that was frankly what you both wanted. “Are you 100% sure schat? Because we can still keep it on the down low if you want, don't feel pressured because of m-” You cut him off with a deep kiss, solidifying your decision. “I’m very sure Max”

Now here you are leaning against the counter whilst looking in the mirror and taking deep breaths reminding yourself that everything is going to be fine. “Everything will be fine, Max is there if anything goes wrong” you convince yourself “That’s right, I’ll be there the whole time” Max says as he appears from the bathroom door, grabbing your hand as he looks to you with love and adoration “If you feel uncomfortable or just want to leave just squeeze my hand, okay?” You nod your head in understanding, as you both head out to the paddock.

Hand in hand with smiles on both of your faces, you start to get swarmed with fans and cameras from Redbull and other sources. Stopping occasionally to take photos with fans you never stopped smiling, you loved to see how he interacted with his fans, especially the little kids. What took you by surprise was when one of the fans asked for a picture with the both of you, looking to Max with uncertainty he offered his hand to you allowing you to feel more comfortable.

Nevertheless, Max had to go get ready for meetings and the media, so he navigated you through the swarm of people to his driver room, not letting go of your hand the whole time. Wanting to truly make sure he didn’t lose you amongst the chaos that can be the paddock, hospitality, and the garage.

Here you were sitting in his driver room, just waiting away when you look at your phone it is blowing up with notifications from fans. Max’s fans. You open your phone carefully to see something that you did not expect. Positive tags, many fans gushing over the fact that Max was talking about you in an interview, smile plastered on his face and slight flush.

“So Max, you and y/n have made your relationship public recently, how are you both taking it?” one of the reporters asked. “Yeah, well y/n and I felt it was time to announce our relationship, She is lovely and has been so patient with all the traveling and racing. I won’t comment on her personal experience because that is her privacy but I can say that, I am extremely happy to bring the love of my life around with me and have the fans love her as much as I do.” Max says.

Watching the rest of the interview, you sit there all giddy and feeling the anxiety washing away from you after hearing all the praise and joy Max is expressing about his love for you. Having the courage to find that beautiful Dutch man, you leave the driver's room and find him talking with Lando. Not wanting to interrupt you stand there waiting, but Lando takes notice of you and nods to Max to let him know that someone would like his attention. Max turns around confused and then realizes you were there and a large smile breaks on his face. “I watched your interview lover boy” you tease. A blush creeps up his ears, “Yeah, so you heard everything I said about you?” He says while grabbing your hands. “I sure did.” you say leaning to kiss him. “Schat, thank you for coming with me even though you were hesitant. Now lets head back to the hotel and relax” he says with full sincerity.

#max verstappen #formula 1 #formula one #f1 fanfic #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen x you

249 notes · View notes

sgt-tombstone · 7 months ago

Text

CoD/Military Writing Reference Masterlist

Here is a compilation of information (with references/links/citations) that I think the CoD fandom and fic writers in particular might find useful:

British Army:

Here is a list of ranks and abbreviations (with appropriate capitalization) (for anyone with the shinigami extension, sorry, it's the BBC)

Here is a list of the equivalent ranks of the British services and US Air Force (for some reason not the US Army or US Navy. Don’t ask me why lmao).

Here and here are some posts about the ranks in the 141 and general attitudes that they would hold for each other (and how others would see them)

Here is a detailed breakdown of the British Army organization (with average numbers and who is in charge of who).

Here is the wiki page for British Army uniforms (literally good luck, I’ve spent hours trying to figure out when soldiers wear what). As far as I can tell, the 141 would wear the No. 8 Combat Dress 90% of the time with the SAS beige beret. For formal events, they would wear the No. 2 Service Dress with berets instead of peaked forage caps. Interestingly, the Royal Regiment of Scotland can wear their No. 2 Service Dress with kilts (which I know Johnny would be livid about because he can’t). Super formal occasions are marked by the No. 1 Temperate Ceremonial, or “dress blues”.

Commissioned ranks are Second Lieutenant and above. These are members who hold positions of authority granted by formal documents of appointment signed by the monarch. In the US (which I am assuming is the same or similar in the UK), a commissioned officer has gone through officer training, which usually requires a university degree or a military equivalent.

Warrant Officers (WO) and Non-Commissioned Officers (NCO) are included in the enlisted ranks. They are members of the enlisted ranks who hold positions of authority. WOs are granted authority through a warrant instead of a commission and must be promoted from an NCO rank. NCOs are Lance Corporals to Staff Sergeants.

The only enlisted rank is Private. These are members who have enlisted and have gone through basic training in order to be counted against the Army’s trained strength.

Sergeants (Gaz and Soap) are among the highest-ranked NCOs and therefore have a lot of practical experience (more, sometimes, than commissioned officers). They have climbed through the ranks from Private all the way to the top of the enlisted ladder. Commissioned officers, on the other hand, have the option to skip the enlisted ladder altogether and jump straight to Second Lieutenant (assuming that they are entering the army with a university degree). However, it is canon that both Ghost and Price were promoted from enlisted ranks. Nevertheless, the NCO/CO divide would be stark; Price and Ghost both have pieces of paper signed by the Royal Crown that give them authority while Gaz and Soap don’t. That being said, Gaz and Soap are incredibly high ranking enlisted while Ghost and Price are (relatively) low ranking officers. While they have less authority, they have similar levels of responsibility and leadership.

Comm discipline is incredibly important in the military. Communication must be clear, concise, and (most importantly) unambiguous. There are many, many commands that can be given over the radio and some of them aren't as self-explanatory as they may seem. Here are some of the basics, lingo, etiquette, and FAQs about military radio communications.

SAS:

The SAS is nicknamed "The Regiment", its motto is "Who Dares Wins", and its color is pompadour blue. Contrary to popular belief, the dagger on the badge is wreathed in flame, not wings.

"The SAS is the mirror in which other special forces reflect." The SAS is the most elite special forces regiment in the world and they all know it. They take their jobs incredibly seriously and are held to a ridiculously high standard, both by their superior officers and by themselves. The 141, as a specialized task force, would take both their training and their commitment to their job to the extreme. The SAS has a fierce reputation of being the blueprints upon which every other special forces regiment was founded, and every single one of them takes an incredible amount of pride in that. It's easy to characterize Soap as a rookie, especially because of his reputation as the Perpetual FNG, but he alone could run circles around every single non-special forces soldier in the world (and a hell of a lot of the special forces soldiers, too).

The SAS consists of one regular and two reserve units. The 22 SAS (regular) is based in Stirling Lines, Credenhill, Herefordshire and has five squadrons (A, B, D, G, and Reserve) and a training wing. The 21 and 23 SAS are the two reserve regiments.

The UK Special Forces do not recruit from the general public. All current members of the armed forces can apply for Special Forces selection, but most have historically come from the Royal Marines or Parachute Regiment. In 2018, recruitment policy changed to allow women to join the SAS for the first time and in 2021, two women passed pre-selection, making them the first women eligible for the full course.

The SAS Selection Process is held twice a year (once in summer and once in winter) and is a three-phase process that has an 8-10% pass rate. Between 2014 and 2022, there were more deaths in training and exercises than in combat against active threats.

Phase 1 is an endurance test, known as “the hills” stage, where candidates undergo a series of timed hikes between checkpoints with increasingly heavy packs. This phase takes a total of three weeks and culminates in a 40-mile hike carrying 55lbs that must be completed in 24 hours. By the end of this phase, candidates must be able to run 4 miles in 30 minutes and swim 2 miles in 90 minutes.

Officers undergoing SAS selection have a week-long phase which assesses their ability to plan operations while fatigued and stressed (sucks for Price and Ghost; Gaz and Soap would've skipped this step).

Phase 2 is Jungle Training, which takes place in Belize, Brunei, or Malaysia. Candidates are taught navigation, patrol formation and movement, and jungle survival skills; they are put into teams of four, where they simulate living for weeks behind enemy lines, living completely off of rations without a lifeline back to base.

Phase 3 is E&E (Escape and Evasion) and TQ (Tactical Questioning)/RTI (Resistance to Interrogation). This is the final phase. Candidates are given brief instructions on appropriate techniques (likely from former POWs or special forces soldiers) and then are let loose in the countryside, where they must navigate to a series of checkpoints without being captured. After 3-7 days, whether they have been captured or not, they then report for TQ, which tests the candidates’ ability to resist interrogation. During TQ, candidates are only allowed to answer with “the big 4” (name, rank, serial number, and birthday) and all other questions must be answered with “I’m sorry but I cannot answer that question” while being subjected to what is essentially no-touch torture (listening to white noise for hours, standing in stress positions, being verbally berated/humiliated, etc) for 36 hours.

After all of that, candidates are accepted into the SAS ranks, but still go through continuation training, during which many SAS soldiers are RTU’d (returned to unit).

The youngest person to ever (IRL) pass SAS selection was Lofty Wiseman in 1959 at the age of 18. In order for Johnny to have beaten that record, he must have been 18 or younger when he passed selection. Given that the minimum age for enlistment in the UK armed forces is 16, this is entirely plausible.

The names of regular SAS members who have died on duty were inscribed on the regimental clock tower at Stirling Lines, which was rebuilt at the Credenhill barracks. Those whose names are inscribed are said by surviving members to have "failed to beat the clock". The base of the clock is also inscribed with a verse from The Golden Journey to Samarkand by James Elroy Flecker.

Military Life:

During basic training, soldiers live in gender-segregated accommodations in a dorm-style room. Once out of basic training, however, many barracks are individual rooms with en-suite bathrooms (big win for our Sergeants). At most, trained soldiers would live in 4-person rooms separated by gender. The fastest and most reliable way to get off-base housing is to get married, but many commissioned officers get a housing stipend in order to move out of the barracks, meaning that Ghost and Price would likely (if they so chose) have houses near Credenhill, while Gaz and Soap would have individual rooms in the barracks. While deployed, all bets are off.

Many tattoos and piercings are permitted by the British Army. Here are the official guidelines. In terms of hair style/length, the rules are few and far between and incredibly vague to boot. As far as I can tell, Soap’s mohawk, Price’s sideburns, and Ghost's... everything are vastly out of regulations, so I wouldn’t be too concerned about any of the 141 following personal appearance guidelines (Gaz is likely the only 141 member within regs which is a little shocking considering most military regulations are unfairly biased against people of color, but that's neither here nor there). If you’re interested, here is the 2021 version of the guidelines, though many of them have been updated since.

As of 2002, unmarried service members are permitted to invite their partners to stay overnight in single-room barracks (again, big win for our Sergeants). However, these guests must report to the duty and sign in, which is a hassle, so sneaking someone on base is still a plausible course of action.

Unfortunately, I can’t find any information on the use of alcohol/drugs in barracks, but I assume that the regulations are similar to those of the US armed forces, where alcohol is permitted to any off-duty member (any member who is on authorized leave) above the legal drinking age.

Humor: military humor has a pretty infamous reputation for being dark as fuck. Soldiers joke about a lot of stuff because they deal with a lot of stuff, and humans naturally cope through humor. There aren’t a lot of resources for this, because soldiers don’t like that kind of stuff reaching civilian ears (for pretty obvious reasons). Active special forces soldiers like the 141 would have especially fucked up senses of humor because they deal with especially fucked up scenarios. Don’t push yourself for the sake of realism, though; if you aren’t comfortable writing jokes about active hostage/bomb/terrorist situations, don’t write those jokes. However, if you think of a fantastically dark joke and want to include it, know that it would be perfectly in character (especially for Ghost) and true to real life. They absolutely would casually joke with each other about racism, homophobia, xenophobia, war crimes, torture, etc. The important part is that they all know that it’s always a joke; shared humor is one of the most common ways that soldiers bond with each other, and being able to take the piss with each other is key to unit cohesion. If you don’t like that or if that makes you uncomfortable, don’t write it!

Fraternization: In general, fraternization is strictly prohibited. It’s grounds for a reassignment at best and a court martial at worst. One or both parties may be dishonorably discharged. Realistically, any relationship between anyone in the 141 (with the exception of Soap and Gaz, who are of equal rank and therefore their relationship does not affect the chain of command, big win for SoapGaz shippers) would be strictly prohibited and treated as a criminal offense. It is up to you whether your characterization of the 141 members warrants any action upon the discovery of fraternization or if it would be ignored in favor of keeping the team together. An argument could be made either way, so it’s a judgment call.

Call Signs:

The IRL SAS does not use call signs; they are almost universally used for pilots across all military divisions, which means that regular soldiers, even those in Special Forces, don't get call signs. However, as the CoD universe evidently uses call signs, here are some things you should know:

No one really knows how call signs originated. Some say that they started as nicknames given to pilots in the early days of flight. Others say that they originated as a way for ground control to quickly and easily refer to pilots over the radio. In any case, call signs have cemented themselves firmly in aviation culture

Call signs are not supposed to be cool. Ghost in an anomaly. The vast majority of people are not given call signs like Maverick or Iceman. A call sign is supposed to be (playfully) teasing and embarrassing; it's what the military calls "humility culture". They are often a derivative of a last name, based on physical features or personality, or related to a mistake the soldier made early in their career.

A call sign, once given, is rarely changed. Call signs follow soldiers for the entirety of their careers and beyond, and it is not unusual for fellow soldiers to only know each other by their rank, call sign, and last name (some can go their entire careers without knowing each others first names; a call sign basically replaces a soldiers first name).

Call signs are voted on and chosen by the soldier's squadron; they have very little (if any) say in the process. The squadron's commanding officer has the ability to veto a proposed call sign and often will if it crosses any lines (racist, sexist, etc) or if it isn't funny enough.

Here is a forum of US Naval call signs and their stories. I highly recommend giving it a read, especially if you need name ideas or a good laugh

General Writing Reference:

Resource for describing physical things (settings, weather, colors, textures, shapes)

Sickness Descriptors

Keeping Tenses (one of the most common writing mistakes in fic writing; this blog has a lot of very informative writing tip posts!)

WordHippo (One of the best dictionary/thesaurus/rhyming dictionary websites I've found and unfailingly keep open while writing/editing)

Tumblr account dedicated to writing characters of color

Tumblr thread with resources/references for international clothes and other items

Tumblr post with links to building/architectural terms and references

Tumblr post with links to helpful writing websites/resources (reverse dictionary, translator, body language, etc)

Misc Helpful Links (Will be Updated):

https://www.eliteukforces.info/special-air-service/ (detailed information about the SAS, selection, training, operations, weaponry, skills, and roles)

https://www.nam.ac.uk/explore/british-army-ranks (British Army ranks in order with brief descriptions of roles/responsibilities)

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_British_Army_installations (List of British Army bases and barracks, both in the UK and overseas)

https://www.quora.com/Does-the-British-Army-really-have-mixed-dorms-as-in-the-TV-show-Our-Girl (Quora forum detailing British military barrack living conditions)

https://taskandpurpose.com/news/military-pilots-call-signs/ (Blog post about aviator call signs and their use in military culture)

https://www.military.com/history/history-of-aviator-call-signs-and-how-pilots-get-their-new-name.html (Blog post about the history of aviator call signs in the military)

https://www.tumblr.com/sighmurderbot/735894836939472896/are-you-like-me-suddenly-obsessed-with-cod-and (Tumblr post - CoD mission generator)

https://www.army.mil/ranks/ (lots of very helpful information about US Army enlisted, warrant, and officer ranks as well as corps and division sizes/operations. Whoever designed this website needs a raise tbh)

If you found this useful, feel free to drop a like! I like knowing that my hard work is being used and appreciated!

#call of duty #cod #cod writing reference #military writing reference #I spent a really really long time on this #and it'll definitely be updated as I do more research for fics #does anyone know if posting this on ao3 would be against TOS?#tombstone's epitaphs

241 notes · View notes

ginnsbaker · 1 year ago

Text

In Silent Screams (3/3)

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

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

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

Breakfast can wait.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tell me what you want.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She knows that knock all too well.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Soon.”

Vision shakes his head. Not good enough.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Alright.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And what makes you so sure?”

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

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

“No,” Wanda says firmly. “It's over.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But his pleas fall on deaf ears.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re quiet tonight. Alarmingly so.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is he… is he okay?”

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

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

Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wanda?”

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

“Wanda.”

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

“Wanda!”

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

“Hey,” she says, forcing a smile.

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

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

Wanda nods quickly. “I'm fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N, please–”

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

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

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

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

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

“No,” Wanda answers earnestly.

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

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

“Do you love him?”

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

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

“...ever love me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s over.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or a you and her. Ever again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I—”

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

Loved? Past tense? Had Natasha just assumed—

Or was that word coming directly from you?

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

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

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

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

“You think?” Natasha scoffs.

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

“And why’s that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay.”

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

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

“No, thanks.”

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

“What’s this?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your wide-eyed stare meets hers, speechless.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x vision #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #my writing #category: angst #iss #my fic #wanda x reader #wanda x y/n #natasha romanoff #vision

580 notes · View notes

alavestineneas · 7 months ago

Text

Heaven

pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x fem!reader summary: Gluttony, lust, sloth, envy, greed—the sins were placed on his head instead of a crown worth his status, a crown that would've, undoubtedly, made some meaning of his life. Without it, the matted, silver hair atop his head served more as a laughing matter. Even the father, taken with the idea of a male babe, has cast him aside. The apple of the rotten tree fell far from the branches, left to rot and decay in the shadows of his own undoing. warning: canon-typical violence, blood&cheese, hurt little comfort, loss of limbs, implied/referenced cheating, drinking, court, RELIGIOUS GUILT, sex lol word count: 8.2k

author's notes: hi lovely people! today, i present you my new creation - an Aegon fic! yay! PLEASE note that: a)YN has children in this imagine and they are important to the story. If you don't feel comfortable reading all that - do not engage with this fic. b) The Blood&Cheese does happen in this univese, so be mindful!

If all is good, am I so excited to have you here - please don't shy away from sharing your opinion, either good or bad, in the comments. Love you!

He was not used to hearing no.

It is a simple truth: of all of the words in the world, one of the most common ones escaped his mind completely, going over his head and never leaving an impact strong enough to attach meaning to it. Since he was a babe in the golden cradle, lavishing in the rich purples of the crown, the Realm opened in front of him, smiling and cooing in his regal plump face. The best teachers, toys, and golden coins were thrown his way—the firstborn son, the long-awaited boy of House Targaryen. Soon, the endless teachers changed into endless rivers of the best wines, and wooden horses grew pairs of tits big enough to bury the temper he had grown to hold. Only gold in his pockets as he turned to yet another brothel door never changed its shape—money travelled from his hands into cups, dresses, and undergarments silently, the countless replicas of his father’s profile sparkling with the judgement of yet another of his poor choices.

Sometimes Aegon wondered what would be the breaking point for his righteous Lady Mother—when would her head finally turn to look him in the eye and mutter a swift ‘’no’’ instead of lowering her gaze and pursing her lips together at his new whim? He foolishly thought it would be the wine. Nevertheless, each time Alicent found him covered in his own dinner, dragged to the castle by some unfortunate knight, she raged and cried, but never forbade him from drinking again. Yet, the more he ate, the more he wanted.

He thought his heart a hole—the darkest, most blackest place of his soul, rotten from the day his violet eyes opened and took in the world around them. Like a tooth, white as snow upon its birth, growing spoiled from the sweet nectars the Realm had to offer. The small spot, not bigger than a needle's ear, appears first, going unnoticed. Then, it fattens and spreads its disease through the mouth until there are no teeth to chew with, leaving only a gaping void where once there was a smile. Gluttony, lust, sloth, envy, greed—the sins were placed on his head instead of a crown worth his status, a crown that would've, undoubtedly, made some meaning of his life. Without it, the matted, silver hair atop his head served more as a laughing matter. Even the father, taken with the idea of a male babe, has cast him aside. The apple of the rotten tree fell far from the branches, left to rot and decay in the shadows of his own undoing.

In the name of traditions he had no reason to engage in, the only place where he had hoped to be something or become something—his chambers—were occupied by the stark reminder of his worthlessness. Heleana, his sister, his wife—the almost always silent figure, a shadow of their childhood. It pained him to watch her close her eyes every time he entered the chambers to install the needed heir into his sister's womb. Aegon remembers her as a girl, often strange but never unkind—the image he forced himself to forget every time she undressed in front of him . The violet eyes they both shared, the silver braids covering her girlish figure—everything about House Targaryen made him ache with guilt and shame. He could not stand to look at the similar braids on his own shoulders, so he cut them off in a drunken rage, burning them in the flames of the fire. Oh, how he wished he could burn himself there instead.

None of his whores had any trace of Old Valyria. None of his whores had a trace of her, either. The one his famished, bloodied heart set the pinnacle of his desire. He could have any woman in the world, from the slaves to the highborn maidens, begging for him to spare one glance, one night, one favour from the night-made king. But it was her, the secret so shameful that even his spoiled mind could not admit it. Aegon studies the patterns in the ceiling, his body almost in pain from the aching feeling in his abdomen. The water around him moves, caressing his skin like a lover's touch. It's burning, he notes, despite being nearly wintry.

''Does your brother know you are here?''

He almost does not recognise his voice as he speaks, the words barely a whisper in the echoing chamber. It's low and darkened, leaving his mouth with a tingle of bitterness. The question comes out twisted, ridicule thrown into another naked body in his bath—it earns only a low chuckle from the woman in front of him.

''Yes, my king, I believe he does.'' Lady YN looked more entertained than embarrassed; all of the pleasantries the etiquette demanded they follow were out of the question anyway. The water hid most of her body, leaving only the head and neck for display. She was bare, the ends of her hair steaming down the ends of a bath as she lounged comfortably, completely at ease. ''The twins often share a piece of soul, my king. You must have known from your own children."

Aegon hms, his eyes leaving their place and setting on the woman instead. Coloured with wetness, her hair stuck to her forehead in the heat of the bath , starting small streams of water down her face. Striking, almost glistening eyes stared back at him. Something unreadable lay there, something not meant for him to see. Her body is one of the woman, not a girl; the marks of not one but two babes nurtured by her womb and breasts are simple in their beauty; this, Aegon thinks, ought to be the image of Mother on the walls of Sept. Lady YN, a widow to some highborn Lord he wished not to know the name of, and mother to his two children. Lady YN, a twin sister to Ser Leon Estermont. Lady YN, the mistress of the king.

''Are you just going to stare?'' The woman chuckled softly, bringing Aegon out of his reverie. "Or are you going to fuck me?''

Aegon barked a short laugh, adjusting himself to hold the weight of the woman climbing on top of him, his arms catching her hips with ease. ''Holy Seven! Where have you learned such profanities, woman? Not fuck,'' he playfully scolded, trapping her lips in a teasing kiss. ''making love, that is,'' he mumbled against her jaw.

Aegon moved slower than usual, taking his time to savour each moment. Something was enchanting in the way droplets of sparkling water clung to her skin, glistening like diamonds in the sunlight—it was as if the water itself had moulded her, leaving an indelible mark on her very being. Even now, with his headlight from wine and limbs burning for a rest, the hunger pools in his stomach, demanding more of her. YN's voice is sickening; it wraps around Aegon's dried throat and lands on his chest like a weighty stone. The hushed moans, mixed with whispers, send shivers down his spine as he rocks into her body, caught in the intoxicating web she weaves with her words. It almost pained him to pull away from her, knowing that he would never be able to resist her siren call for long.

''What are you doing?'' YN asks, her voice laced with a hint of amusement, as she places her hands on his chest, the pace of her hips never faltering.

Aegon struggles to find the words to respond, lost in the dizzying whirlwind of sensations she evokes within him. He can only manage a breathless, ''There is something I want to give you,'' before succumbing once again to her spellbinding presence. It's not an inquiry; the words leave Aegon's mouth without much thought behind them . His hand blindly travels to the small table somewhere behind his back, knocking down two goblets and a burned candle in his haste. ''Here,'' he says, pushing the cascade of hair aside to place a small golden pendant on her neck. "Oh, Gods,'' he murmurs, his eyes fixed on the pendant as it rests against her skin. "Had it made for you.''

He tried to focus on the pendant, but the sight of breasts moving before him was too much to bear. The pace she set, undeniably to torment him further, was excruciating. A few more moments, and he might finish right then and there. But he couldn't bring himself to stop her or put an end to this torturous game. Aegon closed his eyes, surrendering to the overwhelming sensations that consumed him.

''Please, don't stop," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of his own racing heartbeat. Aegon wanted to cease existing, to turn around, and to never be seen here again. Instead, he just sat in the small bath, a little too small for two people, feeling redness creep up his neck onto his cheeks. To his surprise, the heat pooling inside of him only grew as his courage slipped away with each moment. A completely pleasurable sensation took over him, spreading heat between his legs and causing his breath to quicken. Aegon's hips instinctively arched forward, craving more of her touch. The waves around him mixed with the ones of pleasure as he came, the hands roaming his body, leaving him feeling more alive than ever before.

Numb, he watched the water swirl around the YN's breasts and knees as she reached her high a few moments later, a smile playing on her lips as she looked down at him. She rinsed her body, washing away the sweat and salt, before stepping out of the water with a satisfied sigh. Aegon followed her body with hungry eyes as she stepped out of the bath and reached out for the cloth to dry herself. First, her hair, then her neck and arms; she meticulously dried every inch of her body before slipping into a blue gown, one of her hands catching and bringing to light his gift. A sun-shaped gold pendant dangled from her fingers, glinting in the fire. She traced the intricate design with her thumb, a fond smile on her face as she remembered the moment he had given it to her.

Aegon's eyes softened as he watched her. ''I intend to have you join me for the early meal on the morrow. ''

''I would be pleased to, my king.'' She pauses, a sly smile playing on her lips. ''May the night be kind to you.''

He chuckled, his own smile mirroring hers. ''And may your dreams be filled with nothing but joy.''

With a gentle nod, she excused herself from his presence, the gold pendant still clasped in her hand. Aegon sighed, not bothering to sit straight, leaning on the bath walls instead. He prayed to Seven for even a chance to close his lids this sombre night; his usual sleep was turned into a nightmare and a fever dream at once—the one that left him covered in sweat and desperate for sweet oblivion. No matter how much he pleaded, the laughing eyes of Lady YN wouldn't leave her alone. He would lay in bed until sunrise, staring into the faintly pink sky, until dawn came and the cycle of never-ending torment began again.

There were a lot of sinners in all the corners of the world; they kept on with their small affairs, akin to flies, wasting each of their numbered days on the things that carried no meaning in the great map of history. Slaves of foreign lands, smallfolk of fields and seas, servants scurrying in the shadows of their masters or draped with precious cloth figures of noblemen—life and later death—showed no interest in their whereabouts. Their existence was fleeting; their legacy was forgotten with the passing of the seasons.

YN grew tired of never-changing identities quickly; the same faces of mediocrity surrounded her, stealing the much-needed fresh air with the talk of trivial matters. Noon and night mixed in one globe in her throat, tasting of nothing but bitterness—the same flute, feast, and court affairs sun after sun. The small girl near her screeches and laughs, her little hands occupied with the dolls, as she attempts to flee from the grasp of her older brother. They seemed to be in their own world, running down one of the stone halls of the Red Keep with a speed the best stallions of the kingdoms could only dream of.

''You are cheating! I saw it; you did!''

Peter was her firstborn, a boy who is now nearing the age of a man—two and ten summers have passed since she first heard his cry echo in the cold halls of the family castle. Slender, even sickly skinny—as her late lord husband declared upon his birth, he fell sick often—she has spent countless nights near his cradle, wishing to see the day he becomes a healthy, strong young lad. To the delight of everybody, and YN as well , her prayers did not go unanswered. Peter was now skilled with a blade, his fragile figure resulting in swifter, much softer moves that left his teacher's prowess a remarkable honour of knighthood.

''I am not! I'm just faster than you!''

A smile spreads across YN's face as she looks at the little girl in her yellow dress, who now hides behind a collum. Meg was a keen, healthy babe of four summers, with a mischievous glint in her eyes that mirrored YN's own. Other than that, she looked nothing like her—all her father, the Lord husband, lost to illness. What a blessing it was to look at her daughter's face and see him. What a curse.

''Please, be civil. Remember, no hitting, no biting, and absolutely no spitting are worthy of a knight or a lady."

No talking, either, if she could convince them to listen for longer than two minutes. Having her children play with the royal heirs was Aegon’s idea; like that, she had more time on her hands, and twins could enjoy the company of someone closer to ''normal'' folk, as he had worded it. It was not something she could refuse, although she wished nothing more than to do so. The royals were a serious matter; one wrong word and your head ornates the castle walls instead of the golden banners. She did not doubt her children; they were kind-hearted, lovely people, but the notable ‘incidents’ of house Targaryen kept her awake at night, wishing her children would be brought to her with all their eyes and limbs. Leon, her brother, assured her nothing would happen— it was he who took her children to and from the Queen's chambers. He told her of great opportunities for his niece and nephew that came with being closer to the court, but it did not ease YN’s mind fully. All of her family, in one way or another, entertained the royal and noble house of the dragons—the fate most minor houses considered a blessing. Most, but not all.

Before the death of her husband and long before either of her children came into this globe, it was just two of them in their small little world—the twins of House Estermont, the heirs to the misfortunes of the Greenstone's lush greenery and endless tides of sea. She would've stayed there, on a small island enveloped by mountains and castle walls. It was Leon who wanted to make something of himself, with dreams as high as the seagulls up in the sapphire sky above their childhood bedchambers. There was not thought more ridiculous than her dear brother in the walls of the capital , and yet he left the Estermont as soon as the banners were called for young swords in the court of then-prince Aegon. Then she married, and the rest was drowned in the endless nights of tears. Sometimes, only when no one was around, YN wondered if she could've stayed forever there, in her home, without having to see the world that was often so cruel—had her brother not left her so early; had he been the lord instead of their father when she came of age?

''Mother, are you going?''

The loud voice has startled YN out of her thoughts. She smiled at her son, adjusting the skirts of her gown before nodding. ''Yes, my sweet. Let us come in; we do not want to keep the Queen waiting, do we now?''

The Queen. YN has heard many rumours in court concerning the sanity of young Queen Helaena, her preference for silence, and modest foods, but she has never seen her closer than a few yards. Standing before the large wooden door to her chambers seemed foolish—had she been any other woman, perhaps she had nothing to fear—to present her children to the royal maids and escape to the comfort of the halls once more. But she was no ordinary woman—she was a mistress to the King the Queen called brother, the one whose bed he warmed instead of hers. YN cursed her brother in her head for having ''a business'' to attend to today, of all days; even though he assured her of Queen's kind heart, she couldn't shake the feeling of unease as she pushed the door.

The chambers were quiet, with only the slow crackling of wood in the chimney disturbing the peace. ''My Queen, I have brought the children as you requested,'' YN announced, her voice echoing in the vast rooms. She waited for a response, but none came—only the flickering shadows dancing on the walls.

On the small cushion before the fireplace, a figure dressed in regal robes sat with her eyes on the embroidery hoop in her hands. YN takes her time studying the woman as her own children join the pair of royal heirs on the woven carpet. She sits straight, her face somewhere else. The queen has beautiful hair, YN notes to herself ; her silver locks escaped the carefully laid braids, landing right onto her cool, fair face. The woman is younger than her, perhaps by a few summers. The maids around her worked almost in silence—only sometimes it dared to be broken with a small polite exchange concerning the seams or the ornaments on their wooden hoops. There was a distance between her and them—a distance that YN could sense even from where she stood. Despite the quiet camaraderie of the ladies, the queen remained in her own world, a world that YN couldn't quite grasp.

''Lady YN,'' the Queen finally said, never moving her eyes from the dark fabric. ''Would you like to see what I have done so far?''

Something familiar sparkled inside YN's mind like an old tune long forgotten. There was a certain childish quality to her words, reminding her of the way her daughter spoke—something about the innocence and vulnerability that still lingered beneath the regal facade. The Queen spoke to her like they had been great friends like she had seen her before—perhaps in a dream or in another lifetime.

''Of course, Your Majesty.''

She moved closer, careful not to step on the countless toys and pillows scattered around on the floor. Someone, Jaehaerys or Jaehaera, whom she could not tell, squeaked and ran past her, chased by her own daughter, almost knocking YN over in their game. The Queen smiled warmly at the chaos, her eyes sparkling with amusement at them as YN sat before her on the padded chair, intended for legs. She turned the hoop of her embroidery , her delicate fingers working quickly and skillfully.

''I did it for him. A golden dragon, you see? I do not like green; it does not suit him,'' she half-whispered, her almost translucent violet eyes studying each expression on YN's face but never lingering too long.

Him. YN nods, her heart aching with understanding. She knows. Suddenly, the world feels like it is burning—or, perhaps, it is just the growing fire—and an acquainted feeling of guilt and shame travels to her throat. She swallows hard, trying to drown the discomfort in her saliva—a whore, a liar, a thief. Here, in the presence of something so fleeting, so beautiful, and so delicate, she feels the weight of her sins pressing down on her chest, threatening to consume her whole.

The colourful eyes of the Queen seemed to understand her thoughts; she smiled. ''You have a beautiful necklace.''

YN's involuntary hand reaches for the necklace hanging around her neck, feeling the weight of it in her palm. The gold sun sits there proudly, having escaped the comfort of her dress in a moment she has missed. It feels like a cruel joke and, if she will, a reminder of the audacity she possessed to steal from a queen. She felt bare for the first time in years, like a child caught by his mother in some small affair. ''Thank you, your Grace," she whispers, her voice barely audible over the crackling of the flames.

''He likes you, my brother. He has a very strange way of showing it; you are the first person he's allowed to get this close to. The first to keep for so long, too.'' Queen Helaena pauses, her eyes softening slightly as she looks at the children before her. "They love having someone to play, you know? Always waiting for a new friend to join them in their games.'' As the firelight dances across her face, Queen Helaena's smile is bittersweet. "I am afraid I do not know what to do with them. ''

YN nods in understanding, her head turning to watch the flock of laughing children too. ''I was thirteen when I had my first. From the moment he left my womb, he screamed and cried, never finding solace in my arms. I was his mother, the person who was supposed to provide comfort, yet I could just cry with him. I did not feel the mystical tenderness the ladies told me about—I felt lost. Hollow. I thought I was missing some piece of myself that would make me love him the way I was supposed to. But he grew, and I did with him—then I realised that I had a lot of people to care for me, but he only had me. There is no ''right'' love—only the love we are capable of giving , and that was enough for him.''

The woman kept quiet, her eyes moving on the stone floor. YN wondered if her silence was a hint of disapproval or if she was simply lost in her thoughts once again. After a moment, Queen Heleana finally spoke, her voice lingering through the chambers. "Would you like to join us in the garden on the morrow? It would be a great change of scenery."

YN smiled. The relief washed over her—it didn't feel real. The same eyes, hair, and face she saw hundreds of times are once again in front of her, only changing slightly to more feminine features. The Queen does look like her brother-husband, and now YN can't help but feel a sense of comfort in her appearance. ''I would be honoured to, Your Majesty."

The days changed each other quickly; her children grew, and the court lived, growing and changing before her eyes. There was something in the air; she could feel it—an alter after Prince Aemond brought news of the passing of a Valaryon bastard. YN remembers the night—the king has drunk himself half-dead, pacing and muttering about war—the weight of the crown seemed heavier on his head that night. She knows he wishes she did not hear it, laughing at all of her worried questions on the next eve. Still, the war worried her; it brought the worst upon its coming—famine, illness, and terror. She did not fear death—the Stranger was a familiar presence in her life—but the thought of her children suffering haunted her dreams.

YN looks at the girl in her wooden bed, sleeping as peacefully as a child should. Peter sits near, on the stool beside her, his eyes shining with excitement more than fear as he listens to the reading—no matter how smart her son is, he is still too young to fully grasp the doom that warfare will bring to their doorstep; for him, the tales of glorious battles are still alive and true. As YN finishes yet another story about the conquest of three dragon warriors, the comforting silence settles in their bedchamber. Soon, the sun will fully hide behind the darkened clouds of the horizon, and the night will cast its shadows over the land.

''Are you the king's mistress?'' Peter asks, his voice barely above a whisper. The words that leave his lips are not his own. YN's heart shrinks at the sound of them—the whispering faces of the court's gossip swirling in her mind.

There it was—the question she hoped would resolve itself on its own but knew would come anyhow. It's hard, YN realises, to admit such a simple truth to the pair of wide-open eyes looking up at her as she closes the book. Did she not tell it herself after each time she spent the night in the king's chambers? '' I and King Aegon are,'' she takes a breath in. What were they? Lovers? Such a foolish, shameful thought. ''dear friends. We converse and dine together, and he takes great pleasure in hearing me play.''

She does not want to lie to her sweet boy; she knows he is perceptive and will see through any falsehood. But the weight is heavy; she will not let it crush his still boyish shoulders. Deep down, YN fears the day her son will realise the truth. Will he still wish to know her name then? He looks like a small sparrow bird, YN thinks to herself, in his brown vest and ruffled collar of the shirt —so small yet so curious. He tilts his head just like the finch would as if trying to grasp her words and find something between them. ''Do you love him?''

A sigh escapes her lips before she can think of a better answer. ''Well, let's see,'' she pauses. ''I love you, and I love little Meg, and I love your uncle Leon. I also love our beautiful rooms, my dresses, and the nice pies we get to have for supper. And all of that we have because King Aegon is good and just and values our house as one of his loyal subjects. So, in a way, yes, I do love him for that.''

Lies. Disgraceful, unworthy of a lady, a mother she is. Does she truly feel nothing when his lips caress every inch of her very being, his hands touching her soul akin to a ghost? Does she not wish the warmth of his body never had to part from her heart, staying on her neck instead, trapped in the warm, gold sun on her skin? Did she not offer him what was left of her time and time again ? Did she not think of him all the time? Was she not terrified of loving him, and did she not love him?

''I do not want you to marry him.'' Peter is determined. His hands grow fists, the slight childish jealousy painting his face. He could not know, and yet he felt it; he was her son, her blood, after all.

''Then I shall not. I will be here, helping you as you grow into a strong, handsome Lord, and then I will eat only cake and wear pretty dresses for the rest of my days. You will protect me and your sister, just like your father did before he passed, and I will be your scorny lady-mother for the time being . ''

She would. YN wished he would see it, but he was still too young, too naive, to understand the sacrifices she dedicates for him and his sister only, the chains she traps in her heart every day just for them to have a happier life. The sacrifices he did not ask for, YN reminds herself . Sacrifices she chose willingly.

Peter nods, his eyes changing back into childish, sparkling innocence, leaving the stone-cold stare and anger hanging only in his mother's memory. "That sounds perfect, my lady-mother," he says with a grin. "I will protect you and my sister with all my might, just like my father did."

''Good,'' YN smiles, planting a kiss on her son's forehead. "Your father would be proud of the man you are becoming.''

He would not, but Peter does not need to know it. Maybe he will grow up to be nothing like him, and maybe the gods will be kind enough to let her see it.

The Queen's chambers are loud as the night approaches; children, royal or not, never seemed to tyre and instead wished to play all into the night. Even the tireless maid, exhausted of their incessant energy, now quietly sat in the corner, undoubtedly anxious not to be discovered for at least a handful of moments. Tragically for her, YN did not possess this kind of power; her head seemed to soon crack into a few pieces from the noise and shuffles, her limbs burning for rest and quiet. She was tired of reading; the book, long forgotten, was shyly lying at the edge of the wooden table, covered in rich gold ornaments.

''Do you feel unwell?'' The soft voice of Queen Helaena is heard nearby. The fair face turns into a concerned expression—the Targaryen queen had always been perceptive .

YN shakes her head in a weak attempt to wave any worries away. ''Just a little tired from the long day,'' she murmurs, forcing a small smile.

''Perhaps you should rest. I will send a maid to draw you a bath and prepare your chambers for the night.'' The woman's graceful hand reaches out to gently touch YN's shoulder. ''The children can stay; they will be in good hands with the nursemaid, and then they shall return to your chambers in the morning.''

YN feels something creep in her stomach but shakes it off. Perhaps she should not have eaten that pie after all. ''Thank you, your grace,'' she says, mustering a grateful smile. She stands up to leave, feeling the weight of the day's events finally catch up to her before the Queen's voice is heard again.

''The cooter, a mother to three kings,'' she mumbles, her words causing YN to pause and turn back.

''Your grace?" It was not the first time The Queen lost herself in her thoughts; sometimes, she would whisper nonsense as they conversed—it was worrying, sure, but YN had learned to ignore it. Queen Helaena was a sweet, kind woman, but her mind was often clouded by the burdens of her crown. YN wished that one day the Queen would find peace and clarity in her own thoughts; she prayed for it, too.

''The cooter,'' the Queen gazed in her direction, directing attention to the embroidery on YN's dress.

''Yes, it is a cooter; it is a sigil of my house, your Grace, house Estermont.'' YN smiled gently, hoping to distract the Queen from her confusion. The woman's eyes lit up with recognition as she nodded in understanding, and YN breathed a sigh of relief. She can now rest.

It was not long before the screams in her dreams startled her awake—the dark, obsidian night in the window chilling her feet as she quickly sat up, her heart pounding in her chest. Although the screams never seethed; they became louder, more concerned voices of people in the halls outside her room, calling out curses and cries. YN quickly climbed out of the warm bed and rushed to the door, the cobble floors cooling beneath her bare feet as she opened it to see what was happening.

People running in and out of the long halls—maids and knights, even some noblemen in their sleepwear—seemed not to notice the strange figure of a woman in her nightgown standing in the doorway. ''What has happened?'' she asked the maid nearby before recoiling - the dirty sheets in her hands were coloured crimson.

The boy is dead, a voice told her . The boy in the royal chambers.

''Let me through,'' she demanded, pushing past the maid and rushing towards the rooms of Queen Helaena. The rooms she left her children in. She did not care; if the murderer was still in those walls, she would strangle him herself; her children, young, innocent children she left in the care of their nurse, were still there. Were still alive in her head.

The walk from her chambers to the royal ones wasn't too long; she would've walked a thousand more stairs if it was needed. The door to the chambers is wide open; splashes of blood lead inside, pooling before the opening, resembling a twisted, sick lake of horror. ''Meg? Peter?'' No response came, only eerie silence. Panic began to rise in her chest as she stepped over the threshold, her heart pounding in her ears. The screaming rings in her ears suddenly; she does not recognise her own voice as it echoes off the stone walls.

Small, lifeless limbs stare at her almost in accusation, the redness of his open neck wound stark against the pale skin —the body of young Prince Jaehaerys lays in his cradle like it often would, lacking only the silver crown of his head. The room was a scene of unfathomable horror, with blood splattered across the walls and the once innocent nursery now a monstrous sight. The scent of death surrounded her like a bloodied blanket, choking the breath in her throat and sending her head spinning.

She did not feel the male hands clutching her shoulders, pulling her away. The blue and green cloth under her feet quickly moved, the voice of her brother whispering something in her deaf shocked ears.

''Leon, children, my children,'' she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper as tears streamed down her face. The realisation of what had happened in that room hit her right in the stomach, leaving a wretched kno of guts and despair. She tries to fight back, to shout over the chaos, or to push him away; she always does. It makes him just angrier, and harsher, and he tightens the grip, pushing her right into the open door of what appears to be his chambers.

''Everyone stays in their rooms until stated otherwise by the king's orders,'' he hisses, finally letting go of her.

The action is so sudden that she falls forward, hitting her nose as she slides down the stone wall. There's blood everywhere; it's mixed with tears, soaking into her hair and dripping down from her dress. Her brothers's plan worked; YN had no energy to shout anymore. Her anger is now swallowing down her dried throat. She opens and closes it like a fish out of the sea, trying to get air into her lungs—all that is left for her to watch as the wooden door snaps against its frame and the lock clicks, chaining her to the cold, dark room.

YN does not know how much time has passed or if it has passed at all ; the dark, obsidian night sky is now coloured in pinks, oranges, and purples, resembling her usual gowns more than the bright blue of the day. The silence is deafening, broken only by the distant chirping of birds and the rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze; she does not care for it. The only sound in her mind is a constant prayer, although, in her previous life, not many could accuse her of being devout. Now, YN finds herself clinging to any semblance of hope, no matter how faint, no matter where it comes from.

It's all her fault, she thinks. It is as clear as a day—the sins on her shoulders were so heavy that even Gods could not bear them anymore. She should've stayed there, in the northern castle of her lord husband, weeping over his grave like any proper widow would. Instead, she has indulged in a life of sin with violet eyes and silver locks, finding solace in the arms of another man. She let her body decide, choosing a life of bodily pleasure over honour and duty. The husband, no matter how hard it was for her to love him, was the only man who had a right to touch her soul. Touch her at all.

The door opened with a loud bang, revealing her lord husband in all his might. He was wearing those weird clothes again—something torn and dirty. It looked like he robbed some beggars near the castle before coming in, and he smelled the same.

''Come on!'' he exclaims, opening his arms as if for a hug. ''Don't be shy; we are married, remember?''

There is not much she can say; the easiest way out is to let him do what he wants. So, YN bites her cheek when his sloppy kisses travel down her neck and keeps her mouth shut when he takes off her nightgown. It's awful, almost humiliating, to hear his breath quicken. To feel him inside. She smiles when it's finally over, and he plants the last, tired kiss on her head before getting under the covers. She knows better than to disturb her husband's sleep; instead, she cries silently, mindful of staining his pillow with tears.

YN's knees are aching even through the fabric of her gown, but it does not matter. Through pain, she could feel her remorse. Feel like she was being punished for her own desires. Feel like she was clean again.

A soft knocking is heard, and YN has to snap out of her trance, gathering the tears building in her eyes with a cloth. It's a servant, one of the many she sees running down the halls this morning. ''You are awaited before the Council, milady.''

''Thank you,'' YN replies, her voice barely above a whisper. She will see to the punishment the gods have chosen for her, no matter how harsh it is. Her only wish is for her children, who are innocent in all of this, to be spared from any consequences of her actions. She straightens her posture and nods. ''Let us go then.''

The loud arguing in the rooms of Small Council seemed to fade as she appeared in the doorway, all eyes turning to her as she entered. The sun was already up, she noticed, as the soft streaks of warmth hit the room through the open windows, casting a golden hue over the polished table where the council members sat. She caught strange looks from a few, and frankly, she thought they were right. YN looked like a mad woman, her hair quickly plated and her dress hurriedly laced, rushing around a castle that seemed to freeze at the news of a child's passing.

''Mother,'' the loud cry of her son's voice echoed, snapping YN back to reality. He came running to her, his face streaked with tears and his eyes red from crying, his hands clutching her waist as he buried his face in her stomach. YN stood there, wrapping her arms around him tightly, feeling the empty space where his right hand should have been. ''I am so sorry; I tried to save him, but the knife, they did; they cut it off, Mother, '' he sobbed.

YN's heart shattered into a million pieces as she held her son close. Her darling, brave boy lost a part of himself, but he was alive. Better a sparrow, living or dead, than no birdsong at all. Here, in her arms. ''It is okay; all is well; you did so well. Where is your sister?''

''She is safe; I hid her in the closet. She was so scared,'' he whispered, his voice trembling.

''Your daughter is with maids now, Lady YN.'' The voice of Sir Criston Cole echoed through the room.

YN's eyes quickly found the green dress she put on her daughter herself; she sat on the hip of some scared maid, silent. She thanked the gods; she thanked anyone and everyone, in the sky or beneath the ground, who had decided to let her children live. Occupied with her thoughts, YN does not hear the questions flying at her right away; yet, the male voice of the swordsman still cuts through the cloudiness of her mind, reaching her ears.

''We would like to ask you a few questions about what happened that night. Can you tell us why you were not in the Queen's chambers with your children?''

There is something seething inside her as her son wails and clutches her waist with his now one hand and her daughter's frozen eyes as she stares through her mother. YN stood there, before the able knights of the castle, in nothing but her nightgown, covered in her son's blood and her own tears, feeling the weight of their accusatory gazes upon her. The gods forgave her and proved her innocent, but the whispers of suspicion still lingered in the air, staining her with their accusations. Anger—that was what boiled inside her—a fiery rage that threatened to consume her from within. ''What are you implying?''

''It is suspicious, don't you think, Lady YN, for you to be the only one absent when the tragedy occurred?''

YN laughed. It did not sound like a laugh of joy but rather a bitter, cynical sound that echoed through the great hall. Perhaps that was the mark of nerves she has wasted today, perhaps the showing of her despair—the maddening, heavy feeling of despair clawing at her insides. The child was dead; others were harmed—the cold, the almost translucent figure of the young prince covered in unfathomable amounts of his own blood lingered in her mind. "How dare you, the Head of the King's Guard, be the one telling me of doubts when it was my son, my blood, that protected Prince Jaehaerys? Tell me, Ser Criston, where were you when my boy lost his hand defending the royal family?''

Ser Criston's expression darkened at the accusation; his jaw clenched tightly. "I was carrying out my duty elsewhere, as I always have," he replied evenly, his gaze wavering in the face of her anger. ''And for those who question my loyalty, there is a place in the dungeons reserved for traitors and cowards. Guards, seize Lady YN and bring her to the cells for questioning immediately."

As his words echoed through the hall, the even louder cries of her son were drowned out by the commotion as the guards moved to apprehend her. Although she feels nothing now, the contrast of cold poisoning her body where the boiling anger was just a moment before terrifying and overwhelming. YN felt numb and drained of any emotion as her son hugged her closer, despite the best efforts of the man around them. There will be bruises, she thought in a haze. When did he get so strong?

''Leave her be.'' A voice boomed from the back of the room.

King Aegon sat there on the designated stool, adorned with heads of dragons. Now, he did not look regal; he seemed sick, his violet eyes bloodshot and silver locks hanging limply around his face. The sea-sick green coloured his face as he struggled to maintain his composure. Just for a second, their eyes met, a silent understanding slipping between them. There was something wrong with him. There was something wrong with him that was also wrong with her.

''Thank you, my king,'' she whispered, her voice barely audible. The man's expression softened slightly, with a flicker of recognition in his eyes, before he turned away, dismissing the guards. They were free to go; she was free to go, with her alive and well children, who still could scream and cry. He will stay; he had to stay with his now-forever boy.

The water hit the pier with gentle splashes, and the droplets of salt jumped on the stone legs of the dock before rejoining the vast sea. The warm shadows of the setting sun coloured the liquids in pricey gemstones: sapphire and rubies, quarts, and turquoise glistened before her eyes. There was something magical in the way the light danced, ethereal and airy, as it circled the pier—no one disturbed the peace of the tranquil sea; nobody knew the secrets it had stored since its birth.

The water was warm enough—just a little more, and the beach would embrace many swimmers in its warm hug. But, for now, she only watched as the waves gently lapped against her feet, the soothing rhythm of the sea reminding her she was still here, in her body. YN closes her eyes. It would be an easy fix— to just jump , to let the water envelop her completely, to become one with the sea. No one would know how she went, not until the same waves returned her body to the shore somewhere far from this castle. Or would the water leave her for itself, storing the secrets of her death deep beneath the sand as her soul left this world behind? YN had no chance of knowing, but the thought of disappearing into the ocean's embrace was strangely comforting. Just her and the place she called home.

The sound of crashing waves enveloped her head; the wind was getting stronger, ruffling the hem of her ivory gown as she sat at the edge of the cliff, the last rays of sun hitting her face like a gentle caress. The salty air inside her lungs reminded her of Estermont . The small island, isolated and insignificant on the grand map. Perhaps, if she were lucky, her remains would be buried there, under some nameless mountain range, with only a small stone marker to indicate her existence.

There are slow, almost silent steps approaching her from behind; she does not turn around. If it was death, whoever the Stranger took the form of, it was welcome here. With her children asleep in her brother's chambers, a dozen guards watching over them, she was at peace. The gush of wind through her hair felt like a final embrace, reeking of salt and blood. What an unusual scent—almost like the sea at low tide mixed with the metallic tang of iron. Almost too real to be just in her head.

''I killed him,'' the hoarse voice announced behind her, the black cloak brushing against her arm. The cloak she knew belonged elsewhere. She turned slowly, her hand plating itself on the warm deck, feeling the small stones beneath her fingers.

The light illuminated his face; the usually calm violet eyes now clouded with a darkness she had never seen before. The golden dragon head sitting at his chest glinted beneath the rays just as the waves did a moment before, the still-hot blood dripping from his hands onto the wooden planks. Strangely, the black fabric now was almost green from the crimson stains��Helaena was right. It did not suit him.

''I smashed his skull open with a single blow,'' he said, his voice chillingly calm. ''I felt nothing as he lay there, dying at my feet. I thought it would feel good to finally have revenge . It didn't.''

The sunset painted over the walls of Red Keep, the oranges and reds of dying stars reflecting in the short hair of the man in front of her. He looked like he was burning, set on fire right where the crown should have been, burning down his neck and slumping shoulders. His castle, his kingdom, was all slowly on fire, despite the cool evening breeze that swept from the sea behind her. She can't get him to leave, she realises. The flames fluttered around him, everywhere except his eyes—it was his home, and it combusted. YN still had time to jump into the safety of the water, drown her sorrows, and escape the unavoidable ruin that awaited them both. The saltiness from the waves travelled onto her cheeks, the shallow streams hitting her lips. She can't leave without him.

''Sit with me,'' she muttered, reaching out her hand towards him. It was empty of any rings or jewellery; it was bare, like a virgin sheet on a freshly made bed. She was free—free from the weight of ties and obligations that had bound her for so long. Just her, without anything that would remind her of the past.

''I will stain your hand with blood,'' Aegon mused, his eyes dark with the weight of his own burdens. I will stain you with my sins, he wanted to say, but the words caught in his throat.

''Stain them. I do not care.''

So the veined hand reached out, the warmth of his touch sending shivers down her spine. She did not realise how cold she was until he enveloped her in his embrace, his warmth seeping into her bones. She felt clean for the first time in years, despite the stains on her dress, as the man collapsed in her embrace, his tears mixing with her own. ''Do you think we can ever truly be free from our sins?'' she whispered, feeling a sense of peace wash over her.

The man's embrace tightened, his voice steady despite the tremble in his breath as he replied. ''This love was never a sin; it could not be. Not when I love you with all that I am."

Aegon looks back at her, and it is not a tragedy.

This is the closest to heaven they will ever be.

274 notes · View notes