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inknopewetrust · 4 months ago

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𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐨

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐜𝐨𝐭𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐧𝐞𝐰—𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧��𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 [𝐒𝐜𝐨𝐭𝐭 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫] [𝐰𝐜: 3.3k]

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝟏𝟖+, 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐃𝐍𝐈, 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭, 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤, 𝐧𝐨 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 “𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲”, 𝐒𝐜𝐨𝐭𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐒𝐜𝐨𝐭𝐭 (𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐢𝐦).

𝐐𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬: 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒

You had always known Scott Miller to be a vanilla kind of man… whatever that truly implied.

The adventures of discovery were few and far between beyond the plank like missionary and the occasional couch sex if the motel even had a couch, so the back of his truck? Unheard of.

But when the clock struck one and he sped out of the parking lot in confidence that everyone had averted their eyes in sleep, you sensed something was different—or awakening—within him. The Storm Par truck found itself tucked into an alcove surrounded by trees on every side and the lights cut as quick as it was put into park.

You turned your head to look at him yet he was halfway out the door and all you could spur was, that was fast.

And perhaps it had been awhile since you’d been alone together in this capacity. The summers raged longer and with it the storms more frequent and severe, therefore it made your priority of getting laid less important than helping the people who no longer had a bed.

“Scott—“ you called out to him, unbuckling yourself as he slammed the door and opened the back seat. His face was flustered, cheeks inflamed a pinkish red of strife and want.

“Get in the back,” he said sternly in reply.

You furrowed your brows, mouth slightly agape at his brash words. Scott was a fucking asshole ninety-nine percent of the time, it shouldn’t have been a surprise.

He huffed at your inaction. A hand on the door, he put the other on the headrest on the back seat.

“Well?”

“Well what?” You asked. “You didn’t ask nicely.”

With Scott, you knew the boundaries he had. Everyone played a game around him that made their shoes crack the eggshells he littered in front of him. You hated it. He wasn’t perfect and by far, neither were you so why the fuck would you give into him so easily?

You imagined that was a reason he kept seeking you out again. Months of this, nothing more, and Scott returned time and time again to a grip he’d say your pussy had on his dick but you thought in honestly that you wanted him to fall in love with you—the glitter in your eyes as you teased him, each meeting between you growing longer and more personal.

And shit, if you haven’t daydreamed of what a serious version of the “thing” you had together was you’d be lying. One of Scott was handsome, but two in the long run? That boy would replace you in a heartbeat.

“Just get in the back,” he complained. “Please.”

You smiled sweetly at him. “Better.”

Scott shook his head and grabbed your hand as you fumbled yourself into the back seat. He wasted no time sliding into the seat next you, slamming his door closed again, and grasping your face with both of his hands.

His kiss was bruising. Heavy and holding, it was as though he was coming home from war, not a few weeks of chasing different storms. You held onto his wrists as he maneuvered you, head tilting the way he wanted it to as he kissed you over and over again and his lips glued themselves to yours in the dark.

Scott began to pull back, letting his teeth catch your bottom lip as he separated himself from you and breathed in deeply. He didn’t bother filling in the space with words before he returned his lips to yours and releasing his grip on you to move you freely.

You accepted the release on your face. You tipped your head backwards into the seat, swallowing the sounds of your throat before they could form actual words. Scott’s hands lingered down your body; squeezing and soothing the path to your thighs as he pushed your legs apart and glided you into his lap as seamlessly as he could in a truck like his.

Using the leverage the heigh above him gave, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and your fingers found his hair quickly. Scott’s hat had long gone from his head and the sweat of the borders heat was making itself known on the base of his neck.

Scott guided your hips to ground down onto him. Holding you still on him, he caressed your back and massaged his hands to your ass—the move pulling you further into him and the erection growing in his pants.

You were curious to grind your hips against him. Moving in a figure eight, you let his hands guide you in motions that fostered a growing wetness in your underwear as Scott’s tongue found purchase inside of your mouth. You hummed in content while the further motions of your hips and the pressure of his hands were driving you crazy.

The normal necessary preparation wouldn’t be needed if he kept it up. You’d be long a goner if Scott just simply took control and led the way for your bliss.

He removed his hands from your ass and slowly transitioned them to your hips. One of them broke free and rested in a position he’d never placed it in—at the bottom of your stomach. You didn’t stop kissing him or moving or even questioned his motives when he did so because you were just so damn occupied with the man like putty in your hands.

It could have been the buttons of your pants or to grasp the fabric between his palm but when it didn’t move, you began to wonder more than just what was going on beneath his pants. It was curious and concerning, stalling and breaking everything you had been doing as you pulled away from him.

“What?” You asked breathlessly.

Scott wet his lips, shaking his head absentmindedly yet you could see in the darkness that whatever was going through his mind didn’t reach his eyes.

“Nothing,” he replied.

“Are you—“

Scott cut you off only to capture your lips again. He weaved a hand to the back of your head and grunted as you lifted slightly off his lap and back down. Tilting your head at an angle that suited him, he deepened the kiss, ravishing you in ways you can recall ever being kissed.

It was different. It was like a switch went off but while his hands groped at you and his tongue dominated yours, it was still… vanilla.

When his lips conveniently caught the edge of your mouth and not your lips, he trailed kisses down the column of your neck and felt at the fabric of your clothes.

“Scott,” you said with a huff. “Are we going to get off like two fucking teenagers or are you going to fuck me?"

His teeth grazed the side of your neck, pulling the skin in irritation at your command. He was the asshole, he did the ordering.

Scott moved his head back to look at you. You had a sheen in your eyes that told him what you wanted; silently pleading for him to get on with it and let you seek the pleasure you wanted but all he could really think of is a thought that popped into his head that morning.

He knew he was going to see you and ultimately the collision would end up with the two of you sweating like dogs somewhere because you just couldn’t stop yourselves from making up for lost time.

The time factor of it caused his mind to go on its own tangent. Sitting in the passenger seat of the truck made him think of his bland childhood and family and somehow, it landed to you—suddenly eclipsed with the idea of children and you.

You and children; you pregnant with his child; you full of only him.

And then he had to get his rocks off in a gas station bathroom because he couldn’t stop imagining what you’d look like growing his kid.

Scott shifted his hands to the front of your body, squeezing down on your breasts. They’d be double the size if you were pregnant.

Those thoughts brought him no shame.

But he didn’t answer you. He was in rapture sitting there and staring at you while your brows furrowed and buried in confusion.

“Scott?”

He squeezed again. Running a soothing palm over your tits in relief, his eyes flipped up to meet yours. You could feel his breath deepening on your face.

“Sc-“

“I want to fill you up.”

Your head tweaked in surprise.

“W-what?” You stuttered at him. He hadn’t let go of your breasts, just sat there with his hands on them. You’d never seen Scott entranced by you before.

“Let me finish in you,” he proposed seriously. You’d never not used a condom before, you’d never had this kind of conversation because he’d never been one to indicate that this situation was more than a “good time” or “stress relief.”

“You want to come in me?”

The hand on your stomach, the lingering feel of your tits.

“Oh,” you mumbled. “Well we’ve never…”

“I know,” he grumbled as though this entire conversation was killing the boner in his pants. He was still prodding at your ass so in your mind, whatever he was imagining wasn’t leading him to not fucking you.

“I don’t think I’m ready for a kid yet, Scott.”

“No,” he shook his head and finally moved his hands away from you to rest at your waist. “That’s not—no. You can take a pill or whatever but can you see it?”

The picture he paints is a vivid one.

And one you hadn’t thought to imagine with anyone you’d been with before.

“Baby,” he started, “I can’t fucking get it out of my head. You, all round and full of me. You fucking body would look…” he gripped at your waist. “And your tits… fuck me, sweetheart. You’d be the sexiest fucking thing on the planet I swear to god and I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“S-“

“Haven’t you wanted to feel me? Really feel me? Not with any of that rubber bullshit to get in the way. How good I’d feel inside of you and how good you’d feel when I’d leak out of you.”

You let out the smallest gasp at his words—Scott had never been this blatant before. Condescending, rude, even, but not so willing to speak his mind beyond a standard porn-dictionary of lingo.

“Let’s try it, hm?” He hummed. His hands worked the bottom of your top, fingers grazing your skin. “One time and if you fuckin’ hate it, then I won’t bring it up again."

“I didn’t say I would hate it,” you helped him remove your top. “You just didn’t let me get any words out.”

Scott smiled in the slightest. A winning smirk forming on his face as his fingers worked the clasp of your bra efficiently. You slid the straps from your arms and tugged at the bottom of his shirt, Storm Par emblem patched to the right above his chest.

“I don’t mind it,” you clarified. In fact, you were more than enticed by the idea. You loved when he left his mark in different ways—a burn from his stubble between your thighs, a hickey or three in places your clothes wouldn’t expose on the camera.

What more was marking his territory in a hypothetical way?

You sat up on your knees on either side of him. Your head barely skimmed the roof of the truck and the logistics of how you’d do this in the vehicle weren’t important—it was the what. Looking into his eyes, you tilted your head to the side as he unbuttoned your bottoms.

“What if I want you to claim me?” You questioned. “Make me so fucking full of you that I can’t hold anyone else, only you.”

“No one else,” he warned.

Scott helped slide your bottoms and underwear down quickly.

“You wanna put a baby in me, huh?” You cooed at him. Naked in full, you took the charge of releasing him from his jeans and allowing him to help shimmy them down his legs. His cock laid heavy, perched tall and sloping towards his thigh.

You leaned forward, feet finding purchase on his thick thighs as he cupped your ass and groped further. You took him in one of your hands and began to pump him slowly. Too slowly in his own terms but the words kept tumbling from your lips. So wanton, needy.

“What if I want you to?” Biting on your lip, you teased his tip with your thumb. Swiping it over and gathering a bit of wetness he’d long released in excitement.

“Get me all full and big and round with your baby. How I’d be so goddamn horny all the time and wanting to fuck everywhere. And my tits,” you pushed yourself up a bit on your knees. The breasts he admired pert and alert against his bare chest. “With all that milk? And you could help me make them feel so so fucking good.”

You have him your best doe eyes.

“What do you say, honey?”

Scott move fingers to your cunt to gauge your readiness. You were dripping for him. Soaked to the point where all he had to do was swipe two fingers through your core and gather the wetness at the tips. He crudely brought them to your lips and you offered a silent plea. You sucked on them, tasting your spent.

“I’m gonna fuck you, baby, and when we’re done, your gonna want a fucking kid so badly that you’ll be begging me for one.”

You guided his dick to your entrance and sank down on him. Relishing the stretch and stuttering breath you released every inch of progress that he made inside. It was always so sweet, so perfect of a feeling that it made you want to make him love you forever so you’d never forget the feeling. An eternity of loving an unlovable fucker who knew how to hit all of your buttons in the most wonderful of ways.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasped as he bottomed out and filled you to the brim. Scott grunted and his hold was bruising. He was incredibly enamored at the sentiment of you giving in to his vision that he couldn’t help but seek control now that he had you in the palm of his hand.

You get felt plush and smooth, different than what he was familiar with under the protection of a Trojan. Scott knew you sensed it too; the deeper hold each one held on the other and the way your jaw didn’t fully close at your gasps.

“You feel so good, baby,” he groaned. He helped lift your hips as you settled, pulling himself out of your warmth for the coolness of the car to hit the slick that now covered his length generously. “You feel so fucking good.”

“Gotta fuck me, Scott,” you closed your eyes as he pulled you back down and then again, up and down, up and down. The hairs on your head barely grazed the rooftop in his careful hands yet all you could feel was the need to let go. “You gotta fuckin’ give it to me.”

“Yeah?” He grunted with his teeth.

Averting to deep, harsh thrusts, Scott could only do as you please. The control was leaving him.

“Let me give it to you,” he spoke. “Let me give you a baby and you’ll be so drunk off me you won’t want another fucking cock in your life.”

Rutting in and out, his dick filled your pussy to the brim. Completely losing sight of what was right, left or center, you were far gone sooner than you thought.

“So tight for me,” Scott kept his verbal assurance going. “Oh, you fuckin’ feel that?”

Your legs quivered in strain. Muscles taught from sitting and working them intently stung hotly. You shook before an orgasm had even reached you—but you could feel it building.

“Yes,” you moaned into the air. “Shit.”

He admired the loss of your sensibility. Scott chuckled, growling in a way you hadn’t hear and didn’t think he could do. There was something so pornographic about him here; new and awakening like a part of him had been discovered after a shitty wet dream he garnered in his mind.

You have a high-pitched squeak as a particular thrust sent you reeling. It was becoming unrelenting. Over and over and over he pounded into you and it was starting to become numb with wait. Your slick was sent down your open legs, wetting the sides of where yours met the tops of his thighs and your feet had lost feeling a long time ago.

The windows of the car began to steam up like a movie. A handprint on the back window, it slid with friction every time you tried to readjust it.

He felt so good inside of you.

“S-sc-“ you couldn’t get his name out. The only sounds were wordless grunts and moans and nothing else.

“Hold on, baby,” he spat. He pumped hard and harder until the sound of skin slapping together and meeting in a drenched spot became all too loud. “Hold on, baby. You’re gonna wait for me, wait for me.”

You tried so hard. Legs shaking and nerves ready to burst, you could barely handle the way your hands trembled at the sensation. The utter relief of a strong finish looming ahead and yet, he wouldn’t let it happen until he’d come too.

But Scott was never far behind—you liked to believe it was your superpower.

“Not yet,” he grunted. “Don’t you fuckin’ come yet, sweetheart. We’re gonna do this together, yeah? Me and you—but fuck two of you would be fucking amazing baby.”

Not two of you to have sex with—two of you both to love and nurture.

“I-I’m gonna come, S-Scott, fuck me,” you barely choked out. “Come with me, please. Come on. Make me so full.”

And in a couple thrusts he spilled inside of you. You met him there at the precipice; towers crumbling around you as the shattered glass at your feet tingled in the absence of true feeling. Everything was a blur, one hot white light.

It was the best goddamn orgasm you’d ever had.

Your hands shook as much as your legs were. It was like a fucking exorcism took place and you were finding yourself again. Scott jutted his hips into you, burying his cock as far as he could go as the vice grip of your cunt swallowed every piece that he gave.

His head fell onto you chest. Hair stringy with sweat and the slick of beads that he met on your chest were more comforting than he thought they’d be. You twisted your fingers into his hair as he held onto you. Hands finding a more respectable spot around your waist and up your back, Scott hugged you tightly to him.

Even in the event of discovering a new kink, Scott’s mind kept that painting of a future locked in safety—away from the shit he did on a daily basis and away from you because every time it was brought up or found itself again in the bedroom or the tub or the floor or the couch, he was left wanting more.

The awkward trips down the Walgreens aisle and asking the workers to open the Plan B locked behind glass was too much.

He wanted to make it a reality. He wanted you to make him fall in love and down the line, maybe he’d have two of you to love in different ways.

Thanks so much for reading and as always, likes, but most importantly reblogs and comments keep writers writing. I appreciate you taking the time out of your day to escape with me—enjoy!

#Scott miller x reader #twisters #twisters 2024 #scott x reader #x reader #twisters x reader #scott miller #scott twisters #scott twisters x reader #david corenswet #kinktober #kinktober 2024 #fanfic #fanfiction #x female reader

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yourownutopia · 12 days ago

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Ultraviolent Heart

╰┈➤You know how it ends. From the very beginning, you carried that knowledge like an inescapable burden, a quiet ache that shaped your every choice. Yet you stayed—for him. Jin Woo—your confidant, your light in a world of darkness—could never walk with you to the very end. But you couldn't take it anymore. It was too much to bear. So, you leave - knowing your place by his side was never meant to last.

Left behind is Jin Woo, with questions no one will answer and a gaping void where your presence once was. You are gone, and yet the emptiness you leave lingers longer than any memory. ༊*·˚

Crywolf - ULTRAVIOLENT [adrenochrome] ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚--~

Your heart is torturing me.

Knock.

The dull sound of his fist striking hard stone echoed through the air.

Once—not too hard.

Twice—with more force.

Three times—before the rigid concrete wall could no longer withstand the immense power of the Shadow Monarch. Cracks spread across the structure, and where solid stone once stood, now a large, gaping hole remained, with Jin Woo’s hand at its center—much like the gaping hole in his heart.

The overwhelming anger he felt threatened to consume him entirely. Beru flinched violently, fear creeping up his limbs as his master’s eyes glowed dangerously. He had brought bad news—perhaps the worst Jin Woo had received in a long time.

"Search more thoroughly."

The black-haired man’s voice cut through the silence like his blades through flesh. Yet, despite his usual composed demeanor, his voice quivered with rage.

Beru wanted to point out that it was a pointless endeavor. If you were still there, he would have already found you. But his master would not accept that answer.

"Yes, my king," Beru replied reverently before retreating into the shadows, leaving Jin Woo alone in his fury.

This couldn’t be true. No one could simply vanish without a trace. And yet, it seemed that was exactly what had happened.

A thousand miles an hour again.

It had been a week, and none of his shadows could locate you. Even the Hunter’s Association had been unable to find any information about your current whereabouts. There wasn’t even a hint that you had left the country.

But giving up the search would mean it was over. It would mean that a part of him was gone forever and that the memories you shared were nothing more than illusions.

He clung to the last shred of hope he had because, no matter how furious he was with you, he desperately wanted answers.

And all that stays with me

How could you do this to him? He had trusted you so much, and you had abandoned him in the most cowardly way possible—without a word. No goodbye, no note, no message—as if you had never existed. And with that, you had torn a massive hole in his heart.

The anger began to ebb, only to be replaced with a suffocating fear—a fear that had gripped him time and time again in recent days.

Is the fear inside my gut.

It felt as though he was bleeding out, choking, drowning in place. As though his heart was overflowing with pain, longing for your warmth and softness, and all the things he had never been able to say—the things you had denied him. The fear that he would soon no longer remember you gnawed at his soul.

Memories were all he had left of you, yet even they were beginning to fade. What did your voice sound like again? Your beautiful face, once so vivid in his mind, was now blurring. Were you only a beautiful dream from which he had now awakened?

You're the fear inside my gut -‘๑’-

Two years had passed since you had been pulled into this world—the world you knew so well, almost like the back of your hand. The world that had accompanied you through so many sleepless nights as you eagerly read each chapter on your smartphone.

But just as you were about to finish the story, with the last chapter ahead of you, the universe intervened. You were pulled into the story yourself, long before Jin Woo set foot in the double dungeon.

You became Player 2. The system welcomed you like an old friend, and you quickly adapted. At first, you wanted to return home, but the system refused your departure with a single window:

[You can only leave the game when you truly want to.]

And, evidently, you didn’t truly want to leave. You wanted to stay, to experience firsthand the world you had come to know so well. And so, you stayed—with the goal of making life a little easier for Jin Woo, as though that was your purpose.

Starting as a C-rank mage with a few healing spells, you participated in every raid Jin Woo was involved in, which quickly made you friends. He had admired your strength from the beginning, just as you had admired his courage and determination.

Unfortunately, you couldn’t always lend him a helping hand. Every time something story-relevant occurred, no matter how you tried to intervene, it would inevitably happen anyway—only the timing or the path there would show minor deviations.

Whenever this happened, the system would display a message:

[The story will not change.]

The system made it painfully clear that you had no influence over key story elements. And though you had never had issues with the system before, these moments felt like mockery—a cruel reminder of your limitations.

No matter how heavy your heart felt or how deeply you wished you could change things, events unfolded as they were meant to. Ultimately, all you could do was make Jin Woo’s journey a little lighter, which he accepted with gratitude. The two of you were like light and shadow—one could not exist without the other.

You’ve been my reason to breathe

Not only were you an incredible team in battle, your abilities complementing one another seamlessly, but everyone who knew you—or even those who didn’t—could see that you belonged together. He trusted you; you were the light in his life. The lifeline that kept him from drowning in a sea of darkness. The one who reminded him he was still human whenever he no longer felt like one. The one who had held his trembling hands whenever he needed it—even after those hands had taken lives.

You were the one who stayed with him through so many nights, just to keep him from being alone with himself. The one his shadows respected and whom Beru grandly referred to as "his queen."

His shadows had known from the start how Jin Woo felt about you. But he feared telling you, terrified that it might drive you away. No heartbreak in the world could compare to the thought of you no longer by his side.

Of course, you had noticed, probably much sooner than anyone else. How his behavior changed—how his cheeks would flush whenever you complimented him. How he sought your company more often, how his voice would falter when you came close. Things that had always been intimate but normal between you suddenly left him flustered.

How deeply you wished you could give in to it, but you knew better. There was no happy ending for the two of you. You knew it, and the system knew it—perhaps that’s why it had never responded to his advances. Only Jin Woo remained blissfully unaware, while you locked your feelings away and buried them deep.

The gravity that pulls me in

Despite your efforts to keep him at arm’s length—to keep yourself at arm’s length—those moments grew more frequent. Moments when your gazes lingered a second too long or his hugs lasted just a little longer than necessary. Moments when his hand found yours, and your fingers intertwined. Moments when the two of you lay side by side, silently watching the stars, just to have an excuse to share the night.

It was almost impossible to push him away when he looked at you with such tenderness, smiling at you as though you were all he needed. The thought that the two of you didn’t have a chance began to fade into the background, and as long as the system didn’t intervene, everything felt fine.

I can't escape the weight of your ultraviolent heart

Until that day.

-‘๑’-

The Jeju Island raid had been about two weeks ago, and life had returned to normal. People mourned the fallen S-Rank hunters but celebrated the victory of reclaiming the island. You hadn’t participated in the raid yourself, only watched from a distance—at least until the moment when Hunter Cha was injured and Jin-Woo rushed to her aid.

The thought sent a pang straight to your gut.

What disgusting and pathetic thoughts to have. After all, Cha had nearly died—you knew that all too well. And yet, you struggled to ignore the stabbing pain in your chest, which worsened when she showed up at the guild's office building.

As usual, when there was nothing to do, you lay sprawled on the couch, your head resting lazily on Jin-Woo's lap while he scrolled through his phone.

At first, Jinho had been a little taken aback by the closeness between you two. But he’d quickly adjusted to the fact that his two best friends behaved like a couple—despite not being one.

Suddenly, a knock came at the door, and Jinho looked up from his computer.

You were momentarily confused before realization struck. You’d spent so many days here that you’d completely forgotten about when Hae-In was supposed to arrive. If it were up to you, you would’ve bolted; the less interaction with her, the better. But that would’ve raised too many questions.

You felt Jin-Woo shift, and you immediately sat up, unwilling to give the wrong impression. The black-haired man gave you a confused look as your warmth left his lap—though he made no move to get up himself.

“Who could that be?” Jinho asked, heading toward the door. You could already hear her soft voice as he opened it.

“Is this Mr. Sung’s office?” she asked quietly. When the door opened fully, all eyes fell on the blonde beauty in the doorway.

She wasn’t just pretty; she was immensely strong. Not stronger than you, but far more graceful in everything she did. She was perfect in every way, much to your dismay.

Her eyes widened briefly when she saw you, but she quickly masked her surprise with a polite cough.

Jin-Woo had now risen as well, his gaze cool and appraising as he looked at the young Hunter whose life he’d saved.

“What brings you here, Miss Cha?” he asked, his tone cold—devoid of the softness he reserved for you.

The blonde hesitated for a moment before stating that she wanted to join the guild.

Jin-Woo’s expression didn’t change, though Jinho looked like he’d just been hit with a bombshell.

This wasn’t a surprise to you, of course, but the words still felt like a blow to the stomach.

Less than five minutes later, you found yourself sitting across from Hae-In on the sofa. Jin-Woo sat beside you, once again asking why she was there. The blonde reiterated her desire to join the guild, causing Jin-Woo to frown in confusion as she sipped nervously on a cola. She dismissed his speculations, her cheeks growing redder with every passing moment as she avoided eye contact.

It was almost ironic how Jin-Woo, despite his overwhelming senses, had no clue that Hae-In was flustered. Of course, you knew better. She wanted to be near him because, unlike others, he smelled good and intrigued her. And you had to accept that.

When her face turned beet red and she began fanning herself nervously, Jin-Woo paused and asked again why she was going to such lengths to join the guild.

“I want to live a comfortable life. Is that so wrong?” she replied softly.

Jinho popped up behind you, whispering, “The Hunters Guild must’ve overworked her.”

Jin-Woo’s eyes darted to you, silently asking a question: What do you think?

Of course, you hated the idea. You didn’t want to lose him to her—but what could you do?

Your contemplative expression and brief hesitation were all Jin-Woo needed. He turned back to Hae-In and rejected her request.

Your eyes widened, staring in disbelief at the black-haired man. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go—the conversation wasn’t over yet.

Hae-In lowered her head, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

“I understand,” she murmured, looking utterly dejected.

Panic surged through you. What was happening? A deviation?

“W-wait!” you blurted out, drawing everyone’s attention. Hae-In’s gaze flickered with hope, while Jin-Woo raised an inquisitive brow.

“P-please give us five minutes, Miss Cha,” you said, quickly standing and grabbing Jin-Woo’s hand to drag him into the adjacent room.

Almost disappointed when you released his hand, Jin-Woo looked at you as the door closed behind you.

“Why are you doing this?” you asked, hands on your hips.

He seemed genuinely confused by your question.

“What?”

“Why are you rejecting her?!” you demanded.

Jin-Woo shrugged, his expression indifferent.

“I don’t want her in the guild,” he said flatly, his gray eyes avoiding yours.

He wanted to tell you that you were more than enough for him—that she was unnecessary. But saying so might’ve been too much in this situation.

“This is a one-time opportunity!” you argued, hoping he’d use his brain for once.

“I have you. We don’t need anyone else,” he countered, his cheeks tinged pink.

What the hell was he saying?

No, things couldn’t go this way—it would disrupt the entire timeline. Your thoughts spiraled.

“Then… have her fight Beru!” you blurted out. Jin-Woo stared at you, dumbfounded.

“And why would I do that? She’ll lose,” he said, still not understanding why this mattered so much to you.

“Then it’s a win-win. She doesn’t feel rejected, and you… get rid of her.”

He seemed to consider your words for a moment. From his shadow, the winged ant manifested.

“What do you think?” Jin-Woo asked.

The insect clicked its mandibles excitedly.

“Kekeke, that’s a wonderful idea, my queen,” it replied, clearly far too enthusiastic.

Why could you understand it? No clue. It was probably because you were also a Player, and Jin-Woo had drilled it into Beru from the start that he should listen to you as well. Besides, you liked him—and he liked you.

You looked expectantly at the Shadow Monarch, whose lips curved into a smile as he turned back to you.

“If it makes you happy,” he said, placing a hand on your head. A soft blush spread across your cheeks.

-‘๑’-

"Why the hell?!" you asked the moment your feet touched solid ground again.

You, Jin-Woo, and Hae-In now stood in the middle of the training arena. You hadn’t wanted to be part of this situation in the first place, and when the black-haired man had pulled the blonde closer, it had sent a sharp pain through your chest. You wanted to leave. But Jin-Woo had grabbed you by the wrist and brought you here, knowing that words alone wouldn’t convince you to stay. For once, he had chosen to be selfish.

Clearly irritated, you pulled yourself free from his grip and moved away from the two of them, seeking refuge at the edge of the arena. You trusted Beru to avoid accidentally hurting you, but the ant could be reckless in battle.

Jin-Woo watched you walk away, his mouth opening as if to stop you, but you were already storming off. This would have consequences later...

While Jin-Woo and Cha retreated to the armory, you were finally alone with your thoughts for the first time that day. Worry gnawed at you. Everything was unfolding differently than the story you remembered. Was it your fault? Had you interfered too much? If so, why hadn’t the system reacted? And if not... then what was the reason? Something was terribly wrong... but what?

Your mind drifted back to the manhwa, trying to recall the exact details of the events. Yet they eluded you. Meanwhile, the two hunters returned. Cha was now equipped with a weapon, and Jin-Woo stood several meters away. It wasn’t until Beru’s overwhelming aura enveloped your senses that realization struck.

This wasn’t right... She was supposed to face Igris first.

Before you could voice your concerns, the battle had already begun.

The fight went horribly wrong. Beru had lost control, and if Jin-Woo hadn’t stopped him, he would have torn Hae-In apart. The arena lay in ruins, and the black-haired man stood protectively in front of the blonde, while Beru fell to his knees, apologizing profusely.

Slowly, the conversation from the manhwa came back to you. She would tell him that she was interested in him.

I’ve been splintering apart

Badump.

Your heartbeat grew louder in your ears as the other sounds faded into the background.

Badump.

Your heart clenched as your eyes remained fixed on the two of them. They looked good together... too good.

Badump.

Panic slowly but surely crept up your limbs. You didn’t want to be here when she said it. You didn’t want to see it. You didn’t want to face the truth. You had known it all along, but you had willingly ignored it. They were meant to be together.

Badump.

Breaking open from the start

Your breaths became shallow, and your pounding heart grew louder as you watched Hae-In’s cheeks flush pink. Soon, you would see his eyes light up as he realized why Hae-In had taken on all these burdens. The pain in your chest made it hard to breathe, and you felt tears welling up in your eyes.

Badump.

You couldn’t take it anymore.

You didn’t even hear the black-haired man call your name as you bolted out of the arena. The cold air outside whipped against your face.

But you didn’t get far. A warm hand gently grabbed your wrist and pulled you back, forcing you to stop.

“Hey!” His voice was both frustrated and worried—clearly not understanding why you had left without a word.

“Let me go, please,” you said softly, tugging lightly to reinforce your words. But Jin-Woo didn’t loosen his grip. If anything, he held on tighter to keep you from walking away.

You bit your lower lip, holding back tears. You avoided looking at him, unable to face the concern in his eyes.

“Hey... it’s not your fault this happened. I shouldn’t have let her fight him in the first place,” he said, his voice quieter now. Was that it? Did he think you felt guilty?

The evening continued its quiet work, slowly but surely extinguishing all the colors. Deep blue blended with pale orange where the last warriors of the sun made their final stand.

Gates of heaven are closing

Much like your emotions, fighting against the encroaching darkness—the images of the two of them vivid in your mind.

“That’s not it,” you replied, your voice strained.

Jin-Woo’s concerned expression hardened further. Was it... because he had dragged you here against your will?

But that wasn’t it.

Your throat felt tight, and you swallowed hard.

“That wasn’t fair of me... I’m sorry, I—” Jin-Woo began, but when he saw your face, the words caught in his throat.

Your expression was equal parts hurt and angry. Your [E/C] eyes, usually so bright with joy, were brimming with tears.

Why was this idiot here and not with Hae-In? Had he left her standing there? Why was he making it so hard for you to do the right thing?

His eyes widened, and his heart sank into his stomach as he took in your pained expression. What was wrong? What had he done?

“Why aren’t you with her?” you managed to ask, your voice trembling. Jin-Woo reflexively released your wrist in shock. What? Who?

You seized the opportunity and ran, leaving Jin-Woo momentarily speechless as his mind raced.

Did you mean Hae-In? Why should he be with her? That made no sense to him at all.

Until suddenly, realization struck. Could it be that...? No. That couldn’t be it.

He quickly caught up to you, your gaze fixed stubbornly ahead.

“Stop,” his voice was calm, and his tone commanding, but you had no intention of listening.

When you ignored his second plea, he firmly grabbed your wrist once more.

The protest died in your throat as he pulled you into his chest, trapping you in a warm embrace.

What did you do in my head?

His scent filled your nose, and the warmth of his body spread through your limbs as hot tears streamed down your cheeks.

Why?

Jin-Woo held you tightly against him, one hand on your waist—the other buried in your hair.

“Wha—” you began, your voice trembling, but he silenced you with a soft sound.

“Because I want to be with you,” the black-haired man murmured into your hair, before gently pulling you away to look into your eyes.

The cool gray of his eyes softened, as it always did when he spoke to you, catching your [E/C]. But this time, there was nothing playful in his gaze. He was serious.

Jin-Woo noticed the confusion written on your face.

One of his hands found its way to your cheek, a warm tingling spreading across your skin as he cupped your face.

What are you doing?

“You asked me why I’m not with her,” he explained, gently wiping away a tear that had escaped from the corner of your eye. He had never seen you cry before, and he didn’t like the sight. Especially not if he was the reason.

Weren’t you laying in my bed

He had never intended to tell you, but he couldn’t keep it inside any longer. It had to come out. You needed to know how much you meant to him—that she didn’t matter and that you were everything he had ever wanted.

“I just want to be with you,” he repeated, his voice trembling ever so slightly. He leaned down slightly, as if even this close wasn’t close enough. His breathing quickened as the sun’s rays fought valiantly against the darkness creeping over the sky.

Your heart pounded wildly, and your thoughts raced. Your palms grew sweaty, and you felt as though you might faint at any moment. The tension between you was palpable, begging for resolution.

You wanted to bridge the remaining inches, to tell him how you felt—to throw all your plans out the window.

Jin-Woo took a deep breath.

“[Y/N], I lo—”

[The course of the story remains unchanged.]

The window that flickered behind the black-haired man for a fraction of a second was a knife in your heart, now riddled with cracks, as you reflexively pressed a finger to his lips, stopping his sentence.

He fell silent immediately, looking at you in confusion, his heart hammering wildly in his chest. Had he misread the signs after all?

Telling me I was chosen

“Don’t,” you whispered softly—your voice barely audible, but he heard it clearly.

If he said those three words, it would be over—there would be no turning back. If he said those words, you would break. If not now, then eventually—when fate ran its course. Because if you had learned one thing, it was that the system would find a way.

His throat tightened, and his chest constricted.

"I can’t—" you began haltingly, stumbling over your words. You couldn’t think of a single sentence that would make this situation any less painful for him.

You lowered your gaze, feeling Jin-Woo give up. His embrace loosened, and his arms fell limply to his sides.

You didn’t want to do this, but you had no choice. There simply wasn’t a happy ending for the two of you. Happiness together wasn’t meant to be.

Jin-Woo was hurt—he couldn’t believe how wrong he had been.

"I’m so sorry," you whispered before daring to look into his eyes one last time—eyes filled with anguish—before you turned and walked away.

-‘๑’-

The following weeks were quiet. Too quiet.

Jin-Woo and you hadn’t spoken since. Both of you were waiting for the other to take the first step, but neither of you dared to break the uncomfortable silence.

For Jin-Woo, the situation was clear: you didn’t return his feelings and wanted distance, just as much as he did. Yet it still felt wrong.

Your presence had taken over his life; he saw your shadow everywhere. Your absence had left a gaping hole, and the simplest things no longer brought him joy. Even Jinho was dejected. His shadows, too, felt the emptiness your absence had created in his heart—his inner turmoil and recklessness as he threw himself into battles reflected it.

Beru, in particular, wasn’t happy about your absence and kept asking after you until Jin-Woo firmly explained that you wouldn’t be coming back. The insect accepted it, albeit with a heavy heart.

Now I don’t even know you, and that’s the best part of it

Weeks turned into months, and Jin-Woo had regained much of his strength. He had grown more ruthless, focused solely on his goals. He had achieved so much, but none of it mattered if you weren’t there to cheer him on.

Neither the recognition from the Hunter’s Association nor the countless media articles praising him to the skies brought him any satisfaction. It wasn’t your recognition, so he didn’t need it.

He buried his heavy heart behind a wall of indifference, but he realized he was drifting further and further from any semblance of a normal life. He was rarely home, found himself in increasingly precarious situations during battles, and noticed how little he cared.

No matter what he did, nothing could fill the void.

It simply couldn’t go on like this, so he decided to do something he usually resisted.

He resolved to ask Hae-In on a date.

All I know, you’re the only thing that I see in color

While Jin-Woo threw himself into leveling up, you had shut yourself away at home for some time. Jin-Woo’s wounded face was burned into your mind; after all, it was the last thing you had seen of him.

Guilt gnawed at you, sapping your strength and will to move forward.

You had lost weight, only left your home for absolute necessities, and spent most of your time sleeping. You cried so much that you began to believe you had no tears left.

Every fiber of your being missed him.

His voice.

His scent.

His laughter.

Even his reprimanding tone when you and Beru got into trouble.

Everything about him. Your heart cried out for him, whether you were awake or asleep.

This heart is torturing me

A sigh escaped your lips as you stared at your phone screen—the numerous missed calls from Jinho had gradually become fewer, but he never gave up.

More guilt.

But what could you do to fix this? Calling Jin-Woo? Just tell him the truth? Maybe that would be the fairest way…

Countless times, you had typed his number into your phone, only to stop yourself at the last second. The fear that he wouldn’t believe you was too great. Or was it the fear that he would believe you?

You shook your head and stood up. This couldn’t go on. You had to talk to him, at least one last time—to come clean before you returned home.

You couldn’t bear the silence between you anymore.

The only pain I understand

Your eyes widened as you stared at the TV screen. A photo had just appeared on the display—your hands instantly dropped the paper cup you’d been holding, spilling the hot coffee it contained onto the ground.

With your mouth slightly open, you stared at the screen, which was displayed in the shop window of a store you had just been walking past.

You had stopped in your tracks as the image suddenly changed, revealing a paparazzi photo.

It showed Jin-Woo and Hae-In, with his arm around her shoulders.

Maybe it didn’t mean anything—maybe it was all just a big misunderstanding—but in your current state, you didn’t want to hear any of it.

Your heart had already cracked when you had to reject his feelings, but this time it felt as though it had shattered into a thousand pieces.

Your mouth went dry, and you couldn’t form a single coherent thought.

You stared at the picture as if hypnotized.

You half-expected a spiteful inner voice to appear, taunting you and telling you it had been right all along—but it stayed silent.

I can't escape the weight of your ultraviolent heart

You tore your gaze away from the screen, and your legs started moving on their own.

Faster.

Much faster.

As if you could somehow run away from it, as if these images wouldn’t follow you for the rest of your life.

Your body instinctively reacted to the pain in your soul, numbing it.

The pain ebbed away, leaving behind an emptiness that took over, shielding you from breaking down—at least for the moment.

When the door to your apartment finally closed behind you, shutting you away from the public’s eyes, every bullet hit you at once.

Your stomach churned, forcing you to vomit into the sink.

Your body doubled over, and you clung to the edge of the counter until the shaking subsided, until you rinsed your mouth and collapsed to your knees, clutching at your chest in anguish.

Your body trembled uncontrollably as you screamed out the pain you had been holding back for so long. You screamed until your voice grew hoarse, until no words could escape your throat anymore.

How had it come to this? Why had he entered your life if he was never meant to stay? Why was the universe so cruel? What had you done to deserve this?

It’s a poison in my gut

It took an eternity for your body to stop trembling and the sobs to subside. Your tears dried up, your body too exhausted to produce any more.

You sat on the floor, your back against the wall, drained of all strength. Your head throbbed, and every trace of willpower had left your body.

Weakly, you lifted your hand and swiped downward in the air.

[Do you really wish to leave the game?] [Yes] / [No] [Yes]

Jin-Woo woke with a silent scream from his nightmare, his hand outstretched, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. His breath came in ragged gasps as he sat bolt upright in bed, his eyes darting frantically around the room.

A few seconds passed before he realized he was in his bedroom. The full moon shone through his window, bathing everything in silver light.

It was just a dream…a damn nightmare. But it had felt so incredibly real.

His hand clutched at his chest, which ached under the crushing weight of emotion. He had seen your tear-streaked face as you looked at him, whispering a faint, “Goodbye.” Relief washed over him as he realized it had only been a dream. He rubbed his eyes, only to notice the glimmer of tears on his hand under the moonlight.

But it still felt so real - he felt so hollow, as though a giant hole had opened in his chest. As if something was terribly wrong. His mind wandered to you once again, missing the warmth of your Presence once more. He was sure you had seen the News, the speculations and rumors about his relationship with the blonde S-Rank - but they were all false. He only wanted to shield her from the Spotlights, since it was him who dragged her along in the first place. The Date with Hae-In was a welcoming distraction from fighting in a Dungeon, but it felt all wrong. It just made him realize once more, that it was you he wanted by his side - as lovers or friends, he couldn't care less. He just wanted you.

His resolve hardened: tomorrow, he would visit you and ask for your forgiveness, hoping you would be willing to forgive him. Hoping the empty feeling would finally disappear, that he would be whole again.

With that thought in mind, he drifted back to sleep. But the emptiness remained.

You’re the only thing that I see in color.

[to be continued....] ღ ◌ ͙۪۪̥˚┊❛~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ❜┊˚ ͙۪۪̥◌ ღ

Wow, this story just came to me while I was on the bus, listening to music…what can I say—I had to write it down before it was too late!

English isn’t my first language! I hope everything was understandable and legible.

since y'all are just suckers for drama, there will be a part two~ But first, the first chapter of my other Jin Woo x Reader story [Shadowborn] will release next week! stay tuned! The Prologue is already out! Thanks for all reblogs, likes & comments.'*•.¸♡ I really appreciate it <3 ♡¸.•*' ~Utopia ༊*·˚

#Solo leveling #solo leveling x reader #jinwoo sung x reader #angst #jin woo x reader #songfic #one shot

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lokisgoodgirl · 1 year ago

Text

A Quiet Storm [Loki x Reader]

A Link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: A stormy morning and a sleepy Loki in your bed. Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Loki x Female Reader. Established relationship. Mild somnophilia. Light, fluffy smut. (w/c 1.2k)

Wind batters against the windows. It buffets the eighty-seventh story with the strength of a god’s fury, rattling the glass.

Rain sounds like hailstones. It has done for the past twelve hours. And it's beautiful, in a primal sort of way. It lulled you to sleep, alone. But as you try to snuggle deeper into the duvet, you realise that most of it is missing.

Turning, you find a familiar wall of pale muscle. You smile softly. No wonder you felt so safe in the storm. He came in at some point during the night, careful not to wake you. But despite his good intentions, Loki is a chronic bedsheet thief. Always has been.

Dull light makes a faint line across his body, from his neck and over the thick of his back. Loki’s hair spreads against his pillow like ink on fresh towels, curling and winding its tendrils into every available space. Your nose traces the sharp line of one shoulder-blade, inhaling the warmth that lingers on his skin.

He showered. Steve said it might be a messy one last night.

The god is facing away from you, one leg draped over the other, bedsheets trapped between his thighs. The room is cold, and the more you awaken, the more you notice the ripple of goose-bumps bristling up your calves.

Loki is fast asleep, that’s plain enough. The portion of his torso visible above the sheets is rising and falling steadily. Peacefully.

Rain slaps against the glass, another gust of winter gale howling around the panes. Without looking, you know that one arm will be tucked under his pillow, the other bent at a way that makes his triceps bulge in that effortlessly sensual way. You place a sleepy kiss between his shoulders, no more than an angels touch. And with all the care you can muster, you try to tug the sheets in your direction.

Loki stirs, groaning with unintelligible annoyance. You snuggle closer, squashing your cheek against the hard expanse of his back. Fingers creep tentatively over the ridges of his abdomen, pausing to ghost the solid dent of his obliques. His breaths rise and fall in undisturbed slumber.

The hand comes to rest in the centre of his chest. You can feel his heartbeat, the same as your own. One leg rises and slips beneath the sheet he hoards, your thigh finding its home against his hipbone. Loki’s perfect ass presses against your lower belly, the increasing heat from your exposed sex millimetres from his skin. One calf lies flush against his, bent at an angle. Tangled over him. “Mornhnigk.” he grumbles sweetly, voice thick with sleep.

He’s not awake, not really. You smile against his neck, closing your eyes.

Nuzzling into his hair, you appreciate that this is the god you see. This is the Loki you see. The one who feels safe in your bed. The one who feels safe in your love.

Another kiss finds its way pressed against his hair. You nose rogue strands aside, capturing the edge of his delicate earlobe between your lips with a gentle sigh. He smells so good, like fresh cotton and your shower-gel.

He came straight here, you think, heart skipping as you imagine him striding from the Quinjet in darkness and making a beeline for your apartment. Stripping off in your bathroom, not his own. His leathers a tangled heap on your hallway floor, no doubt. He came straight home.

Irresistible. That's what he is. Even if you wanted to leave him be, not touch him, adore him, you don't think you could. The quiet storm of love you have for him rages inside you with all the ferocity of the one outside. Unstoppable. Undeniable.

Loki’s back arches slightly as he works his face deeper into the pillow. It presses his muscular ass into your crotch. Your fingers slip down his stomach, pads catching on the silken trail of fine hairs leading towards his groin. Heat increases as you move closer to his centre, radiating from his skin. Suddenly aware of how cold your hands must be, you flinch as the head of his cock brushes your pinky. The tip is slightly wet.

He’s usually horny as hell when he comes back from missions. It must have taken all his willpower not to wake you. Or at least resist the urge to hold you, burying his erection between the curve of your cheeks. The thought of his gentlemanly resistance makes your stomach flip with desire.

A small sigh escapes him as you trail a solitary digit up his velvet cock, tall and strong against his stomach. You’ll never get used to how soft the skin is. Chalk and cheese to the way he can make you cum as he rails you masterfully with the force of a wild tempest. The finger catches on the thick vein that runs to the root, and you play with it, grazing up and down its route with a ghost-like touch. Loki sighs again, shoulder-blades twitching.

Needy fingers wrap around his girth, squeezing gently.

Loki purrs. A low, rumbling sound which chimes with the patter of raindrops against glass. His cock twitches in your hold, eager for his mistress’s adoration as you trace your delicate grip to the tip. The god’s hips thrust lightly into your hold, rocking himself deeper into the tantalisingly pleasure his sleeping form finds itself. His foreskin gathers beneath your fingers as you massage gently, before sliding it back down.

Loki gasps. The mattress shifts as your lover’s waking body turns with care, shoulder muscles clenching as he pushes up against the bed and lays on his back. One of his hands stretches up and slides behind his head while your own continues its slow pump of his swollen cock beneath the covers. So slowly, back and forth.

He blinks several times, watching the work of your hand before his sultry stare finds your own. His eyes flash, still hooded from dreams. “Did you miss me?” he asks groggily, knowing the answer. Loki leans forward, kissing you deep. His warm tongue searches your own, strands of his wild hair sticking to your lips. You can feel his lower body clench and jolt as your strokes grow firmer, his left hand itching against the sheets as he clenches and unclenches a fist.

A particularly ferocious wave of wind slaps against the window, making you flinch. Your hand grips his cock even tighter, making him hiss with pleasure.

As you loosen, Loki’s brow furrows in feigned pity. “Are you scared, little one?” he purrs. It’s tipped with loving condescension in that filthy way that only he could muster. “Do you need a big, strong god to to protect you as the realm’s elements rage?” You bite your lip to stifle a smile, nodding. “So scared,” you confirm in a girlish whisper. Loki sniffs, raising his chin. He looks down from half-lidded eyes, un-styled locks of curl falling around his jaw. “Come then,” he utters, moving the hand behind his head to pat your pillow. “We must ensure you are thoroughly...protected.” You squirrel down in to the blankets, facing away from him while he draws you near. His throbbing cock pulses against your ass, against your thighs, searching kisses working a trail up the curve of your neck.

“I will always protect you,” he mutters earnestly as you feel a hand slip between your bodies.

The crown of his manhood slides against your entrance, slipping against wetness. He hums contentedly, nudging the tip as you clench around air. Loki's body melts against yours like a finger dipped in wax. His abdominal muscle pulses against your back as he tries to steady his breaths.

In moments, a dark moan floods your ear as he squeezes inside. The feeling of peace is immediate. Loki stills, breathing softly against your skin.

“Always,” he groans quietly as he bottoms out.

He only withdraws an inch with every careful thrust, rocking you gently as you move against him. With him. You’re vaguely aware of his dexterous fingers toying with a nipple, the suck of his kiss on your neck, the happy sounds of your own moans as he fucks you in rippling waves.

All the world dissolves. All you hear is the white noise of his loving praise. His delicate pleasures. Safety.

All there is, is him. And outside, the storm rages on.

Tags (contd in comments)

@lokischambermaid @meowmeow-motherfucker @gigglingtiggerv2 @imalovernotahater @littledark11 @lokikissesmyforehead @simplyholl @fictive-sl0th @thedistractedagglomeration @loopsisloops @glitchquake @holdmytesseract @jaidenhawke @fandxmslxt69 @morriggannlostinfandoms @marygoddessofmischief @sebstanwhore @xorpsbane @peacefulpianist @yelkmelk @mistress-ofmagic @acidcasualties @ozymdias @your-taste-on-my-lips @lokidokieokie @kikster606 @peachyjinx @tbhiddlestan83 @trickster-maiden @skymoonandstardust @justjoanne242 @thenotoriouserg @ladyofthestayingpower @brittbax @smolvenger @liminalpebble @joyful-enchantress @kaleenjackson @fictional-hooman @kellatron55 @icytrickster17 @multifandom-worlds @buttercupcookies-blog

#loki x reader #loki smut #loki laufeyson #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki x reader smut #loki x female reader #loki x you #loki x you smut #loki x yn #loki odinson #lokismut #loki oneshot #loki fluff #loki gifs #loki (marvel)#loki x f!reader #loki laufeyson smut

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wildsaltair · 3 months ago

Text

Tender Fires

Pairing: Maximus Decimus Meridius x reader

Rating: T (hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, with a few hints of spice)

Word Count: 6.4k

Tag List: @enjisbf, @nasatshirts, @empressenchanted, @streets-in-paradise, @xiscamoony, @aelondrias

Author’s Note: I'm back with another Maximus fic! This is actually part of a larger narrative in which Maximus escapes the execution attempt and ends up at reader's farm, where she tends his wounds and they fall in love but have to fight their feelings because he intends to leave to keep her safe. As always, this fic is written from the deepest longings of my lovestruck heart, and I hope that love is obvious :) Thank y'all so much for your kind words about the last fic, and I hope you enjoy this one!!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“You’re up late.”

At your words, Maximus turns his head to look at you, and a soft smile crosses his lips. His features are etched in shadow, flickering with the dancing firelight.

He’s seated in front of your kitchen fire, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, gazing deep into the flames as if searching for some hidden meaning within. You would never have known he was in here if you had not been awakened by the loud cracks of thunder outside and come in search of the warmth of the fire.

An autumn storm, a midnight fire, and the most captivating man you have ever known, dressed only in his plain white sleeping tunic. It seems like a combination intended to lure you into trouble.

As you move to sit in the chair beside him, he looks back into the hearth, a smile still tugging at the corner of his lips. “I have stayed awake staring at many fires in my life,” he tells you quietly, his voice deep and thoughtful.

Out of the corner of your eye, you risk a glance at him, looking for the scar on his ribs. He has been with you for a little more than two weeks now, helping you with odd jobs around the farm as his strength returns. His wounds, though still vulnerable, have healed quickly, and you are relieved to see no signs of further injury on the parts of his skin that you can see.

“As have I,” you reply, eyes still lingering on him. “Though for me, it has always been the same fire. This one.”

He hums in response, nodding slightly. You have never sat by this fire together at night, and you are bewitched by the way the light dances over him, makes his golden skin shimmer. The lines of his arms and shoulders are limned in shadow, the firelight flickering on his handsome features.

You are overcome with a desire to put your hands on him, to feel the heat of his skin and the strength of his body, but you cast your gaze on the fireplace instead.

“I envy you that,” he answers softly, after a short reflection. He glances up at you, studying you intently. “A home fire, always burning in the same place.”

The meaning of his words is not lost on you.

Every day, the thought of him leaving you is more painful. At the moment, as you sit close enough to listen to him breathing, the thought is unbearable. Your home is his home now, and you long — more than you have ever longed for anything — for him to realize that he belongs here.

His shadowed eyes search yours a moment more, then return to gazing at the flames.

You take a deep, steadying breath to calm yourself. Your hands are trembling, and you smooth them over your skirt, hoping he does not notice how nervous you are from this simple interaction.

“Tea?” you ask quickly, pushing yourself to stand and get a bit of space between the two of you.

He glances up again, and your heart clenches at the gentleness in his expression. He nods. “Thank you.”

Have his eyes ever seemed so wide, so earnest? Are you imagining the way his gaze lingers on you, drinking in every detail of the way you move?

You can feel the tension in the room thickening, your own heart beating faster as you fill the kettle with water and set the tea leaves to brewing. Somehow, sharing space with this man is so much more intimate at night, with a storm raging outside and a warm fire bringing extra heat to the atmosphere.

Even more astonishing to you is the fact that you are not afraid of this powerful soldier. He is strong enough to do anything he wishes to you, to take whatever he obviously wants. But even now, standing here in your night shift, with your hair and your defenses down, you have no fear of him.

If anything, you wish he would initiate a touch, a kiss, anything that would lead to the passion that has been haunting your dreams every night.

Such as your dream last night. You can still feel the sensation of your body thoroughly tangled with his, your limbs entwined, his hands pulling your skirt up to your waist. Your cheeks burn when you remember all the places he kissed in your dream, all the places he touched and explored and pleasured. Such thoughts make you ache all over again, especially now that you are standing so close to him.

A blinding crack of lightning, followed by the roar of thunder, pulls you from the dream-memory of his mouth hot on your throat.

To distract yourself from such dangerous thoughts, you ramble on the first topic you can think of. “My father used to tell me stories beside this fire,” you announce as you hang the kettle over the fire and settle back into the chair beside him. You don’t dare meet his eyes, even as a smile crosses your lips at the memory. “I always begged him to tell me ghost stories even though they frightened me.”

He tilts his head to the side to look at you curiously, a smile of his own playing at his lips. “What kind of ghosts do you have in these parts?” he asks, leaning on one arm of the chair to look at you more squarely.

Somehow, having his full attention focused on you is unnerving, undoing, arousing. You can hardly find the words to speak.

His eyes are still on your face as you feel a deep blush burning in your cheeks. You hope he will attribute it to the warmth of the fire, not your intense reaction to the way he gazes at you. If he only knew how much more heated you are by his presence.

“My favorite is the Howling Woman,” you blurt out, glad that your voice is not as unsteady as you feared. “She wears all gray, with her head covered. She’s been seen in these mountains for decades.”

He does not interrupt you, but your breath catches as his gaze wanders across your face. An absent smile is still on his lips, and he seems to be content to simply watch you, to let his eyes trace the lines of your face, your neck, your hair where it tumbles over your shoulders. His gaze is searching, admiring.

How will you find the strength to hide your desire when one look from him could bring you to your knees?

Clenching your jaw and willing the kettle to boil faster, you continue your story determinedly. “They say she was the wife of a farmer who was killed after being thrown from his horse. She found him with his neck broken.” You pause, still breathless from the effects of his undivided attention. “She went mad and drowned her own children. When she came to her senses and realized what she had done, she walked into the wilderness to die.”

You wait for him to interject, to ask some clarifying question or comment, but he does not. He is still leaning on the arm of his chair, his dark eyes captivated by the sight of you in the firelight. You can almost sense the way he is actively preventing himself from letting his gaze wander further down — where your shift does little to hide the shape of your figure.

But somehow, his watchfulness is not an act of seduction. He seems genuinely swept up in your story, spellbound by the sound of your voice. He listens to you intently, curiously, and waits for you to continue.

“But to punish her for her crime,” you continue, blushing even harder, “the gods cursed her to wander these mountains and valleys for eternity, never able to die and meet her family in the afterlife.”

It is the sound of your voice, you realize now. His gaze wanders over your features slowly, as if measuring them, but his silence persists the longer you speak. It is as if he cannot bring himself to interrupt you, so captivated as he is by your voice.

“She still walks at night,” you finish, finally allowing yourself to look deep into his eyes. There seems to be no end to them, no way to pull yourself out of the gaze that holds you captive. “She wanders, calling and wailing and howling.”

He swallows hard, licks his lips, though you guess he does so unconsciously. A shiver runs up your spine, and not from your ghost story.

You lean forward, just an inch or so, to finish the story. “They say you can hear her best on a night like this,” you whisper, and the silence between you is so concentrated that you feel you might choke on it.

His gaze flits down to your lips for a moment, and in this flickering firelight, surrounded by warmth and desire, you think he may kiss you.

The silence is broken by a loud crack of thunder outside, one that makes you jump at its suddenness. You both look away, realizing how intently you have been gazing at one another for an inexcusably long amount of time.

The tea in the kettle is boiling at last, and, glad for the distraction, you lean forward to take it off the fire. Your two cups are sitting on the table beside you, and you fill both before handing one to him. He nods his thanks, and the two of you sit quietly for a few moments, looking deep into the firelight.

He is the one who finally breaks the silence. “Do you believe in ghosts?” he asks softly, with that pleasant raspy quality you have come to recognize in him at night.

You smile and lean back in your chair to sip at your tea. “Of course,” you confirm lightly. “Don’t you?”

His expression grows quizzical, and he doesn’t lift his eyes away from the fire. He takes a sip of his tea, thinks for a long time before answering. You are more than content to sit in silence with him, but he finally comes to an answer.

“No,” he tells you quietly, still mesmerized by the dancing flames. Eerie shadows prance over his fine features. “Spirits do not wander the earth after death. They go to the afterlife.”

His voice is calm and even, but resolute, assured. You have talked so little with him about such things, and you cannot deny your curiosity at learning more about what he believes.

“How do you know?” you press, unconsciously leaning toward him.

He does not move for a moment, just grips his cup tighter and sharpens his gaze at the fire. “I have seen enough death to feel certain of it,” he declares, then turns his head to look into your eyes again. “If ghosts could exist,” he tells you softly, gently, “then I would be haunted by them every moment.”

Your heart aches for him now, for the pain and grief he carries with him always. His life has been difficult, laden with the weight of many lives and much responsibility. Even in a peaceful haven like your home, he is ever followed by the burdens of his past, no matter how much comfort and peace you have offered him.

“Perhaps they do not wish to speak to you,” you suggest, tilting your head to show that you are teasing him. “Perhaps you do not know all there is to know in the world.”

His haunted expression softens as he looks at you, taking in the meaning of your words. As before, his soft smile smoothes the lines in his face, lifts a bit of the weariness etched into his features. You can’t help wondering if he realizes your effect on him, if he craves these moments of tranquility and comfort as much as you do.

“I am sure of that,” he tells you in a low voice, and your heart turns over at the simple passion in his eyes.

You lapse into silence once again, each of you drinking your tea and losing yourself in thought. Your own ponderings are of him, wondering what he is thinking. He has seemed burdened ever since you found him sitting by the fire, and you long to know what worries him.

If he only knew how your heart leaps at the sight of him, how you long to cradle his face in your hands, to kiss him until all his burdens are lifted, until all he knows is this deep, all-consuming love that has swept over your heart like an autumn storm.

The thunder continues to roll outside, the rain pelting your roof relentlessly, but the warmth of the fire and the pleasant constancy of his presence is comforting.

You do not press him for several long minutes, letting him mull over his worries in silence until both of you have finished your tea. When you set your two empty cups on the table beside you, you finally decide to inquire, pushing your chair a few inches nearer to him and leaning on one arm of the chair so you can look into his eyes more closely.

“What troubles you?” you ask softly, and he finally lifts his head, dark eyes burning into yours with all the intensity of the hearth fire.

His voice is hardly more than a whisper when he replies, “Ghosts.”

“Memories?” you ask, entranced by the way he slowly leans forward, closing the distance between the two of you one inch at a time. Your skin suddenly burns, aching for a touch, one simple touch, that will answer your constant longing for his hands on you.

After a moment of hesitation, in which he seems to ponder the consequences of what he wants, he finally lifts one hand and trails his fingertips down the side of your face.

“Shadows of things I do not understand,” he murmurs absently, and he traces the line of your jaw with fingers so gentle you cannot imagine them ever wielding a sword.

He gazes at you more openly now, his eyes traveling down to your lips as his thumb brushes over them. You suppress a shudder at the contact, and he strokes your lips a few times, transfixed by the sight, before sliding the backs of his knuckles down the column of your throat.

Stars in the heavens, if he only knew how your body is aching for him, how you respond to the slightest touch he gives you.

You finally find your voice to speak. “Is it your men?” you ask softly, as if the room has suddenly been overtaken by a spell.

He sighs, brow furrowed deeply in thought. “They were not my men,” he replies at last, still stroking his fingers down your neck. “Not the ones who betrayed me. My men were loyal, courageous.” His voice is thick with sorrow, and you sense that recalling this memory is painful for him. “They were my brothers,” he half-whispers. “They would have risen up in rebellion if they had known.”

Your heart aches again at the sadness in his voice, the sadness he works so hard to disguise throughout the day. Somehow, in the darkness, in the stillness of nighttime, he seems more vulnerable.

“Why does the Emperor want you dead so badly?” you finally venture to ask.

His hand stills on your neck, eyes not quite focused on your face. He seems to be traveling back in time in his mind, and he draws a deep breath as he thinks. Almost as if he does not realize what he is doing, his hand wanders to the base of your neck, absently stroking the sensitive skin there.

It’s all you can do to hold still, to keep from betraying how perfectly wonderful his touch is to you.

His voice is low and measured when he answers your question. “I once received favor that he believed should have been his.” He pauses, then raises his eyes to meet yours meaningfully. “By his own father.”

His words take you aback, and you know he must notice your wide-eyed stare. “Marcus Aurelius?” you squawk in disbelief. “You knew the great Emperor?”

“Yes,” he replies, his face softening into a smile at the memory. You are shocked by the revelation, but his fond smile warms your heart after seeing his heavily burdened expression a moment ago.

He presses on, though his hand is now running softly over your shoulder, skimming over the top of your thin shift. “I was young when he took me under his wing,” he explains, eyes tracing the path his hand is making on your shoulder. “I had won some small battles, and he saw in me potential for greater things. He made me what I am today.”

He strokes your shoulder once, gently, then removes his hand, as though he cannot trust himself to keep touching you there. Again lifting his deep blue eyes to meet your gaze, he looks at you so tenderly, so affectionately, as he raises the same hand to tuck your hair behind your ear.

You want to melt, to close your eyes and sigh in pleasure at his simple touch, but you fight for your composure. “He must have been a great man,” you manage instead, meaning every word.

“He was the greatest man I have ever known,” he murmurs, stroking his fingers through your hair at your temple now. “He is the closest thing to a father that I ever knew.”

You have noticed how the man is drawn to your hair whenever you leave it down. He seems fascinated with it, with the way it cascades through his fingers when he cards them through it. His attentions are so gentle, so unobtrusive, as if he is unable to keep himself from simply admiring your beauty in this soft firelight.

“And that is why the Emperor envies you,” you observe to keep from losing your breath.

“Yes,” he answers quietly, his voice hardly above a whisper. “He believed that his father wanted to pass on his power to me.”

You nearly startle in surprise at his words. Not only the commander of the northern armies, not only a confidante of Marcus Aurelius, but the rightful future emperor himself?

You almost feel dizzy, though you’re not sure if it is from the shocking news or the way his fingers keep brushing your temple as he plays with your hair. “Did he?” you prompt him breathlessly, genuinely curious.

He ponders for several long moments, letting your hair stream between his fingers. You are entranced simply by looking at his features — his dark eyelashes, his sharp nose, the gentle creases by his mouth. He is so exquisitely lovely to you, so unaware of how deeply he affects you.

“I do not know,” he finally admits, tracing the side of your face before letting his hand fall back into his lap again. “He never told me.”

His words silence some of the shock you were feeling at wondering if you were in the presence of a man who was supposed to have ruled Rome. The thought of this man, this humble, honest, unpretentious warrior, ruling such a corrupt and conniving empire is almost unthinkable.

You are struck by the absence of his touch, and he seems hesitant to initiate any more contact now that he realizes how close he has drawn to you. He’s still watching you carefully, as if gauging your reaction to his touches, but you cannot resist reaching out to him now.

Your fingers seek out the necklace that hangs down to his chest, a simple cord bearing two wolf’s teeth on the end. You have never asked him about its origin. You handle it carefully, and the man barely breathes as your hand hovers over his chest.

“What would you have done if all this had never happened?” you ask softly, caught in the intimacy of this quiet moment. “Would you have been a soldier all your life?”

Your question is a heavy one, full of unspoken desire and curiosity. You can tell he senses that desire by the way his dark eyes burn into yours, by the way his chest rises and falls more quickly, as if you are taking his breath away just by touching his necklace.

He thinks for a few moments, still gazing deep into your eyes. “I always imagined I would die in battle,” he tells you, a hint of sorrow in his voice. “There seemed no other fate in store for me.”

Your heart tightens, and you let go of your loose grip on his necklace. Suddenly, all you want to do is touch him, to make contact with his body somehow. His words have struck a chord in your heart, reminding you how grateful you are that this world-weary soldier has come to your home, to your hearth, instead of falling on a battlefield hundreds of miles away.

With your pulse racing, you press your hand flat against his chest, splaying your fingers over his heart. Even through the fabric of his nightshirt, you can feel his heart pounding like a war drum, perfectly in rhythm with your own.

Oh, how you long to press your heart against his, to be wrapped up in his arms, so thoroughly tangled with his body that you cannot tell where you begin and he ends.

His breath comes more quickly now, his lips parted and his eyes scorching yours with a hunger that stirs your blood.

“But,” he begins in a hoarse whisper, his gaze flickering down to your lips and then back up, “I did imagine, sometimes…” He pauses, licks his lips again, takes a slow breath, “that if I did have a chance to grow old… I might…”

He halts again, his voice dying in his throat. You press your palm more firmly against his chest, and his heart skips a beat beneath your hand. You can feel his skin burning hot under his shirt.

“Tell me,” you whisper, and a look of unadulterated desire flashes across his face.

He leans close to you, close enough that his breath skims over your lips. “That I might one day have a home,” he breathes. “A family.” He sighs softly, the longing in his voice especially evident. “A life of peace always seemed… unlikely.”

The hesitation in his words is palpable, and suddenly his own larger hand is covering yours, pressing it tight against his chest. You realize that he is relishing your touch the way you relished his a moment ago.

After holding your hand against his heart a moment longer, he grasps your hand in his, lifts it to his lips. Your own heart skips a beat now, when he presses a slow, languid kiss to the back of your hand.

“And now?” you whisper, breathless and tingling with need.

He breathes against your hand, slowly and calmly. “Now,” he echoes, his voice rumbling in your bones. “Now a life of peace seems impossible.”

No. No, he cannot mean that. He cannot still mean to leave you when his gentle eyes speak of the passion he holds for you.

“It does not have to be,” you insist, lifting your free hand to touch the side of his face. He actually sighs at your touch, his eyes fluttering closed. His lips are slightly parted, and it takes all your willpower not to lean forward and kiss him until he can breathe nothing but your name.

His eyes remain closed when he responds, your hand still cradled in his. “To believe otherwise would be foolish,” he tells you, though his voice is anything but resolute. “Dangerous.”

You stroke the side of his face tenderly, enraptured by the way he reacts to your touch. He seems so relaxed, so overwhelmed when you caress him gently. The thought suddenly strikes you that this man has probably never been touched this way — not as light as a feather, with such love and affection that he can feel it beating in rhythm with his heart.

When you brush your fingertips down his neck, over the sensitive skin of his throat, he makes a sound so soft, so unguarded, that you nearly come undone for him right there.

“Are you not well acquainted with danger?” you whisper, leaning in closer to him. He opens his eyes when he feels you drawing nearer, and his fathomless eyes lock onto yours with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine.

You want him to stay. You want him to love you as you so desperately love him. You want him to never stop looking at you the way he is now.

And when you press your hand flat against the side of his neck, your gaze fluttering over every perfect feature of his face, his soul opens to you, and you see all the love you bear for him reflected deep in his own eyes.

“Yes,” he breathes, and he leans forward to close the few inches that separate your lips from his.

The first sensation that strikes you is his blood pulsing in his neck, hammering against your hand as you caress him. His own hand tangles in your hair, holding you in place while he presses his lips against yours.

There is no hesitation in this kiss, no second-guessing or reluctance. His lips move against yours in a rhythm so natural that you wonder if he has imagined this as many times as you have.

He tilts his head slightly to the side, drowning in your kiss like a dying man seeking air. You can feel the breath knocked out of your lungs, so unaccustomed to any attention as passionate as this. The man lifts his other hand to cradle your jaw, still kissing your lips, gently but insistently, over and over and over.

This is what heaven must be like, you realize distantly when his tongue slides against yours, every inch of your skin tingling in response. His undivided attention, his unashamed desire for you is so arousing, so delightful in every way.

You can feel your cheeks burning, your skin heating up, the longer his hands linger on your face and neck. His fingers stroke your jaw, and his other hand grips your hair just hard enough to hold you in place. He is still reveling in your kiss, still using his lips and tongue to draw out the softest moan you have ever made in your life.

As soon as he hears it, he moves his lips to press against the corner of your mouth, much as he did the first time he kissed you in the barn. He trails his lips down your jaw, peppering kisses on every inch of skin he passes.

Thoroughly excited by his kisses and touches, your mind is all too eager to provide any number of tempting images. When he dips his head to one side, lips touching the place where your jaw meets your neck, all you can imagine is the careful way he would undress you, lay you down, and make love to you, slowly and gently but passionately.

He drags his lips down your neck, his curious tongue coaxing another soft sound from you. Again, your mind flashes to all the ways he might use his tongue on you, all the places he could seek out and tease until you are so dizzy with pleasure that all you can say is his name, over and over.

Another press of his tongue, and it takes all your strength not to beg him to take you right here. You can imagine it so easily, the way he would grip your waist, your hips, the way you would wrap yourself around him and touch every inch of his bare skin if he would only give you the chance.

What would you not give to see him shudder in pleasure, to throw his head back and hold you tight as you cling to him and make him feel the same thing he ignites in you?

It’s at that moment that he whispers your name, tenderly, reverently, like a prayer, against the soft column of your throat. Your whole body shudders in response, your hands tightening where they have landed on his broad shoulders, and he finally fulfills what you have been aching for.

One strong arm wraps around your waist, the other around your upper back, and in the space of a breath the man has pulled you against him, leaning you to the side so that you are cradled in his arms across his lap.

You are suddenly very aware of how thin your shift is, of the way he must be able to feel every curve of your body pressed against him. His fingers are gentle where they wrap around your waist, and you feel with heightened awareness all the strength of his own body, all his powerful muscles and vigorous energy.

All you can do is sigh in pleasure as he keeps his head buried in your neck, still kissing your sensitive skin as though he cannot get enough of you.

You can barely take a breath, so overcome with the multitude of sensations he ignites in you. His hand flexes against your waist, and you respond in kind with your fingers digging into his back.

You have the distinct impression that the man is having to physically restrain himself from going further, that all he wants to do right now is yank open your shift and kiss his way down your bare body. As irresistible as that thought is, you let him take the lead, and he chooses to simply kiss you rather than ravish you.

He is a noble man, a man of honor, and though your body is aching for him to truly make you his, you take pleasure in his self-control, his respect for you.

His fervent kisses to your neck finally slow, and he breathes against your skin as though trying to memorize you. When he nuzzles his face against your neck, all you can do is close your eyes in absolute ecstasy. One of your hands finds its way into his hair, and it’s his turn to shiver with pleasure, pulling you even closer against his body and resting his lips against the curve of your neck.

He goes still in your arms when you stroke his hair, slowly and tenderly with your fingertips. Again, you are struck by his reactions to your gentle touches, by the way he melts into your arms as though overpowered.

Several long moments are spent in that position, with you cradled against his chest, his face against your neck. You would be content to stay like this all night, just listening to him breathe, feeling his heart beating against your side.

But the moment passes, as all moments do. Another crack of thunder shakes the house, and you can’t help but jump a little in his arms.

As if pulled out of his daze, the man smiles softly against your neck, strokes your back soothingly in a way that only serves to make you arch your body against his. A moment later, he lifts his head from the crook of your shoulder, letting his face brush against yours as you disentangle yourselves.

Though you have just spent the last few moments passionately embracing and kissing, and though both of you are still flushed and breathless with exhilaration, the following moment is not awkward. You do not look at each other as you part, but you can sense your own relief and contentment in him.

You do not know what will come of this. You do not know if he will stay much longer. But in a moment like this, with your lips still swollen from his kiss and your skin still burning from his touch, you feel as though no heartbreak can be as vast as this perfect fulfillment you feel with him.

You stand slowly, glad that you are not as unsteady as you feel, and you lift the kettle off the fire just to have something to do. You can feel the man’s eyes on you, though he does not speak.

“It is a fierce storm tonight,” you comment, almost without realizing that you are speaking. The silence between you was comfortable, but you long to say something, to know that he is still at ease with you.

He takes his time in responding, especially since you have your back to him. “Yes,” he says simply, his voice deep and husky.

Stars, how you want to hear that voice in your ear, in your bed, murmuring to you while you both reach the height of your shared pleasure.

You swallow hard to banish your intrusive thoughts. You move to set the kettle down in your cabinet and scramble to think of something else to say. Rain continues to pound against your roof, sending a slight chill through the air despite the warmth of the fire.

“Will you be warm enough tonight?” you ask over your shoulder, still conscious of his eyes burning into your back.

Again, he takes his time answering. “Yes,” he finally replies. “Will you?”

You let the question hang, still standing with your back to him. You hope he can understand your wordless answer, especially after sharing such an intimate moment.

The only warmth I crave now is the heat of your body against mine.

Still trying to avoid meeting his eyes, you half-turn to pick up your two empty cups from the table. Doing so makes you lean against the side of the little square table, and you notice with great surprise that it does not tilt dangerously to the side as it has for the last several months.

The table legs are perfectly even now, and you suddenly raise your eyes to look at the man squarely. He is gazing at you with the oddest combination of expressions — desire, contentment, admiration, sorrow, longing, affection, and several others you cannot name.

“You fixed my table,” you observe, genuinely struck by the kindness of his simple gesture. You don’t know when he did it, but sometime in the last few days he must have noticed the unsteadiness and taken the time to fix it somehow.

He holds your gaze for a long moment, and a small smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “It needed fixing,” he replies simply.

Your heart leaps into your throat, though you can’t say quite why. Despite the fact that just a moment ago you were wrapped up in his arms, sighing while he covered your neck with kisses, you are much more affected by his modest demonstration of kindness — fixing something of yours that was broken.

“Thank you,” you tell him softly, returning his small smile with all the warmth blossoming in your heart.

You finish your task, setting the two cups in the cabinet to be washed tomorrow. The storm outside has quieted somewhat, but you can still hear the constant pounding of raindrops on the roof and walls.

Quiet thunder rolls in the distance as you turn to look at the man again. He is still seated, leaning forward with his knees on his elbows, gazing at you curiously.

This is what you want: this man in your home, always, sharing your fire, sharing your space, looking at you as if you hold his heart in your hands.

The words spill from your lips before you can consider them. “My father always told me that a storm can make a person change their mind about anything.” You hear the significance in your own words, and you press on anyway. “He said it’s in their nature to bring about transformation.”

The man’s darkened eyes do not leave yours for a moment, and you hold his gaze steadily, wanting him to hear your unspoken plea.

Stay with me. Let me love you as I do in my dreams.

His face does not betray any decision, but his gaze is tender, filled with a weary longing. His eyes explore each feature of your face as gently as his fingers did a few moments ago.

“Perhaps I will listen to it for awhile, then,” he murmurs, and your heart sighs.

All is not lost. You must simply wait.

As you start towards the doorway that leads to your bedroom, you pause beside his chair. The man is looking up at you with eyes that melt you to your very soul. Overcome with your affection for him, you lift one hand and stroke the side of his face, smiling down at him fondly.

“Goodnight, general,” you whisper, and your heart whispers, Beloved.

Before you can drop your hand, the man wraps his fingers around it and brings it to his lips. An unhurried kiss to the back of your hand, one that sends another shiver down your spine, and he releases you. His eyes burn into yours, intense, ardent, yearning.

“Goodnight,” he whispers, and your heart hears his whisper, Beloved, long after you have slipped into the next room.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

More of my fanfiction if you're so inclined :)

#this may or may not be the best standalone fic i've ever written #i forgot about it but it seemed appropriate for halloween hehe #in case anyone is wondering this is what is happening in my brain constantly #this is just the words version of it #maximus is ALWAYS on my mind #i am eternally longing for sweet moments like this #i swoon i yearn i melt i die #the thought of sharing a moment like this with him???#i go into cardiac arrest #i wrote this and it still makes me melt every time i reread it #because it's from the heart!!#this was written with all the love i bear for him!!!#welcome to this tiny glimpse into my heart and soul friends #enjoy the drama #and the love #and the spicy hints here and there hehehehe #oh maximus how i love you #how i would love you if given the chance #gladiator #maximus #maximus decimus meridius #gladiator 2000 #russell crowe #fanfiction #gladiator fanfiction #maximus x reader #maximus decimus meridius x reader #my fanfiction

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claramelooo · 21 days ago

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CRIMSON REVERIE

Hey, favorites readers! How was the New Year's party, huh? I hope everyone is well and has fully recovered from hangover!!!

Thank you very much for all support and love you give me, that's what encourages me to write to you. I celebrate your lives! and I wish you a great 2025 full of achievements and growth!

Are you ready to see the big bad Scarlet Witch fucking everyone and everything? Feel free to feel horny!

Enjoy it!

Pairing: Dark!Witch Wanda X Fem Reader

MINORS DO NOT MUST INTERACT

WARNINGS: Threats and fights

Summary: After fighting with her former allies and friends, Wanda enters a new universe and makes a discovery that awakens something unknown in her.

Read here: Prologue

ENVY

The sky over Kamar-Taj was dyed red, as if reality itself were bleeding. Wild winds howled through the mountains, carried by the chaotic energy emanating from the floating figure at the center of the courtyard.

Wanda Maximoff.

The Scarlet Witch.

Her eyes burned red as she extended her hands, tracing complex runes in the air. Every motion pulsed with chaotic power, shaping the veil of the multiverse to open a portal. The air trembled around her, and even the most experienced sorcerers of Kamar-Taj stepped back, their spells powerless against her.

Her eyes glowed fiercely, a deep red pulsing like an enraged heartbeat. The runes she carved into the air were intricate, vibrant, and the very ground quaked under the force of her magic. The protective spells of Kamar-Taj unraveled like paper set aflame by an unstoppable force.

Stephen Strange hovered a few meters away, the Cloak of Levitation billowing in the wind. He faced Wanda with a mixture of determination and apprehension, the glowing circles of his magic mirroring the chaos around them. Wong stood beside him, resolute, while America Chavez lingered further back, fists clenched, tension visible in her stance.

“Wanda, this has to stop now!” Strange commanded, his voice cutting through the turmoil like a blade.

Wanda raised her gaze, a cold smile curling her lips. “Stop?” Her voice was soft, almost gentle, but carried an implicit threat. “You don’t understand, Stephen. You can’t understand. I’ve lost everything. You still have your world, your principles... and your arrogance.”

“You’re destroying everything around you!” Strange shot back, forming glowing orange circles with his hands. “The Darkhold has already corrupted a part of you. Don’t let it take the rest!”

She laughed—not with amusement, but with disdain. “Corrupt me? Stephen, I’m beyond corruption. You want to talk about loss? About sacrifice? Don’t insult me by pretending you understand.”

“I understand more than you think,” Stephen retorted, his expression hardening. “But what you’re doing here? This isn’t grief, Wanda. It’s destruction. And it won’t bring anything back.”

Wanda’s laugh echoed through the courtyard, cold and hollow, like the sound of shattering glass. “What do you know about grief, Strange? About love? Do you think pain broke me? No. Pain shaped me. And I’ll use it to fix what was stolen from me.”

“Fix?” Stephen narrowed his eyes. “You’re about to destroy countless lives. You’ve seen what the Darkhold has done to you, Wanda. You’re not fighting for love—you’re being consumed by chaos.”

Wanda’s eyes narrowed, her rage burning brighter. “I don’t need moral lectures from a man who treats the fabric of reality like his personal toy.”

Before Stephen could react, Wanda unleashed a wave of energy that hit him like a hurricane, throwing him backward. Wong and America rushed to help him, but before they could intervene, a blue flash lit up the sky.

“Wanda!” Carol Danvers’ commanding voice echoed as she descended from the heavens, her body encased in cosmic energy. Beside her, Sam Wilson, Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, and Bruce Banner advanced—a united force against the Scarlet Witch.

Carol hovered in front of Wanda, her eyes glowing. “Enough. We’re not letting you go any further.”

Wanda floated above the ground like a goddess on a celestial throne, a shroud of scarlet energy enveloping her with unsettling majesty. Her predatory smile was a clear warning that she saw the heroes before her not as threats, but as obstacles to be eliminated.

“Danvers,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm and disdain. “Am I supposed to feel intimidated? Or should I thank you for bringing such a sizable audience to witness my ascension?”

Carol’s eyes narrowed, standing firm despite the crushing weight of Wanda’s energy. “This isn’t ascension. It’s destruction. And you know it.”

Wanda tilted her head, as if assessing a disobedient child. “Destruction for you, perhaps. But for me? For them? It’s justice. I told you, Carol—you barely comprehend what I’m doing.”

Natasha stepped forward, weapons at the ready but not yet firing. “Wanda, this won’t bring you peace. You’re crossing a line you can’t come back from.”

Wanda chuckled, the sound as cold as breaking glass. “Peace? Natasha, peace is a luxury for those who have everything. When you lose even hope, what remains is power. And power doesn’t demand peace—it demands purpose.”

Sam raised his shield, his voice steady. “We’re not letting you do this, Wanda. No matter how right you think you are, this isn’t how you fix the past.”

Wanda descended gracefully, every step radiating absolute control. “Fix?” She smirked, the red glow in her eyes intensifying. “You think this is about fixing the past? No, Sam. This is about shaping the future. My future.”

Raising her hands slowly, like conducting an unseen symphony, Wanda made the air around her vibrate with scarlet energy, rippling like a storm ready to erupt. “You insist on standing in my way as if you could stop me.”

Carol’s hands ignited with cosmic energy. “We can try.”

Wanda arched a brow, her smile growing more arrogant. “Oh, dear…” With a step forward, the ground cracked beneath her feet as her magic pulsed in crushing waves. “You’re here because I allow it. All of you are alive because I haven’t bothered to decide otherwise.”

Bruce stepped forward, partially transformed into the Hulk. “You’re underestimating us.”

Wanda sighed dramatically, as if bored. “Underestimating? No. I simply recognize that the power you all possess together isn’t even a fraction of what I hold alone. I think you should too.”

With a sharp motion, Wanda unleashed a wave of energy, scattering everyone like leaves in a hurricane. As they struggled to rise, she walked slowly toward Carol, her eyes locked on Captain Marvel’s.

“You’re good,” Wanda said, her voice low and menacing. “But to me, you’re nothing more than dust in the wind.”

The first strike was devastating. Carol hit Wanda with a burst of energy, but the Scarlet Witch countered with a magical shield that shattered into glowing red shards.

Sam and Hulk charged in, trying to flank her. Wanda responded with icy precision, creating illusions to disorient Sam while ensnaring Hulk in magical chains that tightened like steel.

“You’re wasting your time!” Wanda shouted, her voice echoing through the courtyard. “I didn’t come to play. I came to win.”

Stephen re-entered the fray, casting intricate spells that wove together like nets aimed at Wanda. She dodged with fluid movements, each gesture a testament to her mastery.

“You’ll never get what you want, Wanda!” Stephen yelled.

She stopped, her eyes blazing. “And who’s going to stop me? You?”

As the Avengers and Stephen struggled to hold her off, Wanda finally gathered enough energy to activate the spell. A massive circle of glowing runes appeared in the sky, spinning slowly as the veil of the multiverse began to tear.

America Chavez’s eyes widened, sensing the shift in reality. “This is bad!”

“No… this is perfect,” Wanda replied, before releasing a wave of energy that threw everyone back, erecting a magical barrier around her.

Stephen yelled, fighting to break through the barrier. “If you step through that portal, Wanda, there’s no coming back!”

She looked at him one last time, determination burning in her eyes. “I don’t need to come back, Strange. I need to go where they are.”

With a final motion, the portal fully opened, its distorted light flooding the courtyard. Wanda stepped forward, her silhouette dissolving into the glow as the barrier collapsed.

“WANDA!” Stephen shouted, but it was too late.

She disappeared into the portal.

[...]

Wanda emerged from the portal in silence, her feet touching the soft ground of a peaceful landscape. The sound of children's laughter caught her attention immediately, like a beacon amid the chaos that always surrounded her. Tommy and Billy.

She followed the sound with hesitant steps, almost afraid of what she might find. But when she saw her sons running through the garden of a simple house, playing among the flowers and laughter, her heart nearly stopped. They were there. Real. Alive.

Without thinking, Wanda began walking toward them, tears streaming freely down her face. "Tommy... Billy..." she whispered, her voice breaking. Her desire to hold them, to feel their arms around her, was so strong she almost forgot everything around her.

But then, she stopped.

You were there.

You were crouched on the lawn, laughing as Billy tried to reach you with a flower he had picked. Your smile was wide, warm, and Wanda felt her chest tighten at the way Tommy held your hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Who is she? The question exploded in Wanda's mind. A sudden rage coursed through her, burning like fire in her veins. You looked so... comfortable, so at ease. As if you were their mother. As if they were your children.

For a moment, Wanda took a step forward, her fists clenched as faint red energy began to pulse around her. But then, something unexpected happened. Her eyes fell on your belly.

Round. Full of life. You were pregnant.

Wanda froze, unable to look away. Her breath caught in her throat. Pregnant? By whom? How? It was such an unexpected sight that her rage momentarily dissolved, replaced by overwhelming curiosity.

And then, Wanda saw something that made the world around her come to a halt.

The door of the house opened, and she stepped out.

It was like looking into a mirror, but the reflection seemed... wrong. Or perhaps too right. This Wanda was different. Her posture was relaxed, her face glowing with a serenity the Scarlet Witch hadn’t felt in a long time. There were no Darkhold markings on her fingers, no shadows of loss in her eyes.

She seemed whole.

The Scarlet Witch felt a pang of envy so strong it nearly made her stagger. This was the life she should have had. But the next scene left her even more confused.

The other Wanda walked straight to you, a wide smile on her lips. You stood, laughing at something Tommy had said, and immediately leaned in to kiss her.

The kiss was deep, passionate, yet filled with tenderness. The other Wanda's hands held your face with a familiarity that made the Scarlet Witch’s heart race uncontrollably.

She, herself, was with you.

Wanda’s eyes widened, and for a moment, she forgot everything—even the boys. She had never imagined herself with a woman. There had always been Vision, his love like a rock for her. But he wasn’t here. You were.

And what was even more disturbing was the way it made her feel.

She tried to understand what was happening. Why was her heart racing? Why couldn’t she take her eyes off you? The way you smiled at the other Wanda, how your hands slid so naturally around her waist, how your belly pressed against the other Wanda’s body... It was all so intimate, so warm.

And then came the desire.

It was sudden, unexpected, and it struck Wanda like a storm. She had never looked at another woman like this before, but there was something about you—your presence, your confidence, the way you seemed to carry the world yet still be so full of light—that unsettled her.

The kiss ended, but you didn’t fully pull away. Your hand moved to the back of the other Wanda’s neck, gently stroking it as you murmured something Wanda couldn’t hear. But the other Wanda’s smile, the way she leaned in to rest her forehead against yours, said it all.

You were in love.

And it left Wanda with even more questions. Where was Vision? How had you come into her life? And, most importantly, why did the Scarlet Witch want this as much as she wanted the boys?

As the scene played out before her, Wanda couldn’t decide what was stronger: the envy or the desire.

Maybe it was both.

The afternoon was serene, with the sound of leaves rustling in the breeze blending with the laughter of Tommy and Billy. The other Wanda sat on the grass with you while the boys ran around, tossing a ball back and forth. Your visibly large belly rested partially on the other Wanda’s lap, as she absentmindedly caressed it.

The Scarlet Witch, hidden behind a nearby tree, watched with clenched fists, struggling to process the scene. She couldn’t tear her eyes away.

“Hey, Mamma, what does Seline mean?” Billy suddenly asked, stopping his game to sit beside you. He looked genuinely curious, gazing at your belly as if he could see his sister through it.

The other Wanda smiled, pulling Tommy and Billy closer before answering. “Seline means ‘magical moon,’” she explained, her voice soft and full of affection. “When you two were babies, I used to say you were like the sun and the stars of my life. But when I thought of her... I wanted something calm and protective. Something that lights up the night.”

“So she’s like... our guardian?” Tommy asked, his eyes sparkling with the thought.

“Exactly,” you replied, laughing as you ruffled his hair. “Seline will be the little sister who’s always there for you, just as you’ll be there for her. You’ll be the most amazing brothers in the world.”

Wanda, still hidden, felt a pang in her chest. They even had a special meaning for her name. The way that Wanda spoke—so light, so natural—made it seem like nothing in the world could disrupt them. She had never thought of something so poetic, so thoughtful.

As she watched, jealousy burned hotter inside her, suffocating and unrelenting. Why were they so happy? Why was this version of herself so complete, so loved?

“She’ll like us, right?” Billy asked, tilting his head toward you, uncertainty shining in his eyes.

“She already loves you,” you answered, chuckling softly. “Every time she kicks, it’s like she’s saying, ‘I can’t wait to meet my brothers!’”

“And she kicks a lot,” the other Wanda added, smiling as she ran her hand over the side of your belly. “Especially when you sing to her.”

“That’s because I’m a good singer,” Billy declared with a tone of confidence that made everyone laugh.

“You’re a good singer... sometimes,” Tommy countered, laughing as he gave his brother a playful shove.

“Hey, no fighting,” the other Wanda said, her voice firm yet tender. She glanced at you, her tone softening. “Seline is lucky to have these two, don’t you think?”

You nodded, placing your hand over hers. “She’s lucky to have you.”

Wanda, hidden away, felt the breath leave her lungs. Watching you say that to herself in another universe made her stomach twist.

The other Wanda leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. You closed your eyes, smiling, and whispered something Wanda couldn’t hear. But the effect was devastating: the other Wanda laughed, a sound so full of joy it seemed to make the world glow around her.

The Scarlet Witch clenched her fists until her nails dug into her palms. She had never felt like this before. It wasn’t just jealousy. It was something deeper. It was the crushing realization that she was out of place, watching something that should have been hers.

Tommy and Billy are hers. Seline is hers. You are hers!

“And when Seline is born, will we be able to play with her?” Tommy asked, breaking the moment.

“Not right away,” you replied with a smile. “She’ll be small and fragile at first. But soon, she’ll grow, and she’ll love playing with you. Just promise me one thing.”

“Anything,” Billy said seriously.

“Promise me you’ll always protect her.”

The two boys nodded immediately, their faces full of determination. “We promise,” they said in unison.

The other Wanda smiled, looking at you with eyes filled with something the Scarlet Witch recognized instantly: love. “And I’ll protect all of you,” she said softly.

“Like a superhero?” Tommy asked, laughing.

“Something like that,” the other Wanda replied, winking at him.

As the family laughed and talked, Wanda remained in the shadows, frozen. Every word, every gesture, every smile was like a blade cutting deep. They were perfect together.

And you...

You were everything she never realized she needed.

Your belly, full of life; your laughter, so full of light; the way your eyes sparkled when you looked at the other Wanda. Everything about you pulled her in, drew her closer, even as it tore her apart.

You should be with her. You should be hers.

[...]

The night was silent, but not for Wanda. She walked through the dark hallway of the house, guided by a deep and painful instinct. She stopped in front of the boys' room and, with a gentle gesture, opened the door just enough to peek inside.

There they were, Tommy and Billy, sleeping deeply, their serene faces illuminated only by the soft light of the lamp. They looked so at peace that Wanda's heart tightened.

She entered the room quietly, her breath heavy with emotion. She knelt beside their beds, first Billy's, then Tommy's, and placed a gentle kiss on their foreheads. "My boys..." she whispered, her voice breaking as tears ran down her face.

As she stood up, she tried to contain her sobs, but couldn't help it. She quickly wiped her tears, hearing voices from the room next door.

The voices were familiar. Her own voice mixed with hers. The soft laughter and calm words made Wanda bite her lip, hesitant. She shouldn't, but she couldn't resist. Curiosity was a poison, and she was already intoxicated.

She approached the room and, carefully, opened the door just enough to see the two of you.

You were lying on the bed, your back supported by pillows. The other Wanda was sitting at the foot of the bed, her legs in your lap. Her hands were gently sliding over your feet, massaging with a touch that seemed to have years of practice.

"You didn't have to do this, you know," you said, your tone full of affection and a slight touch of teasing.

"You're carrying our daughter, Y/n," the other Wanda replied, a smile playing at her lips. "When it was my turn, you did so much more. The least I can do is make sure you feel good."

You laughed, a sound that made Wanda hold her breath behind the door.

"I know this is just an excuse for you to touch me," you teased, raising an eyebrow.

"Maybe it is," admitted the other Wanda, a mischievous smile forming as she continued the massage.

"And what do you want in exchange for all this kindness, Ms. Maximoff?" you asked, your voice low and playful.

The other Wanda let out a soft laugh and looked at you with eyes full of tenderness. "I just want you to rest and let me take care of you. Nothing more."

Outside, the Sorceress watched, unable to look away. The scene seemed so simple, so ordinary, but to her, it was extraordinary.

She had never experienced this before.

The way you looked at the other Wanda, with so much love and trust. The care in every gesture she made, the security in every word. It all seemed so natural, so easy.

Wanda felt the tears threatening to fall again, but this time it was a different kind of emotion. Envy and longing. The desire to touch you, to make you laugh like that. The desire to be the one who made you feel so at ease, so loved.

"What are you thinking now?" you asked, interrupting the other Wanda's thoughts.

The other Wanda paused for a moment, her fingers still holding your feet. Then, with a soft smile, she replied, "I'm thinking about how much I love you. And how I can't wait to meet our daughter."

You fell silent, your eyes filling with tears as you reached out to touch her face.

"I love you too, Wanda. So much," you said, your voice low and full of emotion.

The other Wanda leaned in, kissing your belly softly before whispering, "And I love you too, Seline."

Outside, Wanda felt something inside her both break and rebuild at the same time. She wanted this. Her insides screamed with the need to have it all for herself, and she would do anything to have it.

The night was silent when Wanda left the room, leaving you asleep with a serene expression. She descended the stairs with light steps, but as soon as she reached the living room, a chilling cold ran down her spine.

"Finally decided to show up," a familiar, cold voice echoed from the darkness.

The copy spun quickly, her eyes glowing with surprise and tension. There she was—the Scarlet Witch, cloaked in a red energy, her eyes burning like embers.

"What are you?" the other Wanda asked, trying to maintain composure, but her tense posture betrayed her concern.

The Scarlet Witch smiled cruelly, tilting her head. "I am you. But perhaps the version you've been avoiding being."

The other Wanda took a step back, her fists clenched. "You're in the wrong place. There's nothing for you here."

"Oh, but there is," said the Witch, stepping forward, each movement filled with threat. "I came for my children."

The other Wanda paused for a moment before replying, narrowing her eyes. "My sons. My wife. My daughter. You have no right here!"

The witch laughed bitterly, her voice low and laden with pain. "And do you? How did someone like you manage to get all of this? They don't even know who you really are, do they? They don't even know half of what you can do."

The other Wanda stood firm. "They don't need to know. Because here, I'm just Wanda. I'm a mother, a wife. That's enough."

"Lie!" the Witch snarled, anger overflowing. "You can pretend to be normal, but we both know that isn't who we are. And you know what's worse? You're wasting it... on her." The Scarlet Witch's voice cracked at the mention of you.

"Why her?" the Witch asked, her voice wavering between anger and something that almost sounded like vulnerability. "What makes her so special? Why not Vision? Why not the family that was always ours?"

The other Wanda hesitated for a moment, then answered firmly.

"Because with her, I'm happy. With her, I'm not just a mother. Y/n challenges me, teases me, makes me want to beat her, break her, and win her over again and again just for a kiss. She can be fire, but she can also be the breeze in the heat when I see everything in red. She loves me for who I am, not for what I could be. She completes me in a way I never thought possible."

The Scarlet Witch felt a tightness in her chest, envy growing like an overwhelming wave. "That's absurd! Vision was perfect. He was... everything."

The other Wanda sighed, a sad smile touching her lips. "Vision was my first love. He taught me what it meant to be seen, to be loved. But with her... it's different. It's not about perfection. It's not about saving or being saved. It's about living."

She stepped forward, ignoring the look of pure jealousy that burned in the Witch's eyes.

"With her, I don't need to hide who I am. I don't need to be the Scarlet Witch. I don't need to fight the world. I just... am. And that's enough."

The words cut deep into the Scarlet Witch, like sharp knives slicing through an already open wound. What hurt her the most wasn't what the other Wanda said, but how much it made sense.

She had never felt this before. She had always been the protector, the savior, the villain. Vision loved her, but she could never just be Wanda beside him. There were always responsibilities, secrets, sacrifices.

She tried to speak, but the envy and jealousy were overwhelming, burning in her chest like fire. "You... you had everything. Vision. The boys. Why wasn't it enough?"

The other Wanda looked at her with soft eyes, but her voice was as hard as steel. "Because it wasn't real. And you know that better than anyone."

The Witch felt the blow, as if she had been punched in the stomach.

"But why her?" the Scarlet Witch screamed, her voice cracking with the intensity of her emotions. "Why not me!? I could give her all of that. I am you! I... I could be who you are for her!"

The other Wanda hesitated for a moment, her eyes assessing the figure in front of her. She could see the anger, the desperation, but also something else: a vulnerability she recognized as her own.

"You don't understand, do you?" The other Wanda sighed, shaking her head. "She doesn't love me for who I should be. She loves me for who I am. And you..." She hesitated, carefully choosing her words. "You don't know who you are anymore. Not completely."

These words were the final blow. The Scarlet Witch felt her body tremble, the anger mixing with a pain she could barely bear.

Her face softened for a moment, and she murmured, almost to herself: "I wish I knew what that was like. To be loved like that. Not for my powers. Not for who I was before. But by someone who sees everything — even the broken parts — and loves me anyway."

The other Wanda remained silent, as if considering saying something, but she knew that any word would only make things worse.

The Scarlet Witch closed her eyes, hot tears streaming down her face as she tried to contain the growing pain within her. "I just wanted... this." She looked at the other Wanda again, her eyes gleaming with a mixture of anger and desperation. "You had that, and now it's my turn!"

With a quick movement, the Scarlet Witch cast a spell that wrapped the other Wanda in chains of red energy, binding her.

"I'll be what she needs," she said, her voice cold and determined.

The other Wanda struggled, but the chains were too strong. "You don't understand," she gasped. "You can try to be like me, but you'll never be enough. She'll know. She'll feel it."

The Scarlet Witch smiled, but there was sadness in her eyes. "Don't be selfish!"

With a gesture, she opened a portal, throwing the other Wanda into a distant universe, far away from you and the boys. As the portal closed, the Scarlet Witch took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions inside her. Now, everything was in her hands.

She turned toward the hallway, where her new life awaited, but the weight of envy and jealousy still burned in her chest.

Why her? Why now? Those questions burned in her mind, a cacophony of desire and rage. She had always been the Scarlet Witch — feared, revered, invincible. But before you, it seemed she was none of those things. Before you, she was just Wanda, a broken woman yearning for something that seemed so simple, yet so impossible: to be loved.

To be loved for who she truly was, not for the legend, not for the power, not for the terror her name invoked. She wanted someone who saw the truth behind the mask, who touched the sharp fragments of her being without fear of being hurt. And you... you seemed to be that person. Your presence challenged everything she believed about herself, about love, about the world.

But with that light came a shadow darker than any magic Wanda had ever conjured. The desire to possess, to trap, to make you hers — only hers. It wasn’t fair. The universe had never been fair with her, and now, faced with the chance of something real, she refused to let it slip away.

~*~

I have a thing for a mega ultra powerful women, sorry... I think I'm guilty for this time.

Tag List <3

Tag list <3

@vyvvycg @rosekjsses @3liyuh @trindad2k

@indentity0018 @beggingonmykneesforher

@idkwhatever580 @valentine585

@reginassecretlover @trying-to-do-good

@imjustvibingsworld @mbxoxo @jazzyxqzl @bees-for-brains @eternallyconfuzed @ctrlaltedits @sheriffhaughtearp

@lesbiansweet @i-luv-w1men @sheriffswan-blog @htinha157 @syssmin @wandasslut3000

#mommy wanda #wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #lgbtq #elizabeth olsen x reader #mommy k!nk #lgbtqia #wlw post #wanda x you #wlw smut #wlw ns/fw #dark wanda maximoff

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trashytracktales · 13 days ago

Note

girl reading your logan fic right before my period is doing things to MEEE!! istg I’m desperate. i want to reality shift just to have logan in my bedroom 😔💔

ANYWHO

you could say I’m feeling….freakilicious and i have some smut brainworms…

logan coming back home after a gymsesh all sweaty to find reader sleepy and eventually wake her up w head and body worshipping kisses and praise….and then letting whiny reader cum on his fingers while his hair messily hangs in front of his eyes 🤤🤤🤤 and then sex before just sweet aftercare and a gentle shower 🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼

(if you’re open to writing things like that)

Early sessions | LS²

💌 REQUESTED by anon ──── Reading anything remotely spicy before your period is like pouring gasoline on an already raging fire... God’s strongest soldier, I reckon. Hope this helps, and sorry for the late response 😔🤞🏻

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𐙚 summary ──── Early gym sessions only fuel Logan’s energy, and when he returns home to his girlfriend, sweaty and full of adrenaline, things can only go one way — his.

𐙚 pairing ──── Logan Sargeant x she/her reader

𐙚 rating ──── explicit

𐙚 category ──── F/M

𐙚 warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, fluff & smut, established relationship, descriptive language, swearing, fingering & oral ─ (f)receiving, unprotected sex, mild possessive behavior, overstimulation, playful dynamics.

𐙚 word count ──── 3.1k

𐙚 date ──── Jan. 9, 2025

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LOGAN’S MORNING WAS quiet so far.

Now, coming back home from training, the sun is just beginning to rise, casting warm streaks of amber light across the polished floors. He always liked the early sessions, when the world was still asleep, and he was the only one sweating at the gym.

His shirt clings to him, soaked with the result of his efforts, and his hair is damp, curling slightly at the ends from sweat. Dropping his keys onto the counter with a soft clink, he toes off his sneakers and heads straight for the bedroom.

Inside, she is still curled up beneath the sheets, her soft breaths barely audible in the stillness. She’s cocooned in the blanket, one bare shoulder peeking out, the gentle rise and fall of her chest confirming she’s lost in her dreams. Logan leans against the doorway for a moment, his chest tightening with a quiet kind of affection; this is his favorite sight.

Logan’s steps are careful as he approaches, the slight creak of the floorboard causing her to stir just a little. He pulls off his damp shirt and tosses it into the laundry basket, running a hand through his messy hair. Cold sweat still clings to his skin, his muscles taut, but he doesn’t care. All he can focus on is her, the way the shy golden light of the morning caresses her skin.

He knows he should go shower, but a tiny thought crosses his mind before he can do anything about it.

Kneeling at the edge of the bed, Logan leans over, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. She doesn’t stir, her lips parting slightly. He smiles, leaning in to press a feather-light kiss to her temple, then to her cheek, and finally to the corner of her mouth. The kisses are tender, each one awakening the fire inside him.

Her breathing shifts, a soft, sleepy murmur escaping her lips as she begins to stir. “Lo? You leaving already?” she asks, her voice laced with confusion and sleep.

In response, his lips trail down her neck, placing gentle, lingering kisses on her collarbone, then lower. The blanket slips down as his hands work to uncover her, his fingers skimming over her bare skin, reverent and calculated.

“No, baby,” he murmurs against her skin, his lips brushing over the curve of her breast. “I just got back.”

“Mhm,” she hums, extending her arms to pull him closer to her, embracing him tightly. “Come here, then, stinky boy.”

He chuckles as he gets up to head toward the bathroom, her teasing voice still ringing in his ears.

“Stinky boy is going to shower first,” says Logan.

But before he can take another step, her hand wraps around his wrist, stopping him in his tracks. He glances back at her, eyebrows raised, but she just tugs him gently toward the bed, her lips curving into a playful smile.

“Did I say I mind?” she asks, her tone soft but laced with intent.

Logan blinks in surprise, a slow grin spreading across his face as she pulls him down onto the bed. “Oh? Guess not,” he rasps, his voice dropping as he leans in closer.

His large, calloused hands start caressing her sides, mapping every curve with devotion as he leans back in to kiss her neck.

“How was, uh, training?” she whines softly, a hint of need lacing her tone.

Logan hums, the sound low and warm, vibrating against her skin. “Missed you,” he confesses, his voice a little more ragged now. “I skipped cardio so I can come back faster.”

“Oh no,” she replies in a bad, dramatic voice, pulling back to look at him, “You should never skip cardio. What kind of example are you setting?”

Logan laughs, his voice playful. “Think you could help me make up for it?”

Her mock outrage melts into a knowing smile, her fingers threading through his hair. She nods slowly, her voice turning softer. “Of course... but only because I’m so generous.”

Her eyes meet Logan’s gaze as he looks down at her, his hair hanging in messy strands over his forehead. For a moment, they just look at each other, her body pliant beneath his touch as his hands skim lower.

“There goes my generous girl,” he praises gently, his voice melting into her as his fingers slide between her legs, parting her folds. He groans softly at the wetness that meets him, the ultimate proof of how much she wants him even in her half-asleep state. “Let’s see just how much.”

“Lo…gan,” her voice breaks as his thumb finds her clit, circling tenderly, sending sparks shooting through her body.

“Yeah? That good, baby?” he soothes, pressing a kiss to her hip.

As a response, her thighs part easily for him, as if her body knows this rhythm instinctively. She’s already so wet it’s obscene, his fingers sliding through her slick folds with almost no resistance. It’s as if he hadn’t fucked her senseless the night before, leaving her trembling and spent in their bed.

“Look at you,” Logan whispers, his breath warm against her skin. His middle finger slips inside her effortlessly, drawing a low, broken moan from her lips. He works her open by patiently curling his finger in just the right way that has her hips rocking up into him.

“More…” she whines, her voice a desperate plea, her nails digging into his damp shoulder. His natural scent is immediately invading her senses, driving her insane.

“More,” he parrots, adding another finger, the stretch making her moan a little louder. “Obsessed with those sounds, baby. But it’s not what you want, is it?”

The wet sounds of his fingers pumping into her mix with the soft cries spilling from her mouth. She clenches tightly around him, her walls fluttering as his thumb grazes her clit in a teasing circle. Her hips grind against his hand, her movements wild and needy, chasing every ounce of pleasure he’s giving her.

“Please, Logan,” she cries, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes as his tongue replaces his thumb, lapping hungrily at her swollen clit.

Her cries only spur him on, the way she tightens her thighs around his head and tugs at his hair sending jolts of heat straight to his cock. He’s already rock hard, his cock straining against his gym shorts as the thought of fucking her warm, wet, and open body consumes him.

“Fuck, you always taste so good,” Logan mumbles against her, the vibrations of his voice making her thighs tremble. “I can’t get enough of you,” he continues, burying his face deeper into her, his fingers moving in tandem with his tongue, driving her higher and higher.

“Oh my—Logan,” she moans, her voice breaking as her walls begin to tighten more rapidly around his fingers. The tension in her body coils tight, her thighs trembling and her breaths coming in short, frantic gasps.

“Yes, baby. That’s it,” he praises, his words muffled against her. “Let me feel you.”

Her release crashes over her, her entire body shaking as her cries fill the room. Her walls squeeze his fingers in a vice-like grip, dripping onto his hand and his chin as she shatters beneath him.

He slows his movements gradually, his tongue and fingers easing her through the aftershocks. When she finally comes back to herself, he pulls back slightly, bringing his hand up to his mouth. His blue eyes lock on hers as he licks his fingers clean, dragging his tongue from base to tip, savoring every drop of her.

“Wanna taste?” asks Logan, offering his fingers.

Her cheeks flush, but she leans forward, wrapping her lips around their slickness. Her tongue swirls around as she cleans them thoroughly, her eyes never leaving his. The intimacy of the moment sends a bolt of heat straight through both of them, their breaths deep and alert.

Logan leans in, capturing her lips in a messy, desperate kiss at the sight of her. Their tongues meet, tasting her on each other, hot and needy, their movements unrestrained, his teeth nipping at her bottom lip as she moans into his mouth. Without breaking the kiss, Logan sits back on his knees, freeing his cock from his shorts; it’s hard and aching, the tip leaking as he strokes himself briefly before lining up with her dripping entrance.

“Still feeling generous?” he asks against her lips, teasing her with shallow thrusts, the head of his cock brushing against her clit before slipping just barely inside.

“Yes… yes, very,” she replies impatiently.

Logan whimpers against her lips, the sound deep and guttural as he presses the head of his cock against her soaked entrance. With one deliberate thrust, he pushes inside, her walls stretching to welcome his length. He breathes heavily at the slick, wet heat of her, his body trembling with restraint as her sensitive pussy clenches around him from the lingering aftershocks of her first orgasm.

“Oh, fuck,” he rasps, his voice wrecked, as he drags himself out slowly, only to push back in, deeper this time. Her tightness grips him perfectly, and every thrust drags along her walls, making her whimper beneath him.

“So full, baby,” she gasps, her voice breathy. Her hands fly to his back, her nails raking across his skin as she clings to him, her body arching to meet every thrust. “Can you, mhm—harder.”

Something snaps inside him at her request. His fingers dig into her hips, lifting her slightly as he starts to move harder, his hips snapping into hers with a force that has her moaning loudly, the sound unabashed and desperate.

“Good enough?” he growls, his tone rough as he watches her fall apart beneath him.

“So good, baby. Don’t stop,” she cries, her nails digging deeper into his skin.

Without warning, Logan flips her onto her stomach, his strength effortless as he pulls her hips up. The shift leaves her breathless, her knees barely holding her up as he guides her into position. He presses a firm palm between her shoulder blades, pushing her chest down into the pillows while angling her hips higher.

“Logan!” she cries in protest. “Don’t—”

“I take care of you, yeah?” Logan cuts her off. “Stay just like that,” he orders, his voice dripping with dominance, and she shivers at the command.

The first thrust from behind has her crying out, her body jolting forward from the force. He grips her waist tightly, pulling her back to meet his thrusts as he sets a punishing pace. The sound of their bodies colliding fills the room, wet and filthy, almost drowned out by her moans and his deep grunts.

“You feel so good,” Logan groans, his fingers pressing into the flesh of her hips, leaving bruises he knows she’ll find later. “So fucking good, baby. You were made for me, it’s maddening.”

Each thrust drives him deeper, his cock hitting spots inside her that have her wailing into the pillows. She can feel him everywhere — thick, hard, and raw as he claims her. The pressure builds again, her entire body tightening as her second orgasm crashes into her without warning.

“Fuck, yes,” she encourages, her walls clamping down around his length as her release soaks them both. “Logan, I—”

“Shit, baby... fuck. You’re dripping all over,” Logan growls, his eyes glued to the way her pussy clenches and pulses around his cock. The sight alone nearly undoes him, his lips parting as if in reverence for the obscene display before him.

He leans over her, his chest pressed to her back as his hand slips beneath her to circle her clit. “My girl,” he whispers into her ear, his breath hot against her skin. “Best I’ve ever fucking had. I could stay inside you forever.”

Her body trembles under him, her moans turning into sobs of pleasure as he thrusts faster, his rhythm growing erratic. His fingers on her clit send her spiraling into overstimulation, her entire body shaking as her release gushes over him again.

“Wait. Lo, I’m—” she whimpers, her voice broken.

“It’s okay, baby. Take it all,” he growls, his hips slamming into her one last time as he spills deep inside her, his cock throbbing with his release. “Every fucking drop, beautiful.”

He stills, his body trembling as he collapses against her for a moment, their breathing heavy and uneven. When he pulls out, her pussy clenches one last time, and she comes again, her body betraying her exhaustion.

“Shit,” Logan swears, his voice thick with awe. He flips her over to face him, brushing damp hair from her face as she lies there trembling. “You’re so sensitive in the morning,” he realizes, his tone equal parts admiration and disbelief.

He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to her lips before slipping his fingers back inside her, collecting the mess they’ve made together. His touch is slow, tender, as if soothing her oversensitive body.

“Lo…” she whispers, her voice shaky as he leans down to kiss her again, this time soft and unhurried. His tongue slides against hers, their kisses messy and intimate as his fingers continue their slow worship.

“All mine, yeah?”

“Mhm,” she agrees, meeting his gaze as his words settle over her.

Logan’s chest swells, a grin playing at the corners of his mouth as he leans down, trailing his lips lower. He kisses along her jawline, down the delicate curve of her neck, and then stops to worship the swell of her breast. His tongue flicks out to trace one of her nipples, drawing a gasp from her as he sucks it gently into his mouth.

“You’re so perfect for me,” he murmurs between warm, wet kisses, his free hand coming up to squeeze her other breast. His thumb brushes over the sensitive peak, sending shivers down her spine. “Letting me fuck you out of your dreams.”

She arches into his touch, her fingers weaving into his hair as he lavishes her with affection. “I’ll always let you fuck me,” she replies, her voice breathy and sincere.

Her words ignite something primal in him, and he groans softly against her skin before lifting his head to capture her lips once more. The kiss is heated but tender, filled with unspoken promises. His tongue slides against hers, coaxing her into a rhythm that leaves them both breathless.

“Are you okay?” he asks softly, breathing wetly above her.

She nods against him, her cheek pressed to the warmth of his skin. “More than okay.”

He shifts slightly, tilting his head to look at her face. “You sure?” he presses gently, his thumb brushing over her shoulder.

She lifts her head to meet his gaze, a smile tugging at her lips. “I promise. I… had a dream about you,” she admits, her voice shy.

His brows lift slightly, intrigue sparking in his eyes. “Hm? Care to elaborate?”

She lets out a soft laugh, her nose brushing against his collarbone as she burrows closer. “Not really. Just you. You were touching me, whispering all those things you say to me, and it felt so real. When I woke up and you were actually there, I guess my body just… responded.”

Logan whimpers quietly, the sound vibrating deep in his chest. “You’re making me jealous of Dream Logan,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

She laughs again, her breath warm against his skin. “You should be. He was pretty amazing.”

Logan chuckles, his hand slipping lower to rest on the curve of her hip. “Guess I’ll have to work harder to outdo him,” he teases, his voice warm with affection.

Her laughter fades into a soft hum, and after a beat of silence, she lifts her head to look at him. “Maybe try that in the shower?”

Without giving her an answer, he scoops her up, making her squeal in surprise.

“Logan, I was joking! Put me down!” she protests, though she’s laughing.

He carries her straight into the bathroom, turning on the shower before stepping in with her still in his arms. The blast of cold water makes her yelp, squirming in his grasp. “It’s fucking freezing!” she squeaks, trying to shove him under the spray instead.

He holds her firm, grinning through her protests. “But it’s good for you.”

The water gradually warms, and she relaxes, a sigh escaping her lips as the heat soothes her skin. Logan sets her down gently, grabbing the soap with a soft smile. “Come on, turn around for me,” he speaks in a lower voice, the playfulness giving way to tenderness.

He starts at her neck, his soapy hands gliding over her skin with deliberate care. “Beautiful,” he whispers more to himself than to her. His hands move lower, massaging her shoulders before cupping her breasts, his thumbs brushing over her peaks. She shivers under his touch, but he doesn’t linger, kneeling in front of her.

He continues, carefully washing between her legs, his touch gentle but thorough, his lips trailing kisses along her thighs as he does.

She bites her lip, her cheeks flushing at his reverence. “Lo,” she warns, her voice unsteady.

He looks up, his eyes smoldering. “Just making sure my girl is clean,” he teases before placing one last kiss on the inside of her thigh.

When it’s her turn, she takes her time, tracing her soapy hands over his chest and abs, her fingers lingering on the ridges of his muscles. “Good session,” she teases, grinning as she slides her hands down his back.

“My favorite workout,” he quips, his smirk returning.

“Wake me up tomorrow. Take me with you,” she suggests, circling around him on her tiptoes, her hands ghosting over his hips.

“No,” he replies shortly.

She stops, confused, “No?”

He shakes his head, “They have cameras everywhere. It’ll be pure torture.”

“I promise I’ll behave,” she teases further, her voice steady.

Logan turns quickly, pinning her gently against the cool tile wall, his lips capturing hers in a heated kiss. The steam from the shower surrounds them, but it’s the heat between their bodies that consumes her. She feels him hard against her stomach, his need pressing into her.

“It’s not you I worry about.”

She pulls back just enough to palm him, her fingers wrapping around his length with a teasing squeeze. Logan hisses sharply, his head dropping against her shoulder.

“Turned from stinky boy into horny boy real quick,” she says with a grin, her hand beginning a slow, deliberate rhythm.

His breath catches, and he looks down at her hand before meeting her gaze, his eyes dark with pleasure. “I take that back. It’s you I worry about the most,” he groans, his voice rough, but the way his lips curl into a satisfied smile tells her he doesn’t mind at all.

PREVIOUS LS² ONE-SHOT

MASTERLIST

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ramblings-of-a-chaotic-neutral · 8 months ago

Text

Seeing as how my last au idea, where reincarnated Merlin finds Camelot again, got a ton of support, here's a continuation of that au! You can find part one of this au here.

EDIT: You can find part three of this au here!

Note: Translations for the Old English are at the end!

As a recap, in this au, Merlin died at Camlann and his magic made everyone in Camelot immortal, but they all eventually fall into a comatose state until Merlin returns. Merlin's reincarnated without his magic or memories and winds up as an archeologist working at the site of the ruins of Camelot. While exploring with his colleagues, Merlin accidentally awakens Arthur, whom he thinks is some sort of undead creature, and Merlin is captured by Arthur and the knights along with his colleagues. Arthur and everyone else speak in Old English, so Merlin's got no clue what's going on and assumes that these undead creatures are going to kill him, while Arthur and the knights assume that Merlin has just returned from Avalon and still has all of his memories and magic.

So, without further ado, on to the new stuff! I figured that it would be better to see the next part from Arthur's POV!

For Arthur, waking up had always been a struggle. The morning sun had always been his enemy, mockingly telling him that his time being warm and comfy in his bed was over. But if he had looked forwards to seeing a certainly lanky frame throw his curtains open and wake him up with whatever cheery, inane greeting he had come up with that morning, then that was Arthur's business and Arthur's business alone.

However, when had Arthur sat down in his seat at the round table, barely able to keep his eyes open and knowing that this was the last time he would be conscious for hundreds of years, he was thoroughly looking forward to waking up again. Because when he awoke, his centuries-long wait would be over! His love would be back where he belonged, by his side, and they would have all the time in the world to grow close once more!

And when that glorious day finally came, when Arthur's mind awoke and his eyes opened again, it was to the best sight Arthur could have imagined. Merlin, here in front of him, whole and healthy! Oh, Arthur had dreamed of this day for centuries before his long slumber! Those long centuries without Merlin were grim, with a phantom pain of Merlin's absence lingering within his heart and his life, and the pain was only slightly lessened with the assurance of Merlin's eventual return.

But now Merlin was right here, within his grasp, and they could be together once more! Arthur slowly got his arm, stiffened by centuries of disuse, to move, trying to reach out and touch Merlin, to prove to himself that Merlin was truly here and was not some desperate illusion conjured by his mind. Looking into Merlin's wonderfully familiar eyes though, Arthur knew deep down that this was real.

Before Arthur could get his arm to cooperate, however, four oddly-dressed strangers ran up to Merlin. Merlin yelled in surprise, probably at seeing the strangers running at him, and tried to dodge them, but wound up clumsily falling to the ground instead. Arthur would have laughed at his lover's antics if he heart wasn't pounding with rage at the sight of those intruders grabbing ahold of Merlin and dragging him away!

Arthur finally got his legs to work as the intruders dragged Merlin out of the council room, and shouted as soon as his jaw would allow it, "Gripan híe! Híe syndon fandian to niman Myrddin!"

The others at the round table were startled awake at his shouting, and looked around the room confused. As joyous as Arthur was at seeing his brothers in arms and his lovely wife again, Merlin's abduction was a far more pressing matter. Their long-anticipated and happy reunions would have to wait until after Merlin was rescued from those strangely dressed invaders.

Despite the awful situation, Arthur had the urge to smile at Merlin's situation. It was just like Merlin to get himself into trouble only mere seconds after reuniting with Arthur. Arthur had been so afraid that Merlin would be different when he returned, but it seemed as though that wasn't the case! He was still the same old Merlin that Arthur was so devastatingly fond of, finding trouble anywhere he went!

Still, regardless of Arthur's nostalgia, Merlin was in danger and needed to be saved! After a few seconds, Guinevere and the knights had all woken up properly and had registered what Arthur had shouted, sharing in his panic. However, these intruders were in Arthur's castle, where he had the advantage.

"Hwæt, Guinevere, far to þæm wæpnedhuse and find hwæt wæpnedu sindon gód in þæm stæde. Leon, far and wec þa oþre cnihtas. Hæbbe hí ceorfan of þæm unrihtwisan fleon. Oðer ealdras, fylgað me!"

After shouting out his orders, Arthur pulled Excalibur from its sheath and took off in the direction of the intruders who had stolen Merlin, moving as quickly as his stiff legs would allow. He could hear Percival, Elyan, and Gwaine behind them, their weapons at the ready.

It didn't take long to find the intruders, as they were clearly not familiar with the layout of the castle and had no sense of stealth whatsoever. If they were spies or thieves of some sort, whoever hired them deserved their money back. Arthur just had to follow the sounds of their rapid footsteps echoing off the ancient stone of the hallways.

As Arthur came around the corner to a long corridor, he caught sight of his prey, about halfway down the corridor from him. As they turned back to look at him, he could see the fear etched onto their faces.

Good, Arthur thought, they deserved to be afraid of him after what they had just tried to do. The group of thieves made it only a couple more steps before Leon burst into the hallway from the other side, flanked by about a dozen more knights and cutting off the intruders' escape. The knights made quick work of apprehending the inept thieves and freeing Merlin from their clutches.

Anger welled up savagely in Arthur's chest as he looked at Merlin, who looked rather frightened by this failed kidnapping. He might still be in pain from his injuries at Camlann, and these fools would have no doubt injured him further while they dragged him along with them, sprinting through the castle!

Arthur grit his teeth as fury rolled over him in waves. If he lost Merlin a second time due to these intruders, then there would be hell to pay.

"Hū darrst þū āsceacan hine from mē! Iċ hæbbe bīdode ofer þūsend geara for þisne tīman, and þū ātēowedest tō nīefre hine from mē stelan! Þū scealt āgildan for þis!"

It felt nice to release even the slightest bit of his rage onto these thieves, but Arthur had to keep his priorities straight. Punishing these fools could wait until after he knows more about Merlin's current condition.

Arthur turns his gaze to Merlin once more. Oh, how he had missed his dear Merlin! If only his Merlin's face wasn't marred by fear, but that would change after his would-be kidnappers were safely locked away.

"Nimðað þa ungewelwieras to ðære cyrcan cwellan, wē magon dēmian mid him æfter. Gwaine, nim Myrddin to his geardas and hafa Gaius locian ofer hine. And be mildheort, he sceal hæbbe geferod eft fram Avalon and mæg swilc bēon in pinunge fram his wundum! Gecyða eft to mē mid Gaius's gemetungum þonne hē geendod hæfð."

As hard as it was to part from Merlin's side now that he had just gotten him back, there were still other matters that Arthur had to attend to before he could truly give Merlin the attention he deserved. Still, he knew that Merlin would be in good hands with Gaius and Gwaine, and Arthur would rest easier knowing that Merlin was whole and healthy.

After ensuring that the intruders were securely locked away in the dungeons and awaiting punishment (which would solely depend on how uninjured Merlin turned out to be), Arthur retreated to his study. Now that the whole castle was waking up, he needed to sent out scouts to see how the land around Camelot had hanged, to coordinate with the council to arrange a full head-count of who was awake and see if it matched the last census before everyone fell asleep, to meet with the cook and arrange for their emergency food supplies (which were thankfully also preserved by the same magic that kept them immortal) to be distributed and hopefully keep everyone from going hungry until the next harvest, and to draft a speech to address everyone and get everyone on the same page. The last thing that they needed right now was for chaos to break out, so hopefully keeping everyone well-informed of the situation would allow them to keep everyone's fears at bay.

During his paperwork, one of the guards reported to him that the prisoners were shouting loudly, but in a language that none of them could understand, and they didn't seem to understand anything that the guards told them. Arthur told him to gag them with some cloth for an hour if they got too loud, but otherwise don't bother with it. They could work out some way to get information, like who they worked for and why they had dared to target Merlin, from the prisoners later.

Near the end of the day, had received a report from Gaius that Merlin was completely healthy and unhurt, which abated most of Arthur's fears. However, Gaius also included in his report that Merlin seemed to not be speaking, which Gaius theorized would have most likely been caused by the lasting trauma of his death. A deep pit opened in Arthur's stomach as he read that. He had been so focused on having Merlin back and physically healthy, but he hadn't considered if Merlin would be mentally healthy upon his return. Arthur steeled his resolve that, no matter what condition Merlin was in, he would support his dear Merlin and help him heal from whatever lasting scars his death had left. Merlin had died for him, it was his solemn duty to see that Merlin would recover from it.

As if on cue, Gwaine burst into his chambers, without knocking of course, and gently set Merlin down on the ground. With a teasing wink and a genuine smile, Gwaine closed the door, leaving Merlin and Arthur alone together. Merlin flinched at the sound of the door closing, and Arthur wondered how deep the scars on his mind must be if Merlin looked so frightened even here, in Arthur's chambers, which should be the safest place in the world for him.

Arthur stepped closer to Merlin's shivering form, concerned by the way Merlin pulled back from him. Still, Merlin obviously needed comfort, so Arthur pressed forward and pulled Merlin into a hug, the warm, sappy kind that Merlin had always tried to coax out of Arthur.

Arthur couldn't help the words that spilled out from his mouth next. "Oh Myrddin, hwǣr eart þū bēon?"

Arthur could feel Merlin stiffen in his arms at his words and immediately knew that he had just messed up. Merlin had, of course, been in Avalon before his return, and if Arthur knew Merlin at all, Merlin had probably spent all of his time in Avalon trying to escape, to get back to Camelot and return to Arthur's side. Arthur should have known that Merlin wouldn't like to be reminded of his time being dead!

Quickly, Arthur released a tense and still wordless Merlin from his hold and guided him towards the table, lightly manhandling Merlin into the seat next to Arthur's. Dinner had already been sent up by the kitchen, but Arthur hadn't had the chance to eat any of it yet, so there was plenty of smoked ham and vegetables for Arthur to pile onto Merlin's plate. It was doubtful if there was food in Avalon for the dead, so Merlin's probably starving!

"Ēat, Myrddin, and þæt is ān bebod! Þū eart ǣac þinra þonne ic þē lǣstan gesēah! Þū scealt nū hungor hæbban, swā þū ne eart fēor þæt þū þæt disc fullfremed hæbbe!"

Merlin simply blinked at Arthur and looked at him with painfully blank eyes. Worse yet, his fear was still present on his face. Why was he still afraid? Was Merlin even mentally present, aware of where he was? Or was he stuck in some sort of nightmare conjured by his own mind?

Concerned, Arthur stepped closer to Merlin. However, Merlin still didn't even look at the food on his plate, his eyes stuck to Arthur's face. Arthur tried to move slowly, like he was guiding a particularly skittish horse, and took hold of Merlin's hand to guide it to the fork on the table. Luckily, Merlin seemed to be aware enough to know what to do, as his fingers grasped at the fork and picked it up.

Arthur gave Merlin a smile, hoping to coax him further back into reality. He then guided Merlin's hand, now holding the fork, back towards Merlin's plate, where he led Merlin's hand to stab a nice-sized piece of ham, and then guided his hand to Merlin's mouth.

Merlin seemed to get the hang of it from there, taking the piece into his mouth, chewing, and swallowing. After a quick glance at Arthur, Merlin started eating through the food on his plate of his own accord, which Arthur counted as a victory. Merlin was already showing so much progress!

By the time Merlin had finished the plate, the fire in the hearth was burning low, and Arthur knew that it was time for him to go to bed.

As Arthur stood to walk over to his changing screen though, he heard Merlin speak, which sent his heart jumping up his his throat his surprise and joy.

"Please, what do you want from me? I don't understand."

Arthur whipped around at the sound of Merlin's voice, a sound that time had cruelly eroded from his memories, and he couldn't contain his excitement.

"Hwæt wæs þæt?! Myrddin, hwæt sægst þu? Ic bidde þe secge me!"

Merlin flinched back at his outburst though, stopping Arthur dead in his tracks. Speaking slowly and gently, Arthur tried again.

"Myrddin, hwæt sægdest þū? Mihtest þū āgēan sprecan for mē, þancie?"

Merlin blinked at him again, his eyes filling with tears. Oh no, what happened? Arthur hadn't meant to upset Merlin, he had only wanted to hear him speak again! Before Arthur could try to comfort his distraught lover, to his amazement, Merlin spoke once more.

"I don't know what we did, but please let us go! We'll never come back here again, I swear! Just please let us go!"

Arthur blinked as he tried to make sense of what Merlin was saying. He didn't recognize any of those words. Had Merlin come back from Avalon speaking another language?

Well, Arthur knew that languages changed over time, perhaps Avalon sent Merlin back speaking the language of whatever century they were in now? That would make the most sense after all.

Wait... a minute, if Merlin couldn't speak their language... then that meant...

Arthur frantically set his hand on the table, just a few inches away from Merlin's arm, and spoke as clearly as he could.

"Hwæt, Myrddin, gif þu me understandan mæg, þonne set þin hand on min."

Arthur's heart pounded in his chest as he waited for Merlin to move his hand. He waited and waited, but Merlin just kept looking at him with those painfully blank eyes.

Eventually, Arthur lost his tenuous grip on his grief and rage, and he grabbed a goblet and hurled into the wall with a shout. Why?! Why had Avalon done this?! How could the fates be so cruel as to return his love to him, but place this barrier between them?!

Arthur took a few deep breaths to get himself under control again. He looked over at Merlin, where his lover as practically shaking in his seat. Poor Merlin must have been so confused! To return home only to find that he could not understand anyone! It was no wonder he was so frightened, he had no idea what was going on!

Then, an idea struck Arthur. If Merlin couldn't understand his words, then he would surely understand his actions! Arthur was a man more suited for actions rather than mere words anyways.

Keeping a keen eye on Merlin, Arthur made his way across the room towards a locked chest, one that had not been opened for centuries even before everyone fell asleep. Arthur could not bear to look upon its contents, but he needed to keep them for Merlin's eventual return.

Arthur carefully unlocked the chest and opened the lid, revealing Merlin's few material possessions at the time of his death. It had saddened Arthur deeply, even in the fog of despair that had surrounded him in those days following Merlin's death, to realize that all of Merlin's possessions could barely fill a chest halfway. Even when he was the beloved consort of the wealthiest king in Albion, Merlin lived as though he was still in the poverty that he had grown up in.

Inside the chest sat a few articles of clothing, a couple books of magic, a carved wooden dragon, a few bags, some letters from Hunith and Lancelot, and two gifts from Arthur. Arthur had only been able to give Merlin one of those gifts during his lover's lifetime, but he kept the second gift safe in the chest, ready for Merlin's return.

Carefully, Arthur pulled out his mother's sigil and a delicate silver crown from the chest and made his way back to Merlin.

Merlin was looking at him confused again, so Arthur held up the sigil and, keeping is movements very clear, pressed the sigil into Merlin's hands. To his dismay, Merlin looked at the sigil like he'd never seen it before in his life.

Oh god, were his memories warped as well?! What did he remember?

A thin, hurt voice whispered treacherous questions in his ears. Did he remember Arthur at all? Did he remember the love they had shared, or did he only see a strangers face when he looked upon Arthur's?

At this point, tears were silently streaming down Arthur's face as he swallowed back wailing sobs. He had just gotten Merlin back, and yet he still remains lost to Arthur!

Arthur let out a gasping breath and, desperately hoping for some sort of response, he placed the silver crown on Merlin's head, as he should have done centuries ago. Still, Merlin only looked at him with confusion, and no recognition was sparked in his eyes.

Unable to bear it any longer, Arthur lurched forwards towards Merlin. If absolutely nothing else worked, if this was the only thing Merlin knew of Arthur, then by god let it be how much Arthur loved him.

Closing his eyes, Arthur softly pressed his lips onto Merlin's. Merlin, unsurprisingly, did not respond, likely too shocked at the stranger kissing him. After a couple seconds, Arthur pulled back, not waiting Merlin to get too uncomfortable, and dared to look at Merlin's eyes once more, hunting for any sort of recognition, but only one thing caught his attention.

Merlin's eyes were gold. They definitely weren't golden before.

Arthur stood, frozen, as Merlin seemed to go through some journey within his own mind, his face changing expressions every few seconds. Slowly, though, the golden light began to dim from his eyes.

As his eyes returned to their usual lovely blue, Merlin let out a loud gasp, and looked around Arthur's chambers as if he was only just now becoming aware of where exactly he was. Ever so slowly, his eyes drifted back to Arthur, and Merlin, through the tears that had now gathered in his eyes, let out a gasping laugh.

"Þū ne miht gān ymbe cyssende folc butan gewarnunge swā, þū dolop heafod! Þū ēac næarwe mē ġefēngest þæt mīn heorte ġeswenced wæs! Būton þām, hwæt wōd þīn lufiende gemǣra, þā hērde þone cyning cyssende folc on ætǣlum!"

Then it was Arthur's turn to laugh, to excited and relieved to do anything else but kiss Merlin again, with his love back where he belonged.

SOME TIME LATER:

Arthur yelped as Merlin punched his arm as they were both laying in bed, his lover giving him a somewhat scathing look, the same one he wore when Arthur ordered him to mucked out the stables.

"Hwæt wæs þæt for?"

Merlin huffed at him indignantly, but his eyes held the barest hint of mirth in them.

"Þæt wæs for þrowing mīn ġeweorċiend in þā ġeolu! Hīe wǣron ġeþēodende tō ālȳsene mē, and þæt is hū þū þancast hīe? Nā mā cossas for þē oþ þū lǣte hīe faran!"

Arthur rolled his eyes but complied with his lover's wishes, getting out of bed and calling over a guard and telling him to release the prisoners. Really, how was he supposed to know that the intruders were just Merlin's coworkers? They had looked like kidnappers from Arthur's perspective!

Huffing with amusement, Arthur made his way back over to the bed, softly kissing Merlin as he climbed back in, ready to sleep for the night. Before he closed his eyes though, he called out to Merlin.

"Beheald þū mē þæt þū beōn hēr þonne ic āwacige?"

Merlin smiled gently at Arthur and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

"Ic behēte."

TRANSLATIONS:

Gripan híe! Híe syndon fandian to niman Myrddin! = Catch them! They're trying to take Merlin!

Hwæt, Guinevere, far to þæm wæpnedhuse and find hwæt wæpnedu sindon gód in þæm stæde. Leon, far and wec þa oþre cnihtas. Hæbbe hí ceorfan of þæm unrihtwisan fleon. Oðer ealdras, fylgað me! = Guinevere, please go to the armory and find whatever weapons are still in decent condition. Leon, go wake up and gather the other knights. Have them cut off the intruders' escape. The rest of you, follow me!

Hū darrst þū āsceacan hine from mē! Iċ hæbbe bīdode ofer þūsend geara for þisne tīman, and þū ātēowedest tō nīefre hine from mē stelan! Þū scealt āgildan for þis! = How dare you try to take him from me! I have waited over a thousand years for this moment, and you've attempted to steal him from me! You must pay for this!

Nimðað þa ungewelwieras to ðære cyrcan cwellan, wē magon dēmian mid him æfter. Gwaine, nim Myrddin to his geardas and hafa Gaius locian ofer hine. And be mildheort, he sceal hæbbe geferod eft fram Avalon and mæg swilc bēon in pinunge fram his wundum! Gecyða eft to mē mid Gaius's gemetungum þonne hē geendod hæfð. = Take the intruders to the dungeon cells, we can deal with them later. Gwaine, take Merlin to his chambers and have Gaius look over him. And be gentle, he must have just come back from Avalon and could still be in pain from his wounds! Report back to me with Gaius's findings when he's done.

Oh Myrddin, hwǣr eart þū bēon = Oh Merlin, where have you been?

Ēat, Merlin, and þæt is ān bebod! Þū eart ǣac þinra þonne ic þē lǣstan gesēah! Þū scealt nū hungor hæbban, swā þū ne eart fēor þæt þū þæt disc fullfremed hæbbe! = Eat, Merlin, and that's an order! You're even skinnier than the last time I saw you! You must be hungry now, so you're not leaving until I see that you've finished that plate!

Hwæt wæs þæt?! Myrddin, hwæt sægst þu? Ic bidde þe secge me! = What was that?! Merlin, what did you say? Please tell me!

Myrddin, hwæt sægdest þū? Mihtest þū āgēan sprecan for mē, þancie? = Merlin, what did you say? Could you try to speak again for me, please?

Hwæt, Myrddin, gif þu me understandan mæg, þonne set þin hand on min. = Merlin, if you can understand me at all, then put your hand in mine.

Þū ne miht gān ymbe cyssende folc butan gewarnunge swā, þū dolop heafod! Þū ēac næarwe mē ġefēngest þæt mīn heorte ġeswenced wæs! Būton þām, hwæt wōd þīn lufiende gemǣra, þā hērde þone cyning cyssende folc on ætǣlum! = You can't just go around kissing people without warning like that, you dollop head! You almost gave me a heart attack! Besides, what would your loving consort think, hearing about the king kissing people at random!

Hwæt wæs þæt for? = What was that for?

Þæt wæs for þrowing mīn ġeweorċiend in þā ġeolu! Hīe wǣron ġeþēodende tō ālȳsene mē, and þæt is hū þū þancast hīe? Nā mā cossas for þē oþ þū lǣte hīe faran! = That was for throwing my coworkers in the dungeons! They were trying to save me, and that's how you thank them? No more kisses for you until you let them go!

Beheald þū mē þæt þū beōn hēr þonne ic āwacige? = Promise me that you'll be here when I wake up?

Ic behēte. = I promise.

And that's a wrap! Man, this thing quickly spiraled out of control. What was supposed to be a short and sweet prompt evolved into this beast of a post. Well, I hoped you liked this au!

And, as always, thank you for reading through my ramblings! :D

Also, here's everyone who asked for this continuation (and if I forgot to tag someone, I am so sorry, there were a lot of you who asked for a part 2 and I couldn't really keep track of them all 😭): @valiantkittenwitch @gaiussleechtank @laundryandtaxesworld @ath99 @dont-know-how-this-works @young-skam @authenticblob @regulusrules @linotheghost @olidun @championrevali @lil-gremlin-things @hopeaha @mitoconniedria @candlemouse @starlightdreams-blog @todolist-nothing07 @princess-of-morkva @mortalmab @livewondrousss @araevenn @shesthewindandsea @that-ghost-bitch @myself-being @queencutl @hakka84 @asagijing @izzymizzyofficial @thedollopheadofcamelot @lostinthe--stars @larluce ( <- also I'm a big fan of your au's so thank you so much!!) @allisnotfairinloveandbooks @arthursbubblebutt @rain-dragons @ofqueensandwitches @ramadiiiisme @righteous-scamp @cwilbah @merthurogies @merlinrepost @once-upon-the-earth @fluffy-loves-chocolate @lightoftheemeraldstar @tansruduri @avixenk

Also, a shoutout to @theanishimori, who inspired the "true love's kiss" element of the ending!

I'll see you all again soon with a new au idea!

#bbc merlin #merlin #arthur pendragon #merlin bbc #merlin au #merthur #protective arthur #merlin prompts

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devildomwriter · 1 year ago

Text

All Spells & Magic

7-20

Solomon: “…Denizens of the darkness, awaken! You who are born of shadow, hear me! I am the one called Solomon. I call upon you now to lend your power to Asmodeus, Avatar of Lust!”

8-13

MC: “…Hear me, denizens of the darkness, you who are born of shadow and you who give birth to it. Hear me and do as I command! …Denizens of the darkness, awaken! You who are born of shadow, hear me! I call upon you now to lend your power to Asmodeus, Avatar of Lust!”

11-12

Group: “Elohim Essaim Frugativi et appelavi… Come to us…we beseech you… Hear our words…head our summons… Show yourself…appear before us…”

13-14

Barbatos: “Hear my voice and heed my command. These words are sound…the sound, melody. And through it I bind thee, and rob thee of they freedom.”

29-12

Satan: “Forces of calamity, disaster, and misfortune! Rain down upon the one who stands before me…”

Mammon: “D’ah! Stop! What kind curse are you puttin’ on me, anyway?!”

Satan: “Bidibriupyon fath parthu…”

MC: “Bidibriupyon fath parthu…”

29-12

Satan: “May the vestiges of the curse that linger within the person before me be eliminated. I am the one they call Satan…Hear my command!””

30-13

Satan: “May our bodies be drawn together and bound together, by a force none can resist and none can escape…”

30-13

MC: “…Calm the unease that gnaws at this demons, and bring peace to his heart!”

35-2

Solomon: “…Spirit of wind, the magician Solomon commands thee! Shield the ears of those who stand before me! Rid them of their lust for water, and silence the siren’s voice!”

35-9

Solomon: “I am the magician Solomon… Heed my words! Open the way forward, and create a path where there was none!”

36-16

Solomon: “May this vile curse return to the one who conjured it. Turn back the hands of time and unwind the wrong-doing that triggered it. I am the magician Solomon… Hear my command! Let none oppose it, and none escape it!”

37-1

MC: “Spirit of earth, cover the mouth of the one who lies before me, and silence his cries forever…”

37-1

MC: “May the vestiges of pain that linger within the demon before me be eliminated!”

44-1

MC: “Spirit of water…Suppress this torrent…”

44-1

MC: “May the vestiges of pain that linger within the demon before me be eliminated… I am the one they call MC… Hear my command!”

45-7

Solomon: “…I call upon the earth itself to shackle the one who stands before me. Leave them bound and helpless. I am the sorcerer Solomon…Answer my call!”

46-1

Mammon: ”Spirit of wind, I command you! Arise, Pierce the darkness, and bring that tiny demon to me! I am Mammon, Avatar of Greed! Hear and obey me!””

46-1

MC: “…Beelzebub, your master MC commands you… Cast aside this wicked creature so he may bother us no more!”

46-10

MC: “…Denizens if darkness, awaken! Hear me, you who are born of shadow! I am MC, the master who commands Beelzebub, the Avatar of Gluttony. I call upon you now to lend your power to this demon!”

46-10

Solomon: “Spirit of wind, calm yourself. Spirit of earth, sleep.”

53-4

Solomon: “Grant those who stand before me temporary forms, so that they appear as animals. Solomon the sorcerer wills it. Hear me, and let it be done!”

56-3

MC: “O winds of protection, shield him.”

56-3

MC: ”O fires of judgment…”

58-2

MC: “Hear me, O light born of shadow! Come forth and repel this evil spirit!”

58-12

Beelzebub: “Evil spirit, sinister and foul! In the name of Beelzebub, Avatar of Gluttony…be gone!”

58-15

Satan: “Evil spirit, sinister and foul! Return to the darkness from whence you came!Witness my rage and behold your doom, from ashes to ashes, dust to dust…”

58-18

Lucifer: “Evil spirit, sinister and foul! Return to the darkness from whence you came! Witness my power and behold your doom, from ashes to ashes, dust to dust…”

58-19

MC: “…May the vestiges of fear that linger within the angel before me be eliminated. I am the one they call MC…hear my command.”

59-1

Mammon: “Wh-What just happened?! That blast of wind that hit me…was that magic?!”

Lucifer: “Ah, so you conjured that gust of wind, and sent Mammon flying onto the couch before he could step on the vacuum…Well done, MC.” *no spell is said aloud, as using magic without incantation is a sign of more poweeerful magic, and MC can now summon wind without using any words*

60-3

*It’s implied MC can use levitation magic to grab items far away*

61-1

MC: “…In the name of the sorcerer MC, I command you. Create a path where there is none…And lead me where I wish to go.”

61-14

MC: “Hear me, O spirit of wind! Awaken the demon who slumbers before me! In the name of the Sorcerer MC, I command you!”

62-11

MC: “…Hear me! Spirit of water, rain down upon the demon before me. In the name of the sorcerer, MC, make it so…”

62-11

MC: “…Spirit of wind, bring your force to bear on the demon before me!”

62-14

MC: “Spirit of water, rain down!”

62-14

MC: “Spirit of water, send forth a cataclysmic deluge!”

64-17

MC: “…In the name of the sorcerer MC, I command you! Create a path where there is none! And lead us where we wish to go.”

65-11

MC: “Spirit of wind, protect him!”

66-4

MC: “Spirit of fire, send forth your flames…

66-4

MC: “Spirit of water, rain down upon him…”

66-4

MC: “Spirit of wind, send forth a gale…”

66-4

MC: “Create a path where there is none!”

66-4

MC: “Spirit of earth, cover his mouth and silence him!”

66-4

MC: “I bind thee, and rob thee of thy freedom!”

Solomon: “Looks like you’re shortening the incantation like a pro! Just what I’d expect from my talented apprentice!”

66-19

MC: “I bind thee…And rob thee of thy freedom!”

68-7

MC: “May the illusion clouding my mind be dispelled! I am the one they call MC. Hear my command.”

68-11

MC: “…Hear me…Spirit of wind, calm yourself. Spirit of earth, sleep! In the name of the sorcerer MC, I command you…”

68-19

MC: “The sorcerer MC commands you…Come forth, feline…”

70-15

MC: “The sorcerer MC commands you! Come forth, super-rare book…”

70-17

MC: “In the name of the sorcerer MC, I draw upon my pact with the ring of light……Come forth, Lucifer!”

74-17

MC: “Hear me, and heed my call. In the name of the sorcerer MC, I draw upon my pact with the ring of light. Come forth, Lucifer…”

76-11

MC: “Hear me, spirit of wind. I call for your protection! In the name of the sorcerer MC, I call upon you…”

78-16

Solomon: “Are you ready? In order to remove a magic item from inside a solid object here’s what you do. First, condense as much of your own magic energy as possible, creating a ball of magical light. This ball of concentrated magic needs to be at least as powerful as the item you want to remove. Okay, I think this should be enough. Then you thrust your condensed magic orb into the tree, forcing the magic item inside out. Once the item has been removed, the tree will return to normal.”

79-14

MC: “…In the name of the sorcerer MC, I command you…Create a path where there is none…And lead us to those who require our help…”

80-16 H

MC: “Hear me, denizens of the darkness, you who are born of shadow and you who give birth to it. Hear me and do as I command! I, MC, call upon you to send forth one of your number! I summon the avatar of envy, Leviathan…”

#obey me thanks #obey me request #obey me requests #obey me lucifer #obey me beelzebub #obey me mammon #obey me solomon #obey me asmodeus #obey me leviathan #obey me barbatos #obey me compilations

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candyswirls · 11 days ago

Text

Return of the Phoenician

Pt 1 - MasterPost (For all my other fics and writings)

Warnings: mentions of blood, self depreciation, negative self talk

Failure. Naive. Unwanted. Fake. Annoying. Weak. Too much to handle. Unlovable. Just an experiment. Unwanted. Just a copy. An irritant. Nothing like the original. Unwanted. Gullible. Idiot. Nothing like the original. Disobedient. Unlovable. Clone scum. Disgrace. Unwanted. Shameful. Disgusting. Unlovable. Stupid. Object. Unwanted. Burden. Unlovable. Stain. Unwanted. Traitor. Unlovable. Unwanted. Murderer. Unlovable. Unwanted, unlovable.

He was unwanted so therefore he was unlovable.

He sniffled as he slowly came into full consciousness. His joints were stuck as his muscles stung. The freezing crackle could still be felt in his nervous system. Green lights danced across his blurry vision.

He coughed and seethed as his lungs burned. Iron flooded his mouth and he slid across the wall till he lay on the floor. The scarabs crawled forth to pull him back up to his sitting position.

They skittered around, not paying attention to him.

He squeezed his eyes shut, any light irritating his throbbing migraine. Tears escaped down his cheeks.

He could still hear the Necron’s yelling and arguing beyond the room. Trazyn had been livid by whatever just happened. Raging at another.

He winced at the confusing and terrifying ordeal. All he could recall was being awakened by pain. Like he was being burned and electrocuted at the same time. A powerful source coursed through his veins. It warped his body and mind. He had never felt pain like this before. He screamed until it stopped. The feelings still echoing throughout his nervous system.

He could barely see. Every part of him singing with pain. He could see metal. There was fighting and screaming. He was dragged into this room and left as shots rang out.

As he regained movement and awareness he could feel his body desperately trying to repair itself. Several things were definitely wrong, that was a given, but there was something else. How he perceived the room. The scarabs. His body felt off. In a way not expected. The tunic he wore now was baggy. Falling off of one shoulder.

Even the inner workings of his body felt different. Like they weren’t up to full capacity. It was as if he had… shrunk.

He grimaced, taking note how his facial structure didn’t feel as it should be. He managed to reach up and feel his cheek. Everything tingled but he notated the lack of thick stubble. He usually kept clean shaven but his skin felt like it had never grown any hair. As if he were but a boy before reaching maturity.

He paused. He processed all he knew and focused on a particularly shiny scarab.

He grabbed it as it squeaked and protested. He held it up to him to see his reflection.

He was younger. A teenager.

He dropped the scarab unceremoniously and slowly slid back down to lying down. The other scarabs tried to come sit him up again. He batted them away.

“Leave… me alone,” he croaked.

Despite the raspiness, he even sounded younger. Whatever it was he was in had de-aged him.

He choked as bile exited his stomach. The acrid taste lingering in his mouth. Bile. Fabius Bile. Teacher. He had… given him away. Like he was nothing. To a necron. To be kept. Like an object. He was merely an object. Unwanted by anyone. Just an experiment. Unloved.

He sniffed as his lip trembled. Hot tears began flowing again as he wallowed in his misery and woe. He gagged as his stomach purged more. His abdomen clenched and he could feel sweat dripping down his back. He felt as though he was burning again.

He coughed, unable to move as the pain rippled. It didn’t stop until he was dry heaving. Nothing left in his body to give.

He gasped and tried to slow his breathing. The burning stopped and his sweat suddenly felt very cool. His muscles relaxed. He closed his eyes, relishing in the pain relief.

His moment of respite was interrupted as the necron he was given to, Trazyn, came storming in.

He yelled somethings in his language, still mad at whatever had transpired.

He crouched down before Fulgrim.

“Look at what he’s done to my Primarch,” he hissed.

Fulgrim gritted his teeth and struggled to roll over.

Trazyn hummed and reached out to grab him. Fulgrim attempted to smacked his hand away.

“Don’t… touch me,” he whimpered.

“You’re in need of medical attention,” Trazyn muttered. He spoke as if he wasn’t even there.

He tried crawling away from the Necron.

“I don’t know what you think you’re going to accomplish,” Trazyn said. “You’re wounded, have no where to go, and I’ll be putting you back in place soon.”

Fulgrim spat blood at the collector.

“What did you do to me??” He demanded.

“Nothing, there was a malfunction with your pod due to… interference. Annoying interference. It exploded and the stasis field overloaded. Rather than holding you in suspended animation and prevent aging, it did the opposite it looks like. Reversed you to late adolescence. Pity. Perhaps I’ll keep you out a bit till you mature. Then you’ll be placed back in the exhibit.”

Fulgrim managed to pull himself to a corner. Seething as he rubbed his legs. He hadn’t used them yet it was like they were on fire!

Trazyn moved to leave, “I will be back.”

Fulgrim huffed and leaned against the cold metal wall. Tears began to pour again. This was ridiculous. Stupid! Why?! Why did everything have to turn out like this?! He deserved better than this!

He paused as he came to a self realization and groaned. He was even thinking like a spoiled brat.

Grief and despair overwhelmed him again. He curled into a ball and sobbed again. He was hopeless. Just like the original.

Teacher’s last words echoed in his mind. How he was already set to fail like the original. He would fall. He would already fail. He was a failure. He didn’t want him anymore. He was too much of a burden. He was sending him to Trazyn to have as part of the Necron’s collection.

His head spun. He had no use, no purpose, no meaning. No one wanted him. Therefore, he was unloved. Maybe it was best to be kept in suspended animation. Then he wouldn’t falter. Couldn’t disappoint anyone. Not like the original.

He screamed in rage, breathing picking up. No! No! He refused! He had sworn he would be better than the original. He would make things right! He would make different choices. Things WOULD be different. His sons were willing to follow him. He had started a revolt! He was the Phoenician, a Primarch, a son of the emperor. He had brought his entire world into compliance without the use of violence.

He WOULD be better than the original. He already was. He’d made up his mind.

He shifted uncomfortably, running all he could recall of necrons and his short time awake here.

He couldn’t fight them. Too many and he was wounded. His legs. Could he even use them anymore??

He shook his head and gripped the wall, trying to stand.

To his relief, the scarabs came to his assistance. He was almost standing but the pain was unbearable. He let out a string of the most vulgar chemosian swears and insults he could.

His knees gave out and he fell backwards. He seethed for a moment as he crushed a few scarabs then rolled off of them. He looked up to see them dead, being teleported away. Some on their back twitching.

He burst into tears, intense grief overwhelming all emotions at accidentally killing them. What was happening??? This was embarrassing! Crying over Xenos vermin?!? But they didn’t deserve it! It was an accident!

One was still there, some of its legs now broke. It flailed its working ones as it struggled to get off its back.

He sniffed as he picked it up and tried to bend the broken legs back to their right angle. He set it down and it scampered away.

He continued to hiccup and rub his aching legs.

Come on. Think. Ignore the scarabs! I have to get out of here. I can’t fight. It’d be unwise. Leman would laugh at him for such a thought. Lion would mock him. Perturabo would scoff.

He covered his mouth as the doubting words of his brethren echoed in his mind.

He slammed a fist down. No! He could do this. He didn’t fight or battle at all to bring Chemos into compliance. His greatest weapon had been diplomacy. He still had those skills.

The Necron Collector was obviously a high ranking Necron. He had skills. He could mine. He knew how to forge. There had to be something he could do or say to convince him of his freedom. If it doesn’t succeed… well that never stopped him. Find another angle or try again later.

His lip trembled as he dared to think his next thought.

Father, Emperor of Mankind, please hear me. It’s not a prayer. Just a plead for help. For mercy. Help me get out of here and back to you. I miss you. I miss you all. I swear I am better than the original. This clone will not disappoint you. Please. I just need a chance. Give me strength.

He rubbed his eyes and scooted to a sitting position, waiting for Trazyn to return.

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aethergate · 10 months ago

Note

99% of people give up attempting to retrieve their bodies. give up soon. to lingering will from xehanort for the what muses need to hear meme <3

he doesn't know i'll hit him so hard with my keyblade it'll correct his posture

#nortborne ; xehanort #because i know its you #rage awakened [ lingering will ]

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cece693 · 2 months ago

Text

No Feelings Allowed (Hannibal Lecter x GN! Reader)

Just something that came to me unexpectedly—Hannibal destroying his first romantic interest because he fears being human and doesn't exactly know how to love without it being destructive and ending in pain. This idea came from this small excerpt from Hannibal Rising: 'his heart died with Mischa. What is he now? There's not a word for it yet. For a lack of a better word, we'll call him a monster.' So something similar to how he feels with Will, but without cannibalism or murder. Hope you enjoy it!

Summary: Hannibal seeks to destroy his feelings because love was something the little boy from 1945 knew all too well, not the monster that had replaced him.

tags: no murder, cannibalism, Hannibal bad with feelings, hurt reader, no happy ending

The chain tightened slowly at first, a gentle pull that Hannibal could have ignored if he chose. It was metaphorical, of course, but it was there—a reminder that the monster within him was not so free after all. For years, he had lived by his own rules, indulging in his appetites when the urge struck and discarding his one night stands as one would a used utensil. There was no permanence, no attachment, no risk. Hannibal Lecter was a solitary creature by design, his life as controlled and meticulously crafted as the art on his walls.

Then there was you.

You were a subtle disruption, introduced by Jack Crawford as yet another promising agent with potential. Hannibal's first assessment was clinical: your appearance was pleasing, but not distractingly so. It was your mind that struck him, sharp and unrelenting. You approached cases with a clarity that he found rare, peeling back layers of evidence with a precision that reminded him of his own dissections. And then there was the way you looked at him—not with admiration, as so many others did, but with curiosity. You studied him, and for once, he felt the heat of a gaze that saw more than his surface.

That was his first sign of destruction.

The chain grew heavier each time you met, though Hannibal refused to acknowledge it. He dismissed the subtle tightness in his chest when you entered a room, the way his mind lingered on your sharp observations long after you'd left. It was harmless, he told himself—a fleeting fascination, born from the monster’s hunger for something extraordinary amidst the sea of mediocrity. But when his thoughts began to envision you standing beside him, bathed in blood and wearing the thrill of the hunt like a crown, Hannibal grew afraid. You were different. You weren’t just another piece to manipulate and discard.

You could be his equal.

His undoing.

Hannibal’s instinct was clear: eliminate the vulnerability, extinguish the flame before it burned him alive. It was better this way, safer to remain alone. Love was chaos. Love was weakness. And Hannibal Lecter was never weak. He planned the moment with meticulous precision, as he did all things. The next time you met, he would carefully dismantle this growing connection, severing the thread before it became something unbreakable. He had the perfect line rehearsed, a cold dismissal that would cut you down without leaving a trace of the conflict raging within him.

But then, you kissed him.

For a moment, Hannibal froze. It was as though the air had been sucked from the room, leaving only the sensation of your lips against his. Soft, yet insistent, they pressed into his own, igniting something deep within him that he thought he had buried long ago.

And then the monster stirred.

Euphoria was a word Hannibal rarely entertained, but it was the only word that fit. Your kiss was a narcotic, coursing through his veins and leaving him intoxicated. He didn’t just kiss you back; he devoured you, his hands gripping your waist as though you might vanish if he let go. For a fleeting moment, the chain around his neck loosened. The monster and the man inside him reached a fragile truce, united by the sheer intensity of what you had awakened in him.

But euphoria, like all highs, came with a crash.

Hannibal, unable to handle such revelation, sought to extinguish the fire burning within him. The wine had flowed too freely that evening, its rich aroma mingling with the tension that hung heavy in the air. Hannibal had invited Alana over under the pretense of discussing a recent case, but his true intentions were far more insidious. He needed to drown the inferno raging inside him, to snuff out the fire you had lit within him before it consumed him entirely.

Alana, ever gracious and unsuspecting, had accepted his invitation with a warm smile. They had sat in his living room, the conversation drifting from philosophy to the complexities of human emotion. Hannibal was as composed as ever, his words measured and precise, but by the third glass of wine, the monster had taken over.

It was mechanical, the way he leaned closer, brushing a stray lock of Alana's hair from her face. She had paused, a hint of surprise flickering across her features, but she didn’t pull away. Perhaps she saw it as the culmination of years of subtle flirtations, of unspoken moments between them.

Hannibal told himself it was necessary, that this act would sever the chain that bound him to you. But as their lips met and the night unfolded, he felt nothing. No passion, no joy—only emptiness. The fire within him roared louder, refusing to be extinguished by such a hollow gesture. The next morning, he was woken up by sunlight streaming through the curtains and the faint sound of Alana stirring beside him. He rose quietly, dressing with meticulous care as he always did. By the time Alana woke, he had prepared breakfast, his movements precise and practiced. She smiled at him, her eyes searching his for some sign of what the night before had meant.

Hannibal offered her nothing.

Not only had the fire refused to be extinguished, but the collar around his neck still tightened uncomfortably. The monster and the man were overcome with immense guilt—an emotion he had never allowed himself to feel until you came along. Hannibal couldn't—wouldn't—face you after his mistake. Yet, when you arrived at his office the next day, he knew you had found out.

Nobody knew about your kiss with Hannibal, so naturally, Alana would be the one to reveal her supposed "relationship" with the doctor to anyone willing to listen. Poor, trusting you had been one of the first to hear it.

Anger engulfed you immediately. Had the kiss meant nothing to Hannibal? Had you not been open about how different he was compared to others? But that anger quickly morphed into resignation. Of course Hannibal would think nothing of the kiss. Sure, it had been passionate, but in the grand scheme of things, you were nothing. And what did the man owe you? The kiss didn't mean anything—he wasn't tethered to you nor owed you explanations. So even if you were hurt by his actions, it was entirely your fault for falling for the unreachable.

“Congratulations, Dr. Lecter,” you said, your voice steady despite the storm raging within you. “I wish you and Alana the best.”

Hannibal’s eyes flicked up to meet yours, and for a moment, you thought you saw something—regret, perhaps, or even guilt. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by the mask of calm he wore so well. “Thank you,” he replied, his tone measured, almost cautious.

You nodded, unable to trust yourself to say anything more. And what else was there to say? Words wouldn’t change what had happened, wouldn’t undo the hollow ache in your chest. The longer you stood in the presence of Dr. Hannibal Lecter, the greater the pain became—a weight pressing against your ribs, threatening to break you from within.

So, without so much as a goodbye, you turned and left his office.

The door closed behind you with a quiet click, and Hannibal’s carefully crafted composure crumbled. His posture slumped forward, the elegant mask slipping away as his hands rested heavily on the desk. He had prepared himself for your anger—your lashing out, demanding answers, shouting accusations. That would have been easier, even expected.

But your acceptance? That quiet resignation in your voice, the hollow look in your eyes—it was worse.

You believed the kiss meant nothing to him. You believed that you meant nothing to him. And that belief, that silent acceptance of your supposed disposability, tore through Hannibal in a way he could neither anticipate nor endure.

He wanted to open the door. He wanted to call you back, to stop you from walking out of his life. He wanted to tell you everything—tell you that the kiss had meant everything to him, that it had shaken him to his very core. That Alana had been nothing but a cowardly attempt to run from the vast, unfamiliar emotions you stirred within him.

He wanted to confess his fear: fear of the vulnerability you had awakened in him, fear of how much power you held over him. Fear of the love he had sworn never to feel again.

But the damage was done.

Hannibal remained seated, his gaze fixed on the door you had just walked through. The chain that had once bound him to you had been broken, but the severance did not bring the relief he had hoped for. Instead, it left him with an emptiness that consumed him.

The monster, silent for once, offered no solace. It was the man—what little remained of him—who mourned.

In the quiet of his office, Hannibal Lecter sat alone, surrounded by the life he had so meticulously constructed, and felt the unbearable weight of his loss. You were gone, and with you, the faint glimmer of humanity he had so foolishly tried to destroy.

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