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osarina · 2 days ago

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ᡣ𐭩 WERE WE BETTER UNKNOWN?

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: your story with dazai comes to a close... but is it really the end?

AUTHOR'S NOTES: guys. oh my god i have so much to say, i will put it all at the end. but i am so annoyed because the heart in the title looks wonky as hell—for some reason it looks fine on desktop but on mobile it’s fucked ip :’) comments & reblogs appreciated!

GENERAL WARNINGS: fem!reader, port mafia executive!reader, civilian!dazai, dazai's struggles w suicide & sh, reader partakes in mafia business, dazai isn't dazai without a bit of obsessiveness and possessiveness (the possessiveness doesn't come til later but the obsessiveness starts from day 0).

CHAPTER SPECIFIC WARNINGS: hardly edited. mentions of past suicide attempts (dazai). non-sexual nudity/intimacy. reader has 1 scar that dazai points out.

SEE: WASTELAND, BABY! SERIES MASTERLIST

Dazai dreams of a vast frozen lake.

Is he dreaming? He’s not sure. It’s cold, he shouldn’t be cold in dreams, right?

He lets out a shaky breath, and he can see the cool air fan around him. He shivers, hands running up and down his arms to try to warm himself up, but it’s futile—the snow that flutters from the sky is sharp against his skin and the air is bitterly cold, but the wind is oddly still. Eerily still. His shoes crunch against the snowy bank as he draws a bit closer to the edge of the lake, trying to figure out where he is.

“... are we going to…”

Dazai startles at the vaguely familiar whispery voice, eyes wide and searching as he looks around trying to pinpoint who had spoken, but there’s no one in sight. He can hardly see

Hell, he thinks dizzily, is he in hell?

Dazai’s fascination with literature began with his fascination with death. It started as a child—morbid and odd as it might’ve been, he was bored with life. He supposes that it’s part of the reason why his siblings didn’t like him, besides his ability, of course. He always had questions that people couldn’t answer—what happens after someone dies? They go to heaven, honey, his mother would reply. How do you know that? We just do. But how? What if we don’t? What if we just die? Stop asking so many creepy questions, Osamu, his sister would snap at him, curling into his mother’s side. But what-

He would keep asking until his sister got visibly upset and his mother had to take her out of the room. He never really understood why—they were legitimate questions—but his mother’s evasion of the topic and his siblings’ aversion did not deter his curiosity. In fact, when the first of his cousins died at the hands of one of his others, it spiked his curiosity. He almost found himself jealous that they would have the answers to the questions that have been plaguing him for years.

His questions of self-worth and his place here on earth didn’t come until he was a bit older, but he supposes at some point they probably merged together. His own doubts about himself and his lack of normalcy compared to other people led to his general fascination with death slowly turning into fascination about his own death. He found it quite ironic, and maybe a bit disheartening—he can’t even die correctly—that of all of the many members of his family, the one obsessed with death was the one that survived the longest, in spite of actively striving for eternal rest.

His fascination with death was put to an abrupt halt by Odasaku’s arrival in his life. Or well, that’s not exactly right. His fascination with his own death was put to a halt—Odasaku humored all of his questions, even if some of his answers were absurd and nonsensical, but when Dazai tried to spin the conversation back to himself, Odasaku would put his foot down.

Dazai only tried to kill himself once while he was living with him—it was around when Odasaku first took him in, and Dazai didn’t think the man would care all too much if he was gone. Ango was the one who found him in the bathroom, funny enough it was his first time meeting the other man, but when he woke up in the hospital, Dazai decided he never wanted to see that haunted expression on Odasaku’s face ever again.

It was around then when Odasaku started telling him about his book, and he helped redirect Dazai’s unhealthy fascination with death to a different outlet: literature. The Divine Comedy, the Aeneid, the tale of Orpheus and Eurydice—it was Odasaku who introduced him to them all. He enjoyed reading other peoples’ interpretation of the afterlife; he and Odasaku would have full blown debates over which interpretation was nearest to truth.

Dazai isn’t particularly convinced there is an afterlife at all, but he always thought that if there was one, it might look most like Dante Alighieri’s vision.

Like this.

“... can’t just stop, he’ll never let it be…”

This voice isn’t unfamiliar. Dazai’s head snaps up, eyes wide and searching as he tries to seek you out. Your voice sounds like it’s coming from all around him—the wind carries it, he can’t tell where you are and the icy air makes it hard for him to keep his eyes open to try to track you down. The wind is strange though; it stops blowing all around him, and instead begins billowing inward toward the center of the lake.

A foreboding feeling suddenly settles over Dazai.

Lake Cocytus—if this is what Dazai thinks it is, then it’s meant to represent the Ninth Circle. Treachery. A little ironic, maybe, considering loyalty is what got Dazai killed—your loyalty to the Port Mafia.

Is he dead? He realizes suddenly that he very well might be, not quite as pleased with the idea as he might’ve been in the months before he met you. He feels… unfulfilled almost. He never finished Odasaku’s book. He didn’t even manage to get his degree. He felt what it was like to be loved for a few months, but it wasn’t enough. He’d wanted more. He wanted a life with you.

He still wants a life with you, he thinks miserably. Even after everything that happened, he still wants it.

He must not be dead, he thinks absently, kicking at the snow on the banks of the lake before slowly treading out toward the center of it. If he was dead and really in the Ninth Circle of Hell, then he’d be stuck in the lake with the rest of the betrayers. Although, Dazai thinks if he really was going to hell, it wouldn’t be this circle—he doesn’t think he’s ever really betrayed anyone to this degree.

Or maybe he did, his thoughts take another dejected turn. Would his ‘betrayal’ to you count? It’s not like he actively tried to deceive you, so he thinks he should be given some leeway. But maybe it wouldn’t be too bad, if he’s here because he deceived you, then you would certainly be here for betraying him—he wouldn’t mind being stuck in hell if you were there with him. You both could be buried in the ice together, eternally frozen and suffering for betraying each other.

It’s kind of romantic, if you really think about it.

Something bubbles in his chest—maybe a laugh, or maybe a sob, he can’t tell, he thinks maybe he’s a bit hysterical.

It must just be a dream, he thinks again for some minimal solace. Or maybe a warning, maybe he’s somewhere caught in-between and God is striking down his hammer, warning him this is where he’s going to end up if he doesn’t change his ways like the message of the Divine Comedy itself.

The thought makes him laugh.

He sobers up quickly though as he starts his trek across the lake, thinking that maybe if he got to the other side, or the center, he’d wake up. He thinks you would find this funny—one of your first conversations with him had been about The Divine Comedy, and he spent many nights at dinner roping you into conversation about it, and convincing you to read some of the other books and poems that Odasaku had introduced him to. You-

“... one life or hundreds, that’s what he said…”

Dazai nearly slips on the ice when he hears your voice again, looking around as if you would just magically appear around him. You don’t, but it does leave Dazai a little disheartened hearing you repeat the words that Mori had said to convince you to kill him. He sighs as he keeps his gaze trained ahead, careful to not look down at the ice lest he find himself looking at something he would rather not.

The outskirts of the water were the traitors to kin—Dazai remembers that well. The first time he read the poem, he realized that this is where the majority of his cousins and older brothers would be. They spent almost two years killing each other for their grandfather’s inheritance; Dazai went from having seven siblings and almost two dozen cousins to three siblings and a handful of cousins by the time of the coup.

Traitors to country in the next section—Dazai thinks a bit gleefully that Mori would end up there. The Port Mafia isn’t exactly a city or country, but it’s still an entity, and Mori certainly betrayed it when he killed Dazai’s grandfather in his own bed, no matter what the reason for it might be.

Traitors to guests in the next section—this gives Dazai a bit of pause, he doesn’t know if he knows anyone that would fit in that section. Ui, maybe? Inviting him to work with his journalism house only to give him up to the Guild. Maybe Mori again, Dazai thinks, highly amused, because Dazai was a guest to you, and therefore, the Port Mafia, when everything happened.

And the last section—traitors to benefactors. He can’t avoid looking at them; they’re the only ones above the surface of the lake, grotesque sculptures of ice that decorate the surface of the center of the lake. His steps slow as he walks through them all, a heavy feeling settling over him as his gaze focuses on the oddly familiar sculpture in the very center of the lake.

Is that-

“There’s only one way this ends.”

Dazai’s breath catches sharply. He slips on the ice as he rushes forward, eyes widening and hands flying forward to catch himself, but his stomach lurches painfully and before his hands can hit the ground-

Dazai sits up with a ragged gasp, eyes wild and nails digging into the fabric of the soft couch he’s laying on. His head is aching and he feels sluggish; he’s still reeling from what he’d just woken up from, but his heart rate is starting to calm down.

Just a dream, he confirms, but now he’s more preoccupied with trying to figure out where the hell he is and why he isn’t dead, because the last thing he remembers is you lifting a gun to his head and pulling the trigger. The room he’s in is small—there’s no windows, there’s a tiny kitchen on the left side of the room, and on the other side-

“Everyone out.”

Dazai’s gaze settles on you. You’re standing near the far wall—you haven’t changed from what you were wearing at the conference room with the other Port Mafia executives, and Dazai can see Ace’s blood still crusted around your finger nails and splattered on your shirt. Your gaze is focused on him, an unreadable expression on your face, and Dazai is so tunnel visioned on you that he hardly notices that there are a handful of other people in the room: your three subordinates, Nakahara Chuuya, Albatross and one other who had been at the fight against the Guild.

They don’t argue with you, most of them file out of the room without a word, only Albatross and Chuuya linger. The ginger gives you a long look before saying, “We’ll buy some more time. Just… figure out if this is really what you want to do, okay?”

You finally look away from him at Chuuya’s words, cringing and averting your gaze to the ground. You say quietly, “It doesn’t matter what I want. It has to be done.”

Chuuya sighs but nods, motioning for Albatross to leave with him—and then the two of you are left alone. You don’t approach him. Ironically, you look like the one akin to a cornered animal as if you hadn’t been the one to shoot him. If anyone should feel like a cornered animal right now, it should be him.

Instinctively, he lifts his hand to his forehead, frowning at the bandages wrapped around the top of his head. He looks back up at you curiously, but you grimaced and looked away as soon as he touched his forehead, so he can’t catch your eye.

He has a million questions he wants to ask. What happened? Why didn’t the bullet kill me? Why didn’t you kill me? Did you believe me? Do you believe me? Are we okay?

Dazai doesn’t know if he wants to know the answer to the last question, so he settles with: “Where are we?”

Though you’d stiffened as soon as his lips parted to speak, you relax when you hear the question he asked.

“A safe house in Sakae,” you say quietly. Dazai starts to sit up but his vision swims so he has to stop and rest back down against the arm of the couch, blinking furiously. “You should take it easy… You’re probably going to feel a bit off for a couple of hours.”

Dazai is about to ask you what exactly happened, but the words die on his lips when you finally draw closer to him. You sit down on the couch next to where he’s laying, your body brushes his and Dazai feels warm. The remnants of the frigid cold of his dream vanishes as soon as the warmth of your body grazes his—he knows that there are many things that need to be addressed, but he would be content to avoid those topics and bask in your comfort for as long as he can.

His eyes slide shut as you reach up to cup his cheek. He doesn’t even bother reopening them when he feels you lift your other hand to remove the bandages from around the top of his head—he thinks maybe he could almost doze back off. It’s only when you let out a soft sigh and fasten them back on does he finally bother to open his eyes again.

“I don’t have enough bandages on me already?” he asks, his voice is light and the smile on his lips is teasing as he tries to lighten the mood a little, but it doesn’t work.

You don’t respond to his comment. You look down, and the small smile on your lips doesn’t meet your eyes, so his falls off his face as he stares up at you carefully and finally asks the much dreaded question that would lead to even more dreaded questions:

“Will you tell me what happened?”

“We need to go,” Chuuya says, hand wrapped around your wrist tightly. You don’t budge from where you’re standing, staring at where Dazai had fallen back over the edge. It was a short drop with mud softening the fall, he would be okay—if everything went according to plan, that is. Otherwise, the bullet you just shot at him killed him anyway, so the fall is inconsequential. “Come on. We can’t stay here. We have to go.”

“How do-”

“Not here,” Chuuya hisses. “Come on.”

“Chuuya-” you breathe out, voice wavering over his name. You can’t bring yourself to move even as Chuuya tries to drag you away. “Chuuya, I need to kn-”

Need to know if this worked. Need to know if he was able to stop the bullet. Need to know if you actually just killed the boy you’re in love with.

“Not here,” Chuuya replies, voice harsh, cutting you off before you can say anything more incriminating.

This time, he doesn’t wait for you to follow him—he yanks you along with him, not even bothering to steady you when you stumble. You know you should snap yourself out of this, you know Mori has people trailing you to ensure you follow through with Dazai’s execution, but you’re haunted by the expression on his face when you pulled the trigger.

He accepted it.

You had the gun to his head. You asked him to forgive you. He said he did, and he accepted that he was about to die at your hands. A part of you is eager to convince yourself that maybe he saw through your plan, that he realized you weren’t going to kill him, but that look in his eyes…

He didn’t know, and he accepted it anyway.

Your stomach churns. The ragged breath you take in cuts off abruptly as you gag over it—you saw the blood, you don’t know if Chuuya was able to stop it. You don’t know if Dazai’s nullification ability prevented Chuuya from using his own ability to slow the bullet before it killed him. You don’t know if he fell backward because he was shot or because the high dosage sedative that you swiped from Mori’s office set in as quickly as it was supposed to. You don’t even know if Chuuya had been able to inject it in him with his ability. You don’t know anything.

“Don’t you dare throw up on me,” Chuuya mutters as he opens the car door and ushers you inside.

Instead of sitting in the front with Albatross, he sits in the back with you, sharing a sharp look with Albatross before the other man finally pulls away from the ports. He still doesn’t say anything else—he knows better. This is one of the Port Mafia’s cars, tapped and actively being transmitted to one of Kouyou’s subordinates who will report to her and Mori anything that seems off, and you need to buy as much time as you possibly can before Mori realizes Dazai isn’t dead.

Because Dazai isn’t dead. He can’t be dead.

It worked. It all worked.

It had to have.

Just as you expect, your phone rings as soon as the car starts moving. Mori has eyes on you—he was waiting for you to finish with the execution before calling. You’re certain that he’s going to send someone to check the body now; he doesn’t trust you to finish the job, not when something as fickle and unpredictable as love is involved.

Klaus will have to be quick—you don’t even know if he was able to find a lookalike to kill so he could swap out the body. You only were able to give him a twenty, maybe thirty, minute heads up. Dazai is plain looking, yes, and the mud he dropped in should do some work at concealing his identity, but if Mori’s shadow sends him a picture to confirm the kill, the slim amount of time you hope to have bought with your fake out will be halved.

You stare down at the phone and let it ring once, twice, and finally on the third ring, you lift the phone to your ear and accept the call, waiting for Mori to speak.

“Has it been done?”

“Yes,” you reply, voice steady even if your fingers are trembling around the phone. “Do you need me back at headquarters?”

“No, I’m sure that wasn’t easy for you. You should get some rest. I have a meeting with Tolstoy in a bit anyway. I’ll meet with you tomorrow after I have tea with Elise-chan so you can debrief me on the meetings with the Guild,” Mori says easily, his tone is light and airy, and it makes you angry, because how dare he sound so flippant after what he just expected you to do. “... I’m sorry things had to end this way, dear. I’m proud of you. You did well.”

“I know,” you say tightly in response before hanging up and putting the phone back down in your lap.

Chuuya watches you carefully, but he doesn’t say anything, and you stare ahead at the back of the driver’s seat. It’s a twenty-five minute drive from the ports in Naka to Sakae—for better or for worse, it’s going to be a quiet one. For better because you think you might start crying if you have to speak, and for worse because now all you’re plagued with is your own thoughts and the image of Dazai’s face before you shot him.

You didn’t shoot him. Not really.

But you did, you don’t know if Chuuya was able to stop it. You don’t even know if Chuuya knows if he was able to stop it. There was a splatter of blood. You saw that, and there shouldn’t have been blood if this worked, so the worst case scenario looms over you heavily. But you won’t know until you get to the safe house—until you hear from Klaus. Your breath hitches over a sob you’re forced to swallow; your chest burns and tightens uncomfortable.

You had to do it, this was the only option. Anything else and there was no shot he wouldn’t have been killed. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but he would be killed. You wouldn’t be able to protect him from Mori otherwise—he would’ve put a hit out on him, and Dazai would have all of the most dangerous assassins in the underworld out for him trying to get the bounty. You can’t protect him from that. You needed to buy time. You needed to buy time so you could-

You don’t finish the thought.

You don’t think you’ve come to terms with what has to be done if you want to protect Dazai. A part of you doesn’t even know if you’ll be able to follow through with it, but you’ve already set yourself down the path of no return and you’ve dragged Chuuya down it along with you. Either you follow through, or the three of you are going to be on the run for the rest of your lives.

Shit.

Your gaze tracks back down to your phone. Still nothing from Klaus—nothing from Akutagawa either. The silence is too loud, each second that passes has you aching with a pain that feels like knives dragging against your bones. You just need to know, you need to know that he’s okay, that you didn’t-

You rest your forehead against the window when nausea builds back up in your stomach. It’s cool, and a welcome reprieve from the heaviness weighing down on you, but the moment your eyes slide shut, you’re faced with Dazai again and no amount of deep breathing and grounding techniques can stop the way your heart rate sky-rockets, breath becoming quick and shallow.

You see him. You see him, and he’s looking up at you, dark eyes wide and adoring as he looks at you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters to him, and his lips part to say something but before he can, you see something thick and red trickling down his face over his lips, and suddenly something is weighing cold and heavy in your hand but you can’t bring yourself to look down at it, but you can’t drag your eyes from his face. Can’t hide yourself from the way his warm eyes are suddenly wide and glassy, void of all of the emotions that you’d just-

Your arm hurts—sharp and painful and so sudden that you’re dragged from the images haunting you. Your gaze cuts over to Chuuya, who’s giving you a concerned look. You realize he must’ve shifted over a bit, brushed his arm against yours to use his ability to jolt you out of your spiraling thoughts. When he realizes that you’re back in the present, he gives you a pointed look and then directs his gaze outside.

You’re almost there. How much time had passed?

Why hasn’t Klaus or Akutagawa reached out to you?

What is going on?

Albatross doesn’t stop in front of the safe house—there are too many cameras in the street and all of the Port Mafia’s cars are tracked. Instead, he takes a left on the next street because it’s one of the few without a red light camera and a blind spot on the corner. His gaze flickers up to the rearview mirror and he pointedly raises the volume of his shitty music a few decibels louder to cover the noise of the car doors opening and closing as you and Chuuya slip out when he stops at the red light.

You leave your phone in the car and you’re careful to avoid the camera near the bakery on the corner as you follow Chuuya around to the alley that leads to the back entrance of the safe house. It’s not a Port Mafia safe house—it was Itou’s. This was where he stayed in the few months during the Dragon’s Head Conflict where he was on his own, after he left Strain but before you recruited him to the Port Mafia. It was well hidden and well protected, you hadn’t been able to track him down here until he brought you here—he made sure that it was a blind spot in the Port Mafia’s ever-watchful eye over Yokohama, and you made sure to keep it that way once he was gone.

It’s only once the steel door is shut behind you that you can finally speak, gaze focusing on Chuuya desperately as you wait for him to tell you if he was able to do it or if Dazai’s ability…

“Did you hear from Klaus or Akutagawa?” he asks quietly, and that’s enough of an answer.

He doesn’t know.

You feel sick—your stomach lurches and you don’t know if you start to stumble toward the bathroom or the couch or straight to the floor, but it doesn’t matter because Chuuya is darting forward to grab you and guide you over to the couch.

“Chuuya, if I-” you start to say, your words are raspy and you can’t even bring yourself to finish them. “If I-”

“Don’t,” he says, wrapping an arm around you. “Don’t bother going there yet. Wait for Klaus and Akutagawa.”

“But-”

“Stop,” he insists. “All you’re going to do is torture yourself.”

Isn’t that what you deserve? You want to say to him, nails digging into the palm of your hand so deep that it draws blood. Chuuya catches what you’re doing and immediately moves to unfurl your hands. Everything you’ve done. You killed Dazai’s family. His siblings. His cousins. You ruined his life, and then after everything, it wasn’t enough. You ruined his life and then you took-

“Hey, stop,” Chuuya interrupts your thoughts, clearly realizing what path they’re going down. You don’t realize your breath is ragged again until he grabs your chin and twists your head to force you to look at him. “I know what you’re thinking, but we can’t do this right now, we need to plan. We don’t have time, and when Klaus and Akutagawa get here with him, we need to know what we’re doing. You need to snap out of it.”

You don’t respond to him—your lashes flutter and you see Dazai again, you see blood, you see empty eyes, you see the gun in your hand, and you feel something warm and wet trickling over your cheeks. Chuuya spits out curses to himself and wipes away the tears streaming down your face. He’s gentle now, the rough grip on your chin disappears and is replaced with his hand cradling the back of your head as he pulls you closer to him. He presses your ear to his chest, hoping that the steady thrum of his heart is enough to ground you.

“Where the fuck are they?” he spits out more to himself than to you. His breath hitches and you can hear the stammering of his heart, and you know that he’s nervous, but he’s trying to hide it for your sake. “I need you here. What we just did-fuck-”

You try to snap out of it—you do, but every time you blink you see him. You see what you did. You knew this would happen from the very beginning, you knew it, and everyone warned you, but you’re selfish. You’ve always been so selfish.

You don’t know how much time passes. Ten minutes. Twenty. Thirty. It all blurs, it all feels like eternity, but eventually, the door to the safe house slams open, and only a handful of people know about it.

Your gaze snaps up, and you don’t realize you’re holding your breath until Klaus steps into the room with a familiar figure slung over his shoulder like a sack of flour. Both of them are covered in various substances that you think you would rather not know what they are, but you can see the steady rise and fall of Dazai’s back. You rise to your feet abruptly and Chuuya lets out a relieved breath, shoulders slumping.

Klaus immediately points an accusing finger at you. “I had to hunt down a civilian, kill him, crawl through shit and trash with a dead body to swap it out for your boy, I had to carry him across half of the city, and I couldn’t even channel Mephisto because he nullifies him. You better not complain about any messes I make for the next six months,” Klaus demands, and then points wildly back toward a very clean Akutagawa, who casts an unimpressed look his way. “And he didn’t even help me. He stood there and watched.”

“I was ensuring that no one saw what we were doing,” Akutagawa replies primly. “Even more important than your job, considering if someone saw it would all be for naught. You should be thanking me.”

Klaus’s face goes red with anger as he whips around to face him and roars, “More important? Thank you?!”

You laugh. It’s so startling that all of the anger washes away from Klaus’s face and the goading expression on Akutagawa’s disappears. Or you think you laugh—you think you might be crying again too. Both boys look aghast by the sight of it, looking at each other as if waiting for the other to do something to make you stop.

Eventually, Klaus steps forward and unsurely tries to pass Dazai’s unconscious body over to you as if to try to make you feel better by shoving him in your arms. Chuuya slaps him hard over the back of the head causing him to yelp.

“Put him on the couch, what the fuck is wrong with you? Why are you passing him over to her like he’s a fucking stuffed animal?” Chuuya snaps, giving him a plainly judgemental look before resting his hand on your shoulder.

Klaus looks disgruntled, but he does as Chuuya asks, laying Dazai down on the couch where you and Chuuya had just been sitting. You drop to your knees next to him, and the room is oddly silent as you look down at him. You don’t feel their gazes on you, so you assume they’re giving you privacy as best they can.

He looks… peaceful. You could almost imagine that you were coming home to him napping on your couch after he spent the whole night playing some stupid video game in your living room. You try to imagine that’s what this is, but the bloody indent in his forehead prevents you.

It almost broke through his skull.

He almost died.

You almost killed him.

You feel a bit sick as your fingers trace up to the wound on his forehead. It’s still bleeding, but his forehead is clean compared to the grime that covers the rest of his body. Klaus and Akutagawa must’ve had the brain to stop and clean the wound before it could get infected—that’s probably what took them so long.

You feel someone come to your side, glancing up to see Akutagawa hovering next to you with bandages in hand. He passes them over to you silently before quickly walking away. You let out a soft breath as you unwind the bandages, gently lifting his head so you can wrap them around his forehead. Immediately, they’re staining red—you grimace and look away.

The silence hanging over the room only lasts so long.

“What’s next?” Klaus asks quietly. “This won’t work for long. What’s the plan?”

Your gaze lowers as you rest your hand against Dazai’s cheek, memorizing his face as best as you can. The heaviness in your chest returns, and along with it, the damning reminder of your reality.

“I have to kill Mori.”

Dazai suddenly understands his dream.

“It’s the only option,” you say quietly when Dazai’s expression immediately twists at your words. Your eyes look so heavy and your expression is so crestfallen that it makes Dazai ache. His fingers twitch to reach out for you but you shift away, shaking your head. “It’s the only option, Osamu. It has to be done.”

“But-”

“He tried to have me kill you,” you snap, and he almost rolls his eyes because he doesn’t need reminding of that. He’s abundantly aware of the fact that he almost died at your hands because of Mori. He refrains if only barely. “Why do you care about what happens to him?”

“He’s your father,” Dazai says, watching as you go stiff. He knows he might’ve just made a mistake saying that, but he doesn’t even know if you fully understand the gravity of all of this or if you’re just running off heightened emotions right now. “I don’t care about him, he can go fuck off and die for all I care. I care about you-“

“He’s not my father,” you spit out, voice tight, “and maybe you shouldn’t care about me.”

Oh, here it comes, Dazai thinks dreadfully. That was the opening you needed to bring up the subject Dazai desperately wanted to avoid. He has made a fatal mistake. He should’ve just nodded along and agreed to your plan.

“You’re right he’s not your father,” Dazai immediately agrees to appease you and try to avoid the imminent conversation. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Hey, do you have food here? I’m so hungry all of a sudden, wow, do you hear my stomach-”

You sigh, looking away. Your eyes are suddenly very tired and Dazai’s words falter on his tongue as his gaze settles on you. His fingers twitch to reach out for your hand but you draw them back into your lap. Dazai’s gaze drops at the blatant rejection, but as soon as you notice, you reach back out to intertwine your fingers with his. He feels placated, but only a little, because he still has a tight feeling in his chest that he can’t push away. A looming fear that something is going to go terribly wrong.

“Can we please talk about this?” you finally ask quietly, and even though Dazai does want to say no, he simply cannot bring himself to.

So, instead, he nods, and braces himself for what he knows is bound to be a terrible conversation. He waits for you to say something—you look like you want to, but he thinks that maybe you’re struggling just as much as him at opening the conversation.

This isn’t going to go well, he realizes again, swallowing thickly.

“Come on,” you finally say, rising to your feet. You hold out your hand to him and Dazai stares at it for a moment, confused. “Let’s get you cleaned up, you smell disgusting.”

“I wonder why,” Dazai mutters, and he means for it to come out as a joke, but when the small smile on your lips falters, he realizes it probably came out much too bitter so he quickly grabs your hand instead, letting you help him to his feet. He tries to get you to smile again by giving you a soft one of his own, but now the expression on your face is heavy and conflicted. “Are you gonna take a bath with me?”

“You should probably rinse off before we get into the bath,” you say dryly, thumb running along the back of his hand before you let go of it. “Otherwise we’ll just be sitting in shit water.”

Dazai almost gags. “Don’t remind me what I’m covered in right now,” he pleads. “Where is the shower?”

The light returns to your eyes, a smile flickers to your lips, and Dazai considers it a win even if he is covered in shit and god knows what else. He glances back down to where he’d been laying and winces when he sees the stains. His eyes flicker back up to you and he cringes when he sees the displeased expression on your face.

“I’ll make Atsushi and Akutagawa clean it,” you say more to yourself than to him, shaking your head and motioning for him to follow. “Bonding exercise.”

Dazai raises his eyebrows, unsure if the couch is even salvageable, and almost lets a comment slip about it considering you were so quick to throw out his couch to replace it, but he refrains when a sad expression crosses your face when you think he’s not looking. He frowns, looking around a bit more scrutinizing now.

This place looks nothing like your apartment.

Your apartment is… plain. Minimalistic. The most you have decorating it is a handful of paintings on the wall and a couple of antiques displayed on dressers. Other than that, you have your furniture, your television, and that’s just about it. Dazai had joked once about it feeling like a hotel room, and promptly stole your credit card to buy things to decorate with—gaudy Christmas lights even though it’s not Christmas, a couple of fake pumpkins to line against your wall and a plastic skeleton to pin up near the window. He even bought an inflatable snowman to put in the middle of the room, but it hasn’t come yet. You rolled your eyes every time you came back from work to see some new, seasonally inappropriate decoration in your apartment, but he could tell the more things he added to your apartment, the happier you seemed to be.

This place was actually decorated. Pictures and trinkets set up on the dressers, all of the furniture matched and the walls were a warm burgundy instead of the off-putting, psych ward white of your apartment. You said this was a safe house, but it seems more like a home than your actual one.

“What is this place?” he asks again, because it’s something more than a safe-house, he just doesn’t know what.

“I told you,” you frown. “A safe house.”

Dazai’s lips curl down in response but he doesn’t press, gaze flickering over to one of the side tables against the wall, trying to figure out who exactly is in the pictures on it, but as he strains his eyes to focus on it, pain ricochets through his head and he has to abandon the mission. Disappointed, he follows you into the back bedroom and realizes he’ll just have to figure it out later.

He almost stops in his tracks in the doorway when he sees that the bedroom is just as homely as the rest of the safe house. It’s weird—the same burgundy walls, dark mahogany furniture, there’s what looks to be a handmade quilt draped over the foot of the bed. It’s just so unlike you that it almost has Dazai reeling.

You give him an odd look when you see the twisted expression on his face, but motion toward another door. “The bathroom is in there—go rinse off and run the bath, I’ll be in there in a minute, I’m going to grab a change of clothes for you.”

“Mkay,” Dazai agrees, a jump in his step as he rushes over to the bathroom.

He only pauses for a second to take in his surroundings when he gets in there—he’s not as surprised now by the style. Less modern, more rustic, just like the rest of the house; it’s more like something he’d expect to see in one of those American holiday movies. He leans over the tub to run the hot water before pulling off his clothes. He squints as he starts to unwind his bandages, looking into the shower and realizing that the only soap in there is an unopened bar soap, and a men’s shampoo and conditioner set.

A bit suspicious now, he glances at the door leading to the bedroom before kneeling down in front of the cabinets beneath the sink. With one hand, he unwinds the bandages around his legs, and with the other, he reaches out to open the cabinet so he can snoop. Just as he expected: men’s deodorant, a spare baking soda and peroxide toothpaste that he knows you hate, and a handful of different colognes. There’s one bag off to the side and Dazai reaches for it, peeking in and finding your typical bath soaps and hair care.

Whose place is this? He wonders, pausing for half a second before taking out your soaps and bringing them into the shower with him. It’s not Chuuya’s—Dazai knows that because he hasn’t seen a single tacky hat yet, but then whose?

He’s quick to clean himself off, eager to be with you and still a bit anxious that you might disappear when he’s not looking. The water runs brown as it rinses over him, but it feels nice—Dazai realizes that this is his first shower since he got kidnapped by the Guild, and a part of him wants to bask in it. He wants to wash off all of the unfamiliar touches and the dirt and the blood, but more than that, he wants to surround himself with you instead. Which means he has to hurry out of here and drag you into the tub with him.

He thinks maybe he should be biding his time. He has a lot to think about before he actually talks to you—he’s hardly even had a chance to process everything that happened—but still, he finds himself rushing to scrub himself. It couldn’t have been more than ten, fifteen minutes before he’s stumbling out of the shower and grabbing a towel to wrap around his waist. He almost expects you to be waiting in the bathroom for him, but you’re not, so he frowns and creaks the door back open to look for you.

Your name is on his lips as he steps back into the bedroom, but he falters when he sees you standing in the same place he left you: right outside a closet, except now the door is open and there’s a sweatshirt in your hands. The expression on your face is destroyed, and Dazai isn’t exactly sure what to say, luckily, he doesn’t need to because you hear the door open and turn toward him.

Whatever you’re about to say dies on your lips as your eyes trail over his body.

Another fatal mistake.

Dazai instantly realizes that he has never taken off his bandages in front of you before—that night at the beach house, he thought you were going to ask him to take them off, but you didn’t. He was glad for it, because he wasn’t sure if he was ready, and after that… Well, everything went downhill after that.

Dazai suddenly wants to flee. He becomes acutely aware of all of the scars on his body plainly in view. The warm, dim lighting becomes spotlights shining down on him, highlighting all of the flaws that he’s feared your reaction to. He waits for your face to twist—or, he knows you, you probably wouldn’t have such a visible reaction, so he focuses on your eyes instead.

But they only curve up along with your lips, a fondness in them that he doesn’t expect. You place the clothes down on the bed and approach him, his breath catches when your hands rest on his hips right above the towel. The skin-on-skin makes his chest ache—he’s missed you so much, he hadn’t even realized how hard it had been to breathe without you until he was back with you again.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he breathes out loud, lashes fluttering when your thumbs circle over his hip bones, right over a jagged scar that cuts across his lower abdomen—the product of an unfortunate encounter in Suribachi.

“I missed you too,” you say softly. Your eyes trace over his face like you’re trying to memorize each little detail—usually he feels uncomfortable when under a scrutinizing gaze, he never wants someone to look too closely at him in fear of what they might find, but he feels warm beneath yours. “I’m sorry.”

He’s not sure exactly what you’re apologizing for; it could be anything from almost killing him to letting him into your life at all. He’s not yet ready for this conversation to start, he hasn’t even gathered his thoughts yet, so instead he glances pointedly back toward the bathroom. You let out a soft breath—he can’t tell if it’s irritation or you’re just tired, it might be both, but you do motion for him to go in and he can hear you following him.

The water is still steaming as he lets the towel drop to the ground and sinks into it. His muscles instantly relax, eyes sliding shut as he rests against the back of the tub, letting out a soft sigh. For a moment, he can almost forget everything that’s happened, his head falls to the side to focus on you as you undress, folding your clothes and placing them on the side table. He blinks when you pull off your dress shirt, gaze zeroing in on a scar marring your upper back. It’s small, circular—a bullet wound, maybe? It doesn’t go through to your chest though, he would’ve noticed that.

“How did you get that?” he asks curiously, belatedly realizing he probably has no right to ask about scars considering his body is riddled with them and he’d probably evade most attempts at your prying if you asked.

“Hm?” you ask quietly, looking over your shoulder at him as you finish undressing.

The words falter on Dazai’s lips as his gaze roves over your body. You’re beautiful, he thinks again, a bit more dreamily this time. You’re beautiful, and he’s missed you so much, and he just wants all of this to be over so he can go back to lounging in your apartment and spending your money all day. It’s only when you raise your eyebrows that he clears his throat and nods his chin to your back.

“The scar on your back,” he explains. “How did you get it?”

“Oh,” you realize, making your way over to the tub and tapping his shoulder, motioning for him to shift forward. You slip into the water behind him, circling your arms around his waist and Dazai’s chest feels warm and full as he rests back against you, eyes sliding shut. “An assassination attempt when I was eighteen. I was… reckless, saw it coming and… Well, luckily, the Flags had been in the area. Iceman figured out what was happening and they got there quick enough to stabilize me and get me to Mori.”

Dazai’s throat swells at the implication of what you’d said, trying to distract himself with the feeling of your fingers tracing across his abdomen. He notes softly, “You’re never reckless.”

Your fingers pause in the absent patterns you’re tracing on him, and Dazai wonders if it’s a sore topic, about to retract his words. Before he can, you let out a soft breath and drop your forehead down on his shoulder, arms tightening around him.

“This was Itou’s house. All of the stuff in here, it’s his family’s—stuff he was able to salvage after they were killed. He tried to keep the house like how his mother used to keep it as a way to memorialize her,” you say quietly. Dazai’s eyes widen as he recognizes the name of your old partner. “We were enemies when we first met, y’know? It was during the big conflict six years ago. He was part of one of the foreign organizations. I ended up recruiting him, but he spent a few months on his own here. He was careful to keep it a blind spot to the Port Mafia even after he joined up, I always thought he was paranoid about it, but he was quite insistent that there was no need for people to know about it.”

“Makes sense,” Dazai says dryly. “I wouldn’t want Mori knowing where I’m living either.”

It’s an off-handed quip, but you still stiffen and again, Dazai fumbles to say something else because he clearly upset you. He starts to add, “I-”

“I killed him,” you finally say, voice weak and airy. Your arms loosen around him, but his hands drop to cover yours, holding them in place. “I killed him, Osamu.”

“I thought you said he died on a mission,” Dazai murmurs, hand tightening around yours when he feels the way your fingers are trembling.

“I… Itou was born into this life. Was born into a Yakuza-family based in Tokyo, trained since he was old enough to walk how to use his ability… how to kill. The Yakuza syndicate his family was the head of was wiped out by the Sun and Steel when he was eight… nine, maybe. His mother was able to get him and bring him back to Australia—that’s where she was from. It’s how he ended up with Strain,” you explain, and the water suddenly feels a bit cold—what happened to Itou’s family sounds a lot like what happened to Dazai’s. From the way you pause, you wonder if you realize the same thing. You quickly change the subject, “He tried getting me out of the Mafia.”

“What?” Dazai asks, surprised. He shifts to physically look at you, catching the wistful expression on your face. “You wanted to leave the Mafia.”

The wistful expression shifts into something much more conflicted.

“I didn’t-” you start to say before cutting yourself off. “I don’t know. I think maybe a part of me might’ve wanted to. I was… curious. He was sneaky—he was always such a sneaky bastard. He tried to ease me into it, show me what a different life was like. Called them training exercises, wanted me to blend in with kids my age.”

He remembers you telling him this at the beach house, but he listens anyway because now you do sound wistful. His eyes slide shut as you hold him tightly, pressing your lips to his shoulder blade before resting your chin on top of it.

“His gift to me for my eighteenth birthday was an acceptance letter to university. He pulled some strings. It was for YNU, actually, funny enough,” you say softly. Dazai’s eyes widen as he turns to look at you again; there’s a small, sad smile on your lips and when he turns, you take the chance to steal a kiss from him. “Imagine, we could’ve been first years together.”

Dazai doesn’t dare to respond. His hand tightens around yours—if it’s painful, you don’t let it show. Odasaku dragged him to orientation, and he imagines meeting you there. You’re good at socializing—charming—Dazai can be too when he wants, but he definitely did not want to during orientation. He mostly sulked away and waited for it to be over so he could go back home. He imagines that you’d be in the same group with him, and although he’d probably ignore you the first few times you tried to talk to him, he’d eventually give in. Dazai is weak to pretty women, especially when that pretty woman is you.

Or maybe, you’d meet during a shared class. You would probably be a poli-sci major, but he’s taken classes in the field for requirements. He hated them, thought they were boring, but he probably would’ve enjoyed it much more if he had you to admire all two hours of the class. And maybe-

“I was curious,” you repeat, voice tighter. There’s more of an edge to it now, and Dazai realizes that this story is about to take a turn. “I… I wanted to try it. I told Mori.”

Dazai’s eyes widen and he sits up straight. The water sloshes around him as he physically turns around to face you. He asks, but can’t finish, “Did he…”

“He said it was a great idea,” you say tightly. “He encouraged it. I accepted the spot, and a week before orientation, Itou died on a mission that we got bad intel for. My whole team, they died to make sure I got out alive. Mori denied having any involvement, said he wouldn’t risk an ability user as powerful as Itou, but I know. I know he had a hand in it. I’ve always known it. The government had been after Itou for years—they said he was a national security threat. A couple of weeks later, we suddenly have the skilled business permit that Mori’s been trying to get for months. It was a trade-off. I know it. Two birds, one stone. The skilled business permit and my full focus back on the Mafia for Itou’s life.”

Dazai’s lips part to say something—anything—but he can’t. Your eyes are misty, and the foreboding feeling that’s been haunting him since he woke up intensifies. You shake your head, blinking back tears.

“I never should’ve brought you into this world, Osamu.”

Dazai needs to think now. He needs to figure out how exactly he’s going to go about this, whether he should be soft and demure, appealing to your heart, or if he should be more forceful, triggering your guilt.

He goes with the latter.

“Well it’s too late for that,” Dazai says, keeping his voice steady until he knows how you’re going to react to it. When you instantly shake your head again, his voice hardens. “It’s too late, I’m already in it. You can’t just get rid of me. Take accountability.”

“You don’t think I have?” you question dryly, looking away from him. But he needs you to look at him for this to be effective, so he reaches out to grab your hand, dragging your attention back toward him. “I killed your family, Osamu.”

“She was a girl my age—the previous boss’s granddaughter—she was asleep, had a bear tucked in her arms and a nightlight on the right side of her bed. I slit her throat, then both of her older brothers. They were kids.”

Her name was Akane. Bunji and Touma were her brothers.

They were Dazai’s brothers. Dazai’s sister. The stuffed bear was called Coco, and Akane would clutch it and cry whenever Dazai started talking about things like death. She was scared of dying; more than that, scared of the people she loved dying. She cried for weeks when their grandmother passed, and got angry at Dazai when he didn’t even cry at the funeral. Dazai used to share a bedroom with her and Touma, but he hated her nightlight—it was purple and it was always right in Dazai’s eyes when he laid down. He convinced his mother to force Bunji to swap rooms with him, so Dazai had his own room on the second floor of his grandfather’s estate.

“You were a kid too,” Dazai rasps out the same thing he said at the beach house, but it comes out a bit weaker this time knowing exactly who the people you killed were. “You were fourteen. You-”

“I played a role in tracking your mother down,” you continue. Dazai’s breath catches as his fingers loosen around yours. “It was my punishment for not making sure all of the grandchildren were… eliminated. I was the one that was tracking her down, and I was the one that was going to interrogate her for your whereabouts when I found her.”

“Stop,” Dazai says quietly, voice wavering.

“No,” you reply firmly. “No. You need to understand this-”

“I do,” Dazai insists, voice cracking. “I do understand-”

“You don’t, Dazai,” you raise your voice and Dazai cringes back. You sigh and soften your voice, but the damage has been done, Dazai’s fight or flight instincts have been triggered. This conversation is not going to end in his favor, so he needs to run before he gets hurt, but he can’t because you have him stuck in the bath with you. You reach out again to take his hands in yours, fingers absently running along the scars on his wrists. “You don’t, otherwise you wouldn’t have been so quick to join me in here. You haven’t even had time to process it.”

“Yes, I have,” Dazai whispers weakly. “I have.”

“I ruined your life, Osamu,” you say quietly. “Everything bad that’s ever happened to you started with me.”

“That’s not true,” Dazai argues, nails biting into your skin as he clings to you. “My life sucked before everything really went to shit. The first time I tried to kill myself, I was eleven. You saved my life. I was going to kill myself that night we met at the bar. You saved me.”

“Osamu-”

“You’re not listening to me,” Dazai interrupts, voice taking a more manic edge as he shakes his head. He can talk himself out of any situation—why is he failing now when it matters most? “You’re not listening. You saved me. I love you.”

“I love you too,” you breathe out, but the words don’t settle his nerves because they’re heavy and full of sorrow, and the tears that had been pooling in your eyes finally start to spill over.

“Then why does this still feel like a goodbye?” he begs, breath shallow as he searches your face for an answer.

You don’t respond, but you don’t need to. He finds his answer in your eyes. He always does. You look at him again with that desperate, longing expression, like you’re trying to memorize the details of his face even though you know it’s futile.

This is a goodbye.

Dazai hasn’t spoken to you once since your conversation in the bath.

Chuuya, your subordinates, and the Flags are back now, and Dazai is sulking in the bedroom watching one of his dumb reality shows. You can hardly focus on the conversation at hand because of it, and you know the others are starting to get irritated by your distraction considering the stakes at play right now. If one thing goes wrong, all of your lives would be forfeit. They’re risking everything by helping you right now, and you can't even bother to give them your full attention.

“Out,” Piano Man suddenly says. Your gaze snaps toward him, as does all of the others’ in the room. When nobody immediately moves, he raises his eyebrows and continues dryly, “Are you all hard of hearing? I said get out.”

“Where are we supposed to go?” Albatross demands. “Her boy’s in the bedroom. This place is small-”

“Go crowd in the closet for all I care. Get out,” Piano Man says dismissively. Still, no one moves until his gaze sharpens and they realize he’s being entirely serious. You shift to leave with them until his eyes land on you. “Not you.”

You feel like a child about to be scolded, which is ridiculous because you’re a mafioso, and though Piano Man is technically the same rank as you, he’s not really. He can’t scold you, but you shift awkwardly on your feet and share a concerned look with Chuuya anyway as they all wander out of the safe house and into the small hallway outside.

Once the two of you are alone, you finally glance back at Piano Man, who’s watching you carefully. After a few moments he says, “I take it you told him the plan?”

“I did,” you reply quietly.

“He didn’t take it well?” Piano Man questions.

“You know the answer to that,” you say a bit more dryly before shaking your head. “Would you have taken it well?”

“Of course not, I’d be livid,” Piano Man says immediately, making you cringe. “Does this mean we’re changing the plan?”

“No,” you tell him. “We can’t. This is the only option.”

“I know,” Piano Man says with a thin smile. “So stop sulking and get your head in the game so we don’t all die trying to perform a coup.”

You’re startled by the sudden sharpness in his voice, but you suppose you shouldn’t be. Piano Man has always been capricious, going from his whimsical moods to more cold and ruthless ones within a matter of seconds. You can hardly meet his eyes now, looking down at the ground to avoid them.

“Why are you helping me?” you ask after a few moments.

You don’t have to look at Piano Man to see the way he raises his eyebrows judgmentally. “Excuse me?”

“I was going to kill you earlier. I held a gun to your head. Why are you helping me?” you press, the words weighing heavily on you as you remember the way he met your eyes when you lifted the muzzle of your gun to his temple.

Piano Man has the audacity to look amused. “When I first recruited Lippmann, I tried to drown him in the harbor because I got paranoid he sold me out to the feds after a mission went wrong. It happens—the next time it does, I’m going to be pulling my own gun out though. So, don’t let it happen again, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agree quietly. “I’m sorry.”

You don’t apologize often, even when you know you’re entirely in the wrong. Mori has taught you only to apologize when it serves you, otherwise you should never make an admission of guilt or liability. So it’s not surprising when Piano Man’s eyebrows shoot upward, but his expression softens after a moment. He reaches out to pat your head.

“I know this isn’t easy,” he murmurs, “but we need you at the top of your game if this is going to work.”

“I know,” you reply. “... I know.”

“Good,” he says, patting the top of your head yet again before sighing. “Let me go get them and we’ll get back to planning, okay?”

“Mkay.”

You lean back against the wall as you look down at the table Lippmann set up for planning. The Flags, your subordinates, Kajii Motojiro—they’re non-factors in the planned coup. The Flags will support it, your subordinates will support you, and all Kajii cares about is his experiments. Paul Verlaine is not quite as secure, but Chuuya is confident that he’ll support whatever Chuuya goes along with.

The issue lies in Kouyou and the Black Lizards.

You already feel a headache come on just at the thought, lifting your hands to your head and rubbing your eyes as you knock the back of your head against the wall and let out a heavy sigh. Kouyou and Hirotsu won’t support the coup, you know it. They’re both loyal to Mori—both victims of the previous boss who found refuge in Mori when he took over. They’ll fight for him, and you know better than anyone that during a forceful transition of power, all dissidents must be removed, especially ones that hold significant power and influence.

But it’s Kouyou and Hirotsu. Kouyou, who was the one to teach you how to do your makeup properly, who bought you your first kimono to match her own. Hirotsu, who was always quick to execute anyone that openly disrespected you, who took you to a movie on your fifteenth birthday when Mori was busy dealing with the power transition so you didn’t spend it alone. The thought makes you sick—they were family, and maybe Hirotsu could be convinced. He’s loyal to Mori, yes, but more than that, he’s loyal to the Port Mafia. If you can manufacture a legitimate reason for the coup…

You sigh as you glance down the hall where Dazai is hiding in the bedroom, startled when your gaze catches his familiar brown. He’s seemingly just as surprised that you caught him spying, immediately slamming the bedroom door shut to retreat back into the safety of the room. Your lips curl up into a small smile, which is quickly washed away when your subordinates, the Flags and Chuuya all file back into the room.

“I’ll talk to Ane-san,” Chuuya finally says, reigniting the conversation. “I’ll make her see reason.”

“There’s no time for talking, Chuuya,” Piano Man tells him. “This all has to be done within hours. If we let word get out about what we’re doing… The coup is risky, and a civil war would be the end of this city.”

Frustration flashes across Chuuya’s face. “I’m not budging on this,” he says, voice tight with thinly restrained anger. “Either you give me the chance to talk to her, or I’ll withdraw my support.”

“Chuuya,” you sigh tiredly, wanting nothing more than to just sit down.

“No,” Chuuya interrupts you. “I won’t actively stand against you, but I won’t stand with you if you don’t give me the chance to talk to her.”

“Fine,” you finally say even though you know it’s a mistake. It’s asking for trouble. Piano Man gives you a sharp, disapproving look, but you shake your head. “It’s fine. She won’t be keeping her executive position.”

Chuuya’s face twists. “But-”

“No.” This time you interrupt him, holding up your hand. “I’m not budging on this. If you want the chance to talk to her and convince her this is the best route, I’ll give you it, but you need to meet me halfway. She’s not retaining her executive position.”

Chuuya looks unhappy, but after a few moments, he nods. “Fine.”

“I can’t risk it, Chuuya,” you tell him quietly. “I need people who I trust in the inner circle. I can’t trust her after what just happened.”

“I get it,” Chuuya says. “I just don’t like it.”

“That leaves three executive seats we need to fill.” Piano Man lets out a heavy sigh as he sits on the edge of the table, tilting his head back in exhaustion. “Your’s, Ace’s, and Kouyou-san’s. Do you even have three more people who you trust?”

Klaus and Akutagawa, you think to yourself, but neither of them are executive material. Your gaze drifts over to Albatross, Iceman, and Doc, each of them pointedly looks away, none of them want the open seats. Lippmann can’t take it, not with what you have planned for him. So, who else-

“Verlaine?” Chuuya offers. “He’s got a ton of experience with the European organizations—we’ll probably need it considering Dostoevsky’s involvement with the Guild, and this Book that’s apparently somewhere in the city. If it gets out to the public, we’ll have organizations swarming just like during the Dragon’s Head.”

You don’t like the idea of Verlaine being an executive, and you don’t think Piano Man does either considering his unfortunate first meeting with the man, but Chuuya raises good points. You have your own experience with the European underworld, but it’s nothing like what Verlaine has.

“Okay,” you agree, “and the other two?”

The Black Lizards are its own command unit that answers directly to the Boss. They don’t have a seat at the table because it’s not their field. Their field is war, not politics… but what other options are there? The people you trust are far and few in-between, you can probably count them on one hand.

“What about Tolstoy?” a familiar voice asks quietly from down the hallway. You look up immediately, gaze focusing on where Dazai is standing in the door of the bedroom, hands shoved in the pockets of his sweatshirt, shoulders hunched. He doesn’t like the attention of everyone on him, so he keeps his eyes trained fully on you. “Mishima?”

“They’re not part of the Port Mafia,” Chuuya dismisses, “they don’t get seats.”

“But what if they were?” Dazai presses, shuffling forward. He hardly spares Chuuya a glance before looking at you again. “The transition of power is going to be shaky, you need to strengthen your position in other ways, otherwise…”

“You think we should merge with the Three Deaths and the Sun and Steel,” Piano Man realizes, sitting up straighter as he considers Dazai’s proposition. “Doesn’t that risk destabilizing us even more though?”

He looks at you for an answer, but your gaze is focused on Dazai. He’s not even gone yet, but you already miss him desperately; all you want is to be with him, but it’s just not possible. You can’t have him and run the Port Mafia at the same time; he will die because of his affiliation with you, just like he almost did when the Guild captured him. It wouldn’t matter how safe you tried to keep him, one mistake and he would die. And that will lead to every decision you make being centered around him, not what’s best for the Port Mafia and that will lead to its inevitable ruin.

“No, Osamu’s right,” you say, and Dazai preens at the praise, but then quickly deflates again. You want to reach out for him, but you refrain. “Not a merger. An acquisition. The Three Deaths and the Sun and Steel are already pretty much extensions of the Port Mafia, we would only be formalizing it. I trust Tolstoy and Mishima—I pretty much built the Three Deaths into what it is today myself. We’d give the Port Mafia an official foothold in Russia, more sway over everything that happens in Tokyo. It’s a good plan. Great one, even.”

“Will they even agree to it?” Chuuya asks doubtfully. “Go from being fully autonomous to answering to us.”

“They pretty much already do just answer to us,” Albatross mutters.

“They’ll agree to it,” you tell him quietly. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Tolstoy won’t be hard to convince. He, Chekhov and Gorky are all good friends of yours, you helped them build the Three Deaths, you helped them win territory battles against the Pale Flame and the Red Chamber. All it would take a few words of convincing for them to agree to it. Mishima might be more difficult, but all you have to do is convince his daughters, and they hang off your every word.

There might be some dissent from the Sun and Steel executives, but even then, you think it would be minimal at worst. It’s a good plan. Having Tolstoy and Mishima sitting at the executive table would lend you some much needed support during the transition, and with the Port Mafia subsuming the Three Deaths and the Sun and Steel, it would provide a major deterrence against any foreign movements from Cao Xueqin or Yi Sang.

“What about Hirotsu and the Black Lizards?” Akutagawa asks, shifting awkwardly when all eyes turn to him. He doesn’t meet anyone’s eyes, and you know it’s because he actually cares about what your answer might be. Akutagawa likes to pretend that he doesn’t care about anyone, but you know he has a soft spot for the unit that took Gin in so easily.

“We can’t afford to lose the Black Lizards,” Iceman notes as he lights another cigarette. “Especially if we’re bringing in other organizations. We don't want our own people to feel like they’re being lost in the mix, y’know?”

“I’ll handle Hirotsu,” you finally say. “It’ll be fine. I just need to figure out how to frame this. Needs to be framed in a way that makes him feel like this was the best, and only, course of action for the Mafia. He’s loyal to Mori only to the extent that he’s good for the Port Mafia. I’ll figure it out. Leave that to me.”

“Ace’s subordinates?” Albatross prompts. “They been handled? We can’t have them knowing about him. Can’t have anyone knowing about him.”

“Dead,” Akutagawa says. “I killed them.”

“Security cameras? CCTV? Any record of this kid being affiliated with us?”

“Wiped,” Klaus answers flippantly. “We’ve gone through it every day since they met. Weren’t allowed to sleep ‘til made sure everything from the day was wiped. There’s no physical record of him ever being around us.”

“Okay, so we get this settled, and then we wait on Repin for the rest of us, right?” Albatross asks. Dazai cringes at the mention of Repin, and you look away from him, unable to watch the pain that crosses his face.

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “It all needs to happen within no more than a couple days otherwise we risk the wrong people finding out so…”

“So we should get started,” Chuuya sighs, pushing himself off the wall. He squeezes your wrist as he passes by you, walking in the direction of the door. “We’ll give you guys some time. I’ll let you know how things go with Ane-san.”

You nod, eyes following him as he leaves. The others follow, filing out of the room until it’s only you and Dazai left again. You turn to look at him, so many words on your lips but incapable of pushing a single one out. Instead, you reach out to cup his face between your hands, running your thumbs across his cheekbones. His lashes flutter shut as he leans into your touch.

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” he whispers, brown eyes heavy and glassy as he looks down at you. “We can figure something else out. I know we can. Just give me some time, I just need a little time, I’ll figure something out.”

“We don’t have time,” you say, voice cracking over the words. “I love you, Osamu.”

Dazai pulls away, shaking his head. He wipes quickly at his eyes before looking at you again. You expect what he says, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

“I won’t forgive you. Not for this. Not ever. I can’t.”

“I know.”

SIX WEEKS LATER

“I must say, I wasn’t expecting this invitation,” a familiar voice hums as the door to your box opens. You don’t turn to look at him, keeping your gaze trained down on the performance taking place below. “Not from you, and not after everything that’s happened.”

“No?” you ask absently. “It’s unlike you to not expect something, Dostoevsky. Less like you to admit it.”

“Fyodor,” he corrects as he comes to stand next to you. He’s close enough to you that you can feel his body brushing yours. You finally turn your head to look at him—his lips are curved up into a deceptively soft smile, violet eyes glittering with a type of mischief that you know is dangerous. “We are well enough acquainted to be on a first name basis, no?”

“Dostoevsky,” you repeat pointedly, looking back down at the show as the first act reaches its climax. Of all of the shows you’ve seen, Tosca is still your favorite. This rendition here at the New National Theatre isn’t quite as good as the one at La Scala, but you’re enjoying it well enough.

Dostoevsky lets out a huff of laughter, you don’t turn to look at him when you feel him reach out to touch you. His fingers trace along the maroon scarf hanging loosely over your shoulders. You barely withhold a shiver when you feel his knuckles skim your neck—rumor has it, skin-on-skin contact alone with Dostoevsky is enough to kill. You don’t die, but it’s enough to beckon your attention back to him.

“Red is your color,” he murmurs, looking down at you through his lashes. “You look beautiful.”

“It isn’t yours,” you reply quickly, glancing down at the red tie tied neatly around his neck. “Neither is flattery.”

Dostoevsky does laugh this time—it’s soft and short, pretty like a bell. Unbefitting of him, just like the color red and false flattery.

“It isn’t?” he asks, keeping his voice deceptively playful. “I wore it for you. Since you invited me, I thought it appropriate that we match. I heard of your success in Yokohama. I should congratulate you on your new promotion. Or perhaps extend my condolences for the death of your father? Are condolences still proper when you were the one to drive the knife into his back?”

It’s a dig, an attempt to get under your skin and throw you off before getting into the meat of the conversation. You can feel his eyes on you, the soft playfulness gone and replaced by a sharpness that has you on edge.

“You said it yourself. One life or thousands.”

“It was a bullet to the head,” you correct idly—the words taste like poison on your tongue, but you’re careful to not let it show on your face. “Condolences are unnecessary. He was not my father.”

“It’s okay, dear, this was how it was always meant to be.”

“Hm,” Dostoevsky hums, amused. “I was quite pleased when I found out about the coup. I wasn’t expecting it.”

He wants to add something else but he decides against it. He’s very calculating with his words, he always has been, but he is especially now. You know that each word he speaks is chosen for a specific purpose, and it’s hard, even for you, to break down each one as he speaks it to understand why he says it so you can choose your own words carefully in return. Fyodor Dostoevsky is the only man capable of consistently beating you in exchanges of words, and that is concerning.

It’s why you invited him here—you need an idea of what he’s planning while you solidify your newfound position.

“It seems you struggle to expect many things I do,” you note. “I should add it to my resume. I doubt many people are capable of repeatedly surprising Fyodor Dostoevsky.”

“It is true,” he agrees with an airy laugh. “You are a… difficult opponent. I will admit it.”

“Is that so?”

Dostoevsky makes a soft noise of agreement, lashes fluttering as he glances over at you once before he looks back down at the show taking place down on the stage.

“You are not guided strictly by logic,” he muses. “It's there, of course, you are very intelligent but it’s laced with so many emotions. It is difficult for me to determine your course of action because I can never predict when you will lead with emotion, and when with logic. And even then, there are grades to it. I could account for dozens of plans of action and miss the one you take because you are just a bit less emotional than I anticipated… I did not predict that you would go for Zelda Fitzgerald, it was quite bold—there was a high risk for failure. You make things… much more interesting. I enjoy it.”

“You would find something like that enjoyable,” you say sarcastically, taking a sip of your champagne. “There is something seriously wrong with you, Dostoevsky.”

“Fyodor,” he corrects again with a light smile.

“Dostoevsky.”

“Heh,” he laughs quietly. “I will… wait for things to settle before making another move here in Yokohama. I’m curious to see how all of the chips fall on their own. You’re in for quite the storm with that bill that just passed through the Diet, aren’t you?”

You don’t respond. You got the answer you needed, so there’s no reason for you to keep entertaining his snide comments; you’ll just watch the show in peace. You’ll have the bit of time you need to get things settled before Dostoevsky makes his next play. Though the man is a compulsive liar and you have no reason to trust him, Dostoevsky has never lied so blatantly to your face, so you’ll take him at his word until you have reason to believe otherwise.

Dostoevsky takes your silence as an opportunity to continue talking, naturally.

“I did have a question for though,” he says, a bit too thrilled by the prospect of your answer. You don’t like the way his eyes are lit up, and you especially don’t like the smile on his lips. “Entertain me?”

You raise your eyebrows pointedly, waiting for him to ask it.

“I heard rumors that the reason behind your sudden decision to overthrow your father was more… intimate than most believe,” Dostoevsky murmurs, leaning like he’s sharing in some schoolgirl gossip with an old friend. Your brows furrow as you process his words. “You must tell me what boy has managed to steal your heart. He must be something special. Not even I was capable of that, I’m almost jealous.”

You look at him now, gaze sharp but confused as your eyes trail over him before focusing back on his face. He seems surprised by your reaction, tilting his head to the side and studying you carefully.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

to be continued in ... the land is inhospitable (but are we?) [est. release: early feb]

WOWWWWWW GUYS WE FUCKING FINISHED CIVZAI .... or well, ;) civzai1. some notes:

i promised a happy ending, i know ... but i promised it for civzai in general, and they DO have a happy ending ... just not yet. pls dont bully me ill cry i'm so proud of this. i didn't lie.

i always intended on there being two parts to this series because i feel like time apart is essential in the pmreader universe. when dazai defected in canon universe, and now with her taking over as boss and wiping her memories of him. the first part was always gonna be the guild arc, the second arc is gonna be my rendition of the hunting dogs and the decay of the angel

this is the ONLY universe where pmreader becomes port mafia boss ;) i actually had it noted that there was only one universe on the background page in wykyk once i started writing wasteland, baby but no one caught it ;) i was wondering if anyone would put two and two together

i actually went back and retconned chapter 1 to have them talking about the divine comedy instead of petrarch because of the first scene in this chapter. i thought it would be neat coming full circle with the themes of betrayal and death, + the hozier song this chapter is based on is about the 9th circle in the divine comedy. so everything just tied together too neatly for me to not add it.

;) just remember now with repin involved, reader's narration is now entirely unreliable. we don't know what's truth and manufactured by repin.

i was actually really tempted to base civzai2 off of a mother mother album just because hayloft II fits what's going to be the first half of it SO fucking well, but i had to go with mitski because the whole album literally captures the vibes of the second series perfectly

#dazai x reader #dazai x you #dazai osamu x reader #dazai osamu x you #bsd x reader #bsd x you #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x you

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bisexual-borderline-disaster · 2 days ago

Text

transcript

[A man faces the camera, which captures him from around his chest to the top of his head. Behind him is a wall with various paintings. He seems to be sitting down. On one side, there is the tiktok symbol with his username below it, @ mohanad.elshieky91]

I grew up in Libya, not to brag, in the city of Bengazi, which I’m sure you’ve only heard good things about. We are famous for our beautiful beaches and nothing else.

And I was driving my car years ago to meet a friend and by the time I got to my street corner where I lived, this woman comes out of nowhere and she does this [holds up his hand, palm out, symbolising ‘stop’] right in front of my car. And to be honest, I was intrigued, so I stopped.

But then that woman runs towards my car, opens the back door, and gets in, and I was like, I can’t think of one scenario where this is a good thing. But then the door next to me also opened and a guy comes in. He points a knife to my face and he says, “Drive now- please!”

I was like brother, at no point I feel like you needed to add the “please.” You know, I was never gonna be like [looks to the side and pretends to hold a steering wheel, as if he is a driver talking to a passenger] “Oh, are you forgetting something?” and he’s like, “please,” and I was like, “okay yeah, now I can drive you” [he flicks a hand to express how ridiculous the idea is and then faces the camera again].

So I started driving and in my head I was like oh, I got tricked, I’m being kidnapped right now, because that woman just stood in front of my car to distract me and this guy got in and they’re probably going to steal my car and do something to me. But then they were chatting and I can like, hear some of the stuff that was going on, the woman said that her phone died and she couldn’t call her husband to come pick her up, so that’s why she stopped me. And I was like, this part makes sense, but doesn’t explain the thing next to me.

And then the guy was like “Hey man, how was your night going,” and I was like, “I don’t know – I didn’t think we were doing this – my night is going great, hopefully not the last night.”

And then finally I got to the location he gave me and both of them left my car and went to a house and knocked on the house and man came out, I assumed that was the husband from the story, and I was like okay, but then the two guys started yelling at one another. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but they were just going at it. And I was just like, in the car watching them, and I know what you’re thinking, you’re like, ‘Mohanad, you could have just dri-ven [his voice wavers] away at this point,’ which is true, but more than anything, I love drama. I was like, I’m not gonna leave on a cliffhanger, you know, I need to see where this plot is going.

But then I was watching too close – close, and I was like, holding, like, like this on my steering wheel [he holds up one hand on top of the other, both open and face down, curved a little as if they are resting on top of a steering wheel] and I got too close and I honked by mistake.

And the husband saw me and he just runs back in, comes out, now he’s holding a gun and runs toward my car, and I was like, I don’t like this character development. And he starts yelling at me, and he’s like “Who are you, and what are you doing here?” and I was like, I mean, to be honest, questions I ask myself every morning – but also I didn’t know what to answer because I know – I don’t know who I am in this scenario, I’m also confused. And then he said, “Should I shoot you right now.” And I was like, “What?” and he was like, “Should I shoot you right now.”

And I was like, “When you say should, like, that’s a yes or no question, like, does it matter what I - answer?” and he was like, “What?” and I was like, “What are you saying, 'should I shoot you' – if I say no, wo-would you not do it, would- would my answer matter in this – case,” and he said [laughs a little], “Why are you making it weird?”

[He pauses for a moment to let this sink in]

And I was like, “I’m sorry that I’m making it weird, I’m just - scared,” and then he was like [flicks his hand] “Just go,” and I did not know you can survive death by being annoying, but I proven that you could.

And then the knife guy comes back into my car and he was like, “Just drive us home,” and I was like, who is ‘us,” I don’t even know your name – but I was like, you know what, I’ll just drive you where I got you from, to the streets, and forget that this night ever happened.

And he gets into my car and he was just like, “I was just trying to help, man,” and I was like, “I don’t think you’ve helped people before, because this is not how you do it. You could have just asked me, why would you put a knife to my face.” And I was like, there’s no way this night can get any worse, but then we got stopped at a checkpoint.

And back then in w– in the city, years ago, it was mostly controlled by these religious militias, extremist militias, they were, like, everywhere. And when I say extremist militias, I mean groups like ISIS. I’m not sure if you guys remember them, they kinda fell off, they used to be big on youtube, big posters. And they haven’t posted in a while. So I think about them sometimes, you know, I’m like, did they make it? You know, through the pandemic, you know, which I’m sure they did, those guys famously [he waves an open hand around his face, palm toward him, to indicate a mask] wore masks.

But then, you know, they searched our car up and down, and I said “our,” it’s my car, but – and they couldn’t find anything, I don’t know what they were looking for, and they were gonna let us go, but then one of them was like, “Hey, guys, before you go, I’m gonna ask you something,” and I was like, “sure.”

Then he said, “Who you guys support, us or them?”

And I- And I was like, okay, first of all, let’s acknowledge what a great question this is, you know, thank you so much for asking it, I love [his voice wavers] dialogue – but I didn’t know what to say, because I don’t know if you guys are “us” or “them,” you know, there are so many militias in the city and you guys all kinda dress the same, not to give you fashion advice but – you know, it’s kinda confusing, so I don’t know if you guys are “us” or “them,” and they were started – starting to yell at me, and they were like, “Who do you support?!” and I was so scared and I was like [presses two fingers to his forehead as if he has a headache] ah man, Jesus Christ, which obviously I did not say that out loud ‘cause that would have been so weird and awkward.

So instead, I went with another answer, and I said, “god. I…support god,” and they looked at each other [his eyes flick around as if he is looking at other people] and were like [he looks back toward the camera and shrugs] “honestly that’s pretty dope, you know – what a great answer, you can [he flicks his head sideways as if pointing someone that direction] go. That’s actually the whole brand here, so good job.”

And they let me go, and I was happy, but I drove the guy home and he turns out to be my neighbour, I love my community so much, and he was about to leave my car and he was like, “hey man, let’s hang out sometime” and I was like, “absolutely, you know, would love to do that, and you know – see you,” and…before he left, he said that I should keep the knife, and I was like, “why?” and he was like, “You never know when you need it man, this neighbourhood can be very sketchy,” and I was like, “oh, what – makes you say…that, like did something happen, tonight?”

And, um, I have not seen that guy since, and I don’t know what happened to him or whatever but, you know, uh, all I’m saying is, uh… life is a journey. [He smiles. The tiktok ends]

#idk if i did this right it was just really long so i wanted to

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murdockcastleslut · 1 day ago

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meddle about

an outerbanks band au! | a jj maybank and rafe cameron smau

synopsis: after competing and winning the battle of the bands, the sirens were offered a record deal, launching them into stardom. when they are about to go on their first world tour, the band is faced with the decision of who they will open for them. they choose the swell, their runner-up in the battle of bands two years prior. with a rocky past with some members of the swell, y/n, the leader singer of the sirens, must tread carefully not cause anymore problems during this choatic tour.

intros | prologue | part one

tw: mentions of depression, anxiety, adhd, addiction, child abuse (emotionally and mentally), alcohol, weed, cocaine, homophobia, and sex.

word count: 2.1k

author's note: finals week kicked my ass but we slay and i put out a new chapter of something finally

thursday, august 15th, 2024

You took one last puff from your cigarette before throwing it down to the ground and smothering it with your sneaker. You let out a loud sigh before grabbing the handle of the door and walking back into the first stop of The Lie to Girls Tour.

As you walk in you notice how the venue has come to life with roadies sending everything up for later that night. You start walking towards your dressing room when someone calls out your name.

You turn my head and see Ward Cameron making a B-line for me. You roll my eyes and stop in front of him.

“What do you want, Ward?” You ask the manager of The Swell and Sarah’s father.

He gives you a sneer and folds his arms to assert dominance over you.

“Where is Sarah?” He asks with a stern look on his face.

I let out a chuckle.

“I don’t know where she is, Ward, but I can be damn sure she doesn’t wanna talk to you.” You say before walking away from the older man.

You walk towards your dressing room and look around yourself diligently hoping you don’t see him. You make it to your dressing room and open the door to see Sarah getting her hair done by the band’s hair stylist, Aubree, and Cleo getting her make-up done by the band’s make-up artist, Kimora. You walk in, letting the door close behind you, and go straight for the couch that Kie is sitting on and lay your head on her lap.

“Your dad’s a dick, Sarah,” I say with my eyes closed enjoying the atmosphere of the room. Kite lets out a muted snort.

“I know he is, but what did he do now?” She asks, twisting to look behind her at you on the couch.

“Nothin, just asked where you were. But I guess he didn’t even bother to look because anyone else could have told him that you were here.”

“Did you tell him where I was ?”

“Fuck no, that would mean I would have to spend five minutes walking with him here. I would rather spend the night in whatever torture chamber Satan's got prepared for that man.”

The whole room laughs but you. You weren’t joking, you were serious.

“How’d you even bump into him girlie?” Cleo asks?

“Went for a smoke out on the side.” You reply nonchalantly.

Everyone in the room this time groans.

“I don’t like this judgment I’m getting from everyone. I hardly smoke cigs anymore! We are Texas and I’m not tryna get arrested before we have even gotten on stage.” I defend.

“I guess that’s acceptable,” Kie says, tapping your nose.

You scrunch your face at her.

“So how are you girls feeling? The first night of your basically sold-out tour.” Aubree asks as she finishes the final curls on Sarah’s hair.

“So excited, man. I have a good feeling about tonight.” Cleo smiles.

“Oh my god, knock on wood right now, Cleo! You’re gonna jinx us!” You exclaim sitting up from Kie’s lap.

“I don't think it’s…”

“I swear to god, you better knock.”

Cleo doesn’t say anything but rolls her eyes and knocks on the ledge of the vanity in front of her.

Kie looks at you and sighs.

“Babe I mean this in the nicest way possible, did you take your meds today?” She questions.

“Yes, I did.” You roll your eyes at her question.

“So excited and nervous.” Aubree takes it away.

“She’s just nervous about interacting with JJ.” Sarah spills.

“What the fuck! No, I am not! I could care less what the dipshit thinks.” You refute.

Just as you finish, the band stylist, Jess, walks into the dressing room holding everyone’s outfit.

“So you didn’t text me saying you literally have to look sexier than sexy this whole tour to show JJ he’s an idiot.” Jess chimes in.

You let out a loud groan.

“Damn it, Jess. You just fucked my whole I don’t care vibe.” You whine.

Everyone lets out a chuckle at your reaction.

“Well, I’ll have you know that the outfit I picked up is killer.” Jess smiles.

“Lemme see!” You sit up excited like a child at Christmas.

She puts all the outfits on the rack and pulls out yours.

Everyone in the room, oohs and ahhs.

“Oh Jess, you are a magic baby!” You laugh.

She smiles and shakes her head and walks over to you to give you the hanger.

“Get changed, I wanna see how it looks on you.” She demands.

“Yes, ma’am.” You smile and get up off the couch. You go behind the divider and get undressed and put on the outfit that she had chosen for you.

You get changed into a faux leather corset and a black faux leather skirt.

When you step out from behind the divider, everyone in the room whoops and whistles.

“Get in my chair now,” Aubree exclaims. “I have the best idea.”

You giggle and nod excited to see what she had in store for your hair. As Aubree works on your hair, Kimora starts on your make-up.

The room is filled with laughter, music, and singing. Aubree is done with your hair pulled into a slick back 90’s spiky bun when there’s a knock on the door. She gives your hair one more spritz of hairspray before going to grab the door.

When she opens the door, the once loud and obvious room is now dead silent. JJ Maybank is standing in front of the door.

He looks around uneasily and then looks at you. He is in awe of the way you look.

“Is there a reason you’re here?” Aubree sneers at him in an unkind tone.

“Uh-uh i-uh..” He keeps staring at you.

“Yo pervert, either say something or get out.” Kimora scolds him.

“Yeah- uh sorry,” he keeps his eyes on you. “Ward sent me to get you, says Minerva is looking for you.”

You scrunch your eyebrows in confusion. What the fuck? You think to yourself.

“Anything else?” Kimora questions, their tone suggesting he’d leave.

“He said I had to walk you there…” He hesitates.

“She’ll be out in a minute.” She says before shutting the door in his face.

You turn to the other girls with your eyes widened in confusion. They all shrug at you not knowing what is going on. You look at Sarah and mouth Your dad’s a dick. She sighs heavily and nods.

You look around the floor and put on your Doc Martens.

“Fucking bastard.” You mumble to yourself about Ward before opening the door.

You look at JJ with a sneer and wait for him to lead you to Minnie.

“So uh- I’m…” He stutters out and you cut him off with a glare.

The rest of the way to Minnie was silent. He did not try to utter another word to you.

When you find her, she is surrounded by roadies asking her questions about the final touches on the venue.

When she sees you and JJ together she gives you a strained smile. She knows that this is not a situation you want to be in.

“Thank you, Jackson. You can leave us.” She says coldly and wraps her arm around your shoulder. You giggle when she calls him his legal name and wrap your arm around her waist.

“You look like a good kid, everyone did you up real pretty.” She smiles down at you.

“They did, this team might be my favorite.” You smile up at her.

“Good, good…” She says as the two of you walk. “I gotta ask you a favor and I know you don’t wanna do it but Ward Cameron is up my ass and if I know if we make a fuss, which I want to, things will get leaked to the press and none of you kids need that right now.”

“What do you need, Minnie?” You furrow your brow.

“I need you, specifically, to sing a song with one of the members of The Swell. Ward wants it to be JJ for publicity to say there is no bad blood between the two of you, but he can kiss my ass. That is up to you to forgive him and only you, hun.”

“Jesus Min, this man is gonna be a pain in our asses all tour isn’t he?”

Minnie nods and that is all you need to know that it is going to be a long tour.

“Alright, I’ll do it. And I’m choosing the song.” You say.

“Sounds good to me. Break a leg, you’re gonna kill out there.” She offers a kind smile before reaching five steps away from you and she is surrounded by people who need to ask her questions.

You turn around and go back towards the dressing rooms. You look around looking for the name you need. You go up to the door and knock.

The door opens and you have a smirk up at him.

“How would you like to piss off your dad tonight.” You ask.

He doesn’t respond with words but instead, a sly smirk spreads across his face and he opens the door wider so that you can step inside.

—

The crowd was electric tonight. Even though most of The Swell’s songs were unknown to the crowd, they enjoyed it very much and it definitely helped that all the members were attractive.

You stand backstage getting mixed up as you watch from the sidelines. As the last song comes to an end JJ goes up to the middle mic.

“How’d y’all like that one?” He asks the crowd. They cheer and scream to show their enthusiasm.

“Good, good,” He chuckles into the mic. “Now I’m gonna hand this over to Rafe.”

Rafe is up from his drum set and someone is already taking his place. He runs up and daps up JJ before taking his place in front of the mic.

“Now, if you’re a fan of The Swell, you’ll know I don’t sing up in the front often but I wanted to treat y’all for the first show. And as for something extra special, I have a guest. But your hands together for Y/N L/N of The Sirens, everybody!” He exclaims.

The crowd goes while as your name is said and you step out on the stage. You give the band members a wave except JJ and head on over to Rafe.

“Hey, everyone, are these guys treating you well?” You ask into the mic. The crowd cheers in response. You smile seeing everyone enjoying themselves.

“I'm glad, so I have a question,” You look at the crowd. “Do y’all know Perfect by One Direction?”

The crowd erupts in total chaos.

“Seems like they know it, pretty girl.” Rafe flirts. You give him a smirk and move in closer.

“Seems like it, so y’all are gonna sing along with us?” The crowd erupts once again in cheers. “Alright let’s do it.” You smile at the crowd.

The music starts playing and you sway your body to the music coming from your ears. Rafe brings the mic to his lips and winks at you before he sings.

“I might never be your knight in shining' armor, I might never be the home you take home to Mother,” He sings to the audience. “And I might never be the one who brings you flowers,” He turns to you while pointing at himself and sings “I can be the one, be the one tonight.”

The crowd screams loving the chemistry the two of you are displaying

“ When I first saw you from across the room I could tell that you were curious,” You sing, looking up at him and checking him out.

“Oh, yeah,” The whole band harmonizes with you.

“Boy, I hope you’re sure what you’re looking for ‘cause I’m not good at making promises” You riff.

You and the whole band sing the chorus. But as you sing your eyes are locked on Rafe and his eyes are locked with yours.

When everyone gets to the line, “If you like to do the things we shouldn’t do,” you and Rafe are close. He has one hand on the mic and the other on your waist. You have two arms around his shoulders sharing the mic he was sharing. His gaze is locked with yours not daring to look away.

For the rest of the song the two of you are never less than a foot apart and when you are close one of you is touching the other. It was like you were the only people on stage even though you were performing in front of thousands.

Although you never looked away from the audience or Rafe, the one thing you could feel was JJ’s burning jealous gaze on your back.

after the concert...

taglist: @ivysprophecy @kimoralov3 @arkofblake @eddsthemunson @zyafics @papercranesandinkstains @jjslaybank @isnt-itstrange @ayy1234567 @upsidedownjill @mads-writes-vibes @shincidios @hittmeandtellmeyouremine @mattslutiolo @xoxo-ada @mariamsdison6-blog @eternallovers65 @smootbrainchicken @starsval @writer-who-rarely-writes @whorelaud @ame1le @me-ig1 @marleymarleymarleymarley @cassiewritessalot @everinlove @robinsgrl

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wandascosmic · 1 day ago

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just maybe (9)

wanda maximoff x fem!reader

part nine of 'you belong with me' series

summary: basically a wanda series inspired by jim and pam from the office

word count: 3193

tags: swearing, playful mention of sex, an office fire drill, best friends to lovers, idiots already in love to lovers, reader having an insane amount of self-control as always, jealousy jealousy from our favorite sokovian

taglist: @reginassweetheart @rroyale-109 @marvel-posts

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8

“Shield Industries, this is Wanda,” Wanda introduces as she answers the receptionist's phone. Upon hearing the voice, Wanda furrows her brows. “Sure, can I ask who’s calling?” The person responds with their name. “Just a second.” Wanda turns to hit a button on the phone.

Suddenly, your phone begins to ring. “Y/N L/N,” you state, picking up the call. You laugh, hearing that it was your current almost girlfriend. “What, how did you get this number?” You mock with a grin. “Stalker,” you shake your head.

Wanda’s not sure how she feels as she watches the happy expression on your face from her desk. You seem content with Valkyrie, but something about her just made Wanda feel uneasy. She’s come to the conclusion that she’s probably just protective of you, since you’ve always been her best friend, and since knowing you she had never really seen you in any serious relationships. She simply cared for you, a lot.

“So we’re still on for lunch?” you ask Valkyrie. “Are you meeting me here? Okay. Great. See you later. Bye,” you finish with a smile, hanging up.

You were about to get back to work when Wanda calls out to you from across the room. “Hey,” she says, causing you to turn your head towards her, and gives you a small smile. “You can just give her your extension.”

“Sure,” you nod, before returning to the papers on your desk.

Wanda frowns.

***

There was a deafening loud sound reverberating through the entire office. The smoke detector, of course.

You sigh. You just wanted to get through the day uninterrupted, not including the lunch you had planned with Valkyrie. And, of course, spending as much time as you could with Wanda. Just one normal day, please.

And right on time, Sam begins to shout. “Okay, people, this is not at test! Everybody make your way to the exits!” He calls out.

“Do not panic!” Tony yells alongside him. “Everyone, just get up from your desks, arms at your side!”

“This is not a drill, move quickly, everyone, this is a paper company, come on!” Sam screams at the top of his lungs, rather dramatically. If you weren’t at a risk for being set on fire, you would’ve had a witty sarcastic remark ready on the tip of your tongue for him. “This whole place is a tinder box, it’s ready to blow!”

You’re making your way out the exits, when suddenly Wanda immediately runs towards you and meets the rhythm of your stride, holding your hand.

You give her a confused look. “Nat says we should have safety partners,” she responds with a shrug.

“I didn’t hear that–” you begin to say.

“Clear out, stat!” Sam interrupts, sprinting past the two of you and clearly out of breath after screaming out fire safety laws for the past 10 minutes.

Forgetting your previous statement, you turn to the brunette beside you once you’ve both made it safely to the parking lot outside. “Please tell me we can prank Sam after this,” you tell Wanda, bringing out a huge grin on her face.

“Oh, for sure,” she responds immediately. “In fact, I’m drafting up about 5 plans right now in my mind.”

You laugh. “Of course you are, Maximoff.” Wanda squeezes your hand in return.

***

“Okay, you know what?” you call out to the people around you. It had been ten minutes, and you were thoroughly bored of standing around. “I think Wanda and I are gonna set an agenda around here.”

Wanda nods with a grin.

Clapping your hands together lightly, you call towards the rest of the office staff. “Can everybody gather up, please? Important announcement.” You say. “I think this is a perfect opportunity for all of us to participate in some really intense,” you pause, “psychologically revealing conversations.”

You give Wanda a look to finish the rest of your announcement. “So,” she turns to face the crowd. “We’re gonna be playing Desert Island…”

“”Who Would You Do?” you continue, making Wanda snicker.

“And, “Would You Rather?”” Wanda finishes.

“Would You Rather,” you agree.

You’re about to start the first game, when suddenly, the fire trucks pull in and the firefighters run through the office crowd to get into the building.

“What’s up, guys, long time no see,” you greet slightly, making Wanda smack you playfully on the arm. “What?” you laugh.

She rolls her eyes in response. “You’re a dork.”

You stick your tongue out at her in return, and turn back to the crowd once all the firefighters have made their way through.

“Okay, so, first, three books on a desert island,” you look around, trying to pick the first person to go. “Nat,” you point.

Nat squints her eyes suspiciously at the interaction in front of her first, before answering. “The Hunger Games, and a Russian dictionary, to make sure I’m not out of practice.”

“Okay, you have one more book though,” you say.

“Rather not,” Nat responds.

“Okay,” you say with a shrug, and turning towards your best friend. “Wanda, next person?”

Wanda nods, looking around to pick the right person. “Peter!” she says.

“Oh,” Peter responds shyly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Um, Death by Black Hole, Nonlinear Dynamics and Chaos, and one of the scientific journals I read a while ago but I can’t remember the name.”

“Alright, that’s pretty cool,” you say.

“No, it’s not,” Sam retorts immediately. “If he burned them, he would only be warm for like seven seconds. Question, is there firewood on the island?”

“I guess,” you shrug.

Sam scoffs. “Then I would bring an axe. No books.”

“That’s actually pretty practical, Mr. Sam,” Peter squeaks out.

“Peter, you don’t need to agree with the guy,” you reassure. “I never do.”

Peter nods, shifting his weight on his feet instead.

You look at Sam once more. “You can’t bring an axe, Sam. Just books.”

Sam narrows his eyes at you. “Fine, then. Physician’s Desk Reference.”

“Nice. Smart.”

But unfortunately, Sam continues. “But hollowed out. Inside, waterproof matches, iodine tablets.” Wanda turns to you with an expression that tells you she’s trying not to laugh. You roll your eyes playfully in response. “Beet seeds, protein bars, NASA blanket, and, in case I get bored, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. No, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban.” Wanda finally can’t help herself and lets out a small snicker. “Question, did my shoes come off in the plane crash?”

***

Unfortunately, the books don’t last very long since it appears that people don’t read too much in the Shield Industries office. However, you’re definitely remembering Wanda’s answer for her next birthday.

“Okay, DVDs, five movies, what would you bring?” you ask the crowd.

Bruce immediately raises his hand.

“Yes, Bruce?”

Bruce starts naming all of his guilty pleasure movies, and you and Wanda look at each other while struggling not to laugh.

“Wow,” you whisper quietly to her as Bruce continues naming his choices.

“Well, I kind of like–” Wanda whispers one of the movies to you through her quiet giggles.

“Wanda, you’re misinterpreting this,” you tease gently. “These are desert island movies, you know? Not guilty pleasure movies. These are the movies you’re gonna be watching for the rest of your life! Forever!”

“I take it back,” Wanda grins, facing you.

“Unforgivable,” you shake your head.

“I take it back!” Wanda wraps her arms around yours.

***

“Wanda,” you turn to the brunette so she’s facing your front. “Your turn, five movies, go ahead.”

Wanda groans, looking at you with a hopeful expression on her face. “Does it have to be movies? What about sitcoms?” she asks excitedly.

You hum thoughtfully. “What do you guys think?” you turn to the rest of the staff.

“To be fair, I don’t think Maximoff has seen a single movie in her life, so for her, it should be allowed,” Nat says.

“Hey!” Wanda says, slightly offended. “I’ll have you know, when I first came here, Y/N took me to see a bunch of your classic American movies.”

“Oh, did she now?” Nat responds back sarcastically.

“Okay, come on, guys,” you say past the slight blush in your cheeks. “No need to be hostile. Wanda, go ahead and name your top sitcoms you’d bring to the island.”

Wanda immediately forgets about the interaction with Nat and starts naming her favorite shows. “Okay. The Dick Van Dyke Show, of course, I Love Lucy, Malcolm in the Middle, Bewitched, Family Ties…Wait, can I bring one more? I love–”

“Sorry, Maximoff,” you cut off with a grin, causing her to frown. “Five per person, max.”

“But-” she tries.

You shake your head. “Play by the rules, Wanda. Play by the rules.”

“I’m gonna get you back,” she says, narrowing her eyes and crossing her arms tightly.

“Don’t doubt it,” you respond cheekily. “But, I’ll get you a donut later to make up for it. How about that?”

Wanda nods, satisfied with your answer and moves to stand next to you once more.

***

“All right, moving on to the main event, Who Would You Do?” you announce.

“Present company excluded?” Bucky asks.

“Um, no,” you shake your head. “Not necessarily.”

Suddenly, a chorus of “Wanda” is heard from the entire crowd, and you look at the recipient seeing how uncomfortable she looks.

“Okay, um, how about I finish explaining the rules first? Let me explain first–” you try to ease Wanda’s embarrassment, but suddenly, you’re interrupted by something you could have never anticipated.

Well, who could ever anticipate Sam’s…colorful personality.

“Everybody Hurts” by REM has begun to blast from Sam’s car, and you look to see him slouching completely lifeless in his driver’s seat.

You try your best to continue past the music. “Yeah, so we’ll get right to— you know what? I’ll be right back. Steve, can you take over for me? Thanks.”

You run off in the direction of Sam’s car, ready to confront him with Wanda trailing beside you.

“Sam?” You ask through the open window. Sam simply turns up the music in response. “Sam! Come on, Sam, use words.”

Sam turns off the music aggressively. “Why didn’t I go to business school?” he asks angrily.

You furrow your brows in confusion. “Who goes to business school?” you ask, looking over at Wanda who shrugs at you in response.

“The intern,” Sam says venomously.

“Peter? He does?”

“Yeah,” Sam responds scornfully. “It’s all him and Tony talk about now. Tony saw a stupid yellow business school book in his car, swiped him from your game, and now Tony’s completely obsessed with him.”

Wanda looks at you before speaking, “you know, I bet Peter thinks to himself, “I wish I were a volunteer sheriff on the weekend.””

You bite your lip to hold back your laugh.

“He doesn’t even know that I do that,” Sam rolls his eyes.

“You should tell him,” Wanda says.

“Oh, yeah, Wanda. Right. That’s gonna help things, just talk it out,” he scoffs. “I hope the war goes on forever and Peter gets drafted.”

“Sam,” Wanda states gently.

“What?” you mouth to her through a smile.

She shakes her head at you with an equally amused grin.

Sam puts his head into his hands. “Fine, I’m sorry I said that. I didn’t— just part of me meant it, okay? Besides, he’d end up being a hero, anyway.”

You duck your head slightly to hold in the laugh that’s dying to come out. Wanda starts to smile too, looking away slightly to prevent being obvious.

“You know what you should do,” you say past your grin, an equally amused expression on Wanda’s face. “You should quit.” You cover your mouth with the top of your fist slightly to hide your smile. “And then,” you turn to face Wanda, “that would stick it to both of them.”

Wanda bites her lip tightly, trying her best to prevent from bursting out into laughter alongside you.

“No, Y/N, I’m not gonna quit,” Sam says completely monotone. “Then Peter wins.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” you agree, facing Wanda who’s eyes are sparkling with amusement.

Sam puts his hand on top of both yours and Wanda’s, giving you both a grateful expression. “Thanks, you guys. I just need some alone time.”

“Okay,” Wanda says softly, slowly backing away from the car.

“Everybody Hurts” starts blasting again from the speakers, and Sam rolls up the window, slouching once more.

You and Wanda slowly walk back to the group together, laughing loudly together as you finally release the pent-up hysterics you had both been trying to hold back.

“God, he makes it so easy,” you exclaim.

“I know,” Wanda grins. “But, we’re definitely still pranking him! I’m so looking forward to it, I have so many ideas I need to share with you. But, you know, after he gets over his breakup with Tony,” she starts giggling again.

“I can’t wait, Maximoff,” you start snickering loudly alongside her once more.

But suddenly, your moment is cut short, as the source of your unhappiness makes its way in front of you two, and you both stop laughing slightly.

“Hey, guys, what’s going on?” Vision asks, immediately slinging his heavy arm around Wanda’s shoulders.

“Nothing much,” you respond, shrugging as you put your hands in your pockets, feeling a bit out of place.

“Hi, Vis,” Wanda says with a smile.

“Can I hang with you guys for a bit?” Vision asks you both. “The warehouse guys can really be jackasses sometimes, you know?”

You included, you think to yourself.

But if he makes Wanda happy, then you’re happy.

***

Much to your secret dismay, you and Wanda have joined the group once more, along with her fiancé.

“Come on, guys, you know the rules of the game, it’s called “Who Would You Do?”” Steve says in a bit of a frustrated tone.

“Oh!” Tony claps his hands together. “Awesome, I play this game with my friends all the time. Where are we?”

“Um–” Steve says.

“Vision!” Tony points to the new company. “Who would you do?”

“Oh, I got it!” Vision responds, and Wanda smiles lightly to herself. “What’s the name of that girl who’s always wearing black and has a huge bitch face? The red head?”

Wanda’s face falls.

“My name’s Natasha,” Nat responds curtly, crossing her arms.

Vision leans down to face Nat. “Hey, Natasha! I’m Vision, nice to meet you.”

“You’re a dick,” Nat says simply, immediately leaving and making her way to her car.

Wanda looks down at her feet, feeling uncomfortable.

“Hey?” you whisper to Wanda.

Wanda hums in response.

“Look at Sam,” you tell her, pointing to the figure in the red car, now going back and forth between banging his forehead onto his steering wheel, occasionally letting out honks, and banging his head agains the roof of his car.

Wanda lets out a laugh, bringing her hand to her mouth in shock. She turns to look at you. “He’s gonna inflict brain damage or something.”

“Well, then he’ll have opened up a whole new world of pranks for us,” you shrug.

Wanda grins, her spirits lifted from before.

“Y/N!” Tony calls out. “You’re next. Who would you do?”

“Um,” you pause. “Steve, hands down. You know, he’s got that cuddly thing going on, and because he’s prehistoric we could just watch bowling after.”

The group laughs at your joke, Wanda included.

***

The people playing the games had slightly splintered since Sam had run out of his car in an effort to find Tony’s phone, inside the burning office building, and in his words, simply to make him happy. A couple people got bored, and a few others decided to wait by the door of the building just to make sure Sam got out safely.

Wanda was surrounded by a few of the female staff, who had decided to continue the game.

“Definitely Y/N,” a bunch of them said simultaneously. “She’s really cute, and funny.”

Wanda crossed her arms tightly across her body.

“What about you, Wanda?” Jean asked.

“Um,” Wanda looks around. “Probably Steve, too. For the same reasons as Y/N. He seems really nice.”

You’re on a phone call with Valkyrie, walking around the parking lot aimlessly. “Hey, where are you? Oh, good. Yeah, we’re just here, we’re playing Desert Island, five movies.”

***

Sam had finally reconciled with Tony, after finding out the culprit of the fire, was unfortunately Peter’s cheese quesadilla. The boy looked horrified, and you tried to give him a reassuring look in an unfortunate situation.

Suddenly, you were met with the sight of a silver car pulling into the parking lot, seeing it was Valkyrie through the windows.

You walked up with a smile as she parked, rolling down the window to strike up a conversation.

“Hey,” you greeted, smiling as you leant down to talk to her, her immediately grabbing your arm flirtatiously. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” she answered, planting a kiss on your cheek. “It’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you too,” you responded, smiling.

“I’m hungry,” she says, referring to your lunch plans.

“You know, I am too,” you agree.

“Oh!” Valkyrie realizes, stepping out of the car. “I have been thinking, the whole way over, and I have my answers,” she shuts the door to the car.

“What answers?” you ask.

“For the desert island,” she says, leaning back against the car door.

“Oh, right!” you say excitedly. “Come on.” You grab her hand and lead her over to the rest of the staff.

“Ladies and gentlemen, gather ‘round, we have one more participant,” you announce. “Be polite,” you say, before turning to Valkyrie. “Desert island, five movies, go.”

“Okay,” Valkyrie smirks. “First, Legally Blonde.”

And suddenly, you’re met with the sound of Wanda’s laughter, as that was the guilty pleasure movie Wanda had told Y/N she liked when Bruce had announced it, only for you to tease her in response.

Unfortunately, after Valkyrie has announced her movies, the crowd had mostly dissipated, and you turn to her apologetically. “Sorry, there was a bigger crowd last time, but you know, great movies,” you say, scratching the back of your neck slightly.

“Don’t worry,” Valkyrie says, grabbing your arm and running her hand up and down your sleeve. “Wanna just go to lunch?”

“Sure,” you agree. “Where are we going?”

“I’m in the mood for Thai, does that work?” Valkyrie responds, getting into the driver’s seat.��

“Yeah, for sure,” you say, closing the door for her before making your way to the passenger’s seat.

And Wanda narrows her eyes, ‘cause she knows you absolutely hate Thai food.

Scoffing, she turns back to Vision, and grabs him by the collar before firmly connecting their lips.

You frown at the sight in front of you, and turn your head away.

“You okay?” Valkyrie asks, noticing your expression as you close the car door at your side.

“Hm?” you respond. “Oh, oh, yeah, I’m fine. Don’t worry.” You reassure, giving her a small smile past the ache in your heart.

“Okay,” Valkyrie agrees, giving you a small kiss on your cheek before driving off.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff angst #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wandamaximoff #wanda maximoff fluff #marvel mcu #mcu #wanda x you #wanda x y/n #wanda marvel

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wandering-pirate · 3 days ago

Text

Mouthwashing Characters Headcanons

The Crew's Love Language ft. You

Captain Curly

Words of Affirmation

The captain is well-known for having his vocabulary overflowing with encouraging and uplifting words, a stellar reputation for giving good pep talks

Deep inside, he always loved hearing words of praise from the people he cared about the most. He always valued the affirmations from them, a foolproof method to make him smile and feel loved

For him, words are like fire, and people can either use them to warm someone up or burn a whole damn city

He never raises his voice at you when it comes to negative emotions, never when he's angry, frustrated, or panicked

He, however, is so enthusiastic when congratulating you or when he's excited about the topic you're both talking about

Your heart (and belly) can't help but feel very warm with the way he uses his words with his deep tone. If a kid asked you how a space superhero would sound, you'd bring Curly forward

With his effort to stay optimistic, you always make sure to tell him an encouraging word or sweet strands of praise whenever you see him and after he does something

"Captain, remember to stay hydrated, you're doing great, sir."

"You always know how to put the crew at ease, Cap. Appreciate it"

"You're so reliable, gosh, thank you!"

Every praise and affirmation you throw his way makes him blush and stutter, a polar opposite to his status

You make it a duty to compliment him sincerely. The hunk of a man ends up having a red face every time he receives your sweet words to the point that the crew teases him for it

"Cap, what's red and stutters?"

"I swear, Jimm--"

"Oh, oh! I know!"

"Come on, Daisuke, not you to--"

"You, after talkin' to Y/N."

The captain, co-pilot, and intern stared at Swansea’s retreating back after he butted into a conversation that the mechanic would find ridiculous even being a part of

You also made sure to never—I MEAN NEVER—use words against him, especially with secrets or information that he exclusively told you about (probably the reason why you and Jimmy ended the Captain's birthday party with knives at each other's throats)

Mechanic Swansea

Acts of Service

The old man was raised in a household where serving your family is the ultimate display of love

His father scoffed after reaching the last part of young Swansea's greeting in the Christmas card he gave him:

"I love you? Boy, you can't even make a decent cut on that firewood from a while ago"

"I love you's" are just empty words for him. When you really want to reach into his head and hammer some sense of what you feel about him, you gotta show it

However, unlike his father, he doesn't need a grand display of actions to know and notice. He actually prefers the little things you do:

Remembering his coffee preference and making it every morning

Giving him a massage in the area his hands seem to knead frequently

Putting his socks on before work

Giving him a pedicure (after leveraging that he'd eat you in bed for the whole night)

He also holds himself up to the same standard, always doing chores around the house whenever you're busy:

No stocks of pads and tampons? He'll make sure he gets the right brand you always get

Your favorite furniture that you inherited needs varnishin'? He's on it.

Your daughter's birthday is coming up, but you're too ill to make the cake? He ain't a baker, but he'd be damned if he won't at least try

"Daddd, is this... is this meat... on my birthday cake?"

"S'called 'cake of love' for a reason, darlin'. You don't question its ingredients. It's made of love"

What makes your heart flutter is not having to tell him all the things that need to be done. He knows what's lacking and what you need

When there are times you have to vocalize your concerns, he'll simply nod, and after a moment, it's done

Co-pilot Jimmy

Physical Touch

*Sighs* Need I say more?

Jimmy is the type who’s not comfortable with PDA, but he can't seem to keep his hands off of you when he feels threatened, (especially when Curly is having a casual conversation with you)

You can't blame the guy; he doesn't even understand how you fell for him somehow, but he's not complaining, and he most definitely will not let you go (possessive boi is a touchy boi)

His touches are not always sensual, and it actually surprises you how gentle he is when holding you

Whenever you're busy, he'd pass by to squeeze your waist or brush a touch on your lower back

When you're both around each other but are doing different tasks, he'd make sure to have a part of you touching him:

A hand on the thigh

A leg over your thighs

His head on your chest or shoulder or thighs (the boy's got magnets on your thighs, what can I say?)

And his personal favorite: having you sit between his legs with your back pressed against his chest.

One time, a frustrated Curly called you. It's been a week since Jimmy left for his job-training, and you weren't aware that someone was also getting through a torturous week like you and Jimmy

The captain was at the other end of his friend's damp mood

"I don't know what you do to him, Y/N. He's a completely different person when he's with you"

"Hmm, how bout massaging his hand, cap. It improves his mood, and it always works"

"..."

"Hello? Curly?"

"...Y/N, are you trying to get me killed? It works because you're the one doing it!"

Intern Daisuke

Quality Time and Giving Gifts

The boy loves spending time with you. He doesn't need to plan for what to do during those times you'd be together because he always finds ways to make you enjoy it so much that you have to keep a wristwatch to check how much time has passed

He's known to be a yapper but not the type of yapper that tires you

The man has a lot of questions for you to the point that you're concerned that he knows more information about yourself than you

Pointing out things he notices you do, like looking slightly at the right when you're lying or knowing how many moles are in your face and neck

It doesn't creep you out though, you picked up that he's very observant when he's interested and that flatters you that he take mental notes of these small things just by being around him

Whenever he knows that you won't be seeing him for a while, he makes sure that you know what he'll be doing and where he'll go

Basically the main reason when the crew - especially Swansea - would look for him, they'll go straight to you

"Hey kid, where's that boy again?"

"Toilet, Swansea. He said it's a raging diarr--"

"Yeah yeah, toilet's fine. geez."

Daisuke also buys you trinkets he finds that remind him of you—from crocheted baby mushrooms to obscure plastic eyeball keychains

"I understood the frog keychain last week, but... a turd plushie?"

"Cause I feel shitty when we're apart"

"Valid"

His gifts are very specific and you even cried one time in a store trying to outgift him, spoiler, you can't. He never makes you feel bad about it, he always claimed that he takes pride at being the Leslie Knope of the real world (iykyk)

Nurse Anya

Quality Time

She strongly believes that spending time with someone is the core of a relationship

She definitely isn’t the person to be clingy - nope, she's a queen with self-worth. If you don't want to spend time with her, don't expect her to chase you

The more you spend time with her, though, the more she opens up. For her, trust is something earned over time, and you made the effort to build that trust brick by brick

After falling for her harder, your trips to the medbay became more frequent with "accidental injuries"

"Hey, miss Anya."

"Hey y/n, kindly be careful. Don’t want you to have your 4th visit this week."

"Heh, what can I say? I hate breaking the streak. Gotta keep you on your toes."

"Y/N, it’s still Wednesday."

"Good time to give you your once-a-week training, right?"

Once she’s comfortable with you, her affection shows in the little things:

Putting your vitamins and supplements on accessible places because she knows you forget taking them

Giving you random psychology tests after finding our that you loved them

Or being comfortable enough to nap on your shoulders (you earned that trust on the hundred and tenth day)

You don't even have to talk while being together; as long as both of you are around each other, her shoulders relax, and her face is at peace

226 notes · View notes

cthulhus-curse · 2 days ago

Text

Cherry Waves

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Gender Neutral Reader

Word Count: 10,079

Warnings: Milf!Stripper!Wanda Maximoff, Teacher!Reader, Smut, Fluff | 18+ Minors DNI

Summary: In which you meet the woman of your dreams in the most unexpected of places before a romance between the two of you blossoms.

The sight of yellow vehicles alongside bouts of snow and bleak, barely tended-to outer walls were triggers of disgust. They were constant reminders of a previous life filled with animosity, a time where the priority was survival, not living. Once as a child there was not much to cling to, ostracized and forgotten by peers who pitied faced experiences. Upon growing up, her life didn’t change for the better, but mostly the worst.

“Drop-off is right here, mom.”

At the sound of the small voice, Wanda shook her head. Her hands loosed over her steering wheel she didn’t know she held onto with mighty fury. “Thank you, honey. I almost missed it.”

“Are you okay?” One of the twins, the eldest by only minutes – Tommy – frowned at her words. “You look really tired today. When you dropped us off at dad’s earlier yesterday I thought you’d be sleeping a lot more. You gotta take care of yourself too, mom.”

“I know, sweetheart, thank you,” Wanda beamed at his words, bags hiding beneath messy makeup from the previous night underneath her eyes. Eyeing her twins from the rearview mirror, she couldn’t help but bask in the loving, short moments the three of them had. “Now it’s time to go to class, boys. I don’t want you to be late again.”

At his mother’s words, Billy grimaced. “Oh about that…”

“Yes?” Wanda didn’t miss the hesitation, raising her eyebrows and crossing her arms upon her chest, small ounces of glitter hiding under her hoodie. “What’s wrong? Come on, you have about thirty seconds to spit it out.”

“Ourhomeroomteacherwantstotalktoyouaboutourtardiness,” Billy rambled. He didn’t wish to stay back, instead hastily opening the door of the backseat of the car before throwing himself out. “Bye, ma. Have a good day, love you!”

Albeit surprising, Wanda couldn’t help the way the ends of her mouth rose at the action. She turned to Tommy who broke out into a fit of laughter, following his brother’s steps as he slid out of the car with a patience much like his father’s.

“He said that our homeroom teacher wanted to have a meeting with you. We’ve been late a bunch of times. I tried explaining myself, but not even the principal was having it,” Tommy shrugged. “Now I get why you don’t like Mrs. Potts.”

The reason was much deeper than that. During her adolescence it was Pepper who made it her focus to continuously pick on Wanda through high school, even up until graduation day. Although the elementary school principal found it to be water under the bridge, each time she was forced to see the woman, Wanda found herself holding onto a constant reminder of her torture.

“I’ll take care of it, sweetie. You just go in and have a good day at school,” Wanda forced an exhausted smirk. “I’ll call later today and set up a meeting. And please make sure your brother eats his lunch, all of it. You don’t have to eat his veggies just to cover for him. Now go, honey, or else you’ll be late once again.”

Unlike his brother, Tommy took the time leaning in and wrapping his arms around his mother, even if in an awkward position. “I love you, mom. See ya later.”

“Bye, Tommy. Remember your dad’s picking you up today, it’s your weekend with him. I love you too, I’ll miss you!”

With the absence of her children for a handful of days, Wanda sighed. Weekends were by far the busiest times, especially as the holiday season loomed over. All she could do was slap her forehead against the steering wheel before dismally driving away, hoping to whatever universal power that she could get through the month in one piece.

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

“Red, I need you to focus up tonight. You’ll be front and center while the new girl shadows you. Just show her how it’s done before going out and- Scarlet, are you listening to me?”

Distractions overtook Wanda as she shook her head, turning away from the lengthy mirror and towards her coworker. “Sorry, Ags. I was just…thinking.”

Agatha was the eldest at the club, only a few years older than Wanda and reeking with wiseness. She was something of the leader of the pack, forever ensuring the safety of the other girls, training new ones, and nurturing them all when required. It had been her who drew Wanda into the life of a dancer, promising to care for her and give her an easy way to get by while still present in her children’s life.

The divorce between her and Jarvis had been amicable, and yet living by herself caused her difficulty. As a former paralegal, a career she excelled at, Wanda chose to put her children first rather than her occupation. She was young when the twins were born with nowhere to go with her family having disowned her shortly after her high school graduation when they found her making out with her former friend. Back then Audrey had blamed her for it all, and given her rebellious phase being in full-force, her parents sided with the girl before dumping off their only daughter as though she was trash.

From then on it was Jarvis, her best friend since middle school, who had her back. Only their romance was short-lived, a mistake on Wanda's part who believed she could change much like her parents hoped, as their friendship thrived through adulthood instead. After all, they were much better as co-parents than a married couple.

“Get your head in the game, sweets. I need my best girl tonight. You and I both know that on Saturdays you’re all the boys want to see…and girls,” Agatha gave her a knowing look. “If you get enough tips tonight, maybe you won’t have to come in tomorrow.”

“I have to work anyway,” Wanda shook her head, finishing her makeup before staring at herself through the mirror. “I haven’t bought the boys’ Chanukah gifts. I know there’s over a month to spare, but I’m barely breaking even with what I used to make years ago. Nobody wants to see me, Ags, let’s face it. I’m…old.”

“Honey, you're barely halfway through your thirties. If you’re old then I’m a fucking dinosaur,” Agatha laughed. She stood behind Wanda, hands placed over her nude shoulders that squeezed lovingly. “Plus, you got the best tits in the club. You should be proud of the fact that men pay hundreds just for you to flash them.”

“I suppose that’s nice…I think?”

Agatha wasn’t one to easily take Wanda’s insecurities lightly. “It’s the best compliment I can give you right now. I’m running on a mix of Redbull and coffee that Carol made. So I’ll either stay awake for an entire day or die trying. Now come on, this girl Kate is waiting for the master to teach her a few tricks. Time to shine, Red.”

Meeting Kate, or Lucky as she named herself, was a forever reminder of the youth that escaped Wanda. Although she was barely clothed, only stockings covering her legs alongside knee-high heeled boots and a thin see-through bikini, seeing the younger woman in much less clothes made her become fueled by humiliation.

She showed her the ins and outs of the club, reminding the girl that her safety would forever come first. There was no doubt she’d do well – Kate was young and pleasing to the eye, everyone would fall to their knees for her as they had once done for Wanda. Now with a body carrying carved stretch marks, a painful scar across her abdomen that was a permanent reminder of the birth-gone-wrong of Billy, and rolls upon her tummy, the redhead wasn’t quite sure how to make ends meet. The day job she garnered much to Jarvis’ dismay, who offered to help pay her bills, somewhat allowed her to just get by. As if working dancing at the club wasn’t bad enough, during the days she threw on a uniform to spend lengthy shifts as a bagger at a local grocery store.

As they walked around backstage, Kate noticed a shining golden chain across Wanda’s neck.

“That’s a beautiful necklace,” she pointed out.

Wanda didn’t need to look down as her hand involuntarily went to the Star of David that hung from her neck. “It was a graduation gift from my brother – the last thing he ever gave me, actually.”

“Oh? Well, where is he now?” Kate wondered with furrowed brows.

Since the day she was kicked from her home, her parents barred Pietro from getting in contact with his twin sister. Each day she only longed to see him again, even if for a smidge of a second. Throwing a sad smile towards the new dancer, Wanda shrugged. “I wish I knew.”

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

The start of a new job carried numerous amounts of stress and anxieties, of hidden fears that you wished to push far down until their disappearance. You weren’t used to going out and putting in effort for anything, always living a sheltered life where anything you wanted was simply bestowed upon the palms of your hands.

Your dream of being a teacher confused your parents. They simply couldn’t understand why rather than taking over your father’s business, or perhaps becoming part of it, you’d choose to go out of your way and put more effort into a career when you already had one set in stone. Although they disapproved at first, it was relieving how they eventually came to be proud of you for molding your own path.

Of course no one ever told you of the stress teachers were put through on the daily, much less of the rather adventurous manners in which some decompressed after what had been a harsh semester.

“Come on, it’ll be fun. You’ve never even been to one of these before. Trust me when I say you’ll have the time of your life.”

While you had only worked at Westview Elementary for a few months, you could easily feel yourself trusting Maria. She was a mathematics teacher with her room right across from yours, a quiet educator who during breaks made sure to bring out the life of the teacher’s lounge. It was the first person you had gotten close to at the school, that alongside the gym teacher Carol Danvers and her young assistant, Peter.

“Are you sure?” You eyed Maria incredulously as she pushed you through the doors of the club, smiling at her coworkers who followed along. “Have you ever been to a strip club?”

“Well, not this one, but I heard only good things about it. Their star dancer is something else,” Maria responded with excitement, “I, uh, have a bit of a thing for redheads.”

Although you didn’t know it then, it was a sentiment you too shared.

Entering the club was a rather out-of-body experience you had never lived through. Seeing the flashing lights amidst the darkness made you hiss from the sudden pain upon your eyes, but as they darted towards the main stage, they ended up widening.

Upon the first sight of a mane of red, you couldn’t quite easily shake away the feeling of longing and desire. It was your first time seeing her and yet you knew it was her you wanted. And nothing would dare stop you from getting what you wished.

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

While your coworkers spent most of the night throwing loose bills on stage, Maria quite enthralled by a certain redhead which caught her eye, you remained rigid upon your seat. The once dancer that took your attention moved around the stage through her set, her outfit adorned by bills, some much larger than others, peeking through her waist of breasts that you felt guilty staring at for too long.

Even with the self-proclaimed Black Widow dancing by her, Maria’s eyes averted to your ragged state, frowning as you didn’t tear away from your focus. Smacking your shoulder playfully, she yelled at you through the music that drowned her out. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah I was just…thinking I guess,” you shouted back, and yet never did you turn to Maria.

She took notice of this as she followed your line of sight. When she came to find what you were taken by, the woman smirked. “That’s why we came here. Apparently she’s very popular and, well, I thought you might like her. I would offer to get you a private dance but, you know, teacher’s salary…”

“It’s okay,” you fondly responded. Before your arrival you had taken the liberty to gather some funds for the outing. You never thought you’d use them all in one night, but you’d spend whatever you needed to get her to so much as look at you. “I think I got this, thanks. Just enjoy your night. Maybe I can get you a private dance with her.”

As the night went on, it was you who blessed Maria with a privacy dance from the Widow herself. You had enough money to spare, and seeing your newly found friend carrying a goofy smile as she was dragged backstage was far too enjoyable to constitute as a waste of your earnings. While growing up, your family had forever been well-off. With all that they gave you, you could easily retire without even needing to work.

There was hesitation on your part, but after a smidge of apprehension from a flushed Peter and a thumbs-up, he was who gave you the confidence to request a dance from the club’s most notable dancer. And as you sat in the dark, dimly-lit room with only echoes of the music booming through, all you could do was pray for it to be all you longed for.

Never had you been one to follow your instincts in such a way. The way the woman had drawn you when you first saw her was like no other. There was no feeling you could easily shake away, you way you’d voluntarily tear your eyes from her frame as you sought out her services. Surely you’d had flings here and there, but the passion you felt upon merely seeing her was unknown, a mystery to your soul.

As you rummaged through your own thoughts, you didn’t see the curtains of the small room be shifted as a huffing figure appeared. At least not until hands were placed upon your shoulders making you jump. “You’re far too tense, darling.” The voice drifted closer as a weight was pressed against your body. “Let me help you with that. All you have to do is sit back and enjoy the little show I got for you. I promise you’ll like it.”

Even as the slow, sultry music began, you shut it out as a means to bestow your attention upon her. Your mouth lay agape, heavy breaths being ragged out as you got a better look at the woman. Her red hair shone upon the fluorescent lights, dark lips ghosting upon your forehead as she straddled your lap. Her chest was practically bare let alone for her see-through skimpy outfit that you attempted not to stare at too hard. With hands merely hovering over her hips, you were left in awe.

“I, uhm…” you didn’t find the right words, instead stammering out incoherent babbles as your face turned beet red. “I’ve never done this before, sorry. I’m not really sure what to do right now.”

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I can tell.” Her giggle made your racing heart catch its breath. “Just relax for me. I’ll take care of you. You’re in good hands, my dear.”

Sways hypnotized you without much effort. Melting against the faux leather couch, your arms were limp at each side of your frame. Flickering orbs were entranced by each slow movement. Scarlet, you had learned, carried herself with the utmost grace. She was a vision you mentally recorded, steady mannerisms recorded to be forever plastered upon the walls of your brain. Her alabaster skin was one that drew you in to so much as graze upon it, but the no touching rule was one you took to heart.

The tune was made for her dance. The woman, only slightly older than you, alternated between swaying on top of you before she mounted your lap, her nearly bare breasts brushing upon your face. With each passing second your arousal only grew. Being in close proximity to the goddess Aphrodite envied was intoxicating. You had paid dearly for the private session, but the tips you’d give her would be grandiose in comparison.

“You’re perfect,” you found yourself breathing out. Within the dusk of the room you still noticed stretch marks across her barely-clothed breasts, arms, and thighs, ones that you gawked out while drool was held back. “Just look at you. I’ve never seen anyone so beautiful.”

Wanda had never been one to have such compliments thrown her way, especially not after having her children. “Careful, sweetheart, or else you may become a favorite client of mine.”

“Yeah? I’d like that. You have no idea how good you’re making me feel,” you groaned when Scarlet grinded upon your lap. She didn’t hesitate to grab hold of your hands before guiding them to her breasts, breaking her own personal rule only to allow you to squeeze the soft mounds. “I’m so glad I came here.”

There was a peculiar mark upon her abdomen that made you frown. A certain familiarity made you tilt your head as you absentmindedly felt your heart squirm for her. You didn’t make note of it, not daring to put her in any discomfort. Instead you did as she told you – leaning back, Scarlet was the one to take the reins for the rest of the session.

Much to your dismay, the dance ended as soon as it began.

“That was…wow,” you were at a loss for words. As you sat up on the comfortable couch, you thanked whatever higher power allowed the small room to hide your need-stricken features. “Thank you? I’m not really sure what to say.”

“Your gratitude is appreciated,” the woman laughed, carefully stepping away from your lap with a hesitation you didn’t notice. “Most people just slap my ass and ask me if I offer other services. Which in case you were interested, I don’t.”

Hiding your dismay was difficult, and yet you took your time to fully compose yourself before reaching out. “I’m sorry you have to go through that. I can’t imagine you getting to meet the loveliest people in a place like this.” Making small talk with the dancer would be losing her money, so rather than keep her busy, you handed her the remainder of the cash you brought with you. “I’m not really sure how much to tip, but I hope that’s enough. It’s all I have left.”

Looking down at the flurry of hundreds, Wanda’s eyes widened. Normally she had nothing but animosity towards her clientele, especially those who refused to treat her as anything other than a piece of meat, but she could there was kindness in you – something most individuals in the club desperately lacked. “Are you sure? This is a lot for just one dance. With this you could probably get the other services I was talking about with a girl down the street.”

“I’m not really interested in that,” you shrugged. “Just keep it, really. I hope you have a good night, Ms. Scarlet. Oh and happy holidays!”

You left before she could respond. Nearly running through the curtains and into the main area, you were glad your face was practically unrecognizable in the club. There was a deep need within you to go back into the lounge and make a move, to do anything to ensure you could see the woman again.

But as you saw Maria waving you down, you decided against it. At some point you wished your paths would cross again no matter what, even if it meant you returning to the club for a smidge of attention from the woman who caught your eye.

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

“So you’re not coming to visit me?”

With your phone pressed against your ear, you huffed. It was almost the norm with your parents. Although loving, they were not ones to follow typical familial traditions, especially not those that surrounded the holiday season. Another year, another disappointment.

“Your father and I are really sorry, Y/N. He has to attend a convention in France and I’ll be-”

“It’s alright, ma,” you shrugged as though she could see you. Waltzing through the packed aisles of the grocery store, you refused to let anyone take notice of your true feelings. Instead you threw a box of cereal onto the cart, shaking your head before paying attention to your mother once again. “I’ll send out you and dad’s presents next week. I’ll prepare myself for another pair of fluffy socks from him, huh?”

“You know him so well.”

The two of you amicably chatted as you made your way across the store dumping essentials onto the basket – at times adding self-indulgent treats you’d surely down while watching whatever showed up first on your television or grading finger paintings with full marks for them all. At times your parents disappeared from your life, not even showing up when you moved into the town of Westview, even missing your college graduation and hoping to make up for it by sending you a postcard from Matla with a check you didn’t require.

Once you were done with your weekly shopping, you made your way towards the registers. Your eyes were downcast, the exhaustion from the days at the school catching up to you. Although you adored your students, at times they could be far too energetic for your liking.

“Hey ma I-” before you finished your sentence, your eyes widened. Staring at the register you made a beeline towards, you quickly pulled back. Rather than take another position in any of the slowly growing lines you hid behind a shelf, only the top of your head and your eyes peeking through to get a better sight at the woman who stood scanning various items. “I gotta go now, ma. Something came up. Tell dad I said ‘hi’.”

Opting to not wait for a response, your mouth was left agape as you hung up. There stood the one woman who had plagued your thoughts through the past week. The unmistakable scarlet mane was one you couldn’t easily forget, much less the tender features that lacked the smoky, dark makeup she wore on the previous Saturday night.

Gulping down a knot of surprise, you ran to the self-checkout line. You refused to allow her – Scarlet herself – to see you. As embarrassment coated your cheeks, you left the store in a rush, perhaps forgetting items on the way all for the sake of avoiding the sudden object of your affections.

Although you felt a sudden wave of humiliation wash through you, a part of you longed to see her again.

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

On the day of the meeting with her sons’ teacher, Wanda opted to double her coffee intake in the morning alongside lexapro. The mere thought of being sent back to the one place she despised, her years from elementary through high school spent in constant torment, brought her back anxious thoughts she couldn’t easily shake awake. That alongside her lengthy shift at the club on the previous night would make it impossible to get through the meeting without backup.

She made her way through the disgustingly colorful hallways she knew so well, passing the lockers she was once shoved into even at her then-young age. Rolling her eyes, Wanda only wished to get it all over with, to leave before her shift at the grocery store began — she was already far too late as it were.

Of course she didn’t count on the familiarity of the face she saw through the small window of the classroom. Frowning, Wanda knocked lightly, all before stepping inside without daring to wait for an answer.

“I’m sorry I’m late, I had a long shift and I-”

“You?” As soon as Wanda heard the accusatory voice, her eyebrows furrowed as she stared up at you with confusion. Only a stammer later the words were salvaged. “You…you must be Tommy and Billy’s mom, welcome!”

When Wanda gazed at you, you gazed back.

Ever since the small incident at the grocery store, you found it nearly impossible to go through another day without the image of her, of Scarlet, grinding herself on top of you. Guilty washed upon your being as you came to realize its perversion. And when you thought you were finally safe, there came another version of her. You refused to believe a parent of two of your students could be the Scarlet, so rather than assume it was her third life, you imagined her to be some sort of twin much like her sons.

The two of you chatted amicably, your smile forced over your features as you refused to let her see any sign of awkwardness within you. She was…different from the woman, someone who you refused to compare to her. Her face lacked an ounce of makeup, hair pristinely put into a messy bun while she donned a classy, yet casual outfit that screamed that of a mother. Even then, you deemed her to be the most beautiful woman on the planet.

“And what is it that you do, Mrs. Maximoff?” You questioned, gulping down a knot of fear.

“It’s actually just Ms. Maximoff – I’m divorced,” she corrected. “And, uhm, I work overnight sometimes.”

“Oh that must be exhausting.” Of course it was, you had seen it firsthand. Mentally slapping yourself, you longed for the floor to swallow you whole.

You felt bad for putting her in a situation where she mercilessly fidgeted with the rings on her fingers, staring down at the floor “Yes, very. I also dance…at my job.”

“That sounds wonderful. I’m not a good dancer myself. I got two left feet,” you joked, shaking your head with amusement as you took in Wanda’s solemn expression. You couldn’t pinpoint where her reservations came from, her body tense as she stared down with cheeks tinting, their hue mirroring that of a tomato. It’s when you frowned, gave her another once over, and as your confusion grew you-

Oh.

“I know it’s not the most usual thing, but it helps me get by. It’s not easy being a single mom, especially when my ex lives very, very far away. The boys don’t know, obviously. I just…don’t really think it’s a conversation I could ever have with them. I’m not exactly ashamed of what I do, but I get it’s hard for people to take in.”

As she sat before you, you were left speechless.

Garnering your verbiage back had its difficulties. You jumbled through your words, the infectious anxiety making your head spin as your fear-stricken smirk flashed to her. It really was impossible to have any sense of normalcy when the dancer who had given yoh a private show sat before you.

“You look familiar,” Wanda frowned as she pointed out, and just about then you could feel and hear your fear racing. “Have we met before? Did you also go to this school?”

“Uhm no, I’ve lived in the city my whole life,” you choked out. “Maybe if we dim the lights a bit you might…”

“Oh my god.”

You never meant for her embarrassment to creep up as she looked blankly at you, and for a moment you swore there were small tears forming over her eyes. Wanda knew, she knew. Her life was easily broken up into three — her daily occupation, being a mother, and her shifts in the night that only her ex-husband knew about. Otherwise she made sure to upkep privacy for whoever long she could, never allowing her lives to spill onto one another, at least not until she met you.

“I, uh…” Wanda was at a loss for words. She knew she could trust you, she felt it as soon as she waltzed through the door as she easily spewed on her secret life. What she never expected was for you to know already, to have been with her in a rather intimate manner that she, surprisingly, didn’t regret. “I have to-”

“Please don’t go,” you begged, and Wanda stayed. “Fuck, I know this is going to sound weird, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. It was just a dance, I get it, but I felt…something.”

Wanda snickered trying to lighten the mood. “A lot of my clients feel that something, honey, but that’s not part of my job description.”

“No, no! Not that. I mean I felt a connection, which, yes, I realize might be dumb. I just haven’t been able to get you out of my head. Not in a weird, pervy way, but in a I-want-to-take-you-out-for-dinner way. And then I saw you at the grocery store and maybe I’m just romanticizing everything but-”

“You know about my other job?” For a moment Wanda imagined herself to have a stalker, but gazing into your eyes realized you’d be the first joyous threat she’d have.

“Point is-” you didn’t let her speak again out of personal embarrassment. “I’m not going to tell anyone. I can only assume discretion is really important in your line of work, and although that thing happened, we can just forget about it. Really, Ms. Maximoff. I’m not here to make your life harder than it has to be. And we already discussed the matter with your sons so, uh, I guess you’re free to go.”

Impulsiveness had always been Wanda’s undoing, but seeing you hold her up on a pedestal and being kind to a total stranger made her heart swell. “You’re sweet, darling. Does this mean I can still get taken out for dinner?”

And as soon as she spoke the words you thanked whatever early Christmas miracle ensued to give you such a wonderful present.

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

As the holidays loomed over with December coming through in full-force, you found yourself to be lucky by Wanda’s side. It was strange, even awkward at first as you accustomed yourself to being around someone slightly older, much wiser and the mother of your students at that. You had become enchanted by her body, and yet it was her mind that made you fall each second, even if far too early in what you couldn’t even deem a relationship.

The first date you had went well. Even if you stammered through some sentences, something Wanda found endearing, her radiant smile never left her features. She had to find time from her busy schedule to go out with you, and even then it was a short-lived event before you drove her to the club before grabbing a snack at a nearby cafe. You wanted her to be safe, but even with a lack of words, only squeezing the woman’s hand tenderly, she knew what you meant. Watching her leave made your heart light itself on fire, yet you knew it wouldn’t be the last you’d see of her.

The second one was much longer, with Wanda inviting you to grab lunch with her after her shift at the grocery store. The twins were with their father that weekend. Between the laundry and cleaning around the house, she found time for herself for the first time in years. There was an unspoken air of guilt. Wanda hadn’t been one to settle for romantic relationships even after her divorce. The most she had were meaningless one-night stands that ended with her humiliation only increasing. Sitting across you from that restaurant table made her feel a sense of warmth she hadn’t experienced in years – if ever.

By the third date Wanda knew you’d make a permanent mark in her heart whether you chose to stay in her life or not.

“I don’t want you to pay tonight, really,” she said, shaking her head as she grabbed onto your arm. It had been weeks since you began going on dates, getting to know each other through numerous conversations had when she picked the twins up and texts when you weren’t together. While worried constantly over her financial situation, Wanda suddenly didn’t hesitate when it came to either you or the twins. “I got it. You’ve already paid for the last two dates and I-”

“I don’t mind,” you chuckled. The two of you made your way across a nearby town. It was a small one, not too far from Westview where the streets were decorated with numerous shining lights and decorations for the holiday. You dragged Wanda to a local movie theater you found, promising that whatever she wished to watch, you’d humor. “Have I told you about my parents?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Well, they’re basically rich snobs to put it lightly. I’ve been well-off my entire life, and I am not one that loves all that expensive luxurious shit. So it makes me really happy to pay. And if it makes you smile, then it’s worth it,” you held her close, still finding it strange to embrace her in such a manner. It was rushed, you knew, and yet you couldn’t care. “Please let me pay. It also makes me feel good to know I can spoil you rotten, pretty girl.”

Wanda held the door open for you when you arrived at the theater, shaking her head with amusement stricken upon her features. “Pretty girl?”

You didn’t miss the way Wanda’s eyes lit up when she was presented with the concession stand, remaining far back with wide orbs that longed for bouts of sweet and popcorn – it had been long since she last felt such child-like joys. “Yeah. You’re a pretty girl, Wanda. Hasn’t anyone told you?”

The answer was clear upon the phantom hiding beneath her face. Rather than delve into such darkness, Wanda squeezed your hand. Fingers interlaced themselves with your own as though it was second nature. “So, tell me more about your family. Then I’ll tell you all about mine.”

From the moment the two of you bought the tickets to the laughter you held at the concession stand as Wanda waddled off happily holding her snacks, you told her all about your life. There was not much to tell, not enough moments of adversity that you knew others experienced. For a third date you knew not to throw in details that would make her run for the hills, but also give her a clear view of who the real Y/N was beneath the shroud of an elementary school educator.

She received all the details about your upbringing – the pressure your parents forever put on you before it eventually dissuaded, the understanding nature of your peers when you came out to them, something that you noted made her flinch for a half-second. The one thing that truly caught her attention was the mention of a dog, a family pet who still resided in your parent’s place in the city.

“I had a dog once – Sparky was his name,” Wanda mumbled as the two of you sat in the dimly lit room with nothing but a few people scattered around. “I, uh, haven’t seen him since I was…”

Even as Wanda trailed off, her words dying and falling limp upon her lips, you had a smidge of an idea of what she meant. There was not much she told you, but from the slight information she threw your way each time you saw her, you knew there was no bridge built up between her and her family that wasn’t her children.

When the advertisements rolled by signifying the beginning of the film, your focus was on her. Wanda’s eyes flickered over the flashing lights of the movie, green orbs amazingly rising as you gawked with adoration. Squeezing Wanda’s hand, you softly ran your fingers over its back. Within the noisy dark room you could still hear your heartbeat alongside hers; it quickly became your favorite melody.

For the first time that night you shared a kiss with Wanda; and for the first time that night you realized love was something you finally earned, not given to you.

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

On the last day of school you felt that for once in the last few months you could finally catch your breath. Snow trickled down the sky, freezing itself over the town that lay in a cold blanket of white. You shuddered each time you went outside, even if numerous layers covered your body – even a scarf Maria had been kind enough to knit you as an early holiday present.

Time was spent aimlessly lounging over your couch, the central heating of your apartment turned up to the max as you defrosted beneath numerous big fluffy blankets. Between the snowfall and paralyzing low weather, you could barely find the courage to leave the safety of your own place. Bingeing whatever movies or shows came on, you came to enjoy the quiet, lonely time with yourself. At least during moments where you, much to your dismay, had to separate yourself from Wanda.

During the nights she slept at the club you barely slept. Getting to know the woman meant slowly growing fond of her, your worry skyrocketing at the mere idea of her alone at such a place. There were guards, and Wanda promised you that the girls all looked out for one another, but you were well-aware of the dangers some of the clientele brought. Helplessly you tossed and turned each night until she sent you the one ‘got home safe’ text that allowed you to fall into a deep slumber with the knowledge you’d hear of her on the following day.

Christmas had never been a big deal within your family. The clear rifts between you all torn by your parent’s absence were far too large to cover with a simple commercialized holiday. While their refusal to visit your newfound home stung the depths of your soul, you knew to brush it off and pretend for it to be fine. You had done it as a child, it would not be difficult to carry out in adulthood.

Rather than throw your focus into a holiday you’d inevitably spend alone, you averted it to the newfound object of your affection. With each passing day since the beginning of Chanukkah Wanda not only feasted with her children, but received a gift from you.

“You should come over on Christmas,” Wanda offered you once through the phone. The twins were at their dad’s place, and during the time she was lucky enough to be free from her occupation, the two of you could, even if not physically, be together. “I want you to come over for Christmas.”

“Won’t you be at Vis’ place? I mean, I know you don’t celebrate but-”

You could hear Wanda’s smile even through the phone. “I’ll be home all by myself. I want to give the boys some time alone with their dad. He deserves time with them too.” There was a pause, and for a moment the skipped beat of her heart was deafening. “I know we’ve only met a bit ago but Y/N…I would be happy if you came.”

She knew of your parents, of the pain you hid which they elicited upon you each year. Wanda didn’t dare mention it unless you gave her the greenlight, and for that you were thankful. With her, everything felt lighter — it felt right.

When Christmas Eve came you didn’t notice the extra pep in your step. Your smile was not easily tarnished from your features, especially not with the snow piling up by the inches upon the ground. Carrying a mountain of gifts, you giddily drove down to Wanda’s place. There was a smidge of sadness within you knowing the twins would be present, but it had been her who urged you to wait. The last thing she wished was to be hurt again, and never would she put any ounce of love over that she shared for her sons.

Kicking at the snow on the ground, you traced the path you knew to be towards Wanda’s front door. The neatly wrapped presents, courtesy of your mother’s teaching, wobbled over your anxious, freezing hands.

“When I told you to come over I assumed you’d think to call me beforehand,” Wanda greeted you with a wide smirk, her head popping through the cracked door, a face full of makeup, while her body lay in the shadows. “Hmm but I have to say I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” you admitted. Going in for a kiss, you were disappointed for it to be only a small peck, but intrigued by the mystery of it all. “Is this a bad time?”

“Uhm a bit. I just have to rush to get ready, honey. I thought I had more time for it,” the sultry voice Wanda solely reserved for the club was in full blast, and for once you could happily listen to it without the backdrop of music. “You can come in, but I need you to close your eyes. I’ll let you know once I’m done, alright?”

“Anything you say.”

You’d agree to whatever she wished if it meant leaving the porch where your coat, pants, and boots were battered by the snow that grew into a violent hail. Once your eyes were closed, you were dragged by Wanda’s strong arms who left you waiting at the door atop the doormat. You couldn’t help the amusement that came out while you attempted to clean your boots without watching, all while you could hear the distinct sound of high heels clacking against the hardwood floor as Wanda seemingly ran away.

Patience had never been your forte, much less when you were fully aware of the secrecy Wanda was far too bad at hiding. From what you knew was her bedroom came a soft tune, and the urge to take a small peek only skyrocketed. You opened your eyes slightly, familiarizing yourself with the house you frequented when the boys were away, but as soon as you heard the woman rushing back towards you, you shut them.

“Keep them closed, baby,” Wanda’s voice was hypotonic. Even if you humored the idea of disagreeing, she wouldn’t allow you to. “Let’s leave these here and you come with me. Promise you won’t peek?”

As she took the load of presents from your arms and placed them by where her chanukiah lay, you nodded. “I pinky promise, Wanda. Now tell me what’s up. You know I’m terrible with surprises.”

Surely that was true, but as soon as you were thrown into her bedroom, your heart raced. Wanda let you sit atop a chair in the middle of the room, the lights dimmed out as you could tell through your eyelids. Breathing in an unmistakable scent of lavender, your nostrils were in heaven. The beat you previously heard came back, only in full blast and keeping you grounded in place.

Hovering before your sitting body, hands atop your own that gripped the armrests, Wanda’s lips ghosted along your face. “You can open them now.”

Before you were struck by lightning you were able to take a peek at the state of near-nudity Wanda was in. You knew her ‘outfit’ to be similar to those she wore in the club, only in your favored color which you knew full-well she had only recently bought. Her heels made her much taller, full breasts in perfect view before she swooped in like a hawk and claimed what was hers.

Kissing Wanda was intoxicating on its own, but when she kissed you, your brain short-circuited and awaited hours until a proper reboot. She took charge, a confidence she usually lacked soaring through her body as she cupped your flushed face with her hands. Fingers brushed against your burning cheeks, bloodshot nails leaving tiny marks you’d proudly carry.

Lipstick was smeared over her face, and yet you kept kissing as though your life was dependent on it. Her tongue swirled in your mouth easily, but as you came to your senses, your own fought for dominance. Hips were gripped, a small moan drawn out from the depths of her throat that awakened the animalistic being inside of you

“I thought I should give you an early Christmas present. You’ve done so much for me in these past few weeks,” Wanda hummed as her tongue swirled over your wet lips. “Let me help you now. Sit back and relax, sweetie. Scarlet’s going to make you feel so good.”

Seeing Wanda dance for others or even having her dance for you at the club was nothing compared to her doing so in the privacy of her bedroom — only a few scented candles shedding enough light on her voluptuous body. She swayed on top of your body, her ass grazing your lap before she grinded herself upon it. Hands lit by flames were everywhere. You couldn’t think, much less formulate proper verbiage to describe your ever-growing arousal.

The no touching rule was one you respected, but all bets were off as Wanda placed your hands on her hips and nodded your way. It was exaggerated for your own entertainment, but each time you groped or knedded any area of her body, she let out a breathy groan. Her backside was fondled, pulling her towards you only to capture her lips with a more forceful manner. You had yet to see her in a full nude glory, and yet the knowing stench of arousal drove you mad. You wanted, no, needed to have Wanda.

“You’re so fucking hot,” you couldn’t help but mumble. “Look at yourself, Wanda. I’ve never seen anything so perfect.” Grabbing both of her breasts at once, you squeezed tenderly until her nipples hardened and poked through the fabric of her loose bikini top. “I need you so bad right now. I need to…I have you, to show you just how beautiful you are.”

Running your hand over her stomach, admiring the adorable rolls upon it, you made her blush for once. “Behave, honey. You wouldn’t want me to regret letting you touch, huh? Be a good pet for me and do as I say.”

You tried, you really did, but there was no chance of success as you watched and felt her dance over you. Aphrodite’s jealousy over Wanda was rampant. The woman gave it her all. She climbed on your lap, holding your shoulders for balance, with a smirk across her features and her breasts keeping your face hostage between them.

With each minute that passed your need for her grew. She gave you a treat at least, allowing you to be the one to untangle the knot of her top with guided hands before it inevitably fell to its demise. When you came to see the beauty beneath the fabric, you nearly saw the light then and there.

Wanda unknowingly drove you to the brink of insanity as her nude breasts brushed against your body. Her hands did quiet work to remove your own clothes until you were left in nothing but your shirt and underwear. Kneeling before you, she placed kisses over your inner thighs, face nuzzling upon your skin as you licked your lips.

“I’m ready,” she told you. There was no need for further explanation. Instead you drew a hand down and tenderly pet her, Wanda leaning in to the touch in peace. “I need you now, Y/N. Won’t you be a good pet and-”

She didn’t finish her sentence as you grabbed a fistful of red hair and tugged her away gently. Throwing her over the bed, you didn’t miss the amused laughter that came from her as you removed the last few articles of clothing from your body.

As you climbed atop Wanda, she stared at you incredulously. “And what do you think you’re doing, sweetheart? Hmm where is this confidence coming from? Not that I’m complaining…”

“I’m returning the favor,” you breathed out raggedly. “You lay back now and relax. Let me make you feel good, baby.”

When you took off the remainder of her skimpy outfit, your mouth went dry as though the Sahara Desert resided within it. Exhilaration shot through your being as you stared down at Wanda’s shaved sex that she attempted to hide between hugged milky full thighs adored by stretch marks.

Hands traveled all over her skin, your eyes closing as you trailed your way across the map you’d forever remember in your mind. With each lingering touch her hips, with a mind of their own, gyrated. You could barely slide your fingers past the valley between her breasts without her crying out in pleasure. You were quickly obsessed with the responsiveness of her body. Tugging, squeezing, and groping her breasts drew the deepest moans, you found.

With your mouth dropping kisses over her chest, ensuring that you focused primarily on her taut breasts and hardened rosy buds, your hands went to wander off. One kept her hips steady, digits finding her stretch marks that you traced with their tips, all while your dominant hand moved towards the puffy, flushed area that glistened beneath the hold of her thighs.

“Let me touch you, Wanda,” you urged her, your voice husky and deep as though you swallowed a shot of her essence. Kissing your way up to her jawline, you let your tongue explore its way until her lips were swirled against. With her plup, wet mouth ready to be devoured, you towered the woman with all your might. “And you know we can stop whenever you want to. Just say the words, alright? I want to make you feel good — feel comfortable. You tell me what you want me to do, and I promise I’ll do it.”

While it took a few seconds to build confidence, Wanda nodded in awe of your own. “I want you inside me. I want to feel you…I need to feel you. I’ve been thinking about this ever since we saw each other, since I gave you the dance. I wondered what it would be like for you to fuck me. It’s embarrassing, but I have to admit the thought has helped me through some lonely moments when it’s just me in this dark room alone.”

At the implication you giggled. “Way to rub my ego.”

“You’re welcome,” she pecked your lips, foreheads mixed together as your fingers began descending over her glistening cunt. “I hope I didn’t interrupt you. I was looking forward to having you inside me.” With newfound conviction, Wanda tilted her head. “Don’t you want to fuck me, baby? Or would you rather I tell you about the countless times I’ve touched myself at the thought of you?”

That was enough to get you to absentmindedly begin rubbing Wanda’s cunt. Her bulbous clit was tender to the touch, but more so when it came to the arousal it elicited from the woman. The foreplay was not enough, even if with each flick her back arched and her pussy rubbed against the palm of your hand. Looking down at her gaping hole that oozed her juices, you knew it was the only way to sate your hunger.

You got Wanda aroused enough that her juices dripped onto the sheets. Your mouth continuously left multiple love bites on her skin that you knew she’d wear proudly in the privacy of her home, but was required to hide at work. Her legs were parted far enough to shyly wrap themselves around your waist and pull you closer; with a lack of words Wanda begged for more.

“Relax,” you said. “Everything’s gonna be okay, baby. I'll take good care of you.”

Forever maintaining your promises, you did as Wanda wished. When you first slid a pair of fingers within the confines of her velvety walls, you let out a loud grunt that matched your lover’s. She was tight, her cunt adapting to the adoring feeling of you stretching it out for your own amusement. From her ragged state you knew she wouldn’t last long, but you’d be sure to make the best of it for the sake of leaving a good impression.

“Oh fuck you’re so tight,” you spit out. “Baby you’re so warm. Your pussy is practically swallowing my fingers whole. Such a hungry little thing…”

“Y/N,” Wanda whined, brain hazy with far too much lust stricken over it. “More.”

“I’ll give you what you want.” You planted a kiss on her blushing cheek. “I’ll give you more, my pretty girl.”

Once she felt ready enough to take you, Wanda rolled her hips. It was a sign to let you keep going, to begin sliding yourself in and out, watching in awe as your hand dripped with her essence that coated your soul. You thumbed at her clit, stimulating it gingerly until you saw Wanda visibly relax.

Being inside Wanda was unlike anything you had experienced before. It was soft and sweet, wet and warm, but more so night and day — the time you could spend absolutely worshiping her until exhaustion inevitably took over. Moving within her was difficult as all you yearned to do was remain deep in place as you fell to your slumber atop Wanda; the two of you forever connected as one.

With a steady pace you set, you’d surely bring her over the edge in moments. Your teeth sunk into her supple breasts with love, marking them as though they were yours to own. Her moans against your ear drove your ambition forth. They were the push you needed to curl your fingers deep in her cunt until their tips hit her sweetest spot — with the howl Wanda let out, you were sure her neighbors would show up at the door to complain in minutes.

“‘M close,” she sobbed, tears of desire pooling at her eyes as she lazily began grinding herself down on your hand. “I’m gonna cum, I-”

With a searing kiss you shut her loud noises of desire down. Her walls clamped down around you, squeezing you tight as the knot in her abdomen loosed. A lengthy, powerful orgasm shattered itself through Wanda, leaving her breathless and without a sane mind to properly register the gift you bestowed upon her.

You were breathless messes clinging to one another for dear life. Wanda came undone, her clammy cheeks brushing your own as in her state of haziness she repeated mutters of your name. Her lips planted sloppy kisses on your, thanking you for the love you gave her – a happiness she lacked since her adolescence.

“That was amazing,” you spoke in her honor. “Did that feel good, baby? Are you okay?”

“I wanna go again,” she slurred – and for Wanda’s sake you’d do whatever she wished. “Please?”

Her pleas are what drove you further. You nipped your way down her body, her tummy rolls worshiped as they came from a true goddess you adored. Wanda’s insecurities from her slowly aging body were rampant, but you would never dare see her with anything but desire. To her she lacked the beauty of a younger woman, but to you she was the only one you could ever have eyes for.

At the first taste of her pussy you became addicted. Your fingers remained knuckle-deep within her, her walls warming them as you began timidly lapping at the wetness before you. The sweet nectar was one you’d grow you obsess over. She was delicious, your tongue just needing to burn against her sex rapidly as you sought out more.

“Oh my god!” She squealed. “That’s it baby, just like that. Your tongue feels so good- so fucking good!”

The words of affirmation turned your movements into vigorous ones. The tip of your tongue swirled over her clit before you took it between your lips. Lightly suckling the bundle of nerves made her upcoming orgasm intensify, Wanda’s hands gripping the bed sheets as she pounded her fists over them with a need for release.

Simultaneously you pumped your fingers in and out of her gaping hole with your tongue running across her flushed slit. The rhythmic grinding against your face did wonders to increase her arousal. It shot up to the sky when you so much as pressed at bulbous clit before allowing your teeth to delicately brush at her cunt.

“Cum for me,” you let out the muffled command with a mouthful of pussy. “Be a good girl and do as I say. Come on, Wanda. I know my sweet girl can do it.” Rubbing your thumb over her swollen clit, you nodded her way. “I got you, princess. All you have to do is let go.”

In your hold Wanda came once again, only this time her exhaustion took over as soon as the orgasmic wave grabbed a hold of her. She tossed and turned, screaming until the euphoria settled into normalcy. Hands shivered as her skin was set aflame. For moments you resided in your given place until she relaxed, and once you knew your lover to be blissed out, you gingerly removed your fingers – much to your dismay leaving her cunt gaping and searching for the fulfillment you handed out.

“You did such a good job. I’m so proud of you, Wanda,” you told her as you kissed your way up her body. Reaching her face meant lovingly nuzzling your forehead against her own, your lips coated with her juices that she tasted when begging for a chaste embrace. “Thank you for letting me do this, for trusting me with your body. You’re fucking amazing.”

“You’re even better, honey,” she murmured. Wrapping her arms around you, Wanda pulled you down until your head fell on the pillow you’d soon share. “I have something to ask you, but can you promise beforehand that you won’t freak out? It’s okay if you say now, I just…”

Wanda trailed off, making you frown in confusion as you interlaced your nude body with her own. “What’s wrong?”

“I want to be your girlfriend,” the redhead blurted out before stopping herself. Soon after the words spewed from her mouth, she averted her eyes, the blush in her cheeks intensifying by embarrassment. “If that’s okay, I mean.” She sighed, shaking her head at what she deemed a bout of stupidity. “We’re from very different worlds, you know that, but we still have so much in common. We’ve only known each other for a few weeks and look at us now. Here we are spending Christmas Eve together, you got the boys and me some presents for Chanukah and you’re…you’re amazing. I don’t know how else to describe you. I can’t stop thinking about you, Y/N, and part of me really hopes the feeling is mutual.”

“It’s incredibly mutual,” you replied, shifting down to kiss her neck right above her pulse point. “I want you to be my girlfriend. I know it’s dumb, but god I want to show you off so bad. Of all the people in the world you chose me. You, Wanda Maximoff, chose me. Now that really rubs my ego.”

With raised eyebrows Wanda shot you an amused look. “Wouldn’t you want me to rub something else?”

The two of you shared a mirror bout of laughter, clinging to each other with adoration. “We can work on your dirty talk if you’d like, but right now I’d rather take a hot shower with you. It’s almost time to light up the next candle. If it’s okay, could I help you with it? I know I’m a goy, but I want to celebrate this with you. Maybe I can watch?”

At the usage of the traditional term, Wanda beamed. “It’s best if you watch, sweetheart, but if you want to help out, I still haven’t wrapped the presents for the last two days so…”

“I’m on it!” You sat up straight, turning to Wanda and reaching out for her hand. “Now come on. I swear I’ll turn into a goddamn icicle if I don’t have a hot shower now.”

The final days of the holiday season you spent glued to Wanda’s side, and even as the beginning stages of your relationship passed through, you remained devoted to her even more than when you first saw who would become the true love of your life.

#cthulhus’ fanfics #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff #lesbian #marvel smut #scarlet witch x you #scarlet witch x reader #reader insert #wanda x reader #wanda x you #wanda x y/n #wlw smut

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shysuccubusstuff · 3 days ago

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husband! Zayne:

Content: SFW + NSFW hc, non proof-reading; established relationship + husband! zayne + consensual + praise kink; soft! dom into mean! dom Zayne (then back to soft! dom) : brat taming + degradation kink + praise kink + overstimulation + aftercare.

Note: So, I entered the game today and Zayne blew up my phone, one of the texts was about kaomojis and he said something about it being childish, even if he did it afterwards... I NEED TO MAKE HIM A DADDDD so freaking bad!! I'm pretty sure I already did something like this, but I just can't help it when I see such husband material... BTW Tomorrow is my birthday!! Time goes so fast :00 I hope everyone is able to rest during the holidays!!

♡ thinking about husband! zayne...

Hubby! Zayne. who proposed during one of your many outings, the sun was setting and you were sharing those old fashion snacks, laughing about how he had gotten the smaller side of the ice cream. You were still making fun of him when he suddenly got on one knee, his face completely red as he tried his best to get his severely prepared and rehearsed speech ready.

Hubby! Zayne, who makes sure to celebrate each single month , all the people in the hospital are completely aware of when that time comes, as they are able to see Zayne's uncontrolable smile during the whole week before the date. He makes sure to buy a beautiful bouquet for you, only using your favourite flowers and colours, that's the least he would do for you though. When your aniversary comes, better get ready for Zayne's constant pampering, always reserving some special place where the two of you can go together and spend some time alone, just him and you.

Hubby! Zayne, who makes sure to pay close attention to every single word you say, always answering to your rantings: "Oh, really? How could she do that to his long time fwb? Keep telling me, love."

Hubby! Zayne who prepares dinner the days that he gets home sooner than you, the table set and ready by the time you arrive home, sometimes even lighting up a few candles to give it a more romantic ambience.

Hubby! Zayne who sometimes appear without warning, he is resting his back against his car. As soon as he sees you getting out of your work, he quickly gets up, his right hand holding a plasting bag. "Just remembered you wante to go to that new restaurant, since I had time, I went and bought some take-out, do you want to go home and eat it?"

Hubby! Zayne who gets flusthered as soon as you start to think about having kids with him. He had been thinking about it for a long time, trying his best not to say it in case you felt unsure about it.

Hubby! Zayne who goes crazy just from the thought of filling your precious cunt with his essence, forcing himself not to get carried away as he keeps hitting the tip of his cock against your cervix, your insides clamping against his length making his mind foggy. What if he simply shoved you into the bed as he took away that damn condom, filling you to the brim as he whispered sweet nothings into your ear.

Hubby! Zayne who loves cuddling with you every single night, his sligthly cooler body quickly warming him up, maybe a bit too much, as you suddenly start to feel something poking you from behind.

Hubby! Zayne, who tries to act as if nothing is happening, slowly moving away as soon as he believes you are asleep, his hand tracing down his own body as he tries to reduce his erection as fast as possible just so he can keep embracing your body... Or so he thought.

"Zayne?" Zayne stops himself, quickly hiding it under his pants.

"...Yes, love?" You turn around, soon noticing how he had gotten away from you.

"Sure you don't need some help down there?" Zayne's face flushes, his eyes widening as he looked at you.

"...You noticed?"

"I mean, it's not exactly easy to ignore something stiff poking against my ass while trying to fall asleep, you know?" Zayne stopped your words, his hand covering your mouth as he tried to stop you from saying more embarrasing things.

"I, I just didn't want to bother you, I know you work so hard everyday so you must rest, this can wait until we have more time, there's no need to--" Zayne's words were stopped as you got on top of him with your hands massaging his chest while you started a deep kiss. "Love... we shouldn't, we have to wake up early tomorrow." Once again, you ignored poor Zayne's words, your hands quickly getting rid of his shirt, throwing it to the ground, your lips starting to make a small trail of kisses all over his neck to his chest. "You're always so..." Zayne's words were cut off, a deep breath leaving his lips before he was able to end his sentence. "...naughty." You smiled, almost a bit too happy to see him struggling under you, sadly, this soon reached its end, with Zayne swiftly changing positions, having you under his bigger frame. "Not so fun now, am I right, love? It seems I have been pampering a bit too much, now you even think that you can do whatever you want and have no consequences since I love you so much... But even brats like you should know when to behave." Zayne started to kiss you, his soft lips leaving small kisses all over you as his hands started to run under your clothes, his cold touch making your whole body shiver. "Not so funny now, uh?" With your whole body now completely exposed to Zayne it was almost impossible to stop him from finding your sweet spots. Zayne started to massage your breasts, his fingertips playing with your nipples while he sometimes gave them small licks. "Oh, they are perking up, seems I am not the only one who is weak to... someone's touch."

"You're talking too much, just-- Fuck..." Once again, Zayne's touch stopped you mid-sentence, his hands suddenly lifting your lower half and putting your legs over his shoulders, Zayne now kissing and leaving small licks all over that place, still not going for it, just teasing it. "Zayne, just, uh... please."

"Please what, love? I can't read your mind, I need you to say it to me." You clenched your fists as Zayne kept teasing you by kissing your inner thighs.

"...Please. Just... just make me feel good, I need you." That was everything Zayne needed, his mouth already moving towards your cunt, his lips kissing it and giving it a few licks before he actually started to play with your poor clit, his tongue making your whole body quiver as he started to use one of his fingers to play with your clit as he used his tongue to slowly enter you. After a few minutes, he finally introduced one of his digits, entering another as he considered you were finally ready for it. "Zayne... I need you now-- Give it to me."

"Don't rush, my love. We have all the night left." With that set in mind, Zayne ignored your pleas, having you lay with your legs wide open as he kept teasing you, stopping just before you were finally able to cum, making your mind start to feel fuzzy as he kept playing with your clit, his fingers still prepping your poor cunt.

By the time Zayne finally let your legs go, your whole body was trembling, your eyes tearing up as the overstimulation had gotten far too much, your hands fisting the sheets as you tried to avoid being heard by your neighbours. "Zayne, Zayne, please!... Just, can't think, I need you." Zayne chuckled at your pouty face, kissing your lips before he lifted you from the bed, sitting on the bed and finally letting his cock make his way inside your overwhelmed cunt, bottoming out with a deep groan.

"...You feel so nice, love." You rested your hands on his chest, trying your best to use your legs to try and lift your lower half, barely being able to take out a bit of his lenght. "Wait dear, let me help my sweet girl." As soon as he said that, Zayne's hands were already on your hips, carefully lifting you up before entering your cunt once more, kissing you as he tried to avoid your slutty moans to be heard by someone that wasn't him. Annoyed by his teasing, you tried to get Zayne to move faster, trying your best to release his grip on you, suddenly forcing you to slam yourself against him, a high-pitched whimper resonating in the bedroom you both shared. " It seems I haven't been able to put you in your place still, I suppose you really want to be treated like a brat, get fucked against the mattress while you cream all over my dick, so be it. It was foolish of me to think you would want to get pregnant while making love, you just love getting your brains fucked out by me, right?" Zayne quickly pushed you again, forcing you to face the bed as he started to slam his hips against your ass, the lewd sound reverberating in the room while your eyes rolled to the back of your head. "Speak, you always love running your mouth, why not answer me now?" Your nails digged on the sheets, Zayne pulling you by your hair without much force, just letting you breath so you could answer him.

" Sowwy--- I'm sorry! Sorry for being a brat, I love you, I love you Zayne... I love getting my brain scattered by your cock! Pleasee~... Just cum inside, don't pull out, please please Zayne!" Zayne once again teased you, turning you around just to see the face he loved so much, ashamed, you hid your face with your hands, trying your best to keep quiet as Zayne kept punishing you with his thrusts, your cunt gushing out each time he hit that special spot inside of you.

"That's my good girl, keep taking me so good, dear. You're doing such a good job, let me get you all nice and round, you will make such a good mommy... Keep cumming for me love, no need to think about anything else." So you did, your cunt pulsating as your mind was finally able to begin to clear up, Zayne's hands caressing your soft face while he kissed your wet cheeks. "You did so well, love. Promise I will pamper you the whole week, how about having breakfast in bed? We can then have dinner together in that new restaurant you keep seeing, yeah? Let me take care of everything." Nodding, you dooze off, Zayne's words resonating in your ears while he kept kissing your face.

#fanfiction #x reader #love and deepspace #zayne love and deepspace #zayne x you #lads zayne #zayne x reader #zayne l&ds #lnds zayne #l&ds zayne #doctor zayne #lnds #love and deepspace zayne #zayne smut #lads smut #zayne lads #zayne lnds

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lotsofmilfs · 2 days ago

Text

Shades Of Cool Part 1

Pairing : Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader

Summary : You and Agatha were close in Salem, but things happen of course, and now you’re reunited due to the Witches Road

Word Count : 7kish

Authors Notes : I took creative liberties with the road !!! but i’m hoping you still like !

Warnings : Angst, Brief mention of suicide, longing, i think that’s it.

You were in Agatha’s trial on the witches road, you had on the same outfit as her, only it was a pink jersey, instead of the purple. Your hair was down instead of up in the hairstyle that Agatha was wearing, and your knee high socks were white with two purple stripes at the top. You don’t even know how you got here, but that was just how strong Billy was. Summoning you for a trial you had no idea you were taking place in.

You’d met Agatha during the Salem Era, both of you young, and close. You hated your own parents, and when Agatha told you about her mother, you planned to run away together. Things never worked out that way though, the closer you got with Agatha, you wanted to bond with her.

Bonding was something ancient, bringing together two witches. It would open their souls, their minds, and their hearts to one another. Agatha was petrified of being that open with someone, the vulnerability was just too much, and even though it hurt, she left you the next day after you poured your heart out, asking for her to break the barrier and become one.

Now it’s been centuries, and you freeze as you stop messing with the game in front of you, hearing a collection of voices from your right.

“Who’s trial is this?” Jen asks as they all look around

“Agatha’s.” Rio smirks. That name. You’ve not heard that name in so long it brings a flush to your cheeks, and your face lifts up, your side profile now visible to the group.

Agatha freezes when she sees your face, she’d remember it anywhere, she had dreams about it. She doesn’t say anything, she couldn’t. How were you even here? She… Thought maybe you’d died years ago. You never approached anyone about the road, and so she assumed.. She looks at you different then when she seen Rio again, there’s no anger or malice in her gaze. Just a deep set of longing. Her feet carry her involuntarily towards you and she breathes out.

“Darling.”

Your head snaps toward the voice, sharp and familiar, dripping with a need that makes your stomach twist in ways you wish it wouldn’t. “Agatha,” you say, her name cutting through the charged silence like a blade. It comes out too soft for your liking, so you harden your voice. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Her lips twitch, almost a smile, but not quite. There’s something in her eyes that makes it clear you’re not the only one thrown off balance. “The feeling’s mutual, darling,” she says, her tone breezy, almost mocking, but there’s a crack in the façade. She’s staring at you like she’s seen a ghost.

Maybe she has.

You’ve got centuries of practice keeping your emotions in check, but something about the way she’s looking at you, the way her breath catches for just a moment, has your carefully maintained armour slipping. You clench your fists to stop them from shaking.

“What have you done now Agatha? Have you stolen someone’s broomstick?”

Her smirk comes back, sharp and self-assured, like she’s trying to regain the upper hand. “If only it were that simple,” she says lightly, but there’s a tension in her jaw. “Let’s just say I’ve been accused of... dabbling.”

“Dabbling?” you echo, incredulous. “That’s likely one way to put it.”

“Careful,” she says, her voice dropping into something silkier, more dangerous. “You might hurt my feelings.”

Your laugh comes out more bitter than you intend. “Oh, I’m sure they’re well-protected under all that... dabbling.”

The others in the group exchange uneasy glances. Rio, ever the instigator, pipes up again, clearly loving the drama. “So... you two know each other?”

Neither of you answers, too locked in a silent, electric standoff. It’s Agatha who finally breaks the moment, turning to address the group, her voice dripping with the kind of theatrical charm only she can pull off. “Let’s just say we have history.” Her eyes flick back to you, and her tone turns pointed. “Though some of us are better at leaving the past where it belongs.”

Your lips part, sharp words ready to fire back, but you stop yourself. This isn’t the time, and you won’t let her get the better of you. Not again.

Instead, you tilt your head, levelling her with a look. “So, this trial. What’s the serious charge? Not just the accusations.”

Agatha hesitates, just for a moment. “They think I stole something.” Her tone is measured, but there’s a flicker of guilt—or defiance, maybe—in her eyes. “Power. Something I didn’t earn.”

You cross your arms. “And did you?”

Her jaw tightens, and for a second, she looks like she might actually tell you the truth. Then she shrugs, her smirk slipping back into place. “Does it matter?”

“It does if you want to walk out of here alive.”

The air between you is thick with unspoken history, the weight of centuries hanging over every word. Agatha steps closer, lowering her voice so only you can hear. “You’ve always been good at seeing through me, haven’t you?”

You swallow hard, hating the way her words make your chest tighten. “Don’t flatter yourself,” you say, stepping back just enough to reestablish your ground. “I just know your type.”

She chuckles, soft and low. “Oh, sweetheart. You’ve always known me. That’s what made you dangerous.”

Her words hit a nerve, and you hate that she knows it. She’s always been good at that—finding your cracks and slipping through them like smoke. But this time, you won’t let her.

Before you can respond, Rio claps their hands, breaking the tension. “This is all very riveting, but shouldn’t we, I don’t know, do something? Trials, consequences, accusations—ringing any bells?”

Agatha’s gaze snaps to Rio, her smile vanishing in an instant. “Stay out of it,” she says sharply, her voice like ice.

But as much as you want to stay angry, to keep your walls firmly in place, there’s something in her eyes when she looks back at you—a flicker of vulnerability, of something real—that shakes you.

“Why am I here, Agatha?” you ask quietly.

She hesitates, her confidence faltering for just a moment. “I didn’t bring you here,” she says. “But... maybe the road thought I needed a reminder.”

“A reminder of what?”

Her gaze softens, and for a second, it’s like you’re back in Salem, two young witches on the brink of something extraordinary. She opens her mouth, but the words don’t come.

Instead, she steps back, her expression hardening again. “You’ll see soon enough,” she says, her tone deliberately flippant. “Just try not to get in my way, darling.”

You narrow your eyes, but there’s no time to respond.

The ground beneath your feet rumbles—a low, ominous vibration that sends chills up your spine. The witches’ road is alive, its energies twisting and pulling, urging the trial forward. Around you, the air grows thick with power, sharp and unrelenting, and the others in the group exchange uneasy glances.

Agatha stands still, her gaze fixed on you, as though the trial itself is secondary to the unfinished business crackling between you. But her expression hardens when the light around you shifts—a brilliant blue glow forming a circle in the center of the road.

"Right on cue," Agatha mutters under her breath. She turns to the group, her sharp tone carrying authority, even here. "Stay behind me. All of you."

"Why would we do that?" Rio asks with a smirk, stepping closer to the circle. "You’re the one on trial, remember?"

Before Agatha can snap back, the blue glow bursts upward, spiralling into a towering column of light. From its core, shapes begin to emerge—silhouettes, shifting and indistinct at first, but then solidifying into forms you recognise all too well. Witches, cloaked and severe, their eyes glowing with unnatural light. The Coven.

“Agatha Harkness,” one of them speaks, their voice cold and resonant. “You stand accused of theft, treachery, and the violation of sacred laws.”

Agatha lifts her chin, the picture of defiance, but you catch the way her fingers twitch at her sides, the slight clenching of her jaw. “Well, don’t hold back,” she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Tell me how you really feel.”

The Coven doesn’t react, their collective gaze shifting past her—to you. The intensity of their focus sends a shiver through you, but you don’t flinch. You know better than to show weakness here.

“Who dares to stand beside the accused?” another witch asks, their glowing eyes narrowing.

“She doesn’t belong here,” Agatha says quickly, stepping in front of you. “This trial has nothing to do with her.”

“Is that so?” The lead witch tilts her head, studying you with unnerving precision. “And yet, the road brought her here. Why?”

You meet the witch’s gaze, refusing to let the weight of her scrutiny drag you down. “I’d like to know that myself,” you say coolly. “But whatever this is, I’m not here to play spectator.”

Agatha casts you a sharp look, her eyes flashing with something between irritation and concern. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she hisses.

“Then enlighten me,” you snap back, your patience wearing thin. “Or is keeping secrets still your favourite game?”

“Enough,” the lead witch commands, her voice cutting through the tension. The others fall silent, their glowing eyes shifting back to Agatha. “The accused will answer for her actions.”

“Gladly,” Agatha says, folding her arms. “But let’s be clear—I didn’t steal anything. I earned that power.”

The lead witch’s gaze sharpens. “You twisted ancient magic for your own gain, defied the natural order, and corrupted forces beyond your comprehension. Not to mention murdered hundreds. You are a danger to all witches.”

“Funny,” Agatha retorts, her voice venomous. “I seem to recall you trying to kill me for simply being too powerful. Guess some things never change.”

The Coven bristles, their forms glowing brighter, but before they can respond, the road itself shifts again. The ground beneath you ripples, and for a moment, you’re weightless—floating in the charged air. When you land, the circle of light has expanded, now encompassing you, Agatha, and the Coven.

You glare at her, your frustration boiling over. “What exactly did you do, Agatha?”

Her eyes flicker to you, something almost apologetic flashing across her face before she buries it under her usual mask. “It’s complicated.”

“It always is with you,” you bite back.

Agatha opens her mouth to respond, but the lead witch cuts her off. “The accused is bound to the truth. Let us see if her lies can survive the light.”

At her words, the blue glow intensifies, and the trial begins in earnest. The road reacts violently, pulling memories and illusions from the air—scenes of Agatha’s past swirling like a storm around you. Her betrayal of the Salem Coven. Her hunger for forbidden power. Her darkest moments laid bare.

But then the images shift—scenes you recognise. A younger Agatha, laughing beside you in the moonlight. The two of you whispering secrets, planning your escape. The night she left you, her face a mask of regret as she vanished into the darkness.

Your breath catches, and Agatha’s head snaps toward you, her expression unreadable.

The Coven doesn’t miss the exchange. “Ah,” the lead witch says, a cruel smile curling her lips. “Perhaps the accused’s greatest crime is not against magic, but against the heart.”

Agatha’s face hardens, but there’s a flicker of vulnerability in her eyes as she turns to you. “Don’t let them twist this,” she says, her voice low and urgent. “You know me better than anyone.”

You take a step closer, your anger warring with the pull of old, buried feelings. “Do I? Because the Agatha I knew wouldn’t have dragged me into her mess.”

“I didn’t!” she snaps, the crack in her composure widening. “But if I had... maybe I should’ve. Maybe you’re the only one who can—” She cuts herself off, looking away.

The Coven watches, their glowing eyes unrelenting. “Speak your truth, Agatha Harkness,” the lead witch commands. “If you can.”

You don’t know what’s worse—the thought that she’s hiding something from you, or the thought that she’s telling the truth and you’re still tied to her, even now. Either way, you’re not letting this end without answers.

“Start talking,” you say, your voice sharp but steady. “Because if you want me to trust you, Agatha, you’d better earn it.”

Agatha remains silent, though her eyes are pleading. The road trembles beneath you, the Coven's chanting growing louder, more insistent. The blue light twists and contorts, creating shadows that dance around you and Agatha. You’re too close to her now, her presence almost overwhelming in its familiarity. After all this time, she’s still the same—still sharp, guarded, impossible. And yet, beneath it all, she’s still her

You steal a glance at her, and for a moment, you see a crack in her defenses. The weight of the trial, the memories, the raw, unspoken tension between you—it’s all there, etched across her face. But she’s too proud to acknowledge it, even now.

“You’re scared,” you say, your voice low enough that only she can hear.

Agatha’s gaze snaps to yours, her eyes narrowing. “Of them?” she asks, gesturing toward the Coven with a sardonic smirk. “Please.”

You hold her gaze, refusing to let her deflect. “Not of them. Of me. Of us.”

Her smirk falters, just for a moment, and you know you’ve hit a nerve. She takes a step back, but you follow, unwilling to let her retreat this time.

“I’m not scared,” she says, but her voice lacks its usual bite.

“Liar,” you counter, your tone soft but unrelenting. “You’ve always been terrified of letting anyone in. Of letting me in.”

Agatha opens her mouth to respond, but the Coven’s chanting suddenly shifts, the words growing sharper, more pointed. The blue light swirls between the two of you, pulling at the air, at your magic, at your connection . The Coven has sensed it—the bond that could’ve been, the bond you once wanted more than anything.

“You thought about it,” you say, stepping closer. “All those years ago. You wanted it, too.”

“Stop,” she snaps, her voice cracking slightly, her control slipping.

“You left because you couldn’t handle it,” you press on. “Because you were too afraid to open yourself up. To share everything—your power, your heart, your soul.”

“I said stop,” she hisses, but she doesn’t move away.

The blue light flares between you, the energy shifting, bending, until it forms a thread, a thin, shimmering line connecting the two of you. The sight of it makes your breath catch in your throat. It’s the bond, raw and unfinished, still lingering after all this time.

Agatha stares at it, her face pale, her usual confidence nowhere to be found. “It’s not real,” she says, her voice almost desperate. “It’s just the trial, just a trick.”

“You don’t believe that,” you say quietly.

The thread pulses, glowing brighter, and you can feel it now- the pull of her soul, of her essence, intertwining with your own. It’s intoxicating and terrifying all at once, and you can see the same war playing out in Agatha’s eyes.

The Coven speaks again, their voices cold and cutting. “The bond remains unfinished. A betrayal of magic, a betrayal of trust. It is a wound that festers, unresolved.”

Agatha clenches her fists, her gaze snapping to the lead witch. “This has nothing to do with them,” she says, her voice shaking with anger. “You’re trying to twist this into something it’s not.”

The lead witch tilts her head, her glowing eyes boring into Agatha. “The trial reveals truth. Nothing more, nothing less.” Her gaze shifts to you, and her next words are deliberate, cruel. “Perhaps the accused should explain why she ran. Why she rejected the bond when it was freely offered.”

Agatha flinches, and you feel the thread between you tremble. For a moment, you think she’s going to lash out, to fight, but instead, she turns to you, her expression raw and unguarded in a way you’ve never seen before.

“I didn’t run because I didn’t want it,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “I ran because I wanted it too much.”

Her words hit you like a tidal wave, and for a moment, you can’t breathe.

“I knew what bonding meant,” she continues, her eyes locking onto yours. “It would’ve made us... tied in ways I couldn’t undo. And I couldn’t let myself—” She cuts herself off, shaking her head. “I thought I was protecting you. Protecting-“ she cuts herself off and then, “But maybe... maybe I was just protecting myself.”

The thread glows brighter, the magic between you surging, and you can feel it now—her fear, her regret, her longing. It’s all there, laid bare, and for the first time, you see her for who she truly is.

“You didn’t need to protect me,” you say, your voice steady. “I was ready, Agatha. I’ve always been ready. But you never gave us a chance.”

Her lips part, but before she can respond, the Coven’s chanting rises to a fever pitch. The thread between you stretches and trembles, the energy reaching a breaking point.

“You must choose,” the lead witch says, her voice cutting through the chaos. “Complete the bond, or sever it forever. There is no more middle ground.”

Agatha’s eyes widen, panic flashing across her face. She looks at you, her composure crumbling, and for the first time, she seems truly vulnerable.

“Don’t let them force this,” she says, her voice trembling. “Not like this.”

The glow of the thread between you pulses, trembling like a fragile lifeline. The Coven’s chanting grows louder, demanding resolution, pushing you both to a precipice. Agatha’s eyes dart between the shimmering connection and your face. You can see the fear in her eyes, the weight of her indecision pressing down like a storm.

“Choose, Agatha Harkness,” the lead witch demands. “Complete the bond, or sever it forever.”

Agatha’s hand hovers over yours, trembling. The vulnerability on her face is something you’ve never seen before, and it twists something deep inside you. For a moment, you think she might do it—reach out and let the bond fully take hold. But then her jaw sets, her gaze hardening.

“No,” she says sharply, yanking her hand back. The thread snaps violently, the energy spiralling outward like a scream. The sudden emptiness is immediate and gut-wrenching, leaving you gasping as if something vital has been ripped away.

Agatha steps back, her face pale, her hands clenched into fists. “I can’t,” she whispers, her voice brittle. “I won’t.”

The lead witch smiles coldly. “So be it.”

The thread between you vanishes, and the road trembles again, this time more violently. The energy shifts, the air growing heavy with the finality of her decision. You feel the hollow space where the bond once was, an ache that settles deep in your chest. It’s unbearable, and when you meet Agatha’s eyes, you see that she feels it too.

Her face twists with something you’ve rarely seen from her: regret.

“Wait,” she breathes, but the Coven’s chanting drowns her out. The blue light around you sharpens, cutting like a blade, and you can feel the road enforcing her choice, solidifying the severance.

“Agatha,” you say, your voice raw, stepping toward her. “Don’t do this. Don’t—”

“I already have,” she interrupts, her voice breaking as she turns away from you. “It’s done.”

But even as she says it, her steps falter. Her hand rises to her chest, where the bond once pulsed with life. Her expression crumples, the emptiness hitting her like a physical blow. She gasps, clutching at the air as if she could pull it back, undo the severance.

The lead witch tilts her head, her voice cutting like a knife. “Feeling the emptiness already, Agatha Harkness? Such is the price of fear.”

Agatha spins back to face them, her mask of confidence shattering completely. “Bring it back,” she says, her voice hoarse. “I’ll do it. I’ll—”

“Impossible,” the lead witch says coolly. “You made your choice.”

“No!” Agatha snaps, desperation lacing her words. She looks at you, her eyes wide and pleading. “I—I didn’t mean it. I can fix it. Just—” She turns back to the Coven. “Just let me fix it.”

The lead witch’s gaze is unforgiving. “The road answers only once. To sever a bond is to sever it forever. That is the law.”

Agatha shakes her head violently. “No. That’s not—no!” Her voice cracks, and for a moment, she looks like she might collapse under the weight of her mistake.

You step forward, your own pain mingling with hers. “There has to be a way,” you say, your voice steady despite the ache in your chest. “You can’t leave it like this.”

The Coven is silent for a long moment, their glowing eyes unreadable. Finally, the lead witch speaks. “There is one way, but it requires both souls to agree. And the cost will not be light.”

Agatha’s gaze snaps to you, her eyes searching yours. For the first time, there’s no deflection, no bravado just raw, unfiltered need. “Please,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “Please.”

You take a breath, the pain of the severed bond still fresh and raw. You should walk away. You should let her feel the consequences of her choice. But you can’t. You’ve never been able to. And now hearing her beg? You fear you’d do anything she asked.

“Fine,” you say, stepping forward. “What do we have to do?”

The lead witch smiles faintly, as if this is what she wanted all along. “Rekindling a severed bond requires sacrifice. Magic, power... a piece of the soul itself. Are you willing?”

You don’t hesitate. “Yes.”

Agatha looks at you, her eyes filled with both gratitude and guilt. “You shouldn’t have to do this,” she says softly. “Not after what I—”

“Then don’t make me regret it,” you interrupt, your voice firm.

She swallows hard, nodding. “I won’t.”

The Coven begins chanting again, the air growing thick with magic. The blue light spirals around you and Agatha, pulling you closer together. This time, the bond doesn’t form gently—it crashes into you, fierce and unrelenting, flooding every part of you with her essence. You feel her fear, her regret, her longing—all of it laid bare. And she feels you, your unwavering determination, your pain, your love.

The connection is deeper than it was before, forged not just from desire but from sacrifice. When the light fades, you’re left standing face to face, your souls intertwined in a way that can never be undone.

Agatha exhales shakily, as if the bond settling between you is more weight than she expected. Her gaze flickers over your face, searching for something—maybe forgiveness, maybe reassurance. You give her neither, not yet. She’s made too many mistakes for things to be that simple. But you can’t deny the way the bond thrums, anchoring you to her in a way that’s both exhilarating and terrifying.

The road quakes beneath you again, the energy of the trial still humming in the air. The Coven watches silently, their glowing eyes unreadable, as if they’re waiting for the next move.

Agatha takes a tentative step closer, her voice low. “How does it feel?” she asks, her words almost hesitant. “Having me in your head again.”

You let the question hang for a moment, savouring the way it makes her squirm. “Heavy,” you finally say, your tone sharper than you intended. “But that’s no surprise, is it? You’ve always been a lot to handle.”

Her lips quirk into a faint smirk, the familiar spark of defiance flaring in her eyes. “And yet, here you are. Handling me.”

You roll your eyes, but you don’t move away. The bond hums in agreement, pulling you closer even as you try to keep your distance. “Don’t push your luck, Agatha,” you warn. “This doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven you.”

Her smirk fades, replaced by something quieter, more vulnerable. “I know,” she says softly. “But it’s a start.”

Before you can respond, the lead witch steps forward, her presence as cold and imposing as ever. “The bond is reforged,” she announces, her voice echoing through the space. “But it does not absolve you, Agatha Harkness. This trial is far from over.”

Agatha straightens, her bravado snapping back into place like armour. “Of course it isn’t,” she says, her tone laced with sarcasm. “Wouldn’t want to make things too easy.”

The lead witch doesn’t react to the quip, her gaze sharp and unyielding. “The bond may strengthen you, but it also binds you. Your fates are now intertwined. Should one of you fall, the other will follow.”

You glance at Agatha, and for the first time, you see genuine fear flicker across her face. “What does that mean?” you ask, your voice steady but firm.

“It means,” the lead witch says, “that the bond is both your greatest power and your greatest vulnerability. Use it wisely—or perish together.”

The words hang heavy in the air, and you feel the weight of them settle into your chest. Agatha glances at you, and you can tell she’s thinking the same thing: what have we just done?

“Fine,” Agatha says finally, her voice tight. “What’s next? Another test? Another round of judgment?”

The lead witch’s lips curl into a faint smile, but there’s no warmth in it. “You think this is a game, Harkness. But the road has already given you its answer. The only question now is whether you’re strong enough to face what comes next.”

The ground beneath you shifts again, and you feel the magic of the road pulling you deeper into its grip. Agatha reaches for you instinctively, her hand brushing against yours. The bond flares at the contact, filling you with a rush of her emotions.

Fear. Regret. Determination. And something else, buried deep, that feels almost like hope.

One again the road surges to life around you, swallowing the quiet moment between you and Agatha. The blue glow deepens, swirling with flecks of violet and gold, and the air feels like it’s being pulled apart. You grip her hand tighter, instinctively bracing yourself, and she doesn’t pull away.

The lead witch raises a hand, silencing the murmuring Coven. Her gaze fixes on the two of you like a blade about to strike. “The reforged bond is only the beginning. What lies ahead will test the strength of your connection—and the truth of your intentions.”

Agatha scoffs, though the sound is weaker than usual. “Another vague warning? How original.”

The lead witch’s smile is razor-thin. “The road reveals what is hidden. It will force you to confront the past you thought buried—and the consequences of choices you’ve both made.”

You glance at Agatha, whose jaw tightens. She’s always been so good at hiding what she’s feeling, but the bond makes that impossible for her now, you wonder if she knew that.

Before you can press her, the ground beneath you crumbles. The Coven’s chanting rises into a deafening crescendo as the two of you are plunged into a swirling abyss of light and shadow. Xx

When the world solidifies again, you’re standing in a dimly lit forest. The air is heavy with the scent of earth and moss, and the moon hangs low in the sky, casting everything in an eerie silver light. The road is gone, as is the Coven. It’s just you and Agatha now.

You turn to her, your heart still racing. “Where are we?”

Agatha looks around, her expression unreadable. “This… this is Salem,” she says quietly. “But not the Salem we knew. It’s different.”

The forest feels alive, the trees whispering secrets you can’t quite make out. The bond hums in your chest, tugging at something deeper, and you know without needing to ask: this place isn’t real. It’s a manifestation. A memory.

“Why would the road bring us here?” you ask, though the answer is already forming in the back of your mind.

Agatha’s lips press into a thin line. “Because it’s cruel,” she mutters. “And it knows where to hurt.”

A sound echoes through the forest—laughter, high and clear, cutting through the silence like a blade. Your stomach twists as you recognise it.

It’s her.

Your younger self steps into the clearing, a vision pulled straight from your memories. She’s vibrant, her eyes bright with hope, her laughter filling the air. And beside her, laughing just as freely, is Agatha.

The sight punches the air from your lungs. You can feel the echoes of that time through the bond—the joy, the connection, the longing that neither of you dared to name.

Agatha stares at the scene, her face pale. “Why are they showing us this?” she whispers.

“You know why,” you say, your voice low. “Because this is where it all started.”

The memory shifts, darkening at the edges. The laughter fades, replaced by tense whispers. The younger version of you steps closer to Agatha, her expression vulnerable, open.

“I don’t want to run,” your younger self says, her voice trembling. “I want to stay. I want to bond with you, Agatha. I—”

“Stop,” the real Agatha mutters, her voice tight.

But the memory plays on. Younger Agatha’s face twists, fear flashing in her eyes. She steps back, shaking her head. “No,” she says, her voice sharp and final. “We can’t. I won’t.”

“Why?” your younger self pleads.

“Because you deserve better than me!” Memory Agatha snaps, her voice cracking, before you hear her internal voice, one that’s truly broken and screaming out in fear “Because I’ll ruin you. Don’t you see that? I ruin everything I touch.”

The words hit like a physical blow, and you see the real Agatha flinch beside you. The memory fades, leaving the clearing silent once more.

You turn to her, your chest tight with emotion. “That’s why you left?” you ask, your voice raw. “Because you thought you’d ruin me?”

Agatha doesn’t meet your eyes. “It doesn’t matter,” she says quietly. “I did ruin you, didn’t I? I left, and you—”

“Don’t,” you interrupt, your voice sharper than you intended. “Don’t turn this into a pity party, Agatha. You don’t get to decide what I deserved. That was my choice to make.”

Her head snaps up, her eyes flashing with something between anger and pain. “And look where your choice got us,” she spits. “Centuries apart, and now we’re tied together because of this damned road. Is that what you wanted? To be stuck with me forever?”

The bond flares at her words, the tension between you sparking like a live wire. You take a step closer, your voice steady but furious. “What I wanted,” you say, “was for you to trust me. To trust that we could’ve been something more. But you ran because you were too scared to face that.”

Agatha glares at you, but her shoulders sag, the fight draining out of her. “You think I don’t regret it?” she says, her voice breaking. “I’ve regretted it every single day. But I thought... I thought it was better this way. Safer. For both of us.”

“Safer?” you echo bitterly. “Do I look like someone who needed to be saved from you?”

The air between you crackles with magic, the bond pulling tighter as your emotions clash and collide. You can feel her guilt, her longing, her fear—and beneath it all, her love. It’s raw and messy and imperfect, but it’s there, undeniable.

You’re about to say something before the forest grows darker, shadows stretching long and deep as the memory shifts again. You brace yourself, but nothing could prepare you for what the road dredges up next.

The scene crystallises around you: a small, dimly lit room with a single cracked mirror leaning against the wall. The air feels stifling, heavy with pain and desperation. It’s familiar—achingly so. This is where you went the night after Agatha left.

Agatha stands frozen beside you, her breath catching as she takes in the sight of you from centuries ago. Your younger self sits hunched on the floor, trembling, clutching a flickering ball of magic in your hands. The light glows faintly pink, pulsing in time with your heartbeat, but it’s unstable, wavering with every shaky breath you take.

“No,” Agatha whispers, stepping toward the memory as if she can change it. “No, no, no—what are you doing?”

But the memory unfolds without mercy.

Your younger self mutters under her breath, an incantation so jagged and broken it sounds like a dirge. The magic in your hands sparks violently, surging outward before collapsing back in on itself.

“Take it away,” your memory-self says, her voice cracking. “Take it all away. I don’t want it anymore.”

You remember the feeling all too well—the suffocating pain, the emptiness that threatened to swallow you whole. The bond you’d started to forge with Agatha had been severed, but not cleanly. It had left jagged edges, a wound that pulsed with every beat of your heart. You’d thought if you could rid yourself of your magic, you’d be free of her—free of the ache she left behind.

“Stop,” Agatha says aloud, her voice trembling. She reaches for the image of you, but her hand passes through it like smoke. She turns to you, her eyes wide and desperate. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you—”

“Because you weren’t there,”, the hurt in your voice cutting through the air like a blade. “You left, Agatha. I was alone.”

The younger you falters, tears streaming down her face. “I can’t do this,” she sobs, gripping the magic tighter. “I can’t feel her anymore. I can’t—”

The incantation grows louder, your magic swirling around you like a storm. It’s unstable, laced with anger and grief, threatening to implode. And for a moment, it feels like it will work—like you’ll succeed in ripping away the part of you that still clings to her.

But the spell breaks, shattering like glass, and the magic snaps back into you with a force that knocks your younger self to the ground. You cry out, curling into yourself as the bond—though faint and fractured—reasserts itself. It’s agony, the connection too stubborn to let go completely, no matter how much you tried to destroy it.

The memory fades, leaving the clearing eerily silent. Agatha stands rooted in place, her face pale and stricken. You can feel the weight of her guilt through the bond, heavier than ever, pressing into you like a physical thing.

“You tried to... take your magic away?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. “Because of me?”

“Yes,” you say, your tone flat. “And I failed. Just like I failed to let you go.”

Her lips part, but no words come out. She looks at you like she’s seeing you for the first time, the full scope of what she did to you finally crashing down on her. “I didn’t know,” she says weakly. “I didn’t—”

“Of course you didn’t,” you cut her off. “You ran, Agatha. You made your choice, and you didn’t look back.”

Her shoulders slump, her walls crumbling entirely. “I thought I was protecting you,” she says, her voice trembling. “I thought... if I stayed, I’d only hurt you more.”

“Well, congratulations,” you say bitterly. “You hurt me anyway.”

The bond flares between you, sharp and raw with the weight of her regret and your lingering anger. Agatha flinches, her hand rising to her chest as if she can feel the ache directly.

“I was a coward,” she admits, her voice breaking. “I was so afraid of what the bond meant—what it would do to me. To us. I thought if I left, it would be easier for both of us.” She meets your eyes, and for once, there’s no deflection, no sarcasm. Just honesty. “I didn’t know it would be worse.”

You take a shaky breath, the pain of the memory still fresh. “I didn’t want it to hurt anymore,” you say quietly. “But it never stopped. Not for centuries.”

Agatha steps closer, her hand hovering near yours. “I don’t know how to make it right,” she says, her voice soft and unsteady. “But if you’ll let me, I’ll try. I’ll spend the rest of eternity trying.”

You study her face, the vulnerability in her expression. The bond hums between you, not as sharp as before, but still raw and unsteady. You don’t trust her—not completely. But for the first time in centuries, you feel something else beneath the anger: the faintest flicker of hope.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” you say, your voice softer than before.

Agatha’s lips quirk into a faint, rueful smile. “I won’t,” she says. “Not this time.”

You take a deep breath, and you nod as you both start to walk, looking away from her, your eyes taking in the trees around you both, the silence that is only broken by crickets and your feet on fallen leaves every now and again.

The mist clings to you both like a second skin as the silence stretches, weighted and tense. The bond hums faintly between you, but there’s a strange hollowness to it, a missing note that makes your chest ache. It takes you a while to place it, but the realisation creeps up on you slowly, like a shadow in the corner of your mind.

You glance at Agatha. She’s walking beside you, her shoulders squared in that way that screams she’s unbreakable a lie she’s always told herself. But there’s something missing. Something that isn’t just her sharp-edged confidence.

You stop walking. “Agatha,” you say, your voice cautious but firm. “Your magic.”

She freezes, her back going rigid. Slowly, she turns to face you, her expression carefully neutral, but the bond betrays her. You feel her shame and frustration ripple through it, sharp and unsteady.

“What about it?” she asks, her voice brittle.

“It’s not there,” you say, your tone softer now. “Not the way it used to be. What happened to it?”

She looks away, her jaw clenching. “It’s not important.”

“It is to me,” you counter, stepping closer. “You’ve been hiding this from me, Agatha. Why? What happened?”

Her silence stretches too long, and for a moment, you think she won’t answer. Then, finally, she exhales sharply, her eyes dark with something raw and vulnerable.

“Wanda happened,” she says bitterly. “Westview, she stripped me of everything. My magic, my power—she left me with nothing but a body and a few clever words.”

Your heart stutters. “She took everything?”

“Yes,” Agatha snaps, her voice laced with frustration. “I can’t even light a damn candle without the bond. Do you have any idea how humiliating it is to be this?” She gestures at herself angrily. “This hollow shell of what I used to be?”

Her words hang between you, her anger bleeding into the bond. But underneath it, you feel the deeper truth: the helplessness, the fear, the grief of losing something so integral to who she is.

“Agatha,” you start, but she cuts you off, her voice sharp and bitter.

“Don’t,” she says. “Don’t give me some speech about how I’m more than my magic or how I’ll be fine. You don’t understand what it’s like—how empty it feels.”

Your chest tightens, the weight of her pain pressing against you through the bond. And suddenly, you do understand. The absence of her magic isn’t just a loss of power—it’s a loss of self, a wound that’s been festering since Westview.

“I wasn’t going to say that,” you say quietly. “But you’re right. I don’t understand what it’s like to lose magic. I don’t understand how it feels for you. But I can feel it, Agatha. Through the bond. And it hurts.”

Her eyes snap to yours, her expression faltering.

“I feel the emptiness, the hollowness,” you continue. “And I don’t want to feel it anymore. I don’t want you to feel it anymore.”

Her laugh is short and bitter. “Well, unless you’re planning on storming Westview I don’t see what you can do about it.”

You hesitate, the reckless idea forming in your mind. The bond between you hums faintly, and you realise there might be a way to fix this—or at least try.

“I can’t get Wanda to undo it,” you say slowly. “But I can give you something else. My magic.”

Agatha freezes, her expression unreadable. “What?”

“You heard me,” you say. “I can share my magic with you. Just enough to—”

“No,” she says sharply, taking a step back. “Absolutely not. That’s reckless and stupid, even for you.”

“You need magic to be whole again, Agatha,” you argue. “And we have the bond. It’s not just a connection—it’s a tether. If anyone can do this, it’s us.”

“You don’t know that,” she snaps, her voice trembling. “You could hurt yourself. Or me. Or worse, you could sever the bond completely. Have you thought about that?”

“I have,” you say, your voice steady. “And after realising what you’re feeling through our bond I’m willing to take that risk.”

Her anger falters, replaced by something softer—something closer to fear. “Why?” she asks, her voice quieter now. “Why would you do that for me?”

You step closer, your gaze locking with hers. “Because I feel you, Agatha. I’ve felt you for centuries, even when I didn’t want to. And I can’t stand feeling you like this anymore. I can’t stand seeing you like this.”

Her eyes shine with unshed tears, and for a moment, she looks like she might argue again. But then she nods, her hands trembling at her sides.

“Fine,” she whispers. “But if this goes wrong we’re both dead…”

“It won’t,” you say firmly. “Trust me.”

You reach for her hand, your fingers brushing hers lightly. The bond flares at the contact, and Agatha inhales sharply, her magic—or what’s left of it—stirring faintly in response.

You close your eyes, focusing on the bond and the magic coursing through you. You channel it carefully, letting it flow toward her like a steady stream. It’s not painless—the act feels like giving away pieces of yourself, leaving raw edges behind. But through the bond, you feel her presence grow stronger, her magic flickering to life like an ember reignited.

Agatha gasps softly, her grip on your hand tightening as the magic flows between you. When you finally stop, your knees feel weak, and the bond hums with a new warmth—a sense of balance that wasn’t there before.

You open your eyes to find her staring at you, her expression unreadable.

“How do you feel?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

She hesitates, then says, “Stronger.”

A faint smile tugs at her lips, and before you can react, she steps closer, her cheek brushing against yours. The touch is soft, fleeting, but it sends a warmth through the bond that makes your breath catch. Her hand cups the back of your head and her other hand holds your lower back.

“Thank you,” she whispers, her voice thick with emotion.

You wrap your arms around her, exhaustion tugging at you. “Don’t make me regret it.”

She pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, her gaze steady. “I won’t.”

#agatha harkness #agatha x reader #agatha all along #agatha harkness x reader

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youleftmenochoicebut · 2 days ago

Text

WHEN YOU KNOW, YOU KNOW — james potter x reader.

SUMMARY. — the highlights of your relationship with james fleamont potter

PAIRING. — james potter x fem!reader

WARNINGS. — fuck around and find out; use of Y/N; english isn't my first language;

A/N. — so this is inspired by the masterpiece margaret by ldr!! also, first post, yay!!!

๋࣭ ⭑────୨ৎ────⭑๋࣭ first meeting; 6th year (1976)

"if you're gonna jump, i'd love to see you do a double flip." James' voice sounds out through the cold night air, and you can hear him chuckle as you turn around, eyebrow raised.

okay, you're totally surprised to see him here, way past the curfew, on the top floor of the astronomy tower while the wind whooshes rather lightly for the winter season. of course you know who he is, everyone at hogwarts knows him and his group of friends, the marauders. but, being a ravenclaw who doesn't stuck their nose in other people's business, you never had the pleasure of being a victim to one of their pranks.

"i'm not jumping." you reply after a moment, stepping away from the edge as you throw the muggle cigarette you'd been smoking to the floor, stomping it out. you reach your hand up, brushing your hair behind your ears, and for a while you two just stare at each other.

"everyone's already packing for the christmas break." he murmurs, adjusting the glasses sitting on his nose, a smirk playing on his lips and he strolls closer to you, leaning back against the railing. "you're going home, or not?"

your brows furrow, nose crinkling, as you eye him up and down suspiciously. you're pretty sure it's a bad omen that James Potter approached you just like that, out of the blue, but you decide to humor him anyway.

"no, i... i'm staying here." you answer his question, biting down on your lower lip, and you look away with a shrug. "don't you have a game tomorrow, Potter?"

"i do, Y/N. what, you gonna come?" James pushes his hands inside the pockets of his pajama pants, smiling at you, raising his eyebrow. you don't even try to ask how he knows your name, you probably don't want to know either way.

you shake your head and chuckle, the air escaping your mouth looking like smoke in the freezing weather. "quidditch isn't really my thing." you respond, and you chew on your words for a beat before adding. "catch the snitch for me, huh?"

he seems taken aback for a quick second, but lightens up soon enough, and nods eagerly. like a golden retriever, you think. with that thought, you take off, waving him goodbye as you swiftly disappear down the staircase.

๋࣭ ⭑────୨ৎ────⭑๋࣭ first date; 6th year (1977)

you stand in front of the only mirror in your dorm, most of your dormmates already out and about except for Sage, who's sitting on her bed and watching you closely as you fiddle with the hem of your dress.

"i look ridiculous." you groan, tugging down the tiny skirt of your outfit, glancing back at Sage. the dress is from a muggle friend of yours, apparently very in fashion now as she stated in her letter, but you can't feel more out of your element. it's not that you don't like clothes like that, it's just that you almost never wear them.

however, you're getting ready for a date with the James Potter, and you want to look your best. oh, and it's Valentine's Day, so you want to somehow prove to everyone who'll see you that you're worthy of James.

"you look great, stop whining." Sage rolls her eyes, munching on her chocolate frog, and she scratches her cat behind his ear.

you sigh, nodding at your friend's aggressive approval, then grab your bag, quickly putting your wand into it, and you saunter over to Sage's bed. you kiss her forehead, chuckling when you hear her let out an ew.

you leave your dormitory, run down the stairs, then sigh again as you get out of the common room, bracing yourself at the challenge of getting to the end of the staircase. and so it takes you some time, time that you spend overthinking almost every interaction you had with James in the two months you have known each other.

when you finally arrive at your meeting spot, your hair's all messed up and tousled, your eyes bloodshot from the wind and lips dry from constantly licking them. instead of Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop or the Three Broomsticks, James insisted on you two meeting here. in the Hogwarts grounds, near the Great Lake. usually, even during that time of the year, the grounds were full of students. but now, they're clear, except for a big red blanket on the snowy grass, with James sitting down there. there must be some spell casted around that area that keeps it warm, because James doesn't have his coat on. you approach him with a smile, dropping down next to him, and the heat hits you, making you loose your jacket soon.

for a moment, James just stares at you, mouth agape, his eyes shimmering with pure happiness. "you're beautiful." he breathes out as you nervously tug down your skirt, and a chuckle escapes your lips.

"thank you." your smile widens, and you look at the picnic basket he prepared, smelling the freshly baked cookies and the two bottles of juice. he notices your eyes wandering, his hand reaching out and grabbing a strand of your hair, untangling it gently.

"uh... i made the cookies myself." he murmurs, and when he meets your amused gaze, he shakes his head. "yeah, no i didn't. i asked the kitchen elves to make them. but they were more than happy to do it!"

you laugh heartily, feeling the blush creep up your cheeks at his touch, his hand dropping down and resting over your wrist.

๋࣭ ⭑────୨ৎ────⭑๋࣭ first fight; 6th year (1977)

exam season is really fucking with you this year. after last year's OWLs you really thought i'd be easier this year, but clearly not. you're running low on sleep, nourishment, and your patience. almost every waking moment you're spending in classes, doing your assignments or studying in the library with Lily and the other gryffindor girls with whom you've become quite close ever since you started dating James.

well, when it comes to James himself, you haven't seen him much lately. and when you do, it mostly goes one way with you doing both of your homework while James watches you with hearts in the place of pupils, and leaves kisses and touches all over your body.

it's 9.30pm on friday when you're making your way back to your common room after yet another study session in the library, being one of few students out in the hallways at this time. you turn round the corner, your body collapsing against someone else's, and you end up on the floor on your ass. a yelp escapes your mouth, and when you look up ready to shout at the idiot in your way, you realize it's your idiot.

"you look like hell, sweetheart." James smirks, glancing down at you as he leans in with outstretched hand, helping you up smoothly. you let out a huff, rolling your eyes, annoyed out of your goddamn mind, and you step away.

"wow, James, thank you. that's just what a girl wants to hear from her boyfriend after a shitty day." you murmur, wanting to just go past him, because you can feel your temper run short already. but of course, James being James, doesn't allow you to do so. he grasps your wrist as you try to pass him by, and you yank away the moment you feel his hand on yours. "sod off!" you hold your books closer to your chest, frowning momentarily.

"you've been ignoring me, Y/N." he says quietly, and it's probably the first time you hear him so serious and toned down. "i'm trying, i'm making effort, and you're acting like studying is the only thing that matters."

"because, right now, it is! it is to me!" you raise your voice, your hand clasping at the material of your shirt, and you shake your head. "i've been slacking off the whole spring because of you, and now i have all this shit to catch up. i don't have time for nonsense."

you don't even realize the blow that your words are to James, too sleep-deprived to notice the way his lips purse or how he almost seems to physically hurt at your statement.

"is that all you think we are? nonsense?" he whispers, ruffling his curls in an anxious gesture. "cause if that's the case, then i'll stop bothering you."

"no, James, you know that's not what i meant." you groan, shaking your head, and you step closer to him. "i'm sorry. i'm just so constantly tired and... sorry."

๋࣭ ⭑────୨ৎ────⭑๋࣭ first 'i love you'; summer of 1977

the sun is hitting your body in all the right angles, a cigarette dangling between your lips, as you lay on your back, on the jetty while the boys play in the water. you, Remus, and Peter have spend the past week at the Potter manor with James and Sirius, and James' parents. it's mid july, summer in all its glory, and you try to live it to the fullest.

you squeal and open your eyes the moment you feel drops of water fall all over you, and you're met with James' athletic figure right in front of you. he kneels down, face to face with you, quickly taking the cigarette from you and taking a drag. rolling your eyes, you sit up, pushing his shoulder playfully. you watch the rest of the marauders with a small smile on your face, Peter standing in the most shallow point of the lake and sipping on some fire whiskey, Sirius and Remus making out with only their heads visible out of the water. James rests his chin on your shoulder, one arm wrapping around your waist and tugging you closer against his chest, and you glance up at him through half-lidded eyes, observing the way he blows out the smoke.

"i love you." you whisper suddenly, as if the thought just struck you, your hand raising to push his glasses up his nose, and you lean in to plant a soft kiss on his cheek.

"yeah?" he replies, his voice having that cocky edge to it, but you can see his heart truly explode, eyes full of love. "i love you, sweetheart."

๋࣭ ⭑────୨ৎ────⭑๋࣭ engagement; fall of 1978

after a whole day of unpacking boxes and moving (using magic) furniture around, both you and James are truly exhausted. you’ve just moved into your first house together, having lived with James’ parents for the summer, and despite needing some renovations you are able to live in it without a problem.

as James takes a break on the couch, probably reading this month’s Quidditch Times, you’re trying to cook something for dinner. you’ve decided you don’t want to have a house elf, neither yours or James’ family ever had one, and you two aren’t changing that. but, that means you have to learn how to cook. which actually turns out to be quite the challenge.

two burnt lasagna-lookalikes in, you give up, your face red and eyes filled with frustrated tears. casting a quick cleaning spell, you leave the kitchen and head to the living room, expecting to see James there. but the space is empty.

„Jamie?” you shout out, looking around with a frown gracing your soft features, and after a moment of listening in, you hear him cursing somewhere outside.

and so, with your hands on your hips, already sure he’d just fucked something up, you make your way outside to your garden, through the living room backdoor. you’re immediately taken aback when you see daisy petals just laying around on the grass and it takes you a second to realize it’s a path. growing more and more suspicious you follow it, and it leads you to the small pond in the further corner of the backyard. the rocks around the pond are covered with lit up candles, and James is on one knee next to the wooden bench.

„hi, sweetheart.” he murmurs with a smile, holding a small velvet box in his hand, and as you come closer, you can see the tears already prickling in the corners of his eyes. he opens the box swiftly and the ring nestled inside must be the most beautiful rock you have ever seen. „i… i had a whole speech prepared, you know. about- well, you. us. but right now, looking at you, i cannot remember shit of what i wanted to say. the only thing i do know, and i always will, is that i want to look at you for the rest of my life. i want to see you smile, i want to make you laugh, i want to wipe your tears away. every single day. so, Y/N Y/L/N, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

you drop to your knees almost instantly, a sob escaping you as you’re at eye lever with him, and you just nod. you nod, over and over, letting your tears run down your cheeks, knowing that if you speak you’ll break down completely. James knows that too, and he silently slips the ring onto your waiting finger, bringing your hand to his lips and planting a soft kiss on each finger.

„oh, and before you say anything, i call dibs on the wedding date.” he whispers and you chuckle, pushing your lips against his before responding.

„yeah? so what’s the date?” you tilt your head, just staring at him with the stupidest smile on your face, with tear stained cheeks. you two look like idiots, kneeling in the dewed grass, but honestly you don’t care.

„december 18th.” James replies, clearly proud of himself for the mere idea, and his hands cup your face, thumbs brushing the tears away. „the day we met.”

๋࣭ ⭑────୨ৎ────⭑๋࣭ pregnancy; winter of 1980

you’re laying on your shared bed, fingers tapping against the huge curvature of your stomach, feeling your baby kick furiously inside you. you’re waiting for James to come home from work, as you’re already on bed rest, only two weeks away from your due date (which is january 31st)

you’ve been bored out of your fucking mind for the last few days, James putting in more hours at work before he has to take paternity leave when the baby comes, and everything in the house being all done and finished. everything babyproofed, nursery set up and ready, every single thing you could own for a newborn, you have. the only thing that’s left for you is resting and looking pretty, as James had said one evening.

your neck practically snaps from how fast you turn your head the moment you hear James apparate outside your house. you groan, quickly moving your hand to massage the back of your neck, and in just a few minutes James is standing in the doorway to your bedroom, a tired but oh so happy smile on his face.

„hi there, mama.” he mutters softly, dropping his suitcase and his wand onto the desk, getting onto the bed right away. he reaches out, tugging your shirt up to expose your big baby bump that’s covered with stretch marks, and leans in, placing kisses all over your belly. „and hi there, lad or gal. i hope you’ve been good to your mom today. daddy had a long day, you know.”

you smile, running your fingers through James’ curls as he rests his chin on your stomach, hands rubbing at your skin there, eyes set on your protruding belly button. you love when he tells you about his day in that way, talking to the baby about it, a habit you both created somewhere in your fifth month of the pregnancy, when you started showing more and more clearly.

„yeah? anything interesting happen today?” you ask quietly, gently playing with his hair, your tired gaze set on his face at all times.

„i won a bet with Sirius, which one of us would catch the most death eaters in an outing.” he hums after a beat, tapping his finger against your stomach, and both of you chuckle when the baby kicks so hard you can see its tiny foot stretch your skin. „yeah, your uncle Padfoot lost a bet. loser. daddy’s the best at what he’s doing, baby Potter.”

„merlin, you’re teaching our baby unhealthy rivalization and it’s not even born yet.” you roll your eyes, tugging at the ends of his hair teasingly, while he bats his eyelashes up at you.

„after all, they’re a Potter.” he murmurs lovingly, looking at your round and puffy from all the baby weight face as if he’s seen an angel, and he swears to himself that he’s falling in love with you over and over again every time he looks at you. „it’s in their genes, sweetheart.”

#james potter x reader #james potter x fem!reader #james potter #marauders #remus lupin x reader #sirius black x reader #the marauders #james potter x you #james potter x y/n #james fleamont potter

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