#that you have to seek her out but you get so much from finding her

[the-oblivious-writer]

Heavy

Tara Carpenter x Reader

One-Shot

Summary: After surviving a brutal attack that left you in a coma, you awaken to find the love of your life, Tara Carpenter, has vanished from your side despite the endless nights she spent holding your hand through the worst of it.

Warning(s): Trauma, no pronouns, references to past (Scream 6) violence, mental struggles, survivor's guilt, stalking, emotional manipulation (self-imposed), and PTSD.

Notes: I was listening to Red Hot Chili Peppers while writing this.

You never looked more beautiful than when you were dying.

That thought haunts Tara as she lies in her empty bed, tracing patterns on sheets that still smell faintly of your perfume. Three months since she last held your hand in that sterile hospital room. Three months of pretending she made the right choice.

The machines kept time with your heartbeat, a rhythm she memorized during those endless nights at your bedside. Sometimes, she still hears it in her dreams - that steady beeping that meant you were still fighting, still here, still hers. Until she decided you couldn't be hers anymore.

Sam stopped by earlier, concern etched in the corners of her eyes. "You're punishing yourself," she'd said, leaving a container of soup that now sits untouched on Tara's nightstand. Maybe she is. But isn't that better than the alternative? Better than waiting for the next masked figure to emerge from the shadows, seeking to add your name to the growing list of people she's lost?

Your coma lasted six weeks. Six weeks of Tara reading to you, singing softly when the nurses weren't around, telling you all the things she should have said before. How you made her feel safe in a world that had given her every reason not to be. How your laugh could chase away the darkness that sometimes threatened to swallow her whole. How you never treated her like she was broken, even when she felt held together by nothing but stubborn will and surgical tape.

She remembers the first time you kissed her, after that night at the bowling alley. You'd been so careful with her, like you understood without being told that touch wasn't always easy for her anymore. Your hands had framed her face like she was something precious, something worth protecting. If only you'd protected yourself from her instead.

The phone on her nightstand lights up with another missed call from Chad. He's been trying to get her to come out, insisting that isolation isn't the answer. But how can she explain that every time she closes her eyes, she sees you in that hospital bed? The bandages, the bruises, the way your chest rose and fell with mechanical precision because you couldn't breathe on your own. All because someone had wanted to hurt her, and you'd been brave enough - stupid enough - to step between her and the blade.

"I can't lose you," she had whispered to your unconscious form. "I won't survive it."

But when you finally opened your eyes, weak and confused but alive, Tara realized something worse than losing you to death: losing you by choice, pushing you away to keep you safe from the curse that seems to follow her like a shadow.

The breakup was clean, surgical - like so many of the scars that map her body. She'd practiced the words in front of her bathroom mirror until they stopped making her cry. "I can't do this anymore. I need space. I need to focus on healing." All the clichés that meant nothing and everything at once. You'd looked at her with those eyes that always saw too much, and for a moment, she thought you might fight her on it. Almost hoped you would.

But you didn't. You just nodded, pressed a kiss to her forehead that felt like goodbye, and walked away. Maybe you understood. Maybe you were tired of loving someone who carried death in her wake like a bitter perfume.

Tara rolls onto her side, pulling your old high school sweatshirt tighter around herself. It stopped smelling like you weeks ago, but she wears it anyway, a form of self-torture she can't seem to give up. On her desk, photographs mock her with frozen moments of happiness - you and her at the beach, your hair wild with salt air and sunshine. The two of you at the twins' birthday party, your arm around her waist as she actually smiled for the camera. A quiet morning in your apartment, where you'd captured her making coffee in one of your oversized t-shirts, looking at peace in a way she rarely felt anymore.

Her friends tell her she's different now. Quieter. The spark that had started to return during your time together has dimmed again. Even Mindy, who never comments on anything serious, asked if she was okay the other day. Tara had wanted to laugh. Okay? How could she be when you're forced to bear wounds that were meant for her? When she spends her nights parked across from your apartment, engine off, watching the soft glow of your bedroom light like a moth drawn to flame?

She tells herself it's protection, not obsession. That someone needs to make sure you're safe, even if you don't know they're there. But the truth sits heavy in her chest as she watches your silhouette move behind curtains - the way you still favor your left side, a reminder of wounds that were meant for her. Sometimes, she catches glimpses of you leaving for work, and the sight of you walking alone makes her hands shake against the steering wheel. You look smaller somehow, or maybe that's just the distance she's forced between you.

Last week, you almost saw her. You were collecting mail from your box, and something made you turn, scanning the street with that sixth sense you always seemed to have. Tara had ducked down so fast she'd knocked her head against the dashboard, heart thundering so loud she was sure you'd hear it even from across the street. When she finally dared to look again, you were gone, but she could have sworn there were tears on your cheeks.

She knows it's wrong. Knows that if Sam or Chad found out about these nightly vigils, they'd tell her she's sliding back into old patterns, letting trauma dictate her choices. But how can she explain that sleeping is impossible unless she knows you're safe? That every time she closes her eyes without checking on you, her nightmares paint your death in vivid technicolor?

It's only a matter of time before you two cross paths again. It happens at the corner market three blocks from your old shared apartment. The same place where you used to buy cookie dough ice cream at midnight, where Tara would pretend to complain about enabling your sweet tooth while secretly loving how your kisses tasted afterward. She's reaching for coffee - your brand, though she'll never admit it - when she hears the soft intake of breath behind her.

Time stretches like taffy, sticky and overwhelming. Your reflection in the freezer glass is both familiar and foreign - thinner maybe, or just holding yourself differently. The scar above your collarbone peeks out from your shirt collar, a silvery reminder of everything she's tried to forget.

"Tara."

Her name in your mouth still sounds like coming home. She forces herself to turn, to face the reality of you standing three feet away with a basket of groceries hanging from your arm. The fluorescent lights cast shadows under your eyes that weren't there before, and she wonders if you're sleeping any better than she is.

"You look..." The words tangle in her throat. Alive. Beautiful. Like everything I've been running from. "...good."

Your laugh is hollow, nothing like the sound she keeps locked away in her memory. "Liar." You shift your weight, and she catches the slight wince - another reminder of what loving her cost you. "You've lost weight."

"Haven't been hungry much." The confession slips out before she can stop it.

Something flashes across your face - concern, maybe anger. You take a step forward, and she matches it with a step back, her spine hitting the cold glass of the freezer door. The coffee can in her hands shakes slightly.

"Don't," she whispers, but she's not sure if she's talking to you or herself.

"Don't what, Tara? Don't care? Don't worry? Because I tried that. It doesn't work." Your voice cracks on the last word, and she watches you swallow hard. "I see your car, you know. Outside my apartment."

The confession lands like a physical blow. Heat crawls up her neck as shame mingles with something else - relief, maybe, that you still know her well enough to notice. That some part of you is still watching for her too.

"I just..." She closes her eyes, unable to bear the weight of your gaze. "I need to know you're safe."

"Safe?" Now there's definitely anger in your voice. "You want me safe? Then stop making decisions for both of us. Stop deciding what I can and can't handle. Stop-" Your voice breaks, and when she opens her eyes, there are tears tracking down your cheeks. "Stop acting like your love is a death sentence."

The coffee can clatters to the floor, forgotten. Her hands ache to reach for you, to wipe away those tears she caused. But she forces them to stay at her sides, nails digging crescents into her palms.

"You almost died," she says, the words tasting like copper in her mouth. "Because of me. Because I thought I could have this - have you - without danger following. I was wrong."

"No." You step closer, and this time she can't make herself move away. "I almost died because some psychopath decided to come after us with a knife. Not because of you. Never because of you."

Your hand reaches out, hovering just shy of touching her face. She can feel the heat of it, the promise of contact that makes her chest tight with wanting. The market's muzak plays faintly in the background, some old love song that feels like mockery.

"I miss you," you whisper, and it's the gentlest violence she's ever experienced. "I miss you, and I'm not sleeping, and sometimes I think I see you everywhere, only to turn around and find empty space. And then I realized I wasn't imagining it - you were actually there, watching over me like some heartbroken guardian angel."

A sob builds in her throat. "I don't know how to stop loving you."

"Then don't." Your hand finally makes contact, cupping her cheek, and Tara breaks. "Don't stop. Just... come home."

She leans into your touch for one heartbeat, two, allowing herself to remember what it feels like to be held by hands that know all her scars. Then she steps back, away from your warmth, your forgiveness, your love that feels too much like salvation.

"I can't." The words taste like ash. "I'm sorry. I can't."

She runs. Past the dropped coffee, past the concerned clerk, past everything but the sound of you calling her name. It follows her all the way home, where she collapses against her front door and finally lets herself cry for everything she keeps choosing to lose.

The worst part is knowing that if she could do it all over again - live another life, make different choices - she'd still choose you. Still fall for the way you dance off-beat to every song, still melt at how you bring her coffee just the way she likes it, still love you with every broken piece of herself. She'd just do a better job of staying away before you could love her back.

Night settles around her like a familiar weight. In the darkness, she can almost pretend you're still here, that this is just another evening where you'll wrap your arms around her and keep the nightmares at bay. But the bed stays empty, and the shadows stay thick, and somewhere across town, you're probably sleeping peacefully for the first time since you met her.

"I love you," she whispers to the empty room, words she never said enough when she had the chance. "I love you, and that's why I can't keep you."

The silence offers no comfort, no contradiction. Just the steady tick of her bedside clock, counting down the moments until another day without you begins. Another day of being strong enough to keep her distance, of choosing your safety over her happiness. Another day of remembering that sometimes love means knowing when to let go, even when every cell in your body screams to hold on tighter.

Sleep will come eventually, bringing dreams of your smile, your touch, the way you used to look at her like she hung the stars. And tomorrow, she'll wake up and do it all again - loving you from afar, keeping you safe the only way she knows how. Because that's what love is to Tara Carpenter now: not a fairy tale, not a happy ending, but a sacrifice she makes every day to keep you breathing.

Even if it means she can barely breathe herself.

-----------

A/N: the meaning behind The Maria's "Heavy" inspired this.

[ginnsbaker]

All Of Your Pieces (12 - Red)

Chapter Summary: Unable to accept that she is now part of the team, you try to avoid Wanda Maximoff at all cost.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 4k+ | Chapter Tags: Age of Ultron!Wanda, Enemies to Lovers (sort of)

A/N: I got some interesting asks about Y/N's background. There are backstories about Y/N that will come up since Part 2 is purely a flashback. However, things such as how she became an Avenger is not covered, but you're welcome to ask me for headcanons (or give your own!). P.S. Someone asked how old Y/N is in the flashbacks, and she's actually younger than Wanda P.P.S get ready for some action too! it's my first time writing such a scene *_*// More author's notes here.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Pretending Wanda Maximoff didn’t exist was easier than you initially thought.

You got good at avoiding her. It became part of your routine—timing your movements through the compound to miss her by minutes, memorizing her schedule so you could always be somewhere else. Sometimes you’d see a hint of her around a corner, a flash of the crimson jacket she usually wore or the dark fall of her hair, but you'd steer in the opposite direction without a second thought.

She seemed to reciprocate—or maybe she simply picked up on the hint. Either way, you both managed to coexist without the need to acknowledge the other. You, a lifelong night owl, suddenly found yourself becoming a morning person the moment you realized Wanda preferred the training room in the evenings. Working out before dawn felt like the safest plan. You told yourself it was working.

Meals, however, were trickier. The kitchen and dining area were unavoidable shared spaces, and schedules didn’t always align as neatly as you’d hoped. Some mornings, you’d find her already there, her hands wrapped around a steaming mug of tea, or she’d walk in just as you were finishing up. 

The team had a tradition—dinners together, a semblance of family in a life that lacked roots. You started to skip these, opting for protein bars or quick microwaves alone. It was easier than facing her across the table, being reminded of what she forced you to see back in Johannesburg. 

But then you noticed Wanda stopped showing up, too. On the nights you did show up, her seat was empty. The others didn’t seem bothered, but you couldn’t shake the feeling it was your fault. 

Despite having won the territory, you couldn’t shake the guilt that came with it.

—

Steve and Tony were at each other’s throats again.

Their arguments had become more frequent in recent weeks, and although you usually stayed out of it, they were beginning to take its toll on the team. You could tell lines were being drawn; team members quietly taking sides, aligning themselves according to whoever had a mission lined up. 

You walked into the meeting room, late as usual, pretending you hadn't heard them from halfway across the building. Steve stood rigid, arms crossed over his chest, jaw set like granite. Tony reclined with that maddeningly casual air that mostly irked Steve, one hand tucked in his pocket while the other animatedly waved as he spoke. 

Wanda was tucked away in the corner farthest from the door, partially shielded by Vision. Trying to avoid Wanda only made you seek her out involuntarily, as much as you wished not to.

“I'm telling you, Tony, allowing the government to dictate our actions undermines everything we stand for,” Steve said.

Oh. This again? The politics of it all was your least favorite thing about being an Avenger.

“Accountability,” Tony replied. “We can't keep making unilateral decisions without considering the global implications.”

Steve shook his head. “We've operated just fine without bureaucratic red tape slowing us down. Every second counts when lives are at stake.”

Tony snorted in a way that’s supposed to rile up Steve even more. “Operating 'just fine'? You call the messes we've left behind 'just fine'?”

You cleared your throat. “Sounds like a party in here.”

Neither of them acknowledged you. Your gaze unintentionally drifted toward Wanda, and you caught her eyes just as she quickly looked away.

“Since when did you become a fan of bureaucracy?” Steve asked.

“Since the paperwork started piling up from our little international incidents,” Tony said, pouring himself another shot of whiskey. 

You grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl, leaning against the counter as their words volleyed back and forth. 

“Paperwork? Is that what this is about? You’re tired of paperwork?”

“I’m tired of taking the blame for all of us,” Tony said. 

“Well, you did create Ultron, didn’t you?”

Tony's eyes narrowed. If he weren't clad in his robe, he'd be suiting up right now. “Low blow, Rogers.”

“Truth hurts,” Steve replied.

You took a bite of your apple. “You two need a time-out or something?”

Tony turned to you, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. “Ah, look who finally joined us. Got anything to say?”

“Nope,” you replied, chewing deliberately. “But could you tone it down? Your arguing is scaring the children.”

“You are the ‘children’,” Clint said with a smirk and you gave him a dirty look. 

Natasha hid a smile behind her glass. 

“I meant Vision,” you said, pointedly not looking at the synthezoid lest your gaze accidentally land on Wanda again.

Steve exhaled sharply. “This isn't a joke.”

Natasha set her glass down carefully. “Does this really need to be settled now?” she asked, her tone of voice indicating she’s taking charge now. “We gathered the team for a briefing, remember?”

“You're right,” Steve conceded. “We can discuss this later.”

Tony shrugged. “Fine by me.”

Clint leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “So, what's on the agenda?”

Vision, to your surprise, got up from his seat. You recalled that before becoming whatever he was now, he had been Stark's AI, which gave him direct access to global networks. He would be among the first to hear any distress calls.

“We've received intelligence about a potential threat escalating in Southeastern Europe,” Vision said.

You took another bite of your apple, listening but keeping your expression neutral.

Steve picked up a remote and clicked it, causing a holographic map to appear in the center of the room. Red markers dotted a specific region. “A rogue faction has been intercepting shipments of advanced weaponry.”

Tony arched an eyebrow. “Let me guess—Stark tech?”

“Sort of,” Steve allowed. “But they're not just shopping for tech. They're also headhunting for the enhanced.”

At that, Wanda shifted slightly in her seat at the back, her attention fixed intently on the map. You noticed but quickly averted your eyes, focusing instead on the holographic display.

“Any idea who’s leading this faction?” Natasha asked.

“Not yet,” Steve said. “But Intel suggests they're planning something big, and soon.”

“So what’s the plan?” you tossed out.

Steve's eyes swept the room. “We intercept them before they can mobilize. It’s in the rural mountains of Cilo,” he pointed to a spot on the map of Turkey. “Barely any civilians, but we still play it clean—minimal casualties.”

“I'll prep the suits and run some satellite sweeps. Maybe we can get a clearer picture of their operations,” Tony declared, and without waiting for a dismissal, he headed for the door. Steve watched him leave, shaking his head with a mix of irritation and resignation.

“Roles, then,” Steve started, raising his voice just enough to reach the corners of the room—a small gathering today; Rhodes was with the U.S. president on a diplomatic trip in Asia, and Sam was aiding Sokovian refugees settling into their new homes.

“Natasha and Clint, you'll handle reconnaissance. Vision, you will join Tony for air support. I'll lead the ground team.”

“Who’s on the ground team?” you asked.

Steve held your look. “You, me, and Wanda.”

The pit of your stomach clenched. “Fantastic,” you muttered.

“Problem?” Steve challenged.

You quickly schooled your expression. “Nope.”

“Good,” he said firmly. “We roll out at dawn. Meeting’s over.”

As you headed toward the door, Natasha fell into step beside you. “You okay with this?” she asked quietly.

“Why wouldn't I be?” you replied, not meeting her eyes.

She gave you a knowing look. “I know what you’ve been doing. Pretending Wanda doesn't exist isn't going to work on a mission.”

You sighed. “I'll be professional.”

“See that you are,” she said. “For everyone's sake.”

—

The mission was set for the next day, and you were mentally running through strategies, trying to anticipate every possible outcome. What you hadn't expected was a knock on your door late in the evening, well after Steve's usual bedtime of 9 PM. 

Normally, you'd peer through the peephole to check who it was, but your mind was elsewhere—fixated on a particular restaurant in Istanbul you hoped to visit if there was any downtime after the raid. You'd never confess this to anyone, but you were a bit of a foodie. Sampling the best cuisine in each country your Avenger duties took you to had become a personal quest. 

Without thinking, you stood and walked over, opening the door to find Wanda standing there, her hands nervously clasped in front of her. You looked down at your feet, waiting. 

“I need your help,” she said. These were the first words she had ever spoken to you, and you didn’t know why you'd taken note of it.

You didn't glance up. “Don't recall offering it.”

She slipped inside without asking, the soft soles of her boots silent on the floor—a detail that annoyed you. “Steve said he wants minimal casualties, and my powers aren't exactly…gentle. I need to learn how to fight without relying on it too much.”

“So go ask someone else.”

“There's no one else available right now,” she murmured. “Natasha is out, and Steve thought it would be good if we—”

You cut her off, finally raising your head to look at her. “I'm not interested.”

Wanda scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself. I wouldn’t be coming to you if there’s—”

“Then maybe Vision can help you,” you suggested coldly. “He seems to have taken a liking to you. I'm sure he can dig up some martial arts videos for you.”

She bristled. “Why are you being like this?”

“Like what?”

“Like being civil is something that could actually make you sick.”

You met her gaze, unflinching. “I don't have time for this.”

Wanda inhaled sharply, and a strange energy coursed through your veins, the furniture in your bedroom shuddering as though caught in a miniature earthquake. But you held your position, unafraid.

“If you refuse to cooperate, I'll have to report back to Steve,” she warned. 

The threat was so feeble it almost made you laugh.  But you aimed to be more cruel than that.

“Go ahead,” you replied coolly. “Tell him I won't hold your hand.”

Wanda looked on the verge of an outburst. Good.

“Why are you being so difficult?”

You crossed your arms. “Why are you still standing at my door?”

Without another word, she closed her eyes briefly. Suddenly, you felt a subtle push against your thoughts—a whisper not your own. “Why do you hate me so much? We have to work together—”

You recoiled, anger flaring. “Get out of my head.”

“I was just trying to—”

“I don't care what you were trying to do,” you spat, getting in her face. “Don't ever do that again.”

She reeled back slightly. If it weren’t for the fact that she was a hundred times more powerful than you, you might have thought she was intimidated. But as you drew near, you saw it wasn't anger in her eyes, but hurt—a wounded response to your harsh dismissal.

After a few seconds, Wanda nodded. “I’m sorry. I won’t bother you again,” she said softly.

Just then, Clint appeared around the corner. You gave him a questioning look. He might have seemed like he was just passing by, but you weren’t deceived. Clint had no reason to be in this hallway at this hour. It seemed more likely he had been eavesdropping on the last part of your conversation and chose this moment to step in.

“Am I interrupting something?” he asked lightly.

“I was just looking for someone to help me with hand-to-hand training,” Wanda explained, already backing away from your doorway.

“I’m the guy for that,” he replied. “Head to the training room, I'll join you shortly.”

“Thanks,” she said, casting a final glance your way before turning on her heel and striding away.

Clint turned to you the moment you two were alone. “Got a minute?”

“Not really,” you replied, though you stayed rooted in your spot.

He leaned against the wall beside your door. “What's going on with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Doesn't look like nothing,” he countered. “You're being pretty rude.”

You folded your arms. “She never apologized to the team.”

“And you think giving her the cold shoulder is going to fix that?” he asked. “Grow the fuck up, kid. Bullying the new recruit isn't doing any of us any favors.”

“She did some really awful things, Clint,” you reasoned. “She hasn't taken responsibility for that.”

He sighed. “And you've never screwed up? Never done something you regretted?”

“That's different.”

“Is it?” he challenged. “Because from where I'm standing, we all have our demons. You don't see the rest of us acting like we're better than anyone.”

You looked away. “You wouldn't understand.”

“Try me.”

“Wanda showed me more than just a bad dream,” you whispered. “I—” You started to spill the details of your nightmare but stopped, the fear of appearing vulnerable, of seeming weak and worthless like your mother always made you feel, silencing you. When it became apparent you wouldn't continue, Clint added, ���Ever thought that maybe she's dealing with her own nightmares too?”

You glanced back at him. “Why do you care so much?”

“Because we're a team,” he said simply. “And teams look out for each other. Even when it's hard.”

“I don’t know if I can—”

“No one's asking you to be her best friend,” he said. “But at least be civil. Professional. The mission depends on it.”

You nodded, standing straighter. “I'll do my job.”

“Good,” he said, pushing off the wall. “That's all I'm asking.”

“Good night, Clint,” you muttered, heading back to your room.

“One more thing,” Clint called out just before you could close the door completely. “You’re right—she never apologized to the team. But she sure as hell apologized to you earlier.”

—

The Quinjet touched down just beyond the rocky outskirts of the small Turkish village, three miles from the fortified base the team was about to infiltrate. The rogue faction had been using it as a stronghold to store advanced weaponry and conduct illicit operations. You unbuckled your harness and stood, adjusting your gear as the rear hatch lowered to reveal the arid landscape bathed in the golden hues of early morning. 

Natasha caught your eye as she secured her gear. “Play nice,” she said, her voice low enough that only you could hear. 

You gave a noncommittal shrug in response.

She arched an eyebrow but didn't press the point. Instead, she adjusted the strap of her Widow's Bite and headed down the ramp.

Clint was perched near a cluster of boulders, bow ready. He didn't speak; he just shot you a pointed look and nodded slightly. You'd never felt more babysat than you did at that moment. Trying to make an effort to improve your working relationship with Wanda (at their behest), you headed toward her without a clear plan for the conversation. A pep talk maybe? You weren’t great at those, but you had absorbed enough from Steve to last several lifetimes.

But just as you were mere steps away from her, she breezed past without a glance in your direction, heading straight toward where Steve was waiting for Tony and Vision's signal to advance. It was as if you didn't exist.

Fair enough, you thought. Two could play at that game.

You tapped the side of your headgear, bringing up the HUD that F.R.I.D.A.Y had uploaded with the mission parameters. A translucent map overlaid your vision, highlighting your designated route through the village's eastern perimeter. Your task was to secure the potential exit points and ensure no targets slipped through once the operation commenced.

“All right, everyone, we’ve got clearance from the air team,” Steve's voice trembled over the comms. There was an unusual distortion in the signal, and you silently hoped it wouldn’t cause problems later. “Check in.”

“In position,” came the succinct reply from Natasha

“Ready on the western ridge,” Clint reported.

“Copy that,” Steve said. “Wanda and I will approach the main entrance from the south. Y/N, you take the north side. Secure any escape routes and watch for patrols.”

You pressed a finger to your earpiece. “Understood.”

“Keep comms open and stay sharp,” Steve added, and with that, everyone moved into position.

You moved into position, the rugged terrain providing ample cover. The north exit was a chokepoint—a narrow path bordered by steep cliffs. Perfect for an ambush, but also a potential death trap.

“All clear on my end,” you whispered into the comm.

“Strange,” Clint remarked.

“Same here,” Natasha agreed. “It's too quiet. I don’t like it.”

Your instincts prickled. 

Then, a faint vibration underfoot. You frowned, kneeling to touch the ground. The tremor grew stronger, rhythmic.

“Do you feel that?” you asked softly.

“Feel what?” Steve's voice came through.

Before you could respond, the ground shook violently. From hidden crevices and camouflaged tunnels, a swarm of hostiles erupted, pouring into the pass like a flood. Dozens—no, hundreds—armed to the teeth and moving with eerie coordination.

“Ambush!” you yelled, scrambling for cover.

“Hold your position—we're coming for you!” Steve roared. 

It should have assured you, but for the next few minutes, you were on your own. You took stock of your surroundings. The pass was narrow—a choke point. It was clear now that it’s a trap, and the enemy got lucky that a superpowered didn’t end up scouting this area.

You opened fire with your dual silencers, taking down several men with precise shots. But for every one you dropped, two more seemed to appear in his place. They weren’t just attacking—they were herding you, forcing you deeper into the pass where the escape routes grew fewer and fewer.

Sweat trickled down your temple as you struggled to hold them off. Your muscles ached, and your breaths came in ragged gasps. An unexpected blow struck your side, slamming you against the rocky wall.

Gritting your teeth, you pressed against the cliffside, muscles taut. Outnumbered and isolated, and not to mention trapped on a dangerous corner, survival seemed impossible.

“Come on,” you muttered to yourself. “Think.”

Just as the closest attacker lunged, a surge of energy hurled him backwards. Wind seemed to come in every direction as Wanda landed on her feet beside you, her eyes glowing red.

Relief washed over you. “Your timing is impeccable.” You hadn't expected that seeing Wanda would make you feel so incredibly safe, but it did. It really did.

She gave a faint smile, eyes scanning the swarm of hostiles regrouping ahead. “We need to find a way out of this trap,” she urged.

“Agreed,” you replied, reloading your weapon. 

The narrow pass had become a funnel, channeling them straight toward you. Rocks jutted out from the cliffside, creating pockets of shadow.

“We're pinned down,” you noted, pressing your back against the cold stone beside hers. The space was tight, forcing you closer together. You could feel the warmth radiating from her despite the cool mountain air. 

Wanda glanced upward. “We might be able to climb to that ledge,” she suggested, her breath brushing against your ear.

“Worth a shot. I'll boost you up.”

Wanda gave a small, amused smile. “You don't have to do that. I can get up there myself.”

It took a moment for the realization to hit you. Of course—her psionic abilities allowed her to levitate. That's how she'd reached you so quickly earlier; she'd flown. Heat rushed to your face as embarrassment set in. “Right,” you mumbled, feeling a bit foolish. “I forgot you could... you know...”

If Wanda picked up on your discomfort, she kept it to herself. “I can give you a lift if you want,” she offered.

You looked up at the ledge, then back at her. Swallowing your pride, you gave a curt nod. “Sure.”

“Okay,” she said softly. “Just relax.”

That was easier said than done, considering the enemies that surrounded you both. But even harder than that was the idea of letting Wanda use her powers on you, even if it was just to help you reach that damned ledge.

“Ready?” Her eyes combed yours, fishing for consent.

“Ready.”

Her hands came up, almost invisible in their movement. A warm fuzzy feeling wrapped around you, and the ground fell away as she floated you up, effortless as breathing.

“Almost there,” she murmured.

She steered you onto the ledge, and when your feet hit solid ground, you exhaled a breath you didn't know you were holding. “Thanks,” you tossed over your shoulder.

She smiled up at you. “Don’t mention it.”

She joined you shortly afterwards, landing gracefully beside you. The proximity was unavoidable on the narrow ledge, and you were acutely aware of how close you stood.

“Now what?”

Wanda leaned against the wall beside you, her shoulder brushing yours. “We need to find a way to contact the team.”

You checked your equipment. “Comms are jammed.”

She frowned. “They must have a dampening field.”

An explosion rocked the ground nearby, showering you with debris. “We can't stay like this here forever,” you muttered.

Wanda took a deep breath. “There is... something I can try.”

You glanced at her. “What is it?”

She swallowed hard. “I can get inside their heads—like I did before—to make them stand down.”

Like she did before in Johannesburg—to you, to the entire team in this mission sans Vision. You saw the fear in her eyes—the fear of your judgment, of repeating past mistakes. It struck you then how much she regretted what had happened between you.

Another burst of gunfire erupted, making you both flinch. There was no time.

You looked her in the eye and nodded. “Do it.”

Wanda wasted no time further. She got to work, her hands moving like a spider’s legs weaving its web. Looking down, you saw the men freeze mid-step. One by one, they dropped their weapons, eyes wide with unseen terror.

Unable to help yourself, you asked, “What are they seeing?” 

Wanda kept her eyes on her work, pointedly avoiding your gaze. “Their worst fears and deepest guilts. They’re confronting the nightmares that haunt them most.”

For a split-second, you felt sorry for these people.

“Let's move,” you said, placing a reassuring hand on Wanda’s shoulder.

—

Reaching higher ground, you and Wanda were finally able to reestablish communication with the rest of the team. From his position, Steve was quick to inform the local authorities about the perpetrators that Wanda had incapacitated with her powers, ensuring they remained trapped within their own mental constructs until help arrived. Meanwhile, Natasha and Clint were busy collecting crucial evidence from the scene, items they believed would be vital in piecing together a solid case against the previously concealed masterminds of the operation. As for Vision and Tony, they razed the base to the ground. 

Back at the Quinjet, you and Wanda took up positions to oversee and secure the extraction route.

“Thank you,” you said quietly.

She looked up, slightly surprised. “Y-You’re welcome.”

You shifted your weight, grimacing slightly at a bruise forming on your side. “Thought being a veteran would make this mission easier,” you mused, going over the jet’s controls to give yourself something to do while you both waited for the others. “Overestimated myself this time.”

Wanda nodded thoughtfully. 

Another period of silence stretched out, taut but not entirely uncomfortable. She seemed to wrestle with something before speaking again. “May I ask you a question?”

You hesitated, wary of where this might lead. “Sure.”

She took a slow breath. “Do you think... you might ever forgive me for what happened in Johannesburg?”

You exhaled slowly, eyes fixed on the distant peaks. “Deep down, I know it wasn't entirely your fault,” you began, “but sometimes it's easier to face your fears when you have someone else to blame for them.”

She absorbed your words quietly. “I understand,” she said softly. She thought about Tony. For the longest time, she blamed him for everything.

“Wanda, I—”

Before the conversation could continue, footsteps crunched on gravel behind you. The rest of the team was coming down the trail, and Natasha was the first to pick up on the fact that you and Wanda had been left alone together without any fireworks.

She walked up to you with a sly grin barely lifting the corners of her mouth. “Good work out there,” she said.

You rolled your eyes and drifted to a quieter corner, away from the team.

Wanda had saved you. That much was clear, and it meant you owed her your life—a debt that sat uneasily with you. You were grateful, of course, but the last thing you wanted was to owe anything to anyone.

Especially not to someone who terrified you to your core.

[chuellas]

Fine Line | Chuuya is always overworking himself, always choosing work over you and you’re finally fed up with it.

⤷ Ft. Nakahara Chuuya

Warnings | Fem!reader, mentions/consumption of alcohol, term “doll” used, a tiny itty bit suggestive if you squint, hardly edited, WC: 5k

A/N | I had no idea where I was going with this one when writing it but I had so much fun writing it

You’re sitting at the bar now. You moved from your reserved table after an hour of waiting, figuring it could go to a couple that actually planned on spending the evening together. You let out another sigh into your gin and tonic. You’ve been at this restaurant for about 2 hours now and haven’t eaten a single thing. It’s your date’s fault, really, they were the one that never showed up. You don’t know why you even try anymore. Dating was pointless in your line of work anyways. 

But sometimes going on dates warded off the loneliness and that incessant craving you get for normalcy.

You check your watch for the time only to find it’s now past midnight. Chewing the inside of your cheek, you finally make the decision to pull out your phone and call the person you actually wanted to spend the evening with. You're pleasantly surprised when he picks up on the first ring.

“Thought you had a date.” You’re greeted with a tone that’s laced with exhaustion but something else jumps out too — annoyance, maybe? Or maybe you’re just imagining things after downing your third drink of the night on an empty stomach.  

You hum, pointedly not answering his question directly, as you signal for the bartender to close out your tab. “You still in your office working on that mountain of paperwork?”

The pause from the otherside of the phone is a long one, it’s a contemplative pause you conclude, you can tell he’s trying to decide whether to humor you or to push his own question. It would be a waste of his time to go with the latter, you had no intention of breaching the topic of you being stood up yet again. This time especially stung with it being a woman and all. You thought she would have known better, or at the very least have the common decency to warn you of her impending absence, knowing very well how long it takes to get ready for a first date. You shaved and took an “everything” shower for this occasion.

A soft sigh of defeat is heard from his side and you grin widely, Chuuya is much smarter than he’s given credit for. “So what if I am?”

“Stay there. I’m on my way.” You don’t give the executive room to argue as you hang up on him. 

As if on cue the bartender brings you the receipt and your card, after signing you leave a generous amount of cash in the tip jar with a smile. You leave the restaurant the same way you came, without a word as the manager babbles on about how much of a pleasure it was to have your patronage. You wave him off with the same smile that’s feeling more forced by the minute as you step into the elevator.

When the doors slide shut after what seems like an eternity, you’re finally able to relax for a moment. The disappointment of another wasted night sinks into your shoulder, making them cave in. You deflate in defeat, having to resign to a fate that’s been set by some stupid carrot topped man that has to use his ability to reach the top shelf of overhang shelves. He’d never admit it but you’ve actually caught him doing it before. 

This was all somehow Chuuya’s fault. If he ever did anything other than work you wouldn’t seek solace in other people. You would be able to let yourself actually explore the feelings that stir in your chest when you’re around the ginger. But instead you’re stuck calling him after failed dates to see what he’s up to and if you can get away with bugging him. 

Headquarters is just a few blocks north of where you’re at, it shouldn’t take you more than 10 minutes to get to Chuuya. Well, maybe 20 since your favorite ramen place is on the way and you know they’re still open. So you have to stop there for two bowls because not only have you not eaten but you know Chuuya probably hasn’t either, being too engrossed in his paperwork to remember that basic bodily functions exist. 

Another 5 minutes after picking up the ramen and you’re making your way up yet another elevator to the floor that holds both your office on one side and his on the other. You take a moment when the doors open to decide whether you want to go straight to Chuuya’s office or if you want to stop at yours to change into something far more comfortable than the dress you’re currently wearing. Your stomach ultimately makes the decision for you when it rumbles loudly. The ginger’s office it is.

You don’t even bother with knocking, too tired, hungry, and impatient to wait on him to answer. The door creaks as you push and then groans out a complaint when you kick it shut behind you. Chuuya isn’t even fazed when you enter, his nose still buried in his paperwork. Thankfully the pile was no longer a mountain, more of a small hill now. It still looks like an hour or two’s worth of work. You’d offer your help if it weren’t for the fact that you’re pretty sure you’re drunk. 

Making yourself comfortable without a word you saunter over to his desk and choose to sit yourself on top of his scattered paperwork, plopping the ramen in front of him.  

Chuuya freezes, staring at the bag of food in disbelief before turning his accusing glare at you. “What the f-”

His words die in his throat when his eyes finally land on you. Even in your slightly, maybe more, inebriated state it’s hard not to notice the way his eyelids droop as his dual colored eyes scan your figure. He must be really tired, he’s usually far more tactful when he checks you out. 

You swing your legs where they dangle from his desk, pleased with yourself and his reaction. “I brought you some dinner. I didn’t get a chance to eat so I figured neither have you. Looks like I was right!”

Chuuya has to practically tear his gaze from you to see what you’re talking about. You untie the bag to reveal two containers filled to the brim with ramen. You lean in to read the labels to make sure you were taking the right container but in the process it gives the executive a nice view right down our cleavage. You have to bite back the smile that threatens to stretch at your lips when you hear the way his breath stutters. Maybe now you’re the one not being tactful but you figure someone deserves to appreciate the way you look in this dress since the intended party will never get to. 

“You stop at that shop down the road?” Chuuya clears his throat as he waits for you to grab all of your things before reaching for his own container.

You kick off your shoes and jump off his desk to pull a chair up to the opposite side. “Yeah, thankfully they stay open late. Can you clear some of the papers up? Don’t wanna get them stained in ramen broth.”

“Really makin’ yourself at home, aren’t you, Doll?” He raises a brow at you in amusement but clears his desk off regardless.

You hum and nod your head, too busy taking a bite of your ramen. Your eyes practically roll to the back of your head and you let out a pleased hum at the flavors dancing along your tongue. The savory taste of the broth alone almost completely washes away the lingering bitter aftertaste the last few hours left in your mouth. You hadn’t realized how hungry you were until you had stepped foot into that shop. Now you are famished and even the most bland of foods would taste absolutely divine in this moment. You’re so absorbed in your meal that you don’t even take notice of the way the ginger sitting before you is watching you so intently that he hasn’t even touched his own food. 

It’s not until he clears his throat that you peer up at him. “You’re eating like you’ve been starved, didn’t you have a date tonight?”

There’s that question again, you suppose you gave him too much credit earlier. He wasn’t smart enough to just let it go. Or maybe he really was just letting his curiosity get the best of him. Either way there was no way in hell you were going to tell him that another date bailed on you. So instead you smile sweetly.

“You know how small the portions are at those types of restaurants, I took like two bites and it was all gone. Had some drinks after too. So, yeah, I’m famished. I know you are too. Eat.”

Your tone leaves no room for question. You’re both dancing around touchy subjects. Chuuya knows if he wants to get you to admit what really happened he would have to swallow his pride and admit he was overworking himself and he'd be damned if he ever let that happen. 

Or at least that’s what you thought. 

You watch him through your lashes as he opens the ramen and takes a bite, and then another, and then another. He hardly ever eats when there’s work to be finished. This is definitely a rare occasion and you have a sneaky feeling, somehow during the few seconds of your exchange in challenging glances, something shifts between the two of you. 

You stare at the other executive absolutely gobbed smacked at the fact that he’s actually listening to you. Your eyes are wide, your jaw is dropped open, and the chopsticks you were using to eat fall from your fingertips and splash into your soup. A few drops from the broth fly into your eye and you let out a hiss at the sting from the spices and temperature. 

The moment the two of you just had ends just as swiftly as you fan at your eyes frantically and then hold out your hand to Chuuya. “Eye drops- Oh my god your eye drops. Now, Chuuya.”

The ginger is jolted from his stupor when your voice becomes sharper. He reaches into the drawer to his left and produces a small bottle of eye drops, something you knew he keeps around due to his frequent late nights burning the midnight oil. It’s how he keeps his eyes from getting dry with exhaustion. 

You snatch the small bottle from his hands and throw your head back to all but squirt the soothing solution into your eye. It takes a moment to work, the sensation getting worse before it gets better. But after a moment you’re good as new, maybe even better than before. 

It’s a truly sobering experience and any left over buzz you were holding onto sadly fizzles out. You’re now stone cold sober and kicking yourself for coming here this late, know the only outcome is getting sent away so the ginger could finish his work in peace. You’re nothing but a distraction to him.

But if that were true, why even let you into his office, his space, in the first place?

“Thanks…” You hand the medicine back to Chuuya and pick your chopsticks back up to continue eating, pretending like nothing happened. “So, how many nights in a row have you slept here this week?”

You tilt your head to the couch that has a head pillow and blanket set up on it — inviting, almost, if you didn’t know how incredibly uncomfortable that couch was. It couldn’t be good for his back. You know he already deals with the residual chronic muscle pain he experiences after using his ability, especially after using corruption. You wish he would slow down, his body already pays for his ability, it doesn’t need to suffer because of his excessive working habits too. 

But then you would just sound like a broken record. 

Chuuya never really listens. He’s stubborn that way and it’s not just his body that pays for it, his social and love life pay the price for it too. It’s frustrating to care so deeply for someone who would rather think of others and their work than their own wellbeing. 

What’s worse, though, is that you’re selfish. You’ll take the heated stares and intimate touches in the dead of night on the rare occasions he’s not spending them at his desk over nothing at all. Maybe it isn’t selfish, maybe it’s self-deprecating but you can’t help yourself. You’ve tried to move on — that’s what you were trying to do tonight. But the universe has a sick and twisted sense of humor, so you once again find yourself in his office during the devil’s hour.

Suddenly you hear a muffled voice and you’re thrusted back to reality. Chuuya looks at you expectantly and you furrow your brows at him. “What?”

“I said: I figure you wouldn’t be eating with me right now if your date went well, you’d be over at his place, right?”

Your eye twitches in irritation and not from the soup broth that landed in it just moments ago. He’s trying to evade your question. Of course he was actively avoiding it, why would he ever admit to you something that you don’t think he’s admitted to himself. 

What’s worse is he’s pushing his question from earlier. Wording it differently to mask his nagging curiosity. His gaze is hypnotizing, something shifts again. You don’t think you care for the butterflies that erupted in your stomach. The usually light and exciting flutter of their wings now feel like razors slicing their way up your throat. It burns and you might throw up.

It’s so unfair, the way he makes you feel is unfair.

You don’t know what possesses you but a single syllable flies past your lips in response before you can catch it. “Her.”

“Her?” And this man has the audacity to look semi-amused as he says the word back to you in a questioning tone. 

In that moment you know he knows and you watch in abject horror as his amused expression twists into a knowing one. Now you’re sure, he’s aware that you know he knows. 

Your eye almost twitches again at the way his brow raises in amusement at your answer and suddenly you feel defensive. You don’t give a shit if he knows what you’re trying to do by dating around. You don’t care if he knows that each attempt has ended in failure. You don’t care that he knows that each failure ends in you crawling back to him.

You don’t care.

You don’t.

You steel your expression, eyes becoming sharp as they bore into Chuuya. “Yeah, it was supposed to be a woman I was meeting tonight.”

“Well she’s an idiot for not showing, especially when you look like that.” His tone sounds sincere and it makes you want to throw up.

You let out an incredulous scoff — you can’t believe that he just said that, of all people. “She’s not the only idiot.”

“She’s not?”

Now he’s really starting to piss you off, his smug expression tells you all you need to know. This must all be a game to him. He’s toying with you, he has to be, and he has been for a while now but you’re finally sick of it. You’re tired of the constant back and forth but not getting anywhere because he would rather stubbornly overwork himself half to death to have an excuse to avoid you than admit his obvious feelings for you. 

The revelation sends your whole body into a fit, you’re trembling and seething and it’s pouring out the seams. You’ve cracked. You should congratulate him, really, no one has elicited this much emotion from you before.

Chuuya’s demeanor changes when he notices how worked up you seem to be getting but he’s too late. You’re already past the point of being settled down because you’re shaking like a goddamn chihuahua. Your nostrils flare in irritation and ears flush in anger. 

“No, she’s not the only idiot that’s managed to fumble me. Look in a mirror and you’ll know who the other person is. Enjoy overworking yourself to death. I’m going home.” 

All at once the blazing rage that washed over you burns out when Chuuya makes no indication of moving to stop you and immediately you wish the ground would just crack open to swallow you whole. Suddenly you’re all too aware of your response to his play. It was more of an overreaction. How embarrassing? How is it that he’s able to elicit this strong of a reaction from you. 

How can he not follow after you like he has better things to do?

But he does have more important things to do than console you, doesn’t he?

For the second time tonight you’re mortified, but unlike earlier, this one was your own doing. You just threw a fit, had an actual tantrum, over someone who has made it clear he’s not ready for something that you think you are.

Maybe selfish is the right word.

You contemplate halting in your spot and apologizing but your pride keeps you from doing so. You should have never put all your cards on the table. You curse yourself for ever letting your true feeling for the ginger slip that one drunken night several months ago that when asked about the next day you had conveniently forgotten all about it. Something tells you that he remembered it clearly, so, if not stopping you was his final response to your confession then you have to accept that. 

Your hand reaches out for the door knob and you almost flinch when it comes in contact with the cold metal. He’s really just going to let you leave like this. Your head is a mess— no, your whole body is a mess. Your head is filled with fog, a mist of endless thoughts descending on you to make everything blurry. Your chest is like a tsunami of emotions washing over you in sharp waves. Then there are those damn razor sharp butterflies that are still threatening to claw up your throat. 

But just as you start to turn the knob, a gloved hand covers your own and halts your actions. Your breath hitches when the anxiety you’d been feeling just a moment ago completely dissipates. Chuuyas chest is pressed against your back and his forehead falls to your shoulder. 

“Chuuya wha-”

He doesn’t give you a chance to finish your question when he mumbles out, “I don’t need a mirror to know that…”

Oh. 

Is he really implying that he knows he’s been a fool? Is the world coming to an end? Chuuya? Admitting to being an idiot? You thought there was a higher chance of getting struck by lightning before hearing anything of the sort from the executive himself. 

“I’m sorry.”

You blink, you think your brain’s been fried, convinced that Chuuya can see the steam rolling out of your ears as you short circuit. “For what?”

You croak out the short question, words catching in your throat. It surprises even you when a sob follows. You hadn’t realized that the emotions you were feeling hadn’t dissipated but instead had been forced out in the most embarrassing way possible. 

“I…I’m sorry for…” Chuuya trails off and curses under his breath, letting out a frustrated sigh. “Jesus Christ. I’m sorry for not putting you first.” 

His voice trembles in something akin to fear. Something in your chest tears at his tone and it hurts. You look up at the ceiling to try to blink away the water that’s blurred your vision and take in a sharp breath after getting winded from the sudden blow. Your hand finally falls from the door knob and you both stand there in silence. The only noise is the grandfather clock that stands tall on the far end of his office, if it wasn’t for the loud ticking, everything would feel frozen. Something about the silence on your part is agonizing, you want to respond, but your voice is caught in your throat, swallowed dryly as you try to wet the dry patches stinging the lining of your esophagus.

Funny how your eyes feel too wet while your throat is too dry. 

You try to take a few breaths to calm yourself down enough to speak but you can feel the impatience radiating off of Chuuya and it just makes you even more anxious. It almost physically pains you but you take a step away from the ginger and stride across the room to an open window. Fresh air, something you always appreciated about Chuuya is that he prefers open windows and fresh air to fans or air conditioning if he can help it. The executive doesn’t follow, he hasn’t even moved from his spot. His head is still drooped down from where it was resting on your shoulder and suddenly your mouth and throat flood with saliva. That familiar feeling of nausea hitting you like a freight train once again.

You clear your throat to speak but realize -- how the hell do you respond to that? Are you really upset with Chuuya? Yes. Are you upset with yourself for letting things go this far? Also yes. So, as much as you want to blame all of this on the gravity manipulator, you can’t. 

Your shoulders slump and your gaze stays glued to the twinkling city lights in the skyline as you finally speak. “You always chose work. Always.”

Chuuya looks up at that. Your words seemingly hit a nerve as irritation flashes across his face before he can contain it. You bristle at that, preparing for an argument. You’re exhausted and don’t want to argue but you will if you have to because although you know you’re at fault too, you’re not going to just let this asshole get away with his part in all of this.

Luckily, the ginger simmers down easily and slumps again, showing you how truly exhausted he is. “That’s not entirely true, I chose you…Sometimes….”

“You think I should be grateful for that? You only chose me instead of work ‘sometimes’ to make yourself feel better about stringing me along.” You’re not looking at him when you speak, too interested with the view, or at least that’s what you’re telling yourself.  “Or to get your mind off of work. I was just an escape to you. Nothing more.” 

This time you don’t have to look back at him to feel the frustration radiating off of him in a similar way gravity manipulation does when he activates it. It’s hot, his frustration, you imagine if you reached out there was a chance you’d get burned. It’s rare to witness Chuuya losing his cool like this, the only other person besides yourself that could get him riled up like this long gone from the organization. Thinking about him makes you even more bitter so you take another stab at Chuuya.

“You certainly put on a convincing act, though. So congrats for that I guess.”

Snap. 

You imagine that’s the sound that would’ve been made when Chuuya’s patience finally breaks. His steps are heavy and you almost think he’s activated his ability. You almost forget how fast he is because you barely have time to turn around before he’s got a firm grip on your face. His hold is unrelenting as he forces you to look at him. 

Chuuya looks like a wreck, so many emotions written all over his face but most of all he’s hurt by your words. You know it’s wrong, you shouldn’t be lashing out at him like this but a part of you is pleased that he looks just as devastated as you feel. This is not your proudest moment by far and you’re sure you’ll feel ashamed over it later. Right now, however, you couldn’t bring yourself to feel guilty in the slightest. You said what you said and you're going to say it with your whole chest.

A shaky breath is let out by the executive standing before you. “That’s unfair. You’re being unfair.”

There’s no way this man is accusing you of being the unfair one here.

“You were unfair to me first. I’m tired. Be straight with me or just leave me alone, Chuuya.” Any fight you had in you moments ago vanishes as you finally give up.

Chuuya’s reaction shows you that he sees it, the way you’re letting him hold all the cards in this, making this his decision, the final one when it comes to this situationship. You’re done, you’re tired and now you just want this shitty night to be over with. If you had a white piece of fabric on you, you’d wave it like a flag, surrendering completely. 

He’s not good with his words, Chuuya has never been as articulate as some of the others, but he is good with actions. His actions have always spoken volumes for him, so why wouldn’t that work for him now? The executive pulls you in and crashes his lips to yours in a desperate attempt to convey to you what he couldn’t speak.

You’re a little slow on the uptake as your brow furrows and you attempt to pull away. You look at him incredulously but the expression he’s making has you halting altogether. His eyes are screwed shut and his brows furrowed in concentration and maybe a little bit in fear by the way you can feel his lips and hands slightly trembling against your face. It clicks then.

Chuuya Nakahara is finally choosing you over his work. 

This was him telling you in his own way that he’s not letting you give up like you wanted to. And if you can claim to know anything about Chuuya, it’s that he always makes good on a promise. That’s what has you melting into his hold and returning his kiss with just as much fervor. 

You both stay like that for a long while and you feel like Chuuya is trying to devour you whole in this one single kiss. As if he’s scared that if he doesn’t, you’ll slip from his grasp forever, but that would be impossible with the way he’s holding onto you for dear life. Even if you wanted to, which in this moment you didn’t, you couldn’t escape him. But you do need to pull away for air though. You shift your face the best you can away from his and even though he tries to chase your lips, you manage to separate from him.

You instantly bring your hands up to his wrist and nuzzle your face into his hands, showing him you still have no plans of going anywhere. The tension in his body dissipates and he watches you closely, patiently waiting for your response. As if you kissing him back wasn’t enough. 

“You piss me off, y’know that?” Chuuya lets out a chuckle at your statement and leans in to rest his forehead on yours.

His eyes bore into yours and there’s something there that you’ve never seen before, a sort of adoration you think he’s been holding back for a long time now. “Yeah, I have a confession to make that might piss you off even more…”

You stiffen in anticipation for the worst, staring up at him suspiciously with narrowed eyes. What was it now? You wrack your brain thinking about what he could possibly still be holding back. All you wanted was to know where you stood with him and now you do. So what else would he be hiding from you?

“It’s, uhh…Well it has to do with your date tonight, and maybe all of the other first dates that stood you up…” The look on your face must tell him that you’re picking up on where this is going and his grip on you tightens once again. “It was fucked up of me, I know. I’ll- I’ll make it up to you…I’ll take you out on two dates for each first date I ruined.”

Oh. 

You can’t even really find it in yourself to be that upset. It clears up a lot of inconsistencies for you. You have full confidence in your personality and looks, so it wasn’t adding up why you were being stood up so much. Even with you being a part of the upper echelon of the Port Mafia, that’s not public information. So, intimidation was ruled out too. You are becoming increasingly more annoyed at the thought of it all.

Maybe you should find it in yourself to be more upset about this…

Your expression displays just how unconvinced you are by his words, Chuuya can clearly see it and sense it so he tacks on some extra sweet talking to sooth your overthinking. “I’ve got a lot of time to make up for anyways.”

Your previous statement of Chuuya not being very good with his words is a lie. You were lying. The simple statement is enough to have you melting into him again. Maybe it’s the exhaustion. Maybe he got lucky. Maybe you’re just that down bad for him. Or maybe it’s all of the above. Who knows (you do).

Either way you find yourself giving in again for hopefully the last time tonight, but not before you decide to add a condition for your own benefit. “...Fine. But any trip or out of town get away counts as only one date.”

“Don’tcha think you’re getting greedy now, Doll?” Chuuya lets out another chuckle, shaking his head a little.

You shrug with a soft grin on your lips. “No, you owe me. Plus, it’s like you said, got a lot of time to make up for.”

[uselessmoonlight]

Stranger part 9

Reader is Telemachus' friend, and when he leaves for his "diplomatic mission" he asks her to watch over his mother.

Later, once the king has returned, she stumbles upon an injured Poseidon.

Previous / series masterlist / next

☆☆☆

Content specs: she/her pronouns used, afab reader, Platonic! Telemachus x reader, Epic!Poseidon x reader, possible OOC!Poseidon, Polites’ daughter! Reader, unrequited love, blood, fighting, nudity, illusion, possibly more?, trying to avoid using y/n, slowburn, suggestive themes, English is not my first language, sorry if it's too much exposition, it's my first fic.

Ónoma literally means name in Greek, at least according to google translate. View this as the y/n of this fic.

☆☆☆

Every time Odysseus looked at his son’s friend, he was hit with a wave of guilt and grief. She looked so much like her father, the father he’d failed to protect, his greatest friend. Yet she was so different from him. Polites had not been around to teach her his ideals, and it showed, though, if he were to believe his son, she actually did hold the same sentiments as her father.

Then she’d said the same thing that wretched God had said when he drowned most of his fleet. Logically he knew that it wasn’t an uncommon ideology, it was one he’d learned to live by during his years at sea, but emotionally? He was sent back to the moment his comrades died, calling for him. It was all he saw as he screamed at the poor girl.

The guilt he felt the morning after was suffocating, she’d not deserved that. The girl was probably still mourning the, now confirmed, loss of her father. By the Gods he might have scared off his sons only friend.

It wasn’t until Ctimene showed up, that he snapped out of his spiral. She’d caught her brother pacing in the garden and had gone to him to comfort him and find comfort in his embrace. He both the last man to have seen her husband, and her big brother who’d always protected her when they were younger. His company made her feel safe.

☆☆☆

At the beach the two friends were still sat. Telemachus had not responded, for he had no answer to her question. As the sun started setting, and their stomachs started rumbling, the two were snapped out of their trance. They’d wasted the entire day sitting along the shore, basking in the comfort they found in each other.

“Shit, I was supposed to get some food from the market today.”

“We can just grab something from the kitchen.” Telemachus offered.

“I’d still have to bring something back from Perikles, Gods I didn’t even offer him breakfast.” Ónoma was mortified, she hadn’t been a very good host these past few days.

“Have you been home yet? I could just apologize on your behalf, say that we kept you away for longer than intended. Besides you probably had something at home for him to eat, right Peach?” Telemachus truly was the calm to her panic, and the noise to her quiet.

“You’re right, let’s hurry though, wouldn’t want your father to worry about your whereabouts, or your mother at that. Gods, remember when we were playing hide and seek, and she couldn’t find you?” All the prince responded with was a shudder. All of the guards had been tasked with finding the young prince, who’d been hiding under his bed. He hadn’t come out when his mother called, in fear of his friend finding him and losing the game. The earful the two had gotten had been something else.

☆☆☆

By the time Peach returned to her house, the sun had fully set. She’d been gifted an entire basket of leftovers from the palace kitchen, and a formal letter from the prince, who’d not been allowed to return with her.

The man had been lightly dozing when she’d entered. He’d eaten the food she’d left for him out of courtesy, but as a God had no real need to consume it. It was usually more of a luxury, eating only the finest of meals every once in a while. His host wasn’t a bad cook, but it was definitely not up to the standards of his more refined palette. When he saw the basket in her arms he almost groaned, not more of this grub, but when he heard it was from the palace kitchens, his mood lightened.

Finally, some luxury in this shed, though his host was quite amusing. He’d given no thought to what may have ticked her off, but she’d seemed to have forgotten about it too. Mortals. Whoever the royals of this island were, they were lucky. The palace cooks were definitely talented to say the least. Perhaps he’d visit, once he healed, any king would feel honoured to be visited by a God. Except for Odysseus, but what were the odds.

☆☆☆

Peach had in no way, shape, or form, missed the comforts of her bathtub, but she’d not been left much choice. She was glad that Perikles had not been angry at her absence. In the morning she’d been woken by the sounds outside her home. She’d quickly gotten dressed and went to investigate.

Outside were construction workers, sent by order of the prince. They’d been tasked with creating a temporary structure where she would be able to sleep and avoid her guest without having to be outside. She smiled at her friends antics and left the men to work.

Harvest season was upon them, which would quickly be followed by the cold months. With the harvest season, came a higher demand for her help, and with more demand for he help, came more need for rest. At the end of the day, she’d have an extra room where she could stay, but until then, she’d play the perfect host.

“How are you feeling today?” A grunt.

“Did you sleep well?” A sigh.

“Can I take a look at your wounds?” An actual reply.

“Sure.” Or at least, as close to a real reply she would get. This man only spoke to her whenever he felt like it. Most of the time it was to annoy or tease her, and it was infuriating, but she’d said she’s play the perfect host today, so she held her tongue.

Carefully she stepped closer and unwrapped the man’s bandages. She’d redone them after the bath fiasco, and he’d left them alone this time. The wounds were healing well, but there was some irritation, perhaps the sweat from his fever had caused it? She should wash the sheets soon anyway, why not today?

She gulped as she realized what the irritation implied. He needed to bathe again. To her horror, Perikles had also heard her gulp.

“Is it that bad? Or do you just like what you see?” The man teased. This was going to be another one of those days, huh?

☆☆☆

Peach was heating up some new water, while hanging the washed sheets to dry. She’d helped the man into one of her chairs and had given him some more leftovers for breakfast. It felt strangely domestic, bittersweet, caring for someone, doing household tasks for their benefit.

She’d be of marrying age next week, not that that was really a thing for women without status, but she’d been lucky. Her family had not exactly been nobility, but their close relationship with the royal family had granted them some status. She’d been extremely grateful when the queen ordered that she would be allowed to live alone as a young female orphan, rather than have to move in with some old sleazebag looking to make a wife out of a child.

As the water finished heating up she helped the man into the bathroom, he’d toned down on the teasing this time. She appreciated it, though she did not enjoy the teasing that still left the man’s lips.

“No one will know if you take a look, I wouldn’t mind.” He’d spoken with a smirk, a hand on her waist. “Perhaps you’d loosen up a bit if you-”

“Enough.” She’d said with a finality that shut the God up.

“Wait, is that what pissed you off?” Perikles snickered.

“No.”

“Oh, c’mon Peach won’t you tell me what I did wrong?” The way he’d said her nickname, felt like an insult, and the rest of the question didn’t feel sincere either.

“Where did you hear that?” She asked sharply.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Next

☆☆☆

A/N: I’m aware that Ctimene would technically live on Same, not on Ithaca, but for the story’s sake she lives on Ithaca. Perhaps she moved there when her husband went to war to be closer to her family.

Taglist:

@apollos-dodgeball-target

@barrythestrawberry041

@doodle-with-rhy

@isla-finke-blog

@suckerforblondies

@trashcannotbealive

[letmeoutofthebasementt]

SKZ getting cheated on (Hyung Line + Han)

(How long it’ll take them to find out on their own, how they’d react, if they’d break up or not)

Chan

Honestly, it'd probably take him a while to realize. Because, for one, he'd probably feel very stable in his relationship and his place in his partner's life. He has that "They'd never because they NEED me" kinda mentality. The longer they've been together the less likely he is to find out organically unless he full-on catches them in the act. He also feels like his relationships are very solid at their core. Another big issue is to be entirely sure his partner is cheating, he needs to break free of delusions. It would also just be far too much for him if he did suspect it because he'd be afraid he'd lose his partner for even daring to think something like that. I think he'd also...Take things for granted? Like, "I have you there's no way you'd ever leave or want anything more/else" type of thing. Everything's familiar. And he doesn't take into account that anything could possibly happen.

If he finds out he got cheated on, he'd immediately tell his friends and seek comfort in them. I'm also getting he's the type who'd cheat on his partner to get his lick back or something. Cheating is something Chan can't get past, so he'd definitely leave them. He'd feel hopeless, and his entire life would probably momentarily crash and burn. I think he'd also be really frustrated and it'd ruin his trust in everyone in his life. He'd also push down and suppress a lot of things. Because of that, the feelings of hurt and anger and resentment can easily fester because he didn't allow himself to acknowledge them or hash them out.

Lee Know

Idk why I immediately thought of ice spice

Specifically that like "You think you the shit, bitch? You not even the fart." I don't even like her or that song

BUT ANYWAYS

He'd know quickly. You can't HIDE that from this man. Trust he'll find out ASAP. Because, one, his intuition is on a whole other level. Two, he'd immediately know if something's off. Whether that be your location being off or somewhere it's not supposed to, etc. Even if you think you're slick he'll FIND a tell one way or another. I'm also a firm believer he goes through phones. I'm talking every nook and cranny of that phone including your EMAILS. He's finding that shit one way or another and you're lucky if there's a 24 hour window of time where he doesn't know about it. He'll find a way to figure it out.

In terms of how he'd react...He'd definitely find out on his own, so there'd be this 'Aha!' moment. Because he knew he wasn't going crazy. He's going to figure out every nitty gritty detail of the cheating with PRINTED OUT laminated receipts with copies just incase. He's definitely gonna confront his partner. And trust he's going to have a boost of confidence figuring it out. Definitely not the type who blames himself. He's also probably telling everyone and their mother. And YOUR mother. He sees it as a battle won and everyone needs to hear about the victory.

He has a 50/50 chance of leaving, though. On ONE hand, while trust is very important to him he'd also feel a sense of...I don't want to say ownership but that's the only word I can think of over his partners. So, he simply wouldn't want to let them go. I feel like the love would also linger a lot because he feels very deeply. So, he may just stay with his partner and fall into some toxic habits of keeping them on lockdown, being all hovery...The type who's calling his partner every 5 minutes, showing up to their job to make sure they're there, getting their Apple login so they can receive every single message and notif they do...He's keeping them on LOCK. But on the other hand, he could very well just...Fall out of love in an instant. It's very contradictory. Love and hate are two sides of the same coin and he has a very large capacity for hate, especially when betrayed. Probably just moved onto the next. So yeah, he's either dumping you rather cruelly then moving on like you never existed, or keeping you uner lock and key.

Changbin

He'd probably FIND OUT fairly quickly, because he'd kind of have this gut feeling. But he'd suppress those feelings and convince himself he was insane until he finally catches his partner red handed and realizes he's right on the money. Because he's very passionate about his relatinship and doesn't want to be imposing on his partner or doubting them for no reason. That's not his intention nor something he's comfortable with doing. He also wants to trust in his partner. He'll probably lose faith in himself and just be very on edge until he realizes he's right.

His entire life would fall apart when he finds out. He falls into destructive tendencies. Probably self-sabotages a lot. He feels like a failure, and he's so afraid of being made fun of or looked down on because he got cheated on. He'd probably fall into a depression and just be very negative. He'd feel like he wasn't enough, and couldn't be good enough. And feel he just couldn't be all his partner needed so they found it in someone else. But he'd also regain some of his trust in himself. Because he realized his intuition was right and he wasn't just losing his mind. Would definitely need a lot of kindness and comfort from friends and family, and a lot of self-expolration. May fall into delusions to help himself cope.

He'd also definitely break up with his partner if they cheated. Because they're obviously not his person, and he'll find his person.

Hyunjin

I haven't even pulled yet and I already know this'll affect my mental wellbeing

But also...MY MAN MY MAN MY MANNNNN I haven't read on him in a while (I'm saying this because he's my bias not because i'm delusional enough to think he'd want me don't @ me)

FIRST OF ALL, he'd believe he's being cheated on long before he actually is. Like, I wouldn't be surprised if he's already been in a situation where he dreamed of being cheated on and then a few weeks later got cheated on and was convinced he was a prophet or something. Not literally but you catch my drift. But I also feel like the amount of time it'd take to figure it out is considerably lengthened by the fact that he looks at everything through rose-tinted glasses of hopeless romance. He has a love for life and is more focused on that than anything else. Plus, he's near perpetually convinced he's about to be cheated on or is being cheated on so once he genuinely DOES see the red flags it's less...Impactful? To him? Because he sees them in everything. He's sensitive, though, so i feel like he'd sense it if something was off. Like, if his partner was cheating because of lost feelings he'd realize the lost feelings. And then, his imagination would take the wheel and suddenly it's a joyride off a cliff and into a mental spiral. I feel like deep down he'd also know like "Oh shit, this is different. They may actually be cheating for real." I feel like he has the emotional maturity to know that other times he was overreacting and being delusional. But this is more than that. I feel like the moment he open his eyes, he'll immediately know.

And he's getting the hell up out of there.

He'd be CRUSHED if he found out he got cheated on. He'd probably throw his money away doing stupid shit with it, fall into certain bad habits. He'd feel hopeless, and feel like everything he worked so hard for during the relationship was a waste. Like he's failed. But he'd also 100% publicly expose his partner. I also think he'd drown his sorrows in another relationship or fling or whatever. I'm talking within the hour of finding out he's under someone else for the sole purpose of distraction. He'd also 100% use this to fuel his general anger/crashoutery for the next few months. Like he'll be another level of volatile and emotionally unstable. He'd probably reflect a lot on the relationship. He'd withdraw from a lot of things and just want to be by himself and recover from the pain. Definitely would avoid anything that could potentially stress him out.

He'd also break up with his partner. Surprisingly. I was honestly expecting him to stay. But I feel like his energy has changed? He has more trust in himself and his value and he's not just content sticking around through mistreatment anymore. Good for him.

Han

Shawty bae

I don’t think he’d notice? He’d just very much be blinded by everything. He idealizes his relationships, and he’d be so happy he just genuinely wouldn’t notice if something was amiss. He’s also just generally an overthinker and has a very scattered mind, so I think if he did pick up on something he wouldn’t notice AT ALL he’s not being delusional.

I think he’d still love them if they cheated. But I also think he’d be the type to…Cheat back? If his partner were to ever cheat on him. He’d definitely also get closer with friends and family for emotional support and find happiness there. Mask the sadness with more happiness and drown himself in pleasure. I think once he finds out everything will suddenly connect. All the puzzle pieces will fall into place and everything will suddenly make sense.

I think he would want to but I don’t think he would. It’d be a big inner conflict and he’d really have to force himself to. He’d need to think on it and his friends and family would have to push for it. Because he’s like “Well I’ve put so much effort into this why throw it away?” And just values the stability relationships and having his ‘other half’ brings to him.

[ruruvxz]

brat - SNEAK PEAK

Lara Raj x Female Reader x Megan Skiendiel

~ synopsis: You've never really been an emotional drunk, that was until your boyfriend left you for your closest friend that things started to spiral for you. Tonight at one of you recurring escapades at one of the locals pubs near your apartment, you unknowingly stumble across two girls. Two girls you didn't know now, who would change the trajectory of your life, whether it was for the good— or the bad, you just needed something to take you off the edge. And so, Lara and Megan knew exactly how to do that, but at what cost?

~ cw: three part series, alcoholism, commitment issues, mentions of previous relationship with a man, fluff, swearing, love triangle(?), everyone here is toxic

~ wc: N/A

(a/n: sigh. I’m gonna discontinue “the woman who left too soon” LAWL!!! Cus these apps pmo and literally take so much storage 💔💔I’m going back to writing cus that’s so much easier. anyways sneak peak ^_^)

brat,

365 PARTYGIRL, B2B, GIRL SO CONFUSING

Lara and Megan never had the issue of sharing, even during training days, they managed to share everything they owned with one another. Their clothes, their jewelry, and even their secrets, no aspect about themselves wasn't shared with one another. The bond between the two girls was unshakable, though that didn't negate the fact that in some circumstances both the girls could be quite... passionate. After a long marathon of double dates, they couldn't possibly find their other halves, each guy and girl who they spoke to didn't ignite a spark within them.

Maybe staying single would've been a lot easier, but that's boring! Both the girls took their only opportunity to sneak out to seek refuge in a club, not seeking anything more but to get lucky tonight. That was until they stood sipping on their cheap beer when Lara set her eyes on your figure. The obnoxious lighting made it hard to tell you out, but her odd fascination drew her closer to you. What felt like hours of staring for Lara, was mere seconds for Megan, as her interest also piqued.

"Who the hell are you looking at, Lara?" Megan pried, tugging onto Lara's waist belt loop, Lara only gave a little head nudge at the general direction of where you stood. Megan fixated her eyes, grasping at the glass, her eyes widened when the light reflected from your infectious smile.

Maybe it was the ambience of the club, but she was instantly hooked and Lara sensed that the ginger had similar intentions as her. "Isn't she gorgeous?" Lara mumbled, watching the Hawaiian as she checked the girl out from the other side of the bar. "I'm gonna talk to her—“ Megan spoke, about to walk off before her wrist was quickly nabbed by the desi girl.

"What the fuck are you doing?" The red head bit as she yanked her back over to the table, "I literally saw her first, so why would YOU ever go over there and talk to her Mei."

Megan scoffed as she pulled her hand away from Lara's grasp, ‘What the hell was her problem' Megan thought before she spoke. "What are you even on about, if you care so much how about you talk to her then."

"Great idea, Meg." The desi laughed before pushing Megan out of the way, leaving the ginger utterly shocked at her change of demeanor. "Wha- Come back here! I was kidding!"

Lara just laughed at the ginger trying to plead her case, turning in her heels to walk into your general vicinity, practically hopping over to you as your friends you where previously with dispersed. Bringing the shot glass to your lips, you took another fiery swig of the vodka, your eyes almost bloodshot, as tears were biting back from pouring. ‘Shit, where you crying?’ Lara thought as she approached you, from a far, the way you laughed, and smiled, she wouldn’t have ever expected in a million years that you’d look so disheartened.

But of course, that didn’t sway her, not one bit, once she was fixated on something, it was hard for her to ever let it go. She approached closer to you, your hands slithering to another shot of vodka the bartender quickly poured for you. Despite everything, you still looked as wonderful in her eyes, she’s seen her fair share of broken things, but you by far were the most beautiful of them all.

The way the strobe lights bounced off your face, or the way everything seemed so fitted to your body as you sat letting trickles of liquid fall down from your lips towards your chin. It made her look insane just staring at you. And despite how you lacked any sobriety in your bones, you noticed her looming presence almost instantly. Even in this club setting she stuck out like a sore thumb, she was much too pretty to be loitering around a place like this, and she didn’t look all that much of a plentiful drinker.

She approached your seat on the bar, sitting on your left hand side, trying her hardest to be slick, but it very much came off as the opposite. You jerked your head up to look at her, giving her a soft smile before indicating for two more shots. Lara looked at you in disbelief where you really going to have two more shots? That was until the bartender handed you the two drinks that you slid one over to her with a smile.

The silence between the two was palpable, she just stared down at the shot awkwardly as you carefully watched her reaction. It took a minute or two before finally breaking the silence between the both of you. “You got a staring problem.” You slurred, coming off more aggressive than you’d like, “What?” She bit staring back at her as her eyebrow raised.

“Haha— No sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.” You hiccuped raising your head up and turning your body towards her, “I meant like… fuck— You just kept staring, I was wondering if you wanted to say something.” You laugh indicating at where she stood beforehand, clearly insinuating that you had seen both her and Megan staring at you moments prior.

“Ah…” The redhead gasped, before laughing with you loudly, the interaction flowed seamlessly as she spoke. “No, sorry, you were right. I was just taken aback by you— your breathtaking.” She complimented, raising up the vodka and taking a fast swing at it.

“Oh okay, thank you.” Flustered, you do the same, taking a swing at your glass and practically leaving it empty as you place it back down on the countertop. “I’m Y/N, nice to meet you…?” “Lara.” “Nice to meet you Lara.” The way she spoke felt like swimming in honey, it was slow and addictive, not to mention the fact she looked at you like her next meal made it all the more enjoyable as you chatted about mindless conversation. Although this didn’t go unnoticed by the poor roommate Lara just ditched, her blood seemingly boiled seeing the two of you.

Not only had Lara managed to bag another girl that Megan had wanted, but the fact that she ditched her was the icing on top. And lord knows Megan wasn’t just gonna let that slide, the ginger hooked her handbag over her shoulder and walked over to the two girls. Angrily plopping a seat on your right side, shooting Lara a dangerous look before persuading the bartender to get her any beverage he could conjure up. Honestly the desi girl couldn’t care less, but she was amused by the Hawaiian and her antics, so she continued to shoot her shot at you.

“You’re absolutely stunning, has anyone told you that?” She complimented, bringing her hand up over to the edge of a strand of hair, twirling it for a moment before pulling away. Before you could speak, the bartender handed you an espresso martini that you never ordered me “Oh! Uhm sir this isn’t mine…” You mumbled as you raised the glass towards him, the ginger girl who sat next to you spoke up.

“It is I ordered it for you, pretty.” She giggled pointing at the glass and then pointed at herself, “You look like someone who’d enjoy a good cocktail.” Megan smiled as she raised her hand out to shake your hand, and you reciprocated the gesture. “Megan. And you?”

“Y/N. Gosh I feel so popular.” You joked, referring to the two girls who suddenly started talking to you, your back faced to Lara as she glared into Megan’s soul, mentally cursing her out for ruining the perfect moment. Megan laughed at your witty response, looking at Lara, sticking her tongue out playfully before focusing back to you.

“I wouldn’t doubt it you’re beautiful.” Megan slyly complimented, bringing her hand to your shoulder, leaving the redhead to scowl at her actions. “I second that.” Lara butted in, bringing her hand onto your other shoulder.

“Haha…” You laugh awkwardly sensing the tension between the two girls, before jerking your head over to the entrance of the club, watching two familiar silhouettes. Your best friend— well ex best friend and her new boyfriend— YOUR BOYFRIEND hand in hand, with no care in the world. “Shit!” You shouted to yourself, catching the two girls off guard as you ducked down to hide your face. The whole reason you came to these clubs to drink your heart out was because of them, and now they were out here ruining your perfect ‘sanctuary’.

“Y/n! Are you okay?” Megan spoke up as you hid your head onto the counter. “No!”

[astraule]

"What I Want"

Pairing: Demon!Dean x Reader Song: You’re All I Want - Cigarettes After Sex “We fucked so hard it left me faded for all you are.” Tags: 18+, first time having sex, teasing, fingering, PIV, guiding you through it. Y/N: She/Her virgin reader. Word Count: 1.7 K Summary: Dean called out for you as you hid. You had agreed to a game of hide-and-seek to keep him busy, but he quickly found you and reassured you in his bedroom, telling you that everything would be taken slowly. Next morning, resting in his arms, Dean felt immense happiness seeing you as everything he wanted. When gently waking you up, you looked up at him with puffy eyes.

3RD POV: (Bunker Kitchen)

"Y/N~" Dean's voice called out as you squatted in the pantry of the kitchen. While Sam was out looking for a solution to bring Dean back to normal, it was your job to stay in the bunker to distract him, to keep him from getting out.

He suggested playing hide-and-seek; if you won, he would listen to every word you said. But if he won, you'd be at his beck and call. "Come out, come out, wherever you are~" His voice echoed in your mind, quickening your heartbeat.

The corridors had been silent for a full ten minutes; apprehension began to set in, had he left the bunker? You didn't have much time to spend in your hiding place, where you had firmly decided to go and find him. "Gotcha," Dean said, the silence now broken, right next to you.

“Dean." your voice caught as you swallowed hard. "Do you remember our little deal?" he asked, the corners of his lips twisting in a smile. "Dean, I'm begging you." You looked at the hand circling your wrist-soft and yet unyielding.

(Dean’s Bedroom)

"There's nothing to be afraid of,” Dean murmured, his form looming above you, "I assure you, I'll go slow." You had no idea what you were getting yourself into when you agreed to his little game earlier, but now the reality of the situation was beginning to sink in.

As his thumb delicately drew circles on your stomach beneath your shirt, your mind was racing with ways to divert him from whatever it was he had planned. "Dean, seriously. We both know this isn't right. Sam could walk in at any moment," you protested. "What does it matter? Sam will understand," he replied with a teasing grin.

Dean smirked, his hands roaming over your torso beneath your shirt, sending a shiver down your spine. "Come on, I know this is what you've been craving since the first time you met me, the real me. You think you're good at hiding it? The truth is, you want me." And he wasn't wrong; that desire was there since the moment you first saw him. Yet, deep inside, you wanted to share this moment when Dean was truly himself again.

For Dean as a demon, you were just another body to warm his bed, but you had to hold onto that hope that somehow, somewhere the real Dean really did have feelings for you. "Come on, baby, don't hold back." His voice cut through your internal musing as he tugged your shirt over your head. The cool air of the room cascading down your spine.

You took a deep breath, realizing you had made your choice. If this was what Dean wanted and it was what you wanted, why hold back? As you wrapped your arms around his neck, you whispered, "Just be gentle with me." His smirk returned, playful and knowing. "I would never hurt you, Y/N. Believe it or not, you mean a lot to me, the real me.”

Dean, as a demon, had this attitude that felt like the real Dean, but it wasn't really. For one thing, he didn't have an ounce of morality on him. It sounded weird when he said he cared about you. The real Dean always kept things close to his chest, and Dean as a demon did that too.

"Can you imagine how long the real me has fantasized about you? You drive the real me crazy, do you know that?" Dean broke the silence; his fingers dug into your torso and left white imprints that seemed to disappear right afterward.

"Why not treat ourselves a little?" He grinned, lifting your leg onto his shoulder and trailing soft kisses down from your knee to your ankle, leaving you breathless. "I could never resist you, Dean; irrelevant who you're playing at the moment," you replied, your hand over your chest.

As he carefully slid your leg off of his shoulder, peeling off his shirt at a very sweet pace, you couldn't help but catch your breath when he revealed his perfectly sculpted four-pack. Although Dean wasn't nearly as obsessive about working out as Sam was, it would be a gross mistake for anyone to say he wasn't in top physical form.

He refocused on you, his hands sliding down your slender figure and finding their way to the softer curve of your stomach, where your uterus lay. "So soft, I love it," Dean muttered, leaning down to nip at that exact spot his hands had touched a moment before. The bite marked and slightly puckered.

“Dean, please," you whispered, your fingers gliding to his face, gently guiding him to meet your gaze. "Show me just how much you want me." A playful smirk danced across his lips as he made his way down, peeling your shorts away from your body along with your panties.

Dean smiled softly, his voice soothing as he said, "There's no rush, sweetheart. We can savor every moment." His fingers explored your warmth, which elicited a surprised gasp that you quickly stifled. "There's nothing to be embarrassed about," he reassured you, gently taking your wrists and guiding your hands above your head. "Dean…" you murmured, feeling the tears well up in your eyes. This wasn't how you had pictured your first time feeling like.

"Everything will be alright, love. You'll get used to it soon enough." He consoled, placing a gentle peck on your forehead that made your heart flutter with a tiny bit of comfort before his fingers started delving inside you once again, prompting you to close your eyes instinctively.

Dean leaned in closer, and against your ear, his warm breath whispered, "I gotcha, sweetheart. Just trust me and let go." His fingers continued to move deep inside you, a teasing prelude that sent a shiver down your spine, heightening your nerves for what was about to happen.

His fingers tormented you for what felt like hours, as you held on to the pillow, your wrists clasped tightly by him. He finally withdrew his fingers and brought them up to his lips, making sure to lick them off while staring intently at you.

Suddenly, you were filled with his hot, pulsating length, not even realizing when he had undone his jeans. As he released your wrists and placed his hands beside your head, your back involuntarily arched off the bed. Your arms clasped his neck again, holding him as if he was your anchor in the storm.

He wrapped an arm around your back, pulling you close to him while his other hand clutched the pillow beside your head. "I gotcha, sweetheart," he assured you. "Dean…," you whimpered, tears streaming down your face from the burning pain.

As he started moving inside you with the most delicate touch, more tears streamed down your face. "Shhh, you're doing great, love," he said in a whisper, pressing soft kisses against your cheeks where the tears fell, even as your cries grew loud. "It hurts," you whispered, your nails digging deep into his back leaving deep marks, which made him gasp in pain amidst his heavy breaths.

He whispered to you, "Trust me, you'll be feeling great in no time. Just let your body relax." As he loosened his hold on your back, he leaned in, pressing you against the mattress. Before you knew it, your tears turned to whimpering, then to moans that came deep from within, as your breathing grew quicker by the second. A smug smile spread across Dean's face as his thrusts quickened, slight groans escaping his lips.

You gasped, "Dean," your eyes fluttering as a wave of pleasure washed over you. "There’s the reaction I love," Dean replied, his lips teasing at your neck. His thrusts came faster, full of a desperate intensity, making the bed creak and sway beneath you.

You were so sure the bed was going to break under the noises it was making and from Dean's pace. You could only hold on to him, soft moans escaping your lips while silently hoping he’d protect you if the bed did come undone. "I've got you, don't worry," he reassured you as if his brain picked up your thought waves. He then captured your lips with his, your tongues dancing together while you both let out a symphony of moans and groans.

Your eyes suddenly widened, and your head leaned back, your lips breaking away from the kiss as an intense sensation began to rise up inside of you. Dean caught on in a second; a smirk began to spread across his face as he teased, "Go ahead, darling, let it all out. Show me just how good I make you feel." Before you could utter anything in return, you found yourself enveloping him with your warmth.

"Dean…," you panted, hoping he'd pick up on the cue as he slowed down, but then you saw that sneer creeping back onto his face as he sped up again. "No… it’s too much," you whined, your eyes fluttering shut as more pleasure washed over you. "I'm not there yet," Dean whispered softly in your ear.

Dean POV: (Next Morning)

As Y/N rested in my arms, her arm slung across my chest, and her leg thrown over my waist, I couldn't help but smile. She was everything that the real me had always longed for, and I was desperate to fill this want. If there was even the slightest chance that the real me could emerge from the depths of my soul, then I wanted him to have her by his side.

As I stroked her bare back, soothing her, she stirred a little in her sleep. "Hm. so warm," she murmured, still lost in her dream. I couldn't help but wonder, ‘Have humans always been this adorable?’ as she snuggled up to me closer. "Y/N, it's time to wake up," I whispered softly, running my fingers through her hair which made her flutter her eyes open.

"Dean…" she whispered, looking up at me with eyes a little red from the night before, and it stabbed me in the heart like an arrow. "I really am so sorry I hurt you, love; you just felt so good." I said, kissing the crown of her head softly, and she sighed happily.

She whispered, "I don't have the feeling in my legs," as her cheeks flushed a soft pink, and that made me chuckle soft and low. "No need to worry," I replied, lifting her effortlessly in a bridal carry, the blanket still wrapped around her. "How about I run you a nice bath, okay?"

I was literally kicking my feet and giggling while I put this together! In a previous post, I mentioned that TikTok was down in the U.S., which meant I'd be writing more frequently than just once a month. Well, guess what? It's back up and running! But don't fret, I don't think I'll be spending as much time on TikTok as I used to, so I will try my hardest to keep the writing flowing.

[honey-minded-hivemind]

🖤Dark AU, Post Three, A Better World...

(Warning! This post mentions death, dying, gore, yanderes, and implied drugging. Do not read if this upsets you! You have been warned...)

• You weren't sure what you were expecting on being back with your team. You'd expected maybe some crying, or a lecture, or even being banned or kicked out... Not everyone being older, clingy, and seeming to harbor something dark within...

• Recovering is hard. Your abdomen had been cut open before you had... and while it had healed some after you and your friends came back... it hadn't healed all the way. So that meant your... "team"... had to bandage it, stitch the deepest parts closed, and then would not leave you alone. This would have been fine in any other scenario. Needed, or wanted, even. But everyone here just seemed off, somehow. Desperate. Darker. More dangerous. It's like when you and the others had ... they just snapped. And that wasn't good.

• Right now, you're sitting at breakfast with your friends, as well as the beings who appear as Logan, Victor, The Professor, and Scott and Jean. You feel small whenever their piercing gaze crosses over you, as though it's peeling back your skin and trying to see what's underneath, trying to find out why you won't give in. It feels heavy, intense, too much. You do your best to ignore them... even if that means having to try and drink the smoothie they made. The color is light, the scent sweet, and it makes your stomach growl. But you don't trust it. You don't trust them.

• Kurt seems to have no such qualms. He's busy trying to drink his own smoothie, sitting on the same side of the table as you, his tail wrapped around your ankle like a hand seeking comfort (or a chain keeping you attached). You can't blame him. You know that... You know you should have been more careful. That you should have planned harder, or waited one more day, or just done anything else differently to save you all from... His tail squeezes tighter, and his eyes soften at you. He reaches under the table and grabs your hand, giving it a light squeeze. You breathe out, trying to think about something else.

• Kitty sits on Kurt's other side, nervous. You smile lightly at her, trying to ease the tension, and she smiles back, timid. She drinks some of her smoothie, and you hum lightly as you peer at yours again. Pietro already went through two, but you understand. He has a fast metabolism, and he honestly needs every bit of nutrition and food he can get. You're worried. He's just been... he's been too quiet. Where Kurt clings to you or Kitty hugs the three of you as tight as she can, Pietro just keeps watch, guarded, his spine tense and his eyes on edge. You want to talk to him, to try and get to the bottom of what exactly is bothering him, but... you don't want the adults to hear.

• "Is your drink alright, dear?" You snap back up, jumping slightly. Right. You got lost in your thoughts again... You stare at the Professor, trying to shove down any surface worry or fear. "It isn't too acidic, is it? It's a berry mixture, but we tried to use the ones you liked." "It's okay. I'm just not very hungry, I guess..." "My dear, I insist you please try to eat a little. You need the nutrients and vitamins to get better."

• You can see Logan shift, ready to get up and "help" you. You don't know what they'd do, but you aren't sure you want to test the waters right now. You sigh, but take a sip. The cloying taste of sweet berries fills your mouth, and you feel your stomach tighten with pain when you think of not swallowing. You tentatively gulp it down, and feel a bit better. You don't like the way everyone stares at you, with too soft, too dark eyes, watching and waiting... You take another sip, and Pietro pats your arm. You lean into the touch, deciding you need comfort more than you need to be guarded right now.

• "You doing alright, bud? Just, take it easy, okay? You're fine, we're safe, okay?" he says, whispering softly to you. You nod, not wanting to talk about it. The conversation goes up again, but you let it turn to white noise around you, only listening for keywords or any hints of what secret the adults could possibly have...

• "Hang in their, mein freund. Ve vill be okay," Kurt whispers. You smile, more a grimace than anything, but you stay huddled between your friends. You feel safe here, if only with them...

• If he's being honest, Kurt doesn't know how to feel about all of... this. His mother, his sister, his whole family, they're all older! The world is strange now, speaking of peace and friendship rather than war and violence. The adults keep saying they are okay, that they are safe, that no one will hurt them, that none of them will leave them. He... he doesn't want to be left alone. He can't stand the idea. Kitty leans into his side, and Reader squeezes his hand again. He sighs. He is here. He is safe. They are all safe. God has delivered them, and He has brought them home. Kurt, he... he felt scared, when they had been captured. When they were experimented on, tortured, kept locked away and hidden, with no way for their family to find them. He felt so, so lost. So afraid. So alone. But his friends were there. Reader was there. And they had been willing to sacrifice themself, to be the scape goat, the sacrificial lamb, the one who took all the punishment, all so he and Kitty and Pietro would be safe. Then they gave up their own life, all so they could escape, or try to... He... he felt grateful to them. Grateful for them. They were like a blessing, an angel in disguise... Maybe... maybe they were...? Or maybe they were someone blessed, who helped others, who was beloved by God and His Heaven...? Kurt didn't know for sure, but... he couldn't let them get hurt. He had to keep them safe. They were his friend, they were family, and he couldn't bare to see them suffer again...

• Kitty thought she was taking all of this pretty well. Okay, they're in, like, the future. Surprise, everyone they know and loved was older! And scary! And... well, okay, so far were only taking care of them. Which at times felt scary, but no one was hurting them, or being mean or rude, so it was good? Right? She... she didn't know how to process all of this. Seriously, what had happened?! She thought all of them were goners, had died, and then they're back (not unharmed but they're alive!), and then they're captured by their team (their family) and brought back to the Institute. So, all is well, right? One would think that, but... she isn't sure. Sure, the others act the same, they say they love them, that they missed them, but... but then why? Why does she feel so scared, so wary, of them? Like they'll pop out of the shadows or keep them caged? They're their team! They're their family! They wouldn't do that, would they? She tells herself they wouldn't, that they care, that they wouldn't do all of this for them if they didn't... But Reader is wary, too... and they're her friend, one of her best friends... She wants this to be good, she really does. She doesn't want to be scared anymore! She doesn't want to be hurt anymore! She doesn't deserve that! Kurt doesn't deserve that! Not Pietro! And not Reader! They're all funny, and sweet, and brave, they're all nice (when Pietro isn't pulling a prank war)! So who should she trust? Her friends, or their family? She... she's not sure she can choose... but the moment something is wrong, she will get them out, and they won't ever be hurt again...

• Pietro has seen better days. Felt better too. What. The. H*ll. He and his friends survived H*ll on Earth. They put up with the secret, evil scientists and government officials and generals and soldiers, they took beatings, they were pushed to their f*cking limits, and then they DIED. What. Does. He. Do. How do they even begin to recover from this? And Reader... Look, he trusts them, with his life, he might add. But they just, they lied, to him, to Kurt, to Kitty, all so they could go sacrifice themself so the three of them could escape. How does he even begin to deal with that? How does he forget it? He doesn't want to accept it. He wished it hadn't ended like that. Why, why, WHY would they DO that?! They were supposed to escape together, no man left behind, but they let themself get caught and they DIED. He. He's just so... he's so sick. He's upset. He's scared. He's scared for them... Why would they do this? Don't they know he cares, that they care, that they love them, that they'd miss them? Do they think themself worthless? Does Reader hate themself? Do they know what they did? Do they know what they've done? He doesn't know how to talk to them about this. He needs to. He doesn't want them hurt ever again... he can't lose them ever again... they... they scared him... they let themself die for them, for him... He just wants all of them to be safe... He doesn't to hurt them, he doesn't want to make them cry, but if they can't save themself too, then he'll make it so they are. Even if they means... even if it means finding other means to do so...

• You're glad when breakfast is over. You feel tired, but honestly... you really want to just hug your friends and forget for an hour. But when you do wake up... you need to have a talk... You just hope they'll listen.

( @sugar-soda @vivid-bun @danniloversugar @weebwholovesuchihasasuke @ainsellshadewalker @thewickedweiner @hermesserpent-stuff @crowwithguns @opossumdaydreamz @tydye-goat64 @foundfamyanderes )

[fox-guardian]

How do each of the zombies behave in the au? Also the fact that Swansea basically killed himself because of Daisuke getting infected is so sad.

Yeah, swansea and daisuke didn't start out in a good spot either. They discovered both their families dead/infected (the dog is fine, just missing) soooo daisuke was all swansea had left so it uh. Hit a little harder <3

I have some thoughts on zombie behavior. Not many but a few.

The infected are still people with (mostly) functioning brains and their own thoughts and feelings. Most of those feelings are fear, pain, and desperation. All of this combined with the chaos of the world's reaction to the infected and how quickly it spread, means that the infected seem a bit. Erratic.

Pain in various areas leads to "odd" movements and mannerisms, lack of speech leads to "odd" sounds, and the desperation leads them to seek out people who can help a little Too intensely.

The infected tend to end up near other if only out of a deep human desire for connection. Sympathy in their pain. When someone uninfected comes by, they approach. Hissing and wheezing air out as loud as possible, attempting to form words with rotted lips and tongues to little avail.

If someone doesn't help, or actively harms, they get upset. They claw and pull, trying to scream or explain. Maybe rob them of supplies their uncoordinated hands could somehow use. Maybe they approach hoping for a headshot, an end to their pain. If they bite, it's not out of hunger, but rather hate. Maybe some want to share their pain with the uninfected. Bring them down with them.

Specifically for the crew though?

Daisuke wants to get back to the truck. He wants to rejoin the group. Get Anya's help for his injuries, tell them about Jimmy's betrayal. See swansea again. He's badly hurt, but he powers through the pain, finds some rollerskates, and Knows What He Must Do. He doesn't know what's come after, but there's no time to think about that. He needs to catch up to the truck.

Swansea had had the idea of either going out completely because fuck everyone else, or maybe joining Daisuke. He wakes up, busted in the middle of the road, and gets his second wish. The desire becomes revenge as they skate onwards. He hopes he has enough function in his rotting hands to take Daisuke's old bat and bash Jimmy's head in.

Anya rots slowly. It burns within her veins. She can't think much beyond walking and hoping that it all ends soon. Then hope arrives on rollerskates and she gets a second wind. Maybe they can still find a cure. If they can do this, maybe there's still time for them. For Curly. She hopes. And she hopes she can still speak when she sees Jimmy again. She's starting planning a speech, you see.

Curly is mostly at the mercy of the others over the course of the story. He doesn't have much desire beyond the pain stopping, and he trusts that Anya will do her best to keep that pain to a minimum. He doesn't move much, as he doesn't have to, staying mostly bedridden. It isn't until shit hits the fan that a new desire forms. Protect the others. He had led the group before his infection, it was his truck they were in, he had a responsibility, and he'd thrown it away with his infection. It's this that causes him to stubbornly attempt to steal the truck while jimmy is outside. Jimmy is the problem, and if they can get away from him, he and Anya will be safe. It doesn't work. After Jimmy kicks out Anya, his thoughts change. He failed. He couldn't protect them, not really. He starts to wonder if it's the infection talking, making him feel more violent than he ever had in his life. Is this when it takes over? Where he finally becomes a monster? He's slumped in the passenger seat. Jimmy is driving. It would be so easy.

[isogenderskitty]

i am once again out here crying actual tears over “you were in love with her, weren’t you?” “who wasn’t?” that is so heartbreakingly bittersweet and so telling about duke as a person and their ACTING is AMAZING and i just. hooooooly shit

[tenwhiteandalusians]

is episode 8 the domitian arc ? more on this and EVEN MORE narratives i’ve been ignoring that the show said “actually,,,” about in 5

[a-heart-of-kyber]

Those moments when you sit there and consider the true implications of Mystra, omniscient, letting Gale get the orb and then encouraging him to khs near the crown.

It's giving "Outside of doing it myself; only Karcite Weave can destroy Karcite Weave." And, knowing all this was coming, she 'allowed' Gale to become an initially unwitting s**cide b**mer.

[malewifehenrycooldown]

i love how everyone (including me) who enjoys soulcalibur collectively agree that amy sorel is like a daughter to them. It's like she was tailor made to be a tumblr blorbo.

[kavehayati]

Truthfully it would be easier if I just isolate myself from everyone simply because after so long of just shoving things down and being told to shove things down and being told to get over it and stop being sensitive I’ve become so much more sensitive after being so unfeeling and it’s ruining everything

Not even having aventurine could fix this 😔🙏 LOLLL

[pacipinka]

*taps mic* is this thing on? Yeah okay so every vampire in the vampire chronicles is turned at critical a moment in their lives and beyond just the body they are in when they are turned, their mentality stays at that standstill for their entire immortality, Lestat was turned against his will, he was clinging onto Magnus begging him to be freed, so he’s constantly seeking freedom and only finding loneliness and thus turning back to people again and again, however he can’t STAND being told what to do, since he desires agency in his life so desperately, Armand was turned after years and years of abuse and lack of control but such a desire for genuine love, by a man he ‘loved’ so wholly who he felt was barring his love from him, he needs control in his life, he needs a ‘master’ but he does not desire it, it does not fulfill him, he is trapped in a room but the door is unlocked! Louis was mourning his brother, he felt like an utter failure and so he’s always seeking family, seeking people he can care for, he can coddle, he can prove he is good too, but he loves people who either cannot stand coddeling and need a sense of looseness to live (Lestat) or people who grow out of coddling who prove to Louis he will always fail the people he loves (Claudia), Claudias turning, in many MANY ways mirrors lestats in that it was against her will, she was stolen from her home, and in her immortality she desires freedom but unlike Lestat does not have the agency/ form to get it, she will always be small, she will always be looked down on, even by Lestat who cannot deny how much she is just like him *taps mic* ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME!! NONE OF THEM CAN BREAK THE CYCLE!!! TO BREAK IT WOULD BE TO UNDO THE VERY FIBER OF THEIR IMMORTAL SELVES!! THE CYCLE IS THE BLOOD THEY DRINK IT IS THE HEART IN THEIR CHEST AND IT ROLLS AND ROLLS DOWN THE MOUNTAINS AND VALLEYS OF THEIR LOVE FOR EACH OTHER AND IT CAN NEVER BE STOPPED BECAUSE THEY WILL NEVER STOP LOVING EACH OTHER!!!!!!!!!!!!

[professorcalculusstanaccount]

The final part for The House of Glass! Everyone has a lot to figure out, but progress takes time. Follows from this. This was my first ever complete comic from start to finish, I hope you guys enjoyed the journey!

If you've enjoyed this comic, please consider donating to Aya Yasser, a 19 year old university student from the University of Palestine. She had to pause her studies due to attacks on Gaza. Her 55 year old father is ill and she is trying to evacuate him and her brothers.

You can find her blog @samaagaza

It's like two in the morning right now so I might be a bit incoherent, cw for discussions of racism, homophobia, biphobia, sinophobia and classism

I've really wanted to write Chang as someone who's made to be a perpetual outsider. As a Chinese person born in the UK I've always been made to feel like a foreigner no matter where I go - obviously I am a foreigner abroad but I'm also treated as such in the very country I was born and raised in. I think a lot of east Asian people can relate to being treated as a strange exotic foreigner first and a person second.

As a working class orphan he would probably have been treated as disposable by society at large too. As soon as he's rescued by Tintin in the Blue Lotus he immediately asks why Tintin bothered saving him, and in his letter to Tintin in Tintin in Tibet he writes that he's unworthy of his uncle's hopsitality. We don't get much from Chang as he doesn't make many appearances but it seems he's internalised strong feelings of a lack of self worth. Tintin may have been the first person to recognise his humanity since Chang's birth family passed.

Being queer is also very isolating at first. You're not born into a culture you can reference or make sense of your experiences initially, it's something you have to seek out. I wanted to explore learning to love yourself through others. We're all weird to some degree, we're all in this together!

I genuinely have no clue how I'd follow this up, I have ideas for future stories but I'm not sure what would follow directly from here!