#this is my second time this week speaking that into existence

[wordsofwhimsy]

𝐖𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞 ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚

Pairing: Viltrumite!Mark Grayson x f!Reader

Warnings: Discussion of the Invincible Wars, so series-typical violent topics. I don’t get detailed about it tho

Tags: Fluff, kinda slow burn tbh for being so short, went a bit of a different route with my interpretation of this variant – figured our boy could use a break from all that heavy stuff ❤️‍🩹

Word Count: 1,060

Synopsis: The world is ending, but for Mark, his life was only just beginning the moment he saw you.

Inspiration: ‘Thinkin Bout You’ by Frank Ocean

a/n: for my beautiful, perfect lovie @itsbuddhasbelly!! thank you for encouraging me with my dumb little works – it makes my very happy. :’)

One year ago

The world ended.

Or—something like it. Cities crumbled. Heroes fell. The sky turned black with smoke and fire. It was the Invincible Wars, they called it later. Like it was history. Like it could be measured and filed away and understood.

But when it happened, there wasn’t anything so clean about it.

You remembered standing on your front lawn, barefoot, clutching your phone with trembling fingers as the sky split open.

People ran. Screamed. Begged.

You just… stared.

And then he appeared.

Hovering in the air like something divine. Blood on his uniform, glowing eyes, an aura like gravity itself bent around him.

And then—he saw you.

It was like something paused inside him. The rage, the war, the mission—it all halted the second his eyes locked onto yours.

He didn’t kill you. He didn’t even threaten you.

He walked toward you without a word, as if drawn by a force he didn’t understand. You didn’t flinch. Couldn’t. Your body had forgotten how.

When he reached you, he took your hand, careful like you might shatter, and pressed a kiss to your knuckles.

"You’re the most beautiful woman in the universe,” he said, voice quiet and reverent. “I’d know. I’ve seen it all.”

Your mouth parted, heart in your throat. But before you could speak, he released your hand and stepped back.

“I’ll come back,” he promised, simple but unquestioning. “I want to know you.”

Then he vanished.

And somehow, your town—unlike every other—was left untouched.

Present Day

He kept his promise.

You didn’t think he would, honestly. You thought it was some twisted fluke—some battle-weary god getting sentimental in the middle of a war.

But he came back.

Weeks later. Then months. Then more.

Sometimes he brought gifts. Rare things. Impossible things.

A blue flower that glowed softly in the dark and sang lullabies in a language you didn’t know.

A ring made of a mineral that couldn’t exist on Earth—it shifted colors based on your mood, and Mark refused to tell you how it worked.

A stone orb that projected constellations from planets light-years away—“This one’s my favorite,” he said. “I used to go there to think.”

Sometimes he just sat. Both of you on the porch, your legs swinging off the steps. He'd look at you like he was memorizing your profile. You’d pretend not to notice.

He always gave you space. Always let you speak first. And when you didn’t, he never pushed.

This particular night was quiet.

The stars hang heavy overhead, bright and unknowable.

He lands soundlessly beside you, a familiar presence now. You’ve long since stopped jumping when he arrives. He doesn't make grand entrances anymore—just shows up like he’s always belonged there.

He holds something in his hand. Another gift, probably. But he doesn’t offer it yet.

Instead, he speaks.

“Do you not think so far ahead?”

You blink. “What?” He’s quiet for a second. Then—

“I’ve been thinking about forever.”

The words hit you like gravity.

You should be afraid. Should remind yourself of what he’s done. Of the war. Of the blood.

But then you look at him—this godlike being sitting on your porch like it’s holy ground because you stood on it once. And all you can do is whisper, “Forever’s a long time.”

He smiles. Not a smirk. Not smug. Just… hopeful.

“I have it to give,” he says.

You watch him, heart thudding like it’s caught between stars and soil.

He holds something out. A small, smooth crystal, glowing faintly. When you take it, it's warm—alive, almost. Inside, a swirl of constellations shifts and dances.

He watches you with that same intensity he always has—like you’re something sacred. Like this moment matters more than anything else in the galaxy.

“It’s a Viltrumite bonding token,” he says. “We don’t really do ceremonies. But this… it means something.”

You look up at him, and your heart squeezes.

He’s so sure. So ready. So Viltrumite.

But you’re not. Not because you don’t care—but because you’re you. Human. Flesh and fear and caution wrapped in something just as fierce.

Your gaze softens, and you give him the faintest, sweetest smile. “This isn’t Viltrum, Mark.”

His brows draw together, ever so slightly. Confused. Almost… angry? Hurt?

“Here on Earth,” you continue gently, stepping closer, “we take things a little slower.”

For a second, his face falters. Just a flicker. Barely there—but you see it. That moment where centuries of instinct and expectation collide with something fragile. Something new.

You reach out, closing the distance between you—not just physically, but emotionally. You step into his space like you’ve always belonged there, like gravity’s been leading you both to this point all along.

Your hand brushes his chest, over his heart.

And then—gently, deliberately—you rise onto your toes.

The kiss isn’t rushed. It’s not some desperate, fiery collision.

It’s slow.

Intentional.

A quiet promise wrapped in warmth and breath and closeness. His lips part slightly against yours, like he’s surprised—like he’s never been kissed before.

He doesn’t move at first. Doesn’t push. Just sinks into it.

One of his hands lifts—hesitant at first—then cups your jaw with reverent care, like you’re made of stardust and the whole universe is watching.

You pull back, only just, your forehead resting against his. Your hand still anchored over the steady beat in his chest.

“How about we start with this?” you whisper.

He exhales, the sound shaky—almost stunned. Like he’s still reeling, like you tilted his axis and he’s trying to find true north again.

His eyes meet yours. There's no smugness there. No grand speeches. Just awe.

“Then we’ll start here. But just so you know… I’ve seen the future. It always leads back to you.”

It takes a second for the words to sink in. You blink, stunned, as if you’re not quite sure whether to laugh, cry, or kiss him again.

Instead, you just shake your head, a breath of a smile curling at your lips.

“You really are something, Markus.”

He leans in again, his hand still cradling your jaw like he’s afraid to let go.

And somewhere above you, the stars keep burning. Quiet. Eternal.

But down here—on this porch, in this moment—forever has already begun.

[dreamscapesofimagination]

I'll Crawl Home To Her

AN: Have a super sweet Lucifer confession. I'm so proud of her. I listened to Work Song by Hozier and this happened.

TW: Fluffy, so fluffy. Very in love Lucifer, cute sleepy Luci, I cannot overstate how much he loves you.

------------------------------------

It had almost stumbled from his lips so many times. Three little words he almost said at times far better than this.

Ballroom dances in which you had been more radiant than the Celestial Palace, glowing with an air of ethereal beauty. Your hand in his, warm eyes fixed only upon him. He had imagine the words flowing smoothly from his lips, the way you would smile as you overjoyed at his confession.

The words had gotten stuck, Lucifer suddenly wondering why you would want him.

He, who had hurt you several times. Who had always treated you as less than him.

The second time had been over a glass of Demonus (wine for you) in his study. You had come to study in there, seeking its quiet solace so you could focus away from the demands of his brothers.

You had asked him a question about the subject, voice shyly apologizing for interrupting him, but you really didn't understand this sigil and its significance in the Devildom.

Some sort of superstitious inheritance to the more primitive past of demons, he had explained succinctly, watching in awe as curiosity dawned on your soft face.

He could sense them, the questions that burned in your throat. It was not the first time he had seen this curiosity, but to see it so raw, so real- he needed to hear more of your questions, if only to see how your wide-eyed gaze regarded him as if he were the most fascinating being to exist.

Questions had turned into conversation, which had led to now, you two sharing a drink while your giggles subside from a wry remark he had made ("If they had seen my father look for his shoes, they'd worship him less").

That sound. That sound was the finest he had ever heard. He could listen to it forever, his chest swelling with the knowledge that he could make you laugh.

It had almost fallen from his lips, and then he choked, wanting the moment to be just right. He wanted it to be grand- flowers, dinner, a kiss.

The third time Lucifer almost blurted out those three little words was when you stood up to him.

The week had been a particularly taxing one- dealing with missives from various members of the royalty, credit card statements from Mammon's latest gambling spree, Asmo's "much needed" shopping spree, Satan's newest bookshop binge- not to mention Levi's online orders and Beel's restaurant trip. They were wealthy, as members of Diavolo's inner court, but organizing the payments was a headache as he deducted from each demon's account. He had also heard a couple of whispered threats towards you. The culprits would never act on it (not after what Lucifer had threatened, relishing in the taste of fear as their faces went white), but now he had to organize appropriate safety measures for you. The problem? He couldn't shake the feeling that you would only be completely safe with him.

And then, Mammon had started a fire in the kitchen.

The second oldest couldn't leave you alone for five minutes while you cooked. He had bumbled in your way, causing oil to spill on the lit burner.

Sure, you had stifled it very quickly, and neither of you had been hurt, and Mammon was stammering out apologies to you, ears bright red.

Still- how could he be so careless? What if you had gotten hurt? Can't he just back off of you for a second?

After the final sentence you had stepped between him and a blustering Mammon, glaring up at him, hand on your plush hip.

The way your eyes narrowed has his brain resetting, and when you berated him for how he was speaking to Mammon, and how it was an accident.

He had nearly breathed out the words, entranced by your fierceness, your desire to protect his brother.

How a human like you was protecting a demon, and not for the first time.

Yeah, he needed to organize his confession.

And now? How he actually says it?

Just a few days after the incident in the kitchen, he found himself leaning back in his chair, groaning in exhaustion.

A peak at his D.D.D revealed the time to be one forty-three in the morning.

He had long since loosened his tie, top few buttons undone, sleeves haphazardly rolled up his arms. His hair was a mess from how many times his fingers had worried through it, glasses sagging low on his nose.

His eyes burned, swimming with mind-numbing words.

He shoved his chair back, deciding that he would work through one more cup of coffee and then he would call it a night.

He padded through the house on sock-clad feet, shoes long since kicked off somewhere into his study.

He froze at the sound of clinking around the corner, the soft sound of humming in the kitchen.

The sweet, siren song within.

He krept around the corner, hesitating in the door way when he saw you.

You puttered around in the kitchen, preparing the coffee maker and placing a mug underneath the spout. You were the picture of domesticity, old pajama pants, worn from use, oversized knit cardigan obscuring the shirt you wore. You hummed some song from the human world as you worked, placing a cookie on a plate from the batch you had made with Levi earlier (you had been insisting that since you make an effort for his interests, he make an effort to participate in yours, a fair trade in Lucifer's opinion).

He cleared his throat and you squeaked at the sound, whirling around.

If he could, he would bottle the sound of your surprise, keep it hidden away to listen too when he needed a pick-me-up.

And then you choked out an explanation (you were going to surprise him, figured he was up late and might need the coffee, and definitely a snack).

The sweet innocence of your voice as he approached, looking up at him with such a genuine, warm expression-

"I- I love you." he stammered out the words, voice low and sleepy, too tired to hold back the phrase he had almost said so many times before.

Your eyes flew wide at his statement, his hands grabbing your waist, pulling you into him.

His fingers sank into the plush of your love-handles, gripping you as if he was afraid you'd vanish, like an mirage in the desert that was his life.

Your hands landed gently on his chest, looking so cute with the flustered look on your face.

And then the most epochal smile spread across your plump lips.

And you said it back.

"I love you too," falling so sweetly from your mouth.

So many times he had nearly said it, and by all there was he had wanted the moment to be grand, to give you the universe with his confession.

Yet now, while he leaned down, lips pressing carefully into yours, he knew that there would have never been a more perfect moment than this one here.

For the first time in a millennia, he found himself unsure what would happen next.

All he knew is that as long as he had you, it would be worth it.

[basil-the-bulbasaur]

I'm terrified for next session and I needed to draw something before hand, so have the messiest comic sketch ever

[sbcdh]

"You saw it?"

"For a second. Yeah. I saw one."

"Start at the beginning."

"Hoo. Okay. Uhhh... It was 77. I think. I was air force. Or, hypnoengineering support staff contracted to help out around St. Louis."

"That's how you came into your supply of JVH-1"

"It was JVH-11 actually, and yeah, the fuckin, uh- the requisitions officer at Scott was an old buddy of mine. We used to fuck around in college before I, you know-"

"Yes I understand."

"I worked records for Sears-Roebuck, I had all the accounting expertise, as well as a ready supply of LSD."

"How did you start?"

"Oh it was easy at first. Really just selling off phials of the new experimental stuff to finance guys. They'd go nuts for the stuff, pay top dollar for it too. Hell, I could get 100$ for a milliliter. Made it easy to keep my contacts bought in and re-invested. Honestly I don't think the req office would even know that we were skimming if they weren't in on it.

But, you know how it is with hypnoregulation. Transchronological market data is worth it's weight in diamond. It started with the odd photo of a 2q-week readout, then biometric data, then, uh- then. Well, we decided to try it ourselves."

"You attempted full sub-finantial emmanation?"

"No no god no, what're you nuts? No, see. We figured if one person can meld their brain with the market, we just had to get as close as we could to that guy, and mark the twain, hypnologically speaking."

"Mark the twain?"

"Yeah, see, okay. A plutophant in full emmanation isn't like us. We exist at a single point in time, an R1 rational market actor. But they exist in multiple points in time, back in 77, I think the government could hit R6 with that analogue tech. Most people can hit R2 with a single hit of JVH-1, with practice you can hit R3, but anything higher than R3 takes a pretty serious support team. But here's the thing, I had a whole cadre of co-implicated members of a military grade hypnoengineering support team. All we needed was the space."

"The warehouse. Schaeffer Marble and Tile was it?"

"Bingo. See here's the thing. You know why the government had to start building those special regulation temples? It's not just for security. Once you crack the R6 barrier, Plutophants start leaving what's called a wake. You know, like a fuckin, uh, like a boat. They're imperceptible to normal people, but if you have sensitive enough instruments or, say, a person in the edge of sub-market emmanation.

See the government didn't know at the time, but if you balanced the drugs just right, and kept someone right on the edge of R4, you could actually read the plutophant's interpretations by their wake rather than their direct neurofeedback. It's not nearly as precise, but if you have a good team and you know what to look for, you can get some really, really valuable market data that way."

"And your co-worker?"

"You mean Mills? Fuck. Yeah...Mills. Right."

"Take your time."

"No, no I'm good. It's... It's uh, It's dangerous. Brains aren't meant to take that much JVH-11 all at once. We could stay on R4, but what we didn't have was a recovery team, or a medical team, or recon team. It was me, Mills, Israel, Connaught, and Marsh. The five of us were the only ones in the soup. Bruso was running the machines and Lasker was monitoring the readout."

"Can you tell us what happened?"

"Yeah. Yeah. It was a normal intrusion. Hypnogrid emmanation is pretty simple with our tech and support. Sedation was all green, hypnoinduction was green. Smooth as silk. Landed about 40 minutes from our work location. We had the codes from the IRSAW people that morning, all we had to do was maintain hypnoinduction for 40 minutes while traversing the colon and we'd be able to-"

"I'm sorry, colon?"

"Oh come on. Colon. Collective Unconscious. Col-Un. Colon."

"I- of course. Continue."

"Hey, have you ever been on a dive before?"

"Can we focus on your statement?"

"It's important. I need to know if this next bit is gonna make sense to you or not."

"I've undergone basic anti-intrusion training standard for IRS investigation task force officers."

"So you've done safe dives. White room? Castle training? Putting up the wall? All that jazz?"

"That's correct."

"Did they ever tell you why it's dangerous to perform off-site hypnoincursion in meta-unstsble hypnospace?"

"They did."

"Well they're lying...don't look at me like that. I'm not bullshitting you. They're lying...there's...there's shit out there okay? There's things out there."

"Mills?"

"Yeah. Mills. Uh..."

"Take your time."

"Yeah yeah. Quit interruptin me. Mills... Uh, yeah so we were T-Plus 30 into the dive. Bruso gives us a heads up that some hypnoflora is headed our way, but can't get a read on mass. Says we should steer clear, but we are so close. Israel had handled some hypnoflora before, so we weren't worried. But it was... I dunno. I can't explain."

"Do your best."

"Like. Okay. Meta-unstsble dives are fucked. They're acid trips. The St. Louis hypnoscape already doesn't look normal, but Scott Base looked like some kinda bastard lovechild of a medieval castle and a seashell, all twisting up into itself. The streets were a chessboard, and all the streetlights we're these tall kinda mannequin lookin' things holding a tiny sun in their hand. Everything is fucked, it's all topsy turvy. But it's okay, because it's meta-unstable hypnospace, its not SUPPOSED to be normal. And then there was a Red Sock."

"Like for the feet?"

"No. Like. In the middle of this fucked up dreamscape, there's suddenly a batter for the Boston Red Sox. He's standing there, maybe 50 feet away. He's got a bat in one hand and a mitt in the other, and he's just kinda walking towards us. Nobody really knew what to do. It didn't look dangerous, but something wasn't right. It didn't fit. We just kinda stood there, looking at the thing. Israel starts talking to Bruso, asking him what to do. Suddenly, Bruso is screaming at us, telling us to book it. He's screaming into the com, telling us to prepare for de-emmanation. Nobody knows what's happening. Israel is suddenly standing between Mills and the Red Sock, and..."

"Any information you can recall could be of use."

"It's...it's mostly feeling at this point. You ever been having a normal dream? Like, a good, normal dream? And suddenly you realize that something is really, really wrong? There's signs. For me? It's that the lights go out. Suddenly day turns to night, and something about this batter just makes me want to curl up and hide. Suddenly, moving through the world is like trying to swim through molasses. I try to run, but nothing moves, and everything is dark. The world is shifting. There's shadows under the bathroom door that can't be happening. A man who looks like Jesus. An old and terrible house and an old man with no name whose face I can't remember. The batter swings at Mills and she just...vanishes. Shes gone. Bruso pulls us out a second later."

"So this, batter killed Ms. Mills?"

"No."

"No?"

"No. We get out, she's comatose. Whatever that thing did to her, she was still in hypnospace. I gave her a hot shot of barbiturates. Her brain activity slowed to R0 after about 90 seconds."

[seijorhi]

Divine Rights

for my beloved wife @iwaasfairy as a somewhat late, sort of birthday present aka the royal fic y'all have been waiting weeks for oikawa tooru x female reader w.c 5.6k tw: non-con, yandere themes, blood and a little gore, murder, violence, abuse, pregnancy & childbirth, breeding kink, smut, nsfw

“Miyuki forgot to bring me my tea this afternoon.” At the blank look you get in response, you hasten to clarify, “The maid– the new one, I mean. She always brings it after lunch, but today she forgot.” 

Guilt needles you with every word. You like Miyuki. Quiet as a mouse, most of the time she can hardly bring herself to meet your eye, much less talk with you, but on the days she finishes her tasks quickly enough – the days the guards aren’t watching the clock – she’ll sit with you while you sew or practice your reading. For a brief moment, you can imagine her a friend. Perhaps if you were her friend, or at least a better friend, you’d ignore the gnawing unease in the pit of your stomach, keep your mouth shut and spare her. 

Because there will be consequences, of that you’re certain. Whatever grace the King affords you on a whim does not extend to the servants scurrying throughout the castle. Most especially those few he allows within your presence. 

Stretched out languidly beside you, Oikawa arches an eyebrow. “Your tea?” he repeats.

Your cheeks flame. What you’d give right now to squirm away from him, crawl out of his bed, this room, and disappear entirely just to avoid him and this mortifying conversation. 

There’s a voice in the back of your head that reminds you that there’s a decent chance Oikawa’s ignorant of all of it. Why should he have to concern himself with trivialities like contraception or pulling out? He’s the King, there’ll always be those who trail along after him, cleaning up his messes. No royal bastards. No loose ends when the blacksmith’s youngest disappears behind the walls of the castle keep. 

“So that we don’t– there’s no chance of a– a baby. I meant to say something earlier, but…” you trail off, the slow trickle of his seed oozing from the raw ache between your legs speaking for itself. 

With your oldest sister and her husband, it’d taken months for her to fall pregnant. Newlyweds don’t always conceive within the first year. If every accidental slip left women pregnant, the streets by the brothels would run riot with unclaimed bastards. It’ll be fine. 

You drank the tea Miyuki brought you yesterday, so long as she brings it shortly, and you take it as normal again tomorrow–

Long, elegant fingers coax at your chin, derailing the runaway thought in its tracks. His chuckle, deep and low, registers a split second before the kiss. “Not a mistake,” he tells you, murmuring against your lips. “You’re going to give me an heir, sweet girl. Two, actually. An heir and a spare, and maybe a few after that, if you’re very, very good for me.” He says it indulgently, his own breath catching on a low shudder when his index and middle fingers curl up into your pussy, pushing his spend back inside of you, “Where it belongs,” he whispers.

You seize his forearm, “T-Tooru–” you gasp.

He has to be joking. You can’t– He wouldn’t–

The tea made sense. You’ve no title, you’re not his wife nor his Queen, not a Lady of the court or the daughter of some important, foreign dignitary. Outside the walls of these chambers, you do not exist at all. You aren’t anyone, anything beyond what he desires you to be.

You cannot have his child. 

“Please, I don’t want this. I’m not– I’m not ready.” Your nails are digging half moon circles into his skin, and the prickle of tears unshed and the lump in your throat make your voice thick and strained, but the King meets your panicked gaze with a twinkle in his eye. 

“You are,” he kisses your forehead, “and you will,” your mouth, sucking on your lower lip. “Trust in your King, love. Everything is as it’s meant to be.”

The woman who brings your meals the next day doesn’t linger, she scurries about, shoulders drawn, flinching when you ask her name.

There’s no tea – not that afternoon, or any that follow. 

—

When you were younger, you used to pretend you lived in the castle up on the hill. 

Your two older brothers would fight over which would play King while you and your sisters danced and sipped honeyed drinks and pretended to give your favour to one or the other, only to order them about once they’d been crowned. You imagined dances and feasts and thrilling hunts, tournaments with brave knights and roaring crowds. Never a dull moment. 

A life of luxury forever out of reach. 

Until it was forced upon you, but only a shadow. 

You eat delicacies you could only have dreamed of, taste rich, heady wine on the King’s tongue – once, a mouthful from his lips, Oikawa laving up the droplet that spilled down your chin.

But while you hear the distant, muted melodies that play somewhere down below, you’ve never sat in the hall by his side. Only a few of the names he rattles off you recognise. The others remain blurry figures in your head, characters in a play you’ve yet to attend. Won’t ever attend, if the King has his way. 

The court gossip you learn in dribs and drabs, never enough to paint a complete picture, and for all that he chatters away in your ear, Oikawa shares little. You aren’t privy to the schemes that run through the castle, the kingdom at large, from its highest echelon. Nothing for you to trouble your pretty little head over.

It should come as no surprise then that news of his upcoming nuptials doesn’t come from the King himself. 

“I imagine they’ll be moving you,” the maid – Miyuki’s replacement – says one afternoon, out of the blue. And it might not come as such a shock if she’d ever spoken to you before that, if the comments weren’t accompanied by a wide eyed, frantic look at odds with her stilted delivery, if you had any idea what she was on about to begin with.

You blink at her. “Moving me?”

She nods, a shaking jut of her chin. “When the King marries at week’s end. If he decides to keep you, it won’t be here.”

If.

Oikawa’s never bothered with sweet lies. Every vow he’s ever made to you, he’s followed through on, every threat delivered – no matter your tears. In that, at least, you trust him. When he withheld the tea and told you he wanted you to give him an heir, you believed it. He had no reason to lie.

Your mind spins, trying in vain to pluck the threads of an unravelling tapestry; the colours wrong and the image distorted. 

A Queen doesn’t bode well. Moving you would be the logical step; there’s no doubt a plethora of nooks and crannies he could lock you away in until he’s gotten what he wants – but now that makes even less sense than before.

A cold feeling prickles at the nape of your neck.

And then what? What happens when you give him the child he wants? What happens when you outlive your usefulness?

You’ve become stone, blank faced, frozen if not for the slight tremor in your – the hand she seizes by your wrist, fingers digging in tight. Dropping all pretence, she steps closer, voice lowering to a frightened whisper, “You need to leave. Whatever you think you’re gaining from this, you aren’t. He’ll kill us all before–”

“Enough.”

The maid snaps back like she’s been scalded, dropping into a hasty curtsy, eyes fixed to the floor as one of Oikawa’s Royal Guards – knights in their own right – Matsukawa, strides into the room, one hand resting on the pommel of his sword. 

He spares you only a glance, a quick, cursory look to determine you’re unharmed. A laughable notion, really, when one considers his King’s penchant for manhandling.

“She didn’t do anything wrong.”

“She had her hands on you,” he counters. And the King will not abide that.

You bite your tongue, sinking down onto the bed as Matsukawa steps aside and the maid – she never told you her name, never answered when you asked – all but flees with a hand to her mouth, muffling a sob. Matsukawa leaves behind her, the door quietly shut in his wake.

For a long time after that you sit in silence. 

Eventually, the door opens again – a boy this time, no older than seven, carrying a tray from the kitchens. He stares with wide, awe filled eyes, and bows and stammers out an apology, cheeks flushed apple red. Only the ache in your chest draws the corners of your lips upwards into a paper-thin smile.

Your sister’s boys would’ve been his age. 

If, if, if–

“I hear you’ve had an exciting day, my love.”

The sun has set. The King has returned home to roost. 

“Is that why?” you ask, hardly glancing up as he makes his way over towards you.

“Why what?”

“I-is she barren? Hideous? Too old to bear children, or too– too–” you can’t bring yourself to finish the sentence. Cruel, heartless and selfish he may be, you have to believe there’s at least one boundary he wouldn’t cross. “What happens to me when all this is done? When you have your heirs, or you grow weary of this– of… me?” you ask instead.

You don’t realise tears are rolling down your face until he’s looming over you, having pushed his way between your legs, cupping your cheeks to wipe them away. The gesture could almost be construed as something comforting, something genuine, if not for the preening satisfaction behind his sigh. 

“My stubborn, sensitive girl, twisting yourself into knots over things that aren’t yours to worry about. We’d both be much happier if you just left well enough alone and trusted me, hm? You know I can’t stand to see you cry.” Liar. “But if it will ease that tender heart of yours, know that she’s a whining cunt, I have a sizeable new merchant fleet courtesy of her father, and there is no scenario, in this or any other life–” his expression doesn’t waver, but every trace of levity bleeds from his voice as his thumb slides between your lips, “–where I will ever be done with you, do you understand?”

You nod. With his thumb hooked in your mouth, pressing against your tongue, it’s all you can do. 

“Good girl. Always so good for me.”

It isn’t unexpected when his other hand moves to unlace his breeches and fish out his cock.

“Get it wet,” he breathes.

When he’s feeling generous, your King’s the one to sink between your knees, tongue and fingers working at your core until you’re panting, dizzy on the edge of pleasure, warm and welcoming, dripping with a need that’s his to sate.

But the King isn’t feeling generous tonight. Gathering your hair in his fist, he lets out an anticipatory breath, a near hiss, when your fingers curl around him and you lean in, lips obediently parting.  Your tongue swirls around the velvety head giving it a light,  experimental suck, and his hips buck, chasing the sensation.

Usually, Oikawa enjoys your mouth almost as much as your pussy, preferring to draw it out, edge himself, let you demonstrate your ardent devotion to your King, your love – but there’s none of that now. Your scalp screams for relief when he tightens his grip, and though you should have been expecting it, the sudden thrust into your mouth takes you by surprise, eyes shooting wide, choking on the intrusion.

It’s rough and graceless, the wet, gagging sounds that spill out amidst his panting, the tears that spring to your eyes and the burn in the back of your throat. You barely have the presence of mind to work your tongue, hollow your cheeks. Suck like he wants you to.

The reprieve comes without warning, Oikawa yanking you off by your hair. True enough, every inch of his thick, flushed cock shines with your spit, gleaming in the flickering candlelight.

“Lie back,” he orders.

You sprawl back onto the bed. 

None of your earlier nerves have eased, but the tremor in your heart has everything to do with the naked desire that bleeds across his expression as he finishes ridding himself of his clothes. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were jealous.”

You shake your head, fingers fluttering in the sheets either side of you.

“No?” he purrs. “You don’t wish it were you I were putting in a crown–” Your insides twist into knots as he crawls onto the bed taking an ankle in his grip. A soft whine escapes, but he simply trails his fingers lovingly along your calf, pushing your shift up and sliding closer. “–pledging myself to in the eyes of God and our Countrymen?”

Your breath hitches. He knocks your legs wider, slotting himself into the open space. “I–I wouldn’t dare to be so bold. I’m already yours, that’s… that’s enough for me.”

He laughs darkly, pressing a kiss to your knee and lifting it to his shoulder. “You are mine, but if you want a crown, I’ll give you one.” 

You seize the sheets, gasping for air when his cock slides into you in a slow, punishing thrust. 

“I’ll give you a crown, the dress, all the pretty diamonds and rubies you like so long as I can have you like this you while wear them– fuck,” he moans, eyes closing, head tilted back as he savours the tight warmth of your pussy, squeezing at his cock. 

He leans down, seeking the taste of your swollen lips. With his tongue licking greedily into the open seam of your mouth, he rolls his hips and falls into a rhythm which leaves you writhing and squirming beneath him. The drag of his cock stings. The King’s never cared that it hurts and it doesn’t affect him now, his fingers digging into the meat of your thigh, dragging you closer, shifting your hips so the angle is better. Deeper. Every inch of you claimed, every inch of you his. 

“I’ll marry you too, if that’s what you want,” he pants. 

Each whimper, sharp, stuttered breath, plea for clemency, for a second’s reprieve – they spur him on. Drive him to the brink. You’re sweltering from inside out. Sweat forms at your forehead, beading along the nape of your neck – through hazy eyes, you watch a droplet trickle down Oikawa’s bare chest, struck with the strangest desire to push yourself up and lap at it, all the while the King’s cock rocks inside of you, deep, hard strokes that rob you of sense. 

Your bones rattle with each slam of his hips against the cradle of your thighs, your cries swallowed by his tongue, soothed with a kiss. Pain and pleasure war, bleeding over until they’re indiscernible from one another. “We’ll do it in the Old Ways,” he tells you, his eyes alight, his smile almost savage in its raw pleasure. “Oaths sealed in blood and fucking, witnessed by a Priest. I wouldn’t let any of those old fucks anywhere near you, but Iwa should suffice.”

All you can do is cry out, clutching at his forearm. You’re sure that your nails break the skin, but it only urges Oikawa on. 

“You want Iwa to come watch me split you apart on my cock, hm?” His weight drops, leaning over and nearly folding you in two, and on the next thrust you see stars that blink out your vision. “You want him to marry us?” You shatter beneath him, eyes rolling back, body shuddering as pleasure explodes inside of you, fizzing through your veins til every part of you is alight with it. 

The King swears violently, the heat of your spasming cunt driving him over the edge. With his forehead pressed against yours, he cums with a gritted out moan, fucking his release deep inside of you. Where it belongs. 

—

The disparity between the two of you is never so stark as when Oikawa dons his regalia. From the deep teal of his fur-lined cloak, clasped with chains of gold, to the glittering gemstones set into his crown, he wears finery like a second skin. Even his leather boots would fetch more money at market than your family had ever seen in their lives.

You, meanwhile, are barefoot, hair unbound, wearing a shift stained with last night’s blood. Oikawa smiles down at you with a fond sort of benevolence while you fiddle with the last of his fastenings. At one point of time, he must’ve had a servant to help him with this sort of thing. 

Now, he has you, and seems all the more pleased for it.

“Are you coming back tonight?” you ask.

He catches your hands when you pull away, bringing them back to rest on his chest. “Where else would I go?”

These are, of course, his chambers. 

“And… her?” you choke out, refusing to meet his gaze. 

“You mean the blushing bride to be?” He laughs, the sound grating on your already fraught nerves. “You wouldn’t happen to be jealous, darling, would you?” 

If he fucks her here tonight, with you in the room, you might actually vomit. 

Biting down on the tip of your tongue, you force a nod. It earns another laugh from the King, “My little liar,” he croons. “How quick you are to forget the promises we made to each other.”  Like a dance, he spins you to draw your back flush to his chest, turning you both to face the mirror. 

The reflection paints a stark, ugly picture. Baleful eyes shadowed and drawn. Skin sapped of its healthy glow. You might’ve been a great beauty once – in the eye of certain beholders – in the King’s covetous embrace, there’s something hollow that stares back, aching and endless. A stranger plucked from the wilds. 

Oikawa rests his cheek against your hair and smiles at your reflection, tugging at the top of your shift until it slips low enough to reveal the marred flesh above your breast. He hums appreciatively. “The Queen isn’t your concern. She won’t be setting foot in here.”

The finality in his tone stops you from prying deeper. 

That, and the sharp double rap at the door. 

A quiet curse tumbles from his mouth. For a split second, his grip tightens, the beginnings of a scowl flitting across his handsome face before he smooths it out with a huff. “Later,” he promises, dragging himself away like it pains him to do so.

Rather than leaving, though, you watch as he steps aside to allow someone else entry – a guard.

Kyoutani. Mad Dog. 

Presumably nicknamed for his scowling, vicious mien and the rabidity of his temperament, of all the Royal Guard, he is definitely the last you’d pick to be alone in a room with. Somewhat darkly, you wonder if that’s the sole reason Oikawa says what he does next. “I think we’ve been a little too lax with your safety, my love. Mad Dog will be here to keep a closer eye on you for the foreseeable future.”

Honey brown eyes bear down on you, sharp and shrewd, and a chill rolls down your spine.

“Be good for him, won’t you?”

—

True to his word, she never appeared in his bedchambers; he returned alone, cheeks flushed, eyes glazed and handsy, tugging at your shift with clumsy hands and a sloppy grin before you’d fully roused.

Nothing changes – with the exception of your new guard. 

Gone is any semblance of privacy. For every moment that your King does not dog your every waking breath, Kyoutani takes up watch. You cannot ignore him. You cannot relax, pinned under his stare like a rabbit in a trap. If you thought your maids were nervous before, it’s nothing to the unbridled panic the latest exudes working under the eye of the King’s loyal hound, walking on eggshells like he’s one wrong breath away from snapping her spine. 

After Matsukawa and her predecessor, you’re not entirely sure she’s wrong. With the way he watches you, tracking your every move with narrowed eyes and a perpetual scowl, you’re more afraid that when he snaps – when Oikawa loosens that leash ever so slightly – it’ll be your neck that finds its way between his salivating jaws. That maybe this is your end, and he’s making you face it day in, day out.

You believe Oikawa, and the oaths he made – but only to a point. 

It’s why the morning they bring you eggs for breakfast and the smell sends you hurtling to the bathroom, it isn’t a sense of relief or happiness that fills you. While Oikawa rubs soothingly at your back, kissing your neck, your hair – whatever parts of you he can reach, cooing praise that goes in one ear and out the other, there’s an edge of hysteria that winds its way through your chest and constricts util it feels like you’ll choke under the pressure of it all.

In your womb, a noose and a lifeline. 

“I want my sisters. I want to see them.”

Breakfast long forgotten, lying in bed covered solely by the fine sheen of sweat sticking to your skin, you take his hand in yours and guide it to your stomach. It’ll be months before you show, but that doesn’t stop his eyes from flicking down, the hunger that pools at the reminder of the life that’ll grow there. Your child; his heir.  

“Please, Tooru. I haven’t– it’s been months. Let me see them. Five minutes, that’s all I ask.”

His eyes return to yours, pityingly, his hand stays where it is, thumb stroking bare flesh. “My love, they won’t see you.”

He might as well have slapped you. “What? Why wouldn’t they see me? You– you promised you wouldn’t–”

“I haven’t laid a finger on them,” he assures you. “They… blame you for what happened. Your parents and brothers. Their husbands. The boys. Even if I allowed the guards to permit you entry, they��d only lash out and hurt you. I wouldn’t put you through that, not for anything.”

Rationality rebels against this. Whatever your faults and missteps, you never asked for the King’s attention, you wouldn’t have tried to run if you’d known the cost. He did this, not you.  But rationality gets lost entirely, drowned beneath the wave of grief that sweeps you up. It coils around you and sinks down into your bones. Grief becomes the air you breathe, the blood in your veins. It’s agony and heartbreak and the first sob that leaves you feels like it’s cleaving you in two.

They blame you. 

You don’t fight him, not anymore. You sit pretty and spread your legs, let him fill you with rot over and over and over again, all to keep the King’s ire from touching them further. 

They live and breathe at your behest while you’ve become a broodmare, and they hate you for it.

The cracks within grow wide and deep. 

Still cradling your belly, the King laments, “I’m sorry, my love. I’d have kept you from that knowledge if I could.”

If, if, if–

—

Your breasts swell and grow tender, your middle fills out.

A simple gold band on the King’s left hand marks their marriage, but within the walls of your gilded cage, the new Queen does not exist. Beyond them, you don’t. 

She breaks that tentative impasse only once.

The day itself is unremarkable. The King left hours ago, you’re on the chaise, trying, as per usual, to ignore Kyoutani’s overbearing presence with your drawing book when you hear the muffled conversation filtering through the door.

At first, you pay it no mind. While your maid is usually the only one permitted access, servants come and go throughout the day, the guards change rotation, every so often this Lord or that Lord will come seeking the ear of the King. None of them gain entry, and so you’ve learned to mostly tune the noise out.

But the voices get louder, distractingly so. 

You recognise Makki’s, the other’s foreign to you. Female, you can discern that much, and with each passing exchange, her soft, dulcet tone morphs into something sharp and shrill.

From the corner of your eye, you spy Mad Dog stiffening, a clenching of his jaw. Without necessarily meaning to, you abandon the quill pen, folding your half-finished sketch shut, one hand drifting to flutter nervously over your stomach. 

“– hiding his pet whore! Let me in, or so help me–”

The door thumps violently, rattling the lock and you jump with it. A snarl tears through the chamber – not from Makki or the Queen, but Kyoutani, eyes ablaze, who stalks towards you, seizes you by your arm and hauls you to your feet roughly. 

For months he’s prowled on the edge of an invisible barrier he’s erected around you. He smashes through it now without care, calloused fingers digging in through the cotton of your dress while you stumble behind him, struggling to keep up with his long, angry strides.

“In the bedroom. Now,” he growls, as though you aren’t already at the door.

You expect him to toss you inside and slam the door shut behind you, with him on the other side. He doesn’t. He drags you to the huge bed, pushing you – almost gently – back onto the mattress and stomps to stand guard by its foot without so much as a word of explanation. The door swings closed of its own accord, but not before you catch the screeching wail that cuts off with another loud thump.

The silence grows heavy after that.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you’d entertained the possibility that whatever it was Oikawa was plotting with you and her, the Queen was in on it. Content enough with her crown not to care where her husband buried his cock each night or that her own bed remained cold and empty.

She, after all, would remain once your part in this was done. 

But even if she was just a simple fool, tossed into this game at the whims of the men in her life, you imagined she’d be untouchable. Protected in a way you’d never been afforded.

If the Queen – pretty idiot, scheming bitch – is not safe from the King’s violence, what hope is there for you?

Your eyes drift to the sword on Mad Dog’s hip, and you do a very good job of pretending that when your hands curl around your stomach, they aren’t shaking, that the lie doesn’t taste bitter on your tongue when you whisper, “It’s okay, little one. We’re gonna be okay.”

When the King returns shortly thereafter, he doesn’t utter a word about the incident. Dismissing Kyoutani with a flick of his wrist, he cups your cheeks in warm, tender palms, marvelling at the tears that shine there as though he isn’t perfectly aware he’s their cause.

“Give me a son,” he says lowly, a secret just for the two of you, “and I promise we’ll only have to go through this once more.”

—

You know it before the first contraction, before your water breaks, soaking the sheets beneath.

The physician’s called, your maid pulled from her rest to attend you as the King refuses to allow any more eyes into the room. For hours, you wait out your contractions, breathing through the pain while the King paces and the physician flits between examining you and whispering in his ear. 

Eventually, though, he rises from your bedside and nods at the King. 

“Makki, fetch the Queen. Iwaizumi, too,” he orders. To you, he says, “She’s had such a difficult pregnancy, can hardly get out of bed these days, the poor thing. She deserves to be here for the birth of her child, don’t you think?”

Your chin bobs in agreement, too terrified to speak.

Within minutes the door to the chambers opens again, the Lord Chancellor stepping through, followed by Makki with the Queen in tow.

Mortification stirs within your chest at the sight of the King’s right hand, and you’re quick to divert your gaze to the Queen instead. She stands behind Hanamaki, pallid and thin – certainly not pregnant – and she might have been beautiful, had her expression not been pinched in a sneer. 

A whining cunt, Oikawa had said. But no amount of imperiousness can hide the nervous way her eyes dart between you, the King, and the gathered guards. 

“Your Grace,” she utters stiffly.

She isn’t wearing a crown. No jewels or pretty dresses. Her hair’s loosely braided and she wears a shift dress not dissimilar to your own. Hardly the picture of royalty. 

What strikes you, though, is that she looks passably similar to you. 

“Kneel.”

Another contraction hits, stealing your attention. You squeeze your eyes shut and suck in a breath through clenched teeth, waiting for the rippling pain to abate. 

“Don’t look at her,” Oikawa drawls. “Kneel.”

When your eyes flutter open again, the Queen’s on her knees, the edge of Makki’s blade resting upon her shoulder. Your heart lurches.

You don’t understand what’s happening, why they’re here, but the panic rising up inside of you threatens to sweep you away and you cannot help the tears that spring to your eyes or the lump that forms in your throat. Your mother should be here. Your sisters. They’d help you through this, guide you with steady hands and keep you calm – but your mother burned with your home, and your sisters, who despise you anyway, now traitors to the Crown. 

The bed’s been turned to give you the smallest semblance of privacy, but there’s no escaping the prying eyes across the room. In a room full of voyeurs, you’ve never been more alone. More terrified. You don’t want to give birth in front of them. You don’t want your children taken from you. 

You don’t want to die like this, an animal on display.  

“Tooru–” you gasp, curling in on yourself as another contraction hits.

He’s at your side in an instant, hand in yours, the other stroking your hair. He shushes you gently as the physician peers between your legs and tells you that it’s time to push.

—

There’s no more proof needed of the divine right of kings than in the two healthy baby boys the physician presents to Oikawa. 

An heir and a spare. 

The Queen still kneels on the ground at Makki’s feet. Your maid’s fussing with sheets, Iwaizumi and Kyoutani surveying from the corner, straight backed. Alert. Waiting.

Every eye but the Queen’s is fixed on Oikawa and his sons. 

“Can… Can I hold them? Please?” 

You’ll beg if you have to. Those boys are yours. He can kill you now, throw you in the dungeons below with your sisters – he can erase you from the story entirely, but those two perfect boys belong to you, and you’ll haunt him to the grave if he robs you of the chance to kiss them goodbye. 

As though the entire room isn’t holding their breath, dangling on the edge of a knife, Oikawa returns to your side, carefully laying the two swaddled bundles in your arms, and presses a kiss to your trembling lips. “My perfect, perfect girl,” he marvels, smoothing your hair back from your sweaty forehead. “You did so well. Better than I could’ve possibly hoped.”

One of the babies yawns, squirming into the warmth of your chest, the other blinks curiously at you, his tiny brown eyes a mirror image of his father’s. They’ll need to be fed soon.

Rather than snatching them back as you fear, the King eases down onto the bed beside you, careful as to not disturb either Prince, and tucks you into his side. Unable to hold it back any longer, a sob wrenches its way free, and Oikawa sighs with such exasperated fondness that it breaks you a little more.

“Iwa, she’s crying.”

The Lord Chancellor grunts in agreement. “You seem to have that effect.”

Oikawa laughs, the tip of his finger running down his son’s nose. “Women die in childbirth every day. It’s a small miracle, my love,” his lips brush your cheek, nuzzling close, “that you were spared that, especially with twins. The Queen wasn’t so fortunate.”

At first, you think he’s referring to his own mother – it’s common knowledge that there were complications when she delivered the King’s younger brother and neither survived – until you catch a glint of steel from the corner of your eye. On instinct, you turn to follow it, and witness the exact moment the Queen’s head is cleaved from her body and tumbles to the floor.

Her body – kneeling in forced supplication, blood spurting from her still pumping heart – hangs there for a moment, as if waiting for the shock to register, for everyone to drink their fill of the grisly scene, before it too topples to the ground. 

An echo, playing out for you once more. 

Your maid screams, Kyoutani darting to wrench her back before she can flee. The physician pales. Startled by the sudden noise and the commotion in the room, two near identical wails break within moments of each other, your sons making their displeasure known, wriggling about and crying in your arms. You draw them closer, eyes wide, trembling like a leaf, to press a kiss against both their foreheads as you choke back a sob of your own. 

“And the woman?” Iwa asks. 

Oikawa, head on your shoulder, utterly absorbed in his children’s outbursts, doesn’t even bother looking up. He waves his fingers in front of their little faces and coos when they scrunch up in response. 

“We’ll need someone to clean up the blood. Take her tongue instead.”

[youngsadlesbian]

FALLING WAS NEVER THE PLAN | wanda maximoff x reader

summary: you swore you'd never fall in love—until wanda maximoff walked into your life. what started as playful banter turned into a slow-burning romance neither of you saw coming. With friends meddling and years of tension, love was inevitable… eventually.

a/n: i just woke up with this idea in my mind and couldn't rest until i put it on paper. i really hope you like it cuz this is kind of one of my favorite things i've written in a while.

word count: 5,1k

warnings: just fluff.

You always said you’d never fall in love.

Love was complicated. Messy. Time-consuming. And, honestly? You never really believed you could stay interested in someone long enough for it to happen. People got on your nerves too easily, relationships demanded too much, and you were perfectly fine on your own.

Carol Danvers, your best friend, had been the first to roll her eyes every time you made this declaration.

"Yeah, yeah," she’d mock, shaking her head. "You're so above it all. Just wait. One day, you're gonna trip and fall flat on your face for someone, and I'll be there to laugh."

You had scoffed at the idea. You? Falling for someone? Unlikely.

Then you met Wanda Maximoff.

And, well. Carol had a field day.

It started in the most frustrating way possible.

The new semester had just begun, and you'd arrived early to your first lecture of the day—Philosophy 201, because why not suffer first thing in the morning?—choosing your usual spot in the back of the auditorium. You weren’t expecting much. Just another semester of coasting through classes, doing what was necessary, and ignoring the unnecessary drama of campus life.

And then she walked in.

Wanda Maximoff.

She was late. Her red sweater was slightly oversized, the sleeves pushed up to reveal delicate wrists and ink-stained fingers. Her dark hair was tied up messily, stray strands falling into her sharp, green eyes, which scanned the room with a hint of disinterest. She had this quiet intensity about her—like she wasn’t just walking into the room but commanding it.

You barely registered Carol nudging you with her elbow.

"Ohhh no," she murmured, smirking. "I know that look."

"What look?" you asked, a little too quickly.

"The look of someone about to be an absolute dumbass."

You rolled your eyes, but, okay. Maybe you had stared too long. And maybe your heart had skipped a beat when Wanda sighed in mild annoyance before taking the empty seat two rows in front of you.

Not that it mattered. You weren’t interested. Right?

You tried to be subtle about it.

You really did.

But something about Wanda Maximoff made it impossible not to pay attention.

At first, it was just curiosity. She didn’t talk much in class, but when she did, she had this calm, self-assured way of speaking that made everyone—including you—shut up and listen. She had opinions, sharp ones, and she wasn’t afraid to challenge the professor when she disagreed.

It was… irritatingly attractive.

Carol noticed way before you did.

By the second week of classes, she had taken to watching you with open amusement every time Wanda entered the room.

"So, when are you gonna make a move?" she asked one afternoon, casually stealing fries from your tray at the dining hall.

You scoffed, shoving her hand away. "Please. Just because I notice someone exists doesn’t mean I’m interested."

Carol snorted. "Uh-huh. Sure. So, you just happen to sit where you can see her every day?"

"Coincidence," you said, deadpan.

"And you happen to look up whenever she speaks?"

"Academic interest."

"And when she tucks her hair behind her ear and you completely lose your train of thought?"

"…Mind your business, Danvers."

Carol grinned like she had just won the lottery. "Oh, this is amazing. The great ‘I’ll never fall for anyone’ has finally met her match. I love this for you."

You groaned, throwing a fry at her.

But, secretly? You were starting to think she might be right.

It started as a challenge.

You weren’t into her. (You were. You just weren’t ready to admit it yet.)

But you were intrigued. And maybe a little too competitive for your own good.

So, you tested the waters.

You started small. A few casual comments after class. An offhand joke when you passed by her in the library. A smirk when she rolled her eyes at something stupid the professor said.

She ignored you.

At first, you thought it was accidental. Maybe she was just shy. Maybe she didn’t realize you were trying to talk to her.

Then, after class one day, you held the door open for her with your most charming smile.

"After you, Maximoff."

She barely glanced at you. "Thanks," she muttered, walking past without so much as a second look.

Carol nearly fell over laughing when you recounted the story later.

"Dude. She’s shutting you down."

You scowled. "She’s just… focused. Probably doesn’t even realize I was flirting."

"Oh, she realizes," Carol said, grinning. "She just doesn’t care."

That was unacceptable.

So, of course, you doubled your efforts.

If Wanda Maximoff wasn’t going to acknowledge your flirting, you had two options:

Accept defeat and move on.

Try harder.

Obviously, you chose the second one.

The problem? She was really good at pretending you didn’t exist.

It was honestly impressive. No matter what you did—clever remarks, casual touches, even offering to share your notes (and you never shared your notes)—she gave you nothing. A polite nod at best, a blank stare at worst.

It was driving you insane.

And, of course, your friends were having the time of their lives watching you struggle.

The night it all escalated, you were at Natasha and Yelena’s apartment, where most of your group hangouts happened. The sisters had somehow ended up with the best place off-campus—probably thanks to Natasha’s terrifying ability to negotiate—and it had become your go-to spot for movie nights, drinks, and whatever chaos Yelena decided to stir up.

Tonight was no different.

Carol was sprawled across one of the couches, lazily tossing popcorn into her mouth. Kate and Yelena were arguing about something ridiculous (probably which one of them could do more push-ups), and Natasha was in the kitchen, pretending not to hear any of it.

And then there was Pietro. Wanda’s twin. The one person who might have some insight into how to break through her ridiculous walls.

"You look like you have a question," Pietro said, smirking as he lounged next to you. "Or maybe you just enjoy staring at me."

You rolled your eyes. "I have standards, Maximoff."

"Ouch," he said, clutching his chest. "You wound me."

You leaned in slightly, lowering your voice. "But, since you are here… what’s Wanda’s deal?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Her deal?"

"You know. Why does she ignore me? Is she, like, a robot? Is she secretly plotting my downfall? Did I unknowingly offend her ancestors?"

Pietro laughed. "You really don’t handle rejection well, do you?"

"I wouldn’t know," you said with a smirk. "This is my first time experiencing it."

Carol wheezed from across the room. "Oh my God, you’re down bad."

"Shut up, Danvers."

Pietro looked far too entertained by this. "Wanda’s just… difficult. She doesn’t trust easily. And she’s really good at shutting people out before they can get close."

You frowned. That… made sense. But it also made you want to try even harder.

"Any advice?"

Pietro grinned. "Don’t be boring."

So, you decided to switch tactics.

If subtlety wasn’t working, you’d try something else. Something bigger.

And what better way to get Wanda’s attention than to challenge her?

So, if subtlety wasn’t working, you had to try something else.

Something bold.

Something that would make it impossible for Wanda to ignore you.

And, if there was one thing you knew about her by now, it was that she hated losing.

Pietro had given you the key without realizing it—Wanda was competitive. She didn’t like letting people in, but she also didn’t like backing down from a challenge.

So, naturally, you decided to challenge her.

It started during a casual game night at Natasha and Yelena’s place. You were all sitting around the coffee table, drinks scattered across the surface, debating what to play.

"Not Monopoly," Kate said immediately, raising a hand. "I’m not going through that hell again."

"Aw, Bishop, still bitter about losing to me last time?" Yelena smirked, tossing popcorn into her mouth.

"You didn’t win, you bullied us into surrendering!"

"It’s called strategy."

"You flipped the board when I refused to trade with you!"

Yelena shrugged. "Same thing."

Carol, laughing, grabbed a deck of cards. "Alright, let’s do something simple. Poker?"

"I suck at poker," Pietro groaned.

"That’s why I wanna play," Carol said, grinning.

Wanda, who had been mostly quiet until now, finally spoke. "How about something that actually requires skill?"

You saw your opportunity and took it.

"Like what, Maximoff?" You smirked. "Something you think you can win?"

Wanda’s eyes flickered to you, sharp and assessing. "Something fair."

"Oh?" You leaned forward, resting your chin on your hand. "And what exactly would that be?"

She hesitated for a moment. Then, as if making a decision, she said, "Chess."

"Really?" Carol snorted. "You two are gonna flirt over a chessboard now?"

"We are not flirting," Wanda said flatly.

You grinned. "No, no, I’m intrigued. Chess, huh?" You tilted your head. "You good at it?"

Her expression didn’t change. "Good enough."

Yelena whistled. "Damn, she’s confident."

"I like it," you said, still smirking. "Alright, Maximoff. Let’s play."

Natasha set up the board while everyone else settled in to watch.

You knew Wanda was taking this seriously because the moment the game started, her entire demeanor shifted.

She was focused.

Her sharp green eyes studied the board, every move calculated, every piece placed with intent.

You, on the other hand? You played like you always did—reckless, instinctive, willing to take risks just to see how she’d react.

It drove her insane.

"That’s a terrible move," she muttered after you sacrificed a knight.

You grinned. "Maybe."

She gave you a long, unimpressed look before moving her bishop. "You’re reckless."

"And you’re predictable."

Her eyes flicked up to meet yours, and you swore, for just a second, you saw the slightest hint of a smile.

The game lasted forever.

Piece after piece, move after move, until the only thing left was tension crackling in the air.

In the end, Wanda won.

But just barely.

She sat back, exhaling slowly, her fingers resting lightly on the edge of the board.

"Not bad," she said finally.

You leaned forward, your smirk returning. "Admit it. You had fun."

She rolled her eyes, but didn’t deny it.

And that? That was progress.

After that night, things shifted.

It was subtle—so subtle that if you weren’t paying attention, you might’ve missed it.

But you were always paying attention when it came to Wanda.

She didn’t completely drop the walls she had built around herself, but she started letting you see through the cracks.

She still rejected every flirty comment, still rolled her eyes whenever you got too smug, but she stopped ignoring you.

Instead, she engaged.

She challenged you.

She expected you to keep up with her.

And, most importantly, she kept showing up.

Whether it was at game nights, study sessions, or even just random moments around campus, Wanda was there.

Not avoiding you. Not brushing you off.

Just there.

And that? That was everything.

One of those moments came a few days later, when you were sitting outside, watching Carol and Natasha spar on the field.

"You know," Pietro said beside you, "I gotta admit, I’m impressed."

You glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. "By what?"

"By you. You don’t give up easily."

You smirked. "Was that ever in question?"

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Wanda’s stubborn. She doesn’t let people in."

"I’ve noticed."

"And yet, here you are."

"Here I am," you agreed.

Pietro studied you for a moment, then shrugged. "Well, if you somehow manage to win her over, I expect free drinks for at least a year as payment for my suffering."

You laughed. "Deal."

Unbeknownst to you, Wanda had been standing a few feet away, listening.

She didn’t say anything.

She just watched.

And, maybe for the first time, she wondered if you were serious.

A few nights later, you found yourself sitting in the library, trying (and failing) to focus on an assignment.

It wasn’t that the material was hard—it was just that your brain refused to cooperate.

And then, as if the universe had a sense of humor, Wanda walked in.

She didn’t notice you at first.

She just found a quiet table, set down her books, and started working.

You told yourself to be normal.

You told yourself to stay put.

But, of course, you didn’t listen.

With a smirk, you grabbed your things and made your way over to her table.

"Fancy seeing you here, Maximoff."

She didn’t even look up. "It’s a library. People come here to study."

"You? Studying? I don’t believe it."

She sighed, flipping a page in her book. "Do you ever take anything seriously?"

You grinned, dropping into the seat across from her. "Not really."

"Shocking."

"Well, someone has to keep things interesting."

She rolled her eyes, but—there it was.

That tiny twitch at the corner of her mouth.

The almost smile.

You lived for those moments.

You leaned back in your chair, arms crossed as you watched Wanda pretend to be completely uninterested in your presence.

But you weren’t fooled.

Her fingers drummed lightly against the pages of her book, a sure sign of distraction. She was aware of you.

Which meant you were winning.

"So," you drawled, tilting your head. "What are you studying so intensely that you didn’t even say hi to me when you walked in?"

Wanda sighed but finally glanced up at you, her green eyes sharp with amusement and exasperation.

"Psychology," she answered.

Your lips twitched. "Let me guess, you’re trying to understand why I’m so obsessed with annoying you?"

She huffed, shaking her head. "No, but now that you mention it, I should make that my thesis."

You gasped in mock offense. "I’d be honored. Really. 'The Study of How an Infuriating Idiot Wears Down a Very Patient Woman.' Sounds groundbreaking."

This time, Wanda actually smiled—just for a second, but long enough to make your heart do something incredibly embarrassing in your chest.

"You’re ridiculous," she muttered.

"And you love it," you shot back without thinking.

Silence.

Your confidence wavered.

Had you pushed too far?

But then—Wanda simply rolled her eyes and went back to her book, a faint pink dusting her cheeks.

And that? That felt like a victory.

A few tables away, Natasha, Yelena, and Carol were definitely watching the whole exchange.

"How long are we betting before Wanda snaps and finally admits she likes her?" Carol whispered, smirking.

Natasha, arms crossed, leaned back in her chair. "Two weeks."

"Please," Yelena scoffed. "Wanda’s stubborn. A month, at least."

Kate, who had been absentmindedly doodling in her notebook, glanced up. "Shouldn’t we bet on her cracking first?" She nodded toward you. "I mean, she acts all confident, but she’s totally spiraling."

Natasha smirked. "You’re not wrong."

Carol snorted. "She’s already gone. She just hasn’t realized it yet."

A week later, you did.

Or rather, Carol made sure you did.

It was a Friday night, and the whole group had gone out for drinks at a bar just off-campus.

Wanda, as usual, was keeping her distance—not too far, but just enough to drive you insane.

And Carol? Well, she took one look at you, staring at Wanda like she was the last drink of water in a desert, and cackled.

"Oh my God," she wheezed. "I can’t believe it."

You frowned. "What?"

She grabbed your shoulders dramatically. "You’re in love."

You immediately scoffed. "No—"

"Oh, shut up." Carol grinned like she had just won the lottery. "You swore you’d never fall for anyone. But look at you! You’re pathetic."

"I’m not—"

"Do not even try to deny it," Yelena chimed in from beside Carol, smirking. "It is very obvious."

"Please," Kate added, sipping her drink. "You have 'heart-eyes idiot' written all over you."

Even Natasha nodded, looking far too smug. "It’s honestly painful to watch."

You groaned, shoving Carol’s hands off you. "Okay, fine! Maybe I like her. So what?"

Carol gasped dramatically. "So what? That’s huge!"

"It’s not huge." You crossed your arms. "She doesn’t even like me like that."

Pietro, who had just returned with another drink, let out a sharp laugh. "Are you blind?"

You frowned. "What?"

Your friends all shared a look.

Then, Carol leaned in.

"Let me spell it out for you, dumbass," she said. "Wanda likes you too."

Your heart stopped.

"…What?"

"She does," Natasha confirmed, nodding.

"But she’s fighting it," Yelena added. "Because she is Wanda and she refuses to make anything easy."

"Sounds familiar," Kate muttered, raising an eyebrow at you.

You swallowed. "No way. If she liked me, she’d—she’d—"

"She’d what?" Carol asked, smirking. "Be totally normal and not constantly get flustered when you flirt with her? Not subtly stare at you when she thinks you’re not looking? Not keep showing up even though she pretends you annoy her?"

You blinked.

Shit.

Shit.

Were they right?

Did Wanda—could Wanda actually—

Your heart pounded.

Carol grinned like she could see your internal panic.

"Oh, this is fun," she said.

Natasha smirked. "This is very fun."

You groaned, shoving your face into your hands.

You were so screwed.

You left the bar that night with your head spinning.

Not from the drinks—you hadn’t had enough for that—but from the sheer chaos of what your friends had just dumped on you.

Wanda liked you? Wanda liked you?

It didn’t make sense.

Sure, you flirted with her constantly, but she always shut you down. She rolled her eyes at you, pushed you away, made a point of seeming utterly unimpressed by your existence.

…But she never actually left.

She never told you to stop.

She never avoided you.

And now that you were thinking about it—really thinking about it—you were starting to realize that all the little things, all the almost moments, meant more than you ever allowed yourself to believe.

You lay awake that night, staring at your ceiling, heart pounding.

What the hell were you supposed to do now?

The answer came sooner than you expected.

And in the form of a very unexpected visitor.

The next day, you were in your dorm room, trying very hard to focus on studying and not spiraling into another existential crisis, when there was a sharp knock on your door.

You frowned.

Carol would’ve just barged in. Yelena too.

Natasha would’ve sent a text first.

Which meant—

You hesitated before opening the door, only for your stomach to drop.

Wanda.

Wearing a hoodie, arms crossed, looking at you like she was debating whether knocking had been a mistake.

Your heartbeat immediately picked up.

"Uh—hey," you said, blinking at her. "What’s up?"

Wanda exhaled sharply, clearly irritated about something, and before you could say anything else, she pushed past you into your room.

You blinked again.

"…Okay, sure, come on in, make yourself at home."

Wanda ignored you, pacing slightly.

You shut the door behind her, raising an eyebrow.

"Alright," you said. "What’s going on?"

She stopped, turned to you, and crossed her arms even tighter.

"Did you make a bet about me?"

Your stomach sank.

Oh, shit.

"Uh—what?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Pietro told me he heard you and your friends betting about me last night."

Of course that little traitor did.

You winced. "Okay, technically—"

"Technically," she cut in, "you were literally betting on whether I liked you or not?"

Shit.

"That makes it sound bad," you tried.

"It is bad," she snapped.

You hesitated. "Okay, yeah. But it’s not—look, it wasn’t meant to be, like, a joke or anything, it was just—"

"Just what?"

You opened your mouth.

And then closed it.

Because, in all honesty, what could you even say?

That your friends had ambushed you into an existential crisis about your feelings? That you had been spiraling about whether or not you actually had a chance with her?

That, up until last night, you hadn’t even let yourself believe that Wanda could like you back?

That even now, standing in front of her, your heart was beating so fast you were afraid she could hear it?

You swallowed hard.

Wanda was watching you carefully, waiting.

You inhaled deeply, exhaled.

And then—

"Yeah," you admitted. "We did."

Her expression didn’t change.

"But not because I think of you as a joke or anything like that," you hurried on. "It was because I—I wasn’t sure if you even liked me at all, and I—I guess I was scared to admit how much I—"

You cut yourself off.

Shit.

Too much.

Wanda blinked. "…How much you what?"

Your throat went dry.

She was looking at you differently now.

Like she was actually listening.

Like she was waiting for an answer.

You swallowed again.

"…How much I like you," you finally admitted, voice quiet.

Wanda went still.

Your heart pounded so hard it hurt.

She wasn’t saying anything.

Why wasn’t she saying anything?

And then, just as the panic started creeping in—

"…You’re an idiot," she muttered.

You barely had time to process it before she stepped closer—and, oh—

Then she was kissing you.

It was fast, impulsive, not careful—like she had spent way too long pretending she didn’t want to, and now that the dam had broken, she had no intention of stopping.

Her hands gripped your hoodie, pulling you in, and you barely had time to react before you were kissing her back, matching her urgency, her desperation.

Your mind spun.

Holy shit.

This was happening.

Wanda Maximoff was kissing you.

And—judging by the way she was still kissing you—she had wanted to for a long time.

When she finally pulled back, breathless, her hands still fisted in your hoodie, you could barely think straight.

"…Wow," you managed.

She rolled her eyes. "Shut up."

You grinned. "Never."

And then she was kissing you again.

You’d love to say that after that moment—after Wanda had kissed you, after you’d both finally admitted your feelings—it had been smooth sailing.

But, of course, nothing in your life was ever that simple.

For one, your friends were insufferable.

Carol had nearly choked on her protein shake when she saw you and Wanda holding hands on campus the next day. Yelena and Kate had high-fived so aggressively that Kate actually sprained her wrist. Natasha had just given you a knowing smirk and muttered, “Finally.”

And Pietro—

Oh, Pietro.

He had spent an entire week strutting around like he had personally orchestrated your love story. Every time he saw you and Wanda together, he’d nudge her and say, “See, I told you so.”

Wanda had nearly hexed him into next week.

But aside from your friends being absolutely unbearable, things between you and Wanda were… surprisingly easy.

There were no weird growing pains, no awkwardness—just an overwhelming sense of relief. Like finally exhaling after holding your breath for too long.

Now that neither of you had to pretend anymore, it was effortless.

You found yourselves constantly together—stealing quiet moments between classes, studying together in your dorm, holding hands under the table at group hangouts.

And kissing.

A lot of kissing.

Which was exactly what you were doing when someone loudly cleared their throat behind you.

You and Wanda both jumped, pulling apart.

Pietro was standing there, arms crossed, looking way too pleased with himself.

"Am I interrupting?" he asked, grinning.

Wanda groaned. "Yes, obviously."

"Well, too bad." Pietro leaned against the doorway, smirking. "I just came to remind you that we have movie night at my place tonight."

You blinked. "We do?"

"Yes, and you’re both coming," he said, pointing at Wanda before turning to you. "That includes you, lovebird."

Wanda scoffed. "No one invited you to our plans, Pietro."

He shrugged. "I am your twin. That makes me automatically invited to everything you do."

Wanda rolled her eyes, and you just laughed, shaking your head.

There was no point in arguing.

Pietro would always get his way.

And honestly?

You didn’t mind.

Because, for the first time in a long time, everything felt right.

And it was only just the beginning.

If someone had told you years ago that you’d end up marrying Wanda Maximoff, you would’ve laughed in their face.

Not because you didn’t think she was the most incredible person you’d ever met—because of course she was. Even when she pretended not to like you, she still made your heart race in a way no one else ever had.

But because you never thought she’d actually feel the same way.

And yet, here you were.

Standing in front of your friends and family, wearing the most ridiculous grin of your life, while Wanda Maximoff—your wife—stood next to you, looking more beautiful than ever.

The journey to this moment had been insane.

From your days in college, where you spent way too long denying your feelings, to Wanda finally kissing you in your dorm room—to moving in together after graduation, supporting each other through every success and failure, every moment of doubt, every hardship.

There had been struggles, of course. Wanda was stubborn. You were stubborn. But there had never been a single moment where you doubted that she was the one you wanted to spend forever with.

And now, with her fingers laced through yours, her wedding ring glinting in the dim reception lights, you couldn’t believe how lucky you were.

It was time for the speeches.

Which, unfortunately, meant it was time for your friends to absolutely roast the two of you.

Carol was the first to stand up, champagne glass in hand and a smirk already forming.

"Alright," she started, "I’m not gonna lie. This might be the most painful slow burn relationship I’ve ever witnessed in real life. And that’s saying something, considering I’ve read fanfiction."

The crowd laughed, and you groaned, burying your face in Wanda’s shoulder while she shook with silent laughter.

"You swore you’d never fall in love," Carol continued, pointing at you. "You lectured us about how love wasn’t for you, how you’d never be one of those people who lost their minds over a girl." She paused, looking at Wanda. "And yet, the moment you met this one, it was game over."

You didn’t even bother arguing.

Carol turned to Wanda. "And you. The way you rejected this idiot over and over again, I swear I thought you hated her."

More laughter. Wanda rolled her eyes but didn’t protest.

Carol smirked. "Turns out, you were just as much of a lovesick idiot as she is. So, congratulations, finally." She raised her glass. "To Wanda and Y/N—may you continue being absolute disasters, just together this time."

Everyone clinked their glasses, and you barely had time to recover before Natasha stood up next.

"I knew this was going to happen," she said simply.

That got some chuckles.

She shrugged. "Seriously. The moment I saw them arguing over who was more competitive at Mario Kart, I knew we were all doomed."

Wanda snorted. "I was more competitive."

You gasped. "Liar!"

Natasha raised a hand. "See? This is what we all had to deal with for years."

You groaned. "We had to deal with you and Yelena placing bets on us!"

Natasha smirked. "Yeah, and I won, so thanks for that."

Wanda nudged you playfully. "Told you we should’ve made our own bet."

Natasha smiled, then softened slightly. "In all seriousness… you two are perfect for each other. And I’m glad you finally saw what the rest of us did. Love you both."

You swallowed hard at that, squeezing Wanda’s hand.

Then Yelena stood up, and you immediately braced yourself.

"Okay," she started, "so technically, I didn’t believe this would happen."

More laughter.

"I mean, really—Wanda spent so much time rejecting Y/N, I was convinced she just enjoyed watching her suffer."

Wanda rolled her eyes. "I did enjoy it."

You gaped at her. "Are you serious?"

"Of course," she said smugly.

Yelena laughed. "See? Evil. But then, I caught her staring at you like you hung the stars, so I knew she was doomed."

You felt Wanda squeeze your hand at that, and when you looked at her, she was already looking at you with that soft, quiet adoration that still left you breathless.

Yelena grinned. "Anyway, I love you both, and I expect at least one niece or nephew out of this marriage."

You choked. "Yelena!"

Kate, who was sitting beside her, elbowed her. "Subtle."

Yelena just shrugged. "What? I’m just saying."

You buried your face in Wanda’s shoulder again while she laughed.

Then, finally, Pietro stood up.

He adjusted his tie, smirking slightly. "I’ll keep this short."

Everyone immediately doubted that.

"From the moment I saw these two interact, I knew one thing: this was either going to end in murder, or marriage."

The entire room burst into laughter.

He grinned. "Luckily, it was the second one. Barely."

You pointed at him. "There’s still time for the first one, Maximoff."

He grinned wider. "And this is why it took you both so long to get here."

Wanda laughed, shaking her head.

"But in all seriousness," Pietro continued, his voice softening, "I’ve watched my sister go through a lot. I’ve seen her struggle, I’ve seen her shut people out. And then you came along."

He turned to you, something genuine in his expression.

"And suddenly, she wasn’t alone anymore."

Your throat tightened.

"You make her happy," Pietro said simply. "And that’s all I’ve ever wanted for her."

Wanda sniffled slightly beside you, and you instinctively reached for her hand.

Pietro raised his glass. "To Wanda and Y/N. You took forever, but you got here in the end. And that’s all that matters."

The room erupted into cheers.

You turned to Wanda, who was already smiling at you, her eyes glistening.

You didn’t say anything.

You didn’t have to.

Because as she leaned in and kissed you, with all your friends cheering around you, you knew—

You’d never been surer of anything in your life.

And you never would be.

Being married to Wanda was everything you imagined and more.

The first few years were filled with adventure—traveling together, lazy Sunday mornings tangled in the sheets, cooking disastrous meals that always ended in takeout, and endless laughter.

You had expected it to be different after the wedding, but truthfully, it wasn’t. If anything, it just felt right. Like the two of you had already been a unit for so long that the official title of "wife" was just the cherry on top.

And Wanda—

Wanda was your home.

She was your morning coffee and late-night whispers. She was the one who made fun of you when you cried at movies, but also the one who pulled you close whenever you needed comfort.

She was your best friend, your greatest love, and—soon enough—the mother of your children.

It had been her idea.

One night, as you lay in bed together, her head on your chest, fingers lazily tracing patterns on your skin, she had whispered, “I want to have a baby.”

You had frozen.

Not because you were against the idea, but because it was so big—so real.

A baby.

A tiny, beautiful human that was half hers, half yours.

It didn’t take long for you to agree.

Because of course you did.

The thought of Wanda as a mother—of raising a family with her—was the easiest "yes" of your life.

The day Billy and Tommy were born was the happiest, most chaotic day of your life.

Wanda was exhausted but radiant, holding both boys in her arms, tears slipping down her cheeks as she looked at them like they were her entire universe.

And you—

You were utterly speechless.

You had thought you knew love before. You thought you had felt it in all its forms.

But nothing compared to the way your heart stopped when you held your sons for the first time.

They were perfect.

Tiny, fragile, and absolutely perfect.

And just like that, your world was never the same.

Billy and Tommy grew up surrounded by love, laughter, and a lot of chaos.

They had an army of aunts and uncles—Carol, Yelena, Kate, Natasha, Pietro, Wong, and even Strange (who somehow got roped into the madness).

Pietro’s daughter, Luna, became like a third sibling, always running around with them, getting into trouble.

Your home was never quiet.

There were always little feet pattering across the floor, endless giggles, and toys scattered everywhere.

And then came Sparky.

You had tried to say no.

You really had.

But Billy and Tommy had inherited Wanda’s puppy-dog eyes, and when they teamed up with her, you never stood a chance.

Sparky became the most spoiled, beloved dog in existence, following the boys wherever they went.

One night, after the boys were asleep and Sparky was curled up at the foot of your bed, you turned to Wanda, taking her hand.

She looked at you, raising an eyebrow. "What’s on your mind?"

You swallowed, suddenly feeling overwhelmed by everything—the love, the life you had built, the sheer happiness that filled every inch of your world.

"I just…" You took a deep breath. "Falling in love with you was the best thing I ever did."

Her eyes softened.

She squeezed your hand, smiling.

"Yeah," she murmured. "Me too."

And then she kissed you.

Soft.

Lingering.

Full of love.

And in that moment, with Wanda by your side, your sons sleeping peacefully down the hall, and Sparky snoring at your feet—

You knew.

This was it.

This was forever.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[oceantornadoo]

the ex-wife chronicles pt.1 (ex husband!john price x f!reader)

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John Price loves Kate Laswell. She’s like an older sister to him, a brusque sort of bond built by survival and betrayal.

He hates one thing about her: how much she loves her wife.

“You’re takin’ leave?” John huffs into the speak of his phone, his shoulder pressing it into his ear. “Soap’s going to be recovering for months, and Ghost with him. Our main enemy is dead. I was offered two months of leave as compensation for the past year so yes, John, I am taking leave so I can actually see my wife for more than a meal.” John sighs discontentedly, already knowing this means he’ll have to be interacting with others who don’t understand his team. It’s a sneaky mistake he tries to slip into the conversation, testing the waters.

“Not that my men won’t enjoy the two months of leave-” Kate cuts him off with a chuckle. Damn it. “I’m assigning a temporary contact for you. I trust her with my life and I think you will too. She will be giving me updates every week.” John sighs again like a disappointed grandfather. “She’s experienced in managing field trauma as well, so she’ll be like a field therapist but with my clearance. The higher-ups were shaken by Soap getting shot and reassurance that the team will exist in six months. She’ll help Ghost reacclimate, Soap recover, and put you and Gaz back together. Lord knows you need it.” John really can’t deny that. The shell-shocked look that hides behind Gaz’s eyes every time he enters the hospital. Simon sits vigil at Johnny’s bedside, scaring off the most seasoned doctors with one glare. John doesn’t even want to know what he looks like since he’s only shaved once since Johnny got shot three weeks ago. It’s like penance since one of his men almost died. “You sayin’ we’ll have two months of team bonding while you fuck off on your honeymoon?” He can hear a smile in Kate’s tone as she replies, “We’re calling it a vow renewal. I’ll send you a postcard.”

The next ten minutes are spent reading emails about the logistics of this ‘team-bonding’. Compulsory group activities made for specialized military teams. None of that holding-hands bullshit but real strategies to use on and off the field. Breathing techniques, yoga, massages, visualization techniques, while reacclimating them to a battlefield. Each team member will be assigned a different therapist and the woman Laswell is sending will be ensuring that therapy is attended. Laswell still hasn’t sent over the personnel file, something about ‘not wanting to ruin the surprise’ which John only grunted at, watching the end of his cigar burn closer and closer to his hand. The spark of him reminds him of the bullet-hole in Johnny’s head, a starburst of destruction. Maybe a little therapy wouldn’t hurt.

“She gets there tomorrow. She’ll be staying on base and in your section of housing, easier access for emergencies.” What emergencies? The constant nightmares that bleed into John’s days? “We don’t have an extra room.” Kate’s silent for a second. “Soap-” “Is off limits. Jesus, Kate.” She’s silent and he can hear her flipping through files, likely looking at the base’s layout. “Actually, I have a better idea. The isolation housing.” It’s usually used as punishment for unruly recruits, a bit like that Parent Trap movie his nieces used to watch. Ex-nieces.

Four bedrooms with a shared bathroom, updated plumbing but an isolated location. Perfect for forcing soldiers who don’t like each other together until they’re used to the smell of each other’s shit. Unfortunately perfect for two months of team bonding. “There’s no office.” Kate snorts at his protest. “Use Ghost’s. He’s required to show up but it’s not like he’ll be sleeping there. I bet he won’t even step foot into the room.” John sighs in defeat at her solution. A part of him knows his team needs this but it irks him, knowing they’re going to be fattened up like chickens just to be slaughtered the moment they’re able to fight. It doesn’t escape them that this is an investment that requires results. More time off means they’re expected to come back polished like new, shoving the memory of Johnny getting shot into a corner and compartmentalizing. Christ, that’s dark, even for him.

“Fine.” Kate hums. “She’ll be there at 0800 tomorrow. If you want to be a good host, I’d make sure the barracks are ready by tonight.” John murmurs his goodbye and wonders how the hell he’s supposed to get his team to report for duty tomorrow.

-

“Sir.” Heart machines beep in the background on Simon’s side of the call. John slides a hand down his desk, tracing the wood grain as he imagines the phantom pain the man is going through. “How’s Soap?” He can hear a ruffling of fabric, like Simon’s masked head is turning to confirm Johnny exists before replying. “They’re sayin’ it was a graze but the shock waves caused more damage.” Right. The image John sees every night, that of a gaping wound in Johnny’s head, is not actually true. The bullet only grazed, due to the reflexes of his sergeant, but all the blood at the scene made it look much worse. Doctors didn’t even need to do surgery, just a worrying amount of tests and shock at Johnny’s ability to survive. John knows all this information of course, but he also knows Simon needs to keep saying it to remind himself that it’s true.

“He starts therapy in a week.” John replies. Simon grunts. This timeline was suggested by the doctors but John has now confirmed it, something he knows Simon hates. “When he starts, you’re expected back on base.” Simon does not sputter. He’s not built for it. However, John knows the man enough to hear the instinct of doing so in the back of the man’s throat. When Simon doesn’t hang up, John continues. “We’re not gettin’ shipped out for a while. As long as you’re on base durin’ the day, I don’t care where you’re sleepin’. The PT facility is only a 15 minute drive from base.” Translation: I don’t care that you’re sleeping with Johnny. The biggest concession John can make without acknowledging it, something he knows Simon will hate. The speaker crackles, Simon muffling it with a gloved hand. He can imagine the man turning to Johnny, the two conversing in that language only they know. Finally, the speaker becomes clear. “See you in seven days, sir.” John says goodbye and the line cuts.

He dials Gaz next. Although the call connects instantly, he imagines the signal traversing north to Lancashire, where Gaz decided to take off after they were all given personal leave. His family home, not his usual flat in London. A choice John would make as well, if he had a family home to go back to. Not a tragedy like Simon but simply…unattached. His parents died from old age a few years ago and he was the only child of two only children. He’d gone back to his own London flat, but memories of his men playing poker in his living room, Johnny laughing and happy, had been too haunting.

“Sir?” Gaz greets him apprehensively. “Alrigh’, Gaz?” The man pauses, the check-in catching him off-guard. John mentally notes that’s a reaction he doesn’t want in the future. Something to bring up at this godforsaken team bonding experience. “Yessir.” He keeps going when John doesn’t say anything, trying to drag a response out of the sergeant. “Bit of rest and relaxation. Been checkin’ in with Soap when Ghost picks up his phone.” John hums, eyes flicking back to the team bonding itinerary in front of him. “Rest’s over, Gaz. There’s a flight for you at your old airfield. It’ll take off in four hours, 0800 sharp.” Four hours, the most he could give Gaz for some goodbyes, a sorely needed morale boost for the next few months. “Thank you, sir. See you soon.” For the second time today, John hangs up on a call he didn’t want to make.

The rest of the day passes in a haze of paperwork. John scrounges up a pre-wrapped sandwich from mess and eats it with two-fingers of whiskey. A feast fit for a king. Sleep overtakes him in fits and starts, a reminder that he needs a clear mind for tomorrow is the only reason he forces himself to slow his breathing and give in.

-

Gaz arrived late last night. They watch a helicopter land at exactly 0805, wind whipping around their jackets as they squint in the morning sun. Their hats do almost nothing to block it. A few familiar faces hop off, men who tagged along in the flight from the Manchester base back to London. It’s only after they clear the area that you emerge.

Standard base gear with a black hoodie thrown over your t-shirt to wear off the morning chill. You’ve got sunglasses on, blocking the glare that’s sent John squinting. It’s only when you pull them off your face and into the crown of your hair does John realize who he’s looking at.

It’s been ten years since he saw his ex-wife. He did not expect a reunion on a spring Tuesday morning.

John’s well-trained enough to swear in a low tone that doesn’t catch Gaz’s ears. The man has a sunny smile on his face, his hand stuck out for a handshake. “You must be Kyle Garrick.” You say, stopping in front of the men as you shake Gaz’s hand firmly. “Got our files memorized already, Doc?” You laugh, a sharp, tinkling sound that sends an almost-shiver down John’s spine. “No,” you pause to look John up and down, “call it process of elimination.” You don’t bother to shake his hand. Instead, you wait until your eyes catch and nod, like you are cordial colleagues. Like you weren’t his wife once upon a time (it was only a year, his brain whispers). John tips his hat and turns to lead you back to the isolation barracks. In the background, he can hear Gaz recovering well, asking questions about the flight and how you know Kate.

John gives a half-hearted tour, a hard feat to complete when he refuses to meet your eyes. There’s mainly a lot of gesturing and grumbling about how this won’t be a spot to frequent since you’re getting moved to the other barracks. John feels out of character, particularly moody on what was supposed to be a new start of a day. Instead, you, the woman he hasn’t thought about for years (well, maybe a little bit), is at his heels, expected to be his new boss.

The walk to the barracks takes half an hour. Gaz offered to take your bag and now he’s paying for it, his shoulder slumping as he carries the pile of bricks. If John still knew you, he would guess there’s a few of your well-worn books in there. But he doesn’t (know you, that is), so he pretends his sergeant needs to up his bicep routine. How should he kill Kate Laswell? Maybe not answer her calls until she shows up at base so he can get the drop on her. Or show up on her vow renewal vacation and dress her down in front of her wife. All terrible ideas, spun to distract him from the fact that you are hiking a grassy hill a meter behind him, about to enter your new cohabitated home for the next two months. And share a bathroom.

“Christ, Captain, they couldn’tve given it a new paint job?” The gray paint outside the building is flaking, but at least it’s updated inside. John guides them in, pointing out room assignments. You pass by him in a whiff of a new perfume scent he hasn’t smelled and silent outrage, a deadly combination. “Fancy a tea, sir?” John’s about to shake his head until he remembers. He rounds the hallway of bedrooms into the small kitchen, where empty shelves sit. “Looks like we need a restock, Sergeant.” Gaz sighs. John fishes out the new Visa Laswell sent over as part of their ‘bonding budget’. “Don’t steal from mess, go to the store.” It’s at least an hour trip to the parking lot, the shops, and back. Enough time for an argument with his ex-wife, hopefully. Gaz looks a little dazed at the sudden power in his hands. “How much can I buy, sir?” Ghost may love his tea but Gaz is obsessed with candy, always trying a new kind whenever they’re deployed. Somehow, the kid still has perfect teeth. Also, John is still mad at Laswell. “Whatever catches your eye, Sergeant.” He’s gone in a flash, the front door banging on the way out as he yells ‘thank you, sir’ over his shoulder. John sighs.

He finds you in your bedroom, predictably pulling out books from your go-bag. Your shoulders tense when he purposefully stomps up to your doorframe, waiting. You speak at the same time.

“Look, I didn’t know-”

“I don’t know what Laswell told you but-”

You stop at the same time as well, glaring at each other from opposite sides of the room. He gestures at you to go first, a gentleman move that has you rolling your eyes. “I didn’t know it was your team. I owed Laswell a favor and didn’t have anything on my docket, so when she said she needed me to piece some men back together, I volunteered for the challenge.” He takes you in as you talk. The confidence in your squared shoulders is new, no longer faked. Your hairstyle is different as is your makeup, a fact that shouldn’t surprise him. The only thing that stays the same is the bracelet at your wrist, a slim sentimental piece of metal. 

“That what you do now? Piece men back together?” You shrug, turning away from him to unpack. “You know I was never meant to be a regular field doctor. I’ve got both my security clearance and psychiatry background - it’s a unique combination. I get to pick my cases without a lot of paperwork and without worrying whose war I’m fighting. I like what I do.” The message is clear. You are morally above John and you’re proud of it, a fact he sees in your now-relaxed shoulders. You stack books near your bedside, then toss a bag of toiletries on the freshly-made bed. Turning back around to face him, you cross your arms and raise your eyebrows. At least your frustrated look hasn’t changed.

“We gonna have a problem, John? I thought you were a Captain, all professional.” He edges closer into the room, crossing some invisible barrier. “No problem. I’m capable of burying a decade-old history.” You huff, tilting your chin to meet his eyes. It’s you and him for a second, staring. Not reminiscing but remembering. The ghosts of your past fights, long dead and forgotten, are suddenly brought back to life with one blink. Meeting when you were both young and dumb, a whirlwind engagement, an angst-filled marriage. The whole process of it is a two-year blip in his memory from nearly ten years ago. No prenup but no shared assets either, everything you both were and are belonging to the military. Like knocking two dolls together and being disappointed when nothing forms between them.

He only thinks about your marriage when he’s drunk. Drunk and alone. Drunk and with a pretty thing under him, only to blink and remember what you felt like.

Other than that, he doesn’t think about his failed marriage.

John sticks his hand out and you take it. Miraculously, your hand is not as callused as his and he wants to ask why, how you don’t bear the scars of sewing soldiers back together, occasionally pricking your own thumb and watching it bleed. The moment is gone when you let go.

-

a few things

i will not be doing a taglist, they stress me out

this has been in my drafts for weeks, i have one more chapter written but don't expect timely updates

this is mainly going to be fast-burn bc they have a history and i get impatient if there's no smut

no clue how long this is going to be but pls enjoy!

tag: fic: formerly mrs. price

[multific]

Prove It to Me

Emperor Geta x Reader

Summary: With Caracalla's health getting worse by the day, you try to attract the eyes of your husband, Geta.

The golden light of dusk streamed through the tall windows of your chambers.

The empire was silent outside these walls, but within them, the weight of the world pressed heavily on your husband’s shoulders.

Geta stood near the balcony, his gaze fixed on the horizon, though you knew his thoughts were elsewhere. He had barely touched the food you had sent for him earlier, barely acknowledged your presence when you tried to comfort him.

He was worried about Caracalla. Again.

You understood. You truly did. 

The twins had been bound together since birth, and Caracalla’s illness had been lingering for weeks now, an affliction that not even the empire’s finest physicians could fully explain.

But understanding did not ease the ache that settled deep in your chest, nor did it soothe the loneliness.

You rested a hand against your growing belly, feeling the movement within, a reminder that you were not truly alone, but it didn’t stop the resentment.

“Has he improved?” you asked, though you already knew the answer.

Geta sighed, rubbing his temple. “No. The fever remains. The physicians say it may pass, but they cannot be sure.” His voice was distant as if he were speaking to himself rather than to you.

You watched him, taking in the tension in his jaw, the exhaustion darkening his eyes. He looked as though he hadn’t slept in days, but even so, there was a part of you that wanted to demand his attention.

To demand that he notice you.

“Have you eaten today?” you tried again, hoping, praying, that this time he would look at you.

“Later,” he murmured, still staring out at the setting sun.

Your fingers curled against the fabric of your dress. It was always later.

You had been patient, swallowing down the ache of being second in his heart, but tonight something inside you cracked.

The jealousy, the frustration, it all came down crashing.

You were four months pregnant, carrying the heir to his empire, and yet you felt invisible.

You inhaled sharply, forcing your voice to remain steady. “I’ve decided I will leave for the villa.”

That got his attention.

Geta turned to you, his brows furrowing. “What?”

You lifted your chin, meeting his eyes with determination. “I will leave for the villa,” you repeated. “Perhaps some time away will be good for me.”

His expression darkened. “You are not going anywhere.”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “And why not? You certainly don’t need me here. You have been so consumed by your brother’s illness that you hardly notice I exist.”

“That is not true.”

“Isn’t it?” You took a step forward, your voice rising. “When was the last time you touched me, Geta? Held me? Looked at me the way you used to? I have been waiting for you to remember that I am here, that I need you too.”

He stared at you, silent, his lips pressed into a thin line.

You swallowed hard, your throat tight with emotion. “I know Caracalla is your brother, and I know you fear losing him. But what about me? What about our child?” Your hand moved instinctively to your belly. “We need you too. And if you cannot see that, then I will go where I am wanted.”

His entire body tensed. “You would leave me?”

You exhaled sharply, blinking back the sting of tears. “Unless you can prove to me that you still love me, Geta, I don’t see why I should stay.”

For a moment, he said nothing.

The air between you was thick with tension. Then, without warning, he moved.

In an instant, he was in front of you, his hands cupping your face, his breath warm against your lips. “You are my wife,” he said, his voice low, almost desperate. “You are carrying my child. Do you think for one moment that I do not love you?”

You shuddered at the intensity of his gaze, but the pain in your chest did not disappear. “I need to hear it,” you whispered.

His grip on you tightened, his forehead pressing against yours. “Then let me say it now. I love you. More than my own blood, more than the empire itself.” His hands slipped down to rest against your belly, his fingers reverent. “And I love our child. I have been a fool to neglect you.”

Your breath was slow, your heart pounding in your chest. “Then show me.”

Geta didn’t hesitate.

His lips crashed against yours, fierce and possessive, pouring every unsaid word, every unspoken emotion into the kiss. He kissed you like he had been starved for you like he was terrified you would disappear if he let go.

Because he was.

When he finally pulled away, his breathing was ragged, his hands trembling against you. “Stay,” he murmured, almost a plea. “Stay with me, please.”

Tears slipped down your cheeks, but this time they were not from sorrow.

You reached up, running your fingers through his hair. “I never wanted to leave, Geta. I just wanted you to see me.”

“I see you,” he swore, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then to your lips once more. “I see only you.”

And in that moment, you believed him.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[myderis]

more than obvious ꒱ anaxa 'n fem reader ᰔ fluff ⊹ word count 0.5k

“ANAXA—” 

“Rule number one,” Anaxagoras interrupts, as he holds up his hand making you pause mid-sentence. He is always so oppressive, it's like he's someone of a very high caliber, and it doesn't matter even if he is, he might not act so mean when you want to talk to him.

“Fine. Anaxagoras,” you huff, crossing your arms and rolling your eyes, “But you’re not fooling anyone. You’ve been avoiding my question for weeks now. Come on, you know what I’m talking about.”

The Sage glanced back and you saw the faintest gleam of annoyance crossing his otherwise emotionless face. “If I knew, would I be standing here enduring your never-ending prattle,” he replied dryly. “Enlighten me, what is it you believe I’m hiding?”

"Don’t play dumb. It doesn’t suit you."  

"Neither does your constant need to interrupt." Each word that left his mouth was dripping with sarcasm. There’s no denying that it’s in his blood to speak and act that way. "Rule number two: silence is golden. Perhaps try it sometime."  

You rolled your eyes once again. “You’re telling me you’ve never been interested in someone? Like—ever?” He stopped walking, turning just enough for you to see his arched brow. “What a waste of time,” he said, not daring to give you more answers

Sighing, you tried to mask the frustration bubbling inside you. “A waste of time? Then why do you tolerate me?”

His lips quirked into a sly, knowing smile, but he said nothing.

“Don’t give me that smug look! If you don’t care about people, then why—” Why does he have to be so… so him? Quiet, distant, like the entire world revolves around the pursuit of truth and knowledge. He could spend hours debating the existence of celestial beings, but when it comes to human emotion? Absolutely clueless.  

"Why can’t you just admit it already?" you snap. "You know how I feel, and I’m not blind. I’ve seen how you look at me!"  

"How I look at you?" he repeats, tilting his head like you’re an experiment gone wrong. "What an astounding observation. Truly, your skills as a logician are unmatched."  

"Don’t pretend this doesn’t mean anything!" Your voice rises more than intended to do so. His lips twitch again, it’s not a smile, you’re not sure what is it anymore. "If you’re referring to your unexplainable fascination with me, it’s hardly a secret. Your melodrama makes it rather… obvious."  

Heat rises to your face. "Just tell me if you have a crush, Anaxa—”

He smirks faintly before gently flicking your forehead. “First,” he said, his fingers still on your skin before he did it again, and you flinched back, rubbing the spot. “never call me that. Second, you’re hopeless.”

“Hopeless?”

"It’s useless to get so angry," he says with a shrug, already turning away. "The reason and the answer to your question are more than obvious. If you can’t see it, perhaps your next pursuit should be self-awareness."  

And just like that, he leaves, and you stood there, stunned, as realization slowly dawned on you.

© MYDERIS. do not translate, plagiarize, or steal my work.

[iwaasfairy]

┌─ “ ! „ HEARTBEAT

tw. pseudocest, noncon, possessiveness, grooming?, age gap, blood, murder, a lot of trauma bonding

wordcount. 6k

a/n. thank yoUUUU rhi for betaing you are my favorite as alwaysssss I love you soooo much ♡♡

okkotsu yuuta x fem!reader

Blood is splattered on the ground of the dirty alley, and there’s another heavy thump when his kick once again lands on the kid’s skull and he moans in pain. He calls him a kid in his head because he’s got that shit-faced little attitude, and now an ugly gap where his front teeth used to sit, but he should be old enough to know better. As a couple passes by the narrow street, he shields things from view a little, before using the long edge of his sheathed sword to push the dumb, bloody face to the side. Because his eyes are starting to look like two overripe tomatoes from the impact, he couches down before the sandy brunet.

“You know what this is about?” Yuuta’s voice is hoarse. He hadn’t really noticed it before, but it’s been a busy week cleaning up your messes. Don’t get him wrong, he doesn’t mind. If anything, it makes him feel sort of useful. You’re good and kind and don’t get into trouble on purpose — which is why he’s here late at night making sure things get handled. Niisan’s got it, after all. He doesn’t bother to clear his voice. “Hey.”

“Take my cash,” the young man below him now whistles through the missing teeth, teary eyes darting around as he pats his hand all over himself to look for a wallet.

Yuuta scoffs. “I don’t want your money. If I did, you think I’d waste my time beating your face in like you had it coming?” The anxious, almost nervous lilt to his own voice doesn’t escape him. If you could see him now, you’d probably say that he was enjoying this too much - and while he is, the idea of this getting back to you doesn’t escape his mind. It won’t though, logically speaking. The kid probably wouldn’t be able to see straight for a couple hours, and you will never find out. “I want to know why you’re hanging around Rika’s kid sister.”

“Kid? W- I don’t know any Rika!” He yelps when he tries to lift his head and gets the handle of the weapon hit hard onto the bridge of his nose again, adding more blood to the mess that’s running all over the bottom of his face. Yuuta really can’t see it, lifting his top lip in slight disgust. Handsome, where? Just as much as this boy isn’t really a kid anymore, neither are you. But you’re younger, and deserving of protection — is it really so bad he wants to imagine you as his baby sister for a bit longer before you start trying to escape from under his wings?

Not that you’re going to go anywhere.

“I don’t know a Rika,” the blond whines again now, hiding his face into his hands to drool and hiccup against the cold floor.

“Orimoto Rika, has a kid sister.” Yuuta bites back, patience running really thin.

“O-I- I kn- oh, we’re in the same uni prep class!” He gets up to close his eyes and focus all his attention on not just kicking against his skull until the answers fall out. He knows that, how else would he even know to ask? The head damage takes it a few seconds to make the guy continue, sniffling. “We’re friends- or- my friend knew her. I liked her so we hung out a few times.” Yuuta’s hand is cold around the worn handle.

He takes a slow breath, watches the cloud of air as he lets it out. The promise ring glints in the light of the street, and it’s all familiarity and instinct that makes him brush his thumb over it. “Were you serious with her? Or did you tell her whatever so you could fuck her? Hm? Did you fuck my little sister?” The brunet snivels and whines under him when his foot lands back right before his face, demanding attention.

“I won’t talk to her anymore, I swear! I swear I w-won’t even - it’ll be like I never existed. Please.” The pitiful whining he’s doing, groveling like a dog below him - sort of reminds him of a younger him. Someone who didn’t have a purpose yet, and was scared of everything for it. The heavy weight of the ring clings to his hand when he lifts it to unsheath the katana, seeming to wrap a comforting palm around his own. If he could, he'd tangle fingers with her.

“P-please, let me go home! I didn’t do- I wouldn’t touch your s-sister, I didn’t know.”

“I hate guys who aren’t serious with her.” He clicks his tongue, and has to spit out the nasty taste that this entire situation leaves on his tongue. The weight of the sword is barely an inconvenience when both hands wrap around the handle properly. He’s doing this for Rika and him. Always. “She deserves so much better.” A mean flash of possession crosses his thoughts - how no one except him will ever be good enough. But he pushes it back, because that has nothing to do with why he’s doing this. Nothing.

+

“Yuuta~” Her voice haunts when he closes his eyes.

He’s in the sandpit of the Children’s hospital, rocking back and forth softly on the edge of it as he waits. The sun makes the sand nice and toasty, it warms his feet when he plants them down. “Yuuta!” It’s instinctive, when he looks up at the familiar voice. Rika’s hair travels in a perfect arc behind her when she runs to make it catch the light like a halo. Pretty blue dress making the shine of her hair even brighter, cheeks rosy, and her eyes glittering diamonds when they find his and she crashes down next to him. Her scraped knee is proof that it’s too hard, but he can’t help but smile when her cheek touches his arm on the landing.

Something hits the floor with a loud thump.

Yuuta turns over his shoulder to watch. There’s a smaller child that’s chin down on the earth behind them two, thick crocodile tears threatening to spill when Rika gasps. “Rika neechan~ Wait.” You pout, straightening up quicker than you should to reach your hands out to her. The girl hurries over to dust your cheeks off and drag you along behind her. It’s such a nice day out, Yuuta’s sweater is just thick enough to make his entire body warm. He stares at your face a little too long, before glancing between you two.

You’re still rounder than she is, but it’s undeniably eerie. “Your sister?” He asks softly, and Rika grins wide. She gently maneuvers you by the hand to sit next to her, then pulls you into a hug.

Her lips are pretty pink when she licks them. “This is Yuuta. Say ‘hi Yuuta’.” You parrot your sister obediently, as she waves your hand around at him. “Me and Yuuta are going to get married. So you should be very nice to him, okay?” Her sweet cheeks are the exact same as yours, long lashes and big, knowing eyes that always have him staring. You just look absentmindedly at the grass when Rika holds you into her side, but nod.

He smiles softly when your big eyes find his again. And Rika giggles. “And she’s gonna be your sister one day, so you gotta protect her well. We’re gonna be one happy family, promise?” She extends her arm to hold out a pinky finger at him. “That’s what I want.”

+

His fingers are pressing indents into your arm. It’s unusual. Yuuta’s always gentle, he’s soft and cares, but today his hand is screwed almost protectively tight around your upper arm, and you can’t say that you hate the feeling. Maybe childishly, you want him to squeeze even harder - so you’ll have no reason to get out.

You don’t come here a lot. Not since the accident tore open the painful scarred memory of it, but even before then, it wasn’t exactly your favorite place. It’s at Yuuta’s gentle prompting that you even managed to dress, and now walk however slowly between the low stone walls. The rain taps impatiently on the umbrella above, as the older boy casts you a careful glance. Then slowly bends to sit on his ankles, and grabs your hand ever so softly, meeting your eyes. His hands, though big enough to dwarf yours now, are almost velvety when they clasp around yours. It feels like he’s exponentially grown, while you’ve stayed pretty much the same.

Partly the illness. Mostly the age.

“Think you can go on?” he softly asks, kind eyes sympathetically regarding you. Like he’s making a judgment call about whether to turn back after all - debating the long walk back to the hospital. “I’ll be right here with you.”

“You’ve already gone before, haven’t you?” Your voice sounds a bit accusatory, a bit pouty too. Can’t be helped. Yuuta could be a living saint and you’d still find it hard. He clearly doesn’t take it to heart, because he smiles. His one hand then moves up to ruffle your hair.

“It’s still hard for me too, though,” his lips quirk up in an almost smile, but you can tell he doesn’t mean it. It’s sort of comforting to know that even someone like him feels it. Of course he would. Your neesan was family, but Yuuta probably knew her better than you ever could. He was beside her when she got out the two times, and was waiting when she had to get re-admitted. He was there when she got hit— there’s a comforting brush of your cheek when he stands back up and the umbrella gets so much higher. Yuuta blinks. “Come. I think you can do it.”

Your chubby cheeks flood with warmth, as you take his fingers into your hands with a nod. “Okay.”

It’s like this that you wind up at the headstone, stepping through dredged earth that’s been walked on too much. It seems to cling to the bottoms of your shoes with intent - you squeeze Yuuta nii’s hand tighter at the sight of the family grave. It now holds three of your kin in a warm embrace under the several bouquets of wilting flowers, and however morbidly, you think that maybe you’ll be joining soon. You’re young, but it’s not lost on you when the nurses send each other pitying looks.

“Is this where neesan’s buried?” Your voice sounds pinched and small, and sort of pathetic. You imagine Yuuta nii cried when he came to the funeral, but he wouldn’t have whined. You’re whining. You don’t want Yuuta to get fed up with you. Not when he’s the last semblance of ‘family’ you have left. After a while of staring blankly at the stone, he nods, and turns over his shoulder to smile at you again, pulling you a little closer to him. Your arms loop around his waist, staring down at the pretty whites that shake under the rain. “Is this where I’ll be buried when I die?”

He freezes. You feel bad about the double take he does when his spine goes more straight, rigid limbs dropping by his side as a deep, uncomfortable breath makes its way out. Your hands wring together instead.

However long it takes for him to unlock his limbs is however long you breathe through your tears as they well up stubbornly along your lash line, before your head is pulled to his ribs into an embrace. He swallows back emotion himself. “That’s not- I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I promise. I promise.”

“I’m sick-”

“No.” His eyes glint with something silvery when he takes your face between both hands and lets your childishness wash over him, clenching his jaw. “What happened to Rika was an accident- I- I couldn’t do anything then. But nothing’s going to happen to you as long as I’m here. I need- you to believe me.”

You don’t flinch when he uses your cheek to turn your face his way, but the urge still sits. His eyes study your face too intently, like he’s looking for something he can’t quite find. “I promised that I’d be a niichan that protects you.”

Rain splatters into a million glistening flecks as it meets the headstone.

“Okay,” you say.

It isn’t lost on you that his jaw is set too tight as he drags you back by the hand towards his bike, fist clenched around the umbrella. He breathes a tiny, ‘Later, Rika’ before turning on his heel. You don’t manage the same. Your voice gets stuck in your throat, even when he helps you up onto the bike rack in the back, pulling your face into his chest too tight- squeezes you to mold against him. He smells nice for a teen boy. The kiss he leaves on your crown is gentle, and leaves a soft warmth on your skin — You doubt it is really meant for you.

+

The door pushes open as you’re putting clips into your bangs, tongue trapped between your teeth. You cast Yuuta a glance through the mirror when he lingers at the door, and try to smile. “I’m almost ready.” You’re no longer too keen on fighting, the longer the silent treatment drags on. After a while of watching you with his arms crossed over his chest — he walks over to your bed to plop himself down and lets himself fall backward.

“I’m sorry,” the noiret sighs at nothing in particular, as you put on a necklace and after debating for a second, some perfume. The noise makes Yuuta look, studying you when you turn. It’s easy to forget sometimes that Yuuta didn’t have to stay with you, and he sure as hell didn’t have to give up a lot of his youth to take care of you like he does. Like your other family refuses to do when all the cards are on the table. He catches your stare. “You know I love you. I… worry when you’re not right here where I can see you. We stick together.”

“I know.” Your smile only barely makes your lips move, but you do mean it. You just wish realizations like this didn’t always have to come at the cost of fighting. “For what it’s worth, I’ll probably always forgive you.” You try to laugh, and brush your hair out of your eyes a final time before grabbing your bag. “I’m only going to be out for a few hours, max.”

Yuuta frowns when he sits up. His dark hair is brushed out of his face, damp and soft from the shower. “You’re still going?”

You blank. “Yeah, Himari and Shota are waiting for me. We’re going to see a movie.” He only has to let his eyes travel over your body and clothing once, for you to read what he’s thinking. You yank the edge of your skirt a bit lower, and pull your shoulders up. “What, what?! I can’t go out looking like this? It’s basically the same length as my uniform, what’s wrong with that?!”

“I didn’t say anything,” he breathes back, empty eyes regarding you with a static sort of- indifference, you guess.

“You don’t have to, niichan! God!” You turn to walk out the room, but Yuuta grabs your wrist when you pass by the bed. Sat down like he is, eyes tracing you like a lion- Yuuta no longer looks like the boy that used to draw stars on the ceiling of your hospital room for your amusement. Your cheeks heat when he basically glares straight at you for your attitude, and mulls the answer around in his mouth. Your anger subsides as you take a breath. This is the guy who makes you fresh apple juice in the morning, and calls you up between shifts. Because he cares. He just cares.

“Can I please go, Yuuta nii?”

After a few seconds, he clicks his tongue, staring at the edge of your skirt before tugging at it too, barely hiding a frown you can see dig between his brows. “You know I don’t like that Shota kid?”

Your lips jut out. “Yeah…” It’s getting awfully close to time to leave. You take a step back just to get his hands away from you. It’s distracting, and this is your brother you’re dealing with. “But he’s really nice. He started high school already but he used to be in my class the last three years, so… so you don’t have to worry. He knows I can’t do everything because I’m sick and he says—”

“Yeah, I’m sure he says everything you want to hear… You’re smarter than this. You don’t actually believe that.”

“He’s my friend.” A friend that makes your heart beat a bit faster when he smiles at you, but what’s it to him? “He doesn’t lie.”

Yuuta grimaces when you stare him down. “Don’t tell me about teenage boys, I used to be one.” He bristles before sitting up straighter, and though he’s technically below you, you still feel his energy tower as those big, dark eyes stay on your face. “Are you really ‘going to see a movie’? Or are you just going to sit in a boy’s room all night while I’m worried sick-”

You’re about ready to walk out, but his fingers are still looped around your wrist. “We are going to the movies! Himari and I! Just because a boy is there- ugh! Niichan, don’t make it weird!” The heat burns higher on your cheeks when you ball your fists, ignoring the pressure behind your eyes. This is so embarrassing. “I want to go.”

It’s quiet for much too long, making goosebumps appear all over your exposed skin. Then he breathes. “Come here.” His voice has more of an edge than it used to. You used to like the way your name fell from his lips. You’re not so sure you do anymore. Instead of storming out and forgetting all about him, you stare back at the sharpness in his eyes. When he pats his lap with familiarity, you jerk a brow. But you sit. His breath brushes along your neck too softly where he’s seated. It tickles on the way down.

It almost feels like… like he could wrap his hands around your neck and squeeze until you stopped struggling.

Yuuta nii wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t.

Fingers come to your necklace, undoing it, and it drops into your lap on the pretty, blue skirt. It’s suddenly much too cold in the room, and you resist the urge to wrap your arms around yourself. It’s fine. You’re fine. Yuuta is family.

Still the untouched skin of your neck feels too exposed.

If he notices your rigid posture, he doesn’t bother fixing it. Just reaches, then pushes your head forward. The childishly familiar pink, bedazzled heart he holds up instead glints, swaying from where you left it on your side table for the night. “You get back at 9,” his lower voice sounds, “or else I’m driving out to wherever you are and dragging you back to my car.” When you don’t say anything in response, he brushes away your hair from your shoulders.

“Yuuta nii,” you start, clamming up when he drapes the dainty thing around your throat and does the closure for you. “I wasn’t going to wear that one tonight.” You don’t always want to wear whatever Rika left behind until infinity.

“I think you will,” he breathes back, and kisses your exposed shoulder. It’s less sweet, more something to punctuate his statement. If he wasn’t so familiar and soft, you’d immediately fight against the way his strong arms wind around your waist to anchor you in his lap. “Just wear it.” His hands stay against your skin, long after he’s finished. Too long, and after seconds of sitting in the tense silence, you jerk up off his lap to grab your discarded bag from the floor. The other necklace drops to the carpet somewhere, but you don’t care.

“Fine,” you bring out tightly, before giving him a last look. Your bottom lip trembles a slight bit, so you suck it into your mouth to make it stop. And tears sting at the corners despite yourself. “Later, then.”

“Tell Himari that niichan says hello. It’s been so long since she’s been here.” He gets up from your bed too, and you resist the urge to rush out the room before him when he steps around you. You can’t fight the feeling that somehow… you were just caught in your lie. Your phone beeps in your bag, as Yuuta nii disappears around the corner. Shota, probably.

+

Blood. The door creaks, swings against the wind.

Dead.

You hope he’s dead. Blood pools at the center of the showers, sinks down the drain too slowly. It sticks to the pretty porcelain tiles of the old school locker room before the water gurgles it down.

They’re dead.

You don’t have to question it before it’s confirmed. Before the heavy, silver cleaver is lodged into the side of the already ruined skull. All of them. All of the boys of the soccer team seem to be present, though you don’t want to try and count. Counting makes it real. This shouldn’t be. The heavy thump makes way for a gross squelch when he yanks the metal out, and keeps the body down with his foot.

The spatters on his face are still wet. You can’t help the way your voice comes out when you breathe in deep and try to keep the tears from spilling over. The cleaver’s red and sticky and so is his hand, up to his forearm, his forehead from wiping his hair away. All of it, ruined.

“Y-yuuta nii?”

The metal door of the locker slams closed with the wind and hits you in the back, sending you skittering forward a few steps before you force the air out of your lungs with a stuttered pant.

With a soft smile, he turns over his shoulder. “Shhh.” The blood’s crusted under his nails when he presses a finger to his lips, then waves you closer. “Help niichan out?” His eyes glint over, before his smile goes a little wider, and he whips the blood off the weapon onto the ground. “S’ your fault I had to do this after all. We can clean up together. Hm?”

Your breathing is so shallow that you can feel your heartbeat in between your ears. You aren’t sure why you nod. The guilt tastes bitter on the way down.

+

Rika was dead on impact. She didn’t have a chance, even after she fought so vehemently against what took your mom. You know that. Even if she didn’t get struck by misfortune then, she might’ve not lived past her teens.

Yuuta doesn’t seem to know. He also doesn't seem to consider the same for you either— letting you toy with the edge of his shirt where you’re curled into him in your too-small bed. The hospital wants you back for another check-up.

It’s true that you’ve already outlived your sister, but that doesn’t mean it’ll last forever. Yuuta nii doesn’t want to hear it. As he brushes your hair with his fingers, you scratch the arm where the IV’s always get attached with an absent minded pout. Until Yuuta notices, pouting down at you. “Are you still feeling dizzy? I can make you some green tea if you’ll let go of me for a few minutes. Lots of honey like you like.” You quickly shake your head.

To him this is final, the worst you’ll ever get, and in reality that’s probably not the case. You don’t tell him though. His deep eyes stay on you a little too long. “What’s wrong?”

Sometimes you wake up and can’t open your eyes past a blurry sliver, your head tight enough to make your skull feel like it’s caving in. Times where you have to clasp your stomach painfully tight to hold yourself together — stumbling in tears into Yuuta’s room. Like you’ll disintegrate in his arms unless you lock him around yourself. This isn’t as bad, but you still feel bad.

Feverish and cold all at once, achy where your stomach goes up and down. You can’t mention the possibility of having to go back into urgent care without aniiki spiraling, so you keep your mouth shut. “I don’t like green tea,” you guiltily admit instead, and stare up at him when he holds a few knuckles to your head, studying you.

His expression scrutinizes you a little tighter, before he pets over your crown. He presses a soft kiss onto your lips. It’s Rika that loved it, you want to say, but for some reason you can’t make the words come out. He sighs, slightly put out, but then nods. “If you’re feeling better later, maybe you can help Yuuta nii with the curry. Okay?”

“Mhm,” you smile up at him, and you can see how the muscles in his jaw unclench.

His soft hands cup your face intently, staring down at you too intently. It starts sweet, until the feeling of his breath dust over your face and you watch as he flicks his eyes all over you. “You look so much like her. I can tell now that you’re getting older though,” his thumb smoothes over your soft cheek. “We should see if there’s something in Rika’s stuff you can still wear.”

“Won’t be able to fit it anymore, niichan.” Your voice comes out apologetic, though you don’t know why.

“Hm. You might be right.” His look goes more distant before he pulls you closer. Legs tangled, arms loosely looped around you. “You’re still smaller than me though. Luckily.” He takes a deep breath, before nuzzling his nose into your crown to breathe long and deep. His warm hands trail over yours before squeezing. “I love you, you know that? Always will.”

You stare at the wall of mementos past Yuuta’s shoulder. Suffocatingly cram packed. Her pictures. Her music poster. Her pre-teen bottle of perfume you wear only on special occasions. Your hands stop toying with the edge of his shirt to brush instead along his forearm until you meet something that isn’t skin. Yuuta’s quiet, but his breathing is slightly pinched— you don’t mean to.

You glance between you two to the plastic your finger hooks onto. The bracelet she made in the hospital care ward for Yuuta that he still wears despite the fact that the color has long peeled off of the cheap beads. “You loved neesan, right?” Your lashes almost brush when you look back at him, watch him trap his tongue between his teeth for a moment as pink sits on his cheeks. His hand wraps around yours to tangle fingers.

“I… did.”

He swallows. “She made the hospital seem a little less lonely.” The mementos seem to stare at you from across the room as he speaks, and the uncomfortable feeling in your stomach refuses to fade. If anything, it gets more painful. Tighter. “We’re going to be together forever though. And I,” he squeezes your hand, voice fading to barely a whisper, “I love you. Love you so much.”

There's a cold slid over your fingers when he moves. You allow him to slip off the band, gently, and almost as if he wants to give it to you without you noticing, his fingers slide the cursed thing onto your hand instead. His smile is gentle, makes those dark eyes look a little less pressing. “When you’re cleared from going back to the hospital, we can find me a matching one. We still have to get married, right?”

The room feels cold.

“... Okay.”

+

“Let’s kiss?”

It’s too late to be early when the shared bed gets crowded over on your side. “St- I’m going to sleep, Yuuta nii. Stop.” You don’t open your eyes to the touch, definitely not to the gentle brush of his fingers over your lips when he gets too close. Always too close- it’s suffocating. “I don’t wanna talk about it anymore.”

“Don’t be like that.” He sounds happy. He always sounds like that when it has to do with you, and it doesn’t take long for your eyes to flutter open when the thumb instead pushes into your mouth. “If we get married, this will be normal. Don’t pull back.” He pushes onto your tongue to make you hold it in your mouth all heavy and tasting of him, then leans in to push his forehead to yours. Deep, possessive eyes pinning you in place.

“You don’t want to?” It almost sounds mocking. You know you brought this on yourself. You asked to go home early, you asked to invite friends. Maybe this is payback the way big brothers give it. There’s tears that spring up anyway when his other hand slips under your shirt and he squeezes your soft belly. As the spit he wipes on your lips gets kissed away by an impatient sigh. “I’ve wanted to for such a long time. You wouldn’t ask me to wait more.”

“Yuuta nii. We’re siblings, aren’t we?” The ring glitters. Your hand is clenched into the front of his shirt as warm hands grab down your body— hands you love. Hands you trusted.

“Of course we are. That’s why I’m doing this, silly girl.” Hands that push your underwear down your round hips despite you fighting to keep them up. He giggles when you burn with embarrassment, before pressing kisses to your temple. “I love you. I love you, I love you. Who better to kiss you than big brother?” You shake your head, try to push- he doesn’t budge. Just keeps your body in place under his with his weight.

“G-get off of me, Yuuta! Stop being so weird!” You cry, pushing until he grabs your wrist and forces it down beside your head. He’s still smiling though, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Like you’re still a child acting out. It’s that which makes you squirm more, and the glare digs into your forehead when he gets on top of you. “Stop~ I don’t want to kiss.”

Instead he laces his fingers with your ring hand, as the other patiently flutters down to rub over your pussy. You don’t want to. You don’t. Yuuta just smiles when he tilts his head to regard you, and squeezes your fingers a little tighter. “Rika-chan asked me to take care of you. Don’t get so mad.”

+

It’s getting cooler and cooler and cooler the longer he stands. Pressed in the corner of the sterile, greenish blue atmosphere with white sheets draped over your body. He takes a long, deep breath until the nurse finishes up with the checks, taking freshly drawn blood away in a vial. “You’re the guardian?”

The red stands out against your complexion as your restless sleep drifts deeper— he shifts in his seat to lace his hands together. “Her big brother, yes.”

She doesn’t bother to pretend to care when tapping her clipboard, gives a distracted smile. “The doctor will be here within the next hour, okay? Please wait here until then.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Yuuta’s quick not to let the smile quirk up onto his mouth when she’s already walking out before he finishes. As soon as the door falls into lock he gets up from the uncomfortable chair to kneel by your bedside and grasp your hand.

Soft. Small.

He hates to admit that he could spend hours here by your side; but the truth is the truth. He could, and he has. And he will, until it is no longer necessary.

Yuuta kisses your hand with a gentle smile, feeling your heartbeat thump under his lips. You mumble, he swears he can hear his name. “I’m here. Niichan’s here.” He smiles a little more when the soft fingers wrap back around his hand and he watches your expression relax even in your sleep. He can’t help it, the soft thumping against his cheek makes his entire body warm.

You’re so alive, and so close- every cell in his body yearns to be beside you. He kisses the area between your thumb and pointer in an attempt to soothe the feeling of biting down entirely. Instead he clasps your hand with two of his before standing up. “You would have loved Rika.” His mouth tingles. “She would’ve hated you- but you would have loved her. I think she would have been a bit jealous though.”

He dips to press a soft kiss onto your lips, humming softly when your warm breath dusts over his cheeks. “You’re so cute.” A few years ago, you would’ve had visitors waiting for you. “I know you were looking forward to graduation, but I’m still here for you.” He places his hands on both sides of your face to hover over you instead of pulling back, can’t keep himself from it.

“You don’t want to leave your niichan, right?” It’s not your fault that everyone else wants you to move on. He’ll take you just as you are. He has to force himself to pull back before he kisses you again, so you don’t wake just yet. You will. And you’ll cry into his chest about missing your precious graduation, and about being stuck here again, just when you were getting better. He never much wanted you in uni anyway.

From his space sat on the edge of your bed, he can easily see how the blanket squirms. How the motion curls and wiggles until he easily pulls the sheet down your chest, then your stomach.

Two beady eyes stare up at him as he brings his face a little closer. The fly head is still clinging to your stomach, hasn’t moved from where he left it. By now it’s become an accessory every few months. It’s not strong enough to kill you— just barely enough to keep you believing you’re still sick, and that’s all he really needs. You need his care, need him. He resists the urge to pick the thing up at least until he can take you back home.

Instead he nudges it up a little higher, so he can place his palm onto your belly to stroke gentle circles in its place, feeling the heat through the gown. He can feel your heart bounce all the way down your body, it’s so cute. When the little fodder curse crawls onto your chest, lids shooting open as you gasp. “Yuuta nii-” Your eyes are lined red, and as soon as they find him you start bawling.

More than happy to let him hike you up from the bed and into his arms, where you bury your face into his neck. Your hiccups are so cute. It’s easy to kiss them quiet when you don’t have enough breath to ask him to stop. He’s sure this time he could slip his tongue into your mouth and you wouldn’t say a thing.

All Rights Reserved © IWAASFAIRY 2024. Works are exclusive to this Tumblr.

[thepsychonyx]

I want to speak about why the second part of the Best-True ending of Dragon Age Veilguard pierced me so deeply. The Flycam screenshots are from Aru/Elf botanist (YT linked at the bottom).

To set the tone, the music established the emotive themes of the scene. It speaks to the Lost Elf theme- however it is forever changed and lighter. This elf that was Lost for so many years is now Found. There is hope in the strings, there is redemption in each note. This also speaks to the specific codex from the lighthouse in Solas’ secret room. Not his office at the top of the building, extravagant, beautiful, overshadowing all others and looking down in godly benevolence - his private quarters on the main floor, where parts of his travel with the Inquisition surround him.

When Lavellan speaks to Solas, she is using a resolute voice, almost chastising him for thinking he has to do this alone. He has her, and she will keep reminding him.

*Edit: Please note she also speaks the common tongue in this instance.

Solas implores her to think of the dangers the journey he is going on will have, his head is down to show the residual shame and his plea for her safety. But also a part of him hopes. The reason all he says is that “there will be danger” is a statement of warning but not fully entreating her to stay. His heart has a pause, he is prioritising her safety and wants her aware of the dangers.

Note, that he also speaks in Elven in response to her, his first language and mother tongue. As a trilingual, one usually reverts to their more natural tongue during a heightened emotional situation - in this case, Solas' warning statement is also a subconcious plea for her to understand him and join him despite the danger. He will never push her further than she wants to go like he was pushed by Mythal.

This is the shot normally, the downward and side tilt are clear making the imploring effect of his words resonate further. Unlike before where he only looked at her for small spans of time his attention is fully focused since being absolved of his duty. After she responds that she will be with him, forever no matter what, he shifts. This is akin to when making vows “I stay with you in sickness and in death” but they are crossing the boundaries of mortality. This is “I stay with you in any plight, any condition, any reality. I commit my eternity to you”

Her response is an amalgamation of the following:

1) You are not alone in it emotionally and mentally as I am with you

2) Physically I am with you to endure it with you

3) Our joined manifestations will make it a better place quite literally, so the bleak darkness that could have encroached will not exist when we are together

This is also validated a bit by Trick Weekes QA:

She then states their love is eternal, and she chooses to walk on any path with him fully and wholly. A love that transcends time, mortal barriers, immortality, the different realms of existence. This combined with their standing pose as if at the altar of a wedding is the final part of her vows. Said in the same hallelujah pattern and in elven as he would speak - she commits to his language (mentally and emotionally) so he best will understand her declaration. (This is confirmed by @northgalis on Twitter).

This, in front of the witnesses who are the allies who helped them unite in their union, Rook and Morrigan whilst overseen by the Veil itself in the position of holiness. His blood is the bond they now share, the new blood magic in a way that ties them to a new fate of their own making. The veil that brought them together in the beginning of the journey they now tread into together.

Then they confirm their vows with a kiss, she pulls him in first, similarly to their first kiss in the fade and he reciprocates. Solas is weakened, hurting, feeling unworthy of the brightest soul in the universe but she chooses him and he finally submits to his desire and need for her. His duty now to himself, atonement and the woman who chose him with it all in mind.

Aru’s flycam footage also shows the kiss being deeper and him actively

After the kiss, he SMILES. The ending is now so much less bleak it is tender, it is soft it is comfort, it is peace.

A smiling glance. meeting at a crescendo; a shared moment of understanding;

Screenshot from Daoithe on Tumblr.

He then proceeds to thank Rook, for helping him see when he allowed himself to be so plagued by grief and guilt and not giving up on him as it could have turned to despair, revenge and anger, like all the other endings which I hate because they go against his very nature. The other endings spit in the face of his complexity the story keeps explicitly imploring you to see and have empathy. Solas is a spirit of wisdom, when guilt festers that wisdom manifests in the worst possible ways. And with no one to listen and read between the lines, the fate he is subjected too is far too unkind. But here, he not only is freed of his guilt but also, just as importantly and very implicitly, his fear of dying alone.

If you have played inquisition you will recall there is a moment near the climax of Here Lies the Abyss where Inquisitor and their chosen companions go into the Fade. Solas is easily one of the most fascinating and best companions to take with you as he from the onset has been a “Fade expert” and his lines throughout are intriguing and educational. During the quest you come across graves embodying the different characters biggest fears. And Solas? Dying alone. The god who went against everyone he knew for a better world, whose empathy only continued to hurt him and freed others with hopes to better the world is the most lonely man. And he is terrified and within himself brought low by his loneliness in his commitment to the path he feels he must take. This is why the next part transcends the scene.

After the kiss which confirmed their bond and pact - binding them together with love and empathy, wisdom and curiosity married - he thanks rook and looks back at Lavellan, his Vhenan. And it is a *micro second* shot that completely defeats me. His head held high, the concerned imploring tilt gone as he holds his chin higher in appreciation, respect and awe for the woman who chose him. The love of his life, his eternal companion. The only one to truly fully see him, respect him, and love him wholly. Who has forgiven him and chooses a path which only leads to him. He is honoured to be loved by her, and will work to be the better man he feels she deserves, but also beginning to accept that her love for him is in any form he takes. The one he prizes above all others, chose him, and he will never be alone - and that is everything.

Seeing completely, and being wholly seen.

This scene literally destroyed me in the best way. I am left hollow with love and adoration for this character and his relationship to his love Lavellan and no other romance will meet the threshold they have created for me. It is not Solavellan hell no longer, they have transcended to Solavellan heaven.

My playthrough video of the second half of the ending sequence.

Here is Arus Flycam YT video for reference:

Arus Flycam Lavellan POV of the True - Best ending

[calypsocolada]

who fell first and who fell harder...? ft. yuji, yuta, ino, geto, kokichi, nanami, choso, toji, gojo, & megumi

authors note: hi hi hi. this is inspiried by a lot of things but mostly the new season of bridgerton that I finished in one day.

cw: gender neutral reader, fluff

wc: 1k

click here for my masterlist

You fell first but Yuji fell harder. Yuji thought all of your advances were just friendly jokes. He falls the exact moment you give up flirting and call him your best friend. He wasn’t sure why that word made him feel slightly hurt. When he walks you home later that night out of nowhere he asks if he can kiss you. When you asked why he said it was because he didn’t just want to be your friend, but something more.

-

Yuta fell first and harder. You’ve known him since childhood. You two first kissed after a game of hide and seek when you were kids. Yuta has loved you since the first moment he met you and will love you the rest of his life. He’s a very devoted person.

-

Ino fell first and harder. You and Ino got close during training. You had been asked out by someone else and enlisted Ino to teach you about dates and kissing. Ino jumped at the chance to teach you and the moment your lips met his, he about lost his goddamn mind. He went in for seconds and when your hand slid into his hair he practically begged you not to go out with the other person. The moment he kissed you you had totally forgotten the existence of the other person.

-

Geto fell first but you fell harder. Geto didn’t have much love for your kind and you didn’t have much love for his superiority. After enlisting him to rid a curse from you you overheard him referring to your kind as something you didn’t like to repeat. You gave him a piece of your mind and after a day passed he found you again and apologized. You accepted but still felt sort of angry with him. You saw him a few times after that and something sparked in the fire that you felt for him. Something that wasn’t complete and utter dislike. He must’ve sensed it because when you were leaving one night he grabbed you and kissed you hard.

-

You fell first but Kokichi fell harder. You admired him. He was smart and cunning but everytime he spoke to you he made you feel stupid. So you stopped speaking to him. That little trick did a number on him. Where was his little shadow? He seeked you out and when you told him how much of a know it all he was he sat beside you and shared his lunch. He had to work a lot to earn your favor.

-

You fell first but Nanami fell harder. You thought he was out of your league so you tried moving on. You asked if he’d pretend to be your date for a friend's wedding. He was a good friend and you felt comfortable with him. He agreed and after one day of pretending broke down and kissed you in the hallway on the way back to your shared suit. You two didn’t have to pretend after that.

-

Choso fell first and harder. You wanted to make someone jealous so you asked your friend Choso to help you. He didn’t seem to want to help. You asked why and it just made him shy but after a day or two he agreed. He was great at it and the other person you wanted to make jealous asked you out by the end of the week. When you told Choso this he sort of shut down. He chased you down on your date and shamelessly revealed his feelings. Your poor date was left alone that night.

-

You fell first but Toji fell harder. This man didn’t know he had something special until you walked out. Months passed and you had finally healed and moved on from the whole ordeal. That was until he darkened your doorstep once again. You were quick to turn him down but he was persistent. It was aggravating but he knew you way too well. He didn’t make those mistakes ever again.

-

Gojo fell first but you fell harder. Gojo was a nuisance. He never left you alone. He always asked for you on missions just to annoy you. Or so you thought. You realized after hurting his feelings that all his close proximity wasn’t to annoy you but just simply to be close to you. After you apologized he asked you to apologize again, a bit louder this time and when you rolled your eyes he kissed you.

-

You fell first and harder. You and Megumi were paired up on an assignment you got to know him through the silence. He chose his words carefully and was protective. You let your feelings be known and he rejected you at first. He’s shy. You apologized the next day and he told you your apology wasn’t necessary and when you asked why it seemed words failed him. He stared at your lips for more than enough seconds before informing you that he couldn’t sleep the night before, couldn’t stop thinking about how much he didn’t want you to slip from his grasp. When you seemed confused he just sighed and kissed you.

[simplyholl]

Reckless

Summary: When you act recklessly on a mission, Bucky gets mad at you.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F. Reader

Warnings: Smut. 18+ ONLY. Minors DNI.

See My Masterlist Here

You had really done it now. You made Bucky so mad, he couldn’t even look at you. You were paired together for a mission, and you acted recklessly. You got separated from him and instead of waiting for him, you found the Hydra bunker where they were hiding.

You burst in without a plan and they would have most likely killed you. But Bucky came in and saved you. On the way back, he wouldn’t look at you, speak to you, or even acknowledge your existence.

It took a lot for him to get angry. So you didn’t know how you could fix this. You were such good friends, and he always made time for you. It was going on three days and he ignored every text, call, FaceTime, and knock on his door. You didn’t even know why he was so upset with you. You had done stupid stuff during missions before.

Finally you had enough of the silent treatment, so you waited until it was his normal time to train. He liked to work alone, so you didn’t have to worry about anyone else being there and interrupting you. You made your way to the gym, disappointed that he wasn’t there, nobody was.

You were just about to leave and come up with another plan when you heard someone in the men’s locker room. You hoped it was Bucky as you entered, the smell of soap filled the steamy room. Your sneakers squeaked with every step on the wet tile floor.

You heard Bucky singing some old fashioned song. Following his voice passed the lockers, you step over Thor’s discarded shorts. You shake your head, feeling sorry for the cleaners Tony hired. You see Bucky’s head peaking over the shower door. For a split second, you debate turning around. But you want your friend back more than anything, so you continue all the way to the showers.

“James, we need to talk.” Bucky jumps at the sound of your voice. “What are you doing in here? This is the men’s locker room.” He rolls his eyes, turning towards the spray of water. “You wouldn’t talk to me, I didn’t know when I’d be able to catch you.” He doesn’t answer, instead he picks up the shampoo bottle squirting some into his palm.

“I’m sorry for what I did. I just want you to talk to me.” He reaches up to wash the shampoo out of his hair, eyes closed. “I know you can hear me. Bucky, please?” You beg him but he continues ignoring you. He could be a real asshole when he wanted to. You set your phone down on the bench beside you. You reach down to take off your shoes then your socks.

You grab the handle to the shower door, letting yourself inside. Bucky’s eyes widen as he sees you in the shower with him. He makes an awkward attempt to cover his self. “Get out of here!” You walk over to him, “No! This is the only way to get you to pay attention to me!” You walk closer, “Tell me why you’re so mad at me.”

Bucky watches as the water sprays you, making your already tight workout clothes cling to your body. His throat bobs as he finally answers. “I’m not mad, I’m furious. You weren’t thinking. You never do. You went by yourself when you were told to wait, and if I hadn’t been close by, you would be dead.”

“I do stuff like that all the time, Buck. Why did it make you so upset?” Bucky takes a step toward you, removing his hands from his hardening cock. “Because I care about you! If you were mine, you wouldn’t be able to sit down for a week after that stunt you pulled.”

That was just the answer to send all your worries about crossing boundaries out the window. You press yourself against him, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him. When his lips met yours, it was like you were the only people in the whole world.

His metal hand makes quick work of your sports bra, ripping it right off you. The warm palm of his flesh hand meets your breast. He groans against your neck as his hands travel lower. He jerks your leggings off in one swift motion, throwing them to the side with a wet thud.

You were never so thankful that you didn’t wear panties as you were today. He reaches between you, long fingers dipping into you. You were so wet just from arguing with him, and he knew it. “All this from fighting with me, doll?” He smirks, knowing the effect it will have on you. You clench around his fingers as he curls them upward, his palm gently brushing your clit. “James” you moan, grasping his shoulders for support.

He removes his fingers from you, turning you around so fast that you don’t have time to register how empty you feel now. Bucky presses his body to your back, trapping you between him and the shower door. The cool door makes your nipples harden against it. You feel Bucky’s hard cock rub against the curve of your ass. You try to move to create some type of friction between you, but you can’t. His big body doesn’t budge. He uses his leg to spread you further.

You gasp as he thrusts into you, not giving you any time to adjust to his size before he plunges deeper, bottoming out. You claw at the shower door, as his thrusts grow brutal. His metal arm wraps around your waist, holding you where he wants you while his flesh hand grabs your chin. He tilts your face to look at him, “Are you going to do anything that stupid ever again?” He asks, his cock brushing that spot inside of you that makes your vision go blurry.

You can’t form words, it feels too good. “I expect an answer when I ask you a question.” Your eyes are glossy, you try to answer but you only make sounds. “My pretty baby, she’s too cock drunk to talk. Is that it, doll? Is my cock too much?” You manage to whisper yes, sending his ego into overdrive.

“That’s right, nobody will ever make you feel like I do. I’ll never touch you again, if you don’t follow orders. Am I understood?” Visions of his old army days flood your mind, the band in your stomach threatening to snap. “Y-yes sir.” You stutter. He seems satisfied with your answer, holding you closer to him. His fingers dig into your hip, no doubt leaving bruises, marking you as his.

He snaps his hips one last time, burying his face into your shoulder as he comes inside you. He stays like that for a minute, catching his breath before turning you around. He checks all over your body, his forehead wrinkling as he notices the multiple marks he left behind. “Was I too rough? I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was just so caught up in the moment-“

“It’s okay. I really liked it.” You confess. Bucky sighs in relief, bringing you back under the water, he starts to wash you. “Hey what about me?” Bucky smirks, “What about you?” He washes down your arms. “I didn’t get off.” You state matter of factly. “Oh, I know. Only good girls get to cum.”

Tags

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[pixiexdusts-world]

Trust me

Thanos x reader

Summary: A shy girl finds safety in Thanos, a reckless but protective survivor.

Word count: 770

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

I never thought I’d end up here—with him.

Thanos wasn’t the kind of person I usually gravitated toward. He was loud, confident, and unpredictable, while I was… well, me. Shy. Awkward. The kind of person who second-guessed every word before speaking, who blushed at the slightest attention. He was the kind of guy people either admired or feared. And yet, somehow, he had chosen me.

I met him before Squid Game, before everything fell apart. Back when he was just a man with a reputation too big for any room he walked into. I had been working part-time at a record store, hiding behind the counter, quietly existing, when he walked in one night.

“You got any old-school hip-hop?” he had asked, tapping his fingers against the counter in an impatient rhythm.

I had barely managed to stammer out a response before he smirked. “Why you so nervous?”

I hadn’t known how to answer. But for some reason, he had kept coming back, every week, teasing me, pushing past my awkwardness until I had gotten used to him.

And then life happened. Bad decisions. Wrong people. The kind of trouble that swallowed you whole before you even realized you’d stepped into it. That’s how we ended up here.

The first night in the Squid Game, I kept to myself, hugging my knees in the corner while the others talked in hushed voices. Thanos, on the other hand, was already making himself known—loud, reckless, unbothered by the fear in the air. I should have been annoyed. Maybe even a little afraid. But when he found me sitting alone, his expression softened in a way I wasn’t used to seeing.

“You okay?” he asked, crouching in front of me.

I nodded, though I wasn’t sure if it was true.

“You don’t have to be scared,” he said, lowering his voice like it was meant just for me. “Not as long as I’m here.”

I wanted to believe him. But this wasn’t some rap battle, some night out where he could bluff his way through danger with a cocky grin. This was real. Life or death.

Still, when he sat beside me, closer than necessary, I didn’t move away.

The days blurred together, each game a crueler nightmare than the last. I wasn’t built for this. I was too quiet, too soft, too used to fading into the background. But Thanos never let me disappear.

He stood in front of me when tensions ran high, when fights broke out over food. He made sure I ate, even when he barely touched his own meal. And when I flinched at the sound of a gunshot, he grabbed my wrist, holding it just tight enough to ground me.

“Hey,” he murmured, “look at me.”

I did.

“You’re still here,” he reminded me. “And as long as you’re here, you fight.”

I wanted to tell him that I wasn’t like him, that I didn’t know how to be fearless. But when I looked into his eyes, I realized something—he wasn’t fearless either. He just knew how to hide it.

One night, when the lights flickered and the dormitory became a battlefield, I felt panic creeping in. The sounds of screams and fists colliding filled the air, and I knew I was too weak to fight.

But then there was him.

Thanos grabbed my hand, pulling me into the shadows before anyone could reach me. He pressed me against the wall, shielding me with his body as chaos unfolded around us.

“Stay behind me,” he ordered, his voice rough but steady.

I wanted to tell him I didn’t deserve his protection. That he should be watching out for himself, not wasting his time on me. But all I could do was nod, gripping the fabric of his shirt like a lifeline.

As he fought off anyone who got too close, I realized something.

He wasn’t the man people thought he was. He wasn’t just reckless. He wasn’t just trouble.

He was the only person in this place who made me feel safe.

“Why do you care so much?” I asked one night, when the world had quieted again.

He looked at me like the answer was obvious.

“Because you make me feel human.”

And in that moment, despite the nightmare surrounding us, I believed him.

[sungchanarcade]

aftercare w/ riize

this is my first post yayyy!! i'm marina and welcome to my blog! i'm happy ur here :)

shotaro

he would help with cleaning up, but only like… the bare minimum😭

if he was rough with you then he wouldn’t let you get out of bed and instead he’d bring back a towel and some water so you don’t have to move

whether it was intense or not though, he would always be so gentle when cleaning you up. has at least 12 different ways to ask “are you okay?” and you bet he uses all of them every time. he hates the idea of accidentally hurting you without realizing so he always checks in with you

speaking of checking in, he’s definitely asking for feedback after😭 but it’s always in the form of teasing. “you sounded so pretty screaming my name, do i really make you feel that good?” (he also asks questions just to fuel his ego)

has a thing for kissing your shoulder once he’s done and he needs to kiss your bare skin before getting you a clean shirt (that definitely belongs to him) or he’ll get pouty—once, you’d gotten dressed before he could get his kiss and he made you take off your shirt again😐

but despite all his sweetness, that is the extent of his cleanup. would rather die than change the sheets. if they’re actually unusable, he’s taking them off, covering his mattress with a blanket, and leaving everything else to deal with when you two wake up

euseok

SUCH a gentleman oh my god, he’d be a dream

probably rougher during sex but the second you’re finished it’s like a switch flips, suddenly he exists only to care for you and is prepared to travel to the ends of the earth to make you as comfortable as possible

if you shower, you won’t have to lift a finger, he’ll wash your hair for you and massage your shoulders. if you don’t, he’ll clean you up with a towel and rub lotion into your skin (it’s calming enough to send you to sleep more than once)

he feels like he can’t rest until he knows you’re feeling good, even if that means fighting his own tiredness to do so, which is both a blessing and a curse because he never lets you give him the same treatment unless you like… fight him over it (you’ve only won 2 times, once after he’d come back from traveling for two weeks so he was clingy and tired, and again on his birthday)

but he’s similar to shotaro in the sense that he is so so gentle when he touches you. i think he’d love to just constantly let his hands wander, fingertips brushing over your bare skin like he’s saying “i love you” with his hands

sungchan

this mf is passed the fuck out as soon as you’re done 😭

but i think it mostly comes from the fact that he tends to accidentally overexert himself during sex without realizing. poor baby doesn’t realize his stamina isn’t as high as he thinks it is

he likes making you cum at least twice every time, even if it means denying his own release until you’ve already finished, so he unintentionally overstimulates himself every time

crying in bed is probably common with him tbh (the thought of him feeling so good he’s literally in tears actually drives me insane)

cums so much. like so much. orgasm denial + massive cock (we all know it) = so so messy. cleaning up would probably be a nightmare, especially since he’ll be too fucked out to move, much less help, so sometimes you make him wear a condom for the sole reason that you don’t feel like putting yourself through cleaning him up by yourself

on the rare occasions when he doesn’t immediately fall asleep he would still be super tired after. the two of you would take a shower together and you’d have to wash his hair for him while he just holds you in his arms and tries not to fall asleep on your shoulder. he’d also be really clingy, but that’s a thought for another day

wonbin

pillow princess will be a pillow princess… this man is NOT moving

he would also want you to be the one to clean him off (princess treatment) but he won’t fall asleep. he likes to watch you and he always has so much love in his eyes that it almost makes it worth it to be in charge of cleaning up by yourself (almost)

but if you have to change the sheets after—he definitely loves messy sex—he will help you with that, you just have to give him at least 15 minutes before he even considers getting out of bed

he wouldn’t be exhausted after like sungchan, i think he’d recover after a bit of a break and then have enough energy to strip the sheets and start laundry, sometimes even make a snack or meal for the two of you, he just needs some time to regain energy

sometimes he’d cook something or take a bath together, but his favorite thing to do is always just getting back in bed and cuddling. the conversations y’all would have during late hours… he always makes sure you feel safe with him and is a very attentive listener, no matter how unimportant the topic of conversation might seem

seunghan

likes to care for you, but wants to be done as soon as possible

he falls somewhere between shotaro and eunseok when it comes to how much effort he’s putting in. he loves making you happy—he loves loving you—but he’s going to do just the necessary steps because he wants to lay back down with you as quickly as he can

another big post-sex cuddler, it’s necessary to him. he’s a very touchy person all the time, he’s always got an arm around you or hugging you from behind, and that energy amplifies whenever you two are alone so he can’t keep his hands off you for too long

totally gets distracted at least 4 times because “just one kiss” always leads to ending up back in bed tangled up in each other until you remind him that you still need to change the sheets. without that reminder he for sure would forget entirely and probably fall asleep

sohee

to him, aftercare is a two person event. but he sees it as less of a task to be completed and more as an extension of sex, like it’s a part of the whole experience for him

he gets very giggly, a lot of big smiles and cheek kisses. he loves washing your hair for you and gets so so happy when you return the favor. 

after your shower you always do each other’s skincare and it takes twice as long because he keeps stopping to kiss you (“your chapstick tastes better than mine”)he sees aftercare as something just as intimate as sex, just in a different atmosphere, so all his tender touches and soft words are just as special and give just as much effort (and boy does he deliver every. time.)

anton

another one who will take on all the work so you won’t have to move. any complaints will be silenced with a kiss (but just as you start getting into it he breaks away with a cheeky smile)

he really likes holding you

 he’ll hug you into his chest while you wait for the shower to warm up

he’ll stand behind you and wrap his arms around your waist to rest his chin on your shoulder while watching you comb your hair

once you’re both back in bed best believe he is not letting you out of his arms and will start whining if you even try pulling away

i feel like he’d mess up your hair (just a little) when you’re in the middle of combing it out just to get a reaction out of you, but every time he’ll just cup your face and his smile is SO big and then it’s impossible to be mad anymore

[sayruq]

Dr. Tanya Haj-Hassan, a pediatric intensive care physician who works with Médecins Sans Frontières and co-founded @GazaMedicVoices, has emerged as one of the most prominent voices raising the alarm about the hell Israel has created for Gaza’s healthcare workers. Mary Turfah: Yesterday, I came across a report of a third mass grave unearthed at Al-Shifa Hospital. One month ago, as the first mass graves there were being uncovered, you were interviewed by Sky News. The anchor cited Israeli military sources saying that they had detained “hundreds of Hamas militants” within the complex, then asked you what you thought of that. Could you speak to your response to him, and to this persistent obsession with “militants at Al-Shifa,” when not a single hospital in Gaza has been spared, and when there have been mass graves [seven in total to date] uncovered at multiple hospitals in Gaza? Tanya Haj-Hassan: Yeah. I think my response was something to the effect of, I can’t believe we’re still having this conversation. Everybody from a medical or humanitarian background is so sick of having to respond to these atrocious, preposterous justifications that are being provided for things that are never justifiable. I thought the Hamas and Al-Shifa question was buried a long time ago. There were several weeks where that’s all we were asked about in interviews. There were multiple investigations done that concluded no credible evidence existed to justify the attacks on Al-Shifa. And then, Al-Shifa was targeted again, besieged again. Then, eventually, Al-Shifa started functioning again. The staff were so proud of the fact that they got it functioning again. That second time, the hospital was again besieged and targeted. A lot of the staff were taken out into the courtyard of the hospital, where the male staff were stripped. Israeli soldiers beat several of the healthcare providers. A very, very senior person at Al Shifa, an older doctor, was eventually released and came on foot to Al-Aqsa Hospital. And immediately, he went back to work. I was at Al-Aqsa Hospital when he turned up disheveled, beard down to here, exhausted, having lost I don’t know how many kilos, hadn’t seen his family for five months, didn’t have a phone, didn’t have proper shoes, didn’t have proper clothes. They fled with basically nothing. And many of the other healthcare providers who were taken outside with him were abducted. I think his testimonies of what happened and the amount of work they had put into getting Al-Shifa functioning again made the question of the Sky News anchor even more infuriating. Because that’s the reality I had just come out of, and to hear him then ask a health professional who had spent the last few weeks resuscitating dead and dying children that have been maimed to an extent that I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget—even though I think for my own well-being, it would probably be good if I would forget some of those images—I found it so insulting. Insulting to me, to the healthcare providers who had risked their lives to stay at Al-Shifa, who had lost 25 percent of their body weight, who were exhausted. Insulting to the health care providers who had been killed at Al-Shifa, fleeing from Al-Shifa, to the civilians who were executed there. It’s insulting to our intellect. It’s insulting to humanity

MT: Last week, it was revealed that Dr. Adnan Al-Bursh, a renowned orthopedic surgeon in Gaza, was tortured to death inside of Israeli prisons, according to eyewitness testimony, after he had been abducted from the hospital where he was providing life-saving care, back in December. Hundreds of medical workers have been killed to date, and many more injured. You said in one interview that doctors and healthcare workers are changing out of their scrubs before leaving the hospital so that they’re not targeted. On top of this, the doctors in Gaza have been working basically nonstop for 215 days. As someone who has worked in Gaza, I was wondering if you could say a bit about what your colleagues are facing day-to-day. THH: I want to start with the abduction of healthcare workers, because it’s so underreported, to the point where myself and my colleagues, medical providers working our own jobs, are doing the investigative work. They’re systematic. There have been at least 240 abductions documented by our group— MT: 240?! THH: At least 240, and I’m not talking about what’s reported by the Ministry of Health, which I believe is an even higher number. We documented that at least 240 healthcare workers have been abducted and detained by Israeli forces, the majority of whom have not been released. And the ones who have been released are providing testimonies of torture, of themselves but also the torture that they’ve witnessed. I’ve taken testimonies. One, a three-hour-long testimony about the torture inflicted on [my friend,] a nurse, for 53 days in custody, accusing him of being part of Hamas, of his family being part of Hamas, even though the fact that he was released tells you he wasn’t part of Hamas. Given the extent to which he was tortured, I’m surprised that he survived. And he has not survived with his physical and mental health intact. He has scars, he has nightmares. He had hematuria, so bleeding when he urinated, for weeks after he was released.

Please read this interview as it sheds light on the horrors doctors, nurses, and other medical workers in Gaza have endured