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yougavemeyourheartyouknow · 3 months

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It wasn’t over, it still isn’t over. (Bandit cowboy! Miguel O’Hara x Fem! Reader) Part 2

Wake up babe, new cowboy Miguel fic just dropped! This part was heavily inspired by the notebook. Period pieces are not my strong suit so apologizes if it’s not good. Not proofread, enjoy!

(Y/N)-Your name.

Cursing, mentions/usage of alcohol, attempted robbery/theft, mentions of guns, Miguel jokes about manhandling you but nothing actually happens, mentions of sexual acts, but nothing happens.

Word Count: 2.3k

Part 1

Masterlist

—

Five years.

Five years since you had last seen the cowboy who had stolen your heart.

You had graduated college and moved out of your parents home, moving a few towns over, nowhere near a big city like you lived in during your youth in the East but a lot larger than the one you had lived during the whole Miguel incident. You lived in a nice home, gotten a job as a teacher for the younger kids in town and… you were recently engaged.

Your fiancé was a nice man, sweet, understanding, kind, easy on the eyes, you liked him a lot, the only problem is, you didn’t love him. You should feel bad about getting married to a wealthy man who you didn’t even see as more than of a friend, but at the same time, your mother thought it would be best to marry you off to her friend’s son that just so happened to be inheriting his father’s liquor business when he settled down. It was a marriage of convenience if anything, at least he was polite with you despite neither you or him having any romantic feelings, if anything it made the whole thing a bit easier for you. Growing content with the fact that this would turn into your future children’s definition of love.

Five years to grow from a silly lovestruck teenager into a young woman with responsibilities and a bright future ahead of her, and you still thought about him. You can't help but frantically Miguel’s name under the obituary section of the town’s paper, unknowingly breathing a sigh of relief when his name wouldn’t appear. Although it was foolish, and despite no longer living in the same small town as your parents, you couldn’t help but feel a bit bitter at the fact he hasn’t found you yet. Was he even attempting to look for you? With a reputation like his, you’re certain you weren’t the first girl he’s charmed to get under his sheets… or in your case, jail cell. So, eventually, you stopped hoping, if he hadn’t found you during the last five years, he surely wasn’t looking. Why should you?

—

“Darling.” Your fiancé, Austin, called out for you before rounding the corner that connected the living room into the kitchen. You hummed in response as you kept your eyes on the stack of papers you were currently grading for your students, a pen in your dominant hand as your free one tapped a mindless tone to help keep you concentrated. “Put the papers down and take a break will you? You’ve got all week to grade those tests.” You let out a huff and a whine as you put the pen down, he was right. Your eyes keep unfocusing and your wrist was being to grow sore, making your fiancé tsk. “I don’t understand why you don’t just quit, I make enough to support us both.”

“I should,shouldn't I…” You contimplacted with a weary chuckle, and although your tone was joking, you were seriously considering it. You adored your students with all your heart, you really did. But the school was putting so much pressure on you because they refused to hire another teacher to help lessen your workload. So you and two other teachers were juggling a handful of 300 seven year olds, it was a lot… to say the least. You picked yourself up from your seat to stretch your body out, before turning to Austin. “Now was that all you came to tell me?” You asked in a playful tone.

“No, actually… I came to ask for a favor.” He admitted, smoothing out the wrinkles in his shirt. “Ya know I’ve got that… liquor convention event out of town this weekend, right?” You nodded in confirmation, “well, I was wondering if you could do me the favor of just checking in on my office while I’m gone. I’ve heard a lot about break ins and whatnot during these times, just drop by for a few minutes for the 4 days that I’ll be gone.”

You tapped the nonsensical rhythm again as you thought about it, it wasn’t too much of an ask, you’d just drop by for a few minutes a day, you shrugged. “Sure. What’s the worst that could happen?”

—

Saturday afternoon, your first day off and your third alone. Grateful for the ability to sleep in and being about to eat a well rounded breakfast. After doing your usual morning routine, and having changed into one of your simpler dresses to go out and run some errands for the day.

Gone out to get groceries, send out a letter to your parents, went to the tailors to drop off some Austin’s shirts to be hemmed since you didn’t feel like sitting down all to do it yourself, even finished grading the last of the test all before noon ended. After tidying up your work from its usual spot from the kitchen table, you made yourself a quick lunch and went to read a few chapters of your book on the couch. Only to end up falling asleep, and once you woke up, you glanced at the clock-shit.

“It’s half past five?! I was supposed to go to his office an hour ago!” You yelled to no one but yourself as you quickly got up from your spot on the couch, fixing your hair quickly as you threw on your coat, and made your way back out the door.

—

“I told ya boys this heist would be easy… if we leave by dusk we could hit up that train that passes by el dorado tomorrow evening…” Miguel chuckled as he tossed his now full bag of valuables to his brother, who then passed it over Peter would load it to one of their horses that they had waiting for them around the back of the building.

After that night he had escaped, it took him about a month to find his partners in crime, following their trail through stolen newspapers from random porches and the knowledge of how their usual trail was, luckily they had kept his horse safe and well taken care of too.

“One more bag then we’re as good as gone.” Miguel said with a smirk, making Gabriel Let out a laugh and a clap. Right when Miguel was going to prep the last bag, the faint noise of rushing made all three men stop in their tracks. Before he sent his younger brother a glare and he hissed in a low tone through his teeth. “Pinche cabrón- I thought you said this place would be empty all weekend.” (Fucking dumbass)

“I thought it would!” He whispered-shouted back, before they heard the door creak open.

“Fuck-okay… um, go check if it’s the sheriff.” He quietly ordered Gabriel, before turning to Peter, “Get the horses ready incase we needa’ book It.” With a nob both males did as told, as Miguel quickly went to pack the last bag.

When his younger brother entered the front room, he swore he heard him mutter the words “hello pretty lady” before the muffle sound of rustling and some high-pitched yelping, but never was a shot fired, so clearly it couldn’t have been someone to play an immediate threat. Just as he was finishing tying up the bag, Gabriel came back into the room, but not alone.

“Look at what I found, it must be his little wife.” He said almost mockingly as he hazardly pulled you into the room and pushed you into the room in front of Miguel’s feet, but with your face being tilted down as you caught yourself from falling face first onto the wooden floor.

“Careful!” You yelled as you try to collect yourself, once you get yourself to look up at the bandit you were dropped in front of, your scowl immediately turned into once of disbelief, and it seems his expression matched yours.

You both seem to have froze up in time as you both did nothing but stare at each other, Gabriel just crossed his arms and raised a brow, Peter came jogging in to inform his friends the horses are ready when he saw the odd scene, opting to keep his mouth shut.

Finally, you came back to life as you blinked, as if expecting his to disappear right before your very eyes again, and when he didn’t, you finally whispered a faint. “…Miguel?”

“…(Y/N)…” You nodded your head, despite it not being a question, and he cleared his throat, not breaking eye contact with you as he spoke his next orders to Peter and Gabriel. “Unload all that shit and put it back.”

—

He had told Gabriel and Peter to go on to do the train heist without him, and that he'd meet up with them afterwards. Saying he had “unattended business to take care of”. So now here he was, in your kitchen, only being lightened up by a few candles as darkness overtook the sky. Both of you sharing drunken giggles over dinner. Miguel’s black cowboy hat that was certainly too big for you sitting on top of your head as you sip on your beer.

“That hat looks adorable on you.” Miguel chuckled, making you shake your head with a giggle, your free hand going to rest on top of the hat to help keep it stabilized.

“It’s so big!” You countered as you take the hat off and went to hand it back to Miguel, who grabs it and sets it back on his head.

“You know you shouldn’t be wearing just anyone’s hat. Ya know what they say about wearing a man’s cowboy hat.” He joked as he put down his now empty bottle, chuckling when he saw your face contour in confusion.

“What do they say?” You asked curiously, making Miguel’s smirk widen.

“Wear the hat…” he tapped the brim on the hat for emphasis, “Ride the cowboy.” He finished, making you gasp dramatically.

“Miguel! That’s inappropriate!” You pretended to be offended, but you couldn’t help but crack a smile near the end of you reprimanding him.

“Oh please, you act like you haven’t before, why not again? Unless you want me to come over then and manhandle you.” He was only joking of course, he may have been a thief and a murderer but he’d never hurt a woman, especially not you. You let out a faux gasp, playing along as your right hand goes to your chest for emphasis.

“You wouldn’t dare. I’m a married woman.” You said in a softer tone, going to sip your bottle to finish it off. You haven’t really told him you were going to be getting married soon, even though he knew you were in a relationship, he didn’t quite know how serious it was.

“Not yet.” He replied almost immediately, shaking his head as his playful tone dropped to a more serious yet still gentle tone. The soft smile stays on his lips but it didn’t meet his eyes anymore when you raised your hand to show off the silver band that decorates your ring finger, the diamond shining even only in the candlelight. It took you a moment too long to realize this.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” You asked, the start of a giggle comes out with your words but they quickly die down in your throat as the once playful atmosphere starts to turn more serious.Miguel just shakes his head as a hand goes to rub at his chin.

“Nothing nothing… just didn’t think you’d ever get married… thought what we had was something real.” He admitted, eyes casted downwards as he goes to fidget with a bent half beer bottle cap. You let out a scoff, offended by his words.

“Don’t try and think I just forgot about you the moment my father dragged me out of that door,” your brows furrowed and your arms crossed on the wooden table as you started to chastise him, “I was stuck on you for five years Miguel. Five. Years.” You emphasized the two words with taps on the table. “Don’t get me wrong, Austin is a great guy, but it was my parents' idea for me to marry him. They thought it was a good way to get me to stop thinking about you-“ You shouldn’t be admitting that outloud but the buzz made your mind hazy.

“Do you love him?” He interrupted you, eyes burning into yours, those same intense eyes you had dreamed about as you slept, you had to look away.

“It’s not that simple Miguel-“

“But it is.” He insisted, standing up from his seat, the chair screeching as it tried not to topple over. “You either love him or you don’t.”

“I’m not doing this with you Miguel.” You shook your head as you stood as well, going to clean up the mess you two had made, trying to erase any evidence you two were there.

“Too bad, I’m not just gonna drop this and let you disappear from my life, I’m not losing you again.” He declared, you weren’t going to justify his admission with a response, but as you go to pick up a few empty bottles, they slip from your hands, cracking into hundreds of small shreds as Miguel’s hands turn you around to face him. A shocked gasp begins to leave your lips before it is quickly swallowed up by his. You know you should push him off, but you couldn’t help but melt underneath his touch.

Miguel O’Hara was a criminal, a thief of many things and no matter how much you try to stop him, he’ll always find a way to steal your heart all over again.

—

Taglist: @famouscattale @strawberryjuice9 @loser-alert @maomaimao @franceseca-the-1st @xevita @marshhbs @inlovewithpandora @vera4luv @mcmiracles @eddieslooneymoonie @to-the-endoftheline

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wh0reforcoriolanussnow · 3 months

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Happy House || Young President!Coriolanus Snow x reader

Summary: This is a happy house, we’re happy here, right?

Warnings: infidelity, toxic Coryo, mild violence, if there’s anything else lmk!

Wc: 505

Divider by @firefly-graphics

In the quiet morning light that filtered through the windows of the grand dining hall, your family sat at the polished mahogany table, seemingly the picture of domestic bliss.

Coriolanus, his chiseled features etched with a façade of contentment, sat at the head of the table, his newspaper spread before him. Balanced on his lap, was your three year old daughter, her tiny hands occupied with a toy.

You sat opposite him, watching the scene with a practiced smile, your eyes betraying none of the turmoil that churned within you. You sipped at your coffee slowly, your eyes moving to your eldest as he shovels spoonfuls of cereal into his mouth, oblivious to the tension that hung in the air.

As if on cue, the nanny entered the room, cradling the youngest member of the Snow family in her arms. Your heart twisted at the sight of the woman, the nanny’s eyes darting to Coriolanus, who met her gaze with a knowing look. You forced herself to smile as you took the baby girl into your arms, your fingers tracing the delicate features you had come to love despite the circumstances of your birth.

“Look who’s awake,” You softly say to your daughter with a bright expression as she smiles up at you. But as you look up, you catch Coriolanus beckon the young woman over to him. It was the subtle exchanges between Coriolanus and the nanny that made your blood run cold.

A glance here, a lingering touch there—each movement a betrayal that cut deeper than any knife. You swallowed the bile rising in your throat, forcing yourself to focus on the facade you presented to the world.

Later that day, as your family made a public appearance, you plastered on your most convincing smile, your hand resting lightly on Coriolanus’s arm as you both posed for the cameras. Lucky Flickerman’s question about another baby drew a forced chuckle from your lips, “Maybe not for a while,” You responded, feeling the venomous look Coriolanus shot you from your peripheral.

It wasn’t until you were alone in the privacy of you solar that the facade finally crumbled. Coriolanus’s anger boiled over at your comment, his words cutting like shards of glass. Your own fury matched his, your heart pounding in your chest as you dared to confront him about his infidelity.

“What do you mean ‘maybe not for a while’?” Coriolanus’s voice sliced through the tense silence, his anger simmering just beneath the surface .

Your bristled at his tone, your own frustration bubbling over. “What do you think I mean, Coriolanus? We already have three children to care for, and I’m not eager to bring another into this mess. I’m not a baby machine for heaven’s sake.”

Coriolanus’s jaw clenched, his gaze darkening. “Mess? Is that what you think of our family?” You shot back, “It’s what you’ve made it,” your voice tinged with bitterness. “You think I don’t know about your affairs? About the way you’ve been sneaking around with my servants behind my back?”

Coriolanus’s eyes flashed with anger, his fists clenched at his sides. “How dare you accuse me of such things? You know nothing!” “I know enough,” You retorted, your own anger rising. “I’ve seen the way you look at her, the way you touch her when you think no one is watching.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Coriolanus scoffed, but there was a hint of unease in his voice. “Is it, Coriolanus?” Your voice was sharp as you enunciated his full name, your eyes narrowing as you met his gaze head-on. “You can deny it all you want, but I’m not blind, I’m not stupid. I see what’s happening, and I won’t stand for it any longer.”

Coriolanus’s face twisted with rage, his hands trembling with suppressed fury. “How dare you speak to me like that? I am your husband, and you will show me the respect I deserve!”

“Respect?” You laughed bitterly, your heart pounding in your chest. “You lost any right to my respect the moment you betrayed our marriage vows-“ Your words were cut off when Coriolanus grabs your forearm, harshly pulling you close to him as you felt his breath fanning your features, your breath catching in your throat as you struggled to comprehend the betrayal.

Before you could react, the doors to the solar swung open, revealing your children and the nanny, frozen in the threshold. Your heart sank as you watched Coriolanus hastily release his tight grip on you, plastering on a false smile as he turned to his son with outstretched arms.

“My boy,” he said, his voice strained. “Shall we go play outside?” With a final glance in your direction, Coriolanus left the room, leaving you to pick up the shattered pieces of your reality. As the nanny awkwardly averted her gaze, you gathered your daughters close, your voice trembling with suppressed rage.

“Next time,” you said to the nanny, not bothering to look at her, your voice tinged with bitterness, “you should knock before entering a closed room. Understood?”

The nanny nodded mutely, her eyes downcast as you led your children away from the shattered remnants of your once-happy home. But deep within you, you knew that the facade they presented to the world could only hold for so long before the truth tore your family apart at the seams.

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undiscovered-horizon · 4 months

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[When the curse activity rises around the country, you reluctantly return to the school to help the sorcerers. Gojo Satoru seizes the opportunity to plead the case of his lovesickness. If you came back, maybe you and him can come back together, too?]

You've often wondered how it would feel to come back. Would you be excited? Or would the weight of the memories push you to the ground? How many things would be different and how many would you recognize?

A bitter chuckle leaves your mouth. You're a grown woman and yet you're nervous like an 8-year-old with mismatched socks. The overhead sign Jujutsu Tech feels imposing as though the genius loci of the school is telling you to turn back and leave; just like it did when you were a teenager, entering an unfamiliar world of unfathomable possibilities. The girl you used to be, afraid of what the future is bound to hold, could never imagine the respect and awe with which your name is spoken now. It's almost miraculous, really.

But there are more important things at hand than melancholy.

You sigh, pushing yourself to walk forward. The rock steps feel the same under your feet as they did years ago, the wooden floorboards inside the entry room still creak in the same note. For what it's worth, nothing about Jujutsu Tech seems any different than it did then.

Nothing.

You know very well he's sitting in the corner, staring at you. It's a habit he has picked up quite a long time ago - watching, observing, studying. He used to do that only to learn a few things about you and appear as charming as he possibly could. But with time this little unnerving habit stuck around.

At first, he looks laid-back. Overconfident, as he usually is. Although you know him a little too well and so you notice the way he's crossing his arms on his chest, his shoulders tense and raised. The greatest sorcerer in the world is nervous when in the presence of his high school sweetheart.

"Long time no see, Satoru," you finally speak up.

"You're even prettier than I remember," he answers, bothering to sound casual. He almost succeeds.

"And you're exactly the same, it seems."

You stare him up and down. The blindfold in place of sunglasses and the plain, black robes make him appear more professional. Still, Satoru's untamed white hair gives him a juvenile look. Maturity is supposed to arrive with age but perhaps the age arrived alone in his case.

Gojo sits further back on the old couch. He rests his hands behind his head. A half-grin curves his lips - the very same smile that always made you equally annoyed and weak in the knees. Truly, if Satoru wasn't as charming as he is, you'd have strangled him years ago.

"Ah," he sighs. "Perfection can't be improved."

Crossing your arms on your chest, you give him a playful look. "Then how come I'm supposedly prettier?"

Suddenly, Gojo leans forward. "Good question." He rubs his chin in faux thoughtfulness. You've learned better than to trust his little theatrics, no matter how amusing they are. "I never understood how this works. Just when I thought you're equal to a goddess, you make all of them look plain."

You feel your hands shaking. If your heart doesn't slow down soon, you might have a serious problem. As warm as your face gets, you hope the blush is not visible. How embarrassing to fall again for his wax poetic right away...

Trying to hide how flustered his words have made you, you force out a chuckle. "Gojo Satoru, always the sweet-talker, eh?"

Despite your best attempt at dismissing the entire situation, the man in front of you seems to have caught on to your bashfulness. After all those years, has he been craving to see you blushing and giggling again?

"If you keep saying my name like that, I might fall in love with you," he warns you half-heartedly.

The realization hits you at one moment. Something you've been suspecting, maybe hoping for even, has been proven right between his smooth talking and shaky breaths. Now that you think about it, it's all painfully obvious: how excited he seems to see you again, the immediate rush to dish out compliments and the rather poor attempt at appearing all suave and laid-back.

"You never fell out," you declare with undeniable certainty in your voice. "Did you?"

Something about the air changes instantly. The sparks of a maybe-rekindled romance have gone out, leaving both of you cold and distant towards each other.

Those few seconds of silence feel almost like hours. The quietness is ringing in your ears, pushing at your thoughts to say something. Anything! Just stop this suffocating unease from eating you alive.

This time, it's Gojo who breaks the silence first. "I stand by what I said back then: you're the one for me. It's either you or no one."

Fortunately, unforeseen aid comes almost immediately - before the tension between the two of you could choke you, a cacophony of teen voices, seemingly engaged in a loud feud, echoes throughout the building.

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seijorhi · 4 months

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invidia ii

a (very belated) christmas present for my beloved wife @iwaasfairy who has, for two years straight, begged me for more shinnosuke content. i hope you like it bby! kuroo tetsurou x female reader, kuroo shinnosuke (oc) x female reader part i w.c 3.1k tw: noncon/dubcon, slight daddy kink, (forced) infidelity, yandere themes, nsfw, smut, age gap, i guess hints of breeding kink, dilf kuroo

“Why did your parents split up?”

Mid-way through pulling on a pair of old, grey sweatpants, mopping at beads of water from his shower still rolling down his bare chest, Shinnosuke throws you a curious look, but shrugs easily enough.

“They weren’t ever really ‘together’ to begin with. They tried the whole co-parenting thing to start with but mom… they never loved each other. Hell, I don’t even think they liked each other most of the time beyond–” he breaks off, his nose wrinkling in distaste. It almost makes you laugh. “Anyway, dad always said she had one foot out the door from the start. Dad was the one who stuck around to raise me.” There’s no animosity in his tone, he says it like it’s the simple truth. You’ve never met the woman, never having shown up to any of the Nekoma games, his graduation, any of it. You’ve seen a picture or two, overheard the odd phone call, but for as long as you’ve known him, the only real parent in Shin’s life has always been his dad.

If there’s anyone he idolises, it’s his father.

Which is why the words that he says next – casting aside the damp towel in the general direction of the laundry basket (boys) and sauntering on over to join you in bed – take you entirely by surprise. “We’ll go visit her in Golden Week. I want her to meet you.”

And again, the words are just that; words. Shin kisses you, a sweet peck on your lips, and wastes no time in scooping you back into his arms and settling back with a contented sigh. They’re just words, but there’s this look in his eyes when he says it that makes you think he means something more.

Your stomach flutters.

—

‘You really wanna break his heart like that, kitten?’

—

“Still not feeling any better?” Shin asks, brushing your hair back to feel your forehead. The beginnings of a frown start to take shape, teeth gently burrowing into his bottom lip, but he straightens and sighs, and that hint of discontent smoothes over like it had never existed in the first place. He strokes your hair again and offers a small, sympathetic smile. “No temperature, that’s gotta be a good sign, right?”

You’re a coward.

“It’s not my head, I just…” don’t have any visible, plausible symptoms for the fake illness that’s currently keeping you curled up in Shin’s bed. Away from the creep who’d smiled and fucking winked at you Christmas morning. “I just feel off.”

“Poor baby,” he coos, laughing when your face screws up and you swat at him.

Right now, swaddled in his hoodie, his fingers carding through your hair and that stupid, impish, almost believable grin beaming down at you, you want to forget. To pretend.

Because there’s a pit in your stomach. A bitter, gnarled, seething mass. This moment right now, in Shin’s bed, it’s like glass, paper thin and already cracked, it can’t possibly last, and yet you’re clinging to it so desperately, head buried in the sand, willing yourself to pretend, from one heartbeat to the next, that what’s happened won’t break the two of you.

That your stomach doesn’t threaten to upend when you catch sight of those hazel eyes peering down at you – the same shape and shade as his father’s.

You shudder out a breath, and what little levity there was between you two gets sucked out with it. Shin’s expression gutters.

Yeah.

His fingers don’t leave your hair, though. Playing idly with the strands as though the suffocating tension in the room doesn’t exist at all. “Dad’s taking us out to dinner tonight,” he tells you. Reminds you, because you knew all of this beforehand. Everything but the party. “Do you want me to run by the pharmacy to get you something?”

Another tap at the fractured glass.

That’s Shinnosuke all over, isn’t it? You might’ve been the manager back in the day, but it was always Shin who kept an eye on his team, on you, to make sure everyone was good.

“No,” you shake your head. “I’ll–” the words get stuck in your throat. “I’ll see how I feel in an hour or so. ‘m still a little tired.”

“You want some tea, sweetheart?”

‘Shh, sweetheart, you gotta keep it down.’

A cold sweat breaks out on the nape of your neck. No. No, no, no, no–

“Baby?”

You flinch like he’s slapped you, jerking away from the hand he’s wound in your hair. The startled look he shoots you borders on wounded, but you’re already squirming towards the edge of the bed, stumbling to your feet like a newborn foal. “Bathroom,” you manage to eke out, your voice sounding far too strangled and hoarse to pass as anywhere near the realm of fine.

Shin doesn’t follow, doesn’t so much as utter a word – all kicked puppy confused – as you throw the door closed behind you and collapse back against it, a sweaty, ashen mess.

He usually calls you love. Baby. Princess when he’s being a little shit.

Sweetheart’s a rare one.

Your heart races, a runaway train pounding in your chest. His eyes, his touch, sweetheart, sweetheart, sweetheart.

Another shuddering breath in. Out.

Fuck.

There’s a knock – not at the ensuite door, the sound’s too muffled for that, and you didn’t hear Shin’s footsteps (though you’re not sure you would, over the pounding in your ribs) meaning that the knocking’s at his door.

There’s only one other occupant in the house. Though you try your damndest to fight it, there’s no stopping the wave of panic that stabs through you. Shin’s door creaks open, soft voices barely creeping through the gap in the door, and your fingers go rigid, nails clawing at the black and white flooring as though you can ground yourself by breaking through it instead.

You don’t realise you’re crying.

Not until the droplets splatter on the tiles by your feet.

—

You should’ve left days ago.

After Christmas, when you’d ducked out from under Shin’s arm and lurched for the nearest bathroom, when it’d finally clicked for him that you violently hurling your guts up wasn’t the result of a simple hangover, you’d tried. Short of admitting the truth – and swinging a bat at the bees’ nest – convincing Shin to leave his dad’s place goes about as well as drawing blood from a stone.

He’s even less thrilled about the prospect of you going back by yourself, leaving him to spend what’s left of the week with his dad like they’d planned.

There’s only so far you can push without breaking something. You, probably. You and Shin, almost definitely.

Even so, you might’ve had more of a backbone if he hadn’t been so… Shin. All coaxing and concerned. Logical to a damn fault.

‘You don’t wanna be stuck in a car driving for hours when you’re feeling shitty, love, and besides, dad’s place is bigger than ours. Comfier. You’ll probably be on the mend by tomorrow anyway, so there’s no point in us heading back.’

If you weren’t trying to salvage what’s left, or maybe clinging to the idea that you can – and want to – then it would’ve been easier just to go.

You wouldn’t still be here, stuck in the house of the man who’d– who’d raped you.

You wouldn’t be avoiding your boyfriend’s eye.

You would’ve screamed the whole house down before Kuroo Tetsurou ever bent you over the kitchen counter.

But the gentle extrication in the early hours of the morning, Shinnosuke’s lips brushing against your cheek, the sleepy rasp of his voice as he mumbles a quiet, “Love you,” before slipping away – you barely stir, cozy and safe and content.

He loves you. Shin loves you.

A while later – minutes, maybe, or hours, it’s hard to tell when you’re still in the grips of sleep – the mattress dips under Shin’s weight, and those strong, sculpted arms seek your warmth again, you only sigh and lean back against him.

“I love you,” you whisper, not yet willing to open your eyes and face another day of lying to him.

The arm slung over your waist curls tighter, his face nuzzling into your neck. The kisses he leaves there aren’t affectionate, exactly, they’re not gentle, when teeth catch, nipping sharply at your skin, only to be soothed by a lave of his tongue.

And the laugh that rumbles at your back – a shade off your boyfriend’s – is anything but nice.

“Yeah? Fuck, you’re sweet in the morning.”

This time, you don’t hold back. You shriek, kicking out like a wild thing – or you would have, if Kuroo’s hand hadn’t clamped down on your mouth, if his weight hadn’t shifted so that rather than lying curled up behind you, he’s half on top of you, pinning you down to the mattress with a thigh lodged between yours.

“Uh-uh-uh, we were doing so good, kitten. Don’t you wanna be daddy’s good girl?”

Your only answer is a ragged noise, torn from somewhere deep inside of you. He chuckles again, grinds against you, his cock a thick, unignorable presence pressed at your ass. There’s nothing but the thin cotton of your sleep shorts separating it from you, and from past experience, that barrier won’t do much to deter him for long.

Kuroo rolls you onto your back and slots himself nicely between your legs. Naked, you realise with a fresh stab of fear.

You scream the moment his palm leaves your lips to capture your wrists, scream for Shinnosuke – for anyone – so loudly that it feels like you’ll bleed for it. Let him come running, find you pinned and squirming, terrified beneath the man who raised him.

Let it be the final crack that obliterates everything.

If Shin sees you like this, utterly petrified, on the verge of being raped again and still thinks it some kind of a betrayal, let him choke on it. You don’t care anymore, you just want someone to stop this.

(Shin wouldn’t, would he?)

But Kuroo only snickers. Leans over to lick along the edge of your lashes, where hot, glistening tears are already spilling over, trickling down to disappear in your hairline. “Your boy’s not here, but we don’t have long ‘til he gets back. You’ll forgive me if we bypass the foreplay this morning, right, sweetheart?” You shudder, goosebumps prickling where his breath washes over you, and you squeeze your eyes shut and violently – pointlessly – shake your head. “We’ll have to save eating your pretty little cunt for next time.”

All too eager, he hungrily captures your lips again and yanks down your shorts, taking your panties along with them.

Christmas morning, you’d been shoved face down over the kitchen counter while he’d fucked you from behind. You’d give anything for that distance right now. At least then you hadn’t had to endure his suffocating warmth, having him squeeze and grope at your tits over your old, threadbare tee.

You wouldn’t have to writhe away from his mouth while he rucks your bare thighs up either side of his hips, dragging you closer.

Even with your eyes screwed tightly shut, you can’t pretend that this isn’t happening as Kuroo spits and a heartbeat later the thick head of his cock slowly – agonisingly slowly – splits you apart.

You forget how to breathe.

Eyes popping open and back arching up into his chest, your fists clutch desperately at the sheets of Shin’s bed, trying to squirm away, only the grip he has on you makes sure there’s nowhere for you to escape to. He’s big, long, mostly, and you’re too tight to take him easily, especially without any prep. The spit doesn’t help any, and Kuroo doesn’t care, groaning out in pleasure as inch by inch he pushes himself deeper, until at last he’s seated firmly inside of you. “Good fucking giiiirl,” he purrs, a kiss pressed to the tip of your nose.

A tiny, drawn out whine is all you can manage when your lower half radiates pain.

“Gonna fuck this perfect pussy nice ‘n full,” he tells you. “Give you everything you need, sweet girl. You can take it. I know you can, you just gotta breathe for me.”

But unlike last time, he doesn’t allow you the luxury of a minute to adjust. His hips draw back and punch forward, jolting another mewling gasp from your lips. And again. And again. The pace isn’t violent so much as intense, like each thrust ignites something inside of him that burns for more.

He clasps your wrists in one hand, pants into your open mouth between frenetic kisses, groans out your name in that shuddering gasp.

“Mine,” he pants, beads of sweat dripping from his chest, his chin, rolling down onto you. “You’re daddy’s girl– fuck!”

Your cunt reacts accordingly, flexing around his cock, easing its passage so that the wet, lurid sounds of him fucking you quickly fill the air. A betrayal that has your cheeks flaming.

The muscles in your thighs burn, Kuroo all but forcing them back towards the bed, his weight driving into you with fervour. A quick adjustment to the angle of your hip and his cock hits a spot deep inside of you that has you choking on a moan of your own, a burst of bright, sizzling pleasure bleeding through the pain.

Kuroo grins ferally at the sound of it. Drops his weight on an elbow and bucks into you, hitting it again. Your inner walls twitch, squeezing and slick, dragging noises from you that make you wanna burn with shame – that, or cut yourself loose entirely. You can’t muster resistance when he swallows them down, sucking on your tongue, moaning into your mouth. His momentum turns rabid, his hand no longer encircling your wrists, but entangled with them, pressing them down to the mattress. “Almost… there…” he grunts, gasping as he curls over you, abs flexing.

A shudder rolls through him, his hips faltering just as something vital shatters inside of you, toes curling, white hot pleasure exploding from your core, rippling through your whole body like the aftershocks of an earthquake. With your pussy spasming around his cock, your body taut and locked with pleasure, Kuroo hurtles off that cliff right alongside you, a strangled noise somewhere between a moan and a growl escaping him as he pumps your cunt full of his seed, all but collapsing atop of you afterwards.

It takes a minute before he peels himself off of you; pushing himself up, braced on elbow so that he’s not crushing you entirely, Kuroo waits, buried inside your warmth, for you to stop trembling with the after effects of your orgasm, for his cock to soften and both of your breathing to even out.

Waits for those glazed over eyes to focus back on him and once again fill with tears, stroking a hand through your sweat-dampened hair as he does so.

“You should go take a shower before Shin gets home,” he says after a minute or two, his voice a low purr. “He can’t be far off.”

But aside from rolling off you to allow you up, Kuroo makes no moves to follow you, or so much as get up off the bed. Naked, his cock soft and glistening with your juices, one knee propped up, he watches you stumble like a newborn foal into the bathroom (only half managing to close the door behind you) with damn near predatory intent, a smirk teasing at his lips.

It’s where Shin finds you a short while later, curled up on the floor of the shower, shaking through silent sobs.

—

Shin doesn’t let go of your hand the entire trip home.

Uncharacteristically sober, he says little aside from the occasional murmur to check in with you – always unanswered – and keeps you tucked close, as though a fraction of distance between you might pry you from his side entirely.

The hours pass in a haze of… nothing. Your tears dry. Numbness takes over. You move like a robot, Shin guiding you every step of the way until you cross the threshold of your apartment.

He never asks what happened. You suppose the smell of sex in his bedroom and the bruises and love bites scattered over your body tell the tale well enough. Shinnosuke’s never been stupid. He’s not dense.

He’s not heartless, either.

In the sanctity of your tiny, shitty bathroom, you shower again. A proper shower this time, with the water turned up full blast, scrubbing viciously at your skin– or at least, you do until he steps in and takes over. You’ve never thought of your boyfriend as particularly gentle, but he pries the loofah from your hand with a delicacy you didn’t know him capable of and takes care of you, cleaning you up with a tenderness that borders on reverence.

You pretend not to notice how his eyes (so like his, sharp and hazel) narrow into a scowl every time he spots another bruise, another mark left by his father. Once or twice his fingers begin to ghost over them, burgundy fingerprints on your thigh, a love bite sucked into the delicate skin above your collarbone, only to catch himself, swallowing tightly and resuming his task like he’d never faltered in the first place.

When you’re done, he dries you both off and helps you into fresh clothes – a pair of comfy sweatpants and an old hoodie of his and guides you back to the living room, setting you down into his lap on the couch.

“I–” his voice is hoarse. Quiet, especially in the stillness of the apartment, and when you glance his way, he awkwardly clears his throat and takes a deep breath. “I went to the pharmacy. I thought– I thought…” he trails off again, dropping his gaze. “I’m such a fucking idiot.”

Your heart twists, and it’s your turn to comfort him. Or maybe you’re comforting each other, shifting slightly in his lap so that you can wrap your arms around him and draw him in close, burying your face in the crook of his neck and breathing in the fresh, clean scent of him. “No. I– it wasn’t…” but the words don’t come. You flounder.

What are you supposed to say? It wasn’t his fault? Wasn’t yours?

You should’ve said something earlier? Should’ve fought back harder – against both of them, should’ve grown a spine?

A beat passes in the tense, thick silence, and when it becomes clear that you’ve got nothing for him, he makes an odd sort of huff that sounds almost irritated. You frown a little, but you don’t fight it when his arms pull tighter around you, when his cheek comes to a rest against your hair and his hands seek yours, curling around your wrists and stroking at the skin there.

“We’ll get through this,” he vows. “I love you, this doesn’t change anything. It won’t change anything.” His lips meet the crown of your head in a soft kiss. “You’re mine. You’ll always be mine.”

#yandere haikyuu #yandere kuroo #yandere kuroo x reader #yandere kuroo tetsurou #yandere kuroo tetsurou x reader #oc: kuroo shinnosuke #tw: noncon

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gilfkitty · 3 months

Note

hi! I was wondering if you can maybe do stepdad vendetta Leon? When it’s late at night and he comes home after a long day at work and he’s drinking like usual, but reader can’t sleep cause of the thunderstorm and she just wants his comfort. Could you make it fluffy at first then smutty? -Lana <3

Seeking Shelter (18+)

ft. stepdad! (vendetta) Leon x fem! reader

WARNINGS !! - some angst (?), mentions of alcohol and marital problems, Leon is slightly intoxicated, stepcest, little bit of biting/marking, pet names, overstimulation, thigh fucking 𓃹

note. ty for being my first normal ask ! im not very confident when it comes to writing fluff but i hope this turned out to your liking :3

wc. 1.5k

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

Leon absolutely hated his work, most of all he hated being away from home. He just wanted a break, at least more than weekends off.

Waking up early every day and staying out, busting his ass til nighttime was not how he wanted to live his life. He felt like he was older than he actually was, already getting severe back and body aches, always tired and struggling with migraines that only alcohol could simmer down. He didn’t want to feel like an old man at the age of fourty. But someone had to provide for you and your mother. That’s what motivated him to keep at it. Even if it was breaking him mentally.

He couldn’t deny it felt good to be needed and he knew that you needed him most.

Unlike your mother, you were appreciative of his efforts to furnish the household. You understood he had to be gone a lot and you didn’t ask for a million things. Sometimes he wondered if he married the wrong woman. It seemed your mother was only interested in his good looks and money. They argued more often than they talked. She complained he wasn’t making her happy, didn’t take care of her needs.

He tried his hardest to, but maybe he just couldn’t. Maybe he just didn’t love her like he did when they first met. Rushing into marriage after only dating a couple months prior often turned out that way. And the more he got to know her, the more he got to know you.

You were the exact opposite of your mother despite having been raised solely by her. You were a total sweetheart to him. Made him feel like he wasn’t doing all this for nothing.

——————

Just like any other night, tonight he’s returning home late, bottle being downed to get the negativity out of his head. The bitter burning of the liquid flooding his stomach was a pleasant, comforting in contrast to the flickering lightning outside.

He finishes up another glass. Just enough to calm his nerves but not enough to make him lose his thoughts completely.

He removes his leather jacket, slightly damp from the rain as he makes his way up the stairs ready to head to bed. He considered taking a shower, but he wasn’t caught up in it that long. He was too tired to stay standing anyway.

He pivots to go to your mother but comes to a halt at the sight of your bedroom light still on. You were usually always asleep by the time he got home so he couldn’t help but be curious.

“Hey, hon.” he stands in your doorway, hesitant to enter further. “What are you still doing up? Thought you had a busy day planned for tomorrow.”

You were too embarrassed to tell him the reason. Your heart was pounding heavily in your chest just from some simple rain and thunder. It was something you figured you’d eventually grow out of as you got older, but you didn’t.

“Rain botherin’ you?” he asks, as always reading you like an open book.

“Yeah, i’ll be fine though.”

“I can lay with you for a bit if that helps. If you can make some room for me.”

His offer made you feel all the more ashamed. You weren’t a child, didn’t need to be cradled to sleep. But you didn’t want to say no. His comfort was what you wanted. His presence in general made you feel safe.

So, you organize the cluster that’s taking up your bed space, scooting aside for him.

He lays on the inside, getting snug under your comforter and wrapping his arms around you in a protective embrace. He buries his face in the back of your hair, exhaling a contented sigh.

His breath was hot on your neck, alcohol mixed with that dollar store cologne was pungent, clouding your senses. That smell was just Leon. Homely somehow.

“It’s alright, baby,” he croons, “Storms bother me sometimes too. I’ll stay til’ you’re able to fall asleep.”

His voice was husky, directed straight through your ears. As much as you tried, you couldn’t ignore the fact that you were starting to feel something you shouldn’t.

“You don’t have to stay,” you counter even though you really wanted him to. “I know you have work tomorrow.”

“I don’t mind. Wouldn’t be able to sleep knowin’ you’re upset anyway.”

He presses his body further against yours. His hand rubs circles over your stomach to coax you to sleep.

It was having the opposite effect. For both of you.

This close proximity, the heat of your body, the scent of your hair, it was all making him dizzy. Dizzy in a way any hard liquor or whiskey couldn’t achieve for him.

His hands make their way underneath your shirt, testing your reaction to the advance. He trails up slowly feeling your soft skin under his rough palm, stopping at the edge of your bra before slipping back down.

You shudder when he thumbs at the waistband of your pajama pants. He was asking for permission without words. He didn’t have a way to ask that didn’t make him sound like a creep or a pervert. He didn’t want you to see him that way. But he needed you. Hoped you needed him in that way too.

His breath sped up, he was practically heaving. Blame it on the alcohol.

“I should go,” he decided, releasing you. But you stop his hand midway out.

“You can’t just tease me like that and then leave. You said you’d stay until I fell asleep.”

His dick hardens in his pants at your reciprocated touch, making him realize just how long it had been since he’d felt someone else this way. Your mom never put out, and when she did, there was no connection.

This was different. Just holding you in his arms makes him feel something he’s never felt with anyone.

“Sorry, sweetheart. You’re right. I said i’d stay.”

He wasn’t expecting those words to influence you. He was trying to push the sexual thoughts to the back of his mind. But then you move his hand where you both wanted it to be, and his brain is fried.

You don’t have to tell him twice. He gets the memo.

Your pants, along with his own, are discarded to your floor. He holds his position behind you, slipping his length between the plush of your inner thighs, right between your needy folds.

As bad as he wanted to fuck you, he couldn’t. No way in hell he was going to ruin your life and knock you up. He was your stepfather. Your mother would surely kill you if she found out.

He settles for this, slowly pumping his hips to slide his cock between your legs.

You line them up, tightening them together for his pleasure. He grinds against your clit, rubbing back and forth and making you moan. You were dripping on his cock, begging for him to take you. He wanted to so badly.

“Shhh, baby,” he hushes with a hand over your mouth. “Be quiet for me.

He wasn’t exactly playing fair. He was groaning in your ear more and more as it went on. You were a mouse in comparison.

He holds onto you bruisingly tight, wanting to be closer. It was so hard to have you right in front of him, soaked and whiny just for him. Yet he couldn’t go further.

It almost pissed him off.

His teeth sink into the flesh of your shoulder as he tries to restrain himself, marking you in the process. He speeds his movements, his pelvis meeting your ass again and again. You could feel him throbbing, hear that desperate rasp in his voice as he moaned into you.

“I need you so bad sweetheart.” He kisses over the bite mark he left, panting through his nose. “Need to be inside your sweet pussy.”

You plead for him. But it’s muffled by the cup of his hand. You felt so good just from this. You couldn’t even imagine how the real deal would be.

Your body practically spasms from cumming. He rubbed you in just the right way, just the right pace.

He loses his mind feeling the way you squirm against him. He couldn’t stop, even if you were overly sensitive. He needed your body.

He has to hold your thighs together as they moved too far apart, making you endure the friction.

Cum spurts out of him too far, and far too fast for him to catch it. It just keeps spilling out, and he just keeps thrusting into you until it starts to hurt. He’s gripping you tighter than intended as his muscles stiffen uncontrollably.

He uncovers your mouth after he falls limp against you, nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck.

“Sorry about the mess.” he says to break the silence. “Think you’ll be able to sleep now? Feelin’ a little sleepy myself.”

“Can you stay with me all night?” you ask. You didn’t want him to leave your side. It’d be cold without him.

He hesitates to answer, thinking over your request and considering if it would be too risky.

“Sure, sweetheart. Your mom probably won’t even notice I’m gone tonight anyway.”

#leon kennedy x you #leon x reader #leon kennedy x reader #resident evil #resident evil x reader #tw.stepcest #leon smut #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy #resident evil vendetta #vendetta leon

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brighteuphony · 5 days

Text

I love Chiyo- and I kind of headcanon her as a Witch of the Woods (Sands???) archetype- a bitter old woman who has sacrificed too much, experienced and committed more atrocities than anyone can imagine, and who knows the truth about what lies in the hearts of men to live among the villages anymore.

In my AU she's got a pretty dark backstory. Back in time when Villages were just getting established, women weren't allowed to be shinobi in the same capacity as men. There was too much warring and death among the clans to risk women, so they were only ever allowed to serve as spies or medics. (Chiyo started off as a medic).

And like any military/fascist dictatorship, serving the state was more important than anything else- so women who were kunoichi were given missions to steal and return with powerful bloodlines. Even before villages, this was a common fear among clans (which is why so many of them have protective measures and inbreed/arrange matches very carefully).

Chiyo was one such woman, who took a X-rated mission in her youth because she was told it would 'serve her nation'. There was a powerful bloodline whose Kekkei Genkai could harden sand to something akin to Steel- something Suna very desperately wanted.

Chiyo succeeded in her mission, but despite the veneer of 'serving your nation', when she returned, she was considered, in her words, "Just another whore."

Then when her son didn't manifest the bloodline- it was worse, but Chiyo was happy because that meant her son was HERS. (This is when she met Enji, and he saved her son's life at great cost- so Chiyo owes him a blood/life debt.)

Then the war came, and they needed women to fight so now serving the nation meant something different, and Chiyo became a full fledged 'shinobi' and turned her healing towards poison and death- especially when she had to fight the Salamander.

Then she sealed Gaara and that was the atrocity straw that broke the camel's back and she dipped out Suna and retired to an oasis. She's still a healer, but adamantly refuses to serve shinobi.

Once again, thank you so much for these asks and all the support for this AU?

@youngpeacearbiter

#naruto #haruno sakura #granny chiyo #coven!sakura #nations always celebrate serving the military but no support for anyone who comes back #veteran's aid? what's that and we all know how they would see women like this #there's no more xrated missions in villages and its like a shameful secret they all gloss over #you never air the dirt out when you've gotta indoctrinate your next wave of children into child soldiers #also chiyo is a pretty cruel woman IMO #first thing she did when she learned Sakura stepped between two attacks was to laugh so hard she started crying #Chiyo has both HEAVY internalized mysogyny but also really wants to protect women- its a balancing act #queen of tough love throw em in the deep end no floaties #trial by firing squad #also chiyo just HATES the hypocrisy of being venerated as a war hero when its convenient for the nation- she just hates shinobi villages #thank u kishimoto for keeping Chiyo's backstory vague as hell so i can play #chiyo as an embodiment of female rage

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amournoir · 9 months

Note

Hi can u do a fic where the reader and Klaus are in a relationship and the mikaelson's hate her .

Thanks

𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐭 ┄ 𝐢

pairing: niklaus mikaelson x f!reader

count: 1.4k

warning: angst

author’s note: thanks for the request hun! 💋 p.s, here's part 2

The streets of New Orleans pulsed with life, and Y/N, Klaus Mikaelson's spirited and vivacious girlfriend, seemed to embody the very essence of the city's energy. She reveled in the thrill of the night, seeking joy and adventure wherever she went. But little did she know that her vibrant spirit was causing a storm within the Mikaelson family.

Rebekah and Elijah, Klaus's siblings, observed with disapproval as Y/N led Klaus into the wild festivities of the French Quarter. They detested her carefree nature, seeing her as a disruption to the carefully constructed order of their lives. In their eyes, Y/N was a distraction, a youthful folly that would only lead Klaus astray. The siblings had made their opinions known countless times, urging Klaus to end the relationship. They saw her as a threat to their family's stability and tried to set him up with a "more suitable" woman— a 30-year-old socialite whose poise and maturity contrasted sharply with Y/N's exuberance.

One evening, as the Mikaelson family gathered for a somber dinner, tensions reached their breaking point. Rebekah and Elijah, fueled by their desire to protect their brother, confronted Y/N, leveling accusations of infidelity.

“You're nothing but trouble,” Rebekah hissed, her eyes flashing with disdain. “You're not right for Nik.”

Y/N's face paled, her heart pounding in her chest. “What are you talking about? I love Klaus with all my heart,” she protested, her voice trembling.

Elijah shook his head, his tone cutting like a blade. “You're young, reckless, and unreliable,” he stated coldly. “You're only going to hurt him.”

Tears welled up in Y/N's eyes as she struggled to find the right words to defend herself. She had always tried to be honest with Klaus, to give him everything he deserved, but now she felt like she was being torn apart by the very people she had hoped to call family.

“I love him,” she repeated, her voice breaking. “I would never hurt him, and I would never cheat on him.”

But her words fell on deaf ears, and the Mikaelson siblings remained adamant in their disapproval. Klaus, torn between his love for Y/N and his loyalty to his family, was caught in the crossfire of their bitter dispute. For days, the rift between Y/N and the Mikaelson siblings grew wider. Each encounter was fraught with tension, with accusations and misunderstandings that only deepened the wounds. Y/N felt isolated and alone, her heart heavy with the weight of their judgments.

One night, as the moon hung low in the sky, Klaus found Y/N sitting alone by the fireplace, tears silently streaming down her cheeks. He approached her, his heart aching at the sight of her pain.

“Love talk to me,” he pleaded, his voice soft with concern.

She looked up at him, her eyes filled with sorrow. “Your family hates me,” she whispered. “They think I'm not good enough for you.”

Klaus wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. “I don't care what they think,” he said firmly. “I love you and I won't let them come between us.”

But as the days turned into weeks, the constant pressure from his family weighed heavily on Klaus's mind. Doubts began to seep into his heart, and he found himself torn between his love for Y/N and the desire to mend the fractures in his family. In the depths of his turmoil, Klaus faced an impossible choice— to stand by the woman he loved or to appease his family by letting her go. His heart and mind waged war within him, leaving him in a state of inner turmoil that threatened to consume him.

As the darkness of uncertainty loomed over their once blissful relationship, Y/N and Klaus were left to navigate the shadows of doubt and find a way back to each other. The storm of angst and heartache showed no signs of abating, leaving them with the ultimate question…could love conquer all or would the family's disapproval be too much to bear?

A few months had passed without another confrontation from his siblings but that silence period was over today. The Mikaelson mansion stood in silence, its opulent halls shrouded in a heavy tension that seemed to seep into the very air. Y/N, the vibrant and spirited love of Klaus Mikaelson's life, felt the weight of disapproval from his siblings bearing down on her like a storm cloud. At 23, her heart beat fiercely with a passion for life, but to Elijah and Rebekah, she was nothing more than a youthful whirlwind that threatened the delicate balance they had carefully crafted.

It was a chilly evening, and as Y/N wandered through the dimly lit corridors, her footsteps echoing emptily, she couldn't shake the sense of unease that seemed to linger around her. The disapproving glances, the hushed conversations that ceased when she entered a room— all of it gnawed at her soul. It had been months since she had embarked on a romantic journey with Klaus, a love that burned with an intensity she had never known before. But even that powerful connection couldn't shield her from the critical eyes of his siblings.

Rebekah's icy words had sliced through the air like a blade. “You're just a child, Y/N,” she had said with a condescending tilt of her head. “My brother deserves someone who understands the dangers of our world.”

And Elijah, the embodiment of elegance and poise, had looked at her with a mixture of pity and dismissal. “Klaus is not one to be taken lightly,” he had warned. “You need to be more mature, more level headed.”

Each word had etched itself into Y/N's heart, a constant reminder of her perceived inadequacy in the eyes of those she so desperately wanted to accept her. As she entered the living room, she found Klaus standing by the grand window, nursing a tumbler of bourbon in his hand. His gaze was distant, his features etched with a mixture of frustration and weariness. She approached him, her heart aching at the distance she felt growing between them.

“Klaus,” she murmured, her voice soft and uncertain.

He turned to her, his eyes meeting hers with a mix of conflict and affection. “Y/N,” he said, his voice tinged with a hint of regret.

The silence that followed was heavy, a chasm that seemed to swallow their words before they could be spoken.

“I can't do this anymore love,” Klaus finally confessed, his voice breaking the stillness.

Y/N's heart shattered, the pain more intense than she could have ever imagined. “What do you mean?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Klaus's gaze was tortured, his emotions warring within him. “Elijah and Rebekah,” he said with a sigh. “They won't accept us. They think you're too young, too impulsive.”

Tears welled in Y/N's eyes, and she felt a lump forming in her throat. “And what do you think?” she choked out, her voice quivering.

Klaus reached for her, his hand cupping her cheek with tenderness. “I love you,” he said, his voice raw with emotion. “But I can't keep going against my family. It's tearing us apart.”

The pain in Y/N's chest was suffocating, a weight that threatened to crush her. “So, what are you saying?” she asked, her voice shaking.

“I'm saying that we need to take a step back,” Klaus admitted, his voice barely audible. “Perhaps it's best for both of us.”

Y/N's heart shattered completely, and she took a step back, her eyes welling with tears. “You're choosing them over me?” she whispered, her voice cracking.

Klaus's eyes filled with anguish, and he reached out to her, his fingers brushing against her cheek. “Y/N…” he started desperately. “I love you, but I can't keep fighting this battle. I'm sorry sweetheart.”

The room seemed to close in around her, and Y/N turned and fled, her heartache echoing in the emptiness that surrounded her. Days turned into weeks, and the absence of Klaus felt like an ache that she couldn't escape. She could feel the weight of his absence in every corner of her life, a constant reminder of what once was.

As she stared out at the moonlit night, Y/N realized that love was not always enough to conquer the obstacles that life placed in its path. She had lost the man she loved, not because he didn't care, but because the world they lived in was too complicated, too tangled with expectations. lol She whispered his name into the night, her heart heavy with sorrow, Y/N learned that sometimes love wasn't enough to mend the fractures that threatened to tear their world apart. And in that painful realization, she felt the bittersweet ache of a love that had been both beautiful and heart wrenching—a love that would forever remain etched in her soul.

🏷️ taglist:

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anki-of-beleriand · 3 months

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A Heart Made of Glass ch. 11

Summary: Ten years ago you left Wanda and the Avengers to heal your broken heart. You never stopped being a hero, just as you never stopped being in love with her. But life had to go on.

Now, after all that time, she is back and with her is a young woman needing help and an enemy that may not be as afraid as Wanda to lay a claim on you.

Pairings: Wanda Maximoff x Powered!F!Reader - Scarlet Witch x PoweredF!Reader - Past Wanda Maximoff x Vision

Warnings: Angst, drama, mentions of cheating, fluff, violence, smut, Switch!Reader, internalize homophobia, hurt, comfort, Wanda being a complete mess, anger management issues, jealousy, Requited/Unrequited love, idiots in love, swearing, mentions of alcohol. More tags as the story progess.

Author's Note: This story is a continuation of Dirty Little Secret I was really surprised at the response I got for the story, I did all the tags you guys ask for but if I forgot someone please do not hesitate to tell me. Thank you for the support.

I am back!! This chaptr took longer than I anticipated, I didn't know exactly how to continue even though I have an aidea of what I want. So here it is the new chapter, hope you guys like it!

Wanda is finally getting there, and Reader has to face so harsh truths about herself and those around herself.

Please, do remember English is no my mother tongue so forgive my grammar, spelling and funny mistakes.

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Wanda and Scarlet

Everyone left as soon as you disappeared with the twins upstairs.

The time seemed to pass without your consent, and by the time the twins had fallen asleep and you were back on the first floor the world around you felt different. You stepped into the living room, your shadows flickering to make sure you were alone while you wandered around the place to take a closer look at the pictures decorating the place. You had always like pictures, and in general, you were good at photography; you realized every single one of the pictures you were seeing had a single purpose: to tell the story of yours and Wanda’s life.

It started with a simple friendship, the both of you were young and as the images move through the years you could see fear behind the attraction, the realisation of love and the tentativeness of a relationship until, at the end, all you could see was a happy ending. You tilted your head, your eyes checking the images over and over again until they fell on a missing section. A missing part of the timeline.

“We broke up one day,” you held yourself tight, your ears twitching with your eyes narrowing lightly, the woman behind you approached slowly, her voice sending a shiver down your back.

Wanda wrapped her arms around herself, her voice carried the weight of unwanted memories.

“I was scared, it was the first time she said she loved me.” You turned slightly looking at the woman out of the corner of your eye.

“Did you cheat on her?” You couldn't help but ask, your voice dripping with old resentment.

Wanda finally stood beside you, and she was so much different than your own Wanda. Taller, calm, with a confidence that poured out of her with an electric jolt of power you were not familiar with. The woman dropped her eyes, then you found yourself looking into her green ones.

“I broke her heart, and then I started dating Vision.” Wanda pursed her lips, her eyes narrowing lightly. “I pretend to be normal to honour my parents by being what they expected me to be.”

You clenched your jaw, the tension evident in your posture.

“We almost got married until…I almost lost her.” Wanda whispered, her face breaking into a mask of pain. “She had disappeared on me, I couldn't reach her out and then, one day she…she came back and saved me and Vis…”

Wanda let out a bitter laughter, tears rolling down her eyes.

“I almost lost her because I was afraid and I just…I couldn’t let her go afterwards. I fought hard to earn her forgiveness, and her love again.”

You swallowed down your own tears, turning away from this Wanda before letting your eyes wandered around a story you had always wished for. You could feel the weight of her stare on you, the poking of her presence waiting for the right moment to either talk to you, or push for answers to questions you were not ready to hear.

In the end you stopped on the one picture you had feared, the one you had seen before but with a different individual smiling back at you.

“They look like you…and me.” You finally said turning to Wanda, this time around the smile that broke her façade was one of pure bliss.

The other woman stepped forward, her eyes drifting to the picture and then to you. She had seen enough inside your head to know this might hurt in ways she could only imagine, and a part of Wanda was completely baffled by the mistakes done without a single thought of the consequences. She had to wonder, though, how much of those mistakes grew into resentment and how many of them were fear of allowing love in.

“They were our little miracle.” Wanda whispered, her voice softened all of a sudden before she closed the distance between you and her, and this time around you couldn’t look away or stepped away from her overwhelming persona.

“They were possible because of you and me, Y/N.” Her words made you shiver, the touch of her skin against yours was electrifying. “We weren’t even trying, and when I found out it had been me the one getting pregnant I was scared of you finding out.”

“Why?” You finally asked furrowing your brows, Wanda cocked a brow with her eyes gleaming challenging at you.

“Because of your thoughts, because of your doubts.” Wanda sighed cupping your face with her hand, “when I approached you my main fear was of you thinking I cheated.”

Your body tensed hardening your stare trying to ignore the tenderness and the understanding in those green eyes you had dreamed about so many times. It still hurt. It hurt like the very first time you fell in love with her, and the first time you saw the video of her and Vision. You closed your eyes, but never stopped feeling the woman in front of you, so much like your Wanda, yet so different than her.

Wanda opened her lips, her heart yearning to get you closer to feel as if you were real. As if you were her Y/N, but she couldn’t stop feeling the coldness, the anger, the sadness pouring out of you from your every pore.

When Wanda spoke again, she did so with the same tone of voice she used that very first time. The one that had always told Y/N that she was loved that she was cherished, that she was everything Wanda needed.

“When I told her about the pregnancy, Tommy and Billy made sure to help me out. I don’t know how, and I don’t know why…” Wanda let out a breathless chuckle, “but when I told her, it just clicked. It was as if she could feel them, and she could sense the familiarity in them. They were as much hers as they were mine.”

“I felt them.” The words left your mouth before you could prevent it. You lifted your face to the ceiling, furrowing your brows while your powers ignited with the familiarity the twins brought to you. “It was strange, yet familiar…And I…”

You stopped right before you could say more than you meant to, you lifted your eyes only then taking notice of how close this Wanda was to you. You could feel her warm breath on your face, her eyes gleaming with a deep green that showed all the love she felt for you.

Correction, for the version of yourself in this universe.

Not you.

Never you.

Your whole demeanour changed in the blink of an eye. Your body tensed, and you stepped back until there was only coldness and distance between you and Wanda. And in that moment, your heart broke all over again for the things you had just discovered in a world that was not your own.

“I can’t…” You whispered; Wanda lifted her hand but she hesitated stepping back as well.

It was in that moment you thought about the videos you received; those chapters of a story Wanda had lived in world she had created. The twins that had come to life as the children of Vision, the sudden mess that became out of such a magic, and then the piercing pain inside your chest when you realized Wanda was even further away than where she had been the first time the both of you broke up.

Your mind quivered breaking into a flow of memories you had tried to contain behind the shadows, and your chest shrank into a deep void filled with coldness and emptiness that left you breathless with desperation clinging to your senses.

Wanda stepped back; she creased her brows watching as your powers flickered around her. You clenched your jaw tilting your head until your footsteps take you out of the house. The world around you trembled surrounding you in complete darkness until all that was left was the single, crimson light of Wanda gleaming in the distance.

“Why are you so hurt, Y/N?” She asked, and her voice was like a dagger piercing your soul and twisting the memories of what could had been.

Instead of answering, instead of voicing your frustrations you broke down with tears rolling down your cheeks and the woman you loved holding you tightly. You hugged her tightly knowing, in this world, she was yours as much as you were hers and, even if it was for a brief moment, you could pretend this was your life.

And that was all that matter at the moment.

________________________________________________

You had been watching the routine from afar.

Billy and Tommy were extraordinary, their powers had been developing along with their physical attributes under the watchful eye of your counterpart and Wanda. Your heart twisted every time they looked at you or addressed you in such a familiar and loving way. The way kids sought out their parents, and it broke your heart the same way it was breaking Wanda’s.

“You were quite good to them, though I am pretty sure Billy noticed you were not his mother.” The voice was familiar to you, you had heard him a thousand times teasing and overall being a complete nuisance until he was finally killed by Thanos.

Loki Odinson was looking completely different to the Loki you had met back home.

His hair was around his shoulders, and he was wearing a dark suit with a tie matching the green of his magic. He gave you a quick once over, his eyes cold and calculating, while his hand twitched around calling upon a spell. You turned completely getting your body ready for a fight, the god smirked and soon you let out a gasp filled with an exclamation of pain as your back hit the ground.

“Not as fast as you used to, I see.”

“You just wait until I get use to this stranger’s body, then you will wish I was this slow.”

“Indeed.” He replied with just a hint of sarcasm in his voice, he stood by your side stretching out a hand to help you up.

You eyed the hand before taking it, the strength he used was enough to tell you he was not someone to mess with. Yet, there was something different about this Loki; he was calmer, more collected and with a hidden force that made you curious just to know the story behind the Asgardians in this universe.

“So, you played for the good guys in this universe?”

Loki scowled at the question walking past you until he reached the porch steps sitting down.

“I have never been part of the bad guys, but I have never seen eye to eye with Thor or some of those idiots he calls friends,” Loki leaned back settling his eyes on you, “I find it insulting to label people in such a black and white vision of life, when you and I know, that people and everyone in general is just…”

“Complicated.” You finished narrowing your eyes at Loki, the young male smirked tilting his head to one side.

“Exactly. Now, let’s get down to business, how much do you know of what happened before you got here?”

__________________________________

Another day sneaked through the clouds, the sun shone right above the heads of the agents surrounding the area around the dome.

Yelena was playing with the knife you had given to her for her birthday, her eyebrows creased together while the TV got ready to play the same chapter of your boring life over and over again. Yelena wished whoever was controlling the show would at least get new ideas, or at least let all of you spice things up because this was getting ridiculous.

There was a loud beep coming from the screen, and the image in the TV flickered between colours and black and white. Yelena almost fell off her chair when you appeared on the screen, this time around the story was different, and for the first time Yelena wasn’t sure if this was a good or a bad thing.

“Natasha! You better come here right now!”

*****

The morning light sneaked through the bedroom curtains. The warm of a single ray of sunshine shook you from your slumber, without really opening your eyes you tried to cover up your face knowing that full consciousness poked through your brain.

Continuing with your marvellous sleep would not be possible anymore.

You furrowed your brows, turning to the side while stretching your arm to try and hug the woman you shared your bed with.

Wanda.

A jolt of electricity went from your brain to your body, your heart beating at an anormal speed while you sat down in the bed. You glanced around the room but everything was the same as the day before, and the before that one. You frowned lifting a hand to your face, your thoughts came crashing down without any specific order.

Your wife. Her name was…

You turned to your bedside table, your mind flashed the memory of a single frame with the woman holding onto you smiling brightly. Your frown deepened, the name dancing inside your mind but unable to make sense.

It's going to be okay, my love, don't take the pill. Don't take it and you and I will be together again.

The voice inside your head whispered, the sweet tone was familiar, your heart jumped with anticipation. You turned on your side ready to leave the bed when the door of the room opened and another woman came right in.

She had dark hair, her lips full and red, while those eyes gleamed with a strange light.

“Good morning, baby, did you sleep well?” She came onto you leaning in to seal her words with a kiss.

It felt wrong, but you answered to the kiss lazily with the pretension of being just awake for a couple of minutes. The woman narrowed her eyes though the smile never left her face, she leaned back before making her way to the curtains and opening them with a yank of her hands.

“Today is a beautiful day, and last night was just amazing my love, I really enjoy it when you let me use you hard.” Her words pretended to be flirty, with a teasing undertone she tried to converge with the sultry stare she sent your way.

You shifted uncomfortably, this time around you wandered through your body to validate the veracity of her words. You didn't feel sore, but of course it could also be the effect of the drug or whatever it was you were in. You stood up making your way towards the woman.

Agatha.

Your face broke into another smile, your arms wrapping around her before leaning in to suck on her pulse point. Agatha lifted her hands closing them around your biceps, a sudden gasp left her lips and she tilted her head to give you more access.

“I love it when you let me be in charge, love.” You whispered in her ear, your lips teasing the shell of her ear, your eyes narrowing when the fixated on the flickering reality behind the woman.

“Mmm, I can tell you want more, but today we have the event in the school and we cannot miss it, I'm still competing for first place in the desserts contest.” Agatha stepped back her eyes dark and dangerous, a hint of lust gleaming inside them.

This was the very first time you approached her out of your free will, and the woman was excited. If you were already looking Agatha out and making these advances it meant her magic was growing bending the reality and helping her get what she wanted. Soon Scarlet and Wanda would no longer be an issue and you would be next.

“Very well, but you won't escape, Missy, I will have you later on.” You winked at her turning to make your way to the bathroom, Agatha called out to you stepping closer while lifting a single pill in her hand.

“I will wait patiently for you, now be a good girl and take your medication and take a bath.”

Your smile never faltered taking the pill you put it right away in your mouth swallowing in front of the woman before entering the bathroom to get ready for the day. Agatha stood there for a moment, her eyes squinting trying to catch anything unusual but soon the shower started running and you started humming distractedly. The dark-haired woman smirked and left, the world around her flickering from purple to red.

*****

The day was bright and warm.

It was a complete contrast of the weather America had suffered in Norway. She glanced at the sky, then at the buildings around her, noticing for the very first time the forms of other people walking around the lanes in front of their homes. She frowned stepping back inside the house where Wanda had been recovering after her session with Agatha, she knelt beside the other woman lifting a hand to measure the temperature.

“Today I don't have a fever.” Wanda opened her eyes offering a half smile to the teen.

“That's good.” America sighed checking Wanda before sitting down on the floor. “You look weak.”

“I'm okay.” Wanda sat down slowly, she grabbed the pillows on the sofa tightly clenching her eyes close. “Scarlet is the one doing most of the work.”

America scoffed looking away from Wanda, that was another part of this crazy plan she didn't like. Whatever had happened before America came into the game, Wanda had detached herself from her powers and the part of her that had always been ready to fight for you. She had seen the suffering behind those green eyes, the pain in Wanda’s voice and the defeat in her posture, she had come to terms that you would never be Wanda’s and that she would always be in love with someone that didn't want her back.

The world had been unfair to you and Wanda, and the both of you had given into miscommunications and pride to even attempt a shaky friendship. America pursed her lips glancing at the coffee table where Wanda had placed the necklace she wore at all times.

“You are Scarlet.” America finally replied, locking her eyes with those of Wanda, “you and her are one and the same, you told me yourself that you could feel everything she did and that…”

“I know.” Wanda stood up on shaky legs, she pressed her lips together leaning in to grab the necklace. “Let's get ready, Agatha is finally confident enough that the world around her is of her own creation and we need to make the most of this chance to wake Y/N and get her help to break the spell.”

“Wanda?” America asked tentatively, she could tell the other woman tensed waiting for the question.

America hesitated before stepping closer, “are you sure this is going to work?”

“It has to.” Wanda sighed glancing to the floor, “Agatha won't rest until she had completed the ritual and drained me of my powers, then she would move onto Y/N…”

“And finally, me.” America wrapped her arms around herself, her eyes tearing up hating people around her kept being hurt because of her powers. Because of who she was.

Wanda put her hands on her shoulders, she offered a tender smile and her eyes gleamed with determination.

“Nothing bad is going to happen, we will make this work and then we will deal with Agatha.”

“Would you fuse with Scarlet?” America gauged Wanda's expression, she could see the fear behind those green eyes. “I mean, she is you after all and perhaps in that way you and Y/N…”

“Even if we were to do this, America, she is…she would never…” Wanda let out a heavy sigh, her hand putting her hair back holding onto everything she wanted to say, everything she had been experiencing ever since she got a chance to see you again.

“It's never going to happen, she doesn't love me anymore and I broke any chances to be with her a long time ago.”

America opened her mouth to say something but Wanda silenced her with a gesture of her hands.

“No, she is not…when I accepted this I knew what I was getting into.” Wanda couldn't help the bitterness in her voice, “I knew it would hurt and we would never be nothing more than allies, I just…”

There were no more words, Wanda strsightned up turning her back to the teen.

“I’m going to get ready, I suggest you do the same.”

Wanda didn’t say anything, without tuning around she made her way back to her room and got the bath ready. She held back her tears, tired of the pain this reunion with you had brought to her heart. She knew she had to pay for her sins, what she didn’t know was how high of a price she would have to cover for everything to at least be forgiven. She had been paying her mistakes from day one, without a single moment of peace or redemption.

The water fell on her washing away the painful pressure resting on her chest, her fist clenched tightly as she went along with the plan, with the memories, with everything Agatha made her lived all over again in order to get deeper into her powers. Wanda was not completely sure she understood, and Scarlet had been unable to be cooperative unless you were involved; everything turned out to be a complete mess, and the young witch had to wonder if perhaps outside this reality there was someone trying to help them out solve the mess they were in.

If there was someone out there that was not blaming Wanda for yet another invented reality.

Wanda closed her eyes, her body flinched with the sudden jolt of electricity that went through her limbs all the way to the very core of her soul. She clenched her jaw close, the world flickered for a moment until she felt the pulse of energy gathering around her hands. Scarlet was ready, and they were running out of time. With a single sigh, Wanda turned off the water and went to get ready.

They only had one chance, she needed to be fast if they wanted to safe Y/N and themselves before it was too late.

And, after seeing her weakened state, Wanda knew time was not on their side.

___________________________

Time was relative.

And, apparently, space bent to the laws of time.

Loki had been very clear in his explanation of the multiverse, and his role in getting you in the right timeline and the right body. You heard everything he told you, with your mind taking the bits you thought important while trying to understand those you found hard to believe in. The theory was solid, but it certainly was meant for someone with a deeper knowledge on these matters like Hank, Tony or even Bruce. You went along with the game, believing what the god was saying to you while formulating a plan that could help you out without disturbing the timeline or the multiverse.

But for Loki to make it work, he would need time, and that meant you would need to live in a world you already found was destroying you little by little.

Without a doubt, this universe was going to be the dead of you.

When you were young and left the Avengers, you used to torture yourself with the ‘What ifs’. What if you forgive Wanda, what if you had been enough, what if you and her were still together. What if.

You remembered those long nights in which you imagine a normal life with her, the thought of getting married and forming a family. These thoughts grew inside your mind until you hit the rock bottom and you had to start a real healing process, you had accepted what happened and you stepped out of the shadows to move forward. You were a hero, with or without the Avengers, you were still pretty much a person that could help others so that was what you did.

You never forgot Wanda, and those little what if scenarios would come at nights or on those specific moments in which you were alone with your thoughts. Your heart used to ache with the shadows of the past while facing the light of the future; and now, trapped in this world, you were face to face with the biggest what if there was dancing inside your mind.

What if you give yourself a chance to love her again?

What if you forgive her?

The door of the basement opened and closed with a heavy thud, you shook your head turning to see Wanda Maximoff coming down the stairs with a plate filled with sandwiches and a three glasses of orange juice. Your eyes went from the tray to the woman then back to the book you had been staring at, Loki snorted knowingly sitting down while flickering his hand around.

The lights grew in intensity, and Wanda shot a quick glare to Loki before shaking her head in defeat. She settled her tray on the table taking a seat right beside you, her eyes softening lightly as they read on your face the torturing thoughts dancing inside your head that multiply when you realised Wanda had prepared your favourite sandwich. The young woman offered an affectionate smile before turning to Loki.

“It is quite evident they had been dream-walking, whoever has been doing it, at least, has become quite adept at it and has been creating a complete mayhem while doing so.” Wanda grabbed a sandwich furrowing her brow while opening the book and showing some graphics filled with runes and letters you did not understand.

Loki tilted his head eating in silence while glancing at the graphics, he turned to you then back to Wanda who continued speaking while filling up in the gaps that you did not know. Those that you had not been a part of while on in this universe.

“When we first encountered America, she told us about the multiple encounters she had with strange creatures chasing her around the multiple universes.” Wanda pursed her lips furrowing her brows, “something happened though, there was a moment of peace and then when they came back, she fell into our world.”

“Is this the part in which everything else happened?” Loki asked tilting his head thoughtfully, “but there was a moment of peace as well, was it not? Stark mentioned a time of peace in which she was getting use to this place…”

“And to us, yes.” Wanda shifted lightly, her eyes flickered to where you were already finishing your sandwich, your tongue tucking out cleaning your lips before you went back to your food. She couldn’t help but smile at the gesture, it seemed that some things didn’t change in between universes.

“Dream-walking is a powerful technique, not just anyone can do it and whoever decides to enter in such a realm of dark magic usually gets affected,” Loki leaned back closing his eyes for a moment, “whoever is behind this know what they are doing, and they had probably been planning this for a very long time.”

“I’ve been having dreams I shouldn’t have, dreams with Scarlet sneaking inside a different reality.” You chewed on your lower lip drinking from the glass before continuing, “some of them are pretty real, everything that she does it’s usually pretty real, yet I know it is not Wanda. It feels different, she is different even if they look the same.”

There was a moment of silence in which you tried to ignore the stares from Loki and Wanda on you. You distracted yourself with the food and the beverage while playing with the ring on your hand, you shifted on the chair ready to speak until Loki beat you to it.

“You said you saw a rune before the explosion, right?” Loki inquired, he produced a piece of paper and a pen that lend you waiting for you to draw what you saw.

“Yep.”

Wanda observed as you drew the rune, she leaned forward softening when her nose caught up with the aroma of your shampoo and special scent that was innately yours. She couldn't help the hand that rested on your arm, nor the tenderness behind her caress. You shifted on the spot, your back going rigid the moment you felt the familiarity behind the touch.

“There is something I don't understand yet, why do you call her Scarlet and referring to her as a third individual?” Loki finally asked furrowing his brows, you scrunched up your nose turning to Wanda then to Loki.

“Because they are not the same?” You knew something was not right the moment those words left your mouth.

Wanda and Loki glanced at one another, breaking their eye contact almost right away.

“What?” You could see the hesitation but it was Wanda the one who answered.

“I am Scarlet, Y/N. That was my alias when I was part of the Avengers.” She clarified, you noticed just how closed she was to you, the twitched of her lips just as her hand cleaned up the crumbs of bread on your clothes and face.

“Okay, well…look, I don't know what happened there, but my Wan…” You scoffed at the slip, stepping back and giving your back to Wanda you spoke again, “Wanda and Scarlet are certainly not the same. If anything…Scarlet is more…”

“Daring? Powerful? Mischievous? Straightforward?” Loki cocked his head, he smirked when you turned to him, narrowing your eyes. “That's Wanda alright, I will add an annoyance, and a pain in the ass.”

“Thank you.” Wanda glared at Loki who bowed his head, the relationship was almost as confusing as seeing Steve squirmed when talking to Loki.

“I wouldn't describe it like that…” you trailed off remembering the dreams, the touches and her words.

You clenched your hands, this world was certainly driving you mad.

“Is it possible this Scarlet is from a different Universe?” You asked looking at the circle on the floor, “perhaps a more deranged and obsessive version of Wanda from a different Universe?”

Loki stiffened at the question, he shifted from one foot to the other before stepping forward with a flickered of his hand a book appeared out of thin air. He grabbed the article, turning to Wanda before stepping forward into the circle.

“A cup of tea would be nice,” Loki sat down on the circle opening the book in front of him, the world soon darkened only to ignite a green flame.

You stood your ground, stepping inside the circle making the magic around it flickered dangerously. Your eyes went black, leaning forward with your arms firmly placed at your sides.

“Answer the question.” You demanded to which Loki merely shrugged.

“Wherever there is a Wanda, there is always a Scarlet Witch, Y/N. They are one and the same.” Loki then twirled his fingers sitting Indian style while closing his eyes, the electric current of his magic pushed you away. “The fact that you are telling us there are two versions of Wanda only tells me what I should look for.”

“How can you know this? How can you be so sure that they are not two versions of different universes?”

“Because something like this has already happened before.” Loki waved his hand away frowning, “now, hush, I need to do this right or else I may take far longer than necessary and you need to go back to your timeline before something catastrophic happens.”

You observed the god with his hands position to the sides, flickering as the book finally revealed golden pages and he smirked. You were about to speak again but your body went completely rigid when a hand placed itself on your shoulder, you turned around only to see Wanda looking directly at you. Her touch was tender, and almost tentative, but it was enough for you to stop whatever you were about to do or ask. For a brief moment she waited, until you finally relaxed and stepped back.

“Come, this may take a while and I think we still have a conversation pending.”

You hesitated with your shadows flickering around you, whatever power or will to fight you had in you was soon eased out when Wanda sought out your eyes. You swallowed down your weakness before this woman, and without a single word you turned around and left the basement. The door close behind you with a flash of gold and green filling the basement before the closed door stopped any other intrusion from the magic.

You rested your back against the door, the young woman standing beside you bounced for a moment before she went into action and made her way to the kitchen. At first, you only follow her with your eyes, the confidence she was usually wearing faltered from time to time, and you could see the tension building up inside her while she grabbed the tea pot and got everything ready. Her back was turned towards you, but you were completely sure she was pretty aware of your presence and what you were doing.

After a while, and once it was pretty obvious Wanda had nothing else to do but wait for the water to boil you pushed from the door walking towards the kitchen and sitting down on a chair near the counter.

“When I first learnt about my powers, I started hearing this voice inside my head.” Wanda started talking out of nowhere, you sat down waiting for the story to continue.

“It was not a stranger's voice, it was mine though it held an influence and power that soon became part of me.” Wanda turned around, this time around she made sure it was impossible for you to look away. “While I was being experimented on, the voice kept on infusing me with confidence and power, I understood that the magic in me was talking but then…”

Wanda trailed off and her face broke into a painful mask of the past. The memories came rushing in, she lifted a hand to grab her arm hugging herself protectively. You swallowed down holding onto the counter, your heart twisted wanting to go over there and comfort Wanda. You clenched your jaw, looking away and hating the emotions running rampant inside of you.

“I was then given to my parents, my adoptive parents.” Wanda put a hand on her forehead, her voice breaking lightly. “She never told you?”

“She decided to cheat on me instead of trusting in me.” You replied through clenched teeth.

“It's so easy to judge others, isn't it?” Wanda shook her head leaning forward. “Have you ever asked her about the experiments? About the abuse? About the training?”

“Perhaps it was different from her that it was for you.”

Wanda leaned back, lifting her chin, “perhaps, but something tells me our worlds differ in the way we react to the past.”

“Does it make a difference?” You leaned forward, for the very first time spitting out anger while hitting the counter. “She broke my heart in the worst way and then…then came back with a set of troubles that only brought confusion and memories I didn't want!”

Wanda shook her head pointing a finger at you.

“If this is what you think then, you never knew her and you never understood her.” Wanda opened her mouth to say something else but she stopped, her eyes taking in the form of her wife and her heart yearning to have her back. To feel the sweet caress of her eyes on her.

“She should have been more open, then. I was patient! I was always there for her! Even after Pietro died…”

“What?” Wanda paled at this, she opened her eyes trembling while she approached you, a piercing pain breaking through her chest.

You blinked confusedly shrugging, the anger still lingering in your features.

“The day she became part of the team, that day Sokovia was destroyed. Pietro died saving Clint.” You hesitated to take notice of the pain crossing Wanda's eyes, “I'm sorry.”

Tears piled up in her eyes, her hand went to her chest. It was quite evident this news affected her greatly, even if her own brother was alive and her country was still pretty much a functional place with a stable government and amazing landscapes. You looked away, unable to face the tears or the sorrow coming from Wanda.

“And then, she lost you.” She whispered, leaning back, Wanda opened her mouth before closing it again.

You shrugged, passing your hand through your hair, everything was messed up. Your emotions, the situation, the fact your heart ached to comfort Wanda, that you still wondered if perhaps being with her was possible.

“I just…I want this to end. I don't know if this was…”

“You really don't understand,” this time around Wanda approached you with a tentative stare in her eyes. You stepped back the muscles of your face tense, with your chin lifted slightly.

“I think I understand enough after I saw her fucking Vision while she was still dating me.” You spat out, your eyes black while your powers flickered behind you.

Wanda had seen it.

The treason, the broken heart, the pride and the anger, but she had also seen the love, the nostalgia, the confusion as to what to do, how to proceed. She had seen enough to approach you, to place a hand on your shoulder. This Wanda had seen it all, and she had lived it before; the only difference was that she never hide herself from who she was and what she was experimenting with you. She had to face it because if she hadn't done so, she would have lost you and she was not ready to let you go.

It was getting harder to breathe, your thoughts came rushing inside your mind creating a spiralling of emotions that pierce through your very soul. Those green eyes were looking at you with understanding, there was a hint of sadness there but also hopefulness, and you just dropped your shoulders with your eyes glancing to the window.

“I can't look at you without remembering my pain,” you mumbled grabbing your chest, “I can't be here, and I can't be part of this fight if it means I have to be close to you. To her.”

“You still love her?” The question made you shiver, the darkness in your eyes increased and this time around the shadows wrapped around your body.

“It doesn't matter.”

“It does to me.” Wanda squeezed your shoulder tenderly, there was a hint of a smile but otherwise the woman was trying to be as open as she could be with you. “I can't believe she did what she did, it was something that crossed my mind but I never…”

“Yes, well, things are different in every universe, right?” You tried to move away but the hand tightened her hold and Wanda kept you closer.

“When I broke things up, and I started dating Vision something happened.” Wanda started, her voice carried the weight of memories while her magic flickered around you and her. “It was confusing at first, denying you, denying me, trying to convince myself that I was living in sin and that I have to change to be the perfect daughter, to be the person I was raised to be.”

You listened carefully, it was the very first time you heard Wanda after what happened. And while this experience was completely different to the one you lived with your Wanda you could perceive the similarities. The relationship with Vision, you running away, the conflict in the world, the need for the Avengers to save the day, everything came crashing down and the fight was almost lost because Wanda had lost herself and her mind. She was becoming a different person, her powers getting out of control. Until she was faced with her powers and the presence inside her mind.

“It was strange, at first, but it was as if I had created a different version of myself, a powerful one that had no limits on the magic she could use, my magic,” Wanda then let out a bitter smile, “I almost killed my Y/N when she tried to reach out to me, that was what made me snapped.”

“I don't understand…” you crunched up your nose, creasing your brows while replaying the story inside your head, “what do you mean another person? Powerful? I mean, my Wanda created a whole new reality for her and…Vision.”

“Are you sure it was for him?” Wanda stepped back letting go of you, “there is something about this whole mess that has been bothering me ever since America stepped into our reality.”

“You mean, besides my consciousness being trapped in the body of your wife?” The sarcasm in your tone made Wanda roll her eyes, though this time around she did smile.

“The magic feels familiar, yet tainted. As if there was something else in there.” Wanda leaned back against the counter, “you mentioned a Scarlet and a Wanda, I was never two different people in here, I became the Scarlet Witch and owed my powers the same day I decided to fight for you and your forgiveness.”

You tensed turning away from the intense stare Wanda was shooting your way.

“I don't pretend to defend my counterpart, her sins are her own, and her demons had been chasing her far enough to leave her alone in your world,” her words crashed the barrier in your heart, and not for the first time you longed to see your Wanda and comfort her. You had seen the loneliness, the misery, and the weight of her mistakes wearing her down.

“But, have you considered perhaps Scarlet is her way to escape who she really is? That perhaps, everything comes down to this Agatha and the world Wanda created for herself?”

You couldn't answer the question that left a burning mark in your mind, the house started trembling and soon the air filled with magic. You and Wanda turned to the door where the sheer strength of the magic being used was making it tremble on its hinges.

“What's happening?” You narrowed your eyes, your body getting ready for whatever would come out of the door.

Wanda approached the door tentatively, her hand stretched out but before she could reach the doorknob there was a small explosion. Out of instinct, you grabbed her through the shadows putting her out of harm's way while the hall got completely destroyed. Your arms wrapped protectively around Wanda, your eyes wide open as they glanced at the woman that was kneeling beside you.

“Are you okay?”

Wanda swallowed down, nodding, she looked away from you, turning her attention to the hall. There was no more magic, and everything was silent. The place looked trashed but otherwise the house was silent, with only remnants of humming power prickling at your skin. You couldn't help but set your eyes on Wanda, the woman holding onto you submitting to your protective embrace.

“Loki.” There was real concern behind Wanda's voice, with some reluctance she stood up getting ready to go down the stairs when Loki finally appeared behind the threshold.

“Loki! Are you alright?”

Wanda was on him in no time , her hand gleaming red scanned the body of the male frowning before slapping his arm. Loki scoffed, rubbing the spot she had hit, glaring at the woman.

“What was that for?”

“I told you not to trash the house!”

“Yes, well it wasn't my fault.” He stepped past Wanda, directing his eyes to you. “Tell me everything you know about Wanda and Scarlet, and what exactly do you know about this Agatha.”

You cocked your head, your nose crunching up with just a hint of hesitation in your eyes. The world might have changed in this part of the universe but Loki was still Loki; what could he do to help? What was more, why was Wanda looking at him as if he held the answers to this mess?

“We don't have time for this, but I'm not the Loki you know…” here Loki trailed off, his feet taking him to the teapot, every single moment measured and carefully designed for him to serve himself a cup of tea.

Wanda came behind you, you sensed her hesitation before she too stepped past you and joined Loki in the same activity. You couldn't believe the strangeness of this world, the obvious power these two individuals held, and the secrets behind their powers. You glanced at the mug in front of him, then at an admiring Loki.

“By mere chance, I ended up in a place where all the timelines are stories I can tamper without any effort.” He shrugged, taking a sip from his tea, “while witches and wizards everywhere need to dream walk or steal the powers to reach other realities, I can do so by stepping into the sacred timeline.”

“What is…?” You started and for the first time you saw real annoyance behind Loki's face.

“I could explain to you my part of the story, but I believe our main focus must be for you to go back to your world, and our Y/N to come back.” Loki shrugged, looking at Wanda sideways, “that's why I need you to tell me everything.”

There were many questions in your mind, but with a nod you opened your mouth telling them about your first encounter with Wanda, whatever you found out about Agatha and then the subsequent explosion that led you to this world.

___________________

Wanda was ready to hit someone.

She really was ready to give up and do something drastic. The red magic concentrated on her hand, her eyes gleaming dangerously until a soothing hand wrapped around her forearm, America was torn between being amused and slightly concerned. For what seemed weeks they had been trying to get their plan into motion but every time they got to it you were ensnared deeper into the hex Agatha had placed on you.

The days were changing slowly, instead of the temporal loop they had experimented on those first days, now it was possible to go from one day to another, different days, different scenarios. Agatha was growing stronger while Wanda and Scarlet weakened little by little.

“You told me we had to be patient.” America stated trying to block Wanda's eyes from the scene playing in front of her.

Wanda huffed looking away from you and Agatha.

“She is doing this on purpose, she keeps using Y/N by having her under a spell, and we…”

“We are working on a solution, and the solution is here.” America rolled her eyes, still not believing she was the adult at the moment.

America knew most of Wanda's reaction was jealousy, the other part was guiltiness. Whatever was happening in the basement whenever Agatha dragged Wanda down, America knew the young woman had to face things she was not ready to face. Wanda usually came from those sessions tired, drained and miserable, while it became difficult for her to handle her magic.

America pursed her lips glancing at you and Agatha, Agatha placing your hand on her abdomen while you looked at her adorably. The principal of the school and the woman America and Wanda had met the first time they arrived in Norway were smiling congratulating the happy couple.

“How did she get the…” Wanda couldn't even said it, she turned around and everyone seemed to be having a good time in the school grounds.

“Well, you told me that's what you did…”

“Her magic was not like mine, she really is draining all my powers and here I am…” Wanda turned around and walked away.

America followed her walking faster to keep up with the other woman.

“Wanda, it's going to be fine, this is what we have been waiting for, right? We got her distracted and then you tried to wake Y/N…” America then hesitated pursuing her lips, “you told me your counterpart would help, right? With the signal she would help…”

Wanda stopped her passing, she squinted her eyes before nodding curtly.

“She said she would help.” Wanda didn't want to share her concerns with America in regards to her counterpart.

When they had met, Wanda had been scared out of her mind. The woman standing before her held the full power of chaos magic while being a construct of an inexistent reality. She had spoken harshly to her, blaming her for your indifference and for you to seek out other arms to be happy. Wanda had seen her life in replay, the past and the mistakes, the pain and the wrong decisions, everything that had led her to be alone and forgotten, trapped in a hex out of her control.

“Wanda?” America asked tentatively, Wanda straightened up shaking her head before offering a shaky smile.

“Let's do this.”

America smiled nodding, Wanda sighed begging to whoever was listening to her that this worked, or else, she didn't know what would happen once Agatha had gotten what she came for.

“You know what to do, right?” Wanda asked a very enthusiastic America, the young woman nodded with a smirk forming on her lips.

“Yep, please, Wanda just go for her… I know things will be okay.”

Wanda watched as America left ready to join the rest of the teenagers she had known back at school, soon she pretended to be just like everyone else trapped into the loop while Wanda sneaked around ready to reach out to you. With a single tap into her magic, she signalled Scarlet and soon she felt the surge of power going through her body as an answer.

There was a loud bang, everyone exclaimed in surprise and soon people were laughing and clapping. While Wanda saw the subtle flickered in the reality, the purple changed into a light red. It was time. Without wasting more time, Wanda sprinted towards you spotting you right away while you laughed at some of the kids putting you away ready to show you some of their works and Agatha was distracted by the mother's asking about her pregnancy. The scene was so absurdly familiar, and stereotypical Agatha never noticed Wanda coming closer, or you walking into the school building.

The place was completely quiet, there was not much light but whatever light sneaked inside the building was enough for Wanda to locate you in the far corner of the building. Her heart skipped a beat, she glanced around knowing at any moment the reality could break and Agatha could get everything under her control.

“Y/N?” She called tentatively, you turned around with a scrunched-up nose and brows knitted together.

Your eyes met hers, and Wanda felt her breath taken away. You looked just the same, the way she remembered, with the same serious facade and the eyes filled with kindness and wonderment. She wished she could reach out to you, that she could gain your forgiveness…

The distance between the both of you shortened, but before Wanda could say anything you did something that left her and Scarlet defenceless.

You kissed her.

Wanda gave in right away, her eyes opened wide only to close slowly while she submitted herself to the kiss. Your lips on her sent an electric jolt through her body until her heart was twisting inside her chest and a hoard of butterflies exploded inside her lower abdomen. She forgot her own name, and everything stopped when your arms pulled her close and your warmth engulfed her with your teasing lips eliciting sweet whimpers of need.

For a brief moment Wanda forgot all about her past, she forgot the problem they were in and even why she had been looking for you. Wanda gave in, and kissed you back with the same tenderness, with the same need, with the same love.

“My Love, I missed you so much.” You said smiling tenderly at her, Wanda whimpered when you went back to her, your lips pressing tentatively before you pressed your forehead against hers.

“By the gods, Wanda, what's going on? Where is everyone? Billy and Tommy? Are they Okay?” You broke the kiss cupping her face in your hands, your questions soon went through her foggy mind, and Wanda felt as if a bucket of cold water fell on her.

“What?”

“Is it Pietro with them?”

Wanda felt her world crumbling around her, and you just went to kiss her again when a ball of purple mist came in between the both of you exploding and sending you flying away from Wanda.

You groaned, hitting the wall, hitting the ground with a heavy thud.

“Honey, I can't take my eyes off of you or you go back to Wanda's arms, tsk even after she fucked Vision you’re like a lost dog after her “

You pressed your hands on the ground lifting your face, your brows knitted together while Agatha held onto America and Wanda. You eyed the woman in front of you, she wore a dark dress floating just above the ground with America trying to grasp for air. Agatha smirked at you, her free hand twitching slightly until Wanda fell on the ground with a purple rope tightly wrapped around her neck.

“Wanda!” You stood up stretching your hands and your eyes darkening completely, you hardened your features stopping only when you heard the groan of pain from America and Wanda.

“Nu-uh, dear, I can be quite jealous and if you even care about these two you will lower your guns and…”

You were not even thinking about the threat, you had found an opening in the hex and in the powers used by the woman in front of you. Your fingers wiggled, and the shadows went into attack mode but you weren’t the only one joining the fight without giving it a second thought. Scarlet and Wanda had been planning it all along, they knew they needed one another to bring Agatha down, the same way the did that first time but they were not counting on you.

Or, the golden and greenish spark of magic that broke into their space, the explosion that followed blinded everyone, and soon they were there no more.

_____________________

The charts and the monitors were going into overdrive, Tony was trying to fix some of the readings with Monica and Friday helping him out while Carol was standing outside the dome getting ready for action.

Yelena and Natasha stayed behind, they had been watching the fill show for more than a couple of hours watching the time passed differently entering into days and nights as if time didn’t really matter.

Yelena was chewing on her lower lip, hitting the table as soon as she saw you running towards Wanda crashing your lips against hers.

“I told you! Didn’t I?” Yelena turned to Natasha pointing an accusing finger at her.

Natasha rolled her eyes trying to go back into the scene, getting other angles only to see Agatha freezing the scene around her and grabbing America harshly by the neck. She saw the way she roughed America up, putting her to her before making her way to the school. Her eyes went from one screen to the other, this time around she noticed Scarlet breaking the chains around her arms, legs and neck, almost crawling outside the house faltering before gathering some energy.

“Yes, Yelena, you told me, you are amazing at this but…” Natasha pointed to the screens, Tony and Monica coming over shaking their heads.

“Whatever the hell is going on is…” Tony trailed off turning around to see a huge explosion affecting the dome.

The earth trembled, and soon everyone right outside was running around screaming orders in different languages.

“Guys, you need to see this!!” Carol was standing right outside the trailer, her face was completely paled, with a hint of worry in her eyes.

Natasha was about to exit but stopped when Yelena grabbed her hand, she turned to her sister to see the concern in her eyes.

“That’s not her.” Yelena was completely serious, with just a hint of fear in her tone.

“I know.”

“Who was that?”

“I don’t know, Yelena, but…”

“Hey, you two, you better come out because we just got a huge problem right now.”

Yelena scoffed turning to Tony, “what could possible be more important than the fact that was not Y/N?!”

Tony tilted his head shrugging, “perhaps the fact they just disappeared.”

“What?!”

Natasha and Yelena soon joined the rest of the team outside the trailer, the cold winter breeze of the north hit them straight in the face. The town was left almost untouched, with people on the ground being attended by the medical team; the dome had disappeared but besides some buildings being scratched and the people around being confused and left on the spots, there was nothing else indicating something strange had happened.

Natasha stepped forward watching the streets, and the sky, her heart almost leaving her chest when she turned around to see everyone looking at her. Yelena came forward as well, she crossed the street glancing around until she realized she was right in front of the street Agatha had used to name the street you were living in.

“What…what happened? Where are they?” Yelena finally asked turning to Natasha who merely shrugged just as baffled as her sister.

Instead of watching the same destruction Wanda had provoked a few months ago, what they found was a city that had been frozen in time. With all the inhabitants trying to remember what had happened, why they seemed to be a little disoriented; meanwhile, Yelena and the others had to wonder where you and the others had gone to.

“Where are they? Where is Y/N?!” Carol asked turning to Natasha and Tony. “You told me this would be fine! That you guy would find an answer before anything happened! Well, guess what, something happened!”

But there were no answers, and while everyone was fighting over what they should have done, or discussing what they should do, Yelena grunted exasperated running back into the trailer ready to get her eyes square while watching the screens. Something must be hiding in the broadcast, something she probably missed, something that would bring you safe and sound back into their reality.

At least, that’s what Yelena hoped for.

______________________________________________________________

Next Chapter: Loki miscalculates and creates a vacoon in the multiverse, Wanda has to face her counterpart and two different versions of Reader, America is ready to save the day and it was Agatha all along.

#fanfic #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wandaxreader #female reader #imagine wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x female reader #Wandavison AU #Wanda x Female!Reader #MCU AU #Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader

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stylesispunk · 3 months

Text

"The not so invisible String" part 4

Not outbreak! Joel Miller x F! Reader

previous chapter | next chapter | series masterlist

summary: you and Joel were made right for each other at the wrong time. Now, thirteen years later your paths crossed when both of your daughters get in trouble at school. Would be the right time for you now?

word count: 5,5k

warnings: angst, cheating, in summary, it is a terrible day for the reader. "Doe" is her nickanme. No proof reading haha

a/n: Hello! Well, it took me almost two weeks (again) to write something. It was my birthday on Tuesday so my inspo came back for a moment because I felt happy that day. Reblogs and comments are always appreciated. Happy reading 💌 Remember my dms and asks are always open for you

dividers by @/saradika.

Time stopped. Tears and tears streamed down your cheeks. Humiliated, broken, and foolish. There was nothing but fury and desire next to a flame that threatened to explode into a fire, burning all the last years you had spent beside a man who just caused pain.

Your hands on the wheel were shaking, and your knuckles were purple after punching a thousand times, cursing Dwight’s name as if it were poison with a bitter taste in your lips.

You were following him. Following the path to the world he had built behind your back to trap him in the act, to defy him, to hit him, and finally to remove the dagger he had punched in your lungs.

You were going to free yourself from a world of dirty lies you and Dwight had created to free yourselves from old flames that didn’t allow you to advance, but you had loved and respected him, even when he left you in the dark.

Like everybody else, you thought.

There was always someone better—someone to run to, someone to love—but it was never you.

You were the one left in ruins, playing hide and seek, alone, and crying.

All the negative thoughts running through your head stopped the minute Dwight parked the car in a pretty nice house, where he had been playing doll house with another woman and another child.

You parked the car a discreet distance away from where Dwight had entered, and your hands were still trembling as you sat there, grappling with the maelstrom of emotions tearing through your heart.

It seemed like this city was cursed.

The seconds stretched into minutes as you contemplated your next move. The desire for confrontation warred with the awareness that once you stepped into the world Dwight had kept hidden from you, there would be no going back. The flames of anger fueled your decision, and with a deep breath, you stepped out of the car, your eyes focused on the battle field ahead.

Your heartbeat echoed in your ears. Each step you took meant facing the piece of the puzzle that had been kept hidden from you. The heavy weight of treason on your shoulders and pain and rage fueled your mind.

Finally, you reached the door that seemed to hold the answers you sought. The muffled sounds from within hinted at a world you had been excluded from. Your hand trembled as you reached for the piece of wood, and with a deep breath, you knocked at the door, waiting for the revelation.

The door creaked open, revealing a woman with a warm smile on her face. She was oblivious to the fury that raged within you. Her innocence seemed to contrast sharply with the treason that broke your ego. The smile faltered slightly as she took in the tear-streaked face and red eyes.

"Hi there, can I help you?" she asked, her tone friendly but tinged with concern.

Your eyes scanned her face with astonishment and disbelief. How could she be so unaware of the man she was with? Your gaze shifted, and that's when you saw the little girl, no more than four years old, happily playing in the living room.

The contrast hit you like a ton of bricks. The image of Dwight playing the role of a loving father to this child felt like a betrayal on a whole new level, taking you to the very exact moment he stopped playing with Tara, the moment he stopped acting like a father to her. You struggled to find words; your voice was caught in the turmoil of emotions.

"I... I need to talk to Dwight," you managed to say, your voice raw and trembling.

The woman's smile faded, replaced by a look of confusion. "Dwight? You must be mistaken. There's no one here by that name."

Your heart skipped a beat. Could you have been wrong? Was this not the place you thought it was? Doubt crept in, but then you heard a familiar voice from within the house, calling the little girl's name.

"Daddy!"

Your breath caught in your throat as Dwight appeared in the doorway, his expression shifting from surprise to shock at the sight of you standing there.

"What are you doing here?" he stammered, his attempt at feigning innocence falling apart.

The reality unfolded before you, and the pieces of the puzzle finally clicked into place. The woman beside him, the child, the house—it was all part of a life Dwight had been living behind your back. Your hands clenched into fists as anger and hurt surged through you.

"Who is she, Dwight?" you demanded, your voice a mixture of pain and anger.

He hesitated for a moment; the guilt was written all over his face. The woman beside him looked from you to Dwight, realization dawning on her.

"Daddy, who is she?" the little girl asked, confusion in her innocent eyes.

Dwight stammered, struggling to find words that could undo the mess he had created. The silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by the distant sounds of the little girl's toys.

“Elisa, please take Emma to her room,” Dwight said for the first time.

The woman, apparently named Elisa, took a step back, her eyes flickering between you and Dwight. She gently guided the little girl, Emma, away, leaving you and Dwight in a charged atmosphere.

The weight of the betrayal settled over the room, and you couldn't hold back the torrent of emotions any longer. Your gaze bore into Dwight's, demanding an explanation that might never suffice.

"What is this, Dwight?" you questioned, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and heartbreak. "How long has this been going on?"

Dwight avoided eye contact; his guilt was evident. "It's complicated," he muttered, a feeble attempt to justify his actions.

"Complicated?" you scoffed, bitterness tainting your words. "So, you accidentally had a daughter with another woman?”

“I can explain,” he said, reaching for you, but you stepped back.

“You made Tara and I move here because you wanted to be with her, didn’t you?” The realization hit you like a punch to the gut, and anger surged through your veins.

“I thought it was the best for us and for you,” he stammered, his excuses sounding feeble and hollow.

“For us? Or for you and your secret family?” Your voice rose, a mix of betrayal and anger coloring your words.

Dwight’s eyes darted from you to the ground, realizing the depth of the mess he had created. The room felt heavy with the weight of shattered trust and broken promises.

When no more words came from his lips, you turned to leave. Dwight's desperate plea echoed in the background. "Please, let me explain."

“I don’t want your damn explanations, Dwight. I want a divorce.”

As the weight of your decision hung in the air, Dwight's face contorted with a mix of desperation and regret. The word "divorce" hit him like a cold, hard truth, a consequence of the choices he had made. The room seemed to close in around him as he grappled with the reality of losing the life he had taken for granted.

He grabbed you by the arm with such force that it almost fell from your shoulder, stopping you from getting into the car.

“Love, please, let's talk about this. We can work things out," Dwight pleaded, his voice a desperate attempt to salvage the unraveling threads of your marriage.

You pulled your arm away, resentment etched on your face. "There's nothing left to talk about, Dwight. You made your choices, and now I'm making mine. There’s no way I’m staying with you after this.”

But for him, this couldn’t be the end; this couldn’t be the end that his so-perfect family on the outside was done.

“This just suits you well, right?” He asked, with a bitter taste on his tongue, “Now you will run to Joel.”

Your jaw clenched at Dwight's accusation. The bitterness in his words stung, but you knew that responding with anger would only prolong the pain and the fury rustling your bones. With a heavy sigh, you looked at him.

"This has nothing to do with Joel," you stated firmly, your voice devoid of the emotions that churned within. "This is about us, about what you did. I won't stay in a marriage built on lies."

“Oh, but it was made of lies!” he exclaimed, now fury corroding him. “Do you think it didn’t hurt me to now you would never love me the way you loved him”

Your patience was wearing thin, and Dwight's attempts to deflect blame onto Joel only fueled your frustration. "Stop trying to shift the blame, Dwight," you retorted, your voice sharp. "This is about your choices, not Joel. Our marriage was broken long before Joel came back into the picture."

You started the car, determined to put distance between yourself and the wreckage of your marriage, from Dwight and his venom, and as you drove away, the weight of the truth settled on your shoulders, and the road ahead seemed both daunting and full of uncertainties.

“Hey, why aren’t you coming back to work?”

2:30 p.m

“Come on, Doe where are you?”

2:35 p.m

“Doe, seriously I’m getting worried.”

2:45 p.m

“If you don’t come back, I’m coming to your house.”

3:00 p.m

Oh Joel, sweet Joel, you thought as his messages popping up on your screen, yet you didn’t answer, not finding the strength to even take your phone a put effort on making up a lie. You wanted distance, silence and peace.

You were sitting on the couch, looking around your house, and it felt so cold to be on your own, alone, humiliated and sad. Your tears had almost run out, your face felt tainted with the salty taste of your own sadness.

You knew you weren’t innocent. You had been taunted with the could’ve been with Joel, with a flame that tainted your life with a dark blue because there will never going to be something like that, someone like him.

Back when you found yourself with your back against the wall, kissing the lips of Dwight, your wound was open and you allowed the fire sparks enter to your, blind hoping for the care of a man again, you allow the hollow eyes of Dwight find yours in that desperate need for something.

But after time, those eyes didn’t look at you with love, there was no spark or adoration on them just the used of company, and you killed each other by no loving each other enough.

But now, you felt lifeless and ashamed of what you had chose for yourself. Honesty felt so cruel because was tearing you apart, and it felt particularly cruel because it was a reminder of how you were never enough to anybody.

"Mom, what happened? Why are you crying?" Tara asked when she stepped into the house, coming back from school.

You didn’t even notice the sound of the door being closed, just the touch of your concerned daughter touching your shoulder as a source of comfort.

You tried to compose yourself, wiping away the tears that had escaped. "It's nothing, sweetheart. Just a tough day."

Tara, ever perceptive, wasn't easily convinced. She approached you, her eyes searching yours for an honest answer. "Mom, I know something's wrong. You can talk to me."

The vulnerability in Tara's voice tugged at your heart, and you realized that keeping everything bottled up was affecting not only you but your daughter as well. The cruel truth was going to see the light of the day, but you weren’t going to be the one taking responsibility for Dwight’s actions. Taking a deep breath, you look at Tara, inviting her to sit next to you.

"It's about your father and me," you began, choosing your words carefully. “I’m divorcing your father.”

Tara's eyes widened, a mix of shock and sadness flickering across her face. “What? Why?”

You sighed, grappling with the difficulty of explaining the complexities of adult relationships to your daughter. "Sometimes, adults face challenges, and they make choices that hurt others. Your father and I have reached a point where we need to go our separate ways."

Tara's gaze remained fixed on you, absorbing the weight of your words, and before she could say something, the sound of the door opening made you turn your attention, and there stood Dwight, his face desperate and fearing the worst once he took the image in front of him. The tears on your face and Tara’s expression.

"Why are you telling her?" Dwight burst out, his voice edged with anger. "She's just a kid!"

You shot him a stern look, defending your decision. "She deserves to know the truth, Dwight. It's not fair to keep her in the dark about what's happening in our family."

Tara looked between the two of you, her eyes wide with confusion and concern. "Dad, what's going on?"

Dwight's frustration escalated, and he glared at you. "You're poisoning her mind against me, making me the villain in this."

Tara's expression morphed into sadness and disappointment as she looked at her father. "Dad, just tell me the truth. What's happening?"

Dwight hesitated, realizing that the truth was inevitable. "We're having some problems, Tara. Your mom and I are trying to figure things out."

“Stop lying and act like a fucking man!” You exclaimed, frustrated by this situation. “I’ll go upstairs, and when I came back here, you must have told her the truth.” Your determination changed something in Dwight’s expression.

You went upstairs, leaving Dwight and Tara alone in the living room. The weight of the situation lingered in the air as you ascended the staircase, knowing that the inevitable truth would surface. Tara was going to suffer, and Dwight had to face the consequences of his actions and confront the reality of his choices.

As you reached the top of the stairs, you couldn't help but sob. There was anger and fury rustling your emotions. But amidst it all, there was concern for Tara; you had to be strong for her and act as an adult.

While you took a moment to collect yourself in your room, downstairs, Tara pressed Dwight for answers, her young eyes searching for clarity in the chaos.

"Dad, what's really going on?" Tara asked with urgency in her voice.

Dwight, cornered by the truth, took a deep breath before responding, "Your mom and I have been having problems for a while. We're trying to figure things out, but she is making it complicated."

Tara frowned, sensing the weight of his father’s lies. For her, you were a victim of a bad love story. "Is it because of another woman?"

Dwight hesitated, his eyes avoiding direct contact with Tara's gaze. "It's more complicated than that."

“What could it be more complicated than cheating on my mom?” She questioned, raising her eyebrows. "You're trash, dad. How could you do this to Mom? To us?" she demanded, her eyes filled with a maturity that exceeded her thirteen years old.

"I messed up, Tara," Dwight admitted, his voice carrying the weight of regret. "I made some wrong choices.”

Tara's expression hardened with evident disappointment. "I can't believe you would do this to her.”

"Tara,” he whispered, but she had already left the living room.

The tension seemed to be haunting the entire house; a breathing, tainted air of unfaithful lies suffocated you, passing back and forth inside the room, fitting all the pain inside.

Dwight retreated to the bedroom without closing the door behind him. You took some distance from him, creating an emotional barrier between you and your soon-to-be ex-husband.

You were there by the door, like you were just a kid facing the anger of a mad father.

“I suppose you’re happy with what you caused." Dwight spitted, turning the blame on you: “Tara calls me trash, trash! I’m his father, for fuck’s sake.”

“Perhaps she saw the truth behind your pretty face.” Your voice, so insensitive yet fueled by disappointment, threatened to cause a fire with each word you threw against him. “I can’t believe you’re blaming me for what you did.”

Dwight, torn between guilt and the remnants of his wounded pride, attempted to justify his actions. "It's not that simple, okay? Things have been complicated, and I made mistakes."

“Having a daughter with another woman and having a secret family is not a mistake but a choice,” you shot back, your patience wearing thin.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I never meant for it to get this far. It just happened."

“What would your little girl say if she could hear you calling her a mistake, Dwight?” anger bubbling within you."

His expression shifted from defensiveness to frustration. "I get it, okay? I messed up, but you don't have to make this any more difficult than it already is."

"You've shattered our family, Dwight. Tara deserves better than this." As always, you were putting your daughter before yourself.

“She does, but you don't,” he shot back. “You never loved me. How do you think I felt all this time when I woke up to you looking at pictures from your past, from your lover?” Dwight's frustration escalated, and he paced around the room, his hands running through his hair in a display of exasperation. "You never loved me. You were always stuck in the past. How do you think that made me feel?"

Your jaw clenched, and your eyes narrowed at Dwight's attempt to turn the tables on you. "This is not about me and Joel! I didn’t see you until that day Tara got that problem at school.”

“I don’t care! I got tired of you, and I found a woman who cared about me.”

"What I even was to you, Dwight?" You questioned, and your voice broke at the hurt and the feeling of being a small kid being threatened. The room, still echoing with the remnants of the heated argument, seemed to punish you.

Dwight's face contorted with a combination of emotions, from defensiveness to guilt, and a lingering pride that fueled his attempts to justify his actions. "You were supposed to be my wife, the mother of my child. But all you cared about was your past and that guy, and I was the man you found a way to fill that void inside you."

"Then why are you here?" you asked, the pain and confusion evident in your voice. The room felt like a battleground of dirty, shattered lies and promises.

Dwight hesitated, a fleeting moment of uncertainty crossing his face. "I thought I could have both. I thought I could keep you and have this other life."

Your incredulous gaze met his, who stood silently, looking at you for some answer, perhaps a beg.

"You can't have it all, Dwight," you asserted, your tone firm. "Life doesn't work that way. Choices have consequences."

Then there was silence, and silence is the most devasting sound when you can’t repair the damage. There was no need for more words, not more fights.

“I’ll stay in this house until I find a place to stay, then you can come and live with your new wife and daughter.”

You made a move to leave the room, to find solace elsewhere, away from the chaos Dwight had unleashed upon your lives.

But Dwight, desperate and unwilling to accept the consequences, blocked your path. "You're not going anywhere. We need to talk about this."

Frustration boiled within you again, and you pushed against Dwight's attempt to keep you in the room. "It’s over, Dwight.”

“You’re my wife,” he said, tightening his grip on your arm with such anger in his eyes. "You can't just walk away. We're married, damn it!"

Your eyes flashed with a mixture of anger and fear. "Marriage is built on trust, Dwight, and you shattered that trust. You made your choices, and now you have to live with the consequences."

The struggle for dominance continued, both emotionally and physically, as Dwight refused to release his hold on you. In that moment, the facade of the once-happy family crumbled, revealing the ugly truth beneath.

You closed your eyes in instinct, waiting for the hard touch of his hand on your face, but all you felt was the loosening of Dwight’s strong grip on your arm, and when you opened your eyes again, there was Joel between you and the man who had caused so much pain. There was an unspoken anger in Joel’s eyes; he would not stand by and let anyone harm you.

"If you ever think of it, put a finger on her, and I will smack your face," Joel warned, his voice firm.

Dwight laughed at Joel’s attitude, finding it both amusing and offensive. “Do you really think I was going to hurt her?”

Joel's jaw tightened at Dwight's dismissive laughter. The air in the room crackled with tension, and the weight of the betrayal you had just experienced hung heavy in the atmosphere.

"I've seen enough to know you're capable of causing harm," Joel retorted, his voice laced with restrained anger. The lines were etched on his face.

“Are you going to say something?” Dwight asked towards you, ignoring Joel.

You took a deep breath, your eyes meeting Dwight's with hurt. "It's over, Dwight. There's nothing more to say. We're done."

Dwight's face contorted with a mix of frustration and regret. He seemed to be torn between attempting to salvage what was left and accepting the consequences of his actions.

Joel, still standing protectively in front of you, spoke up with a calm yet firm tone. "She's made her decision. Leave.”

Dwight, feeling the weight of defeat, left the room with a resentful glance, muttering under his breath. "Enjoy it while you can. The only reason I’m behaving is because Tara is the house.”

Joel's jaw clenched, and a flicker of anger danced in his eyes, but he held his composure. He didn't want to escalate the situation further. Instead, he focused on you.

Once Dwight left the bedroom, your only thought was Tara. “Where is Tara?” You asked mostly to yourself than Joel.

"Relax; she is in my truck. She is fine,” he assured, gently stroking his thumbs on your shoulders.

Joel's reassuring words offered a momentary comfort. The weight of the newfound truth was heavily on your shoulders, and your concern for Tara fueled your urgency.

"Why are you here?" you asked, this time finding Joel's gaze.

He sighed, the weight of the situation evident in his eyes. "I came here because you didn't answer my messages or calls. I was worried about you, Doe. Something felt off."

Gratitude and regret were displayed on your face as the events of the day settled in. "I didn't want to involve you in this mess."

Joel shook his head, his expression softening. "Doe, what happened?”

But instead of words, a sob escaped from your lips. Finding solace in Joel’s presence made your feelings overwhelm you. Joel pulled you into a comforting embrace, allowing the tears to flow freely.

“Dwight was cheating on me, Joel. He had another family,” you mumbled on his shoulder. The crumbling of your marriage and the betrayal you experienced all poured out in that moment.

"I'm here for you, Doe," Joel whispered, his voice a soothing presence in the midst of chaos. "You don't have to face this alone."

As the sobs subsided, you pulled away, wiping away the tears, and your gazes connected.

Joel's gaze held a mixture of concern and empathy. He brushed a strand of hair away from your face; his touch was gentle and reassuring. "I'm so sorry you're going through this, Doe. You don't deserve any of it."

The vulnerability in that moment deepened the connection between you and Joel. Despite the years that had passed, the emotional intimacy you once shared resurfaced. His thumb traced a soft pattern on your cheek.

“I don’t want to sleep here,” you roared, hugging Joel tightly.

“You won't,” he said, kissing your temple. “You and Tara can stay with me tonight.”

Joel held you in his arms, offering the missing warmth from your life, feeling like a roof in the middle of a storm. The weight of the pain and betrayal you had just experienced slowly eased as he whispered reassurances. "You won't have to go through this alone, Doe. I'm here for you, whatever you need."

It was almost summer; holidays were coming, and you felt brave enough to make confessions of love. There was a guy from school, and you were convinced that he reciprocated your feelings. The anticipation of young love and the butterflies in your stomach didn’t lie. As you mustered the courage to confess your feelings, reality unfolded in a way you hadn't expected.

That guy made fun of you in front of everyone, leaving you with shame.

In the quiet corner of the park, where Joel and you often hang out, you poured your heart out to Joel. The guy you liked had not only rejected your feelings but did so in a cruel manner, making a public spectacle of them.

By this time, both of you were sixteen, and Joel felt the weight of your pain. Although he had been secretly developing feelings for you, his priority was to shield you from unnecessary hurt. In that moment of heartbreak, he became your protector.

With a protective arm around your shoulders, Joel offered a comforting presence, his own heart silently breaking at the sight of your tears. He didn't utter words of love, not wanting to complicate an already painful situation, but his actions spoke louder. Joel stood between you and the judgmental eyes of your peers, ensuring that you wouldn't face the humiliation alone.

"You deserve someone who sees how amazing you are, Doe. That guy doesn't know what he's missing."

It’s me who can see through you.

The evening settled into a quiet calmness as the memories of the tumultuous day began to fade. The soft glow of dim lights in Joel's house created a comforting atmosphere, providing solace in the midst of the storm.

Joel, always caring for your emotions, approached you gently. "Sarah and Tara fell asleep," he informed, his voice a soothing murmur. "Do you want to share a glass of wine? It might help ease the weight of the day."

You nodded, appreciating the offer of a small respite. Following Joel to the cozy living room, you found solace in the warm ambiance of a place that felt like home. The flickering candles cast dancing shadows on the walls, creating a sense of intimacy that contrasted with the chaos you brought with you.

As Joel poured the wine, you couldn't help but reflect on the unexpected turn your life had taken. The comfort of friendship, which had evolved into something deeper again, provided a steady anchor in the storm. Joel handed you a glass, his eyes reflecting concern for you.

"To resilience," he proposed, raising his glass in a silent toast.

You reciprocated, clinking the glasses with a small smile on your face. The velvety red wine offered a taste of familiarity, a reminder that amidst the chaos, there were still constants in your life.

"It's funny how life works, isn't it? That we found each other again." You began, breaking the silence.

Joel nodded, his gaze unwavering. "I never stopped caring about you, Doe. Even when we were apart, there was always this connection that transcended time and distance. I guess our bond is meant to be."

As you shared the stories of your personal lives without each other for the last few years, the unspoken truth lingered in the air—the bond between you and Joel was more than the forceful friendship you were trying to recover; there was something else still taunting the beating of your hearts when you were together. It was a connection that had weathered the storms of life—an invisible thread woven your paths together.

"You were there for me, and I didn’t fight for you that night,” Joel admitted, his voice carrying the weight of his regret. "And, truth be told, I never really got over you."

The weight of Joel's confession hung in the air. He had already told you that he still loved you, but this time, his admission felt personal, opening a door to a realm of emotions that had long been kept at bay.

You looked into Joel's eyes, a mixture of surprise and realization flickering in your gaze. The atmosphere seemed to shift, the quiet acknowledgment of a shared history merging with the present.

Perhaps a second chance.

There you were, after years of the night you left the house, you both shared the confession of love you waited to hear the most—the regret and the sadness. In the soft glow of candlelight, Joel's expression mirrored the vulnerability you felt. The unspoken emotions hung between you, bridging the gap of time and space that had kept your hearts apart. The weight of his words lingered, unraveling the layers of history and emotions that had shaped your lives.

"I always wondered what could have been," Joel admitted, his gaze unwavering.

As the weight of unspoken confessions hung in the air, you felt a surge of emotions pushing you to bridge the gap that had separated you and Joel for so long. The vulnerability of the moment, the shared history, and the admission of lingering feelings created a magnetic pull you couldn’t ignore.

With no rings and no faithful promises to keep with another man, you felt free.

Leaning in, you found yourself drawn to Joel, a longing that transcended the years apart. The soft glow of candlelight flickered in the room, casting a warm ambiance on the faces of two souls entwined and meant to be together again.

As you looked at him, you got lost in the dark starry universe his gaze held, the stars and constellations written the words he didn’t say to you in the past, and without a warning, you leaned in, but for your surprise and also shame, Joel pulled back, eyes wide, mouth open.

Oh.

“Oh god,” you said, holding your tears and face behind your sacred palms, hiding from the cruel joke you felt toward the world today.

"I can't, Doe," Joel whispered, his voice carrying a sense of restraint. His gaze, though filled with a depth of emotion, conveyed a silent plea for understanding.

Confusion and a tinge of hurt flickered in your eyes as you retreated, the space between you now feeling deeper than ever before.

"I understand," you murmured, a faint smile attempting to mask the disappointment that lingered beneath the surface.

Joel watched you, his heart heavy with a mix of regret and a profound desire to ease the pain that etched your features. But Joel wanted to kiss you and worship every single inch of you, but he wasn’t able to give in under your state, yet he was so vulnerable, and a deep ache settled in his chest. He wanted to be the solace you needed, but the weight of the moment and the chaos of the day made him hesitate.

He didn’t want to take advantage of you.

"I want to be there for you, Doe," Joel said softly, reaching out to gently touch your shoulder. "But not like this. You deserve more than a rushed moment in the midst of all this chaos."

His words carried a sincerity that echoed in the quiet room. Joel had waited years to express his feelings, and now, with the universe conspiring against both of you, the timing felt painfully wrong.

You lowered your hands, meeting Joel's gaze with a mixture of gratitude and a silent acknowledgment of the complexities that surrounded you. The connection you shared held a delicate balance.

“I’ll go to sleep,” you said, feeling the exhaustion that permeated every fiber of your being. The weight of the day, the end of your marriage, and the nice words of Joel.

“Goodnight, Doe," Joel said, his voice a soothing presence.

You nodded and said, "Goodnight, Joel.”

++++

Upstairs, unbeknownst to you and Joel, Sara and Tara huddled together, peeking from upstairs, watching the scene unfold in the living room. The girls exchanged concerned glances, sensing the gravity of the situation.

"Dad is such an idiot," Sarah whispered to Tara, her young eyes wide with frustration.

Tara nodded in agreement, her own eyes reflecting on the events of today.

Sarah leaned in closer, her mind buzzing with an idea. "We should do something to help your mom and my dad be together again.”

Tara's eyes lit up with curiosity. "Like what?"

A mischievous grin formed on Sara's face. "We'll be matchmakers! We'll get them together. They obviously still love each other, and it's about time someone did something."

Tara hesitated, glancing back at the living room, where you had just retreated. "But won't your dad be mad?"

Sara shook her head. "Of course not; he would have his girl back."

tags 💌: @joeldjarin @missladym1981 @yomiyasxx @aliengirl99

@lola8888673 @nottodaysattan @picketniffler @violinchick

@sadgirlcheesecake @caitlynsixxx @luvwanda @sarahhxx03

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absurduty · 6 months

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UNDER HIS SKIN [AMD.T X READER]

PART I.

summary: Aemond loves his big sister, so unfairly married to another. So unfairly away from him for seven cruel years. So when his sweet sister returns to King's Landing again, he is determined to show her he is not a child anymore.

warnings: none? Correct me if I'm wrong please 🫶🩷

a/n: smut is in the second part 🫶 not this one since it is mostly childhood focused my loves 🫶

Aemond had never gone a day without thinking of you. How could he when you were in his life? His half-sister. His beautiful y/n, his beautiful wife-to-be.

Just after Aemma, and right before Alicent, King Viserys the Peaceful married your mother, Myria Martell of Dorne. In that short time before her death, the olive-skinned woman managed to bear you, her exquisitely beautiful daughter.

A girl possessing both Dornish and Valyrian beauty? The Realm roamed with anticipation. You had the dark skin and olive skin of a Dornishwoman, combined with the features and eyes of a Valyrian beauty.

From his first breath, you were his virtue. You were five years old, holding Alicentʼs third-born. Your big blue eyes shone with adoration, and you could swear his little hands reached out for you.

If Alicent had trouble managing Helaena as a babe, Aemond had to be ten times worse. He cried out your name so often, that his mother would be forced to plead for your help. Every cry of your name was accompanied by a bitter feeling in your absence.

Like the sweet girl you were, you had no objections to helping your stepmother take care of her third child. You doted on Aemond, and you could not contain your excitement when he ultimately, at a year old, took his first steps into your arms. You kissed his forehead as he relished the feeling of your warm touch.

You would spend your free time playing with him and Helaena, his head on your lap and Helaena showing you her bugs.

And as you grew into a ravishing young woman, Aemond continued to follow behind you, his small frame glaring at any Knight or nobleman who looked at you too long.

You had been content to read with him, kissing his cheek every night before you tucked the eight-year-old into bed. Aemond couldnʼt imagine a good night without your kiss. He wouldn't.

One day, you'd be his wife. His and his alone. If his lady-mother betrothed Helaena to Aegon, it is only fair that you and him do the same thing. Once he is of age to marry, he will convince Mother Alicent to keep the bloodline pure.

His annoyance at not being able to obtain a dragon had never been directed at you. Never.

The door creaked open to your chambers, like most nights. The small sound causes you to stir awake. You weren't a deep sleeper.

“Valonqar,” you smile tiredly, scooting over “What is wrong?”

Aemond said nothing, just sighed as he crawled into your arms.

Your hair was unkempt and your eyes were half closed. So adorable.

“Cuddle me, rōva mandia,” he murmured, burying his face into the crook of your neck. His arms resorted to wrapping around your waist, and his soft sighs sent his breath tickling your neck. “I haven't a dragon yet.”

You sighed softly, taking his face in your hands and beckoning him to look you in the eye.

“Aemond, look at me.” you requested softly, to which he, with slight reluctance, looked you in the eyes. he loved the way you looked at him. how your face softened when your eyes landed on him. “You will get a dragon. How could a dragon not like you? You are everything good.”

Those words did it for him. they made his heart flutter like none could. he took a good look at her face and took some moments to admire her beauty. your sun-kissed skin looked heavenly in the moonlight shining on the sheets and her face, making her eyes shine brighter than they usually did.

At that moment, all the prince could think about was how he’d marry you someday. No matter what people say he could do.

With that thought, his body drifted off to slumber, holding you close to him. His head on your chest and a small smile gracing his face.

So imagine his turmoil when you were announced to be betrothed to a lord of house Lannister the very next evening.

He begged, begged, begged Alicent to discuss this with Father and reconsider.

“Betroth her to me once I am of age.” he urged his mother, his frustration rising as his efforts seemed futile. His lady-motherʼs decision was as if it was set in stone.

The night before your departure, he visited you one last time and slept cuddling you. At a given point, his eyes fluttered open and he stared up at the ceiling.

“Fools. All of them.” he quietly spoke up, his tears dried on his cheek. “At least they didn’t betroth you to that bastard.”

“Aemond,” you spoke up softly, brushing his hair out of his face. “You mustn't call him that. He is our nephew.”

“Be that as it may, his father is still a Strong,” he replies coldly, leaning into your touch. he turned his head so that his lips brushed against your cheek. You’re lucky he loves you enough not to stress your mind with the image of those Strong boys.

You sighed, deciding it was best to drop this matter. Perhaps his childhood crush, along with his disdain for your nephews would fade. You pulled him closer like two cats keeping each other warm. Perhaps his interest would fade once you married a lord of Casterly Rock.

The next day had come by rather quickly, and you had bid goodbye to each relative with a kiss on the cheek.

However, Aemond felt as if the kiss you planted on his cheek meant so much more than the ones you planted on the others.

And off you had gone, married to a man of House Lannister.

7 years of marriage had gone by, and you had sired 4 healthy boys. Your husband treated you better than most Lords and you could not be happier. You continued being the sweet and well-spoken young woman and you couldn't be happier in the presence of your dear sons.

So it was only natural when your sons came with you as you visited Kingʼs Landing again. You kept your sons at your hip as you exited the carriage, greeted by the sight of your dear brother.

Once your eyes landed on him, it seemed you were unable to tear them away. He grew. When he used to be half your size, he grew to be almost as tall as your step-grandsire. His lean and muscled figure stood tall and gracious. His gorgeous sharp features were accompanied by a grin on his face. You were almost envious of his shiny hair.

“Mandia.” he grins, taking your soft palm in his, pressing a kiss on your index finger. “It pleases me so to see you again.”

He had to refrain himself from pouncing on you, reminded of your sons at your side. All he wanted now was to shower you with kisses. Seven, he’d take you in that carriage if he could.

“Valonqar,” you smile, holding your four-year-old in your arms. gods, he grew to hate when you called him that. why must you still refer to him as little? “I hope you have been doing well.”

He wasn't stupid. He knew she was referring to Driftmark. He kept the letters you wrote to him, reassuring him that he was still handsome despite the lost eye.

“I have,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your cheek, too close to your jaw. “And who are these little Lords?”

“Vahaemor, Vigor, Vador, and Vahaegon.” you beam with the most radiant smile he’s seen, the youngest asleep in your arms.

“Motherhood soothes you, mandia.” he coos, cupping one cheek with his left hand. you had to refrain from breaking out into a smile at his affectionate albeit slightly inappropriate gesture.

His eyes flickered to your sons, patting their little heads and smiling down at them. Your oldest son Vahaemor stood proudly, trying his best to imitate Aemondʼs posture.

“And I suppose each one of you will make a fine swordsman?” Aemond teases, to which your boys break out in talk and laughter.

“I'm already better than Vahaemor!” your second-born, Vigor speaks up, causing Vahaemor to grow irritated.

“You could not even beat an infant with a wooden sword!” Vahaemor retorts, lightly shoving Vigor.

“Mother!” Vigor whines, hitting your oldest-bornʼs arm.

“Look what you have caused, Aemond.” you tease playfully, rocking your youngest in your arms as your third-born, Vador, waddles over to Aemond to hug his leg.

“Tʼwas merely a compliment.” Aemond grins, looking down at Vador before taking him in his arms. gods, he should have been their father. he has not inquired yet about your Lord-husband, however, he was certain he could treat you better in any and every way. no doubt that if your husband were out of the picture, he would have had you. he would give your sons silver-haired siblings.

“Mhm,” you sigh softly, smiling up at him. what he wouldn't do to make you smile like that every day. “Let us enter the Keep. I wish to have my youngest sleep on a bed instead of me.”

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astudyincontrasts · 6 months

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Penance IX (redux)

Priest!Silco x Fem!Reader AU (nsfw)

A/N: Its my birthday! Last year everyone in this fandom and all the friends I have made because of it made today one of the most special birthdays I have had in a long time. I felt more loved and surrounded in celebration with sweet friends then I had in years, and the cup of that happiness has not stopped running over. There are not enough ways to express my love and gratitude for everyone I've had the joy of meeting here.

So this year, I wanted to offer a gift to all of you. Everyone has been exceedingly patient about my writing struggles to continue Penance, so I'd like to give you the alternate Penance XI chapter- blood I have managed to wring from that stone of writers block. The fate of the continuation of this story may still be up in the air until inspiration comes knocking again, but at least I can share this with you today.

To all my fandom friends, and everyone who has been so supportive of this silly little smutty story. You have my heart.

This picks up after Chapter VIII

“Girl, are you listening?”

Sister Marta’s sharply scolding voice brought you back down to earth with a little jerk, blinking as you turned attention back to the tall, thin, sallow faced nun to meet the exasperated gaze of her cataract-hazed grey eyes.

“Sorry Sister.” You mumbled, casting about for a context clue of whatever it was she might have been speaking about while you’d been off daydreaming about the priest of her parish. Nothing jumped out at you in the dusty old store room of the basement where you both stood in the dim light of one naked and straining lightbulb still swinging gently upon its cord from the nun’s yank of its chain a moment before.

You hadn’t meant to drift off, but it had been four days since you’d seen Father Silco last and that painful, sweet contrition you’d done across the desk of his office was still fresh in your mind as if it had just happened. You ought to have been angry at the fact he’d left you such an unsatisfied mess, and the fact he’d spanked you like a wicked child, in spite of his promise he’d never hurt you as they had back in school.

Truly, he had not. Those sharp little slaps of his open hand were nothing compared to the cruelty of a sharp ruler across knuckles or the backs of thighs delivered by an angry, bitter nun. You smiled faintly at Sister Marta’s increasingly irritated, withered old face and privately thought perhaps she could teach the Father a few things about corporal punishment.

“The candles, girl!” Sister Marta exhorted at last, the thin limit of her patience snapping.

Unlike the ‘my child’ diminutive that the other nuns like Sister Eleanor or Sister Angelica were so fond of using with you and other parishioners, Sister Marta had no use for any such hollow faithful endearments. You hadn’t yet made up your mind if it was an honest gruffness about her you liked, or an insulting mein you did not. You had the notion it would have hardly mattered to the old woman either way.

She nudged one of the pair of low boxes with the toe of her sensible black shoe from under her long, dark habit.

“Take them to the Father to be blessed and then kindly refill the votive stands. You can remove the spent ones and toss them.” She explained, slower this time as if she was speaking to a simpleton.

You bore it with a tight little smile and bent to lift the box on top, surprised by the weight of it, staggering a bit upon rising only to catch a smugly satisfied look on the wrinkled old pucker of a face before Sister Marta reached up to pull the chain of the light and leave you to struggle out the door of the closet and back up the rickety old stairs of the basement in the dark, save for the light from the open door at the top of the steps.

Quietly you wondered if you accidentally fell and broke your neck, if the church would have their endowment free of the burden of your presence that came with it.

Cold comfort, knowing you’d crush the brittle bird-boned old woman climbing up, wheezing softly behind you, and take her with you if you did pitch backward down the steps.

The real trial wasn’t making it to the top of the stairs with the heavy box full of candles, though. No, that one still lay ahead once you’d reached the top without incident. The real trial lay in taking that armload into the rectory to face Father Silco once more and ask his blessing.

You’d thought you’d be safe if you came on a Thursday. You’d avoided the parish planning committee on Monday, as well as your usual Wednesday session with the Father. You’d hardly doubted you’d be missed at the planning meeting, and Wednesday, well. You’d chosen to skip it half in a little act of spite, half just to see what might happen. When no scolding phone call or visit had been forthcoming after shirking both of those commitments the victory felt hollow.

Turning up to make yourself useful to the nuns on Thursday seemed like a good way to cover for your failed gambit and to keep from looking as if you were avoiding the church. Foolishly, you’d thought perhaps you’d manage to skim by with just catching a glimpse of Father Silco in passing.

Unsure if it was because you wanted to see him, or wanted him to see you.

You’d been on rocky footing ever since your little transgression in the confessional, and you knew it.

The door to the rectory lay open just across from the basement door in the open nave of the large narthex, and you waited until Sister Marta crested the steps behind you and shut the basement door to hobble off heavily upon her cane, before you started the slow walk toward his office. You didn’t let yourself hesitate in the doorway, and didn’t have a free hand to knock on the open door with anyway. Instead, summoning all the calm composure you could muster, you simply walked in and paused before his desk.

He sat there, scribbling away in an open book, papers and letters and other books opened in a slightly scattered mess about his work, dark head bent and eyepatch on. He left you standing there until he’d finished what he was writing. Until your elbows and wrists had begun to ache a little from the weight of the box you held. Only then he sat back, letting his pen drop upon the desk as elbows found the armrests of his tall-backed chair and he turned the cool glint of that duplicitously calm ocean colored eye upward.

The thin, scarred cut of his mouth tugged a hint of a smile at one corner.

“Lamb.” He stated mildly, as if unsurprised in the least to see you there and only half interested as to what you might want with him.

Infuriating, how badly you liked hearing that little endearment again. How flustered it made you feel to get hooked on the edge of that smile.

The box shifted heavily in your hands as you juggled its weight and stepped forward to set it upon his desk. Damn his paperwork.

“Sister Marta asked if you’d bless these candles so I could put them in the votive holders.” Your attempt to keep your voice as even and disaffected as possible only resulted in it coming out far softer than you’d meant for it to be.

Leaning forward a touch, Silco flipped one of the flaps of the cardboard lid back to glance at the candles inside with a little hum. One by one he folded each of the other three flaps back and rose to his feet. Elegant fingers stroked absently along the edge of one packaging dividers hashed between the votives within before he plucked a single candle out and set it aside.

Letting that cool eye of his drift shut he made the sign of the cross over the open box of remaining candles before opening both hands before himself, palms cupped upward.

“Lord Jesus Christ, true light that enlightens every man who comes into this world, bestow thy blessing upon these candles, and sanctify them with the light of thy grace. As these tapers burn with visible fire and dispel the darkness of night, so may our hearts with the help of thy grace be enlightened by the invisible fire of the splendor of the Holy Ghost, and may be free from all blindness of sin.”

His eye opened and fell upon you, and suddenly you were profoundly aware of how you just stood there, staring at the tall, lean lines of him in that dark cassock, soaking in the sound of his voice and very obviously not with your hands folded in reverent prayer or eyes downcast as they ought to have been. Something entirely ungodly flickered at the edge of Father Silco’s mouth as he continued on, holding your immobilized gaze.

“Clarify the eyes of our minds that we may see what is pleasing to thee and conducive to our salvation. After the dark perils of this life let us be worthy to reach the eternal light.” His eye closed once more and again he made the sign of the cross over the box as he finished, “Through thee, Jesus Christ, Savior of the world, who in perfect Trinity livest and reignest, God, for ever and ever. Amen.”

His hands lowered, one coming to settle over the glass edge of the candle he’d set to one side, and he considered you as you crossed yourself hastily and reached forward to gather the box back up again. He stopped you lifting it with a touch of the fingertips to its lid.

“When you are through with these, perhaps you’d come back here?” Couched so carefully as a question, yet all you could hear was the quiet order in it. Come back here. Your head was nodding before he even finished speaking and the thin, dark brow not covered by his eyepatch quirked slightly.

“Yes, Father.” Your correction of yourself came nearly automatically.

Another little humming assent and with a slow blink he removed the touch that had stopped you lifting the box, resuming his seat. You hoped he’d resume his work as well, but instead he sat there, watching you go, fingertips drumming thoughtfully upon the little glass votive.

You took your time with the candles, mostly because your hands were shaking and the very last thing you wanted to do was drop one of the blessed things and have it shatter across the church floor. But also, to give you time to scrape yourself together, collect calm and poise. It was no good, heart hammering anticipation equal parts nervousness and excitement. The part of yourself that had wanted so badly to keep up this little charade of wishing to avoid him had succumbed without so much as a whimper.

Again thoughts drifted back to Sunday. To the stinging warmth of skin under his hand, to how he’d teased you to a sodden mess without once slipping fingers beneath the barrier of cotton that had separated you. To how he’d left you wanting and writhing and nearly in tears. A perfect act of contrition, indeed.

It was a struggle not to let yourself wonder what next punishment he could possibly have in store for you.

Spent votives replaced with fresh ones, and the box filled with the clatter of the empty candleholders, you made your way back to his office. Dropping the detritus of other people’s prayers off in the dumpster out back could wait. You had your own worship to attend to.

Father Silco’s desk was far less littered with papers when you returned, open books stacked neatly to one side now and everything else put away save for the book he was still writing in. And that little candle he’d taken. His dark head didn’t even lift as you set the softly clattering box down upon the settee against the wall.

“Office hours are over.” He intoned flatly as you wiped palms nervously over the skirt of the dress covering your thighs.

It froze you, cold like ice water suddenly filling the pit of your belly. Had he just dismissed you after ordering you to return?

“...Father?” It came out a strangled little question and you almost hated how needy the note of your voice made that singular word.

He glanced up and you realized with a start that he’d removed that eyepatch, the hellish orange-red fire of his darkened eye a constant little shock every single time. Ruined eye and teal flicked from you to the door and back again as if in blatant explanation.

“Lock the door.” He elaborated.

It should not have been a matter of pride that you managed to turn and do his bidding without falling all over yourself or scrambling in an embarrassing rush of eagerness, and yet. Far more collected than you felt within, you managed to push the door shut soundlessly and throw the latch, pausing for a moment with your back to him, safely sheltered in the little alcove of the doorway, to breathe through the easing of that sudden cold panic that had surfaced at your earlier misunderstanding.

When you returned to him he’d shut his notebook and set it aside atop the others, and reached to slide that pilfered votive candle before himself as he watched you sidle up to his desk. Watched you stop, smooth the skirt of your dress only to fist it again in fitful hands, watched the tight little press of thighs as he drew out the silence.

“Do you know what these are called?” He asked, nudging the little candle forward with the press of one elegant fingertip before rising from his seat.

“Devotionaries.” You answered, and watched him cross to the wall to the right of you, to a tall coat stand that stood near the door to his quarters.

“Very good.”

A child could have answered that question, but it did not stop the little smile of pleasure that tugged at the corners of your mouth. His praise as euphoric as a drug and twice as addictive, even for the smallest of successes.

Your mouth went dry however, as he turned profile to you, tugged a button or two open upon the throat of his cassock, and then turned his back to undo the rest before shrugging out of the long, dark cloth to hang it upon the coat stand. The black fabric fell in a long and shapeless mass without him, hem puddling ever so slightly on the floor.

It put you in mind of Peter Pan hanging up his shadow, or it would have done, had you not been so preoccupied with the shape of him divested of the dark habit. Of that petulant posture and taut lovely lines, proud set of shoulders and careless, dangerous beauty in how he moved. It was patently unfair that a man sporting licks of sliver at his temples and etched crows feet at the outset edges of his eye should have the lithe shape of youth the way he did.

Devoid of the cassock, he was left instead in the black roman-collared linen shirt and dark, sharply pleated trousers he wore beneath.

He turned back to you and came wandering back toward the desk, unbuttoning the cuffs at his wrists.

“Do you have a lighter?” The question was so casual it caught you off guard and you had to shake your head, tugging at the pocketless skirt of your dress on either side of thighs by way of explanation.

His mouth twisted the merest fraction of a smile as he tucked the cuff of one of his sleeves back, began rolling it neatly toward his elbow. Lean hips turned a fraction as he stepped closer.

“Left pocket.” He instructed, helpfully.

Hesitation grasped you but a moment before you inched forward, stepped into his space and paused. Glancing upward, you found his attention fixed upon meticulously still folding his sleeves back, crisp turn by turn. The focus of those mismatched eyes not even flickering to you, to how every fine hair upon your bare arms stood on end like they were aching toward him, toward that magnetic draw of snapping static thrumming in the air between you both.

Easing half behind him, you reached for the little gap of the pocket and slowly slid fingers into the warmth of its silken confines. Over the bone of his hip and down, wrist deep until you hit the bottom of the pocket and touched the smooth, rectangular shape of the lighter within. Metal heated to body temperature from where it nestled.

Fingers curled around it before you stopped. Let it go, and moved just a little closer, pressed fingers flat to that join between hip and thigh his pocket lay against. Pushed the delve of that pocket just a little deeper and felt his stomach tense beneath your fingertips as your cheek brushed the outside of his upper arm.

“The lighter, lamb. If you please.” His tone was darkly amused at least, though if you kept pushing your luck it would be at your own cost. That much was clear.

You scooped up the lighter once more, but withdrew your hand slow, knuckles grazing softly along the cut of muscle you could feel running from his hip inward and down. Air felt unwelcomely cold against your skin once you pulled your hand free, and before you could step back, he moved away for you. Walked away to resume his seat behind the desk as he finished doing up his other cuff to just below his right elbow.

A small push of his foot made space between the seat and the desk, and you only needed the flick of his eyes from you to the room he’d made to set you in motion to come and stand before him, his lighter clenched tight in your closed fist, unwilling to relinquish the little bit of his heat you held in your palm.

Gazing up at you, his attention licked over the details of your dress, your posture, your hesitant composure, as he tugged at the give of trousers a little at the bend of thigh and hip and settled himself more comfortably.

“You weren’t here yesterday.” He observed as he relaxed back against the tall chair, a flicker of a blink over that oceanic eye. You held your tongue and his gaze fell to the candle upon the desk just beside where you stood, and you wondered if your absence had made him angry, filled him with regret, or perhaps just left him lonesome. You wished there was a way to tell, any little crack in that stoic mask of scarred features and sharpness to let the truth of what he was thinking seep out. Nothing there though but that calculating, penetrating gaze and a subtle shrug of broad, lean shoulders, “I suppose we might make up for lost time, then. Contrition may be an important facet of faith, but so is devotion.”

He reached forward to scoop into fingers the loose end of the bow that tied the wrap of your dress shut beside your waist. His good eye narrowed, the fine lines of crowsfoot deepening. He’d seen that dress before, yes– the same one you’d worn to catch him by surprise in the confessional.

You allowed yourself the most innocent little smile you could manage when those mismatched eyes flicked sharply to your face, and willed breath to stay even, slow, no matter how skin had begun to sing his name in soft coursing waves of prickling goosebumps.

“I don’t suppose you have your rosary?” He asked archly, letting the ribbon of the bow drop from his open hand as he sat back once more.

He’d every right to ask it of you so dryly, given your lack of pockets. And you had every right to feel as smug as you did when you lifted a hand, reached into the low, criss-crossed neckline of your dress and drew out the strand of little purple beads from the nestle of your bra.

The war between shock, dark delight, the struggle to keep his poker face, and perhaps even a hint of righteous outrage that overtook the sharply handsome ruin of his features was nothing short of spectacular. You’d replay it, over and over again at night. Reveling in how well you toppled the high and mighty cold ivory pillar he so often perched upon.

Out and out you drew the beads until the little cross popped free and the rosary hung, swinging, upon your forefinger.

His hand, resting upon his knee, tightened, fingers twitching slightly, before it stilled, then lifted, palm open in demand.

You dropped that little holy object into his hand and watched his fist close around it, knowing full well he now held a little piece of your heat as surely as you held his within your other hand. There was a slight softening to the creases where thin brows met over that sharp nose that told you he felt it, too.

“Good girl.” He murmured, and the flush that crept up to warm your ears was nearly as delicious as the thrill that both chased up your spine and tugged at the backs of your knees to fold, to kneel. You rested the heel of your palm upon the desk behind you and let it take your weight so that you did not cave.

By the time he turned his face back up to you he’d mastered his expression once more, beatific calm singed at its hard edges.

“Turn around,” He instructed, making the simple order sound heavy, dangerous. Bringing thighs together from their slight sprawl, he patted the top of one, “Have a seat.”

Heart thudded hard in your ears as you did as you were bade, turning to sink onto his lap carefully, perched upon his knees. He sucked chipped teeth softly at it.

“Have a seat,” That grit velvet voice scolded gently from behind you as both his hands curled about your waist and urged you backward, until you sat comfortably fully upon him, back fitted to his front.

A hand upon your hip skimmed over stomach and waist, back to the bow of your dress.

“Why do we say devotions?” He asked, and you could feel the question purring through his chest against your back as he claimed the thick ribbon of the bow and tugged. The knot gave with no resistance, and the part of it he held served nicely to pull the cross of your dress open, just enough to part the skirt of it and leave you bare from stomach to thighs.

The shudder that overtook you was sweet and slow, wringing from core to limbs, leaving a little shivering tingle rising over scalp and curling toes, that familiar little throbbing ache back with a hot and hungry vengeance. Hips shifted in your seat as his fingertips ghosted skin to part fabric and push it aside, leaving your lower half bare save for the dark, smooth satin of underwear in the same shade of inky black as his habit.

“To remember the dead?” You chanced, feeling halfway there yourself, pulse racing erratically.

“Sometimes,” He agreed, and you swore you felt the whisper of scarred lips at your neck. Certainly felt the wash of warm breath plume over skin, “More generally devotions are an act of prayer or private worship. Remembrance is one act, as are service, reflection, beseeching, prostration… your rosary, for example, is considered a devotion.”

His hands slid along your arms, touch warm, bringing your hands together to press in prayer before he began to wind the beaded strings around your wrists again to bind them together.

“I thought that was a penance.” You exhaled in a shuddering little rasp.

“It can be, but not today.” The tip of his sharp nose drew a long, slow line against the rise of your spine, above the neckline of your dress between shoulder blades and to the base of your skull, “although that can be a devotion too.”

The heel of his foot caught the floor and pulled the seat with you both in it forward towards his desk, so that he could reach around you and lift the candle from where it sat before pushing you both back again. He held the votive before you.

“Light it,” he asked, free arm curling about you, fingers trailing the soft of your stomach from navel on down, “I owe you a devotion, lamb.”

Fingers bound in prayer fumbled with the thick golden rectangle of the lighter as you struggled not to simply sink back against him with a little shiver and beg that he stroke that little path across vulnerable skin once more. A flick of your thumb sent the hinged lid open and the circular little flint struck on the second attempt, hot flame bursting to life. Silco turned the candle so that you could light it and then pulled it away as you flicked the lighter shut and slipped it back between folded hands.

“Do you know the devotional prayer?” He asked, hand holding the candle coming to settle upon an armrest as his lap shifted beneath you, lean legs pressing together beneath your own and lifting before spreading wide, the hook of his knees beneath your thighs opening them in an indecent slow splay.

It set you writhing; the kissing chill of the air of the room contrasting sharply with the heat of him beneath you, so very bare, bound in his lap, spread open like an invitation. The door was locked, yes, you’d made sure of it but what if you were wrong? What if someone had a key? There’d be no explanation for the position you found yourself in, no way to hide.

The thrill of that little licking fear warred with the light caress of his free hand as it curled over the top of one thigh and smoothed toward your knee, only to hook it better in its drape over his own before it began the slow teasing, lazy circles that drew it back toward the little throbbing want hidden beneath the black satin gusset of thin panties.

“Bare legs.” He murmured, and you gave another little squirm, folded hands pressing together tighter. You’d not worn what you were coming to suspect was his favorite item of your clothing because you’d not expected to see him, and also to spite him if you did. The move seemed to have backfired spectacularly. When you had no excuse or answer, Father Silco simply carried on, a note of pleased amusement in his tone, “The prayer?”

“N-no. That is, no I don’t know it.”

“Hmn.” His little hum of disapproval at the gaps still existing in your liturgical knowledge colored your cheeks, and you could only hope that from his position he could not see the frustration that joined the embarrassment upon your face.

You watched him lift the candle slowly from where he’d held it at your side, bring it to hover over your open lap. His hand upon your thigh stilled its toying little strokes and instead closed in a taut grip of your leg, soft skin denting tenderly beneath his fingers.

“That’s alright,” he reassured you quietly, and you could hear the dark little smile in it, “This is my devotion anyhow.”

The flickering little candle he held hovering before you began to tilt, turn, and the inward gasp of breath caught in your throat as the clear melted wax welled at the lip of the red glass before spilling over, heat spattering in a little drip against the sensitive skin of your knee.

He paused, and you could feel him shift under your restless hips, feel the little roll of his own and the way his breath strained ever so slightly for just a moment.

“Does that hurt?” Low and velvet that voice mumbled up against the skin behind the fold of your ear and again he tipped a little burning drop of wax onto waiting skin.

Your knee jumped the barest fraction, reflexive little jerk at the soft scalding that faded quickly into gentle warmth, and you nodded, folded hands pressing the knuckles of forefingers tight to your lips.

“A little.” You breathed, raggedly.

“Enough to stop?” He pressed, and the soft moan of a sigh that broke from you when the warmth of his mouth touched to the hard thrum of your pulse answered well enough for you before your shattered little ‘no’ eked out.

His fingers had strayed far up the leg they’d been casually toying across, toward the heat that he had to feel absolutely radiating from the apex of thighs. One long forefinger drew a tracing line around the triangle of slippery black satin, up both edges and across your lower stomach slowly.

Air seized in your throat as his fingertips plucked at the smooth waistband.

“Lord, may this candle which I light illuminate all my difficulties and decisions.” Silco began, waiting to feel the tension stringing through you begin to ease before he spilled another dollop of wax, and then a second and third a bit further up each time. The soft sting of it had you writhing, the little shock of burning heat fading to a warm tickle as the wax rolled down in heavy drips, cooling against your skin.

Behind you, Silco’s breath caught in a little huff once more, a soft whistle between clenched chipped teeth on the inhale.

“May this candle be a fire,” He continued after a beat, spreading the warm little shocks and sudden pinching stings to the tender inner thigh of your other leg, “that burns away all my pride, selfishness…”

Writhing and shifting, you struggled in his lap, not wanting to escape yet fighting the way every fibre of you recoiled from the spattering searing sting of the wax in a reflexive, uncontrollable urge. Several of these squirming jerks of your hips and the hand teasing at the edge of your panties caught suddenly in a taut cup between your legs as you felt Silco’s own hips give a hard little shove upward.

Stilling breathlessly, he kept you waiting a long moment while he seemed to struggle to master himself, the fingers cupping you picking up an almost absent little up and down stroke over the satin covering the shape of your sex, unerringly finding the cleft between lips.

Cooling wax flexed and tugged at skin as you tried to spread a bit further for him, to press into his touch, scared if you were to beg for more with words that it might stop the tease entirely, as it had the last time he’d had his hand between your thighs. God, how he’d tormented you, brought you so terribly close… Hips rolled hard and slow against him in retaliation as you relived your humiliation.

As if reading your mind, his touch skimmed higher, and fingertips tucked themselves beneath the satin confines of the upper edge of panties, teasing little strokes at skin that tensed and trembled beneath his touch before they began to slip lower, “and all my other sins.”

Wax was flowing freely, dripping to punctuate each word, taking his sweet time as you wriggled and bucked in his lap, swallowing little gasps and hisses as your skin sang.

At least one shift of your hips must have caught him just right because for a moment you could hear him choke on his words, feel him tense beneath you again. Determined to give as good as you got you did it again and felt the rush of his breath fan against your neck.

His free hand tensed where it lay, fingertips so tremulously close to the cleft of lips, and delved to catch a second taut grip over the shape of your bare sex. The sudden hard grasp of naked contact had you spiraling, arching hard back against him. He was hard beneath you, you could feel it, and caught between his hand and that hint of hardness digging into the soft of your bottom you rocked slowly, only to be rewarded with a long pour of hot wax up your thigh that turned the gentle motion of hips to a wild little ride.

“May this candle be a flame,” He continued, and the broken rasp of his voice was nearly, nearly as sweet as the single slow caress of his finger that found the slick part of your folds and pressed between slippery skin to drag upward. Unerringly found the proud, eager little swell of your clit and sent your lower back into a hard strung arch with one little nudge, “that warms my heart and incites me to love.” He concluded, raggedly, and you swore you felt the graze of chipped teeth scrape over your shoulder.

Riding the light touch of his fingertip and behind you, the hard press of his cock through his pants and your open dress, you sprawled redolently back against him, let your neck find a home in a comfortable arch over his shoulder before turning your head, nestling forehead in the hollow of his throat before shifting to tuck a begging little kiss to the sharp of his jaw.

“Amen.” You finished for him, and felt the sting of wax hit your hip and then your stomach that made you hiss and buck hips once more. Your reward a groan of breath from him and another lingering stroke of his fingertips through soaked folds to flick caressingly at the sweet throbbing ache of your clit.

How long, how many bitter nights now had you wished for this, how many feverish and filthy dreams had you endured, just longing to feel his bare touch? It had become so much worse after your last meeting, all that sharp longing redoubled after his heartless punishing teasing.

No more, no more thin cotton or sheer lace or anything at all between his touch and you. The heat of his hand was nothing to the splashes of searing wax you’d endured, yet it was so much sweeter. That little flicking touch came ghosting over the sensitive little nub of your clit and you writhed unashamedly, trying every which way to force his touch more, closer, deeper.

The prayer was far too short for your liking. What good were hollow words meant to convey something as strong and fervent an ideal as devotion if they were over in mere minutes? Grumbling a little whinging protest you pushed back against him with a hard roll of hips.

“Father…” You objected, voice cracked with pleading.

“Who?” The grit dark velvet of his voice asked at your ear, delighted and tormented as the devil himself.

“Daddy.” The word was out before you could even think it, like it teetered perpetually on the edge of your teeth ever since the first time he prised it out of you, “P-please, please, daddy…”

The sharp blade of his nose shoved hard behind your ear, his ragged breathing a hushed tickling whuffle from narrow nostrils, and any further pleading you were on the verge of was stifled with a squealed little gasp as he spread the sodden petals of your pussy with the splay of three fingers, and the center one of those long, elegant digits found its way down between slicking folds, delving deep into the welcoming clenching grip of your want… only to withdraw his entire hand in a long, slow drag, tracing a line of accusatory wet all the way up to the dip of your navel.

It left you sobbing tearlessly, gasping and gulping and lifting hips in a wordless eagerness that only earned you another splattering of scalding wax across the strain of thighs.

Father Silco ignored your plight as steadfastly as any man of the cloth could ignore temptation, and began a new prayer.

“Earnestly I seek you;

I thirst for you,

my whole being longs for you,

in a dry and parched land

where there is no water.”

The psalm he recited washed over you like a slow caress while you squirmed fitfully on his lap and watched his hand lift, middle finger glossed to its base with your wet. Vanishing in your periphery, the sound of him sucking that long digit thoughtfully clean acted perfect punctuation to the sacrilege of his misappropriated prayer.

Guilt spiced the edge of half-denied pleasure and soft pain. As his hand slid back down your skin and toward the clenching, shivering yearning of your core, you’d never felt so debased, so deeply wicked and wrong. Burning wax hit your thigh once more in heavy, rolling drops and you arched, straining, hissing between clenched teeth; become more serpent in the garden of Eden than Eve.

“I have seen you in the sanctuary

and beheld your power and your glory.

Because your love is better than life,

my lips will glorify you.”

He teased the upper edge of soaked panties once more, tracing the pucker of their hem, slipping fingertips just beneath them, savoring the softness of skin and the way the taut of your stomach quivered beneath his touch. Desire welled like a dark stone filling your throat, heart coated in the sticky sap of filthy blasphemous sin as his scarred mouth tickled at the hook of your jaw and tender line of your throat. This was wrong, so wrong, so deliciously perfectly throbbingly wrong.

Heat flooded your face as you crushed the press of prayer folded hands to your forehead, eyes shut tight against the rushing high of mortifying lust. Forbidden, taboo, illicit; whatever you wanted to call that gut-deep and undisputed knowledge that this was unforgivably wrong, it excited you in a way nothing else ever had.

He could see it in you, you knew he could. He saw how horrible your deepest darkest thoughts could be and he just kept dragging them out into the light, smiling as he let you dirty yourself with the honesty of your predilections.

The line of his arm tightened against your side as he reached to slip fingers back into your heat, another lazy circling tease to against clit that left you wrung out and breathless before he delved back inside of you and let you ride the slow pumping slide of one long finger.

“I will praise you as long as I live,

and in your name I will lift up my hands.

I will be fully satisfied as with the richest of foods;

with singing lips my mouth will praise you.”

Your head rocked as he butted his forehead gently to your temple, words a warm, seeping whisper at your cheek, that stern, gravel worn seduction of his voice undoing you, taking you apart at the seams until you felt sure you’d fall open there in his lap like a ragdoll with the sin-like sawdust spilled out.

Inside of you, he was inside of you- and just that knowledge, just the wretchedly wonderful wrongness of it made the whole of you jerk in a taut little shiver of surrender. That slender artful finger kept up its torment like he had no notion of your mortal struggle; curling, thrusting, buried deep. It had you in a tailspin, hips working devoid of conscious thought, all sensation dialed down to the hard, hot, fluttering building to a crescendo within. Greed, gluttony, lust… were they called deadly sins because you felt fit to die if you did not satisfy each one right this moment?

The stinging pain of the wax he kept dripping in erratic little patterns jerked you from the sinking, seeping pit of ecstatic bliss over and over again, a cruel and wonderful see-saw that kept you gripping white-knuckled on the sharp edge of insensible pleasure.

“On my bed I remember you;

I think of you through the watches of the night.

Because you are my help,

I sing in the shadow of your wings.

I cling to you;

your right hand upholds me.”

His right hand was all that stood between you and heaven; the grinding press of the heel of his palm to the throb of your clit, the smooth slow fucking his single finger was giving you, all of it an overwhelming agony of delight but just shy of what you needed to crest the rising wave of tense bliss he was intent on drowning you with.

Head tossed back, you groaned that little, broken, sordid version of his holy title once more, hands bound at the wrists with your rosary clenched in fervent prayer to your chest that he’d let you come, please God just let you come...

And with that one word, beneath you Father Silco went suddenly still and rigid, something like a strangled gasp caught in his throat as hips pinned under your writhing ones jerked their own stilted thrust upward… and held for a long and breathless moment before you felt him sag with a rushing, panting release. His hand cupped to you had gone quite still, and you could feel the ragged rise and fall of his chest against your back.

Had he… had he just…? You shifted hips experimentally and heard him hiss a wordless scolding as his hand gripped the shape of your pussy hard. Stilling obediently, you had to struggle not to smile sinful bliss.

Just a little touch of you combined with the friction of your hips working in his lap and he’d cum those dark, well tailored pants of his.

In spite of being robbed of your own relief, for the moment you felt nothing but powerful, smug and heady with the evidence of how your infatuation was not one-sided, just as you had in the confessional, and it made you foolishly proud.

Proud, right up to the point when he withdrew his finger from within you and in the space of a half second, just before your mouth could open in complaint, caught a little pinch of your clit between thumb and middle finger only to assault that overstimulated cluster of slick nerves with his forefinger in such lashing that you pitched clean into the waiting arms of your release.

It was hard and fast, unmerciful, the lovely strain nearly ruined by how long he’d kept you waiting and how hard he’d teased you up to it.

“Amen.” He was purring in your ear, voice near drowned out by the hard thrumming pound of blood rushing in your brain. Thighs shivered in their hook over top of his own, gone weak as every ounce of tension bled out of you, leaving you lolling, warmly pliant and sighing devoutness far more fervent than any stale saint could have possibly understood.

There was a little click of glass as he set the remains of the candle back upon his desk and turned your face toward himself where your head lay back upon his shoulder. Fingers traced the curve of your cheek, and when he licked at the open part of your lips the faint taste of yourself mingled with him lingered. Bless me father, for I have sinned.

Profane and perfect, you felt his smile stretch against your mouth.

“Do you doubt my devotion, lamb?” He asked quietly, hands smoothing away the cooled and peeling wax in long strokes that left gently welted and red splotched skin stinging sweetly.

Your head shook infinitesimally, not wanting to break the scant contact of his mouth to your own.

“Do you pray for me, Father?” The urge to know felt crushing, the weight of guilt creeping in to gnaw at the edges of sordid bliss.

“Oh lamb. You’re the only thing I pray for anymore.”

#penance #silco #father silco #priest silco #silco au #arcane au #silco x reader #silco arcane x reader #no y/n #more penance at last! rejoice!#my birthday gift to you

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thetriumphantpanda · 9 months

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Tale As Old As Time | Joel Miller Fantasy AU (Chapter One)

Series Summary | A Prince, cursed to be unloved, hardened by years of staring at his scars and sitting in his loneliness. A girl, headstrong and wanting of adventure, to escape the life curated for her, a breath of fresh air against the dark of his heart and his home. Can she really learn to love the beast he has become? Truly, a tale as old as time.

Chapter Summary | The origin of a cursed Prince and a girl, unwilling to set aside her dreams for a fate already decided on, thrown together with consequences neither of them could have dreamed about.

Pairing | Joel Miller x F!Reader (Beauty and The Beast AU)

Chapter Warnings | Descriptions of magic, discussion of arranged marriages/betrothal, people being mean, an obnoxious male figure, what is essentially a kidnapping, talk of food, no use of Y/N, but I believe that to be it.

Word Count | 4.5K

Authors Note | You guys simply have no idea how truly excited I am to finally be able to share this with you. This is so out of my comfort zone but holy HELL I've had the best time creating it, and I really hope that you enjoy reading it just as much. Again, just a massive shout out to @cavillscurls for gifting this idea to me and trusting me to bring this to life for her, I really hope I do it justice for you! And another big thank you to @dinsdjrn for casting an eye over this first chapter to make sure it wasn't absolute clown shoes. I'd really love to know what you guys think, so please leave a comment, reblog or pop over to my ask to spread the love. And as always, if you'd like to leave me a tip, you can do so here on Ko-Fi.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

He often thinks back, in the depths of the dark nights he spends alone, to the moment that changed everything. He was, once upon a time, happy. Vain, conceited and a pompous asshole, but he was happy. The kingdom, handed to him quite abruptly on the death of his father. The power and the riches which had been rationed to him before, now all his own to do with as he pleased. A palace, full of beautiful things, beautiful people, there was nothing he could have wanted for. There were parties, opulent and extravagant, filled with beautiful women who would fawn over his every word. Days spent hunting, ignoring all his other princely commitments because he could, he made the rules.

Then, the night that changed it all. He was drunk, he’d had far too much wine, indulged in the lips of far too many women, when one of his servants gripped his arm, dragging him to the doors of the castle. On his step was a haggard old woman, bent double with the hood of a cloak covering her face. She reached out a hand, old and wrinkled, shaking from the cold of the bitter storm that was raging outside and begged.

“Please, my lord, take pity on an old woman,” She speaks wearily, as if she’d been walking for days, “Just a night’s shelter from the storm, that’s all I seek.”

“And what do you offer in return?” He scoffs, already knowing what his answer will be, there is no place for this woman in his home.

The old woman pulls a singular red rose from one of her sleeves, petals full and a deep crimson and extends it towards the prince. He plucks it from her fingers and takes a moment to admire the flower, for it is, after all, a thing of beauty, although he knows it was plucked from his own garden.

“You insult me,” He mocks, “Offering my own rose, stolen from my garden,” He lets the flower drop to the floor in front of the beggar woman, “You will not find shelter here, now, be gone.”

He turns on his heel, intent on making it back to his party, to forget this whole intrusion, when he hears the woman behind him start to chuckle. He turns back and watches as she stands, chuckle turning into some kind of sinister laughter as that exterior that had so repulsed him before melted away to reveal someone, something, far more beautiful. The hood of her cloak falls from her head – beautiful tresses of blonde hair and a young, ethereal face stare back at him.

“You, my prince, have an ugly soul,” She speaks, voice lilting like a song now, “And it is time that you match that.”

He is aware that the commotion has drawn his guests from the main hall, out to witness what he is about to become, as he is surrounded by the gold tendrils of air that this woman, no, enchantress, has created. He feels the skin on his face tighten and contort, not painfully, but uncomfortably. He can feel his bones cracking as his frame grows, he’d always been bigger in frame than most, but now he was towering over everyone. His hands, once blemish free, are covered in tiny scars as if he’d spent a life fighting with his fists. His clothes, of silk and velvet, torn and destroyed on his body.

When he can no longer feel the magic at work around his body, he turns away from the enchantress to the faces of the party, who gasp, talk amongst themselves. Some of them scream and then they’re running, as the woman behind him continues her onslaught on his home now. She drapes it in darkness, the opulent gardens are transformed to nothing but weeds and dead plants. The fountains run no more, and the sound of birdsong is gone. Then, when she is satisfied that her work is done, she bends to the discarded rose and offers it to him once more.

“Any curse can be broken, and this one is no different,” She taunts, “If you can learn to love another, and earn their love in return, by the time the last petal falls, then the spell will be broken, otherwise, you shall remain this beast forever.”

Then, he is all alone, save for his servants, cursed alongside him, though she’d spared them the humiliation of a face covered in scars, and had just cursed them to spend eternity stuck with their master, now bitter, violent and closed off. None of them, not even him, able to leave the grounds of his castle. He falls into despair, spends his days finding another thing he can take his anger out on. He tears down the paintings – ripping through their canvas, punches his fist through every mirror he can find so he doesn’t have to look at himself and steels himself away in those first years. Then, when the first petal drops from the rose, protected in its glass case by one of his servants, he thinks there should be a sense of urgency, but there isn’t, just a daily reminder that this is what his greed and vanity had done to him. If he cannot leave, and no-one knows he or his palace exist any longer, then what hope does he have of someone finding him, let alone falling in love with him?

For who could truly learn to love a beast?

The morning is bright, the sun rising above the hills, as you step out, wicker basket hooked into the crook of your elbow, the book perched in the bottom, covered with a cloth to protect it as you make your way into town. The townsfolk are already milling about as you walk the streets. Women are haggling for bread and eggs, men are greeting each other in booming voices and there are children running around, playing with each other as their parents focus on other things. You don’t miss how, when you pass, they stop their conversations, whispering to each other. You know what they say about you, because no-one in this God forsaken town is ever truly quiet. Funny Girl. Oddity. Strange. Dazed and distracted. Away with the fairies. You’d heard it all, and today, like all days, you let it lie, because none of them are wrong. You are an oddity. A girl of your age, unmarried and living alone with her father, despite his recent efforts to marry you off. A girl, nose stuck firmly in a book whenever it possibly could be. A girl, dreaming of better things, a life outside the provincial village you’d always known, although what that looked like you truly didn’t know.

You buy a loaf of bread and some cheese with the coins your father had pressed into your palm that morning, ensuring that you had everything you needed at home before indulging yourself. The bookshop, at the very end of town, was your sanctuary. Alexander, a firm friend of your father for years, had owned it since before you were born, his father and grandfather before him. He knew that like most folks around here, the price of the books you wanted to read came second to the price of the books your father needed for his work, so there was an understanding between Alexander and yourself that you borrowed yours, bringing them back to swap for a new novel whenever you needed.

“Ah, good morning,” He greets when you open the door, bell tinkling as it opens and closes, “And how are we this morning?”

“Fine, thank you,” You smile, offering him the book you’d chosen just yesterday, “I’ve come to return the book I borrowed.”

He takes it from your hand, setting it on his counter to reshelve later, “You’re going to run out of things to read if you carry on this quickly,” He teases, motioning with his hand to the shelves behind him, “Nothing new since yesterday, but please, I’m sure you can find something to enjoy.”

You spend a few moments studying the spines in front of you. There are very few here that you haven’t read, and whilst you could choose something new, there is something in your bones that craves the familiar today. A story you know will warm your heart and make you yearn for what you truly desire.

“I’ll take this one.” You muse simply, pulling it off the shelf to hand to him.

“This one?” He fakes shock, “You’ve read it twice already.”

“Well, it’s my favourite,” You chuckle, “Faraway lands, magic, a handsome prince, strong women who can make their own destiny in life.”

“Well, if you like it that much, why don’t you keep it?” He hands it over to you, laughing at the shock on your face, “Don’t try and argue with me now,” He insists, “I don’t think anyone other than you has ever chosen it, consider it a gift.”

“Thank you,” You smile, bending down to the old man to give him a kiss on the cheek, sharing a smile as a blush creeps onto his weathered cheeks, “I shall cherish it.”

You bid him a fond farewell and head back out onto the streets, book clutched in your arms like it was your most treasured possession. It might actually have been just that. You walk back through the crowds, basket still hooked onto your elbow as you zone in on the fountain at the edge of town. Usually reserved for washing, it’s not so crowded yet, the heat of the day still too frigid to consider dipping hands into water, so you perch on the edge, basket between your feet on the ground and open the book, promising yourself you’ll only spend a few moments familiarizing yourself with the story again.

Of course, that’s a promise you can’t keep to yourself, and you’re rounding onto chapter three when the book in unceremoniously plucked from your hands.

“Hey!” You exclaim, “Give that back!”

“I just want to see what could possibly hold your attention for this long.”

You groan to yourself. Of course. Henry. The object of all of your ire. The man your father wants you to marry. You couldn’t imagine a worse match – whilst he was objectively handsome, all of the young women fawning over him, falling over each other to impress him, he was so stuck up his own ass he could fold himself inside out if he wanted.

“They’re called books, perhaps you should try reading one sometime?” You speak, trying to grab your book from his hands as he flips through the pages.

“And end up like you?” He scoffs, throwing it back to you, “You need to get your head out of those pages and into the real world, you’re not getting any younger and soon, people are going to start wondering what’s wrong with you.”

“Like they don’t already?” You mutter, dusting off the cover and placing it carefully in the basket on the floor.

“Have you thought anymore about my proposal?” He asks, draping a thick arm across your shoulders as you try and walk away.

You groan, because his offer of marriage is all you’ve been able to think about. Or more importantly, how to say no without ruining the hard-fought relationships your father had forged with the most powerful family in town.

“It’s a big decision,” You say simply as you cross the bridge at the end of town, “I promise I’ll have an answer for you in a few days.”

You manage to slip away from his grip and close the small gate behind you, turning on your heel to jog as fast as possible into your home, all whilst he’s calling out to you. Regrettably, you’re not fast enough to miss the last thing he says before the front door slams.

“If you say no to me, no-one will have you!”

You let your head hit the back of the door, sucking in deep breaths to stop yourself from yanking open the door and telling him that nothing in the world would ever be enough to convince you to marry him.

“He isn’t wrong.” Your father’s voice startles you, your head turning to the door of his study.

“I beg you, not another word.” You demand, walking in the opposite direction, towards the kitchen.

“You’ve made him wait almost a week,” Your father’s heavy footsteps are clear behind you, “Any other woman would have fallen to their knees and agreed to the match.”

“Well, I’m not any other woman,” You huff, unwrapping the bread and cheese to set on the table, “I don’t want to marry him, papa.”

“Well, I’m afraid, young lady, you don’t have much choice,” He’s folded his arms across his chest, “I have worked too hard to get you under that family’s nose, and I will not let you throw that hard work away.”

“Is this all I was ever destined to be?” You exclaim, rounding on him, “Like a prize cow to be bartered and bought on the whim of men?”

“If your mother could see you now,” He mutters, “She would tell you exactly the same as I would.”

“You and I both know that’s a lie,” You speak softly, “You married each other because you were in love, she wouldn’t want this for me.”

He tries to embrace you, like he always does when he knows he’s about to force you to do something you don’t want to do, like it will make it better for you, easier for you to say yes. This time, you push him away, stepping towards the open window.

“I can’t keep you here much longer and you know it,” He sighs behind you, “Money is far too tight and if we aren’t careful, we won’t have a home much longer, you marry Henry, our debts are forgiven, you’ll be safe, warm with a home all of your own.”

“So now I am to be payment for your debts?” You snorted, “Raised only to be worth something to sell,” Your father tries to open his mouth, no doubt to convince you otherwise, but you truly see him for what he is, “I wish to be alone.” You speak finally, picking up your book and retreating to your room with a pointed slam of the door.

It is late. The sun set hours ago. You haven’t left your room all day, not even when your father insisted leaving a plate of food outside for you. All you can think in your mind is that you cannot stay here. You will not stay here. You will not be forced into a life you do not want, to marry a man you cannot stand. All you keep thinking, as you watch those stars twinkle in the sky, is what must be beyond the hills of this town. You think of all the people you haven’t met, all the experiences you haven’t had. You won’t trade those dreams for a life as Henry’s housewife.

As quietly as you can muster, you slip your cloak around your shoulders, tying it across your neck, pulling the hood up over your head. You find your satchel and make sure it has your book inside and the other few possessions you held dear. You slink from your room and into your father’s study, long abandoned by him for his bedroom. You find his inkpot and quill and scrawl a note on the paper he has left strewn across his workstation.

‘Gone to find my adventure.’

You slip quietly from the house and to the small stable where Phillipe, your father’s horse, is slowly chewing on some hay. You run your hand down his nose to soothe him, saddling him up and then leading him away from the house. It isn’t until you’re riding the trail into the forest that you finally feel the sense of freedom you had so craved. As Phillipe leads you further into the thick woods, you don’t once look back on the provincial life you’re abandoning. Eyes forward and onto the life you’d always wanted.

You ride through the night, following unfamiliar paths through the forest until you come out the other side. It’s still desolate, but now, in the low morning sun, it’s just rolling fields and hills, animals grazing and the sound of birds singing. A little while later, you can feel the tightening in your tummy, the pang of hunger, cursing that you hadn’t thought, in your haste to leave, to shove some of the bread you’d bought into your bag. Phillipe has also slowed in his speed; it won’t be long before he needs to drink some water and eat something either.

As you round a corner, a valley appears in front of you. The change in weather is stark, where you’re surrounded in bright sunshine and the start of the warmth from the early morning sun, the valley in front of you is clouded in dark grey clouds and you think you can make out the slight rumble of thunder. There is a voice in the back of your mind that tells you to turn back, to take the right at the crossroads from the forest and not the left you’d chosen, but wasn’t this the point of leaving? You take a deep breath and let Phillipe continue the ride down into the valley, wrapping your cloak as far around your body as you can as the temperature drops and the darkness envelops you.

You ride a little while longer, Phillipe becoming restless with the change in the air, when you stumble upon a great fence, covered in ivy and looking decidedly worse for wear. But this fence, in its wrought-iron glory, is a sign of a home, a grand one judging by the height. You can’t peer into the grounds, the ivy too dense to see through, but you guide Phillipe around its perimeter until you find gates, just a grand as the rest of the iron structure.

You let yourself down from Phillipe’s back, gripping the reigns so he continues to follow you. You try and pull at the gate, but it’s just your luck that it’s locked shut. You can, however, finally see into the grounds. They’re sweeping, some of the biggest gardens you had ever seen in your life. You can imagine that when they were cared for, they would have been magnificent, but they’re dilapidated, obviously long abandoned. In the distance, you can see a similarly magnificent castle. Incredibly big, with turrets and ivy growing over the brickwork, just like something from one of your books. You can’t see any lights that indicate it’s occupied, and you think that if you tried, you could fit through the gaps between the ironwork. It had to be worth a try, even if it was to seek some shelter whilst the storm that was clearly brewing was passing.

You take Phillipe’s reigns and tie him to the gate, promising that you’ll come back for him once you’ve deemed the castle a safe place to stay, although you’re pretty certain he’s not fitting through the gap in the ironwork, considering the amount you had to suck your body in to fit through.

It’s a long trek through the grounds of the castle. Each step of your foot bringing an increasing sense of unease over you. You try and tell yourself that it’s just the storm brewing, that it’s dark and clearly abandoned nature is what’s making you uneasy. When you finally reach the front of the castle, you pick the hem of your dress up and take the steps one at a time. You press a hand to the large wooden door and push, surprised that it opens without much effort. You let out a breath of relief. If someone lived here, surely, they’d keep their doors properly shut.

That relief is short-lived though. The castle is as much in need of love and attention inside as it is outside. Years of weather have damaged the windows, letting all sorts of foliage make home in this entry way. There is a grand staircase, with carpets that are sodden from rain, and a musky smell that somehow sends a chill up your spine.

“Hello?” You call out, listening to your voice echo through the large room.

You listen but nothing calls back to you. All you can really hear is the wind whipping through broken glass. You take a few more tentative steps forward, taking in the surroundings. There are side tables with candelabra sat on top. Trinkets of gold and silver. Grand paintings along the walls that are weathered from the elements, but there are some that catch your eye.

“Hello?!” You call out once more, louder this time, as you walk towards the wall of paintings.

Some of them are damaged, like they’ve been intentionally torn. Ripped through the likeness of the man that has been painted on them, but the rest, of women and other older men, remain intact. What had this particular man done to deserve this kind of ire? To have his likeness scratched out like this?

Your hand comes up to touch one of the damaged paintings – canvas flapping in a breeze from somewhere. The man in the painting is handsome, he looks young and fit and happy, standing with his foot on top of a deer that had been hunted. You wonder if this is the person who used to live here and what had happened to them, and everyone else, that made them leave.

“What are you doing in my home?”

The voice startles you enough to scream. You turn around, back pressed to the wall, chest heaving as you try and calm yourself down. Your eyes search through the darkness, trying to find where the voice had come from, but to no avail.

“I asked you a question.”

The voice in commanding, low and threatening, and now, pressed up against the wall, trying to make yourself as small and insignificant as possible, you almost wish you hadn’t left home. Fear thrums through your veins as you once again try to find the owner of the voice.

“I-I’m sorry,” You manage to force out from your throat, “I c-called out, d-didn’t know a-anyone lived h-here.”

You’re watching the ground when a foot, clad in black leather boots moves into the dim light that is cast through the broken window above you. It’s enough light that you can make out a little of the man’s silhouette. Tall, much taller than you, and broad, as commanding a presence as his voice makes him out to be, and yet he doesn’t move further into the light.

“Didn’t your parents teach you to knock?” He demands.

“The d-door,” You motion with your hand, watching as it shakes in front of you, “When I t-touched it, it just opened.”

“Bad manners will get you into danger, little dove,” He taunts, “You picked the wrong home to trespass on.”

“I’m sorry!” You exclaim, moving away from the wall and back the way you came, trying to make your escape, “I’ll leave.”

He is quicker than you are though. His hand envelops your wrist, much larger than your own, and drags you toward him. Your front collides with his own with the strength that he’s used to pull you to him. His frame is a solid as it seems, like hitting a brick wall.

“Another lesson your parents clearly forgot to teach you,” You look up to the voice but it’s so dark you still can’t make any of his features out, “When you do bad things, you have to be punished.”

You try and fight your way out of his grip but it’s no use. Whoever this man is in front of you, he clearly has the upper hand in strength and agility. But you aren’t going to go down without a fight. You continue pulling at your wrist, wrapping your free hand around the one that has you in a vice grip, digging your fingernails into his skin as you try and scream for help, but nothing seems to work.

You’re suddenly picked up and flipped over his shoulder like a sack of flour, which gives you the purchase to wriggle around. You ball your fists and take punches to his solid back, but all that does is create a dull throb in your hands.

“Put me down!” You scream, trying to kick your feet enough for him to lose his grip on your as he takes the stairs two at a time.

“I would advise you to keep still,” He speaks low and calm, “Unless you want to end up thrown over the railings.”

From your completely undignified vantage point you can tell he’s right. He’s keeping a grip on you but if you continue to wriggle, all that awaits you is a drop onto that cold concrete floor below. As he takes more steps upwards, all you can do is let the fear take over. Your body shakes as tears fill your eyes, dripping down onto the floor as this mystery brute takes you to God knows where.

It's colder up here, wherever here is. As he walks up yet more stairs, you make out the clear iron bars of cell doors. And your stomach drops. You wanted adventure and now all you get is a prison cell. You can hear him fiddling with a lock, before a creaking sound meets your ears and you’re unceremoniously dumped onto the floor. You try and crawl as fast as you can, hell bent on an escape, but yet again, your captor is faster than you are, shutting the door to the cell and clicking the lock to trap you.

“Please let me go!” You beg, hands clinging around the bars, “I didn’t steal anything, please let me go!”

He’s walking away, back down the spiral stone staircase he had come up. Silent and seemingly uncaring in your plight. You continue to call after him, even once his figure is long gone, hands pulling at the bars in an attempt to free yourself, but all clearly to no avail. You slump onto the damp floor and take some heaving breathes through your mouth, but nothing will calm the fear and dread coursing through you. How could this have gone so wrong? Not even a day’s ride from home and you’re captured, no-one will know where you are. Would anyone even come looking for you?

You continue to pull at the bars until your bones out, calling into the dark until you’re hoarse. Finally accepting your fate, that you’d been naive enough to walk into the first sign of shelter like it was your right, you curl up into a ball in a corner of the call further from the window and wrap your cloak around you, shivering until you fall into the most fitful sleep you’ve ever experienced.

tags : @sinsofsummers @dinsdjrn @tightjeansjavi @morning-star-joy @darkroastjoel @cavillscurls @cupofjoel @patti7dc @drewharrisonwriter

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