#it was such a struggle to keep this one short but i WILL do it. it will stay below 3k words. i promised myself this | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

luvyeni · 1 day

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𐙚 : THINGS YOU DO THAT RILE THEM UP (request) ֶָ֢ !

request: riize and small things reader does and gets them riled up by accident?

authors note. i hope you like it 🩶!!!

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

𐙚 : SHOTARO ֶָ֢ !

when you're clingy and needy for him , he loves that shit, not even in a sexual way , just when you just want his attention in anyway — he's harder than ever.

"taro." he smiled hearing your whiny voice. "taro give me attention." he chuckled, he loved when you act like this, calling his name whining, pawing at his arm, he could feel himself getting hard— and you didn't even do anything really. "come here baby." he pulled you into his arms. "this is what you wanted." you nodded , as he rocked you back and forth. "yes." he kissed his cheek. "so cute baby." he moved down to your neck. "always so needy baby." you felt his hand going down your sides, down to your waist. "ju-just wanna cuddle." his hands going into your shorts. "we can cuddle baby, just let me touch you a little." you moaned out as he cupped your cunt. "so wet baby." he chuckled.

"i love when you're needy for me baby, makes me so hard."

𐙚 : EUNSEOK ֶָ֢ !

your attitude, give him any bit of attitude and he's horny and ready to fuck — he loves a brat; he loves to fuck it right out of you.

you made one mistake— one and he'd start lecturing you , going on and on about nonsense in your opinion. "look at you." he said. "you aren't even listening to me." he said. "i am , i am i promise." you rolled your eyes, it had been an hour and he was still going. what you didn't see is eunseok smirk , watching your eyes roll. "you really love rolling those eyes don't you." he said. "keep giving me attitude, keep doing it." you heard the darkening in his voice , how could he be getting hard at this. "you're a freak." you scoffed , getting up to leave the room, only to be thrown back on the bed by your boyfriend. "eunseok!" you exclaimed. "shut up." he said, you immediately shut up. "tired of having to talk to you about the same shit everyday." he grabbed your cheeks. "and that fucking attitude."

"you're lucky this shit turns me on, gonna fuck this attitude right out of you"

𐙚 : SUNGCHAN ֶָ֢ !

wearing his clothes— sungchan will go weak seeing you in his shirts , his sweatpants anything really but it really makes him hard when you're wearing one of his shirts with nothing but panties on.

getting ready for the night , drying your hair off while sungchan played on his phone waiting for you to get done so you can sleep. "baby." you heard your boyfriend whine out. "come on , i need you to sleep." you laughed , hearing him shuffling around on the bed. sungchan climbed off the bed , walking into the bathroom. "what's taking so lo—" his voice got caught in his throat as his eyes traveled down your form at your clothes, or lack thereof. you were wearing one his shirts , your arms were lifted so he could see you were wearing a pair of black underwear, your ass peaking out from the bottom. "channie?" you questioned he abrupt stopped— he didn't say anything, striding over to you, picking you up sitting you on the counter of the sink. "you're so hot in my clothes." his cock pressing against your lightly clothed cunt, you let out a whimper.

"gonna need another shower after i pump you full of my cum."

𐙚 : WONBIN ֶָ֢ !

playing with his hair is a sure way to get him hard; it doesn't matter if you're doing in unintentionally or on purpose , it's gonna get him hard.

sitting in between your legs , watching tv when he felt your hand go up to his head— letting out a sigh as he felt you fingernails scratching his scalp as you scrolled through your phone unaware that he was struggling to keep himself together, his cock chubbing up in his sweats , desperate to be touched. "ba-baby." he stuttered , fuck he felt like he was gonna cum untouched. "baby stop." he grabbed your hand, you looked up from your phone, confused. "you okay wonie?" he shook his head. "what's wrong baby?" you said ,concerned laced in your voice. "you know i love when you play in my hair baby." you finally heard the desperation in his voice. "are you hard?" he whined , turning around. "please baby."

"i need you to pull on my hair while im fucking you."

𐙚 : SEUNGHAN ֶָ֢ !

when you're laying in bed , in a comfortable pair of shorts and a tank top, no makeup , doing whatever you do— that makes him the horniest, your natural beauty.

coming home from a long day, sighing as he take his shoes off, the stress of the day weighing on him; slowly melting off as he walked to his room, hearing your laugh at something on tv. he smiled before he seen your face, opening the door to where you were, you immediately turn to him with a big smile on your face. "hannie." he dropped his bag , immediately throwing his body on yours. "hi princess." he inhales your scent. "long day baby?" he nodded, his hand coming up to your face, caressing your cheek. "im okay now that im here with you." he took in your clothes, his cock getting hard. "so gorgeous baby." he kissed you, grinding against you. "you look so pretty like this." you moaned out. "fu-fuck hannie." you mewled. "i got you baby don't worry." he whispered.

"gonna make you feel so fucking good, just lay there and look pretty like you always do."

𐙚 : SOHEE ֶָ֢ !

your scent— i don't think i've said this a lot , but sohee definitely is a perv and can get hard with just about anything that has something to do with you, but the smell of your shampoo or your body wash really gets him going.

fresh out the shower, hair washed ready to get into with your boyfriend who was waiting arms open to cuddle up with you. "come to papa." you cringed. "never say that again." you climbed into bed. "why are you embarrassed?" you nodded. "very." you opened your letting him fall into your arms. "my big baby." sohee inhaled your scent, the vanilla scent filling his nose, a shiver cascading down his spine, he could feel his cock hardening in his pajama pants. "sohee , are you hard." you chuckled. "baby you smell so good ." he whined. "so fucking good." he moved down to your stomach , kissing it. "need to taste you." he spread your legs open, kissing your thighs. "fu-fuck sohee." you moaned , gripping his hair when his nose brushed against your clit. "fuck baby your pussy smells so good." he licked your clothed cunt, moaning.

"your pretty pussy tastes just as good as she smells."

𐙚 : ANTON ֶָ֢ !

when you praise him— i believe in dom anton , but sometimes doms need to be praised too, and it doesn't even have to be sexual, you can tell him could job for opening the pickle jar for you and he's ready to fuck.

not saying anything, taking the jar out your hand , lifting you on the counter. "wh-what are you doing." you stuttered as he feverishly left kisses on your neck. "say it again." he said , working on the buttons on your pants. "what?" you moaned as he began to rut his hips, his hard cock rubbing against your heat. "go-good job." he groaned. "fuck that sounds so good coming from you." his hand coming up to your boobs, giving it a squeeze. "fuck anton, keep going please." you moaned, he pulled his cock from his pants giving it a few tugs, pulling your panties to the side. "please, put it in." you guided his length to your dripping hole. "fu-fuck you're so wet." he sighed, losing himself as your walls tightened around him. "fu-fuck say it again." he moaned. "fuck ton- go-good job, please keep fucking me." he moved faster. "fuck im gonna cum."

"i want you to keep telling me that while im fucking you."

©️LUVYENI

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vbecker10 · 2 days

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Loads of Fun

Laundry Day (Loki x female reader Y/N)

How Could This Not Fit?! (Loki x fem reader Y/N)

Pairing: Bucky x female reader (Y/N)

Summary: Bucky doesn't want to admit that he hasn't quite gotten used to all the new technology since he was freed from the Winter Soldier and his latest issue is with the dryer. Y/N catches him mid-struggle with the machine and comes to his rescue.

Warnings: some light swearing, feeling a tad useless and old, Bucky struggling hard with the laundry, Y/N being super awkward

A/N: So in Laundry Day (linked above) I wrote an off hand little comment about how much laundry Bucky needed to do and @alexakeyloveloki comment inspired me to write a short fic about it so... enjoy 💚

This is not the same Y/N from Laundry Day & How Could This Not Fit?!, this is a different one. Apparently a bunch of women in the Tower have the same name as you (haha sorry that's dumb but I wanted them both to be Y/N fics so here we are)

"Oh.... I messed up," you close your book and get up from the couch quickly as you suddenly realize it's almost midnight. You had meant to only read one more chapter but you had gotten lost in your book as always.

You grab your detergent from the closet, drag your overflowing laundry hamper to the door and slide on a pair of flip flops. "Every freaking time," you mumble to yourself as you open the door. Once again, you put off doing laundry until you completely ran out of clothes.

The elevator doors open and you step out into the basement. "At least no one should be down here," you think out loud thankfully.

You had tried to do your laundry this morning but you gave up on that idea as soon as you opened the door. Loki's girlfriend was sitting on top of one of the dryers with her legs around his waist. You put your hand on the door and shake the images of the two of them away, you don't need that to be stuck in your brain.

"Damnit," you whisper as you freeze completely, the door halfway open. Bucky has his back to you as he stares at the dryer, unaware of your presence. You had developed a crush on the super soldier and decided the best way to handle it was to avoid him at all cost like any other mature adult. You were terrified that you might say or do something embarrassing so you thought your best option was to never be alone with him.

You sigh, knowing you're out of underwear and options so you open the door the rest of the way. Before you can say anything to him, the dryer Bucky is focused on begins to beep loudly.

"I don't know what you want from me," he says to it, his voice full of frustration.

He opens the door and the sound stops, you are both completely still but as soon as he closes the door it begins again. He pushes the button on the panel to start the dryer but the beeping continues.

"Why are you so complicated?" he asks the machine, clearly unaware that he is no longer alone. He pushes another button that does nothing to quiet the sound then he groans loudly, nearly ripping the door off the hinges with his metal arm.

"Do you need help?" you ask quietly from behind him.

He closes the door quickly as he turns around to face you. You can see the frustration in his expression turn to embarrassment when he realizes you were watching him. As he opens his mouth to answer you, the dryer starts to beep again.

He pulls the door open and turns towards you again. With a look of utter defeat he says, "I think it hates me."

You cover your mouth to keep from giggling at the fact that a super soldier is losing a battle with an appliance. There is no need for you to add insult to injury, you think, but he does look like he is in desperate need of a hug.

You walk over to him and drag your hamper in front of an empty machine. "I'm sure it doesn't hate you," you reassure him with a smile and he shrugs, clearly not believing you.

"Can I take a look?" you ask pointing at the dryer and he nods, moving away from it as if it might explode at any second.

"You can try but I'm telling you, this one is evil," he laughs nervously.

"I think I can handle it," you try to sound sure of yourself. "Oh, I'm Y/N, by the way," you suddenly decide to introduce yourself as you close the door.

"I know," he answers and you turn your head to look at him over your shoulder, the beeping continuing. "You work for the IT department," he says and you feel yourself blushing. "I've seen you around the Tower a few times."

"Yep, that's me," you respond, trying not to sound as if your internally screaming. He remembers my name? When did we even talk? I definitely would remember if we talked. Focus, focus, you yell at yourself, you've been staring at him for too long.

"Well, they don't train us to handle haunted appliances but I think I can handle this one," you say then immediately cringe. Why do I talk? You think, this is why I avoid him.

Your thoughts are interrupted by Bucky laughing. You turn towards your new favorite sound and he smiles at you as he leans on a nearby washer.

Ok, you think to yourself, time to show off and fix this stupid thing. You check to see what settings he's used but they all look right. Well, there's that, you think a bit annoyed but you're determined to figure it out. Suddenly you get an idea.

"Sometimes these things get weird when they are unbalanced or too full," you explain as you open the door and bend down. You reach in to level things out. A second too late you realize your holding a pair of his damp boxers and throw them back inside.

"Yep, these look fine," you close the door quickly and stand up, hoping he didn't notice but you can tell he saw you pick them up. "No. I mean... not that the boxers look fine, just like the load is fine. I- I'm just gonna..." you say, as you turn to face the dryer again. "I'm gonna die," you whisper as you rub your face with your hands. Good job dummy, you managed to make this even more awkward.

"Damn dryer is going to beat both of us," he says after a moment of continuous beeping and you can't help but agree with him.

"I think you might be right-" you pause, your eyebrows scrunching as a blinking red light catches your attention. "Has this been blinking the whole time?"

"I think so," he guesses. "Is that important?"

You sigh and nod, "It means I'm an idiot."

He tilts his head, his arms folded across his chest as he watches you open the dryer door again. You pull open the small door at the bottom and groan. He walks closer to see what you are doing but you don't notice until he leans over your shoulder.

"What is that?" he asks and you jump at how close his voice is to your ear. "Sorry," he laughs. "Thought you knew I was in here."

"Yea I just thought you were over there," you wave you hand towards where he had been and almost hit him in the face with the back of your hand. He dodges it easily and laughs lightly as you cover your mouth. "I'm so sorry," you mumble from under your hand.

"Its fine, you missed," he says with a grin. "So what's wrong with it?"

You pull out the lint trap and show him, "This thing is full so it won't run until we empty it." His expression tells you he has no idea what it is so you explain how a lint trap works and that if you don't clean them out you could potentially start a fire.

"Oh," he responds. "Wouldn't it be helpful if the stupid thing said that's what was wrong with it instead of just beeping?"

"It did," you groan then point to the light that is no longer blinking. "That's what the little light was for."

You wait for him to be stunned by your stupidity. You work for the IT department at Stark Industries, the most technologically advanced company in the world and you barely fixed a not broken dryer. You turn it on for him then turn your attention to finally loading your clothes into the washer.

Instead of responding the way you think he will, he sighs and takes a seat. "I don't understand any of this new technology," he admits.

You turn over your shoulder to look at him and see that he seems defeated again. "Don't worry," you try to make him feel better. "Stark likes new toys. He gets all the fanciest tech, no one knows how to use this stuff."

"I don't know how to do anything," he rests his elbows on his knees and leans forward. You turn on the washers and walk towards him. "Nothing is simple anymore."

"What do you mean?" you ask as you sit in the empty chair next to him.

"Everything is a computer now and the whole building talks. The fridge has more technology in it than the last car I drove, the toaster is voice activated, hell even the sinks are motion sensors," he says, his eyes focused on his hands as he talks.

You cover your mouth quickly to hide your laugh but it slips out. He looks at you and you lower you hand to ask, "I'm sorry but... who told you the toaster was voice activated?"

"Sam," he says then his eyes widen, "It's not is it?"

"No," you shake your head and can't hold back your laughter.

He groans, lowering his head again, "I'm gonna kill him."

"You didn't really believe him did you?" you ask in disbelief.

"I spent five minutes yelling 'toast' at it this morning before he said it was probably updating," he admits, covering his face with his metal hand.

You smile and imagine him getting more and more annoyed at the poor little appliance.

He sits up, resting the back on his head on the wall behind you. "I just don't know why everything is so complicated," he says and you suddenly feel guilty for laughing.

"I'm sorry," you tell him, looking down at your feet. "Have you tried talking to Steve about getting you up to speed on some things?"

"I don't want to keep bothering him every time I can't turn on a light or get ice out of the fridge," he says. "Steve adjusted fine so I just have to keep trying to figure all of this out."

"Who told you Steve adjusted well?" you ask before you can stop yourself.

He looks at you but doesn't answer so you continue talking. "I was part of the team that helped wake him up. Trust me, he freaked out plenty of times and he was confused by pretty much everything in the beginning."

He shakes his head, "I didn't know that, it's one of the only things we've never really talked about."

"I'm sorry we didn't have a team prepped for you when you joined. I guess we just sort of figured you had been awake a lot more than Steve," you say. "As the uh... other guy," you add awkwardly, trying to avoid calling him the Winter Soldier.

"Technically I was but..." his voice trails off and his flesh hand covers his metal hand as he looks down.

"The other guy didn't do much cooking or laundry, did he?" you ask, finishing his thought.

"No," he answers.

After a short silence you say, "If you want, I can help get you up to speed. A lot of the tech around here is actually pretty easy to use, if you know what your doing."

"You don't have to waste your time," he shrugs. "I'll figure it all out."

"Helping you wouldn't be a waste of time," you tell him with a smile. "Besides, I have a lot of free time. I pretty much do nothing but read when I'm not working so I'm always around if you need me," you add and groan internally. Try to make it sound like you don't have a life at all, good job, you think.

He smiles and makes eye contact with you, "That would be really helpful, thanks."

You get lost in how his smile lights up his face but the long beep of the dryer finishing thankfully means you don't stare at him until it gets awkward. He gets up to empty the machine and you grab your book from the top of the washer before sitting back down. As you open the book he sits next to you again.

"Oh," you close the book and look up. "Sorry, I thought- you don't have to stay down here. I've got a while left until it'll be done."

He looks at the time left on the washer and says, "I just thought we could talk for a bit but... if you would rather read, I can leave you to it."

"I can read this later," you smile. You mean to gently toss the book on the table used to fold laundry but you over shoot and it hits the floor, sliding away from you. You cover your face with your hands and get up.

"I've got it," he laughs. He places the book on the table and sits next to you.

"I'm not usually a disaster," you tell him and he chuckles. "Actually, I kind of am. That's why I'm way better off with books and the tech stuff then with people," you admit. "I always do something stupid or say something weird," you feel yourself shrink back in your chair.

"I think it makes you interesting," he replies with a smile. "I'm never quite sure what you're going to say or do."

You laugh nervously, "Me neither." A second later your brain turns on, wait did he say I was interesting?

"There is actually one thing you could help me with now, if that's ok?" he asks, keeping you from focusing too much on what he had just said. He takes out his phone, "I think there's something wrong with it."

He hands it to you and you almost drop it when your fingers touch, "Ha, I've got it. Sorry." You open the settings and start looking for usual problems but things seem fine. You look up at him, "What's wrong with it?"

He smirks and says, "It doesn't have your number."

"Wow," you can't help but laugh. "That was really smooth."

He laughs and says, "I'm a bit out of practice but I thought that was good."

"It was," you blush and add your number before handing him back his phone.

He looks at it then back at you and says, "Okay, but seriously, how do I text you cause I'm not sure how exactly to do that."

I hope you liked this!! Please like, share and comment if you did 💚💚

(I don't have a Bucky tag list yet so sorry my Loki list didn't get a choice lol)

@soubi001 @michelleleewise @harlequin-hangout @ace-of-gay @xorpsbane @mochie85 @sheris532 @lokiswife-dark-fox-queen @lokiandbuckysdoll @winterfrostlovetriangle @cabingrlandrandomcrap @stupidthoughtsinwriting @mjsthrillernp @lulubelle814 @goblingirlsarah @janineb86 @alexakeyloveloki @siconetribal @jiyascepter

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emacrow · 19 hours

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Babysitting duty calls, Klarion

It another world threatening battle for the justice league, young justice against the league of Villains and chaos children before most of the chaos children froze as if they sense something bad was approaching and immediately dipped out.. except klarion whom was fighting with raven who immediately froze up too late in front of the portal.

Only for a green portal to appear, as a worned out floating glowing green, but blue skinned teenage boy who turn into a man with red eyes, a clock staff in hand and a glowing white hair baby in a baby carrier.

Klarion is literally struggling like a feral cat who got wet in cold water against some invisible force speaking in some odd static like language before giving up after half a minute when the man spoke back with a short word.

The man now just shape-shifting into turn elderly just gave klarion the baby carrier before noticing how the heroes and villains have stop in mid battles looking at both klarion and him.

"All in soon time, but be warn Flashes whom break the laws of times will get their due if you keep messing with the past and future." Spoken the elderly now shape-shifted into a young boy before he turn back to klarion leaving him a note and glowing baby bag before floating back into the swirling green portal.

Klarion could only look at note with his eye twitching, Teekl meowing as she climb into the baby carrier purring around the glowing baby.

"Why do I keep getting babysitting duty, it so unfa-..." klarion grumbled as he pick up the baby carrier and bag teleporting away..

....

"What just happened?" Said Dick whom only one question would be put on hold til later in the watchtower of what just happen before the fight resuming with the young and original justice league winning since the league of Villains were distracted.

#dp x dc crossover #danny is the ghost king #danny phantom #dpxdc #dc x dp #dc x dp prompt #de aged danny #klarion the witch boy #klarion doesn't want babysitting duty after the last time #sadly he unable to avoid his fate in time #clockwork is a overworked tired papa who want a break from raising his de-aged balance of world godling who just got reborn after his death #he just want a break and a nap but he don't trust the observants for nothing after the supposedly last incident that will never come in time #the chaos children don't want babysitting duty again and avoid it like the plague #klarion is secretly a softie toward this lil being of balance but he has a reputation to hold that got shattered instantly #after Danny's death of old age then he become godling of balance of the infinite realms but he need to be raise to control his powers #whoms better to babysit the godling of balance then the chaos children who can have to cause chaos to keep the balance in check #chaos is keep balance in check while balance keep chaos from spreading depending on the luck #clockwork picks klarion as the best stable babysitter after viewing potential futures if he were to choose the other chaos children instead #clockwork is the big badass time god and the chaos children respect but mostly fear him #young justice #justice league

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ghouljams · 2 days

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A deal is struck between you and Soap. One round to get you out of his system and he'll leave you alone.

Cw: piv sex, mean dom Soap, fae magic, afab!reader, mild dubcon bordering on cnc at the end

Fae are often curious about you, but you have to admit Soap takes the cake. He follows you around like a dog on a short leash. It's maddening. You have no privacy and no recourse to send him on his way. After all the fae don't help without expecting something in return, and the police hardly seem bothered by the stalking. As always you have to take matters into your own hands.

You ask him what he wants, because you can't decipher the tangled web that seems to drift around him like a cloud and it takes him a moment. Fae get that question a lot you suppose, and they're so particular about language. It's why you're good at your job and get so few complaints, what you traded your eyes for.

"I want you," he says finally. You catch the spark of a want, lust that's sucked back into the mire of him. You can do that, though it's a little annoying.

"You just need to get me out of your system," you tell him, watching something crumble in his eyes. His brows draw together, his lips draw down, he does a good show of looking upset.

"I don't want you-"

"If I sleep with you, will that work?" You ask, no time for whatever nonsense he's going to try and weave. It perks him up, makes him nod like he can't do it quick enough. You hold up your hand to stop him, "you get one round, then you gotta leave me alone."

Soap mulls it over. You can see the way his lips purse, his tongue running over his teeth. He holds his hand out.

"Deal." He nearly drags you across the bar when you take his hand.

"You came, thats-" you sob out a moan, your eyes rolling as your back arches and your hips force themselves down onto Soap's cock, "-That's one."

"Oh no bonnie," Soap grins, grabbing your hips and pulling you down like a toy, fucking his thick cock up into you and hitting just the right spot each time, "the round's nae over until one of us taps oot."

You dig your nails into his shoulders, squeeze your eyes shut against the pleasure that he fucks into you. It feels electric, your stomach clenches, your pussy clenches, your body is desperate for more. The arch of your back forces you to lean closer to him, keeping the angle just right as you struggle against your traitorous body's desire for more. Soap takes the opportunity to lean up and drag his teeth over your nipple, catching the bud in his mouth and sucking hard. You gasp and feel your rhythm falter. Soap's hips still piston into you, but the gap in your hiccuped wailing makes him growl.

He pulls out, spins you around, forces your face down into the sheets and smacks his cock against your cunt. "No tappin' out hen," he tells you, sheathing himself inside you in a single hard thrust, "ya want this as much as I do." Your moan is high and tight. Your cunt aches, your insides battered and throbbing for more. Everything is tight, tight, tight. Your breath comes quick, gasps between moans, everything is wet and wonderfully painful, pleasureably painful. Too much and yet you still want more, more, more.

Soap smacks your ass, rubs his hand over the sting when you press into it. His hand slides to push your shoulders down, muttering for you to arch your back, but you can't, not when he makes you want to run with every perfect thrust. Soap's body blankets you, his thick thighs cage your own, his broad chest presses against your back, and he hooks his arm under your chin to pull your teeth from the blankets. You are well and truly pinned when his other hand sneaks between your legs to rub your clit in quick tight circles.

The come dripping out of you, forced from your cunt with each snap of Soap's hips, provides ample lubrication, and makes your cheeks burn. He flexes, chokes you between his bicep and forearm, toying with your clit while he fucks you. You may as well have handed him a manual on how to make you come. It should have happened by now, should have shuddered through you, but you rest just at the precipice of it, whining and whimpering when you aren't gasping and groaning. Soap kisses your temple, your eyes find his, that awful ice blue shining with something you can't put a name to. Pride, maybe.

"You don't come until I tell you to," he says it like a law, it feels like one. You whine, reach to push your hands weakly against his muscular, hairy, thighs, just for a second of reprieve.

"No-o," you whine, you're drooling, dripping from your cunt and your lips. Soap licks his tongue across your mouth, spreads your slick folds with his fingers and pinches your clit.

"Yes," he coos, "you want to don't ya?" You can feel the undercurrent of the question, the monkey's paw of dealing with the fae. But you do. You do. You're so tight and wet and wanting, you want to come, you want to fell apart for him, you want to be good and give him what he so desperately seems to need. And then you can wash your hands of him. One round to get it out of his system, that was the deal.

"Tell me you're mine," he murmurs, "tell me you're mine hen and you can come."

"Yours." Its out of you before you can even think the word, fucked out you, your body a cock-drunk traitor, "yours, yours." You sob it, scream it, tiny knots loosen inside your chest and the feeling floods you.

You stiffen, your voice and breath caught in your throat as something choked rips through you. Your muscles shake with it, you heart beating like a drum as pleasure crashes down into you. Soap fucks you through it, keeps you full of his cock while your cunt clenches and tries to suck him through another orgasm.

Soap groans, and you feel heat flood you a second time. Your eyes roll back, a shiver going up your spine as it burns against your aching cervix. He pulls back, his cock drags against your overworked, gummy, walls and it's bliss. The gentle stretch, the punctuated ripple of heat when he bumps against your g spot, it's a welcome reprieve. Until he thrusts back inside.

"Can't, no-" You don't think Soap heard you, too busy dragging his stubble against your neck, mouthing at your jaw. You're pushed over another cliff, your pussy squeezing so tight around Soap's cock you think you can feel ever vein on that beautiful thing. He groans, the sound low beside your ear and dangerously intoxicating.

"What did I say love?" He reminds you, "we go until you tap out."

#cod x reader #x reader #x oc #cod x oc #john soap mactavish #johnny mactavish #john mactavish x reader #soap mactavish x reader #soap mactavish #soap mw2 #soap cod #soap x reader #fae!soap #1fae1 #f!reader #oc: moon

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hidtired · 2 days

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Unfortunate Timing [Part 2]

(Daryl Dixon x Reader) Masterlist

Description: You found out your pregnant early into your relationship with Daryl Dixon. To make matters worse? The apocalypse happens a few days later! (not fully canon)

4.2k words

Warnings (Pregnancy, gore, abuse, violence, fluff, walking dead stuff, ect.)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 etc.

A single moment can change your life, change the world. Everything only seemed to get worse. The quarry was a group of survivors that had formed. You and the Dixons were outcasts, at least it felt like it. The girls seemed to see you in low regard being pregnant. The men were no better. They saw you as a burden. The feeling of people talking behind your back stressed you out. Being pregnant also didn’t help. You felt tired all the time, also being plagued with morning sickness. Which is a stupid name when it happens all day. Throwing up in a world were food is now limited also leaves you uneasy.

You also see that stress weighing on Daryl. It wasn’t long ago he struggled with the fact of having a kid. Now seemed even more terrifying. He was becoming short tempered, to his credit only snapping at you once but regretted the way he almost made you cry. “No! I won’t take a break I have to keep going out there for food! You’ve been throwing up half the shit I’ve already gotten for you!”

He didn’t mean for it to sound like your wrong for doing so, he knew you couldn’t help it. He saw the glassy film come to the corner of your eyes. His heart tugged. You were in your tent you shared, sat on the sleeping bag with your head shamefully down. “No, no. Come on…” he angled your face back up to met his. He sank to his knees in front of you. “I know you can’t help it. M’ just trying to say you need more. I just want to make sure you’re gettin enough.” You had asked him to stay because he was rarely around. He was out alone looking for food and you couldn’t help but see every time he came back a little more on edge. He was getting into his head to much out there.

He knows you’re having a hard time. With being pregnant at this moment in time how could you not. You had tried to talk to the mothers of the camp for advice on anything, they didn’t bat an eye to you. You had looked for support and were denied it. He saw that you were being treated like a Dixon. Something he was familiar with, and something Merle also understood. Merle became more chill around you. No more sexual comments or sexist remarks. Doesn’t mean he is any less better to be around. He treated you like a sister you thought. He still was an ass. Making mean comments or complaining about something you did. But he had become family.

Andrea was your biggest pain. She seemed like she had something to prove. She hated the traditional female roles that had been pushed onto the girls. You understood her disliking for Merle but she attached that to Daryl and you as well. She didn’t say outright mean things but subtle jabs. Week after week it was chipping at your demeanor.

So here you are now, you think almost 3 months pregnant. Seeing Daryl was the highlight of whenever he appeared. You sat in your tent with him getting ready for his 2 day hunting trip for a deer he knew was near by. He signed feeling your eyes on him, “Yer breakin my heart with that look.” Your smiling face replacing your sulking one, “I’m just missing you already.” You stood up, “You should see something before you go.” He turned to you questioningly. You pulled your shirt up over your stomach and turned to the side, “I know I haven’t seen myself in a mirror for a while but, I think I’m showing?” You looked up from your little bump that you could see spotting the surprised face he was making. He gulped before talking, “Ya sure are…” he walked closer placing a hand to your tummy. You saw his teeth were clenched. He felt the weight of pressure crushing him,

“We are doing are best, that’s all I could ask form you.”

He left for his hunt a little less stressed. You also saw Merle off later into the day with the first group run to the city. “Hey do me a favor and don’t get yourself killed.” Merle turned to you, “And have those freaks naw on m' sweet ass?” You chuckle as you walk away, “Let’s just hope you remember your ass from your elbow!”

The day progress like any other. It had just become the afternoon when the sound of the radio chirped on. It cause some disagreement about making a sign to warn others about the city. You just went back to minding your own business. You helped boil water taking notice of Lori trimming her son’s hair. You spoke up noticing the displeased look on Carl's face, “Going for a mohawk Carl? Or maybe you’re thinking bald.” His nose scrunched up at the thought. You laugh at the reaction, “Bald people run faster.” Carl smiled, “Nuh-uh!” You shook your head and shrugged, “How do you know if you won’t try.” He looked to his mom, “I’d rather have hair than be faster!” He said it to his mom like he tried convincing her to not make him bald. Lori smiled at her son, “Ya me to, but if you keep moving you might be bald at the end of this.” He straightened and stilled, but he still spoke, “I hate haircuts…”

Shane came and sat down looking at you briefly. “One of these days you’ll be missing your mother’s hair cuts.” Carl rolled his eyes, "I'd like to see that day!" It had initially shocked you that Shane wasn’t Carl's dad. You always assumed for how close they were and how often they would walk into the woods together. Then it put a gross feeling into your mouth that his father had only recently died. Shane was his apparent best friend and coworker. But it wasn’t necessarily wrong, you just didn’t like to think about it often.

After finishing with boiling water you handed it to Carol. You felt sweaty and all around unpleasant. You needed a nap. You said to Carol that you were going to lay down if they needed to find you. You woke up to arguing. The group that went out had radioed saying there was a problem. Everyone was scared for their respective family that had gone to the city. You felt a pit form in your stomach. The hormones in your body already swarming causing you to be unable to control them. You picture what happened to your Aunt in front of you. Sometimes it still feels as if the blood was still on your face. The thought of knowing she was one of those things walking around somewhere. Maybe they all were already dead let her. You weren’t exactly thrilled about Merle as a person but, you knew deep down he was another person to help protect your baby.

You decided there was no use in stressing yourself, so you went and distracting yourself with chores. Laundry, moving fire wood to our fire pit, took a walk near the perimeter, which now leaves you here at the waters edge. You used the cool water to help with the swelling in your feet and ankles. Week after week you had the sense that being pregnant is going to really suck farther down the road. You fiddle with your knife while swaying your feet in the water. Lost in your own world when an echo starts to ring out throughout the quarry.

The car alarm got louder so you slipped your shoes on and walked back up to the camp. You saw a red car and Glenn standing outside of it. Shane opening the hood and pulling something to stop its beeping. People were yelling at him for answers when a van appeared, ‘so everyone made it back.’ It was a relief to stop the constant thought of the worse. You couldn’t help but notice Merle nowhere to be seen. But that thought was pushed aside when you heard Carl scream,

“DAD!”

You watched with a smile at the reunion of the Grimes family. Also taking notice of Shane making a weird face. He probably was feeling sick to his stomach and you thought it kinda deserved. He did persuade his grieving wife. The thought was interrupted by T-dog coming toward you with a concerned face. You clicked something was wrong, then started to look around. Merle was still no where. The sinking feeling of realization hit you. T-dog watch as understanding washed over you. A hand over your mouth, “W-where is Merle?” A few others turning at the mention, Lori’s husband taking the most notice. T-dog spoke first, “He was putting all of us in danger. He was cracked out of his mind.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, ‘I told him to behave.’ You inhale trying to calm yourself, “He dead?” T-dog shock his head. You nodded looking at all the pears of eyes on you. Your eyes were shiny but nothing fell. You huffed and walked back to your tent. While you were upset about Merle being gone it wasn’t about that. It proved how fucked this new world was becoming. A world your child would have to be in. Suddenly being pregnant with them seemed like the safest place for them. Your thoughts of how it would suck later in pregnancy and 'couldn’t wait for it to be over' stopped. Your child is the safest it will ever be in its life. That terrifying thought scared you.

It wasn’t until later when the sun began to set that you had calmed. It was cold and you wanted to sit by a fire. People were surprised when you appeared and sat with them. You had over heard parts about what happened to Rick. But at the sight of you got them talking about Merle. It was Dale who brought it up, “Who is going to tell Daryl Dixon about his brother?” Rick glanced to you then back to Dale, “I will. I’m the one who handcuffed him.” Then T-dog shook his head, “Nah I dropped the key, makes this one mine.” Based on that information you started to piece what happened on the run. That thought stalled to a stop when Glenn stated, “Not to make it about race but maybe a white guy should tell him?” Is that what they thought about Daryl? They just assuming he is like his brother? You huff in anger, “Really Glenn? He is not racist. He’s only the person that, you know, been feeding all of you.” Glenn turned sheepish at your harsh tone. You stood, “But you know, leave his brother for dead seems like a good trade for how much he has been doing for all of you people!”

You visible deflate mood switching on a dime. You move a hand to your small bump, “Sorry I know you probably had a good reason, Merle is a hard ass.” You sunk back down enjoying the fire too much to go to bed. Rick’s voice spoke calmly, “Your pregnant.” He stated it more as a realization. You look to his shocked face, clearly thinking of how unlucky a timing it was to be. You chuckled speaking sarcastically, “Keep up with those observations and you’re sure to make detective.” His eyebrows drawn in by thought, “Merle was the father?” Disgust washing over your face, “Ew. God I take it back.” Everyone was surprised at your blatant dislike for Merle. They knew Daryl was the dad. You start to clarify, “Daryl is the dad.” You took notice of there original reaction, “Look I don’t like Merle anymore then you probably do. Half the time I don’t think Daryl does either! But he is still at the end of the day my family now.”

Peoples lack of trying to talk to you has put there own version of you in there head. They thought you were quiet and jumpy. Questioning if they did talk to you they would do more harm then good like with Carol. Now the few talks they’ve had or heard from you made sense. You were out spoken and just tired from being pregnant. You stood up again feeling awkward. “I’m going to bed, figure out what to say to Daryl. Maybe watch out for a punch or two.” So you walked off to bed. You were happy you could see Daryl in the morning, but the thought of him learning of his brother broke your heart. You tossed and turned most of the night with the thought.

The light shining through your tent lead you awake. Still trying to cling to as much sleep while feeling drowsy. Then you heard Carl and Sophia screams. You sat up and tried to get to your feet causing a wave of dizziness. The shuffling of stomping feet telling you people were running over there. You slip on shoes taking a moment to become alright with gravity again. Amy and Andrea walking away when you walked over a voice caught your attention, “Its gotta be the brain, don’t youall know nothing?” You smiled glad Daryl is back. When you turn the corner however you weren’t expecting a walker and deer to be sprawled out dead on the floor. You made eye contact with Daryl when the smell of the walker pulled a gag from you. The smile being wiped from your face as a hand comes to your mouth. You immediately turned back around and walked away.

Daryl was well aware of how sensitive your senses have become. You can’t handle anything raw at the moment. He noticed a week into the quarry how you would look at something raw, something that never bother you before, and it would make you queasy. Speaking of raw he should probably get the squirrels ready. He sighed watching you walk away with a love sick hopelessness washed on his face. Something that people have never taken notice of before. So he called for his brother to help, so he could get to you sooner. That's when all hell broke loose.

You heard the calls for Merle hearing Daryl walk back. Then you saw all the guys surround him. Then you watched him place back and forth. You knew that was a coping thing he did so you decided to stand closer. By the time you had walked over he threw the squirrels he’d caught at Rick. You didn’t even have a moment to yell his name when the former policemen jumped him and pinned him. Shane putting him in a headlock and Rick getting in his face. You yelled in displeasure,

“Get the hell off him!”

It was the loudest anyone has heard you, also the angriest. Shane had glanced to you before releasing his hold on him. Daryl sprung back up frustration clear on his face. When he turned to make sure you were behind him you caught a glimpse of his eyes becoming glassy. T-dog chimed in from the earlier conversation you didn’t hear, “It’s not his fault, I dropped the key.” Daryl’s voice strained, “You couldn’t pick it up?!” T-dog looked down guilty, "Well, I dropped it into a drain. But before I left I chained the door shut." Daryl shock his head and started to back up, "That supposed to make me feel better! Hell with all of y'all, just tell me where he is so I can go an get him." You hated to see him upset. You weren't expecting Lori to pipe p and volunteering her husband to take Daryl there. Rick said he was planning to go back anyways saying it was wrong for anything to suffer like that. Shane being the typical hard ass and self employed leader strongly disagreed. With a few others joining it was decided, they were going to get Merle back.

You were finally alone with Daryl again. He still seemed riled over everything but also you could see he was getting emotional. He was turned around facing away from you. You slowly wrapped you arms around him, holding him from behind. He slowly turned into you resting his chin on your head and arms going over your shoulders. You felt him release air, sinking into you. He try's to hide it but you see he is exhausted. You saw he felt like he had to prove something to you, or maybe just to himself. He released you with avoided eye contact. He took a moment with you and collected himself but, he was still a man on a mission.

You watch as Daryl throw things into a bag and refusing to met your eye to avoid whatever look that would break his heart. They were about to take off back to the city and into danger, so you stopped Daryl by putting your hands to his chest. He spoke before you could, "Look I have ta go get him, I know you don't want me goin-" You cut him of by grabbing his face, "When you see him again you tell him I warned his dumb ass, and when you get him back here I'm going to chew him out for this!" He looked at you stunned. You use your grip on his face to drag him into a kiss, "And you better comeback here without a scratch!" He smiled at you, eyes soft, he kissed you again.

"Yes Ma'am."

They had left hours ago and you had that uneasy feeling again. You respected Rick more then anyone else at the camp and he just got here. He was a decent guy but feel bad watching Carl's worried expression. Lori even flipped that he was going right after she herself said he was. Mood swings on that girl, and your the one whos supposed to be pregnant. Jim was off digging which concerned a few. It led to him tided to a tree for his own safety. Granted it was the only eventful thing that would probably happen today. Unless a swamp monster dragged itself out of the water you and all the girls were doing laundry in. Although Ed was a close to one. It was a welcome distraction all the same. To have girl talk again was essential to any girl and none can say other wise. Most of the girls seemed like they could now talk to you and it was a relief.

Although Andrea kinda still sucks the life out of fun, "So how did you end up pregnant?" Most girls look over to her wet laundry in hand and displeased looks by the question. You tightly rung a shirt and looked at her in the eye, "Well, I think your a little old for the birds and bees talk." That gained an eye roll from her but chuckles from the others. You smiled before giving her the answer you are sure she was trying to dig for, "I found out a day before the fall." The thought making you think of your Aunt. You continued on anyways, "Daryl and I hadn't been dating that long I'll be honest, so it wasn't exactly planned. Then I thought it was the end of the world." You look around to the thoughtful faces around you and shrugged, "Turns out I was a day off on that though." It was lighthearted from there, mentions of things that they missed from before. Carols unexpected and less then innocent choice sent waves of laughter throughout the lady's. That fun was crushed by the swamp monster known as Ed.

It lead to something you didn't expect. His sexism rubbing everyone the wrong way. Making Andrea questioned what he did instead of sitting on his ass doing nothing. Which while true and agreed with it lead to him to try to take Carol away and most likely go hit her. When Andrea challenge Ed in doing so it left a sinking feeling in you. You were uncomfortable with confrontation, probably do with the way your parents had treated you. Even with the sinking feeling you try and pull Carol behind you. The exaltation of his action were unpredictable, "Think I won't hit some pregnant whore?!" That was the first swing. It almost fully landed grazing your cheek. Carol had used the arm you had on her to tug you back before he swung. The frightened yelps and yells grabbing the attention from those farther. Carol now stood slightly in front of you, your cold damp hand moving to your warmed cheek he clipped. Ed now focused on his wife slapping her and trying to drag her away but the other girl now stepping in and clung to her. You didn't even see Shane before he pulled Ed backwards and began to lay punch after punch into him. Everyone but Carol were stunned into silence. Carols cry's and the grunts coming from the men filled the air. So many Jim wasn't the only thing that was going to happen today.

Everything was tense after that. With the amount things gone wrong and the still missing members that went to the city, moral was low among the group. Later in the evening Amy and Andrea had gone fishing catching dinner. The sun drifted closer to fully set as the fish was cooked with one question still in there minds, 'Where were they?' The smell of the fish left you gagging and need for fresher air. You found you way back to the water to dip you again swollen feet. It wasn't a unusual thing you did, you did it often. Knife in hand and legs swaying in the cool water. The light dissipated making you aware you should get back soon. You had heard laughs by the camp so moral was rising from the stressful day. You used your cold hands to press to your reddened face from almost getting flattened out by Ed. Daryl would will not be happy about that. You had pulled you feet from the water shaking the water off them to put your shoes on. Then the day got even worse. A scream ripped threw the air making you turn to the sound. You see outlines of figures in the dark. You feel fear crash into you.

'Walkers...'

There were even two coming closer to you from the woods to the side of the water. They had almost snuck up on you if you hadn't looked around because of the scream. A tremble was in your hand as you gripped the knife you had. You slowly back away, hearing gunshots off in the air. Daryl had taught you this for this moment. He had grilled this into in fear that maybe he wouldn't be around to protect you. The first walker was a thin women, the other a male missing its arm and limping. You lunged the knife into the women's eye. Your knife breaking by the blade as the women fell over dead. The snapping of the metal was like slow motion, the other walker steps away from you. You step back bare feet getting hurt by the jagged rocks. You had looked down spotting a larger rock and hurriedly pick it up.

You remember the motions Daryl had showed you for self defense but had never practiced them with him. He didn't really like the idea of rough housing with his pregnant girlfriend even if it was for your defense. You reached and tugged the one arm the walker had and tripped the thing in the motion. It was flat on the floor about to get back up and grab at you. However, rock in hand you threw downward blows one after another even after the thing stopped moving. Blood splatting all over you shirt and down your arms. The buzz of adrenalin causing your hands to violently shake when you stopped swinging. The urge to cry was strong but you notice the now slue of gunshots that had increased stop. The silence broken by the yell and worried cry for your name.

"Y/N!!!"

Your body fluttered at the sound of Daryl. Still bare foot you ran up the gravel hill and yelling back to him with a emotional in your voice, "DARYL!!!" You had made it to the top getting to see him wipe around to your voice. His crossbow dropped to the ground as you both booked it toward each other. He didn't know what to think when he couldn't find you after the last walker fell. The inability to find you cracking a desperate hole into his chest. When he heard you and saw you running to him relief flooded him. As he ran panic rose again seeing you dripping in blood. Inches apart he heard your desperate sobs before crashing into one another. He pulled you off your feet lifting you into him. His voiced stuttered out, "Are you bit?! Are you ok?!" You voice quivering as you sucked in a breath. "I'm alright-t." He felt you shaking like a leaf and whispered into you, "I've got ya, nothin is gonna hurt ya." You had barred your face into his neck now crying in relief. Daryl helped you get cleaned up, that night you clung to him while everyone 'slept'. A moment can change everything, and it was clear to everyone after today.

They were no longer safe here and things were only going to get worse.

Part 3

Feedback welcome and requests open!

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#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl fanfiction #daryl imagines #daryl x female reader #daryl x reader #norman reedus #twd daryl #angst #fluff

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int3rnetprincess · 1 day

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guys guys guys listen…

pervy!stepmom!wanda who innocently offers you some wine after dinner, only so she can slip a few libido pills into your drink. she sees you start to change your position more frequently, your furrowed brows and foggy eyes struggling to focus on the movie.

you clear your throat, shaking your head hoping for some type of clarity. the more wine you had the more clouded your head became. wanda saw you try to move, assuming you’re going to put the drink down she places her hand on your lap, watching you squirm and stare at it.

“is there something wrong with the wine honey? It’s a shame you don’t like it, it’s one of my favourites.”

you quickly dismissed her words, saying it’s delicious and that you were just a lightweight. you take a big sip and hold the glass closely to your chest, shrinking further back into the couch. she smiles at your unconscious need to please her. you are so easy to manipulate, feeling guilty over every little thing.

you finish the glass, cheeks flushed and lips pink. your head was pounding and the ache between your legs was blinding. you figured it was because it was a warm night and that you were sitting next to Wanda, your stupidly attractive step mother.

you wanted to throw your head back in frustration. you didn’t want to get up and go to the bathroom, it would be the smarter option but purely because if you tried to do something under your blanket, you wouldn’t mind getting caught ૮꒰ྀི >⸝⸝⸝<꒱ྀིა

feeling bold, you do exactly what your thoughts tell you to, unaware that Wanda is discreetly watching your every move. your hand slides into your shorts, gasping when you feel how wet you really are.

“Are you okay, dear?” She shifts closer, arm swung over the couch and curving behind you to play with your hair, purposely pressing her breasts up against your arm. You bite your lip, rubbing yourself to the sound of her silky voice.

“I-I’m okay, I- ah..” You moan, your hips bucking into your own hand. You’re so far gone, you weren’t even aware of the sound you had just made. Or the wet sounds coming from your pussy. She looked at you pitifully, you were being so painfully oblivious she started to feel bad for feeding you all those pills.

She doesn’t say another word, gripping the blanket and pulling it off so quickly it makes you clamp your legs together in surprise. You yelp, ready to pull your hand out of your shorts before she stops you.

“Keep going.” She orders, making you look at her dumbly.

“what?” you ask breathlessly. your chest rises and falls quickly, legs twitching in anticipation. she holds your face in her hand, her red lips whispering against yours.

“I want you to touch yourself in front of me.”

#wlw #elizabeth olsen #wanda maximoff #mommy wanda #marvel mcu #marvel #mcu #sapphic #wanda x reader #elizabeth olsen x reader #wanda maximoff drabbles #idk man

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huggingkoalas · 1 day

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out of love

pairings natasha romanoff x fem!reader

synopsis natasha loses you three times in the worst way possible.

word count 6.5k

warnings angst, bad/angsty ending, mentions of alcohol consumption, breaking up, cursing, mentions of cheating, pet names, car accident, panic attacks, jealousy, medical rooms, amnesia, mentions of therapy

author’s note yes, this was a series. i’ve decided to make it into a oneshot instead because of how much this fic has actually emotionally affected me :') this fic means a lot to me, but it’s also a constant reminder of someone really dear to me that i lost recently. i’ve lost count of how many times i cried while writing the ending, and i’m so sorry if the ending seems rushed </3

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Natasha was always full of confidence, loyalty and fierceness. She never backed down from a fight, especially excelling in close hand-to-hand combat where her ability was nothing short of intimidating. Ruthless and exceptionally efficient and skilled at her job, she struck fear into anyone who had the misfortune to cross the Black Widow’s path.

But that was at work. And at home? There was a big difference. While her enemies were always on their knees at the end of a fight, begging her for mercy to spare their lives, she was the one on her knees this time. Natasha Romanoff — one of the founding members of the Avengers, an agent of S.H.I.E.LD., and a professional assassin, your wife — was on her knees, begging for forgiveness.

“I’m sorry, moya lyubov’ (my love). Forgive me, please.” She begged, tears gathering in her eyes.

Your shadow loomed over the kneeling redhead. Holding your breath and trying to keep your tears at bay, you pursed your lips together, not trusting yourself to speak in a steady voice.

“Please, I’ll do anything.” With trembling hands on her lap, Natasha glanced up at your face. She couldn’t control a sob breaking out from her throat as she saw the saddened expression on your face.

“Am I… not important to you anymore?” You spoke in a quiet voice.

“I...-” With eyes filled with tears, she struggled to find the right words to explain herself. Despite her usual strength and confidence, Natasha looked vulnerable, almost broken, before you.

“Where were you tonight? Drinking with Banner and Thor again?” You asked with a shaky breath.

The answer was already clear before Natasha even spoke. There was a faint smell of alcohol lingering in the air, a reminder of her downward spiral in recent months. It pained you to witness the transformation, to see the woman you loved slipping further and further away with each passing day. Over the past two months, Natasha had been arriving home late consistently, often in an intoxicated state. Her presence during mornings and evenings became a rarity, and you would find yourself sleeping alone in the shared bed at night, longing for the warmth of her presence. Despite consuming a large amount of alcohol the night prior, Natasha would, without fail, rise early for work the next day.

You missed snuggling up beside her after a long day, your head in the crook of her neck as you smelled the vanilla shampoo in her hair. You missed the closeness, of feeling her heartbeat against your chest and the softness of her breath against your skin. These days, the smell of alcohol replaced the comforting and familiar scent you were used to.

While Natasha’s current vulnerability was a display of her remorse and pain you’d never seen before, you wanted another kind of vulnerability — one where she was there for you, where she prioritised you first. You longed for her comfort, her reassurance as she held you close and whispered words of love in your ear.

With an exhausted sigh, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of even more disappointment at the sight of the two untouched plates of home-cooked beef stroganoff on the dining table. The tantalising aroma of the beef stroganoff now made you nauseous. It bitterly reminded you and mocked you of your meticulous efforts to please your wife. The once-warm meal lay cold since you plated them up three hours ago while you anticipated Natasha to return home. Accompanying the two plates were two wine glasses, a softly lit candle, and an unopened bottle of red wine. And in the refrigerator, there was a baking tray of lemon meringue pie from Natasha’s favourite bakery.

Today held a significant meaning — It marked the second wedding anniversary with the love of your life, Natalia Alianovna Romanova. Throughout the day, you tirelessly spent hours pouring your heart and soul into preparing each slice of tenderloin and delicately sprinkling the chives on the completed dish. Cooking wasn’t your forte, you had to learn how to cook it from websites. You still tried your best to make it the tastiest beef stroganoff Natasha had ever tasted in her life.

And to add salt to the injury, she never even bothered to return home early, preferring to drown herself in alcohol at the bar.

If you cooked her favourite dish and queued from early sunrise to buy her favourite dessert, Natasha would come home instead of getting wasted at the bar, right? You were sorely mistaken. You had even persistently messaged her all day, excitedly telling her about the candlelit dinner you had carefully planned for the evening. However, all of your texts went unanswered.

You almost found amusement and humour in your naïvety. Three months ago, ever since Natasha and her sister, Yelena, successfully brought down the Red Room, she changed for the worse. You expected her to shift into a more carefree demeanour after the mission, but it was the opposite. Despite your best to understand and put yourself in her shoes, Natasha remained guarded, only telling you bits and pieces of information about what happened during her mission.

“Y/N/N?” Natasha barely whispered. The vulnerability in her expression was a contrast to the loving and confident person you fell in love with.

“I need some time apart to figure things out, Natasha.” It had been a long time since you uttered her full name, always preferring to call her ‘Natty’ or, your personal favourite, ‘sunshine’.

A pang of sorrow tugged at your heart, for Natasha had truly been your sunshine once upon a time. In the beginning, she had truly been like a ray of sunlight, her sweet smile had the power to brighten even the gloomiest of days, her laughter your favourite melody. And now, as you stood before her, the Natasha you once knew and loved had become a distant memory. In her place stood a shadow of her former self, someone who was almost unrecognisable to you. She was no longer your sunshine, but a raincloud that drenched you in loneliness and despair.

Your fingers instinctively played with the wedding ring adorning your left hand, tracing its edges and rolling it around your finger to alleviate your anxiety as you awaited her next words. You expected her to refuse and deny your words, to tell you that she needed you in her life, but all you got from her was a single word — “okay.”

Her answer made you scoff loudly.

“That’s it? All I get is an ‘okay’?” You seethed, your hands clenched into tight fists as you let anger consume your words. “Did you ever take this relationship seriously, Natasha? Was I nothing more to you than a warm body when you had nightmares and decent fuck when you were horny?”

“I’m sorry. I never meant to make you feel that way.” Natasha’s voice wavered as she struggled to find the right words.

“I can’t take this anymore.” You declared, the words spilling from your mouth before you could even stop yourself. “Fuck you, Natasha, I’m leaving. Forget taking a break — I never want to see you ever again.”

The hurt and shock in her eyes were unmistakable, but you did not regret your harsh words. The silence that followed afterwards was deafening. Natasha looked down, avoiding eye contact with you.

You slid your wedding ring off your finger, using more force than usual as you placed it on the coffee table. The sound of it hitting the table echoed loudly throughout the room. Instead of feeling a weight off your shoulders, a gnawing sense of anxiety and disappointment bubbled in your stomach.

Is this the end of your marriage?

You love, no, loved Natasha, and the weight of the one-sided relationship had become too much for you to bear alone. You wondered if she ever truly cared about you in the first place, or if you were only a distraction from her busy life as an Avenger. You had a nagging feeling that, maybe, she was unsatisfied with being in love with an Avenger-turned-housewife instead of someone like Bruce Banner. You shook your head as the image of Bruce surfaced in your mind. Aware of his past crush on your wife, you could not help but wonder if Natasha, too, had developed feelings for him and hesitated to break your heart with the truth.

Maybe that’s why she’s been spending time with Bruce at the bar.

Was her love ever real?

And with that, you turned away. You stood before the door, your hand hesitating over the doorknob. You expected Natasha to intervene and stop you from leaving once more. With a hesitant glance back at her, you observed her entire frame convulsing with sobs, making it even harder to walk away.

You stepped out the door as you couldn’t bear to witness the pain in your favourite green eyes any longer. You knew leaving was the right thing to do, even if it tore you apart inside. As you settled into the driver’s seat and pulled away from the familiar driveway, the haunting image of Natasha’s tear-streaked face lingered in your mind

You had to get far, far away from Natasha. The only other person you trust is Wanda, your ex-girlfriend and another Avenger. She would be able to comfort you with her soothing presence and words. Tears welled in your eyes and streamed down your cheeks as you navigated the familiar streets to Wanda’s house. The turn of events weighed heavily on your mind, and millions of questions ran through your head.

Lost in your thoughts, you failed to notice the traffic light blaring red ahead. A car from the opposite direction ran right towards you, its glaring light blinding your vision with its intensity. With a sharp intake of breath, the screeching sound of tyres filled the air as you braced yourself for impact.

It could have been hours that Natasha knelt on the wooden floor after you left the house, or it could have been minutes. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed. All she knew was that her heart ached. It was as if someone had reached into her chest, grabbed her heart, and thrown it across the room without any consideration.

She felt overwhelmed. The air felt thick and made it hard for her to breathe as waves of panic coursed through her. She lay in a fetal position, her knees to her chest and her forehead on the floor. Her trembling hands clutched at her chest, desperately trying to calm the racing beats of her heart. Her body could not stop convulsing as tears streamed down her face, blurring the surroundings around her.

Every shallow breath she expelled felt painful, and she felt like she was anchored to the cold ground beneath her. It was as if the room was spinning, and the walls were closing in, trapping her in endless suffering. The ache in her chest mirrored the shattering of her heart.

The events that happened after she had come home drunk had sobered her up quickly, and all she felt now was a hollow emptiness. Natasha felt like a complete asshole. She had taken advantage of your kindness and patience and trampled all over it. She took you for granted, and now she was all alone in the place she called home.

Home. It was merely a house, but the treasured memories the two of you shared with love and affection made it a home.

Once the waves of a panic attack passed, she craned her neck up to glance around her surroundings. The singular candle you prepared for the candlelit dinner was still burning on the dining table, illuminating the dimly lit living room. Even with the blinds drawn over the windows, she could see outside enough to gauge that sunrise was coming soon.

Unexpectedly, the voice of F.R.I.D.A.Y. shattered the silence as it echoed through the house. “Agent Natasha Romanoff. Please come to the Avengers Compound as quickly as possible.”

Natasha groaned softly in response, slowly getting on her feet cautiously. Her knees and arms ached as she got her balance, a painful reminder of how she spent the night in an uncomfortable position.

Even when she chose to live separately from the Avengers, Tony Stark insisted he installed F.R.I.D.A.Y. into the home for ‘extra’ security. A sense of unease gnawed at her. She rarely got an announcement from the A.I. unless necessary, such as an emergency or a last-minute mission.

“Did something happen?” She called out to the A.I., her voice cracking and hoarse from the crying.

“Y/N Romanoff is in the hospital wing. She has suffered critical injuries from a car accident.” F.R.I.D.A.Y. replied promptly.

Panic surged through her body as she quickly shed last night’s attire. With each distressed movement, thoughts of how badly hurt you were raced through her mind.

Shit. What has she done?

Natasha barged through the swinging doors of the infirmary in the Avengers Compound, her eyes surveying the all-too-familiar place. There were countless times when she had to prioritise tending to her wounds in the infirmary after missions instead of debriefing, as she was always someone to choose fight instead of flight when faced with enemies.

The place buzzed with the hum of fluorescent lights, and the antiseptic smell in the air nauseated her. She approached the first medical professional in her sightline, a male nurse.

“Bring me to Y/N Romanoff’s room, now.” She ordered, grabbing the nurse's uniform collar in a tight fist.

The nurse’s hands struggled under her grasp, choking out. “Y-Yes, Agent Romanoff. This way.”

Letting go of his collar, the male nurse quickly led her down the hallways to your room in fear of angering the assassin further. Her heart raced as she followed behind him, not prepared for how wounded you would look after the car accident.

As Natasha entered the room, her fears were confirmed as she saw you. You were lying on the hospital bed, pale and fragile, while hooked up to multiple wires and machines that monitored your every heartbeat and breathing. Your whole body was covered with bandages and bruises, and the sight of your unconscious body supplemented the guilt in her gut.

“Agent Romanoff, we’ve done X-rays, CT scans and an MRI of her body. She has multiple transverse fractures on her clavicle and pelvic bone. She’s suffered a traumatic brain injury from the car accident, and she’s been comatose ever since.”

Before she could question him further, the nurse quickly left the room. She huffed in annoyance. Shrugging off the encounter with the medical professional, she approached your bedside with hesitant steps, sitting on the chair beside the bed. Taking your cold hand in hers, her index and middle fingers quickly found the pulse point on your wrist. Your pulse was weak.

Tears welled up in Natasha’s eyes, threatening to spill as she whispered through choked sobs, her voice trembling with emotion “It’s all my fault, Y/N. I’m so sorry. Please, wake up. I need you.”

Natasha needed you. Without you, she felt lost, like she was swimming adrift in an endless sea. Her thoughts were a chaotic whirlwind. She felt like her world had become even greyer. She traced the contours of your face with her eyes as if trying to memorise every detail that made you uniquely you. All she could do was hope and pray that you would wake up soon to forgive her and give her one last chance to fix everything.

Days turned into weeks into months. Two months since you got into a coma. Two months since she heard her favourite voice. Two months of replaying the same scene the day she lost you.

The disappointment in your voice. Your disappointed face. The smell of beef stroganoff. The sound of you placing the wedding ring on the coffee table. The door clicking behind you as you left the house.

Two months felt like two years to Natasha. With each passing moment, the vital signs monitor played the steady rhythm of your heartbeat in the medical room. She refused to leave your side for even a moment. Nick Fury immediately gave her time off from missions to allow her to prioritise your well-being.

Everyone in the Avengers recognised the toll it was taking on Natasha’s well-being. Wanda took it upon herself to bring her meals and encourage her to shower and step outside to get a breath of fresh air. Wanda would remind her that you wouldn’t want her to neglect her own needs. Despite being curious about what had happened that night, the brunette never pressed her for answers. The wounds were still fresh, and Natasha always looked miserable every time Wanda came into the medical room. Both of them took turns taking care of you. Natasha knew about your past romantic relationship with Wanda, but she trusted her the most amongst all the other Avengers to take care of you.

Natasha felt a deep loneliness she couldn’t shake off that only your awakening could dispel. She clung to the glimmer of hope that each passing moment brought you closer to waking up. With every conversation with Helen telling her that your body was recovering well, her heart swelled with optimism, and she found a twinge of happiness in the gentle rhythm of the rise and fall of your chest.

When alone with you, Natasha would talk mindlessly to you, sharing stories of her day and reminding you that she loved you. Even when you were unconscious, she never failed to greet you every day with an ‘I love you’. She read your favourite books, played your favourite songs, and whispered words of love, hoping you could somehow hear her.

Night after night, Natasha would drift off to sleep with her head resting on the edge of your bed. The position was far from comfortable, but the discomfort mattered little to her. All that mattered was being near you and being the first person you see when you wake up, even if it meant sacrificing her comfort.

And then, one day, as the first rays of dawn bathed the room in a warm glow, you woke up. Natasha was asleep when you aroused from your coma, and she stirred awake by the twitch from your hand intertwined with hers.

Your eyes fluttered open slowly, a soft whine leaving your throat as you met her tear-filled gaze. A wave of relief washed over Natasha, but your eyes widened in panic and alarm as you saw the redhead in front of you.

“W-Who the fuck are you?”

Natasha swore she would be able to hear a pin drop from how silent the room became. The green eyes, previously full of hope, reflected a mixture of disappointment and pain. Speechless, Natasha met your stunned gaze as she took her time to process your words.

“W-Where am I?” You mumbled in a hoarse voice.

Your eyes tried to adjust to the blinding light of the overhead lights as your consciousness slowly reawakened. A frown formed on your face as your eyes scanned every corner of the medical room. One of the surrounding machines beeped steadily, indicating that your vital signs were stable. You scratched your head and tried to remember how you ended up in the hospital, but you can’t.

Natasha picked up the glass of water from the nightstand and offered it to you with trembling hands. You drank the water thirstily, the cool liquid soothing your parched throat as you tried to make sense of your surroundings.

“It’s me, Natasha, your wife. Don’t you remember?” She began, moving her chair closer to your bed. “You’re at the Avengers Compound. You’ve been in a coma for a while.”

“I... Have a wife?” Aside from the fact that you were in an infirmary, the fact that you were married to someone surprised you more. You studied the features of the redhead sitting in front of you — the sense of familiarity tugged at the edges of your consciousness. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, we got married two years ago.” Natasha explained, her tone as soothing as possible.

“But... I have a girlfriend, Wanda.” You said, tilting your head to the side. “Where is she?”

Natasha’s hands shot up to cover her mouth as her eyes watered. She rose from the chair and stepped away from her bed. The room felt like it was closing in on her. Her hands became clammy, and each breath was laboured as her heart raced. A relentless drumbeat echoed in Natasha's ears.

Was this a nightmare?

The impulse to reach out and grab your hand, a source of comfort that calmed her down, surged within her. Yet, she hesitated.

You appeared as the body of the person Natasha had fallen in love with years ago when you were just eighteen and freshly recruited into the Avengers team. The both of you had a rocky start — she was your enemy first before she became your friend and eventually your lover. However, that chapter was a long time ago as you had retired from the front lines upon marrying her.

As Natasha observed you, a sense of unease settled within her. There wasn’t the same warmth she once found in your eyes. Instead, an unfamiliar emptiness stared back at her. The very gaze that used to ignite with love and affection now held an empty void — The same expression as the day when you broke up with her. Natasha clung to the hope that your memory would somehow seamlessly reweave themselves back into your consciousness, dispelling the thoughts that she was staring at a stranger disguised as her wife.

You wrinkled your nose as you awaited her response. You tried to shift into a more comfortable position, but your muscles weakened from inactivity and failed you. You winced as you felt a sharp pain in your chest.

“Don’t strain yourself.” Natasha’s voice was laced with concern. She gently guided you to remain lying down. “I should get Dr Helen. Stay here, don’t move.”

Before you could formulate a response, she hurried out of the room. As Natasha disappeared from your view, her heart sank as she realised the extent of your memory loss. She should have expected this — Dr Helen did briefly inform her about how you might experience a few symptoms of memory loss due to the brain injury.

But damn, did your words hit hard.

As Natasha hurried down the corridor, a nagging sense of guilt held her down. Was your memory loss a form of karma for her past actions? Or perhaps a second chance to rebuild things with you? Even though you had effectively cut ties with her moments before the accident, she wanted to be there for you every step of the way. Was she going to tell you what had happened mere minutes before your car accident? No, not yet. Her focus had to be on providing support during your rehabilitation.

She couldn’t bear to lose you again.

The intensity of her emotions became even more palpable as Natasha approached the nurses’ station. Two familiar figures gradually became apparent in the distance, Dr. Helen and Wanda. Both of them were engaged in an animated conversation, but they stopped when they saw the dread on Natasha’s face.

“Y/N’s awake.” Natasha relayed.

Entering the hospital room as a trio, your eyes ignited with a mix of relief and recognition as you saw Wanda.

“Hey there, sweetheart. I missed you.” You warmly greeted Wanda with a wide grin.

As those words slipped from your lips, Natasha’s heart tightened in response. It was a term you had reserved only for her before the accident. On the other hand, Wanda could only manage a warm smile, waving at you. Wanda was unsure of how to respond to the term you used to call her when the both of you were dating.

“Y/N, it’s great to see you awake.” Dr Helen chimed in, trying to ease the atmosphere. With a clipboard in hand, she flipped through your medical records. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m… confused. What happened to me?” You asked.

Natasha quickly jumped in. “You were in a car accident two months ago.”

Your brow furrowed in confusion. “Car accident? But I don’t remember anything.”

Wanda, sensing the discomfort in the room, stepped forward. “It’s okay, Y/N. The important thing is that you’re awake now. Natasha and I are here for you.”

In response, you graced Wanda with an endearing smile. Your hand extended, seeking and finding Wanda’s. You seemed to be reassured by her presence and physical touch. Natasha, observing the scene, couldn’t help but feel a subtle pang of jealousy. She pushed it aside, reminding herself that you were only acting this way because of the memory loss.

“We’re all here to help you remember.” Natasha spoke softly.

As your eyes flickered between the two women, there was a spark of love in your eyes as you glanced at Wanda. However, when your gaze turned toward Natasha, the same void of distance was in your eyes.

“Do you remember anything else before the car accident?” Dr Helen inquired, her pen poised over the pages as she wrote down your responses.

“No…?” You responded tentatively, a furrow forming on your forehead.

“Alright. Firstly, what’s your current profession?” Dr Helen probed.

“I’m a retired Avenger.” You uttered, unconsciously tightening your grip on Wanda’s hand.

“Your age?”

“Twenty-six.”

“Do you remember these two?” Dr Helen redirected your attention, pointing to Natasha and Wanda.

“Wanda’s my girlfriend. I don’t remember who the other person is.” You confessed, looking at Natasha with a raised eyebrow.

How could you get all the questions wrong? Natasha crossed her arms, feeling uncomfortable under your gaze.

“Very well. Your cooperation is appreciated, Y/N.” Dr Helen acknowledged you with a nod, turning her attention to the two other women. “Agent Romanoff and Agent Maximoff, may I talk to the both of you in my office for a few minutes?”

Natasha and Wanda exchanged an apprehensive glance before nodding in unison, accompanying the doctor out of the room. In Dr Helen’s office, both women settled into chairs opposite her desk, their postures stiff. Dr Helen wasted no time, closing the door to her office with a decisive click before taking her seat behind the desk.

“I’ll need to ask Y/N more questions later to confirm the type of amnesia she’s experiencing. Based on the questions earlier, there’s a high chance she’s experiencing systematized amnesia.” Leaning forward, Dr Helen rested her elbows on the table, hands clasped together. “It’s a type of amnesia that happens when an individual experiences long-term stress or trauma. It can be from experiencing physical, sexual or emotional neglect and abuse. In response, the brain blocks out all memories about that one specific person from their past.”

Dr Helen’s statement made Natasha’s mind spin. Wanda gripped the armrests tightly, her eyes reflecting a mix of confusion and concern. “Is that why she remembers me, and not Natasha?”

“Exactly.” She paused, turning her attention to Natasha. “Agent Romanoff, have you ever hit your wife?”

“What? No, of course not.” Natasha replied with an exasperated shake of her head. “But… We did have an argument before her car accident. I haven’t been spending time with her. I was too busy drinking at the bar to spend time with her on the day of our second anniversary. She broke up with me before she got into the car accident.”

Wanda’s anger flared, her fists clenched by her sides as the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. “So the reason she got into a car accident is because of you?” She accused. “What the fuck, Natasha.”

Natasha drew in a deep breath. “I never wanted this to happen. I didn’t know that she’d get into a car accident. I messed up.”

Dr Helen stepped in. “Emotions run high in situations like these, but our focus should be on helping Y/N recover and helping her navigate through her memory loss. We can’t change the past, but we can make choices to change the future.”

Wanda, her jaw clenched in frustration, couldn’t contain the bitterness in her retort. “Fine, but regret doesn’t undo the damage you’ve done, Natasha. Y/N trusted and loved you, and you let her down. She doesn’t deserve this, and she certainly doesn’t deserve you.”

Natasha’s lips trembled slightly, struggling to hold back tears.

Wanda, unable to contain her frustration, abruptly pushed her chair back. “I can’t deal with this right now.”

She stormed out of the room, the door slamming shut behind her. Dr Helen winced at the resounding sound before sighing. “Let’s regroup later. Wanda needs some time, and we’ll address these issues when everyone’s ready.”

Wanda burst into the medical room, her brows furrowed in deep frustration and a scowl etched across her face. Startled by her sudden entrance, you jumped slightly in your bed, your eyes widening in surprise as you saw her expression. “Wands?” You whispered. “What’s wrong?”

As you whispered her name, Wanda’s tense expression softened. She approached your bed with slow steps, her hands reaching out to hold yours.

“It’s... It’s nothing, Y/N.” Wanda replied, her voice tight with emotion.

Despite Wanda’s attempt to dismiss her agitation, you could sense the remaining anger beneath her facade. You furrowed your brow, concern etching your features.

“It doesn’t seem like nothing.” You insisted gently, squeezing her hand in reassurance. “You stormed in here looking like you were ready to take on an army.”

Wanda’s lips twitched with a hint of amusement, but the weight of her distress remained evident in her eyes. She hesitated for a moment, exhaling a breath before finally speaking.

“It’s Natasha.” Wanda admitted, her voice barely a whisper. “I just… I don’t know how to handle all of this.”

As much as Wanda wanted to tell you the reason you fell into a coma, she knew that it wasn’t her place to reveal the information without Natasha’s consent. She had to choose her words carefully.

You listened intently, your heart sinking at the mention of Natasha’s name. The complexity of your relationshipwith her made you feel uncertain and overwhelmed.

How could you be married to someone you couldn’t remember?

“Is Natasha really my wife?” You asked.

You closed your eyes, trying to find any memory that you shared with the woman who was supposedly your wife. But try as you might, your mind remained blank, empty of any intimate or shared memories with the redhead.

Wanda’s expression softened with empathy. “Yes.” She affirmed gently. “Natasha’s your wife.”

“That means you and I… we broke up?” You pressed your lips together, trying not to frown.

“Yeah.” Wanda began, her voice soft but tinged with sadness. "We broke up because I wasn’t ready for become something more. Our relationship... it’s clear that you love Natasha a lot, more than you ever loved me. Even a blind man could see it.”

“Oh.” You sighed, rubbing your thumb over Wanda’s hands. “But… I still love you.”

“Not anymore, Y/N. Your future’s with Natasha now. She loves you a lot and she’s been miserable ever since you got into a coma, so go easy on her, alright?”

Your heart sank at Wanda’s words.

“Alright.” You offered her a bittersweet smile.

A week after waking up, Dr Helen officially diagnosed you with systematic amnesia. Once you had healed under her careful observation, you were discharged and allowed to return to the home you shared with Natasha. Despite your reluctance to burden her with your care, she was the only one you could depend on. Wanda and the other Avengers had their own responsibilities, leaving Natasha as your primary caretaker.

You were still bruising and aching all over, so Natasha assisted you with various miscellaneous tasks, such as managing your medication intake and helping you with showering. Physically and mentally, you were improving, but you still couldn’t remember Natasha.

Gradually, you treated her as if she were a stranger. She understood that it wasn’t intentional, but she didn’t think she’d lose you in the worst way possible.

The way you flinched whenever she touched you, because she was used to doing it back then when the both of you were together. It pained her deeply. You kept your thoughts and feelings to yourself, not trusting her enough to talk about your feelings. Despite this, outwardly, your interactions with her seemed relatively ‘normal’. The both of you never argued, never fought, and you’d spent time together.

It wasn’t the same as it used to be.

When Natasha returned home from her missions, you’d eagerly rush to her, enveloping her in the tightest hug imaginable and peppering her face with kisses. Now, you greeted her with a tight-lipped smile and a small wave.

In the past, you would cuddle together while watching late-night movies, holding her hand and resting your head on her shoulder. Now, there was a noticeable distance between you, an emotional and physical space that seemed to widen with each passing day.

She tried bringing you to a coffee place — the one she brought you on your first date. You were intrigued, but you still couldn’t remember anything.

Natasha was genuinely happy to see you making progress in your recovery. Yet, beneath that happiness, she was beginning to grow impatient. Your health was improving, but the state of your marriage seemed to deteriorate because you were unable to remember anything about her.

And, one day, Natasha finally reached her breaking point. She had prepared dinner for you, setting the table and waiting patiently on the couch for your return. But you didn’t arrive until three hours later, long after the food had grown cold.

“Where were you?” Natasha’s voice held a sharp edge as she crossed her arms.

You hadn’t mentioned going out, let alone with whom.

“I went out with Wanda for dinner.” You responded casually.

“And you couldn’t text me to let me know?” Natasha’s tone grew more aggressive.

Not only had you essentially stood her up, but you had also gone out with your ex-girlfriend — the same ex-girlfriend you might still harbour feelings for. It was ironic. It felt like the tables had turned. She was the one feeling hurt and frustrated this time.

“My phone was dead. Why are you so angry?” Your voice rose, becoming defensive as you retrieved your phone from your jacket pocket and tossed it onto the dining table.

“Because I made dinner for you.”

“So what? I can have it for lunch tomorrow.”

“That’s not the point. I was waiting for you.” Natasha insisted, her tone laced with frustration.

“And I promise I’ll eat it tomorrow. I’m tired, Natasha. I’m going to bed.” You said dismissively, turning away and walking towards the master bedroom.

It continued for months. Natasha almost wanted to give up, contemplating whether to raise the white flag and accept the bitter truth that you would never remember her at all. The constant arguments between you never seemed to reach a resolution. Instead, they ended with either Natasha or you walking away when things got too heated. With time, Natasha felt like the distance between you grew even more larger. You started coming home late, leaving Natasha disappointed as she waited for you to return to the place that once felt like home to both of you. Every dinner she prepared for you went unnoticed, adding to her sense of loneliness and frustration.

Natasha felt as though you had undergone a complete transformation, like someone similar to you but not really, well, you. She was a stranger to you just as you were to her.

You were sitting on a plush chair, engrossed in the pages of a book when she finally accepted defeat. She observed you quietly for a moment, the way you were oblivious to her presence behind her.

“Are we still together?” Natasha asked, her voice breaking the silence.

You looked up to find her standing before you, a mixture of longing and sadness in her gaze.

You closed the book slowly, placing it on the coffee table.

You chuckled bitterly, a touch of sarcasm lacing your words. “Well, legally, I suppose we are.”

Natasha’s heart sank at your response. She had hoped for affection, but instead, she was met with indifference.

“Do you even want us to be together?” Her voice quivered as she spoke.

You studied her momentarily, leaning your head back against the headrest as you looked her up and down. Natasha looked miserable, her cheeks caked with dried tears and eyebags under her eyes from sleepless nights.

“I’m sorry, Natasha.” You murmured softly. “I just… I don’t think we’re working out.”

Natasha felt her heart drop at your words. She had feared this moment, dreaded the possibility of hearing those words from you. Yet, the reality of it hit her like a sudden blow.

Your voice cracked as you spoke, barely on the verge of tears. “I tried. I really did try to remember you. Remember I came home late because I told you I was spending time with Wanda? I was actually walking around the places you brought me to, hoping that I’d remember something, anything.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Natasha asked. Her heart clenched at your words and her tears spill over her cheeks.

“Because I didn’t want to get your hopes up. I didn’t want to disappoint you at the end of the day.” You whispered, standing up from the plush chair and walking over to her. You raised your hand to Natasha’s cheek, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath your touch. “I want you, but I don’t think I’m in love with you. You deserve better than this, Natasha. You deserve better than me. You’re not in love with me — You’re in love with the me before the accident.”

Natasha closed her eyes, leaning into your touch, a silent plea for reassurance. But as you withdrew your hand, the ache of longing remained.

Just like how your love was out of touch.

“We can’t keep pretending, Natasha.” You said softly, your voice tinged with regret. “Maybe it’s time we accept that things have changed.”

With a heavy sigh, you turned away, unable to bear the pain of seeing her heartbreak. It pained you to hurt her, but you knew that prolonging the inevitable would only cause more suffering for both of you.

This time Natasha knew that she had to stop you from leaving somehow. She couldn’t make the same mistake twice. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing you, not again. Not for the third time.

As you headed towards the door, Natasha’s voice trembled as she spoke. “Y/N, please... don’t go.”

But you couldn’t bring yourself to stay. Not when the love you once shared almost felt fake. Like it never happened.

You paused for a moment, your hand on the doorknob, before offering a final, pained glance back at Natasha. “I’m sorry, Natasha. Goodbye.”

And with that, you stepped out the door, leaving behind a redhead with a shattered heart.

In an alternate universe, maybe you could actually remember her and love her eternally.

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deestorytime · 3 days

Text

Just a random Sunday afternoon with the Ackerman household Levi Ackerman X Reader with Kids Short Fluff

You were busy hanging clothes in the backyard. Nearby, your two children—a seven-year-old boy and a five-year-old girl—were engaged in a playful duel with wooden swords, their laughter breaking the quiet.

Your son often let his excitement get the better of him, swinging his sword with more power than necessary. His younger sister, struggling to keep up, soon found herself on the verge of tears from the rough play. She abandoned her sword on the grass and ran towards Levi, who was observing them from the porch. He crouched down to meet her eye level.

"He's too strong," she pouted, tears swelling in her eyes.

"It's alright, sweetheart," he said, placing a tender kiss on her forehead. "How about I take your place in the fight?"

"But Papa, you'll get hurt!" she protested.

Upon hearing this, you paused from hanging the clothes, a loud laugh escaping you. "Oh, I think your Papa can handle a little duel.”

Levi glanced over at you, a playful smirk on his lips, as he reassured her, "Don't worry, I've faced much scarier things than this. I'll be fine."

Her eyes lit up at the proposal, and she nodded eagerly, wiping away the tears. Hand in hand, they approached the boy, who paused, looking slightly hesitant but that quickly faded when he saw his father picking up the wooden sword with ease, holding it in a relaxed but ready stance.

"I’m ready," he said, realizing that he was up against his dad. "Hope you can keep up!" He smiled ear to ear.

Levi gestured for his son to make the first move, an invitation the boy accepted with a wide grin. The duel began with the boy lunging forward aggressively, clearly confident in his ability to best his father. Levi effortlessly dodged the boy’s eager lunges, tapping him gently on all his openings. The boy's confidence slowly faded and turned into frustration as he realized that he could not beat his father.

On the sidelines, his sister, initially excited by the match, grew restless as it seemed never-ending. "Can we go do something else?" she asked you, tugging at your shirt.

"Yeah, I’m tired of this too," you replied, playfully rolling your eyes. "Let’s go inside. You can help me set the table for dinner." She nodded happily and followed you into the house. Inside, you and your daughter set the table together, her earlier worries forgotten as she happily helped with the cooking and taste-testing.

The sun began to set, painting the yard in a golden light. You stepped onto the porch, drying your hands on a towel. Levi and your son were still dueling, and you could tell your son was exhausted.

"Wrap it up! Dinner is ready. Hurry up before it gets cold!” you yelled.

The boy looked over in disappointment. He dropped his sword and began walking to the house, Levi doing the same.

"You're stubborn, you know that?" Levi said with a light chuckle. "Reminds me of someone I used to know."

The boy, puffing out his chest a bit, asked, "Was he a good fighter?"

"One of the best," Levi replied. "And stubborn just like you. Never gave up, no matter what."

#levi fluff #attack on titan #levi aot #levi x reader #captain levi #fanfic #levi ackerman #aot levi #levi attack on titan #levi x y/n #levi x you

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0xstarzx0 · 3 days

Text

DEBT |ONE-SHOT

Rafe Cameron x Reader x Niccolò

{OPEN COMMAND}

[English is not my native language❗️❗️]

SYNOPSIS: When your friend can’t pay off her debt, someone has to.

TW: DUB-CON, NON-CON, violence, insults, rape, hair pull, alcohol, sex V, perversion, choking, threat, gun.

______________________________________________

The music was loud, much too loud for your poor ears. You were advancing with difficulty through the people.

You’re desperately looking for your friend Kiara, you had a horrible week, so to clear your head, she decided to take you to one of the stupid parties you hate to attend.

You feel a weight washing up on your shoulder, you turn and fall on your friend, completely drunk. "Hey Y/N comes, meet my new friends!" without you being able to answer, she grabs your hand and forces you to follow her into a dark corridor.

She pushes you into a room and closes the door. You frown and hit the door. "Kiara, open the door."

She still doesn’t open it. "Fuck Kiara, I’m not kidding, open the fucking door!" You hit the door harder.

As you pounce on the door, sneers sound behind you. You stop every move and look over your shoulder.

Two men are on a sofa, the lights that illuminate little the room does not help you see them clearly.

You hardly swallow your saliva and back up to the door. "How cute, you know we don’t bite." Said one. He gets up and approaches you like a predator.

He’s tall, much taller than you, his blond hair falls on his forehead. His arms are huge, and his blue eyes pierce you. He approaches you and puts a hand on your cheek. You push it away and he laughs.

"My name is Niccolò and this is my friend Rafe, do you know why you’re here?" asks the person sitting on the couch. You don’t answer. "Your friend didn’t pay what she owed us, so she’s paying us by bringing you here." You’re shocked.

You arrived at the Outer Banks not long ago, not knowing anyone you quickly trusted Kiara because she was very positive. You didn’t think she’d do that to you.

The blond guy grabs your arm, you slap him hard. "Don’t touch me, you bastard!" you say, running to the door. "This cunt is not laughing" You try to open it but it is still closed.

Rafe grabs your hair and pulls it, he drags you to the sofas. He throws you violent before placing himself above you.

He grabs the top of your shorts and pulls it down, his gesture burns your skin. You scream but he grabs your throat. "Keep yelling and I swear I’ll choke you." Niccolò says as Rafe holds you.

Rafe takes off his shorts and his boxers, his dick is huge. He stands in front of your hole and pushes you tearing you a hiccup of surprise.

You try to struggle when the brown guy grabs your wrists. He leans in your ear. "If you try to escape while the night is not over, I will make you regret it, my sweet." He kisses the tears that flow from the corners of your eyes and watches Rafe fuck you coarsely.

Your body and your brain do not agree, one hates what Rafe makes you while the other takes pleasure. Rafe hits your G-spot several times, you moan while crying.

Rafe leans over and kisses your neck, he leaves traces of his passage on your breasts. It becomes more and more brutal so he accelerates.

Rafe pulls out, he cums on your belly and turns you around. "Ready for a second round?" he asks. "Please let me go." You’re crying. Rafe shoves your head into the couch while he shoves you from behind.

Rafe is violent, with each push he sinks further widening you. "Damn it’s so tight man!" Says Rafe as he continues to rape you.

Niccolò laughs, his bulge is clearly visible. He will never admit it but his dick hurt him so much it was hard.

You feel Rafe shaking inside you, indicating that he will arrive soon.

Rafe arrives but does not withdraw from you, there are a few seconds inside before withdrawing.

You fall back on yourself when your hair is caught, forcing you to lift your head. Niccolò takes off his belt and his pants, his boxers follow the movement. He stands in front of you. "Bite me, hurt me, and I swear you’ll regret it." He glances briefly at the table. On it is a gun. Your blood is freezing.

Niccolò forces a passage with his cock to enter your mouth, you do not struggle. Terrified by the turn the situation could take.

He grabs your head and forces you to suck it, he delicately fucks your face, as if you were both consenting.

He is gentle in his gestures, compared to Rafe. Maybe you hurt him. But for you that is impossible. These two monsters have no feelings.

Niccolò comes several times in your mouth and on your face. When he has finally finished, he wipes his face. He kisses you from the top of your head and forces you to look at him. Your eyes are glassy, full of tears. Your throat hurts and you’re not sure you can get up.

Rafe looks up at the gentle gesture of the Italian. "Rafe is stupid, doesn’t pay attention and just stays focused on me, my sweet." he says, but your eyes follow both. If your body would allow it, you would have already tried to kill one.

Rafe gets up and throws your clothes away. "We got what we wanted, she’s out now." Rafe puts on his shorts. Niccolò puts his pants back on but you don’t move.

This has the gift of driving Rage Rafe crazy. "Dress up." He orders you, you do not move. Rafe shoots you with the look. He grabs the gun from the table and with a tone he announces. "If you don’t harp now, the first bullet will be for you." Rafe." said Niccolò.

You lift your shameful head. "I can’t move half my body!" You say in tears. Rafe tightens a little more the weapon before growling and throwing it some parts in the room.

Rafe grabs your shirt and puts it on, puts your shorts back on. You cry about it, you look like shit. Rafe lifts you when Niccolò blocks him. "What again?" said the exasperated blond.

Niccolò gives him a bad look and gives you a drink. "Drink it should make your sore throat go away and it helps with aches."

You weren’t planning on drinking until Rafe forced you.

______________________________________________

You have no memory of that night, you remember going and looking for Kiara. After that, it’s nothing.

The next day you had bruises on your breasts, thighs and neck. Your legs made you suffer martyrdom and your head hurt like a dog.

Since this evening you try not to think about it too much, rout is quite weird and mix.

But apparently at this party you made new friends.

Niccolò and Rafe.

You get along great with them even though sometimes you feel like a few bells with them, that they are… bad.

______________________________________________

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galedekarios · 2 days

Note

Keeping this anon, but I hear you hate bloodweave. I was curious on your take to why.

You don't have to reply to this if it makes you uncomfortable thought!!

i'd like to preface this again by saying that this is my opinion. idc what you ship.

i've talked about this here, but i don't mind reiterating my points:

they have no chemistry, to the contrary, gale shuts him down right away during their first talk and ast*rion's manipulation attempts. i assume that gale sees right through him from the beginning. a lot of people love to hc gale as naive as or as completely taken with ast*rion, but it's the complete opposite. i imagine his many years in waterhavian society made him realise quite quickly what type of person he's dealing with. the relationship they have doesn't progress much from that. by act iii they - at best - begrudgingly tolerate each other.

they are diametrically opposed in the things they value as people as well as their morals. gale is kind-hearted, he approves of helping those in need, children, mothers, slaves, refugees, even the animals you meet in-game. he seeks to avoid bloodshed, approves of letting people who want to pay the party back for their help keep their money and belongings. he seeks knowledge and even power not for selfish reasons or a taste for the darker things, but because he seeks to better their odds of survival against a seemingly invincible foe. ast*rion meanwhile is selfish and cruel and vile. he delights in violence and bloodshed, he finds the struggle of people caught in the crosshairs amusing. he is greedy and short-sighted, seeking power for himself, no matter the cost to others.

they are completely incompatible in terms of what they look for in a relationship and a potential partner. gale wants and needs a deeper connection, a tangling of the souls, and he needs someone to be there for him unequivocally, to love him for who he is as he is. he is not taken in by someone's looks or image they present of themselves, nor does he do hate sex / endless bickering / enemies to fwb / etc.

the first things he cites for trusting the protag are their good actions (helping mirkon, helping arabella, seeking to ease the tension between zevlor and aradin), it's all those things that at first make him trust the protag and later - when they unselfishly offer him help, give him artefacts - makes him fall in love with them. sex and immediate gratification isn't important to him. sex is a component - one way in an array of ways to proclaim love.

for ast*rion, it's manipulation first and his entire romance hinges on that. his partner falling for his looks and his text book manipulation into sex. that's already where this breaks apart for me in terms of this ship because that doesn't work with gale.

add to that ast*rion's cruel remarks about gale's when he is need:

[after gale's background story reveal] You'd have us debate? That Netherese jack-in-the-box should be a blip on the horizon by now!

[after mystra's demands] I can't believe Mystra's demanding Gale sacrifice himself to destroy the Absolute. It's just a waste of a perfectly good cult that we could be controlling. And a waste of a perfectly good Gale, I suppose.

[at the stormshore tabernacle] Well? Go on, then - it's rude to keep a goddess waiting.

[after orin potentially kidnaps gale] So, we kill Gortash or Gale dies? It's not an easy call. On the one hand, killing Gortash would be fun. On the other, Gale can be very annoying. We should probably save the wizard, though. He does have his moments.

i think it's very clear, given the fact that these reactions range from act i to act iii, that he doesn't give a singular fuck about gale. contrast this to karlach's reactions, or even shadowheart's:

Karlach: That bloody freak won't get away with this. That's my wizard she took. And we're going to get him back.

(particularly karlach has many reactions like this.)

...unless you play either of them as an origin char and make the most ooc choices, i do not see how this pairing is supposed to work.

additionally, as i've discussed more in my previous post, the parallels people draw between them are shallow at best or can be drawn virtually between any of the other origin companions, or are non-existent at worst. ast*rion having a reading animation that he shares with gale (as halsin and shadowheart do too), or having their tents next to each other (like wyll and gale do in act i) isn't really enough for me.

as i've said previously, i have tried to engage with the pairing because it's sadly inescapable since people often don't bother tagging, but there's nothing except shallow ooc stuff.

#ch: gale dekarios #vg: baldur's gate 3 #series: baldur's gate #text: asks #text: personal #meta: mybg3 #bloodweave critical

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juuuulez · 3 days

Text

📰 | brat taming, richie jerimovich.

(pure filth guys…blowjob, facefucking, lowkey degrading anndduhhhh then some more sex…)

(also i’m crazy i just wrote another whole richie fic so expect that tomorrow i’m insane.)

“i can’t take it.”

“you can, and you fuckin’ will, princess.”

the punishment for being a brat has always been the same, so really, you should’ve expected this.. but at the time, it seemed like a good idea.

it was richie’s day off, and you had this whole mental plan about staying in bed, getting to enjoy your boyfriend and keep him all to yourself. but apparently the beef was short staffed, and he’d decided to go in anyway, despite mikey’s insistence that it was fine. in truth, it probably wasn’t fine, but that didn’t matter: today was your day.

so you’d stopped by on his lunch break. except richie skipped the break in favour of a cigarette and getting back into the muck. now, you had his best interest at heart, you swear! all you wanted was for him to take a moment. or maybe that’s the excuse you told yourself.

“don’t be a baby ‘bout it.” richie grunts through a clenched jaw, one hand with a firm grip on your cheek, and the other at the base of your skull. “you asked for this, sweetheart. now you’re gonna fuckin’ take it.”

your jaw is opened impossibly wide, his cock buried to the hilt, struggling to breathe through your nose. his grip is unforgiving and doesn’t let you move, willing down the urge to gag around his length as air forgoes you as he rocks his hips deeper. tears have sprung in your eyes, messily slipping down red cheeks and making wet tracks on your neck.

it was the tiny skirt that did it. when you’d sauntered into the kitchen, trying to find richie. it barely covered the globes of your ass, the ends of little spandex shorts peaking out: he would’ve preferred you completely naked, because fuck, those shorts really did it for him, the way they hid absolutely nothing.

and you’d done it on purpose. made sure to linger in the office doorway for an extra moment, having some offhanded conversation with mikey that didn’t even fucking matter, because what were you doing? then you’d offered to help out with the rush, going out front to buss some tables, undoubtably attracting the attention of anyone else in the restaurant.

your hands fist at the fabric of richie’s sweats, the garment pushed down just enough to release his cock. his work shirts still on, as the pair of you had landed on the couch, where you were promptly shoved to your knees. he revels in how small your hands look on his spread thighs, rocking once, twice more into your hot mouth, feeling ten times more aroused simply by the power he holds over you.

and you know when he’s about to cum, of course you do, and it has you trying to pull off. you had been hoping he’d still fuck you, as part of the punishment, spilling his load deep inside where you’d still be able to get an inkling of satisfaction.

“nu-uh,” he chastises, voice rough and breathy, “stay right where ’ya fuckin’ are.”

so, you do. and when you pull off, your tongue is sticky with it, a salty taste that clings to the back of your throat. richie’s hand squeezed your jaw, putting pressure on the hinge that forces your mouth open, admiring his work. “swallow.” he’ll tell you, to which you do, sickeningly obedient for someone with a habit of causing trouble.

he won’t fuck you, either. you’ll try to beg for it, pulling out all the stops, batting your wet lashes and kissing at his neck. it takes everything in him to deny you, but he does, successfully.

it’s not until later, curled up in bed, that you finally huff out somewhat of an explanation. “just miss you.” you’ll mumble, face pressed into his fresh shirt, the cotton tickling your nose. “think you work too much.”

it’s not like richie is oblivious, he caught on pretty quickly, but thought it’d be easier to make you work for it. so he relents, previously rough hands now soft as they skim your back, blunt nails gently tracing the curve of your spine.

“could’a used your words,” he’ll shoot back, and despite the scolding tone, he’s already rolled atop you to kiss down your neck. “or do you just get off on bein’ a brat?”

the crude remark makes you roll your eyes, one arm hooking around his broad shoulders, while your other hand rests on his head where it’s tucked into your neck. a sharp bite to your shoulder finally elicits a response, “maybe a little,” you mumble.

it’s okay, because richie still fucks you into the mattress that night. its a bit softer, at least to the best of his abilities: richie isn’t exactly one for slow or gentle, so it ends up being equally as unforgiving as the punishment itself, with the reprieve of his words turning praising and sweet. telling you how good you feel, how much he loves this pussy, so perfect for him. just him.

and he’s right: it’s just for him.

#the bear fx #richie jerimovich x you #richie jerimovich smut #richie jerimovich x reader

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katelynnwrites · 9 hours

Text

i can do it with a broken heart | laura freigang

warnings: angst with no happy ending

word count: 831

summary: you're determined to fake it 'til you make it, even with a broken heart. also known as your the reader's perspective of down bad

a/n: the third installation of my 'the anthology' blurbs series

you can feel laura’s gaze on you, from across the locker room.

a few short weeks ago, you would have blushed and teasingly told her that it’s rude to stare.

now, it makes your heart clench so you plaster a large smile on your face and turn to look at tanja, starting an intentionally cheerful conversation.

it is impossibly hard for you to ignore the blonde, especially when her eyes are on you again, this time in the club as you and your teammates celebrate the club’s win.

in stilettos, you have a drink in hand, a pretty sequined dress on and your makeup is done to perfection.

she’s sitting alone, at a table by the side of the bar and you can practically read her mind. you know her well enough for that.

‘she’s having the time of her life.’

well you can show her lies.

you can show up to trainings on time. you can attend every team bonding with a bright expression. you can do it all. even if it’s killing you inside.

because you’re a real tough kid. you can handle your shit.

after all they say you gotta fake it ‘til you make it. and you will.

so the one thing on your mind, repeating over and over as you push through each and every day is ‘lights, camera, bitch smile.’

even when you wanna die, you will do it.

your ex said she would love you all her life.

you believed her. you still do because you see the dark circles she has. she’s clearly devastated and barely holding herself together.

and you know it is all your fault for breaking up with her.

but you had to. had to because you love her so much. you trust her excessively and before you fall any harder for her, you needed to stop yourself.

it would have hurt too much when you landed and you know that if you allowed laura to love you the way she wanted any longer, there would be no coming back from that kind of pain.

so for your own sake, you had to leave her. even though it gives you overwhelming guilt to break her heart.

but you can grin like you’re winning and you can hit all your marks.

you’re playing better than ever because you know you are good. you know you’re good because you can do it, even with a broken heart.

you cry a lot now that you have left the striker but you are still so productive that one could consider it an art.

really, it’s only through the extensive uses of subtle makeup, face masks, cooling eye packs and the odd frozen metal teaspoon that no one has noticed it yet.

most of your relationship with laura was spent staying over in her apartment but there were nights that were spent in yours.

more than a few if the way you keep finding her things in your drawers is anything to go by.

first it was a old penn state sweatshirt. the next, one of her retro frankfurt jerseys.

now it’s her favourite pair of jeans.

you choke on your tears when you find it among your own clothes.

she’d worn them to your first date.

laura might keep looking at you but she avoids you like the plague otherwise. she doesn’t want to walk near your cubby in the locker room or be in the same training group as you.

she must hate you and you can’t blame her.

it is part of the reason why you cannot bear to return any of her things to her. they are the last tangible memories you have left of her, crucial evidence that for a brief time, you had the love of your life.

you feel like you’re drowning in your grief now but you can hold your breath.

because you’re a real tough kid. you can handle your shit. there is no reason to drag the german woman back into it, if she would even deign to give you the time of day.

so breaking down, you’ll hit the floor. all the pieces of you shattering as the fans chant, ‘more!’.

you might be depressed and you might be struggling but you will be damned if you’re not doing your best.

you will show up at trainings and team bondings on time, with a happy grin fixed on your face. you will only post the most positive and staged content on your social medias and you will not let any of your teammates or most importantly laura herself, see just how not okay you are.

‘lights, camera, bitch smile.’ you think once again.

even when you wanna die, you’re doing good. you know you’re good because you’re miserable and nobody even knows.

you swore that you would fake it ‘til you make it and you’re doing it.

it’s your new job and you are not going to let anyone try to come for it.

#laura freigang imagine #laura freigang x reader #laura freigang #woso #woso community #woso fanfics #woso blurbs #woso oneshot #eintracht frankfurt frauen #dfb frauen #gerwnt #katelynnwrites #'the anthology' blurbs series

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split-spectrum · 2 days

Text

Concessions

Chapter 3

Pairing: Obi Wan/FemReader

Tags: SMUT (MDNI), oral sex (male receiving), orgasm denial, dubcon, noncon, Obi Wan gets chained to the wall and edged within an inch of his life

Description: Obi Wan chooses to undertake a trial that prevents him from sex for one year, and asks you to serve as his witness. As his close friend, you don't mind helping him.

☆☆☆

You should end this.

For the sake of your friendship. For the promise you'd made to help him finish the Nikkama. For your own sanity. You should really end the call. But it seems too cruel, now, after what you've done.

When you'd sent the pictures, the most you'd expected out of him had been irritation. Your goal had been to disrupt his thoughts; possibly to ruin his day with distraction, the way he'd ruined yours. Revenge may not be the Jedi way, but sometimes with Obi Wan it's so difficult not to give in to the urge to tease; to toy with him. Now, the only question left is how far you're willing to go to atone.

The right thing to do would be to shut off your commlink. To look into his glassy eyes, ignore his indecent, combative gaze, and click that impossibly merciful button. But no matter how long your finger rests at it, you can't bring yourself to press down.

Obi Wan hasn't said another word. He's hardly moved. But what little patience may have remained in his expression when he'd answered is now gone. The deep blue of his irises is hidden within the gradient of the hologram, but the black of his stretched pupils is easy to pick up when he widens his eyes accusingly. As if to say, "Well?"

He's waiting, against his will, to be put out of his misery. Cut him loose; end the call, or...

"Give me a moment."

You shut off your commlink before he can respond, then dress yourself, tying your robes with clumsy, hurried fingers, and slip quietly out into the hallway.

Trying to remain true to your promise of only a moment while keeping your footsteps soft enough not to wake any of the other Jedi in their quarters, you reach Obi Wan's door, rapping twice before he opens it. You find him in a state of half-undress, trousers fastened at his waist, but mid-section still bare. He's pulled his arms through his light undershirt, still working on wrapping it around his torso and tucking it as he steps back from the door to let you in.

"You're dressed," you say, struggling to keep your voice steady as you walk forward, closing the distance between you. "I said I would only be a moment."

He finishes tucking his shirt, the open neckline still giving ample view of the soft curls that are begging you to run your hands over his chest. "Yes, but a moment for what, you didn't quite say."

You look down his body, backing him toward the corner of a wooden dresser near the doorway. You line your hips up with his, watching as he mirrors you, either consciously or subconsciously. "You're awfully clever, Obi Wan. Let's not pretend it wasn't obvious."

His bright pink lips hang slightly open when he stares down at your hands, traveling upward. The blush begins to creep into his face. "I... couldn't possibly be so presumptuous."

Your hands find his stomach, your noses now inches apart, and the soft smirk on your face evaporates when you draw your gaze back up to his. Using your thumb to peel open his shirt, you loosen it from his waistband and slide your other hand across the warmth of his skin, feeling him shudder at the contact.

Your lips naturally gravitate towards his, when suddenly a thought stops you painfully short: This isn't a passion-soaked tryst between two lovers. This isn't the closing of a romance that's long been harbored beneath the working partnership of two friends. This is you, helping him find relief, and nothing more.

You drag your eyes away from his mouth, down to his neck, and the urge gushes to taste the skin there, too. Instead, you pull back while turning your hand down into his waistband. His eyes, which had been fixed on your face, roll to the ceiling.

"You shouldn't-" He shifts, rubbing up against the dresser. "This is hardly-" he tries, not finishing either thought.

One of his hands comes up to the small of your back, touching you with a respectful lack of weight or pressure, somewhere between holding you closer and warning you off. When you slither your palm between his legs and stroke it over the hot, dribbling length of him, though, he changes his grip. He grabs your waist and squeezes, looking down between your bodies, watching you touch him.

You hadn't realized until now just how much you'd wanted his hands on you. Feeling him grip you hard, pulling you closer as his hips start to shallowly draw up with each pull of your hand - you're starting to ache. Bending the fingers of your other hand around the fabric, you start to pull down his trousers.

His hand flies to your wrist, and you freeze. His eyes are closed, his breaths shallow. He shakes his head, almost imperceptibly.

"No," he pants. "No, we- we can't."

He opens his eyes and you nearly pull away before you catch the way he's looking at you. It's clear he's being serious. But there's also... something else. A certain kind of frustration; almost desperation.

You flatten your hand, grazing it over him, watching his eyes go foggy and his brows knead tight. He doesn't let go of your wrist, but he doesn't pull away.

Suddenly, it all makes sense - why he chose you to help him in this; to be his witness.

He trusts you. And more importantly, he knows you. He knows that when he needs it, you'll find a way to bend the rules, while allowing him to keep his lofty ideals intact. Because you've done it in the past, time and time again.

Though he'd never admit it, your willingness to compromise has often been an asset to him. You could skirt the rules, blurring the edges of the safe, moral choices, while he got to feign uninvolvement. Whether intentional or not, he'd chosen you because some part of him knew this.

And lucky for him, you know a path you can take, just as you always do.

"Obi Wan, let me ask you something," you say, enjoying the unsteady breath he takes when you slide your thumb slowly up and down his shaft. "Do you trust me?"

You graze his head, then slip your hand away, and he drops your wrist, immediately gripping the edge of the dresser behind him. He gathers himself, and eventually, he nods. "Yes. Of course."

You straighten up, fixing his clothing back in place. "I hope you're not about to change your mind. Because I have an idea."

A few minutes later, after you've convinced him into one of the small cargo ships the jedi temple keeps on hand for communal use, Obi Wan is no further enlightened on the details, and he's starting to lose patience.

"And why can you not just tell me the location?"

You force an easy smile, though your stomach is buzzing with anticipation. You need him to have faith that you know what you're doing. And you do. You convince yourself that you do. "I already gave you the coordinates."

You'd sent them directly from your commlink to the navicomputer, yet Obi Wan had insisted on flying manually. He glances down at the screen in front of him, with glowing numbers and no map. "Yes, somewhere in the Federal District. Very helpful. Is there a reason you haven't chosen to be more specific?"

With a smirk, you answer, "As I said before, you're clever enough to know the answer to that."

He glances out the window, clearly suppressing a scowl, then brings his attention back to the lane in front of him, shifting a hand to adjust his speed. "In other words, I won't like it."

You press your lips together, watching the shadows roll over him as you speed through the flashing lights of Coruscant nightlife.

"I never said that." You pause. "But you certainly wouldn't approve of it."

He shoots you another look, then brings his gaze forward again as you reach your destination. He can't take his eyes away from the monitor since he's in the middle of landing, but his scowl grows more pronounced. The Center for Republic Military Operations looms in front of you.

"What in blazes are we doing here?"

"I thought you were trusting me."

He follows you down the ramp, keeping his voice low. "Yes, but the extent of my trust is rather proportional to the circumstance." He nods at a passing Coruscant Guard solider, then catches up to you. "And at the moment, they're about even."

You just smile. "Good. I can work with that."

You turn to enter the main building, Obi Wan trailing close behind. More soliders pass you on either side of the hallway as you make your way to security check-in. You walk past the manned stations and head straight to the automated keycard wall. You find the number you're looking for and enter your security code.

"You've dragged me here to work an extra shift in the detention cells?"

At that, you can't help but smile wider. You pick up the key card when it appears in the slot, then brush past him to head down the hallway. "In a manner of speaking."

You get the attention of one of the guardsmen as you near the end of the cell block. "Officer, we're conducting an investigation and we need to inspect cell 98. Please tell the other guards we are not to be disturbed."

The guard accepts your orders, assuring you they'll be passed along, and continues on his way. You swipe the keycard and, hesitatingly, Obi Wan follows you inside. You look both ways down the hall before closing the door, double-checking the lock.

"Well, if you were looking for privacy, you've certainly found it, but that wasn't-"

"I wasn't looking for privacy," you interrupt, stepping toward him and reaching out. He looks around warily, but allows you closer. You take his wrists in your hands, walking him back. "I thought about what you said."

He raises his brows, saying nothing as you clasp around him gently at first, then start to firm your grip. "I do want to help you through this."

His eyes widen and he glances behind you to the empty walls of the cell. "You don't need to-"

"Oh, I know that," you tell him sweetly, then press his arms upward.

He pushes back, shaking his head as his back hits the wall. He hisses your name in admonishment. "The cams."

"Are broken," you assure him, lifting his arms above his head as his resistance lessens. "And the cells are soundproof, as you know."

"How do you-"

You activate the switch on the wall beside his hands. "I was down here last week with Master Sinube. We had to move some prisoners and we couldn't use this cell for that reason." The binders glow softly above Obi Wan's head. "Cams won't be fixed until next week."

He follows your gaze upward and a beat of silence passes. You wait for him to protest. You wait for him to rip his arms down and push you off. But all he does is drop his gaze and let out a low breath of air. The sound he makes, sighing softly through his nose, is disapproving, but the intensity of his stare betrays what he really wants.

You press the button, locking the binders around his wrists, then stare back at him, watching the emotions swirl in his eyes. It's like you can see him traveling through all the same thoughts you'd had when this idea had come to you back in his quarters.

In any other scenario he would be giving in. He'd be at fault for not stopping you. But now... You've taken away his choice. You've lifted that burden from his shoulders. All he can do is protest. And you're ready to see if he's willing to do so, or pretend innocence as he's done so many times before.

You sink to your knees in front of him, sliding your palms down to his thighs, then running your hands up beneath his tunic. Your fingers curl at his waist, slowly dragging his clothes down, and you feel his cock twitch when you graze your thumb over the bunched fabric. You snap your eyes up, waiting from him to say the word.

His chest is rising and falling with quick, shallow breaths. His eyes are piercing you with an aching, tight-jawed, guilty look. But he's silent.

Overwhelmingly, obliteratingly silent.

You finally free him, staring with an obscene lack of restraint at the glossy river of precum soaking down the side of his dick.

"Oh," you murmur softly. "Obi Wan..."

At the edge of your view, you see his eyes flutter heavily when you say his name. You gently settle your fingers around him, enjoying his soft breath of relief. Sliding your thumb up along his shaft, you spread out the slick, coating more of his skin.

This should be a utilitarian exercise in urgency. You should be using your hand to get him off, hard and fast. But you left 'should' behind a long time ago. So you slowly turn your wrist, pumping your hand a few times, not with any real pressure, just for the pleasure of running up and down the full length of him. Then you lick your palm and do it again, listening to him suck air above you.

You swallow, caught gazing up at him, and have to urge yourself to keep going. You want to go slow; wring out of him every carnal desire he's pent up for the last several months. But you're already pushing it by drawing it out this long, and part of you is still afraid he'll ask you to stop.

When you finally lower your mouth to his pulsing, straining cockhead, you suck at the tip, flicking your eyes up to look at him again. His hairline is dark with sweat and he's panting like he's losing an agonizing battle. You lock onto his gaze and flatten your tongue to lap slowly at the slit of his cock, watching his eyes widen as your mouth drops open to swirl lazy circles.

"You taste so good," you drawl before slipping your lips around him, suckling softly.

"Ah- hmm..." That earns you a sound something like a sudden, abrupt hum. Like he's trying to get ahold of himself before words begin to fall out.

You drag your lips back up to the tip, then spread them wide and push his head inside the wet heat of your mouth. He goes rigid. Closing your eyes, you focus on giving him all the warm, soft pressure he needs. You engulf his thick head like he's going to pull away at any moment, hollowing your cheeks to suck him sweetly, realizing to your dismay that you could do this for hours.

When you open your throat and take him deeper at last, he rewards you with a loud, plaintive groan. He hits the back of your throat, making you gag for a moment, tears springing to your eyes. You squeeze your legs together, soaking between them, and swallow his twitching cock. You make a small sound in the back of your throat as you wrap your hand around him and start to bob your head, one hand pushing into the back of his leg to bring him closer and the other hand drowning in your own spit, pressed tight below your mouth and running over the length of him as you find your rhythm.

"Stars-" he grinds out. You open your throat and take him even deeper, watching his mouth fall open at first, and then watching him snap it shut to look down at you, face screwed up in a pained expression. His eyes crinkle hard at the edges and his brows pin together, a deep line creasing his face between them.

"This feel good?" you pop your mouth off for a moment to ask him. "You can tell me."

You slide him back in, falling right back into your rhythm, waiting for an answer. But he says nothing. You want to be generous. You want to keep going. In fact, nothing could possibly make you want to stop. But you need to hear him say it just once. You won't be doing this again, and you can't pass up your one chance to hear him say that he liked it. That he wanted it.

You feel his cock throb beneath your tongue, but he doesn't answer. You pull away again, pumping him with your hand.

"Come on." You lower your voice. "You can say it."

His teeth are just visible when he opens his mouth, almost baring them at you. His gaze is somewhere between warning and pleading.

"Tell me it feels good, Obi Wan." You're practically suffocating him with your mouth between interrogations, now. You squeeze him with your slippery hand, lips gliding over him in punishing, repetitive strokes.

You gasp off, panting, "Does it feel good?"

"Yes," he moans.

You're practically dripping, pulsing between your legs at the hoarse groan he lets out. You can't help it. You want to hear more. You pull off again.

"Would you like me to keep going?"

His head lolls to the side and a harsh sigh escapes from deep in his chest, as if to say you know the answer. As if he's scolding you for asking it, and desperate not to reply.

So you relent, and you give him back the slick, perfect heat of your mouth until he's bucking his hips softly with each dip of your head to meet you, and you look up again to see the wrecked look on his face. His cock is pulsing, his breath wild and ragged. It's like he's ready to come, but for some reason, he's holding back.

Then you realize it. You haven't told him, and he can't ask.

"Mmf," you mumble, pulling his cock free of your mouth one last time to tell him, "You can come in my mouth, just like this. Please. Come down my throat."

"Oh, fucking-" he spits out, then seems to melt into your grip, hips falling out of rhythm as his head tilts up-

...only to snap it back down, his body curling in and shuddering violently to a stop when the door lock clicks open.

His cock pops free of your mouth, bouncing when he jerks away, and you're already standing up and scrambling to put his clothes in place before your mind can fully register what's going on.

The door swings open just as you desperately slap the button to free Obi Wan's hands and straighten your own clothes. A pair of soldiers look extremely surprised to see you.

"Master Jedi," one of them says, trading his looks between you and Obi Wan, clearly not sure whom to address first. "I... I didn't know this cell was, um, occupied."

You take a step to the side, trying to block anything unprofessional in Obi Wan's appearance. "Yes, I checked in and gave orders not to disturb us. We are... investigating the... presence of the criminal who occupied this cell last week."

"I see," the guard answers. He doesn't seem suspicious to find you here. They both just seem put-off by your jumpy demeanor.

"Yes, so if you would be so kind as to-"

"I'm sorry, ma'am, no one told us the orders. I've escorted the security technician down here to work on fixing the cams. I'm afraid you'll need to come back later."

"Oh, I..." you trail off.

"That's quite alright, gentlemen," Obi Wan finishes for you. "We can report our findings thus far. Have a nice evening."

He gestures calmly toward the door and you obediently join him in leaving, grateful for the end of the conversation.

It's a long, stiff, quiet walk down the hallway. Thankfully, you don't cross paths with anyone else on the way out. You're nearly at the other end of the hall before you dare to lean in and whisper, "We can, um... We still have the ship."

He gives you a quick head shake in response, and you can feel the frustration in it. "For thirty more minutes before Master Fisto will be looking for it. We need to have it back at the dock before the next shift."

You take a breath, realizing that wasn't a 'no'.

"Well," you say slowly; carefully. "We still have your quarters."

Back at his quarters, he can't pretend innocence anymore, but perhaps you've pushed him past that.

You wait. And wait. And he doesn't answer.

And you board the ship. And he doesn't answer.

And when you land back at the dock a few minutes later, you realize: He's given you his answer.

A/N: The next chapter might be the last; possibly two more, depending on how long it ends up. Please feel free to comment or message me to be added to the tag list. :)

Taglist: @slinkygail @wheres-mylove @millercontracting @cacti5539 @b0xerdancer-writes

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television-overload · 11 hours

Text

of our own making

(an X-Files fanfic)

Chapter 4/34 - phone battery

[Read on AO3]

After a bit of a drought of decent cases, their latest, honest to goodness X-File was a welcome distraction. It hadn’t taken too long to wrap up either, which was a double win for Scully, who could only handle so many nights in a dilapidated motel room in a row. With the case now solved, more or less, all that remained for the morning was a bit of paperwork and a drive to the nearest airport to get back home.

“Your mom called me last night,” Mulder says, sitting in the driver’s seat of their rental car.

“Last night?” Scully asks, furrowing her brows. “What for?”

“It was when we got back to the motel, after your phone battery went dead. I told her to give it a few minutes and try again, give you a chance to get it charged.”

Scully doesn’t respond immediately, and when Mulder turns to look at her, he sees a puzzled look on her face, a crease forming between her brows.

“She didn’t call you?” he asks, matching her expression and turning his attention back to the road.

“No,” Scully answers, concern marring her features. “What did she say?”

“I think she was going to ask you something about Christmas, figuring out plans or something,” he says. “I did mention we were on a case, maybe she decided she’ll just call when you get back and aren’t busy.”

“Probably,” Scully says, then sits back in the passenger seat and gazes out the window at the passing scenery.

He steals another glance at her, thinking about the heavy weight that hung over his brief conversation with his future mother-in-law on the phone the night before. It really had been a short talk, with her asking if he knew where Scully (rather, Dana) was, and then how he’s been doing since his unwitting brain surgery.

He made polite conversation, of course, but keeping such a gigantic secret from a woman like Margaret Scully has a way of making one feel guilty for things they aren’t even guilty of. If the call had gone on much longer, he fears he would have started confessing like a Catholic over the phone, and he couldn’t have that.

Clearing his throat, he asks, “You think we should tell her about us?” then quickly corrects, “I mean– the adoption, eloping…”

She shakes her head. “I don’t think so. Not yet,” she answers.

He shoots her another glance—only for a moment—but to be honest, that wasn’t the answer he’d been expecting.

“I know you said you don’t want a big wedding or anything, but if you want to tell her, you can. I doubt she’d give you any real trouble for it,” he reasons, having a hard time believing Mrs. Scully would be anything but supportive once everything has been explained to her.

“It’s not that. I just—” she struggles to explain. “With Emily, it was so stressful and confusing for her. I don’t want to put her through more of that unless…”

Ah.

He reaches over and places his hand on top of hers, which rests on her knee.

“Unless you’re absolutely sure this is going to work out,” he finishes, and she nods, grateful she doesn’t have to conjure the words herself.

“There are so many variables at play here, Mulder. Any one of them could go wrong,” she says. He knows she’s mentally making a list, calculating how likely each factor is to throw a wrench in their plans. She’d be here a while if she wanted to plan for every possibility, but that won’t stop her from trying, he knows.

He squeezes her hand once. “I hope you know that whatever happens, you don’t have to worry about me. I’m not going anywhere.”

That earns a small smile, and she looks down at her lap in that way that she thinks hides her blush from him. Thankfully, it does no such thing.

“No, the Mulder variable is one that I have on good authority is fairly constant,” she says, not quite meeting his eyes.

“Oh? And are those findings available in a peer-reviewed journal article, Dr. Scully?” he teases back. “If you don’t cite your sources, I’m afraid your claims may be dismissed as unsubstantiated by the wider scientific community.”

“I’ll have to get back to you on that,” she says, “I’m still working on gathering all my evidence. Research takes time, you know.”

“Maybe run some more tests,” he suggests.

She reaches out, running a hand through his hair, gently brushing over the place where his head had been drilled into.

“I’ll try to keep it less invasive than your previous experiences,” she teases, a small smile pulling at her lips.

He breathes out a laugh, forcing his focus back on the road instead of on the feeling of her nimble fingers tousling his hair.

-.-.-

Their discussion picks up again on the plane, perhaps serving as a distraction for his partner who isn’t all that fond of flying.

“You agree with me, don’t you?” she asks.

He gives her a look, his best impression of the Skeptical Scully Brow.

“Is that a blanket statement? Because in general, no, I think that would be factually incorrect, Scully, that’s kind of our whole thing.”

“I mean,” she says, rolling her eyes, “that we should wait to tell people. At least my family.”

He turns toward her. That she’s bringing this up again shows that it’s something she’s really worried about. If it’s reassurance she needs, he’s happy to give it to her.

“Sure, Scully. You know them best.” Really it isn’t his place to decide this, but if she’s asking, maybe she wants it to be. They will, in a way, be his family too if all this works out.

She takes a deep breath, her usual flying anxiety momentarily forgotten in favor of whatever new kind of anxiety this was. “I just mean– If we even get approved, and if we get matched with someone… there’s always a chance the birth mother changes her mind at the last minute,” she says, talking through the scenario aloud. “This will be hard enough with just you and I to worry about. I don’t want to have to think about protecting my mother from heartbreak on top of everything else.”

He has to suppress a sigh on hearing her pessimistic view of what he’s hoping will be a very joyous process. But then again, this is what he loves about her. She’s the yin to his yang. The day to his night. Together, they cover all their bases, leaving no stone unturned in their search for the truth. Why should this be any different? He won’t get very far on nothing but blind hope. She’s here to ensure they are prepared for everything, come what may. Unfortunately, that means her taking on an extra burden of worry, one he hopes he might help alleviate.

“We can wait to tell them,” he vows, hoping that will put a stop to her spiraling. “I’m with you on this, don’t forget. We’re a team.”

She leans back, her head resting against the back of her seat, a sign he knows means she’s relaxing a little.

Success.

Still, the idea of telling no one at all feels dangerous. They need to have someone in their corner besides each other, for a whole slew of reasons. Character witness, taking time off work, filing necessary paperwork so that everything looks totally above board when they make it official… Really, there’s only one person he feels they have to tell, and that’s—

“What about Skinner?”

She turns her head to look at him, confusion playing on her face. “What about him?”

“I think we should tell him. Sooner than later.”

Maybe he should have planned out his pitch a little better. He can tell she’s not immediately drawn to the idea. He should have made up a list of reasons why it is a good plan, not just blurted out his half-formed thought before it was ready.

“But Mulder, what if they split us up?”

He turns in his seat, his attention intensifying. “That’s why we only tell Skinner. Ask him to keep it quiet in case things don’t work out.” She’s gonna need more than that. Think! Tap into those persuasive skills! "But, Scully, there’s going to be times we might have to take an afternoon off for a meeting or something. It will be easier if he knows.”

His focused gaze implores her to consider it.

“I won’t let him split us up. It won’t happen.”

He can’t promise that, she knows, but they know Skinner well enough by now, don’t they? Sure, there may have been times when their trust in him wasn’t so strong, but it has been years now. Surely he would keep this to himself if they asked, right?

“Okay. You’re right…” she says tentatively, turning over his proposition in her head. “Just Skinner. No one else?”

His pinkie finger finds its way to hers and nudges it playfully. When she looks up at him, he smiles.

“Just you, me, and our big, bald boss makes three.”

~~~

SURPRISE - that was a short chapter, so here's another to make up for it

Chapter 5/34 - rulebook

“Hold on, go back to the IVF,” the follically challenged Assistant Director says, his hands tented in front of him. His brows furrow in concentration, and he breathes deeply through his nose, looking up at the two agents across the desk from him. “In vitro fertilization, right? So you’re saying—”

“Agent Mulder and I attempted to conceive a child through scientific means last year, yes.”

Scully’s answer is straightforward, perhaps hoping it will be like ripping off a band-aid. Judging by his stoic reaction, his pursed lips, the vein popping out of his forehead… her nonchalance does not really soften the blow.

His gruff voice returns after a moment of staring at them, his expression unreadable. “Right. Okay. Just wanted to make sure I was understanding.”

“It was unsuccessful,” Scully offers, continuing. “The ova that were fertilized unfortunately were not viable, probably due to the inconsistent storage conditions in which Mulder found them.”

“Yes, that– that’s where you lost me. The part about your abduction and then the cancer…” He sets a hand on top of one of the files Mulder had brought him, as if any of the words in that folder made a lick of sense to him.

“Believe me, sir, it’s just about as confusing to us as it is to you,” Mulder says.

Skinner clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

“Well, I’m very sorry about what happened to you, Agent Scully. I suppose that also explains the existence of… well…”

Emily. A story he never had fully explained.

“Yes, Emily was somehow part of all this. She was an experiment, never meant for me to find.”

Skinner balls his hand into a fist, tamping down the rage he feels bubbling up inside. “These men need to pay. What they’ve done to you– to you both… ”

“With all due respect, sir,” Mulder breaks in, “we’re not here to talk about revenge. We’re just trying to move forward.”

That’s… a surprisingly healthy outlook, coming from Mulder. What had Scully done to him? Whatever it was, the man owed her a heckuva lot more than whatever her last birthday and Christmas gifts had been.

“Of course, I’m sorry,” he apologizes. “So, what is it that you were asking for?”

The two basement-dwelling agents glance at each other, words being passed unspoken between them. It’s unnerving, the way they do that. Downright spooky.

Evidently, they come to the decision that it’s Mulder who should say the next part.

“Well, since we’re looking into adoption, sir, we thought it might be easier if we got married.”

Silence fills the room, an inadvertent staredown commencing between all parties.

“Married.”

Mulder nods. “That’s right.”

Scully is sitting bolt upright in her chair, a picture of professionalism on the surface, but in conjunction with the topic of discussion, it feels distinctly forced. Mulder, on the other hand, is bouncing his knee so severely that it’s a wonder he hasn’t worn a hole in the carpet below him yet.

“We just don’t want there to be any issues here on the bureaucratic side of things, if at all possible,” Mulder adds. “In fact, we’d prefer to keep this quiet, at least until we know if this will work.”

Skinner presses his lips together, shifting his gaze between them once again.

“Well, your personal relationship will have to be disclosed to HR at some point. I can pull some strings—”

“Sir—”

“Although it would have been good to know a little earlier on. Say, around the time you were making some pretty serious medical decisions that may have affected your ability to do your jobs…”

“Sir, I—”

Mulder’s attempts to interrupt go unnoticed.

“You know, I have to commend you. You’ve really kept up appearances around here. I had my suspicions, of course, but you continued on like normal, I almost wouldn’t have guessed—”

“Sir, we’re not actually… together.” Finally, Mulder is able to get the words out, leaving an awkward hush in their wake.

Skinner leans forward, turning his ear toward the younger man as if he hadn’t heard him the first time. “What do you mean?”

A pink tinge blooms on Mulder’s cheeks. “We’re not– Sir, this marriage is a formality, to make the application process easier and hopefully give us better chances of getting approved.”

“A formality,” Skinner repeats.

“Yes. We– We’re just trying to do whatever’s best to improve the odds that this works out.”

One of these days he’s just going to disappear to Cancún. Seriously, he’ll do it. This can’t be good for his health. He suppresses a groan, storing up a massive eye roll for whenever these two idiots leave the room. Only they could think up something like getting married and adopting a child platonically . Not to mention everything else they’d evidently been doing when left to their own devices.

“Right. That’s– Okay, sure. So then, the IVF…”

Scully pipes up. “I asked Mulder, and he agreed to help me.”

“As a friend?” He feels like this bears clarification.

“Is there something against that in the rulebook?” Mulder asks challengingly.

The look he gives them in return is withering. “I don’t think there’s a rulebook for all the insane stuff you two get up to, but I might have to make one, after this.” The two of them have the decency to look chastised at this, though he knows from experience it will do no good in the long run. “You know this is not normal, right?”

“Come on, Skinner, when have I ever been referred to as normal?” Mulder laughs.

“ You , I might expect this from,” he says, pointing a finger in his direction. “It’s Agent Scully that surprises me. You’ve really done a number on her, haven’t you?”

He takes a little solace in the fact that all this IVF business happened under Kersh’s watch, not his own. Imagine if it had worked…

“Will you help us or not, sir?” Scully asks, impatience beginning to make her uneasy in her seat.

He waves a hand in the air. “Yeah, yeah. I thought this day might come at some point, but… definitely not like this.” His mind is wandering already, thinking back to any signs he might have missed, things that may have gone wrong in his career to lead him to this exact moment. “You have my blessing, or whatever it is you came to get from me. You need anything, just ask.”

Scully lets out a sigh, and her shoulders visibly relax.

Mulder moves to stand without another moment’s hesitation, bouncing up with far more energy than a man of his age should have. “Thank you, sir. I promise, this is the last time we ask you to cover for us.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Agent Mulder,” Skinner warns, though his words contain no malice. If anything, he’s resigned.

As much as these two make him tear his hair out (what little he has left), he holds a certain fondness for them that is undeniable.

“And, hey– I’m happy for you. Seriously. The things I’ve seen you go through over the years, everything you’ve lost… You deserve this. Even if I don’t understand it.”

Mulder holds out a hand for him to shake. “Skinner. Thank you. Really.”

He nods. “Good luck with everything. And if you need any advice on adoption, my ex-wife’s sister has gone through it before. I can get you in touch, if you want.”

“We’d really appreciate that.”

They’re gone before he knows it, heads bent toward each other in secretive conversation before they’re even out of sight.

Skinner lets out the eye roll from earlier, leaning back in his desk chair in exhaustion.

They’d figure it out sooner or later, of that he is certain. It’s just taking a little longer than he expected, that’s all.

-.-.-

"I want to get married Christmas Eve."

The proposition comes out of nowhere on a Thursday afternoon, and Mulder nearly spills his coffee mug all over his desk instead of setting it down gently like he was trying to do.

"Next week?" he sputters, the burning liquid nearly going down the wrong pipe.

She purses her lips. "...That's when Christmas is, yeah Mulder."

"I knew there was a reason that guy on the street corner with the bell was dressed as Santa Claus," he jokes, wiping a few splattered droplets of coffee from his tie.

"Mulder..."

"Okay, okay,” he says, dropping the jokester act. “But don't you want to spend the day with your family?" he asks.

She shrugs. "Maybe.” Her eyes are locked on the desk in front of her, pointedly avoiding his concerned look. “I'll go for a little while, but they don't... understand me like they used to. Maybe it's just me, but when I'm with them for too long, I get this sense that they're... afraid of me. Or somehow uncomfortable around me. Ever since Emily..."

He stops her. "That's their problem, Scully. I'm sure they don't mean it."

"I know, it's just... hard."

He bites down on his bottom lip to hold back the slew of words he'd like to say to Bill Scully, Jr. He knows that's not what Scully needs right now, as much as it would make him feel better to have a go at him.

"Is that why you went ghostbusting with me last Christmas?" he asks, his heart softening at the thought.

"I don't know, maybe a little,” she shrugs. “It helped get my mind off things." She looks embarrassed to admit such a thing, but it only serves to make his heart twist in his chest.

"Well, too bad we don't have more time to plan. Could have had a Christmas Eve wedding in a haunted house," he deadpans.

This succeeds in getting her to look at him, and she emits a nervous giggle he doesn't often hear. "Absolutely not.”

He grins, leaning back in his chair and twirling a pencil between his fingers. "Come on, don't you think Maurice and Lyda would like to know we’re getting married? I'm sure they'd have a field day with all our issues from the past year."

"Stop it, that didn't really happen."

"Well even if it didn't, I found it enlightening."

"Good for you. No, the courthouse will be fine."

They fall silent, the jovial atmosphere settling.

"And you don't want to invite your family?” he asks, clarifying. "Since they'll be in town?"

She shakes her head. "No, I think it should be just us."

Just us. He likes the sound of that. But still, one problem remains—

"Alright, so let me get this straight... you want to get married—to me—the one day a year your brother is in town? Are you trying to get me killed?"

Her lips quirk up at the corners. "He won't find out, Mulder."

"You like the danger of it, don't you?” he teases, leaning toward her. “You're a rebel at heart. I knew it. Probably snuck out every night in high school to run around with Johnny from the football team."

She stares at him unwaveringly, not dignifying him with a response. "Is it a yes or a no?" she asks, arms crossed in front of her.

He sobers, meeting her eyes with startling honesty. "I'll marry you any day of the year, Scully,” he says, and it's the truth. It has been the truth for years now. “Just remind me to wear a cup in case he figures it out."

"You're ridiculous."

-.-.-

The next week passes in a blur. Arrangements are made, paperwork acquired, work winds down for the holidays, and for once, Mulder isn't bored out of his mind this time of year.

"I was thinking… for tomorrow..." her voice crackles over the phone.

"Not having second thoughts, are you?" Mulder asks, his tone light and teasing despite the tinge of genuine concern he tamps down.

"No, of course not,” she assures him. “I was thinking, I'll need an excuse to leave Christmas at my mom's."

"No problem,” he says with a shrug. “I'll give you a call and make up some case we have to work."

He hears her sigh and gets the distinct impression that his suggestion was somehow wrong. "I can't ask you to do that,” she says. “They already blame you for last year."

"Gee, that's reassuring,” he chuckles, leaning back on his leather sofa. He adjusts the phone cradle on his chest, stretching the power cord to its limits.

"Not all of them, but, you know—"

"Bill."

"Yeah."

He waits for a second, but when she offers no further thoughts, he asks, "Then what do you suggest?"

She waits a moment more before responding.

"Before you say anything, just listen to what I have to say…”

Oh boy.

"Why does that not give me a good feeling?" he muses aloud, his fingers twirling and tangling with the cord on the phone.

"The only way for you to be in the clear is if you're... with me, when we get called away."

"Scully—"

"We can just leave straight from her house, it's closer anyway."

"All excellent points, except for one thing..."

"Skinner can call us in."

Silence. He wants to argue but he can't.

"He already knows what's happening, I'm sure he'd be happy to help us," she reasons.

"I'm not gonna be able to talk myself out of this, am I?" he asks, a wry smile on his face. He's all out of excuses.

"Mulder, if this works out... Well, there's a chance that by this time next year, we'll be a... family... of some sort, anyway. You might have to get used to it."

The word family sends a thrill right through him. He never thought he'd have one of those again. Never in a million years.

"You're right,” he says regretfully, running a hand over his face. “And it's not that I don't like your family, Scully, it's just I'm not sure they like me back."

"My mom loves you,” she says decisively. “And we'll only be there a few hours anyway. The courthouse closes early for the holiday."

He closes his eyes. He can't believe he's about to agree to this.

"Alright, I'll go. Just so you can get your thrill in doing something wildly irresponsible and rebellious right under your mother's nose."

She protests, "That's not why I—"

"I know you, Scully,” he teases. “You're not as strait-laced as you like to pretend."

After they hang up, Mulder stares up at the ceiling, lost in thought. His stomach flutters with nerves, unrelated to his worries about crashing a family gathering in the morning.

‘I am getting married tomorrow,’ he thinks. To Dana Scully.

It's a Christmas miracle.

~~~

Lovely tag list ♡: [if you would like to be added or removed, let me know!]

@today-in-fic @ao3feed-msr @agent-troi @angegova @baronessblixen @calimanc @captainsolocide @cutemothman @danasculls @deathsbestgirl @edierone @enigmaticxbee @figureofdismay @frogsmulder @hippocampouts @invidiosa @monaiargancoconutsoy @numinousmysteries @primrose19 @randomfoggytiger @skelavender @skylarksong @slippinmickeys @stephy-gold @teenie-xf @the-redhead-in-a-dress @vincentsleftear @whovianderson

#msr #txf #x files #xf fanfic #mulder and scully #my fanfiction #fox mulder #dana scully #of our own making #ooom #msr adoption fic #adoption

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vivwritesfics · 10 hours

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Mafia!Bob AU

Bob Floyd, arms dealer for The Daggers, and, most importantly, sweet loving boyfriend

Short mafia Bob blurb

As Bob sat at her vanity, he pulled his glasses from his face. It was his least favourite part of his morning, swapping his wire rimmed glasses for his glasses.

She watched from their bed, looking pretty in his clothes, as he struggled. "Bobby," she said as she climbed from beneath the comforter. She walked over and sat herself on his lap, completely blocking his view of the mirror as she helped him to put in his contact lenses.

As he did, Bob held onto her hips, squeezing slightly. "There," she said as soon as she had popped the second one in. "Now everybody can see your pretty eyes."

Robert Floyd hated wearing his contact lenses. He loved his glasses, but they made him look so nerdy. And you can't look nerdy when you work for Pete 'Maverick' Mitchell. Not when you're the arms dealer for The Daggers.

"I shouldn't be home too late tonight, Bun," he said and leaned forward to kiss her noise. "Are you doing anything nice today?"

She shrugged and laid her head on his shoulder. "Think Mickey wants to come to the store with me?" She asked as she blinked up at him.

"I think Mickey has no choice," he said and kissed the top of her head. He would have given anything to spend the day with her, would have given anything to swap places with Mickey. But he couldn't, not unless he wanted to face Mav's wrath (and he'd never expose her to that).

Bob pulled his wallet from his pocket and placed it in her hands. "No spending limit for you, my baby," he said and pulled her in her a kiss. "Get anything you'd like."

He hated leaving her, but worked called. Bob stood up, still holding her as he walked over to the bed and dropped her on it. "I'll miss you, bunny," he whispered and kissed her.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled at his hair, desperate to keep him there with her. "Stay," she whispered against his lips.

Bob let out a groan "I'm sorry, bun," he said and pressed his forehead against her own.

Reluctantly, she let him go. She watched as Bob walked out of the bedroom, leaving her there wearing a pout.

It had become a daily ritual. Her, reluctant to let him go, and Bob, reluctant to leave her.

She went shopping, taking Mickey (Bob's best friend and the man who was charged with protecting her while Bob worked) from shop to shop.

Bob couldn't help but think about her as he worked. As he took inventory, as he sorted orders for Ice Man, he was thinking of nothing but her.

But then Jake and Bradley came knocking on his office door. They didn't wait for him to say anything before they walked in and threw their guns on his desk. "We want an upgrade," said Jake.

Bob picked up the gun. "Guys, how do you think this works?" He couldn't stop himself from asking. "Do you think you can upgrade your guns like this is Grand Theft Auto?"

"No," Bradley said immediately. "We just want something better."

Bob let out a sigh as he checked through his books. "Fine, I'll see what I can do."

The old Bob wouldn't have so easily given them what they wanted. The old Bob would have made them stick with their old guns until they damaged them beyond repair. But he'd gone soft, and it was all because of her.

At the end of the day, Bob couldn't wait to get back to her. He locked up the gun store, checked over his books one last time, and made his way back to her.

"Bunny!" Bob called the moment he walked into their lavish apartment. A fond smile crossed his face at the sight of the shopping bags by the door.

He pushed on, past the living room and straight into the bathroom. This part of his day had also become a ritual, but a comforting one at that.

After a day of dealing weapons and selling them in the cities, Bob's favourite part of his day was when he got to wash the grime away and take out his goddamn contacts.

And then it was a careful walk to their bedroom to put his wire framed glasses on.

When he walked into the bedroom, she was just a pretty blob on the bed. Bob placed his glasses on his face and looked down at her, dressed in pretty lingerie that Bob had never seen before.

Pretty lingerie that she'd with his money. "Holy shit, Bunny," he said as he looked down at her. But there with little else he had to say before he was shedding off his suit and climbing on top of her.

@nurse-sainz this is for youuuuuu

#bob floyd #bob floyd imagine #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd fluff #bob floyd x you #bob floyd smut #robert floyd #robert floyd imagine #robert floyd x reader #robert floyd x you #robert floyd fluff #robert floyd smut #robert bob floyd #top gun #top gun maverick #top gun bob #tgm #tgm fic #mafia!au

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aemonds-fire · 7 hours

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The Sapphire Spell Ghost Aemond x Female Reader Part Two - Cabinet of Curiosities

Summary: Can a spell cast by Alys long ago bring Aemond Targaryen back to life centuries later in Westeros? When the remains of the Kinslayer are found and put on display in a Cabinet of Curiosities, the ghost of Aemond discovers the proprietor’s beautiful daughter is the only person who can see or hear him.

Word Count: 2290

Warnings: None

The Sapphire Spell Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen Masterlist

Enjoy! Reblogs and Comments are much appreciated.

Centuries later

“Good morning, father,” you say cheerfully, leaning down to kiss his cheek before joining him at the small dining table. Once you are seated, he says a short prayer before beginning to help himself to breakfast. “What are your plans for today?” you inquire while taking a sip of your tea.

“Ah, my lovely girl, today is the day,” he exclaims, looking at you with a twinkle in his eye and a happy smile on his face. This morning, I will receive my latest additions to the collection. We have a great deal of work to do, much of it to prepare for our newest arrival.”

You stare at him with surprise. ”Oh, I finally get to know what this wondrous item is." You truly cannot remember seeing your father more excited than he has been recently. He still has an almost childlike wonder for new things, an enthusiasm unmatched by most for the curiosities of the world. “Will you at least give me a hint? You have tormented me long enough,” you ask him playfully.

Smiling mischievously, he says, “I suppose I could tell you that a former resident of the Red Keep will be brought to their new home today, but that is all I will say."

“The Red Keep? I didn’t think there was anything left in that old ruin,” you say, looking at him curiously. “What could have possibly been found there?” you ask him.

“Let’s just say that everyone in this city knows my reputation for paying good money for interesting objects,” he smiles, finishing his meal. As he gets up to leave, he tells you, “I’ll be next door; I’ll see you there after your lessons.”

After he leaves, you continue to linger over your tea, intrigued by your father's excitement. Long abandoned, the Red Keep had fallen into ruin for well over a century. New rulers had built palaces and government buildings. A fire several months ago mostly destroyed what remained. Workers have been toiling away for weeks, clearing through the rubble. What could have been found to cause him this much excitement, you wonder?

When you hear your tutors' arrival in the front hall, you hurry off to begin your lessons. While you are grateful for your father’s insistence that you continue your education, focusing today will be a struggle.

After seeing the tutor out, you rush to find your father in the adjacent building. Walking past the numerous displays of natural and man-made artifacts and oddities, you cannot help but smile, thinking about how your family’s fortunes changed in less than two generations.

Your family originally came from Flea Bottom, eking out a meager existence for generations. Your grandfather was born as one of six children. As a young boy, he dreamed of the sea, spending as much time as he could outside the city's old Mud Gate, where ships docked. Willing to learn anything he could about sailing and willing to do any task, he managed to gain favor with a ship's captain, who took him on as a cabin boy. At a very young age, he began a life at sea, steadily working his way up, taking on more responsibility with each voyage, and eventually meeting the great explorer, Lord Swann.

He was a member of Swann’s crew when the lost treasure of the Stepstones was found. With his share, he bought a respectable home in the city, away from Flea Bottom, married a pretty widow, and began a family of his own. He continued sailing with Lord Swann for several more years. During his sailing years, he amassed a number of unusual items he found during his travels to far-off lands. After an injury ended his career at sea, he dedicated his time to his growing collection, eventually buying the property next door and opening the first Cabinet of Curiosities Museum in King's Landing.

Your father inherited everything when he passed. Growing up with a love for the collection, he also possessed a flair for the dramatic and a sharp mind. He saw opportunity in the public’s fascination for things never seen before and kept expanding the collection. While he acknowledged the authenticity of most items in the collection, he also acknowledged the inclusion of a few forgeries.

There was still quite a bit of work to be done before the grand reopening of the collection in two days. Since your family had been adding oddities and artifacts for over fifty years, the assortment was getting quite large. It now takes up the entire first floor of the building. The new exhibit is part of an expansion to the second floor. Flyers had been distributed throughout the city, promising something new and exciting. The collection's temporary closure also allowed your father to have renovations done to the building. The major improvement is the installation of the new innovation of electric lighting, not only in the Cabinet of Curiosities Museum but in your own residence next door.

Once you find your father, you immediately understand his excitement these past few weeks, because this particular display is like nothing else in the collection.

He sees you standing back with a look of shock on your face and laughs. Coming over to put his arm around you, he says proudly, “I’d like you to meet the Kinslayer, Prince Aemond Targaryen."

The Kinslayer is the infamous second son of King Viserys. He claimed the dragon Vhagar as a boy and started the Dance of the Dragons when he murdered his nephew. He was named Prince Regent when his brother, King Aegon II, was seriously injured. After his half sister, Queen Rhaenyra, took Kings Landing, he went on a rampage, burning the Riverlands.

Besides his horrific deeds, not much is known about him. It’s as if he was a stain on House Targaryen that they tried to erase from memory.

The remains of a man are on display before you; his bones lie on black velvet within a specially crafted glass coffin, his skull still bearing the damage from the sword strike from Dark Sister. The suit of night black armor he wore, sword and dagger attached, has been cleaned and reassembled next to the case, as if standing a ghostly guard. Hanging on the wall over the case is a somewhat damaged painting of a young man wearing an eyepatch. He has the trademark silvery-white hair of the Targaryens.

Stunned silent for a moment, you finally manage to ask, “How did you find this? I thought the Targaryens always burned their dead."

Your father explains, "While clearing the rubble from the fire, an underground chamber was found." As you continue to examine this new display, you glance at him. "Most of it had collapsed, but one corner of the room remained unscathed. They had placed these remains in a stone sarcophagus and stored the painting and armor nearby."

“Why his body was not burned, I cannot say, but the fact that he was found under the Red Keep, along with the research I’ve done, convinces me that these are the remains of the Kinslayer,” he continues. “Now we have him, his armor, and his portrait. Once word spreads, people will be lining up outside to see him. He is going to make us a fortune.”

"The only thing missing is the sapphire he reputedly wore in place of his eye," you remark, noting that the prince was a rather tall man by the looks of his skeleton.

"That remains undiscovered, likely in the depths of the God's Eye." Small chance of anyone ever seeing that again,” your father sighs.

You chuckle. “If it is ever found, I’m sure you will find a way to acquire it.”

Smiling, he says, “I would try.” Gazing at the empty crates and packaging that the artifacts arrived in, he declares, "I'll assign the boys to tidy up. We still have a lot of work to do if we are to be ready to reopen.”

Taking a last glance at the portrait of the Targaryen prince, you follow your father to see what you can help with.

The next two days go by quickly as you spend most of your time making sure everything is in perfect order. Your father’s enthusiasm is contagious, making the work more enjoyable. You are both optimistic that more people will be eager to see the new and improved museum, and they will be willing to pay the increased admission price. While you are not wealthy, it is a profitable business that affords you a very good living. Despite society’s expectations that you should be looking for a husband, you are happy with your life.

You also find yourself drawn to the painting of Aemond Targaryen, standing in front of it several times. You can’t help but notice how regal he is, unsmiling but strikingly handsome; he has a strong jawline, good cheekbones, and a natural curve to his lips. His characteristically Targaryen silvery-pale hair, pulled back from his face, is long and straight. The eye patch over his left eye, with the scar trailing above and below, gives him a rather dashing appearance, you think.

As you remind yourself there is work to be done, you become aware of the freezing cold air around you, and you swear something grazes your hand. Startled, you whirl around to look behind you, only to find yourself alone in the exhibit. Nervously brushing back the tendrils of hair that have escaped your loose chignon, you sense there is another presence here with you.

Trying to steady your breathing, your eyes dart around, but you see no other person near you. You can faintly make out the voices of some of the staff you employ, but they are distant. With a quick shiver from the cold, you shake it off and head downstairs.

Finally, the time has come to reopen the Cabinet of Curiosities Museum to the public. With a glance out the window, you can already see that a crowd has begun to line up for the ticket window. Joining your father just inside the entrance, you can’t help but think he looks rather distinguished today. Your father is a natural showman, which is one of the reasons the collection has remained a popular attraction in the city. You love watching him, dressed elegantly in a tailcoat tuxedo, enthrall an audience with history and somewhat embellished tales of artifacts.

Playing your part as well, you are dressed in a fashionable gown with your hair styled up and adorned with jeweled combs. You act as a hostess for the collection, guiding visitors and answering questions.

You smile, knowing your father will be in rare form tonight, telling the tale of the Kinslayer from the Age of Dragons.

The afternoon and evening pass by in a blur. The grand re-opening is a stunning success, with high society rubbing shoulders with common folk. It seems that regardless of one's status in life, all share a fascination for the unusual and mysterious.

Several times, your father holds court, telling the tale of Aemond Targaryen. He captivates the crowd with the tale of the villainous prince who murdered his nephew to begin the Dance of the Dragons, declaring himself Prince Regent, mercilessly burning the Riverlands, and consorting carnally with a witch.

It was long past nightfall when the last patrons were ushered out and the doors locked. Your father brings out a bottle of the finest Arbor champagne for you and your small staff to celebrate the night’s success.

By the end of the week, you're exhausted from the nonstop activity and the throngs of people surrounding you, and you're relieved that the museum will close tomorrow for the weekly day of worship of the Seven. After you and your father visit the Sept in the morning, you look forward to a more peaceful day with a pleasant walk if the weather allows. However, as you get ready for bed, Prince Aemond occupies your thoughts once more.

Whenever you are in the museum, you feel compelled to visit his display. You’ve found yourself looking down at his remains that lie on black velvet, staring at the bones of his hands, noticing how long his fingers are and how much larger his hand would be compared to your own. You've even had the strange urge to open the glass case, reach in, and touch him. But it is his portrait that captivates you the most. While his angular features may not be considered conventionally handsome, you see a strikingly unique splendor to his image. His scar and eye patch only deepen his mystery for you.

You confess to yourself that you find it difficult to reconcile this portrait with the accounts of the cruel monster he was said to be. The story of his short life and terrible deeds should repel you, but they intrigue you more. You have an intense curiosity about him. 'What was he thinking as he sat for this portrait? What did his voice sound like?’ Questions like these have been going through your mind all week.

Also on your mind are the odd feelings you have when in the museum.

Many times, you have the feeling of being watched. You experience sudden, icy cold drafts that come out of nowhere and make you shiver. A few times you feel as if someone is standing beside you or behind you, much closer than would be proper, and each time you are alone with no one around. And tonight, as you were preparing to leave, you thought you heard a hushed voice whisper your name.

As you drift off to sleep, your final thought is that everything started when the museum received Prince Aemond's remains.

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