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#nothing i say ever makes sense i just like chewing on your thoughts

chocoenvy · 2 years

Note

So you thought the last one was good well how about this i put 5% of my angstussy into this one

Reader can be seen swinging vortex vanquisher while fighting childe in the snowy fields of the tsaritsas domain for some "exercise" as the acolytes watch from afar with medical aid at the ready but zhongli notices something about how Reader fights

Zhongli: Barbatos do you notice anything...... strange with how our grace handles a polearm

Venti: uh yeah there AMAZING at it but that's expected of our divine creator

Zhongli: its probably nothing but just look

Cut to Reader spinning vortex vanquisher around parrying and blocking all of childes attacks even forcing him into his fowl legacy form but what really stands out to zhongli and even the tsaritsa is how devoid of emotion readers face and eyes become like the moment they pick up a weapon they only have one objective........to kill

Suddenly Zhongli is pulled out of his thoughts by the sound of childe being knocked out of his foul legacy and the hard almost rib breaking stomp of the readers foot on childes chest as reader holds vortex vanquisher to childes throat as he holds his hands up in surrender

Childe: wonderfully done your grace you surely had me on my toes (reader doesn't respond only stares into childes dead blue eyes with their equally dull red ones but that's not right readers eyes are the color of stars) um your grace......are you okay

Reader doesn't respond only holding vortex vanquisher dangerously close to childes throat oh how easy it would be to just end it

Reader then raises the polearm away from childes neck allowing him to let out a breath of relief as everyone gets ready to congratulate them on there win before it turns to fear as they thrust the polearms blade once again towards childe but stop just a blood is drawn from his throat before they start to shake and cry before falling to the ground unconscious there eyes returning to there starry and gold appearance as everyone races to check on the reader to ensure there safety Ei and the tsaritsa both stare at reader with eyes of fear

Ei: you saw that didn't you

Tsaritsa:.........i

Ei: they fought just like They did during the fall

Tsaritsa: it can't have been them remember the scrolls said "the divine creator would return from there world of healing to lead us into a golden age" an age without celestia.......do you dare oppose our creator....our LOVER

Ei: i.....I'm sorry its just after that day everytime I try to think back to that monsters face all I get is.....nothing

The tsaritsa and Ei decide to put this topic aside and help the other acolytes get ready to the castle

Long ago during the earlier days of teyvat before the idea of archons was even conceived there was a warrior one adept with any weapon and able to control all the elements they had no name, they had no face, and where ever they went.....was left destroyed without a trace

A warrior created by celestia to enforce there rule and tasked with the sole purpose but to destroy any and all disruptions of celestias rule and since so many have fallen to their blade not much is know about them only tales of a monster with dull red eyes and a hunger for death

So how did I do?

YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW MUCH AND HOW HARD I LAUGHED AT ANGSTUSSY

okay but the god that they've been worshipping, the god they thought was so holy and good because they came from a world different from their own. That they'd be able to save them from the forces of their world because they were not originally from here.

Just for them to be the very thing they sought refuge from.

For them to watch as you flourish and blossom into a killing machine that will one day kill them all. They worshipped you, all for you to kill them in the end. They were the hands that nurtured their own demise and they can't help but hate themselves for being so blind.

Even if you were innocent and had no control over this force, if it was something invading your body and something you had no desire for... if any of them could they'd all go back and kill you when they had the chance.

Or maybe some of them cared too much about you to kill you. Perhaps someone knew but decided not to say anything, because they love you.

It's a very yummy thought im gonna nom on this for a while thank you <3

#choco.asks #angstussy KSJFLASDKFJSAD IM SOBBING #ngl you sent this in right after the makoto x tsaritsa thing so i thought reader had makoto's soul in their body #which is quite the yummy thought that i kinda wanna munch on just for the brainrotting goodness i'll get from it #nothing i say ever makes sense i just like chewing on your thoughts

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wrongplacerighttime · 1 month

Text

ex-boyfriend!harry x you

just a lil somethin somethin. wrote this super quick and didn’t proof read it so !!!! basically just smut with a lil bit of a plot, didn’t go into too much detail w the plot. just was in a….mood if you know what i mean HAHAHA.

wc: 2.8k

tw: ex-boyfriend!harry, smut 18+, squirting if you squint, unprotected sex, p in v. use protection kids!!!

bad idea, right?

The bass through the speaker in the bar turns to muffled bumps as you look down at your phone and see a text from your former boyfriend, blood draining from your face, from your brain and you can't form a coherent thought. Just his name that you never deleted from your contact list. It had been six months since the tumultuous end that you never wanted to think about. You stared at it for so long that the letters of his name blurred together.

Harry.

Yes with just a period, because you had removed the emoji you reserved just for him, a giraffe from some inside joke the two of you shared. You had wondered then if he kept the teddy bear by yours or if he removed it like you had, erasing that part of your relationship from his memory.

You remind yourself not to think of it that way. It was over. Six months ago, when he came home and said he just didn’t want to be in a relationship anymore with no explanation. He packed and left the same night. You didn’t stop him…how could you have, when he was so hellbent on leaving? You just wanted him to be happy, if he decided it wasn’t with you, you had to learn to be okay with that.

Your finger hovers over the message, wanting nothing more than to open it and see if he finally decided to give you the clarification you were desperate for. You glance around briefly, looking to see if any one of your friends was near. If they saw this they would freak. They’d yell and scream at you to delete it without opening it.

You knew you couldn’t.

The coast was clear and you inhale deeply, holding it in until the message was open.

From: Harry.

“Hey.”

Just one simple word. Chewing on the inside of your lip, you type back.

To: Harry.

“Hi.”

Three gray dots show up on the screen almost instantly, like he was watching the message thread and waiting for you to respond while you were having a crisis on the other end. You drum your fingers against the back of your phone, nervously shifting your weight from one foot to the other as you watch them disappear and reappear, as if he was typing and rethinking whatever he was saying. Then it finally shows up.

From: Harry.

“Busy?”

Yet another message with one single word. Narrowing your eyes, you quickly type back that you were at the bar with your friends. The typing bubble comes up again, but he doesn’t seem to hesitate on sending this time because the only thing that comes up is an address. Assuming it’s his new place, you look around for your friends but don’t see them in your line of sight.

You argue back and forth with the angel and devil perched on your shoulders. You know this means he wants you to come over. But it’s a bad idea, right? On the other hand you miss him, more than you ever missed anyone, and not getting to tell him how much you loved him when he left made it impossible to forget him.

Just one time wouldn’t hurt, right?

Your phone buzzes in your hand, his name lighting up your phone in a different way this time. You press the green button without hesitation, putting a hand over your other ear to hear him better. But the other end of the line is silent, save for his breathing. Neither of you wanted to be the first to speak. Then he clears his throat.

“Come over.” He’s almost begging, and you sense some undertone in his plea. “Please. Just miss you.” He admits and the alcohol clouding your mind makes it sound like honey dripping from his tongue and you don’t question it.

“Miss you too.” You slur, twisting a strand of hair through your fingers and looking towards the floor. “I’ll be there in 20.” You say without thinking about it and hang up quickly.

You don’t waste time, leaving the bar and typing his address into your phone to get directions. On the way over, you think about turning around and going home, because this is crazy. You swore you were done with him, you didn’t beg him to stay, didn’t beg him to come back…and yet you’re unsure why it was so easy for you to come to his beck and call at your expense.

You decide that it would be a problem for you to figure out when you’re sober.

You pull up in front of his place in a quaint little neighborhood, one you never imagined he would be living in. Sitting in your car for a moment, mustering up the courage to go knock was proving to be difficult but you take a deep breath and get out anyway. Standing in front of his door, you only get one knock in before he’s swinging the door open, not wasting any time like he was waiting there for you the entire time.

He’s there, standing in front of you, dressed in nothing but those goddamn gray sweats that seem to leave nothing to imagination and your brain sends itself into overdrive. It was like you were seeing him for the first time, and he was you. Looking at each other wordlessly, it seems to say everything the two of you need. You could see it in his eyes—longing, lust and a hint of repentance swirling in his gaze, but you know you’re not here for that.

He surges forward, and you meet him in the middle. When your lips meet, you forget he isn’t yours anymore. Your heart melts along with your body pressing into him as your tongues dance together and heat swirls below your navel. It’s anything but gentle, teeth clashing together and tugging on his hair at the nape of his neck. His fingers tangle in strands of your hair, tightening his grip at the root and you whimper into his mouth. He backs into the foyer, bringing you with him without detaching his lips from yours. He lowers himself, tapping the sides of your thighs gently and wrapping his hands ‘round the backs of them and you know what he wants you to do. You jump slightly and he lifts you as you wrap your legs around his hips and he shuts the door, backing you into it and you arch your back, pushing your chest against his. You finally pull away from the kiss, needing to catch your breath. He doesn’t say anything, attaching his lips to your pulse point and lightly nipping at the skin there and you let a whine escape, leaning your head back to give him more access.

“Har.” Your eyes squeeze shut, teeth gritting at the marks he’s leaving on your skin, pain morphing into pleasure that clouds your senses.

“Missed you so much, dovey. Can’t believe I let you fucking go.” He mutters against your collarbone between kisses.

“Please.” You breathe out, and he brings his gaze to meet yours now. Using the door for leverage, he brings one hand up, drawing over your lips with his thumb and you part them for him. Placing the pad of his thumb against your tongue, you wrap your lips around his digit and suck lightly, hollowing your cheeks and his eyes flutter as he leans his forehead against yours.

“Fuck, angel. Missed this pretty mouth too.” He pants and pulls his thumb from your mouth, rubbing your own salivation over your lips.

“Why am I here if you’re not going to fuck me?” You manage to ask, wanting to cut to the chase and still a little breathless. He grins.

“Who said I wasn’t? Just wanna take you in first. Didn’t think you’d show up.”

“Well, I did. Please fuck me. Need it so much, Harry.” You beg and his grin grows. Carrying you, he walks you through the unfamiliar layout of his house until you reach the bedroom and he’s laying you down gently, climbing over you and kissing over exposed skin. His fingers dance under the hem of your shirt, sliding under and he palms over your tits and squeezing lightly. Your hands find his face in the dark and pull his lips to yours again.

The kiss is only brief, he stands and pushes his sweats off his body, kicking the material from his legs and he works on undressing you. He pulls your shirt over your head and immediately his fingers flick the button of your jeans open, pulling them and your panties off in one go. When he climbs back over you, you trail your hands from his chest to his navel, wrapping one hand around his cock and tugging gently. Thumbing over the tip, collecting the evidence of his own arousal. He swears under his breath, chest heaving at your gentleness and you don’t really want to waste any more time. You line him up with your entrance, forgoing any foreplay for the sake of just needing him to fill you like you’ve been craving. He seems to understand the desire you feel, slowly pushing into you and dropping his head to your chest.

“Fucking missed this.” He says through gritted teeth, following his words with a garbled groan as he slides into you. You can only muster a whimper in response, the feel of him stretching you open leaving your brain fuzzy and unable to form a coherent thought and all you know is him…his touch…his cock. He stills when he reaches the hilt, warming himself inside you and he brings his head up to look at you underneath him. He can’t help but take in your flushed cheeks and your eyes squeezed shut, and he just loves how pretty you look like this. Like an angel. He pulls out to the tip and without warning drives into you over and over, hips meeting yours and his mouth pulls up at the corner at the noises you can’t hold in.

“Heard you fucking went out with Nathan.” He seethes and your eyes fly open at his claim. He knows you weren’t expecting him to bring it up with his dick inside you, but you know where he’s going. “Did he fuck you like this? Did he fill you like I can, pretty girl?” You can’t seem to find it in you to answer, lost in how he makes you feel. And you did sleep with Nathan, but you weren’t exactly sure how Harry knew that.

“Answer me, baby.” He purrs against the skin under your ear, lips brushing against you as he whispers in your ear and you shake your head.

“N-no. Nobody—fuck—nobody does it like you.” It was the truth. Harry just knew how to satisfy you in a way no other man could. He knew you like the back of his hand, knew the spots that would make you scream his name…knew how to work you up just right until you were squirming just from his touch.

“That’s right. Nobody fucking does it like me, dovey.” He’s relentless with his pace, looking for one outcome and one outcome only. He hits a spot deep inside your pussy over and over until you feel that all too familiar pressure building in your core. Your fingernails scrape over his back, clawing and holding him closer to you.

“Har, m’gonna—” You can’t get the full sentence from your throat, your moan muffled as you bite onto his shoulder.

“I know it, angel. Fucking give it to me. Wanna feel you soaking me.”

So you do, you let go and the pressure releases and you’re crying out and he’s got a smirk plastered on his face knowing no one but him can make you feel this way. You’re holding your breath and he’s tapping your face lightly to bring you back down to earth.

“Breathe, dove.” He encourages and you exhale, chest deflating and your body goes limp from exhaustion. He fucks into you slower now, allowing you to recover and you give him a tired smile. His movements halt and he lifts your hips from the mattress, wrapping his arms around you and splaying his hands across your back while he kisses you again and again, pecking lightly until you’re giggling.

Without pulling out of you, he pulls you to his chest and rolls until you’re on top of him, the shift in position pushing his cock in a little bit further. Your limbs are jelly and you steady yourself by flattening your palms on his chest. You roll your hips lazily, clit rubbing over his skin and making yourself shudder. You clench around him as his head drops back against the headboard, eyes rolling back from pleasure. His hands find your hips and squeeze, dimpling the supple skin. His fingers digging into your flesh burns but he knows this is how you like it, he knows that you like it best when it hurts just a little bit. Love looking in the mirror and seeing the evidence of his touches all over you.

He guides you the way he wants, rolling your hips over his cock before helping you bounce, ass meeting the top of his thighs so deliciously. It’s slow at first, then you find your own rhythm and fuck his cock into you and he’s a mess underneath you now. Praising you and roaming his hands from your ribs down to the swell of your ass.

“Doing so fucking good, angel—taking me so well. Know you were made just for me.” His teeth clench together and his jaw ticks. “Can I cum in your pretty pussy, baby?”

“God yes, Harry. Please.” You beg him and he nods, chuckling and throwing his head back once more. His hand finds the back of your neck, pulling you closer to him forcefully and you whine.

“You’re a fucking dream, dove. So good to me even when I don’t deserve it.” He holds you there and he takes over, bucking his hips so he’s fucking you again and holds you just where he wants you. It doesn’t take much more before you feel him twitching inside you and feel the warmth of his cum spilling into you and it sends you over again, coil snapping as you pulse around him. You kiss over his neck as he rides you both through the high.

You stay there for a moment wrapped up in eachother, skin sticky with sweat and chests heaving together with pants and short breaths. Your head rests on his collarbone and you draw circles over the swallow on his chest and his fingers find a path on your spine, running down before coming back up. It was fast and quick and everything you needed. He turns his head and nudges you with his nose, pressing his lips to your skin and breathing in.

“I’m sorry.” You hear him whisper against your temple. Your eyes look up at him and feel your heart melting at the sight of him, sweaty and euphoric with his curls sticking to his forehead.

“We don’t have to talk about it right now.” You mutter. “Just let me pretend the past six months didn’t happen for a little while longer.” He nods, pecking your temple once more, then twice. Exhaustion takes over your mind and you’re almost asleep on his chest when the shrill ring of your phone brings you to a panic.

You jump off of him, searching on the floor for your phone and when you find it you see it's a friend calling you. You swear under your breath, heart pounding in your chest when you realize you forgot to tell them you were leaving. You press the button and bring it to your ear as Harry flicks on his bedside lamp and illuminates the room with a soft glow.

“Hello?” You say, calming yourself and trying not to sound too casual.

“Where are you?” She asks curtly, and you curse yourself again for not mentioning you were leaving sooner.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t feeling well and left. I tried to find you but I couldn’t. Then I forgot to text. I’m sorry.” You lie and she’s silent on the other end for a beat.

“So you’re home?”

“Yeah.” Another lie. They didn’t have to know you were in Harry’s bed. Not yet at least. You’d tell them eventually. Just not right now. You chew on the inside of your lip, and look over at Harry who has a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. You roll your eyes at him and bite back your own grin.

“Okay. Well…feel better I guess.” She says and hangs up. You let go of a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

You knew it was a bad idea.

Yet you didn’t seem to care as you crawled between his sheets and went to sleep.

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viviennevermillion · 9 months

Text

What their lips taste like

✧ ɴᴏᴛᴇꜱ: does this count as a headcanon post? feels too short. but i had this idea and just ran with it.

✧ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ: all honkai star rail men + some of the aeons

✧ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: some of this might be crack

✧ Arlan

Toothpaste. He has no time for lip balm. He just brushes over his lips with his toothbrush every morning for "practicality reasons". Sometimes they also taste like peppermint chewing gum which is what he sometimes chews on during work. Either way, when you kiss him there's always this feeling of freshness to it, which in his mind makes up for his general awkwardness about the whole situation.

✧ Blade

You'd think his kiss would taste like, impending death or something but it's actually rose. You never actually see him put anything on his lips and they're chapped but somehow they always retain this slight taste of roses. When asked about it, he simply shrugs and says he never knew this was the case. But it's nothing he spends much thought on.

✧ Caelus

Could be anything. You never know what you're going to get. Sometimes it's a nice taste and sometimes it's something that makes you want to brush your teeth right after. Just carry some chewing gum with you to be safe.

✧ Dan Heng

It's usually either black coffee or darjeeling. Depending on what he felt like drinking. If it's tea, Dan Heng's kisses have this calming, homely taste and feel comforting given his soft and calm demeanor. He might invite you along for sharing a cup of tea with him.

✧ Gepard

Peach. He tried Serval's lip balm when he was a kid and he found he quite liked it so he has been buying it for himself ever since. You think it adds to how sweet your boyfriend already is, with that slight blush on his cheeks whenever you surprise him with a kiss that he didn't see coming. You'll happily pull him in for more kisses. He doesn't complain.

✧ Jing Yuan

Hibiscus. Somehow feels very him. You can't explain why but it's exactly what you expected. It's a nice taste though, so kissing Jing Yuan is always a pleasure. He's one of the characters who specifically put on lip balm so you enjoy their kisses even more.

✧ Lan

Horse. Sometimes carrots.

✧ Luka

It's always some form of meat. Sometimes it's chicken. Sometimes it's beef. Sometimes it's pork. That's basically his diet. Doesn't bother to put on lip balm. Will totally let you put it on him though if you want to.

✧ Luocha

Common sage. He always carries cough drops with him as part of his whole healing schtick and sometimes when he's bored or has a weird taste on his tongue, he pops one into his mouth. He likes the taste of it and offers you some too, but makes sure to remind you not to eat a lot of them. So his kisses also have this fresh taste to them.

✧ Nanook

Kissing an Aeon or in general being close to one is often an experience that tends to go beyond your five senses so sometimes their kisses taste like concepts rather than actual flavors (Horse Georg is a statistical outlier and should not have been counted). You'd expect Nanook's kisses to feel like destruction. You really would. But there's just a hint of life in them. Like a slumbering seed ready to grow into something more.

✧ Sampo

Honey. He stocks up on honey lip balm and also puts that on specifically so you enjoy his kisses more. Sampo's kisses are sweet just like the words that come out of his mouth when he's trying to get your attention or wants to convince you to join him in his latest scheme. He thinks maybe it'd be a good idea to try and sell "parallel universe lip balm" sometime.

✧ Welt Yang

Chamomile. Also due to the tea. It's how he likes to spend his afternoons; looking at the stars from the Astral Express windows over a cup of tea as he occasionally presses a kiss to your lips to remind you that he loves you and cherishes you.

✧ Yaoshi

Yaoshi's kisses taste like a million worlds coming into existence, hundreds of lives growing and flourishing and billions of flowers blooming simultaneously. It's a lot if you're not used to it. Yaoshi just thinks that if that's not your regular experience tasting anything ever, your senses must be very bland so they often worry whether you enjoy their kisses enough.

#honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail #hsr #arlan x reader #blade x reader #caelus x reader #dan heng x reader #gepard x reader #lan x reader #luocha x reader #luka x reader #jing yuan x reader #nanook x reader #sampo x reader #welt x reader #yaoshi x reader

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blkkizzat · 4 months

Text

꒰ა 𝘖𝘣𝘫𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘚𝘶𝘬𝘶𝘯𝘢: 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘴 ໒꒱

a/n: IDK if this will be a series yet but I really wanted to turn the tables on the JJK men and write a drabble on what it would be like returning that alpha feral energy to them lmfao. for now this a one off! I may do more in the future. cw: trueform!Sukuna, canonverse, y/n being feral, dirty talk, fantasizing, intrusive thoughts and, of course, objectifying Sukuna's thighs. crack drabble lol wc: 925 Black fem coded but no descriptors.

You were with Sukuna in his throne room. The one task you were given was to stand next to him, look pretty and be silent while he handled business with the various cursed and sorcerer associates who requested an audience with him.

You fidgeted as you stood to his left, never good at remaining still.

Uruame stood to his right, stoic as ever.

But you did try your best to behave, eyes roaming around the room to find any source of focus.

There.

Your eyes widened before slightly narrowing as you honed in on your target, now perfectly entranced by–

Sukuna’s thighs.

You loved Sukuna’s entire body, but most of all you loved his thighs. No love couldn’t even really quantify your affections –you were obsessed.

Man spread out on his throne, a thick muscular thigh was exposed from Sukuna’s robes as he lounged back looking uninterested in whatever the curses in front of him were speaking of.

Unconsciously you chew your lower lip, letting your mind wander. You easily get lost in your thoughts of Sukuna's thighs.

Your mouth watered at the way the well-defined muscles beneath his skin created a sculpted landscape. It was a feast for your eyes and you didn’t fail to notice each subtle flex of movement they made.

Even the thigh still clothed in the fabric of his robe clung to the Herculean contours of the sinewy curves beneath them, rippling beneath the fabric in a way that made moisture pool in your panties.

The wide breadth of his thighs flaunted his sheer physical prowess, a testament to being The King of Curses.

It would feel oh, so good to relish the way his muscles flexed beneath you. Your hips would spread open near to the point of straining as you imagine vigorously riding his thigh.

Unintentionally you were turning yourself on more than you even realized.

Your thoughts spiral further to picture Sukuna making you get on your knees after. He would look down on you with the most devious grin as he commanded your tongue to clean up the sizable mess your filthy lil’ cunt made on his thigh.

Your stomach tightened at the thought of tracing the prominent vein on his inner thigh all the way up until you reached—-

A small whimper escaped you.

Shit.

Sukuna’s eyes immediately snapped to you, raising a hand to silence his cursed subjects speaking.

“What is it, Y/N?”

Sukuna was annoyed you couldn’t even manage to stay still for a few hours as he had long sensed your restlessness. However, the current level of distress he read on your features had him curious as to what changed.

“It’s nothing, my King.”

Sukuna was unmoved.

“I don't ask questions twice, Y/N.”

“Um, but it’s really nothing much at all… I-I, well…It’s just that uh, I was thinking…”

“Spit it the fuck out woman I don’t have all da—

“—you thicc as fuck Kuna!”

Utter silence.

A pin could drop and it would sound like the acoustics of a concert stadium.

Silence in general has always made you feel awkward and this was really awkward.

Sukuna wasn’t saying anything, likely processing your statement and the fact you interrupted him to make it.

More nervous than ever you couldn’t help what proceeded to spill forth, a dam of words broken as you attempted to explain yourself further.

“I-I mean your thighs daddy, you too thicc! You got the yams, thunder thighs, them wupples, hamhocks, you a real thighrannosaurus rex ,a thunty king even– y-you just thicc as fuck! Like damn daddy, ya know!?”

The reality of what you were saying didn’t hit you until you had finished and you slapped your hands over your mouth, your eyes wider than saucers.

You had been unable to be able to control the word vomit you’ve been oppressing.

Although you did have to admit in finally confessing your obsession you felt like a sinner absolved and a weight lifted from you.

No lies were told though, so who could really blame you?

Sukuna was still silent. His expression unreadable.

The curses in front of Sukuna are frozen. Worried that a single move would cause his ire to explode at them reducing them to mere molecules for even witnessing whatever had just occurred.

Uruame’s face, oddly the most expressive one of the bunch, was clearly questioning what in the ever loving fuck was wrong with you. But more than anything Uruame was puzzled as to why you were still even being allowed to take breaths.

More silence followed.

Yet after what seemed like a millennia to everyone else in the room, Sukuna finally spoke. His tone was calm, yet icier than the frozen temperatures outside his palace.

“You know how easily I can kill you, right Y/N?”

You nearly had to bite your own tongue off as your intrusive thoughts had zero regard for your own life and threatened to bubble up out of your throat again.

Honestly? If we're being real, you wanted nothing more than to drop to your knees and stick your head up his robes.

You would gladly die if it was from his massive thighs suffocating you, busting your skull like a tiny grape.

But then you wouldn’t be able to enjoy riding Sukuna’s thighs anymore and you didn’t want an afterlife where you couldn’t access Sukuna’s thighs.

Reluctantly, yet obediently, you gulped them down, swallowing any more embarrassment you could bring to The Curse King at this moment.

“Yes of course, dadd– my King.”

“Then stand there and shut the fuck up brat.”

© ʙʟᴋᴋɪᴢᴢᴀᴛ 2024. ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜱ ʀᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ. ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ꜱᴛᴇᴀʟ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ, ᴄᴏᴘʏ ᴏʀ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇꜱ ꜰɪᴄꜱ, ᴅʀᴀʙʙʟᴇꜱ, & ɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄꜱ. ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀʟʟ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ʙʏ ᴍᴇ ᴜɴʟᴇꜱꜱ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀᴡɪꜱᴇ ꜱᴛᴀᴛᴇᴅ. ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ.

a/n: when writing this I thought, what would @ryomens-vixen do? and here we are. lol. next up: still working on lactation kink yakuza!toji fic, ceo!gojo and nerd!geto fics.

tags: @littlemochabunni @biscuitsngravie @halobuns @honeeslust

Reblog to objectify Sukuna's yams but comments and likes are always appreciated!

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monicahar · 2 years

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drunken nights.

when they get a bit too wasted...

characters; cyno, scaramouche, tighnari, kazuha, nilou, shenhe

; gn! reader, alcohol/drinking, established relationship, slight nsw themes of scara's hehe, this is so unnecessarily long

if you somehow manage to get this man to drink away his burdens, CYNO would be the goofy type of drunk. usually, he'd keep his jokes to himself, waiting for an opportunity to insert them in a conversation. but when he's utterly besotted, that boundary completely disappears into thin air. think of it as a barn of chickens, once his mental capacity is impaired due to drinking, all those chickens escape, about to enforce chaos. you and your friends now have to listen to his horrible jokes throughout the entire night, even if they have no correlation to the topic of the conversation whatsoever. it also doesn't help a bit that he contagiously cackles at all of his jokes. his soar laughing fills the entire table with a sense of melancholy. even after you both get home, he's still cracking horrible jokes whilst you're trying to shove water down his throat.

“hey, hey, [name], do you know why I love you so dearly?” you stay quiet, minding your own business until he suddenly wraps his arms around you—earning a small yelp as he breaths down your ear. “because you're perfect.” “cyno...that's not even funny...” you struggle to surpress the incoming blush. “it's not a joke, you walnut...”

if SCARAMOUCHE ever entertains the thought of getting drunk to momentarily forget his burdens, he'd probably only want to do it alone with you. which is why you're both now in his inazuman-styled bedroom, cups of sake in each other's hands as you both quietly talk just about anything, throwing in some insults here and there because we know how he is. i see him becoming almost becoming a completely different person when drunk. he's more chill, and is definitely a lot more talkative than when he's sober. “i saw a cat today, it reminded me of you.” you lean onto his shoulder, feeling the headache already. “was it mean to you?” he throws a slight glare. “bingo. it was cute though. much like you.” he doesn't have the heart to get mad at the moment. not because he's drunk or anything, but because of how grazing hot your skin is against his. both of your kimonos are loosened due to the growing heat of the room.

he catches a glimpse of your bare shoulders and collarbone, a canvas ready for him to paint with...ahem. suddenly feeling a carnal desire burn inside him, he quickly shifts his position, looking more carefully at your flushed face, dilated eyes as you breath heavily. “kuni, is it just me or is it getting warmer—” you're unable to finish talking as he crashes his lips onto yours. good night ;)

TIGHNARI would be too refined and busy for such activities, so i will use his status as a researcher to my advantage. he's come across a wide variety of plants, but one of your favourite discoveries of his would be that one particular mushroom that enacts alcoholic symptoms upon a living being that consumes it. you both come across it during an expedition, and unsurprisingly—he wants to see its capabilities, ordering you to record it's effects, and to bring him back to ghandarva ville if it turns out serious. he chews on it, slightly grimacing at the taste before he says he feels nothing. making sure to take a sample, you both trudge home just in case it has delayed effects. his guess was right it seems, much to his dismay. you remind yourself to record the effects as he had instructed, but...he's so cute! you can't help but coo at his flushed state, clinging onto your waist as he babbles about nonsense.

“okay, tighnari...i have to write your paper, let go of me for a bit...!” you freeze when he slightly growls in annoyance, tightening his grip on you. his tail wags when you start rubbing his ears, “no...forget it for now...it's just some alcoholic shroom anyways...” “it could turn out more serious, you know?” “don't care...just stay close to me.” he says that, but the very next morning—he's now scolding you for getting distracted from your objective. you had it coming.

we've all seen it. the legendary drunk KAZUHA during the golden archipelago event. he's canonly a slurring mess when drunk, much contrary to his usual poetic self. he leans onto your shoulder, hugging your arm as he coos at how “beauti'fuuul” you are. you can hear venti snicker in the background, earning him a glare from you. he raises his hands in defense and winks, "ehe, he's really intoxicated, isn't he? not just by the beverage, but by you as well." "how romantic!” xinyan cheers. deliberately returning your gaze towards your drunked lover. “kazu, it's time to go home. stand up for me will you?” you attempt to pull him up, but you're surprised to see that he immediately shoots up from his seat, swaying a bit from his dizziness. “hehe, anything'fo my super amaziiiing luvwer...” it reliefs you to know that he still recognises you despite not being fully rational at the moment. arriving at the inn you both rented a night for, you clean him up before plopping down on the bed, exhaustion taking over your sense as he suddenly crawls over you.

“kazu, you need to sleep early. we have a trip tomorrow...” he pays no mind to what you said, leaving butterfly kisses on your neck as you tremble under his hold. this is escalating a bit too fast, you think as you slightly lean back. “mm, i'll sleep, dun' worry...” he hums, muttering an apology onto your neck before snoozing off. what a handful.

as a renowned dancer in sumeru, NILOU is often invited to many parties or celebrations. after dancing for her audience, she'd of course get invited by people to their tables, in hopes of getting to compliment her for the amazing performance. she never drinks alcohol though, choosing to drink juice to maintain her composure and image. except for that one time you were getting forced to drink, but obviously didn't want to so she drank a cup in your stead, earning howls of laughter from your fellow buddies. “how bold of you.” you tease her, causing her to blush. “it's just—you seemed uncomfortable so...” “you're lightweight though. will you be alright? sorry in advance if this gets you in trouble with your manager.” ahhh. :D she completely forgot about that part. raising a brow at the way her expression freezes, you giggle at her usual airhead self. “don't worry. i'll explain it to them in person.” you hold her hand as she starts to sway, her eyes staring to close from the headache that's already growing. that cup of sake was probably a bit too much for what she can handle.

as she's currently freed from her subconscious need of containing her image, she's now smiling like an idiot as she leans onto you, hugging your waist as she nuzzles her face onto your neck. her thoughts are eventually blurred as she starts doze off, only thinking about the way you smell very nice.

someone who you'd never expect to be a fun drinking buddy would be SHENHE. the line that her red seal creates between her soul and her emotions are blurred when she gets intoxicated. choosing to get drunk with you would mean she's intentionally dropping her guard around you, wanting you to see a more vulnerable side of hers. "i often wondered if me having an adeptus's diet would affect how alcohol would take effect in my body. turns out, no...this drink is a dangerous weapon.” you snort at the seriousness in her tone, “yes, very dangerous indeed.” she perks up all of sudden. “your laugh just now.” you blink at her statement. what was wrong with your laugh? you tilt your head, beckoning her to continue. “it was very...cute...? is that how you use that word?” “you only found it cute just now?” you say with a false expression of hurt. “i never thought you to be so cruel with me shenhe...” she tilts her head much like you did earlier. “i've always thought it was 'cute'. i have to constantly tell you?”

you slightly pout, “yes. you do. i want affirmation from you too, you know.” and with that, she suddenly stands up, leaving her cup at her side of the table as she makes her way towards you, abruptly leaning down as she awkwardly cradles your face with her hand. you can smell the alcohol from her lips as your breath hitches. “[name], you're cute.” the words come out more stiff than she intended, but you still found it heartwarming nonetheless.

#tighnari x reader #cyno x reader #scaramouche x reader #kazuha x reader #nilou x reader #shenhe x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact headcanons #genshin x reader #har❗fiction

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sweets4dolls · 2 months

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content. childe + fem!reader. smut. emotional manipulation. not proofread. blood mention. kind dark!childe. kinda mean!childe. p in v. basically u find out childes in the fatui and you try to run away but then he catches you and u fuck instead :3.

I had this as an ask in my inbox but then tumblr decided to eat it or smth ;( xoxo, sweetling

you really had no clue what you were getting into when you started dating childe.

he was so sweet, taking you out to all the fancy high-end places that you could only dream about going to before you met him, buying you all of the prettiest clothes to make you even cuter than you already were.

and before you knew it, he asked you to move in with him, and it was like a dream come true. living at his fancy place, being waited on hand and foot by maids and butlers, 'it was too good to be true' was what you thought, but you didn't think that it would be true.

still, after a month or two, things slowed, the honeymoon period had run its course and you started seeing less and less of him, barely seeing him for weeks. he always claimed that he was on a work trip, and he'd always send you little gifts when he was gone, but you just couldn't get over the way the maids treated you, like you were made of glass.

you hear the maids whispered in the hallways, saying that Childe's no good for you, how you deserved better, and you never did understand it - until you hear them mention that he's in the fatui.

you don't question it, it makes sense - the long work trips, the crimson stains on his clothing, the people around you disappearing - its got you running to your room in tears, throwing things in a bag as tepid tears fall from your cheeks.

it doesn't take long for the maids to find you in a distraught state, notifying childe as quick as can be. he comes into the room, unannounced, making you jump as he towers over you as you kneel by your bag, full of clothing.

"sweetheart, what are you doing?" he asks, a hand going down to pet your hair as you look up at him with wide, apprehensive eyes, looking up at him through wet, matted lashes.

"I-i just..." you start all shakily, words clattered as they tumble from your trembling lips. "I think I need to go away for a bit."

he laughs, kicking your bag away from you and kneels down to your level, taking your jaw into his large hand, smoothly moving his thumb over it in a sleek motion as he tells you, "you don't need to do that baby, you have all you need right here."

you get all choked up as you finally spit out what you know, "i heard that you're in the fatui," making his brows lower ever so slightly before sighing out, "does that change things?"

you look at him with your tender complexion now stained pink from relentless tears, "yes! y-you kill people, hurt people-"

"and doing that keeps you dressed in all those cute clothes you get, it keeps you warm in this place, doesn't it?" he says, grip on your face tightening as you hesitate to reply. "y-yeah, I guess it does," you mumble. "good, then you have no reason to leave, pretty," he whispers the compliment as he presses a crushing kiss to your trembling lips.

it was a bruising kiss, one he pressed to your already chewed raw lips that were near the point of bleeding. he held the back of your head by the hair, licking into your parted mouth as you whimper.

"my dumb, naive girl," he says between heavy kisses, "you didn't even want to leave, did you? you didn't even try to get away."

he scoops you up like you're nothing, laying your pretty body down on the bed. he presses sloppy kisses down your tummy til he gets to that little skirt that he had gotten just for you, not hesitating to pull in off your thighs and discard it into some forgotten corner of the room.

you feel his hand slip under your panties, fingers brushing over your clit, making your hands claw at the sheets as you whine and twist your hips.

"aww, my little girl loves to make a fuss, doesn't she?" he chuckles before sinking a few fingers into your wet cunt, smirking when he feels you flutter around him.

you flush, head lolling on the sheets as you whimper in response to his patronizing talking. his fingers curl in an unholy fashion inside of you as his thumb flicks at your clit.

"you'd never run away from me baby, you'd miss this dick too much," he whispers to you as he pulls his fingers out of your fluttering hole, already missing the feeling of having him inside of you. you blush intensely at his words as he pushes into you, filling you up as he bottoms out.

pecking on the forehead whilst deep inside you, he starts to move. he wrenches his hands underneath your hips, pulling them towards him for leverage as he pumps in and out of you.

weakly, you paw at his chest and whimper out his name, making him chuckle as you look at him all bleary-eyed from the tears falling from your long lashes.

"my girl, so weak, you'd never be able to survive on your own out there, what were you thinking?" he chides you as he abuses your cunt at the pace he's going, fingers rubbing harsh circles over your puffy clit.

"i dunno, m' sorry childe," you break, crying as he splits you open with every thrust, forcing you to accommodate every inch of him for every time he fucks back into you, his cock destroying your little pussy.

your babbles of incessant little apologies are cut off as your orgasm hits you like a train, your body tensing as it rips through you. but childe doesn't let up, fucking you through it as you gush all over his cock, pumping your cum back into your spent cunt.

"my stupid little girl, never pull some shit like that again, got it?"

#genshin #genshin impact #genshin impact smut #genshin smut #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #childe x reader #childe smut

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sanguineterrain · 2 months

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Hi, I love your fics. Feel free to say no to this request but I was wondering if maybe you could write something about asexual Jason Todd? I've always felt like he'd be aspec and identified with him because of that. You write intimacy and love without sex so well, and it'd be wonderful to see it with ace Jason. Maybe one where he tells the reader and he's really scared but they accept him? But if you don't want to, completely fine. Thank you for sharing your writing. 🧡

Hey there nonnie. This one is very personal to me; I'm also ace and have often had the thought that Jason is aspec too. I think sometimes I write him that way without realizing it. I hope you and others enjoy this one! 💓

asexual!jason todd x gn!reader. tw sexuality discussion, some internalized acephobia, love confession. please be kind in the comments.

****

Rain patters on the kitchen window. You'd come over with the excuse of the two egg and cheese sandwiches from the bodega Jason likes so much.

"I think I could eat egg and cheese sandwiches for every meal," he says, mustard on his nose.

You want to say something stupid. Something about bringing him egg and cheese sandwiches in the rain forever. Something about a grave and hunger and what it means to be fed, to feed.

"From anywhere or specifically from the bodega?" you ask.

"Bodega, obviously. Alfred's, too. And yours. Food made with love." He shakes the foil. "I can taste the love."

"Jason?"

"Hm?"

"I..." You touch your nose. "Mustard."

He wipes it off. The thin takeout napkin is tiny in his hand.

"Don't even know how it got up there," he mumbles.

Oh, God. You're about to say something stupid.

"I love you," you blurt. "I—I'm falling in love with you, Jason."

Silence. Jason freezes mid-bite.

"Fuck," he whispers.

You watch as he springs from the couch and starts to pace. He chews on a cuticle, eyes wild. The sandwich is abandoned on the coffee table. You frown.

"Jason. Jay. Hey. Jaybird."

Nothing. You catch his free hand and rub his knuckles. Jason's eyes dart to you. He stops.

"I didn't say that to scare you," you say, even though it hurts, the idea that your love scares him. "It's okay if you don't feel the same."

"I do," Jason says miserably. "Fuck, I do. I love you so much. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

You squeeze his hand, suddenly, incandescently happy.

"You do?" you ask.

"But I—" He shakes his head. "I can't love you the way you want me to."

"Jay, whatever you think coming back did, I promise that—"

"No." Jason swallows hard and shuts his eyes. "God, that's the thing. 'S not from the Pit. I thought—y'know, I waited for everything to slide into place. The Lazarus Pit is s'posed to resurrect a person. Build them anew. But I felt the same."

"Felt the same?"

Jason looks at you then, and you know that expression. It's a plea. Don't use this information to hurt me.

You tug him back to the couch, coax him into sitting. He very carefully doesn't let any part of him touch you.

"I didn't, uh, have a name for it when I was younger. I didn't, like, think about sex or anything like that very much before B took me in 'cause I was in survival mode, y'know?"

"That makes sense, Jay," you offer gently.

"Right. Well, but it just... stayed that way. And before you ask, yeah, I've tried. I've tried to force the feelings." He takes a shaky breath. "I remember Dick telling me about how he'd started dating Kori—I mean, Kori, she's beautiful, y'know? And I was like, what's wrong with me that I can't feel that? I knew that she was beautiful, logically, but I didn't... feel it. I picked it apart for months, trying to figure out why I couldn't be like him or B or Selina."

"Oh, Jay..."

"No, I know. I tried. I crushed on a few people, but I never acted on it 'cause I knew there was something... different. Something to hide. And then I thought the Pit would give that to me, that feeling I've never had, and it didn't. And I guess I should be happy that it's not something that needs to be fixed or restored or whatever, but all I feel is shame. I feel sick when someone looks at me like I'm a piece of meat. I attract more attention with how I look now, and it's worse than before, having no control over how people desire me."

You frown. "Jason, if I've ever made you feel that way, I hope you'd tell me. I'm sorry if I have."

"No, you—you're perfect. God, you make me feel so safe. Cared for in a way I haven't known in a long time. And that's why this is so shit. 'Cause this won't work. You want something I can't give you."

"Who says I don't want what you can give me?"

Jason laughs. It comes out choked. "Oh, no, no. You don't know what you're saying. Maybe it'll take six months or a year or two years but you'll get fed up with not having sex. I'm not worth celibacy. I know I'm not."

"Jason." You lightly touch his cheek. He looks at you, eyes wet. "Oh, Jay. Why do you think that? Why do you think you're only good for your body?"

"Hah. I've only been good for my body for years now. 'S nothing new, and it doesn't matter whether I'm a boyfriend or a soldier."

"Jason. It does matter. It does. You're not a body to me, you're a person. A brain. A heart. A good soul."

He blinks fast. "Don't... y'don't have to say that stuff. Let me down easy. It's okay if you leave. I don't have what you want."

"But you do. There's no reason you don't. Sex? I can do without."

He scoffs. "That easy, huh?"

"With you? Yes," you say. "Easiest choice I've ever made, actually. Like deciding to bring you a breakfast sandwich. I woke up and I did that. Because I love you."

His fingers creep to yours. You hold them as soon as he's within reach.

"I'm not gonna change," he says.

Jason thinks it's a warning. You see it for what it is: hope.

"That's alright," you say, squeezing his hand. "I'm not trying to change you."

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #resisting the urge to infodump my aspec jason and bruce hcs LMAOOOO #jason todd x y/n #jason todd fanfiction #ace Jason todd #aspec #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood fanfiction #batman fanfiction #dc fanfic #jason todd imagine #inbox #blurb

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wanderingelvis · 10 months

Note

I just wanna say I love your innocent reader stories! Though, in the last one, when Elvis calls her his baby and talks about things like rocking her to sleep...it just makes me picture innocent reader slipping into little/babyspace after Elvis gets mad at her like he did. Just a thought.

Thank you so much for this - this is an alternate ending to THIS request, where Innocent F!Reader tries to prove she's not so innocent and it backfires, leading Elvis to show her what her first orgasm is like, but it gets all a bit too much.

🧚 Masterlist 🧚

Word Count: 1,010

Pairing: 70s Elvis x Innocent!Little!F!Reader

Warnings: Little lifestyle, mentions of orgasming

All the emotions of the night, from Elvis getting mad at you, to you having your very first orgasm, all became just a little too much for you to process as you laid on Elvis' chest in the back of the limousine.

You felt yourself beginning to slip into a smaller headspace, something you did rarely but it always seemed to happen as a reaction to being overwhelmed and anxious. You were just too little to have all those big thoughts and feelings, you couldn't do it, so you felt yourself naturally feeling smaller.

"You did so good honey, so good," Elvis soothed, petting your hair gently, which only made you feel those fuzzy feelings even more.

You squirmed in his lap, you just felt so confused. He'd been so angry with you and suddenly he was being so attentive and sweet and it was hard to keep up with.

"A-Are you still mad at me Da-," You managed to stop yourself before you let slip the name you really wanted to call Elvis, you were just nervous that he'd react badly to your headspace slipping, but Elvis had picked up on the slip nonetheless.

You knew deep down you were just being silly, Elvis had never been mad at you for regressing, only ever supportive, but with the nights events being what they were, you were in no fit state to make sense of anything, you needed your Daddy to do that for you.

And as soon as Elvis heard you almost call him Daddy, he knew he should've realised you were susceptible to this, that something as overstimulating as having you orgasm for the first time on his leg as he taunted you would send you into overdrive.

You decided that you couldn't trust yourself to speak after almost calling the man that was lovingly rubbing your tummy as you sat on his lap in the backseat of the lavish limousine, Daddy, so you began to instinctively chew on your fingers, a bad habit that you'd adopted whenever you were feeling anxious or fuzzy.

And as soon as your fingertips met your soft pink lips, that was enough confirmation for Elvis that your headspace had dropped and that he was now not only dealing with an overwhelmed little thing that had just had her first orgasm, but one that was now in a fragile headspace that needed to be handled with nothing but love.

"Oh princess, I ain't mad atchu, could never be mad atchu after you were such a good girl fr'me." Elvis soothed, pressing a kiss atop your head before tilting his head to look down at you and check on you. "You were a really good girl, weren't you?"

You nodded slowly, as you faced the rest of the car, away from Elvis as you rested your back to his chest, all the while he had his head tilted down so he was still able to observe your expression even if you couldn't reciprocate.

You blinked absentmindedly, as if you were in some sort of trance or a haze as you continued to chew on your fingers.

Elvis knew you better than you knew yourself at times and he knew that you were subconsciously trying to make your head all cloudy and little so that you were able to balance out the overwhelming amounts of thoughts and feelings you'd just experienced moments prior.

"Tha's right honey, a real good girl," Elvis praised as he paused before deciding to confirm for sure if you'd dropped. "Is my princess feelin' fuzzy hm?"

You nodded albeit still absentmindedly, confirming Elvis' suspicions. "Fuzzy head Daddy." You said softly, barely audible as you momentarily stopped chewing and sucking on your fingers.

"I know baby, Daddy's gotchu." Elvis said, kissing your cheek. He gently took his large, calloused hand and closed it around your soft, small one, prying your fingers from your mouth which caused a small whine to leave your lips. "Baby's gon' get sick if ya keep on suckin' yer fingers like that, you know I can't let that happen, don't ya?" Elvis said, and you nodded compliantly, knowing that Daddy knows best.

The drive continued for a while longer, your eyelids becoming heavy and your whole body sinking into Elvis', as your sleepy state combined with your little headspace took its toll.

"Daddy?" You mumbled softly, turning your body and tilting your chin up to look at the man you so lovingly adored and practically worshipped.

Elvis hummed in response, smiling lazily down at you.

"Are we nearly home Daddy?" You said with a slight needy whine in your tone, not a bratty one, but just out of exhaustion.

"Soon my little love, soon. And when we get home, d'ya know what Daddy's gon' do t'ya, hm?" Elvis said, letting his finger trace your hairline, sending shivers through all down your spine and making you lean into him all the more.

You could barely muster up the energy to respond, but you managed to, in the form of the tiniest shake of your head.

"Daddy's gon' getchu outta this pretty lil' dress and into yer favourite pajamas, tha's right honey, the ones with the lil' cartoon horses on'em, and then Daddy's gon' find yer favourite toy bunny for yer to go to bed with, then Daddy's gon' make sure yer all nice and cosy in bed with Daddy so you can fall asleep and dream about all yer favourite things because you've been such a good girl for Daddy durin' this ride home." Elvis hushed as you were almost asleep in his strong arms already.

Previously, in anticipation of your headspace dropping, you and Elvis had made a box for occasions exactly like this, with various items that you loved and cherished all packed into it, to be used for when you were feeling little, like your treasured stuffed bunny and your choice of pajamas, dresses, toys and books.

"How does that sound hey princess?" Elvis said.

"Luff you Daddy." You babbled quietly, nuzzling into Elvis' chest as it vibrated as he chuckled at your adorable little state.

"Love you too baby, Daddy loves you too."

taglist: @prompted-wordsmith @vintagegirl2005 @imaginationlast @librafilms @presleyenterprise @wolywolymoley @billhaderstan420 @ccab @elvispresleywife @hollbunn @sassanoe @eliseinmemphis @elvisflowerchild @slimerspengler @meetmeatyourworst @lettersfromvenus @satninroses @doll-elvis @animalloverthingsss @lokislittlepup @woniipii @mooodyblue @dandelionxbby @kxnnxy @that-hotdog @lana-4life @littleloveysworld @domaniquessidehoe

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rishiguro · 6 months

Text

ANAGAPESIS - K. SHINSUKE

warnings: break up. heartbreak. self-deprecating thoughts. hurt/no comfort. 3.2k words.

angstober event

kita sighed as he closed the door behind him, the day’s fatigue springing onto him as soon as he took his shoes off, neatly placing them away and putting his slippers on.

it wasn’t particularly often that he had bad days, but he couldn’t exactly hide from them forever.

sure, he had a job he loved, putting all of his passion in it, but nothing really seemed to go right today. he found security and sense in his routines and yet somehow everything was misplaced or even missing today, throwing off his entire schedule.

but he was so glad to be home.

he couldn’t wait to fall into your arms and feel the weight on his shoulders disappear, letting himself be comforted by your warmth.

usually he’d come home and be greeted by you. you’d have some dinner together, either some leftovers or something one of you made (sometimes you prepared dinner together), and calmly let the day pass.

your shared apartment was more that just a few walls and furniture — it was his home, his safe place.

however, today he found you sitting in the living room, dressed in some jeans instead of the usual sweatpants. he furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

“hey, love,” he greeted you with a warm smile, stepping closer to you, “you going out?”

oddly enough, you didn’t greet him cheerfully like you often did, instead only throwing a weak smile in his direction before looking down to your hands. “can we talk?” you immediately asked him with an almost timid voice.

“sure” kita sat down beside you, his entire body aching as he did so. he could only barely stop himself from letting out a relieved moan as he finally sat down again. grabbing your hand, he turned his entire attention to you. you were fidgeting, toes wiggling on the floor, as if you were anxious. “is everything okay? you seem distressed”

you took a deep breath before absentmindedly chewing on your thumb’s nail. as soon as you noticed however, you immediately brought your hand down, clenching it in your lap. your actions however only confirmed kita’s suspicion. you chewed on your lower lip for a moment before you decided to speak up. “it’s not. i- i need to tell you something,” you felt your heart race in your chest as you spoke, shifting uncomfortably in your seat. you quickly glanced over to kita, noticing the deep frown on his face and his tired, sunken eyes.

it was obvious that he had a hard day and here you were, only making it worse. could you really do that to him?

for a second you paused, before mentally shaking your head. no. you didn’t really have a choice, did you? you couldn’t just continue lying to him.

he deserved better.

“and i feel terrible for bringing it up now, but i don’t think this can wait any longer”

kita nodded slowly, rubbing a thumb over the back of your hand slowly. “okay”

he patiently waited for you to begin, yet your mouth went completely dry.

just how were you going to say this to him? could you even do it?

you knew you had to – you didn’t have a choice.

but how could you hurt someone who never did anything to hurt you?

“hey, take a deep breath,” he mumbled to you, “whatever it is, it’ll be alright, i promise”

you clenched your jaw, turning your head away from him and squeezing your eyes shut.

just why did he have to be so damn understanding? why did he have to be so loving and caring?

why was he everything you ever wanted in somebody?

and why were you planning on breaking him?

“love? talk to me,” he spoke softly, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze after bringing it up to his lips and pressing a small kiss on it. “whatever it is, together we can work this out”

don’t do this. don’t be like this. just this one time.

you quickly shook your head, still not looking at him, when you felt your eyes getting teary.

“i don’t think we can work this out, shin,” you whispered, afraid that if you spoke any louder, your voice would break.

before he could even reply, you turned to him, looking at him with teary eyes. “i think we should break up”

kita could only look at you, completely shocked.

was this supposed to be a joke?

no, you would never joke about things like that.

then why?

after way too many moments of silence, kita could still only bring himself to mutter one word. “why?”

you hated to see him like this. his eyes were wide in horror, if not even shock, as he looked at you completely confused. his hand, the same one that held yours so securely just a few minutes ago, was loose around yours, like he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to be touching you. his eyes, albeit wide open, looked more like he was staring right through you, not focusing on a single thing.

you hated this look on his face.

meanwhile kita felt like he couldn’t breathe, his thoughts running wild, filling his head with way too many concerns at once, before he managed to sort them, the next words spilling over his lips.

“did i do something wrong? did i hurt you?”

he looked so sad, so full of sorrow and guilt.

he couldn’t do anything to hurt you.

pressing his lips into a thin line he looked at your still intertwined hands, giving you a short, weak squeeze. he swallowed down a lump in his throat, looking down in shame before meeting your gaze again. “love, i’m so sorry”

how could he be sorry for something he never did?

“just tell me what it is and i promise i’ll do everything i can to fix it” he sounded so sure, like it was a fact that he was the one that did something wrong, that he had to make up for something, that he was the one at fault.

you were used to kita speaking with a matter-of-factly-tone, no matter what the actual subject matter was. but how could he be so convinced that he did something wrong? he— the one that always thought about the things he did, the one that always thought about what he said, the one that was always sure of what he did and always made sure to care for you, to love you.

and to never hurt you. and he never did.

but you had to hurt him.

you looked down on your intertwined hands, torn between the urge to give his hand a squeeze or pulling yours away. but could you really let him go? “no, shin, listen-,” you tried, only to have him jump in immediately, like he didn’t really hear you in the first place.

“and if you still want to do this, i’ll respect it, i promise. just please, let me do this,” he asked, no, begged, with a sad smile on his face.

it was safe to say that kita felt like you had just pulled the rug away under his feet. he felt lost, confused and most of all guilty. he had always tried to be the best version of himself for you, be the best partner he could possibly be— and even more than that.

did he slack off recently? did he forget an important date? did he neglect you?

“shin”

mentally he ran through the past days, weeks, months, the whole last years, analyzing pretty much everything he could remember. every time you fought, every dumb argument and heated discussion, every time his tone was a little off, every time he didn’t really understand just what you wanted from him and every small thing he might have forgotten. the days he forgot to ask you how your day was, the times he could only give you a short kiss before rushing out the door, the number of times he came home and simply wanted to go to bed, not having the energy to spend a lot of time with you after an excruciatingly hard day working.

was it all too much for you?

he rushed out the door one too many times, his tone was too sharp one too many times, he forgot to kiss you properly one too many times.

he couldn’t really blame you.

but was it really that? was it all of that? was it something else?

were you going to leave him hanging like this?

pressing his lips to a thin line, he forced himself to focus back to you. “at least tell me what i did wrong, please,” kita asked before lowering his head again, taking a deep breath to distract himself from his racing heart, blinking rapidly to get rid of the few stray tears in his eyes. “don’t just leave me like this”

you closed your eyes in shame, not wanting to look at kita so broken.

while he kept asking himself what he had done to you and why you never felt safe enough to talk to him about this, you asked yourself how you could do this to him.

a sad smile on your lips, you shook your head, still not daring to take your hand away from his, desperate to feel his warmth for as long as he would allow you to. “you didn’t do anything wrong, shin,” you whispered through the lump in your throat, your voice all hoarse, “nothing”

nothing?

his head shot up, looking at you with wide and teary eyes. “then why?”

and despite that he looked so calm and even resigned, like he wasn’t even going to protest as soon as you provided him with your reason.

now it was you who looked away, biting your lip as you stared on the floor. “i just,” you stopped, not even wanting to actually say it out loud and make it real. you didn’t want to believe it, much less say it. you still hoped that this was just a weird, long dream, one that you would wake up from and everything would be the way it was before.

you would wake up next to him and he would already be awake, greeting you with his deep morning voice, with a small and loving smile. you would simply mumble some greeting, still half asleep, and move over, putting your head on his chest. his hands would find their way on your back and your heart would skip a beat, your entire body filling with love.

but you haven’t woken up for multiple weeks by now. and you didn’t wake up now.

“i just fell out of love with you”

just like that, kita felt his heart stop in his chest, shattering into a million pieces.

you fell out of love with him.

he nodded slowly, spacing out.

so there was nothing he could do anymore, huh?

did he do too little for you? did he get too used to having you by his side? should he have been more attentive, take you out more, give you more flowers, more compliments and little gifts. he should’ve held you more, kissed you more, loved you more.

he should’ve been more.

maybe then you wouldn’t have fallen out of love with him.

“for how long have you been feeling like this?” he asked slowly, sounding almost shy, like he didn’t want to actually know.

and he truly didn’t.

for how long had he made you feel like this, for long did you feel like you had to stay in a relationship you didn’t want to be in solely because of him?

“i don’t know. for too long”

you knew exactly what thoughts were running in his head. you knew how he must be blaming himself, how he was trying to find any kind of fault in himself.

and there was nothing you could to to relieve him from this, even though none of this was his fault.

you doubted there was anybody at fault — and if there was, you were sure that it would be you.

you were the one that was breaking up with him, you were the one breaking his heart, you were the one that wasn’t perfect, unlike him.

he was always perfect. and that’s what hurt you so much.

he was the ideal partner — he was caring, loving, attentive. honest, loyal, open and always communicating. he was firm, but not strict or mean, never making you feel belittled. and if he did fuck up and do something wrong, he was quick to realize his mistake and apologize, willing to do everything to make up for it and change his behavior.

he was everything anybody could ever want.

and you were throwing him away just like so.

“okay,“ he whispered, nodding to himself before pulling his hand away, clasping his other one with it and putting them in his lap, taking his warmth away from you.

your fingers itched to reach out to him again, try to comfort him, protect him from the same pain that you inflicted on him. you clenched your jaw, clenching your hands into fists instead and digging your nails into your palm. “shinsuke, i’m sorry. i’m so, so sorry”

“it’s okay,“ he breathed out, the corners of his mouth reflexively turning up for a second.

you shook your head, swallowing repeatedly. how was this okay or fair? and how could he even thing about comforting you when he was feeling like you were effectively ripping his heart out? “no”

“it is,” he replied immediately, a sad smile on his lips as he looked at you for a short moment. “you can’t choose how you feel, can you?”

you knew he was right — and yet that didn’t give you any comfort. instead, it only made your chest constrict in pain as you clenched your fist even more, feeling tears welling up in your eyes.

“i never wanted to hurt you,“ you breathed out, voice so weak that you felt like you couldn’t speak up without starting to cry.

why were you the one crying?

“i know” kita smiled sadly at you, looking down at his feet.

silence settled over the two of you, both of you occupied with your thoughts, before you decided to speak again.

“i packed a few things and i’ll stay over at a friend’s house,” you started slowly, getting up from the couch and stepping away from him. “and, uh, look for a place”

kita didn’t look up at you (probably for the better, you didn’t think you could handle his teary face), instead only nodding slightly, playing with the fingers in his lap. “okay”

you left him sitting there, rushing into your once shared bedroom to pack some essentials into a bag.

as you grabbed some clothes, you tried to ignore your blurring vision and the heavy feeling in your chest.

you didn’t want to leave him behind like that as you were gathering your things to leave what has been your shared home for so long.

and yet you had to, you knew it was the best thing to do.

because staying with him would hurt him even more.

when you returned, kita was still sitting in the same spot, looking like he hadn’t moved an inch.

and truly, he didn’t — he felt paralyzed.

was he not good enough? where did he go wrong?

what could he have done to make you fall out of love with him?

he dug his teeth into his bottom lip, clenching his eyes shut, like that would stop the tears from welling up in his eyes.

you shook your head at the sight.

how he could just sit there and let you break his heart, just like that?

“why aren’t you mad at me? you should be yelling at me, cursing at me, anything!” you bursted out, your bag falling on the floor next to you. kita jumped as he heard your voice, turning his head to look at you. he expected you to look angry, irritated, anything but seeing you with tears running over your cheeks. “why are you just letting me break your heart?”

he swallowed thickly before giving you another comforting smile, like the tears on his face weren’t even there.

“it’s not your fault. you can’t choose who you love” he let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head slightly at his words. “and also not who you fall out of love with”

you looked over at him, looking him up and down before speaking again, your voice slightly agitated. “so? how can you just take it like that?” you asked, gesturing in the air.

how could he just sit there and do nothing?

“nothing i’ll say will change this, won’t it?” he simply stated, sounding resigned. he looked over at you, noticing how you stayed silent, proving his point. “that’s why”

contrary to how that might look, kita wanted nothing more than to fight this. he didn’t want to let you or this relationship go.

he didn’t want to let go of the lazy mornings or late evenings, the trips to the farmers market or the dates at bakeries or cafés, the warm cuddles or cooking dates.

but did he really have a choice?

“i don’t want this, i still love you. i can’t look at you leave, knowing that there’s nothing i can do,” he confessed, twiddling his thumbs as he spoke. “but i will respect your choice and i will not fight to be with someone who doesn’t want to be with me anymore”

a pained, but warm smile appeared on his face again when he noticed the tears rolling over your cheeks. “it’s okay. i’m not going to yell at you and i’m not going to call you names or hurt you in any way for something you can’t control”

you swallowed, grabbing your own thigh and digging your nails into the fabric of your pants. you couldn’t even look at him.

you were such a coward.

“why do you have to be so understanding, even in this moment?”

he sighed softly. “you know why,” he whispered, feeling the tears in his how eyes again, “i cannot bring myself to be mad at you and i don’t think i’m able to give you what you want right now. i’m sorry”

he was too good for you. and you were everything he wanted.

“don’t be” you shook your head, trying to blink away the tears as you wiped over your cheeks. “it was dumb to even try to bring you to yell at me. even dumber to ask you to do this to make this easier on me” you let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head at yourself. “especially since i’m the one breaking up with you”

you scoffed at yourself before picking up your bag and finally walking towards the door, opening it with shaky hands.

and even though you had thought about this for weeks, way longer than you’d ever like to admit, you weren’t ready for a life without him.

“i’m sorry, shinsuke,” you croaked, still standing in the doorway with your back to him, “i really am”

“i know“ was all you heard before shutting the door behind you and walking away from your home, your relationship, him.

kita always strived for perfection and nothing less of perfection, not just finding comfort in it, but also believing that everybody deserved nothing but the best of him. and that belief has never failed him.

until now.

until he failed you.

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toji-girl · 2 months

Text

unspoken words | l. ackerman

synopsis: ‘Through thick and thin’ is something you will never forget telling Levi on your wedding day even when your marriage seems to be falling apart at the seams.

wc: 1k

tags: angst with happy ending + minors and empty blogs DNI still please + repost from my old blog + modern au but with canonverse season 4 spoilers if that makes sense so block #aot spoilers if you don’t want to be spoiled or anything + crying + any missing tag lmk!

“Levi just let me-” You began getting cut off as he waved his hand in the air ignoring your stare as he moved by himself, there was nothing you could do but watch feeling your heart crack seeing him, the man who everyone deemed so strong has now crumbled to this.

He hissed in pain shifting his weight to get more comfortable before looking at you, shame colored his silver eyes as he gazed at you.

“Can you push me out to the car?” He asked so quietly you weren’t sure you even heard him but nonetheless, you grabbed the bag stuffed with dinner tonight that Kuchel was holding at her house.

You grabbed the handles and wheeled him to the front door grabbing the keys trying not to let the tears stream down your cheeks, if you wiped at your eyes then you knew Levi would say something and it would just blow up more than it already has.

Silently you opened the door and pushed him outside shutting and locking the door. Turning around you glanced up at the sky seeing clouds slowly turn gray, a beautiful bright day now dampened just like your mood.

Ever since Levi came home from the hospital he’s pushed you away more times than you could count and the endless fights left you on the couch most nights unable to comfort your husband.

You sighed and opened the car door helping him inside before folding the wheelchair and putting it in the back.

More silence settled in the car when you got in the driver’s spot sitting there holding the steering wheel debating on if you should say anything.

“Are we going to sit here all day?” Levi asked looking at you.

His tone was a bit harsher than what he wanted, a look of hurt flashed across your face before starting the car and pulling out of the driveway. So many thoughts swirled around in your head thinking of the vows you made him wondering if he was going to keep his.

“Are you not going to use your turn signal? And you need the right lane or you’re going to miss your turn. My mom has been texting me non-stop about this damn shitty dinner.” Levi grunted and rolled his eyes watching you weave in and out of the lanes.

“I know where I’m going. We’ve been to your mom’s a lot of times.” You replied cooly trying to keep a level head, all the stress of him fighting and pulling away left you angry and alone but you didn’t blame him, the sudden change threw him for a loop and now he has to rely on you for almost everything and you did so without one word even though Levi was a bit brash with you.

Tears stung the back of your throat again as you focused on driving still missing the turn. “You missed the damn turn, what are you doing? Are you even paying attention?” Levi asked and huffed looking out the window.

You turned to look at him with a watery gaze as you pulled over on the shoulder gripping the steering wheel.

“I have been nothing but good to you ever since your accident and you have been nothing but awful to me. I cook and clean for you then I bathe you afterward and this is the thanks I get? I’m your wife Levi, not some fucking nurse you can speak to that way. I love you but dammit you’re being an asshole to me.” You blurted and looked at the road again.

Levi stared at you slowly chewing on your words knowing you’re right, it wasn’t fair because you put everything on hold to take care of him, your sweet words and touch at night whispering how you still love him and will always think he’s your hero.

He was never good with words that didn’t usually hurl insults or shit jokes but now he was stunned in silence as you finally pulled the car into Kuchel’s driveway seeing her standing on the front porch rushing to the vehicle opening Levi’s door.

You got out and took a moment to collect yourself pressing your sleeves against your eyes hearing Kuchel grab the wheelchair and help Levi in it. “Are you coming in dear?” She asked walking around the car to look at you with a soft smile.

“Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Just leave me out here with her please,” Levi said looking at his mom then you leaning against the trunk holding your arms. Kuchel kissed the top of his head and walked back inside to peer out the window. “I’m sorry, I know I’ve been an asshole to you.”

“I don’t think right now is a good time to get into this, let’s just have dinner and go home. I’m exhausted.” You said standing straight walking past him, he quickly grabbed your hand and looked down at the ring he slipped on your finger two years ago pressing a light kiss to the shining diamond.

“I’m having trouble adjusting to everything and you’ve helped me more than anything. Thank you.” His words and tone were soft reminding you when you both stood under the altar confessing your undying love to each other in front of your family and friends.

The rain broke from the clouds drizzling over you and Levi as you stared down at him squeezing his hand, so many unspoken words were left between you as you sat down on his lap burying your face in his neck.

“I love you so much, thank you for being there for me when I need you the most,” Levi whispered hugging you tighter to him afraid that you would vanish in thin air if he let go.

#aot spoilers #Levi angst #Levi fluff #aot x reader Levi #Levi Ackerman angst #Levi Ackerman fluff #aot x reader #levi x reader #levi x you

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ofallthingsnasty · 7 months

Note

my birthday gift? can i- can i really ask for something i want? well… can i move upstairs, kento? i-i promise i’ll behave… please… i feel so scared here everytime you go to work… (for nanamin since you said you write for jjk! hehe)

tags: yandere, past kidnapping, telltale signs of stockholm (uh oh)

The hand loosening his tie stills.

His brows furrow, then his shoulder slacks. You know the gesture, Nanami is thinking about what to say.

Strained eyes find yours, searching your face - for what, you don’t know. Is it too much to ask for? The flowers had been nice this morning, as far as twisted birthday wishes from the man who has kept you in his home for months go, but you getting a shred of human decency back seems more thoughtful than an elegant bouquet full of your favorites. You know by now that there is no way out of this situation and it would be nice to make your life more bearable. Access to a proper kitchen. A couch. Maybe you could watch TV?

A sigh. It's not born from annoyance (it never is, annoyance isn't something he seems to feel when it comes to you and you pray it stays that way) but resignation, from a heavy burden only he bears.

He’s taking too long to answer, you realize and a tiny spark of worry flits through your gut.

There is nothing to fear, you tell yourself.

He can be reasonable, pragmatic. Not manipulated but guided towards a more favorable outcome if your needs and wants are sensible, humble.

Nanami isn't cruel. Somewhere in his mind, it all makes sense - and for the most part, you think you can follow him, can come to the same conclusions, to the most logical outcome.

Maybe you’re finally going stir-crazy enough that you’d call your abductor reasonable.

But he still knows something you don’t. This strange, silent man who comes home to you, clothes finely speckled with blood more often than not, lives in a different world from yours. Where someone leaves the house in a proper suit and a pinched face only to return late, with grip of steel on your shoulders and the smell of physical exertion on their clothes. Where it seems sane to kidnap someone unassuming like you and put them in a basement for safekeeping.

There is something going on beyond your scope - you’d be stupid not to sense it by now, but you are starting to think that he’d rather die than tell you.

“It’s not a matter of good behavior”, he finally says and his voice is guarded, cool. “It’s a matter of safety.” Safety. You’ve had this conversation many times, you think, this is just a different version of it.

His rejection leaves your eyes hot - you feel like a scolded child being denied one too many treats. Maybe you’re just greedy. Trying your luck on an already excellent day.

“But I’m scared-”, you push out quickly and let the words hang in the air, because they are true.

How many times have you thought about how long the water would last you down here if he ever bit off more than he could chew and never came home again (and you’re sure the day will come, you know it will), if anyone would ever go looking for you because you doubt a single person is aware of your presence.

He pinches the bridge of his nose before you can spiral further, but the damage is done.

“I am aware”, he says, exhausted. “And I understand-”

The tears that finally spill from your eyes interrupt him.

He looks at you for a moment as you try to straighten yourself back out, ashamed of your hot temper cooking over and leaving you to show weakness in front of the one man you shouldn't.

His brow softens ever so slightly as he watches you, every crease caused by his work smoothed over with tenderness for your miserable state. It's humiliating.

"I understand your predicament. And I'll see what can be done."

You nod. Through the tears and the burning air in your nose, you nod.

You know he means it. It's a promise when he says it like that - not a promise for you to finally get out of the dingy basement, but a promise to figure something out.

How much of your wish will come true will be up to his estimation but you allow yourself to feel a tiny glimmer of hope - and allow him to tuck you under his heavy arms as he unbottons his shirt ever so slightly, ending the conversation with the tiny gesture.

Yes, you’re definitely losing it to consider this exchange at least a partial success.

#tw.yandere #yandere jjk #yandere nanami #nanami kento x reader #nanami x reader #mini birthday event #jjk x reader

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illdowhatiwantthanks · 10 days

Text

Emily Prentiss x Reader Headcanons

Mostly SFW, but a few lil spicy ones throughout (below the line).

Chews on pens/pencils when she's anxious or deep in thought and it's inexplicably hot.

Has a glass of very nice, very expensive red wine every night.

Fluent in Arabic, French, Spanish, and Italian. Passable in Russian.

Seems quiet and mysterious at first but is actually just a huge dork.

Breaks down crying every time before starting her period and will say, "I'm sorry, I don't know why I'm so emotional today," and you're like... "Babe, don't you start tomorrow?"

Usually a no-strings-attached-sex kind of person, mostly because relationships are hard with her job. You're the exception.

Will fold like a wet napkin for nice chocolate.

Notorious for ghosting lol. Sometimes even used a fake name. A bad habit from her undercover days.

Not subtle at all when coming on to you. Pretty much asked you for a date out of the blue.

Loves that you can talk about the deep, dark stuff, but can also make her laugh like no one else.

If for any reason you wake up in the night–stomachache, nightmare, scary storm–she is up with you. She'll claim she can't sleep either, but really she just wants to hold you and make sure you get back to sleep okay.

Watches you breathe at night. She finds it deeply comforting.

Takes you once a year to her grandfather’s cottage in the French Alps, where she spent a lot of time growing up.

Grew up Catholic. She’s not religious anymore, but sometimes she still likes to listen to old hymns and chants, like they had at the mass she and her mom attended in Italy.

Opens every door for you always. In fact, she’ll be hurt if you don’t let her open the door.

An incredibly good listener. She loves hearing about your day, no matter how mundane it was, because her days are usually filled with the darkest, most horrific things.

Has two tattoos. (1) On her ankle. A word from the Qur’an (لِّتَسۡكُنُوۡۤ) that roughly translates to “that you may find tranquility.” She got it in Italy when she started to realize she liked girls, because girls were the only people in whom she ever found tranquility. (2) On her hip. A small asterisk a la Kurt Vonnegut.

Insanely protective. She will not let anyone touch you, say anything to you, even look at you with nefarious intentions.

Has a little note on her phone where she writes down your favorite things–takeout, flowers, ice cream flavors, the brand of tampons you use–so she'll always remember.

“Call me when you get there.” Has to know where you are at all times. You gave up arguing and just constantly have your phone location shared with her. It’d be suffocating except that, given her job, it makes sense.

Loves that you are so independent. She’s watched too many BAU relationships fall apart because their partner was frustrated with the demanding BAU work schedule. You don’t really mind. Of course, you miss her, but you also really like your alone time, so things balance out nicely.

Puzzle fiend. There’s almost always a puzzle going on the coffee table.

Queen of leaving people on read. It’s nothing personal, it’s just that texts usually fall by the wayside when she’s in the field.

Secretly loves it so much when you brag about her. She’ll act all embarrassed about it, but it means a lot that you’re proud of her.

A hipster in the sense that if something is popular, she automatically decides she doesn’t like it. You make fun of her a lot for this.

Falls in love with you every time she notices one of your little gestures–having a second go-bag packed and ready at all times, doing the laundry, packing little granola bars in her purse because you know she forgets to stop for lunch, returning books to the library for her, etc.

Incredibly stubborn. Thankfully, you are, too, so you’re well-matched. On the downside, sometimes it takes forever to make a decision because neither of you are willing to back down.

Swears like a sailor when she’s not at work.

Kind of quiet with other people, but will talk with you late into the night, until you fall asleep. You love that you get to fall asleep to her voice.

Touches you like you’re made of gold, like you were made to be cherished and held on to.

Cheek/nose/forehead kisses. all. the. time.

Kisses you good morning and good night, every time, no matter when she gets home or when she leaves.

You would never guess it, but she lives for gossip. She doesn’t want to be part of the drama, but she sure as hell wants to know about it.

Drives her wild (in bed and out) that you are 100% hers. It is not in your nature to cheat, you are wholly devoted to your person, and she is over the moon that she’s that person.

Acts like a top, is a top.

Can drink coffee at midnight and be conked out twenty minutes later.

After a particularly hard case, she’ll come home and want to just hold you really tight against her chest, sometimes for an hour or more. You always let her.

Big spoon, always. She likes to feel like she’s keeping you safe.

Favorite food is the sweet potato burrito from Muchas Gracias, but they only have them at lunch and she is never in DC at lunchtime, so sometimes you go buy her one and pack it for her for lunch the next day. It makes her day every time.

Honestly it’s a struggle when you have to get up before her because she has you in a ninja death grip that is almost impossible to get out of.

Her feet are always cold, so she has a huge collection of fuzzy socks.

Movie buff. Has a giant checklist of all the Oscar noms during awards season, and you watch one almost every night she’s home.

Loves to shower with you. You will get clean, but you’ll get fucked first.

A wizard with a wand (iykwim).

She still gets butterflies when you hold hands.

#emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #criminal minds #emily prentiss fanfic #criminal minds fanfic #emily prentiss hcs #emily prentiss headcanons #criminal minds headcanons #criminal minds hcs

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pacifymebby · 1 year

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How would dark/yandere!peaky boys react to the reader asking for a break up (if they're dating) or divorce (if they're married) since reader gets uncomfortable with them now and finally notices their really possessive and unhealthy behavior? I have a feeling this most certainly won't go well

thx so much lovely❤️‍🔥

Thank u for this anon, not something ive ever tried to write before

Feel like this goes without saying lads but these wee headcannons depict sometimes abusive relationships that some people won't enjoy and may find upsetting. Please if u think it might upset u or put u at risk of harm, don't read them. (Im going to post some light stuff tonight too later on dont worry)

Tommy

🌿I'm not gonna lie, i don't think he'd let it get that far

🌿He's always in control, always pulling strings, no one thinks, feels or does anything without him knowing their desires before he does.

🌿He can read people like books, understand them deeply within only a few conversations, thats why he's so good at manipulating people and situations to get his own way.

🌿So if you are breaking up with him... Its because he wants you to, its just another microscopic cog in his catastrophic plan ect. ect.

🌿 Youre not leaving him, he's letting you leave... For one reason or another

🌿 It might be strategic, might be a way of taking the decision out of your hands, hes involved with some dangerous men and he wants you out the way for awhile, so he can be sure nothing will happen to you. If this is the case youll be dead to him, publicly, and as far as youre concerned. He'll cut you off completely, the only way youll be able to get through to him is if you march up to his front door.

🌿If he's letting you get to the point you actually try to leave him, he'll probably let you do it... If he shows you what life is like without him, how weak and feeble you are when you don't have him to protect you from the big bad world.. Then he knows you'll come running back.

🌿He might even set up the incident that scares you back to him. He might put you in "danger" then come swooping in to save you. Your tommy keeping you safe.

🌿And when you do he'll open his arms to you, he'll ask you if you missed him, "You've had me worried angel, thought somet had happened to you," and he'll lull you into a false sense of security.

🌿And just when you think youve been forgiven, he'll change, he'll be calm and cold but all the love wilo have drained from his eyes... "don't you ever do that to me again y/n, you know now eh, that world out there, it'll chew you up and spit you out and it won't think twice about putting you through hell, and i won't be so forgiving next time, might not let you back in... Think about that eh... Your Tommy might not let you back in..."

🌿But when he sees the tears in your eyes, that fear, the slight tremble in your bottom lip, he changes again, cups your cheek in his hand, rubs his thumb over your skin soothing and sweet, "Come 'ere eh, s'alright now love, you're back where you belong, right here with your tommy, c'mere"

🌿Pulls you into his arms, tight hug, holds you seriously and kisses your forehead. His eyes open the whole time.

🌿"You stay here now with me yeah, be safe as houses, just you and me against the world.."

🌿And he means it, thats whats so sinister about it, he really means it. As far as hes concerned in this world theres only really one thing that matters and thats him and you, him having you...

🌿So he wouldn't think twice about killing, destroying, burning the whole fuckin city to the ground if it meant keeping you.

🌿Ultimately youre the only thing in his life which is worth living for, other than spite. Hes obsessed with the idea of keeping you healthy, of giving you everything, of making sure you live the best life and remain pure and unscathed by the world...

🌿 Which again, is why he'd sooner see the whole world destroyed before he let you go off on your own and risk being hurt.

Alfie

🐻 Just like Tommy Alfie wants to protect you. He is obsessed with your innocence and your youthful optimism, he wouldn't want any harm to come to you or for you to ever be in danger... Which is why he dotes on you, completely smothers you with his love, never leaves you alone.

🐻 And just like Tommy Alfies not surprised when you try to leave. Unlike Tommy it isn't part of some greater plan... When he first realises youre beginning to distance yourself from him he is genuinely hurt.

🐻He loves you... In his own, maybe more intense than is generally conventional but you know, thats just him ain't it, kind of way. He genuinely doesn't know what he'd do if he lost his little zieskiet...

🐻 Hes concered too, he actually does think you're as small and helpless as he's always telling you you are... He genuinely does believe that without him, you'll wither away, be dead in a week. He knows you can't look after yourself... If he lets you go thats it youre gone forever

🐻 Which is why hes so determined to keep you

🐻 He starts simple, he turns on the charm offensive, twists that dial right up to 11... He doesnt realise its making you feel worse though, all this walking you from home to the shops, the bar, meeting you outside your work...

🐻 He brings you flowers, bakes for you, buys your pretty gifts and is ever so sweet to you

🐻 But he notices what you're doing, youre still making plans... And last night one of his men told him they saw you buy a train ticket to take you up north...

🐻So he takes things up a notch... He's never let you in his office before, tells you the only people who ever come into his office are business men, cause you only leave his office on a deal or death basis

🐻So when he calls you and instructs you to come to his office you know you're in trouble, and you're terrified he knows your plan

🐻 "Alfie whats going on youre scaring me..."

🐻 "Not as much as youre scaring me poppet..." "I don't under..." "you know what i dont like poppet?... Rumours... Yeah nasty little things rumours, theyre like fuckin woodworms yeah... Theres never just fucjin one of em is there, theres always fuckin hundreds of them and theyre everywhere right... Fuckin woodworms.. You know theyre all different dont you, theyre all their own little wood munchin grimy little individual selves... But see the thing is they all look and sound thr fuckin same... Disgusting, i hate woodworms... They get into everythin don't they, the very bones of your house, and they feast on it, fuckin parasites right... And sometimes you dont even know youve got em until one night youre sleeping, dreaming fuckin lovely little dreams and suddenly, they all start dropping on you from on high... You ever had that poppet? Woodworms? "

🐻" N.. No Alfie..." "Nasty shock, fuckin horrible shock actually..."

🐻 "And thats the thing right, rumours right, theyre exactly the fuckin same and see recently yeah, I've been hearing a lot of em... Know what theyre about?" he's leaning back in his chair fingers locked over contemplative, until he turns them on you, "You..."

🐻 He tells you hes heard rumours youre going to take a train up north, he tells you all the journey details... Departure time, the stops you'll go through and the time you'll arrive at your final stop. "Amazing init, the details you hear in rumours..."

🐻Now you think you know why hes brought you to his office... The gun in his drawer, maybe he's worse than you thought he was, you try to angle yourself so that you can see his hand.

🐻 "Now what i wanna know right, is if these rumours are true?" youre trembling, utterly terrified, youre not a good liar and you know you definitely can't lie to him... But do you have a choice.

🐻 Your hesitence tells him everything he already knew.

🐻 "Now this is bad news innit, very bad news indeed poppet," "Cause see what ive been doing all these years we've been together yeah, you being mine and me being yours... Ive been looking after you, your old man - thats me yeah - 's been looking after you, plain and simple... And well, its been so long i don't know how you're gonna fair without me?"

🐻 He'll get you to stay by making you doubt yourself, he's always babied you and now hes going to remind you that you really are his little girl. That you need him to help you with everything, you won't survive without him. Who will do all the thinking for you? Make the difficult decisions? Who's going to defend you against all those bad men out there that want to hurt you?

🐻 "So these rumours right? Are they true?" this time you dont hesitate, you shake your head and say no, you dont want to leave him you want to stay with him forever...

🐻 He welcomes you into his lap, pats his knee says "well, thats alright then ain't it, come here poppet, come sit in your old mans lap yeah?" he strokes your hair and holds you and keeps talking to you about how he takes care of you.

🐻 You reach down, trying to be subtle you want to see if the gun is in his drawer, if he was going to use it on you. But he catches your little hand in his raises it to his mouth and kissing your fingers one by one whilst hes talking to you.

🐻 "Did you think that's what id brought you in here for poppet? You think your old man was gonna offer you a deal or death?" you shake your head but youre lying again and this time he questions for a second if he went too far... He did want you to think he might do that...

🐻 But he never actually would... Wouldnt every hurt you like that... Alfies toxic behaviors stem from him being possessive and too protective, he only holds on so tight to you to try and protect you from every threat he percieves. Why would he kill the thing that means the most to him.

Arthur

🍂 He knows he has problems... Well, he's aware of most of them

🍂 He knows his temper is bad. Hes convinced that he's a monster. If you start to believe you are something hard enough you'll start behaving like it. He thinks hes a monster, hes convinced hes going to lose you

🍂 Whether he actually is or not.

🍂But he doesn't realise, that believing you to be the only thing thats good in this world, is a problem too. That thinking youre the only one who can save him, that without you he's doomed to hell...

🍂 Thats what starts to worry you, how hes always telling you youre his ticket to heaven... But his temper and his jealousy, the rages he throws himself into when he thinks someone else has looked at you or flirted with you... They're the things that make you certain you have to leave.

🍂 Its only a matter of time before someone gets killed because of his complete obsession with you, so you try to leave.

🍂 You dont want to hurt him though, despite his rages, his violent outbursts you see him for what you believe him to really be. A wounded man who is hurting, a man who is capable of love but gets so overwhelmed by it it starts eating him alive like black rot.

🍂 So you try to break it to him gently. You tell him you love him but you have to go, its too much, too intense. You make the mistake of telling him he scares you

🍂 "Alright love you listen to me now... This is whats going to happen yeah... You are going to go upstairs now yeah, youre going to unpack your things, put em all back where they belong and then you're going to come back down here and youre going to apologise to me for fucking scaring me alright?"

🍂 He doesnt say it calmly either, he has that low, threatening anger, you can see how hard hes trying to hold it together but hes shaking with rage, you can see it bubbling up behind his eyes.

🍂 You try to be brave, you try to say, "no arthur, thats not how its going to be this..."

🍂 Thats when he loses it, "Alright?" he raises his voice getting louder, "I said fucking alright y/n? Did you hear me?"

🍂 He might get physical, he won't attack you, but that switch will flip in his brain, triggered by how scared he is to lose you... And you'll definitely be scared that he might really hurt you

🍂 He'll probably grab you too roughly, perhaps trap you against the wall. Hand gripping your throat tight enough to leave a mark.

🍂 If he hurts you hes going to feel bad about it, full of guilt later. He'll apologise to you, tell you it won't happen again, he'll probably tell you he knows youre scared of him, hes a monster, you and fuckin everyone else is scared of him these days...

🍂 You'll stay because he scares you. But also because you are convinced that maybe underneath it all there is good in him, you can change him...

🍂 But he won't change.

🍂 He can't change. He doesnt know why he feels everything so intensely but he does, he feels his love for you like bullets ripping through his body. He wouldn't be able to breath if he lost you. He'd suffocate

🍂 Which is ironic because sometimes hes so overzealous with his love, so possesive, always touching you in public, behaving inappropriately at parties and in front of other people. Squeezing you, rubbing your thigh, your arse... Can't keep his hands off you... That it feels like hes suffocating you with his love.

🍂 If he isnt following you everywhere personally, hes got peaky boys watching over you at all times.

John

🌼 Doesnt know that he has problems, thinks this level of adoration and love combined with this level of fear of your leaving, is normal... Its just the nature of your relationship, because he lives in such a dangerous world, its natural to fear you could be snatched from him at any moment. So he doesn't realise theres anything wrong with his attachment to you

🌼 He wont believe you, he'll probably crack a grin and say "what was that flower?" when you don't answer though, when he looks and sees the tears in your eyes he'll shout, "fuckin what was that y/n?"

🌼 He has tears in his eyes, you cant tell if hes really going to cry or not...

🌼 Hes far too invested in your relationship its like his whole life depends on it... That the second you tell him you've had enough, of his fighting and drinking, the crime, the violence, the worrying he ain't gonna make it home to you... The second you quite fairly point out that it isn't fair on you, he hits breaking point.

🌼 0 to 100.

🌼 At first he can't believe it, then hes devestated, then hes angry. And the emotions hit him at 100mph

🌼He doesnt understand why you want to go? He believes the two of you are perfect, that youre the perfect example of when opposites attract, that your good balances out his bad...

🌼 So you try to explain it to him, you can see he's upset so you try to be kind... Try to tell him theres no balance... But his emotions are all over the place and he keeps flipping between crying and heartbroken to white heat anger

🌼 "You wanna talk about fuckin balance love?"

🌼 He takes his gun out, turns it on you, then himself then back to you. "Find the balance now eh... We're on a fucking seesaw now y/n and one of us has got to go yeah, me or you?"

🌼 You have to talk him down from his rage, but its hard, you're holding back tears, trying not to show how scared you are but seeing him point the trigger at himself it makes you realise how devestated you would be to lose him

🌼 And that must mean you love him right? You always knew you did love him, never questioned your love for him... Just whether or not it was good love.

🌼 Youre not stupid, you know this isnt good love but... Its the only love youve got and you do love him...

🌼 So you talk calmly, approach him slowly, youre trembling and when you get to him theres a moment where hes still pointing the gun at you... Hes tears on his cheeks and hes shaking too.

🌼 "John love, sweetheart please don't do this i love you Im sorry i love you..."

🌼 You end up crying together on the kitchen floor, him holding onto you so tight.

🌼 He makes sure in future to be extra sweet to you, he buys you a locket with a photo of him in it, on the back "my love" is engraved. Its beautiful. He tells you to wear it everyday. Never to take it off.

🌼He will also use sex to keeo you his, making you feel good and reminding you that hes the only man who could make you feel that good.

Bonnie

🍀 Doesn't really know that hes as bad as he is... Hes just protective, some would call him possesive too but all he thinks is that hes protecting what is his.

🍀 He knows he shouldn't like the fact that youre physically much weaker than him as much as he does but he brushes it off as just something that attracts him to you... Everyone likes different things and he likes you.

🍀 If you realise he's a little too possessive, if you work out the fact that he never actually leaves you on your own, that even when you go for walks you feel like someones following you, that you see him waiting across the street from you in town, always watching you (he'd say watching over you, making sure hes there near by if you need him)

🍀 Then you might decide you want to leave.

🍀And Bonnie does have a very strong moral code, he has certain views about relationships and women that hes stubborn about.

🍀 He wont hurt you, he wont physically stop you, won't even threaten you... Because he knows that isnt how you treat women... Even when they're scaring the shit out of you threatening to break your fucking heart

🍀He'll look sad when you tell him, when you tell him he scares you when he follows you, that youre scared to be with him

🍀He apologises, tells you he does it cause he cares about you, because he loves you, hes so sweet about it, so apologetic that you know he really is sorry he scares you...

🍀 He promises you he'll change... And he tries a little, not very hard because theres some changes he doesn't think it would be very smart to use make...

🍀So in the end he doesnt change at all, he still follows you, still lingers around you all the time, watching you with those intense eyes. Its like hes waiting for something bad to happen to you...

🍀He probably uses his peaky boy status to scare other lads away from you, hes scared of losing you to someone else so whenever he sees another man near he intervenes, either by coming up to you, holding your hand, putting his arm around you, kissing you in front of them, marks his territory or, by threatening them later when youre gone.

🍀Hes always finding an excuse to give you his clothes to wear, he likes it when you wear his coat. Feels like hes keeping you safe, but also it shows everyone that youre his.

🍀 You think Bonnies sweet, that he really is only trying his best to keep you safe.

🍀When things get rough, when he thinks you're becoming distant, he'll take you off into the wildlands where the two of you can be alone together for as long as it takes to win you over.

🍀And when you do say you'll give him another chance he's ever so sweet and good to you, smothers you with affection. He does make you feel loved, even if at times it is intense and scary.

Isaiah

🐀Hes jealous and he has a temper.

🐀The temper is usually reserved for people he percieves to threaten the happiness of you and him.

🐀You're his prize to defend and hes convinced hes always going to be fighting people to keep you. Thinks everyone wants a piece of his girl

🐀When you tire of the constant convincing him youre his and only his, and you try to leave he kind of bates you?

🐀"Fucking fine y/n, fuckin leave me then.." he can pretend not to care for just long enough to make you doubt yourself, just long enough to break your heart and make you regret your decision.

🐀Thats only because thats not something that takes very long... For a number of reasons

🐀Isaiah is very good at playing the long game. When things are good he showers you with expensive gifts and spoils you sexually too, he's always giving you little reminders of how hard he works for you and the life the two of you have together. He's always reminding you that everything he does is for you.

🐀He's always leaving little marks on you two, love bites and things, marking his territory

🐀So when he switches the charm off the moment you threaten to leave it makes you question whats wrong with you, he isn't even upset, maybe you need him more than he needs you?

🐀That scares you into submission pretty quickly and when you shake your head, change your mind and begin to cry, he'll change again, tell you not to cry, not to be upset.

🐀"Don't cry sweetheart, not your fault, i know you get a little bit confused sometimes, such strong, scary emotions must muddle that pretty little head of yours right up," he's good at babying you, talking down to you to remind you that without him you couldn't survive on your own.

🐀Will start kissing you, touching you, carressing you, teasing you until he has you undressed for him, he'll drive you crazy the way only he can and when he's fucking you into submission he'll remind you that hes the only one who can make you feel that way. Hes the only one youll ever be able to feel so good with. You need him.

🐀Buys you pretty jewellery, expensive gifts, takes you out to expensive bars and spoils you, buys you things you'll never want to part with.

Michael

☘️ Is obsessed with you, with the idea of owning you. Youre the pretty thing he wants to show off to the rest of the world, he wants to see you thrive because it will make him feel good about himself. Knowing his girl is the best there is. That shes all his.

☘️Because of this he invests so much time and money into you, you get music lessons, art lessons, you get libraries of books and youre spoilt but controlled too.

☘️ Michael controls everything about your life, from what you wear to how you spend every second of every day. He wants what's best for you. Thats all hes thinking about.

☘️Is pissed that you'd want to leave, not just pissed but insulted... He knows hes possesive and controlling and he knows he cam be cold sometimes but

☘️ "Everything you've got y/n, I've given you... Everything i own i share it with you.. Everything I've worked for its for us... Together right?"

☘️ Threatens you, not with physical violence but instead threatens to take everything from you.

☘️ "if I'm going to fucking lose you y/n then youre going to lose everything?" youre everything to him so it seems fair that you should lose everything if you walk away from him

☘️He'll dazzle you with all the fancy gifts hes brought you over the years, he'll stand behind you in the mirror, let his fingers trail the silk dress he chose for you, that he paid for... He'll kiss your neck just above the string of pearls you wear doubled around your neck

☘️ And then he'll tug them, the necklace tightens around your neck... Almost... Almost enough to actually choke you

☘️ You'll lose everything y/n... Your connections, the family will cut you off... We can leave you behind, forget we ever knew your name, but you can't leave us... People will always know you as my wife... Bad men will still try to use you to get to me..." "But if youre not mine anymore i wont protect you, ill let them have you wont i... Cause you wont be part of the family anymore and i wont know you... Wont know who you are..."

☘️ These kind of threats are as scary as anything threat of physical violence could be. You know michael really means it when he says these things. He's a cold man. Capable of cutting you off.

☘️"No second chances y/n if you want to leave then leave, but there'll be no second chances..."

☘️And maybe you could be fine on your own, maybe you could start fresh, somewhere no one knows your name... But is it really worth the risk...

☘️ "Or you can stay, you can apologise to me for being so ungrateful, and then I'll forgive you and we'll go back to happily ever after.." "Just like that?". "Yes love, just like that"

Idk if i did these right sorryy bestie, i hope you liked them though!!!

#peaky blinders imagines #bonnie gold x reader #tommy shelby x reader #arthur shelby x reader #john shelby x reader #peaky blinders headcanon #look at me giving advice #peaky blinders imagine #alfie solomons x reader #peaky blinders #dark!tommy shelby x reader #Dark! Peaky blinders

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clanwarrior-tumbly · 1 year

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I noticed requests were open, so maybe you could write the reader being in Audrey’s place and telling the ink demon he’s not a monster and afterwards he protects the reader from anyone that tries to attack them. Have a good day!

"You have nothing. You're without purpose. Your very existence...was a terrible lie. You're a mistake, a monster....like me. But I will make you-"

“Who says you’re a monster?”

The Ink Demon was silent as he stared down at you, at first feeling insulted that you dared interrupt him. He was still seething from the abomination that tried to usurp him as ruler..he could easily crush you in one fell swoop.

Yet you didn’t seem afraid of him anymore.

He couldn’t sense the fear you had back when you were hiding away in broken barrels and Miracle Stations.

No...despite being absolutely helpless--with your lower legs severed and your inky body weakening--you managed to smile at him, the beast who stalked you nonstop.

“I know this sounds ironic, coming from my scumbag of a father, but...he told me those born of darkness don’t necessarily belong to it. That doesn’t mean you have to be a monster. I never thought you were, Bendy.”

He gnashed his teeth together, growling lowly.

Just thinking of that man was enough to make his nonexistent blood boil.

“That’s what the old fool called me..day in and day out.” He snarled. “He tried to fix me, but the Machine chewed me up and spat me out the same way....every time. I was never going to be perfect. He called me a foul thing..a monster..had me caged like a dog. Shame you couldn’t convince him otherwise..”

"I know I couldn’t, and I’m sorry.” You frowned. “Listen..I know what the Keepers have done to you. They’re basically doing what he tried to do...only worse.”

“...oh yes..they thought they could control me. But with Wilson gone..”

“He’s a martyr to them now. And they’re gonna hunt you down again..they’ll never stop until they capture you. They’ll kill me over and over again if that’s what it takes. Trust me..I know..” Remember how many times you’ve accidentally stepped in a Keeper’s spotlight, you shuddered a bit.

“Then..we will combine forces to destroy them.” The Ink Demon extended his hand, attempting to present his offer from before. “Let us-”

“I’d have to refuse..because what if we’re caught between those again? We’ll both be screwed.” You gestured to the broken signal towers all around you. “But I could help you find the Keepers’ weakness..and maybe build something strong enough to take them on. This lousy pipe just won’t do.”

Silent, he looked to the half-charged Gent pipe in your hand, slowly realizing the valid points you made in your argument.

As much as he despised being wrong and being told “no”, especially by a half-human....you were smart.

“That is true....then so be it. You’ll help me eliminate them. But what do you want out of this?”

“Well I..would like my legs back.” You awkwardly requested. “And a way to go home, maybe.”

After some internal debating, he decided that it wasn’t your time to join the dark puddles yet. There was still much work to be done--those Keepers couldn’t be allowed to continue their operations.

Not when you were the key to stopping them.

“Very well, I will heal you. But this alliance is only temporary. You’ll know your place is within the puddles very soon..”

“Yeah, yeah...thank you, Bendy.” You gazed up at him, a hopeful smile on your face. “You know, I never stopped seeing good in you.”

He said nothing to that, although he did look surprised to be thanked for once, considering the amount of times he tried killing you throughout the studio.

He didn’t understand why you wanted to help him or even denied the fact he was a monster.

Nevertheless, he complied with your request. You watched the rest of your legs become submerged in the ink for a few seconds, before the large puddle receded--restoring them both as if nothing ever happened.

As you sat up, you were nearly tackled back down to the floor by a small unseen force. You then blinked upon recognizing the small curled devil horns against your chest, ink melting away to reveal Bendy in his smaller form.

He was hugging you tightly, sniffling and trembling.

“Awh, it’s alright bud.” Smiling, you held him tightly, glad that he realized you weren’t like your father at all. You didn’t think of him any differently--not even after seeing that the two were the same.

He learned your heart was good and kind, both inside and outside this world.

Letting you go, he helped you stand up. It was tricky considering he couldn’t touch your hand with the glowing spiral without feeling pain, but he managed.

You got used to your new legs and sighed. “Wow. Regenerative ink, huh? Impressive. Well, we should go before-”

“WILSON!!”

“Wilson is dead?!”

“Wilson gave us purpose!!”

“THEY MURDERED HIM!!”

Hearing shouts coming from outside the lab, you froze in terror, realizing that hostile Lost Ones were coming for you both. Bendy panicked, immediately turning back into his demon form before sprinting to the pool of ink below the machine and diving into it.

You looked over your shoulder, confused and annoyed that he left you alone all of the sudden.

Was he really going to leave you to face them on your own?

‘Ah great..well, let’s see how many I can take on with a half-charged pipe..’ Readying your weapon, you prepared for the swarm of angry inky people about to barge in-

Then suddenly you heard a bellow from behind and saw Bendy reemerge from the pool looking different.

Now he was a hulking beast of ink, with a full set of large sharp teeth and muscular limbs--no longer skeletal like he was before.

He scooped you up with one hand, setting you on his back. “I need you alive..I’ll handle them. They are fools to stand in the face of a creature like me..”

“Yeah, they’re in for a world of hurt.” With a chuckle, you gripped one of his sharp spines, looking over his horns to see the Lost Ones rush inside the room. They had sharp weaponry, vibrant colors swirling within their bodies.

“Say Bendy...what do you think of that rainbow ink?”

“...I hate it.”

“Me, too.”

With a loud roar, the Ink Demon charged forth to reduce them all to stains in the ground, with none of them standing a chance against his might.

You just held on for dear life and enjoyed the ride.

#clanask #anonymous #batdr x reader #bendy and the dark revival x reader #ink demon x reader #platonic #batdr spoilers

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wmarximoff · 2 years

Text

save your tears for another day | w. maximoff

summary: you and Wanda had a troubled relationship to say the least, which from the beginning was doomed to end. but all it takes is one mission that leads to a little girl with her eyes and your nose for your life and hers to change completely.

warnings: angst, mentions of smoking, parental abandonment, trauma.

pairing: Wanda x fem!reader

word count: 17k

A/N: this is, like, huge. it took a long time to write. i don't think i've ever genuinely tried so hard for something kjfskdfhsdk

anyways, enjoy!

|masterlist|

༺ᱬ༻

It's late in the night, one-o'clock or so (maybe more, by no means less than that). It's eerily quiet in the alleys of Lower Manhattan, as if the whole region was in anticipation for this night, its shrewd eyes looking into your loft, into you.

It's that late dawn when you find yourself deep into the night to sit comfortable in a high swivel chair placed on the wide balcony of your loft, so many feet above the sidewalk, the people’s heads and the streetlights, to smoke a sturdy cigarette which in nothing you like to taste (the sensation that slides across the face of your tongue is bitter and rough, like chewing on a sandy stone).

It's a shamefully commonplace bad habit in your actions, adopted here and there, that usually accompanies you in puffs of swirling smoke throughout your lonely reveries taken at moments like this, grounded in darkness and an emptiness that tends to be purely melancholy, all enveloped in an air of taciturnity – you feel shimmers of icy wind passing through the bristly skin of your bare shins, devoid of any clothes, because you wear only a pair of shorts and an old hoodie of a dull, red and faded color that is not really yours over a thin plain tank top.

The hoodie doesn't smell like cigarettes, and it doesn't smell like you also. The scent that exudes from the fabric, after all, is hers, purely hers – like a memory that touches your skin, your bones.

This isn’t one of those nights that are too hot and not too cold, however, something that is reflected in your clothing choices; the comfortable and appreciative mood that blankets the entire dark city of New York is just inviting, you dare to think to yourself in your trains of thought that never stop. It's not very windy against your ankles or your weather-frozen cheekbones, but even so, your hair sways calmly, rustling behind your ears like a flag hoisted on a pole.

You just can't rest your head on the pillow to let yourself be carried away by the blandishments of sleep. So, after minutes or hours of staring at the boring monochrome ceiling above your bed with a restless agitation girdling the inside of your contrite chest, your time it is all spent on blunt remarks and mental notes made in your native language that at this point in life, might even sound like an alien to you – you get some of the word ordering wrong, while some elocution of others just sounds odd to your ears.

“Будь что будет.”

There is a slurred pause in your nasal speech, as if your tongue is catching between your teeth in the act of dancing against the roof of your mouth as you emulate the words that make up an ancient proverb, whose meaning you no longer quite remember correctly. And that prickly popular Sokovian dialect, colloquial in the most acute sense of the word and with a slightly less elaborate pronunciation and worthy of the lower classes, disappears little by little from your daily life like a healed and bleached scar, to which you cling like a grown child who carries with you a secure infantile memory, still so reluctant or even unable to let go of something that is no longer yours to hold on to.

You don't really have pleasant memories of your old Sokovian life in fact, so it even surprises you that something in you wants so much to keep a last shred of your cultural identity with you, that you don't want to let the world rob you of even that. Maybe, you think, maybe if you let the Sokovian go, you won't exist anymore. Something in you will change, and you will no longer be the person you know you are. And you also know that you're the stuck-up type of person, who doesn't handle change very well.

And then you talk again, again and again, like a broken record player. After all, you don't want to change.

Silence gives you permission to think calmly, like a bar company that eventually leaves you alone to drink your grievances from low-cut glasses. The view gives you a feeling of a fragile welcome; belonging to a collective kind of brings doses of contentment to your life. Although a lonely night is the inescapable epilogue to your existence according to the consequences of the actions that guided you in life, you like the vague idea of being a sociable animal, as the ancient philosophers would say.

From above, as if you were really omniscient or just an intangible deific figure, the big city is actually small and fragile, like a cornered sick person in dire need of protection – New York is just a black backdrop with tiny little lights encrusted along its entire length, like a long patchwork quilt rolled up in Christmas lights.

At this time of day, there are almost no good people to meet on the streets and you can hear a car horn and the screeching of tires running along the asphalt in the distance. Well, you think, what the hell.

Having retired the black outfit with indigo-detailed side stripes to the back of your wardrobe a while ago, inside a big dark bag, you just know that this is no longer a problem you have to solve. There's another range of masked and well-educated people hanging around, several of them younger and maybe a lot more willing, and you're no longer required to preserve the well-being of the life of the average New York citizen.

You then just snatch a thin cigarette with your right fingers from the half-crumpled wad of paper that was in the back pocket of your shorts and fit it through the gap between your lips, moving with the same expectant hand to the inside the single pocket of your hoodie, searching for the silver lighter in a dull action that already gives you a certain muscle memory when doing it.

Moving with your elbow, you bring the small metal accessory closer to your face, at the height of your chin, and sliding the cheek of your thumb across the stone you attempt to ignite a spark, but the attempt fails and you just grunt in discontent. The lighter clicks again, but one more time, there is no flicker to light your cigarette hanging from the middle of your mouth. The length of your fingers surrounded by a number of silver rings press tight against the metal of the tool.

“Dammit...”

There's a second frustrating attempt, and another one after that, and the third time is equally unsuccessful until you hear the doorbell chirp softly into the glass-and-concrete interior of the loft behind you, which is lit by low-yellow lighting that comes from a shy glowing globular lamp next to a spacious dark sofa. Your eyes leave the city to focus on the sound germ behind your back, turning with your chin over your right shoulder.

And you raise an eyebrow to the middle of your forehead, creasing the skin beam of your brow in disagreement because it's one-o'clock in the morning and someone's at your door, waiting for you – the cigarette blistered to your lips, so long ago forgotten; the lighter now lowered in your right hand in unconscious defeat.

The ethereal silence haunts the corners of the night, broken by the colorful phantasmagoric neon lights beamed from the tall imposing signs of Times Square. Your ears are as attentive as those of a guard dog, but at such a distance, no sound is picked up by your hearing ability, which is not one of your singular aptitudes, and, therefore, is restricted to the common and ordinary. And then, you aim your attentive gaze towards the front door. Something unsettling grips the walls of your stomach.

It doesn't take a considerable effort for the atoms that make up your body mass to become auspicious, changing and charging, and a spontaneous lapse that leaves a trail of blueish light in the physical space around you causes your molecules to reconstitute themselves in front of the light wooden door of the entrance of your house, in a usual teleportation that, thanks to your skills of a genetically altered human being, becomes customary in your daily reality.

In a heartbeat, without giving it much thought in a window of time as slim as the speed of the hands of a clock that exclusively ticks the seconds that pass, you disappear from the balcony in a kind of vortex, a crease in physical reality, only to reappear inside the loft, feeling the heated floor against your bare feet.

A distressing hesitation runs through the palm of your right hand as you lift it to thread your fingers around the cold metal of the knob, hovering it through the air before completing the act, open, as if waiting for the knob to come to your fingers. But your powers have honed in you a somewhat reckless nature that is already rooted within you, and the hardened life of a crime fighter has left you just a little bit tired for small, impassive combat.

After all, if you had to sum up the purposeful range of your abilities, you'd say your specialty lies in the act of running away. It only takes one thought for you to flee, for your body to dematerialize in one place only to consubstantiate in any remote location that your brain can imagine; from Siberia to Kazakhstan, from Patagonia to China, across the entire globe if necessary. Just an idea, a measly lucid thought, and the action will be done before you can even bat with your eyes.

So there's no real reason for the person behind the door to be a cause for concern on your part. Even if you still have to remind yourself of that fact again, again and again, hammering inside your skull before taking care of your unexpected visitor.

With your fingers now hooked around the doorknob, you turn the knuckle of your wrist to the side so that you are able to open the door which, once flung open, gives you the familiar sight of the apartment's dark hallway, greeting you with a blank look and darkened walls. And it's fuzzy for half a second until you reflexively bring your field of view down to your ribs, about the end of the hoodie laces that dangle across your chest.

And then a pair of emerald eyes stares back at you, so expectant and full of the glow of a life still so exciting to live, as if that piercing green wants to rip your soul out of your chest; it is a familiar shade of green that stands out in the eyes of a small child with profuse brown hair that falls in a fluid movement over her scrawny shoulders, the tip of her nose so similar to your own that it is even astonishing to see it elsewhere other than in your own bathroom mirror, early in the morning.

Greenish eyes, but then, your nose structure. You blink once. She wears tiny, unlaced red shoes that were a birthday present from her mother on her feet.

“Miss Y/l/n…”

A childish, hesitant voice greets you, which just doesn't sound all that comfortable in your presence – after all, to her you were never the warm and welcoming auntie Y/n, like the relationship she has with Natasha Romanoff or even Laura Barton, or any other title that she might link to your vague existence in her life. It was always just the cold, distant Ms. Y/l/n, lurking around corners like an ethereal shadow, avoiding her as if to ward off a contagious and deadly disease.

Timidly, her gaze strays to the side, behind thick, dark eyelashes, to the doorframe or the floor beneath your feet. Her small shoulders look hardened into the jacket she wears, as if her age-limited cognition isn't capable of crafting a conversation with you once the goal of finding you has been accomplished. And you recognize this little girl right away, like an animal of the same species that recognizes the other just by smell, just testing, trying to understand its fellow.

“Talia...?”

Her little freckled nose was certainly not an image that crossed your mind when you started to question who your mysterious night visitor behind that door might be. But you just know you need to call her mother right away.

ᗢ

The dull forest air, damp and suffocating, flooded your blunt lungs as if you were standing under the dark water of a deep, muddy river, your nose channel icy and blunt through the interior, causing you in the middle of your skull a mild annoying, clumsy migraine that was the harbinger of a coming illness – it came in warm through your mouth and came out cold through your nose, an exasperated sip of oxygen, with no purpose but to make you sick in the future.

Ahead of you ran a blur of green rows of brownish dark pine, a sickly greenish tinge like a wall of moss, transformed into huge demonic titans by the obscurity of dawn, passing so tediously fast through your eyes when your forearms were outlined around the athletic torso of Natasha Romanoff, the notorious figure who went by the name of Black Widow, in a sublimely shrewd vibe as you sailed through the mud; both of you stilted atop her bland motorcycle into the forest of Gloucastershire, remote in English lands.

Ahead of you, on the road of dust, dirt and dark stone that seemed to swallow up even the smallest remnant of a source of light and heat, glowed in cherry-red neon from the taillights of the other motorcycle that carried Steve Rogers, Captain America, resembling the shimmering eyes of a creature that would guide you through the pitch of the night in pursuit of your goal—the prominent shield on his back reflecting hues of red, white, and blue toward you, twinkling with the star honorably encrusted in the right middle of the polychromatic circle molded in pure vibranium.

And growing on the horizon, at the top of a green hill with airs of mystery, a castle of an immemorial Victorian structure that, being owned by members of the HYDRA institution, was the base that contained in itself, well protected inside its stone walls and high monumental towers like a paranoid medieval king, a recent scientific invention that was allegedly capable of ruining your entire team and subordinating any form of government, coercing the geopolitical map in favor of those who held a monopoly on it. And just the thought of an instrument of that scale (Project Nocturne, as Black Widow told you) made a knot in the pit of your stomach.

The consensus was unanimous and indisputable, when Natasha came from those British lands having succeeded in usurping the information after a long month all devoted to her undercover work; a weapon with such a range of power should be taken out of the jurisdiction of an organization as oblivious to the rest of humanity as HYDRA was, which is why Nick Fury had assigned you and your colleagues (an elite team, sure, the Avengers) to extract the device from inside the castle and destroy it as soon as possible.

So, all you had to do was teleport and, with such an object in hand, your team would leave in retreat. Whatever this dreaded object was.

“Are you ready for action, teleport girl?” Natasha craned her neck towards you, speaking over her curious shoulder, a short-cropped beam of windblown red hair streaming through her speech.

And she saw that, in your features, a greedy, ill-tempered discontent rose and grew.

“T-that's not my name…”

But Agent Romanoff only laughed softly, her leather-gloved hands screwed tightly to the dark rubber-covered motorcycle handlebars, fire-colored hair bouncing in the crisp wind like the crackling flames of a bonfire.

The bike tore through the tall, vast forest for a few more miles and seconds before a guttural roar rumbled through the leaves and branches, loud as an explosion, and the notion descended upon you that Bruce had gone off to some dark corner inside the his own mind, and his alter ego was now the one who took possession of the one body that was circumscribed between two opposite mentalities; the sapient Doctor Banner and the neanderthal green Hulk creature, in a discrepant duality, a dynamic similar to the strange case of Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.

And that was the signal (or you thought so, anyway).

And then, closing your eyelids, you teleported into a blue streak of reality melting away, leaving Natasha to be the only one on the motorcycle. And inside the castle where you jumped smelled of dewy earth, dust, and polished stone. You snorted once, taking in a huge gulp of dusty air; polluted oxygen crammed the pathways into your lungs, also smelling the still-fresh aroma of hot gunpowder wafting through the air.

But something hit you squarely in the middle of your black-and-blue rubber-covered chest half a second later, not even giving you any thought as your ribcage sank inward in a dangerous tingle, pushing all the air out of your chest, lungs flattened against your back like two balloons. It hurt like getting a cannonball shot in the ribs, the weight of invisible lead crushing into your upper bones.

A shimmering scarlet nebula was what that coaxed your body away, propelling you at violent speed across the room, where the muscles of your back met the frame of a splintered wooden table in a thudding collision – a cloud of dust rose from the plaster on the wall as you and the table slammed into the polished stone.

A pained growl escaped your throat as the sting from the blow started a rumbling pain at the top of your neck in a fiery whiplash. Inside your eardrums there was a horrible humming sound and, for a second, a faint seemed to be an imminent reality for you.

“B-but—” you huffed in a tiny voice on a breath coming from behind your tongue, huddled on the floor amidst table debris and dust pellets like a dirty old rag, “What the fuck was that?!”

And the figure set before you, your attacker, of course, could be none other than Wanda Maximoff, who had both hands raised in a solid lunging pose, forearms straight and precise in your direction, while a splash of piercing red color circled the moss green of her irises. It was like a swamp on fire inside her eye sockets, a will-o'-the-wisp that wanted to consume you completely. She looked serious and stern, almost as if just to prove that she had complete control over her own pulsing mystical powers.

The young woman looked prepared for the slaughter like a creature out of a nightmare, for a moment seeming to have awakened a slumbering ruffian nature within her, still with dancing crimson mist tracing the length of her upraised fingers, clad in a fistful of silver rings of the most diverse shapes and sizes, as if prepared to unleash a new burst of throbbing energy at any given moment.

But she let her shoulders sag as she realized that the target of her attack had only been you, a teammate of hers poorly mistaken for a malefactor in the heat of the moment; her hands hanging to the sides of the dark red coat that wore the length of her arms, spilling even towards the crook of her knees tucked into tight dark pants that allowed greater mobility when on the front lines of the battlefield.

And what was once concern writing its way down the length of Wanda's pretty face, with solid, sharp, even half-feline features, took on airs of crimson ferocity as she creased her dark brows in the middle of her forehead, watching you barely set standing, covered in a layer of dust and, well, a shameful defeat.

“What the hell, Y/n, what do you think you're doing?!” she scolded, stomping towards you with the combat boots she was wearing, “I could have killed you!”

“I know, dammit! That's why I asked what the fuck was that!” You gestured angrily with your hands raised towards her, who stopped right next to you.

“You knew I was going to jump in here! That's literally the damn plan, Wanda! Stick to the damn plan!”

But she just tilted her chin to the side of her left shoulder and sipped at a smoldering impetuosity that vibrated red inside her, as if buying the conflict you were selling. If at one point she had really cared about your well-being, now she just seemed capable of hitting you one more time on purpose.

“And you knew I'd have to clear the room before you jump in, Y/n!” she barked back then, in an equally irritated tone, her eyes a bright green sparkling and turbulent, “It was you who didn't wait for my signal, because everything with you is like that! You don't know how to wait for anything! You don't know how to work as a team!”

“I don't know how to work as a team?! Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know that working as a team meant I had to wait for you to feel like trying to do something to get into action on a mission that literally has to be done in the shortest possible time!” was your infuriated reply, which comes along with the flush of the skin on your cheeks.

“I’m sorry if the best I can do isn’t enough for you!” she accused, “But it’s not like anything in the world is ever enough for you, right, Y/n?!”

“Well, if you didn't just stay looking after Vision in every practice and work your ass out like the rest of the team, maybe then you'd be more agile on the field! That sure would be enough right now!”

But there was a tone of taciturnity that engulfed her fierce body language at your speech, taking on a predator's edge, and the low voice provided by her was shaped like a warm whisper, a warning and a threat blended into one amalgamation of dread that icy down the length of your spine, going even farther and, dare you say, even jabbing slightly between your legs. Your palms felt sticky against the rubber of your suit, lowering your composure a little before her.

“Don't you dare bring Vision into this.”

You, in turn, still hostile and certainly annoyed, opened and closed your mouth for a while, but there was nothing more to say once Wanda's tone ended up taking your speech, slaying it inside your throat as if her magic had suddenly ripped your tongue out. And for a brief second, the high dark collar of your uniform felt like a rope tightening around the outline of your neck.

Your rebuttal, however, didn't come because it was Tony Stark's voice that reverberated through your communicator tucked into your ear canal, and through hers as well. Your attention strayed from Wanda for half a second.

“Lovebirds, I know it's awkward to live with an ex in the workplace – trust me, you'll never want to date your secretary – but if you don't mind, let's just fulfill our mission and get out of here as soon as possible, all right? In the compound you two can fight a little longer. Geez, I’ll even make you two a coffee myself.”

You looked at her and she looked at you. And, at the same speed, the two proud looks drenched in a mutual meaning drifted away, as if dodging a common adversity that would never be resolved if what was needed to do so was an apology that would guarantee a good coexistence. You wouldn’t say she was your ex, but Wanda would say you were hers. Maybe if you were more mature, maybe if she wasn’t so rash. Maybe if you just listened to each other more.

At that time in your life you were just too presumptuous, the vigor imbued in youth bringing a certainty of self that would prove to be harmful at several later moments, and one of Wanda's most infuriating flaws was that the dark-haired young woman never liked to admit a mistake made by herself. And so, just like that, you were in a limbo, in an endless loop within a quarrel that had arisen on both sides.

The sex was good, sure, but the feelings imbued in the act were just too arduous to digest – when you wanted her she didn’t want you back, and when she wanted you, well, you just went away.

She took a step away from you, who also had no intention of being so close to her as you carried a bundle of conflicting feelings within your heart, and they were all aimed solely and exclusively at Wanda. You could kiss her and then curse her like flipping a switch.

“Let's just… go,” she muttered, rather tough into her speech, “Let's find what we came to find and just get the hell out of here. This place gives me chills…”

And began a joint search for the entire perimeter that made up the ancient castle, for what neither you nor she knew well what it was. And the notion burned within your larynx that once your unflattering esteem for one another had been withheld within you for the sake of the smooth running of teamwork, reserving lapses of discord for more propitious moments than that, you and Wanda, as in a bad joke made by fate, worked well together, like two halves that, when put together, make up a fully functioning whole.

If she attacked, you defended, and if you defended, she attacked. And together you advanced, traversing the circuit of stone and wood walls. It was like a well-planned dance, a meeting of minds, a rehearsed joining of souls; you didn't need to think to act, because she thought for you. A tune that, in the past, would have been pleasant to experience.

And she looked just so beautiful, so sumptuous, when brandishing with her bare hands to fire twirls of red energy that pumped from within her wills. Her pale face kind of shimmered with a layer of warm sweat on a bead of skin on her forehead, just beyond the roots of the dark hair that swung around the outline of her face, in a facial expression where concentration was written in scarlet lines, as her lids tightened around her soften eyes and her dark brows creased in search of a new target to hit in a fervent mystical ambition.

When she shielded you with a barrier of shimmering crimson fog that sheltered you from a hail of gunfire, turning her head over her right shoulder to check your physical well-being in a lapse of smoldering concern, you were remembered why your heartstrings had been pulled by her fingertips like a master puppeteer some time ago, not long enough to be completely forgotten, veiled and overcome.

“I can– I can handle it here!” it was a roar over the burst of machine guns springing into action, “Go ahead, Y/n!”

“N–no, no way! No!” you reiterated exasperatedly, “I'm not leaving you here by yourself, Wanda! Don’t ask me to do this!”

“Y/n,” she looked at you, armed with certainty in the deep green that bathed her irises, “I'll be fine, I promise. Now please, just go!”

The conversation that took place was without a word to be heard. But there was no hesitation; you trusted her in that moment, concurring at her with a nod of your head, just as Wanda trusted you too. And the spontaneous teleport was quick and accurate as your body mass melted in midair, like a dart hitting the red center of a target, the last sight being Wanda's dark hair cascading down the middle of her back.

And a sudden ghostly aura froze the hollow of your bones as you found yourself away from Wanda and the battalion of soldiers she promptly held off just with the willpower of her own mind. The room you jumped into was excruciating like a scream in the dark, and just as terrifying.

Melancholic as the last moments of life of a flower withering, and that brought you an ominous unruly nostalgia, referring in unhealthy memory to the moments when you found yourself lost in the deep solitude of your own cell in the HYDRA laboratory facilities – a frightening placethat accommodated you for so long that you even lost count, with stone walls and tears, martyring yourself for what you could never have (freedom or companionship, there was never absolute certainty).

Both, perhaps, you came to think later, as you stared at the ceiling as you lay down to die in your ridiculous excuse for what would be the most uncomfortable of beds.

Being there, in that dark room, for you at least, was as horrible as your teenage days, in a sultry temperature so unvarying and constant that a handful of a few strands of your hair stuck to the skin of your neck, covered by an invisible layer of icy sweat; anxiety pumping through your veins at yet another round of tests with the Mind Stone they'd stolen at the time, as your ears used to hear the footsteps pouring down the hall.

So much trial and error, so many failures and punishments, that you, at the time, believed that at some point your whole body would just completely disintegrate, vanishing from reality for good.

The strained vision of your clever eyes, beneath your eyelashes, could not discern even any direction to guide yourself through the darkness that seemed to surround you like an enigmatic augury creature, with uncertain and unpredictable attitudes – a blatant odor that seemed exhale right next to your shoulders, covering you in a cloak of rot, coming from the uncertain cylindrical stone walls that insisted on squeezing you into the mouth of hell.

The fog in the bowels of the earth just wasn't getting any worse, so deep and extemporaneous, because the presence of a unknown creature huddled against one of the corners of the four crammed walls was what caught your attention right away, just a shy silhouette in the dark, which could not be distinguished as anything other than a shadowy, shapeless mass. And you dared to approach, because if this was the fifteenth room on the seventh floor, the weapon of global domination would be there.

“What… what the...?”

As the sole of your boot took a step towards it, the thing squeaked like a harassed guinea pig, even seeming to melt and disappear into the wall it leaned against. And carefully, you approached. As you crouched on your knees, a wave of sudden nauseating vertigo ebbed down your esophagus as the light found your gaze amid the emptiness of the dark room. A small, freckled, little girl's face quivered before your gaze as the tiny chin found itself supplanted by a pair of bony sore knees, thick eyelashes hidden behind a curtain of lank, greasy, long dark hair.

But the eyes were green, like two jade stones set in a filthy receptacle that didn't match the preciousness of those irises soaked in a thin, misty layer of tears that she fought to not to shed in front of you – perhaps from fear, or perhaps from trauma, surely from both, never from less than either.

Her malnourished little body was covered only by a single piece of a damp, dirty cloth, and signs of fatigue that should never show on a child's facial expressions marred her tapered cheeks and thin, pale skin, as would be that of an ill person lying on their deathbed. You wanted to throw up all the contents of the dinner that were churning the inside of your stomach. You realized, with trembling hands, that this thing (this kid) was Project Nocturne.

“But it's a child...” was a thoughtless whisper, “It's... it's just a child...”

ᗢ

The return of a successful mission had never felt so unnerving in your guts before; why, of course, you found yourself in the strange presence of one more figure than the amount of people who had gone inside the jet hours before, a new creature to inhabit the interior of the quinjet with you and your teammates. It was as if everyone knew what it was that concerned them as a collective, but no one was bold enough to say it out loud. You just understood each other’s apprehension in silence.

The tension overwrought in the air that enveloped you could even be tangible, since all the adults present ended up peeking curious glances at the quiet little girl who was covered by a thick dark wool blanket that had been laid around her skinny shoulders, making her look like a tiny caterpillar inside a cocoon with only a pair of pea green eyes sticking out her shell, watching everyone like a suspicious radar.

Wanda was the one who assumed the position of a tutor towards the child when no one else did, even if not for lack of initiatives by people like Natasha and Steve or even Clint, who was a father himself; the girl would not allow herself to be touched by anyone other than the enchantress without bursting out shrieking, and then Wanda was the one who, between the fingers of her hand, rewarded the withered palm of her downcast left tiny hand all the way until you arrived at your required location, back in American lands.

There was a comfort in Wanda's warm welcome that promptly convinced her that she was a pleasant presence, worthy of her trust so difficult to bestow on other unfamiliar adults; by nature, the child was frightened and weepy, and for that you all didn’t bat an eyelid, since everyone understood well the situation – you, even more so. And they were indeed alike, the little girl and Wanda, in a way that would raise eyebrows in acts of wonder, for they were too similar even for your own taste.

It made you think that Wanda, who had once been a child as young as that one, must have contained facial features similar to those of the young girl with an unhealthy face dotted with a galaxy of scanty brown freckles, and from the witch she only lacked in the familiar structure of her nose, which you weren't quite sure at the time to distinguish from who it was that reminded you so much; the answer looking like it wanted to scratch out of your memory, yet too uncertain to voice your thoughts out loud.

The girl settled in the compound because it was necessary, because there was no other place for her to fit in the world; in fact, they made her settle down. But as long as she was accompanied by Wanda, looking at the adult woman in question or seeking permission and comfort with those big verdant doe eyes, she was able to cooperate with others without showing any signs of rejection.

In part, you assumed it had to do with the fact that, once inside the HYDRA labs, she hadn't been granted choices in her very modest lifetime, and that's why she didn't know empirically that she was actually able to decline what adults offered her – according to Dr. Banner, after a previous session of physical tests passed all well accompanied by Wanda's watchful gaze, the girl was an average of seven years old, despite being quite stunted and undernourished for the age.

And the more days took slashes of weeks, the more and more she became a shadow that mirrored Wanda's actions, perhaps like an insecure duckling that follows its mother around or even a tiny puppy too young for its own good, still discovering so much of what the world had to offer. She was like a magnet drawn to the figure of her assumed guardian, a shadow sneaking behind the older woman's hip.

And Wanda seemed to enjoy every moment of it, because you watched her from afar, like a specter that doesn’t let go of the past to suitably move forward, when she took the girl for a walk in the outside gardens that surrounded the perimeter that made up the massive structures of the compound, or when she carried a sleeping little body so close to her own chest as if she were going to keep the girl inside her embrace until the last day of the Earth, heading to the room they shared to get her little girl ready for bed.

Wanda stopped attending other missions after a while, putting all her spare time into raising that child. And she's also definitely stopped reaching out to you to fulfill her lonely demands, for you to kiss her out of need or reward her with an orgasm that would consume the nightly necessity inside her, as she's done so many times before. She never went back for the rings she left on your nighstand or the red hoodie she left hanging on that chair in the corner of your room.

But one day when you were slinging athletic clothes around your body still sharp after a long morning of training spent in the company of Sam and Natasha, wearing a brief layer of sweat on the greasy skin of your forehead, you found yourself making a grilled cheese sandwich for lunch in the empty kitchen, to replenish your energies. That was when a sudden magnetic sensation took hold of your state of consciousness, sweeping away from your tired muscles the prostrate fatigue that required a very welcome break.

It was as if something called you; something that went beyond the barriers of what is tangible and material. It was a psychic need that itched to be attended.

So you turned around, in a blind search for what was inviting you in your unconscious. And, there, cohabiting the same space as you, could only be seen the figure of the little girl protected by Wanda, green irises wandering over your face in front of a childish and curious look, which seemed to digest the atmosphere in search of what connected her to you.

Your eyes bonded with hers in a flicker of gaze, and for a brief lapse of a second, there was a hesitation on your part that ended up tensing the muscles in your back beneath the thin layer of clothing provided by a tank top that left a lot of your skin showing. She looked healthier in that moment, her cheeks flushed and full, her hair glossy resulting from a good affectionate treatment, so dissimilar from that day when she was nothing less than an animal backed up against a dark corner in front of you.

She was quiet and apprehensive, as if waiting for your belated initiative toward herself.

“H–hey, kid,” you mussed, probing the area around her tiny body for Wanda, who was nowhere to be seen.

“Are you... are you alone? Are you lost? I mean, the compound can be quite big, huh... I honestly never thought we needed all this space, but you know how Tony is... but hey, where’s your– where’s Wanda?”

But the girl continued to maintain an air of silence towards you, only batting her thick dark eyelashes. And it was no surprise to you, in fact, the lack of response; until then, you had never heard her voice. You barely knew if she was really capable of understanding whatever was that you emulated concerning her in your second language, as Wanda used to communicate only in her Sokovian dialect with the girl.

“Що з вами?” You tried again, questioning her need for something.

And then she looked at the sandwich laid out on the plate in front of you on the counter, which was cut into two pieces made up of golden bread stuffed with melted cheese, a certain sheet of curiosity gleaming in her eyes. Your poor interpretation of signs dismissed it as a mute request, and so you took the sandwich in your hands and held it up into her field of view.

“Do you… do you want a piece of it…? ти хочеш?” On the girl's part there was the slightest nod, “Right, here.”

You offered her a slice of your sandwich, which was welcomed by two small hands raised in your direction as if asking for a hug.

You were the first to take a bite of the bread and, closely watched by the stimulated gaze of the girl, who was a born observer, she opened her mouth and sank her teeth into the sandwich just like you previously did, before chewing and swallowing in a studying way, as if it were that a scientific experiment. And then, after the experience had made her a connoisseur of the taste of grilled cheese, there was one more bite on her part, followed by another almost exasperatedly, which elicited a silly chuckle on your part.

Faced with the sound you made, the girl looked at you like a curious puppy and “Happy?” was what she asked, to which you only raised an uncertain brow.

"What? If I’m happy?”

Again, she nodded in agreement, rocking her silky dark hair that had recently been trimmed at the ends, looking gleaming and soft to the touch. And for a second, you didn't know what to say. She was a child, and you might as well lie. But you knew you weren't really happy, and maybe that wasn't even exactly what she meant with her vague knowledge of words in another language, but the question snuck into you and crept into your brain, planting seeds there that would later come to fruition, taking root in a bad feeling inside you.

“Well, you see, I... I...” Your mouth opened, but then closed shortly after, in a piercing, dysfunctional silence. There was nothing to say, not in front of her.

“Talia!” Wanda's voice, a little worried in its tonality bordering on maternal, reached your ears before she herself did it inside the kitchen, in quick and teasing steps.

And she barely glanced at you, because she got down on her knees to crouch in front of the child (Talia), so that she could hold the outlines of the girl's face in the warm palms of her hands.

“Are you okay, sweetie? You can't just walk away like that, I was worried to death! I swear, sometimes it's like you just go from one place to another,” the tone, however, was not harsh or ferocious; it was just tender, comfortable, oozing characters of thoughtfulness to the little girl, “Please don't ever do that again. I don't want you to get lost or out of my sight, okay?”

“Mama,” Her tiny voice rang out, causing a crease of brows on your part, who watched the interaction between the pair like a distant witness. The girl waved the remains of her bitten sandwich in front of Wanda's face before turning to you.

And then two sets of equally expectant, olive green eyes were like a spotlight burning your skin, Wanda suddenly aware of your presence inside the kitchen. But soon, her attention was all on the child again. Maybe, you thought years later, maybe she just didn't want to tell you what she's kind of suspected for a while at that point, as a magical sixth sense for the connection beyond the material plane that bound your vitalities.

“Oh, did Y/n get you a sandwich?” Talia nodded, something she seemed to do a lot, and Wanda's eyes brightened a jade color filled with tenderness for the little child before her, “And did you thank her? It's important to thank people when they give you things, polite people do that. And you're a polite little girl, aren't you, baby? Скажи спасибі, Крошка.”

Again, the little girl looked at you, seeming a little doubtful with a small flash of skin creased in between her thin brows just like you did too, as if the thoughts behind her eyes didn't match the words that might slip through her rosy button lips. And you, in turn, just raised a placating palm toward her before the evident lump of anxiety forming inside her chest grew to overwhelming proportions.

“It's okay,” you shrugged casually, “No need to say it out loud, kiddo, I understand your good intention. You don't seem to be much for words at all, right? It’s okay. Все добре.”

Wanda got to her feet again, stretching her knees into the dark jeans she wore on her attractive legs, before the palm of her right hand began the act of stroking the top of Talia’s head of soft brown hair, in a placid and unconscious action, bringing the little child close to her, beside her hipbone.

“Silence is her way of dealing with things,” are the first words Wanda says to you in days, casually holding eye contact with you, “Nat said it's common for kids who've been through... you know, what she's been through, to use it as a way of coping with all that happened with them.”

In the face of the conversation, the girl took another bite of the piece of grilled bread placed between her little hands. Wanda smiled at Talia's actions.

“But we're making progress, aren't we?” and her grin seemed so beautiful, so pure and genuine when directed at the girl, as if she were her greatest achievement in life, her primary source of affection and care, “She can already say a few words in English and associate them with what is happening around her. Talia is a very smart girl.”

“Talia, huh?” you repeated the name which, in a way, sounded right in your pronunciation. Wanda nodded, bouncing with the strands of her long, dark hair.

“Yeah, I'm not calling her a project like Bruce and Tony,” the green in her eyes looked unerring as she looked at you, looking so devout in her actions, “She’s not a lab rat, she’s a child. My… my child. And her name is Talia.”

“Right,” you mussed, because there was nothing more to say beyond that, “Talia. It’s… it’s a great name.”

ᗢ

The stone-walled interior of the cell that housed you was gloomy and damp, back in the days when you found yourself captive to the will of a man whose name, to you, has never been more than something like Strucker. He was a baron, perhaps—you had once heard someone refer to him in an air of military respect for such a title, the lowest in the entire nobility hierarchy.

There were no signs of comfort that could be pinpointed in any of the scrawny compost that made up the length, width, or height of those claustrophobic walls that closed in stone against you; it was like an empty, cold coffin, buried six feet away, beneath the glow of the last ray of surface sunlight. The HYDRA base that contained your cell had a dense, compact and sawn atmosphere, being devoured by the bowels of the earth where the impure air was thick and burning, so difficult to inhale by all that dirty dust.

It was an environment so harsh that had the air of a ghost town, even though life there proliferated in an unruly way, in anguished heaps, one on top of the other as if the intention were to reach the exteriority of the surface; although the laboratories were so deep and so submerged that it became increasingly almost impossible to glimpse their true abyssal depths and the most hideous monstrosities that there, in the shadows, hid from the eyes of the world. The most grotesque experiments that a human being would be capable of performing on another similar to themselves.

You, at that time, were never quite sure how much time had passed since your addition to that circus of horrors whose master of ceremonies was Strucker himself, the mastermind and employer; of how many weeks made up the months that constituted the years since your arrival at that place – your meager notion of the passage of time, always deprived of the notions of the sun and the hands of a clock, took the form of the perception of biological changes that had taken place in your own body.

The way your hair looked lengthier and greasier, or the way the ends of your chipped nails grew longer out of the edges of your fingers. The way the thin flesh of your cheeks tapered in signs of long-term malnutrition, or how, by the cuts characteristics of age, your physical structure took on more adult bearings that moved further and further away from the extremities of the epilogues of childhood, the time of life when you were still enjoying your remote time of freedom in a war-torn country, living off the crumbs of starving poverty.

A translucent droplet of warm sweat trickled down the line of your stiff, dirty, perspiring face, slipped down the curve of your chin, and then splattered onto the filthy floor between your bare feet. Something tucked within your insides just held back the full notion that they were going to come to escort you to that bigger room, to force you to touch that damned stone one more time, only to, after you did, put you through a bunch of exhausting tests that would border on imminent death. Boundaries didn't apply to you, who was just someone else's possession.

You held your breath as the heavy cell door clicked open. If this was a day seven days after the last time it had happened, it meant they were going to screw thick leather straps into your wrists and ankles to keep you stabilized on an ice-cold stretcher, when a masked man would come to stick a large needle in the middle of your back muscles again, to extract some strange spinal fluid from inside your vertebrae. It's not just because you had already been subjected to several rounds of this same nefarious procedure that your body had become accustomed to such an invasion.

A muffled clang rang through the room, your awed squeals echoing through its stone walls – a pair of uniformed men dragged you by your bony wrists down the scrawny hallway out of the cell.

“Поспішай, блін!” A gunman yelled in your ear, causing you to cower into your thin single piece of dirty, torn clothing, before shoving your skinny shoulder out of the cell.

The oxygen supplied in your lungs, roaming between the cells, took on a rigorously cold and even hard shape, quite difficult to breathe in or aspire with full propriety, weighing the sharpness of your fearful chest when your anxious eye could distinguish, between the quick blinks that pushed away the veil of darkness that clouded your mind, the shimmering shade of vivid green in the midst of the icy spectrum of darkness that crammed every square meter that made up the long corridor; the gloom entering your pores and choking you in a pool of fear.

They were, those impious orbs turned towards you, like true beacons that stared at the core of your soul in an apathetic emerald light. A color of green that saw everything, from which nothing escaped alive, overflowing with a hatred for the world that had taken everything from her, had wrested so much from her. The eyes of that girl who looked about your age (even if as dejected as your own body was in), a volunteer you knew, who had been housed in a cell next to yours.

She was also escorted by a pair of armed guards, heading in the opposite direction to where you were forced to go as on death row – the two predatory eyes, however, luminous, fearsome and incisive, were the most pronounced feature of a pale face like wax, devoid of sun, flanked by strands of long, straight brown hair lacking the graces of vain care. Rumor had it that the stone had detached itself from Loki’s scepter and ambled towards her, that she didn't have to touch it directly like you had.

And for a brief lapse of a second, you felt magnetically drawn to the gravitational field around her like the rings of Saturn, like the very Mind Stone that had floated into her touch. The unsettling urge was electric in you who, panting in anguish, only cherished touching the chalk skin of the girl who passed you in the hallway. And she looked at you expectantly, as if she were also attracted to you. Seconds dragged by like a tortoise as eye contact was sustained between you and Wanda, whose face you only knew at the time, not the name.

Later, with the two of you freed from Strucker's clutches and her brother deceased after a blunt clash with Ultron (which cost you both your hometown and then your whole country), you learned that your connection to Wanda was in the energy of the Mind Stone contained in your genes and hers too. Maybe that's why something in you never got tired of her, that always craved more of her, for consuming her completely until the two of you were one whole. Maybe you just didn’t want to admit that you loved her on your own.

Perhaps that was why your gaze could never stray from Wanda playing afar with Talia in the company of Vision, the three of them sitting on the grass in the garden outside, in the sun like a family, while you were the ghost in the window, inside the compound – the synthezoid whose very body of green wires, yellow blood, and red bones was the embodiment of the Mind Stone receptacle that was embedded in the middle of his forehead, flashing a sickening neon yellow.

You never once failed to notice how he made her dawn on such a beautiful smile, while you only made her sad, stressed or anxious. You wanted her to smile like that for you.

“Why the long face, teleport girl?”

Natasha's voice came from behind your shoulders, when the woman older than you, who was stealing pecks from a cup full of coffee supplanted by the fingers of her right hand, come to accompany you to the huge window view.

“The little witch and her toaster boyfriend, huh? Such an unusual couple.”

“She looks happy,” you mussed, still not meeting the redhead's gaze, always watching Wanda like a security camera, “They... they seem like a happy family.”

“Well, she really got attached to that little girl. It’s cute to see, I guess. But looking happy doesn't mean being really happy,” was the Widow's reply, followed by a long swig of warm coffee, “You know that, don't you, Y/n?"

She looked at you like she wanted to say something she didn't. But it was about a few days later, inside the excruciating walls of your room one night after dinner (Tony had ordered shawarmas and fries for the entire team), when your unwary eyes darted toward the wall in front of you.

You blinked slowly, and then took a gulp of bored air, the room as quiet and dark as a crypt. The silver light of the innocuous moonlight crept between the thick curtains like a curious little animal, adorning the room in a bright, luminous color, creating a shading effect from the sparse furniture placed there, even if it wasn't these the major components of the room's decorations – the numbers “21” and “35” in neon green glittered on the dim face of your digital clock placed on the headboard just beside your bed, next to a porcelain lamp.

“Miss Y/l/n?” FRIDAY 's somewhat machine-like female voice, the artificial intelligence that governs each and every technological apparatus in the compound, entreated you, echoing into the walls of your room.

“Mr. Stark has asked to inform you that he requests your presence in the east wing laboratory right now.”

Your answer came in the form of a lame growl squeezed out of your throat.

“Tell him that tomorrow morning I’ll talk to him, please. I'm not in the mood for it right now.”

“Miss Y/l/n,” the voice repeated, in a slightly more insistent tone, “Mr. Stark has asked me to indefinitely turn off the power to your room if you refuse. He says it is a matter of the utmost importance.”

“Well shit...”

You got to your feet and lazily slipped on your half-worn shoes forgotten by the side of the bed, not going to the extra trouble of tying your loose shoelaces. The east wing was allocated away from the heroes' quarters situated in the west wing, and going with your legs there didn't seem all that attractive (although you didn't have much choice in doing so), opting to envision the room for that, like a snap of your fingers, you would teleport there without too many circumlocutions built into your apathetic actions.

This was a vast room lit by a layer of long white lamps, adorned with glass and holograms in eerie, flashing neon colors that floated at eye level, lined with shelves crammed with electronics and glass containers, tiny test tubes and Bunsen burners all with faded flames, in addition to other devices of a modern high technology that were not at all recognizable by your poor cognition about that area. To you, that place has always looked more like the interior of a spaceship than a laboratory itself.

Tony could be found there, close to Bruce and also Steve, but the presence that surprised you the most was Wanda, who wore an open dark sweater on her torso whose sleeves went beyond the limit of her wrists, partially engulfing the palms of both her hands. Illuminated by the artificial light of the room, her eyes seemed even more green and penetrating, always exuding airs of that relaxed beauty that seemed to be carved into her bones.

Her gaze caught you in silence, and you didn't say anything either before your attention turned to Tony, who came to meet you. He wore a classic rock band shirt, one of several that had always made up his playboy wardrobe.

“Ah, you're finally here teleport girl, I thought I'd have to make Cap go to your room and yank you out of bed by your ankles. I don't know how to deal with cranky teenagers, sorry.”

“I’m an adult.”

“Yeah, and I keep forgetting that,” and then he turned his back on you, heading towards Bruce, who in turn seemed so intent on the open projections running through the interface of an interactive table (rectangular in shape and flat surface), to which he conveyed all the annotations made until then.

"Well, now that you're both here, Rogers, will you do the honors of telling the two lovebirds about what we've discovered, please?"

“What you’ve… discovered…?” Wanda said then, in a puzzled, curious tone of question that was aimed at Steve, with whom she was closest of the three men in the room.

The Captain, with his sturdy arms crossed over his Herculean chest buttoned up in a pale shirt, only nodded in the slightest movement of his head toward the young brunette woman. He looked apprehensive about doing so.

“Yeah, well,” he began his speaking with typical speech tones, “It's related to the girl, Wanda. Talia. You know that our agreement with the government after Lagos is that we must give them the reports of all our missions, right?”

“Yes, I... I know.”

The answer was in a regretful thread of voice that urged you to look at her. There was something gloomy that crept like a worm through the sullen green of her eyes and, looking so small, she stared at her palms for half a second, before the tips of her right fingers reflexively brushed to fidget with the silver rings that adorned the extension of her left fingers.

For a brief lapse of a moment, you wanted to bring her into the comfort of your arms and place a warm kiss on the crown of her brown-haired head to lull her to your mainstay, and to keep your hands from doing so, you just stuck them inside the back pockets of the baggy, ripped pale jeans that buttoned at your hips. You shifted your chin to the side of your right shoulder, just so you wouldn’t see her still silhouette like a nostalgic flavor memory in your peripheral vision, in the corner of your mind.

“It turns out that our friends at the Pentagon took an interest in keeping the girl,” it was Tony's turn to say.

“They said we can't keep an underage immigrant without legal status under our jurisdiction, not without the accompaniment of a parent or a legal guardian. They want her transferred to a CBP shelter under the jurisdiction of the Department of Health and Human Services. You know, that bullshit from the Office of Refugee Resettlement, stuff like that.”

“Which means she will either be deported or fall into the system. Probably deported,” your voice doesn't sound like your own as it comes out of the back of your throat, shrugging into your old punk rock band-print shirt.

Wanda's exasperated gaze ached in an anxiety building in the pit of her stomach as she, who was standing next to your left shoulder, stared at your profile in an afflicted way. Not looking back at her felt like fuel for her dread, which felt larger and more unstable inside her chest like a red balloon filled with oxygen, about to burst with a loud pop.

“W-what...? No, they– they can’t–” and then she turned her head towards the Captain, “Steve, please, they can't– she can't be without me! Please, she’s just a child!”

“They won't, Wanda,” he assured her when her dark brows creased into an anguished facial expression.

“Because that's where things start to get interesting,” says Tony, with a diligent little smile glistening from under his neatly trimmed goatee, “Right, Banner?”

“Yes indeed,” was Dr. Banner's reply in his lethargic mannerism, who turned to you and Wanda as well, aiming the big square glasses blistered on the bridge of his nose in your direction, “It's an incredible advance in biology, I have to say.”

When Wanda glanced at you from the corner as if to study your reaction, you didn't look back, just sloping curiously towards the face of the accomplished scientist in the buttoned shirt with sleeves rolled up at the elbows and shabby cashmere shoes.

“I had to do a genetic mapping on the girl to find out what her origins were and preferably, with any luck, find her parents or any living relatives to contact. But what I found was, well... it was interesting, to say the least. The girl has no parents, not in the conventional sense of the word. She has gene donors. FRIDAY, please.”

“As you wish, Doctor Banner.”

The machine voice followed the call of the man with short dark hair, streaked with bands of gray, in an articulate fidelity, always so devout, and from the projector placed inside the interactive table's display, a brilliant hologram was produced, made in dazzling blue and opalescent white, detailed in its smallest details, to which it presented a 3D model of a DNA structureright in front of the avid emerald eyes that possessed the ingenious Wanda, who studied completely the holographic reproduction made available to her by artificial intelligence.

You weren't quite sure what the hell that in front of your eyes meant, but a flicker of curiosity that welled up in your gut allowed you to give Bruce a chance to talk more about his research.

“These, as you can see, are Talia's genotypes. Her genetic makeup,” clarified the bespectacled man, as if to lighten the glint of misunderstanding that shone in your irises.

“According to the notes we got from HYDRA's castle, Project Nocturne was a series of attempts to artificially reproduce the genetics of responsive test subjects from experiments performed with the Mind Stone a few years ago. I mean, well, you two and Pietro.”

The mention of Wanda's late older twin was sudden, something that caught her off guard – you've noticed it because you've noticed when she looks away, still so distraught over the lack of the late speedster boy, whose body lay in ancient Sokovian lands. Your hand pulsed to intertwine your fingers with hers. She used to seek your embrace to cry into the nights when the nostalgic regret of the lack that her brother caused inside her bones slipped through her.

“The initial idea of the project was to reproduce Wanda's DNA, who was the subject with the highest response rate to the experiments, as a kind of cloning procedure, but the incomplete DNA sequences they extracted from her required that the gaps in her sequences were filled with other DNA, and as it would be fruitless to do so with Pietro's because of inbreeding, they used your DNA for that, Y/n."

You blinked once at Bruce.

"What...?" it was the incredulous questioning that sprang out of you like a jet of skepticism that poured out of your larynx.

"Well, you see," he gestured with his hands in a rather flustered way, deep in his own racing thoughts.

“The girl was generated in an external pregnancy in an artificial uterus. It's a perfect blend of magic and... well, magic and science. Something we’ve only seen before with the Asgardians. We don't know exactly the extent of the Stone's powers, but we do know that it is powerful enough to spontaneously enhance and grant sentience to beings it comes in contact with, and that HYDRA has manipulated this ability to their advantage. It's–it's amazing, really! What I'm saying is that if a proper system for it ingested and absorbed some organic fluid produced by a being affected by Stone, there would be the possibility of dominant genetics looking for viable gametes for the formation of a healthy embryo–”

“Stop,” you cut him off abruptly, finishing off too much explanation from the man older than you, “Please just–just stop fucking talking about it like it's something amazing, because it's not! It's not, Bruce!"

There was a hint of silence that wafted into the lab. Something in Banner's face instantly withered. Wanda projected a hesitant glance that spilled over your profile before turning back to the trinity of men before the two of you.

“What does that mean,” she whispered, in a strained voice, “What does that mean, exactly?”

“What does that mean, little witch,” it was Tony's turn to take matters into his own hands again, “Is that the girl is a close relative of both of you. Genetically close enough to be an offspring. So congratulations, mommies, because it's a girl! Although I think now it's a little late to make a baby shower, eh...”

“Stark, that's enough!” Steve was exasperated at the man with the goatee, in a profuse tone of reprimand to Tony's shenanigans, who held back a smirk broken at the corner of his lips, an eternal keeper of childish humor that he was.

But no words would be enough to elucidate what it was that sent your thoughts from one side to the other, in a truculent whirlwind of emotions that flowed through your veins and your nerves. And, when you came to blink another time, it was with grief sprinkled in your gaze – and you knew that Wanda could hear what you thought, because it was stronger than her, and in that moment, you were just a mess of unhinged agonies in an icy sweat that evaporated from your pores.

You blinked once at the sheer smoldering confusion, furrowing your brows in a look of vagueness.

Then, with eyes of double size, you looked towards Steve, your team leader and the most approachable of the three, who with a shake of his head, acquiesced in your doubts, what had clarified your thoughts with yourself. The walls of your stomach dropped into your abdomen, and for a second, the air that filled your bronchi was icy cold like a breath of death.

And then, like the fateful epilogue to a Homeric romance novel, you dared look your way, at Wanda, because the heat in her gaze could be felt even if you were on the other side of the room. If a pen dropped to the floor at that moment, the sound would echo throughout the lab. Wanda gulped at the saliva that froze under her tongue at your silence, and with her eyes she turned to Steve, who offered her a piercing blue look in return.

“So,” she tried, hesitantly like a wounded animal, “If… if Talia is our… our daughter,” you trembled at the word and its meaning concerning you and her, “My daughter. Does that mean I can keep her?”

“Well,” sighed the blond veteran, wrinkling his thick brows congruently, “I think that makes things a lot easier, Wanda. Even more so now that you two have obtained your American citizenship.”

“My younger cousin is a lawyer,” says Bruce in sequence to Steve’s words, “It's not exactly her field, but I believe she'll be able to help however she can. I mean... she does owe me a favor.”

He kind of tried to laugh, but the ambiance was still jittery and he gave up halfway through. Wanda nodded in a closed silence that rocked her long locks of a rich shade of shimmering brown, before once again offering you a complacent look that glowed in shades of a dull green color.

“Y/n...”

But you were an empty figure beside her, distant gaze thundering like the eyes of a lifeless puppet that has had its strings cut. Her warm right fingers, which sought comfort in the outstretched palm of your left hand, were like a reality check weighed down on your soul; the slightest brush of skin on skin sent an electric current through all your muscles, and you repelled it as if her touch were burning embers, as if touching her hurt you. But the hurt look came to the expanse of her pretty face right away.

“Y/n,” whispered Wanda in a tiny voice, so small and vulnerable, her eyes flickering in stinging remorse, her lower lip quivering in a retracted wail, “Y/n, please–just, please–”

“No–no, I don't...” you tried, but it was in vain, “Don't touch me, I... I don't... I can't, I can't...”

A single teardrop crystal streamed from your left eye to your retracted chin. She’d been inside the confines of those cells before, she knew what it was like – and her stomach did somersaults at even the thought of how they’d extracted your DNA, because that’s the same way they’d extracted hers too, between needles, tears and screams. But looking at Wanda, who needed you so much at that moment, was what made the pressure inside your stomach worse.

“I'm sorry I–I can't do this. I’m sorry but I–I can’t. I can’t.”

“Y/n, wait–!”

Wanda's clouded face, a stream of tears that accentuated the green of her eyes, was the last thing you saw before a reality vortex stripped your cells of the space that made up the lab's interior. And once you teleported to the bliss of your room, you allowed yourself to slump down onto your cold mattress, sitting with your legs bent out of bed. And then you cried. In the dark of your room, you just cried into the night.

ᗢ

As the days have passed since that revelation so bitter to swallow that not even the most expensive of the bourbons on top of Tony's shelf could ease it, you, in a state of apathetic corrosive calamity, increasingly immersed in yourself and distant from your other colleagues, only avoided the girl and Wanda as if she were a small emissary of a pandemic plague, as if living in the same environment as she would make you sick to imminent death from the disease imbued in her veins, which pulsed a blood like yours.

Your attraction soon took on tinges of an irremediable aversion spread by your system towards those who, in better terms, might have been your only accessible model of family to cherish and grace. Maybe that's what wove such a nagging veil of discomfort into your ribs when Wanda brought Talia into the hangar to greet the rest of the team after a particularly long mission, and the little girl freed herself from her mother's hand to run into Vision’s open arms, who was blissfully waiting for her embrace like a father who has just returned home.

When you walked past them, still tied in a silent line of torpor, limping on one leg and nose crooked and bloody as you were, Wanda looked at you with a glint full of meaning in her eyes. Maybe she wanted you there to welcome Talia instead of the robot-man, maybe she didn't want you too close to the girl at all.

It was like a long-running game of cat and mouse played within the limits that demarcated the longitude composed by the structures of the compound, which at one time or another would corner you in a corner with no exit; if they were in a room, together as they were always meant to be (and witnessing Wanda acting like parents in Vision's company, seeing them raise together a child that was hers and unfailingly yours as well, was just an even more unpleasant bonus for your taste), you would automatically have to be somewhere else in order to breathe properly with your ached lungs.

You then took your left hand towards the handle and opened the bathroom door, a breath of warm steam coming with you as you walked serenely towards the huge bed well placed in the middle of the room that looked like a so much too big just for your enjoyment. You've never been the type to get away with luxury, anyway; it just wasn't a construct based on your simple-minded nature.

A towel crisscrossed by the damp locks played the role of extracting, from your hair, the excess of water that tarnished the curls stuck together by the outline of your face. You wore casual pajamas, a plain dark shirt, and gym shorts that adorned the skin of your inner thighs, and nothing else to cover your modesty. You therefore placed the towel around your neck, over your broad shoulders, in the course of making your way to the phone plugged into the socket placed on the bedside table just to the right of your bed.

But you couldn't do it right away, because a familiar shiver through your senses gave you an alert mode that ran hot from the nape of your neck down the length of your spine, squeezing your ribs into your chest. And, before you could even realize what was happening there, inside the four monochromatic walls of your dull room, a space-time lapse actually broke over your bed like an indigo tear, when a child's body materialized on the sheets that covered your mattress. Talia appeared there, and you froze in your position outside the bathroom door.

“What the…?” you snorted, in defensive surprise, “What the hell do you think you're doing here, girl?”

There was a momentary excruciating silence, before you blinked once in disbelief and saw the most beautiful green eyes you had ever seen in your life – those that, by the yellow color of the lamp placed by your side of the bed, had acquired an exotic emerald color, but which contained fine traces of a unique amber next to the abysmally dark pupils.

You were rueful as you brought your right hand to your sharp face and pinched the bridge of your nose between your forefinger and thumb, a strained sigh slipping through your thin lips, blinking eyes that drooped lids in lethargy towards the child. You heard her fill and empty her lungs with air, before blinking in your direction with an announcement of tears welling up in the green of her doe eyes.

“M-mama,” was a whisper of a small voice that gradually built itself into an unsettling anxiety, “Ma...mama...mama...”

It only took a mere second for her rosebud lips to part in the foreshadowing of a cry that hissed within your eardrums.

“Hey, hey, hey, wait, calm down, don't—don't cry! Don’t Cry! You don’t need to cry!" You intervened immediately, crawling down the length of the mattress until you were sitting next to the sobbing little girl, “I'm going to take you back to your mother, all right? Damn it, I'll take you to your mother!"

You didn't hesitate to touch her thin shoulder bone over her colored shirt to teleport her along with your own body mass in search of Wanda's bedroom door. And, once there in the corridor, accompanied by the child who was still shedding more tears than she seemed to have to cry in her small body, it took a meager amount of miserable seconds that dragged lazily as in the format of hours for the enchantress to open the door with a hard jolt, her maternal senses all sharp and alert when in the presence of her little girl's weeping.

“Talia!” Wanda softened, engulfing the small body with the outline of her forearms, squeezing the teary child in a warm hug against her thin dark sweater, “It's okay, sweetie, I'm here, mama's here. It's okay, shh... it's okay, крошка.”

You couldn't readily say what it was that made you hope she would calm the girl down, who ended up slumbering in a sleep bedecked with tears and a runny nose. But Wanda came to meet you in the hallway right after she did, carefully closing the door behind her body. Even though she was still a little apparently dazed at the fact that you were still standing there, her only in cotton pajama shorts and an oversized black wool sweater, she looked so appealing when lit up by the pale light from the hallway.

“I'm sorry about that, Y/n,” she blew a weary sigh across her lips, “She… she has these powers like yours, but this is all very new to her and she's been having trouble getting it under control. Sometimes I'm afraid to wake up in the morning and find out she teleported to the Himalayas in her sleep or something.”

“It's… it's okay,” you hissed in a shrunken reply, a little awkwardly, not looking her straight in the eye, “Someday she’ll learn to deal with it. Then it gets better, trust me.”

“Well,” Wanda scanned you with a cautious glance, “Maybe if you could help her with that–”

“No, Wanda,” was your unthinking response, ever so wary in your actions, “Just… no. You know I don't wanna get involved with any of this.”

“I know, of course I know,” the brown-haired young woman gave a bashful gasp of air, failing to mask the compunction evident in her bodily actions towards your presence, “You've already made that clear, Y/n. But she is our daughter, your daughter—”

“Wanda, for Christ's sake, don't start it. Not now.”

The clamor in your tone of voice was what discouraged Wanda, who even with a good number of protests popping in her throat, couldn't say anything in the face of your so teased look at her.

Despite the emotion running through your veins, you stopped yourself from continuing to gnaw at the feeling that was distressing at your insides, an acid sensation that spread through your chest like a nuisance on your airway. And as if it were a gulf of anguish, regurgitated by your stomach, you soon tried to swallow your uncontrollable greed for your own injustice; for the violation that child meant in your life.

You then looked down at your bare feet and clicked your tongue across the roof of your mouth poorly, tucking your hands into the pockets of your sweatpants. Wanda looked into your face, which was filled with volcanic and distressing emotions, and blinked for a long time, batting her thick dark lashes.

“She… this girl, she…she’s not my daughter, Wanda. She may be yours, but she's not mine. She's just a goddamn lab experiment, that's all.”

Maybe you just wanted to hurt her. Something selfish enough rooted in your immaturity grew up for you to say it to her – only intent on hurting and ruining, because like a tantrum child, you just couldn't deal with the frustration that swelled inside you like a sickening disease. Wanda, however, didn't do more than a dry movement of her dark brows, and then profuse eyes peered in your direction—two splinters of emerald staring at you like a predator in the dark, a viper and a hare.

"Don’t say that."

The look that was turned on you, even if it was choleric, rigid or perhaps even snarky, was what you keenly yearned for in your pitied core, avoiding looking at her when the bitter remorse flitted across the face of your tongue at your own words referred toward her – because then you wouldn't have to witness Wanda's mild irises as they were, tempting you with their melancholy green, immersed in a feeling of compunction, perhaps even of disappointment or anguish. The excruciating eyes of someone who no longer had the energies contained in her body to fight to get you out of the shell you've gotten yourself into.

It annoyed you in the most acute sense of the word that this was not the first time Wanda had confronted you with her dismayed eyes. And you didn't quite know why you kept hurting her like you did. But there you were, ready to break her heart all over again.

“Don't say that,” she repeated, “She's a child, she's not to blame for any of this. She didn't ask for it—”

“And I didn’t either!”

A last spark of common sense flashed and ended in your contrite interior, lifting you up immediately, screwing the sayings of the fingers of both your hands into a pair of clenched fists with joints so pressed that, due to the lack of blood circulation, became become white and dull.

“I didn't ask for any of this, Wanda! And this girl, she–she's just a constant reminder of everything that happened to me inside that shitty lab! I look at her and all I can see is it happening to me again and again and again! Damn, I can't fucking stand being around her!”

“I went through it too, Y/n!” Wanda's tone shifted an octave, though not enough to cause a flashy scandal, “I was in that fucking lab too!”

She took an irate step toward you.

“And yet I don’t treat her like she's contagious or some shit like that! What the fuck, Y/n, you treat her like a fucking criminal! She's seven, for Christ's sake! And she is my daughter and whether you like it or not, she is yours too! So stop acting like a fucking child and for once in your life, even if it must be really hard for someone like you, be an adult and fucking act like it, dammit!”

“Oh yeah, you were in those labs too, how could I forget,” your tone dripped with acid cynicism, consolidating with your jawbone until it resembled a wire as sharp as a razor blade, “You volunteered to change the world, didn't you? Wow Wanda, such a smart move! What a fucking difference you’ve made, really!”

She, in turn, frowned, her inner woes hastily taking the form of anger at you. A thin layer of red rage carpeted the profuse moss green that grew darker in her enraged gaze.

“Turns out I never told you how I ended up in that shithole, did I? Well, the drunk asshole that I had as a father was a bastard who didn't want to feed four more mouths after my mom died, so at the first chance he got to get rid of me and my siblings, he did it without even batting an eye,” and the smile that appeared on your lips was in no way in keeping with the tears about to burst from your eyes.

“And he said I should be happy, because I was lucky I wasn't pretty enough to end up in a fucking brothel like my little sister! I was fourteen, Wanda!”

Wanda's face fell, but you just bit your lower lip, clasping the pit of your stomach in an excruciating grip – for that bad feeling which resonated in your head before the drowsiness of sleep, terrifying you through the empty darkness that comprised space stripped like a scream in the silence, just alone, like a desolate tear. It hurt you to the core of your chest as much as the shot of a projectile would hurt any other fragile human being.

You squinted your eyes and shook your head. Wanda's red anger faded into thin air, giving way to the pitying looks you so hated getting from someone. She took a gulp of air and opened her mouth to say anything, but you stopped her before she even started.

“So yeah, I'm sorry if I don't want to be in the same place as someone who reminds me of this shitty time. Whose miserable existence is nothing but a reminder of all they took away from me, of how much they violated me over and over again, of how much they stole from my entire life!”

You sobbed, because you the notion of what was happening there fell like a bucket of ice water down the length of your back. You were losing her, and she was losing you too.

“Y/n,” she mussed, gracelessly, as if you really were such a small child as Talia, “Y/n, I'm so sorry, I–I didn't know–I didn't know that–”

“Don't talk to me anymore,” you breathed, your vision blurred and clouded, “Don't ever fucking talk to me again, Wanda.”

Wanda didn't try to stop you when you left in a heartbeat. Just like you didn't try to stop her tears, and she didn't try to make you stay.

ᗢ

“Am I a bad daughter?”

"What...?"

Five more autumns had been later than the one you find yourself in. Wanda has been living in New Jersey with Vision and Talia for a few years now, being an ever so helpful mother to her little daughter, the best that has ever happened to her and the worst that has ever happened to you.

But the girl born to you is still there, perched on a sofa opposite the one you're cuddling in at your own home, and with the aging enhancements to the facial features, you can't help but notice how much she is very reminiscent of Wanda in her sharp cheekbones and the shape of her eyebrows – even if, in a way, also to yourself when you were the same age (twelve years old or something). Like the seasonal change of seasons, the freckles are fading from her nose. Someday, you just know that she could be mistaken for her young mother if seen from afar.

“Am I a bad daughter?” asks Talia awkwardly after long doses of stillness, immediately following a generous sip of water from the glass curled between her fingers.

You considered offering her a sip of freshly brewed still warm coffee, but when you realized she was just a child, you decided that water was good, water was neutral ground and a safe option. And you're probably paying attention to her drinking water so you don't have to think of a worthy answer to her inferred questioning of you.

"You... you...” there’s a pause, “You don't...I don't..."

Your sentence dries up and dies for a split second, though, as you stop yourself before you say too much to the girl, who frowns at you in a custom all too familiar to your cognition – as Wanda used to do when younger. You don't want to burden her, still as young as she is, with answers and satisfactions for someone who wasn't there for her.

“Why do you think that, Talia?” the girl sways a bit at her own actions before your gaze, dragging her upper teeth over the cheek of her rosy lower lip, and for a second there's a sliver of silence that seems to break through your ear canal.

“Because you never spoke to me.”

The answer shuts you down like a deferred open fist punch to the middle of your face, though you still stare at her with both irises going on at the insipid little face so vacillating in your presence. You open your mouth, nothing comes out, and then you close it again as best you can. Then, you opened it again, but soon whatever it was that would emerge from there is canceled out. Finally, you choose to console yourself with the gaze that descends to the laminate flooring placed between your bare feet, even though you have within yourself the fullest notion that, what you need and what you so lack in your system, right after such a shock, it's a good dose of something much stronger than a simple set of coffee beans and hot water.

“Talia, I...” you hesitate for a while, “How did you...?”

“Vis told me,” says the girl, “I... I asked him if he was my father because he is married to ma, but he said he can't be my father because he's not human like me and her. And that I don't have a father because I'm made from ma and... and you, Miss Y/l/n. But I didn't understand what he meant. I think it has to do with those lab days.”

You press your lips together in a single long line, digging into statements which you do not see yourself as fully capable of expounding on the girl you only recognize, then, as your daughter (because, facts being facts, it is what she is). Maybe Vision is just a clueless douche, but you always knew that eventually she would catch on. You just didn't want to be the one to break the news to her.

At least, not without such resolutions inferring a handful of new themes and questions which you might not even be able to clarify for such a chaste child, still sprucing up to the height of her tender twelve years of life; you don’t intend to cultivate it with more seeds of doubt that, perhaps, may come to bear fruit in the form of large trees of insecurity in her future. You aim, then, as a priority, to preserve from the naivety that little Talia has before her two mother figures, who were, respectively, you and Wanda. Two extremes very different from each other.

You look at her, and for a second, the pulsing muscle in your chest aches. No longer out of remorse, or even repulsion. It only hurts because, after the years have passed and your maturity has dawned, you only see something of your own in Talia's face. In front of her you stand up, and the green gaze follows you as you come towards her as if you have something to say.

With your fingertips, however, you touch her thin chin, seeking the gaze to link with yours once more. So you give her a tender smile, showered with regretful caresses, and with your thumb you caressed her smooth-skinned jawbone. Once again, your gaze realizes that Talia has the traits of a bone structure similar to the one that Wanda also has.

“I'm sorry, kid,” you sigh at the girl, before taking the small body in your arms, leaning your cheek against the crown of the dark haired head. There, Talia snuggled in and expelled a sigh, because, for the both of you it just feels good. It feels right.

“I'm so sorry, Talia.”

When a new knock was referred to the wood of your door, the young girl had already slept lying on your sofa. For half a second you just watched over the child beside you as you never had before, her chest heaving and falling over her red jacket, while Talia snored to the blandishments of a slumber. You had long ago retained her facial features in memory (the sharp eyebrows and nose, the pearly lips), but it was inevitable to look at her once more.

You covered her small body with a thick blanket before going to tend to your new visitor.

“Y/n, is she…?” is the first thing you are told by Wanda's anguished tone, who casts glances behind your shoulder in search of her daughter inside your house.

“She slept on the couch, don't worry,” you nod, which elicits a relieved sigh from the other woman, “You… would you like some tea?”

Wanda blinks in your direction.

"Yes, please..." she whispers, "I would like to."

Wanda is still the same woman you fell in love with at some remote moment in your past memories, to whom you had committed your heart and soul – the same emerald eyes rimmed with an eerie glow, the same athletic, supple back, the same dark hair that hugs the outline of the prudent face. But she seems more centered. Like you, she's more mature, weathered by time.

She just looks so pretty sipping from a cup of tea inside your own kitchen.

During the succinct moment in which your gazes gather in a single line, one applying themselves to unveil the other, the gap in your chest is able to sip and scrutinize every measly detail of her radiant beauty, so that you can then contrast it with the countenance of the young woman you left behind so long ago, checking that your disillusioned eyes aren't mocking your feelings. However, with no room for error, she is still Wanda. Your Wanda.

“She knows,” you say then, with your forearms crossed in front of your chest, your hips snug against the icy marble counter of the sink, “About me, I mean. She knows. She says Vision told her.”

“I know,” Wanda sighs behind swirls of steam rising from the inside of the cup that she shields with a wall of her own fingers, now devoid of any rings to be seen – including the wedding ring that has always captured your suffering gaze, “That's why she ran away. Vis, he's just... he's complicated. I know I can't exactly demand some things from him because he's not human, but... lately he's just been so... so...”

“Robotic?” you try, with a teasing half smile, and Wanda allows herself to laugh grimly, shaking her head of long dark hair that now looks a little shorter than it once did.

“Yeah,” she sighs, “Robotic.”

And she looks tired, as she takes gulps of oxygen to say, “We're getting divorced. Or breaking up, I don't know, we were never really married. It’s not like he has a birth certificate.”

The woman wails in a wretched wail, and so much of the past you can see in her, so helpless and vulnerable, that your very heartstrings tighten in a grim girdling, bathed in a greedy despondency.

“This sucks, Wanda,” you say, frowning complacently, “I… I'm sorry about it.”

“It's okay, Y/n,” she whispers, “It's just… lately I can't seem to do anything right. My life is in chaos, and I'm losing control of everything and I'm just so, so tired..."

You then approach her in silent strides, crossing the kitchen to stand next to her right shoulder, who is leaning against the dark marble of the island. And she doesn't seem to repel you at all; on the contrary, she comes even closer to you, to the point that your elbows almost rub under the clothes you wear – she in an open cashmere cardigan that exudes cozy airs of domestic comfort, so different from the clothes with those dark colors from before, and you in an old red hoodie that once belonged to her.

“And then, Vision went over there and told Talia about you,” her grip presses against the pale porcelain of the cup, “And now I'm sure she hates me for keeping it from her for so long. I was just trying to protect her, and now I'm… I'm just a bad mom, I guess.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” you cry out immediately, searching for her lowered gaze, “No, don't say that, Wanda, that's not true and you know it's not. Damn, you are an amazing mother to that girl, from day one you always were! And it's noticeable how much you love her and how much she loves you too. You've always tried so hard, you've always given so much of yourself… seriously, Wanda, you're amazing!”

And she blinks, her lashes thick and dark, a pre-announcement of tears that are swept away from the emerald green of her eyes.

"Do you... really think so?"

“I always did,” you shrug, “Even though I've been an asshole to you and her, I've always… I've always paid attention to the two of you. Like, not in a creepy way, I'm not a pervert or whatever, it's just—”

“Y/n,” she kind of smiles at you, “It’s okay, I get it. The three of us are connected by the Mind Stone, it's normal for you to feel something different about us. Vis said that the attraction he felt for me was because of that.”

“No, Wanda, that's not what I–” you exhaust yourself on a sigh, squinting your eyes for a few miserable seconds. You lift your eyelids and finally gives Wanda a supple, complacent look, no longer in a battle against your feelings for her, “It wasn't just the Stone, Wanda. It was never just the Stone. I was immature and stupid and for a while I wished it was, but it was never just that and I was always sure of it. I would really fall in love with you in any possible situation, Wanda, whether with the Stone or not.”

"In any situation...?" and she looks so fragile, when she casts a light green gaze upon you like the leaves of spring trees. And you shake your head in unsyllabic agreement with her doubts.

“In any situation,” is an unerring tone of voice, one she's never seen sketched out by you when it comes to your feelings for her.

“Either way, I would always fall in love with you. From the way you smile and scrunch your nose, or the way you eat cereal holding your spoon in that weird way, the smell of your perfume, the laugh you get when you watch your favorite sitcoms, for... for the way you took Talia in when we found her. It's not just the damn Stone, Wanda, I just can't help but fall in love with you just the way you are.”

Your gaze is sharpened by a still-young memory that echoes through the temples of your beloved Wanda – who pours out her appreciation for your figure before her in the tenderness exhaled through her pores.

You see it as a reminder of your past, where you both belonged in each other's arms and made love in the breath of the night, kissed by the moonlight, with no one knowing what you were doing away from the sight of astute spectators. However, your heart rises high in your chest as soon as the idea that she is in front of you is evident again, and it is different, but it is also so much the same as before. You smile at Wanda, who was once your victory and your defeat, much more than just a piece of the Mind Stone that lives in you. The one who always had your heart in her hands to keep.

“In any universe, Wanda, I will always love you.”

She gasps as she brings her face towards you, which doesn't flinch at all from the other woman's action. Lips touching as if to keep an ancient secret from each other, Wanda melting against you.

And a cunning pink tongue slips into her peach-colored mouth like a cunning snake, and there, with the velvet touch, you stroke your tongue against hers expertly and needy, coiling around her with a mature agility, as if guiding a wet dance between two people who, behind the excitement that seemed to warm their bodies like a summer mist, only sought to connect through cracked kisses – the echoes of the words you both wanted to say, but you were never sure how you were going to do it.

She still tastes like red, which is good to keep in your mouth, but the other taste you find in her is new and causes a smoldering happiness inside your chest – because it's the taste of the reciprocation of a feeling so intrinsic in your bloodstream, and in hers also. She kisses you because she misses you. You kiss her because you want to feel her again. And together, you kiss just because you love each other.

“Don't go away again,” her hot breath brushes the cheek of your half-swollen upper lip, her fingers carefully caressing the corners of your face between her hands, “Please, Y/n, never go away again. Never leave me again.”

“I won't, Wanda,” you muss, looking into her eyes, as close to you in her embrace as you are, “I'll be here for Talia and for you, I promise. I’ll never make you cry again. This time I’ll be the person you deserve to have by your side.”

When she smiles, so beautiful and so peaceful, you kiss the grin on her mouth. Again and again.

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honeypiehotchner · 10 months

Text

Devil’s Backbone (Unsub!Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part one

It’s the way that I am BURSTING with excitement about posting this fic 😈🫣

Warnings: nothing here really, just talk of Haley and Jack’s deaths

Don’t forget to follow @honeypiehotchnerlibrary and turn on post notifications to be notified when a new chapter is posted!!

One: All along we called it normal — “The News” by Paramore

“Please say your name and rank for the record.” The tape clicks. Across from you, Strauss sighs.

“Supervisory Special Agent Y/N L/N,” you reply confidently, “with the Behavioral Analysis Unit in Quantico, Virginia.”

“How long have you been with the BAU?” Strauss asks.

“Four years.”

She takes the seat across from you, crossing her legs, and opening a file folder. “Did you work under Agent Hotchner the entire time?”

“Yes ma’am,” you reply, lacing your fingers together on the table. “I did.”

“How would you describe your relationship to Agent Hotchner during this time?”

“Professional,” you say firmly, knowing exactly what she is trying to get you to say. “Strictly professional.”

+++

When Hotch returned to the BAU’s offices, he headed straight into a meeting with Strauss. She didn’t know he was coming, and a meeting wasn’t scheduled, but he knew if he went straight to his office that she’d call for him immediately. He thought he might as well beat her to it.

He stepped off the elevator and turned toward Strauss’s office. She locked eyes with him through the glass walls of her office, her expression frozen in shock.

“What are you doing here?” Strauss asked, right to the point, barely letting Hotch shut the door first.

“I’m here to get back to work,” Hotch replied, just as blunt.

Strauss was unamused. “Did you even think about the retirement offer I showed you?”

“I did. I’m declining it.” It was a nice offer, really, but it made no sense. He’d have more free time than ever before, but he didn’t need free time. He needed to be occupied constantly if he was ever going to make it through this mountain of grief.

“It’s been two weeks,” Strauss stated. “You need a month of bereavement, Aaron. Minimum.”

“You’re getting two weeks,” he said with a defiant shrug.

Sensing a losing battle, Strauss caved, settling on a compromise. “You’ll need to pass a psych eval with flying colors, then.”

“I will.”

“Today,” she said. “You’re going to wait here until they arrive.”

Hotch put up no fight. “Alright.” He turned and took a seat on her couch while she placed a phone call, ordering an immediate evaluation.

It took an hour for the psychologist to arrive, and they appeared to have rushed there. In truth, Strauss made the situation sound much more dire than it was.

Hotch stood and shook the psychologist’s hand, already securing a good impression before the evaluation had begun. Strauss led them down the hall to a conference room for some privacy.

Hotch hadn’t been in many psych evals, but he was well aware of how they work. Passing this one was easy, much to Strauss’ displeasure, and he was cleared for work by the afternoon.

“I will be watching you, Aaron,” Strauss warned.

“Don’t you already?” he quipped, pushing through her office doors.

+++

The team was in a frenzy when Hotch walked through the BAU’s glass doors, wearing his usual suit and tie, briefcase in hand. Like nothing had happened.

“Is that…?”

“Already?”

“Why is he here?”

You lifted your head from your paperwork and stared, jaw dropping ever so slightly as Hotch walked past your desk. Your eyes followed him up the stairs to his office, unlocking the door and flicking the lights on.

“Did you know he was coming back today?” Emily asked from her seat next to you.

You shook your head, tearing your eyes away from your boss. “No. Not at all. Hasn’t it only been two weeks?”

“If that,” JJ said.

“Is he even allowed to be here?” Morgan asked.

“Standard bereavement time is three to seven days,” Reid quoted, chewing nervously on his nails. “But it varies based on the relationship to the deceased. He should’ve gotten at least a month, or maybe two, since it was Haley and Jack…”

“He definitely shouldn’t be here,” you murmured to yourself mostly, but Emily voiced her agreement.

“He needs more time,” she said quietly, shaking her head in disbelief. “We know he’s a workaholic, but this is…”

“Way too soon,” you finished, and JJ nodded.

Rossi exited his office next door and walked into Hotch’s, immediately embracing him in a hug. You couldn’t hear what they said, but Hotch cracked a small, barely-there smile. It was more than you expected.

Hotch turned his head and locked eyes with you, and you looked away, embarrassed. You really shouldn’t stare. You just didn’t expect him to be back so soon.

You returned to your work, feeling like a kid caught red-handed. Minutes passed before you started to hear Rossi and Hotch’s voices a lot clearer, as they walked down the stairs into the bullpen.

“Hey,” you heard Emily say, smiling gently.

“Long time no see, boss,” Morgan joked lightly.

You lifted your head again, seeing Hotch say a small, “Hi,” and nod. He looked down at you, offering another nod.

“Hey,” you murmured. “How are you doing?”

“I’m alright,” Hotch said, directing his answer to the entire team. “I’m glad to be back. I need something to keep me busy.”

You nodded solemnly. You figured that was the reason, but it didn’t make it any better. You still felt like he should’ve waited a few more weeks at least.

“Well, we missed you,” Rossi said, filling the silence.

Everyone murmured their words of agreement, even you. You probably missed Hotch more than anyone else, but it wasn’t a competition.

“I have some cases to review,” JJ said, gesturing in the direction of her office. “I was just about to bring them to Rossi, but if you…”

“We can review them together,” Rossi offered, nodding with Hotch.

“Sure,” Hotch said. “Just bring them up to my office.”

“Coffee?” Rossi suggested. “I’m sure the pile is as high as ever.”

Hotch seemed strangely comforted by the fact, and by everyone’s attempt to behave as normal as possible, as everyone would have worked before Haley and Jack’s death.

The two men fell into easy conversation, as old friends tend to do, and headed over to brew a fresh pot of coffee. JJ headed to her office to retrieve the case files. Emily, Reid, and Morgan shared looks with you before sinking, defeated, back into their chairs.

Garcia came through the glass doors, her empty mug in hand, and stopped in her tracks when she saw Hotch standing in the small kitchen.

“Sir,” she said. “What are you doing— I mean— Welcome back!” She hugged him, unable to help herself.

“Thank you, Penelope,” Hotch offered a tiny smile, hugging her back.

Garcia set her mug down on the kitchen counter and came over to share her confusion with the rest of the team.

“I saw his psych eval get posted,” she whispered hastily. “What is going on?”

You shrugged. “He said he’s ready to be back.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Babygirl, we know,” Morgan shushed her. “He won’t listen.”

You snorted, knowing that was the truth. Above anything else, Aaron was stubborn. You didn’t know why you didn’t expect him to pull something like this. In fact, you felt stupid for not seeing it coming. You should’ve known.

You gave him a few weeks, depending on how many cases came through that needed the BAU’s attention, but nothing more. He’d realize he needed a break eventually, and then he’d most likely take a month off.

Or he’d retire. But you didn’t want to think about that.

You wanted him to have his time to grieve and heal, but you didn’t want to lose him entirely. The BAU wouldn’t be the same without him.

You were not alone in that sentiment, either. Garcia asked you a few days earlier if you thought Hotch might take Strauss’s retirement offer. You didn’t know what to tell her, not really. If he did, you’d understand. But you’d miss him even more than you had these past two weeks.

+++

Your relationship with Hotch had always toed the line of being inappropriate, ever since you began at the BAU a few years ago.

After his divorce from Haley was finalized and she seemingly wanted nothing to do with him, you felt less guilty about your lingering looks. The guilt evaporated entirely when Hotch began sharing the looks, and added small touches.

At first, it was nothing to concern yourself with.

He always sat next to you on the jet, so these times were no different — although he began sitting closer. Thighs nearly touching, forearms brushing, always bordering on too much, but never enough to raise any suspicions.

His fingers brushed against yours while he handed you files, your bulletproof vest, or a piece of evidence. He started putting his body in front of yours when gunfire was involved, even though you both had the same level of protection on your bodies.

And when he could, he paired you with him for interviews, interrogations, or general splitting of the team. The two of you never shared a hotel room, but he and Rossi always get their own rooms. You did notice, however, that your room was often next to his.

You were tempted, many times, to knock on his door, but you never did. Foyet’s terror began, and then Hotch’s family was targeted, and his attention was torn away from you.

Not that you blamed or resented him for that, of course. It made perfect sense for Hotch to turn his focus to his ex-wife and his son when a serial killer was after them. Disappointment crept into your body, but you pushed it away. Bigger problems were at hand.

You comforted Hotch as best you could during those times without crossing any lines.

“We’ll get him,” you remember saying one night, among other things that you probably shouldn’t have uttered. But your words worked and he thanked you for talking to him, even though you’re sure Rossi and others said similar things.

We’ll get him, you all had said. We’ll catch Foyet.

And you did, but there was no “we” involved. Aaron knew where Foyet was going and was already headed there by the time the team figured it out. He was on a one-man mission, no matter what anyone says to try and make it seem less so.

With Hotch back in the office, feelings were resurfacing, though you tried quieting them. The circumstances now seemed even more inappropriate than before, so you kept yourself under a close watch.

It didn’t help, though, that Aaron had gone back to his old ways.

When the team boarded the jet for the first case since his return, you took your seat first, expecting him to sit elsewhere, but he took the seat directly to your right, effectively boxing you in. Not to mention, he was closer than he had ever sat, and you didn’t know what to do with that.

So, you behaved as normal.

“Alright,” you exhaled. “Let’s figure out what the hell we’re dealing with here.”

The case was standard, reminiscent of a thousand others you had worked on already. In a way, you were glad that this was the first case Hotch was back on. You thought maybe it would help him to work on something so familiar.

Your hopes were confirmed when the jet landed, and the team headed to the precinct. Hotch was behaving as his usual Unit Chief self.

+++

It didn’t take long for your relationship with Hotch to get back to where it was, and for it to take the step further that you wanted it to way back then.

It only took two cases, three months, for you to be in bed with him.

You didn’t knock on his door like you always wanted to. He knocked on yours.

“We really shouldn’t be doing this,” you whispered, your lips just barely touching his cheek. He hovered over you, his arms bent at the elbows and resting on either side of your head. His entire body was pressed into you, the weight comforting.

His heavy breathing filled your ears. “I know.” He rested his forehead against yours.

“You’re drunk,” you said, not upset by the fact, just aware of it.

“I’m not,” he said, shaking his head, but you could smell the alcohol on his lips. You could taste it.

He wasn’t lying. He had one drink, one glass of whiskey, but that was it. He wasn’t drunk. He was buzzed. He’d remember this in the morning. And he wanted to.

“If you’re not,” you murmured, “then what are you doing here, Aaron?”

He lifted his head, his eyes raking over every inch of your face. “What I’ve wanted to for a long time,” he said. “If Foyet hadn’t come back, I would’ve…”

He shook his head, and you shushed him, wanting him to stop this train of thought before it continued. “Don’t. Shhhh, don’t, we don’t have to talk about that right now,” you cradled his face in your hands. “Don’t do that to yourself.”

He nodded. He thought for a moment, regret and shame passing over his face. “Maybe we shouldn’t.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, even though you hated it, even though you really wanted to. But you knew it was the right decision for the night. “You should sleep.” You paused, brushing your fingers through his hair. “You should stay.”

“Can I?” he asked softly, like he knew he shouldn’t. “Just for tonight?”

“Yes,” you murmured. “Stay.”

He did.

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