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ma1dita · 4 months

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said he likes crazy

a ‘partners in crime’ installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

words: 2.1k

summary: (pre-established relationship) The one where only he can help you with a bad day, even if he's been avoiding you since your first kiss. Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader

a/n: SAID HE LIKES CRAZY GIRLS, BUT HE HATES WHEN I ACT CRAZY guys i didnt sleep for this pls tell me its ok

(posted 1/29/24, beta’d by the lovely ellie @lixzey )

—

He’s been avoiding you.

To be specific, Luke’s been running away from you. Typical son of Hermes, and a typical teenage boy at that. But if anyone’s asked you what’s up (which, they all have, after almost 4 years of seeing you two not go a day without bickering), it’s just easier to say you’ve been busy.

Okay, so perhaps you’ve been avoiding him too.

Annabeth clocked you as soon as you turned tail after almost bumping into him after archery practice. Damn children of Athena; it’d be nice if they weren’t so perceptive sometimes.

“What did he do this time?” she pipes up, filling the silence of the Big House. It’s late now, and the cabin counselors’ meeting just ended.

“Seeing as you’re the one helping me with the paperwork tonight and not him, you can take a good guess, Annie,” you sigh.

Honestly though, who the fuck kisses someone senseless and then runs away? (Luke Castellan, that’s who.) You weren’t sure what to make of it. You’re a daughter of chaos, after all, not love. But if there’s anyone who can read your emotions better than yourself, it’s him.

Annabeth stares at her idiot brother through the window as he wanders in the grass outside the Big House.

“That bad, huh?”

“He’s just…being Luke,” you say, blinking slowly as you shuffle through the last of the files you need to put on your dad’s desk before you mutter, “I’m just having a bad day.”

A noise of concern makes its way up Annabeth’s throat. You haven’t had a bad day in a while, in all honesty, not one that makes you act like this, admittedly not one that makes you act like you— the daughter of Dionysus, god of insanity, and not the daughter of Mr. D, camp director.

It was just a bad day until it turned into a bad week, and the voices in your head were starting to get loud without Luke distracting you. Because that’s what he ultimately is, a distraction from your camp duties.

There’s so much to do and so little time, however, that you hide away your microexpressions that seem to be clawing at you from the inside. The anger, the mania, the hurt. If you unleash it, only the gods can predict how much of camp would be affected by your ‘outbursts’, as your dad likes to call them. Not like you had a choice in the matter. Your days of wreaking havoc are behind you, now presenting yourself as the stellar star of the Camp Half-Blood show. It’s almost a one-woman production with you picking up after your father and trying to tame the traits he passed down.

Thanks for that, D.

So you give and you give and you give—all your attention and time and effort into keeping camp upright, into being the perfect daughter, that at the end of the day, you’ve drained yourself of who you are with who you try to be.

You look at your tired reflection in the window, before your eyebrow raises at the sight of Luke blending in with the shadows of the tree he’s leaning against. Idiot.

“Annie, would you mind…”

“Yeah, I’ll do cabin checks myself. Might drag your brother to do them with me,” she smiles, patting your arm before grabbing her bag.

“If he complains, let me know. Pollux has heard me bitch enough today.” The small girl raises an eyebrow at that, biting her tongue from responding. You chewed out a lot of people today, acting extra uptight and demanding of the counselors to “just do the right thing.” It was almost insufferable, but despite you trying to hold it in, your emotions bled into their own. Everyone was agitated by the end of the meeting, filing out quickly with biting words and hot tempers. You couldn’t help but notice Luke led them all out of there, and they also somehow got the feeling that he was to blame.

Smiling at Annabeth in thanks, you watch her walk out to Luke before punching him in the stomach as he grimaces, meeting your violet gaze through the window as he raises a hand. It’s hard to tell if it’s to signal a truce or his embarrassment, but he trudges the way up the path and the door creaks open.

“Heard you were having a bad day,” he mumbles, scratching the nape of his neck. You look at him from the corner of your eye as you continue to write down the weekly to-dos and organize papers for your dad to sign and send back to Zeus.

“Why are you here, Castellan?”

“So we’re back to that? I thought…” his voice trails off at the sound of his last name, not Luke, not angelface, or anything in between, and both of you are unsure how to proceed. Neither of you have done this before, at least not with each other. You tilt your head to the side, daring him to speak, and it reminds him of a week ago, you bathed in sunlight when he leaned in and kissed you. Though if he did that right now, he’s not sure how you’d react.

“It’s just a bad day,” you whisper in defeat, lilac eyes wilting in front of him like an overwatered flower.

He realizes then that he cares for you more than he knows how to. And Luke knows what it means when you’re having a bad day.

There’s a deranged look in your eye, a subtle eye twitch and clench of your jaw that is almost insusceptible to the average demigod, but he knows you’re on edge, having taunted you mercilessly until you scream, cry, laugh, or all of the above. But most of all you look tired and in need of someone who knows how it feels to be underappreciated.

“D’s a great dad to the twins. But I just feel like… maybe he wasn’t meant to be mine,” you whisper, rolling your tongue against the front of your teeth to push back the sob a 14-year-old version of you would let out deep in the dark of cabin 11, having been there for months and knowing Dionysus was your father and waiting for him to see you. To know you.

“Giving me a hard time about all of this,” you say, hands gesturing to the things you have to prepare for him by morning. You’re overworked, underpaid, and definitely not appreciated— and Luke decides he hates your dad for what he puts you through, not just as a shitty camp director but as a shitty dad. He’s learned to live with the hurt—to use it to fuel his vengeance for how he plans to make the world better. But your ambition makes you change yourself constantly to try to be better. Both fatal flaws are fueled by the ignorance of your fathers. He knows the feeling all too well. He knows you.

“What do you need?” he asks simply, stepping closer to your form hunched over the desk.

“I can do it, you know. D’s wrong about me,” you whisper, and the words come out sounding so desperate for him to believe the performance you always put on that you avert your eyes.

He doesn’t need to be convinced; instead, he holds his arms out waiting for you to let you make the next move. Luke is neither a fool nor a knave— there are no tricks here, no hidden agenda as he watches you try to compose yourself with a deep breath instead of showing him the real you. The one who’s beneath the mask of being head counselor, your father’s saving grace, and the one who carries her responsibilities like Atlas carries the weight of the sky.

“I know you can. You always have. You really think I’m here to help you file paperwork?” He means it.

“Will you let me?” Whether he meant sharing the workload or being there for you, you wouldn’t dare to ask. It’s all the same, anyway—laying yourself bare for someone to peek into your mind and have them not laugh at it.

Suddenly you speak, and the intensity of your tone makes him straighten his posture.

“Sometimes… Do you ever feel the need to just…”

“What?” He reaches out to tug your hair, and in the dim light, he can see the bloom of your cheeks. You’re shy, and Luke thinks you look soft like this, wary of how he perceives you.

“I shouldn’t.” Fuck the gods. He can see the thought form in your eyes, the heat of your stare tearing through his, and his lips pull into a smirk.

“What was that, trouble?”

“Luke, don’t be an asshole…” You say warily, biting the inside of your cheek. There’s no way you’re going down in the history books for cursing the gods because Luke Castellan of all people made you.

“I thought you liked me like that,” he’s grinning now, and grabbing your chin lightly, mouthing the words to echo your thoughts.

Fuck the gods.

“Fuck.” you whisper, before your voice fails you, your eyes closing both from his touch and the genuine fear of the heavens falling down from the sacrilege falling from your lips.

“Louder,” he whispers, pulling your face up close to his, “come on, you used to be more fun, trouble. I believe in you.”

“Fuck!” you say louder and he’s whispering in your ear, urging you to toe the line between perfect child and degenerate.

“Say it again.”

“FUCK! FUCK THE…” you yell before you sigh exasperatedly, eyes widening as you feel the breath release from your chest before your head lolls onto his shoulder.

“Gods, you’re fucking insane, Castellan.”

He laughs lowly, and it sounds as sweet as sin. Your smiling lips make an imprint on his collarbone, and he wishes they would sear themselves on there for the rest of eternity.

“Hey, I get it from you. Feel better?”

To be seen is a fickle thing. But to be known is something more intimate, and nothing will be able to erase the connection you both share—fatal flaws and all. There are things you can’t change about people, what they are at their core, and so he takes what you hate about yourself with both hands and pulls you towards his chest until you settle against him with a sniffle. Luke tilts your chin up again, a rough thumb wiping away evidence of your watery smile. He thinks he sees a glimpse of a past you—a younger one that dyed his socks purple to make him feel like he belongs here. And he knows now that he does belong with you, right here as he holds you in the quiet of the Big House.

“Ugh, I’ll kiss you later, I still have to finish up here. You’re not off the hook, angelface.” You sigh, pushing away from him before he tugs you back, your feet stumbling as you roll your eyes at his impish expression.

“Let me make it up to you, trouble.”

“What, so you run away again?” you scoff, snickering at the sight of his ego being taken down a notch.

“I’ve just….I don’t know how to do all of this with you. Guess I’m worried it won’t meet your expectations, Miss Head Counselor.” A boyish sort of bashfulness crosses his features, and he’s twirling a piece of your hair in his hands like spinning silk.

“I just hope you never stop surprising me. That’s all I ask.”

Your hand touches his wrist lightly, and he sighs like you’ve already taken his breath away.

“I keep my promises. Do you?”

“Who said a kiss was a promise? I meant it as a threat,” you laugh before he’s pressing your hips into the table, nose nudging against yours and suddenly work is off the table for the rest of the night.

You on the table, however, well... that could be negotiated.

“I knew something was wrong with me when your so-called threats got less scary and more sexy,” Luke teases, running a finger on the side of your cheek. His breath tickles your lips, and you can imagine the rage your father would feel if he caught the two of you in his office like this. Besides the blatant defiance, you briefly wonder if your rebellion would get him to respect you more. An interesting thought.

“You’re absolutely terrible. I need to get this done… The gods don’t wait for us.”

A weak sigh leaves your mouth as your brain is already riddled with thoughts of him and he closes the gap between your lips.

“They can wait until morning. For now, you’re mine.”

—

“You can’t love someone unless you love yourself first — bullshit.

I have never loved myself.

But you —

Oh god, I loved you so much I forgot what hating myself felt like. (via swxrn-in)”

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#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x dionysus!reader #luke castellan fanfic #pjo x reader #pjo imagine #made by ma1dita ♥︎#trouble!verse #percy jackon and the olympians #luke castellan angst #thank you for reading my love ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

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unholyhelbig · 4 months

Note

request: oversight au, nat and reader run into reader’s ex or ronnie’s father who was abusive to them… how will mob nat react?

Title: Old Flames [An Oversight Oneshot]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff

Summary: When reader has an unexpected run-in with an old flame and things go less than well, Natasha takes things into her own hands.

Warnings(PLEASE READ): Talks of past domestic abuse, talks of abortion, buried alive references, broken glass, blood (always), Heights, threatening statements, non-consensual kiss, horrible grammar (aways).

[a/n: Okay, I had way too much fun with this. While I loved writing the main story, it's also super great to branch out into some more dynamics with Mob Boss Nat, because I haven't made her mean enough yet.]

Check out the full Oversight universe

The apartment building on the corner of twelfth and Hawke was a large midcentury brick building that structure that stretched to the sky. A metal fire escape latticed up the side and stretched clotheslines dripping with shirts and pants connected it to the adjacent building that had long since been used for storage.

Up until this point, you had avoided this building. Luckily, the tenants were quite timely with their rent and left little need for an enforcer to knock door to door. But it was right after the holidays and things were tough. That much, you understood. But it didn’t’ change the fact that three units were more than two months behind on their rent.

Them, you could appeal to with hot chocolate and some gentle urging. But according to Clint, there was a particularly nasty group of people living on the top floor that had gotten multiple noise complaints thrown their way.

The address hadn’t seemed familiar until you stood at the entrance and got a good look at the golden door that contrasted the rest of the structure. You’d written the code to the door on your palm, and you were having trouble differentiating the last number. It was a zero, or it was an eight.

“Gross, you’re sweaty.” Kate had pulled your hand a small distance from her scrutinizing stare, trying to read the smeared purple markings. “I knew we should have used the napkin.”

The woman dropped your hand and stepped up to the small box on the side of the entryway. She hit every button known to man until the fragile voice cracked through the speaker. “Yeah, uh-huh, pizza. I have pizza. Pepperoni-“Her ramblings were cut off by the loud buzz in.

You were treated to an innocent smile as she wrenched open the door and allowed you to follow her in. She was innovative, annoyingly so. Most of the time it worked in your favor but sometimes you found her testing your temper just to prove a point. Thankfully, she hadn’t noticed your hesitation.

It was coming back to you now; the large entryway that was lined with lock and key mail slots and a bolstered wooden staircase that was scarcely used compared to the elevator. Natasha kept good care of the place, had repainted and made sure every single lightbulb was humming in synch.

Some would say that she improved the neighborhood, block by block. But there were still those who liked the way things used to be; living paycheck to paycheck with an angry and withering stare being sent your way with each collection call.

“I’ve got Miss Henderson.”

“Oh, come on.” You protested “She sounds so cool.”

Miss Henderson was an older woman who lived on the fifth floor. Most of the time, her rent was late because it had simply slipped her mind. One look at Kate and she’d write a check before offering some of the sweetest cookies you’d ever tasted, often sending her back with a plateful.

From what you had heard, she used to travel with a circus as an acrobatic performer. Her act was death-defying; a performance that relied on her partners quick bladework. The Swordsman and his Enchantress. There were illustrations of their travels hung up around her unit- ones that you would kill to see.

“Too bad, next time.” Kate mock pouted at you before clapping you on the back. “Don’t make too much of a mess up on the top floor, alright? I don’t want to scrub carpets today.”

She took the stairs two at a time and left you alone in the lobby. A cool blast of wind hit your back as a tenant walked in with their dalmatian, pink tongue lolling to the side as his owner checked the mail, barely sparing you a glance.

The type of New York residents that occupied this space had changed greatly. The last time you’d been here was a walk of shame that left your feet raw and bleeding. You’d rushed from the apartment with so much fever that you never returned for your shoes, or your dignity, for that matter.

This time, you had shoes on, ones that you had scrubbed free of blood until they looked presentable. They were leaden on the stairs up to the top floor. Once you reached the fifth, you could hear Kate’s distinctive laugh behind the oak door. At least she was close.

The top floor was nearly silent. You could hear a television, a hockey game that you’d been listening to sparingly on the way over here. It sounded like Toronto was pulling through. The sound of a beer cracking pulled you away from the muffled announcers words.

A radio was resting in an upper window. You and Kate had heard it from the street below, a French Pop station that you could barely make out the words of. French was never your strong suite, one language requirement in high school was enough for you.

Silently, you prayed, that it was a coincidence. That the radio didn’t’ belong to the very men that you were meant to speak to. They were flighty, you told yourself. They weren’t ones to stay and if they chose to stick around after all these years- well, you’d be impressed.

You knocked twice on the center door, the deep forest-green paint threatening to chip under the elements. The music stopped abruptly, and while you could hear that someone was whispering quietly in French, you couldn’t make out the words.

The man that opened the door was too familiar for your liking; his pale waxy skin, his deep brown eyes that were so dark they were almost black, the tattoos that were smattered in different designs against his throat, down his collarbone. Pockmarked on his arms. His hair was longer than you remembered, greasier and tied up in a bun.

He took you in for a singular moment, shock reflecting in his stare, but before he moved to shut the door. You stopped the action with one strong hand, putting your boot between the frame and the wood for extra measure. “Don’t be like that, Kazi.”

“All these years, and now you’re coming back for child support?”

He raked his eyes up and down your body in a way that made you feel violated. You held your stance. He seemed impressed by the bout of strength.

You tsked “if I wanted child support, I would have gone after it by now. Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

He scratched under the sleeve of his tank-top, considering you the same way you considered him. Eventually, he seemed to figure he had nothing to lose pulling the door back and letting you enter the apartment. Waves of memory washed over you.

Kazi still had the same futon covered in the same ratty blanket. There was a kitchen table that was stacked with different folders that he would never, in a million years, let you view. A blue funnel was drying on the dishrack, and countless liquor bottles that had been emptied and cleaned were lined up, ready to be filled with the slightest bit of homebrewed alcohol.

He was still running the same scam after all of these years. You remembered liking the danger about him, the way his stubble felt against you when you straddled him. He’d been so alluring to a good girl like you. He would street race at night with another guy you’d met a handful of times, Robbie Reyes.

God, you had been so naive back then. He was drawn in by your innocence and you were entrapped by his experience. If only you knew where you’d end up in seven years; with Kazi’s biological daughter being raised by the most powerful woman in the city.

The moment you told him you were pregnant, he told you bluntly to get rid of it. That same night, he’d thrown an empty liquor bottle at you, just barely missing your head. You’d refused outright and accepted his anger in turn. Glass shards cut into the soles of your feet, and stained the snow all the way back to your dorm room.

The way he stared at you now infuriated you. “What do you want, then?”

“You’re two months late on rent.”

“I figured you’d keep tabs. Most women do. But my rent? That’s a new one.”

You picked up a small paperweight that you remember being fond of when you returned to this apartment after a first date where Kazi was a perfect gentleman. He’d bought dinner, and walked you back to his place. The glass object was tinted yellow, a small mosquito suspended in the center. He must have gotten it in a museum gift shop.

“Truthfully, I’m shocked you still live here.” You tested the weight of the object. “Most landlords aren’t very lenient about tardiness.”

“Yeah, well. She’s not very attentive. What can I say?”

Oh, but Natasha was quite attentive in more than one aspect, at that. You couldn’t’ help the smile that spread against your lips. Kazi was growing agitated with your presence, always quick to temper.

With all the strength you could muster, you threw the paperweight at the wall directly behind him. In its innate cheapness, it shattered into a million pieces, littering the carpet and slicing little bites into his skin. Kazi flinched and covered his face with his arms.

“Fuck! Y/n, what the hell!” He screamed.

“You have two weeks to backdate the rent, Kazi. Another week to get us this month’s amount. That sounds reasonable to me. Attentive, even.”

He reached into the back of his sweatpants and pulled out a silver Kimber, pumping the top chamber and aiming it at you with a shaky hand. He was too lax with his hold. A pinprick of crimson was dripping from a cut on his cheek.

“Come on, Kazi. It’s not the end of the world. I’m sure you can push some half-rate liquor. Sell a few of your gold fillings, and come up with the money my employer is required.”

“Employer? You work for that… monster?”

“Now, there’s a big word.” You closed the distance between the two of you, not giving him a moment to react before you wrenched the gun from his hand and threw it onto that ratty old blanket that adorned the futon he’d found on the side of the road. “So much horrible implication behind it too. You shouldn’t name call.”

Your boots crunched against the shattered glass. Kazi was barefoot, he flinched as flesh was dug into by uneven shards. You could smell the rancid coffee on his breath. He had a mole just on small of his nose.

“What happened to you?” he whispered, “Where’s that girl that stormed out of my apartment because she didn’t get her way?”

“A lot can change in seven years, Kaz.” You glanced around his apartment. “Well, most people change. Some people don’t go anywhere in life.”

Kazi pressed forward, his dry lips suddenly against yours. You froze in an instant, appalled by the acrid taste of cigarettes and stale morning coffee that he had no-doubt heated up in the microwave and drank black. The kiss was strong, rushed and painful in the way that his teeth knocked against yours.

It took less than a second for you to push him away. His head hit the cabinet behind it, rattling the glasses inside. Your hand was splayed out on his chest, nails digging into the stained tank-top he wore. He grinned wolfishly at you. Your teeth had dug so hard into his lip that it drew blood.

“I like this rough version of you, sweetheart. It’s hot.”

You reeled back and slapped him across the face with as much force as you could muster in your close proximity. The radio in the window seemed to flicker out of power at that moment, or maybe they had just run out of shitty pop music to play. Either way, the two of you were engulfed in silence.

“Shit, baby, hit me again!”

He had no idea how much you wanted to abide by that, though, you were quite positive that it would do nothing but spur on his arousal. This wasn’t going to work. If he kept pushing the way he was, you were afraid you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from pulling your own weapon.

It suddenly became too much, standing in the middle of this time-capsule of an apartment. The memories were too strong. When the two of you were together, everything you did was for his benefit. And while this had been fun at first, testing him like this, it was too much.

You grabbed the collar of his sweat-soiled shirt, wrapping it around your fingers with enough force to tear the fabric away. “Two weeks, you fucking asshole. If you don’t have the money by then, I’m sure the city will have a fun time scrubbing your brain matter from the sidewalk.”

“I love it when you talk dirty to me.” He sneered.

You pressed your booted foot down on the top of his, listening as the glass dug deeper into the soft skin. This time, he did cry out in pain, the grinding of pieces close to bone making his eyes water. You placed your hand over his mouth, muffling his protest. “I will make your miserable existence a living hell, with or without the money, for what you did to me. Do you understand?”

“You’re so full of shit-“ you pressed your full weight down and you squirmed under your hold. “Yes! Yes, I get it. Fuck!”

You pulled yourself away from Kazi entirely, straightening his shirt. He was slumped against the counter, staring at you with pure rage in his eyes. He shifted his full weight to his other foot, grimacing at the edged stain on the wooden floor.

“You should really clean that up.” You gritted, mouth still tasting of stale smoke. “Glass can be dangerous, Kazimirez.”

By the time you got to the car the only thing on your mind was taking the hottestshower possible. You’d pawed through Kate’s glovebox rather frantically and counted it a small blessing that that there was a single unwrapped piece of gum at the very bottom.

She cringed as you popped it in your mouth and let the minty dusty taste coat your tongue. If you could, without raising suspicion, you would have dumped solvent on it, just to take the taste of Kazi out of your mouth.

“I don’t know how long that’s been in there.” Kate said, watching you warily as you picked up her water bottle and downed half of that too. It seemed to take the rest of the rancid flavor away.

“I don’t care”

“You should care, I bought this car used.” She frowned, tapping her fingers against the wheel. “Okay, I didn’t’ buy it. I bought the license plates though, that’s my civic duty.”

Her words were enough for you to roll your window down and toss the gum from it. Despite your profession, you weren’t a very good liar. Not when it came to Natasha. She’d ask you about your day like usual and you’d crumble under her seemingly innocent gaze.

Nothing Natasha did was innocent.

“What happened up there?” Kate asked.

The two of you were well out of the city by now, and still had about a half-hour until you got to the mansion. The family liked their privacy, and after a year of living there permanently, so did you.

When you didn’t answer right away, she kept going. “Because I got cookies. Nearly choked on one when Miss Henderson insisted on a private show. It’s seriously a wonder that a woman her age can still bend like that.”

“Katie,” You warned, “Gross.”

“Impressive actually. She kept her clothes on, which I am eternally grateful for. It looks like you had a more eventful visit with the French dudes upstairs.” She scoffed, “Who the fuck is French anymore?”

You rolled your eyes and slumped further into your seat. Kazi was French. You used to crumble when he gave you the choppiest lines that he could remember. According to him, the language is harder to speak than it is to read and write. You never questioned him, just like you didn’t question a lot of things.

“I have a… history with the man who rents 807.”

“A history, or a… history?”

“The first one. The second one. Shit- I don’t know, both! He’s Ronnie’s dad.”

Kate slammed on the brakes with enough force for a layer of rubber to be peeled from the tires of her mostly stolen care. The seatbelt cut into your neck and you figured yourself lucky that you’d taken a back road that was rarely used, god forbid she cause an accident.

“Dude!” You shouted as she put the car into park.

Kate twisted her entire body in the seat, placing her hand on the back of your seat. The motor was sputtering wildly, trying to compensate for her abrupt stop. Something had to be damaged, you thought, with her force on the pedal.

“Don’t dude me. Are you really that dense? If you haven’t noticed, Natasha is possessive over her things. And you? Well, you’re one of her favorite things. She’s not going to take this well in the slightest.”

“Kate, I think I know how to handle my girlfriend.”

“No, you know how to handle Natasha, the sweet, loving woman who would die for you and your child. Admirable, really. But you don’t know how to handle Miss Romanoff, mob boss extraordinaire.”

But you had seen Natasha in action before, countless times. She’d always kept this calm coolness about her that you were in awe of. Maybe Kate was right. You’d only seen a fraction of her jealous side at the first party you had ever attended in the house. That night she ripped the dress she’d picked out specifically for you to shreds.

“I was dating a man named Eli when I was first taken in by the Romanoff’s, He turned out to be… not so favorable despite my constant reassurances. Natasha just knows. She had him dig a grave right off I-25 and then she made him lay in it.”

Your jaw threatened to drop at the simple fact. Kate removed her hand from the back of the seat and eased off the brake before she slowly got the two of you back up to an acceptable speed.

“All Eli did was cheat on me one night in a club. It wasn’t great, but I wasn’t sure if it warranted that kind of reaction. I never knew if she was proving a point to me, or to Eli. Either way, the smallest offense against any of us is met with archaic conviction.”

You didn’t respond to Kate, instead you stared at the trees that were whizzing by in a lush green wall of color. You’d decided that she was right- any type of reaction Natasha was going to have to Kazi would be severe.

“You’ll be fine.” Kate tapped her fingers nervously on the wheel, trying to backtrack her words. “As long as he didn’t’ touch you.”

It didn’t seem to matter how ferociously you scrubbed your skin with the honey scented soap you shared with Natasha, you swore you still smelled like smoke. It clung to your clothes, and lingered in the air after you’d shoved them to the bottom of the clothes basket.

The water was blazingly hot, filling the bathroom with a thick mist that made it slow to breathe. Natasha had chosen a dark blue tile that seemed to transport you into another world. Even without the scaring remembrance of Kazi’s lips against yours, his hands where you didn’t want them, you could stay here for hours.

Her hands were freezing cold and startling as they splayed against your naked stomach. You let out a small noise, going rigid before registering Natasha behind you. Her front was pressed against your back, and you’d know the curve of her body anywhere.

“Izvinite, moya lyubov', I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You turned in her arms and took in the state of her. She’d stripped down just as you had, small drops of water littering her skin like a constellation in the sky. She’d been in the sun today, a smattering of freckles across her cheeks and nose giving her away.

There was a bruise forming against the side of her jaw, one that you ran your waterlogged fingers over. Her eyes were an intoxicating shade of green, playing off the indigo tiles. You wanted to scold her for getting the bruise in the first place, but you were so entrapped by her simple presence, the way she fit so perfectly against you.

Natasha closed the distance between you both, pressing her lips against yours in a hurried kiss. You moaned into the embrace, allowing her tongue to find purchase in your mouth. God- you had missed her in the short few hours you’d been apart.

“Did you take up smoking?” she asked, barely pulling away, the words were spoken flushed to your lips. “It’s a terrible habit, darling.”

The glovebox gum hadn’t done its job, and apparently the swish of mouthwash and subsequent teeth brushing hadn’t done anything either. Of course, Natasha noticed. Of course. You weren’t going to try to hide it, though the thought did occur to you to save some heartache. But you were hoping you could placate her in a less slippery spot of the house when you were less naked and incredibly turned on by her presence.

A groan of a different cadence than she was used to escaped you as you dropped your head to her shoulder and clenched your eyes shut. “No, I didn’t take up smoking.”

“You taste like you have,” She gently led your eyes to hers. It was tender compared to the first time she had done so. “Licking ash trays again?”

“Gross, no.”

Natasha valued honesty above all. That much had been clear from the moment you met her. She’d nearly taken your head off in the gym when you repeated your one-night-stand with the enemy. The devil incarnate who happened to only be decent in bed. You remembered her hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing just enough for you to give her the answers she craved.

“What is it, pet? You can tell me.”

“Do you… I’ve been with men before.”

She let out a small chuckle that reverberated off the deep tile. “Yes, I know. I didn’t want to make assumptions, of course, but Ronnie does have a father.”

The way you stared at her in the silence that followed the statement made the smile on her face falter until it dropped entirely. She must have seen something behind your eyes, something that weighed the situation down more than she was intending on a typical Wednesday night.

“I’d completely blacked it out and didn’t realize it until I stepped foot into the lobby, but he still lives in the same apartment on the top floor. He thought I was after child support, or something but things sort of… escalated.”

You felt like a child, spilling your secrets about a vase you had broken. This time it was a cheap paperweight with a bug in the center that you frankly felt bad for. The words came out like emotional vomit, granted, Natasha had become used to your rapid admissions.

Her grip tightened against your chin, “Escalated how?”

“He kissed me, and I hit him hard enough to break his jaw.”

That same silence enveloped you again. The scalding water had lost its effect, numb and beating against your back. The two of you were still impossibly close and there wasn’t much escape for you in a shower this size. The glass door having fogged up and only giving you a stunted view of the large bathroom.

Natasha had an immeasurable rage behind her stare, her lidded expression ran as dark as old blood. It chilled you to your core. She reached beside you and shut off the constant flow of water. You’d been in here for about an hour now and the cold air that touched your skin felt like an assault of needles. You instinctively wrapped your arms around your center to preserve warmth.

“He laid his hands on you.”

“Yeah, Nat, he did.”

“He touched you.”

“I gave him hell for it, but it didn’t seem like it was enough.”

“Without permission.”

“He’ll never do it again.”

Whatever split-second decision she made; it was done without the usual calculation behind her eyes. She threw the door to the shower open and forcefully shoved a towel into your arms. While you revered in the warmth, you watched as she sauntered in her usual way out of the bathroom and into your shared bedroom. She was dripping wet.

“Natty!” You stumbled over the partition and nearly slid on the bathroom floor. It was much colder outside of your cocoon of warmth and subsequent mist. She thankfully hadn’t left the room and was pawing through her side of the dresser. You nearly lost your footing once you reached hardwood. “Fuck,”

She seemed to find what she was looking for, a plain black tank top that hugged her sides and looked entirely uncomfortable to wiggle into while damp. You watched with baited breath in a sloping towel as she adorned herself with underwear and pants, before turning towards you.

“Get dressed.” She ordered in a dangerous tone.

Shit. She was going to make you dig your own grave. You’d just showered all of the grime from Kazi’s apartment off and in a matter of minutes you would have dirt up to your knees. Natasha may have let Eli live after his blunder, but maybe she’d cover you completely and let you suffocate in your own efforts.

Numbly, you put on a pair of sweatpants and the closest shirt you had. There was no need to get dressed for your own funeral, you supposed. The worms would chew through whatever you wore regardless.

Clint was stretched out on the chase in the foyer, a pair of thick-lensed glasses balancing on the tip of his nose. Regardless, he still squinted at the book in his hands. You wondered why he wasn’t in the living room, but caught a glimpse of a particularly intense game of twister between Ronnie, Yelena, and Kate.

Darcy held onto the board, flicking the small plastic needle and calling out the colors. When Kate clocked the anger in Natasha’s eyes, she dropped to her back, taking down Yelena and Ronnie with her.

She gave you a pleading look, but you were already too far gone to return anything other than a flushed expression. You followed obediently after Natasha. She opened the front door and watched you with a calculated expression before slamming the front door hard enough to shake the glass fronting.

“Get in the car.”

“Do you want me to grab a shovel?”

“What?”

She contemplated this for a minute, growling softly. The near silence was terrifying. Her arms crossed over her chest was terrifying. Your mouth with incredibly dry, and you wished that you were back under the constant stream of water.

“No. I don’t think we’ll need that. Get in the car.”

Numbly, you did as you were told, placing your hands in your lap. This was quite possibly the last time you would be sitting in any car, much less, next to Natasha. She reached across you and pulled your seatbelt into place, tugging on the upper portion until she was sure you weren’t going anywhere.

The tires picked up traction on the gravel and the drive that usually took an hour seemed to whiz by. Natasha was quiet, the route to the city more than familiar by now. She run her hands against the steering wheel until her knuckles were white. You could hear her breathing deeply, trying to ease her nerves. You didn’t dare say a word.

For a moment, you figured that she’d abandoned the idea of burying you alive and switched her ideals to something much more sinister and public. She pulled her car up to the front of the very building you had left a few hours ago, the sun just barely setting behind the skyline. You blinked at her, and then up at the very property that she owned.

“Come on.”

There was no room for discussion. The air here was clouded with the scent of smoke and the coolness of the cement structures around you. It was moments like these where you much preferred the country.

Of course, Natasha knew the code, she had recited it to you earlier as you and Kate ate lunch by the docks, stretched out on the hood of her car. It was wrong then and your nerves were too elevated to pay attention now. She got in without the theatrics.

There seemed to be more activity as the day for working folks began to wind down. Two people halted their conversation by the mail-slots, nodding solemnly at the woman. On the third floor, you caught a glimpse of a woman struggling to push her keys into the lock, juggling her gym bag. The sixth floor held a small boy who darted from one apartment to another, edging across the hall.

She kept climbing until that same irritating French pop filled your ears. He must keep it on at all hours of the day, just to drown out his own miserable thoughts. “What apartment?”

You lifted your chin slightly, hands shoved in the pockets of your sweatpants to ward off the biting chill. “807.”

“Spasibo, lyubimyy.”

Natasha’s booted foot connected with the center of the very door you had politely knocked on earlier in the day. You flinched, covering your face with a guarded arm. The wood of the doorframe seemed to splinter, slivers reigning across both sides of the entrance.

“What the fuck!”

Kazi was hunched over the kitchen table, the funnel that had been drying by the sink was positioned perfectly in the mouth of a soaked and peeled liquor bottle. He had a stack of his own labels ready to place evenly on the finished product. Both of his feet were haphazardly wrapped with gauze, small sprouts of blood worming through the soft material.

He’d taken care to clean up the glass, but with the way Natasha headed straight towards him, that didn’t matter much. More of it fell to the floor and shattered upon impact. She grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and started walking him backwards across the living room. Kazi seemed too stunned to speak, his words caught in his throat.

“I-I-I didn’t mean it! Please!”

“When you speak to me, you’ll do it clearly.” She gritted, shoving him towards the window. Somewhere in the scuffle, the radio had fallen from its perch on the cracked windowsill, crashing to the alleyway below with one last fizzled cry. “You had no trouble saying whatever you wanted earlier, did you?”

“I’m sorry! Fuck! I told that bitch I would have the rent!”

“Yeah? Was that before or after you shoved your tongue down her throat?”

Natasha bent Kazi’s torso fully over the screenless window. He grasped frantically at her hands, clawing at them as the balanced him over the long drop to the pavement below. His bare feet kicked, trying to throw her off her equilibrium, but he was much too weak for any type of damage.

“You walked out on them.”

“What? Oh, my god, what?! I told her to get rid of it- I didn’t walk out on anyone! You’re batshit lady!”

To you, it didn’t’ seem very wise to throw insults at the woman holding you above an eight-story drop, but Kazi never was known for his intelligence. His bravado, maybe, but never anything more. He looked so small compared to Natasha’s anger.

“She didn’t get rid of it, Kazi. She kept the kid that you couldn’t have bothered to give another thought to. She made a life for both of them. She fucking loves that kid enough to fill the absence you left.” Natasha let her hand slip, letting him waver in his height for a moment before pulling him back up. He was crying, sobbing for his life. “And you have the nerve, to touch her, to break her and then come rushing back when she was strong enough to pick up the pieces?”

“I wasn’t ready,” he moaned out “I couldn’t be a dad.”

“It seems like there are a lot of things you can’t do, doesn’t it? You’re a pathetic excuse for a man. A pathetic excuse for a human being and once we leave here- I never want to see your face in my city again. Am I clear?”

Kazi let out another course of intelligible, wet, words. His back was nearly breaking under the force of Natasha’s hold, her knee directly up against his crotch, pushing down with all the strength she could muster.

“Y/n, I think this is a teaching moment, don’t you?”

The softness of her words as she addressed you caught you off guard. There was no malice. In fact, she beckoned to you as if she was calling you into the living room to join her under the blankets for a movie. Your heart raced fast enough for your chest to ache as you closed the distance between you both.

“See, the trick is making them think that you’re going to let them go.”

She said this to you as if Kazi wasn’t a slobbering mess under her touch. He’d carved little half-moon marks against the tops of her hand, some of them starting to leak blood with the sheer force of his struggle.

“You have to get creative with the fear aspect. If they think they’re going to die, it tends to work in our favor. Doesn’t it, Kazi?”

“Please,” He whimpered, “I’ll do whatever you want. I’m sorry, y/n, I’m sorry.”

Natasha did the seemingly impossible, she pushed him further out the window, his calves struggling for purchase against the drywall. “Oh, now that simply won’t do. You must keep her name out of your mouth.”

“In situations like these, darling, it’s best to keep full control. If he was anything other than wretched, then maybe you’d have to worry about him fighting back. You’ll get some people like that, but that trick is having leverage, literal and physical in cases like this.”

“I see,” You let the words escape you in a single breath “and how long do we play this game?”

“Until they know it’s not one.”

It took little effort for Natasha to push Kazi the rest of the way out the window. In spite of his clinging grip, the force of gravity was enough to do the work for her. His cry stunted in his throat and it only took a few seconds for a dull thud to echo through the alleyway, followed by the unmistakable sound of a car alarm going off.

With a small gasp, you leaned over the window yourself, staring down at the white Toyota that now had a sizeable dent in the top, the windshield spiderwebbing. Kazi let out a groan that you could hear from up here, blinking up at the sky with malice and shock in his eyes.

“Nat,” You breathed.

“Please, eight stories is survivable. Some people need to be taught a lesson.” She shrugged, pulling you back into the apartment by the sleeve of your shirt. “I’ll pay for the car repairs, if that makes you feel better, detka.”

“You didn’t have to do this, you know.”

“Of course I did.” She reached forward and cupped both of your cheeks, forcing you to look at her. It was impossible to ignore the gesture, the words that she had said with so much blind passion. Tears threatened to overtake your waterline. “moya lyubov', he put his hands on you without permission and before that… before that he hurt you in ways unimaginable. I meant every word I said.”

You could hear sirens in the distance, a hazard of living in the city. They could be for Kazi, you supposed, something to take care of the surely broken ribs and the bruised ego. But, they could be for something more important.

You pushed forward and kissed Natasha delicately. You wanted to be impossibly close to her. Most gestures you had received in the past had come in the form of flowers, maybe the occasional box of chocolate from the drug store. Once again- Natasha had proved something to you.

Her chuckle vibrated into the kiss, “Mm, we should probably leave.”

You couldn’t agree more. You wanted to get out of this stupid apartment that was teeming with memories of your time with Kazi. The way he claimed his love for you, and forced you to make a horrible decision all in one exhale.

As the two of you walked down the long and winding steps, Natasha asked, “What was with the shovel thing?”

You laughed, suddenly feeling foolish for fearing Natasha in the first place. Her silence caused waves, and somehow, that was worse than if she’d threatened you outright, something that she never did with much heat.

“Kate, she told me about her ex-boyfriend, Eli, I think she said his name was.”

“Ah, Eli.” She frowned, “He cheated on her, and I only made him dig for an hour.”

“You don’t have to justify yourself to me, as long as you never make me dig my own grave.”

“I would never do that. There is no punishment in things you can’t control.” Natasha gave your hand a squeeze, her solemn words punctuated with a slowly creeping smile. “Besides, detka, that’s simply not my style. It was much too messy.”

[Taglist🕷♡: @dumbasslesbi, @lostremind, @toouncreativeforausername @autorasexy @eringranola @mikookaaaaaao @marvelwoman-simp @pacmanmiles @mostlymarvelsstuff, @mrsrushman, @milfsandtittyenthusiast, @random-raccoon4, @ravenromanova, @mysticalmoonlight7, @ahintofchaos@cowboyboots236 @lissaaaa145, @natsxwife@a-spes, @kyleeservopoulos]

#Natasha Romanoff #Natasha Romanov #Natasha Romanoff x reader #Natasha Romanoff x y/n #Natasha ROmanoff x you #Natasha Romanov x y/n #Natasha Romanov x you #Natasha Romanov x reader #Mafia au #Yelena Belova #Kate Bishop #Clint Barton #Reader insert #request

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convito · 3 months

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Blasting Off To The Past: Chapter 1: The Customers Are Used To This By Now

Finished chapter 1 of my fanfic based on @yamujiburo's Jessie/Delia Pokemon comics. The fact that it's just the first chapter is a development that materialized roughly 5 minutes ago when I realized this thing is getting way too long to write all at once. It's just a fun little day-in-the-life story because I wanted an excuse to write these characters.

Here's the AO3 link.

Below is the full chapter text. Enjoy!

“Meowth, I demand to know why you just kicked me!” James yelled dramatically.

“Don’t flatter yourself, I wouldn’t waste my time kicking you!” Meowth

The lunch rush took its toll on everyone in different ways. For Delia, the strain kept her too busy to notice anything outside the restaurant. For Jessie, it meant Delia wasn’t looking at her.

In the case of James and Meowth, it was dealer’s choice. Today, that meant each blaming the other for the table leg they each routinely tripped over. Meowth’s thimble-sized temper had reached a boiling point. James was mad by association.

Delia had been holding down the kitchen until the commotion piqued her attention, prompting a peek around the corner into the dining area. She saw Meowth seething as his serving tray clattered to the ground, trading leers with James whose serving tray remained pristinely perched atop his fingers.

Then time stood still as she saw Jessie burst in with a face that gave her conflicting feelings, making a Beedrill-line for the bickering duo. How she heard the noise from across town would remain a mystery. The love of Delia’s life was a lit fuse heading straight for a flamboyantly colored powder keg. The focus now needed to be heading off the stormfront before it turned the restaurant into a restauNOT (she took a second to chuckle at that).

“Jessie. Babe. Sweetie.”

The red menace continued undeterred. Delia raised her voice.

“Jessie, stop! Jessie! Honey!”

Still nothing. Delia was desperate.

“STOP, DAMMIT!”

Jessie screeched to a halt, bringing the universe with her. She and her two partners in something or other all turned their heads toward Delia, three identical faces of exaggerated shock. Though Jessie’s sported a tinge of crimson.

“I… buh…” she attempted.

“Delia made a swear,” Meowth whispered.

James simply covered his ears.

But whether through shock or sheer force of Delia’s long-bided power, the situation was defused for now. The residual fallout kept things together until the restaurant finally slowed down. James and Meowth lost their abrasion around each other, more or less back to their regular selves give or take the occasional shared look towards Delia. Granted, not unlike their usual behavior.

Jessie, meanwhile, had stuck around to help however she could. At the moment, she was employing her puppy dog eye technique to try and soften Delia’s mood every time her wife looked her way. Despite coming across more like bewildered Magikarp eyes, which had Delia desperately suppressing a snort laugh at every turn, it probably would have worked even if she actually had been angry.

Eventually, closing time arrived. Jessie had finally released Delia from her fishy look and was taking a break from cleaning to watch James and Meowth. The other two former Rockets were Taurosing around with each other as they took the garbage out back. Delia noticed a wistful look in her wife’s eye. It was one she’d been seeing a lot of lately.

“You miss the adventure, don’t you?” Delia asked warmly.

Jessie gave a slight start at this before nodding. They’d grown to know each other well enough that it was no surprise Delia could read her so intimately.

“I know we weren’t the good guys going after the twe- eh, Ash and Pikachu like that,” Jessie seemed just a bit embarrassed, “but getting out there and traveling around really got my juices moving.”

“Even more than our little battling vacations?”

“W-well, I wouldn’t say…” Jessie hesitated, but she knew she never needed to hide anything from Delia, especially after all this time. “Kinda, yeah.”

Jessie’s regular trips out into the region with Delia to explore and battle gym leaders had very quickly begun to rank among the highlights of her life, and she wouldn’t trade them for anything, no matter how shiny. But…

“I just miss the camaraderie with James and Meowth,” she found herself gushing. “I miss the cartoon-level plans we came up with together, I miss the big Meowth balloon, I miss James’ camp cooking and Meowth’s snoring, not to mention-”

“I’m sorry, what was that about Meowth?”

“Oh, right, you never heard his outdoor snoring. Only happens when he’s camping. Real conker of a wavelength he could belch out, which you wouldn’t expect from a little fart like him. I think he developed it as a defense to make predators think a Snorlax is sleeping nearby or someth-”

“What?” Delia had trouble getting a word in edgewise sometimes, a trait of their relationship she oddly treasured. She liked seeing Jessie excited. “No, why would I ask to hear about…? Never mind, I meant the balloon thing.”

“Ok, yeah, that makes more sense,” Jessie admitted. “It was a thing of genuine beauty. A huge hot air balloon in the shape of Meowth. We even used official Team Rocket funds to commission it. They seemed cool with it.”

“I’d like to point out that they did very much fire you.”

“Oh yeah,” Jessie said with a guttural giggle. “Wow, things are definitely starting to make some more sense now that I say them out loud. But anyway, we used to go everywhere in that balloon. It was our own little home where we never had to deal with property tax. We’d sleep up there, have some fun by spitting off the sides, do… other things off the sides…”

“Honey, I love you but oh my god.”

“Hey, if you can think of other ways to handle being up in the air for days at a time…” Jessie’s old smug nature crept in, which she caught before going any further. “Th-the point is I just miss the balloon. It was sort of a symbol of that complete freedom we used to have. Nothing tying us down, literally. No rules. No responsibilities. No bosses or authori-” she paused, her expression that of a system reboot. “How did we not get fired sooner?”

“I didn’t realize how much you thought about that time,” Delia started to feel just a touch of guilt. Or was it jealousy?

“Not 'all the time' or anything. Some things just remind me of that past life. Like how James and Meowth have been sniping at each other a lot lately,” Jessie said with a look of dawning realization. “They must be feeling homesick too. Or, I mean ‘homesick’ I guess,” she made some halfhearted quotes with her fingers. A glance over at Delia dropped the fingers immediately as Jessie read her wife’s expression, as subtle as it was.

Jessie wordlessly walked over to Delia, not rushing, not holding back, simply going. She took her hands in her own and clasped them.

“I am happier now than I’ve ever been,” Jessie answered a wordless question. There was no need to explore the topic further. This is the most she’d talked about the old days since, she realized, that awkward time when she, James, and Meowth had shown up on Delia’s doorstep completely out of options. It was enough that she got it out.

Delia just smiled. It was a genuine smile, but one that obscured hidden depths. Depths that ironically flew right over Jessie’s head.

Once they finished closing, Jessie and Delia stepped out of the restaurant hand in hand, following James and Meowth who had apparently regained their passion for griping. Jessie paid little attention as they fired quips back and forth, sounding to her like synthesized speech from a Nintendo 64 game. She was content where she was, blissfully strolling home with the love of her life. No thoughts, just vibes.

If she’d only opened her eyes, she’d have seen the poorly-hidden look of sneaky determination emblazoned on Delia’s face.

-the next morning-

“Ash!” Delia burst into her son’s room. “We’re making a balloon!”

#hanamusa #pokemon #pokémon #delia ketchum #jessie team rocket #fanfic #i don't write stories #i only write banter #if a story materializes then it's by accident i assure you

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randomshyperson · 1 year

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Like Real People Do - Milf!Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: Wanda Maximoff is known to be a strict mother - the opposite of you. When a school incident involves your children, you two will need to learn to get along with each other. [Requested]

Warnings: General Fluff, attempted romantic comedy with opposites attract, mild making out at the end, milf wanda being adorable, brief angst for past relationships, found family. | Words: 5.733k

A/N-> My first fic of the year will be Milf!Wanda without smut? What happened to this blog, huh? I was so busy in December that I couldn't post anything, I hope you guys didn't forget about me. This is a very old request that I finished some time ago and never posted, here it is then. Good reading you all!

General Masterlist || AO3 || Wattpad

--//--

It started with a bloody nose.

It was Wednesday, which meant that you had painting class from ten to eleven in the morning, so when your cell phone rang and Principal Fury's angry voice demanded you not to be late, you could barely think of a decent excuse for your students.

The way to the municipal school was quick and even perilous - you never learned how to drive Natasha's truck properly no matter how hard you tried - but you arrived quickly at least.

America was standing with her arms crossed at the door to the principal's office - the jeans jacket with buttons you took her to buy last year had a bloodstain on the front that made your heart miss a beat.

"Mom!" Her sulky expression lit up the second she saw you - the girl uncrossed her arms and ran to catch up with you, talking too fast about the mess while you searched her face for bruises. You sighed in relief at not finding any.

"Honey, slow down, I'm not catching any words." You warn her gently, and America giggles awkwardly, taking a deep breath to speak again.

"It wasn't my fault, Mom! It was those idiots who came at us, Billy wasn't doing anything, and when they called him bad names and I just lost my temper and-"

You frown in confusion, but America shuts up because the boardroom door opens and other people come out.

The blood is not America's you realize. It's the boy with ice on his face, accompanied by an equally grumpy adult. The boy also has blood all over the front of his shirt, and from the way, America tenses up and he flinches, you understand that he has been beaten.

"Come on, don't give me any more trouble." Warned the man to the boy who practically ran out. The man waved goodbye politely, and you turned to America, ready to ask, but you heard Mr.Fury call your name.

The room was not empty. There were two boys and a woman in a suit so impeccable that you became very aware of the ink stains on your work overalls. Or maybe it was the way she looked you up and down, with an indecipherable expression.

"Mrs.Romanoff, how nice that you could join us at last." Fury pinned on your lateness, and you smiled awkwardly.

"Sorry, I was in class and my cell phone was off." You mumbled, but he didn't seem to care much, signaling for you to sit down.

America stood beside you but smiled at the boys, who smiled back immediately.

"As I explained to Mrs.Maximoff, something rather unpleasant happened this morning. Your children got into a fight with another group of classmates..."

"And where is the rest of the gang?" You asked curiously, looking around. Fury frowned.

"Excuse me?"

"Well, you said they got into a fight. Nobody fights alone. Where are the other children? I saw the other little boy who went outside looking like he got punched right in the nose, and if you told me it was three against one, then yes, we have a problem."

Fury exchanges a look with Mrs.Maximoff, but the redhead is straightening up in her chair, looking at you curiously.

The principal lets out a short laugh. "Miss Romanoff, the confusion started at recess, where America assaulted five classmates. The other four are in the infirmary and-"

You cut Fury off with excitement, turning to your daughter beside you. "Five? Kid, you've been practicing, haven't you? Damn, your mother would be impressed. "

America laughs shyly, but Fury exclaims indignantly. "Excuse me, Mrs.Romanoff, are you really encouraging violent behavior in your 13-year-old daughter?"

"It depends on what the fight is about." You mutter, but Fury sighs indignantly.

"Violence is never the answer!" Retorts the principal seriously, but his line makes the boys exclaim indignantly.

"They were the ones who attacked us first! America was only defending my brother!" Reported one of them, and you and Mrs.Maximoff exchanged quick glances at the confusion.

"That's right, we were just standing there, and those idiots came at us with curses! If it wasn't for America-"

"Quiet, all of you!" Fury cut in angrily, and the children grumbled but obeyed. He massaged his forehead. "It's clear that the fight started with America, so please could you tell me exactly why you assaulted your colleagues, Miss?"

But America hesitates and looks at the boys, who bow their heads. She sighs.

"It was something silly about grades." She lies - You can see it’s not true because whenever she tells a lie, her forehead frowns slightly and Natasha taught you to recognize everything about little Miss Chavez. You don’t understand why she’s lying though.

Fury sighs wearily. "Are you sure that's all it was, miss?"

She looks down at the floor and nods. You lick your lips.

"Fury, I wonder if we could talk alone. Just me, Miss Maximoff, and you? They shouldn't be missing class."

Fury hesitates but eventually agrees. Once the children leave, you clear your throat.

"I want to know what will be done with the group that attacked them, Fury." You state without waiting any longer, surprising a little. Nick clears his throat.

"Your daughter just clarified that it was a silly argument over notes, Miss Romanoff, you don't expect me to-"

"You know it wasn't just that." To his surprise, Wanda intervenes, sounding irritated and tired. She takes a deep breath. "It wouldn't be the first time Billy experienced bullying in his school environment, but you promised me that this school was a safe space when I came to enroll them, Mr.Fury."

Nick clears his throat clumsily, adjusting his tie. "Mrs.Maximoff, at no time-"

"America told me they insulted him." You cut in, exchanging a look with the redhead. "The kids who attacked them came in cursing Billy. That's unacceptable, Fury. You say I encourage violent behavior? No. Natasha and I taught America to stand up for herself and for the people important to her. Nat was in the military and taught her how to fight. You can't expect her to listen to someone use low insults with her friends and do nothing."

"You cannot teach your daughter to punch anyone who irritates her, Miss Romanoff." Fury retorts seriously, before turning his face to the other, "And this is a safe environment, Wanda. We have anti-bullying programs, and when the other boys leave the infirmary, they will answer for this event as well. But for now, it's your kids who need to understand that fighting doesn't go unpunished."

"That doesn't seem very fair." You mutter but Fury casts you a serious look.

"Because they insulted them? Tell me what happens when they're adults, then." You open your mouth but Fury holds up his hand, rhetorical question. "I tell you, at the very least a lawsuit for assault. I understand it's important to tell them to defend themselves, but they also need to understand how the world works. They are children, by god. You can't tell them to go out punching their way whenever someone wrongs them."

"I guess that's easy to say when we're not the ones experiencing the aggression." Wanda mutters, and Fury gives a short laugh.

"Wanda, I assure you I know the feeling of hearing horrible offenses and having to put my head down and keep walking because the punishments would be worse for me than for those who offended me." Says Nick. "Billy is only twelve, he should learn to respond to things like that in a healthy and safe way. Teaching any of these kids to respond violence with violence puts them at risk, and I'm sure you understand that." Wanda sighs but nods in defeat. Nick clears his throat. "I believe detention for a month is a good punishment."

You sigh, but Wanda hesitates. "They'd be out by three, wouldn't they? Couldn't you do it earlier or between classes? I work office hours on Tuesdays and Wednesdays..."

Nick opens his mouth but you speak first. "I can pick them up." You say casually. "They're friends with America, right? They can stay over if you need."

The redhead blinks in surprise. "Wouldn't that be inconvenient?"

You laugh shrugging your shoulders. "Not at all. America is usually alone in the afternoon while I'm in the studio. It would be nice if she had some company."

Wanda smiles at you and your stomach does a complete turn. Nick claps his hands together.

"I guess we have a deal then. Thank you both for attending, even though it was not the most pleasant of reasons... I'll keep in touch, Miss Maximoff, Miss Romanoff."

You got up first but opened the door for Wanda to pass. Outside, she seemed in a hurry, checking her cell phone, and you didn't want to hold her any longer. Surprisingly, she called you before you left for your car.

"I want your number." She declares, and you can't help the teasing expression that appears on your face. Wanda corrects herself immediately, "B-because of the ride, so I can confirm that everything is okay..."

"I know, I get it." You assure her with a laugh, accepting the cell phone she holds out to put your number in. As you type, you take the opportunity to introduce yourself properly since you haven't had the chance to do so before. Wanda smiles before doing the same. "Here you go, Miss Maximoff."

"Just Wanda is fine." She says gently, accepting the cell phone back. "Thank you again, for the favor."

"You can return it by joining me for coffee." You have no idea where that came from. And it seems to surprise Wanda as much as you surprised yourself. But there's no going back because she smiles and you know you meant it. "Or a tea, or juice. Maybe vitamin?"

Wanda giggles, and it's a charm. You glare at her but she looks at her cell phone again.

"Sorry, I have to go." She looks really disappointed, and you notice that her phone has started vibrating on a call. She looks at you again. "I'll text you about that coffee."

"I'll wait." You mumble, knowing she heard just by the soft smile she still holds as she answers the phone before waving goodbye and turning in the opposite direction of the parking lot.

You sigh loudly as you are left alone, trying to figure out where to see the strange feeling in your stomach that you think you haven't felt in years.

–//–

Wanda probably forgot about the coffee. You don't blame her, because America has every social network possible, and through her friendship with Billy Maximoff on Facebook, you are able to find Wanda Maximoff's only two social networks.

Her professional profile is impeccable. She is an important figure in a major New York company, but you are not too sure whether she is a writer or a manager, or both. Either way, with so many meetings and lectures in her feed, she is probably the busiest person you have ever met.

The only personal profile she has is a Facebook profile that hasn't been updated in almost three years. It is public, and has family photos - the vast majority with the twins - but what attracts attention is the tall man next to her. If the photos were tagged, it was removed today. There was no link to his profile. You also noticed that the relationship status was still Married, and tried to ignore the burning in your strangers with this information.

There should be no problem with Wanda being a married woman. You should have expected this, actually. In fact, you shouldn't expect anything at all. Losing Natasha wasn't exactly recent, but you weren't looking for someone to take her place. Ever.

Calling Wanda for coffee was a kind act in the interest of friendship, you convinced yourself. After all, with your antisocial nature, you didn't have many friends in New York.

America found you stalking Wanda's Facebook, however, and had a very different idea.

"She's a total milf, huh?"

You closed the laptop hard, looking at your daughter with indignation. "Excuse me, young lady?"

America shrugged. "Miss Maximoff, mom. She's so gorgeous, like a movie star. Everyone keeps staring when she comes to pick up the twins."

You grimace, hugging the laptop against your chest. "America, I don't think it's very appropriate for you to say such things to me, don't you agree?"

Your daughter laughs confusedly. "But you thought so too. You're just there stalking her on the Internet..."

"That's it, out." You stand up embarrassed, ignoring America's mischievous laughter in the hallway as you close the door. You grunt red-faced, putting your hands over your face and trying to get the image of Wanda out of your head. America shouts from the hallway:

"I'll order Enchiladas for dinner!" - You open the door just to say thanks.

To your surprise, Wanda texts you the next day.

It shouldn't really be a surprise, since the children's detention would start now, but still, you were so busy delivering some paintings that you almost completely forgot about it.

Hey Miss Romanoff, it's Wanda. Is everything okay for the kids to stay at your place this afternoon as we agreed? After detention?

You are listening to music, so you ask the virtual assistant to read the message while you continue painting one of the higher boards. When you realize who it is from, you almost fall down the stairs you are on.

Your cell phone screen smears blue paint when you pick it up in one go, having forgotten your dirty hands, and you curse softly.

Trying to sound casual, you decide on a voice message.

"Hey, Miss Max-Wanda, hey." Great start. "Sure, don't worry, I'll send you my address to come to pick them up later. And just Y/N is fine."

Wanda replies with an emoji heart, and you try to understand why yours is racing so fast.

–//–

Thomas and William Maximoff are two little devils. And America loves them, so you do too.

They play in the backyard and in the living room, surprisingly in harmony over sharing the video game after detention. You go back to work in the studio and keep the music down so you can hear them, and before you know it, the hours have passed and a red pickup truck is pulling up outside your house.

Wanda, on the other hand, doesn't seem too pleased to see that none of the children have had a decent meal after school, or done their homework. And you showing up with a dirty paint apron doesn't seem to help her judgment much.

"I don't usually cook, for the safety of the kitchen." You try to joke to ease the tension and get giggles from the smaller ones, but only a forced smile from the other, who continues with her arms crossed. "They're not hungry, you know. There were snacks and cookies..."

"Very healthy." Wanda interrupts wryly. "Get your backpacks boys, and thank them for having you. Let's go home before it gets later."

You and America watch Maximoff's hurried exit until Wanda's car disappears at the end of the street, and it is your daughter who speaks first.

"I think she likes you."

You chuckle incredulously, turning your face to America. "What gives you that idea? The deadly stare?"

The smaller girl rolls her eyes amused. "No, Mom! She didn't say she wasn't coming here anymore. And besides, Tommy told me she's kind of too straitlaced... he may have used the word crazy, but I don't think that's very appropriate for me to say."

You chuckle through your nose, ruffling America's hair as you pull her into the house with you.

"Well, the boys are your friends, so Wanda is going to have to get used to me because if there's one thing we take seriously in this family it's loyalty to our friends, isn't it, little Chavez?"

America smiles warmly, stealing a glance at Nat's painting on the wall before nodding in agreement. You check your watch.

"Maybe Wanda is right, though. What do you want for dinner? Real food. I can prepare something-"

America grimaces. "I want pizza!"

"But kiddo-"

"With plenty of pepperonis!"

You roll your eyes, unable to say no to that lovely girl.

–//–

The next day, when Billy and Tommy take out lunch boxes from their backpacks, you want to chuckle. It's so... you don't even know what to call that.

"What is that supposed to be?" America asks in a mixture of indignation and disgust, standing behind the boys sitting at the table. Tommy and Billy exchange sighs.

"It's called Zucchini Boats." Says William, poking at the snack with his fork - which Wanda also sent in her purse - "Mom is a vegetarian and so are we."

"That's what she thinks," Tommy mutters mischievously, receiving an elbow from his brother. "It's good, America. Want some?"

"No, I'm fine." Your daughter says quickly, exchanging a look with you before leaving the twins to grab some of the juice you are bringing them on a tray.

"Wow, that looks ... grown up." You comment with an impressed laugh as soon as you see the food the twins are pinching half-heartedly. "Do you guys always eat so fancy?"

"Yeah, all the time." Tommy replies grumpily. "Mom pays for vegetarian snacks at school, and it's always this kind of expensive food at the work parties she brings us to."

"Tommy, I don't think you should talk like that..." Billy whispers uncertainly but is cut off by the other.

"I can't stand eating asparagus or cabbage anymore! And I hate Lentils!" Challenges the twin, pushing the lunchbox onto the table.

America sips her juice in silence, and you sigh.

"Well, here's what we'll do then, little Maximoff." You say, picking up the bowl and some of the food that has fallen on the table. "I'll order hamburger and fries, and leave it on the counter. And you guys choose what you want to eat if you feel hungry."

Tommy loved the idea. Billy thanked him, but said he would stick with what his mother prepared. In any case, you ordered enough for everyone.

When the food arrived, you, America, and Tommy ate first. The Maximoff was very excited about eating meat - He eventually told you between bites that vegetarianism, as well as a dozen other habits, came to his family after his father passed away, and you were so surprised by the information that you could hardly nod in agreement. So Wanda was a widow like you? What a heartbreaking coincidence.

After you finished eating, you needed to continue working, and you left the children to do it. When you came back for some keys about ten minutes later, Tommy and America were playing video games in the living room and little Billy was eating French fries on the counter and having the time of his life. You didn't dare bother him.

The whole plot of Wanda and her vegetarian lunch boxes for 12-year-olds that were half going to waste - you insisted that they at least take a few bites out of respect for their mother's work - went on for three whole weeks.

It was on the penultimate day of detention when Wanda was already smiling as she came to pick up the kids, that she found out and showed up at your door during school hours.

"Sorry for the wait, I'm teaching a class." You tell her clumsily as you welcome her into the small makeshift office, while your students take a break in the studio in the other room.

Wanda hasn't even taken off her coat and is still holding her keys in her hands. "Don't worry, I'll be quick." She says. "I appreciate the favor of picking up the boys and letting them stay here, but it has come to my attention your inappropriate behavior, and I-"

"Wow, what are you talking about?" You interrupt in confusion.

Wanda doesn't hesitate, adjusting her posture. "The food I prepare for my children is properly planned with a nutritionist, and William has told me about your interference in their diet." You stare at her without reaction, and she takes advantage of your shock to continue speaking. "I respect that you are raising your daughter without any attention to a healthy diet, but I cannot allow you to do the same-"

"No, wait a second there." You cut her off with a short laugh, gesturing a little and without realizing it, moving closer, which makes Wanda take a step backward in that small office. "I never told them to stop eating your fancy food."

She grimaces. "But you bought junk food!" She rations angrily. "What do you expect children to choose?"

You chuckle. "Exactly, Wanda! They are children! You're the one who's feeding them like they're 60-year-old culinary critics!"

"A healthy diet is essential for their development-"

"Billy has never eaten pizza before! Do you understand how insane that sounds?"

Wanda feels her blood boil, much like you. And she doesn't realize she's screaming, much the same as you.

"Oh, what a crime not to want to give my two children a fat bomb! Arrest me for preventing cardiovascular disease when they are adults!

"What the hell are you talking about?" You retort with an indignant chuckle, but Wanda steps forward, her gaze deadly.

"I don't tell you how to raise your daughter, so don't you dare do it to me." She says seriously, and you swallow dryly.

"I never said anything like that." You retort. "It's not a crime to offer actual good food to a child."

Wanda frowns. "My food is good!" She defends herself almost offended, but you sigh wearily.

"For the adult palate? Yes, it is. I've tasted it, you have talent I admit." You say, surprising her a little by the compliment. Her posture almost breaks. "But for the boys? I'm sorry, I don't mean to pry, but they don't like it, okay? Especially Thomas. I didn't want you to find out like this, but he hasn't followed your all-important eating schedule in months, Miss Maximoff. He keeps buying candy and junk food around-"

"What?" she exclaims indignantly, turning away to walk around the room. You sigh. "Where does he get the money for that?"

You shrug casually. "I don't know, isn't he kind of pretty popular? Maybe he sells some toys or homework. I used to do that when I was young. And well, I give America an allowance and they hang out together a lot and-

"So you're the problem! Again!" Wanda suddenly accuses you, leaving you in shock. "You and your daughter, stay away from my boys!"

"Wanda, what...?"

But she turned her back on you and slammed the door hard on her way out. You huffed loudly, pressing your face between your hands for a long moment. Complete confusion in your mind.

–//–

You're not sure what you expected for the last day of detention, but it sure wasn't the call from the secretary about America skipping class.

You called her immediately, and to add to your despair, she didn't answer until an hour later, when you had already taken the car and were driving around town after her.

The arcade parking lot was empty because all the kids were in school. Except for a few.

You got down from the truck, and this time, you knew the blood was Billy's.

"Have you gone crazy? I drove all over town after you, America! Where-"

But she ran up to you, hugging you tightly, and you fell silent, worried. "I'm sorry, Mom!"

After massaging her back gently, you turned away to the boys sitting on the sidewalk. Bending down to Billy's height, you grabbed from the other twin the ice pack he held over his brother's bruised forehead.

"What happened, guys?" You asked, and all three of them started talking together. With a sigh, you shushed them. "Just one at a time, please."

America stepped forward. "We weren't going to skip the whole day, Mom, I promise! It's just that Tommy forgot to do his chemistry homework, so we were going to skip it so he wouldn't get in trouble!"

Tommy nods immediately. "We came here because we weren't going to hang around the school at the risk of getting caught." Continues the boy. "We were going to play and come back as soon as the next class time started."

Billy complains softly about the pain and you try to press more gently. "So?" You ask them to continue, but they don't, exchanging hesitant glances.

It is William who continues the story, his gaze in his lap. "It was the idiot brother of a classmate of ours. He was at the arcade, and he recognized me. He said he was furious that I got his brother in trouble. And he said... He said there's no place in this town for a faggy like me."

You sigh immediately, putting down the ice to hold his shoulder with your other hand. "Oh, Billy, I'm sorry."

He sniffles lightly, shrugging. "It's okay, I'm used to it. America and Tommy were buying soda, so the jerk threw me out here. As soon as they came, the guy ran off."

"It was the arcade owner who gave us the ice." America clarifies, coming over to sit down on the sidewalk across from Billy, and slipping an arm over his. "Sorry for taking so long, buddy. Next time I'm going to break his leg-"

"Hey, listen up here you three." You interrupt, looking at them seriously. "Violence is never the solution."

"But, Mom, they-"

"I know." You cut her off with a nod. "And it's unfair that it happened. And all we want to do is return that anger, but we can't be like that. Billy, I'm really sorry that you've heard cruel things. There's a place for you wherever you choose, that boy is just being an ignorant fool. Don't listen to him." You assure holding the hand of the boy in front of you. "You three are going back to school, and I'll take care of it the right way, okay?"

At first, they don't seem very willing, but eventually, they agree. You direct them back to school, and are not surprised at the increased detention Fury gives them for skipping class. Nick, however, is the one who provides the numbers of the parents of the kids who attacked them, and of a lawyer.

He comments something about having called Miss Maximoff but to no avail before thanking you for bringing the children back safely and saying goodbye.

You are walking back to your car when Wanda parks as if in a race movie.

"I'm glad you're here, Wanda, we need to talk." You announce loudly, walking to her car. She turns it off, takes out the key, and gets down, slamming the door.

"I don't have time, the director called me during a meeting, and I-"

"I know." You cut her off, and make no mention of moving out of her way, trapping her between cars. "Our kids were skipping class."

She chuckles dryly. "That's what I'm talking about, your daughter is a terrible influence. I wasn't wrong when-"

"She was helping Tommy." You cut in again, crossing your arms. "Yeah. He didn't do his chemistry homework or something, and they decided to skip the first period so he wouldn't get a scolding. Because, yes, he'd rather take his chances on the street than smear the perfect record mommy wants for him."

Wanda tilts her head. "Watch your mouth." She warns between teeth, and you roll your eyes.

"Billy got punched." You declare, and Wanda's posture breaks completely. Desperation fills her expression.

"W-what... Excuse me, I have-"

"It's taken care of, it was just a scratch I looked at it myself." You interrupt, steadying your feet in her path, and ignoring the way she looks you up and down. "But these assaults, Wanda, we need to get a handle on this."

She is surprised, in a good way. And she swallows dryly, trying to adjust her posture. "That's not your problem."

You don't care, pulling out of your pocket the lawyer's paper Fury gave you to hand to her

as you quickly explain the whole story. Wanda is unresponsive until she sniffles slightly, and this breaks your posture.

Your natural instinct is to touch her, but you hold back, clenching your hands, and Wanda turns her face away, hugging her own body as she controls her crying.

"Forgive me, I just..." She takes a deep breath. "They're all I have. And they're perfect, just the way they are. I just wanted to...do the best for them. Keep them safe, and happy. But apparently, New York is even worse than Westview."

"Hey, I understand that." You can't resist, raising a hand to her back, and thanking the gods that Wanda leans into the touch instead of backing away. "Some things are beyond our control. But I think you're doing a damn fine job, Wanda."

She raises her eyes at you. "Really?"

"Yeah." You assure her with a smile. "Your kids are great. Smart, so independent, and good-natured. Very united and loyal. You've done a really good job with them-"

Wanda hugs you tightly around the neck, cutting off your sentence. You smile, putting your arms around her just as the surprise fades. She sighs. "Thank you." She whispers, and you squeeze tighter before letting go.

"Call Jen Walters about this. Nick said she's a good lawyer." You remind her, and Wanda nods. You put your hands in your pockets and stare at her for a moment. "Were you at some fancy event? You look good."

She blushes, smiling shyly and adjusting her suit. "Something like that. Just a new book launch, so phone off. As soon as I saw the missed calls, I ran here..."

You chuckle lightly. "Yeah, I noticed the Fast and Furious you pulled out." You joke getting a laugh and a slap on the arm.

As the laughter dies down, you face each other. And Wanda is the first to swallow dryly and shift her gaze away.

"I should go there... just to make sure everything is okay." She says pointing to the school. You clear your throat and finally give her space to walk through.

"Sure, sure. I see you...?"

Wanda looks at you over her shoulder, a soft smile on her lips. "Over coffee." She invites, her smile widening with your surprise. "It's about time, don't you think?"

You nod, swallowing your anxiety. "I can’t wait." You guarantee, and when she leaves, your cheeks are flushed like hers.

–//–

Wanda doesn't call. But she doesn't have to.

The detentions are over; you're pretty sure she threatened Nick Fury on her way back to the office, but whatever she said, she made sure that the victims of the story stopped being punished. Tommy received a short warning for his duty, but the matter was soon forgotten.

You were surprised that even with the end of the detention, the Maximoff twins were on your doorstep on Tuesday. And next to them, Wanda.

"If you're not busy, I was thinking we could all have lunch together. I got some free time at the office." Clarified the matriarch, and well, you had a dozen or so orders to make and they would all have to wait because no chance at all of you dismissing going out with Wanda.

She is infinitely more pleasant company than the impression you got during your fights. She is a fierce mother, but she is so much more than that. She's brilliant, passionate, and generous. You find yourself captured by her like a work of art, which you can stare at for hours and hours, trying to absorb every detail and discover others.

Lunch turns into afternoon snacks, and into dinners. The Maximoffs show up at your house on a weekly basis, Wanda cooks for you sometimes, and at other times allows herself to eat junk food with everyone else.

And family dates become the two of you dates when she kisses you.

It takes you completely by surprise, honestly.

You have been dancing into a family routine for amazing weeks, and after one of the dinners, it gets late enough to insist that they sleep over at your place.

The boys stay in America's room, and you take over the living room so that Wanda is comfortable in her room.

When she shows up at dawn in the kitchen while you're making tea, the first thing she says is "I feel terrible about making you sleep on the couch. I can't sleep because of it."

You smile and separate a mug of tea for her too.

"I think we finally had that drink." You comment a long moment later, as you pour the tea for yourselves.

Wanda smiles mischievously. "I don't think it counts." She murmurs mysteriously, and you raise an eyebrow.

"No?"

Wanda hums in the negative. "We've drunk together a dozen times now, Y/N." She retorts, holding the cup close to her mouth. "If you want to take me out, you need to genuinely ask."

She sips her tea, and you swallow dryly as you stare into her lips. Blinking away when you notice her naughty smile, you ignore your nervousness, and retort, "I asked, you're the one who didn't call me."

Wanda raises her eyebrow, taken aback that you brought back this information from so many weeks later. She doesn't lose her composure, however. "I thought it wouldn't be appropriate when given a second thought about it."

You sip some tea. "And what do you think of us now?"

Instead of answering, she leans over the countertop. She grabs the collar of your shirt and kisses you hard. Your whole body vibrates, and you gasp. But she lets you go before you have the chance to respond properly.

"I think if you don't ask me out soon, I'll have to do it myself." She teases affectedly, breathing out of breath as you do. You laugh, nodding.

"Go out with me."

She raises an eyebrow. "Is that an order?" She teases, and you grunt.

"God, Wanda, come here." That's what you say before pulling her back to you, mouth to mouth.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff #marvel imagines #elizabeth olsen x reader

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hotpinkboots · 1 year

Note

erik destler with a reader that likes to write really romantic poems for him? she's not good with words but when she writes it's super heart felt so she gives those to him rather than saying it, because she doesn't know how to speak her love for him out loud

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~𝕰𝖗𝖎𝖐 𝕯𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖑𝖊𝖗 w/a Darling That Writes Him Poems~

~~~~~~~~~~

OH MY GOSH 😭 I'VE BEEN WAITING AND WAITING FOR SOMEONE TO REQUEST WITH OUR BEAUTIFUL OPERA GHOST THANK YOU

~Enjoy~

★★★★

𝕰𝖗𝖎𝖐 𝕯𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖑𝖊𝖗

★★★★

~Oh. It is a shame- despite your sweet letters, he wishes to hear those words from your delectable lips.

~But he cherishes every single letter, and pins them all to a special wall in his lair. Reads them all constantly and just stands there for so long reading them, again and again and again.

~Sometimes he even wishes you'd read them out loud to him so he can hear you say the words from your heart.

~But if you're too shy to do it, he understands.

~kind of

~He might ask you during a make-out session or something if you love him.

~Then he asks how much you love him, trying to coax you into telling him like you do in your poems.

~When his temper is rising for whatever reason, he may snap at you and claim that you don't even love him, he's never heard you go on about him in your voice like you do in your written words.

~It's just very hard for him to read your words on paper but never hear them in your own voice.

~When he's getting a bit too emotional and lonely, he'll hold one of the poems you wrote to his lips or chest to feel close to you, and he gets frustrated when his eyes are blurry from tears so he can't read the things you wrote to make him feel better.

~Even though you struggle with telling him out loud, he adores every poem and every letter- especially if you kiss the letter beside your signature and leave a lipstick mark. He'll kiss the mark you left.

~~~~~~~~~~

HSIFKRHFJD I LOVE HIM STOP 😭

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Request Guidelines!

I can't link the Masterlist because none of the links are currently working, so it's under construction as of now.

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Discord Server! Here you can roleplay with and as your favorite characters, get updates on my fanfiction, and get sneak peaks for my upcoming videogames!:

~~~~~~~~~~

~Love, PinkBoots 💋

#haha I put a kiss at the end of my signature like I said in the Headcanons ain't I a sweetie #the phantom of the opera #erik destler x reader #erik destler #poto #poto 2004 #phantom of the opera 2004 #the opera ghost #phantom of the opera x reader #phantom of the opera #gerik #pink's fanfic

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wndaswife · 1 year

Note

If requests are still open, is it possible to get a subby milf Wanda x neighbours daughter college student r?

If not all good, I love your blog 💚 you’re actually so talented, I’d read your shopping list if you wanted to publish it…

love thy neighbour

wanda maximoff & fem!reader

tags: smut, sacrilege (a lot), cunnilingus, fingering, semi public & public sex, infidelity, manipulation, slight obsessive & possessive behaviour, angst, fluff, sub!wanda maximoff, dom!reader. MINORS DNI.

word count: 9237

summary: You meet your new neighbours when you visit home for the holidays. With homemade treats and friendly advances, Wanda seems to have intentions of becoming closer with you, and she won’t settle for anything less.

a/n: this took weeks to finally work on but im so thankful for your request, this christmas fic couldn’t have been done without it <3

Your semester was finally over.

Exams were finished.

Assignments were finished.

Buying groceries for yourself and attending weekly class were finished.

Until next semester came around, anyways. But that didn’t cross your mind when you wheeled your luggage up the snowy driveway of your house and to the front door where you knocked.

You were glad for a white Christmas, though your tremulous drive back begged to differ.

But nevermind that.

The front door of your house was pulled open and a gust of warm air from inside laced with the palatable scent of homemade dinner embraced you.

Nevermind any of it.

Your mother pulled you into a hug and your father took your luggage up to your bedroom.

For the next few weeks, you could forget about anything that didn’t have to do with the holidays and spend every day of it precisely how you wanted to, schedules and deadlines finally be damned.

There were a few things that had changed around the house since the last time you visited, including a strangely-decorated Christmas tree in the corner of your living room that your father had obviously decorated on his own without listening to any of your mother’s input.

You spent the next forty minutes in your bedroom unpacking in time for dinner downstairs with your parents. Perhaps if you had known there’d be guests, you would’ve changed out of your casual jeans and hoodie.

It was only until you stepped foot downstairs in the living room when you reconsidered your attire. But just then, a family of four came into view- a tall finely-dressed man and who you assumed to be his wife turning to look at you.

“This is our daughter, Y/N,” your mother introduced, stepping over to you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders. She mused, “She came home not more than an hour ago.” Her face turned to you with a proud smile.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” the tall man greeted, extending a hand that you shook. “I’m Vision, and this is my wife Wanda. We’re your neighbour across the street.”

Your eyes moved from him to the woman beside him dressed in a wine red turtleneck and black slacks. Her dark brown hair streaked with shades of blonde was curled up to above her shoulders. She, contradictory to you, was dressed in the spirit of a formal dinner.

You wondered if it had become a tradition for your parents to dine with them since the last you’d visited. It made you feel particularly casted off from your own home as you knew little of who the family standing in the middle of your parents’ living room was.

“We’ve heard much about you, Y/N,” Wanda commented. Her voice was even-tempered and soothingly soft. “We’re glad you could make it home for the holidays as your mother and father have told us how demanding your program is.” You found you could do nothing but nod in understanding, a considerate smile on your lips.

She continued, “These are our twins, Tommy and Billy. Say hello, boys.” The two children, dressed as formally as their parents were, waved at you. One was holding his mother’s hand and they both shone polite smiles at you with the intention of being friendly.

You waved back at them with your own smile that you hoped looked as welcoming as you intended. It’d been awhile since your street had any children.

“Shall we take this into the dining room?” your dad spoke suddenly, outreaching his hands to take the casserole in Vision’s. With a nod, the dish was exchanged between the two men. The twins trailed behind your father as your mother began a conversation with Vision.

Wanda was standing beside you before you realised she had held herself back a moment to be able to walk with you. A warm smile was directed at you when you looked over at her, eliciting the first sincere upwards tug of your lips since you arrived downstairs.

Her arms were pulled forwards by Tommy and Billy and she followed their excited lead over to the adjacent side of the table where the rest of her family’s seats separated you from her side.

Your mother began serving the plates, asking neither of the guests of their preferred amount of portions other than you. Had it really been so long since you were last home?

When you looked up from the mashed sweet potatoes, curious green eyes caught your attention- it was Wanda’s, staring across the table and at your face. Not anywhere particularly, but rather running down the way your hair tucked behind your ear or the curves of your lips as you told your mother you didn’t want any cranberry sauce.

Her eyes left you once yours found hers. It was almost a bit strange, certainly, but you dismissed it as curiosity.

“Wanda is a member of the church here, Y/N,” your dad said as he poured you a glass of ginger ale.

“Wow,” you responded, looking up from your plate in front of you to nod at her in indication of a peaked interest.

Your mother continued, “She’s a choir leader. Three, sometimes four days a week, she’s volunteering for services at the church around the block. She’s really quite talented. Composed a number of pieces herself.”

Wanda said with a sheepish smile and a flick of her wrist, “She doesn’t want to hear about that, do you, Y/N?” Her eyes were on you again, but with more intention when she maintained eye contact that time.

You cut a piece of casserole from your serving and shrugged, looking back up to Wanda, then around the table to your mother. “I wouldn’t mind hearing about it,” you answered and took a bite from the portion you had scooped onto your fork.

Wanda’s eyes seemed to follow the direction of your fork that moved past your lips, then maintained focus as she watched you chew.

Vision and your father started up a conversation which called for everyone’s attention at the table with their central positions between everyone. Perhaps you’d seen it wrong, but it took Wanda a few moments for her to direct her attention from you, even when her husband moved onto another topic.

Finally, once Tommy’s exceptional grades were brought up in his physical education class, Wanda focused her attention on him and away from you, running her hand down her son’s arm admirably. She did the same for Billy when she mentioned his joining of the school’s soccer team.

After about an hour and a half of listening to yours and Vision’s family’s conversations with the occasional input from your end, you were washing dishes in the kitchen while everyone conversed in the living room. You were relieved to have some time to yourself. Dinner with guests took you for a bit of a surprise.

“Is it alright if I put these here?” a soft familiar voice asked from behind you. Wanda came into view as she rounded you to the sink holding three empty wine glasses.

Though you did enjoy meeting her.

“That’s fine,” you answered her and went back to rinsing a soapy plate. She placed the wine glasses on the counter beside the sink.

You expected for her to leave the kitchen as silently as she had come, but she leaned against the kitchen counter and your eyes flickered over to her.

“Did you enjoy dinner?”

You nodded. “I did enjoy it. It’s been a while since I’ve had a big home cooked meal like that.” She said something about agreeing to have enjoyed dinner in response.

“Did you like the casserole?”

Restraining the confused furrowing of your eyebrows that you felt beginning to tug onto your expression at Wanda’s question, you simply nodded again. “It was good. I thought the chicken was really great,” you told her, recalling the meal in detail.

“Did you make it?” you asked, looking over to her when you took a wine glass from the counter and began washing it.

Looking pleased that you suggested it, Wanda responded, “I did. The secret to it is a few pinches of paprikash in the marinade while the chicken sits the night before.”

You could hold back the amused smile that formed on your face as you listened to her sudden commentary on cooking. “That’s cool,” you replied with a nod. “Yeah, it was great. Do you and your family often come over for dinner?”

“Not very often. Most Saturdays and some weekdays if we can.”

“So, you’re close to my parents?”

“We are,” she said, almost hesitantly. “They were very kind to us when we first moved in.”

You nodded again and ran a soapy sponge through the inside of the final glass.

The older woman played with her wedding ring between her forefinger and the pad of her thumb. The moment her lips parted, Vision stepped into the kitchen.

“Wanda, the boys are ready to head home,” he told her. Wanda straightened. She answered him with a silent nod before looking back over to you.

Turning the sink off and drying your hands on a dishcloth, you said, “It was nice meeting the two of you, and Tommy and Billy.”

Vision smiled at you from across the kitchen, then raised an arm to beckon his wife over. Wanda looked back at you over her shoulder and you caught a glimpse of the soft curve of her red lips before she was at her husband’s side.

You joined your parents in time to wave goodbye to the twins as they walked across the street to their housr, Wanda and Vision holding a hand of each child. They were a conventional-looking family, the dark-haired wife bundled up in her jacket with a scarf and pair of gloves while her husband wore a sandy woollen trench coat. Their sons were squeezed between them as they waved back at your parents before their front door shut.

Guilt settled in the base of your stomach as you headed upstairs to your bedroom after bidding a goodnight to your parents. The curiosity of your neighbour’s eyes, the awkward twirling of her fingers as she approached you after dinner.

Had she wanted to get to know you?

There was warm familiarity in having everything placed as they normally were now that you were back home. Settling under your mounds of blankets while scrolling through your phone was a comfort as you no longer had anything weighing you down now that winter break had started. But the guilt of having overlooked Wanda gnawed at you still.

It didn’t matter all too much, did it? You were neighbours and you’d see each other around- plenty of time to make up for how you disregarded Wanda’s attempts at conversing with you. The two of you would likely not end up being any more than cordial neighbours with the differences that lay between you, but Wanda had been kind enough earlier that night and the least you could do was repay her for it.

You padded downstairs in the late afternoon, freshly out of bed after you heard the doorbell ring. You recalled amidst your sleepy daze that your parents were at work which forced you to drag yourself out of bed and open the front door.

Soft hair topped with a knitted-hat, rosy cheeks, and a familiar red scarf from last night greeted you once you opened the front door. The brisk winter air bit at your body half-dressed in a loose shirt and shorts, making you realise you were standing in front of your neighbour who had evidently gotten herself dressed up to visit your house.

Wanda’s soft smile dissipated into furrowed eyebrows and a concerned downwards curve of her lips. “Have I come at a bad time?” she asked you, the deep white dish in her mitten-clad hands lowering.

“Oh, no, no, no,” you blabbered and raised your hands to your hair, pushing it back behind your ears in an attempt to look presentable. “No, it’s not a bad time. But my parents aren’t home if that’s who you’re looking to talk with.”

“I was actually hoping to talk with you,” Wanda said. Something laid behind her words, though you could not decipher if it was due to the cold or some sudden onset of nerves. Blank and perhaps unfriendly confusion must have unintentionally come over your features for Wanda looked down at the dish in her hands, eyes flickering away from anywhere but yours. “But I understand if I’ve come at a bad time. I made brownies for you and your parents, so if you’d prefer I can just drop it off.”

Something opportunistic bloomed within you, a chance to make up for last night, and you stepped back into the house. “No, please, Wanda, come in,” you told her and gestured your arm back in a short sweeping motion, implying for her to step inside with you.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to overstep.”

“You’re not overstepping, I promise. I’ll take this from you so you can hang your things up.”

Finally, Wanda entered the front foyer and held the warm dish out which you took. While you brought the deep dish of brownies into the kitchen, you heard rustling behind you as Wanda hung her jacket up and placed her boots on the mat.

“Did I wake you?” Wanda inquired as she walked through the living room and into the kitchen behind you.

You lied, “I was laying around doing nothing productive upstairs before you came.”

“I’m glad. I hoped I didn’t bother you,” she expressed relief.

“Do you want to have some of this now? I can cut it up for both of us.”

“If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.”

Soft clinking of plates and forks sounded through the kitchen as you wondered what Wanda might be doing there. She took a seat at the small kitchen table in front of the oven, her movements almost completely silent if not for the squeaking of the chair’s foot against the floor.

After you turned and placed a plate with a brownie slice on each side of the table, you poured two glasses of water across from each plate.

“Thank you,” Wanda said and lifted her fork between the pad of her thumb and the side of her middle finger. Her wedding ring reflected the winter sunlight from beyond the kitchen window. A singular prong from her fork pressed into the decadent-looking brownie before she spoke again, looking up from her plate to you. “Y/N, if you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you a question. I’ve been a bit curious about you.”

“Curious?” you repeated, looking up at her too.

With a nod, Wanda hummed in confirmation before asking, “You attend school so far from home. Don’t you feel… worried? About the distance from your parents and your hometown.”

“I suppose I do sometimes,” you pondered aloud. “I think most students who study away from home feel a bit awry about living so far.” In silent understanding, Wanda nodded and sliced a small portion of the warm brownie onto her fork. “Why do you ask?” you asked her.

“Your parents mention you often,” Wanda mentioned and looked up to you. “It reminds me of when I was around your age, I was quite interested in pursuing studying abroad. I was curious about whether you enjoyed it.”

You took a bite of the warm brownie to give yourself a few moments to think. “I’m only a few hours away, but I do enjoy it,” you answered finally. “You didn’t end up studying abroad?”

Wanda’s fork clinked against her plate. “No, I could’ve never done something like that,” she said. “My upbringing was extremely religious. I didn’t end up studying Orthodox Catholicism in the detail that my mother had hoped, but I was able to take a few English classes throughout my time at school which I loved very much. I adored Shakespeare.”

Orthodox Catholicism, was that right?

You wondered about Wanda’s personal beliefs, the opinions she might reserve about you should the two of you have any conversation past than the cordial neighbourly discussion. You didn’t press her about religion.

There was much she told you that you didn’t expect from her. She was first a dedicated churchgoing housewife then a lover of classic English poets.

A few slightly awkward moments passed as the two of you forked bites of Wanda’s brownies into your mouths between sips of cold water.

“Do you bake often?” you found yourself asking suddenly. When your eyes were laid on Wanda’s face, she did not look as uneasy in the silence between the two of you as you initially imagined she would.

Wanda answered, “I do when I have the spare time. For lunch after church services I attend, I sometimes bring over a few dishes of mine.”

“I’m sure your family loves them. You’re a talented cook.”

Green eyes watched intently as you took a drink from your glass, and Wanda smiled. “Thank you,” she said, sounding sincerely grateful for your compliment. “I hope I’m not making you feel uncomfortable, Y/N, I was just so eager to get to know you.”

The more you got to know Wanda, the cautious housewife with an impulse to please that volunteered at the church a few blocks away, the more you untensed around her. “I don’t feel uncomfortable at all. I’m really glad to get to know you a little too,” you reassured her. And you really did begin to enjoy being in her company.

Laughs came from her much easier as time passed in the kitchen together, then divulgences about her family life and congregation were shared with you as you sat together on the living room couch.

After an abrupt ringing of her phone, her husband calling her to ask if she could pick the twins up from school instead of himself, Wanda stood from the couch with you. But before she stepped into her boots, she asked with a coy tone of voice, “Would you mind if I used your washroom for a moment before I left?”

“Of course, it’s no problem. There’s a bit of an issue with the sink in the washroom here, so you’d have to use the one upstairs. Do you know where it is?”

Wanda confirmed that she did, and with her jacket on, she ascended the stairs up onto the second floor of the house. Her steps were barely audible as she walked across the floor and to the washroom across from the staircase upstairs.

While you carefully covered up your neighbour’s homemade brownies and placed them in the fridge for your parents to try once they came back from work, the woman you only just began to know as an unassuming harmless housewife sorted through your bedroom.

Nimble fingers pulled open your dressers’ cabinets then your wardrobe. She tucked pairs of underwear you owned into her jacket pockets that she adored as she sorted through them. She took photos of your perfumes and shampoo, the pills that belonged to you behind the washroom mirror. She looked over photos of you and your friends that decorate your desk and small areas of your walls, flipped through your notebooks and ran her eyes down your handwriting.

Leaving everything as it had been before she slipped into your bedroom, Wanda silently closed your door and with the washroom door open upstairs, she ran the sink for a few moments as she looked through the photos she took of your bedroom.

She joined you back downstairs after an appropriate amount of time, a soft smile on her bare pink lips. You were sitting on the couch scrolling through your phone when you looked up at her.

“Thank you,” Wanda said and wrapped her scarf around herself, then her woollen hat onto her head next.

You arose from the couch and opened the front door for her. “It was nice meeting with you,” you admitted as Wanda stepped into her boots and swung her purse around her shoulder.

“Likewise, Y/N. Thank you for making time for me,” she replied, moving past you to stand on your front porch. “See you soon.”

With a polite wave and a smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes, Wanda stepped off of your porch and headed across the street back to her house.

As you shut the front door and went back upstairs to the comfort of your bedroom, the warm feeling of appreciation for growing so close to your friendly neighbour veiled any possible suspicion that Wanda had been in your room.

You did not fall back asleep once you buried yourself back in your mounds of blankets and pillows, but instead scrolled through the internet on anything about Wanda Maximoff.

Photos of polite proud smiles surrounded her at her old church came up, then articles with her name mentioned because of her community volunteering contributions, and a Facebook profile hardly used besides a few published photos of her family and a profile picture from a time where Wanda’s hair was shorter and blonder than it presently was.

It was later in the evening when you wished to let Wanda know that your parents loved the dessert she made that you realised you didn’t have her number nor did she have yours.

Wanda’s family did not come over for dinner that night.

You took special care in washing her empty dish clean- the best one could do cleaning a dish for confections.

Twinges of embarrassment ran through you as you envisioned yourself through another’s perspective, making a fuss over a dish as an excuse to see your neighbour. You convinced yourself it’s what all cordial neighbours would do.

With that, you shut the kitchen light off and went to bed internally conjuring up every phrase you’d bring up to Wanda later that next morning.

Deciding to keep up good impressions, you woke up earlier that morning around nine. Dressed up for the visit across the street, you walked over to Wanda’s house.

It was a nice morning. It wasn’t actively snowing, but glistening white blankets covered the sidewalks and the street’s roofs. The sun was beaming down on you, enough to warm the tip of your nose yet maintain the brisk chill of winter.

With the dish balanced in one hand, you knocked on Wanda’s front door. You could see the warm gold and red outline of a Christmas tree past the living room’s partially opaque curtains and a variety of plants that decorated the windowsill.

The front door opened and your neighbour appeared dressed in a tan dress and sheer black latex tights. She seemed to be ready to head out.

“Y/N,” Wanda breathed your name out, a smile on her red lips. “Hello.”

You answered, tempted to look past her and into the warm ornate Christmas decorations in her house, “Hi. I wanted to return your dish. My parents really liked it. They told me to thank you.”

“Oh, yes,” Wanda said, looking down at the dish in your hands. “Come in. I’m happy you all enjoyed the dessert.” She closed the door behind you and a wave of deja-vu came over you as you recalled yesterday afternoon.

The subtle scent of homemade treats and cinnamon enveloped you as you stepped into the warm home.

Wanda lifted an earring from her palm and turned to look into the small mirror beside the door. “I’m just getting ready for mass. Vision is at work and the boys are at school. Do you have any place to be?”

She looked over at you from the mirror once both gold stud earrings were put on.

“No, nothing planned for today,” you replied finally.

Wanda took her dish from your hands carefully and headed into her kitchen. She offered, her voice echoing through the hallways to you still standing in front of the door, “Then would you like to accompany me to church? I’m not volunteering this morning- just attending the service.”

“Would it be okay? I don’t think I’ve ever been to your church although I’ve lived so close for a while.”

You heard a small amused laugh from Wanda in the kitchen. “Of course. The church is open to all- newcomers and old,” she answered.

You bristled at that terminology.

Newcomer.

Even if you accepted her offer, you didn’t anticipate being a regular attendant.

Wanda returned to the living room with her purse slung over her shoulder and a winter coat on. She leaned down beside you to slip a pair of heeled Oxfords. “Let the message of Christ dwell among you richly as you teach and admonish one another with all wisdom through psalm…” she recalled the Bible verse, “hymns, and songs from the Spirit, singing to God with gratitude in your hearts.”

When she straightened, she was smiling over at you. “Attending mass is always a pleasure for me. I would like to extend that joy to you. But it is your choice. You don’t have to come.”

Though she gave you every opportunity to deny her, to turn away and say that you would rather occupy your day doing something else, you found it difficult to envision any sort of dejection as you peered at her curious green eyes through her rimless glasses.

Without a moment’s thought, you answered, “I’d love to go.”

Your neighbour’s smile upturned into a grin and she nodded once. “Perfect. I was planning on walking as Vision has the car. I hope you don’t mind.”

“I have my car parked in the garage, I could drive us both there,” you offered immediately, stepping back to allow Wanda to open her front door and step out onto her porch with you.

With a cheerful chirp and a beaming smile, Wanda spoke, “Sounds like a plan.” After locking the door behind her, she hooked an arm around yours and the two of you crossed the road together. You helped Wanda into the passenger's seat and then slid into your own.

On the way there, Wanda discussed more of her religious upbringing with you once you asked her about her passions. You worried you were imposing yourself too harshly on someone you had only just begun to know, but curiosity got the best of you.

Wanda Maximoff was a traditional churchgoing housewife with two children and a perfect marriage. She baked for your family and offered to take you to one of her church’s masses. She was perhaps the kindest woman you’d ever known.

How could you stand to reserve your questions about her personal alignments any longer?

Fortunately, Wanda seemed open to sharing with you what you were curious about. Her mom was, alike to her, a hardworking stay-at-home mother who tended to her and her twin brother in their childhood. Her father was a tireless man who worked every hour possible to earn for his family. It seemed the differences between her families was generational, wherein family dynamics and generational wealth shifted somewhat since Wanda last lived under her parents’ roof.

Through schooling and religious camps, she met her husband at the age of nineteen. He was her summer camp counsellor who was nearly seven years her senior.

Her parents loved Vision, a well-mannered man with priorities set well into the future and capable of supporting a family of three- perhaps even up to two more members if they ever wished to grow. They settled down when Wanda was twenty-two.

Now at thirty-three, Wanda was still happily married with two twin boys in a quiet neighbourhood wherein she had a high standing at her local church and general community.

As a college student yourself, her feats were daunting but impressive all the same. Wanda was an amazing woman.

Thus, the number of well wishes and brief conversations Wanda partook in as the two of you walked from the church’s parking lot to the building’s vast front doors did not come as a surprise to you.

Though it had struck you as odd as you noticed how adverse Wanda was to introducing you to members from church and her other community friends.

Unless any of them mentioned you as you stood right beside her, she wouldn’t mention you at all. Even the most obvious of referrals to you, eye contact made or a nod in your direction, would be ignored. If it wasn’t the most explicit of mentions of your being there, Wanda would squeeze her arm around yours and walk ahead with you.

Wanda would introduce you along the lines of, ‘This is my neighbour, Y/N. She’s come to spend the holidays at home.’

‘How kind of her to come attend mass with you,’ they would say.

Wanda would nod politely, though uncharacteristically without any further remarks. Even compliments on her choir sessions and composed songs which Wanda would typically flush at and dismiss as overt flattery were responded to with unadorned expressions of gratitude.

Finally, the two of you took a seat at the front pews, Wanda’s hand on your hip.

“Come sit close to me, Y/N,” she told you, hushed. “We don’t want to get separated.”

With your head ducked and your chin tucked close to your chest, you whispered, “Do we have to sit so close to the front? There are some seats at the back.”

“We must sit up front and pray as such. Settle here with me. I will show you how to worship.” She took your hand and led you down into the pew.

You sat down beside her, shuffling right and left in accordance with the rest of the church’s members also taking their respective seats on the same pew as you and Wanda. But with a hand on your knee, she kept you close.

Wanda kept a watchful eye on those around the two of you as if hoping to me keenly observant of something. Then, the priest, dressed in his black alb that nearly reached the floors, created an illusion that he was gliding across the front of the church. He reached the front, by the podium and its microphone, and exchanged a few silent greetings with those sitting at the front pews.

In response to a small wave from him, Wanda nodded cordially at the priest.

Wanda slipped her jacket off. It pooled by her hips and she placed her purse between her hip and yours. You did the same with your jacket.

The church’s service progressed, a series of kneeling and standing, hands clasped together and chins tipped upwards. You listened to Wanda sing along with the church hymns while you followed from a songbook.

The mass sang a handful of Christmas songs and you were amused as you listened to Wanda sing.

She did have a nice voice. It was soothing and demurely sweet.

You should’ve expected it, but you were stunned all the same. She was a model woman, a model Catholic, a model wife and human being. You looked away from her then, at the realisation of her sterling magnificence.

Suddenly, as if she had been aware of the way you stared at her throughout the entire service and was attuned to every shift of your focus, Wanda looked down her shoulder at you, who was slumped slightly down onto the pew’s kneeler.

“Y/N…” Wanda whispered, eliciting your attention back up to her. “Are you paying attention?”

You nodded, correcting your posture to kneel as Wanda was.

“But each person is tempted when they are dragged away by their own evil desire and enticed,” the priest continued to read from the Bible perched up on the pedestal. “Then, after desire has conceived, it gives birth to sin; and sin, when it is full-grown, gives birth to death.”

Gentle flipping of the thin pages echoed through the church’s speakers and he continued, “For all that is in the world, the lust of the flesh, and the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life, is not of the Father, but is of the world.”

“Will we be seeing you next mass, Ms Maximoff?” the priest asked by the exits of the church once the service came to an end.

You stood beside Wanda, awkwardly, averting your eyes from those that passed you who peered at you curiously, an unfamiliar face standing beside perhaps the most well-known member of the church.

“Are you alright?” a voice suddenly cooed.

You looked up from the ornately tiled floor to the woman beside you- Wanda, looking over you with a curious gaze. You managed a nod, perhaps one that was at least almost convincing.

But Wanda looked at you for several moments more.

She bid a farewell to the priest and hooked her arm around yours. Then, wordlessly, the two of you walked past the opposite flow of people walking by the two of you.

You rounded a corner together, revealing an empty hallway that led to a closed room at its end. Moving forward, Wanda turned the knob and allowed the two of you in.

A silent room enveloped you, the colourful stained windows reflecting a soft myriad of colours into the four-walled room. Smaller, then, the two of you moved forward, to what appeared to be a wide wooden closet.

Wanda unhooked a latch, pulling the door open and stepping into the confessional booth. She tugged you towards her then closed the same wooden door, confining the two of you to the right wooden box.

You could hear your heartbeat in your ears, you could feel it in your fingertips.

Your breath hitched and Wanda placed her hands on your hips, stepping forward into the tight booth and removing any space from you.

“Y/N…” she whispered, her voice a fragile gust of warm breath. “The prodigal daughter, how terribly I’ve fantasised of you. You are all I’ve ever hoped for myself.”

Her hand found your cheek, fingers fondling your soft skin and running her nails down to your chin gently. “So brave and kind,” she continued. “So smart. And pretty.” Her cheek pressed against yours, her lips ghosting against the lobe of your ear.

“Wanda…” you muttered, turning your head and disconnecting your cheek from her own. But she moved closer again.

“Trapped in a marriage like mine, a studious child then an ever-dedicated wife and mother. Never having any other path, Y/N. You…” Wanda pulled away from you to look into your eyes. “I admire you.”

One of her legs moved past yours so Wanda could turn your body and push you downwards onto the seat of the confessional. Her dress hiked up her satin-covered thighs as she sat herself down on your lap, her purse and jacket a forgotten mess on the floor of the booth.

“Only a moment passed after your mother firstly told me about you- her bright daughter studying the program of her choice in a campus hours away- and it was only that very moment it took for me to become taken by you,” Wanda recalled.

She placed both hands on either side of your face, making you look up at her. “You lied to me when I woke you up that afternoon. You’re so considerate of an old woman like me.”

Her words were a nonsensical score as she spoke, “Everything I’ve ever done- planned, written out, premeditated. Otherwise engaged. Unfulfilled.”

She took her glasses off and placed them by the edge of the seat.

All you could hear in the confines of what was nothing to you but a wooden closet was the racing of your heartbeat and the hasty inhales and exhales of your shaky breaths.

Nevertheless, Wanda continued. Her hips began moving down against your lap. Her thumbs stroked your cheekbones in what felt like admiration.

“But Y/N… you were so sudden. I don’t want to wait- don’t want to pretend I’m not counting down the moments until you shove a hand up my dress and run your fingers through my wet cunt.”

Your eyes widened and you bucked upwards in a sudden panicked realisation of Wanda’s intentions, which only elicited a small whimper from the older woman. You watched as her thighs spread apart further, allowing your lap increased access to the clothed pulse of her desire.

“You’re married to Vision, and-and with Tommy and Billy…” You fumbled your words as you racked through the logistics in your mind, “And you’re my neighbour. You’re a friend of my parents.”

“You’re making excuses,” Wanda reprimanded. Her grip on your face became tighter, ever so slightly so the tips of her fingers pressed into the hollow areas beside the corners of your jaw. “What’s next? I’m too old for you? Not pretty enough? Maybe I’m not tight enough for a young girl like you?”

Her head tipped to the side inquisitively. Her eyes were solemn, though you couldn’t tell whether it was from a sincere feeling of dejection or not.

“No!” you protested with a fervent shake of your head. “Wanda, you’re-”

“Unappealing, then. I don’t attract you.”

Her eyes were sharp, piercing through your skull as if to interrogate you.

You blinked up at her, simultaneously bewildered and intrigued at the woman perched up above you. Had a potency like this only been slumbering beyond her unassuming smiles since you’d first met her?

Further, your mind wandered, curious about this angle of her and where her thoughts and feelings had hidden before now.

“I think you’re beautiful,” you admitted. “I really do.”

A pleased smile came over your neighbour, gracing her features and bringing with it the delicate expression you thought you had known. “Then? What limits you now, from indulging in what you want?”

You answered, simply, perhaps simply enough for her to become enraged at your response, “Matrimony.” But Wanda did not become angry. She laughed.

“Suddenly the virtues of the Lord concern you?” she questioned, her eyebrows furrowing together in a strange upwards curl. You didn’t respond right away, for you had nothing to say, nothing to supplement your sudden hesitation.

Wanda’s hands untensed from your face and she tipped your head upwards, supportively. Coaxingly. “Though I can’t say I’m surprised,” she whispered, though there was no need to veil either of your volumes in the enclosed room you were in.

In Wanda’s eyes, you were free, untouched by the manacles of a stubborn future and all its entails. And conversely, you were still restrained by your morality.

You were there, hanging from the precipice of indulgence and convention.

Wanda stroked your cheek with the back of her knuckles. Who would be more worthy to teach you the ways of the Lord than her?

“I’ve thought it through,” she said. “This is why I’ve brought us here. A booth of confessions and an absolute absolve of sin- anything unholy and unfaithful. Nothing is sinful in the house of Christ. My Y/N, anything we shall do here is our own. The Lord will forgive me. He will forgive us.”

Then, in a shaky exhale, Wanda spoke, “Take me as your own, Y/N.”

Your lips parted and you looked up at her in shock.

One hand detached from the side of your head and Wanda took your wrist with her hand. Then in a swiftly-led sleight of hand, your palm was pressed against her breast. With her fingers placed behind each of your own, she made you squeeze the malleable swell beyond her dress. Her head lolled back, the smooth plain of her neck and expanse of her throat becoming exposed to you.

“All yours,” Wanda sighed. Her head moved forward and she met your eyes again, though her body was arched backwards so she could roll the space between her thighs against your lap. “I will give you my body, my vessel and my blessed spirit. Oh, Y/N, take me, please.”

A small space formed in the centre of your lips when they parted in attempts to protest. But Wanda was faster.

She pulled herself forward and her chest slammed against your own, your warm breaths mingling within the mere inches between your faces in a sharp exhale at the impact. “Please,” she pried once more. The tip of her nose brushed against yours. “I want you.”

A sharp gasp escaped from beyond Wanda’s now faded red lips when your hands met her hips and you pushed her off of your lap. Initially, she slipped backwards, but your arms rounded her waist and you pulled her to the opposite side of the bench within the limited space you had in the booth.

“Y/N-”

You stood from your seat and slid a knee between both of Wanda’s. With a nudge, you parted her thighs and leaned down to capture her lips with your own.

It was a harsh action, for Wanda winced and she pulled away at the taste of blood. Your fingers wrapped around the back of her neck and prevented her from moving away. Painfully, lips pressed against the clashing of teeth.

Still, perhaps out of instinct or an intrinsic desire to be tamed, Wanda reached up and pushed at your shoulders.

Your hand reached down and pulled her dress up her thighs so they wrapped around her waist. The hem of her dress scraped against her skin as you did, and although her upper thighs were clothed by her satin tights, Wanda hissed from the contact and its sudden sharp pain.

Nails raked down against her soft lower stomach when your hand slipped further up her dress and tugged her translucent black tights down so they slipped down and pooled around her ankles.

Wanda’s arms reached up and wrapped around your neck, pulling your face down to her level. She kissed you again but you remained towering above her.

One of your arms pressed against the wooden wall behind Wanda’s head to perch yourself up, and the other travelled down between her thighs.

Your lips parted occasionally in soft wet pops between breathless pants.

Slender fingers shot down between Wanda’s legs, red manicured fingernails tucking themselves beyond the hem of her wet panties. You slapped Wanda’s wrist and her eyebrows furrowed in frustration when her hand jerked away from her core. But you were quick to appease and pulled her panties down for her.

Her slick made the soaked fabric of her underwear stick to her folds briefly before they were pulled down entirely. Wanda’s spread thighs halted the downwards descent of her panties and they snagged at the edges of her parted knees.

Cold fingertips pushed through the older woman’s sticky lips and Wanda shuddered. Her head lolled to the side, her chin meeting her shoulder.

Before returning back to holding yourself up above her, your hand wrapped around one of Wanda’s thighs and pulled her leg up around your hips so you could angle your wrist between her thighs more comfortably.

Weakly, she tried to hold her leg up around your waist. You stepped forward so her leg bent backwards further and you could hold her up with the pressure of your front. Her other leg focused on staying as parted from the other as the confinement of her panties wrapped around her knees would allow.

Finally, your fingers delved past the rim of Wanda’s opening. Your digits were warmed by her smooth walls and her back arched from her seat.

“My Lord…” Wanda moaned out, her lips pulling upwards in a wide grin. “I offer my thanks for the pleasures of the flesh- of my sacred body.”

You tucked your face in the crook of Wanda’s exposed neck. Your tongue ran up the pulse of her neck, eliciting a long moan from your neighbour.

Two fingers spread apart and curled within Wanda’s walls and the sweet sound of her parting pussy reached your ears. With the space you made for yourself, your fingers picked up speed and your arm surged forward then back.

Wanda was a melted mess against the booth’s wooden partition. Her hips jerked up desperately for more contact but her loose hold of her leg around your waist offered no leverage. She was left to arch and whine helplessly underneath you.

“Y/N,” she breathed out, her eyes fluttering open to look at you. But your face was buried deep within her neck, nipping and sucking at every inch of her soft skin that your lips danced across. She exhaled again, sharply this time, “Y/N!”

Regrettably, you parted yourself from the warm enveloping and lifted your head to look up at Wanda.

Her eyebrows were stitched together and her expression was contorted. If one could not hear the melodic sounds coming from her, one might even think she was in pain. But despite her position, helpless and without any semblance of leverage over you, the corners of Wanda’s lips arched up into a satisfied grin still, though granted it was one that quivered.

“Faster. I’m going to come,” she panted out.

You abided by Wanda's wishes and, rapidly, your fingers quickened. The confessional booth shook as you thrusted your fingers into her. Wanda’s shoulders jerked backwards in response to each entry, the pain near bruising.

“Oh, God…” she trembled. “Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity and cleanse me from my sin.”

You advanced forward so her knee pressed into her chest. You silently mused at the way Wanda’s leg bent backwards further to allow for you to push yourself against her.

Your forehead pressed against her own and with open eyes, you watched the contortion of Wanda’s face and the parting of her lips, the rising and falling of her breasts beyond her dress as she panted.

One arm slipped from around your neck and reached back. Wanda’s fingers grasped at the metal divide of ornate patterns against the partition.

You groped at her breast, switching periodically as her chest heaved.

“Have mercy on me, my Lord,” Wanda whimpered, her eyes screwed shut so tight that she saw wisps against the insides of her eyelids. Scattered psalms and Bible verses spilled from her lips and reached your ears in such an abrupt and perpetual way that nearly made you question if you were the God that Wanda cried out for, the Lord she presently worshipped as her slick dripped down her inner thighs and coated the seat beneath her.

A sharp yelp came from Wanda’s constricted throat, “Ah, Y/N! I’m going to… my God, my holy God, I repent! I repent for my-”

Her voice broke and she cried out.

“Y/N!”

The last arm hanging from around your neck tightened around you as she came, raspy cries leaving her throat raw as she moaned out strings of your name.

Her body turned to mush the moment the last waves of Wanda’s orgasm washed over her. Her leg slipped from around your waist and her fingers tumbled from the partition’s divide.

Weak pants left her as her eyes shut, too fatigued to even keep them open. Wanda’s body was slumped back down against the wooden wall behind her. Her body shuddered and she groaned uncomfortably when you slipped your fingers out of her hole.

“Wanda…” you whispered. “Are you okay?”

Your arm wrapped around her waist and you helped her sit up. The older woman only hummed out a tired moan in response, her head nodding ever so slightly.

Your coated fingers slipped past your lips and you ran your tongue across it, licking it clean of Wanda’s tangy-sweet juices. Your hand moved forward to her mouth and your thumb swiped across her soft bottom lip.

Wanda’s tongue darted out weakly to taste herself on her lips.

You met hers with your own in a soft kiss and her eyes fluttered open. She kissed you back and smiled against your mouth.

She uttered softly, her whisper raspy and evident of the effects her cries had on her throat, “Do you want to leave now?”

“Not yet.”

You got down between her thighs and pulled her panties down further so they fell to her ankles atop of her tights. Wanda chuckled and repositioned herself on top of you. Her hands found either side of your head, steering you gently as you kissed her lower stomach and hips. She hummed, feeling pleased while your lips ran across her rolls and stretch marks.

Soft tufts of wispy hair tickled your upper lip as you travelled south. You pressed gentle kisses to Wanda’s outer lips.

When you finally buried your nose into her cunt and dragged your tongue through her folds, Wanda grinned. Your thumbs delved into her slick petal-like folds and spread them apart, allowing your tongue to lap up the sweet nectar of Wanda’s pleasure. Her head fell back against the wall behind her. Her fingers played with the hair at the back of your neck as her back arched up from her seat once more.

Three more orgasms racked through her body before you left the confessional together.

“Did I guilt you earlier, Y/N?” Wanda asked as the two of you exited the church. It was empty, the service long concluded by the time you finished with her. She tightened her jacket lapels around her as the cold winter air enveloped her warm body. After being in the stuffy confessional booth for nearly an hour, it was a harsh awakening. “Did you touch me out of pity?”

You turned to her when you reached your car in the empty parking lot. It had snowed a notable amount since the last time you were out. “No,” you answered. “You didn’t guilt me into anything. I did what I did because I wanted to.”

“Truly, I didn’t mean to force you,” she continued despite your answer. She stood on the other side of your car’s hood, her words leaving her in white tendrils in the cold air. “I was under the impression you felt the same passion for me. Was I mistaken?”

From across the snowy hood of your car, you peered at her. At least now, you knew more in the field of reading her. Her words were not accusing nor vexed. They were words of reflection, the lingering sentiments of having partaken in what she did with a girl so much younger than she.

But Wanda wasn’t feeling guilty, was she?

Did she regret what she’d done?

You looked away from her and moved to the back of the car to get the snow brush from the trunk. “It wasn’t a mistake,” you uttered though the side of your car shrouded you as you finished your answer.

You unlocked the car and heard Wanda slip into the passenger’s seat while you brushed the loose yet thick layers of snow from the vehicle.

Once the snow was cleaned from the car and you put the brush back into the trunk, you got into the driver’s seat.

An inevitable silence came over the two of you as you started the car and waited for the engine to warm up.

Thick flakes of snow, perhaps each half an inch wide, fell scattered and delicately onto the windshield only to melt into clear crystals once the heat from the car warmed it.

“Do you regret it?” you asked suddenly, your voice a low hum synonymous with the buzz of the running car.

Much to your relief, Wanda answered through a soft sigh, “No.” She turned her head and looked at you. “I don’t.”

Then it was your turn to feel some streak of guilt.

“Not for a moment in my life have I ever done anything so spontaneous,” she told you. “It felt so wonderful to make a decision like that on my own, on little premeditated thought.”

“You’re married,” you pressed, turning your gaze towards her.

Wanda urged, “I didn’t choose that. I love my boys, as does my husband. But, Y/N, what we did was something that I’d chosen. Do you understand?”

You shook your head.

She took your hand, moving it from your own lap to on top her thigh. She stroked the back of your hand with her thumb soothingly. “I do not regret it,” Wanda stated firmly.

Then she continued. “But I will not act under the pretence that you do not have every chance to make something more of yourself,” she added, eliciting your curiosity. You peered at her through her glasses.

“I do not wish to deny you any opportunity because of what we’ve done. You are not in my debt because of what you’ve given me.”

You felt your face contort at the statement and you pulled your hand away from her. “You aren’t a price to pay, Wanda. You’re not a substitute or a stepping stone,” you said.

She scoffed. “Please. Don’t you know how old I am now, Y/N?” Wanda inquired, though you knew it was rhetorical. “I have two ten-year-old children and a husband of eleven years. There is nothing I can give you that you cannot receive from someone younger, a selection as easy as picking a ripe fruit from a blossoming tree. I have nothing to bear for you.”

“You think that concerns me? It doesn’t. If it should have, then I wouldn’t have come to the service with you today,” you informed her plainly. The way in which you spoke such devotion to her bewildered Wanda. The confidence in your admission as if it were common knowledge- it planted something unsteady in her.

“You speak of the confidence your choices give you, but what of mine?” you said. “What we did, it was not done only because you chose and I swayed. In my own decision, I was unambiguous. There’s nothing more to it.”

Wanda’s breaths were steady and her blinks even-tempered. After a moment, her lips parted and she spoke, “You choose this? With me?”

“With everything in me capable of acting on my volition.”

“Which is plenty?” she attempted to clarify.

“Plenty enough to fill a dozen churches and several more.”

A sharp barely audible inhale came from Wanda and she straightened.

Then, in a swift and careful motion, she leaned over and kissed you.

The car’s heating was left on as you pulled Wanda onto your lap. You unzipped her dress and unclipped her bra, pressing kisses to her soft breasts and mapping her body out with your hands. Your lips wrapped around her rosy nipples. Her lipstick stains decorated your face in gentle shades of faded red.

Her arms wrapped around your body as she bounced on top of you, welcoming your fingers into her once again. And again, and again.

The two of you fucked in that otherwise empty church parking lot until you both grew tired, after which you dressed Wanda back up in her clothes.

Sitting on your lap with her head on your shoulder, Wanda uttered, “Hear my soul speak. Of the very instant that I saw you, did my heart fly at your service.”

“Which verse was that?” you whispered back.

“It’s not a Bible verse. It’s Shakespeare,” she answered and kissed your neck. Your eyes fluttered shut as did Wanda’s, her hand brushing against your cheek softly.

Wanda lifted her head. When you opened your eyes, she was looking down at you. A smile was on her face and her bottom lip was taken between her teeth. “Years it’s been since I’ve quoted him,” she thought aloud.

She tucked your hair behind your ear and kissed the tip of your nose. She then confessed, “I’ve missed it gravely.”

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda x reader #marvel smut #wanda maximoff fanfiction #marvel fanfiction

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aesopsharpmybeloved · 1 year

Text

Of Care and Control

Fifty one days, or the de-stressing of Aesop Sharp - A nasty slander pushes the already stressed professor to lose his temper. Fortunately, his sweetheart is close by.

Shout out to my amazing consultant/co-author @tea-withjamandbread!

gif amateurly made by yours truly

18+! GO AWAY CHILDREN!

Of Care and Control (5.6k words)

tw: explicit, vaginal sex, rough sex, blowjob, slight angst, teacher-student relationship (reader is adult), mostly aesop's pov, aesop sharp needs a hug and a good f*ck apparently, porn with a bit of plot

Aesop didn’t think his expectations were unreasonable. He was teaching a difficult subject, one in which a single mistake could turn fatal. And as much as the students often wracked his last nerve, he didn't want any of them to actually die, especially not in his classroom. Matilda would be most displeased with him… So he pushed hard, trying to get into their heads the importance of studying and preparing for his class. He didn't care if none of them ever brewed a single potion again after they were finished with Hogwarts, however, while they were in his classroom, he required their absolute focus. No, he didn't think his expectations were unreasonable at all. And yet, many seemed to disagree.

And, as he was making his rounds around the students' cauldrons, he unfortunately heard one of them disagreeing in a rather foul manner.

“Maybe if I spent as much time in his office as (L/N) does, I’d get an Outstanding as well…”

It was like a kick to the stomach.

“Maybe if you spent half as much time studying and honing your skills as Miss (L/N) does, instead of chatting and sending notes to your friends during class, you would get better than a Dreadful!” Aesop snapped back immediately, his voice loud and eyes dark and stormy.

The fifth year Ravenclaw, Wilhelmina Adler, closed her mouth and stared at him fearfully. Her pale cheeks were getting red: "S-sir! I'm-... I'm sorry, I-I didn't mean anythi-" "Save it,” he said coldly, not letting her finish her sentence. “Finish your potion, clean up your mess, and leave. I'm choosing to believe what you just said was only proof of your stupidity and ignorance, rather than actual malice, but I don't want you to speak in my classes anymore. I hope we understand each other."

And with that, Aesop turned around and stomped back to his desk. He sat into his chair heavily, still reeling with anger and frustration. He started reading through his curriculum for the rest of the week's classes to calm down, not even bothering to start grading the fourth years' essays, as he'd probably snap his quill in half.

When the class came to a close, he accepted each students’ bottled potion. Adler's hand was shaking when she deposited her very poorly brewed Draught of Peace. Sophoria Franklin's potion was the best, that much he could tell by giving it a single look, and though he was still very tense, he forced his face into the tiniest little smile as he congratulated the young lady on her work.

After his classroom became student-free, he uncorked the potion and gave it a whiff. It did seem to be close to perfect, and it was in fact the only one of the potions the students brewed he would actually drink. And was he feeling like drinking it right now…

Now, Miss Adler probably wasn't cruel, but she was idiotic to no end, and something about what she said made a nasty feeling flutter about the potions master's stomach.

Yes, his young lover did get excellent marks in his class, but they were always deserved. It was obvious to everyone who ever saw her working that she excels in the subject. She had a keen mind, and her technique was flawless. How could it not be - she brewed almost as often as Aesop himself, he's been in her Room of Requirement and saw her potion stations. He didn't play favourites with her, he never needed to. Every mark, every praise and compliment he ever gave the young woman was well deserved and he would've given them to anyone who'd do such a good job.

But then… What if more people began thinking along the same lines as Miss Adler? What if all of (F/N)'s work and effort got somehow perversely transformed into a conviction that their relationship is perhaps transactional? That his sweetheart slept with him to get a good grade.

Aesop grabbed Adler's potion roughly and threw it on the ground. The vial shattered and the brown gooey substance inside spilled onto the floor.

Idiot girl.

If he was being honest with himself, it wasn't the implication that angered him the most, as he knew that to be untrue. (F/N) loved him. He loved her. And in just fifty one days, they'll no longer be a student and her professor.

What angered him, and more importantly, what terrified him was the potential rumour itself. He often worried he was hurting his lover by keeping her for himself, when she could do so much better, but she kept proving to him, again and again, that this worry was silly - the happiness he often saw in her eyes when they were together… If he could make her this happy, maybe he wasn't so bad for her after all. But now… now he was terrified that he'd end up hurting her by ruining her reputation.

The logical part of him knew her friends would never believe such a rumour, nor would anyone who knew her at least a little bit, anyone who actually saw her in his class. But what if some other idiot student would? What if the words spread so much that some people would just accept them as the truth. Fifty one days was not a long time, but it was definitely enough to make a lot of damage in somebody's life. It was enough to hurt someone's feelings.

With a flick of his wand, Aesop cleaned up the mess. He took the fourth years' essays into his office, where the seventh years' little pop quiz waited to be graded as well. He needed to get out of his head, and perhaps burying himself in work would help. It was going to be a long afternoon and evening.

—

“Hey, you,” said the young woman herself, leaning against the door frame. Aesop barely lifted his head to greet her, all of his attention seemingly on the pop quiz answers he’s been grading. Except he hasn’t written anything for at least an hour now. “You missed dinner,” she spoke again, entering the office and closing the door behind herself. She used a locking, as well as a silencing charm her potions master taught her on the room.

“Wasn’t hungry,” Aesop grumbled with a sigh, and finally put down his completely dry quill. He lifted his gaze, but he still wasn’t looking at her. Not really looking.

“Sophoria Franklin told me what happened today. What Adler said, that is,” the eighteen year old came closer, studying the professor carefully. “Please tell me that’s not what’s gotten you into this mood?” Aesop was quiet, finally looking at his young lover. Her gaze was filled with nothing but love and kindness. He sighed, closing his eyes. His elbows came to rest on his desk while his fingers began massaging his temples.

“I just…” he started, his voice barely above a whisper, low and slightly hoarse, “it bothers me. Not because there’s any truth to it, by Merlin, no… But I-... I hate that someone could speak of you in such a vile manner. While a few people know about the true nature of our relationship, many only know that we meet often, that we’re close… I’m not stupid, we’re in a school, it’d be very unusual for there not to be gossip, but I hoped it wouldn’t get quite this… cruel. And especially to you. I don‘t want your name to be dragged through the mud because of me.”

The young woman released a sigh of her own, and Aesop suddenly realised she moved to stand behind him at some point. Her small, warm hands soon stroked his shoulders, while her fingers worked on untangling the knots that formed in his muscles after hours of nearly motionless sitting in his chair.

“Such a clever man and such silly thoughts,” she said. It wasn’t the first time Sharp heard this sentence, and he was positive it wouldn’t be the last time either. The girl leaned over his shoulder so she could brush her lips against his cheekbone. “Nobody who knows either of us would ever believe such nonsense,” she spoke quietly, resting her head against his own then, her fingers still massaging the muscles in his shoulders and back. “Neither your friends nor mine would ever even entertain the thought. If anything, they’d be just as upset as you. They are, actually.”

The potions master made a soft inquiring sound. “Sophoria also told me that Amit screamed at Wilhelmina in the common room, when he found out what she said. Amit Thakkar, of all people!” The girl actually chuckled. “You and I know what we have together, what we feel for each other. And, as you said, a chosen few know as well. That's the reality and the truth. Why would you care what some brain-dead fifth year thinks?”

Sharp sighed once more. He rolled his shoulders slowly, pleased to find his muscles relaxed and free of any pain. The heavy dark clouds covering his mind slowly dissipated, revealing a brilliant star filled sky behind them. “You’re right,” he whispered, his eyes still closed, his head resting against (F/N)’s, “I suppose I got a little too… worked up. It’s been quite hectic lately, all the essays, exams and consultations, we barely have any time. I’ll admit I’m feeling a little stressed.”

The former Auror swore he could almost hear the girl’s grin as she took a step back from him. Aesop immediately missed her body’s warmth. Oh so slowly, she walked into his field of view, and moved to sit on the edge of his desk. Her legs crossed elegantly. “Why, that is exactly why I’m here, Professor Sharp,” she chirped sweetly, her foot bobbing up and down frivolously. The soft smooth skin of her shin and calf peeked at the potions master enticingly from under the long Ravenclaw robes, and Aesop’s hand immediately went to close around her slim ankle, seemingly on its own accord.

“Miss (L/N)...” he purred in a low voice, “you seem to have forgotten to put on your stockings today…” His large calloused hand slid over the exposed skin, pushing the robes out of the way slowly, teasingly. The young woman’s smile got even wider with every inch of skin he uncovered with his gentle ministrations. “Oh, sir,” she replied in kind, “I happen to have forgotten to put on everything else as well…” And with that, (F/N) opened her Ravenclaw robe and let it slide down her shoulders. It pooled around her hips where she was sitting on his desk, revealing her young delicate body to her lover’s hungry eyes. Her nipples immediately hardened in the cool air of the dungeon office.

It wasn’t the only thing that hardened right away. While Aesop tried to stifle it, a quiet groan escaped from somewhere in the back of his throat. Both of his hands now gripped her legs, fingers digging into the flesh of her calves as he looked her up and down with hooded eyes. Sweet Merlin, she looked like a feast, and Aesop just realised that he was famished.

However, before he could pull her legs apart and eat his fill, she slid from the edge of his desk to stand in front of him in all of her naked glory. “You with your layers…” She said with a dramatic sigh, her smaller hands coming to undo his cravat, which she then proceeded to toss somewhere over her left shoulder. She then placed her hands on her hips, standing tall in front of him, everything on display for Aesop and Aesop alone. Without another word, he slipped his overcoat and jacket off, hanging them on the backrest of his chair, before he spread his legs and brought his sweetheart even closer by her hips.

His heated, rough face made contact with the impossibly soft skin of her sternum, his hands now stroking her ribs, making her shiver slightly. He kissed every single inch of her he could reach, his mouth soon finding the curve of her breasts. Aesop dragged his teeth over the warm sensitive flesh until he reached a nipple. His tongue circled the aorela’s edge, before he kissed the little hard bead lovingly, sucking it into his mouth shortly. Her other breast received similar treatment. His arms chased her when she stepped back, desperately wanting to pull the young woman back to him.

There was a kittenish smile on her face, when he opened his eyes again. She’s dropped to her knees before him, crawling closer once more. He was already breathing hard, his mind absolutely clouded by lust. His trousers were way too tight, his undergarments getting a little damp, his chest was feeling too hot and he could feel sweat seeping into his undershirt. Her head dropped to his thigh as she watched him blindly and clumsily open up the buttons of his waistcoat and shirt, trying to rid himself of their cottony confines. His suspenders were pushed down carelessly before he pulled open his undershirt as well, making a few buttons scatter over the floor next to (F/N)’s legs.

“My, my, a little impatient, aren’t we, love?” she cooed before she let one of her hands slide up his leg and push against his straining erection. Aesop let out a groan. It’s been more than a few days since they were last intimate together, and his yearning was only made worse by the stressful schedule he had now.

He knew she was longing for him as well, having covertly received her handwritten letter with her last essay. He had to admit, she was very talented when it came to writing erotic letters, if the way his body arched off the bed upon his climax a few days ago was any proof. He read and reread the words she wrote, trying to catch a whiff of the gentle smell of her perfume from the parchment, all the while tugging at himself desperately, imagining his hand to be hers, imagining doing the things she described in her letter.

However, now she was kneeling right in front of him, her face getting closer and closer to his crotch, and she was very much real. She nuzzled her face into the bulge at the front of his trousers, making him run a hand through his own hair, a few strands sticking to his face damply. “Oh, Merlin,” he groaned when he felt her tongue even through the two layers covering his poor throbbing cock. Thin fingers came to undo his breeches as well as his drawers, pulling both down until they were bunched around his knees.

He gasped and opened his eyes when the cool air hit the heated manhood and another drop of precome formed on the swollen tip. The little vixen knew exactly what she was doing, knew just how desperate she was making him. The young woman came even closer, her face now directly over the teacher’s erection while her hands went to his hips and upwards, sneaking expertly under his open undershirt and coming to stroke at his ribs, his chest, fingers tangling into the dark hair there.

Just when her fingers slid over his nipples did she lower her mouth onto him slowly, and Aesop struggled to keep his eyes open and his hips from bucking up into her. She placed several small kisses against the glans, releasing a chuckle every time his cock throbbed and the crystal clear drop rolled down the shaft.

He saw her carefully cover her teeth with her lips like he taught her to, before she finally took him into her mouth. As with many things (F/N)(L/N) did, she proved to be a quick learner when it came to giving him pleasure this way. She wasn’t able to take all of him, as he was a large man after all, but she was enthusiastic and eager to please, not to mention very observant. When she took him in as much as she could, she hollowed out her cheeks and moved slowly back up, dragging her tongue over his underside. She started slowly repeating these motions, making sure to occasionally roll the glans around in her mouth, circling it with her tongue.

Aesop closed his fists around the armrests of his chair in a vice grip, so he didn’t grab her hair and push her down entirely, like his body was screaming at him to do. The idea of him filling her mouth and throat fully, holding her head in his hands and letting his hips roughly thrust into the tight heat, made a dark thrill run through him, as well as the first signal that if she carries on like this, it’s all going to be over too soon.

With a low moan, he gently pulled his young lover off his aching cock, caressing her cheek. “Oh, you are so lovely…” his voice rumbled through his chest when he saw her face. Her eyes were almost black with arousal, her cheeks were blushing furiously, and Aesop could see that a few drops of saliva escaped from her mouth and rolled down her chin. And yet, there was a little smile on her face, one that told him how much she loved him, and how much she was going to show him so.

The girl gave him a mock pout, her voice filled with mischief when she spoke: "Not good?" Aesop clenched his jaw, his own voice almost a growl: "We both know that were you even better, I'd have already come down your throat.” That made his sweetheart release a little whine and the professor only now noticed that while she was working him with her mouth, stroking what she couldn't take with one hand, the other hand was betweenher thighs, teasing at her own entrance. The sight made his already dark eyes darken even more.

“Come here. Now.”

It was obvious he wasn’t asking.��

And yet, the girl made no effort to get up, smiling up at him instead, her free hand still moving up and down his shaft languidly. Aesop was breathing hard. His self control was slipping rapidly now. His eyes were half pleading and half wild as he stared into her own intensely. The girl still didn't budge. Instead, she gave him one more mischievous smile before she suddenly took him in her mouth again, deeper than before, while simultaneously pushing her own fingers inside her and moaning around his cock.

Her teasing, the sight of her, the smell of her, the sounds… all of this after his dreadful day, after the days of longing and frustration, of pining and all the stress.

Something in Aesop snapped.

It was like a dam had broken through and he couldn’t do anything about it. “Oh, fucking hell!” he growled loudly and one-handedly picked the girl up from the floor. His free arm threw everything off the desk with a single swipe, and there was a flurry of parchment, quills and ink hitting the ground everywhere around them. At that moment, Aesop didn’t care about the shattering of glass, nor the black liquid that sprayed over the floor and some of the essays and quizzes that were sent flying. He didn’t even care about the surprised cry the Ravenclaw made when she was roughly pushed onto the now clear desk, her plush bottom hitting the sharp edge of it quite painfully.

He managed to muster up the last piece of his control: "If at any poin-" "If at any point I want you to stop, I'll say the word." his sweetheart said breathlessly, not yet having quite caught up to her current position. And with that, the last of his restraint left.

Finally.

His brain stopped working - its blood supply was severely shortened, as it was currently needed entirely elsewhere. His desire took the wheel, and it wanted to take.

He positioned himself at her entrance blindly, his cock held in an almost painful grip, and he filled her to the brim with a single harsh snap of his hips. The young woman yelped, and she trashed, unprepared for the sudden intrusion, but it was no use to her. One hand of the potion master came to connect her wrists above her head and held them there, while the other grabbed onto her thigh, keeping her nice and open for him, his fingers bruising the soft skin in their mean grip.

Aesop didn’t wait for her to adjust, immediately setting a fast pace, his thrusts hard and deep. The girl was soon reduced into a whimpering, wanton mess, her head still trashing as Professor Aesop Sharp fucked her with all the ferocity of a wild predatory beast. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t love every second of it. Not that speaking was exactly an option right now.

The professor leaned over and trapped her body under his own, putting an end to her back arching at the overwhelming sensations. He released her hands and her arms instantly wrapped around his back, holding onto him for dear life. The sudden sharp pain of (F/N)’s fingernails digging at his back made Sharp groan loudly into her ear, his hips shuddering midthrust, his fervour increasing. His arms went under her body, one hand grabbing her shoulder from below for better leverage, while the other knotted into her hair, pulling her head back and exposing her neck.

“Ae- Aesop!” she managed to grit out, her voice slurred, eyes screwed shut as her body shook in his arms. When the potions master spoke, he nearly didn’t recognise his own voice. Despite the tempest of pleasure and most primal animalistic desire raging through his body, setting all of his nerve endings on fire, his voice was almost calm, yet rough and impossibly low. “You- ah! You are a bloody tease, dear, “ he said right next to her ear, “now be a good girl and take it.” She moaned pitifully, her body already succumbing to its first climax, torn from her core suddenly, nearly violently. She was barely able to reciprocate the bruising kiss he pressed onto her lips then, her mind absolutely blank from the sudden explosion of endorphins.

He felt himself chuckle against her mouth breathlessly upon feeling his lover’s body answer to him so quickly, so readily, her thighs trembling with her orgasm, her eyes fluttering shut and eyebrows flying up, absolutely sinful sounds pouring from her lips. “That’s it…" he was barely able to know what he was saying, "that's it, sweetheart, that's a good girl. You’re taking my cock so well." His hips were rutting into hers harshly.

His scorching hot face buried into her even hotter neck, breathing in the perfume she used, perfectly mixing with her natural scent. It drove him completely wild. Aesop dragged his beard and teeth across her delicate skin, a thin film of sweat clinging to it.

"You're mine…" at this point, he really didn't recognise his own voice, the gruff and aloof potions professor turning into this wild, purely carnal animalistic being, who only wanted to take, to claim, to mark. With every move and touch, with every sound he was getting closer to his breaking point, the sensation rendering him unable to think clearly, to think at all. "Mine," he growled and bit into her neck. Hard. So hard that he could taste a bit of copper on his tongue. The girl's body tried in vain to buck against his own, her physique standing no chance against his considerable height and strength. She cried out, pleasure and pain mixing into a single word: "Yours!"

Aesop felt his body quickly approaching its climax, and sped up even more, pounding into his young lover at a brutal pace, grabbing her hips to help himself along. The desk was making small high pitched squeaky sounds, as the professor's hard thrusts made it slightly slide forward on the floor. One of (F/N)'s hands left his back to claw at the wooden surface next to her instead, leaving scratch marks in its wake.

He went harder. He bit more. He growled when a smaller hand pulled at his hair. He chuckled darkly when his young lover cried out unintelligibly again, coming for him for the second time, her soft body writhing and shuddering, her cunt squeezing him in a vice grip, milking his erection. He was mere seconds from joining her in her ecstasy.

He grabbed her by the hair again, forcing her to look at him. Aesop admired the way she was barely able to do so, her eyes unfocused, her mouth opened wide, her face entirely red. The girl was gasping hoarsely, looking so absolutely overwhelmed with pleasure, it was like she was struggling not to lose consciousness. The fact her hand was still in his own hair, that her legs were wrapped tightly around his hips, that while her eyes were unfocused, they were still filled with the same love and absolute devotion and trust, that's what threw the potions master over the edge.

His entire body shuddered, and Aesop bit into his lover's lower lip, a final loud moan leaving his throat as he did so. "M-mine," he rasped before screwing his eyes shut. A wave of pleasure exploded from his core, hitting him with the power of charging Graphorn, and his toes curled in his boots, every single muscle in his legs tightening.

His cock throbbed heavily as a rope after rope of seed filled the young woman's accepting body. His head dropped, landing against her shoulder. Every single thought left his head as he let the satisfaction overwhelm him entirely. Aesop was breathing hard, the aftershocks making his skin sizzle sensually.

When he finally came fully to, he realised just how tight he's been squeezing his lover. He loosened his hold somewhat, but his arms were still enveloping her completely. His head was laid upon her collarbone, his satisfied body was resting on top of hers, and Aesop was certain he was crushing her a little, but he couldn't find it in himself to move just yet. If she felt any discomfort, she didn’t say so. Then again, she didn’t exactly seem able to speak at the moment, her delicate young body still trembling under him, her breathing laboured, her lips occasionally releasing little whimpers of pleasure still. He wasn’t any better, really.

The potions master was hyper aware of the sweat between their bodies, of his come seeping out of her quivering entrance, running down his bollocks. “Mhmm, sweet Merlin,” he groaned quietly after several minutes, “that was… otherworldly.” Unintelligible humming was his only answer. Some more time later, when he felt stable enough to stand on his own two legs again, he braced against the desk and straightened up. His soft member slipped out of (F/N)’s body, prompting another little stream of pearly white spunk to leave her gaping hole.

Aesop looked down at his handiwork, and was both satisfied and a little horrified with what he’d done. The young woman laying on his desk looked absolutely ruined. Her head was tilted back, her eyes screwed shut. Her hair fell around her head like a halo, messy and tangled from his hands gripping it. Her mouth was swollen and red from kisses.

The girl’s body was no better, there were bite marks on her skin, one of them particularly nasty and placed way above where her shirt and robe collar would be. He saw the perfect imprint of his teeth in the soft skin, and he knew there would be bruising. Perhaps she could hide it well enough with her hair, but she’ll definitely feel it for a few days. There were already small bruises forming where he gripped her, where his fingers dug into the flesh of her waist, her hips, thighs. He’s never been this rough with her before, and while he was still riding on his post-coital high, he also felt incredibly guilty for ravishing her like he did.

“Aesop, whatever it is that’s going through that brilliant mind of yours, I can assure you that it’s a load of rubbish,” her sweet voice tore him from his thoughts. His hands landed on her warm body, his touch now utmostly gentle and soothing. He weighed her breasts in his large hands, his thumbs circling the hardened nipples, before moving lower over her ribs, to her hips. He massaged the surely sore flesh. One of his hands then moved all the way up to her face to caress it, to trace her lips. “I’m sorry. Are you alright? I didn’t mean to get so rough…” (F/N)’s eyes opened and she looked at him. Her face was relaxed, filled with serenity, satisfaction and a frankly overwhelming amount of love. She gave him a tired grin: “Do you hear me complaining, love? If anything, it was rather exhilarating to see you and feel you like that… I didn’t expect this to happen, but I’m happy it did. Trust me, I would’ve said the word if it didn’t feel good.”

Aesop gave her a beaming smile then, and leaned down once more to steal a kiss from her sweet lips, his arms cradling her close once more. She sighed and melted into his ministrations. “How do you feel, Ace? Any better?” she asked after a while. “Yes,” the teacher replied quietly, “I feel like I… really needed that. It’s just been too much lately. And today, with that idiotic girl…” “Shh… Only less than two months left, Aesop,” her hands stroked his back lovingly, “Less than two months, and then not only will we be able to finally be together fully, but you probably won’t have to speak to Adler ever again. Or do you expect her to make it into your NEWT class?” Aesop groaned: “Even if she got an Outstanding from her OWLs, which she will not, there’s no way I’d accept her…”

“Heavens… Fifty one days to be exact. Fifty one days before I can stop pretending you’re just my student, and not the absolute most important person in my life…” Aesop gathered her face in his hands and pressed their foreheads together. The young woman smiled at him, watching him through her lashes: “Forty five days for me, I stop counting the second I’m done with the exams. As for pretending you’re nothing but my professor, I’m afraid that ship has sailed the weekend you took me ‘herb picking’.” Aesop chuckled quietly.

“Sorry about this… hope you won’t have a problem hiding it…” he pointed to the bite mark he made on her neck, touching it gently with the tip of his finger, which made the girl wince a little. “It will be barely visible under my hair,” she replied, confirming his earlier thoughts, “unless I put my hair up. Which I might start doing, it’s getting rather warm outside, don’t you think?” His palm made contact with her left flank softly: “You are a bloody tease…”

They rested together for a little more, Aesop having cleaned them up with a simple Scourgify. However, the desk was quite uncomfortable for his lover to lie on, and the position they were in wasn’t doing much for Aesop’s muscles either. They dressed in comfortable silence, with (F/N) carefully closing her robes around her body once more after fixing the buttons on the potions master’s undershirt with Reparo. She helped him pick up the essays and quizzes that were strewn about on the floor, and sort them, as well as rid them of any unwanted ink.

“I spent at least an hour grading your pop quiz… I tried to find a mistake, any mistake you might’ve made, so I could dock off points, so the implication about you getting only Outstanding marks because you-… nevermind. I don’t want to think about it anymore, it’s so stupid.” His young lover observed him with a fond expression: “If you’d like, I could make some mistakes on my next essay or exam, something that would cost me an O in favour of E?”

Aesop looked at her with shock - she was absolutely ready to sacrifice a good grade for his peace of mind. It was unthinkable: “Don’t you dare… I mean it. I know how hard you work, how much you know, how brilliant you are. Every single mark you receive from me is deserved, and while I was furious at the insinuation today, I’d be even more furious to know that you’re keeping yourself from showing your full potential and knowledge, just because of my stupid insecurities and an even dumber Fifth year.”

“Alright, alright, I promise to do as well as I can,” she lifted her hands in a placating gesture. “Amit’s covering for me tonight - though, it’s not like my roommates don’t know that my bed often stays empty at night. Would you like me to spend the night in your chambers?” The professor gave her a loving smile: “I’d love that… You’ve got the key, why don’t you go wait for me there, while I’ll finish down here. I promise I won’t be long.” The young woman came closer to him and stood up on her tiptoes to place a kiss upon his lips, the feeling so familiar now, yet making little electric sparks run through her like they did the first time they kissed. She cast a Disillusionment charm over herself then and made her way out of his office and towards the Faculty wing.

The professor breathed a little smile. Fifty one days… Fifty one days never seemed that long of a time. However, once they’ll have passed, there will be no more hiding. After that, he’ll be able to hold his sweetheart’s hand, and embrace and kiss her whenever he feels like it, and nobody will be able to say anything. Merlin…The fifty one days will feel like an eternity…

Hello! I hope you enjoyed reading! As always, you can find this work and all of my other works over at AO3. I'm incredibly thankful for feedback!

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #fanfiction #reader insert #aesop sharp #professor sharp #aesop sharp x reader #aesop sharp x you #professor sharp x reader #aesop sharp x mc #aesop sharp smut #smut and fluff #this is straight up filth dont tell my mum i wrote this #mc is over 18

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anisrightarm · 1 year

Text

Doe-eyed| B. Loomis

Trigger warnings: kinda OOC Billy??

I hate the title but I can’t think of anything.

not checked!

Billy sighed in frustration. Sydney just fled after Billy spoke without thinking. What a thought to bring up her dead mom (the one he killed none the less). His hand rubs his face and runs it through his hair.

"Billy?" The boy lifts his head when he hears a soft voice call his name; he sees Y/N approaching him with a look of worry written on her face.

She stops a few steps away. Billy could almost smell the sweet aroma of her favorite perfume. He takes this time to really study her, the way she clutches her books to her chest, swaying slightly on her feet, looking up at him with those E/C eyes looking like the moon. He knew of Y/N; he shared a few of his classes with her, but hes never held a conversation longer than asking for a pencil.

"Is something bothering you? You look upset." She spoke softly, as if afraid he'd lash out; his temper, after all, is known in school (hell, the whole town knew).

"Yeah, relationship problems, you know," he said.

As soon as those words left his mouth and her eyes looked down for a moment, he wanted to punch himself. Of course, she knew nothing of relationship problems; everyone knew she'd never dated, let alone kissed someone. He knew what was said behind her back and how the others openly made fun of her, and she said nothing but flashed a small, shy smile and ran..

“I’m not sure I know, but I hope everything is ok with you and Sydney; she loves you too much to stay away despite what ever happened.” Y/N says with the same shy smile

Billy takes a sharp breath. "So you know what happened?" He sighed; of course she knew the whole damn town knew his business.

This time she flashed a true, supportive smile. "I don’t think you’re bad; I think you’re far from bad." If only she knew how wrong she was about the man.

Once again, she smiled at Billy; the more he looked at her, the warmer his body felt. Billy knew it was wrong to fall in love with a future victim. He was like a moth to her flame.

Whenever he was with Sydney, he imagined it was her, her cute nose stuck in the book she was reading or in her studies.

He would love to hold her just once, to see her bright smile as he wakes up in the morning, and to be able to kiss her lips without worrying.

She was so pure, it felt like he was corrupting her just by looking at her and speaking to her in the moment. He smiled back at her, and she nodded, seemingly satisfied, before stepping forward. "It’s getting late; you should go to class, Billy, or you’ll be late to class."

"I don't mind if I'm late because of you; then I'll always be late." He sounded like his friend Stu saying that he wanted to face palm and dig himself a grave to crawl in, but when he heard her laugh, his smile widened, and he couldn’t miss the pink on her cheeks when she walked to class.She was beautiful, yet he should kill her tonight in case of looking suspicious. His heart cleared at the mere thought of hurting her.

"Besides, no one is truly evil; even they have a bit of good in them."

The party at stu’s was in full swing by the time Billy came in with is hands in his pockets. He took a moment to look at the party-goers who were totally oblivious to the danger or too drunk too care. Billy sighed, it wasn’t long before he donned the ghostface attire, he and Stu stewed away in a bush and followed Tatum to the garage and killed her. Honestly, he was just going to scare her until she mocked him, then she sealed her fate.Billy quickly got undressed from the clock and shoved it back in the bushes for Stu if he needed it. He was walking back to the house when a soft voice he recognized anywhere, Y/n.

“I was starting to think you wouldn’t come Billy.”

He spun around to face the girl, who had swapped out her school attire for something more party appropriate.

Billy cracked a little smile “You can never escape Stus parties.”

At that she laughed.

It was so peaceful outside except for the occasional thump of the bet of music coming from the house. The sky was a nice light pink and orange barley; a cloud left in the sun set. A light wind blew, moving a few stands of her hair with it; he took this chance to admire her; he swallowed thickley unable to bring himself to do it, to kill the girl. Even Stu had developed a small friendship with Y/n, instead he kept his gaze locked onto the sky watching it get progressively more pink

“Billy?”

“Hm” he looked at her again, coming out of his reverie. Her eyes were still locked on the hose but something in her gaze changed, she turned her head to meet his awaiting eyes, she smiled at him but it wasn't any of the smiles he was used to this one was sad and reserved, once again his heart clenched.

“Promise it’ll be quick?”

And he knew. From the start she knew he was a killer. She knew he was the killer and yet she still talked to him, comforted him when all along she knew he would kill her, then Sydney and she still smiled at him like he had done no wrongs.

“Did you know? How?”

That same sad smile

“Handsome boys are always the killers in the movies” She answered, starting to walk away from him and back to the house. He quickly made his mind up. He knew what he had to do. He gripped her elbow, turning her back to face him.

“Run. Make an excuse, go home, Y/n!” He shook her a little as he spoke, never breaking eye contact with her wide eyes.

“Billy-What?”

“Do as I tell you, please!” His heart was hammering in his chest; he made up his mind; now no one could change it.

“I-I can’t Billy. My mom knows I’m at Stu’s for a birthday. I can’t just go home.”

“So lie, tell her you weren't feeling good; tell her kids drinking made you uncomfortable! just go!” A smile smile rested on her lips as her hands made her way to caress billy's face he closed his eyes for a second before speaking

“After all, there needs to be a final girl.”

“Do you love me?”

She pulled him by the neck and whispered “I think you're smart enough to figure it out on your own.”

It was too much, Billy hadn’t planned this, He needed her, he grabbed her neck bringing his lips to hers, his hands resting lightly on her hips rubbing feather light circles on the bone. They soon ran oust of air pulling away she rested his forehead on his for a second and took it back Billy pulled the girl into him and placed his lips on hers in a passionate moment between the two souls who never could. Billy was the first to pull away, pushing the girl away but keeping her at arms reach.

“I need you to go.” With that the boy walked off.

His whole body burned, Sydney fucking stabbed him. This is the end he knew he wouldn’t live but he knew Y/n was far at home, away from them.

“Billy!”

Was he that close to death he could hear her sweet voice?

“Billy!”

He risked parting his eyes, they land on her face she was in tears but she was here with him, her hand over her mouth.

“No!”

He parted his mouth to say the words heavy on his tongue, an explanation. He opened and closed his mouth many times finding it hard to speak through the burning pain coursing through his body.

“Y/n please, I-” he tried to raise his arm to her but he couldn't his limbs were limp, Randy ran up taking the girl by her shoulders pulling her up and away from Billy.

“C’mon Y/n” he muttered into her ear as he pulled her to her feet.

“Please- Randy.”

Sydney walked up to Billy and pulled her gun in between his eyes, cocked the gun.

“BOOM”

It was over.

Goodbye I hate the ending lol

#billy loomis x reader #billy loomis x female reader #billy loomis x y/n #slashers x reader #slashers x y/n #scream x reader

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redisaid · 5 months

Text

Beneath the Blue Moon - Chapter 9

Gibbous

Oh hi. Happy 2024. Yes, I'm still working on this. Let's play sad lore retrospective with Jaina for a bit.

4643 Words

Read it on Ao3!

Do you know the ache, how the bitterness tastes to me? It makes my heart run cold But when I hear your name I get lost in the memory Of the kingdom that we built before

Vereesa Windrunner, unlike her sisters, was petite and always put-together, lacking that air of wildness about her. But, that certainly didn’t mean she had any less of a temper.

Her shrill query of, “You agreed to what?” could be heard throughout the vaunted halls of Proudmoore Keep, and certainly so in the Lord Admiral’s chambers.

“Vereesa, please,” Jaina offered, all the more tired of being the continued voice of reason. “You haven’t let me finish explaining.”

“And you haven’t listened to anything I’ve told you about her,” Vereesa went on.

She paced before the great hearth, having abandoned the seat besides Jaina’s and in front of a roaring fire that sought to stave off the chill of yet another dreary day in Boralus. The rocks glass and the two fingers of good Kul Tiran whiskey within it lay untouched on the armrest of the empty leather armchair, not having been allowed to serve its purpose of tempering this conversation.

Vereesa herself was still clad in the regalia of the Ranger General, though not of Silvermoon or any place at all. Her Silver Covenant were homeless in that regard, so small in number, so scattered in a world where their people had suddenly split into three peoples within a matter of a decade. A blink of an eye for an elf.

Jaina had given little thought to how jarring that might be. Until now, at least.

And it was even more jarring to consider a fourth people among those that were once High Elves--the undead ones.

“That corpse is not my sister,” Vereesa went on in emphasis of this. “I’ve told you myself what I saw when Alleria and I attempted to reunite with her. And now you want to meet her alone?”

Jaina had not intended to share this fact, but it seemed wrong not to. She had assumed that Vereesa came calling to discuss the nature of this new ceasefire, and had been informed as to much of the goings on regarding it. But now, seeing her tread a trench into the floorboards, Jaina wasn’t sure her worry came from ignorance or a greater wisdom.

The third Windrunner sister to be called any sort of General had been on a mission to scout deep in the interior of Zandalar, in a desert region known as Vol’dun. She’d only arrived back in Boralus that morning, and apparently had been quite confused at her troops being recalled from enemy territory due to a ceasefire agreement.

And to say she was incensed about Jaina’s plan to meet with Sylvanas that evening was an understatement.

“Things have changed,” was all Jaina could offer to that.

Because she still wasn’t sure what had changed. Mechanically, yes, Sylvanas had the whole of her soul back and it had changed her dramatically. She’d stolen herself back from death, and in doing so had brought an army of winged skeletons upon the newly combined forces of the Horde and Alliance. She had warned them. She had explained for the whole of the Alliance to hear.

But it still didn’t quite register. Even as Jaina watched those newly blue eyes track her across the deck of the joined ships, before, during, and after the battle against the things she had named Mawsworn. Even as Jaina reached out to her, touching skin that was as cold as she’d thought it to be, and reeling from the feedback loop caused by their renewed soulmate bond, she didn’t understand it all.

It had been easier to say to herself that Sylvanas was dead. Her soulmate was gone. The woman who walked the world in her place was indeed a cruel apparition, a taunting symbol of failure, a banshee wailing for a loss she could no longer comprehend.

The reality, it seemed, was far more complicated. And Jaina felt she deserved a chance to know it. That was why she agreed to speak to her, to attempt this understanding.

Or at least that was how she rationalized it to herself.

Explaining that to the short, burning fuse that was Sylvanas’ younger sister, however, was another matter.

At least it wasn’t the older one.

“And you believe her? You believe what she of all people is telling you?” Vereesa accosted, still making laps around the fireplace.

Now that was a tougher question to answer. The glowing mark on Jaina’s hand told her the obvious, and should have made it as simple as that. But it wasn’t. It never would be.

“You have to understand--” Jaina started, though she didn’t herself.

“She was going to have Alleria and I killed!” Vereesa reminded her.

Jaina knew her version of the story well enough. Her old friend had come to her the night before Teldrassil had burned with a tearful confession. A tale of three sisters, none of whom seemed to be able to see eye to eye, meeting with a common goal to rid their ancestral home of the undead. Or, well, the undead not in control of their actions, as it were.

Vereesa had only wanted some measure of peace, some closure from this meeting. What she got instead was a view of the true faces of her elder sisters, or so she claimed, and a fear of both of them. With tears staining the silvery memorial mark of her own great loss so plain on her face, she had told Jaina she felt both were lost to her.

The accusations of attempted murder had come from a sighting of Dark Rangers, bows drawing and waiting, and Sylvanas’ hand signal to call them off of those shots.

Jaina wasn’t about to make excuses for that. No, Sylvanas would have to explain herself, to her sisters, her soulmate, and anyone else who might care to listen.

Her silence was perhaps what finally made Vereesa stop pacing. She looked up from her feet beneath a curtain of silvery hair to find Jaina starting back at her, and stopped dead in her tracks.

“I’m worried for you, you know,” Vereesa said, hands coming to rest behind her back, shoulders straight as she collected herself. Still every bit as militant as her sisters despite it all. “With what I’ve heard--I can’t imagine how you must feel. If Rhonin were to…”

Ah yes, the great river between them that was Rhonin. Rhonin, who was instrumental in all of this, really. Rhonin, who had worked with Jaina in Dalaran when she was still an apprentice. Rhonin, who managed to finally introduce Jaina to his mysterious elven wife and soulmate, who was usually too busy or too distant to make it to social gatherings in the city of mages. Rhonin, who grinned along with Vereesa as she shook Jaina’s casting hand, turned it over, still held in her own, and remarked that she’d seen that mark before, or at least one strikingly similar, and that she knew someone Jaina just had to meet as soon as she possibly could.

Rhonin, who had died with one last spell on his lips, protecting Jaina with that final incantation. Rhonin, whose ghost was a silvery mark on Vereesa’s cheek for her tears to well in, a constant reminder of loss. Rhonin, who would never stalk the world as an undead abomination for thirteen years, only to come back fully to himself out of the blue and blaze that mark alight again with wild accusations about the cruel nature of death, and paranoia about some cosmic Jailer that were apparently all proving true.

Jaina watched the words fall from Vereesa’s lips, unspoken. Her understanding too, came in silence. If somehow, someway, the same had happened with Rhonin, she would go. She would meet him. She would ask her questions. Even if he had done it all. Even if he had burned Teldrassil, and had his Rangers’ bows trained at his own family. She would go.

Jaina lifted her own rocks glass, draining the remainder of the contents. Two fingers of good Kul Tiran whiskey weren’t going to help her, or help this, but they certainly couldn’t hurt it.

“I’m worried about me too, Vereesa,” she started, setting her glass down and reaching for Vereesa’s to hold it out to her in one of many of this week’s peace offerings. “But I have to go to her. I have to know. Now please, sit down and talk to me about it.”

---

Jaina wondered at whose bright idea it was to build a city on what was essentially a graveyard of a battle where it seemed no one really won.

But, it had been hers. All of it. The city, the battle, the losses. The look in her father’s eyes as she sat idly by, betraying him with inaction. The panic in Rhonin’s as he shoved her through the portal, away from the destruction that would mark the end of the brief existence of the city she’d named Theramore.

And now it was nothing but a ruin, so poisoned with an excess of arcane that even she couldn’t venture far into its remains. Instead, Jaina waited on a rise overlooking the destruction of her own ambitions. She waited to be destroyed again, perhaps.

Those early days in Kalimdor were like fever dream to her still. Bright and hazy and punctuated with the roiling current of emotions she kept at bay with work and duty. After all, one couldn’t get lost in mourning one’s soulmate if one was too busy trying to keep the survivors of multiple ruined nations fed and sheltered in a strange land, right?

As awful as it was, that would have been easier. The finality of knowing that Sylvanas was gone and there was nothing she could do about it was easier to accept. People died. Wars ruined everything. It was simply a fact of life in Azeroth, one Jaina had already known well in her parent’s mourning of Derek.

But she remembered too, and vividly so, the day she found out that her situation wasn’t so clear cut or perhaps so final.

Jaina looked across the debris at the remains of her tower, once a place bustling with people she’d never see again, and memories so evocative they clung to the very stones, crumbled and toppled though they were.

The news had come in a missive from Stormwind, a report of Alliance forces who had held out in Lordaeron, attempting to reclaim the capital of the infested nation from the undead. It was a letter meant to inform of military failure, nothing more. It seemed that Grand Marshall Garithos was poised to retake the city from the demons and undead who controlled it, but had been betrayed by the free undead he allied with at the last moments. Leading them, along with the effort to betray Garithos? Sylvanas Windrunner, of course--now a banshee, but apparently still as cunning as she had been in life, and very much opposed to giving control of the city back to the living.

Jaina could remember the moment she read that name. She could remember the polished wood of her desk, the warmth of the fire crackling in her hearth and the smell of its smoke. Wet wood from the marshlands always gave off much in the way of smoke. She could remember hearing Pained shuffle outside the door to her chambers, booted feet on stone. She could remember the tears that welled in her eyes, the confusion at which she looked through them to her hand, and saw the mark on it was still silver. But the name was there.

Sylvanas Windrunner still existed, in some part, but not any that was meant to love her. And this, Jaina knew even then, was far worse than her just being gone.

She’d searched for every scrap of news from Lordaeron thereafter. Anything she could hear or find or send someone to know on her behalf. From the rumors of sailors--though no Kul Tirans would dock at her port--or the tall tales of neutral goblin merchants; all were equal in value to her, as the truth came in so few trickles those days.

But that truth rang the same every time. Sylvanas Windrunner was out there, undead and angry, rightfully so, but in the wrong way. She fought to keep the living out of Lordaeron. She would eventually come to ally with the Horde. She would be central to bringing the newly dubbed Blood Elves in with her and her Forsaken undead.

And Jaina was always left to wonder what might have happened if, instead of hanging on to scraps of news from others, she had reached out herself.

Though Sylvanas hadn’t reached out for her either.

Their separation across the continents was quite symbolic, really. They would not meet again until the Undercity was attacked. Even then, it was a pained look across the room, one that Sylvanas refused to acknowledge. From then on, Jaina would do the same for her.

That had told Jaina what she already knew. Her love was dead. Their bond was a thing of the past. There was nothing there to be saved, no threads to sew together again.

It seemed as though everything of hers was doomed to end in such bitter emptiness. No, that wasn’t the right word. Just as it was with Theramore here, silent save for the hum of excess arcane and the distant crash of waves, as no birds could brave the damaging magic of the area--Jaina was always left staring out over a ruin of her failures, and they would not look back.

No wonder she didn’t know what to do now that blue eyes stared back at her with a longing she had long since banished in herself.

The sun was setting behind the mountains that separated the wetlands of Dustwallow marsh from the high plains of the Barrens. It painted the waters of the swamp and sea alike a glowing orange--a strange contrast to the pulsing purple of arcane that still clouded the ruins. Jaina herself had taken part in the calculations, along with her fellow members of the Kirin Tor at the time, and she knew exactly how long it would be this way. Centuries was the answer. Far longer than the brief existence of her sanctuary city. This refuge of refugees would be a glowing, dangerous ruin long after any that remembered it as anything else were gone.

A hole in her heart. Another scar upon a world already scarred so deeply, so violently, so quickly.

The Dark Portal had opened when Jaina was three years old. She was busy chasing seagulls on the docks of Boralus then, and had no concept of the changes it would bring to her life. She had no idea how it would bring cities to topple, or dragonfire to rend rifts in the very land, or a giant sword to pierce its heart. She had no idea then, a little blur of blonde hair and energy, that she would never know a life of peace because of it.

And even now that another tentative peace was on the table, and a scar waiting to potentially be healed, she was too wary to trust either.

“You were just another ruin for me,” Jaina said to nothing and no one, for that was all that was left of Theramore.

And the person she’d truly meant the words for hadn’t arrived yet.

Once, in her tower here, Kinndy had touched her mark, sliding tiny fingers over the silvery skin. Gnomes were like elves, and honestly most of Azeroth’s longer-lived races, in their deep respect for the binding of soulmates. Kinndy was young, her own mark still dull and untested--neither bereft of her chance to meet the one she was meant to love, nor yet ready to.

Still she had understood.

“You don’t have to act like nothing’s wrong all the time, you know?” she’d told Jaina that evening, alone with her in the tower.

What had spurred the comment was anyone’s guess. Jaina couldn’t remember the context. Maybe she’d looked especially tired that day. Maybe she’d let herself doze into the spell tome they were going over together. Maybe she’d let the distance she felt from herself catch up to her eyes.

“What do you mean?” had been her question.

Kinndy had patted the silver skin of her hand, the dull shine of the moon. “You have to be sad. I mean, I know you are. It’s okay to be sad sometimes, especially when you have reason to be.”

Reason after reason after reason would pile onto Jaina. She attracted them like a magnet did iron. Like honey for flies. And now the bright spark of a girl and her pink pigtails and goofy little smile were another thing for Jaina to mourn. Another memory she felt could never be given the justice it deserved.

Tears, even, that Jaina could not shed. For if she cried for Kinndy, then it was wrong she didn’t cry for Pained. For Rhonin. For papa. For the soldiers that had looked to her as their hero, their savior. For the kind vendor that always tossed an apple at her from his cart, and wouldn’t take no for an answer when she tried to pay for it.

Tears she couldn’t even reserve for Theramore, lest they should belong to the people who died in the effort to stop Archimonde in the battle to save this very continent. Even before that, for those who died in the wake of Arthas and his arrogance. Years after that, for those who died with Horde axes in their backs and blood red banners shoved into their skulls. For the Sunreavers she’d slaughtered in her rage at the Purge of Dalaran. For those people on both sides she’d failed during her inaction at the Legion’s invasion, still so deep in that anger that it drove her, for once, to simply do nothing.

What she’d told Kinndy that day had remained true, even after all this time.

“I am sad,” Jaina had said once. “But just because I’m not crying about it doesn’t mean I’m not sad. Life has to go on, even when we lose people in it. It’s our duty to them to carry on. So yes, I’m still very sad, I suppose. But I carry on.”

Jaina Proudmoore always carried on, even as the world crumbled around her, bit by bit. It was the only thing she had left to do.

Her resolve to continue that settled in, only to be shaken by the sound of distant wingbeats, heavy and solitary.

The whiskey she’d downed in her efforts to temper Vereesa did nothing to prepare her for the arrival of her older sister. Sylvanas was a distant speck in the sky, seated atop a giant bat, flying in from the north, from Orgrimmar.

How dramatic. She couldn’t have just had someone portal her in, like a civilized person, could she?

Though Jaina supposed she might have wanted her own time to think, as such a flight might afford. Orgrimmar was not that far to the north, and the bat was fast in its approach. A small measure of time alone was likely as much a luxury for Sylvanas as it was for Jaina. She could not begrudge her for wanting it.

But yes, the bat was very dramatic. Even as the creature landed--sending swirls of dust into the air with one last lazy flap of wings that seemed both too heavy and too small to keep such a creature aloft--there was no lack of drama about it.

Not even in the way that Sylvanas hopped from its back, landing on the ground with graceful ease, then took one step forward, and stopped.

She was about a hundred feet off toward the north, away from the edge of the cliff. Close enough where Jaina could still meet the searching blue of her eyes. The face that was both different and too similar to how it had been in life, now that it wasn’t set in an angry scowl.

No, she looked on in question. She was asking permission, but lacking for the words.

Sylvanas didn’t know what to say to her.

“You might as well come here,” was what Jaina told her for her silence.

In life and in death, there was no doubting Sylvanas was an incredibly beautiful woman. Jaina had not spared her a glance in these thirteen years and the handful of times within them that they’d been in the same room. Her once-lover was a fleeting shadow on the edge of her vision, a ghost in eyes purposely darted away from an abomination that should not be. But now, looking upon her again, really looking, for the second time in as many days, there was no denying she was still beautiful. A beautiful woman from a beautiful family born of a beautiful people.

Not the same way that her sisters were, though. Not rugged and honed as Alleria was, like savage power of the tooth and fang of a great beast. Not petite, organized, and spritely as Vereesa was, her pixie nose up-turned further even in her anger that afternoon, a child’s toy marching in her pacing. No, Sylvanas was in-between them, just as she had been in birth. Neither feral nor fae, yet a little of both. Tall for an elf, but just a hair shorter than Jaina, though she’d say they were of a height if asked. Or she did, back when she laughed and joked with her Rangers.

Back when that skin was golden, dotted with errant freckles from the eternal summer sun of Quel’thalas. Now it was ashen, almost purple in hue. And cold. She had been so cold when Jaina touched her.

But she was still beautiful. In a different way, perhaps. Militant in her march toward Jaina, in her purple armor and its silver skulls. In the wine color of her cape, floating behind her in the wind and the dust that still hadn’t settled from her landing. In the creaking leather of the rest of her kit, clean and shining, no longer splattered with gore and broken feathers from battle.

Such a formal gait could mean only one thing. Jaina felt it loop back from Sylvanas in an anxious, chest-deep confirmation.

She was nervous.

Nervous as she had been the first time Jaina met her. Before she could feel the echo of her tension. She’d read it on her face then. The subtle twitch of long ears. The straining of a striking jawline.

Jaina too, had been nervous, but the feeling had washed away when she’d seen how beautiful the elf who shared her soul mark was. How lucky she was to have her.

And now, ruin for ruin, white hair and bags beneath her eyes, staring out over the closing distance at this pallid, undead version of that nervous woman she’d first met not so long ago, Jaina could not help but think that perhaps undeath didn’t suit anyone so much as it did Sylvanas Windrunner. She was a beautiful ghost. A ruin, but at least one that was striking to behold.

“I had it in my head that you wouldn’t come,” was what Sylvanas finally found the courage to say as she came within arm’s length of Jaina, then stopped again. “That I would fly around and not see you and give up for the dark. But you came.”

“I said I would.”

Truth be told, the resolve to follow through on her word had taken another two fingers of good Kul Tiran whiskey after Vereesa had left. It had taken the tears of Sylvanas’ younger sister, and an unasked for pep talk from her mother that Jaina was already trying to forget. It had taken an hour of staring out over the ruins of Theramore, deciding to stay--deciding that she too was a thing broken, and that a chance to be mended in some small way, was worth taking, even if it was difficult.

Sylvanas reached out a hand, absent its gauntlet. A hand with a wrist beneath it that glowed a brilliant blue in the shape of a moon beset with snowflakes. Yes, Jaina had decided the pattern was snowflakes. She had to have something of it for herself.

She snatched it back. She looked at Jaina, herself a painting of foreign colors. No longer gold, but fiery orange from the setting sun, lavender in her bloodless skin, and blue eyes, not grey.

Changed, scarred, another creature so ruined by Azeroth’s slow spiral, but still beautiful.

“I’m sorry,” was the second thing Sylvanas said to her, as they stood alone on the cliffs over what was once Theramore.

“For what?”

The words sounded so accusatory. Perhaps they should have. For the mana bomb Sylvanas might have stopped from destroying this place. For Teldrassil. For dying. For still being here, despite dying. For dying again after that. She should be sorry.

But Jaina hadn’t meant them like that. She didn’t know how she meant them. Maybe just to know. Maybe just to reconcile the feelings that roiled over their bond. A boiling sense of shame, bubbling up in the throat. A longing that hurt as it gripped the chest. A fear, a subtle thing weighing heavy in the pit of the stomach.

“Everything,” was Sylvanas’ answer.

But that would not be enough. Jaina wasn’t certain what could or would be. There was no apologizing, really. If anything, Azeroth owed them both apologies. Perhaps Medivh for opening the portal. Perhaps Gul’dan for building it. Perhaps Sargeras, for the legion. Perhaps Azshara, for making him aware of this world and its treasures in the first place.

Still, Sylvanas wanted to talk. She wanted to give an apology. She felt so much and so deeply that it bled into Jaina like a dye leeching into wash water. It stained her black.

“I don’t think you came here to list the things you should be sorry for,” Jaina told her.

Sylvanas had not. Perhaps she’d had a plan for what she’d wanted to say. How she’d wanted to say it. When and where. Jaina, it seemed, threw a wrench into these.

Sylvanas reached out again, and let her hand fall empty again.

“I can start, if you like,” she offered.

Jaina didn’t want that. She didn’t wanted a bulleted list, much as she loved organizing such things. She didn’t need boxes checked. She wanted so much from this conversation, but knew she might not get any of it.

Mostly, she wanted to understand why she felt guilty for not reaching for that empty hand. She wanted to know if Sylvanas felt that from her. If she had an answer for it.

Jaina wanted anything to make sense. She was comfortable with ruin and devastation. She knew them well. She understood them. She was an expert at working through grief.

What she didn’t know how to do, though, was rebuild.

“I don’t need that from you,” she told Sylvanas. “But I do want to know what it is you wanted to tell me. Why it is you wanted to meet.”

Jaina supposed she owed it to herself. For Theramore. For Teldrassil. For the sword in the side of Azeroth. For the grief she didn’t have time to feel. For whatever reason. She supposed she owed it to Sylvanas too. Not an apology, as there was no apologizing to be done.

No, she owed her a chance. She owed herself a chance. A chance to do something different, for once. A chance to take the ruins apart brick by brick, and build them up into a new tower.

#sylvanas windrunner #jaina proudmoore #sylvaina #fanfic #beneath the blue moon #this fic takes me forever to write because i have to jam so much lore into it #but that's also fun sometimes #hopefully chapter 10 soon

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softspeirs · 3 months

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A/N: John Egan/OC. Listen, I simply couldn’t resist. I know OC’s are abounding right now, but I’ve had this in my head for a few days and needed to get it out. For now she shall remain nameless, but we’ll see if I want to flesh this out. Fair warning: this is real angsty. Sorry, I was in a mood! Somewhere around ep 4-5? No spoilers.

one - (quiet skies, don't get attached)

“Has he reached his limit yet?” A slim hand reaches in front of her, grabbing a pint off the bartop.

She meets Major Cleven’s eyes briefly before he tilts his head in Major Egan’s direction, indicating who he's asking about. As if he'd be worried about anyone else this much.

“Two more with his name on it,” she says, biting back her smile.

“Don’t see how that’s possible.” He mutters, rolling his eyes as Bucky’s loud voice carries over from where he sits, regaling fellow pilots and locals alike with stories from his latest mission.

She shrugs, settling a rag over her shoulder. “I’m not a babysitter. I just make the drinks.”

He nods, waving his hand. “I know. Thank you.”

She sees the worry and frustration that he's not voicing. "No thanks necessary." She says quietly. She watches him go and join his friends, and frowns as she watches Egan stumble over a chair, Cleven barely managing to grab his elbow before he goes toppling to the floor.

It's getting worse. But-- she can't even blame him. She hears bits and pieces, the guys regaling each other with their war stories, but lately it's been quieter, less storytelling and more drowning regrets and sorrows over lukewarm beer.

Major Egan has been in town longer than all of them, and she wonders if anyone else is picking up on the hints he's been dropping every time he speaks to anyone.

I don't even feel anything.

It's not until days later when she hears that he's on leave that she finally releases a breath she's been holding.

The pub is quiet that day. No roaring of planes overhead, no rowdy airmen taking up all her tables and running her ragged with requests. No laughter, but no fighting either.

Her father comes in later, solemn expression, and slaps a newspaper down on the bar. She feels her stomach sinking as she reads. "They lost so many." She whispers.

"Gave the Germans a whipping, though."

It's not enough.

It's late that night when Major Egan shows up. She's not even really surprised to see him, all things considering. She is surprised to see him here - she would have thought he'd have gone MIA with a ship and gone to avenge his friends on his own.

He sits at the bar and flashes her a smile. She's already shaking her head before he can even open his mouth.

"Major... it's not a good idea."

He looks affronted. "What isn't? Just here for a drink, that's all. Haven't you heard? I'm still on leave."

"If you were on leave you'd still be in London."

There's a quick moment where he sets his jaw, sighing. He's frustrated, and she knows he has a quick temper. She just hopes that he hears her out.

"You can't drown your sorrows." She slides the newspaper into view. "Not right now."

He meets her eyes again. There's a moment of clarity that passes between them - she knows exactly why he's back early, and he knows she understands what the stakes are.

"You shouldn't get attached." He says, rising from his seat. Halfway to the door, he looks over his shoulder. "To any of us." His smirk is small, bitter. "Here today, gone tomorrow."

"Major Egan--"

The door is swinging shut behind him before she can tell him it's no use; she already is attached. And she feels it each time a crew comes through the doors and they're one man short. She feels it even though she never learns half their names.

It never gets easier, for the men who do the flying, or for the people who wait for them to come back.

#masters of the air fanfiction #mota fanfiction #john egan x oc #sort of? if you squint?#softspeirs mota fanfiction #bucky x ellie #oc: ellie peters

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fanfictionlibrary · 1 year

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Spider Lilies and the Sun (Alec x Reader)

A Twilight fanfiction

Author's note: Check out my blog. I take requests <3

Carefully, you tried to draw the spider lilies that were lying on the wooden table in front of you. Your pencil drew a line here and there, deepening the shadows or adding a new leaf. It was difficult for you to capture the lightning appropriately on the thick parchment that you studied for a moment, drawing your head back to create some distance. To some extent you were satisfied with what you have produced so far. You have never been especially good at drawing, but somehow you have a hand for illustrating the beauty of flowers just enough to distinguish yourself from a beginner. But if you would ever reach the skills of a professional artist was hard to say… Only time could tell.

While you drew, you listened to the conversation between Heidi, Chelsea, and Corin. The three vampires were sitting on the sofas that were situated in the middle of the drawing room of the Volturi’s castle. Soft sunlight shone through the windows, and you had opened one in the corner you had isolated yourself in. The temperate late summer breeze smelled wonderful, tickling your nostrils and helping you relax.

“Have you heard that the coven in France tried to trick the Kings?” asked Heidi in her enticing voice, playing with her dark hair as her legs were swung over the armrest of the armchair that she was lounging in. Her short skirt had hiked up dangerously, but Heidi knew how to be classy without coming off as cheap. Her legs were pressed together, revealing nothing inappropriate.

Chelsea nodded vigorously, not looking up from the book she was reading. “Of course, we have heard,” she remarked. Her tone was stoic and cold, but she didn’t mean it. You had learned that she was generally nice and didn’t have any mean intentions. But that was all. You would never expect a selfless act from her. Not from any of the vampires living in Volterra. “The French coven was the reason why Aro sent the twins, Demetri, and Felix to investigate. After all, the coven’s leader claimed that they have created a newborn with extraordinary abilities. The rumor spread like wildfire and eventually reached us, the Volturi. How could it not?”

Corin snorted and shook her head in disbelief. “Turned out the coven leader boasted a little too much.”

“Right,” chimed in Heidi, chuckling. “Apparently, they wanted to bargain with the Kings and offer the newborn for a price. But said newborn didn’t possess any special abilities at all. When Demetri and Felix called to inform the Kings, they mentioned that Alec was absolutely livid.” With a knowing grin, she looked at you and caught your eye. Quickly you looked back down at your sheet, acting like that strange and yet familiar name hadn’t caught your attention. Heidi’s voice sounded insinuating when she added, “We all know that lately he has no room for unnecessary distractions that could lead him astray from the castle.”

Heat rose to your cheeks, and you couldn’t say why. Only that Alec, even just the mention of his name, induced you with extreme nervousness. And a giddiness that you had tried to suppress by distracting yourself and drinking lots of water to drown the butterflies in your stomach. Alec. He was mesmerizing, absolutely enchanting. And also the reason why you, as a human, found yourself among vampire royalty. One day you decided to take a walk and breathe fresh air. While you were walking through the forest, looking defeated at your feet because the pressure that came with your studies really got to you that day, a pair of polished, expensive shoes came into view. Surprised, you looked up, staring into the beautiful red eyes of a young man who towered over you. Considering his insatiable stare, you probably should have been afraid, but you weren’t. There was something oddly calming about the way he gazed at you and how the wheels in his head seemed to turn before they finally clicked, and his hungry stare was replaced with a deep softness. Then, black mist enveloped you, and after many hours of traveling, you found yourself in Volterra.

You had been living with the vampires for a little over three months and found it hard to adjust to your new life. You hadn’t been told why Alec brought you to Volterra, but the Kings had informed you that one day when the time was ripe, you would become one of them. You had no clue when the time would be ripe, but for now, that was unimportant.

You were glad that everyone realized that you needed a lot of space and time alone. You had your own room and designated corners – like the one in the drawing room – that were solely reserved for you. Whenever you decided to take refuge in these places, everyone knew you wanted to be left alone. Fortunately, everyone was patient with you and answered your questions whenever you had any. The vampires learned to respect your boundaries, or rather, they had known how to do that all along since they were territorial beings. In turn, you learned to respect their limits and expectations. For example, you had to stay in your chamber when they fed in the throne room or when trials were being held. During these times, the vampires were especially busy, and no one could keep an eye on you to make sure you were not becoming a snack for the lower guard.

As for Alec... you got along fine. There were moments when he seemed like he wanted to open up to you, but then he would withdraw suddenly, sitting down somewhere and watching you with a wistful expression while you read or drew. He kept you at arms-length: close enough but not too close. He didn’t want to give you away either. If anything, he was strangely possessive, and at the same time, aloof. He would be attentive one day, and the next he would pretend like you didn’t exist. It drove you insane.

Well, at the beginning it did… After some frustrating nights, when you couldn’t sleep because of his behavior, you decided it was not worth spending the energy you needed on overthinking. You would just do you, stick to yourself, and be nice to Alec when he approached you. But you would refuse to seek him out. Your pride and self-respect put you first in this confusing connection with the vampire. You had never been in love, always waiting for the right one. Of course, you met men and thought that they might be your forever person only to end up disappointed because it turned out they were only being nice to you for sexual fun. Something you never gave them. Now, Alec was a classy guy. He was the type to court respectfully, and if he wanted some fun, he would be straightforward. Nonetheless, his intentions were anything but clear to you. So, you sought stability in yourself; if he had something to say, he could always do it, but you wouldn’t run after him.

Honestly, you were glad when you heard that he would go on a mission to France. His name was playing on repeat in your head like a prayer whether he was present or not, and you did need some time to yourself to get that foolish heart of yours, which sometimes beat like you were love-struck, in check again. And so far, it had worked wondrously. In the past few days, you had barely thought about him at all.

“So,” began Corin, resuming the conversation about the French coven, “what happened to the coven? Did Alec act on his anger? Lately, he has been inclined to do so. His emotions are running high. Higher than usual.”

Heidi giggled excitedly. “Well, luckily, Felix and Demetri could talk him out of it. The coven got away with a warning. The twins, the giant, and the tracker should return today.”

Your throat constricted. You didn’t know if you really wanted to see Alec. Hopefully, he would just ignore you. But your hopes were crushed. Two hours later the door to the drawing room opened, and Alec came inside. The girls stopped talking abruptly, looking between you and the elite guard. Alec’s posture was imposing, and with one narrowed glance and a barely noticeable tilt of his head, he commanded them to leave. Sighing and voicing their discontent, Heidi, Corin, and Chelsea left. The thud of the door when it closed sounded too foreboding. You focused on your drawing - you had begun with another one, not quite satisfied with your first try.

You hoped that Alec would just sit on the sofa, but unfortunately, he drew up a chair opposite you, and you focused on the movement of your pencil, not looking up.

His voice was deep and warm when it rang out. “How have you been? Are you well?”

“I’m good,” you replied stubbornly, making it clear that you didn’t want to talk to him. But Alec did not defer. He picked up your first drawing. That was when you gazed up anxiously at him. You didn’t want him to see your art. Why? Because in a way, you depended on his validation. What if he didn’t think of your drawing as good enough? Then you would suck it up and live with it. You wouldn’t let it affect your motivation for your artistic nature though.

The corners of Alec’s mouth were raised slightly when he saw your anxious expression, knowing he got to you. But if he hadn’t been sitting so close to you, you would have thought he was wearing his typical inscrutable expression. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs, holding your crafted spider lily up with one hand while he examined it, and gripping the armrest with his other hand. He wasn’t wearing gloves. That was unusual… The hand on the armrest glittered as it caught the sunlight. It was the only body part of his that was exposed to the sun. He didn’t like to shine in the sunlight. When you first saw how his skin reacted to the sun, he became angry. Not with you. But with the sun, you think. You were taking a stroll through the garden together, and when you reached up to touch his cheek as it began to glow, he pushed you away and told you to leave. That hurt.

“Hmmm…” Alec hummed, nodding. “You are improving. You have a talent for drawing.” With care, he placed the paper down on the desk.

Your body betrayed you when your heart rate picked up and your cheeks flushed pink. You were beyond happy. Somehow you managed to suppress the reply – “Do you really think so?” – that was beginning to form. You bit your tongue hard.

“How was France?” you asked instead.

“I have been there many times. It was worthwhile. As always.”

“Good to hear.”

“I would like to visit it with you someday. I have been there so often that it has become a little… boring and stale. But I feel like your presence would make the atmosphere special again.”

Suspiciously, you narrowed your eyes. Here we go again with the ambiguous meanings… “What do you mean? Alec, sorry, but you have not been exactly welcoming towards me. One moment you are hot, and the other you are cold and don’t let me in. I still don’t know why you brought me to this shit hole in which I’m supposed to spend eternity. You owe me a lot of explanations.”

His eyes studied you. He contemplated long, his red orbs wandering down to your collarbone and noting how well your cropped cardigan and your high-waisted jeans fitted you. Your body was bliss to him. Your personality meant salvation. He had to come forward. He knew he was being unfair, and how could he be unjust to someone he loved?

Without warning, he pushed back his chair, creating a scraping sound, and stood up. He walked towards you, grabbing the backrest of your stool and turning it around. You were now looking up at him, and your heart stuttered as he lowered his torso, placing his hands on the armrests, caging you. His brown, thick locks fell in front of his forehead, and his red orbs bored holes into the core of your soul. You nervously played with your hands in your lap, biting your lips.

“Don’t do that,” he spoke softly, his breath fanning your face.

“What?”

“Biting your lip. You always do it when you are nervous or stressed. You have been doing it while I was gone.” He used his thumb to smooth your lips. You swallowed hard at the skin contact. “I can see little wounds.” Was that why he decided to not wear gloves? Had he been planning to initiate physical contact?

You pushed his hand away. “What do you want?”

“Fine,” he grunted, straightening himself up. “I will be blunt about it.”

“Naturally.”

“You are my mate,” he admitted. Carefully, he studied your reserved features. But you felt anything but reserved. You were elated. Finally, you found the love you had always wished for. You had envied the connection Afton and Chelsea shared, how they gazed at each other with unprecedented adoration. Often, you had watched them interacting, wondering when you could not only be loved like Afton loved Chelsea but when you could finally look as ardently at someone the way Chelsea stared at Afton. You wanted to love, too. Not just be loved. What you and Alec could have… maybe that would rival their connection and put them to shame.

“What do you think?” Alec asked, testing the waters.

“Only that it all makes sense now. My palpitating heart when you are near or how I can’t get your name out of my head.” Contemplatively, you looked up at Alec. “That’s why you brought me to Volterra. When we met in the forest, you sensed that I was your mate.”

“I did.”

You stood up, bringing your hands to his cheeks. He brought your foreheads together, and you enjoyed the coldness of his touch. On a warm summer day, there was no one you wanted to bury yourself in more passionately than Alec.

“You fear this connection as much as I do,” you whispered. “That’s why you are sometimes so aloof. You are afraid of getting hurt. So am I. And honestly, in your presence, I find it hard to think straight. It is like my emotions don’t belong to me but to you.”

“Yes. They spiral out of control, and only you, as my counterpart, can reach them. Tame them.”

“Then I will cherish them and hold them close. You have nothing to fear, Alec.”

Tentatively Alec closed the gap between the two of you, tasting your lips in a reassuring kiss. It seemed that you had nothing to fear either.

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mxtxfanatic · 1 year

Text

Jiang Yanli: Jiang Cheng’s Bargaining Chip

I feel like I said this before in passing during my first read, so I wanted to go through it more in-depth this second time around. Note that this post will not be covering the validity of xuanli’s marriage or love for each other. I will only be addressing Jiang Cheng’s change of heart surrounding his opinion of Jin Zixuan and why I think this has everything to do with Jiang Cheng’s loss of established power after the fall of Lotus Pier. Bear with me, now, as a lot of these scenes are located all over the place in the book, but with the exception of a few scenes, everything that I will be using will come from exr’s chapt. 69.

The relationship between Jiang Cheng and Jin Zixuan before the Sunshot Campaign is not a good one on account of Jin Zixuan’s treatment of Jiang Yanli:

Neither Wei Wuxian nor Jiang Cheng liked to play with him; only Jiang Yanli wanted to feed him the food that she made. Jin Zixuan, however, didn’t really like to pay her any attention. This made Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng yell with anger in a few instances.

This already-soured blood is what prompts the fight that ends xuanli’s engagement in chapt. 18, in which Jin Zixuan insults Jiang Yanli to Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng’s faces in a crowd of their peers. In this event, both Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng are moved to violence at Jin Zixuan’s words, though Wei Wuxian ensures that Jiang Cheng never throws a punch. And although Jiang Yanli doesn’t make her feelings on the matter clear when Wei Wuxian goes to her to apologize, Wei Wuxian understands later that she “must’ve been feeling quite dejected on the inside” for what transpired. This makes me feel that, even though Jiang Yanli was nice to Jin Zixuan where her brothers (and yes, I am counting wwx as such because Jiang Yanli counts wwx as such) aren’t, neither understood the depth of her feelings until much later.

Up until this point, we have not seen xuanli actually interact with each other; that chance comes when the Sunshot Campaign happens. We can assume with the engagement broken off that Jin Zixuan and Jiang Yanli do not meet again until the soup incident, which is where Jin Zixuan falsely accuses Jiang Yanli of trying to steal credit from a servant, publicly chastising her after her entire clan has been slaughtered just months prior, causing her to burst into tears despite her “easy temper.” Here, we get the damning critique that Jin Zixuan “had never understood her, and hadn’t ever wanted to understand her either.” We also get the first omission of Jiang Cheng from Jiang Yanli’s defense. Only Wei Wuxian is said to defend Jiang Yanli; Jiang Cheng only shows up in the retelling to pull Wei Wuxian off of Jin Zixuan.

Fast forward to the flower banquet directly after the war ends. Because of the soup incident, Jiang Yanli refused to even give Jin Zixuan “a proper look” before Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian take her back to Yunmeng. But Jin Zixuan, in turn, immediately begins to ask after Jiang Yanli, post-war. There is no mention of whether he ever directly attempts to appeal to Jiang Yanli, herself, but he approaches Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng at his clan’s flower banquet back in capt. 49 with the intention of once more asking after her. Wei Wuxian, understandably, reacts poorly to this:

Wei WuXian heard his own raging shout, “Jin ZiXuan! Don’t you forget about what things you said and what things you did? What do you mean by this, now?!”

To which Jin Zixuan responds:

“Sect Leader Jiang—this is our sect’s flower banquet, and this is your sect’s person! Are you going to look after him or not?!”

Wei Wuxian ends up storming off, but not before Jiang Cheng chastises him and apologizes to Jin Zixuan for his behavior. He even answers Jin Zixuan’s questions and starts a conversation!

…Jiang Cheng’s voice came, “Wei WuXian, you can just shut your mouth. Young Master Jin, I’m sorry. My sister is doing quite well. Thank you for your concern. We can talk about this next time.”…

…He then began to converse with Jin ZiXuan.

This is a startling departure from his attitude towards Jin Zixuan’s transgressions against his sister in the Cloud Recesses, and while Jin Zixuan is being cordial, the Langya debacle was much more serious than his words during the lessons. Yet Jin Zixuan is the one to demand and be given an apology for being reminded of his past abhorrent behavior, whereas none was demanded (by Jiang Cheng) or seems to have been offered on Jin Zixuan’s end to Jiang Yanli for that same behavior that victimized her, not even to her brothers on her behalf. Plus, Jiang Cheng’s attitude cannot be said to be for Jiang Yanli’s benefit, as we know that she has completely removed herself from anything related to Jin Zixuan since the soup incident, and her feelings remain unchanged up to xuanli’s next in-person interaction at Phoenix Mountain, in which Jiang Yanli does not come of her own will:

Wei WuXian, “Don’t worry. As long as he doesn’t make shijie cry again, I don’t even want to pay him any attention. You shouldn’t have brought her in the first place.”

Jiang Cheng, “The LanlingJin Sect insisted on it. I didn’t have the face to refuse.”

Wei WuXian, “More like Madam Jin insisted on it. After this, she’d definitely find some way to urge shijie and that male princess to one place.”

She even seems uninterested in being there outside of seeing her brothers:

Jiang Yanli usually had an almost bland face, her features mild. However, as she saw her two younger brothers wave at her, her face immediately lit up. She lowered her fan. Shyly saying a few words to Madam Jin, she walked to the edge of the watching platform and tossed out two flowers at them.

vs.

Suddenly, a row of cultivators wearing white, gold-lined robes rushed out, dressed in light armor and riding on broad stallions...

..Madam Jin immediately patted on Jiang Yanli’s shoulder. Holding her hand, she dragged her to the edge of the watching tower again, pointing to her the riding formation of the Lanling Jin Sect.

Clearly, even if Jiang Yanli is still harboring (seemingly) unrequited feelings for Jin Zixuan, she is unwilling to entertain the thought of a relationship anymore. So why, then, would Jiang Cheng suddenly change his opinion of Jin Zixuan from a “peacock” who treats his sister poorly to “my sister loves him, so what can I do but reinstate the engagement?”

I posit that Jiang Cheng’s change is directly tied to the fall of Lotus Pier. With the Jiang massacre, Jiang Cheng is without any real power or allies of his own. The post-war Jin are very obviously amassing power, and the other three great clans are allied via 3zun’s sworn brotherhood. Jiang Cheng has no friends so cannot enter the sworn brotherhood, and his power is held in the hands of Wei Wuxian, who he can neither claim via blood relation nor use as a bartering chip since he isn’t a Jiang. So his only other option to gain an alliance to the other great clans is through Jiang Yanli’s marriage. And what’s an easier route than reinstating the engagement that was already previously an option now that the other party seems willing (and desperate) to forget the past and start anew?

Part of this is also tied up in Jiang Cheng’s own insecurities about his authority as a clan leader, which is provoked from the gossip at the Phoenix Mountain hunt. But when he begins to admonish Wei Wuxian on the behaviors brought up in gossip, he is easily diverted from it by Wei Wuxian’s nonchalance. He then turns the conversation to Jin Zixuan:

Jiang Cheng smirked, “Don’t carry your sword, then. It doesn’t matter. But don’t provoke Jin ZiXuan from now on. He’s Jin GuangShan’s only son, after all. The future leader of the LanlingJin Sect will be him. If you beat him up, what should I, the sect leader, do? Beat him up with you? Or punish you?”

Jiang Cheng is actively trying to court favor with the Jin but cannot do that if Wei Wuxian refuses to show grace to his social “betters”. And Wei Wuxian calls him out on this, particularly as his altercations with Jin Zixuan have all been in defense of Jiang Yanli:

Wei WuXian, “It’s not impossible? Have you forgotten what he did in Langya? You’re telling me that it’s not impossible?”

Jiang Cheng, “He’s probably regretting it.”

Wei WuXian, “Who cares if he regrets it. Do we have to forgive him just because he apologized? Look at what his dad’s like. Maybe he’ll be the goddamn same in the future, killing time searching everywhere for women. Have shijie be with him? You could take it?”

Jiang Cheng’s voice was frozen, “See if he dares!” After a pause, Jiang Cheng glanced at him before he continued, “But, it’s not like you have a say in whether he’s forgiven or not. Sister likes him, so what can we do?”

Jiang Cheng starts by defending Jin Zixuan by assuming that Jin Zixuan feels bad, making no mention whatsoever of any changed behavior of the other man’s that would justify such an assumption. It is only after Wei Wuxian brings up Jin Guangshan’s reputation that he even begins to defend his sister, but, once again, he pauses and pivots in defense of Jin Zixuan, this time by placing the blame on Jiang Yanli’s “feelings” for why they “must” make nice, because he knows that Wei Wuxian isn’t moved by appeals to power or reputation. Nevermind that two months prior, Jiang Yanli had chosen to leave the Phoenix Mountain hunt with Wei Wuxian, and in the scene immediately after the above conversation, Jiang Yanli is reluctant to talk about “why would someone like another person” and deflects to asking Wei Wuxian if he likes someone, instead. Reinstating the engagement is not Jiang Yanli’s present will, which only leaves Jiang Cheng’s will to consider.

Jiang Cheng’s priority when it comes to Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan’s relationship is not his sister’s feelings or well-being but ensuring that he can ally his recently demolished clan to the new leaders of the cultivation world where he has been locked out by every other avenue. And he is willing to overlook every red flag Jin Zixuan displays towards Jiang Yanli in order for this engagement to go through.

#human reads mdzs: take 2 #human metas mxtx

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wierdpersonononelikes · 8 months

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Was I ever good enough

(This might be cringe, so if you don't like it, please don't continue reading it, and please put in the comments. This was song inspireds ome what only a few parts and some fan fics I read and instead of You can't leave me is this one.)

Warnings ⚠️: The reader thinks that they are not worth it and tempted suicide (I don't know how to write warnings)

The song

And enjoy

You were waiting on your love, it was your anniversary and Larissa had to work but you didn’t mind you could wait for her, she said that she would just come to pick you up around 6:00 because the reservation was at 6:30. It was almost 6:00 and you waited… waited… It was 6:40 you got worried and you decided to go to Nevermore. [Time skip] It was already 7:00 when you arrived it was dark and you still had the outfit that you were going to wear to your date with her. Walking to her office you heard weird sounds like moans and you started to overthink everything {no Larissa wouldn’t do it she knows how much I suffered when I was a kid… no she wouldn’t do it} you continue walking you opened the door and your worst nightmare she was fucking someone else “L-Larissa” you said almost as a whisper, she heard your voice she looked up and she through the black hair woman on to the floor “darling… I-I can explain” “Explain what Larissa” Tears started to form in your eyes “Knowing how I suffered when I was a kid you dare to do this how…why… was I ever good enough to you” “Darling please don’t say that you know that you are good enough for me” “then why Larissa… last time for our anniversary you stayed at work and forgot about when I wait, I stay up until you come home and come home you treat me like shit” she started to walk towards you and tried to hug you but she moved out of her way “I don’t care if you come home or not, stay with this whore… and be expecting the divorce papers” she started to walk out “wait” you stop your tracks just stood there “please let us fix this” you head that and you started to laugh “fix what Larissa you broke everything” and you chuckled finishing with a big sigh and started to walk out again getting close to your car and you heard “y/n” you turn around to see larissa “what do you want” “please let’s not end like this”

You grip your hand making your knuckles turn white “Larissa don’t get closer” you warned something hated about your mother and your father was that you couldn’t control your temper sometimes and also having an unknown power was normal for your family but you were afraid of your self to and Larissa was the only on that could calm you. She was getting closer, and your grip got tighter when you couldn’t you ran and grabbed her neck, and your grip was getting tighter every second until you realized what were you doing you let her sit on the ground you looked at her she looked at her and your tears brust you couldn’t so you ran you left your car and you ran until you got tired you asked for a ride and went to the house you used to call home it was 9:00 it was going to be a long night like a few minutes later you heard the front door open you know who you could smell her perfume, you heard her heels click until you felt the couch skink she moved a bit to your left “can we talk” “about what” you said looking at the ground “please Y/n I don’t want to lose you” “you lost me when you touched her skin” you got up from the couch and left. Larissa sat there thinking of how to let that happen she felt stupidly mad at herself for letting that happen.

You'll be the saddest part of me

A part of me that will never be mine

It's obvious

Tonight is gonna be the loneliest

You're still the oxygen I breathe

I see your face when I close my eyes

It's torturous

Tonight is gonna be the loneliest

Larissa couldn’t sleep she felt lonely she needed you here, she cried for hours thinking and knowing that you would never be hers again. The worst thing is that you are her everything, she tries to sleep she sees the smile that you always had and the look on your face when you entered her office that night, but she can’t.

So don't be sad when I'll be gone

There's just one thing I hope you know, I love you so

She can’t imagine leaving you and if she has to to make you feel better she will the only thing that she wants you to know is that she loves you.

'Cause I don't even care about the time I've got left here

The only thing I know now is that I wanna spend it

With you, with you nobody else here

Tonight is gonna be the loneliest

She wants you here with her and even if she still slept with someone else she still misses you and loves you.

You couldn’t you were mad at everything even at yourself, you felt like it was your fault for everything {hate myself for not being a good wife} you thought to yourself you couldn’t you left the hotel and went outside.

Larissa was worried she needed to tell you how it happened she couldn’t let you go thank good that she still had that tracking device just in case something happened to you.

[Time skip]

In a few minutes, Larissa found you on top of a building how you got there she doesn’t know, she ran it while but she got there she was walking slowly to you but she saw you got up and ready to jump, you had your headphone on so you couldn’t hear her you felt the air in your face “was I ever good enough” you whisper to yourself and lean forward when Larissa saw talking to yourself she ran as quickly as she could, you felt your death coming finally your where going to be free until you felt you hit something…

Pages 5

Words 1008

Characters 5095

#gwendoline christie #gwendolineuniverse #gwendoline christie x fem reader #gwendoline christie x reader #gwendoline christie x y/n #larissa weems #larissa weems x you #larissa weems x female reader #Spotify

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rustingcat · 8 months

Text

Twilight

They started working on the test immediately. Bringing both Brainy and Nia to draw blood, as Kara and Lena started loading materials and performing last minute check ups before their real full trial. Their preparations took longer than expected, both Lena and Kara had important day jobs to get back to after all. After work, they started testing the nourishment distribution system. Hopefully the main system they would need to update and temper with in the long run.

A problem with a delicate Foundation project called Lena away in the late evening. Kara insisted on continuing by herself as there was not much left to do, Lena agreed and promised she would come back as soon as she could. Lena ended up coming up to check on updates every time she had a minute before needing to go back to deal with another issue.

It was getting much later than Kara anticipated when she finished setting up the PF, checking the numbers twice before proceeding to the next stage. The excitement came back to her in full force when she faced the familiar UI once more.

Their first trial was about to begin, their first test to see if their machine was capable of creating life!

She happily pressed continue through the proceeding warning windows and activated the nourishment system. She watched in glee as one of the pods lit up, indicating its activity. A warm feeling spread in her chest as she felt her smile widening. That little thing would become a baby, a baby that would be so loved and cared for by everyone around them, they're gonna drown in it.

Kara wiped off a tear and checked the status of the PF, which should start its transformation into an active embryo pretty soon. The numbers seemed to be on par as expected as PF1 made its new home in pod number one, pretty fitting Kara smiled. It took her a second to realise her mistake.

Getting closer than necessary to read through the genetic data of the new embryo confirmed her suspicions. She accidentally processed her and Lena's genetic data. The baby being created belonged to her and Lena!

Kara took a step back in sheer shock, her eyes as wide as saucers locked on the screen.

"Hey Kara." She heard Lena's voice from behind her.

Kara turned quickly, moving her hands around frantically from the shot of anxiety that went through her system and swallowed hard while she did her best to look normal. She gave Lena her best reassuring smile, that might have showed a bit too much teeth. Luckily Lena was engrossed in her tablet, writing down whatever it was that needed her attention. Kara was grateful her mistake was yet to be discovered.

"How did it go?" Lena continued, finally looking up from her tablet to meet Kara's questionable gaze. "Did it process Nia's and Brainy's genetic data?" She asked, concerned. With the crisis she was dealing with she was probably desperate for some good news.

A small giggle left her lips as Kara swallowed hard. "All is fine." She lied, raising a thumb up to solidify her claim. She would be the first one to admit that her statement was not as convincing as she hoped it to be, but at least it wasn't 'I accidentally started a process to create a baby for us', which was honestly a win by itself.

Lena studied her for a second. "Are you ok?" She asked with concern.

"Yeah, yes. Definitely. Just… you know, excited. Yes, I'm just so excited." She nodded enthusiastically.

"If you run into any problems you–" whatever it was that Lena was about to say was cut short as the power for the entire building was suddenly cut off. The room was illuminated by the moon and the few computer screens that moved to work on the back up generator and the New Birthing Matrix that had its own personal power supply created specially for it.

"God dammit," Lena muttered, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. "I'm really sorry, I'll be right back." Lena stormed off the room and Kara selfishly wished she would exhaust all of her frustration on either her problematic project, or the people responsible to it so she wouldn't have the energy to be mad at Kara. Rao, she was terrible.

Breathing a small sigh of relief once she heard Lena entering a room a few floors down, Kara turned back to the machine.

Standing in the dark room, staring at the small pod illuminated almost exclusively by the twilight as the moon shined brightly through the opened window, Kara felt a shiver running down her spine.

Kara moved closer to the monitor, her fingers hovering over the termination button once again, only this time she would destroy something else, something more.

She saw them again, those flashes of small hands, chubby cheeks, and dimpled smile holding a small bundle of rags. A possible future. A future that had been haunting her dreams for months at this point. A possible future she suddenly desperately wanted to see to fruition.

Kara stepped back from the monitor to stand in front of the pod. She lay a hand on the protective glass, it was warmer than she anticipated. A small smile spread on her lips, knowing her hand was only inches away from their baby. She tasted something salty in her mouth only to realise she was crying. Rao, what a crazy day, a small chuckle escaped her lips as her tears became stronger. She was crying, she was standing in front of what she desperately hoped would become her first born child, a bizarre thought by itself.

Kara let herself have that moment, before drying her tears and turning back to the machine. She had still promised Nia and Brainy a child after all. It suddenly dawned on her, it would mean that their children could be born at around the same time! Give or take a few weeks, depending on the development of all the different species involved, but it would mean lots of conjoined birthday parties – if the kids wanted to of course – happy playtime together, and a chance to gain a true friend for life. Suddenly, this idea seemed like the perfect plan, she frankly wasn't sure why she hadn’t thought of it earlier.

Kara processed the second PF to pod number two, then lit up similarly to the first. They were already best friends, Kara smiled to herself, living next door to each other and all. "Be kind to your neighbour." She addressed her unborn child. And took a deep breath, exhaling slowly and turning back to the monitor.

She confirmed everything was okay with Nia and Brainy's data before letting herself sit down on the small couch in the corner of the room. In the dim twilight, Kara felt the dawn of a new era begin. Growing, in front of her eyes.

Kara wasn't sure how long she'd been staring at the pod before she fell asleep.

The morning sound that woke her up was not her usual alarm, nor was it the warm rays of the sun, but a loud voice that felt way too close to her face.

"Kara!" It rang in her ears, "Explain! Now!"

Read everything in order on AO3

Also, this whole fic was inspired by my little animation I did for last year's Supercorptober! This one right here

#supercorp #supergirl #kara danvers #lena luthor #art #supercorptober #supercorptober2023 #my art #my fic

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saiyanmazen · 6 months

Text

Your fiery nature

Another Vegebul ficlet written for the Vegebulocracy's D&D event. I would've finished it yesterday, but I've been struck down by a virus.

The prompt I used for this is obviously rage. This piece is rated somewhere between T and M. Nothing explicit or sexual, but very direct about the topic of sex.

Can also be read here on AO3.

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

Vegeta didn't think he would ever have anything in common with the Earthlings. He knew there were similarities between him and Kakarot given their shared race, but he'd been more than disappointed by how corrupted the third class Saiyan had been by the humans. There was very little of his heritage in his blood, beside the physical attributes he reaped the benefits of.

No, there wasn't anyone on this forsaken planet that could measure up to the Prince of All Saiyans.

Or so he'd thought.

The first time he felt the strange sense of kinship was when Baldy was visiting the compound. The small so-called warrior (although Vegeta begrudgingly admitted that he was the only one he carried a tiny amount of respect for - he had at least been ready to kill Vegeta until Kakarot stopped him) hadn't turned his back to Vegeta the entire time he was there; a good instinct to be honest. The midget's fear of him was justified. The Prince was the most dangerous being in the entire universe.

He hadn't paid attention to the conversation, only watched as the Earthlings interacted with each other. Maybe it could prove useful in the future. But it appeared that Baldy said something to the woman that made her angry. Her voice rose to mind-boggling shrillness as her eyes threw daggers at the midget and her mouth spewed the most heinous things at him.

The tiny man was quick to respond, backing away in fear of her wrath, and actually turned his back to Vegeta, leaving him open to attack. In fact, the bald man backed directly into Vegeta where he was leaning against the wall. Baldy didn't even flinch when he felt himself collide with the genocidal alien, still keeping his attention on the furious woman.

Vegeta was frankly offended. Why was a warrior afraid of a person as weak as her? She practically had no ki at all.

He pushed the midget to the side, possibly through the wall, and approached the hysterical female. Her rage was no match to his and, though he'd given his word that he would do no harm to her and her family, he wasn’t going to let her behave this way in front of him. Her screeching was awful to his ears and her language some of the foulest he'd heard in his life, but he would stop her. He shouted with all his might that she better shut up right this instant.

She quieted a moment, her blue eyes zeroing on him with blinding white rage, and then she directed everything at him. Her ferocity shocked him and, even as he returned her fire, she didn't back down, not once.

He'd never experienced anything like it. No one, even Frieza, had ever spoken to him like that. But he suddenly found something in another that he could relate to: an intense and burning rage.

She was magnificent. A wildfire hidden right beneath the surface of her deceptively weak appearance. In spite of the insults he flung at her, he was enchanted by her fiery nature.

After their fight somehow came to an end (which might have ended with him walking away in anger after she'd threatened to dismantle the gravity room), he felt invigorated in a whole new way. He knew that he would never look at her the same way again.

It quickly became clear to him that it wasn't just Baldy who feared the force of her wrath. Her little boytoy lost all his (unearned) bravado whenever her temper spiked, Kakarot would immediately do his best to placate her and even the Namekian was quick to disappear at signs of her nasty behavior.

Vegeta could never act so cowardly. He stood his ground and gave back, making her rage flare to almost explosive levels. It caused a strange sensation in him, an attraction to her that he eventually acknowledged had something to do with his Saiyan genes. The women of his race had been fierce and unafraid of even the greatest warrior, no matter how inferior their strength was. And Bulma’s steely gaze and cutting words made him feel more at home than he ever had before.

He began seeking her out, goading her into fight after another, relishing the sparks flickering between them as they exchanged blows.

It inevitably became physical, albeit in a way he was unfamiliar with. Not that it stopped any of them from pursuing this new passionate dance. They wrestled for dominance every time and it blew his mind every time. It drew him even more to her, much to his chagrin.

Over the time spent together, they learned not to come to blows at every turn. It took the birth of their infant child and the death of their future son for them to find a peaceful co-existence. They still argued, often to the point that the other inhabitants would clear out for a while until the dust had settled. It was usually after they'd aggressively worked things in a physical manner.

At times they'd be forced to put their quarrels to the side. Those were his favorites. She would pounce at him at an unexpected moment, push him into the mattress, a wall or wherever she attacked, wrath burning in her eyes, and put her whole body into releasing that anger at him. She would move like a wild beast, scratch and bite at him, pull his hair and even yell at him while they both reached the peak.

She was glorious, a true Queen worth of any throne, passionate and strong in all ways that mattered. He was lucky to have found a woman whose temper could match his own if not outdo him. After all, her rage could even make a god cower in fear. And Vegeta wouldn't have it any other way.

#Vegebulocracy D&D #bulma #vegeta #vegebul #dragon ball z #vegebul fanfic #dbz fanfiction #other tags probably

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sl-newsie · 5 months

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American Woman (Thomas Shelby x American OC) Ch. 2: Employed By Criminals

I can’t stand waiting any longer. I’ve been in my new room for what seems like an hour and no one has come to give any further instructions. The time I took to settle in only lasted five minutes, considering all my possessions fit in a small suitcase. So, I decide now I will explore.

I peek through the keyhole and find the kitchen outside to be empty. After opening the door I stick my head out to survey again. Still empty. Where is everyone? The least I can do now is to prepare dinner. After scavenging the kitchen I find some vegetables and spices to work with. No meat, but I’m not going to make a fool of myself around looking for the meat cellar. After I’ve started boiling water and mixed in some herbs I begin to chop the vegetables.

“You’re back,” Finn states as he enters from another side door, looking at the pot with new-found interest. “What’s that?”

“Dinner. Oh, since I didn’t get a good chance to introduce myself, my name’s Verena. Just so you know. Your aunt hired me to be your tutor.”

Finn scrunches his face in dislike. “Ugh. That again? Aunt Polly knows I hate reading!”

“What do you enjoy instead?” I try to sound optimistic as I peel the carrots.

“I like math better, like the math Tommy does for the business. Reading’s too complicated.”

“Not necessarily. What have you read before?”

“The Wind In The Willows, Peter Rabbit, all that kids stuff.”

“Well then it seems to me that you just need to find content you enjoy. Fiction may not be your choice, but you might like books of science, philosophy, or social issues. Have you heard of the Mathematical Principles of Natural Philosophy by Isaac Newton, or Relativity: The Special and General Theory by Albert Einstein? Maybe The Jungle by Upton Sinclair? Actually-” I set down my knife and rush to my room, returning with a book from my suitcase. “I brought this with me on vacation for light reading.” I hand the curious child the worn book. “It’s the Common Sense pamphlet by Thomas Paine. It’s American, but I’m sure it’s much more interesting than Peter Rabbit.”

Finn apprehensively scans the first page, and I can’t hide my growing smile as a look of interest begins to spread on his face. He starts reading, wandering down the hall while not looking up once. Maybe I’ll make a good tutor after all.

“Alright, enough chatter. Let’s eat.” An approaching voice speaks.

I go back to chopping carrots and don’t bother to look up until the voice speaks again.

“Who are you?”

When I lift my gaze to find the voice’s source, a pair of icy blue eyes are peering into me. The eyes belong to a man with a well-sculpted face that shows both stern and commanding intentions. He’s wearing gray trousers, black dress shoes, white shirt and gray vest, as well as a flat cap that John was wearing earlier. He’s also smoking a cigarette, which has brought a foul stench along with it.

“Who let you in here?” The man asks, not even waiting for me to answer his first question.

“Polly did. Pleasure to meet you-”

“But you can’t be here. I’ll have to talk to her.” Then he walks off and starts pouring himself some water, and I faintly hear him mutter: “We don’t take in strays.”

Excuse me? Since when does this guy get to treat me like dirt? Maybe it’s the American mutt temper, but I’ve got the urge to give him a piece of my mind!

I lean against the counter and look up with rebellious eyes. “Gotta say, your accent is a bit on the tricky side. Mind saying that again?”

The man seems taken back by the tone of my voice, as if he’s not used to people being sassy with him. He’s quick to regain his posture and has a smirk growing on his lips.

“And I’ll say that your American accent is downright pathetic compared to ours. You lot still never got over being independent, did you? Gotta flaunt it about in all our faces!”

My jaw drops. “I never even mentioned that! I think you’re the one holding a grudge based on a war you weren’t even a part of!” He tries to interrupt but I keep talking. “And for the record, we Americans are current allies with you. So instead of arguing about something that happened a hundred and forty years ago, I say we uphold each country’s honor and talk as if we’re on the same level. Do you agree?”

The man keeps staring at me, seeming to ponder whether or not to argue again.

“This book is really good!” Finn interrupts the silence from down the hall.

I grin at his enthusiasm and go back to chopping carrots, ignoring the man’s blank stare.

“Polly said you know Finn, my new student.”

His eyes flick upwards to find mine again. “Pardon?”

“I’m his tutor, or at least I have been for the past hour. Polly hired me, so that’s why I’m here.”

“Interesting…”

Now he’s looking at me in a different manner, as if sizing me up as a potential threat. Why would he do that? The man slowly walks around the counter towards me and removes his cap, allowing me to see he has dark hair in a style similar to Finn’s. He turns it over and sets it on the counter, as if he wants me to get a closer look. What I do I notice it’s got something shiny peeking out of the brim.

“What’s with the custom hat? It’s made of metal, or something?”

The man simply chuckles and holds back the fabric to show- razors?

“You sew razor blades into your hat? Now I’ve heard everything! And I thought Americans were crazy!”

“Is that soup I smell?” Another voice comes from the same way the man came. Another man enters the room and I recognize him as John. When he sees us, his eyes acquire a hint of uncertainty. “Thomas, I see you’ve met Verena. Polly was just telling me about her.”

So this is the Thomas I was warned about? I guess Polly wasn’t kidding when she said he was ruff.

“Not officially, John. She was just telling about how Polly hired her to teach Finn. May I ask why?”

“Polly says it’s because he needs a proper education. Not one that’s only taught through bookkeeping. Can’t say I blame her. When’s the last time any of us actually sat down with him and taught him something?”

Thomas shrugs. “If he’s going to be part of the Blinders he’ll learn all he needs to know by watching us.”

The name sends a chill down my spine and I snap to attention.

“Wait- Blinders? As in Peaky Blinders…? Oh my God.” I look back and forth between Thomas and John, still holding the knife. “Shelby! That’s the name! Shelby! I’ve heard things about you, what kind of a man you are! Excuse me, but I do not want to be involved with anything surrounding you!”

I grip the knife and dash for the hallway, yanking on the door handle only to find it’s locked. Panicking, I stand in the corner with the knife held out as Thomas Shelby struts towards me- holding a pistol!

“Please, don’t kill me! I have nothing to offer! You’d just be wasting a bullet!”

There’s no answer, only Thomas looking at me with cold eyes.

“Verena! Verena! Polly, where'd she go?” Finn’s voice comes from down the hall. He turns his head and sees me, with a wide grin on his face. God, I can’t let him see me get killed!

“Finn…? Finn! Did you finish your reading?” I speak in a quivering voice.

“Almost. I’ve only got a few more pages.”

I nod shakily still looking between Finn and Thomas, who’s looking at him while still holding the gun up. “Alright, go and finish up and then I’ll be right over.”

Finn heads back into his room, and I look up to glare into Thomas’ calculating eyes. “I swear to God, if you so much as lay a finger on that boy-!”

“You’ll what?” Thomas asks in a laid-back manner. “A moment ago you were begging for me not to kill you. Now you’re threatening me not to kill my own brother?”

My mind stops. “Brother…? He’s your brother? Oh…” I shamefully look to the floor, cursing myself in my head for making such a stupid mistake. “But you’ll still kill me.”

The next few quiet seconds are so suspenseful I swear I can hear my own heart beating. I dare to look back up at Thomas, who now shakes his head.

“I’m not going to kill you.”

My brow furrows at his words. “This means I’m fired then, doesn’t it?”

By now John’s entered the hallway and comes over to stand in front of Thomas.

“Why would we fire you? From what Polly’s told me and what we’ve seen here, you haven’t given us any reason to fire you.”

“But my question is-” Thomas steps forward. “Can she be trusted? How do we know she’s loyal to us?”

I bite my lip and lower the knife I’m holding. “With all due respect sir, you’re technically my employer. That and the fact that you’re temporarily housing me gives me enough reason to be loyal. And if for whatever reason in the future I might not be, you can kick me to the dirt.”

Both men exchange looks, seeming to have a silent conversation while I stand here awkwardly. Eventually John gestures for Thomas to put away the gun, who seems to have forgotten he had it out.

“We seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot,” Thomas says in a lighter tone. “What was your name again?”

Now that he’s not holding a gun at me, Thomas actually seems decent. I might dare to even call him handsome. Remember, this is your boss now. Keep it professional. Don’t lose your head.

I stand up straighter and hold out a hand to shake his. “Verena Nora Steenstra. Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Shelby.” I turn to John and shake his hand too. “You as well, Mr. Shelby. I was told by Polly to wait for any further instructions. In the meantime there is soup in the pot if you’re interested.”

“Wait.” Thomas gets an odd look. “You… made dinner? Why?”

Now that I have more leverage, I hold my breath to squeeze past the two men and back into the kitchen. “I had nothing else to do, and it’s the least I can do since you’ve allowed me into your home.”

Just then, Polly comes into the room. She hesitates when she sees us, giving John and Thomas a certain look. Then she sees the pot on the stove.

“Who cooked? Ada hasn’t made anything in weeks.”

The two men look at each other, then point to me. Polly seems impressed.

“You appear to be a lady of many talents, Ms. Steenstra.”

My face goes pink at her praise and I busy myself by stirring the soup. “I know my way around the kitchen. My family thinks it’s proper for me to be a suitable housewife, so that’s what I’ve been expected to do my whole life. Cooking, baking, sewing, the works. In all honesty, this is the first real job I’ve ever had.”

When I turn back to them, they’re all sitting at the table and appear to all be whispering something. Thomas is the one to speak first.

“So you’re from America, and for the moment you are stuck here?”

“Correct.”

He nods slowly. “Welcome to Birmingham, Ms. Steenstra. Here’s exactly what you’re getting yourself into, love. My family runs a bookkeeping business, and we do our part to keep a close eye on the authorities. People know better not to mess with us.”

“Bookkeeping, like gambling?”

“Correct.”

Dear Lord, I’ve become involved with criminals!

Polly seems to catch onto my panicked thoughts. “You need not worry about being caught up with our work. You’ll only be interacting with Finn.” Polly’s eyes narrow. “If anyone asks, you’re a private tutor and only a private tutor. Do not go asking too many questions.”

I nod shakily and wring my hands together. “Seems to me like a world made up of gambling, drinking, and violence.” I shake my head and give her a skeptical look. “That doesn’t seem like a world I want to be involved in.”

“You won’t have to, and I suggest you don’t.”

By now Finn’s returned and is sitting next to John, but he’s not the only one who’s entered. Over the past few minutes a man with a mustache and a younger woman with short dark hair wearing a red dress are now standing across from me. Thankfully Polly notices my discomfort.

“Everyone, we need proper introductions. This is Verena Steenstra, and she’s going to be helping Finn with his studies. Verena, you’ve met Finn, Thomas, and John. The final Shelby brother is Arthur over there.” She points to the mustache man. “And Ada’s their sister.” She points to the woman in red.

Wow. The Shelbys are a big family. And suspicious ones at that, because they’re all looking at me as if they’re dogs eyeing a piece of meat.

“Polly, no offense, but I don’t like this,” the one called Arthur grunts. “Who says the bitch won’t tattle to the coppers the instant she leaves? How do you know she isn’t a spy sent by the new bloke?” He jerks his head to see Finn eating my soup and he swipes the bowl. “How do we know this isn’t poisoned?!”

“Because I ate it?” I shrug. “Because unlike most people I’ve met here I actually try to be nice? It’s fun, you should try it sometime.”

John starts outright laughing, leaving us all giving him funny looks. “You picked out a real winner, Polly! She’s just like the Americans I met during the war!”

Lord, what have I gotten myself into?

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