#very quickly needed to add a drawing to go with it

[kaviary-blog]

The Shape of Her Name

When only one person knows a name, how long till it disappears?

A second installment to this fic

Ominis Gaunt, Sebastian Sallow, and an Anonymous F!MC

Warnings: Mentions of death, angst, maybe a pinch of comfort if you squint

Word Count: 1.4k

Ominis Gaunt knew many things about many of his classmates. Being blind came with its benefits, one of them being people tended to think him deaf as well; though he was quite the opposite.

His silence allowed for the noises and gossip of others to be heard and made memorable.

However, there was one student in particular that stood apart from the crowd. Outside the gathering of the masses and the events of life. Fluent in being unwanted and forgotten.

The only thing Ominis knew about her was the sound of her voice and the feel of her name as it took shape in his mouth and slipped off his tongue.

Sometimes it seemed as if he was the only one who knew what it felt like to shape her name the way it sounds. Well, sounded.

Never the feel of her skin or the texture of her hair. The occasional whiff of her scent would pass him by, though never lingering long enough to commit to memory. And the pattern of her footsteps was easily drowned out by their much heavier footed peers.

She stood outside the room that life took place in, even more so now that she had passed from the mortal world that had never acknowledged her.

Only in death had they known of her, and they knew only what she had done for them but never who she was. They knew her sacrifice but not her life.

Wilted flowers adorned the pedestal on which they placed her. A plaque reading an empty title, another excuse not to dig around searching for the name that died with her.

It didn’t take long after the start of their sixth year for people to slowly forget about the statue and the girl behind it. Allowing it to blend into the background and become a closer mirror of its personification.

She stood gallantly, protecting the school and the world that hadn’t ever welcomed her, her fate permanently set into eroding stone.

Her wand had been broken out of her hand, underclassmen thinking themselves impressive to have a replica of the Wand that Saved Hogwarts.

The only person who ever visited the statue anymore was a young man, though his face never turned up to hers. He would sit in silence at her feet, as they so often did before her demise.

Ominis Gaunt, the only person who remembered her. The only one who knew her name.

They used to sit silently and work on assignments together, never speaking much but understanding each other without the use of words.

The blond boy continued this tradition, sitting quietly at the foot of her statue and working silently in her protective atmosphere.

There had been times in the beginning where the temperature would drop and the air would grow still, times when the world seemed to remember what it had lost and was grieving with him. Times when the earth itself wept for her.

Time continued to pass, leaving her further and further behind. The further it went without her the more foreign her name felt in his mouth or in his thoughts; to the point he wasn’t sure if it was the correct shape anymore.

— — —

Sitting in the quiet chill of the Slytherin common room, listening to the solemn sounds of the lake out the window, familiar footsteps approached the armchair occupied by a blond boy; eyes closed and ears perked.

“Sebastian.” A one word greeting to his longtime friend.

“Can I sit?” Sebastian’s tone wasn’t as cheerful or confident as it used to be.

Ominis simply nodded his head once and Sebastian took a seat in the armchair across from his melancholic friend.

Even without the use of his eyes he knew that the brunet before him was nervously playing with his hands.

“Quit picking,” he nudged Sebastian’s leg with his foot, “it’s a bad habit.”

“Right.”

There was silence between the two boys before a quirked eyebrow from Ominis urged Sebastian to spit out whatever was on his mind.

“I’ve been… thinking about her” at those words, Ominis froze. There had been no mention of their fallen friend since her passing. “And I know you spend the occasional afternoon…”

The words coming out of Sebastian’s mouth fell on deaf ears. Jaw clenched as he thought of her. Someone he knew so much and so little about, someone who sacrificed her own life to save a world that didn’t even bother to recover her body.

Grief fueled the anger that rose in his chest. “Enough!” He snapped at his friend. “I am not discussing her with you.”

“What? Why not?” Sebastian was taken aback, feelings slightly hurt by the aggression of his best friend’s tone.

“Because why now? She’s been gone for almost a year. Has your guilt finally caught up with you? Sebastian, you couldn’t have cared less about her when she was alive and you’ve never once brought her up since she died. So why now?”

He knew his words were unnecessarily harsh, but it was the truth.

“I- I’m sorry”

“Don’t. Don’t you dare.”

“Ominis-“ Sebastian’s voice was small and uncharacteristically solemn.

“Did you know you were the last person to speak to her before she died?”

That caught him off guard.

“What? No. I hadn’t even seen her for months before the memorial at the end of the year.”

Ominis sighed, shaking his head.

“When was it that Fig disappeared?”

Oh

Sebastian’s demeanor fell, the weight of his realization bringing his face down into his hands.

“Just after Christmas break. Merlin.”

His voice cracked but Ominis hadn’t stayed long enough to hear it; Deciding he no longer wanted to be the one to nurse Sebastian’s antiquated sense of guilt and self shame.

— — —

The seasons continued to change with no regard for the suffering time brought.

Snow blanketed the castle grounds the same way it had that fateful day the year before. Students celebrated the cheer that usually accompanied the holiday season. Hogwarts was ablaze with decorations, enchanted snowflakes, and the joyful scents that came with the season.

The illusion of cheer around every corner.

Laughter filled the halls, everyone seemed to be in bright spirits; except one.

“Ominis?”

The blond turned his ear towards the footsteps that crunched in the snow.

They stopped a few feet shy from the boy.

“I thought I’d find you here.”

“What do you want, Sebastian?”

“It’s cold out. I brought hot cocoa”

An arm outstretched towards Ominis, holding a warm mug. “Can I sit?”

“I’m not going to stop you, and…thank you.” The boy grabbed the mug from his friend, who brushed the snow off the base of her pedestal.

“This was her favorite drink. I know at least that much.” Ominis listened to the soft voice of his dearest friend, hearing him set down a second mug down next to the statues feet before plopping down next to the blind boy.

A small smile crossed his lips at Sebastian’s words combined with the gesture.

Ominis turned his face up to the snow that began to fall, “and she hated the snow, didn’t like how it made her shoes soggy and that she could never seem to get warm enough.” His words were laced with a bittersweet tenderness. “She’d probably be so upset that she died in the midst of deep winter. Or she’d say that it was rather fitting.”

The two chatted lightly, small things they could remember about her though they were few.

Sebastian turned his face up to the slowly eroding one on the statue, his brows furrowed. A question that had nagged at him since he first heard of her passing.

“Ominis,” Sebastian hesitated, “…what was her name?”, he was almost afraid of whatever answer the boy would give.

Ominis’ face fell, pain dancing across his pale features before he slowly opened his mouth.

“I.. I don’t... I don’t know. I can’t remember”

The words broke his heart to say. And maybe Sebastian had been right; not knowing her name in the first place would have been much less painful than having it torn from his memories the same way she was torn from him.

Her name no longer had a shape, if it had even held one to begin with. The Hero of Hogwarts was well and truly gone, her name joining her in the unmarked grave where she fell. The rubble of a forgotten tomb would forever house the remains of a forgotten girl.

[call-me-copycat]

Here's the full drawing of the SMASH Aizawa panel! It was made by Horikoshi and given to Neda (the author of SMASH - a comic spinoff that's the ONLY non canon spinoff out of all of them. Because it's a comedy)

I wouldn't take that drawing to heart sadly - it was drawn exaggerated as a joke! Because everyone here was drawn with swapped quirks/roles, and so Aizawa (a normally lean looking man) was drawn with exaggerated features (as All Might) for a comedic effect

That being said, not disagreeing with anyone! I just keep seeing that post around and it's driving me crazy since no one knows where the full thing is from (⁠╥⁠﹏⁠╥⁠)

Summer break Aizawa ✨

There is no little Eri, no cats, Nemuri and Hizashi are annoying (they play with his hair, that's why it's all puffy, and they don't let him nap) , the sun is annoying too. He's all grumpy (but he secretly enjoy it, even if he'll never say it), he can't wait to get back to work and have his personal space back 🤣

I need vacations too... 😭

(pls, do not repost this on any others platforms ;;)

[seumyo]

how easy it would be to forge itoshi rin’s signature.

“What’re you doing?”

Rin sat on your bed, his back pressed against the headboard, legs stretched out in front of him. Your dorm was decent, neat in some areas, and cluttered in others—nothing too bad to the point where it was concerning. The desk was stacked with books and loose papers, a mug of half-finished tea sat forgotten on the little kitchen counter, and the walls were decorated with a mix of posters that he remembered you saying that you liked, candid polaroids, and lots of memorabilia.

You sat cross-legged beside him, practically bouncing as you shoved your scrapbook into his lap, your excitement bubbling over like always. Rin had long since learned that when you got like this, there was no stopping you—only surviving.

Surviving meant just going with whatever it is that you wanted.

“You have to sign this page,” you said, pointing eagerly at a newly decorated spread.

“It’s for today, so I don’t forget it.”

Rin glanced down.

The page was filled with doodles—some of him, some of a soccer ball, and what seemed to be a very lopsided drawing of a goalpost. You’d also glued a small Polaroid of you two together from earlier, where you had ambushed him for a selfie after his practice.

Without a word, he picked up the pen (a glittery navy blue one, if he may add) you handed him and flipped to the empty space at the bottom of the page. He’d done this enough times that he didn’t need to think about it. With fluid, precise strokes, he wrote his full name: Itoshi Rin.

No embellishments, no fancy loops, just his name.

As soon as he finished, you leaned over to inspect it.

You blinked.

Then blinked again.

“That’s it?” you asked, tilting your head.

Rin frowned. “What?”

“I mean…” You pursed your lips, squinting at his handwriting like you were analyzing a piece of evidence. “Your signature is so simple. I could probably forge it.”

Rin immediately shot you a warning look, as if already giving you an internal monologue. “Don’t.”

“But it’s so easy,” you said, dragging out the last word as you grinned. “Like, I could totally get away with it.”

He sighed, running a hand down his face.

“Why would you want to?”

“Well,” you hummed, tapping your chin in exaggerated thought. “What if I need to sign something important on your behalf? Like, let’s say you’re too busy being a famous soccer player, and I need to approve some official documents for you.”

“You don’t.”

“But what if?” You smiled, leaning closer, eyes gleaming with mischief. “What if a brand deal needs your signature, and you’re not around, and the deadline is right now? I could save the day.”

“You’d get arrested for fraud.”

“Would I, though?” You poked his arm, and Rin shrugged with a quick, quiet sigh. “Because I’m pretty sure your manager would just be like, ‘Wow, what a responsible lover! Always taking care of Rin!’”

Rin’s face fell flat.

“No, they’d be like, ‘Wow, what a criminal. Get them arrested immediately.’”

You laughed, completely unbothered. “Okay, fine, I won’t forge your signature for business deals. But, hypothetically speaking, what if I had to? Like, say I get kidnapped—”

Rin groaned, already regretting engaging in this conversation.

“Why are you kidnapped now?”

“Because!” You gestured dramatically.

“Some rival team wants to use me as leverage against you. They tell me, ‘If Rin doesn’t throw his next match, we’ll make you disappear!’”

He let out a slow breath. “Then I’d just find you.”

“Oh?” You awed, tilting your head. “You’d come rescue me?”

Rin didn’t even hesitate.

Why would he?

“Obviously.”

For a brief moment, you paused, your playful demeanor faltering as you stared at him. Then, just as quickly, you shook off the thought and cheekily smiled.

“Okay, okay, new scenario,” you continued. “What if you get kidnapped—”

“Why am I getting kidnapped now?”

“Because you’re Rin Itoshi! Maybe some crazy fan takes you hostage, or a rival team wants to sabotage you, or, I don’t know, some billionaire wants to add you to their private collection of elite soccer players.”

“That’s not how people work.”

“Well, whatever the reason,” you said, waving a hand, “you’re held captive, and they demand that you sign a fake retirement letter so you can never play soccer again. But! You refuse because you’re stubborn, so they bring me in and tell me, ‘Forge his signature, or else!’”

Rin leaned his head back against the headboard, closing his eyes. He could feel you draping your legs over his, and he made no move to try to move them away. “I hate that you put this much thought into these things.”

“Come on, it’s fun.”

“No, it’s exhausting.”

“Well, since you refuse to make your signature harder to copy, you better hope no one actually tries to forge it.”

He cracked an eye open to give you a skeptical look. “Are you planning to?”

You gasped, placing a hand over your heart like he had just accused you of the worst crime imaginable. “Me? Your beloved? I would never commit fraud against you.”

Rin didn’t look convinced.

“Okay, okay,” you relented, leaning back against the pillows. “I won’t forge your signature. But you should really think about making it cooler. Maybe add a little flourish?”

“No.”

“An underline?”

“No.”

“A small soccer ball doodle at the end?”

“No.”

You pouted. “You have no fun.”

“And you have too much.”

You laughed again before turning your attention back to the scrapbook. Running a finger over his signature, you muttered, “Still, I bet I could copy it.”

Rin reached over and flicked your forehead.

“Ow!” You swatted at him, though there was no real force behind it.

He clicked his tongue, though softly. “Try it, and I’ll make sure you never get to hold my autograph again.”

You gasped dramatically. “You wouldn’t!”

“Try me.”

You huffed before flopping onto your stomach, burying your face into the bed. “You’re so mean.”

“And you’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah, but you like me anyway.”

Rin rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, he reached for your scrapbook, flipping through the pages filled with their memories. His name was already scrawled across several of them, marking the proof of your time together.

“Next time,” you said, peeking at him, “I’m making you sign in cursive.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.”

“No.”

“Just wait and see, Rin. I’ll wear you down eventually.”

Rin exhaled slowly. If it were anyone else, he would have dismissed the idea entirely. But this was you. If there was one thing he had learned about you, it was that you were relentless.

And, somehow, he didn’t really mind.

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[covenofagatha]

Practice makes perfect (Part 3)

A month later, will Agatha keep pretending like nothing happened?

Word count: 6.4k

Warnings: reader has a penis, cock cage, fingering, handjob, orgasm denial, degradation, semi-public sex

It’s a month later before you see Agatha again. Your internship ended, you’re back in school, and you haven’t had a good reason to stop by your dad’s work, despite really trying hard to think of one.

Until now. 

He had called you that morning and barked at you to swing by his apartment and bring you the files he left on the kitchen counter as his new wife was busy shopping or screwing her personal trainer—you know either is just as likely. 

So you walk the familiar path from the elevator to his office, very visibly scanning the room. People you worked closely with this summer raise their hand to greet you, but you completely ignore them because you only have one person on your mind. 

You see her through the blinds on the glass doors to the office adjacent to your father’s, the lines on her forehead etched deep as she types something out on her computer. 

There’s a twist in your stomach and a tightening in your pants as Agatha’s eyes flick up to meet yours and the memory of her cunt wrapped around your cock has your cheeks heating up furiously. 

She looks completely unaffected; you could be anyone else from the way she gets back to work without a care in the world. 

Except you can see a light flush in her face and it makes your cock twitch because you know she’s thinking about you too. 

The morning after the last night in the Hamptons had been uneventful, almost like nothing had happened. You had woken up in Agatha’s bed and rolled over, fingertips sliding across to seek out her warmth, but she had already gotten out of bed. She came out of the bathroom, completely dressed and carrying her travel pack of toiletries, as you finally sat up and rubbed at your tired eyes. 

Agatha whisked you out of bed, hissing, “Remember, this never happened.” 

And that had been all. 

Has she been reminiscing about fucking you every night since then? Has she touched herself while thinking about you? Has she been counting down the days until she sees you again? 

You’d be embarrassed to admit that you’d done all three—many times. Agatha is your craving now, your addiction, and you need her more than the air you breathe at this point. 

Your dad yells your name and you think you see the sliver of a smile on Agatha’s face. You quickly dart to his office and he doesn’t even so much as look up when you place the files on his desk. 

“Took you long enough,” he says grumpily and you know that’s as much gratitude as you’ll get from him. Never mind the fact that you drove all the way back to the city and you have class in two hours just to bring him a few papers he forgot. 

“I guess I’ll see you later?” you prompt, trying to stall for just a second so you can think of a reason to talk to Agatha on your way out. 

He takes off his reading glasses and settles back in his chair, studying you. Finally, he waves a hand. “The fundraiser thing is this weekend. Why don’t you come to it? It’ll be good to have family there, you know, for morale. Maybe we can put you in charge of something—how about the bread?” 

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. Of course if he is going to give you any responsibility at all, it would be the thing that even a seven year old could figure out. “Yeah, that’ll be great, dad,” you say through tight lips. 

He grimaces like he’s going to add something else but instead, picks up a magazine and holds it up to his face. You take the hint and scurry out of his office. 

Even though you don’t have an excuse, you open the door to Agatha’s room anyway and poke your head in. She raises an eyebrow through her large, black glasses, unimpressed, and you ignore how it affects you. 

“Can I help you?” she asks caustically, looking at you like you’re a piece of gum that got stuck on her shoe. Hot. 

You step in and draw the blinds on the door before closing the others on the floor-to-ceiling glass windows that make her office seem like a fishbowl so no one in the cubicles outside can see in. 

“Are you going to the thing this weekend?” you respond casually before strolling over to perch on the edge of her desk. She’s wearing a brown tweed coat over a blue shirt and black pants and her dark hair tumbles down her back. 

The memory of grinding your cock between her tits flashes in your mind and you shift your weight to hide the budding erection between your legs. 

Agatha doesn’t miss it, of course, and her gaze drops down before she scoffs. “Really? I’m surprised your cock hasn’t fallen off with how much jerking off you must be doing.” 

She smirks at your muffled whimper and your pants grow tighter. 

But Agatha’s caught off guard when you sink to your knees in front of her. You’re feeling dizzy and not thinking clearly at all and you just know that you need her so you start to crawl the last few inches to her chair when she sticks out a leg and stops you. 

A choked gasp leaves your mouth—her short black pump is right against the bugle in your pants. “Agatha,” you breathe, looking up at her with heat in your eyes and mouth wide-open. 

She simpers and presses harder, making you keel forward. Your mind goes blank. 

“God, you’re insatiable, aren’t you?” she hisses and you nod brainlessly and hump up at her shoe like a bitch in heat. If anyone were to walk in right now, you would be caught in quite the compromising position. 

Agatha grabs your hair and forces you to look at her, digging her heel into your cock and making you moan pathetically. There’s drool dripping down your chin out of the corner of your lips. The smell of her perfume and your sweat makes you drunk and you babble something nonsensically. 

She pulls on your hair harder when you rut shallowly against her, small noises falling from your mouth, and if she keeps it up, you’re not going to last much longer. 

“All it takes is one look from me and you’re tripping over yourself,” she snarls and you whine quietly, pawing at her shin. The look she gives you is lethal. “You need to learn to be patient and not be so fucking embarrassing.” 

Your cock pulses and a stain spreads on your pants from the precum that spits out while you swear under your breath. 

Agatha swiftly grabs your chin, pinching it so your jaw hurts slightly. “You know what I think would help a spoiled brat like you learn?” 

“What?” you choke out, both excited and scared. 

There’s a devilish glint in her eye when she leans forward until your noses almost touch. “A cock cage.” 

The wind gets kicked out of your lungs and your ribs rattle with your sharp inhale. 

“You—you’re going to buy me a cock cage?” you rasp and fuck, it’s going to be torture if you know anything about Agatha. 

Her face contorts into something wicked. “And have that on my bill for this month? No. You’re going to buy yourself one so you can always remember just how pathetic you are.” 

She dips forward, the knee on her outstretched leg bending, and reaches into your front pocket to pull out your wallet. You gasp when she moves her fingers and touches your cock lightly and you rock into her shoe again. 

Agatha places it on the desk and opens the personal laptop before typing something in. You wait with bated breath, trying to control your pulsing cock, when she tilts the computer toward you and you groan. 

It’s a sex toy website open to a page with about twenty different cages. You have to manually suck in air and push it back out because you’ve forgotten how to breathe automatically. 

“Fuck,” you say, and is the room spinning or is that just the endorphins giving you a high unlike anything you’ve ever felt?

Agatha hums nonchalantly as she scrolls though, pausing every now and then and hovering the mouse over an option, but then shakes her head and moves on. You’re panting now and you wonder if she can feel your hot breath through the fabric on her legs. 

She clicks to the next page and you see it the exact second she does—a purple, steel tube that gleams in the picture. 

“This one,” she decides without even looking at you for your opinion, even though you would have nothing to say except yes, please. 

She adds it to the cart and with each number of your credit card that she types in, you swear she presses her heel harder into your cock so by the time she’s done, you’re furiously grinding against her and so fucking close to coming. Your pants are a light blue color and there will definitely be a visible mark but you couldn’t care less. 

You rattle off your address in a shaky voice and you hope, wish, pray that Agatha will take pity on you and let you come, either like this or maybe with more—her hand, her cunt, fuck, her mouth. You think you would die if she wrapped her perfect lips around your cock. 

Your cock throbs again and she smirks before moving her shoe from side to side and making you keen at the friction. 

“You’re incorrigible,” she sighs and your whimper is pitiful. “The cage will be at your place tomorrow. You will bring me the key and then you will wear it to the fundraiser and show me that you can be a good girl and keep your cock to yourself, got it?” 

“Yes,” you gasp. You make a mental note to buy her a nice necklace to put the key on, just in case she wants to show it off. A physical demonstration that she owns you. 

Agatha smiles sweetly and pats your cheek before placing the order and pressing hard against your cock one last time. 

With a long moan, you come in your pants and Agatha just rolls her eyes. 

—

The cage gets shipped to your apartment the next day and you chuckle at the thought of Agatha ordering it express to get it there that fast. 

You take it out of the package, turning the cool metal over in your palm, and your cock already twitches. The key is small and gold and you salivate at the thought of it around Agatha’s neck, resting between her cleavage. 

The second you had gotten home yesterday, you had ordered her a diamond tennis necklace. It had cost about half the median salary but you hadn’t thought twice before ordering it because it would be worth it to see the light catch the jewelry. She’s claiming you with this cage and you want to show that off. 

Only the best for the woman who owns you figuratively, and now, literally. 

You call her and put it on speakerphone, listening to the dial ring. You picture her in her office, smirking down at your contact card, and keeping you waiting until the last possible minute. You have to shift to hide the tent in your pants even though you’re the only one at your home. 

“What?” she asks irritatedly when she finally picks up. Why does that make you harder? 

Clearing your throat, you examine your reflection in the steel. “Um, it came in,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “Fuck, Agatha—” 

“Put it on,” she orders swiftly and you gasp. 

You get off the bed onto shaky knees and unzip your pants. Agatha stays quiet on the line and it feels like you should say something to break the silence, but you can’t think of a word to utter. Your cock throbs when you pull it out of your pants, already half-hard, and you slide the cage over yourself and lock it. 

“Oh, fuck,” you whimper at the cold constriction and Agatha chuckles. More blood flows south and then you wince because it hurts if your cock gets too hard. 

“Good girl,” she hums and you bite down on your hand, hoping the pain distracts you from her. 

It doesn’t. 

“Agatha, can I please—can I please take it off?” you pant, submissive to a flaw because surely she can’t stop you from doing what you want. 

But you want her permission, you need it. If you’re her good girl, maybe she’ll let you touch her again. 

She muses and then laughs cruelly and you whine high-pitched. “No,” she says simply and you’re torn between obeying or ripping the cage off because of the agony you’re in. 

“Agatha, please,” you try again, sounding even more pathetic and desperate because maybe she likes that. 

It would seem that she does not. “No,” she spits out, sharper this time. “You are going to learn how to wait for something for once in your life. Keep it on from now until this weekend and I expect the key in my hand before the fundraiser. And maybe, maybe, if you listen, I’ll let you take your cock out.” 

“How do you know I won’t just unlock it myself before then?”

She hangs up without answering because you both know that’s not going to happen. 

—

Saturday, one hour before the annual fundraiser, you knock on Agatha’s apartment door. 

“Just a second,” she calls, clearly not expecting you or she wouldn’t be so cordial, and you shift your weight to your other leg while you wait. In one hand, you have a bottle of wine and in the other, the box with the necklace and the key. 

There’s a nervous feeling in your stomach—this feels like something real. In the Hamptons, it was a vacation that felt a world away. It felt removed from daily life and you had believed that what had happened with you and Agatha was merely a consequence of being away for a week and a much-needed stress reliever. 

But this? Going to the event together with a chastity cage around your cock and the key to it around her neck? 

What does this mean? 

Agatha opens the door and you’re instantly in pain from the restricted hardening of your cock. She’s wearing a long red dress that dips low and shows off her cleavage and her hair is still in rollers, light make-up on her face. 

She peers down at your black pants and you squirm. It had taken you forever to find the right suit to wear that would hide the bulge of the cage but you wonder if she can see it. Does she get the same thrill from it as you do?

She steps to the side and begrudgingly lets you in as you hand her the wine and the box. You saunter into the spacious living room, dragging a finger against the spines of all the books she keeps, as her footsteps traipse after you. 

“Oh,” she breathes and you turn around to find her looking into the now-open box. The diamonds refract the light from the large windows onto her face and make her gray-blue eyes pop. Your breath catches in your throat. 

“It’ll go with your dress,” you say hoarsely as she lifts out the necklace. 

She regards you with something akin to fondness and she holds it out for you to take before spinning so her back is to you. You swallow roughly and reach it gently around her neck before clasping it and then lean down to breathe in her spicy perfume. 

Agatha shivers at your hot air on her back and there’s a line of goosebumps that appears. You’re about to run your tongue over them when she faces you again and your eyes immediately drop down. 

The necklace comes down under her collarbone and the key rests vertically on her sternum. You’d be dizzyingly hard if not for the cage but you wonder if she can see the desire obviously written on your face. 

“Take it out,” she whispers and you move faster than you ever have to unzip yourself. 

A hush falls over the already quiet room as you pull the purple metallic tube out of your pants. Agatha audibly exhales before squatting down to get a better look. You can see your reflection and hers in it and you don’t miss the dilation of her pupils. 

She reaches out with a perfectly manicured finger and taps the metal three times. The vibrations travel through your cock and up your spine and your eyes water. 

The last few days have been absolute torture—every single thing that reminds you of Agatha has gotten you hard. You’ve been getting erections now just at the sight of a dark-haired woman walking down the street because you think it might be her. 

And now, she’s standing here, a hair away from your cock with the key to your salvation around her neck, and she’s not doing anything. 

“Agatha, can I—can you please—”

She stands up and puts a finger against your lips and you groan dejectedly. You move to put your cock back in your pants but she tuts before pulling a small tube of lipstick from her purse that’s sitting on the couch. She bends back over to look at her reflection in the cage and carefully applies a rosy-red tint that matches the shade of her dress exactly. 

“All good,” she says cheerfully and pats the metal, sending shockwaves through your body, before placing the tube of lipstick on the coffee table. 

Agatha strolls into her bedroom where you’re not sure if you’re welcome, so you just pace out in the living room and try not to look too nosy as you snoop through the photo albums on the bookshelves. 

“Ready to go?” she says, reemerging from her room, now with her wavy, dark hair flowing freely. You stare, stunned at how ethereal she looks, as she breezes by you. “Close your mouth, you’ll catch flies.” 

You chase after her to catch her in the elevator and then without permission, you hop in her company car. The driver looks at you in the rearview mirror but doesn’t say a word. As the boss’s daughter, you can get away with pretty much anything. 

Agatha taps her nails against her purse and looks out the window the entire way to the event center. Her silence—like she can’t even be bothered to talk to you—only has you shifting restlessly next to her, hoping to get her attention. You can’t stop staring at the key hanging around her neck and you need her to unlock you tonight. 

You’d act up in an attempt to rile her up, but you can’t be sure that Agatha wouldn’t just throw the key in the Hudson River so that your cock will never get freedom or relief. 

The thought of her condescending smirk as she draws out a I warned you makes your cock twitch painfully in its cage and you whimper. Agatha gives you the smallest of glances and you can see her eyes twinkling. 

She’s fucking enjoying this. 

You’re half-tempted to slide a hand up her dress to find out just how much, but once again, the fear of never being able to put your cock inside her ever again stops you. Damn her and the hold she has on you, but you also never want it to stop. 

The driver pulls up in front of the venue, where the red carpet has been rolled out and you see your dad, step-mom, Rio, and a few other executive employees already being photographed. The fundraiser, a ball for the creative endowment fund your father started, is kind of a big deal in the city, just like him. Hence, he pulls out all the spots. 

No one will ever be able to say your father isn’t a charitable man. No one except those who actually know him, that is. 

“Go out that way,” Agatha murmurs and nods toward your car door. It’s on the other side so you won’t be as visible to the paparazzi. 

You pout mockingly. “You don’t want everyone to see us walking in together? Come on, I’ll even hold your hand.” 

Agatha snorts before running a finger along the length of the key—a reminder to behave. You gulp audibly and nod before sneaking out on the other side of the car. 

Jogging around it, you make it just in time to watch the camera people turn around to find Agatha and you almost get blinded by the flashes. She gracefully glides through the crowds to pose against the company logo backdrop with Rio, who grins wolfishly. 

You’re content to just ogle her—will any of the photos show that? You’d like to get it framed—when your dad calls your name. He beckons you forward and you try to shake him off, but he keeps insisting so you reluctantly give in and duck beneath the red stanchion to join him. You take a few pictures with him, with him and your step-mom, and then by yourself. There’s absolutely no reason you should have to take any by yourself, but your father requested it, much to your chagrin. 

This is the one part of your life that you’re still not used to. The money, the cars, the penthouse—easy. But having thirty people take your picture that may or may not be on the front page of tomorrow’s paper? It’s a lot. Your dad used to always critique your smile or the way you stood or the way your shirt wasn’t tucked in just right and that left an indelible mark on you. 

Even now, you can’t shake the feeling that you’re doing something wrong all the time when it comes to the press. What if your blazer is crooked? What if your hair is parted wrong? What if the bulge in your pants from the cage is visible? You feel nauseous at the thought of your dad reading a paper with that as the headline. 

It feels like your skin is crawling and you think you’ve been posing for about three hours when there’s a warm presence against your shoulder. You tilt your head and smile a real, genuine smile. 

Agatha tucks an arm around you and you gratefully curl into her, but not too much that it’ll get people talking. She’s been around your family enough to know what your dad can be like, but she’s never been this outward about being on your side. 

“Chin up, eyes open, straight face,” she mumbles and you watch as she sets her face stoic. Her cheekbones are sharp enough to cut glass, the crook in her nose stands out on her side profile, and her eyebrows are neatly combed. You’re so distracted that you don’t even hear the clicks of the cameras until Agatha glances at you in her periphery and pinches your side. 

You straighten up and hold your expression steady. There’s a few catcalls, but mostly encouraging whistles and you stand together for a few minutes like that until she pushes you along the rest of the way. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, finally feeling like you can breathe again. She squeezes your side as an answer before letting go once you get inside. 

The venue is spacious, with about thirty round tables neatly set up in front of the large stage where your father will make a speech. A luxurious sparkling chandelier hangs in the middle of the room. Waiters walk around with trays of hors d'oeuvres and champagne. 

You turn to make a quip to Agatha about champagne and her tits but she’s not there. Scanning the room, you finally spot her talking to Rio while absentmindedly eating bruschetta. There’s something about watching her while she’s so focused and lost in the conversation that makes your cock twitch. 

Not that that’s new. 

She picks up a glass from a waitress that pauses next to her and raises it to her red lips for a sip. You wonder what it would be like to press your mouth to the lipstick stain she’ll leave behind—a fleeting, ghost of a kiss, but the only thing you might get from her. 

You watch her move her hands animatedly around and her veins flex and your mouth waters. She’s doing something so simple and yet, your cock behaves the same as it would if she was touching you. 

Agatha must feel your eyes on her because she suddenly looks over and meets your gaze. You keep staring unabashedly, waiting for her to scold you silently, but she just raises her champagne in a wordless toast. Your cheeks heat up and the cold metal hurts your cock. 

She begins to fiddle with the key, sliding it up and down the glittering necklace and turning it over her fingers and it has you practically drooling. 

A reminder that she owns you, cock and all. You don’t even care if she doesn’t see it like that because you do and that’s enough. 

Your cock is pressing very uncomfortably against its confines, trying and failing to grow, and it’s making you want to scream. You can hardly take it anymore and you’re sure that if you don’t get relief soon, you might actually explode. 

So you walk over casually and pause next to her, waiting for her to acknowledge you, but she’s talking to Rio. She doesn’t even look at you and you hate how hot her indifference is. 

Agatha wasn’t so indifferent when you were eating her out a month ago, when you were grinding on her tits, when you were fucking her. And fuck—fuck, now you’re thinking about it and your blood rushes downwards so fast that you get dizzy and you grab onto Agatha’s arm before you can think about it. 

She stops talking immediately and glares at you. Rio raises an eyebrow and you step away while clearing your throat. 

“I just wanted to ask where you got your necklace from, Agatha,” you say, inwardly cursing when your voice squeaks. 

Agatha gingerly touches two fingers to it. “Oh, this old thing? It was someone’s pathetic attempt at wooing me.” 

A thrill runs through you. “Did it work?” You search Agatha’s eyes for something that tells you if you’re off-base. Rio is right there and the tension between you and Agatha is thick enough to cut with a knife. 

Agatha softens. “Jury’s still out.” 

Oh, fuck. If she keeps this up, you might start to think that she actually likes you. 

Agatha straightens up and looks at Rio before gently laying a hand on her arm. “Would you excuse me? I need to go to the bathroom.” 

Rio nods affirmatively and turns to you like she’s planning on starting a conversation, but your eyes are glued to Agatha as she sashays away. The way her hips sway in that dress that accentuates her ass perfectly…if you weren’t caged you would’ve needed to bring several back up pairs of pants. 

She stops when she gets to the corner that the bathroom is on the other side of and looks back at you just briefly. 

You freeze—is that an invitation? 

There’s a pounding sound in your ears and it drowns out everything Rio is saying. You’re in a trance and you don’t even think you give an excuse before you trail after Agatha. Someone might be calling your name, your dad perhaps, but you brush it off and keep walking. 

Agatha’s touching up her makeup in the mirror when you quietly shut the door behind you. There’s no one else in there and you quickly turn the lock. She meets your eyes in her reflection and scoffs before turning around. 

“I bet you’re here with more of that pathetic pleading for me to let you come?” she tsks and that’s originally why you thought you followed. 

But now, seeing her all dolled up and heavenly, you just want her. You step closer to her like you’re not in control of your own body before slowly reaching out and hiking up her dress, giving her plenty of time to stop you. 

She doesn’t say a word, just keeps her eyes trained on the door like she’s still worried someone will come in. 

When the fabric is bunched up at her hips, she leans back against the counter to make it easier for you to slide a hand between her legs. She’s wearing a pair of black, lacy panties and when you touch the gusset of them, you almost fall to your knees. 

She’s wet. Almost completely soaked through. You whimper and she tries to keep composure as you begin sliding two fingers across her covered slit. 

“Did you wear these for me?” you ask smugly. 

“You’re pathetic,” she hisses without her usual malice. 

“And you like this,” you say quietly, attempting to meet her eyes but she keeps looking away. Instead, you stare at her red lips as they curl. “You like having me in the palm of your hand? I bet you like that key around your neck as much as I do. You’re so fucking wet.” 

She yanks on your hair and finally looks at you. “Then fucking do something about it.” 

A flash of pleasure goes straight to your cock and you whimper as you push her underwear to the side. After a bit of fumbling, you find her clit and rub small circles and there’s a rosy red stain on her top teeth from sinking them into her lip. You watch in awe as her face contorts with pleasure. 

You slide a finger down through her folds and slowly push it into her opening—her mouth drops open before she quickly snaps it shut, determined not to give you any satisfaction. 

Too late, because your cock is straining against the cage and you wonder if anyone’s ever broken out of it before just from an erection. 

A broken moan escapes her when you curl your finger up into her, pressing against the soft, spongy spot and you start a steady pace of thrusting inside her. Your other hand rests on the sink counter behind her, where both her hands are gripping like she’s resisting the urge to touch you. 

You wish she wouldn’t. 

“Fuck,” Agatha breathes when you fit another finger into her and your thumb slips against her clit with how wet she is. Her walls clench around you and draw you in and you pick up the pace, carefully watching her. 

She feels you staring again and this time, her eyes flicker down to your lips before darting away. Your breath catches, your heart stops, and you start to lean in like she’s magnetic. 

“Don’t you dare,” she whispers but she’s begun to move in too and your eyelids flutter closed. 

Your brain goes white the second her lips touch yours and you reach your other hand up to cup her cheek gently. It’s just light brushes against each other at first and your fingers pause inside her to focus on her light olive oil and garlic taste from the bruschetta she was eating earlier. 

But then she wraps both her arms around your neck, whispers “Don’t stop,” and slides her tongue into your mouth. Your hand moves to grip her hip and press her against the counter and she moans into your mouth. 

It’s a mess of teeth and tongue and lips and you can feel her walls gripping you with a broken rhythm while you try to keep your pace from faltering. Your cock is positively aching right now but it’s the furthest thing from your mind when Agatha bites your lower lip. You whine and she swallows it and her nails rake down your back over your blazer. 

She hikes a leg up over your hip so you can get further inside her and you’re rewarded with a high-pitched noise that you’ll still be reminiscing about on your wedding night. Her kisses get sloppier and she’s getting closer—you can feel it. 

So you double-down your efforts, fitting a third finger into her and earning  another moan, and rub at her clit hard. 

Agatha spasms and comes all over your fingers, panting into your open mouth while you let her jerk against you. You keep fucking her through the aftershocks until she winces and breaks away to push at your shoulders and you slowly pull out of her. 

Holding eye contact with her, you envelope your fingers in your mouth and clean them off. She groans and you take in her ragged state: mussed-up hair, lipstick smeared over her mouth, chest pink and heaving. You’re sure you look like as much of a mess as she does, if not more. 

The adrenaline from getting her off is still pumping through your veins and you hardly even feel your own arousal until Agatha reaches down and unzips your pants with one smooth motion. You gasp and she chuckles as she reaches into your boxers to take out your cock encased in purple. 

You almost see stars when she squats down again, parallel to earlier this evening, only this time, she grabs the key on her necklace. It’s hard to breathe when she inserts it into the lock and twists it. Even with the tiniest bit more room, you can feel your cock already growing and pressing against the boundaries of the lessened restraint. 

She stands back up and motions so you tug it off your already-hardened cock and set the cage on the counter. You look at her with pleading eyes and her lip curls with disgust, immediately falling back into her role. 

Agatha roughly grabs you and spins you so you’re facing the mirror. Your cock throbs freely when you see her red lipstick streaked across your own face—a reminder of her lips on yours that you don’t want to ever forget. Your cock bobs and spits a dollop of precum onto the counter and you imagine Agatha licking it off. 

But instead, she drags her tongue up the palm of her hand, stands behind you, and reaches around to grip the base of your cock. You gasp loudly and she begins to stroke. Your stomach immediately tightens. 

“You’re so pathetic, aren’t you?” she croons and your hips jerk forward. She lathers the mixture of her saliva and your precum up and down your length and you squirm. “You’d do anything I wanted, wouldn’t you? Put a cage around your cock because I suggested it? You’re fucking hopeless without me, aren’t you?” 

You moan and rut into her hand. You’re already so close and the embarrassment at coming this soon only turns you on more because you know Agatha will humiliate you for it. 

Except her degradation isn’t cutting as hard as it usually does. There’s heat in her eyes and it’s not just from you fucking her—it’s because she likes watching you like this. 

“Look at what a filthy fucking slut you are for me,” she spits and grips your hair with her other hand to hold you still while speeding up her thrusts. Whimpers fall from your mouth, pleasure tingling from your cock to your lower back and up your spine. “Look at how I ruined you.” 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, yes, this is all for you,” you chant, hands gripping the sink and her eyes capture yours in the reflection. The corners of her mouth quirk up. “Please, Agatha, I’m going to—” 

She sinks her teeth into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, just another demonstration of how she owns you, and your cock explodes, pumping out strand after strand of cum into the sink. Agatha keeps stroking you while you grunt like a rabid animal and keep fucking her hand until your cock begins to soften. 

It’s the first orgasm you’ve had in about four days and you slouch forward against the sink, careful not to get any cum on your suit, while you breathe heavily. 

There’s the sound of heels clacking on the marble tile and then Agatha reaches between your arm and your body with a wet paper towel to wipe your mess off the counter and then turns on the faucet to clean the sink. 

There’s a comfortable silence while you both tidy everything up. There’s a lipstick stain on the collar of your shirt that you don’t even try to get off. You wipe the perspiration off your forehead and with a different paper towel, she dabs at her lipstick that’s still on your mouth. It’s maternal and gentle and your cock gives another weak twitch before you stuff it back in your pants. She thoroughly washes the chastity cage before shoving it in her purse. 

“That’s a one-and-done sort of thing, then?” you ask, almost worried that she’ll say no. Orgasm denial, when it comes from her as you’ve found out, is hot. 

So you’re delighted when she shakes her head. “Absolutely not. I’m still not completely sure you’ve learned how to be patient.” 

Your smirk is sly. “Can’t teach an old dog new tricks, can you?” 

“Oh, I will,” she says determinedly and you think you should get extra credit for not reaching back into your pants and jerking off right now, like you suddenly feel the urge to do. 

The only problem left is Agatha’s lipstick—it’s completely unsalvageable and she realizes that she left the tube at her apartment after she put it on for the first time earlier. 

So she pulls her dress back down, sweeps her hair over her shoulders before tousling it a few times, and strides out into the hall. You hear her ask if she can borrow someone’s lipstick, surely the first person she finds. 

She comes back into the bathroom a moment later and you watch transfixed as she applies it to the same lips that were on yours just a moment earlier.

“Let’s hope no one notices we’ve been gone for a while,” she murmurs. 

But when you leave the bathroom, exactly three minutes after her so as to not raise suspicions, it doesn’t seem like anyone is the wiser. 

And if someone realizes Agatha’s lips are painted nude instead of the rosy red they were at the beginning of the gala, the same rosy red that has stained your collar, they don’t say anything.

Taglist: @lostbutlovely33 @diorrxckstar @whoreforolderfictionalwomen  @katekathry @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @tayasmellsapples @natashashill @mybraininblood @mysticalmoonlight7  @cactuslover2600 @loveem0mo @readysteddiero-nance @lonelyhalfwitch @lesbiantortilla @crescendoofstars @sol-in-wonderland @ahsfan05 @gbab09 @sasheemo @agathaharness @live-laugh-love-lupone @chiar4anna @fuckedupforkhahn @lowlyjelly @sweetmidnights @n3bula-cats @m1vfs @agathascoven1

[suushiiii]

Pushing through sickness

Beth Mead x engwnt!reader

Summary: You have been sick for a while, but you push through it during training and it doesn't end well.

Word count: 3.2k

It was a sunny summer day. You had your bag in the backseat of your car and you sat in the passenger seat. Your girlfriend, Beth, sat behind the wheel. She hummed along to the radio and you stared out the window. You have been quiet the whole drive and morning. You weren’t usually the quiet type.

Beth knew that you weren’t the quiet type, everyone who knew you well did. Beth had let it slide. She assumed that you were nervous for the pre-euro’s camp. It was your first major tournament for England and of course you were nervous. Beth knew that you would be called up, because you had a great season at Arsenal. You had started most of the matches and had played in almost all the Champions league matches, including the final against Barcelona.

“Are you excited?” Beth her voice dragged you out of your thoughts and you turned your head towards her. “Yeah, but I’m a bit nervous.” Beth nodded in understanding, but she heard your voice. It wasn’t your normal voice. Something was off, but Beth couldn’t quite place what. You swallowed and your throat burned. 

“That’s okay. I was nervous as well on my first tournament. I was so nervous that I had forgotten my football boots.” You snickered and shook your head. Your soft snickers quietly turned into coughs. Your throat had been burning for weeks. You just assumed that it was nothing to worry about. Just that you had caught a cold during a late night walk with Beth. “How do you forget your football boots? Honestly, babe, how?” You teased and Beth rolled her eyes with a smile on her lips.

“You are never going to let me live that down, I’m afraid.” Beth sighed and you hummed in response. “Never.” You said and placed your hand over Beth’s, who’s hand was on the gearshift. Beth made a right turn and you traced circles on the back of her hand. “What is it like?” You asked and Beth frowned, because she didn’t know what you meant. “What’s what like?” You chuckled softly. “A first major tournament for your country?” You stated and Beth finally caught up.

“Well, it’s something you need to experience yourself. Everyone reacts to it differently,” Beth started and you listened. You were still drawing circles on the back of her hand. “But I remember that I was in awe, about all the fans that were in the stands and how many people there were. I felt proud that I had got the opportunity to represent my country on one of the biggest stages of football.” You were completely speechless after Beth finished.

Beth told it like she was reliving it all over again. You saw Beth having a smile on her lips and the fire in her eyes when she spoke about it. “You-” You started, but you didn’t really know what to add to that. “That was really heartwarming.” You murmured and stilled your fingers on the back of her hand. You felt your throat burn once more and now you coughed out loud. Beth looked quickly at you. “Are you okay?” You nodded and removed your hand from your mouth.

“Yeah. My throat just tickles.” You answered with a smile and leaned your head on Beth her shoulder. Beth heard your breathing. It wasn’t your normal breathing, but Beth didn’t really know what to call it. The drive to the training ground was quiet. Once the two of you arrived, Beth took it upon herself to carry your bags. “Baby, I can carry my own bags.” You said with a smile. Beth ignored you and took your bag and her own.

“Why are you doing this?” You asked with both hands on your hips. Beth gave you a smirk and turned on her heels. You let out an exaggerated groan, but quickly followed your girlfriend. “You know,” You started once you walked next to her. “you can be very bossy.” You stated and tried to get your bag from Beth her hand, but she didn’t budge. “I just know when my girlfriend is not fully 100%.” Beth stated simply and leaned in, placing a kiss on your cheek.

You huffed silently, but couldn’t help the small smile tugged at your lips. “Is that your way of saying that you love me?” You teased and Beth shook her head, and let out a chuckle. “You know I don’t dance around those words. I literally told you last night before we went to bed that I loved you.” Beth stated with a smirk. “Really? I can’t recall that. Could you tell me that again?” you asked with a mischievous smirk and Beth turned her head to you.

“y/n y/l/n, I love you to the moon and back.” Beth said full with love and your eyes softened. Even though you asked for it. Your heart skipped a few beats. You let out a flustered laugh and wrapped your hand around Beth her waist. “I love you too.” You hummed and the two of you walked to the main building. Once inside. You both took a seat in the common room. You always sat next to Beth and laid your head in her lap, so she could run her fingers through your hair. And that was the same today. The two of you sat on the bench in the lounge. You had kicked off your shoes and laid on the bench.

Your head on Beth her lap and Beth started to run her fingers through your hair. The burning in your throat returned and now your nose started to get blocked. Forcing you to breathe through your mouth. You moved your head uncomfortably on Beth her lap. “Everything okay?” You looked up. Meeting Beth her eyes and they were filled with concern. “Yeah,” You nodded and finally found a comfortable position. “didn’t sleep right last night. My neck hurts.” You stated and Beth her fingers started to move through your hair again. The burning in your throat hadn’t faded, but Beth her touch eased the starting pain in your throat.

As the training came closer. The team sat in the locker room. You sat (as usual) next to Beth, who was talking to Leah next to her. The burning and tightness hadn’t faded in your throat. In the last 20 minutes, you had coughed more and sneezed. Beth hadn’t said anything about it, because you always reassured her with, “I’m fine” or “it’s nothing”. Beth just nodded, because you knew your own body better than her. But Beth couldn’t help it and just stare at you, to see if you were really okay.

You put on your training kit shirt. It was purple. Not the kind of color you would pick, but it started to grow on you. Most of the team started to leave for the field, but you were still halfway with your gear. “Hey.” You looked up from tying your laces. You met the eyes of your girlfriend. “Beth, I’m fine. Really.” You assured her, before she could even ask her question. “Are you sure? Like, 10000% sure?” Beth asked. You smiled. You always loved how protective and concerned Beth got over you. “Because if you aren’t, I can tell Sarina that you’re not feeling well.” Beth offered and you shook your head.

 “Baby, I’m okay. I’m just a bit slower today. There’s nothing wrong with that.” You stated with a smirk and Beth looked at you. Searching if she saw any sign of discomfort. “Babe, with that look, it looks like you are taking my clothes off in your mind.” You teased and Beth her cheeks turned bright pink at your flirtatious remark. You have always been the big flirt in the relationship.

You always loved to flirt with Beth, just to get a reaction from her and you always got one. Once Beth her cheeks were less pink, Beth nodded. “Okay, but tell me if you’re not feeling well, okay?” Beth said in defeat and you nodded. “I need words. Promise me.” You knew that Beth was a person that needed words. Not a shrug, not a nod, just words. You stood up after you had laced your shoes. You stepped closer to her and cupped her face, making her look you in the eyes.

“I’m good. I promise.” You whispered and kissed her lips softly. You held your hands on her shoulders. You felt the tension leave her body and she kissed you back. You let your hands move up to her neck and Beth her hands found your waist. The burning in your throat was still there, but you ignored it.

Before the two of you could be too carried away with the kiss, Beth pulled back, meeting your eyes once more. “I trust you.” Beth whispered and you chuckled softly. “Well, apparently not much, because I wasn’t allowed to make breakfast this morning.” You hummed. Your hands still on Beth her neck. Beth huffed and her hands were still resting on your waist. “You ruined the morning coffee two days ago.” Beth deadpanned and you shook your head. You had to give her that one, because you indeed had ruined the coffee.

“Good thing is that I’m a footballer and not a barista.” You joked and that earned a chuckle from Beth, who removed her hands from your waist. You groaned at the warmth that left your waist and Beth smirked at you. “C’mon coffee ruiner. We need to get on the field.” Beth declared and held out her hand. You took it without a second thought and the two of you walked out of the room.

Practice was going smoothly. You defended like you always did. Sharp and focused. Halfway through practice, a high ball came and you stepped in front of the striker and headed the ball away. The minute the ball hit your head, you felt nauseous. You had to blink a few times afterwards to get your vision back. Your throat didn’t burn anymore, it just started to hurt every time you swallowed.

“You okay?” Leah asked and you nodded slowly, and straightened yourself. Leah looked at you for a beat longer, before turning her attention back to the exercise. When the training continued. The nausea in didn’t disappear, it only increased. You started to move slower and let attackers through, that you would usually stop easily.

 Training continued and the team was now playing 9v9. You tried to focus on the ball and you tried to give sharp passes. You gave them at the start, but as minutes passed, your passes became sloppier and your coaching from the back, that was usually loud and clear, were now only soft and didn’t make sense to the people you shouted it to. Your nausea came to its peak when you headed another ball away. You opened your eyes and saw black again for a few seconds. Your legs started to get weak and your hands trembled at your side.

You took a step forward, but that was a big mistake. You dropped to your knees. Your hands flat on the green turf. Your vision started to blur and the voices of your teammates became only a sound in the distance. You were sick and you knew it. You let the sickness take over and you position yourself with your back on the ground. You looked at the sky. It was not sunny anymore.

The clouds had covered the blue sky and covered the bright yellow sun. On the other side of the field, Beth her eyes landed on you. “Stop!” Beth yelled to everyone and was already running to you. Everyone on the field stopped and their eyes followed Beth running to you. “Hey, baby.” Beth tried to say as calm as possible. But the fear and concern in her voice wasn’t something you could miss. You blinked and Beth her face hovered above yours. You tried to only focus on her face and voice. “Hey, Beffy. I think I’m not that well.” You said hoarse and tried to smile, but you saw that your girlfriend wasn’t smiling. Your eyes got heavy and then everything went black.

You opened your eyes and the bright light of the room was too bright for your eyes. You blinked rapidly at the light, letting your eyes adjust to it. Once your eyes had adjusted, you realized that you were in the medical room and you frowned. You looked around the room and the team medic was writing something. Their backs turned to you. You turned your head to the left and saw Beth, who hadn’t noticed that you had woken up.

“Hi baby.” Beth her head snapped up. Her eyes were filled with concern and something else you couldn’t quite place. “Hey.” Beth said softly and walked over to you. “What happened?” Beth frowned. Hadn’t you remembered anything? “You can’t remember?” You nodded vaguely as you tried to recall what happened. “I know I wasn’t feeling well and then I heard your voice, but then nothing.” You answered and Beth sighed. Her hand found yours. Her fingers lacing yours together. “You collapsed during training.” Beth murmured and you saw the frown between her brows. You sighed and let your head fall into the pillow.

 The medic turned from the table where he was standing and moved to your side. “Your heart rate has gone down. It was nothing serious, but,” You froze at the ‘but’. That was never good. “You have been sick for a while. And you pushed through your sickness today and your body just gave out.” The medic stated and you nodded in understanding and Beth? She shook her head.

You had promised that you would be honest and Beth had asked many times today if you were okay. “So,” The medic continued. “you should go home and get some proper rest.” You nodded and looked at your hands in your lap. At that moment, Sarina walked in. Her face was full of worry. “How is she?” Sarina asked and looked at the medic. “She’s okay. Her body needs rest.” Sarina nodded and turned herself to you and Beth. “Why didn’t you say anything?” You met Sarina her eyes. “I just… I didn’t want to look weak, because I want to prove myself to you and the rest of the team.” You whispered and your voice cracked at that.

 “y/n,” Sarina said with a sigh and took a step closer to you. “you are not weak if you need rest. That’s brave. Brave that you can tell that your body needs rest.” Sarina assured you with a comforting hands on your shoulders. “Now. You go home and rest just like the medic ordered.” You nodded in defeat and Beth took a step closer to you.

“Let’s go.” Beth her voice came through. It wasn’t her usual sweet and full of love voice. This was something else, but it was still filled with concern. “Beth, you still need to train.” You protested weakly, but Sarina shook her head. “No. She can get you home.” Sarina her voice came, before Beth could command on your protests. Beth her arm found your waist holding you up and her other hand was placed on the small of your back.

You didn’t protest this time and let Beth help you out of the room. Beth had both your bags in one hand now and the other was still holding your waist. The walk to the car was quiet, but filled with tension. Beth helped you in the passenger seat, once the two of you had reached the car.

Once Beth drove off, her hands were tight on the steering wheel, the radio was off and Beth her eyes were locked on the road. You looked at her and this time really looked at her. Your girlfriend’s jaw was tight, her breathing was heavy, but then you saw her eyes. They were still filled with concern. Beth wasn’t mad. Was she angry that you weren’t honest with her? Yes. But she was more concerned about you at the moment.

The rest of the drive was still quiet, but the tension of earlier was gone. After 20 minutes, Beth drove and parked the car in the driveway. You didn’t unbuckle your seatbelt, you were waiting. Waiting for Beth to say something or maybe look at you disappointed. “Are you mad?” Your voice was barely above a whisper, but the question hung in the car. Beth stayed quiet for a beat, before answering, “no, I’m not.”

You let out a quiet sigh of relief and met for the first time this whole drive Beth her eyes. Beth smiled at you softly and took your hand in hers, giving it a light squeeze. “Let’s get you inside.” You nodded and unbuckled your seatbelt. Beth helped you out of the car and the two of you entered your shared apartment. Beth kicked off her shoes and didn’t let you take off your own shoes.

Once your shoes were off, Beth walked you to the couch. You let yourself fall into the cushions and she laid a blanket over you. “I’ll make you some tea.” You nodded and pulled the blanket tighter around you, while you heard Beth move around the kitchen. A few minutes passed and Beth appeared in front of you with a mug of fresh mint tea.

You sat up straight, the blanket pulled around your body. Beth took a seat next to you and pulled you back against her chest. Beth her arms wrapped loosely around your waist. You had the mug wrapped in both your hands and you leaned further into your girlfriend’s embrace. “I’m sorry.” You whispered and brought the mug to your mouth. “It’s okay, just tell me next time, please.” Beth hummed and placed a gentle kiss on your temple. “I will.” You whispered again. You let your head fall back and rest against Beth her shoulder.

Beth drew lazy circles on your waist through the blanket. “I knew you weren’t feeling well.” Beth said softly after minutes of silence and you turned your head slightly. Meeting her eyes through the corner of your eyes. “How?” You asked softly and Beth shrugged lightly. “Always when you aren’t feeling well, you go quiet. You are not your enthusiastic self and always force a smile that never reaches your eyes.”

You nodded slowly and when Beth had said it. You realized she was right. You weren’t energetic today. You didn’t wake Beth with a hit of your pillow, in fact,  Beth woke you up and that doesn’t happen a lot. You put the mug down on the coffee table and leaned back. You turned your body and were cradled against Beth her chest. Your head rested on her chest, hearing the heartbeat under her chest. “Thank you.” You mumbled, already half asleep.

“For what?” Beth frowned and stopped mid-motion with drawing circles on your waist. “For always noticing when I’m not feeling well.” You mumbled against her chest. Beth laughed softly and returned drawing circles on your waist. “I’ll always notice, even if you don’t see it.” Beth hummed and rested her chin on your head. After a while, both of you fell asleep against each other. And now, rest didn’t sound so bad with Beth here with you.  

[thewickedjazzy]

Level 3: “Stay Still!” [Dry humping] for Kinktober.

⤷⊹₊fyodor d. x afab! reader.

⊹₊Synopsis: it's your own roman empire, where you and fyodor continually indulge in lust-fueled escapades during important meetings.

⊹₊Warning: ņsfw, mdni, smųt, dry humping, agoraphilia, risky sex/secret sex, orgasm control, praise kink..etc.

⊹₊Word count & a/n: 1k, animated lines by @/cafekitsune. this was a very fun level to write honestly, a sweet thank you to bb rem @remlionheart for beta reading, ilysm<3

“stay quiet, дорогая (dear). if they notice, i’ll stop, and you wouldn’t want that, right?”

that might be the last coherent thing you hear before fyodor starts his meeting with nikolai and sigma. you’re face-down on the cold, rough metallic table, wobbling body pressed between him and the edge, feeling a familiar, simmering need flooding through your senses. three agonising months of work have kept him busy, and you’ve missed him terribly. so, if this is the closest you can get to feeling him? then fucking be it.

you grind your bare folds against his clothed bulge, the friction sending your whole body numb with pleasure. it feels too good, almost overwhelming, and you can’t hold back the quiet whine that escapes your lips.

“...we'll need a distraction, something to divert their attention while nikolai can execute our plan.” the russian states calmly as if your pussy is not soaking the hell out of the fabric of his trousers at this very moment. honestly, you can't fathom how he maintains such composure while you squirm beneath him, desperately trying to stretch out the pleasure that’s building quickly in your lower belly. maybe you can hold out until the meeting is over.

you’re doing your utmost to hang in there.

“the weretiger is an easy target...”nikolai exclaims, on the other hand, sigma is already rolling his eyes in boredom, clearly frustrated that they still haven’t addressed his casino issues yet.

you squeeze your eyes shut trying to drown out their conversation, focusing solely on the one command fyodor has given you: “don’t cum until I say so.”

such a cruel man he is. why? because he's slowly grinding his hips back against you, he knows that you're desperately close, it's in his nature to push all the right buttons, only to leave you mourning the loss of his touch afterwards.

you do your best to stifle a moan, but a soft whimper slips past your lips instead.

his slender fingers tighten in your hair, tugging just enough to make you tilt your head back, forcing you to meet his devilish gaze as he shoots you a warning glance, seeing you nod obediently, trying to stifle the needy whimpers that escape as you force yourself to slow down, biting your lip to keep quiet.

“their unity is what gives them strength; without it, they're weak,” fyodor continues, his left hand tightens around your hips, guiding your rhythm with maddening control, while his other hand slides down to tease your aching clit, circling it with deliciously slow, torturous strokes.

your eyes roll back, vision blurring from the overwhelming pleasure, and you’re caught between trembling restraint and the impossible need to let go. fuckーhow can he expect you to hold back when he’s sinfully pleasuring you like this?

It's been half an hour, and you’re not sure how much longer you can hold out. an aching need swells within you as you clutch his hand, fingers intertwining with his, silently begging him to quicken his pace, desperately craving that sweet, sweet release that feels just out of reach.

once the russian has his mind set on something, no amount of begging, sweet words, or tears will sway him. his long, pale fingers slip between your folds, thumb tracing lazy circles over your clit hood to add to your mounting pleasure and you can’t help but roll your hips against him, grinding harder with each passing second. you're acutely aware of the risk that his body might jolt, drawing the unwanted attention of his oblivious subordinates.

you can't hold back anymore, the pleasure has woven itself tightly within you, each pulse layered like bricks in a tower that only fyodor’s permission keeps standing, until the same bricks of bliss snap at the base of your spine once his hand, which had been gripping your hair, taps against the cold metal table twice.

it’s the sign you’ve been begging the heavens for. you're now rolling your hips faster against his hard cock, finally riding out your long-awaited release—jaw slack, eyes rolled back, a trace of drool slipping from your parted lips as you soak his fabric, bliss coursing through you like the light of a thousand stars from the milky way.

as you shudder in ecstasy, the three of his fingers continue bullying your swelling clit—coaxing you through the rest of your release as he draws sharp shapes on the puffy nub.

“that’s it, my love keep that orgasm going for me.” he leans down out of the camera's field to pressing searing kisses to the nape of your neck.

ironically, the meeting continues, oblivious to your plight.

nikolai’s enthusiastic breaks through your sweet bliss. “...and that’s how i’ll handle the weretiger situation.”

while sigma rolls his eyes, clearly unimpressed. “can we move on? i still need to discuss my casino issues.”

clearing his throat, fyodor straightens up, his trademark icy professionalism settling back into place once more. “then let’s wrap this up. we’ll reconvene later to finalise the plan.”

you try to regain your composure, still feeling the aftershocks of erotic pleasure, as the meeting draws to a close. fyodor casts you a sidelong glance with a small loving smirk as he adds, “i trust everyone will stay focused now.”

frankly, you can’t shake the feeling that your relationship won’t stay a secret for much longer. especially given how risky you both are being by engaging in sexually-driven activities like this.

TAGS: @a-smol-bean @violetbutterflix @amanoava @falloutjuli @embersweapons @warriordemigosworld @cathias @v15aexe @vasarii @pe4rl-diver @sukidenks @dazaifavbandage @chuuminn @fyodorsprettynun @ace-0fspades69 @irasamu @trippyserval @alyszuha @bittysuguru @writingandmusing @corruptedwrathkitsune @thedamselzelda @fyodorssimp1 @vikkinakahara @laylabuurr @perlaslibrary

[arcaneloverxx]

helping vi cut her hair

summary: your girlfriend needs a little help with cutting her hair. pairing: vi x fem!reader warning: a little cursing, that's all :) word count: 756

You were bored out of your mind. It was a random Tuesday evening, nothing very eventful happening or exciting to do. You were mindlessly  scrolling through your phone, trying to find any ounce of entertainment. But, before you could continue to scroll, you heard a loud clatter down the hall in the bathroom. 

“Fuck!” 

Cautiously, you rose from the bed and slowly made your way down the dimly lit hall. The closer you got, the faint buzz of a razor could be heard.

You knocked on the door once, then twice. “Vi? You okay in there?” you asked. After not getting a response, you gently open the door, only to be met with a complete mess.

Shampoo, conditioner, lotion bottles  and more were scattered along the floor tiles, along with chunks of red hair. The hair was on the floor, in the sink, in the toilet, everywhere. And in the middle of it all was your girlfriend, Vi.

“Baby, what are you doing?” you ask as you take in the mess. She slightly lifts her head, finally realizing that you’ve entered the bathroom. 

“Oh, hey cupcake.” she drawled out, with a casual tone and her usual smirk on her lips. As if she didn’t just scream like she was about to be murdered. “Sorry ‘bout that, dropped the damn razor on my toe.” Vi said, leaning down to retrieve the razor from the floor.

“Hair was growing out too much, decided it was time to cut it.” she replied while facing back towards the mirror, picking up a few strands here and there. “I don’t know how it’s looking so far though.” 

“I mean, it’s- well, it’s definitely something.” you say as you inspect her hair. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not the worst, but it’s definitely not the best. All around, you can see the uneven hair poking out from different angles, knowing she most likely went in with scissors before pulling the razor out. And the back? Yeah, we’re not even going to discuss that.

“That’s not really helpful, you know?” she said with a groan, her head tipping slightly back as she tried to figure out how to salvage what’s left of her hair. “I could do it for you? If you want?”

Vi quickly spun around, almost giving herself whiplash in the process. “You? You wanna cut my hair?”. You could tell she was skeptical of the idea, her eyebrows slightly furrowed as she weighed her options in her head.

“Hell, you already messed up the front, which you could see might I add. So imagine what you would do on the back of your head? Especially with that razor.”

After a few seconds of silence and contemplating, Vi took a deep breath and handed you the scissors and the razor. She quickly jogged out of the room and came back with a chair, sitting in front of you and facing the mirror.

“Just don’t fuck it up. Please?” She muttered while relaxing in the chair. “How more fucked up could it get?” You replied with a chuckle while scanning her red locs. Vi rolled her eyes at your comment.

“Ugh- just be a peach and fix my hair, will ya?”

You slowly went back over her work with the scissors, making sure all her hair was cut evenly. After you finished that, you picked up the razor and began buzzing the side of her head. After about 30 minutes, you tapped her shoulder, drawing her attention to you.

“Alrighttt, all done!” Clapping your hands, you stand behind Vi as she inspects your work, and you can see the smile making its way up to her face.

“Well damn, who knew you were such a beautician? Thought I would have to go bald for a second.” you rolled your eyes at her comment, chuckling as you walked closer to her, wrapped your arms around her waist. “Just imagine if you finished it all by yourself, I don’t think I could even look at you if that happened.”

“Okay I wasn’t that bad.”

You gave her a deadpan look, slightly raising your eyebrows as if referencing what her hair looked like prior to you walking in.

“…okay, it was a little bad.” She said with a chuckle. “But you still love me. Shitty haircut or not.” she mumbled as she got closer to your lips. You met her half way, lips captured as you both shared this peaceful moment. Leaning back, you smiled while staring into her eyes, “Hmm, yeah, I guess do.”

a/n: ugh finally back. School has been draining me and I have had absolutely no idea what to write, but I really got into the mood to write so I whipped this up last night. lmk what you all think or if there is anything I need to improve. I hope you enjoy it, love you all <3!!

[hopepetal]

This story is set in @applestruda's boatem knights au! I've wanted to write something with Gem for a while, so here it is!

Masterlist

Read on AO3!

It’s been so long since her last bounty, and Gem is itching for a fight. 

This much, she tells Cleo while watching the armorer work on their newest project. Gem’s frequent visits had allowed the two to grow close over the course of her bounty hunting career, to the point where it wasn’t always business that brought her there. Sometimes, it was just for casual conversation, or just because Gem was bored or passing through the area. 

Cleo raises an eyebrow, not looking up from her work. “Tell you what,” she begins, turning the chest plate slightly so that it could catch the light, “it’s all well and good that you want a fight until you get yourself caught up in one you can’t win.” 

Gem scoffs at that as she leans against the counter. “Oh, I never lose. You don't need to worry about me, Cleo.”

“That’s what Etho kept saying, before you chopped his damn head off.” 

Rolling her eyes, Gem flicks her braid behind her shoulder. “That was Etho. And, as you clearly haven’t forgotten, I was the one who did the chopping there. So thanks, but I think I’m good.”

Cleo chuckles. “Yeah, yeah. Just return here in one piece, alright? I can’t be losing my best customer.”

Gem sets her elbows on the counter, leaning forward with a cheery grin. “Best customer and best friend?” 

“Get out.”

And so Gem finds herself wandering back to the kingdom of Dogwarts, in search of work and a fight. Maybe both. For her, it usually was. It’s why she chose this path of employment, of course– one didn’t just stumble into becoming a bounty hunter. Unless they were particularly skilled at said stumbling, of course. 

It’s been a while since Gem’s been in the bustling kingdom, and the stark difference between the outer lands and the kingdom always amazes her. She knew that the kingdom boasted the most prestigious redstone academy in the continent, but it’s another thing entirely to see that in action. 

Compared to the sparse population of the outer lands, the kingdom is a bustling city full of people. They continue to add on new developments each year, the construction drawing even more people to the kingdom for work on top of the people already moving in. It was certainly a far cry from the occasional village Gem stumbled upon in the outer lands.

The other difference that really stood out to her was the difference in how prevalent magic was. In the outer lands, magic is everywhere– from daily tasks to impressive feats, it was impossible to go one day without seeing some sort of spell. In the kingdom, it’s a lot more common to see redstone inventions being used in place of magic, though magic is still used. It was much more noticeable to Gem, who travels back and forth frequently between the two extremes. 

It wasn’t long before Gem ends up making her way into the local tavern, the place where she found most of the jobs she took. It’s rowdy as ever, and she finds herself missing the quiet of her friend’s tavern. Nevertheless, she quickly finds her usual seat and orders her usual drink, greeting the bartender with a tired smile. 

“Anything new?” she asks after a few minutes, when the bartender wasn’t so swamped with orders. 

The bartender shrugs. “Not really? But there was something that caught my eye.” They set down their glass for a moment and duck below the bar, grabbing a paper and placing it in front of Gem. “An older one, but it’s resurfaced recently with everyone cleaning out all the more urgent ones.” With that, the bartender gives her a pointed look, to which she responds with a laugh. “Anyway. A runaway who destroyed a very important lab of the king and escaped on foot with precious redstone and technology. He’s assumed to be armed and very dangerous.”

Gem pulls the paper to her, looking it over closely. It seemed to be an average bounty– especially for who had put it out. The man’s face is inked in an artistic depiction of him beneath his ‘WANTED’ notice and list of crimes. What most stands out to her is his incredibly sharp mustache and scruffy beard. “Mm… I see. And this was put out by the king’s advisor himself? I’m surprised it’s gone unclaimed for so long.”

The bartender shrugs, continuing to go about their job as they converse with Gem. “I think most people were daunted by the task. That, and those who tried to find this man simply couldn’t. He’s a slippery fellow, so I’ve been told.”

Gem laughs, her eyes not leaving the man’s inked face. “Well, I’ve been told I have quite the talent for catching those who hide in the shadows.” Quite literally, if she thought back to her last big job. Which, while it had technically ended in success, isn’t really something she wants to go through again. 

Gem had not signed up for magical creatures that revived when you cut off their heads. A simple redstone thief with a penchant for explosions? Yeah, she had this one in the bag. 

“I’ll take it,” she tells the bartender, folding up the paper and sticking it into her bag. “Sounds like a fun little job.” 

The bartender chuckles, shaking their head. “How long do you think this one’s going to take you?” they ask, already knowing Gem’s answer. 

“A month, tops.” She says this with the same confident smile that she always wears when going out on jobs. “Any more than that, and I owe you a drink.”

The bartender throws a towel over their shoulder, laughing. “Well, can’t wait for that to never happen. I’m sure you’ll be back even sooner than we expect as usual, with a story to tell.”

Finishing her drink, Gem stands back up. “I never disappoint,” she promises, sliding the payment for her drink over the table. “I’ll see you then! And thanks for the tip!” she calls, making her way out of the tavern.

It was time to go hunt down a redstoner. 

It actually isn't as hard as she thought. 

The man– Mumbo, his name is– has made a name for himself in the outer lands to the North. Gem can't help but be a little surprised. She's never had a bounty with such mixed public opinion; some people absolutely love him, while others want his head to roll. 

“That man?” Someone had scoffed when she asked, shaking their head. “Void below, I can't stand him. He's a genius, sure, but the noise he makes!” They had clicked their tongue disapprovingly. “And when I complained about it and asked him to be a little more quiet, he threw bricks through my window!”

Another person– a young woman– had a dreamy expression when Gem asked her about Mumbo. “He's such a cute knight! One time, he helped me get my cat down from a tree…” 

Her friend had raised an eyebrow. “Clara, he climbed up into the tree and fell off of it. Your cat got down all on her own.”

Clara hadn't responded, lost in her daydreaming.

The more she asks around, the more mixed answers she receives. 

Gem couldn't help but laugh at that. This bounty would be interesting, if nothing else. 

She finds the camp easily enough. All she has to do is ask where the knights are, and she's pointed in the right direction. It's almost a full day on foot– she leaves her horse at the nearest village to be more stealthy. 

It’s getting colder out. The leaves are beginning to shift from green to yellow and orange, sparks of red standing out amongst the others. Gem’s feet crunch against the ground as she travels down the path, hands stuck in her pockets to keep them warm. 

She’s been wandering around the area for about a week now, gathering intel on the group. From what she can tell, they’re a close group of four friends: Impulse, Grian, Scar, and her target, Mumbo. She doesn’t get close enough to really hear them talking. She’d heard of avians’ enhanced hearing and doesn’t want to take her chances with getting too close. If the stories she’d heard were true, she didn’t want to get caught by these guys. Especially given what she was here to do.

At one point, she got a little closer to the camp to listen in on a conversation. She had an extra invisibility potion, and she figured she could put it to use for this job. Though she knew enough about the so-called “knights”, more information couldn’t hurt. 

The one with brown hair and a very stabbable chest– his name is Scar, she recalls– leans against Grian, the avian of the group. “So, the plan is to head out tomorrow?”

Impulse nods. “Yep. You’re good to stay behind to keep Pearl company, Mumbo?”

Mumbo leans forward, his hands folded in front of him on the table. He looks so polite when he speaks that Gem can hardly believe he’s a hardened criminal. “Of course! I’ll make sure she doesn’t get too lonely.”

Gem frowns at that, but quickly shakes away the uncertainty. If there was another person here, she would’ve seen them by now. Pearl is probably the dog that was prowling around the camp.

Grian sighs and pushes Scar off him, standing up. “Well, I’m absolutely shattered, so I’m going to bed. We gotta get up early if we’re gonna be traveling tomorrow.” He looks up, gaze sweeping over the knights and then around the camp. 

At the same time, the wind shifts, and Scar stiffens. His eyes meet Gem’s. Gem sucks in a breath, and has to check to make sure her invisibility potion is still working. 

It is, but it doesn’t stop her from shivering as Scar’s gaze lingers, then pulls away.

After a moment, Scar stands, putting on a fake pouty face. “Aww, okay. Goodnight, G! Night, Impulse. Night, Mumbo!” 

A chorus of goodnights echoes from the group, and Gem slips away unnoticed. 

The forest is anything but quiet at night. Gem is safe up in the trees, and sleep comes easy to her after years of travel, but she remembers her first year of adventuring and the hellish noises that kept her up for hours.

A skeleton rattles below. Further away, a zombie groans. Gem leans against the tree and closes her eyes.

Gem rises with the sun and to the rhythmic sound of horse hooves against well-packed dirt. She exhales, breath turning to fog, before stretching. She turns her head to the side, tracking the sound of hooves. Only when it fades off into the distance does she untie herself from the branch and jump down, finally able to stretch fully.

She takes an hour or two to wake up and gather all her things. It’s almost midday by the time she sheathes her sword after warming up and begins her trek to the camp. It likely won’t come down to a fight, from what she knows about Mumbo, but one can never be too careful. She knows not to underestimate an enemy.

It is somewhat pathetic that she’s able to walk up right behind him without him even noticing, but Gem chalks that up to her being very good at her job.

“Hey there, Mumbo!” she greets, and can’t help but laugh as he shrieks and falls over backwards. “Oop, careful! Don’t hurt yourself.”

Mumbo scrambles back and to his feet, looking up at Gem with wide eyes. “What– what on earth– who are you?! How do you know my name?”

Gem tilts her head to the side, keeping the smile on her face. “I’m Gem. Nice to meet you.” She takes a step forward. “King Ren placed a bounty on your head, and I’m here to collect! Do you want to come with me willingly, or…?” She places a hand on the hilt of her sword.

Mumbo pales. “Well, look, okay, there’s been a misunderstanding!” He holds his hands up as he steps back, eyes darting around wildly. “There’s no need for violence! I’m a very peace loving guy! Peace, love, and plants, y’know!”

Gem raises an eyebrow. “By force, then! That’s cool!” She draws her sword.

Mumbo does what any average person would do– scream, then run away.

Gem, of course, chases. It’s easy enough to catch up to Mumbo and trip him, sending the taller man falling to the ground with another shriek. She quickly puts her sword to Mumbo’s throat, and he freezes.

“...please don’t kill me?” he asks after a moment, chest heaving as he stares up at her. “I don’t, I won’t lie to you, I don’t particularly want to die?” 

Gem laughs, shaking her head. “I’m not going to kill you. I just need to bring you back to the king so I can collect your bounty!” She pulls her sword away, twirling it in her hand. “Whatever happens to you after is on him, not me.” She tilts her head. “Also, didn't you have a beard?”

Mumbo blinks. “What? No, I– hold on, a beard?! I know they always get my mustache wrong, but a beard? And what do you mean, a bounty?”

Gem puts her sword back at Mumbo’s throat. “I think they have to hire a new portrait artist. Anyway! I need to take you to the King, so I can get paid, and you can be brought to justice, et cetera.”

“But we can talk about this!” Mumbo pleads. “Surely I could pay you or something, I have quite a lot of things, I–!”

The only warning Gem is given is Mumbo’s gaze darting to the side. Someone slams into her, sending her stumbling away.

Gem turns and sweeps her sword out in time to block the blade of a scythe. The impact jars both her and her attacker, giving Gem enough time to reorient herself.

The woman straightens up, and her fever-clouded eyes focus on Gem. Her wings are flared out, displaying eyespots that stare down at Gem. “Why are ya messin’ with my knights?” 

From where he’s fallen, Mumbo yelps, “Pearl!”

Ah. So this is the Pearl they had been talking about. Gem curses herself for making assumptions, then tightens her grip on her sword and grins. “You wanna fight? Fantastic!” 

Pearl lets out a sharp breath, and Gem doesn’t fail to notice how her hands tremble slightly holding her scythe. “Not very fair of you to attack Mumbo while he’s all alone, don't ya think?”

Gem laughs as she shifts into a fighting stance. “I’d say it’s more fair than a 2v1!”

“I’m staying out of this!” Mumbo interjects, continuing to back away. “Good luck, Pearl!”

Pearl tilts her head. “That fair enough for you?” She doesn’t wait for Gem to answer, folding her wings tight against her back and lunging for her. 

It’s been a while since Gem’s had a good fight. Since Etho, she thinks, though the fight with him had been made interesting by his strange abilities with shadows and ice. Pearl isn't using any magic– it's pure skill that Gem is fighting against, and it's been a while since she's fought anyone like this. 

As the fight goes on, though, it becomes more clear to Gem just how unfocused Pearl is. By the looks of it, she'd just rolled out of bed when Mumbo screamed. Gem shakes away any doubts about fighting someone who is clearly ill as she blocks a strike that would've taken her arm off. 

“Wow!” she exclaims, ducking and stepping to the side as Pearl's scythe sweeps over her, “you're really going all out, huh?” 

Pearl laughs in response to that, as if they were two friends sparring for fun. “You were attacking my Mumbo! ‘course I'm goin’ all out!”

Gem swings out with her sword again, catching Pearl's leg with her blade. “Your Mumbo is a wanted criminal!”

Pearl yelps and stumbles back. She holds out her scythe in a defensive position.

Gem takes a moment to catch her breath, staring at Pearl. “It'd be best if you just hand Mumbo over! I promise I won't hurt him!”

Pearl shakes her head. “Absolutely not, mate! Mumbo is family!” 

Gem shrugs. “Your grave, then!” 

She lunges. 

The fight has a sort of rhythm to it. Gem lunges, Pearl blocks. Pearl slices with her scythe, Gem dodges. The rhythm is only broken by Pearl occasionally stumbling– which Gem takes advantage of to strike out and nick Pearl. She's never able to make too deep a cut, and Pearl gets her back plenty of times, but she lands enough hits to start feeling much better about her chances of winning. 

...and then she's on the ground, dew soaking into her clothes as she lies there. Her sword is gone, fallen out of her hand in the struggle. 

She looks up at Pearl, who stands above her. Her cheeks are reddened by exertion and fever, her hair is cascading over her shoulders in messy waves, and most infuriatingly there is a smile on her lips even as she holds her scythe to Gem's throat. 

Gem doesn't move. She waits, with bated breath, for Pearl to kill her.

Instead, Pearl sheathes her scythe and bends down, holding out a hand. “There ya go, mate, let's get you back on your feet.”

Gem blinks. “What?”

Pearl tilts her head in confusion. “I'm helping you up. Did you hit your head?”

Gem frowns. “No, I just– why aren't you killing me?” She takes Pearl’s hand anyway.

Pearl raises an eyebrow, pulling Gem to her feet. “Would you have killed me if I lost?” She grins when Gem shakes her head. “Thought so.”

Mumbo peeks out from the tree he hid behind, giving Pearl a little wave. “You don't want to kidnap me anymore?”

Gem groans, grabbing her bloodied sword and wiping it on the grass before sheathing it. “I miscalculated. Thought you were alone and Pearl was the big dog I saw wandering around camp. Turns out, I was wrong.”

Pearl laughs. “Tilly! No, no, she's my lovely puppy.”

“Wolf,” Mumbo corrects quietly, “she's a wolf, Pearl.” 

Pearl shrugs, then looks over at Gem. “Well, if you’re gonna stick around, we have some soup I can heat up? You can tell us all about why you’re here, and maybe I’ll be able to give ya somethin’ for your time.”

Gem lets out a disbelieving laugh. “Yeah. Sure. Sure, why not. This day couldn’t get any more crazy, I think.”

Mumbo, who had slowly been inching closer to the two while they were talking, is quick to grab Pearl when she tries to walk and stumbles. “Pearl! Wait, hold on, I’ll help you over, but you have got to sit down after that. I’ll heat up the soup and get you some bandages.” 

“Alright, alright…” Pearl slings an arm over Mumbo’s shoulders, and gestures for Gem to follow them. “Oof, that took a lot out of me, actually.” She glances back at Gem. “You’re good. Where’d you learn to fight like that?”

Gem snorts, following them across the camp. “I could ask you the same question. You’re insane.” 

Mumbo helps Pearl sit down on the bench. Gem hesitates, then takes the seat across from Pearl, watching as Mumbo grabs a large covered container of soup. “Honestly,” he says, “Pearl’s one of the strongest people I know. Everyone here is, but Pearl and Impulse–” he laughs, putting the container on what looks to be a type of redstone warming gadget– “they’re incredible.” 

Pearl giggles. “Aww, Mumbo! You’re too kind, mate.” She closes her eyes and lets out a breath. “You mind gettin’ those bandages? I’m startin’ to feel a little hurt here.”

Gem grimaces. “My bad! You got me good in a few places too, though.”

Pearl nods, giving Gem a bright smile. “Dang right I did! Mumbo, can you get some extra bandages for our new friend here?”

Mumbo nods, bending down to open a different wooden container and pulling out some bandages and a dry towel. “Her name’s Gem, by the way. Introduced herself to me before chasing me down.” 

“That’s nice,” Pearl quips, “good to let your victims know who they have the pleasure of bein’ killed by, at the very least.”

Gem blushes. “I wasn’t going to kill him! Honestly! I was just going to bring him back to King Ren, and even then he was probably just gonna be put in jail or something!”

Mumbo sits next to Pearl and begins to dab at the cuts with the towel. “I don’t really want to go to jail?” He hands a roll of bandages and a towel to Gem, who begins to take care of her own wounds.

“We’d break you out,” Pearl assures him, then turns to look at Gem. “Right. This bounty, tell me about it? You said King Ren put it out?”

Gem glances at Mumbo. “Honestly, I think it’d be better hearing it from his side, first. I wasn’t there for the whole reason the bounty was placed.”

Mumbo looks up from where he was wrapping Pearl’s wounds. “Oh! Well, uh, you see. So, I guess, I accidentally blew up one of his labs? I was making something, can’t really remember what it was, and well. Kaboom! Blew it all to smithereens, unfortunately. And because I wasn’t really supposed to be there, they didn’t really have a lot of sympathy for me.” He grabs Pearl’s hand and pulls her other arm up so he can tend to the wounds on it. “So! I ran!”

“Are our things at risk of blowing up, then?” Pearl asks, looking pointedly at the redstone machine that was warming up the soup. Her wings flutter slightly. 

Mumbo shrugs. “Probably not. I mean, I’m much more careful now. I don’t use things until I’m like… 99% sure they won’t blow up.”

Gem raises an eyebrow. “That’s a whole 1% of uncertainty.”

Pearl laughs, pulling her arm back once Mumbo finishes bandaging up her cuts. “Better than 2%! I’ll take it.” 

Mumbo hands Pearl the roll of bandages and stands up to check on the soup. It must be done, because he carefully takes the container off the heating gadget and grabs some bowls and spoons from yet another wooden container. After rifling through the container for another minute, he pulls out a ladle with a triumphant sound and stands back up. “Soup’s ready!”

Once the soup is ladled into every bowl and placed on the table, Mumbo sits back down. “You alright, Pearl?” he murmurs, to which Pearl nods. 

“Just a lil dizzy,” she responds, “but that’s– probably fine. I should get back to bed soon, probably.”

“Eat your soup first, at least.” Mumbo looks up at Gem. “And, well, I guess we should hear your side of this whole thing, huh?”

Gem sighs, taking a sip of her soup before leaning back. “Well, I was looking for another job and yours came up. I figured it’d be pretty easy to grab you and bring you back to the King, and then I’d be set for the next couple months with the reward.” She laughs softly. “To be honest, I didn’t even think I was going to have to fight.”

Mumbo makes a sad noise. “I would’ve fought back!” he protests, “you just startled me!”

“Oh, I’m sure you would’ve!” Gem agrees. “You just would’ve lost.”

Pearl chuckles. “Be nice to Mumbo! He’s a very skilled tactician.” She has some more soup before leaning forward, resting her elbows on the table. “What are your plans now?”

Gem shrugs. “I wasn’t hired for this job, so it doesn’t really matter if I complete it or not. The money would’ve been nice, but my reputation won’t take a blow because of this.” She thinks for a moment, humming softly in contemplation. “Honestly, I might just spend a while up around here to see if any of the nearby villages have jobs for me, if anything. Or I might head to the city to look for more bounties.” She eats some more soup. It’s very good, made with potatoes and bacon and cheese, and it’s slightly spicy nature has her feeling warm despite the cold autumn weather.

 “Oh! Speaking of, you’re going to want to keep an eye on this guy–” She gestures at Mumbo– “for a bit, or speak to King Ren about his bounty. Otherwise, some other hunter who isn’t as nice as me might pick up his bounty.” 

Mumbo’s eyes widen. “Well. I don’t really want that to happen!”

Pearl nods. “Yeah, that makes sense… I’ll speak with the others when they get back and we’ll see about making a trip there. If that’s okay with you?” She directs the question to Mumbo, who holds up his hands and shakes his head.

“I dunno! Do whatever you think is best, mate. It would be nice to get the bounty off my head so we don’t have to worry about people coming to camp.” Mumbo looks a little downtrodden as he speaks, crossing his arms and looking away. “I mean, look at what happened. You’re hurt, and Grian’s probably going to rip my arm off for it!”

Gem inhales sharply. “I might want to head out then, if you have a friend who’s gonna react like that…”

Pearl laughs. “No, Mumbo’s joking– Grian can’t and won’t do that, not to Mumbo. And even if he wanted to do that to someone, I still don’t think he could.” She finishes her soup and leans against Mumbo. “It might be good for you to skedaddle before everyone gets back, though. We can introduce you at another time, when you haven’t just injured me while I’m ill and supposed to be resting.”

Mumbo chuckles nervously, letting Pearl lean against him. “Yeahhh… I can’t imagine that’ll go down too well with the others. Even if you are friendly now.”

Gem takes the last bite of her soup, and sets her spoon in the bowl. “I can’t imagine it would, I really can’t. Thank you for the soup and bandages, but–”

Before she’s able to finish speaking, Pearl jumps up from the table. “Wait! Hold on, I have something for you.” She takes a few steps away, then turns back and grabs Mumbo’s hand. “Sorry, taking this guy with me– still don’t really trust you. Stay right there!”

Gem waves her hand, slightly confused. “That’s fair! I’ll be here.” 

They return after a few minutes, with Pearl holding a few things in her arms. “Right! Here’s a pouch of some gold and iron coins, to cover at least a little of the bounty. And this–” She sets down a piece of parchment on the table– “this is moth mail. It’s a special thing I made a while back. Just write a letter, tap the little sigil drawn on the top corner, and it’ll get to me! You can use that to contact me if you need, or if you’re in the area.”

Gem blinks. “Wow! Oh, gosh, thank you? I gotta know, though, how come you’re being so nice to me? I was going to turn Mumbo over to the King.”

Pearl shrugs. “I mean, you’ve been chill after that, so why hold grudges? Gotta make friends where ya can.” She straightens back up. “Really! Feel free to come back any time, as long as you let me know first. If you don’t, I might assume you’ve come to collect some other bounty we don’t know about and fight you again.”

Gem laughs as she stands up, taking the pouch of coins and parchment paper. “Wouldn’t want that to happen, for sure!” She takes a step back. “Well, thank you both for the kindness… and entertainment, I suppose. This morning was certainly an interesting one.”

Mumbo smiles nervously. “Yeah, I agree. It was nice, uh, meeting you? And not getting kidnapped by you? And not being put in jail. Yeah.”

Gem only laughs louder at that. “Yeah, I’m glad I could contribute to things you’re grateful for.” She takes a breath, looking between Mumbo and Pearl. “Well. I’ll be heading out, then. Thanks for the coin and the paper.”

Pearl leans against Mumbo, who is doing his best to steady her. “No worries, mate! Have fun with… whatever you’re going to do!”

As Gem starts walking back toward the forest, she just barely hears Pearl mumble, “I need to pass out right now,” to Mumbo. 

Gem pays the stable manager for taking care of her horse with some of the money Pearl gave her. Honestly, she’s still a little shocked over how the whole ordeal went down, but hey; at least she still got paid. 

“And I got some new friends out of it, too,” she tells her horse as she rides off into the forest. “So that’s a plus!” 

She isn’t quite sure what she’s going to tell the bartender when she inevitably returns, but she’ll figure something out. For now, she’s good to look for her next bounty– wherever it might be.

[summerspectre]

some resources to make today a little lighter

or, a really silly list of things that have kept me sane

cartoons, movies, animations— oh my!

into the spiderverse

gravity falls season 1

the amazing world of gumball

regular show

kitbull + pixar shorts

bluey

a random powerpuff girls full episode & also there's a second one (original series dw)

ramshackle thesis + pilot + stone gets microwaved

lackadaisy

game grumps animated

mbmbam animated + original non-animated podcast (some funny shit

the egg (one of my favorite short stories, feels topical)

youtube reccomendations that are overall a good time

yknow the guy who makes the ghost songs every year (ghost duet, choir, etc.)? he does cool shit (louie zong)

nerdy nummies (go rosanna)

cinematherapy (a family + couples therapist & a filmmaker react to films (ex: nimona, tangled, pride and prejudice, up, coraline) and draw very real and grounding lessons from them)

jaiden animations videos

elyse myers vlogs (vlogs as a creator with autism, agoraphobia, and ocd and i find her insights to be incredibly comforting + takes extra care to keep her family separate from her work and is worth supporting if you need a comfort youtuber)

miscellaneous myths (myths from different cultures told in bite sized videos, done by an excellent team)

minecraft youtube newer and older to binge

minecraft oasis - ihascupquake

aphmau minecraft diaries origins, 1, 2, rebirth

aphmau mystreet s1, s2, s3, s4, interlude, s5, s6

aphmau phoenix drop high (mystreet prologue) s1, s2

legitimately one of the best resources to binge dsmp

-> technoblade dsmp

"actually good videos" - a technoblade playlist

-> + @royalarchivist has plenty of qsmp clips :) i will not be further endorsing the series itself for personal reasons but it's still important to the mcyt community & archivist does an excelling job archiving

(if anyone has good playlists for the life series or hermitcraft, please repost with them!)

all time tumblr favorites

tumblr folk stories (highly recommend god of arepo)

queer granddad spongebob

bumblebees rolling balls around

the making of emperor's new groove

alex hirsch vs disney censors (this is on youtube but it feels tumblrian)

resources for...

caring for your introvert (a silly amongst the serious)

if you're lost right now

after a long cry

if you're falling out of a plane right now (completely serious. no jokes anymore i already spent my silly)

the trevor project online chatting option

the trevor project site (tap anywhere quickly to exit immediately)

crisis hotlines

(stay alive, you've got this)

relaxing/asmr

hang out with piplup

squirtle's day at the beach

pikachu by the patio

relaxing minecraft long play

accounts i suggest for a boost in joy:

-> @akindplace

-> @twopartposts

-> @traumasurvivorshelpingsurvivors

-> @i-am-a-fish (never seen a bad take)

-> @artsyaxolotl

-> @world-heritage-posts

and if you're reading this post at all, please feel free to add!

[stellar-skyy]

♡ - LOST & FOUND - Platonic Arlecchino & reader

i. SUMMARY: Hell hath no fury like a parent whose child has been taken from them. ii. CWS & NOTES: description of blood and injury (mildly graphic but not gory), violence, mentions of kidnapping, swearing (like once), implied murder. PLATONIC arlecchino & gn!reader. house of the hearth!reader. angst & slight hurt/comfort. 2.5k words. iv. A/N: i am... so normal about parental arlecchino... so normal... i hope you enjoy because i loved writing this!! i have a little written for an epilogue featuring the lyntwins + freminet reuniting, so stay tuned for that ♡

It had been fifty-eight hours, and twenty-seven minutes since [Name] had vanished.

Freminet sat curled up in a velvet armchair that dwarfed his small frame, with Pers on his lap and his brother and sister flanking each side. They had both refused Father’s offer of a seat, which showed the severity of the situation more than words ever could.

No one ever refused Father. Even she had raised an eyebrow at their sudden rebellion.

“Lyney, Lynette. Defiance will not make [Name] come home faster. Take a seat.” Father sipped her tea, poised as ever. Even with that impassive mask, Freminet still noticed the tension in her shoulders.

He always noticed.

“There’s no need,” Lyney said shortly, adding on a respectful “Father.” as an afterthought.

“What my brother means—” Lynette cut in smoothly. “—Is that we do not want to draw this conversation out any longer than necessary. We only came to get permission to postpone our current assignment and search for [Name]. I’m sure you can see the circumstances are dire enough to warrant such action.”

“I’m afraid I do not, Lynette.” Father placed her cup down and folded her hands over her lap. “They are a very skilled agent, and this mission was hardly out of their ability. No need to compromise your current—and very important, I might add—mission, for trivial matters.”

“It isn’t trivial, it’s our sibling!” Lyney burst out, causing Freminet to flinch. He reached out a hand blindly to settle on Freminet’s shoulder, squeezing it quickly in both a comfort and apology for startling him.

“I would be mindful of your place within this household, Lyney.” Father said mildly, the warning clear. “I have given you a direct order, and you will follow it. Do not stray from your assigned mission. [Name] will be fine.” She paused for a beat. “You are dismissed.”

“That’s it?” Lyney hissed. “So, you’re going to just leave them to die?”

It sounded like less of a question and more of an accusation. Freminet winced, feeling Lynette stiffen beside him as well as they waited for the consequences of Lyney’s bluntness.

Arlecchino rose from her seat, the tension in the air thick enough to choke all three of the siblings.

“I never said that. [Name] will be home in due time.” Her gaze shifted from the left to the right side of the armchair. “Lynette, you will have tea with me later, won’t you?” Father asked, causing the girl to freeze.

She bit her lip, answering carefully. “I may. Maybe if [Name] returns, we can all have tea together.”

“A good plan,” Father agreed, ignoring the quiet angry undertone of her words. “When I see them, I shall invite them.”

“It had better be soon; it’s getting late.” Lynette countered. Freminet’s eyes darted back and forth between the two of them. Lynette was always better at matching Father’s games. Freminet crumbled under the weight of her gaze, and Lyney wasn’t any better at handling the pressure without his emotions causing him to crack and splinter.

“Lynette, Freminet. Let’s go.” Lyney said sharply.

Throughout the entire exchange, Lyney’s hand had not moved from where it was planted firmly on Freminet’s shoulder, as if he was refusing to let another of his siblings out of his grasp. Freminet might have remarked that Lynette was handling her worry better, but he noticed how her tail kept curling around his leg when they walked into Father’s office. Neither of the three was willing to part with the others for even a second; not when one of their own had gone missing by doing just that.

As he drew back his hand and moved away, Freminet caught his arm.  

“Just… a moment, please. Wait outside, I’ll join you soon.” Freminet murmured, letting go. Lyney pursed his lips.

“Be quick.”

The twins vanished through the doorway, leaving Freminet alone with his Father.

“Freminet dear. You’re hesitating.” Father raised an eyebrow. “Are you waiting for something? Do you want me to give Pers a kiss on the head before I leave?”

Freminet flushed at the memories of holding the toy up to Father when he was young, insisting the penguin deserved a proper goodbye too. “Ahem. I’m not a child anymore… Father.”

“No? Then why are you still here?”

He swallowed awkwardly, forcing himself to look her in the eyes. He met her stare

“I know you’re just as worried as I am.” He said bluntly.

Father’s expression was almost impossible to read, but Freminet managed to catch a hint of surprise at his words. “I see. How did you come to that conclusion?”

It wasn’t denial, nor was it defensiveness. That was a good sign. Freminet continued, “There is a pinch between your eyebrows that you keep trying to smooth over. You’re gripping your teacup much tighter than usual. Your shoulders are tense. And you were far too quick to dismiss the twins’ concerns. You of all people would know that the situation is severe enough to allow a brief pause to their investigation, but you were swift in making sure they were kept as far away from the situation as possible.”

Arlecchino stared back at Freminet silently. She always had that unsettling way of watching him, as if she was picking apart the cogs and wheels spinning in his mind to know exactly what he was thinking.

“Observant as always, Freminet.” Freminet stood up straighter, pink touching his cheeks. “So, tell me this: what am I to do next?”

“You’re… going to find them yourself?” He asked slowly.

“That is correct. I will be.” Father agreed, and something inside him swelled. If only Lyney was still in the room, he would have collapsed with relief. “And what will you be doing?”

“Helping.” Freminet said without a thought.

“Incorrect. You are going to return to your room, go to sleep, and not say a word to your siblings.”

“But—”

“No. You are not involved here.” Arlecchino turned her back on him, looking out the window with her arms folded behind her.

“Father—”

“Do not forget that if you or your sibling’s interference costs me my mission, [Name]’s blood will be on your hands.”

Freminet recoiled sharply, as if she had struck him across the face. Arlecchino refused to lay a hand on any of them, but her words were more than enough to wound them.

“I—”

“I’m not looking for an argument, Freminet.”

Freminet shut his mouth with a click, lowering his head. He forced back the wave of emotions sweeping across him, sinking them so far into the depths of his mind that not even a champion diver like himself would be able to reach them.

“I am looking for an answer.” Father raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, Father.” He said quietly.

“Good child,” She murmured, laying a gentle hand on the top of his head. “You are dismissed.”

-----

Arlecchino made her move at the stroke of sundown.

It was disgustingly easy to track them down, and the sheer incompetence only fuelled her rage until it burned brighter than the flames that curled beneath her skin. The assailants were sloppy, leaving plenty of traces for her to find, as if they were waiting for her to find them.

One of her agents had returned with a slip of paper that evening—a ransom note, crudely explaining that they had captured a House of the Hearth agent, and demanding a hefty sum in exchange for their safe return. She had chuckled at that last part. They would be lucky for her to leave them with their lives after what they have done, let alone a reward.

Their hideout was located in a quiet cave near the ocean, with an entrance half-hidden behind a curtain of vines. It was a quaint spot, a cosy place to sit back and watch the sun set over the water. She was sure the view behind her was breathtaking, but she made no move to take a glance for herself.

The vines made way for a long, narrow tunnel, ending with a wooden door. Arlecchino quietly turned the handle, scoffing under her breath when it turned without a key being inserted, and slipped through without making a single sound.

Six were scattered around the dingy room; one woman, five men. Seeming to be aged between their mid-twenties at the youngest, and early-forties at the oldest.

“Have we got a response yet?” The woman muttered impatiently, tapping her foot against the floor.

“How should I know?” One of the men grunted. “We left the note. Eventually it’s gotta make it’s way to the boss herself, and we’ll get the reward.”

“Just gotta be patient,” Another murmured. “Gotta be patient.”

Slightly past them was a wooden cage, secured with a metal lock.

They were in a heap on the floor of the cage, breathing weakly—Arlecchino quietly thanked the Tsaritsa that they were breathing at all—and looked to be passed out.

The fire inside her sang, and she could hardly breathe under the heat of it all.

“How long is this woman gonna take?” The woman rolled her eyes. “I’m tired of waiting.”

Arlecchino chuckled, causing all of the six to jump. “Oh, then allow me to assure you that you won’t have to wait much longer at all.”

Instantly they were on their feet, grabbing whatever weapon was closest. Their expressions ranged from outright fear, to an egregious amount of confidence for how weak they were in comparison to her.

“Knave,” the closest man grinned crookedly. “How kind of you to join us. I’m assuming you’re here for—” he jerked his head towards the figure still unmoving. “—that one?”

“‘That one’?” Arlecchino repeated slowly, drawing her scythe to her side. “I am here for my child.”

Two of the men—the ones closest to the cage—looked at each other nervously. Arlecchino smiled. It was a pity the rest of the group didn’t share the sense to fear her, but they would learn soon enough.

“Well you see, we’ll be happy to hand them over—” the man’s grin widened. “For a price, of course.”

“A price, you say?” She mused. “How about this. You step aside, I retrieve my child, and offer you a quick death. I would say that is more than fair, considering what you have cost me.”

The smile dropped off the man’s face. “That ain’t an option, lady.”

“Then I think you misunderstand.” She took a step towards him, then another, eyes glinting dangerously in the low light. “I wasn’t asking.”

“Boss—” one of the men tried to say.

“Shut it.” the first man hissed, bringing his shovel up in a defensive position. It was almost laughable, how he thought that would protect him.

“You made four mistakes tonight,” Arlecchino said smoothly. The tip of her scythe brushed the floor, sending a loud scraping sound across the walls. All of the people inside the room winced at the sound, but Arlecchino was unfazed as she continued prowling towards them.

“One… you failed to cover your tracks, making it remarkably easy to track you down.” In one swift motion, she lunged. The group barely had time to blink, before her scythe sliced across the chest of the closest one.

There was silence, before the man made a low gasp, bright crimson blood spilling down his shirt. He collapsed forward onto the ground with a thud, and the room erupted into chaos. A scream tore from the throat of the woman, and she dropped to her knees at his side, desperately clutching his shoulders. Arlecchino aimed a quick strike at her back, and she fell against the man heavily.

“Two, you left the door unlocked.” A pair charged towards her, hammers and shovels swinging. She knocked the weapons from their hands with one hit, and knocked them down with a second.

“Three—” One snuck up from behind, quickly tossing a string of rope over her head and around her neck, pulling harshly to cut off her breathing. An elbow in his ribs winded him enough to loosen his grip, and a knock to the head with the hilt of her scythe sent him to the floor. “You brought far too few people to last in a fight against me.”

The final man stumbled backwards until he hit the wall, shrinking against the bricks. Arlecchino walked with slow steps, stalking towards him like an animal cornering their pray. He shielded his face with his hands, in a desperate attempt to protect himself. Once she was about a foot away, she stopped, leaning in close.

“And four.” Arlecchino grasped the man by the throat, digging her nails into his skin hard enough to draw blood. “You hurt my fucking child.”

She tossed his body to the side, watching him hit the wall with a thud and collapse to the ground like a ragdoll.

“Pathetic.” She scoffed under her breath, stepping over his limp body. Her anger wasn’t nearly quelled—an inferno is not easily cooled, after all—but seeing them all lying lifelessly across the floor of their own base at least brought some vindication. She turned her back to the man, looking over at her child.

They were curled up in the cage like a trapped animal, rattling breaths ringing through the bars. Arlecchino gritted her teeth at the sight, making sure to step on the nearest captor’s fingers as she walked over. She swung her scythe against the lock, shattering it into bits of metal.

Her hands were gentle in reaching into the cage, hooking a hand under their knees and cradling their back with the other. They made a pained cry, and Arlecchino hurried to pull them out. She held them close to her chest, letting their cheek rest where her heartbeat pounded against her chest. Her face didn’t falter from that stony expression, but inside she was burning with fury.

“My child,” She murmured, more to herself than the shivering form in her arms. There was something dangerous in her tone, a note of warning to the assailants still conscious enough to hear her voice. She kissed their forehead, a tender gesture out of place among the bloodshed. “Didn’t I promise you that while you’re with me, no one can hurt you?”

“F-Father…?” A broken whisper slipped through their lips, followed by a sob, first sinking Arlecchino’s heart then shattering it into two.

��Shh… it’s okay. It’s okay, darling, I’m here.” She crooned, carrying them out of the room and through the tunnel. All throughout the journey through the tunnel and back onto the beach, she didn’t stop murmuring comforts and pressing kisses to their head in the most maternal way she’d ever remembered acting.

“I’m sorry, Father…” they mumbled, cheek pressed against her chest.

“Darling…” Arlecchino hummed, even as the smouldering ashes in her chest began to spark and flicker. “You have nothing to apologise for.”

The night was cold, but her child was a warm weight in her arms. She revelled in the warmth, a gentle reminder that they were still alive.

“We’ll be home soon,” Arlecchino promised, even though they were barely conscious enough to hear her. “Soon.”

reblogs are appreciated ♡

[claramelooo]

Heyy! My dear! I'm so excited for the Christmas! So, leave in the comments (or send me an anon quest, if you feel more confortable) any scenes, moments or something you really want to see between Wanda and R. Maybe Santa will realizes your desires...

MINORS MUST NOT INTERACT

Warning: +18, NFSW, Blood

Paring: Mommy Wanda x Brat fem reader

Summary: Being at Wanda's home can be very...intense.

Read here: Prologue | Part 1 - Predator | Part 2 - The Prey | Part 3 - On Your Knees | Part 4 - The Spider | Part 5 - The Lamb

VELVET CHAINS

Pure Crimson

It was a sunny afternoon, so hot that you could see the heat haze blurring the landscape. You were at Wanda's house while your parents were in Greece. Not that you minded staying away from them—you had been distant for so long that you'd forgotten what the word "family" even meant.

The days at the Maximoff household had been an emotional rollercoaster. The environment was both warm and intimidating, and you were still adjusting to the unique dynamics of that family.

Your relationship with Billy and Tommy started off hesitantly, like strangers crossing paths in neutral territory. On the first day, while Wanda was busy in the kitchen and Vision was lost in his own thoughts, you sat on the living room couch, trying to look casual as the boys played with Lego pieces scattered across the floor.

Billy was the first to break the ice, shy but curious. “Do you like Star Wars?” He asked, holding up a small Lego spaceship, waiting for a response that might bridge the gap.

“I do! But I don’t really understand spaceships. Do you?” You replied, leaning forward with genuine interest.

His face lit up with the kind of enthusiasm only kids can show. “I’m the best spaceship builder in the galaxy!” He started explaining in detail how he had constructed each part, and soon Tommy joined in, adding comments about the spaceship's imaginary speed.

The initial connection was timid but quickly grew over the following days. You realized the way to earn the twins’ trust was to genuinely care about what they loved. They didn’t need grand promises or long speeches—just someone who truly wanted to spend time with them.

On the second day, Tommy challenged you to a video game match. “Bet you can’t beat me,” he teased with a mischievous grin. You accepted the challenge, and even though you weren’t very skilled, you played with enthusiasm. Tommy laughed so hard when you pressed the wrong button and sent your character tumbling off a cliff that tears rolled down his cheeks.

“You’re terrible at this!” he exclaimed, but there was no cruelty, only joy. And when you finally managed to win a round—by sheer luck—the two boys cheered for you like you had just won a trophy.

That same day, while Wanda was baking strawberry pie in the kitchen, you decided to help Billy with a school art project about national folklore figures. He was frustrated that his drawing wasn’t coming out the way he wanted. “I’m never going to get this right,” he grumbled, nearly crumpling the paper.

“It doesn’t have to be perfect; it can be unique,” you said, picking up the pencil and showing him how to add simple details to turn what seemed like a mistake into something creative. “See? It’s all about perspective.” You gave him a bright smile, and he looked at you with genuine admiration.

A particularly vulnerable moment sealed their trust. Tommy had hurt his knee playing soccer in the backyard—a nasty scrape. While Wanda was busy elsewhere, you cleaned his wound carefully, speaking soothing words. “You’re a warrior, Tommy. This is nothing for someone as strong as you.” He smiled through his tears and held your hand as if finding strength in it.

That night, as you were getting ready for bed, Billy called out to you. “Y/n, you’re like the big sister we never had.” Tommy agreed, and the two hugged you tightly before heading to their room.

From that moment on, it was as if an invisible bond connected you to them. They sought you out for everything—from playing games to asking for advice. More than that, they embraced you as part of their lives, and you realized that, in some way, you needed them as much as they seemed to need you.

Vision, however, was a different challenge. Always polite and courteous, but there was something about his demeanor, the way his eyes seemed to analyze your every move, that left you uneasy. Perhaps it was the contrast with Wanda, whose gaze seemed to devour you, while Vision’s felt like judgment.

One afternoon, you found him in the kitchen, organizing documents in a folder while sipping coffee. When you walked in, he glanced up briefly, offering a polite but cold smile.

“Good afternoon,” he said, his voice controlled.

“Good afternoon,” you replied, unsure.

Silence quickly settled, heavy and awkward. You searched for something to say, anything to break the invisible wall.

“The boys are excited about tonight’s dinner,” you commented, referring to Billy and Tommy, who had insisted you help pick the menu.

Vision simply nodded, his expression unchanged. “They grow attached easily,” he remarked, emotionless. “Especially to people… different.”

You felt the insinuation but had no time to respond before the sound of Tommy and Billy’s hurried footsteps echoed down the hallway.

“Y/n!” Billy exclaimed, running up to you with a huge smile. “Look what we made!”

He showed you a colorful drawing of you, him, Tommy, and even Wanda sitting around a large dinner table. In the corner of the paper, Vision was there too, but noticeably outside the circle.

“You’re part of our family now!” Tommy said, laughing as he clung to your side.

You couldn’t help but smile. “I love it, Billy. It’s amazing!”

“It really is,” Wanda said, walking into the kitchen with an amused expression as she looked at the drawing. “It seems you’re stealing their hearts.”

Tommy hugged your waist, looking at Vision with a mischievous grin. “We love you. Are you going to live with us now?” the boy asked, his eyes sparkling.

“Tommy,” Vision said firmly.

“What?” The boy asked innocently.

You crouched down to Tommy’s height, a gentle smile on your face. “I can’t, sweetheart. I already have a home...” you replied, awkwardly trying not to stumble over your words under Vision’s intense gaze.

Tommy pouted, but Billy quickly approached with another drawing in hand. This one showed you holding what seemed to be a tray of cookies, surrounded by the twins. “This is you, taking care of us. Because you make the best gingerbread cookies in the world.”

“Billy, I just helped! You guys made the cookies,” you laughed, knowing it wasn’t true—you had done everything from the dough to the baking. The twins had only decorated, but you’d say anything to see their smiles.

“It doesn’t matter! You’re the best helper,” he declared confidently, as if it were a universal fact.

Across the room, Wanda watched the scene with a soft smile. Her eyes shifted between the twins and you, as if capturing every detail of the moment.

“It’s true, Y/n,” Wanda said warmly. “You have a way with them that even I can’t compete with.”

Tommy quickly shot back, “Of course not, Mom! We love you too. But it’s different.”

Wanda raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms as if feigning offense. “Different how, exactly?”

Billy was quick to defend. “You’re the boss of us! But Y/n makes things feel more fun.”

Wanda’s laughter filled the room, a carefree sound that seemed to brighten the entire atmosphere. She glanced at you, her eyes a mix of amusement and admiration.

Vision, however, seemed out of place. He cleared his throat, drawing the twins’ attention. “Boys, you know family is a... fixed concept. One shouldn’t create expectations based on...”

“Don’t start, Dad,” Tommy interrupted, rolling his eyes dramatically.

“Yeah, we know how we feel,” Billy added firmly.

You looked at Wanda, expecting a more severe reaction, but instead, she was smiling indulgently. “They have strong opinions, Vision. Perhaps we should accept that Y/n is important to them.”

Vision hesitated, his discomfort clear, but he didn’t respond.

Tommy took the opportunity to hug you again. “So that’s it. You’re part of our family now.”

You laughed, touched by his sincerity, and looked at Wanda, who gave a small nod, as if silently confirming what Tommy had said. The warmth in your chest at that moment was indescribable but undeniably real.

Billy grabbed your hand, pulling you along. “Come on! Let’s play!”

You didn’t have a chance to resist as he and Tommy led you to the living room, leaving Vision and Wanda behind.

In the living room, the boys showed you their game cards, taught you crazy rules only they understood, and laughed until they fell over as you tried to keep up with their energy.

In the middle of the game, Tommy flopped onto the couch, tired, and looked at you with shining eyes. “You’re not leaving, right?”

“Not anytime soon,” you said, ruffling his hair.

Billy approached and gently took your hand, his expression unusually serious. “Mom has never seemed this happy before,” he said quietly.

The words hung in the air, heavy with an unspoken weight. You looked at him and then at Tommy, your heart tightening in your chest. They were such sweet kids, their affection for you so pure and genuine that it stirred something deep within you—a mix of gratitude and protectiveness.

Moments later, Wanda appeared in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame. Her presence filled the room effortlessly, and when your eyes met hers, there was an intensity in her gaze, a possessiveness barely masked by her enigmatic smile.

“It’s good to see you all getting along so well,” she said softly, her voice carrying a warmth that made your stomach flutter.

“She’s the best!” Tommy blurted out enthusiastically, and Billy nodded in earnest agreement.

“Yeah. She really is,” Wanda echoed, her words laced with an edge of certainty as her eyes lingered on you. Her smile deepened, enigmatic and knowing, as though she saw something in you that even you hadn’t recognized yet.

You couldn’t help but laugh, a light, genuine sound that filled the room. A warmth spread through your chest, a comforting sense of belonging. For the first time in days, amidst all the uncertainties, it felt like you’d found your place—at least with the twins. And, perhaps, with Wanda too.

[...]

The house was silent, save for the soft ticking of a clock on the wall in the living room. Wanda lay on the bed, but sleep felt like an ever more distant possibility. Vision’s steady, peaceful breathing beside her only highlighted the contrast with the storm raging in her mind.

You were there. In the room next door. So close that she could almost feel your presence, like an electric current humming through the walls.

For the third time, Wanda rolled over, burying her face into the pillow, trying to convince herself not to think about you. But the harder she tried to push the thoughts away, the more vivid they became.

She could recall every detail—how you bit your lower lip in concentration while helping the boys with their homework, the laugh that made warmth bloom in her chest, the shy way your eyes met hers when you tried to mask your nervousness. It was unbearable how much you had invaded her thoughts, staking a claim on every corner of her mind as if it all belonged to you.

Wanda sighed, feeling her heartbeat quicken. This wasn’t just desire; it was something deeper, something that made her feel both vulnerable and invincible. It was a sweet yet corrosive obsession.

“Why do you do this to me?” she murmured into the darkness, her voice a whisper tinged with frustration.

Her fingers clenched the sheet as a dangerous idea began to take shape in her mind. It wasn’t unreasonable, she tried to convince herself. Just a quick check to make sure you were okay. That was perfectly justifiable, wasn’t it?

But deep down, she knew it was a lie. The truth was, your proximity was driving her mad. Every second without seeing you felt like torture. The image of you, likely curled up under the blankets, your face serene in peaceful sleep, was almost irresistible.

With a sudden motion, Wanda sat up in bed, sharp enough that Vision mumbled something incoherent in his sleep. She cast a quick glance at him, but he remained in a deep slumber. Perfect.

She knew this was dangerous, that it crossed any reasonable boundary. But you were so close, and Wanda couldn’t fight the pull anymore. Not when the thought of having you felt so… inevitable.

Quietly, she slipped out of the bedroom, her bare feet making barely a sound against the floor. She hesitated for a brief moment in front of your door, her hand hovering over the handle as anticipation and longing swirled in her chest.

When she finally opened the door, a soft, almost predatory smile played on her lips as her eyes found you.

“Wanda?” your voice was lower than you intended, almost a whisper.

She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she moved closer, each step heightening the tension in the room. When she reached your bedside, she leaned down, her face coming so close to yours that you could feel the warmth radiating from her.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she murmured, her voice low and husky, almost a groan.

You swallowed hard, struggling to find the right response. Wanda’s smile deepened, but there was a hunger in it, something that made your breath catch. Before you could think, she leaned closer still, her lips brushing against yours so lightly it was almost imperceptible.

“You’re in my head,” she whispered against your mouth, her breath warm and intoxicating. “Your scent is everywhere in this house.”

The air between you felt heavy, charged with an unspoken intensity. And in that moment, everything else faded away.

Your heart raced, and you tried to say something, but the words caught in your throat. Wanda didn’t wait. Her lips pressed against yours—firm, demanding—and you felt the full force of her presence in that kiss.

There was urgency in her touch, a hunger that had clearly been restrained for far too long. Her hands rose to cradle your face, holding you exactly where she wanted.

You felt trapped, but it wasn’t a trap you wanted to escape. When she pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, the intensity in her eyes sent a shiver racing down your spine.

“I needed that,” she murmured, her lips still so close to yours that it was hard to breathe.

“Wanda…” you began, but she silenced you with a finger against your lips. “Vision is in the next room,”

“Shh,” she whispered. “Tomorrow, you can think about whatever you want. But right now… right now, you’re mine.”

Before you could respond, she kissed you again, and all the tension, all the air seemed to vanish from the room.

Her lips were warm and soft, but there was more—something raw, a palpable hunger, a need that felt as if it might consume you whole. The kiss started firm but quickly deepened, turning more explorative. Her tongue brushed against yours, pulling a sigh from your throat, a sound that seemed to ignite something primal in her.

Wanda’s hands slid from your face to your waist, her fingers pressing into your skin through the thin fabric of your clothes. Your body responded instinctively, every nerve tuned to her presence. Heat pulsed through you, mingling with the adrenaline that made your heart pound in your chest.

She pulled you closer, so close you could no longer tell where you ended and she began. The urgency in her movements was intoxicating, yet there was a tenderness, a sense of restraint as if she were testing the limits.

Your hesitant hands rose to her shoulders, clutching the soft fabric of her pajamas. Wanda let out a low sound, somewhere between a moan and a sigh, and the sheer intensity of it left your legs feeling weak, even though you were lying down.

When she finally pulled back, it was only far enough for you to catch your breath. Her eyes remained locked on yours, dark and glowing with a mix of desire and an unshakable sense of control.

You tried to speak, but your voice failed, your mind still spinning from the sensations. Wanda tilted her head, a slow, knowing smile spreading across her lips, as if she understood exactly what she was doing to you.

“You feel it, don’t you?” she murmured, her voice low and husky, sending shivers cascading through you.

Before you could respond, she kissed you again, slower this time, almost reverent. It was as though she were leaving an imprint, marking every part of you, making herself impossible to forget.

She’s undeniably beautiful.

"Take off your clothes." She demands, and you're jolted back to reality. Her eyes pierce into yours, holding a glimmer of something you can’t quite place. You want to know more about her; you feel so off-balance. To avoid a disapproving look, you immediately take off the nightgown and wait for further instructions as she slowly walks around you.

The way the woman moves, the way she looks at you, reminds you of a panther stalking its prey. Wanda eyes you from head to toe, assessing you. She's behind you, and you can feel her gaze roaming over your body. Chills run up your arms in anticipation of what’s coming next, and the urge to turn around and face her is hard to suppress. "Lie down, Dekta. Mommy's going to take care of this."

You shiver at how close the words are whispered against your neck, internally chastising yourself as heat builds in your core. It feels like you're waiting for your own demise as her green eyes scrutinize you once more. You’ve never felt more like prey.

You hate how passive it feels. Your body is tense with the uncertainties this night will bring, not going unnoticed by the older woman. "Sweetheart…" now her voice is soft, just like the Wanda from earlier. "You're so tense." She brushes your face with her fingertips, noticing your shivers.

"I… I've never done this." you murmur softly—a mix of fear and shame. Wanda feels weak seeing you so vulnerable. Giving you a calm smile, she lowers her hands to stroke your forearm—a soothing gesture. "I know, my sweet. We don't have to do anything you don't want." Wanda lies on top of you, resting her head in the curve of your neck—her breath tickling your ear. "I just want to show you… how good this can feel."

She leaves a trail of kisses on your jaw, down your neck, to your collarbone—making you let out a shaky breath. “Do you trust me?” And there it was, that question again.

“I do, Mommy.”

Wanda's hands take on a life of their own—stroking you, squeezing and massaging your curves, making you need her more and more.

Needed for her touch.

She wanted you to get used to being touched like this, she wanted to get you ready to beg for her and for her hands.

Wanda's mouth and hands leave you inert—all the stimuli she was presenting to you took you to another dimension. Your pussy hurt, and you started to feel the need to ease it.

“Wands…” your voice came out shrill, as if you were slowly dying. The woman's warm lips worked on the back of his neck, biting and sucking passionately on the spot.

“Hmm, what’s up, little girl? Do you want to say anything to mommy?”

Wanda moves away from your neck to look at you—making you miss the heat applied to the area. As you look at her, your heart skips a beat to see the expression of pleasure on the woman's delicate face—flushed cheeks, swollen lips, and her bangs were messy—sexy and even wild.

With a little courage, you steal Wanda's lips for yourself—surprising the woman who decides to let you command the kiss, encouraging her confidence to blossom in her personality, like a flower that grows with the help of the sun.

Wanda would be your sun.

“H-it hurts.” you confess softly, with a husky voice—throwing your hips up, making your hot core rub against Wanda's thigh.

“I know, Dekta. I know… “ she murmured with difficulty, feeling the stickiness of your precious pussy sliding down her thigh with ease. “Mommy will make it go away, yes?” Wanda felt insane, at that moment, she would give you anything you wanted.

“Mommy…” you mumbled, equally crazy.

The woman, upon hearing this delicious title, began to lower her body until she was face to face with her sweet pussy. It was possible to see the stain of her juices wetting her panties. Letting out a shaky, excited breath, Wanda leans in closer to smell him—sweet and spicy, like sandalwood flower.

Wanda's few sexual experiences were never intense, always filled with normality. She hadn't married as a virgin, but still, all the men that came into her life didn't do justice to you.

The woman's unsteady hands cling to her thighs, squeezing for some comfort—she had never done this, after all. When the bittersweet taste reaches the taste buds of her tongue, Wanda moans and pushes her head against her pussy.

“Mmm…” She moans with her mouth working on her clit. Wanda seemed to have discovered a new world, one she didn't want to leave.

“Oh, please…” The enveloping tongue made circular movements, making you reach the edge, perhaps faster than normal. "Mommy!"

You shouted, making Wanda give you a dirty look.

“Be quiet!” She slaps your cheek, which tingles all over your face, warming you up even more—and which makes you push even harder against Wanda, offering yourself to her like a flower in full bloom.

“It’s hard… It’s so good.” your rolling eyes only showed Wanda how much of a stupid little bitch you were who couldn't follow a simple command. “I need… more!” Your voice came out in a drawn out, needy whine.

Wanda growls against your coochie, her focus never wavering. “What else, little one? More of Mommy’s tongue, sucking and licking that needy little bud of yours until you cry?” She asks, her voice muffled by her flesh.

“Or maybe it’s Mommy’s fingers you’re craving, plunging deep into that tight virgin pussy.” The woman's broken voice brought words that provoked you in a way that made you reach levels of pleasure you never imagined.

“Tell mommy what you need to scream her name like the stupid slut you are.” You roll your eyes when you hear such degrading words.

“I don’t know… it’s weird, but it’s so gooood!” Your only reaction—or instinct, is to rub yourself against her even more. In cruel sadism, Wanda stops the stimuli abruptly, making you let out a frustrated groan.

“Ask, pet. If you want to get what you want, learn to ask for it…” She hummed, as if it was just a game for her.

You huffed, no patience for games.

“Your fingers, I want your fingers inside me.” Your honesty hit the woman like a punch. And certainly witnessing Wanda falter at just your words did things to her ego.

Wanda positions her finger well, first, massaging, making you feel it. As soon as her middle finger finds your entrance, you tense against her.

“Shhh, dekta, it’s okay..." She whispers against his forehead, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“Will it hurt a lot?” Your lower lip trembles, her tone seems to seek a reassurance that only Wanda could offer.

“Just a little…” She promises you, looking deep into your eyes, and you nod, giving permission.

At first glance, the finger inside you seemed to burn, tearing you open and opening you up for Wanda to use that little hole as she pleased. You heard the woman growl against your mouth, then kiss you savagely.

Wanda, as excited as you, begins to rub herself against your sex while still thrusting inside you and feeling your finger being chewed completely by your hot flesh.

“So tight,” she growled, as she ground against you and bit your lip.

“Greedy little girl. Do you want mommy’s pussy?” You nodded without thinking twice. “You’re a vessel for my pleasure, a stupid little toy for me to use and abuse… and you love every moment of it, don’t you, little slut?” The woman's words dripped with promises of a corrosive, dangerous, dark desire.

You nod and push your hips even further—both for the friction of your pussies, but for Wanda's finger that is sinking even deeper into you.

“Mmm, yes… just like that, you filthy slut.” The woman's nails dug into her waist, creating half-moon marks. “Oh. Honey, mommy is almost there…” She moans wildly, taking her finger out of you—bringing you a feeling of emptiness.

The pussy rubbing was genuinely delicious. A unique place in the world that you two never wanted to leave. But it's when Wanda bites your nipple that makes you moan loudly and come hard—so hard that Wanda can swear when she feels your pussy tremble against hers.

Wanda falls on her side, desperately searching for breath. You think it's funny and laugh softly. The woman just arches her eyebrow.

“The problem is… I’m already an old lady. I don’t have much energy left!” Wanda’s excuse only made her seem even more adorable in your eyes.

“You’re beautiful.” You kissed her nose, letting your affection flow through the small gesture, offering her as much comfort as you could muster.

Wanda exhaled, a sound somewhere between exhaustion and contentment, as she shifted in bed to face you. Her hair was messy, her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes glimmered with a warmth that made your heart melt.

“Beautiful, huh?” she repeated, a soft smile curving her lips. “I think you’re just buttering me up so I’ll bake you more cookies.”

You laughed, finding her pout irresistibly cute.

“I’m not buttering you up; I’m just being honest,” you replied, your tone steady but tender.

She shook her head, a quiet laugh escaping her as she slid her arm around your waist, pulling you closer. Your bodies fit together so naturally, as though you were crafted for this moment, for each other.

“You’re trouble, you know that?” Wanda murmured, her voice tinged with humor and a depth of affection so profound it made your eyes sting slightly.

“Good trouble or bad trouble?” You teased, your fingers tracing lazy circles on her shoulder.

“Good,” she answered without hesitation, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Too good.”

For a while, silence settled between you, a comfortable stillness broken only by the steady rhythm of your breaths. You took in every detail of her: the elegant curve of her jawline, the gentle slope of her lips, and the way her lashes brushed against her cheeks like delicate whispers of her exhaustion.

“It’s all okay, you know?” You murmured, your voice soft, almost a whisper.

Wanda’s brow furrowed slightly. “What do you mean?”

“With us,” you clarified, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “You don’t have to overthink or worry. I’m here. With you.”

Your words seemed to catch Wanda off guard, her smile softening into something vulnerable and raw. She looked at you as if she wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words. Instead, she cupped your face with both hands, her thumbs brushing gently over your cheeks, her touch impossibly tender.

“You have no idea what that means to me,” Wanda finally said, her voice low and brimming with emotion.

“Then show me,” you whispered, leaning in to meet her lips once again, this time in a kiss so calm and intimate that it felt like sealing an unspoken promise between you.

When you finally broke apart, Wanda let out a deep sigh, as though releasing a weight she had carried for far too long. She drew you into her chest, her arms wrapping around you protectively, as though she wanted to keep you there forever.

“Sleep now, my angel,” she murmured, her lips brushing against your forehead as she held you even closer.

And so, you closed your eyes, your heart warm and full, certain that, in this moment, you were everything Wanda needed.

But as she watched your lashes flutter closed, her gaze shifted. Her hand, once tenderly cradling your face, now caught her attention—a deep crimson stain painting her fingertips. Blood. Your blood. Your purity.

Something primal and dark ignited within Wanda—a force that she couldn’t resist. Slowly, obsessively, she brought her fingers to her lips, tasting every drop as though savoring a forbidden fruit.

The warm, metallic tang of blood spread across her tongue, and instead of disgust, a raw, guttural moan escaped her lips. It was pleasure, unadulterated and feral, coursing through her with an intensity that made her tremble.

Her eyes glowed faintly, a flicker of something inhuman breaking through the surface. It wasn’t just about the taste or the act—it was about possession, about the irrevocable claim she had laid upon you.

The room was cloaked in silence, save for the sound of her labored breathing, low and almost animalistic. Her fingers, still stained red, moved over her lips, cleaning away every last trace. Her body quaked, not from fear but from the euphoria of knowing you were irrevocably hers.

Wanda leaned over you, her eyes tracing your serene features. You looked angelic, but to her, you were an angel wrapped in shadows—a contradiction so alluring it drove her to madness.

With trembling fingers, she gently touched your lips, the faintest smear of crimson left behind. Her touch was tender, reverent, yet stained by the chaos swirling within her.

“You don’t even know, do you?” She whispered, her voice barely audible but laced with a dangerous kind of adoration.

And as the night deepened, Wanda’s obsession with you solidified into something unyielding, something that would burn brightly, consuming everything in its wake.

Mine,” she whispered, the sound barely coming out but carrying a possessiveness that made the air in the room feel heavier. “You are mine now. In every way.”

~*~

Wanda got more intense after watching Twillinght New Moon....

UNREVISED CHAPTER

Tag List <3

@trindad2k @vyvvycg @rosekjsses @3liyuh @indentity0018 @beggingonmykneesforher @trying-to-do-good @bees-for-brains

@eternallyconfuzed @ctrlaltedits @jazzyxqzl @sheriffhaughtearp @i-luv-w1men

[phantomarine]

Clam's Quick Tips for Starting Your Very First Webcomic

Howdy! Here are the three bits of advice I tend to give people who ask me about getting into webcomic-making. Maybe they can help you jump into the fray with a little less fear.

1) Make Your First Chapter a Pilot Episode

You will be told by webcomic veterans to start with a short, simple comic idea first - which is wise - but if all you can think about is your big magnum opus, then you might as well hop in, right? Otherwise you'll just be glancing back at the other cooler project forever.

But if you can't start with a small simple story, start on a small, simple part of that larger story. Your first chapter should be a snapshot of the main conflict - show us a simple scene with few characters, ease us in slowly, keep things clear and focus on emotion/impact/clarity. Get the audience to care by offering something easily digested, but full of promise.

Once you're done with that 'pilot' chapter, and you're feeling more comfortable with the whole comic process, you can open the gates and show us the larger world. At that point, you'll be way more ready.

2) Simplify Your Art Style For Your Own Sanity

Always try to make your webcomic's art style as simple as possible - the standard rule is to use only 75% of your artistic skill for every comic page you make. Otherwise you will burn out quickly and terribly.

But you also need to be PROUD of your art style. If you're really feeling itchy, add a couple bells and whistles to your style so you can look at the finished page and say "Yeah, looks cool." You'll find the right balance the more you draw.

Also, don't be afraid to change your art style as you go along. Ultimate consistency is often impossible in webcomics anyway - so embrace your desire to try new things, streamline your work, whatever you feel needs to happen to be happiest. Sometimes the coolest part of reading a webcomic is noticing that style change - so don't hesitate to embrace it!

3) Resist the Reboot! RESIST!

The curse/blessing of drawing the same things over and over is that you'll inevitably get better at drawing those things. The trouble comes when you look back at old stuff and start thinking "Damn, I could draw that way better now."

You must recognize that this feeling never goes away. Not after a hundred pages. Not after three hundred. Not after a thousand.

I think everyone should be allowed one soft reboot for their first webcomic. Redraw some panels that bother you. Change up some dialogue if it doesn't make sense with your new story ideas. Do maintenance, basically. One of the beauties of webcomics is that they can be easily edited, without reprinting a whole book or remaking a whole game.

But if the ultimate purpose of a webcomic is to tell a story, then constant reboots will just be retelling the same story - slightly better each time, but the same at its core. We've heard it before. Most audiences would rather you save your strength and just keep going, rather than circling back year after year and going "Wait wait wait! I'll do it better this time."

Reboot early, not often, and only when you absolutely must! You're a storyteller, and you're constantly getting better at telling your story. Don't be ashamed of it - look back how much ground you've covered, and keep walking!

---

That's a good start. Happy webcomicking - don't be afraid to jump in, but be prepared to learn a lot very quickly. And if this advice doesn't work for you or adhere to how you did it, that's absolutely fine - webcomics are diverse by nature, and so are their creation processes. Feel out what works best for you, and good luck!

[half-an-hour-hence]

X-Men Roadtrip Headcanons

Because I am on a trip and this came to me in a vision halfway through the drive

- They left Charles at home

- Hank’s driving. He makes pit stops every hour/hour and a half.

- Jubilee has control of the aux - she threatened to blow up the car unless she could play the playlist she specifically made for the trip. Scott seceded on the condition that she add more 70s/80s classics to the mix

- Logan’s in the boot. Partly because he couldn’t fit anywhere else, partly because he didn’t want to sit next to anyone. He’s brought his own headphones to drown out the noise and he tries to sleep the whole time.

- He doesn’t succeed, because Wade is sitting on the seat in front of him and keeps throwing things at Logan so he wakes up. Wade gets moved eventually, when Logan stabs him with his claws through the seat.

- Rogue brings the snacks. She and Remy eat the majority of them and spend almost the entire journey talking. Not just to each other. Nobody can shut them up.

- Morph asks ‘are we there yet’ every half an hour to piss Hank off. Wade finds this hilarious.

- Hank and Ororo play I Spy in the front. To literally nobody’s surprise it becomes quite competitive very quickly, both coming up with obscure answers to throw the other off.

- Jean has motion sickness and brings one of those neck pillows you get when you go on aeroplanes. Scott also gets motion sickness but it’s less severe

- Remy keeps playing with the windows, rolling them up and down, and Scott ends up yelling at him.

- Bobby drinks too much (mainly slurpees) and ends up needing the toilet every ten minutes. This clashes horribly with Hank’s ‘stopping every hour’ rule, so he ends up being that guy who pees in a bottle.

- Somehow Rogue ends up falling asleep amongst the chaos. She uses Remy’s shoulder as a pillow. Jubilee draws on her face and doesn’t tell her for hours after she wakes back up.

- Scott had an itinerary planned, but Morph ‘accidentally threw it out of the window’.

- When asked if Kurt wanted to join them on the roadtrip, he was invested in going. When Ororo asked if he’d be joining them in the car, he simply replied ‘nope’ and bamf-ed to the location of their hotel.

[angstywaifu]

Black Dahlia - 39. A Familiar Face

Summary: Dahlia's second year is officially underway with Conscription Day finally here. A new year, new cadets, and a familiar face she wasn't expecting to see amongst the new first years. Black Dahlia Masterlist | Masterlist | Links

Another year, another Conscription Day. It was crazy to think one year ago that was me. How different my life was this time last year. Though some things were still the same. I was still a disappointment, if not a bigger one to my family. Especially with the company I now kept. And especially after Garrick’s very public show of affection towards me. The one upside to that was Dain now avoided me completely.

”Ready for your first duties as Squad Leader?” Garrick teases as we walk across the courtyard to the Parapet.

”That sounds so…. weird. Not sure who thought it was a good idea to give me Squad Leader.” I say with a grimace.

I had been so sure any leadership opportunities were off the cards for me due to my father overseeing Basgiath. But clearly he had no say on the matter. My name had been clearly marked as Xaden’s replacement for the year as he stood up to Wingleader.

”Same person who decided to make Bodhi an Executive Officer.” He points out.

Bodhi deserved it though. He had stood up massively in War Games. Xaden had split the Squad into attacking and defending and sadly had lost our squads executive officer in an attack. Bodhi had taken over instantly, defending our outpost with ease. He had more than earned his spot.

”Clearly whoever is making these choices needs to be evaluated. Somehow you got section leader.” I tease back.

”Ouch. Good to see you’re still as ruthless as before.”

One of the things that was vastly different to last year. Last year when I had crossed the parapet and given my name, Garrick had hated me for it. Wanted nothing to do with me. And I had wanted nothing to do with him. If I could tell my past self they’d be walking across the courtyard with his hand on their lower back and be in a relationship with him, they’d laugh at me.

“You knew what you were getting yourself into.” Bodhi adds as we get into ear shot.

“And you are relieved of your duties.” I say, cutting Garrick off as I walk up to Bodhi. “I’ll find you two later.”

Garrick goes to object, but Bodhi pushes his shoulder, ushering him back into the crowd of cadets. Ever since graduation Bodhi had been pushing Garrick’s buttons more than normal. The whole day after he’d been boasting about winning the bet against Imogen. He had bet we’d be together before the end of my first year. Which he’d technically won by just a few hours. But Garrick had also been doing it back to him, especially after he found out Bodhi had accompanied me to Chantara to get the new tattoo that adorned my right forearm. To be fair, Bodhi had no idea what I’d been planning to do. He was just along for the ride. And in my defence, Garrick had been out doing something with Xaden. So the only logical choice to take with me was Bodhi. Bodhi was convinced Garrick thought it was partly his idea with how he was acting, but honestly Garrick didn’t care I’d gotten the tattoo. He just enjoyed watching Bodhi squirm.

Cadet after cadet crosses the parapet. All of them ready to take on the Quadrant. Though most of them wouldn’t make it to the end. Even once you bond a dragon you aren’t guaranteed to stay alive. We’d lost a lot of second and even third years in War Games. Due to it Garrick had been moved to Flame Section for his Section Leader role along with many other moves within the Wing’s.

A cadet practically jumps off the parapet, turning around quickly as they draw a dagger. My eyes go wide as I take in the familiar brown and silver hair, styled into a braided crown. Holy shit. Violet Sorrengail. What the hell was she doing here? Dain is going to lose it when he realises she’s here. Seconds later a far larger cadet halts on the parapet as her dagger pushes into his breaches, dangerously close to his balls. Never thought I’d see the day where Violet would hold a guy three times her size at knife point.

”I think. I’ll be safe. For right. Now.” She gets out between ragged breaths.

”Will you?” The blonde haired cadet seethes as he looks down at her with piercing eyes. He was going to be an issue.

Violet starts reciting the codex with ease. Of course she would know that thing off by heart.

”I don’t give a shit!” He roars, stepping forward as Violet’s dagger slices into his breeches.

”Name?” The girl keeping roll asks, sounding completely unphased by the altercation happening in front of us. “You’re pretty small for a rider, but it looks like you made it.”

”Violet Sorrengail. And before you ask, yes, I’m that Sorrengail.” She says with slight irritation. Clearly she’d been asked that question multiple times before.

”Not surprised with that manoeuvre,” She says as she notes down her name. “And what’s your name?” Directing her question to the cadet Violet still holds at knife point.

”Jack. Barlow.” He growls out, his attention still fully on Violet.

”Well, Jack,” I start as I push off the wall, Violet turning her head towards me, her eyes going wide as she realises who I am. Her eyes trailing over my uniform and noting the patches on my jacket. “Cadet Sorrengail has you by the actual balls here, in more ways than one. She’s right. Regs state that there’s nothing but respect among riders at formation. You want to kill her, you’ll have to do it in the sparring ring or on your own time. That is, if she decides to let you off the parapet. Because technically, you’re not on the grounds yet, so you are not a cadet. She is.”

Jack turns his piercing blue eyes to me, his eyes flicking down to where my name is sewn onto my uniform. “And if I decide to snap her neck the second I step down?” He growls, the look in his eyes telling me he would definitely do it.

”Then you get to meet the dragons early,” The other girls answers, her tone bland. “We don’t wait for trials around here. We just execute.”

I take a step towards Violet, putting myself behind her right shoulder. “What’s it going to be, Sorrengail? You going to have Jack here start as a eunuch?”

No one else would notice it, but I see her falter. See her question what she’s actually doing. She was trained to be a scribe. Not a rider. I doubt she’d even picked up a blade till a few months ago. What the hell happened in the year Dain and I were gone?

”Are you going to follow the rules?” She asks Jack, tightening her grip on the dagger.

”Guess I don’t have a choice.” He sneers at her, before raising his hands in defeat.

She steps back, lowering her dagger to let him by. Jack steps down into the courtyard, making him an official cadet of the riders quadrant. “You’re dead, Sorrengail, and I’m going to be the one to kill you.”

”Not today.” She says with confidence, before he scoffs and walks off.

”Damn Sorrengail, not even a day in and already making enemies.” I tease, pulling her attention to me.

She just looks at me and nods meekly before turning and walking into the courtyard, heading towards the girl who had crossed before her. And as if magnetised to her, Dain starts walking right towards her. Oh this was going to be fun.

@imtoanonymousforyou @simplyme-fornow @omalmal @lalaluch @wolfbc97 @leptitlu @fullmoon-94 @the-fandom-ness @fan-of-many-bands @awkardnerd @heeseungthel0ml @acourtofsmutandstarlight @fairchild06 @freyagallileaevans @pit-and-the-pen @hannraumari @elliot-rain @thestarseternaal @stupid-and-contagious01 @hyperfixation-train-station @lxnvmvrzx @thebreadisthetruevillian @red0202 @fangirling-galore @craftytrashprincess @taliyahvermillion @xadenswhore @fenixyrie @lagrandeourse @hellodarling1357 @iambored24601  @thegiftofacreativemind @fanfictionjunkie1112 @mysticalfuncollectorus @ohlookitsasinglepoeceofpopcorn

[zhenne]

snowy escapade

— dr.zayne + f.reader

sum. when zayne invites you to join him on the slopes, you take it as an opportunity to better your skills (and maybe impress the astute doctor). however, what was supposed to be an active day of fun in the snow turns into a lecture after you get injured on the last run of the day.

wc. 2.6k

warnings. fem reader, use of y/n, mentions of injury (reader fractures her elbow), not proofread

a/n. this is based off a very real scenario that happened to me a few years ago lol, hope you enjoy!

Perched on the mountainside, the weathered wood lodge stood like a rustic sentinel hidden in the biting cold. Strings of twinkling golden lights adorned the eaves, casting a warm glow in the wintry afternoon light.

Inside, the air was a mix of rich pine and the faint sweetness of hot chocolate. A hearth of natural rock kept the cozy interior thrumming with a comfortable warmth, and plush armchairs and overstuffed sofas invited guests to relax after a day on the slopes. Several small groups of skiers and snowboarders mingled about the central lounge, the occasional bout of hearty laughter bubbling from one of the ongoing conversations. A few more helmeted heads trickle into the room as some step out, intent on using every last bit of daylight to make the most out of the fresh powder snow.

Your jacket was hung against the side of your chair—gloves, helmet, and goggles precariously piled atop the small coffee table. The chair across from you remained empty, gear similarly displaced to your own. The lodge’s wide windows offered a panoramic view of the slopes outside. Although it was only four in the afternoon, the winter left little respite and dusk would begin to fall within the next couple hours. You watch as a group of skiers trudge past the equipment racks, their laughter echoing faintly through the frosty air as they make their way to the lift.

The faint clatter in front of you draws your attention back. First to the mug of steaming hot chocolate being placed on the small table. Then, to the hazel green eyes peering down at you.

“That turn you did on the last run? Far too risky.” Despite the obvious heed of concern, Zayne’s voice held a distinct mirth you’ve come to quickly identify.

He sits in the seat across from you, pushing some of his gear aside in favor of making room for his own hot chocolate, a handful of miniature marshmallows halfway melted on the top. His dark hair was still damp from the melted snow, sticking up in messy peaks. You giggle to yourself at the rare sight. Even now, the (sometimes overly) composed doctor managed to look ruggedly handsome with his tussled hair and wind burned cheeks.

You pick up the cup in front of you, relishing in the warmth that encases your hands. You take a small sip, grinning over the rim at him. “I was just trying to mimic my teacher. That’s how we learn, is it not?”

“I only did that because you said you wanted to see something cool.”

“I meant something I could learn,” you shot back, rolling your eyes as if it were obvious enough.

“You’ll get there,” he said, his voice softer now. “But I don’t need my star pupil getting injured before she even makes it off the bunny slopes.”

The ‘bunny slopes’ he was referring to was actually a Blue slope, one that acted as the pre-qualifier for the Red and Black slopes. And, in your defense, the route got a bit crowded, and you ended up getting bottlenecked on one of the more precarious turns. Did you end up taking the turn a little too fast and end up propelling yourself into the rougher terrain? Yes. Did this result in you eating absolute shit and lodging yourself in a wide bank of snow? Also yes.

Zayne, who had said he was going to follow behind you, watched with alarming anxiety as you neglected to slow down and go careening straight into the bank, and you were sure you won’t hear the end of it for the rest of the night.

As if to add fuel to the already smoldering fire, you voice your new goal. “I think I want to try to hit one of the Red slopes next, one with some jumps.”

Zayne is mid-drink when his brows quirk up at your words. You bite back the grin when you notice the small patch of melted marshmallow on his upper lip. He seems to notice anyway and quickly swipes it off with the pad of his thumb. Then his brows crease with a wary glance, “You realize you could’ve been seriously hurt on this last run, right?”

“Well, yea-“

“Then you should know not to push your luck.” He coolly takes another sip of the sweet hot chocolate, shooting you a look that boasted ‘listen to your doctor’s advice’.

You frown, scowling slightly as your cheeks puff with indignation. You hold your tongue for a moment before your grin seeps back onto your face. Flattery oozes from your soft voice like a well aged wine, fragrant and sweet, “That’s why I have the best teacher, right? I’d only trust Dr. Zayne to show me how to navigate something like this.”

The silence is long. You both stare at each other—you, with your pleading doe eyes, and Zayne, with a hardened resolve. Then finally, he sighed, reaching for his half empty mug. “And I suppose you want to start working on this new goal of yours soon?”

Another cheshire grin from you has him sighing again, as if he predicted the words about to leave your lips, “how do you feel about making one last run today?”

In hindsight, you probably should have actually taken Zayne’s advice. Adorning all your gear, with one foot secured to the snowboard, you made the trek with Zayne to the lift that would take you to the entry-level Red slope. You felt giddy sitting next to him as the five o-clock shadows of the encroaching evening loomed.

You both wore your goggles and balaclavas, so you had to practically lean into him as you spoke. “One jump, and I promise we can be done for the night.”Seeming to take you at your word, Zayne only nodded.

Now you stood at the top of the route, your boots latched into the bindings, and your heart thrumming with anticipatory adrenaline. The wind was weak, but bitingly cold, the tip of your nose burning. Zayne was next to you, secured to his own board as he raised his voice a bit to reaffirm the plan.

“You remember what to do?” He continued before you could nod, “Keep a moderate speed. Bend your knees, stay balanced, and pop off the lip when you hit the jump. And don’t forget to land with your knees bent.”

You gave him a gloved thumbs up, your small smile hidden by your mask. You edge closer to the start of the slope. As if one cue, the mountain side became illuminated as the dusk to dawn lights switched on. You glance at Zayne.

“And remember,” his voice was definitive, “only go for a small jump. If you don’t feel you can hit it right, don’t try to force it.” Then, reassuringly, like he always reminded you before each run, “I’ll be right behind you.”

You nod, lining up your board and adjusting your stance. With a steadying breath, you lean into the sloped descent.

You’d never grow tired of the rush that came with snowboarding. Each run, even if it was a hill you’d done a hundred times, made your body feel alight with energy—the cold wind that seeped into the gaps between your mask and goggles, the way you felt both weightless and demanding at the same time—like a ballerina poised in elegance as her muscles screamed with the exertion to remain on pointe.

You carved your way down the slope, fresh powder rising in thick waves as you board cleaved through. Then you saw it, a perfect mound to try and get some air. You adjust yourself slightly, slowing your trajectory just enough so Zayne won’t berate you later for ‘unnecessary recklessness’.

You closed in on the jump fast, bending your knees, and extending your legs just as you popped off the jump. Your landing was a little shaky, but you managed to stay upright as you quickly rebalanced yourself.

You cheered yourself on, adrenaline pumping like hot blood in your veins. You catch sight of Zayne in your peripheral, clapping as he gracefully carved his own trail through the snow. You felt like you were on cloud nine. And perhaps that is where you should have stopped and called it a night.

But pride in a new skill is such a tempting allurement. The wind bit at your cheeks as you carved further down the slope, snowboard slicing through the snow with satisfying ease. Your heart thudded in anticipation. You knew what awaited at the end of the trail—a daunting jump that seemed to dare anyone brave enough to tackle it.

‘You’ve got this, Y/N,’ you told yourself, though your nerves began to betrayed your confidence.

You crouched lower, picking up speed. The icy air stung your face, and your breath came in quick bursts. The jump loomed ahead, larger and more intimidating with every second. Your instincts screamed at you to slow down or swerve out of the way, but you pushed the thoughts aside. Don’t overthink it. Just go.

You hit the lip of the jump at full speed, launching into the air. For a split second, it was exhilarating—the rush of weightlessness, the world tilting as you soared above the slope. But then you became all too aware of your hubris. You had gone too fast and your balance was just slightly off.

The board tilted awkwardly as you descended, and your stomach dropped.

The landing came hard and unforgiving. Your board’s edge caught the snow wrong, and you were thrown forward, your body hitting the ground with a brutal thud. One moment you had the perfect view of the lodge down the mountain, all lit up and welcoming in the dimming light, and the next your vision was filled with tiny specks of stars against a black backdrop. It took you a moment and several quick blinks for you to realize you were on your back, and that the stars weren’t out yet.

Then you felt it. Pain, hot and dizzying, shot from your right elbow, radiating all the way into the bend of your shoulder.

You must have rolled to a stop, snow covered you like a patchwork quilt, your balaclava pull down your face from the impact.

“Y/N!” Through the incessant ringing in your ears, you managed to pick out Zayne’s voice, sharp with panic.

You groaned as you sat up, trying to drag yourself onto your knees, but the sharp, searing pain in your arm stopped you cold. Your left hand instinctively cradled it as you winced.

“Hey, hey—don’t move,” Zayne chided, suddenly at your side. He knelt in the snow, his board abandoned a few feet away. His goggles were lifted atop his helmet as his eyes searched yours. His usual calm was edged with concern. “Where does it hurt?”

“My arm,” you manage through gritted teeth. “Elbow.”

Zayne’s hands hovered over yours, his doctor instincts kicking in. “Okay. Let me take a look.” His eyes flicked from your arm to your face, “Tell me if it hurts too much.”

Your head was swimming. You nodded, though the thought of moving your arm made your stomach churn. His touch was careful as he checked for obvious breaks, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“Doesn’t feel like anything’s out of place,” he muttered after a moment, his voice steady but still laced with worry. “Probably a bad sprain or a fracture. We’ll need to get you off the slope and to the clinic to be sure.”

“Great,” you muttered, your attempt at humor reduced to a pained groan, “I’m definitely in for a scolding from Dr. Zayne.”

“We can discuss your scolding later, “Zayne said firmly, his gaze locking onto yours. “But now we’re going to get you some help, okay?”

You nodded again, biting your lip against the pain. As Zayne helped you to your feet, his arm carefully supporting your injured side, you couldn’t help but notice how steady he was.

“Guess I owe you one,” you said, your voice a little softer now.

“You don’t owe me anything,” he replied. “Perhaps except for a ‘you were right, Zayne’.

Despite the ache in your arm, you couldn’t help but smile.

The smell of coffee and fresh baked bread filled the cozy diner near the ski resort and lodge. Morning sunlight streamed through the frosted windows, casting a golden glow over the polished wood tables. You sat across from Zayne, your right arm now secured in a black sling. You were poking at the plate of breakfast pastries with your fork, your left hand doing its best to compensate for your usual dominant one.

You can feel green eyes boring into you, and with a defeated sigh, you set your fork down. “Okay, let’s hear it,” you say, not looking up.

Zayne leaned back in his chair, a cup of coffee cradled in one of his hands. He tilted his head slightly, brow quirked. “I’m not sure what you’re referring to.”

This little shit. You finally look up, the tendrils of guilt quietly pursing your lips. “You’re going to lecture me, aren’t you?”

He leaned forward, expression serious. “Y/N, you went into that jump way too fast. I told you—control your speed.” He pushed a sigh past his lips, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek from remarking how he sounded like a middle aged father. “And not to mention the fact that I had specifically told you to only attempt the small jumps.”

You feel yourself recline back into your seat, hiding your mouth behind your cup as you muttered, “I was just trying to push myself.” Your cheeks colored slightly with warmth as a childlike petulance bled into your voice. “Isn’t that the whole point of a challenge?”

“Sure,” Zayne admitted, setting his coffee down. “But pushing yourself doesn’t mean throwing caution to the wind. You’re lucky is just a small fracture. It could’ve been a lot worse.”

You sighed, slouching into your chair. “I know, I’m sorry.”

Zayne softened at the sign of your obvious guilt. “Hey,” he said in a voice so gentle it made your heartbeat quicken. “I’m not trying to make you feel bad. I just—look, you don’t have to feel like you need to prove something out there. Challenging yourself doesn’t mean you have to take unnecessary risks.”

Your fork clinked against your plate as you absentmindedly fidgeted. “I wasn’t trying to prove anything.”

Zayne raised an eyebrow.

“Fine,” you admitted after a moment. “Maybe a little. You’re always good at this stuff, and I want to catch up to you.”

You catch the way his eyes widen slightly. But just as quickly as it had happened, he shook his head. “Y/N, you don’t have to catch up to me. You’re one of the most capable people I know, but you’ve got to give yourself a break, literally, this time.”

You snorted at the pun despite yourself. “God, who knew Dr. Zayne was such a dork.”

“You’re lucky this dork was here when you failed to follow simple instructions,” he shot back, the ghost of a teasing grin spreading to the corners of his lips.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “Alright, Dr. Zayne, point taken. I’ll be more careful next time.”

“Good,” Zayne said, sitting back with a satisfied nod. “Because I’d rather not have to tend to an injured patient while I’m off duty.”

You smirked, lifting your coffee with your left hand. “You mean you’re not secretly enjoying being my personal chauffeur and medical consultant?”

“Aren’t I that already?” He replied, his tone light.

You shared a quiet laugh. Despite the sling and your bruised ego, you couldn’t help feeling grateful—for his care, his companionship, and the way he always seemed to know how to make you feel just a little better.

credits!

lace divider: @/muruffin

bear divider: @/chiffonz

[francixoxoxo]

please 🙏🏽🤌 some billy smut where you guys can’t find any alone time and are making out against the damn barn or something so have to settle with a quick and frantic shag in his truck … i love how you add their banter and them giving each other shit but it’s so flirty

Anon I like whatever’s up with u but um I got carried away sorry this blurb is more of a fic atp

just a quickie in the chevrolet..

modern billy x farmers daughter reader

mdni; fingering, p in v, semi-public (car sex)

more of a long long blurb or a short short fic sorry to everyone with eyes sorry to everyone with reading comprehension

God knows how you got here, your hair tangling between the siding of the barn and Billy’s frantic hands, your brain dizzy with a need for oxygen, but more insistently a need for this man. You two were being so unbelievably stupid.

Maybe, actually, believably— Billy was, after all, the one who had given you a pointed look over the head of the ranch hand he was moving cattle with, muttering an excuse to sneak off. The one who was waiting for you when you followed a minute after him behind the barn, his arms crossed as he paced back and forth. You broke the pendulum, as his stride quickened to grab you by the face into a nearly bruising kiss. You should’ve expected it. You hadn’t had even a blink to yourselves in almost two weeks— he was getting antsy. he mumbled a joke you nearly didn’t catch, between hungry kisses, “y’got me stealin’ company time, y’know that?”

He was such an ass.

Speaking of which, his hands travel downwards, smoothing over and then grasping the curve of your ass. You can feel the hardness in his pants, he’s not trying to grind into you, but he’s a little too big and a little too close to go unnoticed. You let a quiet sound slip in a gap in the kisses, and there he goes, pushing his erection into where your thigh meets your hip. Oh, so, so stupid! “Billy.”

He grunts in recognition, his lips still trailing over your chin, smattering frenzied kisses down to your jaw and the side of your neck. “Billy, we’re outside.”

Billy gives you this wounded look, like you’re kicking him by denying him kisses, reminding him where you two are. On your dad’s property. In broad daylight. Making out in secret like some horny teenagers. He fumbles for a fix to this world ending problem. “You have a bedroom, don’t you? Can’t we take this there?”

“My room, down the hall from my daddy’s room, you mean?”

“Then the barn,” Billy says quickly and definitively, as if trying to find a fast resolution more than a logical one. “We’ll be quick.” It’s just not an option to back down, for him. You groan in disgust.

“On the hay?” Now it’s your man’s turn to huff at you, raising his eyebrows as if to sass, obviously not on the hay. But it only lasts a moment before he’s pressing his lips thoughtfully. It’s clear he wants you. You want him, even if you’re busting his balls. As you talk, his erection is just inches away from the wet, warm mess he’s brought on in your underwear. You’re about to just say fuck it, yeah, I’ll do it with you on hay, on the ground, wherever, just as long as it’s in the next minute.

He presses another kiss to your lips, not so much to distract but to keep himself satiated. His hands move to curl around your waist. His voice takes on this pleading tone, drawing you in like a fish on a hook. “M’truck, then. Come on, baby, y’know y’want to.”

So, so, so so so stupid.

Before you know it he’s opening the passenger door for you, looking over his shoulder before crawling in the same way. Very inconspicuous. You scoot on the bench seat so that your head is against the window, letting your legs fall open in a way that Billy can slot into like a jigsaw. And he’s on you in a second.

“Fuckin’ finally,” Billy mutters between kisses. You’re fumbling at his belt, really not getting anything done, he shooes you off. Straightens up onto his knees and hurriedly undoes it himself. “Don’t know how to buckle a belt?”

“I do, asshole. Just not when there’s a 200 pound man on top of me.”

“200 pound?”

“I don’t know, who cares?” You huff, out of breath. Definitely not Billy, anyway. He’s content to actually let something go for once in his life, kiss you roughly, let you unzip his fly. His hands only leave your hips to pull off the straps of your tank top, just settling with tugging the material around your waist and revealing your bra.

You try to drag down his jeans and boxers but he stops you. Leaning away from your mouth, he gives you this look, his hand snakes down twixt you two and undoes the button of your jean shorts. Just enough to give him room to quickly slip under your panties and roll his thumb over your clit. His middle finger gently pushes against your hole without entering. Ass. “Jesus, you’re wet.”

“Your fault,” you breathe, only some of the attitude gone. Your arms wind around his shoulders. You glance over his broad upper half to try and see if anybody’s around to see Billy’s bare back leaning over you with flushed cheeks. Thank god, no. He takes your mind off of how public you two really are by pushing a finger into your warmth to the last knuckle, not slowly, nothing here is slow, but considerate of you. A shuddery breath leaves your lips. Billy’s serious for once while he curls his middle finger in you, watching your lashes flutter as he fucks his digit into you.

He gets frustrated pretty quick with the limited space your Jean shorts have to fit his large hand, slips out of you for one rushed moment to practically rip them and your ruined panties off, throw them as far as he can in the truck, as if he’s personally offended by them.

When his attention comes back to your pussy his finger slips in much faster, drawing a sharp gasp from you. There’s this look in his eyes, you can only name it reverent. He swallows hard at an almost inaudible moan torn from you when he sinks in another finger. You know he wants to slow down here, he wants to spend hours loving you nice and lazy, but you two don’t have that luxury.

He swears to himself that he’ll bring you to his place tonight. In the meantime though, he scissors his fingers in you to try and stretch you out, not too hard but with an urgency that translates to a louder moan leaving your lips. You clap a hand over your mouth, eyes wide when Billy meets them. He laughs from his chest, reaches behind you and rolls up the windows when your noise reminds him they’re open a crack. You can’t resist your own giggle, muffled by your palm, but that too delves into a moan when he finds (with too much ease, bastard) and curls his fingers into that spongy spot. “I thought you didn’t wanna get caught, baby.”

You huff, though it’s very difficult to keep your fire with Billy literally finger fucking you. “Shut up.” That’s the best you got right about now. Billy just gives you that stupid, smug grin and catches your lips in a rough kiss. A knot coiling in your belly tightens to fray, threatening to snap in that familiar way only Billy had ever brought on. You have to push his hand away from twixt your thighs before you come from just this, you know you’d never hear the end of it. “Just— come on, hurry.”

Billy doesn’t make you say it twice. You fumble to unclasp your bra, smiling at the way he double-takes as he unzips his fly. He pushes down his jeans, along with them his boxers, you catch Calvin Klein across the hem. Once again, he settles with just leaving his clothes bunched around his ankles, in favor of using those precious seconds to line himself up with your hole and slowly sink in.

In fact, this is the slowest he’s done anything this whole ordeal. For once theres no rushing, no grabbing frantically for eachother, no cussing at uncooperative clothing. His forehead smushes to yours, you watch his lips fall open as he watches himself disappear into your warmth. Your arms unwind a bit from his shoulders, hands grabbing at the muscles of his back. “Holy fuck,” he grunts, against your lips.

“Holy fuck,” you agree, caught between smiling and your jaw dropping in a moan when Billy bottoms out. Jesus, is he deep. His hands hold your hips, smoothing upwards as he gives you a minute to adjust. Well, more like twenty seconds flat. You’re still against the clock.

he suddenly remembers your tank top still bunched around your waist, pulls it over your head and throws it on the dash. Takes a lingering second to look through the windshield and check if anybody is coming. His broad upper half covers you almost like a blanket, shielding you in case somebody does pass by, because even though he talks big game about showing you off— he doesn’t want anybody to see the way he can get you to act. That’s for him, not nobody else.

When you nod, eyes you hadn’t even realized were closed until a second ago opening and staring doey-eyed up at Billy, he starts to move. Suddenly all that urgency is back in his touch; his hand pins on the seat just inches from your hip, holding himself up so he can fuck into you proper. One of your hand twists in his hair, holding taut in a way that brings a grin to his lips. “Billy, shit—“ he knocks the words right out of you.

Billy was a gentle and slow lover, typically. Here? In his Chevy, in broad daylight, parked in a lot owned by your dad? He pounds into you hard and fast like he’s trying to make sure your pussy remembers him. His free hand is frantic, moving from gently holding the cusp of your breast, to squeezing the fat of your hip, to rubbing at your clit, his lips smattering wet kisses along your jaw messily and oh so desperately. You would feel bad for the way your nails dig into the skin of his back if he didn’t groan at the feeling, his thrusts only kicking into higher gear.

“Fuck, I missed you,” Billy admits in a heavy pant, your hand in his hair moves to wipe his brow. He huffs at that, a boyish grin creased his handsome features as he shoved his dick into you in a frenzy. “Really, really missed you.” Even though he sees you every day, it’s not the same. When was the last time you two were alone? Or atleast out of your father’s eye?

With every slam against you your head taps against the car door, he notices and drags you closer to him; he realizes the burn on his shins must be worse on your amount of bare skin on the seat, so he reaches ‘round and lays his palms under your upper back. Even in a rush, even in a craze, Billy takes care of you.

It’s rushed and it’s hard, but so, so implacably good. Wet, lewd sounds of skin slapping fill the truck, fill your ears and send you even faster to the edge than you were already reeling. That feeling building, spreading from twixt your legs to crawl up your belly, warm and suffocatingly pleasing. You’ve long since given up on covering your mouth, moans rip from your throat and contribute straight to Billy’s erection. “Billy, i’m— I’m gonna-“

“I know,” Billy mutters, out of breath, broad chest heaving above yours. He’s everywhere, his arms caging you in, his body covering you, his cock slamming into you feverishly. You whine, open your eyes and look at him with knit brows. “I know, baby.” Cocky bastard, even as his eyes flutter shut, he’s grinning like an idiot.

His calloused thumb pad pushes and scrapes over your sensitive bud in tandem with his thrusts, a cry drawn from your lips as he shifts a little and starts jack hammering into that particular spot that drives you crazy. He knows it does, those big blue eyes staring at your face intently. Watching your expression fall apart as you do, gushing around him. Billy slows a little, you barely even hear yourself begging him to not stop. Barely even notice the way you’re scratching up his tan back.

You do snap back into it in time to watch him pull out of you, stroke himself barely once before come spills onto your lower belly. You huff at him, slowly coming back to your fiery self, he laughs breathlessly, but you know he partly means it when he says, “Sorry baby, m’sorry— I got a rag in the glove. Sorry.”

Billy leans over you, popping open the glovebox, rummaging around and lifting out a blue rag he might’ve used to change his car’s oil— instead, he uses it to gently wipe at the come dripping from your cunt. You find yourself staring at him, brows drawn in concentration, muscles of his arm a bit more defined from the stress put on them. His forearm veins certainly popped more now. Not to mention he was still buck naked.

“Thinkin’ ‘bout somethin’?” Billy mutters, some of that teasing gone from his voice as he throws the towel to the back seat and grabs your tank top for you. You take it with a smile and a shake of the head.

“Just wondering how long you’ve waited for an excuse to fuck in the Chevy.” You hum, finding your bra. There’s this warm, buttery yellow that’s creeping from finger to toe in your body, a contentedness following satisfaction. You two really should be hurrying to get dressed the same way you hurried to take off your clothes, but Billy doesn’t rush in searching for wherever the hell he tossed your shorts and panties. When you meet his eyes again he’s giving you the sweetest, dopiest of smiles. This kind of vulnerability he showed without qualms to you, and only you.

“‘Bout since y’got in my passenger seat, firecracker.”