#or perhaps lets them both be children ...

[slightlytoastedbagel]

my brain can't make sense of it rn but please take my hand and ponder the differences between the family structure of the Shiraishi household compared to the rest of vbs.

[lala-blahblah]

I will never make this because it would be for an audience of one (me) but ever since reading "If we Were Villains" (story about serious drama kids in college who perform shakespeare and deal with a murder) I have been entertaining the thought of a crack fic crossover with High School Musical The Musical The Series where the staff decides they will no longer put on shakespeare after the tragic accident that happened at Thanksgiving, because Shakespeare plays would only increase the tension and drama. So they hire Ms. Jen who decides their spring play will actually be High School Musical (which exists in the 90s in this universe) and it ruins the vibe so much that everyone gives up on being dark and mysterious because they're universally pissed at Ms Jen for making them learn choreoraphed basketball dancing.

[to-the-batcomputer]

how i feel about shipping brudick is always switching from one extreme to the other. like one moment i'm thinking about it and i'm like Yes this makes sense this is beautiful and true. the next i'm like oh god i am going to hell for even considering this

[nezuscribe]

hmmm thinking about being in love with gojo satoru ever since you were children.

so undeniably and uncouthly in love with him that it was a wonder he never found out. that nobody really found out, for that matter.

you met on the playground, after you fell off the monkey bars and he helped pick you up. it’s been you, him and the little boy he introduced a few days later, geto, since then.

you love the way he smiles, the way his lips crinkle up in a sort of smug pout whenever somebody has the honor of making him laugh. you love the way he brings you food even when you don’t ask for it, love the way he makes you giggle by telling stupid stories. you’re in love with his eyes and pink cheeks. you love everything about him and everything you don’t know about him.

which is why it makes it so much harder when you find out he’s in love with somebody else.

you introduced your trio to a friend you made in college your freshman year, suki. she was in your political ideologies class and you really found yourself liking her and thought the guys would like her too.

if only you knew how much.

you knew it from the moment gojo saw her that he fell head over heels. you couldn’t blame him, suki was the epitome of perfection. she was so smart and kind, and her beauty was one that made heads turn. you weren’t jealous of her, never, but a longing and angst filled your chest when you realized that the boy you’d been in love with for fourteen years was never really yours.

so as college continued and your group continued to expand, you decided to put it on hold. it really would’ve been fine, you would’ve been fine if not for a simple drunken error one night.

you found yourself giggling with suki, explaining to her all about your childhood crush on one of the boys and she drunkenly giggled back saying how much she finds them utterly annoying.

to your horror, gojo overheard, but perhaps even worse misconstrued your words entirely.

he pulled you aside after that, a plan already devised as he hushed you and your clammy palms down.

“i heard what you said to suki,” he explained hurriedly, your eyes wide as saucers as he continued quickly, “you’ve got a thing for geto, right?”

you swallow.

a friend. he thinks the friend you’re in love with is geto.

you look at him, but he takes that as a silent agreement.

“you know i want suki, i know you want geto. i have a brilliant idea that will help us both out.” his smile is radiant, you wish it wasn’t.

“…what?” your mouth is so dry you feel like if a match were tricked on your tongue it would start a fire.

“we pretend we’re dating!” gojo exclaimed like it was the most obvious thing.

you felt your heart drop.

“we make them so jealous of us that they try to get what we have,” his blue eyes were shimmering with joy while yours were shinning with tears, “and when they do, we’ll split apart and reap the soils!”

you blink.

“deal?” he asks, face brimming with an expression you’d never seen before. you try not to let his hold on your arms sway your judgement, or his idea tempt you into anything you know you’d regret, but there’s no use.

you’ve never been good at controlling your heart from influencing your brain.

you nod slowly, licking your chapped lips.

“deal.”

[wndaswife]

girl next door | wanda maximoff & fem!reader

Wanda attempts to become closer with the young woman who moved in beside her while balancing her work and personal life, though she’s doubtful of the possibility that you might be interested in her at all.

Word count: 23 310

Tags | MDNI: smut, fluff, shy idiots flirting, wanda is a cutie and kind of a pervert, specified age-gap, masturbation, fingering, cunnilingus, dildo usage, praise, wanda doesn’t know what mommy kink is yet but you can tell she’d be into it, milf!wanda maximoff, lesbian reader

Checking her rear mirror before signalling left and merging into the adjacent lane, Wanda drove around the moving truck parked outside of one of the townhouse buildings she lived beside. Beside her detached house was a townhouse owned and put up for rent for temporary long-stay renters, and often, around the beginning of the summer or the start of September, Wanda would often see professionals working in Jersey City moving in.

It was the start of the summer now, and there were presently movers helping to carry small pieces of furniture through the open townhouse doors. It was furnished inside, Wanda assumed, though the furniture they were bringing in seemed to be building up to some sort of office — perhaps there was an extra empty room in there for renters, and whoever was moving in was setting up a workspace.

Wanda nearly missed her driveway while she was scrutinising everything the movers were bringing in, trying to pin down whoever it was that was renting. When Wanda stepped out and shut the car door, she could see a young woman from above the roof of her car stepping out of the townhouse’s front door, talking with the movers and letting them know where to place the furniture.

Just when it seemed that the young woman’s gaze shifted over to Wanda, who was, admittedly, staring a bit too hard, Wanda’s phone buzzed with an incoming phone call and she quickly broke eye contact to pick it up. She locked her car and walked up to her front door, carrying a stack of paperwork of upcoming orders that she needed to sort through.

She thought of you again while making dinner, curious about you for some reason she didn’t quite understand. She wondered if you were just a younger relative helping the actual renter move in, or if someone who looked as young as you had really moved into Westview by herself just beside her. 

From the kitchen island counter where she was standing eating her dinner, Wanda looked through the living room window where she could watch you continue to unpack a few small things from the back of your trunk. She regarded you curiously; perhaps it was your age or the fact that you seemed to have moved in alone that seemed to be interesting to her, though Wanda wasn’t sure why any of that would necessarily pique her interest as she felt like it had.

In the morning, Wanda prepared for the twins’ arrival in the afternoon when she’d have to pick them up after work, waking up with enough time to clean. 

Vision, Wanda’s ex-husband, worked as an attorney in New Jersey and often stayed in New York, but when it was his turn with the twins, he stayed in New Jersey — much closer to Westview.

Wanda had always counted herself as lucky for having been married to and having children with a good man. Though she and Vision were necessarily divorced, she never had to worry about what would become of their connection, and she knew that their relationship wouldn’t regress into something difficult between the both of them nor with their children.

However it became rather clear as their relationship progressed, especially after they had children, that the directions of their ambitions and perspectives of their lives were diverting from each other; nothing about them aligned except for their children. 

Vision was Wanda’s neighbour when she first moved into her apartment once arriving in America alone. He was smart and very kind and showed her around. He was a westernised Brit, which was palatable for Wanda who found security with a man who knew so much about the country she had just moved to, but who also wasn’t overbearing, and was rather well-mannered and docile. 

When they first met, Vision was finishing his second last year of law school, and Wanda didn’t have much going on for herself until she made plans to open a business. It all went quite fast after they married; Vision passed his bar and Wanda’s floral shop had begun to find its footing, and they decided to finally have a family. 

But Vision’s career and dreams took him further than what Westview could offer, and Wanda wasn’t the same young woman with wide-eyes and unsteady footing like she was when they met — she had dreams too, and children. 

By the time the twins turned two, it wasn’t difficult to figure out that things were different. Their dynamic had changed, they weren’t of the same mind as they used to be, and Vision could tell that Wanda had changed too; she hadn’t intended to be distant, but it always felt like her life took place somewhere her husband couldn’t reach. She was changing and growing, and she didn’t need a crutch to lean on anymore.

She wasn’t as unsteady and lost as she used to be. 

By the time she was leaving the house, it should’ve been around the time that Vision was dropping the twins off, but instead, she opened the door to see them running up the porch stairs. 

Surprised at the way they rushed passed her, both giving her a quick hello before they ran up the stairs, Wanda stuttered, “What–” 

“They forgot their class projects,” Vision explained with an awkward smile, stepping onto the porch and watching Tommy and Billy dash into their rooms. 

“The Bristol boards?”

He nodded.

“Did they behave?” she asked, holding her purse with both hands in front of her. 

“Of course,” her ex-husband answered with a smile. “We went to the cinema on Friday. Tommy cried during the final scene and Billy was quite supportive.”

Wanda and Vision shared a laugh, and chatted about how it was going with the new firm he was with and about Wanda’s shop, until the twins came back down holding their school projects. 

“Good luck on your presentations today,” Wanda told them and leaned down, holding each of their faces delicately and kissing each of their foreheads. 

“Thank you, mama,” Billy replied cheerily and gave her the best hug he could with his other arm full of Bristol board. 

Vision and Wanda spoke a little more about when he would pick them up this weekend for their grandfather’s birthday, which Wanda couldn’t attend because she had promised to help set up a town event celebrating the start of the new season. 

Westview was a popular destination during the Spring for it was located in a relatively secluded area of New Jersey, and well-known for its nature reserves, which also meant Westview well-decorated for the season. 

That also meant Wanda and her floral shop were always hard at work throughout the start of Spring. 

From the corner of her eye, Wanda saw your car pull into the driveway, and for a moment she saw you briefly running your eyes over her and Vision and the twins in the car. 

Throughout the day, Wanda thought of you for the same reason as she did last night, and with the same degree of inexplicability. While she signed and read through paperwork for orders and put together arrangements alongside her employees, she thought of how long you might be renting and where you’d come from. She thought of the kind of flowers you might like; she tried her best to recall the furniture and items you’d brought in yesterday to try and pin down your style. 

Once she realised how much she’d been thinking of you and realising it was strange that she kept acting as if she hadn’t been thinking of you, Wanda decided to put together a bouquet for you as a welcome gift. 

After she picked the twins up from school, she was sure to keep the bouquet in its vase secured in the passenger’s seat, checking on it occasionally as she spoke with the boys about how their days and presentations went. 

“Go put your things away,” Wanda told them as she ushered them through the front door, “I’ll come to help you with your homework in just a minute.” She locked the front door and headed back to her car, reaching into the passenger’s seat for the bouquet. 

Your car was in the driveway, and she could see some movement through the window beside the dining room. 

For the first time since she even thought to put the bouquet together, Wanda wondered if she was coming off too strong, or even too strange. After all, why would the older woman neighbouring you introduce herself with a bouquet of flowers?

Wanda could justify herself to you; she owned a floral shop and was working all day and didn’t have time to give you anything else and she always made a point to be friendly to neighbours. 

Before she could even justify herself to herself, she was already knocking on your front door holding the vase securely with two hands. She heard some rustling beyond the door, and a few chaotic tumbles, before the front door opened and Wanda got a good look at you for the first time. 

You were young — a college student, she presumed — and pretty. 

Wanda felt her words catch in her throat and she internally panicked trying to get some form of an introduction out. She hadn’t known what she had expected from you when she knocked on your door or what unsuspecting part of her curiosity was taken aback by your appearance, but Wanda forced out an introduction as normal-seeming as she could.

“Hi,” she said with a friendly smile, “I’m Wanda Maximoff, your next-door neighbour.”

Panicked and deciding that her initial introduction wasn’t enough, she added, “I thought I should introduce myself.”

She couldn’t seem to stop rambling. “A-And I work at a floral shop in the shopping district, hence the flowers,” she explained then held the vase out to you.

You seemed genuinely happy and appreciative when you replied, “Oh, that’s so nice of you! Thank you so much.” Wanda was grateful when you took the bouquet from her and didn’t look like you thought the gesture was strange.

“I was hoping I might be able to meet some people from the neighbourhood soon and maybe explore Westview a little,” you told her, “but I’ve just been so busy unpacking — so thank you, really.”

“I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you,” you introduced yourself. “I saw you this morning and thought to say hello today too, but I think I’ve just been so overwhelmed with the move.”

Wanda thought you were sweet and rather cute. She attributed it to the fact that you stood out from the other people of Westview who were older and a bit less spry. “It’s normal to be a bit overwhelmed once first moving into a new place,” she told you supportively. “I’m sure you’ll adjust in no time; Westview is easy to get comfortable in.”

“Thank you,” you answered graciously. “I’m happy to finally be able to talk to someone here.”

You were trusting and talkative too, Wanda noted.

“I would be happy to show you around whenever you have some free time,” Wanda found herself offering quicker than she could think through what she was saying. She added, trying to save her first impression, “Only if you don’t mind — I assume you’re a student and rather busy.”

“I would really love to have a tour!” you answered enthusiastically. “Thank you so much. I feel adjusted to Westview already.”

Wanda felt herself flush, feeling appreciated and flattered by your words.

“Would it be okay if we exchanged numbers?” you asked. “I can let you know when I’m free next! I should be sometime at the end of the week; I don’t start my work until next week.”

“O-Of course, that’s completely okay,” Wanda said with a wide neighbourly smile, stuttering slightly for a reason she couldn’t exactly explain to herself. It was normal to exchange numbers with acquaintances, but the idea of you asking for her number made her feel excited.

You kept taking her by surprise, though she wasn’t sure why.

For the rest of the night, Wanda tended to the twins — helping them with their homework, making them dinner, and playing Minecraft with them before bed.

They said she was bad at it, but they always asked for her to play with them.

As she got ready in her washroom after putting the boys to bed, Wanda picked up her phone at the sound of a text and found a message from you: Hi Ms Maximoff, it’s Y/N! Thanks again for the flowers, they’re beautiful.

The way in which you addressed her was all too formal, but there was something about how polite and proper it was that she enjoyed, even if it made her feel a little old. 

While Wanda found herself smiling at her phone and thinking up a way to reply, you texted again: You mentioned you worked at a floral shop in town. Where is it located?

Eventually, you spoke to her about what you were studying and what you were in Westview for and for how long. She talked about Tommy and Billy and their father and when she opened her business. You and Wanda continued to text you back and forth until she realised she had stayed up about thirty minutes past when she planned to sleep, and she had to tell you goodnight. 

Wanda couldn’t remember the last time someone seemed so genuinely interested in her life and interested in sharing things about themselves with her. It made her feel interesting and paid attention to. 

In the morning immediately after dropping the twins off and saying goodbye to them, her thoughts went to you and the conversation you shared together last night. 

You had just graduated and were now doing research with a professor, and you wanted to explore some research before beginning your Master’s. Since your professor’s research institute was located closer to Westview than northern New Jersey, you decided to move to Westview for the duration of your six-month research period.

Around the beginning of the day Wanda thought of you the most, wondering particularly about when she might see you again and when you might be free, until the afternoon rolled around when her scheduled employees came in and she started picking up the pace with her orders and arrangements.

It wasn’t a large shop, so there were typically four people working there at a time. One dealt with walk-in orders and those who wanted to purchase anything on display in the front, another with shipments and administrative work, and two that helped with preparing and putting together the arrangements. 

Wanda oversaw and managed all of it along with Agatha, who she’d opened the shop with, so she worked each day aside from Fridays and Saturdays — unless she needed to be at work — and Sundays when the shop was closed.

Spring was busy for them, but Westview was a rather small town and their shop was also local and a bit smaller. However, it was from Wanda’s shop that businesses and sometimes the town ordered intricate arrangements for events or for statement display pieces.

But by the late afternoon, the shop had a visitor that Wanda hadn’t expected.

“Y/N,” Wanda uttered at the sight of you walking into the shop, looking around at the vases and flowers and succulents on display.

“Hi,” you greeted with a smile once you walked up to the cash register. 

Wanda’s smile widened and she felt herself excited and unsteady at the thought that you might have come into the shop purposely just to visit her — but she couldn’t jump to conclusions. “Are you looking for another bouquet?” she teased.

You laughed and Wanda felt her chest flutter.

“No, not yet,” you answered. “I just thought I would return the welcome favour with a gift.”

You laid a cup of tea and a pastry on the counter between the both of you and Wanda found herself speechless by your gesture — you had come just to visit her after she told you where she worked, and you had brought a gift for her too.

“I finally got the chance to walk around today, and I thought to visit the shopping district first and stopped by the café down the street to get something for you. I hope you’re okay with Oolong.”

“Y/N…” Wanda didn’t know what to say, her hands laying themselves by the tea and pastry but not having enough confidence to take them. “You really didn’t have to — and to have come all the way over here!”

You laid your hand atop of Wanda’s and she felt her cheeks flush, her eyes flickering down to your soft hand for a brief moment before looking back up at your soft expression. “But I wanted to,” you told her, then retracted your hand. “I really am grateful and I hoped to be able to make my own impression if not pay you back for the gift.”

Wanda felt so warm and she finally gave in, taking the tea and pastry and moving it closer to her and beside the cash register. “Thank you so much, that’s very kind,” she said.

To have someone think of her so much, to go out of their way during their first day free from unpacking to visit her and make such a thoughtful gesture instilled in Wanda a feeling she hadn’t felt in a very long time — or ever, if she really thought about it.

She felt so cared for, and seen.

“Have you been liking the town so far?” she asked.

You nodded. “Westview is really beautiful, and I’m happy to have chosen to move here,” you answered.

“But you seem busy,” you said, looking around at the employees walking behind her with papers or assortments of flowers in their hands. “Hopefully we’re both free soon so you can show me around your favourite spots.”

“I’m really looking forward to that,” Wanda replied with an eager smile. 

Over the next while, Wanda’s free time completely diminished and she struggled to find any time to see you like she’d promised or even talking with you in-person or over the phone. 

You sometimes see her coming back late, sometimes looking fatigued or just in a rush to finally get home, so you didn’t want to push by messaging or visiting her, intruding where you shouldn’t as a neighbour and a new friend. 

You imagined that the mere thought of you must just be another task she must complete and try to fit into her schedule, so you didn’t want to impose yourself and overwhelm her. 

Wanda also thought often about reaching out to you just to ask how you’d been and to let you know that she’d just been rather overwhelmed for the last two weeks, but that she’d been thinking of you and hoping her schedule might free up soon. 

She felt disappointed in the timing too, because she knew that your research project had already begun. 

But she thought the attempts would be fruitless and unwanted — why message you just to say she still couldn’t fulfil her promise?

There was one time you nearly had a proper conversation with her a few days ago. You were outside planting some flowers you had bought, finally having finished packing inside and deciding that it was time to decorate the exterior of your place too. 

Wanda was waiting for a ride from her coworker as her car was in the shop, and she had gone out to wait for her at the same time you were outside. 

She asked how your research had been going and you spoke a little about that, but you spoke more about the flowers you were planting and Wanda’s tips on how to take care of them. 

The conversation ended abruptly though the both of you had plenty more to say when a brunette older woman around Wanda’s age pulled into her driveway — and in a rather gorgeous vintage car. 

A few times, Wanda saw you walking around town with Dottie, a teacher at Tommy and Billy’s school and a member of the town council, and Wanda sometimes saw her at the meetings when she occasionally stopped by. 

They interacted a handful of times during events, but first met when she was Tommy and Billy’s teacher. She came off as condescending, at least to Wanda, but got along just fine with Vision. 

She didn’t think there was any particular reason that Dottie would dislike her, but she understood that it did sometimes happen that some people just didn’t get along by nature. But she seemed to be getting along with you just fine — quite well actually, for how often she saw you walking together. 

Over time when she had begun to hear from you less, Wanda figured that perhaps you had only just wanted to make a friend in Westview, and Dottie was around far more than she was.

Wanda supposed that Dottie was perhaps a bit more enthusiastic also. She was younger than her too, which Wanda guessed was something that you might like more — perhaps you had more in common with her.

It seemed like the only thing that aligned well between you and Wanda was where you lived.

“Ms Maximoff!” you called from your driveway, and Wanda turned to see you waving at her.

It was around six in the morning, and Wanda had to head to the shop early to receive some shipments. 

“Hi, Y/N,” she answered and waved back with a pleased smile.

The two of you bridged the gap between the two driveways and met in between.

“Good morning,” Wanda greeted, her smile wider upon seeing you much closer.

Your eagerness to speak with her was refreshing and quite nice.

“Morning,” you replied. “Are you heading to work?”

She nodded and explained, “I have a few shipments coming in today that I need to be there for. And you? Are you heading to your professor’s office?”

“I am, yeah,” you said, a bit wearily as if feeling sheepish.

Sometimes you felt a little shy bringing up things that made the age difference between you and Wanda all the more obvious, like how you were basically going off to school just like her kids would while she was heading off to work at a shop she owned. 

Wanda was about to ask why you seemed to lack enthusiasm about heading there, but then you asked: “Can I drive you to work? I can pick you up when you’re off.”

The offer took Wanda by surprise. You were so considerate of her, and without even a second thought to it. “O-Oh, really?” she stuttered. “You don’t have to do that. I’ve been coming home late recently; I don’t want to keep you up or bother you with waiting for me.”

“I know,” you said. “I hope it’s not stalkerish — it’s by complete coincidence, I promise — but sometimes I do see you coming home a bit later. But I have some things to read for my professor today that I’ll take home to do tonight, so I’ll be up.”

“That’s… really sweet. But why go out of your way?”

She couldn’t tell because you were facing away from the sunrise so your face had casted shadow upon it, but it seemed like you were blushing as if having been caught in an act.

Wanda only regarded you with curiosity, squinting a little against the sun so she could see you better.

“I don’t want to come off as pushy, I apologise,” you quickly explained. “It was just something that came to mind.”

“Oh, no, that’s not what I meant,” Wanda replied, waving her hands in front of her and placing a hand on your arm reassuringly when you looked unsure of yourself. She tried to conjure up something to explain why she was so confused and surprised by your kindnesses, but was quickly shut up by her own hand at the feeling of your still arm under her palm and the meeting of your eyes with hers.

She dropped her hand and tucked her hair behind her ear, trying to sort through her thoughts for you.

The more Wanda thought about why it was so difficult to navigate your personality, the more she came to the realisation that aside from friends, and coworkers — which category, for whatever reason, Wanda didn’t think you fell into in that same informality — the only other experience she could call on was that which she had with Vision.

He was very formal and docile, and never took risks or said or did things out of what was expected. It seemed often that he was filling a role or going through the motions of things, which had never been very much of a problem for Wanda, who had thoroughly appreciated how static and steady he was.

As such, Wanda found herself often flustered and surprised by your affectionate gestures that told her you were interested in spending time with her, and spared no subtlety.

“I just feel a little guilty for having no time lately, and I haven’t really done you any favours,” she explained. “I think I just feel surprised when you take the time out of your day to think of me.”

Wanda worried that she might have embarrassed you, and she stayed silent, trying not to fuck anything else up by rambling in the way that she always felt like doing. She forgot that you had just finished your undergrad and that she was, in stark comparison, thirty-two years old, divorced, and living in a small town in New Jersey with two young kids.

Maybe she was struggling to view you in the casual way that anyone else in her shoes ought to, to see you like a neighbour or a passerby or a temporary renter of the house she lived beside.

But if not any of those came naturally to her, how did she see you?

Why did she keep thinking of how you saw Dottie?

“I’m so sorry. I hope I didn’t sound like I was rejecting your kindness,” she added, unable to keep quiet for even a moment.

“Why do you feel like you have to do favours for me?” you asked. “It’s okay if you do nothing for me ever, actually. I think I just like your company.”

Did you like consistency, a stable presence?

Did it bother you that she had introduced herself to you, then didn’t talk much afterwards?

Was trying to see her more a form of seeking consistency in a new town, rather than out of an actual desire of seeing her?

“I would love to get a ride from you,” Wanda told you and smiled. “Thank you. And I don’t think you come off as pushy at all.”

You and Wanda talked a lot on the drive to the shop. 

She told you that she’d been extremely stressed with balancing everything and getting everything prepared in time, and always tried to finish most if not all of her work before the weekends so she could spend the most of it with her sons. 

Thankfully, she’d been able to catch up with everything as the orders had died down, and she predicted that she may be finished before the upcoming weekend.

“Um, I don’t know if maybe you might not want to — so feel free to say no, since I know you have stuff going on,” you said once you parked in front of Wanda’s shop. “But I went to this really nice garden a few days ago and saw that next weekend there’s a Spring festival event, and I was wondering if you’d like to come with me.”

Before Wanda could answer, you added quickly, “Again, also, I don’t wanna add to your stress.”

“Y/N,” Wanda said, softly, before reaching over to place her hand atop of yours where it laid on your thigh. “I would love to go with you. I don’t think you’re a bother, and it wouldn’t add to my stress to see you at all. In fact, I think I would thoroughly enjoy taking the weekend to relax with you.”

“Really?”

Wanda nodded and smiled. “Westview has the Spring festival every year — it’s one of the reasons I’m quite busy at the shop at the start of the season.”

“Would your kids like to go?”

“Their father is taking them to New York City this weekend, so it’ll be just you and I, if that’s okay.”

The enthusiasm written on your face at her answer made Wanda giggle. 

—

“What’s got you so jolly at six in the morning?” Agatha asked as she was unloading the shipment of glass vases from the delivery truck.

“What?” Wanda asked, looking up from her bag that she had placed in the backroom to start helping her unload.

The two women had been friends since Wanda moved into Westview with Vision years ago. She was there for her before they divorced, during it, and after, and helped Wanda open her business. 

In fact, Agatha was Wanda’s right-hand woman in the shop, and they worked closely in terms of their job position and responsibilities.

Agatha stood up straight and put her hands on her hips, surveying her best friend. 

“What are you looking at?” Wanda inquired hastily, leaning over to try and lift up a rather large securely-wrapped vase — it was for a new store’s grand opening for this upcoming weekend, so they ordered a rather large ensemble. “Can you help me?”

She ignored Wanda’s request for help and pressed on. “Are you seeing someone?” 

“What? No! I’m not seeing anyone.”

Agatha squinted and her fingers tapped distractedly against her hip. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, Agatha, I’m sure. Please–”

“Did you sleep with someone last night? A one-night stand, then.”

Wanda stood up straight and put her hands on her own hips defiantly. “No!” she answered with finality. “Why are you asking me all this?”

“You just look like…”

“Like what?”

“You look smitten.”

She never used the term smitten in thinking about how she felt about you, but to have someone else call it that made Wanda reevaluate her feelings toward you.

Is that how she felt?

“It’s just nice to be noticed… and-and taken care of,” Wanda said as she and Agatha started restocking the inventory room, with Wanda checking things off their checklist and taking inventory count — albeit distractedly.

“Honey,” Agatha started, setting down a planter on the table Wanda was leaning her hip on and standing in front of her. “I’m so happy that you’ve met Y/N, and she seems really sweet, but I hope you know what you’re doing with someone younger than you.”

She added, “It’s not like this is something familiar to you. The only person you’ve really been with is your ex-husband, and you were the younger woman.”

Wanda looked down at the checklist, thinking. “I don’t think I’m really expecting her to… to want anything. I don’t think she could even be interested in that,” she said. “I think maybe I should just see things from a black-and-white perspective — see things as they are.”

“Don’t get me wrong — I don’t want to deter you from pursuing who you’re interested in, Wanda,” Agatha told her. “I just don’t want to see you hurt. I know you’ve been married and that you have kids, but you have a wide-eyed view of the world. I don’t want to see you get hurt or let down.”

—

“Were you busy today?” you asked as you held the passenger door open for Wanda.

“Thank you,” she said with a grateful smile as she slid in. “No — Agatha was working with me all day.”

When you got into the driver’s seat, you asked, “Who’s that?”

“She’s a good friend of mine, and we opened the shop together,” Wanda explained, buckling herself in. “How was your day?”

The conversation was so casual and almost domestic, and the comfort of being able to see you after work felt a lot like coming back home after a long day. 

“I guess not so bad,” you answered, making your way home. “I was reading and taking notes all day.”

After a moment of trying to garner some confidence, Wanda spoke. “Y/N, I want to say that I really appreciate your company, and how kind you’ve been to me,” she said honestly, playing with her fingers with her hands tucked between her thighs. “I don’t have a lot of time to meet new people, and Westview is rather small, so it’s also rare for anyone to be as thoughtful as you.”

She added, “I thought I should be honest, and I don’t want you to think I don’t appreciate the time you take for me.”

You shifted a little in your seat, and Wanda thought maybe you were just taking a moment to choose your words carefully. 

“I didn’t think you were unappreciative,” you reassured. “I was just trying to be friendly.”

Friendly. 

Wanda looked at you for a few moments, studying your face, until you turned and smiled at her. She returned the smile and looked back to the road silently. 

Had she embarrassed you this morning? 

Was she misreading things?

She wanted to sink into the seat and fall right through to the core of the earth. 

The rest of the drive was filled mostly with small talk, though it didn’t feel very awkward. However, Wanda felt like she was on edge, like she had some responsibility to be more direct or open, and she didn’t quite know how else to be anything but hesitant and unsure of herself. 

She felt disappointed when you pulled into her driveway, now having been unable to communicate her affection for you properly throughout the drive. 

“By the way, uh…” You scratched the back of your neck awkwardly and Wanda looked at you, anxious about what you might say. 

If you were going to apologise for being so forward and open with her, she wouldn’t know what to do next. She wanted to keep becoming closer with you, and to spend time with you like you’d discussed, and she wouldn’t know how to take that up on her own if you decided to apologise for everything. 

“I made you dinner,” you said finally and turned around to reach in the backseat to hand Wanda a tupperware of pasta that was still quite warm. “You’re always coming back late, and I’m sometimes having dinner later because I just get caught up with the work I’m doing, so I thought I’d just make you some since I was gonna pick you up.”

You had an awkward, nervous smile on your lips and your thumb kept tapping against the lid as you spoke. 

Wanda melted, her hand coming to her chest as she leaned forward to take a look at what looked like spaghetti. “Y/N, I don’t know what to say… You didn’t have to…”

She felt truly a loss for words, being entirely unable to remember the last time someone had been so considerate of her. 

Since her divorce, most of Wanda’s life had been occupied by her job and her children. It wasn’t anything to complain about, and she very rarely ever did, but your kindness and attention the past little while reminded her of how infrequently she had anything new happen in her life. 

“You’re so considerate of me,” she said as sincerely as she could communicate, looking up from the food and at you, who met her eyes with a soft blush before looking away.

The bashfulness of your reaction made Wanda take her bottom lip between her teeth, a small grin forming on her lips, equally as nervous but also fueled by her intrigue in you.

“Thank you for driving me and making me dinner,” Wanda said after unlocking her front door.

When she turned, you were standing on her porch looking at her expectantly, the tupperware in hand. She thought you looked so sweet… and young — just innocent.

There was something so delicate about the respectful distance the both of you kept, a lingering interest in one another, and something that just felt tense. 

It made Wanda ache in ways she couldn’t quite explain. 

Even with Vision, the excitement she’d felt with him was different from what she was feeling now. She was so young back when they first met, and the pull she’d felt towards him was similar to that of a lighthouse’s to a stranded sailor. 

There was so much she’d yet to learn or live through when she first met him, and she often wondered how things might’ve been if she hadn’t spent so much of her time tied down. 

But at the end of everything, there were the twins, and Wanda could never truly wish for anything that had happened up until now to change if it meant not having them. 

If she thought about it, it seemed that most of what she did was settle for a lack of other opportunity; nothing very new or exciting happened in her life nor in Westview, and by the time she was no longer who she was when she first moved to America, she was engaged with plans for children and a future with the first man she’d met when she came here. 

She suddenly felt quite determined to become close with you, for it certainly wasn’t very often that anyone paid her any mind. 

Especially not someone like you. 

“I really enjoy your company, Ms Maximoff, and I know you think I’m always going so far out of my way for you, but honestly, I like to be able to help,” you insisted. 

Wanda felt a surge in the depths of her lower stomach and up to her chest at the polite tone of your voice and the way you looked in the warm orange of her porch light. She stepped forward and took the tupperware from you. She wrapped an arm around your upper back and pecked your cheek. 

“The effort isn’t lost on me, I assure you,” she said, then pulled away with a soft smile to find your cheeks slightly flushed and your eyes darting around nervously. Her smile could only widen in response and she laughed a little, pulling away from you to head inside.

She bid you a goodbye with a wave of her hand which you returned, and Wanda closed the front door behind her. 

Almost immediately once she closed the door, the twins called from their father’s phone to talk with her before they headed to bed; sometimes they called in the evenings when they were away, and especially if they’d done something fun with their father earlier. 

They greeted her together: “Hi, mom!” 

“Hi, boys,” she replied with a widening grin as she set her things down, balancing your tupperware in the other arm. “Shouldn’t you be asleep by now?”

Then there came the excuses of wanting to stay up to speak with her. She thought they were cute when they were making excuses, so she pretended she didn’t catch on. 

It wasn’t until after the call ended and Wanda was in the middle of eating the dinner you’d prepared for her that she finally had time to reflect on some things. 

Firstly, the dinner was delicious, and so that made a marvellous impression in her mind about you as a well-put-together student who knew how to cook for herself. 

Then she wondered — worried, even — if the kiss was going a bit too far. But you didn’t seem uncomfortable, and there was something about you that made Wanda think you were–

She frowned at herself, rubbing her forehead with the hand she was holding her fork in as she nearly came to a thought that she wouldn’t be able to decipher between projection and reality. 

And if it were projection, that must mean there was some sort of intentionality behind it. 

Maybe Agatha was right, and she really was smitten. 

What would anyone else call it — a crush? 

That made her nose wrinkle up as she poked at the pasta, deep in thought; older women didn’t get crushes. Older women were presently married or they got divorced. 

But a college student, for crying out loud… 

What was she thinking?

She took her bottom lip between her teeth and stared at her phone, trying to repress the urge to text you about dinner as if she hadn’t just been scolding herself for the complicated feelings she was having about you. 

Giving in, she set the fork down and texted you, telling you that the dinner was delicious, and moreover, that she would certainly have to find a way to pay you back and buy you a meal this weekend. 

She thought she was acting ridiculous for having just previously been feeling conflicted for how she was feeling and now itching to hear a response from you. 

Wanda moved her empty bowl away and hid her face in her arms, feeling helpless for the fluttery way she continued to feel in her stomach in spite of how her mind desperately tried to come up with ways to reason her thoughts of you away. 

She knew what anyone would call her — a divorcée desperate for attention from a younger girl who wasn’t as caught up with life as people her age were and so, predictably, Wanda clung onto you. 

But it wasn’t like she couldn’t get the attention of other people. 

Once Wanda had signed up for a dating app upon Agatha’s advice, and she thought it was rather easy to find people interested in her, though often attracting men she didn’t feel very invested in at all nor whom she ever enjoyed seeing enough for a second date. 

Not very often, but here and there, Wanda would be approached by men in public too. 

She always thought her lack of interest was because she was too busy, and even entertained the idea that perhaps she just wasn’t cut out for any kind of relationship after her marriage. 

But she didn’t feel that way at all about you. She thought you were sweet and rather cute and though she had to admit there was something about your age that enticed her, she also really enjoyed talking with you when she could over text, and often looked forward to passing by you in the driveway. 

She was curious about things like your schooling and what you thought of Westview, and more about where you’d come from and how you decorated the inside of your place. 

And there was a feeling deep within her chest and rising up her belly when she was around you or when you spoke with her, blushing around her or smiling in the shy way you did, that she couldn’t recall if she felt with Vision at all. 

As Wanda got ready for bed and pretended like there wasn’t a reason she carried her phone with her to the washroom, she thought more about how she felt about Vision when they first met, and questioned her attraction to him. 

There were times when she certainly felt attracted, though most typically when they were about to have sex and more frequently after they got married, but she couldn’t recall if the interest she felt with you this early into knowing you was ever involved in how she regarded Vision. 

She just couldn’t stop thinking about how unsure and confused she was during the time of her life when they’d first met, and how that differed greatly from the place she was in now. 

While getting into bed, Wanda’s phone buzzed. She picked it up faster than she’d like to admit. 

You texted: Yay! Glad you like it!! I’m really looking forward to this weekend :)

A smile came to Wanda’s face as she read your text and she slowly descended into the comfort of her sheets as she replied. Perhaps she should’ve just liked the message and headed to bed, but after thinking of you for so long, she couldn’t help but want to talk a little more. 

She replied: Are you still up doing work? Or are you heading to bed soon?

The response was read almost immediately and Wanda felt her heart race. 

Just one more thing I have to do, then bedtime.. I hope you sleep well, Ms Maximoff <3

Wanda felt a rush surge through her and she inhaled sharply after reading the message, feeling her fingers partially frozen for a moment.

It was at a time in her relationship with you that you could start calling her by her first name, and really, the formalities made her feel a little old. 

But also, there was something she liked about how polite you were — the shy smile on your face as you called her Ms Maximoff, how well-mannered you were.

And if she really thought about it… Wanda thought it placed her in a position of some authority, implying not only an age difference but a power dynamic when you addressed her. 

It was new for her. 

Don’t overwork yourself, Y/N :) Sweet dreams.

Wanda set her phone down and stared up at the ceiling. She wondered if you’ve ever been interested in an older woman before. Her cheeks immediately warmed at the thought — calling herself an older woman, carrying with it some sort of scandalous implication, and imagining you, someone so innocent and sweet, involved in it. 

Her thoughts wandered before she could stop them, thinking of what that dynamic might be like. 

Did she suit the ‘older woman’ character? Didn’t someone young like you need someone older and experienced, and confident about their sexuality? Isn’t that how these things normally went?

But she hardly knew anything, and only had one very short fling with a man since her divorce. 

She’d never even been with a woman, let alone a younger girl. 

Wanda turned onto her side and brought her plush blankets up to her face, the cold surface of it cooling her flushed cheeks. 

But she couldn’t help but really think about it… As in, the kind of relationship and dynamic the two of you might have together if it really did happen, and if, maybe, she wasn’t making it all up. 

If you had the capacity to like an older woman, that must’ve meant you had been with other girls before. 

The thought of it made Wanda’s heart race. 

She’d heard from Agatha the difference between being with a woman and with a man, that women were softer and smarter, knowing how to touch another woman as if she were herself, never thinking of imposing herself upon her like men did.

Sleeping with a woman is a form of masturbation, she’d said, for how women knew each other like they knew themselves. 

Wanda wondered if you were as gentle with a lover as you were by your nature, for she knew that some people were vastly different in the bedroom than they were outside of it.

The thought of you exploring her body with your open palms and curved fingers, just as considerate and kind as you always were with her, a shaky ‘Ms Maximoff, is this okay?’ spilling from your lips as you moved closer–

Wanda squeezed her eyes shut and turned onto her other side, her fingers tightening around her blankets as she felt an undeniable ache growing between her thighs. 

Daring to act defiantly against her sense of shame and dignity, trembling fingers slipped beneath her pajama shorts, not daring to go farther than her hips. 

Her nails sunk into her right hip, scratching lightly at the skin as she held herself back, only for her thoughts to wander to the idea of your clumsy hands grabbing at her hips, your nails pressing into her skin as you pulled her closer, your breath shaky.

She took one of her pillows and lifted her blanket up, tucking it between her thighs and up against her clothed centre. 

Taking her bottom lip between her teeth and hiding the top half of her face with her hand, she dared to roll her hips forward to satisfy the pressure between her thighs. But it was too dull for how her clit throbbed, desperate for further contact. 

Frustrated at both how she was giving in and with how she had grown so desperate to the point of hastily pushing the pillow out of the way, she slipped her fingers past the waistband of her shorts and underwear.

The pads of her fingers met with the warmth of her sticky folds and Wanda whimpered into her pillow, turning her head and hiding from some invisible presence that she imagined was looking down at the display she was putting on. 

She circled her middle finger against her clit and she shuddered, goosebumps running up her thighs as she tightly wrapped an arm around the pillow she’d previously pushed away, and she pulled it to her chest. 

When she felt she was wet enough, and at the feeling of how she began tightening around nothing, her eyebrows furrowed together as she entered herself with two fingers, her thighs parting to allow her wrist some room. 

She couldn’t help the way her mind went to you, not when her body urged to feel more; her thoughts summoned the thought of you, daring to imagine you beneath her, your hands running up her bare hips and up to hold her waist, the look of your face contorted with pleasure, your eyes meeting hers. 

She’d never considered herself very assertive, especially not in the bedroom, but there was just something about you that awoke something in her that was completely foreign. 

The idea of it excited her. 

She’d never felt so… aroused. 

Her thoughts gradually became more shameful, thinking about how you sounded like when you orgasmed, and particularly enjoying the idea that you’d be shy to make noise, prone to begging, and one to be eager to please your lover. 

Wanda felt herself inch closer to her climax. 

Maybe you’d be nervous to be with an older woman, hesitant to touch her and worried about being disrespectful. The thought of herself encouraging you, no longer being unsure and passive about things, sent a thrill through Wanda that she was certain she’d never felt before. 

All this she associated only with you, and as she felt herself begin to tighten around her fingers, Wanda’s mind was full of you, shamelessly, and her heart pounded against her ribcage.

She came, crying out partially-muffled with half her face buried in her pillow, her wrist sore and her fingers numb to the repetitive speed at which she fingered herself.

When she fell back down from her height, her previously-arched back met the damp sheets beneath her and she felt momentarily anaesthetised as she caught her breath. 

She groaned at how fatigued she felt, not having had such a tiring orgasm in a while, much less with just her fingers. 

While she was washing her hands, she thought of you, wondered if you’d ever touched yourself to the thought of her, and soon squarely came to the decision that she would pursue you. 

She’d made quite a mess of herself, and decided to also change her underwear before heading to bed. 

The next few days before the weekend approached, Wanda felt increasingly encouraged every time she interacted with you, especially after having kissed you on the cheek that night. She still felt that she’d gone a little too far, but you still seemed to really like her. 

She realised that she didn’t know as much about you as she’d like, and became increasingly enthusiastic about thst weekend when she’d be able to spend more time with you. 

On Friday, you and Wanda made plans for the weekend, and it was agreed that she would drive the both of you to the festival then back home to repay you for a few nights ago. 

Dressed in a sundress that reached below her knees and deciding to go with her hair down, Wanda nervously crossed the strip of grass that divided your two driveways and walked up to your front door. 

It was convenient that you were neighbours, but the space between the two of you left very little time for Wanda to soothe her own anxiety as she prepared for a day out together. 

You opened the front door and stepped through as if not trying to waste a moment to head out.

“Hi,” you said with a smile as you stepped onto the porch before turning to lock the front door. 

“Hi,” she answered and returned the polite smile when you turned back around, slightly nervous with her hands held in front of her body, holding her purse.

Wanda was suddenly overcome at your momentary undivided attention, feeling that if you scrutinised her just enough, you’d be able to read on her face what she had done to the thought of you that first night it happened, and nearly every night since. 

It was the first time she was seeing you since then beyond some short conversations in the driveway, and some paranoid part of her thought you secretly knew all she’d been doing. 

“I don’t think I’ve seen you with your hair down,” you noted as we drove to the town square where the festival was taking place. “Did you curl it a little?”

Feeling suddenly self-conscious now that you’d noticed, Wanda took one hand off the wheel and played with the ends of her hair. “Um,” she hesitated. “I did — a little.”

“No, I mean, it’s really pretty, Ms Maximoff,” you quickly said in case she got the wrong idea.

Feeling that perhaps you might’ve been teasing, for whatever reason, Wanda looked over at you momentarily and found you looking over at her. You met her eyes with a small encouraging smile and Wanda looked back onto the road.

“Thank you,” she replied, a smile of her own slowly growing. “I don’t usually do anything with it because I’m either working or at home, and don’t often dress up for anything.” She kept her hair short for functionality reasons, partly, and also because she’d cut it after her divorce just to try something new and found some comfort in keeping the same hairstyle.

Once or twice, she tried to grow it out again, but it just seemed impractical for how often she kept her hair up or had it pushed back with a headband during work, and even at home.

It made her feel rather flattered that you paid mind to something like her hair, since for the most part Wanda saw herself as blending in with the rest of Westview’s docile and placid background, which was to say that she didn’t think there wasn’t anything particularly interesting about herself.

To have a fresh pair of eyes focus on her so much made sparks flutter about in her body. 

Her polite smile wavered slightly as more perverse thoughts overcame her. She wondered what lay beyond your still gaze that was both polite as your eyes crinkled at the sides and slightly girlish as your face seemed to glow when you smiled. 

Surely, no one suspected that she’d done all that she had to the thought of you — how wet the thought of you made her, the amount of times she moaned your name with her back arched or with her body sprawled across the cool sheets of her bed.

But she had done them all. 

Could the same be said for you, beyond an externality that no one else would suspect such things about? 

Wanda felt a wave of shame course through her — what was she doing, assuming such things about a college student, and projecting her own desires onto you?

But even that thrum of shame made her ache and she pressed her thighs together in her seat; she should’ve felt humiliated and ashamed for the thoughts she was having, but instead, she felt… thrilled, and in a way she hadn’t ever felt before. 

Upon arriving at the festival, and finding a good parking spot in a closer area designated for employees due to Wanda owning the shop that had provided so many of the booths with their bouquets and flower arrangements, the two of you decided on getting lunch first. 

Truthfully, Wanda had been so anxious about the upcoming day out with you that her nerves had been far too frenzied to allow her to stomach any food, or to feel any hunger to begin with. It was only until she passed a booth of fresh buttered corn that she’d realised she hadn’t eaten a thing all day, and that she was finally hungry.

Deciding on some deli sandwiches, you and Wanda took your food and drinks to a seating area beneath an oak tree at one of the parks. 

For a Spring day, it was particularly warm — likely because there was hardly any breeze at all. 

For the weather, Wanda was glad she was wearing a dress, and maybe she was just making it all up, but she could swear she’d seen your eyes running over her exposed legs, and even peeking down her dress. 

Maybe you were just curious about what she was wearing, but still, Wanda couldn’t control the way she felt her heart thump at the prospect that you were checking her out. 

The eyes of men had only ever made her feel preyed on, and whether she was anything less than mildly annoyed depended on whether she had enough patience to tolerate any of it. 

Sometimes she thought it was strange for her to feel so abhorrent towards men when she’d been able to marry Vision. She hadn’t felt this impatient and bored around him, and not even when they’d first met. 

She certainly wouldn’t call it abhorrent, but with how often women her age spoke about fantasies or fooling around with younger men or their handsome coworkers — even Agatha had a tendency to do this — it wasn’t uncommon for some to question her interest in remarrying or at the very least, finding a new partner. 

All this she told you as you ate together, aside from how the train of thought started with her realising how aroused she felt at the thought that you were checking her out. She was interested in sharing much more about herself and learning that much more about you. 

“Maybe you haven’t met the right guy yet,” you suggested helpfully. “A lot of people say the right one comes along when you’re not really looking.”

Seriously, though, for whatever reason, the idea of going through the motions of meeting a new man was a process Wanda felt herself dreading whenever she thought about it. She could imagine nothing worse than inviting a man into her home and introducing him to her children, him meeting her friends, being touched by a man, waking up next to one. 

“I don’t think I’m looking for any guy right now,” Wanda replied, pushing a tomato that had partially slipped from her sandwich back in between the bread. She looked up and found you were looking at her, perhaps trying to interpret what she was saying. 

While she had your rapt attention, she couldn’t help but suddenly ask, “Where did you meet your boyfriend?”

The question made you blush a little but you also laughed, as if what she was asking could be interpreted as irony. 

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” you answered, replying politely for it had been a serious question albeit with the intention to probe into your love life. 

Wanda tried not to show any expression at your answer, and instead tapped the tip of her shoe against the grass beneath her seat idly as if to pace herself. The thought that you might have a boyfriend was one of the ideas that Wanda let float around in her head to rein her mind back to chastity when it wandered off, and she felt herself take in a small breath when you said you didn’t have one.

“I presume it would be far too much to balance now that you’ve moved away and are now doing work in a new town,” Wanda said then finished the last bite of her sandwich. 

You made a noise like agreement, but also as if you had more to say on the topic, and when Wanda looked at you, you seemed to be gauging whether to say more. You bit your tongue after taking too long to choose between asking if she herself was seeing anyone or saying that you weren’t interested in men at all. 

‘I suppose that’s true,’ is all you ended up saying. 

After lunch, you and Wanda decided to walk through the corn maze attraction because the both of you were interested in talking much more and moving your bodies without being distracted by the booths and festival games. 

It was quite fun to go through the maze with you. It was really rare that Wanda got time to do fun things like this with someone other than the twins — not that she didn’t enjoy spending that time with them, but she herself felt a little more like a child spending this kind of time with you, which wasn’t a liberty she very often had the chance to experience. 

A maze was the perfect thing to do with you, Wanda thought, for even taking the wrong turn meant spending more time with you as you walked back to the fork to try a different path, and neither of you were in a rush to finish, so it was more like a fun walk.

You also said that though the research position was interesting so far, it was a routine that didn’t allow for much enjoyment unless you went out of your way to do something new. 

Wanda sympathised, saying that much of her new milestones in life had come about that way — marriage, having children, and starting her business with Agatha. After saying it, she realised how depressing it sounded and even felt a little embarrassed talking about such things with you. You were young after all, and here she was rambling about how all of her life was a comfortable endless routine as if she were Sisyphus.

“You must think I’m rather boring,” Wanda said, looking down at the mess of hay, flattened onto the grass from all the people who’d trekked through the maze. Her tone sounded almost apologetic to her ears though she didn’t think she was trying to apologise for anything in particular.

“What?” you said, shocked. “What do you mean? No, I don’t.”

She laughed a little at your shock, but couldn’t help but feel that your response was a little naive. Once you grew up some more and experienced more of the world and met far more interesting people, Wanda was sure she’d only be a memory you’d look back on with some kind of pity, thinking, ‘What a sweet woman she was — such a shame she lived in such a dull town. After all, I could only stand living there for so long until my research period was over.’

“Well, I’m always doing all the same things,” Wanda explained. “I’ll probably be doing it for much longer too until the twins grow up and go off to college. I love the shop but I think I’d rather move elsewhere once they don’t need me in town.”

There was silence and Wanda looked over to you as you both turned a corner, and you looked to be a little confused, or at least thinking. 

“But,” you started, “how does that have anything to do with you being boring?”

“How does that not mean I’m boring?” Wanda replied though acutely aware of how strange she was sounding, arguing for self-deprecation. “I just mean there’s nothing particularly interesting that I do.”

Then she added, perhaps rambling out of a place of deep belief, “It’s different from you — you’re still young and pursuing your passions.”

The images of you and Dottie walking around the few times that Wanda had seen the two of you came to mind again. Even if there was a chance that you would be interested in women, and women that were older than you, Dottie seemed to be a better match for you. She was more talkative and though she was an elementary school teacher, she was still working in some form of schooling, which might interest you far more than flowers and single-motherhood, and she was younger than Wanda and, from the looks of it, seemed to have more free time to spend with you than she did. Plus, she hadn’t yet been married and didn’t have any children. 

Wanda could’ve been way over her head in two respects, and suddenly she felt a little foolish for how she’d been thinking of you — all this build-up in her mind when she didn’t suit you at all to begin with.

“But I think you’re interesting,” you reasoned. “I don’t think I’ve ever really put a lot of thought into what you do work-wise. Or your daily schedule.”

Then after a moment, when Wanda didn’t respond immediately, you added hesitantly, “But is that… something you’d expect people to consider? Or is that something you consider, usually?”

Wanda felt a kind of whiplash from the jelly you’d turned her legs into and the shame she then immediately felt for how shallow she must’ve seemed to you. “N-No,” she stuttered, speaking right away to not seem idiotic and just hoping to find the actual words she wanted to say while she was rambling nonsensically.

Truthfully, you didn’t think Wanda was being shallow at all, or that she was being overly concerned with hers and other people’s professions. You were also aware of the age difference between you and her, and how preferences and paths of life differed between ages; you were embarrassed at first, thinking that maybe you sounded far too naive, like a child with no grasp of real life or what really mattered to someone busy and with their own lives like she had.

Often, you thought you were way over your head, crushing on and fantasising about an older woman with her own business and family, with her own priorities who was now settled down and likely too busy to think about any romantic partner.

Much less with a college girl.

And wasn’t Wanda’s ex-husband a lawyer?

College girls weren’t her type.

“No,” she started again, “I just thought… We’re different in that respect, so I thought it might have maybe… bored you.”

If Wanda hadn’t also been looking down at the ground, listening to the muffled sounds of hay and grass beneath her shoes, she would’ve looked up and been able to see that you looked slightly flustered, for you felt that you were in a position of being confessed to.

It didn’t go over your head how Wanda seemed rather concerned about how you viewed her, and worried that you might think that she was boring. The very idea, whatever its context was, that she thought so often about you and your perspective of her made your knees feel a little mushy.

“But… You think I’m interesting?” Wanda then asked, raising her head and looking at you.

You had been so adamant to prove her wrong that you’d sort of just blurted it out. You thought you’d gone a little too far, but you looked over to Wanda and met her eyes.

It could’ve been the way the sun peeked from above the hay maze and cast its light upon Wanda’s face, but her eyes seemed particularly lit up, her expression looking even a bit hopeful as she asked you for confirmation.

“Um, yes, I do,” you confirmed with a smile. “I think you’re really nice and interesting and sometimes I see you out in the driveway with your twins and you seem like such a sweet family, and I’ve been curious about you since you said you owned a floral shop and brought me flowers.”

Well, now you were rambling.

Then you said something really stupid.

“Also, um… I think you’re a really pretty woman. I mean, ‘gorgeous’ is a better word. I hardly ever hear ‘pretty woman’ as a compliment, though I meant it to be true. It just sounds odd as a word combination.”

Wanda felt cheeks heating up and she was grateful that the two of you had finally found the end of the maze, for she felt like she needed to take a breath. But she couldn’t not respond to something like that right away. She swallowed and reached for your forearm and brushed her fingers against your skin to reassure you when you looked away, then dropped her hand.

She knew she should be saying something in response, especially now that she’d gotten your attention back by touching your arm, but she couldn’t come up with any words, just staring into your eyes with lips slightly parted but completely silent.

“Can we play one of the games?” you then offered, and Wanda blinked out of her stupor, remembering where the two of you were.

“A game?” she asked, still slightly disoriented. 

You continued walking away from the maze exit and headed towards the festival, Wanda following beside you.

“Maybe I can win you a stuffed toy,” you suggested, looking around at the game booths. 

Wanda smiled at the glint of determination in your eyes and stepped closer to you. “Maybe I’ll win you a toy first,” she challenged lightheartedly, looking for any excuse to interact with you more. 

The rest of the time you moved between different games, and you and Wanda didn’t talk so much about things other than the games you were playing and some lighthearted memories that came up as you played. 

Both of you were enjoying your time, but Wanda particularly, who’d never really done anything during such town events aside from help organise and sometimes take the twins out for them. 

Her cheeks were sore from smiling and laughing by the time you were the one to win a prize first.

You handed her a stuffed blue jellyfish, with thin curly tentacles and a soft round body, spotted with white and pale blue. 

“It’s so cute,” Wanda said with a tiny smile, squishing the soft body of the jellyfish gently and running her eyes over it in detail as the two of you walked to her car. 

She insisted, “I was really close to getting you the giraffe… It was luck that you won first — not skill.”

“Maybe I can win you the ability not to be a sore loser next time,” you poked. 

Then as she raised her head, seeing her car come into closer view, it dawned on her that she’d be dropping you off at home and your time together would be over, but she wasn’t quite ready to end the day. 

She stopped at the driver’s side and spoke to you over the roof of the car, “Do you want to take a look inside the shop? Maybe I can help you put together a bouquet, or any kind of decorative piece for your place.”

She added, to ensure she didn’t sound pushy, “Only if you want to and if you have time. I’m sure you had other things planned for the day.”

You beamed at the suggestion and nodded with a smile. “I’d love to see the shop,” you said enthusiastically.

“I’m excited to see more of where you are and what you get up to for so much of your day,” you confessed, your hands folded in between your thighs. “I remember when I visited, and it was gorgeous at the front of the store.”

Wanda thought it was so sweet how you thought her little shop was so fantastical. “It’s a bit more of a mess in the back and less presentation-worthy, but I’m also looking forward to showing you around,” she replied, looking over to you and feeling flustered at how genuinely happy you were. 

The feeling that you were truly eager to spend more time with her made Wanda all but melt in her seat. 

It was beginning to darken, a soft purple-pink tint coming over the sky as the sun began to set. It was still a little light outside, and the pink hue of the sun cast in a nice way against your skin. 

Wanda was feeling nice thinking about the fact that you’d been out together for a while now, and that you’d be out for longer still. 

“I don’t do this for just any old neighbour, you know,” Wanda teased, looking at you from the corner of her eye as she unlocked the front door. 

“Just a few?” you joked back. 

Without hesitation, Wanda replied and looked over at you with a little grin, “Just you.”

She didn’t seem to think very much of what she said, though it struck you as rather flirtatious and made you feel like a special figure in her life, since she walked ahead right after saying it, leaving you to follow behind after breaking from your momentary stupor. 

It felt so peaceful to be at the shop in the evening with you, telling you about things like how to store freshly cut flowers and how she kept them preserved upon shipments and how they did deliveries.

Wanda had indeed been interested in flowers and plants and owning a floral shop when she first opened it with Agatha, but much of the passion had turned into businesslike concern, and oftentimes Wanda didn’t have much time to take a step back and enjoy what she was doing.

But your fresh pair of eyes and genuine curiosity, asking her questions like how she knew she wanted to open a shop and how long she’d known Agatha for, made Wanda see everything like she had when she first opened the shop, and your curiosity and interest reminded her closely of the kind of passion she’d gotten distracted from once she got used to Westview’s repetition.

Wanda kept viewing herself from the shoes of Agatha if she had also been in the shop somewhere, watching as she giggled at your playful jokes and blushed at your undivided attention, which didn’t necessarily have to be interpreted as flirtatious for Wanda to feel flustered by.

Sometimes all you had to do was look at her while Wanda wasn’t looking so when she turned to look at you, your eyes were on her rather than on whatever she was trying to show you.

She kept thinking of Agatha especially because Wanda wondered whether she was making all of it up, and if all of it truly was platonic, and she wondered what her closest friend would say about all of this.

But the more Wanda felt herself stuttering around you or making some excuse to stand close to you or brush against you, she could no longer trust even her interpretations of what a third-party might say about things.

But the most delusional of it all, Wanda thought, was that she kept thinking of the image of you with Dottie walking down the shopping district during the times where Wanda was too busy to spend time with you and talk with you as much as she wanted.

She kept recalling the feeling of how tired she’d been coming out of work, the sun just about to start setting, and looking forward to getting home after picking up the twins. She had been at a stoplight thinking of what to make for dinner when you passed in front her along the crosswalk, Dottie at your side as you spoke with each other.

She was always wearing something pretty, her taste in clothing professional and delicate as an elementary school teacher, her blonde hair always curled or put up.

From what she’d heard from the few times she attended the town meetings — not that Dottie was so infamous but rather because she was friends with some of the mothers who attended — Dottie was the daughter of old-money parents who owned acres of rural farmland a few hours away from New Jersey.

Dottie was everything Wanda wasn’t.

Were you doing things like this with her too? 

Were you only being polite?

While the two of you were putting together a little vase of different coloured roses together for your living room, Wanda quietly spoke up. “I’ve been meaning to ask you…” she started quietly, kind of hoping you might suddenly change the topic, leaving the question forgotten. 

But instead you looked up from trimming a stem of a white rose, your curiosity piqued as you anticipated her question.

Wanda felt your eyes on her and she kept her hands busy carefully removing the thorns of the roses as she continued. “Not to sound… strange…” she said, trying her best to keep her voice steady and unsuspecting. “But a few weeks ago I saw you with Dottie, and I was just curious about how you knew her.”

She took a risk and looked up from the flower she was holding.

“She was Tommy and Billy’s teacher once, and they still go to that elementary school, so I sometimes see her around when I drop them off and pick them up,” she added, to sound like she was asking for a practical reason.

“Oh,” you said, sounding a little surprised to hear her name brought up. “She’s a friend of the professor I’m doing research with. I… can’t really remember how they know each other. I think it might be through Dottie’s parents.”

A wave of cool relief washed over Wanda and she looked back down to the roses and started dethorning the other one to keep her face down in case she accidentally looked a bit elated.

“I see,” she answered as nonchalantly as she could, though she could hear a waver of relief evident in the way she breathed out. “It’s a small town.” But Wanda still couldn’t help but press on a little, feeling not yet fully satisfied by your answer.

“But… You don’t see her… often, do you?” she asked, looking up again just to see your expression, and hoping you didn’t seem suspicious about why she was asking.

You shook your head, just focused on trimming the stems the right length and carefully placing them in a pleasing way amongst each other in the vase Wanda provided. “No, not often at all,” you said. “Usually I see her when we’re meeting up together to have coffee with my professor.”

“So it’s a professional relationship?”

To that, you finally looked up from the flowers in your hands and looked over at Wanda, who immediately internally cursed herself for not watching her mouth; she’d gone a little too far, just asking you whatever came to mind.

“I don’t even know if it would be considered professional, per se,” you answered, your hands lowering a little as you focused on giving an answer. “She doesn’t have anything to do with my research. I think it’s just circumstantial — that’s a good way to describe it.”

Wanda swallowed and looked back down to the roses, immediately ready to drop the subject and move onto something else after realising just how overly curious she’d been sounding. 

Suddenly you were feeling a little awkward that Wanda had been talking about professional relationships and networking and all. All of that felt like a different world, and there was still a lot that Wanda considered in life that you didn’t.

You didn’t even think you had professional relationships, really, aside from your professor.

It felt like every time she brought up something you didn’t understand, the difference in age between the two of you became all the more evident, and you felt yourself becoming more and more childish and inexperienced in her eyes.

“Um, by the way�� Ms Maximoff, I wanted to say that I felt kind of nervous to ask you to go out this weekend,” you confessed, and from the corner of your eye you saw Wanda raise her head and look at you. “I thought it might’ve been… I don’t know, like, a little stupid, even.”

“What?” she asked, surprised. She set her rose down and turned her body a little to look at you. The tone of her voice made you raise your head and meet her eyes. “Stupid? Why?”

You weren’t exactly sure what you had hoped to accomplish by confessing that, but you almost just felt like apologising somewhat for doing something stupid or childish before Wanda could realise it for herself.

Maybe you’d seem a little less naive if you just admitted to it right away, because honestly, you really did think you had been sounding a little stupid to ask her out for the festival, and often wondered if she only ever said yes to you out of pity because of how young you were.

Sometimes when she apologised for seeming standoffish or distant, you couldn’t help but feel that she was just trying to tend to a child’s tantrum.

But her response wasn’t as you initially thought it would be, and she seemed truly shocked at your confession, so you felt a little flustered and you now felt that you had been overdramatic.

“I-I just mean… Well…” 

As you stuttered for a response, you realised you had no excuse to make, and honestly, Wanda had only ever been kind to you, so you had no reason to try and lie. So you thought to tell the truth.

“It sometimes feels like I don’t really have a grasp on your life, and like you may just be too busy or disinterested to do stuff like go out to a festival to get driven to work or…”

You trailed off to find the rest of your words, and you saw Wanda continuing to watch your face from the corner of your eye. One of her arms was resting on the counter beside her, her hands fidgeting with each other’s fingertips in front of her stomach.

“I think maybe I didn’t really consider that you might feel more comfortable not knowing your neighbours so much, and that even though it might be true you don’t mind when I do you favours or ask to do things in our freetime, I know that you’re also busy and preoccupied with things and… Just more comfortable with how things had been.”

Well… Dottie certainly didn’t get any of this kind of confession from you.

Wanda took a tiny step forward. She knew what you were trying to get at; there was an age difference between the two of you and sometimes the difference casted doubt on whether you were both thinking the same thing, always wondering how you were perceived by the other.

“I know how you feel,” she reassured, reaching out to brush her hand against your arm against the better half of her mind telling herself it was a bad idea to move closer to you. She fidgeted with her fingers again and took a little breath, wanting to be open and honest like you just had been.

She confessed, “I think that sometimes I might be projecting myself onto you.”

The words shocked you and you looked up and met her eyes, surprised to see her looking a little nervous as she spoke. You didn’t think anything about your relationship with Wanda had the power to make her nervous; she always just seemed like she had everything so well-structured.

She owned a business with a close friend and was a single mother of two young boys and lived in a nice house. She was beautiful and kind, and the idea that she might be nervous in any sense while interacting with you surprised you greatly.

“Sometimes I can’t exactly tell if I’m… understanding things correctly…” she added, swallowing hard. The momentary silence between responses thrummed against her eardrums, and the light from the ceiling became strangely brighter and looked as light often did when she was down with a terrible flu.

The implication was heavy, and she was worried about how you would take it. She tried to immediately relax herself by thinking that you’d only pick up on what she was implying if you yourself had been thinking similar things, but there was always a chance that you’d understand what she was saying and not feel the same way.

She could hardly bear the thought of confessing unreciprocated, for she foresaw absolutely no way to come back from that kind of rejection… She would look like such a fool, and she wouldn’t know how to handle the kinds of things she did and felt because of you.

The things she felt for you had been different from anything before, and if you rejected her, there was no way for her to deal with this new kind of awakening, and she was certain there’d be no other chance to be attracted to someone in the way she was with you.

“I think maybe I’m in over my head, Ms Maximoff…” you said quietly.

Suddenly Wanda was overcome with the possibility of what you were also implying, and the very possibility that you meant what she thought was overcoming the fear of being rejected or being wrong.

All she’d been doing was fantasising and mulling over possibilities and uncertainties about how she was feeling and how you might be feeling, and now the possibility that you might feel the same way, that she wasn’t just making it all up the whole time, seemed more real and tangible than it ever had been before.

She knew she was thinking irrationally.

There were better ways to do this.

But she could only really think of doing one thing.

She placed her hand atop the counter at the midway point between the both of you and she stepped forward, tipping her head to the side ever so slightly as she moved closer. Her breath felt warm against her own lips as her exhales reached your upper lip, and your eyes looked lidded and your face slightly flushed before she closed her eyes and met her soft lips with yours.

You immediately put your rose down and placed your hand on Wanda’s lower back, pulling her closer, and Wanda felt like she could collapse into your body at the gesture.

You really did want her. She hadn’t been making it up.

Though she’d been married before, this felt like the first time anyone truly reciprocated her feelings. Maybe that was because what feelings she had for Vision weren’t anything like the ones she had for you.

She was thirty-two and feeling this way for the first time; she felt like she’d really been missing out.

It didn’t take very long for the slow and hesitant kiss to grow heated, perhaps due to its confirmation of mutual attraction and interest. Your arm wrapped around Wanda’s waist and your other hand moved up the curve of her spine, up to where her sundress exposed her upper back, your fingers entangling themselves in her hair as they moved up her neck.

Wanda sighed into your mouth, listening to the way it merged with your tiny moans and exhales. She had her own arm wrapped around your waist too, but with her other hand caressing your cheek, her thumb brushing against your soft skin, encouraging you.

She felt her lower back press against the edge of the counter and she realised you were pressing your body flush against hers.

Her heart was thumping wildly in her chest, her body feeling warm all over.

In her sundress with her arms and upper back and chest exposed, every brush you had against her skin sent shockwaves up her spine, leaving goosebumps in their wake as a familiar ache began to form deep in Wanda’s lower stomach, causing her to roll her hips forward, knocking them gently against your own.

Maybe when her mind was less fogged up and she could think of a world past the soft caresses of your hands and your delicate moans, she would think about how right Agatha was about being with women.

You were so delicate and gentle, and not only because she thought that that was just the kind of person you were, but also because of the smooth slope of your shoulders and how your arms slotted perfectly beneath hers. Your face was smooth and free of stubble and your lips were so soft, your sweet moans were enough to make Wanda weak in the knees, and you smelled so nice.

And it did really feel like you were touching her as if she were an extension of yourself.

“Ms Maximoff…” you sighed, sounding desperate as your hand fell away from cradling the back of her head and sending a wave of throbbing arousal down between Wanda’s thighs. Her eyebrows furrowed together and she pulled you closer, grasping at the hem of your shirt as her fingers tightened around the fabric, feeling just as desperate.

Then suddenly you yelped and pulled away from her lips, your body unwrapping from Wanda’s. Wanda’s eyes darted across your face and she worried for a moment that she accidentally bit your lip. 

“Y/N, a-are you okay? Did I hurt you?” she asked, panicked as she looked at you. Then she noticed that you had brought your hand up, surveying it under the light of the ceiling. “What happened?”

“U-Um, I accidentally put my finger down on a thorn,” you said, looking up at her sheepishly and showing her the curved thorn deep in your index finger.

Wanda stepped close again and wrapped her fingers around your wrist to get a better look at it. “Oh, dear… That’s quite deep…” she said, her voice low as she turned your finger around in the light to get a better look at it.

“Don’t worry — this happens quite often,” she reassured, looking over at you with a smile. The eye contact made you blush and you couldn’t help the way your eyes flickered down to her lips that now looked slightly swollen with how frantic your kiss had been.

The same flushed expression came over Wanda’s face but she looked back down to your finger and carefully laid it against her hand. “Don’t move,” she said. “I’ll take it out, but I want to make sure it doesn’t break off in your finger.”

Inching your hand closer to her eyes and into the light, her other hand came up and carefully pulled out the thorn, pulling it in the direction of its curve. A tiny bead of blood came from where it had pierced your skin. 

“Just a moment. Keep your finger upright,” she said, letting go of your wrist slowly so as to not move it from its place midair. She then turned and bent over a little to rummage under the counter.

You couldn’t help the way your chest fluttered at the sight of her so focused on taking care of you. 

She straightened again, now holding a bandaid, and laid the back of your hand against her fingers. With slightly furrowed eyebrows, she unwrapped the bandage and carefully secured it around your finger.

“There we go…” she said softly. “Not too tight?”

Heat rose to your cheeks when she looked back up to you again and you looked away with a shy smile and shook your head. “No, it’s just perfect.”

“Good.”

Then she threw the garbage out and brushed the thorns off of the countertop and into a nearby garbage can she lifted to the edge of the counter. She set it back down on the ground then turned back over to you nervously, brushing down the front of her dress.

She bit her bottom lip awkwardly, then quietly reasoned, “Maybe it was time we headed back home, anyway.”

You looked up from the floor and met her eyes with a little nod and a polite smile.

But neither of you moved from your spots, and Wanda felt a familiar impatience and gnawing urge pulsing inside her again.

Wanda was right in her observations of you — you were rather shy, and a submissive lover. You were nervous and hesitant, and after kissing you, she was sure you’d been with women before. That excited her, and she heard her own soft trembling exhales through her parted lips as she observed the hesitant look in your eyes, anticipating her next move.

You were still nervous, Wanda could tell. 

So young and hesitant and innocent and polite…

All she felt then and there was that she needed your hands on her, and Wanda stepped forward again, kissing you with immediate heated passion as her hands ran up to the sides of your face, caressing you gently. 

Your hands came to her hips and you attempted to wrap your arms around her waist until Wanda stumbled forwards, pushing you into the back room where it was more spacious. 

“Mmm, Y/N…” she sighed into your open mouth, pushing your lower back against one of the counters in the back room.

Your hands were on her hips, slowly rounding to her lower back, but it was still not enough. She took hold of your wrist and brought your hand to her breast, and you squeezed as if partial to the feeling of how soft her breast was in your hand, mindful of the way her body arched into yours, her body pressed against your hips. 

She felt herself throbbing when your other hand found its way beneath her dress, groping her ass and even tucking two fingers past her underwear to feel the soft, pliable flesh beneath the fabric. 

“Ms Maximoff, is this okay?” you asked, your words trembling for how you spoke them between heated kisses. The hesitant tone spoken with your soft voice juxtaposed the way you groped her ass, and Wanda felt like she was already practically nearing orgasm.

“That’s just fine, sweetheart,” she replied, her fingers snaking down your jawline to hold your head in place as she tipped her head to the side and deepened the kiss. 

Your fingernails pressed into her ass and she gasped, her body tensing momentarily.

Your tongues briefly brushed against each other and at the sensation, Wanda couldn’t get enough. She ran the tip of her tongue over your teeth then delved past your lips. 

Warm exhales and breathy sighs echoed between your open mouths, meshed together in the exchange of saliva as your thumb tugged down the neckline of Wanda’s dress along with her bra so you could thumb at her hardened nipple, your other hand taking another handful of her ass.  

Wanda had never felt more sexually desired, your hands on her body making her feel that you were thoroughly exploring her out of deep interest and pulsing arousal. 

It was no obligation or passive act. 

It was desire and craving, and you wanted her. 

Then she felt the urge to have her mouth on your cunt, to feel you pulsating around her tongue, to feel your warm, slick folds against her lips. She wanted to taste how wet she made you and how badly you wanted her, to swallow your cum and have your flavour spread across her tongue. 

She’d never pleasured another woman before, but all she felt was hunger, so much of it that it was painful, and that desire surpassed any need for prior knowledge. 

In a few moments your thighs were wrapped securely around her head, Wanda on her knees beneath you as she noisily ate you out. The intermingled noises of her moans and the sound of your soaking pussy made your heart race. 

She was far messier and dominating than you’d initially imagined, and you could hardly catch your breath. Each moment you thought you’d caught up, she’d want more, grabbing at you, delving her tongue into your opening or rubbing her flattened tongue against your aching clit. 

She gripped at your hips, pulling you down onto her face so desperately you worried you might hurt her.

She opened her eyes and you saw her meet your gaze behind the mess of her dirty blonde hair, and you reached down and carefully brushed strands of her hair away from her forehead, revealing green eyes darkened by carnal desire.  

The way she stared at you sent chills up your spine, causing you to roll your hips forward and bump your clit against the tip of her nose. She looked wildly predatorial, her relentless tongue and hot breath paired with a melody of deep groans and light girlish moans almost animalistic. 

Wanda saw your hand reach down, fingers twitching in hesitation, before she interlaced her fingers with yours and brought your hand to the back of her head. She felt very literally… hungry — she craved you.

You nudged her mouth against your cunt and Wanda mewled in pleasure, feeling caressed as if she were being pet. Her hair was smooth, and feeling it now, you found she truly had thick hair and it wasn’t just the way she styled it in the mornings. 

There were a lot of things you were newly finding about Wanda, new ways of viewing and understanding her that would make her different from how you had understood her before. 

You’d never be able to see her without knowing how she looked on her knees, eating your pussy in her shop in the early evening, never being able to unfeel how her hands were firm and confident as they rubbed your thighs and squeezed your hips. But her fingers were delicate and careful, likely from her profession handling flowers. 

You knew her touch.

Wanda knew exactly when you came — she felt it first before she heard it with how your thighs were wrapped around her ears. She could feel you contract and begin to pulse against her tongue, felt the way your hips chased her mouth and how your hands grasped at her desperately. She knew you had reached your peak because it reminded her so much of herself, and she helped you through your orgasm and through its aftershocks as she had for herself during the times she had come to the thought of you.

She carefully licked around your cunt and your inner thighs, cleaning you up as she blindly felt for your pants and underwear before sliding it back up your thighs while you caught your breath above.

When she buttoned your pants you helped her stand up and you adjusted her dress for her. Wanda leaned flush against your body with a little smile, watching your face as you straightened her dress, feeling your gentle hands rub against her.

Then you met her eyes and wrapped your arms around her waist, returning a smile.

She leaned forward and kissed you chastly, just feeling your soft, warm lips against her own, one of your hands moving up her back and rubbing softly. 

“Was I good…?” Wanda asked a little nervously as she pulled away and looked at you. The tip of her nose brushed against yours lightly.

You nodded.

“It felt amazing…” you answered honestly, your fingers making shapes against her lower back through her dress. “I think, also, that I’m really attracted to you.”

Wanda laughed, feeling her cheeks heat up, and she buried her face in your neck.

After a moment, she added shyly, “That was my first time.”

Shocked, you turned your head a little to look at her but Wanda kept her face hidden in the crook of your neck and in the curtain of your soft hair. 

“I couldn’t tell,” you told her.

“Are you being sarcastic…?” Wanda asked, looking down to play with the ends of your hair. “I can’t see your face.”

“I’m not being sarcastic.”

Wanda blushed, uttering a small ‘Thank you’ before she raised her head, fidgeting with your shirt a little. 

“Shall I drive you back home now…?” she asked, looking up hesitantly.

You swallowed, feeling an ache of disappointment and longing at the thought of ending the night without getting to talk with Wanda more or even make her feel good. But if that had been her first time, she’d already done quite a bit.

You didn’t want to push her further or pressure her, so you nodded once silently in spite of how badly you wanted to be able to touch her too.

During the drive back, Wanda felt a dull ache behind her exhilaration, forcing her to admit that she was still not entirely satisfied. She’d underestimated the significance behind how much she fantasised about you, and how much desire truly went behind how strongly and how often she thought of you.

She nervously tapped against the steering wheel with her index finger and she bit down on her bottom lip.

“Was that…” She swallowed and carefully picked out the right words as she saw you turn to look at her from the corner of her eye. “Were you looking for… just a one-time thing…?”

Wanda couldn’t stop herself from turning and looking at your expression when there was perhaps a millisecond’s worth of silence after her question.

You felt a weight drop in your stomach and your fingers pressed against the flower vase sitting in your lap. 

How would you come off if Wanda had been looking for something casual and you told her you weren’t? You would look childish and naive and disrespectful of her busy life.

You considered lying or perhaps answering nonchalantly, but tonight was the first time she’d ever gone down on another woman, and you felt you owed her honesty.

And… after all, it was still Wanda. She wasn’t someone to be scared of.

As Wanda turned into the neighbourhood, you answered, “I want to be closer to you than that. I don’t think I would want something like that to be a one-time thing.”

Wanda took in a sharp inhale when her chest tightened and filled with adrenaline, and she squeezed her hands around her steering wheel. She pulled into her driveway and parked the car.

Worried about the silence that would come over the both of you if she turned the car off, Wanda kept the car running as she ran her hands down her thighs as she gathered her confidence to speak again.

She turned to you and felt her heart pounding against her chest, threatening to suffocate her, when you turned to meet her eyes.

“Would you like to come in?” she asked directly. 

Wanda’s hands laid in fists atop her lap as she regarded you, her posture straight and her shoulders rising and falling in tiny rhythmic motions as she steadied her breathing. From the dim lighting of her driveway from the light above her garage, you could see her eyebrows very slightly furrowed and her eyes gleaming with a nervous vulnerability, her expression patient and waiting for your answer.

You nodded once. 

You stuttered when you tried to speak, then tried a second time, uttering a tiny, “Yes, I’d like that.”

The motions of following behind Wanda as she walked up her porch and unlocked the front door were mechanical and you watched her from behind, wishing desperately to know what was running through her mind. 

There was a soft warm light coming from the living room that grew slowly brighter when the front door was closed behind you and your eyes adjusted to the gentle lighting of her house. This was the first time you’d ever been inside.

You looked around at the decor and the evidence of Tommy and Billy’s presence that remained even when they were with their father — their shoes were put away on a rack, some of their schoolwork on the small table by the front door, and their jackets hung on the coat rack. 

“Are you thirsty or hungry for anything?” Wanda asked, evidently a little nervous.

You saw her take a breath and hold it when you set the vase down on the table where she had placed her keys to hold her hand. “I want to be with you, Ms Maximoff,” you said sincerely.

She swallowed and squeezed your hand and gave a little nod.

“I want to be with you too,” she replied, a little smile coming onto her face when you seemed to respond positively to her answer. She led you upstairs and you walked up beside her for how nervous she still seemed, and so you wanted to be close with her rather than following behind. 

Wanda closed the bedroom door behind her and with the bedroom curtains left open enough to have the room illuminated by the evening, none of you turned any other lights on. She turned around to face you once she came to her bed, and her hands nervously came to the waistband of your pants, fidgeting a little.

“Are you nervous…?” you asked her quietly, stepping closer so her hands were caught between your bodies.

She looked up and nodded silently.

Then she said, her voice small, “What if I’m not good at this?”

You ached at her evident insecurity and unfamiliarity around being so vulnerable. 

Your hand reached up to brush her hair back and you kissed her temple and murmured, “Not good at what?”

“At… this — making you feel good and being close with you, and connecting with you. I’ve never felt…” Wanda’s breath trembled and she swallowed.

She took a little breath. 

“I really like you, Y/N,” she explained, her gaze falling to your shoulder and your body pressed flush against hers. “I want to be good at this…”

“No,” you protested softly and pulled your head back to look at her. “That’s not really how it works, Ms Maximoff…”

She explored your soft gaze, curious about what you would say but also caught up in how kind and patient your eyes were. 

“You don’t really know how to do these things,” you reassured softly, “you just feel it.”

Wanda has always known what to do with things, and if she didn’t, there was someone who did know. Her marriage was all about expectation and filling roles as parents and as spouses, and her life, more or less, was about living through a planned schedule, doing things in order to be good at them and doing them right.

Was it okay to mess up?

Was it okay for her to do something just because she wanted to? She’d never been well-acquainted with the feeling of wanting something for herself to begin with.

“Can you call me by my first name?’” Wanda asked. 

You nodded and smiled at the humour of her request. 

She smiled in return and blushed before stepping back and allowing her hands some room to begin taking your clothes off.

You laid Wanda onto her back once her dress slipped from her shoulders, revealing her smooth skin and the contours and curves of her body. 

Wanda felt extraordinarily sensitive to your every touch, unable to take her eyes away from the way your hands moved across her skin; it wasn’t enough to just feel the way your palms glided across her sides, your thumbs pressing into the contours of her obliques as you kissed down to her belly button, then her thighs, her calves, and her ankles when you bent her legs slightly moving back up her body — she had to see it too. 

“Can I take your bra off?” you asked, looking up at her.

Wanda nodded and guided your hands to her back where her bra strap was, her back arching from the bed to allow you some space. She felt a surge of nerves course through her stomach when you took her bra off.

It had been so long since she was intimate with anyone, and even longer since she was with someone she felt engaged with, but it was the first time she was with someone she was truly interested in and attracted to.

For the first time, with your eyes running over her naked body, Wanda felt insecure about herself in a way she hadn’t previously; she was much older than you, and she started thinking about the other girls you must’ve been with.

None of them had ever been married or had children, and Wanda suddenly felt a dread come over her, feeling that she and her body were less attractive because of her age and what she’d done that neither you nor your previous sexual partners had.

But in spite of her anxiety, what she worried about wasn’t indicative at all in the way you continued to kiss her and caress her.

Your lips wrapped around one of her nipples, your hand coming to massage her other breast, and Wanda’s head lolled to the side atop her pillow, overcome by the feeling of being ravished and spoiled. 

Then you moved up and began kissing her neck, and if you bit her, you did it softly, taking just a little of her skin between your teeth and nipping softly. She laughed breathily when you tugged at her earlobe with your teeth.

She loved the feeling of your weight on her body — a physical, tangible reminder of your presence, symbolic of how she had surpassed the period of fantasy and yearning.

“Get on your back,” Wanda told you, running the tips of her fingers down the curve of your spine.

While you adjusted your position, Wanda sat up and leaned over the edge of the bed and rummaged somewhere you couldn’t see. She sat back up and laid beside you, a translucent purple dildo in her hand. 

Heat immediately rose to your cheeks and you imagined Wanda rolling her hips into it, slowly slipping herself down, and moaning as she fucked the faux cock. You even dared to imagine she fantasised about you. 

“Can I use this on you?” she asked, holding it up for you to survey the size.

The very sight of Wanda holding a dildo in her hand, asking you for your permission for her to fuck you with it, her green eyes curiously exploring your expression, her naked body pressed against yours so her breasts brushed against your upper arm…

You had to blink a few times to make sure you weren’t just dreaming it all up, napping on the couch of your place before heading out to the festival.

Wanda moved closer and kissed your cheek. “I can be gentle with you,” she reassured. “If that’s what you’re worried about…”

“I’m not worried.”

“Really?” she asked, teasing, lifting her head to meet your eyes. “You haven’t said yes yet.”

You immediately nodded, heat rising to your cheeks.

“Is that a yes?” Wanda pressed, feigning curiosity with furrowed eyebrows.

“Y-Yes,” you practically choked out, stunned at her sudden display of playfulness. 

She leaned back to where she had reached down before and came back up with a bottle of lube. Placing the dildo between your hips, Wanda asked for you to lather it on, holding herself up beside you and kissing up your shoulder and neck as you pumped your hand around the faux cock.

“As much as you want,” she purred. “I want to make sure you feel comfortable.”

You shifted your positioning a little so Wanda could have a better range of motion. One of your legs was perched up and your legs were parted, and you were laying back against a pillow for just a little elevation.

“Tell me if it hurts or if I should slow down, okay?” Wanda asked, nudging the tip of her nose against your cheekbone softly. She was taken by the urge to take care of you, to keep her body as close to you as possible, to feel your bare flesh against her own.

She really did think you were so sweet and precious, and the urge to care for you came stronger than it ever had before. 

She wanted to make you feel good. 

“Is this feeling okay, Y/N?” she asked, her other hand rubbing up and down your upper arm. 

Your eyes were shut, allowing you to fully take in the scent of Wanda’s laundry and her hair and her perfume. The soft sounds of her little moans and noises as she made careful efforts to enter and tease you sent chills up your spine and made you throb. 

“Th-That feels really good, M–”

You corrected yourself: “Wanda.”

A little flutter resounded in your chest at the feeling of calling her by her first name — it felt so personal. 

“That’s good, Y/N,” she cooed softly. “You’ve nearly taken half. It’s a big stretch, huh…?” You hesitated to nod; it was a big stretch, but it wasn’t too much, and you didn’t want Wanda to stop. 

“But you’re a big girl, right…?” she asked, and you immediately opened your eyes at her wording and the soft coo of her voice.

“I- Yes, I… I am.”

You watched as Wanda took her bottom lip between her teeth, her eyes running down your body as her wrist curled and twisted back and forth, each time slowly pressing further into you. Her forearm muscle flexed with each movement and you could hear her breaths begin to quicken.

“Can I confess something a little embarrassing…?” Wanda spoke after a few moments of intimate silence, and you looked up from her forearm to her face.

When you met her eyes with patient curiosity, she continued. “I’ve pleasured myself to the thought of you many times, but I’ve never used this,” she told you. “I suppose I couldn’t imagine you in its place. It feels far more fitting to hold it.”

Heat rose to your cheeks and your breath hitched.

Wanda’s eyebrows raised and you felt a slightly forceful thrust, causing you to whimper. “Did you like hearing about that? I pulled out just a little and you’ve made quite the mess around it…”

The way her eyes scrutinised you, the focus in her expression, made you feel like she was observing you in great detail, feeling that her interest was sincerely piqued as much as she was aroused.

Then, with one more thrust, you felt the coolness of Wanda’s fingers pressed against your warm folds, and you knew she was entirely in. 

“Does that feel good, Y/N?” she asked, settling herself more comfortably beside you so she was sitting up, your head lying in the crook of her neck. Her arm was wrapped around your head with her elbow keeping her up, her hand stroking your head softly.

You felt like you were struggling to get words out with the size of Wanda’s cock inside of you, along with the gentle and tantalising way she entered and pulled out. She was practically cradling you against her as she maintained steady motion, and you felt as if you were being babied.

“Th-That feels really good…” you mumbled.

“Oh, I’m so glad, sweetheart…” She began petting the side of your head and you mewled.

You watched through hooded eyes Wanda’s focused expression as she continued her soft thrusts, the positioning of your bodies making the act look almost masturbatory with how your bodies laid together, meshed.

“I had a feeling this would be the pace you preferred, Y/N,” Wanda said, her voice a soft mumble, her voice now sounding raspy with how low she was speaking. “If I’m honest… I thought a lot about what kinds of things you might like… I always enjoyed thinking that you were a careful lover, and shy…”

Even though she spoke at a hushed volume, you could hear her soft laboured breaths from her stern efforts to keep her arm at a steady pace, and often you looked down to see her forearm muscles flex subtly beneath her smooth pale skin.

“I thought about that all the time,” she confessed, a little moan passing her lips as the recollection. “I thought about how… polite and delicate you were, and your sweet smile and how kind you were to me. I thought that must mean you were quite accommodating in the bedroom, but I just wasn’t able to allow my mind to wander that far, thinking about what you might be able to do for me. I just kept thinking about what you’d let me do, and that soft little blush on your cheeks…”

She looked up at you and met your eyes. Hers crinkled at the sides when she looked over your expression, and when she smiled, the faint hints of dimples on either side of her smile made your heart skip about a dozen beats.

“The kind of blush you have right now…” she whispered. 

“I wish you could see how you look,” she added, and you could feel her speeding her thrusts up, a new desperation in her efforts as you felt her move closer to you. Her hips knocked against the side of your thigh and her hardened nipples grazed against your upper arm.

Her breathing became laboured, and you felt yourself in a trance just looking into Wanda’s eyes, feeling pressure steadily build between your thighs she quickened her pace. 

It was almost a little embarrassing hearing how wet you were, listening to how you stretched open each time Wanda thrusted her cock into you, and how you sounded when she pulled out, your tiny moans and whimpers building, seemingly encouraging Wanda to speed up.

“You look so cute, looking up at me, just waiting on what I’ll do or what I’ll say,” she said. “Do you feel cared for, baby…?”

Slender fingers brushed your hair out of your face.

“Y-Yes, I-”

Wanda interrupted you — not that you would’ve had anything very substantial to say anyways with how you started to speak and stutter without really knowing what you were going to say. “I knew it was wrong, fantasising about someone so young… But I couldn’t help it…”

She moaned softly and you could see her rub her thighs together just below your eye line.

Your eyes were beginning to flutter shut, for you were feeling the pressure in your lower stomach begin to coil, and you felt yourself tightening around the faux cock, suddenly sensitive to every noise and brush of Wanda’s hair against your skin.

Her arm unwrapped from around your head and Wanda suddenly leaned her head down and wrapped her lips around one of your nipples, causing you to moan out at the feeling of her warm tongue flicking over you, her teeth gently nipping at you before switching to the other.

“You’re doing such a good job, honey,” she reassured, trailing her kisses up to your neck and beginning to run her warm tongue up your skin. “So close, aren’t you?”

You nodded, trying to respond with intelligible words but only getting so far as a little whimper of affirmation. 

From beyond distracted hooded eyes, your eyes flickered between Wanda’s face and her soft breasts, still pressed warm against your upper arm. 

“You’ve gotten so wet,” Wanda purred, biting at the corner of your jaw. “My fingers are slipping from around the base; I have to keep readjusting my grip. It doesn’t help that you’re so tight…”

“If I had a cock of my own, baby, I’d have you on your knees, bent over with your face in the pillows…” she mumbled against your ear. “You’d be so tight and warm around me… You don’t know how wet it makes me to think about fucking a young thing like you… Hearing your little sounds and your pleas…”

Your eyes squeezed shut and you reached out to take hold of her hip. “W-Wanda, I’m-”

She moved her other hand down and interlaced your fingers. 

“Come for me, Y/N,” she cooed.

Wanda was entirely captivated seeing you come, feeling the resistance around her dildo as your walls squeezed around it, your body arching from the bed while you cried out squeezed her hand. You came on the very bed and sheets she had to the thought of you countless times before, but the way you came was different. 

It was more delicate than hers — from what she could recall from her own self-perception — your moans fluttery and broken into tiny whimpers, your body combed over with tiny tremors and involuntary twitches.

"That's a good girl," she whispered against your temple as you came, her other hand squeezing and stroking your shoulder. "Just like that, honey..."

She was careful when she pulled out of you, and couldn’t help but bring the dildo up to her lips and clean some of your mess off of it with her lips and tongue. Then she set it down somewhere on the bed and moved down to be able to wrap her arms around you, bringing your head against her chest.

Her arm that wrapped around the underside of your head stroked the side of your temple while she kissed your forehead, her other arm wrapped around your torso, rubbing your side soothingly.

After a while of Wanda rubbing your hip and your stomach, your upper arm, and anywhere she could reach while kissing your face gently, you caught your breath and cuddled close to her.

“I really do like you, Y/N,” Wanda said after the moments of silence. She pulled away a little to be able to look at your face in its entirety, and she smiled down at you softly. “I think you’re very kind, and very sweet. It’s really been a long time since anyone thought or cared as much about me as you do.”

Then she added, a bit shamefully, “I know it just sounds selfish, but over the last while since you moved here, I’ve been thinking of you quite a bit. And I was always very nervous to pursue anything, or even allow myself to feel anything like this for you.”

You didn’t want to speak up and interrupt her, especially since she seemed a little nervous confessing her feelings.

“Not only was it my first time regarding someone of your age in the way that I had begun to, but I think there were just a lot of things I was used to that I had to try to unlearn, and find confidence in diverging from.”

Then she looked away from your eyes and began fiddling with her fingers. Sensing her nerves, you squeezed her hand softly and rubbed your thumb against the back of her hand. Though she didn’t look back at you, she acknowledged your gesture and squeezed back.

“And there was also my age…” she hesitantly mentioned. “I felt… insecure, and unsure of myself, being how old I am and not knowing what to do. I felt… late to everything I was feeling for the first time, and thought that everything I was feeling was some desperate fantasy.”

Hesitantly, she met your eyes again, and looked relieved when you were already looking at her. 

“You have no idea how good and happy it makes me feel that you’re sincerely interested in me…” she told you, a tiny shy smile spreading on her face. “I’ve never felt this way before, even with Vision… and I feel really lucky to be able to be with you like this.”

A realisation suddenly came over you hearing Wanda’s confession — did she really think it was all luck? You had been so shy about everything that you had failed to tell Wanda much of how you felt and how you saw her, and it wasn’t even your first time with a woman.

“I mean… it wasn’t really luck,” you said, fidgeting a little with her fingers, which Wanda thought was really cute. “I did ask to drive you home and visit you and work and… asked to see you this weekend.”

“Oh. That’s right, isn’t it?” 

She looked like she had a moment of deep pondering as she looked off to the side. Then she looked down at you again and smiled. 

“I guess I just didn’t really allow myself to accept the possibility that you were doing it all because of that,” she admitted bashfully. 

You let go of her hand and brushed your fingers against her hip, drawing nervous shapes against her soft skin. “Can I touch you too, Wanda?” you requested. 

For a moment, she looked surprised that you would even offer; her lips parted and she blinked, before closing her mouth and nodding slightly. 

“What will you do?” she asked, curious and sounding a little insecure in a way that you couldn’t entirely understand. 

The two of you shifted positions and Wanda laid on her back, looking up at you with eyes that made your chest ache. She looked vulnerable and almost a little anxious. 

Being intimate with women wasn’t the same as being intimate with men — Wanda figured this quickly. It wasn’t the same kind of mutual pleasure, but rather, rooted in a kind of selflessness, a deep and involved desire to please the other without receiving explicit pleasure of one’s own. 

Sex with Vision and any of the scarce intimate encounters she’d had since her divorce all seemed rather mechanical — it wasn’t so much about desire and interest as it was about fulfilling a role and doing what you knew you were expected to. 

Vision hardly ever went down on Wanda, and she was never quite interested in asking him to nor was she interested in connecting with him in that way. 

It wasn’t that she held any bitterness or negative reservations about him that confined their sex to duty or seeing it as an impulse of nature, as in having sex as one would eat when one was hungry, or sleep when one was tired. 

It was more so that their marriage was not the kind to be seen as based on passion or desire; that hadn’t been how Wanda had seen him when they first met nor how he had seen her. 

The idea that anyone could desire her to begin with, but moreover that one could desire her selflessly, whose justification was solely self-determined desire, made her anxious and uncertain. 

It was, paradoxically, a selfish form of selflessness, where Wanda had only ever known duty and expectation. 

“What you did for me before,” you told her, now settled between her thighs, on your knees. “Is that okay?”

Wanda nodded, looking at you. She adjusted herself a little, but you settled her by placing your hands on either side of her outer thighs. 

You firstly moved up her body, making Wanda think that for a moment you changed your mind about all of what you’d said, but instead you started softly kissing her, laying your body flush against hers as Wanda’s legs parted before squeezing her thighs around your hips. 

Her arms came to wrap around your torso. She stretched her fingers out so she could feel more of your skin, feel the way your back arched and curved as you kissed her lips, then her cheeks and then her neck. 

“You’re beautiful…” you muttered, making Wanda open her eyes and turn her head a little to look at the way you had your face buried in her neck, your hair sprawled out a mess across her chest. 

“Your skin is so smooth, and you’re so warm when you hold me,” you said. 

All Wanda could do was whisper a small, “I like holding you, Y/N.”

You slowly descended back down, your palms running down her sides as if to hold the shape of her body and the frame that made it up in your hands, caressing her. 

You massaged her breast, making Wanda loll her head to the side and let out a soft moan, her own hand coming to the back of your head and tightening her grip when your lips wrapped around her nipple. 

Your tongue was soft and teasing over her hardened bud, and you sucked with a gentle force that wasn’t hesitant, but careful, treating her delicately. 

Her hand stroked the back of your hand with her fingers, gently massaging your scalp and readjusting her hand’s position often to keep combing through your hair. 

Moving further down, you pressed kisses to her stomach, beneath her breasts, down to her belly button, watching Wanda’s expression intently as you looked up at her. 

She looked beautiful with her eyes fluttered shut, lips parted as she sighed and made little noises of pleasure. 

You hoped she felt taken care of. 

Your fingers began tugging at the waistband of her underwear and you looked up to her, expecting Wanda to feel a little hesitant, but instead she breathed out telling you to take them off, even reaching down and tugging at them. 

Wanda’s heart raced when she felt your breath brush briefly against her pussy. A shudder ghosted across her skin and up her spine when your tongue flattened against her, pushing through her folds as your lips wrapped around her. 

Her thighs squeezed around your head and she shut her eyes; the gentle curls and prods of your soft tongue set her on fire, and the way you rubbed at her thighs, squeezing gently, made goosebumps run up her skin. 

She really was quite sensitive, for you could tell exactly how her body would react each time you dragged your tongue up her cunt, pressed against her clit, or secured your lips a little tighter around her. 

You were gentle and intentional with how you ate her out, and Wanda could tell obviously that you certainly weren’t as inexperienced as she was. 

When opened her eyes and looked down, she met your gaze and immediately felt that you were too far away, and she quickly came to prefer not to come without you much closer to her. 

She loosened the grip of her thighs and reached down, her hand coming to the side of your head. 

“I want you up here,” she said. 

You couldn’t exactly hear what she said, but you could tell she wanted you to stop, so you lifted your head and Wanda guided you back up her body.

Quietly, you asked, “Are you okay?”

“I want you with me,” Wanda told you, wrapping an arm around your torso and pulling you close so your chest was flush against hers. Her other hand found your wrist and she led it down between her thighs. 

You felt that you previously didn’t understand Wanda the way that you now did after being intimate with her. She was sensitive and a bit shy, and you hadn’t expected her to be so loving and attentive when it was your turn before. 

There were things like the way she squeezed her arm around your torso when your fingers entered her, sighed into your chest, her head tucked under the crook of your neck, and took every opportunity to keep her body pressed against yours, that made you begin to reshape how you saw her. 

You liked to hold her, to kiss the top of her head. You liked how she kept pulling you against her. 

“Is this okay?” you asked. 

She nodded quickly.

“Am I going too fast?”

Wanda shook her head. 

She felt warm and tight around your fingers, and you were beginning to feel a sort of intimacy feeling the way she squeezed around you, and how she fluttered subtly when she moaned and arched her back to adjust herself. 

“Say you want me, Y/N…” she whispered softly. 

You lowered yourself to kiss her temple. “I want you, Wanda,” you said. ”You feel so good around my fingers. You’re so wet.”

She whimpered, eyes squeezing shut again as she lolled her head to the side to lay against your chest. 

“You feel so warm,” you told her, lips brushing against her forehead. Her hand squeezed at your side. “I think you’re so pretty, and sensitive, and I want to take care of you. I want to make you feel good. I really… want to be with you.”

The words nearly made Wanda want to cry, and she lifted her head, meeting your lips in a gentle kiss. She’d never felt so much connection and longing for another person before. 

It frightened her, at the back of her mind, feeling the way she began to cling at you. It was only you who she’d felt all this for, and she wasn’t sure what she’d do if suddenly none of this worked out. She felt an overwhelming sense of passion, felt it as it filled her chest and forced her to take big breaths to soothe the feeling.

You sped up, mostly curious to hear how wet she was, and Wanda yelped a little, her back arching and pressing her stomach against yours. Her knee bent and she parted her legs further. 

You ran your eyes across her naked body, the way she was spread beneath you and clinging onto you, listened to her deep groans and little yelps and whimpers, watched her breasts rise and fall. 

When Wanda came she was much quieter than you were. She hugged herself close and cried out into the crook of your neck, her sweet-smelling hair filling your nose. Her other hand grasped at your shoulder, and you paid close attention to how she pulsed around your fingers. 

Suddenly her hand came down to wrap around your wrist, and she kept your fingers in place while her body shuddered with the aftermath of her orgasm.

Keeping your fingers deep inside of her and moving them not even a little let you feel her every movement while Wanda’s body slowly relaxed. She wanted to keep feeling you inside of her, just to feel that intimacy for a few moments more. 

Then she nudged your hand away on account of how tired she was to speak, and you carefully pulled your fingers out of her. 

As you looked at her beneath you and listened to her tired sighs and pants, you thought about how you’d seen Wanda as a woman on a platform for much of your time with her. Though you liked her and were attracted to her, you thought you’d always seen her and felt a little intimidated; she felt far away and greater, bigger, than your own life. 

But now she seemed sensitive and delicate, panting, her chest rising and falling, her body coated with a sheen of sweat, her closed eyes fluttering gently. She looked incredibly vulnerable, and in this state it was far easier for you to tell that it truly had been her first time with a woman, and with anyone she felt very interested in or close to in a while. 

You thought of her in more detail, your hand rubbing against her lower stomach, her own hand wrapped loosely around your bicep, her arm other around your waist. 

Wanda had been married and divorced before, she had children and a business and years of her experienced life that you hadn’t yet lived. It still remained true that there were things you didn’t quite yet know about her, and things that would always indicate a difference in your ages and experience, and a general difference in how you lived your lives. 

But in spite of all that, she had chosen to be here with you, and wanted you here with her. 

At the moment her cheek was pressed against your chest, and she adjusted herself and guided you so you could wrap both your arms around her shoulders. She intertwined your legs with hers and tucked her head beneath your chin. 

You wondered the kinds of things she must be thinking. 

The truth was that you wouldn’t know unless you asked or she told you, but sometimes even that wouldn’t be able to capture exactly the way she might feel — when words and language couldn’t bridge the gap of Wanda being unable to word how she was experiencing a romance and an affection that she hadn’t ever before. 

You thought a little about what Wanda said about her marriage before, and you wondered if you really made her feel seen and taken care of. 

You felt her breathing in your arms, listened to her soft inhales and exhales, held her body, and were the only one she wanted to be with and share this time with. 

“Can you sleep over, Y/N?” Wanda asked, lifting her head and meeting your eyes after adjusting her body to allow you to hold her more comfortably. She looked sleepy. 

You laid onto your side fully so your head was on the same pillow as hers. “Do you want me to?” you asked. 

She nodded. “Can you, please?”

“I’ll have to leave early in the morning since I live so far.”

A smile spread on her face and she nudged at your shoulder softly. 

“I want to stay over,” you then told her seriously, kissing her forehead and eliciting a little sigh of pleasure from Wanda. 

She said quietly, “I think I should get up and get ready for bed. I might still have a little makeup on.”

Before you could nod and ask if she had any clothes you could borrow, she sat up and looked at you. Her face was shadowed and her hair, now having lost the curl she had given it this afternoon, was a bit messy, and looked very soft.

You reached out to touch her hair, just to smooth some stray strands down, and make her face more visible. She tipped her face into your caresses, the back of your fingers brushing against her cheekbone.

While Wanda brushed her teeth and you were about to change into the pajamas she let you borrow, you suggested that you might shower together before bed. For most of the night there was minimal talking — not because you had nothing to talk about, but because both of you were far more occupied with just being together. 

Wanda’s hair was nice to feel when you lathered shampoo into it, and her fingers were strong when she washed yours. Her lotion smelled like the tiny whiffs you sometimes got around her but were certain wasn’t her perfume — it was her lotion.

On the bathroom counter were her earrings she sometimes wore and her glasses, and her makeup and face wash and hairbrush.

You liked seeing everything, and you liked being able to touch her whenever you felt, feeling your arms around her waist and being able to kiss her face and her exposed shoulders.

“Do you think… you’ll regret doing this?” Wanda asked quietly after some moments of silence while you laid together, the tone of her voice trying to communicate a space for you to be open and truthful with her. “You can be honest. It’s okay.”

You immediately looked over to her. She was on her side, her hand tucked under her pillow as she looked at you. The blankets were pulled up to her chin, making her look tiny. “No, not at all,” you told her. “I really want to spend more time with you, and I really like you. I’m interested in you.”

Then you wiggled a little closer to her so your knees bumped against hers, making her laugh at how you moved yourself into her personal space.

She wiggled close too until your noses were all but touching, and you could tell Wanda was trying not to giggle. 

“I want this,” you said. The serious tone of your voice sounded silly with how close you were to her face, and Wanda couldn’t hold herself back from laughing just a little. 

“Okay,” Wanda replied with a determined little nod once she stopped laughing. She smiled, her eyes crinkling at the sides. “Good. So do I.”

[syluses]

ataxia

sylus x fem reader

⤷ sylus wants kids, sweetie. lots of kids.

kind of a part 2 to this piece, but it can still serve as a lil standalone as well ♡ DAD SYLUS DAD SYLUS DAD SYLUS

cw ▻ nsfw, dubcon, breeding, pregnancy mentions, daddy kink, im a strong believer in sylus wanting a big family, whipped sylus, characters depicted are 18+, stockholm syndrome, yandere/obsessive tendencies, ~2.5k words

notes ▻ eeee they fr live in my head rent free </3 anyways take this crumb while i work on like other fics. daddy sylus is actually KILLING me like always on the noggin 😵‍💫

𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔, + 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 ♡

There’s a certain peace you feel, curled up on the leather couch, in watching your husband sit on his knees as the little ones crawl around the carpet, playing with them no different than a toddler would.

Not exactly a pleasant peace, by any means, but a simple, sort of resigned one. Your muscles seem to lose the tension, shoulders always piked high, ready for attack- or some other (meta)physical blow- slumping into rounded blades. You sigh.

Perhaps it’s the knowing that whatever bad thing that could’ve come- already has. Now, you’re experiencing the sloping aftereffects of it.

And this—

Sylus, with a beaming grin, letting out an almost breathless laugh as he scoops up one of the boys and twirls him overhead, the other kept by a protective hand at his side so he won’t bump on the corner of the coffee table—

Is just the fallout.

Ruby-red eyes flit over (and they always do sooner than later, like you’re a beacon in the middle of a dark sea) and crinkle at the edges. You’ve told him before that you don’t like when he throws the babies up in the sky like that, that if they were to suddenly fall, they can’t take flight like Mephisto. He must remember, because he lets out a little, woeful noise and carefully lowers him.

The smile remains, though, kilowatt and wide, a little starry-gazed like he’s inviting you to slip off the sofa and join him on the fluffy rug with your children.

The fatigue natural to post-pregnancy has already claimed you tonight, though. Truth be told, you’d have hesitated even if it didn’t. It’s fine, tending to your children on your own; his long absences leave you with massive windows of alone time with the little ones, and you actually enjoy it (save for the huge toll it takes on your energy, of course, but Luke and Kieran lend a hand where it counts- where they’re allowed).

That sentiment changes a bit, though, when your husband does get home. With his presence comes the cold reminder of how things really are, how you’re still an unwilling counterpart in all this- frilly gowns and jewels and the private chef he hires for fancy dinners (because he has the money for it) be damned.

You want to go home. That wish, hollow as it is, still stands.

…Even if it’s started staggering, in these last few months.

He’s always been more than content with just the two of you, but in the last several weeks, you compare Sylus’s emotional state to a suitcase packed too full, joy spilling out the sides. Evidently, he doesn’t try to close the zipper; he lets it happen with gladness, with his hands open and lifted, but you’re not sure he entirely knows what to do with himself. With these significant developments that are just as new to him (possibly even more, as much as that flummoxes you) as they are to you.

It’s as weird as it is endearing to see what having two children (twin boys, funnily enough) will do to your husband. But if there’s one thing you learned about Onychinus’s illustrious leader in the past couple years of your marriage—

It’s that he does not settle for less.

And when he draws closer, both little ones secured in his lap- dozing off because it’s already thirty minutes past their bedtime- and lifts your hand to place a chaste kiss there, rubbing your knuckles dotingly…

You can tell there’s something more he’s craving.

✿

“A girl,” he moans.

Sometimes- after you’ve just put down the boys for four consecutive nights in a row before collapsing in bed, your lover hardly having the opportunity to show his affections, all but guilted into letting you catch up on your sleep- it’s almost easy to forget how Sylus feels, your brain willing it away. How good he fucks you.

If you’re being more general- how good he takes care of you.

“Give me a girl this time, sweetie, just-“ a gasp, “one more.”

And vaguely, in the haze of sweat and burning hands, his thick, long cock plunging in and out of you deeply- slowly- your juices and his pre slicking between you, sticky as molasses, you wonder to yourself if he’s even convinced of that himself.

Just having one more, you mean.

The twins were unexpected: that right there is an understatement. You were hardly prepared for one rascal- all the countless evenings he spent buttering you up, so attentive, and then cumming into you with whispered vows to knock you up be damned— but when the xray revealed not one misshapen, little form in your womb, but two?

It was a bombshell.

Sylus, beside you (on the leather couch downstairs with your personal doctor he paid God knows how unreasonable a sum to show), had squeezed your hand in his and tried to mask half of his joy. The priority was in comforting you, helping you to realize that this was a good thing- a beautiful thing- that your life was not officially over and- hey, don’t worry, hasn’t he taken good care of you thus far? Surely, adding a couple little ones into the equation wouldn’t suddenly make it impossible.

You’re both very capable people, honey. Even more so together, with him. (Well, he assures you as much, anyway.)

Whether or not he could take care of you was never exactly the worry, though. The worry was that you’d be under his hand forever— and a baby? (two, you strictly correct. Two babies) You could kiss the last hope you had of ever weaseling out from his grip, or luxurious manor, goodbye.

He must know it, buried deep in the back of his head underneath the genuine layers of desire to simply start a family with you, his beloved girl, and flesh out more of a solid, burgeoning life; the silent promise underlying the pregnancy tests and inpromptu housecalls of your poor, overworked doctor.

That a family ties you to him forever.

A tether that’s damn near impossible to cut yourself loose from, even if you stood a punching chance at it to begin with. Glues you together in a way that even marriage doesn’t quite scratch the surface of. Your bond is perpetuated by blood, now. Flesh and bone. Your DNA, warped with his to create—

Monstrosities—

No, a harsh voice in the corner of your skull surprisingly snips back. They’re not monstrosities, far from it. All previous qualms nudged aside (and you had a lot, to be clear; hours spent sobbing and pushing helplessly at his chest as Sylus crooned and wrapped you in his arms proves that), doubts surrounding parenting and your own self preservation- your children are beautiful, that’s true. Healthy. Perfect.

If you’re being honest with yourself, and choose the high road here (the high road means willfully forgetting how involuntary this whole arrangement was in the first place)- they’re positively adorable. With his white hair spiking on their heads but your eyes and lips- and a shared penchant to land themselves into trouble, places they shouldn’t be before either of you stoops over to lift them out. Albeit, you’ll admit that their noses are still up for debate; it’s hard to pinpoint the resemblance when their faces are endearingly round, too chubby to really tell in this stage, but you secretly hope they’ll take after you in that regard.

You… don’t know how you’ll continue to operate if staring at your children is like staring at a mirror image of their father.

But… I mean, they’re fucking innocent in all this—

Your precious boys aren’t like their father. They… won’t be. You’ll make absolute sure of it.

“One more,” he chants, sucking in a long, thin breath through perfect teeth. And damn it all he feels good. So good. Maybe he had more than just one selfish, substratal reason for populating your otherwise fairly quiet home. Because you’re more obedient lately, wanting for it, almost… It gets him riled up in ways he could not begin to articulate. Hesitant still (sometimes he has this awful, basal fear that it’ll never go away, your trepidation towards him)- but sugar-sweet when you lie on the silken bed and present yourself with bashful cheeks that tell Sylus you hate yourself for it but have no real control in the moment.

You moan so prettily for him when he pries your thighs apart and presses them either side of your head, fashioning you like a butterfly, to slide in and out of you with ease. Melodic. Maybe he’s tone deaf to all songs save for you because he knows you, knows you like the back of his hand, pitch and lilt; he could pick out the voice of you in a crowd full of whooping people, he thinks.

Again, you blame your excitement on what he’s done to you. The twins’ pregnancy, the fluctuating hormones that have you bouncing between hysterical sobs and yanking your wide-eyed husband into impulsive, suffocating kisses before his fingers quickly settle around your middle. All the gentle erosion that he’s guided you through across the span of almost two years has left you worn and vulnerable.

But you suppose if something were to ever encourage a deeper bond- strengthen it- what else would it be than to take a man’s seed inside your womb and gift him with a bunch of unruly but cute kids? That’d gnaw away at just about anybody’s inhibitions, even if it grudges you to admit that. It lessens what remnant you held onto of this idea of ‘autonomy’, makes you fully lean onto him.

Sylus takes that news much, much better than you.

It’s… got to be more than physical between you now, you think distantly as he bullies his cockhead against your smooth walls, stroking a spongey spot in the bulwarks of you that makes your head go kaput. Like something spiritual, perhaps. He’s joined his soul with yours and that’s why you’ve been so obedient lately, so needy, clinging onto him and making his back your own personal scratching post as he plays at the idea of impregnating you again.

Oh, fuck, he’s such a bastard you hate him you hate him you—

You suppose your baby girl, inevitable to come somewhere down the line- whether that means during the next pregnancy or the third- won’t be like him, either.

She’ll be a sweetheart, and soft. Perhaps she’ll inherit her daddy’s crimson eyes or his smooth, sharp tongue, his inclination for success, but she’ll carry her mother’s heart with her. She will be kind.

Until someone like her daddy comes along. Flips her world on its head.

(And you know that having Sylus as her daddy would be the simple fact that staves off all potential men intending to prey on her, but still, the thought remains, niggling and bitter.)

“Take daddy’s cock, sweetie,” he goads, breath shot right from his lungs as he traps you beneath him- not that you’ve much the will to resist anymore- and moans over you. “You’ll take what he has to offer, won’t you? Your pretty belly will take all of it in?”

Tears prickle at your eyes when his flit down to your tummy, pupils swelling wildly as his jaw sets tight. He hisses through clenched teeth, cock giving a hot pulse accordingly.

It’s not difficult to imagine the bump there, the mound that’s not yet formed over a for now slim belly and wrinkled skin (stretch marks that you loathe but he worships on most nights, with your heels over his shoulder and his tongue lapping greedily at your pussy, palms kneading the flesh with reverence). It’s hardly been six months since you had the twins (a home birth, he’d insisted, because it was safer that way, more sterile, less stressful for you), but Sylus finds himself pining for your body to adapt to his seed again, for your breasts to plump and your stomach to round, your skin to glow.

(Your hands to reach for him because your emotions have been sat on one long rollercoaster ride and you can’t help whatever the fuck is going on inside you.)

“Sylus—“ You mewl, panting as he knocks his forehead to yours- with a whit more force than you think he’d meant, but he’s a little dazed right now, and your pussy feels so good, so don’t hold it against him, kitten- and grunts back. “Yes?” He breathes, and you liken the sound to a gust of wind, powerful and shaking.

“I- I don’t know,” you all but wail, desperately trying to tamp down your sounds of pleasure before they can escape. You’re failing.

Your reticence is for a number of reasons. First of all, your boys are just down the hall, swaddled in their respective cradles under their rotating airplane fixtures and sleeping soundly. You don’t have any intentions of changing that- especially for something as stupid and pathetic as essentially whoring yourself out to their father (and you’re not a whore, but you can’t help but feel like one when you start to bask in the attention he gives you- your hormones post-pregnancy compelling you to do all sorts of wild things).

And secondly, Luke and Kieran don’t renown you as stubborn for no reason, or your husband, lovingly, as a drama queen— and there’s a defiant part of you that does not want to see the satisfaction on his face when you start to crumble under his ministrations and open your mouth about it.

But all that, for Sylus, is a wonderful work in progress.

And if we’re to be crystal, for as much as the N109 Zone’s number one magnate prioritizes the end goal, he thoroughly enjoys the process.

“You don’t know what, Sweetie?” He whispers. It’s all he can manage right now, you’re squeezing him so tight. In that moment, the fog parts, and he knows with a hundred percent certainty that you do not want him to leave. Yes, your cunt is saying as much, and he rewards it with a carefully angled thrust right against your g-spot, but your face tells no different a story.

You’re beautiful. Perfection embodied. Makes him lose his breath a little.

“I-If I want a girl,” You heave. “If I want one at all.”

Something like dejection passes across his handsome visage then, or maybe it’s uncertainty that weakens the tight knotch in his brow as he inwardly struggles- between his approaching climax and the single mind he’s got to stuff you full of his release- for an appropriate answer. He doesn’t want to anger you. Doesn’t want to make you hate him, no, especially not when you’re finally starting to dip your toes in his waters after all his painstaking efforts to make you comfortable. Oh, God knows Sylus would kick himself for that.

…But this will be good for you. Having another, he means. It’ll be good for the both of you and if you’d just let him show you—

He’s painted the perfect demonstration of that quite well with the boys, hasn’t he? In this past handful of months, you’ve never looked happier and you’re positively glowing and all Sylus has ever wanted was to see your pretty face light with that dazzling, little smile. The twins he’s given you, unbidden as they initially were through your lens, make you so, so happy.

This will be so, so good.

Perfect.

If you’d just give in.

Oh, you’re so maddening sometimes but he adores you, every part and piece. He stoops over so his damp lips brush the lobe of your ear, the perspiration dotting his temple wetting your flushed cheeks. He croons, “You do. You do want it. I’ll show you, kitten, just how bad you need it. The twins need a sister, don’t you think? They won’t know anything other than playing rough, if not.”

Your fingertips squeeze into the lean planes of muscle of his back. He’s burning up, near feverish what with the heat sweltering between your sandwhiched bodies, but he gives a shiver in response like he’s enduring temperatures below freezing.

Panic, beneath the misty veneer of pleasure that makes your face go slack- and the subtle, inexplicable flash of something that almost convinces you Sylus is right, that you do want it- slips into the forefront of your muddled brain. Reaches a hand through the dirt and revives itself, reminding, no, no, you don’t want this, you don’t want him, you don’t want—

You let out a delicious gasp as he spears into you, the flesh of your thighs dimpling as he presses down the undersides of them. Firm, but gentle. It’s true, you’ve become considerably more flexible since meeting him- since having to accommodate him- but he’ll never give you anything more than you can take.

You’d never admit it, but there’s almost a little bit of comfort in knowing that.

“I-I’ll make sure they know how to play nice,” you force out, taking your lower lip in your mouth and suckling as the telltale rush of your climax draws nigh, hardening in your belly as it builds. “I’ll make sure they know how to be gentle, Sy!” Foreign to your own ears. Your voice is horrid as you belatedly register it, all sniveling and gasping- downright pathetic as you cling onto him for dear life and he ruts into you like a dog in heat.

You’re grasping at straws now, you know, but for as feeble as your excuses are, you hope they hit their mark. That they’ll get him to reconsider-

“But sweetie,” he breathes tenderly, “you’re already making sure I’m gentle,” he reminds in a pleasant voice, edged with the remnants of a self control that unravels at a steady pace. “How will you juggle between the three of us? Hm?”

His cockhead, fat and precise, catches on that spot in you that makes you go positively crazy and your eyes flutter back. You let out a strange, choked sound that he marvels at before he capitalizes on the reaction completely, buffetting away at the final walls you’d erected against him tonight.

All are near crumbled.

“I’ll find a way,” you nearly squeak- high-pitched and unconvincing because his mind’s already made- before he’s lolling your jaw back towards him and smashing his lips to yours in a decadent kiss, silencing your protests- for as weak as they are.

It’s close to visceral, the contact, wet lips melding hungrily with yours, trading groans and mewls as he effectively pistons his hips into you and paints colorful stars across the black span of your eyelids. In a word- invasive. Torpefying, all your limbs unfurling and slipping away from him in favor of curling into the sheets as your release approaches at whirlwind speeds, blunt fingernails clinging onto you so tight there’ll be bruises formed tomorrow- as well as an apologetic, rueful sigh on Sylus’s end, because he swears to God he’s trying to hold back—

Fucking mind-numbing.

And isn’t that just what you need? A quiet conscience? A shot of morphine fed through a needle straight into the veins, an emotional kind of tranquilizer or- or something to moderate the snarled mess your heart’s become all because of him—

It seems he’s cognizant then, pupils dilated madly as he finally blinks, of the hands that clench too tight- withdrawing them immediately from your thighs (regrettably, they remain cleaved open in a willing offer for him, shaking and red with his prints) to loop your wrists either side of your head. Holding your hands. Ever the romantic. You almost laugh, seconds off from that white-hot tidal wave of pleasure, at the irony of it all. Onychinus’s formidable, takes-no-bullshit leader, fucking you with all the grace of a big clumsy dog but all the love of one too— loyal and determined, bleeding heart on his sleeve.

He’s still kissing you, sucking on your tongue filthily, and all you can think of is waking the boys sleeping soundly next door how exquisite it feels, his thick member dragging in and out of your walls like it’s his right. Sylus certainly believes as much.

He’s ruined you too good for anyone else; you’re starting to believe it, too.

“There you go, kitten!” He gasps. “Let go. Just- fuck- let go for daddy. Such a good, good girl. Such a good mommy, you are. Our- oh, fuck, that’s it, that’s it, perfect- Our little girl will be so, so lucky to have you.”

When he comes, you do, too.

[standamianwayne]

yandere!batfam/damian’s twin!reader

cw: mentions of death + murder, implied creepy men being creepy men, damian loves his sissy idk what to tell yall

an excerpt, from a certain Damian Wayne’s journal—

“—my sister. One of us would become the heir to the League of Assassins. What would happen to the other, I cannot say as I never found out. We were both perfect. The genes of Talia al Ghul mixed with The Batman— there was no question one of us would be ruling one day. It was only a matter of who got here first.

She was born only a matter of minutes before me. If everything went to plan, she’d rule over the League and I, she had promised me when we were children, would be right beside her. Growing up, she was always trained just a little harder for a little harder. She was praised just a bit heavier, as well as disciplined harsher.

I pitied her some days, others I was much more bitter. Bitter at her, hardly. I was bitter angry with others around us. We’d be studying together, and she’d be pulled away. We’d be training together, and she’d be pulled away. Any time we were together, she was pulled away from me. I look back and wish I had attempted to keep her by my side. Alas, she was going to rule over the League, so I had no other choice than to let her go.

One day, I overheard some guards speaking about us. She’s supposed to be the heir, “but she’s too soft,” one of them said. It gave me pause. My sister was nice to me, though that definition must differ from those here in Gotham (monsters, I remember them calling us). Was she nice to everyone? Was she hesitant to kill? I had yet to see my sister in action, but I knew her. Much more than they did. She was fond of the arts and animals, but she was as assassin regardless of what those guards said. The thought lingered for a few more days, each morning I thought over it even more.

She was not ‘too soft’ I decided. My sister, my twin, the other half of my soul. No, I thought, she was not soft at all. She was sweet, she smiled at others without a hint of mockery or deception. She made sure I was alright after missions, kept up with our studies, ate sufficiently. She was not too soft— she was simply kind.

To the others in the League, that was seen as weak.

I never asked mother about these labels. Perhaps I feared what it meant for my sister. After all, if she could not take over the League due to this ‘weakness,’ what good was she? Would she be forced to harden? Would she be exiled? These scenarios haunted me for many nights. I could never see myself without her. A world without my sister by my side will never be a world I wish to live in.

In a way, I was relieved when we were sent to live with Father. A place, a haven almost, where I did not have to fear my sister leaving me. Maybe here she would be accepted as she was. I had no care for how others saw me. As long as I was not looked down upon, I was indifferent to any impressions one may have of me. With my sister, however, I simply wished she would be treated as normal. To me, she was is an angel, and I was content with being the only one to see that, so long as she was not seen negatively.

The people of Gotham judged us quickly. Father introduced us to his colleagues at some gala, and the news spread quickly. We were born out of wedlock, children of an affair, children of a prostitute, children of a stranger. We were beautiful, angry, exotic, disgusting. We were monsters, though perhaps the fault of that label falls on me (I had punished a man for speaking to her in a manner so disgusting he should be glad he is not dead).

She was weak back in the League, too soft. Here, she was scary, too mean. She was honest and blunt, yes, but she smiled at them. Did they not know what that meant? In Gotham, killing at all made you horrible. In the League, killing quickly made you kind, made her ‘weak.’

My sister and I grew up, and the rumors dwindled down. Nobody knew who our mother was outside of those Father trusted with the information (which was very few). My sister, already perfect, became even more beautiful. Sickeningly so. I hated when a male our age spoke to her, but I let him do so as I knew she wouldn’t mind. She enjoys talking to others freely, about anything other than death.

There was no feeling comparable to when I would see a man speaking with her. One much older than us, who had known her for years. I saw the leering, the flittering of eyes from her eyes to her mouth and then lower. It is comparable to lava burning hot in my veins. I wanted to snap their necks, rip their eyes out, claw at their faces until I saw bone. I wanted to kill them.

I do not doubt our other siblings felt the same. I’m sure even Father thought of it a few times. I hardly spoke to some of them, even then I knew one thing, one person, was keeping us together. I would do anything to keep her safe, happy. I would burn down the world if she asked. I know I am not the only one.”

happy new year 😛 thank you for the support, bye byeee ❤️

[nightwingsgypsyrep]

One of the things which really annoys me about Dick Grayson’s characterisation by both DC and the fandom is how they treat his being Romani (I say this as a gypsy from the circus myself) also before people cancel me for saying gypsy - I am not American and it’s not a slur where I am from. I am a gypsy myself so please don’t freak out about my using this term which feels comfortable and accurate to me

I know this is a common complaint, but being a gypsy or Romani is such a niche ethnic identity, and so often I see people treat it almost like a nationality. For example, the idea that Dick Grayson grew up not knowing English is so bizarre to me… of course he knew English, he may be Romani and speak it, but he is also American. The shopkeeper who he is buying food from doesn’t speak Romani, nor do the local authorities whose permission we need to even put on a circus/fair, so it makes sense that he’d speak English to them. He works in the circus: his family’s livelihood depended on his being able to draw a crowd - if he can’t interact with the people he’s taking the money from, how does he expect to make it in what is essentially a customer service job (I speak from experience here). Also, historically, by the late 18th century, the vast majority of Romani-speaking gypsies also spoke another language as a first language, and by the 20th century, I could argue that this is about 99.99999% of us, if not all.

The other thing I often see is how Dick Grayson is portrayed as being the Bristol-raised kid who doesn’t understand Jason’s Crime Alley upbringing. And yeah, whilst Dick lived with Bruce from a young age, and might (even based on his personality) have a better chance of mixing with the rich kids, let’s not act like Dick didn’t know struggle as a kid. Even if his parents were fairly comfortable economically, he spent at least half the year living in a trailer/vardo, which people associate with being working class. All gypsy kids are taught to fight from a very young age because whenever we pull on somewhere to open (aka put on the show), we expect a hell of a lot of racism from the locals, which often included getting jumped, often by multiple older gadja/gorja/non-gypsy children - and hell, even adults! As well as knowing how to defend ourselves, this also leads to a lot us developing a bit of a defence mechanism wherein we can talk ourselves out of a situation, or endear ourselves to people quickly in the first place so we don’t get fighting (keeping us safe, and keeping us in the good graces of the locals so we can continue earning a living there) - perhaps this could be explored as part of the reasoning behind the famous Dick Grayson charm? Anyway, all this to say, Dick would fully understand what it’s like to be the poor outsider who has to fight at every corner just to exist, and justifying his existence to others who view themselves as his ‘superiors’.

My final complaint is a small one: every single gypsy I know grows up absolutely BELTING Cher’s ‘Gypsies, Tramps, and Thieves’ and the fact that I’ve not seen Dick pouring his heart into that song, screaming the words ‘I was born in the wagon of a travelling show’ is honestly a hate crime which must be fixed immediately.

[clockwayswrites]

Bird Cuddles Part 26ish

Masterpost

This is hardly a full scene, though a stopping point. But I'm feeling positively dismal today so wanted to share something. Enjoy, hopefully!

-

Bruce sighed.

It was all that he could do when his two oldest were standing in front of him, both trying to laugh as quietly as possible. Dick’s fist was basically stuffed in his mouth to keep quiet where as Jason was using sheer force of will (and a good amount of smugness) to stay quiet.

“Be nice,” Bruce mouthed silently.

“No.” Jason mouthed back gleefully.

Bruce had the distinct urge to bury his face into the soft wings and simply ignore his sons even being in the room with him. He didn’t give into that urge because he was sure if he did, neither would ever let him live it down. Even as he was thinking that, Dick pulled out his cellphone and snapped a photo.

Bruce felt his phone vibrate a moment later.

He sighed again.

Luckily, Cass swept in a moment later (apparently it was to be a full house at dinner), kissed Bruce lightly on his temple, and went over to her brothers. She looked at Dick’s phone, nodded at the picture, and then took each of the boy’s hands and led them out of the room.

Jason left with one last smirk, but at least the door was closed behind them with a definitive latch.

Bruce still waited a long moment before he picked up his phone and unlocked it.

The picture certainly looked incriminating.

When Danny had fallen asleep, likely exhausted from soothing the boys, the panic attack, and the general drama of the day, he had nodded off sitting upright. When the boys had left, Damian had tasked Bruce with ‘seeing it that Dr. Fenton stayed well’. It was shortly after that when Danny had started shifting, as if trying to get comfortable with the wings, and ended up tilting over.

Once he had settled, Danny had ended up curled across Bruce’s lap with his knees on one side of Bruce and his head on the other. One of the wings was tucked up against Bruce’s chest while the other wing, limp with sleep, stretched out along Bruce’s leg and down to the floor.

Bruce ran his fingers lightly over the white feathers. He wasn’t sure if it was because of his horde of children, but Bruce was completely unbothered by having someone nap on him. The thing that he was bothered by, despite his best efforts to separate himself from the nightlife, is how comfortable he was about that someone being Danny.

Really, there was relatively little that they knew about Danny. The biggest point in Danny’s favor was that Lucius trusted Danny—trusted Danny enough to consider bring Danny in to work with the Bats. The biggest point against Danny were the same wings that Bruce was running his fingers over.

Not that Bruce would ever judge someone negatively for being a meta. Almost all of Bruce’s closest friends were or became metas, after all, even if some of them were now also rogues. The meta status was almost easy to handle. The concerning part were all of the little details that Danny had hinted at about how he had become a meta: neglectful parents, a lab accident at a young age, extensive scaring. Bruce touched the faint Lichtenberg scars lightly. It made Bruce worry about what had triggered the change in Danny. After all, some of Bruce’s closest friends where now also rogues.

It was unfair to compare Danny to Harvey.

It was hard not to.

The fact that it was hard not to compare Danny to Harvey was concerning in itself. Bruce’s track record in the people that he found alluring was far from ideal. It felt almost like dooming Danny simply by the fact that Bruce had taken note of him. Already Danny was getting caught up in the turmoil of their lives and suffering for it.

That was perhaps too harsh. Danny had handled himself more than admirably, wings and all. Danny’s actions made sure that the boys had time to get to the safe room, stayed safe once there, and that the assault ended with minimal bloodshed. Bruce just wished that the change it caused hadn’t left Danny in a state of panic.

Bruce sighed. Maybe he had to remember that Danny wasn’t someone that Bruce was responsible for; Danny was a competent adult who could clearly protect himself from at least lower level threats. It wasn’t fair for Bruce to try and make decisions for Danny, even in an effort to protect him from the craziness of being near the Wayne family.

[cheralith]

childhood bestfriend!kaiser who accidentally finds out who you gave your first kiss to after being under the impression you still had it.

sure, you both were reaching an age where most people had already kissed another, been bedded, under-age drank, but kaiser never took you as the type to be so… promiscuous (“your dad was okay with it?” he had asked. “why the hell would i tell my dad about that.” your eye roll had never been louder.)

it was apparently some classmate you had dated briefly back in early high school, a time where you had both were barely able to see each other since kaiser spent some time in jail after being framed and after being bailed out by his manager, spent the majority of his time in his team’s training clubhouse. it didn’t help that it was quite a few towns away from your own, so communication grew weary between you and him during that time.

so when you and him finally reconnected and began to settle down with each other once again at an older age, where you and him were blooming into college, he’s amazed to see how much you had grown during the past few years, how your featured had matured into themselves so elegantly that sometimes, when you weren’t looking, he’d examine each bit of your features to get a proper look.

it was a little difficult attempting to gain a proper stance from him, since all the training at bastard mündchen had clearly done a work on him both good and bad, but when kaiser felt himself relaxing more and more with each frequented interaction with you—he’s brought back to when you were both children and didn’t know any better of the world around you.

so imagine his shock when you accidentally let it slip out that your first kiss went rather wrong as you and him are watching some sort of foreign sports movie where the main character’s long-time love interest finally kisses him.

“god i remember my first kiss,” you say casually, making kaiser snap his neck towards you so fast.

first kiss? you had your first kiss already? before he did???

sure, kaiser had a good amount of fans that flocked to him every chance they got and perhaps he’s done a little bit of entertaining to them, but even so—he still hasn’t necessarily had such a moment shared with another. he never felt like he needed to focus on it… never felt like it was some deed worth prioritizing becoming the best striker… until now.

“huh?” kaiser shuffles in his place and furrows his brows tightly, a vein barely visible from his forehead. “whaddya mean first kiss? with who? when?”

the questions shoot out all at once, you can’t help but laugh at kaiser’s (supposed) curiosity. you suppose the suspense of knowing what happened to that runt he met at eight years old has experienced since his arrest.

“oh, it was just a classmate from one of my sophomore classes,” you wave a hand, as if it was completely nothing to hold much regard to.

kaiser twitched, his eyes flickering towards your ripened lips. “and you gave him your first kiss?”

“probably my last too,” you sigh out wearily, “haven’t really had much people interested in me since then.”

he fell silent, going to scan your face again once more as you fixated your gaze to the tv, circling in on your lips again that give a soft pout. he twitched.

“he got too excited and ended up moreso clashing his mouth on mine—we ended up clacking teeth pretty hard,” you snort out as you stare in quiet amazement at how tender and soft the tv’s couple’s kisses were. “it ended up hurting too much to try and continue.”

you bite your lip, concentrated. “i dunno, i just wish it was more slowly, more… in-the-moment.”

kaiser twitched once more. noticing your wistful gaze at the movie playing in front of you and him. he flickers his eyes toward the intimate scene that you seem so focused on. he pays attention to how the lips of the two characters flow in a certain rhythm and how they meld into each other. they seem loose, relaxed, and that lack of tension made the kiss seem much more romantic.

he thinks back to some of how his teammates greet their girlfriends with kisses, or how he’ll just see a random couple locking lips with each other in the bars his team and him tended to as a celebration of a victorious game. kaiser had never felt a compulsion to experience such a thing, but there’s a strange magnetic feeling he’s getting that tugs him closer to you that is very much not his own rationale’s doing.

he says it with too much confidence. he says it like he’s done it numerous times before, like he’s a master at it, despite never even paying such avid attention to another’s lips until now. so kaiser doesn’t know why, but he suddenly blurts out,

“then let me show you a proper kiss.”

[lylian333]

~YANDERE LUKA X READER~

(this story may have changes soooo yeah but in the future I'll edit it to make it as perfect if I can )This is also before wiege

WARNING: yandere, toxic relationship, read at your own risk, sexual assault,I need to touch grass and prey to god after this, noncon, weird siblings love(Luka isn't obsessed with hyuna in this story), if there other that I didn't contain please let me know

The first thing you ever see and remember is luka , he's always been there whenever you sad or happy he's always been there. Thankfully you both are taken in by an alien that wants you both to start calling him father , but to you as long as luka is there you'll feel safe.

Since the start you have always seen him as your brother he even knows about that, but perhaps he saw in a different way . you can even say he took advantage of you for being dumb and naive

Both of you are artificially bred but the end result came out quite differently especially health problems are the complete you are considered healthy perhaps even have a stronger immune system than others, while your brother is the opposite since he has asthma, and chronic migraines already.

before you both were send to Anakt Garden you both gown up with robots trying to teach and take care of both of you but the ways of it are scary and it is too much of a business that they would even care on how you smile and how you laugh .

But there are quite a few similarities between you both hate paparazzi like you guys like eating, sucking, and biting on things to satisfy you both hunger you both gown up with huge appetites as well and cause your father to worry about it and he starts giving us less food which to this day you curious that how you habits have begun.

Sometimes you both wanted to pass the time faster you both would cuddle but just cuddling tho there would be biting and touching at least your body wasn't comfortable with it but luka told you to just brush it off and you'll get used to it. this would only happened in private not waiting father or even anybody to find out about this just between you too. slowly the cuddle went from biting to kissing to even touching at weird spots but like luka said" just blush it off you'll get used to it after all you don't to make me upset do you ,dear ?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After that, you both were then sent to Anakt Garden father said it's the first step of your career you both are scared at first but at least you both got each other right? well luka health is kinda slowly getting worse there , and the other children's there kinda treat luka poorly because of his health but you always protect him by chasing the others away.

Not only that father give both of you guys top professionals to keep us well educated and healthy.

Time goes by in a blur, and with every passing day, you can feel the pressure of the competition looming over you both.The training is intensive and harsh, involving physical and mental conditioning to create the perfect idols. But they did have a playtime even so the daily routine consists of rigorous practice and training .

one day,while watching the other kids playing on the other side you and luka were playing with cube and seeing who can do it faster.two person came up to you both when you both look up they smile back and introduced themself" hello my name is hyuna and my younger brother is hyun woo do you guys want to be our friends and play?"

you look at luka waiting for him to make a decision he nod and your really happy about it cause you rarely see siblings and plus their very friendly not only that turns out that hyun woo is the same age as you while hyuna is the second oldest and luka the oldest.

After that day you guys would often hang out together you even started quit seeing them as part as your siblings because of how caring, kindful, and protective they are.

And slowly you start gaining feelings for hyun woo not just any feelings but a really special one even more special than luka and you.Hyun woo would often make a bouquet of flowers or flower head crowns just for you , he would also care for you talk to you a lot, and entertain you which you really enjoy. he would even help you to practice your vocals so that you wouldn't mess up in case and just overall a happy ball full of fun. and perhaps you can even say that you enjoy hyun woo accompany more then luka ones but maybe luka have caught on to you and hyun woo relationships.

About a year later of this at one day, after playing around you guys have gotten tried and decide to rest well hyuna go get some water you and hyun woo decide to lay down together perhaps even call it as a cuddle? Slowly you dive into sleep.

The next thing you knew when you woke up was you hear fighting??? you git confuse and rub your eyes and got up seeing what's going on.turn out it was luka and hyun fighting they rarelt fight even if they did it's usually luka who wanted to find trouble or he just didn't know about it but this fight is not like others it not playful it's like luka actually trying to hit hyun woo before you can fully process what to do luka use all his might and push hyun woo on the group causing him to accidently hit a rock.

Seeing that you instantly push luka causing him to fall on the ground when you turn around to check if hyun woo is okay but you notice his head is b-bleeee-bleeding , him not moving at all not even an inch

Hyuna came into the scene as well screaming" What's going on here and-...Hyun woo-"she stood there speed looking dumbfounded then robots and alien staff came in while hyuna was trying to leave his brother alone you turned around to your brother about to scream at him for what he did but you notice that he's hand is c-changing color-? it's was supposed to be- no not never purple you kneel against him confused picking up his finger and touching it not understanding what's going on why is so many things happening at once

You finally spoken out "luka why...?"

Hyuna kicked and screamed at all her might to put down her brother but the robots just pushed her away and the alien staff held her back she was madly crying. you wanted to go comfort her but when you were about to move luka held you tight "Don't leave me yet I'm not feeling well, sister" he said as he hold you tightly.

Ever since that day, hyuna has grown to have a negative sentiment to luka but even you can't blame her for what she has to be.

One peaceful night well sleeping, you got woken up by hyuna shacking your body trying to silently wake you up"(y/n) Follow me now" she whispered into your ear

'"Where are we going?"

"We're going to escape from this place from our owners and from this living hell, now come on we don't have much time left"

She then pulls your hand out of bed and starts running. You have so many questions in your head but before you can ask any question hyuna pulls you down onto the ground hiding from cameras and security "(y/n) , you may be confused right now but I'll explain to you when we both get out of here please escape with me you're the only person I trusted even after the incident. But please wake up there are many dark secret about this place and the future career all you have to do is just follow me and run across the field climb up a gate and get out"

Part of you wanted to listen to hyuna and escape this living hell and owners of a place but half of you wanted to stay with your older brother and is afraid that luka would be weak and may be left out .....

In the end you choose to escape for your own good for your own freedom and rights. You nod to hyuna who's smile at you and nod back understanding

You both slowly craw out of your hiding spot till one of you got caught by the camera and robots . you both run you tried keeping up to her speed . the alarms were to on alarming the others that the children's are escaping .

Some robots even try shooting you guys down but it can't . Hyuna begin to climb the gate to escape while screaming"(y/n) you can do this just trust me!"

Half way there you feel a strong pull at your leg and caused you to slip down and hit your head on the gate and the ground before you pass out from the pain you ever last encountered with her just looking down at you from the top with her sad and hopeless expression before she keeps going

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When you woke up you woke up your realized that you were not in the Anakt Garden bed you were in your home bed with luka on the side hugging you. You were curious and confused and eve scared that father would punish you. When trying to move you feel a sharp pain causing you to moan uncomfortable causing luka to wake up"Finally you woke up dear after a few days without you feel horrible but it's fine our owner has taken us back to home"

Hearing that makes you remember what happened you feel like you are disappointed in yourself you feel horrible for letting yourself down why are you so stupid there is nothing you can do but shed tears hugging your brother.

~Timeskip many years later~

You were sitting on the bed waiting for Luka to return from round 5 you both may be singers but never in the same stage or competition for both of your sake. Your competition was over with you winning and nothing surprising from what has happened multiple times in the past. But how do they manage to hold different competitions and different members at once.

Then you hear the door open, luka enters with his face injury and black eyes it's not your first time seeing this but every time you do it reminds you of the past...

Luka sat on the couch waiting for you to grab equipment to help with his injury. when you did he pulled you to sit on his lap "You're the only thing I want your life is mine and need I miss spending time with you like in the old days....why don't we cuddle again like how we used to maybe more intense now since you gown up right now a baby anymore..." he chuckles cupping your cheek

there hasn't been an ending yet sooon I came up with my own for now and maybe in the future I'll edit it better bc I only have one week left before my fucking important ass exam(please pray for me) .But I just fell into the fandom bc of the edit it's so good man and I'll also try understanding the concept alright I know this is really mess up but still...anyways thanks for reading

[vampzwon]

양정원✸ — much ado about nothing !

ⓘ; lord yang jungwon is the most bothersome lord you’d yet to encounter. he is equal parts charm and arrogance, wit and infuriation—wrapped in finely tailored coats and a mouth far too quick with replies. and worst of all, he knows exactly how much he gets under your skin. so when rumours of impossible love spark between you both, it is with great annoyance—and even greater denial—that you attempt to extinguish them. but as pride begins to diminish under the weight of something foreign and tender, the truth becomes much harder to ignore: perhaps the rumours weren’t so impossible after all.

ii. ⊹”mlist.

﹏ ⌗ 𝓹airing: 𝓎!jungwon x 𝒻!reader ❨12820❩

⏖’ 𝑔enres, e2l. historical. romance. slow burn. fluff. angst !

𝓦arnings: formal english, mentions of infidelity and parent death, smut 18+ MDNI, consent, slight body worship (?) jungwon boobie enjoyer, unprotected sex (don’t do it), creampie (?) conversations of marriage and children.

𓏵-, 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒. omg my first fic and smut here!! be kind. keep in mind this isn’t proofread!! man i love shakespeare.. happy reading! feedback, likes n reblogs much appreciated! ^^

⌗𖹭.ᐟ “i will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes” — much ado about nothing, william shakespeare.

"𝓦e are expecting guests, my dearest." When you hear your uncle's soft, smooth voice ring out from the garden below, you sigh to yourself. Of course.

You were quite content as you were. Sat in a creaking wicker chair (though, built more like a swing) you sipped lightly on some fresh wine, basking in the beauty of the sunlight. It was quite the day already. What need it more?

Earlier that morning, your cousin- though, you called her sister- Jiyoung had all but begged to braid your hair. She’d claimed it was a crime to let it go wild on such a lovely day. You’d resisted, of course. Insisted that no one was coming, that there was no one to impress, that you liked it better unruly. But Jiyoung, with her puppy eyes and relentless fingers, had already begun weaving before you finished your protest.

Afterwards, she roped you into wearing one of her sun dresses—the pale ivory one with the low back and embroidered yellow flowers along the hem. The one she always claimed made you look “like you stepped out of a poem.” You scoffed at the time, but secretly, you didn’t mind it.

Then, you'd danced around in the kitchens with her—Jiyoung, with her hair tied back in ribbons, her laughter bright and sticky like honey, and you pretending not to enjoy yourself as much as you did. The two of you spun and stirred and reached past one another in a flurry of hands dusted with flour and sugar, a pie crust half-formed on the counter, spices scattered like confetti.

You should’ve anticipated it then.

You were cooking quite a lot for someone who only helps out “when needs be.” And when did you ever volunteer yourself to whisk cream or knead dough unless there was an ulterior motive—or, more dangerously, an atmosphere that required distraction?

With him being such a prominent, well-known, and relentlessly charming figure, it really wasn’t much of a surprise. People liked Jungwon. The uncles thought him respectable. The aunts adored his manners. The younger cousins followed him like ducklings. He was good with names, always knew who liked lemon in their tea, who preferred cream in their soup, who secretly couldn’t stand parsnips.

He was beloved. And there lay the most unfortunate truth of all.

Because no matter how many times you rolled your eyes at his words, or outwitted his smug little remarks in front of the family, or claimed he was no more interesting than wet parchment—Yang Jungwon remained a constant guest.

Always invited. Always welcome. And somehow, always arriving just when you thought you could breathe. Brushing your flour-dusted hands over your apron, you froze at the familiar sound. Low, rumbling. Arrogant, careless and all the more carefree. A laugh.

Yang Jungwon.

Your mood instantaneously had soured. With a huff, you brushed your hands against your apron with such fevour it made Jiyoung blink in pure confusion, before you leaned over the wide windows of the kitchen. And there he stood.

Jungwon, with that familiar lazy posture, hands tucked into his pockets like he owned the very concept of leisure. His shirt was too crisp. His smile too rehearsed. And yet, laughter bubbled out of him, smooth and effortless, as he chatted with Sunghoon and the others.

You scowled.

The last time you spoke, he said your debating skills could be bested by a fruit fly with a head cold.

The time before that, you may or may not have implied that he’d never pleased a woman in his life.

And yet somehow, despite all odds, your uncle still insisted on inviting him to everything.

You'd hoped—perhaps foolishly, perhaps vainly—that war would have changed him. That the months away would have dulled that smug glint in his eye, grounded his floating confidence, taught him some humility.

But there he was. Untouched. Unbothered. Still too clean. Still too Jungwon.

You winced as your uncle clapped Heeseung on the back and pulled Jaeyun into a firm, fatherly hug. But when he moved to Jungwon, you had to glance away entirely.

You didn’t want to see it.

Didn’t want to see your uncle’s face soften with affection, didn’t want to see Jungwon’s return of it—warm, even sincere. That part always confused you. Because for all the wit and biting remarks, Jungwon was... well, good. At least where it counted. He remembered names. He held the door for elders. He kissed your aunt’s hand and helped the kitchen boy carry crates in the rain.

And that was what made it so unbearable.

Because it would’ve been easier to hate him if he were only arrogant.

An old habit by now, hands furiously roped through the unbraided ends of your hair, a silly effort to ground yourself. It was impossible grounding yourself around him. He was infuriating beyond measure. You had to remember that.

"You seem... perturbed." Jiyoung managed as her eyes peered over at Jaeyun with all the interest in the world.

"Even melign isn't too crude a word enough to detail him." You huffed, tone borderline petulant as you crossed your arms. Jiyoung, more then used to your antics by now merely laughed, her warm hand grabbing yours. "Come, come. We have guests to greet."

You didn’t bother hurrying.

Jiyoung, as always, moved like joy incarnate—bounding down the stairs with the kind of energy that made even sunlight seem slow. The white of her dress flared behind her like a wave caught mid-crash, her laughter trailing behind her like perfume.

You followed sulkingly, each step deliberate, measured, weighed down by the knowledge of who was waiting below.

She smiled—radiated, really—as your aunt pressed a kiss to her forehead, murmuring some soft motherly praise only daughters ever heard. You watched from the landing as Jiyoung slipped behind her father with all the grace of someone who’d never once known doubt.

Then your aunt turned to you.

She laughed the second she saw your face.

“Gracious,” she tutted, brushing her hand against your cheek with practiced affection. “That’s what happens when you spend too much time with the gardeners.”

You grunted. “And yet, the plants don’t talk back.”

Jungwon groaned when Heeseung told him where they were going.

“The L/N residence?” he muttered, voice thick with reluctance. “What sin did I commit to deserve this?”

Jaeyun raised an eyebrow and grinned. “You’re acting as if the place is some sort of dungeon. It’s a grand estate. With food, music, and a beautiful garden.”

Jungwon shot him a dry look. “And a niece who is as cruel with her words as the sharpest dagger. What joy.”

Heeseung snorted, adjusting his coat with a proud smirk. “You’ve not met many women, have you? That sharp tongue is why they all adore her. The L/Ns have a way with conversation. A little bite, a little wit.”

Jungwon groaned again, rubbing his temples. “More like a venomous bite. The last time I spoke with her, she had me rethinking every syllable I uttered as if I were a fool.”

“Of a lady!?” Heeseung exclaimed, his voice a mix of mock horror and genuine amusement. But he couldn’t quite hide the smile tugging at his lips. “Jungwon, scared? My, that’s a new one.”

Jaeyun burst into laughter, shaking his head in that playful way that made Jungwon almost want to shove him into the nearest bush. “Oh, I wouldn’t say scared. But, tell me, Jungwon, can you imagine someone who talks more than you?”

Jungwon’s eyes narrowed, a wry smile curving his lips. “You’re right. I do think it would be a challenge. But you, Jaeyun, only speak when you’re certain there’s something ridiculous to say.”

Jaeyun pouted at the effortless insult, as Heeseung laughed, patting the two on the back. "Come on, you two. Behave yourself."

"I wonder that you will still be talking, Lord Yang. You see, no one marks you." You almost yawn, passing the comment as if it were general knowledge. He scoffs at the audacity.

He reels back slightly, mouth parted in disbelief. “No one—marks me?”

You don’t even turn your head, eyes set ahead as you reach for a plum from the polished wooden bowl on the veranda table. You cradle it in your palm like a precious jewel, admiring its skin before taking the smallest bite. You speak with your mouth full, deliberately uncaring.

“Not unless you’re trying to be tiresome,” you hum. “In which case, then yes—your talent is quite unmatched.”

“Ah,” he says, voice light, “but perhaps I speak only in the hopes that you’ll have, by some miracle, learned the art of silence.”

You blink. Then you laugh—short, sharp, delighted.

“Silence? From me? And here I was thinking you enjoyed the sound of my voice.”

He smirks, taking a step closer until you can smell the faint trace of lavender on his collar, no doubt from some overzealous maid. “Enjoy is a strong word. I’d say I endure it—like one endures a summer storm. Loud, inconvenient, and impossible to ignore.”

You raise an eyebrow, leaning ever so slightly forward, the plum still cradled in your hand like a weapon. “And yet,” you murmur, “you always stand in the rain.”

That draws a pause. The smirk falters—just barely. His mouth opens, but he shuts it again with a faint click of his teeth, as if weighing his next move with care.

Then— “And you always think yourself clever when really, you’re just loud.”

You gasp in mock offense. “You wound me!”

“No,” he says smoothly, eyes glinting. “You wound yourself with all that talking.”

An enraged flicker of fire sparks in your eyes—hot, brief, and unmistakably real. The kind of flare that would’ve scorched him, had it not been so quickly extinguished by the sound of your name being called.

"Y/N!"

Jungwon’s gaze flicks over your shoulder, instinctively alert. There, at the edge of the garden path, stands a young man—tall, sun-kissed, with a jaw sculpted like he’d been carved straight from the marble steps of your family estate. The gardener. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, forearms dusted with dirt and sweat, and he waves at you with all the casual confidence of someone who knows he's admired.

Jungwon watches—expression unreadable—as your entire posture softens. Your lips curl into something gentle, radiant even. You wave back, that same warmth lighting your features.

And then—just as quickly—it fades. You turn back to him, the moment gone, but not forgotten.

“Well,” you sigh, feigning boredom as you tilt your chin upward, “I’m off.”

Jungwon’s jaw tenses ever so slightly, eyes narrowing as you step away.

You pause, turning just enough to throw over your shoulder with a syrup-sweet smile, “Try not to finish off my family’s harvest with that stomach of yours.”

He scoffs, lifting his chin with the smallest hint of a grin. “Worried I’ll eat you out of house and home?”

You flash him a wicked smile. “Only that you’ll forget what manners are, again, and start grazing straight from the vine. Akin to a pig.”

He laughs—sharp, short, but it’s real. “You think yourself clever,” he calls out as you walk away.

“I know I am!” you call back, not even bothering with a glance over your shoulder.

Men are boring.

You've been saying that your whole life. No one ever believed you.

Jiyoung, for starters, was an example. She danced with Jaeyun with such a bright smile it could've been blinding. Whatever it was that seemed to blossom between them within a couple of days, it was real. She was glowing, flushed from dancing and happiness alike, as Jaeyun stood close beside her, fingers brushing hers whenever they thought no one was looking.

You sighed—loud enough that your current partner took mild offense.

“My lady?” he asked, clearly hoping you’d flatter him into thinking he was fascinating.

“Oh, forgive me,” you said, smiling sweetly. “For a moment, I thought I was asleep.”

You left him mid-turn. Let him spin alone. He’d recover.

You were halfway to the terrace for a breath of fresh, unperfumed air when a figure in deep navy stepped into your path. A black mask covered half his face, but it did nothing to hide the sharpness of his jaw or the faint curve of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You didn’t need to see more to know it was him.

That perfect, infuriating hair, those eyes too clever for their own good, that smug set of his shoulders like he already knew you were going to say something insufferable.

Jungwon.

You took one long, slow look at him—and then blinked with all the innocence you could muster.

“Oh,” you breathed. “A stranger. How thrilling.”

You had to try your very best to bite back a laugh at the stupidity of the man before you. But then again, you'd known him long enough to expect it.

He tilted his head, lips twitching beneath the mask. “A stranger indeed,” he said, his voice barely disguised, rich with restrained laughter. “Might I ask for this dance?”

You pressed a hand to your chest, mock-gasping. “You sound familiar. But I suppose it’s only that I’ve recently suffered a headache.”

He offered his hand wordlessly.

You took it.

The music rose again. You joined the flow of dancers, letting him lead as your gown swept across the floor like water, effortless, elegant. And then you struck. Ruthlessly, a small grin dancing on your moonlit face. “I must say,” you began airily, “you remind me terribly of someone.”

“Oh?” He tilted his head to the side as he spun you by the waist.

You nodded. “Yes. A Lord Yang. Dreadful sort. Always under the illusion that people enjoy his company.”

Jungwon’s lips parted slightly beneath the mask—you couldn't see it, but you surely heard the pause of this heavy breath. You pressed on.

“He has this habit of always saying the last word,” you sighed. “Very irritating. Talks like he’s composing a letter to... well, himself.”

“I’ve heard,” he said dryly, “that some find his conversation rather… engaging.”

You scoffed. “Then ‘some’ clearly have more tolerance than I. Or less sense.”

His hand tightened at your waist, just briefly. “Strange. I’ve heard you mentioned in equal measure. Something about a woman who treats a man’s opinion as if it were a crumb to be swept underfoot.”

You beamed. “That’s generous. I usually just ignore it.”

You spun, your fingers brushing his shoulder as you came close—close enough to see his eyes flash with something that looked dangerously like fondness. But you weren’t done yet.

“I can’t imagine anyone loving such a man,” you murmured, mock-conspiratorial. “Too self-important. Likely never pleased a woman in his life.”

Jungwon let out a quiet, incredulous laugh—half scandalized, half impressed.

“And you?” he asked, voice low, teasing. “What would it take to please you, my lady?”

You looked up at him slowly, lips parted just enough for him to wonder whether you’d speak at all.

Then you smiled.

"None that a man can."

Jungwon was fuming.

He stormed through the corridors just beyond the ballroom, one hand tugging at the knot of his cravat like it had personally offended him. His mask dangled from two fingers, forgotten.

“She thinks herself so clever,” he muttered to the air, pacing the stone floor. “Mocking me in front of half the nobility—again. And for what? Because I had the misfortune of asking her to dance?”

He scoffed. Loudly. Bitterly. “Her words are knives with ribbons on them. Decorative, but still meant to wound.”

He turned back again, boots echoing against the stone.

“She treats my name like a stain she can’t scrub off her glove. And yet—yet!—she always has something to say to me, doesn’t she? Never a moment of peace when she’s near.”

His voice rose with each pass, frustration spilling out of him like wine from an overfull goblet. “She could just walk away, but no. No, she lingers. She provokes. She—”

"Loves him." He stills as he hears a voice in the distance.

And there they were: your uncle, Jaeyun, and Heeseung, gathered on the garden terrace as if they just so happened to be talking at full volume right where anyone might eavesdrop.

“Oh, it’s tragic, really,” your uncle said dramatically, clasping his hands behind his back like a man retelling an ancient war story. “She’s completely besotted with the boy.”

Jungwon’s brows furrowed. His lips parted ever so slightly.

Heeseung gave a very poorly concealed snort. “Y/N? In love with Jungwon? I thought she’d rather choke on a grape.”

Jaeyun gasped with theatrical flair. “Ah, but it’s always the ones who fight the most. Her wit is just her armor! Why, I heard she keeps a lock of his hair tucked into her prayer book!”

Jungwon’s mouth opened fully now. What?!

Your uncle didn’t even flinch. “She mocks him because it is all she knows. Her feelings run deeper than the Danube.”

“Isn’t that a river? Isn't the metaphor supposed to be linked with the ocean?” Jaeyun asked, clearly going off-script.

Heeseung elbowed him. “Shut up, she’s in love.”

“Oh, right, right. She'd said,” Jaeyun added with the tone of someone barely holding in laughter, though his voice also seemed to waver with extraordinary emotion “that she dreams of him. That she wakes with her pillow damp with tears because she cannot say what’s in her heart.”

“Because if she does,” Heeseung said solemnly, “she fears he’ll laugh.”

“She’s so vulnerable, poor thing,” your uncle sighed.

Jungwon, now blinking like a stunned animal, slowly sank down into a crouch.

His thoughts were spiraling.

She loved him? All this time? She—she thought of him? Dreamed of him?

A hand to his chest.

Had she really once written “Lady Yang” in the corners of her notebooks?

His heart was thudding.

“She’s proud,” Jaeyun added, tone syrupy. “But if he were to say even one kind word, I think she’d melt like snow.”

Your uncle nodded. “A single look from him would shatter her composure.”

Heeseung sighed wistfully. “I do hope he sees this. Poor lad has no idea.”

Oh, not only did he see it. He heard it. All of it.

The words echoed in his head like a drumbeat, but when they finally settled into his chest—when he truly heard them—Jungwon collapsed. His knees buckled, and he sank down into a crouch, hands gripping his hair like a man trying to keep himself from shattering entirely.

She loves me?

It felt too impossible to comprehend, like a riddle with no answer. The world spun around him, the heat of the ballroom, the low hum of laughter and chatter, all of it faded into a dull, ringing buzz as the revelation hit him harder than anything he had ever experienced before.

His breath came shallow, ragged.

“She… LOVES me?” he whispered aloud, staring blankly ahead, as though hoping some divine force might correct this absurdity.

His fingers tangled in his hair, pulling at the strands like he could pull the confusion straight from his skull. His chest felt tight, the weight of it all almost unbearable. There was no denying it now. They—they—had all heard her words, seen the signs he had so badly missed.

And now he was left reeling, struck by the idea that every word she had ever hurled at him—every barbed quip, every sharp retort—hadn't been out of spite. She hadn’t hated him. She had been dancing around it, pretending she didn’t care, fighting the feelings that had been bubbling beneath her teasing surface. For a moment, he just sat there, lost. Then, in a small, quiet voice that held the weight of a thousand unspoken things, he muttered:

“Why didn’t she just say it?”

A beat of silence passed.

“Wait—does she think I’m a fool?” he muttered again, raking his fingers through his hair, pacing in tight circles. “Why didn't she just—damn it!” He kicked at a stone, though foolishly tripped over it instead. He hissed in pain, before he swore at the stones and lords above.

Whatever could he do now?

You huffed as you bounded down the halls. Your ears ringed with the faint click-clack of your heeled sandals, arms holding onto your much-too flowy dress in efforts to ensure nothing would get in the way.

You had a mission. One you most certainly would have to partake, against your very will.

You’re not sure why your aunt told you and only you to fetch Jungwon for dinner. Perhaps she just likes to see you in your element. Hating.

Your steps heaved with exasperation, your pace sharp—until you caught sight of him.

Jungwon stood leisurely in the sun-dappled corridor, back resting against a stone pillar, arms folded, one ankle crossed over the other. And, curiously, for a man who used to bristle at the mere sight of you, he was smiling.

Worse—he was smiling at you.

Your steps slowed. “What,” you asked flatly, “is wrong with your face?”

His grin widened.

You narrowed your eyes. “You look like someone who’s just been gifted a country estate.”

He pushed off the pillar and stepped forward, all slow confidence and unbearable amusement. “My lady,” he said softly, with the kind of faux reverence that made your skin crawl. “You’ve come to fetch me?”

You raised your chin. “I’ve come under duress.”

“Oh, I’m certain,” he said, bowing just slightly, the gesture playful. “And yet, here you are. Glistening like a summers’ sunset.”

You blinked. Once. Twice.

“…Are you well?”

“Perfectly,” he said with a shrug, walking beside you now, far too casually. “It’s just… there’s a certain glow about you this evening.”

You stopped in your tracks and turned to him, deadpan. “Have you been drinking?”

He only smiled, eyes glinting with something far too pleased. “Not yet.”

You gave him a once-over, suspicious. His shirt was just slightly unbuttoned, the locks of his hair soft and perfectly unruly, his whole demeanor far too warm. Soft. Like he’d woken up in love with the world.

It was absolutely disgusting.

You stared at him, suspicious. “You’re smiling like someone who knows something I don’t.”

He tilted his head, feigning thought. “Perhaps I do.”

“Then it mustn’t be very important,” you said coolly, brushing past him.

But he followed, steps leisurely, shoulders rolled back as if he had all the time in the world. As if he belonged here, hands behind his back. “You wound me. Is it such a crime to be in good spirits?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. The silence between you was thick, brittle, and full of suspicion—on your part, at least. After a few more paces, you glanced sideways at him. “I’m only here because your presence has been requested at the table.”

“Ah,” he said with faux solemnity. “Then I suppose I must oblige.”

You stopped at the stairway. “Then why aren’t you moving?”

He looked at you, then at the staircase. And with all the grace of a man enjoying a daydream, he said: “…No.”

You blinked. “No?”

He smiled again—that smile, insufferably charming and entirely unwarranted. “I don’t believe I will.”

You stared at him, mouth parted in disbelief. “You’ve gone quite mad.”

“Perhaps,” he agreed, tilting his head, curls falling over his brow. “But I find I rather enjoy your company more when it’s just the two of us.”

Your eyes narrowed. “There won’t be two of us, because I’m leaving. And I will tell them you refused.”

“Tell them anything,” he said, now leaning against the banister with criminal ease. “Tell them I’ve taken ill. Tell them I’ve been struck by lightning. Tell them I was too enchanted by a certain sunset-lit lady to join the meal.”

You stared at him. Then made a noise halfway between a laugh and a growl. “You’re sure you were born without difficulty?.”

He winked. Winked. “And yet, you came looking for me.”

You spun on your heel before you could strangle him with your own shawl.

Down the stairs, you went, muttering furiously.

When your aunt asked where he was, you didn’t even pause.

“Dead in a ditch, hopefully.”

Love.

A conundrum in itself.

You didn’t think you knew what it felt to love. Perhaps as a baby you loved your late mother and father. Perhaps you didn’t. You didn’t have any memories of the two. You’d been an orphan your entire life.

And still, you were told, “You are loved.”

You were loved by your uncle. By your aunt.

But it wasn’t the same. Not that kind of love.

The kind that made people foolish. Made them write poetry and lose sleep and act like they’d misplaced their own hearts.

The kind that Jiyoung had found.

You smiled despite yourself, plucking a stray leaf from a bloom.

Jiyoung had practically floated through breakfast that morning. Ever since Jaeyun returned from the war and thus proposed for marriage, it was as though her life had been cast in gold. The way he looked at her—like she was a secret he was trying not to blurt out too soon—and the way she blushed around him, her usual grace replaced with nervous smiles and hopeful glances… it was all nauseating. And oddly moving.

You didn’t think you’d ever have that.

Or want it, if you were being honest.

Love, to you, felt like an overgrown grape vine—sweet, yes, but far too soft. It bruised too easily. It turned sour the moment you looked away. And so, you gardened.

Your hands, gloved and soil-streaked, moved carefully through the rose bed. You liked gardening. It was predictable. Gentle. The roses, at least, had the decency to bleed when they hurt you.

You pressed your fingers into the soil, easing a stubborn root free. The morning sun painted the garden in a soft warmth, the breeze tugged at the hem of your sleeves, and for a moment—just a moment—you had peace. You felt—

“Heartbroken.” Jiyoung’s soft voice rang out before you, slow and syrupy, just stood adjacent to the grape vine. “Poor Lord Yang. He must simply be heartbroken that my dear cousin does not love him back.”

You heard a muffled tut of agreement. That one was surely your aunt.

“I don’t understand, mother,” Jiyoung sighed, the sound largely heavy and contemplative. “Jaeyun and I have but found ourselves together. Why must Lord Yang and Y/n dance around their feelings rather then be wed?”

You choke on nothing. It is growing quite hot. Perhaps the weather is playing mind tricks with you.

“He is obsessed, Mother!” Jiyoung continues, and you just barely see the flourish she walks with. “He follows her with his eyes like a deer to light! Yesterday he walked into a door—a door!—just trying to watch her argue with the stable boy.”

You slowly, silently sat back on your heels, covered in dirt, utterly still. Your hat slipped sideways. You did argue with the stable boy yesterday. He was treating the horses with such brute force you felt it unethical not too. Whatever could be so attractive about that?

“Y/n has no idea,” your aunt replied mournfully. “Too clever and proud for her own good. But he’s mad for her.”

“Do you think she suspects?” Jiyoung asked with a mock gasp.

“Oh, heavens no,” your aunt declared. “She’s far too busy pretending not to notice the way he stares at her like she’s some goddess carved from starlight.”

You were going to throw a rose bush. Your hand gripped your trowel with white-knuckled fury. Perhaps it wasn’t just the sun messing with you. Maybe it was the whole universe, above and beyond.

“Did you hear about the poem?” Jiyoung whispered—loudly. “He tried to write her one! Burned it the moment he finished. Said it was unworthy of her.”

“Oh, how romantic,” your aunt sighed. “Our poor Jungwon, pining for a girl who’d sooner bury him under a tree than kiss him.”

That must’ve been the only thing they’d let slip from their mouths that was remotely true. You would sooner bury him under a tree. Happily. With flourish.

And yet, your heart still swirled. Uncomfortable. Foreign.

You thought about it. You thought about it a lot.

You stood slowly, the ache in your knees forgotten as you stared blankly into the thick, reaching thorns of the rosebush before you. The petals curled gently in the sunlight, soft against the brutal barbs. Much like him, in some twisted, infuriating way.

Because deep down—beneath the smug grins and verbal duels, beneath the way he looked at you like a challenge, like a chess match he was winning—Yang Jungwon was attractive.

He was infuriatingly attractive.

He was sharp. Witty. A strong man, yes, but never cruel. Even when he teased you past the point of reason, even when he said things that made your blood boil, he never once looked down on you for it. He matched you. Word for word. Flame for flame.

And worse still—when you caught glimpses of him alone, unguarded, smiling at someone with real warmth, or speaking softly to the servants, or offering his arm to your aunt without a second thought— He looked like someone who could be good. Not just to others. To you. And you hated the thought.

You hated it so much that your hands clenched again, fingernails biting through your gloves.

“Stupid,” you whispered, though you weren’t sure if it was meant for him, or for yourself.

Probably both.

You needed a walk.

Or a cold bath.

Or perhaps a lobotomy.

“There is something quite odd about her,” Jungwon thought aloud, staring at your distant figure.

You stood tall, tray in hand, lips pursed as you arranged fruit and bread on the table, utterly unaware—or pretending not to be—that you were being observed. Your hair was down, long and wild, bellowing softly in the spring wind, catching the sun like threads of true gold.

It was unwise, truly. To look for too long. But Jungwon found himself unable to do anything else.

“Good God,” Heeseung laughed softly under his breath.

“What is so funny to you, brother?” Jungwon scowled, straightening his back whilst pulling at his suit buttons.

“Perhaps your ability to profess your unweilding love for Y/n only when she cannot hear.” Heeseung chimed with a soft, knowing grin on his wise features.

Jungwon scoffed. “I do not—”

“You do,” Jaeyun piped up from behind a bowl of grapes, far too delighted, lighting up with puppy like excitement. “Every time she’s in earshot, you become a walking storm cloud. But the moment she leaves—suddenly you’re quoting poetry with merely your eyeballs.”

“I am not—”

“You are,” Heeseung said simply, pointing with the pear. “Just now. I watched it happen. If your eyes had hands, I figure they’d have written her a ballad and braided her hair.”

Jungwon’s face darkened. Embarrassment or bewilderment, he did not know. “You two are insufferable.”

“Ah,” Jaeyun nodded solemnly. “A classic deflection. Must be love.”

“You will both be silent,” Jungwon gritted through his teeth, adjusting his cuffs like that could restore his dignity. “You know nothing.”

Heeseung leaned back, smirking. “Oh, we know everything.”

Jungwon huffed. The movement was stupidly petulant, and incredibly embarrassing in hindsight, but then, in the distance, as he watched you tend to the maids’ children with such an attention-grabbing, charming smile, he wondered how it would feel to have you look at him that way.

Perhaps, with love.

You were moving in such a rush, you were so sure your body and soul were seperate. You figured your soul was floating somewhere above, watching in judgment as you darted between baskets and dishes, dress snagging at your ankles, hair already frizzing from the kitchen heat.

“Move!” someone barked.

“I’m trying!” you called back, hands gripping a covered tray far too wide for the doorway. You stumbled backward in the chaos, muttering a curse—and collided squarely with a body. A very solid, very familiar one.

You froze, tray still in hand, feeling the slow intake of breath behind you. Warm breath. Ticklish. Familiar.

“Careful,” came the low murmur, laced with far too much amusement. “You’ll bruise. We don’t want that, do we?”

You turned—awkwardly, unwillingly—and looked up.

Jungwon. Of course. You could only sigh.

He stood impossibly close, hair unruly from the breeze, eyes unreadable as they flicked down to your hands and back up again.

His gaze landed on your palm, where a small cut had opened, a tiny bead of blood trailing down the line of your skin.

Without a word, the playfulness in his expression immediately fell away. His brow furrowed, lips parting as if he were about to speak, but hesitated. The shift in his demeanor was so stark that you almost couldn’t believe it was the same man.

“You’re bleeding,” he said quietly, his tone stripped of all the usual teasing. He reached for your hand, his fingers gentle as he examined the cut.

You pulled back instinctively, but not before noticing the seriousness in his eyes, the way his hand lingered, and the faint worry that twisted his usually confident features. It was almost… startling.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, wiping your hand on your apron as if to dismiss it. You didn’t want his concern. Not now, especially not with him so close.

“Don’t be daft,” Jungwon said, his voice low, now filled with something completely foreign—care. “You’re not fine.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. “It’s nothing.”

“Nothing?” he asked, a small smirk playing on his lips again, but it didn’t reach his eyes. His hand was still poised near your palm, as if unwilling to let it go. “The next thing you’ll tell me is you’ve broken your leg too, and that I shouldn’t worry.”

You shifted uncomfortably, looking at the floor. “It’s a small cut. Really, it’s nothing.”

Jungwon’s jaw tightened for a second before he let out a breath, clearly making an effort to calm himself. Slowly, he reached into the pocket of his coat, retrieving a small handkerchief. His fingers were deft, careful, as he pressed it against the cut with the precision of someone who had done this before.

You watched in stunned silence, your heart beating just a little too fast.

“Let me,” he said softly, as if apologizing for his insistence, but the warmth in his voice was undeniable. “It’s better this way.”

The kitchen felt suddenly too small, too warm. Your breath was shallow, a flurry of conflicting emotions washing over you. You wanted to pull away, but for some reason, you couldn’t. He was so close, his face just inches away as he finished tending to your hand.

When he finally pulled back, his expression had returned to its usual cocky calm, though there was still an edge of something softer. Something unfortunately unreadable.

“There. Better?”

You blinked, looking down at your hand, which now felt a little lighter. You couldn’t say why, but it did.

“Better,” you muttered, trying to hide the heat rising to your face.

“You shouldn’t just be in the kitchen. When are you all going to eat?” The furrow in his eyebrows only deepened, peering around at all the maids running around with bewilderment.

You shrugged, shifting your weight between each of your sore legs. You watched as his broad shoulders moved softly, up and down as he softly inhaled and exhaled the kitchen fumes, and for a soft, fleeting second, you found yourself weirdly entranced.

Perhaps he is a male-witch.

Perhaps you’ve been bewitched.

Perhaps, you don’t mind.

The wind was warm today. Which was a little weird if you thought about it, seeing as wind, scientifically, is supposed to be the latter. Maybe it was the way Jungwon was practically skipping that made it whip onto his face in a way that made his cheeks flush up.

Or maybe it was the fact that he couldn’t seem to get you out of his head.

He walked in the middle of Heeseung and Jaeyun, the chatter between the three of them flowing easily as they wandered through the grounds. It was a peaceful day—sunlight dappling through the trees, the scent of fresh earth and blooming flowers filling the air.

And as if he were cursed by the Lord and Heavens above, allocating you as some sort of personal annoyance, there you were.

It wasn’t enough that you had somehow infiltrated his thoughts, wrecked his composure. No, now you had to appear at the most inopportune moment, right when he was least prepared for it.

There you were, laughing lightly as one of the children tugged at your sleeve. You held a small flower in your hand, showing it to the others with an easy grace, as though it was the most natural thing in the world for you to be surrounded by the warmth of others.

It wasn’t just the fact that you took care of children so well— children that weren’t part of the estate. Poor. Lower class. And yet, you entertained them as if they were equals.

You took the littlest one into your lap with the warmth of a mother’s touch, and handed it the daisy with such softness Jungwon had to do a double take.

The little girls’ eyes were round with awe as her tiny hands took the flower appreciatively, before she peered up at you. Eyes wide, filled with awe— like you were the most fascinating thing to grace planet Earth.

You smiled kindly, brushing the girls’ hair behind her ears. Despite that image you put up, you surely were soft at heart. With a pensive expression, you spelled out the word, “Daisy,” ushering the little girl to repeat after yourself. It took the little one but a few tries— for her confidence still hadn’t bloomed, but after she did it, you pulled her in the air triumphantly, watching her wriggle with soft giggles, before cascading her with prompt kisses on chubby cheeks.

The sight made his heart physically hurt. Like it had swelled with adoration just at the very sight. It was such a domestic scene, it made a feeling swirl in his stomach, coupled by his own fleeting thoughts. What if that were you both? He imagined. A girl, maybe. With your full lips and his sharp eyes.

The image was too vivid, too real in his mind’s eye. His chest tightened, and for a moment, it felt like everything was closing in on him.

It wasn’t just the sight of you with the children that had him so rattled. It was the possibility. The idea that, maybe, one day—just maybe—it could be you and him. And that thought alone was enough to send his mind spiraling.

And just like that, it hit him.

You were impossible.

You had always been this thing that he couldn’t quite reconcile. You infuriated him to no end—always sharp, always a little too smart for your own good. Yet, in this moment, as he stood there, transfixed by the soft, unguarded way you interacted with the children, he felt something unfamiliar stir inside him. Something entirely uninvited.

God, he thought, feeling the sudden rush of heat in his cheeks, how did she manage to do this to me His body tensed, his hands twitching at his sides.

Heeseung and Jaeyun continued walking, oblivious, their conversation light and carefree, rather detailing the intricacies of Jaeyun’s wedding with Jiyoung.

“Jungwon?” Heeseung called out, noticing his friend’s strange stillness. He gave him a curious look, but Jungwon couldn’t muster the strength to respond. He was too caught up in the image of you, glowing in the sunlight, completely unaware of his sudden conflict. It was maddening.

He sighed. He knew words would fail him. It wasn’t like he could explain the mess of emotions swirling inside his chest. Instead, he just swallowed his frustration and forced himself to move forward, pulling his gaze away from you.

It wasn’t enough, though. No matter how hard he tried, you remained there in his thoughts, sitting among the children, radiant in a way he couldn’t understand.

As if the universe had decreed he would be forever cursed by your presence, just as surely as the day he met you.

God help me, he thought. I’m losing my mind over someone who thinks I’m a nuisance.

“He’s a nuisance,” You mutter aloud, giving no thought to your careless words. Your fingers worked through her hair as you sat behind her on the marble patio-balcony, focused on the task at hand.

The sun was beginning to dip, casting long shadows against the so colourfully vibrant garden and the distant murmur of maids working on wedding preparations seemed to fade into the background.

Your cousin. Your sister. Your best friend since diapers. Married. Gone.

The thought really did not settle right with you— you were happy for her, of course you were, but it all seemed to be happening too fast. Jaeyun, though irrevocably kind, also had a knack for being quite daft, and for the two to be wed in such a short time? The words left for you to articulate surely weren’t pleasant.

But she’s happier than ever before. Even now, sat at the mercy of your nimble fingers, she buzzes with quiet excitement.

“An afterthought. Akin to a dead fly.” You continue as a gruff grumble. She replies with a short laugh.

“Can a dead fly attract the ladies as does he?”

You promptly smack her lightly on the shoulder, eliciting a short laugh. “What? Do I lie, cousin?”

You merely scowl, nudging her shoulder with your own as you plop beside her comfortably.

“You’d have to be a woman gone insane to find him attractive.”

Jiyoung raises an incredulous eyebrow at your words, and just as you open your mouth, perhaps to tarnish the certain lord’s name a little more, you’re promptly cut off by a series of giggles from the garden below.

Jungwon.

He was walking across the sun-dappled grounds, carrying five boxes of apple crates with effortless ease, his posture straight, shoulders relaxed. It was almost annoying how easily he carried them—each box stacked neatly, no visible strain. His white shirt clung to his skin, slick with sweat, but he wore it with that casual, confident smile that somehow made him even more unbearable. The maids nearby noticed him, their gazes following him as he moved, their whispers filled with admiration and a touch of longing. You could hear the soft tittering, the giggles. “So strong, so handsome,” they murmured.

You felt your chest tighten—familiar irritation and something else you weren’t ready to acknowledge. Your eyes followed him across the garden, watching how effortlessly he moved, like he was the star of some play and everyone else was simply a supporting role. The worst part? You knew they were all right. He was the type of man who could walk into a room, and the world would stop for him.

The worst part was, you hated how much it bothered you.

You tried to ignore it, turning your attention back to Jiyoung, but your mind kept drifting.

You had always been able to dismiss him as an arrogant nuisance—until now. Every time you thought you had him figured out, he went and did something like this. He was impossible to pin down, impossible to ignore. And you hated the feeling that was beginning to bloom in the pit of your stomach, a mixture of frustration and something else.

You looked back out at the garden again, just in time to see Jungwon flash that smile, that self-assured grin that was way too charming for his own good. The maids sighed as he passed by, practically swooning.

It’s sickening how attractive he is.

Perhaps he is more to you than a dead fly.

Feeling both happy and sad at once is an emotion you’d yet to discover. And now, stood behind your dear cousin, graced in the most beautiful wedding dress money could offer, your heart swelled with it.

Emotion is one weird thing.

Jiyoung was radiant. Her smile could split the sky. And despite the ache in your chest that had lingered all morning—some mix of nerves, and melancholy, and maybe a bit of dread—you found yourself smiling.

And then your gaze found his.

Jungwon.

He stood on the groom’s side, tidy in his formal attire, hair brushed neatly, face calm. His eyes met yours across the crowd, and something shifted. The air between you changed. It softened.

You smiled.

And he smiled back.

His eyes, usually so sharp, now filled with quiet warmth, crinkled at the sides, and his thin pink lips curled up at the corners. He brushed a hand through his thick, dark hair.

It wasn’t mocking, nor smug. It was small. Private. Real.

Immediately, you mentally reprimanded yourself and straightened your back as strong footsteps echoed against the marble floors of the church hall.

You didn’t need to turn. You knew those steps.

Jaeyun. The groom. The man Jiyoung was supposed to marry in the next hour.

She smiled widely, and you squealed beside her, before adjusting her veil hurriedly, but just then— a hush fell.

His expression was unreadable—stone-set jaw, eyes dark with something more than just anger. Beside him, Heeseung moved with equal purpose, lips pressed into a tight, grim line. The door clicked shut behind them, sealing off the outside world like something would happen— something the world would dare watch.

Jaeyun’s gaze swept the room before falling squarely on her. No smile. No warmth.

Jiyoung’s smile slowly dropped as she took just a step closer to him, as if testing the waters. “Jaeyun?”

“I was told,” he said, voice clear and cutting through the silence, “that my bride-to-be has been less than loyal.”

You could feel the words stab into her. Into the room. You could hear your aunt’s hand fly to her mouth in a gasp. Jiyoung flinched, her fingers digging into yours as she looked up at him, wide-eyed and shaking her head. “No—I don’t know what you mean, I haven’t—Jaeyun, I swear—”

“Don’t,” he cut in sharply. His voice didn’t raise. If anything, it got quieter. “I’ve heard enough. I didn’t want to believe it. But when Heeseung heard it from multiple mouths…”

Heeseung remained silent behind him, eyes darting toward you for only the briefest second.

You opened your mouth to speak—to fight—but Jiyoung moved first.

She took a step forward, tears streaming now, and clutched at the lace of her sleeves as if trying to hold herself together. “Please, you must know me better than this—Jaeyun, I haven’t— I would never—”

“Then why,” he asked, voice tight, “would so many say the same thing?”

Your heart cracked.

And then, like glass shatter—Jiyoung broke.

Her knees buckled beneath her. You caught her before she hit the ground, lowering with her slowly as she collapsed into sobs once more. Her veil slipped off her head, pooling around you like silk water. You held her fiercely, lips pressed to her temple, trying not to let your own despair show.

Tears brimmed hot at your lashes, but you forced your voice steady. “She’s telling the truth,” you said, sharp and certain, voice raising with the injustice of it all.

But Jaeyun had already turned his back.

At the sight, Jiyoung scream sobbed into your chest. The sound tore through the hall, raw and unrestrained, a sound so heartbreakingly human it made your heart stutter in its place.

You held her tighter, arms wrapped around her shaking frame as if your touch alone could anchor her. But even as you whispered her name, again and again, she only trembled harder.

Your eyes brimmed with ushered tears. One slipped free, carving a hot, silent line down your cheek. And then—she fell limp in your arms.

“No, no—Jiyoung—!” you gasped, shifting to cradle her, brushing the damp strands of hair from her forehead. Her lips moved, mouthing something soundless, her body slack, utterly spent.

Your breath caught in your throat at the sorry sight, and your tears flew much more freely now, blurring the edges of the world around you. Jiyoung’s body remained still in your arms—so soft, so heartbreakingly still. Her sobs had quieted, but her breathing came in small, desperate gulps, like she was trying to hold herself together by will alone.

You looked up.

And through the blur of salty tears and sorrow, your gaze found him.

Jungwon.

Beside him, Heeseung had already turned his back too, and expectantly, the two men looked toward him to make some decision—some movement, some word that might break the tension. But Jungwon didn’t move. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, his eyes still locked with yours, but they flickered now—torn between duty and something else, something much harder to define.

You looked up at him from the floor, Jiyoung in your arms. Your eyes pleaded. Please. Don’t follow them. Please.

You slowly nodded no, words failing to leave your trembling lips, a silent begging, pleading for him to stay. For him to believe. Your chest heaved with heavy emotion as your eyebrows furrowed pleading, yet alas—

Jungwon turned his back.

A choked little sob left your lips, and you swore you saw him hesitate in his step as his hands bunched into fists. You whimpered into Jiyoung’s hair as panic began to settle in, but your eyes couldn’t move from his figure, disappearing into the distance.

And the church fell silent but for the broken rasps of breath of a bride that would not be wed.

Men are, in fact, disappointing.

You know it. Everyone knows it.

And yet, as your eyes helplessly searched for Jungwon within the cathedral, he just about proved your point.

It only sucked so much because you truly believed he was different.

You truly believed he was kind. A man with integrity, with a heart full of warmth and made of steel. And yet, when you watched him turn just as the others did—without a word, without even meeting your gaze—your heart cracked in a way you hadn’t known it could.

You sat curled on the cold stone bench in the garden, surrounded by the rosebushes that you’d always loved. Nothing seemed to make you feel better.

Your face was buried in your hands, your shoulders trembling with every stifled sob. The air was warm, fragrant with crushed petals and damp earth, but your chest felt hollow. Stretched. Bruised.

You hadn’t even heard his footsteps.

Only felt the shift of weight beside you, the quiet creak of the bench as Jungwon lowered himself to sit next to you.

Silence.

He didn’t speak. Not at first. He just sighed. Long and low and full of everything he couldn’t yet say.

You whimpered as you wiped your tears away with trembling fingers, trying desperately to smooth your features. To look strong. Even now. Especially now.

Then, wordlessly, you turned your back to him—just slightly. Just enough to make the distance between you feel bigger.

It worked.

Because when he spoke, his voice cracked like it hurt to use. Because when he spoke, it was no longer with pride or poise or wit.

It was just a boy. Breaking.

“Say something,” he begged, his voice cracking, thin with desperation as he turned to face you. “Curse me. Hate me. Just—say something.”

You didn’t. Couldn’t. You only turned and pressed your face into his shoulder, finally, finally letting yourself fall into him as the sobs overtook you once more. They came from somewhere deep, and guttural, your whole body shaking with them.

Jungwon sat there, barely breathing, his hands flexing uselessly in his lap as he stared at your back. At the fine tremble in your frame. At the way your fingers gripped at his crisp suit as if him himself were the only thing keeping you anchored to the world.

Jungwon flinched like your pain, especially that in your voice had physically struck him. His arms moved slowly—like he wasn’t sure he had the right—but eventually wound tightly around you, holding you close. As if trying to protect you from a storm he helped create. “I’ll fix it,” he proposed weakly, pleadingly, his big hands rubbing against your back in a pathetic attempt to make you feel better.

“No,” You began, sitting up straight. Your fingers faltered against his suit, as you sniffled weakly, looking at the ground. “I’ll fix it myself.” You grunted, gruff and calculated. Your jaw clenched.

“I’ll kill him,” you spat suddenly, your voice trembling with rage as your eyes burned into the earth. “I swear to God, Jungwon—I’ll kill Jaeyun. I’ll use my own hands, I’ll—” You stopped, gasping through the ache in your chest. “I’ll bury him myself, right here in this garden.”

You spoke so passionately, hot with pure fury, and yet, you still didn’t have the courage to look him in the eye.

He didn’t answer. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t scold you, or tell you to breathe, or insist on logic and honor and sensibility like you thought he might.

He just went still.

And then, softly—so softly—you heard his voice. “…Please. Look at me.” He began, voice weak with emotion and wavering with tears. “I can’t stand it. Please.”

You didn’t want to. You didn’t want to see him. You didn’t want to let yourself fall back into that softness you swore to abandon.

But you looked.

And when you did—he shattered all over again.

Your eyes were red and glassy, your cheeks stained, your lip bitten raw. You looked like someone who had given too much. Trusted too hard. And still carried love in your chest like a burden.

And so he did the only thing he could.

He kissed you.

Not out of victory or pride or triumph—but like a man begging for forgiveness with his whole body. His lips trembled against yours, one hand buried in your hair, the other pressed to the small of your back as if holding you was the only thing keeping him upright.

It was a kiss that hurt. A kiss that healed. A kiss that said everything his words could not.

And for all you could,

you kissed him back.

You sat at your vanity, brushing through your hair slowly, the bristles snagging on tangles you were too tired to care about. The lace at the back of your nightgown had come half-undone, trailing like wilted ribbon. Candlelight flickered in the mirror, softening your features, making the furrow in your brow look less like grief and more like longing.

But the ache was real. Deep. Gnawing.

You sighed.

The brush stilled in your hand.

You missed him, and it was disgusting.

When you’d last seen him, he’d left with his eyes dark; jaw set, and whispered lowly of fixing everything. How he could fix a broken heart, you didn’t know.

Even more disgustingly, you were worried. Undeniably worried, about a man you certainly cared for far too much for your liking.

You frowned at your reflection. The skin beneath your eyes was puffy, your lips swollen from too many bitten-back sobs. You looked every bit the tragic heroine you’d once sworn you’d never become.

How pathetic.

You set the brush down. Somewhere in the still of the night, an owl called. A branch scraped against the windowpanes. The wind rustled the curtains gently, And then— thud.

Your head snapped toward the window. Another thud. More insistent. You rushed to the latch, heart already leaping in your chest—because you knew. And when you pulled open the frame, your breath hitched.

There he was. Jungwon.

Bloodied, battered, sweat-matted locks of dark hair falling over his brow. His shirt was torn, and a shallow cut marred the line of his cheekbone, but his eyes—his eyes were still warm. Still full of you.

“A hand?” he said hoarsely, gripping the ledge with one arm and eventually lifting himself the rest of the way.

You stumbled back to give him space, and he collapsed with a grunt into your room, knees buckling slightly before he righted himself.

His eyes were clouded with haze. And yet, still, full of love they remained. He paced towards you slowly but surely, a slight wobble in his step— and instinctively you reached out, arms stabilising him by his broad shoulders. You frowned, hands dusting over his face with such care he could only melt into your touch.

And through it all, he looked only at you, his eyes piercing into your own. The top of his eyebrow marked with a sharp cut of a blade, the plain of his cheek dirtied ever so slightly with blood, you frowned at his state.

And then you smacked him.

Hard. On the arm.

“You idiot!” you hissed. “Are you out of your mind?!”

“I missed you too,” he muttered, eyes crinkling despite the gash above one of them.

“You’re bleeding!”

“You should see the other guy,” he winced.

You didn’t laugh. Instead, your fingers found his face, tracing the sharp line of his jaw, the mess of his cheek. You wiped at a bit of dried blood with the edge of your sleeve. He let you. Silently. Still as statue, eyes never leaving yours.

You should’ve expected it. Him to duel Jaeyun.

Jungwon was many things—proud, infuriating, endlessly stubborn—but coward was not one of them. And if there was one thing he couldn’t let sit, it was injustice. Especially when it came for those you loved. Especially when it came for you.

You should’ve seen it in the way his jaw clenched when you sobbed into his shoulder. The way his arms tightened around you like he was already vowing retribution in your very name.

But there’s a difference between knowing someone would go to war for you and watching them actually do it. And worse, he didn’t tell you. Not a single word before vanishing into the night like some knight of old.

Now here he was—half-wrecked and full of some odd, boyish resolve—at your window, lips on your palm like you were something holy.

“You didn’t have too,” Your voice wavered with emotion as he kissed the palm of your hand which was cupping his cheek again. “But I did,” He whispered with such softness the contrast between his tone and his appearance was stark. “And I don’t regret it.”

“Is he..?” You begin contemplatively, your other hand brushing up his broad chest to his shoulder. He looks away. You push his face back towards yours.

Those lips.

You have kissed them now, once before. And yet, it still doesn’t feel enough. Your fingers trace over them as he sighs warmly, pressing his lips against the tips of your fingers. His eyes bore into yours with such attentive demeanour it makes you dizzy.

“It was a tie,” He grunts, as if the fact that he, Lord Sim Jaeyun’s best friend and fellow soldier, didn’t just duel him for your sake. For Jiyoung’s sake. “I worked things out with them both. Someone orchestrated quite the lie against your dear cousin, and Lord Sim seemed to take the bait.”

You roll your eyes. Typical. “I saw that one coming.” You weakly laugh, and he chuckles too, as if an unexplainable weight has been lifted off his shoulders as it has yours.

“Turn around,” Weakly, suddenly, he commands, and you? Willingly, you oblige.

You give him a little twirl, a soft flourish in your step. You smile as he sits on the edge of your bed and admires you as if he’d never seen a woman in his life before. “I must ask though, my lord, why must I twirl for you?”

He laughs. Deep. Husky. Warm. Dangerous. “You needn’t if you’d prefer not too,” He begins, rolling his shoulders as the cuffs on his sleeves are adjusted. “But you seemed perfectly willing to oblige, my lady.” He grins, one hand supporting himself on the bed, the other motioning you to come closer.

Closer you go, until you’re stood right before him. Your breathing grows heavier as you notice all the smaller things about him you really ought to notice before— like the way his Adam’s Apple bobs with every movement, or how his legs are spread widely enough to welcome you on his lap.

“Turn around,” He commands yet again, and this time, you laugh. “Perhaps I want not to. What’d you do then, my lord?” You poke at his shoulders with a teasing smile.

“I’d do this,” He begins, spinning you in one fluid movement. You yelp. “And then this.” He pulls you into his lap.

You stop breathing. Because suddenly, you can feel him in ways you’d never felt him before.

You fuss in his arms, wriggling around through laughter to conceal the fluttering in your stomach, as he laughs, pressing ticklish little kisses onto the crevices of the smooth skin on your neck. You squeal, shimmying his large hands off you. “You’re cold!”

“And you’re warm,” He hums lowly into your neck, coupled with a sultry chuckle. That makes you close your legs tightly, an unexplainable fluttering arousing.

His hands dance over the intricacies of your back before they crawl up towards your hair. Large, warm hands toy with it appreciatively, fingers wringing around the burgundy of the ribbon you wore.

“You wear the ribbon I gave you?” He looked at you from over your shoulder with such sincerity it made your heart stutter. Suddenly, the ceiling appeared very interesting.

A large hand. It cups your chin, and faces your head towards him. He opens his mouth to speak, and yet, the words die on his tongue; as if struck by your very beauty as the moonlight shines through your wide windows. Instead, he closes his eyes, and pushes his lips onto yours.

You let out a little hum of both content and surprise, as he lifts you off his lap and you raise your hips, he turns you to face him. His hands, mottled in bruises and scratches, roam around your body with such quiet reverence for a moment truly, you feel special. Irrevocably special. That you are his, and that he is yours.

He lets out a low sound in pleasure as one hand pulls your ribbon off your hair gracefully, before stroking through your hair softly, as if one wrong move could make you break.

And as you just about manage to break away, still his eyes only find yours.

He chuckles weakly, lips kissing your now held hand before moving upwards, resting at your shoulder. He closes his eyes for a pause, as if nothing is as comfortable as being in your arms is. In turn, now it is your hands that brush through his hair. “Fatigued?”

“No. Just content.”

“Well, I am glad you are as happy as I am, my lord.” You breathe, a soft smile blessing your face. He cups it in return.

“This nightgown,” Jungwon whispers, hands toying at your back where the lace lies. “It’s ever the flattering on you.”

“So you say,” You tease. “Or perhaps you say this seeing as it is easy to remove?”

He laughs, the corner of his eyes wrinkling with amusement. “I fear you know me far too well, my lady.” He hummed appreciatively as he dug his nose into your hair, closing his eyes. “You smell quite so pleasant.”

“You think so?” You asked, fidgeting with the coarse material of his suit.

“Very much so.” He replied simply, a hand fitting onto your waist. The way his hand had sat on your waist was as if it belonged. You sighed, resting your chin on his shoulder tiredly, as he kissed your head warmly. “I figure perhaps you’re the one fatigued, Y/n.” His voice raised lightly, as if reprimanding you— though his tone remained soft, showing he was really just jest.

“Maybe I am, Lord Yang.” You clap back teasingly, and to that, he laughs heartily, before flipping you onto the plush silk of your bed. You squeal, hands flying to his shoulders to stabilise yourself, and in return, he kisses your cheek.

You didn’t ever think you’d find yourself underneath him. You, yourself, personally always thought you were always above him. Now it was clearly proved wrong. Your breath caught in your chest, your teasing smile melting into something more sincere.

His hair hung before his dark eyes, hazy with a cryptic look that made you squirm. He grunted softly as he rested on one side, propping himself up on one arm— just to watch you.

“My, you are odd.” You giggle, looking up at him with a gummy smile.

“Oh, really?” He challenges softly, his free hand tracing from your waist to your neck. Slowly. Teasingly. Like you could feel every atom of his being dancing on your goosebump-ed skin. “You think im odd, do you, Y/n?”

You, unintentionally and unconsciously, swallow on nothing. He picks up on it, a soft kiss followed after he buries his face atop your throat. It’s ticklish, and you want to laugh, but the sincerity in his eyes and the soft certainty in his touch made you feel only want. Raw, aching want.

He went silent just as quickly, rather staring at you with a longing look of love, his hand ghosting near your breasts. His lips were slightly, ever so slightly parted, and the tiniest trickle of sweat traced his jawline.

“You can touch me, you know.” You chortle lightly to hide just how flustered you are. You grin lightly, but when you look into his eyes, when you feel the severity of whatever it is he is feeling, it fades.

“Can I?” His voice breaks, his hands still ghosting above your breasts, though now daring to move closer just the slightest. “Can I, Y/n? Because once you say yes, I’m telling you, you’re stuck with me.”

Your lips part.

Suddenly, it’s very hot in your chambers.

You look over at your window, and then back at him. You swallow again, though this time you know it— in efforts of mitigating your now-dry throat, but it’s all to no avail.

Hot, aching need. You nod before you let out a tiny sound, a mix of a whimper and a wanting whine, and he sighs in a way both impatient and very much patient all at once.

“Words, my beautiful,” He chimes, his hand tracing your jawline. In one, croaky, breathy movement, you grace him with the words he clearly were waiting for. “Yes, Jungwon. A million times yes.”

And with that, his lips found yours again. It was much less softer this time, but all the more passionate. He moaned into your mouth as his free hand grabbed at your jaw tighter, as if you’d disappear the moment he let go. Still, he rested up on his other arm, and as you broke the kiss to actually breathe, you rested your forehead against his. “Are you sure?” He whispered, his free hand brushing your unruly hair, matted with sweat, behind your ears.

You could only nod, so clouded with lust and fatigue that even words couldn’t portray what you felt. You fell rag doll-limp in his arms, your own arms slowly snaking around his neck, as both of his arms effortlessly propped your back off the bed.

One hand held you up, the other pulled the strings bonding your nightgown together at the back. You merely threw your head back, and at that invitation, his lips made its way to your neck. Then they danced down to your collarbones, teeth grazing ever so slightly as he looked up at you for any sign of discomfort.

Instead, your eyes were peacefully closed, lips parted to allow your soft, breathy moans to escape. He sighed, pulling the dress down your shoulders, kisses tracing around your breasts. You whined, back arching ever so slightly into his touch, and in response he merely chuckled, lying you down as he propped himself up above you.

“So gorgeous, aren’t you?” He cooed softly, his lips finding your left nipple, and his hand finding the right. At the sudden movement your chest jerked ever so slightly, a long whimper falling from your lips. “Jungwon,” You barely managed as he hummed, looking up at you from where he contentedly rested at your chest. “Yes, my love?” He hummed, letting go with the lightest little “pop!”

You closed your legs and squirmed. It was getting too much now. Stickily hot and insatiable— all you needed, truly, was.. well, him.

“I need you,” You sighed, melting into the pillows. He raised an eyebrow teasingly, unbuttoning his shirt as you fiddled with the stupidly-annoying metal buckle of his pants.

“Oh, you need me?” His voice raised with amusement as you scowled playfully, slapping at his now bare shoulder lightly. He took your hand and kissed it instead. “You do demand me so, my lady?”

“Yes. I do so.” You huff in mock-petulance, before you both laugh, his larger figure leaning before you yet again.

“And you can do so from beneath me, I figure?” He hums, as his hand grips the base of his length lightly. It’s dizzying. You pretend to not notice, not even as he softly spreads your legs or pushes them against your stomach, and instead, you smile lightly.

But as soon as you open your mouth to say something, probably just as smart back, the warmth of his leaking tip brushes against your clit, and you moan almost immediately, head throwing back onto the soft fabric of your pillows.

You hiss as he rubs himself against you softly, up and down, slower, slower. You whine, nails digging into his back.

And instead of giving it to you, he peers down at you with a triumphant grin. “Hmm? What was that, my lady?” He teases softly. You breath heavily, watching as a prompt kiss is pressed to your wrist as he slowly pushes himself in.

The words you had prepared suddenly died on your tongue, replaced with a loud, sudden moan of his name. “Jungwon!”

He groans in response, throwing his head back as he pushes himself in just as fair as he can manage. Tears prick at your eyes as his tip pushes the boundaries of your cervix, a pain you’d never felt— but one you were seemingly prepared too.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay, beautiful, I promise,” He whispers, kisses dusting over your face, even over your tightly weilded-shut eyelids. “We have all the time in the world, my love,” he hummed through kisses. “There’s no rush, hmm? If it hurts too much, just tell me.”

You cry out a strangled moan as your eyes roll closed at the unfamilar, yet incredible feeling. He sighs comfortably, one strong hand lacing into yours against the duvet.

“My lady,” he sighs, nuzzling his nose against yours. “So perfect. So beautiful. So smart.” He begins as he pushes himself in just a little, little more. You sob out, hands flying all around his back, as he lovingly shushes you, kisses pressed to the tip of your nose or the plain of your forehead.

“Would you marry me, my lady? Hmm?” He whispered, kissing around your ear, as if to distract you from the pain. “Would you like that?”

You could only nod, though now, your eyes could slowly flutter open; and could take him in for all of his glory.

His dark hair was matted with sweat against his forehead, as his broad, bare chest heaved with the energy of keeping himself above. “You’d stay a L/n, or you’d take my name? Hmm?” He hummed, pressing kisses to your lips between his words.

“Can I have both?” You weakly whisper, though you laugh, and he laughs too, slowly moving himself out. Then, he rams himself back in, and you almost scream, rolling your eyes closed as you practically see stars. You moan into your hand as he throws his head back in pleasure. “God, you feel so good.” He manages, voice wavering as his thrusts grow in pace.

You cry out in pleasure, the pain now subdued. “You suit ivory,” He manages with heavy breath. “You’d look quite exquisite in your wedding dress, wouldn’t you?”

You let out a strangled cry, burying your head into the pillows. He groans, rolling his lips forward smoothly, and you moan into the pillows uncontrollably.

“Oh, Jungwon!” You sigh shakily, your voice stuttering with the fevor of his sharp thrusts.

He moans in response, pushing your legs against your stomach just a little, little more. You both moan together as he hits your cervix again, before you find him again in a messy kiss.

Lips, tongue, teeth, all of it. At this point, it doesn’t really count as a kiss in the first place. But that’s the last thing on your mind. All you can think about is an unfamiliar, pressing coil building at the pits of your stomach, biting your lips in efforts to conceal your noises just a little more.

“God, I love you,” He moans, his pace fastening enough to make that very coil snap. Your body jerks with the movement and you can’t help it— you whine, the sound long and low, and he throws his head back as he feels you release around his length.

“Just a little more, my love,” He spoke between moans, and you sobbed from the overloading stimulation all of this was giving you. “You’re doing so well. I love you, my beautiful.” You took his lips onto yours again, and with one final, harsh thrust— one that had you screaming into the kiss, his warm seed filled you up, a feeling so fulfilling you arched your back at the very sensation.

He crashed beside you on the bed with a groan, as if the weight of his day had finally caught up with him. But then he turned toward you, his arm wrapping securely around your waist, pulling you flush to his side. You sighed softly, burying your head against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your cheek.

“Are you hurt?” you eventually asked quietly, your voice barely a whisper as your fingers grazed over his cheek. His eyelids fluttered under your touch.

“Nothing that won’t heal,” he murmured.

A beat of serene silence passed.

Then, with the kind of gentle, hopeful courage only he could muster, he asked, “What kind of ring would you want?”

You blinked. Pulled back just slightly to look him in the eye. And then you laughed. “Whatever it is you can afford.”

“My, do you mark me as poor?” He raises a weak hand to his chest jokingly and you laugh, voice laced with growing fatigue. You curled into his chest even more, though you weren’t sure that was quite possible, and sighed contently.

Silence.

The rise and fall of his broad chest, cricket-song, and silence.

You simply lay there in the hush of the night, bodies pressed close, breaths synchronising, hearts slowly catching up to the quiet. You stared at the curve of his collarbone, at the cuts and dried blood near his shoulder, remembering all the pain and rage that had passed through the two of you to get to this very moment.

And weirdly enough, you wouldn’t trade it for the world. Then he sighed, fingers drawing soft circles on your bare back. “And what would you want?” he asked, voice barely audible now. “As a child.”

You paused. Thought about it. The image came so vividly, it almost surprised you.

“A girl,” you answered without a pause.

He blinked slowly. “Hmm?”

“So I can raise her,” you murmured, pressing your forehead against his chin. “To be the strongest a woman can be.”

He let out a sound that was half-sigh, half-laugh, and fully overwhelmed. “She’d be impossible.”

“She’d be loved,” you replied, eyes fluttering shut. “She’d never think twice about her voice. She’d know how to wield it.”

“Sounds like someone I know.” He smiled, the words brushing against your temple like a kiss.

You felt it more than heard it—the pride in his voice, the adoration in his tone. The way he said it, like it was the highest compliment he could ever give. Like he meant it with the very bones of him.

You sighed softly, your body loosening completely in his hold, his warmth wrapping around you like a blanket.

He tucked your hair behind your ear, his voice low, soothing, meant only for you. “She’d have your fire. Your kindness. Your wit. God help me if she ever learns your temper.”

You laughed, soft and muffled against his skin.

“She’d be so loved,” you murmured, voice laced with quiet fatigue.

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering as if trying to seal the moment in place forever.

“As are you, my beautiful.”

man i wish shakespeare was alive i xouldve rawdogged him from the back as a personal thank you for much ado about nothing

©VAMPZWON

[gremlingottoosilly]

Forced engagement with König? Reader trying to beg their parents and collect evidence on how weird and creepy he is to prove it to them-don’t let me marry this guy! But your parents just brush it off and tell you to just give him a chance.

Being engaged to a colonel twice your age wasn't in your dreams. Or even thoughts of all the future possibilities, either. He is scary - giant, brooding, looks at you like you're the newest war prisoner in his house. His house is big and uncanny, too many empty rooms and locked drawers with god knows what. He doesn't even show his face, mumbling something about the safety of both you and him to your parents - a bunch of lovestruck puppies they are, so, so eager to get their daughter off their shoulders and onto some rich guy who definitely knows how to protect her. Unless he decides to be the one to hurt her, of course. You don't want to marry Konig, and you made it obvious - it's just that your parents simply couldn't care less. Oh no, they didn't care that you, perhaps, wanted to choose a life for yourself instead of being treated like someone dumb and fragile. Konig follows you like a dog, always looking somewhere around and putting his hands all over your neck and shoulders like you're already his wife - like he is even allowed to touch you like this. You hate the ownership in his actions, the clear threat whenever you're trying to mingle yourself out of his affections. You know how he sees you - a dumb and pretty thing, just a pathetic little thing in need of protection. You know he looks at you and sees a trophy wife, much too young for him - and you hate every second, want him to stop staring just so you could rest and- Your parents are useless, obviously. They adore him, already making plans of how many grandchildren they will get - the colonel is a righteous but lonely man who is often away on missions and dangerous training; he would most definitely leave you with a litter of children at his desolate house, so you won't feel as lonely. Or you could travel the world with him, a pretty trophy dangling from his arms, with everything you could ever want - he has money, even if he doesn't show it immediately. You're almost excited at the prospect of never having to work anymore, up until you remember that this will come with a dangerous psycho betrothed to you. Your engagement party is weird - he only brought two or three of friends from his side, not even enough for a proper groomsmen introduction, and they all are the same sort of brooding masked men who barely fit in standard suits because of the muscles. He holds your hand the whole time, nodding at the way your mom chirps about your pretty dress and little makeup, and the marriage contract you have to sign - because of course you had to sign it. He holds you like you're already his prized possession, and you almost find yourself getting flustered at the attention, complete and devoted. You're not falling for him, of course, there is no way - but you kind of enjoy having an expensive diamond ring slide to your finger. Maybe, you could postpone your escape plans until after the wedding. Maybe.

[madamepestilence]

Just as a reminder as I've just noticed myself - arab.org has more pages to support on

In case you're unfamiliar with how this site works, it confirms ad revenue via your clicks, which allows them to donate money to various funds

These go to:

Children -> UNICEF (United Nations International Children's Emergency Fund)

Fight Poverty -> UNDP (United Nations Development Programme)

Environment -> Greenpeace MENA (Middle East and North Africa)

Palestine -> UNRWA (United Nations Relief and Works Agency [for Palestine Refugees in the Near East])

Refugees -> UNHCR (United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees)

Women -> UN Women

Do more with your daily clicks! You can help each one once per individual (perhaps per IP address?) per day, letting you help out with six things at once?

US-specific advice for helping Palestine below cut.

Side note I'm keeping beneath the cut since it's relevant to US folks only: if you're really determined to help Palestine, vote for Dr. Cornel West, Ph.D. for President of the United States.

He's the most openly vocal about a free Palestine and is the only candidate who has demonstrably shown he is the most committed and prepared to immediately cease US support to Israel.

Joe Biden isn't going to cave if he gets re-elected. We all know that. Voting third party is a lot less risky than you've been taught - the two party system can replace one or both parties with new parties if they lose public favour.

We have both the people and the ability to unseat the Democratic party and install Socialism, and between Socialism and Republicans, Socialism is going to lock in place immediately and become the dominant political force in America.

Cornel West's Platform

Cornel West's Volunteer Events

Cornel West's Ballot Access Tracker and Ballot Access Plans

Tumblr thread I have of Primary/Caucus polling dates in the US (includes US territories)

Not on your Primary/Caucus ballot? Write-in, "Cornel West," on your ballot, or urge your Caucus representatives to do the same.

In a state where it's difficult for Independent candidates to get ballot access? Dr. Cornel West, Ph.D. thought ahead and has created a new party for those states called the Justice for All Party.

(Addendum: Claudia de la Cruz is not a viable alternative. The Party for Socialism and Liberation has a Conservative 5th Column and has frequent issues with discrimination.)

Free Palestine. Vote for Cornel West.

[eraserbread]

megumi's babysitter x dad!jo

"and they lived happily ever after... the end."

next to you, tucked politely under his covers, megumi scowls at nothing, soft cheeks all bunched up and unimpressed. he doesn't like bedtime stories, but his dad insisted he open his imagination at least once a day. come to think of it... his dad has quite a few odd requests he insists upon.

"even you don't believe that, do you, nana?" for his age, megumi is extremely well and thoroughly spoken. he calls you by a nickname, because he prefers it over yours, and his dad introduced you as a nanny, though you were more his babysitter. you just let the kid say what he wants, correcting him isn't what you should spend your energy on.

"in some circumstances, yes," you mutter, kicked up in his big, downy bed. he's so babyish when he's sleepy, trying everything to keep his eyes open so he can hear your response. you laugh softly. "alright, megumi. I'll stop bothering you."

"is my dad home?" he asks as you slip out of his bed, eyes finally fully shut. glancing at the clock on his bedside, you nod.

"he should be. i'm sure he'll come kiss you goodnight."

"don't want him to kiss me goodnight." he grumbles, then succumbs to the throbbing pressure of sleep. it happens so quickly with children, you're almost jealous of how peaceful he looks when he's asleep.

you laugh at his early set pessimism, turning around to leave the room and him to his sleep.

you're humming a tune buried deep in your mind as you gently close megumi's door. the lights in the hallway are off, just like you left them, but towards the kitchen, a warm spill of light coats the expensive wood flooring.

you smile, knowing there's only one person flicking on that lamp. as you approach, familiar laughter booms from around the kitchen, your silent footsteps are strict and strong as they make their way to your... boss.

yeah, boss is easy enough.

"ah, suguru, you know that's not true. i only told her what she wanted to hear." gojo leans over his counter, freakishly long forearms resting on the cool marble. he's yapping about on the phone, messy, light bangs covering his beautiful face.

"look who it is!" he notices you immediately, holding the phone from his ear so he can shoot you a wave. "is megumi asleep?"

"won't be for much longer if you keep yelling like that."

he laughs again, sending a silvery hot wave of shivers through your body. there's something here with you two. something both of you partake in and never mention outside of the headiness. a piece of you knows it's wrong, taboo, almost. but gojo is so well-behaved around his son that it doesn't really matter. megumi could be in the attic, and he in the basement, and gojo would still never utter a curse.

let alone show you any ounce of devotion or sensuality.

you're not quite sure why that concept is barreling toward a change tonight.

maybe it's the way he looks in those pressed, black dress pants or how his gold rings shimmer on his long, long fingers. perhaps it's that special, sharp-toothed smile that does you in, but you're in,

and you're drowning.

"well, that's not a very funny joke."

"i don't joke." you don't mean to sound aloof or off-putting, and gojo understands that. he thinks you and his megumi are very much alike in terms of personality. it seems he reels in the quiet, mysterious kind with his stupid dad jokes and caring archetype.

"'course you don't." gojo mutters, then turns back to his phone conversation. "megumi's babysitter’s in the room, I'll call you back... alrighty friend... see 'ya..."

"he had the rest of his noodles from yesterday for dinner... made sure he did all of his homework and cleaned out his backpack for him, too."

"and you made his school lunch?"

"yes, sir."

"and a nighttime bath? they're his favorite."

you nod. "hair washed, too."

"good, good." he stands up straight, blue dress shirt clinging to his familiar, dewy skin. you can't help but trail your view from his glimmering lips, down to the gold on his neck that runs into the collar of his shirt... so mystifying...

he's getting less strict around you, now. you can tell when he walks over to you, smirking the corners of his lips up. instantly, you're standing up straight, lips parted as he closes in.

he's not usually so careless, but you look so beautiful right now. you treat his baby like he's your own and are thoughtful and motherly to the core. it's based in everything you do, even to the way your hand reaches up to cradle his cheek when he kisses you.

this is your reward for a night well done. a kiss to the lips, his long arms crossed around your waist, and your name in the air. one kiss doesn't suffice, he has to pull you in closer, arching your back with the strength of his grip as he kisses you again.

then, again.

and again, this time. tilting his head so he can deepen it. his tongue is peeking from his lips, sliding against the swell of yours before they're tasting your sweet warmth.

he only pulls away because he's breathless. so are you -- flushed to the core, as well.

"wh-what was that for?" you're looking away, pressing the back of your wrist to your lips as you blush uncontrollably. he's just smiling at you, still holding you tight.

"a bonus for a job well done." then, he's pulling away, leaving you cold and touchless.

he's never done more than that, and that's the most he's done. you understand it's out of respect for you and professionalism, but when you're being pulled into rooms and kissed while on the job, it's inevitable that those lines start to fade together until they dissipate completely.

but you don't want any lines with your boss. you want him on top of you. you want to tangle your hands in his hair and stare into his freakish blues until his gaze feels like home.

"again - great job, today. gonna go kiss my megumi goodnight. feel free to take your leave whenever you're comfortable!"

"uh-" you start, but he's waving you off, back facing your reddened face. "okay..."

[benegesseritofficial]

The effects of face paint on Harrowhark's psyche

I've now cosplayed Gideon Nav 3 times, with my wife along as Harrow every time. Naturally, this has included full face paint for both of us each time and I have some thoughts.

Let me start by asserting that everything Muir writes in TLT about the face paint is accurate. Rubbing off your lips first, smearing into gray where the black and white meet, the way sweat makes it ooze but not run. I can't say if Muir (a known Homestuck) ever cosplayed as a troll, but I'm positive she tested out the practicality of the skull face paint or otherwise has first hand experience with extensive use of grease paint. Also, the way she describes normal people flinching when they see you is spot on.

I've noticed while putting on the make up that once most of my skin is covered, any flesh tones sticking out start to become unsettling. Specifically, the red/pink of the inner mouth and around the eyes jump out upsettingly. Every time I've done skull paint I find myself meticulously trying to patch over these edges of skin, despite knowing that it's inside skin that Shouldn't Have Make Up On It. Once my face is monochrome, I don't want to be able to see a scrap of real human under there. Smiling, or otherwise opening your mouth wide enough to see the pink, looks UNSETTLING. My own skin causes the uncanny valley effect. You see where this is going. In NtN we learn Harrowhark disassociates often enough that Crux isn't surprised or concerned to see "Harrow" insisting she's someone else. Obviously this is due to her schizophrenia, and perhaps trauma besides. But it doesn't account for every aspect of why Harrow's "like that." On her most lucid days Harrow ignores her body to the point of sweating blood and passing out. She goes entire days without eating. She thinks of herself as a skeleton unfortunately covered in flesh. She sleeps in her paint.

All of which is heinous, but that last one has stuck with me. From age 13-18 I barely glanced down while I showered and whatever I saw I basically blocked out. I wore underwear and a bra under my pajamas to sleep every night. I was going through the wrong puberty, "my body was in open rebellion" as I liked to say at the time, and the only way to cope was to bind it down and pretend it wasn't happening. By Gideon's narration in HtN one gets the impression most nuns of the Ninth are putting their paint on after breakfast and taking it off when they get home. It's not even expected the average person wears it every time they leave the house. But Harrow regularly only takes her paint off in order to redo it. I suspect a combination of being the most brainwashed person in her own cult, knowing how she was conceived, and the regular disassociation make it very difficult for Harrow to conceptualize that she actually lives in a body. If she faced that fact head on she'd have to ask why it so often feels someone else is using her body. She'd have to cope with owning this body, being a part of this body, that was bought with the blood of 200 children who should have been her peers and friends. Instead she pretends it's an object on loan from them. And she does it with 10 layers of black petticoats and so much paint she never has to see her own skin.

Which brings me to the final thing I've noticed wearing full face paint. It dehumanizes you to yourself and everyone around you. I couldn't read my own expressions in a mirror. Even people who understood and were delighted with my cosplay were visibly nervous talking to me. You don't look like a person. Studies have shown that faces wearing heavy make up are ranked as harder to read and perceived as less empathetic. It's a particularly insidious trap of patriarchy that many women find self esteem in wearing make up, while that very act makes everyone around them treat them more callously. And, worst of all, if you stop wearing it once you're used to it, your naked face is shocking. You look sick due to your colors being less bold and the normal small flaws of your face appear unbearably ugly. With all this in mind, Harrow has trapped herself in a feedback loop of not being able to witness her own face and becoming more and more disgusted with the flesh and person underneath whenever she has to glance at it.