#winter things

[me-uglypretty]

the heart doesn’t rest

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Wanda Maximoff x F!Reader

Summary: Fleeing to Norway was the dream that was only made better when lovers were together. Plus, the advantages of living in isolation provided unlimited freedom.

Warning: (18+) fluff, smut, bottom!r, somnophilia, voyeurism, cunninglingus, exhibitionism, fingering, power dynamics, filth | 5k words

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Life is an atrocious comedy. It bounded those living on earth into a monotone life, abiding to the rules and regulation spat upon their feeble body with the absolute necessity to survive. The comparison between one individual is vast, some gifted freedom while some barred in silver shackles. A life like that, stipulated different meaning on existing, and for you, the relentless taunt that came while living as you; a hero, a villain, a fugitive, whatever that smeared your name to their recent beliefs.

Their names were equally cursed among the same anticipating their rescue for when tragedy strikes. Natasha Romanoff and Wanda Maximoff, the intelligent spy and the powerful witch. But the most, your girlfriends, your lovers, the ones you wish to marry—when life wouldn’t exist like a plague for anyone of you.

However, living off-grid had proven no victory to either you or them.

“I hate this,” was said loudly, as your body habitually leaned into her sturdy body. “It’s not fair. We could’ve— we should had been together, right now and always. Not rotting in different ends of the world,” you exclaimed, pressing your body further into hers with hopes of pacifying your throbbing heart.

Natasha’s hand spread on the space of your back, rubbing soothing circles to offer some sort of comfort to your fretting. The customary gloom appeared throughout the days apart from your lover, but Natasha stayed strong for you, and for Wanda.

“Malyshka, this is for our safety. Didn’t you like Norway?” she inquired, tilting your head to meet her eyes. Those verdant eyes, gleams flawlessly beneath amber light, and she stares into yours with utmost love and trust. “You wanted to come here when everything is over.”

It was true. Norway was a dream manifested into reality. You had murmured to them one night—when nude bodies laid on bed, limps tangled and at ease, where slick and sweat coats your skin and theirs, and the scent of arousal lingers for hours after—that you wished to live in the coldest parts of Norway.

Wanda had laughed. Teasing remarks fell from her mouth. You had troubles handling your body’s temperature, despite being born a witch. Utilising too much of your power would embark your body in waves of heat or unbearably coldness. The latter was more common.

Natasha queried for reasons why you had chosen that specific location. It stirred some kind of seriousness in the air as you confessed;

“I want to live in isolation. Maybe, we can have a farm, so we won’t need to depend on other’s produce…and we won’t be under their radars. I just want— I need the freedom to hold both of your hands, and kiss your mouth…without them watching,” you revealed, voice soft and laced with a hint of insecurity from confessing something so precious to your heart, of your dreams with them.

They didn’t discard your dreams or teased your vulnerable confession.

Instead, Wanda had enclosed her hand over yours which laid comfortably above your stomach, and Natasha followed the same course. Both grasping your hands warmly. The jovial look on their face, same hearts that that endured the worst and still flourished with such love. One day, they had promised, kissing you wholly and holding you close.

Then, Natasha brought you here. A safehouse in Norway. Just you and her. Finally—it spoke in such a bitter tone. The atmosphere which breathes of tranquility and away from chaos of large building, doesn’t alter your absolute dejection. Isolation was great, you once thought, before realising the special state of isolation was meant for three together, and not when apart.

“I do, you know I do,” you spoke softly, and pressed your head on her chest. The beating of her heart, reminded you of life, and that was enough till life changes for the better.

Natasha doesn’t force the non-verbal confession from leaving your sad mouth or force your gloom state into one that shone brighter than the sun. It aches her heart to know how you felt, while knowing that Wanda was suffering the same in another part of Europe.

After the horrific escape of a witch, as they so fearfully claimed, Wanda was transported immediately on the opposite direction of her lovers. Vision had accompanied her for further protection. It was ensured that different locations will promise the safety of everyone.

Edinburgh wasn’t anything like Norway, neither provided the safety of three lovers together.

It wasn’t fair, you had argued, shoving and spitting in the face of those imposing such ruthless verdict on lives that weren’t theirs. Natasha had stayed on their side. It was the best decision, she persuasively told you with her hand cupping your damped cheeks.

Betrayal dripped at your tongue for what your lovers failed to brawl over. Till you comprehended that it was more risking for everyone to stay together than it was to split their locations far apart from the other.

But the heart doesn’t rest. It yearns for lovers to unite, and not be left incomplete, just aching for the other to return home.

“I miss Wanda too,” Natasha confessed woefully. She felt the tug of your hand over hers, drawing her attention to your bleary eyes.

“What if,” you paused, conjuring the violet glow in your palm, and it effortlessly flushed through her hand in your grasp. “I bring her here and—”

“You can’t,” Natasha interrupted your whirling ideas, and witness the gleam of violet in your eyes intensifies, before fading to reveal the usual tint of your eyes. But it’s sadder, the most gloom she had ever seen you. “It’s not possible. It can hurt her, hurt you, and I can’t have that, ever,” she spoke with finality, not furthering your attempts as you dejectedly accepted her words.

Maybe, if life wasn’t a cruel fest for those yearning to proclaim lives that aren’t theirs—you would happily live together with them, you would wake in the morning in the comfort of their embrace, you would love them till the end, and love would bloom so beautifully together.

December would have been prospering in colourful decorations, music involving the wintry holiday, and January would had carried forward with that. When wishes would be made for gifts and more, you wouldn’t wish for anything else, as they were enough for your pulsing heart.

“Is Wanda okay?” you questioned, “Vision’s staying out of her way?”

Natasha’s soft chuckles lifts the solemn mood. “Vision is minding his own business. Don’t worry, he wouldn’t dare mess with our witch.”

You huffed, hot breath fanning the extend of her neck. “He better, or I’ll cut him into pieces.”

While the threat was uttered in sheer jealousy with a hint of playfulness, it wasn’t far from the wicked truth. Natasha noticed the sparks of violet in your eyes, it resurfaced at unwarranted moments which exposed your intentions to her and the honesty of your words. Handling two witches became her expertise at this stage.

“Okay, hot stuff,” Natasha teased, her thumb and forefinger grasps your chin, tilting your head upwards, and pressing a haste kiss on your pouting lips. “No more talking. Time to watch James Bond, it’s my favourite.”

You simply nodded, following after with a question, “Will you repeat every dialogue?”

Natasha doesn’t answer. Instead, she resumed the movie playing on her laptop. When a character spoke, her soft voice followed them. It flutters your heart, fueling warmth to witness her so unrestricted.

And there, where your body bask in her warmth, where your heart aches with hers, where love doesn’t fade but flourishes.

Natasha offers you comfort in ways you loved; her warm embrace, her wordless kisses on your skin, her jokes that made you laugh, her tender effort of ensuring you ate by feeding you, and her body close to yours.

It doesn’t offend her that you had refused her physical advances. But she vowed to ensure everything went accordingly to your preferences.

If you wanted silence, she offered it. If you preferred dotting down each reason for your hatred, she listened. If you claimed the holidays as a marketing scheme, she agreed while retaining herself from laughing at the childlike expression on your face. If you pulled her outside the old trailer with the declaration of making a wish, she undoubtedly followed your words.

One phrase that left mouths longing for their lover; I wish…Wanda was back home.

The vacant space between two, remained there, taunting hearts with agony.

But love—the one that pulses in your heart and hers, it stimulates the hope for soon. That a wish may come true as fairy tales proclaimed. That love shared between three would soon reunite, and what forces dare divide them, would cease to exist.

In the depth of an isolated forest, miles away from open road or any sort of human contact, an old trailer was parked and hidden from peering eyes. Almost appearing deserted by its tattered state, and dull colour. The residence in this part of town, minded their business which faultlessly kept the identities of hidden fugitives safe, and the promise of sheer remoteness.

What noises that may resonates in an old trailer or around, wouldn’t draw attention. It’s a space of utter isolation.

Thus, the sudden noise of an aircraft or the sounds of bodies clashing after weeks apart, made no difference to your deep slumber state and the non-existing folks around.

That morning was different, though, you felt the peace that engulf your mind in your deep slumber. Sleep hasn’t come easy since you had moved here with Natasha. The habit of sleeping between your lovers had made your body uneasy without them together, and the sentiments were mutual.

At that hour, your serene sleep had failed to comprehend anything pass reality. You felt the touch, something cold, something hot, something that tickles your skin with waves of familiarity. It does nothing, but draw an almost inaudible groan from your mouth as you resumed sleeping.

“Malyshka,” a syrupy voice whispered, slipping into your mind as though, a pleasant dream. Crimson hue sparks on your skin at her tender touch. It produces red wisps through the side of your head, each stroke reaching to the depth of your mind.

You found her there. Wanda. The softest emerald eyes glowing beneath the sun’s gleam, her eyebrows furrowed as she laughs at something and your heart flutters, but still incomplete. Till, you felt pairs of hands on your shoulder and turn to meet those eyes, an ocean shifting from the nature’s green to the deep blue. Natasha smiles at you, wrapping her arms around your body while Wanda embrace you from behind.

However, your dreaming state and deep slumber, doesn’t wake you for the reality that blessed your form. That she was there, they were truly there, together, admiring your body sprawled on the bed.

Wanda was sat crossed legs by your side, as though, admiring an exclusive relic, while opposite her was a mischief looking Natasha. “Go on,” the latter persuaded. “She’s really sleepy,” Natasha added, before grasping the warm hand of her lover. She guides famished hand to where your legs were spread apart, and the heat the emits as their hands neared your core.

“Oh,” Wanda’s mouth fell gape, her pupils dilated in sheer lust and tease of crimson that gleams in her eyes. Her hand greedily cups your heat, speckles of red flutters around. “You’re such a good girl,” she purred, finger drawing a line through your clothed slit and you whimpered in response.

Natasha marvelled at the sight. It made the experience more thrilling as her hand trails to your clothed breast. She kneads your supple breast, and the lack of bra made obvious of your erected nipple.

“Please,” you mumbled in your sleep. The twitches on your face made them laugh. Your hands enclosed around nothing, while your legs trembles at Wanda’s teasing touch.

Then, a loud smack echoes in the small room. Wanda’s hand met your core with a rough slap, inciting amused chuckles from Natasha. The quirks of your lips, almost pleading for them, and the lust that continues to flourish in your slumber.

And in your mind, still deep in oblivion, you seek refuge of them in your fantasy.

It made them happy to know love that thrives, despite far apart or when unconsciousness engulfs warm bodies.

Those nights which haunt your attempt of sleep, ceased to exist at that hour as florid dreams resonates.

You felt something more, a teasing touch of her lips on your skin, the hand of a witch and the touch of a spy. Wanda’s hand grasping yours, and Natasha holding your jaw firmly as she presses an eager kiss on your mouth.

The stickiness made known between your lower region, urge for your legs to rub together for some friction to appease your throbbing core. Your hand awkwardly travels a path down, and you watch them gawk at you, in your brilliant dream.

Unbeknownst to your slumber state, what you dreamed at that hour, mirrored your action in reality. Your hand had slipped into your pajama pants. Wanda’s hand long strayed from that space, opting to watch you instead. Natasha doesn’t touch you either, both craving to witness the erotic scene. Your fingers messily fondled with your clit. The muddled friction caused immense pleasure in your sleep.

Natasha clicks her tongue and shakes her head at your pathetic state. “Like you haven’t been masturbating in the shower since we came here,” she scolded, and forcefully attempts to remove your hand, but the gleam of red hindered her action.

“Let her,” Wanda uttered, lust filled eyes were enchanted by your sleepy moans, and the dire efforts for bringing yourself to climax.

They remained seated on each side of your body, Natasha to your left, and Wanda to your right. Temptation is heavy, a taunting voice urging for mouths to meet, for hands to touch, for slick to coat skins and mouth. It’s so burdensome that when two pairs of eyes glance away from watching you masturbate in your slumber state, a spy and a witch exchanged a wordless understanding that curls their lips.

Wanda doesn’t break their penetrating gaze as she grasps Natasha’s hand and tugs the sturdy hand of her lover to her face. Instantly, her mouth enclosed around two dominant fingers. Velvety tongue laps around Natasha’s fingers, coating her digits with saliva. It drew a moan from a witch, where the magic that streams through her blood, pulsates around three in pure ecstasy.

With the quick wave of her hands—clothes that cladded warm bodies, vanished into thin air.

The cold weather of Norway made them tremble, your mouth quipped with a groan. But warmth would soon embrace nude bodies, they promised.

Natasha made a noise of appreciation and amusement. Her nude lovers were before her round eyes, scorching in lust for days to come, for the nights that would not grant them sleep as bodies finally meet.

“Hmm, you’re so incompetent, aren’t you?” Natasha mocked, prodding her fingers further into Wanda’s mouth as her left hand found yours, still foolishly stimulating your clit. She was determined to aid you, knowing you were hopeless without their touch.

Her hand pressed over yours, each finger lining over the other as she controlled them over your cunt. Still in sleep and relishing your sensual dream, your hips bucked in response to her guidance. It felt real in your blurry mind.

A sole finger was thrust into your tight hole, each stroke produced slowly. You whined in your sleep, still craving for something that wouldn’t leave you at the brink of orgasm, but enough to reach climax.

The mere sight of her lovers so beautiful, so helpless, so feeble under her control. Natasha offers her gratitude to whoever allowed paths to crossed. For her to meet you and together, meet Wanda. Forever, drips from her sinful tongue so sweetly and honestly—to love, to protect, to pleasure.

Natasha doesn’t fitter away from admiring your glistering cunt, entirely clear for her ravenous eyes. She was unable to avert her gaze as her hand moves over yours.

As always, Natasha declared while scrutinising your efforts.

Your hands were useless at pleasuring yourself, if not for her guidance and some unexpected moments, under Wanda’s guidance. Her hand itched to grasps your supple breast, to pinch your nipples and taste you wholly in her mouth, to hear the helpless pleads fell from your mouth.

A blabbering mess—similar to Wanda, who gags at the sudden thrust of Natasha’s hand. But she doesn’t stop, her tongue continues to suck and nibble on her lover’s digits till she was pleased. Natasha tucks her bottom lips between her teeth, lust filled eyes glued on Wanda’s breast that bounces at the subtle movement to wake pleasure between her thighs.

It's pitiful, she conveyed to the witch’s mind and heard Wanda’s breath hitch. Her gaze travel downward, Wanda’s unshaven cunt doesn’t hide the wetness that gleams under faux light or the way her core was perceptible while crossed legs, exposing her arousal for her lover’s eyes. Natasha’s mouth waters at the sight.

“Good girl,” Natasha’s fingers curls in Wanda’s mouth, before pulling them out with a pop. A line of drool glides the corner of Wanda’s mouth.

Her darken eyes, an endless abyss of dusky viridescent—admires her lovers. Two witches, so powerful and so hopeless under her control. She clenched around nothing and slowly spread her legs apart, enough for her saliva coated fingers to slip between.

Wanda’s eyes widened as her round eyes unashamedly watch the fingers she sucked, disappeared in an auburn bush, the shade few notch darker than lover’s head of hair. She shifted slightly, inspecting the way Natasha thrust her own fingers into her hole, and thumb rubbing her clit chaotically. Wanda averted her gaze grudgingly when she heard your mouth released a loud moan, then stared at the double penetration of Natasha’s hand over yours. The spy’s skilled fingers curls on both ends, for you, and for her own pleasure.

It wakes a deprivation inside her body and a pleading desire which Natasha answered, “Show me.”

Show me how wet you are—repeats in her mind as her trembling hand fell over her cunt with a smack, then again. Wanda immerses herself in the sting which made her cunt throb for more. Whispers of praises aids her into slipping her two fingers between her folds, the tips of her fingers teasing her tight hole. Her eyes shut closed with the murmurs of a dream which you presumed was just that.

Moans bounced off the old walls while sloshing sounds propelled them into thrusting deeper into their cunt, the feeling almost foreign to them, and altogether with you. While wrist ached for what seemed like hours of glorious pleasure, you haven’t dare hindered your action or wake from your induced sleep.

“Are you close?” Natasha moaned, her fingers rubbing intensely on her clit. “Fuck, come for me,” she ushered, eyes trained on Wanda as she increased her pace.

Wanda felt the tight knot formed, seconds way from utmost orgasm. She gazed into the soften eyes of her lover, those sweet praises seeps into her mind as she slowly comes undone. Her motion slacks, body hunched at the tingling sensation that erupts, and a hazy smile took place on her face. Sweat trickles down her skin from the heat of bodies finally achieving their rightful indulgence.

Natasha, on the other end, hasn’t reach her wanting climax. She removes her fingers with a whimper, extending her hand to where Wanda’s mouth readily accepts those fingers drenched in arousal. Wanda moves her mouth, forward and back, downing the entirety of her lover’s juice.

Without a warning, Natasha pulled her fingers out of Wanda’s mouth and slammed them back into her tight hole. The warmth mix with wetness bridge her pleasure as her walls enclosed around her fingers. Her continuous thrust becomes sloppy. The uncontrollably moans falling from your mouth draw their attention to you.

Your stomach felt heavy, like you were seconds away from exploding in sheer ecstasy. It doesn’t dither your teasing touch, as your dream slowly fades and your eyes flutters open.

“Malyshka?” Wanda whispered in awed.

It seemed alluring—as your hand moved faster, even quicker than Natasha’s aided stimulation. You observed her skin glistering with sweat, pupils dilated with clear present of lust then you noticed Natasha’s hand over yours, and her facial expression matched with your other lover.

Natasha removes her fingers out of her clamping hole, and takes a deep breath at the empty feeling inside her. “This was—” and she halted the words that left her mouth, in response of seeing your puzzled expression. “Oh, poor baby,” she purred, slowly leaning lower to meet your face and pressing a haste kiss on your lips.

Her slick coated fingers jammed into your mouth seconds after, as you sucked on her, eyes shutting close at the taste that sweep your tastebuds. Wanda follows her lover’s advance and laid by your side with her head perched on her palm.

You felt their breast pressed on your skin, the bumps at every thrust, skin layered with sweat, and the smell—your moaned at that. It felt like a dream come true, the best way to wake, the best way to stay with them.

“You’re taking me so good,” Natasha praised, then meeting the equally enthralled eyes of Wanda. “I think she can take more,” she said, or more so, command.

Wanda doesn’t refuse her lover’s indication as her fingers teased her cunt, collecting her wetness in turn of pressing them to your mouth. Their digits were ramped into your mouth, curling and smiling as you gagged.

Reality seeps into your mind from their touch, from the praises that neared your edge as you come undone. Your mouth doesn’t stop its ministration on their fingers till they pulled their fingers out, and allowed you the chance to breathe and speak in blurred words.

“How,” you gasped, chest heaving as your breast budges at that notion. Natasha cups one breast with her hand, and palm your erected nipples before pinching them between her wet fingers.

Natasha’s fixation on your breasts, the manner she massages your breast then wrapping her mouth around your nipple, which action drew a hefty moan from your mouth—doesn’t offer your needed answer. Only pleasure made your mind blank from what you had sought from them.

“I missed you,” Wanda professed, and firmly kisses your moist lips. “I had to see you. Natasha said you’ve been sad. Is that true?”

You vaguely nodded your head. The mist of your dreams, your reality, and your sheer bliss state, doesn’t offer more.

“Awe, our baby’s so senseless,” Natasha mocked, her mouth leaves a line of saliva as she moves to your neglected breast. Your breath hitched at that, hand immediately falling on her head and urging her to suck on your nipple.

Wanda giggles with a look of content for finally having her lovers together, and misery would cease to exist. Her head softly rest on your collarbone, allowing the best view of Natasha relishing the feel of your breast in her mouth, and her own hand trails down your abdomen.

It doesn’t—it wouldn’t stop, and you happily bestowed your body to their starved touch to compensate for days apart.

And for once, after a long while, your heart found peace. When yearning was met with the smiles on their face, and concealed with every kiss. When home is found again.

A snowstorm had accumulated few feet of snow outside. Warnings were transmitted beforehand, though, it wasn’t something feared among heroes known to fighting the most mysterious presences. Besides, heroes and villains alike were cleverly trained in such situations. Natasha’s years training provided a sense of relief for possible causes after, while Wanda’s crimson gleam with the combination of your violet glow, was powerful enough.

In other words, you were equipped with the best team.

The horrendous weather nor the target on your head and theirs, could interfere the reunions of lovers. Holidays promised together were cramped in an old trailer. Several gifts were scattered around with a playful game amid its discovery. It was orchestrated for each individual’s inner child, and for hearts to feel better than what was expected outside this little heaven.

A Christmas hat was adorned on your head for the sake of holiday spirit in the middle of January. The horribly tuned radio played familiar melodies, some known, and some unfamiliar.

It was chilly inside, with the few blows of warmth from the heater. The weather wasn’t blamed, when clothes had failed to reach your body or theirs. Since Wanda’s arrival, nudity was the proposed option. Neither wishing for any material to create a barrier what they deemed as a beautiful sight, and you happily agreed, just steaming with the thought of seeing them walking around in their bare skin.

The graze of nude skin while walking close in compact trailer, ignited a fire within, or when a wet patch was left on the faux leather seat that gawked at her. And Natasha expertly lifted you over the counter, spreading your thighs apart as she devoured you.

“Baby, you’re so wet,” Natasha would mumble into your heated core. “Always,” offered as a whisper, where Wanda gawked at your defenceless state.

In a day, you had spent several times in the same position that your brain failed to remember the count. Complains never fell from your mouth, even when Natasha guided Wanda to thrust her tongue into your sensitive cunt. The continuous ministration left your body buzzing, tired, and craving them in every way.

Everything felt perfect.

Better than living among others, and only snatching few hours or if you’re lucky, few minutes of time together. But this life, it granted freedom that wasn’t timed.

Time with them made you giddy throughout the day and night. If not your beaming smile, your throat would burn from pleading and your mouth wide open as they teased your body; insensitively twisting your nipples, prodding your tight holes but never allowing the pleasure of filling you, the faint licks over your heated core that made your hips buck into their face—to only have them draw back.

Greedy, that’s what they’d say.

As if you haven’t allowed them the authorization to do as they pleased to your body. But you played according to their demand for your own pleasure.

Even when you find yourself in the most compromised position.

The morning had woken differently. Sun gleaming through the window, rays of golden shone on Wanda’s face that roused her—and where she met the sight of Natasha’s fingers lazily circling her clit, and your head resting on her thigh. You had settled on admiring the way Wanda’s body reacted to your lover’s teasing touch.

“Let’s play in the snow,” Wanda had proposed, with a glint her eyes that could either mean the worse or the best. “Malyshka, don’t you wanna play in the snow?” she diverted her attention solely to you, and you tentatively answered with a nod.

After that—you found yourself alone, and completely nude, abiding to the rule made. Except for your boots cladded feet. Nevertheless, your figure was hidden by prominent trees around, and absolute isolation. Disapproval that fell from your mouth on attempting something potential risky was persuaded by cold hand palming your heat, and the warning after.

“You’re not a naughty, are you?” Natasha spoke lowly, easily leaving your cunt drenched. “Santa doesn’t like naughty girls,” she whirred, half expecting for your rebuttal.

“But Christmas is over…” you uttered, and winced when your nipples was pinched. “Fuck,” you cursed, noticing the thread of red circling your breasts.

Wanda pressed her nude front against your back, and the feel of her perky breast had rendered you speechless. You could feel the heat emitting from her lower region as her hips bucks froward—till the interruption was made to carry forward with their plan.

It started with a playful game of snowball which led to hide and seek. You counted the numbers till fifty before searching for your lovers. It was the little act of innocence that overlooks the horrendous memories. And the clear indication that their thoughts were laced with things much explicit.

However, you were left alone with the thoughts of them. You had easily recognised it as Wanda’s new tricks of depicting them in the most compromising position. Those visuals pulses in your mind, while you tried—

It wasn’t wrong, you had justified. They roused the thrilling sensation that flushed your skin. It was them who drove such compelling images into your mind. They were to blame for the slick coating your thighs, and the shivers of your legs when wind blew.

They, fell from your mouth as incomplete excuses when patience narrowed and your hand provoked to satisfy the throbbing ache. Your helpless moans were muffled with your hand. You could hear the wetness from your cunt, as the image of them coax your perverted intentions. The fear of being caught, barely crossed your mind.

That, you failed to perceive the sound of broken twigs or the gasped upon seeing your shameless act of masturbating in your lonesome.

Natasha’s hold on Wanda’s hand tightens. They perceived the scene as expected. Assumptions were made between them, one for you to find them and discover their surprise while the other on your inability to stray away from your sinful thoughts.

Together, your lovers had crafted the best surprise for missed holidays. A little game embarked between three, and where hiding would further lead you to those surprises. Natasha had doubted you would do so, not after Wanda’s idea of planting such images into your mind.

Thus, Natasha doesn’t sympathise when she aggressively shoved you back against the tree’s trunk. The coarse texture scratches your bare skin and you cringed at the feeling, before realising the consequences of your action would hurt far more.

“This isn’t hide and seek,” Natasha’s voice edge with irritation, while Wanda stood behind with enthusiasm. “We had a very special surprise for you, but…” she trailed, and a devilish smirk graced her face.

It evoked something between fear and lust for your mistreatment—and you were drenched at the idea.

Natasha pushed your hand away from tiresome ministration, and spread your legs apart. “You’re so naughty, aren’t you?” she pestered. “Since you want everyone to see you like this, then let’s put on a show.”

The sight was shameless if viewed from an outsider—your body trembling from the cold and aching for her, despite her kneeling position, she was still in full control.

Natasha pressed her tongue flat against your puffy cunt that throbbed in response. She doesn’t wait for your familiarity to ease as her finger slide pass your folds and into your entrance. Wanda unreservedly watches her lover fucked you mercilessly, and she found her own pleasure amplified.

You breathed heavily, any attempt of gaining control or holding her shoulder was hindered by wisps of red. Whimpers fell from your mouth and they made a sound too, the hum of approval and pride.

It was great, they’d mutually agreed. To have you in their own way, without limitation or fearing the worse of life.

Though, the punishments were better.

“Please…” you begged, speech left hanging helplessly as a loud smack on your thigh made you shut your mouth.

“Natty says no,” Wanda beamed, waving her hand as red wisps twirls around your breast and you felt the instant stimulation.

Natasha continued her ministration with her fingers and her mouth, the taste of your juice filled her with utmost joy and pleasure. Your body limped against the tree’s trunk, indifferent of the course texture that would leave your skin with a rash.

And you accepted that—the utter control they had over your body, the heat woken in your stomach for them, the pulses of undying need by their name.

Besides, the next hour would prove the best of all little memories expand into one.

You would find yourself bring carried in Natasha’s sturdy arms, your hand would shamelessly trace the clear-cut muscles on her body. Wanda would cling herself on Natasha, her hand accidentally touching your sensitive parts and—

You would find their surprise. The gifts of missed days and gifs for coming days. Decorations that would brighten the timeworn attire of an old trailer. They would watch you happily engulf in a world of three, and love would bloom so beautifully.

What may occur in the coming days or months were feeble thoughts, that couldn’t ruin the embrace of lovers.

[jasonshousewife]

holiday season jason todd thoughts ❄️🩷

- christmas stockings with our initials on it

- baking cookies together hehe

- movie night !! he's definitely gonna make fun of your movie choice but secretly enjoys the holiday movies. cuddling with him on sofa with blanket over both of you, he wraps his arm around you and pulls you closer♡

- getting him ugly hello kitty christmas sweater cause why not

- I think he'd love old classic carols he used to listen on the street as a boy, but he'll have to listen to all the nasty girly christmas pop hits when he's with me🤭

- christmas tree shopping! Never experienced one myself but i think it'll be fun

- decorating christmas tree together, I'll probably keep them up till July but jason would take it down as soon as christmas season ends. he loves cleaning we all know that

- ice skating, he's gonna be good at it yes but why do i lowkey want him to suck at it lol

[focusongrande]

positions music video !

[autumncottageattic]

fox_and_blueberry

[k-cady]

[dyingroses]

Won't kill stinkbugs cuz that doesn't feel fair, but will flick them with hate

Meanwhile I'm carefully putt some water on a dish so a ladybug can safely drink

[noballoonsinspace]

actual winter coat <<<<< russian nesting doll hoodies just keep adding more hoodies until you are warm

[hyuuukais]

my face is frozen and my body is stiff

[messylilhuman]

Chilly mornings, crisp cool air, warm jalebis, evenings, bonfires and tea, peanut chikkis, floral blankets, the air fogging up when you breathe, wisps of coffee, dew drops, sunlight, afternoons in the sun, knitting, fairylights, home.

[me-uglypretty]

a tutor and a kiss

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader

Summary: A suspicious tutor for the Barton’s children results in Natasha taking caution steps, while trying to enjoy Christmas and discovering something better.

Warning: (18+) fluff, minor violence, use of dagger | 4k words

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The bonfire crackles, gleaming in tinge of amber, and gleamed wondrously on gleeful faces. Conversations buzzes around, whirring together with the cold wind, and sounds of tree brunches rustling in response.

“We’re putting up the tree tomorrow,” a voice exclaimed, buried by another trying to pass through in fumbles of heavy breaths. “And Miss Tu— to, toto, is helping!”

Natasha amusedly observed the children energetically exchanging their opinion on said wrong name and perceived her friend’s tried sigh. Clint waves his hand at her, a silent plead, please distract them, and she shrugs her shoulder.

“Kids, why don’t we hear some stories from your dad?” Natasha perched her elbows at the edge of her knees.

A glare settled on Clint’s face till his children’s attention was drawn to him. Cooper was profusely wishing to hear more about his father’s action filled stories. Nathaniel squealed excitedly, not entirely understanding, but simply sharing his excitement.

While Clint struggled to prepare a story that wasn’t gory from his past, Natasha tentatively surveys their surroundings. A habit picked up, and never forgotten in the name of ensuring those around her were safe. Although, they were very safe in Clint’s farmhouse.

Sound of footsteps peaks her attention as she stared ahead. Familiar reflective shade of pink and the distinct voices draws a smile on her face. Lila waves animatedly at her, and she pats the space beside her as the young girl takes the seat there.

“Dad, you forgot the marshmallow.”

The enthusiastic children, frowns gloomily, and the youngest was at the edge of crying. Natasha shakes her head, noting down her friend’s offended look, then the flash of reminder and he’s meeting her eyes, another pleading look.

He had inadequately forgotten his children’s request of marshmallow for their family’s weekly bonfire. Thus, his escape was in the name of his friends’ distraction because his children adored their Auntie Nat.

Laura, his lovely wife, shares a knowing look with Natasha, then diverted her attention to her guilty husband. “I’m sure, daddy would happily get some tomorrow. Now, who wants hot chocolate?”

Thrill cheers erupt, and Natasha giddily admires the sight. The absent innocence of her childhood wounds her heart, but she devotes her heart into these special moments together. The innocence smiles and kindness, it gradually heals her inner child.

“Is Auntie Yelena coming tomorrow? I want to show her my new ninja move,” Nathaniel tugged the ridges of Natasha’s sleeve.

A smile appears on her face, spreading wide to the glint in her eyes. “Yes, she’s bringing Kate along too.”

The conversation continues energetically. Natasha reminisces the minimal period when she was allowed to pretend that life was that—purely living as any other kid around her, freely cycling around her neighbourhood as she pleased, free to lay on the grass and play at the playground with her young sister, and so naïve of what was actually real, but still, she immersed herself happily in those precious years.

Reuniting with Yelena after all those years, missed adolescence years, the conversation between sisters—which does happen now, just not entirely icky as Yelena would whine about, and more them, two former assassins and their stolen childhood—and experiencing life that wasn’t crafted for them.

It wasn’t easy, but that bond shared from years ago, still flutters at every soft smile and the seconds before danger collides upon them.

They were still kids, simply older and bearing years of trauma.

“Miss Tutor promised to teach us how to make snow globes! I hope she does that cool magic trick…”

Natasha’s furrowed her eyebrows, entertained by the recurrent mention of someone unknown and curious at the sheer eagerness on the children faces, even the oldest ones were excited.

Laura noticed her expression, and reached her hand forward, tapping Natasha’s thigh. “Clint hired a tutor for them. She’s great, but I think they might love her, a little too much,” she explained, “Don’t worry. She’s clean.”

Clean, and yet, curiosity surges in her chest. She wouldn’t find said person utterly clean or safe, till herself had interrogate the person thoroughly.

“Hmm, we’ll see,” Natasha nodded her head, gaze falling on the flickering fire and particles of ash drifting in the air.

Clint grunted after his youngest son playfully punches him in attempt of showcasing his ninja move. “She’s a good one, Nat.”

Natasha doesn’t question them, but hears the conversation hovering over the same person, and remained as that, someone who’s good and loved by the children.

They giddily huddled around the bonfire, drinking hot chocolate and munching on cookies. Natasha’s hand always being held by her own cup of hot chocolate and the other by one of Barton’s children, all appearing as her favourite, even little Nathaniel who was meant to be little Natasha.

The evening gave them relief, especially Natasha. A beautiful family tradition, sounds emitting of joy and gleaming eyes. Just lovely for hearts pulsing during a festive month.

Natasha couldn’t find herself among stranger without questioning their sinister creature. In the company of those known widely by their broad smile and wealth or those simply offering drink to her with their failed flirtatious tricks, her mind doesn’t permit rest till she was aware that danger wasn’t lingering around.

Thus, she was agitated by the lateness of her God children’s tutor.

“Oh god, Natasha, please relax, okay? Chill,” said her sister, briskly downing her cup of hot chocolate then eyeing Natasha’s untouched cup. “You don’t want?” Yelena gestured to the cup, hands already clasping the handle.

Natasha shakes her head. A small smile curves on her lips as she gentle push the cup towards Yelena. “You’re going to get a stomach ache.”

Yelena waves her hand, disregarding her sister’s advice as she hungrily bites another cookie and dunking the half-eaten cooking into the cup. “It’s very good. You should learn, sestra. We can finally have good home cook meal.”

Take-out has been their surviving nutrition since the sisters’ rented out an apartment together. Natasha has always been excellent at her presented task, but cooking wasn’t the one.

Take down an entire operation? Give her a week or less, and she’d have their entire history data too. Battle aliens without any sort of extra energy? Watch her jump on an alien vehicle without a worry. But ask her to cook a decent meal that wasn’t boxed and instant? Expect something burnt, spoilt or tasteless, or extremely bitter for some bizarre reason.

However, Yelena pride herself on preparing the best macaroni and cheese. At some point, both sisters became progressively tired of the same food which lead them to ordering take-outs. Every single day.

“You can’t survive on sugar, Yelena,” Laura’s voice quipped. “But I can teach you how to bake cookies and cook, you know, so you don’t expect your sister to do everything.”

The offended gasp from the youngest of them, received hefty laughter in return.

“Natasha don’t think you got out of this. You need to learn too,” Laura added, which made the latter glare at her, because it was enough for her younger sister to laugh and point accusingly at her sister.

“Hah! I’m telling Kate Bishop.”

They watch amusedly as golden head of hair bops excitedly, hands waving in the air, mouth wide and happy. The opposite, taller with messy brunette hair, Kate, mirrors her excitement.

“It’s so nice to see her like this,” Natasha muttered, and exchanging an understanding smile with Laura. “And for your information, I’m not a bad cook. I’m simply not good at it.”

Laura laughs as her hand rest firmly on Natasha’s shoulder. “Sure, if it makes you happy. But I’m still ready to teach you how to cook.”

“Who’s learning to cook? Can I join? I’m good with heat!” a loud voice rings, inciting optimism greetings from the Barton children.

“Miss Tutor!” Nathaniel exclaimed, pushing pass his siblings. “Did you learn a new trick yet?”

From the kitchen, Natasha witness the scene unfold. Heavy coat hanging on sturdy arm, along with several Christmas themed paper bags. You weren’t aware of her wary eyes on you, but simply allowing the young boy to drag you away.

“That’s Miss Y/n, she’s the new tutor,” Laura explained. “Don’t scare her off,” she pointed, eyebrows raised and waiting for a tolerable answer.

Natasha shrugs her shoulder indifferently. “We’ll see.”

An elbow on the table, her cheek comfortably resting on the palm of her hand, she observes you from afar. The warm air of the Barton’s house calmed her scorching curiosity and aid her into watching than instantly falling into her customary interrogation routine.

You were a young woman, painfully donned in simple attire, flashing a bright smile that triggered waves of grins in return, and a noticeable flair in your movement. Seemingly accustomed to your environment, hand extending precisely when one of the snow globes rolls off the table, then another guiding young Nathaniel’s paint brush.

“Go join them.”

Natasha doesn’t meet her friend’s gaze. “Where did you find Miss Tutor?”

Clint huffed. “You do know that I don’t allow just anyone here, right?

There’s a hint of offence and tease in his tone. Natasha spiritedly slaps his arm, “I know, old man. There’s just something about her.”

“She seems to really know herself around here, uh? And she’s pretty too…” he added the last part hastily, and smile victoriously as his friend nods, gaze captivated on you.

Natasha became lost in contemplation of your modest state. Perhaps, a part of her mind could agree, you were indeed pretty, and whereas the other, solicits to obtain your motive. Someone that kind, attractive, good with children, eyes glimmering beneath fairy lights so enchantingly—

I don’t trust her, said in disdain groan, and more when she’s dragged into the hall room, compelled into joining their yearly tradition of decorating the Christmas tree.

“Natasha, meet Miss Y/n,” Clint introduced, persuasively nudging his friend’s shoulder towards your direction.

A friendly smile curves on your lips. “Hi, it’s nice to meet you,” the greeting fell gentlely from your mouth. The brush left deserted on the table as your hand extend to shake hers.

Natasha gawked at your hand. Red paint was smeared on your hand, the tips of your fingers shimmered with silver glitters, and the sight mirrors those of the children around. Her stern gaze must had caught your attention when you bashfully recoiled.

“Sorry, I get carried away sometimes,” you excused, trying to remove the stained colours on the an equally stained rag. “Okay. This isn’t working out. Yelena, please take over?” you presumedly stood, “Do not go overboard.”

Yelena scoffed. “I will never. Tell that to Kate Bishop.”

The exchange appeared habitual which vexes her. Why were you familiar with her younger sister? How dare you straightforwardly have things in order? Who allowed you to signal her into following you? And why was she soundlessly trailing behind you towards the kitchen?

“I’m sorry for not introducing myself earlier,” you glanced at her, a nervous smile on your face before diverting your attention to the sink. “Hmm, the water’s pretty cold.”

She attentively watches the movement of your hands beneath the tap, scrubbing as though you were removing something far worse than paint, then turning the tap off and lathering your hands with soap. The fragrance of lavender reaches her nostril. You carefully clean the crook and corners of your hands, even beneath your nails.

Most don’t do that—it must mean something awful.

“Who are you?”

The question halted your movement. “Didn’t think you’d start so soon.”

Natasha frowned. “Excuse me—”

“Let’s go for a walk and you can ask me everything,” you continued washing your hands. “Clint warned me so, I’m prepared,” and you turned around, crossing your arms as you lean back on the counter.

She doesn’t like it. The utmost confidence in your stance. A delight glint in your round eyes. Where the faux white light in the kitchen, cast a mysterious glow upon your head.

“Should we go?” you thumb pointed towards the door, and she nodded her head.

Natasha was astonished to find your good-mannered act of pushing the door open, and gesturing for her to walk forward first, then closing the door behind. The cold wind dispirits herself from what’s bound to ensue after questioning you, because she rather engulf herself in a warm blanket and watch her sister’s tantrum with children much younger than her.

But she demands to know your intentions.

As the distance expands, the Christmas melody and murmurs of conversation fades. Natasha contemplate each step you took beside her. The twitch of your fingers, as if you were reaching for something, then the subtle glance towards her, like you needed to know if she was still there.

“In there,” Natasha pointed towards the barn and you undoubtedly obeyed.

The barn tracks an earthy scent. Inside, it’s almost dark, if not for the moon’s soft obscured glow through the windows. An eerie silent emits from lack of voices and more so, the buzzes of insects. Several pieces of Christmas ornaments were chaotically thrown around. Tinsels hanging awkwardly from the window to the length of an extensive timber. Miniature reindeers hanging from fish strings that gives off an illusion of flying reindeers. It was absolutely the work of her God children.

Natasha stealthily admired the decoration and doesn’t utter a word. She looked at the dirty ground, walked around the barn, frowned at the disheartened look on your face as you shivered.

“Okay, I’m ready, hit me,” you professed, taking a seat on the nicely kept hay. “Not literally though. This is my favourite top.”

She casted a vague wandering look upon your supposed favourite top which was, expectedly, smeared with paint. Then, a playful smile widespread on your face, because you were joking, and she didn’t catch on.

“No.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “No?”

Natasha crossed her arms, standing straight and robust, with a strict complexion and an unspoken warning that blaze dangerously in her eyes. One wrong move and there would be consequences.

“Clint never had help around here. So, suddenly, you’re here? Come on, cut the shit. Who are you working for?” Natasha voiced sternly, and takes a taunting step forward, while you gulped, appearing afraid.

“Clint did not— sorry— whoa, you’re really into this and—” a shaky voice resonates in your throat, and it’s different than your lively voice she had heard before.

You averted your gaze from Natasha, and it troubled her, who, nevertheless, still viewed your characteristic as suspicious. When you ceased speaking and meeting her gaze with those eyes gleaming in excitement, she warily takes a step forward, at arm length from you.

A deep intake of breath, then it’s soft, but it’s clear, the chuckles that came from you.

“That’s what you expected me to say? Wallow in fear before the great Black Widow?”

Natasha doesn’t bother to hear more as she acted on reflex. The swift grasps of a dagger hidden in her black boots, and she lurched forward, her arm pushes your down from between your neck and chest. More pressure and your breathing circulation would had be disturbed, or a heavy ache would tremble in your chest. While her right hand readily held the danger close to your cheek, despite its petite size, the glint of sharpness makes you shudder.

“Okay! I give in! Clint bet me that I wouldn’t dare— why does this knife look so cute and dangerous— he said I wouldn’t dare challenge you!”

She paused, challenging eyes scrutinise every single reaction on your face to where your eyes flickers to her then the dagger and how your body struggled pathetically beneath her hold.

In the distance, she perfectly distinguishes the song of Silent Night plucking at her brain. It’s Christmas and I’m doing this, where’s the fucking break?

“Who sent you? What’s your name?”

You coughed, trying to ease the pressure brought upon your throat at her assault. But she was relentless and entirely too strong.

“What does Tutor stand for Miss Tutor? I would not hesitate to end you. Answers me!”

What she had expected—wasn’t the flutter of laughter or her heart’s sudden interest to hear more of that unique sound, and the way your smile seems ample to submerge her mind into that sound. It’s unconventional. Natasha expected to prod into your mind, gather needed information, and detent your further danger on the Barton family.

But you were bursting in surprises when you swiftly pushed her backwards, then tackled her on the hay that was once uncomfortably scratching your clothed back. The dagger fell from her hand at the sudden attack. Russian curses spew from her mouth while your eyes widened curiously, then a gentle smile curves on your lips.

“You don’t speak Russian much,” you noted with interested. “Angry or whatever, really, it’s nice to hear you speaking your mother tongue.”

Natasha’s eyebrows furrowed. “You speak Russian?”

“Among other languages. I am a tutor as in Miss Tutor. Tutoring…someone who tutors people.”

Embarrassment flushed her cheeks. Natasha doesn’t like that—the indifferent in your voice, like she wasn’t holding you down before and expecting answers than be held down in return and carelessly at that, because she could easily switch her position.

But she wanted to know.

“Clint did really bet me though. I’m sorry for not being more exciting and cooler, but just really reckless,” you humoured, “But I’m kind of liking this position. It feels like I’m all powerful. Yelena’s not wrong about the whole superhero thing.”

Natasha lifted her head, “Yelena? How do you know her?” she pushes you off her, “Why do you know my sister?”

You raised your hands as she takes threatening steps towards you. “We met when she came over with Kate and I was tutoring the kids.”

“Who are you?”

The question spat angrily from her mouth, and yours wide, unable to utter an answer back that would avoid any sort of violence. Natasha arched her eyebrow, still giving you a final chance. One second passed then two, three, and the fourth befell upon you with her harsh shove and your back pressed on brittle wood.

However, you refused submitting to her brutality. The abrupt shove of your hands emits a warmth, a scarlet tint canvassing your skin and cheeks, vast different from the tone of your skin. It leaves her shocked, gasping as her hands smoothens over her clothed collarbone.

“What the hell,” she glared, while you snickered.

“Oh come, it’s Christmas! Let’s toast some marshmallow and not ourselves,” you jested, “Burned human flesh…isn’t really appealing.”

Natasha’s jaw clenched. Anger flairs dangerously in her eyes, heart blazing with passion to eliminate a supposed threat, and she rose, readily staggering towards you.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Stop! That’s enough! Cool down kid!”

Amber flame flickers through the width of your hands, reflecting hauntingly in your eyes, and your rigid stance. But a coy smile was smeared teasingly over your lips, and she’s angrily glaring at you.

“Ha! You owe me Kate Bishop.”

Natasha glance to where several bodies were huddled together by the barn’s door. Yelena was contentedly taking cash from Kate, while Clint shakes his head and pushed them aside as he stepped entirely into the barn.

“Natasha, Miss Tutor is not lying. She’s a good kid. We put her up to it. Please, stop, everyone,” the latter part pointed accusingly at the two friends arguing in the back. “Y/n isn’t bad news. Just trying to have a second chance in life, like you, like Yelena, and she’s not bad,” he breathed out.

“What?” Natasha was baffled. “You pranked me. You fucking pranked me? Thing one and thing two was in it too?”

Bunch of heys resonates in response, and Clint nods his head.

Natasha takes a deep breath, fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. Then, she meets your gaze. “You’re cool?”

The flames in your hands extinguishes swiftly and you waved them with a jovial smile. “Very cool.”

“Ugh, their dropping puns now. Let’s go,” Yelena assured her friend, and gave a pointed look at Clint. “Old man, your children are waiting for you.”

Clint huffed. “Don’t burn anything down.”

As the group walked away, Natasha relaxed the tense in her muscles and you watched her with that aggravating glint in your eyes.

“If it makes you feel better, Kate was sure that you would had attacked me the second I walked in,” you pursed your lips, the next words seeming complicated for you to utter. “But I’m fifty dollar richer cause I said you wouldn’t, and we’ll do this in private, which Clint disagree— they just assume you’d find target and hit.”

Natasha restrained the smile on her face as she watches your commitment on proving them wrong. The motion of your hands, eyes widening when your speech stretches to different part, and maybe, for a fleeting second, she was admiring the spark within you which seems to spread warmth.

Not just the abrupt flairs of fire, but the person that you were—not exactly bad, just someone she doesn’t know.

At that moment, she overhears the melodious voices of her family and the tunes of Christmas dispersed delight in her chest. And you, seemingly standing there, staring at her, waiting for something else to be said or happen.

“It’s cold,” you murmured.

Natasha smiles—her famous lopsided smile blooming gleefully on her face, and you were shocked, then you’re smiling just as wide. She remained there, few minutes of facing each other, and without a word, she takes steps towards the exit.

“Hey, you dropped this,” you hastily reached her side. The dagger held softly in your hand and she takes it, the feeble graze of skins made you shiver, and she hasn’t stop smiling.

You were warm, and she was cold, and it felt as though, this puzzle was meant to unite like this.

“Oh look,” you lifted your gaze upwards, a shy smile adorning on your lips as she follows your gaze.

A mistletoe dangles above heads, brilliant green and red, so lively and teasing those who falls beneath.

Natasha couldn’t ignored it, the thumping in her chest, your warmth body close to hers, the anger that was reduce to something—it’s different, and she wouldn’t dare admit, but she likes the feeling spreading through her chest and where her fingers twitches.

And you appeared the same, bashful smile, the secretive look in your eyes that she understood. Why does she understand you?

It takes her one deep breath, your curious look, the dagger thoughtlessly kept in her pocket, and her hands grasps your face. She contemplated the idea of a silly tradition, then, in one sudden move, she pressed her body into yours and crushes her lips over yours.

You made a noise, giving into her touch. Words weren’t exchanged, just the knowing touch and a needed silence. Your hands rest firmly on her waist, gripping her clothed flesh as you allow your body to slack into hers, and she’s holding you close.

Natasha leans away first, while you hazily chased after her—wanting to feel her more, a hunger that erupts in your chest for her, and she finds it funny that you were readily giving into her.

“You are really warm,” she whispered, her thumb pressed at the edge of your lip, and trails her thumb to where your chin ends. “You got my attention,” she pats your chest softly, then removes herself entirely.

“What?”

The ardent glow of night casted an attractive gleam over your face, and hers, each other admiring the sight adoringly. Natasha doesn’t wish to risk ruining a truly, joyful moment, so she extended her hand for you take and hummed when you easily accepted.

Beside her, you were giddily smiling, fingers firmly enclosing around hers. “I love Christmas.”

The cold evening propels chills on skin, while smiles spread and hearts pulses happily. Natasha glances at you, once, twice, and each time overcomes her with a certain joy, perhaps, this was the so-called Christmas magic that flutters in her chest.

The smiles on those she loves, her sister already waiting by the door with a cheeky expression, the children that she swore to love and protect, and you—a stranger she finds herself completely drawn to.

And when the next year arrives in its merry cheers, Natasha gleefully introduced you as her wife, and kissed you as though, life was bursting colourfully at every second her lips met yours.

And that—a mistletoe that was securely kept in her pocket for the years after.

[chans-room]

Now that it’s officially Winter I can write my really ridiculous DK x Reader x Bang Chan competitive figure skaters love triangle au that I probably won’t finish until mid-spring

[focusongrande]

happy december 1st !

[yagirlyubnub]

my hands are DRY N CRUSTY

But do anything about it?

no

[pr0ject-mayhem]

[kentnaturaltribrid]

Running low on the string side, but beyond that found somethings really cool and crispy. Felt like it was one that would work well with at least three of us, if not more than 3 for the themes of something. Haven’t fully figured out exactly a main one yet, but as a side piece in the theme of all of it works well enough. Though, regardless, for the Winter and all of that felt like there was something missing out of the theme. Couldn’t quite get around to what, but it was a bit difficult to decide on what was missing and what wasn’t missing entirely. Though, still was missing quite the Wintery Snowy Crisp Leafy Icy ❄️ and Cold pieces of the whole thing. Regardless, could only find about 3 things missing from the overall theme, when there was a short amount of time.

[mysteriouslybluepirate]

How do you write?

Like. I've got ideas.

I know how to write out a plot outline, and how to lay out the scenes I'll need. I know how to calculate a vague word count. I know how to write an outline for a character arc.

BUT HOW DO I ACTUALLY WRITE!?!?!?!? As soon as I open up my files all my motivation is gone.