#The witch at the end made me laugh way way hard

[blueberryflavoredfeelings]

Syfy’s Tin Man ATE

Genuinely hysterical I fear I may never stop talking about it

[monstersflashlight]

Day 1. Monster-kinktober: Marking the territory + Cockring-plugs/Massaging

Werewolf x fem!reader || marking, breeding, cock-ring, dirty talk (low key) || tw: pregnancy talk

When he told you he was about to go into rut, you were worried about babies, neither of you didn’t have an accidental pregnancy but you were both pretty into breeding, especially when he was that close to going feral because of his werewolf hormones. So you called in a few favors and got a witch to enchant a cock-ring. At first you were skeptical, so that’s why he was trying it today as you went to work.

You spent about fifteen minutes that morning massaging his knot until it was fully set in your hand so you could slip the cock-ring on him. It was supposed to keep him in that state for a long time and made it impossible for him to come. He was pretty cocky about it in the morning, as you massaged him, he kept telling you how there was no way that ring could fit around his big knot. How your pussy felt a lot nicer than your hand around his knot. How pretty you would look when it broke and you’d be left full of cum. How pretty you’d be full of his pups before the month ended. (And not gonna lie, that made you a little more than horny).

But you didn’t let him get away with it, massaging his balls until he was shooting his come all over your tits and his face was contorted with pleasure. You slipped the ring on before he could process it, and his cum instantly stopped. You giggled as he gave you the stink eye, trying to catch you but failing as you ran out the room to get dressed. You called over your shoulder and told him to be good for a couple hours...

And that’s why you come home to find him in your bed, rubbing his massive erection against the sheets, unable to come. He looked as pathetic as ever, whimpering and groaning your name, face buried in your pillow. He was so gone in his pleasure that he didn’t even realize you were there until you spoke.

“Hell-” But you didn’t have time to finish the word before he was turning around, eyes bloodshot and fangs bared. He looked feral, and a spike of fear bloomed inside of you. He looked at you for a total of two milliseconds before he was jumping from the bed and into your personal space.

He knocked you off and tore your clothes off in the same movement. You were expecting him to be desperate when you came back, but you weren’t expecting him to be like that, to be so desperate. And then it clicked. He went into heat. He went into heat when you weren’t there and his knot was unable to go down or release. You practically condemned him to werewolf sex-torture, and he had to endure it for two hours. Poor baby.

His claws were out and he was trying to get your panties off, but ended up tearing them, too. “Slow down…” You told him, pulling at his hair and making him bare his fangs at you.

“No,” he growled.

You laughed for a total of half a second before he was pushing his dick inside of you, his knot unable to slip inside because of how big it was. He kept grinding and fucking into you, growling like a madman because he couldn’t come. You shivered and screamed his name. You were on edge all day, wet thinking about him at home, alone and hard… And now you were stuffed full of werewolf dick and you couldn’t even focus on words anymore.

“Mine,” he growled. He started a frantic rhythm, your body moving on the floor as he thrust inside of you.

“Yours. Yours. Yours,” you chanted. He was being so rough and careless, his nails digging into your hips and his fangs so close to your neck that you knew you will end the night with a huge bite-mark there. That would be hard to cover, but at that moment, with his knot pressing against your clit and his dick hitting your G-spot you couldn’t care less.

“I’m going to mark you. I’m going to come so deep inside of you that you will be feeling me for days.” He punctuated each word with a thrust of his dick, his knot still outside your body. You were dripping, but it was not enough… not yet. “I’m going to fill you so much you are going to be full of pups by the end of it,” he continued. You knew that couldn’t be as long as he had the ring on, but the thought made you shiver and let out a big groan.

He kept thrusting until you came once, twice… and by the time your third orgasm was almost sneaking on you, you felt his fangs sink in your neck at the same time you felt something release and his knot slipped inside. You cried out in ecstasy when his knot filled you completely and he started to come in you.

You opened your eyes widely as you felt his release inside, unable to move or do anything apart from groaning at the indescribable pleasure running through your body. It felt better than heaven, and your brain was too fucked out to process whatever just happened when you were so full of hot werewolf knot.

“Did it break?” You asked as your orgasm receded. Your breath was labored as he kept coming inside of you, his knot pressing against your sweet spot. “Did the cock-ring break? I’m going to kill that witch,” you said as you felt the next shoot inside of you. There was so much of it that you could feel it slipping around his knot, making a mess out of you.

“Told you it wouldn’t work,” he gloated with the biggest smirk on his face, kissing your nose.

“Ugh, I hate your inhuman dick,” you grumbled. You wanted to be annoyed, but his dick was pressing against your G-spot and he was being so fucking cute you couldn’t even be mad about it.

“Liar,” he groaned as you felt another shoot of his cum inside of you. That felt so fucking good your eyes rolled back into your head. “You are going to be so full… Everyone is going to know you are mine,” he mumbled half asleep as he kept rocking his hips slowly. You tried to worry, but the pleasure was so great you didn’t care.

He was in heat, and that meant you would be stuffed and fucked for the next three days at least… you would enjoy the ride. Whatever happened would be future you problem.

[axelsagewrites]

Where Am I?*Part Three

Pairing: modern!f!reader x (to be determined...) Ubbe, Ivar, Sigurd, Hviserks, Bjorn

Word count: 1482

Series Summary: After falling head first the reader wakes up face to face with a group of strangely dressed men who look eerily like the vikings she studies

Part one Part two

Masterlist Here

You weren’t too sure what to expect when Ragnar said they would show you hospitality, but this was definitely something alright. You’d been given a dress that fit into the time period a bit better and made you stick out less than you had before. well, that was if you ignored the fact your hair was completely different from everyone else and everyone, but the Ragnarsson’s took at least three steps back whenever you approached.

When his brothers realised Ivar had been sneaking in to talk to you their protests began, “That’s not fair!”

“Why didn’t you tell us she could understand us?”

“Why did she talk to you and not us?”

You didn’t even feel the need to mention he’d bribed you with food. Ivar was good enough at arguing for himself. meanwhile as they bickered at the dinner table Bjorn sat at the other end staring at you the whole time. it defiantly wasn’t completely unsettling. Ragnar meanwhile was asking you a million questions you didn’t know how to answer.

“So how does a lighter work?”

“A spark happens when you press down and lights the gas,” you tried to explain while you ate your stew.

Ragnar nodded as he thought it over, “I think I understand. But what is a gas?”

“Uh…”  you said but Bjorn cut you off, effectively silencing everyone at the same time.

“How do we know you’re not a witch?” he said making Ivar roll his eyes and for once Ubbe and Ivar seemed to agree with something.

“If she was a witch surely, she would’ve escaped by now?” Ubbe sighed.

“Besides,” Hvitserk said, cheeks pink from his fourth glass of mead, “She’s far too pretty to be a witch,” he said, throwing a wink your way making your own cheeks heat up. The way Ivar glared at Hvitserk though put you on edge.

It was Sigurd turn to roll his eyes at his brother, “You’re a pig. And besides she hasn’t done anything. How do I know you won’t kill me in my sleep?”

“If anyone is going to do that it will be Ivar,” Ubbe said so nonchalantly you felt your jaw drop.

Especially when Ivar chimed in, “This is true,”

You could see the growing annoyance on Bjorn’s face as his younger brothers had their petty fights, something you would soon have to get used to. Clearly Aslaug was used to it however as she sank more into her wine. You had to admit the wine at least was nice. “I don’t know how I can earn your trust Bjorn, but I swear on my life I didn’t come to hurt anyone,”

You half expected him to laugh or roll his eyes at you but instead he cocked his head to the side, “Who told you, my name?”

You watched as everyone paused what they were doing to turn to look at you. “How did you know any of our names?” Sigurd asked.

You debated lying, saying Ivar told you but you didn’t feel like that was a good hole to dig. Instead, you swallowed hard, “Well everyone knows your name. you’re Bjorn ironside. Son of Ragnar. The Ragnarssons are famous,” you tried to say it nonchalantly while being very aware each one of them had a knife or axe.

However, flattery seemed to work, “And me as well?” Ragnar asked, a spark behind his eyes, “After all I am Ragnar Lodbrok,” he said making his sons all roll their eyes.

“Well of course. there are legends about you. they write tv shows about your lives,”

They all seemed so proud of themselves, even Aslaug had a smile behind her cup. You felt satisfied with your excuse until Bjorn asked, “What is a tv show?”

“Uh…”

-

Later that night Ivar showed you to a room that looked far less like a prison than the one you’d been in before. “We’ve got your-whatever these are,” Ubbe said as he and Sigurd walked into the room with a bag each and Hvitserk came in behind them with a flagon of wine.

“They’re just bags,” you said as you took them and moved to sit on the makeshift bed they had.

Privacy clearly wasn’t a thing here as all four boys sat down and began passing the wine around, “What’s in that one?” Sigurd asked, pointing to your guitar case.

You opened it and pulled it out, “Is it some kind of lute?” Hvitserk asked but you could see Sigurd was the keenest.

“I guess?” you said, placing it on your lap and gently strumming the strings, “It’s called a guitar,”

“Play us something?” Ubbe asked before taking a swig out the wine.

You sighed as you looked at the strings and tried to think of a song before your fingers found the strings and you began to strum.

“I’m like the water when your ship rolled in that night,

Rough on the surface, but you cut through like a knife,” you began to sing Taylor swift softly as you played Willow. All four boys seemed mesmerised as you sang and even Ivar stayed quiet until the last night, “I’m begging for you to take my hand,

Wreck my plans, that’s my man,” you finished, placing your hand over the strings and looking up to finally meet their eyes.

“That was beautiful,” Sigurd said, “Did you write that?”

“Yes,” you said without thinking. After all a little white lie never hurt? Besides its not like Taylor would know or anyone could prove you wrong, “Yes I did,”

“You’re very talented,” Ubbe said, passing you the wine.

You looked at it sceptically before finally taking a drink. It’s not like they’d need to poison you anyway. You were already screwed. You all began to drink and laugh the night away as you played a few more songs on the guitar, even letting the boys try have a shot. What you didn’t see however was Bjorn standing beside the door to your room, smiling softly whenever you sang.

-

 The next day Ubbe offered to give you a tour of Kattegat so you could get to know the place. “This is the market,” he said as a little girl ran away from you to her mother making you bite back a laugh, “Sorry about that. They’ll be less frightened of you soon,”

You chuckled at his words making a smile stretch on his face, “Its ironic. Out of everyone here I’m the least frightening one,”

“I don’t know so much,” he said. You narrowed your eyes at him with a curious smile making him chuckle, “Weve never met anyone like you. you are so…” he paused searching for the right word,” rare,”

“That’s the nicest thing I think someone has ever said to me,” you said.

Ubbe gave you a soft smile as he led you around the stalls. You tried to refuse it, but he did buy you a knife, promising to show you how to use it just encase. Even the way he insisted made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

As you were walking around the market you did bump into someone. “Bjorn!” Ubbe called to his brother who wore an uncomfortably stoic look as he walked over. “I was just showing her round Kattegat,”

Bjorn nodded, his eyes scanning your frame, “Good. Can’t have you getting lost now, can we? Think my father might have a fit if we lost you,” something about the way his eyes studied you had a heat creeping up the back of your neck.

“I hope all his questions don’t bother you,” Ubbe said, giving you a sorry smile.

It was true that every conversation with Ragnar was like an interrogation. He wanted to know everything you could tell him about the future and honestly you didn’t know how to explain how a television worked. “I don’t mind. Its sweet,” you said making them both chuckle, “What?”

“Most people would not describe my father as sweet,” Bjorn said, a smile finally cracked onto his lips.

“She’s also friends with Ivar so she may not be fully right in the head,” Ubbe teased.

“Ivars not that bad,” you rolled your eyes, but both their eyes seemed to bulge out their skulls, “He’s a lot nicer when people aren’t constantly picking on him,” you half joked though you did hate how they teased him. especially Sigurd who whenever Ivar wasn’t around was kind but whenever he walked into the room you could cut the air with a knife.

Ubbe just tutted at you, “Oh you have much to learn sweet, foolish, girl. It’s a good thing we found you when we did,” You did your best to roll your eyes and blow him off but for the rest of the day you found your mind wandering. What would it be like to date a Viking?

Part four here

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[isaacarellanesismyhusband]

i know

pair: Fred Weasley x reader requested by anonymous

could you do a Fred x reader? where the reader is Sirius daughter. And it shows not just in her looks, but how she acts? She’s very rebellious and is her own person. But is so much like her dad. They have very similar style in music and clothes. And she’s very close to him. And Fred never met her until the order of the phoenix. She had been ‘homeschooled’ and was ahead of many others that were at hogworts and she had went to muggle school and was very popular. She was going to hogworts that year and had caught Fred’s eye that summer the moment he walked in the door to grimuald place. They became great friends almost immediately. She would say anything and everything that came to mind. One time asking, “what if we made out like right now?” With a complete straight face and Fred was caught off guard. But that’s what he liked about her. She was herself no matter how much it killed others especially molly, who couldn’t stand Sirius and definitely couldn’t stand her. But Fred loved her anyway. and she knew the whole time Fred liked her but she acted dumb. So when he finally told her she was like, “I know” and went on to tell him every time he showed that he liked her and stuff. But she did feel the same and Sirius giving Fred a very hard time about it at Christmas

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The familiar sound of Grimmauld Place’s heavy front door creaking open filled the silent house. Fred Weasley stepped inside, taking in the dusty, dimly lit interior. He’d been to the Black family home plenty of times that summer, but there was something different today. His eyes scanned the room, and then he saw her.

Leaning casually against the doorframe, a smirk tugging at her lips, was someone who was unmistakably Sirius Black’s daughter. The resemblance was uncanny — the same rebellious glint in her eyes, the same unruly dark hair. Her clothes were a perfect match for her father’s eccentric style: a ripped band tee under a leather jacket, combat boots, and fingerless gloves. Everything about her screamed trouble in the most alluring way possible.

Fred’s breath hitched. He hadn’t met her until now. She’d been ‘homeschooled,’ as Sirius had put it, which meant she was well ahead of most witches and wizards her age. She'd spent her teenage years in both worlds, excelling in magic while becoming a popular face at her muggle school. He’d heard rumors about her — that she was bright, sharp-tongued, and a force to be reckoned with — but seeing her now, he was captivated.

“Oi,” she said, snapping him out of his thoughts. “You gonna stand there all day or are you gonna help me with this?”

Fred blinked, realizing she was holding a box that looked heavy enough to contain half of the Black family’s cursed heirlooms. He quickly moved forward, taking the other end.

“I’m Y/N,” she introduced herself with a wicked grin. “You must be the fun Weasley twin.”

“I’m Fred,” he said, managing a grin back. “The one and only.”

From that moment, Fred and Y/N became inseparable. She was the kind of person who spoke whatever came to her mind, no matter how off-the-wall or inappropriate. It was something that Fred found thrilling. It was clear she wasn’t trying to impress anyone — she was just herself. Completely unapologetic.

One evening, the two were sitting in the living room of Grimmauld Place, the fire crackling softly as they talked about everything from Quidditch to muggle bands they both liked.

“You know,” Y/N said, a playful glint in her eyes, “what if we made out right now?”

Fred choked on the pumpkin juice he had been drinking, his eyes widening as he looked at her. Her face was completely serious.

“W-what?” Fred stammered, caught off guard by her boldness.

Y/N shrugged casually. “Just a thought. You looked like you were thinking about it anyway.”

Fred laughed, his heart racing. That was just her. She could drop bombs like that with the straightest face, leaving him scrambling to keep up. But that’s what he liked about her. She didn’t care what anyone thought, not even Molly Weasley, who clearly had a hard time handling the daughter of Sirius Black.

Fred couldn’t help but notice the way Molly’s lips tightened every time Y/N walked into a room, her rebellious nature clearly rubbing the older witch the wrong way. It was as if Y/N's very existence was a challenge to everything Molly believed in — and Fred found himself loving her for it all the more.

It was Christmas Eve when everything changed.

Grimmauld Place was filled with warmth for once, thanks to the holidays. The smell of Molly’s cooking wafted through the air, and the Order had gathered for a brief respite from the war. Fred had been sneaking glances at Y/N all evening. She had donned a jacket with patches of various bands and had opted to wear muggle boots with chains.

As the night wound down, Fred finally gathered the courage to pull her aside, the soft glow of fairy lights illuminating the hallway where they stood.

“I… I like you,” Fred confessed, running a hand through his messy hair. “I’ve liked you since the moment I walked through that door and saw you standing there.”

Y/N blinked up at him, her expression unreadable for a moment. Then she broke into a mischievous smile.

“I know.”

Fred raised his eyebrows. “Wait, what?”

Y/N laughed, leaning against the wall with a smirk. “I knew. From the way you looked at me that first day, the way you’d always offer to help me with stuff, the way you’d try to act all cool whenever I said something insane.”

Fred’s face flushed. “And you didn’t say anything?”

“I wanted to see how long it would take you to actually say it,” she teased. “But for the record, I like you too, you know. Even if you’re a bit slow on the uptake.”

Fred let out a relieved laugh, stepping closer. “Well, good. I was starting to think maybe I’d imagined all those looks.”

Y/N smirked, leaning up on her tiptoes to press a quick, teasing kiss to his lips before pulling away. “Nope. You were right on the money.”

Christmas morning was… interesting.

Fred and Y/N had shared a few stolen kisses the night before, and when Sirius caught wind of it, he wasted no time in giving Fred a hard time.

“So, Weasley,” Sirius drawled over breakfast, a mischievous grin on his face. “I hear you’ve taken a liking to my daughter.”

Fred flushed red, glancing over at Y/N, who was stifling a laugh behind her cup of tea.

“She’s… er… well, yeah, I suppose,” Fred stammered, scratching the back of his neck.

Sirius leaned back in his chair, his grin widening. “I’ll give you one thing, Fred. You’ve got guts. But let me just remind you — break her heart, and you’ll have to deal with me.”

Fred paled slightly, but Sirius’s laughter told him he wasn’t entirely serious. Still, the warning was clear.

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Dad, stop scaring him. It’s fine.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I’m not scaring him. Just giving him a little fatherly advice.”

Fred chuckled nervously, but as he glanced over at Y/N, who was smiling at him with that same rebellious spark in her eyes, he knew it was worth every bit of Sirius’s teasing.

After all, he had fallen for her — Sirius’s daughter, with her sharp wit, bold spirit, and the heart of a true rebel. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

[scarletcomalies]

when the storm subsides

WandaNat x Fem Reader

Word count: 4,367

Warnings: 18+ content, neglect, stimulation, edging, spanking, degradation, humiliation, praising, masturbation, oral (w. and r receiving), strap-on (r. receiving), face riding (w. receiving), squirting, fluffy ending. Mommy!Wanda and Daddy!Nat.

You had taken real pains to make your little affair with Wanda Maximoff something more. The day you gave up, you gained more than you thought you'd lose.

It was one of those nights when you felt alone in a crowded room. The noise of the people around you only intensified the feeling of isolation.

You looked around, searching for a familiar face, but even the only face you knew seemed like a stranger. You wished for her to talk to you, to share your thoughts, but the fear of another rejection or being misunderstood kept you from reaching out.

With Wanda Maximoff, you began to feel increasingly defeated in your attempts to catch her attention. Despite going out of your way to make conversation and engage with her, you found that her eyes and interest were always drawn to others who spoke to her. Over time, you began to question whether your efforts were worth it, or if you should simply move on and focus your attention elsewhere.

The conversation among the people present revolved around materialistic things. They bragged about their properties, discussed how much their sales had risen in the past months and shared their plans to increase them even more. You noticed that most of them were middle-aged, almost like the woman sitting beside you.

It was surprising to realize that your beloved powerful witch, who possessed a higher state of consciousness, had these friends who were evidently blinded by ambition and were very poor in spirit.

One particular woman made you feel insecure. Throughout the whole evening, she seemed to be in between you and the woman you loved so much. It was as if she knew how to project her confidence and charm in just the right way to make you feel inferior, and she was succeeding. Wanda laughed louder than usual at her jokes, she touched the other woman's forearm or leg at every opportunity, and this other woman at the same time would give you a teasing look whenever you were ignored by Wanda. You felt like you were constantly competing with her, even though you knew deep down that it was a battle you could never win.

The last straw was when she spoke to Wanda's ear, and when her eyes fell on you, she gave you a teasing wink. This small gesture was enough to make your blood boil.

"Wanda, I wanna go," you protested in the Sokovian's ear, once the woman you knew as Natasha Romanoff finally turned away from her. "I'm bored, and this whole evening you've barely turned to look at me."

"They're my friends from High School, do you have any idea how long I haven't seen them? Please let me enjoy this moment."

You tried to put on a brave face and hide your disappointment, but it was hard. You had hoped that this evening would be a chance to meet Wanda’s friends, perhaps connect with her in a more meaningful way, but instead, you felt like an outsider.

"Why did you invite me here if it was to have me as a seat filler? You should have come alone," you snapped. "And alone you will go."

You took your bag and rose from your seat at the dinner table. Before leaving, you made sure to say thank you to the hostess for her hospitality, which was ironic given that the hostess was none other than the red-haired woman.

You decided to go to the bathroom upstairs, and take a moment to yourself before making your way home. Even the bathroom was as large as the main bedroom in an ordinary house. But of course it was Wanda's wealthy friends, they somehow felt the need to live in such an unnecessarily large mansion even if they were by their own.

It was all so difficult.

Wanda would treat you as her special girl, the best thing in her life, but only when you were pleasuring her at that time. It was during moments like these that you realized that her affirmations were not sincere, at least not outside of the carnal area.

Maybe this was a sign. Wanda did not see you in the way you desired: as someone willing to give not only your body, but your soul as well. You didn’t simply want her to hold you after she's finished using you for her own pleasure; you wanted her to count on you on her worst days. You wanted to be the first person she thought of when she wanted to share anything at all. You longed to be included in her plans, to be part of her daily activities, no matter how banal they were.

You had been trying so hard to impress her, for example, with new outfits, but it seemed like she just didn’t care unless she took them off you right after. You felt like you have done everything you possibly could, but it was still not enough. She gave you so many signs that maybe you were not the right person for her, at least not emotionally. She may have enjoyed being intimate with you, nothing beyond that. In the end, this was partially your fault, or at least you felt that way. You were too much of a non-conformist, and that could have been part of the problem, as you expected more from what Wanda was willing to offer.

You tried to hold back the tears were very close to spill from your eyes. You had hoped that things would be eventually be different with Wanda, that she would see you and love you for who you were, but it all pointed to the fact that you were just another accessory for her to show off.

You spent about ten minutes in there, trying to build up the courage to face Wanda and cut all ties with her before she could hurt you again.

But you knew it was in vain, when you heard a few knocks on the door. You knew it was Wanda, and you realized that you would melt into those green eyes as soon as you opened that door.

To your surprise, it was not Wanda who stood on the other side of the door. It was the woman who was the main reason of your mental breakdown.

You gulped slightly.

At least with Wanda, you knew what to expect. But with this woman, you had no idea.

"What's the matter, little girl, are you in the middle of a tantrum because your Mommy ignored you?" Her voice was soft and gentle, but it had a mocking tone.

"I know this makes you happy. Just with little touches she seemed to be whoring herself out to you, so be my guest," you were about to get out of there, resigned to the fact that it would be a long drive home where you would have to invoke every divine force in existence to protect you from an accident from driving in this state.

You were about to exit the bathroom, but she quickly raised her arm to create a barrier to stop you from passing.

"I wanted to get her attention, yes, but also yours,” she confessed. “She is very busy, and may not have the time to give you the care you deserve. That's where I come in."

Your eyes widened like plates, demonstrating how taken aback you were. Natasha was stunningly beautiful, so it was easy for you to be left in awe.

And it was as if your body made an action of its own, disconnecting itself from your brain, when you automatically tugged at the lapel of her jacket and your lips crashed with hers.

She responded eagerly, your mouth opening to allow her tongue to explore the depths of your cavity. It was a battle that neither you or her seemed to win, it was just an endless exchange of kisses, each one deeper and more intense than the last.

"Take me to your room," you spoke between gasps. She pulled away briefly to look into your eyes, and Natasha's sharp nails prickled your skin as she grabbed your cheeks a bit too hard.

"I'm not taking you to my room, I'm taking you to a room," she corrected, and released you roughly.

The room in question was still dim, illuminated only by a soft red glow that emanated from some led lights that were placed on the ceiling and the floor respectively. As your eyes adjusted to the light, the first thing you saw was a queen size bed in the center of the room, its sheets and blankets neatly made. In front of the bed, almost taking up the entire wall, was a large mirror. It reflected the red light in a way that made it seem as though the mirror itself was on fire. You understood immediately why Natasha would chose to put such a large and ostentatious mirror in her bedroom.

Natasha closed the door behind you, and suddenly, she grabbed you by the neck, her sharp nails digging into your skin again. Initially, the pain caused you to gasp, but then you realized that you loved the sensation of her touch.

Finally, she placed her hand in that area and pushed you backwards until you were pinned against the wall next to the bed.

Everything about Natasha was intoxicating, from the way she moved to the way she spoke. She always maintained a neutral tone, which differed from her harsh and straightforward actions. Though you didn’t complained, you knew at this point that actions spoke higher than words.

She pulled up the fabric of your dress, which reached a little above your knees. When it was sufficiently lifted, she slid it up your waist, your torso, and your arms, which you lifted by inertia. Finally, the garment was on the floor, leaving you only in your shoes and bra. And no, you weren't wearing any panties, which was the first thing the redhead noticed.

"What a nasty little bitch you are," she snapped, shaking her head. "I was going to be nice to you, but a whore like you deserves no mercy,” you could feel her staring at you, taking in every inch of your body.

She placed her hand on your chest to keep you in place, and she bent down to reach the drawer next to the bed. Subsequently, she pulled out a rope from there.

The redhead then ordered you to sit with your back resting on the bed headboard, only to take your wrists with a peculiar aggressiveness, and tied them in such a way that there was no way you could defend yourself.

It was very evident that she cared very little about your feelings. She had a deliberate intention to establish herself as your superior, and you were only a subordinate who followed her orders. The most frustrating part of this all was that you could feel the heat between your legs growing with each passing second, for you were completely at her mercy.

She then kissed you with an intense and almost animalistic hunger that left you breathless. You could feel the pressure of her lips against yours, and every once in a while, she would bite down on your lower lip with a strength that made you gasp in pleasure.

Her mouth slowly descended onto your neck, the warmth of her breath making you feel vulnerable. You felt like she had known you for years, like she had done this before, because she knew all of your weaknesses perfectly. It was as if she was reading your mind, knowing exactly what you wanted and needed, as if she had been given a detailed instruction on how to treat you, as if someone else had shared your deepest desires and secrets with her.

Her fingers made their way all over your body, until she reached that weak spot that was desperately throbbing for her.

"Ahhh… fuck y-yes!" You exclaimed, arching your back after feeling an exquisite electric current run from this area, all the way up to your stomach.

“Needy and foul-mouted,” she giggled. Her touch was gentle yet insistent, bringing you closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy.

Her movements became more deliberate, more focused, and you could notice the desire building within her as well. With each circular motion of her fingers, you felt yourself falling deeper and deeper under her spell, lost in a world of pure pleasure.

The redhead continued to caress and stimulate you, making it evident that the pleasure of your body was her top priority at the moment. Her fingers felt more and more lubricated with your fluids, making you a mess of moans that was almost humiliating. However, you didn’t care, everything was perfect, the intensity just right.

As you gazed into the mirror, you could see your own reflection staring back at you. You let out shameless moans as Natasha was above you with her head buried in your neck. Your arms were positioned above your head, your wrists bound to the headboard. All whilst Natasha's right hand was actively touching you, heightening the pleasure you were experiencing.

Your body began to tense up even more, and the heat rose to your cheeks, it was too much to bear that you could feel a lump forming in your throat. You knew you were on the verge of the climax. Despite the fact that she had not yet inserted her fingers, the older woman had managed to stimulate you in all the right places with just her touch alone.

"Mmm, someone's going to cum," the woman said, her eyes fixed on your body's reaction. "But I told you I wouldn't have mercy on you."

She withdrew her fingers.

“No! No! No!” You exclaimed desperately, your tone carried all the disbelief and frustration you were feeling. This woman was twisted and evil, how could she?

As she got out of bed, you hoped she would grab something to provide some relief, but your hopes were dashed as she exited the room, leaving you laying there angry and unsatisfied.

You then noticed the mirror across the room, which suddenly took on a different hue. Your heart sank as you realized you could see what -or rather who- was on the other side.

To your shock, it was a see-thru mirror! And on the other side was Wanda. She was lying on a similar bed, completely naked and not tied up like you. She appeared to have just achieved her first orgasm, unlike you who had not reached that point yet.

So Wanda had seen it all.

You didn’t know how to feel, whether furious or aroused, as you realized that you had been manipulated by both women.

As Wanda disappeared from view, you were left alone to contemplate the situation. But your thoughts were interrupted when the door opened to reveal Wanda dressed in a bridal robe, and Natasha was standing next to her, grabbing her by the waist.

They were both stunning in their own way, Natasha seemed tough and was indeed tough, on the other side, Wanda held a sweet façade that could be easily shattered into a sadistic being. This has happened on several occasions, and given the expression on her face, this could be one of those occasions.

"Look at your slutty little girl, letting me fuck her without your permission. What are you going to do, Miss Maximoff?" Natasha provoked her, and those words were of great terror to you.

As you stood there, she silently approached you with a determined look in her eyes. Her jaw was tight, and with each step, her face grew more intense.

You expected the worst to happen, since you were in a situation that was perfect for her to do whatever she wanted to do to you, without you being able to defend yourself.

However, she reached out and released the ties that bound you to the bed.

She proceeded to remove your bra and heels, and grabbed you until you were on all fours. It was a rough maneuver that left you feeling exposed and vulnerable to both women. As she knelt behind you, you could feel the fabric of her dressing gown brush against your skin.

She leaned forward, and grabbed your arms to place them behind you to tie you up again.

You heard the door close again, and you knew it was Natasha who did it. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves and think clearly.

Wanda's hand caressed the skin of your ass, her touch was firm as you have always known it.

“Look at how pathetic she is, surrendering herself at just a simple touch,” she addressed Natasha, and the latter hummed in agreement.

Wanda stopped stroking you and you felt her palm drop hard, spanking you aggressively.

It was clear that Wanda was angry, and you could sense that she was taking it out on you. Her intentions were obvious from the way she was acting.

“No, she deserves worse,” Natasha commented, and before you could even question what it was, you felt a whip with a thick belt. It surprised you, but instead of pain, it brought a tingling sensation throughout your body.

“Count!” Wanda grabbed a handful of your hair and tugged on it. You started to think that she believed that harsh treatment instead of simple words was the only way to get through to you.

As you looked up, you noticed that Natasha was watching the scene intently. .

You closed your eyes willingly this time, and braced yourself for the whip, “One!”

When you sensed another whip coming, you took the deepest breath your body could allow you at that instant. "Aahh, t-two," you squeaked this time.

You could also hear moaning in the distance, that's when you realized this was something of a spectacle for Natasha’s pleasure as well.

"Three," all this was sweet agony, and you were drawn into a darkest part of your psyche that surrendered to this most pleasurable sensation.

“Four…” your fists were clenching behind your back.

“Five…” you jumped, this was perhaps the strongest one.

“Six…” your legs weakened, and Wanda held your hips to keep you in place.

“Seven…” a couple of tears started welling up in your eyes.

“Eight…” your voice could barely be heard.

“Nine…”

“Ten…”

She stopped, and turned you over so that you could be facing her. In the midst of all the anger and lust her green irises projected, you could find a hint of appreciation in them.

With your legs spread a little wide around her waist, she removed her dressing gown, finally giving you access to a view of her beautiful body.

She untied your wrists.

Finally, you were free to touch her as you had so longed to do. She leaned over you, kissing you deeply and passionately, her lips lingering on yours before moving down to explore your jawline and neck. Her kisses were hot and intense, and you let small gasps of satisfaction as she trailed her lips and tongue over your skin.

But the pleasure didn't stop there. She descended on your breasts, licking and sucking your nipples with a fierce intensity that left you writhing with delight. As she mercilessly pinched one nipple, she ran her hot tongue over the other, alternating every once in a while.

And then you glanced at Natasha, watching from an armchair a few feet away, naked and touching herself as she watched the scene unfold. The sight of her only added to the intensity of the moment, as the wetness between your legs grew more intense.

Her lips pressed against your belly, leaving a trail of fiery kisses behind. As she moved lower, her mouth found the spot where you needed her the most, and her tongue sent electric waves of delectation throughout your body.

“Mmm… right- right there!” Your voice was unintentionally raspy, as you placed your legs on her shoulders and tangled your fingers in her hair, pushing her head slightly as you were grinding yourself shamelessly on her face. “Yes, Mommy!”

“Fuck…” Natasha’s voice made itself present, as her moans joined yours in a choir-like manner.

You watched her intently, noticing in awe as her long, drenched and shiny fingers were coming in and out of her cunt in an exquisite rhythm.

“Daddy’s about to cum,” Natasha groaned, as her movements increased.

The tension that had been building inside you was finally released, as you cried out Wanda’s name. You lost yourself in the sensations that only she could bring, and the wetness that had been building inside you was finally released in a rush of intense pleasure.

"Oh, my good girl," Wanda mused, and you subsequently noticed that Natasha had finished shortly after you.

She bent down again to clean up the mess she had made of you, but Natasha spoke up, "No, let me finish what I started," she got up from the chair, and walked over to you both.

She grabbed Wanda by her jawline and planted a deep kiss on her lips, so that Natasha could have a taste of you as well. She looked at you, "Malyshka, do you think your Mommy deserves a reward for pleasuring you?"

“Yes, Daddy,” you nodded, eager to accept with whatever was coming.

Wanda smiled widely, “So good for us. I told you, she’s a good girl,” she praised you.

She shifted, and carefully, knelt just above your face. She slowly dropped her full weight on you. You were able to taste her hot fluids in a matter of seconds, and you set to work on her.

You felt something new ramming your insides, and that made you tense in response. This was nothing like you had taken from Wanda before.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” Natasha cooed sweetly. “Take what I give you, I promise it’s going to become your favorite thing.”

She firmly took your waist, her thumbs slightly squeezing your pelvis while she gradually buried herself deep inside you.

In response, you buried your nails deep on Wanda’s thighs, earning a small mumble from her. However, that didn’t stop you from eating her out, on the contrary, you were taking it out on her, which made her moan louder.

Natasha then found her pace, and you could hear the nasty sounds your wet cunt was making, which didn’t go unnoticed by both women either.

“Fuck, your little girl is taking me so good, Maximoff,” she exclaimed with pride.

“Mmm… I can tell! She’s taking it out on me,” Wanda panted.

Soon enough, Natasha increased her speed, and you let out muffled moans as your breath quickened. Just as she promised, it became your favorite thing, since your fluids were pouring out, and the fabric of the blanket was beginning to soak under you.

“I’m… I’m… so close!” Wanda exclaimed, whilst you were prevented from moaning, as she choked you with her inner thighs.

“You’ll wait for her,” Natasha commanded.

“Please… I don’t think I…-”

“You’ll wait for her,” Natasha reiterated.

You shut your eyes tight, the only sound that could be heard was Wanda’s slutty moans, and Natasha's pelvis crashing against your ass, creating that familiar obscene sound. Her movements were expertly timed, and her touch tantalizingly rough.

You eventually felt the coil in your lower abdomen losing itself for the second time, as you had just experienced yet another orgasm, this time with a new woman. Natasha had been eager to please you and had certainly succeeded in doing so.

Wanda did as Natasha ordered her, and just as you were finishing, Wanda climaxed, drenching your face with her own pleasure. The feeling of her warm juices all over you was both thrilling and satisfying.

Both redheads lay on either side of you. The room was humid, and you all had sweat trickling down your foreheads while some of your tousled hair sticked in there.

Wanda's fingers started caressing your scalp, "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry for not showing you how much I care about you. I've been so caught up in my own past that I didn't realize how much I was neglecting you. But that's going to change. From now on, I'm going to give you the love and attention that you deserve."

Hearing those words felt as if a long and arduous battle had finally come to an end, and all of the doubts and uncertainties that had been plaguing your mind were suddenly swept away. You finally could discard all the versions of yourself you had shown her for her to notice you, because for the first time, she had finally assured you that she loved you for you. You didn’t have to try that hard, not anymore. This was the start of something new, something beautiful.

You looked into Wanda's eyes, "Thank you, my witchy,” your tone came out more emotional than you intended to. But it didn’t matter, it was a moment of pure vulnerability and honesty, and it felt liberating to finally hear her say those words.

Natasha, who was also there, smiled and stroked both of your cheeks tenderly. "My beautiful girls," she said, "I hope we can meet again soon and continue to share these precious moments together."

That day, Wanda and you said goodbye to the visitors who had no idea what had happened upstairs, already very drunk and immersed in their conversations. After returning home, Wanda confessed to you that she had been intimate with Natasha Romanoff in previous occasions, but you didn’t blame her, that same night, you also felt a certain attraction growing within you. Therefore, you and Wanda agreed this wouldn’t be the first and last time you would be having encounters with Natasha.

And so, as the weeks went by, the three of you went on several dates, and created all kinds of memories. You enjoyed spontaneity at its fullest, no expectations, and overall, you felt special and loved by both women, who made you feel noticed and appreciated.

It didn’t take long for your love for them to grow, and you cherished every moment you spent together.

Looking back on that night, it felt like the world was about to end. Little did you know that it was actually starting.

[stop-talking]

You're his ex, but he's desperate for a babysitter. (pt. 1)

Mike Schmidt x fem reader

2.5k words

Tags: 18+, mike x reader, no use of y/n, exes, enemies, enemies to lovers, slowburn? sassy mike, sassy reader, pet names, banter, angst, so much angst, flashing mike, fluff, spending time with Abby (because everyone always forgets her??)

Part 2

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Mike holds his breath as the phone rings. He's already gone down the mental checklist of people who he could possibly call for help right now, and is currently scraping the bottom of the goddamn barrel.

*click* "Hello?"

He speaks hurriedly into the dingy landline phone, praying you won't immediately dismiss him.

"Hey, it's Mike. Please don't hang up."

You're tempted to hang up on him then and there, just to prove a point. You guys broke up nearly a year ago, and hadn't spoken in... what, six months now? But the tone in his voice... he sounded desperate.

"What, drunk and lonely again?" You scoff, unable to resist taking a jab at him. You two hadn't exactly ended things on good terms, his lack-of-sleep induced grumpiness and general unpleasant disposition making it hard for him to take criticism without it turning into an argument. It wasn't your fault he never made time for you. It wasn't your fault he was so emotionally unavailable.

"No." He grits his teeth, already regretting calling you. "I need a favor. Please." He chokes the word out, his stomach in knots from having to resort to this.

You pause for a few moments, chewing on his words. It must really be serious if he'd called you, after all the things you'd said to him last time you spoke.

"Well... lets hear it, then."

"I need you to watch Abby tonight. My usual babysitter isn't answering the damn phone, and I have to leave for work in an hour. I can't leave Abby home alone. I just can't."

In an hour? You glance at the clock, it's already 8:30. What ungodly hours is he working?

"I thought you didn't work nights? I swear to god, Schmidt, if you're making me watch her so you can go get laid-"

"No. Nothing like that. I swear." He sighs, sounding genuinely exhausted. "I'm working as a security guard these days. Night gig. Long story. It sucks ass, but I need this job. Can you watch Abby? I'll owe you one."

You bite back the urge to scoff at him. He's not even going to pay you? Figures. Oh well. Holding a favor over his head might be fun.

"Ugh. Fine. I'll see. What time will you get back? I have work in the morning."

"6:15. Maybe 6:10, if I drive like a maniac."

"Shit. I'll have to get ready for work at your place. If I go home first I'll be late."

"Yeah, sure. Anything. Just please stay with Abby. She goes to sleep at 10, you can crash on the couch. I just want someone in the house with her."

You let out an audible sigh. Are you seriously going to go crash on your shitty ex-boyfriend's shitty couch on a work night?

...Yeah, yeah you are.

"Damn it, Mike. You'd better kiss my fucking feet when I get there."

Mike almost laughs at that. Almost.

"Sure thing, Princess." He cant help but taunt you a bit, using an old pet name he used to call you way back when you were dating. It probably wasn't the best decision to irritate the last person he could rely on, but he wasn't in the right headspace to make good decisions right now. These days, he mostly runs off of coffee and self-hatred.

"I'll be there in 30. You'd better be on your knees and groveling when you open the door." You slam the phone down before he can answer. Michael fucking Schmidt. Still the same jackass you broke up with all those months ago.

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When Mike opens the door to greet you almost exactly 30 minutes later, he reluctantly drops to his knees. He'd hoped you'd forgotten the silly request, but the unamused look you gave him said otherwise.

"Fucking witch." He grumbles, hanging his head as you brush past him into the house. Were you wearing... pajama pants? He stares at you as you set down your things, a purse and what looks like an overnight bag of some sort.

"Stop gaping. And stand up. You look pathetic." You shrug off your coat, revealing an old t-shirt underneath. Yeah, you were in pajamas, so what? Its late. And you couldn't be bothered to put in extra effort for Mike, of all people.

"Excuse me for doing as her majesty commands." He groans and stands up, brushing himself off. As if that'll make him look any more presentable.

Abby tentatively pokes her head out of her room, watching you and Mike argue. Shit. Did she hear all that?

"Hey Abbs." You wave to her, deciding to ignore Mike's comment. "It's gonna be just me and you tonight, sound good?"

She looks to Mike for approval, who nods and gives her a tired smile. The only kind of smile he's been able to muster lately.

"...Will you play with me?"

"Yeah, 'course I will. Let me have a chat with your brother real quick." She seems to accept that answer, closing herself back off in her room. You sigh and follow Mike into the kitchen.

"There's leftovers in the fridge, and a lasagna in the freezer. Probably have something edible in the pantry. I think there's popcorn." He explains, pointing out a few different measly options for a quick meal. "Look, she probably won't, but just try and get her to eat dinner."

You watch him lean back against the counter and rub at his temples. God damn, he looks... exhausted. His hair has grown out a bit since you last saw him, dark brown curls hanging low over his forehead. His eye bags seem to hang even lower.

"Yeah... I'll try and get her to eat."

An uncomfortable silence lingers in the air as you both run out of things to talk about, so he fills the void with an insult.

"You really had to come over in that?" Mike scoffs and gestures at your frumpy t-shirt and pajama pants.

"What? Were you hoping for something slutty?" You cross your arms and give him a smug look.

He turns his head, unsure what to say to that. Maybe part of him did hope to see you dressed in something a little more revealing. Or maybe just undressed. God damn it, was he blushing?

"Fuck you." He mutters, making his way to the entryway and slipping his shoes on.

"No thanks. Been there, done that." You respond dismissively, watching him leave with a smirk.

Mike slams the door on his way out. Not hard enough to startle Abby, hopefully, but hard enough to make a point he's not in the mood to play your little games. Still, the whole drive to work, he can't help but wonder what if...? What if you had never broken up with him? What if he had been a better boyfriend? A better provider for you and Abby? A better man?

"I fucking hate her." He grumbles, but the words are hollow.

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"Mike told me you stopped coming over because he found out you're a witch and you curse children. Is that true?" Abby finally musters up the courage to ask the question that's been on her mind ever since you walked through the door.

"Did he say that?" You chuckle, a little shocked that this is what she chose to ask after ten minutes or so of silently coloring together.

"Yeah. He said you cursed him, too. And that's why he can't color anymore. He'll explode, or something." She babbles, not looking up from her paper.

"Hmm... well, if you're really worried about your brother, I'll cut you a deal." You do your best to keep the anger from your tone as you continue to color beside her at the table. That asshole doesn't color with Abby anymore?

"...What kind of deal?"

"I'll lift the curse on your brother so he can color and draw again... but you have to eat dinner. Ten whole bites."

Abby seems to consider this for a moment, turning and eyeing you suspiciously. Mike likes to mess with her like this. Were you messing with her too? Probably. But, well, if it would make Mike spend time with her again...

"Fine. What do we have?"

You smile at her. This babysitting stuff is a breeze.

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When Mike stumbles in the door the next morning, he spots you fast asleep on the couch. He flops down in the recliner and just watches you sleep for a minute or two. You look so pretty when you're asleep. Serene. Peaceful. Not at all like when you're awake, giving him that attitude he's so familiar with. He sighs and makes his way over to the couch, knowing he should probably wake you for work.

"Uhh... wakey wakey?" He mumbles lamely, unsure what to really say. Definitely not good morning, beautiful. He scoffs to himself at the thought.

"Mmm... Mike?" You blink up at the man gently shaking your shoulder, your eyes adjusting to the morning light.

"Yeah. Who else would it be?" He shakes his head in amusement and goes back to sit in the recliner.

"I dunno. A hookup?" You sit up and rub the sleep from your eyes, then stretch out.

"A hookup? Still being passed around, then?" He responds with a scoff, trying to hide just how much that answer bothers him. Even after nearly a year of being broken up, he doesn't like to imagine you with other men. It leaves a bad taste in his mouth, even if he's not into you anymore. Actually, you don't look half-bad right now, stretching your arms over your head like that...

"Can you blame a girl? Had to make up for all the unsatisfying nights with you."

Mike reeled at that little quip. The smug look on your face, god... He wasn't quite sure if he wanted to shut you up with a kiss or a punch.

"Just fucking go home." Nice one, Mike. That'll show her.

"Hey, you agreed I could get ready here. I'm gonna go use your shower, and then I have something to talk to you about."

Something to talk to him about? He scowls as you walk off towards his bedroom. Why couldn't you just leave him alone? Why did everything have to be so complicated? He groans and goes to lie down in bed. Maybe he could get in a quick nap while you shower. Maybe.

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

You emerge from the dingy bathroom connected to Mike's bedroom fifteen minutes or so later, steam trailing in behind you.

"Three-in-one shampoo, conditioner, and body wash? Seriously, Schmidt?" You scold him, crossing your arms as you stand before his bed wearing nothing but a towel. At first, he seems annoyed when you pull him out of his brooding, but when he takes in your current state of undress, he sputters.

"S-so? Its economical." He scoffs, irritated, but unable to look away as you make your way around his bed and out the door.

You return a minute later carrying your overnight bag. "Forgot my clothes." Mike just nods, still unable to tear his eyes from you.

"Stop staring."

"Stop waltzing through my room naked."

"This isn't naked." You gesture to the towel wrapped around your body, drawing his attention back to you.

"This is naked."

Mike watches in complete shock as you let the towel fall to the floor, completely baring yourself to him for a few moments before finally locking yourself in his bathroom. You hear him mutter a few curses on the other side of the door, and smile as you get changed.

"Was that really necessary?" Mike scowls at you when you emerge from his bathroom a few minutes later, now fully dressed.

"Calm down, Mikey. Not like you haven't seen it all before." The old nickname you used to call him by doesn't sound endearing anymore. It sounds taunting. Mike looks like he cant decide between kicking you out of the house or pulling you into his bed. Good to know you can still get under his skin. And maybe his bedsheets, if you wanted.

"What did you want to talk to me about?" He finally asks, sighing in defeat.

"C'mon. I'll tell you."

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

Mike sits in the recliner, watching you set up a bunch of unnecessary crap on his coffee table. Did you really have to do your makeup right in front of him?

"A witch, Mike? Seriously? You told her I'm a witch, and then left her alone with me for the night?"

Mike swallows. Shit. He honestly forgot about that, it was just some lame excuse he came up with right after the breakup back when he was still distraught.

"Am I wrong?" He tries to brush it off with a sassy comment, but folds when he sees your intense glare.

"I mean... uh... I'll tell her you're... not a witch..." Real smooth, Schmidt. Mumble and stare at the floor.

"It's not even about that, really. Feed her all the lies you want. What I'm upset about is that she told me you don't color with her anymore."

Mike finally meets your eyes as you apply yet another random powder he doesn't understand the purpose of to your cheeks with the swipe of a brush.

"I'm busy. And it's none of your business. I asked you to come be her babysitter, not her mom." He snarls, hands clenched into fists.

"I'm not trying to be. It just breaks my heart to hear that stuff from her, Mike. I told her I'd lift the 'curse' off of you if she ate her dinner, and she did. So consider yourself un-cursed."

Mike grits his teeth as you put air quotes around the word "curse". He knew you were right, and that bothered him more than the fact he was being a shitty brother. The worst part was, you weren't even being snarky, you just sounded genuinely concerned for Abby. God damn it.

"...Yeah. Fine. Un-cursed. Got it." He grumbles in agreement as you finish up your makeup and swipe the assortment of products into your purse.

"How do I look?"

He wanted to tell you that you looked gorgeous, that he missed having you around, attitude or not. But in this moment, he couldn't do it. He was too tired. Too angry.

"Like a whore."

"Someone's jealous he doesn't get any."

"Like I'd want you."

"Oh yeah, the raging boner you had earlier when you saw me in a towel was because you don't want me. Totally."

Oh, now you're just taunting him.

"I'll have you know that didn't happen till after you lost the towel." Mike scoffs as he follows you to the entryway, unlocking the door for you while you slip on your shoes.

"Don't lie to me, Mikey."

"I'd never dream of it, Princess."

Mike has to resist the urge to pull you into his arms as you leave for work. Maybe if you didn't look so goddamn smug, he would. Instead he just shuts the door and locks it, hating himself for how much he enjoyed this whole interaction.

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will probably write a part 2 (with smut??)

edit: here is part 2

(no smut. part 3 tho...??)

idk this was my first fanfic ever so enjoy

[mrs-stans]

GQ Hype

How Sebastian Stan became Donald Trump in The Apprentice

With an uncanny performance as a young Donald Trump in The Apprentice and an even less recognisable turn in A Different Man, the shapeshifting actor is embracing his freaky side

By Ben Allen Photography by Daniel Jack Lyons

Coat by Loewe. Boots by Dolce & Gabbana.Necklace by Cartier.Daniel Jack Lyons

When Sebastian Stan was growing up in Romania in the 1980s, he began to learn English through passive immersion. His mother, a concert pianist, would regularly play English music and language lessons on the family record player while they were going about their day. “I’d be playing with toys and I’d hear, like, ‘frog’ and ‘dog’, or whatever,” Stan says. It meant that by the time the actor moved to Vienna at age eight, where he attended an American international school – and later, when he moved to New York at 12 – he had a decent jumping-off point. “I’m a big believer in putting yourself in a situation where, subconsciously, there’s work being done.”

In the past two years, Stan has put that method to use in a very different way. As he entered preproduction to play Donald Trump in Ali Abbasi’s The Apprentice – which charts the former President and current Republican candidate’s early rise through the New York property scene – he started spending his waking hours with tapes of the young Trump playing in his ears. He brushed his teeth with Trump, he went grocery shopping with Trump, he spoke to friends with one earphone in, Trump still nattering away in his ear. “I slept with him, by the way,” Stan says, well aware of how strange that sounds. “It just sort of ends up taking over your life.” He’s sitting somewhere in Los Angeles at lunchtime, speaking to me over Zoom, with the afternoon sun reflecting off his chlorine-blue eyes.

Jacket and shirt by Gabriela Hearst. Hat by Gladys Tamez. Ring by Cartier.

The Apprentice, which Stan first signed up for in 2022, explores the question, ‘How did Trump get like this?’ (The answer, it posits, has a lot to do with Roy Cohn, a lawyer and prosecutor who had risen to prominence in the 1950s as Senator Joseph McCarthy’s attack dog in the communist witch-hunts.) The film is the latest in a string of freaky, transformation-heavy roles that have run parallel alongside Stan’s very mainstream 13-year-and-counting stint as Captain America’s pal Bucky Barnes in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, which has made him a globally recognised action star. The Apprentice lands this month in the UK, two weeks after A Different Man, an A24 production in which Stan plays an aspiring actor with neurofibromatosis, a genetic condition that has caused the growth of non-cancerous tumours on his face. They’re not your typical actor-in-between-superhero-outings roles – and the fact that Stan is spending so much time in the make-up chair outside of the blockbusters is indicative of a desire to get truly lost in his work.

I started to think a lot about the American dream. What is it? Is it a ghost you keep chasing?

Preparing to play Trump, he says, was like any other time he has portrayed a real-life person – take, say, Tonya Harding’s ex-husband, Jeff Gillooly, in I, Tonya, or Tommy Lee in Pam & Tommy. But this time around it came with an added layer of stress. “There’d be nights when my anxiety levels would be through the roof, because I’d be like, Why did I say yes to this?” he says with a laugh.

But Stan thrives when he leans into fear. He had been terrified of I, Tonya, and even more terrified of Pam & Tommy – which, in its exploration of the couple’s romance and sex tape, involved a scene where Lee converses with a silicone puppet of his penis. (The latter earned him Golden Globe and Emmy nominations.) Trump was a different beast. “I thought, I don’t know if this is doable. I don’t know if I have it in me,” he says. “But it’s not not gonna happen because I’m scared of it.”

Coat, shirt and tie by Ludovic de Saint Sernin. Trousers by Gabriela Hearst. Boots and gloves by Versace. Hat by Gladys Tamez. Daniel Jack Lyons

Jacket and shirt by Gabriela Hearst. Hat by Gladys Tamez. Daniel Jack Lyons

When his mother told him he was going to be leaving Vienna for the United States at 12 years old, Stan felt like the floor had fallen from beneath him. “It was like you were telling me that my life was over,” he says. His mother was a single parent and had met an American man and fallen in love; he wanted to bring them both to live with him in New York. Stan remembers crying in the shower in the days leading up to the move. After departing Romania a few years before, he had worked hard to forge new friendships. Now, he’d have to rebuild from the bottom up again. “That did feed me resilience, because it did allow me to get better at restarting and restarting,” he says. “It fed a lot of who I am.”

Upon arriving in America, he started working on his impersonation of an American teenager. “I was so traumatised by being different,” he says. He refused to speak Romanian, even at home. He didn’t tell anyone he was from a foreign country. “I wanted to change my name to Christopher,” he says. “I wanted to be as normal in America as anybody else.” Having already set the ball rolling with his passive English lessons as a child, he was able to adopt a seamless New York accent, leaving little to betray his otherness. He tried out every personality marker available to him at school, to figure out which one fitted: debate team, forensics, every sport he could muster, and drama, eventually gravitating towards the latter. “I became popular in high school through acting,” he says. “I went on dates. I found my path.”

Still, this otherness was a part of Stan, as much as he initially tried to suppress it. As he came to appreciate life in America – in a middle-class household, with a good education – he began to reappraise his background, and felt a sense of gratitude to his stepfather for bringing them over, and for the drive it seeded within him. “This idea that you’ve been so lucky to have been selected to get this opportunity,” he says. “I was able to seize it and work with it, but on the other hand it’s a never-ending burden because you go, ‘You better not blow it!’” He remembers taking a walk through the city on their arrival, gawping up at the skyscrapers, when his mother impressed upon him that very sentiment: “You see these buildings? This is where you have a chance to become something.” He thought about this conversation quite a lot while he was playing Trump, probably because it feels like a scene ripped right out of a more varnished biography of the former President. “I started to think a lot about the American dream, and sort of like, what is it?” he says. “Is it a ghost you keep chasing?”

That was a way of me understanding that you're just out there, like target practice.

When Stan was doing theatre in high school, he loved getting a chance to transform and become a different person entirely. “You’re 14, 15, and you’re playing parts where you have to be, like, 35 years older than you are, and you have to change your appearance, you have to change everything, and you have to walk a certain way,” he says. “That shit was fun.” He would find himself craving those meatier transformations later, after landing a run of roles in Hollywood playing traditionally hot villains and heroes in Gossip Girl and in the Captain America movies. “Watching Christian Bale do The Fighter and watching him do Batman and Vice and The Machinist… He was a guy that, to me, could have made very conventional choices because he’s very good at any of it. But then he’s trying these things.”

Opportunities like this aren’t necessarily afforded to nascent actors. In a weird way, you kind of have to wait for your face to become recognisable before you’re allowed to start messing with it. The first real taste Stan got of this was in 2017 – after he had been solidly established as a Marvel hero – in the Margot Robbie-led, Oscar-winning I, Tonya, which told the story of the assault on figure skater Nancy Kerrigan, orchestrated by her Olympic rival Tonya Harding’s camp. For Harding’s ex-husband – who sets the assault in motion – they were looking for someone very different to Stan. The real Gillooly is slight and short, with narrow features. Stan felt his teen-drama looks would work against him in the audition process. “I’m like, ‘I’m gonna walk into that room and they’re gonna see the taller guy, The CW [the young-people-melodrama US TV network that first aired Gossip Girl] guy.’ I felt like I was going to be immediately judged.”

Coat and pyjamas by Dolce & Gabbana. Daniel Jack Lyons

I, Tonya director Craig Gillespie saw in Stan a capacity to become Gillooly. “I was familiar with Captain America: Civil War and his work there, and I couldn’t quite picture it [at first],” Gillespie tells me. “But he actually turned up [to the audition] in the turtleneck and the moustache, almost in character. And the transformation, and his instincts tonally and comedically… He was actually improvising things in the scene that worked incredibly well.”

Gillespie was impressed not just by how Stan had remoulded himself in the shape of someone else, but by his ability to tap into the character’s humanity, too. “It has to be emotionally resonant,” he says. “You have to be able to connect to the characters… He completely commits, which is an incredibly scary proposition for an actor.” Still, Stan was filled with anxiety heading into I, Tonya. “The amount of fear I had was almost traumatising,” he says. But then he did it. “I worked so hard for that movie, and it worked.”

A DIFFERENT MAN takes things up another notch. The film was written and directed by Aaron Schimberg, a rising indie director whose work has explored how disability has impacted his life (Schimberg was born with a cleft lip and palate). In it, a prosthetics-heavy Stan plays Edward, an actor whose biggest break to date is a small role in a corporate training video about how to treat employees with facial differences in the workplace. Edward’s spirit has been crushed by the world around him, weathered by the relentless gawping of strangers and rejection. Then, he takes part in a clinical trial for a new drug that could remove the tumours from his face. It works. Edward fakes his death and adopts a new identity, looking just like regular old Sebastian Stan. But when Edward’s kind neighbour – played by The Worst Person in the World’s Renate Reinsve – stages a play about him, he finds himself in competition with Oswald (played by Adam Pearson, a British actor with neurofibromatosis) for the part. It is, to put it mildly, a confronting drama, excavating both society’s unwillingness to treat people with disabilities fairly and the fallacy of our terminal dissatisfaction with our looks.

Coat by McQueen. Shirt by Louis Vuitton. Trousers by Louis Vuitton. Tie by Dolce & Gabbana. Boots by Versace. Daniel Jack Lyons

Though the film treads across the noir and comic horror genres, and at points tips into the absurd, it feels most like a parable. “It’s another version of the American dream, right?” Stan says. “Don’t wish for the things you want; you don’t know what’s going to happen.”

During the shoot, Stan often had long stretches between having his facial prosthetics applied and his call time (the film’s make-up designer, Michael Marino, was simultaneously working on The Marvelous Mrs Maisel, and would sometimes have to squeeze Stan into make-up in the early hours before running to that job). So Stan would walk around New York, including parts of his own neighbourhood, wearing hyperrealistic prosthetics, getting just a little taste of what his life would be like if he had been dealt a different hand. At one point, he went to his local coffee shop, where a barista he has known for years was working the counter. “She was so busy handling stuff, and suddenly she turned and she didn’t expect to see me,” he says, “and I could see the shock going immediately into overcompensation.” Pearson told him that those are the reactions that he is most often confronted with as a person with a disability: shock verging on repulsion, and guilty, over-the-top kindness.

Schimberg helped Stan to draw a neat line between Edward’s life and his own experience of fame. The one thing they had in common is how they’re observed in public spaces. “He said, ‘You have to think about what it’s like to be recognised. And the sense that you’re fair game out there.’ That I could understand,” Stan says. “I’ll go to lunch with my mom and somebody will be filming me the entire time, pretending they’re not. Or I’ll see somebody look at me strangely and then they’ll whisper to their friends. Or I’ve had someone come and tap me and run away. The invasiveness of that… And I can’t do anything but just receive it.”

Stan is quick to clarify that his experience as a famous person is not really comparable, that it comes with all sorts of upsides. But this point of similarity helped him to fully embody the character. “That was a way of me understanding this thing – that you’re just out there, like target practice.”

Coat and pyjamas by Dolce & Gabbana. Daniel Jack Lyons

Production on The Apprentice was hazardously stop-start. Several times over, Stan began his Trump immersion routine – which also involved pounding Coca-Colas and peanut butter and jam sandwiches, among other things, to put on some very un-superhero bulk – only to find out that production had been suspended. At one point, the project came so close to overlapping with his next Marvel outing, next May’s Thunderbolts, that he had to start shredding instead – only for Thunderbolts to be postponed because of the WGA and SAG-AFTRA strikes. Straight back to the PB&Js. All that work wasted. “I’m fuckin’ 41; I just worked pretty hard to get in shape here!” he says.

Stan’s Trump is admirably nuanced, particularly for a person who has been so widely imitated – on SNL, on late-night talk shows, every second of every day by comedians trying to make a name for themselves on TikTok – as to be reduced to a caricature in the public consciousness. Initially, it feels quite removed, but then you spot the shape his mouth curves into while enunciating words like “deal” and “loser”, a subtle pursing of the lips when he’s being spoken to, a hand gesture. As the movie progresses, the man with whom we’re all exhaustingly familiar comes closer and closer to the fore.

Suit and boots by Versace. Vest top by Schiesser. Hat by Gladys Tamez. Watch by Cartier. Daniel Jack Lyons

The challenge, in Stan’s eyes, was to tread the very fine line between interpretation and imitation. “It’s a balance between having the familiarity without it becoming sort of a schtick,” he says. “There is a small window of time where you are going through the impersonation phase, because you’ve got to get through that in order to come out the other end,” he says. “There is a mechanical, technical piece to it, and that comes from actually studying a person.” According to Stan’s mother, he spent much of his childhood relentlessly impersonating people he came in to contact with. “I’ve always been good at watching people,” he says.

I'm going to commit the fuck out of it and surrender myself to the story.

Once he got comfortable enough, he would take the show on the road – trying versions of the character out in restaurants to see if anyone would pick up on it. “Because there’s a thing getting born,” he says, “and you want to test it out in the world, but you don’t want to overdo it too quickly – then it gets frozen.” No one seemed to notice in the moment, which was at least some indication that he hadn’t tipped over into parody, but some friends who have seen the movie realised retrospectively: “They’ve come up to me after and said, ‘Now I see this fuckin’ weird thing you were doing!’”

When we meet Trump in The Apprentice, he is a footsoldier in his father’s company and significantly less self-assured, though he’s got the trademark wispy hair and the ill-fitting suits. The wheels begin to turn when he meets Cohn – portrayed here in typically committed fashion by Succession’s Jeremy Strong, with whom Stan only had the chance to interact in character on set – who begins to sculpt Trump in his own image, laying out his rules for success, which will be very familiar to anyone who has paid attention to Trump’s political career: 1) attack, attack, attack; 2) admit nothing and deny everything; and 3) always claim victory and never admit defeat.

Coat, trousers and shoes by McQueen. Vest top by Ami. Sunglasses by Jacques Marie Mages. Pin by Cartier. Daniel Jack Lyons

Stan seems reticent to get into the politics of The Apprentice, which depicts Trump as, among other things, a rapist, in a scene referencing allegations made in a deposition by his first wife Ivana during their divorce proceedings. (Trump has previously denied the rape allegation; Ivana later issued a statement clarifying that she had felt violated, but was not raped in a “literal or criminal sense”.) But the movie speaks for itself. And Trump’s camp is already speaking back: after the film premiered at Cannes in May, the presidential campaign’s chief spokesperson Steven Cheung called the movie “garbage”, “pure fiction” and “election interference by Hollywood elites”, while also threatening a lawsuit. In a press conference at the film festival, Abbasi suggested that an ideal release date would be in mid-September, to align with the second presidential debate (but the film, as it happens, is now due out on 11 October in the USA, and 18 October in the UK). It wouldn’t take Alan Turing to decipher the message being transmitted. But I try and press for a direct answer: does Stan feel an added sense of responsibility playing Trump in an election year? “You can’t not think about it,” he says. “But I had tremendous trust in Ali Abbasi and his vision for the movie. And it is an important story – I think the movie makes a great attempt at exploring: how did we get here? But I approached it with the same responsibility as I approached anything I ever got involved with, which is, I’m going to give this my all. I’m going to research the fuck out of it; I’m going to commit the fuck out of it and surrender myself to the story.”

Does he have any concerns about backlash from Trump or from MAGA supporters? “I mean, is there anything out there now that doesn’t get backlash? You can’t worry about what people think,” Stan says. “But I’m fully aware that I’m doing things that are not going to be for everybody.”

He’s not far off the mark. Even Marvel, the world’s highest-grossing movie franchise of all time, has faced quite a bit of criticism in recent years – in part for the way in which they’ve handled the transition to a new set of heroes and storylines since 2019’s Avengers: Endgame. Stan doesn’t have any time for it. “I���ve never been part of a company that puts so much heart and thought into anything,” he says. “I think if Marvel was gone, it’d be such a big hole to try and fill up. Don’t just go out there and shit on something without offering something better.”

Coat by Loewe. Boots by Dolce & Gabbana. Necklace by Cartier. Daniel Jack Lyons

He’s certainly not done with the MCU yet. Thunderbolts, which he’ll headline alongside Florence Pugh, will arrive in May next year. And he’s already looking beyond that, to a potential reunion with Robert Downey Jr, who has been announced to return in the next Avengers movie – not as Iron Man, but as the villain Doctor Doom. “I hope I’m in a scene with him,” Stan says. “Is there any other guy that could pull that off? I don’t know, probably not. After Tropic Thunder, is there anything that guy can’t do?” he says, laughing. It is perhaps the movie that I least expect Stan – or anyone, to be honest – to reference in 2024, but I should know better. Downey Jr is a transformation master, too. Game recognises game.

Trump doesn’t exist in the Marvel universe – or at least not yet – but if you spot a hint of him in Thunderbolts, you’ll know why. “I went off to Marvel after [The Apprentice],” Stan says. “And we were doing scenes, and I would do something, a thing or two, and be like, ‘Fuck! This is still living somewhere.’”

Styled by Sean Knight Hair by Erica Adams Grooming by Kc Fee using iS Clinical at Redefine Representation Set Design by Daniel Horowitz Production by May Kielany

[fandomnerd9602]

Substitute

Wanda Maximoff x Nerd!Reader

Avengers High Series

Dating the most popular young witch on the Avengers High campus has been one of the greatest joys. Special dates on weekends, front row seating when she's doing a cheerleading routine during one of the football games. Though your favorite thing to do is to just sit together on a cool day and listen to the Lungs album of Florence and the Machine.

But you were deemed the second most intelligent student at Avengers High, second only to Tony Stark; some faculty would deem you first due to your responsible nature. This allowed you some unexpected perks. Mr. Fury approached you one morning with an interesting proposal.

"It's just for one day" he assured you, "notes are already written. I just need a substitute for this class."

"And you want me to do?"

He gave you a nod. You looked at which class it was going to be, an idea already forming in your head.

"Sure thing Mr. Fury" you gave a smile and went off to go talk with Wanda. She, having seen the whole exchange, walked over to you rather confused.

"What was that all about?" She asks with a little giggle.

"Nothing" you reassure her, "see you after class?"

Wanda gives a quick little nod before kissing your cheek and heading off to class.

Wanda's first two classes for the day were uneventful. She tried to sneakily text you but she got no response. You weren't there for lunch either, Wanda was finding today rather unusual for you to not be there. But she made her way to her final class of the day, Creative Writing, her favorite class and you weren't there to walk her to it.

She came into the classroom and slumped into her usual seat, not even looking up. Her fingers quickly typed out one last text to you. Where are you?

Look up, was your response. Wanda immediately looked up and gasped.

"Good morning class" you say with a little smirk, "my name is (Y/N) and I'll be filling in for Miss Hill today"

Wanda couldn't stop staring at you. It wasn't hard, you were at the front of the class and you seemed like such a natural being a leader.

"Ms Maximoff" you smirk, "is there something you wish to share with the class? Your mouth will be catching flies"

Natasha couldn't help but giggle from the back. The red head was getting a kick out of the site before her.

"H-Hi" Wanda managed to get out

"Hello to you as well" you smile before going back into a lecture. You give your girlfriend a little wink. Wanda was hardly paying attention during the entire class period.

And then at the end of the class period, the bell rang signalling the end of another school day. Everyone else was quick to leave except for Wanda, she found herself packing her backpack a little slower than usual.

"So this is where you were?" Wanda found herself laughing.

"Mr. Fury needed someone to fill in so i guess it was either me or Tony" you shrug. The two of you share a little laugh.

"I-I thought you were ignoring me" Wanda bit her lip. You walk up and gently comb a few strands of hair from her face.

"Never" you whisper back, "and from what I saw, you missed a few points of my lecture."

"Oh drat" Wanda mockingly responds as you wrap your arms around her waist. "I suppose you'll just have to tutor me after school today"

"I suppose so." you answer back before pulling her into your arms. "I'm free to tutor you now if you'd like."

Wanda giggles as you begin peppering her face with kisses. "I love our study dates" she sighs as she wraps her arms around your neck, kissing you again.

What a surprise indeed.

for @aloneodi @lifespectator @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @cole-el @holiday-house-of-m @fromtimetoinf @supercorpdanbeau @iamnicodemus @tokufighter @natashaswife4125

[matchavellichor]

I don't know if you're still taking requests, but if you are, I have this request that would make for some good angst C: Fem MC proclaiming that she'll only date a man who can best her in a duel. And Ominis ends up winning, shocking everyone including MC but she's happy about it. Up to you if smut follows after <3

A/N: I loved this idea, ty for the request! I didn't really make it angsty sorrryyy :c but I hope I compensated with the dominis smut at the end and that you enjoy nonetheless <3

How to Win the Girl

Ominis Gaunt x f!MC - NSFW - Friends to Lovers - 4.9k words - ao3

Part 2

Tags: Pining, Unrequited Love, Jealous Ominis, Dominis, Rough Sex, Classroom Sex

Summary: After hearing her proclaim that she'll only date someone who can beat her in a duel, Ominis grows determined to win her affections by any means necessary.

“I’m a simple man. I’ll snog anything with a decent enough behind.” Sebastian proclaimed matter-of-factly.

She didn’t know how this became the topic of discussion over breakfast at the Great Hall, but she indulged him nonetheless. Ominis seemed completely uninterested in the subject matter, engrossed in a Potions textbook he was currently tracing over diligently with his wand in a last bid attempt to pass the final practical exam.

She cast him a sidelong glance as she cut into her eggs. “I’ll make sure to tell Poppy to keep her mooncalves away from you.” 

Sebastian rolled his eyes. “Okay, anything decent and human.” He paused for a moment, contemplating, before he amended. “Actually, no, I did have a little tango with a Centaur some blue moon ago…”

She blinked at him. “You genuinely concern me, you know that?”

“She was cute!” He scoffed defensively. “Excuuuse me for embracing diversity. Pray tell, what are your shining standards, hm?”

She paused for a moment, considering, before she shrugged and took a swig of her pumpkin juice. “He has to beat me in a duel.”

She didn’t notice the way Ominis immediately perked up beside her, unburying his nose from the pages of his book and narrowing his attention on the conversation he had been only half-listening to.

Sebastian snorted. “Ha! Good one. You’ll die alone at that rate. Better start collecting kneazles to keep you company.”

She rolled her eyes. “Just because you’re incompetent with a wand, doesn’t mean every man is, Sebastian.”

“Hey! Incompetent is harsh. I prefer the term mildly handicapped.” He protested. “And just a duel? Like one time?”

“Yup. One duel.”

Sebastian rose resolutely from his seat, slipping from the bench hastily and nearly knocking over several goblets in the process.

“Where on earth are you going?”

“I have to go practice. If I knew a roundabout with the Hero of Hogwarts was on the line I would’ve tried much harder at Crossed Wands.” He gave her a wink.

She grimaced and called out to him as he quickly made his way down the rows of tables towards the exit. “You are excluded from the list of contending bachelors, Sebastian!”

“Square is fair!” He called back and she bit back a laugh at his butchering of the Muggle saying.

Beside her, Ominis looked very much enthralled in the textbook he was only pretending to read, his thoughts instead drifting to other matters. He had spent far too long hopelessly pining for her to not consider the opportunity he was just presented with.

It was no unknown fact that she was notoriously hard to get, and that reality had only served to make him want her even more. It was utter torture.

He was so unused to not getting what he wanted, and the stubborn little witch sitting beside him just so happened to be what he wanted most.

He rose from his seat with much more patience than Sebastian did, though arguably fueled by an even greater determination to finally win her affections.

“Where are you going? I thought we were going to study for Potions together.” She frowned as she watched him slip past her down the Great Hall.

“I’ll make it up to you.”

He made his way to the exit and rushed to the Undercroft in Sebastian’s footsteps, his magic thrumming in his veins with a vibrant, newfound energy.

//

Sebastian crashed into a groaning heap on the stone floor of the Undercroft after the leviosa Ominis had casted wore off after a few seconds.

“Fuck’s sake, Ominis,” he sat up, rubbing his throbbing head. “I thought you said you’d go easy.”

“That was easy.” Ominis crossed his arms, thrumming his fingers impatiently on his forearm as he waited for Sebastian to collect himself and get up again.

He admittedly had been a bit harsher than usual, using this “practice” as an excuse to take out his displeasure and poorly-concealed jealousy in Sebastian trying to win her affections in a duel himself. The mere thought of him anywhere near her had his magic coursing through his wand with an added bite and ferocity that usually wasn’t there.

Sebastian shook the woozy feeling from behind his eyes as he positioned himself in an offensive stance again. The first hex had barely slipped off his tongue before Ominis had a protego up and was veering a counteroffensive stinging jinx towards him.

No matter how fast he cast, the blonde always seemed to be one step ahead, moving lithely around the stone pillars in the Undercroft while Sebastian lept and rolled out of the way of his spells.

It didn’t take long for Sebastian to inevitably cry forfeit, after a barreling confringo missed his head by a few centimeters, singing the tips of his brown locks.

Ominis made his way over and outstretched a hand to help his friend off the ground. The brunette instead took this as an opportunity to tug him to the floor along with him.

He rolled his eyes. “Very mature, Sebastian.”

“Maturity is one of my many attractive qualities, you should know this by now, Ominis.”

“Yes, right there alongside your dueling abilities.” He jeered. “So…where do these duels take place, anyways?”

//

Ominis warily dodged the sounds of hexes and charms as he made his way through the dueling club towards Lucan Brattleby. Approaching the Gryffindor, he placed the few galleons for the entrance fee on the counter in front of him. 

“I’d like to duel, please.”

Lucan eyed him up and down with poorly-concealed disbelief. “You’d like to duel?” 

Ominis’ jaw set. “Did I stutter?” He nodded his head towards where he had heard her engrossed in a duel with a trio of upper-years when he walked in. “And I’d like to duel her.”

Lucan laughed as if the blonde had told a terrific joke, and then when he noticed Ominis had remained completely stoic and unamused, quieted. “Oh, you’re serious?” 

Ominis’ fists tensed at his sides. He was used to being underestimated due to his condition, but it didn’t make the blatant disrespect any less infuriating. “Are you going to let me fight or not?”

“Well, we have a hierarchy here, mate.” Lucan scoffed. “You can’t just walk in and duel someone. Especially not someone her level. You start at the bottom rank and win your way up.”

Ominis was mentally restraining himself from engaging in his own duel with the annoying little prat in front of him when Sebastian made his way over and clapped a hand over the blonde’s shoulders with a grin.

“Come to watch me fight, old pal?” 

Ominis turned and raised an eyebrow and Sebastian winced. “Er…poor choice of words, sorry.”

“I’ve come to participate, actually.” 

Sebastian raised his brows. “Against me? You haven’t battered me to your satisfaction already?” 

“No, not against you, although I’ll admit I’ll never be satisfied with any level of battering I’m allowed to inflict on you.” He nodded his head towards where she was still battling on the mats. “Against her.”

Sebastian’s brows reached his hairline now. “Ominis Gaunt, you little minx.” He butted the blonde’s shoulder playfully. “Trying to conquer her for yourself, eh? How come this is the first I’m hearing about this?”

Ominis rolled his eyes. “Don’t be so crass, Sebastian. I don’t want to conquer her, how antiquated.” He muttered admonishingly. “I want to prove myself to her. But, someone here won’t let me.” He narrowed his eyes at Lucan who had been listening curiously to their conversation. 

Lucan steepled his fingers over his chin contemplatively. “Hold on. You said Ominis Gaunt, right? As in…heir-of-Slytherin, dark-magic, rich-up-the-wazoo, Gaunt?” 

Ominis’s mouth set into a line at his family’s notoriety before giving a reluctant nod.

“I’ll tell you what. Pay triple the entrance fee and I’ll let you jump ahead and get your ass kicked by your little girlfriend.”

Ominis fished out the hefty sum of galleons from his pocket and slammed it on the counter, not pleased, but certainly in no position of loss by the demand. He’d be willing to pay a hundred times the amount if it meant a chance at winning her hand. 

“Pleasure doing business with you.” Lucan greedily pocketed the money before handing the blonde his entrance slip, indicating his place for the duel. “Also, hope you’re aware that no Unforgivables are allow—”

Ominis scowled before yanking the ticket from his hand. “Sod off.”

He cut past the crowd of onlookers and found his place in line by the mats where she was dueling, that same ardent determination making his magic hum in his core as he listened to her cast spell after spell. 

He couldn’t deny he felt a bit nervous about actually being in a battle with her. He had thrown around Sebastian in the Undercroft enough times, but never had he faced an opponent as formidable as her. Every incantation rolled off her tongue with a practiced amount of ease, short and concise, and he didn’t have to see her to know she was barely breaking a sweat as she fought off three foes on her own. 

He would have to be creative if he were going to come out victorious.

When the match was declared a definitive win for her, she made her way off the dueling mats and broke into a smile when she caught sight of Ominis on the outskirts of the crowd.

“Ominis! What’re you doing here?”

He held up his queue slip. “Whatever one normally does at a dueling club.”

The corner of her mouth quirked in subtle amusement. “I’ll be eager to see your skills in the arena.”

“You’ll see them, alright.” He smirked. “We’re up next.”

She was certainly surprised by this revelation, but to his satisfaction, made no doubtful comments about his sparring abilities. Instead, she stretched her shoulders and promptly got back onto the dueling mat, beckoning for him to follow.

“Come on, then. I’ll make this quick for you.”

//

She in fact did not make this quick for him.

She was soon greatly impressed by the realization that Ominis was actually an incredibly talented duelist. 

Sharp and agile, every swish of his wand calculated and precise. She was half-convinced his lack of sight actually led him to have even quicker reflexes than her average opponent, deflecting every single one of her spells with ease. 

Her pleasant curiosity quickly turned into begrudging frustration, though, when they’d been throwing hexes back and forth with no considerable gain made on either of their parts.

Never one to accept a draw, she cast the next spell with a little bit of extra ferocity, determined to at least knock the blonde off his feet and pull this duel that had stretched on for far too long now closer to its end. 

Unfortunately, she underestimated her own strength, and had caught Ominis in an unfortunate blind-spot —pun unintended— flinging him backwards across the arena. He landed with a sickening thud on the floor after colliding with one of the arched pillars in the room.

She winced as she knew that must’ve hurt. Badly. 

Which is why to her concern, and increasing horror, Ominis hadn’t let out even a single whimper of pain. Instead, lying completely motionless and cold, sprawled out on the flagstone floor. 

Her stomach sank.

Immediately, she ran over to him, her wand slipping from her fingers and clattering to the floor as she fought the nauseating dread inside of her at the thought of having seriously hurt him.

Sinking to her knees before him, she immediately took his face in her hands, scouring over him for any signs of serious injuries. 

She had only briefly noticed the slightest quirk of his lips, before she was flipped over onto her back with his wand pressed under her chin, his hips bracketing hers to the floor as he held her down with his weight.

Several emotions passed through her at once. First, the terrified dread dissipated from her system, quickly replaced by molten-hot anger at being so cruelly tricked, which then morphed into something almost akin to admiration for someone actually having gotten the best of her for once.

Strangest of all though, was the budding feeling of something else pulling just below her navel, as she realized just how close they were in this position. His hips pressed flush against hers, his breath ghosting her lips almost imperceptibly. Her entire body warmed.

Ominis held the most self-satisfied smirk she’d ever seen hovering above her, levels of smugness to rival even that of Sebastian’s, as he kept his wand pressed firmly under her chin with one hand and her wrists pinned tightly to the ground in his other.

Finally, she mustered the ability to speak, though her voice regrettably came out a lot more unsteady than intended with the feel of his body on hers making her thoughts hazy. 

“Get—get off me!”

Ominis tsked, shaking his head. “Make me.” He tilted his head and his lips curled at the corners, infuriatingly sly. “Use your wand, go on.”

She struggled against his hand futilely, but quickly realized that even if she was strong enough to free her wrists, she had recklessly abandoned her wand about ten feet away on the floor in her panic. She whined in frustration. 

“Forfeit?”

“No!” She protested, her pride getting the better of her. Though she quickly realized that wandless and pinned underneath a wizard nearly twice her size, she had little leeway in turning around the outcome of this duel.

He raised an eyebrow expectantly as he waited patiently for the little gears in her head to turn and click and realize that she had actually lost.

She had never lost a duel before. 

She expected to feel devastated. To have suffered an agonizing blow to her ego, to feel mortified, something. But instead she could feel nothing but mesmerization as she stared up at Ominis above her, features cool and nonplussed.

He had won. Square is fair.

Finally, she relented and muttered through gritted teeth, “Fine. I lost. Now get off me.”

He grinned as he finally slipped off her, her cheeks proceeding to heat even more at the brief brush of the front of his trousers against hers. As she sat up from the floor, she noticed with even greater embarrassment that the entire club had stopped what they were doing to gawk at them. 

She wanted to sink into the floor and disappear.

Quickly picking up her wand from where it had been discarded on the floor, she cleared her throat and with as much practiced sportsmanship as she could muster, directed a tight, “Good game.” towards Ominis before promptly departing from the hall. 

It wasn’t long before she heard the tell-tale sounds of footsteps tailing her down the corridor. She glanced back to see Ominis jogging to catch up. 

“Where are you going?”

She sighed. “Ominis, if you plan on rubbing it in my face how much of a better duelist you are, I’m really not in the mood.”

“What? I’m by no means better. Honestly, I don’t even come anywhere close.” He settled into pace beside her, his tone sympathetic and understanding. “I just had…stronger motivations.”

She looked up at him curiously and reluctantly decided to indulge him. She crossed her arms and stilled in her tracks, raising an eyebrow inquisitively. “Stronger motivations?”

He nodded. “That’s what it’s really all about, isn’t it?” He stepped closer to her as he continued, “It doesn’t really matter how powerful you are, only what you’re willing to do to win. Willpower supersedes strength by brute force.”

“How ambitious, spoken like a true Slytherin.” She teased with an eye roll. “Tell me, then, what strong motivations are behind Ominis Gaunt’s willpower?”

His lips curled into something almost predatory, and she had never seen him look the way he did now in the dim light of the secluded hallway. Usually so soft-spoken and unimposing, Ominis looked as if he had just won some grand prize she was unaware of. He crowded her against a woven tapestry adorning the wall and her breath caught in her throat.

A sticky-hot warmth seeped through her as she found herself once again pinned under the compelling presence of the blonde in front of her. Her eyes instinctively flitted to his lips, and for some reason she expected him to kiss her then. 

For some reason she wanted him to. 

Instead, he pulled away, slipping his hand into hers and interlacing their fingers. 

“Come on. I’ll show you.”

She found she could do little more but mindlessly obey at the moment. 

//

Ominis couldn’t wipe the smile from his face as he pulled her along down long corridors, leading her to the secluded stretch of empty classrooms in the northern wing of the castle. 

He had never witnessed the hard-headed little witch so incredibly flustered before. It was a terribly addicting feeling. 

And although he usually prided himself on being so decorous and patient, he couldn’t help but throw all caution to the wind as he strode hastily down the halls in an urgent bid to finally get her alone.

His heart thrummed in his chest at the very thought. 

Clicking open the door to an empty classroom with a wordless alohomora, he dragged her inside and pushed her against the door immediately, body pressed flushed to hers.

He half-expected her to hex his bollocks off at his imprudence, but when she did little more than let out a soft squeak of surprise, he leaned into her even further.

“Where’s your wand?”

His lips were so close, she could barely even think straight.

“In — In my pocket.” 

He smiled in satisfaction at the dazedness in her voice, her breath coming out in short little pants against his lips. He slipped his arm down to feel for her pocket and she gasped when she felt his hand grope at her thigh.

“Good,” He murmured when he felt the familiar wood poking through the pocket of her skirt. “If you’d like me to stop, use it. We both know you have no trouble defending yourself.”

Before she could ask stop what, his lips were capturing hers in a suffocating kiss, her words dying on a gasp. 

Even if she did possess the current mental capacities to slip a hand into her pocket and fling him off her, she had no idea why she would ever want to. He felt heavenly.

He groaned into her mouth when she sank into the kiss, slipping a hand to hold her jaw, pressing himself further against her to keep her pinned and still just where he wanted her.

She had never felt so utterly listless and weak. 

Stripped of all reason, a melting puddle of warm sensations as his tongue met hers and explored her mouth in earnest. Her legs had gone limp the moment he had pressed his lips to hers, and she was more than grateful for the way his hips were currently supporting her against the door.

The kiss was far from anything she would’ve expected from the ever-composed and austere Ominis Gaunt. It was messy and lewd, too starved for any sense of decorum, leaving her spit-sticky and aching until she could barely even recall her own name. 

“Fuck,” He whispered, breathless, as he came up for a brief moment of air. He was seemingly just as wrecked as she was, his voice hoarse. “I’ve wanted to taste this pretty little mouth for so, so—”

The whimper she let out as she instinctively pressed her lips back against his was nothing short of pathetic, but Ominis seemed to have adored it if the twitch she felt against her hips was any indicator.

The way he rutted softly against her as he took her lips in kiss after bruising kiss made her head dizzy. Seemingly brought to his limit, he pulled her away from the door in favor of pinning her against one of the empty desks instead, slotting himself in between her legs. 

She gasped when she felt him then, throbbing and strained against his trousers. 

He huffed an amused breath of a laugh. “Feel that?” He nosed at her jaw, inhaling the intoxicating scent of lavender that made him throb even more in his pants. “That’s what you do to me.” 

Her head fell back when his tongue connected with the soft, sensitive skin of her neck, licking a greedy stripe down her throat as if he wanted to sink his teeth into her. 

He felt like a man starved. He was so tired of being patient, of hopelessly longing for her from a distance.

Actually having her there, in his hands, soft and pliable and mewling his name as he peppered her skin in kisses, licks, and love bites, was enough to almost make him lose all sense of self-restraint.

Hell, it was almost enough to make him finish in his trousers he quickly noticed as he drew his hips back with a hiss. He flipped her onto her stomach on the wooden surface before he got ahead of himself.

She gasped from his assertiveness, at just how out of control he seemed, usually so reserved and cautious. That flicker of desire inside of her roared into tumultuous, consuming flames. 

He slipped a hand into her pocket and grabbed her wand, placing it on the desk right above her head in eyesight. 

“What did I say?”

She panted, thoughts hazy, but tried to construct some semblance of a coherent sentence anyway. “If I — I want you to stop, use it.”

“Mhm,” He hummed in approval before pressing a kiss to her temple. “Good girl.”

She preened at the praise, arching back into him, feeling him pressed stiffly against her arse, thick and so incredibly stiff through the fabric of his trousers.

She wanted to burn all her pride and beg him to fuck her, touch her, anything to satiate the unbearable yearning inside.

“Needy little witch,” He grunted as he felt her rub herself back against him. He brought a hand to her hips to still her. “Be patient, hm? I’ve been patient for you, haven’t I?” 

She nodded, forehead falling to lay against the desk as she let his hands explore her, groping the soft flesh in his strong fingers. He leaned over her, his breath warm against the shell of her ear. 

“So fucking patient.” He murmured as he ran his hands down her sides in admiration. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited? How many times I’ve come into my own hand thinking of you bent over for me just like this?” He nipped at her ear, scraping a biting kiss down her jaw until she whined from the sting. His cock ached in his trousers with every little noise she made. 

Unable to bear it any longer, he fisted her skirt in his hands and tugged the fabric over her hips in a single, succinct motion. Her breath hitched in her throat but she made no move for her wand, sitting idly by where her hand was palm down on the surface of the table.

“Gorgeous,” He breathed against her skin, tugging her blouse down one shoulder so his lips could find contact with the sensitive patch of skin there. “So perfect for me.”

His fingers trailed up her thighs and quickly found their way between her legs, rubbing soft, slow swirls over her knickers. The way he had been talking to her, touching her almost reverently, had already left an embarrassingly sticky mess between her thighs.

Ominis groaned as soon as he felt it seeping through the sheer fabric. “I need to be inside of you.” 

He hooked a finger into the hem of her knickers and tugged it down her legs, helping her step out of it before tucking it into his pocket. He pressed against her again and she squirmed from the feeling of the bulk of him against her bare cunt. 

“Look at you. Making such a mess on my trousers.” He ground his hips into her even more as he felt her wetness sully the fabric.

She keened. “Please, Ominis…”

“Please what?” She heard the metal clink of his belt as he began to divest himself behind her and she clenched around nothing in anticipation. 

She tucked her face into her hands, desire sending blood to her cheeks as she finally reduced herself to begging. “Please, please, please fuck me,”

His forehead fell to her shoulder at the sound of her pleading, his grip turning vice-like on her hip. She felt him then, the blunt tip of his cock pressed right against her entrance. 

“This is what you want?”

She nodded fervently, her head fallen lax against the table. He tangled his fingers into her hair and tugged her up until her back was pressed to his chest not letting her hide from him.

“Say it.” He gritted through clenched teeth. “Tell me this is what you want.”

“Please, please, oh Gods, I— I want this, I want this so—”

Her words died on a strangled gasp as he sheathed himself completely inside of her. Her legs went limp, and she would’ve fallen forward if he didn’t snake a hand around her waist to keep her flush to him, her head falling back against his shoulder.

“Always knew you’d have the tightest little cunt.” He pressed a kiss against her warm cheek, his breathing heavy against her skin as he hummed in approval at the feeling of her squeezing him. “Alright? Hurts?”

She shook her head, grinding her hips back against his in a show of just how good it felt. 

He huffed a laugh at her eagerness before easing his own hips back and bringing them back to meet hers again. This time, he let her fall forward onto the desk, her nails digging into the wood as she moaned from the intrusion. He felt so big inside of her, stretching her out so deliciously until she felt full to the brim. 

Her hip bones bit into the desk as his thrusts slowly became more forceful, jolting her and pressing into that sensitive little spot on her walls that made her toes curl. When her wand clattered to the floor following a particularly hard thrust, her lips parted in awe at the wandless bit of magic he used to bring it to his hand and back into her eyesight.

She had never been more attracted to the wizard currently fucking her senseless.

She couldn’t contain the sounds spilling from her mouth as he fucked into the desk, pathetic and utterly depraved noises that seemed to only spur him on even more. His pace grew punishing, pulling similarly debased noises from the back of his throat as he slid in and out of her. 

“Kiss me. Gods, fucking kiss me.” He groaned, taking her jaw in hand and tilting her chin back so he could capture her lips. She moaned into his mouth and he responded in kind, nipping at her bottom lip until she squeaked. He’d never get enough of these noises.

“Perfect. Fucking. Witch.” He grunted, and his voice was low and rough, a wrecked, gravelly mess as he continued to rut harshly inside of her. “Mine now, aren’t you? All mine. Fuck.”

She nodded fervently, feeling inclined to agree to just about anything coming from his mouth when he was pushing her so close to release, building up that aching knot behind her navel and winding it tighter and tighter.

He could feel her walls fluttering around him, feel just how close to the edge she was. Reaching a hand in front of them to rub tight little circles between her legs, he pressed his lips to her ear. 

“That’s it, you’re so close, aren’t you,? I can feel you tightening around me. Be a good girl and come on my cock.” 

The combined feeling of his hand between her thighs, him thrusting so perfectly inside of her, and the filthy things he was whispering in her ears, was enough to push her over the edge.

She came with a sharp cry, her entire body trembling while he continued to fuck her through her climax, falling over the edge along with her. She felt a warmth coat her insides as he pumped inside of her, his face tucked into her neck while he murmured incoherent praises into her skin.

He kissed all over any exposed patch of skin he could find as he tried to regain some semblance of composure, his chest heaving. He mouthed softly at her jaw as he finally pulled out, and she winced at the slight soreness from the abrasion. His brows knit together. 

“Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head, giggling at his sudden concern. “I’m okay.”

He looked unconvinced as he collected her in his arms. “Do you promise?” 

She smiled and leaned forward to press a kiss to his lips. “I’m fine, I promise. Probably won’t be able to walk properly for a few days, but…”

He chuckled. “Well, that won’t do, I have a date planned for us. Will I have to carry you through the castle in my arms? A bit of a forward way to announce our relationship, but I’ll oblige I suppose…”

He made to wrap her legs around his waist and she bat at his arms. “Awfully presumptuous of you to assume we’re in a relationship already, Ominis.” She raised an eyebrow.

He returned the inquisitive look. “I’ve met your terms, haven’t I?”

She sighed and wrapped her arms around his neck, tucking her head against his chest. She couldn’t help the warm, fuzzy feeling she felt deep in her stomach, possibly a side-effect of all the post-orgasm endorphins making her head buzz. Nonetheless, she felt inclined to peck his cheek and concede with a smile.

“Yes. I suppose you have.” 

[birdmitosis]

Do you think any of the Chapter II versions of The Princess WANT to become either of their Chapter III versions?

Oooh, this is a good question! I think some of them do and some of them very much don't, even if none of them were planning on it.

Adversary doesn't want to become Eye of the Needle or Fury. She wants a good fight forever, she wants you to be on the same wavelength! Eye of the Needle is so intensely frustrated and Fury is in so much pain. Absolutely not on her part.

Beast doesn't want to become Den -- you are further dehumanizing her, and Den is practically starved, and Beast blatantly has very simple straightforward desires and wants out. I think Beast is more neutral-to-positive about becoming Wild, however: She didn't really want that before it happened, but she isn't bothered by dying at the end of Chapter II and she is very happy to have "put things back how they're supposed to be" as Wild.

Damsel doesn't want to become her Chapter III version, her Epilogue version, or her deconstructed version, tbh. She is uncomfortable with your suggestion that turns her into Happily Ever After and she is not actually happy there despite how much she also tries to cling onto it; she does not want to be the Burned Grey and tries to fix whatever made you go down that path; Deconstructed Damsel is you denying her what simple desires she actually does have and disbelieving in her personhood until there's none left. Big no on her part too.

Nightmare doesn't want to become Wraith. She laughs when you kill her, but she flat-out says she's become worse, and not just worse for you. She wanted you to free her. I would argue that Nightmare is a bit more neutral-to-positive about becoming Moment of Clarity, however, as the final Shifting Mound fight has her noting that it's good to share your heart with another no matter how frightening it is to do that. She didn't want it but I'm not sure she isn't happy it happened.

Prisoner absolutely didn't want to become Drowned Grey or Cage. She's very, very openly upset in both and clearly tells you repeatedly. She's not dealing well in either chapter, at all. Big no on her part.

Razor is happy to become whatever she becomes in later chapters! She's also happy with what you become in the Arms Race/Mutually Assured Destruction path, but I put a small asterisk on the No Way Out/Empty Cup path solely due to her freakout at the very end about "if you're nothing does that make me nothing too?" But mostly, yeah, more blades to skewer you with is A+++ in her book, plus she's the only Chapter II Princess whose later chapter(s) results from you doing what she wants! (Getting skewered.)

Spectre does not want to become Wraith at all, very blatantly. She hates it and tells you she's become something worse even before you leave her chapter! She cries about it! I would say she also didn't want to become the PATD Princess, but she's immediately much more okay with it and she's getting her life back (sort of, until The Arms) and is happy at the end when you free her. I'll put the PATD Princess as a neutral-positive too but on the lower end of that list, since she also says while you're trapped together that she's making the best of it. She does seem very happy to have you in there with her, though (especially in the harsher version).

Stranger is inapplicable... sort of. She didn't want to become what she became at the end of her chapter, though, pretty blatantly. Then again, she's calmed down about that a lot and seems happy to be who she is if you get her specific ending in the Shifting Mound's heart. I'm still gonna put her as a no, though, with an asterisk.

Tower didn't want to become Fury, very obviously. However, while she would have preferred for you to just free her in her Chapter II, she's very happy to become what she's become in Apotheosis. Absolutely yes for her on that path, even if it strictly speaking wasn't what she'd intended.

Witch is hard to pin down! I think she'd much rather have gotten to stab you in the back, if she was asked how she realllly wanted things to go and actually answered honestly. That said, she's delighted in her own way if you attack her because you really did just prove what she'd already thought of you (and the both of you), and she's happy as the Wild. She also didn't think becoming the Thorn was an option but is at her happiest and healthiest if you choose to free her in that chapter. I'm leaning yes here for both of her Chapter IIIs.

So basically, if I had to categorize them, I'd have to say...

Upset to become their Chapter IIIs: Adversary, Beast (Den), Damsel, Nightmare (Wraith), Prisoner, Spectre (Wraith), Stranger (if you don't get her ending), Tower (Fury)

Happy to become their Chapter IIIs: Beast (Wild), Nightmare (Moment of Clarity), Razor, Spectre (PATD), Stranger (if you get her ending), Tower (Apotheosis), Witch

[luvneymar]

Hii could you do a Neymar jr X fem!reader when they met when they were teenagers and when she was 17 and he was 18 they had Davi, they were best friends at first(they didn’t want to ruin their relationship so none of them said anything, but then they got drunk and had sex) but after they had sex and had a son together they started dating, because they had always been in love with each other.

now they are like 25 and 26, and she is a famous marvel actress(make her the scarlet witch pls) and they go to a premiere together, and everyone is obsessed with them, such a beautiful and powerful family.

I’m dying to read something like that, if maybe you decide to write this and, if you really like the idea, make it a series, I have more ideas!!

thank you if you’ll do it!! I love your writing so much!!

ps:sorry for my broken English, not a native speaker.❤️❤️❤️❤️✨

(1/2) FOREVER AND ALWAYS — NEYMAR JR

SUMMARY: You and your best friend have been in-love with each other since forever, one day you both get drunk and you end up pregnant

PARING: teen!neymar x teen!reader

It was a late Saturday night & you had invited Neymar over for alcohol, games & more alcohol. You both were laughing the night away as you played the 100th drinking game tonight. “Okay I’ve got a good one, Drink if you’ve ever cried during sex.”

You hesitated before chugging the vodka in your cup eyes avoid Neymar as much as possible, while you chugged he laughed loudly spilling his drink all over your carpet. “No way! You’ve actually have?”

You wiped your mouth of the excess alcohol dripping down your chin laughing along with him so hard you fell onto the floor. “I was 15 & in-love, the only reason I cried was because he kept asking if I came. Like yeah I came, to my senses.”

You both laughed until you couldn’t breath & you were pretty sure you peed your pants a little. Once you sat up you scooted yourself towards Neymar placing your head on his shoulder. “You’re Unbelievable.”

Neymar rubbed his hand up and down your exposed thigh stopping every 30 seconds to take another sip of his beer. You sat up turning your body to face him before continuing. “Okay, I have a good one. Drink if you’ve ever flashed someone.”

Neymar hesitated before taking a sip of his quick sip of his bittersweet beer, you stared at him in horror before laughing uncontrollably again barely able to construct your sentence. “You’ve flashed someone?”

“You haven’t?” As you both stared at each other before bursting out to laughter rolling on the floor type of laughter. For the millionth time tonight. “How did you even?” You asked as you sat back up downing the rest of your drink.

“It happened at a concert, it was by accident though.” He begun pulling your body closer to his as he handed you another bottle of vodka, you rolled your eyes at his confession knowing that was the complete opposite of the truth.

“Uh-huh. I know you Neymar.” You answered as you open the bottle pouring into your whiskey glass, as you did you felt Neymar’s eyes on your every move. “Oh really? In what way?”

“In all ways.” You answered shortly before placing the chewed up straw into your mouth, you noticed Neymar nervously gulp as he looked away. You giggled lightly nudging him in side trying to get him to face you again.

Neymar sighed hesitating before he finally pushed out the words he’s been meaning to say the whole night. You both were obviously attracted to each other and by the way you both acted around each other many people seemed to think so as well.

Neymar took a large sip of his beer before pushing out his deepest darkest thoughts. “Is it me or being drunk made you look really sexy?”

“Really? Tell me how.” Hearing you say that Neymar not only gained an extreme boost of confidence along a sense of relief also washed over him.

Clearly the alcohol was doing all the talking to the both of you since you placed your cup to straddle him, wrapping your hands around his neck. Your actions had shock Neymar but only for a second before he placed his on your waist

“Well I want nothing more than to touch your body, especially your breasts. I wanna kiss you & touch you.” Neymar whispered into your ear brushing hands up and down your waist. “Do it then.” You whispered back pulling his hands up to remove your shirt.

“Really? Are you sure this is what you want?” Neymar asked you for consent before continuing with anything before hand, “I don’t want to ruin our friendship or anything—”

“You’re gonna ruin this friendship if you don’t take off your pants and kiss me.” You whispered pulling him in for a kiss as you both shuffled your clothes off throwing them all across the room.’

“God you’re incredibly sexy.” Neymar pulled away from the kiss just so your lips would be a few millimetres apart before pulling you in for a kiss once again.

—

The sun shone directly into your eyes as you opened your eyes hand blocking the sun you realized you were completely naked right beside Neymar who was also completely naked. You shook him awake to ask what had happened. “What happened?”

“We fucked that’s what happened.” He groaned pulling the blanket over his head trying to block out the sun that was shining in his eyes. “God my head hurts.” You groaned sitting up pulling the blanket up to cover your boobs.

“Mine too, rock paper scissors?” He asked peeking his hand out from under the blanket, you won with your paper covering his rock

“You’re making the hangover tea, i’m gonna take a shower.” Neymar groaned, pulling the blanket right off his head as you left the bed walking towards the bathroom. As you passed the other side of the bed you felt a hard impact on your bare ass causing you to jump.

“Friends don’t slap each others asses.” You reminded him as you smacked him on his forehead before continuing into the bathroom turning back to look at his cheeky smile. You laughed before slamming the bathroom door.

“What we did last night wasn’t what friends do.” He yelled out jumping out of the bed and walking towards the door before you could lock it.

“But that’s what friends with benefits do.” He reminded you, you were already in the shower where the glass was blurred so you had no problem with him being in the bathroom with you.

“Whatever, I’m gonna grab the tea put it a cup & head to work. Remember to lock the door alright?” You shouted back as you heard the bathroom door close.

“See you later?” He peaked into the door to ask once more. “Maybe, Maybe not.” You answered shortly before shooting him away.

—

Ever since that day you’ve avoided Neymar like the plague despite making it very clear that you both were cool, the only reason why you were avoiding him was because you felt odd. Your boobs were tender, you’ve gained weight, you’ve been bloated and all the sorts.

You assumed you were just ovulating until you realized your period was late 5 days, you were never late. It hadn’t dawned on you until your friend Anne had groped you in the change room and you winced.

“Anne do that! That hurt.” You shrieked as you backed away from her holding your chest tightly, even hold your chest made your breasts hurt. “Your boobs are tender? What are you pregnant?” She laughed as she put on her shirt.

As she was chuckling at her statement she turned around and saw you frozen in position hands remaining on your chest standing with a look of horror & disbelief on your face.

She jogged towards you placing her hands on your shoulder shaking you back and forward trying to get you to snap out of your trance. “I was joking girl, you can’t be pregnant. Are you pregnant..?”

Hearing her voice snapped you out of your trance despite still holding your hands to your chest, you stood there staring into the distance trying to think of a reply .“I think so.” You replied nodding slowly finally facing your friend.

“The best way to fight fear is with information. I’ll be on the other side of the door.” She took to your hand into hers pulling you towards the change-room bathrooms knowing there had to be a pregnancy tests somewhere.

As you walked tower the bathroom as your legs shook in fear, you were a senior in high-school and was about to accept a full-ride to your dream collage. You felt nothing but terrified as to what could happen if the stick has 2 lines instead of one.

Your friend handed you a pregnancy test she found from another storage closet hugging you before she ushering you into the stall sending a warm smile your way; that smile made you know what no matter what the results were you’d be okay.

A few minutes after you walked out of the stall pregnancy test in-hand still loading the results, you walked towards the sink staring at yourself in the mirror as you clutched the test as tight as you could. Anne walked beside you taking your hand in hers. “Well what’s the result?”

“I don’t know it hasn’t say.” You answer shortly unaware that you were still sharing from the fear of all the possibilities. You never thought you of all people would put yourself in a situation where you could become a teen-mom.

“Okay let’s wait.” She whispered into your ear as her hand rubbed your back, as you both waited some time passed and you knew the test must’ve been done by now. “It’s up, can you look for me? I don’t want look.”

She took her hand off your back and grabbed the test from your hand taking a quick look at it before sighing, “Positive.” Hearing those words your knees finally gave out and you fell to the floor as tears begun to fall from your eyes.

—

Once you finished having your feelings you stood up from the dirty bathroom floor legs wobbling like a baby deer as you stood up wiping your tears away. Anne got up along with you “What are you gonna do now?”

“I don’t know.” You replied quietly “I have to tell the father I guess.” You took the pregnancy test from Anne’s hand and threw it at the wall as hard as you could, as it shatter into pieces you

“Do you know who it could be?” Anne asked you in a quiet voice as you both walked out of the change-room ignoring the shattered positive pregnancy tests on the floor.

“Yeah.”

“Good luck then, tell me what happens.” She patted your back as she exited the change room leaving you all alone in there, as you stood in the empty quiet change-room.

—

It had been a few weeks once the since you found out you were pregnant and you still hadn’t told anyone but Anne that you were pregnant, you wore double layers, walked as fast as you could & skipped first period so you could vomit in the bathroom.

Once you were finished throwing up in the stall for the 3rd today you exited the stall to see Anne standing right in-front of you with a disappointed look her on her face. “What?”

You pushed pasted her towards the sink to wash your mouth as she followed arms crossed & an angry look on her face. “You still haven’t told him that’s what! He came to me today asking for the 100th time why you were avoiding him.”

“Tell him it’s because i’m busy.” You muttered out as you finished washing out the vomit smell from your mouth, as you looked up at your reflection in the mirror you could tell that you looked a mess & everyone else thought so.

“No. I’m not lying to him the way you are, tell him today or I will.” Anne firmly replied walking out of the bathroom. Her sentence had just filled your entire body with rage even though you knew deep down she was right.

You had to tell Neymar you were pregnant with his child it was the right thing to do, but if he wanted nothing to do with you after he found out he could go on to live a full life while your a single mother begging for change on the street as you cant afford to feed your baby let alone yourself.

Once you exited the bathroom you bumped into non other than Neymar himself looking at you with an upset face that morphed so sadness once he saw how unwell you looked. “Finally! I can track you down, now please. Tell me what’s wrong. Is it something I did or—?”

“Come with me.” You cut him off dragging him by his blazer into the storage closet right between the boys & girls washrooms, as soon as you both were in the room you looked up at him as your eyes watered.

“What’s going on (name)?” He asked as he raised his hand to cup the side of your face. You sighed taking a breath of faith before continuing, “I’m pregnant.” You answered in a voice so frail & quiet not even a mouse could hear.

“What—?”

“I’m pregnant!” You shouted out looking up at him taking in what you had just said, he released his hand from your face just to pull you in for a hug as he caressed your hair. “It’s gonna be okay.” He whispered as you begin to bawl into his chest.

“We’ll be okay.” He told you as he pulled away not even acknowledging the snot & tears all over his uniform, seeing your eyes well up again he pulled you in holding you carefully as your knees gave out and you slid onto the floor.

—

“How far along are you?” Neymar asked you as you stroked his hair while he laid in your lap snacking on the chips he stole from the vending machine while waiting for you outside of the bathroom.

“I don’t know but it’s been a few weeks since I took the test so, 2 months? 2 and a half?” You answered stealing a handful from his bag, he smacked your hand before it could even exit the bag. “Why’d you wait so long to tell me?”

“Because you know how easy it is for teen dads to abandon their children while the mother is stuck with them.” As you confessed your true thoughts about this situation causing Neymar to sit up from your lap to stare at you.

“Well, you know me. I’d never do that to you. You know that.” He replied sitting up against the wall with you handing his chips over. As you took a handful of the over salted chips you answered his sentence with another question.!“What are we going to do now?”

“Well do you want to keep the baby?” Neymar asked the question you’ve never given much thought too, you’ve told nobody about your pregnancy so you thought if you hadn’t told anyone it wasn’t real. “Do you?”

“My football career is taking off so If you decided to keep it i’ll provide for both of you.” Neymar replied before laying his head back down on your lap snatching his chips back to find them almost empty.

“So we’re keeping it?” You questioned as a conformation to all of his questions/answers. “I guess so.” He answered nonchalantly munching on the crumbs of the chips before tossing the empty bag to the other side of the dark closet.

As you both say in silence just enjoying each others precedence after a long time of being apart you finally asked the soul crushing question you’ve been meaning to ask. “Do you love me?”

“If I didn’t love you I wouldn’t sleep with you.” He answered nonchalantly trying to ease his own nerves, the moment you asked the question all he wanted to do was shout yes.“It’s yes or no Neymar.” You answered smacking him on the forehead.

“Geez and I thought girls had a knack for this. Yes Im in love with you. So madly in-love with you that I want to raise a child with you.” He grumbled out rubbing his forehead trying to fade the red spot forming on his face. “Good.”

“Good?” He questioned, looking up at you with a confused look on his face, you laughed at the expression on his face before continuing, “I was just making sure you loved me too.”

“Do you love me?” He continued his questionnaire sitting up to stare at you as best as he could in the dark. “Did you not just hear me say ‘loved me too’?”

“It’s yes or no (name).” He flicked your forehead quite hard causing you to wince at the pain shooting throughout your forehead. “Ouch!” You grumbled out turning your head away from him. “Yes I’m madly in-love with you as well, or whatever.”

“Good.” He kissed your cheek before laying back down onto your lap. You both sit in silence again just enjoying each other‘s company before you reminded him after remembering something funny, he had said a few months ago.

“We’re not naming him Neymar Junior Junior, if it’s a boy of course.” You reminded him settling into your original position of his head on your lap & your hand in his hair. “Wouldn’t dream of it. It’s a mouthful anyway.”

“Do you have more chips?” You asked feeling your stomach rumble as you suddenly remember you vomited up everything you ate this morning. “I do, not for you though.” Neymar admitted as he opened another bag of chips he pulled out of his pocket.

“Do you hear that?” You asked listening around for a noise that wasn’t even there.

“What?”

“Your baby crying because their daddy won’t feed them.”

“Oh please.” As you both laughed at your lame joke you heard on the intercoms; “(Name) (Last Name) & Neymar Santos please return to class.”

“That’s our cue, soooo I’ll see you later?” You asked as you stood up from the floor dusting off your uniform.

“See you.” Neymar kissed your cheek before leaving the storage closet and walking back his class.

[ neymarsluv! ] next →

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

If you’re comfortable with it could you possibly write something about touch starved Donna starting to become depressed/lonely so Mother Miranda sends villager Reader to keep her company. And they end up on doing like skin to skin contact cuddling for Donna’s comfort? (I know it’s a bit vague but I think what you come up with to fill I the gaps will be perfect!) Basically just a dusting of angst then just a lot of fluff. And if you aren’t comfortable thank you for even considering!!!

Yess!!!! Thank you for your request!!! I hope you like it, and sorry about the language mistakes!!!! :))))

Comforting you

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Angst, mental health issues, fluff, Donna being Donna

Word count: 6,813

Summary: Mother Miranda have a difficult task for you...

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours!!! I love you all!!! :))

“Have you call me, Mother Miranda?” You said, peeking out of the door of the church, where the priestess was waiting.

It might seem like you were just another villager, that you had nothing special, but in reality you weren't just anyone.

Of all the girls your age who were dedicated to surviving and pleasing the leader of the place, you had been chosen for a different task than farming or raising animals. You were Miranda's assistant. Well, assistant, more or less. She always asked you for help and she entrusted you with small tasks that made you the envy of the village.

The blonde looked up from her desk and smiled kindly at you. You certainly had a hard time understanding why some of your friends feared her. She may have been stern and strict, but you had blind faith in her, even more so after spending entire afternoons with her.

“Sit down, (Y/N),” Miranda whispered, indicating a nearby chair and stopping writing. You bowed elegantly and obeyed, your face shining. “First of all, I have to congratulate you again for your cupcakes.”

You laughed amused, blushing at the compliment.

“You don’t have to, Mother Miranda,” you said with a smile, bowing your head as a sign of respect.

The witch nodded with that fake smile that told you she wanted something from you, as always.

“I have to ask you for a slightly unusual favor, (Y/N), I hope you're willing to do it,” she explained in a tired voice.

You shifted in your chair, and your smile faded. You were no stranger to the experiments she did with some villagers. You didn't want to be one of them.

“Of, of course,” you stammered, your breathing more labored. Seeing your scared face, Miranda stopped for a moment, studying your gestures and getting up from her desk.

“In the village they say that you are kind, gentle,” she whispered, walking around you, as if she were looking for something in you that you didn't know.

“Well, I try to do good things, Mother Miranda,” you said, with a confused tone. She nodded, blinking repeatedly, as if she was surprised or annoyed by your modesty.

“I see. Well, I need that kindness of yours to help one of my children,” she finally said.

“Your children?” You asked, perhaps less respectfully, which made the priestess raise an eyebrow.

Yes, Miranda didn't scare you, but... The Lords were something different.

She nodded, staying leaning on the table, crossing her arms.

“My youngest daughter, Donna, has been having problems lately,” she explained, making you sigh in relief. You didn't want to go to the castle, or the reservoir.

“What kind of problems?” You wanted to know, with curiosity. What could happen to that mysterious woman?

Miranda laughed in a contemptuous way, as if you had said something strange.

“What problems she doesn’t have?” She said amused. “Well, poor Donna has never been right in the head but… In the last month I think it has become more evident. It seems she feels lonely, or depressed, I mean, more than usual.”

You took a breath, sensing what your task was going to be, but not being completely sure.

“Excuse me, Mother Miranda, but what does that have to do with me?” You asked more directly.

Her smile widened.

“Your task will be to spend some time with her. You know, keep her company, lift her spirits,” she finally said, playing with her priestess clothes. “I know it may seem difficult but… Well, I know you. I think you may be the most suitable girl for that job.”

“It is, it is an honor, Mother Miranda.”

At first you didn't really understand why you were the best one for something like that. Yes, you were kind. The smile always adorned your face. You were always trying to help others, but that didn't mean you could do your job properly. The doll maker, Donna Beneviento, had always been a mystery to everyone.

Without being very sure, you accepted, and the next day, you accompanied the priestess through that dark forest, carrying a small suitcase and with your nerves threatening to force you to run away.

“Donna, open the door,” Miranda said, banging her fist on the wood impatiently. Then she looked at you and rolled her eyes. “Do you see what I'm telling you? Oh, this woman...”

Soon, slow footsteps approached your position and the door opened slowly, with an ominous creak.

A mourning figure appeared on the other side, accompanied by that sinister doll that always accompanied the lady in black. Ignoring Miranda, her head turned towards you, you assumed with fear, or curiosity.

“Mother Miranda,” the doll said, with a more formal tone than usual, different from her shrill screams during sermons.

“This is, (Y/N), she's going to spend some time with you,” Miranda said, bluntly. When the lady shifted nervously, shaking her head, the priestess placed a hand in front of her body to indicate that there was no possible discussion. “No complaints, Donna.”

“No, no! I want to be alone!” the doll screamed, with that different tone, but equally upset.

“Yes, yes, and yes. You’re worrying me, dear. I think some company could be great for you,” the priestess said, pushing you into the house in a slightly unpleasant way. “Do us all a favor and behave, mm? And remember, she is not your playmate. I want her alive.”

Those words made your hair stand on end, even more so when you took a look around you, inside that gloomy and dilapidated mansion.

Before you could say anything to protest, the door closed behind you with a loud bang. Miranda was already gone, leaving you alone in the face of danger.

The moment of silence that existed only served to scare you even more. The lady in black was watching you. You could hear her heavy breathing behind that black veil. The doll moved impatiently in her arms, perhaps thinking about what would be the best way to finish you off. You hoped it wouldn't be like that.

“I... Well... I'm, (Y/N),” you said kindly, extending a hand towards the lady, who stepped back, thus showing her rejection.

“Do you think I'm deaf? I already know,” the Angie doll protested. “Listen to me, you pathetic villager, I don't want you to be here, I don't want to see you, I don't even want to know that you exist, is that clear?”

“But, but my job is to help you,” you said confused, wanting to open the door and disappear from that place.

“I don’t need help!” the puppet shrieked, accelerating the breathing of the lady who was holding it even more and making her turn her back on you, quickly disappearing from the hall.

“Okay... We started so well...” You said to yourself, looking at the portrait that hung on the stairs, the portrait of a beautiful woman that immediately caught your attention.

The first hours in that house were strange.

You had nothing to do, the lady had locked herself in her solitude and why deceive you, you were afraid of annoying her, more than she already was. Contemplating that gloomy atmosphere, you decided to start with something simple, removing the enormous layers of dust from the mansion. It wasn't just any mansion, it wasn't just any woman.

The mess that was between those walls confirmed Miranda's suspicions. Lady Beneviento was not having a good time. You doubted, in fact, that there had ever been a good time in her life.

“You!” A shrill voice startled you while you were cleaning one of the windows. The Angie doll entered the room with a comical stride, reaching out to you and tugging at your dress.

“Ah! What?” You said scared, dropping the rag and with your legs shaking from fright.

“You said you were going to help my Donna?” The puppet asked. You nodded confused. “Well, help her, stupid!

“I just...” You murmured, scratching the back of your neck at that inappropriate and out-of-context accusation.

“Donna got nervous, very nervous, she hurt herself again,” Angie said, indicating for you to follow her.

You shook your head, horrified by that statement.

“Has she hurt herself?” You asked, breathing fast, following the puppet towards that old elevator.

“She hit her head, because of you. Stupid!” The doll yelled, walking through the labyrinthine basement until you reached a room similar to a workshop.

“I don't... Oh, Gods...” You sighed when you entered the room, seeing how the lady in black was sitting against a wall, sobbing uncontrollably.

You ran and crouched next to her, who barely paid any attention to you, with your knees resting on her chest. Without invading her personal space, you looked at her carefully, searching for the source of Angie's concern. It didn't take you long to see a small wet spot on the top of her veil. The doll wasn't lying and that made a knot to form in your stomach.

“Hey, hey, Donna... Gods, what have you done?” You asked, with a friendly, informal tone, trying to show off the empathy that characterizes you. “How did you do that?”

There was no response, only an erratic movement from the lady in black, which served to push you by the shoulders, knocking you to the ground.

“Come on, calm down, nothing's wrong... Everything, everything is fine, I'm here to help you. Can you hear me?” You said, fighting against the movements of her arms as you tried to give her some comfort.

Struggling, you achieved your goal, to hug her, to make her feel affection to try to calm her movements, to prevent her from hurting herself again. After a few more sobs, dissolved in tears in your arms, she calmed down.

“That's it... Don't worry... I'm not going to hurt you,” you said, rubbing her arms affectionately, using a tender voice, hiding your own fear. “I’m here for you”

Donna held on to you tighter, almost making you hiss in pain, but feeling like you were over your first crisis.

“See, Donna? I told you, she's not evil,” Angie said, with a cocky tone, making the lady in black look at you again, not wanting to move away, but holding you less tightly.

“Angie, where...” You murmured, ignoring the strange fact that you were talking to a doll. “Do you have a first aid kit?”

“This way, here,” the puppet indicated, while you helped the woman to stand up, something that was easy for you due to the circumstances.

You followed the doll into an adjoining room and sat Donna in a nearby chair, grabbing the small box you had requested.

“Okay, let's heal that for you,” you whispered, bringing your trembling hands to the veil of her face, something she prevented you with a strong grip on your arms, making you wince again in pain. “Donna, come on, let me… I have, I have to heal you.”

The fighting was even worse. Her hands avoided any approach you could make to her face, making you almost desperate.

“Donna, stop it,” you said in a stern tone, keeping her wrists down, but controlling your own breathing. “You are going to stay still, and you are going to let me heal you, or would you prefer that I call Mother Miranda and tell her how badly you are behaving?”

It was an empty threat and you knew it, but you trusted that she didn't.

Sure enough, her attempts to prevent you from revealing her face ceased and her hands fell on her body. You sighed in relief and slowly removed the black cloth from her head, thus discovering that beautiful woman in the portrait, marked for life with a horrible scar on her right eye, one that made you shudder, but that didn’t change your opinion about her at all, her hidden beauty.

She looked at you with hatred, with tears in her eyes and her lips pressed together. No, it was not the time to be surprised, or to make any kind of comment.

“Okay, let's see...” You said cautiously, bringing your hand closer to her forehead, where a small wound made the red color match with her pale skin. You shook your head, searching for a disinfectant in that small box. “It's nothing serious,” you murmured to yourself.

Actually, Miranda wasn't going to do anything to help, that was your job, you had to take care of Donna, if you failed, well, you knew the consequences wouldn't be good to you.

“Mother Miranda says you're feeling sad,” you commented quietly, cleaning the wound with a cotton ball, forgetting about the incident for a moment and focusing on your task. Donna didn't move, she continued without taking her gaze from yours, frowning. “She cares about you, you know?”

Nothing, not even a sign of response.

“There's nothing wrong with having a bad day, we all have them,” you continued talking while you continued healing that wound. “But if that discomfort lasts over time, well, then it’s something bad for you.”

Donna blinked, but she continued to stare at you coldly, hatred shining in her eye.

“Listen, I don't... I don't mean to annoy you. You want to be alone, and I understand it but…” You murmured, putting a small adhesive on the now clean wound. “Hey, maybe some company would feel good to you, don't you think?”

“You don't know me, you're an intruder,” Angie said, making you turn your head towards the puppet, who was swinging her legs on the table. No, it wasn't Angie who had spoken.

“Yes, well, you're right, I don't know you, but I guess that's going to change from now on,” you said with a tender smile, caressing her cheek affectionately.

Maybe it was your imagination, but you thought you saw the brunette nod slowly, resigned.

“Well, it’s done,” you said with a wider smile, making Donna put on a strange face when your hand left her face. “Are you hungry? It's almost time for dinner.”

The lady shook her head, looking away from you.

“Yes, she is hungry,” Angie said, giving away her owner, who made her look furious. You sighed, moved by what you were encountering and nodded.

“Okay, I'll make you something delicious for you, right? You just… Relax,” you murmured, putting a hand on her shoulder and getting up from the chair.

Donna made an effort to reach for the black veil in your hand, but you just dodged it with a quick movement.

“No, Donna. It has blood, let me clean it first, okay? I promise I'll give it back to you as soon as possible.”

Your first day wasn't wonderful, not at all. That first meeting made you consider the idea that you were not safe, that you were not the right person for this. With great difficulty, you managed to get the lady to eat. She was Always with that intense look, always looking at you as if you were a threat, a stranger who disturbed her lonely sadness.

But everything changed when night came and it was time to sleep. Your room was small, but cozy, at least it had windows. Shaking your head, you crawled into bed, asking yourself a million questions about the depressed and disturbed Donna Beneviento.

Before fatigue took hold of you, the sound of the door made you alert, immediately sitting up and trying to distinguish the black shadow that had invaded your room. It didn't take you long to do it.

“Donna?” You asked worried, watching as the doll maker got closer and closer to you. “Is anything wrong?”

Silence was, again, her response.

Breathing heavily, without doing or saying anything to indicate her intentions, Donna got into the sheets next to you, hugging you, putting her arms around your body, laying you down on the bed and resting her head on your chest.

As strange as it seemed to you, you decided that not to talk was the best thing to do, not to say anything. Donna wanted affection, your affection, even if she didn't dare ask for it, even if she didn't say a word. The trembling of her body and her hands clinging to yours said it all.

Confused, but moved, you ran your hand through her hair, caressing her sad figure, making her feel protected, safe in your arms. She shifted, looking for a comfortable sleeping position, one that was in contact with you all the time.

The lavender perfume filled your senses and her warm body soothed your soul. It was a desperate hug, a cry for help, an attempt to make her loneliness disappear. At least it was something, an advance, a gesture of weakness that you didn't think was possible in someone like her. You couldn't do anything but to hug her body, keeping it very close to yours. You fell asleep soon.

It might seem like an isolated event, something that would not happen again. Quite the opposite. It didn't matter how elusive Lady Beneviento was during the day, her hateful glances or her sharp words through her doll. At night, everything changed, she let herself melt into a warm hug, into your arms. During the day, nothing had happened. You woke up with an empty space, with the lack of her heat in your body.

You wanted to ask, to know why, but you didn't.

The house stopped being so sinister thanks to your efforts. A thorough cleaning made that mansion shine again. Donna was still running away from you, but she seemed calmer. It could be because she no longer considered you a threat, or it could be because of your warm late night hugs. You didn't know, and you weren't sure you wanted to know.

One afternoon, with no tasks and Donna working in her workshop, you started baking some cupcakes. Your grandmother said they would cheer up even the saddest person in the world. You hoped that was true.

While you were kneading, humming a song, you felt heels approaching. You looked at your watch with a frown. Normally Donna would be in her workshop until dinner time. That was strange. She seemed like a woman with very exact routines, which had not changed in the couple of weeks you had been there.

“Oh, Donna, do you need something?” You asked with a kind smile. She shook her head, no longer using that horrible veil. Her arm extended toward the counter, where the dough was being worked by your hands. “Oh, that? I'm making some cupcakes.”

She looked at you confused, but not upset, coming closer, with a timid step.

“It's a family recipe. Mother Miranda loves them, I guess you might do it too,” you explained with a low voice, trying not to seem upset. “Well, as long as you don't mind to have an overdose of butter, of course,” you joked, getting something unusual, something you hadn't seen in all that time, a smile.

“Do you also add cinnamon to them?” She asked, making you stop kneading instantly.

You had been in that house for a long time now and you had never, ever heard her real voice, a hoarse and soft voice that made your heart beat faster and  to be completely speechless.

“Well, yes,” you said nervously, scared by that sudden change, and that soft and melodic voice, adorned with a beautiful accent. “And, and a bit of vanilla.”

She smiled again, looking over your shoulder, making your eyes meet in a slightly strange way.

“Has someone ever told you how beautiful you look when you smile?” You asked affectionately, taking advantage of this unusual situation. Donna shook her head again, laughing sheepishly. “You should do it more often.”

“Can I help you?” She asked, ignoring your compliment with her words, but not with her expression, which made her blush when she heard your compliments. You nodded with an even wider smile.

“Of course, besides, a little bird told me that you really like to cook,” you said, moving aside so that she could also work on the counter.

“A little porcelain bird,” she said with a slightly more serious tone, taking some dough in her hands.

“Don't blame Angie, she cares about you,” you said murmuring, working on that dough together. “We all do it.”

“That's not true,” she whispered, looking at you out of the corner of her eye, smearing her hands in flour.

“Of course it's true,” you said, beginning to be cautious with your tone and your words.

“You are here because Miranda forced you to do it. Don't pretend it's for a different reason,” she hissed, stopping kneading to stab you with her gaze.

Yes, Donna was right, but little by little you began to forget about the assignment. You always wanted to help, you were always happy to see a person smile. Donna was no exception.

“I like to see you happy, no matter the reasons,” you said, making your smile fade. She laughed mockingly, shaking her head.

“Why would you like that?”

Unfortunately, you didn't have an answer to that question, but you had something in your mind that woke up at that moment, something strange, an unknown sensation that made you say those words without knowing exactly why you had said them.

“Look at you dress,” you said amused, diverting attention to the white flour stains on her dress and shaking it comically, making her look at you confused, with a half smile. “That's why an apron is usually worn.”

Your hands were stopped by hers, which held them tightly, but gently. You stayed completely still, noticing how your breathing betrayed your nervousness.

“(Y/N), I...” Donna murmured, caressing your hands in a delicate, pleasant way, making the contact with your skin start to almost burn. “I like you being here with me.”

You nodded, with a tender look, also caressing her hands. It would be a strange gesture if it weren't for those nocturnal affections, if it weren't for those hugs, those desperate caresses.

That small change, that small conversation unleashed a new stage in your stay at the estate. There was no longer silence, now there were small voices, small whispers, compliments, smiles... It seemed that the lady in black was feeling much better. She barely let her sadness be seen. You couldn't help but feel proud of yourself, of having managed to rescue a soul plunged into the deepest darkness.

The hugs, the nightly caresses continued. As if in cruel irony, those were the only times when Donna didn't want to talk, when what you said, or what you did didn't matter. She would never speak, she would just snuggle into your body and she would drift off to sleep, just like you.

Little by little you began to really know Lady Beneviento. Donna, yes, just Donna. She was a strange and disturbed woman, but she was also passionate about reading, cooking and art. Her words, the small pieces of information that she gave you, revealed a facet that was not very credible for a Lord like her.

She could be dangerous, yes, she could be sensitive, she could suffer horrible panic attacks, but, still, she had nothing to do with the rest of her siblings. She was kind, she was sweet in her own way, shy, quiet but always ready to give you a smile, to make you not tremble with fear when she was near you.

As the days passed, those tremors came, but not in the way you expected.

“Look, Donna, there are a lot of stars tonight,” you said whispering, while you cradled the woman in your arms like every night. She opened her eye to look at the window and looked at you consciously, something unusual during the night.

Your hand gently caressed her hair while your breaths matched each other.

“When I was a little girl, I dreamed of reaching them,” she murmured, making you look at her confused. It was the first time she spoke during those hugs.

“Really?” You asked, controlling your surprise at hearing her voice while you comforted her with caresses.

Donna nodded, getting more comfortable on your body, letting your hands calm her demons.

“I thought that if I could catch one, I could stop being afraid of the dark, that it would always be there to enlighten me,” she explained, making you smile tenderly at that innocent confession.

“Yes, I also imagined something like that, but I wasn't afraid of the dark,” you said amused, making her move away a bit and look at you curiously.

“What were you afraid of?” She asked with a slightly higher tone, far from those tender whispers.

“Mm, let's see... I was afraid of the castle, to be kidnapped by Moreau, to get lost in the fog, to the Lycans, to that old factory on the outskirts...” You said amused, listing each of your fears.

“You were afraid of me too,” she said, sighing sadly. It wasn't a question, it was a statement.

“No, the truth is that... Well, I didn't know you as well as the others,” you explained honestly.

“Are you afraid of me now?” She asked worried, moving away from your hug with a scared look.

“Of course I’m not, Donna,” you said, cupping her face in your hands and moving her head back to your chest, calming what seemed like an imminent crisis.

“You know what? I think you are my star,” she whispered in an almost inaudible tone, but it didn’t go unnoticed by you, making your grip on her body suffer and making those feelings, that you had been trying to hide for a long time, become stronger.

No, you couldn't have feelings for her, you shouldn't have. She was a Lord, you were Miranda's assistant.

Avoiding saying anything that would betray those feelings, you lay down on the bed, staying next to her, with the hand that was playing with her hair now caressing her face erratically. Her eye remained open, looking at you in the moonlight. She looked at you, you looked at her, searching in your mind for a way to avoid getting a little closer.

Luckily, or unfortunately, she moved first, caressing your face in the same way, bringing her body closer to yours, searching for something in your gaze, something that would tell her that she wasn't doing something wrong.

It was just a moment, a second, an instant. Her lips landed on yours with overwhelming slowness. You didn't stop it, you let her do it. It was a brief, but tender, clumsy kiss.

That sensation made you close your eyes, insist on kissing her lips again, feeling the softness of her skin on yours, that love that you refused to feel so much. Yes, you were attracted to Donna, a lot. What you thought was a hopeless case, a hopelessly mentally ill person, became almost a dream, a fantasy. No, Donna was not like everyone said. She was not like Miranda claimed. Everyone was wrong, no one knew her, only you.

The lack of affection, the loneliness, everything worsened her delicate mind, but it had no effect on her way of being, of behaving when she had someone next to her. Even if they were casual gestures of affection, even if your arms were a refuge for her problems, Donna was not a dangerous crazy person. She was just a lonely woman, sad because she believed that no one could ever love her. Nobody but you.

Love was a word that you thought was exaggerated, but that became the only thing you could think about while her lips kissed you, while her lips returned the gesture, tasting her skin on yours, caressing her body. It was just a kiss, nothing else.

At least that's what you told yourself. No, you couldn't love her, you didn't know how much longer you could be with her. It would only cause you pain, the pain of losing what your heart already believed was its place.

Donna moved away from slowly, gasping for that new and pleasant sensation for her, searching your gaze for some sign of rejection, something that she was not able to find. As a reflex action, the smile occupied her face, that smile that you believed was not comparable to any other. You did the same, wrapping your arms around her, returning to her comfortable position on your chest.

You didn’t say anything else that night. That kiss spoke for you, for a love that would surely be painful and impossible.

But what was not impossible was to continue enjoying those kisses, which replaced the nighttime hugs, more and more frequently, further and further away from the night.

“You see? And now you just have to make sure the seam doesn't tear,” the lady in black explained, as she showed you the curious art of doll making. You listened to her patiently, with curiosity, sitting next to her, where you wanted to be, where you wanted to be forever.

“It seems complicated,” you commented amused, looking at the doll that Donna let you look at, nodding at the perfection of that underrated art.

“No, well, when you make 500 it stops being that way,” she said, amused, with that beautiful smile. “You would like to learn?”

You nodded excitedly.

“Of course, I would love to,” you whispered, letting her hand return to yours to pick up that porcelain object again, taking the opportunity to caress your skin, to send shivers throughout your body, as was customary.

Unfortunately, the wall clock in the workshop distracted you from that moment. It was time to start cooking.

“Well, duty calls me,” you said jokingly, losing contact with her, making her unable to avoid a look of disappointment. “The food will be ready right away.”

“Wait, wait, (Y/N),” Donna said, hurriedly standing up, grabbing your hand to turn you around. You did it with a slightly sad smile. It was not normal to see her in that attitude.

You nodded for her to speak, but instead what she did was to kiss your lips softly, like a small goodbye, breaking out of the nightly routine. The truth was that it was becoming more and more common for you to kiss, but on this occasion, something seemed different.

“(Y/N), I... I'm in love with you,” she confessed on your lips, with her forehead resting on yours and her hands moving a lock of hair away from your face. Her breathing was nervous, but her words were sincere, terribly sincere.

“Donna...” You sighed, moving away.

No, you couldn't confess, you didn't want to, even if your heart screamed. You loved her, you had already admitted it, but what exactly did that mean? At any moment Miranda would call, noticing Donna's great improvement, and you would have to get out of there.

Without having anything to say, but really wanting to do it, your response materialized in the form of a sweet kiss on her lips. She looked at you confused, sad because it wasn't the answer she expected. Your hand went down her cheek, and you decided to run away before your tears gave you away.

“I'll let you know when it's ready, okay?” You said with a broken voice, leaving a stunned and disappointed Donna behind you.

That night, despite your silence, the routine of kisses and hugs returned to your small bed. Donna was distant, but luckily, she had forgotten about that awkward moment, your kisses always made her forget about her problems.

“I want to feel you more, please...” She asked you with a heartbreaking plea, putting her hands to the buttons of her night dress. “I want to feel your skin with mine.”

Knowing that her proposal was innocent, and recognizing what an act of carnal love would mean to your heart, your instincts spoke for themselves, discarding your own nightgown.

The moon once again illuminated your now naked, embraced bodies. There were no caresses, no inappropriate gestures in inappropriate areas. Just a hug, an intense, hot hug, that made you feel closer to her, her closer to you. Her breathing was calm, due to the comfort that your naked embrace brought her. Her gaze was innocent, more than yours that was dedicated to memorizing every corner of her body, of her exposed and pale skin, hungry for the contact, for the affection of your caresses, your kisses...

But that almost erotic moment, but which could only reflect pure love, was the prelude to a nightmare, a nightmare that you already knew was going to happen.

The next day Miranda called, congratulating you on your progress. Apparently, Donna was better than ever, something you already knew, but that you hoped the witch didn't notice at that meeting of Lords.

Your work was done, Miranda needed you. It was the most horrible moment of your life.

“No, you can't,” Donna said grabbing your hands tightly when she heard you say “I have to go.”

“I’m sorry, Donna, I…” You stammered, your voice choked with sobs. “I have, I have to do it…”

“No, you can't leave. You have to stay here with me,” she said, with an even more broken voice, with a look that made your whole body tremble with sadness.

“I can't,” you sighed, letting the tears fall, making Donna let your hands go when you picked up the small suitcase.

“Why?! Why, (Y/N)?! You came into my darkness to illuminate it with your light and now you take it away from me?!” She screamed angrily, grabbing the collar of your dress and roughly pushing you against a wall. You hissed in pain, but not just physical. Your heart hurt, a lot.

“I have no choice, Donna,” you said trembling, a bit afraid. “It's what Miranda has ordered me.”

“Sure it is. Now I understand,” she said with an evil smile, letting you go, luckily. “You did all of this for her, right? You’ve never loved me! Tell me, would you have fucked me if she had asked you to do it?”

She was crazy, out of her mind, and so are you. Your feelings tearing at your soul caused even more crying and anger because of that accusation. She had no way of knowing that you were fake, you had never told her that you loved her, you had avoided it.

Out of confusion and nervousness, your hand traveled to her cheek, slapping her spitefully, causing her to freeze, her hand in the mark left by your blow.

“You don't understand, Donna,” you hissed, regretting your gesture. “Nothing would make me happier than being with you. But I can't, you understand? I can't!”

She shook her head, frowning at your attitude, but tears adding more sadness to her face.

“Please, don't go...” Donna whispered, crying when you picked up the suitcase from the floor again, reaching out her hand towards your wrist, which made you close your eyes and turn around, slowly.

You didn't respond. You simply cupped her face in your hands, bringing it closer to yours, giving her a loving kiss, which contained all your feelings. A salty, humid and warm kiss.

“Donna, I will always remember you, always... You were my star too,” you whispered, painfully turning away from her.

That infernal farewell was interrupted by some impatient knocking on the door.

“Open the door, Donna,” Miranda's unmistakable voice alerted you making you walk away from Donna, releasing her hand as slowly as you could, until the cold of your skin indicated the loss of contact.

The lady in black winced in pain and she fell to the floor, leaning her back against the wall, desperate, crying uncontrollably.

Broken by the scene, you approached to open the priestess, who was knocking on the door with her golden nails, impatient, insensitive as always.

“I called you hours ago, (Y/N), what the hell are you doing?” She asked with contempt, making her way through the hall, where the destroyed figure of the lady in black caught her attention. “What have you done?”

The question was directed at you, but you were speechless, hurt, heartbroken.

“Ti odio...” Donna whispered when the priestess bent down to check her condition.

“What have you just said?” The blonde hissed, her expression hardening.

“Ti odio... Ti odio, ti odio, ti odio, ti odio!” She screamed, pushing the witch in a similar way to what she did with you on the first day.

“What the hell is wrong with you, huh? Have you gone completely crazy?” Miranda asked, shaking her clothes and pulling the arm of the lady in black, lifting her abruptly. “You were supposed to help her, (Y/N)...”

“No, no, let her go, please, Mother Miranda,” you begged, putting your hand on the priestess's arm, making her look at you furiously. “Don't hurt her, please…”

“You have taken her away from me! I don’t want to live anymore!” Donna screeched, making your eyes open quickly, pushing the woman away from Miranda's clutches.

“Can you explain to me what is happening here?” The witch hissed, demanding an answer to that confusion.

You shook your head, hugging Donna with all your might, letting her tears soak your dress and her nails scratch your back.

“I love her...” Donna spoke for you, buried in your shoulder, clinging to the fabric of your dress.

Miranda opened her eyes in surprise and rolled them unpleasantly.

“Oh, Donna, please...” She sighed, putting a hand on her back. “That’s not true and you know it.”

Those words made you grimace in disgust.

“It's true,” Donna said again, with a more heartbreaking tone. At that moment you wanted the intervention of Angie, a witness to your romance, but you had no luck.

“No, it is not, dear,” Miranda repeated, pushing the lady away from you, pretending to comfort her. “That's what you think. You don't really love her, Donna, you've just spent a lot of time alone and...”

“She loves me too!” The doll maker screamed angrily, pushing the blonde away again, who growled in annoyance, looking at you curiously.

“Please, don't be ridiculous,” the priestess murmured, making anger and disappointment to settle in your eyes. “She kept you company because I asked her to, not because she had feelings for you.”

“No, (Y/N) loves me,” the lady in black repeated, stamping her feet on the floor childishly.

“Oh does she? Has she told you?” Miranda asked, with a softer tone. Donna thought for a moment and shook her head, making the priestess laugh contentedly.

“You see, honey?” The witch said smugly, lifting her chin. “Come on, calm down. We all love you, Donna, but not in the way you think, mm? Would you like to have one of Alcina's maids with you? I'm sure she could give you all the love you need...”

That idea disgusted you. It disgusted you that much you couldn't take it anymore.

“Enough! Shut up now!” You squealed, making those gray eyes land on yours. Miranda let the brunette go and walked slowly towards you.

“You're starting to wear out my patience, (Y/N)... Do you know how many girls in the village want to be my assistants? You are not as essential as you think,” she whispered, with a threatening look, but with a sinister joy.

“Well, then, go ahead, call them, keep them all if you want. I'm staying here, with Donna,” you said, crossing your arms, beginning to fear for your life.

“Here? Why would you want to do that?” Miranda asked with her voice becoming more and more somber.

“Because I... I love her,” you said whispering, looking at the lady in black, who gave an enlightened look, relieved by your words, by knowing that your actions were not forced, that those kisses, those caresses, came from your heart.

“Do you?” The priestess mocked. You nodded.

It was a hard, heated argument, but that confession you had wanted to make for a long time was what ended the dispute. Contrary to what you thought, you were able to fulfill your wish, you were able to stay with Donna.

Lady Beneviento's reaction was... As expected, jumping for joy, devouring you with kisses. You were no longer afraid to feel what you felt. You no longer had to hide your love for her. Now you just needed to adapt to that inexperienced love of hers, to her insecurities, to her tender caresses and her beautiful smiles.

From that moment on, you stopped sleeping in that room, to curl up next to her in her bed, with clothes, without clothes, it didn't matter. You also didn't care about the lack of stars, of a light that illuminated her pale skin. You didn't want it. You didn't need to see the stars. Just like you were for her, Donna was your only light.

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

I’m new here so I’m sorry if I missed an FAQ about rec lists instead of general fic locate requests. If you do regular rev lists on your fave fics but can you do a list of your favorite Stackson Brotp fics? Like it’s still endgame Sterek but still has a healthy dose of Stackson brotp please. I’d really appreciate it

joonniverse asked:

Hey there ! Would you happen to have any fic recs where Jackson and Stiles are/become really close? Any Stiles centric pairing is fine

AND

Anonymous asked:

May i get some fic recs for Jackson and stiles friendship? Either childhood friends or became friends post Canon or anything in between. If stackson happens that is also ok as is any other ship.

Alright friends. It took me a minute but here's some of my favorite Stiles and Jackson friendship fics. (alternatively this could be renamed " A list of mostly isthatbloodonyourshirt fics")

So When Do I Get To Pledge My Loyalty To The Mob? by RedRidingStiles

(1/1 I 10,146 I Mature I Sterek)

“Are you my sugar daddy?” Stiles blurts out, slapping a hand over his mouth when his brain catches up to his mouth.

The man lets out a soft laugh, making his way around the couch till he’s standing just feet away from Stiles.

Stiles can smell his cologne from here, it smells heavenly, Stiles kinda wants to bury his face into the guy's chest so he can figure out exactly what it is.

“If that’s what you’d like to call it.” The man smiles.

Stiles doesn’t think he should be allowed to smile like that. All soft and gorgeous and way too pretty to be legal.

He’s still not convinced any of this is real.

Stiles loses his wallet, someone returns it along with $5,000. Shit keeps coming, Stiles life doesn't make any sense anymore, he's just going with it.

Quack (Stiles Stop Calling It That) by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

(1/1 I 15,980 I Teen I Sterek)

“Stiles, I’m serious, I need a favour.”

“That sounds like a trap,” Stiles Stilinski muttered sleepily into both his pillows. “You know,” he continued when the man in his room made no move to leave, “you’d think I’d be used to this. My dad, coming into my room, smacking my ass to get me out of bed, waking me up at the ass crack of dawn—”

“It’s almost one.”

“—waking me up at the ass crack of one,” Stiles continued without missing a beat, “and asking for a favour. Given my life growing up with you, you’d think I’d be used to this by now. I think the reason this hits so hard now is that I specifically bought my own apartment so that you couldn’t wake me up at the ass crack of dawn—”

“Stiles, it’s almost one.”

“—so that you couldn’t wake me up at the ass crack of one.”

Everyone Needs a Little Mischief in Their Life by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

(1/1 I 17,984 I Teen I Sterek)

Finally, against his better judgement, and having gone in circles for much too long, he blurted out, “Who is my soulmate?”

The Witch looked disappointed, like he’d fucked up. Like he’d fucked up bad.

But she answered anyway.

“Mischief.”

Derek stared at her, not understanding, because what? “That’s not a name,” he insisted.

“Not exactly, no.” She offered him a small smile.

“I don’t understand.”

“You will.”

Sweet Buns by skoosiepants

(1/1 I 17,935 I Teen I Sterek)

Stiles hasn’t seen Derek Hale this close up for over a decade. He looks almost exactly the same, except somehow he seems even bigger and broodier—criminally handsome, with soft-looking dark scruff, heavy brows, light hazel eyes. His gaze zeros in on Stiles almost immediately, and his scowl lightens minutely in what looks like surprise.

Stiles is acutely aware that he has melted butter and cinnamon all over his face, and tries to surreptitiously wipe it with the ends of his sweater-sleeve.

I've Lived A Better Day by HelloWhyTheFuckAmIHere

(18/18 I 32,819 I Not Rated I Sterek)

When Stiles comes across a rogue Alpha during his first year at Berkeley, the ensuing fight doesn't exactly go his way. He calls an unlikely ally to help him with his transition, and finds out his new pack isn't quite who he might have thought it would be.

Stiles is now left with the task of trying to figure out how his old life will fit in with his new, but that is not without its challenges.

Stilinski's Home for Wayward Wolves by owlpostagain

(1/1 I 35,197 I Teen I Sterek)

“At least your puppies knock first,” Stiles snorts. “Here I thought their alpha raised them to be well-mannered.”

“There’s a sign,” Derek responds stiffly.

Stiles, whose curiosity outweighs even his hardest of grudges, abandons his chilly façade of nonchalance in a heartbeat. He jumps right up and all but pushes Derek out of the way in his effort to get to the window, and sure enough when he leans outside there’s a laminated strip of cardstock duct taped to the vinyl siding:

DON’T FORGET TO KNOCK Stiles gets cranky when we scare him

---

Or, in which Stiles Stilinski moves to Beacon Hills for his junior year of high school and accidentally adopts a pack of teenage werewolves.

There’s No Escape for the Potato Man by isthatbloodonhisshirt

(1/1 I 53,977 I Teen I Sterek)

“Who is this? Where’s Erica?”

“Wrong number, asshole!”

“Stop calling me an asshole,” the man on the other end snapped aggressively.

Stiles could understand. He’d be pretty aggressive too if he’d murdered someone and texted a wrong number to ask for help burying the body. This guy obviously failed How To Be a Serial Killer 101.

“What kind of idiot thinks I murdered someone?”

“The kind of idiot who got your text messages, you fucking dumbass!” he retorted hotly. “Maybe double check your contacts before sending a random stranger details on your nefarious plans to dispose of a freshly cut up body!”

“What?!” the guy on the other end demanded, crossed between horrendously confused and livid.

Have You Met Me? by Niecy8

(23/23 I 60,462 I Mature I Steter)

Derek’s eyes widened as his mouth contorted. “Good luck with that. First of all, he has sworn off alphas. Second of all, he will never ever agree to fake date and third of all, he’s just as stubborn as you.”

Oh, this idea of his was becoming more of a challenge. Peter certainly doesn’t want to back down now. “Please Derek. I am Peter Hale. I am charismatic as fuck. I can steal candy from a baby. Stiles will be no match for me.” And he was an omega. Despite what his nephew said, he could definitely turn on his alpha charm and the boy will be putty in his hand. It would be a slam dunk in his book.

Laughing through a wheeze which was rude by the way, Derek caught his breath. “Please tell me when you go to his place so I can video when he slams the door in your face.”

Later, there would be a door slammed in his face. Yet the boy did take the flowers Peter brought over as an ice breaker before doing so because Peter can be warming and Derek was not there smirking at him so he called it win.

Yep, challenged accepted. He would most certainly convince a certain omega to fake date him for a week.

What Fresh Twilight Bullshit Is This? by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

(7/7 I 196,137 I Explicit I Sterek)

“I am not Bella!” he insisted, shaking his fist angrily at Jackson, as if he’d been the one to suggest he was. “I am not Bella! I am, like, a Jacob, at least!”

Lydia made a noise of debate from his right and he whipped around to look at her.

“What?! What was that sound?!”

“You’re more of a Mike,” she insisted, shrugging neatly and flipping some curls over her shoulder.

“Wha—” Stiles had never been so offended in his life! “I am not! No way! I am a solid Jacob!”

“Mike,” she argued.

“Who’s Mike?” Scott asked.

“Shut up, Scott!” Stiles insisted, pointing a finger at him but still glaring at Lydia.

AND

@lovesouthernsweettea and @harriet-wimsey suggested this one!

stuck in reverse by crazyassmurdererwall (smartalli)

(1/1 I 66,656 I Explicit I Sterek)

Look, Derek is the worst. Everyone knows that. Their fearless leader is a total and complete failwolf.

Which means the rest of them? Are kind of the worst too. They’re a ramshackle, slap dashed, sorry excuse for a pack that’s about a half second away from getting one of them killed. And this is a problem, because Stiles would really like to survive high school. Thanks.

Still, nobody deserves what Derek has gone through. Nobody.

And it’s about time somebody told him that.

AND

@midnightwinterhawk suggested these!

stuck in reverse by crazyassmurdererwall (smartalli)

(1/1 I 65,656 I Explicit I Sterek)

Look, Derek is the worst. Everyone knows that. Their fearless leader is a total and complete failwolf.

Which means the rest of them? Are kind of the worst too. They’re a ramshackle, slap dashed, sorry excuse for a pack that’s about a half second away from getting one of them killed. And this is a problem, because Stiles would really like to survive high school. Thanks.

Still, nobody deserves what Derek has gone through. Nobody.

And it’s about time somebody told him that.

Shovels and Dirt by bellefire

(15/15 I 88,628 I Mature I Sterek)

The nogitsune’s power doesn’t leave Stiles after the spirit is defeated. No, it seems Stiles was changing and knowing what that darkness did to his friends he refuses to put them in danger again. He leaves without a word. Now in a new city with not quite new friends Stiles realizes no one can run forever. Because family doesn’t back down and also, yeah, that fuckin’ tree really is talking to him.

AND

@nolanfa suggested this one!

See You on the Other Side by damnitgreenberg

(18/18 I 146,077 I Mature I Sterek)

Stiles isn't doing so well on the ‘dealing with life’ front. He'll admit to that freely, okay? But he quickly discovers he isn't the only one, and that person’s inability to adapt and roll with the punches may cost Stiles his own life.

AND

@ah-lone-drah suggested this one!

Derek's Person by ash_mcj

(3/? I 3,916 I General i Sterek)

Derek didn’t like people—they set him on edge in a way that nobody quite seemed to understand, much to his vexation. They always invited themselves into his space, like they somehow had a right to be there. They touched his clothes, his books, his skin—leaving their scents clinging to things that were supposed to smell like himself. They expected him to talk to them, and never managed to wrap their heads around the notion that he just couldn’t. Words were difficult for him to use most of the time, and despite all efforts to communicate in other ways, people just didn’t understand. But it didn’t matter anyway, because Derek didn’t like people and had no inclination to socialize with them.

But Stiles was…different, somehow. He did everything that Derek hated, and more. He intruded into Derek’s space, he rambled constantly, loudly, with flailing arms and fidgeting fingers—and his presence should have driven Derek up the wall, but it didn’t. Stiles didn’t set him on edge, like everyone else did. And maybe most surprising of all, he understood him.

[or: reclusive, feral-risk derek hale finds solace in a wild child, much to his pack’s surprise]

[romanoffsbish]

Sweet Nothings

Wanda Maximoff x F!R

A Torn up Masterpiece

Warnings: Self-Conscious/Deprecating R, Mean Shield Agents.

Smut: SOFT! Mommy (W), Little Dove (R), Thigh Riding (R), Fingering (R)

18+ | Minors DNI !!

—•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•—

“They said the end is coming, everyone's up to something..."

—•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•—

The clock flashing 12:00am was nothing short of taunting, it reminding you that you'd only made it through part of your day at Shield. There never used to be disdain in your heart for the agency, but that was back when you knew the agents around you, and when they knew you all the same. Natasha, Maria and Clint used to make the environment enjoyable. Now you hardly ever see them as they either moved on or up and left you to hold down the fort with the new, much younger crowd.

"Agent Y/L/N" this or "Miss Y/L/N" that, it didn't really matter how they addressed you, the words they spoke held hardly any respect, and the stares always rubbed you the wrong way when you would pass them in the halls.

"I just don't get it dude, how the hell did Agent Y/L/N bag a hottie like Wanda anyways?," you could hear the surrounding agents, they were either chuckling at your expense, or making grumbling noises in an obvious agreement., "There's nothing special about her at all, the little witch would be so much better with me, I'd show her what she's missing out on. I'd fu—.," your jaw clenched as you cut the asshole off with the clearing of your throat. Everyone of their bodies suddenly stiffened upon seeing you step out from around the corner., "Miss.."

With a dismissive wave of your hand the weak apologies died on Agent Marten's tongue., "Apologies will get you nowhere cadets, you're all wasting valuable company time gossiping in the halls, and about your superior mind you."

"With all due respect, we're level 1 agents, no longer are we cadets.," you chuckled at their attempts to defend themselves., "Oh yeah?.," he stupidly nodded—as if it wasn't rhetorical., "Well I'm a Level 8, Agent Vo, my clearance is far above yours, and let's be honest here, you're not acting like anything more than cadets."

"Quite frankly Y/N, I'm not even sorry here.," you remained stoic while staring the smug looking agent down., "You will be when I get you demoted to water boy Agent Marten—or should I say Muriel since we've lost our wits on respect around here, hm?," watching the color drain from his face was indeed satisfying as you revealed his first name to all his peers., "No, we all understand, and we're very sorry."

"Interesting change of tune there Agent, but I regret to inform you that disrespecting a commanding officer gets you a months worth of additional paperwork, and a suspension from missions—camaraderie is essential here at Shield, and if any of you were paired with me I'd feel unsafe—so take this time to reevaluate your decisions on making an enemy of me."

"Miss—."

"I'm sorry, did I ask for a debate cadets?," your hardened gaze seemed to have the desired effect as all of their shoulders collectively fell, and most reluctantly shook their head., "Good, because I much prefer not having to repeat myself. Fury and Hill will issue your formal suspensions, and I'll drop all of your additional paperwork off to you after the weekend."

As swiftly as you dismissed them they were gone, your intimidating posture fell once they were out of sight too. Words hardly ever had the power to get to you, but when your very worth is constantly a question on many others minds it's hard not to give in to all the noise.

—•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•—

"I find myself running home to your sweet nothings—Outside, they're push and shoving."

—•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•—

After dealing with the malicious agents you found yourself inside of Director Hill's office., "Long time no see Y/N/N, to what do I owe the pleasure of you slumped onto my couch, hm?," the woman laughed boisterously when she received a middle finger in response to her teasing., "Aww, I love you too pookie.," she dodged your pillow with ease as she sat down at her desk then silently observed you further. There was this obvious dullness to you that she had never seen before, and truthfully her heart broke a bit at the sight of you looking so low.

"Ria, I can't do it anymore, like I hate it here.," she nodded in understanding, she knew the cadets of today were nothing like the past sets., "I know, but I beg of you, please don't leave.," you sat up to face her with a broken smile., "You all left me first.," the raven haired woman immediately moved to sit next to you on the couch, pulling you into a side hug, and so you laid your head on her shoulder., "I'm here, and Romanoff's only a call away—I know she'd love to beat the new wave into shape—so call her."

"It's not the work Ria, they listen well enough. It's...," you take in a calming breath, deciding if the truth will set you free, or potentially harm you further., "Y/N, what did they say to you?," her eyes left no room for cowardice so with a heavy exhale you muttered the partial truth., "It wasn't to me, it was about me—behind my back but I unluckily heard it all."

Maria sat there patiently waiting for you to fill her in, and with every repeated word you were able to croak out over held back sobs she could feel her body filling with an unparalleled rage. One that she knew could only be beaten out by Wanda, the very person who you were left to questions love, all because others want her., "Wanda loves you wholly Y/N, forget the idiots that don't even know hers attempts to make you feel otherwise. That witch is all yours."

"What if they're right though? Like, what if I'm holding her back Ria? She deserves—.," Maria instantly cut your rambled fears off by burying your face into her shoulder, and moving to finish off your words., "You. She deserves you, and you my dearest friend, deserve her love.," and after she finished her arms held to you tighter as you began to quietly sob, her hold didn't relinquish either until you'd calmed.

"Go home.," you went to protest, even if some part of you came in here hoping she'd suggest just that, the other part of you didn't want to give the cadets even an ounce of pride here., "I'm not kidding Y/N, you're ahead of your work anyways, it's a forced vacation really.," you smiled at her gratefully too, hugging her tight as a silent thanks before finally leaving.

Once you left the room the woman instantly pulled out her phone., "Hey Wanda, it's Hill..."

—

When you left her office it was as if a weight was lifted off your shoulders, the pressure to be the very best agent significantly faded as you returned to your office to collect your things, but the peace was very much short lived.

"Did you hear the news?," you continued to collect your stuff, ignoring the group of giggling girls stood far too close to your office., "Turns out the Wanda Maximoff is dating the Natasha Romanoff.," one of the girls scoffed in obvious annoyance., "No, she's with Agent Y/L/N.," the original girl giggled., "For now..."

It was asinine—their claims were nothing if not unfounded, but for a brief moment you let your mind believe that there was some truth to it. Aesthetically speaking they did fit together; there's already a built in trust between them, as well as obvious love amongst one's chosen lot. Natasha and Wanda were inseparable in the field, you've even seen them work together, and you wonder if their loyalty to you hindered the potential for them to be happier together.

The need to escape was overtaking your body the more your mind gave in to the notion that Wanda was better without you, so you threw your bag over your shoulder haphazardly then made a beeline for the fire escape. No way did you intend to run into any of the people you knew here, nor did you want the cadets having the satisfaction that they were able to upset you in such ways that you couldn't finish work. Showing any sort of weakness to them would only fuel their entitlement to your peace on.

Once you stepped outside you felt a wave of relief as the fresh air traveled into your lungs. In and out, in—out; you were going to be fine. You were so out of it though that you didn't see the cruel stranger who wound up shoulder bumping you into a nearby wall. You winced harshly as your exposed skin scraped against the bricks. Looking up from the ground you saw the hustle and bustle of the New York streets, and once again you felt overwhelmed.

Your lip began to involuntarily tremble along with your hands, the need for escape had never been greater as you sprinted down the street. Ignoring the ache in your muscles the whole way as you were many miles out from yours and Wanda's shared home. There was no end in sight, your mind was running just as fast as your legs and nothing you did could stop it.

Truth be told you needed Wanda, nothing else was going to calm you down enough until you saw those beautiful green eyes of hers. They'll likely be full of concern, but if you could just see through to the love then you know your heart would settle. Sadly though, as you entered your home, falling onto the floor as your adrenaline faded and your legs gave out, you found it to be just as empty as your heart. She was at work, that much you expected, and if there's one thing you refused to do it was call her and beg her to come home to rescue you.

It took you an entire twenty minutes to crawl across the floor, then another ten to get up the stairs and finally you were in your bedroom. Reaching up you grabbed Wanda's sleep shirt from last night, you sniffed the fabric and felt relief as your body's trembling came to a stop. Your legs felt like jello when you moved to pull yourself up to your feet, staggering as you did you made your way into the bathroom where you turned the dial all the way to the left, and as soon as the water scorched your skin you broke down into a fit of unforgiving sobs.

—•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•—

"To you, I can admit that I'm just too soft for all of it...You're in the kitchen humming."

—•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•—

Stepping out of the shower was difficult, your limbs were shaky after the long time spent sobbing beneath the scalding hot streams of water. An obvious side effect of your sudden dehydration, but you managed to push through the struggle of walking as you managed to make it to and flop down onto the mattress.

Your mind was essentially fractured, broken lines of self deprecating dialogue running through it at a mile a minute with no reprieve. Still, you shut your eyes in a useless attempt to use sleep as an escape, but it too was fruitless. Thrashing about on the mattress felt more like your speed now, but just as you were about to throw said tantrum you caught a whiff of something so familiar and decadently sweet.

Wanda's triple fudge brownies...

In an instant you were on your feet, another wave of adrenaline fueled you as you quickly, but quietly made your dissent to the kitchen. The sound of soft humming was the next to reach you as you neared the bottom of the stairs, your senses were on overdrive tonight. Standing off to the side of the entryway you peered into the kitchen to see your lover with her apron on, her hair was pulled back, and a mixing bowl was expectantly sat in her hands.

"Detka, is that you?," she called out to you, her subtle way of letting you know she knew you were lurking. Her answer came in the form of you padding your way over to her, she settled her bowl down on the counter just in time to catch your distraught form in a calming hug., "Moya lyubov', you should've called me."

"Didn't want to bother you.," you mumbled into her chest, then as expected she pulled away to grip you by your shoulders., "Detka, what have I said to you countless times prior?"

"Th-that nothing comes before me, not even your Avenging, and that even if the world was burning you'd stop at nothing to get to me.," she nodded gratefully., "Exactly, you are my world Y/N, there's no point in me protecting everyone else's when yours is crumbling.," her forehead laid against yours while her hands lifted yours up to her lips for a tender kiss.

"You smell good honey.," she noted, traces of your vanilla lotion hitting her nostrils as she held your hands close to her face., "Thanks Wands...," you slowly pulled your head back, meeting her eyes full of love as you looked ahead and the sight alone was overwhelming.

"Did I smell brownies?," the witch chuckled at your silly means of deflection., "Yes, you did.," with a swift movement she dipped her finger into the batter then rose it up to your lips with a cheeky smirk, and an exaggerated wink as you swirled your tongue over the extended digit. Wanda's eyes darkened ever so slightly when you moaned, but she did her best to tamper her urges as you innocently met her gaze., "It's delicious mommy.," Fuck...

The dizzying moment only lasted for a second before the witch shifted you to sit on a stool besides the counter, then after she poured the batter into the baking pan she returned to you. Her body stood between your legs, and those oh so emotional eyes were back on you as she went to speak., "You're the best thing that ever happened to me Y/N/N, so please, I beg of you stop letting the naysayers win your mind over.," her hands shifted to cup your cheeks., "I've never loved anyone the way I have you, nor do I intend to ever love another as such."

After an intense bout of eye contact the first one to lean in was you, desperate for affection beyond the verbal, and Wanda gave you just that. Hands roamed beneath your loose fitting t-shirt in search of your perky nipples while her silky tongue delved right into your hot mouth. Whimpers of desperation reverberated from your throat, and got lost in her mouth as she continued to kiss you hard while her skilled fingers tease your sensitive nubs., "Mommy..."

Wanda nearly crumbled at how breathily you called out for her, always so desperate, but in moments like this one she forgoes teasing to the furthest degree. She's content with how worked up she got you as she slipped her thigh between your legs to find you already dripping.

"Oh my little dove, mommy's going to take such good care of you.," she promised as she slowly began to trail her lips across your flesh, her hands fell to your hips as she efficiently guided your hips movement against her thigh., "Mo-mommy please, I need more.," she flexed the muscle of her lush thigh at your pitiful request, the soft skin brushed against your clit causing your back to arch., "Mommy, oh god... I-I need to cum, please.," she bit into the skin over your racing pulse., "Let go little dove."

In an instant your head flew back as you reached that moment of unwavering ecstasy., "That's right detka.," she helped to prolong your orgasm by controlling your twitching hips., "Chase that pleasure my precious angel, you deserve to be worshipped; so beautiful."

Wanda threw her shirt that adorned your body across the kitchen when your body relaxed, then her lips found yours for a needy kiss., "Tell me what you need little dove, hm?," she gazed into your hazy eyes, a tiny smile graced your face when you could see right through her clouds of lust to the abundant wells of love., "Fingers please mommy.," she gently pecked your lips., "So well mannered detka, mommy's so proud of you for using your words too."

Wanda wrapped her arm around your waist, spinning you around until she had your upper body gently pressed into the table with your leg's widespread for her. A hoarse groan left her at the sight of your slick drenched thighs., "So pretty, you're always so perfect for me.," her nimble fingers trailed over the swell of your ass, pulling an affected moan from you when they grappled handfuls of the malleable skin on their way to their desired location—your cunt.

The woman knew you like the back of her hand, so she entered your tight hole rather roughly with two fingers, pulling them out just as fast to only slam them back in with another. She was rewarded with your wanton moans instantly, her expert fingers working you over with ease like usual, but her lips still held that tenderness you craved as they kissed over the column of your spine until stopping to place a far more firm kiss to the nape of your neck.

"Breathe moya lyubov'.," her whispers of concern didn’t go unnoticed by you as she could feel your back pressing into her as your upper body was rising rapidly, you tried to calm down, but the pleasure was immense. Wanda felt your walls fluttering around her., “M-mommy please.,” she settled a kiss to your cheek before her lips returned to marking your back up., “Let go little dove, cum for mommy.”

The timer on the oven dinged in sync with your throat scratching moans, your lover continued to work you through your orgasm, trailing kisses down your body while also using her powers to pull the brownie tray out of the oven. Tiny whimpers brought her hand to a stop, her fingers slowly slipped from within you, and she held steady eye contact with your blissed out face as she slid them in her mouth., “Divine…”

With a gentle hand she pulled you up from the table, her hands settled on your hips and in a moments time her lips were pressed to yours. There wasn’t a rush in anyone’s movements, just a hot, breathy kiss that made hearts flutter. Wanda’s arms loosely held you against her as she shared your taste with you, rewarding her with your whimpers and languid moans up until you couldn’t keep up anymore. Then while you caught your breath after she pulled back you found your lips being tapped again.

You mindlessly bit into the gooey brownie, an appreciative groan left your throat instantly., “Thanks Wands.,” she smiled softly at you., “Anything for you little dove.,” she frowned when your lip began to tremble., “Oh detka…”

Wanda’s resolve broke when your shaky hands tugged on her shirt, the moment of bliss fading as your body once again filled with sadness. She quickly snapped the fabric away, allowing you to lean into her bareness for the comfort you craved, and her strong arms held you so close so that she could sway your now crying form while humming softly into your ear.

No amount of loving you seemed to be doing the trick, Wanda's heart ached as your cruel thoughts continued to run through your mind. They were so loud, and the bulk of them made no sense, but she knows they weren't created by you, just simply adopted from the assholes who knew nothing about your relationship.

Wanda carefully carried you to the bedroom, a tray of necessities floating behind her and settling down on the bedside table as she sat down on the bed. Her jaw clenched as thoughts of yours were only increasing and infiltrating her mind, the harshness of your insecurities fully breaking her heart, and the sounds of your sobs only made her hold you tighter.

"Natasha's just a friend detka, one that adores you by the way, the woman demands updates on you every Monday—you should call her.," the witch softly began to dispel the thoughts., "I am not going anywhere; you're it for me.," her arm that was wrapped around your bare waist tightened, pulling you in even closer as if you'd disappear into thin air if she hadn't.

"I love you so much detka, with all of me, can't you see that you're everything I'll ever need?," Wanda whispered against your temple, her lips gentle as they laid soft kisses to your hairline., "I'm enough for you?," she instantly lifted your head from her shoulder., "More than enough.,” the intensity of her gaze as she spoke so softly instantly began quelling all of your fears.

A broken hum reverberated from your throat, causing the redhead to shift the both of you until your naked body laid flat atop the bed., "My goodness, those kids did a number on you my dear.," she pecked your lips gently., "Don't worry detka, I shall handle all of them myself.," you shook your head, but she only smirked., "I'm thinking I'll hang them all upside down from the ceiling by their 'tighty whities'."

The witches heart fluttered as you broke out into a hearty fit of laughter, your eyes—puffy from crying, closing as you allowed the spark of joy to completely consume you., “Wands, no.,” you choked out through your laughter and she scrunched her nose up adoringly as you tried to regain a hold on your sternness., “Y/N, yes.,” the light of your life pecked your lips a few times to spur on your giggling before she rolled off of you and propped herself up onto her side.

“I love you baby, thank you for being my rock.,” she looked to you with glossy eyes that spoke to you of her heart., “I am only being to you what you’ve been to me countless times prior Y/N.,” she settled a hand over your cheek, rubbing the damp skin lovingly., “My precious dove, you’ve brought me back from the depths of despair with your love, and you held no expectations.,” she pulled you in for a soft kiss., “It’s only fair that I extend you the same courtesy; you are not meant to hold it all in detka—let me help.”

Her thumb brushed away the reemergence of tears before she was moving to place delicate kisses all over your face, and it was when you calmed that she saw the smile on your face., “You’re all I need Wands, just you existing is enough for me.,” her eyes closed as your lips pressed into her palm, basking in the warmth that was your love before she shifted closer., “Funny, I was going to say the same to you.”

Wanda pulled your body atop of hers, your face now laying in the valley of her breasts while her hand carded through your hair., "You know.," she paused to peer down to ensure you weren't already asleep., "I used to dream of moments like these.," she smiled up as she remembered her months of silent pining., "Whenever I'd visit Shield with Natasha I'd find myself drawn to you Y/N—the most beautiful woman alive."

You snorted., "Baby, that's a bit hyperbolic.," she immediately brushed you off., "No, it's just the honest to God truth detka, you captivated me from the very start.," she smiled down at you when you shifted to your stomach, resting your chin on her abdomen as you looked up at her with curious eyes brimming with tears.

Her hands brushed the hair from your face, then the right one remained on your cheek., "And it also went way further than your looks. I'd found myself drawn to your laughter first—it was contagious, then came your kindness—goodness me Y/N/N, I'd never seen someone more considerate than you.," she sighed when she was met with disbelief in your returned gaze., "The honest point here moya lyubov', is that my dreams could never live up to the reality of what it's been like to not only love you, but to be loved back by you; this is the closest thing to paradise I'll ever get detka."

"You're too good to me Wands.," her thumb gently removed your lip from between your teeth., "No, I'm just treating you as you deserve to be treated detka. You deserve the world."

Wanda gently maneuvered your body until your face hovered hers, she pulled you down for a soft kiss that she instantly deepened, and in a moment of pure relief your mind stilled. Thoughts to the negative faded from your mind, and the witch found herself smiling into the lip lock when they phased into kinder ones, and to the ones full of giddy optimism that had her heart fluttering uncontrollably in her chest.

"I love you so much wiggly woos.," the woman then groaned as you found a way to 'ruin' the moment, but your accompanying giggling as you fell into her settled her weak annoyance., "Marry me then.," she reassured your hopes, and she chuckled when you gasped against her.

"W-Wands I—.," she allowed you a moment to stutter, then she smiled when you looked at her questioningly., "I'm serious Y/N—be my wife."

"Really?," your lip trembled as you felt her overwhelming love radiating from just the simplest of touches, and her smile., "Really.," she nodded in the affirmative., "Yes! Please!"

Wanda chuckled at your enthusiastic response, all the while her heart was beating rapidly as she hastily reached into the drawer of your bedside table and pulled out a velvet box., "This wasn't a spur of the moment decision detka, well, it kind of was but I promise it was already in the works.," she shifted you both up into sitting positions so she could showcase the diamond more efficiently, and she smirked when your eyes lit up with a bewildering shine.

"You're everything I could ever want and more detka.," she gently pecked your lips while her hands practically yanked the jewelry from the pesky box., "Now give me your pretty hand!"

The two of you shared excited high pitched giggles, rolling around the bed in all your naked glory., “We’re getting married!,” your squeals filled the little witch to the brim with joy, her nose crinkling affectionately as she watched your eyes swimming with a purity., “I’ll be right back love.,” Wanda left you with a momentary pout, coming back into the room she popped open a bottle of champagne you received from the Barton’s last Christmas with a loud agreement., “We’re getting married!!!”

—•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•—

"All that you ever wanted from me was sweet nothing"

—•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•—

“We’re getting married.,” you tiredly cheered for what appeared to be a final time before you were succumbing to your bodies exhaustion, and so your wife to be was now covering you both up with a fuzzy red blanket, and flicking the bedrooms lights off with her red tendrils.

“Goodnight Mrs. Maximoff.,” she whispered cheekily against your puffy cheek., “I love you Y/N/N, my precious little dove; my wildest dream come true, oh how I yearned for you.,” she placed a final kiss to your pouting lips, a smile instinctively rises on your sleeping face and melts her even further if that’s possible.

“Forever will never be long enough with you.,” her hand intertwined with yours as she settled into the mattress, allowing your bubble of love to warm her soul, and send her off to sleep too.

——————————

4,644 Words

🥰 Kaitlyn 😘

[frannyzooey]

On The Green: 2

Ezra x f!reader

Rating: M (corpses, harvesting violence) will be E in later chapters ❤️

a/n: thank you endlessly to @the-scandalorian who lent me her big beautiful beta brain, to @bageldaddy who made me blush with pride and to @the-ginger-hedge-witch who soothed my Ezra nerves by checking this dialogue like the queen she is ❤️

Series Masterlist

—

You know he’s waiting for you to speak, but you…can’t.

He takes his helmet off, and you can see his features more clearly. His skin has a ruddy look to it, like it’s been days since he’s last bathed or eaten well, or gotten a decent sleep. He looks older, more weary without the reflective dome hiding the finer lines of his tired features – but still, no less intimidating. 

He looks rougher, his sharp eyes darker and more assessing. 

Your eyes make a slow circuit between his hand, which still loosely holds a weapon, and his dead partner. 

There is no deal to be made here. Not for you, and you know it. 

“Kevva waits, girl.” The sharp snap of his words brings your attention back to his face. He looks impatient. “You ready to talk about that deal?”

You swallow against the dryness in your throat, trying hard to fight against the sinking feeling in your chest. “What do you want.” 

It comes out more of a defeated statement than a question, and he studies you for a moment. 

“To be perfectly candid, I am in need of transit.”

You stare at him blankly, and he sighs with impatience. 

“I want your ship,” he states plainly. “However, I am not suggesting to leave you stranded if that’s what you’re thinking. As I find myself lacking….” He glances over at his dead partner for a moment. “I am generously proposing we join forces. Protection, for transport.”

“Protection?” you spit. “You gonna protect me as a partner like you did him?”

“He needed no protection, I can assure you that,” he huffs wryly. “But you?” He pauses in his speech, narrowing his gaze. “What is your plan here, anyway?”

Trying to appear like you have one, you steady your voice. “I’m here to dig.”

He laughs as if your statement is absurd. “I find myself disinclined to believe that, but let’s pretend for a moment that is the case. You dig. What then?”

“I’ll repair my ship and be on my way. Home, with something to sell when I get back.”

“And who is going to help you repair your ship?” he mocks. “You know how to do that too?” His eyes drift to your father’s lifeless form. “Seems your partner is out of commission. I think perhaps he was the mechanic?”

“He wasn’t my partner, I told you.” The corner he’s got you backed in displays plainly on your face. You shift your jaw, looking away. “I’ll find someone to help me. Someone –”

“A girl like you?” he interrupts, raising his eyebrows. “You wander into a camp of fringely mercs, raw, at the end of their tour, what happens? You appeal to their sympathies?” He shakes his head. “They have none. They are ruthless profiteers. You must have something to offer or they will find something to take from you.”

The emphasis he puts on the last few words makes his implication clear, and panic creeps into your limbs. 

“We’re in the same trough, you and I. Can’t say I was pleased to find your mare all black and cockways as she was supposed to be my redemption as well,” he muses, looking around at the poor state of the pod. “But I know how to fix her up. I can help you.”

He seems sincere enough in his offer, but everything he’s done thus far shows you his supposed sincerity means absolutely nothing. 

“I want someone else.” A childish statement, but the truth.

“Well I want a lot of things too, little bird.” He looks almost regretful for a moment, before leveling you with his gaze. ”Starting with your ship.”

Your mind still stuck on what he said about the other mercs on this planet, you wonder what’s stopping him from doing the same. 

“They will find something to take from you.”

Will he?

You could try to go it alone, but your first fucking hour alone on this planet has been nightmare enough to dissuade you from that course of action. If he doesn’t kill you to get this ship, the next person will. If he found you, others will, too. 

You think, buying yourself some time. 

“It’s clear you don’t belong here, little bird. I’m your safest route home,” he argues. “That is the goal, right?”

You bring your eyes back to him, wary and he seems to recognize something in your expression. When he slowly steps forward like he’s approaching a wild animal, you scoot back. 

“Hey,” his tone softens. “I’m not going to hurt you. You’re no threat to me, a fragile little thing like you. Anyone else would have killed you outright by now, I promise you that. You have a functioning ship – a rarity in these parts. I can help you protect it.”

“Only because you want to use it,” you sneer, and the edge of his lips lift. 

“Of course,” he replies. “I’m not foolish enough to offer my services for nothing. I promise you no harm if you promise me the same.”

“You killed your partner. Just now, right in front of me. What’s stopping you from doing the same to me?”

“I could have killed you a thousand different ways by now.” His voice slips into something lower, menacing yet truthful. “Like I said, you’re no threat to me. Besides, I think your ship would be better piloted by two, am I right?”

Seeing no way out, you deflate. 

And nod. 

“I need to hear you say it, little bird,” he tilts his head with a light scold. 

You glare up at him. “Yes. I accept.”

“Excellent!” he says, clapping his hands together, the sound making you jump. “First things first. Let’s move these bodies.”

The bodies.

Forgetting all about your new deal with a murderer, your stomach drops at the reminder of moving your dad’s body. 

“What’s your name, by the way?” The stranger grunts with exertion, lifting his partner’s feet to drag his body into a prone position. Crouching, he begins to pat the dead man’s pockets down. 

He’s callous about it, perfunctory. Not gentle in the slightest which makes sense since the man is dead, but still, there is something about the deft way he’s going through everything he had on him that makes it known that this is not the first time he’s done this. Not by a long shot. You wonder if it’s just from his experience on this planet, or an indicator of something larger.

“Mine’s Ezra, if you were wondering.” He gives a teasing glance, making note of your rudeness. 

When you don’t offer it, he merely shrugs. “S’okay if you don’t wanna tell me. I understand your apprehension. But I’ll have to call you something.” He seems to ponder for a moment, placing loose items he’s deemed useful in a pile by the man’s hip. “Since you came down from out of the sky, I would say “Birdie” is a suitable choice.”

You pull a face he doesn’t see, and then he’s moving the belongings to the side, making a clear path to the door of the pod. When his eyes shift to rest on your dad’s body, a sudden urge flares within you to stop him.

“He got anything useful on him?” Ezra’s chin jerks towards it. 

On instinct, you follow his gaze, immediately regretting it. You turn away in revulsion, the pooled blood a dark, congealed mass that sticks in your vision. Closing your eyes, you shake your head with a tight movement. “I don’t think he had anything on him besides his, uh…drops. Everything else is here in the pod.”

If he wonders what you mean by “drops,” he doesn’t ask. Instead, he approaches the body and glancing back, frowns at your hesitant expression.

“Look. You don’t—” he sighs, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. His voice lowers. “I’ll need your help with the big guy, but I can do this one by myself.”

“No,” you protest, forcing yourself to move forward. You can still taste bile, sharp on your tongue. “I should be the one—”

He puts his hand on your arm, shaking his head. “No,” he says kindly, but firm. “You shouldn’t be. A girl shouldn’t have to put her own father in the ground.” He steps around you gently. “Tell you what. Why don’t you head outside and keep watch, little bird. Let me know if you see anyone coming. Make no mistake, there will be scavengers looking for the same opportunity I was, and we’ve got to protect our only means of escaping this planet.”

He gathers your helmet to place in your hands, checking your filters are connected and charged. 

In your hurry to get out of the pod and away from the body, you’re already sealing your helmet into place when he snatches the thrower off the floor.

“Hey,” he calls out sharply, just as you’re about to step out of the hatch. He thrusts the weapon towards you. “Don’t forget your thrower. Armed. Always armed here. Understood?” His gaze holds yours in weighted significance. 

You nod, taking it from his outstretched hand. “Okay.”

Opening the hatch, you step outside for the first time. 

Everything is green. The brush, the trees, the sky–all varying shades of the color. Dust floats through the air; aimless, toxic, suffocating. You wonder how long you would last if you took your helmet off. Studying the lush, towering trees, your eyes follow the paths of thick vines that both climb up the trunks and spill over the dark soil, coming to rest on the soft dirt that your boots sink into. You lift your foot and the imprint you leave behind is as clear as the two sets that lead from the edge of the forest to your pod. 

The footprints circle the pod, and your stomach lurches at the thought that they were circling without you even knowing. 

Resolutely keeping your back towards the ramp, you tighten your grip on your thrower and use the moment to take stock of your situation. Your father told you a couple of things about this planet: the air is toxic, the population is non-existent, and the main reason anyone comes is for the aurelac. An amber colored gem found within the bowels of pit sites, the price it can fetch is significant. His drops clutched tightly in his hand, he told you of a neglected site filled with treasure—a rumor, the Queen’s Lair–his eyes wild and clouded with liquid that made them shine with foolish hope. 

That’s it, though. No map left behind, no coordinates. No solid confirmation it even exists. He only brought you along because it would be dangerous to leave you completely orphaned for however long it took him, and to take advantage of your (limited) skills as a co-pilot. 

When you hear a heavy slide and a grunt behind you, you keep your eyes on the forest, scanning the trees. 

Nothing to offer the man who has offered you partnership, you wonder how long it’s going to take him to figure out you’re of no value. Completely useless, better off dead and out of the way. Your mind scrambles for leverage, and you’re still thinking when you feel a tap on the shoulder. 

Swinging around, you point your thrower – directly at Ezra’s chest. 

His hands fly up in surrender. 

“Steady now. It’s just me.”

He must have connected your comlinks because you can hear his words, low and slightly modulated through your helmet. Lowering your weapon and assuming he’s going to take it from you, you offer it up, but he waves it away, resting his hand on a pistol strapped to his hip. 

“Good to see you’re quick on the draw,” he smirks. He jerks his head towards the pod. “I need your help with the other one now.”

You glance over his shoulder towards the woods, trying to find a sign of your father’s body and his voice snaps your attention back to him. 

“Hey. Don’t…” he pauses. “Don’t. Say your goodbyes to the Green, girl, but don’t go lookin’. You don’t need to see that anymore.”

Surprised by the consideration in his statement, you follow him up the ramp. Inside the pod, he lifts under his former partner's arms. 

“Grab the feet – go ahead and push, while I pull.”

It takes ages getting the massive, limp body down and out, but eventually it’s rolled down the ramp with a thud. Ezra’s breathing sounds loud, and he takes a moment to catch his breath. 

“What you want to do is cover the body with rocks. Try to hide it, so as to not attract any attention. The locals, they –” he grunts, dragging the man towards the brush, “—they leave bodies out in the open, as part of their ritual to honor the memory but I think it’s rather–” he shoves the man down a slope, letting gravity do the work for him, “uncouth.”

Slowly descending down the slant of dirt, you follow behind him. Not used to an explanation following orders, you listen closely to his words. He gives you more context for his decisions than your father ever did, and you pocket every piece of information, eager for it all. Anything to help your survival in this place. 

With both your heads bent in task, he breaks the silence after a few moments. “What was your father here to harvest?”

Lifting a rock from the ground, you toss it in the general direction of the body. “Gems.”

Ezra huffs a laugh. “Most gems are long gone. Discovered and harvested during the rush.” He looks over at you from the corner of his eye. “Got any information on where he was hoping to find unfound riches?”

“If most gems have been harvested, what are you doing here?”

He laughs in delight. “Rapport, how I’ve missed it.”

You take note of the way he side steps your question. “He didn’t tell me.”

“What did he tell you about this place?”

Easy to talk to, charming and affable, you can see how easily he would wheedle information out of others. Unsure how much you should really be confiding in him, you decide less is better for now. 

“He didn’t tell me anything. Just that we were going to come here to dig – or rather, he was.”

“Nothing?” he asks, surprised. “He led you here, unprepared?”

You say nothing, and his expression turns more solemn. He shakes his head. “Foolish, keeping you in the dark like that. My own partner was more of a utility. Seems like your father treated you the same way.”

His statement hurts, though you try not to let it show. You shrug instead, watching your steps as you pick through the rocks. 

He gives you time to reply, and when you offer nothing up, he continues. “Did you ever want to learn how to dig? Harvest gems?” 

You don’t think you’ve ever been asked that question, and when you look up at him to find him looking at the ground, you can hear the smile he has on his face through the commlink when you don’t answer. He continues, “I stumped you, didn’t I.”

“I don’t…” you flounder. You’ve always had a distaste for the profession, spending your life around the seedy people who do it. However, it seems rude to say that outright to his face. “I’ve never really thought about it. It would be useful to learn, I guess.”

“Maybe,” he says. “Depends on what you want from this life. It’s a big world out there, Birdie. If you could have your pick, what would you do?”

“Go home.”

The words slip out before you can stop them, and though it’s such a small thing to ask in such an endless universe, he just nods like he understands. 

 –

The bodies taken care of, he leads you back to the pod and tells you to wait there for him. He’s got a camp close by – a tent, filled with his belongings – and while he’s gone collecting it, you clean the disorganized mess inside the pod. 

Go home. You don’t even know why you said that, there isn’t much of a home to go home to. This pod has been more of a home than anything else has; the only constant in your transient life. What you meant was some place that felt like a home. A comforting place, where you felt safe and wanted and cared for. The place itself didn’t really matter, more the feeling it represented. You had yet to find it, but you knew it wasn’t here. 

The metal cabinets that line the walls had burst open upon impact, so you take your time methodically putting everything right. Medical supplies, vac packs of food, your father’s harvesting tools. His case, with his initials stamped on it. His supply of chemicals, his various scalpels unceremoniously dumped onto the floor. You snap them carefully back into their case, and put them away. 

Then your things: your bedding, your sparse collection of clothing, your journal. Wrapping the bound book in a shirt, you tuck it into your pillowcase, hiding it. Your headphones appear undamaged, and you test them with a couple of the cassettes that lay scattered across the floor. The music flows through them uninterrupted, and for the first time today, you feel a small sliver of relief. 

You find his drops underneath his chair. 

The tiny brown vial with the stopper you’ve seen him hover above his eye a million times, you aren’t ready for the resentment and rage you feel as you hold it in your palm. You can’t remember a time when your father didn’t have them on him. Slices of time flash through your mind: the sight of his back as he left you for days on end, the slow, syrupy drag of his words when he mumbled after putting the drops in, the feverish need in his eyes as he slipped the bottle from his pocket to calm the trembling in his hands – right before an emergency sensor went off in the pod and everything went to hell. 

The urge to crush it underneath your boot or take it outside and smash it against a tree flares bright, and a scream builds at the base of your throat. 

In your mind, you let it out. In real life, you tuck the bottle into a cabinet and shut the door. 

A signal agreed upon when he left, you know Ezra is back when he knocks rhythmically before entering. Busy scrubbing the dash clean, you’re going over the blood spots for the third time. You can’t see them anymore, but you still feel them there.  

“Got everything,” he states, removing his helmet. Tossing it on the ground, he rakes his fingers through his sweat damp curls with a sigh. “Quite the load to carry back. I’ll need space within your vessel to store my things.”

He steps towards a cabinet, and you stand, alarmed.

“Wait. You’re staying in here? With me? I thought you said you have a tent.”

He ignores the way your voice gets higher and tighter with every word, opening a door to peer inside. “I do, but it would be foolish to separate. If you’re opposed to discomfort, then you never had any business being on the Green, girl.”

It wasn’t my choice, you want to scream at him, but you hold your tongue. 

“Can’t you sleep outside in front of the hatch? To make sure no one gets in?”

He shakes his head, opening another cabinet. He rifles through your medical supplies, impressed. “This beauty really is fully stocked, isn’t she? No wonder I thought she’d be my redemption. Riches beyond belief hidden within her unassuming depths.”

He’s murmuring more to himself than anyone, and annoyance begins to simmer at the careless way he’s putting your freshly organized things back. You’re just about to repeat yourself when he closes the door and turns to you. 

“It won’t do to sleep outside. I need to protect this pod just as much as I need to watch over you.”

He opens another cabinet, and your cassettes spill out with a slide. 

“What are these?” he asks, already bending to pick one up. 

“Don’t worry about it.” Snatching it from his hand, you kneel down to gather them up. Huffing with frustration, you cram them back into their storage and shut the door quickly. 

He watches it all, his jaw shifting in thought. 

“Look,” he ventures. “I know this isn’t ideal, but it’s gonna be a long couple of months if you don’t trust me.”

You say nothing, and he sighs. 

“A good partnership is only made so by candid discourse.”

He’s right. You know he’s right, and yet you don’t have it in you to acknowledge it out loud. How he expects you trust him you truly don’t know, and yet in the hours since you’ve met him, he has shown you kindness. A partnership offer when you don’t deserve it, protection against his former partner, burying your father for you. Whether that kindness is real or a ruse to have you lower your defenses, you don’t know. 

Either way, you don’t really have a choice. 

“There are a couple of spare storage bins over there,” you gesture at the corner, defeated. “You can put your things in there.”

“My sincerest thanks,” he replies with a slip of sarcasm, and turning back to your cleaning, you roll your eyes. 

–

“I need to protect this pod just as much as I need to watch over you.”

The words repeat on a loop in your mind; your body shifting on the stiff cot. His presence in the small space feels foreign, your body hyper aware of it. You’ve never slept in this pod with anyone but your father. 

Your father. 

You wait for the grief to come, but when it doesn’t, you blame shock. The alternative would be to think about how you feel nothing, which, what kind of a daughter loses her father and feels nothing? Tendrils of shame seep through your thoughts, and you roll away from Ezra as if he can see into your mind. Your back facing him, you try to shut him out, focusing instead on the moon outside the window. 

It’s full, high and clear above the horizon, suspended in the inky sky. Your eyes study the craters carved into the surface, and you take slow and steady breaths out, mimicking sleep. You wish you could slip your headphones on and drown out the tension that fills the small space, but you don’t want to leave yourself vulnerable like that. 

You hear him shuffle behind you, and your shoulders brace themselves with tension – but when he doesn’t make any other sound, you go back to watching the floating dust. 

Isolated, alone. No different than any of the other thousands of nights you’ve spent staring out at the moon while waiting for your father to come home. The weight of your situation compresses the air in your lungs, and you feel the sharp, hot sting of tears behind your eyes. Squeezing them shut, you will them away. 

You won’t cry in here with him. You won’t. 

Both resentfully frustrated with his presence and deep down, grateful for it, you cross your arms tight across your chest and squeeze. Pouring all your emotions into the pocket of your chest, you squeeze and you squeeze, soothing yourself. 

He shuffles around quietly behind you, getting comfortable on his own cot and you’re thinking it’s going to be a long night just before the weight of the day presses upon your eyelids. 

They flutter shut, and you fall into a dreamless sleep.

[aviiarie]

˚ ₊ ‧ ♡ HOCUS POCUS — feat. shinobu event masterlist.

synopsis. you found out the hard way that the 'witch' that lived at the end of your street was telling the truth about her magic, after you knocked over a potion in her house and accidentally cast a spell on yourself. warnings. none. notes. requested by 🌷 anon. witch!shinobu. gn!reader. 1k words. this one is a little shorter, i apologise ;-;

The first few weeks after your newest neighbour arrived were relatively peaceful, a gentle calm before the inevitable storm. She moved in seemingly overnight, but it wasn’t until a couple of days later that you properly met her, after a sharp knock at your door woke you up at exactly six in the morning. When you opened the door, her introduction was brief, cutting straight to the point before you could say a word.

“Hello. My name is Shinobu Kocho. I am a witch. I moved in a few houses down, and I wanted to introduce myself to my new neighbours.” Her smile was soft, and her words softer still, so much that you almost missed what she said entirely.

“Oh! It’s nice to meet you. My name is—” You paused, your mind finally catching up to what she said. “Wait, did you say you’re a witch?”

And ‘witch’ she was, as you would come to learn. She invited you around for dinner one night, and you got your first glimpse of her home.

“Wow… this is some… uh, interesting décor.” You gazed around the room in wonder, eyeing the overflowing shelves that were practically spilling over with paper and books of all kinds. Among them, there were countless plants filling the space, as well as an assortment of strange objects. Potions stored in ornate glass bottles, brightly coloured candles, even a bubbling cauldron in the corner.

“Thank you,” Shinobu said politely, shutting the door behind you. “Follow me, please. I've already prepared dinner.”

Despite her oddities, the woman was pleasant company. The sweet smile on her face never wavered, and her wide, bug-like eyes didn't seem to blink, but she laughed at your jokes and filled any awkward silences with bizarre and charming stories of her own life.

The dinner ended with you being invited over at the same time the following week, and a new friend successfully made. You left her house with a warm feeling in your chest, and the hopes of seeing her again.

-----

In the end, it was all your own fault.

You had been warned—once, twice, too many times to count—that you needed to be careful when you visited. And you had been, the first few times. But maybe you had gotten a little too comfortable once you’d become a regular visitor, and all of the solemn warnings about how you needed to take caution in where you stepped just… slipped from your mind, like butterflies fluttering away.

Shinobu, to your chagrin, was unfazed by the mistake. She stood over where you were sprawled across the floor, scrambling to make your limbs work the way you wanted them to. It was humiliating, utterly humiliating, slipping over the floorboards and falling into a clumsy pile on the ground.

Every part of you tingled with an odd sensation that you couldn’t shake, like all of your bones had been broken and rearranged. You craned your neck up to look at Shinobu, who—despite being a rather petite woman—was about as large as a giant compared to your newly shrunken form.

Your new shape was much smaller, and much hairier than you were used to. Your limbs had been replaced, trading out two arms for a second pair of legs, all covered in a thick layer of fur. On the top of your head, a pair of ears twitched in the cool air, flicking in sync with your tail—tail, you had a tail and it was the strangest feeling that you had ever experienced. Your body felt wrong, almost like…

A cat. The potion had transformed you from a human to… a cat.

“Oh dear,” Shinobu hummed. Her smile hadn’t faltered in the slightest; if anything, there was a sparkle of amusement in her eye. “Well, that wasn’t a very good idea, was it now?”

You meowed in indignation—meowed, because you were a cat now—and she only clicked her tongue.

“Enough of that,” She crouched down so she was closer to your level. “What did I say about being careful when you walk around my house, hm? Did I tell you to be careful because there were dangers that your silly human mind couldn’t comprehend? Do you remember me telling you that?”

You weren’t sure whether she was talking to you like you were an ignorant child because she was angry at your carelessness, or she thought you were stupid. Knowing her, it was most likely both.

“Turning you back is a complicated process, you know.” Shinobu’s hand reached out, ghosting the top of your head. You dodged her attempt, hissing as you tried once more to get on your feet. “It requires an all new potion that will take a week to brew, at the earliest.”

With a forlorn yowl, you fell into a heap on the floor. There was no point in trying to preserve your dignity now, any chance of that shattered with the potion bottle that you had spilled on the floor. Shinobu tsked at your pathetic form, kneeling on the floor beside you.

Slowly, she placed her hand on your fur, dragging her nails across the top of your head. The sensation was oddly calming, and before you knew it, you were melting into her touch, letting your body relax and a low rumble sound from the back of your throat…

Wait. What were you doing?!

You snapped out of it, scrambling away from Shinobu’s hand and hissing half-heartedly at her. You might be stuck as a cat, but you weren’t going to be treated like some animal. She didn’t look surprised by your sudden mood shift, only shaking her head in amusement.

“Don’t give me that look,” she chided. “This is your own fault.”

She was right, of course, but the words were still a slap to your face.

“Don’t worry,” Shinobu sighed, swiftly scooping your fluffy body into her arms before you had a chance to protest. “You’ll be back to normal before you know it.”

You wriggled around in her hold until you found a comfortable position, miserably slumping against her chest with a muffled mrrp sound. A smile curled over the edge of Shinobu’s lips, the most genuine expression you’d seen on her yet.

“In the meantime, you’ll just have to wait.” She shook her head, almost fondly. “And I’m sure you’ve learned your lesson about carelessness. You should always listen to witches.”

🏷️ taglist: @mollzaj, @mitsvriii, @an-angstyteen

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