#and pretending like he is in a book all of the time

[awardenandacrow]

🌻 Naimeryn “Rook” Thorne is 30 years old. Her birthday was the day of the Ritual. Naimeryn’s birthday has always been a low-fuss affair, acknowledged by those close to her, but there’s never been money for gifts or a cake or anything if the like. She and Varric shared a beer at the bar.

🪻prior to Veilguard, the injuries she sustained fighting Darkspawn in the battle that put her on leave from the Wardens were the most painful, as the head injury was substantial. It left her mostly blind and mostly deaf on her left side. This impacts her interpersonally — she struggles to hear and see people who stand on that side — and in the field, leaving her at a distinct disadvantage from that side. She can be jumpy and appear paranoid, as she takes extra caution to check her surroundings in unfamiliar situations. I’ve written my headcanon most painful injury for her now, during the events of Veilguard — getting blown up by a gaatlock trap Taash inadvertently set off with their fire while on the Fangscorcher mission. Those scars are large and gnarled, and have a hugely negative effect on her self esteem.

🌹 I haven’t written it yet, but the first time Lucanis calls her “beautiful,” they’re going to get into a fight because she won’t believe him. She can wrap her head around, maybe, that he likes her for her, enjoys her as a person, and *maybe* finds her pretty, but ✨beautiful✨? She never expected empty, blatantly untrue flattery from him, and is hurt. Lucanis — with Spite’s help, of course — is gonna have to make a point of spelling out just how all those things she hates about herself are beautiful to him to convince her… and get forgiveness.

🌸 Naimeryn is an only child, and she’s always been kept at arm’s length — or, perhaps, kept others at arm’s length — so the Veilguard is the first time she’s really had close friends. After Weisshaupt, she grows closer to fellow Wardens Antoine and Evka, who helped secure victory with her plan at the Blighted village, and Greta, who is the only other remaining member of her Joining. She and Teia also grow close throughout the events of Veilguard.

🌾 Several demons have tried to get their hooks into Naimeryn, but they’ve always been thwarted by her determination not to lose herself or endanger those around her. He may not be Determination any longer, but she still has Spite around to beat back any and all challengers.

🌱 Naimeryn has had crushes before, but never any relationships. There was a fellow slave who pretended to like her to get close to another girl when she was 13, and a few Wardens who ultimately decided they weren’t interested in doing the extra work it would take to get into her pants. Generally, if someone flirts with her first, she assumes they want something from her. If she flirts and they flirt back, she assumes she’s given them the wrong idea, but they don’t actually *like* her. Lucanis will be her first everything.

🌼 Spite says Naimeryn smells like Blight and Lavender. He remembers other scents — the air after a downpour, honeycomb and mint, musty books, but she doesn’t smell like those things anymore.

🌷 Rook’s go to place for peace was a secret nook in Weisshaupt’s library. She hadn’t been there since leaving with Varric, and now that place is gone. She often feels trapped in her role, because now she feels she has nowhere to go when she needs to think or be alone. This makes good fanfic fodder, however, as companions get to walk in on her in moments of weakness — which makes her feel like a failure, but makes them appreciate her more as a person.

🥀 Naimeryn’s mother will make an appearance in the regret prison.

🪷 It’s not really *irrational*, but Naimeryn for a very long time was absolutely terrified of becoming an abomination, like to the point that she kind of thought it was inevitable and was just afraid of the not knowing WHEN it was going to happen. She mostly isn’t afraid of this anymore, as she trusts herself more now than at any other point in her life, but it still tears it’s ugly head from time to time.

☘️ Naimeryn’s whole life has been a near-death experience. However, specifically she almost died saving that town from the Darkspawn horde. As she lost consciousness, she wondered if the plan had worked, she wondered where the spirit that had been following her around her whole life had gone, and, upon hearing her fellow Wardens searching for her, she found peace that she wouldn’t die alone after all. I also wrote a near death experience for her after the Fangscorcher mission. All she could think was she COULD NOT DIE with Taash thinking it was their fault.

💐 The First Warden has hated Naimeryn’s since the day Saimaeria Mahariel, Hero of Ferelden, showed up on Weisshaupt’s doorstep and said “here you go. Train her up!” Varric honestly rescued her from this man’s ire — she survived the Ogre and he was ready to kill her himself with his bare damn hands.

🌺 Naimeryn has never had ✨anything.✨Before Loghain sold her and her mother to Tevinter slavers, however, the one thing she did have was a hand knit baby blanket the alienage’s elder gave to her mother when she was born. It was on her bed when she was taken.

🌿 Naimeryn’s first tattoo was the snake on her forehead. A Tevinter Mage Receuit who completed the Joining with Naimeryn dated her to get a snake tattoo, saying she wouldn’t because she was too “soft” to permanently put the iconography of the people who had enslaved her on her body. Naimeryn was damn proud of having survived that house and desperate to prove she belonged, so she came back the next morning with it on her forehead. A few years later she was working in Weisshaupt’s library and devoured any bit of information she could on griffons — albeit there wasn’t very much — and decided she wanted a tattoo that *she* chose and genuinely wanted, and so she got a griffon tattooed on her left thigh. Once Davrin & Bellara drag her around Arlathan enough and she gets to touch grass and smell flowers, and after she sees the Brona’s Bloom cavern, she’s gonna get some floral tattoos done as well.

🍂 Naimeryn doesn’t talk about it, but she was actually the one who like the magister who enslaved her when Saimaeria and the Shadow Dragons freed her and the other slaves in the manor. She lost control of her magic and killed him in an instant, in front of his young children. It took Saimaeria almost a full week to get her to talk at all. To this day, she doesn’t know how to feel about it.

This was so fun! I hope you guys like it!

Woe! Rook ask game be upon ye!

🌻 How old is your Rook? How do they feel about celebrating their birthday? What gift has meant the most to them? 🪻 What is the most painful injury your Rook has received? How has it affected them once it healed/scarred? 🌹 What’s the first genuine fight Rook got in with their love interest about? How was it resolved? 🌸 Does your Rook have any siblings or close friends they see as such? Where are they during the events of Veilguard? 🌾 If there was a demon trying to trap/take over Rook, what kind would be the most successful? What would break their hold? 🌱 Was Rook involved romantically with anyone before Veilguard? What was their partner like? How did the relationship end? 🌼 If someone was to ask Spite what Rook smells like, what would he say? 🌷If Rook needed to get away from their responsibilities for a moment, where would they go? Where is their safe space outside the Lighthouse? 🥀 What figure from Rook’s personal past would be added to the regret prison? 🪷 Does your Rook have an irrational phobia? (ie spiders or large man-made objects submerged underwater) 🍀 Has Rook had any near-death experiences? What went through their mind during what they thought was going to be their final moments? 💐 What is the relationship Rook has with their faction mentor? What was the moment they sent Rook away like? 🌺 Is there an object from Rook’s childhood they look back on fondly? (ie a favorite stuffed animal, book, or food) 🌿 Does your Rook have any tattoos? What was the moment when they got them like? If they’re a Crow where is their de Riva brand located? What vallaslin do they have/how did they earn it if they’re Dalish? 🍂 What was it like the first time Rook killed someone? How did they react afterwards?

[wendichester]

Hello! Could I perhaps request the winchester of your choice (whoever you feel fits this situation best) x reader with an established relationship, where maybe it's an anniversary so he wants to make something special for you, like a special dinner in the bunker, the bedroom filled with candles and a bouquet of flowers, that sort of thing, because for once there isn't a case

EXCEPT: you haven't left the bunker all day, there's no reason to! You three finished a case the day before so you took this as a resting day since there wasn't any other case found, so! The brothers have to find a way to get one to keep you out till the evening, while the other rushes to get everything set up

I hope this isn't too detailed/unclear?? Tysm anyway if you write this!! I love your blog a lot <3

⋆𐙚 ₊ ° ⊹ ♡ anniversary surprise,

summary. dean wants to do something special for your anniversary

pairing. dean winchester x reader

wordcount. 963

notes. though i would also see sam doing something like this, it just screamed like dean behaviour. he's the softess little thing to me ‹𝟹

The bunker is unusually quiet for once—a rare luxury in the hunting life. After wrapping up a tough case yesterday, you've taken full advantage of the downtime. Still in your pyjamas, you've spent the day curled up on the couch with a book, refusing to even glance at your laptop.

Sam, however, hasn't been able to sit still. He keeps pacing the bunker, glancing at his phone like he's expecting bad news. It's distracting enough that you close your book and call him out.

"You trynna dig a hole in the ground or something, Sam? What's wrong?"

He freezes mid-step, looking at you like a deer caught in headlights. "What? Nothing! I'm fine."

You squint at him, unconvinced. “Sam, if you’re trying to avoid telling me about a case, just spit it out. I’m not leaving this bunker today unless something’s on fire.”

He stammers for a moment, clearly scrambling for an excuse. Then, his eyes light up like he's just had an idea. Oh, boy. "Uh, there's this event in town. A... a book signing. By an author I like. I thought it might be interesting, but I, uh, don't wanna go alone."

The confession catches you off guard. "A book signing?"

"Yeah," he says quickly, nodding like it's the most logical thing in the world.

You blink, momentarily caught off guard. Sam Winchester, shy about attending a book event? It doesn't quite add up, but you decide to let it slide.

You glance toward Dean, who's pretending to be engulfed in his phone and beer, but is clearly eavesdropping. He doesn't even look up, clearly uninterested.

"Alright, Sam," you say with a sigh. "I'll go with you."

Relief washes over his face, making the situation even more weird. "Great! Thanks."

The book signing ends up being more enjoyable than you expected. Sam is in his element, geeking out over the author’s latest release and chatting animatedly with other fans. You find yourself wandering through the bookstore, skimming through titles and enjoying the relaxed atmosphere.

Afterward, you grab coffee at a nearby café, the conversation flowing easily as you and Sam talk about everything and nothing. It’s a rare, peaceful moment—one you don’t take for granted.

By the time you return to the bunker, the sun has long since set, and the air carries a cool, crisp chill. Sam walks ahead, fishing in his pocket for the keys.

“Shoot,” he says suddenly, patting his jacket. “I think I left something in the Impala.”

You shrug, already halfway to the door. “Alright. I’ll meet you inside.”

The moment you step through the door, you stop in your tracks.

Rose petals are scattered on the floor, forming a delicate path that leads toward the kitchen. Soft, flickering candlelight spills into the hallway, and the faint scent of your favorite meal wafts through the air.

“Dean?” you call out, your voice trembling slightly.

“Over here,” he replies, his voice warm and inviting.

You follow the trail, your heart pounding in your chest. When you step into the kitchen, you’re met with a sight that takes your breath away.

The table is covered with a white cloth, set with actual plates and silverware instead of the usual mismatched collection. Candles are arranged in the center, their golden light casting a romantic glow over the room. Your favourite store-bought meal sits neatly plated, steam rising in the air.

Dean is leaning casually against the counter, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips. He’s wearing a button-up shirt instead of his usual flannel, the effort not lost on you.

“Happy anniversary, sweetheart,” he says softly.

Your stomach drops as guilt washes over you. You completely forgot.

“Dean,” you whisper, your eyes welling up. “I… I didn’t—”

“Hey,” he interrupts, pushing off the counter and walking toward you. He cups your face gently in his hands, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks. “It’s okay. I know you’ve been busy. This is my gift to you.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you stare up at him, his green eyes filled with nothing but love and understanding. “What did I do to deserve you?”

He smiles, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “I’m the lucky one to have you.”

You bite your lip, emotion threatening to overwhelm you, but Dean tugs you toward the table before it can. “Come on. Dinner’s getting cold.”

The meal is perfect, just like everything Dean does when he puts his mind to it. Between bites, you and Dean fall into easy conversation, laughter punctuating the air as you recount memories from the past year. The stress of the world melts away, leaving only the two of you in your little bubble of happiness.

After dinner, Dean takes your hand and leads you down the hallway. When he opens the door to your bedroom, your jaw drops.

The room is softly lit with more candles, their gentle glow highlighting a small table set up in the corner. A rich chocolate cake sits in the center, accompanied by a bottle of champagne and two glasses. The bed looks impossibly inviting, piled high with plush pillows and fresh sheets.

“You really outdid yourself,” you murmur, turning to him with wide eyes.

He shrugs, but the pleased grin on his face betrays his pride. “Only the best for my girl.”

Your heart swells as you step closer, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I love you, you know that?”

“I love you too,” he says, leaning down to kiss you.

The rest of the night is spent wrapped in Dean’s love and care, the perfect celebration of the life you’ve built together. For once, the world outside doesn’t matter—all that does is the warmth of his arms and the steady beat of his heart.

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @ariasong11 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @krabog ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @lyarr24 ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas

[alittlebitofloveliness]

Things I think the fandom needs to remember sometimes

-Ponyboy is not a loner or unpopular. He admits to having a lot of friends at school, and a few of them even visit him when he gets out of the hospital, though he notes it makes him uncomfortable that his middle class friends get to see where he lives. Which brings me to my next point;

-The gang does not spend all their time together, or even most of it. Yes they’re all friends, very CLOSE friends- yes, even Steve and Ponyboy- but they have lives outside of the gang. Pony has school friends, Darry has work or old school friends he skis with, Soda and Steve are inseparable to a degree that their outside lives overlap and their identities within the gang are also interwoven, but they all very much have lives outside the gang. Two bit has his mom and little sister and a revolving door of girls. Dallas only shows up when he feels like it and  he lives at bucks and jockeys in the races. Johnny couch surfs at the curtis’ and Two’s place, but he also regularly camps out in the lot and presumably crashes at Dally’s place sometimes too. Yeah, he’s Ponyboy’s best friend, but they’re not inseparable the way Steve and Soda are. It’s a different dynamic. The whole group has lives outside of the gang and I think it’s important to remember this. 

-The term ‘greaser’ is a derogatory term and originated in the 1800s as a slur against Mexican immigrants. It coloquial meaning changed when readopted by the greaser subculture in the 1950s and 60s (according to wikipedia), to primarily refer to lower working class individuals of mexican or italian ancestry, and becoming more ethnically ambiguous, but it still wasn’t widely used outside the subculture itself. Ponyboy is white, but he probably has some Italian ancestry which is characteristic of the greaser subculture, and he identifies with the word- but it’s still a more loaded term than the fandom sometimes pretends, and it still has racial undertones, regardless of how it’s portrayed in the novel and how it moved away from it's historically primarily racialised usage when adopted by the greaser subculture. Ponyboy makes a point of saying in the book that it’s okay for himself and the gang and others of their social group to use it, but when people outside the group call him it it ‘doesn’t make him feel so hot’. I think this helps illustrate that yeah, it’s an offensive term. ‘Greaser’ carries weight and I think it’s important for the fandom to recognise that.

-Darry is trying, but he isn’t a good guardian, and if he was then his character would not be redeemable after The Slap. The reason Darry Curtis as a character is so sympathetic is because he is twenty years old and trying his best, and his best is never good enough. If Darry was a well equipped guardian who was able to parent Pony AND Soda AND the gang (to an extent) the way his parents did, then him slapping Ponyboy would be unforgivable. It would be the action of a brute instead of the action of an overwhelmed older brother forgetting his new role as guardian. The reason Darry is forgivable and so beloved is because he is not perfect, or even good, at his role but he keeps trying and choosing to be present for his brothers over and over. (Remember, he had to fight very hard for custody, probably harder than Ponyboy realizes.)

-The portrayal of every female character is biased by Ponyboy’s narration- and Ponyboy has a lot of internalized misogyny and classism. It makes sense that he holds these ideas, considering the time period and the male dominated environment he grew up in where (presumably) the only woman he ever had any sort of close relationship with was his mother, but it doesn’t make it any less true. However, the women themselves are few and far between but incredibly important characters. I’ve spoken about it before but I think Sandy’s character and her unplanned teenage pregnancy sheds a small amount of light on how poverty affects women as opposed to men, something the book largely lacks due to the only main(ish) female character being upper class;  whereas Sylvia serves as a foil to Dally, and is essentially written to be the offscreen ‘female version’ of him, basically a representation of the ‘worst’ sort of greaser girl while Dally is the ‘worst’ kind of greaser. The only reason these women receive so much hate is because of misogyny- don’t pretend it’s just about the cheating, because it’s not- and if you want to hear further takes on them you can read my thoughts on the misogyny in the fandom here, and my thoughts on Sandy here.  Even Cherry, whom Ponyboy views positively, is viewed that way because of Ponyboy's biased ideas of what makes a girl 'good' and worthy of respect.

-Ponyboy has a fairly negative view of alcohol and alcoholism, but has a very addictive personality. Ponyboy has tried alcohol but didn’t like the way it made him feel. However, his view of Two-bit, while positive, seems to find him less brave than the rest of the gang as he drinks before the rumble, and Ponyboy ‘would hate to see the day he had to get his nerve from a can’. Soda’s reluctance to drink or smoke also adds to Ponyboy’s worship of him, despite the fact that Ponyboy is addicted to nicotine and caffeine respectively and it has the potential to be his undoing more than anything else in the east side.

-The entire story is built on grief. Johnny and Dally are doomed from the start, and Ponyboy mentions his parents' deaths from the first few pages. But loss of a loved one is not the sole type of grief the novel covers. Darry mourns the life he could have had, Soda mourns his imagined future with Sandy, and by the end of the novel Ponyboy is mourning his childhood and loss of innocence. I could go on, but I think the effect of grief is sometimes missing from analysis or canon compliant fanworks, when it is quite literally the driving force behind the story.

[rosaeh]

boyfriend!jason todd who watch movies with you that he probably would never have the idea to watch on his own. mainly because, he doesn't do movies much. he doesn't really have time for this with his work. and when he does end up having time he prefers a good book, or/and spend time with you. 

so one day, in this time dedicated to you, in between the violence of gotham, and your tiring life, you offer him to watch something. and of course, jason agrees. he would do close to anything you ask him to, and this one is much more easier to him than not beating someone up over the 'mere' fact that they dared eyeing you weirdly, or speaking about you before him. but in those times, you'll gently rest you hand on his arm, tilt your head to the side in this way that draws him in, and tell him it's not worth it, and that if he really wants to do something for you, it's to restrain this urge to smack some random at your regular coffee because he definitely checked you over. and he would do it. for you? he would do anything. even if that's mean not using violence, the only way he thought he could show you his love -even if jason doesn't want to taint you with his violent way, but violence is the only thing he knew for a long time, the only constant thing in his life. before you. so you show him other way. and he thinks it's worth it when he sees the look on your face when he agrees to do something as mundane as watching a movie.

so jason ends up sitting on your couch, his legs propped up on the coffee table with you curled up at his side, head on his shoulder while your arms are wrapped around his torso. and he keeps you close, letting your perfume gets to his head and shut down all the worries he accumulated this week. it's only you and him. you showing him a movie you love. he wants to indulge in your interest, get to know you even better than he already does. and, boy, does he know you. knows every single mole on your body. kiss them too. knows exactly what to say to make your face lights up. knows that you like to bake when things become too overwhelming.

occasionally, during the movie, he looks down at you, watches how focused you are on the movie, making sure you're enjoying your time with him. he would lean and kiss the top of your head, lingering to watch the way your mouth curl up in a smile. sometimes, he would look down at you, and your gaze would met his. with a smile on your face. you would pester him -not convincingly but you don't intend to be anyway- about having to focus on the movie, or he will end up nagging you with questions -you don't really mind, you will answer every single one of his questions, and he would pretend to be confused only to see you getting all excited to explain. he would shake his head, a smile of his own making its way on his face -the type of smile reserved to you, and only you- and still place a kiss against your hair.

bonus : he would then end up quoting lines from these movies on a daily basis, because he loves the way your face lights up -after all, he does know what to say to do just that.

the thing is he would quote it on patrol too. dick would tell him he did a good job tonight, and jason would be like "what like it's hard?", leaving his brothers flabbergasted, mouth agape, "did he just quote legally blonde?”

[puckinghischier]

i’m having soft quinn thoughts today and i have to shout them from the rooftops so everyone else can suffer with me.

but i absolutely cannot stop thinking about how quinn would always want to spend time with you, but feel guilty for how occupied he is during the season. every second of downtime he has is spent watching game film in your living room, studying tactics and plays. not that you ever complain. you’re content simply being in the same room as him, not taking for granted any amount of time you can be in his presence.

quinn’s attention is always half on you, no matter how hard he tries to focus. he steals more glances at you than he cares to admit, worried that one day you’ll get sick of sitting in silence while hockey occupies the space between you. but you never do. you keep yourself busy scrolling through your phone or reading the most recent book he bought you, never uttering a complaint. he’s tuned in to every fidget or movement you make, not wanting you to remove your always cold feet from under his warm legs to occupy yourself with something—or rather someone—better.

it surprises him that you never do. you never utter a word, not wanting to disrupt his work. every so often he’ll catch you looking back at him during one of his ‘quick’ glances, absorbing the warm smile you give him. sometimes you’ll quietly ask him if he wants anything from the kitchen when you stand to go fill up your water cup, but seem content to simply sit there with him as he mumbles to himself, jotting down notes as he watches.

tonight, he can’t help but notice—during his million and one glances at you—that your eyes are glued to the tv. your phone is laying, locked, in your lap, eyes following the puck as it’s shuffled across both screens from player to player. your body’s subtle reactions to the game aren’t lost on him either. the twitch of your foot anytime someone shoots the puck, the raise of your brow when a player on either team scores, the hitch in your breath anytime the two teams start to fight.

you can feel his eyes on you more than usual tonight, his (not so) subtle glances lingering longer than normal. you turn your head to meet his gaze, brows furrowed and a puzzled look on his face.

“what?” you whisper, flitting your eyes between his own and the tv, not wanting to miss any important moments.

“are you watching the game?” he looks at you like you have three heads.

you giggle in response, amused at his expression and surprised tone of his voice. “yeah, kinda. don’t really know what’s happening, though, if i’m honest.”

there was never a home game of quinn’s you missed. you went to support him every time you could, and loved seeing him in his element. but you can’t even pretend to understand the sport past each player wanting to get the puck into the opposing net. you didn’t understand the positions, the penalties, or anything surrounding the ins and outs of professional hockey. you never watched it growing up, and probably still wouldn’t watch it if you weren’t dating the captain of your new city’s team.

you had moved to vancouver for work, and knew nothing of the prominent hockey culture before you arrived. the sports presence buzzed all around you as you figured out the ins and outs of your new home, but it had no place in your daily routine. that is, until you hit it off with this insanely attractive stranger that seemed to frequent the same coffee shop as you. you accidentally cut him in line one day, offering to pay for his coffee to make up for it, but he paid for yours instead. a ‘pay it forward’ war was started between the two of you until he was stood waiting at the door with your usual order one morning, requesting more than just a name and the fact you drank a large, vanilla iced coffee with chocolate syrup lining the cup every morning.

when he realized you were likely the only person in the city he now calls home that doesn’t know who he is, it only piqued his interest in the pretty coffee shop stranger further. the morning meetings at the shop turned into an exchange of numbers, which developed into him meeting you for lunch on your break when he was in town, that then escalated into dinner dates and spontaneous outings, and now it’s found its permanence in you moving in with him a few months ago.

you were…indifferent, when he revealed to you who he was and what all his career entailed, uttering out a simple “oh! that’s cool! makes sense why you’re always at the gym, now” later explaining that you thought he was just really into fitness and maybe worked as a personal trainer or some equivalent. when he first invited you to games he tried to tell you a little bit about the rules, but assumed you’d catch on as you watched (hopefully) more and more of his sport. you always told him how much you enjoyed watching him in his element, but never asked many questions past if the other team was supposed to be good or not. he assumed you understood enough to keep up, knowing how intelligent and observant you are, but he tried to refrain from talking about work too much with you. when he’s with you, he wants to be present with you, not hockey.

which is why he feels so guilty at times like this, watching film while you’re sitting next to him. it feels like you’re two people who happen to be in the same room, completely in your own worlds. until tonight.

“you…never watch the games with me. you always have a book or something,” he reaches over to pause the game, still a little shocked.

you shrug at him. “didn’t feel like reading tonight. not really anything new on my socials, either. so i figured i’d just watch with you for once.”

“and you weren’t gonna say anything?”

this earns a real laugh out of you, not understanding why this is such a big shock for him. it’s not like you’ve ever told him you don’t like hockey. you just have never really cared to watch it if isn’t the one playing. but you’ve been wanting to learn more about it recently, tired of not being able to participate in the games like the other women do when they’re watching their husband or boyfriend play.

“why would i? you’re trying to work, i’m just trying to learn a little bit,” you reply, the hint of a laugh on each word as you say it.

quinn just blinks at you, trying not to get his hopes up at your expression, not knowing just how far you want to go with your quest for knowledge.

“since when do you want to learn about hockey? why now?” he questions, trying not to sound accusatory or snarky, but genuinely curious as to what you’ll answer.

“i’ve always wanted to learn, ever since that first game i went to, but you don’t seem to like to talk about it outside of the rink, so i don’t really ask much. me and google have become very good friends as of late,” you shrug out another answer for him. “plus, when you’re watching games at night like this, i don’t want to keep talking and asking a million questions while you’re trying to work, so i force myself not to watch to keep from distracting you.”

quinn sits a little straighter, now worried he’s made it seem like hockey is this forbidden subject between the two of you.

“sweetheart, i don’t like talking about hockey outside of the rink because i don’t ever want you to think that’s all we ever talk about, not because we can’t talk about it,” he tries to defend himself, even though there’s no accusation. “if you want to learn about the game, please, ask me questions. i- god, i’d love nothing more than to teach you about it. i hate sitting here in silence every night i’m home, worried you’re going to eventually get pissed at me because all i do during the season is watch old games.”

you grin at his slight panic, endeared by how worried he was about your feelings this whole time, appreciating his intention with the unspoken rule.

“q, i never asked about it because i didn’t want you to be upset because i kept bringing up work when you’re away from it all,” your smile only grows at the fact you were both worried about upsetting the other for no reason at all.

the slight tension in his shoulders fades at your words, relieved that you’re not upset or feel like he made it seem like you had no place in that part of his life.

“alright, well, fire away, then,” he gives you the floor, pressing play so the players on the tv screens move once again, now glancing at you every few seconds to catch any looks of confusion or interest in any particular play or action.

the rest of the night is spent playing and pausing the game over and over again, question after question flying out of your mouth. anything from why the faceoff is from a certain spot on the ice to what a particular penalty looks like is spoken the second the thought enters your brain. quinn takes his time explaining every answer to you, even rewinding and pulling up other examples to make sure you understand what he’s telling you.

at the end of the night he realizes just how much more he caught of the game while answering your questions. there’s several times you picked up on things he never has before. like why one player seems to always place his stick so close to another player’s skates while he’s chasing him. or why a certain goalie seems to lean left everytime instead of right, no matter where the puck is coming from.

he’s been able to add several tells about players in his notes, ready to take them to practice the next morning and change his game to accommodate his opponents habits. and when they win their game a few days later, thanks to your observations during the impromptu hockey 101 class in your living room, he revels in the fact that even though you know so little about his sport and his job, you ended up being one of the biggest parts of their success.

from then on, the nights of sitting in silence while he studies film are nonexistent. every time he brings work home with him, you’re right there next to him, enthralled in whatever opponent’s game they’re facing that week. he loves that you’re so observant, paying attention to the smallest of details someone who’s been playing for years becomes blind to. and he really loves turning you into a bottomless pit of hockey information, seeing how you absorb each ‘lesson’ from day to day.

when they break through their slump, a big part of that accredited to your nights spent questioning quinn, and he sees you start really participating in his games, he can’t help but fall that much deeper in love with you. watching you scream and complain about bad calls with the rest of the fans in rogers arena, and reading your texts to him about your thoughts on his away games you watch on tv, swells his heart in a way he never thought to be possible.

plus, he always knew it was only a matter of time before you fell victim to the hockey atmosphere of the city. no one can really resist the pull of vancouver hockey, especially not when it’s captain has anything to do with it.

[remedyturtles]

for the writing ask meme: disaster twins bc i am nothing if not predictable aaaaand ur pick of 8, 22, 29 or 42 if u would like :3

thank you my dearest russothy @rbtlvr for the prompt! this got away from me and also went in so many different directions lmao... snugs hope you like it :D

wordcount 2.7k, pre-series

22. "...you knew?"  29. "Tell me the truth."

"I've definitely got a unicorn horn." Leo said, holding up the puzzle piece. 

"Which one?" Donnie propped up the box lid. 

The two inspected, comparing the angle with the reference, covered in a multitude of unicorns.

"Hard to tell." Leo set the piece aside, with his other collection of possible key points. They'd only just finished the border, spread out the bedroom floor. They were twelve years old. They were both grounded. They were absolutely and intolerably bored. 

No TV. No phones. No lab time for Donnie, no skateboarding time for Leo. No amount of pleading with Raph or Mikey to smuggle them entertainment worked because they weren't happy either.

So it was the unicorn puzzle. And any other way they could pass the time. 

"It's your turn." Donnie said, flipping over a few middle pieces and sorting them into piles by colour. 

"Sure. Truth or dare." Leo plucked another horn-like piece with a pleased noise and tried to slot it with his first. It didn't fit. 

"Truth." Donnie said, after a moment.

"Wimp."

"I stand by my answer."

"Fine." Leo sighed, annoyed. "You're no fun. What is the last thing you looked up on the internet?"

"Pssh. Something absolutely genius, I'm sure." Donnie said. "But alas, we will never know, as I do not have my phone on me." 

"Hogwash." Leo said, mimicking his voice, "As if your eidetic memory doesn't know. I'm insulted on your own behalf that you would insinuate such a thing."

Donnie mentally ran back through his most recent searches and struggled not to cringe. A victorious smile spread over Leo's face, before he'd even said a word. 

"How'd you know it was going to be something stupid?" Donnie complained, ducking his head to pretend to sort his pieces more intently. 

Leo tapped his lip, milking his success. "Come on. You've got a thousand bookmarks on your computer for all your nerd stuff and overflowing shelves of paper books and manuals. If you need to Google something, then it's the bottom of the barrel questions." 

Donnie mumbled under his breath.

"What's that?" Leo leaned forward over the puzzle, grin growing to shit-eating.

"You heard me." Donnie's face flushed. 

"I'm not sure I did, because I'm pretty sure my genius prodigy Donatello knows exactly how many millimetres are in a centimetre." 

"I was just making sure!" Donnie complained loudly, snapping a hand out to push at Leo's face and shove him back to his side of the puzzle. "It's my turn now, shut up. Truth or dare?"

"Dare." Leo answered, because he always said dare. 

"Shocker." Donnie deadpanned. "Fine. Eat a puzzle piece."

"Okay." Leo picked up the unicorn horn. Before Donnie could stop him, he placed the piece on his tongue, swallowed, and showed a decidedly empty mouth.

"Oh my stars, Leon, I didn't think you'd actually do it." Donnie said, stunned with the heights of his idiocy. 

"You dared me." Leo shrugged. "What did you expect?"

"We needed that!" 

"You cannot pretend this is my fault. You literally just told me to eat it." 

"I hate you. Alright, Curious George, it's your turn." 

Leo barked a laugh. He rearranged his collection of unicorn horn pieces, forever missing one now, and said, "Truth or dare?"

"Dare." Donnie wasn't a wimp. 

"Bet." Leo hopped up and immediately began digging in a drawer. "Close your eyes. Don't open them until I say so."

Instant regret. So much instant regret. Donnie didn't obey, tense all over, watching Leo with wariness. 

Leo found whatever he was looking for, keeping it behind his back when he turned around, and said, challenging, "Are you switching?"

If Donnie switched to truth, Leo would ask something really awful, and he'd have no choice but to answer as penalty. So Donnie scoffed, like that was a ridiculous question, and shut his eyes. 

Leo’s footsteps got closer and he sat in front of Donnie. He said, calm and mischievous, “I’m going to touch your face.”

With the warning, he didn’t flinch when Leo carefully removed his mask, placing it in Donnie’s hand. Then there was the sound of an uncapped pen, and a whiff of marker. 

“Hold still.” Leo said, fingers bracing Donnie’s head and setting the marker tip to his face, waiting a moment for him to adjust, then began to draw.

“Urgh.” Donnie said, holding still beyond his fingers fidgeting in his lap with the mask, eyes closed but recognizing the movement of the pen in two arcs over either eye. 

“There.” Leo said, removing the pen. “We match.”

Donnie opened his eyes to see Leo directly in front of him, something warm and fond before it eased back into gremlin mischief. “Feel beautiful?”

Donnie got up and looked at himself in the mirror. Dark red marker stripes were drawn carefully over his eyes, matching at the face grinning behind him. 

He rolled his eyes. He stomped over to the same drawer and said, “Truth or dare?”

“Dare.” Leo said, already taking off his mask. 

Donnie found the black marker. “Close your eyes.”

Obediently, Leo shut his eyes, grinning too hard that it caused his forehead to wrinkle while Donnie moved his head around to get the perfect sharp and thick eyebrows. He put genuine effort into making them look good, because Leo had too. 

“Done.” Donnie said, releasing his hostage of Leo’s head.

Leo leapt up to the mirror and gave a wolf whistle. “Damn! That’s not bad.”

“I didn’t come here to fuck around.” Donnie replied. Looking at both of them in the mirror he wished he had his phone so he could get a picture. He flashed a peace sign anyway, like they were taking a selfie, and Leo automatically mimicked it. For a moment, he forgot the situation and grinned back at his twin through the mirror. 

Then he remembered why they were stuck in a room doing puzzles and dropped the peace sign, shuffling down to sort through the stacks. Leo watched him, the small frown made quite more serious by his impressive brows, then hopped over the half assembled puzzle to his side. “My turn?”

It was an invitation to stop, if Donnie wasn’t feeling it anymore. But it wasn’t like they had anything better to do. “Truth.”

"Do you regret it?" 

Donnie glared at him. 

Leo stared back at him, completely serious. 

"I'm switching. Dare." Donnie said. Whatever horrible thing Leo could concoct would be better than answering that. Even if it meant he had to do it, no matter what. 

"Fine." Leo shrugged. "I dare you to tell me the truth."

"That's cheating." Donnie lifted his lip in a sneer.

"Is it?" Leo challenged. There wasn't a specific rule against it. 

Donnie didn't answer him, turning to try and poke his various pieces together. Neither of them spoke for a while. The tense atmosphere reigned. 

"I regret that I got caught." Donnie said, eventually. "Which probably isn't what I'm supposed to feel." 

"So you'd do it again, if you felt you couldn't get caught?" Leo prompted, knuckles white in his lap. 

"Only one question. Your turn. Truth or dare." 

"Dare."

"I dare you to answer a truth." Donnie said, sharp. 

Leo's eyes narrowed. He couldn't claim it was cheating without being a hypocrite and he knew it. He rolled out a slow, "Fine. Ask."

"Why'd you take the fall with me?" Donnie was been dying to ask. Leo hadn't even known what Donnie was up to, and yet he stood in front of Dad and swore he'd been helping. 

Leo said, "Pssh, I thought you were gonna ask something hard. So you weren't grounded alone, obviously. And it'd be so boring if I couldn't hang out with you anyway. And so I could bug you about what the hell you were thinking. So. Truth or dare?"

Donnie would eat every piece of this puzzle if he didn't have to answer another truth. "Dare." 

"Wimp." Leo said, shark-grin. 

"Your standards for cowardice seem to change from moment to moment." Donnie said, mouth dry. 

Leo could easily pull the same move and insist he answer a truth, but with the tit-for-tat complete, to abuse the power would break the game. "It's fine. This one'll be real easy," his gaze hardened, "especially since it's what you should've been doing all along. I dare you to take me with you next time."

Donnie exhaled slowly through his nose, swallowing. He avoided Leo's eye, pretending he was super interested in placing his puzzle pieces. "Fine." 

"Promise?"

"Yeah, whatever."

He could feel Leo staring at the top of his head. He irritatedly poked a piece in place, the leg of a unicorn, and asked, "Truth or dare?"

"I'll do truth if you do." Leo bargained. 

A rare offer. Despite his annoyance, he couldn't help but take the bait. "Deal."

"Perfect. Hit me." 

Donnie could tell Leo was already formulating his next question. Unfortunately for him, Donnie got to ask first. "Tell me something you've never told anyone."

Leo grimaced. He didn’t answer for a long minute, eyes visibly ticking back and forth as he thought.  Then laughed, a little nervous, and said, "Alright. Okay." 

The nerves were interesting. Donnie poked, almost fascinated, "Scared?"

"No, I just –" Leo bit his lip and glanced up, fidgeting with a bunch of sky pieces. He was definitely nervous, breath quickening. "I've wanted to say, actually. So this seems as good a moment as any."

Oh, this was actually serious. Weird. Made weirder by the drawn-on brows. Donnie waited for more information before assuming anything. Leo delayed longer, killing time, and only to falter at Donnie's expression. 

"It's uh, not a big deal, but. I figured I should … tell you. That. I'm gay." Leo held his breath at the end of the sentence.

"Right." Donnie nodded. 

Leo blinked at him like an owl. "... you knew?"

"I… figured." Donnie evaluated the situation and determined a different reaction was needed, judging by the clear anxiety of Leo's face. This hadn't been what Donnie was expecting, because why would Leo be nervous about his reaction. "I did not consider it worth a second thought. You are my twin. There is nothing about you that I wouldn't accept without question."

"Oh. Okay." Leo inhaled shakily then let it out slowly. "Cool. That's cool. Don't tell anyone else yet, okay?"

"Like you even have to ask." Donnie scoffed. There was a code about these sorts of things, after all, twelve years in the making. He wasn't about to break their sacred bond now. "Do you need a hug?"

Leo crawled directly over the puzzle to climb into Donnie's arms. He squeezed so hard it squashed the air out of his lungs. He mumbled in Donnie's ear, "Thanks."

"I love you. If anyone has a problem with it, send them directly to me." Donnie's grip tightened to the point of Leo letting out an 'oof' too. 

"Love you too." Leo gave another squish then pulled back, a puzzle piece stuck to his bare leg. "Your turn."

"Now?" Donnie complained. "After we just had a moment?"

"And we're about to have another moment, bucko." Leo was close enough to poke Donnie directly in the plastron, pretending to be stern even as he was still a little shaky. "Your turn."

"Truth." Donnie sighed, fulfilling his end of the bargain. 

"Why'd you do it?" Leo asked, immediate. All young indignation, eyes shining with left-behind hurt, and a more incandescent worry that was mirrored in all the annoyed glares outside their door. 

“Scoff.” Donnie avoided his eye. “Surely you do not need to hold me at metaphorical gunpoint to ask that question when you already know the answer. I wanted uranium.”

"That's not why you did it." Leo said, expression all the more severe by the painted brows. He insistently poked Donnie in the middle of his plastron again. "I know you didn't want uranium just to have. There's always a purpose, a plan. Why?" 

"Multiple uses." Donnie said, tightly, through clenched teeth. "It doesn't matter. No one wants me to have it because they think I'll give myself radiation poisoning. Because it'll put me on a watch list. Because when I tried to sneak out and meet up with a seller I got caught. So it doesn't matter, because obviously no one here is going to let me."

"You're right about that, because you will give yourself radiation poisoning and sneaking off when you're a twelve-year-old mutant to meet up with some sketchy seller was a terrible idea. That's still not what I'm asking. Why?" Leo said, because despite pretending for everyone else that he was in on it the whole time, he was actually just as opposed as the rest of them at his failed scheme.

Donnie physically pushed Leo away, since he was still so close. "It doesn't matter! Okay! I can't do it, so it doesn't matter!"

"It matters to me. Because I'm asking." Leo insisted, hands braced backwards onto the puzzle and separating out the few pieces they'd gotten together. "It's truth, you have to answer."

"I could switch to dare." Donnie said, annoyed.

"Then I'd dare you to tell me the truth."

"That's cheap and you know it."

Leo just stared at him, still leaning back and waiting. Completely dead set and expectant that Donnie would crack. 

"There's nothing more to say." Donnie said, swallowing and feeling how his throat was sore. "I have projects that only a radioactive isotope can satisfy."

"Okay?" Leo prompted. Waiting for the expected info-dump. 

"Why do you care?" Donnie snapped. "Weapons. Big, powerful weapons, that would obliterate anyone who dared mess with our family. And – a-and unlimited power. And heat. For our home. Okay? Are you happy? Because we don't to have those things anyway, so it doesn't matter."

Grim triumph washed over Leo's expression, and he leaned forward to ask, "Do you think we'd want that at the expense of your life?"

"I wasn't going to die!" Donnie exclaimed. "And if I have the power to make our lives better, safer, more efficient, shouldn't I take it? Shouldn't I push the laws of the universe to give us everything we deserve when we're trapped underground like rats?"

"That stuff is pretty important, but it's not more important than you." Leo said, slowly. 

Donnie smacked his hand against the floor and blurted, "That's what I'm good for, so yeah, it is!"

Leo's expression flashed and he gave a low growl. He lunged forward and caught Donnie in a roll, sending the two of them tussling into the dresser. A loud thud made the wall shake. Donnie kicked Leo in the shins. Leo elbowed Donnie in the solar plexus. 

"Boys!" Splinter knocked loudly on the door. "No killing each other!"

"Yes Dad!" Donnie and Leo recited together, stalled mid-fight, waiting for the footsteps to disappear before struggling apart.

"What was that for?" Donnie rubbed his plastron, scowling.

"For basing your self worth on what you provide for this family." Leo straight up threw puzzle pieces at him, scattering unicorn bits all over the carpet. "Don't be ridiculous. You're so much smarter than that. If we only let people in because they're useful then I woulda been kicked out years ago."

"That's not true." Donnie protested. 

"That's not the point." Leo rolled his eyes. "It doesn't matter who's useful or not. You're one of us forever. No take backs. You don't have to superfit the lair with big weapons and make us completely self-sustaining or whatever. Dad only let you start doing upgrades because you were having fun. If you're doing it to earn your place here then I'll burn your lab down."

"It's fun." Donnie said, quickly, because Leo had an affection for fire that should not be tempted. "Fine. I hear you. I will be satisfied with projects that bring me joy and not radiation poisoning. Can we finish this puzzle or did you actually swallow that piece?"

Leo's severe expression melted, and he reached behind Donnie's non-existent ear and revealed the unicorn horn piece flipping over his knuckles. "Looks like you had it rattling around in your big head this whole time."

"Hah. Caught you." Donnie grinned. "If you cheated on that dare now you gotta do one that's twice as bad." 

Leo swore.

[bueckersstuff]

REMEMBER

Click here for chapter: 1, 2, & 3

Chapter 4: New Life

You had come to terms with the fact that you'd never escape Paige. Memories of everything that involved her had begun flooding back over the past few days, piece by piece. But no one had to know—not even your dad. You just wanted to start fresh. And Paige? She was long gone from your life.

You were deep cleaning your room when your dad came in, his face serious. "Can we talk for a minute?"

You paused, wiping your hands on the towel. "Sure."

"So," he started, clearly hesitant, "I was thinking… maybe it's time for you to go back to school."

You froze, the towel dropping to the floor. "You're sending me back to New York?"

"No, honey," he said, his tone softening. "You're going to attend UConn. Is that okay with you? You can do some research if you want, so you’ll have an idea about the school." He continued, but you were already zoned out the moment he mentioned UConn. Only one thing came to mind.

Paige Madison Bueckers. Women's Basketball Star Athlete. UConn. You think maybe your dad is doing it on purpose, but then he doesn’t know that you remember Paige now. Or maybe it’s God, punishing you for lying to him.

You swallowed hard, trying to hide your reaction. "Yeah, sure. I mean… new scenery won’t hurt, right?"

Your dad looked relieved. "Great. I was worried you might not like the idea, but I already processed all your documents with the university. You’re scheduled to leave the day after tomorrow."

You nodded, your stomach twisting as the words hung in the air. What else could you say? You had no choice.

The day arrived. The University of Connecticut was not a stranger to you. But your dad had no idea. You’d been there once before, and just the thought of it made you grimace.

The first time you went was when Paige was in her second year. She kept insinuating how cool it would be if you showed up to one of her games, so you planned to surprise her by booking a plane ticket. You didn’t tell anyone, not even your parents in New York. It was mid-year, and you had classes the next day, so you’d need to return soon. You went to UConn to surprise Paige, but instead, you were the one who ended up surprised.

Before entering the Gampel Pavilion, you overheard murmurs about Paige being in a relationship with one of her teammates. At first, you couldn’t believe it. You were her best friend! She didn’t even think to tell you? You went inside anyway, determined to see her, but when you saw Paige with that girl from her team, your world came crashing down. The closeness between them was undeniable—different from the rest. You couldn't stop imagining yourself in that girl’s place, talking to Paige, her smiling, tapping your cheek just like old times. And that’s when it hit you. You weren't supposed to be the one in her life anymore.

Tears welled up in your eyes before you could stop them. The woman sitting next to you looked at you with confusion, but you couldn’t care. You stood up, running out of the arena, your heart breaking with each step.

After that, everything changed. You realized what you wanted—what you had always wanted and more. But by then, it was too late.

Paige has no idea what happened to you. Later that night, she texted you, informing you about her game. But you just couldn't bring yourself to talk to her. You turned bitter, but you also had no courage to actually tell her anything. Every conversation with her turned into arguments because Paige isn't telling you anything and keeps pretending like she doesn't have a girl waiting for her on the other side of the line. Or maybe they were together, you thought. You're always mad, so is she, because she keeps saying she can't understand you anymore. So you stopped trying.

Days passed, months, then a year. You heard nothing from her. Just the occasional glimpse of her life through social media, and you could see she was happy. Still with that girl. She completely forgot about you.

Then came the injury. You learned about it from the news, and you immediately went to your contacts, your finger hovering above her name, then pressed call.

"Hello?" The voice on the other end wasn’t Paige’s. It was sweet, warm, but unfamiliar.

"Hi, is Paige there? I just wanted to know if she’s okay? I’m her—"

"Ah, yes. Paige is fine," the voice cut you off. "But it’s best for her to rest right now. It’s been a long day. I got her, no need for you to be concerned."

You swallowed the lump in your throat. "Who’s this?"

"This is Azzi." Oh. Azzi as in the teammate number 35? The one rumored to be more than just a teammate. Your heart sank, but you didn’t press further. Paige was okay, that’s all that mattered. Even if your heart was breaking all over again.

Days passed. Paige sent you messages every now and then, but you never replied.

Hey, how are you? So, I happened to tear my ACL in case you didn’t know. Hey. Aren’t you gonna check in on me? I miss you. What happened to us?

You saw them all, each one digging deeper into the ache in your chest. But you remembered Azzi’s words. Paige was happy with her. So why would she need you?

"Excuse me." You snapped out of your thoughts, realizing your mood had shifted into something darker. It was your first day at school, and you didn’t want to carry this weight with you.

You turned, startled, and found a guy standing there, waiting for your attention. "Yes?" you replied, trying to shake off the sadness.

"Are you the transferee? I'm Luke, from the student council. I was tasked to be your guide for the day," he introduced himself.

You gave him a small smile and introduced yourself. He seemed friendly, helpful, and guided you through the entire day—showing you the Engineering Faculty for your schedule, then taking you to the Swim Club, a place your dad had convinced you to join.

By the time you were back in your dorm, it was already evening. You had one roommate, but she wasn’t here yet. The name on her door read "Hailey," so you figured that was her.

Around 8 pm, a knock came at your door. You opened it to find a tall brunette holding a paper bag.

"Hi, I’m Hailey! I’ve been waiting for you since yesterday, once they told me I’d have a roommate. Also, here." She handed you the bag.

"Hi, it’s really nice of you, but you didn’t have to bring me a gift..." You said, shyly.

"Uh, first off, I’m broke as hell, girl. Second, it’s not from me. Third, it has your name on it, so I assumed it’s for you. It was left at our door," Hailey said, grinning.

You looked inside the bag, and to your surprise, there were containers of food. A note simply read, "Dinner."

You frowned, puzzled. What was this about?

"Thank you, Hailey. It’s nice to meet you!" you said, still a little confused.

"No problem! I’m gonna crash now, though. Girl’s tired as hell." Hailey laughed and disappeared into her own room.

You closed the door, placed the bag on your study table, and examined the containers. But after a moment of thought, you shrugged. Maybe it was just a token from the school. You didn’t have the energy to dwell on it. You were tired, and you had school tomorrow.

The next morning, you got up early to get ready. You threw on some loose clothes that were a little too big for you. You didn’t like how you looked in tight clothes, always feeling too thin. You gazed into the mirror, a habit you're welcoming in your life again, one last time before leaving. Your long black hair, your pale skin, your black eyes… at least you were tall. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

As you walked out of your dorm, you noticed a white plastic bag by your door. But you didn’t have time to waste. You ignored it and headed to your classes.

Hours went by so fast. Classes were done, and you're walking now to your swimming club.

The first day of swim practice was intimidating. Still, you’d promised your dad you’d give it a try, so here you were. You’re excited but a little nervous, as you weren’t entirely sure what to expect. When you arrived, the pool area was bustling with energy. Swimmers of all ages were warming up, chatting with their teammates, and prepping for the day ahead. You are immediately drawn to the sense of camaraderie among the athletes. Everyone seemed to know each other, exchanging jokes and smiles, making it clear this was a tight-knit group.

You found your place with the women's team, and the coach, a tall, confident woman with short black hair, greeted you warmly. "Glad you could join us!" she said. "We've been waiting for you."

"Hi, it's nice to meet y’all." You introduced yourself to them warmly.

"Go change in the locker room so we can start with practice," Coach told you.

You stepped into the locker room, feeling the familiar wave of nervous energy. The room buzzed with activity as swimmers prepared for practice. A few glanced your way, but no one paid you much attention. You were the new face, after all.

"Hey! Transferee!" You turned to see a guy with messy brown hair and a friendly smile. He was tall, built—definitely a swimmer. Is that the guy from yesterday?

"Luke?"

"Nice to see you again. I’m on the men’s team." He grinned, extending his hand, which you shook. “I forgot to mention yesterday."

He then led you to the side of the pool where a few other teammates were gathered. “Alright, let’s meet the team. This is Mia," he said, pointing to a short, athletic girl who was busy adjusting her swim cap. “She’s a sprinter, one of the fastest in the team.”

Mia looked up and smiled at you, giving a quick wave. "Welcome to the chaos," she said with a laugh.

“Over there is Isaac," Luke continued, motioning toward a lanky guy sitting on the bleachers, flipping through his phone. "He’s our distance swimmer. Don’t let his chill demeanor fool you—he can swim a mile faster than most of us can run.”

Isaac lifted his head and gave you a lazy wave, flashing a grin. “Hey.”

"And that’s Ava," Luke said, gesturing to a tall, broad-shouldered girl who was stretching her legs by the edge of the pool. "She’s the team's powerhouse in backstroke."

Ava gave you a friendly nod but didn’t stop her stretches. “Nice to meet you,” she called, her voice calm and focused.

You smiled, feeling surprisingly at ease. The team seemed laid-back but also serious about their sport. You couldn’t help but admire how dedicated they were. They were all different, yet they worked seamlessly together.

Practice kicked off not long after, and you were quickly thrown into the mix. The coach, a no-nonsense woman named Coach Katie, had you start with some warm-up laps to get a feel for your speed.

Luke swam beside you during your first lap, offering tips and helping you adjust your strokes. “Don’t overthink it,” he said. “The water’s your friend. Just flow with it.”

You nodded, focusing on your breathing and the rhythm of your strokes. After a few laps, the nervousness faded, replaced by a growing sense of familiarity. The water felt less like a challenge and more like an extension of yourself.

The week flew by. Each day felt smoother than the last as you got used to the routine, your teammates, and the sport itself. Luke was always there to offer advice, but you noticed he also gave you space when you needed it. Mia and Isaac kept you laughing during breaks, and Ava’s quiet determination was contagious. And you've been having a good bond with your roommate, Hailey. It became a regular thing. Along with the magically popping food containers on your door step every day. But you think less of it, Hailey's the one who's enjoying all of it anyway.

You got into a groove with your training, and by the end of the week, you felt like you were starting to belong. Your muscles ached, but in a good way. You were pushing yourself, and it felt… right. You didn’t run into Paige once—not at the pool, not in the hallways, not in any of your classes.

It was as if she had never existed in this new chapter of your life.

For the first time in a long time, you felt like you were moving forward. There was no lingering past, no painful memories pulling at you. Just the present—the team, the practice, the friendships slowly forming.

Apparently, you learned that the team was gearing up for a competition the day after tomorrow. It’s currently the Big East season, and you’ll be competing against Villanova. It’s an away game, and Coach Katie needs everyone locked in. So, you spent your free time practicing with the team.

Competition Day. You’re all lining up to board the school bus for the swim team when you notice another bus parked beside it. Students in athletic gear are also lining up to board it.

“It’s the basketball team. I heard we have the same venue this time,” Mia explains as she notices you staring. “They’re playing Villanova’s women’s basketball team.”

You scan their line, your eyes searching for a certain blonde. There she is, you think. Paige is standing there, chatting animatedly with her two teammates about something funny. One of them has a number 10 on her gear. And there’s Azzi. If it isn’t Azzi Fudd.

Suddenly, you catch the number 10 girl staring at you and saying something to Paige, who quickly turns her head toward your direction.

Shit, were you caught? You're not supposed to know her!

Thankfully, it’s your turn to load the bus. As you walk up the steps and find a seat, you feel eyes on you from outside. You can’t help but glance back. There’s no harm in it as long as you don’t show any emotion or recognition, you tell yourself. The number 10 girl has a small smile on her face and shakes her head at Paige. Meanwhile, Paige is still looking at you through the window with a blank expression on her face. But what shocks you the most is Azzi’s expression. It’s a mix of recognition and something between troubled and apologetic.

You turn back around and take your seat then sighed. This is going to be a long day.

A/N: Don't get me wrong guys, I love Azzi very muchhh. She's a princess. This is just for the plot! Much lovee <3

Taglist: @sjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjj @0phantom0 @authentic-girl03 @thelightknight21 @shartnugget26

[claramelooo]

CRIMSON REVERIE

Literaries references today, huh? I hope you like it.

MINORS DO NOT MUST INTERACT

Warning: +18, NSFW, Dirty talk, feet fetish

Summary: The witch makes you hers, finally.

Hey! Now I've a masterlist

POETRY

The days after the camp were a mixture of tension and inevitability. You and Wanda seemed to orbit each other, like planets drawn by the gravity of something far greater than either of you was willing to admit.

In the classroom, the glances between you two grew more intense. Sometimes, you could feel her gaze fixed on you, so burning that it was impossible not to shiver. Once, while reading aloud, your voice faltered because Wanda tilted her head subtly, her green eyes evaluating every detail of you as if you were the only thing that mattered in that moment.

The atmosphere felt heavy, as if the air was thick with something no one could explain, but which you felt deeply.

You felt her gaze land on you from time to time. It wasn’t just any look—it was something burning, filled with intensity, as if she were waiting for you to do something, anything, to draw her attention even more.

The classroom was immersed in an almost reverent silence, except for Wanda Maximoff’s soft voice as she read a passage from Crime and Punishment. She moved between the desks with a copy of the book in hand, the afternoon light streaming through the windows and illuminating her red hair like a profane halo.

“‘Man has become so accustomed to reasoning about everything and always on the basis of arguments that he has forgotten it is also possible to argue against his own arguments.’” She closed the book with a gentle motion, but the snap of the cover echoed through the room like a warning.

Her eyes rose to the students but landed on you with surgical precision. A familiar heat climbed your neck, and you looked away, pretending to jot something in your notebook.

"Y/n," she called, and your heart nearly stopped. "What’s your interpretation of this passage?"

You lifted your eyes slowly, feeling the weight of her stare. Wanda tilted her head slightly, her lips curling into a smile that only you could decipher: provocation, curiosity, and something much deeper.

"Well..." you began, trying to keep your voice steady. "Maybe it’s about how people can rationalize even what they know is wrong. Justifying the unjustifiable. A kind of... psychological game, maybe."

She narrowed her eyes, clearly amused. "Interesting. But do you think it’s just a game? That there are no consequences for those who play it?"

The hidden meaning behind her words hit you like a blow. Your defiant gaze met hers, and a tense silence filled the room.

"That depends," you replied, holding her gaze. "Some games are worth the risk. As long as the players are willing to go all the way."

The students exchanged confused glances, feeling the weight in the air but unable to grasp the true reason.

Yelena, sitting two seats over, raised an exaggerated eyebrow, her eyes darting between you and Wanda as if trying to piece together a complicated puzzle. She leaned toward Bucky, who was on the other side, and whispered: “What the hell is she doing?”

Bucky bit the end of his pen, clearly trying not to laugh. “No idea, but... this is weird as hell.”

"Weird?" Yelena rolled her eyes. "This is a show. Don’t you feel it? It’s like watching a Russian soap opera, but without subtitles."

Bucky gave her a light slap on the arm, stifling a laugh. “Shut up; Bishop’s taking notes. She might sell the script later.”

Kate, sitting further back, looked at them with a mock-indignant expression. “I’m here trying to understand Dostoevsky, and you two are commentating like it’s halftime at a game?”

Yelena shrugged, gesturing toward the teacher. “Sorry, but Maximoff’s looking at Y/n like she’s about to eat her. How do you expect us to focus?”

You heard the whispers and felt your face heat even more, but you didn’t dare turn to face them. Instead, you focused on Wanda, who seemed perfectly unaware of the murmurs—or, more likely, ignored them because she was too busy teasing you.

Yelena crossed her arms, a mischievous grin forming on her lips. “This is gonna go south, Buck.”

Bucky snorted. “It’s already gone south. What’s left is how far.”

Wanda couldn’t deny it—you were a daring little brat. Too clever for your own good, confident in a way that made her skin prickle with irritation—and something darker, more visceral. It was like watching someone play a dangerous game without understanding the stakes. And yet, it drew her in, making her fingers itch with need.

"Interesting perspective, Y/n," Wanda said, her voice low, almost lazy, as she approached your desk. Each step seemed calculated, and the sound of her heels on the floor reverberated through the room like the tick of a countdown clock. She stopped beside you, close enough for you to feel her warmth, and tilted her head with an enigmatic smile. "But sometimes, it’s worth remembering that some players might not be as prepared as they think. Wouldn’t you agree?"

You lifted your eyes to her, meeting the gaze that seemed determined to unravel you completely. “Sometimes you just have to play to find out how far you can go,” you murmured, your voice firm, though the heat in your cheeks betrayed your vulnerability.

Wanda felt a wave of desire and frustration mingle. How dare you? Here, in front of everyone, with no fear. She wanted to smile, but the control she needed to exert was like a tight chain around her will. Her instincts screamed to put you in your place, to shatter that confidence that challenged her at every turn.

She stepped back with the same calculated calm, but inside, she felt the tension pulsing through every cell. Her fingers tingled with the desire to trace your jawline, to replace that defiant smile with something softer, more submissive.

The room seemed to hold its breath, every student frozen in the moment, unsure of what exactly was happening. But Wanda knew. And you knew. And, in that instant, she promised herself that the lesson she’d mentioned would be taught—intensely, memorably, and entirely on her terms.

Then, the shrill sound of the bell echoed through the room, and the students began to rise, packing their things as the buzz of conversation grew. You prepared to leave too, but before you could take more than two steps, Wanda passed by you, her intoxicating perfume filling the air.

She leaned in slightly, her lips almost brushing your ear, and murmured low but firm: “My office. Now.”

The commanding tone made your legs tremble, and you barely managed to gather your notebooks, each movement hesitant and clumsy. When you arrived at her office, the atmosphere felt stiflingly charged. The door barely closed behind you before Wanda turned and crossed the space with quick steps.

Without warning, her hands grabbed your arms, pulling you close, your back colliding with the wooden desk. The sound of objects shifting on impact seemed insignificant compared to the weight of the moment.

"How dare you?" Wanda whispered, her voice low yet brimming with authority and something more—something that made every cell in your body vibrate.

Her hands were firm and possessive against your body, exploring without hesitation, marking you with her heavy touch. Her eyes glowed with a hypnotic red, and you felt as though you were being pulled into an abyss.

You should have apologized, should have yielded, but instead, your hand reached up, cupping her face as you pulled her into an urgent and dominating kiss. Your lips collided as if the world were ending, as if time was too fleeting for hesitation.

Wanda responded with a low growl, her fingers gripping your waist tightly enough to leave marks. Her taste was intoxicating—a blend of control and desire that made your head spin. You felt like you were drowning in the red sea that was Wanda Maximoff, and there was nothing in the world you wanted more than to lose yourself completely in that ocean.

The room seemed to vibrate with the energy radiating from Wanda. Objects around you began to tremble, then levitate. Books, chairs, and even the desk started floating in the air, swirling in a chaotic vortex of pure power.

Wanda pushed you further against the desk as she herself seemed consumed by the intensity of her emotions. Her hand moved to encircle your neck, her fingers firm but calculated, as if she measured her strength precisely.

"You're such a naughty girl..." her voice was low, husky, almost a purr. "It drives me crazy to—"

Her sentence broke off, her breath ragged as her eyes burned a vivid red. The scarlet hue spread throughout the room, enveloping everything. You felt a wave of heat and power coursing through the space, making your skin tingle.

Her hands on your neck were firm, possessive, but far from cruel. The control Wanda maintained, even with her powers teetering on the edge of chaos, was overwhelmingly impressive. The pressure was just enough to make you feel small, vulnerable—exactly as she wanted.

"I should punish you for being so defiant," she continued, her voice dripping with desire and authority, her fingers tightening slightly as she tilted her head to watch you with hungry eyes. "You provoke me, and now... you should face the consequences, don't you think, little one?"

The chaos in the room intensified. Books flew open, pages ripping through the magical crimson wind, chairs spinning in the air, and the sound of furniture crashing against walls was muffled by the pounding of your heartbeat. It was mesmerizing—the woman before you truly powerful.

And you knew you should fear her.

But you weren't afraid. The heat rising through your body was more intense than anything else, an intoxicating blend of submission and excitement. You met Wanda's eyes, making it clear you didn't want to stop.

Her smile was predatory, satisfied, as she leaned in to claim your mouth again. The kiss was overwhelming, a reflection of the storm around you, and you lost yourself in it, lost in the red sea that was Wanda Maximoff.

You gasped when Wanda finally loosened her grip on your neck, but the red glow in her eyes still burned. Your mind was a mess, every part of your body pulsing in response to her touch. But you didn't want to surrender completely—not yet.

"Is that all you've got?" The words slipped out before you could think, your tone full of provocation. Your chest heaved, adrenaline mixed with desire coursing through every fiber of your being.

Her smile vanished for a moment, replaced by something far more dangerous. Her eyes narrowed as she pulled you even closer, your bodies practically pressed together. "You really want to play with fire, my little girl?"

"Maybe," you replied, feeling the heat rise to your face. "Or maybe I just think the Scarlet Witch isn't all she's cracked up to be."

Her reaction was instant. The red in the room exploded in intensity, and for a moment, it seemed like the very air vibrated. Her hands released your body, but only because she took a step back, her gaze fixed on you as if deciding what to do.

A whirlwind formed around your bodies, lifting you slightly off the ground.

"You have no idea who you're dealing with," she whispered, but there was something deeper in her voice, a tone that didn’t belong solely to Wanda.

That’s when you saw it. The red in her eyes intensified, her pupils consumed by the scarlet glow. Her posture shifted, her shoulders straighter, her head tilted in a way that exuded pure power.

"Oh, you wanted to play, didn't you?" Her voice was different, deeper, laden with an energy that made your knees tremble. "Now you have my full attention."

Your breath hitched as the Scarlet Witch stepped forward, her power so palpable it weighed down the air.

She raised a hand, and you were pulled closer without her needing to touch you. Her gaze was locked onto yours, both challenging and ravenous. "Now tell me, little rebel," she teased, her smile almost cruel. "Is this what you wanted? The real me?"

You swallowed hard but still found the strength to respond. "Maybe I just wanted to see how far you'd go."

Her laugh echoed through the room, low and dangerous, as the chaos around you intensified. "You have no idea, my dear. But I'll show you. Slowly. Until you can't take it anymore."

She extended a hand, the crimson glow dancing at her fingertips as the world around you seemed to vanish, leaving only you and her in the eye of a scarlet storm.

"I bet you were crazy for this too," Wanda murmured against your neck as she marked it with her teeth. "God— I can smell you from here."

Wanda's kiss was devastating, a collision of desire and possessiveness that left you utterly breathless. Your lips moved against hers with overwhelming intensity, as if the entire world had vanished, leaving only her. When you finally pulled apart, a thread of saliva, glistening and tinged crimson, connected you—a vivid reminder of the fervor you had shared.

You felt like you were in heaven, in a place no one had ever taken you before. Your heart pounded in your chest, your entire body trembling from a mix of excitement and shock. Wanda's hands roamed boldly over your body, leaving a trail of heat wherever they touched.

But then reality hit you like a cold wave. This wasn’t right. It wasn’t right with Vision, with her children, and not even with yourself.

“Wanda, wait," you murmured, your voice trembling as you grasped her wrist, halting her touch that was making your head spin.

It took her a moment to process your words, her red eyes still blazing with raw energy. Her primal instincts were on full display, and for a moment, it seemed as though she couldn’t hear anything beyond the call of her own hunger.

"What now?" she whispered, her voice hoarse, still dripping with desire.

"This... isn’t right," you stammered, your eyes filled with a mix of guilt and confusion. "Vision, the boys... you..."

Wanda blinked, as if your words had finally pierced through her haze. The red glow in her eyes gradually dimmed, the intensity giving way to something more human—something more painful.

"Shit," she muttered under her breath, pulling away from you, her hands still trembling. She ran a hand through her hair, messing it up as she tried to compose herself. "Shit, shit, shit."

The frustration in her voice was palpable, but there was also something else—a guilt buried deep, like a twisted knife in her chest.

"You promised you’d sort things out soon!" you burst out, your voice louder than you intended, but the frustration that had been building for days needed release. "I’m here, Wanda. I’m waiting for you. And in the meantime, I’m stuck in this limbo, not knowing what’s real or what you want from me!"

Her eyes narrowed, and for a moment, the silence between you was heavy as lead. Then Wanda took a step back, her fists clenched, but her gaze still fixed on you.

"You think this is easy for me?" Her voice was low, almost a growl. "You think I don’t think about this every second? That I don’t want to throw everything away and just... take you away? Make you mine?"

You swallowed hard but didn’t back down. "Then why don’t you? Why keep playing with me like I’m just... another piece on your chessboard?"

Wanda laughed, but it was hollow, devoid of humor. "Because it’s not just about you and me, Y/n! Do you understand what’s at stake here? My life. My children. My reputation. Everything I’ve built could fall apart because of this."

"And what about me?!" you shot back, tears stinging your eyes, though you refused to let them fall. "Am I the only one who has to carry this alone? To deal with the guilt, the doubt, the desire? Because it feels like while you can have me and still keep everything intact, I only have you."

Wanda hesitated, and for the first time, you saw something like vulnerability in her eyes. But it was fleeting, replaced quickly by the fire you knew so well.

"You think I don’t feel the same?" she asked, stepping closer to you again, her voice softer but loaded with emotion. "You think I’m not drowning in this as much as you are?"

"Then why does it feel like I’m the only one losing control?" you murmured, your voice now shaky.

Wanda sighed, running a hand through her hair, as though trying to pull herself together but failing miserably. "Because I’m good at hiding it, Y/n. I had to learn. But you..." She stopped, her eyes scanning your face, your body. "You’re so young. So raw. Perfect to mold—" Her hands trembled with a deep excitement. "And that’s what destroys me. Because when I’m with you, I forget everything that’s supposed to matter. Everything that’s supposed to hold me back."

Her words tightened a knot in your chest, because they echoed a truth you couldn’t admit to yourself. "And now?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Wanda stepped even closer, her hands cupping your face with a gentleness that seemed at odds with the intensity you’d just shared. "Now, we drown together," she said, her eyes blazing again, but this time with something deeper, more sincere. "Because I’m not letting you go. And I know you won’t either."

You both remained silent for a long moment after your intense exchange of words. The weight of tension still hung heavily in the air, but now there was something different—an undeniable determination in her green eyes. She began pacing the room, clearly trying to organize her thoughts.

"I can’t keep doing this," she finally said, abruptly stopping and turning to face you.

You frowned, confused. "What do you mean?"

"Wanting you close but having to hold back. Trying to keep up appearances while feeling like I’m going to explode every time I see you."

Your heart pounded in your chest, but you kept your tone cautious. "So, what are you thinking?"

A small smile curled her lips—not the warm smile you sometimes saw, but something more calculated, almost predatory. "I’ve had an idea, my sweet. And maybe it’ll be enough until I can sort things out."

Wanda stepped closer, leaning in as if to share a forbidden secret. "The boys need a private tutor. Someone to help them with the subjects they’re struggling with."

You blink, processing her words. "And you want me to... be that person?"

Her smile widened, as though she was pleased with how quickly you’d caught on. "Of course. This way, I can keep an eye on you without having to come up with excuses. Without needing to hide how much I want to be near you."

The idea made your head spin. "Wanda, that’s... complicated. Wouldn’t it seem strange? What about Vision?"

The smile faded for a moment, and her eyes glinted with something darker. "Vision is gone most of the time, busy with work. And as for complicated..." She moved even closer, her breath warm against your skin. "We’re already complicated, Y/n. This just makes things easier."

You felt your resistance melt under her intense gaze. "And the boys?"

"They’ll love you," she said, as though there was no doubt about it. "Besides, you’re smart, patient, and..." Her fingers slid down your arm, her eyes glowing with a mix of desire and adoration. "I trust no one else near them. Or near me."

It was a dangerous proposition—an invitation to dive even deeper into something that already felt impossible to escape. But the way she looked at you, as if the entire universe revolved around you, made it impossible to say no.

"Alright," you finally murmured, feeling as though you were crossing an invisible but definitive line. "I’ll do it."

The smile Wanda gave you was both triumphant and filled with something you couldn’t entirely identify. She reached up to caress your face, her fingers warm against your skin. "You made the right choice, darling. Trust me. I’ll take care of everything for us."

[...]

The Saturday morning dawned sunny, but inside Wanda's house, the atmosphere was a meticulously orchestrated chaos.

"Billy, Tommy, have you cleaned your rooms? I don't want anything out of place!" Wanda called from the kitchen while arranging a plate of freshly baked cookies on the table.

Billy sighed loudly from upstairs. "I already did, Mom! Why does she even need to see my room, anyway?"

Tommy appeared in the living room with a bored expression. "It's just a tutor, Mom. Chill."

Wanda stopped, looking at him with an intensity that made him take a step back. "She's more than that. I want you to make a good impression—no, a great one. Understood?"

The boys exchanged knowing glances but said nothing more. They knew arguing with their mother in this state was pointless.

But if she wasn’t just a tutor, then what was she?

Wanda adjusted the couch pillows for the tenth time and looked around. The house was spotless, the aroma of cookies filling the air. She took a deep breath, feeling the growing excitement in her chest. "Everything needs to be perfect," she murmured to herself.

And then, the doorbell rang.

When you stepped in, Wanda was at the door with a smile that seemed a little wider than usual, the gleam in her eyes betraying her excitement. Seeing you in her home, with her kids—your kids—made everything feel so right.

"Welcome, Y/n. It’s so good to see you."

You smiled shyly, holding a small backpack. "Thank you, professor. It’s a pleasure to be here."

Wanda gestured for you to come in. "Please, just Wanda here. Come, I want to introduce you to the boys."

Billy and Tommy were in the living room, sitting on the couch, clearly curious but trying to play it cool.

"Boys, this is Y/n, your new tutor. Y/n, these are my sons, Billy and Tommy."

You waved a little nervously. "Hi, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I hope we can have fun while learning."

Billy smiled shyly. "Hi."

Tommy was more straightforward. "My mom says you’re funny. Is that true?"

You chuckled softly, relaxing a bit. "Well, that depends on you. But I can try."

Tommy tilted his head, a glint of challenge already in his eyes. "Then show me what you’ve got."

You tilted your head, thinking for a moment before saying:

"Alright, here goes: Why did the book go to the hospital?"

Tommy frowned, confused. "Why?"

Billy, now curious, asked, "What happened to it?"

You gave a playful smile. "Because it broke its spine!"

Billy burst out laughing while Tommy tried to hold back but ended up laughing too, shaking his head.

"That was terrible!" Tommy said, but the grin on his face gave away that he enjoyed it.

"Terrible? I’d call it genius," you replied, crossing your arms with an air of mock superiority.

"Yeah. She’s kinda cool," Tommy muttered to Billy, who nodded in agreement.

You asked them to sit down and share which subjects they found most challenging. Billy and Tommy glanced at each other, as if sharing a secret no one else could understand. The silent connection between them was so palpable that you felt a pang of affection.

"History," they replied in unison, making you chuckle softly, fascinated by how synchronized they were, even in the smallest details.

The twins were captivating. Their eyes sparkled with intelligence and a lively energy that felt familiar, as if a piece of Wanda was in each of them, yet they were uniquely themselves. You couldn’t help but be charmed, feeling something warm bloom in your chest—a feeling you couldn’t quite name.

"History…" You held the word in the air for a moment, as if it had weight. "Can you be more specific? Art history? Greek history? Norse history? American history?" You offered the options playfully, but they didn’t seem very impressed.

"All of them," they replied without hesitation, their casual tone making you raise your eyebrows.

You narrowed your eyes, leaning slightly forward as if engaging in a silent duel. "Alright, gentlemen… Listen closely," you began, your voice taking on a solemn yet warm tone. "I’m going to make you love history. Or my name isn’t Y/n."

The defiant tone awakened something in the boys. Tommy crossed his arms with a mischievous grin, while Billy tried to maintain a serious expression but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Alright, Miss,” Tommy replied, his tone brimming with competitive enthusiasm. “We accept your challenge.”

Billy nodded, his eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Let’s see if you can do it.”

As you observed them, you realized that in just a few minutes, they had already tugged at your heartstrings. They weren’t just adorable; they were spirited, curious, and full of life. You smiled at them, feeling a connection growing—a quiet and unexpected bond, like their presence filled a space you hadn’t known was empty.

You picked up a book on Greek mythology and stood in front of the boys, holding it as if it were a secret treasure. “Ready to dive into tales of gods, monsters, and heroes?” you asked, your eyes sparkling with excitement.

Billy and Tommy nodded eagerly, their gazes fixed on you.

“It all begins at the dawn of time, when there was nothing but chaos,” you said, spreading your arms dramatically, as if summoning the void. “Then, suddenly, Gaia, the Earth, and Uranus, the Sky, were born. They had children... lots of children. But do you know what Uranus did?”

The boys shook their heads, curiosity piqued.

“He got scared of them! So, he locked them in Tartarus, the deepest, darkest place in the world.” You leaned closer, lowering your voice to build suspense. “But one of them, Cronus, wasn’t having it. He rebelled and became the king of the gods.”

“That’s so cool,” Tommy murmured, his eyes wide.

“Oh, but wait,” you said, raising a finger. “Cronus had a problem. A prophecy said one of his children would overthrow him. So, do you know what he did?”

“What?” Billy asked, completely engrossed.

“He… ate his own children!” you exclaimed, mimicking the gesture with your hands as if devouring something.

“Ew, gross!” Tommy said, wrinkling his nose but laughing at the same time.

“But,” you continued, lifting a finger theatrically, “their mother, Rhea, wasn’t about to let that happen. She hid the youngest, Zeus, and gave Cronus a rock wrapped in cloth instead. Cronus didn’t even notice!”

Billy burst out laughing. “What an idiot!”

“And then Zeus grew up, defeated Cronus, saved his siblings, and became the king of the gods. Which leads to a ton of other crazy stories... but this is just the beginning.”

At that moment, you noticed Wanda standing in the doorway, watching the scene with a nearly imperceptible smile on her lips.

“You’re impressing the boys,” she commented, her voice soft but full of something that made your heart skip a beat.

You shrugged, trying to hide your blush. “Well, with a story like that, it’s hard not to keep their attention, right?”

“It’s more than that,” Wanda replied, her eyes glinting with something you couldn’t quite decipher. “You have a special way with them. And with stories.”

“I like kids. And stories,” you whispered, just for her.

You turned back to the boys, smiling. “Alright, next question: Who thinks they’d have the guts to face a titan like Cronus?”

“Me!” Tommy immediately raised his hand.

“And me!” Billy chimed in excitedly.

You laughed, charmed by their energy. “Well, let’s see how you do in the next challenges!”

As you continued the story, you felt Wanda’s gaze still on you. It wasn’t just pride for the boys or appreciation for your teaching methods. It was something deeper, more complex—something as ancient and powerful as the myths you were recounting.

Wanda stood by the garden door, arms crossed, watching the scene with a mix of curiosity and disbelief. From a shaded spot near the garden, she observed the boys laughing and running around you, completely immersed in the recreation of the mythological battle. Their laughter filled the air, a melody that warmed something deep within her chest.

Her eyes drifted back to you. It wasn’t just the way the boys responded to your presence that fascinated her, but also the energy you exuded. There was a passion in your movements, a genuine joy that seemed to radiate and infect everything around you.

But at the same time, there was something more. The sparkle in your eyes when you spoke to the twins, the way you seemed so at ease, even in a new environment… It all made Wanda feel unsettled, as if she were witnessing something that belonged to her being contested.

Out in the garden, you set up an improvised scene. The hose and sprinkler were strategically positioned, ready to represent the turbulent sea that separated the gods from the Norse giants. In one hand, you held a bucket with diluted red paint—your version of mythological blood.

"Alright, warriors!" you said, placing your hands on your hips and addressing Billy and Tommy as if you were about to lead an army. "Today, we're going to reenact one of the greatest battles in Norse mythology: the fight between Thor and Jörmungandr, the World Serpent!"

Tommy blinked, intrigued. "Who’s Jörmun…gandr?" He struggled with the name, making you smile at his cuteness.

"It’s a giant serpent so big it wraps around the world and bites its own tail," you explained, moving your hands in a large circle. "And guess who fights it in the final battle?"

"Thor!" Billy exclaimed enthusiastically.

"Exactly!" you replied, pointing at him as if he’d just earned points. "And today, one of you will be Thor, and the other will be Jörmungandr!"

The two exchanged glances, already excited.

"I’m Thor!" Tommy shouted, lifting a garden spade like a hammer.

"Then I’m the serpent!" Billy declared, grabbing a hose and swinging it as if it were the tail of a giant reptile.

You began narrating, swirling the red paint as if creating a storm in the bucket. "The sea is raging! The sky fills with thunder as Thor approaches the monster!" You turned on the sprinkler, and the spray of water began soaking everyone, simulating the turbulent sea.

"I attack first!" Billy yelled, spraying water from the hose at Tommy.

"Thor doesn’t back down from danger!" you narrated as Tommy charged forward with his spade. "He raises his hammer and—"

"I hit the serpent’s head!" Tommy shouted, lightly striking the ground near Billy with his spade.

"But Jörmungandr doesn’t surrender easily!" you cried, pouring a bit of red paint on the ground around them to simulate spilled blood. "The serpent coils around the hero, trying to crush him!"

Billy began spinning around Tommy, holding the hose as if it were the serpent’s body.

Wanda appeared at the garden door, crossing her arms and observing the scene with a mix of curiosity and incredulity. She remained in the shade of a tree near the garden, where the boys laughed and ran around you, completely immersed in the mythological battle reenactment. The sound of their laughter filled the air, a melody that warmed something deep in her chest. She rarely saw them so happy, so at ease with anyone other than herself.

Her gaze shifted to you. It wasn’t just how the boys responded to your presence that fascinated her but the energy you radiated. There was passion in your gestures, a genuine joy that seemed to infect everything around you.

And then, she noticed.

The sprinkler’s water had soaked your clothes. Your white blouse clung to your skin, outlining the curves of your breasts. Your hardened nipples were visible through the thin fabric. A drop of water slid from your chin to your neck, tracing a slow path that disappeared beneath the wet cloth. Your hair, plastered to your face and shoulders, dripped and gleamed under the afternoon sun.

Wanda swallowed hard, trying to look away. But it was impossible. Something about the scene left her… unsettled. It wasn’t just the sight of your body; it was the way you laughed so freely, as if nothing else existed but that moment.

Wanda wanted... She wanted...

“Are you okay, Mom?” Billy asked, running over to her, still holding the hose.

Wanda quickly composed herself, putting on a smile. “Yes, sweetheart. I’m just enjoying the show.”

He grinned and ran back to the “battlefield,” where you were now pretending to be a Norse dragon attacking Thor.

Wanda sighed, crossing her arms. She needed to remember she was in control. But in that moment, watching you and the boys, she wasn’t so sure that was still true.

“You’re all soaked,” she commented, raising an eyebrow.

“And that’s half the fun!” you replied, laughing as more water sprayed around. “Besides, we’re recreating history. Isn’t it amazing?”

“If this is history, I want to learn more!” Billy shouted, laughing as he tried to escape Tommy.

“Thor wins the battle,” you announced dramatically, pointing at Tommy. “But the serpent’s venom is powerful. He takes one last step and… collapses!”

Tommy pretended to faint on the ground, laughing the entire time.

Wanda shook her head, but there was a smile on her face. “I never thought teaching mythology could be so... wet.”

You shrugged, still smiling. “That’s how you learn, Wanda—with fun and, apparently, a little chaos.”

“Just don’t forget, chaos is my specialty,” she replied, her smile turning a little more mischievous.

And for a moment, you felt like you were part of that small, unlikely family.

[...]

When you entered the house, the energy felt different. The boys' laughter still echoed in your ears, but something in the air had shifted. Wanda stood near the door, her eyes fixed on you with an intensity that was hard to ignore. She leaned slightly, her posture elegant, her gaze locked on you as if studying your every move.

“Boys,” she said firmly, “bath time.”

They groaned for a moment but quickly ran upstairs. Wanda remained there, watching them go before turning her attention back to you.

“You’re soaked. Do you want to change?” she asked, her voice soft but tinged with something you couldn’t quite identify.

You swallowed hard, feeling your heart race. “Yes, please.”

She gestured vaguely toward the hallway. “The bathroom is in my room. There’s a clean shirt in the drawer if you want to use it.”

A sudden nervousness swept over you. This wasn’t what you expected. Her bathroom? It made everything feel… personal. A palpable tension settled between the two of you.

“Thank you,” you murmured, trying to sound casual but feeling the heat rising to your face. You turned and began walking toward her bedroom, your heart pounding faster with each step.

Once inside the bathroom, you shut the door with a deep sigh. The sound of the shower water starting seemed amplified, as if every drop marked the rhythm of your nerves. Slowly, you undressed, the tension in your body increasing as you imagined Wanda outside, still watching you somehow.

The warm water couldn’t entirely wash away the unease gripping you. As you lathered up, your thoughts wandered to the possibilities. You knew Wanda was intense, but that simple gesture—offering her bathroom, her shirt—felt loaded with a significance you weren’t prepared to handle.

You hurried through your shower, trying to shake off the insecurities and focus on the moment. But when you stepped out, you felt even more anxious than before. Her shirt was far too big, the soft fabric clinging to your body in an uncomfortably intimate way. Every small movement, every breath seemed amplified in the quiet room.

You were alone, yet you didn’t feel truly alone. The sensation of being watched, even without Wanda there, lingered. Her aura seemed imprinted on the space, almost suffocating.

As you looked around the room, you noticed her meticulously made bed, the pristine white sheets that looked expensive. Your heart tightened at the thought that it wasn’t you sleeping beside her every night. On the right side of the bed—Wanda’s side, you assumed—there was a book on the nightstand. Curious, you picked it up. But the sound of the door opening startled you, and the book slipped from your hands.

“What did I say about snooping?” The redhead entered the room, crossing her arms beneath her chest, making them seem slightly fuller. There was a mix of irritation and amusement in her gaze.

You glanced at the book’s cover one last time before handing it to Wanda. “Jane Austen is a great writer. I like historical romance too.”

Wanda raised an eyebrow, taking the book from her hands with an expression that suggested she was evaluating her intentions. “‘I have many flaws, but not in understanding, I hope. As for my temper, I can’t guarantee it’s very good. I believe it’s a little too harsh for the world’s conveniences. I can’t forget the madness and vices of others as quickly as I should. Nor the offenses they make against me. My feelings don’t flare up with the slightest effort or attempt. My temperament could be called resentful. Once the good opinion I have of a person is lost, it’s lost forever.’”

You were impressed as she recited Darcy effortlessly. It was so quirky! She must have read it countless times.

A delighted smile formed on her lips. “‘This is truly a flaw,’” you began theatrically. “‘Relentless resentment is a trait that marks a character. You’ve chosen your flaw well. In fact, I can’t laugh at it. There’s no need to be afraid of me.’”

“‘I believe that in every temperament, there’s a tendency toward a particular form of evil, a natural vice that even the best education can’t extinguish.’” Wanda pressed her lips together, but there was a spark of amusement in her eyes. She suddenly laughed at your expression, which had become grumpy.

"And your flaw is a tendency to threaten to shoot red power balls at everyone, I imagine," you shot back, just as if you were talking about real life.

"Ah, and yours is irritating everyone with that sharp tongue of yours. I believe that applies perfectly here, by the end of the conversation."

You clicked your tongue before moving closer to her. "No... Darcy was a bit detestable at first. You're more like Katherine from The Taming of the Shrew." Your tone was mocking, but your voice had grown lower, almost intimate.

It’s funny how natural it is that your flirtations and jabs turned into shared literary tastes. Classics are always welcome at the worst of times, and just by Wanda’s deadly gaze, she certainly knows who Katherine is.

Wanda raised an eyebrow, her gaze sharp as a blade. "And I suppose you’re the stubborn beast of Petruchio, aren't you?"

You laughed, closing the distance between you. The heat radiating from her skin was intoxicating. "I don't usually cast myself as the male part of any story, but since you made the comparison... Katherine ends up tamed and married to Petruchio." Your insinuation made Wanda lick her lips, a visible attempt to contain her growing irritation.

"Are you implying you can tame me? As if I were some wild creature?" Wanda stepped forward, and you realized you were about to cross an important line.

You studied her face, every detail—the furrow between her brows, her clenched jaw. She was beautiful, furious, and captivating. Your heart raced, and the desire to kiss her became almost unbearable.

"Not a wild creature, but you can certainly be tamed." Your tone was full of provocation, but the intensity in your eyes betrayed something else.

The pressure in the room intensified, and Wanda’s control shattered. Her powers began to manifest; a faint red glow appeared in her eyes, and objects around you started to levitate slowly. The air grew heavier, charged with tension and raw magic.

"I’d kill you right now if I could," Wanda growled, her voice low and threatening, but her eyes gleamed with something deeper—a conflict between anger and desire.

The fuse. The pulse between your legs was about to drive you crazy. You smiled, a wicked grin full of desire.

"Well, lucky for you, you can't." With a swift movement, you pulled her neck, thrusting your tongue into her mouth. Wanda moaned against your lips, a sound that reverberated through you like an electric shock.

At first, she resisted. Her lips were tense, her body rigid. But then, control shattered completely. Wanda surrendered to the kiss with an almost desperate ferocity, her hands grabbing your hair, pulling you closer.

Objects around you continued to float, creating a chaotic spectacle in the room. But neither of you seemed to care. All that existed was the heat, the touch, the taste of each other.

She pulled you by the hair, seeing her from above—so powerful, it couldn’t be more exciting.

"You’re so unbearable..." She murmured, her lower lip trapped between her teeth.

"Oh, come on! You don’t know the reputation you have at the university?" You shot back, giving her a provocative smile. Wanda's eyes shone wild, and she yanked your hair again, pulling your neck along.

"Say it." She demanded, biting the curve of your ear.

"They say you like this." Your voice came out broken by the small bites Wanda was placing on your neck.

"Like what, dekta?" Her veiny hands caressed your body with lust, and it made your head spin.

"You—"

She interrupted you with a hard bite to your shoulder—it was clear she was taking out her anger on you.

"That I like little girls with a clever mouth? Who like to challenge me so I can break every last bit of their confidence?" The woman bit your breast, still covered by fabric. "Oh, darling. They couldn’t be more right."

And then, there, under Wanda’s command — you understood.

She did it all the time. She diminished you, devalued you on purpose. It didn’t matter how flawless your work was; Wanda always found a way to belittle it, to clip your wings before you could fly. Every sharp remark, every gaze that seemed to pierce through your soul, was carefully calculated to chip away at your confidence. She humiliated you, intimidated you…

And in some twisted way, it aroused you more than you cared to admit.

Never before had you been the object of such specific, visceral attention. It was wrong — you knew that. But the intensity in her gaze, the way she deliberately kept you under her control, stirred something deep within you.

It was a power game — cruel, immoral — yet irresistibly magnetic. And you couldn’t look away.

Wanda tugged harder on your hair, forcing your legs to give out from the pain. "Shh... Don’t fight, darling," she whispered against your lips. "Kneel. Know your place."

Your knees hit the floor, and all you could see was the victorious smile on her face.

"Right beneath me," she murmured. "With those doe-like, pleading eyes." She exhaled deeply, as if she’d been holding her breath for too long.

She stepped back, leaving you staring at the floor alone. The only sound was the soft tapping of her footsteps on the wooden floor and the lingering warmth of her power that filled the room.

When you lifted your head, determined to face her, the sight before you was nothing short of glorious — Wanda seated in a green armchair by the window overlooking the neighborhood. She looked majestic, glowing with a scarlet aura, making it impossible not to submit.

This wasn’t just Wanda Maximoff. This was The Scarlet Witch.

Your mouth went dry. Even without experience, you knew what you wanted — what you needed. But Wanda seemed to know more than you did, because her smug smile only made your core pulse with need. The rhythm of her crossed legs swaying ever so slightly seemed to call to you.

“Crawl.”

The witch’s harsh command struck you, and adrenaline surged through your veins, making you tremble. “Crawl to me, pet, and I’ll spare you.”

A witch like Wanda possessed countless abilities, infinite powers. Yet, as she watched you crawl toward her, Wanda understood the true meaning of power.

It was a feeling that transcended magic, surpassing the control she wielded over the world around her. It was deeper, more primal. The witch within her wanted to claim everything — her space, her pain, her vengeance. But most of all, she wanted to claim you.

When you stopped at her feet, Wanda tilted her head as if examining an unfinished masterpiece. Her hand slid to your face, her touch gentler than she had intended. Her fingers traced the curve of your jaw, trembling slightly when they reached your chin.

Her voice was low but commanding. There was no room for doubt. It wasn’t a request; it was a demand. Her eyes glowed intensely, the energy around her flickering like a halo of power.

She uncrossed her legs with an almost feline grace, letting her bare foot rest on the floor as she leaned back comfortably in the green chair. Every movement she made was imbued with natural sensuality, as if she was born to be worshipped.

“Let’s see if your instincts are as sharp as your tongue,” she teased, a slight smirk on her lips, fully aware you were ensnared in her spell.

You hesitated for a moment, your heart pounding in your chest. Wanda seemed untouchable — like a goddess carved in marble. Strong, imposing, unreachable — and yet, all you wanted was to kneel before her.

Shame and desire blended together. You were desperate to please her, to be worthy of being at her feet.

“I’m waiting,” Wanda arched a brow, her tone impatient. “Or are you all talk? Prove you can do more than provoke.”

Your breath grew heavier as your knees touched the floor once more. Her words echoed like a commandment. Prove yourself. Show her you understand. That she is everything.

Your eyes locked on the delicate curve of her ankle, the bones shifting subtly beneath her pale skin. Her foot was perfect, every detail made to be adored.

Your mouth went dry, but the primal desire rising within you overwhelmed everything else.

Slowly, you tilted your head, never breaking eye contact with Wanda. The world seemed to stop. Nothing else mattered except this moment, the connection between the two of you.

“Good girl,” Wanda’s voice came as a rare praise, sending a shiver down your spine.

You didn’t know if she was using magic or if it was simply the power she had over you, but you felt as though you were under a spell. Every movement you made was guided by an ancient instinct — a desire to worship, to surrender completely.

Your lips brushed against the top of her foot, and Wanda let out a satisfied sigh. The tension in the air shifted, replaced by something more intimate. More profound.

“Keep going.”

You obeyed without hesitation, tracing kisses along the arch of her foot. Your trembling fingers barely dared to touch her. Wanda was more than human. She was pure power, and you felt every particle of it.

Wanda’s eyes closed for a brief moment, her lips parting in a silent sigh. When she looked back at you, there was something softer in her gaze. Admiration? Satisfaction? Perhaps even… affection.

“See how easy that is?” Her voice remained firm, but there was a tenderness hidden within her words. “My little pet knows exactly where she belongs, doesn’t she?”

You nodded, never breaking eye contact.

“Say it.”

Your voice trembled, but it carried truth. “At your feet.”

Wanda’s smile widened, not with arrogance, but with contentment.

“Good girl.”

Then she leaned down just enough to capture your mouth in a bruising kiss, drawing a moan of satisfaction from both of you.

“Mommy should give you your reward now, shouldn’t she?”

Then there was that damned M word that made your belly contract. You squirmed at how hard it was for you to hold back, so you sought some relief in the friction of your own thighs.

Wanda opened herself to you like a flower, and at that moment you discovered that the older woman was not wearing panties, making her bittersweet scent rise to you, making your salivate.

“Do you want it, pet?” She asked, lifting her hips a little so you could see better and you felt like you might faint.

“Please, please…” You found yourself in an endless loop of begging, which made Wanda smile as she panted in lust.

“Such a good girl… She learned so quickly to beg for mommy’s pussy.” She stroked your chin, so gently that you rubbed against her hand like a cat seeking affection from its owner.

“Come, pet. Take it all.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. Giving a big lick with the base of your tongue just to taste it, you hear her take a deep breath, relaxing into the upholstery. Her scent suffocating you and making your eyes roll back.

Letting out a ragged sigh as her warm, soft tongue licked your most intimate juncture, flooding Wanda's senses with intense pleasure. Wanda grips your hair between her fingers, forcing you to look at her.

"Eyes on me, baby girl."

She grinds her hips up involuntarily, seeking more of that skillful, soapy attention. You continue with small kitten licks, leaving Wanda a little trembling with anticipation on top of you. When you move your tongue in large, lazy circles, Wanda moans—encouraging you to push your mouth even further against her pussy.

"Ugh, yes… just like that…"

For Wanda, this was just the beginning. The sordid things she would do to you… Your stupid, naughty little girl mind could not even imagine. The excitement isn't just in the act. In fact, it never was. Everything she imagined since she laid eyes on you. Everything. It was already underway.

Your little face between her legs only proves it.

“Fuck, you're good… so good for your mommy.��

Wanda's moans leave you senseless, her praises blur your mind and you feel like you need a lot more of this. Your mouth moves away from the woman's clit to leave small wet kisses on her thigh.

The witch's eyes glow red with a fierce and predatory glow, the hunger burning stronger than ever.

“Don't tease me, stupid little slut…” Wanda says through gritted teeth, making you moan at the insult. “Get back to work and show me what a talented little pussy-sucker you can be…”

A feral growl rumbles in your chest, her teasing… leaving you with a wild desire to be good for her, to please her more than anything.

“Now, suck my clit like the eager little slut I know you are…”

You can only obey the witch’s request. Pushing your mouth even further against her pussy, it’s when you scrape your teeth against the woman’s clit that you hear her howl—pain and pleasure. A raw, guttural scream leaves Wanda’s throat as you tease her sensitive, swollen bud with just the right amount of pressure and force.

“Uuuunghhhh, God…!” She grinds her hips against your insistent mouth, seeking more of the sharp, exquisite sensation.

“Don’t stop, don’t you dare stop, fuck! I’m going to kill you!” Her fingers fist in your hair, tugging mercilessly as she rides your tongue with wild abandon.

The scarlet red all over the room, the incandescent, magical glow boiling on your skin. “You’re going to make me cum, naughty girl, just like that… Mommy’s little young slut is going to make her cum… Right there, yes!” The witch’s back arches off the chair, her entire being centered on the intense, violent pleasure radiating from her core.

You feel everything around you literally spin. Glancing out of the corner of your eye, you see the bed floating across the room, hitting the ceiling—it’s mind-boggling.

“OH FUCK, OH FUCK, FUCK, DO IT, PET!”

The words dissolve into raw, wild sounds as her climax overtakes her, waves of ecstasy crashing over her in a relentless torrent.

You feel the older woman’s legs tremble above you. Your ego soaring, you don’t even notice the woman’s still red eyes above you. As your orgasm subsides, Wanda notices your awestruck gaze, still transfixed by the spectral, crimson display of the displaced objects.

“Yeah, kind of like that…” She smiles teasingly, watching your lips wet with her pleasure.

Wanda pulls you by the back of your neck, clashing your lips in a fight that she would clearly win.

"Mommy isn't done with you yet, honey…" she murmurs like a solemn promise.

"Mommy…" You say softly, still mesmerized by her and still kneeling.

Something about how you say it makes Wanda savor the word. "Say it again." She commands, looking into your eyes.

"Mommy." You repeat, now more confident.

The older woman hums in approval and gets up from the chair, her legs still a little shaky from the recent orgasm.

She throws you on top of her king-size bed and walks over to you with superhuman eyes.

"Mommy is dying to take what is rightfully hers."

She climbs on top of you, taking off the blouse that covers you and making obscene movements on top of your jeans.

"Nobody touched here, did they, honey? You didn't let anyone touch that tight pussy, did you?"

You gasped and denied it vehemently. The words coming out of the woman's mouth were making you dumb.

"No… I'm a virgin."

You say and feel the woman's wicked smile on the curve of your neck.

"Of course you are. You're made for me… such a good girl waiting for me."

The woman's lips traveled the length of your neck, giving you goosebumps. Wanda's hands trembled with restraint as she stared at your soft skin, the delicate folds and tempting curves yet to be savored. With a deft movement, she undoes your shorts, dragging the jeans down your thighs while her gaze remains fixed on the flesh that awaits her.

"Mommy will use all your holes until you become a perfect, dumb whore for her," she said with her nails digging into your waist, leaving half-moon marks. "You're perfect…" in her eyes there was adoration for you and nothing else.

The words left Wanda’s mouth in a reverent whisper, almost as if they were a secret reserved only for you. Her eyes glowed, but not with the power you knew so well—not with that menacing red glow. No. Now, they were a deep, warm sea, filled with adoration.

The way she looked at you, even with you beneath her, made your heart race and your skin tingle. There was nothing but devotion in her gaze, as if you were the most precious thing she had ever touched.

Her fingers, strong and steady, slid over your body with care and possession, as if she were committing every curve of yours to memory. You let out a needy moan, unable to contain the wave of desire her words stirred within you. There was something intoxicating about being so vulnerable, so surrendered, and yet somehow feeling in control.

“Look at me,” Wanda murmured, her voice low but full of command. Your eyes didn’t waver for a second. You obeyed, lifting your gaze to meet hers. And there it was—the intensity was almost overwhelming, a kind of fervor that made her legs tremble. There was something so raw about that moment, as if she were seeing into the most hidden parts of his soul and yet choosing to love each and every one of them.

“You have no idea…” Wanda continued, her lips brushing his skin, her breath hot against his neck. “How you make me feel. Powerful. Invincible.”

Even in her submissive position, something in you blossomed under that gaze. Her power felt like an embrace, firm and unshakable, but never cruel. You were exposed, defenseless, but you had never felt so protected.

“You will learn to crave my touch, my presence, as deeply as I crave you. Your perfect, submissive little body belongs to me now. I will mold you, transform you into the most obedient, desperate slut imaginable… and you will beg for the chance to serve me.”

Wanda’s lips brushed the shell of your ear, her hot breath sending shivers down your spine. Each whispered word carried a weight that made your body tremble, not from fear, but from pure anticipation.

“You will be the best toy a witch like me has ever had…” Her voice was a mix of desire and threat, like poisoned honey that you couldn’t resist. “And I will never let you go.”

Her tone was possessive, each syllable carefully loaded with intent. Wanda’s hands slid down your ribs, her fingers pressing lightly against your skin as if she were marking her territory.

“I’m going to tease you until you beg for release,” she continued, her tongue lightly brushing your earlobe, making an involuntary moan escape your lips. “And even then… maybe I won’t give you what you want. Maybe I’ll just stay here…” She slid her lips to your neck, where she placed a hot, slow kiss. “Watching you writhe, completely at my mercy.”

Your breathing quickened, and you felt the muscles in your body tighten. Her heat was almost overwhelming, and the way she spoke—so confident, so in control—made your mind spin with a mix of anxiety and excitement.

“Then I’m going to tie you up, blindfold you,” she murmured, her teeth scraping lightly against your skin. “And leave you waiting. With no idea what I’m going to do next. Every second a delicious torture… until you learn there’s no escape.” That you are mine, completely.”

Your heart was pounding, your head spinning with the intensity of her words. Her hands slowly moved up his back, firm and possessive, as she planted another kiss on your shoulder. “You like that, don’t you?” Wanda asked, her voice a dark melody. “You like knowing that even when I’m cruel, it’s still for you. That everything I do is so you’ll never forget… who you belong to.”

You bit your lip, instinctively moistening it. Your head fell back slightly, your eyes half-closed as you tried to form words, but nothing coherent came out.

“Answer me, dekta,” Wanda ordered softly, her hand now cupping your chin so you looked her straight in the eye. “Or I might have to teach you what happens when little girls disobey their mommies.”

Wanda’s tone was seductive and cruel, the veiled threat in her voice as intoxicating as the firmness with which she held your face. You felt a deep shiver run down your spine, each word like an electric current that lit up every nerve in your body.

Your body trembled, not from fear, but from an anticipation so overwhelming that you could barely breathe. Your heart pounded, your mind flooded with a mixture of shame and desire. Her power over you was absolute, and in that moment, everything in you screamed for submission.

“Mommy…” you murmured, the word slipping out almost without thinking, your voice shaky and choked by the tension Wanda was creating around you.

Your eyes were glazed over, as if you were in a trance, completely at the mercy of that overwhelming presence.

Wanda smiled, an arrogant, cruel smile, but undeniably beautiful. She tilted her head, her eyes shining with something that seemed like pure satisfaction.

“Look at you,” she said softly, but the firmness in her voice made every muscle in your body tense in response. “You can’t even think, can you, my little whore?”

Your body trembled in anticipation, her every word like an invisible rope tightening around you. You knew Wanda was dangerous, but at that moment, the only thing you could think about was how much you wanted to find out how far she was willing to go.

The throbbing between your legs was mind-blowing, you needed to relieve yourself urgently. But before you could rub yourself against your own thighs, Wanda stopped you.

“You’re already so wet, you filthy girl. Can’t resist the thrill of pleasing Mommy, can you?” she purrs, her free hand sliding down to cup the juncture between your thighs, rubbing in firm, possessive circles. She places her knee against your pussy, causing a delicious, excruciating pressure. “I bet you can come like this. Rubbing yourself against my knee like a bitch in heat, can’t you?”

You respond with a long moan, your tongue lolling out, the intense pressure and tantalizing sensation of her knee against your hypersensitive folds making you whimper and buck in helpless need, your own hips instinctively moving to grind against the unyielding obstruction.

“That’s it, dirty slut… Let Mommy see how much you want to come. Rub yourself against my leg like the desperate little slut you are.”

“Want to come like this?” She asks, making you whimper. Thinking about anything was too difficult. Maybe you should let her take control of everything. "I asked you a question!"

You gasp when you feel the woman slap your left cheek. "Wanda, I want… more!" You manage to finish with difficulty.

"Who?" She asks, forcing her knee deeper into your entrance, making you cry out.

"Mommy!" You correct yourself, humming in approval.

"There's my good girl." She praises you, "What do you want, darling?" Wanda makes circular movements with her tongue on your nipples, hard as rocks. "My mouth. My fingers. My cock." Hearing her, you whimper.

"Oh. Fuck…" You gasp loudly.

"Greedy little girl… You want all of these, don't you?"

As if summoned by Wanda's wicked touch and piercing gaze, your fantasies take on a life of their own, your mind feverish with desire. You need it all—every hungry bite, every deep, devastating thrust, every stroke of a masterful hand across your skin.

The sheer intensity of your need consumes you, leaving nothing but desperation, longing, pleading in its wake. “Yes, Mommy,” you finally confess in a breathless whisper, “I need it all. I need you in every way imaginable.” With a low, triumphant growl, Wanda surges forward, her skilled fingers delving between those slick, panting thighs once more.

She teases and claws at you, building the pressure to a fever pitch even as her lips and tongue continue their relentless assault on your sensitive peaks.

“Such a greedy little sex toy,” the older woman murmurs against the quivering flesh, her voice a husky, wicked caress. “Ready to take it all like the perfect slut you were born to be.”

Upon reaching your pussy, Wanda sucks on your outer lips—extracting the sweet honey. The woman’s expert tongue swirls over your clit, making you gasp. You tense and writhe under Wanda’s relentless assault, the wicked witch’s tongue teasing, tasting, claiming every last drop of your offering.

Your soaked, throbbing folds pulse in rhythm with each skillful, searching stroke, the desperate need building to a fever pitch within your core.

“Oh, shit, oh shit, oh fuck—” Your voice cracks, a harsh, pleading moan that reflects the wild, aching desire coursing through your veins. You grind shamelessly against Wanda’s mouth, lost in the overwhelming tsunami of sensation, the relentless drive for release.

“Please, Wanda. I need you—I want you—” you choke in pleasure, feeling yourself teetering on the edge of the abyss of pleasure.

With a naughty giggle, Wanda replaces her mouth with her fingers, alternating between your clit and your hot entrance. “You’re so close already, aren’t you? All that stimulation Mommy gave you was too much, wasn’t it?” She said, as she rested her chin on top of your mons venus—watching you with burning eyes.

“…So close, please! I feel so good. So good to you, I—” The tears in the corners of your eyes indicate how strong an orgasm you will have.

With a sly smile, Wanda responds, her expert fingers curling and stroking that sensitive, throbbing bundle of nerves in deliberate, unyielding circles.

“Come for me, pet,” she purrs darkly against the quivering flesh, “Give me all that sweet, dripping honey. Show Mommy how well-trained a little sex toy like you can be…” The cruel, relentless pleasure builds and builds until your mind goes blank.

As your orgasm hits, you feel a sharp pain between your legs—and for some reason, the mixture of mild pain and intense pleasure increases the throbbing in your belly even more.

“Fuuuck me!!!” The raw, primal sound of ecstasy as your sensitive, tingling flesh shudders and contracts around the older woman’s hand. Your hips buck violently, lost in the tormenting ecstasy of surrender, of release.

In the stormy haze of your climax, a fleeting agony sparks through the velvety softness of your sex—a burning, stinging sensation that for just a moment eclipses the thunderous ecstasy. Yet in the next heartbeat, the exquisite wave of pleasure returns, even more intense, taking you even higher. You were going to come again, and Wanda knew it.

“Yeahhhhh… So tight, my stupid whore,” Wanda’s voice is a seductive growl, a dark promise in every word. "Like this. Take it all, let me have it all…" Her fingers move faster, hitting the spongy spot inside you.

"Are you going to cum again?" the wicked witch asked, thrusting harder. "Are you going to cum with Mommy's little finger in you? Are you going to make a mess of your Mommy's bed?"

"YESSSSS!!!! OH FUUUUUCKKKKKK Mommy, Mommy! "I'M GONNA-C--" Your screams are abruptly cut off as a new burst of intense, shuddering ecstasy rips through your very being.

In that fleeting instant of total surrender, your senses blur into a sea of ​​sensations - the stinging, relentless pleasure, the dark, possessive hunger in Wanda's eyes, the intimate, slippery thrill of possession. Every nerve ending, every synapse is alight with the desire to be filled, to be used, to be claimed… to surrender completely to the relentless, insatiable desire that has ensnared you.

With your breathing quickened and your body trembling, you couldn't speak or move—all you could do was cry and let out all the emotion pent up in your chest.

Wanda noticed the tears rolling down your face before you did. At first, an expression of concern formed in her eyes, replaced by a deep affection that softened you completely. With surprising care, considering the intensity she had shown minutes before, she leaned over you, her fingers still black with power—shakingly wiping away the salty drops that ran down your cheeks.

"Hey, dekta…" her voice was low, sweet, almost a melody. "Are you okay? Talk to me."

You tried to open your mouth, but no sound came out. Still, Wanda seemed to understand. She lay down next to you, wrapping you in her arms with a warmth that was not only physical, but almost magical. Her fingers traced soft patterns on your skin as she whispered words of comfort.

"Shh… it's okay. I'm here. It was all too much for you, wasn't it, pretty girl?"

She ran her hand through your hair, her eyes fixed on you with a kind of reverence that seemed almost sacred. There was no rush, just a constant care and tenderness that seemed to embrace all the broken pieces you didn't even know you carried.

“You’re so precious to me,” Wanda murmured, more to herself than to you. “I would face armies for you. Ask for anything, and I’ll give it to you, my little one.” The witch kissed the top of your head, feeling her own heart swell with something she couldn’t quite name.

Your chest tightened at her words, and a soft sob escaped your lips as a sense of safety unlike anything you’d ever known washed over you. She leaned down to press a slow, deliberate kiss to your forehead, as though wanting to carve the moment into her memory.

“You don’t need to understand it now, but what I feel for you… it’s greater than anything I’ve ever known.” Her eyes gleamed with something that danced between love and possessiveness, though it didn’t make her any less careful or tender.

She pulled the blanket over both of you, wrapping you tighter against her. “Cry as much as you need, my girl. I’m here. I will always be here.”

That moment was more than comfort; it was a vow. A silent promise that Wanda seemed determined to keep, no matter the cost.

Wanda Maximoff, the Scarlet Witch, was pure, raw power—a storm incarnate, capable of reshaping the very fabric of reality with a simple gesture. In battle, she was wild, relentless, a hurricane of might no one dared to defy. But with you… it was different.

You were the key to a side of her she never believed could exist—a side that longed for more than destruction and control. A side that wanted to feel and be felt, to be seen and understood. You were the doorway to her own humanity, a part of herself she’d almost forgotten was there.

There was something about you that dismantled all her carefully constructed defenses, disarming her in a way no external force ever could. And it infuriated her. It terrified her. But it also made her crave you with a primal, almost desperate intensity.

She was hard, unyielding—always would be. But with you, she’d discovered what it meant to be vulnerable. Your touch, your gaze, your unwavering trust in her were like a key turning in the rusted gears of a hardened heart.

As she held your face between her hands, still trembling from the ecstasy only she could give you, Wanda realized that no matter how brutal or wild she was, you were the only being in the universe capable of turning her into something more than chaos and destruction.

And that made her want to protect you more than anything else. To shield you from pain, from the world, even from herself—but never to let you go. Because, in the end, you weren’t just the key to who Wanda could be.

You were her destiny, as certain as the power burning through her veins. And she would never let another life, another universe, tear you apart again.

Even with your eyes closed, you felt Wanda’s every word like the notes of an ancient melody, echoing inside you. Her moans, rough and filled with intensity—still playing in a loop in your mind—were more than sounds; they were verses of a visceral poem that seemed to envelop and consume you slowly.

Every sigh carried a secret. Every whisper felt like a hidden promise. And every sound that escaped her lips was a spell, binding you deeper into an abyss where pleasure and devotion intertwined.

It was as if Wanda was composing something eternal—a song only the two of you could hear and understand. And you? You were the sheet music, the instrument, the meaning behind every line and verse.

In that instant, lost between her words and the overwhelming intensity of the moment, you realized you had surrendered more than just your body.

Your soul, with all its scars and longings, had been written by Wanda. And her words—sweet, fierce, and insatiable—would be etched into you as the most beautiful, cruel poetry you’d ever know.

~*~

and yes, it was too much for you.

Tag list <3

@vyvvycg @rosekjsses @3liyuh @trindad2k

@indentity0018 @beggingonmykneesforher

@idkwhatever580

@reginassecretlover @trying-to-do-good

@imjustvibingsworld @mbxoxo @jazzyxqzl @eternallyconfuzed @ctrlaltedits @sheriffhaughtearp

@lesbiansweet @i-luv-w1men @htinha157 @syssmin @wandasslut3000 @fuzzygiantlamphorse @imaginaryblogger01

[hoffmansgirl]

❛ 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐒 ❜ ⸝⸝⸝ nicholas alexander chavez cause good girls are bad girls that haven't been caught . 𓏲࣪ ּ  ֗ ⊹ 𓄹 ࣪

꙳⋆𓍯 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 ⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝ nicholas chavez & goodgirl!reader

SUMMARY. boy next door nicholas sneaks through your window every night, when your parents go to sleep. this night, you want to give him all of you, for the first time. based on this request. ⟢

WARNINGS. +18 — minors dni! virginity loss ␥ softdom!nicholas ␥ oral (f!receiving) ␥ fingering ␥ grinding ␥ pussydrunk!nicholas ␥ handjob / male masturbation ␥ size difference ␥ fluffy fluff ♡ ┊ wc. 6197

"Honey", your mom's voice was warm and inviting as she peeped out from behind the door, her usual night robe loose on her shoulders. You lifted your gaze from the book you pretended to read, your legs swinging in the air — a small smile appearing on your face at the sight of her small form standing at the door. "I'm going to sleep. Don't stay up too late, okay? I love you", she blew you a kiss, not waiting for a response before disappearing behind the door.

"Sleep well! Love you!", you called after her, hearing her soft chuckle before she shut the door behind her. A soft sound of the creaking wood filled the air as she walked down the stairs, eventually fading away into the thin air.

You sighed with relief, throwing the long forgotten book onto the bed before rolling onto your back, finally deciding to sit up after a few seconds. You hurriedly got up, almost stumbling over your own feet as you reached for the light switch, turning off the big lights. Your room was now only illuminated by the fairy lights on the wall behind your bed, making the room cozy and warm — or at least, you hoped that's what Nicholas will think when he gets there.

You stood in the middle of your room, nervously chewing on your nails before lighting up one of your vanilla-scented candles. You made sure there was no worn out clothes anywhere on the floor, reaching for your phone immediately after.

You unplugged it from the charger, watching as the screen lit up with a new message. You sat down on the bed, crossing your legs, your bottom lip caught between your teeth as you quickly clicked on the notification.

nic: green light?

You couldn't help but smile. It was his way of asking if your mother has already gone to sleep — without making it obvious and unnecessarily suspicious. Your mom never checked your phone, mostly because you never gave her reasons to, but you can never be too careful.

y/n (you): green light. i'm waiting :)

You quickly typed the response, catching yourself grinning like a fool. You straightened up the sheets, making sure everything was perfect, even though you knew Nicholas couldn't care less. Everything that mattered to him was spending time with you, even if it meant climbing a tree every night just to hang out for a couple of hours. Your heart was beating rapidly, and you felt as if it might just break free from your chest any second now. No matter how many times you saw Nick, it never got old — the butterflies, the flush of your cheeks, the wide smile on your face, the warmth in your chest.

You smoothed out the wrinkles on your little, black tank top, running your palms over your bare thighs — excitement starting to bloom in your lower stomach as you let your mind wander to Nicholas. You run a hand through your hair, tugging at the strands before nervously fixing it, smoothing it down with your palms.

Nicholas wasn't supposed to be anything more than your neighbour. He was the reckless type — always the life of the party, in the spotlight, attracting girls with a little to no effort. You, on the other hand, were reserved, always working hard so that you could meet your parents' expectations. You weren't innocent, no — but you never had a boyfriend. Not before Nicholas.

You knew your parents expected you to date a good boy from a good family, preferably a future doctor or a lawyer. Nicholas was the total opposite, though — he wanted to be an actor. During your, so called, "sleepovers", he'd often daydream about being on the big screens one day. And you knew he'd make it — and you also wanted to be there for him when he does.

His smile flashed in your mind, and you felt your cheeks grow warm at the thought itself. The way he made you laugh, the way he kissed you as if you were everything he ever wanted — how special he made you feel. You were always scared to take things further, to let him have all of you, mostly because you've never done it, and he seemed to have plenty of experience. But tonight, you were ready. You were ready to feel him, to feel all of him — to let you take control not only over your mind, but also body.

A loud shuffle of branches breaking, coming from just outside your window, caught you off guard. You were so deep in your thoughts the sound made you shudder, almost giving you a heart attack.

You stood up from the bed, pulling your little shorts further down your thighs, suddenly very nervous. You took a deep breath, hesitantly walking towards the window before opening it wide. The cool, night air flowed into your room, causing goosebumps to erupt all over your bare shoulders and legs. The smell of freshly mowed grass filled your nostrils, and you took a deep breath, savouring the quietness of the world outside. That was before Nicholas' huge form came into sight; his arms supporting his weight as he climbed up the tree right outside your window — and you couldn't help but notice the protruding veins adoring his forearms.

"Took you long enough", you teased, making sure to keep your voice quiet just in case your mom wasn't asleep yet. You heard a snarl coming from the man, as he, supported by the ledge, slipped into your room with a loud thump. He wiped his hands off on the back of his shorts, running them through his hair immediately after.

"Well, try climbing up that tree in total darkness — then we can talk", he playfully rolled his eyes, already reaching for your hand to press a soft, lingering kiss on the back. The sweet gesture sent a shiver down your spine, and you grinned like a fool, feeling your cheeks beginning to heat up. "I missed you. And God— you look beautiful".

His hands found place on your hips as he began to walk the two of you back towards your bed, and you giggled, falling against the soft pillows with a soft thump. Nicholas landed on top of you, supporting his weight on his forearms as he leaned down to press a soft kiss on your lips. You eagerly responded, tilting your head to grant him better access — your fingers already toying with the short hair on the nape of his neck as if you were starved to touch him; feel him.

In fact, you were.

You gently took his bottom lip between your teeth, playfully pulling at it, earning a soft hum from the man on top of you. Nicholas' knee found place between your legs, causing you to instinctively spread them, only to wrap them around his waist seconds later.

"How was your day?", he asked, pulling away from your lips to place soft, sweet pecks all over your face. You giggled, staring up at him with wide eyes — your gaze full of adoration that you couldn't hide, even if you tried.

"Good. Tiring, but good. Was pretty much studying the whole day", you shrugged, kissing his nose as he plopped down onto your soft sheets, making himself comfortable. Nicholas grinned, leaning forward towards you to put a strand of loose hair behind your ear.

"Hardworking little girl, aren't you?", he chuckled, studying your face as if trying to memorise every detail about it. You tried to ignore the tingling sensation between your thighs at his words — his praise going straight down to your core, causing your breath to hitch.

"And how was your day?", you cleared your throat, mindlessly toying with the ring on his forefinger. You didn't notice the way his gaze lingered on your — barely covered — thighs, only to focus on your full breasts seconds later. Then he looked down, watching your small fingers circle around his ring; the size difference between you two was ridiculous, now, that he started to think about it. "Good. Went out with Luke and Mike, y'know how it is. Drank a beer... or two", he laughed, and you rolled your eyes, rolling over onto your stomach to have a better look at him. You supported your head with your hands, studying his flawless face as if it was your first time seeing him.

His gorgeous, wide eyes were one of his best features. The way they light up as he spoke about something that excited him; how they darkened when he was feeling down or when he was angry. Now, they stared back at you with warmth that made your heart race and pulse quicken.

"How is it?", you questioned, putting your head on your palms. "How is what?", Nicholas furrowed his eyebrows in surprise, tilting his head.

"You know... getting drunk. Smoking. Partying", you looked down on your hands, toying with your fingers. You were suddenly growing shy, just now realising how dumb you sounded. "Sorry, that was really weird of me to ask".

"No, no! It's okay, sweetheart", he smiled sympathetically, reaching to take your hand in his, rubbing soothing circles on your knuckles. "It's... well, it can be fun. Not worrying about anything, the freedom. Just dancing the night away with your friends", he explained, and you nodded slowly, letting his words sink into the silence. You squeezed his hand, your gaze dropping towards the veins on his arms — his bicep stretching out the thin material of his white, tight shirt. Your mouth watered, and you felt the shift of atmosphere almost immediately; the air felt thicker with something unspoken lingering inside the room. Your eyelids felt heavy, and you knew he was looking at you — yet you couldn't bring yourself to meet his gaze. Instead, you lifted your hand to trace the outline of his veins with your finger, your touch feather-like; imperceptible, as if you were scared to get ahead of yourself.

"Something on your pretty little mind?", Nicholas asked, and you noted his voice was lower than ever before. You gulped audibly, tearing your gaze away from his arms, instead focusing on his hand, still holding yours. His fingers were much longer and thicker than yours, and thick veins adored the back of it.

"Nick, I—", you bit your lip nervously, finally meeting his eyes. Nicholas nodded, squeezing your hand as if to reassure you — little did he know, his innocent touch sent even more shockwaves across your body, setting your nerves on fire. Your gaze lowered to his lips, and you found yourself licking your own, your body reacting on its own — you obliviously shifted closer towards him, your faces now inches apart. "I...".

Before you could finish, he leaned closer, his gaze travelling between your lips and eyes, as if he was asking for permission. You stared up at him, your eyes doe-like and oh so innocent — making Nicholas feel the unmistakable bulge starting to grow in his pants.

Almost in sync, you closed the remaining distance between the two of you, your lips meeting halfway in a bruising kiss. You didn't have much experience, so it was hard to keep up with the pace Nicholas set — his tongue sneaking in between your parted lips, meeting yours in a slow dance, leaving you breathless; and he barely even started.

Without breaking the kiss, you straddled his lap, towering over his thighs, your hair falling down onto the pillow behind Nicholas' head, making both of you giggle. Your hands found place on his cheeks, your thumbs caressing his soft skin, making him hum into the kiss. Nicholas' hands seemed to be everywhere at once, roaming over your back, the back of your thighs, then raking through your hair, pulling at the strands. You moaned, enjoying the little sting on your scalp, and immediately pulled away — embarrassed and afraid the sound might scare him off.

"I'm sorry, I don't know—", you stuttered, your hands shaking as you nervously put them on your lap, quite unsure what to do with them.

That was until you heard a low growl coming from Nicholas. Your eyes widened, and you let out a surprised squeal as pushed you back onto him, supporting you with his hands on your lower back.

"That was the hottest thing I've ever heard. You're gonna do it again f'me, okay?", you nodded, meeting his gaze with a hint of uncertainty — although a spark of excitement run down your spine at how desperate his voice suddenly sounded, as if he couldn't wait to hear the sound leaving your mouth again.

Then, his lips found place on your neck: sucking, kissing, biting the sensitive skin, his hands travelling up your back, brushing over your shoulder blades. You could feel him everywhere, but it still wasn't enough to make the pressure in your stomach snap.

"Nick, please— I need you so bad".

Your eyes were half lidded, pleasure clouding your vision as you instinctively bucked your hips against his. What you didn't expect was the feeling of his cock, hard and straining against his pants.

You gasped, and Nicholas groaned against your skin — the sound going straight to your core, your hips starting to move back and forth, the friction on your clit almost too intimidating. Nicholas stopped you with his hands on your hips, grounding you against him, his head falling back against the pillow as he struggled to keep his composure. His eyes fell open, meeting yours, a small, gentle smile playing on his lips. You could see he was holding back for the sake of your inexperience, a hint of doubt in his hard gaze.

"Are you... are you sure you want this? I don't want you to do something against yourself", he asked, his tone soft like butter, but an octave lower than usual. You let out a deep breath you didn't realise you were holding, and smiled softly. A light blush adorned your cheeks, your lips red and swollen from the instant kisses Nicholas gave you. He swore he could cum from the sight of you alone, especially when you looked down at him with those wide, innocent eyes.

He thought it was almost ironic, considering how greedily you kissed him back, how you practically humped his cock, needy and vulnerable.

"Nick, there's no one else I'd rather lose my virginity to," you assured, your gentle hands moving down his face to rest on his tense shoulders. The desperation in your voice was clear as day, and Nicholas let out a shaky breath, giving your hips a squeeze.

"Okay", he whispered, nodding, as if it was his first time, too. Truth is, he just wanted to make the moment perfect and the most enjoyable for you, even if it meant not getting a release himself. "Okay."

He lifted you up with no effort, gently pushing you to lay flat against the pillows, your hair spread out on the pillow, shining in the dim lightning. Nicholas spread your legs, watching your face in search of any sign of discomfort. When he found none, he leaned forward, kneeling in between your legs, his hands on both sides of your head. Your chest heaved with uneven breaths, the air heavy with anticipation, Nicholas' smell invading your senses. You bit your lip, your legs hooking around his waist to bring him closer. Your skin burned with desire when Nicholas' gentle hands sneaked in under the hem of your little top, lifting the fabric to rest just above your boobs.

"Fuck," he groaned, pulling his lip in between his teeth, his eyes locked on your boobs, petrified. Your cheeks burned, embarrassment starting to bloom in your chest, and you instinctively shifted to cover your tits with your arms. Before you could do so, though, Nicholas grabbed your arms, pinning them on both sides of your head — his touch sent shiver down your spine, his eyes leaving you no room to protest or get shy.

"No, no, baby", he cooed, squeezing your arms before letting them go, his hands moving down to linger on your chest instead. "You're fucking perfect. I wanna see all of you. Feel all of you. Let me."

His voice was rough, filled with urgency that left you whimpering and nodding frantically. You were left with no choice but to obey, gluing your arms to the mattress, looking up at Nicholas through your lashes. He looked so beautiful; hair messy, lips swollen and wet, arms flexing as he reached out to squeeze your breasts in between his long, thick fingers. Your nipples stood proudly in the air, reacting to his palm brushing against them as he palmed your breasts lovingly.

"Those fucking tits. You have no idea how long I've wanted this— how long I've wanted you."

As if to prove his words, he leaned down, pushing your boobs together, his thumbs brushing over your sensitive nipples. You shuddered, a high-pitched moan leaving your mouth — his touch felt better than yours ever could. You were getting addicted, high on how he made you feel, and you never wanted to come down.

"I— I love your hands", you breathed out, your head tilting so that you could watch how his fingers worked on your flesh. The veins in his hands more prominent than ever, his big arms flexing, stretching the tight shirt he was wearing. Your mouth watered, your gaze lingering on his arms for way longer than it should, but how could you possibly stop staring?

"Yeah, you do", Nicholas chuckled lowly, his hot breath tickling your already sensitive nipples. That's when his lips enveloped your left bud, his tongue darting out to flick against it slowly, teasingly. You couldn't believe how good this felt, your hands instinctively tangling in his hair, pushing him impossibly closer. "You're always staring. You think I can't tell? What else do you love, baby?".

Your words died in your throat as he sucked your nipple into his mouth, moaning around it as if he enjoyed it more than you did. The sound sent vibrations down your body, your pussy clenching and leaking through your panties.

"I— Fuck, I love your veins. A-and your arms, and your chest— Shit." you groaned, clamping a hand on your mouth immediately after to muffle the sounds that oh so desperately threatened to leave your throat. Nicholas seemed satisfied with your answer, his mouth leaving your nipple with a pop. His breathing was heavy, jaw tight as he watched you with an unreadable expression.

"Good girl. Do you want my hands to make you feel good, baby?", he tilted his head, his hands rubbing soothingly against your hips, lingering just above the waistband of your little shorts.

His praise sent a jolt of electricity down your core, and you couldn't help but whimper, nodding frantically, your back arching in a quiet pleas.

"Words, baby. Need ya to say it, 'kay?", one of his hands travelled up your body, clamping down on your neck — not with enough pressure to choke you, but just enough to make your hips shake against him.

"Yes, Nicholas. Please, make me feel good— Need it so badly, baby", you breathed out, your small hand encircling his wrist, making sure he kept his own wrapped around your neck. Nicholas' eyes were dark, his gaze dropping to your hand enveloping his, and he gulped audibly at the sight. He quickly collected himself, his hand around your neck applying more pressure, making you moan out into the air. Your head was thrown back, eyes rolling back into your head, your hips rosing off the mattress to allow Nicholas to take your shorts off. It was a good thing you chose a nice pair of panties for tonight — the pink, slightly seen-through thong clung to your soaked pussy just right, catching his attention immediately. Nicholas cursed under his breath, throwing the unwanted fabric on the floor, his gaze not once leaving your form. You bit your lip, fluttering your lashes up at him, meeting his eyes, glistening with need. His hand left your throat and you wanted to protest, already missing the feeling — yet Nicholas' hand lingering just above your pussy immediately shut you up. Nicholas looked at you through his lashes as he positioned himself on his stomach, laying down between your legs, grasping your thighs, spreading them a little wider.

"You're already so wet, baby", he mused, petrified by the way your panties glistened with arousal, your barely-covered pussy staring right back at him. He licked his lips, his arms wrapping around your thighs as he placed a wet, open-mouthed kiss right on your clit.

Your eyes rolled back into your head, hips bucking into his mouth instinctively, yet his steady grasp on your thighs kept you still. Your breathing was heavy, uneven, your hand clasping down on your mouth to stop any sounds from escaping.

"Shit, you taste so good. Can't believe you've been hiding this pretty little pussy from me for so long", he groaned, his lashes fluttering against his cheeks as he licked a stripe up your covered pussy. You shuddered, unable to reply, your eyes shooting up to the ceiling as you moaned into your hand.

One of Nicholas' arms left your thigh, only to tug on your panties, his skilled fingers pulling the soaked fabric to the side, finally exposing your most intimate part to him. Your breath hitched in your throat, eyes pleading and wide as he kissed your inner thighs, his gaze following your every reaction.

"Nick, please— I need you s'bad", you whimpered, the tension in your stomach getting more unbearable the more time passed. Nicholas' teeth sank into your thigh, making you squeal and your back arch.

You've never thought you'd find so much pleasure in pain — God, you've never even thought you could be this turned on by someone. Nicholas was different, though, and he awakened a side of you you had no idea existed.

When his mouth finally enveloped your hot, leaking pussy, it was like nothing you've ever experienced. His lips closed around your clit, his tongue lapping your wetness as if he was starved. His groans were muffled by your flesh as he flicked his tongue, manoeuvring between long, precise licks and slow, composed swirls of his tongue. Nicholas forced your thighs even wider, his nails digging into the skin of your inner thighs, surely leaving bruises in the process. The thought of being so obviously marked by him made your pulse to quicken, your fingers raking through his hair to ground yourself as you moaned and wiggled against his tongue.

"S'good, fuck," you cried out, feeling the undeniable orgasm already beginning to build in your lower abdomen. Nicholas surely felt it too, by the way your thighs shook against his hands, your hands gripping his hair as if you never wanted him to stop. "Nick, I'm—".

You didn't finish the sentence; you couldn't — not when he sucked your nub into his mouth, flicking his tongue immediately after, obscene groans escaping his mouth the more he tasted you. He quickly got addicted to your sweet pussy; his nose brushing against your clit as his tongue dipped into your entrance, eager to taste as much of you as possible.

"Mmphm. Give it to me, baby", he mumbled lowly, his voice muffled as he once again focused on your clit. You were too high up to notice how Nicholas' hand left your thigh, sneaking in between your legs — his middle finger slowly pushing into you.

The intrusion made you gasp — not in pain, but in pleasure. A muffled moan followed soon after, your hips bucking into his hand, white erupting in front of your eyes as you came undone underneath his restless ministrations.

You weren't sure if you passed out, or maybe just stopped breathing for a moment — your pussy gushing into his mouth and onto his finger, your little hole clenching around the digit as he pushed it in deeper, the movements of his tongue slowing, guiding you through your orgasm. You tried to be as quiet as possible, but it wasn't easy when he made you feel this good.

Nicholas eagerly lapped on your pussy, swallowing everything you gave him, humming into your flesh; pulling away only when you let out a weak whine. His finger, now knuckle-deep inside you, curled upwards, and Nicholas felt his cock throb at how tight you were.

"Good girl, such a good girl f'me", Nicholas cooed softly, getting up to kneel between your legs, his finger gently moving inside of you as he leaned down to kiss you.

You were greedy, savouring the taste of yourself on his lips, your cheeks growing warm as his tongue rolled over yours, your uneven breaths mixing together. You felt his forefinger joining the one already inside you — you whined, gripping Nicholas' shoulder for balance, your walls gripping onto his digits like a vice. Unable to kiss him back anymore, you pulled back, your head falling against the pillow as your hips began to buck against his hand. You were growing hot, feeling as if you could faint from the overwhelming pleasure he gave you, his thumb brushing against your sensitive clit as his fingers fucked into you.

"Shit, you're so tight, baby," Nicholas groaned lowly, his lips pressing against your temple soothingly. "You think you're ready to take my cock, hmm?".

You nodded before he could finish the sentence, your lashes fluttering against your cheeks, pretty lips opening in another, appreciative moan.

"Need you to say it, sweetness," he urged, his hand brushing against your cheek in a loving manner. You felt your heart flutter as you met his gaze, dark and lustful, burning with intensity. Nicholas smiled down at you, and you returned the gesture through the haze of pleasure. "Yes, Nick. Just want you to fuck me", you begged, your hands already moving to the waistband of his pants, urging him to take them off.

Nicholas' fingers left you, and you whined at the loss, the sound dying in your throat as you watched him pull his shirt over his head, tugging his pants down along with his boxers right away.

His cock sprang free, hitting his stomach, and you gasped, audibly gasped at the size of him. It was way more than you had expected — sure, you knew he had to be big, but this? It... exceeded your expectations, to say the least.

Your mouth was agape, jaw slack and mouth involuntarily watering as you watched his cock bounce in the air, long and thick with a pretty, pink tip. You shifted closer, gawking up at Nicholas to see him already looking at you. His jaw was tight, eyes boring into yours with intensity that made your breath hitch. You wanted to reach out, wrap your hand around him — make him feel just as good as he did to you.

"Baby," Nicholas' voice was strangled, as if he was holding himself back, his hand reaching out to wrap around his cock. Your breath hitched as you watched him pump his leaking length — the veins in his arm popping out, his hand slowly gliding up and down, his eyes on you, as if you were the only thing that mattered. Before you knew it, you were reaching out for him, your hand resting on his thigh as you muttered: "Teach me."

Nicholas seemed taken aback by your words, but he quickly collected himself, the movements of his hand coming to a stop. "Fuck, you sure, baby?".

You nodded, brushing your thumb against his thigh in a soothing manner, feeling his muscles clench under your fingertips. Nicholas sent you a last, lingering look before his gaze hardened, his hand reaching out for your own.

"Shit. Okay— okay", he breathed out, instructing you to shift closer until you sat on the very edge of your bed. You looked up at him through your lashes, and Nicholas' breath hitched — the look of innocence and cluelessness on your face making his heart race.

"Wrap your hand around it," he instructed, and you did as he told you — you could barely do it, though, due to how thick he was. Nicholas' lashes fluttered, his cheeks growing warm at the feeling of your ridiculously small hand finally wrapping around him. His hand enveloped yours, guiding your own — your entwined hands sliding up and down his shaft, and Nicholas groaned, throwing his head back.

"Fuck, good girl. You're doing so good, baby", Nicholas breathed out, his hips bucking into your hand. You stared up at him, encouraged by the praise, deciding to take things a little further and slowly brush your thumb against his tip. Nicholas seemed surprise at your sudden boldness, his eyes boring into yours as his brows furrowed in pure bliss.

"Fuck, yes. You're not as innocent as everyone thinks, aren't you?", he groaned, forcing your hand to move faster, gliding along his shaft in a steady rhythm. Nicholas' breathless moans filled the room, his hips bucking into your hand with urgency, his chest glistening with a sheer layer of sweat. You bit your lip, your eyes following his reactions, pride filling your chest — you were the one making him feel this good. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!", he dragged out, jaw going slack as he neared his peak — faster than ever, he realised quickly.

Before he could cum, he yanked your hand off him, pushing you back against the mattress and slipping in between your legs, his breath heavy and uneven. You pouted, sending him a dirty look. "Hey, why would you stop? I wanted to make you feel good, too".

Nicholas lips curled upwards at your offended expression, a quiet chuckle leaving his mouth as he kissed the corner of your lips. "You did, baby. But now I wanna feel your little pussy wrapped around my cock, 'kay?". You nodded, maybe a little too enthusiastically for your own liking, yet your arousal was undeniable — you wanted this. You had no idea how he'd fit inside you, but you were sure he was going to make it work.

His hands were gentle as he spread your legs, his dark eyes staring up at you for any sign of discomfort or hesitation. When he found none, he smiled assuredly, wrapping his hand around his cock, giving it a few jerks.

Your breathing was heavy, eyes half-lidded as you watched him gently rub his aching tip against your clit. You hissed at the contact — he was hot, leaking and throbbing against you. Nicholas swiped his cock up and down your folds, gathering your wetness to cover his length, his chest heaving; it wasn't usual for him to be this gentle during sex, but with you, it was different. He has never felt so utterly connected to someone, and when he looked into your eyes, he felt a spark of warmth fill his stomach, flames licking his insides.

Nicholas kept your gaze as his tip pressed against your little hole for the first time. Your jaw dropped, eyes rolling back into your head at the stretch — and he had barely started. He was thick, barely able to move due to how tight you were, but he tested the waters by pushing further, until his tip was fully buried inside you. Tears brimmed in the corner of your eyes, and Nicholas leaned down to gently tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, mumbling sweet nothings to calm you down.

"So tight, baby. Fuck, relax f'me, okay? You're squeezing", he muttered cutely, his breath heavy against your face, eyes squeezed shut to hold onto the last ounce of self control for your own sake. You nodded, your manicured fingers clawing at his shoulders for balance as you felt him push further.

You were sure your insides would be rearranged after he was done with you.

The pain was sharp but not unbearable, and you found yourself nodding, signalling that you were ready for more. Nicholas groaned lowly, gripping your leg for balance as he watched your pussy swallow the first half of his cock.

"You're— You're so fucking big", you cried out, and Nicholas whined, watching your teary eyes, mascara smudged on your hot cheeks, bottom lip quivering.

The words turned him on way more than they should.

"Fuck, baby— You can't say shit like that and expect me not to—", his words were interrupted by a loud cry coming deep from your throat as he pushed further in. You've never felt so full in your entire life; his length stretched you out like no one ever could. The feeling of the pulsating veins against adorning his pretty length against your velvety walls almost too much, your walls clamping down on him, as if to prevent him from leaving.

"Nick, shit— But you are. So fucking big, s-so, so good." you wailed when his hips smacked against yours, his cock now fully buried inside you. Your walls accommodated to his size, making room for him to finally fuck you the way he wanted. The way you both wanted.

"Shut up, just— No talking", he shuddered, clamping a hand down onto your mouth just as he began to thrust, slowly but deeply, making sure you could feel every vein, every throb of his length against your walls.

But you didn't have to speak. Nicholas could see it in your eyes — teary, wide eyes. Your lashes fluttered innocently, your expression almost making Nicholas cum inside you — it took everything for him to hold back, his thrusts gaining strength, his tip kissing your cervix every time he bottomed out.

If he was going to fill you up, he wanted to make sure you were tripping over the edge with him.

The smacking of skin filled your room, the air thick with tension, your cries and Nicholas' groans blending together, creating a song of its own. The feeling of his cock bullying its way inside you with every, precise thrust of his hips had you spiralling, and you knew you wouldn't last long.

Nicholas' hand on your mouth dropped next to your head, and he leaned down to envelop your lips in his. Your legs wrapped around his waist, causing him to reach even deeper inside you — he effortlessly swallowed your breathless moans, his own whines vibrating against your lips. You didn't have to speak — he felt you clench around him, and you felt him throbbing against your walls. Your hips rocked forward against him, his sculpted lower abdomen brushing against your clit with every, brutal stroke.

"Nick, I'm— I'm so close, baby", you wailed, raking your nails down his toned back, crying out as quietly as you could. "Cum with me, please, need it s'bad."

Nicholas could only nod, gripping your thighs tightly, his thrusts getting even more brutal, powerful and consuming, knocking the air out of your lungs.

"Want me to cum inside?", he groaned, not sure if he'd be able to pull out in time even if he tried. You nodded eagerly, chasing your lips with his, your orgasm hitting you, your vision going white, and he kissed you through it, his tongue exploring your mouth, addicted to your taste.

Your sweet juices covered his cock, creating a creamy ring around the base — Nicholas dropped his head, pushing as deep as he could go and finally let go, his seed spurting deep inside your greedy, fluttering pussy.

The feeling made you moan out, your whole body shaking, clit pulsating against his pelvis as he gave you a few weak thrusts, pushing his cum back inside you, already addicted to the way your pussy felt around him.

"Holy shit, baby", you dragged out, laughing slightly, your hands tangling in Nicholas' hair as he rested it against your neck. He could only chuckle weakly, shaking against you, gripping your thighs as if to ground himself.

"Are you okay, sweetheart? Wasn't it too much? Are you in pain?", he asked, lifting his head to study your face, concern clear in his expression. You grinned, your eyes half-lidded, chest tightening with affection.

"I'm fine, baby. Just wanna sleep. Will you stay with me?", you kissed his sweaty forehead, your arms securely wrapped around his shoulders, your voice shaking as he pulled out of you. You winced at the emptiness, and Nicholas chuckled softly, taking his shirt from the floor to wipe the cum — his own — oozing out of your fluttering hole.

"Of course, baby. Just lemme clean you up first". His hands were gentle as he did, smiling up at you, his eyes glistening with satisfaction and something else — something deeper.

"Thank you, baby. Just make sure to leave before my mum wakes up".

Nicholas could only chuckle at that.

❝ hoffmansgirl © 2025 | do not copy, translate, recreate or plagiarise my content. 𝗡𝗜𝗖𝗛𝗢𝗟𝗔𝗦 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗩𝗘𝗭 𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧 ❞

tags (click here to be added): @darlingnikkisixxxx @titsout4jackles @brlwla @blackynsupremacy @mrs-riddlexo @essentialwriter @nicholaschavezslut69 @niteskysx @emluvsuxo @nicholaslut @greengoblinswifey @sin-deciric @onlyangelicc @urlitttlevenicebitch @violetidk @motherismotheringggg @dalton99

[thewizardingpost]

Bound by Fate

poly!marauders x fem!reader

summary ⌇ you’ve always felt a strange pull toward James, Sirius, and Remus, but since you’ve come of age, the bond between you and your three closest friends deepens, and you begin to understand that they are your destined partners, your mates

warnings ⌇word count  4.2k, ABO AU, eventual smut (penetration & oral), friends to lovers/mates, omega!reader, alpha!james/sirius/remus, hurt/comfort, angst w/ happy ending 

Mates were a concept you’d only heard about in tales—an undeniable bond that grew between two souls, a connection so deep and instinctual it could never be ignored, no matter how hard you tried. It wasn’t just about attraction or desire; it was about belonging, about finding the person—or persons—that you were meant to be with. The kind of bond that shaped your very existence, binding you together in ways words couldn’t explain—like a key to a lock, a flower to rain, or the stars to the night sky. It was a force that simply was, and nothing could break it.

You’d always imagined the day your mate was revealed would be one of pure joy, a fairy tale come to life. The thought of having someone destined for you filled you with a thrilling, eager anticipation. But all that fervor, all that restless longing to discover who your mate—or mates—might be, came to a crashing halt. It felt as if your heart, once brimming with hope, had splintered into a thousand shards.

The realization of who your mates happened overtime, not some sudden onslaught of emotions like you had expected. It came through scent, intense emotional responses, and heightened physical sensitivity. It was late in the afternoon, the four of you hanging around in the library, when the “change” started. 

There’s a section in the library that the four of you consider your hidden nook. It’s not genuinely hidden, just tucked away in the far corner, behind a row of dusty old books and faded tapestries. Few people venture that deep into the library, and even fewer linger long enough to notice the secluded alcove. But to you, it’s the perfect little refuge—a space that feels entirely your own, like a secret world where time slows down.

The four of you are seated on the worn rug, scattered across the floor in comfortable silence. James sits with his legs crossed, leaning against a stack of heavy textbooks, his eyes focused on the pages of a book he’s half-reading, half-absentmindedly flipping through. Sirius is sprawled across from him, one arm resting on his knee, staring at the crackling flame of a nearby candle, his mind seemingly elsewhere. Remus, ever the quiet one, is at the edge of the group, his book in hand, but his attention more often than not drawn to the stillness of the room, as though taking in the peacefulness of the space.

The soft rustle of turning pages is the only sound that fills the air, a steady rhythm that matches the calm energy of the nook. It’s not the usual kind of gathering—no loud conversations or jokes, just the simple presence of each other in a shared, unspoken understanding. 

Then, without warning, Remus’s shoulder brushes against yours. It’s nothing—just the briefest contact, the kind of thing you wouldn’t normally notice, except... something about it makes your skin prickle. A spark of warmth, a flicker of something you can’t quite place. You freeze for a split second, feeling the pulse of it surge through you, and then just as quickly, you shrug it off. It must’ve been the wind, or the way you shifted—anything but what it really was. You try to ignore the slight tremor still lingering in your chest, pretending it never happened. The air in the nook feels the same as it always does. Quiet. Safe.

Yet, there’s no denying that something’s begun to stir beneath the surface, even if you’re not ready to face it yet.

Then one by one, like dominoes, it all began to spiral out of control. At first, it was just a subtle thing—Remus’s hand grazing yours while passing you a book, his touch sending a wave of electricity up your arm, leaving your skin buzzing. Then, it was Sirius leaning a little too close as he joked about something, his scent wrapping around you, stronger than usual, more intoxicating—like fresh earth after rain, something comforting and wild all at once. And James, always nearby, his proximity suddenly making your pulse race, the warmth of his presence a magnetic pull that seemed to draw you in no matter how hard you tried to fight it. Each moment felt like a spark, a jolt, until it was impossible to ignore.

It wasn’t just their touches or the way their scents seemed to fill the air—it was the way everything about them felt more intense, more overwhelming. Their voices had a deeper resonance in your chest, their laughter echoing in your bones like an unspoken invitation. At first, you tried to pretend it was nothing, just your imagination, but soon, it became impossible to deny. The way your body reacted to them—too sensitized, too attuned—felt like the inevitable shift of something you could no longer outrun.

And then, in the middle of Potions class, it happened.

One of the other students—a nameless boy from Slytherin, someone you barely thought about—brushed past you. He reached across the table for an ingredient, his arm brushing against yours in a way that should’ve felt completely normal. A simple touch. But as his skin made contact with yours, nothing happened. No spark. No warmth. No shiver running up your spine like you’d come to expect. Just, nothing.

You blinked, confused at first. Normally, physical contact wasn’t something you’d really notice, not the way some others seemed to. But this time, you couldn’t shake the contrast. His touch felt so bland—empty even. You felt the coldness of it, a distance that was somehow more obvious than if he hadn’t touched you at all. It left you with a strange, hollow feeling.

Your breath caught as the realization hit you like a bolt of lightning: The Marauders. Every time their hands brushed yours, or their scent filled the air around you, it was different—alive, almost electric. They didn’t just touch you, they reached you. They made you feel things you hadn’t known you could feel. Now, at this moment, it clicked.

This wasn’t just some passing attraction, some infatuation or idle crush. It was something deeper, something undeniable. They weren’t just your friends—they were your mates. And the stark difference between their touch and this boy’s was all the proof you needed.

Your heart raced. The truth, like a wave crashing over you, was undeniable now. There was no escaping it. You didn’t just feel something for them. You felt everything.

What should’ve been an exciting day—the day you discovered who your mate was—only left you with a gnawing anxiety deep in your chest. These were your best friends, the three people you trusted most. The thought of a relationship with them was overwhelming, and the idea of all three? It made your stomach churn. Could this even work? How would things change between you? Would they accept you as more than just a friend? It felt impossible. The four of you were connected, destined even, but they already had each other. What could you possibly add to this bond? Was this “fate” really a thing, or just some cruel twist of circumstance? 

You pulled away from them out of fear of them realizing they’ll notice the strange connection between the four of you. It was easy to avoid them knowing their schedules and habits. If they were in Hogwarts, you went to Hogsmede. If they were in a class with you, you called out sick. If they started down the hallway you were in, you’d turn on your heel and speed-walk in the opposite way. Despite the tug towards them and how much you missed them, you decided it was better to run away and deal with the pain in your heart. 

It was impossible to keep running from them. They’d given you space, respecting your need to figure things out, but even they knew there was only so much distance you could put between yourself and them. Fate, however, wasn’t so patient. The Marauder’s Map marked your every step, your exact location, as if it were pulling them toward you—like invisible strings already tying everything together. You couldn’t escape them, not anymore. You couldn't outrun it—not when fate was already pulling you together, no matter how much you tried to distance yourself.

You stepped out from the entrance to your dormitory, expecting the usual quiet corridor stretching before you. As soon as you crossed the threshold, you froze.

There they were, standing in your path, as though they had been waiting for you. James, Remus, and Sirius—all of them, their presence unmistakable. The air was thick with tension, and you could almost hear the unspoken questions hanging between you.

Sirius was the first to speak, his voice sharp, laced with frustration. “You gonna keep running away?” he demanded, arms crossed tightly over his chest. There was a flicker of something else in his eyes—hurt, confusion. “We’ve given you space, but this… this is getting ridiculous. You can’t keep doing this.”

You shifted uncomfortably, trying to avoid the topic you weren’t ready to face. You didn’t want to, confront it, not yet—not ever. Your fear of their response to finding out was too strong. “I’m fine,” you muttered, trying to brush it off, but your voice came out a little too quickly, too quietly. "It’s nothing. I just needed some time."

Sirius’s eyes narrowed at your words. His jaw tightened, frustration turning into something sharper. “Nothing?” he repeated, his voice rising just enough to show the tension in his words. “You think we’re that stupid? You think we haven’t noticed? You can’t just pretend like nothing’s wrong. You’ve been shutting us out for days. We’re not blind.”

Before you could respond, Remus stepped forward, his brow furrowed. He shot Sirius a brief glare, his eyes softening when he turned back to you. “Sirius,” he said, voice calm but insistent, trying to de-escalate the situation. “We’re just worried. Please, talk to us.”

You could feel their eyes on you, waiting for you to speak. But your mind raced, and all you could do was let out an awkward laugh, forcing a tight smile. “It’s really nothing,” you said, your voice shaky. “I just… need some space, okay? I’ll be fine. It’s fine.”

You tried to take a step back, hoping to end the conversation before it spiraled further. You wanted to escape, to not deal with it.

But James stopped you, his voice soft but laced with hurt. “Please, can we talk?” he asked, his eyes full of concern. “We can go somewhere private.”

You felt the weight of his gaze, the silent desperation behind it, and for a moment, it softened something inside you. You hadn’t meant to hurt him. You hadn’t meant to pull away from them like this. The sudden realization of how much his feelings mattered to you hit you all at once, and for a brief moment, you faltered.

But despite the softening in your heart, you still couldn’t bring yourself to stay. You didn’t have the words, didn’t know how to explain it.

Still, you nodded reluctantly, and with that, the four of you found yourselves back in your dorm room, the heavy silence following you inside. The door clicked shut behind you, and the room seemed too small for what was about to unfold.

You sat on your bed, hugging your knees to your chest, your gaze dropping to the floor. The tension in the room was thick, the unspoken words filling the space around you.

Sirius paced, his footsteps sharp and purposeful, the restless energy in his movements clear. He looked angry—his jaw was clenched, and his hands were shoved in his pockets as he walked back and forth. His expression was hard and unreadable.

Remus stood a little further away, his arms crossed, brow furrowed in concern, though a subtle frustration lingered in his posture as well. He kept looking at you, his gaze soft but questioning, like he was waiting for you to open up. You could see he was trying to read you, trying to understand why you were pulling away, but there was an edge to his calm that you hadn’t seen before.

James, standing a little off to the side, looked almost... small. He was still, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his gaze fixed on you. The hurt in his eyes was undeniable, and you could feel it pressing down on you. He didn’t raise his voice, didn’t push, but the silence between you two seemed to speak volumes. His usually carefree nature was gone, replaced by something quieter, more vulnerable.

You swallowed hard, unable to meet any of their eyes for long. The weight of everything was suffocating.

“I… I didn’t mean to shut you out,” you whispered, your voice barely above a murmur, but it felt like you were shouting. “I just… I don’t know what to do with all of this. Everything’s changing, and I—”

Sirius stopped pacing and turned sharply toward you, his frustration bubbling over. “What is changing?” His voice wasn’t angry, but there was a harshness to it. “You’ve been shutting us out, and we have no clue why. We’re here, but you just keep pushing us away like we’re the problem.”

Remus stepped forward, his voice gentler, but you could see the frustration lingering behind his calm demeanor. “Sirius, let her speak,” he said, a quiet plea for understanding. His gaze softened again, but there was a flicker of concern. “We’re just trying to understand. Whatever this is, whatever you’re feeling, we’re here for you.”

James didn’t say anything, but his arms dropped to his sides, his posture deflated as he moved a little closer, his eyes never leaving you. You could feel the weight of his concern and hurt all at once. The silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating, as if everyone was waiting for you to finally break it.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves, but it was hard to find the right words. The reality of what you had been avoiding, what you had been pushing down, seemed to finally come to the surface. "I just… I don’t know how to deal with this," you said, the last word slipping out before you could stop it. "It’s too much.”

What if I’ve already lost them? What if this is it?

It felt like sand slipping through your fingers, everything slipping away from you as you stood there, helpless. You were losing them, and you didn’t know how to stop it.

Remus, his voice gentle yet firm, broke through your spiraling thoughts. “Please, dove,” he said, taking a small step closer. His tone held an urgency that made your heart flutter, though it only added to your feeling of being overwhelmed. “Talk to us.”

You swallowed hard, closing your eyes for a brief moment, trying to find the strength to speak. Your thoughts twisted and turned, and for a second, you almost couldn’t breathe. Tell them?

You exhaled shakily and gave a sigh, the words finally slipping out despite every part of you wanting to avoid it. “It started slow,” you whispered, voice trembling. “At first, I didn’t even realize. It wasn’t like anything changed overnight. But... when you touch me—when any of you touch me, I feel it. This electricity, this spark that... I don’t know how to explain it. The way your hand brushed against mine, it felt like something else. And then, when I smelled you… your scent—God, it pulled me in. It felt so right. So natural. And I started noticing it with all of you. It was like I couldn’t breathe right unless I was near you.”

You stopped, feeling the weight of the words you hadn’t let yourself say before. The words you didn’t think you could say. The words that terrified you.

“Then there was the day I realized,” you continued, barely above a whisper. “It was in Potions class. Another guy—he just bumped into me, reached over to grab an ingredient, and... I felt nothing. His touch was just... bland. Empty. No sparks. No pull. And it hit me all at once. It was like I couldn’t deny it anymore. I wasn’t imagining it. That’s when it all clicked, that I wasn’t just feeling this because I was going mad. I was feeling it because you—you three—are my mates.”

You blinked rapidly, and a few tears finally escaped, trailing down your cheeks. You looked away, embarrassed, but you couldn’t stop them. The dam had broken, and all you could do was let the words spill out, hoping that in some way, it would make sense to them.

“And I was scared,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “Scared that if I let this happen, it would ruin everything. That I’d lose all of you, that I’d lose the friendship we had, that I’d mess it all up.”

James sighed softly, his voice full of compassion. “Oh, love...” he murmured, his tone so gentle it almost broke you further. You could feel the sincerity in his words, the warmth in his presence as he took a small step toward you. “We’re not going anywhere, alright? You’ve never had to be afraid of that.”

Remus nodded, his expression serious but soft. He stepped forward as well, his gaze unwavering. “You’re not alone in this. We’re never leaving you. We’ll face this together, all of us.” His words felt like an anchor, pulling you back from the whirlwind of your own doubts.

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat, but you didn’t feel like you were sinking anymore. Their presence, their words, wrapped around you like a blanket, calming the storm within you—at least a little.

But then, as if on cue, Sirius stepped forward. He was quiet for a moment, his gaze intense as he studied you. And then, without saying a word, he reached out. His hand brushed gently against your cheek, wiping away the tear that had escaped down your face.

You froze for a second. The touch, light but deliberate, shocked you. It was like electricity coursed through your veins, a rush of warmth and something deeper, something you hadn’t fully understood until now. Something that made your heart skip a beat.

His eyes searched yours, a question hanging in the air between you two. “Did that feel like what you explained?” he asked quietly, his voice laced with curiosity. You could feel your breath catch in your throat, but when you looked up at him, something in you shifted. Your chest tightened, but not from fear. The tension inside you seemed to ease, just for a moment.

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest, leaning into his touch as if you’d done it a thousand times before. It was crazy—how quickly you just... let go. How quickly you could calm down under his touch, like the world outside of the room didn’t matter. Like everything was right again, for just a breath.

His thumb gently brushed across your cheek, the contact grounding you. And somehow, in that one moment, the tears halted–your spiraling thoughts stilled. You leaned into him, feeling the warmth of his hand, the familiar scent of him, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself believe it could all work out. The bond—the mateship you’d been avoiding, the feelings you’d been too afraid to admit—it was no longer just a weight, an anxiety-filled weight.

Sirius brushes his fingers over your neck, lulling over to your exposed right shoulder. His touch brings heat, making your mind grow dizzy from it. Its insane how much a bond carries control over you, your emotions–it’s scary, terrifying how much power it holds. 

He brings his hand upwards again, brushing your chin up. Sirius moved slowly, eyes trained on yours as he leans in–his breath falling onto your face. With a quick glance down to your lips, you knew his intentions. You nod, admitting your permission and his lips are on yours in a heartbeat. The brief brushes of your bodies touching brought upon was nothing compared to the feeling of his lips on yours–hand cupping your cheek. Your eyes had fluttered shut, your own hand reaching to tangle in his black hair and pull him closer. 

He ends on top of you on your dorm bed, body slotted between your opened thighs. His kisses travel down your neck, his voice breathless, “are your roommates returning today, beautiful?”

You have to pull your mind out of the dizzy headspace it had begun to enter into to hum your confirmation. When he continued his kisses on your neck, you’ve been sent into orbit. Your head is tossed back against the bed sheets, whines escaping you. You’ve let go completely, no more holding back your feelings against the bond–you’re trying to bring it closer to you, needing it to encapsulate you. It’s almost like you're trying to make time for all the days you spent avoiding them. 

When Sirius nips at your neck, at a spot where your pheromones are strongest–James and Remus step back in. You’re dazed, but you hear them talking in the back. You catch a few words–mating mark, where, need to choose different locations. It all spiraled from there. Clothes were almost ripped off, moans and the smell of sex filled the air. 

Each one–James, Remus, and Sirius–got a chance at fucking you. You took each one’s knot, your cunt sore–so unbelievably sore, red, and puffy from the way they all were feral. It was everything you wished for, everything you were pleading them for. Your moans of, “o-oh… Please! James, shit–please.” Your whines for more, begging Sirius to go faster–harder. Your gasps and tugs on Remus’ hair when he ate you out, pleading that he never stopped. It was a frenzy, one that didn’t even begin to slow down until the sun had begun to rise again. 

Remus, having taken you in doggy–his length pressing against your cervix–placed his mating mark on the back of your neck. 

Sirius, doing it in missionary, placed his on the right side of your neck–by your ear. 

Then James, letting you ride his length to your heart’s content, had his placed on the opposite side of Sirius’. The guys had placed theirs on each other, but you were too out of it to remember–maybe even see it with how blurred your vision was. 

Your earlier tears—those tears of sadness, of fear that they might leave you, that they might break your heart—shifted. They no longer stung with the weight of abandonment but softened into something more profound. They became tears of pleasure. 

Your heart, once clenched with fear and doubt, was now full—overflowing with something gentle, something unspoken, but undeniable. It wasn’t just relief; it was something deeper. The marks of your bond, the quiet promises that passed between you, were beginning to settle in your skin, into your soul.

The anxiety that had once twisted in your chest, the fear that they would eventually slip away, was transformed now. In its place, you could feel the steady, unshakable presence of their connection to you. Their touch, their scent, the weight of their bodies near you—it was all part of you now.

Later, you found yourself nestled between them, your body tucked close as the four of you curled up together in the small bed. The room was quiet, save for the soft sounds of breathing and the occasional rustle of blankets. Sirius, who had been the most distant, now lay with his arm across your waist, his breath even and calm against your skin. Remus was on the other side, his back to yours, his warmth a comforting constant as you all found a rhythm together.

James, still close, shifted slightly in his sleep, his hand brushing across your hair. You sighed deeply, feeling the peace settle over you like a thick, soft blanket. Every part of you, every part of this moment, felt complete.

And with that, you understood. You understood the bond—how, in a way that was unexplainable, yet irrefutable, you were intricately woven into their lives, and they into yours. It wasn’t just fate. It was this—the quiet knowledge that, from now on, you would always be part of them. That you were theirs, as they were yours.

As you lay there, tucked into them, your body began to relax, the warmth of their embrace washing over you. Your skin seemed to hum with the connection, a gentle vibration of energy coursing beneath your skin. It was a bond, a promise—one that would last, that would hold.

The mark, invisible to the eye, burned into your heart—a symbol of the truth you now knew, of the future that had been set long before you could even comprehend it.

The weight of their promise to stay with you, to never leave, fills the space between your hearts, and you let out a shaky breath, feeling a peaceful purr rise from your chest, soft and content. There was no fear now, no loneliness. Only the warmth of their love, their touch, their presence.

You were theirs. And they were yours. And everything, finally, fell into place.

[starlost-mochi-x]

omg i just saw the prompt list

can you do something cute and fluffy with 21 + 44 for Felix, he is wrecking me again rn🥹❤️

so this is pretty rushed but i think it went okay. omg same btw, he's been wrecking me so hard the past few days with his new hairstyle too. anyway here you go <3

fall for you - lee felix

pairing: lee felix x reader

summary: you and felix are at the library late at night, studying for an exam, until things take a sudden turn

genre: another college!au but you can't really tell ig, soft shy felix, very fluffy

a/n: this fic feels so cosy. dividers by @kodaswrld

⛓️ prompts: 21. "Are you trying to get me to fall for you?" / 44. "I wasn't supposed to say that."

skz prompt list | skz masterlist

The library is dead silent this time of night, you note as you walk in; the only sounds come from the faint tapping of keys on laptops and occasional taps and thuds as a pen is set down and a book is closed. No one is here but you and a certain someone.

Felix.

He is sitting with his knees tucked to his chest when you return from the cafe down the street, holding a cardboard tray of two drinks. You hand one to him and he thanks you with a soft, tired smile as you sit next to him, where your own workstation has been set up.

Your shoulder brushes his as you readjust, and you sigh as you reopen your laptop, the ghoulish blue light overtaking the warm glow of the golden desk lamps surrounding the area.

Felix laughs quietly. "Bet you missed that blue light, huh?"

You groan. "No, I dragged my feet on the way back from the cafe so I wouldn't have to face it. It's giving me a headache."

"At least you're prepared for the exam."

You groan and lean your head on his shoulder, exasperated. Your voice is muffled. "I don't feel prepared."

He ruffles your hair. "You say that every time, and then you pass with a great score. Relax, Y/nnie."

You sigh and sit upright, stretching. "I guess."

Bending your fingers to release some of the tension, you exhale and dive back into your work. You assume Felix is doing the same, and when you glance across, he is, but little do you know that he's already missing the familiar warmth of your physical action. His shoulder burns where you rested your head and he rolls it back, trying to alleviate the bittersweet feeling.

You're both already sitting fairly close; it's cold outside, and naturally, you drift closer to each other for warmth in the chilly air of the spacious library, knees tucked to chests and jackets draped over shoulders. Silence descends again, occasionally broken by one of you as you pore over shared notes or point to something on your laptops.

You sit back suddenly, turning behind you to survey the darkened shelves and sitting areas. Felix looks up from his notes.

"What's wrong?"

You grin at him. "We're literally the only ones here, do you realise?"

He surveys your surroundings too with a dazed gaze, then he nods. "Yep. I guess everyone else studied earlier."

You laugh and then hurriedly shush yourself, not wanting to disturb the peaceful, serene atmosphere that has descended like a blanket over the library interior. Felix covers his mouth with a hand, trying to muffle his laugh.

"The place isn't haunted, you know," he snickers. "You're allowed to make noise."

You point an accusatory finger at him. "It might be! And besides, you're doing the same thing."

"No, I'm not."

You roll your eyes. "All the library ghosts are going to come for you if they hear you lying, Lee Felix."

Felix snickers again, eyes widening. "Library ghosts? When'd you get that idea? You're lying now-"

You put on a very self-important expression and interrupt him, pretending to glare. "I made it up just now, 'cos I can. They can hear you, Felix."

He's grinning softly now, and a warm feeling spreads in his chest, thawing the ice beginning to frost over his skin from the library air. “I swear," he says, still grinning, "You always know how to make me laugh. Are you trying to get me to fall for you?”

You grin too and try to hide a blush, thankful for the low light. “What? No, of course not. Just trying to keep you awake.”

Felix’s smile falters slightly, unsure if he meant to say that out loud. His hand scratches the back of his neck nervously.

“I... I wasn’t supposed to say that.” He says uncertainly.

You try to play it off, teasing. “Well, now you’ve said it. So, what are you going to do about it?”

Felix’s eyes widen, and he stammers, not knowing how to answer. His heart races. He tries to cover it up with a nervous laugh, his voice a little shaky.

“I... I don’t know. Maybe you should just... make me fall for you?”

Your heart thuds, almost out of your ribcage, and you turn to him, hoping you look as confident as you sound. You don't.

"How exactly do I do that, Felix?"

He is silent. The atmosphere is charged, not least because of the conversation topic or the proximity. Felix lets his head drop and exhales heavily, like he used to when he had a secret to tell. When he raises his head, there's the faintest ghost of a shy smile on his lips. His cheeks are flushed and he's almost shaking.

His voice is so quiet when he speaks, almost a whisper.

"You don't have to try and make me fall for you, Y/n."

You tilt your head softly. "Why not?"

"Because you already have."

a/n: ooooohh *snaps fingers* plot twist

[mysterymachine9]

Dean Winchester x gn!reader

Summary: He needs your help to cum/ can’t get himself to 😞

NSFW. Minors DNI. Not proof read ❌

Hi 😁

Uhhh

Dean was propped up on the bed. Legs spread slightly and tangled in a blanket while his hand work quickly on his cock. Soft grunts filled the dim lit room. Along with the squelching sound that was made when his hand collected more of the leaking pre from his tip.

He couldn’t get himself to cum. No matter what he did. He tried thinking of you, what you’d do or say if you were in the room with him. But it didn’t work, because it wasn’t really you. He didn’t want to bother you either. That is due to you working on finding more lore on this new creature non of you can explain. And that’s important. But he needed you. Needed you in so many ways he couldn’t explain.

Moving his hips, he tried to get some relief. It didn’t work. All he continued to get was this dull, pleasurable feeling. And it wasn’t enough.

He groaned frustratingly, putting his head back. A call wouldn’t hurt, right? Maybe all he needed was the sound of your voice. But then his mind roamed and soon enough dropped that idea. He moved his hand again—starting to thumb at his tip. It worked for a few seconds, a moan slipping past his lips. Dean moved his hips into his hand, thumb starting to do quick circles. The face he was making at the moment, oh, he knew you’d enjoy it.

His stomach tightened, and for a moment he thought he’d actually get to cum. But for some reason he still couldn’t. So he let his hand drop and his head go back once again. “God damn it.” He breathed out, chest moving up and down quickly as his other hand reached for his phone. He wasn’t gonna walk out of his room with a boner. Calling you is easier.

Dean worked quick to find your contact. Immediately clicking on it, calling you, and putting it onto his ear once it started ringing.

Meanwhile, you were deep into the lore of this mysterious thing. Trying to figure out what it was and how to kill it. Just as you went to turn the page your phone buzzed against the table. You picked it up looking at the contact name first. It glowed the name “Dean”. Rolling your eyes you answered it, putting it up to your ear.

“Dean?” You question, because what could possibly be so important at the moment other than the lore on this thing?

And oh, just the sound of your voice nearly made him cum right then and there. “I need your help.” Dean said sounding like he just ran a marathon. He hoped that you’d comply.

“With?”

“Personal problem.”

Sighing, you made sure to keep the book open to the page you left off at. You mumbled the words that he just said quietly to yourself. Questioning what it meant. Then it clicked. You put the small pieces you had together. “I’ll be there in a moment.” You say, biting back a small smile and waiting until you heard something till you hung up. And all you heard was a quiet ‘okay’.

Getting up from your seat, you grabbed everything you needed. Then started your walk to his room. Dean was growing inpatient with every minute you took. But when you opened the door he got so damn excited.

When you saw the situation you quickly got into the room and shut the door behind you. “So this was your ‘personal problem’, huh?” You asked, pretending as if you didn’t know. You set the few things you had on you on his dresser, then made your way to the bed and stood at the foot of it. God, he looked pathetic. A man that many people and monsters fear, right at the palm of your hand. Lying on the bed waiting for you to do something. Your eyes roamed his body. Admiring him.

“Gonna keep staring or what?” Dean asked, impatiently. “I’m gonna take my time.” You replied while moving over to the side of the bed. He watched every move you made. Especially when you moved onto the bed, and soon enough onto him. You sat atop his thighs, hand on one side of his face. Leaning in to kiss him while your other hand moved to drag down his chest.

Dean leaned in—one hand going to your hip while the other was up on your side. You pulled away from his lips; catching your breath. The hand that was on his stomach moved lower and lower till you met his cock. He watched you for a moment, but when he realized you weren’t gonna give him what he wanted that easily, he moved his face into the side of your neck. Placing kisses everywhere he could reached.

“Come on, please. I waited as long as I could.” Dean whispered, and you could tell that he was being truthful. Based on the way he sounded on the phone and how he looked right now. And so you gave him what he needed. Wrapping your hand around his cock, and slowly starting to pump your hand.

He pressed himself more into your shoulder than neck—trying to keep himself quiet. Your hand that was on the side of his face moved to the back of his head. And his hands on you only tightened.

When you tightened your grip and went quicker, Dean’s hands went fully around you. Arms locking around your body. He moved his head down to look at the way your hand moved around his cock. Your other hand coming down to put feather like touches on his tip with your finger.

In response, he gasped and shut his mouth before he could moan loudly. “C’mon, Dean, lemme hear you.” You whispered as you replaced your finger with your thumb. Spreading his pre while you rubbed his tip quickly; applying pressure to add on to the overwhelming feeling. He rolled his hips, wanting more and more. You pressed a few kisses on his shoulder before pulling away. An idea striking your mind.

You wanted to hear him. To hear the prettiest moans and whimpers fall from his lips. But he kept himself hidden in your neck. So you pulled a hand away, wiping the pre you had on you on the bed. An issue for another time. Then reached for the hairs down by his neck. Pulling them.

You weren’t pulling too hard, but hard enough for him to come out of hiding. And when he was finally out, you slowed down the hand that was on his cock. Hearing a huff once you did. He must’ve been close.

Dean didn’t beg. But if he had to beg to get what he needed, he’d do just that.

“Baby, please—can I cum?” He swallowed the spit that formed in his mouth, then continued. “I can’t wait any longer, please.” And that did just it. You decided to give in, have mercy on the poor man. You don’t know how long he’d been trying to get himself to cum before calling you. So, with you being generous, started to pump your hand again quickly. Hearing a small whine leave his throat and echo in the room. Dean shut his eyes, and when he heard your praise and words he almost came. “So good for me, aren’t you? Waited as long as you could before giving me a call.” You said, softly.

And when he bucked his hips with a whimper you knew that was the only warning you were getting. Hot spurts of cum shot from his cock and onto his chest. Panting and moans being the only thing that stopped the room from being silent.

You kept your hand going, helping him through the aftershocks of cumming. Only pulling away when he sucked in a breath from the rising pain. “Thank you.” Dean breathed out, sounding fulfilled. “Of course.” You replied moving in to kiss his lips.

“Now, since I’ve helped you, will you help me and Sam read these books about these damn things?” You asked, laughing when Dean groaned and let his head fall to your shoulder.

[six-eyed-samurai]

"Choso! Did you eat my cookies?!"

He looks up eagerly from the couch, where he's currently flipping through one of the books you've lent him, only to wince at your expression looming over him. Choso tried for a smile.

"Uh, no. Maybe Yuuji ate them? You can go ask him."

"I don't need to." You yank the book from his hands and glare accusingly at him. Did he really think you would believe his five year old brother could possibly do such a thing? "Because unless Yuuji had a sudden growth spurt, I don't think he can reach the top shelf."

"You know that's why we put a step ladder there, right?"

"Oh? What's this then?"

Like a hawk you swoop in and brush off crumbs from Choso's shirt with a triumphant crow. "Have you anything to say for yourself?"

"They're my...cookies?"

"I can't believe it." Your shoulder sag; imaginary pearls are clutched as you fall back against the couch next to him. "My best friend and roommate - a liar, a thief and one cold-hearted man to try and pin it on a hapless toddler."

"You two-faced cookie monster!"

A cushion's smacked into him - Choso lets out a startled 'oof!' before indignantly whipping the blanket you had yanked over for yourself off in revenge. "Hey, they were that good, alright?"

"Excuses! First my dorayaki, next my mochi, now this? You've gone too far." Arms crossed, you shake your head in mock disappointment. "You're hereby fired from the position of my best friend."

"You can't do that! I've known you for years! I know exactly what time you can't sleep at night, I know how you like your coffee, I know what you did back in third grade with Soga Saito-"

"Stop -! Shut up, you're fired." Pointedly you roll onto your side.

Choso struggles to come up with a witty comeback, turning to you and trying to pull you back. "Well, fine, I don't wanna be your best friend anyway. What about boyfriend?"

"Oh, so that's how you're going to play it, the whole meh-I-don't-wanna - what. Wait, wait, wait. What."

Top ten worst ways to accidentally confess to a longtime crush on your (former) best friend that had gradually grown worse and worse over the time you both spend living under the same roof, seeing you walk out the door on some nameless date, know nobody but him knows what happened on Saturday the eleventh and he's still not the one you're kicking your feet for, all excited over just from a single text? Choso gulps. Top three, actually.

He can pretend you misheard, right? But the longer you go on gaping at him the more sweat collects into a bead on his forehead and on his palms. Choso slowly shifts away, never breaking eye contact.

"Well, I meant boyfriend as in, boy friend. Best male friend. You know?" His laugh sounds canned, like a badly made 1990s movie. "Are you - are you giving me the silent treatment now?"

"I mean - I - I have - just -"

"Did I say something weird? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to put you into an awkward position, or anything -"

The smile you have on is like you ate those cookies and not him. Really sweet and tasty cookies. Choso flushes.

"I mean, I'm just saying, but I guess I gotta find a new best friend now, male or otherwise, since you're promoted to boyfriend now."

Did you know one time my best friend fired me from being their best friend and we're not dating but I got replaced with a potato and was told I'd be sold for $1 fries.

[cheemscakecat]

Shapeshifter rant [angst and yappery]

The big scary looking form he takes is basically a threat pose. Threat poses are what animals use to fight or scare off danger.

Cats puff out their tails and arch their backs:

It’s something that even kittens can do.

Tarantulas lift up their front legs and bare their fangs:

Octopi make themselves look poisonous and can flash colors to scare predators:

It makes sense to me that a shapeshifter would have a bigger, distorted version of their base/“true” form as a threat pose. And that babies would instinctively be able to make that form even if they haven’t seen an adult before.

I think Shifty’s base form, the one he reverts into when he’s relaxing or sleeping, is like the form we see, but smaller and more friendly looking. And that it’s as tall as a grown human or just a little bit shorter.

The shapeshifter is afraid of humans; they lied to him, kept him as a test subject, froze him, and then disappeared. He didn’t know if they were going to come back to experiment on him more, or if they would want to “finish the job.”

He tried to dig his way out of the bunker but was stopped by the steel lining. This form is still fast and very durable, which he would want if the humans ever came back.

This form was made to try and break through the lining of the bunker, but that didn’t work. Instead, Shifty took to hitting the lining to make this form stronger and tougher skinned.

He can perfectly replicate Ford and Fiddleford’s voices, but doing so fills him with rage and makes him crash out. For a time, he would purposely get himself riled up to “train” for the scientists to return.

But as decades passed and nobody came to poke, prod, refreeze, or kill him, Shifty felt he’d been left to rot and gave up.

He still doesn’t trust humans, new or not, children or not. And Dipper quickly proved himself to be a fanboy of the scientist that kept the shapeshifter locked away from the sun and sky, froze him, and then never came back.

The second he realized they knew he was a shapeshifter, he went straight to treating them like a threat. For all he knows human children could be just as dangerous as the adults, and he doesn’t want to be destroyed or captured.

Shifty’s not an evil monster, he believes humans are out to get him and wants to do everything he can to stay safe from them.

The reason he lost his temper when he couldn’t find Dipper and the others is because he had no idea what they might be planning, and no idea what they might be capable of.

Being alone in a bunker for 30 years thinking this way would do a number on anybody. He’s not mentally stable or willing to believe that these new people have good intentions. In his mind revealing himself from the start would be opening himself up to get attacked. Better to pretend to be one of them and figure out what they want.

The reason Shifty wanted the journal all those years ago was to find out Stanford’s true intentions for him. Somehow he overheard Fiddleford muttering about freezing him, and he simply had to know if the scientists were really going to do that. Ford freezing him just confirmed all his worst fears.

So why does he still want the journal, anyway? He feels that Stanford saw him as a monster, and when pretending to be Ford, he talks about himself that way. If he “knows” how the scientists really view him, why would it matter if he has the book or not?

It should have the answers on how to get out of the bunker. He hasn’t been able to escape, he can’t access the room with 50 years worth of food, he knows the outside world exists and would surely like to go there.

It’ll give him some closure in the form of seeing how much Ford despised him and decided to leave him to starve to death in the bunker. Dipper says the author has been missing, but Shifty’s spent 30 years stewing over the scientists betraying him. He’s fully in denial about Stanford or Mcgucket potentially being dead, the idea was just presented that day. No, the book will prove he was right all along, the scientists hated him and locked him away.

There are other creatures in Gravity falls that he could mimic, letting him run free in nature without worrying about humans tracking him down. Heck, maybe the humans actually like these other beasts. Maybe the journal will even give him some sort of insight on why humans are so disgusted with him in particular.

Revenge. The humans refused to let him have the book when they pretended to be friendly. Clearly it holds some sort of value and significance to Stanford. Taking the book and keeping it for himself would surely infuriate Ford. And quite frankly, that’s enough in the way of revenge because humans are too dangerous to be attacked.

On a lighter note, I think that the way Shifty was talking was basically like.. when a kid makes their voice deeper and makes fun of how an adult speaks. He is an adult, but mockingly speaking like Ford in his own voice was a good way to trick Dipper without risking getting angry hearing Stanford’s voice.

This is probably the dumbest headcanon of mine; if you could just be a fly on the wall, on a day where there’s no humans in the bunker stressing Shifty out, I think he would sound pretty similar to Luke Skywalker.

Not the exact same, especially with his emotional state, but similar.

[fictionadventurer]

Trying to sort some thoughts about Jane and Rochester.

I started by liking Jane and dreading Rochester coming on the scene.

Rochester showed up and was funny. He added a necessary element of humor to the book. I liked that he was here.

Last time, Rochester lost me with the gypsy fortune teller stunt. This time, it was hilarious.

No, this time, he lost me with the Blanche Ingram stuff. He's courting a woman he actively hates who is actively cruel to a child under his protection. Then he keeps pretending he wants to marry her up until the moment of proposal to Jane???

I can't wrap my head around his reasoning here. Best I've got is maybe he thinks that since he's married and can't chase after Jane, he's got to make Jane chase after him.

The worst part is that I'm also starting to dislike Jane.

Rochester seems like the only person she completely likes and respects. Everyone else doesn't measure up in some way. Her family's horrible, of course. None of Rochester's visitors get any positive description. She likes Mrs. Fairfax but considers her too silly. She judges all of Adele's flaws.

I know I said I'd take this book on its own terms, but I can't help comparing it to Austen and Gaskell.

Austen had a sense of humor. She recognized varying personalities, and even when she skewered them, she could still like them, respect them or sympathize with them. Jane and Rochester's humor is all very detached and dry, separating them into their own little world. There's no fondness for the ridiculousness of others.

Gaskell has compassion. A skill at tracing out and sympathizing with varying personalities. Here, everyone who doesn't fit into Jane's narrow mold comes under scrutiny in some way.

I'm being unfair to Jane. She likes Bessie and Robert. She likes Adele and Mrs. Fairfax. But the disapproval of their flaws is presented in a way that shades the entire relationship.

Maybe I'm supposed to dislike Jane here. Maybe that's the point.

She's about to enter into an unholy union with an unrepentant sinner--maybe that's making her worse.

Jane herself admits that her inexperienced eighteen-year-old self was blind to his flaws.

I've got to give her a chance to grow from here.

But for now I'm skeptical as to how much of Jane's behavior I'm supposed to think she's meant to grow past.

[earthlybeam]

Your work is so beautiful. How would Lindir confess his love to an elf reader?

Thank you for all your wonderful works 🩷

Thank you so much for your kind words! I’m so glad you enjoyed my writing. 🥹❤️‍🔥✨ It means a lot to hear that. Below, I’ve shared a piece where Lindir confesses his feelings to an elf reader what you requested. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it

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Lindir Version below

🎻𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓭𝓲𝓻

The golden glow of the setting sun bathed Rivendell’s serene gardens in warm hues, casting long shadows across the vibrant flowers and ancient stone pathways. The air was cool, carrying the faint scent of blooming lilacs and the fresh, earthy scent of the forest. A peaceful quiet enveloped the garden, save for the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze, the gentle hum of nature’s life all around. The atmosphere was calming, almost sacred, and there, on one of the stone benches nestled between the towering trees, you sat. Perhaps you were lost in the pages of a book, or simply absorbing the tranquility of the moment, each breath deep and steady. Lindir, however, was not in the garden’s peaceful embrace; he had been tending to a few duties inside Rivendell’s hall, his mind occupied with menial tasks, though it was a struggle to stay focused. His thoughts kept drifting back to you. Every time he tried to concentrate, an image of your face would linger in his mind. The warmth of your smile, the sound of your voice, the grace in the way you moved—it had all taken root in his heart without him ever intending it. Now, as the afternoon wore on and his responsibilities faded, the weight of his feelings for you had become too much to bear. His longing had grown too great. He had spent days trying to suppress it, pretending it was just admiration, just a fleeting affection. But now, in this moment, as the soft golden light kissed the earth, he knew the truth. He had to tell you.

The gravel path crunched softly under his boots as Lindir approached the garden, his steps light but deliberate. He had always been an elf of quiet grace, his movements fluid and reserved, yet now, they were hesitant—each step a small battle against the rising tide of his emotions. His heart beat faster than usual, the rhythm erratic and heavy in his chest, echoing in his ears. The air seemed too thick around him, each breath harder to draw as he inched closer. He was so close now, so close to what he had feared and longed for in equal measure—expressing the feelings that had made his thoughts spin, and his heart race. As he drew nearer, you remained unaware of his presence, engrossed in your own thoughts, unaware of the change in the atmosphere. Lindir’s eyes lingered on you, tracing the soft lines of your face, the gentle curve of your form, as though trying to memorize every detail. His throat tightened. He could see the quiet peace that surrounded you, the effortless beauty of your being, and it only made his resolve waver.

He stopped, just a few paces away from you, feeling a sharp, almost painful awareness of the distance between you. His fingers twitched by his sides, unsure of what to do with his nervous energy. He wanted to reach out, to take your hand, to somehow close the space between you, but fear held him still, rooting him to the ground. His breath was shallow, caught in his chest as he watched you, as the seconds stretched on in quiet agony. Finally, he summoned the courage to speak, his voice breaking the stillness. It was quiet, fragile—like a leaf trembling in a storm. The words came slower than he wished, but there was no turning back. “Y/N” he called, his voice barely more than a whisper on the wind. His throat constricted as he said your name, the sound of it trembling in his mouth. There was a hint of hesitation there, as if even the mere act of speaking to you brought with it a weight he wasn’t sure he could bear. He cleared his throat gently, an attempt to steady himself, but it did little to quell the racing of his pulse. His cheeks, usually calm and composed, were flushed a soft, warm pink, betraying his nervousness. His face, which often remained stoic and distant, was now painted with a vulnerability that he rarely allowed anyone to see. His hand moved slightly, as though unsure whether it should be by his side or lifted to touch you, to express the turmoil that twisted inside him. “May I… have a moment?” The words were simple, and yet, they felt monumental. His voice was quiet, almost trembling, carrying a weight of emotion that he had not intended to reveal. He had rehearsed this moment in his mind countless times, but now, standing in front of you, those rehearsed words seemed to fall short. Still, the sincerity behind them was clear.

For a brief moment, he remained there, standing just beyond your gaze, his eyes fixed on you. There was a quiet yearning in them—a silent plea to be understood, to have you see the storm raging within him. His words held a vulnerability he wasn’t used to displaying, but the need to speak his truth—to finally confess the feelings he had buried for so long—overcame every ounce of his reticence. His heart raced, and in the stillness of the evening, all he could do was wait—wait for your response, for your reaction. His hands trembled slightly, but he forced himself to remain calm, standing there, at the precipice of something he was not sure he could fully grasp. And now, the world held its breath, as Lindir waited for your eyes to meet his, unsure if this was the moment he had been waiting for, or the moment everything might change forever. You look up from your book, startled by the sound of your name, and your gaze meets his. The softness of his voice catches your attention, and you notice the slight flush on his cheeks—an unfamiliar vulnerability in his usually composed demeanor. A gentle smile tugs at your lips, and you gesture to the empty space beside you on the bench. “Of course, Lindir,” you reply, your voice calm and inviting. “What’s on your mind?” You don’t need to ask more; the quiet sincerity in his eyes speaks volumes. There’s a moment of silence as you both feel the weight of what’s unsaid between you, and the garden, now bathed in golden light, seems to hold its breath in anticipation encouraging him to speak.

Lindir hesitates, a quiet wave of uncertainty sweeping over him. His hands shift nervously, the fabric of his tunic creasing under his fingers as he grips it tighter, as if needing something to hold onto. His usual posture—graceful, confident—feels smaller now, as if the weight of his emotions is bending him, pulling at him in ways he has never known before. There is a slight tremor in his movements, and he stands a little straighter, attempting to gain some composure, but the underlying tension is palpable, an unfamiliar vulnerability lingering in the air between you. For a long moment, he says nothing, as though struggling to find the right words that have long been trapped inside him. The world around you seems to pause, the soft rustle of the leaves and the distant trickle of the fountain becoming mere background noise to the symphony of his quiet turmoil. He is used to maintaining control, to managing the myriad of tasks and responsibilities that come with his role in Rivendell, but this? This is different. He finally opens his mouth to speak, but the words catch in his throat. His voice falters, and he immediately clears it, his cheeks flushing a deeper shade of pink from embarrassment at his own hesitation. He shifts his weight, casting a glance downward, as though the earth beneath his feet could offer him comfort or guidance. His eyes drift over the surrounding flowers, their delicate petals swaying gently in the evening breeze, offering no answers, yet somehow adding to the weight of his silence.

“I—” he starts again, his voice breaking slightly before he tries to steady himself. “I do not quite know how to begin.” His words are quiet, his tone laden with hesitation, yet the sincerity beneath them is unmistakable. He lets out a soft, almost inaudible sigh, and when he raises his gaze to meet yours, the vulnerability in his eyes is undeniable. His usual composure is shattered, replaced with a raw honesty that fills the air between you. “I… have struggled with this for some time now,” he continues, his voice barely above a whisper. “I have tried to push it away, to pretend that it was not there, but each day it grows stronger, and I… I cannot deny it any longer.” He pauses, his breath catching slightly, and for a fleeting moment, he looks as though he might retreat, that perhaps the weight of his emotions will be too much to bear. But then, he stands taller, summoning the courage to speak the truth he has long kept hidden.

“I have… grown to care for you in a way I never expected. In a way I did not allow myself to expect,” he says, his words trembling with the depth of his confession. His eyes soften, and the longing in them is unmistakable. “It is… not easy for me to say this, Y/N I have spent so many quiet moments with you—watching, listening, and yet never daring to truly acknowledge what I feel. But I cannot keep pretending anymore. I…” He swallows, his chest tightening with emotion, his words almost lost to the weight of his affection. “I care for you, deeply. More than I ever thought possible.” There’s a long, painful silence between you, one that is thick with the unspoken truth. His words hang in the air, a tender confession wrapped in the warmth of his heart. Lindir stands before you, his hands now trembling slightly at his sides, but his gaze never leaves yours. It is as if he is waiting for your reaction, but even more so, he seems to be grappling with his own vulnerability, exposed in a way he never has been before. “I…” He falters again, his breath shallow. His voice is barely audible, yet it carries the weight of everything he has kept locked away for so long. “I love you, Y/N. I cannot keep this inside any longer. It is a truth that has been growing within me, slowly, and now I cannot imagine my life without you in it. You are with me in every moment—whether we speak or not, whether you are near or far. I find myself thinking of you even when I do not wish to, and every time I see you, it feels as though my heart finds its place again.” He takes a deep breath, his chest rising and falling with the intensity of his emotions. “I love you, more than I can express, more than my words can carry. And perhaps this is foolish of me to say, but I cannot keep pretending otherwise. You have become a part of me.”

Lindir’s eyes, always so careful and reserved, now shine with an openness that is both raw and beautiful. The silence between you is no longer heavy with uncertainty but filled with the weight of his confession. “I do not ask for anything in return,” he says softly, his voice tender, almost fragile in its honesty. “I only wanted you to know this truth—one I can no longer hold within me. I love you, with all that I am. And though I fear the possibility of your rejection, I must speak this, for you have become everything to me.” He exhales softly, the tension in his form melting into something more vulnerable, more honest. And as his words linger in the air, the world around you seems to pause once again, the fading light of the sun casting a warm glow on the two of you—caught in this moment, where words no longer need to speak, and only the truth of his heart remains. Lindir stands before you, utterly still, his entire body tense, as if awaiting the inevitable judgment of his soul’s most vulnerable confession. His hands, which are usually steady and certain in their tasks, now tremble slightly at his sides, betraying the storm of emotions raging within him. He feels the thrum of his heart pounding in his chest, so loud that it drowns out everything else—his thoughts, the soft rustle of leaves in the garden, the distant sounds of Rivendell. The air between you seems to hum with the weight of his words, like the breath before a storm.

His usual composure has crumbled, leaving him bare and exposed. The serene, gentle elf you know has momentarily faded, replaced by a version of Lindir you rarely see—raw, unguarded, and completely at the mercy of his emotions. His lips part as though he might say something else, something to lessen the tension, but no words come. Instead, there is only silence, thick and heavy with the uncertainty of what might happen next. His gaze is locked onto you, but it’s not the usual steady gaze—it flickers with a nervous, almost desperate edge. His eyes search your face for any sign, any hint of what you might be thinking. But all he sees is the calm expression you wear, and that only makes his anxiety rise higher. His heart lurches with doubt, twisting inside him, and for a fleeting moment, he wonders if he has made a mistake—if his confession, so clumsy and exposed, will drive you away instead of bringing you closer. He had imagined so many different outcomes to this moment, but never had he thought of how vulnerable it would leave him, how naked his heart would feel as he stood here, waiting. The soft blush on his cheeks deepens as he swallows, and he feels the burn of embarrassment spreading through him, the heat of it crawling up to his ears. His stomach turns in tight knots, and the air feels heavier with each passing second. He wishes, not for the first time, that he could simply retreat, disappear into the quiet corners of Rivendell where no one could see him, where he wouldn’t have to face the rawness of this moment. But his feet refuse to move, and his gaze remains fixed on you, as if anchored there by something far deeper than the nerves plaguing him now. But then—just as the suffocating silence threatens to overwhelm him—he notices it. The soft curve of your lips, the warmth in your eyes, the reassuring calmness in the way you look at him. It’s not a rush of overwhelming emotion, but something gentler, something more understanding, as if you are seeing him for who he truly is in this moment—not the composed, quiet elf, but the one who has laid his heart bare.

His breath catches, and for a brief, infinite moment, his fears falter. The anxious flutter in his chest doesn’t fade, but it lessens just enough to allow a flicker of hope to break through. He waits for you to speak, to let him know whether his confession will shatter or find its place in the quiet spaces between you. But as you sit there, eyes locked on his, your expression unreadable for the moment, time seems to stretch on. It’s as though the very air around you holds its breath, waiting for you to break the silence. The uncertainty twists inside him once more, pulling at his resolve. His body tenses, as though he might collapse under the weight of what is to come. His heart races again, a frantic drumbeat in his chest, and he waits—anxious, vulnerable, and trembling as the moment stretches on, each second more torturous than the last. Will his feelings be met with kindness? Will his truth be received with the same care he has put into it? Or will this be the moment that changes everything, in ways he cannot yet comprehend? All he can do is wait, the silence hanging between you like a fragile thread, waiting to snap or strengthen with your answer.

Two versions below return and reject (you can pick which ever one you like)

(first one you return feelings)

You sit there, the weight of the moment settling heavily between you both, the world around you feeling strangely suspended, as if time itself has paused to witness this delicate confession. Lindir’s words still linger in the air, the vulnerability in his voice raw, yet imbued with a quiet courage that touches something deep inside of you. His gaze is fixed on you, his eyes wide with a mixture of hope and uncertainty, as if he’s waiting for you to make sense of what he has so fearfully and courageously shared. It’s almost as though every breath he takes, every beat of his heart, depends on the answer you’ll give. The fragile hope in his eyes is almost too much for him to bear, and you can feel the tenderness of that moment, how it rests on the precipice of something life-altering. Your heart tightens as you realize that this is one of those rare, precious intersections where truth and emotion meet—where love, once whispered in the corners of your soul, now begs to be spoken aloud. You can no longer hold it back. You take a breath, steadying yourself, and meet his gaze fully, letting the warmth of your feelings pour into your words.

“Lindir,” you begin, your voice soft but sure, “I… I don’t know how to say this, but I do care for you. More than you could ever know.” The words feel right, like a long-forgotten truth finding its place. Your heart pounds in your chest, and yet, despite the sudden rush of emotion, there’s a wave of relief that washes over you, soothing the nervous tension that had built. As you speak, you watch his expression shift, ever so slightly, his eyes flickering with the faintest spark of hope, like the first hint of dawn after a long, uncertain night. “I do love you, Lindir. I’ve loved you for a long time, in my own quiet way.” His breath catches at your words, and for a moment, his entire body seems to freeze. His wide eyes lock with yours, as though he cannot quite comprehend the meaning of what you’ve said, as though he is hearing the most unbelievable of truths. The air between you both hums with a palpable energy, a silent current of emotion that connects you both in a way that words alone never could. Lindir stands motionless, processing the weight of your confession, the possibility of your love so surreal to him that it seems beyond reach.

And then, his face transforms. The guarded uncertainty in his eyes melts away, and a pure, unrestrained joy fills his expression, softening the sharp angles of his features into something tender. His lips part, and the barest of smiles emerges, like a delicate blossom opening to the light. “You… you truly feel the same?” he asks, his voice a whisper, as though he’s testing the very reality of your words, afraid they might dissolve if he speaks too soon. The incredulity in his voice is palpable, and his cheeks flush an even deeper shade of red, as if the warmth of your words has overwhelmed him. His hands tremble slightly at his sides, fingers curling in uncertainty as he contemplates whether it’s safe to reach for you, whether the joy blooming in his chest can truly be allowed to blossom. You smile, a soft, knowing expression that reaches your eyes, and nod gently. Your heart flutters in your chest as you watch his face light up with that same mixture of disbelief and joy. “I do,” you confirm, your voice barely above a whisper but full of warmth, and with that, you can see the relief flood his face, as though a burden he didn’t even realize he was carrying has suddenly been lifted from his shoulders. His whole body seems to relax, the tension he had held so tightly dissipating, leaving only the quiet peace of understanding between you both.

A soft, breathless laugh escapes him, full of wonder, and it seems as though the very sound of it is a release—his heart, once tight with worry and uncertainty, now soaring with joy. He takes a step closer, his movements slow and deliberate, as if savoring the moment, unwilling to rush it, to risk losing the magic of it all. His hesitation lingers, his body language still cautious, but the warmth in his gaze is undeniable as he steps forward. He reaches out toward you, his hand trembling slightly, as if unsure whether to make the first move, whether this new reality is truly within his grasp. His fingers brush against yours, the touch light and tentative, yet filled with a depth of meaning—like the very touch carries the weight of everything he has longed for, everything he has quietly hoped for but feared he could never have.

“I… I promise to be everything you deserve,” he murmurs, his voice low, rich with emotion, and it sends a shiver through you. “I will love you, honor you, care for you with everything I am.” His words, soft and sincere, hold a promise that resonates deeply within you, a vow spoken from the very depths of his heart, a promise to always be there, to always cherish what you share. Lindir, ever shy and reserved, leans in ever so slightly, his movements delicate, like someone testing the waters of this newfound connection. His lips brush against your hand, a kiss soft and reverent, a simple, almost sacred act that carries with it more meaning than any grand declaration could. The kiss is gentle—no fire, no explosion—but it speaks volumes. It is a kiss of tenderness, of affection, of a love that has grown quietly but steadily between you both, until it finally found the courage to bloom.

In that moment, everything seems to fall into place, the tension that had gripped your hearts easing, leaving behind a quiet sense of peace and belonging. His breath steadies, and as he gazes at you, his eyes are filled with warmth, the kind of warmth that only love can bring—a quiet joy that fills the spaces between your words and the unspoken things still lingering in the air. With you, Lindir knows that he no longer has to fear the future, that he can finally open his heart to you, fully and without reservation. He is no longer the hesitant, uncertain man who once hid his feelings away—he is now the man who stands before you, whole and complete, ready to share his love without fear. “I will always be here,” he whispers, his voice barely audible but carrying a weight of promise that settles deep within you. “With you, I’ve found a peace I never knew I could have.”

As he stands before you, hand still clasped in yours, the world feels as though it has shifted into perfect alignment. The garden around you is alive with a new vibrancy, as though it, too, has breathed a sigh of relief, sensing the harmony between you both. Lindir, once filled with anxiety and doubt, now stands before you with a heart full of love, ready to offer it to you without fear. In this moment, you realize that together, you can face whatever comes. Whatever storms or uncertainties may lie ahead, this love—tender, sincere, and full of quiet devotion—is more than enough to carry you through, and it will always be enough, because this love is everything you both need.

(Second one you reject his feelings)

You sit there, the weight of the moment sinking in as Lindir’s words, soft but filled with an unmistakable sorrow, echo in your ears. The quiet air of the garden seems to hold its breath around you both, and in the stillness, the flickering hope in his eyes fades. His words are gentle, but they leave a cold emptiness behind them, a truth you wish you didn’t have to say. As Lindir begins to pull away, the space between you both growing wider, your heart tightens. His expression, once filled with warmth and vulnerability, has now shifted into something quieter, more distant—his hurt palpable even in his restraint. For a moment, you wish you could reach out to stop him, to say something that might ease his pain, but you know there’s nothing more to say. You take a breath, your voice trembling ever so slightly, but steady. “Lindir, I… I’m sorry,” you begin, your words heavy with regret, knowing how deeply they will cut. “I never wanted to hurt you, truly. You’re such a good person, and you’ve always been kind to me, but… my heart doesn’t… doesn’t feel the same way.” Your voice falters, the weight of your confession pressing down on you.

Lindir stands there for a moment, as still as the stone statues that adorn the gardens of Rivendell. His heart, which had once soared with hope, now sinks with the crushing weight of your words. The gentle confession of your feelings, though kind and sincere, pierces through him like a blade, and the warmth he had felt just moments ago vanishes, leaving only coldness in its wake. His face is pale now, the flush of nervousness replaced by the stark, muted pallor of quiet heartbreak. His hands, which had trembled with anticipation, now hang limply at his sides, fingers curled into tense fists. He wants to speak—wants to say something that might ease the ache in his chest—but the words feel too heavy, too inadequate. How could he make sense of the fact that the person he has silently adored for so long could never return his feelings?

The last thing you wanted was to cause him pain, and yet here you are, watching the life in his eyes dim. His sorrow mirrors your own, a reflection of the pain both of you feel in this moment. For a long moment, he simply listens to you, his gaze cast downward, unwilling to meet your eyes, afraid that seeing the sorrow in your expression will break him completely. Every syllable you speak deepens the ache in his heart. He had known, on some level, that this moment was always a possibility. But he had allowed himself to dream, to hope for something more. And now, those dreams shatter, leaving only a quiet sorrow in their place. You look up, your gaze meeting his, hoping he can see the regret in your eyes, even as your own heart aches for him. “I do care for you, Lindir,” you continue, your voice soft, “but it’s not the same. You deserve someone who can love you the way you deserve to be loved. I—I wish I could be that person, but I can’t be.” The words feel hollow as they leave your mouth, but they are the truth, the painful truth neither of you wanted to face. The silence between you thickens as he absorbs what you’ve said, and it feels like your heart is being torn in two. The space that was once full of the gentle hum of shared moments now feels impossibly vast.

Lindir doesn’t say anything for a moment, just stands there, his posture rigid, his expression unreadable. You can feel his gaze on you, and it burns—heavy with the pain of your rejection. You wish you could make this easier for him, for both of you. But you know that no matter how much you want to, you can’t change how you feel. “I—I’m so sorry,” you repeat, barely above a whisper. “You’re not alone in this. But I can’t give you what you want from me.” His quiet acceptance of your words, that faint but obvious hurt in his eyes, nearly shatters you. There’s nothing more to say, nothing you can do, and before you can stop it, the finality of your confession hangs in the air. “I… I understand,” he finally manages to say, his voice soft and strained. He doesn’t look up as he speaks—he can’t. It’s too much. His breath catches in his throat, and his chest tightens with a grief he hadn’t anticipated. It’s the kind of grief that makes him wish he could disappear, to retreat from the reality that’s crashing down around him. But he doesn’t. He stands there, still, holding himself together with the last bit of dignity he has left.

The smile he offers you now, though it’s still soft, is a shadow of the one he had worn before—tinged with sorrow, tinged with the acceptance of a love unreturned. His words come in a whisper, barely audible, “I understand, Y/N. I will respect your wishes.” There’s an almost imperceptible crack in his voice, the softest of tremors. But then, just as quickly, his composure returns, the layers of his dignity protecting him from further exposure. “I wish you happiness too,” he adds quietly. “Always.” He wants to say more, to tell you that it’s all right, that he’ll accept this, that he will always respect your wishes. But the words catch in his throat, trapped behind the overwhelming weight of his emotions. Instead, he just nods silently, his lips pressing together in a thin line. He doesn’t want to seem weak—not in front of you, not in front of the one person who has unknowingly stolen his heart. But inside, the cracks are widening, and he can feel the fissures of his heart breaking apart. The silence between you both is deafening. The garden, once a place of serenity, now feels like a hollow echo of what could have been. Lindir takes a step back, the movement slow, deliberate, as if giving space to the grief that now fills the gap between you. He can’t bear to look at you any longer, though his heart aches with the desire to, with the hope that somehow you might change your mind, that your words had been said with hesitation or regret.

But you don’t. And so he turns, his back to you now, his steps light and measured as he retreats into the garden. His mind races, but it’s clouded by the sting of rejection. He wonders if he will ever be able to look at you the same way again, if he’ll ever be able to stand in the same room with you without feeling this unbearable ache. As his figure grows smaller in the distance, there’s a quiet sorrow that lingers in the air, as though even the garden feels the absence of what could have been. Lindir doesn’t look back—not because he doesn’t want to, but because he fears if he does, the last thread of his composure might snap. Instead, he continues his slow, measured steps away from you, each one heavy with the weight of an unspoken goodbye. And as he disappears into the depths of the garden, the silence that follows is the loudest sound he’s ever heard.