#expect a new years drawing tomorrow

[askcapital]

Happy New Years!

It's after midnight here in Argentina, so I can do this.

I just want to thank this community in general for being so cool. <3 You're all an amazing bunch, and I'm happy to be a part of this little corner of the internet. I've met a lot of wonderful people (that I'm too shy to tag, you all know who you are) who've made my askblogging experience simply delightful. I've made so many wonderful friends, some of whom have helped me during my lowest points of the year, and have inspired me to reach new heights in my art.

I also just... wanna thank everyone that's read my blog. I have honestly hesitated continuing this blog, since I have never thought people would like/enjoy Capital the way I do. but as it turns out... a lot of people do! most of you know how important this purple bastard is to me, so to have taken the leap and found out that you enjoy them and the story I'm telling has made me so, so happy. <3

I'm thankful for anyone that's ever talked to me, befriended me, even sent an ask or interacted with me in any way. You are all wonderful and I appreciate you all so much <3

here's to another year of askblogging, of drawing and arting, of writing and plotting, of making friends and chatting! I love you all so much! take care and I hope 2024 is excellent to you all

[punmster]

currently filled with Vibes

not sure if theyre good ones or not

[deadhands69]

A Fantasy with Nice Shoulders

MDNI

Katsuki Bakugo helps you after you're hit with a sex quirk, based on the same idea as the Shigaraki one here

Katsuki Bakugo x gn/afab reader

All characters in 3rd year, over 18 and you should be too if you're reading this

Warnings/Content/etc: soft but slightly possessive Bakugo, swearing, very light violence, oral (m/f receiving), slightly public/people listening, sex (various positions), walk of shame.

*the start’s a little angsty but idk how to write anything that doesn’t turn into mushy fluffy smut 

**a lot of feelings of not consenting to being hit by the quirk, but the actual physical interactions are very much consensual/have been wanted for a while

***this one’s long, it got a bit out of hand [4.9k words]

“They thought it would be funny” you hear someone say. A black cloud of dust had just dissipated, leaving a shocked Monoma and Mineta in the middle. “I don’t think they actually realized how dangerous what they did is” added another voice. 

You had all heard of the sex quirk villain terrorizing the city. Every news station had been talking about it all week. 

While on patrol for his internship this morning, Monoma picked the villain’s quirk up attempting to apprehend him to no avail. After some brief convincing from Mineta, they assumed it would be a fun prank to make all of the fem-bodied 3rd years a little horny. What they didn’t realize is this quirk doesn’t just make people a little turned on, it drives them to insanity if not dealt with. 

“A new article was posted on this today, the effects are worse than previously assumed.” you hear Iida’s nearly robotic voice over the crowd “It can cause permanent damage to quirks and mental stability if intercourse isn’t acted upon promptly!”

Oh, I could fucking kill them you think before launching yourself across the room. Monoma dodges and yells that he’s so sorry and will make it right before running out the door to get help. Mineta on the other hand, is still in shock.

You make quick work of him, leaving him tied to a chair in the common area covered in bruises. The teachers will arrive soon with Monoma and they can deal with it. Turning away and walking to your dorm room, you hear him hurling some insult at you but can’t be bothered to listen.

Most of your classmates are trickling out of the area. Fortunately, the others in your class affected by the quirk all seem to be taken care of. Your best friend Shoto is even leaving with his crush. You’re happy for him but can’t say it doesn’t hurt a bit that he didn’t bother to check on you. It’s not a big deal though, Momo needs help. 

And you’ll be fine. 

You think. 

Or maybe you won’t be.

The happiness for your friends using this as a catalyst to confess to their crushes feels sharply in contrast with the overwhelming loneliness and dread you feel walking back to your room alone. Sure, you have a crush on someone too but he left earlier this morning and you didn’t expect him to be back until tomorrow night. Bakugo frequently leaves on the weekends to visit his parents.

You consider texting Denki or Kiri for his number but they just left with their crushes as well and you’d rather not interrupt them. 

Besides, even if Bakugo was here, you don’t think that would make much of a difference. To put it lightly, he doesn’t seem to be into you. When you and Shoto hang out in the common area like you always do, his red eyes glare at you from across the room. Just seeing you seems to put him in a bad mood. He doesn’t even yell at you like everyone else, seeming to ignore your mistakes as if they aren’t worth his time to correct. He did argue with you once, the first day of school but when you threw it back at him he just stared at you. After that, he always seemed indifferent. It was disappointing, his sass seems like it could be fun sometimes. 

You’d since written it off as a lost cause and tried to move on. Still, there’s something that draws you to him that you can’t quite place. Something in his eyes that hints things could be different. 

You close the door to your dorm, comforted by the familiar space. Iida’s words ring out in your head again “...permanent damage...”

That’s just one article, maybe this won’t be as bad as they say you think before a dizzy spell makes you double over.

Flopping face first into your bed, you scream into your pillow.

Katsuki Bakugo just got back from the gym, walking into an uncharacteristically deserted common room. It is Saturday, right? His eyes light up when he sees Mineta still bound to the chair you left him in.

You didn’t fucking ask for this.

Someone finally snapped, good for them. He’s a little sad to have missed it. 

“What happened?”

Mineta stammers at the looming figure above him before blurting out random bits of the story. “t-the villain. Sex quirk. And Monoma- we thought it was harmless but then-”

Of course he’d heard all about this quirk, who hadn’t. Clearly Mineta.

“Are you that fucking stupid?”

“N-no we just thought-” 

Bakugo was losing interest, having put the dots together by now. At this point, Mineta was rambling how it would be okay, listing the names of their classmates who had left together.

“Jiro and Kaminari, Ochaco and Midor-”

“Raccoon eyes and Red, [y/n] and Icy Hot, yeah yeah”

“What? No. Todoroki didn’t leave with [y/n], he left with Momo.”

“Huh?” Curiosity replacing the disappointment in his voice. “Who’s with [y/n] then?”

“No one, they left alone. Serves them right. That delinquent’s the one who did this to me!”

“Glad someone finally did,” Bakugo mutters under his breath, smacking Mineta with a small blast while walking past him to the stairs.

Back in your room: you’re losing it. Every article says the same thing: you’re fucked. You’d read as many as you could before the overwhelming desire became too much to handle and you couldn’t keep track of the sentences anymore. You tried to fix it yourself too, but no matter how hard you tried your touch only seemed to amplify the problem. Leaving you feeling overheated, your panties desperately drenched. It’s only been fifteen minutes, this will get even worse.  

“Oh come on, you can’t just leave me here - wait!”

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

It’s probably one of your friends, you think, wondering who would bang so loudly on your door (also who finished that quickly????) In the heat of the quirk, you’d taken off your hoodie - leaving you in a nearly see through white tank top and the tiny athletic shorts you’d been wearing all day. Your friend’s wouldn’t care though.

KNOCK KNOCK.

You make your way to the door, thighs clenching around your aching groin as you walk. Swinging it open, you find yourself face to face with a black skull hoodie. Your heart nearly jumps out of your chest before remembering, he doesn’t like you. And he’s not even supposed to be here this weekend. Why’s he here?

“Bakugo, why are you here?” you grumble, sounding much more gruff than intended.

“Uh, nice to see you too?” his fingers tap impatiently on the door frame next to your shoulder.

“Any other day, I’d love to word spar with you but today I just can’t.” you turn to close the door.

“Why? Are you mad your crush left with someone else?” 

“What?” you rub your eyes in confusion before getting distracted. Bakugo is hot in workout clothes on a normal day. This quirk was rendering it nearly impossible to concentrate on his words. Not with the way every muscle in his thighs appears to be sculpted into his pants, leading up to his-

“Icy Hot.” he repeats himself, “He left with pony tail. ‘s why you’re pissed, right?”

Oh, that. You’d forgotten about that.

“What? No. Shoto and I are just friends. Besides, he’s had a crush on her forever and she needed his help.” you say blankly.

“You needed help too though,” that one stung. He continues, “sounds like a shitty friend if you ask me.”

“Look. If you’re just here to criticize my friendships, I can’t deal with it right now. Are you done?“ your voice breaks. You step back slightly, hoping to hide in the dimness of your room. He’s not wrong, but you really don’t want him to see you cry. 

“I-” he notices the tear in the corner of your eye and knows that one hit too close. He’s off to a bad start. If he keeps talking like that, you’ll definitely slam the door in his face. 

Much more quietly he tries again. “Look. I didn’t mean to- fuck, I’m so bad this.” Biting his lip, he wipes his hands on his pants before shoving them in the front of his hoodie. His cheeks flush, making the scar under his eye look pale in comparison. Is he nervous? That can’t be it.

Regaining his composure, he looks back at you. “I came to see if you’re okay, if you n-need anything.” 

It’s the most quiet you’d ever seen him. He can’t look you in the eyes. Glancing down, he notices how see-through your shirt is before quickly looking away. He focuses hard on the walls of your room, hands still deep in his pocket.

Of course you’d always wanted Katsuki Bakugo in your dorm room, but assumed it would be different. You imagined that one day he’d start fighting with you like everyone else and fighting would turn into play fighting which would turn into him being nice every once in a while. You always assumed, under his prickly exterior, he’d be soft and sweet inside. You’d never seen it though. Not even when the prettiest girls in your school threw themselves at him, only to be on the receiving end of an explosion. Still, you hoped maybe one day you’d be the one who could break through that, finding something loving underneath. Your crush was all built on a fantasy, but it was a nice fantasy. A nice fantasy, with nice shoulders. 

Back to reality.

He at least thought to be here now, which is better than the apathy you were used to. It’s a start.

Closing the door behind him, you turn to walk back to your bed when the world shifts. The dizziness had been coming in waves, this is just another one. You could expect it now. Tensing to hit the ground, you’re engulfed by his athletic arms instead.

“Come in,” you whisper “I really don’t want to be alone right now.”

“Holy shit [y/n], you okay?” he holds you in his arms, looking down at your face.

“Oh, yeah. This has just been happening,” you trail off, hardly aware of what you’re saying. You’re trying to find up from down, only to find every direction your body leads you to is him.

“This has been happening the whole time??” his clenched jaw could easily be mistaken for anger but the waver in his voice gives away his concern. He doesn’t seem to mind you grasping his sweatshirt to right yourself. His body feels warm against you, much warmer than you - making you wonder how he’s managing to be so overdressed right now. Pulling closer, he feels firm under his soft worn hoodie. He smells like laundry detergent and deodorant, with a subtle sweetness. The throbbing in your tight shorts worsens, the quirk-induced ache leaves you feeling empty. You need more of this. More of him.

The dizziness passes and you’re back on your feet. He lets go of you but keeps his arms near as you steady yourself against the wall. 

Deep breath. If your friends managed to confess to their crushes today, you can too. Your situation might be a bit different, but he’s not stupid. He knew very well what he was walking into when he showed up. He has to expect this.

Here it goes. 

“Bakugo?”

“Yeah? D’ya need somethin?”

“I need your help.”

“Whaddya need?”

“You.”

He nods, understanding. “Yeah. I can do that.”

“Really?” That’s all it took? Holy shit.

“Pshh. What kind of a damned hero would I be if I can’t even fuck a sex quirk out of ya?” the mock confidence would normally make you cringe but he stepped closer and your face is now inches from his. His hands move to the wall behind you, caging you between his arms. Looking down at you, he pauses.

He wants to throw you on the bed. To shove you face first into the mattress and make you scream his name all day for every other girl in the dorms to hear while they’re being awkwardly fumbled by amateurs. He wants to fuck you as hard as he can, so good it’ll ruin anyone else for you. He wants to make everyone jealous of you. 

But when he’s right here with you. 

When he leans in closer. 

His lips barely brush against yours. 

Bringing his arms down from the wall, he cups your cheeks. Holding you softly, pulling you in closer but just as sweet. It isn’t the rough boldness you would expect from him, but it was explosive in its own way. Every subtle move of his lips drags up wishful feelings you’d been burying deep inside you for the past three years.

He pulls back for air, his heavy eyelids opening to see you confused at him.

“Oh.” you breathe.

“Did I do somethin wrong?”

“No, I just didn't expect that.”

He rolls his eyes. 

“You’re just being… nicer than I expected,” you clarify. Understatement of the fucking year.

“’m never mean to you” he mumbles. Even in the low lighting you can see how hard he’s blushing. To hide his embarrassment, he closes the gap between your lips again - this time with more confidence. Mouthes pressing together, his tongue dancing with yours.

Taking this as an invitation to move forward, your hands embrace his body. Exploring every inch you’d only dreamed of. The soft skin of his neck you’d grown accustomed to staring at sitting behind him in class. The ridges of his back you watch flex under his suit when he’s training. You take off his sweatshirt to run your hands over his arms, his black tank top giving you a better view of the muscles and scars that cover them. Fingers lingering on every curve. You pull your hands from the top of his chest down to his thighs. Your touch veers up his inner leg when his hand grabs your wrist, stopping you.

Grimacing at himself for the pause, he bites his lip to collect his words.

He definitely can’t say he hasn’t thought about doing this with you. He has. Constantly. To a point, he maybe wondered if it was unhealthy. It’s actually the reason he went to the gym this morning, he needed to think of anything else but your ass in the tiny little shorts you were wearing while casually making a cup of coffee. The ones you’re wearing now, pressed up against him.

But having you now? Like this?

“Wait.” His voice is gritty but softer than you’d expect.“What?” 

“Things ain’t gonna be weird with us, right?”

“No weirder than ever. Why?” 

He looks away momentarily. Not wanting to say it if you hadn’t been thinking the same thing. For his own sake though, he can’t bring himself to leave this unaddressed.

“Cuz I skipped a few steps, I was supposta take you out and stuff first.”

“Well, I’ll let you know to ask me out in advance next time I plan to get hit with a sex quirk.”

“‘m serious. ‘m not fucking this up.” 

“You can take me out later.” you smile, his eyes soften looking into yours. Something in his stare makes you melt like ice cream on a summer day. Is this the sweetness you’d always dreamed of?

Feeling too hot, you take off your tank top, throwing it on the ground nearby. His eyes drop and the corner of his mouth creeps into a smile. His hands move to your waist before gliding up to trace the shape of you. He follows your lead - pulling his shirt off and exposing the scars scattered over his toned body.

Granting your own wish, your hands trail down the V along his hips and into his pants. Closer, you need to be closer.

Without thinking you drop to your knees. The pants don’t leave much to the imagination, his outline appearing rock hard already (and he didn’t even get hit with that quirk). Peeling back the fabric, his cock bounces out heavily. It’s massive in a way that would usually scare you but with the audaciousness of a sex quirk taking over your inhibitions, you only want it more. Grasping the soft skin with both hands, you bring the dripping pink tip to your mouth. You have to. It’s so beautiful and you need it. He gasps as your tongue lolls out and you bob your head forward.   

One of his hands finds your neck, thumb gently caressing the back of your head; the other planted on his own face leaning over you with his elbow into the wall to steady himself. You watch his abs flex with every heavy breath before your eyes find his.  

“Fuck, you’re so fucking good” he groans. You moan at the sound of his voice, sending vibrations through him.

He doesn’t last long. To be honest, he’s a little embarrassed by this but he really had been thinking about you in these shorts all day and didn’t expect this to happen. Less than a minute later, his hips are sputtering while he whimpers “wait, [y/n] gonna cum.”

Perfect.

Even in your throat, you can’t take him all the way in at this angle. Increasing the speed of your hands, you pull your mouth back enough to look up at his face again while still working his sensitive tip. His brows furrow and he bites his lip, exhaling hard while gripping your hair tighter. 

“Fuck… cumming” he whines through clenched teeth. His dick gushing in your mouth.

You stare up into his crimson eyes, licking him while letting his load drip through your lips down your chest. The astounded look on his face says he’s into it. 

Milking out the last drop, you let him gaze at you while catching his breath. You grab your tank top to wipe your chest and face off but he’s already pulling you up before you can finish. Pressing you back into the wall. His lips find yours as he cups his hand around your cheek.

“So fucking pretty,” he mumbles between kisses, “now it’s my turn.”

Suddenly, his strong hands grip the backs of your thighs. Not removing his lips from yours, he carries you across the room to your bed. Laying you across his lap, he takes the shirt still in your hands and finishes cleaning his cum off of you. Still worked up, every touch he gives is met with your moans. Noticing this, he works his hands around your body. Lightly grazing and squeezing where he pleases. Taking off the shorts he’d been daydreaming about removing all day. You’re soaked through your panties, pressing hard into him as his fingers gently pass over you.

“Wanna sit on my face?” he asks, knowing you’re dying to grind into him any way you can.

Absolutely, you do.

A little too eagerly, you shove him back onto your bed - he doesn’t mind. First, you peel the wet fabric from between your legs. Climbing over him, you position yourself above his face. Your ankles slide under his shoulders, fingers tangling with his above his head to steady yourself. You slam into him, dropping harder than intended (okay, you really want this.) A bit rough, but you know Dynamite can take it. Slightly overwhelmed at your enthusiasm, he groans into you before his wet tongue laps at your folds. Sucking and biting at your clit as you ride his face. His hand follows over yours as you move to grip his blonde hair. 

You’re almost there.

KNOCK KNOCK.

“Hey, [y/n] are you okay in there?” Mina’s distinct voice sounds through your door, “we’re worried about you.”

“Yeah, I’m.. uhm. I’m good.” you yell back, trying (and slightly failing)  to control your breath.

Glancing down, Bakugo’s eyes light up. Without warning, he shoves his tongue into you. Your world spins.

“Fuckkk” you moan under your breath, gripping his hair harder. He’s enjoying this.

Of course the other hero students would immediately jump back into helping people, but now? There’s no way you’re answering the door right now.

Shoto inquires next,  “are you sure, we read more and-”

“Yeah, I’m- I’m fine!” you manage to get out before throwing your face down and exhaling hard into a pillow. You feel your pussy throb as you cream on his tongue. He’s still not slowing down, determined to make you break. His hands now squeezing hard around your thighs, pressing you into him.

“I think someone’s in there,” Mina giggles. 

“We should probably give them space, it’s the manly thing to do right?” Kirishima adds.

“Wait, I wanna know who it is!” Sero’s voice chimes in. 

How many people are out there??

“In that case,” Momo adds, “[y/n], I made these for you. I’ll leave them out here, okay? Hope you’re being safe!” Something slides under your door but you can’t make out what it is.

You continue to hold your breath, clenching around his relentless tongue.

Finally, their voices trail off down the hallway. Bakugo (you should probably call him Katsuki after that) lessens his grip allowing you to roll onto your bed. Pulling your face away from the drool and bite mark covered pillow, you start to catch your breath. He presses himself up, rubbing his messier than usual hair and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. After a quick kiss on your forehead, his heavy footsteps make their way to your door and back before throwing a few condoms on your bedside table.

Useful. Thanks Creati.

He decides it’s his turn to be on top. With your legs wrapped around his hips, he slowly presses forward. His tip slides into your wetness and you feel yourself stretch around him. Bringing his lips to yours, he kisses you like earlier - soft, passionate. He’s being so sweet you wonder how this is the same person who was just tongue fucking you, trying to get you to scream while all of your friends listened. The same person who grumbled and rushed past you this morning without a hello.

“Ready now?” he grins at you.

Considering his glacial pace, you weren’t really sure when it happened: he bottoms out in you before pausing. You wrap your hands around the back of his neck, scratching them through his soft hair. Thoughts of who he was earlier blur away, taking in the feeling of him in you now. He slowly resumes movement. 

His tongue inside you felt amazing earlier, but his dick is even better. Hitting every sensitive spot you didn’t even know you had. He sucks your bottom lip into his, gently nipping as he picks up the pace. You’re panting hard, kisses becoming sloppier. He thrusts into you, harder and deeper.

“Fuck Katsuki,” you moan, “gonna cum.” 

“Do it. Cum on my dick,” he growls back, slamming harder into you.

Your throbbing cunt pulses around him while you scream in his ear (you'd feel bad but it's not like he can hear that well anyways.) Hands dragging down his back, pulling him in closer to you.

A jolt of pain amplifies your pleasure as his teeth connect with your throat. Biting down while he whimpers into your neck. You feel him pump into you, exploding white into you while you ride out the waves of your own orgasm.

As you both come down, you run your hands over his scared face. Wanting to cling to any moment of softness you can get from him. He closes his eyes, melting into your touch. 

“Thanks for your help,” you whisper in his ear.

“Help? Oh. Yeah,” his gravelly voice is soft against your cheek, “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time, you don’t have to thank me.” He pulls out, leaving you feeling empty again.

“How’re you feeling?” he asks, tying a knot in the condom before tossing it.

You stand up. No dizziness yet. You test your quirk. Almost back to normal.

He picks up another condom from the table, giving himself a few strokes before putting it on.

“Again?” you ask.

“You’re not through the quirk yet, are you?” His red eyes pierce through you and you know there’s no use trying to hide anything from him.

“Almost.”

“I can do better than almost,” he smiles and find yourself pressed into the wall again. His calloused hands running over you in contrast to his smooth lips leaving a trail of small pecks over your neck. 

In one fluid motion, he grips the back of your legs, pulling you up while sliding you back onto his dick - this time faster with more ease. You gasp, clutching his shoulders while he roughly thrusts into you. 

“ya feel so good on my cock, you’re doing so fucking good,” he chokes out between heavy breaths, "you look so fucking pretty taking me like that."

The pressure in your gut rises every time he pounds into you before spilling out, sending pulses of satisfaction through your whole body. You shove your head into his shoulder, crying his name while he fucks you harder. Toes curling as your heels dig into his back.

Before you can catch your breath, he throws you back on your bed.

Strong hands pull you onto your knees, your back arched, and face finding your pillow again. Grabbing your ass to bring you closer, he penetrates you again. His fast pace resuming, making you whimper into your pillow.

His hands find yours, bringing his elbows to either side of your shoulders. Groaning in your ear “ya sound so fucking pretty, louder for me,” as he plows into you. You scream, feeling yourself pulse around him as your pleasure cascades through you.

“Ka-katsuki” you whine, the sound of his name in your voice sending him over the edge.

With another hard thrust, he stutters his hips into you, exhaling hard. For the third time today, you feel him flex in you, filling the condom. You stop biting your pillowcase to look at him. His bright eyes staring back at you through heavy lids.

He thinks you look so fucked out and pretty on your tear-stained pillow.

“You did so good,” he breathes, “you feel better now?”

“Definitely”

Definitely better but 

So.

Fucking.

Exhausted. 

A sliver of light slices through your room. Your hands move across the bed but it’s empty.  Yesterday feels like a hazy dream. The ache between your legs reminds you it was definitely real. Your neck and hips are sore too, must have fallen asleep at a weird angle. Blinking your eyes open wearily, there’s a note on the pillow next to you. 

You know you should clean up more, go to the bathroom down the hallway but you’re so tired you can’t manage to do more than melt into your sheets. The last thing you remember before drifting off to sleep is Katsuki helping you get dressed for bed and wrapping himself around you.

Had to leave early this morning for extra training but let me buy you coffee. Text me when you wake-up and we can meet at that place on the edge of campus.

Katsuki xxx-xxx-xxxx

You check your phone. 

[you have 57 new messages and 14 missed calls] 

The latest few, from Mina, asking who’s in your room. Quickly, you swipe them away. That’s a long story and you’re not sure how you’ll tell it. You can deal with it later. You text Katsuki. 

You [heading out now, meet at the coffee shop?]

Katsuki [see you soon]

Getting ready in a rush, you quickly throw some pants on before brushing your teeth, pulling your hair out of your face, and heading down the stairs.

Walk normal you remind yourself on the way into the common room, trying to look like Katsuki hadn’t spent half of yesterday pounding his massive dick into you. The rest of the class doesn’t know that yet and considering that it’s new, you aren’t really sure if he wants them to know. That probably wouldn’t be the best way for them to find out, anyways. 

Ochoco’s voice beams behind you “Hey [y/n], you’re alive! We were so worried about you!” 

“Hey Ochoco! Yeah, I’m okay!” you yell back.

Hearing you’re awake, Mina runs from the couch to hug you. “Hey!!!” Her eyes widen. “You had a good night!” she says before giggling “I’ll text you!”

Mineta scoffs at the sight of you before getting far out of your way. Good.

Tsuyu, Iida, and Jiro all stare from the couch, they wave back politely but avoid eye contact. 

Denki high-fives you. 

Sero also high-fives you before running to the couch and handing Jiro money. Is this about beating up Mineta? They can’t possibly know about anything else.

Deku looks mortified. “Uhm.” He grabs at the collar of his shirt.

Is there something on your sweatshirt? Using the window by the exit as a mirror, you check.

Oh, shit. There’s more than something on your sweatshirt. 

Tiredly, you assumed the hoodie you woke up in was yours; this one has a big white skull on the front. Peaking out above that, a massive bite mark covers half your neck. You pull the hood up but it still doesn’t cover it.

You [just looked in the mirror]

You [why didn’t you warn me???]

Katsuki [now everyone knows ur mine 🧡]

[you have 8 new messages]

[melrodrigo]

friends? - cairo sweet

Cairo Sweet x Reader

Summary: A new class leads to some heated feelings

Warnings: Finally wrote an enemies to lovers, they’re academic rivals ur honor, my writing, cairo being a meanie, quite an excessive use of italics

Word Count: 1k+

A/n: wanted to practice some, tell me what u think? do you want a part two?

“Cairo Sweet.” You read aloud, scrolling down your class list for the next year. Winnie —your best friend since childhood—laughs quietly at the sound.

“Funny name.” She mumbles when you quirk an eyebrow at her.

There was no reason to think ‘Sweet’ was a weird surname; however, Winnie, at the moment, was high out of her mind, so you let it go.

“Jacob Weinstein, Sophie Bell, Anthony Smith—god I don’t know any of these people!” You whisper, the slightest bit of anxiety creeping in.

Your first day is tomorrow, and you’ve sworn to yourself not to check who is in your specific class, wanting to try to spontaneously make new friends.

The keyword was try, because god you were bad at small talk.

Even in her mellowed state, Winnie could tell the nerves were settling in. She reaches out and draws you towards her, sitting so you’re facing each other, only a finger away from completely pressing into one another.

She swirls the lollipop in her mouth around, angling your head to look her in the eyes.

“It’s gonna be fine. Don’t sweat it, please? It makes me sad to see your pretty face in distress.” She spoke evenly, making you feel like you had steady ground to walk on, helping you come back to earth. You let out a deep breath, one you didn’t know you were holding.

“You’ve got to stop flirting with anyone and anything that moves.” You tell her, lightheartedly. She had helped taken the edge off, for now.

-

Bless her heart, Winnie’s reassurance lasted about until she left for her own home, leaving you alone with your thoughts in the big lonely house you had to call home.

It takes a book, or maybe two, for your eyelids to flutter shut, comforted by the smell of old paper and the feeling of coarse parchment.

Walking to school is no different. You listen half-heartedly to whatever Winnie decides to babble about this specific morning, your mind elsewhere.

As you near the doors of your next class, Winnie gives you a quick wink.

“Good luck soldier.” She says, smiling an almost teasing smile.

The minute you push open the doors you’re taken by surprise. It was fairly early, and though you expected no one would be there yet, there was a girl sitting smack dab in the middle of the class. Her head rested on her hands, staring blankly at the chalkboard in front of her.

You walk up silently to the desk behind her, far enough so you weren’t in the first few rows, but close enough that you wouldn’t be sitting with all the slackers in the back.

You slip out a book, kick your feet up to rest on the wooden table, and relaxed slightly. She seemed to pay no mind to you, and didn’t seem to want to pay any mind to you.

After a few pages in, you realize you’ve been reading the same sentence over and over again, not quite comprehending the letters that now looked like a random jumble.

There was a sinking feeling starting in your stomach, as if something were twisting and screaming for your attention.

Table or chair, wind or sun—you couldn’t quite figure out what it was that was bothering you.

Your eyes wandered from the page to your surroundings, trying to pinpoint what it was.

You must’ve been making quite some noise, because the girl in front of you turns around, an obvious distaste on her face. The moment you lock eyes you feel it.

Ah, I know what it is now.

It seems almost silly to say, but you could swear, she was the root of your problems.

There was an almost inimical aura about her, the way she acts—the flick of her eyes, the slight clench in her jaw, her rigid robotic posture—was enough for you to cower.

Of course, you had never even talked to the girl, but you could tell all at once, you weren’t going to be good friends.

“Could you stop moving so much? It’s distracting me.” She tells you, in a manner too rude to be a real request.

Her eyes narrow when you don’t answer. You had elected instead to stare at her freckles, ones that littered her face. Not counting your current feelings for her, you couldn’t deny it, she was beautiful.

However, the way she was acting now was more than enough for you to be sure she was not someone friend-worthy, and you ignored her remark.

In a quiet retaliation, you wait till she titled her head back that you scratch the rug beneath you with the heels of your feet.

It creates a faint screeching sound. When the mysterious girl turns back once again, this time with fury in her eyes, you avert your eyes and look around the room, whistling.

You could tell you were pushing her buttons, but oh boy if it wasn’t just the most fun. If it weren’t for the sound of the door opening you’re positive she would’ve gotten up and confronted you.

In walked a short, scruffy, middle-aged white man whom you concluded must have been the teacher.

“I didn’t expect anyone to be in yet. Students aren’t usually thrilled to learn my class.” He said, sounding pleased with himself to have two new focused students.

“I’m quite excited to see how it’s going to go, I’ve never learned with a favorite author of mine.” The girl spoke, this time with no venom in her voice.

The professor let out a strangled sort of squeak, obviously caught off guard.

Great. She’s also a suck-up.

“Well, i’ll be damned. I’ve never met someone that’s read my book— other than my wife. Although I’m not sure if she even read the whole thing.” He said, failing to hide the excitement and disbelief he was surely feeling.

“I thought it was amazing commentary on modern marriages and love through difficult times.” She said, the light from outside lighting her hair up a lighter shade of brown.

Blah, blah, blah. Someone save me.

As if hearing your prayers, another student entered the room, effectively cutting off that godforsaken conversation. More pupils start filling up the class, and even though you can tell the professor wants to keep talking to the brunette, he steps up to the small platform.

“Good morning class, my name is Mr. Miller, and I’ll be teaching you english literature.” He announces, voice full. You can tell he’d practiced this beforehand.

Your plan to make friends, to both your joy and dismay, get crushed almost immediately. There are no group activities or opportunities to even speak to the other people in the class, all attention directed to the front while Mr. Miller scrabbles on the chalkboard.

The brunette’s name, you learn, is Cairo. She manages to be the first person to raise her hand, to challenge Mr.Miller, to question almost every single thing on the board.

And even though that nagging feeling you felt when you first saw her is gone, you let yourself dissociate and simply stare at the girl. If the class was going to be boring, it wouldn’t hurt to have some eye candy, would it?

“Now, who can tell me exactly why Orwell chose to use these sets of words? What do they give to the overall tone of the book, umm-y/n?” Mr.Miller called, looking from his list of students.

You stir in your chair uncomfortably; you have not been listening to him. The air had turned very cold; your heart picking up its pace.

“I don’t know.” You mumble after a while of every face turned your way, impatience in their gaze. You shrink into your seat.

You hear a little scoff from ahead of you, coming from none other than Cairo Sweet.

You bite back an insult, and try to ignore the disappointed murmur that comes out of Mr.Miller.

Before you know it the hour is gone, and the sound of books stacking against one another breaks you out your daze.

Winnie’s waiting for you outside the door, quite creepily, you tell her as you walk together to your next class; a subject that you both have.

“So, how was it?” She nudges you lightly, smiling expectedly.

You flash her a tight lipped smile, then let it drop when you know she’d be able to see right through you.

You grip her arm and lean in closer, checking around you.

“There was this one girl, she was horrible!” You whisper, a new spark of energy flowing through you at the prospect of telling Winnie about it.

“She was the BIGGEST teachers pet, and she said something so rude to me before class, so like we were sitting and…” You continue to recount the story, trying your hardest to recreate Cairo’s glare.

When you get done, you turn to Winnie, waiting for her to join in on your gossiping.

“So am I going to witness an enemies to lovers type of thing right in front of me?” She sighs, exasperated.

You’re so shocked you don’t follow her into the class, stood rooted to the spot at the door.

“Wait, what?”

[hxzbinwrites]

Hiiii! Could I request a oneshot where Husk reunites with a gn! S/o he had back when he was alive? The reader decides to stay at the Hazbin Hotel as a way of staying protected from the rest of the sinners and overlords in hell. After Charlie introduces them to everyone, they stop at the bar for a shot and they recognize eachothers voices.

(It can be fluff or angst)

Tysm!^^✨️

Husk x Gn! Reader | Quitting |

Warnings ⚠️: Drinking, Alcohol Abuse, Cussing

(Y/n) is a mess. Just a plain mess. That’s what everyone though at least. Just a drunk weaving in and out of the next bar, blurring the lines between today and tomorrow, reality and fiction.

Groggily they drag their feet along the pavement, tired eyes desperately searching for a cheap enough bar that will still take them in. So far, no luck has been found. Most of the bars are either too expensive for someone who already blew everything they had on alcohol, or already know who they are and refuse to let them into their establishment.

And don’t even think about a place to stay. (Y/n) hasn’t been able to afford rent in years, not even a cheap motel to stay at. It’d be a blessing if somewhere that was a free stay just popped out right infront of them and just offered a place-

“HELLO!!”

“AH! WHAT THE HELL?” (Y/n) said, scowling at the cheerful face infront of them. It was Lucifer’s daughter, Charlie Morningstar. “Listen kid, don’t you know not to sneak up on folks!”

“Ah! I am so sorry!!” Charlie said, tucking her papers with drawings of rainbows made with crayon under her arm as she grabbed (Y/n)‘s hands.

“I’m here to make you an offer!” She said, smiling once more. Her cheerful demeanor was very different from (Y/n)’s deadpan expression.

“Listen kid, I don’t got much money. I find some here and there and then I blow it on booze, if you need investments, why don’t ya go to an Overlord or something, I ain’t got time for all of this.”

“Oh I don’t need any money!” Charlie said,”I need you! I’m working on a project to help rehabilitate sinners!! Help them go to Heaven!! And I’d like you to participate!”

“Why would I do that?” (Y/n) said, raising an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t you start off on an easier case or something, I just don’t think that’s a good idea-“

“You can stay there for free!-”

“Alright lets go.” (Y/n) said, taking their hands out of Charlie’s grasp before she started to crush them in a hug.

“YAY!!! ANOTHER GUEST AT THE HOTEL!!!” She squealed, making the drunk’s head throb at the loud noise.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough Princess. Lets go to this ‘hotel’ of yours.”

——————

Charlie kicked open the doors to the Hazbin Hotel, skipping in alongside (practically dragging along) the newest guest, (Y/n).

“EVERYONE!!!!” Charlie shouted,”EMERGENCY MEETING!! WE HAVE A NEW GUEST!!”

(Y/n) covered their ears, their eyes squinting in annoyance at the Princess’s very loud entrance.

Mostly everyone slowly made their way to the lobby, Vaggie being the first to enter.

“Hey. I’m Vaggie. I’m Charlie’s girlfriend. If anyone here gives you trouble, let me know, I’ll handle them.”. For someone so laid back and monotone, you really wouldn’t expect her partner to be the hyper princess who was literally jumping up and down.

(Y/n) and Vaggie conversed for a bit before Sir Pentious, Angel Dust, Alastor, and Nifty entered as well.

They all talked and got to know each other before in the corner of their eye, (Y/n) caught sight of a bar. A BAR!! They quickly excused themselves and hopped behind the counter, quickly mixing a drink.

“Excuse me, who are you and what are you doing behind my counter?” A deep voice said, instantly making (Y/n) freeze in their tracks.

“Husk?” They asked, turning around expecting a familiar face only to be met with a casio themed cat.

“(Y/n)? Is that really you?”

“Husk!!” They said, reaching over the counter to give him a hug, much like the one they were internally complaining about with Charlie earlier.

“It’s good to see you old friend. How’s Hell been treatin’ ya?”

“Shitty” They replied,”since I died, I’ve been a drunk and living off the streets for a few years. Well decades now. Oh well, I’m here now!”

Husk narrowed his eyes at her,”so you’re telling me that my old drinking buddy has been living off of these dangerous streets! Hell (Y/n), I’m glad that Charlie found you. Now, move away from the counter, let me make you a drink to commemorate you quitting drinking.”

“No fair!” (Y/n) said, plopping down on the bar stool,”quitting? We all know that’s impossible. I was a drunk when I was alive, I’m a drunk now that I’m dead-“

“And you’ll become sober when you go to Heaven. I….I really care for you (Y/n), you shouldn’t stay in this shithole. Go up to those pearly gates. For me please?” He said, sliding them their favorite drink.

“Sure Husk, I’ll do it for you. But if I do it, you gotta promise to come with me right after okay? No more gambling.”

Husk sighed, closing his tired eyes,”Fine. I’ll do it for you. You better be glad though (Y/n), I wouldn’t do this for nobody except you.”

They smiled, looking into Husk’s eyes as he smiled back. They both knew that they were gonna keep their promises.

—————

Word Count: 823

(sorry it’s so short 😭)

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Not A Verstappen: Gridlocked {9}

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!driver!reader x Lando Norris Summary: It’s the end of the season but there’s no such thing as winding down in F1. Warnings: 18+ only, smut, angst, crash WC: 3.1k F1 Masterlist NAV: Sibling Rivalry One || Two || Three NAV: Gridlocked One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine NAV: A New World One

Round Twenty One - Brazil 2022 “Aren’t you going to stop that?” George asked Charles with a nervous laugh as he pointed his glass of wine across the room.

Charles followed the direction and found the man of the hour celebrating his birthday at the Brazilian nightclub. Lando was well on his way to being drunk and since he was already an affectionate man the alcohol only increased the need for physical touch. He couldn’t keep his hands to himself, especially not when the dancers had pulled you backstage and convinced you to change into an embellished golden samba costume. 

“No, they look like they are having fun,” Charles chuckled as you hooked the matching feather boa over Lando’s head and pulled him closer as you danced along to the samba. “But I might just join them.”

Your arms draped over Lando’s shoulders as the crowd compacted even closer and your lips brushed his ear as his hands settled on your bare waist. “Happy birthday, baby. Did you make a wish?”

Another pair of hands settled on your hips and you felt the warmth of Charles at your back, his hips finding the same rhythm to the music as you swayed. 

“It probably won’t come true,” Lando said with a sad smile. “But that’s okay, maybe next year.”

Charles quietly asked you what he meant and you told him, both of you feeling guilty again for the situation you had found yourself in. Though the number of people who knew about the three of you was growing, publicly you were only dating Charles. You were about to apologise again when another pair of arms wrapped around all of you as Pierre joined in with a hiccup. 

“My favourite ménage à trois,” he greeted with a loud whisper. “Little bit of advice…you look like you are about to fuck.”

“Okay, but what’s the advice?” you asked as you continued to dance between your boyfriends.

“Uhhh, not here?” he suggested before laughing and waving to your brother. “If looks could kill…”

“Wanna take this party back to the hotel?” Charles asked as he rested his chin on your shoulder while his hands slipped up Lando’s top, but to anyone else it looked like his hands were on your skin. 

You missed the heat of their bodies touching yours but the knowledge of something far better coming soon eased the ache. 

“Don’t forget breakfast tomorrow,” Pierre reminded as he waved goodbye. “I expect details.”

Lando watched with longing as you climbed into a taxi with Charles and you watched his silhouette fade while he waited for the next one. 

“I want to make his wish come true,” you whispered, laying your head on Charles’ shoulder. “I don’t care about the PR fall out, they’ll just have to get over it.”

“I have been thinking about it too, mi amor,” he admitted and you looked up to see the hard line of his jaw tick as resolution set in. 

“Scared?” you asked as you caressed his face, drawing him closer to kiss the dimples that appeared. 

“Not even a little bit.”

You were giddy with excitement when Lando arrived at your room a few minutes after you, and his clothes soon joined the rest on the floor. His kiss had scorched your skin and he nipped at your shoulder after climbing onto the bed where you waited for him.

His pupils ate away the colour of his eyes at the sight of you both laid out ready for him and he bit his bottom lip as he dragged a palm up your thighs. Your core throbbed as you watched his fist close around Charles’ cock and it was his fingers that gave you reprieve as they curled into your cunt. 

“Is this my present?” he asked with a husky tone, referring to the text you sent him in the taxi. 

“You can have us like this everyday,” you teased before he stole your breath when his palm pressed to your clit and he dipped his head to taste the bead of pre-cum on Charles. “You’re our boyfriend.”

“And we want everyone to know it,” Charles finished with a shaky breath at the pretty sight.

“What?” Sobriety flooded back in his eyes that widened and his head snapped back and forth between you and Charles as a smile of pure joy parted his lips. “Really?”

“Yes, you muppet. We love you,” you reached for him and tugged him closer, “now let us show you how much.”

You moaned as your bodies united and he stole the sound with his kiss until he gasped at Charles' touch. You had never seen anything hotter than Lando’s eyes fluttering shut in ecstasy, and you saw the frenzied hunger in Charles’ eyes as he gripped Lando’s hip and ease forward. He filled Lando with a guttural moan and the thrust pushed Lando deeper inside you. 

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Charles praised as he kissed Lando’s shoulder before trailing his lips over his racing pulse and across his jaw. Your cunt clenched as Lando craned his neck to meet his lips and when their tongue fought for dominance you saw stars. 

“No more hiding,” Charles promised. His hand slipped between your legs so he could press his thumb to your clit and your back arched, hips rolling to meet the rhythm he set. You felt Lando’s cock swell and your walls began to flutter as the pleasure mounted. 

Lando collapsed on you with a heaving chest and a heady moan as his cock twitched with aftershocks from his release and you brushed his curls softly as you came down from your own high. “You’re ours.”

landonorris

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“No going back now,” you giggled as you set Do Not Disturb on until morning and joined Lando in using Charles’ chest as a pillow.

“I wouldn’t want to,” he said as he stroked Lando’s curls and kissed his forehead. “Happy birthday, mon cher.”

He rewarded you with a smile that lit up his face and pulled the blankets up as he snuggled in closer with a yawn. “Best one yet.”

You echoed his yawn and soon Charles’ followed too as the late night came to a close. It only felt like a few minutes had passed since you fell asleep but since there was a buzzing sound coming from the nightstand you knew it had to be after 8am.

“It’s yours,” Lando said with a yawn, passing the phone over before burying himself back under the blankets.

You stared at the message and reread it three times before you could process what it said, your stomach dropping as the world fell quiet except for the ringing in your ears. “My contract renewal has been cancelled.”

Round Twenty Two - Abu Dhabi 2022 It was the last race of the season, and possibly your last ever race in Formula One. You had laid low for the last week, letting your PR team work with Lando’s and Charles’ to handle the fallout while you tried to save your career. The only concilation was that they didn’t seem to have the same issue with their teams, rather they had become the poster children for inclusivity in F1.

“You’re leading the fucking Championship, they can’t just rip up your contract,” Max growled as he angrily paced your driver’s room.

“You’re only two points behind me, it's not like they are desperate for the points. Shit, you could still win the Constructor Championship with Latifi on your team,” you sighed as you pushed yourself out of the chair knowing you needed to get ready for the race. 

“I’ll quit then.”

“I’m pretty sure Jos would have me offed if you did that. I’m already such a disappointment.” You rolled your eyes and swiped your helmet and balaclava off the table. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll find my way, I always do.”

The engineers were busy having a final strategic meeting when you entered the empty garage, or almost empty. “Give me a fucking break,” you muttered as you saw Jos admiring your car. “What are you doing here?”

“I have to hand it to you, you are a clever girl,” he chuckled. “You have single handedly gridlocked the front two rows. You already had Max wrapped around your little finger, then Charles and now Lando too.” 

You scoffed and continued on your way to the fridge to grab your water. “I’m not some evil mastermind like you, using others to get what you want, abusing whoever when you don’t get your way. So, if that’s all you came to say you can fuck off now, this is still my garage for the next two hours.”

“Congratulations,” he said as he walked towards the pit exit. “You just ruined any chances of another female getting to the same level. I always said women are too messy for this sport, too emotional.”

A loud bang rattled him as a wrench slammed into the wall beside his head and he turned around with a nasty grin. “That’s it, prove me right, daughter.”

“Don’t call me that,” you growled.

“I’m your father, what am I meant to call you?” he taunted, knowing he was waving a red flag at a raging bull.

“You are not my father, you’re just a mistake my mother made.”

He chuckled as he picked up the wrench and placed it on the table before walking out. “You were the mistake, daughter.”

“Where’s my water?” you asked as you hit the button but nothing came through the straw in your helmet.

“The pump doesn’t appear to be working,” Nicholas replied. “Negative on the water, Spitfire.”

“What the fuck? It’s like 45 fucking degrees in here! Did no one check if my water was working?” It was so hot your sweat was beginning to steam the inside of your visor and you shook your head so it ran down in streaks like you were driving in the rain. 

There was no way you could pit for the water to be fixed and still keep the lead, the best you could hope for was a red flag. Unfortunately that flag didn’t come, but on the flip side it was fortunate no one crashed. You managed the best you could, dropping your pace a little so that you weren’t pushing your body so hard, but your mouth was drier than the desert.

“How are the brakes? They feel sticky.”

The headset was quiet for a minute before Nicholas replied, “Data looks fine, they aren’t overheating. Tire degradation is not excessive either.”

You were approaching the penultimate lap but at turn one you nearly lost the rear as you pushed the brake pedal down but it took an extra 2/10th of a second to slow down.

“Check the data again, they’re not fucking working,” you growled as you slowed your pace even more so you weren’t too reliant on the brakes. You couldn’t slow any further as you saw Max in your rearview and Charles right behind him. If Max passed you then it was over, he would be world champion for a second time and your bargaining chip would be lost. Like Jos said, second place was just first loser.

Your wrists ached from fighting the steering wheel and there was a cramp starting in your calf as dehydration set it but you were on the final turn. Max’s rear wing opened and he was closing in quick but you had burned your fuel so you were at the lightest possible weight and managed to keep a tire length ahead as you passed the chequered flag.

“Well done, World Champ,” Nicholas congratulated, sounding like he was on the verge of crying. “It’s been a pleasure working with you.”

“Yeah, you too, Nick,” you said as you swallowed the lump in your throat and pushed the brake to slow down. “Oh shit. No brakes, no brakes.”

You had pushed too fast down the home straight to win and as you slammed your foot down over and over but there was no response in the brakes. You were barrelling straight towards turn one while Max fell back as he slowed for the warm down lap. You tried to take the corner but with worn tires and exhausted muscles there was no hope to maintain control. 

You felt the rear wheels slide out but there was no correcting the oversteer when they hit the gravel and you relinquished control, letting go of the wheel as you grasped your harness and braced for impact. 

Your ears were ringing as you slammed into the barriers and if you weren’t so dehydrated you probably could have climbed out yourself instead of sitting there dazed in the dust. It was Max’s helmet that popped up first over the halo, quickly followed by Charles and then Lando - all reaching you before the marshals.

“Are you hurt, mi amor?” “Baby, you okay?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” you said tiredly as they unbuckled you. You pointed up to Max and tapped your helmet. “We need to swap, you’ve got my number, Verstappen.”

He laughed and pulled it from his head, resting it on the broken tire beside him. “You know, little girl, you could’ve said ‘fuck you’ to Christian, you didn’t have to total his car.”

“Trust me,” you groaned as you took Charles and Lando’s hands so they could help pull you out of the car, “I didn’t do this on purpose, the whole thing was malfunctioning. No water, no brakes, someone must have made a mistake…”

“What?” Lando asked as you trailed off but you shook your head at the thought that had filtered in.

“Nothing,” you lied. “I just must have hit my head harder than I thought. Think one of you can give me a lift to the podium?”

“You started the race in a Red Bull, might as well finish in one,” Max said as he draped an arm over your shoulder. 

“Go on, love,” Lando said with a smile as you looked back at them. “We’ll be right behind you.”

All the other teams had reached the pits by the time Max rolled in with you sitting side-saddle on his halo, waving to the cheering crowds. It was strange to see the centre space empty when Max parked in front of the number two and Charles pulled into the third place, securing his spot as third in the drivers championship with it. 

You only just managed to find the energy to climb down from the halo and you ignored the Red Bull team going crazy along the edge of the barriers. You were focused on the space in front of the number one marker, the space where your car should have been. You could hardly believe the season was over, how this moment was going to be your legacy when you were gone. Laying down on the parc ferme, you let the heat of the tarmac penetrate your race suit and stared up at the cloudless sky while you absorbed the moment. 

“They want to interview you, mi amor,” Charles said as he knelt beside you, having brought your water bottle and towel over with him. 

“I’m not moving.”

“How are you planning on getting your trophy then?” he teased. 

You poured the bottle of water over your face to wash away the sweat before wiping it dry and grinning. “I’m world champion, they can come to me.”

You did eventually accept Charles’ hand to pull you to your feet and leaned into his side for support as you headed to the red carpet where Max was finishing his interview. 

“So, World Champion, a massive congratulations,” Naomi greeted you with a grin. “I’m glad you’re okay after that incident at the end.”

“Me too, those last few laps were all a bit precarious.”

“Yes, we heard on the team radio you were having difficulties with the brakes. Any idea what caused it?”

“I have a theory, but I’m sure it will be looked into by the team when they retrieve the car from the gravel.” You shrugged. “Or maybe not, it’s not like it needs to be saved. 2023 will bring a new season, new car, new driver.”

 “New driver?” she asked, glancing at the camera and the Red Bull team beyond. “You and Max have multi-year contracts.”

“He does, I, apparently, do not. Not after my relationship status changed anyway.” The crowd fell silent as the news echoed over the speakers. “But what a way to go out, as world champion,” you said with a laugh. 

“I’m sure there will be teams tripping over themselves to have a driver with your capabilities in their car.”

“Well, my calendar is free and they have my number.” You saw Jos in the corner by the barrier, his face red and his fists closed, and you smirked his way. “Maybe I’ll come back and win in a Williams.”

You were swiftly moved on to the driver room before you could taunt anyone else and Max chuckled to himself as he watched the reply of the interview. “You have balls.”

“I can probably blame a concussion.”

“You really should see the medics,” Charles said as he entered the room after finishing his interview and grabbed his Ferrari cap from the table before taking the seat next to you, lacing your hands together. 

“After,” you promised. “I am not missing what is potentially my last time on a podium.”

Tears started to burn your eyes as your anthem played and you swallowed the lump in your throat as it ended and you grabbed the bottle of champagne. Leaping off the podium, you smashed the butt of the bottle on the ground and the crowd screamed at the fountain of wine that sprayed high in the air, cascading over you as you threw your hands up. 

Confetti stuck to you and the sweet scent of champagne filled your senses as you took a seat at the edge of the podium. Below the crowd was still going wild but their noise was muted as your brother took a seat beside you.

“I knew you would cry,” you choked as you stared at your reflection in the trophy before looking at your brother beside you. “Beaten by a girl, huh. Just like old times.”

“I’m not crying because you beat me,” Max sniffled and pulled you into his arms. “I’m crying because I’m proud of you, zusje.”

Click here for chapter one of Part Three: A New World

[mcondance]

hush baby. william afton. (allusions to daddy issues, general old william using / taking advantage of young reader yk the drill)

william fucks like his age. he fucks like a man who knows what he wants from years of getting. he will get what he wants from you, too.

he drains you of everything you can give him and then, he pushes for more, craving complete control of every thing you feel. its why he picked you, could just see you ending up like this, a slut for his taking, nasty and open to the filthiest things he’s only ever dreamed about.

it’s sad, what you went through to end up like it like this, used and shown no respect in your most vulnerable state, but he pays it no mind when he’s driving into you from behind, towering over your body and stretching your cunt to its limit.

amusement is written over his hardened face, the hilarity of what you allow him to do to you overtakes him as he watches himself breach your entrance over and over again, your cunt having to work to take him like your body knows this is wrong.

but it lets him in, you let him in like it’s right, wince through the pain until it turns to pleasure and he’s battering your pussy with no regard for the pain that’ll resurface the next day.

pain is how he got you, tucked away in your brain, steering you toward a man like him. and pain is how he keeps you, the dull ache of his cock abusing your pussy, the digging of his fingers tucked between where your thighs and tummy meet, the stimulation sending sparks shooting through you.

you’re so nasty when you’ve got a nastier man inside you, when his want to unwind you and use you is reciprocated. drooling on his bed sheets, leaking on his cock, the perverted desire of his heart is realized.

he’s got you singing, speared on his cock and taking it so well. he fucks you like he’ll throw you out tomorrow and you welcome it, soak his cock every time your mind registers the brutishness behind his thrusts, every time he manhandles that spot inside you.

your fingers curl around the column of his headboard, clamping down on them to award yourself some semblance of grounding but it’s in vain, he’s too ruthless and horrific, fucks you too deep with every sob he retches out of your raw throat.

you let him do what he wants, and that’s exactly what he does. you’re all wet cunt and choked moans, a test subject for his disregarded boundaries. his boundaries are your boundaries, the wires crossed and fused incorrectly a perfect path for his will to become reality.

he’s taking advantage of you, it’s what you both know, know what business a man his age has with a girl yours.

but being taken advantage of is how you like it.

every push into you is meant to to hurt, to make those crossed wires fizzle and spark with satisfaction. maybe it doesn’t count as being used if it’s what you want, too. it’s lost in translation, by now, only left with william fucking you exactly how you’d expect him to, how you fantasized about from the moment you saw him.

he’s thankful to have someone like you, someone who’ll let him push and poke and prod and mold into his. he goes crazy every time you bite and choke on your moans, every time you huff and rasp like he’s wounded you but make no move to run from him or to stop. he likes it filthy, and in you, he can have that whenever he wants. he can be what you need, if you let him have you in return. you do let him have you.

you say his name like a prayer, choked and battered and begging for him to twist and turn you inside out just like he wants to. willing to be used, to be fucked dumb and brash.

you like it like this, domination has revealed you as a drooling, moaning, vile mess. it lay dormant, waiting for someone to draw it out. waiting for william to lay you bare and new.

[zombholic]

TATTOOS & ETC. — abby anderson

summary — y/n visits las vegas for vacation before college starts, she gets her first big tattoo piece there only to meet the owner of the shop.

description — tattoo artist!abby, poc fem!reader, obviously older abby, modern au, cant write smut so dont expect it, and ofc its gonna be a long story.

— 🗝️　 ◦ ✺ 　 💿　 ⟢ —

“So I booked a tattoo appointment for tomorrow, the artist had someone cancel and she filled me in.” You smiled talking to your friend who came along with you on your vacation before university.

“Wait it’s that wrap around tattoo you wanted on your thigh right?” She asked as she took a sip of her alcoholic drink.

“Yes, dude you know how long I’ve been wanting that for!” The piece was gonna break your bank account but your girl math said it was basically free since it would be on for the rest of your life.

The morning of the appointment you decided to wear baggy sweats and a black wife pleaser, couldn’t risk anything rubbing against your new collection to your body.

You walked inside hearing the little bell chime as the door opened, you walked up to the small desk to meet a young girl with tattoos scattered along her arms and neck.

“Hey, appointment or walk in?” She smiled cheerfully looking up from her computer and at you.

“Appointment with Jasmine, I’m y/n” You leaned forward on the desk returning a small smile, she had you follow her to the back and had you sit on the chair telling you that Jasmine will meet you in a minute.

“Hey Y/n! How you feeling?” A short masculine woman sat in her rolling chair sliding over to you with toothiest smile, a small gem glued on her canine that blinged with the light.

“Feeling a little nervous but i’ve been wanting this tattoo for a year now, kinda stalked your page and I love the way you draw floral pieces.” You complimented her work, she was truly talented.

She had asked you to remove your sweats, now in your boy shorts and laying on your side after she applied the stencil. The buzzing of the gun started making you nervous but you being you kept your cool, the needle now digging into your plush thighs had you clenching your jaw.

You went on your phone trying to distract yourself from the painful spots she was doing, you heard the bell from the front door jingle followed by a couple of greetings before a tall, muscular woman who was covered in art walk into the back where you were.

“Hey Jazz.” She greeted your artist, her voice made you want to squeeze your legs together.

“Hey Abby, what’re you doing here? isn’t it your day off?” Jasmine paused for a moment to talk to Abby before focusing back on you. She asked you to lay on your back and spread your legs so she could finish the inner thigh part.

“This part will hurt so just tell me if you need anything ok?” The artist reassured you, nodding your head she came back down with the needle.

“Fuck, oh my god.” You bit down on your fist, squeezing your eyes shut, your chest heaving.

“I’m the owner dumbass, I have paperwork shit to do.” She chuckled, her blue eyes now on you and your tattoo.

“That’s a gorgeous piece.” Abby complimented, her giant arms crossing her chest as she now focused on your thigh.

“Yeah and it hurts like a motherfucker.” You giggled looking up at her.

Abby swore her heart started beating out her chest when she saw you look at her, she was definitely calling you the gorgeous piece she just couldn’t keep her eyes off you.

“Here hold my arm, I know how badly that part hurts.” You took her arm, digging your short nails into her forearm god for some reason she was turned on by you being in pain.

When the inner thigh part was finished you released your hand from Abby, quickly apologizing for hurting her.

“You’re fine sweetheart, didn’t even feel it.” A chuckle escaped her lips, winking at you before walking off to where you could assume was her office.

“Annnd you’re all done girl!” Your artist wrapped your thigh, looking in the body mirror you couldn’t stop cheesing.

“You are literally so fucking talented what?” Your comment made her blush.

“Gonna leave without letting me see?” Abby’s voice came from behind, you looked up at the mirror to see the blonde walk up behind you.

“She can have my whole bank account” You turned around to show her the beautiful piece wrapped around your thigh.

“Here, lemme walk you to the front.” Abby smiled as you had slid back into your sweats and walked over to the desk.

Abby leaned forward while on the computer, you would honestly thank her if she punched you in the face right now.

“Want a picture sweetheart?” She joked, a cocky grin plastering her face as she looked at you.

“I think I want your number more.” You impressed her with your boldness, majority of people being so deathly afraid of her.

“Yes ma’am.” She licked her lips, taking your phone and adding her contact.

“I’ll text you the details for our date on Friday.” Abby laughed but she wasn’t joking, this was her asking you out and you happily accepted.

— 🗝️　 ◦ ✺ 　 💿　 ⟢ —

authors note — guys was this good … and do yall want another part EHEHEHEHE also like thank you @atomicami for basically inventing tattoo artist!abby 😩🫶🏼

[prettieinpink]

HOW TO TO STOP OVERTHINKING

worrying is meant to be a good thing, it keeps us safe from dangerous or unideal circumstances. Overthinking is when it’s not helpful

When we overthink, we seek three things. Comfort, certainty and control. So, it’s important to learn how to be uncomfortable, expect the unexpected, have no control over situations and be fine with each of these things.

remember: no amount of worrying or overthinking can undo or solve problems.

COMFORT -> BEING UNCOMFORTABLE - We all need to start being uncomfortable with the comfortable, and being okay with things not going our way. To achieve this, we need to change our perspective on things that discourage or scare us. While this isn’t easy at all, it pays off in the long term. Start taking more risks everyday, and being open minded to new opportunities for growth, even if they’re not ideal. I say start small, like running an extra 10 minutes on your 20 minute run or saying hello to any potential friends\partners.

A little nice activity to do daily, is that while you’re making your goals/daily todo list, write down something that you absolutely do not want to do. Then, force yourself to do it(I say this in a disciplined manner). Remember, to keep on motivation, reward yourself for taking a risk today.

CONTROL -> NOT BEING IN CONTROL - The reality is that you don’t have control over many things. However, there are a handful of things we do have control over which most likely affect us the most. When you’re overthinking, get a piece of paper and a pen and write out the situation you’re overthinking about. Then draw one big circle and a smaller circle inside of it. In the big circle write things not within your control e.g what she says, cancelled plans, waiting for something etc. In the small circle write the things within your control e.g what you say, how you spend your time, what you consume etc. This allows us to think deeply about the situation, realise the actual impact of it on you, and problem solve(if it’s an actual big deal).

if you don’t know if it’s within your control or not, ask yourself if you can do anything to change the current situation. If yes, it is within your control. However, know that because something is in your control, doesn’t mean you’re always going to achieve your desired results.

CERTAINITY -> BEING UNCERTAIN - The ironic thing is that even if we think we’re certain about something, there is always a small chance that an event/situation may change. However, this isn’t something to fear at all! Once a plan fails, or you don’t achieve your goals, don’t get discouraged. There are still plenty of opportunities for growth and plenty of time to achieve your goals. I say, start living in the present time when you’re actually sure of what’s going to happen. Not tomorrow, not next week, not next year, but focus on now and what you can accomplish. Stop dwelling on the future, and what may happen.

If you find yourself worrying about the future, just meditate or journal. It gives us mental clarity to put our focus onto the things that are happening/happenend.

[kookslastbutton]

Those Eyes Chico ༓ myg (m) | Teaser

✒ Summary: As the new marketing director for Min Yoongi’s upcoming D-Day album & tour, you’re expected to bring your expertise to the table. This shouldn’t be a problem—you’re the best in the business and you’re used to drawing a strict line between your professional and personal life. But what happens when the lines you’ve fought to keep as separate blur for the first time?

pairing: idol!yoongi x plus size!poc!reader

genre/AU: angst, fluff, smut, slow-burn, coworkers2friends2lovers, winter setting, forbidden love?

word count: tbd, 835 for this teaser

warnings: oc is 28, Yoon is 30, oc is not originally from South Korea, oc has light brown eyes, swearing, mentions of alcohol consumption, mentions of anxiety, panic attacks, body insecurities, fear of being blacklisted, emotionally restrained Yoon, mentions of smoking, unstable parental relationships, conservative parents, mentions of therapy, mentions of dating scandal, eventual sexual content, and more specific warnings per chapter.

now playing: Sweet Dreams by The Last Shadow Puppets

a/n: Okay this has taken over six months to release but it's finally beginning and I am super excited to share! 🫣 I am low-key terrible at choosing a proper teaser so hoepfull this works haha. ANYWAY, this series is dedicated to my wonderfully crazy friend and beta, Gloom @theuselessdaydreamingidiot, and to all our fellow Yoon lovers bc we miss our sweet man SO MUCH 🥺 Enjoy! 🥰 Also huge thank you to @itaeewon for designing this beautiful series header! Love it!!

Series Masterlist

“Did you get the files I sent to you?”

The woman nods her head in affirmation while sweeping a few pieces of her long, silky hair behind an ear. To strangers, she appears to look about 24 which is only four years younger than yourself but nonetheless she’s the same age as you. Hei-Ran is her name, meaning “graceful orchid” according to Korean translation.

Hei-ran is one of Hybe’s newest hires and based on her experience, a near perfect fit to being South Korean boy group Tomorrow X Together’s new marketing manager. Until about three months ago, this had been your job.

You never imagined giving up the position after three years of working in the role. But with December right around the corner Hybe had other plans for you.

"Graduated summa cum laude with a bachelors degree in BTech in Electrical and Electronics Engineering and a MBA in Marketing from NYU Stern. You worked two years as a brand manager for U.S record label Atlantic Records immediately after graduating, and are now working at BigHit Music as a marketing manager for TXT including liaison with their global marketing team.”

You recall PD Bang’s voice vibrate in the back of your mind from mid-August. You thought you were called into his office to discuss details of TXT’s latest promo, so having your resume read back to you was a sweeping curve ball. Your determination must have far exceeded the heaviness you felt in your chest because before you knew it you, you were shaking hands with your boss in acceptance of your role – the new marketing director for Min Yoongi’s upcoming D-Day album & tour.

The tedious knot that’s formed in the nape of your neck reminds you that as surreal as the situation might be, it’s undeniably real.

Months spent drafting a comprehensive marketing proposal for D-Day; often until the wee hours of the night, inevitably takes its toll on even the mightiest of warriors. An entire new team of fifty people, all of who you’ll be in charge of orchestrating for the next eight months, doesn’t provide much to relief either.

You’re excited nevertheless. Working with one of the most respected artists in the music industry is an opportunity you couldn’t let slip by, especially since the album’s rock-inspired genre aligns closely with your own music taste.

“Thank you so much for helping me get settled __,” Hei-ran’s gentle voice returns you to the present. “I appreciate the time you’ve taken these last few months to train me despite the tight deadlines you have.”

Smiling, you shake your head. “It’s no problem at all and if there’s anything you need in the future, feel free to give me a call or stop by my office.”

“On the 16th floor right?”

“1656A. Take a left off the elevator and walk to the end of the first hallway. The door on the right is mine.”

Referring to any room on the 16th floor as your own is something you don’t take lightly. For one the offices are double the size of any other office spaces in the building. Yours in particular has a giant skyscraper window draped with heavy white curtains. Secondly, the floor above is the 17th floor which is exclusive to Hybe artists only.

"How's the proposal coming along, by the way?" Her curiosity is palpable, genuine in its nature. You’ve always appreciated that in an individual.

“It’s done,” you respond. “Only thing left to do is to prepare for our meeting with C-suite executives next Monday. It’s nearly perfect as is, but the presentation could use a bit of refining in terms of organization.”

Hei-ran is silent for a moment longer than usual before her next inquiry, which is undoubtedly the question on both of your minds. “I can't help but wonder what it'll be like to meet him for the first time,” she muses.

You don’t bother asking for clarification on who the “him” is; you’re already well aware that it’s Min Yoongi. The same subject has managed to intrude your own thoughts more and more as the date of meeting him draws closer. It's peculiar honestly, considering you’ve encountered him before. Granted, it was only a small handful of times the hallway, both heading in opposite directions. Min Yoongi typically greeted you with a hoarse 'Good Morning' those instances, along with a curt nod of his head. You would nod back with a brief 'Morning' yourself. Deep down you feel he'd make a quality friend, though it's only a premonition. It’s not like you actually know much about him beyond those small exchanges.

"I'm not sure what to expect, honestly," you admit. "I imagine it'll be similar to previous professional collaborations—composed, focused, and intense. D-Day is poised to become a global sensation for the next year, so it's going to need our full, undivided attention."

Hei-ran gives a knowing nod. “Good luck __,” she wishes you well as you head towards the elevator doors. Breaks over, back to work.

a/n: Chapter one will be released soon 🙃 Thanks for reading the teaser!

Masterlist | Requests: closed | Taglist | Fic Recs

no reposting, copying, or translating my work– © kookslastbutton

[ginnsbaker]

In Losing Grip On Sinking Ships (23/23)

Chapter summary: One year later, Wanda returns to the place where you promise to meet each other again

Chapter word count: 5.5k+ | Warnings: None | Ship: Wanda x Reader

Author's note: And here we are! Will post the Epilogue tomorrow night :)

AO3 | Masterlist 

Next part: Epilogue

-

Twenty-Three

One year later

It’s the most important flight of her life.

Wanda Maximoff is finally going home after a year in Barcelona. 

And it's only a matter of days before the date circled on her calendar arrives, the day she's set to see you again.

Before she boarded the plane, Pietro gave her a call, extending his well wishes and backing for her reunion. Shannon is expecting their second child, a baby girl. Pietro would have loved to be there for Wanda, to welcome her back after such an extended absence. However, Shannon's pregnancy has been more delicate this time around, requiring his undivided attention and care.

In the remaining moments before take-off, and after having secured Sparky on her lap, Wanda finds herself gazing at a picture of you on her phone. It’s an image that Valkyrie captured during the Cup-off, a picture of you and her side by side, your awkward yet endearing smile juxtaposed with her exuberant, wide grin.

As the plane ascends, distancing itself from the ground, her mind becomes filled with thoughts of you. She pushes the tray table up and leans her head against the window, watching the shrinking world below.

Have you changed? Have you grown out your hair or cut it shorter? Did your laugh still come out in those adorable bursts, or had life worn it down to a chuckle?

But beyond these surface changes, she wonders about your feelings. A year can transform emotions as much as it can alter appearances. But her heart aches for you, hoping that this part, this important part of you, remains constant.

The questions dance around in her mind as the miles fly by beneath her. 

Soon, she thinks, soon she'll see you again. Soon, she'll have her answers.

The moment her feet touch the ground at JFK airport, Wanda heads straight to the cafe. 

Although she's still got three days until she sees you, she has missed everyone else. When the opportunity arose to further her studies in culinary arts overseas, she felt compelled to take it. It was a prestigious scholarship in hospitality, coupled with advanced pastry and chocolate crafting, offered to her by one of the judges from last year's Cup-off competition.

Before leaving, Wanda had finalized a business partnership with Agatha, entrusting her with the cafe's operations during her absence. It was a decision made out of trust and necessity, knowing the cafe would be in capable hands.

At first, Wanda was ambivalent, reluctant to leave the comfort of all she knew. But when you told her about your decision, about needing a year to yourself, she took it as a sign. She took the opportunity to explore, grow, and learn more, just like you were doing. But now she's back, eager to catch up with everyone and curious about how the cafe has thrived under Agatha's care.

What immediately strikes Wanda about her cafe is the additional space it now occupies. When the shop next door had shut down eight months earlier, Agatha had promptly rung her up to grab the opportunity to expand their business. The cafe had been drawing an increasing number of customers since their victory in the Cup-off, and Wanda had immediately agreed to the expansion, recognizing that they were quickly outgrowing the existing space.

“Don’t pour anywhere but the coffee bed, Daisy, okay?” 

Peter's voice is the first thing that reaches her ears as she steps inside. He's guiding a young woman, likely a new employee, through the ins and outs of the pour-over brewing method, just like how Wanda taught him before. Their heads turn as the door chimes and an almost instant smile lights up Peter's face.

Wanda's own lips twitch upwards into a grin, returning the warm greetings silently before gently unhooking Sparky's leash. He doesn’t waste any time sniffing every inch of the room in a frenzy of enthusiasm.

“Wanda!” Peter exclaims, leaving the confines of the open kitchen to wrap her in a warm embrace. Just as he lets her go, Agatha appears from the backroom.

“Maximoff!” Agatha shrieks, drawing the attention of several heads in the room. She strides over quickly and practically shoves Peter out of the way so she can enfold Wanda in an even more suffocating hug.

“Welcome back!” Agatha exclaims, stepping back to look at her; her business partner is positively glowing. “How was Spain?”

Wanda smiles, “It was an incredible experience. I learned so much and met so many great people. And Barcelona... It’s a beautiful city.”

“And the food?” Peter interjects, looking curious.

“Out of this world,” Wanda replies with a laugh. Then she turns to Agatha and says, “So, tell me about your new hot date?”

As they chat and catch up, Wanda finds herself glancing at the clock every now and then, her heart beating a little faster with each passing minute. Three days. Just three more days until she sees you again.

Wanda wonders if these three days would feel longer than the year she spent without you.

***

Three days later, the large clock on the wall reads half-past eight. The cafe is usually buzzing with activity around this time, but today it’s quieter, as if everyone else is holding their breath too. 

Thirty minutes till closing, and you’re still a no-show.

Wanda is seated at the bar stool near the entrance, her elbows resting on the counter as she gazes blankly out of the window. Every now and then, her eyes flit towards the door, hoping to see your familiar figure. But each time, she’s met with disappointment.

She can't help but wonder if you've forgotten about the arrangement, or perhaps decided not to show up intentionally. Maybe you've decided to move on, to continue living your life without her. But the thought that terrifies her most is the possibility that something might have happened to you.

She shakes her head, trying to rid herself of these pessimistic thoughts. “They're late, not absent,” she mutters under her breath, clinging to the hope that you'll show up before the clock strikes nine.

Just as the last of her hope seems to be dwindling, the sudden presence of a new arrival snaps her back to the present.

She pivots slowly, heart thundering, and her eyes lock onto a face she had least expected to encounter today.

It's Natasha striding into the cafe with an inscrutable expression.

Seeing her, Wanda feels a strange mix of relief and anxiety. She hasn't seen Natasha since she confronted Wanda about her feelings for you, hasn’t heard from her since she helped locate you in Montauk. If Natasha is here, does that mean you're not coming? Or is she here to deliver a message from you?

Natasha catches sight of Wanda a second later and offers a small smile, a knowing look in her eyes. Wanda's breath catches, her vision momentarily blurring, while her pulse quickens, thundering in her ears.

“Good, you’re still here,” Natasha mutters, claiming the bar stool next to her. A snide remark about how she actually owns the place flits across Wanda's mind, but she brushes it aside, curious to see what Natasha is doing here.

“Nat–”

“I’m not going to beat around the bush because I’m terribly late and she’ll kill me if she finds out,” Natasha explains in a rush. “But Y/N won’t be able to make it.”

Her grip tightens around the edge of the table, knuckles white, as the room seems to tilt slightly. She had prepared herself for the worst, but hearing that you weren't coming still felt like a blow. She had spent the past year missing you, hoping for your return, and the fact that you weren't showing up as promised was a hard pill to swallow.

“Is it... is it because she doesn't want to?” Wanda asks quietly. Her whole disposition seems to wilt, as though an unseen force is pressing down on her.

Natasha lets out a heavy sigh, avoiding Wanda's questioning gaze. “It's...complicated.”

Wanda feels her heart dropping at the evasive response. A part of her doesn't want to hear what comes next, but she knows she has to.

“Y/N's mom has recently been diagnosed with Alzheimer's,” Natasha begins carefully. “And it's been tough on her, especially since she's also trying to mend their strained relationship.”

Wanda feels her heart twist at the news. She knew of your tumultuous relationship with your mother, and the added burden of dealing with such an illness must be incredibly hard on you. It only increases her longing to be at your side, to provide you the comfort you need at this critical time.

“Moreover,” Natasha continues, “She feels like she's not yet ready to see you... that she needs more time.” 

The words sting, and Wanda can't help but feel a rush of disappointment. 

“Thank you for letting me know, Natasha,” she says, attempting a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. “I had...well, you know, built up a lot in my head about this reunion.”

“I get that,” Natasha admits with a sigh. “And honestly? I wish she'd had the guts to tell you herself.”

Wanda looks away, blinking rapidly. “Yeah. So do I.”

Natasha's gaze lingers on Wanda's downturned face. There was a time when she despised the very sight of the woman before her, every fiber of her being resisting any empathy. But now, watching Wanda crumble, it twists something inside of her.

“Do you... do you have any idea why Y/N still doesn't feel ready to see me?” Wanda asks all of a sudden. There is a slight tremor in her voice, but she fights hard to keep her emotions in check, swallowing the lump in her throat. She needs to know, needs to understand, so she can find a way to support you, even if it's from a distance.

Natasha merely shakes her head. “I'm sorry, Wanda, but I don't have the answer,” she says, her voice carrying an undertone of regret.

Wanda gives a nod, a sad smile curving her lips. “Alright, thank you, Natasha,” she says quietly, a soft resignation in her voice. She wraps her arms around herself, as if trying to find comfort in her own embrace. Despite the gloom, she tries to put on a brave front. “Tell Y/N that... tell Y/N that I'm here, whenever she’s ready.”

“There's something else, Wanda,” Natasha says evenly, but there's a solemn look on her face that sends a shiver down Wanda's spine. “Y/N wanted me to tell you that it's okay to move on. She feels guilty that she couldn’t fulfill her promise and she doesn’t want you waiting forever.”

Wanda takes a deep breath, her eyes glistening as she fights back the tears, especially in front of your best friend.

“She... doesn't want me to wait?” Wanda's voice breaks a little as she forces the words out. 

The idea is utterly unfathomable to her. The very thought of not waiting, of possibly moving forward without you, feels foreign, almost laughable. All this time, she felt tethered to you, even with the miles and silence between. 

“No, Wanda, that’s not it,” Natasha gently corrects, her demeanor softening. “She thinks it’s not fair to you. To keep you waiting for something that might not even happen.”

Wanda blinks, a frown marring her face. “But I want to wait for her.”

Natasha sighs, rubbing her temples. “She worries that she might be holding you back from finding someone who can, well, be there for you. Someone who can offer you more certainty.”

“Does she need more time?” Wanda asks, and though she can hear the tinge of desperation in her own voice, she couldn’t bring herself to care. “I can wait, you know. I can give her all the time she needs.”

“That's the thing, Wanda,” Natasha says, meeting her eyes with a grimness that makes Wanda's heart sink. “She no longer knows when she'll be ready, if she'll ever be. She didn't want to give you an indefinite timeline.”

The gears in Wanda's mind are visibly turning as she digests the information, her face contorting with various emotions before settling on a desperate resolve. “Can I contact her? Just to see if she's okay?”

Natasha is quick to shake her head, an empathetic look on her face. “Wanda, I don't think that's a good idea.”

“But–”

“Listen,” Natasha interrupts, holding her gaze. “I understand where you're coming from. I do–”

Fury surges through Wanda. She pounds her hand on the table, her voice trembling as she snaps back, “Oh, so you know all about it, do you? Given your own track record with relationships, Natasha, can you honestly tell me you get where I'm coming from?”

“Yes,” Natasha says firmly, a statue of patience, undeterred by Wanda’s outburst. And she's able to remain steady, because she truly does get it. 

“Look, Wanda,” Natasha begins, leaning back in her chair with a sigh. “I made Bruce wait for me for years,” Her gaze falls, as if lost in the painful memories. “But all that waiting, all that uncertainty, it only bred more resentment, more pain. I hurt him more by making him wait than if I had just let him go. Perhaps I even took away many opportunities for him to be happy.”

She finally lifts her gaze to meet Wanda's. “Sometimes, we have to let go of the people we love, not because we want to, but because it's the right thing to do. It's not easy, and it hurts like hell. But sometimes, it's the kindest thing we can do.”

Wanda lapses into silence, feeling a sting of regret for having belittled Natasha's own experiences. She realizes, perhaps too late, that heartache is not a competition and that she has no right to assume that her own pain holds precedence over the other woman.

“In the end, I think Y/N is trying to spare you both from going through the same thing,” Natasha finishes, her voice thick with emotion as she allows a glimpse into her own painful past.

An extended period of silence blankets the pair as they both wrestle with their respective thoughts, looking out the window. As Wanda observes the thick snow blanketing the Manhattan pavements, she can't help but draw comparisons to the winters she experienced in Spain. The biting cold is a far cry from the Spanish winters where temperatures never dipped below zero. She likens herself to a plant frozen in an enduring winter, suddenly thawed out, expecting the warmth of spring, only to be thrown again in an even longer winter–an uncertain one.

The silence stretches on until it is broken by an awkward cough from Natasha. “So...uh,” she starts, glancing at her watch. “Is it too late to order a cup of coffee? I know you guys close in like, ten minutes?”

Wanda can't help the small chuckle that escapes her lips. Nodding, she pushes off from the table, making her way towards the counter. “It's never too late for a cup of coffee.”

Natasha follows her to the open kitchen, leaning casually against the countertop as Wanda gets to work. Wanda moves around the space with practiced ease, retrieving two mugs and starting the espresso machine.

“When did you two patch things up?” Wanda tosses out casually, glancing at Natasha while the coffee brews.

“About six months ago,” Natasha shares. Wanda acknowledges with a nod, meticulously pouring the espresso and then frothing milk, completely absorbed in her task.

“Because she took your advice?” Wanda asks over her shoulder, the undercurrent of raw emotion detectable in her otherwise composed demeanor.

Appearing a bit disconcerted, Natasha shakes her head slowly. “Truth be told, I didn't even know she took my advice... went her own separate way,” Natasha reveals, her eyes darting away. “I found out when her mother called me by accident. The anger had subsided by then. I wasn't furious anymore. I just... I missed her.”

As Wanda brings Natasha her coffee, they fall into a comfortable silence, standing side by side at the counter. 

“Even if she hadn't taken my advice, I think we would have found our way back to each other, eventually,” Natasha says, her voice soft, almost wistful. "She's my best friend, after all.”

Natasha stirs her coffee, her gaze lingering on the whirls of foam swirling in her cup. She doesn’t look at Wanda as she speaks again. “I’m sorry, Wanda,” she says, her tone solemn. “For having a hand in this. I never meant for things to turn out this way.”

Wanda gives her a long, hard look before letting out a sigh, her shoulders slumping slightly. “I know, Nat. It’s not your fault,” she says, her voice subdued. “I’m the one who set things in motion.”

Natasha, with a stern look, responds, “You can’t keep blaming yourself, Wanda.”

“I'm not blaming myself,” Wanda quickly counters, her voice carrying a faint echo of a smile. “But it's the truth. I've accepted that what happens in our future is like ripples spreading out from our decisions and actions.”

Natasha gazes at Wanda thoughtfully until Wanda starts to fidget under the intense scrutiny.

“What?” Wanda finally asks, her tone almost defensive.

“Nothing,” Natasha replies, her lips curling into a small, amused smile. “You just called me 'Nat'.”

Taken aback, Wanda gives a small, sheepish laugh. “Is that... bad?” she asks, her cheeks flushing a little in embarrassment.

“No, not at all,” Natasha's smile is warm and friendly. And for the first time, Wanda feels the start of a real, meaningful friendship between them.

Wanda’s quiet for a moment, mulling over something. Then, she breaks the silence with a soft sigh, “I'll wait for her. No matter how long it takes.”

Natasha raises her eyebrows, a clear question on her face. “Are you sure, Wanda?” She asks, her voice equally soft. “You're setting yourself up for a long, uncertain wait.”

“Yeah, I know,” Wanda murmurs, eyes instinctively darting to where the band used to be on her finger, now just a faint mark left behind. “But I want to. And... I'd appreciate it if you don't tell her. I don’t want to weigh her down with the burden of knowing that someone is here waiting for her.”

“You have my word,” she promises. Natasha takes a sip from her coffee, then poses her next question, “Hey, do you mind if I swing by here sometimes?”

Wanda gives her a mock exasperated look, rolling her eyes, “Of course, Nat. As long as you're not planning to rob me blind or something.”

Natasha chuckles at this, taking another sip and then humming in satisfaction. “Good,” she smiles appreciatively, “Because this might just be the best coffee I've ever tasted.”

***

A year and two weeks later

As you amble down the familiar streets leading to Second Chances Cafe, each footfall feels heavier than the last. You're more than a year late, and you have no idea if there's anything or anyone still waiting for you after all this time.

“Sure, Yelena, I can look into it for you,” you speak into your phone, rounding the corner onto the alley where the cafe is located. A twinge of nostalgia hits you as the signboard comes into view.

“Really?” Yelena sounds surprised and relieved all at once. “I mean, that's fantastic! You have no idea how much this could help. And don't worry about your identity being revealed. I'll make sure it stays hidden. This exposé is about uncovering the truth about Stark Industries’ tax evasion case, not dragging you into unwanted attention.”

You appreciate her consideration, knowing how much of a sticky situation it could become if your name gets thrown around with the exposé, especially considering you used to work for them.

As your conversation wraps up, you remember to send your best wishes to her partner, “Give my regards to Kate, will you?”

Yelena's laughter echoes from the other end, “She's right here. Kate, Y/N says 'hi'.”

There's a muted shout from the background, presumably Kate's greeting, and you can't help but chuckle. “Tell her I’ll beat her half-marathon record next time. I'll see you both soon.”

With that, you end the call. As you slide your phone back into your pocket, your fingers trace and then retrieve another item there–the contours of an old photo you have carried with you all this time. It’s the photo Valkyrie took of you and Wanda at the Cup-off, and you kept it with you wherever you went for more than two years. It’s tattered around the edges, but you both looked so happy, so in love, and so hopeful. 

It was a different time–a different you. 

Taking one final glance at the picture, you tuck it back safely into your pocket and push open the door to the cafe, the bell overhead jingling in recognition. The familiar sounds, the smells, the sight of the cozy interiors bring back a flood of memories. Your heart flutters with both anxiety and anticipation as you step inside, not knowing what awaits you, a year and two weeks too late.

Two unfamiliar faces are tending to the cafe at the moment. As you slowly approach the counter, you catch sight of a name tag on one of the employees–‘Daisy’, it reads. She greets you warmly, welcoming you before promptly asking for your order.

Rather than choosing a drink, your mind is focused elsewhere. You hesitate for a moment before speaking. “Actually, I was wondering…” you start, pausing to gather your thoughts. “Is the owner here today–”

Before you can even utter Wanda's name, Daisy interrupts, offering an apologetic smile. “I'm sorry, but the owner's not here right now. She's on an extended honeymoon in Asia,” she explains.

As soon as the words leave Daisy's mouth, it's as if everything around you ceases to exist. The casual banter, that constant buzz of the espresso machine, even the sound of mugs and spoons clattering, it all just blends into some distant background noise. 

“Honeymoon?” The word tumbles out of your mouth, your voice sounding foreign to your own ears, the impact of the statement making your heart lurch uncomfortably in your chest. “She's... married?”

Daisy nods sympathetically, her eyes showing a hint of surprise at your visible shock. “Yes, they left three months ago. I think they're in Bali now... or was it Thailand?”

Her words ricochet inside your mind, leaving you grappling with the sudden change in reality. Looking back, you guess it isn't the worst thing that could have happened. Honestly, you had no idea what you were walking into when you decided to come here. After all, you had asked Natasha to tell Wanda not to wait.

And that’s it, Wanda found love again, real enough for her to want to say 'yes' to a new beginning with someone else, and you’re–

You’re happy for her. At the end of the long dwindling tunnel, you just wanted to see Wanda once again. If not, you want to make sure she’s happy and living her life to the fullest. 

And knowing that makes you feel okay, maybe even hopeful, about moving forward. 

The smile that makes its way to your lips isn’t forced. It’s not as big as you hope it would be but it’s genuine. As you take in your surroundings, seeing the expanded area of the cafe, you can’t help but be proud of her. 

It's so overwhelming that you don't even notice the tears tracing a warm path down your cheeks until you hear Daisy's voice.

“Ma'am, are you alright?” she asks, concern etched in her young face.

Surprised, you hastily swipe at your eyes with chilled fingers.

“May I leave something for her?” you ask Daisy, pulling out the polaroid from earlier. You take a moment, looking at it one last time, before flipping it over and pulling out a pen.

With careful, slow strokes, you inscribe the words, ‘I'm happy for you, wherever you are.’ 

As you pass the photograph over to Daisy, the reality of the situation seeps in, casting a definitive end to the chapter that was. The young woman before you studies the photograph, her brows knitting together in confusion, a detail you fail to notice as you begin to take your leave.

Wanda is your greatest love–enough to last you this lifetime. You’ll find a way to spend the rest of your life without her, knowing what you two had will sustain you until your last breath. 

Daisy watches as you walk away, wondering who you were and why it felt like she had said the wrong thing.

Just moments after you step out of the cafe, its door swings open again to let in a breathless Wanda, her arms laden with grocery bags. 

She narrowly missed your visit by a heartbeat.

“God, this city is unbearably cold,” she grumbles, setting down the bags onto the counter with a huff. Daisy wastes no time handing her the keepsake you had left behind only moments ago.

“Hey Wanda, this was left for you,” Daisy says, extending your memento towards her.

Wanda, still catching her breath from her rush over, eyes the object in Daisy's hand with curiosity. From where she stands she can already tell what it is and who it’s from. The world seems to pause, almost taking a breath, as she hesitantly extends a trembling hand to take it.

Her voice breaks a bit as she asks, “Who... who dropped this off? When was this?”

Daisy, reading the urgency in Wanda's eyes, scrambles to recall. “A woman came in not long ago…” she starts, but Wanda's already dashing for the exit before she can finish.

Holding the photograph close to her chest, Wanda barely gives Daisy a chance to finish her sentence before she's out of the cafe, the door swinging shut behind her with a soft chime. Daisy, left in a daze by the abrupt departure, hardly has time to process what just happened.

Then, just as quickly, Wanda bursts back in, her face flushed from the adrenaline. “Which way did she go?” she asks urgently. Daisy, taken aback, simply points north. 

With a nod of thanks, Wanda takes off in that direction. Based on Daisy's indication, she surmises you’re probably headed towards the subway station. Her heart pounds in her chest as she makes her way through the familiar streets, the city's buzz fading to a dull roar in her ears. All she can focus on is the hope that she's not too late, that she might still catch you.

Racing towards the station with swift, almost reckless strides, the life she shared with you hit Wanda like a tidal wave. As each scene of their past plays out in her mind, she sends a silent prayer to anyone listening above, begging for a chance to find you.

Wanda's footsteps echo in the nearly deserted subway station. It's a lull between the usual crowds, making the vast space feel even more desolate. The sparsely populated platform should have made it easier to spot you, but instead, it made the hollow in her chest grow.

As she steps onto the almost empty platform, the glaring absence of familiar faces or shapes drowns her in dread. Every corner she checks, every shadow she hopes will move to reveal you, and with each passing second, the sinking feeling in her gut grows. 

Drawing a deep, shaky breath, she fights off the building tears, hoping against all odds for a glimpse, a hint, any sign that she hasn't missed her chance.

And then she sees you.

You're at the far end of the platform, bundled up in a thick black coat, hands rubbing together in a bid to fight off the cold. You blow into them, your breath fogging up in the chill.

For a beat, Wanda just watches. She doesn't rush, doesn't shout. She simply approaches with measured steps, drinking in the sight of you, allowing this moment to stretch out. 

As she gets closer, she takes in the subtle changes. The way your hair falls around your face, the look of concentration as you keep yourself warm, the way your shoulders hunch slightly against the cold. 

It's you, but also a different you, one shaped by time and distance.

She stops just beyond your immediate circle, her heart pounding furiously within her chest. Yet, before her lips part to speak your name, something–shift, an intuition–makes you pivot sharply towards her.

Your eyes blink slowly in surprise and then they quickly flick to her left ring finger.

It's bare. 

Your mouth drops open, then shuts again, clearly struggling to comprehend the sight of Wanda standing only a few feet away. 

“The woman from the coffee shop... she said you were married?” 

“That's Agatha,” Wanda responds, tears welling in her eyes.

“But she mentioned the owner–”

“I sold the cafe to her a year ago. I'm in the process of setting up a restaurant. I... I've been assisting at the cafe while she's on her honeymoon,” Wanda explains with a faint laugh.

“I thought–” Your voice breaks off, and the overwhelming urge to pull her into an embrace nearly overpowers you. Yet, there's a question, one that burns with urgency, that you need to clarify. 

Any more confusion could devastate what's left of your heart.

“Are you with someone else?”

Wanda releases a noise, somewhere between a chuckle and a choked cry, and then she's rushing into your arms, pressing her lips to yours in a kiss that's tear-streaked, snotty, a little gross, yet absolutely perfect. 

Because kissing Wanda Maximoff could never be anything other than perfect. ​​You hesitantly deepen the kiss, and suddenly, it's like a dam breaking. The cold metal and concrete around you are replaced by the warmth of her body pressed against yours. A faint scent of her shampoo wafts over, one that you recognize from days long past.

Your fingers, almost of their own accord, find their way to her face, tracing the contours you once knew so well, feeling the dampness of her tears. The intensity of the kiss shifts with each moment–at times tender, at times desperate, like a language only the two of you understand.

Breaking the kiss, she pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes, her own filled with a level of intensity that nearly takes your breath away.

“I'm not with anyone,” she says, her words tumbling out between gasping breaths. “There hasn't been anyone else for the last two years. It's only ever been you–”

“Me too,” you whisper against her lips before diving back into another kiss. This kiss is different, less desperate, but it’s as if this single kiss is mending the broken threads of the past, sealing the promise that you two will never let go again.

But eventually, you have to let go and let her breathe. Pulling back just a hair, you rest your forehead against Wanda's. “God, I've missed you,” you murmur, eyes still closed, half-afraid that this might just vanish if you dare to look.

Wanda gives a watery chuckle, “You have no idea.”

“I'm sorry I'm a year late,” you utter, tears suddenly spilling over before you can rein them in. The thought that Wanda might have really been the one that got married, that you could have truly lost her, crashes over you.

Wanda gently strokes your cheek with her thumb, her eyes soft and understanding. “Even if you're always late,” she murmurs, her lips tantalizingly close to yours, “I'll always wait for you.”

Holding Wanda close, you feel an overwhelming desire to ask her to marry you again. But this time, you won't rush it. After all, there’s two years of new things to learn about each other. And you want to cherish everything–the way her eyes light up when she laughs, the warmth of her hand in yours, and the quiet moments shared over morning coffee. 

You want to learn from your past, not rush into the future. You're ready to enjoy each day, to let your relationship grow and strengthen naturally. You're willing to be patient, because you know that the journey is just as important as the destination.

Wanda raises an eyebrow, a teasing glint in her eye as she waves the photograph slightly. “You really just dropped off this photo and planned to leave? Wishing me happiness like that?”

You nod, sniffling, “It meant everything to me. I thought... I thought if I couldn't be with you, at least I could hope you found happiness.”

Wanda's expression softens, her fingers tracing the lines of your palm before squeezing your hand reassuringly. “So, you were just gonna let me go, thinking I had moved on?” She laughs softly, though there's a tremble in her voice.

You swallow, the tightness in your throat making it hard to speak. “A lot can happen in two years, Wanda,” you say, meeting her gaze squarely. “More than anything, I wanted you to be happy... whether that was with me or someone else.”

She tilts her head, her eyes searching yours for a moment. “Two years,” she muses, as if contemplating the weight of every day, every hour that had passed between you two. Wanda takes your hand, squeezing it gently. "Let's not lose any more time," she whispers, intertwining her fingers with yours. 

You eventually miss the train that you’re supposed to take. 

But it doesn’t matter.

You’re already home.

Taglist: @canvascoloredin | @justgotlizzied , @casquinhaa | @marvelwomen-simp | @sunsol-22 | @wandanatlov3r | @kyaraderuwez | @justyourwritter69 | @stanolsevans | @aliherreraaa | @diaryoflife| @justagurlwholikes | @lizziesplant | @cowxpoke | @sokovianbaby| @swiftie1-0-1 | @scarlettbitchx | @tercerspirit-22 | @hyper-fixated-delusions

[muffinrecord]

Current Plans + Musings

I don't plan on playing Exedra to the degree I did for Magia Record, or playing it at all. Because of that, I won't be taking an active role in the community and archiving anything for it. Of course, if Exedra has like amazing gameplay and stories then this is all subject to change, but for now I think I'm done with phone games.

The two youtube channels will stay up and I'll check em periodically to make sure there aren't copyright strikes against the content. I've saved all my raw files, especially for the battle animations, so I can remake them in the future if the music ever becomes a problem for some reason.

Google Drive will stay up until Google rots away. I haven't recorded footage in a long time (as in stories, I do for the character doppels and such), but I'll upload things if they're sent to me.

Magia Union Translations still plans on translating things and making videos, especially leading up to the end, but also for after the game is over for whatever wasn't made in time. I'm not sure what form this will take in the future-- if it'll be manual captions added to the videos or not, but I know it WILL happen.

As for this blog, I'm not going to delete it or anything. However I'm going to be taking a step back. I'd like to say that I'll do liveblogs but I mean... *gestures at blog* I've been saying that for years and the only one I really did successfully was the Oriko one lmao. Ahhh oh well.

I'll have more words later, but it was really fun to be part of a fandom experience like this. I'm excited to work on my own original story projects though and quiet down a bit.

...

When I started this blog, I never expected it to have people actually read it. Or look at it. I just wanted a place to gush about how much fun I was having. I didn't even want to tag the posts with "Magia Record" at first because I was terrified people would be mean at me, haha.

But I'm glad I did. I made so many good friends through this game. I'm glad it existed. And it made me happy to have a place where people cared about what I had to say. Some folks actually got their news from here, can you imagine that? They had notifications turned on for this blog. My god.

Anyways, I'm going to be here for the next two months, and tomorrow I'll start reblogging fan projects and initiatives, plus general news. Maybe this blog will turn into a dumping site for art and fanfic reblogs, who knows. I might watch the remaining stuff and add various thoughts here and there.

Otherwise, you can find me on my main blog @malignmuffin, which only reblogs stuff (I don't talk much if at all there). I have another tumblr blog for my comic, but I think I'll reshare the name once I actually have content you can look at on it. It's pretty bare bones for the moment.

Actually it'll be funny if the end of this game is what makes me finally work on it again. I was in the process of working on it when NA came out, and it totally derailed me. Stopped writing, drawing, just focused on this silly little phone game. Now it's like those five years have gone by and I'm going back to where I started, except I think my lil comic is going to be a bit better than it was before. If I actually make it, that is.

If I ever do actually make my comic and start posting it, I'll be sure to update y'all here. hah

Anyways, thanks for being on this wild ride with me. The memories have been great, and I'm glad I had this experience, even if it had to end.

[goldenseresinretriever]

False Confidence: Chapter 12

Pairing: Javy “Coyote” Machado x Reader

Part of the San Diego Dogfighters universe

Summary: The Athletic named Javy Machado the fifth sluttiest player in the NHL last year. He’s a known playboy who leaves every game with a different girl. As far as he’s concerned he’s living the dream, playing his dream job with the dream lifestyle. Unfortunately his friends and bosses don’t agree. At 33, they think it’s time for him to settle down. You’re a kindergarten teacher at an esteemed private school. You don't expect much when you finally accept your colleague’s invitation to attend her husband’s hockey game but when you accidentally get separated in the post-game rush, you find yourself in a compromising situation with the last person you’d ever expected to meet. When his PR rep suggests a mutually beneficial agreement, your hands are tied. How long will you have to keep up the act? And how long will you be able to?

Series CW: 18+ ONLY, swearing, angst, fluff, fake relationship, suggestive language, anxiety, school system inaccuracies, hockey inaccuracies etc. There will be individual chapter warnings. No use of Y/N.

Word Count: 5.2k

A/N: Happy Friday, y’all!

Previous Chapter // Series Masterlist // Next Chapter

You examine your classroom, straightening the decorations that you’ve hung on the wall. Every square inch of the room is decked out in various shades of pink, red, and white. Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day, and while your students are too young to really grasp the concept, the air has been buzzing all week. It has little to do with love and everything to do with the promise of candy and cookies at the class party on Tuesday.

You find your eyes searching for the calendar on the classroom wall and a frown creeps up onto your lips. The Dogfighters are on a road trip right now and you’ve found yourself irritated at the way it feels like life has seemingly returned to the way it was before you met your new friends. You’ve spent the last week going home straight after work, occasionally to the Fitch house where you help Josie with the kids while she attempts to get some work done. She’s stretched thinner than usual with Reuben out of town and you can’t help the way you wonder to yourself if this is your future. And while it makes you nervous, there’s a part of your stomach that flutters giddily.

You and Javy have been official for a little over a week, but the road trip has taken up most of that time. You’re anxious to see Javy again, and you’re seriously starting to doubt the old proverb that promises that absence makes the heart grow fonder. You’ve finally allowed yourself to be upfront about your feelings for him, given that he’s actually your real boyfriend now. He’s your real boyfriend now. You can’t help the way you bounce on the balls of your feet in excitement as a fresh wave of giddy butterflies flutters through your stomach. Another glance at the calendar reminds you that despite this being your first Valentine’s Day with Javy, he’s going to have to meet it, playing a game in Seattle tomorrow night. The two of you have plans for the weekend, however, a belated celebration once he’s back and rested. After the game in Seattle, they have one more game in Denver on Thursday before they get back to San Diego on Friday.

“You’re in a good mood this morning.” A voice from behind you teases and you pause your drawing on the board to look over your shoulder to where Josie’s leaning against the doorframe.

“Josie! Good morning!” You greet her as you cap the marker and wipe your hands off on your overalls as you go over to give her a hug that she returns before handing you a to-go cup that smells delicious.

“We stopped for a little treat this morning since the kids are missing Daddy extra.” She gives you a tired but rueful smile. You know if you miss Javy after barely dating him for a week, Josie must be missing Reuben something fierce after being married for a decade.

“They’ll be home on Friday,” you remind her, trying to sound cheerful but your melancholy must show through your facade because Josie gives you a gentle smile.

“Hey, what are you doing tomorrow night?” She asks, and you see a scheming twinkle in her eyes.

“Tomorrow? Nothing really, I was going to watch the match while I grade papers, and then Javy said he’d call afterward and we could get takeout for Valentine’s Dinner.” You ignore the way your stomach flips at the words Valentine’s Dinner. “Why? Did you need help with the kids tomorrow night?”

“Yeah actually,” Josie says casually, sliding a hand into her pocket. “I thought maybe we could watch the game together?”

“Of course! That would be so much fun, what time should I come over?” You’re secretly excited not to have to spend the night alone with your TV and your thoughts when you’re sure the jitters will be too distracting to get any work done anyway.

“Well we’re going to have to leave right after school if we’re going to make the flight,” Josie says and you blink, confused until you look down and see the tickets that Josie’s holding out to you.

“W-what?” You stammer as your brain struggles to catch up with your eyes.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Roadie,” she says and you look from the tickets back up her and then back down to the tickets before you almost spill the coffee in your hand as you throw your arms around Josie. Josie laughs, fishing the coffee from your hand and depositing it safely on a nearby bookshelf.

“Josie, I can’t, it’s too much,” you blubber uselessly as you sob into her shoulder, all composure lost at your best friend’s kindness.

She just shakes her head as she pats your back comfortingly. “The kids miss their dad, I miss my husband, and you can’t miss your first Valentine’s Day with Javy. He’s still not my favorite person in the world but he makes you happy so I can’t hate him.” You choke out a chuckle at Josie’s words.

“Thank you, Josie.” You whisper and she just shakes her head again.

“Don’t thank me, just enjoy the day.” She pauses before she adds. “I’d originally wanted to surprise you with it tomorrow but I figured I should give you a chance to pack.” She laughs and you join in.

“I think my brain might have exploded,” you point out and she laughs harder.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning, so we have just one car and we can go straight from work to the airport.” You nod, still breathless over the fact that you’ll get to see Javy tomorrow.

“Wait, do the boys know?” You ask, your brain firing at a mile-a-minute.

Josie shakes her head, a conspiratory grin spreading across her face. “I thought we could surprise them. Zam knows she’s the one that arranged the game tickets.”

“We’re going to the game?!” You grasp the papers Josie’s still holding and you shuffle through them to see the game tickets under the plane tickets. “Josie!” You shriek and she laughs, head tipping back.

“Don’t yell at me, those are complimentary! WAG privileges,” she reminds you and you shake your head in disbelief. Not only do you get to see Javy tomorrow, but you get to go to the game and surprise him. “Alright, I need to get going before my kids start showing up but I’ll see you at lunch,” you wave to Josie before returning to your prep for the day.

Suddenly you feel ridiculous for all the stressing you’ve done over the past week, trying to decide what to get your boyfriend for Valentine’s Day. You know Javy has no qualms about spending ridiculous sums of money on you, but you’re not exactly in a position to do the same. All the same, you’re feeling pretty proud of your Valentine’s Day gift for Javy. You’re also extremely happy that you finished in time for Valentine’s Day despite thinking you wouldn’t be able to give it to him until Saturday. You’re nervous but excited to see his reaction to it. You’re even more excited to see his reaction to your and Josie’s surprise.

***

You’re secretly glad that all you have planned for today is a Valentine’s Day party. You’re not sure you have the focus required to teach your students today since you’ve been bouncing off the walls with nervous excitement since you got out of bed this morning, not that you’d slept much at all. You’re secretly thankful for the parents who volunteered to help with the party because your mind is on this evening, your eyes flitting to the clock constantly, counting down the seconds until you’re done with work.

You know you should calm down and conserve your energy. The next twenty-four hours are going to be a whirlwind. After school ends, you have to rush to the airport to make your direct flight to Seattle, and from there you need to rush to the arena to make it in time for the game. After that, you’ll spend the night in Seattle before catching a red-eye from Seattle back to San Diego with barely enough time to make it back in time to teach Wednesday morning. Josie’s planning to drop off the kids with Penny for the day, since they’ll likely be too exhausted to handle a full day of school after all that travel. You secretly wish you could afford to take tomorrow off, but with so little notice, you know better than to try.

Your eyes move from the clock to the comically large vase currently taking up most of your desk. The flowers had been delivered during first period and you can’t help the giddy smile that stretches your face as you look at the bright orange blossoms. Your students had descended into giggles when you told them it was from Javy and you couldn't help but join in.

***

Your students finally make their way to lunch and you slump across your desk, letting the scent of the tiger lilies above you permeate your nose, and as sweet as they smell, you find yourself missing a different scent, a smokier, spicier one. You let out an exhausted groan as Josie lets herself in, coming to sit across from you.

“He sent you flowers,” she remarks, and you think she sounds a little impressed. You turn your head to squish your cheek against the cool wooden surface as you look at her and nod.

“Aren’t they perfect?” You say, a shy smile tugging at your lips as you follow her gaze to the orange blossoms.

“Tiger lilies? Not roses?” She asks, reaching a hand out to finger the blossoms, curiously.

“They’re my favorite.” You explain. “I don’t know how he knew,” you muse as a thought occurs to you. “Did you tell him?” Josie holds up her hands in surrender.

“It wasn’t me. I didn’t even know you liked tiger lilies.” Your brow furrows in thought.

“Well, technically, I love all lilies,”

“But those are your favorites now since they’re the ones he bought you,” Josie interrupts your thought and you look at her, surprised as you nod, cheeks heating.

“I used to like mums, back in college, they were my favorite and I was super vocal about it. Then I met Reuben and on our first date he bought me dahlias because he’d bought them thinking they were just big mums, and in that moment I realized I never wanted anything but dahlias. They reminded me of him, and how eager he was to make me happy, and now they’re my favorites.” The two of you sit in content silence for a long moment before she speaks up again. “Are you excited for tonight?” Your face brightens instantly and you nod enthusiastically.

“I still can’t believe it’s real, thank you so much again, Josie.” She shakes her head.

“Thank you for coming with me,” she chuckles, “but after you experience flying with two kids, I don’t think you’ll take me up on the offer again.” She teases and you roll your eyes.

“I love your kids,” you remind her and she chuckles.

“You do now, just wait.”

***

You can’t help the nerves that are pacing in your stomach as you worry the edge of the jersey you’re wearing. You try to channel the restless energy into helping Josie wrangle the kids. They are restless too, excited to see their dad, and cranky from their naps on the plane. You can’t find it in you to be irritated with them when you see your own raw emotions on display in them. You glance over your shoulder, anxious for warmups to begin so you can see Javy and the tension in your heart can finally snap.

Skylar bumps into you on accident as she tries to wrangle one of the homemade signs that are jammed into the bag on the floor. They’re incredibly cheesy, but Josie had insisted that they’re a necessary part of the surprise. You help her unfold them and hand her and Jamie the one they’ll hold together. It’s a simple mess of glitter and paint that reads, “Happy Valentine’s Day, Daddy!” Josie gives it a long look like she’s considering hoisting it herself and you roll your eyes as you slide out the sign that Josie made for the two of you. You haven’t seen it yet and you’re a little nervous. Josie is a lot braver than you are and she’s been married for a decade while you’re in your first real relationship that’s barely a week old. You carefully unroll the sign and feel your cheeks heat as you read the words on it. “It’s not just puppy love, Happy Valentine’s Day, Dogfighters!” It’s sweet and playful but your eyes are caught on one particular four-letter word.

Your heartbeat thunders in your ears so loud that you almost miss the rise of cheers that rise through the arena. You look up as Josie grabs your arm in one hand and her side of the sign in the other. You’re yanked back to the present as a familiar blur of green whips down the ice towards you. The team heads down to their end of the ice to start warming up and you remember to lift your edge of the sign as your eyes dart furiously from one player to the next, searching for number 68 and any sign of Javy. You hear the kids screaming for their dad in the corner of your consciousness, followed by the pound of their little hands against the glass as Reuben skates up.

Your eyes turn more frantic even though you know he’s here somewhere, he has to be. Your heart thunders in your chest as the unreasonable doubts start crawling in and making a home in your aching chest. You miss the moment a figure on the ice stops until a full body slams into the glass in front of you making the whole wall shake and then you’re looking at Javy’s full grin and wide eyes and he looks like an excited puppy as he gapes at you. You can’t help the excited grin that bubbles to the surface and matches his. You wave slightly as you place your hands on the glass over his on the other side.

“Hi,” you whisper even though you know he won’t be able to hear you.

“Hi,” he breathes back. His breath clouds the glass and your stomach flips when he draws a lopsided heart and writes “hi” inside it. You giggle as grins at you. Your moment is broken as Jake skates by and grabs Javy by the back of his jersey playfully. He blows you a kiss as he drags Javy back towards warmups. You try not to think too hard about the fact that Javy’s eyes stay on you the entire time before they disappear back down the tunnel.

***

You know you should be focussing on the score. It’s currently tied at 1-1 but instead, you’re still dizzy over the adrenaline of the day and the way Javy’s playing at the top of his game today. He’d assisted Jake’s goal in the second period, and you spent the whole break watching the replays online since it was on the other side of the rink. The score remains tied and the clock is running on the third period. Your lips are gnawed to hell as you watch the clock drop lower and lower. This period the Dogfighters are shooting on your side of the rink and you’ve been glued to the glass since it started. You wince as one of Seattle’s defensemen scuffles with Javy by the boards feet away from you, digging at the puck as it slides between their sticks and skates. Your brow furrows as a stray elbow catches Javy’s shoulder and you shout out in protest, as your hands find the glass where you bang alongside the Seattle fans. When you hear them cheering for the other player, you hear your voice rise, cheering for Javy amidst the louder screams. You’re caught up in the fever, the adrenaline of the game, the excitement of the day, and seeing your boyfriend. You catch his eye briefly as his eyes dart up unconsciously and you swear he winks at you, sending heat up your cheeks and knocking the breath from your lungs. Javy manages to dig the puck out of the corner and you watch as he knocks it backward to where Jake’s waiting to whisk it off towards the goal. Your heart is in your throat as you watch Jake’s approach, the opposing defense coming up to try and block his path to the goal. His linemates are trying to open themselves up for a pass but there are no open paths on the ice.

You watch his stick swing anyway, but you don’t see the puck fly into the fray. Your brow furrows in confusion until you watch Javy shoot out from behind him, the puck dancing along the edge of his stick, completely unmarked. Your stomach flips as you see the look on his face. For a moment it feels like you’re watching the sun come out from behind the clouds as you take in the boyish grin stretched across Javy’s face. His eyes are glinting with mischief you’ve seen plenty of times on your students’ tiny faces, and he’s glowing with confidence as he whips down the ice. Your heart is in your throat as you watch the other players slowly realize where the puck has gone and then you watch the black disk fly off the end of Javy’s stick. The goalie starts to move in his direction, but it’s clear he hasn’t realized Javy’s shot until it’s too late and his glove is still inches away as the puck sails over his shoulder.

You’re sure you’re screaming and then Josie’s screaming and she’s grabbing you and you’re grabbing her, and you can’t take your eyes off him as he roars in triumph and then he’s pointing with both hands and you’re trying to understand what at, it doesn’t make any sense and then he’s laughing and you read his lips as he tries to contain himself. “You.” Your brows furrow and you look down at yourself in confusion before turning around to look behind you as Josie laughs beside you as the other boys start crowding Javy.

Josie grasps your shoulders as your confusion grows. “It’s you, Roadie.”

“W-what’s me?” You ask, glancing back towards the ice where Javy’s getting set up for the next face-off.

You look back in time to see Josie shake her head, a fond look in her eyes. “Everything,” she says before giving you a tight hug and you feel your stomach twist as you watch the jumbotrons replay the goal and you watch Javy point at the stands all over again. Oh. You. You’ve spent your whole adult life expecting not to be chosen, never expecting to be anything but the butt of a joke, that you weren’t worthy of being chosen. People look through you, people look past you, people don’t look at you, people don’t see you. And yet in the last month, you’ve felt more seen than you have in the last thirty years of your life. They look at you, they see you. He sees you.

You don’t hear the whistle, you don’t hear the last of the game, you don’t hear the horn as the clock runs out. You’re overwhelmed, and you’ve been overwhelmed before, but it’s different this time. The usual fear, the pain, the panic, none of that is what you feel now. “Roadie?” You blink and realize belatedly that you’re crying and you turn to her and throw your arms around her neck.

“Thank you, just thank you.” You don’t recognize the sound of your voice as you shake your head and just hold your best friend. She doesn’t question it and holds you back like she already knows, and maybe she does.

***

You place a hand over your knee to try and stop the way it’s restlessly bouncing as you sit on the bench in some hallway, waiting for Javy. You’re not a spouse, so you weren’t allowed into the locker room area with Josie and the kids. A member of the Kraken’s staff had led the four of you to the private section of the stadium and you’ve been waiting for at least an hour. You turn your phone on, glancing at the clock and debating texting Javy but you know he’s probably just finishing up his post-game responsibilities. He knows you’re here. He’ll find you. You stifle a yawn as you stare at the screen, your stomach dropping as you realize how few hours you have until you’ll have to head back to the airport and back to your life.

You close your eyes, trying to ignore the math that your brain insists on doing because it’s not enough and you’re not ready to be back home, exhausted and alone, thrust back into your routine for another three days until Javy gets home. You barely suppress a groan as you lean your head against the wall behind you, trying to reconcile the consequences of your actions as the lull in the business of the day gives you a break from the adrenaline that’s been coursing through you all day. You’re slowly descending into a spiral of your own thoughts when you hear the squeak of hinges in your periphery and you turn your head, your body sitting up, the giddy excitement of seeing Javy beating out the exhaustion settling into your bones as you watch the corner, begging Javy to come around it.

You’ve barely caught enough of his silhouette to confirm it’s him before you’re bouncing off the bench and running for him. Running to him is a blur, but then you’re in his arms, and the scent of sweat mixed with his cologne engulfs your nose and you feel the tension melt out of your body as you settle against him. The two of you stay silent for a long beat, your bodies refamiliarizing themselves with the feeling of holding the other, committing it to memory, to carry the two of you through the rest of the week. When the two of you finally choose to speak, it happens at the same time.

“Thank you,” Javy whispers into your hair.

“Thank you,” You croak, your voice breaking over the words all over again. The silence that falls between you is comfortable and you can tell he’s waiting for you to go first so you tell him the words that have been on your lips for the last hour. “Thank you for seeing me.” Your chest heaves shakily as you fight the words out, but his arms just tighten around you as he holds you, like he’d physically hold you together if you shattered to pieces.

He pulls back and removes his hands from your waist to cup your cheeks as his dark eyes look into yours and straight through to your soul. “You’re impossible to miss.” He says as he strokes his thumbs over the apples of your cheeks, and when he says it, you find that it’s not so hard to believe it. “Thank you for coming,” he whispers before running his nose against yours, your lips just shy of ghosting over each other.

“There’s nowhere I’d rather be,” you whisper back, and when he kisses you it feels like you’ve let out a breath you’ve been holding for the last week.

“Alright, Meep,” Javy says when he finally pulls away, leaning his forehead against yours, arms returning to your waist to keep you close, “you gonna tell me what you’re doing here, beautiful?” You feel your cheeks heat even though you’re already in his arms, and he’s already kissed you.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Javy.” It sounds so silly as you say the words, but you wonder if that’s because it’s the first time you’ve said them romantically.

He chuckles softly before pressing a simple kiss to your lips “Happy Valentine’s Day, Meep, but I mean what’re you doing in Seattle on a school night.” You shrug slightly because you don’t really have an answer.

“Josie’s the right brand of crazy and she has the budget to back it up?” You both laugh at that.

“I hate to ruin the mood,” Javy says before closing his eyes for a moment, “but when do you leave?” Your stomach drops again. In the joy of being reunited with Javy, you’d forgotten that you’ll have to leave him again in just a few short hours.

“We have a red-eye back to San Diego so we can make it back to work tomorrow,” you explain and you know Javy’s doing his best not to mirror the disappointment you’re feeling. “But you’ll be back in San Diego on Friday, right? That’s not so bad.” One glance at him says that he believes your words about as much as you do. “But at least we have tonight,” you relent.

“At least we have tonight,” he agrees. “Well then, let’s not waste a second.” He leads you out of the stadium. Most fans have since dispersed, returning home since it’s a Tuesday. The area around the stadium is lit with lights as and there are a fair amount of people milling around. Javy takes your hand and leads you through the park surrounding the stadium as you crane your neck back to get a good look at the Space Needle as it closer and closer.

There are a few people milling around and entering the Space Needle as you and Javy approach the ticket desk. The lady at the desk’s eyes widen in recognition as Javy purchases tickets for the two of you. When you enter, you stay close to Javy, feeling nerves bubble like butterflies as the photographer takes your picture and you watch Javy give him him email address for the photos. “My privacy is already nonexistent, there’s no need to compromise yours,” he explains when you offer to give yours instead. You walk up the spiral walkway to the elevator with Javy’s hand in yours. The ride to the top is silent and you’re sure you notice the elevator attendance staring at the two of you. The fact that you’re wearing Javy’s last name on your back doesn’t really help with the subtlety.

When the elevator doors open your breath catches in your throat. There are glass walls separating you from the balcony that wraps around the room the elevator opens onto, but you can already see the lights of Seattle twinkling from here. You find yourself dragging Javy to the balcony. The city of Seattle is alight all around you. From here you can see Climate Pledge Area, the rest of the park, and various museums in the area around you. You can also see the darkness of Elliot Bay. As you make your way around the balcony, you come face to face with the dazzling skyscrapers of downtown as the city itself sprawls out into the distance. It’s gorgeous and your fingers itch to paint the stunning view. You pull out your phone, snapping some inspiration photos. You’re already planning how you’re going to approach the painting when Javy slides his arms around your waist from behind, leaning his chin on your shoulder.

“What’s going on in your pretty little head, Meep?” He asks and you feel embarrassment creep over you for just abandoning him when he brought you up here and came all the way here to see him.

“Sorry, I was just thinking about how much I want to paint this view,” You explain as you gaze out at the city below you.

“Well, I can’t wait to see it,” Javy whispers. “And I hope I have first dibs when it goes on sale,” he murmurs, nuzzling your cheek gently.

“Javy, I’m not making you pay for my art!” You exclaim indignantly, leaning into him as the wind off the bay whips around the two of you. Javy wraps his arms around you from behind, pulling you close.

“Pretty girl, where is your coat?” He asks as he snuggles you.

“We live in San Diego, I don’t have one!” You grumble indignantly. “It doesn’t get this cold there,” he nods against your shoulder.

“Okay, that is true, I’ll give you that.” He rubs your arms. “At least you’re wearing long sleeves,” he points out.

“Do you like it?” You’d been too shy to ask last time. Well, that and last time you hadn’t been wearing his name as his real girlfriend.

“I love it,” he says with a forcefulness that makes your heart flutter.

“Oh! I almost forgot!” You wiggle out of his grip to get the box out of your purse. “I know we’re going to celebrate on Saturday, but I figured since I was going to be here, I could give you your gift today!”

“Meep,” Javy groans. “You came all this way, you didn’t have to get me anything, plus I don’t have your gift here,” he bemoans and you wave him off.

“You didn’t know I was coming, and neither did I until yesterday, so I had already gotten you a gift. Plus, you bought the tickets to come up here,” you remind him. You hand him the narrow box and he arches a curious eyebrow as you draw the sleeves of your jersey over your hands and hug your arms around yourself. Javy notices and gently guides you so that your back is to the building behind you and he’s blocking the wind with his body before he opens the box. You hold your breath anxiously as he unwraps the paper inside before his breath catches.

“Roadie…” he murmurs and you swallow hard, trying to decipher if you’ve hit the nail on the head or missed it entirely. Javy lifts the tie out of the box, examining it in the light that’s filtering out from inside. You’ve covered the originally-white fabric with fabric paint, doing your best to recreate a slice of the cliff painting he bought at your show. And there at the very bottom are the embracing figures that represent him and you. “Roadie, this is beautiful. Did you paint this?” His voice is full of awe as he looks at you and you nod.

“I know it’s not the most faithful recreation but fabric paint is pretty fickle. I thought maybe you could wear it with one of your game day suits.” You admit. While exploring the team’s Instagram account you found the highlight of game day suit posts, and that had inspired you to make the tie.

“I’m getting rid of every other tie I own when I get home,” Javy declares and your eyes widen in horror.

“But this is blue, and it won’t match every suit!” You protest and he chuckles.

“Well then I’ll just get rid of all the blue ones, and every year I can get rid of a different color.” You see the nerves dancing in his eyes at the boldness of his statement, at the assumption that there will be more years. That you’ll be together long enough for a dozen Valentine’s Days and a dozen ties.

“Well I do take requests,” you say and you watch the anxiety leave his shoulders and you kiss your boyfriend at the top of the Space Needle on the night of your very first Valentine’s Day, and everything is perfect.

A/N: The Valentine’s Day festivities aren’t quite done yet, what do we think Javy has planned for Saturday?

[hard-core-super-star]

Hi rubix, love your writing btw!! so would I be able to request a wandanat x reader fic where it’s readers birthday and they don’t usually have time or people to celebrate with so Wanda and Nat decide to change that for this year and whisk her away to somewhere like Paris to celebrate and have a great time with some smut at the end 🫣

It’s my birthday in a few days and I’m in dire need of this 🤧

romance is not dead, if you keep it just yours [W.Maximoff; N.Romanoff]

pairing: top!natasha romanoff x bottom!reader x switch!wanda maximoff

summary: your girlfriends set out to make your birthday as memorable as possible.

warnings: smut -> minors, you know the drill, bye [threesome; smut so soft it borders on spicy fluff; like...one inch of plot; grinding; fingering [R receiving]; the daddy and mommy kink is implied but not explicit lmao; wanda's low-key a brat because...yeah :) ; clothed sex AGAIN because i think it's neat, okay?; cheesy ending...again]

wordcount: 2.2k

a/n: hi, lovely anon, thank you for the kind words! i hope i'm not too late with this but either way, i hope you had a fantastic birthday! also, you get the honor of having requested my first ever wandanat fic so that's cool. this was my first time properly sitting down and writing for them so let me know what you think! i really hope you enjoy <3

* * * * * * *

“Guess what.”

You look up from the book in your hands to find two pairs of expectant eyes on you. You’ve seen your girlfriends wear many faces since you met them and yet it never fails to surprise you when you catch a glimpse of the genuine joy they wear around you.

The one that makes your heart skip several beats and earns them both teasing comments from the rest of the team.

“What?” You ask as your eyes flicker back and forth between them and the proud grins on their faces.

Wanda playfully rolls her eyes at you. “That’s not how the game works, detka.”

“Come on, go easy on her,” Natasha comes to your aid for once, a subtle hint that even she must be excited about whatever news they’re hiding.

“Yeah, what Nat said.”

You and the redhead share a look that draws a soft chuckle out of your girlfriend. “Remind me how I’m the one who spoils y/n again?”

“Can you stop stalling and tell me what you’re hiding already?” 

Your question earns both a glare and a laugh before you’re finally given the answer you’ve been searching for. Your girlfriends may love you more than anything else in the world but that will never stop them from teasing you like their life depends on it.

“So impatient…yes, fine, we convinced Tony to let us borrow one of his stupidly fast jets for tomorrow.”

Two pairs of green eyes watch your reaction expectantly only to find your face twisting into confusion. “Why?”

There’s a beat of silence where they both stare at each other, silently trying to figure out how to proceed. Clearly, they weren’t expecting you to question the exciting news they had brought to you.

It happens in a flash.

One second you’re sitting alone in bed and the next, your girlfriends are on either side of you, contradicting touches landing on your arms. It’s strange how easy it is to tell them apart. How cautious Natasha’s fingers still are when they trace random patterns onto your skin compared to Wanda’s gentle pressure as trails down to grab onto your hand, unmistakable tendrils of red magic moving to put your forgotten book back onto the shelf.

Natatsha’s the first to break the silence, all her earlier playfulness gone and replaced by subtle concern. “y/n, it’s your birthday tomorrow.”

“So?” You shrug. “It’s just another day.”

Wanda tightens her grip on your hand and successfully steals back your attention. “Nonsense, malyshka. You deserve to be celebrated.”

“Guys, it’s not a big deal,” you assure them. “I really don’t need anything. Plus, I have too many things to do.”

“Not anymore.” A sweet kiss is placed on your lips before you can voice your complaints. “We’re stealing you away tomorrow.”   

“But what about-”

“Already talked to Steve.”

“And-”

“Kate will understand.”

“How-”

“Stop looking for excuses, detka.” Natasha rolls her eyes as she pulls you closer to her. “You’re coming with us.”

You want to argue, you truly do, but then Wanda’s gluing herself to your side, eager hands slipping under your shirt, and you quickly come to the conclusion that spending all day with them is the best way to spend any day. 

Including a birthday.

Especially since you’re more than used to treating it like every other day of the year. It’s not that you don’t like celebrating it, you’re just always too busy to make real plans and no one’s ever thought to surprise you before.

But of course, your girlfriends aren’t like anyone else.

Which is how they manage to get you onto one of Tony’s jets, reminding you of the existence of time zones and how you have to leave right now if you want to make it to your surprise destination on time. You don’t really mind either way but you’re pretty sure you haven’t seen them this excited about something in a while so you go along with them anyway.

The jet ride seems never-ending despite how fast the aircraft is supposed to be. It doesn’t help that you’ve been having trouble sleeping peacefully the past few nights and Wanda’s running a hand through your hair in the way that makes you melt.

“You’re allowed to go to sleep, you know?” Natasha whispers with a teasing smirk. “We still have a long while to go.”

“Whose idea was this again?” You grumble as you drop your head down onto the redhead’s shoulder. 

“Don’t be a brat, love. You’ll thank us when we get there.”

You bite back the rest of your complaints and sink into the sweet arms of a dreamless sleep. You miss the way your girlfriends watch over you the entire time as well as the long list of things they each want to see and the various ridiculous ways in which they propose to get everything done.

They ultimately agree to let you choose once you’re awake again…something that backfires when the jet finally lands and you’re still far off in dreamland. They go back and forth on whether they should wake you or not, especially since it’s morning where you've landed and the jetlag will definitely destroy you.

You look far too cute to rouse though so Natasha gathers you up into her arms with ease and carries you in her strong embrace the rest of the way.

When you finally do wake up, a few hours have passed and you're safe inside the lavish hotel room Wanda reserved using one of Tony’s endless credit cards. The change in scenery startles your drowsy mind before you feel familiar arms pulling you close.

“Look who finally decided to join us,” Wanda says softly as she easily pulls you onto her lap.

“Hi,” you mumble, tucking your head into the crook of her neck.

“Hi, darling. How's the birthday girl feeling? Still sleepy?”

“A little.” You let out a soft sigh as your girlfriend’s hands travel inside your loose shirt, slender fingers tracing random shapes onto your warm skin. “I’m sorry I ruined the trip.”

She scoffs and the sound instantly reminds you of Natasha which pulls a small smile onto your face. “You didn't ruin anything, detka. It's your birthday.”

You don't say anything in response and your girlfriend is quick to pull your thoughts away from their current trajectory. She keeps exploring your waist with one hand while the other one comes up to playfully tug on your hair.

“How about you stop hiding and look at your surprise, hm?”

It’s unclear whether it’s her words or her grip on your hair that makes you obey but neither of you mind. You reluctantly lift your face from its hiding place and let the green-eyed woman guide your gaze toward the large window of the room.

You gasp the second you realize where you are. “You guys brought me to Paris!”

Your excitement manages to break through your exhaustion which earns you a laugh from your loving witch. “Only the best for our girl.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Maybe a little.”

You turn your head at the sound of Natasha’s voice, eager hands reaching out for her instantly. Your silent request is instantly fulfilled and the redhead easily slips into bed next to Wanda.

“I can't believe you would do this for me.”

“Believe it, malyshka.” She leans forward and easily captures your lips with her own.

Wanda huffs as she’s left out of the moment, her hands wandering under your shirt once again. You're too lost in the kiss to notice where her fingers are going until they brush against your nipples.

The sensation makes you jump which makes you grind against the witch’s thigh in a way that leaves you gasping for air. 

“That’s cheating,” Natasha warns after she pulls away from you. 

“What happened to spoiling the birthday girl?”

This time, you're the one who gets left out of the moment as they fight for the control that always rests in the Russian’s hands. They get caught up in their knowing stares and bruising kisses, leaving you aching and panting for their attention.

It’s a game they love playing with you but you’re far too desperate already to last much longer without their hands on you. 

Thankfully, Wanda decides to take pity on you. She gives your hardened nipples a soft tug, smirking against Natasha’s lips when she feels your hips buck once more. “I think someone’s feeling a little needy.”

The redhead turns to look at you, a perfectly raised eyebrow painting her face with the stern humor you've come to know so well. “Is that right, kotenok? Are you feeling needy?” 

You nod, all the heat in your body rushing down from your face to between your thighs. “Please don’t tease.”

“Aw, look at that, Nat. You're not going to deny her when she looks like that, are you?” You're not sure if Wanda’s actually being genuine or not but you don't really care as long as she’ll help you get what you want.

“Who’s the brat now?” She chuckles before reaching out for you, pulling you onto her lap, and leaving behind a pouty Wanda. “Come here, let me give you what you want.”

The Russian is true to her words and wastes no time in sliding a hand past the waistband of both your pants and your underwear. Your complaints about the lack of sink-on-skin contact between you are forgotten as Wanda situates herself behind you, plump lips trailing feather-light kisses up your neck. 

A gasp tumbles out of your lips once Natasha’s fingers finally find your drenched cunt. She moves slowly, almost too slowly, but you already know she’ll be quick to remind you to be patient if you dare whine.  

“You don’t have to be so cautious, detka,” Wanda whispers against your flushed skin. “It’s your birthday, remember?”

“Don’t listen to her, it’s always so much better for you when you’re a good girl.” She easily slips two fingers into your waiting hole, barely holding back a laugh as your pussy swallows her digits.   

Your hands grip her shoulders for stability while they both work in tandem to make you lose the last bits of control you still have over yourself. 

The witch’s hands find their way under your shirt yet again except this time she’s gripping your hips and helping you move in time with the redhead’s movements. It’s the slowest, most agonizing, of dances and yet the pleasure has you arching your back in seconds.

“Look at you,” Natasha coos, taking a mental picture of how delicious you look writhing in Wanda’s arms. “You’re so pretty when you’re like this, malyshka.”

Your walls clench the second you hear the affectionate petname and the Russian can’t resist the urge to lean forward and attach herself to your neck. Her thrusts are still slow and steady but then finally, her thumb begins to circle your puffy clit.

Your head falls back against Wanda’s shoulder and she laughs as you practically go limp from the pleasure. “You’re gonna break her, ‘Tasha.”

“She likes it.” She punctuates her point by curling her fingers just right and pulling out a string of moans from deep within you. “Don’t you, darling?”

“Mhmm, please don’t stop.”

They share a look you don’t see but you do feel the evidence of yet another standoff. It’s like Wanda just can’t stop herself from pressing all of Natasha’s buttons when they’re like this. Which means it’s your job as their devoted girlfriend to let them turn your pleasure into a competition.

And they do just that.

Wanda’s grip on your hips tightens until her nails are digging into your skin and she’s practically forcing you to ride Natasha’s fingers. Natasha, for her part, increases the speed of her thrusts, launching you closer and closer toward your orgasm. She’s still drawing it out of you, though,  still balancing speed with soft kisses and murmured praises.

It’s a strange combination but it works perfectly. Just like your relationship with them. It’s something that transcends words, something that can’t be explained, merely felt…and it’s also exactly what brings you to the edge.

“Nat…please…”

“Please, what, detka?” Wanda responds for your girlfriend.

“Can I cum? Please?”

You half-expect them to make you beg for a little longer but it seems your special day has left them more merciful than usual. Natasha’s lips make their way up your neck and onto your jawline until she reaches your lips and gives you the permission you’re searching for.

“Go ahead, cum for us.”

You’ve heard the words thousands of times and yet they make you fall apart like nothing else. The slow build-up finally reaches its peak with one more swirl of Natasha’s thumb against your clit and you literally fall face-first into your orgasm.

“Such a good girl, love. Always so good for us.”

Your response comes in the shape of a muffled whine as you bury your face into the redhead’s neck. 

The sound makes both of your girlfriends smile and Wanda moves to sit on Natasha’s other side while they wait for you to recover. “I guess we’re not leaving the hotel any time soon.”

“Are you complaining, Maximoff?”

“Shut up.”

Their bickering makes you giggle. “Wanda’s being a brat again, Nat.”

“I know.” The green-eyed woman turns her head to press a barrage of kisses against the side of your face. “I think that means she can’t join us in the shower.”

The comment draws another complaint out of the young witch and you happily rest in your girlfriend’s arms while they start up another playful argument you’ll eventually have to get in the middle of.

You don't mind though, there's no other way you'd rather spend your birthday than with them.

[pursuitseternal]

“A Yuletide Miracle:” Spawn!Astarion learns the (nsfw) meaning of the season, finding 🔥heat in the cold❄️

Spawn!Astarion x Reader | E | 3.4K

Part 1: “Yuletide in Faerûn”

Summary: A very “Grinchy,” cantankerous Astarion walks with you home on the eve of Yuletide, loathing the sights of celebration. Little does he know the surprise you have planned to make his heart grow three sizes that night, and well… other part of his undead anatomy…

Slightly inspired by “The Grinch” 🌟

CW: Cranky, festivity-hating Vampire Spawn, a Yuletide surprise that warms his undead heart, and helps him learn the true meaning of the season.

Read on Ao3 | Astarion fic Masterlist

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“I do not get it,” Astarion grumbles as you walk towards your flat in the lower city. Baldur’s Gate, blanketed in snow, crisp and pure and crunching under your boots as you return from your shopping. Night has fallen, the stars are bright. Voices fill the air with music from taverns and the scent of spices wafts on the breezes. It’s beautiful, this time of year. But the enterally handsome Vampire Spawn at your side couldn’t be more glower and glum. “I mean, I have every right to be merry and filled with cheer this time of year. The nights are longer, the days are darkened, it’s a Vampire Spawn’s paradise. But the rest of this… mirth…” he grimaces as you stroll, arm and arm, past a group of carolers serenading outside of the Elfsong. “They have no right or reason to be so chipper in the dark and cold.”

You give him a tug on his arm, a good-humored and disparaging glance from the side of your eye. “Come now, music and parties and warmth and gifts…. It’s Yuletide, my love. Surely even you would love to have people thinking about you and buying you gifts upon gifts?”

He falls silent. Tense. As you make the last turn towards your little home, you walk in the silence. Just a flat, but it’s yours. Yours for the last few months since your victory over the Netherbrain. This little gift from Wyll, new Duke of Baldur’s Gate, it’s your safe haven from the sun while you both settle yourselves to find him a cure… and while you fuck each others brains out like you’re still about to maybe die tomorrow.

Old habits die hard.

But as the winds whip around you, bitter and cold, you hide your frame behind his broad shoulders. He may be chilling to the touch and undead, but at least he can block the ice of winter. And it makes him scoff. “Really? Truly, you use me as a shield? Some partner, some selfless merry cheer you spread.”

You clutch your sack and the precious contents tighter against your body, keeping it warm and safe. “I told you, my little surprise for you can’t freeze. Else, our trip to the shops will all be for naught and you’ll get nothing for Yuletide, my love.”

You draw to a stop, huddled behind his back at your doorstep. You barely hear him mutter to himself over the icy wind and the snap of the key in the lock, “So like every other year…”

Words not meant for you to hear. But they pierce your heart more than the cold and ice.

You pause inside the door, shaking off your cloak from the piles of snow that have accumulated. “Why don’t you start the fire in the study? I’ll be in, just in a moment….”

He turns, leaving his own damp cloak a pile on the ground. Like always. Messy thing. “So you can finish readying your…” he scowls, bitterness behind those crimson eyes, “…surprise? Gods, I hope it’s not some cheesy Yuletide gift.”

“Would it be so unthoughtful of me to give my lover a little something tonight?” You smirk, hiding the little satchel behind your back. “It is the eve of Yule, after all.”

He sniffs in abject derision. “If you insist on wasting our gold on something so frivolous, who am I to stop you.” He closes in on you, making you retreat against the wall of the foyer. “Just don’t expect anything grand in return… well, unless you think what I give you on a nightly basis is grand enough.” He flashes those fangs at you, smirking with all that lust and seduction that makes your legs weak to feel him between your thighs.

You cough, clearing your voice and forcing a pout on your trembling lips. “You could at least put a bow on it?” You tease, making that hungry smirk widen.

“Cliché, but if that’s what gets you going this evening, who am I to judge?” he shrugs slowly, languorously, letting his hand slide from the wall beside your head, the other cupping around your chin to bring you in for a slow and tantalizing kiss.

You hold your breath, trying hard to remember to not drop your precious cargo. He departs, one last suck of your bottom lip between his until it releases with a pop. “Don’t you fret, I’ll get the study nice and warm for you… and your,” a frown turns at the corner of his mouth, “… supposed surprise.”

“Don’t you worry, I won’t overwhelm you with too much joy or peace or love,” you comment, interjecting as he opens his mouth, “and I’ll keep the costumes and singing to a minimum.”

His mouth snaps shut, disgusted beyond measure like he swallowed bile, “Gods… I swear… I am not in the mood… Keep your festivities to a minimum, and as for costumes, I’ll have you naked, preferably…”

He trods into the study. Grumpy, disgruntled. So easy to tease. But you keep it soft. Light hearted. Knowing there was more to his cold and cranky demeanor than just selfishness.

Your mind races… would a spawn of Cazador have even had anything for Yuletide?

You busy yourself, prepping your gift, tenderly setting it on a table. The little plant seems so unassuming, it makes you smile, knowing just what it will mean to him. At least you hope.

He’s been so sour about this time of year, and your heart aches, that one little moment, that clue as to why he might just hate Yuletide.

You ready the bottle from the Apothecary; the shining golden liquid inside warm to the touch as you carry both across the hall and into the study.

He waits, the fire cheerily roaring in the grate, but he stands across the room, in the shadows. His back towards you, you can feel his tension rolling off those bunching and lean muscles as he gazes out the window into the winter night. Arms folded neatly over his chest, you see him shift as he hears you enter, but he doesn’t turn.

You wait. You watch him shifting on his toes, eyes fixed into the dark distance. Until at last he speaks. “When I was… well, before…” he speaks quietly. Pressed. Careful not to mention any names, not that he needs to. “…Yuletide was just another night, another time sent out in our bodies for the bidding, another night spent luring victims, only one that smelled more like oranges and spice and smoke.” His shoulders hunched slightly, arms holding tighter as he hugged himself tighter. “I used to dream of gifts and punch and music. Instead I got only more shame and abuse and… loneliness…”

You move, setting your items down on the small end table before you hurry to his side, your arms wrapping around him tightly.

“Yuletide never came for me. I was always alone… and in darkness…”

“Yuletide doesn’t come in packages and ribbons and songs, Astarion,” you nuzzle your head into his chest. “And now you’ll never be alone again, my love,” you smile into the crushed softness of his doublet. “And… if you let me share my cliché gift with you… you might find yourself not in darkness any longer either…”

He eases in a split second. You look into his face, surprised and hopeful against his better judgment. “Really?” he stumbled on his words. “I -I mean I know about the not-lonely-anymore bit, thank you…”

He hesitates, crimson eyes darting to the corner of his gaze, wanting to see what you got him.

Then he sees it, turning. A little plant, leaves deepest green, a round, fleshy bud nestled in the verdant leaves. “Is that…?” he breathes.

“A Solaris,” you beam at him. “I had to pay that apothecary no small amount of coin to get it… not to mention I had to hustle his chief competitor a bit in order to really seal the deal.” You laugh at the way his face is just… innocent. Hopeful. Happy. “But for a flower that blooms with light and warmth like the sun, one day a year…”

You watch the corner of his mouth grin wistfully.

“…I figured it would make for a very merry Yule. So you could feel the light of the sun without… you know…”

“Roasting like a chestnut on an open fire?”

You giggle against the macabre image. “Yes, that.” You pick up the little vial, its golden glow pulsing. “Here,” you murmur, proffering the small glass bottle. “The key to unlocking your vampire-safe sunlight.” You reach it towards him, his palm opening, fingers unfurling for it.

“I…” he swallows. You watch his Adam's apple bob, emotional as he holds back so many feelings and words. “Thank you,” he finally relents, letting you place the vial in his cold and near-trembling palm. You watch his face, the little lines of his smile deepening as he holds the glass bottle, its warmth seeping into his chilled, undead skin.

“If it’s your first Yuletide gift in two-hundred years, I’m glad I can make it count,” you murmur, trying not to disturb the glow that seems to come from under his pale and lustrous skin.

“You’ve… found your way to… let me feel the sun again,” he smirks at you briefly, “if only for tonight.”

You simper, pouting your lips, catching his eyes with all the allure you can muster. “That’s the idea, my sweet vampire, to give you something because I love you.”

He closes the distance, eager, anxious. But you press the tips of your fingers on his lips. “Ah, ah,” you grin. “Don’t risk that elixir with one of your all-consuming, fang-filled kisses. Why don’t you… open your gift?”

For a moment, he looks nervous. Just the tip of his fang biting into his lower lip as he uncorks the glowing elixir. A slight, sweet scent fills your nose, it makes you thrill.

Almost as much as the childish smile dancing on his lips as he pours it at the base of the massive, rounded yellow bud.

Heat fills the air, a soft shimmering begins to stretch from the plant, until, petal by petal, it opens.

A ball of light perches in its center, pulsing and glowing and lighting up your study more than any fire ever could.

Light in the dark. The sun itself shining.

Astarion’s eyes are wide, his mouth open in shock. “It feels… so good,” he whispers, as if he is scared that the second he looks away, blinks his eyes, or moves it will disappear.

“It does, the sun itself for you to bask in for one day, my love…” you reply, crossing to close your window curtains, to keep the light for yourself. And because, your stomach flutters, you anticipate just what will come next. You turn, already undoing your own buttons of your tunic. Expecting him to already be naked, to be bathing his cold and pale skin in the light.

But he’s not.

He’s sitting on the settee, knees hugged tight into his chest. Just watching. Fixated on the swirling golden blossom on the table before him.

Grinning like a fool.

Still, you tug your shirt from over your head, and the Solaris’ light does warm your skin, feeling no different than the true sun. Slowly, you round to sit beside him, half naked and totally ignored in favor of your gift. But it doesn’t matter. You don’t mind. Not as you hear his little giggles in his throat, the little clenches of his body as he feels… giddy.

You scoot right beside him, the skin of your torso pressing into that linen shirt of his, and you feel him leaning back against you, his head tipping to rest on the top of yours.

His breath washes through your hair, that clean scent on his skin, always the same, always making your body hum with desire and awaken with love. Then you hear it, faintly, he hums a melody, the same carol you had heard outside the tavern. His voice is deep, sweet if imperfect. But it’s music to your ears. His arm reaches around you then, a slight jolt as he realizes he’s touching nothing but skin as he skates his fingers across your back and down your arm.

“Ahem,” he clears his throat, more sultry than surprised. “I do see you are taking full advantage of your own present, darling.”

“Maybe I’m just waiting for my own in exchange,” you simper and pout, your hand reaching to stroke up those sinews of his thigh.

His chuckle tickles the top of your head as he places a kiss there. “Well, if you don’t mind not having it wrapped in frills and ribbons, I suppose I could give it to you now, my love.”

“What need have I for ribbons when I can have you… taking me…. in the sunlight again?”

“Just like old times,” he purrs, a single hand reading around to slip into the band of your sensible breeches for winter. “It always was a pity I never got one last time with you, basking in the heat of your warm flesh and the light of the sun before that blessing of the tadpole disappeared.” He grins, fingers slipping down between your thighs, which you have already conveniently spread for him. “What a gift to share in it again, a true Yuletide miracle, my love.”

That cool touch pierces where you are hot and aching. Where you burn and blister with your own heat. A little moan escapes your lips, your hands shuffling off the thick material of your breeches, words pleading for more from Astarion. You stumble over your “P-please…” as you stand to let that fabric shuffle off your feet.

He’s just watching your writhe on his fingers, bathed in the light. Those crimson eyes unblinking and ravenous. “Feeling merry, are you?” he purrs. “Bursting with joy yet?” His voice is rife with that seduction and wicked bite that makes you instantly wetter.

“A little more effort, and I’m sure I’ll be louder than any of those drunken carolers,” you whimper, the brush of his hand unlacing his breeches presses against your mound and thigh, the pressure of his other fingers deep inside you, more numerous than before in your cunt, guiding you to straddle his lap.

You slide right over, hands braced on his shoulders, gripping into the decadently soft material of his tunic. It’s so calm, so bright, this magical sunlight on your bare back. Your hands ruck up his own shirt, an approving smirk dancing over his breathtaking face as you sweep it off his body in one pull.

The moan from his mouth, hanging slack as he feels the warmth and light on him again, it makes you quiver and thrill. “Gods,” he breathes, “to bask in the light again…” his voice is wet, thick with desire, with emotion. He shuts his eyes, head leaning back against the settee, hands finally tugging his breeches apart to let his cock free. You feel him, his hands lifting it from its confines, fingers silkenly stroking himself. A groan from your mouth, bemoaning that emptiness inside you, your own hand takes up the pressure he started to build.

“Tch,” he sucks his teeth, still reclining to savor the warmth of the light and the heat your folds on his lap, “you don’t lift a finger tonight for your own pleasure, my love.” He pulls your body flush against him, guiding his cock to run back and forth through your hot and dripping seam. Slowly, his hand presses at the top of your hip, letting your sink down just an inch or so over that blunt head. Then he sneaks you up, sliding away from your aching channel. “Perhaps I should have let you undo my laces, unwrap your present, as it were…” he shrugs, centering your body over that cool hard erection. “I can make it up to you in so many ways,” he growls happily into your lips, sucking them in to a long and tender kiss.

Your hands grip into his shoulders, his hold on your waist steadying you as he thrusts upwards. The fullness of him inside you at last, that stretching friction warms you more than the soft flow of light over your back. Eyes closing, you can almost imagine that little glad back in the Emerald Grove. That morning you woke, sore and tingling from the way you had joined for the first time.

That morning light that once warmed your bodies as you took in the sight of him completely, scars and all. That way your heart first went out to him…

But this, this is so much better. Melting as you bask not only in the heat that defies the dark and cold, but that thrumming seer of your love. His hands rock your hips, letting you shimmy and buck as he matches your every movement with those impeccable thrusts. His kiss dances with your lips, tongue taking yours in his hold, tangling and darting as you lose yourself in him.

Warm all over. Loved all over.

You feel his touch wandering, tracing to cup the swell of your ass, fingers gripping into your flesh with each ride you make on him.

And you know he is feeling that light, the same that caresses his face, illuminating those lines and freckles and ridges of cheekbone that steal your breath with their beauty every day. You break from his mouth to watch him, lips still twitching and slack as he pants and groans.

His eyelids lower, that veiled gaze watching the way your body bounces on his lap, his stare darting to watch where you take him all the way in. Where the increasingly wet slaps of your body echo to fill the little study. Where your own body burns like a furnace, fucked hard to scaling hot as your bliss blisters.

Back arching, hands clawing into the cool muscles of his shoulders, you let it all go, letting that heat on your back and the friction of his fucking wash through you, splitting you apart with your climax. His arms embrace you harder as you spasm, your hips rocking at random, your body bracing against his as your pleasure floods you and steals your every conscious thought. His muscles clench, his belly brushing against yours, his thighs beneath you hitching and tight. You feel him pulsing inside you, his voice resonating in one ear with his groans and sighs as he fills you. Your folds drenched with all the hot slick it can handle, pouring and puddling on his lap.

Vision blurring, you come to, bit by bit. Head resting on his shoulder, his own rasping, unsteady breath washing to cool the warm glow over your flesh, you nuzzle tightly against him.

And you realize, for once, his skin feels warm to the touch. Glowing and heated from the light before you and your love-making. The stillness breaks with a gentle sigh from his iron-wrought chest. Air whistles in your ear. “You win, darling,” he whispers as he places a kiss into the tumbled mess of your hair. “Yuletide can be… merry… blissful even,” he acknowledges, not a begrudging hint in his voice.

“Miracles happen, Yuletide magic in the air… I think your heart has grown three sizes tonight…” you giggle, raising your head, your cheeks flushed and body humming to feel him still inside you.

“I doubt it,” he smirks, rakish and mischievous, “but I do know of other bits of my anatomy that have had that benefit…” he grinds into you, dragging that still-throbbing cock of his around your walls. He gives you a rakish flash of his fangs before you swiftly find yourself laid out flat on your back, sprawled across the bed of the settee. The weight of his body crushes you into the soft velvet, and your body grows unbearable… hot, especially as he sucks your ear fully into his hungry mouth. He whispers, “And you say this Solaris blooms for a day… well then, darling.” He gives that wicked giggle, “you are about to have a night that is not so silent… if you know what I mean.”

“I count on it,” you purr back, lost in the brightness in his crimson eyes. “I want the most out of my gift, after all…”

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🕯️I hope I got all the tag requests, thank you all for the love. I can’t wait to see what you think, dear readers 💞

[siriusleee]

Like Blood on Iron | Part 4

Historical Executioner AU

Summary: The executioner has always been an enigma to you - drawing you in. His sword drawing a line in the dirt as he made his way to the village center, and leaving back to his cottage on the outskirts of town. However, your curiosity can't stop the future your family has planned for you.

Warnings: smut, female x male sex, blood, death, decapitation

Word Count: 5.6k

A/N: Three very important updates for you guys, please read:

My tag list has gotten way longer than I'd ever expected it to get. Honestly, I thought I'd have like 3 readers and that's it. It is taking me almost an hour to get everyone tagged, update the tag list, and go back to old posts and comment to people who Tumblr won't let me tag. Because of this I will no longer be doing a tag list. In an effort to make this easier on myself and get these posts out faster, please subscribe to my Ko-fi page OR enable notifications for when I post. Subscribing to Ko-fi costs nothing, and I do not expect you to send me any money. It's just the one page I have that I can send out quick updates.

However, I am currently super poor. For anyone that doesn't know, I am an English Literature teacher. This year I moved from middle school to high school, and buying all the supplies that I need for this new grade level is killing me. I am working at a part-time job to afford it, but if you can and want to, I'd love it if you donated. I just bought $40 worth of glue sticks; it's very expensive. You can donate through my Ko-fi. Thank you to @gazs-blue-hat and @devcica for donating to my wisdom teeth surgery - I just made the first payment; I love you guys.

I did not edit this. I literally finished and am hitting post; school starts tomorrow and the first 3 weeks are so exhausting, I will be going to bed at 4 p.m. each day. So I wanted to get this out to you. Adamantine Chains will have a new chapter posted tomorrow. If you see any egregious errors, please point them out and I will fix them. previous chapters + future preview: - one - two - three - preview

The sound of Lily's soft breath in your ear tries to lull you to sleep, tries to force your jaw to relax but you can't. For the first time since your outburst with Jonathan, Lily had crept into the bedroom the two of you used to share. She had curled into your side; her breathing wasn't even before the door cracked open again and Maggie snuck in to sandwich Lily between yourself and her.

Lily's hair tickles your shoulder as you keep your eye on the window - the warmth is fading faster each night, but when you tried to close it before you went to bed you couldn't bring yourself to do it. You needed the feeling of the cool air in the room. 

"Are you going to watch?"

Maggie's voice is so quiet it seems to get carried away by the wind. The bed shifts as she turns to look at you over the crown of Lily's head peeking above the covers. You turn, fingers brushing Lily's hair out of your way. In the darkness, Maggie's eyes gleam at you. 

"I don't know. He told me not to, but I think Father will make us."

Maggie breathes in sharply - once - just enough for you to know whatever she's about to say angers her.

"I think Father is making everyone go. Why did he tell you not to go?"

You want to tell her his name - as much as you know - is Ghost. To call him by his name, but you keep that information tucked close to your chest. 

"I don't know; he didn't say."

The conversation hangs in the air between the two of you, floating with the dust that blows in from the windowsill. Maggie's eyes burn across to you before she rolls back away from you, her hair dark against the pillow, curling down her neck. Mirroring her you roll away, eyes focused on the silver starlight you can see out the window.

You awake to soft hands shaking you awake; through your sleep you see Mother pressing one finger to her lip. Her eyes say it all to you - it's time. You slip out of bed leaving the warmth of Lily behind as the cool morning washes over the bare skin that shows from your nightgown. Mother hands you a dress, a thick black one. The same one you knew Maggie wore two years ago when Father's mother died. 

You pad out the room behind her, trying not to wake Lily up. You let the bedroom door shut softly behind you before you speak.

"I have to go?"

"Lily is staying behind with the Morris girls. Your father expects the rest of us to be there." Mother's voice is tight; she's already dressed in a black dress, simple and loose fitting. She refuses to make eye contact with you as she speaks. "I will be downstairs. You have to be dressed soon."

You dress quickly, ducking back into the room to grab your boots and underdress. Back in the hallway, Maggie crosses you, dark purple shadowing under her eyes - you expect the same exhaustion to be painted across your face. 

The temperature feels twenty degrees colder downstairs; you wrap your arms around yourself. Father is absent from his place at the table. A single slice of toast sits in front of Maggie, the neatest nibble taken from one corner. You drop down across from her and neither of you speak. 

A knock at the door jolts your heart - you shove away from the table before Maggie can. On the other side stands Mrs. Morris and her two daughters, still in their sleeping clothes and barely awake. Without her having to ask, you take one of the girls from her; Mrs. Morris follows you quietly to your bedroom where you tuck both girls in beside Lily. They fall asleep almost immediately.

On your way out of the room, you shut the window, pulling the latch down so that they can't see outside.

You wait at the dining table with Maggie; Mother and Mrs. Morris speak quietly in the kitchen. When the morning bell tolls, the two of them emerge out of the kitchen. You and Maggie follow behind them, pulling your cloaks off the hook by the front door when you pass by. You wish instead to have Ghost's cloak, the heavy and warm scent of him enveloping you instead of the cold wool you wrap around your shoulders. 

The four of you fall in line with the rest of the village, letting the wave of bodies push you toward the town center. Each step you take is heavier, harder to take than the one before. Ghost's voice, warning you not to come, not to watch, rings in your ear with a high-pitched drone that grows louder with each moment. The square is almost full whenever you arrive; you let yourself get pushed away from your Mother and Maggie until you're situated near the far side of the square, right where Ghost will first walk in.

The crowd tries to situate themselves as the council shuffles onto the platform. Your father stands at the back, face pale and empty. Even from this distance, you can see the tremor in his hands as he walks. Behind him, shackled in heavy iron chains, Uncle Henry walks up the platform escorted by two men you've never seen before. His face is gaunt and slack, his lip torn and blood dripping onto his chin.

The abject horror of it hits you all at once and you realize why Ghost had warned you not to come. All at once you think about the executions you had sat in your bedroom trying to strain to see, all the times you watched Ghost come up the street eager to get a glimpse of him and all the families that had been in the same place as yours is now. You think of all the times Father left his boots outside after execution and wonder if blood had splashed on them. You feel sick, horrified. You want to search out the families who had been ripped apart by the executions and beg for their forgiveness. 

A hush falls over the crowd like a velvet blanket pulled up too high. You strain past the ringing in your ears to try to hear the heavy sound of boots that you've gotten used to hearing in the midnight light. The sound is different now, leadened and sinister. Drawing your hood over your head you keep your eyes fixed on the point you know Ghost will emerge from. 

He seems to dwarf everyone in the crowd when he arrives, sword glinting in the early morning sunlight. You're torn between trying to press closer to him and pulling away as the thought of what he's about to do courses through you. He walks slowly, regret heavy in each of his steps as he mounts the platform. 

The head councilman speaks, but you can't hear him above the roar in your ears as you watch Ghost situate himself to the side of Uncle Henry. He turns his face towards the crowd and his eyes search through every person before they land on you. He shakes his head just a fraction of an inch, and you know he's telling you to look away - to walk away before he swings his sword.

But you're rooted to the spot - you can't move as the councilman stops speaking and Ghost raises his sword, his eyes still locked on yours.

There's a moment's pause when his sword reaches its apex - a moment where you hope he'll lower it down and walk away. But the sword falls heavy; you manage to clench your eyes shut at the right second, but you still hear the heavy sound of Uncle Henry's head hitting the wood, and your mother's scream.

When darkness falls, no one stops you from walking out the front door. Father had not come home - you knew he was burying Uncle Henry somewhere, and Mother had to be carried to bed by you and Maggie. Upstairs you'd heard Lily sobbing; Maggie was the only one to witness you slip out the front door. 

The red that dripped off of Ghost's sword as he walked back home is long gone in the dust and daytime; even so, you imagine that you can see it trailing in front of you as you walk, tripping over stones in the dirt. There's betrayal here, you know, running away to the home of the man who executed your uncle, but you don't know anywhere else to go. 

Eyes peer down at you from their windows as you pass through the village, but for once you don't care if anyone runs home to tell on you. You're not sure Mother or Father would even be able to comprehend what you were doing anyway. 

Like he knew you were coming, Ghost sits on the step, hands folded neatly in front of him. He doesn't look up at you, doesn't rise until you're within touching distance. An empty glass sits at his side; without speaking, he pushes himself to a standing position, glass snagged up in his large hand. You don't wait for him to beckon you as he walks inside.

You grimace at the warmth of the whiskey as it goes down your throat. You had never liked the taste of alcohol, but when Ghost sat it down in front of you you had reached for it without hesitation. The glass is heavy in your hand.

"I told you not to come," Ghost says, lowering himself down into the seat across from you. His voice is stern, but without any judgment for you attending the execution.

"I didn't have an option." You speak so quietly, you're not sure if he hears you over the wind and the crackle of the fire. 

"You always have a choice."

"No, you always have a choice. You are a man; you don't understand what it's like to have someone dictate your entire life to you. I had no choice because my father said I had to go. And soon it won't be my father telling me what to do, but Jonathan. And I'll be shackled to a life of listening and obeying."

You shove the glass you'd drained towards Ghost, shaking your head at him when Ghost moves to fill it again.

"I'm sorry your father forced you to watch." 

"My father," you pull your tangled hair over your shoulder, running your fingers through it to distract you from Ghost's eye burning at you over his mask, "thought that if we didn't come, it would show some level of guilt. I should be thankful that he let Lily stay home, but-"

"But what?"

"But I saw what the execution did to my mother. My mother is not a weak woman, but she didn't want to go. She can't do blood - it makes her sick for days. My father told me once it had to do with something she saw as a child, but wouldn't tell me more. She never attends the executions. But he forced her, knowing she's going to be regulated to the bed for the rest of the week. And I-"

You can't get the thought out - that you are a horrible person for how excited you used to be for the executions. Ghost waits patiently, leaning back in his chair, the wood creaking underneath him. You study the patterns of scarring on his fingers as they splay across the table. They're clean, no blood and dirt crusted beneath them.

"I am a horrible person," you finally sob out, fingers pressing into your eyes to try to press the tears that threaten to come out, "I have spent months waiting for an execution to come around; all I wanted to do was see you - I didn't think about everyone that was losing their life. Or their families, or you."

"Or me?" Ghost's voice is rough; you pull your fingers away from your eyes to look into his; they're dark and unreadable. 

"I've never thought about what you must experience - doing the bidding of the council."

"I think you'll find I know more about being forced into doing things I don't want to do than you think."

The wind increases outside, the sound of leaves and sticks hitting the sides of Ghost's cabin. You wonder if it's Uncle Henry, angry with the town and determined to tear it apart. 

"How did you end up here?" The question tumbles out of your mouth, and you feel ashamed as soon as you say it. Ghost's eyes flash, his nails dig into the wood of the table. You expect him to ignore you, but he pushes his hands into the collar of his tunic, and pulls out a necklace. With a flick of his wrist, he pulls it from around his neck and flings it to you. It lands a tangled mess in front of you.

"Read it." His voice is a solid command you follow, fingers tracing the edge of the cross as you pick it up; the metal chain snakes across the grain.

"Lieutenant Simon Riley - King's Guard 141st Division - you were in the King's army?"

"I was a part of the King's Guard; we were tasked with protecting the king when he traveled or during battle. There were four of us."

"What happened to the others?"

"I'm all that remains of the 141. We were-" his voice is whiskey thick, and when he swallows, you hear the heaviness of it, "ambushed. I was not able to save them. And so my punishment for not dying with my brothers was to live out my days as an executioner."

The metal is warm against your fingers, as you trace the engraved letters of his name. Simon Riley. Thoughts swirl in your head, and he seems to read them as you reach across the table to pass the necklace back.

"In this house you can call me Simon. Outside only Ghost."

The weight of the day - of Simon's background pushes against you. The small patterings of rain begin to hit the windows as you stand, taking your glass off of the table. You leave Simon as you refill the glass, bringing an extra for him. You drink yours in one go, refilling it again before you pass Simon his. 

The corners of his eyes are tight as you step beside him, the glass held out to him. His hand wraps around your wrist, warm and electric. A stone settles in the pit of your stomach as a fire spreads across your skin from where he grabs you. 

"You drink much more and you won't be able to make it up the path home."

"Just put me under the table then."

The corners of his eyes relax, and then turn up just slightly as he takes the glass from you with the hand not holding your wrist. He keeps you close to his side as he uses the hand with the glass to push his mask up just over his nose; the edge of a ragged scar peaking out on his cheek. He downs the drink in one go and grabs the glass you'd intended for yourself before finally letting you go.

You'd never enjoyed the way being drunk had made you feel, but as the world outside Simon's cabin swirls around you, you feel nothing but the warmth of the whiskey in your veins. The rain falls slow and heavy, warm despite the cool wind that had taken over the village. You reach one hand out to let the droplets pool into your palm, the rest of you shielded by the small awning above you.

The door opens behind you, the dim firelight spilling onto the rain soaked ground in front of you. The shape of Simon wraps its shadow around you along with the musky smell of him. You watch his shadow as he leans against the doorframe.

"We could run away together."

You had thought about it for a few weeks now. It had started out as a ridiculous fantasy - the two of you riding out on horse in the middle of the night and disappearing into the forest together. It had started out innocently enough, just the two of you escaping with each other, but now -

"Where would we even go?"

Simon's voice is soft, rolling through the rain drops as it passes by you. The timbre of it makes your mouth dry, or maybe it's the whiskey.

"Anywhere. Across the sea. Somewhere just far enough that know one would know who we are."

Simon's shadow ripples; you watch his shadow as he reaches to his chest, to where you know the cross hangs. 

"You could go," he says, "but I will always be marked."

You don't know what he means, can't remember if he's told you something or not. But you let the reckless abandon that started building at you so much earlier in the day take over you. Simon's figure backed by the firelight makes your fingers itch to reach out and tangle them in the front of his tunic.

"But would you go?" You ask, voice rising and falling. "If you could, would you go with me?"

The silence stretches thin. Simon chews on the inside of his lip; the doorway groans beneath his fingers as they dig into the wood. 

"You're drunk," he finally says, the words falling from him. "And you're not happy. I should take you home." His warm hand wraps around your elbow; you jerk it back and in your drunken state stumble. You try to catch yourself, but your feet slip. Simon tries to catch you, his hands wrapping around your elbow, but your feet tangle together and the two of you fall. Simon twists, getting his body halfway underneath yours. 

The two of you land hard in the mud, your forehead clipping his chin. The two of you lay awkwardly, one of your hands on Simon's chest and the other buried in the mud. You try to push yourself up, hand slipping, to peer down at Simon lying beneath you. Mud is splattered across the exposed skin around his eyes. He reaches the hand that had wrapped around your back - the only part of him that has escaped the mud- to your forehead, fingers gently wiping away the warmth that had started to form there.

"You're bleeding."

"Is it deathly?

"I think you'll live."

He pulls his hand away, covered in your blood, and the rain washes it away slowly - the red tinge traveling down his wrist and disappearing into the hem of his tunic. You feel his heartbeat quicken in his chest as you shift so that you're straddling one of his legs. 

"Can I ask for a favor Simon?" You swallow heavily, trying to swallow down the nervousness and embarrassment that's threatening to explode out of you.

"Anything."

A red blush starts to creep up your chest as you speak, each word measured and bitten off carefully - worried that if you speak too fast, Simon will disappear.

"I won't lie and say I haven't kissed my fair share of boys. But I've never - I've always been too worried to - to do anything more."

You feel Simon's thigh tense between your legs, and the feeling tightens the knot inside of you.

"If I'm going to be forced to give myself to someone I don't want to, I want to keep something for myself. I-"

Simon's hands tighten painfully around your waist; you hadn't even realized he'd grabbed you or that your hands had snuck down so that they framed his face, your wet hair creating a curtain between the two of you and the rest of the world. 

"There are some things you can never take back - that you may regret." 

"Why would I regret you?"

Your question cracks the tension between the two of you for weeks. You collide together, the kiss frenetic, your teeth clicking against each other as Simon tangles his hands in your hair and pulling you closer to him. 

He pushes the two of you up, grabbing you beneath your thighs as he rolls and stands, pulling you up effortlessly. You wrap your legs around his waist as Simon stumbles back into the cabin. Your fingers tease the edge of his mask; Simon shakes his head and you pull them away, still worried that at any second he's going to tell you to go home. 

Your shoulder hits the doorway of his bedroom, but you barely feel it as Simon kicks the door shut behind you, darkness enveloping the two of you. This time when you reach for his mask, Simon doesn't stop you from sliding it off of him. His hair is warm and wet; your fingers catch on the tangles there. 

Simon presses your back against the doorway as he lowers yourself to your feet. You pull away from him, unable to catch your breath as your hands slide beneath his tunic. His skin is soft and scarred; you trace your fingers across a jagged one that bisects his chest. Simon's breath hitches when you trace it to his nipple, your fingers ghosting across the sensitive skin there. 

Simon lets you pull his tunic off of him, his fingers tracing the lacing on the front of your dress. He hesitates there, waiting for you to say no, to push him away.

"You've seen me naked before," you whisper, trying to loosen the tension, your fingers curling around the waistband of his pants. "No reason to be nervous now."

"It's different," Simon says, pressing a kiss to the base of your neck, tongue trailing upwards to the shell of your ear, "to think about what it would be like to touch you, and actually doing it."

His admission that he's thought about you like that - the same way you had shamefully thought of him on nights alone in your bed - sends a spear of want through you. You pull him closer, straining to reach up and kiss him again, but Simon keeps himself away.

"You can go home," he whispers in your ear, teeth nipping the sensitive flesh, "I wouldn't be angry with you. I would find no fault with you at all."

And you know he's telling the truth - if you said so at any point, he'd let you leave and wouldn't hold it against you. But you can't even entertain the idea - the instinct to wrap yourself around him, to claw at him and at yourself until the two of you are open for each other, is too much.

You reach up and place your hands over his, guiding them so that they pull at the laces of your dress, the bodice falling open. You shrug out of it, letting it pool at your feet as you kick it away. Simon's hands linger chastely at your side, fingers barely skimming your skin.

"I'm not breakable Simon."

"Of course you are," Simon sighs as you trace your fingers softly up his neck and to his cheek. His breath hitches as your fingers tease the edge of the scar you'd caught a glimpse of earlier when the two of you were drinking. You trace it, trying to map the features of his face. It ends at his hairline, a second scar bisecting it.

"It's my cross to bear." Simon's voice rumbles deep; you can feel it in your chest. "It's my mark as an executioner - the righteous hand of God."

I will always be marked, he had said earlier and you realize what he'd meant. 

Simon wraps his hands around the back of your knees; he pulls you up until you're forced to wrap your legs around his waist to keep from falling. He kisses you again, clumsy - you can feel him shaking beneath the soft skin of your hands. He pulls your hair so that your neck is exposed to him; Simon trails kisses down, nipping at your collarbone.

He's hot, his skin and mouth burning you up. You try to grind yourself against him, to get some sort of friction, but Simon's hands keep you just far enough away from him to drive you crazy. His knees hit the side of the bed and buckle; he drops you gently to the bed. The dark scent of him, and the whiskey that still pulls at you makes your head swim. 

Simon's hands are firm on your knees as he pushes them apart and pinning you down.

"If I start to hurt you-"

"Simon, please." 

He presses your thighs down harder to the bed, stopping your squirming. 

"It can hurt. If I start to hurt you, I need you to say something; I need you to promise that you will."

His fingers have inched upwards and you try to buck your hips and make the connection; Simon digs his nails into the sensitive skin of your thighs and the feeling makes you gasp - more electric than anything you've experienced before. 

"I," you swallow hard, Simon's nails scratching down you lightly pulling all the air from your chest, "I promise."

You're ashamed of the moan that you let out when his mouth finds your core, your back arching off of the bed. Simon's tongue is velvet on you, lapping at your wetness with a gentleness you wouldn't have expected from his size. 

You'd listened to other girls in the village talk about this - about their quick trysts with the boys in the village and how it felt to be pawed at. But this - this was like nothing you'd ever imagined it could be, and nothing like the girls described it as. 

Simon's hands keep your knees apart as his tongue swirls your sensitive spot; your back arching off of the bed as you grind down onto him. His fingers trace patterns in the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. When his fingers reach your wetness, you can't help but clench your knees around him, nervousness and embarrassment filling you. You had never let any of the boys you'd kissed touch you - the thought of their fingers inside of you disgusting, but the want for Simon to stretch you out is enough to make you pull away - not sure how to react. 

Simon's tongue slows as he pushes your knees back down with one arm, his mouth pulling off of you with a pop. In the absence of him you buck your hips, but he doesn't move. He presses a kiss to the inside of your knee, and when he speaks, the brush of his lips on your skin makes you shiver.

"We don't-," he swallows, heavy in the darkness, "we can stop if you want."

"No." It's a pathetic whine. You can feel his smile against your thigh, teeth nipping at your skin.

"You're going to want me to stretch you out a little."

His words pull a gasp out of you; you clench around nothing at the thought of him filling you up. Simon's hand traces your wetness gently, before he pushes in one thick finger. It burns as he pumps in and out of you; you're so tight he can barely move in and out of you. You can't tell how long it takes before the burn starts to dissipate; like he can read your body, Simon slips another finger in.

Simon works you until you're comfortable; the sounds you make are filthy. You're so wet you feel yourself dripping onto Simon's wrist. He latches onto your apex, and the feeling sends you over the edge. You come with a choked sob; you try to reach down and stop his hand, but he pushes you away and continues until you can't take it anymore. 

He pulls his fingers out of you, as you beg incoherently - but you're not sure what you're begging for. 

Even in the darkness, Simon's a shadow when he crawls up your body, lips skimming your hip bone, your stomach, your collarbone. A muscle twitches in your thigh; you can't catch your breath in the heat that radiates off of Simon as he dips his head down to kiss you. You dig your nails into his side, and buck your hips up, but he pushes them back down gently with one hand. 

Simon pulls away just enough to speak, lips brushing against your as he does.

"If you want me to stop-"

You feel crazed - the way you claw into him, trying to pull him into yourself, the way your lips crash against his, teeth clicking together in a way that would be painful any other time. Simon snakes his hand between the two of you; you jump when it brushes past your clit. You can feel yourself dripping already - wetter than you'd thought you could get. 

Simon lines himself up with your entrance, and pauses, resting his hand on your chest. His fingers stretch across the expanse of skin, calluses raising gooseflesh.

"You're shaking."

And you are; it's overwhelming - the smell of him enveloping you, the expanse of his body, hard muscle under a layer of soft downy, and being broken down by him. The thick feeling of being stretched out. 

"I'm alright."

It comes out whispered and broken, but you are. You've never felt like this; never thought that you would. You wrap one hand around this wrist at your chest and beg.

"Simon please. I can't - I," you can't get the words out, can't explain that you can't take the feeling of being empty; of being without him. 

Simon presses into you, just barely, but it's enough to make your back arch and your nails to scratch down his arm. He hisses at the feeling, teeth nipping at your earlobe. He moves slowly; the sharp feeling of him is enough to cause you to hyperventilate. On instinct, you press your hands to his chest; you can feel his desire to move faster in the way his muscles bunches beneath your touch. 

"Do I need to stop?"

"No - it's just - you're too much."

You can feel his smile, brief and small, as he presses his face into your shoulder before he bites down. Hands finding his hair, you grip tight enough that you're sure it must hurt him, but he doesn't say anything.

You can feel every inch of him stretching you out; Simon's voice is soft in your ear as he whispers to you to relax - that you're doing so well. One of his hands trace down your side, trying to soften the gooseflesh. The other pushes your hair away from your forehead, fingers pausing at your temple. 

The world pauses when he bottoms out; you can feel him in your throat - he's burning you up from the inside, his skin fire against your own. Simon's mouth his hot against your skin as he trails kissed across your neck. You know there will be marks there tomorrow - something you'll have to hide - but you don't ask him to stop; you beg him to keep going. 

"I need you to relax, my love." His soft voice in your ear makes your fingers curl against the blanket bunched beneath you. "You're too tight."

You try to relax beneath him, but you can't - you can't.

"I can't."

"Just breathe love."

You focus on the movement of his chest against yours, and try to synch your breathing with his. Simon lays his hand against your throat, your pulse slowing beneath the pads of his fingers. His tongue snakes out to trace the shell of your ear, and he rocks himself against you.

You're ashamed of the sounds that escape you, you press your hand to your mouth to try to muffle yourself, but Simon pries your hand away and places it on his shoulder.

"Don't try to be quiet."

His words cut into you, and you grind yourself against him trying to match the rhythm he's setting. 

Sweat and slick mix between your thighs; Simon pushes your knees towards your chest and the shift in angle tugs at something inside of you; you can feel yourself unraveling faster than you did earlier. Simon's nails dig into your skin as he moves faster. Your hands press on his chest, his stomach, trying to find some space to breathe, but his grip on your waist doesn't let you move.

Simon finds a brutal pace. You dip your fingers between the two of you until you can feel him pumping in and out of you; Simon moans at the feeling, nails piercing your skin hard enough to make you gasp. 

He grabs the hand you have between the two of you and guides your fingers to your apex, forcing you to swirl your fingers around yourself. 

You try to commit the feeling of him to memory: the texture of his skin, the sound of him panting in your ear, the feeling of his thumb tracing the contours of your nipple. Your second orgasm starts to break around you, and in the haze, you realize that you will never have this kind of moment with someone else.

The thought puts a knot in your throat; you pull Simon down to kiss him; he must sense your desperation as he slows down, hand wrapping around the back of your neck to pull you closer. 

His body shudders once and he pulls out; you feel the heat of him spill out across your stomach. The wild thought of reaching down, and taking some onto your finger to taste possesses you, but your fingers are still clutching at Simon. You can't figure out how to loosen your grip.

Simon pants between your thighs, one hand still wrapped around your neck as he shifts so that he's laying down beside you. You shuffle, kicking the blanket down beneath you until you're able to pull it up around you. 

You want to say something, anything to dissipate the air that stills around the two of you. But as Simon pulls you into his chest, anything you could think of is washed away. 

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