#it borders on sacred

[make-them-see-pink]

I know keeping someone under the desk is usually very very explicitly sexual, but I would also just love to have someone to sit or lay at my feet so I could give them scritches while reading or whatever, and offer them snacks and absentmindedly love on them no matter what I’m doing

[fishyfishyfishtimes]

it's a hard trip to make even for folks here in the States but do yourself a favor and look up some pictures of/info about my birthplace: Lake Tahoe. it might be my favorite place I've ever been. absolutely fascinating environment and just stunningly gorgeous.

sneak preview ↓

What an absolutely beautiful lake.

So large that it curves from the curvature of the Earth! So large it's the second deepest lake in the US! A wonderful place to be greatly appreciated, for sure.

[vox-anglosphere]

Kelso Abbey - a majestic mediaeval ruin in Roxburghshire, Scotland

[fatehbaz]

There was a line in the sand - a border, or rather the idea of one. This idea described a frontier, delineated a boundary. In 1852 transgression of this idea and the sovereignty it represented angered Bey Ahmad of Tunis. [...] [T]he government of [French] Algeria accelerated plans to undertake a tour of the frontier [...], to define the spatial limits of French power. [...] [T]he bey wrote a letter to the French consul [...]. The two powers had to work together, each having representatives present [...]. The response came from Paris. The prince-president (Napoleon III), the minister of foreign affairs, and the minister of war all agreed with the bey [...]. The barrier was real, the border inviolable, the idea held. So the bey and the president understood each other. [...] [But] [a]n internal letter [among French officials] explained the thinking behind the military's territorial violation: [...] it was necessary to "display clearly [the French military's] position on the frontier and to act to take possession of the country that we have claimed." This was important even if the act itself exposed the border's unreality. [...]

In such a way, belief in the border exposes a kind of irrationality at the heart of modern state power: the very basis of modern sovereign claims - territoriality - was an abstraction that only distance from the influence of local events could make appear real. The idea of the frontier that the French president and the Tunisian bey shared was the modern belief in the reality of borders, of their existence as barriers. That these two shared this idea tells us something about the appearance of modernity in the Maghrib in the late nineteenth century. [...]

---

Anxiety about the situation along the frontier was manifested not only in French military sorties and "inspection tours": we can also see it in the positioning in the colonial imaginary of migratory and transhumant populations as anti-modern. Seemingly unconcerned with national boundaries [...], these populations were cast as mere violent holdovers of the "traditional" practices of the Maghrib, soon to disappear before the progress of modern social organization and governmentality. [...] The [French] minister of war held that the government of Algeria should secure the border because unrest was "hampering the industrial development of the La Calle region and slowing the normalization of our authority among the tribes [...]." His reasoning did not necessarily reflect that of the cultivators who were accustomed to moving to lands on either side of the line drawn by Randon or moving their flocks within a generally elastic space. The dictates of imperial economics (i.e., mineral exploitation) were here locked into a territorially-bound sense [...].

The government of Algeria - which was at that point, legally in any case, the French government - [...] based claims to sovereignty on the ability to control violence [...]. This [French military] officer led soldiers across the northern Algerian-Tunisian border, stopping to talk with all the groups [...]. The minister of war wrote that, while this action was indeed problematic on the diplomatic scale, it was necessary and right on the local scale. "Our administrative interests cannot be left outstanding - our dignity itself is at stake in giving to the tribes evidence of our [power] [...]" and "this operation is necessary to tranquilize our tribes and organize the means of repression." [...] In effect, the local scale necessitated a processional display of state power [and literal physical violence] to ensure its claims, while the international scale necessitated the abstraction of fixed and territorialized power. [...]

---

[I]n the winter of 1876 [...], [t]he territorialized nation-state was finally achieved. This rosy picture did not last. Even after the French occupation of Tunis [...] in 1881, belief in the border failed to spread to the scale of local life and governance. [...] Certainly the border, even a border that had largely been agreed upon and understood at the level of high politics for nearly three centuries, was a problematic and vexed ides. Only those removed from its immediate reality seemed to believe in it.

Despite the continued efforts of those apostles of modernity on the Algerian side of the border, the border was never as fixed as they thought it should be. Concerned reports about it continued [...] to fill the saddlebags of imperial postmen well after the establishment of the protectorate in Tunisia. The “realness” of the border was a matter of both material reality and socio-juridical imagination. The border between the Regency’s tribes and those of the dey in Constantine, for instance, had existed (more or less) since the 1500s. But these were obviously different conceptions of what made the border. [...] The border would be “real” for these French officials when groups on either side stopped transgressing the imaginary barrier the Regency and France had erected. Vexing to the French imperial imagination was the apparent breakdown of the concept of state power based on maintaining the monopoly of violence in a certain region: “We reserve to ourselves the right to penetrate into the territory of neighboring tribes that breach the interests of our tribes or territory and to punish them emphatically.” [...] Beyond informing people of their legibility to the state vis-à-vis taxes, the point of the multiple tours, meetings, raids, and trades [...] was thus to show off the power of the French war-making apparatus in order to claim for it sole legitimacy. [...] [T]he land claimed by the French becomes practical, modern territory only when the people living there accept the claims to sovereign authority of the French - not before. There is effectively no border until the people believe there is and act on that belief. [...]

That this type of thinking was not the special purview of the “recalcitrant” tribes themselves is reflected in a letter a French advisor to the Tunisian army wrote to the French minister of war in 1862: “Some have wanted to have a frontier delimination between the Regency [of Tunis] and Algeria; it is necessary, as Your Excellency has recognized, that the frontier remain vague. Let us not commit the present, let us reserve for ourselves the future, and let us not raise barriers between the rich valley of the Medjerdah, and the metallurgic deposits and the cork forests of the Tabarka mountains, [and Algeria].” From his vantage point on the ground, this officer saw a different relationship between the border and the territorial position of sovereignty than did the president or bey. The importance of the imperial project was better reflected in not securing a border. But this understanding did not make its way up the chain of command. There a "real" border was necessary.

---

All text above by: Brock Cutler. "Believe in the Border, or, How to Make Modernity in the Nineteenth-Century Maghrib". Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient 60. 2017. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me. Presented here for commentary, teaching, criticism purposes.]

[more-like-rocksiu]

WHAT THE FUCK UIS THE NEW DMS UPDATE

[kariachi]

I do find it funny that Anne had every horse pale and be worth little to nothing in the face of dragons, despite supposedly being a horse girl, and her protege then just went ‘my setting also has bond critters that are The Greatest and the most prominent ones are horse-shaped’.

[flagellant]

literally the minecraft movie offends me on a level that is bordering on like, blasphemy. like it exists in my mind as a sort of desecration of the sacred. i dont think anyone involved in that movie knows anything about why minecraft became what it did. i literally cannot so much as think of some of the passages in the End Poem without starting to cry and they made the pink sheep an uncanny valley punchline.

[dmitriene]

continuation to this work

cw: possible authority, threesome, gangbang, comfort part with tears.

you're doing your best for simon riley, your lieutenant, one and only man you offer your body and soul to so rawly, hold out in your shaking palms for him to do anything he pleases, and you wouldn't refuse, as obedient, sweet like a pup he raised all for himself, accepting everything he gives you, any word, command, caress or a harsh, possessive tug.

shaped for him, you learn to arch your back sharp and wait, in his quarters, on his dark sheets, naked and presenting, doesn't matter if simon comes in tired, angry or almost boneless, he indulges in your sweet body anytime he can, calloused fingers skimming down the fragile curvature of your spine, pressing, circling at the tender skin, knowing that you're already dripping down your quivering thighs.

simon invited john to your sacred relationship, letting him indulge in your tight, pliable hole, always messy, stretched out around your lieutenant's thick, engorged cock and dripping out frothy globs of cum, soaking in the rumbled sheets below your twitching body, price doesn't waits anymore before sinking in, filling you pleasantly, cock heavy and fat, nudging against your spongy spot and making you claw forward.

nuzzling against simon's muscular thigh, his cock leaking precum against the small pudge on his stomach, you whine out, voice already slurred, stuttering little calls to them both, as john's drawn out, deep ruts of hips jolt your body forward, folding your knees against your tummy by the force of his body, slotting over your back, making you slump and cry weakly in filling pleasure.

and if you accepted price, sure there shouldn't be any problem if simon will invite two more, johnny and kyle, you hear their names buzzing in your ears, clogged, unable to comprehend anything more than the heavy weight of john's flaccid cock on your drooling, wriggling tongue, he's spent already, pumped you full enough so his seed would dribble out, now contented to just smooth his rough palms over your warm, hollowed cheeks.

body fervent, you're already too overstimulated to proceed, your cunt twitching and leaking loads of cum, but when simon pats down the swell of your ass, thumb spreading at the fat, revealing your swelling hole, purring how obedient and pretty you are, you can't say no when he asks if boys can have a taste, eyes wide and excited, cerulean blues meeting the honeyed irises, so easy to make their cocks hard in their cargos, as they marvel at the sight of you.

no matter what, it's still simon in who's hands you end up, snuggled tight against his solid, heaving chest, little hairs that dust his skin are a soothing caress against your wet cheeks, heat dissipating from your skin slowly, you cried, when it's all got too much, their cocks, their hands, playful kisses bordering on aggressive and back, rugged, tanned skin turning into ebony, softened, and then repeating, johnny and kyle both different sides of each other, but able to act together as if synchronized.

simon didn't made you wait when you started crying, worried, eyes crinkled, furrowing alongside his brows at such emotional display, he wasn't interested if they got enough of you, batting an urgent, heavy hand and making them all take a step back, john already dressed and confused, arms crossed tight over his chest, murmuring something to the boys, nothing you can remember, before ending up tucked under clean, cottony sheets.

when you start to recognize your surroundings back again, twisting to the side a bit, the arm around you tightens, muscular, wretched with tattoos, simon, you think contentedly, and seems by the grumble he let out, vibrating away from his chest, you croaked his name out, as he brushed a soothing thumb over your tummy, cupping at the supple skin, making you mold back against his body, mind dissolving back into the deep slumber.

you can be your lieutenant's pup, but he's responsible for your well being and comfort, and should you show any signs of being uncomfortable, hurt, or worse, simon is overtaken with a primal need, to protect, to heal, and to soothe, hide you in his embrace from the overwhelming world around.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[ptumminello]

Rimbawan Gerilya - Sacred Border (Batas Suci) (2021)

[crookedteethed]

ᡣ𐭩 Crimson Silk & Cameron Sins . • ° 　 .　 *　: r. cameron

synopsis -- when your married lover gives you a weekend alone in his mansion, what's a girl to do? Try on his wife's clothes and fuck him in them, obviously.

warnings -- 18+-mdni smut with plot (unprotected piv), cum denial, infidelity, pussywhipped! rafe, slight sub! rafe, our girl highkey has daddy issues (relatable content)

other woman masterlist | main masterlist(s) | taglist | based on this ask | wc: 2.5k

You stood in awe of Tanny Hill, finally seeing in person what you'd only glimpsed through his wife's carefully curated Facebook photos.

Your bag slipped from your grasp as you took in the magnificent estate, slowly making your way through corridors that breathed old money and preserved elegance.

Rafe clicked the lock into place behind you, his movements deliberate and purposeful.

"You like what you see, baby?" The smugness in his voice was palpable. "Tanny Hill's completely empty." His hands slid around your waist, pulling your bodies together in a slow, hypnotic sway. "No kids. No wife. For an entire weekend—"

"Just us," you interrupted, melting into his warmth, your body betraying your eagerness.

The timing couldn't have been more perfect - her grandmother's sudden passing in Minnesota had cleared the house for the entire weekend.

You felt a twinge of guilt for the flash of joy you'd experienced upon hearing the news, but it vanished quickly. After all, you hadn't wished the old woman ill; you'd just benefited from the circumstance.

The emergency family gathering had whisked away his picture-perfect wife and their carefully coordinated children, leaving Tanny Hill deliciously empty. Just thinking about having Rafe all to yourself in this shrine to his marriage made your skin tingle with anticipation.

His breath tickled your neck as he chuckled at your eagerness. "Just us," he repeated, his voice dropping lower, rougher. "And every room in this house to ourselves." His grip tightened possessively around your waist, one hand sliding up your spine to tangle in your hair.

"Where should we start?" he murmured against your ear, already guiding you backward toward the nearest wall. "The master bedroom?" His lips brushed your neck. "The kitchen?" Another teasing kiss. "Or maybe right here in this hallway?"

Your words dissolved into silence as he pressed you firmly against the expensive wallpaper, the heat of his body trapping you in place. His eyes held that dangerous gleam - the one that promised trouble - while his fingers toyed deliberately with the waistband of your tennis skirt, making his intentions unmistakably clear.

"No, not here," you breathed out, your voice barely above a whisper. "I want to do it in the master bedroom."

The implication hung heavy in the air - you wanted him in their bed, in the sacred space where his wife sleeps. The suggestion made his pupils dilate with dark approval.

Rafe seized your hand, his fingers interlocking with yours in a grip that bordered on painful. He practically dragged you toward the spiral staircase, taking the steps two at a time in his desperate haste. His breathing was already ragged, matching the frenzied energy radiating from his body as he led you up toward the master suite.

The polished bannister glided beneath your free hand as you struggled to keep pace with his long strides, your footsteps echoing through the empty house. Each step brought you closer to crossing a line that couldn't be uncrossed - exactly where you both wanted to be.

Family photos lined the stairwell wall, each perfectly framed moment mocking you as you ascended. Her face smiled down at you from every angle - his wife, beautiful and poised in her designer dresses, always at Rafe's side at charity galas and beach club events.

Their wedding photo dominated the landing - her in white lace, him in a tailored tux, both sun-kissed and privileged. This should be your life.

Your photos on these walls. Your social media posts from exclusive galas and exotic vacations. Your perfect children with his dangerous smile running through these halls. Your name engraved on family heirlooms and country club memberships. Your status as the youngest, most envied Mrs. Cameron in Figure Eight's elite circle.

Instead, you're sneaking through her house like a thief, stealing moments with her husband while she plays the grieving granddaughter states away.

Your grip tightened on Rafe's hand as bitter jealousy coiled in your stomach. She had everything you wanted - the Cameron name, the social status, the legitimate claim to this man who was now pulling you toward her bedroom.

But for this weekend at least, you had something she didn't: her husband's undivided attention and unrestrained desire.

You barely had time to take in the master bedroom's elegant design before Rafe threw you onto the king-sized bed - their bed.

He straddled you immediately, attacking your neck with hungry kisses. As he worked his way down your body, your eyes wandered around their shared sanctuary.

Her presence was everywhere - expensive perfume bottles on the vanity, family photos on the nightstand, a silk robe draped over a chaise lounge.

Each item twisted the knife of jealousy deeper. The walk-in closet door stood slightly ajar, offering glimpses of her designer wardrobe perfectly arranged beside his suits.

Rafe's mouth traced lower, his hands pushing up your skirt, but you couldn't stop cataloging all the ways she'd marked her territory - the monogrammed pillows, her jewelry box, her books stacked neatly on the bedside table.

You were an intruder here, a temporary replacement in a space that screamed her name. Yet somehow, that only made you want him more - want to erase her presence, if only for these stolen moments.

His tongue had barely made contact with your cunt when your attention drifted to the walk-in closet again. The door opened wide, revealing her extensive wardrobe in the soft ambient lighting.

One dress caught your eye - a crimson silk number that probably cost more than your monthly rent, its sequins catching the light like drops of blood.

"Wait," you breathed, pushing Rafe's head away. He looked up, confusion and frustration darkening his features.

"What's wrong?" His voice was rough with desire as he palmed himself through his expensive slacks, clearly impatient with the interruption.

You slipped out from under him, drawn to the closet like a moth to flame.

The dress called to you - her dress.

You ran your fingers along the smooth fabric, imagining her wearing it to some exclusive Cameron family event.

"I want to try it on," you announced, already pulling it from the hanger.

Rafe's expression shifted from frustration to intrigue as he watched you strip down and slip into his wife's dress.

The silk clung to your body differently than it would have to hers, but the fit was close enough. You turned to face him, now standing in the middle of their bedroom wearing his wife's clothes, the ultimate act of territorial invasion.

His eyes darkened with dangerous appreciation. "Come here," he growled, the command sending shivers down your spine.

Rafe shifted to the edge of the bed, spreading his legs wide as you moved between them, the silk dress whispering against your skin with each step.

"Shit, look at you," he breathed, his hungry gaze traveling slowly up your body. "Do a spin for me."

You turned slowly, letting the crimson fabric catch the light, knowing you were playing with fire. The dress felt like power - her power - now wrapped around your body.

Each rotation brought a deeper gleam of approval to Rafe's eyes, his fingers flexing against his thighs as he watched you model his wife's clothes.

"You wear it better," he said, his voice thick with desire. His hands found your waist, fingers pressing into the silk. "But it needs to come off. Now."

You caught his hands before they could strip away the silk, holding them against your waist again. Something reckless stirred inside you, pushing you to test boundaries you knew better than to cross.

"Don't you wish you could leave her for me?" The words tumbled out, your voice barely above a whisper. "I'd be such a better Mrs. Cameron." Your fingers traced along his jawline. "I'd know how to keep you satisfied. How to handle your… darker needs."

The dangerous flash in Rafe's eyes told you you'd crossed a line. His grip on your waist tightened painfully, fingers digging into silk and flesh. The playful atmosphere evaporated, replaced by something more volatile.

"Don't," he warned, his voice carrying an edge that should have scared you. But you were too far gone, drunk on power and jealousy and the thrill of playing with fire.

You slowly straddled his lap, making sure her crimson silk dress stayed perfectly arranged around you. The fabric whispered against both your bodies - a constant reminder of whose clothes you were wearing, whose life you were trying to claim. His hands automatically found your hips, bunching the expensive material between his fingers.

"Just imagine it," you whispered against his ear, rolling your hips slowly against his. "Me wearing dresses like this at all those charity galas, turning heads in Figure Eight." Your fingers traced his chest while the silk rustled between you. "I'd be the perfect Cameron wife. So much younger, so much more… willing to please."

You felt his breathing quicken despite his attempt to maintain control. "Think about those family vacations," you continued, the dress sliding smoothly as you pressed closer. "Me by the infinity pool at your beach house, giving you a reason to actually enjoy those trips." Your lips brushed his neck. "And I'd give you what she couldn't - a real family. Little Camerons with your dangerous smile and that fire in their blood."

His fingers twisted deeper into the silk at your hips, wrinkling her perfect dress - a warning and an encouragement all at once. You were playing a dangerous game, wearing his wife's clothes while whispering promises of replacing her entirely.

"I need you," he growled, the words rough against his throat. His composure was cracking, control slipping as his hands bunched the silk dress higher around your thighs. "Right now. In this dress."

You smiled against his skin, knowing you'd won this round. The silk rustled as you shifted, keeping the dress carefully arranged while guiding him inside you. His grip tightened almost painfully on your hips as you sank down, the expensive fabric of his wife's dress pooling around where your bodies joined.

A groan escaped his throat as you began to move, the crimson silk sliding between you like liquid fire. Each roll of your hips was deliberate, calculated - a reminder that you could give him everything he secretly wanted. His hands roamed possessively over the dress, marking the fabric with desperate fingerprints, defiling this symbol of his marriage with every thrust.

"Tell me you need me," you breathed against his ear, maintaining the torturously slow pace. "Tell me I'm better."

"You're… you're everything," he gasped between ragged breaths, bucking his hips to meet your torturous rhythm. "So much better. God, I need you."

You rewarded him by grinding down harder, savoring the way he filled you completely. His hands clutched at your silk-clad body, desperate for more.

You leaned in close, your lips brushing his ear as you whispered, "Are you really going to leave her for me this time?" Your hips never stopped their maddening dance, the silk dress whispering against your skin with each movement.

His hands tightened on your waist, fingers digging into the delicate fabric. For a moment, you thought he might resist, might cling to that last shred of loyalty. But then you clenched around him, squeezing his cock in a vice-like grip, and his resolve shattered.

Rafe's eyes were wild, pupils blown wide with lust as he gazed up at you. At that moment, with you bouncing on his cock and squeezing him so tight, he would have agreed to anything.

"Yes," he groaned. "Yes, I'll leave her. I'll do anything. Just don't stop."

A thrill of triumph shot through you at his words. You began to ride him in earnest, the silk dress whispering against your skin as you moved faster. Rafe's hips bucked up to meet yours, driving himself deeper with each thrust.

"Mine," you panted, claiming him with your body. "You're mine now."

Rafe could only moan in response, completely lost in the sensations you were giving him. You reveled in your power over him, knowing that in this moment, you owned him completely. The knowledge spurred you on, your movements becoming more frenzied as you chased your release.

Rafe's hands gripped your hips, guiding your movements as you rode him with increasing urgency. The silk of your dress clung to your sweat-slicked skin, adding another layer of sensual friction. You leaned down to capture his lips in a searing kiss, swallowing his moans of pleasure.

"Say it," you demanded breathlessly, breaking the kiss. "Tell me you're mine."

"I'm yours," Rafe gasped, his eyes dark with lust and surrender. "All yours. Only yours."

The words sent a jolt of electricity through your body. You clenched around him, drawing a strangled groan from his throat. His fingers dug into your flesh hard enough to bruise as he thrust up into you with renewed vigor.

The coil of tension in your core wound tighter and tighter with each roll of your hips. You could feel Rafe trembling beneath you, fighting to hold back his climax. But you weren't done with him yet.

"Not until I say," you commanded, your voice husky with arousal.

Rafe whimpered, his jaw clenching as he struggled to obey. You slowed your pace torturously, drawing out the exquisite torture for both of you. When you felt him start to relax slightly, you suddenly clenched around him again, eliciting a shocked gasp.

"Please," he begged hoarsely. "I can't… I need…"

"You want to cum?" you purred, still wearing her silk dress like a trophy. "Tell me who owns you."

"You do," he choked out, his whole body trembling with need. "Fuck… you do."

His submission was intoxicating. You increased your pace, the silk dress now damp with both your sweat, the fabric forever marked by this moment. His fingers dug bruises into your thighs as his control finally shattered, your name - not hers - falling from his lips as he came undone beneath you.

Your own release followed, intensified by the knowledge that you'd made Rafe Cameron come apart while wearing his wife's clothes in their bed.

As you collapsed against his chest, the ruined silk dress bunching between you, you couldn't help but smile. She might have his ring, his name, and his public image, but you had something far more precious - his surrender. In this moment, in this bed, you'd won. You'd made him yours in ways she never could.

His breathing gradually steadied, but you noticed he didn't push you away immediately like usual. Another small victory. You traced lazy patterns on his chest, surrounded by the evidence of your conquest - her wrinkled dress, their messed-up sheets, his marks on your skin. The perfect crime scene of infidelity.

"Take off the dress," Rafe said, his voice returning to its usual commanding tone. "You've had your fun, but it needs to go back exactly where you found it."

Reluctantly, you slid off the bed and walked to the closet, the silk now cooling against your heated skin. As you carefully removed the dress, something caught your eye - a delicate diamond tennis bracelet carelessly left on her jewelry tray. Without thinking, you slipped it into your palm before hanging the dress back perfectly.

When you returned to bed, Rafe's eyes narrowed, studying you with dangerous precision. "What did you take?"

"Nothing," you lied, but his expression told you he knew better.

"The bracelet." It wasn't a question. He sighed, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "Give it back. Now."

You retrieved it reluctantly, the diamonds catching the light as you placed it in his outstretched palm. His fingers closed around it, jaw tightening.

"If you want jewelry so badly," he said, his voice softening slightly, "I'll take you shopping tomorrow. Get you something that's actually yours." He set the bracelet aside, pulling you back into bed. "Something better."

You curled against him, satisfied with the promise. After all, stolen jewelry was just borrowed power - but having Rafe Cameron offer to buy you your own? That was real victory.

a/n -- thanks for reading, as always all likes comments, and reblogs keeps me motivated! 💕🫶🏾

taglist --

@rafestoothbrush @alexxavicry @trapistani @Hejsj @neslayuh @hotvampdragon @alyisdead @jelybely @elmolovesw33d @littlelamy @futuremrscameron @percysley @rrafeswhore @madzig @thatdesigirl17 @drewstarkeysrightarm @seqhyvnz @romantasyreader2024 @luizaelias @rafe-cameronswife @emmavzlsblog @aileenunfiltered @swe3theart-succubus @511rkive @morrrrphin @xcinnamonmalfoyx @obxrafeandjj @rafegf-real @theeternaloptimistt

[suzumori521]

It's a giant deer that inhabits the world of "乾坤の鷲-Kenkon no washi-" This character is particularly my favorite.

"乾坤の鷲-Kenkon no washi-" is a fictional world primarily modeled after Central Eurasia, and within it, this creature is revered as a sacred beast by the minority groups living in the cold northern regions (similar to the border between Russia and Mongolia in the real world).

Despite its gentle nature, it often goes unnoticed by jinka, who perceive humans similarly to small animals. It mainly feeds on moss, bark, and the like, but it eats a variety of things such as mushrooms, fish, and carrion.

[satori-runa]

—Morning comes in silence

Summary: You spend the morning in bed with your husband at your side, watching over him as he rests peacefully for the first time in ages.

Tags: Romance, Hinted sexual content but no specific graphical explanations, established relationship, fluff

Words: 0,6k

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Gente rays of orange sunlight shimmered through the forst-covered windows in the early morning hours, followed by the graceful fresh snow that carried a familiar cold breeze through the land. Yet, none of that chill reached the comfort of the bedroom that you shared with your husband.

Only the soft, sun-kissed glow filtered in, casting a golden warmth over everything, draping the comfort of your home into a pure teint of liquid gold. It especially highlighted the fine features of the man lying beside you in the huge bed. The white silk sheets pooled around his large form, shared between the two of you. And you could swear, his body could be a canvas painted by the purity of the morning light and the feelings that carried over from the night before.

Capitano was truly a man of many things, status, wealth and power. He could command the word with a singe motion if he desired so and yet here he lay, stripped of the weight of his title, exposed and vunerable under the tender caress of your warm fingertips. Your thumb traced his sharp jawline, brushing over the dryness of his lips, then wound through the smooth raven locks that you had toyed with so many times before. The sensation was familiar, comforting, like a safe haven that you shared in a world full of coldness.

Your cold feet brushed against his leg beneath the sheets, a subconscious search for the warmth and connection that still lingered from the night before. His body twitched at the cool touch, a small reaction to the memory of the heat you’d shared in the dark, but he made no effort to pull away. Instead, he shifted slightly, allowing the space between you to close, his warmth enveloping you as naturally as the sunrise.

No words passed between you, nor were they needed. In the quiet of this sacred morning, your gazes spoke volumes. You remembered how the night began—the way his cold, sharp gloves were the first to fall. He had always hidden his hands, guarded them from the world, but last night, he let them be seen, exposed to your eyes alone. His skin, tinted with that strange, mysterious blue, revealed more than just his body. At first, he hesitated, insecurity flashing in his eyes, but those fears had melted away with the softness of your lips, pressing gentle promises into his skin. You had kissed away the doubts, each touch a vow that you’d never judge him for what he was, for how he looked. All you needed was him, the man beneath the surface.

And he had given that promise back to you, wordlessly. His lips had remained silent, but his hands spoke. They had traced your skin with a slowness that bordered on torment, fingers gliding over your legs, up your thighs, drawing out your impatience with teasing precision. The way he touched you, the way he worshipped you with his hands, was his answer—a declaration that you were everything to him.

Now, in the glow of dawn, those hands rested between the folds of the sheets, still close to you, as if even in sleep he couldn’t bear to be far from your warmth. His raven hair spilled over the pillow, shadows and light playing over his face, making him look softer, almost innocent in the early morning light. You smiled faintly, brushing a stray lock from his brow, recalling how those same locks had been tangled in your fingers the night before, how his breath had hitched against your neck when your cold hands had explored the softness of his skin.

There was a serenity in the room now, a sense of peace that wrapped around you both. The world outside didn’t matter. Status, power, wealth—they were distant, meaningless in this moment. All that existed was the warmth of his body beside yours, the sheets that clung to your limbs, and the silent affection you shared.

[wandasaura]

IT WAS NEVER MINE

summary — as your year long contract with natasha come to an end, all the feelings you’ve been trying to ignore come to the surface. you didn’t think they were yours to lose in the first place, but you’d never been so wrong in your life

warning(s) — established relationship, married wandanat, angst, hurt/comfort, brief mentions of panic attack/spiraling thoughts, confession of feelings, soft!wandanat, dom/sub dynamics, bratty behavior, face grabbing, fingering, ruined orgasm, degradation, praise, mommy kink, daddy kink, doggy position, oral, grinding, mutual orgasms, threesome, finger sucking, cum tasting, literal filth? men/minors dni

authors note — russian translations are included at the end of this work. we finally got the confessions of feelings! the trios officially a couple! everybody cheered!

you are in love universe

♥️⊹ ˚ . 18+, men/minors dni ⁺ 𓈒 ꒰💌꒱ ♡ ･ mommy maximoff ✧

Everything around you had been cemented in false permanence that you weren’t quite ready to give up just yet, or ever. The weather, the sunsets, the arms you fell into at night; a month into the summer holidays and you could no longer deny that your feelings for Wanda and Natasha were merely a result of the situation. You wanted them, in every way they would give themselves to you. You yearned for their laughter, and to join in on the soft kisses that came by the kitchen window every morning like a sacred routine. You wanted their eternal company and the lingering presence of where their gentle touch had lied even when they went away. To put it simply: you crave something that will never come. The terms of your contract were made clear when you signed them, but you were naive to have ever thought you wouldn’t catch feelings. 

With June halfway through and July on the cusp, the bed the couple fell into each night was practically your own now too, and clothes you wore frequently had been given an official place in the master en-suite closet beside Natasha’s. Some mornings, when sleep had been hard to claim and exhaustion carried over into sunrise, you couldn’t distinguish between what was hers and what was yours. When those days came like unexpected storm clouds, the gravity of your predicament clung to your skin like the disappointment of cold rain on a tropical vacation. 

Westview came alive in the summer months, like most shore towns in Jersey did once schools were out. The small town wasn’t one that you had been familiar with prior to signing the contract, rather isolated and forgotten about between the bigger beaches that bordered it, but now you that you knew of it and had seen it in the winter, you couldn’t imagine hard days without that small ice cream shop four blocks from the Maximoff’s, nor do you think you could survive hard semesters without escaping to the deserted edge of solid ground only locals visited when pale snow kissed tan sand. 

When sunshine became too bright to ignore, you were the last in the house to stir awake. The master bedroom was quiet, too quiet, save for the blue jays that chirped just beyond the sun-warm window. You sighed at the muted colors that adorned the walls and furniture within the room, wondering how some places could feel so lived in and empty in the same breath. You had to force yourself out of bed, though you would’ve rather stayed burrowed beneath thick blankets and pillows made of clouds until they fused to your three-day-old marked skin. Your routine may not have been as sweet as the married women who lingered somewhere beneath you, probably cuddled up close on the couch in the living room or laughing together in the kitchen over a memory you weren’t privy to knowing, but it had become something cherished since joining them in bed at night. Your fingers, cold from their lack of use throughout the night, trailed over the hickies that discolored your skin. The touch was softer than silk, fear clouding your impulses as you wondered if today would be the day they disappeared into nothing but another memory. In prior relationships, you’d always hated when your partner left you with physical remnants of the intimate connection you’d sought from them. It had always felt cliche and admittedly demeaning when you’d then have to walk around with splotches of burgundy peeking out from beneath clothes, but there was something different about the way you allowed Wanda and Natasha to claim you. Perhaps it was the sick pride you harbored just by knowing that your body was solely theirs to mark, or maybe it was your own twisted need to convince your mind that they cared for you the same way you did them like your heart so desperately wanted to believe. Either way, the love bites strewn across your neck lived to see another day if the intense sensitivity was any indication of their presence, and with the confirmation that everything you’ve devoted yourself to hadn't completely fallen away yet, the dread you faced like an endless mirror melted away to be stared at later on. 

With no energy to actually get dressed, because even a full night's sleep had felt like simple minutes recently, you didn’t even bother walking into the closet where your favorite outfits remained hung up on expensive metal hangers. You’d only stare at them blankly, no pull to anything in particular, until you walked away still clad in paint splattered shorts and a t-shirt you’d owned since high school. Every morning Wanda would say that the pajamas you wore weren’t allowed to exist outside of the house, and every day Natasha would drag you out for a walk while still wearing them. It was like they couldn’t agree on how to help you, but both women had noticed your shift in attitude even if they didn’t know the cause. You weren’t their lively girl anymore. You didn’t jump at the chance to skip down the pier holding tightly onto Natasha’s hand, you didn’t fling yourself off the countertops just because you knew it worried Wanda, and you didn’t bounce between offices seeking attention from whoever gave it first. As each day passed and another one came to the surface, you only got farther from the woman that they had loved. The woman you believed was unlovable. 

They tried to stand firm on the rules and expectations, having seen what happens when they try to soften their edges for you, but even doubling down on their control had been in vain. Your ass had been over both of their laps countless times in recent days, but all that seemed to do was fuel your desire to push back and retreat inward. Wanda had tried various other methods of punishment to break through whatever wall you were trying to keep up, hoping that getting you to relinquish control would settle whatever storm you had brewing beneath those dazzling eyes. Edging you had failed. You had blatantly refused to let her see how desperate you were, taking each edge with impressive neutrality until eventually she’d given you a full orgasm out of her own guilt and need to comfort. She had made you sit at the dining room table and write lines when you’d dared to try and talk back to her one night, but when she had come back to check on you the sheet of loose-leaf paper was blank and the pen hadn’t even been picked up. That was the first time you’d received the silent treatment from Wanda. She’d merely collected the paper and pen with a hum of dissatisfaction before she moved on with her evening as normal. There was no question about if you were still cared for, she tucked you in and kissed your head, but it wasn’t until the next morning rolled around when you’d heard her voice being directed toward you again. She could see that the punishment had affected you. It wasn’t typically one she resorted to, knowing how it could impact a submissive's emotions, but everything else had been falling flat on its face and she just wanted her girl back. She’d tried to amend the situation at the first chance she got, tried to comfort you in the way she knew you’d needed done, but you were more or less unresponsive to her attempts. 

As the nights of summer carried the end of your contract nearer, your sadness only grew and presented in agitating ways that were winding both of the redheads up – there was only so much more of your attitude that they could take before they snapped and you wouldn’t blame them when it came. The contract was practically the only thing on your mind anymore, namely the part of the document that disclosed the length of your agreement; twelve months. You were on month ten, and although a large part of you desperately wanted to enjoy these last few weeks entirely, the smaller, more stubborn part of you, felt like you had to protect yourself from the inevitable heartbreak that was to come. Change was unavoidable, you kept reminding yourself, but nothing could have prepared you for how truly fast it was happening. Natasha had promised you a glorious summer break. She’d promised s’mores and beach days and near permanent attachment. It wasn’t her that broke those promises, it was you. Even the thought of spending individual time with the Russian made panic flare within you, and though it wasn’t fair to her, you continued to cancel plans regardless. Today was another day of plans that wouldn’t happen, and there wasn’t even the slightest ounce of remorse in your belly as you descended toward the kitchen. You had been wrong for getting attached in the first place, you wouldn't add fuel to the fire so close to the once unimaginable end. 

 The lawyer owned a Harley-Davidson LiveWire. It sat covered by a thick black tarp in the two car garage that at some point during their relationship, had been converted into an at home gym. The very first time you had gotten a peak at the bike, you knew that you wanted to join her for a ride, but you found out weeks later that riding wasn’t something Natasha did often or at all, not anymore. Wanda had been the one to tell you why during one of the first conversations you’d had. She told you how Natasha had been in a bad crash, how the bike in the garage was a replacement for the one she’d used to have, how even the sight of it sent her spiraling and thus was why it remained permanently covered. But, after hearing about your interest, Natasha had spent months working through her anxiety just to give you a taste of the biking life she’d adored for so many years. She’d told you three weeks ago that she was almost ready to get back on, that she would let you know when she could trust herself not to panic. Months of working through trauma that could’ve easily stayed untouched just to see you smile, and now you didn’t even want to go. You were probably the shittiest person ever. They had every right to hate you come August, but you convinced yourself that that would make everything easier. If they still cared for you, you’d think about crawling back to them every second of the day. 

As expected, Wanda and Natasha were sitting together on the couch when you reached the end of the stairs. The windows in the living room were open and welcomed the fresh breeze inside, but despite the warmth that lingered with the wind, you shivered. Wanda’s head craned toward the stairs first, and then Natasha’s. It always took the Russian longer to notice you, and you wondered if Wanda really did just have a sixth sense because she never took more than a second to spot you, even if you tried to be as soundless as possible. They offered you sweet greetings and easy smiles, but they went unreturned. Three weeks ago, you would’ve melted into their laps and grinned eagerly, but now you merely rolled your eyes and shuffled into the kitchen where leftover ice cream from Billy’s remained in the freezer. 

Wanda had brought it home a few nights ago, her form of an apology for being kept at the office so late. It wasn’t yet fall, just barely summer really, but already their workload was starting to increase. You could see it in their eyes that carried permanent exhaustion, and though Natasha had thus far kept her promise of not being away, she worked in her office a significant amount more. Maybe your attitude is what pushed her to spend time with mind-melting files and cases, or maybe she was just accepting the end of the contract better than you. 

Your ice cream was decorated with sprinkles softer than sunsets. Their pastel shades were unlike the sprinkles sold at chain ice cream restaurants near your University and hometown, and you adored the simple detail that set Billy’s apart from everyone else. The first time Natasha had shown you to the parlor, you had claimed so boldly that despite being made of the same ingredients, the sprinkles tasted sweeter then the other ones you’ve tried. Another thing that had changed in your dynamic were the rules. Wanda was strict, hovering and well-alike to a helicopter parent, and when she’d realized that you only ate meals when they were prepared by either her or Natasha, she’d wasted no time in implementing another rule into your dynamic; you needed to eat at least one real meal a day. It wasn’t hard in the summer months. You were with them every day and you ate what they ate when they ate, but your late wake-up time had given you the perfect opportunity to make your lingering bad mood known in yet another way. You pulled the freezer open without any hesitation, heading straight for the half-eaten ice cream with your name on it. You’d scribbled your newest nickname, utenok, on the cover when you feared Natasha would eat it on you. The silliness and untainted delight that you had felt in that moment was practically unimaginable now. You tried to grasp at how light you had felt as you sat around the dining table joking with Wanda who had a smudge of peanut butter sauce on the tip of her nose, but you had come up empty handed quickly. 

Shaking your head, not wanting to spiral down another path of inconsolable tears, you directed your attention to finding a spoon. The many cabinets in the kitchen had once confused you, as they would anyone who was randomly dropped in a lavish kitchen with too many drawers to count, but now they were engraved in your memory and you hadn’t even stopped to question if you opened the right one, knowing confidently that you hadn’t messed up in months. The silverware was in the drawer closest to the sink, and you found a spoon easily. You hated how before you could even dig into your ice cream, that your mind felt the need to remind you about how in eight weeks, you’d have no right to this kitchen and the silverware inside of it. The first bite on your tongue felt wrong, and your stomach churned in thick guilt, but you ignored how badly you wanted to beg Wanda for forgiveness and went in for another mouthful. The sprinkles didn’t taste as sweet, but you knew that Wanda could see you from the living room so you kept up with the action. 

Her voice made you feel sick to your stomach when it finally attempted to reach your ears. “What are the rules, milaya?” She asked you with sternness, her eyes set into a thin glare that could end wars if the military let her loose on the battlefield. Nobody would go against her, they’d stand no chance, but you did. You had learned how to ignore the rush of guilt and shame that set in when she looked at you that way, and were becoming quite good at it if you had any say in the matter. No, that was a lie, the biggest lie that you had ever told yourself, but you had to try. You felt like the absolute worst person in the world when you went against Wanda, but in eight weeks there would be no Wanda to go against, so you tried to remain unbothered despite how bothered you actually were. 

“Don’t know. Don’t care.” Your clipped tone had made her flinch, had made her reel back into Natasha and pull her eyes away from you. Your heart dropped to your feet, your eyes stung with unshed tears that had come at least once every day since you realized how near the end was, but you didn’t apologize. You didn’t backtrack and attempt to amend what you were breaking. Instead, you scooped up another bite of ice cream that was significantly bigger than the last, and shoved it all into your mouth at once. The creamy flavor melted onto your tongue and tried to clear your mind, but the guilt made it difficult to win. You needed this. You needed them to hate you so that you could hate them, but it felt like a knife stabbing into your least important organs over and over. You could live without a spleen, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t hurt for a while. You knew that you could live without them and their praise and reassurances, but that wouldn’t mean that even if they hated you it wouldn’t hurt. There was no good way out, but you were being forced closer and closer to the day with every minute that passed. 

“Put the ice cream away and get something else to eat, detka. You agreed to these rules.” Wanda came back at you harder, sterner, colder, and when you met her eyes from across two rooms, there was a fire beneath them that had made her near unrecognizable. Her publics were blown and darker than midnight as it hung over Westview, her lips were set into a firm line that would give her wrinkles by the time she was forty. She was miles away from the sweet woman you had seen glimpses of since dropping your what was your initial attitude, but even the woman you’d hated hadn’t been so harsh. Your nose crinkled, and for the softest second she believed that she had won, but when did you ever give in so easily, though nothing about this was easy. 

Raising your chin, the handle of the silver spoon felt heavy between your fingers that held it up to your lips where the taste of your treat lingered. She wasn’t going to make you back down when in eight weeks you’d be back on campus and without her. As horrible as it was to admit, you didn’t know who you were without them anymore. Natasha laid out outfits for you that paired sweetly with hers. Wanda made breakfast and dinner, and always asked you to help with lunch. They helped you sleep through storms and nightmares. They had satisfied you and completed you for ten months, and in turn you were just expected to know how to keep going without their rules. You’d drown before you even had the chance to swim. “Make me.” 

Daylight drenched the house in warmth, but the room felt cold when Wanda shot to her feet and started to approach with footsteps that were silent and deadly. You had half the mind to run in the opposite direction, to avoid whatever she was coming over to do, but you stayed firmly planted to the floor of the kitchen and dared to even take another mouthful of ice cream between your lips. For days you had been dismissive and hostile toward them, quieted by silence and fear, but those initial feelings were quickly folding into anger that begged to be released. 

You stiffened when her ringed hand caught your jaw, her fingertips squeezing your cheeks together not unkindly, but not softly either. You had amended your limits just as you had amended the rules now that Wanda was an active participant in your dynamic, but none of your new allowances had been used on you yet, there hadn’t been a reason. You had just given her a reason though, and your eyes, despite your willingness for them to remain slitted and annoyed, widened in shock immediately. You’d been adamant against Natasha grabbing you like this, a fear response from childhood that at the start of your relationship hadn’t yet been processed, but as your trust in their control had grown over time, so had your curiosity for harsher elements of kink and submission. Your core throbbed at the sensation of her fingers digging into your skin, and you wanted to kick yourself for folding so easily. You’d never accomplish anything if your body craved their touch, but getting them to hate you was just as hard as getting you to hate them. 

“I don’t know who you think you’re talking to like that. Mommy expects little girls to do as they're told the first time they’re asked, but it seems you’ve forgotten who you're with. One last chance, go put away the ice cream and find something else to eat. You will not take your attitude out on me when I have given you every opportunity to tell me what’s wrong.” If you thought she wouldn’t grab you any harsher, you were wrong. The grip she had on your face was painful now, and you could feel every grove in the metal around her fingers as they pressed into your cheeks and jaw. Every instinct in your body was screaming at you to listen to her, to just find something else to eat or ask her to make you something instead, but your anger had grown fond of disobedience, and you shook your head before you could process what would happen next. “Very well.” The hand on your face had fallen away just as quickly as it had come, leaving you with an ache on your face and soon an emptiness in your hands when she plucked the cup from between your grip and walked it over to the garbage can beneath the skin. You wanted to sob when you watched her throw it away, the bright colored cup a flash of pigment before it was completely out of sight and at the bottom of the bag. 

“What the fuck?” You complained, throwing the spoon down on the island countertop. The metal clanked against the marble when it made contact, but you didn’t care about how you might have scratched the surface they kept so perfect and tidy. There were too many bigger feelings coursing through your nerves to recognize how Wanda’s eyes snapped to the island before they fell upon yours again. She was getting sick and tired of your attitude. The sadness she’d felt when she first realized something was wrong hadn’t quickly become anger, but she was reaching that point now. You were forcing her over the edge with every minor act of brattiness you could even think to initiate. 

You were pinned between her body and the edge of the counter so quickly you hadn’t even realized that she had backed you in, but in a moment of forgetfulness, drunk of the state of her radiating dominance, your hands gripped onto the hem of her shirt and your eyes burned with desperation for her touch. You scolded yourself when you realized, but Wanda had already seen it and smirked knowingly down at you. You hadn’t responded to edging, but maybe you’d respond when someone properly ruined your orgasm for the first time. You never did take too kindly to their teasing, and it seemed that even in whatever funk had taken hold of you, your body was calling out for her attention. Who could blame you though, the three-day-old hickies on your neck were an indication of the last time you’d been touched, and you shared a bed with the hottest women in the world. 

Wanda’s hands were ruthless as they didn’t waste time with teasing. You’d been teased enough, there was no need for her to drag out your punishment. As cruel as she intended to be with you, she didn’t think you could handle being nothing but putty in her hands. Her and Natasha weren’t quiet when they ripped orgasms from each other in the shower at night as you laid in their bed waiting for their return, and they certainly weren’t quiet when they snuck into one of their offices upstairs in the middle of the day. Just because you hadn’t been touched, didn’t mean they hadn’t been, and the sounds of their pleasure had been torturous each and every time. They’d been waiting for you to come to them, waiting for the breaking point where you begged for their attention and any toy you were desperate enough to name at the moment. Asking for what you wanted was still hard, but they were patient enough to let you figure it out, and they had hoped that not immediately offering attention like they had a habit of doing would pull you out of your head. Clearly it hadn’t. Clearly, they’d failed to help you in yet another way. 

Wanda was in no mood to be patient anymore, and when her hands dipped beneath the waistband of your sleep shorts, that fact became very apparent to you. You gasped at the sensation of her cold fingers seeking out your clit with intent and eagerness. Your eyes snapped up to hers, a million silent questions buried beneath the haze of desperation her aggressiveness had provoked. You grinded down against her fingers, not being stopped. So much control was being placed in your hands, or at least that’s what you were being led to believe as she eased two fingers into your pulsating entrance and allowed you the freedom of grinding down on them however you wanted. You wanted to push her away, wanted to keep up your act and attitude, but that had all melted away from you the second her fingers curled into your soft spot. 

“Nobody’s touched this sweet pussy in three days.” Wanda hummed, her voice laced and dripping in false sympathy as she scissored you open and made you ache for more. There was no question to be answered in her observations, and it confused you. She almost always followed up with a question because she liked to see you squirm in pleasure unable to answer her. She liked to belittle you and force you to see just how pliable you were to her every direction. Everything that you had grown to accept and adore had been ripped away. Her lips hovered above yours, but they didn’t lean down to kiss you. Everything about this moment felt so impersonal and detached, and it made you cry out in frustration. She was only doing what you had done to her, she knew that, but you couldn’t even begin to wrap your head around it at this moment. When you’d eventually realize, she hoped it was enough to set you straight, because she desperately wanted to close the gap between your bodies and love you the right way. She kept her face mere inches from yours, her eyes open and hard and dilated. She was looking at you so cruelly, it made your insides feel like they were on trial. When a desperate moan fell from your lips, Wanda doubled her pace, ruthlessly rubbing circles on your clit that had become stiff beneath her thumb. “Gonna cum for Mommy, little slut?” 

“Y-Yes!” You only just barely managed to cry out, and you expected her to slow her pace and reprimand you for not asking her correctly, it had been three days since you’d called her Mommy and though you were aching for her to be just that to you, there was still bite left in your bones and Wanda merely hummed as she registered that fact. You would not like what was to come. She knew you would hate it. You liked full satisfying orgasms, and she couldn’t blame you for that, but the feeling you were about to become familiar with was the exact opposite. Only she was privy to that information though. 

“Then go ahead.” She shrugged haphazardly, a third finger daring to stretch you open and fill you up. Your walls accepted the burn, leaned into the pleasure, craved her touch and thanked every star in the universe for sending her down to you. With her permission to let go, you didn’t fight the coil from snapping within your belly. Your eyes fell closed at the sharp sensation of approaching, promised pleasure, but just as quickly as she’d let you think you were about to taste it, her fingers pulled away and left your hot cunt to pulsate and throb with no help or satisfaction. Your eyes shot open in shock, your hips writhing and bucking against the countertop as tears glistened in your eyes. You could feel it wash over you, just beneath the surface, but that was all that came from it. Your entrance sobbed at the loss of stimulation, your clit twitched and jumped in protest, but nothing could bring her back to you, and as quickly as you had tasted relief, it was gone and just nothing. 

“No!” You sobbed, your hand shooting out to grab Wanda’s wrist and drag it back to your uncomfortable core. She merely laughed at your distress, the sound foreign and cold as it rolled off her lips. Wanda had been mean, she’d been harsh and unforgiving, but she’d never been cruel. Not like this. Not with you. You didn’t know what to do with yourself as you stomped your feet and wiggling helplessly against the edge of the counter, unable to form the words that wouldn’t convince her to help you, but again, you didn’t know that this had been her plan all along; that no matter how much you begged and cried, she wasn’t going to make you cum. Not today. Not tomorrow. Maybe not even for the rest of the week. It depended on the state of your attitude. 

With a frown of sympathy that didn’t even attempt to be perceived as authentic, Wanda had the audacity to coo at your distressed expression and reach her hand out to gently cup your cheek that was damp from falling tears. “You didn’t like that, huh?” She questioned, her green eyes unwavering in their position of dominance. You shook your head feverishly, unable to stop the twitches of movement that made your entire body tremble. She offers you no support, no endearing kiss and soft reassurance, she’s allowed you to make your bed, it’s not her problem you’re expected to lay in it now. “You weren’t supposed to, devchonka. When you’re ready to talk about what’s bothering you, like the contract that’s been open in my office for the last week, we’ll see about fixing your little issue.” 

You swallowed thickly at the words she whispered against the sensitive shell of your ear, at the fact that she had figured out where your thoughts laid without you even saying anything. You wondered if she had told Natasha, wondered how long she had known what your attitude was about and had just been waiting for you to bring it up to her yourself. You had so many questions, but you always seemed to have questions when it came to Wanda and the ways in which she worked. Of course you had your own copy of the contract, they’d be horrible lawyers if they sent you away without one, but it had been thrown into a random box with the rest of your belongings when you had moved out of your dorm room in May. When you remembered the terms of the contract one afternoon, or more specifically when the agreed upon end would be, you’d sought out one of their copies, and Wanda’s was easiest to find. Her office was so meticulously clean and organized that it hadn’t been a hard task, but that should’ve been your first sign of caution. You were stupid to think she wouldn’t notice you’d been in there snooping around, you were even dumber for forgetting to put it back. So clearly in your mind you could remember how you fled in a state of panic when your eyes reached the black printed end date, August Third. You hadn’t been back in there since, and for the week that had followed, the contract had surely been sitting open and tear stained on her desk. You were an idiot. 

The only thing you could think to do as panic flared in your chest like a category five hurricane, was run in the opposite direction. Never in your life had you stood and faced a problem head on, and now was no time to start. Would she terminate the contract early? Would she berate you for having been in her office at all? You knew they had confidential files in almost every available drawer, and your heart raced with the possibility of her thinking you’d read them. You hadn’t, you’d only been looking for the contract, but you’d messed up too badly to even beg her to believe you on that. When the initial shock subsided, and you were aware enough to realize that Wanda had stepped away from you and offered you space, you didn’t even bother to grab your phone before you headed for the exit. You hadn’t stepped into your flip flops that had gained a permanent place beside the front door, didn’t even look back at Natasha calling for you to calm down and come back to her, you needed to get out of there before you could make things any worse. You're certain that Wanda hadn’t meant to rattle you so severely, she was just tired of dancing around the issue, but the damage was done, and you couldn’t stick around to see how it unfolded. 

The front door didn’t close behind you like you’d hoped. Your hand had barely even grazed against the edge of the door when you’d flailed your limb out towards it and you’d left in too much of a hurry for the gentle touch to matter anyways. Unfortunately for both them and you, it gave them the perfect glimpse of your form as it shot straight down the familiar route toward the beach. You hadn’t wanted them to know where you were going, hadn’t even considered it much, but it was an unconscious response after so many late night walks with Natasha. A sense of ease washed over Wanda when she could at least predict where you’d be going, but Natasha, who didn’t have the privilege of knowing what Wanda knew, was left to question whether she should go after you or not. You hadn’t brought shoes, and even if the shore was only seven blocks from the house, the asphalt would burn your skin in seconds. Despite the comfort that should’ve come with the fact that you were headed in the direction of a familiar and relatively safe location, Wanda could hear the rushing of blood in her ears as she retreated back to the living room and dropped down beside Natasha on the couch. Her face was the only indication of her worry, as her shoulders took the precision of a lawyer and sat aligned with her hips. 

Natasha sat absolutely stock still on the couch, her green eyes bouncing between Wanda’s crestfallen face and the open front door where she could vividly picture you standing so tensely before you were gone entirely. She’d known there was a problem, known that Wanda was on her last ounce of patience with your persistent disobedience, but she had placed all of her faith into her wife’s ability to handle things. She was accustomed to your bouts of bad days, aware that most of them came when your mother attempted to stir trouble in your life, but this felt different, this felt personal. Natasha’s gut clenched in guilt that she couldn’t even fathom the reason for. They’d been strict, and they’d been lenient, but any side of them hadn’t been received well, even when they approached you as equals. What you needed in this moment was anyone's guess, because anyone she tried to be for you only failed to help. Brokenly, like the world had just run away from her heart, Natasha kept her gaze steady on Wanda, begging to know what had happened. “What was that about?” The softest hint of not being a born and raised American played on the edge of her words, an indication that she was beyond upset. 

Wanda sighed, knowing it was never an easy conversation to be had when Natasha was too emotional to keep her accent out of her words. The woman preferred the American accent she’d adopted after nearly twenty-five years in the States, but no amount of practice could ever fully take Russia out of her heart. Natasha might put it on thick when she was trying to wind her up, might throw it out boldly when she wants to catch you off guard, but when it was soft, when it was gentle and broken, the Sokovian knows that it isn’t intentional. After so many years together she’s become fluent in the subtle tells of the woman's emotions. “She was looking at the contract a couple of days ago.” Wanda knows what her wife needs, and so she lets her own native accent lace her words. In this moment, they’re just two women from places of destruction that thought they had finally found something good. They’re not CEO’s with enough money to buy a country if they so pleased, they’re not dominants who seek to have control and obedience, they’re merely two hearts that just watched a piece of them run away in tears. 

“Why?” Natasha frowns when she finally processes the simple sentence Wanda whispered into the dry and heavy air around their warm and lonely bodies. She tries to wrack her brain for anything that she might’ve done in recent days that had violated the terms you’d agreed on, but she can’t find a single reason for you to have sought out Wanda’s copy of the contract and fled the way you did. Things had been going so well, only a few weeks ago she had asked you how you wanted to spend the anniversary of your dynamic, and she’d not seen even an ounce of reluctance in your eyes when you said you just wanted to spend it with her and Wanda. She’d been looking forward to it since then, meticulously sneaking off to her office and planning little things to fill the day with that she knew you would adore. She’d already drafted a new contract, one that was void of an end date because as much as she knew she wanted you eternally, that wasn’t yet a conversation that she had come to you with. Did you not want that now? Had she been a fool to ever think you did? 

Wanda’s face melted at the utterly crushed gleam that rested within Natasha’s typically vibrant green eyes. Sadness wasn’t even a strong enough word to abridge the kaleidoscope of emotions that crashed against her features like the shore, but Wanda didn’t need words, she already knew. She was feeling it too. “O, milaya.” She smiles sadly, knowing that as sharp as her wife can be, she was blind to the little gestures of love you’d been throwing out. She reciprocated them all, went above and beyond for you, but her own past had tainted the purity of affection. That was not something Wanda could blame her for missing, but didn’t stop her from hating. “She’s scared. As much as you have a hard time realizing that girl is head over heels for you, my best guess is that she thinks all of this,” Wanda gestures around the visible rooms, her eyes sweeping over your shoes in the entryway before they fall on the baby blue blanket Natasha had bought solely with you in mind that now lives on the loveseat in a ball. There are so many subtle traces of your presence that linger in their perfectly kept rooms, and Wanda adores each and every one. “is because of the contract.”

Natasha feels so stupid for not having realized the cause of your apprehension toward her sooner. If it were possible for her heart to break into a million pieces of sharp glass, she’s sure the organ would have crumbled into dust by now. She wonders how many nights you had laid awake between her and Wanda and tallied them off as one of your last chances to do so. The exhaustion on your face makes sense now, the inward spiraling she’d watched you do wasn’t so random anymore. She hates that she spent the first ten years of her life in a family void of love, she hates that even now at thirty-four, she hasn’t figured out how to show how she feels clearly. If she could just get over herself, maybe you wouldn’t be questioning your place in her home. “No.” Natasha shakes her head, her eyes begging with Wanda to believe the next string of words that fall from her tongue, “I-I love her.” 

Wanda smiles that same sad smile again, and her hands that are free of scars and calluses hold firmly to Natasha’s cheeks. It’s not the same grip that she’d held you with in the kitchen, it’s softer and tender and expels all of her unspoken emotions that nobody has found the words for yet. Tears glimmer in her eyes as she nods her head to the whispered admission that had been danced around for four months. Wanda’s always known that her wife has found another home in your heart, just like she’s always known that you’ve found a home in hers. She’s accepted that, but beyond that, she’s found a home in you too. “I know that, Natalia. YA nikogda ne zadavalsya etim voprosom. Nikodga. YA tozhe yeye lyublyu. YA lyublyu vas oboikh.” 

Natasha’s eyes brim with tears at the whispered confession in her native language. Sokovian and Russian are close enough to understand without having to learn the other, but Wanda had gone the extra mile to make her feel at home even thousands of miles away. Russia had never felt as soft as Wanda does in this moment, and Natasha can’t even begin to explain how disgustingly in love she is with the woman sat beside her. “My skazali, chto eto ne bylo nikakikh usloviy. My smotreli Pinokkio, i ty spel mne etu pesnyu. YA obeshchal tebe nikakikh usloviy.” Tears leak down Natasha’s face in single streams that resemble rivers, but Wanda’s quick to wipe them away, thinking her wife’s face is too beautiful to hold such sorrow. 

A wet chuckle falls from Wanda’s lips as she shakes her head, a soft smile pulling at the corners of her mouth that can’t quite stay in place with the sadness that keeps her still. “Vsegda byli kakiye-to usloviya, dorogaya. Menya ustraivayut eti struny. YA khochu eti struny.” There’s understanding and acceptance in her eyes, and Natasha doesn’t understand how she’s done something good enough to deserve a wife so accommodating. Wanda’s always known that Natasha was never fully hers, much like she’s always known she was never fully Natashas. Their hearts were forged in the same fire of pain and suffering. Wanda lost her home to bombings and war, Natasha lost hers to violent abuse. They were the best and worst parts of one another but you; you fit on them like a glass slipper made by magic. You fulfilled every part of their traumatized souls that they’d thought would remain empty until death took them whole. You showed them unconditional love, and yeah, you were blemished and traumatized too, but that just made it better.  

“I should have gone after her.” Natasha whispers into the silence that hasn’t fully come over the house in weeks. There was never silence when you were around, even when you slept whispered words of sweetness fell into the air as you wiggled and tossed in a dream she could only hope was innocent as you are. Her head falls forward until her forehead rests against Wanda, their green eyes that are so vastly different but similar connecting passionately. There’s worry brewing in her chest that she just can’t ignore, not when you’re out there without any way to communicate with them. You’re a perfectly capable adult, she knows that you can handle yourself, but you shouldn’t have to; not when you have her. 

“She needed space, moya lyubov’. She’ll come back to us.” Wanda mumbles, her lips ghosting over Natasha’s. It’s not quite a kiss, neither one of them lean into it, but neither of them pull away either. Right now, they just need to be close, they just need to hold onto hope that wherever you are, you’ve found the peace you needed. 

“She has to.” Natasha lets her eyes fall closed, and she silently counts the beats of her heart that she can feel against her ribcage. She loves you. She hadn’t been ready to admit it before, but it’s the only thing she can think of now. 

There’s a wistful smile on Wanda’s lips, and her eyes are so far away that Natasha knows she’s thinking of something specific. Whatever memory it is, she doesn’t ask. She just leans into her wife and hopes that she’s right, but Wanda’s never wrong, so there's no reason to worry. “She will. She always does.” 

-

The sand is coarse beneath your feet as the shore gets farther and farther behind you, off in the distance there's a seagull swooping down to steal the sandwich that one of the shoobies has packed from home, but you don’t witness the chaos unfold as you pace your way toward land. You don’t know how long it's been, but you know that the sun has shifted in the sky and the faintest wisp of pink clings to the horizon. The end of daylight is an approaching promise, and when it dawns on Westview you want nothing more than to be wrapped up safely in Wanda's arms for the duration of it. Even if it ends tomorrow, you need just one more night where you can pretend it’s all real. 

There’s a pair of vibrant seafoam green flip flops on your feet that aren’t yours, but the child who left them behind doesn’t miss them too much, hopefully at least. They barely fit, the heels of your feet hanging over the edge, but you're willing to suffer if it means avoiding the searing hot pavement on your journey back to the Maximoff residence. You don’t know why you ran, don’t know why you allowed yourself to fall back on that learned response to anything going awry, but there was nothing you could do to change how you reacted now. The time away had forced you into sounder thoughts, and the song of the ocean as it crashed against land had eased you down from panic quite well. All that lingered through your body now was longing for arms that felt forbidden, but you hoped they would make an exception just this once. The seven blocks back to the Maximoff residence was well known. You watched as the pastel homes that lined the coast as far as the eye could see became muted buildings and beige houses, counting down the sharp corners until the last number that remained was one. Six blocks had passed too quickly, in the estimated eleven minutes that it had been since your back faced the shore and your mind had made the decision to return, you hadn’t had the time to prepare yourself for what could possibly await you when you entered. The house could be ripped to shreds, or it could be still in perfect silence. Those had been the only two options when you were a child, but you found that it was neither when you finally mustered up the courage to set your hand on the unlocked knob and twist. 

You felt the eeriest sense of deja vu ambush your already hypersensitive nerves as you set your gaze on Wanda and Natasha cuddled together on the couch, watching old sitcom reruns beneath the blanket that had been bought by Natasha, and until this moment, solely used by you. Wanda had put up such a fuss about how it clashed with the theme they’d decorated the room with, you thought she might demand Natasha return it the very instance she saw it peeking out of a shopping bag, but that threat never came, and after seeing how in love you were with the feather light material, she had never even dared to move it into the linen closet where every other blanket they owned resided. Seeing them cuddled beneath something that had been bought specifically for you stirred feelings in your chest that you would much rather avoid but you wouldn’t run from your problems again. 

When your presence was noticed, it was merely seconds before two sets of strong and familiar arms wrapped tightly around your neck and torso. Wanda’s head burrowed deep into your chest seeking darkness while Natasha’s found a comfortable home in your shoulder demanding promise that you were real. It was never you in this position, with women clinging onto you desperately like you might vanish, but now that it was, you didn’t know what to do to console them. You mirrored the actions they’d done for you so many times before, hoping that it was the right move. One of your hands fell on the center of Wanda’s back, while the other curled into Natasha’s hair tightly. A strangled sigh escaped from your lips when you submitted to the comfort they radiated, but you knew that forgiveness was too good to be true, so you waited with baited breath for the other shoe to drop. 

“Don’t ever do that again.” Wanda mumbled into your chest, your skin kissed by unrelenting sunlight unsurprisingly warm beneath her cheek as she craned her head to look up into your eyes that were already looking down at her. Her knees must be bent, because otherwise she’d be nearly six inches taller than you, but you appreciate the shift in position even if it’s foreign. You’ve never noticed how thin the bridge of her nose is until now, and softly, unable to help yourself, you leaned down to kiss the unblemished and freckle-free skin. Her eyes fluttered closed at the close proximity of your faces, but if you thought that would’ve been enough to quell her scolding, you were wrong. “Do you hear me, dorogaya. Do not ever leave like that again.” Her fingers curled into the fabric of your sleep shirt and you felt your heart sink with guilt. 

“I’m sorry.” You whispered, not even sure if the weight behind your words was strong enough to reach her ears comprehensively. Tears brimmed within your eyes before you could stop them, and you felt small in your skin like it didn’t really fit on your body. Wanda pulled away from your embrace first, her head shaking firmly left to right as she unmade you with one simple look. You didn’t understand how she could do that, but you felt properly vulnerable beneath her heavy stare.

Her words were soft, and her hand reached out to tenderly hold your face. It would be weeks before they could trust that you wouldn’t go running away again. “Don’t apologize. There’s no reason to apologize.” She promised genuinely, even though you felt like that was the furthest thing from the truth. “I just need you to promise you’ll never run like that again. You don’t even know how badly you scared me, angel.” Her voice was raw, thin and shaky, and you realized quickly that the anger you’d been expecting was nowhere to be found. In place of it however, was worry and concern that could make even the worst person weak in the knees with sympathy. 

“I won’t.” You returned the gentle whisper, your eyes fluttering shut as you tried to collect yourself. Natasha still gripped you firmly and persistently, her hands clawing at the loose fabric of your sleep shirt like she was trying to get beneath it without really removing it at all. You’d never seen her so distressed before, and your eyes met Wanda’s in a panic not knowing what to do to console her. 

Wanda smiled softly at you before her hand fell onto the small of Natasha’s back and rubbed gentle circles. You absorbed the little pieces of information that was being provided, pocketing them for a later date that in full transparency, you hoped never came. You didn’t like seeing her so out of sorts, and you especially didn’t like being the reason for it. “Ona nikuda ne denetsya, dorogaya. Teper' ty mozhesh' otpustit'. Posmotri na neye, ona nastoyashchaya. Ona bol'she ne uydet. Vse normal'no.” Wanda’s words were quick and soft, delivered in what you could only assume was Russia, but they seemed to work effectively because not even a second later, Natasha was pulling away from where she had attached herself to you and her eyes searched your face and body for any visible injuries. 

“I’m okay.” You promised softly, not entirely sure if your word meant anything to her anymore, but hoping that they still did. You didn’t need to hear her internal questions to know what answer she wanted from you, and you were more than willing to provide what little information you could if it meant sparing you the heartbreak of having to witness her so broken down again. You didn’t have all the answers she wanted though, and that part pained you deeply. As much as you knew why you had run, and you could explain it to her if she asked, you didn’t have any valid reason as to why Wanda’s words had spooked you so much. Maybe it was the confirmation that things were really changing, or maybe it was something entirely different that you would never know. “A little sunburnt, but I’m okay.” You added when you sensed her hesitation to believe you, and she nodded curtly at your added affirmation. There was no denying the tautness in your cheeks, the only indication that sat on your skin that you’d wake up in lingering pain tomorrow. Sun burns had never been so common for you, but now you have one nearly every week. 

Wanda guided your attention back to her carefully, not wanting to rattle you like she had hours prior. Your wide eyes stared into hers without any hesitation or reluctance, clinging onto the open silence that rested comfortably overtop of you. The walls that you had slowly been building for the last week were finally gone, and in their places was the girl that she knew was just desperate for affection and tender care. Wanda hadn’t realized how much she missed you until she had you back, and she promised herself she’d never let you slip so far away again. “Are you ready to talk to us, milaya moya?” 

You nodded your head at her simple question, not wanting to avoid the topic any longer then you already had. It wouldn’t get any easier the longer you waited, and desperately you wanted all to be forgiven so you could lean up and kiss her. It didn’t feel right to do that now, not when you hadn’t offered her any kind of explanation or apology for your ongoing behavior. She took your hand routinely, a small habit that had formed in the weeks that followed the change in your relationship. She was always leading you around, always hovering and assuring that you were content and okay. If you were in a public space, she set the expectations that if you weren’t holding onto her or Natasha, you were within eyeshot. If you were in the car, even if she’d heard your seatbelt click into place, she was leaning over to fix it and assure it fell over your chest correctly. There was so much love in her simple actions, you felt like crying just recounting a few of them in your head. She guided you over to the couch, only letting go of your hand so that she could ease you down onto the soft cushions that welcomed your weight without protest and drape the soft blue blanket across your sun kissed thighs. You were thankful for the addition of your blanket, already cold from the abrupt displacement of the unfiltered sun against your skin. 

“Can I go first?” Wanda asked cautiously once all three of you were settled on the couch. Natasha was curled up against the arm of the sofa, looking entirely unlike herself as she gnawed nervously on her bottom lip and flickered her gaze between you and Wanda. The Sokovian was in a similar position, though her hand was grasping yours securely and her thumb ran over your knuckling soothingly. Natasha made no attempt to touch you, and you tried to swallow down your disappointment. You didn’t deserve her touch, you were lucky enough to have Wanda. 

You nodded at the lawyer's question, your eyes briefly trailing over to gaze at Natasha, wanting to assure that it was alright with her that you allow Wanda to take control of the conversation for the time being. It would give you time to get your own thoughts in order, and Natasha had no protests about the idea, inclining her head the slightest inch. Wanda smiled softly at the both of you, her grip never wavering around your hand. “I’ll start with what I think spooked you so badly this afternoon.” Wanda’s voice was soft and patient, no ounce of anger lingering in her tone like you’d been expecting. It was as if you’d already been forgiven for your week-long attitude and misbehavior, something that was still foreign to you after nearly a year of being treated this way. The Maximoff’s never went to bed angry, it was a rule within their own relationship that had also fallen upon you, but you aren’t sure that you’d ever get used to it. “I found the contract on my desk a few days ago. I thought nothing of it until I noticed how you started to pull away from Natasha and I.” You winced slightly, shame rushing over you, but Wanda merely smiled encouragingly down at you when she felt the minor movement. “I had hoped that you would come to us when you were ready to talk about it. I didn’t want to rush you into a conversation you couldn’t handle. Natasha and I work so well because we communicate with one another, sometimes it takes a couple of days for us to sort out our thoughts on something that we don’t agree with, but we make it a point not to hold any judgment until we have the full story. This is all so new to you still, I figured you might like the same curiosity. I can take responsibility for not addressing the issue sooner; for not letting you know that I saw you were upset right away. It must’ve seemed like we didn’t care about what was going on in that pretty little head of yours, but that was never the reason we didn’t say anything. Your feelings matter just as much as ours, this is not a one-sided relationship. You don’t have to make yourself small just so we’re not inconvenienced. With that being said, I shouldn’t have approached you the way that I did in the kitchen. That was a lot of new things all at once when you were already feeling pretty confused, huh?” 

You listened intently to Wanda’s words, hanging onto her every syllable as you gave her your full undivided attention. At some point, Natasha’s body had curled into yours, but you barely even recognized the way she was trying to hold you as you let yourself fall into a world where only you and Wanda existed. Behind her, daylight had melted into blackness, nightfall in full swing overtop of Westview. The weight of her apology had struck a chord within your broken heart, and you’d almost violently flinched away from it, but by some miracle, you remained perfectly still. It didn’t feel right to be receiving such an honest apology, but you knew she’d only fight you on the matter if you spoke up about how undeserving you felt. You just barely managed to nod your head at her question, squeezing her hand tightly. “Yeah.” 

“How did you feel about it?” She smiled encouragingly, always eager to hear your opinions on the new things they implemented when you were in the proper headspace to accurately communicate how it had made you feel. It was all still so new to you, and talking about sex felt like something cliche, but you tried your best for them. At the follow up question, you became faintly aware of how Natasha’s hand slipped beneath your t-shirt and sat firmly on the warm skin of your back, reassuring you that she was there as well and at the first sign of trouble she’d pull you out. 

“I… liked it.” You admitted shyly, your gaze flickering down to the blanket that covered your thighs and brought a comforting warmth over your body that goosebumps had threatened to adorn had she not covered you so quickly. You found that running your fingers over the soft blue checkered pattern was more interesting than meeting Wanda’s intense stare, still not entirely used to the way that it made you feel vulnerable. “I didn’t like when you pulled away though.” 

She smiled sympathetically, and this time it was genuine. Flashes of the earlier afternoon settled at the forefront of your memory, and you could distinctly recall how her grin had been anything but what it was now when you were pinned between her body and the counter writing in frustration. “You weren’t supposed to like that part, milaya. How do you feel about keeping ruined orgasms as punishment?” 

“Okay.” You shrugged, not really having an opinion on the subject. It wasn’t something you hated, not even really something you minded if you were going to be honest, but the idea of incorporating it into your sex life felt too bold. If you were going to be giving yourself over to Wanda or Natasha, you didn’t want the decision of if you were going to be allowed to enjoy your climax fully to be fully over your head the entire time. You were aware enough to know that a situation like that would only trigger your anxiety. 

“Okay.” Wanda copied your words, a teasing smile pulling at her lips when you finally mustered up the courage to meet her eyes again. A timid blush settled across your cheeks with heat that rivaled the summer sun, a shy smile pulled at the corners of your lips as you sat beneath her pride filled expression, but you didn’t back away from her stare, slowly gaining back the confidence you had lost. “Now, do you wanna tell us why you were so upset about the contract? I think we have a pretty good idea, but we need to hear it in your words.” 

You swallowed thickly, almost tempted to shake your head and push the conversation off for another time, but Natasha gripped your waist soothingly and spared you a smile that felt limited now. You hated that you had been the cause of her distress, hated that it still lingered on her face and there was nothing you could do to amend it. You took a breath, trying to keep yourself together before you fell apart again. How do you tell two married women that you love them? There’s not exactly a handbook that goes through step-by-step explanations for this sort of conversation. “The contract ends soon. In less than eight weeks. I don’t– I can’t– I don’t want to just– You’re married!” You finally bellowed, frustration lacing your tone at the jumbled mess of words that got caught in the back of your throat before they’d even become full sentences. “You’re married and I’m just a contract and I– I like this. I like being here with you, and I’m scared about what happens when it ends and you have no obligation to keep me around. I thought that if I pushed you away it would make having to leave easier.” 

You didn’t want to see the expressions on their faces as you cracked, everything you’d been meaning to tell them for weeks and long days finally out in front of you for them to analyze and criticize however they pleased. Maybe it wasn’t everything, maybe you’d kept some very major things to yourself, but it was enough to leave you feeling vulnerable and raw. Your eyes glimmered with tears, the lights in the room reflecting off of them in a way that allowed them to resemble stars. Wanda thought you were too pretty to cry, but she also couldn’t help but get lost in the galaxy you allowed the world to witness. It was Natasha’s voice that captured your attention, and your head snapped in her direction when the first words out of her mouth were an apology. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t make it clear to you how much I want you here, moy malen'kiy utenok.” Her voice cracked as she held onto your stare, feeling just as vulnerable as you as she let herself be less than a world-class lawyer for the time being. She was just Natalia right now, sat beside you with her own set of tears dampening her eyes and a pout that wasn’t quite a frown on her lips that were the same color as fresh unskinned peaches. She wasn’t Natasha, the version of herself who had her entire life figured out and laid in perfect rows ahead of her, but Natalia, the woman who had just barely survived childhood in Russia before she was adopted by a family that had just barely escaped years prior. Even if Melina and Alexei weren’t perfect parents, they tried so hard to be the remedy that her shattered heart needed. The words Melina had engraved in her mind were the only thing that kept her talking as she stared down at you. You didn’t realize that behind you, Wanda was mouthing the words like a mantra, an added element of encouragement that Natasha didn’t really need, but appreciated nonetheless; ‘Pain only makes you stronger, big girl. Do not cry over the growth you are experiencing’. “You are not just a contract. You’ve never been just a contract, I hate that you even think that’s all you are. Before I met Wanda, the only person I had ever known how to love was Yelena. And even then, I didn’t do it right most of the time. My parents… they believed that love was your greatest weakness. They taught me how to hate, and how to hide who I am. I’m still learning how to let people in.” Natasha drew a shaky breath in, her fingers that rested on the skin of your hip clutched you tightly, begging you to stay; to see and believe the truth in her words. “I put that end date on your contract so that you would have the choice to decide if, when the year ended, you wanted to stay. It was never meant to be an official end. Honey, I could never let you walk out of my life. Not fully. Not without at least trying to get you to stay. I look forward to coming home to you just as much as I look forward to coming home to Wanda. YA tebya lyublyu.” 

Your breath caught in your throat at the whispered confession she was certain you couldn’t understand. You heard her and Wanda whisper sweet nothings in their native languages often, but you never paid close enough attention to them. It had always felt intimate, like a secret only they were allowed to know, but you’d spent countless hours teaching yourself simpler phrases and sayings. A wet smile pulled your lips firmly upward, and you leaned just close enough for your forehead to brush against Natasha’s. You didn’t know she’d done the same thing to Wanda earlier, but Sokovian smiled softly at your likeness, even if the both of you were painfully blind to it. 

“I love you too.” You whispered back, your eyes locked firmly on the Russian’s. You smirked smugly at the expression of pure surprise that easily captured Natasha’s features, and you fondly remembered a similar look crossing Wanda’s face when you had pleaded with her to stop teasing. “I’ve been teaching myself. Little phrases, nothing major, not yet at least. I can’t speak it very well, but I can confidently understand when you call me an idiot and think I’m none the wiser.”  Wanda laughed softly at your admission, though Natasha’s cheeks flushed crimson knowing she’d been caught, on multiple occasions. She always did it affectionately, that was never a question in your mind, but you enjoyed teasing her, and you especially enjoyed seeing that warm smile come back to her face. “YA tebya lyublyu.” You whispered to her, your face mere inches from hers. 

“Say it again.” Natasha demanded, her eyes laced with lust that hadn’t been taken care of by your hands in days. You would certainly need to fix that. You merely remained smug against your spot on the couch, acutely aware of how Wanda’s arms circled around your waist and pinned you to her chest. You raised your hands to cup her still flushed cheeks, gingerly pressing your lips to her nose in a kiss too soft to fully quench her need for you. With her face in your hands, you briefly flashed back to the impromptu escapade you’d embarked on in the shower on the morning of their Memorial Day barbeque, more specifically how quickly she’d managed to flip your position in a matter of seconds, but you still dared to try and remain the one in control anyway. 

You shook your head at her request, certain that your lips would remain in a permanent smirk if she didn’t do something about it soon. “Show me.” You uttered, the need to taunt her thick and evident in your simple demand that only further drove her crazy. “Show me how much you love me, Nat.” The breathiness of your words brushed against her face, and she didn’t hesitate to comply for a single second. She’d be a proper full to turn you down. 

Lips that tasted faintly of cherry met yours in a passionate embrace that had a moan slipping from your open mouth and into hers. The force of her attack had been unsuspected, and it sent you falling backward into Wanda who accepted the heavy weight of your body against hers greedily. There was no fight for dominance, no urgency in Natasha’s kiss. She had kissed you a million times before but none had ever felt so vulnerable and real and right. You weren’t kissing her as your dominant. No, for the first time ever you were kissing her as the woman you loved. She licked at you slowly, tasting every inch of your mouth like it was the first and last time she’d ever have the opportunity to do so, and you allowed her that freedom without complaint. Your tongue clashed with hers on multiple occasions, the both of you too eager to prove your love that rhythm failed you. Each time your tongue touched, you moaned in tandem and grew red in the face. Not from embarrassment, but because neither of you had come up for air since leaning forward. Wanda, despite not being a part of your make-out session, had made herself busy behind you, not wanting to miss out entirely. Her soft lips ran over the skin on your neck, dampened by her tongue that had swept across them eager. She was careful not to hurt you, knowing all the places that became especially sensitive when you were turned on, but she made every effort to make her claim against your skin as she bit and sucked on expanses of skin that had miraculously remained unmarked until this moment. When Natasha bit down on your bottom lip, you couldn’t take the pleasure any longer, and your head tilted backward in pure ecstasy.  

“I want– I want your clothes off. Both of you..” You choked out breathlessly, just barely managing to pull yourself away from Wanda’s mouth on your neck, despite wanting to drown yourself in the sensations she was causing to shoot down your spine. You could appreciate their slow pace another day, but right now, all you wanted was to have them fully, to take their bodies into your hands and make them cum. It had been far too long since you’d last had the privilege. 

“Look at you making demands.” Wanda teased, her teeth nipping at your neck one last time before she complied with your request. You had half the mind to push her away and roll your eyes in fond exasperation, but Natasha feverishly stripping out of her clothes had distracted you before the words could fall from between your lips in a rushed mumble. The Russian wasted no time in making the act look sexy, you’d seen her be sexy about three million and one times. Right now was not about appearances, it was solely about connecting with the two women you loved. The women you loved. The women who loved you. Even if Wanda hadn’t said it, letting you have your moment with Natasha, you felt it. You felt it in the way she’d held you so tightly at the door. You felt it in the way she made sure you had a blanket when she sat you down to talk. You felt it now as the tenderness of your neck set in firmly. You were so beyond loved, and you loved them so beyond much. Natasha’s hair was a tousled and properly frizzy mess by the time she had actually managed to pull her shirt away from her body and discard it haphazardly on the floor to be picked up later, but you thought she looked stunning with wild curls framing her face and a flush blush to her cheeks and neck. Her leggings went next, and with them came a set of royal blue panties you’d never seen before. You’d definitely be making it known how much you loved them when you were in the proper mindset to speak full sentences. 

Wanda forced your head in her direction after her clothes had joined the already existing heap of fabric on the floor. Your sleep shirt and shorts were nestled somewhere between the both of their more presentable outfits, but you couldn’t help but think the difference of wardrobe perfectly summarized your relationship. It felt especially fitting in this moment with your body pressed between the both of them. Wanda pulled you in for a desperate kiss, her lips softer then Natasha’s but her teeth crueler. You whined when she pulled away too soon for your liking, but it was replaced with a desperate moan when she breathed out instructions against your lips, “You’re going to eat me out, and Natasha’s going to finger you.” 

“What about– What about Nat?” You questioned, but Wanda was already lowering her position on the couch and spreading her legs for you to see her fully. You groaned at the wetness that clung to the inside of her thighs, not even sparing a single second before you dove straight into her dripping cunt. The first taste of her arousal against your tongue had forced you into autopilot. You’d become fluent in the language of her pussy, and it hadn’t failed you yet as you lapped at her clit with a heavy pressure and let your fingers explore her entrance before they dipped in fully. You hadn’t thought that this could get any better, but then you felt Natasha’s warm cunt settle firmly against the back of your flexed calf. Your doggy position gave her the perfect chiseled surface to grind against however she pleased. You didn’t have questions about her pleasure anymore, knowing exactly how the Russian planned to cum; on your leg. 

The groan that slipped past your lips when two of her fingers pushed against your weeping entrance shot right into Wanda’s clit, and the Sokovian moaned loudly at the sensation that tickled up her belly and through her spine. Your tongue worked double time against her sensitive bundle of nerves, and eventually your fingers found a brutal pace that matched Natasha’s. Every time the Russian’s fingers curled into your softest spot, yours curled into Wanda’s. Every time the Russian’s hips stuttered against your calf, your tongue flicked harshly at Wanda’s clit. Your motions were perfectly in sync. They weren’t romantic, they lacked grace and care, but they were exactly what you all needed in this moment. When Wanda cried out in pleasure that came solely from your mouth and fingers, a complete sense of pride washed over you. Your tongue didn’t stop caressing her clit, working her farther and farther up the hill Natasha had you climbing steadily. 

It was only when the Russian’s thumb rubbed a particularly harsh and tight circle against your clit that you came with a body shaking moan that effectively pushed Wanda over that same edge. Natasha wasn’t far behind, and when you’d only just started to come down from your intense high, she was reaching hers. Her hips stuttered and jerked against your naked calf that glistened with her juices undoubtedly, and you couldn’t stop yourself from flexing the muscle beneath her weight. You collapsed against Wanda’s chest the second you had felt Natasha go slack behind you, and slowly, you pulled your fingers from where they rested in her cunt. Cheekily, you licked them clean, maintaining eye contact all the while. Natasha wasn’t as selfish. Her fingers shot out to Wanda’s lips in a second, and the Sokovian allowed their weighted presence in her mouth as she lapped up for juices. The sight was unreal, and if you hadn’t already been jello against her chest, you were certain you would’ve melted into her. 

“Wands?” You called out sleepy, not having the energy to even crane your head and search for her eyes in the dim lighting of the living room. 

“Yes, dorogaya?” She answered you softly, her own eyes fluttering closed just as Natasha found a comfortable position against the back of the couch. Your limbs were entangled, thighs between thighs and ankles crossed over, but you made it work. It would leave you with a serious kink in your neck tomorrow, but for tonight, it was the only place you wanted to be. 

“I love you too.” You whispered in Sokovian, having practiced them tirelessly since the first day you realized that your feelings for Wanda had never been hatred. You found that the languages merged beautifully together, but you wanted Wanda to feel just as seen and special as Natasha. You didn’t see her face when the words fell from your lips, you wish you’d had the energy to look at her when you finally admitted defeat and gave into your confused feelings, but just feeling the way her breath hitched in your chest was enough for you in this moment. 

Her hand, still adorned with rings that were cold to the touch, fell onto the small of your back like they’d always belonged exactly there, and held you to her chest tightly, not wanting to risk for even a single moment that if she wasn’t touching you, you’d fall away and never return. “I love you too, sweetheart. So much. You don’t even know.” 

“I do.” You whispered, your eyelids heavy and unable to fight against sleep, but there was one last thing that you wanted to say before you gave in entirely and left this perfect moment to be just another memory. “Natty?” You called, hoping the Russian was still awake against your side. 

“Yes, moya lyubov’.” Her voice was thick, gravely as it fell into the silence that was pulling you deeper beneath the blanket of dreamland that hadn’t felt peaceful in days. 

“YA tebya lyublyu.” You barely managed to get out, but you did, and just before you fell asleep, you heard her mumble back the same. 

It may not be perfect, but it didn’t really need to be.

I know that, Natalia. YA nikogda ne zadavalsya etim voprosom. Nikodga. YA tozhe yeye lyublyu. YA lyublyu vas oboikh. — I never questioned that. I love her too. I love both of you.

My skazali, chto eto ne bylo nikakikh usloviy. My smotreli Pinokkio, i ty spel mne etu pesnyu. YA obeshchal tebe nikakikh usloviy. — We said it was no strings attached. We watched Pinnochio and you sang the song to me. I promised you no strings.

Vsegda byli kakiye-to usloviya, dorogaya. Menya ustraivayut eti struny. YA khochu eti struny. — There was always going to be strings attached, honey. I'm okay with these strings. I want these strings.

Ona nikuda ne denetsya, dorogaya. Teper' ty mozhesh' otpustit'. Posmotri na neye, ona nastoyashchaya. Ona bol'she ne uydet. Vse normal'no. — She's not going anywhere, darling. You can let go now. Look at her, she's real. She's not leaving again. It's okay.

moy malen'kiy utenok — my little duckling

[celestemona]

BENEATH THE SHROUDED SKIES

pairing: kinich x fem! reader

cw: angst. main character's death. slight spoiler for 5.1' archon quest, though there's not too much to see. canon divergence. kinich may look a bit ooc here but whatever. not proof-read.

reblogs and comments are appreciated ♡

The sky above Natlan had always been a warm crimson at twilight, reflecting the flame in its people’s hearts. But now, as the Abyss cast its miasma over the land, that sky was gone, swallowed by an endless stretch of black clouds and despairing. It felt wrong—unbearably so—to Kinich, but wars had a way of twisting everything, even the heavens.

Your face was the last bright thing he had seen before the darkness came. He remembered his last moments together with you vividly: standing atop a cliff overlooking the Stadium of the Sacred Flame, where your paths would diverge. His tribe had sent him east to deliver messages and support the borders, while you had been tasked with leading a vanguard of your own people to the north. Different tribes, different duties—such was the way of Natlan’s warriors.

Your goodbye had been silent at first, both too proud, too weighed down by your duties to say what you felt. But then, with a sudden urgency, you grabbed his wrist, pulling him close. Your lips met in a desperate kiss, a promise wrapped in fire and sorrow.

“See you soon,” you whispered against his lips, though the uncertainty in your voice told him that you both knew the truth. War held no promises. Still, Kinich had nodded, his jaw tight, holding back the dread that gnawed at his heart. He had watched you walk away, your form swallowed by the horizon, not knowing it would be the last time.

Hours or even days passed, he wouldn’t know to tell. The war raged on. Reports of the dead, the missing, and the injured were relentless. Kinich fought alongside his people, cutting down the Abyss’s beasts with cold precision, each strike sharp with the promise he had made to you—to survive, to see you again. But as the time turned into a blur of battles, one thing became painfully clear: there was no word of you. No whispers of your whereabouts, no updates from your tribe. The silence cut deeper than any blade.

And then, after what felt like an eternity of fighting, Kinich returned to the Stadium of the Sacred Flame, reuniting with the others heroes.

The once-proud landmark of Natlan’s people was now surrounded by the grim faces of survivors. Xilonen stood off to the side, tending to her wounded comrades, her eyes hollow from too many losses. Mualani, usually so full of light, was eerily quiet, her usual smile replaced by a look of weary sorrow. Even Iansan, with her proud spirit, sat slumped on the edge of the arena, barely talking.

Kinich’s heart ached with unspoken fears as he scanned the horizon, hoping—begging—to see your familiar figure emerge through the smoke. But you didn’t come.

Mualani approached him, her face ashen, her hand trembling as she placed it on his shoulder. “We’re waiting for the others to arrive,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “But Kinich, there’s something…”

Her words were cut off by a sudden stir in the crowd. Traveler had arrived.

Trusted by Natlan’s people, Lumine had been aiding in the fight against the Abyss, journeying between tribes, offering her strength where needed. But now, as she approached the heart of the stadium, something was different.

In her arms was a body.

Kinich’s heart stopped. He knew. He didn’t need to see the face to know.

(Y/N).

Your body was cradled gently, but there was no life left in you. Blood stained the fabric of your clothes, dirt clung to your skin, and your once-vibrant face was pale, a ghost of the warrior you had been. Lumine’s expression was solemn as she laid you down before Kinich, her eyes reflecting the weight of what she had found.

“We found her in a village,” the traveler said quietly, her voice heavy. “The Abyss was fierce there. I couldn’t make it in time. I’m truly sorry, Kinich.”

The words barely registered. Kinich knelt beside you, his hands trembling as they reached for you. You were cold—so impossibly cold. His fingers brushed the dirt from your face, and his breath hitched. There was no heartbeat, no warmth, no light in your eyes.

You were gone.

Mualani, standing beside him, looked devastated. She had always been the positive one, the one who could find hope even in the darkest of times. But now, there was nothing but raw grief in her eyes. She knelt beside Kinich, placing a hand on his shoulder. She didn’t say anything. What could she say? Her best friend was dead.

Kinich didn’t remember the last time he had cried. Had he ever? In his life as a warrior, as a survivor, tears had never been an option. However, as he knelt beside you, the woman he loved, holding your lifeless body in his arms, the tears came. Silent at first, then breaking into sobs that wracked his entire frame. His head bent low, his forehead resting against your cold skin as he wept for the promises you’d never keep, the future you would never have.

“Why…” he choked, his voice cracking. “Why didn’t I…” He couldn’t finish. The words shattered in his throat, swallowed by the weight of his grief.

Ajaw, ever so present, stood next to him. The dragon had always had something to say—cruel, biting remarks about the fragility of human life. But now, even him was silent. No words, no disdain. Just silence.

Kinich’s tears soaked into your skin as he held you closer, the world around him fading into nothing. All he could see was your face, your cold body, the life you had fought so hard to protect.

“See you soon,” you had promised. This time, however, Kinich knew. That promise would never come true.

Mualani’s hand stayed on his shoulder as Kinich wept, her own eyes filled with tears she could no longer hold back. But she let him cry, let him cling to the last shred of the person he had loved.

And in the silence that followed, the miasma of the Abyss hung heavy over Natlan, a cruel reminder of the war that had stolen so much from them all.

.

.

a/n: i don't know how to write good angst neither i do like to write angst. but this archon quest really left an impression on me. i hope you've suffered enough though i wrote this in a hurry.

[yesimwriting]

Please please please write for itwv. I would cry of happiness?

You seem like a lestat girl... But also a armand.

"You seem like a lestat girl... But also a armand." you clocked me and my love of toxic men omg

here's a lestat drabble just for u anon <3

Summary: Darkness encroaching on what's considered holy is one of the world's few consistencies. Or alternatively, Lestat enjoys your stolen moments more than he'd ever admit.

Warnings: my first time writing for a character so be nice bc that's always a little scary 😭, slight religious allusions/metaphors, no pronouns used but there are potential vague implications that the reader was socialized as a girl/woman

----

What's confined to the shadows holds little regard for the sacred. The absence of light leaves no space for the good, no sanctuary or safe place to keep darkness from swallowing the revered whole.

It's fitting, then, that Lestat cannot bring himself to let you go.

You shift, fingertips brushing against the inside of his wrist. There's a valiant effort on your end to keep the turn of your head subtle, but it's not enough to keep him from feeling the weight of your cautious stare.

He keeps his eyes on your ceiling. You're radiating a warmth he's not sure he'll ever grow accustomed to, the heat of you nowhere near as simple as blood and flesh alone. It's as if remnants of daylight cling to your skin, so alive and attached to you your touch should scald him.

"Did you miss me?" The question is a thing of greed rather than curiosity.

You're quiet for a moment, your mind warning you to not reveal too much. Your hand stalls against his forearm. "Of course I missed you."

Your thoughts focus on your own response. Wearing your heart on your sleeve is a facet of your being, a testament to your ever giving honesty. Regardless of vampiric gifts, your thoughts, your feelings are easy to notice, even when they're not simple.

Now, your head is latching onto a myriad of things. Ever the lamb blinded by the wolf's clothing, you were more than just happy when he appeared at your window, you were relieved. A part of you, however, was still worried in a way that came close to making you resentful. The contrasting feelings blend together now, enjoying his presence isn't enough to make you forget his absence. Humanity and its ability to turn an approximate two weeks of nothingness into something with meaning.

Lestat turns his arm over, his fingers finding yours. "You seem to have little interest in showing me."

An exaggerated sigh falls from your lips. You move further onto your side, attention now openly settling onto him. From you, divine prophecy takes the form of a barely there crease between your eyebrows and your lips pressing together to fight against a smile. There's a similar sort of revelation in the way you're looking at him now.

"That is not true." You're working at an irritation you don't feel in an attempt to mask your desire for this type of conflict. Your elbow presses into the mattress as you prop your head up. "The only thing I've done tonight is dote on you."

In your defense, you always give as much as you can. You're generous with your attention, listening to his every word as you hold onto him, gentle fingers attempting to work warmth into stone flesh. It's a companionship unlike anything else. What once was only a simple form of entertainment has morphed into a dichotomy that shouldn't exist. You ever the saint and him the night's creature tainting holy ground.

He drags his thumb against your knuckles. "Really? You're doting on me?" The corner of your mouth pulls itself upwards, the look bordering on a smile. "And if I were to tell you I want more. What then, ange?"

Your thoughts instruct you to hold his gaze as you squeeze his hand. "Then I think I'd have to warn you of the dangers of greed."

"I'm a selfish man." Lestat lifts your intertwined hands. You watch him curiously, blood dragging its way up your neck as he presses his lips to the back of your palm. "I don't need a warning."

You're so close now he can feel the flush of your skin. "You talk like it's too late for you."

The promise of eternity is enough to quell the effects of irony. It's human nature to cling to ideality, to believe that the world is something they can take at face value. Still, from you, the comment is enough to make him smile.

The comment is closer to a joke than a genuine analysis, but it's clear that you mean the sentiment. Your eyes are bright, forgiving in their kindness. Perhaps if you knew what he was, you'd no longer look at him like he's responsible for the stars hanging in the sky.

"Maybe it is."

Your expression briefly falters, but before any changes can take root, you're moving back. You remain on your side as you lie down, head resting against his side. "I doubt that."

He begins to trail his fingers against your shoulder. You'll fall asleep soon, and he'll leave the way he always does, shedding the only version of himself you'd ever welcome with open arms. "Of course you would."

"What?"

His palm settles against your back. "You're a good person, mon ange." The vagueness of the topic paired with the tinge of something harsh in his voice leaves your thoughts restless. Lestat should take care to not pull at threads, to not leave you with questions he cannot answer. "Almost irritatingly so."

You lift your head enough to rest your chin against his ribs. "Irritatingly so?" The words are repeated with an easiness that manages to surprise him, your easy mood returning. "You're impossible."

"And you missed me desperately."

You stare at him skeptically, eyebrows drawing together and head angling itself to one side. "I never said desperately."

He pulls your arm towards him, fingers digging into your hand with enough force to imply a warning. "Do not be mean."

"I'm not," you defend, tone conveying a honey sweet innocence that could convince anyone you're incapable of wrongdoing, "I'm only saying I never told you how much I missed you."

You don't realize your mistake until the sentence has already left you. Lestat grins. "And how much did you miss me?"

Ignoring the warmth making its way up your chest, you shake your head once before moving to lie on your back again. "Oh, infinitely so. I spent my evenings in utter agony.

The facetious response is not enough to distract from your thoughts. You missed him more than you'd ever be willing to admit. For now, he'll leave you your pride. After all, he'll have other nights to focus on drawing out our praises. "Fine, be sarcastic. We're all entitled to our secrets."

You extend an arm, moving to rest it against his side. He'll have to take extra care not to wake you when he eventually has to detangle your limbs from his. The thought of the inevitable digs at him in a way he can't make sense of. Beings of the shadows may constantly work at ebbing away light, but there's an inevitable end to all wear away. You were right to notice his greed.

"Yeah," you mumble, the syllable heavy with drowsiness. For a moment, you're so still and silent Lestat almost convinces himself you've fallen asleep. "Then what are yours?"

His hand smooths circles against your spine. "That I think about stealing you away."

Your mind seems to catch itself on his answer, thoughts dissecting his words with an awareness that defies the docility that takes over when you're half asleep. After a moment, you choose to see humor there, but that isn't enough for you to let it go. "Is it really stealing if I want to go?"

You don't know what you're asking for. You're from a world so separate from his own you cannot even fathom the true implication of your words. His lips part, but before he can respond your breathing evens and your mind empties, finally succumbing to sleep.

----

a/n i really liked writing this so if you have any itwv requests pls feel free to send them to me!! just specify the character and as a general note i usually assume fem!reader but i'm happy to write gn!reader if it's specified in the ask :))