#layered hose

[cady181]

rubber hose with spiralled layer extrusion machine with winding machine ...

[snekdood]

God guys yknow. I just never ever noticed that my dogs coat makes them hot in the summer !!!

[moondirti]

hybrids. wool shearing. manipulation. brief cannibalism. referenced breeding. female anatomy.

farmer! price and his sheep girl. the most special of the flock — not only because you’re all woman beneath those patches of wool, or because your floppy ears and curly fringe compliment your face so well, but because you’re so docile and sweet and mouldable under his hand. give into his will better than any human can, eyes shiny and dumb. trusting, when he leads your friends away to the slaughter. and when he collects you afterward, sleeves sticky with blood, to feed you bits of juicy meat on his lap.

though you’re a vegetarian, why would you refuse him? he’s the best at taking care of you.

like during the draw of spring, frost thawing into beds of brown to make for mud that mats your wool. he’ll shear you last but most tenderly; hose you down in his yard, cooing as you bleat in the cold, and run the tool expertly along your trembling flesh. beneath your arms. around your neck. clipping so close to your ears that the sound scares you, and you struggle mildly in his embrace, which does nothing to shake him or the firm cage wrought around your limbs.

the shears trek downwards, your legs forcefully pried apart to expose your fluffy pussy and taint to be groomed. layers of wool stripped from you in pragmatic precision. his fingers do not wander as they shave your vulva, conforming smoothly to your plump bottom. working over your groin. though you wish them to, crying stupidly when he twists your swollen clit to make sure he gets the curls nested at its base.

but he’s the best at taking care of you, of all his animals, so he does not acquiesce and feed you his cock like you so beg. ain’t mating season yet, little lamb, he hums, tucking you into bed after moisturising your softened skin. for as long as you’re naked, wool-less, he lets you sleep indoors. on a real mattress, and not the hay one that would be bound to scratch you in the most vulnerable of places. you love the spring and summer months, if only for that.

(though the prospect of mating season ignites your cotton-tail, priming you for the crisp encroach of autumn. you know that, as the most special — his favourite — he won’t pair you with any old ram. none are good enough, he’ll reason. no seed ripe enough to fatten you up, but his.)

[mashmouths]

may or may have just drank glass and also plastic. unsure and i have no way of verifying besides the dread building in my chest and also the flavor i'm convinced is plastic. if i suddenly stop posting it's been nice knowing you all <3

[reiderwriter]

Okay but, flirty reader majority pointed at Reid, and the scene where he has to get hosed down and says "I'mma bout to get naked, I don't think you wanna see that" and reader's just like raising her hand and says "don't worry I'll stay". And after she walks out to go to the hospital and sees everyone and with an open mouth and wide eyes just goes " woah" cause big dick energy

A/N: Hi, thank you so much for your request! I've been a bit sick lately, so I haven't had a chance to write much, but this was fun and quick to write! I might do a part 2 with the actual smut in the future, so if that's something people would want let me know in the comments!!

Warnings: suggestive content, public dirty talk?

“I really want to see that.” 

You heard the words but weren't sure where they'd come from for the longest time. It had been a confusing morning, with a high alert for anthrax and your coworker trapping himself inside a contaminated lab to save you from dying a presumably very painful death, you couldn't be blamed for not realizing that you'd said the words in question. 

He'd meant the words sarcastically, of course, and they'd warned Morgan off immediately with a chuckle and a “You better survive this, kid,” but you'd stood rooted to the earth until he'd repeated them again. 

“Y/N, they're going to strip me down. You don't want to see that.” 

“I really do, though.” Your eyes unabashedly trailed down the contours of his body, soaked from the hoses currently decontaminating him. You could've sworn that he was moving in slow motion as his hand pushed back his hair and cleared his face of water. 

If there weren't this many CDC agents around, you'd have likely joined him in his impromptu shower to feel your way along the lines of his clothing, checking to see what was outline and what was the thick layers of shirt and pants that unfortunately still obstructed your view. 

Another minute of you ogling him went by before your eyes finally returned to anywhere near his, and you realized that your desire for the man could no longer pass for camaraderie. 

“You better not die, Spencer. Not before I can enjoy the meal I'm about to sample.” 

His doctors were either ignoring the conversation completely or were busy focusing on other things, and luckily, they didn't react to your words. Other than to take Spencer's temperature one more time when he flushed bright red, and stared at you slack-jawed. 

“We're going to have to speed this along, Doctor Reid. Please start unbuttoning your shirt,” one of the hazmatted men said to him, but his eyes were fixed on you. 

“Yes, please do, Spencer. It's for your own good. And mine.” 

You expected him to blush and fawn again, but his day had been as long and confusing as your own, so you were unsurprised when he looked you directly in the eye and began unbuttoning his shirt. You watched his descent, and your breath faltered, seeing the water drip down his bare skin now. 

“I'm not sure which of us is wetter right now,” you tried to joke in earnest, but you felt a sharp jolt of lust in your gut as soon as his hands reached his belt. 

“Y/N, you need to leave now. Before you make this any harder for everyone here.” The innuendo in his words were clear, but you were thankful again for the considerate and/or oblivious doctors either side of him bagging up his discarded shirt and jacket. 

“Only if you promise I can make your life as hard as I want to when you're in the clear.” You smiled again, hoping the full force of your lust would reach him. Spencer was always oblivious to genuine flirtation, you'd observed enough women throwing themselves on him (had discouraged a few too many with a hand on his arm and a finger playing with the abandoned curls at the back of his neck, too) to know that for sure. 

You needed to make your need for him explicit. 

“I mean it, Spencer. I really mean it.” 

His eyes locked with yours for the last time ad you made to turn around, doing your best to convince him without becoming distractedly horny. 

“I know. I'll see you at the hospital.” 

“At the hospital? Risky, I like it.” You winked and turned away, leaving him calling back after you as you walked over to the car Derek had pulled around the front of the property. 

“Wait, not the hospital! Those beds aren’t comfortable. Y/N! Y/N, really!” 

You giggled as you sat down in the car, but you bubbled with anticipation still. 

[dresshistorynerd]

Sewing a turn of the 15th century French kirtle in doll scale

Another day, another historical doll outfit! This time it's Late Medieval. This was a popular style from about 1380-1420 France and Alpine area, but I specifically based this dress on French illuminations from the early 15th century, which mostly effects the details, like headwear. As always I hand stitched everything and stuck to historical construction methods as much as I could.

Chemise

I made a very simple chemise. The construction is based on what we know from extant finds, made out of simple rectangles and triangles, like earlier unlaced kirtles. Based on illustrations, chemise was fairly slim but unfitted enough it didn't need closures. I made it from linen, because it's not very gathered and won't bulk up too much, so I don't need to use my very fine cotton voile.

Cote

Cote is just the French word for kirtle, so appropriate here. This is the supportive layer cote, which was sort of an undergarment, but was considered fully dressed, if informal on it's own. The sleeves on this underlayer were always long and either fully fitted or gathered at the wrist. Some fitted sleeve styles had a flare at the wrist which covered the hand. The very fitted look was achieved with buttons. The silhouette was smooth and fitted, the waistline was slightly above the natural waist, though that was not as pronounced in France as in Northern Italy. Abdomen was emphasized, round lower stomach was the body ideal. The cut of the dress left plenty of room there. To fill that room I folded the chemise under the abdomen as a sort of padding. This was common to do with any kind of skirts, primarily to raise the hem when working, but why not for this purpose also? The necklines were fairly low and very wide.

I used cotton because I didn't have suitable thin enough wool that wouldn't have created too much bulk on this scale, but the cote should have been made from. The cotton is tightly woven and sells the look of a woven wool in this scale well enough for me. I didn't finish seems or line it to avoid bulk. I did give the lacing a cording to reinforce it and avoid wrinkling. The cotton was originally white, but I dyed it with iron oxide, basically rust, which at least is very much historical.

Hose

I made the hose from cotton as well for the same reasons as I did the cote. Long pointed style became fashionable around this time, as well as sewing leather soles in the bottoms of the hose instead of using shoes. Though often pattens (wooden flipflops basically) could be used when walking outside to protect the leather soles.

Cornettes or horned hair

I tied the hair with a tape on cornettes, where the volume of hair was tied on the temples to create a bit of horned appearance, especially when combined with the horned headwear. The sort of fillet which became more of a forehead loop seemed to have been tied into the hair, which I did.

Cotehardie

Cotehardie meant literally "bold cote", and in France that was what the formal outer cote was called. It was basically the same as cote, but made from more expensive materials and often had large hanging sleeves. I went with widening triangular sleeves, since they were perhaps the most popular sleeves at the time. I used fine fulled wool (verka) I had enough scraps left from. White fur was popular lining material, but obviously I can't use fur in this scale, I wish I had some light white velvet, it would have been pretty good, but I didn't. I lined the skirt and the sleeves with white cotton to imitate the look without adding too much body or extra bulk. I decorated the neckline with a simple golden trim. I thought about adding a bit of golden embroidery around it too, like seemed to have been popular, but my local crafts store had run out of golden thread so I decided to go with this only.

Accessories

Unlike the belt used with houppelande, which was below bust, the belt used with the kirtle or cotehardie, was very low, under the abdomen to emphasize it. I went for a silk belt look, which I'm imagining is embroidered/woven with golden thread, since embroidery that small would have been too painful. I had an old broken necklace, which I could use for the metallic parts.

With the pouch I went for the tasseled drawstring look, with simple embroidery manageable in this scale. I used linen for it.

Headwear

I made her a chaperon, which likely was where the escoffion got it's beginning, escoffion being the round tube-like headwear worn on top of the head seen in several primary source images above. Early form of escoffion was becoming very popular at the time, though chaperon's were still seen on women too. Chaperon, as seen below both on the left-most woman and the man in the middle was actually just the hood rolled into a circle.

Because the horned look was popular, the escoffion and chaperon were often worn over the wired horned veil, so I first made that. I made it from cotton to make it as light as possible. It was just a square I hemmed. I just used some wire to poke out the horns from her hair and pinned the veil close from the back and onto her hair from the top.

Then I made the open hood. It was just the regular hood which had become very popular during the last century and which had ever longer narrow tip, but it was pinned and worn open, probably because of the hair style and to again create the horned look. I made if from the same cotton I made the hose, even though it too should be from wool. But it was already too bulky as it was.

And finally I could make the chaperon. Here's first chaperon without wire or veil under it and then with those. The effect isn't as pronounced as I would have hoped because the hood is too bulky, but there is an effect which is nice.

[thesimline]

1500s MEN - LOOKBOOK

By the 1500s we start to see the broad and square silhouette come into fashion for men. This impressive shape was achieved through the use of over-the-top sleeves, balloon-like pants and overcoats made from layers upon layers of billowing fabric. Wealth and status were communicated through rich fabrics and opulent ornamentation, with some English and French lords even bankrupting themselves to pay for these wardrobes.

You can find more of my historical content here:

1300s ✺ 1400s ✺ 1500s ✺ 1600s ✺ 1700s

OUTFIT RESOURCES

King: Crown | Hair (Dream Home Decorator) | Facial Hair | Outfit | Right Rings (TSR) | Left Ring

Noble: Hat | Hair | Facial Hair | Ruff (TSR) | Outfit | Sash | Left Ring (TSR) | Hose | Shoes (City Living)

Courtier: Hat | Hair | Facial Hair (Eco Lifestyle) | Cloak | Outfit | Sword

Page: Hair | Outfit | Cloak | Hose | Shoes (City Living)

Bowman: Helmet | Hair (Moschino) | Facial Hair | Outfit | Quill | Shoes

Halberdier: Hat | Hair (TSR) | Facial Hair | Ruff | Top | Pants | Sword & Dagger | Hose | Halberd (TSR) | Shoes (Spa Day)

Clansman: Hat | Hair (Eco Lifestyle) | Beard | Cloak (TSR) | Top (TSR) | Kilt | Shoes (TSR)

Merchant: Hat | Hair | Facial Hair | Outfit | Right Rings (TSR) | Left Ring (TSR) | Belt

Artisan: Hat | Hair (High School Years) | Facial Hair | Coat | Necklace (TSR) | Outfit | Shoes (Get Famous)

Shopkeeper: Hat | Hair | Facial Hair | Necklace | Top | Gloves | Pants | Hose | Shoes (Get To Work)

Citizen: Hat | Hair (retired - direct download) | Facial Hair | Outfit

Workman: Hat | Hair (retired - direct download) | Facial Hair (TSR) | Outfit | Hose (TSR) | Shoes (Base Game)

With thanks to some amazing creators: @simverses @plazasims @natalia-auditore @satterlly @chere-indolente @wiccandove @oydis @notsooldmadcatlady @batsfromwesteros @daylifesims @simsregalia @regina-raven @bobnewbie @ilkup @diosasims @shandir @jools-simming @igorstory @ice-creamforbreakfast @glitterberrysims @imvikai @veigasims @lehgames

[madds-is-ace-trash]

Nightwing why are you warring a cape? Well for the baby of course! Dcxdp

This takes place in the same universe as my fic Mother of the storm and her star child.

A few years have passed and Danny is completely settled in and moved to bulhaven with dick. Eventually around the time he’s Turing 9 he insists that he wants to go out at night with dick. Dick is hesitant but Danny insist, pointing out how his abilities would make him the perfect recon detective. Dick can no longer argue when Danny beats both Damian and Cass the first day of training and he is out out in the field.

Danny hose out in his ghost form and picks the name phantom because it feels right and now nightwing patrols with a bird if his very own for the first time in a while. Danny is very good on patrols, he sticks close to dick often clinging to him and hiding behind him when dick is interacting with people. He’ll often turn invisible but it still doesn’t fell like enough to dick. He quickly released that he missed the cape and the layer of securing it added when Damien was his Robin.

So nightwing starts wearing a cape, and the people of his city starts coming up with all sorts of theories for the sudden change. The range from him practicing because he’s taking over the cowl to him hiding new gadgets. Very few have seen Danny and those who have are often not believed because, “nightwing had glowing eyes under his cape!” Is not very believable.

He doesn’t wear the cape all the time just when he has Danny, the cape is long the outside is black but the inside has a blue and black feather design so it looks like wings when he glides. It has a feature where it retracts in to a role on his back when he need more freedom of movement. And I’m addition to the cape he now has an extra loop hanging form his belt for Danny to grab on to as the hop rooftops. (Danny can will him self to weigh nothing so dick tends to pull him along as he floats any way)

As the news of dicks sudden costume adjustment is circulating he has to come to the watchtower with B for a mission. Danny tags along hiding in his cape like all the Robin had before him with Bruce. Meanwhile Bruce is totally not going all mushy over his grandson he is totally normal about this. All of the Leagers keep giving dick looks.

Until flash finally ask

Wally: so um nightwing what’s with the cape? I thought you hated them?

Dick*with a bright smile across his face*: it’s for my shadow!

Wally: your shadow? How is a cape ganna hide your shadow.

Dick: no not my actual shadow it’s to hide my bird.

Diana: your bird?

*Dick flares one side of the cape revealing the feathered pattern underneath but nothing else is visible hidden under the cape*

Wally: I don’t se-

Dick: whistles like a bird call

Danny slowly fading in to view giving the league a small wave as he scrambles to hide behind dicks legs: Hello

Hal: really Bruce another one!?

Dick Smiling at the small boy in his cape before closing it : nope this one’s all mine!

Meanwhile John Constantine who is present for this mission is freaked the fuck out. Because that kid with the flowing white hair and glowing freckles is definitely not human. And worse than that from what he can sense it’s pretty darn powerful to. He watches as all of his coworkers are working to get the boy out from hiding cooing over him.

Clark: he’s looking a lot better nightwing

Wally: Waite you already new about him?

Clark: yes the boy is nightwings child I’m guessing he only is just now joining the team

Diana: what’s your name little one?

Danny poking his head out of the cape: phantom my name is phantom

Fuck why was that name familiar? Oh shit that’s right John had heard rumors of the new ghost king and a prince milling around the infinite realms this must be the little ghost prince. How the fuck did dick end up with him? Waite sups said that was dicks kid, hold did dick?

John: ha Oh my god! You crazy fucker you fucked the ghosts king!

[lunarw0rks]

Hello again! I love your works and it's super early to request another but I read your latest post and I loved it! So if you don't mind, could you do headcanons on 141 reacting to their s/o cleaning their car?

Like one of those stereotypical scenes where she's in a bikini or a bikini top with shorts and she's cleaning her car, like she loves her car so she cleans it alot but this is the first time they see the full scene. NSFW would be amazing if you would be ok with it :)

Thank you :]

In The Sunlight // 141 Headcanons (+Ale)

Warning(s): explicit content (18+), suggestive language/content, established relationship, fem!reader, no use of y/n

Word Count: 1.6k

꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ 141 MASTERLIST // have a request? // ˗ˏˋ ASK BOX ˎˊ˗

SYNOPSIS; summer hit, and it hit hard.

Sizzling atmosphere, sky-rocketing temps, and revolving fans working overtime. Every year, people complain that they miss winter when the high temps smack them in the face, but they wish for the heat when the leaves fall. For you—you would take any excuse to enjoy the hose and sprinkler, sometimes washing your car weekly as an excuse to cool off. Cold showers, ice packs, air conditioning; it wasn’t enough. 

On the bright side, it gave you an excuse to wash your beloved car. To run the hose on the vehicle, and most of all your sweating skin; all while wearing revealing summer attire.

Price

John was due to be home that day, the house was lonely, and you were miserable in the heat. Why not be outside when he comes home? You dressed yourself in a bikini to sprit yourself with the hose, spending about half the time searching for a cool off than washing your car. In your other hand, you had an drink with more ice cubes than liquid; a soothing cube to crunch on while you worked. You swirled your drink as you put another cube between your teeth, spreading the foamy soap with intense focus.

That focus broke when his car finally pulled into the driveway, revealing his attempt at an eager welcome. He was exhausted, but never too exhausted to greet you. Besides, you wearing a basically see-through swimsuit? How can he resist?

❝Don’t work too hard, sweetheart. You’ll get heat stroke.❞ John crept up to you, dropping his duffel. He leaned down and sipped from your drink, picking up an ice cube between his teeth. His lips leaned forward, tracing the ice along your neck and down your cleavage until it melted against your flesh. ❝Let me help you cool off, I missed all of you.❞ His lips found your drink again, meeting your lips with a dripping chunk of ice—a whole new meaning to a sloppy kiss.

Simon

Simon hates the heat—despises it, even. All year round, he wears dark colors, multiple layers, and most notably his balaclava. Does that stop him from ogling you? Not a bit. He can enjoy the view from inside, peering through the curtains at your soaked figure as you scrub your prized car. You lean over the edge, bikini top doing little to contain your breasts as he gets a good view down the top. Simon lets out an amused scoff at the sight, closing the curtains before you have the opportunity to spot him.

You come back inside for some water, wrapping a towel so you don’t dribble on the floor. A hand darts out of the doorway of the kitchen, Simon’s hand gripping the towel and giving it a yank until it falls to the floor. ❝Gave the neighbors a show, didn’t you?❞

He steps out from his hidden spot around the counter, giving your arm a gentle pull so you come towards him, until your face his inches from his. Normally, he leaves his teasing until nightfall, but he’s home and you’re soaked.

❝Need to get you into some better clothes.❞ His strong arms slither around your midsection, gripping intensely. No better excuse, assisting you in getting another change of clothes after he carries you to the bedroom.

Soap

The humidity constantly disturbed your slumber. You and Soap’s shared bedroom was more like a sauna, no matter how long the fans or AC ran. It was so severe you laid awake during the early morning, tossing and turning, peeling the covers stuck to your sweaty body. There was no point in attempting to sleep, you were wide awake at four-thirty in the morning, might as well go outside and cool off. Your car could use a wash, anyhow.

You slipped on a bikini and stepped out into the morning air. The sun hadn’t risen completely, so the heat wasn’t unbearable yet. The hose spewed a stream of water on the hood as you did your first rinse, then scoured cleaner on it. You bent over the hood of your car to reach a spot you missed, lips curled in concentration.

When you felt a pair of hands on your hips, you let out a squeal, quickly soothed by a familiar accent. ❝Don’t move,❞ he purred into your ear, tugging your bottoms down to your ankles. Soap knelt behind you, swiping his tongue along your folds. Your gaze darts around the dim streets, insisting a neighbor will see.

He speaks, then his licks only gained intensity and sloppiness. ❝Let ‘em see.❞

Gaz

As soon as the two of you find time to be outside, it’s an immature sight; chasing each other through the backyard, spraying one another with the hose, or on days where he’s beat, he’ll simply watch you from the hot tub. Today, it was betrayal. You were washing your car, completely believing the fact that Gaz was “too tired” for games tonight. He was too calculated to not have a battle plan, you should’ve known better, right?

As you’ve returned from refilling the soapy bucket, there’s an icy pour of ice water, over the top of your hair, soaking your bikini top, all the way down your jean shorts and legs. With an agape mouth, you drop the bucket and chase after his fleeting figure—a smug grin on his face the whole time. When you round the corner into the backyard, he’s nowhere in sight. As you creep up on the shed, he finally reveals himself, sending you both to a tumble in the grass.

Kyle constricts your arms above your head, grinning down at your hopeless struggle. ❝I didn’t cheat, you just need better eyes, babe.❞ He loosens his grip when you stop fighting him, leaning down to press a kiss on your lips. He places a knee between your legs, staring down at your soaked bikini top hungrily. ❝You look so goddamn sexy like this…❞

Alejandro

You were washing away, brows knitted in focus. Then, you remembered you had left your water bottle on the kitchen counter. The windows were wide open because you were airing out the house on a hot day, so it was worth a shot hollering for Alejandro. ❝Ale, can you bring me my water? Ale?❞ You raise your voice slightly because there’s no way he can’t hear you.

❝In the backyard, cariño.❞ His unmistakable voice replies, distant from the back of the house. You sigh and enter the house, finding your water but no sign of Alejandro, even through the paned glass windows and sliding door. In reality; he had been ogling you for several minutes, waiting for his opportunity for either you to ask for something, or him making something up on the spot. Lucky for him, your need for your bottle had everything going according to plan.

You exited to the backyard, holding a hand up to block the sun. Even if he was visible right now, he would be impossible to spot from the blaze of the star. ❝Right here, amor.❞ Alejandro crept out from out of the shade, wrapping his arms tight around your waist. You knew what this meant—it was inevitable with him. And yet, you fell for it again.

In the next second, you were plunged into the pool, instinctively wrapping your legs around his waist. He chuckles at your whines of contempt, pressing his forehead against yours. ❝How was that? You fell for it again, que no?❞ It’s obvious he can’t resist you in a bikini.

Laswell

There are two things Kate can’t get enough of; sunbathing and eyeing you. Sitting on the lounge chairs, reclined with a book or magazine in hand. It’s not often she’s on leave, or home long enough to spend outside. Today was different—she had some time off. She intended to spend as much time outside enjoying the heat, much more preferable than being cooped up in an understimulating base. And watching you while she vedged out? It’s a common pursuit of hers, bikini on or not.

You held your hair up with one hand, the other using the sprinkler setting to mist yourself. Kate tipped her sunglasses down slightly to get a better view, a warm beam spreading on her face. Her nose crinkled slightly as you sprayed the hood of the car, spreading the suds around on the surface.

She flicked to the next page of her magazine, soaking in the sunbeams.

Though she would never say it out in the open, she was certainly ogling her favorite parts of you; your sunkissed chest, the curves hugged tight by shorts—all a cherished image for the next time she leaves, and probably later that night after dinner. ❝How much for you to do mine too, babe?❞

To add to it, she probably snaps candid photos of you, the stream of them probably ending with you blocking the lens with your hands. She’s her own favorite comedian, your complaints and embarrassed whines are a close second.

[valkyrieromanoff]

BED CHEM (18+): JAMES KELLY X READER

summary: James is your neighbor at the trailer park, he sees you washing your trailer, and he offers to help. One hand washes the other, and you find yourself in a pleasant situation.

warnings: sexual content, oral sex (female receiving), semi public sex, porn without plot.

word count: 3.4 k

n/a: after making my dad watch 'American Heist' with me, for no other reason than to be able to watch Hayden Christensen for an hour and a half... I remembered why I have such a huge crush on this man, and poor James, he just wanted to open a mechanic shop, he suffered so much, poor thing.

anyway, I couldn't resist the opportunity to write something self-indulgent, so I hope you like it, comment if you liked it or if you would read a sequel? Kisses 💖

p.s: probably the most obscene thing I've ever written, but I liked it anyway

The sun blazed in a wide expanse of blue, with only a few wisps of clouds drifting lazily overhead. After days of relentless rain that left nothing but thick puddles of mud and a layer of grime clinging to every surface, the clear sky felt like a rare gift. It was the perfect day for a deep clean, to scrub away the muck that had built up around the trailer.

You sighed, glancing at the cluttered mess outside. Your mother had disappeared again, off to deal with whatever trouble your grandmother had stirred up this time, leaving you alone to face the chore. With a reluctant huff, you knew there was no escaping it; the task would fall to you, as always.

Changing into an old white shirt and a pair of faded blue shorts —clothes you didn’t mind soaking —you grabbed the hose and filled a bucket with water. The warmth of the sun kissed your skin as you stepped outside, your feet crunching against the gravel beneath you. You set the bucket down with a small splash and grabbed a sponge, beginning to scrub the window in steady, determined circles.

James lets out a low whistle, his blue eyes sweeping over you with a playful gleam. "Well, would you look at that," he drawls, a slow smile spreading across his face.

"James!" you exclaim, quickly crossing your arms over your chest, caught off guard by his sudden appearance. He must have snuck up on you; you hadn’t even heard him coming. "Do you always have to sneak around like that?"

He chuckles, his gaze never leaving you. "Can't help it, princess. You’re putting on quite a show." He takes a step closer, his lips curling into a grin as he licks them. "Why don’t you let me give you a hand?" His eyes dart to the trailer, where the mess still looms large. "Looks like you could use some help."

You huff, rolling your eyes. "Oh, really? And what do you know about cleaning?" You shoot back, eyeing him skeptically. James’s trailer couldn’t exactly be described as spotless—tidy at best. You can’t even remember the last time he gave it a proper clean; the rusty notes separating his trailer from the others speak for themselves.

He shrugs with a teasing smile. "More than you’d think, princess. And let’s be honest, you’re not gonna clean all this up on your own." He leans in a little closer, lowering his voice. "But I’m not doing it for free. I help you with the trailer, and you owe me one."

Your brow furrows, suspicion evident in your voice. "What kind of favor are we talking about?"

James grins, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. "Use that imagination of yours."

"I’m not helping you sell drugs, James," you snap, too quickly, not wanting any trouble with the police.

He throws his head back, laughing, his tattooed hand scratching the back of his neck. "Oh, come on, you think I’m that predictable?" He leans in closer, his grin widening. "I was thinking of a different kind of favor."

You feel a flush creep up your cheeks, catching his implication. "I’m not sleeping with you," you declare firmly.

He shrugs, the smug smile still playing on his lips. "Your choice. But just so you know, I can be pretty persuasive." He steps even closer, his voice dropping to a low, teasing rumble. "And who knows, you might even enjoy it."

You chew on your lip, weighing your options. On one hand, you could definitely use the help with the trailer; on the other, making a deal with James Kelly, your older, flirtatious neighbor, seemed like a gamble. But then again, what choice did you have? "Fine," you finally say, meeting his gaze with a challenging look. "Just help me clean the trailer, and I’ll owe you one."

James grins, extending his hand with a playful flourish. "Deal, princess. Let’s make this place sparkle."

You uncross your arms, a smirk tugging at your lips as you bend down to grab a sponge from the bucket of water. Without warning, you fling it right at his chest, soaking his shirt. "Sparkle, huh?" you tease, before turning back to scrubbing the trailer window.

James looks down at the wet sponge now stuck to his chest, then back up at you, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Well, look at that. Already trying to get me out of my clothes? I like the way you think.”

You roll your eyes, but a small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth despite yourself. “Keep dreaming, James.”

He chuckles, taking the sponge and slowly squeezing out the excess water, droplets trickling down his arm. “Maybe I already am, princess,” he teases, his voice low and suggestive.

He falls in beside you, picking up another sponge and getting to work. Despite his earlier teasing, he starts scrubbing with surprising efficiency, moving in smooth, quick motions. Every now and then, he throws in a wink or a cheeky comment, but he sticks to his word and focuses on the task at hand.

As the minutes pass, the two of you settle into an easy rhythm, working side by side in companionable silence. You have to admit, his help makes a huge difference; the work is going by much faster than you’d expected. And, despite your initial wariness, you find yourself… enjoying his company. There’s something unexpectedly satisfying about watching the trailer transform under your combined efforts, the dirt and grime giving way to a fresh, clean shine.

Maybe it’s the sun, or the unexpected teamwork, but for a moment, you almost forget why you were so hesitant in the first place.

At one point, you were hanging from the tire attached to the back door, cleaning the roof, your breasts pressed firmly against the trailer's frame through your clinging, soaked blouse. From this provocative position, your lush, round ass jutted upwards as you stretched to reach everywhere.

James, who had been cleaning the wheels, froze mid-scrub, releasing a low, appreciative whistle. "Now, that's a sight for sore eyes," he murmured, his gaze fixed and unwavering on your alluring display. He shielded his eyes with a hand, blocking the sun's glare as he continued to drink in the view.

You look over your shoulder at him. “James” you warned, trying to keep the amusement from leaking out of your tone. "Eyes on the wheels, I want them shining."

His smile was unapologetic as he responded, "I can't help it, princess. You're putting on quite the performance up there. I'd be a fool to miss it."

"Pervert." You rolled your eyes, but you couldn't deny the fluttering in your stomach at his words and the hypnotic cadence of his voice. Could these be the butterflies that books talk about so much?

James chuckled, his blue eyes finally returning to the task at hand, alighting on the underside of the trailer. "Guilty as charged, princess. At least I'm honest about it."

**

A while later, you hear James clear his throat below. “Hey, princess? Careful up there. I’d hate to see you fall and hurt yourself.”

You glance down, caught off guard by the unexpected softness in his voice. His usual playful grin is absent, replaced with a look of genuine concern that makes your heart skip a beat. “Oh, right, thanks” you reply quietly, a warmth spreading through you that has nothing to do with the sun beating down on your skin. Maybe there’s more to James Kelly than just the flirty mechanic.

You sit perched on the edge of the trailer roof, hesitating as you look at the ground. It suddenly seems a lot farther down than it did when you climbed up. You bite your bottom lip, a flicker of uncertainty crossing your face.

“Um, James, can you help me down?” You ask shyly, a shiver running down your body as the suds drip down your wet breasts under your blouse, your peaks hard as the suds slide down your thighs. 

James's gaze hungrily devours your disheveled state, and he quickly nods in agreement. “Sure, princess. Just give me a second.”

He tosses the sponge back into the bucket and strides purposefully until he's directly beneath you. "Jump," he instructs, stretching out his arms. "I'll catch you."

You hesitate for a moment, biting your bottom lip, before taking a deep breath and stepping away from the roof of the trailer. James catches you easily, his firm, tattooed arms wrapping around you, holding you against his chest. He keeps you pressed against his body, and you can't help but feel the hardness pressing against your belly.

He sets you down gently, but his arms linger, his eyes dark with desire as they meet yours. "Are you okay, princess?" he asks in a hoarse voice.

You nod, unable to speak as you stare at him, your heart pounding. He leans in closer, his lips inches from yours. You can feel the warmth of his breath on your face, and you lean in as well, eager to taste his lips.

But as he's about to kiss you, he abruptly pulls away, a wry smile on his face. "I told you I could be persuasive," he says, releasing you and taking a step back.

You blink, surprised and embarrassed by his sudden withdrawal. "W-what?" you stammer.

He turns back to the trailer, flashing you a nonchalant grin. "Nothing, princess. Let's get back to cleaning."

Your cheeks burn, though you can’t tell if it’s from the relentless sun or the shame of almost getting caught staring at James's lips, imagining what it would feel like to kiss him. Your thoughts are a jumbled mess, your heart pounding with a mix of embarrassment and something else you don't want to admit. You turn back to the task at hand, scrubbing the trailer window with renewed intensity, channeling all your frustration and confusion into making the glass spotless.

You can feel James’s gaze on you, a quiet heat that only makes your pulse race faster. The air seems thicker somehow, the sun hotter, and you focus on the steady, rhythmic motion of your hand against the glass, willing yourself to ignore him.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs softly, his voice carrying over the sound of the water splashing against the trailer.

You freeze, your breath catching in your throat. Your cheeks flush deeper, and you feel your heart hammering against your ribs. You risk a glance over your shoulder, catching the look in his eyes—intense, sincere, with a hint of a smile at the corner of his lips.

The unexpected compliment sends a flutter through your chest, and you swallow hard, trying to steady your nerves. You force a smile, though your voice wavers slightly as you respond, “You’re not so bad yourself, James.”

He grins wider, clearly amused by your flustered reaction. “That so, princess?”

You roll your eyes, trying to regain your composure. “I meant your help,” you add quickly, turning back to the window. But you can’t quite shake the feeling that, for a moment, he’d seen right through you —to the thoughts you’d been trying so hard to hide.

"This scorching New Orleans sun doesn’t give you a break," you complain, the sweat glistening on your forehead, a testament to the unyielding heat that envelops you like a suffocating blanket. You feel as if you're a lump of ice melting under the oppressive, steamy air, and you can't help but loathe the climate in this state.

Seeking respite from the incessant heat, you grab the hose, lifting it over your head, and let the cool water cascade over your body. The water clings to your skin, your clothes molded to your curves like a second skin, leaving little to the imagination. Your breasts, heaving with each breath, are clearly visible through the wet fabric, while the shorts cling to the lush curves of your ass.

James's eyes widen as he takes in the sight, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows hard, the desire in his eyes unmistakable. "Fuck, princess. You're killing me here," he murmurs, his voice thick with lust.

You look up at him, a coy smile playing on your lips, your eyes sparkling with mischief. "Am I?" you tease, allowing the water to trickle down your shirt, tracing the lines of your breasts and hips, eliciting a low groan from James.

He runs a hand through his dark, damp hair, his face flushed with desire. "Yes, you fucking are," he states, taking a step closer to you. "You know what you're doing to me, don't you?"

You tilt your head to the side, feigning innocence, your eyes flickering with a hint of playfulness. "I have no idea what you're talking about, James," you lie, biting your lip to keep from smiling.

James's patience snaps, and he reaches up, his fingers wrapping around your wrist and pulling you roughly against his body. "Didn't anyone teach you that lying is bad, princess?" he growls, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down your spine.

You gasp as you feel his hardness pressing into you once more, the sensation intoxicating. James takes advantage of your open mouth, crushing his lips to yours in a hungry, demanding kiss. You surrender to him, kissing him back fiercely, your bodies pressed tightly together. In the midst of this passionate embrace, you lose your grip on the hose, allowing it to slip from your fingers and clatter to the gravel below.

James grabs your neck from behind to deepen the kiss, his tongue meeting yours, you gasp at the sensation, his other hand coming down to grip your waist. You moan against his mouth, your body arching into his as his hand on your waist slides down to cup your ass, pulling you even closer. His thumb hooks into the waistband of your shorts, tracing the edge of your panties and sending shivers down your spine.

He breaks the searing kiss, his lips trailing a torturous path down your jaw and along the sensitive skin of your neck. He nips and sucks, each touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. "Fuck, princess," he growls, his voice a husky rumble. "You taste so good."

You tilt your head back, offering him full access to your vulnerable neck, your body writhing against his in an urgent, desperate need for more. "James," you gasp, your hands clawing at the muscles of his back. "Please..."

He groans, his hand sliding lower, his fingers pressing against the front of your shorts, the thin fabric the only barrier between him and your needy core. "Please what, princess?" he whispers, his finger teasing you, rubbing in slow, maddening circles. "Use your words," 

"Touch me," you beg, your eyes fluttering shut as you're consumed by the swell of pleasure. "Please, touch me."

The air is thick with the heady scent of lust, and the tension between you both is palpable, begging for release. James's fingers tease you mercilessly, prolonging your agony as he decides to what extent he'll indulge you. The anticipation is as much a part of the pleasure as the touch itself, leaving you trembling and needy.

He chuckles, a low, carnal sound that sends shivers down your spine as he unbuttons your shorts with practiced ease. His hand slides inside, gently pushing your panties aside to reveal your bare, wet flesh. His fingers brush against you, eliciting a soft moan from your parted lips.

“Like that, princess?” he asks, his voice dripping with seduction as he slides a finger into your slick, heated core. You cry out, the sudden invasion making your knees buckle. James reacts quickly, wrapping his arm around your waist, steadying you as he continues to pump his finger in and out of your quivering depths.

His thumb circles your clit, adding another layer of pleasure to the sensory overload. “Yeah, just like that,” you sigh, your hips undulating in response to his skilled touch. “Oh God, James, yes…” 

He claims your mouth in another searing kiss, his tongue dueling with yours as he devours your moans. You’re at his mercy, your body responding to his every touch. He adds a second finger to the first, stretching you and increasing your pleasure, each thrust bringing you closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy.

 Suddenly, he pulls his hand away, leaving you breathless and aching. Your eyes fly open, confusion etched across your face as you stare up at him. “Why did you stop?” you ask, your voice thick with desire. James’s smile is both wicked and knowing, his eyes filled with the promise of more pleasure to come.

He grins wickedly at you, licking his fingers clean, his eyes gleaming with desire. "Because, princess, I want to taste you when you cum," he explains, his voice a sultry rumble. Without warning, he drops to his knees in front of you, the swift motion of pulling your shorts and panties down leaving you momentarily breathless.

You're too stunned to protest as his face buries itself between your legs, his talented tongue delving deep into your slick folds. A moan escapes your lips, and you find your fingers instinctively tangling in his hair as he maneuvers one of your legs over his shoulder, gaining a better angle to feast upon you.

James grips your thighs, holding you steady as his tongue explores every inch of your wet, quivering core. He sucks and licks with relentless passion, each movement pushing you closer and closer to the edge. Your breath comes in short, frantic gasps as you grind against his face, the pleasure building to a crescendo.

"James, oh god, James, I'm gonna cum," you moan, your fingers digging into his hair, holding him in place as you're on the brink of release. He growls against your sensitive flesh, the vibrations sending shivers down your spine and sending you careening over the edge. You cry out, your body convulsing as waves of ecstasy crash over you.

James doesn't let up, continuing to lavish attention on your spent form, his tongue and lips teasing you until you're writhing and pleading for mercy. The sensation has become too much, your nerves electrified from the intensity of his ministrations. Finally, he stands, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, a satisfied grin on his face.

"Delicious," he murmurs, pulling you into a searing kiss, allowing you to taste the sweet evidence of your pleasure on his lips. You melt into him, your arms wrapping around his neck as you return the kiss, still riding the high of your orgasm. When you finally pull away, you rest your forehead against his, your eyes closed as you catch your breath.

"That was... intense," you whisper, a small, satisfied smile gracing your lips. James chuckles, his fingers gently brushing a damp strand of hair from your face. 

"That was just the beginning, princess," he promises in a low, dangerous voice. "We're just getting started."

It takes you a few moments to collect your thoughts, the intensity of the moment leaving you slightly dazed. You're grateful for the early hour and the fact that your neighbors aren't home, the knowledge adding a thrilling layer to the already sensual encounter. You pull your panties and shorts up, a soft moan escaping your lips as the fabric brushes against your still-sensitive flesh.

You turn to James, your voice husky from the recent pleasure. "Thanks for helping," you mumble, grabbing the bucket and sponge, your movements slightly unsteady. You walk past him, your hips swaying in a way that you're sure doesn't go unnoticed, and enter your trailer.

James watches you go, a mix of confusion and frustration etched on his face. He runs a hand through his hair, muttering a curse under his breath. "Well, fuck it," he says to himself, his gaze sweeping over the now-clean trailer. With a shake of his head, he gathers his belongings and heads back to his own trailer, leaving you to ponder the unexpected turn of events.

As he walks away, he calls out, his voice carrying in the quiet morning air, "See you around, princess!"

You don't respond, leaning against the door you've just closed, your heart pounding in your chest. What had just happened? You hadn't intended for things to go this far, but somehow, James had a way of making you lose control. You take a deep breath, trying to calm your racing thoughts. You knew you needed to figure out what you were going to do about James Kelly.

One thing was certain: he wouldn't leave you alone any time soon, and the anticipation of the future interactions left a tantalizing tingle in your core.

[nothorses]

So I'm thinking of going on low dose T, and ofc I'll get more feedback from doctors when I see them, but I know one of the changes is that you run warmer and have lower heat tolerance, and I'm already kind of heat sensitive (sweating is a sensory ick). Do you or your followers have any kind of coping strategies that have helped with that?

I ran warm before, too, and I'm definitely warmer now! I also have Raynaud's which kind of makes the whole experience a clusterfuck, but that's besides the point. lmao.

I live in a pretty cool/temperate area, so it isn't normally an issue except in the (increasingly horrible) summers, but I've found that the hardest time to stay cool has been at night. I share a bed with my partner who runs even warmer, and it's been 2.5 years of struggling to figure out how to be a comfortable temperature together.

The best advice I can give you is to just stay as far away from synthetic fibers as you can; "sweat wicking" and "cooling" and "athletic" stuff included. It's a lie. They're all plastic, and while they might feel cool to the touch at first, plastic doesn't breathe. It'll trap heat and moisture against your skin after enough time, especially in the form of blankets. (Fuck the Rest Evercool. Worst recommendation I've ever gotten.)

Look for 100% linen, or 100% cotton. I've heard wool also works well, but I haven't had luck with that personally. Woven fabrics are going to be cooler and more breathable than sateen, and waffle weave is like, the single most breathable weave afaik (it's more common in blankets, but some clothes are waffle).

Some of these things can be pretty scratchy at first, and I recommend a couple of washes on a high heat & some fabric softener before you start using them. We were able to break in our waffle blanket super quickly this way! (I know some folks recommend against softener for breathability reasons, but it's the only thing that actually worked for us, and it hasn't impacted breathability). After you break them in, though, cotton and linen fabrics are SUPER soft!

I also recommend staying away from leather. It's natural, but trust me: it's not breathable. It's coveted in outdoor rec spaces BECAUSE it's somewhat waterproof.

Outside of that, I'd really encourage you to lean towards multiple light layers that you can change/remove throughout the day to suit your needs (ex: light tee + fleece + wind/rain layer, maybe throw in a flannel somewhere), instead of one or two heavy ones (ex: shirt + big puffy cold weather jacket). It's a strategy common in the PNW that works great for regulating your temperature when you're dealing with humidity and somewhat unpredictable weather, and imo, it also really translates if you're just generally sensitive to heat and sweat.

Outside of that... depending on where you live, I really recommend having an AC/dehumidifier. Don't bother with trying to rig up a swamp cooler if you're sensitive to sweat- the increased humidity will make things worse. The general advice I heard when researching a good AC was that window units will always be more efficient than portable units (and a mini split is better than either), but if you have to go with a portable unit, go with a dual-hose. They'll be more efficient just because they don't create a vacuum that pulls in warm air from outside. This is the model we settled on- it was really highly recommended and cost effective for what it is, and it's been absolutely fantastic this summer.

Idk how you are about pits, but I wash mine with a benzoyl body wash and then use a deodorant with antiperspirant every day, and I virtually never smell or sweat. 🤷‍♂️ ymmv though

I'm sure folks will have things to add, so check the notes on this post- and good luck!

[rjzimmerman]

The Great Salt Lake isn’t just drying out. It’s warming the planet. (Washington Post)

Like some dystopian astronaut, Melissa Cobo would hike the searing flats of the dried-out Great Salt Lake every couple of weeks, hauling a heavy backpack attached by a hose to what looked like the lid of a cake dome. What remained of the lake often seemed out of reach as she struggled through hot mud, clay and a weird crystalline layer that broke with her footsteps onto a greenish muck.

“You see the water, but you never actually get to it, no matter how many hours you walk,” Cobo said.

Through these grueling treks, Cobo, then a Utah State University graduate student, and her adviser, Soren Brothers, discovered more disturbing evidence that dried-out lakes are a significant source of carbon dioxide emissions — one that has not been included in the official accounting of how much carbon the world is releasing into the warming atmosphere.

In a new study in the journal One Earth, the researchers calculated that 4.1 million tons of carbon dioxide and other greenhouse gases were released from the drying bed of the Great Salt Lake in 2020, the year Cobo and others collected the samples. This would amount to about a 7 percent increase in Utah’s human-caused emissions, the authors found.

While other researchers have documented carbon emissions from dried-out lakes — including the Aral Sea in Central Asia — Brothers said that his study tried to calculate what part of the emissions from this major saline lake could be attributed to humans, as the Great Salt Lake has been drawn down for human use, a decline worsened by climate change and the West’s megadrought of the past two decades.

“This is the first time we’re saying, ‘This is something that’s on us,’” said Brothers, now a climate change curator with the Royal Ontario Museum.

[corazondebeskar-reads]

of rage and ruin - chapter two

of rage and ruin series

chapter two

series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

werewolf!alpha!Joel Miller x f!omega!reader

word count: 3.3k

summary: you come face to face with the beast.

chapter warnings: dark, dead dove do not eat, a/b/o, alpha/omega dynamics, omegaverse, captivity, canon-typical violence, genre-typical violence, horror themes, graphic violence, allusions to/threats of torture, abuse by captors (not by either joel or reader), depiction of injury, body horror, typical raider/hunter behavior, mention of cordyceps, angst, viewer discretion is advised,

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

They were careful never to touch you. The exam you’d been given when they first brought you here was done with thick rubber gloves, and no one has touched you since. 

But there are plenty of ways to teach you compliance without touching you. 

Before they moved you, you didn’t see a soul for two days. No one delivered or removed the cloth strips, food, or water. No one woke you up with a loud buzzer or dragged you outside to hose you down. 

No one hurt you.

The first few hours, you sit and do nothing as usual. You don’t really notice.

After that, though, you start to wait. This deviation, this anomaly, was far more terrifying than the wretched routine. And with no meals, you’re bereft of a way to count the passing of time. There’s no sunlight down here, after all. 

To your deep relief, the lights still go off at night. Until you’re lying awake in the dark and realize they’re probably on a timer. So maybe all your captors are dead. Made a stupid mistake and got their asses handed to them by FEDRA.

Which would be nice, but also, you’d still fucking die. Because you’re trapped in this godforsaken grimy ass basement, and somewhere on the other side of it is the only other resident you know of. Him. 

So either you starve to death, or he eats you. Or both. 

You spend the next day hoping to see Cheryl’s smug bitch face. 

When someone finally comes for you, it’s not Cheryl. It’s not Jim, either, but that’s not a surprise. He doesn’t like you, doesn’t like whatever Cheryl’s doing with you.

Not because he has any objections to the captivity or abuse. No, Jim’s been clear—you’re a waste of resources. 

Anyway, it’s fucking Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumber who show up. They’re not real twins (you’re not even sure they’re brothers), but they’re a damn good argument for nurture over nature. Spending the apocalypse together has them moving in tandem, grunting and jerking their heads to one another in a language all their own. They’re built like oxen and about as polite. 

You don’t fight anymore, but they still tie you and drag you around. You haven’t so much as argued in weeks. You’ve heard that everyone breaks from torture eventually. You waved your flag from the start. 

You’re not made for this. 

They tie you up without touching your skin; hands layered in gloves just in case. They leave a length of rope from your wrists to pull you by, leaving the rope around your feet as it was. You had earned that six inches of slack, just enough to stand and walk to the makeshift toilet instead of crawling, after a solid week of good behavior. 

When you figure it out, though, you try to run. Every electric screaming nerve in your body says to go. Go where? Who fucking knows. Anywhere. Away. Run. 

The room they’ve brought to you is saturated in oaky musk, and you only need a glimpse of the little cage within before you’re jerking backward.

They must have gotten used to your compliance because the rope flies from Tweedle Dumb’s grasp. The three of you stand still for a moment, all shocked by the turn of events. 

You turn to run, but it’s too late already. One of them swept your fucking legs like this was an action movie, and bound as you are, that’s the end of the fight. You crash and earn yourself some new bruises, and they drag you into the room by the rope between your feet. 

One of them—you’ve forgotten who had which nickname in all the hubbub—snaps out a baton.

“Get in the fuckin’ cage, or I’ll break your ankles.”

It’s a strong argument that you have no desire to see if he’ll follow through on. Already hurt and humiliated, you crawl into the cage.

They lock it behind you and leave without another word. The lights go out with a buzz, casting everything you hadn’t taken in yet in total darkness. 

When the lights come back on, you wish they hadn’t. 

At first, you don’t even realize they’ve flickered to life, because what they’ve revealed isn’t real. 

It’s a big, brown Rorschach blob. It’s an oil spill. It’s moving, in a jerky, fluid way that should be impossible. The limbs have pointed bony joints, and you can only describe the way they crawl as spidery, though they’re thick and bulky. 

Jim is standing on the other side of the gate, holding onto a thick chain that rattles and creaks dangerously as the beast strains against the thick metal band around its neck. He looks bored, but he usually does. 

Cheryl, however. The way her lips are curled, eyes wide and bright… this must be him. 

“Don’t you know what happens to the others? The alphas?” she had teased the night of all the howling. She had laughed at the traitorously dumbfounded look on your face. 

You do now. 

A long pink tongue has unfurled from his massive jaw, flopped over far too many teeth, and dripping thick saliva onto the floor. The… fur, for lack of a better word, around his muzzle is matted with something dark that you can’t look at anymore. 

Jim yanks him by the chain, and the creature lets himself be pulled to the door, barely holding still while the padlock and chain are removed from his collar and the cuffs from his paws. 

He’s at the end of your cage before you realize he’s moved, and you scream, scrambling back as much as you can into the corner. The spaces between the bars are thin enough for just his… good god, are those fingers? They certainly aren’t canine toes. They’re tipped in thick, long claws packed with soil and detritus.

“Hey,” Jim barks, and the beast side-eyes him. “Remember what I fuckin’ told you. You break or eat her? That’s it. I’m not getting you another one.” 

Eat? Eat?  

Oh god.

Your stomach swoops and falls, abdomen clenching and drawing attention to your too-full bladder, unlocking a new fear that you’re going to piss yourself if he comes closer. 

He does. You don’t. But just barely.

That long, dark snout pushes against the cage, as if it could nudge through to reach you, pink tongue lapping against the air. The oak musk is so strong now that it lines your throat and makes you gag.

You choke back a retch-turned-sob and he rumbles, a strange vibration that rattles the bars where he’s pressed against them. He rises, stretching up up up on his hind legs until he towers over your little cube, enveloping you in his shadow, and you can’t help it. You start to cry. 

He can’t reach you, not when you’re tucked back in the corner of your cage. But he can smell you, and he can smell the rich iron soaking into the ropes around your wrists. It’s not yet visible, but the skin squishing through the edges is red and rough. 

He whines, pushing his muzzle against the bars, long tongue flopping out like he can reach. 

The sharp battery acid edge of your fear spikes, and he growls. Stupid girl. Stupid fucking omega. He’s trying to help you, and you’re—you’re— 

You’re starting to cry again. 

He can’t make human words like this, can’t enunciate or even really remember them. He tries to reach you through the bars again, snarling when they burn against his knuckles. Even the distended bony fingers of his full form can’t reach you there, not even with the tip of his claw. 

You’re shaking now, body twitching and jittering beyond your control. Everything inside you is screaming white-hot and dissolving; vomit tickles the base of your throat, and you just can’t stop crying. It hurts; it’s ripping your throat and lungs to shreds. It’s a violent, tumultuous thing, and you can’t stop the wounded keening of your cries. 

He’s pacing in front of your cage now, the beast, on four mangled limbs too long to be canine and too warped to be human. His huffs startle you, long snout returning, again and again, tongue darting out for a taste. 

A little drop of blood slides down your hand from where the rope’s edge cuts into the bottom of your palm.

He freezes, nostrils flaring. You freeze, barely breathing. 

He looks right at you and then tips his head back to howl, the sound like icy water through your veins. 

You can’t help yourself. You scream, broken as your voice is from all the tears. 

Between the cacophony, Jim stomps into the corridor and slams his hand on the wall. “Shut the fuck up, both of you!” 

“Help me,” you yell. 

I’m trying, the wolf howls. 

“Please, please help me,” you gasp, sobs reaching new highs alongside your panic. 

“If you don’t quiet the fuck down, I’ll open up your goddamn cage and let him eat you,” Jim snaps. “I said you were going to be more trouble than you’re worth, and I was fuckin’ right.”

The beast snarls, snapping his sharp teeth at the air. 

Jim regards him with a sneer. “And you! Giving her a heart attack counts as breakin’ her.”

The words don’t make sense, but you don’t really hear them, anyway. “Please, I want to go home, please, please,” you whisper. 

But no one’s listening. 

The Wolf is listening. 

He prowls back and forth on all fours, which really, isn’t any more or less terrifying than when he rises up on his haunches. Neither image capitulates to your need to make it make sense. There is no sense, no logic, no reality that can hold him.

The wolf, for really, that’s what he is, isn’t he? God, you don’t want to say it. Unbidden, a memory works loose in your brain, slipping out of the crates of nonsense stored away in favor of survival, and rattles around.

I know what you are. But you won’t say it. 

Did you bring this upon yourself for reading trashy supernatural romance novels? Did you watch Underworld too many times? Did the shot actually put you in a coma, and you’re living in some kind of nightmare?

The wolf is watching you. There are no whites in his eyes, just pools of gasoline on muddy puddles. 

You close your eyes and pretend you can’t hear the way his claws click against the tile. 

While Laura had fed them stew, she told them about the trials. 

They had been the first. The first taken, before volunteers were called. Before they knew they’d need secure places to hold them, they had been gathered for observation in an old YMCA, packed in racketball courts so the doctors could stand outside the large wall of glass and watch them all at once.

They stood outside that glass and watched them change, in one way or another. The ones who turned, as she called it, went first. The ones who would become test group alpha. More than half of the overall subjects, who became suddenly, violently ill. 

They left them all in there with the rest, waiting, watching them cry out, watching them vomit and sweat and break impossible fevers. Temporal thermometers reading 105, 106, before they’d succumb to unconsciousness. 

If they woke, they were… inhuman. Something more. Something hungry. 

A lot of the first round of test data was lost when the subjects were eaten. But some were lost to the turn. Test group beta, Laura’s brother among them, didn’t survive the fever.

Laura’s husband turned but didn’t lose himself to the beast. Something in him stayed present, alert enough to protect his wife from the others. Or rather, something in her kept him that way. Something that had turned in her too, albeit without the violence, into something more than she’d ever been before. 

“They drove us out of the QZ,” she said, picking idly at a gouge in the table’s surface. “To shoot us where they could burn all the bodies and forget.”

“And what happened?” Tommy asked, leaning forward with his elbows on the table.

“We ate them.”

They come back for him that night but he’s not waiting for them. He’s sat with his big, furry back to you, close enough to the cage that you could pet him. The thought crosses your mind in a moment of delirium. You could stick your fingers through the little bars and feel the coarse hickory hair. You know, if you were clinically insane. 

You’re not about to offer him a little snack. 

He’d given up on reaching you a few hours ago, content to sit there unmoving once your tears dried up. It’s only slightly less terrifying.

But when they take him out, you only get to sit with the relief for a moment. Minutes pass in the dark and silent room, but you regret letting your guard down when footsteps echo through the cavernous halls beyond. 

The Idiot Twins are back, and they’re not taking chances with you this time. Oh, no. When they unlock the cage, you’re faced with the barrel of a handgun that doesn’t leave your temple as they pull you out by your bound hands.

They don’t bother to stand you up or give you a chance to move on your own, just dragging you out of the room and across the hall. You’re sprawled on your stomach across the frigid floor of the new room, with the door slamming shut behind you without so much as a word. 

The rusted pipes on the wall in the beast’s room make more sense now, once you take in your shadowy surroundings. This room has the same shitty tan tile over every inch, but the walls are lined with blue (or what used to be blue) lockers. Not a single one is intact, whether rusted or dented or doorless, but they’re unmistakably lockers. 

There are two lines of seamless benches, though half are rotted to oblivion. But it’ll be a better bed than the floor.

This is practically paradise. There’s a tray by the door that you don’t see for a while, but when you do, you almost cry again. Might have, if you hadn’t spent the day in tears. 

It’s just broth and water, long gone lukewarm and dusty, but you set upon it like a vampire upon a vein. Wait, no, you really don’t want to think about that right now. But it’s not your fault you’ve got monsters on the brain.

Your reprieve is not long. The sun rises. 

The beast returns.

Oh, and he’s pissed that you’re gone, based on the fucking racket that brings you back to the waking world. 

“Oh, did you think you’d been good enough lately for a treat?” Cheryl taunts him. 

The steel doors between you aren’t enough to hide the sounds of his fury. 

“You’ll have her back when you’ve earned her,” she tells him amidst the cacophony of snarling and gnashing. 

It’s ten days before they return you to the cage. Ten days of poking around the abandoned lockers and finding nothing. Ten days of broth delivered at dawn and dusk. Ten days of your back no longer appreciating the bench to stretch out on. 

Ten days of listening to the nonstop scratching and growling and whining from across the hall. And worse. Oh, much worse. Wet squicks and splatters and harsh groans. You’re not sure if he’s eating or masturbating or what, but it sends shivers through your whole body each time. 

It also sends the weird, sticky slick pooling between your thighs, but you ignore that. It’s been happening since the shot, one of the weirder side effects, but it’s gotten downright fucking annoying since you got here.

You try not to think about it. 

It’s not long after they drag you back to the little cage that they drag him into his. For that’s what this room really is, you know that, even if it doesn’t make you feel better about being in there with him. He’s trapped, too, but you’re the one in danger.

They haven’t untied your wrists since the first time, which have blistered and bled and scabbed until the ropes rubbed the scabs raw and started the whole thing all over. 

He smells it before he sees it, any interest in the slippery sweetness on your thighs gone when he tastes the blood in the air. 

Hurt, he whines, though you can’t understand. Help.  

You don’t cry this time, don’t split the sour tang with salt, but the fear and pain and exhaustion are enough to center him. If he tries, if he could just focus…

And there it goes. You watch, mouth agape and eyes blown wide, as he shifts in front of you for the first time. He backs away while it happens until he’s on the other side of the room and sits his very bare ass on his bed. 

You watch the way his bones jerk and his body shakes and cracks and huffs out sharp, agonized grunts until he’s just a man. Just a man, nothing more. Just a beast masquerading. Worse than a wolf in sheep’s clothing, you think, because you know he’s the wolf, but right now? 

He’s just a pathetic, broken human. Bruised and bloodied, though his marks are rapidly fading as the healing takes over, but his face is edged in nothing but pain and sorrow.

“M’not gonna hurt ya,” was the first thing he croaked out. 

You startle, rattling the cage a little, which makes you wince. 

But he stays on the other side of the room. He’s sitting on his mattress, legs bent up and crossed, as if he had anything left to hide. As if you hadn’t seen too much already.

He tries not to think about it, but jesus. It’s a fucking struggle. As he takes you in this way, unclouded by the hazy moon, it still punches him back. Your smell. 

Joel’s never really liked tart things. Too much of a secret sweet tooth, of a deep yearning for the char and depth of anything fresh from the grill. 

But even now, even nearly fully man , he’s salivating at your green apple tang. Of uncovering the sweet ‘n sour burst of you on his tongue. Of letting his sharp teeth fall sharper through the tough act you fail to wear right, too bruised and soft underneath. 

To feel the way you’d give beneath him. The way you’d spill down his chin. No. He has to get a fuckin’ handle on himself. He can’t even look at you, not now that he knows you can smell the salt of his own slick where his swollen cock sits sobbing, neglected and furious. 

“I’m not,” he protests against your silence. 

He’s not sure who he’s trying to convince. 

But he doesn’t stay himself for long. Not after he thinks instead, suddenly, of autumn. Of the sweet smell of the orchard. Of taking Tommy’s truck up up up into the places where seasons meant something. 

The roads sprawled like veins and they followed them with no end just to see the way the trees curled overhead, branches reaching and burning with dying leaves—a sight so devastating that Joel considered leaving Texas behind for somewhere he could start to take this beauty for granted. 

Chasing the colors led them first to a field of corn, blustering amber in the setting sun. They had returned the next day, fresh from the motel with burnt coffee and warm flannels, parting with precious dollars for the privilege of picking pumpkins and apples and a little corn husk doll. 

He’d have paid every cent ten times over to see Sarah smile like that again. 

This is where the man breaks and bows out. Where the wolf at its weakest is still stronger than Joel. He gives in, gives into the grief, gives into the wolf, and shifts back. He stays curled up on his bed, though, and doesn’t look at you.

He doesn’t speak to you again for a month.

next chapter

[bigwishes]

(just reread the rules lol)

WHAT'S HAPPENING TO ME?!

"WHAT'S HAPPENING TO ME?!" You body quivers in the middle of the gym The people around you can't seem to tell what's going on as your body slowly behinds to fill with muscle. Your shirt is torn to shreds and fabric covers the floor around you. Your muscles continue to pump bigger and bigger, your traps and pecs start to swallow your neck. Your lats start to rub against your biceps and your huge thighs collide with every step. Just when you thought it was over your newly define abs stretch outwards, bloating up as a layer of fat covers your body. Suddenly you feel extremely embarrassed. You hold your muscle gut in your hands and notice its not tight but has a slight jiggle to it. Your face turns beat red. Every ounce of confidence has been removed from your personality. thoughts flood your mind. "oh god am I too big?", "what do I do with this gut", "why do all my muscles jiggle" suddenly you hear someone say something next to you "Wow looking big dude" you can't help yourself, you instantly came flooding your gym shorts with cum with the pressure of a fireman's hose leaving a huge wet patch in the front. Enjoy your new life as a embarrassed muscle pig who gets off to the slightest bit of praise...

[wandasmistress]

Revelations and Reprimands

Synopsis- Wanda overhears the conversation you have with Tommy and Billy when you think she isn't around, she is not pleased one bit when hears what you utter.

Pairings- Milf!Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Warnings- Bad parenting (?)

Word Count- 3k

A/N- Gonna post this then dip for a few months. To my followers tho, stay super freaky, have great vagina, I love yaa!!

➵➶➴➵➶➴➵

The rays of sun up above were beating down on your exposed neck like an insistent hot skillet clad onto your back, the sweat glistened on your body making you look like a sizzling hot dog amongst the raging flames on a grill. The heat is the reason why you were only in a white tank top paired with old basketball shorts that have garnered numerous paint stains from moving into your current home a few years ago.

The blaring heat also being the cause for Tommy and Billy to be doused in layers of sunscreen as they protested against Wanda who was stern with them that she didn't want them to get sunburnt, making it her mission to lather every inch of their exposed skin.

As Wanda looked out the window she couldn't help but smile at the sight she had trouble keeping her eyes off of as she prepared a grand lunch for you and the boys. 

She was positioned in front of the sink washing the freshly picked strawberries from her very own garden that she took much pride in bragging about at PTA meetings and in her gardening Facebook group. Constantly glancing out the window to see your crouched form near the sliding back door, spray bottle in hand as you portrayed a concentrated demeanor coupled with Billy and Tommy’s kidlike shouts as they played on the swings with huge toothless smiles that made her heart spin thousands of times over. 

The cold water running down her fingers as she rubbed the ripe berries was a stark contrast to the heat berating you, but not more annoying than the bugs that sought to unionize in various places in your home. Pain from a stiff back and exhausting heat outweighed waking up at three am with a certain someone ripping all the sheets from the bed swearing to have seen a colony of ants congregating by her pillowside. Coupled with the constant excuses Tommy and Billy gave during dinner time, claiming there were tiny critters crawling around in their greens which was a clear lie, although the slight tensing of Wanda’s jaw showed her irritation.

Deciding to multitask with your outside chores, a large white garbage bag is stationed next to your figure, stuffed with various weeds that you had previously pulled from the ground. Now was the perfect opportunity to get this done so Wanda was no longer on your ass, complaining about how the weeds made her garden look messy. You, never being able to say no to her, made the decision for the chores to be completed sooner than later a reality.

Just as you set down the bug repellent to yank a dwindling mini weed, out of the corner of your eye you catch a literal settlement of small and big ants scurrying in a single file line. Your hand already grabbing the spray bottle as you didn’t hesitate to hose down the small colony. Eyes scrunched as you watched the ants scatter and disassemble.

What you failed to notice was Billy’s approaching figure with a quizzical look etched onto his juvenile face. As he came up from behind you with a question on the tip of his tongue Tommy rushed from behind, trying to get him to come back to the swings.

“C'mon Billy, one more round on the swings then we can have a slide race!” Tommy gasped out, his features exuding pure happiness as he attempted to tug his brother along. How he wasn’t breathless from running that long distance to where Billy was standing was something that stuck to the back of your mind.

But Billy was too focused on what you were doing, Tommy’s uproar of a claim already catching your attention and making you aware of their presence, your head twisting in their direction with a smirk represented on your face.

Just then Tommy let out a small squeal at the putrid smell that had just entered his nostril, his small hands coming to cover his nose swiftly.

“Don’t be such a baby, Tommy, it’s just bug repellent. Look mama’s using it to kill the bugs.” Billy stated with a smug smile on his face, knowing that statement would trigger him in some way because Tommy loved to claim he knew everything using the fact that he was older to support that idea. 

The smile on your lips broadens at the banter going on between the prepubescent boys that had started to occur after Billy’s words. “Hey, maybe you guys should take your talk over there. Your mom would kill me if she knew I had you guys over her next to these heavy chemicals.” You remarked as you pointed your gloved finger towards the play set with raised eyebrows.

But that idea was quickly cut off when Billy pointed his stubby pointer finger in the direction of the ground, your gaze turning to yet another wave of ants. You motioned for the boys to move back as you release another wave of chemical death toward the pests. A fresh wave of wind shifted some of the rancid mist in the direction of the boys. Billy’s face scrunched up in disgust while Tommy had let out a mantra of words that you’d never thought you hear come from his mouth in all his youthful glory.

“Holy shit! That stinks.”

An automatic laugh escaped from your mouth before you could really process the situation, Billy’s laughter not helping you reel in your initial shock to chastise Tommy. You blow out some air from your mouth before you try to act like an adult and reprimand him for his language. But the sight of Billy with his hands on his head and huge toothless beam made the thought of telling the kid who stood in anxiousness off. 

“Mama, why are you killing the bugs if they are outside?” Tommy asks in a haze of innocence.

You bite down on your bottom lip trying to find a reasonable answer to tell the young children, “These bugs tend to get inside no matter how hard I try to block them from the inside, you guys aren’t leaving the windows open when you’re not supposed to right?” You add at the end that gets some playful laughter out of the boys. Billy and Tommy chuckle as they grab their bellies, shaking their heads in the negative.

Their cheery laughter makes you look back towards them and question their honesty as you raise your eyebrows with a knowingly look in their direction, the only expression each of them gives is an expression with wide eyes and pressed lips, a look that you have known well when confronting them about their naughtiness. 

You exert a low chuckle at their mischievous behavior, “Don’t tell your mommy I said this but I think it’s her, she’s always leaving them open in our room and in the kitchen.” Silly beams were planted on their faces as they listened closely to your words.

You motioned them closer with your fingers, trying to create more distance from where you guys were huddled and the window you could see Wanda from, who was occupied with her back turned in the kitchen, “Hey listen, when I was in the backyard one day I could hear her singing in our room from all the way down here. Definitely better than Auntie Agatha’s.” 

Loud chuckles are released from their small lungs, the boys go into an uncontrollable fit of laughter when you mentioned Agatha’s not-so-enjoyable singing that she had no problem sharing when she came over every other weekend.

While the boys are coming down from their laughing fit you are quick to spray a spider web that has made its way awfully close to a window that was unsurprisingly cracked open. 

“These damn spiders keep coming back, so I thought if I kill their family they won’t feel at home here anymore. No more children to practice teaching how to spin a web with, and no more momma for them to find pleasure with.” You unconsciously spit out, whispering the last part under your breath. Forgetting the presence of your kids and their innocent minds for a split second, when you do there is a slight freeze in your motions afterward, but what’s the harm if Wanda isn’t around to hear it?

Unfortunately, Wanda had heard every word of that sentence. What you failed to realize was her presence leaning on the threshold of the backyard door. During the time you had been talking to Tommy and Billy, she had fully set up the outside table for the lunch she had completed, only staying to watch you three with a bright smile on her face when she heard the gracious laughter of her godsent boys.

A warm style remained on her face as she watched the sight of you three naturally conversing, but that snug smile quickly vanished from her face the second she heard that far-fetched sentence spoken into existence by you. A cloud of hurt waved over her just elated demeanor, as you told the story about killing the spiders family so it would no longer find your house a home and stay, it hit her close to home in the chest making her hug her stomach as a slight storm brewed within her.

A second before she was about to interrupt the laughter coming from the boys she witnessed something she wouldn’t have thought to occur for years, that specific something coming from her ten-year-old boys. She witnessed Billy and Tommy turning towards each other to exchange whispers with one another, fear and apprehension laced Billy’s face as Tommy had a poised expression. After their whispers, they nodded their heads toward one another and looked your way with that mischievous look they tended to hold when they were about to commit an indecent act.

“Fuck that spider's family.” Tommy voiced brazenly, his and Billy’s eyes gauging your reaction. Waiting to see if you would berate them like Wanda would have if she heard those words come from their mouths. After all, between their two parents, you were definitely the more laid-back one who let more things slide when you shouldn’t.

Wanda’s blood began to simmer at the lack of your reaction, her head tilting to the right as her jaw slightly clenched. Her infuriation rose to an all-time high when you turned around with a smirk on your face and uttered a string of words that managed to turn her evening completely upside down.

“That’s right, fuck their families.” The two giddy children broke into another fit of laughter at your lack of care for what the older twin had spewed moments ago and your response. All the laughter in the next moment immediately stopped with brief words coupled with a tone so daunting all the color drained from you and the two youngsters' faces.

“Thomas. William. Wash your hands.” Her tone was eerily calm as her eyes remained on your frozen figure and nowhere else. The boys quickly looked in her direction while avoiding eye contact, scurrying past her so she couldn’t scold them even for a second. When the boys were out of eyesight her gaze rested on you coldly, your eyes aimed towards the patio as your teeth kept your lower lip interlocked and your thoughts running rampant on all the possibilities of Wanda giving you a much-needed earful. 

Now Wanda knew where the trait of avoiding eye contact when in deep trouble came from which was deeply rooted in the boys. Being shaken out of her thoughts as your figure ascended into a standing position, your eyes finally met her. Wanda still held an appalled look, her eyes staring deadly into yours. A small whimper was released from your parted lips at her chilling glare. You don’t know how much she heard and you didn’t want to know, the thought of the unknown not bothering you in the slightest.

Putting down the bug killer and plopping your dirty garden gloves next to the canister, you make your way over to Wanda’s intimidating figure. A big lump in your throat prevents you from emitting coherent words from your mouth, you stand in front of Wanda, your ability to talk has suddenly disappeared and now you are looking foolish.

Although it doesn't show on your face your heart is thumping so hard like a sledgehammer is consistently pounding on your heart due to the panic coursing through your bones. Wanda’s silence coupled with her intense stare starts to move some gears inside of you that aren’t so appropriate for this situation. With your thoughts being loud, also before you can knock those thoughts out of your head she helps you, “Y/n.”

You stutter with a mixture of fear and nervousness from her intense gaze, “Ok, my bad. You know when you look at me like that it ju-” 

But she is quick to cut you off, not wanting you to deter the conversation from its true purpose, “Don’t.”

That instant you shut up and keep your lips sealed, shaking your head as a fidgety gesture. Her tone assures you of the wrath that is about to come, and rightfully so. Her hands are still crossed as she starts raining down her thoughts of pure discontent with your actions toward allowing the boys to behave that way without a scolding.

Billy and Tommy have neglected to actually go and wash their hands for lunch, instead peaking around the kitchen counter to witness Wanda uncrossing her arms, gesturing frantically with her arms. Your face is filled with regret as you shake your head after every word she says, not daring to utter a single word.

The children watch from beyond with wide eyes and stunned faces, Wanda’s voice starting to rise slightly as you fail to respond to any of the questions she asked. Tommy turns around to Billy with a worried expression, “Does this mean they are gonna divorce?” He whispered, his small body filled with too much unease. 

Billy looks over with a frightened look. “No Tommy, they can’t. When people love each other they can never stop, mommy and mama included.”

Tommy wasn’t at all relieved at Billy’s statement, his worry growing tenfolds at possibly being the cause of his parents leaving each other because of his actions. The boys turned back towards their bickering parents the second they heard your voice that had been radio silent for the past minutes.

“I know baby, I was joking. I promise you I didn’t mean any of it.” You tried to convey to her, knowing her history, internally punching yourself over and over again for even mentioning that earlier sentence. Your hands slowly approach her wrists to provide her some comfort.

She is quick to swat your approaching hands away as her blood is still boiling, her eyebrows scrunching in exasperation, “Don’t baby me right now. You shouldn’t be telling our children stories about killing a bug's family and then proceeding to laugh about it.” She states in such vigor you internally agree to shut the fuck up for the time being, “I don’t give a fuck if you were joking, Y/n, never do that shit again.” She delivers in a tone of finality, her head tilt returning again.

You shake your head in silent agreement, accepting the fact that you fucked up and need to do better. As you look away from Wanda’s piercing evergreen eyes you catch sight of Tommy and Billy peaking at you two from the kitchen, your eyebrows rising in surprise which causes Wanda to turn around and catch sight of them too.

Wanda lets out a strained sigh, pressing her palm against her forehead, not wanting Billy and Tommy to see their parents arguing has gone completely out of the window. Rubbing the creases on her forehead away before she makes eye contact with both of the boys.

Increasing the pitch of her voice she says, “I didn’t know you guys were there sorry, don’t be like your mommy, both of us.” Turning to give you a disturbing glare.

“How comes we can’t say it but you can? “Tommy suddenly implored with bunched eyebrows.

Wanda releases a quick breath in disbelief, shaking her head at the sudden gall he had to ask her such a question, “Because first of all I am an adult, but most importantly your mother.” Her previous high pitch voice was gone.

She thought she had finally cracked the audacity that spawned in the twins today but was taken aback when the next moment they turned their heads whispering to one another then snickering, Billy shoving Tommy’s shoulder with wide eyes, albeit still giggling. You stood where you were, with no intention of getting scolded again or going in between the wrath of Wanda and her parenting. 

Wanda tells them to share what they want to hide so badly, causing Billy to immediately stop his laughter and look like a dear caught in headlights, his eyes looking over to you for a semblance of help that you were afraid to even think about giving, fearful of Wanda’s deathly gaze adorning you again.

Tommy like the brave soul he has consistently appeared to be this evening had no problem telling Wanda what he was just whispering in his twin's ear, “Since that spider's family is dead now they don’t have a momma to pleasure…that it should come find you like Mama said earlier.” He ends with a finger pointing in your direction, practically slapping you while he is at it.

Fuck. Your facial features, body, breathing, and hell even heart stopped for those unsettling few seconds of silence, no one dared move as the tension was almost visible. Your eyes glued onto Wanda’s figure, her body unmoving, but damn was her mind was whirling with a million thoughts swimming words she rather the boys not hear at their young age. 

Your blood runs ice cold as you see Wanda slowly turn her head back in your direction. Her facial features are void of emotion as she deeply stares into your soul. You kept eye contact with her, afraid to even move a single muscle after she waved the twins away to their rooms. And once you saw her head tilt to the right you swear you saw a flash of heavens gates, at least this wouldn’t be the worst way to go out, staring into the eyes of your beloved wife who would be putting you there.

“Y/n!”

Oh shit. Yes oh shit indeed.

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