#pebble witch

[fnifegames]

coming up on the last week of the 2023 Queer Games Bundle 🌈

consider:: $10 -- $60 human money == 450+ games, zines, art & music

sounds good? sounds gud 👉 http://bit.ly/queergames2023

[earthjournalbyawildrose]

söul ritūäls -:- @earthjournalbyawildrose

source

[yaekiss]

꩜ Room Content: No specified character, no smut, fluff, just spending a slow morning together ꩜ A/N: Just had this small scene stuck in my head for a bit so I wrote it down!

The morning sunlight streams in through the kitchen window and diffuses a soft orange glow to the room. Set in their hands, is your cup, as they busy themselves with preparing your morning beverage of choice. 

Theirs is already done and the matching cup has earlier been set on the table where they usually sit. (They like to make yours second because then it’ll be justtt a little bit closer to the prepared temperature since it doesn’t have to sit out longer.)

Before long it’s done and they set it at your spot at the table. Settling in their seat, they take in the tranquillity of the slow morning. It’s quiet until they hear you making your way down the hallway to sit with them at the table.

“Hey there, did you rest well?” They crane their head over to look as you yawn.

You give a noncommittal hum, sleep still clinging to you.

“Well, hopefully you’ll sleep better tonight,” they say, pushing your cup closer to you.

It’s nice, the two of you starting the day together. Tenderly domestic. And maybe their heart does a little squeeze when they realise how syrupy sweet this all is, how lovely it is to be with you.

Slowly, gradually, the morning languidly ticks by.

And maybe someone has an errand to run, some quick task out of your shared home. The both of you find yourselves at the doorway.

“Love you, see you later,” you give them a chaste kiss on their cheek, smiling.

“Yeah,” their gaze flits over your features, and the corners of their eyes soften, “Yeah, love you too, see you later.”

[laauranenn]

You ever just think about just how much it'd suck to deal with the Special Infected?

Not in an annoyed way, more in like getting incredibly hurt kind of way.

The Smoker, Charger and Hunter all have the same issue of you getting even more hurt depending on where you get attacked. I'd imagine getting dragged through debree and gravel would hurt quite a lot. Not to mention the risk of hitting your head with how the Hunter pounces on you.

Then theres Jockeys. Those would be HORRIBLE. I mean c'mon??? Think about it. The way they hop onto your back?? And I don't know about anyone else, but I would not be confident in my ability to shoot that thing without also injuring my teammate.

And Spitters literally spit acid at you?? I'd say it's safe to assume that it's stomach acid, which has a ph of 1.5 to 3.5 according to the Wikipedia page I've got pulled up. That's like, really acidic. Ouch???? Also I feel it's worth noting the survivors do describe it as "burning". Aka I'm correct about this and you can't change my mind.

And I don't have anything on the Boomer. It blows up. That probably hurts. Shrug

[timmurleyart]

Fruity pebbles Halloween. 🎃🍇😋🥣🍓🍊🫐🥛

[tchaikovskym]

I have to admit I never even imagined witches to be evil until I came here on tumblr and read some of y'alls analysis of literature and other media. The whole evil laugh and brewing potions did not connect to being evil in my mind ever. I was just raised with everyone around me thinking witches were cool as hell.

[paradoxseer]

Obviously I don't wish death upon anyone but like- Perpetual, life-long, irritating inconveniences that create roadblocks and discomfort at every turn are not off the table 👍

reblog if you are a law-abiding citizen who wishes no ill upon former US presidents 😇

[wahlpaper]

Halloween Book Quiz!

[nivalvixen]

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tim_Curry_performances

I heard recently that you can tell a lot about a person by the first movie they know Tim Curry from and I literally can’t stop thinking about it.

so say in the tags what’s the first movie you know Tim Curry from. Mines muppets treasure island

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

The Blood is Rare

Summary: Aemond has always loathed his niece, and the feeling is very much mutual | Words: 3.3k | Warnings below the cut!

Warnings: a lot of talk of illegitimacy, hatefucking, dubcon, choking, slight knife play, biting, bitta blood, incest (character is described with strong features), p in v sex, baby trapping?

There was no plate at his spot at the table. No knife to tempt him. He would not break bread with those he could not trust.

Like an animal atop high ground, he sits rigid at the head of the table, on the outside unnervingly calm. But he watches with a keen eye the prey that sits at the other end.

She shares many features with her mother. His whore-sister. Her stubbornness, her determined gaze and the nervous twisting of the rings on each of her fingers into the bargain. 

Had she not the dark brown, near-black shade of waved hair atop her head and bright, clear blue eyes of the former Commander of the City Watch, his niece and his sister would look nearly identical.

Unfortunately, they both shared his hatred for them as well.

He loathed the idea of them all. The birth of one mere brown-haired bastard was enough, and yet there were three of them, sat together in unification, as if to put up defences against the opposite side of the table, dotted with the moonlight-silver of Alicent Hightower’s children.

He smirked at the thought that she came mere hours after Jace. That she was unplanned. Unwanted. And yet here she existed, sitting with her eyes fixed on a flickering candle, trying to drown out the laughs, smiles and the oddity that was all of them all gathered together, enjoying one another’s company.

He knew as well as she did. It was the only thing they had in common. That they could see through this charade.

Aemond wondered if she had always seen it. Understood it. The strife that would happen between them. Perhaps she was a dreamer and could envisage the future before it had even happened.

She was a melancholic, hateful little thing. Born with fire and fury.

He supposed if anything, she was still the daughter of a Targaryen.

Aemond swore she was a witch of sorts. For she must have felt his gaze on her, and her clear eyes were illuminated by the dancing flame as they met him. Her expression unchanged.

His smirk grew that they felt the same about each other.

He was the cunt son of Alicent Hightower.

And she was the Strong bastard of his whore-sister.

Not breaking eye contact, she raised her chin, looking down at him over her nose, huffing as she turned away to sip from the cup on her small, delicate fingers.

Stuck up cunt.

The atmosphere shifted considerably as Viserys groaned, a frail hand raised to the injured portion of his face, to which Aemond felt a sick sense of delight. The guards swiftly carried him away by each corner of his chair.

And the gap between Rhaenyra and Alicent seemed to push each side away further. Irreparably so.

His niece did not appreciate his tribute to her and her brothers.

Throughout the evening, she had said few words apart from mumbled whispers to Daemon on her right and Luke on her left. But when Aemond stood to speak, he revelled in her undivided attention. In those angry eyes, he saw not only a loathing for him, but a loathing at the truth of what she was.

A loathing that he was right, and she knew it.

She seemed almost as disappointed as her mother when Jace struck him weakly.

And before Daemon could place himself between the warring factions of their family, he watched the Strong Princess march angrily away, her skirts in her hands, flashing a stern glare before she left.

Her eyes were all he could think about, with her face anchored in the firm grip of his fingers.

He thought she was so small and fragile, that he could just squeeze and break her little jaw, her bones clattering between his fingers like pebbles. And yet she still looked at him with such fire, that only one of Targaryen blood would be able to throw.

She looked at him like he was the most loathsome creature she had ever seen.

The passageway Aemond had her cornered into was stifling and suffocating, forcing them to breathe the same humid air in anger. He saw her face redden where he had her in his grasp, her glossy lips slightly parted to breathe.

“I will extend you the courtesy of assuming there is a very good reason why you have your hands on me like this, Uncle.”

He almost wants to laugh right in her face, despite what she said not meaning to be funny. She is so frail, and yet roars so loudly.

“There is.”

Her jaw muscles tighten in frustration, shuffling backwards though there is nowhere to go.

“Then, I dare say your reason will not be good enough.”

Aemond allows his gaze to roam over her face. Up close, she really and truly is the picture of her mother, with her father's unfortunate features to her disadvantage in her colouring.

“I merely wished to see the colour of your eyes, mandianna.”

“To make some cruel jape no less, I am sure.”

He grins at the way she takes a sharp breath when he tugs her face towards him slightly. And he swears he sees the pupils within the clear blue of her eyes widen as he does, and wonders if he is having the same effect swelling at the forbidden place between her thighs.

“You wound me, sweet niece. A man cannot simply appreciate the beauty of a woman? Does there always have to be some cruel intent?”

“With you, there must be.”

He somewhat loosens his grip on her face, fingers trailing down her neck, the glint of her earrings catching his eye. She visibly shivers at his touch there. 

The most venomous expression sits on her face, and she does not miss a beat. Too clever and witty for her own good.

“Do not insult my intelligence, Uncle. I know what depraved thoughts bat around inside your head, and they are not original. A family trait perhaps.”

He hums, more amused than curious, but perhaps with a smattering of both, “And what of you?”

Her perfect little lips part to speak before his thumb trails down the column of her throat, long fingers wrapped around her neck to her nape. The threat of what he could do making her go quiet.

“What depraved thoughts bat around in your head, sweet niece?”

Silence wraps around them like a rope, tightening with the fibres cracking against their skin. Hot and suffocating all at once. And all Aemond can hear is the steady rhythm of her breathing, his eye wandering down to the necklace perched on her chest as her lungs erratically suck in air.

“It is treason to question my virtue.”

She swallows as his thumb presses on the centre of her throat, as if testing if she is indeed real.

“It may be treason to question your virtue, but it is not treason to question your honesty,” he replies coolly. Aemond can feel her pulse fluttering beneath her skin, the barely-contained rage on her face hidden only by a blanket of courtesy, “a maiden does not allow herself to be alone like this with another man.”

Aemond found himself, a man who had sparred with Ser Criston Cole for a large portion of his life, a man who as a child had claimed the largest dragon in the world and a man who had dealt with the burning pain of losing his eye, and the shame that he carried alongside it, was shocked into brief silence when his niece’s small, delicate palm echoed off his cheek.

It was not the force of it that stunned him so, but rather the shock that she had chosen to do it, with his hand around her neck and his frame blocking her escape.

The little dragon had felt threatened and given him a warning clip.

Aemond felt the warmth bloom on his cheek and smirked. She had slapped him on his bad side, where she knew it would sting the most. For a split second, white, hot pain nipped at the temples of his head as he turned back to face her, and saw that look on her face.

That she knew she’d made a mistake, but was too angry or proud to admit it. 

Or perhaps she was both.

Excitement wriggled and rolled in his stomach at the whimper that escaped her lips, using the force of his grip around her tiny throat to force her back, muscles and bones rolling against the stone walls where she was trapped, and those clear, curious eyes darting back at him with distaste. And he was pleased to see, a sprinkling of horror and panic.

“That was a mistake,” he mused, pressing himself closer to her, his hand firm around her throat despite her own attempting to pry them off him. His other hand reached down, shifting her up the cold wall, and gathered her heavy skirts in his palm, and rucked them frustratingly up towards her hip.

He revelled in the terror that crossed her face, a smirk winding its way to his sharp features.

“How exhilarating,” he pondered, “to take something that you are not willing to give.”

“I will scream”.

“Then scream. I will say it was you who seduced me,” he bit back, watching her face and expressions that crossed them, “And who will they believe? The King’s second son or the bastard daughter of a whore?”

He could feel her breath against his face, soothing the spot where she had struck him not a moment before. Aemond blinked slowly at the woman in his grip, apparently attempting to decide for herself whether it was worth the fight.

Or perhaps something else.

Aemond grinned, “like mother like daughter.”

And he enjoyed the fire it stoked in her eyes.

“You will let me go-”

He shook her neck in his grip, as if to make her be quiet. And it seemed to shock and scare her, for she closed her eyes to steel herself, “And then what will you do? Run? Scream? Or will you do something stupid enough to give me an excuse to make everything you’ve ever said about me, truth?”

Her jaw tightened looking at him, feeling cornered, but a strange ache between her thighs.

“You threaten me, Uncle?”

His dagger sliced the very air between them, pressing the tip to the column of her throat where his thumb had branded her not moments before, tracing the shape of her skin. His niece froze, her breath trembling and her head pressed to the wall, as if to try and pull herself feebly away from threat. 

This very dagger was an extension of Aemond himself. As if his hand were still touching her but with a pointed edge. And he wondered if he sliced her skin, even just a little, would she bleed like him?

There was something there in her eyes as he looked between them. Her breath came in shallow gasps. And Aemond was willing to bet that deep down, beneath the demure veil she hides herself behind, peeking through, that she is wet and ready for him between her silky thighs.

“You are clever, dear niece,” he all but whispers, trailing the blade down to the neckline of her dress, the rich fabric yielding to it, “but not as clever as you think you are.”

She swallowed thickly as his blade teased the tied bindings to her dress, playing with the double-tied knots as if they were strings of a lute, and he was playing her easily. He plucked one, and then two, watching her face the entire time.

“You believe yourself a proper little Princess, do you not?” he asks, his voice low, almost feline in nature, his face so close to hers she can make out the stitchings of his eyepatch, “hair decorated with gold. Fingers adorned with rubies. Wrapped in lavish dresses.”

She flinched as he flicked his wrist, severing the second to last tie holding two sides of her gown together.

“But pull one little thread, and you unravel -” his tone deepens, forcing her to listen to every little syllable, his gaze boring into hers, “-and all you are…is a wanton, bastard, whore.”

She attempted to push his body away, but his dagger clattered to the floor, holding her easily by her wrists, near-painfully pressing them to the stone wall behind her. It happened so quickly. Lips, teeth and tongue fought as if in battle, and Aemond held her there for him, pressing his rapidly hardening length against her clothed womanhood, rolling his hips against hers to search for that delicious, forbidden friction.

It did not seem to him that she was fighting him, but rather fighting how he made her feel.

Her lips were velvety, moist and soft as his anchored hers apart to taste her, once having a split second’s worth it was never enough. Every little breath and whimper and he wanted to make them louder, make her submit, a part of him intoxicated by her when  her teeth grazed his bottom lip, and bit on him, only for her tongue to soothe the area afterwards.

Aemond thought of what would happen, if he devoured her wholly, pressed so hard against her that it was difficult to fathom where either of them began and ended.

His lips moved along her jaw. She smelled of whatever oils were combed through her hair. Camomile and something sweet perhaps. Quickly his hand left her wrist to ruck her heavy skirts up to her waist, feeling her shiver at the touch he left behind with the brief touch of his fingertips where no man had touched before. 

“Fight back,” Aemond dared, a mere whisper against her neck where he left his bruise-like mark.

He met her gaze, looking into her bright eyes and allowed his grip on her to slowly relax, waiting to see if she would push away. Scream and run, as she had previously promised. And while her jaw was still tense and eyes aflame with hostility, he swore he saw her pupils dilate.

“Just get on with it.”

The surging heat in his stomach distracted him briefly from acting cocky, his fingers fumbling to untie his breeches while keeping her elevated. And it felt as if his body was thinking before his mind when he looked between them to see her hefty skirts bunched at her hip, and one smooth leg on display, pulling his achingly hard cock free and tucking himself between the soft haven between her thighs. 

She could pretend she desired him not all she liked, but when their gazes met in fire and fury, finding that in all of their fighting and struggling she was soaking wet, Aemond pushed against her entrance until she welcomed him, sliding within her tight, choking walls with a low groan batted against her neck.

She whined at both the intrusion and his tight grip on her thigh, one hand elevating it so that he could begin pushing up brutally into her. Shame rose to her cheeks as she closed her eyes tightly, finding the wet smack of their skin rousing that tightness in her belly.

It was both embarrassing and hateful that she found herself enjoying this, and that she let him first of all. 

And all she could see above her when she opened her eyes was him, his lips parted to breath as if he was holding some beastly form of himself back, his hair spilling like rays of moonlight over his shoulders with every thrust into her weeping cunt and the way his lone eye never strayed from her expression, not for a second.

That is until Aemond felt as if not only he wanted to own her shame and her body, but wanted to show it too, and leaned forward to graze his teeth on the skin that was now exposed by the ever loosening shoulders of her dress, and sink his teeth in to mark her.

The sound that came from her was between a grunt and a moan, as his position changed the angle of his hips and the blunt head of his cock sparking pleasure deep inside her.

“Fucking…hate you…” is all she managed, feeling the top of his canine break the skin just slightly. Her voice clung to that flat, stoic hatred, and she hated that it sounded as if she were about to fall apart.

If it were possible, he increased the intensity of his movements, pushing up into her mercilessly and drawing feminine, soft whines from her mouth. Sounds he wasn't even sure before his niece was capable of making.

“I adore your fire, sweet niece,” he muses lowly, tracing her jaw with his lips, “I adore how much you think you hate me.”

She does hate him, she tries to think. But every thought that appears is swiftly batted away by the incessant rhythm of his cock pistoning in and out of her, the depraved sounds betraying how she truly feels. An internal war Aemond can clearly see.

“Do you like this? Do you like how much I hate you? How much I want to hurt you?”

Yes.

A thought rung in her mind that she wanted him to hurt her more, so that she could just feel something from him aside from the way he stretched her walls around him so deliciously.

The soreness of his girth is something she had not expected to be a problem, a lapse of thought that she will no doubt be paying for the next morning.

But this, this was a core lapse of morals, surely. Allowing him to do this to her.

His fingers dug into the flesh of her thigh, as if pulling her to meet his cock halfway, feeling the way his body shuddered at the closeness of completion evident on his face.

Aemond grinned wolfishly, “You like this. We both know it.”

He thrusted into her so forcefully that she had no choice but to hold onto him, clinging to his leather-clad shoulder tightly when he met her fleshy end, her insides involuntarily squeezing around him in both pain and pleasure.

His hand came to her neck, clamping down experimentally on her windpipe, and groaning deeply at the way her cunt sucked him in as he did. Forcing her chin up so those traitorous blue eyes met his, he grinned.

Hateful little cunt.

Her peak crept up her spine first, feeling as if the sensation was melting her muscles where they sat inside her body. And then her lips parted in a soundless scream, pitifully moving her hips towards his to encourage the feeling to crest until it rushed out of her with a feeble whine, “uncle…”

Not only was the feeling of her quivering, velvety walls enough to convince him, but the way she called him that while he was so deep inside her, threatening for relief, was so erotic it did not feel depraved in the slightest.

But nothing was better than that wide-eyed, colourful expression of panic, distaste, hate and anxiety when he deliberately planted his seed inside of her. Aemond was sure there was no better feeling, bad intentions or no, her blood felt good on him, his teeth and cock alike.

All he could imagine was what dynasty could be created from such a house of revulsion. To watch this hateful little creature swell with his child, a true Targaryen. Only to put on the same stoic, flat expression which he knew was untrue when he'd fuck her again, and again, and again.

What flame flickered under that expression of hers, he wondered. What stone was hidden in the centre of her peachy, soft exterior. A heart, perhaps.

She didn't have to like it, this dance between them. But when he put her down and watched his spend trickle down her thighs, he would have her come to love it.

She existed for this. Whatever it was. He was sure of that.

“Well, little dragon,” he whispered, “the bastard daughter of a whore, with another growing within her?”

She swallowed around his hand as he tugged her face closer to his.

“Or burn with me.”

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard @bellstwd @blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch@castellomargot @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @randomdragonfires @risefallrise @thelittleswanao3 @theoneeyedprince @thetrueblackheart @tsujifreya @urmomsgirlfriend1 @valeskafics @valleyof-goldenlilies @virtualsweetsqueen @watercolorskyy

[esouliie]

BUT DADDY, I LOVE HIM

– pairing | wanda maximoff x fem! reader

– synopsis | you and wanda come back from a very successful first mission together and decide to celebrate in the shower.

– warnings | soo if you’re a mutual dnr (jk), this is literal filth, dom/sub dynamic, spanking mention, fingering (both! receiving), face slapping, mommy kink of courseee, pet play, dub con kinda(?) bc she forces you to pee… so piss kink🤠, dacryphilia, oral (w! receiving), some aftercare and cute lil fluff moment at the end as wanda wraps you in her towels bc she’s so mommy! :3 (18+)

– notes | i honestly have nothing to say about this other than i wanted to try something new and out of my comfort zone. it was supposed to be a blurb but ended being over 2.6k so enjoy lmao >.<

It was your first mission as a couple. Unsurprisingly, it went well. To your core, you knew you’d both be fine. Wanda's leadership and responsibility were unwavering, and you knew deep down that you'd both succeed. Yet, your anxiety had waged its own battle, inundating you with "what ifs" and worst-case scenarios throughout the week.

The adrenaline still courses through your veins, mingling with the fatigue that weighs down your muscles. Dust and grime cling to your clothes, evidence of the challenges you faced together. But amidst the exhaustion, there's a sense of accomplishment, knowing you've made your girlfriend proud.

On the flight home, you shared a tired chuckle, the tension of the mission slowly fading away in the comfort of each other's presence. And all those earlier nerves fading to nothing but relief, knowing you’re both going home. Safe and sound.

…

“I need this suit off me,” Wanda exclaims, her voice weary but tinged with a hint of amusement. She kicks off her boots, already having peeled off her corset, dropping it in a heap by the door.

You giggle in agreement, the sight of your usually intimidating girlfriend as she struggles to take off her tactical gear highly amusing. “Yeah, I think I need a shower to feel human again.”

The sweat-slicked fabric of your own corset sticks uncomfortably to your skin. You would’ve thought Tony would at least have the decency to make your suit more breathable if he was going to stick you in a tight corset…. guess not.

Wanda shoots you a pointed look as you fiddle with your top. Your breasts push deliciously against the black fabric and she licks her lips at the sight of you - totally unaware of her growing desire.

“Well, we could save some water and shower together.”

The suggestion doesn’t catch you off guard as you’re used to the witch coming up with lame excuses to see you naked, and the idea of standing under the hot spray with an equally naked Wanda sounds infinitely more appealing than facing the solitude of your own shower.

“You know, if you wanted to see me naked, you could’ve just said so.”

With a smirk and after a quick press of her lips against yours, Wanda heads towards the back of the apartment, tossing a teasing glance over her shoulder as she beckons for you to follow. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

“Hold on, babe,” You quickly follow in her steps, your trousers and socks long gone, as you enter the shared bedroom, heading for the en-suite. “I need to use the bathroom first-”

Soft lips cut you off as hands slip around your back, swift in removing your blasted corset. She doesn’t wait to grope your chest - deciding she’s been teased enough seeing you in that tight material - and thumbs swipe over pebbled nipples, as she bites her way down your neck.

With an attitude that Wanda usually wouldn’t let slide, "This couldn't have waited five minutes?" 

She replies with a quick “nope” and a harsh nip as she mouths at your skin, now adorned with pretty little red marks.

“But I need to go-” Her teeth digging softly into your nipple interrupts your train of thought as your hands shoot up to weave into dark curls, scraping at her scalp.

You say her name in a breathy moan and she replies with her own; kissing, licking, and sucking as much of you as she can. Your eyes flutter close but an ever harsher pinch to your nipple jolts you forward, eyes wide in search of the culprit.

“Eyes on me.” And with that, she steps away, starting the shower as she adjusts the temperature until steam billows from the stall in a comforting cloud.

As she moves under the spray, you can't help but admire the way the water glistens on her skin, tracing the curves of her body in rivulets that disappear beneath the cascading stream. Emboldened by the steam and the intimacy of the moment, you strip off your panties and join her in the shower, letting the water wash away the tension that has settled in your muscles.

For a while, there is only the sound of water pounding against tile, as you both take time to clean yourselves on irrespective sides. The shower was big enough for more than two, designed with two large showerheads on either side and one in the middle that you never turn on. But then, Wanda breaks the silence with a soft laugh, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she looks at you.

“Cute butt.”

You turn your head towards her, refusing to turn fully away from the warm stream cascading down your front.

“What? This butt?” You tease, hands gliding down your hips to grab a handful of your cheeks, before rubbing slow circles, making a show of the usually marked flesh.

Wanda may have liked having you as her good girl, but there was only so much you could take before reverting to your bratty self.

Turning away from your girlfriend, not letting her win at her game of teasing, you resume cleaning yourself. But, light fingertips brushing along your left nipple tell you she’s no longer on her side. The water makes everything even more slick, a delicious friction that almost wasn't. 

She guides the heel of her other hand down your side, cresting over your ribs until it reaches your ass. Rubbing circles over where your hands were, her eyes glazed over remembering the last time she had you bent over her lap, hues of purple and red stretched over the skin as she spanked you for mouthing off in front of the team.

She husks, “Uh huh. But I like it better with my marks all over.”

Not wasting any more time, she wraps an arm around, fingers sliding down your lower stomach and graciously over your slit, just nearly missing your bundle of nerves. As if she was the one being played with, she groans freely into your ear, her front grinding flush against your back.

“Spread your legs.” And you find yourself obeying, weight shifting to rest on your palms against the tiles. She chuckles softly, teasing you along the lines of being an “eager baby,” before two fingers glide across your peaked clit, and then curl them into your hot passes.

Your head begins to throb, a sign of the tension building within you. "Don't tease," you plead, knowing that the steam only exacerbates your headache. You reach for the faucet, desperately craving relief from the suffocating heat, but a hand stops you.

You find yourself being spun around to face the taller woman, your back arching away from the cold bite of the tiles. She stares down at you with an all familiar head tilt that dares you to challenge her, to defy her from taking what is hers.

But you remain still and she takes that as an initiative to slide inside deeper, a small smile on her face at your obedience. Starting at a hard yet slow pace, she fucks into you with little remorse. A reminder of that she owns you and can have you however she wants.

Just how you like it.

“Such a pretty little slut. Taking my fingers like that, huh? So fucking greedy.” She laughs as you cling onto her towering figure, the pleasure all too consuming as you whine and whimper so openly.

Chasing that high, you fail to notice how different you feel. Waves of pleasure burdened with a slight ache as you flutter around her. The front of your walls stimulated constantly as you rock into her thrusts. Looking down, you watch as she disappears inside of you and suddenly you remember how you needed to pee earlier. The urge to go had left as soon as Wanda started to suck at your nipples.

Your head snaps back, eyes searching to catch Wanda’s attention. But it was already on you as a smirk spreads across her face. “Don’t you have to go, baby?” She asks in a husky whisper.

Your mouth opens but no sound comes out as you resort to nodding relentlessly.

“Aw, you can hold it for me, can’t you?” She coos, fingers never slowing their pace. “I want to play with you a little longer.”

Knowing you won’t be able to hold out, the need to go growing stronger and stronger now that you remember, you whine out, “No, please, Wands- I won’t- I can’t hold it.”

With a fake sigh that conveyed an air of dissatisfaction and yet subtle empathy, “Then go right here.”

You grimace at the thought of peeing on your girlfriend, how gross it would be… the embarrassment would be too much to recover from.

“I don’t want to.” You admit, embarrassment working its way slowly into your mind, not far enough gone to allow Wanda to think for you.

She doesn’t like that, and so, her fingers work faster inside of you. Her other hand moving between pinching your nipples mercilessly and holding your hips down.

“I don’t care.” She hisses out, “If you need to go, you better do it now. Don’t make Mommy wait.”

Making Wanda wait was something you didn't really want to do, having seen the consequence on many occasions when you couldn’t come when she permitted you, but it was difficult. What she was asking of you was difficult.

With her less busy hand, she slaps a palm against your cheek, the sound echoing against the tiled walls, wet skin against wet skin making the assault sting worse than usual. “I won’t tell you again, slut.”

She doesn’t like how easily you can lose focus, your brain clearly overworking when you should be letting go, focusing solely on her.

You mumble out a soft “okay”, not wanting to be slapped again, before closing your eyes and willing yourself to relax around her fingers. Your body no longer fighting against the urge, fighting to hold it in.

But tight circles around your sensitive clit and fingers deep inside don’t stop as they continue pushing you closer to the edge. Your hand grips tight around her wrist, but to no avail. She was too strong and you couldn’t help but surrender to your throes of pleasure.

Hot liquid runs down the inside of your thighs and your eyes snap shut, shielding yourself from what’s happening, as you also begin to come – unable to stop the stream of piss, the flow faster and out of control as fingers still fuck into you.

“Oh, darling... look at you.” She coos, a hint of bewilderment evident in her voice. Not expecting you to actually look, but teasing you for it all the same. She revels in the way the warm liquid slips through her fingers on to the white flooring.

Despite how mean she was, you hold tight onto her as you lose the ability to stand on your own, legs wobbling beneath. You feel her push you further into the wall, using her body as support, not wanting to take her hand away from your weeping pussy.

“That’s it.” She says softly, fingers coaxing more pleasure from your clit. “Such a messy puppy.”

Tears fall from beneath your eyelids and you open your mouth to speak, only to be silenced with her tongue down your throat.

“That was so hot.” She admits before diving back in, teeth clashing as you open your mouth wide enough for her taking. Her tongue draws yours out as she wraps around it, sucking feverishly. Feeling you release all over her fingers - the heat easily detectable under the stream of water above as you managed to splash against her pale skin - turned her on so much, she couldn’t help but fidget, battling the urge to just fuck against your soaked thigh.

The kiss eventually comes to an end, the need to breathe overpowering the need for having Wanda explore your mouth, a few hungry strands of saliva linking you together.

“Good job, baby. You did so good for me.” She says, coaxing you further into that fuzzy feeling. She nuzzles into your neck, lightly nipping over your fluttering pulse, soothing the heated skin with her tongue. The steam making it harder to see anything clearly. You whine in reply, words no longer existing in your mind, as your heavy arms wrap around her waist.

Wanda, unbeknownst to you, wants you in this headspace—all clingy and dependable. She knows how easily things affect you, so she knew that pushing you hard like she did earlier, forcing you to pee all over her, would only cause your brain to overthink and turn against you. She had to keep you like this, for your sake as well as hers.

“I know you’re feeling all floaty but Mommy needs you to do something for her, sweetheart.” She grabs your hand heading towards the slick between her thighs. She was dripping, her clit so swollen it was hard to miss, and you couldn’t help but trace slow circles around the bud. “Mommy needs you here.”

She encourages you further with a moan so arousing, it had you almost slipping inside of her, desperate to make her come around your fingers already.

She whines, needing you to focus. “I want your mouth, baby.”

You sink to your knees, knocking her legs apart to accommodate. You hoist a leg and place it over your shoulder before leaving a line of wet kisses from her knee to the inside of her thigh. Her fingers caress your face, before getting a good hold of your wet curls and drawing you closer to where she needs you most. You waste no time and lick the length of her centre, greedily taking in the arousal that had gathered there. Wanda lets out a low groan and your eye flutter at her sweet taste. She urges you with the hand that was still tangled in your hair. Obedient to the woman’s demand, you push closer, tongue teasing around her entrance as the tip of your nose pushes into her nerves.

The grip in your curls tightens as she begins to guide your head up and down, your tongue running from just inside her, up along that sweet nerve. She curls forward, one hand against the wall, as she fucks against your face. You lick greedily, jaw slack as you let her take control, smearing her wetness all over.

Every pant melds with a breathy moan as she chases her orgasm. Lost in pleasure, she knocks your head against the tiles. It hurts - your headache now forming for certain - but she doesn’t notice until one sharp thrust has you letting out a sharp cry.

“Oh, I’m sorry, baby.” She husks, arousal still clouding her senses, but she’s concerned with your wellbeing as the hand in your hair travels to soothe where you hit your head, making sure there’s no bumps or cuts. Your eyes flutter shut but you don’t revel in the comfort for too long. Her diagnoses done, she guides you back to her pussy.

She doesn’t fuck your face this time, allowing you the space to gingerly tease her entrance, and within a few seconds, your curling your fingers inside while making a hither motion, eliciting long moans from the older woman.

You don’t bother working your way up, knowing how close she was to finishing before she stopped, as you flick at her clit, fingers pressing against her front walls with an expertise only she could teach you.

At this point, Wanda can’t stop moaning. Her hand leaving your hair as she palms her breasts, slipping her nipples between her fingers and pinching the sensitive flesh. Words of encouragement fly from her lips as she lingers on the edge and you work faster, harder, propelling her forward into a blinding orgasm. Her body trembles violently and you smooth your palms over her thighs, feeling the strong muscles rippling beneath.

“Fuck.” She draws out, light flicks of your tongue helping her come down, before she’s ushering you back on to your feet. You slide up and press against her awaiting lips, pushing your body against hers. Sensitive nipples rub against each other and she groans as she tastes herself, hungrily kissing back. She’s always been able to recover much quicker than you.

“Thank you, baby.” She whispers, still a little breathless, before she turns to shut off the water. Her hand grasps yours and you step out the shower, feeling a slight chill as the warmth of the water dissipates. Wanda reaches for a fluffy towel, wrapping it around you first before turning her attention to herself. With practiced ease, she begins to pat your skin dry, her touch sending ripples of warmth through you.

 She always takes such good care of you.

“Looks like I need to wrap your hair.” She says, a tender smile gracing her lips. She had managed to avoid getting her hair wet unlike you with your curls clinging to the sides of your face. Her fingers work deftly to wrangle them into a towel but she’s had enough experience and managed to do it first time.

“All done, little mermaid.” She lets go with a peck to your lips, moving towards the door, and you grab onto her stretched out hand.

“Come on,” She tugs gently, “Let’s watch a movie.”

[slutforgarlogan]

"Youre a pretty little thing" | Michael Langdon x F! reader.

Summary: based off this request. Michael Langdon showing off to the coven witches and using the seven wonders to impress you because he has a crush on you

A/N: guys i love him im a catholic and he's the antichrist we're like romeo and juliet. also the writing on this one is questionable n clunky but im on wine and cider so it needs to be forgiven

When the warlocks had told Cordelia they wanted to have Michael perform the seven wonders, Michael had felt determined to get it done quickly and better than Cordelia could do it, to prove he was the next supreme, and no one could argue it.

However, when the witches had arrived telling him they agreed to it, and he could attempt to perform the seven wonders, Michael had found himself a little distracted by one of the witches, you. His new goal was to impress you.

First wonder: Telekinesis. This one was easy and simple, he just had to move something without touching it. He did so, quickly and with ease, shooting a cocky smirk at the witches, eyes lingering on you a little.

Second wonder: Concilium. Michael knew he could be crafty with this one - control of the mind. He looked at you, and as you made eye contact, you knew you were going to be the victim of him showing off this power.

You could feel yourself moving towards him, very much against your will, and you took mental note of the fact that though you yourself were a very powerful witch, he was powerful enough that you couldn't even try and fight it.

To your surprise, despite the weird evil vibe you've all been getting from him, all he makes you do is dance with him. You uncontrollably slow dance with him, unsure whether it's his pretty face or the magic thats making you kind of nervous, but whatever it is, you scold yourself for thinking that way about a man that even one of the warlocks is scared of.

When he's done making you dance with him, you awkwardly do the walk of shame back over to stand next to Zoe, awkwardly smiling at her.

Third wonder: Transmutation. Another easy one, Michael thought. Madison had tapped him on the shoulder, and in turn, he had appeared behind you to tap you on the shoulder.

By the time you had turned round, he had dissappeared again, leaving everyone looking around for him. Your eyes dart around the room, a little puzzled. Whatever he was doing, it was successfully intriguing you more and more by the second, drawing yourself to the unsettling boy.

"Look up"

You can all hear the cockiness in his voice, the same annoying smirk as before present on his face, as you look up to the ceiling, to see Michael attatched to it, looking down on everyone, like one of those sticky animals you get from toy machines.

Fourth wonder: divination. Once again, Michael already knew he could do this, another easy one. He had to do this one as it was given to him, unfortunately, and couldn't do anything extra to inadvertently flirt with you more. And so, he makes a small bit of eye contact with you, before he takes the small pebbles and usea them to figure out where the pocket watch is, finding it almoat instantly, and walking over to where it was to pick it up and show the witches.

Fifth wonder: Pyrokenesis. Michael decided the best thing to do, would be to conjure a ring of fire around where you and madison were stood, making piercing eye contact with you through the fire, and getting rid of it as quickly as he had conjured it up.

To you, the danger and mystery of him was considerably attractive, though Cordelia didn't seem too impressed that he was practically targeting you.

Sixth wonder: Vitalum Vitalis. Michael was given a rat to bring back to life, which proved another easy task for him, doing so pretty much instantaneously, and moving on to the seventh wonder.

Seventh wonder: Descensum. Cordelia had ordered for Michael to not only successfully come back from this, but also to retrieve Misty Day, who had been lost to this particular task when she tried the seven wonders.

This, of course, had caused an arguement between her and the warlocks, who were claiming it wasnt fair, and that it's not a part of the rules.

You and Michael, had been making eye contact the whole time, and the tension between the two of you was so thick you could almost see it. He broke eye contact to look at the warlocks, holding up a dissmissive hand to them "Relax, I'll do it"

He did, and you watched intensely as he lay there, seemingly lifeless. You started to feel a little nervous, even though you didn't know him at all really, nor would you ever admit to having the slightest care in the world how this played out, you told yourself you were nervous because you wouldn't wish death upon anyone.

Sure enough, he did return, and Misty did - eventually - return with him. Much to everyones shock.

You stood there and gawked, eyes flicking between Michael and Misty, and he smirked at you.

A short bicker between the witches and warlocks ensued, before the witches had all turned there attention to Misty.

You however, had turned your attention to Michael, your gaze locking with his for what felt like the millionth time today.

"You seem impressed, little witch," he smirks a little at you, and you nod in response.

"I am impressed" you confirm, trying to be cautious, undeniably attracted to him, but still acknowledging that there's something off about him.

"That was the goal, i wanted to impress you" he sounds serious about it, and you tilt your head a little, cocking an eyebrow.

"Why"

"You're a pretty little thing, thats why"

[abisnailll]

Welcome to Sakuranbo 🌸🍒

「DA-2438-8296-4732 」

₊˚ʚ 🍄 ₊˚✧. “The forest glows with the warm light of enchanted mushrooms, allowing a path of flower petals and pebbles to guide the way.”🪻⋆˙⟡₊ °🌷⊹˚

🎶.°– “Here, little creatures sing their songs, dancing to the rhythm of blooming flowers. Whilst fallen stars twinkle softly among the leaves, it is as if the night sky itself has settled onto the Earth.” ✧˖°.💫

✧˚｡ “Within the forest's shadow, a witch's hut stands, where potions bubble and the wind carries the whispers of forgotten spells.” •°🔮⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

.°⋆🪲✴︎˚｡⋆ “Insects of every shape and size wander through the underbrush, each one a welcome guest. For this is no ordinary forest—it's a place of secrets, surprises, and magic at every turn.” `✩₊˚.⋆🐛⋆⁺₊🐞

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Hello!! I Wanted to share more angles of my ACNH Magical Mushroom Forest, and a fun little short introduction on what you can find here! ♥️🍄 i really wanted to show how beautiful all the lights are and how magical it looks!!!! 🌷٩(๑❛ᴗ❛๑)۶🪻

[endangeredrandomfanfics]

"A Mother's Calm in the Storm"

Taglist- @circe143 @skittlebum

Masterlist

Summary: A few days past and you and Agatha continued to live on with her draining witches but one fateful day you happen to trigger your powers and don't know how to react luckily your mother is there to help -Chapter III

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The forest was alive with the soft whispers of leaves in the wind, birds singing their afternoon songs as Agatha and her child walked together. It was the child’s tenth birthday, a day Agatha had known for years would be special in more ways than one. She’d sensed the potential growing within them, like a seed waiting for the right moment to bloom.

But she hadn’t expected that moment to arrive so suddenly.

One second, her child was bending to pick up a small stone by the river, and the next, it was as though the forest itself had come alive in response to their touch. The stone hovered, spinning in the air between their fingers, and all around them, pebbles and leaves began to rise, circling in a strange, beautiful dance. The child’s eyes widened, watching in shock as the power spread outward, pulling more of the forest into its grasp.

Agatha stepped closer, her heart swelling with pride and wonder, but her child’s face held only fear.

“Mama,” they whimpered, their voice shaking, “I don’t know what’s happening… Make it stop, please!”

The child’s breaths came faster, panicked, as more objects lifted into the air—small stones, branches, even the water from the river lifting in droplets, suspended in a shimmering ring around them. They backed up a step, clutching their hands to their chest, eyes brimming with tears.

“Shhh, shhh, it’s alright, my love,” Agatha murmured, kneeling down to their level, her voice gentle and warm. “It’s just your magic coming to life. You’re not in danger, and I’m here with you.”

But the child shook their head, squeezing their eyes shut as tears spilled down their cheeks. “I don’t want this—I don’t know how to make it stop!” They sobbed, trembling as the energy surged stronger, the floating objects circling them faster, caught in a storm they didn’t understand.

Agatha’s heart ached to see their distress, but she kept her voice calm, her hands reaching out to gently rest on their shoulders. “Look at me, sweetheart,” she said softly, her thumbs brushing away their tears. “Take a deep breath, just like we do when we’re practicing our songs. Remember? Breathe in… and out.”

They opened their eyes, looking into her calm, reassuring gaze. Her voice, soft and steady, seemed to reach them even through their panic. They sniffled, trying to breathe with her, their small hands clutching hers like a lifeline. Agatha’s presence was a steady, warm anchor in the chaos.

“Good,” she whispered, brushing a stray hair from their face. “You’re doing so well, my brave one. Now, let’s try another breath. Nice and slow.”

They breathed in again, following her rhythm, and Agatha felt the storm of energy around them begin to calm, the floating objects dropping slightly. She held their gaze, smiling softly. “There you go. You’re safe, my love. Nothing bad will happen—you’re in control.”

But even as the child tried to steady their breath, another wave of energy surged within them, wild and powerful. The stones, leaves, and river water rose again, swirling in chaotic orbits around them. They gasped, feeling the power slip from their grasp, their tears returning in a flood.

“I… I can’t do it, Mama!” they cried, their small voice breaking with fear and frustration. “Everything’s spinning, and I don’t know how to make it stop. I’m so scared…”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Agatha pulled them into her arms, wrapping them in a warm, comforting embrace. “It’s okay, my love,” she murmured, stroking their hair, letting her touch soothe them. “You don’t have to be afraid. I’m right here, and I’ll help you.”

The child clung to her, burying their face in her shoulder, sobs shaking their body as they tried to calm down. Agatha held them close, rubbing small circles on their back, her voice a steady whisper. “Listen to me, sweetheart. This magic—your magic—is a gift, and it’s a part of who you are. Right now, it feels strange and new, but with time, it will become familiar. You’re so strong, my brave little one.”

They pulled back slightly, looking up at her with tear-filled eyes. “But I… I can’t control it. It’s too much, Mama.”

Agatha cupped their cheek, her gaze soft and full of love. “That’s why I’m here, my love. I’ll help you learn to control it, bit by bit. For now, just focus on me, and remember that this magic is yours. It belongs to you. It can’t hurt you if you learn to welcome it.”

They sniffled, nodding slightly, still clinging to her hand as they tried to process her words. “What if… what if I can’t make it go away?”

She smiled, leaning down to kiss their forehead. “Then we’ll face it together, every step of the way. But I promise you, my darling, you’re much stronger than you think.”

Her words seemed to sink in, and slowly, they felt the storm inside begin to calm. The wild energy quieted, and the objects around them began to lower back to the ground—stones and branches settling softly, the droplets of water falling gently into the river.

Agatha watched with pride as they breathed deeply, steadying themselves, their small shoulders relaxing. She held their hands, guiding them through each breath, her warmth and strength steady and reassuring.

When the last of the chaos had faded, the child looked around, astonished by the stillness, the quiet. “I… I did it,” they whispered, a small, uncertain smile crossing their face.

Agatha’s heart swelled, and she pulled them close again, wrapping her arms around them. “You did, my brave one. I’m so proud of you.”

They hugged her tightly, letting out a shaky breath. “Thank you, Mama. I don’t think I could’ve done it without you.”

Agatha held them close, her own eyes misting over as she kissed the top of their head. “You’re stronger than you know, my love. And I’ll always be here to help you understand your gifts, every step of the way.”

They stayed wrapped in each other’s embrace, letting the warmth and safety of Agatha’s love settle over them. And as they began to walk back along the forest path, Agatha kept her arm around their shoulders, a smile on her lips as they talked about their newfound powers and the exciting journey that lay ahead. Together, they were ready to face whatever came next—mother and child, bound by a love that was as fierce and enduring as the magic within them.

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A/n: Please leave a comment 💜 I wanna read your thoughts 💭 about this, it's only the beginning I made more interactions happen between Agatha and the reader

[failchild]

i have seen many a survey that ask questions such as, "how old were you when you first witnessed a public execution/danced with wood witches/got high off merlin's stash etc." and the answer that wins is most always the boring one. so for those of you who do not seek these pleasures, which i know is the largest segment of this land: