#thank you though i needed the encouragement

[doodle-pops]

Being A Modern Reader In Valinor and Finrod Falling For You

A/N: New and fresh content for the other golden puppy. It’s a shame that I barely give him solo content 😫. Enjoy!!

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➳❥ When you first met Finrod elbow-deep in herbs and bandages, fumbling with a jar lid that wouldn’t open no matter how hard you tried, he had wordlessly stepped in and popped it open like it was nothing. Giving you a curious smile as you muttered, “Thanks, Hercules.”

➳❥ And that was pretty much how you caught his attention. He didn’t ask what you meant, but you noticed the gleam in his eyes as he tucked the name away like a precious gem. It wasn’t long before he started calling himself Hercules when no one else was around. Only to smirk even more when you had finally explain further.

➳❥ You has ended up as Elrond’s assistant, ever since you randomly dropped into Valinor, for a while by then—though the term ‘assistant’ was generous. You had some knowledge of modern medicine, and while elves didn’t get sick the same way mortals did, wounds still happened, illnesses sometimes lingered, and your way of thinking brought a fresh angle to his work.

➳❥ “So we’re just going to slap crushed leaves on it and let the hibbie-jibbie magic to the rest?” you’d asked once, squinting at an ointment Elrond had made. He gave you a tired dad look and said, “Yes. Everything you said.” You’d snorted and muttered something about old-fashioned remedies, but the results were hard to argue with.

➳❥ Finrod had the tendency to overhear your sarcastic comments in passing, causing him to laugh. “You say the strangest things. Do you mock everything, or only things you care about?”

➳❥ You told him you mocked everything, including death, especially death, and that had gotten a spark of recognition in his gaze that startled you both. He’d fought in Beleriand, and there was a weariness buried deep in his spirit that still responded to depths of his humour.

➳❥ Eventually, he took that as an excuse to start visiting more often, claiming he needed herbs from Elrond or to ask Celebrian’s opinion on something trivial. Every time you’d glance at him, he’d be watching you like he was trying to puzzle out a language only you spoke.

➳❥ “Your eyes do not look at us as though we are legends,” he remarked one afternoon, leaning on the doorframe while you argued with Elrond over whether boiling instruments was more effective than bathing them in alcohol. “It is oddly refreshing.”

➳❥ He asked you once, “Why do you not use the proper forms of speech? You speak as though the words fight each other.” You raised an eyebrow and told him, “Because life’s too short to sound like a Shakespearean actor at every turn, mate.”

➳❥ When you started calling him mate, he would repeat it back to you with cautious confusion, leading to you spending the next ten minutes explaining that no, it didn’t mean you were flirting with him. Probably.

➳❥ After that, he made it a point to use modern slang in ways that made no sense at all. “I am simply vibing,” he said once, seated elegantly on the edge of the healing house roof. “Do not disturb my vibe.” Just hearing modern slang rolling of his tongue sounded to foreign. He was still too posh for it—but it was great laughter for your soul.

➳❥ It was even funnier when it came to using idioms. “Breaking a leg out there! Knock ‘em dead! Slay!”You had his brows reaching his forehead because “Why would you say such negative words when meant to encourage?”You needed to sit him down to explain that it was an idiom and not to be taken literally. So now you had him telling others the same phrases.

➳❥ You once made an offhand comment about being a ‘gremlin with a medical licence,’ and he asked if it was some form of a mortal healer’s rank. You refused to clarify. And so, he called you Gremlin of the Healing Hall with a suspiciously affectionate tilt to his voice. “Good day, Great Gremlin of the Healing Hall.”

➳❥ When it came to him being into you, you didn’t realise—mostly because he was an elf prince who’d died fighting a werewolf and you were someone who just happened to be spat out from the sky on a random day. The math didn’t math.

➳❥ But then there were the small things. Like how he brought you plants from other gardens ‘for study’ but then beamed when you placed them near your workbench. Or how he remembered that you hated the feeling of linen bandages and found you cotton ones. How he leaned in when you were talking, like he was memorising your tone.

➳❥ “You are…unrefined,” he said once, and you laughed. “Come again?” He shook his head. “No—I like it. You cut the shape of the world differently than we do. It is…sharper. Clearer.”

➳❥ You have caught him once attempting to write a list of your modern idioms in Quenya. You watched him struggle to translate “barking up the wrong tree” with such solemn intensity you didn’t have the heart to stop him.

➳❥ Elrond knew, of course. He raised an eyebrow every time Finrod showed up with another “urgent question” about Celebrian’s tea preferences. “He likes you,” Which only made you shrug. “Yeah, well, he’s got odd taste, and I feel sorry for what he’s got to put up with.”

➳❥ You and Finrod do, from time to time, end up in a heated discussions about ethics in medicine—something about whether you could replicate vaccines in Aman or if that was even necessary—and it ended with him looking at you like you’d hung the stars.

➳❥ “You are not like Bëor’s people,” he said quietly, after. “There was wonder in them, yes, but you carry knowledge. Woven like a weapon into your humour.”

➳❥ Once you fixed his dislocated shoulder after a sparring match and he had the audacity to flirt while grimacing. “Your bedside manner is very commanding,” he sweetly seduced, through gritted teeth. “I feel scolded into recovery.”

➳❥ You slapped his arm and told him, “You’re not dying, stop being dramatic.” His grin was bright enough to put the sun out.

➳❥ One evening, you were exhausted and cranky and snapped at him when he asked a completely innocent question about the use of antiseptic. You regretted it instantly, but he only gave you a slight nod, and later brought you a cup of some herbal tea you’d once offhandedly mentioned helped you sleep.

➳❥ “I do not mind the rough edges,” he said, when you muttered an apology. “They make the bright parts brighter.”

➳❥ You gave him a nickname once—called him ‘Goldilocks’ and he froze like you’d kissed him. The next time you said it, he smiled so slowly it made your heart hiccup.

➳❥ There was a moment, once, when you were both sitting side by side after treating a minor injury someone brought in—a child with scraped knees, nothing serious—and he looked over at you, quiet and thoughtful, and said, “I wish I had met you then. Before the world broke.”

➳❥ He showed you music from his past, old songs sung in languages older than time, and you continued to teach him more idioms and slang for him to translate. Even talking about your world’s inventions and discoveries.

➳❥ He once asked if there was a special or different way your people show affection for someone they liked, or how they confessed and showed their interest. Very smooth and subtle. You obviously caught on and even gave him advice which only made him shine brighter with a plan in mind.

➳❥ “I’d have just called you Sparkles and made fun of your hair,” you replied, not looking at him.

➳❥ You caught him watching you during a feast, romanticised, but like he was trying to understand how you existed in this world and fit nowhere and yet thrived regardless. Like you were a marvel in a very small, very messy package.

➳❥ “You are not of this place,” he told you once. “And yet I find myself wondering if perhaps this place is better for having you in it.”

➳❥ You told him he was being weirdly poetic and needed to tone it down before you started writing terrible sonnets. And of course, he turned it around to offer help.

➳❥ You never made it a big declaration, but there was one time he reached out and squeezed your hand under the table during a feast, and you didn’t flinch or joke or pull away. That, for both of you, said enough.

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[vmqires]

lose my cool (s.jy)

pairing. soccer captain!jake x fem reader ❦︎ friends 2 lovers? ; non-idol au, fluff. wc. 1551 synopsis. jake can’t help but lose his cool around you. he can’t seem to figure out why, why you’re so perfect for him.

a/n: lol it’s been 5 months >< i ghost everyone to be fair #soz but im back with jake this time !! this was inspired by lose my cool,- kali uchis. i wanted to write another heeseung but im struggling so bad !! so here’s fluff, but when i comeback i Will break ur hearts Mwahah im kidding but enjoy!! i do recommend listening to kali uchis’s album “sincerely,” while reading. ilysm n take care !!

jake was your basic soccer captain, he had it all really; looks, brains and personality. he was super friendly to everyone and had the biggest heart. he had it all figured out.

that is, until he met you.

you decided to switch it up for the school year and became the soccer team’s manager. it was simple; encourage the team, note their scores, manage practice and schedules. it kept you social and gave you experience.

jake, however was constantly distracted. such a pretty girl managing his team? god he hated college, hated you for making his heart skip a beat.

not really though because he’d think about how cute you looked in your skirt and jersey, making his mind run wild.

“jake get your head in the game!” jay called out as he ran past jake during a match. jake rolled his eyes and stole a glance at you, you just had to stand there and look so pretty huh?

“fuck…” he mumbled under his breath as he moved across the field. the score was close and if he was gonna get anywhere he had to lock in, rather than thinking about your angel face.

“what’s wrong with you jake? we’ve practiced this formation for months now!” coach choi scolded.

“sorry! im just distracted..” he trailed off as he stole yet another glance at you.

he went back to his position and shook his head. fine. he thought to himself. let’s show ‘em why i’m captain. his midfielder position had him constantly on the move and looking for opportunities for his team to score, though he didn’t mind scoring a few of his own just for the ladies. (really only you though.)

the buzzer goes off and thankfully due to jake’s ‘locking in’ it didn’t end in a tie, 5-3. easy win for your college team.

“you guys did great!” you smiled at the team of sweaty yet happy guys as they walked over.

“thanks y/n” “where’s the cooler?” “did you record this time?” “where’d you get the reservation for our win?” the team bombards you but you’re used to it by now, answering their questions with ease.

“of course, by coach choi, i’m already sending it in the groupchat, and the new restaurant by the cafe downtown.”

“you’re the best.” and other compliments are thrown at you for being the worlds best manager.

“yeah you really are the best.” you can recognize that soft voice anywhere.

“thanks jake.” you looked up at him. “but you were actually the best, you changed up the whole game once you clocked in or whatever you guys say.”

jake laughs, looking down at you with soft eyes. “locked in.” he corrects you before nudging you with his shoulder as he walks away.

you can’t help the light flush that stains your cheeks that you just so happened to miss the way his are stained the same color.

“jake stop!” some girl playfully hit his shoulder while jake did absolutely nothing. he looks the other way and low and behold. you.

he ditches the girl and makes his way to you, he didn’t really know what to say once he got to you though. he never really talked to you outside of practice or games. he just wanted to be in your space. you looked up at him, waited for him to say anything… something… anytime now… yeah okay whatever.

“what’s up?” you finally broke the silence. he awkwardly blinked before coming back to reality.

“oh not much. i just wanted to…” kiss you, hold you, stay with you forever so you wouldn’t need any other man. “… say hi.” he cursed at himself for being so awkward around you.

“well, hi.” you gave him a soft smile. “yeah, hi.” the two of you just kind of stood there in silence. it wasn’t uncomfortable.

“so i’ll see you at practice?” “are you coming to practice?” you spoke over each other. “well obviously you’re coming to practice you’re my- i mean our manager. you have to be there to… monitor us and stuff.” jake gulps and mentally slams his head against the lockers. you laugh though, finding humor in his awkwardness.

“i’ll see you on the field jake.” you say calmly before walking away to save him and he waves you off.

little by little you and jake flirted. it made his head spin every single time. he couldn’t handle it. your pretty smile, the way you carried yourself, and especially the way your clothes fit you. were you out to get him? well, yes!

you loved how easy it was to get him to stumble over his words, subtly cover his face with his hand to hide his blush, how easy it was to get him to fall for you.

you wanted him too but you weren’t so obvious. totally not obvious when you stared at him as he played, or when he stretched his arms over his head his shirt would ride up and you’d catch a glimpse of those perfect abs.

“take a picture, it'll last longer.” sunghoon joked while throwing you his disgusting, sweaty non-jake jersey.

you rolled your eyes and looked back at jake only to be met with his eyes. you smiled at him. to your surprise he smiled back and winked. you blushed like a high school girl with a raging crush on the football team captain — the irony is crazy.

where’d he get all this confidence from? where’s your shy a golden retriever jake?

still there apparently because sunghoon and jay got into his head about girls, as if they ever even had a serious relationship with anyone for that matter.

“just be cool and confident.” jay says casually. “yeah, cocky but you know you can’t be too cocky because that’s a turn off.” sunghoon adds on.

jake rolls his eyes “i think she likes me the way i am though.” jay and sunghoon exchange looks and a laugh too.

“no one does. be cool and fake like the rest of us.” jake couldn’t tell if they were joking and he’s about to find out.

you walked out of your building and started walking towards the library when jake stopped you.

“where are you running off to, pretty?” he tried his best to sound confident, and it worked because you tilted your head.

“pretty?” you mocked his tone. “what’s got you so confident?” jake’s smirk falters but he keeps it together. “i just am, this is… cool jake. yeah.” my god i need to shutup right now.

“cool jake huh? can i speak to my jake?” you ask sweetly and he melts. “god yes, of course, anything you want, he’s right here.” he wraps his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your head.

“missed this one.” you mumbled against his shoulder while you wrapped your arms around him. in the background you can see jay and sunghoon face palm and walk the other way.

you two didn’t even try to hide it anymore. not from the team or anyone. it was out there.

jake likes you and you like him, old school stylez. (bonus if you watched b99!)

he just wanted to ask you out at the right moment. which never seem to came because one, exams. two, practice. and three… he doesn’t know but he was busy! yes he could’ve asked you at practice but around the whole team and made himself look like a fool if you suddenly said no? no thank you.

he was obviously overthinking it.

just ask her jake. it’s so easy. just ask her out! he thought to himself as he ran a few laps around the field. you were talking with coach choi about the next year’s possible players. jake couldn’t stop staring at you. you felt his gaze the whole practice, you knew he had something to say.

“just tell me, what is it?” you reached up to play with his hair. he looked away, not like this. the whole team had left so it was just the two of you.

“i can’t..” he muttered, avoiding eye contact.

“jake, you’ve been staring at me this whole practice.” “i’ve been staring at you ever since you joined.” he blurted out and you giggle. “fuck i meant.. sorry.” he blushed. “you… you make me lose my cool y/n, i never know what to do or say around you and it’s eating me alive.”

you looked at him as he talked with the fondest of eyes. he noticed it, aw fuck it. “i really like you. and if you don’t like me back or if you just want to quit now, that’s fine too but i want to take you out on a date and plan our future together. i want this. i want us.” he reached out to hold your hand.

“i want us too jake.” you reply softly. “i want you just as bad.” he rests his forehead against yours. “promise?” his voice, barely above a whisper. “i pinky promise.” he chuckled and you smiled. “yeah i pinky promise too.”

oh the team hated you guys. the constant kisses and soft whispers. “get a room!” they’d yell from the field. you never stopped though, he was yours and you were his.

rumor has it, he still loses his cool around you.

[electric-guillotines]

An Absolute Menace

Wanda x female reader

Summary: Of course you were ovulating on a day when Wanda had to go in for what amounted to superhero office work. Obviously, the only right thing to do was make it her problem as well...

Content: 🔞 fluff, smut, mommy kink, finger sucking, dom/sub, dommy mommy wanda, enchanted strap, ovulation, dumbification, breeding (if you squint), praise and degradation

Word Count: 3, 639 Can be read below but is also available on [AO3]

This is a follow up to a previous story, Take Me Softly

You were disturbed from sleep by the press of lips against your brow and a hand gently shaking your shoulder, and despite the softness of it you can’t help but whine as you hear;

“I have to go, malysh (baby.) ”

Petulant though you were, you opened your eyes to see Wanda hovering over you, smiling so sweetly, dressed to leave, and you pouted, winding your arms around her neck.

“Don’t forget your lunch,” you murmured sleepily. “I put it on the top shelf.”

Wanda chuckled warmly at your expression. “Thank you. Always thinking of me even when you look like a kicked puppy,” she teased, stroking a finger down your nose.

Rather than fix your face, you grumbled a protest against such comparisons, only making it worse as the sound of Wanda’s laughter graced your ears again.

Warmth bloomed in your chest. 

Smiling despite yourself, you let out a dramatic sigh and flopped limply on the bed like a wilting flower. “I cannot thrive in these conditions, abandoned, alone, oh! I will wither without my hourly dose of affection, I will!”

“Is that right?”

“Yes. This is common knowledge about girlfriends.”

You could hear the smirk in Wanda’s voice, a rush of warm air tickling your skin. “Wouldn’t that apply to me?”

You looked up at her, nodding solemnly. “Which is why you should stay.”

Wanda let out a reluctant groan. “Steve insisted they need me to come in. I’m the only witch on hand after all.”

Right, the team needed Wanda’s help with something about magic.

Sighing, albeit with far less theatrics, you sat up to hug your girlfriend. “Go,” you said, kissing her cheek. “Go be amazing. I will survive. Barely.”

Wanda laughed, hugging you nearly tight enough to press the air from your lungs, like she could somehow carry the imprint of your body the rest of the day. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” she assured, gently pushing you back down into the blankets, “go back to sleep, malysh (baby.) ”

You hardly needed the encouragement, drifting back into peaceful oblivion as soon as she left the room. It wasn’t until you stirred again later and stretched out in search of your absent girlfriend that the petulant yearning returned, simmering in your chest, leaden and warm.

The more you lingered in bed, contemplating the empty space beside you, the more that sour tug in your chest wormed its way down your spine, the warmth becoming heat, the yearning becoming hunger.

No.

Starvation.

Biting your lip, you rose from bed and tried to shake off the sudden longing. Despite your dramatics earlier, you were in fact an adult, capable of self-sufficiency and independence. You could get through the day without Wanda, you had been without her for longer and this would be nothing, so you showered, dressed, and went about your day.

Coffee was brewed, breakfast was had, emails were checked—the morning run was uneventful. After a quick shower, you settled into the den with your tablet, ready to pass the time by drawing whatever came to mind as you watched a guilty pleasure of yours from the late 2000s.

Lost Tapes was a speculative series centred on the existence of cryptids and folkloric creatures, using the framing device of found footage. It struck just the right mix of absurd earnestness to make it both easy background noise and a source of inspiration.

Usually, after a few episodes you would have a couple pages worth of sketch dumps, yet…

You found yourself distracted, mind wandering to dark, needy corners and nudging your hand every other pen stroke. What came to life on the tablet wasn’t a collection of monsters but a pair of tangled bodies, ravenous and sensual.

Staring down at the sketch, you chewed your lip, trying to ignore the slow burning heat in your gut.

A devious little voice in your head suggested sending the image to Wanda.

Your skin tingled.

Unconsciously, you deepened some of the details, the dip of nails into back muscles, the shine of a leather harness, the tapestry of scratches across both bodies.

The thought of Wanda pinning you down and ravishing you wasn’t a new one, but it was always one that delighted you. For whatever reason, today the thought burned through you like a grease fire spilling across the floor, dangerous and hard to control.

Swallowing, it occurred to you how sensitive your body felt. Your nerves were buzzing, the heat pulsed between your thighs, and every little movement made you painfully aware of how wet you were.

Pulling out your phone, you quickly opened the period tracking app to double check where you were in your cycle.

Of course.

You were ovulating. 

On a day when Wanda had to go in for what amounted to superhero office work.

Against the tiniest voice of reason in your head, you sent the sketch to Wanda with a text;

Did some drawing in the den, thought of you ❤️

Five minutes later, Wanda responded;

That’s quite the vivid thought you were having, malysh. The line weight is beautiful x

Tactful, composed—that wouldn’t do.

I would love to bring it to life right now, let mommy ruin me until I forget my own name, pinning me under her body as she makes me hers over and over again… 

The response took longer, the three dots stopping and starting multiple times until Wanda finally replied;

You are playing a dangerous game teasing mommy while she’s away.

All you sent in response was a heart and closed your phone. 

Determined to get through the rest of the day, you made sure to tidy up around the house, prep food for later, and do laundry, but while you took care of such domestic endeavours you continued sending messages. Little reminders of your vivid thoughts, and pictures of you throughout the day that skirted a razor fine edge between innocent and provocative.

Each time the message status changed to ‘seen’ sent a pleased little thrill through you, unconsciously clenching your thighs together and biting your lip as you waited to see if Wanda would take the bait again.

She warned you only twice more and nothing further, but Wanda kept looking at each new message, still read the words and lingered on the pictures as her icon shifted from offline to online and back again.

You knew it was getting to her and the thought of how she would be when she got home had your head feeling warm and foggy by the time you heard her keys in the door.

It was with a heavy, honey-like sense of heat in your belly that you listened for her, sitting quietly in the den. 

There was no call, no announcement of her presence in the house, she hadn’t even sent a text to tell you she was on her way back. Instead, you barely allowed yourself to breathe as you heard the light thud of her footsteps moving down the hall, the floorboards softly creaking here and there the closer she got, until finally Wanda stepped into the doorway.

Your breath caught in your throat, taking in the sight of her looming at the threshold, the bright hallway and the dim light of the cosy den leaving her partially silhouetted.

The faintest red glow lit Wanda’s eyes like embers in a campfire.

You just peered up at her, your eyes black and your limbs darkened, dressed in soft pajama shorts and a patterned red sweater that hung off one shoulder. It belonged to Wanda once upon a time, it was the first item of clothing you ever borrowed from her, and kept borrowing whenever you wanted her affection but couldn’t get it.

The weight of her presence pinned you in place, watching her approach with slow, deliberate strides until she was standing over you, eyes devouring every inch of bare skin she could see.

Finally, Wanda muttered, “you have been an absolute menace today.”

The heat in her voice made you shift on the spot.

Lifting a hand to your face, she tucked a lock of hair behind your ear, traced the curve of your cheek, and captured your chin in a firm but gentle grip.

You remained perfectly still as she leaned down until your noses almost touched, the glow of her eyes playing on your skin.

Wanda sighed, not from annoyance but in an attempt to maintain control of herself, her breath carrying the slightest tremor of energy wound tight, a coil ready to crack. “I thought you liked being my good girl.”

A whine lurched from the back of your throat. “I could not stop thinking about you,” you rushed to explain yourself, your accent thicker with the fog of your thoughts. “I felt sensitive and warm all day and I wanted you here. I am ovulating.”

The tension in Wanda softened just a little and her head slowly tilted to the side, her smouldering eyes sweeping over you with something dark and appreciative.

With gentle pressure she slid her fingers into your hair and dropped the hand holding your chin to your throat, not squeezing, simply resting there. You almost went limp in her grasp.

Wanda locked eyes with you again, calmly tilting your head back and admiring the way you arched into her touch, pliant and eager. “Ohhh,” she crooned, “my pretty little dolly just needed me so much did she?”

The playful condescension made you drip into your shorts and you squirmed, nodding

Wanda gave your hair a light tug. “Words, dolly.”

You scrambled to answer her. “Yes, Mommy, I needed you, I need you, please.”

Humming in approval, Wanda finally kissed you, slow, deep and savouring, possessive as the hold on your throat tightened just enough to be felt.

At the brush of her tongue against your lips you moaned and let her in, delighting in how eagerly she devoured you, your thoughts becoming increasingly liquid.

Wanda broke off with a shaky breath, brow pressed to yours. “I want you to go upstairs, pick out a size, and lie down on the bed,” she husked, “and don’t undress just yet, dolly.”

She pulled you to your feet effortlessly, sending you on your way with a light slap to your bottom.

You scampered upstairs to the bedroom with barely contained energy, doing exactly as Wanda asked and opening the drawer that held your joint collection of toys, a vibrant array of colours, sizes, and shapes. You picked out a girthier one than usual, grabbed the harness, and placed both on top of the drawers.

Climbing up on the cool sheets of the bed, you laid down on your stomach, knowing full well how Wanda wanted you.

It didn’t take long for her to enter the room, and though silent her presence was like a heavy fog washing over you, the weight of it secure and reassuring.

Obediently, you remained still, listening to the rustle of fabric, to metallic clinks and leather scuffs, and you could feel her approach the bed, stopping just short.

Gently, she asked, “what is your colour, malen’kiy prizrak (little ghost) ?”

You blinked slowly as the question registered. “Green, mommy,” you said, calm and clear.

Finally you felt a dip in the mattress behind you.

Wanda climbed over you, straddling your thighs. She barely gave you enough time to register her bare skin against yours before she rocked against your clothed ass, trapping the toy between your bodies.

The desperate whimper would have embarrassed you in any other situation. As it was, all you could think to do was raise your hips for her.

Leaning down, Wanda pressed flush against you, licking a searing path from your shoulder to the hollow space below your ear. She dragged her teeth against the shell of it, “you’re just a needy little slut for mommy, aren’t you, dolly?”

Heat flushed your face, her tone dripping in faux sympathy that had you trembling.

She smiled against your skin, rocking against you and letting you feel just how big the toy you’d chosen was. “All day with such big thoughts swirling around that pretty little head of yours,” Wanda cooed, “you don’t have to think any more, dolly. Mommy can do it for you, can’t she? Mommy knows what’s best for you, doesn’t she?”

Between her words and the hard length pinned against your ass, it was becoming quite hard to think anything coherent, sinking into that warm liquid haze where all you had to worry about was being her good little dolly.

Whimpering, you nodded. “Yes, mommy.”

Wanda’s hand snaked down under your belly and hooked into the waistband of your pajama shorts. She pulled until the seam rode up against your cunt, providing sudden friction to your throbbing clit.

You jolted, moaning shamelessly. “Mommy!”

Wanda ground down, forcing your hips to move and rub against your shorts.

The heat in your gut began to tighten and you clawed at the sheets, whining low in your throat.

With a dark chuckle, Wanda pulled back. “Such a naughty dolly.”

You shook your head frantically.

Wanda leaned down, stroking a hand through your hair. Her nails lazily scratched at your scalp, sending pleasurable shivers down your spine.

She looked at you with a sympathetic pout, the red glow of her eyes all but mesmerising you. “No?” she asked, sweetly mocking. “You don’t think you’ve been naughty?”

“No, mommy, please.”

“Mmh, no, you’re right, malysh.”

She sighed, kissing your hairline. “It isn’t your fault your cunt is so needy,” she said, her voice like dark honey that had your pussy clenching around nothing. “My pretty dolly is just too dumb to know what her body is doing, isn’t she? She needs Mommy to take care of it.”

The nod was automatic. “Yes, Mommy.”

Wanda kissed you, licking into your mouth as if she could sweep every last thought out of your mind with her tongue. It certainly made your head swim.

Pulling away, Wanda grabbed one of the pillows and murmured soft praise when you lifted your hips high enough to slip it under. She hooked her fingers into the back of your shorts and pulled them down just enough to expose your soaking cunt.

Wanda hissed, “ yebat (fuck) .”

You briefly heard the slick sound of lubricant being spread on the toy before the cool, rounded tip pressed against your folds, sliding down to your clit then up until it caught against your entrance.

Pressing a hand flat against the small of your back, Wanda slowly worked the toy inside, stretching you out in deliriously wonderful intervals, every inch making your breathing heavier until her hips were flush with yours and you felt delightfully full.

Wanda cursed again, her breath coming out shaky as she were trying to contain herself, and it occurred to you that she must have enchanted the strap.

Then she swivelled her hips in a lazy, stirring motion and an embarrassingly needy whimper tumbled out of you.

Shame was quite beyond you. “Please,” you begged. “Use me, Mommy, want to be your toy.”

You smiled when you heard Wanda growl above you.

Glowing threads of scarlet energy wrapped around your wrists and pulled them to the small of your back, allowing Wanda to slide a hand into your hair and push your head down against the mattress, steadying herself with her other hand on your hip.

Raggedly, Wanda said, “don’t hold back, dolly, Mommy wants to hear how much you love it when she uses you.”

There was no further warning and you wouldn’t have it any other way, crying out as Wanda began to fuck you in earnest, from deep, hard thrusts that knocked the air from your lungs to the indulgent rol and grind of her hips that had you seeing stars. You begged and moaned and babbled through it all, utterly helpless beneath her and loving every second of it.

The way you stretched around her cock over and over again, the sting of the harness against your skin each time your hips met, the fabric of the sweater riding up your body and your shorts digging into your thighs, her fingers in your hair—you could barely focus on any one sensation.

The heat built and coiled in the pit of your belly and you yelped, “mommy, close!”

Wanda dug her nails into your hip. “Go on, baby,” she urged, voice dripping with pride.

The orgasm crashed through you in shuddering waves, bright and burning and delirious, and not enough, but your mommy knew that. That’s why she didn’t stop, she continued fucking you, cooing sickly sweet praises that made you whimper and shiver in her grip.

Wanda moaned above you, her rhythm deepening, slowing. “Mommy’s going to make you forget how to walk, dolly,” she husked, emphasising her point with a particularly harsh thrust that had your eyes rolling. “Keep you here in bed, use your pretty body whenever I want.”

You flushed at her words. “Please, Mommy, fill!” you pleaded, barely grasping for what you wanted.

Wanda crooned. “My little slut, so eager for whatever Mommy gives you.”

You whined under her, trying to angle your hips so she could fuck you deeper.

She noticed, of course she did, and she laughed, the sound hungry and sweet.

Pleased, she released the magic around your wrists so she could press against your back, the hand on your hip sliding up to your throat. “Pretty little dollies like you don’t need to think, do they? They just need to take it, and you can do that, can’t you, baby?”

You opened your mouth to answer her and whatever you were going to say dissolved and dripped out your ears as her fingers slid between your lips.

Sucking on them, you let go of silly things like words or thoughts and surrendered completely, moaning as you felt Wanda’s hips stutter against you.

Warmth erupted inside you, pearlescent liquid magic like shimmering glass spilled and spilled until you could feel it dripping around the stretch of her cock.

Wanda growled against your skin, her hips picking up to go again.

Willing though you were, the position was beginning to feel a little too much, and you had just enough awareness to grab her wrist, squeezing twice.

Yellow.

Immediately she stopped and pulled her fingers from your mouth, holding your hand. “What is it, malen’kiy prizrak ?” she asked, firm and gentle.

“Need to see you, Mommy. Need to hold you.”

“Of course, thank you for telling me.”

She kissed the crown of your head and carefully withdrew, helping you turn over.

The pajama shorts were slipped off your legs and you wrapped them around Wanda’s hips, arms looping around her neck to pull her close again. The warm length of her strap rubbed up against you, nudging your clit and making you shiver.

Wanda brushed her nose against yours. “Better?”

You nodded. “Yes, Mommy.”

She smiled, her eyes soft. “Colour?”

Sliding a hand into her hair, you kissed the tip of her nose, almost shy. “Green.”

Pleased, Wanda slipped back inside, making both of you groan. 

She worked her way up to a pounding rhythm, hissing praise every time your nails raked across her back hard enough to draw blood, muttering into your ear how much she loved the way you clenched around her, whimpered for her, eager to take everything she could give you. And oh, how beautiful you were each time you unravelled, twitching and gasping beneath her, glistening with sweat, clinging to her like the only solid ground in a storm.

Sometimes she let you arch away from her, eyes falling shut as the pleasure overtook you, but other times she gripped your hair and dared you to look away, staring into your eyes and watching your face shift as you made a mess of her cock all over again, the intensity of it overwhelming in the best way.

When at last you were both exhausted, all you could feel was a heavy warmth in your belly, no longer burning and tight but the last remnants of a bonfire, smouldering down to ash, your body liquid and spent.

Registering movement above you, you tried to reach out to stop the pleasant weight on top of you from moving away, whining and pawing needily.

Red eyes settled on you. “Shhh, dolly,” Wanda soothed, brushing hair out of your eyes with the back of her hand. “It’s okay. We just need to get cleaned up.”

The tone calmed you more than the words, a collection of syllables you only vaguely grasped in your current state of exhausted bliss.

Wanda gently pulled out much to your displeasure, though the feeling of loss was quickly followed by the syrupy sensation of her magic leaking out of you, making you quake.

After removing the harness, Wanda fetched a warm washcloth and gently wiped you down, murmuring sweet praise as she did so. You sank into the feeling, letting it and the sound of her voice slowly pull you back to yourself.

Briefly, she disappeared into the bathroom again only to  return with a glass of water, coaxing you to sit up and take a drink. The cool liquid felt like it washed away some of the lingering fog.

With a sleepy smile, you nudged the glass back to her, a silent demand for her to drink as well and she did.

Finally crawling under the covers, you settled against her chest, soothed by the sound of her heart and her arms around your shoulders.

You smiled against her skin. “You were wonderful,” you whispered, snuggling closer. “Thank you.”

Wanda kissed the top of your head, squeezing you as if she could physically impart all her love by doing so. “Of course. Thank you for trusting me, malysh. "

[prettydaisygirl]

Hi lovey! Can I do 🌼 with James Potter, bodyguard au and the prompt “it was just a nightmare, it’s okay.”

I love your writing sooooo much! Congrats on 500!!!

helloooo nonnie! thanks for this request, I wrote it when we were all in the basement during the tornado warning :) I hope you enjoy, happy to have you here <3

🌼 daisy (innocence, loyalty, pure love): pick a character and an AU from the lists above & a prompt from this list and I will write a <500 word drabble

daisy's 500 follower celebration bouquet

James Potter, bodyguard, and "It was just a nightmare, it's okay."

cw: nightmare/panic attack

°˖✧✿✧˖°

James is out of his bed the moment your lips open and the scream emerges. His heart is pounding as he dashes across his room, throws the door open, and scrambles across the hallway to yours. The whole time, his mind is running rampant, showing him horrific images about what could be happening to you. Is there an intruder? Did you hurt yourself? He’s prepared to fight, to protect.

When the door to your bedroom slams open, James’ chest heaving and his eyes wide as they scan your room for the threat, he realizes none of the terrible things he’s pictured are happening. You’re still in bed, tossing and thrashing in the sheets. Your face is scrunched up, your skin shining with sweat, and another terrified yelp escapes you. James takes several quick steps until he’s by your side. 

“Hey,” He tries to keep his voice gentle and soothing but loud enough to cut through the throes of unconsciousness. His hands reach for your shoulders, just a little pressure to keep you steady. You don’t immediately wake, continuing to thrash and whine as you try and escape whatever threat seems to have taken you hostage in your dream.

So, he tries again, closer this time. “Hey, baby,” his voice is a little louder, touch a little firmer. He doesn’t care if he blurs the lines between professional and personal, not when you’re crying and panicked like this. “Come on, wake up, love.”

“No!” Your eyes open, but you’re not awake yet. Your screams become less strained as you regain consciousness, and immediately you’re fighting against James’ grip, which makes him a little proud. 

“Shh, baby, it’s me,” James wraps his arms around your shoulders despite your struggling, trapping you against his chest. Your thrashing begins to slow along with your heart rate, and James can feel the puffs of your panicked breaths against the skin of his neck. “It was just a nightmare, it’s okay.”

“Jamie?” You ask, and the wobble in your words gives away the tears in your eyes without him having to look. 

“I’m here, love. I got you.” Some of his fingers tangle in your hair and press your face to his chest harder. He hopes the sound of his steady heartbeat will encourage your own to slow. The fabric of his shirt darkens with the wetness of your tears, and he can feel the dampness of it against his skin. He holds you tighter. 

“Shit,” You find yourself shaking, curling further into him. James adjusts easily, hands gripping to pull you into his lap. “That was scary.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” James asks, feeling you shake your head and he brushes a strand of hair from your temple. He’s quick to reassure you, dropping his cheek to the top of your hair. “That’s okay. You don’t have to.”

“Stay here, though?” You ask him, and James tells you he will.

He always will, if you need him. 

°˖✧✿✧˖°

© prettydaisygirl

[whisperofaflame]

♡ Collision Course ♡

Chapter 4: Reason Over Romance

WandaNat x [femme, innocent] Reader

Collision Course – Masterlist

Link to full fic (so far) on AO3

Story Summary:

After moving to New York, a collision while cycling sends you flying into the lives of Wanda Maximoff and her wife, Natasha Romanoff. Together, they teach you a new way of belonging and being loved.

Chapter Summary: You spend an evening with Wanda and Natasha, watching a movie. In the morning, you and Natasha have a chance to get to know each other a little better.

Word Count: 6.3k

It takes you an age to finish your dinner; you’re so restricted by the sling, the pain, and the fear of spilling your food in such sophisticated company. By the time your plate is clear Natasha has already finished her second helping, and you’ve long since stopped looking at Wanda since her encouraging smiles make you feel flustered — and therefore more at risk of missing your mouth. 

“Thank you for dinner, Wanda,” you say, looking up from your plate finally. “It was really delicious.”

“You’re very welcome, darling,” Wanda replies, with a warm smile. “You did a good job getting through it; I know it can’t be easy with your shoulder.”

You bite your lip and nod, grateful that she understands. 

Natasha stands up and starts stacking plates. You spring up too, eager to help. 

“Don’t worry, Y/N,” Natasha tells you gently. “I’ve got it.”

“Please,” you murmur. “I’d like to help.” 

You hate being injured, not just because of the need to rest (which you’ve never been very good at), but also the way it makes you feel useless. You want to be helpful. You need to feel helpful. 

“Let her, Nat,” Wanda advises, and you blush at the shared look between them.

“Alright,” Natasha relents. “You can take the glasses, Y/N. Thanks.”

So you do. It’s silly really, since Wanda insists you take them one at a time again, and this makes it a slow, laborious process which Natasha could have easily averted by taking them herself. But she thanks you when you place the third glass by the sink, where she is filling a washing up bowl with warm water and bubbles.

“Is there anything else I can do?” you ask her, pivoting your feet on the shiny floor.

“Hmm…” Natasha considers, glancing between you and her wife. “You could take Wanda downstairs and pick a movie for us to watch. Just be warned: she will try to choose a rom-com and I’m trusting you to convince her otherwise.”

You can really feel that your head has been knocked today, by the amount of time it takes to process her words. When they finally sink in, you giggle quietly.

“Okay,” you whisper, and you feel your chest flutter when Natasha gives you a proper smile and a conspiratorial wink. 

You feel like skipping back to Wanda, but you walk sensibly instead. She’s wiping the table, even though you don’t remember seeing any spillages. They’re so diligent, the two of them. The easy domesticity makes you feel strangely comforted. Like you fit in to their daily routine, without disruption. But then, maybe that’s just the mark of good hosts. Making the difficult seem easy.

“Um, Natasha says we should go downstairs and choose a movie,” you inform Wanda shyly.

“That’s a great idea,” Wanda hums, finishing wiping the table and gesturing with the cloth to tell you she’s just going to put it away. You watch her bring it to the sink, murmur something to Natasha as she leans in to rinse her hands, then return to you. “Alright,” she smiles, “let’s head down.”

Wanda glances back every few steps, checking you’re okay. You feel a little lighter, now that Natasha seems to be opening up and there’s a clear plan for the evening. It’s good that you won’t have to talk much; you like being able to spend time with people without the pressure of chatting all the time. Especially now, when your thoughts can’t seem to form proper sentences.

You hover by the sofa downstairs, wanting Wanda to sit first so you can gauge where you ought to go. But she seems to be waiting for you.

“Do you want to sit on that side again?” she asks, nodding towards the far right end, where you fell asleep earlier. You shrug noncommittally, sort of wishing she would make the decision for you, so you wouldn’t have to think.

“Okay, well I think you should sit there,” Wanda ponders aloud, “because it seemed to be better for your shoulder before, hm?”

You hesitate, then nod in agreement. 

“You know, sweetheart, it’s okay to tell us what you think, and what you prefer,” Wanda tells you quietly. You blush, and shrink in on yourself.

“I - I know,” you stammer. You’re staring at the floor but still, you can feel Wanda analysing you.

“Is it just hard, at the moment?” she asks gently.

Your teeth take hold of your bottom lip, stopping it from wobbling. You nod. 

“Hey, that’s okay,” Wanda approaches, and places a hand on your good shoulder. “We can help you out, then. You just let us know if you’re ever uncomfortable, alright?” With her free hand, she cups your chin and adds a gentle upwards pressure, encouraging you to look up. When you do, you see her expectant face, soft and watchful. You sense that she wants you to respond, to demonstrate you have understood.

“Okay,” you whisper. “I - I can do that.”

She beams at you. “Good girl. Now, let’s get comfy and choose something to watch before Natasha comes down and has chance to take over.”

You sit at the same time as her, head reeling from her soothing praise and the way she moved on so swiftly, preventing it from truly landing. She’s sitting so close to you too, and she’s moved her right hand to take your left, while she presses on the remote with her other hand. You watch in a daze as she pulls up Netflix and navigates to her list. 

“Anything you suggest?” Wanda asks, turning to you intermittently. “These are all films I haven’t seen yet, but want to watch.”

Your eyes strain to make out the images and words. Wanda must see you squinting, because she slows down her scrolling to allow you to process the options. When you see a film you know and like, your eyes must show recognition, because Wanda stops her button-pressing and tilts her head at you. 

“This one?”

You look between her and the TV screen, fidgeting slightly at the realisation she can read you so easily. 

“I like it. It’s a bit sad, though… The director, Joe Wright — he made Pride and Prejudice and Hanna too.” The words come out easily, without pre-planning or any kind of filter. You blush at the unintended monologue, when a simple nod could have sufficed. 

“Was that the Pride and Prejudice with Keira Knightley?” Wanda asks, and this time you manage to contain yourself to a nod. “Oh, I love that film! I’ve not seen Hanna though, is that good too?” 

Again you nod, but you’re smiling now, feeling a little safer after her enthusiastic response. 

Wanda pulls up Atonement, but makes sure to pause it so that Natasha won’t miss any. She’s stroking your hand gently with her thumb, and it’s making you sink into the cushions behind you, finally relaxing again.

“So, who’s in Hanna?” Wanda enquires, keeping the conversation going easily, despite your reticence. You swallow, and focus on both locating the answer in your brain, and refining it into a measured response. 

“Saoirse Ronan and Cate Blanchett,” you say quietly, leaving out the other names which popped into your head. “It’s like, an action-y spy thriller.”

You shut down then, feeling you’ve said too much as a product of the concussion and the painkillers. You’re probably not even talking as coherently as you think. Wanda’s interested expression and conversational openers were most likely just polite gestures to pass the time in your company.

Natasha appears in the doorway, a welcome distraction from your ramblings. 

“Picked something?” she asks as she swans in and launches herself onto the sofa on Wanda’s other side. 

“Yes,” Wanda says, opening her arm and wrapping it round Natasha’s shoulders. Their bodies entwine effortlessly, like they’re drawn together with magnets. “Y/N recommended this one.”

Natasha leans forward to meet your gaze. 

“Rom-com?” she asks, raising her left eyebrow meaningfully. Your lips quiver into a smile as you shake your head adamantly. “Good,” Natasha sighs, then she gives you another subtle wink.

Wanda presses play and leans back, continuing to stroke your hand very gently. You try to steady your breathing and ignore the touch and the tantalising closeness of your bodies, as well as the gentle display of affection between Natasha and Wanda’s connected forms.

It’s strange, watching a film you’ve seen before in their company, and getting to witness the way they respond. Wanda is overt in her reactions: sharp intakes of breath, furrowed eyebrows and scandalised glances at you whenever there is a twist. You only see Natasha in brief glimpses, since she’s mostly obscured by Wanda. But she seems, predictably, impassive throughout. That is, until the long-take scene of Dunkirk beach.

You’re set off, as always, by the horses being shot. Wanda turns to you and squeezes your hand sympathetically when she spots the silent tears. She joins you soon enough, affected by the swelling music and the scenes of destruction. But it’s not until it cuts to inside, when Natasha clears her throat, that you get to see the effect on her.

“I’ll go and make drinks,” she announces, and Wanda pauses the film in acknowledgement. “Y/N, do you want anything?” 

You look up and see that her cheeks remain dry, but her eyes look a little misty. You wriggle your hand out of Wanda’s so you can wipe the tears out of your own.

“Um, I’m okay, I think. Thank you though.”

Natasha cocks her head and scans you, like she’s deciding for herself.

“Are you sure? I’m going to grab myself a beer, and make a peppermint tea for Wanda…”

“Yes please, my love,” Wanda cuts in gratefully. Natasha smiles cockily at her, seemingly proud of her intuition.

“…so it’s no bother. I could also get you a juice, or soda?” Natasha gives these options easily, but it’s hard for you to process, let alone make a choice. You’ve never been good at making decisions at the best of times, so it’s really no wonder you’re struggling now. Wanda strokes some hair out your face and tucks it behind your ear. It’s a sweet gesture, but it makes you blush and stops your brain computing for an additional couple of seconds.

“Maybe, could I get a peppermint tea as well, please?” you ask finally. 

Natasha nods.

“Of course. You relax ladies, I’ll be back with you momentarily.” She gives a little bow before she leaves, and you giggle at the unexpected silliness coming from such a serious-seeming person as Natasha. 

“She always does this…” Wanda tells you confidentially, as Natasha disappears into the little pantry adjoining the living room, “…leaves when she catches feelings during a movie. Nat tries her best to hide it, but she’s really a certified softie.”

You let out a tiny giggle at the disclosure, and pull your feet up onto the sofa, crossing your legs beneath you. 

Wanda turns on the sofa, mirroring your movements so she’s sitting cross-legged next to you, regarding you with a studious look.

“How are you doing, sweetheart?” she asks, serious all of a sudden. “Is this okay for you, us all sitting together and watching a movie? It’s not too much, is it?”

Looking at Wanda’s eyebrows slightly knitted together, it occurs to you that she’s worried, concerned that she’s approaching this all wrong. You don’t want her to feel bad or guilty about anything she’s doing, because although your head spins from the kindness and their close way of interacting with you, you wouldn’t reject it in your wildest dreams. Keen to assuage her worries, you shake your head quickly. Then nod ever so slightly, confused about which question you are answering, and which gesture is required. Realising your non-verbal response is only intensifying the frown she wears, you force yourself to find words amongst the fog in your head.

“I’m okay. It’s nice, being with you. I feel…” you search for the right word, somewhat regretting the sentence you’ve set up, since you now need to identify a description which is the right level of honest in depicting how you are feeling. Finally, you settle on one word; truthful and all-encompassing. “Safe.”

Wanda reaches out with both hands and encases your left hand between her palms, wrapping her fingers protectively around you. 

“I’m glad,” she replies, her voice hushed, her lips curled in a smile of relief. “I want you to feel safe here. Just… let me or Nat know if it gets too much, if you need space. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?”

You nod earnestly, glad you can give her this confirmation, this commitment in return. But really, will it ever be too much? Despite everything they’ve already done for you, there’s a shameful part of you that’s still left wanting, yearning for more. 

Natasha returns with a mug in each hand. When she spots your positions, facing each other on the sofa with Wanda’s hand wrapped around yours, there’s an odd expression that comes over her face. Something, you think with trepidation, rather like suspicion. Under the guise of preparing for the tea, you tug your hand gently away from Wanda’s grasp and start turning your body around. She lets you go at the first hint of your movement, making you wonder if she, too, feels a little caught by Natasha’s prompt return. When Natasha places a mug on the coffee table in front of you, you murmur a thanks without looking up, too ashamed to show her the colour of your cheeks. 

“Just be careful,” she warns. “It’stoo soon to be drinking it just yet.”

You glance up, and see that she’s not looking at you, but instead at Wanda. Fixing her with a meaningful look which has you worried, scared that you’ve crossed a line. But Wanda sees you looking, and smiles reassuringly at you as Natasha returns to the pantry. You bite your lip and stare at your knees, waiting self-consciously for Natasha to bring her beer back and enable the film to proceed, and everyone’s attention to leave you. 

It takes longer than you expect, but you persist in your determined downward gaze. When Natasha re-emerges, you listen to her footsteps approach, anticipating the sound of her body sinking into the sofa. But instead, the next sounds you hear are of multiple hard objects being placed on the coffee table. You flicker your eyes up slightly, to see her beer on the far side of the table, a big bowl of popcorn in the middle, and a stack of bowls beside.

“Popcorn?” Natasha asks, leaning forward once she’s sat down so she can catch your eyes. You look up sheepishly, scared to meet her gaze but more afraid of appearing rude. She seems curious rather than annoyed; when you hesitate, she continues calmly, as if trying to put you at ease. “It’s a mix of sweet and salty. I hope that’s okay.”

“Excellent,” Wanda says approvingly, setting an example by shuffling forward to the edge of the sofa and grabbing a bowl. “Do you want some, Y/N?”

“Yes please,” you whisper, shuffling forward too. “Thanks, Natasha,” you add, forcing yourself to look over at her again to give her a grateful smile, which feels rather wobbly on your lips. She smiles back though, making you feel a little better.

“You’re welcome. Dig in.”

Wanda passes a bowl to you, which you set in your lap before reaching for the popcorn. She lifts the big bowl closer to aid you, letting you grab a measured handful closer to your bowl, reducing the risk of spilling. Once Natasha has grabbed some too, Wanda checks both of you at her side, then presses play. You shuffle back to lean against the sofa cushion again, feeling your heart thudding through your chest, heartbeat still not settled since the strange moment when Natasha returned from the kitchen. You try to distract yourself with the film and the tea and the popcorn, but it takes ages to redirect your attention from the anxious thoughts. At some point, Wanda’s hand moves to rest on your bouncing knee, calming it with a gentle touch.

“Sorry,” you whisper, embarrassed by your fidgeting.

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” she reassures you. “Do you need anything? I can pause the film if you like?”

Your embarrassment intensifies at this, her unspoken implication of what you might be needing, but not expressing.

“No, it’s okay — I just fidget sometimes, without realising. I’ll stop.”

Wanda opens her mouth to reply, but then closes it again. She gives your knee a gentle pat, then removes her hand back to her lap. You feel like your leg has been staked into the ground now; you daren’t move it again for fear of further assumptions.

Eventually you fall back into the film, getting caught in the plot and the passive enjoyment of sneaking glances at Wanda and Natasha’s reactions to the twists, to the drama of it all. Wanda blurts out her emotions, letting out strangled sounds when it gets too much, whereas Natasha merely becomes more stern-looking and tense in her seat, like she’s trying not to react to the gut-wrenching events of the film.

When it finally finishes and the credits begin to roll, there’s a silence amongst the three of you. You wait, nervous to know how your recommendation was received since you feel responsible for the emotional rollercoaster it has put them through.

“Well, I’ve got to give it to you, kid,” Natasha says, looking straight ahead and running a hand through her hair. “That was the opposite of a rom-com.”

You watch her, trying to see her face and ascertain whether this is a joke, or a veiled criticism of your film choice. You’re relieved when she turns and gives you a wry grin, one eyebrow raised. 

“I enjoyed it, Y/N,” she tells you, perhaps seeing the worry in your expression. “Good choice.”

You smile back shyly, squirming a little at the attention and the positive feedback.

“Yes, it was good,” Wanda agrees. “But I think I’m owed something feel-good next time, Natasha. No more influencing Y/N to pick sad movies — my heart can’t take it.” She clutches her chest dramatically at this, but grins at you too so you can see she harbours no ill feelings over the film choice either. 

Settling back into the sofa cushions, you watch as Wanda finishes her tea and Natasha grabs another handful of popcorn. They chat a little more about the film, sharing their observations, but you’re only half listening as your body relaxes and emits a yawn.

Wanda turns to you, and smiles in a particularly soft way.

“Hmm, I think it’s time someone gets ready for bed,” she suggests gently, checking her watch. “You’re due some more painkillers around about now too, sweetheart. I’ll come up with you and help you get sorted.”

You don’t argue, because you do feel exhausted and it would be good to get some painkillers in now, before the rising pain begins to swell. So when Wanda stands up and offers her hand, you take it without hesitation and let her help you up. 

“Goodnight, Y/N,” Natasha says, looking up as she grabs the remote for the TV. “Oh — it might help to have a pillow on your side, to stop you rolling over that way. It saved me a lot of bother with my collarbone when I figured that out.”

You blink, trying to comprehend this but struggling to understand the mechanics of what she is describing in your tired state. 

“Don’t worry, darling,” Wanda reassures you. “I know what she means; I’ll sort you out.”

You nod at Wanda, then give Natasha a bashful smile.

“Goodnight,” you whisper. She smiles back at you, then turns to the TV, changing the input source and grabbing a PS5 controller from the shelf beneath the coffee table.

Wanda leads you out and up the stairs, her gentle pull against your hand an anchor in this strange scenario. Your exhaustion is making you process everything a little differently; maybe now that the day is nearing an end you are finally able to reflect on it properly, and realise how bizarre recent events have been. Today you’ve been hit by a truck, had your bike destroyed, broken your collarbone, and basically been adopted into the care of two kind, generous — gorgeous — older women. Everything has moved so fast and so slow all at once. 

“Are all your toiletries in the bathroom already?” Wanda asks, pulling you out of your thoughts. You find yourself on the landing of the top floor, Wanda hovering outside the door to the bathroom. You nod, not feeling able or willing to speak just now. She smiles at you, almost knowingly, but doesn’t move for a few seconds. You’re not sure why. She’s not letting go of your hand, and you certainly don’t want to let go of hers. 

“Okay,” she whispers, almost to herself. And then she leads you in, guiding you to sit on the edge of the bath. You sit without question — or even confusion. You’re just there, now. Listening to her movements. Waiting for her next instruction. She seems to be taking her time. Or maybe that’s you, struggling to keep up with the concussion? You’re not sure. 

“Darling, can I help you wash your face?” Wanda asks, placing a hand on your left shoulder. You tilt your head sleepily to the side, then nod. She responds to this with a gentle squeeze, then she moves away to the sink, retrieving a facecloth from the cabinet and wetting it with liquid from some bottle.

She’s so gentle, wiping away the makeup and dirt that remains on your face, and warning you before reaching your chin that it might hurt there, where it is grazed. It stings a little, but her gentle hushing sounds makes it easier to tolerate. 

Your eyes feel droopy now, and you let them flutter, not bothering to hide your exhaustion. You want to lean against Wanda’s arm but she withdraws, making you open your eyes to see where she is gone. She’s holding your toothbrush out to you, toothpaste already squeezed on it, and she encourages you to brush your teeth a bit. You do, even though you hate it, and would gladly forego this part of the routine tonight. The texture feels worse when you are this tired, and you feel the goosebumps spreading down your arms at the sensation of the bristles bending and scraping against your teeth and gums. Disgusting as always, but you’re doing it for Wanda tonight. 

When you can bear no more, you step over to the sink and spit out the toothpaste, trying not to look at your bedraggled reflection in the mirror. 

“Good job,” Wanda praises you, turning the icy shivers into warm tingles. “Now, I’m going to go get your medication and a glass of water to wash it down. Can you go to the toilet, and meet me in your room when you’re ready?”

You’re past the point of being embarrassed now, so you just nod pliantly at her request, like it’s the most normal thing in the world to be directed like this.

Wanda smiles, gives you a pat on your good shoulder, then leaves. 

It shouldn’t take long to go to the toilet and return to your room, but the process is such an upheaval now with only your non-dominant hand and your wobbly state of consciousness that by the time you’ve finished and made it across the landing, Wanda is already waiting in the doorway of your bedroom, holding the pill bottle and a glass of water. As you come in, she places the glass on the wall shelf and then shakes one pill out the bottle, before handing it to you. You take it, drop it in your mouth and push it to the back with a swallowing motion, readying it to be washed down with the glass of water she hands to you next. You gulp down some water — and with it the medication — grimacing despite your best efforts. Wanda takes the glass from you then, and delivers it to the bedside table so it’s there if you need it in the night. She also places down the pill bottle, leaving the lid unscrewed and balancing on top.

“Don’t take any more unless you wake up after three, and need another,” she tells you. But then she studies your face, and seems to doubt your reliability. “If you’re confused, you can come downstairs and get me. Anytime of the night, wake me up if you need. Natasha too. We’re here for you.”

You smile serenely at this, not really paying it much heed. You’re so ready to collapse into bed now. 

“Do you want to change into anything else?” Wanda asks, observing your clothing. You’re still in the joggers you put on earlier and the t-shirt Wanda helped you into. This will do fine. You’ll shimmy off the joggers under the covers once Wanda is gone. You can’t bear to wear anything other than underwear on your legs at night, but you’re not quite gone enough that you’ll strip in her presence. So you shake your head and focus in on trying to undo your watch from your left wrist, attempting to undo with strap with the fingers of your right hand without jarring your shoulder. Wanda intervenes at once, gently taking over, removing it from your wrist then placing it on the bedside table.

“Okay,” Wanda smiles. “Let’s get you sorted then, and try out Nat’s trick.”

She opens the duvet cover to let you slide in, and you manoeuvre with some difficulty into the bed with one arm. Once you’ve slid over, responding to Wanda’s gestures, she positions a cushion to your right side, so there’s a barrier preventing you rolling onto the sling. 

“There,” she says. “Comfortable?” 

Not really, you think. Wearing the sling is horrid, and you wish your joggers were off already, but this will do for now. So you nod amicably, and let her gently drape the duvet back over you. 

“Well, goodnight, Y/N,” Wanda says quietly. “Sleep well. And get me if you need anything, okay?”

You nod again, since she seems to need the reassurance more than you. Your eyes are fluttering so much that you doubt you’ll wake at all before morning, once you’ve drifted off. Even the ache in your collarbone is nothing to the exhaustion settled into your skeleton.

“Goodnight,” you whisper, as she leaves. She gives you one last smile as she closes the curtains over, then she turns the light off and closes the door over, not quite fully.

You let a few moments pass, hearing the receding sound of her footsteps, before you wriggle your joggers off and kick them down the bed. Now, at last, you are ready to sleep.

———

The night slips by with nothing of note to report; you remember no dreams when you wake, and you know only the stabbing pains in your shoulder and the throbbing ache throughout your body that let you know the painkillers have well and truly left your system. You groan as it overwhelms you, like a morning song of pain, it commandeers your senses entirely. Dragging yourself into a seated position, you grab the pill bottle beside you and shake it out onto the duvet cover over your lap. You take a pill from the spillage and throw it into your mouth before gulping water from the glass and swallowing it down so hastily that you splutter. 

Once it’s swallowed and the pressure in your throat recedes a little, you tidy up the mess by balancing the bottle in the recession between your legs and returning the poured out pills into their receptacle. Then you place it back on the bedside table, leaving the lid balancing on top just as Wanda did. 

You remember her guidance suddenly, and you grab your watch from the side to check the time. Twenty four minutes past six. Okay. You just need to remember that now, for calculating the doses later. Maybe you can manage that. You feel a little clearer than yesterday already. Particularly compared to last night. You shudder, trying to ward away the memories of how you behaved before bed, too scared to examine them. Trying to distract yourself, you focus on 

Maybe you should head downstairs? You’ve run out of water and you can still feel the acidic burn of the pill in your gullet. Something to eat or drink would help a lot, right now. 

You faff about a while, changing your underwear but pulling on the same joggers from yesterday, since you’d rather wear something comfy than clean at this point. Also, you feel a bit gross from the lack of showering and clean trousers won’t resolve that issue. And besides, you have no hope of changing your t-shirt with one functioning arm and half of your torso rigid with self-protective stiffness. So this dishevelled getup will have to do. 

You briefly visit the toilet before heading downstairs, though you decide to delay brushing your teeth until later. Small blessing, today. 

The floor below is very quiet, and though the door to Wanda and Natasha’s room is slightly ajar, you can’t tell whether this means they are awake, or if it was simply left open in case you needed to call upon their assistance during the night. So you don’t linger; you head down one more flight, making for the kitchen.

When you reach the bottom of the next set of stairs, you are greeted by a soft, warm presence that wraps around your legs familiarly. 

“Hey, Mayakovsky,” you whisper, stooping down with difficulty, resolving to endure the pain in order to greet him as he deserves. You are careful to offer him the same hello as yesterday, extending a closed fist with one outstretched finger for him to boop and rub against, before attempting a stroke. He lets you, purring loudly and meowing his acceptance. “It’s good to see you too,” you tell him, feeling his purrs disarm some of the pain coursing through you.

Mayakovsky gives you one last firm rub of his head against your leg, before walking over to the kitchen, turning round and meowing to maintain your attention. You see Natasha leaning over the kitchen counter, elbows resting on the marble and a steaming mug cupped between her hands. She’s watching you intently, apparently pondering your appearance. You cringe slightly at the realisation that she’s witnessed the whole interaction, seen you chatting to her deaf cat and grimacing in pain as you contorted to stroke him.

You follow Mayakovsky a little hesitantly now, greeting Natasha with an awkward smile. Her hair looks damp, like she’s just had a shower, but she’s in comfy clothes, which you assume isn’t what she will wear to work today (if, indeed, she is working today — you’re too shy to ask her any details about this).

“Good morning,” you murmur, feeling like you’re walking in on her private time, disturbing her peace.

“Morning,” she says, sipping her coffee then allowing you a small smile. “Did you sleep okay?”

You nod. “Yeah, I slept through, actually. I think I was pretty tired.”

“No wonder,” she says, lifting her elbows off the counter and standing up to her full height. She lets go of her mug with one hand and slides a document of a few A4 pages across the counter towards you. “Here, for you.”

You step forward cautiously, then spin the paper to face you. The title reads “Broken Collarbone Rehabilitation”, and you see a chunk of text, followed by an image with a description of a particular shoulder movement. 

“It’s just some exercises which helped me recover when I broke mine,” Natasha explains offhandedly. Then she leaves her mug on the counter, and begins to turn, throwing a question over her shoulder. “Coffee?”

“Thank you,” you say, looking up and smiling gratefully. Her thoughtful offering touches you, makes you feel seen and — in part — accepted. “And, um, yes please. To coffee.”

She nods neutrally, and makes her way to the coffee machine in the corner. You pull out a stool and start to sit down, before Mayakovsky’s plaintive meowing distracts you. 

“Ignore him,” Natasha advises. “He’s just hoping he can convince you to give him a second breakfast.”

You smile, and regard Mayakovsky with an apologetic look as you sit down. He quickly gives up when you turn your attention to the exercises Natasha has printed out, and scurries off towards the staircase, heading down when he reaches it. You see the door to the balcony is closed and assume he’s off to use the cat-flap downstairs, in the hopes of finding more food outside. 

The exercises Natasha has printed out are sorted into stages, with the first set being advised to start from a few days post-accident. Still, you give the first an attempt, a gentle  neck roll to the side of the injured collarbone. You hiss as you try it, finding it a lot more painful than you hoped. 

“Easy,” Natasha chuckles, turning round to see you. “If I knew you’d be so gung-ho about it, I would have saved it until next week. Wanda will kill me if she thinks I’m encouraging you to exert yourself.”

You grin bashfully, sliding the paper away a little to show you’re going to hold off for a little while longer.

“Are you always up this early?” you ask, surprising yourself a little by the sudden confidence.

Natasha nods. “I like to get up early to train. Also, I’m kind of stuck with it now - that menace of a cat has realised it’s possible to get his breakfast at 5:30 and he will not stop meowing outside our door if I’m even five minutes late for his lordship.” 

You giggle, imagining Natasha berating Mayakovsky for his manners in the morning, when they’re all alone. 

“Espresso or Americano?” Natasha asks, reverting back to the coffee chat.

“A-americano please,” you request, still finding it difficult to keep up with her tendency to swing between her serious, task-oriented self and her more silly, humorous side. She nods, and presses another button on the machine, prompting more hot water to dribble out into the mug. 

“What are you training for?” you ask, hoping this is a good question to ask to get Natasha to open up a little more.

“Nothing in particular,” she says, still watching the mug. “Partly I need to stay fit for work, partly I just enjoy it.” You’re just wondering whether it would be appropriate to ask what she does for work, now that she’s brought it up, when she diverts the conversation again. “Milk?”

“Um, a little, yes please.” There’s something about the efficient way she moves the mug to the counter and takes the milk out the fridge that makes you think that any more work chat has been relegated to off-limits again. So you don’t say any more, until she passes the mug of coffee over to you. “Thank you.”

Natasha nods in lieu of a “you’re welcome”, a habit of hers you’re beginning to pick up on. Like she feels uncomfortable being thanked, and prefers to move on swiftly.

“Do you cycle a lot?” she asks, surprising you a little that she is initiating further conversation with you. Maybe she does just find new people a bit challenging, like Wanda said? You resolve to try not to let her stiffness get to you today, and to notice the warm moments rather than the chilly ones.

“Just to commute, really. I did some mountain biking with my Dad as a kid, but I’ve never really got the chance to do any as an adult. I’d like to, though.”

“Hmm, yes, it seems like it could be fun,” Natasha considers aloud, returning to her spot but pulling out a stool this time so she can sit. 

You sip your coffee, holding back from asking more questions, or adding more detail to your answer. You want to fit in with Natasha’s morning as much as possible, not disrupt it. 

“Do you do any other sports?” she asks, tapping her nails quietly on the side of her mug. Your instant thought is that she’s bored, but then you try to re-examine your interpretation, and remind yourself not to jump to conclusions today.

“I run a bit,” you say shyly, deciding to keep it vague. Natasha nods approvingly.

“Have you ever done any martial arts?”

You frown, wondering if this is the kind of training she does. Shaking your head honestly, you tilt your head in the hopes she’ll offer more information. You’re in luck.

“You should learn how to fight, when your shoulder is better. It will help strengthen it. Boxing, or Muay Thai, they’d be good for rehabbing it later on.”

“Could you teach me?” you blurt out, immediately regretting your boldness, even before Natasha fixes you with a particular look. You feel the blush overcoming your face, and dart your eyes down to your coffee. “Sorry, I…”

“Maybe,” Natasha says, very quietly. When you look up, mainly to determine whether you actually heard that word or if she’s still staring at you in that discerning way, you see she’s standing up again, making her way to the cupboard. But just when you feel the temptation to run back upstairs taking hold of your legs, she turns back to you, looking calm and entirely unperturbed. 

“Hungry?” she asks, and you feel relief wash over you at the welcome diversion, the opportunity to distract from your impulsive thoughts spoken aloud.

Author's Note: I really hope you enjoyed this! I'm slowly adding the chapters to Tumblr but I'm very behind - at present (1st June 2025) I have 15 chapters published on AO3 but I'm only just posting this on Tumblr. If you have access to AO3 and don't want to wait, you can read more here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62001889/chapters/158556517

Thank you for reading! ♡

[lanadelreyscokewhor3]

AQUAMARINE- S. WINCHESTER

day two of the june bug masterlist

pairing: hunter! sam winchester x siren! fem! reader

word count: 1.6k

summary: sam was encouraged to track down and hunt the sirens that have been luring men to their deaths in a local town- but instead of the culprit, he finds you. a siren- different from the others.

warnings: lots of fluff!, petnames, size kink/ difference- nothing sexual happens but they are skinny dipping- sam yearns

" i'm dancing in my own reflection/ i'm the ray of light/ i'm transforming and realigning/ i'll take you with me, high, high, high, high..." aquamarine, addison rae

Sam Winchesrer considered himself to be a lot of things.

But a pervert was not one of them.

Hence, his actions spoke otherwise. He cursed himself.

Here he was, staring at you- oblivious to his presence, watching as you bathed in the lagoon like a creep. It was perfect really, the view he had of you.

Where he could see all of you, bathing in the moonlight, letting the rays sparkle off the water like flashing diamonds against your skin. It was perfect for observing you, to kill you.

But he couldn't.

He could practically hear Dean screaming in his ear. To not give in. To know better. You had laid out the trap perfectly for him, all alone and vulnerable- too easy to catch.

He had hunted creatures like you before, and yet- he couldn't bring himself to do what he needed to do.

He thought of himself as a better man. One that could control himself, could get the job done when it needed to get done. But in that moment, he was no hunter.

No, he was prey.

Your sweet, soft-melancholy  voice wavered out a gentle tune that caught wisps in the wind as it blew over to him, luring him in.

You were the pearl in the oyster. And he couldn't resist himself to reach out and grab it.

He wasn't sure if you had heard him, as he inched closer. Refusing to draw his handgun.

A stupid, stupid mistake. But he didn't care.

All he could focus on was you. Getting closer to you.

To run his fingers across your skin, smooth and delicate as marble- to sink his teeth into your neck and taste the sweet jasmine scent that urged him on. Closer and closer he inched, until he could practically touched you.

And then you turned. Smiled. He had expected canines. Sharp daggers that would tear through his neck, and gut him like a fish.

Instead, he was met with your soft smile, pearly whites shining just like the water.

“Hello.” you chriped out, unphased by the stranger nearly inches away from your near naked body.

As if you were expecting him.

You turned fully to him, unashamed of the sheer white fabric that clung to your body, like a Greek sculpture.

His eyes widened. Couldn't get the words out. As if he was starstruck. You couldn't help but giggle at his startled face, clearly expecting someone, or something else.

”My name is Y/N. What's yours?” you asked calmly, clipping a shell into your hair, letting the rest curl freely around your shoulders.

“Sam.”

You nodded. “Are you going to kill me, Sam?” you asked, letting your fingers run through the water, watching as they caused it to ripple.

He froze.

“You can be honest.”

“I’m supposed to kill you. But I don't think I want to kill you.”

You laughed. “Well thank you. That's relieving at least.”

He was silent, watching as you shifted your dress so it covered you a bit more, not wanting to make him uncomfortable. Though he had interrupted you mid moon bath. So it was wasn't entirely your fault.

“Did you want to come in? The waters warm.” you offered, noting the scuffs of his jeans had turned a darker colour from the water that brushed them. He hadn't even realized he was practically in the water himself, feeling himself gravitate towards you.

You extended a hand, and he took it.

“Wait, wait my clothes.” he murmured, shaking his head as if he was trying to break free from a trance. You giggled as he quickly scrambled to tug off his shirt and pants, his boots chucked somewhere on the pebbles that lead into the crystal bath.

His head felt foggy, almost muddled, as if he was trying to peer through frosted privacy glass. This was such a bad idea, he thought to himself- knowing he was setting himself up for failure. But a little nagging voice chimed in the back of his mind.

If she was going to kill you, she would have already.

You’ve sure as hell made yourself an easy target. He had practically flown directly into the spider-web, just waiting patiently to be eaten by the black widow.

“I think this is what you humans call skinny dipping. Is that correct?”

He nodded. “Something along those lines.” You tilted your head, staring at his face. Trying to study each sharp angle and jagged edge.

“Have you been skinny dipping before, Sam?”

He chuckled, shaking his head as he sank deeper into the water, until just his chest was showing. “I’m not that exciting.”

“Sure you are. You adventured out here, all this way by yourself. I’m sure thats a journey you had to take. Some pirates I’ve known would agree.”

Sam watched in awe as he noted the way you held yourself above the water, without kicking your legs. Some kind of magic, surely. You were floating, keeping most of your torso above the water, long hair clinging to your back as the ends dipped in the water, swirling around you.

You studied him, watching his reactions and little quirks as he absorbed you.

“Why aren't you going to kill me?” he asked, tearing his eyes away from your legs to stare into your eyes, watching as the moonbeams pooled into your irises, making them glow softly.

“Because I don't kill men. I don't crave human flesh, like my sisters. I was born different, I suppose.”

He was silent. “Does that change your opinion of me at all?” you asked.

“No, because even if you did crave my flesh, I’d still think youre as beautiful and captivating as you are now. Now, I just don't feel the need to kill you.”

“I don't think you felt the need to kill me at all, Sam. Hunters instincts never lie.”

He swallowed. You knew who he was. Not personally- not yet at least.

But what his family did. What his targets were.

“I’m glad you decided to poke around here. Even if you interrupted my bath.” you smiled, and he couldnt help but mirror it, looking away shamefully. Blushing.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to intrude.”

“Yes, you did. But its okay, I’m flattered. And I like the company. I’m always alone.”

He frowned, reaching out for your hand. You took it, squeezing it tightly. His hand engulfed yours, and it made you feel safe.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Its okay. Its what I get for being different, I suppose.”

He shook his head. “No, no that's not fair. That's not right.”

You bit your lip, downcasting your gaze to stare at the ripples in the water from where he tugged gently on your hand, bringing you closer. You were practically touching his chest, craning your neck to look up at him, something like worry and concern etched into his features.

“You know… I might regret this. Hell, I know I will. But I don't care. I dont want you alone, okay? It's not safe out here. Please, come back with me, so I can protect you.”

You didn't correct him that you were the danger, you were the thing that men feared.

You wanted Sam to take care of you. Was it so bad if you wanted to savour the warmth he was giving you? To relinquish in that kindness?

Your sisters would never understand. Their hearts were too cold, too wicked to understand one as warm and pure as Sams. And more than anything, you wanted to be freed of them.

“Please.” was all you whispered, looking up at him with doe eyes, so full of loneliness Sam thought he’d combust at the seams.

Dean would kill him. But he didn't care. He needed to keep you- his pearl, safe. 

❀┈┈┈❀┈┈┈❀┈┈┈❀❀┈┈┈❀┈┈┈❀┈┈┈❀

When the door to the motel swung open, Dean was not expecting two people.

Perhaps one person and a corpse. Maybe you were one, with the way you draped in his arms, carried as if you were a princess saved from a tower.

Sam, your knight.

But the shallow rise and fall of your dripping chest had Dean stand up from the bed at once, shock plastered across his face.

“Don't.” was all Sam said as he carried you inside, setting you down on his bed.

“No! No Sammy, you dont get to come in here with a fucking siren, and tell me ‘don’t’ Don't what? Don't not want to get us fucking killed? You were supposed to shoot her, god dammit!” he raged, hands coming to rub his face in disbelief.

How you were still asleep, he didn't know. You must be weaker, or at least- not used to being fully out of water for very long.

“I know, but listen- she's not the one killing them. She's not like them. She doesn't feast.”

Dean stared at him like he was fucking crazy. Which he probably was.

“Did she tell you that? Jesus Sammy you know this. They lie, and they cheat so they can fucking eat you!”

“Look at her teeth.”

Dean stopped. Forehead crinkled in confusion. “What?”

Sam sighed. “Look at her teeth.” was all he said, sitting down next to your sleeping figure on the bed.

He pulled apart your lip, so Dean could get a look at your jaws. And jaws they weren't. He was visibly confused. Your teeth looked the same as his, the same as Sams.

There was no way in hell you could be gutting men and leaving them washed up on shore with canines like that.

“She’s different, and she’s vulnerable. We need to keep her safe. She can help us, give us information as well about her sisters.” Sam said, brushing a strand of hair that had stuck to your cheek.

Dean bit his lip, thinking. What choice did he really have?

They needed you, and you needed them.

Looking into Sam's eyes, he nodded. “Don't make me regret this.” 

[andrabeets]

Dandori Downpour - A Pikmin 4 Dating Sim - June 1st Development Blog

Welcome to the fourth installment of the Rescue Corps/Pikmin 4 Dating Sim development blog! A weekly "news letter" where I will discuss my progress on the dating simulator.

Last week, I asked what kind of player choices do you love the most in a dating sim? The winner ended up being close between friendly and goofy! But the one that prevailed was...

the goofy choices!

Of course, there will be opportunities for flirty, friendly, goofy, and mean choices through out a playthrough of Dandori Downpour.

Previous Development Blog (with Yonny preview!) Character Creator Showcase

What has been done this week?

Half of Collin's sprites

Rendering a castaway's sprites (secret!)

Rendering Erma's Sprites and beginning to draw another pose.

Continue Russ' second draft in Twine

There are many many more sprites to do, in fact, I don't think I'll truly be "done" until the very end! As I play... I'll imagine "Oh it'd be cool if Collin posed a certain way for that line.. Guess I need to go draw it!" It's an odd approach, I know, but let me cook....

--------------

Reception to the Yonny preview

Reception of the preview, among others, have been exceptionally positive especially on tumblr! I have had some odd reactions (though not outright malicious) from members outside of the tumblr community, namely discord, which is to be expected...

I understand a "Pikmin dating sim" is an odd thing to "sell" to the general fanbase. I'm a liiiitttleee scared to "advertise" this game outside of tumblr.. Wish me luck LMAO I won't be spreading the word till I am almost done with the first three routes so I got time.

Also can we talk about how mean the fanbase can get sometimes about yumeshipping/shipping in general??

--------------

POLL TIME!

There are plans to make the crew talk more like sailors... OH NO But how do you prefer curse words being handled?

-------------- LMAO thanks for reading as always!! I still am going strong, still very determined. Please don't hesitate to drop some headcanons, comments, and other stuff!! Encouragement is ALWAYS welcome! Thanks for reading this weeks newsletter! Stay curious!~

andrabeets / Cherie <333

[skeletonahead]

i don't think I've ever had anyone consistently like every single post on my blog aside from you. are you a secret admirer, perhaps?~

UM

I WAS NOT AWARE. THAT WAS HOW THAT WORKED

I'M SO SORRY IF I'VE BEEN WEIRD MY EXPERIENCE OF TUMBLR SO FAR HAS BEEN VISITING BLOGS I LIKE FOR POSTS INSTEAD OF USING THE DASHBOARD LIKE A NORMAL PERSON

you do seem very cool though! i initially came from your and lambdaupsilon's fanfics to check for writing updates and such... they were quite lovely... but i also liked a lot of your posts and reblogs! your interests and interactions are cute and stuff and incidentally were part of what helped me find a lot more of the really inspiring transfeminist thought and transfem community i'd been wanting to engage with as that's hard to come across on other sites tbh, which has been nice and affirming for a lot of my own personal feelings :> see also learning about old military equipment and piloting i suppose? i am mostly unfamiliar otherwise

while i'm here i guess i want to say as well that your writing is really good!! it helped me get into btr as strange as that may sound, since i hadn't been exposed to a lot of the deeper aspects of the characters from what little i'd seen beforehand and the way you and her handle them really highlighted a lot of the most interesting readings of the series and its themes, especially in how grounded and understanding both the circumstances and internal thoughts of the characters come across if that makes sense? thinking of the ryo and nijika fic about nijika confessing in particular. and just the dynamics between them were very cute, the ways they read into each other and construct themselves between the drama and fluff is neat and girls with mental health Problems are rather endearing in general -u- so yeah! that encouraged me to start with the manga and everything which has been a lot of fun so far, so I wanted to thank you for that.

anyways! i apologize again if this was weird, i hope i didn't make you uncomfortable or anything. for transparency's sake i will make sure my admiration for you is fully public from now on 🫡

otherwise, if you'd prefer i not intrude as such, just let me know and i'll be more than happy to boppy kms out of respect 🫡

(/j + seriously though i want to make sure i'm not worrying anyone so feel free to do whatever you'd like not that you need my permission also i don't know if it's common etiquette to make responses like these private or not and i'm going to stop talking now okay thanks byebsbramrksjrkrn)

[muttonbones]

why so sweet to me im just a lil guy

[astriiformes]

Last therapy session I was talking about the extremely kind (and equally drunk) Mithrun cosplayer that made me feel a significantly better about not winning anything in our local con's Masquerade with my Laios costume, and because my therapist isn't familiar with Dungeon Meshi, it was critical to the story to explain why them being dressed as Mithrun specifically was so funny.

Anyway this lead to her googling him mid-session and laughing out loud when she saw a picture of him. Guy so depressed that just looking at him gets the point across.

[starflungwaddledee]

some rather strong first impressions were made.

required reading for the magical "voice" headcanon and another for starstruck's signature in particular. asked by @trainerbob23 !

[mkniesy]

i'm actually picking up a second job so do you guys think i should pick him up too as incentive

[oldbutchdanielcraig]

any female!armand backstory headcanons/crumbs to share with the class?

i think she would be an expert at Performing Gender and, probably due to the fact that she would have been expected to be very feminine while younger/mortal, when she's attempting to manipulate or w/e through her wits alone she presents as hyperfeminine. and she does serve cunt while doing this

i imagine though that armand at her most comfortable is a very similar style to the dubai wardrobe which is fairly androgynous. she does also serve cunt this way

the existence of femme and androgynous armand implies the existence of butch armand which like. yeah i mean. can we all hold hands for a minute and imagine her in a leather jacket (maybe even DANIEL'S leather jacket? and some beat up jeans. a cigarette dangling from her lips. sorry what was the question?

i think all of the above and also 500+ years means that armand is as comfortable with gender as she's going to get which is like. she knows how it fits her and knows when to "use" it to get what she wants and otherwise feels pretty emotionally removed from it

(as opposed to daniel who wants to be butch SO BAD but can't due to her issues. but that's another story)

(quick cw here for armand's backstory re: forced prostitution/slavery, though not discussed in great detail)

i think her thing with pregnancy would arise from the fact that she for whatever reason was never able to have a kid. she would have been at the age where she was expected to marry/have children and that she wasn't able to was one of the things that contributed to her "brokenness." i don't even want to get into the marius of it all because i don't have a fully developed enough thought to make it compelling but trust that being a young girl who wasn't able to have kids + living with marius + losing the possibility for children forever by becoming a vampire + 500 years gave her a pregnancy complex you could see from jupiter.

this of course results in a fascination with daniel who has, as far as they know, a fully functioning womb. (she does in fact have a fully functioning womb. but watch out!)

this plays into the personal armandaniel sex dynamics a great deal but i think it alters the purpose of the cuck chair encounters even more. armand would be so obsessed with getting men to fuck daniel and kind of tempting fate with getting her pregnant

re: tracking daniel's fertility cycles she IS doing shots of daniel's period blood out of her diva cup

lastly, she SHOULD be the first lesbian ever to get her gf pregnant through strap

[whentherewerebicycles]

oh my god okay I’ve been working since 7:30am but MN, SD, and JW are all submitted for internal review!!! NF is ready to submit as soon as he gets home from school and does a final readthrough!!!! DN has decided to waive review lol godspeed to that poor kid but it means less work for me today yippee!!!! and I also had time to give the baby a bath which is his new favorite activity (furiously focused water-kicking time!!!!). I think now I will take a break from student work and take all the residents of this household out for a brisk walk.

[payasita]

hello! i was wondering if you're still planning to finish your COTL fic? <3

everything I write is written outlined and with the ending in mind so yeah I'd like to get that out but also please look at the stats for the next chapter alone

I Am Begging For Patience /j

[amoneki-ramblings]

Um. Uh. Hi, Amoneki blog, pinned post let's go (very important please read !!)

This is probably the most important thing by Far: I haven't actually finished the manga yet; I recently got a :re box set but I (at the time of writing this) only just got to :re volume 10 and I don't have a lot of time on my hands to read !! (I've already gotten spoiled a lot cough while trying to look for content cough cough but I'd still like to avoid as many (mostly for major plot points/character deaths especially) as I still can)

Having said that please try to respect that as much as you can !! It's already really tough avoiding spoilers for a series like this (which is why I'm laying pretty low with this fandom, but I'll try to get through the manga when I actually have time)

I'm gonna be honest anything amoneki is pretty much fair game though the tumblr tags have already told me. A lot This mostly applies to. Everything else in the series. If that makes sense? (I hope it does at least orz)

Asks and interaction are greatly appreciated !! (Just a warning that if I get started on these two I can hardly shut up) I love rambling about my silly guys (both individually and as a ship, these two drive me absolutely insane)

If you have headcanons or thoughts you want to discuss or share, please definitely absolutely share !! I want to hear them really really badly trust me !!!! Let's spiral into insanity together :))

Okay that's all I think

Tags for future organization: amoneki doodles/amoneki ramblings / amonhaise CCG AU

Also. 1.5K word amoneki ramble because honestly it sums up a lot of my thoughts about them if you're interested, here