#then it switches to romance

[guidingthulite]

i finished yokai gakuen

[amazon-dot-com]

hell yeah gamer grandma

[lostprincessfantasies]

To be talked to like this…to be touched like this…to be wanted like this 🥵

[pricetagged]

fool's gold (pyrite)

Got inspired by gougie's executioner asks and cloth's egging hehe 💖 have some pirate au simon breeding kink~

Content: 18+; breeding kink; dubious consent*; mean Simon; pirates; captured-by-the-crown reader; barest implication of potential soap/reader and future ghoap/reader; POV shift

*in a 'get out of jail' way, so take that how you will.

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

It fluttered in your stomach. A nebulous, squirming little thing.

Not the baby, no. The lie.

You felt it, restless and hot. Kicking your ribs from the inside. It made you flushed, it made you sick-

It bought you at least another few weeks to slip the noose, to slide away in borrowed shoes meant to dance a gallows' jig. Maybe it would buy you more, if the stress held back your monthly the way it often did on the ship. Great, long stretches of time with too much work and not enough food.

You wore the lie like you wore your borrowed clothes, a too-tight bodice and heavy skirts. Impractical, sweet. Modest. A poor little dear caught up and brought low. Fallen woman, sunken to the depths before the law fished her out. 

Your thighs stuck together, warm and bare under the skirts. It was sweltering, damp. Clammy in the cell with its stagnant air and earthy, unfinished floors. The wood of your bench –and bedcot–was warped with age, woodlouse burrowed deep into the pulpy grooves. It was enough to make you shudder, sweat dripping down your spine until it soaked into the cotton of your shift.

It did little to cool you.

Nine months aboard The Watcher had spoiled you, coarse rope and sharp, sea air warping you into something new. Something wilder. It was hardtack and hard work, yes. But it was freedom. To toil under a flag of your choosing, to trust the waves and the Captain to take you to new ports and newer treasures–

You'd left your papa's place with little more than ill-fitting breeches and a pocketed purse. You'd passed the scars on your hands and the patches on your shirt as evidence of experience – hardy little stowaway, aren't ye–. The morals didn't bother you the way stolen scraps didn't bother a dog. Street rat or ship rat; at least this way you could put miles between you and your father. Nautical miles, bobbing away with the wood of the ship's log. You watched it often, knots of rope and grains of sand. Hourglass and paper in hand while you stood on the stern.

It was you who first spotted the English Man O'War, sluicing through waves with colours hoisted high. Three gun-decks, at least, and coming into port.

"–plead the belly–it'll spare ye the choppin' block. Might even get lucky and be sent t' the reformatory– ah heard they do that f'r expectant mothers–" you couldn't quite hear him over the ringing of the cannons and the ringing in your ears.  "–plead the belly, and I'll try tae come back for y–"

They echoed now in your sweltering cell, suspended in the humidity. The boatswain's last words before he was violently wrestled away.

You remembered him as you counted the bars of your cage. Iron-wrought and cruel. As cruel as the chain tethering you to the wall, cold metal biting into your bare ankle.

'–I've got the keys, girlie, if you want freein' from it. Don' have to sit against that wall, all shy. C'mere an' I'll make you a deal–'

You stayed silent, stone-faced. Weathered the taunts and jeers of your gaolers like a battered old rock. The guards took it as arrogance, the other prisoners took it as invite.

The priest took it as shame.

You let them all believe it, lips pressed tight lest you let loose sobs–giggles–something– as days passed and your sentencing drew closer.

You'd heard about him before you saw him. The Ghost. The last face you'd see before facing the faceless. The pitch-black eyes that would watch as you jigged to the jeers of the crowd.

It was the last face you'd see and it was only a mask. More macabre than the usual executioner's hood– a skull motif, bleach-white bones and empty sockets. A nasty minikin mockery of the reaper. It was gristly; it was sick.

But so was he.

A butcher, some said. Fingers caked in blood no matter to which job he attended. A pirate, according to others. One pressed into service, earning his freedom by sending others to the pits. 

And now you heard him for real.

The low, resonant whistle. The heavy tread of his boots.

It had you curling your fingers into your palms, nautical superstitions and fishwives' tales nipping at you like fleas.

–quit yer whistlin', you'll anger the winds and summon a storm–

                                                 –it's good luck, don't worry. It'll make the winds blow strong and steady, you'll see–

–I wouldn't do that if I were you. Cap'n'll think it's code between mutineers–

                                                                                                                                    –taboo–

The whistling stopped, a cheery solitary note wavering in the air before silence. Even the gaoler's dog had scarpered off, keys jingling around its neck until you couldn't even hear the echo.

A gravel-rough voice cut through the swirling tempest of your mind.

"Was told 'got a pregnant little birdie caught in the cage."

That pulled you from your reverie, neck-stiff as you turned towards the voice. It was more of a twitch than a conscious motion, a sudden flaring of deadened synapses as his voice rasped over them. Still, you didn't speak. Didn't even look at him fully, the hulking thing in your peripheral.

It was silent, now. Eerily so, like all the air had been sucked from the prison. Sitting in the eye of the storm, too calm and too quiet. You could hear the drag of his boots as he shifted closer. The rolling clank of iron scraping against itself, your cage creaking open.

The shadow in your peripheral became mass, then man as he stepped closer.

You risked a glance up.

He'd still be large, sturdy, even without you curled up on your dank, spongy bedcot. Tall enough to duck as he sauntered into the cell. Broad enough to block out the flickering oil lamps by the warden's desk. In the lambent glow of dusk it was already dim, hazy with sea-spray and the oppressive heat of wet season. But with him in front of you it was pitch-dark. A pall cast by his sheer size, all light swallowed up until you could just about make out his blurry edges.

The ghostly white of the bones bleached onto his mask moved and his voice rumbled out.

"Well, g'nna show me?"

You stretched out weakened muscles, unfurling as slow as a wind-battered sail. Joints creaked alongside the iron of your shackle, tight from where you'd clenched hard. Dug your blunt little fingernails into the pulpy, malleable fibers of the aged ironwood below you.

Standing was like finding yourself unmoored, sliding off the buoyant driftwood keeping you afloat. Your legs got tangled up in your borrowed clothes, damp petticoats and overskirts clinging as your feet finally touched the straw-strewn earth of the cell floor. It was cumbersome, made more difficult by the sliding of the heavy chain against the bench. You felt the weight around your ankle, anchoring you down.

Though you could barely see it, you felt as he studied you from top-to-toe. Flat, dead eyes followed every curve and dip of your body as you stood before him, your traitorous chest rising and falling in a way that made you grit your teeth. You used that force to steel your jaw, to look straight ahead and keep your arms lax and loose by your side.

Let him look his fill. Let him– your judge, jury and executioner.

He hummed. Circled you like a shark in a balmy waters. It was funny– you'd never felt more exposed than now in all your layers. Not even under the punishing sun in your loose, men's clothes. No, his eyes stripped you bare. More than cotton and linens, he peeled the flesh from bone. Flayed you open, eyes slicing through your skittish guise. Through your rabbity gaze hopping around the walls, the way you tried to arch your back and poke out more of your soft belly.

"You a liar, then?" You could hear the low, mocking note in his voice. "Or got a case of wishful thinkin'?"

That had you looking up, meeting him dead in the eye. Your hands hovered above the slight swell of your stomach, fingers twitching in an abortive gesture–

–you wanted to cradle it, the fluttering in your empty belly. Push down the sick, swirling terror and face the ghost you'd summoned, because you had summoned it–

He grabbed by your wrist, meaty paw pulling you close enough to brush against his expansive chest.

–Hadn't you? Bad luck. Malefic omen, having you on the ship. No prophets, no redheads–

There, in the cradle of his arms, you were frozen. Your wrist felt fragile, bird-like under the firm grip of his thick-knuckled fingers. You weren't weak, you'd rigged topsails in tempest winds with those wrists. But that was then. That was weeks ago, when you were part of a crew on the open seas. Here, it was just you and the beast that had sent stronger than you to their graves. The warnings from persnickety old seadogs tolled death knolls in your mind–

–no women. And now the sea had swallowed you up. Sent you down to the belly of the beast. A Jonah, locked behind something stronger than whalebone. Trapped. Unless–

Wishful thinking.

He chucked at your chin, calloused fingertips arching your head further back until your neck strained. Your heartbeat rushed past your ears, sending your head spinning. Dizzy, docile. An artificial calm; buoyant lifeline in the raging currents. He turned you slightly, left then right. Like he was measuring you up, the line of your throat. The fluttering of your pulse. That treacherous throbbing, sending oxygen to your brain that you were too erethic to feel.

He spoke again, rough and coruscating. You noticed that he didn't blink, just stared down at you. Dead-eyed as a fish, blond lashes spiked around dark irises. He kept you arched, unable to escape as every syllable struck you like a storm. You balanced on bare tip-toes, butterfly-soft fingers spread across his hairy forearm.

"The Beak's happy to let ya swing if it means 'e can catch the rest of y'r crewmates. And, 'round here, the only good pirate is a dead pirate," he must have felt how your fingers tightened, a futile brace against his butal strength and harsh words. "So, I tell him y'r a liar, get paid to do my job, and keep the governor happy."

He shrugged, bulky shoulders popping as he rolled them back. He shrugged like it meant nothing to him, just a matter of fact. The fisherman, fingers deep in guts and gristle. The butcher, hands stained copper and hardened on cannon bone. The executioner, calloused from rope neckties and the deadweight of the condemned–

But you catch the way his eyes follow your flinch. The way his lips move under his mask too as your mouth opens and closes. Hesitant. Dry.

You could only look up at him with wide, naïve eyes, dilating in the dark. The jejune jailbird. Doe-eyed. Caught.

The jig was up.

"Please," the words stuck in your throat, cracking and broken. "Please don't–"

He lets you go. Not a gentle action, no. No careful caress; he lowers you abruptly, chuckles as you scramble to face him. Stunned, you rub at your throat. Still there, still unadorned with the necklace of rope you swear he wants to place there. Coarse twine and hessian brown, constricting tighter until– no. You can't think on it, anathema to the lie you've worked hard to maintain. If he doesn't believe the plea of the belly, you'll– you'll–

You'll make it so.

As he settles his massive frame on the thin, wooden slat against the wall you wonder. Why did he come here in cover of night. Why did he need to see for himself what the priest confirmed as a priori truth? The seal of confession melts away, your moribund admittance flakes and crumbles under his heavy hand. He knows.

Solid legs spread wide, he makes himself comfortable. You follow the bulge of his thighs, easily as thick as your skull–more–, as the bench groans and creaks worse than the brig in a storm.

You worry that it can't handle the weight.

Even sitting, he dwarfs you. Stepping up between his thighs is like willingly stepping off the stern into still waters. It's terrifying, thrilling– your belly swoops and head feels light. You know there must be something lurking in the depths, some undulating hydra ready to slide its malignant limbs around your ankle and wrench you down–

He clamps a filthy boot down over the length of chain across the floor. Keeps you tethered to him, unable to pull back even if you wanted to.

"Clever enough t'come up with the scheme, clever enough t'get out of it." It's an offering, albeit a twisted one. Alms tainted by the greedy slap of his palms against his thighs. Rough, scarred hands frame the growing bulge between his legs.

Even in the dark, you see it. Heavy, perverse, Fattening enough to strain against the seam of his trousers. You can't look away, can't escape the muggy heat in the air and the scorching burn of his eyes on you. Incendiary, it sends heat pooling to your own belly. The damp, stickiness between your thighs seems cool now, sweat superseded by the slick gathering in your core. It's filthy, it's wrong–

It's blazing hot, shame seared away by a want that is not entirely born of desperation.

At first you think it's a tit-for-tat, your mouth stuffed full in exchange for his staying closed. Kneeling before him, you're suddenly grateful for your skirts. Matchsticks of dried straw and dusty smithereens dig into your knees, legs bent awkwardly as he keeps his boot on your chain. He's content to let you paw at him, to tug at the drawstrings and fumble with his waistband as he offers no help.

Eventually, he must grow bored.

"Don' need me to tell ya that's not how it works."

"What–?" He has you frozen, tableau vivant of a wanton grisette. Pupils-blown and lips-parted, you tremble up at him. Try to read the desire that he hides beneath harsh words and heavy breaths.

"Tryin' t'make me a liar, too?" He grunts, brushing aside your confused, hurried protestations. "Gonna make me a liar when I go out'nd tell them there really is a pregnant little birdie caught in the cage?"

He pats at his lap, palming at himself and hissing through his teeth. Sound is muffled by that grotesque mask, but you catch it all the same. Every flash of the man beneath– of the desire wrought by your artless, ingenue fumblings– sends you reeling. You are not a creature of flesh and blood, not when both are fever-hot and itching. You can't breathe in your body under sweltering layers and sultry air. And he can sense it, too. The beast you let into your cage, bars bending as easily as your will to his.

And, through messily-tugged drawstrings, you see it. Tugged through the opening you'd hastily torn open. The thick, ruddy head of his cock is already leaking.

And as you slide into his lap, it all slides into place.

You think of– no, not now. You can't think of him now. When he comes back for you, if it takes, you could pass the baby off as his. He was sweet on you, you know it. A breezy, comfortable kind of affection. Small, just barely burgeoning but still there. He's a good man– You'll claim that you were telling the truth at your capture– that you and he already– He's a decent man– maybe you wouldn't even have to lie. He'd take you in, little stray and the seed that kept her off the scaffold–

Thoughts slip away, sea spray in the wind, as you work yourself open in his lap. You're drenched beneath your skirts, slick running down your thighs and into his. You're spread so wide across him that it burns, pinned open by his bulk. You can feel the power of his frame, coiled muscle holding you up from the worn wooden bench. The soft pudge of his belly presses into yours as you lean forward, shakily lining up with the swollen head of his cock.

It's already weeping, thick globs of his slick mingle with yours as he slides between your folds. Like he can't wait to be inside you, leaking his spend at the barest touch of your cunt. Like he can't wait to put it inside you, to make good on his word and yours and put a baby there.

You shiver, biting back a gasp as he nudges the aching pearl at the apex of your thighs. His chuckle rumbles through his hulking chest into yours. It jostles you, hitching you just right over his length until it notches against you. You press down, hole clenching against the initial pain, until you feel the throb of his slit inside. It's deep, sending your back arching as you grip his shoulders with white knuckles. And there's still more–

"Tha's it, tha's it, birdie," his voice is impossibly thicker, desire dragging it down until he growls at you. "Gonna have t'take more, gotta make it all fit if you want this baby–"

"Yes, yes, please," you babble at him. Voice high, whines catching on every breath you work yourself lower. You can feel him in your stomach, every inch sending sparks dancing along your spine until they're all you can see when you close your eyes. The sparks, and the spectral imprint of his ghostly mask.

He grunts below you, swallowing back groans behind a jaw that you know is clenched tight. Avaricious brute, he needs you closer. Hands that were meant to measure you for the drop dig into your hips, working you lower and lower. He forces you down to the root, bare thighs on hessian cloth, until you cry out. Shaking at the spread– the stretch– you pant in his ear. Hot little breaths, heady against the crook of his neck.

You can hear it, the obscene squelch of your greedy cunt. The creaking of the bench beneath you as you ride him with shaking legs, chasing pleasure that's already beginning to pool in your belly. You feel heavy with it, moaning behind your clenched fist. Through bleary eyes you catch his, cimmerian and heavy-lidded. His head is thrown back against the wall, guttural filth spilling as he waits for you to come undone.

"Want it, don't ya? Want my baby so fuckin' bad, just look at ya," he growls it, frothing with a hunger so biting it reads as rage. "I'll put one in ya, keep you stuffed full. Keep this chain around y'r ankle, too, keep you shackled to me–"

Eyes-watering as you lose yourself in it. In the sounds that that send blood rushing to your head, the deep ache in your core, the desperation– make him come, make him come, want to come, need to come–

---------

At first, he was happy to watch you. To sit back and watch you work yourself up, to perform for him until he sees you drop the mask. You wear the mantle of captive soubrette so well, sweat-damp petticoats clinging to curves that he wants to trace with his tongue. With his teeth. He saw the craft in your sweet, open face. You're a flighty thing, aren't you? Trying to slip the noose and slip past him. Luckily his grasp is strong.

He saw the scheme slip away as he got you speared open on his length. He can see it in your eyes, feels the way you suck him in–. You're dripping down into his breeches, sloppy and squeezing him so tight. Desperate, wanton little naiad. Riding hard like your life depends on it. He huffs out a laugh as he squeezes you tight, rough fingers digging into peach-soft flesh.

He doesn't tell you that you're already free, that the Royal Navy is already in hot pursuit of The Watcher and the pregnant, little skivvy is of as much importance to them as the ship's rats. No, you're a nuisance they're willing to hand off to him. Too big, too blunt, too bloody to find a respectable wife.

(There was a time, once, when he had no need of such comforts. Lieutenant aboard The Larimar's Revenge, he'd docked in many-a-port. But he'd always come back to those blue eyes. The haircut that had even the natives of Port Royal looking twice– Cheeky, cocksure pirate.

He'd thought about him, sometimes. On that godforsaken island with just a pistol and one shot for company. 'Mutineer', he was branded. Traitor to King and Crown. Lower than scum, not worth even a keelhaul. But not even grapeshot can kill a ghost–) 

He feels you reaching your end, thighs trembling from more than just exertion. His mask is damp, sultry air mixing with your musk into something that scatters his desultory thoughts. His belly tightens as he feels you clamping down, whining behind the knuckles you’ve got stuffed between your teeth.

When you're home, together in his bed, he'll bite down on those knuckles. Show you what real toothprints look like. Or maybe he'll let you slip his hand into your mouth instead. Let you whet your blunt little teeth on something with more gristle. His appetite for you cannot be satiated on mere flesh. He's got to pierce you, taste you, feel you from the inside and leave a part of himself there–

For now, he holds you down. Forces you to ride out the wave of pleasure-pain as he sets his own pace. Your thighs tremble, whole body seizing around him. He can feel the fluttering in your cunt, the way you shudder and drip until his cock is soaked and his coarse hair turns sticky with your release.

He ignores your whisper of another man's name– John, or Johnny, it's hard to catch with the way you swallow your whimper–it doesn’t matter. Not when he's the one pumping you full of his spend. His belly clenches hard, balls tight and heavy with the come he's going to give you. Going to force it in, plant his baby in you and still leave thick, white, globs leaking out of your poor, abused hole.

He's filled you up, is going to fill you up again. He'll take you back to his house and do it as many times as he wants. Make you grateful for it, for saving your life and giving you the baby you’ve been begging for. Keep you stuffed so full of him that the only name he'll hear from you is 'Simon'.

(And if you help lure Johnny back, well. It's been a long time, but good dogs come home when called.)

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

Well, there is it. Shoutout to my beloved stelle and woolie for listening to me whine about pirate ship names 💖💖💖

[remiratboi]

One thing that draws me to teratophilia is the inherent body positivity of monster fucking. So much of it is about monsters that have been misjudged or misunderstood. A lot of times it’s because of their appearance.

ALSO also like don’t get me wrong, I’m proud to be a fat hottie but one unfortunate fact of it is, it’s harder to be thrown around. So the idea of a big rough monster who thinks I’m a small thing and wants to worship me a little in the most aggressive way? Yeah. That’s cool I guess.

[loveisanimaginarydagger3000]

Good Luck, Babe!- Epilogue (1)

Wanda Maximoff X Reader 18+

Inspired by the song 'Good Luck, Babe!' by Chappell Roan

Summary: Returning to Westview after twelve years away causes you to look back on your secret love affair with Wanda, to remember the intimate moments you shared together before her refusal to accept her true self drove the two of you apart, leaving you to pick up the pieces of your broken heart alone.

What happens when you reunite with the woman you've been trying so hard to forget, forced to watch her suffer in an unhappy marriage that was slowly drowning her, still too scared to confront her true feelings?

Chapter 9- 10.1k Words- This chapter contains 18+ Smut

Good Luck, Babe! Masterlist

Chapter 1 | Chapter 8

Chapter Warnings/Tags: Plot (with brief reference to homophobic parents) before eventual 18+ Smut, Thigh Riding, Fingering, Oral sex, Soft smut, Insecurities about body image, Reference to poor previous relationships, Aftercare. 

---

The sound of a knock at your door drew your attention away from your task at hand, hand pausing with the wooden spoon still in the pot of boiling water, the pasta still swirling around in the water as you halted, eyes flickering over to the clock and brows furrowing at who could possibly be knocking on your door so late. Swiftly, you lowered the heat on the pan before wiping your hands with a cloth, carrying it mindlessly with you to the door to answer, the questions arising in your mind answered as you opened the door, revealing auburn hair that you failed to stop being in awe of.

The warmth that escaped you in your past resurfaced as you made eye contact with the green of Wanda’s eyes, the sight alone of the mesmerising shade wrapping tendrils of love around your heart as you offered her a gentle smile, your eyes instantly taking the hint of apprehension and hesitancy written across her angelic features, gripping your attention as your brows furrowed once more. Wanda shuffled slightly under your enamoured gaze, still not quite used to the sheer amount of emotion you could express with a look before returning your tender expression, the uneasy feeling within her diminishing slightly as she took note of the tea towel in your hand, oblivious to Lucky who was now by your side trying to steal the item.

“Hey,” you softly murmur as you eventually feel the item slipping out of your hand, your gaze only briefly flickering away from the other woman before naturally being drawn back, still unable to stop the longing inside you to appreciate every moment you spent with her. “Is everything ok?” Your tone is laced with concern to match with the look on your face, Wanda’s chest blooming with warmth at your care, her eyes drifting away from you as she contemplated her answer, still trying to adjust to the change in your relationship.

It had only been a couple weeks since the two of you confessed to each other, two weeks since she had finally muttered the words ‘I love you’ and learnt to accept herself, two weeks since she discovered that there was nothing else in the world other than you she wanted as she somehow managed to fall even more in love with you. It was overwhelming, the innate desire within her to be with you, the yearning of the last twelve years almost nothing in comparison to the affection and warmth she’d feel in your presence, her soul desperate for you. The two of you were taking things slow, not wanting to overstep a boundary or rush into anything as you were both mature enough to realise there was more pressing matters in your lives to attend to, Wanda spending most of her time trying to have a civil conversation with Vision about the divorce or with Jennifer to figure out the logistics whilst you had been annoyingly busy with work. The reason and logic however didn’t seem to agree with Wanda’s heart though as she wanted more than rushed moments with you due to life, she wanted to be with you, to feel the comfort you provided but she was still unsure of how to do so, her relationship with Vision making it hard for her to ask for things she wanted. She knew you were different but she was still scared of the rejection she had grown used to.

“Yeah I just- I had a long day and I...” She starts, trailing off as she lifts her gaze to meet yours, hoping her green conveyed what she wanted to say. I’ve missed you.

Just as you always had been able to, you were able to read her like a book, catching the look in her eye and smiling at her comfortingly, stepping to the side and motioning with your head for her to come in as you could tell she just wanted to be with you. You would be lying if you said you didn’t want the same, shutting the door behind her and encouraging her to make herself at home as you wandered back to the kitchen to check on the food you were making, checking to see if you had made enough to feed her as well.

The last two weeks had be the same kind of torture for you, your body and mind unable to stop thinking about her, something you were fond of but also a little embarrassed about, feeling as though you were a teenager once again, infatuated with the girl next door and crushing hard. You were hopelessly in love with her and it proved to be harder than you thought not being with her, even if she was only next door. You also longed to spend time with her, to learn about her day, to ease her worries, to reminisce on the past and form new memories together, yet time hadn’t been on your side at the moment but hopefully tonight would be different and the start of something new.

“Have you eaten yet?” You ask in a soft questioning voice, your back to Wanda as she took residence at the kitchen island, perching on a stool and taking in your house once more, never properly appreciating all the little décor that just made it so you. A genuine smile graced her lips at your question, the natural care you showed her making her realise how little she was shown any sort of affection as you looked over your shoulder at her, taking in the sight of her.

“Not yet,” she answers, resting her head against her hand as she gets comfortable, leaning against the countertop and watching the back of you as you moved about, part of her a little excited at the fact that someone else would be cooking her dinner for once, a privilege she wasn’t presented with much. “I just got back from dropping the twins off at my parents,” she explains, a sour tone hinted in her voice making your brow raise, gathering that must have been one of the issues that stressed her out, waiting a moment to see if she wanted to talk about it and get it off her chest.

“I told them everything,” she whispers after a moment, her fingers mindlessly rubbing against her finger, so used to spinning the wedding ring that used to be there when she was anxious, a habit she never seemed to grow out of. Your eyes widened at her words, not wanting to jump to complete conclusions as you turned to face her, your face nothing but reassuring to her as her fingers continued to trace one another. The fact that a simple look from you could ease the storm raging on inside Wanda’s head calmed her, the fact that you were willing to just listen to her, to soothe her making her appreciate you all the more as you patiently stood opposite her, pulling her out of her insecure and doubtful thoughts.

“How did they take it?” You gently ask, checking on the ravioli before pushing yourself away from the stove, slowly making your way over to her till you were stood by her side, fingers brushing back her auburn locks. It felt natural to touch her lovingly, intimately as your hand instinctively moved to cup her jaw, letting her lean into your soothing touch, her eyes fluttering shut as her hand placed itself above yours, revelling in the warmth of your skin.

“They took the divorce better than I expected,” she huffs out, pressing her cheek a little more into your palm as her mind recalls the events of the last few hours, the plan simply being to drop the twins off for a sleepover and inform her parents of the upcoming changes. She remembers vividly the surprise that washed through her at the lack of animosity or irritation from her parents after telling them, the way her mother seemed to share a look of mutual understanding with her before letting her gaze drift to her husband, the sight stirring something uneasy in Wanda before she continued, suddenly building up the courage to confess more, naively thinking she was having a good moment with them.

Your thumb comfortingly brushed against her impossibly soft skin as she spoke, knowing it must have been hard to talk to her family about the situation, knowing that she had always felt such an immense pressure from them. You wished she didn’t try to carry the weight of her world on her shoulders alone, wanting to offer her support when others should have, to let her know that there was nothing ever wrong with her, she wasn’t a failure. She never would be to you.

“They didn’t react so well to you… to us,” Wanda manages out after a moment, a deep and heavy sigh escaping her lips as your face pulls into a look of shock that she had actually told them but also a saddened smile, knowing that it must have been a horrible experience for her.

Wanda had to block out the sudden outburst from her parents as they reacted to her words, the twins playing elsewhere and leaving her vulnerable to the words her father and mother spat at her, the words familiar as they had been thoughts that haunted her mind throughout the entirety of her life. She refused to believe them anymore, the cruel manner in which they were spoken to her still tugging painfully on her heart though, the other woman just wishing her parents could see that she was happy with you. Surely all they should want is her to be happy?

“Pietro said he would talk to them but I just-” She cuts herself off with an exasperated sigh, your lips instinctively pressing to her temple, taking in the brief scent of her sweet shampoo before pulling back, wanting to look her in the eye as you spoke.

“I know,” you murmur in understanding, her form instantly relaxing at not having to try and verbalise her thoughts, her green eyes flickering between your lips and eyes as she savours your touch, fuelling the fire in her heart. “Just so you know, I am so proud of you for everything,” you whisper in an honest and adoring tone, gaze overflowing with so much love it makes Wanda’s breath hitch, the words, the affirmation meaning the world to her as she feels herself finally being cared for. “For admitting it to yourself, for telling them. I know it’s hard but I promise you, I’ll be with you the entire way,” Wanda can’t stop the appreciative smile that tugs at her lips as she peers up at you in a look that can only be described as enamoured, her face turning slightly to press a kiss to your hand before she moves to stand, encouraging you to take a small step back as she lets her body sink into your embrace.

Her arms snake around your waist and as she holds onto you tight, simply needing to be close to you, to bask in your warmth and safety as your words resonate with her, dissipating the doubts that threatened to pick away at her mind as she focussed on you, on the way your hands delicately ran up and down her back, your body gently swaying hers.

“That’s all I could ever want,” she whispers against your shoulder, voice barely audible but loud enough for you to hear as you both relish in the lovers embrace, savouring the feeling of your bodies perfectly slotted against each other like the final piece of a puzzle.

***

A little while later, empty plates fill the sink as yours and Wanda’s laughter echoes around the room, love and warmth bubbling inside you both at the domesticity of the moment as you tidy up after dinner, green eyes trained on you as you move around the kitchen. Wanda couldn’t help but stare at you, constantly amazed at how she could feel something so passionate and powerful inside her towards you, her heart fluttering in her chest as you looked over your shoulder at her once more, casual smile tugging at your lips. It was intoxicating, the sheer amount of comfort you provided, her eyes settling on your lips, watching as they moved but not quite taking the words in as Wanda admired the plumpness of them, the way the corner of your lips tugged up at her oblivious state, her mind replaying the many times they had brushed hers.

Only once her gaze eventually drifted higher did she meet the expectant and playful look in your eyes, each swirl glimmering with a teasing glint as her cheeks flushed red, your hands motioning for her to pick between the two bottles of wine you had picked up. Her brow raised at your fine taste as she subconsciously bit down on her lip, trying to decide and unknowingly setting your body alight at the action, your gaze mirroring her earlier one and zoning in on her lips, memories of them ghosting yours cruelly filling your mind as heat settled within you. God she was beautiful, her auburn locks perfectly framing her face, eyes filled with concentration as she analysed the two bottles, her teeth pressing against her lower lip subtly, it was too much. You craved to feel her lips pressing against yours, to thread your fingers through her hair but you knew better than to rush anything, wanting to take it at her pace.

Instead of walking up to her and kissing her with all the emotions swirling inside you, you poured her a glass of wine as she requested, encouraging her to go into the living room and make herself comfortable whilst you brought them in, moving to sit next to her on the sofa. Wanda seemed to appreciate the action as she naturally moved closer to you, your fingers brushing as you handed her the glass, the delicate touch enough to send sparks throughout you both as your gazes meet, conveying more than words ever could.

Part of you didn’t want to break the longing look as you took in every shade of green but you decided to at the sudden tension building in the room as Wanda let her gaze drift to your lips again, her eyes darkening a little in desire and making it hard for you to keep your composure. You focussed on putting on an old sitcom you knew she loved to distract yourself, your eyes scanning the screen of the Tv to find the show whilst also noticing her in the corner of your eyes, her gaze still firmly locked on you as she sipped from her wine, seemingly contemplating something in her mind.

“You’re staring again,” you murmur in a gentle tease, turning your head slightly to meet her flustered expression at having been caught again, mirth evident in your features as her cheeks tinted pink, one of her fingers tracing the rim of the glass as she held it with the other, slender digits wrapping around the item.

“Admiring,” she corrects, “I was admiring you,” her teasing smile a sign of her amusement as she leans back against the sofa, keeping her gaze on you before briefly looking over at the Tv as to what you were doing. “I didn’t think you’d remember,” she whispers almost in a confession and slightly confused tone at the fact you had memorised her favourite show, her heart skipping a beat at the fact you had paid so much attention to her that even after years, you still knew the subtle things she enjoyed.

“It would be hard to forget as it was the only thing you ever talked about,” you taunted, recalling the many nights where she’d simply tell you the plot of her favourite episodes as you enjoyed hearing her rave on about the show, the enthusiasm and passion adorable to you as you would watch her with a loving look, wanting to hear her talk forever.

“It wasn’t the only thing,” she mumbled back in response, taking another sip of her wine as your smile grew, your body moving momentarily to place your glass down on the table and out of the way.

“Oh yeah?” Your tone is full of humour as you turn your body slightly to face her better, taking in the way her brow raises at your challenging tone, “What else did you talk about?”

“How insufferable you were,” she teases back, a glimmer of triumph clear in her eyes as you simply chuckle back in response, the sound blessing her ears as she had missed this, the playful conversations you would share, teasing one another until the other would break, most likely kissing the other to shut them up. “You were pretty annoying,” she whispers light-heartedly, the teasing expression on her face faltering at the way your hand naturally moves to her thigh, squeezing softly as you laugh with her, eyes meeting hers with an entertained look.

“You secretly loved it,” you murmur back, unaware at how the two of you had both leaned in slightly, Wanda however realising and moving to lean back so she could also place her glass down, wanting to move them out of the way as warmth settled deep within the pit of her stomach. The feeling of your fingers against her thigh sent a shiver down her spine, a sudden heat and desire consuming her as she licked her lips subconsciously to wet them, tasting the remnants of the wine on them as her gaze met yours, noticing how your pupils dilated as you looked at her.

“I did,” she whispers and neither of you seem to be able to stop the way you both gravitated towards one another, both of your gazes drifting lower.

Wanda wanted you, she needed you, she needed to feel wanted, to feel desired and be looked at in that loving way. Her heart longed to feel appreciated, to feel as though she was the most important thing in the world, to feel cared for, to lose herself in something, in you. Her body longed to feel your touch, to feel your hands caress her cheeks, her hips, her inner thighs as all she could remember was the ghost of your touch, haunting her in all the right and wrong ways. She needed to replace the feeling of larger hands that were only selfish, she wanted to be touched in a way that screamed I loved you, a touch that you were only ever able to satisfy her with.

“Wanda,” you sighed out as you noticed the distance between you close, an intimate atmosphere wrapping around the two of you as you leaned in, waiting to let years of passion consume you both. You craved her in a way that you didn’t think was possible, you were addicted to her, to her lips, to the sinful yet sweet sounds that’d spill from her, the taste of her as she would come undone in your mouth. She was like a drug, one you had been deprived of for too long and desperate for, trying to hold on to the last part of your restraint before you’d relapse into the desire you had for her.

“Y/n,” she whispers out and the sound of your name falling so gracefully from her lips set your entire body ablaze, your hand reaching up to her cheek, cupping it gently as your lips ghosted one another in a tantalising manner, not quite brushing just yet. It was teasing for both of you, waiting for the other to make the first move, not wanting to rush anything yet but your bodies had their demands, desire getting the better of you both as you had waited long enough. You needed each other.

“If we kiss, I… I don’t think I’ll be able to stop,” you confess, your mouths so close Wanda can feel your lips move as you murmur to her, her heart beating wildly in her chest as anticipation gets the better of her, her hand moving to your hair, slowly threading her fingers in an making you flutter your eyes shut at the pleasant feeling.

“Who said I’d want to stop?” Wanda sighs out after what feels like an eternity when it was realistically seconds, the words enough to break your restraint as you tilt your head to crash your lips to hers, the world around you fading away.

The two of you both moaned into the kiss at the sheer intensity of it, the love and passion that your lips moved with against one another as you stole each other's breath away, both literally and figuratively as you refused to part your lips from hers. It was relentless, the way fervent lips moulded against one another, her fingers tightening their grip in your hair as your fingers moved to cup her jaw, splaying against her burning skin as you pulled her face back to yours, feeling as though the world would end if you stopped touching each other.

Wanda moaned softly into your mouth when you deepened the kiss, sliding your tongue against hers in a lewd yet sensual manner as you explored each others mouths, your free hand moving to her waist, caressing the skin in that intoxicating manner she adored, a sigh spilling from her lips in between heated kisses. Her body moved on its own as she manoeuvred to straddle you, the desire and craving inside her overpowering her as she settles on your lap, the action dragging out a deep groan from you as her thighs squeeze around your body, her back arching her chest further into yours.

“Fuck,” the word leaves you breathlessly as the two of you briefly part, your mind fogged with arousal as you take in the sight of her straddling you, her lips kiss swollen and hair a little ruffled, her green overflowing with want as she panted above you, scanning your features. You watched her curiously as she took in your equally dishevelled state, the passion of the moment dwindling slightly into a softer and slower tone, the urgency and desire still prevalent in all your touches though as her hand cups your jaw, tilting your head up to meet her lowering mouth.

It feels like you're waiting an eternity until she lowers her face even more, her lips barely putting any pressure on yours as they briefly brush over them. Your eyes flutter close when you feel her other hand move to your shoulder, drifting down over your collarbone and back up in a soft manner, waiting for her to kiss you, to crash her lips to yours, to do anything at this point as you just wait, wait and wait.

When she feels like she's savoured the moment enough, Wanda kisses you. She kisses you in a manner that shows she's been starved of your lips forever; it's hot, it's desperate, it's passionate. It's everything you wanted it to be. You can't do anything but melt into her touch, hand clutching at her waist to ground yourself as all you can think of is her lips moving against yours, her body pressed up against yours, her soft fingers threading through your hair, just her. You wanted to worship her, to show her all the love in the world, to show her how your heart only beats for her. She was all you ever needed.

A soft moan leaves you at the intensity of the kiss, heat immediately taking over your body, her touch burning into your skin as arousal pools between your legs at the feeling of her lips moving against yours, a sensual sigh escaping her as you pull back from the kiss, eyes darkening with desire as you peer up into the green. Your lips peck hers in between laboured breaths, her hands moving to your shoulders, gliding them down your back and earning another sinful noise out of you, your lips tugging into a smirk as her breath hitches at the feeling of your hands at the bottom of her shirt, cold fingertips brushing the bare skin of her stomach. However, the action doesn’t quite yet the reaction you hoped it would as she tenses above you, pulling back from the kiss and worrying you, scared you had crossed a line.

“I’m sorry,” you pant out, still breathless and dazed at the intense amount of arousal that clouds your mind, concern evident in your features and touch as your hands move to her thighs, softly brushing over the fabric of her jeans as she avoids your gaze momentarily. “We don’t have to-” you start, wanting to express to her that there was never any pressure between you, but she cuts you off, her gaze finally meeting yours.

Your brows furrowed at the look of insecurity in her eyes, your face softening as you let her speak, her fingers mindlessly playing with the loose strands at the back of your neck, eyes drifting over your features as she airs her worries.

“I want to,” she quickly reassures, leaving her green on your lips to emphasise her point before she looks into your eyes, basking in the safety your longing look offers her. “I just… I need you to know that I’m not the same as I was,” she whispers, anxiety and nervousness lacing her words as she lifts her hands to motion towards her body, avoiding your gaze once more as her mind casts back to the few comments Vision had made about her body post giving birth to the twins, the words sticking with her. She didn’t feel as though she was beautiful anymore and she didn’t want you to be disappointed.

Upon seeing her shaky hands and hearing her words, you sit up straighter to look into her timid green, fingers naturally moving to interlock with hers, encouraging her to look at you as your eyes fill with nothing but love, needing her to hear you.

“Wanda,” you murmur when she still doesn't meet your gaze, the insecurities gnawing away at her mind until your finger gently tips her chin up, her green instantly meeting yours and dissipating the worry. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,” you confess, holding the intimate gaze and expressing the honesty in your words, the overwhelming amount of care in your voice stirring something deep inside her as she feels her emotions wracking through her, your words healing wounds she never realised cut so deep. “I love everything about you,” you murmur as you lean forwards, noticing how the worry slowly drains from her face, your noses brushing as you tease her with your lips, wanting her to hear you. “Your smile, your laughter, your heart. I love everything because they are a part of you. I love your body, even after all these years, because I know the amazing things it has done, the things you have done,” your words are laced with a delicate and loving tone as your fingers stay interlocked with hers, your hand squeezing hers as you peck her lips, smiling into the brief kiss as you feel her let out a relieved sigh, her body pushing hers closer to you as she kisses you again, wanting to drown herself in your love. “I also love that it’s still so sensitive to my touch,” you add in a gentle tease to ease the atmosphere, earning a soft chuckle from her as she kisses you with a little more purpose this time, the heat that had settled between her thighs making its presence known again.

“I’ve missed your touch,” she murmurs into a kiss, widening the smile on your lips as your hands move to her waist, caressing her soft curves as she grows more comfortable and confident, her hips slowly grinding down against you, sparks of pleasure filtering through her.

“Yeah?” you sigh out a little coyly into another slow and sensual kiss, your teeth biting down on her lower lip gently and dragging it down before releasing it, letting your tongue soothe over the dull pain you caused, relishing in the groan that escapes her.

“I’ve missed feeling so… so wanted,” she sighs out, letting you kiss along her jaw, peppering it in hot open-mouthed kisses as you trail her sharp jawline, dipping lower to her neck and kissing along her throat, teeth teasingly scraping over the searing skin.

“I’ll always want you, Wanda,” you whisper back without any hesitation, pressing a lewd kiss to the juncture of her neck, knowing she was sensitive there before pulling away from the skin before you’d start to cover it in marks, not sure how she’d feel about them. “I never want you to forget what you mean to me,” you husk out as your mouth ghosts her ear, hands guiding her hips with more purpose in your lap, her breath hitching in a sinful manner when her hips roll at just the right angle against you, a bolt of arousal shooting through her. “I want to worship you,” your tone makes Wanda moan at the sheer desire lacing your words, the way your teeth gently nibble on her ear lobe adding to the arousal coursing through her, her body drunk on your touch, on you.

“Please,” she practically whimpers out and fuck you’ve missed the sound of her begging you, a groan leaving your lips as you move your mouth back to hers, crashing your lips together. The love and care underlies the kiss but you both once again are taken over by lust, your actions fuelling one another as your hands drift to her hips, slowing her hips against your lap whilst her fingers tangle in your locks, tugging your head closer and never wanting to part from you until you motion for the two of you to move.

The journey to your room was a blur, hands roaming each other's bodies until the back of Wanda’s knees hit the bed, her body gently falling back against the mattress, her hair splaying across the sheets. You’re quick to climb over her body, pressing her further into the mattress, your lips moulding to hers as you claim her lips over and over again, only pulling back to admire the woman beneath you as your knee slots between her legs, earning a sinful sound. Your gaze is nothing but awestruck as you look down at her angelic form, Wanda shying a little at how in love you seemed, her hands grabbing the fabric of your shirt and pulling you back down to her, needing to feel you do something, anything to her at this point.

You take the hint and press your lips back to hers for a bruising kiss, your hand moving from the back of her thigh up her body, reaching the hem of your shirt and pausing, wanting permission this time as your eyes search hers, asking the silent question. Only when she nods confidently do you continue, your fingers sliding under the fabric and feeling the smooth and soft skin of her stomach, a sigh leaving her at the feeling of your fingers against her bare skin, the touch no longer just a memory.

“Y/n,” Wanda moans out as your hands trace over her ribcage, exploring the skin you longed to feel again, a hum leaving your lips as you refuse to part, your fingers pausing at the fabric of her bra, hands sliding out from under her shirt.

“Is this ok?” You whisper as your fingers wrap around the hem of her shirt, your intentions clear as she mutters a quick ‘yes’ in response before you swiftly remove the item from her, your gaze remaining on hers, catching the brief anxious glint again. You soothe her worries with loving and passionate kiss, your hands copying the actions you previously did but ghosting over her bra, teasing her in a torturous manner as her back arches to chase your touch, your name falling from her lips in a desperate plea, the sound going straight to your head and core.

Once your lips part, you pull slightly to take in the sight of her, your mouth parting at the sheer beauty of her, her body sculpted by the gods, her soft curves enticing, your fingers brushing lovingly over the marks you knew she was anxious about, the touch filled with awe and adoration. Your hands then slide up her body and around to her back, unclasping her bra after another nod of approval and eagerly taking the item off her, a sudden nostalgic feeling bubbling inside you as you remember the first time you spent together, the awkwardness as you both fumbled to undress, simply wanting to lose yourselves to the lustful moment.

“Fuck,” Wanda sighs out and its sinful when your hands gently cup her breasts, her body sensitive to your touch as her hips start to grind against your leg, begging for more friction to ease the incessant throb between her thighs. “Please,” she whimpers as your lips press against her jaw, letting her breathe for a moment as your fingers brush over her nipples, dragging out sensual sighs from her as you toy with her body, pressing your knee further against her and feeling her hips buck up hard against you, a broken moan being ripped from the back of her throat.

“Please what?” You rasp out in a tease, “You have to tell me what you want, love.” The term of endearment only adds to the arousal flooding through Wanda as the dominant tone to your voice goes straight to her core, her hips grinding against your thigh at a steady pace, pleasure swiftly building at the pit of her stomach whilst her hands clutch at your shoulders, nails grasping at the fabric of your shirt, wanting to pull it off.

“You, I want you,” she sighs out, pulling the shirt over your head and moaning into the kiss at the feeling of your bare bodies pressed against one another, one of her hands sliding up into your hair whilst the other scratches down your back, earning a pleased groan from you. “I need you,” she adds in a desperate tone, her voice and hips wavering, signalling to you how close she was as her hips rolled and rocked against you, the fabric of her jeans brushing perfectly against her clit.

“You have me,” you tease, one of your hands moving to her ass, guiding her against your leg and deliberately slowing her pace down, her frantic rhythm pushing her closer to her release. “Use my thigh first, love, then I’ll give you what you want,” your tone lowers an octave as you murmur to her, a moan leaving her at your words and the promise behind them, her mind running wild with fantasies as the memory of your fingers buried deep inside her and your tongue fucking her fills her mind.

“Shit, I’m so close,” Wanda sighs out, her head lolling back against the mattress, her neck exposed for you to kiss down, to mark as you suck a faint bruise at the base of her neck where she could easily hide, the action earning a desperate whine and encouraging the action.

“That’s it, good girl,” you praise as her nails dig into your back, her hips grinding relentlessly against you as she chases her high, the praise making her hips buck hard against you, a broken noise escaping her.

“Say it again, please say it again,” she pants out, eyes squeezed shut as pleasure threatens to crash through her, her fingers tightening their grip on your hair as she softly tugs you away from her collar bone, needing to feel your tongue sliding against hers.

“My good girl,” you husk out against her lips, a pitiful whine escaping her as she feels the coil at the pit of her stomach about to snap, her eyes fluttering open to ask you the silent question. Warmth and arousal instantly floods through you at the begging look in her green, the sheer amount of desperation and submission evident in her gaze enough to make you give in, your lips brushing hers as you mutter the words, “Come for me Wanda.”

With a final roll of her hips, Wanda’s body tensed against yours, a string of moans being muffled by your incessant mouth while pleasure consumed her entirely, her hands holding you close. Your hands slowed her movements against your thigh, letting her buck against you as she rode out the last waves of her orgasm, body melting against yours as she panted for breath.

Your gentle breath caressed her lips as she eventually opened her eyes in response to the soft praise you whispered, a blissed smile creeping onto her lips as your foreheads pressed against each other, her hips gradually coming to a stop against you as you kissed her one last time before starting to move down her body, ready to worship her as you promised.

“You’re so…” you trail off as your lips pepper hot open-mouthed kisses along her collar bones, hands drifting down her sides, caressing her beautiful curves and massaging her soft skin, feeling the way her body twitched at your touch in anticipation, her breath hitching when your mouth ghosted over one of her sensitive nipples.

“So?” She pants out, brushing back your hair so she could meet your seductive gaze as you took her nipple into your mouth, tongue swirling over the sensitive bud in a manner that drove her crazy, dragging moans out of her freely.

“Perfect. Beautiful. Mesmerising,” you punctate each word with a kiss down her body after you lavished her chest with kisses, your lips burning into her skin at each intoxicating touch, your words causing a deep blush to cover her cheeks and even the top of her chest, your lips tugging up into an amused smile at the reaction. “You’re everything to me,” you whisper against her stomach, pressing lingering kisses against the stretch marks that littered her skin from when she was pregnant with the twins, showing her your appreciation for her beauty and how the marks didn’t disgust you. You loved each and every single one as they told part of her story, your lips and hands brushing over the tender skin as your face practically nuzzled against her, worshipping her.

When your lips met the waistband of her jeans, you cast your eyes up her body, a moan escaping you at the sight of her flushed face staring down at you, your compliments flustering her and clouding her mind with want as she stared down at you settling between her thighs, her nails scratching at your scalp softly.

“Please,” she whispered with an overwhelming amount of want, your lips pressing a teasing kiss to the waistband of her jeans before moving to take the item off her, purposely taking your time. Your fingers move slowly and deliberately as you hold her intense gaze, languidly unfastening them before slowly unzipping them, watching in amusement as you see her chest start to rise and fall with ragged breaths, the teasing torturing her. “Detka, please,” she begs again and the use of her native tongue almost makes you cave, almost, an affected sigh escaping you at how her accent beautifully laced her words.

“Be patient,” you murmur back, her hips lifting to help you slide the fabric down her long, slender legs, leaving her just in her panties, a visible wet spot there for you to admire. “I’ll give you what you want soon,” you promise, merely earning a whine from her as she knew you intended on dragging this out, her heart beating wildly in her chest. “So needy,” you tease as your fingers brush over her clit through the soaked fabric, her hips immediately twitching at the teasing action, her hand in your hair tightening once more, pleading with you to hurry up.

“You’ve waited twelve years for this, can’t you wait a little longer,” you amusingly murmur as you kiss her hip bone, smiling against her skin as you hear her groan in frustration, her free hand gripping the sheets to help control herself.

“I think I’ve waited long enough,” she mutters back, earning a chuckle from you as your fingers drag over the wet fabric, slowly circling her clit in a way that’d only drive her insane with desire, her mouth parting to let a low moan spill from her lips. “Please… Please just fuck me,” she begs and all you can do is curse against her skin as you kiss her inner thigh, your hand spreading her legs out for you, eyes hazy with desire.

You give in partially to her, unable to take the teasing yourself as you press a sinful kiss against her clit through her panties, her body trembling already at your touch as the action pulls out a desperate whine from her, the noise turning into a pleased moan when you start to pull the wet fabric off of her. A gasp leaves her lip at the feeling of her core meeting the cold air in the room, your fingers inching closer towards where she desperately needed you, your eyes drinking in the sight of her dripping for you, arousal glistening in the gentle light from the room.

“Tell me to stop and I will,” you whisper as you kiss around her core, not giving her the satisfaction of your mouth just yet, the frustrated moan breaking into a relieved sigh at the feeling of your finger finally meeting her core. You move your finger through the abundance of arousal that’s pooled between her thighs, sliding your finger to her clit and slowly circling it to begin with, your mouth addicted to her soft skin as you mark her inner thighs, wanting her to remember everything from tonight, to see them tomorrow and think back to the sight of you between her thighs, her hands buried in your hair, keeping you as close as possible.

As you touch grows more confident and firmer, moans spilling from her lips, her hips start to roll against your hand, your free hand reaching up to interlock with her fingers at the sheets, letting her grasp onto you instead as you slide your finger down to her entrance, teasingly thrusting it in before sliding it out, coaxing her to chase your finger with her hips as she bucks against you, Wanda able to feel you smirking against her skin.

“Please stop teasing,” she pleas at the feeling of your fingers still teasing her entrance, too busy savouring the sight of her body completely melting at your touch. “I can’t take it anymore,” she whimpers, your composure cracking at her tone, your eyes taking in the sight of her sharp jawline on display as her head lolled back, an idea entering your mind.

“Look at me Wanda,” your tone is dominant but also desperate, the sound making the woman beneath you realise how turned on you were, a shaky breath escaping her. When her green eyes finally find the courage to look down at you, her breath hitches at the hungry yet soft look in your eyes, a moan of your name spilling from her lips as you keep your gaze on her whilst finally sinking your finger into her. “That’s it, keep your pretty eyes on me or I’ll stop, I want you to watch,” you husk out as she watches in awe at the way you thrust your finger into her, the room filling with the wet sounds of your finger pumping into her and her sinful sighs.

“Please Detka, fuck,” she groans when you slide your finger back in slowly and add another, purposely taking your time with her as you intended to drive her mad with your touch, her eyes staying trained on your enamoured gaze as you curl your digits inside her, Wanda’s mouth parting at the feeling. “Shit, just like that, please do that again,” she practically begged as you thrust your finger back in, hitting her sweet spot perfectly while heat floods through you at the sound of her desperate voice, pleasure sparking through her and coursing through her veins.

“Do you need more, love?” You mumble against her skin as your mouth hovers over her intoxicating core, wanting to hear how desperate she is for you, your fingers persisting with your deliberately slow pace, gradually building the pleasure within her as her hips gently rock against your hand, pleasure building at the pit of her stomach and making her clench desperately around you.

“Please,” is all she moans back in response, your resolve crumbling, unable to resist her anymore as your mouth licks a stripe up her core, moans escaping you both at the feeling.

Your wet and warm mouth sparks pleasure and delirium within her, her hips bucking up against you as you nuzzle your face closer, desperate to get a better taste of her heavenly arousal on your tongue, intending to show her exactly how much you love her.

The sound of her lewd moans and the taste of her on your tongue makes you lightheaded with the thought of her, addicted and constantly craving more of her as your tongue swipes through her folds, pleasure flooding through her body as you thrust your fingers into her faster, forgoing with anymore teasing as you couldn’t handle it anymore, never mind her.

“Fuck you taste so good,” you moan into her core, almost forgetting the sweet yet salty taste of her as your lips wrap around her clit, sucking gently whilst you peer up into her lust-filled green, her mouth parting in euphoria as pleasure buzzed through her, hips rocking to meet your hungry mouth.

Her fingers tightened once again in your hair, nails scratching your scalp to create a dull pain whilst you part your interlocked fingers to wrap your hand around her thigh, pulling her impossibly closer and spreading her legs a little more as you get lost within her, tongue swirling over her clit before wrapping around it, sucking firmly as you focussed on every little reaction she offered you. You longed to forever remember the desperate moan that was ripped from the back of her throat at the way your fingers curled and mouth sucked on her at the same time, the hitch of her breath as your tongue swirled around her clit, the way her body twitched as pleasure took over her, swiftly pushing her towards her release. You needed to remember it all.

Her hips soon started to roll against your mouth, coating your chin in her slick as your tongue lapped at her clit, alternating between sucking firmly and swirling your tongue around her, sinful sounds spilling from her lips as her body started to tremble in your grasp, her moans growing louder when you curl them at just the right spot once again.

“Detka, I- Please,” are the only words that she can manage as one of her hands shoot down to grip the sheet beneath her, knuckles bleeding white whilst her other one persists in keeping your head between her thighs, needing you to push her over the edge. “Please don’t stop,” she groans as you curl both of your fingers against her sweet spot, her vision almost blurring at the overwhelming feeling of love and pleasure coursing through her body, your body desperate to watch her fall apart at your touch. “I’m going to come-” Wanda manages in a broken moan, an equally desperate noise escaping you, the vibrations making her buck against your fingers, a whimper leaving her when her enticing green meets your soft and dominant gaze, giving her permission to fall over the edge.

“Come for me,” you murmur against her, keeping your eyes on hers as you watch them roll to the back of her head momentarily, her head lolling back and showing off her defined jawline as her hips stutter against your face, body tensing. A guttural moan escapes her at the amount of pleasure that floods through her, her fingers almost tearing through the sheet as she lifts it to her mouth, trying to muffle the small scream of your name as her release crashes through her, ecstasy and euphoria merging into one.

Your lips pepper soft kisses against her inner thighs as she attempts to recover, your fingers tracing random patterns against her skin as you wait for her to look back down at you, your eyes admiring her, in awe of her beauty as she lays beneath you, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.

Soft pants spill from her lips as she moves her fingers in your hair, her hand tugging your head away from her sensitive core, her hips still gently rolling against your hand as she rides out the last waves of her intense high, her body soon slumping against the sheets after you slide your fingers out, a sudden emptiness filling her. Your lips climb back up her body, ensuring every inch of her body was showered in affection whilst you whispered more praise before you met her lips, only brushing them briefly and intimately before you pulled back, offering her one of your digits covered in her cum and arousal.

A low groan escaped you when she obediently and willingly parted her lips for you to slide the digit in, her eyes fluttering shut in pleasure and submission at the action as her tongue swirled around your finger, your mind recalling the way her tongue felt on your core, only adding to the heat that still bubbled in the pit of your stomach. Only once she had cleaned your finger did you copy the action with your other one, keeping your gaze on her as you licked her cum off your finger, offering her a teasing smile as her cheeks flushed at the action, eyes darkening in desire again as she pulled your down against her body, kissing you passionately and moaning softly at the taste of herself on your tongue.

Your body moves to lay next to her when the kiss slowly dwindles, your breaths ragged as you fall onto your back, Wanda’s heart dropping momentarily as she fears you were going to leave, to simply roll over and go to sleep like he did after they’d be together, but the worry is swiftly eased when she feels your arm wrap around her body, encouraging her to lay into your side, her face moving to the crook of your neck. You expected her to simply sink into your embrace, to let her exhaustion take over her but you were pleasantly surprised by the feeling of her hand moving to your bare chest, the tip of her nail dragging down between the valley of your breasts and lower, her lips pressing an innocent kiss to your neck, a satisfied hum leaving her at the soft and desperate sigh that left you.

“You don’t have to,” you whisper softly, the want in your voice still lingering as her hand teasingly brushes over your body, her lips kissing up along the side of your neck as you tilt your head to the side, letting her place teasing kisses against your burning skin and engraving the feeling of them into your mind. You can feel her smile against your skin at the care in your words, not wanting her to feel pressured into giving you anything back, her lips eventually meeting the shell of your ear as her hand reaches the waistband of your jeans, fingers deftly unfastening them.

“I want to,” she rasps out at the shell of your ear, her low tone and the way her accent seeps into her words making you let out a shaky breath, your hands swiftly moving down your body to help her rid you of the last of your clothes, her hand quickly returning to your hip. “I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” Wanda whispers into your ear, her touch the opposite of your teasing one as her fingers waste no time in sliding through your folds, needing to touch you, to please you, a gasp leaving you at the feeling of her nimble fingers effortlessly sliding through your slick, covered in your arousal. “I’ve wanted to love you like you were mine,” she continues, her thigh moving to rest over yours, keeping your legs spread and hips still as you try to grind up against her fingers, your jaw clenched slightly as you try to muffle the already desperate sounds that threaten to spill from you at the feeling of your bare skin pressed together.

“All yours,” you managed back, your body overwhelmed by pleasure and arousal as she circles your clit a few more times before dipping her finger lower, effortlessly sinking into you and earning a small groan.

“Mine,” she mutters as she kisses your cheek, then the corner of your mouth as you stifle another moan, a little embarrassed at how quickly the pleasure built in the pit of your stomach, her fingers curling beautifully inside you, her palm brushing over your clit. “I want to hear you, don’t hide,” she murmurs, desperate to hear the effect she had on you, her body longing to feel you spasming around her fingers, to hear you moaning her name freely.

“Shit, Wanda,” you instantly sigh out, trying to buck your hips up but her thigh keeping you down, one of your hands gripping the sheets by your side whilst your other shoots down to her thigh, gripping onto her as her fingers slide in and out of you lewdly. “You feel so good, I- God, you're such a good girl,” you rasp out, the praise making her groan against your skin as she kisses your cheek, encouraging you to tilt your face and meet her lips, her fingers relentless as they curl at the perfect spot, bolts of pleasure sparking through you. You simply pant into her mouth as she thrusts her fingers into you a little faster, her fingers hitting your sweet spot at a different angle and having you moan abruptly into her mouth, your body teetering on the edge.

At the way you clench desperately around her, your mouth struggling to kiss her back, Wanda can tell that your close, her lips swallowing every sound she could as you sighed and moaned against her, her lips ghosting yours as she felt your hips grinding as best they could against her hand, her palm perfectly rubbing against your clit.

“Are you close?” She whispers in a slight tease, already knowing the answer as you simply nod in response, your eyes squeezed shut as you focussed on the euphoria and delirium of her touch, Wanda’s gaze memorising every reaction you offered her. “Please come for me,” Wanda mutters in a soft tone, a desperate tone and it’s enough to make the coil inside you snap, your nails digging into her thigh as your body crashes into its release, the pleasure and intimacy of the moment blurring your vision as you ride out your intense high. You clench desperately around her fingers, walls spasming around her as you rut against her hand, your forehead resting against hers whilst you pant, experiencing the last of your release before you melt against the sheets, relaxation and euphoria coursing through you at the feeling of your bodies sinking into one another.

Her lips pepper soft and loving kisses against your face as you smile at her, fluttering your eyes open to search the green eyes you’d fallen so hard for, conveying all your love for her in the gentle and lingering stare. You lift your hand to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear, watching her gaze soften as she savours your caring and affection touch, her heart fluttering in her chest at every tender action.

Wanda hated how, despite the moment being perfect, she still had a gnawing doubt in the back of her mind that you were going to leave her alone as she had grown used to being left to clean and tend to herself, her body simply craving your comfort after such an intimate moment. The worry seemed to express itself subtly within her gaze, your eyes noticing the small glint of fear in her expressive green and silently asking her to explain what was bothering her, the back of your fingers brushing her cheek in a soothing manner.

“Please don’t leave,” is all she whispers, her voice wavering with emotion as your features soften at her tone, your mind grasping a vague idea at the unfair treatment she had received and motivating you to take even more care of her, simply wanting to give her the world.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you murmur with conviction, reassuring her as your hand moves to her free one, lifting it to your lips to kiss before you interlock your fingers, knowing she liked to play with your hand when she felt nervous or simply wanted to be calmed down. “But we need to go to the bathroom to clean up,” you whisper after you feel as though she’s savoured the moment enough, catching the way her body seemed to be relaxing a little too much as sleep threatened to overtake her, her body melting at the warmth and love your presence provided her.

Begrudgingly, Wanda took your hand as you coaxed her out of your bed, your hands snaking around her waist naturally as you guided her to your ensuite to clean the two of you up, gently using a cloth to wipe her down whilst pressing loving kisses to her forehead, showering her with love as you noticed the blush and smile that crept onto her lips at being cared for. You simply gave her everything she had craved for years, the praise, the gentle murmurs, your hands treating her with nothing but tenderness as they caressed her body and tended to her. You also made sure the two of you drank enough water before leaving the bathroom, offering her one of your sleep shirts to which she declined, softly murmuring how she wanted to sleep with you naked, yearning for the intimacy of the cuddles of your bare skin pressed so comfortably against hers.

Your lips pulled up into a smile at her delicate and adorable tone as you indulged in her wants, eventually getting back into bed with her and pulling her impossibly closer to you, your limbs getting tangled under the duvet as she snuggled further against you, sighing against your skin. Her hands slid around your waist, fingers mindlessly tracing random patterns against your back as your fingers threaded through her auburn locks, gently scratching her scalp and smiling at the pleased groan that left her at the relaxing sensation, her body shuffling closer to you.

“I love you,” Wanda whispered after a moment, breaking the comfortable silence that had enveloped the two of you, her breath tickling your skin as she nuzzled closer to the crook of your neck, basking in the warmth of your body as she placed another delicate kiss to your skin, trying to express the overwhelming emotions she had for you. It was impossible for her to describe, the world around her fading away when she was with you, the wounds inside her healing when she felt your loving touch or lingering stare, her heart longing to remember this moment forever as the love swirling inside her was undeniable and all consuming, cementing the fact that this was where she belonged. She belonged with you.

“I love you too,” you murmur with as much care as you could muster, your lips pressing to the top of her hair as you melt into the embrace, your heart wrapped in love and joy as you savoured the moment with her, finally living a moment you had dreamed of for so many years. “I’ll be here when you wake up, go to sleep love,” you coo as you can feel her body fighting the tiredness that washed over her, a drowsy noise escaping her which only filled your chest with more warmth, a tenderness wrapping around the two.

Soon enough, the two of you drifted off to a peaceful sleep, your silent embrace conveying more than words could ever describe as you sank further into one another, reflecting the endless love you shared as your souls reconnected, finding a sense of safety in each other's arms and finally feeling as though you had found your home.  

---

I absolutely spoiled you guys with this🤭

 As heavily requested, I'll be writing both epilogue smut scenes and I hope you enjoyed the first one! You better have paced yourselves with this as I have no idea when the next one will be written, so savour these 10k words pls😭 

Also in case anyone is an Arcane fan, I have briefly started a Caitvi oneshot collection if you want to check it out on Ao3! <3 

Please leave any thoughts/comments/votes/kudos <3 I really appreciate all of your support!

Ao3- LoveIsAnImaginaryDagger

Wattpad- LovePersevering2

Tumblr- LoveIsAnImaginaryDagger3000

[foldingfittedsheets]

Vegan leather is a plague.

[cemeterydolll]

oh look it’s biting and sucking on each others necks o’clock

[aarontveit]

HIGH TENSION | 2003 dir. Alexandre Aja

[celestialwrites]

six word dialogue prompts ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

@celestialwrites for more!

♡ “you chose her, i knew it.”

♡ “stop making me love you, idiot!”

♡ “i wish our fate could change.”

♡ “remember how much he loved her?”

♡ “i refute to let this change.”

♡ “why must all good things leave?”

♡ “you loved him, just not enough.”

♡ “i wish i died back then.”

♡ “her face haunts my dreams forever.”

♡ “to the stars and back, love.”

♡ “never forget what i said, okay?”

♡ “you’re a dumbass, please know that.”

♡ “i’ll be waiting, keep your promise.”

♡ “finding love like that, it’s impossible.”

♡ “thanks, for giving me the will.”

♡ “you’re too good for this world.”

♡ “i’m too dashingly gorgeous to die.”

♡ “enough! stop pretending like you care.”

♡ “please don’t ever lose your heart.”

♡ “as long as i have you.”

♡ “don’t make me regret not dying.”

♡ “people are simple, gone too soon.”

♡ “i never ever regretted knowing you.”

REBLOG TO SUPPORT YOUR LOCAL WRITERS<3

[hyog-blog]

"Only those soaked in blood love bathing, burning incense, and having flowers around. A human should know how to hide his true self." "You're not a human" "So sharp all of a sudden. I didn't expect that."

I love their silly/deep dialogues :D The dreamy petals, the flowers framing Zhao Yuanzhou, the hot stares. Could you be any more romantic?

[ghostorbz]

I bought nasb today

[heylittleriotact]

💐WIP WEDNESD-ENEVER 💐

@emmg asked for a WIP so here's a chunky one. It's also spicy. Under the cut for length.

I wanted to elaborate on what I imagined Emmrich and Rook banging in a coffin was like. So....

Pairing: Emmrich x Female Rook

Rating: Explicit

Casket Spray:

A large, ornate floral arrangement that sits on top of the casket. It is usually the centrepiece of the funeral flower display.

“What I said the night we had that argument…” she trailed off, not sure what else to say. Was it stupid? Obviously. She knew that even before she got unceremoniously thrown into Solas’ prison in the Dread Wolf’s  place. Was it upsetting? Very - for both of them. Reiterating that now would be pointless. “It feels like it was just yesterday for me, but it was over a fortnight for you.” She squeezed Emmrich’s hand tighter and sidled even closer to him on the stair that they were occupying in a quiet corner of the Necropolis. 

It wasn’t that she was afraid that at any moment she might be dragged away from him again - this time for good, except, well… that was actually exactly what she was afraid of. 

“Thank you for not giving up on me.” 

That was the sentiment she ended up settling on. Thin and somewhat trite, even to her own ears - she had little doubt that he could see through it too. She might as well have told him it wasn’t his fault.

She just hoped he understood that she wasn’t solely referring to rescuing her from the Fade. 

And… there it was - that smile: effortless and comforting by virtue of its existence alone. 

His cheeks were once again clean-shaven (Amina’s gentle suggestion that maybe he should give the beard a chance was politely rebuffed), and his hair was washed and neatly coiffed as usual. One would never guess by looking at him now that only a few hours earlier he looked like a man on the very brink of insanity. 

Over her. 

Over a few poorly chosen words uttered out of fear and pain. Over being plunged into the sudden reality that those might have been the last words exchanged between them. 

Something deep within her stirred at the knowledge that he had been so undone by what had happened at Tearstone Island. If she’d had any doubts that his affections towards her were genuine, they were long gone. There were no lengths that he wouldn’t have gone to in order to retrieve her from that prison, and as flattering as that fact was, she was grateful that Emmrich had not ultimately been called to challenge his definition of what was ‘right’ in this scenario…

People probably wouldn’t have understood…

People probably wouldn’t have liked it. 

And he was nothing if not palatable, right? What with his deliberate togetherness that he presented to the world: a reassurance in and of itself. 

Take that away though…

Watchers were indeed oath-sworn caregivers of the living and the dead, but their approachable, kind nature was of a deliberate sort designed specifically to foster trust. Beneath that compassionate altruism, they were fundamentally guardians and protectors… and they were capable of staggering violence. One only had to consider the damage Johanna nearly caused to understand that a Watcher willing to operate outside the boundaries of their oath was dangerous.

Her beloved Emmrich was no different in that respect, though she was probably one of the few who knew it.

And still he had made a point earlier of talking her down from naming Solas as a ruined spirit and vowing to destroy him for his betrayal and cruel manipulation…

She wasn’t sure if this section of the Necropolis was particularly drafty this evening, but she felt the small hairs on her arms raise slightly and forced her mind away from such thoughts. 

Instead, she thought about how much she loved him. The way his eyes glittered cleverly in the light of the veilfire, and the soft shape of his lips. He was looking at her like she was the center of the universe, and she knew that she didn’t want to go anywhere without him for the rest of her days: she wanted to see his face in the morning when she opened her eyes, and when each day was done, she wanted the last thing she tasted to be those soft, slightly pouting lips. 

She’d see to it that he never felt alone or unwanted again: she would want him always.

She wanted to come back here to the Necropolis when all was said and done and make a home with him and Manfred. The three of them would be so happy together.

And… oh.

Her breath caught as a new thought stole into her mind.

In time - if they desired it - she could cease imbibing the weekly tonic she’d taken for so many years to ensure her monthly cycle. His seed would quicken within her and they would create a child borne of their loving union - blood magic in its purest and most literal form: a legacy crafted of their own flesh. And Manfred would make such a fine big brother with a little sibling to dote on…

Her stomach flip-flopped as arousal curled up through the very marrow of her bones and set a fire deep within her belly. Of course when she was young she’d thought she’d like to be a mother one day, but she’d given up on genuinely putting any thought to such an aspiration years earlier: she never thought she’d find someone who’d truly want her.

Now Elgar’nan and Solas were the only ones in the way of such a future. It was so close she could practically taste it…

She swallowed roughly, feeling her heart hammering away in her breast as the future unveiled itself in Emmrich’s eyes and she burned for him with an imminent need to be united with him utterly.

They might die tomorrow, after all…

“Amina? Are you alright, darling? You look as though you’re a million miles away.” He gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and she nuzzled into his hand. 

“I’m sorry, love.” She dragged herself back to reality with a smile. “I’m listening.” 

“I was just saying how relieved I am that you’re safe.” 

And he was. He really, really was. Amina suspected he had been counting each of her breaths since she tumbled out of the Fade; kept an eye on the steady thrum of her carotid artery when he could glimpse it just for the visual reminder that she had a pulse and was in fact alive and not just a figment of his grief addled imagination the way Varric had been for her.

“I did have someone to come back to.” She took his hand and stood. 

She gently pulled Emmrich to his feet too and rocked up onto her toes, rising through her knees – up into her hips… lengthening her spine until she could press her lips to his, kissing him and putting all of her devotion and love and fear and sorrow into it along with all of her hunger and yearning. 

When she drew back, the sight of that hunger reflected back at her drove a small gasp from her - it wasn’t an exclamation of surprise, but rather the sound one might make when they find themselves suddenly breathless upon viewing a deeply moving piece of art.

He had apartments in the upper levels of the Necropolis - as did she - but when one considered their surroundings – this quiet, esoteric corner of the wing and the privacy that had clearly been paid for; the fact that this was an owned but unoccupied plot… and the individual it belonged to was suddenly kissing her again – his intent was clear. 

Her fingers twisted into his soft hair and a sumptuous moan rumbled through from him at her touch. Her jaw slackened and his tongue swept past her lips with a desperation that would have shocked her if she hadn’t been privy to the knowledge that he thought she might be dead for the past two weeks. 

Then he was walking her back, back, back, and she offered no resistance, feeling herself bump up against the raised stone sarcophagus in the center of the room. She didn’t need to remove her lips from Emmrich’s to spare a look, nor did she need to remove her hands from his to spare a touch: she knew that the stone wasn’t humble lime - none of the monuments in this section were: they were all at least marble or high-grade granite. She’d stared at the classic, hexagonal shape of the sarcophagus while he was telling her about Hope and Devotion, and as he talked her down from her determination to destroy Solas for his betrayal. She’d stared at it for long enough this evening to mark it as a monument hewn of coveted blue granite from the Anderfels. It had to have cost a fortune – interesting for a man so terrified of his eventual death to sink so much gold into it, she had thought at one point.

She captured his lower lip between her teeth as she leaned against that monument and posed a wordless question as she bit down gently: Are we really doing this, love? 

He whined in response as she worried at his lip, soothing the sting of her bite, his slender long-fingered hand slipping around her waist and splaying across her lower back to bring himself close and erase any space between them.

The familiar and welcome sensation of his hardening length pressed against her in spellbound and equally silent answer: If it pleases you, dearest. 

Every day it seemed he found a new way to surprise her. She shivered at the thought of how many other surprises might await them…

It wasn’t that they both knew that this section - regardless of how serene it was - was ultimately open to the public and anybody could happen by them at any time, though that had its own ribald appeal…

No, it was for the very fact that Emmrich I-Choose-My-Words-Carefully Volkarin did nothing accidentally and left no room for coincidence when his actions were called into question. He was just as aware as Amina that a comfortable feather bed in a warm apartment complete with a crackling fire, expensive Orlesian massage oils, and a selection of the finest wines were all things they could have within minutes should they desire them - all they needed to do was take the lift a hundred-odd levels up, and that was that.

But he wanted this.

After all, what could possibly be more sacred than making love in your eternal resting place on the eve of the end of the world? 

So she shimmied up and seated herself on the edge of the sarcophagus, her legs parting so he could slot himself between them. She could feel the slickness between her thighs clinging to her underthings as she ran her hands over him, dragging his coat down his long arms. 

“I love you, Emmrich.” 

The words were still so new to her tongue and her ears, but it felt like her heart had been beating to the rhythm of them for her entire life. 

“And I love you, my darling, precious Amina.” He shrugged out of the coat and draped it over the side of the cold stone. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever tire of hearing you say that,” she grinned against his skin, kissing up his neck - tasting the slight saltiness of him and the tang of his cologne. She nibbled at his earlobe and he tensed against her, another pained little gasp slipping past his lips. 

Unable to bear it anymore, she gathered him to her, wrapping her legs around his waist in a fluid movement that sent them both tumbling backwards into the soft velvet lining of the sarcophagus - it was surprisingly soft: quilted and down-filled. There was even a pillow at the head end - a proper one with a silk slip trimmed with scalloped lace, also probably down-filled… not one of those dreadful thin ones filled with wood shavings that offered little to no support for the reposed decedent when it came to the purpose of viewing them.

Indeed Emmrich appeared to have spared no expense when it came to the question of quality and craftsmanship of his final resting place - or was it more accurately theirs now? Destined to be put to use sooner rather than later depending on the outcome of tomorrow?

Most married couples shared the space of an owned crypt but each had their own sarcophagus or niche based on what they could afford. But as Amina’s lungs filled with oxygen, and her rib cage expanded, and she and Emmrich suffused into the cramped space, filling it completely with their bodies and limbs, she decided that the existence of things like space and stone between them for eternity simply wouldn’t do.

No, whichever one of them went first would rest in gentle repose in this exact spot, patiently waiting until the day when the heavy gilded lid was slid aside and a second set of remains were introduced, lovingly deposited and tucked in alongside the other: a cold, rigored hand posed with experienced fingers would lovingly cradle a dry, waxy chin; a leg would be positioned delicately over a fragile lower torso, bony fingers artfully arranged to look almost like it lovingly stroked the recently embalmed flesh of a thigh that would maintain its weight and mass for a few years at least.

Their heads would be gently maneuvered - a chin tucked down here, a jaw tipped up there - to create an enduring tableau of the memory of this exact moment and the reverent, passionate kisses she was tracing along his mandibular foramen: an eternal embrace in which the passing of time was inconsequential when compared to the irrefutable and immortal permanence of their affection. 

A yearning sound escaped her, urged on by the adoring vulgarities and soft praises Emmrich was whispering into her ear as they writhed against each other in the too-small space, his fingertips digging into the curve her ass, guiding her movements to help her rut needily against his thigh, each roll of her hips sending a wave of blissful sensation through her aching core.

She managed to free a hand and wriggle it down between them so she could palm his straining cock through his pants, feeling a hot wet spot against the fleshy base of her thumb where it passed over him - exhilarating evidence of his mounting anticipation. 

“Your cock is perfect,” she whispered. “Beautiful… made for me...” 

Emmrich’s response was a ragged groan and her hips pushed the flat of her palm against him through the fabric of his trousers as she bent her other wrist somewhat awkwardly to start coaxing his collar pin free.

Undressing in the limited space was easier said than done, but something about the obligation of their proximity caused the pooling heat in her belly to intensify with every huff of breath that skittered over her face and neck as they both twisted and groped in the tomb-light, tempering genuine attempts to gain purchase on things like buttons and clasps and ties with exploratory, wandering touches that lingered, caressed, and teased. Lips and tongues dragged over freshly revealed swaths of skin, trailing oaths and tender promises in their wake: sacred incantations that invoked the ancient magic that was responsible for the existence of this place to begin with. 

Amina managed to dislodge herself from between Emmrich and the wall of the sarcophagus, and used her newly found mobility to straddle his lap: her legs might fall asleep if she stayed like this for long, but the angle it provided her allowed her to deftly finish unfastening his waistcoat and shirt. 

“This shirt has about two dozen too many buttons,” she complained breathlessly as he finished with the last of the many moonstone fastenings, and Emmrich sat up to slip free of the clothing in question. 

“I can’t help but notice that their presence didn’t slow you down terribly, dearest.” He regarded her with a lascivious smile as the sleeves of the shirt slid down over his numerous bracelets: it was a filthy expression that only she was privileged to bear witness to - one of lidded eyes and swollen lips quirked in a decidedly smug countenance… the perfectly combed moustache in disarray. Almost a sneer… so vastly different than the compassionate, kind face he presented to the world. It called to something absolutely feral within her – it drove her wild when he looked at her like that, and with his torso now bare and his hair slightly mussed just the way she liked it…

She managed to exercise enough patience to allow him to strip away her own shirt before returning to her self-assumed duty to taste every inch of him that she could reach. Her hips pressed against his from her place atop him, and she closed her mouth over a nipple, lingering in place for a moment to suck gently and flick the delicate gold hoop there with the tip of her tongue. She caught it with her teeth too and ever so gently tugged on it, earning a stammered exclamation from Emmrich before she began trailing kisses downward over the warm flesh of his abdomen, seeking his ribs with her lips, counting each one in her mind as she descended: five, six, seven… onto the false ones – a silly name really – eight, nine, and ten… 

Her fingers curled into the layers of expensive red silk at his waist and she looked up at him then with lust-darkened eyes.

“Lay back,” she ordered, her voice a sensual husk that was not remotely lacking the authoritative cadence of a Reaper who was accustomed to being obeyed when she issued instructions to anyone this far down in the crypts. 

So lay back he did, and Amina made short work of any fabrics and fasteners, freeing him into her waiting hand. 

[companionquest]

Apparently I correctly clocked Harding’s type in Inquisition as Hot Fire-Based Tall Nonbinary Qunari. What’re the odds

[remiratboi]

Monsters so big they can throw my fat body around with ease 🥵

[wet4raya]

i was NOT meant for hookup culture bc wdym im supposed to give you the most vulnerable parts of myself and then not talk to you anymore??