#They cling and get a little weathered but don't let go

[breakfastteatime]

Today's Fallen Order request is "Don't move" for @highbrasshighkass:

The sorry sound of BD’s warble tugs at Cal’s heart. “Don’t move, BD,” he says, trying to contain his own panic. “It’s going to be okay.”

BD believes in him with every single circuit in his frame, however he’d also really, really like Cal to figure this out a little quicker, because BD’s boosters are dead and the ground beneath him is very, very shaky, and if he falls into the river, he’ll be washed away into the sea, lost forever in the depths.

“That’s not happening.” Cal carefully works his way down the tree trunk, testing each limb before transferring all his weight. Unlike the trees on Kashyyyk, their Zeffo counterparts are scraggly and thin-limbed, and Cal doesn’t trust them to hold him, especially as he works his way down the cliff. But if he doesn’t get BD off that crumbling ledge soon, his friend really will be lost forever. Cal hasn’t felt the loss of his abilities this keenly in a while. If only he could pull BD to him. And if wishes were Venators, they’d all fly. “I’m nearly there.”

BD beeps apologetically. It’s enough to send some more clumps of soil tumbling into the river.

“Don’t move, and don’t talk,” Cal advises. “It’s okay. The stormtrooper who hurt you is history.”

BD stays still and silent.

Closer. Closer… Cal places his boot on a branch poking out the cliff and feels it dip, hears it crack. He curses under his breath. If BD falls, he can slow him –

Just like Prauf

– and then he’d just have to dive, grab him, and hope he can fight the current enough to get them back to dry land. He really doesn’t relish the idea of such icy waters, but he’ll do it for BD. They’ll just have to make a fire, dry out, then carry onto the next tomb.

Finally, he’s close enough to reach out and pluck BD off the crumbling ledge. He leans, leans, leans –

The root he’s clinging to gives. Cal cries out as he drops, only for his fall to stop when the root catches. He doesn’t hesitate, grabbing BD and pulling him close, just as the ledge crumbles to nothing, rocks falling into the racing river below. Cal pulls BD close. “I got you, buddy,” he says, swallowing hard against the crush of emotion. If anyone asks, it’s the icy wind making his eyes tear up. “Can you hold on?”

Another sorry beep from BD. That shock baton the trooper caught him with mid-scan really fried his systems.

“Not a problem.” One-handed climb it is. He tucks BD against his chest with his left arm and carefully scrambles his way up the cliff. By the time they’re on solid land, Cal’s right shoulder burns. He says nothing as he sits down, BD in his lap. “Will a system reboot help?”

It will, but it will take some time.

“Okay, I’ll get us someplace safe.” Cal looks around. They’re too far from the Mantis to go back, but they could take shelter in that crashed Venator, out of the weather and away from any patrols, before carrying on. “Let’s go.”

BD whistles with joy. And then, calmer, he thanks Cal for saving him.

“Anytime, buddy,” Cal says. “You’ve done the same for me so many times.”

And please don’t scare me like that again, Cal wants to say but instead settles for giving BD a pat on the head while holding him just that little bit tighter.

#fic requests 2024 #star wars jedi: fallen order #jfo minific #jfo headcanon #cal kestis #bd 1 #so many of these minifics made me emotional i SWEAR

[pasiphile]

I have a day off tomorrow which I sorta intend to spend on writing, possibly some short things just to get back in the saddle rather than risk getting overwhelmed by my Big Boys, so...

Anyone have a ficlet prompt?

Fandoms I'm willing to write for include but are not limited to: Discworld, The Untamed, Attack on Titan, Ace Attorney, The Locked Tomb, Doctor Who, Merlin, Black Sails, Sherlock, buffy the vampire slayer, Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell, Good Omens (strictly the book, not the TV series)

No promises, given that my writing skills have been in hibernation for almost a full year, but yknow. Send me a fandom, pairing or character and prompt and things may happen.

#But pasi you may say #Are you writing sherlock fic in the year of our lord 2023 #Why yes i am #Listen the oldest fandom on there is btvs #Which I got into at the tender age of 11 #Which makes it 22 years old and counting #I accrue fandoms like a ship does barnacles #They cling and get a little weathered but don't let go #Anyway as said that list is not exhaustive so feel free to try any fandom you want #I'm writing stuff! #Well I certainly hope so anyway

[ecoamerica]

Watch the 2024 American Climate Leadership Awards for High School Students now: https://youtu.be/5C-bb9PoRLc

The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!

#ACLA24 #ACLA24HighSchoolStudents #youtube #youtube video #climate leaders #climate solutions #climate action #climate and environment #climate #climate change #climate and health #climate blog #climate justice #climate news #weather and climate #environmental news #environment #environmental awareness #environment and health #environmental #environmental issues #environmental education #environmental justice #environmental protection #environmental health #high school students #high school #youth #youth of america #school

[iinotinlxve]

↪✩would they hold your hand?

⤷ characters: yuuji, megumi, toge, nanami

⤷ summary: How they respond and feel about hand-holding!!

⤷ a/n: jjk has officially ruined me. thanks gege

wc: 622

↣ yuuji itadori ☆

Yes. When he can't kiss you, he's always holding your hand. In the halls on your way to class, standing and talking to Megumi, casually doing anything and his hands are interlocked with yours. They're always warm, maybe even clammy-- you're always surprised when they're cold after he's been outside.

His favorite time to hold your hand is during walks. Both of you in casual clothing, looking at all the shops lining the street. The sidewalks aren't particularly busy, and the weather's perfect.

Yuuji is a really fast walker. He's always anxious about one thing or another, and slightly more active than the average person. But recently, he's tried to slow down a little more to enjoy the moment with you. And because you tell him to...

↣ megumi fushiguro ☆

He doesn't show it, but he secretly likes holding your hand. However, he rarely holds your hand in front of other people. And when he does, he doesn't bring attention to it. Usually it's you who grabs his hand, and he doesn't let go. He only regrets it later, when he gets teased by all his friends.

However, he loves holding your hand while making out with you. He'll interlock his fingers with yours as he kisses you, enjoying how you squeezed onto his hand.

Sometimes he'll hold your hand out of anger, if you can't walk straight. Or if you started to run off somewhere and couldn't stay on track. Overall, he's not physically affectionate, but that doesn't mean he doesn't enjoy it, especially if it's with you.

↣ toge inumaki ☆

Since he can't communicate his ideas in verbal language, he relies on other methods to express his affection. So yes, he enjoys holding your hand. Just casually, almost with a slight bit of intrigue and curiosity. Like he was fascinated by the fact you wanted to hold his hand.

He's quietly affectionate, leaning his head on your shoulder. Most exchanges between you were wordless, because he finally came to terms with the fact that you were okay with his silence. At first, he thought he had to try harder. To say something to you. But he soon found out that you didn't care all that much. As long as you were with him, that was all the communication you needed.

↣ kento nanami ☆

I don't see him as a hand-holding guy, but rather the type of person to put his hand on your thigh while you're sitting down at a restaurant.

Discreetly, under the table, almost like an absent-minded habit. He enjoys how your skin feels under his touch, finding a bit of comfort in just your presence alone. Plus, his hands are so much bigger than yours- in public, your normally just latch onto his arm and walk that way.

He'd also rest his hand on the small of your back, especially when you're wearing some sort of dress. Small, discreet hand placement while you're talking to someone, gently pulling you close to him. Sometimes he doesn't realize he's doing it. When you call him out, he just apologizes with a small smile. Although, you figure he's not really sorry...

↣ satoru gojo ☆

He's holding your hand all. the. time. Dragging you along, yanking you by your wrist towards him when he mentions you in a conversation. It's almost like he's bragging. He likes clinging onto you or staying close to you while focusing on something else. He turns off his Infinity, just for you.

He also really likes hugs, squeezing you for comfort. He likes spooning you in bed, and opening his arms with a small pout as he waits for you to hug him. And if you don't comply, he'll whine and complain until you do.

He's definitely outwardly affectionate, both in front of other people and in private.

#fanfiction #x reader #jujustu kaisen #jjk x you #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk headcannons #headcannons #fluff #jjk yuuji #jjk fluff #yuuji x reader #itadori yuuji #megumi fushiguro #megumi x reader #jjk megumi #nanami kento #nanami x reader #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #jjk gojo #jjk headcanons

[nicoline1998enilocin]

''I'm in love with you, you grump!''

PAIRING | Bucky Barnes x Shy!Avenger!Female!Reader

WORD COUNT | 1.6K

SUMMARY | You're currently on a mission with Sam and Bucky, so in order to blow of some steam the three of you decide to go to a bar. During the evening Sam brings up the topic of your dating life, and suddenly Bucky gets very grumpy, but you can't seem to figure out why. You're not exactly comfortable with the topic either, but his reaction seems a bit much in your eyes.

WARNING(S) | This is your official trigger warning. Do not proceed if any of these topics upset you. Reader is a bit shy, with a hint of social anxiety, Bucky and Reader are oblivious to each other's feelings, Sam is a bit of an instigator, confessed romantic feelings.

Likes, comments and reblogs will be very much appreciated 💜

Main Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Masterlist

''Hey doll, want to join us at the bar? We're heading there later and Sam and I thought it might be fun to go all together,'' Bucky asked, even though he knew full well Sam didn't mind either way. ''Uh, do I have to...? I'd rather stay at the hotel, Buck,'' you tried, you weren't a big fan of going out, let alone going to a crowded bar on a Saturday evening. Every time they are going somewhere they try to get you to come with them, but you're not much of an outgoing person, or a people-person, for that matter. Sure, you were fine around Bucky, but the two of you spend a lot of time together, but you rarely hang out with Sam aside from missions.

''Please?'' Bucky asked with big puppy dog eyes, and as much as you didn't want to say no, you couldn't resist. ''Fine, but I won't dress up or anything, and I will stay for only an hour, that's it. ''It wouldn't want it any other way, doll,'' he said as he put his hand on your hip and he put a small kiss on your forehead as a thank you, which sets your inside completely ablaze at just the simplest of touches. This crush you had on Bucky is getting out of hand, and you don't know how much longer you can hold it in before you snap and accidentally tell him how you feel.

The weather is very nice where your mission is located, so you opt to go for a simple summer dress and a pair of Converse, your hair in a simple ponytail, and very little make-up. The dress shows a little more skin than you're used to, but you've been trying to step out of your comfort zone a little bit, trying to get rid of your shy-girl persona and instead being the badass you know you can be. This seems like a good start in your mind, and not much later all three of you are heading to a bar, you're clinging to Bucky's arm as if your life depends on it. ''You okay, doll?'' he whispered in your ear, you must have been squeezing harder than intended. ''Uh, yeah I guess,'' you muttered.

God, you were feeling very uncomfortable, not just with your outfit choice, but with everything around you. There were too many people doing who knows what, and the air in the bar seems a little bit constricting, but you promised Bucky an hour so that's the least you will do for him. In all honesty, you'd do almost anything for him if he asked, but that's mainly due to this crush you've had on Bucky, which honestly feels more like you've fallen head over heels in love with the super soldier, the more you think about it. When the three of you arrive at the bar you immediately go seek out a place to sit, and much to your relief, you find a booth in a quiet part of the bar.

''Can I get you guys anything to drink?'' Bucky asked and you just nodded, Sam ordered a beer. ''Anything specific you might like?'' he smiled at you, turning a bit flustered and red at the question. ''Uh... I- uh, I'll take a beer too, please,'' you stuttered, hoping the floor would just open up and swallow you whole right then and there. ''Alright, three beers coming right up,'' he said as he walked to the bar. Neither you nor Sam said anything while he was away, and you didn't mind. You got your phone out of your bag and started scrolling through social media to keep your mind a little busy until Bucky came back. Not long after he returned, handing you your beer and you gave him a smile as a thank you.

''So, anything new with you guys?'' Sam asked, and he and Bucky were in a conversation about something you didn't particularly care for, so you were just picking at the label on your bottle. This was how it usually went and also the reason you'd rather have stayed back at the hotel. You were deep in thought and didn't notice the men across from you were looking at you expectantly. ''Uh, sorry, did you- did you ask something?'' you said as you turned bright red, not looking either of them in their eyes because you were embarrassed. ''It's okay, Y/N, no need to be shy!'' Sam said, which only made you feel worse. ''I asked if there's anything new in your dating life,'' he said again, and it didn't help much.

''Uh, no, yeah, I have been on a few dates, but it wasn't going anywhere,'' you said, mostly because you were afraid to text them back after the date, and it never got past one, if you didn't walk out during the date itself. ''You know how it goes,'' you said with a shy chuckle, which immediately died down as soon as it left your throat, you were feeling extremely uncomfortable. The main reason it never went anywhere however, is because they weren't Bucky, but you would never admit that to anyone, the bond you have with him is special and you don't want to risk losing that connection you two share.

The moment you finished your answer you immediately dropped your eyes down, to where your fingers were still picking at the corners of the label on your bottle. Because you did this you didn't see the way Bucky's face dropped at the mention of you going on dates, you never told him that and he wasn't all too happy with it in all honesty. He got up and stomped out of the bar, he needed some fresh air to clear his mind a little bit because he almost told you he wishes you would have gone on a date with him, and he didn't want to tell you like that. You quickly went after him after apologizing to Sam.

''Buck, what's wrong?'' you asked as you grabbed his arm when you were both outside. He pulled his arm away from you and ran his hands through his hair to make sure he wouldn't do anything stupid right now. ''Why didn't you tell me why you went on dates? I always tell you everything, even when I have a date,'' Bucky said, not sure why he would emphasize that part exactly. ''I-, I'm sorry, I just didn't want to mention it, in case it would make you uncomfortable. I mostly went on those dates to get you out of my head, but it never worked,'' you said now that you got a sudden confidence boost. You don't have a single clue where it came from, but you would embrace it for however long it lasted.

''Why-, wait, get me out of your head? Did I ever do anything to hurt or upset you for you to need me out of your head?'' he said and he slowly started spiraling a little bit. ''Buck, no, please look at me, you never did anything wrong-'' you said but his face said all you needed to know. He started pacing back and forth over the sidewalk and didn't look at you, so you took measures into your own hands by grabbing his arms. ''Bucky, look at me, please! I never told you I went on dates because I'm in love with you, you grump! I have been head over heels for you ever since we first met, and that's why I never told you. I thought that if I went on dates, I would get those thoughts and feelings out of my head, but they never did,'' you explained, finally looking into his eyes as you confessed your feelings. What Bucky did next honestly surprised you to your core.

''I'm in love with you too, doll, fuck it feels good to finally say it out loud! I've been trying to keep it shoved away because I thought you didn't feel the same, but now that I know you do, I just want to tell you a thousand, no a hundred thousand times how much I love you, and how in love I am with you!'' he said as he let out a nervous laugh, he was completely overcome with relief and still finds it hard to believe your feelings are out in the open now. On a whim he grabbed your face and placed his lips onto yours, hoping that if it was a dream, he would have at least felt your lips at least once, but it isn't a dream, it was real, and you couldn't be happier.

''Thank god, now I can finally breathe normally around you guys!'' Sam exclaimed as he walked out of the bar with a huge grin on his face. You and Bucky quickly pulled apart and let each other go, mostly out of reflex as it kind of felt like he caught the two of you doing something unspeakable. ''Don't stop on my account, I don't care what the two of you do as long as you both keep it in your pants,'' he said and you turned bright red and you stared at the pavement, you would never get used to comments like that. ''Doll, can you look at me?'' Bucky said as he placed a finger under your chin and lifted it to meet his gaze. ''I love you, and I will never let you go now that I know you love me too,'' he said, sealing it with another soft kiss on your lips. You felt truly happy in this moment, and wouldn't change it for the world.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky fanfic #bucky x female reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes fluff

[red-writes]

On a dark and stormy night

professor! izuku midoriya x student! reader

summary: reader is in love with her professor and izuku is weak when it comes to you...

content contains: daddy kink, spanking, squirting, smut, the nickname 'little girl', reader gets her back blown out.

red's note: a little darker than what I typically write also am I slowly developing a daddy kink? who knows

it's pouring outside but you're not willing to turn around now. your hair is sticking to your face, your jeans are clingy and cold and you can't seem to rid yourself of the chill that the poor weather brings you. your finger hovers over the doorbell, hand shaking as you decide to press the small button. you've been to his house so many times but it feels different right now, feels like you're making a mistake. the lightning that cracks in the sky makes you jump and almost solidifies that gut feeling as truth but as you're about to turn around the door opens.

"y/n?" he asks, then he gasps and pulls you inside. his house is warm and yet you still don't stop shivering.

"you're soaking wet-- how did you get here?" he asks as he runs to the sofa and drapes you in a blanket, every time you've come to his house he always drove you seeing as he lived further than any professor on campus. he ushers you from the doorway after you kick off your shoes and you don't open your mouth to respond, instead you grab his arm and he halts in his tracks.

"are you okay? what's going--" his words get caught in his throat as he witnesses you. you've dropped the blanket onto the floor and you begin undoing the clasp on the front of your top before it slides off your shoulders.

"'m cold professor.." you say, voice small and izuku swallows hard as you unbutton your jeans, sliding them down your thighs before kicking them away. you unhook your bra and let your breasts free for deku's eyes to swallow whole.

"please warm me up" you plead as you reach for his hand and place it on your hot mound. izuku swallows yet again and his mouth is held open for a moment before he speaks, shocked at your bold display.

"you don't know what you're doing..what you're asking me to do" he says, but doesn't move his hand.

"don't you want me professor?" you look down at the erection poking against the fabric of his sweatpants. "it looks like you do"

he shakes his head 'no' but again makes no move to push you away and so you walk closer to him, so close that your chests are pressed against each other and he sucks in a breath, he can feel how hard your nipples are through the thinness of his t-shirt. he can't do this, he shouldn't do this. you're his student, someone who admires and looks up to him by indulging in this he would be way out of bounds. he could lose his job, he could lose everything.

"y/n..you're just confused. I know, after having those conversations about your life growing up and your father not really being there for you, having a person like me step into that role has you wanting to cling onto me, to have me fill the void of your dad but I'm not him and we shouldn't be doing this. if you leave now, I'll forget it ever happened. I'll pretend I never saw you like this" he states, firmly although his voice wavers when he feels your wetness soak his fingers from over your panties.

"fine" you say and pull away from him, izuku is relieved, thinking you've finally come to your senses but instead you pull down your underwear and kick them to the side, you bend over the back of his couch and spread your pussy lips open for him to see.

"you're right professor, I want you to be my daddy." you turn your head behind you to look at him and your fingers find your clit as you rub circles onto the twitching bud. "professor, don't you want to be my daddy? please say yes daddy...I need you" you moan and izuku's cock drips pre-cum into his underwear, cock hard and pulsing at your words. his feet are glued to the floor but his eyes are focused on every sway of your hips, every press of your fingers onto your clit.

"daddy, please, come fuck me daddy" you whine as you slip two fingers in your soaking cunt and begin fucking yourself with them. izuku curses under his breath and walks over to you taking your fingers out your cunt, he uses that same arm to pull you up and he smashes his mouth against yours. your hands are quick to find the band of his of sweatpants and shoving the grey fabric down his thighs, just enough to expose his cock. you lean back over the couch and he strokes his cock a few times before pressing the reddened mushroom tip against your fluttering hole. in one even thrust he's fully seated inside of you. the girth of his cock had your hands squeezing the back of the couch for dear life. every thrust he gave you felt like he was knocking the wind straight out of your lungs.

"does my little girl like that? does she love the feeling of her daddy's cock stretching her out?" and your cunt squeezes around his cock at the sound of the nickname falling from his lips.

"yes daddy!" you cry and he does as you ask, his thrusts become harder, rocking your body forward and his cock grinds against that soft spot inside your cunt, making your eyes roll as his fat tip assaults it with ease. he slaps your ass and the sting has your cunt squeezing his cock like a vice and izuku nearly cums at the feeling. he raises his hand and slaps your ass again, this time you cum from the burning sensation left behind on your ass cheek. your eyes roll back into your head and your body trembles underneath him as your orgasm washes over you. but he doesn't stop, he keeps spanking you until your ass is raw and bruised just so he can feel that vice-like grip on his cock. you're well past overstimulated, the feeling of getting your cunt fucked on top of having your ass spanked until it was painful had yet another orgasm drawn out of you a rush of liquid shot out of your cunt and onto the man behind you as well as the floor.

"no..stop daddy 'm squirting! stop stop aah!" you cried but he didn't, he couldn't, not when the girl he'd been lusting after for months finally forces his hand. not when he was so close to cumming. izuku looked up from the place where you two met and looked at your fucked-out face, eyes hazy with drool dripping out the side of your mouth. with a mumbled 'fuck' he felt his balls tighten as he came. his hips didn't stop immediately, his thrusts were shallow and he laid on top of you as he finished emptying his load into you.

he only moved off of you when he felt himself soften inside of you. when he pulled away a mixture of your cum dripped out of you and onto the floor beneath you.

"let's get you cleaned up" he says and you stand back up on wobbly legs and walk until you sit on the couch. he follows you and you pull him by his t-shirt to the floor in front of you and it's clear what you want him to do.

"daddy will you eat your little girls pussy, please?"

izuku gulps. his eyes dart from your eyes to your swollen, ruined cunt. his cock was already beginning to swell with blood once more. you were dangerous but izuku just couldn't resist you.

#red writes— ੈ♡˳ #mha smut #bnha smut #izuku x reader smut #deku smut #deku x reader smut #tw: daddy kink

[mybelovedwoo]

choi jongho as boyfriend - headcanon

headcanon, romance, fluff, smut

gn!reader x bf!atz

wc. ~ 0.8k

an: happy jongho day everyone!! i hope you enjoy this one

you can request headcanons if you want to (please only headcanons)!! if you want to be tagged in any of my fics you can apply here <3

masterlist

-the understanding, protective boyfriend who somehow know exactly what you think or feel without even saying it out loud

-he would be very shy around you at first, just because he likes you so so much, but over some time he would get more and more comfortable, and you guys not only would be the best couple but are literally best friends (he giggles in tiny a lot)

-also would be shy every time someone (his hyungs) starts to talk about you, they would probably tease him on purpose, they loves seeing their little one all flustered and red, whines "hyuuunnggg" so they would stop embarassing him

-he also would be shy to initiate any skinship around people, but when you are alone he is the most clingy little teddy bear in the world, and you just love it so much

-would playfight with you sometimes, but is literally so careful to not hurt you even by accident, he treats you like the most valuable treasure, like you are made out of glass, just like san did, but he is more careful because he knows he can be hard to deal with sometimes, he doesn't want to hurt your feelings ever

-he buys you food all the time, he doesn't care if you say your not hungry, you're gonna eat! it's just one of his love languages, he knows you can forget about yourself sometimes, so he's always there to take care of you

-his attention is always on you, he makes you feel like you are the center of his universe, and you truly are

-he likes long talks with you about anything and everything, especially at night maybe with a bottle of beer or soju, this is where you can connect in a deeper level

 -kisses with him would be passionate always, as i said before he would kiss you just when it's just the two of you there and no one else, he would grab your face or hug you close to him, he either likes little pecks or long ass make out sessions, no in between

-clings on you all the damn time (the only skinship he does in public too), hugs you from behind and never let's go of you, probably because he likes it that he can tease you like this

-sending you memes 24/7, he is the funniest boyfriend ever, "y/n open what i sent you, i wanna see your reaction" and would giggle next to you seeing all the faces you make about his dumb (but funny) memes

-he's super chill, like he never gets jealous because he trusts you with all his heart, but still got the dead stare when someone tries to flirt with you

-ofc coffee dates are your favorites, especially in a cold weather because you know when your hands gets cold he would take it and put it in his pocket and would hold them there

-i can't imagine him calling anything other then your name, maybe when he feels all lovey-dovey he would call you honey but that's the best he can do

-loves it when you wear one of his shirts when you sleep over at his place (would not wash it and would sleep in it the next day because it has you smell on it)

-when things get though for you, he is there and never leaves your side, always listens to you and gives the best advice

-waking up with him is not easy at all, clings to you and doesn't let you get out of the bed

nsfw +18!!!

-listen listen he is a dom no question (but not a hard dom, but not as soft as san either), but sometimes he likes it when you take control and take care of him, he think it's super hot

-he likes to take it slow and sensual, so foreplay is a must for him, where he can tease you as he wants, likes both loving and playful sex

-it's quite surprising but his sex drive is high, and it is far more meaningful than a quick release of energy

-he's okay with quickies sometimes tho, but they don't fulfill him nearly as much, especially as his love of foreplay and kissing

-he is a vanilla lover, a good missionary where he can hide in the crook of your neck or can watch your beautiful face

-it would 90% start with a long makeout session or cuddling session

-turn-ons for him, pure and simple things, naked bodies, rubbing, mutual masturbation, oral sex, your arousal, and you guys's special connection is enough for him sometimes

-biggest turn-offs is rushing probably, as i said before he likes to take it slow, and doesn't really like someone impatient

-as i said before communication is really important in your relationship, so this is no exception in bed either, you guys talk a lot during it

-he likes big cuddling sessions after it, sometimes you two fall asleep right then and there

#ateez #ateez fluff #ateez scenarios #ateez imagine #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez smut #jongho headcanon #jongho #choi jongho #jongho x reader #jongho x you #jongho fluff #jongho smut #jongho boyfriend #jongho imagine #jongho imagines #choi jongho fluff #choi jongho headcanon

[ecoamerica]

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

#ACLA24 #ACLA24Leaders #youtube #youtube video #climate leaders #climate solutions #climate action #climate and environment #climate #climate change #climate and health #climate blog #climate justice #climate news #weather and climate #environmental news #environment #environmental awareness #environment and health #environmental #environmental issues #environmental justice #environment protection #environmental health #Youtube

[janaispunk]

making forts under covers

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

A/N: Written for Mandy's Sweater Weather Writing Challenge by @she-likesorchids using the "Let's just stay in bed" prompt. This is my first time writing about Joel and also my first time writing at all in over a year, so I'm a little nervous, but I really wanted to put this out.

Word count: ~1.9k

Summary: You and Joel wake up to a gloomy fall morning and all you want to do is drink your morning coffee and stay in bed.

Warnings/Tags: post outbreak, Jackson era, fluff, unprotected p in v (don't do it, this isn’t the apocalypse), fingering, dirty talk, praise kink, so many pet names, Joel is a menace, tiny hints of dom!Joel but he's very soft, able-bodied reader, explicit 18+ content, MDNI! (let me know if I missed any)

You blink your eyes open to the gloomy light of an early fall morning and the sound of rain against the window. The air in the bedroom has a slight chill to it and you burrow deeper under the covers.

Joel is still asleep, laying on his side turned towards you.

You marvel at the sight of his handsome face, for once relaxed, his brow unfurrowed and his breath going slowly. You rarely see him like this; usually he's the one that rises before you do when you sleep over, waking you up with a cup of steaming coffee and a soft kiss to your forehead, mumbling, “G'mornin'” into your hair. Your relationship is still relatively new, and you like this routine that is slowly forming between the two of you, but you could also get used to waking up to him like this.

You take in his face for a few more moments, a small smile tugging at your lips, before you quietly slip out of his bed. Goosebumps errupt on your bare skin and you tug on the flannel that Joel discarded on the chair in the corner last night, enjoying the way that his smell clings to the fabric and engulfs you.

You pad down the stairs to the kitchen and busy yourself with preparing coffee for the both of you, then wander into the living room while it's brewing. You stop in front of his bookshelf and run your hands over the wood carving of an owl that you've admired several times before. The ability to craft something so detailed out of a simple piece of wood fascinates you, especially when you think about Joel and his large, strong hands, using them to make something this delicate.

You fill two cups of coffee, reveling in the feeling of comfort and cozyness that the smell of the hot liquid always brings you, then carry them back up to the bedroom where Joel is still asleep. You set one cup on his nightstand, take a sip from your own one and slip back under the sheets to snuggle up to Joel and nuzzle your face into his bare chest, inhaling his scent and enjoying the warmth that is radiating from his body.

Joel grumbles and wraps a strong arm around you, encompassing you further in his warmth and pressing a kiss to the crown of your head as he mutters, “Mornin' sweetheart,” his southern drawl more pronounced and his voice still heavy with sleep.

You shyly smile up at him, grateful that you're one of the few people who are allowed to look past his rough exterior and to catch glimpses of the gentleness inside him that one only get to see when you're this close to him, and whisper, “Good morning,” before stretching up in his arms to reach his mouth with your lips.

His grasp around your waist tightens and you giggle, pecking his lips again before you lean away and say, “I brought you coffee, for once.” He sits up against the headboard, pulling you with him until you're leaning against his chest, one of his arms slung around your shoulder while he picks up the cup with his free hand and lets you do the same, before he leans down to kiss your forehead again and murmurs, “Thank you, darlin'.”

You both sip on your coffees for a few minutes, enjoying the quiet morning. His fingers draw lazy circles on your arm and shoulder, his eyes falling down to the flannel that's halfway slipped off. “Nice shirt,” he drawls into your ear and you giggle.

“Thanks, it's new.”

He chuckles and tugs you closer as he finishes off his coffee, places both of your cups on the nightstand and carefully cups your face, tilting your chin up to kiss your mouth. The feeling of his big roughened palm on your cheek, combined with the gentle way he touches you, has butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

Joel deepens his kiss, his tongue dipping out and licking against your bottom lip, causing you to whimper softly and open your mouth for him as heat starts pooling inside of you and he pulls you on top of him.

“C'mere, darlin'.”

You melt into him as his strong arms wrap around you, his scent engulfing you and he's running his hands down your sides, leaving a trail of heat over your body as he slides the flannel completely off your body and dips his hands under the tank top that you slept in. Your lips connect again and you mewl into his mouth, your hips grinding down on him and his hold tightens around your waist, pressing you onto his growing hardness.

“Shhh, I got you,” he murmurs as his mouth moves down to your neck, nipping and sucking at the delicate skin there, causing you to shudder and sink your nails into his bare shoulders. He separates his mouth from your skin to push the tank top up and off your body, revealing your breasts and your already pebbled nipples. He groans softly and leans forward to suck on the soft skin there, your back arching and pressing yourself closer to him.

“Joel, please...” you whine, “I need...”

He leans back, his hands back on your sides, his thumbs brushing just below your breasts.

“Yeah? What d'you need, baby?”

You rock your hips against him, feeling his bulge press against your panties and another whimper falls from your lips.

“Need you Joel, please...”

It's almost embarrassing, how quickly he gets you to this point, but you can't bring yourself to care, not when he's this close, with his hands all over your body and his painfully handsome face right in front of you.

He smirks and pulls you into him again, murmuring, “Good girl, asking so nicely,” before he seals his lips back over yours and kisses you until you're breathless and squirming against him before he flips you over, his face hovering above yours. His hand travels down to your underwear and dips beneath the fabric, finding you already slick and swollen with need. He circles your clit slowly, making you gasp and buck your hips up against his hand.

“You're so pretty like this. Just ready and waitin' for me, aren't you?”

His hand trails down further, one finger dipping into your entrance.

“Y-yes, need you so badly, please Joel...”

He smirks, adding a second finger and slowly pumping them into you.

“I know, baby. Don't you worry, I'll take care of you. You're bein' so good for me.”

The praise makes you keen, the fact that this usually so stoically quiet man can't stop running his mouth when you're together like this, while he's reducing you to a blubbering mess that can barely get any words out.

You eagerly slip your hand into his underwear, wrapping your fingers around him, causing him to hiss and thrust into you particularly hard. You grab at his boxers, pulling them down his hips, wanting him as close as possible. He chuckles at your impatience but indulges you, the look in his eyes telling you that he's just as desperate for you as you are for him, helping you to get rid of his underwear and tugging yours off of you as well.

Joel grabs his hard length and slides it through your slick folds, causing you to moan and arch your hips up into his touch. He leans down and kisses you again, his cock nudging at your entrance as he whispers, “You want it, sweetheart?”, to which you respond with an eager nod. He tuts, cupping your face in his large hand.

“Words, baby. Tell me. Tell me what you want, how much you need it.”

You whine softly, feeling yourself blush at the thought of putting your desire into words.

“I- so much, Joel. Please, I- I need you to- to fuck me, please?”

You bite your lip and he groans softly, murmuring, “Good girl,” against your mouth as he pushes into you in one hard thrust, filling you to the brim.

You cry out as your walls clench around him, trying to adjust to the sudden intrusion, to the way he always feels so big inside of you, and the exquisite bliss that only Joel can bring you is taking over your body. Your hands grab at his shoulders, your nails digging into the skin and moans of his name falling from your mouth as he pounds into you with long, deep movements. His mouth finds your neck again, sucking hard and biting down on your skin, before soothing the sting with his tongue.

His arms wrap around you and he holds you close while he keeps thrusting into you, whispering into your ear.

“Fuck, you're such a dream... Feels good, yeah? This what you wanted?”

You nod frantically, one of your hands scratching down his back while the other grabs at the curls on his neck as you're barely able to form words.

“S-so good Joel, fuck, 's perfect...”

He hums in smug agreement, his thrusts becoming even deeper and his fingers sliding between your bodies to toy with your clit. The heat inside your body threatens to spill over at his touch and you moan loudly, your earlier inhibitions about voicing your needs wiped from your mind.

“Yes! Just there, please- please dont stop, oh god...”

He's rubbing precise circles over your clit, keeping his gaze on your face as your eyes glaze over, your moans growing even louder.

“That's it, good girl. So tight around me, fuck... Show me how pretty you come for me, go on. I know you can.”

Your jaw falls slack and your whole body trembles, your walls clenching rhythmically around him and soaking him in your wetness as your orgasm washes over you. He growls at the feeling of you pulsing around his cock and pounds into you a few more times before he pulls out and spills himself over your stomach.

He stills and his head falls forward, both of you panting hard and not moving for a few moments. He leans forward to kiss your cheek, smiling at your blissed out expression, before he gets up from the bed and pads to the bathroom. He returns with a washcloth and cleans you up, gently stroking your sides and making you hum happily.

When he's finished and collapses back beside you on the bed, you turn around, wrapping the both of you up in his blanket and pepper his face with kisses. “Good morning indeed,” you grin and he huffs, ruffling through your hair and pulling you tighter into his embrace.

“You got anything planned today?” he asks after a moment of peaceful silence and you shake your head.

“Nope, I'm all yours.”

“Good,” he smiles, letting your head rest on his chest and pulling the blanket up to your chin, so that you're entirely shielded from the slight chill in the air. Gloomy light filters into the room and you can still hear the rain splattering against the window. Joel kisses your forehead softly.

“Let's just stay in bed, then.”

banners/dividers by @saradika <3

#mandy's sweater weather challenge #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #the last of us #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader #pedro pascal #joel miller x you #pedro pascal characters #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fluff

[spiderlyla]

Omg since it's fluff and it's October...

Cuddling up with Miguel and watching scary movies

(I'm such a baby with scary movies 🫣)

Day 1 of Flufftober

tags: gn!reader × miguel o'hara.

join the flufftober taglist here!

when the weather gets chilly, and when the leaves start changing colours, miguel deems it the perfect weather to cling to you.

don't get it wrong, he always is clingy, but it gets a little less subtle when the first hints of fall roll around the corner. especially if it's the two of you, alone in your apartment.

one of miguel's arms was wrapped around you, hand resting on your waist, occasionally tracing your skin or lightly tickling you, just to hear the sweet sound of your giggles and funny snorts. he pulls you closer, and adjusts himself, making sure your head is laying comfortably on his chest, while his is set on top of yours. your arms wrap around him, in a side hug sort of position.

there is a soft, velvet blanket around the two of you, and the apartment is pitch black, except for the faint light of the TV, lightning up the spot infront of it and leaving the corners of your living room looking like a black void.

"mig, i don't like this." you whispered, eyes glued to the TV as the main character on the screen took baby steps down a dark hall. miguel thought it would be a brilliant idea to put on a horror movie, saying he always lets you choose which movie to put on and that he wanted to see something other than the Pride & Prejudice remake of 2005.

though that was not true, he put on this shitty horror movie just because it'll make you hold onto him like how you very much were as of this moment.

"amor, 'is just a movie.." his hand travelled to your hair, messing with it ever so gently, occasionally letting his claws protrude just to give you a nice massage. he was not paying attention to the actors screaming on screen, eyes fixed on you, and how you let out those squeaks and how your eyes widened at the frankly expected jumpscares. "c'mon, that was too obvious."

"It's still scary!—She appeared out of nowhere!" A deep chuckle erupted out of him, his free hand squeezing your thigh comfortingly. "They were building up to it, didn't you notice?"

you let out an annoyed huff and miguel laughed, leaving a kiss on your cheek. "just teasing, don't pout." he held your chin between his index and his thumb, making you look his way. you rolled your eyes, but smiled nevertheless, how could you not what that handsome face infront of you?

he tilted your head up a little bit, placing his soft lips on yours for a brief second, distracting you wholly from the bloodcurdling screams on the TV. he moved his hands and placed them on your waist, just to pull you onto his lap and hold you even closer. your eyes look back at the screen, just in time for another jumpscare and you almost fall off the couch if it werent for Miguel's strong arms holding you down.

and he laughs, again. you groan and bury your face into the crook of his neck, and he squeezes your sides. "what? you're not watching the rest?"

"what is there to watch! they keep scaring the viewers, that's no plot." Your voiced sounded muffled, and you refused to move from the position you were in. seems like miguel's plan worked a little too well, because you really weren't letting go of him any time soon. "there is a plot."

suddenly, he finds his eyes meeting yours, as you arch a questioning brow at him. "mhm, then what is the plot, mig?"

frankly, he had no idea, too focused on your rather adorable reactions and the way your hands tightened around him whenever you got scared, still, he pretended to think for a moment.

but when he glanced back at you, he couldn't help but chuckle. "I...wasn't paying attention."

"Uh-huh."

"I'm a man with alot on my mind, amor," He defended, grinning ever so slightly you could see a pearly white fang showing. "If it's not to your liking at all, I could change—"

"you know what, no." You placed your head on his chest, and a hand around his neck. "You could watch it, and tell me what happens next morning."

"Hm? And what will you be doing?" He saw you shut your eyes, and a soft smile made its way onto his lips. "I'll be sleeping on you as punishment."

Miguel chuckled, the vibrations from his chest making you a little light headed already. His arms wrapped around you protectively, as he pulled the blanket over your shoulder a little bit.

His lips pressed a kiss onto your forehead, and his eyes lingered on you for a moment before he looked back at the TV.

"What a punishment it is."

🏷: @lizard757 @thevoiceinyourheadx @lulu-baked-beans @obi-mom-kenobi @bibikaiherau

@thechloralkatniss-blog @sukunamoon @crazy-ravioli @autismsupermusicalassassin @dangerousness15 @dumb-gemini12 @telefood @unear7hly @deffnotnia @ginger23 @vicravluv @sakinetic @longer-than-i-should-admit @dbiebxiwns @sweetlemongrove @currentlyinflames @minalovesyoubabes @lili-lilac @graves4girls @spineyy @barotaro @softcrayon @nerdyninjaprincess @spooookyqueen @jellyfishxxi @champa1n–problemss @levrenes-space @swampedboy @coolbbruh @numberonetyrantyouth @boringpersonality @parapsycholozka @heyohalie @johfaam @bubbsieeee @iite-cool @oharasmommymilkers00 @mousettea @jokmi @nayylas @namjoons-baby @liviiyyy @viriexo @vermillions @deltaworkwarmpepsi @number1gal @swiftyangx12 @millswifeyofkeigo @library-lunatic

#lumi's fluff tober #miguel o'hara #miguel o hara x reader #astv #miguel o’hara x reader #atsv miguel #across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel o hara #spider man atsv #spiderman into the spiderverse #miguel fluff #miguel fanfic #miguel o' hara #miguel o #miguel atsv #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x you #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #miguel x reader

[d6volution]

im a need a cain x reader smut, but like the reader can get in heat since there a type of animal i dont know what animal you can choose one. so like the reader chooses caine to release their thung idk i was thinkinh about it and now im trhiving to jhave it written so ofcourse i came to my fav writers inbox

i get it! im not the best at writing heat fics (i dont think??) but i tried 🤧

Caine/Cat Hybrid!Reader

(afab parts)

tags: bondage, reader in heat, man handling

minors dni | nsfw below the cut.

It had been years in this digital world, and with every new person to enter Jax was  always the only anthropomorphic animal to be in the circus. Until you came along, cat like ears sprouted from your head and tail protruding from where your tailbone should be.

Of course the other members either reacted in awe, or just didn't really care. Or some in between like Jax who loved pulling at your ears and tail as it usually made you squeak like a toy.

Even Caine wasnt immune to your cuteness it seemed, he'd make the odd comment about your apperance here and there but it was always positive. Maybe that's why you chose him..? Or maybe it was because he was the showrunner, he had power and could protect you and ... your young. That's usually the things mates would looked for..? Right? Damn it you didn't know. You were human before all this was completely new to you. But your body didn't care, this.. heat cycle hit you like a sack of bricks. You'd been holed up in your room for a few days now, ignoring the knocks at your door.

Lest you jump on the person on the other side of the door and beg them to fuck you until you can't remember your name.

You thought maybe after taking care of yourself this .. feeling would go away but no, you came on your fingers several times but it wasn't close to being enough. It was like you were losing yourself to this feeling, all you could think about was being filled..

In the haze of your thoughts Caine came to mind again, you knew his opinion on things like this but you had to try. Something.. anything, and pray that in the process to getting to his room you wouldn't run into anyone else..

A few moments later when you got the resolve to finally peek out of your room you moved as quickly as you could in your state, luckily remembering the path to the ringmasters quarters. A big grand red door was at the end of the hall and you tugged at the door but it didn't budge.

"C.. Caine.. ? You there..?" Your voice sounded pathetic, dripping with need. A soft mewl even escaped your lips in frustration.

It felt like a century until you felt eyes on you, but.. from behind you. It was Caine just floating there, in the same confusion as yourself. "C.. Caine? Why aren't you in your room?" Your senses were going ballistic now, it cried for you to present yourself to him. Beg for him to take you right here and now.

"Simple, my dear! I don't sleep! This room is merely a prop of sorts!" He retorted, "Are.. you alright, y/n? You're looking a little, under the weather." He seemed to actually be concerned, and you started squirming.

"N.. No I need.." Your ears flattened out of embarrassment, tail wrapping around your leg for self comfort. "need.." Your voice trailed off, "... s'your fault Caine.. you made me like this..!"

"Now, now, calm down y/n I don't necessarily get to choose your new bodies—!" You cut him off by pawing at his leg, clinging to it to keep him in place. He tried to keep his balance.

"Please Caine.. need you.." You nuzzled at his leg, then moved up his thigh trying to nuzzle at his crotch as the smell of him was inviting you. "T.. This is hardly appropriate, let's *ahem* get you inside." Caine looked both ways to assure no one had saw you two. He then scooped you up by the waist, holding you like luggage and carrying you inside his room.

As soon as you two were in the room he dropped you onto the bed unceremoniously.

Caine tugged at his tie and allowed it to loosen up, "Well, now. What to do with you." He snapped his fingers and you were bound to the bed in a very lewd manner, knees bent and pressed at your chest being held by red ropes that seemed to match his suit. "C... Caine wha.." You whimpered, tears forming in your eyes as he seemed to just be toying with you.

"Tsk, tsk this won't do at all! You're making a mess of your clothes!" And now they were gone too, you instinctively pulled your binds helplessly. "Please.." You whined, not knowing exactly what you were pleading for.

"Yes, yes.. I think I know what's happening to you, now be patient dear! I'm breaking many a rule for you, y'know!" He said, now appearing suddenly in between your legs , two gloved fingers delving into your cunt suddenly. "Hhck..!" Your ears pointed straight up out of shock and your body moved against the binds again, "Come now you can handle this!"

"N.. Not that.. need.. you inside.. please.." Your cunt was senstive sure, but it was more frustrating that he was using his fingers, "Please Caine.. breed me.." Your words made him swallow and he had to compose himself. He was only doing this because he had to, he couldn't have to wandering off and trying to pounce on anyone else!

He pulled himself from his pants, he didn't realize until now that his cock was straining against them a few moments ago. You desperately wanted to present yourself to him, spread your cunt and open your legs but he had you tied up like some kind of animal.

His tip nudged at your cunt, the slick causing him to slip past your hole a few times. You mewled and bucked your hips a little as if to encourage him.

Another thrust and he buried himself completely inside of you, your cunt swallowing him up immediately, it was like he was made for you. You were made for each other. "Ngh.. there we go, stubborn little thing.." He said with a grunt, hovering over your body. 

He was finally inside of you and your body begged you not to let him go, not until he came inside of you at least three or four times at least! "Caine.. more .. mn.." He felt like you were calm enough to get rid of the bindings so he did, snaping his fingers and they seemed to fade away into the air.

Your legs immediately wrapped around him, tugging him closer.

"How impatient, very well then. Hold tight my dear," He said, hands planted on the sides of your head as he started to move his hips, rocking into your cunt. Your eyes fluttered shut, ear twitching a little as a soft purring sound rumbled in your chest.

His thrusts picked up speed quickly, you were responding so well to them that he was slowly beginning to loose himself as well. Family friendly? Behind the doors of his room that would have to disappear from now on. "Nh.. thats right.. to keep everyone.. in check!" His words matched the rhythm of his heavy thrusts.

"Hha.. Caine, caine..!" You cried out, legs tugging him closer, "N.. Need your cum.. make me pregnant p-please..!"

His hips stuttered a little, your words seemed to be getting to him whether he liked it or not. He shoved two fingers into your mouth to keep you quiet so he could focus. How distracting your dirty mouth could be was impressive. Your moans and cries were muffled, saliva dirtying his gloves.

Caine put his full weight behind his thrusts , your smaller form quite literally being fucked into the mattress. "Nnhg, almost there, y/n..! Be a dear and a cum with me." He said in a mocking voice, his hand removing itself from your mouth and instead pushing your lower stomach. Adding more pressure to your already stuffed cunt.

"Gh..hhaa.. Caine, cu.. cumming.. cumming..!" You yelped and clung to him, legs keeping him locked in so he couldn't pull away from you. He'd be force to fill your cunt to the brim. "Inside.. fill me up..!" Your tongue lulled past your lips , cunt clamping down on his dick as you hand a nearly blinding orgasm.

Caine couldn't help it, your cunt was practically milking him and he spilled into your cunt without a second thought. Though he didn't seem at all out of breath.

"Well that sure was.. something.." Caine noted, his dick still twitching inside of you as the last few spurts of cum filled your stuffed cunt.

You panted, looking up at him with half lidded eyes, a lewd smile painting your lips. "Caine.. m'not done.. need more.."

Did he really think one round would be enough?

#the amazing digital circus #ask #minors dni #caine x reader #tadc caine #the amazing digital circus caine #caine x reader smut

[kefiteria]

FOR YOUR EYES ONLY.

A comfort letter from Scaramouche, just for you.

So, I've noticed you've been retreating into your mind more than usual lately. It's like you're doing a disappearing act even Houdini would envy. But hey, I get it. People are complicated creatures, and occasionally it feels safer to hide behind our thoughts than to face the chaos out there.

About this facade you've got going on. You know, the one where you're holding on to your inner child like it's a winning lottery ticket? It's almost comical how tightly you cling to it, as if someone's lurking around the corner waiting to snatch it away. Newsflash: nobody's taking it from you, dear.

Now, about those tears. I know, I know, crying is for the weak, right? Wrong. Even the toughest nuts crack sometimes. Take it from me, I've shed more tears than I care to admit, and yet here I am, still standing, still better as ever. You don't have to plaster on that smile 24/7, you know. Let those tears flow like a leaky faucet if you need to.

And speaking of tough times, let's talk about failure. It's not the end of the world, despite what your overactive brain might be telling you. Trust me, I've had my fair share of failures, and look at me now—still standing, scheming and myself.

So, when are you going to cut yourself some slack? Stop beating yourself up over things that are as out of your control as the weather. Tomorrow's just another day in the grand circus of life, and guess what? I'm your ringmaster, baby. You're not in this alone.

And those feelings you've been bottling up? Yeah, it's time to pop the cork and let 'em out. Trust me, it's like a pressure valve for the soul. Cry if you need to, scream into the void if you must. Just don't keep it all locked up inside. That's a recipe for disaster, believe me.

So, here's the deal: you're not alone in this. I've got your back, whether you're crying like a baby or plotting world domination (ugh just do it in moderation though). Just remember, it's okay to let your guard down once in a while. After all, even the sharpest swords need a little sharpening now and then.

Alright, let's wrap this up before I start growing a conscience or something equally absurd. Seriously, who knew pouring my heart out on paper could be so exhausting? I feel like I've been on a marathon run through a field of emotional landmines, and I'm not even wearing my running shoes.

But hey, if this little rant of mine manages to knock some sense into that stubborn head of yours, then I guess it's worth the carpal tunnel I'm bound to get from all this writing. Just promise me one thing: don't go making a habit out of this whole “feeling your feelings” nonsense. It's bad for my image.

So, there you have it. Consider this your one and only free pass to the sappy side of Scaramouche. Don't get used to it. Now go on, get out there and conquer the world, or cry yourself a river, whichever floats your boat. Just remember: you're not alone in this crazy circus we call life. I've got your back, whether you like it or not.

“It's okay, your world, and feelings are precious, so precious just like you are now.”

Fondly yours (don't make it a habit),

Scaramouche.

Other Version 🍨: Zhongli , Kazuha

#kefimenu #genshin fanfic #genshin imagines #scaramouche x y/n #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche #scara x reader #genshin scara #fluff #genshin impact #genshin oneshots #genshin x reader #comfort #Spotify

[starlost-andfound]

claire de lune | bang chan

bang chan x friend gn!reader

summary: on a particularly rough night, y/n and chan find comfort in each other's company under the moonlight

word count: 1.1k

warning: discussions of grief, losing loved ones, mentions of death, angst and a bit of bittersweet but comforting (?) fluff

authors note: i don't actually think anyone will read this but i'm missing some ppl a little more than usual tonight. i thought i'd write this as a comfort for myself and for others who feel the same too

additional note: also, after years of using tumblr, i just figured out how to do this three pictures in a row thing and i am absolutely ecstatic about it

_ _ _

The knock on his studio door snapped Chan out of his trance.

He blinked his eyes a few times, his vision slowly coming back to focus, staring at the black computer screen in front of him. How long had he been zoned out? His head drifting to other places, clinging to lingering thoughts? 

He glanced at the clock. 1:45 AM. Had it really been that long?

The knock sounded and Chan cleared his throat, “Come in.”

The door opened slightly and y/n peaked through the small gap. 

“Oh, hey you,” Chan smiled tiredly. “It’s been a while.”

Y/n smiled. “Mind if I step in?”

“You know you’re always welcome,” Chan gestured to the couch behind him. The bags under y/n’s eyes didn’t go unnoticed by him. He couldn’t deny that he held his own too. Chan had been in the studio for so long he could barely remember what time he had entered and how much time had passed.

Y/n closed the door behind them, leaning against it. 

“Why are you up so late?” Chan asked.

“I could ask you the same.”

Chan chuckled. He glanced at the time again and sighed. He looked back at y/n, “Wanna go out on a walk?”

“Yeah, I could use some fresh air.”

_ _ _

Chan and y/n didn’t really have a destination in mind. They walked quietly side by side, matching each other’s pace. Occasionally, a soft sigh would break the silence or one of the two would point out the nice weather or a stray cat on the opposite side of the street. Both carried some kind of weight, a wearing shadow looming behind them.

Eventually the two found a park and made their way to a bench. Y/n let out a sigh as they sat. Chan followed, sitting a slight distance away from them. Neither made the first move to speak, both of their hearts aching to let go of the heavy anchor in their chest, but neither were courageous enough to say the words they needed to.

Chan looked up and sighed.

“Oh,” he whispered. “It’s a half moon tonight.”

Y/n followed his gaze up to the sky. They hummed in agreement. “Yeah, it’s beautiful.”

“You never did tell me why you were up,” Chan added.

A small pause. “Too much on my mind,” y/n mumbled.

“What were you thinking about?”

“It’s not so much of what I was thinking about,” y/n replied. “- but more of who i was thinking about,” they whispered. 

Y/n inhaled deeply and cleared their throat. “Why were you up?”

Chan chuckled, but his laughter held some heaviness. “I guess the same as you.”

After a longer silence, Chan spoke again. “Were they a friend, family... or a lover?”

“Family,” y/n spoke quietly, afraid if they spoke any louder their feelings would burst. “You?”

“Friend,” Chan sighed..

He laughed lightly. “It doesn’t get easier, does it?”

“Nope,” y/n chuckled, fiddling with the hem of their t-shirt. “I feel like every time it hits me I drown again.”

“They say it comes in waves.”

“Yeah,” y/n bit their lip as their eyes started to water, a lump building in their throat.

“Sometimes it’s unforgiving like a high tide and it completely floods and it drowns you,” Chan continued with a deep breath. “But sometimes it’s gentle and kind like the low tide on a shore on a quiet morning.”

A tear slipped passed y/n’s eye and they quickly brushed it away.

“I hate it, I really do.” their lip trembled. They inhaled shakily. “I just wish it would go away.”

“I know,” Chan said. “Me too.”

He couldn’t tell when the first tear had fallen, quickly wiping away the tears smudged on his cheeks. 

“I just don’t know how to deal with all of this pain that I have left, all of this love I have left for them. I don’t know where to put it. I don’t know how anyone lives with it. How the world just keeps spinning but I’m still stuck here.”

“I guess we just have to learn to live with it,” Chan whispered. “Slowly, step by step. We put the love we have left for them into the way we live.”

He paused, and breathed shakily. “Maybe by smiling a little more for them, or doing that crazy thing we’re scared of, just living more for them - because they would’ve wanted that for us.” His voice wavered, “They would’ve wanted us to be happy.”

Y/n sniffled. “You have a really good way with words.”

“Funny.” Chan laughed through his tears. “People say that a lot.”

“Sometimes, I feel really lost without them. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what I’m doing with myself, with my life.” y/n spoke. “They used to be a call away and now, I don’t know what to do when I need them the most.”

“It’s hard, learning to live and grow.” Chan said. “As you get older, you grow apart or you have to learn how to keep growing on your own.” 

He sniffled. “But they’re always looking out for us, even when they’re gone. You just need to look for the signs.”

“Do you think they can see us from up there?”, y/n asked, looking back up at the sky.

“I think they do. They always watch over us, in the stars.” Chan pointed up in the far distance, to a small cluster of stars surrounding the moon. 

The two sat in silence again, both looking up at the stars, the moonlight washing over them with a soft glow, wrapping them in a gentle embrace.

“For what it’s worth, I think they would be really proud of who you are today.” Chan looked at y/n.

Y/n’s eyes welled with tears again. “You really think so?”

“I’m sure of it.”

“Thank you,” y/n said quietly. They glanced at Chan. “For what it’s worth, I know that they’re really proud of you too Chan.”

Chan remained silent for a moment, composing himself before he replied. “Thank you, y/n.”

They sat together quietly for a few more minutes, each allowing the other to feel their own heaviness in their chest, in their own time. 

After some time passed, the only sound heard was the distant chirp of crickets and their quiet breathing.

“Do you want to head back?”, y/n asked.

Chan looked back up at the moon and exhaled shakily. “I think I’d like to stay here for a bit longer, look at the stars a little more.”

“I think I’ll stay a little bit longer too.”

Up above them, in the light of the moon in the dark sky, a pair of stars shined a little brighter.

#bang chan angst #bang chan fluff #stray kids fic #stray kids fluff #skz fluff #bang chan x reader #bang chan #bangchan fluff #bangchan angst

[marchiekana]

I think your requests are open ? I rarely ever ask anything so I have no idea on how it works. My request though is about an s/o with an above average body heat, a literal heater with Tingyun Kafka and if possible Serval. Have a nice day pal.

Ahhhh that would be soo cute!! But here you go, I hope you like it!

Your warmth.

Kafka x reader

Tingyun x reader

Serval x reader

Stelle x reader

Added Stelle cuz she my skrunkly- wunkly-dumpster diving, trash eating, little gremlin racoon♡

✨ fluff, slightly suggestive, established relationships, kisses mwah mwah

Requests are open

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Kafka

Kafka is in LOVE. Why wouldn't she be? You're basically her very own little personal heater❤️.

After a mission or a rough day she'd be right by your side, hugging you like her life depends on it. And who are you to refuse?(you better not.)

Kafka is definitely a clingy women. So every chance she gets she's either holding your hands or clinging on to you. She lets herself relax as she basks in your warmth. A light and happy feeling coursing through her as she does so.

And this women is SHAMELESS. She'll be touching you all the time. Be it your hands or your thighs or anywhere in that matter. She just needs to have her hands on you. Your so warm and nice and warm and fuzzy and warm. She just loves you too much😔

So much for a so called criminal huh🙁

Tingyun

The weather on the Xianzhou was always perfect. But that didn't stop her. Oh not at all.

She'd probably like lying her head on your tummy or your chest as she goes on spilling all the tea about her colleagues or her friends.(I'm in delulu era)

She usually loves sleeping on your chest cus she can hear your heartbeat and that's so sweet.

Tingyun too, is a clingy women me thinks. She hugs you whenever she wants, wherever she wants. (You better hug her back)She doesn't care about the looks the people give you both. You just feel so warm that she can't resist.

Oh and how she'd miss your warmth when she's out on business trips, she'd definitely call you daily to tell you how much she misses you and also to complain about her customers.

Serval

Winters in Belobog were cold even though there were several heaters placed everywhere. But Serval's got nothing to worry cause you're there! Good for her.

She'd wake up to your adorable face with a smile every morning. And as you stir awake she'd hug you and wish you good morning with the biggest smile on her face.

She holds your hand at every opportunity she gets and making her let go is a whole task for real. Even when she's kissing you for what seems like hours, she never stops cupping your cheeks. She enjoys how flustered you become and how your face is warmer than usual now. Thanks to her little smooches.

And on cold nights she's basically using you as a blanket. (Mode change, human blanket form!!.) You don't mind tho.( You better not)

(i can't decide if she's a girlboss or a girl failure.)

Stelle

I like to believe that Stelle has either a really cold body or a hot one(heh, get it? Cus-)due to the stelleron inside her. So let's just think she has a colder body rn

You are now Stelle's energy source. No questions asked and no negotiations. (Why would you even?)

After every mission, she's dragging you back to your room or hers to cuddle with you the whole day, your warmth giving her comfort and in her words, healing her.

On cold nights on the express, when she's feeling down she's relieved that you're always there by her side. Your warmth comforting her, literally.

You'd have to scold her and push her away sometimes when she tries to hug you after doing her daily routine of trashcan hunting tho. (i wouldn't really care if it's her tho. I'm down BAD) please don't hurt her feelings ,😔 she just bit silly.

Also. This girls gonna be latching on to you like a parasite all the time. There is not a moment she leaves you alone. But you're fine with that.(you better be.)

She'd also have her hands all over you all the time. There is never a time when she's not fumbling with your hair or your hands, sometimes trying to put her hands on yout chest(she would give a lame excuse like "oh i just wanted feel your heartbeat " Like.... girl?)she completely ignored your protests and acts innocent. She just likes how warm you are. It's like you we're meant for her ♡

(like mother like daughter)

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I'm in my delulu era again.

Women.

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© marchiekana do not repost, copy, translate or plagiarize my work.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

#honkai star rail #honkai imagines #kafka x you #kafka x reader #kafka hsr #kafka honkai star rail #hsr kafka #tingyun #tingyun x reader #honkai tingyun #serval #serval honkai star rail #serval hsr #serval x you #serval x reader #bronya #bronya honkai star rail #bronya hsr #bronya x reader

[bts-hyperfixation]

Outside of the Fox

Chapter 29 of 35

3079 words

Y/N longs for a new life when the one she’d been living comes to an abrupt stop. Without much thought to those she is leaving behind, the little fox packs a backpack and disappears. She stumbles across the shelter and makes an interim home for herself while she works out exactly what she wants from her second chance.

Last

The next few days are wonderful. You all spend the time relaxing and playing and growing closer. Even Namjoon has managed to let go of his monetary hangups to spend some proper time with the family, and the sunny weather has helped to clear some of his hibernation grumpiness. 

With each passing day, you find yourself extremely tempted by each of the men around you. But you can't bring yourself to get past heavy petting, although the making out was certainly a lot of fun. 

The original room assignments have ceased to matter as everyone intermingles. Jungkook had even gotten up the courage to crawl into bed with Namjoon and Seokjin. 

Taehyung had snuck away to Jimin's room after you had stopped his hands from wandering too low. Still, somehow you didn't wake up alone, finding Hoseok and Yoongi had clambered into bed with you at some point in the night. Hobi's leg was swung over your stomach and Yoongi's arms were wrapped around your shoulders, his lips buried into your hair. 

You don't get a chance to question when they had joined you before Jungkook bursts through the door and launches onto the bed. 

"Good morning!" He chirps.

He lays on top of you, only just supporting his own weight to stop from crushing you. He scents the three of you, shaking the bed as he goes and all of a sudden the humongous bed feels very cramped. 

"Jungkook, it is far too early for you to be this energetic," Yoongi grumbles. 

"But we only have two days of vacation left," He pouts. "You guys should be more willing to get out of bed and spend time with us."

"I think I preferred when you were hostile and shy," Hoseok complains. 

The human reaches for the pillow behind his head and hits Jungkook across the face with it. Jungkook squeaks in protest and buries his face into your chest 'for protection'. You groan, as his full weight lands down on top of you, and push at him until he falls dramatically on top of Hobi instead. 

Hoseok moans as Jungkook's elbow lands on his stomach. He quickly shuffles over to the edge of the bed allowing the bunny to slot in between you. Yoongi reaches over you to affectionately ruffle Jungkook's hair. The three of you manage to convince Jungkook to fall back to sleep for another hour but eventually, Jimin and Taehyung find their way into the room with you.

They cram themselves onto the bed forcing the four of you to sit up so they could fit on properly. 

"Any plans for today team?" Taehyung asks.

"Sleep." Yoongi deadpans. 

"Not an option." The panda singsongs.

Taehyung flops across Yoongi's lap, batting his eyelashes up at the man. The jackal just shakes his head and tries to push the younger man away, to no avail. Taehyung clings to him, grabbing onto his waist. He pulls himself to eye level with Yoongi, not giving the older man a chance before he leans in and kisses him hard. 

"Come on Yoongi, won't you come and play with me?" He asks in his deepest voice. 

The proximity flusters Yoongi, leaving him floundering for an answer. The rest of you just watch on in awe of Taehyung, he is the only one who can successfully leave Yoongi speechless like this. 

"Wonderful, I'm not hearing a no." 

With impressive speed, he takes ahold of Yoongi's hand and drags him out of the bed not to be seen again for a few hours. 

Jimin takes the opportunity to muscle into the space Yoongi left behind.

" Y/N, do you want to go to the beach with me today?"  He asks.

"Sure, are we all going?"

"No, I was hoping just the two of us if that's okay?" 

You are met by grumbles from your other two bedmates but you shush them.

"That sounds great Jimin."

"Fantastic, I have packed us a picnic and it's all ready to go." 

He bounces out of the bed and straight through the door.

"Be ready in twenty." He shouts over his shoulder.

You climb out of bed and reach for another swimsuit. You are about to remove your PJs when you remember you are still not alone.

"Shouldn't the two of you be going about your days?" You chastise.

The two look at one another and then back at you.

"Nope, I'm quite comfortable here... How about you Kookie?" 

"I am perfectly fine myself Hobi." 

You roll your eyes and take your swimsuit and coverup with you into the ensuite, followed by their groans of disappointment as you go. 

________________

It's only a ten-minute walk to the beach. Jimin holds the picnic basket in one hand and your hand in the other. He takes you to a secluded part of the beach, hidden from prying eyes by rockpools and caves. He sets out a blanket for the two of you and helps you to sit down without kicking up too much sand. 

He presents you with a wine glass and pours a large serving for each of you. 

"Let's have a toast," he suggests, raising his glass.

"What to?" 

"To you, to us, to the last six months. I don't know, I just want to celebrate knowing you." He shrugs.

"In which case... To us." 

You raise your glass to meet his and then take one long swig. You bring your glass down only to find that Jimin has drained his glass completely.

"Are you nervous or something?" You ask, half joking.

"Maybe a little," He admits. 

"What about, surely I don't make you nervous..."

"No, but what I want to tell you makes me nervous." 

He doesn't elaborate. Instead, he busies himself with emptying the food out of the picnic basket. He pulls out quite the array of pastries and sweets, far too much for the two of you, but you don't say anything as he arranges it onto the blanket before you. 

He takes a chocolate-covered strawberry and holds it up for you to bite. You take it as gracefully as you can, but some juice slips down your chin. He reaches out his thumb and swipes away the drip. Without really thinking about it you take the digit between your lips and suck it clean. 

"That is not helping," He whines. 

"Sorry," You say releasing him. 

"Fuck it," He pushes the food out of the way and closes the gap between you. 

You lie back as he pushes forward, spreading you out onto the blanket as he kisses you.

"You are far too tempting," He complains "This was not how today was supposed to go."

And yet he doesn't stop kissing you, hungry for more. He undoes the knot at the top of your cover-up and pulls it down to expose your bikini top. 

"How was today supposed to go?" You ask, pushing him away from your chest. 

"Well, I was going to get you in a great mood with food and wine, and then I thought I would give you a massage and help you to relax a little, and then I was going to tell you I love you..." He confesses. 

"You were going to tell me you love me?" 

"Yeah, but this doesn't feel like the romantic plan I had in mind now, I ruined it." He huffs.

"You haven't ruined it..." You assure him, "Feed me another strawberry and let's see where we get to."

He does as he is told and picks up another strawberry, holding it up for you. Again you eat the fruit and he watches your lips like they are the most mesmerizing thing on the planet. 

"I love you." He blurts out.

Then he buries his head in his hands. 

"Jimin, look at me," You say reaching out to cup his cheek.

He meets your gaze, a longing look that speaks volumes without uttering a word.

"I love you too," You respond.

"You do?" 

"Yeah, I do, I was actually talking to Namjoon about it at the beginning of the trip. I think I'm falling in love with all of you. I couldn't imagine not having met you that day at the shelter. This definitely isn't what I thought my life would become when I left my old world behind, but I genuinely don't think I could be happier than I am right now." 

Jimin listens carefully as you ramble, nodding along like you are saying something truly fascinating. He slowly shuffles closer to you across the blanket until the two of you are sat side by side. He takes your hand in his and plays with your fingers idly. 

"I always thought I wanted to be on my own, I never really got to experience life the way I thought I was supposed to and I really was deadset on trying to provide for myself and going out on my own. But now I don't think any of that was what I really wanted. I think I just wanted to find people I actually have something in common with." 

"I'm so glad you stumbled into the shelter," He says leaning his head on your shoulder. 

You sit and eat for a little while, watching as the waves crash into the shore. Until Jimin finally breaks the silence. 

"This might ruin the romantic mood, but I was wondering why you always stop us when we want to go any further than kissing. And please don't think I'm complaining, I just want to know if we can do anything to make you feel more comfortable."

"Oh no! It's nothing to do with you guys, I promise. It's just... well... I don't have a lot of experience in that field and you guys have obviously had... practice, I don't want you to be disappointed" You shuffle awkwardly at the admission. "I just get too nervous I guess." 

"Is that all?" Jimin chuckles. "Sorry, I don't mean to laugh, but I can guarantee not a single one of us will be disappointed, for so many reasons."

"I don't think you know how inexperienced I am." You sigh.

"I mean it's not like all of us are that experienced either. Jungkook and Yoongi have never slept with women. I've only ever been with one woman before I found Namjoon. And I'm not really sure about the others but their experience could only help you feel better." 

"I guess you're right, I'm probably in my head for nothing." You agree.

"Will you let me show you that you're worried for nothing?" He asks, his voice lowering an octave as he nuzzles into your scent gland. 

"Okay... but maybe we shouldn't do this on the beach..."

He cleans up the dishes and empties the rest of the wine onto the ground. He grabs a hold of your hand and practically runs off of the beach, you giggle as you follow behind him.

You feel like naughty kids as you sneak into the house, trying not to draw attention to yourselves. Everyone seems to be engrossed in some form of activity by the pool allowing the two of you to glide past easily. Jimin stores the picnic basket so that he can come back to it later without them noticing that you have returned early. 

He pulls you into his and Jungkook's bedroom and locks the door behind you, only to push you up against the closed door. 

He once again unties the knot on your cover-up, this time allowing the garment to tumble to the floor and pool around your feet. His hands land on your hips, Using the leverage to push his crotch against you, grinding through the limited fabric of your bathing suits. His grip tightens as he rubs against you, moaning against your lips. 

He stops himself shortly after, pulling you with him to the bed. He lies back and drags you on top of him as he goes. 

"You're so beautiful." He says with stars in his eyes as he gazes up at you.

You blush and hide your face in the nape of his neck, taking a deep breath of his rosemary scent. 

"I'm going to make you feel so good." He says.

He grabs ahold of your bum and rolls you both over. He bites at your neck and makes his way down, barely stopping at your breasts, racing towards his primary goal, and this time you don't stop him. 

His fingers curl around the waistband of your swimwear, pulling it straight down and away from your heat. You press your legs together out of instinct, not used to being on display. Your husband was more of a lights-off kind of lover. 

Jimin isn't willing to put up with your bout of shyness, he playfully slaps your thigh and pries them apart so he can shuffle in between. You can see his eyes poking above your mound, it makes you want to shut your eyes and hide away.

"Put your hands in my hair and tell me where you want me to go." He directs your hands for you and you thread your fingers into his red locks.

His tongue darts out and flicks at your clit making you jump, your hands tighten in his hair and you pull him closer on instinct. He takes that as an invitation, chuckling as he noses deeper between your folds lapping greedily. You can't hold in the moan as his tongue stiffens against your clit drawing circles into the sensitive nerves. 

One of his hands shoots up to cover your mouth as his other arm hooks around your thigh to give him better access.

"If you aren't quiet they are going to work out we are home. Jungkook's hearing is far too good with those bunny ears of his." He points out.

You glance down to nod at him but are met with the image of Jimin with his hair a mess and you dripping from his chin, it's positively sinful. He doesn't give you another moment to breathe before diving back in. He brings his hand back from your mouth, trusting you to keep yourself quiet as he continues. He uses his newly free hand to tease you further, his pointer finger circles your hole, thoroughly wetting it before slipping it inside. 

It doesn't take long for him to add a second finger, curling them in a come hither motion in time to the movements of his tongue. You can feel the heat building quickly in your stomach, you use your leverage on his hair to tilt him into a better position, and he obeys beautifully, going exactly where you direct him. 

His tongue begins to move quicker the closer you get, you tug harshly on his hair as you bite at your lip desperately trying to keep the noises in as you topple over the edge into your orgasm. 

You are both panting as he pulls away. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and then spreads it onto the bed, promising to wash it when he gets the chance. Then his face is in front of yours and he is kissing you, his lips still taste like the remnants of you. He barely pulls away as he reaches down to free himself from the confines of his own swimsuit. You take the opportunity to pull at the ties from your top, letting your chest free and tossing the flimsy fabric across the room. 

"Are you sure you're ready for this? We can stop right now if you want," He checks

"I want this, I want you," You confirm.

He kisses you once more before leaning over to the bedside table and pulling out a condom. He rolls the rubber on with practised ease and rubs his cock against your folds to coat himself in you before lining himself up to you. 

He takes his time sinking into you, a look akin to pain on his face. He bites his lip as he struggles to keep himself from bottoming out too quickly. You want to look away from him, but he looks so pretty with his eyes scrunched up in concentration. Your hips buck upwards to meet him involuntarily. He curses under his breath as you take the last inch. 

His mouth lowers to your collarbones as he gets comfortable, and his hips wriggle impatiently as he tries to focus on kissing along your decolletage. You claw at his back trying to encourage him to move, but his resolve is much stronger than yours. He only begins to thrust shallowly when he is sure you are ready. 

His speed grows gradually and your own hips rise in time with him, intuitively wanting to be closer to him. 

"I thought you said you were inexperienced," He groaned.

His hips start to move even faster, the rhythm becoming sloppy as it's clear he's close to his end. One of his hands makes its way between the two of you circling your clit with his thumb. His hips change angles slightly without the support of both arms. He hits deeper each time. The now familiar heat builds once more in your stomach and you can feel the moan building in your throat ready to escape. 

Like he can sense it, his mouth covers yours swallowing the moan as you cum, and he follows seconds after you.  With no strength left in his arms, he flops down onto the bed next to you. Then he cuddles into your side and rests his head on your shoulder. 

"I reckon we might have about five minutes until one of them smells the fact that we are up here," He says.

"Do you think they will actually come and look?"

"I think Taehyung will take the stairs two at a time. And there is a chance Namjoon is going to sulk even more than before." He muses. 

"Then maybe we should get dressed and go join them outside. And probably open up some windows to air out the scent..." You suggest.

"But don't you think we smell so pretty together?" He pouts. "Lavender and Rosemary is so relaxing." He takes a deep breath against your scent gland.

You pull away to look at him, seeing the obvious scent-drunkness in his dilated pupils.

"I think we need to get you outside Chim." You chuckle

He preens at the nickname and nods enthusiastically, willing to do anything you ask of him in this state. 

Next

Masterlist

Send me asks - doesn’t have to be fic related. Can be smutty, thirsty, fluffy, angsty, whatever you’re feeling regarding BTS. Can be literally anything doesn’t have to be BTS

#bts fic #bts smut #kpop smut #kpop fic #namjoon smut #jungkook smut #jimin smut #hoseok smut #yoongi smut #seokjin smut #taehyung smut #bts imagines #bts polyamory #bts poly au #bts poly x reader #bts hybrid au #bts hybrid fic #bts hybrid x reader #bts hybrid fanfic #bts hybrid smut

[shy-urban-hobbit]

Have some Aiden & Kid!Jaskier interaction!!

"It's you!"

Aiden turned his attention towards where Jaskier was sat by the fire alongside the wolves, the bard's face a strange mixture of disbelief and elation, as was his scent. Aiden crinkled his nose slightly as he fought back the urge to sneeze or cough at the unfamiliar combination being directed at him.

"Yeah, it's me. Happy to see you too?" Aiden ventured, despite the fact that it couldn't have been more than an hour since they'd last seen each other. Aiden had gone back out into the courtyard after dinner to run some drills, despite the harsh weather, and get rid of the excess energy he could already feel building up. Vesemir was gracious enough to refer to it as 'extra training' and not act like it was a necessity if they all wanted Aiden to avoid getting so restless he literally started climbing the walls.

"No! I mean...I didn't realise before now until I saw you silhouetted like that with your swords and everything, but it's you!"

Aiden suddenly found himself with a limpet of a bard hanging off him, determined to cling despite the rainwater which now soaked both of them.

"Jaskier, I-"

"Oh right. You probably don't remember, what am I saying, of course you don't - Jaskier you fucking idiot. It's been thirty years, no doubt you've lost count of how many humans you've dealt with in the meantime. But-"

"Jaskier." Lambert huffed out from where he was dozing on the fur which acted as a hearth rug, not even bothering to open his eyes, "Let Aiden go dry off and then maybe some context to go with your twittering, Birdie."

By the time Aiden returned, Jaskier's excitement was enough that even the Wolves were giving him their full attention as he re-entered the main hall. Eskel and Geralt's books lay abandoned on a side table while a now awake Lambert was sat leaning against the wall by the hearth. He pulled Aiden down to sit next to him, the fire hot stone through his thick, wool shirt creating a pleasant warmth against his back.

"Alright then." Jaskier started from where he was sat cross legged in one of the old armchairs, leaning forwards as he once again addressed Aiden directly, "Before I start, do you remember anything about a night in Lettenhove thirty years ago. At the Viscount's estate."

Aiden shook his head, although something about this was starting to niggle the back of his mind.

"Name of Panktratz. Little boy, around six years old?" Jaskier continued, eyes growing sadder as it became clear this memory was potentially very one-sided, "Somehow convinced you to-"

He wasn't sure if it was the name or the wide-eyed look the man was throwing him, but Aiden felt something suddenly tumble into place. "Wait, I do remember that night!"

Aiden fought back a growl as he took in the various toys littering the floor, the miniature four poster bed...whose occupant was an even smaller lump under the covers.

That son of a bitch! That slimy twat had hired him to 'take care' of his nephew so he'd be next in line for the title instead, implying the whole time that his relative wasn't exactly deserving of the title. Aiden had accepted the job - what difference did the inner squabblings of Nobility make to him afterall.

In hindsight he probably should have asked more questions but he didn't have a copper coin to his name and this guy had paid upfront; enough for him to be able to eat regularly and maintain his gear for the foreseeable. He started planning after his employer graciously provided him with a blueprint of the estate and pointed out the targets rooms. He'd failed to mention however, that said target looked to be scarcely old enough to wield that wooden sword properly, nevermind any degree of power.

Fuck it. He should stay as far away from this potential mess as possible. It was bad enough when their employers pointed the finger of blame at them when they assassinated an adult, but a child? That was a complication none of them needed. Mind made up, he turned to climb back out of the window (which had been concerningly easy to coax open from the other side), making sure hood and mask were still firmly in place.

"Hello."

Aiden froze. Speaking of complications....

Rookie mistake! He'd been so caught up in everything else he'd forgotten to keep one ear focused on the other heartbeat in the room. He ran through possible scenarios: he could do what he'd been paid to do, but now the kid was awake there was every chance he'd scream and alert the house before Aiden could even lift a finger. Same potential problem if he tried to leave. He could always cast somne...

"You're a Witcher aren't you? I can see the shape of your swords!" Aiden's nose twitched at the boys scent. Strange. Even through the cloth covering the lower half of his face he could tell the boy didn't smell afraid. He smelled excited, happy even?

"I know all about Witchers. You keep us safe from monsters. Is that why you're here, is there a monster in my room?" The small voice turned slightly fretful as a faint whiff of fear started to sour the air - yet more strangeness in the fact that it was due to imagined monsters rather than him.

Aiden dared to turn and look, something about this child's initial boldness piquing his curiousity (who the hell starts questioning a stranger in their room instead of screaming the place down?). A small boy stared back at him with large eyes as he clutched the soft looking sheets to him like a shield as he curled up in the centre of the bed. "My Uncle Desmond says that monsters like to come out at night and eat little boys. I don't like him. He's mean."

Aiden gave a bittersweet smile at the pout he could see on the little face.

'Oh. You have no idea just how mean, kid.' He thought to himself.

"No, no monsters here. Go back to sleep."

The boys pout turned into a frown, "You didn't even look."

"Because I don't need to."

"Please, Mister Witcher." His bottom lip wobbled in a practiced tremble as his eyes grew even bigger.

Aiden bit back another smile. Kid was good, he'd give him that. Such audacity deserved some sort of reward.

"Alright. One very quick monster check, then you go to sleep. Deal?"

The boy nodded enthusiastically, "My name's Julian, by the way."

"I don't care."

"...are you going to tell me yours?"

"No."

"Can I see your swords?"

"No."

"How about your-"

"How about no talking until we make absolutely sure there's nothing waiting in your wardrobe?"

Turns out the only monstrous thing in Julian's wardrobe was a few hideous combinations of frills and lace. Behind the curtains yielded nothing, as did underneath the bed.

"Ok. Now you hold up your end of the deal and go to sleep."

Julian scowled at him in response from where he was now stood up on the feather mattress to watch rather than huddled under the sheets, arms crossed expectantly.

"What?"

"You're supposed to say sweet dreams."

Aiden blinked at him before replying "Sweet dreams." Monotonously.

"Tuck me in?"

Aiden cast the sign for somne, Julian's body flopping down before he'd even finished. Cheeky little fuck would've been wanting a lullaby next. Still, it wouldn't do for him to get cold, there was no fireplace in this room after all. He grabbed the quilt from the bottom of the bed, not bothering to straighten it as it fell haphazardly over the small body before doing what he should have done thirty minutes ago and taking his leave back through the window.

"I told my parents about you the next morning. They didn't believe me of course. Said it was probably just a dream and that if there had been a Witcher in my room I'd be dead. Although, I suppose that explains why my Uncle Desmond looked apoplectic when I came down to breakfast. I never knew he'd hired you to, you know." He flicked a hand across his neck in a throat cutting motion. "Why didn't you by the way? Not that I'm saying I wish you had or anything. I was a human child, you could've killed me multiple times as easily as scratching an itch but you didn't. Why?"

Aiden's features settled into a frown, "Oh trust me, if your Uncle had waited ten more years it probably would've been a very different outcome. As it is, once I had all the facts, I just decided against accepting a contract on a kid. The one who offered me the contract however..."

Jaskiers eyebrows shot up as he shuffled further forwards, "Are you saying you offed my uncle? He did just sort of... disappear."

"Not exactly. I merely broke back in and left evidence of what he'd planned somewhere I knew the current Viscount would find it. What he chose to do with that I had no involvement in. If he just so happened to be on the lookout for an assassin and I was coincidentally still in the area, well...no Witcher is ever going to turn down such well paying jobs so close together."

Jaskier laughed, causing the wolves to look at him in shock, "Oh don't look like that. I didn't learn the extent of it until I was older but besides trying to murder me he was an absolute cock. Definitely not somebody you'd want in charge of anything!"

"The ones that desperate for power usually aren't." Eskel mused, Lambert raised his cup in agreement.

"You know, I'm so happy that Geralt ended up being the Witcher I ran into in Posada. But when I started out from Oxenfurt, I was actually looking for you."

Aiden straightened up in slight surprise, "Why?"

"Because I wanted to do this." Jaskier got down on the floor and once again wrapped his arms around Aiden, the Witcher returning the hug this time.

"Thanks." Jaskier muttered, "For humouring a scared, probably irritating as hell, little boy."

Aiden tightened his hold slightly, "You're welcome, Julian."

#the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #witcher aiden #witcher jaskier #jaskier #jaskier/aiden friendship #jaskier/aiden

[eggroll-sama]

Heyyyoooo

Just a thought, how long do you think mc was asleep/unconscious in kuras' clinic?

They couldn't have been out in the fogfall for too long since they didn't die of blood loss (or maybe they just can't 👀)

I just found your acc and I can't wait to binge read your masterlist :)

-egg anon

Hi egg anon! AHHH, thanks for your ask, it’s my first ask I’ve ever gotten for Touchstarved ToT. I hope more people would slide into my DMs, I really don’t mind since I’m in a massive TS brainrot at the current moment. Now then, let's get right into it. Btw I don't have any credentials to show for the research, all from Google baby.

Warning: Mentions of blood, graphic violence

I’m going to say that MC was roughly out of commission for 10-12 hours.

When MC gets their first look at the city of Eridia, it's dusk, stars in the sky, the moon rising from the east, and the horizon a reddish glow. It can't be sunrise because scientifically colder temperatures make the sky less red and orangey during sunrises. There isn't any verbal indication what time it is, but we can predict it was 6-8PM when the caravan was attacked by the Soulless. Eridia seems to have a maritime climates: cloudy weather, frequent rainfall/precipitation, and mild temperatures, like IRL Ireland, Scandinavia, Belgium, and the 6-8 PM time frame is usually when the sunsets for those regions. Let’s choose 8 PM.

Now as for how long MC was in this position is interesting. When Kuras found us, we were barely clinging to life, face-down in "murky, shallow water." MC is really lucky that they survived because an infection in the wilderness greatly increases your mortality rates. We can at least thank the Soulless' sharp claws for slicing the arm clean off since if it was an angled, ragged cut would increase blood loss. I have heard of survival stories of people angling their arms towards the sky to decrease blood loss, but no, MC's body was half-submerged in water. If MC is really a half-Monster like some theories suggest, than there's a possibility they are more resilient, lasting one to two more hours, compared to the avg humans that can die in less than five minutes. That could be why Kuras is so fascinated with you too, not just for the cursed arms, but there was almost no way you could've survived with all the odds against you. I also don't think we stayed out there longer than one to two hours because an amputated arm is only good for four to six hours before you can reattach them. And considering Kuras' eldritch instincts, I can't see being out there for longer than two hours max.

So let's say Kuras finds MC around 9-10 PM at the wastes. He takes them to the clinic and reattaches the arm using his magic. We are then asleep overnight, approximately 10 hours, naked with only a cold linen sheet on a cot, before we wake up. Tbh I don't know which is worse: if Kuras left us there while we were asleep or just did paperwork while we were lying practically naked right next to him till we woke up the next morning. Good thing Kuras isn't a pervert (?)

(A/N: also not even a blanket??? Unless he was keeping the room toasty with his powers, thanks I guess, Mr Sunny D)

Why I think we were down for around 10 hours is for a few reasons.

Most obvious one: When we went inside the Wet Wick, MC mentions they were surprised at the amount of people when it wasn't even mid-day (12 PM). So maybe it's around 10 AM, maybe even earlier than that.

The impatient knock from the front door is an indicator that Kuras was taking longer than he usually did, but not too long for people to start yelling. Maybe his clinic has an official starting time, and so citizens wake up early to wait in line outside till it officially starts. But with MC taking up the only cot in the clinic and sleeping there for the entire night, he had to start a little later, hence people getting annoyed cuz they woke up super early to wait in line, but Kuras hasn't let people in yet.

MC got super hungry at the vendors, which makes sense since they haven't eaten for so long.

So yeah, this is all I've got for MC's timeline from when the Soulless attacked and when they woke up. I have read other theories saying it was Ais' who found us and brought us to Kuras' clinic which is an interesting take, but for the sake with what we are given for now Kuras was the one that saved you.

#touchstarved game #kuras #touchstarved kuras #kuras touchstarved #touchstarved theory

[wmarximoff]

save your tears for another day | w. maximoff

summary: you and Wanda had a troubled relationship to say the least, which from the beginning was doomed to end. but all it takes is one mission that leads to a little girl with her eyes and your nose for your life and hers to change completely.

warnings: angst, mentions of smoking, parental abandonment, trauma.

pairing: Wanda x fem!reader

word count: 17k

A/N: this is, like, huge. it took a long time to write. i don't think i've ever genuinely tried so hard for something kjfskdfhsdk

anyways, enjoy!

|masterlist|

༺ᱬ༻

It's late in the night, one-o'clock or so (maybe more, by no means less than that). It's eerily quiet in the alleys of Lower Manhattan, as if the whole region was in anticipation for this night, its shrewd eyes looking into your loft, into you.

It's that late dawn when you find yourself deep into the night to sit comfortable in a high swivel chair placed on the wide balcony of your loft, so many feet above the sidewalk, the people’s heads and the streetlights, to smoke a sturdy cigarette which in nothing you like to taste (the sensation that slides across the face of your tongue is bitter and rough, like chewing on a sandy stone).

It's a shamefully commonplace bad habit in your actions, adopted here and there, that usually accompanies you in puffs of swirling smoke throughout your lonely reveries taken at moments like this, grounded in darkness and an emptiness that tends to be purely melancholy, all enveloped in an air of taciturnity – you feel shimmers of icy wind passing through the bristly skin of your bare shins, devoid of any clothes, because you wear only a pair of shorts and an old hoodie of a dull, red and faded color that is not really yours over a thin plain tank top.

The hoodie doesn't smell like cigarettes, and it doesn't smell like you also. The scent that exudes from the fabric, after all, is hers, purely hers – like a memory that touches your skin, your bones.

This isn’t one of those nights that are too hot and not too cold, however, something that is reflected in your clothing choices; the comfortable and appreciative mood that blankets the entire dark city of New York is just inviting, you dare to think to yourself in your trains of thought that never stop. It's not very windy against your ankles or your weather-frozen cheekbones, but even so, your hair sways calmly, rustling behind your ears like a flag hoisted on a pole.

You just can't rest your head on the pillow to let yourself be carried away by the blandishments of sleep. So, after minutes or hours of staring at the boring monochrome ceiling above your bed with a restless agitation girdling the inside of your contrite chest, your time it is all spent on blunt remarks and mental notes made in your native language that at this point in life, might even sound like an alien to you – you get some of the word ordering wrong, while some elocution of others just sounds odd to your ears.

“Будь что будет.”

There is a slurred pause in your nasal speech, as if your tongue is catching between your teeth in the act of dancing against the roof of your mouth as you emulate the words that make up an ancient proverb, whose meaning you no longer quite remember correctly. And that prickly popular Sokovian dialect, colloquial in the most acute sense of the word and with a slightly less elaborate pronunciation and worthy of the lower classes, disappears little by little from your daily life like a healed and bleached scar, to which you cling like a grown child who carries with you a secure infantile memory, still so reluctant or even unable to let go of something that is no longer yours to hold on to.

You don't really have pleasant memories of your old Sokovian life in fact, so it even surprises you that something in you wants so much to keep a last shred of your cultural identity with you, that you don't want to let the world rob you of even that. Maybe, you think, maybe if you let the Sokovian go, you won't exist anymore. Something in you will change, and you will no longer be the person you know you are. And you also know that you're the stuck-up type of person, who doesn't handle change very well.

And then you talk again, again and again, like a broken record player. After all, you don't want to change.

Silence gives you permission to think calmly, like a bar company that eventually leaves you alone to drink your grievances from low-cut glasses. The view gives you a feeling of a fragile welcome; belonging to a collective kind of brings doses of contentment to your life. Although a lonely night is the inescapable epilogue to your existence according to the consequences of the actions that guided you in life, you like the vague idea of being a sociable animal, as the ancient philosophers would say.

From above, as if you were really omniscient or just an intangible deific figure, the big city is actually small and fragile, like a cornered sick person in dire need of protection – New York is just a black backdrop with tiny little lights encrusted along its entire length, like a long patchwork quilt rolled up in Christmas lights.

At this time of day, there are almost no good people to meet on the streets and you can hear a car horn and the screeching of tires running along the asphalt in the distance. Well, you think, what the hell.

Having retired the black outfit with indigo-detailed side stripes to the back of your wardrobe a while ago, inside a big dark bag, you just know that this is no longer a problem you have to solve. There's another range of masked and well-educated people hanging around, several of them younger and maybe a lot more willing, and you're no longer required to preserve the well-being of the life of the average New York citizen.

You then just snatch a thin cigarette with your right fingers from the half-crumpled wad of paper that was in the back pocket of your shorts and fit it through the gap between your lips, moving with the same expectant hand to the inside the single pocket of your hoodie, searching for the silver lighter in a dull action that already gives you a certain muscle memory when doing it.

Moving with your elbow, you bring the small metal accessory closer to your face, at the height of your chin, and sliding the cheek of your thumb across the stone you attempt to ignite a spark, but the attempt fails and you just grunt in discontent. The lighter clicks again, but one more time, there is no flicker to light your cigarette hanging from the middle of your mouth. The length of your fingers surrounded by a number of silver rings press tight against the metal of the tool.

“Dammit...”

There's a second frustrating attempt, and another one after that, and the third time is equally unsuccessful until you hear the doorbell chirp softly into the glass-and-concrete interior of the loft behind you, which is lit by low-yellow lighting that comes from a shy glowing globular lamp next to a spacious dark sofa. Your eyes leave the city to focus on the sound germ behind your back, turning with your chin over your right shoulder.

And you raise an eyebrow to the middle of your forehead, creasing the skin beam of your brow in disagreement because it's one-o'clock in the morning and someone's at your door, waiting for you – the cigarette blistered to your lips, so long ago forgotten; the lighter now lowered in your right hand in unconscious defeat.

The ethereal silence haunts the corners of the night, broken by the colorful phantasmagoric neon lights beamed from the tall imposing signs of Times Square. Your ears are as attentive as those of a guard dog, but at such a distance, no sound is picked up by your hearing ability, which is not one of your singular aptitudes, and, therefore, is restricted to the common and ordinary. And then, you aim your attentive gaze towards the front door. Something unsettling grips the walls of your stomach.

It doesn't take a considerable effort for the atoms that make up your body mass to become auspicious, changing and charging, and a spontaneous lapse that leaves a trail of blueish light in the physical space around you causes your molecules to reconstitute themselves in front of the light wooden door of the entrance of your house, in a usual teleportation that, thanks to your skills of a genetically altered human being, becomes customary in your daily reality.

In a heartbeat, without giving it much thought in a window of time as slim as the speed of the hands of a clock that exclusively ticks the seconds that pass, you disappear from the balcony in a kind of vortex, a crease in physical reality, only to reappear inside the loft, feeling the heated floor against your bare feet.

A distressing hesitation runs through the palm of your right hand as you lift it to thread your fingers around the cold metal of the knob, hovering it through the air before completing the act, open, as if waiting for the knob to come to your fingers. But your powers have honed in you a somewhat reckless nature that is already rooted within you, and the hardened life of a crime fighter has left you just a little bit tired for small, impassive combat.

After all, if you had to sum up the purposeful range of your abilities, you'd say your specialty lies in the act of running away. It only takes one thought for you to flee, for your body to dematerialize in one place only to consubstantiate in any remote location that your brain can imagine; from Siberia to Kazakhstan, from Patagonia to China, across the entire globe if necessary. Just an idea, a measly lucid thought, and the action will be done before you can even bat with your eyes.

So there's no real reason for the person behind the door to be a cause for concern on your part. Even if you still have to remind yourself of that fact again, again and again, hammering inside your skull before taking care of your unexpected visitor.

With your fingers now hooked around the doorknob, you turn the knuckle of your wrist to the side so that you are able to open the door which, once flung open, gives you the familiar sight of the apartment's dark hallway, greeting you with a blank look and darkened walls. And it's fuzzy for half a second until you reflexively bring your field of view down to your ribs, about the end of the hoodie laces that dangle across your chest.

And then a pair of emerald eyes stares back at you, so expectant and full of the glow of a life still so exciting to live, as if that piercing green wants to rip your soul out of your chest; it is a familiar shade of green that stands out in the eyes of a small child with profuse brown hair that falls in a fluid movement over her scrawny shoulders, the tip of her nose so similar to your own that it is even astonishing to see it elsewhere other than in your own bathroom mirror, early in the morning.

Greenish eyes, but then, your nose structure. You blink once. She wears tiny, unlaced red shoes that were a birthday present from her mother on her feet.

“Miss Y/l/n…”

A childish, hesitant voice greets you, which just doesn't sound all that comfortable in your presence – after all, to her you were never the warm and welcoming auntie Y/n, like the relationship she has with Natasha Romanoff or even Laura Barton, or any other title that she might link to your vague existence in her life. It was always just the cold, distant Ms. Y/l/n, lurking around corners like an ethereal shadow, avoiding her as if to ward off a contagious and deadly disease.

Timidly, her gaze strays to the side, behind thick, dark eyelashes, to the doorframe or the floor beneath your feet. Her small shoulders look hardened into the jacket she wears, as if her age-limited cognition isn't capable of crafting a conversation with you once the goal of finding you has been accomplished. And you recognize this little girl right away, like an animal of the same species that recognizes the other just by smell, just testing, trying to understand its fellow.

“Talia...?”

Her little freckled nose was certainly not an image that crossed your mind when you started to question who your mysterious night visitor behind that door might be. But you just know you need to call her mother right away.

ᗢ

The dull forest air, damp and suffocating, flooded your blunt lungs as if you were standing under the dark water of a deep, muddy river, your nose channel icy and blunt through the interior, causing you in the middle of your skull a mild annoying, clumsy migraine that was the harbinger of a coming illness – it came in warm through your mouth and came out cold through your nose, an exasperated sip of oxygen, with no purpose but to make you sick in the future.

Ahead of you ran a blur of green rows of brownish dark pine, a sickly greenish tinge like a wall of moss, transformed into huge demonic titans by the obscurity of dawn, passing so tediously fast through your eyes when your forearms were outlined around the athletic torso of Natasha Romanoff, the notorious figure who went by the name of Black Widow, in a sublimely shrewd vibe as you sailed through the mud; both of you stilted atop her bland motorcycle into the forest of Gloucastershire, remote in English lands.

Ahead of you, on the road of dust, dirt and dark stone that seemed to swallow up even the smallest remnant of a source of light and heat, glowed in cherry-red neon from the taillights of the other motorcycle that carried Steve Rogers, Captain America, resembling the shimmering eyes of a creature that would guide you through the pitch of the night in pursuit of your goal—the prominent shield on his back reflecting hues of red, white, and blue toward you, twinkling with the star honorably encrusted in the right middle of the polychromatic circle molded in pure vibranium.

And growing on the horizon, at the top of a green hill with airs of mystery, a castle of an immemorial Victorian structure that, being owned by members of the HYDRA institution, was the base that contained in itself, well protected inside its stone walls and high monumental towers like a paranoid medieval king, a recent scientific invention that was allegedly capable of ruining your entire team and subordinating any form of government, coercing the geopolitical map in favor of those who held a monopoly on it. And just the thought of an instrument of that scale (Project Nocturne, as Black Widow told you) made a knot in the pit of your stomach.

The consensus was unanimous and indisputable, when Natasha came from those British lands having succeeded in usurping the information after a long month all devoted to her undercover work; a weapon with such a range of power should be taken out of the jurisdiction of an organization as oblivious to the rest of humanity as HYDRA was, which is why Nick Fury had assigned you and your colleagues (an elite team, sure, the Avengers) to extract the device from inside the castle and destroy it as soon as possible.

So, all you had to do was teleport and, with such an object in hand, your team would leave in retreat. Whatever this dreaded object was.

“Are you ready for action, teleport girl?” Natasha craned her neck towards you, speaking over her curious shoulder, a short-cropped beam of windblown red hair streaming through her speech.

And she saw that, in your features, a greedy, ill-tempered discontent rose and grew.

“T-that's not my name…”

But Agent Romanoff only laughed softly, her leather-gloved hands screwed tightly to the dark rubber-covered motorcycle handlebars, fire-colored hair bouncing in the crisp wind like the crackling flames of a bonfire.

The bike tore through the tall, vast forest for a few more miles and seconds before a guttural roar rumbled through the leaves and branches, loud as an explosion, and the notion descended upon you that Bruce had gone off to some dark corner inside the his own mind, and his alter ego was now the one who took possession of the one body that was circumscribed between two opposite mentalities; the sapient Doctor Banner and the neanderthal green Hulk creature, in a discrepant duality, a dynamic similar to the strange case of Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.

And that was the signal (or you thought so, anyway).

And then, closing your eyelids, you teleported into a blue streak of reality melting away, leaving Natasha to be the only one on the motorcycle. And inside the castle where you jumped smelled of dewy earth, dust, and polished stone. You snorted once, taking in a huge gulp of dusty air; polluted oxygen crammed the pathways into your lungs, also smelling the still-fresh aroma of hot gunpowder wafting through the air.

But something hit you squarely in the middle of your black-and-blue rubber-covered chest half a second later, not even giving you any thought as your ribcage sank inward in a dangerous tingle, pushing all the air out of your chest, lungs flattened against your back like two balloons. It hurt like getting a cannonball shot in the ribs, the weight of invisible lead crushing into your upper bones.

A shimmering scarlet nebula was what that coaxed your body away, propelling you at violent speed across the room, where the muscles of your back met the frame of a splintered wooden table in a thudding collision – a cloud of dust rose from the plaster on the wall as you and the table slammed into the polished stone.

A pained growl escaped your throat as the sting from the blow started a rumbling pain at the top of your neck in a fiery whiplash. Inside your eardrums there was a horrible humming sound and, for a second, a faint seemed to be an imminent reality for you.

“B-but—” you huffed in a tiny voice on a breath coming from behind your tongue, huddled on the floor amidst table debris and dust pellets like a dirty old rag, “What the fuck was that?!”

And the figure set before you, your attacker, of course, could be none other than Wanda Maximoff, who had both hands raised in a solid lunging pose, forearms straight and precise in your direction, while a splash of piercing red color circled the moss green of her irises. It was like a swamp on fire inside her eye sockets, a will-o'-the-wisp that wanted to consume you completely. She looked serious and stern, almost as if just to prove that she had complete control over her own pulsing mystical powers.

The young woman looked prepared for the slaughter like a creature out of a nightmare, for a moment seeming to have awakened a slumbering ruffian nature within her, still with dancing crimson mist tracing the length of her upraised fingers, clad in a fistful of silver rings of the most diverse shapes and sizes, as if prepared to unleash a new burst of throbbing energy at any given moment.

But she let her shoulders sag as she realized that the target of her attack had only been you, a teammate of hers poorly mistaken for a malefactor in the heat of the moment; her hands hanging to the sides of the dark red coat that wore the length of her arms, spilling even towards the crook of her knees tucked into tight dark pants that allowed greater mobility when on the front lines of the battlefield.

And what was once concern writing its way down the length of Wanda's pretty face, with solid, sharp, even half-feline features, took on airs of crimson ferocity as she creased her dark brows in the middle of her forehead, watching you barely set standing, covered in a layer of dust and, well, a shameful defeat.

“What the hell, Y/n, what do you think you're doing?!” she scolded, stomping towards you with the combat boots she was wearing, “I could have killed you!”

“I know, dammit! That's why I asked what the fuck was that!” You gestured angrily with your hands raised towards her, who stopped right next to you.

“You knew I was going to jump in here! That's literally the damn plan, Wanda! Stick to the damn plan!”

But she just tilted her chin to the side of her left shoulder and sipped at a smoldering impetuosity that vibrated red inside her, as if buying the conflict you were selling. If at one point she had really cared about your well-being, now she just seemed capable of hitting you one more time on purpose.

“And you knew I'd have to clear the room before you jump in, Y/n!” she barked back then, in an equally irritated tone, her eyes a bright green sparkling and turbulent, “It was you who didn't wait for my signal, because everything with you is like that! You don't know how to wait for anything! You don't know how to work as a team!”

“I don't know how to work as a team?! Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know that working as a team meant I had to wait for you to feel like trying to do something to get into action on a mission that literally has to be done in the shortest possible time!” was your infuriated reply, which comes along with the flush of the skin on your cheeks.

“I’m sorry if the best I can do isn’t enough for you!” she accused, “But it’s not like anything in the world is ever enough for you, right, Y/n?!”

“Well, if you didn't just stay looking after Vision in every practice and work your ass out like the rest of the team, maybe then you'd be more agile on the field! That sure would be enough right now!”

But there was a tone of taciturnity that engulfed her fierce body language at your speech, taking on a predator's edge, and the low voice provided by her was shaped like a warm whisper, a warning and a threat blended into one amalgamation of dread that icy down the length of your spine, going even farther and, dare you say, even jabbing slightly between your legs. Your palms felt sticky against the rubber of your suit, lowering your composure a little before her.

“Don't you dare bring Vision into this.”

You, in turn, still hostile and certainly annoyed, opened and closed your mouth for a while, but there was nothing more to say once Wanda's tone ended up taking your speech, slaying it inside your throat as if her magic had suddenly ripped your tongue out. And for a brief second, the high dark collar of your uniform felt like a rope tightening around the outline of your neck.

Your rebuttal, however, didn't come because it was Tony Stark's voice that reverberated through your communicator tucked into your ear canal, and through hers as well. Your attention strayed from Wanda for half a second.

“Lovebirds, I know it's awkward to live with an ex in the workplace – trust me, you'll never want to date your secretary – but if you don't mind, let's just fulfill our mission and get out of here as soon as possible, all right? In the compound you two can fight a little longer. Geez, I’ll even make you two a coffee myself.”

You looked at her and she looked at you. And, at the same speed, the two proud looks drenched in a mutual meaning drifted away, as if dodging a common adversity that would never be resolved if what was needed to do so was an apology that would guarantee a good coexistence. You wouldn’t say she was your ex, but Wanda would say you were hers. Maybe if you were more mature, maybe if she wasn’t so rash. Maybe if you just listened to each other more.

At that time in your life you were just too presumptuous, the vigor imbued in youth bringing a certainty of self that would prove to be harmful at several later moments, and one of Wanda's most infuriating flaws was that the dark-haired young woman never liked to admit a mistake made by herself. And so, just like that, you were in a limbo, in an endless loop within a quarrel that had arisen on both sides.

The sex was good, sure, but the feelings imbued in the act were just too arduous to digest – when you wanted her she didn’t want you back, and when she wanted you, well, you just went away.

She took a step away from you, who also had no intention of being so close to her as you carried a bundle of conflicting feelings within your heart, and they were all aimed solely and exclusively at Wanda. You could kiss her and then curse her like flipping a switch.

“Let's just… go,” she muttered, rather tough into her speech, “Let's find what we came to find and just get the hell out of here. This place gives me chills…”

And began a joint search for the entire perimeter that made up the ancient castle, for what neither you nor she knew well what it was. And the notion burned within your larynx that once your unflattering esteem for one another had been withheld within you for the sake of the smooth running of teamwork, reserving lapses of discord for more propitious moments than that, you and Wanda, as in a bad joke made by fate, worked well together, like two halves that, when put together, make up a fully functioning whole.

If she attacked, you defended, and if you defended, she attacked. And together you advanced, traversing the circuit of stone and wood walls. It was like a well-planned dance, a meeting of minds, a rehearsed joining of souls; you didn't need to think to act, because she thought for you. A tune that, in the past, would have been pleasant to experience.

And she looked just so beautiful, so sumptuous, when brandishing with her bare hands to fire twirls of red energy that pumped from within her wills. Her pale face kind of shimmered with a layer of warm sweat on a bead of skin on her forehead, just beyond the roots of the dark hair that swung around the outline of her face, in a facial expression where concentration was written in scarlet lines, as her lids tightened around her soften eyes and her dark brows creased in search of a new target to hit in a fervent mystical ambition.

When she shielded you with a barrier of shimmering crimson fog that sheltered you from a hail of gunfire, turning her head over her right shoulder to check your physical well-being in a lapse of smoldering concern, you were remembered why your heartstrings had been pulled by her fingertips like a master puppeteer some time ago, not long enough to be completely forgotten, veiled and overcome.

“I can– I can handle it here!” it was a roar over the burst of machine guns springing into action, “Go ahead, Y/n!”

“N–no, no way! No!” you reiterated exasperatedly, “I'm not leaving you here by yourself, Wanda! Don’t ask me to do this!”

“Y/n,” she looked at you, armed with certainty in the deep green that bathed her irises, “I'll be fine, I promise. Now please, just go!”

The conversation that took place was without a word to be heard. But there was no hesitation; you trusted her in that moment, concurring at her with a nod of your head, just as Wanda trusted you too. And the spontaneous teleport was quick and accurate as your body mass melted in midair, like a dart hitting the red center of a target, the last sight being Wanda's dark hair cascading down the middle of her back.

And a sudden ghostly aura froze the hollow of your bones as you found yourself away from Wanda and the battalion of soldiers she promptly held off just with the willpower of her own mind. The room you jumped into was excruciating like a scream in the dark, and just as terrifying.

Melancholic as the last moments of life of a flower withering, and that brought you an ominous unruly nostalgia, referring in unhealthy memory to the moments when you found yourself lost in the deep solitude of your own cell in the HYDRA laboratory facilities – a frightening placethat accommodated you for so long that you even lost count, with stone walls and tears, martyring yourself for what you could never have (freedom or companionship, there was never absolute certainty).

Both, perhaps, you came to think later, as you stared at the ceiling as you lay down to die in your ridiculous excuse for what would be the most uncomfortable of beds.

Being there, in that dark room, for you at least, was as horrible as your teenage days, in a sultry temperature so unvarying and constant that a handful of a few strands of your hair stuck to the skin of your neck, covered by an invisible layer of icy sweat; anxiety pumping through your veins at yet another round of tests with the Mind Stone they'd stolen at the time, as your ears used to hear the footsteps pouring down the hall.

So much trial and error, so many failures and punishments, that you, at the time, believed that at some point your whole body would just completely disintegrate, vanishing from reality for good.

The strained vision of your clever eyes, beneath your eyelashes, could not discern even any direction to guide yourself through the darkness that seemed to surround you like an enigmatic augury creature, with uncertain and unpredictable attitudes – a blatant odor that seemed exhale right next to your shoulders, covering you in a cloak of rot, coming from the uncertain cylindrical stone walls that insisted on squeezing you into the mouth of hell.

The fog in the bowels of the earth just wasn't getting any worse, so deep and extemporaneous, because the presence of a unknown creature huddled against one of the corners of the four crammed walls was what caught your attention right away, just a shy silhouette in the dark, which could not be distinguished as anything other than a shadowy, shapeless mass. And you dared to approach, because if this was the fifteenth room on the seventh floor, the weapon of global domination would be there.

“What… what the...?”

As the sole of your boot took a step towards it, the thing squeaked like a harassed guinea pig, even seeming to melt and disappear into the wall it leaned against. And carefully, you approached. As you crouched on your knees, a wave of sudden nauseating vertigo ebbed down your esophagus as the light found your gaze amid the emptiness of the dark room. A small, freckled, little girl's face quivered before your gaze as the tiny chin found itself supplanted by a pair of bony sore knees, thick eyelashes hidden behind a curtain of lank, greasy, long dark hair.

But the eyes were green, like two jade stones set in a filthy receptacle that didn't match the preciousness of those irises soaked in a thin, misty layer of tears that she fought to not to shed in front of you – perhaps from fear, or perhaps from trauma, surely from both, never from less than either.

Her malnourished little body was covered only by a single piece of a damp, dirty cloth, and signs of fatigue that should never show on a child's facial expressions marred her tapered cheeks and thin, pale skin, as would be that of an ill person lying on their deathbed. You wanted to throw up all the contents of the dinner that were churning the inside of your stomach. You realized, with trembling hands, that this thing (this kid) was Project Nocturne.

“But it's a child...” was a thoughtless whisper, “It's... it's just a child...”

ᗢ

The return of a successful mission had never felt so unnerving in your guts before; why, of course, you found yourself in the strange presence of one more figure than the amount of people who had gone inside the jet hours before, a new creature to inhabit the interior of the quinjet with you and your teammates. It was as if everyone knew what it was that concerned them as a collective, but no one was bold enough to say it out loud. You just understood each other’s apprehension in silence.

The tension overwrought in the air that enveloped you could even be tangible, since all the adults present ended up peeking curious glances at the quiet little girl who was covered by a thick dark wool blanket that had been laid around her skinny shoulders, making her look like a tiny caterpillar inside a cocoon with only a pair of pea green eyes sticking out her shell, watching everyone like a suspicious radar.

 Wanda was the one who assumed the position of a tutor towards the child when no one else did, even if not for lack of initiatives by people like Natasha and Steve or even Clint, who was a father himself; the girl would not allow herself to be touched by anyone other than the enchantress without bursting out shrieking, and then Wanda was the one who, between the fingers of her hand, rewarded the withered palm of her downcast left tiny hand all the way until you arrived at your required location, back in American lands.

There was a comfort in Wanda's warm welcome that promptly convinced her that she was a pleasant presence, worthy of her trust so difficult to bestow on other unfamiliar adults; by nature, the child was frightened and weepy, and for that you all didn’t bat an eyelid, since everyone understood well the situation – you, even more so. And they were indeed alike, the little girl and Wanda, in a way that would raise eyebrows in acts of wonder, for they were too similar even for your own taste.

It made you think that Wanda, who had once been a child as young as that one, must have contained facial features similar to those of the young girl with an unhealthy face dotted with a galaxy of scanty brown freckles, and from the witch she only lacked in the familiar structure of her nose, which you weren't quite sure at the time to distinguish from who it was that reminded you so much; the answer looking like it wanted to scratch out of your memory, yet too uncertain to voice your thoughts out loud.

The girl settled in the compound because it was necessary, because there was no other place for her to fit in the world; in fact, they made her settle down. But as long as she was accompanied by Wanda, looking at the adult woman in question or seeking permission and comfort with those big verdant doe eyes, she was able to cooperate with others without showing any signs of rejection.

In part, you assumed it had to do with the fact that, once inside the HYDRA labs, she hadn't been granted choices in her very modest lifetime, and that's why she didn't know empirically that she was actually able to decline what adults offered her – according to Dr. Banner, after a previous session of physical tests passed all well accompanied by Wanda's watchful gaze, the girl was an average of seven years old, despite being quite stunted and undernourished for the age.

And the more days took slashes of weeks, the more and more she became a shadow that mirrored Wanda's actions, perhaps like an insecure duckling that follows its mother around or even a tiny puppy too young for its own good, still discovering so much of what the world had to offer. She was like a magnet drawn to the figure of her assumed guardian, a shadow sneaking behind the older woman's hip.

And Wanda seemed to enjoy every moment of it, because you watched her from afar, like a specter that doesn’t let go of the past to suitably move forward, when she took the girl for a walk in the outside gardens that surrounded the perimeter that made up the massive structures of the compound, or when she carried a sleeping little body so close to her own chest as if she were going to keep the girl inside her embrace until the last day of the Earth, heading to the room they shared to get her little girl ready for bed.

Wanda stopped attending other missions after a while, putting all her spare time into raising that child. And she's also definitely stopped reaching out to you to fulfill her lonely demands, for you to kiss her out of need or reward her with an orgasm that would consume the nightly necessity inside her, as she's done so many times before. She never went back for the rings she left on your nighstand or the red hoodie she left hanging on that chair in the corner of your room.

But one day when you were slinging athletic clothes around your body still sharp after a long morning of training spent in the company of Sam and Natasha, wearing a brief layer of sweat on the greasy skin of your forehead, you found yourself making a grilled cheese sandwich for lunch in the empty kitchen, to replenish your energies. That was when a sudden magnetic sensation took hold of your state of consciousness, sweeping away from your tired muscles the prostrate fatigue that required a very welcome break.

It was as if something called you; something that went beyond the barriers of what is tangible and material. It was a psychic need that itched to be attended.

So you turned around, in a blind search for what was inviting you in your unconscious. And, there, cohabiting the same space as you, could only be seen the figure of the little girl protected by Wanda, green irises wandering over your face in front of a childish and curious look, which seemed to digest the atmosphere in search of what connected her to you.

Your eyes bonded with hers in a flicker of gaze, and for a brief lapse of a second, there was a hesitation on your part that ended up tensing the muscles in your back beneath the thin layer of clothing provided by a tank top that left a lot of your skin showing. She looked healthier in that moment, her cheeks flushed and full, her hair glossy resulting from a good affectionate treatment, so dissimilar from that day when she was nothing less than an animal backed up against a dark corner in front of you.

She was quiet and apprehensive, as if waiting for your belated initiative toward herself.

“H–hey, kid,” you mussed, probing the area around her tiny body for Wanda, who was nowhere to be seen.

“Are you... are you alone? Are you lost? I mean, the compound can be quite big, huh... I honestly never thought we needed all this space, but you know how Tony is... but hey, where’s your– where’s Wanda?”

But the girl continued to maintain an air of silence towards you, only batting her thick dark eyelashes. And it was no surprise to you, in fact, the lack of response; until then, you had never heard her voice. You barely knew if she was really capable of understanding whatever was that you emulated concerning her in your second language, as Wanda used to communicate only in her Sokovian dialect with the girl.

“Що з вами?” You tried again, questioning her need for something.

And then she looked at the sandwich laid out on the plate in front of you on the counter, which was cut into two pieces made up of golden bread stuffed with melted cheese, a certain sheet of curiosity gleaming in her eyes. Your poor interpretation of signs dismissed it as a mute request, and so you took the sandwich in your hands and held it up into her field of view.

“Do you… do you want a piece of it…? ти хочеш?” On the girl's part there was the slightest nod, “Right, here.”

You offered her a slice of your sandwich, which was welcomed by two small hands raised in your direction as if asking for a hug.

You were the first to take a bite of the bread and, closely watched by the stimulated gaze of the girl, who was a born observer, she opened her mouth and sank her teeth into the sandwich just like you previously did, before chewing and swallowing in a studying way, as if it were that a scientific experiment. And then, after the experience had made her a connoisseur of the taste of grilled cheese, there was one more bite on her part, followed by another almost exasperatedly, which elicited a silly chuckle on your part.

Faced with the sound you made, the girl looked at you like a curious puppy and “Happy?” was what she asked, to which you only raised an uncertain brow.

"What? If I’m happy?”

Again, she nodded in agreement, rocking her silky dark hair that had recently been trimmed at the ends, looking gleaming and soft to the touch. And for a second, you didn't know what to say. She was a child, and you might as well lie. But you knew you weren't really happy, and maybe that wasn't even exactly what she meant with her vague knowledge of words in another language, but the question snuck into you and crept into your brain, planting seeds there that would later come to fruition, taking root in a bad feeling inside you.

“Well, you see, I... I...” Your mouth opened, but then closed shortly after, in a piercing, dysfunctional silence. There was nothing to say, not in front of her.

“Talia!” Wanda's voice, a little worried in its tonality bordering on maternal, reached your ears before she herself did it inside the kitchen, in quick and teasing steps.

And she barely glanced at you, because she got down on her knees to crouch in front of the child (Talia), so that she could hold the outlines of the girl's face in the warm palms of her hands.

“Are you okay, sweetie? You can't just walk away like that, I was worried to death! I swear, sometimes it's like you just go from one place to another,” the tone, however, was not harsh or ferocious; it was just tender, comfortable, oozing characters of thoughtfulness to the little girl, “Please don't ever do that again. I don't want you to get lost or out of my sight, okay?”

“Mama,” Her tiny voice rang out, causing a crease of brows on your part, who watched the interaction between the pair like a distant witness. The girl waved the remains of her bitten sandwich in front of Wanda's face before turning to you.

And then two sets of equally expectant, olive green eyes were like a spotlight burning your skin, Wanda suddenly aware of your presence inside the kitchen. But soon, her attention was all on the child again. Maybe, you thought years later, maybe she just didn't want to tell you what she's kind of suspected for a while at that point, as a magical sixth sense for the connection beyond the material plane that bound your vitalities.

“Oh, did Y/n get you a sandwich?” Talia nodded, something she seemed to do a lot, and Wanda's eyes brightened a jade color filled with tenderness for the little child before her, “And did you thank her? It's important to thank people when they give you things, polite people do that. And you're a polite little girl, aren't you, baby? Скажи спасибі, Крошка.”

Again, the little girl looked at you, seeming a little doubtful with a small flash of skin creased in between her thin brows just like you did too, as if the thoughts behind her eyes didn't match the words that might slip through her rosy button lips. And you, in turn, just raised a placating palm toward her before the evident lump of anxiety forming inside her chest grew to overwhelming proportions.

“It's okay,” you shrugged casually, “No need to say it out loud, kiddo, I understand your good intention. You don't seem to be much for words at all, right? It’s okay. Все добре.”

Wanda got to her feet again, stretching her knees into the dark jeans she wore on her attractive legs, before the palm of her right hand began the act of stroking the top of Talia’s head of soft brown hair, in a placid and unconscious action, bringing the little child close to her, beside her hipbone.

“Silence is her way of dealing with things,” are the first words Wanda says to you in days, casually holding eye contact with you, “Nat said it's common for kids who've been through... you know, what she's been through, to use it as a way of coping with all that happened with them.”

In the face of the conversation, the girl took another bite of the piece of grilled bread placed between her little hands. Wanda smiled at Talia's actions.

“But we're making progress, aren't we?” and her grin seemed so beautiful, so pure and genuine when directed at the girl, as if she were her greatest achievement in life, her primary source of affection and care, “She can already say a few words in English and associate them with what is happening around her. Talia is a very smart girl.”

“Talia, huh?” you repeated the name which, in a way, sounded right in your pronunciation. Wanda nodded, bouncing with the strands of her long, dark hair.

“Yeah, I'm not calling her a project like Bruce and Tony,” the green in her eyes looked unerring as she looked at you, looking so devout in her actions, “She’s not a lab rat, she’s a child. My… my child. And her name is Talia.”

“Right,” you mussed, because there was nothing more to say beyond that, “Talia. It’s… it’s a great name.”

ᗢ

The stone-walled interior of the cell that housed you was gloomy and damp, back in the days when you found yourself captive to the will of a man whose name, to you, has never been more than something like Strucker. He was a baron, perhaps—you had once heard someone refer to him in an air of military respect for such a title, the lowest in the entire nobility hierarchy.

There were no signs of comfort that could be pinpointed in any of the scrawny compost that made up the length, width, or height of those claustrophobic walls that closed in stone against you; it was like an empty, cold coffin, buried six feet away, beneath the glow of the last ray of surface sunlight. The HYDRA base that contained your cell had a dense, compact and sawn atmosphere, being devoured by the bowels of the earth where the impure air was thick and burning, so difficult to inhale by all that dirty dust.

It was an environment so harsh that had the air of a ghost town, even though life there proliferated in an unruly way, in anguished heaps, one on top of the other as if the intention were to reach the exteriority of the surface; although the laboratories were so deep and so submerged that it became increasingly almost impossible to glimpse their true abyssal depths and the most hideous monstrosities that there, in the shadows, hid from the eyes of the world. The most grotesque experiments that a human being would be capable of performing on another similar to themselves.

You, at that time, were never quite sure how much time had passed since your addition to that circus of horrors whose master of ceremonies was Strucker himself, the mastermind and employer; of how many weeks made up the months that constituted the years since your arrival at that place – your meager notion of the passage of time, always deprived of the notions of the sun and the hands of a clock, took the form of the perception of biological changes that had taken place in your own body.

The way your hair looked lengthier and greasier, or the way the ends of your chipped nails grew longer out of the edges of your fingers. The way the thin flesh of your cheeks tapered in signs of long-term malnutrition, or how, by the cuts characteristics of age, your physical structure took on more adult bearings that moved further and further away from the extremities of the epilogues of childhood, the time of life when you were still enjoying your remote time of freedom in a war-torn country, living off the crumbs of starving poverty.

A translucent droplet of warm sweat trickled down the line of your stiff, dirty, perspiring face, slipped down the curve of your chin, and then splattered onto the filthy floor between your bare feet. Something tucked within your insides just held back the full notion that they were going to come to escort you to that bigger room, to force you to touch that damned stone one more time, only to, after you did, put you through a bunch of exhausting tests that would border on imminent death. Boundaries didn't apply to you, who was just someone else's possession.

You held your breath as the heavy cell door clicked open. If this was a day seven days after the last time it had happened, it meant they were going to screw thick leather straps into your wrists and ankles to keep you stabilized on an ice-cold stretcher, when a masked man would come to stick a large needle in the middle of your back muscles again, to extract some strange spinal fluid from inside your vertebrae. It's not just because you had already been subjected to several rounds of this same nefarious procedure that your body had become accustomed to such an invasion.

A muffled clang rang through the room, your awed squeals echoing through its stone walls – a pair of uniformed men dragged you by your bony wrists down the scrawny hallway out of the cell.

“Поспішай, блін!” A gunman yelled in your ear, causing you to cower into your thin single piece of dirty, torn clothing, before shoving your skinny shoulder out of the cell.

The oxygen supplied in your lungs, roaming between the cells, took on a rigorously cold and even hard shape, quite difficult to breathe in or aspire with full propriety, weighing the sharpness of your fearful chest when your anxious eye could distinguish, between the quick blinks that pushed away the veil of darkness that clouded your mind, the shimmering shade of vivid green in the midst of the icy spectrum of darkness that crammed every square meter that made up the long corridor; the gloom entering your pores and choking you in a pool of fear.

They were, those impious orbs turned towards you, like true beacons that stared at the core of your soul in an apathetic emerald light. A color of green that saw everything, from which nothing escaped alive, overflowing with a hatred for the world that had taken everything from her, had wrested so much from her. The eyes of that girl who looked about your age (even if as dejected as your own body was in), a volunteer you knew, who had been housed in a cell next to yours.

She was also escorted by a pair of armed guards, heading in the opposite direction to where you were forced to go as on death row – the two predatory eyes, however, luminous, fearsome and incisive, were the most pronounced feature of a pale face like wax, devoid of sun, flanked by strands of long, straight brown hair lacking the graces of vain care. Rumor had it that the stone had detached itself from Loki’s scepter and ambled towards her, that she didn't have to touch it directly like you had.

 And for a brief lapse of a second, you felt magnetically drawn to the gravitational field around her like the rings of Saturn, like the very Mind Stone that had floated into her touch. The unsettling urge was electric in you who, panting in anguish, only cherished touching the chalk skin of the girl who passed you in the hallway. And she looked at you expectantly, as if she were also attracted to you. Seconds dragged by like a tortoise as eye contact was sustained between you and Wanda, whose face you only knew at the time, not the name.

Later, with the two of you freed from Strucker's clutches and her brother deceased after a blunt clash with Ultron (which cost you both your hometown and then your whole country), you learned that your connection to Wanda was in the energy of the Mind Stone contained in your genes and hers too. Maybe that's why something in you never got tired of her, that always craved more of her, for consuming her completely until the two of you were one whole. Maybe you just didn’t want to admit that you loved her on your own.

Perhaps that was why your gaze could never stray from Wanda playing afar with Talia in the company of Vision, the three of them sitting on the grass in the garden outside, in the sun like a family, while you were the ghost in the window, inside the compound – the synthezoid whose very body of green wires, yellow blood, and red bones was the embodiment of the Mind Stone receptacle that was embedded in the middle of his forehead, flashing a sickening neon yellow.

You never once failed to notice how he made her dawn on such a beautiful smile, while you only made her sad, stressed or anxious. You wanted her to smile like that for you.

“Why the long face, teleport girl?”

Natasha's voice came from behind your shoulders, when the woman older than you, who was stealing pecks from a cup full of coffee supplanted by the fingers of her right hand, come to accompany you to the huge window view.

“The little witch and her toaster boyfriend, huh? Such an unusual couple.”

“She looks happy,” you mussed, still not meeting the redhead's gaze, always watching Wanda like a security camera, “They... they seem like a happy family.”

“Well, she really got attached to that little girl. It’s cute to see, I guess. But looking happy doesn't mean being really happy,” was the Widow's reply, followed by a long swig of warm coffee, “You know that, don't you, Y/n?"

She looked at you like she wanted to say something she didn't. But it was about a few days later, inside the excruciating walls of your room one night after dinner (Tony had ordered shawarmas and fries for the entire team), when your unwary eyes darted toward the wall in front of you.

You blinked slowly, and then took a gulp of bored air, the room as quiet and dark as a crypt. The silver light of the innocuous moonlight crept between the thick curtains like a curious little animal, adorning the room in a bright, luminous color, creating a shading effect from the sparse furniture placed there, even if it wasn't these the major components of the room's decorations – the numbers “21” and “35” in neon green glittered on the dim face of your digital clock placed on the headboard just beside your bed, next to a porcelain lamp.

“Miss Y/l/n?” FRIDAY 's somewhat machine-like female voice, the artificial intelligence that governs each and every technological apparatus in the compound, entreated you, echoing into the walls of your room.

“Mr. Stark has asked to inform you that he requests your presence in the east wing laboratory right now.”

Your answer came in the form of a lame growl squeezed out of your throat.

“Tell him that tomorrow morning I’ll talk to him, please. I'm not in the mood for it right now.”

“Miss Y/l/n,” the voice repeated, in a slightly more insistent tone, “Mr. Stark has asked me to indefinitely turn off the power to your room if you refuse. He says it is a matter of the utmost importance.”

“Well shit...”

You got to your feet and lazily slipped on your half-worn shoes forgotten by the side of the bed, not going to the extra trouble of tying your loose shoelaces. The east wing was allocated away from the heroes' quarters situated in the west wing, and going with your legs there didn't seem all that attractive (although you didn't have much choice in doing so), opting to envision the room for that, like a snap of your fingers, you would teleport there without too many circumlocutions built into your apathetic actions.

This was a vast room lit by a layer of long white lamps, adorned with glass and holograms in eerie, flashing neon colors that floated at eye level, lined with shelves crammed with electronics and glass containers, tiny test tubes and Bunsen burners all with faded flames, in addition to other devices of a modern high technology that were not at all recognizable by your poor cognition about that area. To you, that place has always looked more like the interior of a spaceship than a laboratory itself.

Tony could be found there, close to Bruce and also Steve, but the presence that surprised you the most was Wanda, who wore an open dark sweater on her torso whose sleeves went beyond the limit of her wrists, partially engulfing the palms of both her hands. Illuminated by the artificial light of the room, her eyes seemed even more green and penetrating, always exuding airs of that relaxed beauty that seemed to be carved into her bones.

Her gaze caught you in silence, and you didn't say anything either before your attention turned to Tony, who came to meet you. He wore a classic rock band shirt, one of several that had always made up his playboy wardrobe.

“Ah, you're finally here teleport girl, I thought I'd have to make Cap go to your room and yank you out of bed by your ankles. I don't know how to deal with cranky teenagers, sorry.”

“I’m an adult.”

“Yeah, and I keep forgetting that,” and then he turned his back on you, heading towards Bruce, who in turn seemed so intent on the open projections running through the interface of an interactive table (rectangular in shape and flat surface), to which he conveyed all the annotations made until then.

"Well, now that you're both here, Rogers, will you do the honors of telling the two lovebirds about what we've discovered, please?"

“What you’ve… discovered…?” Wanda said then, in a puzzled, curious tone of question that was aimed at Steve, with whom she was closest of the three men in the room.

The Captain, with his sturdy arms crossed over his Herculean chest buttoned up in a pale shirt, only nodded in the slightest movement of his head toward the young brunette woman. He looked apprehensive about doing so.

“Yeah, well,” he began his speaking with typical speech tones, “It's related to the girl, Wanda. Talia. You know that our agreement with the government after Lagos is that we must give them the reports of all our missions, right?”

“Yes, I... I know.”

The answer was in a regretful thread of voice that urged you to look at her. There was something gloomy that crept like a worm through the sullen green of her eyes and, looking so small, she stared at her palms for half a second, before the tips of her right fingers reflexively brushed to fidget with the silver rings that adorned the extension of her left fingers.

For a brief lapse of a moment, you wanted to bring her into the comfort of your arms and place a warm kiss on the crown of her brown-haired head to lull her to your mainstay, and to keep your hands from doing so, you just stuck them inside the back pockets of the baggy, ripped pale jeans that buttoned at your hips. You shifted your chin to the side of your right shoulder, just so you wouldn’t see her still silhouette like a nostalgic flavor memory in your peripheral vision, in the corner of your mind.

“It turns out that our friends at the Pentagon took an interest in keeping the girl,” it was Tony's turn to say.

“They said we can't keep an underage immigrant without legal status under our jurisdiction, not without the accompaniment of a parent or a legal guardian. They want her transferred to a CBP shelter under the jurisdiction of the Department of Health and Human Services. You know, that bullshit from the Office of Refugee Resettlement, stuff like that.”

“Which means she will either be deported or fall into the system. Probably deported,” your voice doesn't sound like your own as it comes out of the back of your throat, shrugging into your old punk rock band-print shirt.

Wanda's exasperated gaze ached in an anxiety building in the pit of her stomach as she, who was standing next to your left shoulder, stared at your profile in an afflicted way. Not looking back at her felt like fuel for her dread, which felt larger and more unstable inside her chest like a red balloon filled with oxygen, about to burst with a loud pop.

“W-what...? No, they– they can’t–” and then she turned her head towards the Captain, “Steve, please, they can't– she can't be without me! Please, she’s just a child!”

“They won't, Wanda,” he assured her when her dark brows creased into an anguished facial expression.

“Because that's where things start to get interesting,” says Tony, with a diligent little smile glistening from under his neatly trimmed goatee, “Right, Banner?”

“Yes indeed,” was Dr. Banner's reply in his lethargic mannerism, who turned to you and Wanda as well, aiming the big square glasses blistered on the bridge of his nose in your direction, “It's an incredible advance in biology, I have to say.”

When Wanda glanced at you from the corner as if to study your reaction, you didn't look back, just sloping curiously towards the face of the accomplished scientist in the buttoned shirt with sleeves rolled up at the elbows and shabby cashmere shoes.

“I had to do a genetic mapping on the girl to find out what her origins were and preferably, with any luck, find her parents or any living relatives to contact. But what I found was, well... it was interesting, to say the least. The girl has no parents, not in the conventional sense of the word. She has gene donors. FRIDAY, please.”

“As you wish, Doctor Banner.”

The machine voice followed the call of the man with short dark hair, streaked with bands of gray, in an articulate fidelity, always so devout, and from the projector placed inside the interactive table's display, a brilliant hologram was produced, made in dazzling blue and opalescent white, detailed in its smallest details, to which it presented a 3D model of a DNA structureright in front of the avid emerald eyes that possessed the ingenious Wanda, who studied completely the holographic reproduction made available to her by artificial intelligence.

You weren't quite sure what the hell that in front of your eyes meant, but a flicker of curiosity that welled up in your gut allowed you to give Bruce a chance to talk more about his research.

“These, as you can see, are Talia's genotypes. Her genetic makeup,” clarified the bespectacled man, as if to lighten the glint of misunderstanding that shone in your irises.

“According to the notes we got from HYDRA's castle, Project Nocturne was a series of attempts to artificially reproduce the genetics of responsive test subjects from experiments performed with the Mind Stone a few years ago. I mean, well, you two and Pietro.”

The mention of Wanda's late older twin was sudden, something that caught her off guard – you've noticed it because you've noticed when she looks away, still so distraught over the lack of the late speedster boy, whose body lay in ancient Sokovian lands. Your hand pulsed to intertwine your fingers with hers. She used to seek your embrace to cry into the nights when the nostalgic regret of the lack that her brother caused inside her bones slipped through her.

“The initial idea of the project was to reproduce Wanda's DNA, who was the subject with the highest response rate to the experiments, as a kind of cloning procedure, but the incomplete DNA sequences they extracted from her required that the gaps in her sequences were filled with other DNA, and as it would be fruitless to do so with Pietro's because of inbreeding, they used your DNA for that, Y/n."

You blinked once at Bruce.

"What...?" it was the incredulous questioning that sprang out of you like a jet of skepticism that poured out of your larynx.

"Well, you see," he gestured with his hands in a rather flustered way, deep in his own racing thoughts.

“The girl was generated in an external pregnancy in an artificial uterus. It's a perfect blend of magic and... well, magic and science. Something we’ve only seen before with the Asgardians. We don't know exactly the extent of the Stone's powers, but we do know that it is powerful enough to spontaneously enhance and grant sentience to beings it comes in contact with, and that HYDRA has manipulated this ability to their advantage. It's–it's amazing, really! What I'm saying is that if a proper system for it ingested and absorbed some organic fluid produced by a being affected by Stone, there would be the possibility of dominant genetics looking for viable gametes for the formation of a healthy embryo–”

“Stop,” you cut him off abruptly, finishing off too much explanation from the man older than you, “Please just–just stop fucking talking about it like it's something amazing, because it's not! It's not, Bruce!"

There was a hint of silence that wafted into the lab. Something in Banner's face instantly withered. Wanda projected a hesitant glance that spilled over your profile before turning back to the trinity of men before the two of you.

“What does that mean,” she whispered, in a strained voice, “What does that mean, exactly?”

“What does that mean, little witch,” it was Tony's turn to take matters into his own hands again, “Is that the girl is a close relative of both of you. Genetically close enough to be an offspring. So congratulations, mommies, because it's a girl! Although I think now it's a little late to make a baby shower, eh...”

“Stark, that's enough!” Steve was exasperated at the man with the goatee, in a profuse tone of reprimand to Tony's shenanigans, who held back a smirk broken at the corner of his lips, an eternal keeper of childish humor that he was.

But no words would be enough to elucidate what it was that sent your thoughts from one side to the other, in a truculent whirlwind of emotions that flowed through your veins and your nerves. And, when you came to blink another time, it was with grief sprinkled in your gaze – and you knew that Wanda could hear what you thought, because it was stronger than her, and in that moment, you were just a mess of unhinged agonies in an icy sweat that evaporated from your pores.

You blinked once at the sheer smoldering confusion, furrowing your brows in a look of vagueness.

Then, with eyes of double size, you looked towards Steve, your team leader and the most approachable of the three, who with a shake of his head, acquiesced in your doubts, what had clarified your thoughts with yourself. The walls of your stomach dropped into your abdomen, and for a second, the air that filled your bronchi was icy cold like a breath of death.

And then, like the fateful epilogue to a Homeric romance novel, you dared look your way, at Wanda, because the heat in her gaze could be felt even if you were on the other side of the room. If a pen dropped to the floor at that moment, the sound would echo throughout the lab. Wanda gulped at the saliva that froze under her tongue at your silence, and with her eyes she turned to Steve, who offered her a piercing blue look in return.

“So,” she tried, hesitantly like a wounded animal, “If… if Talia is our… our daughter,” you trembled at the word and its meaning concerning you and her, “My daughter. Does that mean I can keep her?”

“Well,” sighed the blond veteran, wrinkling his thick brows congruently, “I think that makes things a lot easier, Wanda. Even more so now that you two have obtained your American citizenship.”

“My younger cousin is a lawyer,” says Bruce in sequence to Steve’s words, “It's not exactly her field, but I believe she'll be able to help however she can. I mean... she does owe me a favor.”

He kind of tried to laugh, but the ambiance was still jittery and he gave up halfway through. Wanda nodded in a closed silence that rocked her long locks of a rich shade of shimmering brown, before once again offering you a complacent look that glowed in shades of a dull green color.

“Y/n...”

But you were an empty figure beside her, distant gaze thundering like the eyes of a lifeless puppet that has had its strings cut. Her warm right fingers, which sought comfort in the outstretched palm of your left hand, were like a reality check weighed down on your soul; the slightest brush of skin on skin sent an electric current through all your muscles, and you repelled it as if her touch were burning embers, as if touching her hurt you. But the hurt look came to the expanse of her pretty face right away.

“Y/n,” whispered Wanda in a tiny voice, so small and vulnerable, her eyes flickering in stinging remorse, her lower lip quivering in a retracted wail, “Y/n, please–just, please–”

“No–no, I don't...” you tried, but it was in vain, “Don't touch me, I... I don't... I can't, I can't...”

A single teardrop crystal streamed from your left eye to your retracted chin. She’d been inside the confines of those cells before, she knew what it was like – and her stomach did somersaults at even the thought of how they’d extracted your DNA, because that’s the same way they’d extracted hers too, between needles, tears and screams. But looking at Wanda, who needed you so much at that moment, was what made the pressure inside your stomach worse.

“I'm sorry I–I can't do this. I’m sorry but I–I can’t. I can’t.”

“Y/n, wait–!”

Wanda's clouded face, a stream of tears that accentuated the green of her eyes, was the last thing you saw before a reality vortex stripped your cells of the space that made up the lab's interior. And once you teleported to the bliss of your room, you allowed yourself to slump down onto your cold mattress, sitting with your legs bent out of bed. And then you cried. In the dark of your room, you just cried into the night.

ᗢ

As the days have passed since that revelation so bitter to swallow that not even the most expensive of the bourbons on top of Tony's shelf could ease it, you, in a state of apathetic corrosive calamity, increasingly immersed in yourself and distant from your other colleagues, only avoided the girl and Wanda as if she were a small emissary of a pandemic plague, as if living in the same environment as she would make you sick to imminent death from the disease imbued in her veins, which pulsed a blood like yours.

Your attraction soon took on tinges of an irremediable aversion spread by your system towards those who, in better terms, might have been your only accessible model of family to cherish and grace. Maybe that's what wove such a nagging veil of discomfort into your ribs when Wanda brought Talia into the hangar to greet the rest of the team after a particularly long mission, and the little girl freed herself from her mother's hand to run into Vision’s open arms, who was blissfully waiting for her embrace like a father who has just returned home.

When you walked past them, still tied in a silent line of torpor, limping on one leg and nose crooked and bloody as you were, Wanda looked at you with a glint full of meaning in her eyes. Maybe she wanted you there to welcome Talia instead of the robot-man, maybe she didn't want you too close to the girl at all.

It was like a long-running game of cat and mouse played within the limits that demarcated the longitude composed by the structures of the compound, which at one time or another would corner you in a corner with no exit; if they were in a room, together as they were always meant to be (and witnessing Wanda acting like parents in Vision's company, seeing them raise together a child that was hers and unfailingly yours as well, was just an even more unpleasant bonus for your taste), you would automatically have to be somewhere else in order to breathe properly with your ached lungs.

You then took your left hand towards the handle and opened the bathroom door, a breath of warm steam coming with you as you walked serenely towards the huge bed well placed in the middle of the room that looked like a so much too big just for your enjoyment. You've never been the type to get away with luxury, anyway; it just wasn't a construct based on your simple-minded nature.

A towel crisscrossed by the damp locks played the role of extracting, from your hair, the excess of water that tarnished the curls stuck together by the outline of your face. You wore casual pajamas, a plain dark shirt, and gym shorts that adorned the skin of your inner thighs, and nothing else to cover your modesty. You therefore placed the towel around your neck, over your broad shoulders, in the course of making your way to the phone plugged into the socket placed on the bedside table just to the right of your bed.

But you couldn't do it right away, because a familiar shiver through your senses gave you an alert mode that ran hot from the nape of your neck down the length of your spine, squeezing your ribs into your chest. And, before you could even realize what was happening there, inside the four monochromatic walls of your dull room, a space-time lapse actually broke over your bed like an indigo tear, when a child's body materialized on the sheets that covered your mattress. Talia appeared there, and you froze in your position outside the bathroom door.

“What the…?” you snorted, in defensive surprise, “What the hell do you think you're doing here, girl?”

There was a momentary excruciating silence, before you blinked once in disbelief and saw the most beautiful green eyes you had ever seen in your life – those that, by the yellow color of the lamp placed by your side of the bed, had acquired an exotic emerald color, but which contained fine traces of a unique amber next to the abysmally dark pupils.

You were rueful as you brought your right hand to your sharp face and pinched the bridge of your nose between your forefinger and thumb, a strained sigh slipping through your thin lips, blinking eyes that drooped lids in lethargy towards the child. You heard her fill and empty her lungs with air, before blinking in your direction with an announcement of tears welling up in the green of her doe eyes.

“M-mama,” was a whisper of a small voice that gradually built itself into an unsettling anxiety, “Ma...mama...mama...”

It only took a mere second for her rosebud lips to part in the foreshadowing of a cry that hissed within your eardrums.

“Hey, hey, hey, wait, calm down, don't—don't cry! Don’t Cry! You don’t need to cry!" You intervened immediately, crawling down the length of the mattress until you were sitting next to the sobbing little girl, “I'm going to take you back to your mother, all right? Damn it, I'll take you to your mother!"

You didn't hesitate to touch her thin shoulder bone over her colored shirt to teleport her along with your own body mass in search of Wanda's bedroom door. And, once there in the corridor, accompanied by the child who was still shedding more tears than she seemed to have to cry in her small body, it took a meager amount of miserable seconds that dragged lazily as in the format of hours for the enchantress to open the door with a hard jolt, her maternal senses all sharp and alert when in the presence of her little girl's weeping.

“Talia!” Wanda softened, engulfing the small body with the outline of her forearms, squeezing the teary child in a warm hug against her thin dark sweater, “It's okay, sweetie, I'm here, mama's here. It's okay, shh... it's okay, крошка.”

You couldn't readily say what it was that made you hope she would calm the girl down, who ended up slumbering in a sleep bedecked with tears and a runny nose. But Wanda came to meet you in the hallway right after she did, carefully closing the door behind her body. Even though she was still a little apparently dazed at the fact that you were still standing there, her only in cotton pajama shorts and an oversized black wool sweater, she looked so appealing when lit up by the pale light from the hallway.

“I'm sorry about that, Y/n,” she blew a weary sigh across her lips, “She… she has these powers like yours, but this is all very new to her and she's been having trouble getting it under control. Sometimes I'm afraid to wake up in the morning and find out she teleported to the Himalayas in her sleep or something.”

“It's… it's okay,” you hissed in a shrunken reply, a little awkwardly, not looking her straight in the eye, “Someday she’ll learn to deal with it. Then it gets better, trust me.”

“Well,” Wanda scanned you with a cautious glance, “Maybe if you could help her with that–”

“No, Wanda,” was your unthinking response, ever so wary in your actions, “Just… no. You know I don't wanna get involved with any of this.”

“I know, of course I know,” the brown-haired young woman gave a bashful gasp of air, failing to mask the compunction evident in her bodily actions towards your presence, “You've already made that clear, Y/n. But she is our daughter, your daughter—”

“Wanda, for Christ's sake, don't start it. Not now.”

The clamor in your tone of voice was what discouraged Wanda, who even with a good number of protests popping in her throat, couldn't say anything in the face of your so teased look at her.

Despite the emotion running through your veins, you stopped yourself from continuing to gnaw at the feeling that was distressing at your insides, an acid sensation that spread through your chest like a nuisance on your airway. And as if it were a gulf of anguish, regurgitated by your stomach, you soon tried to swallow your uncontrollable greed for your own injustice; for the violation that child meant in your life.

You then looked down at your bare feet and clicked your tongue across the roof of your mouth poorly, tucking your hands into the pockets of your sweatpants. Wanda looked into your face, which was filled with volcanic and distressing emotions, and blinked for a long time, batting her thick dark lashes.

“She… this girl, she…she’s not my daughter, Wanda. She may be yours, but she's not mine. She's just a goddamn lab experiment, that's all.”

Maybe you just wanted to hurt her. Something selfish enough rooted in your immaturity grew up for you to say it to her – only intent on hurting and ruining, because like a tantrum child, you just couldn't deal with the frustration that swelled inside you like a sickening disease. Wanda, however, didn't do more than a dry movement of her dark brows, and then profuse eyes peered in your direction—two splinters of emerald staring at you like a predator in the dark, a viper and a hare.

"Don’t say that."

The look that was turned on you, even if it was choleric, rigid or perhaps even snarky, was what you keenly yearned for in your pitied core, avoiding looking at her when the bitter remorse flitted across the face of your tongue at your own words referred toward her – because then you wouldn't have to witness Wanda's mild irises as they were, tempting you with their melancholy green, immersed in a feeling of compunction, perhaps even of disappointment or anguish. The excruciating eyes of someone who no longer had the energies contained in her body to fight to get you out of the shell you've gotten yourself into.

It annoyed you in the most acute sense of the word that this was not the first time Wanda had confronted you with her dismayed eyes. And you didn't quite know why you kept hurting her like you did. But there you were, ready to break her heart all over again.

“Don't say that,” she repeated, “She's a child, she's not to blame for any of this. She didn't ask for it—”

“And I didn’t either!”

A last spark of common sense flashed and ended in your contrite interior, lifting you up immediately, screwing the sayings of the fingers of both your hands into a pair of clenched fists with joints so pressed that, due to the lack of blood circulation, became become white and dull.

“I didn't ask for any of this, Wanda! And this girl, she–she's just a constant reminder of everything that happened to me inside that shitty lab! I look at her and all I can see is it happening to me again and again and again! Damn, I can't fucking stand being around her!”

“I went through it too, Y/n!” Wanda's tone shifted an octave, though not enough to cause a flashy scandal, “I was in that fucking lab too!”

She took an irate step toward you.

“And yet I don’t treat her like she's contagious or some shit like that! What the fuck, Y/n, you treat her like a fucking criminal! She's seven, for Christ's sake! And she is my daughter and whether you like it or not, she is yours too! So stop acting like a fucking child and for once in your life, even if it must be really hard for someone like you, be an adult and fucking act like it, dammit!”

“Oh yeah, you were in those labs too, how could I forget,” your tone dripped with acid cynicism, consolidating with your jawbone until it resembled a wire as sharp as a razor blade, “You volunteered to change the world, didn't you? Wow Wanda, such a smart move! What a fucking difference you’ve made, really!”

She, in turn, frowned, her inner woes hastily taking the form of anger at you. A thin layer of red rage carpeted the profuse moss green that grew darker in her enraged gaze.

“Turns out I never told you how I ended up in that shithole, did I? Well, the drunk asshole that I had as a father was a bastard who didn't want to feed four more mouths after my mom died, so at the first chance he got to get rid of me and my siblings, he did it without even batting an eye,” and the smile that appeared on your lips was in no way in keeping with the tears about to burst from your eyes.

“And he said I should be happy, because I was lucky I wasn't pretty enough to end up in a fucking brothel like my little sister! I was fourteen, Wanda!”

Wanda's face fell, but you just bit your lower lip, clasping the pit of your stomach in an excruciating grip – for that bad feeling which resonated in your head before the drowsiness of sleep, terrifying you through the empty darkness that comprised space stripped like a scream in the silence, just alone, like a desolate tear. It hurt you to the core of your chest as much as the shot of a projectile would hurt any other fragile human being.

You squinted your eyes and shook your head. Wanda's red anger faded into thin air, giving way to the pitying looks you so hated getting from someone. She took a gulp of air and opened her mouth to say anything, but you stopped her before she even started.

“So yeah, I'm sorry if I don't want to be in the same place as someone who reminds me of this shitty time. Whose miserable existence is nothing but a reminder of all they took away from me, of how much they violated me over and over again, of how much they stole from my entire life!”

You sobbed, because you the notion of what was happening there fell like a bucket of ice water down the length of your back. You were losing her, and she was losing you too.

“Y/n,” she mussed, gracelessly, as if you really were such a small child as Talia, “Y/n, I'm so sorry, I–I didn't know–I didn't know that–”

“Don't talk to me anymore,” you breathed, your vision blurred and clouded, “Don't ever fucking talk to me again, Wanda.”

Wanda didn't try to stop you when you left in a heartbeat. Just like you didn't try to stop her tears, and she didn't try to make you stay.

ᗢ

“Am I a bad daughter?”

"What...?"

Five more autumns had been later than the one you find yourself in. Wanda has been living in New Jersey with Vision and Talia for a few years now, being an ever so helpful mother to her little daughter, the best that has ever happened to her and the worst that has ever happened to you.

But the girl born to you is still there, perched on a sofa opposite the one you're cuddling in at your own home, and with the aging enhancements to the facial features, you can't help but notice how much she is very reminiscent of Wanda in her sharp cheekbones and the shape of her eyebrows – even if, in a way, also to yourself when you were the same age (twelve years old or something). Like the seasonal change of seasons, the freckles are fading from her nose. Someday, you just know that she could be mistaken for her young mother if seen from afar.

“Am I a bad daughter?” asks Talia awkwardly after long doses of stillness, immediately following a generous sip of water from the glass curled between her fingers.

You considered offering her a sip of freshly brewed still warm coffee, but when you realized she was just a child, you decided that water was good, water was neutral ground and a safe option. And you're probably paying attention to her drinking water so you don't have to think of a worthy answer to her inferred questioning of you.

"You... you...” there’s a pause, “You don't...I don't..."

Your sentence dries up and dies for a split second, though, as you stop yourself before you say too much to the girl, who frowns at you in a custom all too familiar to your cognition – as Wanda used to do when younger. You don't want to burden her, still as young as she is, with answers and satisfactions for someone who wasn't there for her.

“Why do you think that, Talia?” the girl sways a bit at her own actions before your gaze, dragging her upper teeth over the cheek of her rosy lower lip, and for a second there's a sliver of silence that seems to break through your ear canal.

“Because you never spoke to me.”

The answer shuts you down like a deferred open fist punch to the middle of your face, though you still stare at her with both irises going on at the insipid little face so vacillating in your presence. You open your mouth, nothing comes out, and then you close it again as best you can. Then, you opened it again, but soon whatever it was that would emerge from there is canceled out. Finally, you choose to console yourself with the gaze that descends to the laminate flooring placed between your bare feet, even though you have within yourself the fullest notion that, what you need and what you so lack in your system, right after such a shock, it's a good dose of something much stronger than a simple set of coffee beans and hot water.

“Talia, I...” you hesitate for a while, “How did you...?”

“Vis told me,” says the girl, “I... I asked him if he was my father because he is married to ma, but he said he can't be my father because he's not human like me and her. And that I don't have a father because I'm made from ma and... and you, Miss Y/l/n. But I didn't understand what he meant. I think it has to do with those lab days.”

You press your lips together in a single long line, digging into statements which you do not see yourself as fully capable of expounding on the girl you only recognize, then, as your daughter (because, facts being facts, it is what she is). Maybe Vision is just a clueless douche, but you always knew that eventually she would catch on. You just didn't want to be the one to break the news to her.

At least, not without such resolutions inferring a handful of new themes and questions which you might not even be able to clarify for such a chaste child, still sprucing up to the height of her tender twelve years of life; you don’t intend to cultivate it with more seeds of doubt that, perhaps, may come to bear fruit in the form of large trees of insecurity in her future. You aim, then, as a priority, to preserve from the naivety that little Talia has before her two mother figures, who were, respectively, you and Wanda. Two extremes very different from each other.

You look at her, and for a second, the pulsing muscle in your chest aches. No longer out of remorse, or even repulsion. It only hurts because, after the years have passed and your maturity has dawned, you only see something of your own in Talia's face. In front of her you stand up, and the green gaze follows you as you come towards her as if you have something to say.

With your fingertips, however, you touch her thin chin, seeking the gaze to link with yours once more. So you give her a tender smile, showered with regretful caresses, and with your thumb you caressed her smooth-skinned jawbone. Once again, your gaze realizes that Talia has the traits of a bone structure similar to the one that Wanda also has.

“I'm sorry, kid,” you sigh at the girl, before taking the small body in your arms, leaning your cheek against the crown of the dark haired head. There, Talia snuggled in and expelled a sigh, because, for the both of you it just feels good. It feels right.

“I'm so sorry, Talia.”

When a new knock was referred to the wood of your door, the young girl had already slept lying on your sofa. For half a second you just watched over the child beside you as you never had before, her chest heaving and falling over her red jacket, while Talia snored to the blandishments of a slumber. You had long ago retained her facial features in memory (the sharp eyebrows and nose, the pearly lips), but it was inevitable to look at her once more.

You covered her small body with a thick blanket before going to tend to your new visitor.

“Y/n, is she…?” is the first thing you are told by Wanda's anguished tone, who casts glances behind your shoulder in search of her daughter inside your house.

“She slept on the couch, don't worry,” you nod, which elicits a relieved sigh from the other woman, “You… would you like some tea?”

Wanda blinks in your direction.

"Yes, please..." she whispers, "I would like to."

Wanda is still the same woman you fell in love with at some remote moment in your past memories, to whom you had committed your heart and soul – the same emerald eyes rimmed with an eerie glow, the same athletic, supple back, the same dark hair that hugs the outline of the prudent face. But she seems more centered. Like you, she's more mature, weathered by time.

She just looks so pretty sipping from a cup of tea inside your own kitchen.

During the succinct moment in which your gazes gather in a single line, one applying themselves to unveil the other, the gap in your chest is able to sip and scrutinize every measly detail of her radiant beauty, so that you can then contrast it with the countenance of the young woman you left behind so long ago, checking that your disillusioned eyes aren't mocking your feelings. However, with no room for error, she is still Wanda. Your Wanda.

“She knows,” you say then, with your forearms crossed in front of your chest, your hips snug against the icy marble counter of the sink, “About me, I mean. She knows. She says Vision told her.”

“I know,” Wanda sighs behind swirls of steam rising from the inside of the cup that she shields with a wall of her own fingers, now devoid of any rings to be seen – including the wedding ring that has always captured your suffering gaze, “That's why she ran away. Vis, he's just... he's complicated. I know I can't exactly demand some things from him because he's not human, but... lately he's just been so... so...”

“Robotic?” you try, with a teasing half smile, and Wanda allows herself to laugh grimly, shaking her head of long dark hair that now looks a little shorter than it once did.

“Yeah,” she sighs, “Robotic.”

And she looks tired, as she takes gulps of oxygen to say, “We're getting divorced. Or breaking up, I don't know, we were never really married. It’s not like he has a birth certificate.”

The woman wails in a wretched wail, and so much of the past you can see in her, so helpless and vulnerable, that your very heartstrings tighten in a grim girdling, bathed in a greedy despondency.

“This sucks, Wanda,” you say, frowning complacently, “I… I'm sorry about it.”

“It's okay, Y/n,” she whispers, “It's just… lately I can't seem to do anything right. My life is in chaos, and I'm losing control of everything and I'm just so, so tired..."

You then approach her in silent strides, crossing the kitchen to stand next to her right shoulder, who is leaning against the dark marble of the island. And she doesn't seem to repel you at all; on the contrary, she comes even closer to you, to the point that your elbows almost rub under the clothes you wear – she in an open cashmere cardigan that exudes cozy airs of domestic comfort, so different from the clothes with those dark colors from before, and you in an old red hoodie that once belonged to her.

“And then, Vision went over there and told Talia about you,” her grip presses against the pale porcelain of the cup, “And now I'm sure she hates me for keeping it from her for so long. I was just trying to protect her, and now I'm… I'm just a bad mom, I guess.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” you cry out immediately, searching for her lowered gaze, “No, don't say that, Wanda, that's not true and you know it's not. Damn, you are an amazing mother to that girl, from day one you always were! And it's noticeable how much you love her and how much she loves you too. You've always tried so hard, you've always given so much of yourself… seriously, Wanda, you're amazing!”

And she blinks, her lashes thick and dark, a pre-announcement of tears that are swept away from the emerald green of her eyes.

"Do you... really think so?"

“I always did,” you shrug, “Even though I've been an asshole to you and her, I've always… I've always paid attention to the two of you. Like, not in a creepy way, I'm not a pervert or whatever, it's just—”

“Y/n,” she kind of smiles at you, “It’s okay, I get it. The three of us are connected by the Mind Stone, it's normal for you to feel something different about us. Vis said that the attraction he felt for me was because of that.”

“No, Wanda, that's not what I–” you exhaust yourself on a sigh, squinting your eyes for a few miserable seconds. You lift your eyelids and finally gives Wanda a supple, complacent look, no longer in a battle against your feelings for her, “It wasn't just the Stone, Wanda. It was never just the Stone. I was immature and stupid and for a while I wished it was, but it was never just that and I was always sure of it. I would really fall in love with you in any possible situation, Wanda, whether with the Stone or not.”

"In any situation...?" and she looks so fragile, when she casts a light green gaze upon you like the leaves of spring trees. And you shake your head in unsyllabic agreement with her doubts.

“In any situation,” is an unerring tone of voice, one she's never seen sketched out by you when it comes to your feelings for her.

“Either way, I would always fall in love with you. From the way you smile and scrunch your nose, or the way you eat cereal holding your spoon in that weird way, the smell of your perfume, the laugh you get when you watch your favorite sitcoms, for... for the way you took Talia in when we found her. It's not just the damn Stone, Wanda, I just can't help but fall in love with you just the way you are.”

Your gaze is sharpened by a still-young memory that echoes through the temples of your beloved Wanda – who pours out her appreciation for your figure before her in the tenderness exhaled through her pores.

You see it as a reminder of your past, where you both belonged in each other's arms and made love in the breath of the night, kissed by the moonlight, with no one knowing what you were doing away from the sight of astute spectators. However, your heart rises high in your chest as soon as the idea that she is in front of you is evident again, and it is different, but it is also so much the same as before. You smile at Wanda, who was once your victory and your defeat, much more than just a piece of the Mind Stone that lives in you. The one who always had your heart in her hands to keep.

“In any universe, Wanda, I will always love you.”

She gasps as she brings her face towards you, which doesn't flinch at all from the other woman's action. Lips touching as if to keep an ancient secret from each other, Wanda melting against you.

And a cunning pink tongue slips into her peach-colored mouth like a cunning snake, and there, with the velvet touch, you stroke your tongue against hers expertly and needy, coiling around her with a mature agility, as if guiding a wet dance between two people who, behind the excitement that seemed to warm their bodies like a summer mist, only sought to connect through cracked kisses – the echoes of the words you both wanted to say, but you were never sure how you were going to do it.

She still tastes like red, which is good to keep in your mouth, but the other taste you find in her is new and causes a smoldering happiness inside your chest – because it's the taste of the reciprocation of a feeling so intrinsic in your bloodstream, and in hers also. She kisses you because she misses you. You kiss her because you want to feel her again. And together, you kiss just because you love each other.

“Don't go away again,” her hot breath brushes the cheek of your half-swollen upper lip, her fingers carefully caressing the corners of your face between her hands, “Please, Y/n, never go away again. Never leave me again.”

“I won't, Wanda,” you muss, looking into her eyes, as close to you in her embrace as you are, “I'll be here for Talia and for you, I promise. I’ll never make you cry again. This time I’ll be the person you deserve to have by your side.”

When she smiles, so beautiful and so peaceful, you kiss the grin on her mouth. Again and again.

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