#i'm so close to going feral and talking about some of them being soft

[neonovember]

Oh. My. God. Oh my god but imagine though, waking up around 8 or 9 or so on a day off where both you and Carmy have the day free. It’s a big deal maybe because oh my god Carmen’s in bed at 9 in the morning *affectionate sarcasm* holy moly Carmen settle down!

But just waking up with him, the sun coming through the window through the thin curtains with a little breeze, looking over and watching Carmy’s face form into the softest, most precious smile, his eyelashes fanning his cheeks as he slowly comes to and lets out a little sigh “Morning” his voice is all husky from sleep and lack of use. You smile back with that sweet giddiness and relaxation in filling your body as you softly whisper good morning back to him. Watching him shift as he sits up to lean over and place a long, soft and slow and tender kiss over your lips, still with that little smile on his lips (I am about to exPLODE-)*CRYING!!!!!!*

okay okay, i know i wrote a drabble similar to this idea here, and for some reason my mind fell back to the night before..y'all, imagine the night that resulted in a soft, needy carmen spending the day in bed with you, all sore and a mess of slick and cum-

Midnight Cars

summary: You’re not about to fuck in the car park. So you end up fucking in the car park. Your apartment’s one at least. 

a/n: read @nolita-fairytale fic's about fiance!carmen, and god did that get my gears going. Her series is a mf masterpiece! Fiance Carmen is dirtyyy, even for Berzatto himself. There's public sex, I'm talking Carmen is knuckles deep in you swallowing you with praises whilst a few feet away from Auntie Susie, public. 

warnings; filth, utter FILTH, this is kind of insane even for me, car sex, public sex, fingering, dry humping, cowgirl (yeehuh!) but carmen's doing all the work, fiance!carmen, wrap it before you tap it lmao, 18+ explicit, feral and a little deranged carmen, possesive! carmen

The tangy burst of vermilion and cherry grasps your tongue as you tilt the rounded bowl of your drinking glass towards your lips, gliding your tongue to catch any wayward drops of the wine being poured by waiters dressed down in black and white. 

Your eyes don’t leave the dirty blond tresses that had long broken from their gelled back form through the night's progression sitting atop Carmen’s head. You can’t help the giggle you let out from your position against the bar, watching him join in a very drunk, but surprisingly harmonised rendition of “Ain't No Mountain High Enough" By Marvin Gates.

His tie sits undone around his neck, and his face is sort of flushed from the extended night, his cheeks a tinty rose and his lips turned red from his repetitive swipes of his tongue across them nervously.

All inhibitions are gone now, and you're able to indulge in the site of a carefree Carmen, left unaware of the never ending responsibilities he carried by the honey haze of a night just for him and his award winning restaurant. 

The low lights of the speakeasy room sets the air into a mellow haze, hints of cocoa and aged bourbon waft through the corners of the room, across half finished plates of food on tailored tables, and the stage where your Carmen had won the very award that now sits dangerously close to the edge of your table.

You knew the James Beard Association was prestigious, but god had they truly left you dumbfounded when you stepped into the low lights of the speakeasy.

You didn't even know places like this still existed. 

The speakeasy was tucked in a bricked alley, unassumingly between an Italian and a car park. You wouldn’t have ever guessed it to boast this attraction, with aged vintage black and white photos of late singers who’d sung on that very stage years ago hanging across the walls, polished dark exposed wood and velvet booth seats in corners surrounding round tables, even the parlour looked like it was out of an 80’s  bar house. You think if you shut your eyes and reached out you would have touched the sequence dress of Etta Jones.

Carmen didn't get drunk, not often anyways, and even now, after winning the prestige of “Chicago's Up and Coming Restaurant of the Decade”, he waved off every raise of a glass towards him.

Carmen felt a level of unease at even touching a drop of liquor whilst driving you both home, no, every fiber of his being screamed at him to keep you safe at all times, and the taste of bourbon held nothing against the taste of you. 

That didn’t stop him from enjoying himself, in fact he felt an unnatural sense of bubbly relaxation fall over him as his gaze fell towards you, sipping on a glass, looking the very bit the picture of gorgeous he’d ever seen. 

Carmen had always been horrible at these sorts of things, getting doted on, sucked up to, boasted to. He hated every second of it, but even he can attest to the absolute wonder of a night this has been. He glided you against the dance floor, under the iridescent glass panes of the skylight window, the soft crescent moonlight shining through in a way that bounced against the glitters of low hanging ambient lighting and shimmers of dresses and disco balls. 

The dance floor had been packed with family and friends but then? Then, it had felt like the entire world had stood still, it had felt like it was the both of you, infinitely, you in his arms like it was meant to be, forever.

And now you looked across to him, with those eyes, those fucking eyes of yours, comfortable in the vision of your gorgeous man looking at you under hooded lids, his bottom lip sunken into his mouth. The hint of a smirk tucks at the corner, and it takes everything in you not to jump at him then.

You motion with a manicured finger, and his eyes catch yours in a second, despite being in a group of people currently huddled around him, eager faces hanging onto his every word. He leaves them, in the middle of a mountain of questions they prodded at him, towards you, following your every desire, always, until the very end.

“I see congratulations are in order, Chef” You softly reply, when he makes it close enough that you take in the veins trailing up his forearm, left bare from his rolled up sleeves. The vision shoots straight to the heat building in your belly, and you have to press your drink to your lips to stop the bubbly moan from escaping.

Carmen looks down at you from his height, eyes trailing down the cut of your body hugging dress, lingering on your snug hips catching against the silky black fabric. 

He wanted to feel them beneath his hands as he took you.

“Oh yeah?” Carmen replies, his voice like silk fluttering across your body. Heady in that way it always is.

“Mhm, but I didn’t get to really say anything since you were busy with the rest of them” You don’t have to gesture for Carmen to know about the huddles of people crowding his every move. Another thing he disliked about these sorts of things, they took him away from you.

“Does my girl feel neglected?” 

“No” You draw out. “ I just want to show you how proud I am” You whisper through dark lashes. Carmen trails a tattooed fingers across your jaw, letting glide against the smooth skin until it bumps against your lips. Trailing your bottom lip fervently, his own pulled into his mouth.

“And how are you going to congratulate me hm?”

“That will just ruin the surprise, won’t it?”

Carmen let’s put a chuckle, before leaning into the crook of your neck

“Careful..you know I don’t like it when you keep things from me” 

You can’t help the shudder that crawls up your spine at his words, flashes of being bent over his desk, of being pushed onto your knees corrode your mind and you feel the burning ache travel to your core.

Carmen tilts his head, a hint of a smile on his lips as he watches you, eyes glinting in want.

“No? You’re not gonna tell me?” Carmen replies in a low voice, and as he trails his thick digits across the sides of your dress, bunching up the silk material.

He trails his thick digits across the bodice of your dress, his hands dipping into the spill of cleavage before trailing it to the sides of your dress, bunching up the silk material. Surely he’s not?

“Mhm” Carmen nods, eyes flickering to you, reading your mind as he takes you in appreciably. His pupils are blown out in lust, the familiar ceruleans dipping into a depth only reserved for you.

You let out a squeal when you feel Carmen’s fingers trail up the slit on your thigh, squeezing the naked flesh before tracing his fingers along the lace trim of your panties. You’re up against the bar, shielded by the low ambient lighting and Carmen’s huge back obscuring every manoeuvre of your body to his every desire.

“Carmen-“ You admonish, eyes darting across the room now filled with happily drunk family and friends dancing or laughing amongst each other.

However your admonishment is light hearted, it trails off into the air when you feel Carmen press against you, then, you don’t really care, you miss him too goddamn much to.

“Been watching you the entire night you know? When you were dancing with your friends, god I wanted to drag you from the floor and just take you in the fucking coat closet” Carmen muses, his lips brushing against the pulse point behind your ear. Your drink long forgotten on the bar counter, your hands now gripping his shoulders as you bite back a moan.

“Yeah, just thinking about wrapping these thighs around me and letting that pussy grip me for hours”

“You’d take it all, right honey? You’ll be my good girl?” Carmen grunts out softly

All you can let out is a half hearted nod, your eyes falling dangerously closed as Carmen prods and sucks against every sliver of skin he can get ahold of.

His deft thumb drags along the fabric of your undergarments, cupping your mound as you let out a sharp exhale, making approving noises as the slick that has begun to already begun to drench your panties.

“Already wet for me Darling?” Carm replies, the hint of mirth surrounding his voice doesn’t allude you, and if you didn’t want to keep chasing that sweet friction of Carmens thumb against your heat you would have shoved him.

“Please Carm” You exhale with a sharp breath, trying to grind your hips onto the palm of his hand. He strokes you softly, featherlight touches that barely feel like anything.

And this man, this goddamn man, laughs. A roll of a chuckle rolls through his body and you want to scream at the denial of the pleasures he's keeping from you, before his deep baritone voice replies.

“All you had to say was please”

His rough fingers sink into your heat, it’s silky, and rough and hits you like liquor, straight to the building pressure. He drags your slick through your folds, arching his fingers ever so slightly when he bumps up against your clit. Never fully putting any pressure on that precipice of pleasure you want to dive head first into.

Dipping a thick tattooed digit into your tight hole, Carmen lets out a groan at the way you grip him so tightly, masking your pitched moan at the feeling of him circling his thumb against your bundle of nerves and stretching you out with his thick digits.

Carmen is practically holding you up, his large bicep wrapped tightly around your waist as you sink your teeth into his shoulder, letting the skin absorb the litter of stuttered mewls you let out at the swipes of his thumb against your clit.

The coil begins to tighten, and you can faintly hear Carmen softly whisper sweet nothings, proclamations, declarations, praises. They fall from his mouth like honey and push you further up the cliff. 

“I know sweet girl, taking it so well, just keep taking it, let me make you feel good, yeah?”

A second finger joins the first, dragging your sopping slick up your folds, before dipping into your tight hole. Rough fingers massage up against your walls that grip him so tightly, Carmen knows your body inside and out, and it doesn't take long for him to find the soft spongy patch of skin deep within you, curling a third finger up into that spot, roughly thrusting into relentlessly. 

Carmen watches the way your pussy swallows his thick tattooed fingers, thrusting them out slicker and wetter each time, the image has his jaw and slacks tightening and it takes everything in him not to sink his entire length into against the bar counter, fuck whoever else.

Your hips buckle beneath him, and he grips you harder into his chest, his mouth presses bruising kisses along your neck, jaw, clavicle. Your heated moans fail to reside in you as you begin to cant your hips into his hands, rubbing your clit rapidly on the flat side of his palm. The coil tightens within you, and you roll your eyes back, letting out a bubbling of half syllabus, your brain a mush from the saccharine pleasure curling your toes.

“M’ fucking you dumb baby? You getting off so good on my fingers you can’t speak?” Carmen groans out, he can’t stop himself from canting his hips forward, his erection bumping into your stomach.

The feeling of him pressed and thrusting against you, outlined by his suit pants is a vision that breaks you entirely, and you can’t even blink before you feel the band snap, the delicious white hot burn spreading through you like a wildfire.

“Carmen..s-..gonna” You manage to let out with a breath, and Carmen knows already, of course he does. He’s knuckles deep in you now, and his relentless rutting is inescapable, you can fucking feel him in your bones, down to your goddamn marrow. He continues his rapid thrusts into you, refusing to relent, pushing you further, and further through the waves of your unending. 

Your head lulls back, but Carmen catches it with his arm, his mouth slatted over yours as you fail to keep in the loud yell of his name from your lips. 

Carmen swallows your stuttered mewls, your swears, your please, he swallows it all and keeps it for himself. His tongue darting across the inside of your mouth, swiping along the roof of your mouth, across your front teeth.

His fingers continue to thrust into you, helping you ride through the burst of colours and stars that light your vision beneath your lids. You're pushed up against his hard chest, and it takes some time for your limp body to come back to life, your head a daze of pleasure.

“S’fucken good girl”

Carmen mutters so softly, almost to himself, his fingers are still cupping your heart, whisper grazes of his thumb against your drenched folds. 

as he fixes your dress, smoothing the wrinkles formed, flickering his eyes to yours in a sweet smile.

Through hooded lids, you see a man approach you both, interrupting the heated gaze Carmen imprints down to your very bones. Carmen slinks his hand back, discreetly popping those deft digits into his mouth with a low groan, before wiping them on his suit pants. He carefully fixes your dress, smoothing the wrinkles formed, flickering his eyes to yours in a sweet smile as if he hadn’t just fucked you up into his knuckles, and goddamn tasted you. 

The scene causes a shudder to roll down your back, reigniting the heat deep inside you once again, you never thought you could be this depraved, this-, but the way he sinks into you so perfectly has you nodding to every desire he has. He was a goddamn drug.

Your body is still recovering from the aftershocks of your orgasm, and you feel Carmen's heated gaze on you as you try and coherently respond to the stubby man who’d interrupted you both. The man rambles on, clearly oblivious to your state, too focused on the sound of his own voice. You nod along to his words, something about a farmers market or an Indian restaurant that had opened, but you're jittering in your heels and you can barely stand, opting to lean against the bar counter. 

You look towards Carmen, to find him staring at you, amusement lighting his cerulean blues as he takes in your insatiability. Hell, it took him god near everything to not fling the man to the other side of the room so that he could probably taste you. 

Remind him again why he agreed to this?

It gets to maybe the second inception of an animated story before Carmen is bidding the man goodbye with a shake of a hand, and all you can do is swallow the desire that no doubt has you salivating by the second. God if Carmen had made you wait even one more minute you would have tugged on his shirt like some petulant child.

“Took you long enough” You murmur, when Carmen eases out into the speakeasy car park with a hand against the small of your back.

A soft laugh escapes Carmen, scratching at his jaw as he shakes his head. 

“If I didn’t already know, I would think you're the one that hates these things” Carmen murmurs with a teasing smile, as you make your way to the sleek black car that camouflages against the midnight.

You make a sound that sounds close to a snort, “Not when it keeps me from jumping my fiances bones” Your engagement ring seems to glisten at those words, and you don't miss the way Carmen’s eyes flash with a look of hunger, adoration, glee, even possession all mixed in one.

You’d been his since the moment he laid eyes on you, that was a given. Putting a ring on your finger just gave him something to latch onto, a mark that told the world you were finally his.

It anchored him, it made him feel good. It eased the anxieties that would flood his mind, washing them away like a current every time he kissed that damn princess cut.  

Carmen wasn’t exactly all that sentimental, but with you? God did he mutter till death do us part like it was tattooed onto his tongue. And even then, when he’s a zombified version of his human self, traveling the underworld soullessly he’d find you.

Oh were you Carmen’s, but wasn’t he yours too?

“Language sweetheart, you make me sound like a piece of meat” Carmen murmurs teasingly shuffling so that he’s leaning over your body pressed into the passenger seat door.

“Language? Your talking about modesty after you just-” Your cut off by Carmen's rough finger pressed against your lips

“Would be careful about what you're going to say next sweetheart” Carmen raps in a low voice, tracing his finger against your bottom lip, eyebrows furrowed as if the motion of his fingers brushed up against you was of utmost importance.

You gulp back the words you wanted to say, Carmen's blown out eyes flicker from yours to your lips, and you lift your head towards him. Carmen catches you with a hand wrapped around your jaw, pushing you further against him as he crashes his lips sweet against your own. Swiping against your bottom lip, dipping into the heat of your mouth as he groans against the taste of you.

“So sweet,” Carmen murmurs into the kiss, before pulling back. Amusement clouds over lust filled eyes at your immediate anger against his denial

“What about my surprise?” 

“You can’t really get to enjoy the full experience in a public car park on Michigan Ave” You whisper, suggestivity laces your tone as you feel the heat of embarrassment flood through you. You were not good at this stuff, and yet the sharp sound of Carmen’s soft groan causes you to lift your eyes up to meet him.

“Then what are we doing standing here?” Carmen replies with a growl, it erupts from his chest, and as you stare up at him, you finally take in the wolfish expression on his face. He look’s insatiable, goddamn animalistic as he eyes you carefully, a darkness that prods at his blues.

You let Carmen place you into the passenger seat, the resounding click of the seat belt the only sound in the stretch of silence between you both. A heaviness laces the air in the car as you ride home, a headiness, a lurking desire beneath the illuminating light of the console, and the flashing lights of Chicago sitting against tinted windows. 

Carmen spreads his thighs across the drivers seat leisurely, resting a hand on the steering wheel, whilst the other grips your thigh tightly. There's going to be a bruise there tomorrow, and you can't help but preen at the thought of his mark on you hours later.

You count the seconds that tick by as Carmen rolls into the basement garage of your shared apartment, parking silently as he cuts the engine and remains unmoving, except for his hand gripping your thigh which he squeezes periodically. 

Carmen cuts his gaze towards you, the wolfish expression that overtakes his features and turns him into a predator tells you all you need to know, but his eyes soften ever so slightly, almost telling you the next move is up to you.

Carmen doesn't need to hear the seat belt unclasping before he's tugging you on his lap with rough skillful hands. His erection pushed against the softness of your belly as groan out in blissed relief, Carmen can’t help himself, grinding his hips up into you frantically.

“Need” Carmen breathes out heavily “Need to feel you, need to be inside of you. Right now, right fucking now” Carmen groans.

There is a fumble of clothes being ripped and thrown into the backseat, and Carmen shifts the driver's seat to lean back a little. The position is unforgiving, your back is pressed against the wheel, and the space is too small, but strangely, it’s a tight proximity you crave, too long have you gone without the ecstasy of Carmen’s skin against yours.

You settle your thighs on either side of him, his deft fingers drawing soft circles across your hips, his pressing fervent kisses along your jaw causing you to fall into the crook of his neck.

“Please, sweetheart, let me feel you, let me see you, shh, it’s alright, let me feel you” Carmen hums into the heat of your skin, tasting your sweat with the flat of his tongue as he grips your hips gently.

You lift them, and with Carmen's help, you finally, after what felt like centuries, sink onto Carmen's length, the sobbing slick drenching your folds causing him to slip in easily, eliciting a breathless groan from him as he feels the heat of you wrap around you.

You can hardly breath, all you can feel, all you can taste and see is him, the delicious stretch that comes with the first sink into you is glorious, its fucking ineffable. The entirety of his length sinks into you to the hilt, and you feel every vein and ridge of him graze against your tight walls as you let out a strained whimper into Carmen's shoulder.

“ ‘S Fucking velvet, pussy grip’s like a goddamn vice every time sweetheart” Carmen praises, pressing kisses to your skin, his eyes shut as if he was memorising the feel of you, savouring it in his mind like it was the last time.  

Carmen always gave you a few moments to get comfortable around his thickness, but there was a neediness in the way he held you, like you would turn to dust if he let go, and the restraint he held earlier falls apart as makes that first thrust up into you without warning.

You cry out as the blanket of pleasure courses through you, your heart is in your throat, you can barely breath, and you throw your head back cause god don’t you want more.

You press your nails into his shoulder as you try to lift your hips, eyebrows furrowed at the feeling of pleasure that fills you with every inch of him that glides against your walls, your clit, your slick. You’re a mess, and Carmen tugs at your hips, sick of waiting, and thrusting into you mercilessly, maintaining an unforgiving pace as you quake above him.

“Take me so goddamn well, huh sugar? Doesn't my wife take my cock so well?’ Carmen grunts, his eyes watching the way his length sinks into you and leaves glistening with your slick. The sight nearly tears him into his undoing, nearly causing him to spurt into you, if only he had a damn polaroid.

Your head brushes against the roof of the car as Carmen pistons into you, his hands gripping your hips as he slams you onto his length, rutting into you as the velvet of your walls cling to him. It was like goddam silk wrapped around his length, the gooey slick of your arousal coating his every ridge, dripping down onto his balls and between the space where he’d thrust into you.

A litter of profanities fall from his mouth with every stuttered thrust of his hips, its uncontrolled, and Carmen shows no restraint, no signs of stopping as he chases the wet softness only you have, the decadent caramel, your natural addicting scent, the car fucking stinks of you, and it takes everything in Carmen not to rip you off him and drink from you like a fountain elixir.

His tip brushes against your cervix, thrusting impossibly deeper with every move of his hips, he changes his position, and it causes his length to brush up against that spot that causes stars to burst in your vision. You practically arch your back against him, lifting your hips up when you feel the white hot pleasure that drips down your back, exploding your senses.

“No no no, fucking take it” Carmen snarks, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you down deeper, further onto his length, till your filled to the brim, your slick gushing out of you.

A shudder rolls through you and the sound of Carmen's low voice, dipping into something untapped, something animalistic and merciless, something that would pull every drop of pleasure from you until you were a sobbing mess.

You roll your hips against his length, a shaking, stuttering mess of gurgling words and cries as you grind your clit against Carmen's length, whilst the girth of his thrust into the spongy spot within you that leaves you heaving.

The familiar burn of a coil tightens within you, and as Carmen presses a thumb against the swollen bundle of nerves, circling it softly. The contrast of his soft feather touches against your clit paired with his unforgiving pace thrusting into causes you to keen, arching your back against him as Carmen murmur below you fervently, like he's chanting something, worshipping every curve of your body.

“Open your eyes pretty girl” Carmen murmurs, the soft voice of his voice comes back, the rough demeanour falling away like dust as he takes in the signs of your closeness.

“Please Carmen” You beg, you don't know what for,  but it seems like everything from the pleading lilt of your voice. Give me everything Carmen, your love, your pleasure, your skin and bones.

“I know Baby, I know, let me see you yeah? Let me see those pretty eyes” Carmen prods gently

You squeeze your eyes open and the vision that finds you almost snaps the coil tightening deep within your gut, bellowing with heat and pleasure that sizzles below your skin like electricity.

Carmen lies beneath you, his cheeks red with heat and blushing desire, his eyebrows are furrowed, and below them, below them lie cerulean blues that glaze over in a daze, hooded lids with curls lashes that brush against cheekbones. It’s like he's in a trance, his pupils blown out in lust and something else as they watch the bounce of your chest against him each time you shealth yourself onto his thick, hard length.

White teeth pressed into reddened lips watch you eagerly, imprinting you into his mind forever, he wanted you like this always, taking every inch, screaming nothing but his name.

“Fucking gorgeous”

The lilt of his voice, grown husky and low from pleasure breaks something in you, and you aren’t able to warn him, before you arch your back impossibly, driving yourself roughly onto his hips as you get the wave of pleasure wash over you. Colours of vermilion, blue, of the wine you had drunk and Carmen's cologne burst under your lids, on your tongue, everywhere. Carmen groans loudly below you, thrusts growing sloppy as he ruts into you desperately, chasing his own release brought on by your own unending. 

Carmen barely controls the thrust of his hips into you, releasing spurts of thick cum, coating your walls endlessly. His arm wraps tightly around your waist, making you take everything he gives you, forcing you into the whirlwind of ecstasy and base desire you can’t escape from.

You both temporarily forgot about where you both are in that instance, the pleasure from the both of you transports you somewhere boneless, and for a second you feel your heart stop, the  wave of pleasure that crashes over you as Carmen continues rutting into you, lengthening the wave as long as possible until you feel it swallow you both whole.

It’s somewhere between a few minutes to a few hours when you resurface, you don't know, your mind is a mess of sound and colour and the ecstatic aftershock of pleasure that still runs through you. You're nestled into Carmen’s chest, the scent of your coupling thick in the air, your thighs and the leather seat are covered with your combined slick.

The only sound between you both is your heavy breathing, you still nestled up to the hilt of Carmen, and when you slightly shift your hips Carmen shoots out a hand to stop you.

“Easy there sweetheart” Carmen replies in tight constraint, over stimulation washing over you both as the buzz of pleasure still hasn't quite dissipated.

“S-sorry” You reply, breathlessly, lifting your head tiredly to catch the soft gaze of Carmen watching you. His hands glide across your naked frame, pressing soft circles, shushing and smoothing out every shudder and shake of your legs. Carmen doesn't tell you the thought of you visibly shaking from him and he only causes his length to stiffen and his mind to reel.

“So..where’s my present?” Carmen’s teasing voice re-emerges, his eyes crinkling as you swipe at him playfully.

“You’re still in me, dick” You reply with a roll of your eyes, falling back against the hardness of his chest

“Mhm, and I didn’t even get to taste you” Carmen murmurs, tracing his fingers along the curve of your waist, cupping your ass as you shudder from his words. There was a finality in it, and you don’t know if you’ll make it to the elevator before he fulfills that very desire.

The obscenity of it, you love it, only Carmen could make you this depraved. And god do you thank him for it.

Taglist 🏷 (send an ask to be apart of my taglist for carmen)

@kpopgirlbtssvt @rooster-bradshaws

#neonovember #carmen berzatto #carmy the bear #the bear #the bear fx #carmen berzatto x fem!reader #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto filth #carmen berzatto x filth #carmen berzatto x smut #carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto #carmy berzatto x fem!reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto smut #carmy berzatto smut #carmy berzatto filth #carmen berzatto x fluff #carmen berzatto fanfiction #carmen berzatto fic #carmen berzatto imagine #carmen berzatto x y/n #the bear fanfiction #carmy berzatto fluff #fiance!carmen berzatto #fiance!carmen berzatto x reader #fiance!carmen berzatto x fem!reader #the bear filth #neo masterlist #neowrites

[asheloop]

KENMA'S FAVORITE CAM GIRL ☆

Warnings: 18+ NSFW, smut, simp!kenma, camgirl!reader, fem!reader, masturbation, squirt, use of toys

A/N: english is NOT my first language. If there are any grammatical mistakes, please lmk

Synopsis: Kenma is obsessed with you, his favorite cam girl, and gets off to your lives.

When he heard that familiar sound from his phone he immediately stopped what he was doing and jumped out of the bed to get the earphones and click on the notification.

His favorite cam girl was on live after 2 whole weeks.

He grabs some tissues, the fleshlight and the lub from the drawer beside his bed and gets comfortable on his gaming chair.

The live starts and you are sitting there on your couch wearing just a tank top and a pair of black panties.

"Hi guys~ how you've been? I know I've been missing a little but I'm back with so many surprises for you~~"

He's already aroused and anxious to see what you got prepared for today's show.

You talk about your last week while you wait for more people to join in.

Just the sound of your voice is enough for getting him rock hard.

"Thank you guys~ thank you so much for all the gifts and donations... you are being so good to me~ I think you deserve a reward"

You take off your top, letting to the view of all those boys and him the prettiest tits he's ever seen.

He choked on a moan to the sight of your very bare breast and cannot stop thinking of how bad he wants to taste those pretty and recently pierced nipples and make a mess on them.

You start playing with the jewelry staring straight into the camera and his cock twitches in his gray sweatpants.

He palms himself and waits, wanting this to last more than the other time. Poor boy couldn't last more than 5 minutes, but it is all your fault and your mellow moans.

He frees his leaking cock and gives it a few pumps before letting a cold drop of lub fall to the tip and go all the way down to his balls, adds some more to the toy that he only uses when he watches your lives and aligns it with his pulsating dick.

"Some of you are getting impatient... want me to show you more~?"

He tights his slow pace fist.

"Mgh yes baby~" says out loud as if you could hear him, he wishes you do.

You lower the camera showing your pretty pussy and oh god you're dripping wet.

"Tsk dirty slut" he says.

"I brought something today guys" in your right hand you're holding a vibrating bullet.

You turn on the little toy, the sound of the vibrations turns him on even more.

You put the toy in your mouth, making it wet, some drool falls down your lips when you take it it out and start teasing yourself from your neck, passing between your boobs and down your belly to finally end on your puffy clit letting out a soft moan.

"F-fuck... it feels so good~"

He can't take his eyes out of you while you slowly introduce the bullet inside your tight hole.

You squirm and shut your eyes closed because of the pleasure.

Kenma bumps his cock faster, red angry tip leaking precum inside that fucking toy that he wants it to be you instead.

"Shit k-keep going~" he moans.

You take out the small bullet and press it against your clit once again, add one finger slowly inside bumping it in and out, then another finger is in and you fasten your pace, moaning loud.

"O-ohh mgh f-fuck right there~"

You keep going and he holds his orgasm, he doesn't want to cum before you do.

The pleasure is too much for both of you.

"Are you cumming?" you said.

He wasn't cumming, he feel he was dying.

Tensed up thighs, eyes full with tears and drops of sweat running down his forehead, his shirt between his teeth letting his slightly tuned abdomen expose.

"P-please cum for me" that was it, he couldn't hold it anymore.

You two cum hard and messy, the vibrations only intensify your orgasm and a clear liquid comes out of you, squirting all over the couch.

He removes the sticky fleshlight and grabs his cock with his hand, veins pulsating under his touch, he goes fast and feral and finally cums hard on his stomach, trying to catch his breath he smiles at you through the screen.

"Oh shit that was messy" you said, smiling to the camera "okay guys~ see you another time!"

Ken: you did it so good today baby <3

y/n: Thank you! Appreciate your support!

Oh he was down on his knees for you.

Hii, this is my first writing

hope you enjoyed and double tap if you like it <3

#haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #kozume kenma #kenma smut #kenma x reader #haikyuu #hq #hq x reader

[thedivineflowers]

Had a funny thought but imagine RSA meeting middle school!reader, and seeing how absolutely feral they are.

But some see past that, and see just a child and immediately go to pick them up and hold them like a stuffed animal saying:

"Awww look at the little baby!!!"

❤ anon

HOLY SHIT YOURE SO SMART ❤️ NONNIE ONG

So.

Apparently selected students of RSA were allowed on a field trip to NRC.

And you being one of the most popular students at NRC Crowley said that you'd be giving the students a tour. You of course couldn't go against Crowleys word or else you wouldn't be eating for the week 😔.

You had to wait in the mirror chamber for the RSA students to come through and when they did you had introduced yourself. "My Name is Y/n, I will be giving you all a tour of the school, and after that I will lead you to where you all will be staying for the next three days." You said, trying to stay professional like Crowley said so he doesn't take your allowance.

Neige

Before you couldn't say anything else the student named Neige Leblanche had tilted your head up so he could take a look at you. "Aww! When I heard Vil talking about you he showed me a picture of you and you look even cuter in person!! You have to see this!" Neige squealed as he squished your cheeks and showed you to the dwarfs

That's how it was for the whole tour, even when you got into a small fight with a Savannaclaw group Neige squealed over you.

"Oh, look at how brave you are! I'm sure Vil is so proud of you! I seriously wish I met you sooner!" Neige said as he hugged your head. Dawg his hands were so soft and warm it took you everything in your being to not sob and cry in his arms right there.

And when you lead them to ypur dorm where they were staying Neige was CONCERNED FOR YOU.

"Oh, so you stay here by yourself?" Neige asked. "I stay here with a Cat named Grim, I'm sorry about how dirty the dorm is. Crowley left me on a short notice so I could only clean three rooms decently." You said calmly to Neige. "Really? I've taken care of a cottage by myself but not a whole dorm building! That must be so tiring for you to clean so much!" Neige said with a concerned face. "I'm used to it. Anyways I have to go make dinner for you and the others." He looked at you with a shocked face as you walked into the kitchen.

10/10 would recommend but he insisted that he go to have a conversation with Crowley with how he treated you. In the end you got him to stay and he gave you cookies. His dwarfs also are the bestest of friends with you and have given you flowers to press in a book that Neige gave you for the inconvenience.

Chen'ya

You and him immediately locked eyes and smirked. Y'all are the bestest of the silliest of people. Literally you can tell when he is with you that is how close y'all two are like fuck.

You were dubbed as Chen'ya's younger sibling with how you two will mess with people by the RSA students who went on the trip

And genuinely he like cares about you that he refuses to let you sleep on the couch while he slept in your room he had to roll you up in blankets and place you on the bed while he slept in the room you cleaned for him.

Even when you got into a fight with the Savannaclaw group he backed you up and scared the students away with you.

During the tour he gave you the most randomest things that he claimed to have found lying around. You ended the day with 1,000 more madol in your pocket.

If you're seen as feral on a normal Tuesday then wait for when Chen'ya appears. Riddle and Trey will be jump scared so much by the two of you you were so close to being burnt by fresh tea and getting hit with a whisk.

10/10 outta pocket fella and you two harassed Crowley into giving you more allowance. (MC has magic after their own overblot) He even taught you how to appear and scare people the way he does using your magic.

My Spotify was fucking up and I got annoyed but I genuinely liked writing this even if it seems to not have any energy to some people.

I would've added prince Rielle but I don't know anything about little man but if I find out more about him to be able to write him I will do it.

I might write when you met them for the first time maybe. 🧍‍♂️

Anyways here you go my ❤️ anon pookie ❤️❤️❤️❤️

#thedivineflowers #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #Chen'ya x reader #Neige Leblanche x reader #middle schooler mc #middle school mc #twst x child reader #royal sword academy

[heartbranches]

Spoilers for Strange New Worlds

Wow. That latest episode was a banger.

For those of you who haven't seen it, skip this post!

----

So there's a lot of ambiguity over what M'benga does to Rah at the end. Does he stab him in cold blood? Does Rah start it? Does Rah deserve it? I've seen people talking about it as an intellectual exercise and yet, I'm not really struggling with this one.

I'm coming at this with having personal experience with PTSD, and if the son of a bitch who gave me that PTSD is now walking around like his farts smelled like roses, while I get to spend my days wallowing in terror and pain, and now wants to to use ME as a means of proving that his halo is made of pure gold when my blood is made of acid thanks to him?

No matter how many times I tell him NO?

Fuck that motherfucker. He is getting stabbed in the FACE.

Because not once, does Rah acknowledge the damage he has done to M'benga or to Ortegas and Chapel. This is very telling for people who just want to be Forgiven and Need a Second Chance and are Atoning. What are you doing for the people you *actually* hurt? If you are sincere about changing and being better you acknowledge that not everyone is going to give you a hug and hear you apologies. You can't force your apology on people. You can't force people to forgive you (like Rah found out).

Rah literally walked up on a pissed off angry grizzly bear that he had personally and thoroughly tormented and enraged, and tried to force it to hug him. How in God's name did he think that was going to work out?

(and in b4 someone comments on my usage of grizzly bear, when I'm triggered sometimes I feel like a giant feral grizzly bear that's about to start eating furniture, hence the metaphor)

People who haven't been traumatized often don't get that. They want you to play nice. They want things to be good and easy. They want nice edges and soft surfaces. They want you to fold your trauma away and give your tormentor a handshake because the messy business of your trauma doesn't fit with anyone's gameplan. Which often isolates and makes the trauma even worse.

There's the banger of the line that I'm paraphrasing here, that "Some things can't be fixed, only managed" and it was like, YES, THAT, EXACTLY. That's what it feels like, some days.

It also makes Chapel's character make sense in a whole new way, too. Doesn't want relationships. Doesn't want to be tied down in any way. Doesn't want anyone getting close to her, even if she starts to have feelings for them. Because if they get close to her and see what she saw there, and see the broken, jagged, ugly pieces inside of her, she might start screaming and just not stop.

#star trek: strange new worlds #strange new worlds #rambles #ignore me

[punkassfrance]

Some NSFW Hcs for Joel

Finals are over and I want to write SOMETHING before I go to bed so enjoy (Tess hcs may be on the way)

Also this (like many of my headcanons) exists in a total vacuum- this is just one possibility of many and I will explore them all with love. I will post conflicting hcs with no hesitation depending on whatever the brain worms are whispering to me at the moment. (I'm calling this headcanons, in reality it's just a disjointed string of horny thoughts I'm sending into the ether.)

Drop some hc requests (for Joel, or Tess, or both) in my inbox if you want! Usually happy to oblige.

CW- NSFW (of course,) AFAB kind of implied, x reader, touch starvation (sortakinda)

He's more passionate about sex than you've ever seen him about anything.

He'll pull the "frail old man" act until it's time to actually get down to business.

"I'm too old for this, you're gonna give me a heart attack darlin" right up until he gets to touch you, then something snaps.

He'll spend hours learning how to fuck you right, exploring every erogenous zone in every way he can think to figure out what you like best.

Much more willing to kiss you than you'd predicted.

He's rough and eager, not at all the cool, gruff man you thought you were seducing.

Rough and eager is an understatement.

He's barely even domesticated, to be honest. You've never seen a grown man act so much like a feral animal.

Biting, growling, scratching, doesn't care at all who could hear.

There's no "can you be quiet for me, baby?"

He's way too busy not being able to shut the fuck up to try and keep you quiet

Way chattier than you would have thought, constantly praising you and muttering whatever comes to mind.

In months of knowing him, you haven't seen him smile nearly this many times

He adores any position that keeps you pressed together.

Missionary, mating press, he'll even lean his chest on your back during doggy just to be close to you.

He's probably a little more touch starved than he'll ever admit.

He's just so fucking psyched to get to touch you and experience any physical comfort in such a hellish world, why would he try to play a tough guy now?

He's been wanting and admiring for weeks, and your skin is too damn soft to play it cool.

He's looking at you like you're a deity.

Maybe if he hadn't been fighting for his life for the last twenty years he wouldn't be acting like such a teenager.

Make no mistake though, he's a very generous lover. That excitement for getting to touch and fuck you 100% extends to giving oral. You've never seen a man so enthusiastic to go down on you.

Enthusiastic is honestly a good word for the whole experience. You really walked into this expecting to be doing all the work, he seems like that kind of guy.

Nope.

He's stoked.

You would tell your (close) friends how different he is in bed if you weren't too busy describing the best lay of your life.

He definitely came first, and he definitely needed a second to recover, but you didn't need to say a word to get his face back between your legs.

Has zero reservations about making a fucking mess. You think you saw some fluid on his nose by the time he was done and he didn't bat an eye.

He's not quite so lovestruck afterward, but he's definitely not back to Joel Miller, the Badass Terror of the Town yet.

Almost no pillow talk unless you lay there for a few hours- he's exhausted and elated and probably a little embarrassed (even if he won't admit it.)

Still, way more willing to cuddle than you would have thought. Not at all the type of asshole to kick you out of bed.

Hope you enjoyed the horny thoughts that kept me awake!

#joel the last of us #joel x reader #joel miller #headcanons #x reader #pedro pascal #tlou joel #the last of us #joel/reader #joel miller x gender neutral reader

[a-tale-of-legends]

Friendship HC's for team star?

Oooooh a fun one. These are going to be very all over the place, so bare with me here.

The only reason that Giacomo is as passionate as he is about music as he is today is thanks to Mela and Eri. The two girls have been super supportive of his passion, which at the time he was very embarrassed about. Eri especially, who didn't really look at Giacomo's past and shame him for it. Mela's bluntness pretty much made Giacomo really think about himself, and who he really wants to be. Of course Atticus and Ortega are just as supportive of him as the girls, but those two were the bigger ones that pushed him forward. Though, I totally see Atticus helping Gia with his hair lol.

Surprisingly no one, Eri is the mom friend of the group. She looks after everyone and makes sure their needs are taken into account. That being said, team stars( both the bosses and the grunts) all do their best to make sure she's taken care of too. They have forced her to sit down and let them handle any heavy lifting or general labor, just so she doesn't overwork herself. She appreciates them for that, but that does not stop her worrying. They.... aren't exactly the strongest bunch ( physically I mean). Oh, and her and Giacomo are the ultimate planner duo. Eri's kind nature + Giacomo's tendency to overthink equals they will have almost everyone's own taste/likes-dislikes taken into account. ( Eri also makes sure Giacomo doesn't panic so much during that process. He looks cool calm and collected, but he gets really anxious at the chance of doing something wrong, again).

I hc that Ortega wears gloves pretty much 24/7, for a multitude of reasons, one of them being he's pretty sensitive to different textures. So when making the outfits for Team Star, Atticus worked closely with him to figure out what type of fabric he likes ( both for his gloves and the general outfit), and make the clothes with said fabric. Ortega actually paid for all the material for the team Star outfits really. He likes to go on Eri's shoulders. He likes feeling tall :3. Much like Mela, he's pretty blunt and can go feral cat mode if he wants to. He is a Menace and Eri has held him like an angry cat multiple times. He and Mela have the greatest banter btw. Just *chef kiss*. Mela does push him to be more independent though, which he's not totally used to coming from a rich family, but is still appreciative of it. Won't admit this outloud though, he will never hear the end of it.

In general, Mela let's get guard down more around team Star, but Atticus and Eri is where she's more Soft™. Atticus and her are makeup buddies, Atticus letting Mela rant if she needs to. Mela, next to Ortega, are the most likely to start a fight if someone talks ill about her friends. Pray that she doesn't hear you talk about Atticus in any negative way. Though Atticus does think it's sweet, he doesn't really care anymore. Words hurt, yes, but he's the happiest he's ever been, he loves what he's doing, he has amazing friends. So what people think he's weird. From his point of view everyone is, and it's really nothing to write home about. So Mela doesn't get into verbal confrontations about snide remarks about Atticus anymore. She will give the person a mean death glare though. That usually shuts them up. Anyway, back to Atticus, he actually knows sign language, and taught the others it. Eri and him train together, though Atticus is more about dexterity than strength. Either way, they have fun together. They like to call their training sessions together as a " training montage".

Everyone likes to joke about how Giacomo is honestly Just A Guy, mainly due to his chill nature. He takes offense to this. He worked very hard on his image you know! He is not just some guy!!! ( Really, he thinks it's funny. Low-key grounds him a bit, oddly enough).

Okay I think that's everyone.....nah I'm kidding.

To say that Penny was nervous actually hanging out with Team Star irl was an understatement. Girl was terrified. Despite their warm introductions before, she still couldn't help but worry about them seeing her. Everyday. It's nerve was nerve wracking. In a way it made her feel bad, since she's used to hanging out with Nemona and Arven ( and protag/ocs), but the people she knew for longer? It terrified her. The bosses took note of this right away though, and did their best to ease her in, as if she's meeting them for the first time. Eventually, and rather quickly, she just. Melted into the group like she did before. Her room is already crowded as is ( something that Eri is very concerned about) so they can't always just hang out in her room....so they do in Gia's, who's the cleanest of the bunch. It sometimes amazes penny how easily they all talk to each other, how much they make each other laugh despite being so different. But she's not too surprised. Their misfits who stick together. She doesn't say this much, she always gets embarrassed, but she's forever grateful to have team Star in her life <3.

#r answers #pokemon headcanon #hopefully this is good #team star giacomo #team star eri #team star ortega #team star atticus #team star mela #team star penny #pokemon team star

[telomeke]

Thai QL Favorites Tag Game

Tagged by my Internet buddy and fellow QL fan @pandasmagorica! Thanks 🥰

Credit also: this game was created by @thatgirl4815 as Thai BL Favorites Tag Game.

So let's get into it:

Favorite Thai QL: Bad Buddy, still. After all this time it continues to hold up, I think because it packed so much intelligence into its short run of 12 episodes. I also have a soft spot for Moonlight Chicken, although it is arguably more queer cinema in episodic form and not classically a QL/BL.

Favorite Pairing: Umm, gonna leave aside the ships and talk about professional pairings for QL series. Ohm and Nanon as PatPran still top my list; they tore my heart to shreds in Bad Buddy and healed it too. But I don't need to see them as any other pair in another series also for that reason. MaxTul seem to bring it in any series they're in, so they get a mention too.

Most underrated actor: Have to agree with @pandasmagorica about Fluke Gawin Caskey. They need to use him more – he's doing a truly credible job in Be My Favorite plus wow he can sing really well. And I think Krist Perawat in the same series is also surprising all of us; he's certainly matured since his stumbly, mumbly turn in SOTUS.

Favorite Character: Eep. This is like trying to choose among your children. I love so many! Pat and Pran for different reasons (I'm very much like one, more than the other, but I love them both). But I also like Li Ming in Moonlight Chicken, maybe because of his confident self-knowledge, and all the hope he represents for the next generation.

Favorite Side Character: Arm from KinnPorsche for the wrong reasons; devastating combination of nerdy and also hot when shirtless. Also maybe Daddy Chan from the same show. And (odd/unpopular choice) maybe Dissaya from Bad Buddy; I'm just fascinated by her character and backstory, and wish we got told more of it. Also Manaow from Until We Meet Again and Yihwa in Together With Me for being the effervescent supportive besties I wish I had growing up.

Favorite scene in a QL: The opening scene in Ep.5 of Bad Buddy because it tells us so much, in so many layers, and upon the re-watch you can sense that something's starting to turn (though the closing scene on the rooftop is a very close second, for obvious reasons).

Favorite line in a QL: Pat and Pran at the end of BBS Ep.5 going "Do you want us to be friends?" followed by the softest, most gut-wrenching "No..."

Most Anticipated QL (& why): Only Friends – looking forward to something steamy for a change. Been too long since KinnPorsche.

Healthiest relationship in a QL: HeartLiMing in Moonlight Chicken. And PatPran in BBS, but only post-Ep.12 timeskip. They're so respectful to each other – but also a bit boring, so I'm not sure I'd want to watch them in another show because a drama with no drama wouldn't be a drama, now then would it?

Most toxic relationship in a QL: VegasPete in KinnPorsche? I'm still divided about their dynamic. Or TharnType in TharnType perhaps. That was just badly written.

Guilty pleasure series: KinnPorsche. Nuff said.

Most underrated series: He's Coming to Me really needs more love. Production values not the strongest but themes, acting, storyline are all top-notch (with some minor points only that I might want to quibble about). One of the earliest to deal with cultural themes in Thai QL and it was fascinating.

Tagging @airenyah, @dribs-and-drabbles, @waitmyturtles, @bengiyo, @twig-tea, @colourme-feral, @miscellar, @ranchthoughts, @chickenstrangers, @dudeyuri, @inventedfangirling, @dimplesandfierceeyes, @wen-kexing-apologist, @starryalpacasstuff, @kattahj, @lurkingshan, @neuroticbookworm...

...@theheightofdishonor, @dimpledpran, @silvercrystal1, @mineonmain, @sharingfandoms and anybody else I might have missed, feel free to play (or not!).

#thai ql tag game #apologies if any of you have blacklisted anything that's on here #i guess i'd better tag the number one offender: #kinnporsche #also #bad buddy #patpran #moonlight chicken #tharntype #until we meet again #together with me #heartliming #maxtul #bad buddy dissaya #until we meet again manaow #together with me yihwa #vegaspete #fluke gawin #krist perawat

[storiesundercandlelight]

I jumped out of my bed when I saw you updated!! 🥹💕💖

The Geoffrey fic was amazing…! You’ve been well? Life is going oki?

I was kinda laughing the other day as I talked with a friend of new things we’ve been reading; and told her about u and was like “man, I miss them”. And whenever I got excited talking about books and then remembered some that disappointed me or were just plain I would said that again out of reflex; “man I miss them sm”

That’s my new “I should call them”. 🩵✨ You never disappoint, I’m so glad you’re alive and active!

I wasn’t into Geoffrey and after reading this I’m like that Kombucha girl video like “mmm nah, BUT lemme check twice just to be sure” 😭

Could I request something Jonathan xFem reader that begins with someone being super affected by voice/sounds/talking; taking things to something physical/NSFW? I’m super into Jonathan’s voice and accent; in gral all the VA’s did an amazing job!!

I’m super close to finishing the game now and DAMN they’re all (characters) so well made 🥹

Or just whatever you’d enjoy writing or been wanting to write for a while! I trust your amazing taste.

Take care of yourself and I hope you’re well and happy! Lots of hugs 💕🩷💕🩷✨!!!

There's Something In The Way You Speak

Here you go! I hope you love it! Jonathan's voice could definitely make us all go feral!! And Geoffrey is my best boy 🤣 I will make you love him!!

I haven't proof read this yet so I'm sorry for any mistakes! <3

Jonathan knew how easy it was to rile you up now, a small perk he was more than happy to take advantage of especially on a night like this. He'd hated social obligations before being changed into an Ekon, he still hated them. He couldn't even eat or drink to distract himself from the dull conversations he was pulled into.

Damn Edgar for forcing him to come to this thing. He knew it was all about keeping up appearances. The hospital requires funding Jonathan, these men fund us. So make them happy and feel like they are needed, because they bloody well are. The only perk to tonight? Having you by his side, dressed so finely. The curve of your neckline was bordering scandalous for this day and age, more than one set of eyes had landed on you tonight, much to Jonathan's annoyance.

But, as Jonathan had recently been made aware of, he had a little weapon to use against you. The memory made him smirk, your cheeks had grown so red after your all but blurted out the effects his voice had on you. I don't know, something about the tone and just the way you say things....just forget I said it alright?

He definitely would not be forgetting you said it, how could he just stand by and let quite possibly his best advantage over you go to waste. Before it was always Jonathan falling head over heels whenever you beckoned, how easily you made him want you, how simple it always was to make him lust after you. Oh how the tables have turned.

Jonathan moved closer to you, your body leaning delicately against one of the pillars adorning the room. It took a slight amount of bending to bring his lips right beside your ear before he whispered, nice a deep. "You know, I've been thinking about all of the doors in this hall. Where they lead to, which of them will be the one I'll pull you through, the one where I'll ravish you across whatever surface we find"

Your head turned towards him, eyebrows lifted and eyes wide in surprise. "Behave Dr.Reid" you whispered back.

"I don't want to behave, I want to fuck you" Jonathan felt your body tense beside him but this time he wasn't told off, you simply stared straight ahead, eyes flicking over the couples dancing or socialising. "Don't you want to?" His lips were all but pressing against your ears now, the soft tickle of his breath had you shivering.

"What I want is for you to behave" You quipped back, but Jonathan saw the redness growing on your cheeks, he was fairly curtained he'd never used that sort of language around you before....why wasn't it working? Jonathan straightened up, the glass of whiskey - still as full as when Edgar handed it to him- was the only thing he could use to occupy his hands as he tried to think of what else he could say to you.

Two - or was it three?- tedious conversations with men you had no desire to listen to, had come and gone since Jonathan's attempt to scandalise your thoughts. You wouldn't let him know it but your entire body had flashed hot and cold at his words. The idea of him whisking you away to have his way with you hadn't left your mind since he'd put the thoughts there.

Jonathan all but pouted his way through the conversations, waiting impatiently for them to end so he could try his luck again. He didn't have any ideas as far as what to exactly say to you, filthy talk wasn't exactly in his list of strengths, but the thrill of trying to rile you up was enough to keep him excited to try.

You had somehow managed to slip away from the small group that had Jonathan cornered, his eyes searched for you across the room, as the men in front of him continued their dull conversation. There you are. You had clearly just come from the bar, a tall glass in hand as you let your eyes wander over the room, stopping on the paintings along the walls. Truth be told Jonathan would feel happy enough to simply watch you from a distance, your beauty was always something that had him catching his breath each time he looked at you.

You felt Jonathan behind you before you heard him speak. "You abandoned me" He spoke low again, his lips not as close as before but close enough to have the hairs on the back of your neck prick up.

"You seemed to be doing alright"

"I don't appreciating you playing so hard to get...especially given how much effort I'm putting in to trying not to get hard while looking at you" Lord above this man would be the death of you, you turned your head towards him, catching him playing innocent as he met your. gaze.

"Have you gone mad?" Of all the time for Jonathan to be trying his new found technique to get you in the mood, now was certainly not the time! But the boyish smirk that pulled at his lips made you think that no matter where you happened to be at this moment, nothing was going to stop him.

"I think that one" Jonathan nodded his head towards a door positioned near the back of the room, out of the many doors that lined the walls between painting in the room, this one was likely the easiest to take and not be seen. "Given that it isn't locked of course, but I have a good feeling"

"You can't just wander around!" You whispered back to him. "One, people will notice you've gone-"

"After a while"

"And two, we can't just walk into whatever room we please, certainly not to do what you have in mind! What if someone catches us?"

"What if the sky falls on our heads? What if Priwen storms in and burns me at the stake? What if's are too boring for tonight my dear, and I have had the last three hours of nothing but boring so... shall we?"

Before you could even argue Jonathan had gripped your wrist and walked towards the door with much more confidence than you could muster. The creeping paranoia that someone would see you both sneaking away was almost enough to have you fighting against his pull. But before you knew it Jonathan had turned the knob on the door and pushed you both through it.

The hallways was dark, lit only by the moon light that came in through the windows on one side of the space, more doors lined the walls on the other side. "See? if it was in use tonight they would have lit it up" Jonathan walked forward leaving you by the doors you'd just come through. The first door he tried was locked, with a purse of his lips he moved onto the next one. "Hmm, a linen closet?" Again he moved onto the next, seemingly unhappy with this one also.

"Jonathan..."

"Perfect!" He motioned you over with a flick of his hand, only allowing you to get so close before pulling you once more through a door and into what looked like a small - very small - laundry room. Shelves covered one side of the room, an assortment of sheets and towels were folded neatly in stacks.

"Perfect? Oh lord if this is what you're calling perfect right now then you must have slipped a few marbles out, are you sure you're feeling alright?" Jonathan pulled the door closed quietly before reaching for a wooden chair sat off to the right of the room (presumably used when the servants were polishing or sewing) and fitting it under the handle, effectively locking you both in, and more importantly locking people out.

"There!" Jonathan turned to you, the boyish grin back. He gripped you by the hips moving you slowly backwards until you bumped into the counter top lining the other half of the room. You felt weightless for a moment as Jonathan lifted you onto the counter, his hands quickly pushing up your dress enough for his to stand between your thighs. "This is much better" His voice depended as he leaned forward, pressing his lips for your neck and trailing kisses up towards your jaw. "Do you know how difficult it has been for me tonight to see you dressed this way?"

Not that you imagined he wanted answer, but you wouldn't have been able to speak even if he had. Your mind was entirely too focused on the way Jonathan's hands travelled up your thighs, pushing under the bunched up fabric of your dress. "So many men were looking at you... I had a mind to let the beast take over....the walls would have looked better red"

You let yourself shiver fully, the idea of Jonathan being enraged at other men looking at you had you reaching out behind you, looking for support to keep you upright as he continued to lean over you. You felt the most subtle scrap of his fangs against your neck before he spoke again. "Will you let me have you? God I want you"

His voice grew deeper as lust quickly consumed him, his grip tightening on you as he lifted you again, just high enough to quickly slip your underwear down your legs. You couldn't even help yourself now as your hands slipped around the back of Jonathan's neck, pulling him in for a kiss that was entirely too needy and downright messy as you both started grabbing at each other. Your hands clashed with Jonathans as you both reached for his belt, but with a chuckle you both managed to free him, already so firm and ready.

Jonathan pulled you closer to the edge of the counter and by doing so, closer to him. "If we get caught-"

"Shh we won't" Jonathan nipped playfully at your bottom lip before lining himself up and pushing into slowly, his eyes closing as you enveloped him. "Christ you feel good" Hearing Jonathan's words of praise in this setting was new to you, he was far too much of a gentleman to whisper filth into your ear. But apparently those days were over.

Your gentle moans filled the small space as Jonathan moved against you, whispering and groaning against your neck, letting his fangs nip you in-between words. God knows if you weren't at a party you would tell him to bite down, to drink as he took you. It was almost as if Jonathan had the same thought as a broken whine tore out of him and his hips began moving faster.

You kept one arm behind you, using both the wall and counter top for support while the other pulled Jonathan closer to you, your lips finding his for another messy kiss. You knew it couldn't last forever but you desperately wanted it to, especially when Jonathan was being as vocal as he was.

He wasn't even sure what he was saying now, he'd lost the sense to form full sentences when you started rocking back against him, meeting his thrusts, your hand in his hair gripping and pulling him closer to deepen your already wild kiss. But Jonathan did know you were both so close, he could feel how tight you'd become around him, your face moved to press against his shoulder as you tried to conceal the moans that were falling from your lips.

You came with a shuddering gasp, you grip on each other tightening as Jonathan followed. It was only a few moments of you both regaining your senses before you pulled apart. Your eyes looked over Jonathan and a small smirk pulled at your lips at the sight of him, his hair messed and falling out of place, his tie and shirt was pulled and wrinkled but his fangs were what had your eyes lingering, they were extended, just visible as he looked back at you.

"You look a sight" Jonathan chuckled before righting himself and his clothes as best as he could, pushing his hair back with his hand before reaching forward to help you down from the counter. You started straightening yourself up as Jonathan bent down to retrieve your underwear from the floor. You reached for them but he pulled them back out of reach. Jonathan watched as confusion washed over your face before quickly tugging the fabric into his pocket.

"You cannot be serious"

Jonathan simply shrugged. "You wouldn't need them for long anyway" You huffed a disbelieving laugh at the man before you as he stood smugly by the door about to remove the chair he'd used to lock the door.

"Jonathan?" You both froze. Edgar. He didn't shout but he definitely spoke loudly enough for you both to hear him and be sure of who it was. Your eyes snapped to Jonathan, a clear I told you so, written all over your face.

Jonathan couldn't help it, he started smiling, and then giggling, covering his mouth with his hand so that Edgar - who was walking closer and closer to the door that hid you - wouldn't hear. You couldn't believe this, you couldn't believe him.

It took a few moments and a brief amount of panic when Edgar tried to the barricaded door before his footsteps receded down the hall. and then another few moments before either of you felt safe enough to crack open the door to see if the coast was clear. "See? I told you we'd be fine"

"Jonathan he will know as soon as he takes a look at us what we've been doing!"

"So you're telling me we should sneak out of one of the windows and go home? Excellent idea" You shook your head but you couldn't help the smile that grew on your face as you watched Jonathan check every single window on the way back down the hall to the party, just in case you could plot another great escape.

#vampyr #vampyr game #dr jonathan reid #jonathan reid #jonathan vampyr #vampyr 2018 #jonathan reid x reader

[boysbeloving]

Happy 1st Anniversary of KinnPorsche the Series!! 🎉 🎊 🥳 🥂

allow me to be emotional a bit (i say this as if i'm not emotional over the series and the actors every other day lol)

kinn and porsche are SO precious to me...as individuals and as a couple...i relate to kinn a lot: his struggles with a parent, his crushing sense of duty, trying to fit into the world he's forced to be a part of, him not always knowing how to communicate feelings...i had talked about it a bit here about how soft he is despite everything around him and ya...kinn is extremely close to my heart because of these things...i see myself in him (barring the killings and sadly barring the butt sex too)

porsche is just....SO MUCH lol!!!! if i spend time with him i would need 3 to 5 business days to get my energy levels back! but i understand his love for his brother and relate to how he's fiercely protective of him (i'm the same with my sister...but she's older than me)

and ofc mile and apo

man i related a little too much with apo's early life struggles lol...him being told to always 'correct' himself, him feeling disconnected with who he is made to be, being subjected to casual homophobia at workplace (he talked about these things in the On That Day interview and that press con that had happened with the entire cast)...the fact that he felt so unhappy coming back home from the US...it broke my heart and it hit a little too close actually...i had talked about this a bit here (i feel apo is queer coded) coz it reminded me of things that had happened in my life quite recently at that time and the fact that both apo and i were still going strong gave me a sense of kinship with him (hahha 'kinn'ship haahhhaha)...i ofc don't have a mile who has been a positive and happy addition to apo's life since he came back but i am making efforts to have those positive and happy additions in my life

and one of these positive and happy additions happens to be the kpts fandom....y'all....it is SO AMAZING TO BE PART OF THE FANDOM.....y'all are SO TALENTED! the art, the gifs, the meta, the fics, the vids, the polls, the thoughts on the characters, the crackposts, the textposts, the fandom archivers! i'm so thankful to all of you...each and every single one of you

and lbr we've had our fair share of trials and tribulations but because i'm only on tumblr and not on any other social media sites, it has been generally a brilliant experience...i have made such great friends, have talked to a bunch of you, received amazing mile thirst traps in my inbox, have been entirely inappropriate in writing my shameless tags in posts, have openly admitted to my armpit and armpit hair fetish (i made armpit appreciation gifsets ffs), have again very openly talked about my other kinks as well (i think y'all know 🙈) (the armpit fetish admission has led to a beautiful friendship that i cherish <3 and my thirsty tags have led me to meet my feral twin <3)

personally as well i felt like investing myself more into the fandom and the series and the characters and the actors....it made me do things that i had not done before! i talked to fellow fans actively, i made gifs (low quality and using free software lol but i'm actually happy with them), i wrote stuff, like i legit made an ao3 and wrote some stuff lol! i have not done that before and again it is primarily for me and i'm proud of myself for doing these things y'know

last but not the least, kinnporsche the series gave me my thai husband: mile phakphum romsaithong .... and for this alone, it is the best thing out there in the world 🙈🤣

the anniversary of my foray into the series will be next month (it was mile's asscrack that convinced me to finally watch the series that kept trending on tumblr from time to time) but let me be emotional today too

thanks y'all and happy 1st anniversary!

#wow that got entirely too long #kinnporsche the series anniversary #i just wanted to let y'all know that i love you #it has been nice....to actually like something so intensely....it had been a while #how are you celebrating the anniversary? #i ate 3 samosas and a chocolate chip muffin #and did other important personal things...all in all a very productive sunday! #kinnporsche #kinnporsche the series #my tumblr wife that i got from the fandom is in the replies ♥️

[marximoff]

old enough to understand | w. maximoff

summary: memories take over you when you start to realize about how much you missed the family dynamics with Wanda and the twins, and how much they missed you being around too.

warnings: smut, fingering (Wanda reciving), mentions of strap-on sex, a bit of dirty talking, canon typical violence, kinda angst but not really, fluffines and cuteness in general.

pairing: Wanda x fem!reader

word count: 11k

A/N: okay, I’ll admit, this chapter was just so cute to write. things are just working out and that’s cool! I mean, for now they’re working out at least, eh… for now 👀

well, enjoy!

(YES I'M POSTING THIS AGAIN BECAUSE TUMBLR JUST HATES ME)

|series masterlist|

|part one| |part two| |part three| |part four| |part five|

༺ᱬ༻

“Y/N!” a clenched jaw, a bitten lip, “Oh- oh God!”

You know you should have dropped the twins off at their other mother’s house and left about eight hours ago. That’s what you do when you’re a divorced parent, at least.

But then Wanda so courteously invited you to stay for dinner, and you, so weak to her spell, just couldn’t deny her request, because you always fancied her food and she looked at you like she did when she was seventeen and asked you so earnestly to do something for her.

If then you were never able to deny her anything, much less now you couldn’t either.

Just like you couldn’t deny her when she curled her fingers into the belt of your jeans and pulled you into an auspiciously soft kiss after you helped her wash and dry the dinner dishes.

Like when it happened also at the beginning of that same week, and at the end of the other week before that (and she was absolutely feral when you came inside her with your strap again), and on some weekend in between when you went down on her in the pantry room while the boys were enraptured by one of their electronic games in the living room.

You’re still not quite sure what a Minecraft is, but you’re kind of grateful that it exists.

Your body would never be able to deny her, your addiction trickling from the tip of your tongue, and you just know it wouldn’t be worth even trying to do otherwise. And if you weren’t going to deny her, it wouldn’t be Wanda who would deny you either.

So, in an act of pure passion (immoderate, nasty, wanton and, at first, disconcerting passion), her snowy fingers imbibed each other between the strands of hair on your head; but nevertheless, the sharpened ridges of her fingernails were stuck to the top of your scalp between her legs, crescent-shaped marks on the skin from your head, all sharpened by Wanda’s hands pressing against your hair.

Panting and lustful, she’s lying on the blandness of her bed, on the pale sheets smeared with saliva, sweat, tears (of pleasure this time), and cum.

Her head bowed back and her lips half-opened, as if she were about to whisper through this crack of pleasure a lewd secret. A mutual ardor, a need for pleasure that makes you find your morning breakfast between your ex-wife’s thighs. And between her dizzying, impatient legs, then, a little below Wanda’s level, you revel in her constricted moans.

The tip of your nose touches her in the thin dark fuzz blooming beneath her mound of Venus, and Wanda spills down the length of your tongue, Wanda spreads to your teeth, and Wanda drips from between the lustrous skin of your chin glistening with her cunt’s hot fluids.

Her eyebrows are shriveled up by her flushed face, but on her features a utopian, impudent expression is born, followed by exhausted and costly movements performed with her head of brown hair. Her mouth twitches, throbbing, while you suck her savagely by her core, voracious on your lips, but just as passionate about the touches given by her body.

Your flashing pair of hands grip the inner face of her pale thighs to keep them away from each other, and you, huddled there as if there you always belonged, have your eyes closed as you trace Wanda’s clit with the tip of your pearly tongue.

Your tongue that travels between her folds and then opens through her pink slit, receiving, in response, a loud growl, Wanda’s stomach muscles tightening as she does – she just feels like she’s trapped in a parallel reality with your tongue tucked inside her.

“Y/N, don’t stop-!” her bare knees squeeze your head in an adjacent grip toward her nib, demanding, clamoring for more, more of you, more of your hot tongue inside her.

She unfolds, your ex-wife, like a work of art brushed by your mouth.

“Prodolzhay, pozhaluysta, prodolzhay, moya lyubovʹ–” is her newest mantra, deferred in the Sokovian dialect that, after so long, is already kind of familiar to you.

You just know she begs you not to stop. So you don’t stop. And she moans loudly in immediate response to this choice of action.

Your right fingers migrate from Wanda’s thigh to toss a handful of your hair that pierces your vision, before thus returning to the center of your beloved woman like a traveler returning home, hungry for her liquid as a life necessity – as if this essence is your vice, and no other in the world could compare.

When a pair of your fingers penetrate her wet hole, and you lick her needy cunt just to lift up and then bite a beam of sweaty skin from her collarbones, something vile writhes inside Wanda.

Pale hands, hungry for something to hold on to, run the length of your back into the band shirt you’re wearing—your right elbow working, pumping impassively toward your ex-wife’s dripping center. The moan she lets out is loud inside your eardrum.

“I know it’s hard for you” your breath is warm against her jawbone, “To keep quiet while I fuck you with my fingers, but still, Wanda. Quiet. I bet you don’t want the boys to know that their mother has such a needy pussy”

Your voice, your delicious, husky voice, right next to Wanda’s ear seems capable of driving her insane – of making her bewitched by her own spell and losing her sanity. Then you place a kiss under her ear. A bite. Her brows furrowed and her eyes narrowed, a sliver of vivid crimson escaping between her pressed lashes.

“Shit, you really want to moan, don’t you?”

“Y-yes, yes! Please dorogaya—”

Your fingers curls inside her tight walls, forcing a pained response from Wanda that came into the world in the form of a needy groan. She nods fervently in consent, squeezing the muscles in your back.

“You’re close?”

Again she nods her head – the greedy gaze cast at you from behind lashes adorned in the scarlet glow of her irises is nothing more than pleading.

“Hah” you chuckles darkly, “So come then, pretty girl. Give me a show”

A cavernous yelp escapes Wanda’s throat as her brows twitch and her eyes compress into two lines across her panting face, a pleasant simulation of pain, a tissue ball being woven beneath her navel, beginning to press against her bladder.

You, who know her as well as she does, tries to follow the formulation of her orgasm with the movements of your nimble fingers inside her pussy; backing it up, you press your lips around her neck as you slide down its length, only to return to the tip of her sharp jaw and then intensify the avid sucking, until you take your ex-wife to the height of her own pleasure, plunged into an infamous mist of libido and red color.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit- ah! Y/N!”

Wanda leans forward, eyes narrowed and mouth tight, so that both of her boiling hands dig into your shoulder blades, your body holding her in place on the bed as she spills between your digits, the velvety walls squeezing your fingers, the fiery cum running all the way down to your knuckles.

At her peak, Wanda collapses back to the length of the mattress, a warm dark lock, soaked in sweat, plastered to her forehead.

Around the edges of the bed, a haze of scarlet wind slithers through the sheets. Her chest rises heavy and drops back into her rib cage. There are only gasps of hot air to be heard in front of the four walls of Wanda’s room.

“Hey,” you whisper in an affable tone adopted just after your nerves cool, bringing your face close to a strip of sweaty skin above her dark brow, “Are you okay? This… this was a strong one”

“Yeah… fuck, yeah” it’s her breathy answer, “I’m fine, I’m just… I think I needed that”

A beam of golden luminescence penetrates the room of your accommodation through the cracks in the heavy curtain, interspersed rays of sun that franchise the brief layer of spectral red fog inserted in its interior, projected in three specific points through the serene countenance pierced by the ecstatic extension of the Wanda’s pale face, still in her post-orgasm hangover.

With a certain innocence deposited by her closed heavy eyelashes, spattered by drowsy droplets of pleasure, your ex-wife pulls your body towards her, laying her forehead on the extension of your right collarbone.

For a second she’s silent, and you know it’s so she can hear the contraction of your heartbeat inside your chest; after all, she used to do the same when you were still young lovers and she never quite explained why exactly she did it, but you always knew it was to let her know you were there, alive and well in her caress.

“You’re here…” she whispers in a tiny, soft voice against the fabric of your shirt, “You’re real…”

“Yeah,” you whispers in her hair, “I’m here now. I’m here”

Wanda’s body relaxes against yours after a while. A bird is humming outside.

Her pendulous breathing is dictated by the conductor’s rhythm of a post-orgasm ecstasy – chest rises, chest falls, stops; chest goes up, chest goes down, stops – but her head turns intermediately to the side, in a half-sleeping movement, her chin down, a lock of brown peaks crossing her serene face.

“Wanda…?”

But she snores in lulls against your chest.

The action made you have to blink once, as your gaze went from her well-shaped eyebrows to the narrow bridge of her nose and the neat cheekbones of her strong bone structure, gazing towards the beautiful outcome that is her peach lips parted, flaring through her front teeth – exposed, in that small pulpy crevice, like the inside of a coveted fruit – a homogeneous strip of hot air.

Something reverberates inside you, like a spark that rekindles a fire that has long since waned and died. Wanda is asleep and warm against your chest after a long night of love and pleasure, just two lovers tasting each other’s bodies, getting familiar with the already known taste.

And then you smell wild strawberries in her hair. And a threat of crying curls into a ball inside your throat.

But it is a euphoric cry, a happy cry. Like the cry of someone who reaches their goal and, after so much effort, is finally praised with the cheers of victory. As if your icy heart was pumping red hot blood back into your veins. Like her arms make you human again.

Maybe, you think, maybe things will be like this again sometime. Maybe it doesn’t need to be more than that. And you smile tenderly, as you kiss the top of her dark-haired head and Wanda hums something contentedly in her sleep, moving even closer to you in the middle of the double bed. This time, the voice in your head tells you to stay.

And so, you stay with her.

The metal faucet clogged some time later, when you turned it clockwise a couple of times, stopping the pouring water from the shower held palms above your head.

Leaving the shower and drying off, you slowly brush your teeth before guiding your right fingers towards the aluminum doorknob, a breath of steam coming with you as you walk serenely into Wanda’s room to the clean, folded clothes placed on the edge of her bed – a towel clumsy to your strands of hair, dulled by the particles of water that soak them, does the job of extracting the excess water that fogs up the strands stuck to your slender face.

There’s a picture frame on the left side of the bed, and you’ve noticed it every time you’ve been there, in your ex-wife’s bedroom, but the picture was still comforting to look at in a way – just Wanda with her right arm wrapped around the small shoulders of Billy, who wears a red blouse, while her left did the same with Tommy dressed in greenish-blue, guarding them like a mother in a nest, the small family of three, the mother and two children, exhaling a trio of sunny smiles towards the camera.

Maybe you could update that photograph at some point, you dare to allow yourself to dream big about it. Therapy is going well, and you are closer to your family than ever before. You feel a little hasty in thinking about changing the picture, it’s true, but well, it doesn’t hurt to dream.

Just one step at a time.

You then dress in a plain knit shirt and cozy sweatpants as you pull the towel from around your neck, over your shoulders (Wanda’s clothes are soft and smell like her and you feel snug in your heart with it invading your senses), and you feel at peace as you make your way to the kitchen on the lower floor of the house, where your nose is met by the alluring aroma of freshly prepared food that makes your stomach growl like an animal inside your abdomen.

The vision employed before your eyes, however, stagnates your quiet strides in a sigh constricted into your throat; as Wanda’s flashy figure sees herself with her back turned to you, somewhat bent over, poking her nose into the fridge. You let yourself gasp, lifting and lowering with a heavy chest.

Her long brown hair flows down from her porcelain shoulders to the middle of her back like a wave of black coffee, although what exudes from those warm locks is an appetizing scent of soft strawberry, with pungent hues, to which you had become addicted and delighted to fit your nose and inhale this exquisite and eclectic aroma just hours before.

Even within the constrictions of her fine cotton shirt, her shoulder blades are partially protruded, luscious to the touch of your soft digits – you gazed at her as if Wanda were a figurine in an exhibition, unveiled before your passionate gaze, that of her understands so much of the cunning nature.

The velvety curve along the spine, the swelling of the firm buttocks covered by the pajama shorts, the long valley of the alabaster thighs – and then, a glistening piece of skin that makes itself present between the hem of the blouse and the waistband of the shorts, making explicit, as timidly as a cornered animal, a red band of lacy panties.

The blood in your veins quickens like an electric current and euphoria, for you remember having, just a few hours before, torn open, with your bare hands, an intimate piece of Wanda’s very similar to that one, opening your way to the wet aim through your ex-wife’s legs.

“You do realize that I can hear your thoughts, right?”

Wanda says in a rather jocular tone as she turns to you as soon as she closes the fridge door, holding the neck of a pale milk bottle in her left hand.

“Yeah, I think I’ve been reminded of that at one time or another, yes,” you say, a little teasingly.

You smile in realization when you realize that the shirt she is wearing is the very shirt you were wearing just the night before.

“But what do they say, huh, Miss Maximoff?”

You reciprocate in the same light, half-smiling voice as you cross the kitchen to approach her and give her hips a gentle squeeze, inferring, on Wanda’s part, a silly giggle that makes her nose scrunch like a little adorable puppy.

“They say you’ll be a sweetheart and take the boys for a ride this afternoon so mama can stay at home and rest from her long night, Miss Y/L/N”

You lick your tongue iridescent through the pulps of your thirsty lips, tensing the folds of your fingers on Wanda’s exposed skin as she crosses her wrists behind the back of your damp neck, bestowing, there, a caress with her fingertips.

“But what’s mommy going to get if she does that, huh?”

“Well,” she pretends to think, a small smile lifted to her lips so dangerously close to yours, “That’s something mommy will have to figure out later”

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah” and Wanda makes her approach to place a kiss on your mouth, “Yes it is”

You don’t even end up feeling the brief ghost of hot lips against yours, a delicious tingle coursing through the commission of your desire-flavored mouth, because when does, quick footsteps on the nearby stairs stagnate you, and, with scorching cheeks and ears, flushed like the fruit of a ripe peach, you and Wanda pull away from your touch abruptly, lips parted as if clamoring for more, your pupils expanded as are hers (two buds linked by a green filament), the two of you panting with laborious chests.

You didn’t share a kiss for little more than centimeters and seconds, almost like two mischievous teenagers caught by adults in the middle of an intimate act – even if who surprised you, making you and Wanda look at each other laughing and blushing, so young at heart, has been your ten-year-old children.

“We’re hungry, ma!” Tommy cries out as he pulls up a chair on the right side of the table and sits down with his hands splayed across the wooden surface, “We want pancakes!”

“No, we want bacon and eggs!” Billy contradicts his brother by sitting in the chair opposite the one Tommy occupies.

“What do you guys think about starting to ask for things only after you say good morning to mom and me like the two polite little boys I raised you to be, huh?”

Wanda looks over her shoulder and, somewhat contradictingly, the two boys grunt a “good morning” in unison.

You, on the other hand, set a couple of thick glass cups on the table, handing them out to each of the boys, watching carefully with a slight smile on your lips as a trifling rift unfolds between the two twin brothers.

“But we want pancakes!”

“No, we want bacon and eggs!”

“Pancakes!”

“Bacon and eggs!”

“How about some toast, huh?”

The two boys turn their gazes towards you, who then sets four plates on the table.

Tommy frowns, but it’s Billy who gives you a look that’s a little too diligent for what his age restrictions should allow (he has an adult look that you really think is something mystical), tilting his chin to the left as he glances from you to Wanda standing on the edge of the stove, and then to your clothes and to what she wears herself.

“Mama, why are you wearing mommy’s shirt?”

You press your lips together in a hesitant line.

“Well baby, you see, I… I…”

In your peripheral vision, you see Wanda’s figure stiffen at the little boy’s words, increasing the grip of her fingers held by the skillet handle.

“Wait, did you sleep here, mom?” is Tommy’s question towards you when, in a non-syllabic connection worthy of a pair of twins, the two boys exchange a meaningful look.

“I- I, uh… you know, bud, it got a bit late yesterday after you guys went to bed and, well, uh, I, I stayed for a while to help mama do the dishes and… and…”

Wanda, in turn, takes a plate with a stack of pancakes towards the table, placing it right in its center.

Covertly, however, she gives an indicative squeeze with her left hand before the length of your right forearm, before she then departs towards the table, where she places a languid, warm, courteous kiss on the top of the head of each of the kids that you have – Tommy sort of complains about being too old to be pampered (but doesn’t really do anything to stop it), while Billy willingly accepts his mother’s cuddles.

“Pancakes it is,” Wanda sits down in her usual chair, unceremoniously, right after such affectionate actions towards her children.

Tommy seems content with the lack of direct response when he slyly is the first to capture two golden pancakes for his plate – closely followed by Wanda, who has grabbed two more, just as you do yourself.

Billy, on the other hand, looks a little hesitant as he looks at you and Wanda; but when Tommy calls him to talk about something related to some school activity, the boy takes his pancakes and engages in a lively conversation with his brother.

“Blueberry pancakes…?”

You aim at the luscious dough served on your plate, and your stomach, in response, reverberates in a hungry grunt. But you know Wanda has always been more of a pancake-and-strawberry kind of type.

“Yeah, I already told them that it tastes better with strawberries, but it’s no use… it’s just your bad influence on your children, I think” says your ex-wife, taking a generous forkful towards her mouth.

You, in turn, smile, because you know you are among family, in the place where you should always be. You look at Billy and Tommy talking with their mouths full, and at Wanda when she asks them to “please chew with their mouths closed” in a very motherly tone of voice.

And as you chew (with your mouth properly closed, of course), you think that your pancakes have never tasted this good before.

ᗢ

It had started out as a triviality, something frugal that can be recklessly sneered at, like summer rains or autumn winds—something that by conjecture will be postponed, ignored and forgotten when a somewhat more significant or inescapable situation comes under the spotlight and momentarily divert your attention to another subject.

One night, perhaps counting two or three months after reciting your well-rehearsed vows in front of Wanda and exchanging a pair of golden rings between the two of you, transmuting your status from girlfriend to becoming then a wife, when both of you were lying on the bed, well covered to deal with the stinging European cold, Wanda had complained that her breasts were definitely more sensitive to the touch than usual.

“I swear,” she said, both to you and her reflection in the mirror, “They’re swollen"

All right, you thought to yourself in your head, sometimes this annoying soreness can happen when you have breasts, nothing saving the ordinary. It was a moderately common event, in fact. Nothing that you hadn’t already seen yourself as a victim of physiological pain at least once a month, of course.

Nothing that couldn’t pass after a proper night’s sleep. Sleep heals people, as you mother used to say to you as a young infant.

But a night easily takes over a day, as do seasonal changes in the weather. As cold and heat come and go.

And one day turned into a week rather easily – Wanda tossing uncomfortably on the bed sheets before falling asleep, your attempts to engage in a somewhat needy sensual act dying off as the pangs of pain surfaced when you intended to stir up some stimulation through your wife’s sore nipples.

Constant grunts of pain, incessant complaints on her part—the crimson suit too tight for her to put on and keep herself comfortable during the long hours of increasingly exhausting missions across the globe.

But living on the hustle as you were, never establishing any lasting bond anywhere but the caressing of each other’s arms, it didn’t seem conducive for both you and your wife to see such relevance in the brushstrokes of gradual pain that adorned Wanda’s days and nights.

Perhaps, who knows, if you two had made a (somewhat evident) connection between Wanda’s bodily changes and the pestering morning sickness that seemed uninterrupted, as intense as the speed at which they came to harass her in waves of abnormal nausea, the final news would not have taken you so much by surprise – the outcome should be unavoidable to understand, it is true.

 The consequence of a compilation of specific acts that would clearly only be possible to explain with a single answer which, in this case, was in fact quite strange to understand as being the reality of what was materializing inside Wanda’s body – an amalgamation resulting from your genetics and her effervescent magical energy.

Who knows what it would be like if you had picked up the obvious signs in first hand? But it’s not like that possibility was even considered by you and much less by Wanda, at that time.

Not without the knowledge of having experienced it for the first time, of course. The first time is what opens the whole thing up, what prepares you for more of the same stuff.

When you saw yourself as old enough to understand, later on, looking back on that tempestuous time (but certainly not as turbulent as the times to come subsequent to these) you realized that still as young then as you were, so raw to the world and to life, so impervious to the limitations of reality around you, there was no way of knowing that the outcome of your love was no longer just a marriage union – not only a few papers signed and an exchange of fervent kisses and wedding rings, no.

The love between you two had grown, expanded and branched out like the blossoming flowers of springtime – and the fruit of that union would undoubtedly not be what you would call normal by any means. After all, you were indeed such an unusual couple.

But then Wanda passed out on a mission in Spain, after exceeding her own limits by holding back a battalion of at least eighty men using only the will of her mind waves. And on another mission in Argentina, about a few days after the last one. And on yet another mission in Kyoto, the week after that one.

And her fragile stomach could no longer be imperiled to quinjet travels without expelling from her salivating mouth all the contents that filled it, even if what filled it was the purest nothing.

You held her long red hair as she regurgitated all the breakfast you’d just had into a repulsing paste inside a plastic bag, her thick tears trickling down the material of your black and white suit as you did.

And then you realized that something was quite wrong with the integrity of your wife’s physical health – but perhaps the absence of menstruation in the last few months should have been a suggestive flag for the main fact that, until then, had not yet been your consideration or even hers.

You find out, however, after a long-awaited team meeting on the outskirts of Consthum, location of one of Luxembourg’s former communes (just around Western Europe), when Natasha promptly enforced so much on taking a very sick Wanda to see a private doctor in the region, the physician who was an old remote contact of her and Clint – Vision was far across the ocean and could not take care of Wanda’s health at that time.

It was cold around the commune in season – each day a little bitterer than its predecessor had been before.

The winter chills took possession of the area in such a way that the leaves of the trees began to assume endogenous shades of white and silver, and the sky, in turn, became more gray and opaque, dense, instigating mornings encompassing through clouds as dull and thick as the down of a wild raccoon.

It had snowed during that dawn, and a dense eborean cover of flakes of ice crystals had clogged the region, whereupon the village was still asleep and welcomed to the comforts of its proper nesting beds so early in that morning.

At the inn where you and your other colleagues were currently residing (a magnanimous and long-lived house of Anglican architecture that vaguely resembled the structure of one of the last HYDRA hideouts that you had conquered, built right next to the small town, having as a neighbor more snow-brushed nature than other family homes), you were kind of stunned by the candid chill that had engulfed you during that time of year.

Wanda had been out with Natasha for quite some time now, a good handful of minutes that would easily make up the whole of an hour or two, and something tight was bothering you inside your constricted chest. After all, maybe your wife was sick. Maybe she was quite sick and slowly getting worse, and it didn’t please you at all to have such hurtful thoughts gnawing at your anxious mind.

The balcony, with its dark modular wood floor, towered over the structure of the cottage, rising from the second floor, about three or four meters from the ground and measuring two meters by four, with a comprehensive view of the expanses of the green ocean of esoteric trees to the ends that comprised the horizon line, covered by a long line of white snow, where sky and leaves metamorphosed into a single inscrutable and powerful figure.

You were able to see well through such enormities, seated on a woven fiber bank as you were.

The dawn was as phlegmatic as it could be, and when you gazed at it you vividly reminisced of watching the world through the huge thick glass windows of your room back at the compound, in a long-lost undemanding time that already seemed so far away in your deep-rooted memories.

“You should come in for a while, kid” the complacent voice had come from behind you, from the French doors open to the sky.

You turned your chin over your shoulder, and Steve was the one who was promptly carrying two cups of steaming black coffee with him. The full, dense beard that closed off his herculean square face was still a novelty that was slowly growing on you.

“It’s cold out here, and I think you’ll know when they arrive even if you don’t stay here like a guard dog all morning”

“I can’t get sick. I’m fine, man”

The stout man yielded to you that pale china mug which he held in his right hand, a beam of smoke dispersing into the morning air in a puff of murky steam – you gratified him with a placid, toothless lips-only smile, guarding the body of the recipient between a wall made up of your fingers of both your stiff hands, but still making no mention of getting up and going to the fireplace inside to take shelter from the cold.

The captain then, in his turn, sat down near your left elbow, at the opposite end of the bench, and of his own drink he usurped a copious draft.

You sighed in a concerned way, dismaying the muscles of your shoulders, and replicating the simple act carried out by the leader of your team, of your full-bodied drink you also sipped a leisurely sip, savoring the wholesome, even earthy, bitterness that settled into the facet of your tongue, between your teeth, to your taste buds.

Your sluggish eyes, at last, gazed over the obsequious figure of Steve Rogers, Captain America himself. And in such a way, you shook your head in an act of overwhelmed displeasure.

“I should have gone with her” is what you said to him after a while, blinking once at the horizon as you did, “I’m her wife, I’m the one who should be there with her”

“Y/N” Steve sighed for half a second, “You know we can’t get public attention to ourselves. And people know who you are, who both of you are, what you girls’ relationship is. Honestly, I think the two of you together in public get more attention than if Nat is the one with Wanda. It’s the safer option, you know. And she really needs to see a doctor”

Even from behind the cup of hot coffee, the war veteran ended up peering with his sapphire eyes towards you. And then, a complacent tone of voice took over Steve’s speech.

“But I know you’re worried, Y/N. It makes sense, after all, she is your wife. I know what it’s like… to worry about the woman you love, but not know exactly what to do about it. But Wanda can take care of herself pretty well, and she’s also with Nat, so I’m sure nothing bad will happen to them while they’re gone. She will be safe"

“Yeah,” you groan, “But that’s not what worries me, Steve. I know Wanda can fend for herself. That’s not… that’s not what worries me at all"

Steve solemnly nodded his head in understanding, gazing at your battered profile—the nose sparsely upturned into your septum and the obstinate chin, the jaw set in concern into a solid bone structure.

With you being bursting with tension beneath the thick wool of the sweater you wore, your gaze was moderately dubious, laced with tinges of fatigue and worry. Of course concern was consuming you; your wife was in bad health, so you weren’t sleeping well.

“Thanks, though” you say, after a while, “For the coffee I mean”

You knew the bearded man was urged to do something, anything, to soothe your disconsolate soul over the state of your ill wife. So you decided to thank him for the coffee, the safest choice to go, and he smiled behind his thick beard of dark blond hair like beer color.

“You’re welcome, kid”

Both of you toke sips of the dark coffee in a purely silent harmony. But the sound of a car engine did not take long to cross the mid-dawn chill, reverberating in the trees and the snow.

And you scrambled to your feet, without circumlocution, your heart reverberating wildly in your chest, and it wasn’t long before you made your way to the front porch, giving Steve no satisfaction when you just got up and eagerly set sail downstairs, hurrying inside the winter cottage as you did.

Quickly descending the steps of the wooden staircase, one feet after the other, the silence on your part was the return to the question asked by Sam when you passed by him and he asked you if they had already arrived.

“Okay, someone’s in a hurry…”

But there was no room for details; you just had to see her. To touch her, to feel her.

Wanda.

Wanda was the only thing going through your brain, like a red neon sign flashing her name again and again through your neurons.

You needed to see her and hold her between your affectionate embrace as much as if it were a biological necessity, as much as a hungry person needs food to nourish themself, or a thirsty person needs water to survive one more day.

But the front door swung open in a brutal hollow slam before you even reached it, even if sprinting across the pale wood floor in quick strides as agonized as you were.

And startlingly, Natasha was the one who entered the cabin’s stone walls firsthand, wearing a heavy faux leather jacket over layers of thick clothing—you even made an effort to aim behind Black Widow’s slender shoulders, but no sign of your wife coming after your friend could be singled out.

The woman with the shortcut, artificially platinum hair burst out impetuously, looking as if she had been swamped in a lapse of smoldering anger—she was fierce as a soldier, anger spurred by the moss green of her irate irises.

And you just blinked in confusion towards your teammate’s angry grimace, slowing your stride until you came to a complete stop a bit away from her.

“Nat?” you called her name, in a voice watered with concern, “Nat, what’s wrong? Where- where’s Wanda? Did something happen? Is she okay?“

Natasha’s gaze flickered in your direction, dealing with a non-syllabic response to your barrage of questions all directed at her.

And it was an unclear blend what was eclipsing her sharp face; anger transmuted into pity, indignation and unhappiness passed through each other without ever remaining in a managed expression.

Natasha opened and closed her full-lipped mouth, fidgeting inside her jacket, trying and failing to say something to you, but finally seemed to decide with herself that she really wouldn’t.

And then she surged forward, trotting towards you like an angry buffalo – but just when you thought she was going to run into you, the former assassin just walked right past you, not sustaining any eye contact for much longer than necessary.

“She’s the one who has to tell you, Y/N. Not me”

"Nat? Nat, what…?” but the name hung in the air, since the other woman was already gone for you to reach her.

You didn’t quite know what she meant (or even what happened indeed), but you left it to worry later; for you headed out of the cottage in readiness, being embraced by the cool breeze brushing your warm skin.

That’s when you found her, Wanda.

Your wife was a restless figure perched on the polished wooden bench against the wall beside the front door; between Wanda’s long, delicate fingers adorned in scintillating rings in various shapes and forms, a sealed white paper envelope was well awarded like a millenary secret.

Her state of mind was dismal and deplorable, like a corpse exposed at a wake, and you didn’t take much long to notice this fact; for her skin was faded and dying, pale, with tapered cheeks and high cheekbones in a foreboding look, as if Wanda’s face were that of a statue carved from bleached bone.

Her lips were as whitish and thin as the snow outside the house, unhealthy and sickly-looking, and the green of her eyes and even the simulated copper of her long hair were dull, faded like an unfinished sketch.

Wanda, hunched on that icy bench, was like a shadow of herself, an anemic terminally ill. The look you gave her certainly made her feel like one, at least.

“Wanda?” you called out to her, in a thread of a pitying voice, “Wanda, baby?”

Your wife, looking even a little engrossed in her own head, barely gave any indication that she would look at you at all. And then it was that you crouched on your knees, standing before her devastated eye level, intimately touching with your left hand to the back of her calf.

“Wanda, please talk to me, honey. What is it? What’s wrong?” you tried, but to no avail.

Her green gaze, so stricken and restless in its irises dimmed in insecurity, attached itself to yours as you stood there, placed before her, and winked inherently towards you, using no words as you disposed in a better posture on your knees, bringing your face even closer to hers.

You sensed in Wanda the dread in which the enchantress was unable to manifest with even a single set of words—as when she was a pubescent young girl all over again, so vulnerable of mind, despite all the power constricted within her core.

“Y/N…” she muttered your name in a weakened tone.

“I’m here, love” you assured her, giving her leg an intimate squeeze, “It’s okay, I’m here”

Wanda, however, just dropped her eyes uncertainly, aiming at her fingers placed on the envelope for a few silent seconds before finally bringing her right hand to a beam of skin on her forehead, running her palm down the length of her beautiful face until she handled it as a support at the disposal of her quivering chin – with wizened eyebrows, a wrinkled piece of skin in the gap between them.

She breathed a hard sigh through both her nostrils and turned her gaze to you, who so solemnly found yourself waiting expectantly for a clarification from your wife.

And then, a lame sniff reached your hearing.

Wanda pranced into a harrowing sob that burst out of her throat in a rip, pressing the palm of her right hand against the pulp of her nacarine lips.

She squeezed her eyes into two pained lines, shaking her head, the streaks of copious red hair rustling against the contours of her miserable, pitying face. It was like having a boulder entangled in gall at the bottom of her larynx.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, I’m so sorry” a single strand of crystal teardrops poured from her left eye to her retracted chin, “I swear I don’t know how it happened- I, I promise I didn’t do anything wrong, I don’t know how it happened, I don’t know, I—”

“No, no, it’s okay, it’s okay baby, it’s okay, please don’t cry, I’m here”

You stood up in readiness. And then, without even saying a single word, you just wrapped your arms around Wanda’s shoulders, clasping her to your chest as if she were, your wife, just a young and simple girl desolate in the face of a broken heart, crying over her pain and making her tears her unsyllabic escape. Just like you did so many times before.

You deposited her, at the crown of the copper-colored head smelling like a sweet strawberry simulation, a warm and tender affectionate kiss.

“It’s okay baby, I’m here now”

And Wanda hugged your waist in return, and so two lovers stagnated for so much longer than it seemed to pass, locked in each other’s arms like what you did when she missed her parents. Like what you did when she missed Pietro so much it felt like she was going to burst into embers.

You caressed her with the digits of your fingers down her back over the fabric of her thick coat, your cheek rested devotedly against her smooth hair, her sobs muffled against the top of your abdomen.

And then, after a vague silence attained for her to recover her nerves, the news that completely disarmed you flowed along with her tears and her cries.

“I’m pregnant, Y/N”

Three words. It took only three single words in a sentence for something to break down inside you.

Something at your core collapsed, like the most devastating avalanches of snow and ice. You broke the hug to look down at her. And then, you blinked just once in the most pure form of sober skepticism towards Wanda.

“…What…?”

Silence ensued – Wanda’s green eyes gleaming so clearly with expectant tears in your direction.

“I’m pregnant, around the tenth week or so” the palm of her hand gently stroked the region of her womb through the thick wool blouse, “We… we’re going to have a baby, Y/N. I… I’m sorry. I don’t know how it hapenned. I’m sorry”

The second time she said it felt like the first one, because it was only then that you comprehended what was truly happening – a wave of reality slithered through your bloodstream. There seemed to be ice dilated through your epidermis. And then you wanted to cry. And laugh like a maniac. And just fucking scream until your lungs bleed.

A flood of the most disparate emotions that weighed them all down your esophagus and blistered your lungs in a heterogeneous amalgamation, composed of astonishment and exasperation, expelled from both your flared nostrils in a gasping breath of cold fear, whereupon you wrinkled your eyebrows and the blood froze within your veins.

You gazed at her hand resting on her abdomen. The baby was the size of a prune in there, and growing.

Ten weeks ago you were in London and she had said something about having children in the future, maybe two or three, when the world would be a better place for you to live again, and you agreed with her without giving it much thought; after all, children would come sometime into your marriage, when you actually planned to have them.

This was only supposed to happen a few years from then, and not that same night when you lay together and moaned each other’s names. But it’s not like you two knew at the time that Wanda actually had a unique way of manifesting her inner desires.

The blistering sourness at the edge of your mouth was nothing like an association with the doses of coffee you’d been sipping with Steve just a few minutes before. And then you blinked at Wanda again, like a broken doll, because you didn’t know what else you could possibly do – a crinkle formed by a beam of skin across the strands of your eyebrows.

“Y/N, please…”

“You’re… pregnant” you hesitated at the whispered word, as if it were a bad omen to utter it aloud, “Pregnant”

She was pregnant, she said. And pregnancy meant a baby – you were going to have a baby. A baby to take care of while you were running away from the rest of the world.

And it didn’t even cross your mind for a half second that Natasha was possibly furious because she took it as a statement of an illogical infidelity on Wanda’s part, no; you just thought you guys would have a supernaturally made baby while you were merely to the firstfruits of your early twenties, being hunted like a couple of wild animals, drooling and roaring.

And you were just young.

You had just turned twenty, and she had done so even more recently than you – far too young to truly understand what that statement could truthfully meant at its core.

Your mother passed away when you were only ten – you just didn’t knew shit about even the dynamics of living with a child, more so when you yourself weren’t even a little bit more than that either, still not being able to even legally drink alcohol in some countries.

You and Wanda had merely babysitted Clint’s children a couple of times when Hawkeye took them to play in the compound or just wanted some time off for him and Laura, and each time it was a complete fiasco on your part - and they weren’t even your children in the first place.

“Please, please say something”

You looked at Wanda and she at you, her greenish eyes glistening with another round of warm tears.

Your ominous astonishment and your dread, in company with each other like a grim specter. Pregnancy meant a baby, again, the dawning of a new form of life blossoming within your wife. A child (your child) flourishing inside her affable womb, and every second a little closer to bursting into the world, in your care and hers too.

Your heartstrings even tightened in a grim girdle, bathed in a greedy gloom when you realized one crucial thing – that this would be a child lacking the power of choice, a born possessor of superhuman abilities in which someone would never ask them if they intended to contain it in the first place. Maybe you should indeed cry for your still unborn child.

Like you and Wanda, the child to come would have a burden to their shoulders to carry; they already were the heir of a legacy, even without coming into the world.

They would still be able to assimilate the great magnanimity of their powers, all of this inferred by their genetic inheritance as soon as they would take their first breath of life – you just knew they would be born into a decrepit world that would hate them merely for existing.

Wanda, for her part, leaned back against the seat and glanced in your direction, one hand pressing its palm along the length of skin on her forehead. The exhausted sigh on her nose was heavy and occluded.

And then you uttered, through a crack erupted between the pulps of your lips, a sudden and thoughtless sentence, as if in a tasteless gag, because your brain was no longer working properly anymore. You never imagined yourself to be a mother, but that’s what was happening anyway.

You and Wanda had made a baby.

“Well,” you muttered poorly after a while, half laughing, but just wanting to burst into bittersweet tears, “Let’s just hope they don’t have my sense of humor” 

ᗢ

At the latest, with one bare hand pressing Tommy’s little fingers against your warm palm while with the other you do the same with Billy, the three of you walk in light strides, one foot next to the other across the concrete of the dry sidewalk in a thin layer of brightness, wide pools of sunlight that reflect in golden glows in the radiance of a warm afternoon, as a few cars pass by on the asphalt.

The day was reserved to take the boys to the ice cream parlor and the town square, and after you’d duly taught Tommy how to manage the exceptional strength contained in the muscles of both his small hands (this was right after an incident involving a mint ice cream cone boiled down to sticky crumbs and cold dough dripping through your child’s fingers, and a crisis properly avoided by then), you’ve decided within yourself that it was time to get the kids back home.

You, however, genuinely appreciate the moments you had with your two children, because you had lost so many of them, and that’s why you wanted to make up for it. These boys are your greatest love after all, like none before them.

Although so much of the boys refer to Wanda in your vision (Billy’s keen intellect and Tommy’s curious cut determination, always aiming to educate themselves about something new before their childish gaze), synchronically, your own peculiarities are attributed to them as the boys grow; maybe the high-pitched laugh of Billy, and certainly the way Tommy always creases a flash of skin between his brows when he finds himself in some messy situation.

The boys then, walking up to your hips, having draped their small torsos in polyester hoodies in a profuse shade of cobalt-blue and tomato-red, with big superhero symbols (which are so familiar to you) clinging to their busts, chat enthusiastically with each other as you maintain a healthy silence, enjoying every single small lapse of contentment that comes your way.

It’s the simple, frugal little things that you just learned to admire so much.

“Hey, you know who’s best?” Billy turns to his brother, “2003 Tigers! They’re the best!”

“No, they suck!” Tommy readily reiterates, “They suck so bad they suck egg!”

“No, they don’t,” says the other twin, “They’re the best!”

“Doofus”

“Doofus two”

“Triple infinity doofus”

You cross the street after looking from one side to the other, confirming the inexistence of any vehicle that was crossing the lane and the security for this being stated. Billy’s innocuous gaze, however, flickers in a kind of childish diligence, as the boy pours his small, upturned nose into your face – an alluring look passing through his shrewd eyes, which scrutinize the silent figure that was you walking close to his right shoulder.

“Mom, can I ask you something?”

The boy asks you in an astute and somewhat perceptive way, like a little reporter, frowning towards you who leads him by the small hand.

“Of course you can, Bill. You can ask me anything,“ and to the boy you offer a complacent smile, "What’s wrong, bud?”

“Are you and mama remarried?”

Your heart misses a beat – but, well, you actually said he could ask whatever he wanted in the first place.

Billy’s light-brown bangs point upwards, towards your sullen-looking face, as a complement to his doubt; the pale little brow creased like a statue, demanding a congruent resolution to his brooding inquiry. Looking to the side, you notice that Tommy does the same – two sets of expectant eyes awaiting some clarification for the so sudden (yet so natural) closeness of their two mother figures.

“Why… why do you think that, honey?”

“Because mama likes you,” he muss, “And you like her too, don’t you?”

“Well, yeah” you don’t hesitate, because there’s no way around that fact, “Yeah, I… I like mama. I like her a lot”

“That’s why!” it’s Tommy’s turn to intervene, “Lisa said at school that when adults like each other and have kids it’s because they’re married. And me and Billy are you and mama’s children, and you and mama like each other now, so you’re remarried, aren’t you?”

There is a momentary pause for you to think, and mentally your curse. There’s no telling two ten-year-olds exactly why you’re not married to their mother anymore, not with the restraint their young age imposes on the notion to what actually is a marriage. Marriage for you is turning to ashes when the other is burning. It’s wanting to stay when you have to leave, and wanting to leave when you have to stay.

“Kids these days know a lot, huh?” the boys limp with their shoulders, and out of you comes a lame whisper, “Well, look kiddo, your mama and I… It’s a little complicated, you know?”

“Complicated why?”

You, in a breath of mild air diffused through both your fearful nostrils, stop walking and let go of the boys’ hands, crouching on your knees bent inside the material that makes up your light jeans, so that, in such a way, your height matches the 4'5 inches which the two twins comprise in their avid childlike stature.

“It’s just,” and you click the tip of your tongue against the roof of your mouth in a bad way, “Adult things are complicated, you understand?”

Billy and Tommy’s keen eyes still scrutinize you, as enraptured as a probe or even a satellite. Even with their intellectualities restricted by such a tender and young age, lacking experience and cognitions of discernment for being just a child in the bosom of their childhood, the twins are still very attentive and committed to understanding more and more of the world around them, and so much they are able to understand through their ingenious perception.

They are nothing but a pair of very smart kids.

“A marriage… a marriage is so much more than just liking one or the other, honey. A marriage is a commitment, it’s a promise made between two people who love each other very much and that after a while doesn’t involve just them anymore. Me and your mama, we made that promise. We made that commitment, but… sometimes things just don’t go as planned. Some things happen and people… people change, kids. And sometimes people make mistakes when they change. I… I’ve changed. I messed up. And I hurt your mama when I messed up. And because of that, she also changed”

There is a dismayed pause on your part.

“We were in a bad spot and so we just decided it would be better this way for both of us. It’s just that we were still quite young, you know? Too young to understand what we were doing with our lives, how it all worked and would work after… after… you know, after…”

You do not want to talk. You don’t want to bring it back. You don’t want to think about it anymore, not again. Not with them.

“Mom?” Tommy calls, winking in your direction, “Are you okay?”

You shake your head silently. There’s no reason to think about it now.

“Yes, buddy, I’m okay, don’t worry” is a murmur on your part, “It’s just… complicated. I wish I could explain this properly, but the truth is, I don’t know how to do it. But I just want you to know that yes, your mama and I really like each other. Mainly because we made you. And you two sure are the best part of both of us”

You smile at them, who remind you so much of you, but much more of Wanda. Your heart throbs an avid thud against the ribs in your torso; an affable warmth radiates through your bones and veins, inflates your lungs in a warm cordiality, giving you the sensation of having a deluge of loves filling your passionate core with appreciation and fascination.

It’s not the first time in your life that this has happened, but it’s been a while since your feelings fluttered with such amazement; since their birth, these children became your greatest source of pride.

And your affectionate smile is reflected by the boy—both brothers with eyes pressed into two tiny slits of glistening eyelashes, pearly lips curled up in a simile smile, because Billy and Tommy are your children, your epigonus and your joy, a small part of you and the spirit of your love.

Your children with your beloved Wanda, to watch over and support.

“Well,” you get to your feet then, lifting your knees, “I guess we better get home soon, right? Or your mama will start to think I lost you two in the woods”

They laugh when they readily take the hands you offer them. And then you walk home again, just one step at a time.

ᗢ

“Seriously dude, take it easy! What the hell!“ you complain, weary and fretful, gasping for short breaths of air expelled from your tired lungs.

There is a brief attempt at a punch by your virtuous arm – duly evaded, however – and then the man takes advantage of the momentary gap to strike you with a closed hand right in the esophagus, at a central point of contact, precisely striking between your ribs.

And you fall to the floor immediately, and then you take a long time to get up, sniffling painfully as you do.

Sam Wilson, the current bearer of the allegorical Captain America mantle, however, only quirks a dark brow, chipping a broken smile at the corner of his lip.

"Shit…”

With a bend of the wrist, you sweep away the oil from your sweat from your forehead, right at the ends of your hairline, from a mixture of the torrid climate with the strenuous physical activities required in a training, carried out assiduously by both of you and the Captain America for the last few hours.

He, who approaches you to provide a helping hand, which you use to leverage yourself back to your starting position, despite keeping your own hand flat on your stomach area and a disgusted look on your face, wrinkling the eyebrows in the middle of your forehead.

“I thought you were supposed to be invincible, mutant girl?”

“Man, shut the hell up” you grumble in a bad way, taking distance from the other combatant.

And then, Sam lifts his clenched hands into sturdy fists to close to his particularly flushed cheekbones, making back-and-forth motions with his fingers, demanding a new thrust on your part.

“Come on, kid, let’s do it again”

“All right”

There’s another advance attempt, thwarted by an accurate block for every single strike you deliver against Sam.

The two of you drape your agile bodies into practice suits appropriate for a series of physical exercises, soaked in a sticky sweat that attaches your shirts to your stuffy skins, engaged in an avid hand-to-hand combat that, vector of such grace and discipline in its movements, so regulated, were, in turn, leveled to a choreographed dance, with light and meticulous actions.

You articulate a new punch, your fingers pressed together to do so, but Sam, in turn, holds your wrist in a handshake and circles your shoulder joint until your fist touches the scapula in your back, putting you on hold, down on your own knees. While you are indeed quite knowledgeable when it comes to physical combat, it turns out that you are just too out of shape to deal with someone who knows as much as you do.

And Sam, a former teammate, already knows how to use your superhuman strength to his advantage.

“Okay, okay, I got it, let me go!” you whine, the tip of your nose almost touching the floorboard under your bare feet.

Without delay, Sam lets go of your arm after hearing such pleas – rather pleased to do so, in fact.

You get to your feet, albeit a little whiny, and with your left hand you begin a disconcerted massage of your right shoulder that flares in sedentary pain. The captain, however, has his hands clasped at his sides wrapped in basketball shorts, and a small, playful smile doesn’t escape his amused lips.

“Man, when you said you were out of shape I believed you, but seriously” he mutters then, looking in your direction as you pant heavily, “You really have seen better days, huh”

“Well, when you said exercise helps mental health I believed it,” you gasp, “But all I’m feeling right now is pain… and to tell you the truth I think I’m a little sadder since when I arrived, also"

He smiles jovially.

“Believe me, it’ll be worth it in the long run” and then he playfully punches you in the right bicep, “Come on, let’s take a break. You need to hydrate”

“Oh, I need to hydrate,” you grumble like a grumpy kid, “Dude, when I was seventeen I kicked your ass every time we trained together!”

“Yeah, but that’s the age thing, isn’t it?” says Sam, as he takes a thermos of water in his right hand, “You get old and then you can’t do what you used to do”

“Are you really calling me old? Really?!”

It’s your indignant question, hoisting both your eyebrows at the man, an avid shake of your head, a shaft of hair slipping out of your ponytail and flashing across your vision as you do.

“When I’m literally younger than you?!”

“Well, only one of us is way out of shape here, and it certainly isn’t me”

You roll your eyes in their sockets as you walk away, looking for water to quench your inordinate thirst that makes your tongue feel like a rough stone. There’s a comfortable silence as you press your lips around the spout of a plastic water bottle, your left hand braced on your hip, a tired little crease formed between the strands of both of your brows furrowed across your glossy forehead.

Good-natured airs were made swift in the task of cramping the entire training room of the Avengers’ compound, as you allow yourself to expel a breath of tired air from the core of your lungs, uneasy at the physical situation in which you and Sam find yourselves in.

“So,” he says after a few seconds, lips shining through a layer of water, “How’s therapy going, huh? Buck said you’ve been going for a while and haven’t given up until now"

“It’s been going well, I think,” you shrug, “I haven’t had a drink in a while and I’ve been smoking less, not to mention I’m also spending more time with the boys and Wanda, so there’s not a lot of time in my day to do these things anymore. And panic attacks are getting more manageable, too. I consider this a step forward”

You turn your face towards the man with the goatee.

“It is a step forward, in fact. And I’m happy for you, Y/N” Sam flashes a half-proud smile in your direction, “But Wanda and the boys, huh? So things are working out with the little witch? Because look, I remember the two of you couldn’t go five minutes without keeping your hands off each other when you were younger"

“Oh, shut up” you grumble, even though a silly little smile wants to hide between your lips.

“But it’s true!” The captain exclaims, “You two were a cute couple… even if you were going at it like rabbits all over the compound. I mean, it was always crazy when my room was next to yours when we were on the run. Your girl really has a great set of lungs, huh?”

“Dude,” you look at him, and he chuckles in your direction, “Just shut up”

You know the hot sting in your flushed cheeks isn’t just from the workout anymore.

༺ᱬ༻

taglist: @diaryoflife, @iliketozoneout, @raqelacevedo, @wizardofstories, @wlwfanfictionss, @wandsmxmff, @whhyyynotttttt, @sayah13, @when-wolves-howl

#wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff #wanda reader #wanda x y/n #wanda x you #wanda maximoff imagine #billy maximoff #tommy maximoff #scarlet witch x you #scarlet witch imagine #scarlet witch #natasha romanoff #black widow #steve rogers #captain america #sam wilson #wanda x reader #wanda smut #wanda maximoff x reader

[matenrou-fan]

I'm so sorry, but I just can't get enough of demon King ichiro fake. So how would their domestic life be like?( I promise you I will stop for more parts)

Demon King! Ichiro with Angel! GN!s/o General HC

GNreader, possessive! Ichiro, fluff, wholesome stuff; part 1, part 2;

-After you not only accept his offer and move to your new bedroom, but also accept his feelings, Ichiro gets bolder again.

-But of course he's very careful now. Finally, when the most desired person, his, only his angel was so close to him again, the last thing that he wanted to do is to scare you away.

-So in the beginning of your relationship he wouldn't be that touchy, acting pretty collected around you. Only when you two are all alone, Ichiro would risk and tickle your forehead or arm with a quick kiss.

-Even with his possessiveness, he still wants you to enjoy your new house, and by that he means not only Lord's Castle, but the whole underworld too.

-"S/o, how are you, my dear?" - Despite always knocking before peeking inside your room, and always asking about your well-being, today's Ichiro looked more excited than usual. - "I just thought about a little walk together.. What do you think?"

-So, sometimes he would take you on small dates outside the walls of his residence. Most of the time you just admire landscapes of his land from the cozy cabin of the carriage, but sometimes he just wants to walk with you in the forest all alone or enjoy good weather on the beach.

-But of course, all your little walks are only in his presence, and only with his hands in your own, or maybe on the waist or the shoulder if a mood is more romantic.

-Not only because he's still so jealous and possessive, but also because he doesn't want you to get in trouble. You're still new in his world, after all.

-Also, there is a chance that some civilians still can't accept the fact that their Lord is now officially with an angel. You're not a married couple yet, but still.. There's gonna be haters.

-And Ichiro doesn't care how many of them there are, he would hunt down every one and punish them properly, just to let everyone know how much he appreciates you.

-Maybe his prestige would fall, it's not as important as your presence in his life. He's a young Lord, after all, he's the stronger creature in this sinful, dark world. So don't you worry about your safety, as you always have a loyal body guardian around you.

-But when Ichiro is too busy with his business, you just stay in your room. Despite giving you much more freedom now, he didn't remove some rules, such as don't talk with anyone beside him and just a few of his closest servants, don't leave your room without notifying him.. And, of course, no friends.

-It's just.. The way he kisses you so passionately, rolling his tongue over and around your own, pushing it as deeply into your mouth as he can, the way the warmth of your body tickles his chest when he holds you tight in his embrace.. It's all making him go feral all over again, lighting up this mania in the pit of his stomach.

-But then your soft hands on his face as you cup his cheeks so tender, blessing him with a soft kiss, then your shining eyes, filling him with such light, pure feeling of calmness.. It turns all his passion upside down, changing into something more gentle and less wild.

-So slowly, as time passes and this bond between you two would get stronger, Ichiro would let his guard down. Let you visit some parts of his Castle without him, such as the library or the inner garden.

-"Oh? And I wonder where did my sweet angel fly to.." - a soft chuckle behind interrupts you from making a wreath of daisies. Ichiro stepped closer and got down on one knee, to kiss the back of your head. - "Will you make another one for me too..?"

-Daisies. The innocence, sincere joy are the first things that come to mind when you look at these simple yet so beautiful flowers.

-So Ichiro really loves to call you not only 'his angel', but 'daisy' too. You're like a fragile flower that lures all his attention, this purity of your soul raises and refines his mind, dragging this sensitive part of him from the depth of his soul.

-Cause, despite being little the ruler of the underworld, the young Lord was such a softie deep inside. Sometimes even small things can make him all red and sweaty, as he can't even look at your eyes. It was just a little kiss on his forehead, but what a bashful reaction..!

-Well, because all this wild but blind affection, even if it's wrapped around his heart so tight, never would compare to sincere feelings that you show so easily and softly. And teaching him to do the same, and oh what a diligent student Ichiro is!

-Slowly pressing his lips to your in some long, delicate kiss why no one sees your hugging figures. Even your skin feels like smooth flower petals and your scent is so subtle and warm, as Ichiro just can't have enough of this tickle wave in his stomach that only your touch makes him feel.

-"Just one more kiss, please, s/o.." - who would know that the Demon Lord himself can ask so shyly about something so simple? - "Just one.."

-It's like his terrifying obsession now turns into some sort of needy clinginess. In front of his subordinates he's so harsh and cold, making serious decisions and being cruel but fair. And only all alone with you he allows himself to show his true soft nature that bloomed after your affection.

-And if in the beginning of your relationship you both spend more time in front of his servants, like dining in the big luxurious room of his castle or enjoying a hot day on the balcony, around his guardians, then now more often Ichiro's prefer to make a much smaller dinner in your room. But just how much more pleasant it is, when he can let himself be feeded from your hands like that..! Or not control himself and just lick this small drop of cream on your cheek after you eat your dessert.

-And it's just a start.. Oh, how much more pleasing soft things would you open to him, that resonates in his heart with a big wave of new love. A new definition of passion, love and care.

#hypmic x reader #hypmic imagines #hypmic #hypnosis mic #hypmic ichiro #ichiro yamada #hypnosis mic ichiro #ichiro x reader #ichiro yamada x reader

[ybblue]

Your Boyfriend, Blue

I'm fleshing out what my YB is like since I'm rather fond of the idea everyone has a unique YB just for them. Feel free to keep reading!

Stats:

Nickname: Blue Age: 29 Pronouns: He/Him Skin Color: Blue Eye Color: Blue Hair: He has short hair!

In this universe, everyone is a 'blurbo,' which I am defining here to mean "blob-like character," where your hair/skin tend to match colors, people can be any color, and everyone is even more cartoonishly drawn than normal.

YB, himself, appears much more docile and soft, filling the role of a sub male yandere. YB in this universe is named Blue by his Y/N.

Myers-Briggs Type: ESFJ (extraverted, observant, feeling, judging) Core Traits: Warm Affection, Energetic, Detail-Orientated Flaws: Obsessive, Insecure, Hesitant Quirks: Stalker, Pop Culture Nerd, Aspiring YouTuber

While most YB are antisocial, Blue is really great at fitting in and hiding his antipathy from people around him. He knows you need people to survive, and he makes due. (In a meta sense, he was born later than his counterparts in the other universes and has seen what being a vicious asshole gets you in the end - your Y/N's hatred!)

Blue knows he has a lot of natural charisma and puts it to work. He is very extraverted and people tend to like him. Given how much practice he has put into his façade, Blue is quite good at convincing others that he likes them and he can get along with practically anyone.

Random Factoids:

(As spoken in his voice.)

"I'd have to say my favorite color is purple. Why? No reason. I just like the color." (His Y/N has purple skin in this world.)

"Mmm, favorite food, now we're talking! It's so hard to pick just one thing, you know? If I want to sound sophisticated, I should say I like something fancy, maybe something French? But, if I'm being honest with you, the minute I smell movie theater popcorn, I go feral."

"Naturally, my favorite book changes all the time, but most recently I read This Is How You Lose the Time War by Amal El-Mohtar and Max Gladstone, and it's blown me away. There's just something about the way those two characters love each other... It's beautiful, and I relate to it, though I don't think I can really explain why. I heard about the book from some guy on Twitter named Bigolas Dickolas."

"So, everyone has a favorite movie, right? Really, it's more like a comfort movie. It's a movie you watch that always cheers you up or just reminds you of the best things in life. There's this silly little movie called Densha Otoko, Train Man in English. It's this Japanese flick that's supposedly based on a true story of some guy who saved a girl from being harassed on a train. He falls in love with the girl, but he's too shy to ask her out. Random people on the internet on a more wholesome version of 4ch*n basically cheer lead him into asking the girl out. Really, the whole movie is sweet. It always lifts my spirits when I see it."

"There's only four seasons, but all of them are pretty good in my opinion. Just when you get fed up with one season, the next one is just around the corner. I guess, gun to my head, I'd pick winter, but I can't really explain why that is. Winter just seems... and pardon my pun... like the coolest time of year. Everything is dark, things are dying, and honestly the cold is used to represent a lot of villains in stories. But, on the flip side, winter is when most people have a lot of holidays and get togethers and the like. Not that I experienced it for myself yet... but, I think winter might be the best season because its easier to justify snuggling up with your partner. Just thinking about pulling someone close under the blankets while you watch a cliché holiday movie... doesn't that sound like fun?"

"Dogs! I love dogs for sure. They are so loyal, you know? Supposedly if you kick a dog, it will still love you, not that I'm advocating for that, but I just think its fascinating for a creature to love so unconditionally. Maybe its weird, but I relate to that a little bit."

Well, that's all I have for now. I really like Blue a lot, so I'll probably post some more random stuff. I might even make an attempt to draw random comic stuff with him in it.

#ru's blue #yb #your boyfriend #yb au #ourboyfriend #yb peter #yb fanart #yb art #peter your boyfriend

[quill-pen]

Great. Thanks to @m0nsterwife now I'm thinking even more about my DnD Scroogeverse.😅

As if it wasn't already soft over the idea of regular Ebenezer getting all protective and doting and gentle with a pregnant Bess and then baby, I've now turned to mush at the thought of werewolf Ebenezer getting all protective and doting and gentle with pregnant Bess and then baby.

Just imagine it:

First of all, he probably knows she's pregnant before she does--can smell the change and hear the baby's heartbeat. Of course he doesn't know what those scents or sounds are because he's never really been around a pregnant woman since he was cursed and, also, they still believe Bess can't have children. So when he finds out THAT'S what those sounds and smells mean, he's completely dumbfounded. And terrified. He's a werewolf. What happens when werewolves have children? Are the children cursed too? Is carrying a werewolf's child more dangerous for the mother? Will his children inherit any sort of... wolfishness/wildness/feralness from him? How do you raise werewolf children? What if he accidentally hurts them when the wolf comes out?

After lots of communication and reassurances, both Eb's and Bess' worries would simmer down, but that fear would always be there. Rightfully so, honestly, and Bess can't blame him. She has some worries of her own, being a moon goddess vessel and all.

But the further along the pregnancy gets, the more comfortable Eb becomes with it all. His inner wolf makes him go more protective and territorial than ever before, struggling to let Bess even sweep the cottage or gather eggs. He always keeps an arm around Bess when company is about and struggles not to growl when even their extended family comes close to her. He cradles her so close, wrapping himself around her to keep her safe and warm. His big, paw-like hands with their claw-like nails hold and caress her growing middle so tenderly and sweetly. And the farther along it gets, the more easily Eb can hear and smell his baby--his little pup. And the more at ease and in love he feels.

Bess gets so many tender kisses, caresses, and affections--and that's saying a lot because she was already swimming in those before the pregnancy. Eb's wildness keeps up with her libido easily when that starts to become an issue. Pregnancy is no picnic as she comes to remember, but even so, all she can think about is letting her mate put another pup in her belly as soon as possible because she can already tell what a magnificent father Ebenezer will make. She adores the side of him--the side that curls up with her in their bed and wraps his arms around her waist and he lays between her legs and presses his ears and face to her belly to better hear, smell, and talk to their little pup. He kisses her belly so gently and she melts all over. She wants to see more of this side of him. She wants to make his dreams of being surrounded by people who love him--being surrounded by family--come true.

#scrooge 2022 #netflix scrooge #scrooge a christmas carol #ebenezer scrooge #scrooge #fanfiction #scrooge x oc #ebeness #ebenezer x bess #bess scrooge #dnd scroogeverse #dnd scrooge #werewolf scrooge #daddy scrooge #daddy scrooge (don't take it that way you sicko😠)

[sweetfirebird]

anyone who's being a dick about asking for more after you're doing the whole writing thing at your own pace can fight me behind a waffle house. (especially if it's about the albert thing) i have no idea why people are so impatient?!?! i have been waiting on the last kingkiller trilogy for over six years. i have incomplete fanfic bookmarked from nearly a decade ago i still check for updates occasionally. take your fucking time or don't write whatever they're asking for at all! it's your choice and not ours and i have yet to be disappointed with your work and i'm even keeping a few books unread for a future rainy day because it's a little treat. jesus fuck let authors write and take their time and do it how they want and can people please stop being a nagging wet tissue paper eater because it just makes everyone have a bad time and i'm sorry you have to deal with that.

anyway you write good. thanks for writing good. i'm sleepy and this is a weird awkward ramble sorry about that and it's been a whole fucking week so i hope you're fine and if not everything will be fine <3

ha no it is not about Albert, surprisingly. (That sweetheart) No, two separate people, both using a post about something else to ask me (for the second time, yes both of them for the second time) for something they would like to see.

And I get being excited. And I get wanting more of certain settings or characters. But there is a time and place to tell me what you like about other, past books and it's not when I am talking about something else I have JUST done. And it is definitely not after you (the general you) have already asked me to write that specific something new for you that you want so much and I have given you as much of a soft No or at best vague maybe someday but I don't know that I possibly can.

I think... in addition to what you said, because yeah, most authors are doing it on their own. Even the ones working with traditional publishers are still writing while contending with the stresses of real life, and frankly, traditional publishers do not offer much help these days.(As far as I can tell anyway.) And they will write at whatever pace they can, and most cannot put out a billion stories a year. It's just not doable. It's mentally and emotionally taxing, and also... they have lives. They have families. What the hell.

But in addition to that, authors are also doing their own marketing, their own PR. Like, it's not agents. It's not a team. A few might have assistants but most do not. ...and readers maybe forget that? There is no wall separating the authors from this. They perhaps imagine their words as being more like, paper fanmail going to a publisher, who forwards it on, where an assistant or agent reads it. Like some sort of filter situation.

Then also, people like me who are too tired or weird (or semi feral) to maintain a colder public persona and *do* publicly let friends tease me or call me bitch or whatever, perhaps give the impression that we are cool with more informal requests.

And then also the internet tends to instill weird close/distant relationships, so some people either not think of the people they are talking to/authors as real people, while also giving those people a distorted sense of friendship and familiarity.

....

That's actually me being kind. I worked retail for a long time and the general public are demanding and will ask for stuff they shouldn't without any shame. Because every person thinks they are the only one doing the naughty thing so it's okay. (If they even know it's naughty.)

Anyway, thank you for also seeing it as rude. Get some sleep now maybe?

And to everyone else, a few things:

if you want to ask a writer about upcoming stories and you aren't following them on social media or wherever, then I bet you they have a fanmail option somewhere. Use that instead of hopping onto a post about something else.

and... as my family will tell you... the more you insist I should do a thing, the greater the odds that I will never do it. :)

(also, i do charity prompts all the time. these people could pay charity money for the stories they want and somehow never do...)

#asks

[s-e-v-e-n-24]

States as Rainbow Kitten Suprise songs, part 1

How to: Friend, Love, Freefall

Pacific Love - Alaska/Hawai'i

No look no look platonic or romantic he is a simp for her

Hold my hand darling

Pull me in your waters

When you call my name, I'll be on my way

Mission to Mars - California

Ohhhhhhh my god oh my god. Ok, so. The song generally is about a performer, presumably in a space like Hollywood, fighting hard to cling to their 15 minutes of fame, and trying desperately to stay in the spotlight. Please. Please. I wanna do a whole analysis on this oh my god

But basically, Hollywood Cali

Heard it booming at parties, whispered in homes

The pundits on the radio won't leave it alone

I heard it once, heard it twice

Heard it well enough to tell

They say the mission to Mars, is destined to fail now

And I love how in the end, the last part is the same sentiment, but hopeful

Fever Pitch - Utah/Illithiya

Them being good for eachother my beloved and him being a simp, but more then that, her inevitable death. Her lifespan that will end before his and the bittersweet in every happy moment tainted just a bit by the future. And his hope that maybe, maybe he might be able to join her in an eternity

Hallelujah

The iron king sings a song for the lover

The leaver, the lonely, and like

Young love waits

If I can then I'll meet you at the gate of St. Peter

It's called: Freefall - Gov and California

I love when I can make a song apply to a character in 2 different ways

1, Gov is the devil referenced in the song. This works both in how Gov is Not a good character, but also in the way the Devil interacts with the speaker. Both comforting and concerned, as well as a more tough love approach

2, he is the speaker. The one who stays up late and isolates himself from others and won't admit when he's wrong

Called to the Devil and the Devil said

Hey! Why you been calling this late?

It's like 2 A.M. and the bars all close at 10 in hell, that's a rule I made

Anyway, you say you're too busy saving everybody else to save yourself

And you don't want no help, oh well

That's the story to tell

Now with Cali, he is most definitely just the speaker. It is very much about the self destruction and unlike Gov where it'smore about never ending work and a deepset exhaustionthat won't leave it's more violent, especially with friendships, and the inability to recognize his own wrongs

Some day's end when I need a few friends

Now and again I could never hope to keep them

Thought to give friends what I thought that they wanted

Never had they needed a good friend as I've been

Don't get me venting on friends who resent you

'Cause all you've ever done is been a noose to hang on to

They thought was a necklace and reckless they fell into hell

Where you both hang with nothing to do but

Holy War - Texas

Is it mostly him cause it mentions Dallas? Yeah. But also the parts that allude to a relationship

I see it said in your eyes

All the time

You ain't gotta tell me you're fine babe

They call that Holy War in Dallas

They call for Holy War

On us

Matchbox - Calivada

Quite literally going feral I cannot use words to explain how it fits them just look at the lyrics like a nice, soft love, but maybe a but bitter as it is ended, or ending, due to someone wanting more in life and accidentally leaving a relationship in ruins but maybe it's more a mutual thing, left and discarded, all the while thinking "Well, it's not all on me. They have to talk to me too" And leads them to a premature end to a good thing that maybe wasn't that good maybe it was rotted under the surface and needed work that was always ignored but dammit it was theirs

Or maybe I'm looking too much into this

I also love that it references Mission To Mars

You're a master of passive-aggressive magic tricks

Like, that's not a card that I would've picked but it's your life to live like how you'd like to live

You're type of cool that likes to talk a lot

I'm the type of fool to listen

Salutations to Apollo

While the Mission To Mars is surely soon to follow

And you bit my lip when I kissed you

I bit my tongue not to tell you that I miss you

We shared my blood for an instant and I would trade some more to have it back

Yeah I would trade all of this for that

Everybody I know wants to be a star

Just above the atmosphere flying high

Just above the average fear to try

Keeping me grounded, holding me down for miles

Everybody I know wants the gleam

In designer tops and ten dollar magazines

Infatuated with the beams, you go crazy when I speak

I'm the asshole who keeps laughing at our predicaments

Like this ain't the life that I should've picked

But it's the cards we're dealt we play with

Shit

Moody Orange - Florsiana

I dunno what it us, it's just them. It's chaotic and a rush, and a constant movement and maybe some behaviors in the sing encouraged by the other are not healthy, but there is love there, and it is pure through all the ups and downs. They are a team, and partners, and willingly to try again despite it all

I love the way you know how

I love the way you walk out

I love the way you shut it

Down

Now

Paint it moody orange

Does help that Florida loves oranges

Hide - NJ/NY

When related to specifically them, a denial of feelings and a fear of being vulnerable

I hate you more than I miss you

That's not true, I'd hate to miss you

Anywhere I go anywhere you've been before

I get the chance to say goodbye

Or hello I mean you don't call you don't write

You know I've been up for forty days and forty nights and all my fears have multiplied

By the silence in your eyes

Better hide your love, hide your love

Don't let it slip away, don't let it slip away

When It Lands - Calivada

Peak Calivada. In the middle of their on and iff relationship when everything is good, and sure maybe the good feelings are just the partying and the rush, and sure maybe things have started to fall apart again, maybe there's a longing, a deep issue of missing the other so much but never seeming to be around d them that ruins it everytime but maybe they don't have to think about that right now

Sugar city

Pretty magic

Got me good vibes

Thank God I ain't driving

Traffic vision

Blurred blue bleedin'

That's a black out ladder

It don't matter anyhow

I'm climbing

Keep my good vibes

And check coats for cool climates

In common we got

Good friends rolled light on split ends

Pretty magic

Traffic addicts

And I never call back when my friends all looking at me in the car

'Cause it'd be all they wanna talk about

Oh you tryna to get a deal? A deal? A deal

Sorry on the real

But my eyes and my ears don't work well

And the floor keeps sliding out my heels

I can't feel 'em am I still dreaming?

Painkillers - Colorado

Just generally, him and addictions and struggles with living

Living just comes with a bit of heartache

Heartache comes with a bit of young faith

Faith stays young till your heart get broken

Hope grows up to become someday

Recktify - New York

Just- The fast paced tempo and the lyrics that barely have time to breath and the constant shift in topics lends itself to the atmosphere of a city like NYC, and the temperament of New York himself

Especially the end, it reads to me like overstimulation maybe in a meeting and it's so much and going so fast and maybe he's arguing only to end up being pulled away from a fight He barely remembers starting

You're making a scene

You're making a scene baby

To wreck the scene

To wreck the scene

To rekt

Possum Queen - California/NY/Florida

And this is a thing to be further expanded on, but New York and his failed relationships in the ways of being a little bit unstable and commitment issues

Like him spending winters with Florida, having flings, but never settling and fearing his touch in any other season. Or a past relationship with California where they both were shit and maybe it was the intimacy of knowing eachothers issues so deeply but it's missed. Not in the way they'd do it again, but that they cannot hate eachother, and they loved eachother while it lasted, and maybe they'd be able to try again but for know it's tired smiles and small limes that allude to knowing more then they let on

This will last forever

And when it doesn't, love it for what it is

Don't miss it the way I do

The way I used to

If you love it, love it for what it's been

Don't miss it

Don't wish it back

Don't wish it'd last 'cause if it doesn't

Love it for what it is

Don't miss it the way I do

Don't miss it

Don't miss it the way I miss you

Polite Company - Mississippi

If I'm being honest most of this was cause ballerina Sippi, but honestly vibes anyway

I only want what I can't have

If you love me, give me nothing

Nothing

#oh my god this took so long #i have the other albums in my drafts but they aren't done #also sorry for how it's all worded i am in a mood #states as rks songs #wttt alaska #wttsh hawaii #wttt hawaii #wttsh california #wttt california #hollywood california #wttt utah #wttt illithiya #wttt gov #wttt texas #wttsh nevada #wttt nevada #wttt florida #wttt louisiana #wttt new jersey #wttt new york #wttt mississippi #calivada #florsiana #florida/new york #florida/california #welcome to the table #welcome to the statehouse #wttt #wttsh #hawaii x alaska

[certifiedcomedianette]

Praise thy king, Praise thy king...

I ADORE PRINCE GREGORY X COMMONER CHRISTOPHE SO MUCH NO ONE KNOWS WHY. 🥰🥰 I have a lot of stories about them- None published but stuck on Ao3 ofc.

I've grown a liking to this because it seems clear that just by the way Gregory moves, Gregory talks, and how he has extremely fascinated talents (Being able to literally start a revolution, Being able to skate, Obtaining a 4.0GPA), He just seems like a prince or a king instead. 😱😱😱 Of course, Christophe is the polar opposite— Opposites Attract(?) He would be either a commoner, a blacksmith, a thief, or literally just a typical village boy who knows nothing of the king vice versa.

I'm about to make a short story regarding these two, so if you wanna read it scroll down. I'm not that good at writing so- forgive me 😭👍

"The Prince, and The Village-Boy"

The noises of a sweeping broom could be heard echoing in the corridor, it seemed a village boy was cleaning the palace for money, or respect. both could be the reason.

nobody really knows, considering the village-boy is Christophe DeLorne, or more commonly known as Mole because of how completely mistreated and rude he is to anyone.

It was a shock when the prince had chosen HIM to be his personal guard, But they couldn't stop him either way.

The prince was none other than Gregory, Prince of Yardale.

He and Christophe are not close. He and Christophe hate eachother.

At first, of course.

As time went through, Christophe developed unnecessary feelings for the Prince. While the prince, chose to forbid and hid his own feelings from the village-boy.

After all; why would a prince, waste his time for a village-boy when he can get a princess?

He didn't want a princess, or a goody-two-shoes.

He wanted the village-boy, The commoner, The guy who insults him when they are alone, yet serves him when there are royals around.

Their relationship started complicated; A Prince, and a Hired-Village boy constantly arguing, hating eachother, insulting eachother, and not being obedient.

Until one showed light to the other and their own personal wish for the whole world.

Gregory wasn't of course in control of what his own royal family would do to the village; Enslave the people, Kill them, punish them, and so on.

He just wished they could be equal.

And he wanted that wish to be fulfilled when his own guard-boy suggested he disguises himself just like he; A village boy, for one hour just to see how everyone is.

of course not everyone was nice, some were cruel, Yet Gregory grew to see the kindness and the dazzling part of their village.

Which came the thought of; "Is this really how a kingdom treats their people?.."

"Hey, Christopher." Gregory called. "It'z Christophe. And what do you want." The french boy replied.

"I can't deny our relationship is completely horrid and confusing;" He said, standing up from the chair he was sitting on and placing down the empty cup of tea on his desk. "Once, We hate and insult eachother; I tell you to do things i demand, you be obedient and do as i say."

"Oui, Like zeh dog i am." Christophe interrupted, despite hating being called a 'Dog'.

He was terrified at the sight of seeing his dad get killed by a feral dog when he was only 4.

"..And another, we are loving to one another; Holding hands, Feeling each's warmth, and just having a pleasant time.. Closed doors." The blonde said with a soft voice.

Christophe was taken completely over with Gregory's choice of words. He was used to his speeches, and everything; But seriously.

That was sappy.

It was like coming out of a sad romance story.

He thought to himself.

"What are you saying."

Gregory sighed.

"What is your point? So what, You and me, secret fucking relationship, What's the deal?" Christophe toned down his voice a bit. "..Iz something zeh matter."

"What would you do if i.."

"If you what. I wouldn't care if you're going to marry the Princess from London."

"..No-no," Gregory chuckled. "What would you do if i held out a revolution just for you and i."

..

What? A revolution?

"First of all; You'd fail and we'd get in trouble."

"Ah, But what if we fake my death first, forward it to you disappearing and some blonde angry boy starts a revolution for the king?" Gregory said with a smirk.

It seemed he had a well thought off plan.

"How are we gonna get a entire fuckingh village to believe some village boy who's a prince in disguise."

"Though it seems impossible, it could work out."

And it did.

Once they faked the death of the prince, They started a revolution.

A way to change the royal kingdom's ways; Everyone going feral, Cannons, Guns, everywhere.

All families with their children hid in their homes for safety.

This was a revolution they'd surely won't forget.

They'd yell; PRAISE THY KING! PRAISE THY KING! LONG-LIVE THE PRINCE! LONG-LIVE THE PRINCE!

And before they knew it;

The revolution fell.

Every single one of the men apart of it; Dead.

Christophe and Gregory? Both were attempting to flee the village.

until they were cornered.

"Mon cherri."

"Mon Ange."

"I love you, always and forever. Death or alive."

"J'taime. Always and forever."

Were their last words until only gunshots were heard and only gunpowder could be smelt around the area.

The previously-supposed-to-be-dead prince, now dead.

Along side his guard, or a village boy, loyal to him ti'll death.

And that, was the end of the Prince, and the village boy's story.

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