Photo – #278 Steve – McQueen with his immaculate 333cc Triumph [BNX 822B] ISDT 1964 (François Gragnon)

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there’s an undeniable serenity which follows your voice. how it traverses within the room’s dome-like structure, reverberating through the surrounding space before ultimately touching the hearts and souls of those who hear your solo piece. it captivates and impassions, an underlying force woven beneath layers of harmonies forged under years of dedication holding one’s attention as they await in baited breath for the forthcoming emotions which swirl and soar at the mercy of your voice.

having never missed one of your performances to date, neuvillette believes he would know this best.

in his life, he has found there are many difficulties which arise when overseeing trials of various levels of severity — some being a life-defining case whereas others may delve into a more… menial aspect of things.

(“to bring some entertainment for once!” …is what he would usually hear in response to his unvoiced thoughts before having to reprimand a certain archon for levity in the court.)

but in spite of the blurred lines between professionalism and public entertainment, neuvillette finds himself at ease once he steps into the grand hall, finding his seat as stated on his ticket, waiting patiently as the chatters die down the moment the lights dim and the curtains draw, watching in content as vocals and instrumentals resound until the lights dim once more to signify the end of the opera.

amidst his day-to-day life, he has come to anticipate the dates which mark your performances.

ever since he first started attending, he has discovered that when sitting amongst the crowd enjoying your voice and performance, he is neither the iduex nor the chief justice of fontaine; he is simply neuvillette — a man who finds peace and respite in your presence, regardless of how near or far you may be from him.

he claps just as everyone else does, watching as you stoop into a bow on centre stage once the final note dissipates into the air where rounds of applause take over. there’s an ever-present smile stretching your lips, the corners of your eyes crinkling as you wave to the crowd surrounding him.

neuvillette recognises this expression as one you’d wear after a performance you deem satisfactory and finds his heart fluttering at the glow in your expression. (your smile doesn’t reach your eyes if you think it is anything less, despite his internal thoughts believing otherwise.)

he remains seated as the orchestra begins to arise and gather their instruments, as the conductor steps down from their podium, as the singers line up and shuffle off stage, as you turn and take your leave in close pursuit.

he glances at the bouquet settled atop his lap. oddly enough, the colours he chose coordinate with your attire, and he cannot help but to think this is some twist of fate playing with his convictions.

no matter, he thinks to himself as he rises from his seat, the bouquet cradled within his hold. with brisk steps, he makes his way past the crowd. it’s easier once people step away the moment they identify him and opt to gawk at his presence, allowing an easy passage for a quick escape.

it is not much later when he finds himself walking down a familiar hallway, the bright lights illuminating the name plaques hanging on the dressing room doors. his feet naturally come to a stop in front of a dressing room six doors down, the words [name] [last name] neatly engraved into the stainless steel nailed to the door.

his eyes trace over your name a few times, the flowers in his hand seemingly heavier than they were mere moments prior.

perhaps this time…

neuvillette attempts to push back the lump lodged within his throat. there’s a slight trepidation which hangs overhead as he gently raises a fist to your dressing room door, one which is all-too familiar in the way he hesitates and rethinks his actions over and over when in regards to you.

he stops before his knuckles touch the door. before he knows it he falls back into his usual routine: place the bouquet in front of your dressing room door, gently knock three times, turn and walk down the hall, disappearing before you can see him loitering around and make the connection of him being the anonymous bouquet gifter after each performance.

rounding a corner, neuvillette comes to a halt. with a glance over his shoulder he watches you peek your head out the door, looking around the hall in search of who knocked. when you take note of the bouquet he left, he fights back a smile of his own when you beam and thumb at the petals as he wills himself to turn and resume his exit.

perhaps after your next performance he will finally gather the resolve to speak to you.

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I am now home, fed, rested, and festooned in cats. 

I had a lot of opinions about the case I was jury on, but I don’t know how much of it I’ll write up; I kept a kind of disjointed journal, but it’s not super coherent. Turns out if I don’t document my thoughts in real time I get bored of my own mind very quickly. 

We were jury for a complicated medical civil case; we heard testimony from six doctors and two nurses and saw so much imaging. I’m sure the plaintiff suing the medical center had bigger concerns, and it’s not like you get detail with the internal imaging we had to examine, but it must have been rough on him that in the course of learning about his injuries, which were on his lower body, we also had to look at multiple images of his dick. It certainly startled me when I realized what we were seeing for the first time.  

Most of the trial I was kind of okay with just keeping things to myself, writing and thinking about it privately, but I was dying inside that I couldn’t talk to you guys until now about the asshole juror I mentioned earlier. I had intended to use writing about him as a safety valve -- a sort of “Hey I can’t talk about the trial but wait till you hear what That Guy did today” -- but uh. 

So I didn’t actually bully anyone off a jury, but for the rest of my life I am definitely going to claim I did. 

The second day of trial, the bailiff grabbed me before trial and said the judge wanted to talk to me; I thought I was in trouble but it turns out that he wanted to know about my interactions with the other juror. Apparently the bailiff had seen me step in when he was pestering a fellow (female) juror the previous day. Later he got super aggressive with the bailiff herself, and I guess she saw me watching and gauging whether to step in then, too. (I didn’t end up getting involved because she handled him just fine and also she has a gun.) 

The judge questioned me about what I’d seen and done and why I’d done it, and then informed me he was removing the juror from the case based on what I’d told him about the man’s behavior. I’m given to understand there may be a charge of contempt of court and a fine, but I’m not clear on the details and it appears I won’t have to get involved further.

But yeah, that’s why you didn’t hear any more about him. Realistically he was removed for harassment, but I like to think a small part of it is that I fucked with him so visibly and thoroughly that they knew “this jury box isn’t big enough for the both of us.” 

Anyway, I’m glad it’s over. I would have liked to have spoken to the plaintiff and his wife after the verdict and expressed my sympathy for what they’d gone through, but I think perhaps understandably they didn’t want to linger. Besides, we found in his favor; he seemed pleased with the outcome and his wife was happy-crying as we left, so I expect the message was understood. 

My job is not exactly mindless, but it also doesn’t usually involve paying hardcore attention to complex medical testimony for six hours a day. I am exhausted. Fortunately this weekend is relatively laid back -- my only commitment is to a Pride beach party tomorrow, and I’ve used some of my jury pay to purchase one of those pop-up shade tents, so the plan is to sit in the shade with snacks and beverages and be the Beach Dad. 

Shameless.

Yan Chrollo x GN Reader.

Synopsis: Chrollo is many things; annoying, chatty, selfish, petty. Especially petty.

Warnings: Yandere themes and kidnapping.

Word Count: 700.

“Petty, much?”

The damn devil doesn’t even turn to look at you. Instead, he turns to the next chapter of his book, a book large enough to easily force you or any other ordinary person into a yearlong coma if it hits your head. His humming physically hurts your ears and almost makes their drums burst, you are sure of it. You would much rather listen to his trill sonata from a gramophone and disc that is at least five times your age.

You cannot find the stuffed animal you normally sleep with. You have been looking all day while this clone of the antichrist just sits and reads in whatever the hell that language on the dusty cover is. You wouldn’t be surprised if he had made it himself, it’s only further proof that he is just an old man on the inside. Or at least half; the other part may as well be a toddler throwing a tantrum. 

Maybe less than half, now that you think about it. That plush was a gift from Chrollo to you, after all, a symbol of how adorable you are or something else in that vein that made his face all the more punchable. The bunny made for a good pillow and could be used as a sort of wall whenever the epitome of hell lays on the bed beside you, trying to converse or cuddle with you. 

It certainly yielded better results than biting, kicking, and hitting him at least. Your knuckles and palms still sometimes hurt. Ow. His flesh is made of iron, you know it. Maybe you should dare him to get his DNA tested to ensure that he is indeed human before speaking with you again. 

You could fake an allergic reaction to automatons perhaps. Even though you were never a drama kid in school you think you can still pull it off. 

You can craft yourself an Emmy using what remains of your old art supplies, though that would require having Chrollo cut the papers and cardboard for you. You bet that if he is a robot, he will eventually use up all his battery by chatting away and then shutting down. 

“What are you, a kindergartener?” You move closer to his unholy throne, stomping with each step forward. “Stop acting like you are eight, you swindler, and give it back.”

It would be easier that way if he went unconscious because of his powerless charge. 

If you are feeling particularly sadistic you could use electric shocks on his unconscious tin can of a body until it explodes. It would be a great thing, the sound. Like fireworks, if you avoid getting stabbed by tiny slabs of hot metal.

“Kindergarteners are ages five to six.” You could picture dreaming of it now if you can go to sleep tonight. “Eight-year-olds are typically in the grades second and third.”

“So you do admit to stealing it, then. This trial has now concluded, you have been sentenced to life without parole.”

You can hear a slight chuckle that makes you want to fall down the stairs while playing jump rope. Anything to make sure you never hear it again. “You get points for effort, darling. That wasn’t a confession, I was just correcting your utterly adorable libel.”

“Don’t talk like that to your judge, you larcenist.”

“I see you have been reading the books I have given you.”

You grumble a curse under your breath as you walk a bit closer. “It is amazing what the human mind can remember from a dictionary when there is nothing better to do. I think if I ever see my literary teacher again she’d be impressed. I’d pass with flying colors if I ever had to retake her class.”

At the sight of your laid-out hand, a slight frown appears on Chrollo’s face. “Being polite never hurt anyone, you know.”

You scoff and cross your arms, not looking at him anymore. “It hurts me every time I say anything to you instead of trying to find out how to give you enough papercuts to make you internally bleed.” 

Underneath the table, you can see the rabbit plush, and crouch down to grab it.

“Take this as an act of precaution then; don’t test my limits, dear.” As soon as you look into his eyes, hugging the stuffed animal, you look away as you see what lies beneath the surface once more. 

Nothing.

❤️‍🔥 Welcome to Akhara’s PlayHouse ❤️‍🔥

❤️‍🔥more playboys coming soon||spam account: akharareblogs

Introduction: Akhara’s playhouse is a male centered fictional world, where they all fight for the attention of the writer. Akhara. Yup, that’s me.

Each play boy is unique in their own way, all expressing different ranges of emotion and skills. However boys will be boys, and Akhara is only one woman.

This is an eighteen plus blog containing: Mature themes, Rated-R content and pure filth. I reserved all rights to block anyone under the age of eighteen.

Disclaimer: Do not copy or repost my works on other platforms. All original characters are my own. All rights reserved to the creators of the media used.

Roman Reigns:

Rebellion in the Shadows: Joseph Anoai replaces his father as Matai Joseph , and must now navigate his new role as chief, while wondering if his reign could match that of his father’s.

Averi makes a narrowing escape from some dangerous people. She finds her self saved by a mysterious man. Still, she keeps her walls up.

One : Two

Samuelu Island

Jey Uso:

Beyond the Lights: Soraya is a well known artist in the music industry, and her accolades reflect that. While her career may be thriving and successful. She still has a lot to learn as she faces the trials and tribulations that come with the fame.

zero : one : two : three : four : five : six : seven

Nap time

Randy Orton:

Mayhem: A planned feud goes a bit too far when two sisters pitch a story line that shifts the trajectory of the women’s division. co-written with: @keyaho

preview

Micheal B. Jordan:

Dadmonger Series: Erik and his wife are parents to ten-year old twin boys. Come along with them and their little family as they navigate their lives as parents.

winter party : not my sons : school bullies Mistletoe Clean up woman I wish you would He wasn’t man enough for me

Winston Duke:

International Studies Wedding Day

Chadwick Boseman:

Berlin

Trevante Rhodes: Coming Soon Cody Rhodes: Coming Soon Triple H: Coming Soon Pablo Schreiber: Coming Soon

Akhara’s Patrons: If you would like to be added, please comment on the master list. I will try to frequently update it as much as I can.

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Even if it Takes Forever

Miguel O'Hara x Reader

//Obsessive themes, slight angst, Cloning sciency stuff that I probably got wrong about.

---

---

"Recording? Again? You might as well work as a cameraman instead of a geneticist. " You giggle as you see a camera being pointed at you. You placed a hand at your pregnant belly as you smile at his actions.

Miguel was about to retort back when you both hear Gabriella running towards you.

"Mama! Mama! Look what I got!"

You look towards Gabriella, who has a handful of flowers, cradled in her arms.

"Can we make those flowers crowns again?" She asks as she sits in front of you, down on the picnic blanket.

You happily agree, as Miguel is filming the whole thing.

You and Gabi talked to each other about several things while interwining flower stems.

Gabriella suddenly pulled you down to her height and whispered something, causing the both of you to giggle.

"Say Miguel....Ever thought about modelling?"

"Wha?-" his questioned got cut off when both you and Gabi gently tackled Miguel behind the camera.

The camera got tackled to the floor while laughs and giggles fill the air.

With a swish of his hand, the hologram screen disappeared into thin air.

Silence fill the empty office.

Miguel deeply sighed as he stared into nothing, committing your and Gabi's voice into his head.

"Lyla, what per cent is it on now?"

As the mention of the name, a hologram of a lady appeared.

"You know, it won't get faster the more you ask." Lyla answered back.

"Just. Tell. Me." He sneered at Lyla.

"fifty-six per cent"

"Fifty-Six?! It's already been a month! Run the system again." He exclaimed.

"Numbers are numbers, Miguel. No matter how much you ask me, it won't get any faster."

Miguel groaned. He knew she was right, but the more days passed by, the slower it felt. He tried convincing himself that waiting is part of the progress, but it doesn't feel like he made any.

"Just.....Bring me down there." He said with a sigh as he steps on a small platform separated from his office computers.

Without another word from Lyla, the platform begins to decend, lower and lower into a dark abyss. Perhaps call it a secret passage way.

Once the platform completely lands, lights turn on immediately.

In front of Miguel, there were two human sized capsules connected to multiple tubes and wires to computers.

Inside those two capsules were yours and Gabriella's bodies, floating in blue-ish liquid.

Your face is serene and peaceful, and so is Gabi's.

He still remembers the days when he first started this project.

With the help of 2099 technology, he can make clones upon clones of people with the help of AI and human DNA.

But it wasn't easy.

Within the first trials, he was able to make Gabriella using his DNA, but she only lived up to a week when her internal organs failed due to missing chromosomes. He found out he couldn't make Gabriella without your DNA.

He almost gave up then.

Almost.

The second time, he tried you, using some DNA of a random woman he found.

You only lived for a week when your brain had miscalculations since it couldn't match with the DNA and with the codes he input and before he knew it, your brain self- destructed.

Trials upon trials pile up to a stack.

A missing limb.

An extra finger.

A missing organ.

So on and so forth, failed expirements pile up.

He remembers how much he was persistent on the project, so much that Lyla had to call for Peter and Jess to spray him sleeping gas and connect his body to IVs and nutrition tubes.

But he still didn't give up.

He finally found the solution when he went to another universe, where you are well alive and so is Gabi.

He fought the urge to stay within the universe, but he had learnt his lesson already.

While he watched you and Gabi sleep, he took it an opportunity to take a couple of hairstrands.

After collecting, he undid his mask and kissed your forehead and left with a heavy heart.

But he finally did it.

He remembers how joyous he felt.

He remembers smiling, which felt like since eternity since the last time he did.

Even Lyla was surprised when he stopped giving her angry demands and shouts.

He looked at the computer and saw that your organs,brain, and overall body were stable.

He still had leftover hair samples from you, and with his DNA sample, he also could make Gabriella.

He remembers staring at the capsule for so long that he swore he could be a statue until Lyla had to make him move eventually.

So here he was.

Looking at the unconscious and floating bodies of you and Gabi.

His palm automatically places itself on the glass, and if he imagines hard enough, he could feel your warmth from it.

He looked at the moniter next to your capsule and saw it was still fifty-six per cent, after seventy per cent he could then input the videos he took into your brain which could be made up to your memories, but alas, progress was slow.

His attention then shifted to Gabriella's capsule.

He remembers the way you would always remind him of how much she looks like him.

He would always respond back that Gabi's smile and laugh matches yours.

Oh, how much he misses those sounds.

He looked at her percentage, and it was still the same. Her heartbeat is stable and has a healthy condition.

"Miguel, you have a call." Lyla suddenly appeared on his shoulder.

He sighed, remembering he still has spider duties.

He went back to the platform, and once it started lifting up again, he looked at both of your capsules once again until the lights automatically turned off, leaving him staring at nothing.

He knows it will take forever for you and Gabi to be completely alive again.

But he'll wait even if it takes forever.

Trials of Change

Ghost overhears Soap and a couple of recruits complaining about him and decides maybe he does need to be fixed.

Ghost had never been happier honestly. Really. He and Soap had been dating for… two months, four days and, he checked the time, six glorious hours. 

Maybe that happiness made him blind. Foolish or even just stuipd. 

Ghost slipped into the room where the other people were. It wasn’t on purpose that he was undetectable. His natural state of being was… well… Ghost. 

So he heard the conversation.

Price hummed. “How’s it going with him?”

Soap smiled. “Oh, he’s great.”

“Is he planning on wearing the mask less?” 

Ghost internally winced. He understood Price was just asking out of concern. Price was one of the first people to understand that Ghost and Simon were both different people and the exact same. 

Soap shrugged. “Don’t know. I wish he would.” 

Ghost knew that was true so he didn’t mind it, but he decided to wait a second and not announce his presence. He just sat back to listen. 

“Thank God.” One of the rookies piped up. Ghost tensed and glared at them, though they couldn’t feel it unfortunately. “Tired of him walking around all scary. We were all hoping he’d get better when you guys started dating.” 

Ghost didn’t understand.

Better? What did they mean better? He was happier. Wasn’t that enough?

Soap looked rueful. “Yeah. I’d like that too. He spooks me sometimes.” 

Ghost felt his heart just drop. He was sure if he strained he could hear the sound of it snapping. Ice shards being sent off everywhere. After a moment, he decided to stay where he was. Safe and sound. 

As everyone seemed to list off his transgressions. 

Did they know he was there and deciding to mess with him? It was right up Soap’s alley, but the rookies usually feared him enough to stay quiet. He doubted they would pick up on what was going on fast enough. 

“Please make him wear something with color.”

Soap shrugged. “His closet is nothing but black.”

“Tell him to put something besides his music on.”

Soap rebutted that one too. “He hates my music and you guys don’t get a vote.” 

Then the complaints came a bit faster. 

“Make him actually talk to people.” 

“And stop hiding in his room. It’s a bit creepy at this point.”

“Also why can’t he ever make friends on base?”

“Anger issues. He’s constantly getting pissed for no reason.”

“Please make him take off the mask.” 

“And stop staring.” 

“And also please stop letting him out at night.”

“Why are you breaking curfew to see him out at night?” Soap remarked, crossing his arms. The recruits cringed and quickly found something interesting in the room to stare at. That’s when Ghost made his escape. 

He wasn’t an idiot. He knew people wanted him to change. Always something off putting. It had been like that since he started wearing long sleeves at all time to hide bruises and sleeping through class because his dad kept him awake all night. 

But this was new. Did Soap want him to change?

Of course he did. 

“Better” 

What did better mean?

Soap had been asking him questions lately. Simple things. How was your day? How are you feeling? What do you feel like doing? And Ghost would answer honestly. The bad days had definitely decreased. Ghost enjoyed being around the 141 more. He thought he had been talking more. Just to the 141, Alex, Farah, Alejandro and Rodolfo, but really who else did he need? They all saw him as he was and he thought that was enough. 

Apparently not. 

Apparently that was not better.

Well, he had a list of things that he could be better at now. Ghost felt stupid. A silly teen trying to keep their boyfriend around. 

For a moment, he thought of forgetting this conversation happened. Of taking what Soap would give him and waiting to be abandoned when Soap realized that Ghost was incapable of being what he wanted. But already, he knew this would poison everything. Anytime Soap put his scarf around Ghost because he ran so much colder than his angry Scott or when he asked him to take his mask off when they were alone or every time he introduced him to someone new, he’d wonder if it was somehow a way to change him. 

Could he just break up with him? It was the smartest and easiest thing. Shove Soap out of his life and stay exactly where he is. But that meant not having Soap. No more late night tea trips with someone by his side. He’d no longer be there to put hickeys on his neck that he’d grumble about and then secretly like. All the jokes and stolen clothes and the touch. He had forgotten how nice it was to have someone touch him. To put his head on someone’s chest (he hated weight on him because it reminded him of the dirt from the coffin) and hear their heartbeat. Nice and steady and sweet. 

Fuck, Ghost couldn’t give that up. He’d also never be able to drink enough of it in to get his fill. So he’d have to be… better. 

Maybe he could start small. It was silly, but color was probably the easiest. Wear something besides black. 

He didn’t own anything not black. 

Fucking hell. 

Ghost took a deep breath. Maybe he could start with… music? When did they even play music? During exfil occasionally if Nik was driving? But he didn’t have a mission with Soap for the next few weeks so he could see it regardless. 

Anger issues? Yeah, Ghost had them but he didn’t think he ever blew up for no reason. Maybe his reactions were occasionally over the top, but he never hit anyone. Never hit objects near them to show he could either. His last meltdown was months ago and he had, with shockingly no protest but still with a very hurt pride, apologized to the person.

Goddamnit, he just needed a starting place. That’s all. So color it fucking was. 

Ghost went to Gaz, hesitant and nervous, but he was the only person he could really ask about this without it being suspicious since he wasn’t there. 

“Hey, Garrick.”

Gaz looked up from what he was reading. “Riley!” He liked that about Gaz. When he had first referred to him as Kyle, Gaz had called him Simon. If he used his rank, Gaz responded with his rank. Ghost had learned to stick to last name or callsign with him. They felt more like equals than most of the other people on base. 

“Can you help me with something?”

Gaz sat up. “A mission?”

“Where can I get… clothing?”

Gaz paused. “You… The Ghost… want me to help you with shopping?”

Ghost nodded awkwardly. “Yeah… Can we go… shopping?”

Gaz slowly stood up. “Why?”

“I’m going to try changing my style.”

“Why?” 

“Just… want to try something… different?”

Gaz frowned and Simon remembered why he didn’t usually go to Gaz for assistance. They could see straight through him. Every time. “You want to try something… different? Why? You’ve never changed in the years I’ve known you.”

Ghost just shrugged awkwardly. 

“Alright. Let’s go.” Gaz stood up and pulled his shoes on. “What are you searching for?”

“Something with… color?” 

Gaz frowned but obliged. He couldn’t bring Ghost to a mall, worried the people would get him worked up. So instead, he brought him to a strip of stores and picked the most abandoned one. Gaz didn’t really do much, having a feeling he was more playing moral support for whatever breakdown this was. It wasn’t… completely uncommon for Ghost to get the urge to do things. Almost like a mania. However it was never something as simple as this. 

He gave Ghost’s a thumbs up when the man grabbed a blue hoodie. Dark blue, so still in theme. Then he grabbed a camo green and ruby red. Nothing but hoodies. 

“You going to stick with your normal dark color scheme?” It was a genuine question from Gaz, who was worried about him. Also, depending the answer, it would be easier to help him find things. 

Ghost wondered if this was… different enough. “Can you pick something that… isn’t?”

Gaz tilted his head and looked around. He found a polo shirt in a softer green color. “Do you want to try it on before buying it? Make sure you’re comfortable.”

Ghost bounced between his feet, debating. “Yeah.” He found a dressing room and slowly slipped off his black hoodie. The mirror was there. His arm tattoos covered the scars there, but he still felt nervous. 

Now his shirt. 

Just… take off the shirt. 

Take it off. 

Ghost pulled it over his head in a rush but he still caught himself in the stupid mirror. 

Ugly scarring. 

Did Soap not like those? Ghost had tried things to make them fade. Balms and creams and keeping them clean. They were still there. Dark, thick lines. Giant pieces of flesh that were marred for one reason or another. 

What if Soap hated those too? Ghost certainly did. It’s why he stayed covered up. 

He pulled the new shirt on and didn’t look at himself. The fabric was… fine. Not the best, but fine. The color looked weird against his pale skin. 

This was stupid. Again, the feeling of being a teen girl appeared. Was this childish? Of course it was. 

He bought the clothing anyway, even though it made his skin crawl. 

Gaz smiled at him once they were back in the car. “I’m proud of you.”

Ghost nodded. “Thanks, Gaz.”

“No problem, Ghost.”

Ghost grabbed food and hid in his room to eat. He perched on his desk. 

Soap arrived moments later and smiled, sitting on Ghost’s desk chair so they were right next to each other. “Hey, haven’t seen you today.”

“Went out.”

“You went out? By yourself?” Soap sounded so shocked. 

Ghost shrugged. “I had Gaz with me.”

“That’s nice! I’m glad you’re doing that.” Soap smiled at him. “Have fun?”

Ghost thought about it. Honestly, when he wasn’t focused on what they were doing, it wasn’t too bad. Hanging out with Gaz, even if they didn’t really talk much, was pretty fun. 

“Get anything?”

“More hoodies since you keep stealing mine.”

Soap smiled. “Hell yeah. It’s not my fault you have better taste in hoodies. They’re always so soft and big and smell like you.”

“They’re big because they’re meant to fit me.”

Soap leaned up and kissed his cheek. After having to deal with the people at the store, Soap’s presence was honestly a bit of a balm to his frayed nerves. 

Until he thought of why he had gone out. 

“Are you content with me?”

Soap paused, looking a bit confused. “Simon, I’m happy with you. Why do you ask?”

“Nothing. Just wondering.”

Johnny hummed. “Take your mask off for me.”

Simon did. He wanted to be what Johnny expected. To change how he was supposed to. Callused fingers ran over his cheekbones. Touching his jaw. 

“Beautiful.”

Wrong. 

“Did something happen?” Soap was too perceptive. 

“No.” 

Soap frowned and leaned up, kissing him more. “Alright. Ye won’t talk to me. I won’t push ya.” He cupped his face. “Just talk to me when you’re ready then.” 

Ghost frowned. “Nothing wrong. But I will if anything comes up.”

Soap smiled. “All I ask.” 

The next time they were in the car, Ghost put on some pop music. It wasn’t what he’d normally listen to. It was just a random list of the top 100 hits. Soap noticed and looked at him oddly. “Where’s your normal rock music?” 

Ghost normally made a radio each time they were going to do something together. All of it heavy rock music or metalcore. That was… bad though. Price called it his angry mix and he was trying to not do that. Not to be like that.

Be different. 

“Wanted to change it up?” It came out too much like a question. 

Soap frowned. He liked all types of music just fine, but Ghost didn’t. Ghost was predictable. Ghost only “Changed it up” when on leave when he listened to classical music. A fact only Soap got to know.

“You’re acting different.”  

Ghost shrugged and focused on driving. The other guys seemed on edge now Something was clearly off about him now. It made everyone nervous. 

It was exacerbated when Ghost wore colors at the next taskforce meeting. Even Gaz, who had been there when he bought it, looked very uncomfortable when he wore a soft shade of red hoodie and medical mask instead of his balaclava. They all kept glancing over and… looking confused. 

Ghost looked at Soap. He ignored that his skin prickled at the attention and the change. That the fabric was itchy against his skin. Or that being so exposed made him want to die right there. None of that quite mattered as much as Soap’s expression. He didn’t look pleased at all. No excitement that Ghost tried to be different. Just… a strange look. 

Ghost felt sick. He felt nauseous. 

Soap cornered him after the meeting and took him to his bedroom. 

Ghost felt like a kid, just sitting on his bed as Soap stared at him. 

“I was just trying to be what you wanted.” Simon admitted, yanking the hoodie off. “I heard you and the recruits complaining about me. I just… wanted you to like me.”

Johnny paused and softened. “Simon. I’m sorry. I was letting them complain because you’re their boss. Which I shouldn’t have. Gotta so caught up in you being Ghost, my Lt, I let them disrespect Simon, my boyfriend.” He sank down, getting on his knees in front of him. “All of this… Making yourself so uncomfortable and forcing yourself to change… You tried to do for me?”

Ghost winced. “It’s pathetic. I know. Just…”

Johnny laughed and pulled the medical mask down to kiss him. “Mo chroí. It’s not pathetic. I’m so sorry. If I had known, I would’ve cleared it up for you.” He kissed him a few more times. “I love your angry music and your dark clothing and the fact you only casually show your face to me. And I wouldn’t change you for the world.”

Simon relaxed a little. “Keep going.”

Johnny laughed. “Alright. I like that you’re mean to recruits because you want them to toughen up. You don’t listen when anyone suggests anything because you know you’re going to ignore it and I find it fun. Especially because you listen to me. I like that you’re a little pretentious about your music and that I get to wear your black hoodies. That you have two pairs of pants and that’s all you wear. On leave, I love that you wear a ton of rings. That you’re grouchy in the mornings even though you get up at 5 am when working. I love you, Simon.”

Simon pulled them back so they were laying in bed and Soap continued without a beat. “I love that you wake up at 2 am and make you tea and me a cup of coffee. Love that you sneak into my room all the time and that you steal the blankets. I-”

Simon kissed him. “Alright. You can stop now. I get it.”

“I can keep going. Anytime you want me to.” Johnny promised. “Also, I tore into them later. I wanted you to know. Made fun of all of them.”

Simon laughed and relaxed more into the bed, feeling Johnny pepper kisses on him. “Love you too.” 

Solace in Solitude Ch 13

Emily Prentiss x reader warnings: language, usual CM style violence/storylines talked about. A very minimal bit of dialogue taken from an episode. One more chapter to go besties!

You would have been lying if you said you weren’t totally on edge for the next two days, picking at your nails whenever you found yourself distracted, lost in thought as you wondered what exactly was going on across the Atlantic. You did your best to keep occupied with cleaning and packing up the apartment, getting ready for your own move while making sure things were looking like they did the first night you set foot in the building. 

You were on the balcony watching the darkening sky, a leftover cigarette between your lips when your phone finally buzzed, and you were quick to pick it up.

‘He’s dead. Declan’s safe. Team’s not off scot free though, there’s gonna be this whole hearing bullshit.’

‘Good luck.’

It felt weird moving to London, not because of the change of scenery or language, but simply because you were back on your own. You’d found your own apartment this time, but it still felt strange to be alone in it, to not have the warm light pooling from Emily’s room when you got home late at night. To not wake up to the smell of fresh coffee being brewed or find her on the couch up in the middle of the night when she couldn’t sleep. You’d become so accustomed to having another person around all the time that being solo felt almost wrong.

Your phone buzzed less than a week into your time there, a number with a 202-area code.

‘Hey, it’s Em. Figured I should pass along the new number, unless you’ve already changed yours.’

Your lips curved up into a soft smile when you read the text, putting down your wine glass so you could reply.

‘I’ve had an international plan since DWB’s. I assume this means that trial thing went well? You’re staying in DC?’

‘Ha. As good as it could, but we proved everything we did was for the right reasons. And yeah… it just feels like the right place to be. How’s London?’

‘Dreary. I forgot how much rain we get this time of year.’

Emily let out a small huff of a laugh, she was about to type up another reply when Derek’s voice broke through her bubble.

“Who’re you texting with that smile?” He asked with a wicked grin, and she immediately locked her phone, rolling her eyes.

“A friend.”

“Yeah right.” He laughed, “girl, you’ve been back less than a month and you’re already playing the field? Sin to win never dies, does it?”

“Looks like we have that in common.” She shot back with a smirk and an appalled look took over Derek’s features.

**

Emily knew things were going to be different, that they were going to feel strange and after her original reunion with the team, she knew it was likely she was going to feel a bit like an outsider in a place she once felt like family. Part of her had expected to slip right back into where she was, that her role would be the same, that life would pick up exactly where it left off when she left. She’d been so separated that Paris was starting to feel like a fever dream and she nearly forgot that while she’d been recovering and recuperating, life had gone on for the rest of the BAU team, they had kept moving while she was standing still.

She was incredibly thankful JJ had managed to pull some strings and keep her apartment, even if it had been sublet in the meantime, she still got to come home to something familiar and didn’t have to start from nothing for personal belongings. And while the place had been her home for so long, even with Sergio back, there was something missing, an emptiness that hung heavily in the air. She knew it couldn’t help that there was a lingering thought in the back of her head that Ian knew where this apartment was, even if he was six feet under. She missed the companionship that had come with Paris, suddenly having to do it all on her own was annoying, at least she wasn’t home as much as she had been while recovering. 

‘Do things feel weird in London, or is it just DC and the whole coming back from the dead thing that’s throwing everything off?’

A small laugh broke through your lips as you picked up your coffee mug to take another sip.

‘I’m sure that has something to do with it. Why are you awake? Isn’t it the middle of the night over there?’

Emily sheepishly glanced to the clock on the nightstand, realizing just how late it really was and she let out a sigh, nestling deeper into the wall of pillows.

‘Couldn’t sleep. I’ve been weaning off most of the meds, plus my mind won’t stop. What time is it there?’

‘Just past seven, coffee time. You wanna call? Talk through it?’

‘Nah. If I call, I’m sure someone will wake up and start screaming cause he thinks its breakfast time.’

‘Uh.. what?’

‘Sergio.’

‘Are you telling me you’ve been back less than two months and you’ve already rescued another child in need or did you rename the other kid?’

Emily couldn’t help but bark out a laugh, quickly covering her mouth to keep quiet. There was no doubt you hadn’t woken up that long ago, the caffeine not quiet hitting your brain stream yet.

‘Sergio’s the cat.’

‘Oh! Right. I’m surprised Penelope gave him up.’

‘Well she has custody on weekends and whenever a case takes me out of town longer than a couple of days.’

‘Oof. Co-parenting, hope that doesn’t get messy.’

She found herself quietly chuckling again, a sense of comfort and calm flowing through her as her body began to relax further into the bed.

‘Only when one of us buys fancier treats.’

‘Good. And for what its worth things are a little off here, but I mean, it’s starting a new life for me, it’s just like riding a bike, I’ll get the rhythm back soon. You went back to something old, but that something has changed completely for everyone involved too. I’m sure constantly jetting around the country doesn’t help your sense of stability either.’

‘Last time I checked you weren’t a shrink.’

‘I’ve been sitting in to a few lectures here and there.’ You replied with a grin, practically able to hear her deadpan through the words on the screen.

‘Any suggestions?’

‘Don’t try to force things too quickly, know that it’s going to take some time for things to feel normal again. As important as it is for you to try to repair the relationships you had, you might want to start looking to make new friends, sprinkle in a bit of freshness to an old lifestyle. Change up your routine, hit up different grocery stores, get your coffee from somewhere new, change your commute, things like that.’

‘Already swapped coffee shops. Pretty sure I terrified the poor girl working the counter the first time I walked back in. Felt too bad to go back.’

‘Well that’s a start, lol. And… if you think you’re gonna stay in DC, that you want to belong there, think about putting down some roots, reasons for you to make it your forever home.’

‘Good thought’

The clock chimed beside you and you glanced up from your phone, letting out a soft sigh,

‘I’ve gotta run, but feel free to text anytime.’

‘Go save some lives. I’ll be fine.’  She signed it off with a smiley face, finally dropping her phone onto the nightstand as she curled around herself, pulling the blankets around her. For the first time since being back she was asleep within minutes.

**

Your phone began to buzz on the kitchen counter, you glanced toward it at first, thinking it was just a text, but when it nearly vibrated off the edge you realized it was a call, and from Emily, nonetheless.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Hey,” she replied, her voice somewhat strained and your brow furrowed, “what was that whole thing about the spleen? Like, when it comes to getting sick or recovery, that part.”

“Should I be concerned about the sirens in the background?”

“I’m a fed, sirens are a pretty regular occurrence.”

“Yeah?” You raised a brow, leaning against the counter, “what about that out of control beeping from the heart rate monitor?”

“It’s nothing, I’m fine, just ow!”

“Emily...” you warned.

“It’s nothing.” She protested before a louder male voice shouted from the background.

“She got shot!”

“Jesus christ.” You muttered, “you’ve been back less than six months and you’ve already gotten yourself shot? What are you, a walking liability?”

The replies came instantaneously from Emily and Derek respectively, “no!” “YES!”

“I’m gonna be fine!”

“Do you know how many times I’ve heard that? Aren’t you supposed to have vests for these kinda things?”

“I was wearing it! I took the hit to the upper shoulder and this lovely EMT says I’m going to be fine. I just can’t remember what you said about the spleen thing.”

Biting your lip, you let out a sigh, “If you get sick or injured it can and will take longer to heal, recovery’s a bitch, you know that.”

“Uh.. Agent Prentiss?” Another voice cut in and you assumed it was one of the EMT’s, “why can’t we find any medical history past March of last year?”

“That would be the other reason I’m calling.” Emily winced and you chuckled.

“I have your full history listed under Valerie Stewart, I’ll send it over, what hospital?” The EMT rattled off the location that you were quick to scribble down onto a scrap of paper, “I know this isn’t ideal timing, but have you gone to that shrink I set you up with?”

“Yes.” She half grumbled back before you heard another outburst from her co agent.

“She went to one mandatory appointment.” 

“Morgan!”

“Ask her about how great her boyfriend Sergio is.”

“Last time I checked, Sergio was the cat.” You replied and Emily groaned, rolling her eyes, “Em, you really need to go a couple of times, especially now.”

“Why does this change things?”

“It’s your first time back in a hospital as a patient since Paris, it’s bound to bring up some stuff.”

“Fine. I’ll go.”

“Thank you.” You pushed off from the counter, “I’ll send your file over, call me when you’re all bandaged up.”

“Yeah.” She replied and you could hear the exhaustion in her voice before the line clicked.

Much later that night your phone buzzed with a text, a picture of Emily back on the jet with her arm in a sling. As tired as she looked, at least she was safe and, on a quick path to recovery from this one.

**

‘Come on, that house is gorgeous!’ 

You shook your head at Emily’s hesitancy through your text chain. She’d spent the last couple of weeks sending you housing listings, asking your opinions and thoughts on just about everything and she found some kind of flaw in every single one of them.

‘There’s cracks in the foundation.’

‘So? Cracks can be fixed.’

‘No, they can be hidden. They’re still there.’

‘It passed inspection. You’re acting like you’re afraid the place is gonna fall down.’

‘I’m afraid it’s never gone be as strong as it was.’

You paused, a frown taking over your face as you read back the last piece of your conversation, you practically felt your shoulders sagging as you dropped into the couch. You wished there was more that you could do for her right now, but you knew being a world away meant this was it.

‘I have a feeling we’re not talking about houses anymore…’

A longer pause, one that left you watching the three little dots disappear and reappear while Emily debated how to reply. Where she struggled with wanting to blow you off, or if she really did want to get into this right now. Eventually she decided on somewhere in the middle.

‘Remember when we talked about setting down roots?’

‘Yeah.’

‘My therapist said the same thing.’

‘Told ya I wasn’t crazy.’

She huffed out a laugh, holding back the eye roll.

‘I tried. I’m trying. It’s just proving harder with each time. Like the more that I have tying me to here, the more I start to feel trapped. Caged in here with no opportunity to even see the other options anymore. The job’s the same, sure, but it’s also entirely different. We had a case a bit ago where the unsub was drowning his victims only to attempt to resurrect them, it was the first time the rest of the team found out I actually died, it left an even weirder taste in everyone’s mouths. It was the first time Reid looked me in the eye since being back, Morgan’s just barely over it, nothing feels right anymore. And buying a house? That seems like the last thing I should be doing if I feel like this. I don’t know where I’d want to go, what I’d want to be doing, it’s not like I’m out there actively looking for something different…’

‘But if it fell in your lap, you’d probably jump at the opportunity?’

‘Yeah…’

‘Well, hold off on putting the offer down for now, see what else is out there, talk it over with your therapist.’

‘I will. And hey, thanks for being my soundboard for all of this, it really hasn’t been the easiest.’

‘Of course. Life’s always easier with a friend by your side. I’ve got your back.’

‘No kidding.’ She smiled softly, ‘and thank you.’

**

Three weeks later the opportunity really did just drop into her lap. A phone call to an old source to help the BAU on a case lead to a very lucrative and enticing job offer. One that made her stomach twist into more knots than de arming a bomb did. 

At the end of the week Emily was surrounded by her team, her friends, people that she loved dearly, who were finally accepting her back in their lives. Yet she still felt completely isolated and alone. She was certain that things were never going to be the same in DC again, that it really was time for her to go. So, as she watched JJ and Will dance together, soft smiles on their cheeks while he leant in to steal a kiss, she made up her mind. 

She was taking the Interpol offer.

Maybe a complete reset and starting over really was what she needed right now.

_________________ @momlifebehard @daddy-heather-dunbar @maybe-a-humanbean @rustyzebra @leftoverenvy @kades95 @dextur @supercriminalbean @its-soph-xx @just-a-torn-up-masterpiece @hopelesslyfallenninlove @peanutbutterprincess @emilyprentisssluvr @lex13cm @zizzlekwum @emobabeyy @riveramorylunar @scorpsik @happenstnces @sapphicprentiss @geekyandgay98 @onmykneesformarvel @inlovewithemilyprentiss @desperate-gay @amypoehlfey @overtrred28 @regalmilfs4me @ara-a-bird @five-bi-five-mind @niyizh @inlovewithmiddleagewomen @hotchs-bitch @ollysmulti @kmc1989 @irishavengersassemble @romanoffsho @ratsnestinmyhair @assgardangod @hopedoesntknow @dj-bynum3718 @venromanova @waitaminuteashh @noahrex @imlike-so-gaydude @wittygutsy @cx-emerald-cx @lesbodietcoke @momily @nilaues @borinxnovak

I went down the Andrew Tate rabbit hole again and re-pissed myself off but holy shit he is blatantly admitting in this vid that he created and ran a sex trafficking business like it’s no big deal. And if you don’t think that this was a crime, guess what ‘business’ of theirs got them charged with the sex trafficking charges in the first place? Their webcam business.

“Andrew and Tristan Tate were arrested on December 29 along with two other suspects while Romanian forces investigated them for alleged sexual assault and exploitation.

Now that they’re facing trial, Romanian prosecutors have confirmed the charges being brought forward are human trafficking, rape, and forming a criminal gang to sexually exploit women…

Prosecutors have identified six women claiming to be victims of Andrew Tate. Their case alleges that the Tates seduced women so that they would produce pornographic content on demand, which was used to fuel a webcam business.”

He’s talking about it like some savvy business venture, which in all honesty, that’s exactly what it is to him. No concern for the humanity or lives of the women he used and abused to make himself a millionaire. I also came across another vid of Tristan Tate saying how ‘happy’ he was to be in jail and it didn’t effect him the way the haters wanted it to. 🙄

Like there is ZERO self awareness of what they did and it made me realize how so many men out there are sex traffickers and don’t even realize that what they are doing is trafficking/pimping. We have this image in our minds that sex trafficking is some guy snatching you off the street, when in reality it’s what the Tate’s did. You manage girls’ only fans accounts/webcam accounts and take a certain percentage? You’re a pimp. You fly girls out of the country to shoot porn content? Pimp and trafficker. You convinced your girlfriend that she/the two of you should start an onlyfans and you profit off it somehow? Pimp. That last one is becoming so common now a days. A guy that my sis was dating suggested that to her and I was in shock at how brazenly he talked about pimping her out.

And another thing, in the vid, Tate literally said that he would get women without “the will” to join his webcaming business. Like, women who did NOT WANT TO. And he would coerce them in some way (prob with promises of money) to do it. SICK, VILE, POS. Fuck I hate them and I viciously hate every man who has so much as even THOUGHT about sexually exploiting a woman like that. And the amount of boys and men who defend him makes me want to vomit. My own brother says that he’s a ‘business man’ and ‘people hate him because he’s rich’. Yeah, rich by running an international sex trafficking ring. Anyone who defends this man and his behavior can eat shit and die.

Iran Executions

Some of you may have seen the news by Western media that the claims about Iranian executions is fake. As an Iranian woman who was born and raised in Iran, I felt the need to address this claim. And in advance, sorry for the length of this text. 

Let me start off by saying that these western journalists have not covered Iran protest during the past few weeks. They did not cover the massacre in Zahedan, they did not cover when war planes landed in Sanandaj, they did not cover the bloody attack on Sharif University students nor did they cover the fire at Evin prison. But all of a sudden, they are claiming with one voice that the claim that 15,000 people will be executed is false. To me, it’s interesting how they are cherry picking the stories to cover. 

Now as for their claim.

First, Iranians did not say that 15,000 will be executed. We said there is a real threat that they may be executed. Majority of the so-called lawmakers in the Islamic Republic’s parliament asked the judiciary to find the political prisoners guilty of corruption and execute them. There are videos of the session evidencing this request. Based on this, Iranians said that the lives of 15,000 political prisoners are in clear danger and they may very likely be executed. For non-Iranians, it may be difficult to understand this nuance. Westerns media operate in a democracy and western journalists are applying western standards to the Islamic Republic. They are waiting for actual death sentences to be handed out, without realizing that the Islamic Republic operates differently. This request is a reflection of the regime’s intent and end goal. Islamic Republic is a dictatorship - there are no debates, no real trials. If a request has been made to the judiciary, there is a high probability it will be carried out.This nuance is missed on non-Iranians. 

Second, executions take place in secret - Navid Afkari was executed in secret.  By not voicing the threat, by not raising alarms, and waiting for the actual death sentence to be handed out, Western media is toying with the lives of innocent people. Once a person is sentenced to death, it cannot be stopped. We can campaign but it won’t make any difference - again, look at what happened to Navid Afkari. 

Third, the Islamic Republic has a long history of executing prisoners. In 1988, 30,000 political prisoners were executed by the Islamic Republic. According to an Amnesty International report, “During the first six months of 2022, the Iranian authorities executed at least one person a day on average. The state machinery is carrying out killings on a mass scale across the country in an abhorrent assault on the right to life. Iran’s staggering execution toll for the first half of this year has chilling echoes of 2015 when there was another shocking spike.” You can read Amnesty’s report here. Balouchis are disproportionately affected. 

Fourth, the Islamic Republic is executing the protestors every day in front of the world’s eyes. What do you call targeting and shooting directly at protestors with live bullets? What do you call torturing them to death? What do you call torturing them until they commit suicide? Are these not executions? Execution means the act of carrying out a sentence. In Iran, protesting against the Islamic Republic is considered “waging war against God” or “spreading corruption on Earth” and both charges carry the death penalty. Criticizing the Islamic Republic’s supreme leader is considered waging war against God because he is the supposed representative of God on earth. Therefore, when protestors chant “death to Khamenei”, they are waging war against God. Khamenei in a speech called protestors scattered riots designed by enemies. Espionage and assisting the enemy also carry the death penalty. Essentially, Khamenei declared all protestors to be enemies of state. The Islamic Republic’s guards are carrying out the orders of Khamenei - protestors are designed by the enemy, they are assisting the enemy and therefore, should be executed. Trials are a sham in Iran - political prisoners are not permitted to consult their lawyer. In fact their lawyers are either arrested or not allowed to be present during the trial. Political prisoners were found guilty the moment they set foot in the streets demanding human rights and justice. And so each time an Islamic Republic guard shoots at a protestor, they are carrying out an execution. 

How could anyone recall Khodanoor’s murder and not call it an execution? Hadis, Sarina, Nika, Minoo, Mehrshad, Khodanoor, Yalda and hundreds more were executed. 

I want to end with this. Please do not let this detract us from reality - the point is that 15,000 innocent people are facing the risk of execution. In light of Islamic Republic’s past, this risk is palpable. 

Thank you to all who have tirelessly supported our cause and amplified the voices of the people of Iran. Every post, every story, every letter written to or phone call made to a representative, and every protest has helped amplify the voices of Iranians. Please continue sharing. Life in Iran is difficult and life as a woman is precarious. But for the first time in almost 44 years, there is a slim hope for freedom. I never believed we could be free in my life time but it is now a possibility. So please do not abandon the cause. 

#Woman Life Freedom

hi lovely t!! congrats on ur lovely lil celly <3 how about “Wanna, like– I mean, if you’re not busy… We could get lunch? Or even just coffee if you don’t have a lot of time?” with stevie? i think you’d make it super cute! lots of love 🫶🏼

A/N: hi bby!! and thank u 🥺💗 i'm sorry this took a lil longer but i hope you like it @stevestummy !!!

steve harrington x fem!reader | wc: 1.3k | dustin's a menace & dorky/shy steve has a crush <3 | prompt in bold!

"This is borderline stalking."

"It's not stalking."

"Uh, borderline, it is," Dustin continued. "No normal or sane person goes to the same café two times a day, six times a week just to get a glimpse of some girl—"

"She's not some girl!"

"Oh shit, I'm sorry," Dustin gasped exaggeratedly, hand on his chest. "The girl you pathetically have an obvious crush on since this café opened—which would make that three weeks of stalking, by the way—and who you've been daydreaming to be your wife and the mother of your kids even though you haven't had a conversation apart from you telling her your same boring coffee order because you can't even ask her number let alone ask her out!"

"My coffee order is not boring," Steve grumbled, cheeks hot because Dustin's rant was still filled with truth…unfortunately.

All because of you.

You who made his heart race and his legs feel like jelly the first time you locked eyes. You who made his brain a jumbled mess, any coherent words lodged in his throat that he was only able to stutter out the first coffee order that came to mind—on more than one occasion that made you believe it was his usual—or else he would've made an even bigger fool of himself by simply staring at you.

Now, Steve wasn't a believer in love at first sight, but this sure did feel close enough.

"What happened to your game King Steve?"

He groaned, head thumping against the steering wheel. "Jesus, man, I get it—"

"Do you really think she's dumb enough to buy your excuses that you're just showing your friends the new café by bringing a different person, mostly kids not your age, every single time you come here?" Dustin babbled on. "You're so obvious about it already! So just ask her out!"

"What do you think I'm doing here!"

"Stalking!" Dustin argued which earned him a glare. "What? You're in your car, waiting for her to clock in because you want her to be the one to take your order instead of sitting inside like a normal person because you don't want to make it obvious that you are waiting for her only as if parking your car in front of the establishment for the past ten minutes without getting out isn't a giant red flag!"

Steve blinked. "What did I ever do to you?"

Dustin took a few deep breaths before smiling apologetically. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm just hungry, man, I haven't eaten lunch and I can smell their croissants every time the door opens."

Steve sighed, checking his watch.

"Come on. She should be here any minute now."

He internally cringed.

Maybe it did seem like he was stalking you when he even knew when you usually clocked in at certain times of the week.

In his defense, he'd been here plenty of times and it took some trial and error. Once he figured out roughly what your schedule was, it simply became a routine. He didn't go out of his way to steal your timetable and memorized it like some serial killer.

"Yeah, that's not creepy," Dustin grimaced. "Not creepy at all."

"I'll buy you anything you want if you don't embarrass me once we're inside," Steve gritted as he got out of the car. "If not, you're paying for yourself."

Dustin grinned toothily. "Deal."

•••

Steve's fingers were tapping on the wooden countertop as his eyes flickered between the menu and the 'employees only' door.

Your co-worker was behind the counter but didn't make an effort to go over to where they sat on the stools, much to Dustin's dismay. It was almost as if she knew that Steve wanted it to be you who'd take his order. 

His face warmed at the thought.

One that was definitely proven right when she shot him a knowing wink as she disappeared into the back and announced the end of her shift, his palms sweating as he watched the closed door in anticipation

Steve's heart jumped out of his chest and landed on the palm of your hand when you walked in.

Your eyes immediately found his, your irises twinkling and oh so fucking beautiful, smile sweet and warm that turned his brain to mush and all he could think about was: pretty pretty pretty.

Steve struggled to pick his jaw off the floor as he tried to return your grin without looking too much like a lovesick fool.

He knew he failed miserably at that.

Painfully and so downright obvious when he gawked at you, adoration filling his bones at the way you listened attentively to Dustin as he listed all the pastries he wanted to try like they were free—well, Steve supposed since he offered to pay for it all, it kind of was.

"Hey, Steve," you greeted cheerily, beaming. "The usual?"

"H-Hi! and yeah–yes…please," he said, smiling timidly, cheeks flushed, heart skipping when you giggled. It took Dustin kicking his foot to stop him from staring at you for a couple of minutes more. Gathering his sanity, his courage, his breath, his everything, he cleared his throat, "So, uh, do you wanna—uhm…burger? Maybe fries? Milkshakes too!"

"Steve, we don't serve those here," you chuckled, a twinkle of amusement in your eyes, tone teasing. "I thought you knew that already? Being a regular and all."

"No, no, no, it's uh, I meant—" Steve took a deep breath, and he swore he was having a fever because of how hot his body felt. "Wanna, like—I mean, if you’re not busy…We could get lunch? Or even just coffee if you don’t have a lot of time?"

"Well, I think I've had enough of coffee," you said, face scrunching in the most adorable of ways as you waved around you, the smell of freshly roasted beans strong in the air. "And it's way past lunch already."

Steve's heart fell into his stomach.

"Oh."

This was it. You were letting him down gently. You probably realized just how fucking creepy he'd been acting coming here all the time and—

"How about dinner this Friday night?"

"Yes!" he squeaked, his face burning red. He saw Dustin bury his face in his hands, muttering about how painful this was to watch. Steve ignored him as he turned back to you. "I mean, yeah, I'm free Friday…any time—for you, yeah."

"Cool," you giggled, and Steve swore if he'd hear that angelic sound one more time, he was going to ask you to marry him. You scribbled something on your notepad, your smile shy yet bright as you ripped the paper and handed it to him. "Here's my number. You can pick me up at seven."

"O-Okay," he choked out, cheeks hot and hurting as his grin grew wider. "I will."

Then, you leaned over the counter and kissed his cheek and Steve swore his heart stopped beating, brown eyes wide, jaw hanging, awestruck and dazed as you took his breath away. 

"It's a date," you whispered, fingers resting under his chin to close his mouth, winking before you made your way toward the door. He tried to fight off his frown when he immediately missed your touch, craving more. "I'll be back. I promised Dustin over here to get him one of the freshly baked croissants in the oven."

"Thanks, Y/N!" Dustin chuckled, waving excitedly.

"Fucking slap me," Steve breathed out once you were out of earshot, flinching when a palm hit the back of his head. He glared at his friend. "It was rhetorical!"

"I can't believe that worked," Dustin groaned. "That was so fucking bad."

Steve rolled his eyes, grinning smugly as he waved the paper you gave him. "I still got her number, didn't I?

"Technically, she gave it to you, idiot. You didn't do shit but ask for burgers and fries in a place that serves coffee and pastries. You've got nothing to be smug about."

Steve couldn't even find himself to be embarrassed about it. He was too high on life, his cheek still tingling from where your lips had touched his skin, your sweet scent still lingering in the air that nothing could ever bring him back down.

"I'm still getting the girl."

"Yeah, with your serial killer stalker strategy"

"Shut up."

⤷ t's february frolicking celebration

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A Day Beneath the King (Kink Fic; LeonaXReader)

WARNING: IF YOU ARE NOT 18+, TURN BACK IMMEDIATELY. THIS IS NOT A STORY FOR YOU, SO DO NOT READ IT, PLEASE. EVERYBODY GOT THAT? GOOD.

Yesterday was International Underwear Day. Yes, really. That’s a thing. I was too late to make anything for that on time, BUT I did decide to finish this complete madhouse of kinky weirdness featuring Leona Kingscholar from “Twisted Wonderland.” For a long time, I’ve toyed around with the idea of ass entrapment; a tiny partner/preything being trapped in/with the rump of their giant-sized beau/predator for a while. I decided, as an experiment (and since I’ve had booties on the brain lately) to write up a trial of a story focused entirely on that kink. And who better to help with this experiment than my God and Master of Fiction, Leona?  This story contains rump smushing/smothering, butt crushing, ass entrapment, implied vore, various macro/micro elements, and general insanity. If none of that sounds like something you want to read, you have one last chance to turn back. If you’re still here...enjoy the ride. I know I did. >///>

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“Hmph. You know, Herbivore…I always thought you were cute, but at this size? Heh…I think even a mouse would say you’re adorable.”

A fittingly mouse-like squeak was the only audible response you had to offer, as you gazed up at your titan-sized boyfriend. When Leona Kingscholar had invited you to his dorm room, with the promise of a special “anniversary surprise,” you hadn’t expected it to be a faceful of Sam’s patented, long-lasting shrinking powder. Now, you were smaller than a rodent, while Leona’s handsome form loomed over you. A smug look of amusement was upon his scarred yet supremely beautiful face, while his green eyes glowed with a keen, almost ravenous sort of gleam…which, to be fair, seemed to be their usual setting. Your heart was hammering hard in your chest, for many reasons. Not the least of them was the fact that Leona was almost naked: it was still morning, and the lazy lion hadn’t yet gotten dressed for the day’s activity. His tanned, toned form leered down at you in all its glory; his well-shaped six pack abs pulsed with his breath, his large, heavy feet planted down on either side of your. His dark mane cast shadows across his face, giving an almost evil yet deeply entrancing veneer to his supercilious expression. “What’s the matter?” he purred. “Cat got your tongue?” He grinned, showing off his fangs as you were helpless to do anything but sputter mindlessly. Your faculties for speech and proper thought were all but kaput…seeing all that warm, inviting, smooth skin…seeing that gorgeous body…seeing those sharp teeth and that hungry look in his eyes… You weren’t sure exactly how small you were - less than three inches, to be certain - but you somehow felt totally microscopic now. As if you were in the presence of a God. You didn’t dare tell Leona that, though: the big jerk had an ego the size of a hot air balloon already, after all. With a rumble that seemed to make the floor beneath your feet quake, one of Leona’s strong, long-fingered hands reached out and scooped you up, carefully lifting you into the air as he rose from his squatting position. He stood at his full height, his free hand resting upon his plush, curved hip, which he cocked slightly as he inspected you within his grasp. His grip was firm yet tender; not painful, but certainly not easy to break. You wiggled instinctively, and watched him grin once more. “Don’t struggle, worm,” he teased, playfully, swishing his rope-like tail. “Now that’s just an uncalled for name,” you muttered, trying not to show how much the demeaning taunt made you blush. You were pretty sure you failed. “Well, I guess you’re right,” shrugged Leona. “If you were a worm, I’d just squish you.” A slightly sadistic shimmer came to his fanged smile as he gave you a squeeze…then chuckled as you squeaked once more. “Such a pathetic little thing,” he cooed, then raised an eyebrow. “How are you enjoying my anniversary surprise so far, hmmm?” “W-Well, I’m…mostly wondering WHY you’ve shrunk me?” you decided to ask, rather shyly. It was clear Leona was in a mean mood, and you really didn’t want to upset him when he was in that state. He could be scary even when he WASN’T in such a mood…but to be fair, giving in to his dominating presence had never exactly been something you tried hard to deny. You loved being his, and he loved knowing that. “I decided to give you a gift,” said Leona. “You’re going to take a backseat position for the rest of the day. Call it a favor: today, you don’t need to do any schoolwork. You don’t have to walk to class, run on the PE field, deal with those smelly chemicals in the lab…” “I’m guessing, at this point, there’s a catch involved,” you drawled. After all, he hadn’t just shrunk you to give you a break. You knew him too well to expect or believe that. “Depends on what you mean by catch,” answered Leona, slyly. 

He then leaned close, and you squirmed as his sharp nose nuzzled against you. You could feel his nostrils flare as he not-so-subtly sniffed, taking in your scent. The intimacy was only enhanced by the vast size difference; you felt as if his nose, itself, was larger than you were. “Mmmm…I’m gonna keep you with me the whole day,” Leona growled, in a possessive sort of way. “No one else gets to see you. No one else gets to FEEL you. For our anniversary, I’m making sure that You’re. All. Mine. So, now that you’re so tiny…” He lapped his tongue over you, making you squeal as saliva was slapped across your side. “Mmmmaaaaah…I’m going to put you away somewhere,” Leona breathed, the warm, humid, meat-scented air wafting over you when he spoke. “Somewhere close…somewhere warm…somewhere dark…heh, probably doesn’t smell too good, probably very tight…but you’ll be safe. For a while, anyway.” You gulped as you saw him lick his perfect lips. “I…I’m g-guessing that ‘somewhere’ is…uh…right down there?” you eeked out, pointing down towards his bare belly. Leona laughed, his free hand rubbing up and down over his washboard abs. “As tempting as that is, not this time,” he answered. “I’ve got somewhere else in mind to hold onto you for the day.” You must have looked quite confused, for Leona’s sneaky smile widened. “I told you before,” he said, his voice dropping an octave in a husky, dusky way. “You’re taking a BACKSEAT position today.” The hand that caressed his belly moved down and around. The fingertips brushed over his pelvis, slid serenely across his hip and his thigh…and you felt something inside you flip-flop as you saw that hand rub up and down over the curve of one of his soft, round, well-padded rump cheeks. “Wait…w-wait, you…what…you…?” “Tch. You really need to stop stuttering, Herbivore,” scoffed Leona. “How can I enjoy you whimpering out my name if you can’t even talk straight?’ “Ass,” was all you could say. Leona grinned wider than ever. “Heh. You got it right,” he chuckled, and then lowered you carefully. “Now, take a deep breath, Herbivore. It’s probably the last bit of fresh air you’re gonna taste for a while.” You felt your eyes widen as you soon found yourself hovering, in an easy grasp, over the small of Leona’s backside. You could see the y-shaped space beneath his supple tail, which acted as the entrance to cleft between his cushioned glutes. Those same glutes were soon plainly visible, as his other hand stretched the back of the elastic band of his underpants, revealing a warm, musky-smelly cave, lined in fabric and flesh. “Wait…w-wait, Leona, LEONA, HOLD ON…!” Leona wasn’t holding on, in any way. You scrabbled against his fingers, but - with a simple tip of the wrist - you tumbled from his hand and plunged straight down into the dark well in the back of his black-and-gold boxers. THWAPP! “Ahhhh…mmmmmm,” moaned Leona, eyes fluttering closed as he trapped you in the back of his underwear. He bit his lip and rumbled, a look of pure, possessive pleasure in his jade-colored eyes as one of his hands lightly caressed the cloth-covered softness of his ass, roaming his palm around the half-spherical curve of one of his plump, plush, well-stacked cheeks. “Welcome to the king’s ‘throne room,’ Herbivore,” he teased. “Hope you enjoy the view, because you won’t be seeing anything else unless I allow it.” Leona gave his butt a firm spank. His cheeks wobbled and bounced against each other from the impact…and against you. You tried to speak, but all you could really manage - at least at first - were muffled, wordless noises. The fat fanny mounds were smushing against either side of your face, your head pressing into the outermost layer of his booty canyon. Your arms were outstretched, firmly pinned between the fatty swells of his blubbery buttocks, and the tight-fitting fabric prison created by his boxers. You tried to move your legs, but they had slid into the crack itself; you could feel the silky, soft skin that lined the crevice swallowing up your feet. All around you was the oppressive warmth of the lion-man’s fat ass, his stacked cake baking your own skin with its heat. You tried to squirm, but Leona growled at your efforts. Muffled squeaking sounds left you, as he flexed his ass HARD around you, the cushioned, pudgy rump orbs cramming down on either side of you, like a vise formed from mattress cushions. “Hmph…MPH! PLMPH STRMPH! LNRMPH!” Your words were an unintelligible garble of noises, mixing panic and flustered frustration together. Your face felt very hot, and not just because of the dark heat of the ass-jail you were now spending time in. Leona grinned naughtily over his shoulder, rocking his hips from side to side, swaying his butt as he looked in the mirror. He could see the outline your body made as it pushed against his underwear…he teasingly ran one finger around the edges, crooning when he felt you squirm so deliciously against his power. It was so easy to own you this way…so easy to KEEP you… “Hope you’re enjoying yourself in there, my little pet,” purred the prince as he patted his posterior. “Because you’re going to spend the entire day in there. From now till I return to my room, you won’t be leaving the depths of my shorts. So I’d get comfortable with ass, if I were you; the two of you are gonna be VERY well acquainted when this is over, heh heh…” Licking his teeth lustily, Leona strode across his room. You squirmed anew as you could feel his butt cheeks bounce and shift with every step…then your eyes widened as, suddenly, your face was forced deeper into his musky cleft. A new tightness seemed to overtake you, and you could hear Leona grunting slightly as he strained with something. The movements and sounds you sensed soon informed you of what was going on: Leona had just put on his typical tight-fitting pants. While you blushed at your situation, Leona fastened his trousers, and once again looked in the reflection. An evil smile crossed his scarred face: the pants completely hid you from sight. Not even he could detect much sign of anything amiss…let alone something as wild as a shrunken human, crammed into the back of his underwear. Chuckling nastily, he quickly clothed himself in the rest of his school uniform. Then, he gathered his items for classes, and began to stride through the halls of Savanaclaw, and the rest of Night Raven beyond. Leona’s walk was a thing of grace and beauty, which you had all but committed to memory; the swaggering strut of an apex predator, which left his hips in constant motion, his thighs pumping as they carried his tall, powerful form all the way to wherever he willed them to bring him. Now, wedged into the opening of his rump canyon, you were experiencing that walk in a whole new way. Grunts and wheezes left you as you felt the butt cheeks grind against each side of your body, pumping like pistons and pounding away at you with their smothering, suffocating heft. The chubby cheeks jiggled from the impact of each step, and each jiggle just seemed to work you deeper into the fat bottom’s inescapable embrace. You shook your head and tried to push away…but it was a fruitless endeavor. The ass cheeks smashed into you repeatedly, with hammering intensity; as long as Leona was moving, escape was totally inconceivable. The thought made you quiver for more than one reason. “L-Leona!” you gasped out, finally getting enough of your face free to speak. “Leona, I’m not sure-MPH!” Your protests were silenced when a flex of the ass forced your head into the crack again. “Shut up,” you heard Leona grumble. “I’m trying to get to class. You stay right there, Herbivore. Trust me…you won’t be going anywhere…” The devilish laugh the lion let out made you want to hate him…mostly because it made you lust for him all the more.

How dare this bullying jerk be so drop-dead gorgeous? Life was truly unfair. Finally, you stopped squirming, closing your eyes and simply letting yourself be squished and smushed by the repeated pressing and pushing of the gluteus maximus’ twin moons. Maybe you’d try escaping again later, but for now…there was nothing to but wait. As Leona strutted about, butt rocking and rolling from side to side, his ass cheeks crashing into you like a couple of tidal waves…you soon began to worry about a simple and obvious issue. Leona wouldn’t be standing, nor even walking, forever. Sooner or later, he would have to sit. You blushed bright red, unsure if you should dread that moment or call it a blessing…

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…Experience would not provide you with any clear answers, as your hormones fought a battle with your survival instincts and physicality. It was hard to tell which side was winning. Leona sat boredly in one of Trein’s classes. His position was its usual one for such scenarios: his eyes half-lidded and sleepy-looking, his head leaning in one gloved hand, the other tapping his magical pen slowly against the pages of the book open in front of him…a book he pointedly was not looking in, instead half-listening to the elderly professor’s droning, dry lecture. The handsome half-lion yawned without shame, ignoring the looks some of the other students gave him. For him, it was another bland, monotonous lesson session of information he already knew. No different from any other class with Professor Trein… …Well, he smirked. He supposed it WAS different, but only in a small way. Chuffing through his nose and rolling his eyes at his own mental wordplay, the lion subtly shifted his position in his seat. His right rump cheek stretched and lifted slightly, before settling and splaying out again. His left cheek then did the same. He rumbled as he got comfortable, little flickers of pleasure sparking in his bloodstream as he could feel the warm, soft, pleasant sensation of the puny form pinned beneath his heavy bottom. “Hope you’re having fun down there,” he mumbled under his breath, not sure if you could hear him or not…and honestly not really caring. “Fun,” you guessed, was in the eye of the beholder. Any wiggling you had been able to do when Leona was standing and walking had been stopped completely. The hard wood of the seat pressed through the back of his pants and into your spine, while the much softer, juicier, meatier surface of his giant butt fell over your whole body’s front. It was like being buried under hundreds of pounds of cake dough, the weight bearing down on you with such immense pressure, you were legitimately surprised you didn’t pop like a grape under the strain. You couldn’t see anything, lodged in a place where the Sun never shone. You tried to push up against the fat mass, but the pudge just came drooping down again, pooling over your shrunken form, as if intent on swallowing you whole into its plump padding. Leona did not move much while he sat…but every time he did, you felt it. Every grind of his gigantic butt as he shifted his posterior in his seat made your bones whine. Your lungs wheezed as you gulped in raspy breaths every time you pushed some of the fat away from your face…only for that same pudge to drop down again. The softness of his skin only made you moan and groan; it was like being caressed by a lover…before having your face suffocated beneath a large pillow. Every breath you took was tainted with the heady odor of Leona’s natural, masculine musk. That scent only grew stronger the longer you were crammed under his fat ass; it was summertime, after all, and sitting for long hours could build up some sweat in certain places, even with the rooms well-conditioned. Your own sweat, courtesy of the furnace-like warmth that radiated from the glutes of the prince, speckled your brow, only making things feel slicker. You keened as you could feel a single bead of the stuff slide across the curve of his butt crack and drop onto your head. Your heart was pounding. A mixture of various emotions - fear and ever-growing arousal predominant among them - mingled in your body. This was so humiliating, so demeaning, so generally unpleasant…yet you found you almost didn’t want it to stop. It didn’t keep you from wiggling. Thinking the lion was distracted, you tried a couple of times to squirm…but even if all the weight and pressure had allowed it, Leona wouldn’t. You could alway sense his displeasure, as a low rumble - not quite a growl, but close - would thrum through the body over you…then, he’d flex his cheeks, till your head nearly felt like it might burst. You soon got the message and quit trying to break free; each time he flexed, you could feel yourself sinking into the cleft like it was quicksand. You groaned as Leona shifted his rump more insistently; now he was clearly doing it to directly torment you, smushing his cheeks over you and shifting the rolls of fat over you in waves. “Mmmmmm…” The pleasured moan around you made you blush more. You felt him lift his rump slightly, and felt the tightness around you slacken eeeever so slightly…before he sat fully once more, and you grimaced as you were forced deeper into the crack. Suddenly, you realized…that was the point. Every shift, every flex, every motion…was pushing you further and further into the crevice between the rump cheeks. You tried to squirm, letting out muffled calls for Leona to stop…but even if he heard you, he clearly wasn’t caring, as he just flexed hard. Suction dragged you deeper into the velvety canyon of sweaty, musky rump meat. You clawed at the cheeks, but your fingers just sank uselessly into the chub, and skidded across it without getting any real purchase. “Deeper,” Leona’s voice came drifting down to you, as he had clearly decided to ignore class in favor of dragging your body into his crack by force. “Get…all the way…in there…” Each phrase was accompanied by a flex from his butt. You could feel the muscles bundled together beneath the cushioning pudge, as they worked like a set of toothless jaws to nibble you into the blackness of the booty cleft. “H-Help…help! L-Leona…stop…!” Your words were panting, gasping…totally useless. Leona chuckled, amused at your feeble voice, buried beneath his bulk. “Sink,” he hissed. “You know where you belong.” “Kingscholar!” snapped Trein’s voice, crossly. “What are you muttering about? Are you paying attention at all?” “Yeah, yeah, I’m listening,” grunted Leona. You tried to call out to the professor, but blushed when you found you couldn’t. Too much weight, softness, and plumpness was pushing on your face and your chest. You were sinking into the canyon, your feet wiggling against the silky, sensitive skin that lined the inner layer of the rump region. Your head and one arm were all that remained outside of the crack. You puffed through your nostrils as your crimson face was squished more than ever, your fingers clinging to the fatness as best you could…

Leona - without watching his movements, his eyes on Trein’s blackboard - reached back with one hand while no one was looking. He gripped one of his butt cheeks, and gave it a slight jiggle. He smirked as he heard the faint, barely audible “swulp” sound as your entire body was now completely stuffed into the partition of his posterior. Leona flexed his cheeks once more, just to make sure you were firmly lodged in the crack, then scratched his butt carelessly before returning his attention as fully as he could (which wasn’t that fully) to Trein’s lesson. Your whole body was now totally immersed in assflesh. The musky smell and sweaty sensations were stronger than ever. You squirmed, but all you could feel was the soft, thick, weighty rump chub that surrounded you. You couldn’t tell which way to move to try and find fresh air…and you knew it was hopeless, anyway, since you were still trapped by Leona’s undergarments and the trousers beyond. A moan left you as you could hear the intestines of the lion bubbling somewhere nearby, and you could feel his butt clamp each time you pawed at the bum walls, which came around you like a trash compactor… “It’s useless trying to get away,” Leona’s voice came down again. “I could keep you there forever, if I wanted, y’know. Heh…just think of that…never knowing anything but that. Left to live inside my crack…lost there for the rest of your short, tortured life…not even worth a snack, just a plaything for me to break. Tch. Sounds like it would suck, but I bet it’s making you blush like a rose, right?” “Kingscholar!” “I’m listenin’, alright?!” While the professor and the prince began to bicker, you could only curl up slightly in the canyon. You really hated it when he was right, the rude bully…

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Leona panted slightly as he jogged across a stretch of flat, grassy field. His hair was tied back in a loose ponytail, and he was dressed in his usual PE uniform. The one exception was the usual black sports jacket he had tied about his waist. He had left that in the lockers. The lion paused beside a tree and sighed, wiping an arm across his sweaty brow as he eased himself into the shade. He was carrying a large bottle of water in his other hand. Smacking his parched lips, he opened it up and slugged down a few refreshing swallows of the cool, clear liquid. “Ahhhh,” sighed Leona, as he leaned back against the trunk and closed the bottle up. The tip of his tongue went past his teeth and lapped at his lips. “Damn…it’s scorching today. I’m used to hot weather, but it’s still pretty warm…warmer than usual, I think.” A devious smirk crossed the lion’s face, and his scarred eye glistened with superior, sinister pleasure as he glanced back over his shoulder. His tail lifted and curled itself around one of his butt cheeks, cupping under its weight and lifting it slightly. “Must be absolutely broiling in there, for you,” he remarked. “Heh…try not to drown in all that sweat, if you can. Must be real-huh?” Leona’s eyes widened and his smirk faded as something shifted under his pants. He suddenly felt a shiver race up and down his spine and let out a shaky breath…as his rump visible jiggled and wobbled, as if it had a mind of its own. Finally, the lion’s fluttering eyes opened fully, and he chuckled as the motions stopped. “Well, whaddya know…you actually managed to wiggle free. Gotta admit, I’m almost impressed. Almost.” You couldn’t answer at first. You gasped and choked, desperately drinking in air that wasn’t reeking of lion sweat and musk. Your entire shrunken form was soaked in the same, your hair stuck to your brow, as your upper half dangled over the waistband of Leona’s athletic pants. It had been a lucky break: you had realized, while he had been exercising, that the looser fit gave you a chance to try and break free. The problem was…you hadn’t been given a proper chance. When the lion wasn’t sitting on a broomstick or an exercise bench, he was running or leaping. For all his talk of using mind over muscle, the athletic prince kept a good workout regiment. You felt delirious, loopy after huffing up the fumes of sweat and rump musk that built up over the day, and exponentially increased with the workout. Wiggling free from the lion’s rump and crawling your way upwards left you totally out of breath; it felt as if you’d been swimming against the flabby mounds. You looked up at Leona. You tried to look angry, but you had a feeling you weren’t succeeding; your face was still very red, both from your flustered status and how tired and hot you were. Combined with your sweaty disposition, and the way you so pathetically rested, unable to pull yourself free any further, not to mention how you winced as blessed daylight hit your eyes…you could understand the superior, self-confident smirk Leona was giving your rather pitiful form. “Enjoying our anniversary yet?” “You…are so…awful…” Leona just rolled his eyes. “Say that when you don’t look like a bruised tomato,” he snorted, and took another drink of water, closing his eyes as he relished the feeling of the cold drink descending his esophagus. He opened one eye when he heard a puppyish sound leave you, and smirked around the bottle top as he saw the longing look you gave to the bottle. He pulled it free from his lips and licked them, shaking it teasingly. “What’s the matter?” he mocked. “Thirsty? I’d think you’d be getting plenty to satisfy your thirst back there.” “Are you referring to your sweat, or just to a different kind of thirst?” “Yes,” Leona said, showing off his fangs. You just groaned. “When I get back to normal,” you threatened, “I’m going to spend a whole week waking you up early, whether you need it or not.” “I’m shaking in my sandals,” drawled Leona, then narrowed his glowing green eyes. “Besides, you seem to be under the impression I’ll LET you get back to normal.” You froze up and blinked up at the lion man. “Wh-what’s that supposed to mean?” you squeaked, nervously. “Well, I COULD just crush you between my butt cheeks or let my ass smother you to death,” said Leona, shrugging carelessly and crossing his arms over his chest. His tail lifted up, the end of it twitching back and forth, like the pendulum of a clock. “No one would ever know what happened to you…no one but me. Then I could just gobble up your puny body, and digest the evidence. Heh…bet you’d end becoming part of my ass, too. So I guess, in a way…you’d never escape it. I think that sounds like a great way to finish our anniversary, don’t you?” You knew he was just teasing. At least…you certainly HOPED he was just teasing. With Leona Kingscholar, it was hard to tell. Regardless, you couldn’t help but whimper and cringe. Leona snickered, the sun glinting off his pearly fangs. “You’re way too easy,” he said. “And you’re a fatass and a meanie.” Leona looked bored. “Meanie? Seriously?” he droned. “What are you, five? Not even my nephew uses words like that…often…” “Meanie!” you snapped back, deliberately. You even stuck your tongue out, trying to annoy him with a bit of childishness. You had to get SOME small revenge after all this, after all. The attempt backfired, however, as Leona scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Okay, you wanna be a brat?” he snorted. “Fine: just for that, you’ve lost your rights to air and sunlight…not that you ever had them in the first place. Get back in my ass!” Suddenly, the lion’s tail whipped down, and you yelped as the rope-like appendage worked to push you back into the prince’s pants. Your arms flailed and you let out a series of sputtering sounds as you fought to shove it away, but you failed. The tail twisted and turned, working like a snake to shove you into place. Once more, you found yourself sinking into the sweaty, musky, warm, cushioned folds of the fat ass crack. A final gasp was cut short as you were squelched back into place, the plump butt cheeks jiggling as the tail pulled free and lashed itself back to its proper state. Leona nodded to himself, firmly, finished his water, then tossed the bottle into a nearby trash bin before continuing his jog, leaving you helpless as you felt his rump bounce and grind around you with every movement of his powerful legs.

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Afternoon was changing into evening when Leona finally arrived back at Savanaclaw. He yawned as he strolled through the halls of the oasis-like dorm, a cool breeze whistling through his sweat-stained locks. He walked with his eyes closed, hands behind his head, lazily sauntering along as his mind wandered. The housewarden was looking forward to a cool shower and a much-deserved catnap. His ears pricked up when he heard a pair of voices chattering ahead. “Still no sign of them?” “Not so far. You sure you didn’t see them in Ignihyde?” “Nope. Ortho scanned the whole dorm, said he couldn’t find any sign of them there.” “Well, why didn’t you ask him to scan the whole SCHOOL?” “...Oh, yeah. I guess I didn’t think of that.” “Do you ever think at all?” “HEY!” Kingscholar frowned and opened his unscarred eye. Ahead, he could see two familiar Heartslabyul students nervously bantering with one another, clearly out of place in Savanaclaw. “Alright, let’s be smart about this…after all, they can’t have disappeared into thin air,” sighed Ace Trappola “I dunno…at this point, it’s looking like they might have,” mumbled Deuce Spade, scratching the back of his head as he glanced about…then he noticed Leona. His eyes lit up and he waved the lion over. “Oi! Leona! Can we ask you a question?” “I think that counts,” Leona dryly replied, and tried to walk past the pair. “Hey! Don’t just ignore us!” yelled Ace. Leona stopped and glared back at them. He was quite annoyed. “Do you REALLY wanna get my attention that way, Trappola?” he growled warningly, baring his teeth and twitching his tail in irritation. “Sorry,” Ace apologized. “It’s just that we’re looking for the Prefect.” Leona’s tail twitch changed from one of irritation to one of self-gratified amusement. “Really?” he purred. “They were supposed to come help us with a study session earlier, but we haven’t seen them all day,” Deuce explained. “Since you’re in charge here, and since…well…you know…you ARE kinda their boyfriend? We were wondering if you would know where to look for them,” Ace added. Leona grinned widely. Oh, this was just too priceless. “I saw them briefly at PE,” he replied. “Since when do they take PE class with you?” frowned Ace, crinkling his nose, clearly confused. “I never said they did,” Leona reminded him. “I just said I saw them at that time.” “And you don’t know where they could be now?” Deuce checked again. “Psh. I’m not my Herbivore’s keeper. They’re a grown-ass human being, they can take care of themselves, don’tcha think?” “Sure, WE think that,” said Ace, now narrowing his eyes. “But since when did YOU think that?” Leona just yawned. “Is this interrogation over? I wanna get some sleep,” he growled, grouchily. “If you don’t have anything else to add,” shrugged Deuce, then looked at Ace. “C’mon, let’s see if maybe there’s a clue in Diasomnia. They’re pretty close to Malleus, after all.” “Well, we definitely won’t HEAR anything there…Sebek will yell our ears off, I just know it…” Leona chuckled as he watched the pair leave. “If that overgrown lizard has a hint, tell him thanks for keeping an eye on MY plaything,” he called mockingly. The Heartslabyul duo frowned back over their shoulders; they didn’t always like hearing Leona call you that…but they also weren’t TOO put off, as they simply and calmly left. Once they were gone, Leona smirked wider, eyes glowing with a somewhat evil gleam as he looked back over his shoulder and patted his warm, wide buttocks. They wobbled at his touch. “No one knows where you are, my pet,” he whispered, in a sultry, silky sort of way. “Nobody but me. How has it been, huh? Soaking up all my sweat and musk…feeling all my weight pound and squeeze around you…I bet when I take off these pants, I still won’t be able to even tell you’re in there.” He paused, caressing his rear end almost affectionately, a thoughtful, supreme look on his face. “I’m almost tempted to leave you in there. Forever. If it were physically possible, I absolutely would…let you live up my ass. No more daylight. No more air. Only me…all around you…completely and inescapably. No one would ever see you again; I could keep you to myself. My little plaything. My little rump toy.” He growled and flexed his fat cheeks hard; one could see the muscles tighten and bulge beneath the thickly-padded layers of ass cushioning, and dimly hear the keening, breathless sound as the ass tightened around your whole body, burying your face, your hands, every part of you in musky, grimy booty flab. “My. Little. Pet,” Leona said, his voice as dark as it was dominating. Still keeping his ass tightly clenched, he shifted his hips, the cheeks of his bottom grinding against each other like a pair of boulders. He bit his lip and moaned as he heard a desperate, scared, yet EXCITED noise come from your battered body…a little more pressure, and he could easily BREAK you…smother or smush you flat… …He relaxed with a shuddering sigh, and patted his butt…this time right over the crack, as if the pat was meant for you. Then, sashaying his hips happily, he strutted along again towards his room. By now, you were so dazed, lightheaded, and squashed till you ached that you barely qualified as conscious. You struggled for air in the hot, damp cleft of the lion’s rear end. The bouncing and swinging of his bottom had come to have an almost soporific effect, as you were thoroughly soaked in his odor and his moisture. You were beyond struggling, beyond even wriggling; you were no longer even sure if the voices of your friends had been real or imagined. As humiliating, hot, and horrid as it all was…you were blushing. In fact, you were even smiling. It wasn’t fair…it wasn’t FAIR how stupidly hormonally addled you were, or that he was so perfect he could play to those hormones almost without trying. Part of you hated all this…but more and more, you’d come to enjoy it. In a way, you were experiencing Leona’s day in a more intimate, attached way than most would ever find it possible. You might as well have been part of him…part of every step…part of every motion…honeyed thoughts that made it hard to feel angry, as the strength and pure power he displayed (with such crude methods, in more ways than one) was beginning to get you drunk. Or maybe you’d just been inhaling too much of his musk. Neither would be surprising. You were not freed till, suddenly, Leona removed his pants. You FELT it happen, and HEARD it; you didn’t actually see. You were lodged so deep inside his crack, you could not see even the thinnest line of light from the world beyond. So, when a familiar hand burrowed its way in, and pulled your soggy, limp body out, you were unprepared for the flash of surprisingly sterile light that shocked your eyes. When your vision became blurry, you found yourself staring at Leona’s handsome face. His expression was smug and amused, as usual…but there was a hint of affection there, as if seeing you so helpless and soppy, like a kitten dragged out of a rainstorm, was cute to him. You quickly realized that you were in his bathroom…that he was topless…and he was about to enter the shower. You immediately figured out “topless” was not ALL he was, and decided - against your less savory judgment - against looking down towards…certain areas. Ahem. “Heh. And I thought you were pathetic before,” mocked Leona, but the words carried a loving lilt, rather than a sharp bite. He sniffed the air, then grimaced. “Phew! Damn, you stink!” You tried to snipe back a snarky retort of, “Whose fault is that?!” You were so dizzy and so tired, however, all you could manage was a slurred response that vaguely sounded like, “Foosballs are flat.” The lion just smirked. “Didn’t catch a word of that. Try mumbling louder, and maybe I’ll actually care about what my ass sponge has to say,” he taunted. You could only groan. You weren’t sure you could physically blush any more, but your face found a way. Leona rolled his eyes. “Tch. Figures. Seriously, how kinky can you get?” he half-sneered. “I bet you’d like it if I actually did that, huh? Tied you to a scrub brush or something, used you to help clean up while I bathe? Ha! Don’t think I didn’t hear that squeak! You have some serious issues, you know that?” All you could respond with was a sort of weighty nod; you felt like there was a lead weight somewhere in your face, making it hard to raise your head, even as the sleepy dizziness continued to surround you. Leona shook his head with a snort, then a tenderness came to his scarred green eye as he held you in his palms and stepped into the shower, shutting the curtain. “Well, maybe we’ll save that for another time. For now, let’s get you cleaned up. You look like a sick rat,” he said. You certainly were not going to complain or argue. Leona cleaned you up during his shower, in-between rounds of washing his own luxurious mane, and rinsing the sweat and dust from his own tanned, beautiful body. You said nothing during the whole process, but throughout it, you found it hard not to laugh deliriously: you had never expected your first communal shower with your boyfriend to be like THIS.

“Oi. Cut that out and stop squirming. You’re gonna get soap in your mouth. Tch. I’d call you a pain in my ass, if you hadn’t felt so good back there…”

Even after being thoroughly disinfected - and dressed in a miniature pair of boxers, which…you felt it was best NOT to ask the origins of (you had a feeling they probably belonged to someone who was now PART of the butt you were so well acquainted with) - you still felt rather loopy after your experience. “Woozy?” teased Leona, noticing the way your body rocked and heaved in his palms as he approached the bed, wearing nothing but (a fresh, clean pair of) his own boxers once again. “I dunno if that’s the word,” you admitted honestly. “But I feel…whatever you feel after going on a Tilt-a-Whirl a few times too many. Except most Tilt-a-Whirls don’t smell like a lion’s butt…” “...Most?” “I went through a lot more than you know, back in my world.” Leona just chuffed with amusement. “Whatever. Bet most Tilt-a-Whirls don’t leave you looking like a beet for almost twelve hours straight either, huh?” Somehow, you found the strength to smirk with a hint of mischief all your own. “Most Tilt-a-Whirls aren’t drop-dead handsome princes, either,” you replied. Leona smirked. He was well-aware of his own rugged good looks…but something the way he seemed to purr indicated he was nevertheless always happy to hear somebody else comment on them. Especially you. You giggled softly as Leona lay on his bed and placed you on his bare belly, stretching his arms out behind his head. He raised the brow arched over his good eye expectantly. “Well? Do you want to rub it, or go inside it?” he growled. “Can’t I do both?” you chirruped. “You are literally the size of a rodent. I WILL eat you.” “Don’t threaten me with a good time.” Leona sighed and dropped his head back on the pillow. “I liked it better when you were shoved up my ass,” he grumbled. You blushed, but still sniggered…yet you obligingly gave the overgrown cat-man the belly rub he desired, all the same. Leona’s smile became one of purest peace as he thumped his tail with satisfaction against the mattress, eyes closed as he enjoyed your tiny hands playing across his belly. “Mmmmmm…almost as good as your wriggling,” he mumbled. “Gee, thanks,” you drawled, sarcastically. Leona just purred in response, then opened his left eye. “So…how was it for you?” he asked. The words weren’t teasing or taunting. This time, it sounded like a sincere question. You hesitated, biting your lip…but finally answered slowly: “It was…um…hotter than Hades. In more ways than one.” Leona snorted with laughter and shut his eye. “Yep,” he grunted. “That’s about what I expected.” “There were moments I was almost afraid you might crush me, or that I might suffocate to death,” you admitted, very softly. Leona’s smile slackened. His eyes remained closed. “You really think I’d take it that far?” he asked, in an even sort of voice. “Honestly, some days I really don’t know,” you admitted, then patted his stomach with a smile. “But right now, it’s safe to say I trust you.” Leona purred a little louder at that. “Had to have been pretty nasty, judging by that funky smell when I let you go at last,” he rumbled. “Oh, it was,” you said. “Kinky little weirdo,” he muttered. “Trust me, you have NO idea,” you chuckled. “I think I do,” Leona said, dryly. “You’ve admitted just about every raunchy, random little fantasy pulsing in that head of yours to me by this point…how’d the reality match up to this one?” “If I say, ‘it was better than I expected,’ will you think I’m a freak?” “I ALREADY think you’re a freak,” Leona said, blandly…then added, with rare affection, “You just so happen to be MY freak.” You gave a blushing smile, and replied, “When I decide whether that’s a compliment or an insult, I’ll tell you what I think.” Leona shook his head in a weary sort of way. “I’m surprised you said that. You were trying to escape an awful lot, it seemed to me.” You stopped rubbing at those words. Leona scowled, looking irritated at those heavenly sensations stopping, but he didn’t scold you. Yet. “What’s wrong?” he asked, instead. “Don’t tell me you didn’t actually like it.” “At first…not really,” you confessed. “But as the day wore on, and throughout the whole experience…I couldn’t deny how…how…I don’t even know what the WORD is, but despite how gross it all was…I did like it. Like I said, it was one of the hottest things I’ve ever experienced. Heh…not sure I wanna spend another WHOLE SCHOOL DAY in the back of your shorts, but…” You trailed off, shrugging one shoulder bashfully. Leona had the self-satisfied smile of a cat that had swallowed a canary. “I’ll keep all that in mind,” he said smoothly. “Great,” you mumbled. Leona chuckled, then a wicked grin crossed his face once more. “Before I clock out for a snooze - and I think you oughta do the same - there’s one more ‘special gift’ I have in store for you,” he said, devilishly. You half expected, in that moment, for him to pop you into his mouth and swallow you down. Given the greedy smile on his face, showing how much he enjoyed HAVING you, you would not have been surprised. But instead, after carefully plucking you up…Leona rolled over, laying on his belly, before dropping you on top of his pillowy posterior. He smirked over his shoulder as your hands and knees sank slightly into the fat of his warm, soft butt. “That’s your bed for tonight,” he said, in a rather firm voice. He yawned, then added, “If I feel you try to move off of it, then I will make you part of it. So try not to wriggle in your sleep too much, got it?” “G-Got it!” you squeaked. “Good,” said Leona, and yawned again. His expression softened as he lay his head on his pillow. His tail curled and flopped to one side, leaving his boxer-clad bottom completely exposed beneath you. He closed his eyes, nuzzling into the pillowcase. “Goodnight, Herbivore,” Leona mumbled tiredly. “Happy Anniversary.” Despite yourself, your own voice was light and tender as you replied, “Happy Anniversary, My King.” Leona’s ear twitched, but the only audible reaction he gave was a snore. In typical Kingscholar fashion, he had fallen asleep in scant seconds. Chuckling softly - and swearing your face would be permanently stained crimson, given how much blushing you’d done that day - you lay down and curled up like a kitten atop the right rump cheek of the lion man. By morning, you would awaken, your normal-sized head resting upon his ass cheek like a pillow…but for now, it was a mattress for your whole body. The musk had been replaced with a fresh, clean, almost floral scent, thanks to the recent shower…and the skin beneath his boxers felt smoother and softer, even more supple than before. It wasn’t long till you yawned, and found yourself drifting off to sleep as well. It hadn’t exactly been a conventional anniversary, at least for you… …But as slumber took ahold of your mind, you could already say you were going to dream about how great next year might be. You would say you were looking forward to it…but, under the circumstances, it was better to say you were looking BEHIND. …Oh, come now. How ELSE would you imagine this writer to end such foolery as this? He has to have SOME fun.

The (Rear) End

𝙻𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝙵𝚒𝚟𝚎: 𝙰𝚌𝚞𝚝𝚎 𝙴𝚗𝚟𝚒𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎

a/n: I'm reuploading this out of SPITE because tumblr FLAGGED it and I'm super upset because I spent all weekend!!!! working on this silly little thing!! if you see the first version, no you don't... okay bye

✎— priest’s daughter!Wanda x college student!reader ✎— confessions AU; Wanda finally gives enough hints that you catch on, but she’s still supposed to be helping you study aka you try a more hands-on approach to learning for the both of you ✎— warnings: this is an 18+ series, minors DNI; fluff, smut; virginity loss, (if I put what I put in the first version, I'll get flagged) they're playing Doctor, alright? Go with it... Wanda’s just getting softish smut times

✎— words: 7k

series masterlist. || main masterlist.

It was Thursday and Wanda was stewing. 

All week you’d barely touched her, keeping distance that Wanda hadn’t asked for nor did she want. Even when alone, you’d kiss her when she asked, but only quickly no matter how she pouted. She wanted to ask you, but each time she tried she chickened out, worried she’d be too much of a bother or come off as annoyingly needy. 

Today though, she’d had enough. Wanda settled on a shorter than normal pleated skirt minutes before you knocked on her door, grinned to herself whenever she caught you staring at her legs as you walked to class. You’d given good faith effort in giving her space, testing if she truly did want you as you hoped or if she was following your lead. 

The past six days of not only Wanda’s growing desperation, but yours as well, taught you that no, you really were into one another. Now, you had to find a way to do something about it. 

It was funny really, how some opportunities presented themselves, sometimes perfectly laid out and others thickly cloaked in an semi-innocent request to hang out. You had to be quiet about it, your professor droning on about something you’d long since given up learning, but if you texted her, Wanda wouldn’t have answered so whispering it was. “Will you help me study if I come over after class?”

Next week’s test was bound to be a killer with how little attention you paid in class; if only the subject was Wanda instead of witch trials. Thankfully you had the next best thing to lectures at your disposal: Wanda’s meticulous note-taking skills. You’d never think of asking her to help you cheat, she was too uptight of a student for that, but she was always willing to be your study partner, an offer you had yet to pass up whenever test time rolled around. 

Wanda turned to you, quickly dropping her pen and smiling way too bright for such a simple question, but it’d been a few days since you’d spent time together outside of class and she was beginning to worry she really had ruined whatever the two of you had. Maybe Agatha’s online skirt choice was magical; she’d have to fill her in on whatever happened later, if anything. “You know you’re always welcome, silly. I’ve missed you.”

♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡

The familiar sight of you unzipping your backpack, unloading your various notebooks to sprawl across your living room just didn’t feel right today. For all your hatred of studying, right now you seemed much more keen on it than she was.. and she hated it. Wanda hadn’t worn this stupid skirt, exposing her legs to too cold weather for nothing. Deeply uncharacteristic confidence washed over her then, a determination to set the mood as much as she dared. The living room wasn’t the right setting, not where you’d both be sat upright and away from one another. Wanda needed close proximity and intimacy and the place where she’d accomplished the most of that so far was only in the next room.

She swooped in to take your books, gathering them up and clutching them too frantically to her chest. In her head, Wanda was smooth about it, seductive and alluring; the clumsiness of her real self left her cringing internally, but she committed to playing it off, “Maybe we should study in my room?”

Wanda was walking away before you’d had a chance to respond, both of your bookbags over her shoulder and your textbooks in her hand, heading to her bedroom in a rush. Your brow furrowed at her sudden change of behavior, but she was too far away not to question her skittishness. You didn’t mind, it was just…odd. Whatever she was up to, you wouldn’t pass up getting cozy to Wanda and so, confused as you were, you followed her like an obedient puppy.

Turns out, even pretending to study was a struggle. More so when Wanda was perched so prettily in her own bed, swinging her stocking clad feet off the edge of the mattress. It couldn’t have been anything other than sheer stupidity that you chose to sit in the swiveling desk chair instead of next to her. Not that that would make studying classwork any easier. 

“This is so boring, Wands, I can’t focus,” Just then your eyes scanned the same textbook pages you’d had open for twenty minutes, caught the topic of this week’s quiz, and a wicked thought blossomed fast.

“I’ve read enough books and seen more than enough movies to know all I need to know about witch’s marks I think,” Wanda made a noncommittal noise, highlighting line after line of important text studiously just as she did in class— but this wasn’t a lecture hall. Outside of school, without distractions, you had a plan and the time to boot; this test could wait. 

Setting aside your books, you stood up and made your way over to Wanda, sitting beside her like you’d done so many times before. This time though, your position was for anything but platonic. Mischievous fingers brushed Wanda’s long hair over her shoulder, tucking it behind her ear to get the view you were after. “Did you know some people used to think freckles were witch’s marks? And that you belonged to the devil if you had them?”

“Yes, I did and it’s ridiculous. A freckle is just a random mark, anyone can have them. Most people do,” The brunette was overly aware of you slowly sneaking closer, rambled on about the biology of freckles to compensate for her rise in nerves. The last time she’d taken a millisecond long glance at you, your gaze was locked onto her neck so intensely she was sure there was something there. Her free hand came to cover whatever it was, but you were quicker, grabbing her wrist and lowering her arm back into her lap. “What are you-”

“Oh look, a witch.” Two fingers danced along Wanda’s neck, pattern set by the myriad of freckles you’d stared at nearly every day of your life for months. Stiff as she was, Wanda didn’t move, not even as you inched closer for a closer look. When you kissed the tiny mark behind her ear she sighed, shuddering out a breath; Wanda being so quick to rile was still one of your favorite things. After so long of thinking about you without actually getting you, she was arguably easier to set off.

You weren’t doing much, just featherlight kisses over the few freckles visible outside of the collar of her sweater, but to Wanda, the room was already starting to feel warmer. She wanted you to continue though, hoped your careless push of her neglected study materials off her lap meant you were going to, “I have a lot of freckles.”

That made you pull away, devilish smirk plain as day on your lips. Having seen a few of them in Wanda’s various outfits, you knew she did have quite a few and although you’d dreamt of it once or twice, you’d obviously never gotten to take your sweet time mapping them out. “Can I see them?”

Wanda took inventory of all her known freckles and immediately realized her own error, “Not all of them…” The majority of her freckles were scattered across her chest and midsection with some on her arms, but at least a handful on her thighs where she’d been daydreaming of your mouth for days. She remembered it all so vividly, couldn’t yet look at a picture of ice cream without squeezing her legs together; Wanda didn’t know how she had a hope of handling you all over.

“Why not? You can be a cute little witch,” Your arms caged her in on either side of her legs, kissing along her jawline for as long as she let you. Gentle lips covered the two freckles on the apple of Wanda’s cheek at once, purposefully leaving a wet mark to chill in your absence, “and I’ll be the doctor assigned to come take a look at you.” 

Shaky breaths breezed over your chin in your closeness and you looked up to find Wanda’s eyes already fluttering closed and were you not so stubbornly set on your original plan, you’d abandon it just to envelope her in a hug. It wasn’t good medical practice to fall for your patients, but you never said you’d be a good practitioner. “I won’t tell anyone…”

“Uhm…” She fidgeted with her hands, unsure of what she was supposed to do when she only wanted to lay back and enjoy the attention. Playing doctor was the last thing she’d expected to be doing with you, nor did she know how to play— if there even was a proper way to let someone poke and prod at you. It excited her though, wiggling in the narrow space you’d left her with and she begged her voice to speak up and agree. Most importantly, Wanda wanted to keep herself focused enough not to say or do anything to turn you away, but at her core, even in the safety of her apartment, she was shy. “Promise?”

Wanda felt you nod your head seconds before your teeth grazed her throat, some faint agreement mumbled into her warm skin. Further down, your hand found hers, prying her fingers apart to loop your pinky with hers, “Pinky promise. It’ll be our little secret.”

The soft little touch warmed Wanda’s heart, knowing you only promised in such a way for her benefit; she always spoke of the importance of a pinky promise. Finally given something to do, she pulled at the edges of her sweater and shimmied her arms out before stretching the thick knit over her head. “Okay, doctor, tell me what you think…” 

Wanda tried to keep her apartment at a reasonable temperature, but now she felt chilled, exposed to your hungry, wandering gaze and she was left feeling just as scared as she was excited. But you looked at her as if she was something to marvel at, some rare artwork; Wanda chose to believe the stare was genuine instead of for the sake of the game. That alone kept her comfortable.

“You certainly do have a lot,” Careful hands roamed over your new discovery, taking note of the small marks you spotted either from remembering them on her shoulders or new ones that caught your eye. Luckily for you, the very nature of inspections required time and detail because you’d always been a tactile learner. 

No matter where you placed them, every kiss to Wanda’s skin brought out a new noise, each squeak, whine, and whimper spurring you on further. She kept still as you dragged fingertips over the pattern of freckles on her back and hips and held her arms, but then you ducked down, taking count of each mark over her chest and abdomen— she shouldn’t have shuddered as hard as she did. “I don’t think you’re doing it right…”

“How would you know, hm?” You were slow, deliberate, making the most of your doctor role by testing her reactions, scraping your nails down her back to judge her shivers, sucking and biting anything you found on a part of her you wanted to linger longer like the dip of her hips or right over the swell of her breast peeking from her bra. You could’ve lost yourself in her so easily, sweet perfume luring you into staying and worshiping her until your mouth grew tired. “Anyone ever accused you of being a witch before?”

Wanda shook her head slowly, focusing instead on your tongue leaving thick wet lines over her stomach. It was cruel really, the same thing you’d done last week at the fair, but this time there was no one else around, nothing to take your focus off her. She’d never craved attention more in her entire life. “‘M not a witch..”

Your pleased hum tickled right under her ribs, a pleasant little flutter before your teeth met yet another freckle you’d found. “No… you’re such a good girl.” The words shouldn’t have bothered her, really they didn’t; in any other situation Wanda wouldn’t be scared that they meant you’d stop once more. She couldn’t disagree though, only shifted her legs just the tiniest bit further apart as your hands smoothed over her thighs. Wanda didn’t mind being good, not if it all brought her to this, to you.

Carefully ironed pleats folded easily as you pushed up with your palms, but then a shocking thing— her stockings stopped at her upper thigh, giving way to metal clasps and satin straps on either side of her outer legs. An immodest change of dress, one that had you shifting against the mattress yourself. “Sweet little Wanda… does your daddy know you wear garters and thigh highs instead of proper tights now?”

The thought of anyone else knowing mortified her. This was only Wanda’s second day wearing them and yes, maybe she’d donned them specifically in the hopes you’d uncover them, but she couldn’t admit to such an atypical act. “I- no, it’s not what you think!”

“No? You know what I think, Wanda? I think you want to misbehave.” Wanda was staring up at the ceiling faster than she realized you’d pushed her back, skirt hopelessly rucked about her waist as you hitched her legs about your hips. The taut elastics of her tights snapped back on her with a sting that made her yelp, such a cute noise you found yourself repeating the action just to hear it again.

“You want to go out and get wasted, ask me to fuck you, and have nasty sex in the back of someone’s car like you always make fun of movie characters doing,” You weren’t wrong. She’d stopped denying it now, too busy fighting the urge to close her eyes as blunt fingernails grazed over her brand new lace underwear. 

They did absolutely nothing to shield her from even the barest stimulation and between wearing them in class and now this afternoon, Wanda already felt nearly unbearably hypersensitive. Natasha was right; the only reason to wear these were if you planned on getting laid and god, Wanda hoped that was exactly what you were about to do. “Are you tired of being an angel, sweet thing?”

Correct as you were, the brunette still couldn’t say it, refused to own up to her suggestive behaviors and lose her lifelong good girl status. As annoying as it was sometimes, that’s all Wanda knew herself as, all you knew her as. What if she gave it up and you lost interest in her? The rational parts of Wanda’s brain interjected, reminded her of just who’d suggested this imaginative play, who was currently hovering above her waiting for an affirmative response to keep whatever this inspection was going. If you liked her then and still showed interest now, would she actually be losing anything?

She stared up at you with pleading green irises, the faintest hint of her nod rustling the pillow supporting her head. Her legs stayed rested around yours as you pulled back, massaging her hips as a gentle comfort while you finished the last of your inspection. You swept in to give due attention to any freckles you might’ve missed last week, arms circling around each thigh as you dragged your mouth over them, pleased to find your hickeys hadn’t yet fully faded. 

Meanwhile, Wanda was barely holding on. Her upper half squirmed above you, helplessly trapped in your strong grip. Each time you got close enough for her to feel your breath on her neglected sex, she was sure she would break; everything felt too warm, too alive, body bathed in a steadily rising heat, Wanda could swear she was sweating bullets into the bed. She’d miscalculated how affected someone could be without being touched in those particular few areas. Wanda always thought the girls in videos she watched were playing it up for the camera and sure, a good number of them probably were, but the right person with the right actions could be world-changing no matter where they touched. “Please-”

“Please what? Stop?” If she could’ve managed it, Wanda would’ve screamed no. What came out instead was a desperate, barely audible plea— one that died out as soon as you brushed one final kiss to her cunt. You couldn’t help yourself, tongue darting out to taste the wet spot you very happily took credit for. Through the thin material, you could just make out the shape of her and you licked slowly, long, deliberate things that were way too easy to have looked up and seen Wanda’s mouth agape.

But everything always felt like more when it was new, and when your hand joined in, cupping her sex possessively, Wanda groaned out loud. “You got wet from this?” Instinctively, she nodded, ready to agree to whatever she needed to if you’d just let her cum. Inexperienced as she was, Wanda was so terribly precious and so responsive, you wished you’d done this sooner. “Between this and all your pretty little hidden freckles… I don’t think you’re nearly as innocent as you say.”

“I swear no one’s ever touched me before, oh god-” Wanda gasped, licking her lips as your thumb pressed into her, finding her clit as if you’d been given a map straight to it. She always knew she was sensitive, had obviously rubbed herself to orgasm a good handful of times before, but you were better, knew just how to edge her to let her see the edge of oblivion on the horizon for as long as you pleased.

You chuckled then, low and dark, a laugh you hadn’t meant to be seen as sinister; you were just enjoying the sweet and squirmy Wanda beneath you— but for her, something clicked, traitorous brain remembering the last thing she’d want to right now or ever again. The thought made her cringe and tense, the only thing she knew would ruin this moment if she didn’t confirm it for herself, “Where’s your phone?”

“My phone?” You had to stop and think, both the question and its answer stumping you, “I haven’t seen it since I came in. I think it’s on the kitchen table..” Wanda gathered just enough willpower to pat your pants pockets, giving all four of them her own thorough inspection as if your phone was suddenly more important than the sex she’d been hinting at wanting for weeks now. “Why do you care?”

You let her check until she was satisfied, watching Wanda exhale a heavy breath before flopping back onto the mattress, “Don’t worry about it.” 

But you had that concerned look in your eye again, the same as nights ago right before you took her to the car and barely looked at her for days. Tonight though, she’d be damned if you left her like this again. She draped her arms around your neck, peppering your face with kisses before you could decide it was time to stop or give her space or some other dreadful end to your study session. “I’m sorry, it’s fine. I’m fine, you can uh.. continue now?”

Not the smoothest transition from such a sudden interruption, but you didn’t want to discourage anything that made her comfortable so you opted to let it slide. If she insisted she was alright, whatever it was, you could always ask later. “Oh yeah, you want me to continue?”

Wanda agreed immediately, wiggling her hips to coax your perfectly positioned hand to move once more. Now she’d had a taste of it and nothing would sate that incessant itch still running through your veins unless you were the one to do it for her. She’d had more than enough getting off by herself; she wanted to know what sex was like, what you were like. “Yes, keep going…”

“Can I hear you say please?” Your palm rubbed over her roughly, enough to leave Wanda whining, but not to push her over any edge. Yes, you teased her for being good, but only because you loved those qualities in the other woman. It was so sweet how intently she obeyed rules; you couldn’t not use that to your advantage. 

She didn’t want to come off as needy, but that’s exactly what she was. Maybe in the future Wanda would push back more, insist that she didn’t want to beg, but for her present self, she’d do just about anything you asked. “Please…”

“What about..” It’d been too long without a kiss; a quick one for the sake of the last bits of your game, but nonetheless one Wanda chased when you pulled away, “Pretty please?” You could tell the only thing keeping the girl under you from having a fit was sliding your hand over her clit once more, something small for her to cling onto as you teased her into oblivion. Really you’d never met a girl so responsive, so sensitive, you hadn’t even gotten to take her underwear away before rendering her so needy.

“Please…pretty please, just touch me…” You were busy sucking a proper hickey into her neck when you finally slid two fingers into her panties, meeting her wet sex with a moan of your own. It was only a few rolls of your fingertips over her clit before Wanda was shaking, her thighs clamping unexpectedly around your hand, halting its movements before you had the chance to truly explore. There was some sadistic pleasure you got out of it, bringing Wanda to her end with so little effort— your darling little virgin to play with.

Her arms tightened impossibly around your neck, clutching you close while Wanda’s hips stuttered into the mattress. She wanted to love this orgasm, and to some extent she did, couldn’t deny that on a base level, it felt wonderful to release the tension the two of you’d built over the past several hours. But the higher, more aware pieces of Wanda were mortified for cumming so quickly just seconds after you’d first touched her. Stunned into silence, she waited for you to rip away and laugh at her or be mad that she’d lost so much control your fun was cut short. 

Reality though, was much different, better, as Wanda quickly found out the embarrassment of it all turned her on a little bit more, mostly because you never actually stopped your examination. Persistent hands only drew further into her panties, gathering whatever wetness your fingers found and smoothing it over the smooth skin of her folds, “Poor little church girl, just got so worked up she couldn’t help herself…”

There was an argument to be made that maybe you were having too much fun, but when you caught sight of Wanda’s flushed cheeks, lips swollen and lipstick smudged from her own biting as well as yours, you had to rethink if there was such a thing as too much when it came to Wanda. “You’re blushing so hard I’d think you didn’t like this if I couldn’t feel how soaked you are.” 

Your words did nothing to ease the deep red blossoming bright over her face and chest, but she couldn’t ignore you; you wouldn’t let her. Your free hand came to her jaw, a gentle nudge back in place to make her look at you— Wanda didn’t need force to be the good girl she inherently was. 

“Gonna let me make you cum again?” Small circles over her sensitive bud brought Wanda back to attention, head nodding as she let her arms fall heavily to her sides. She’d have been content just like that in all honesty, without making her cum again and simply letting her swim in ecstasy until she fell off to sleep, but you wanted to show her what a real, on purpose orgasm felt like. 

You moved on far too soon in her opinion, letting your wet fingers slide back and forth through her sex until Wanda was whimpering. Stroking over her weeping entrance earned you a surprised squeak, hand quick to grab your wrist and still it. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?”

Saying it aloud sounded silly; you knew she was a virgin and thanks to that silly never have I ever, you were well aware she’d masturbated before, but somehow it sounded worse to admit she’d never really put anything inside until now. “It’s just, well.. No one’s ever, I’ve never, done that.” 

You thought back to that night of Carol’s party as best as you could, remembered their teasing about the vibrator and Wanda’s lack of response which now made perfect sense. And oh did that strengthen your resolve to fuck her all that much more. Sure, all of this was new to the girl, but there was something about being the first person ever to see Wanda in such a state, spread open and vulnerable underneath you, awakened some primal need. “I’ll make you feel so good, Wanda, promise… Can I be your first?”

It was sweet of you to ask, a little late after she’d just cum a few minutes prior, but Wanda let her hand drop anyway, accepted the reassuring set of kisses you planted from her ear to the corner of her mouth as you began circling over her tight ring of muscle yet again. She couldn’t deny how much she’d thought about it, especially in the past couple weeks as you’d infiltrated her late night fantasies, having thought about any multitude of ways you could finally fuck her. They ranged from soft and sweet to rough and dirty; sometimes you’d lay her back and hold her as you pushed however many fingers you wanted into her, others you bent her over the nearest surface, already wearing the strap on toy she knew for a fact was tucked away in your closet, taking her so possessively she wept. 

Today had her leaning towards the first option, at least in actions. Words though, Wanda was much more flexible with those— even if she couldn’t make herself say fuck me right now. “Be gentle? Maybe only one at first…” 

You mumbled your agreement, letting your middle finger sink into her entrance for the first time. She’d prepared herself for some sort of pain or discomfort and admittedly, the small intrusion was weird for the first minute or so. You pulled out, so far she thought you’d leave completely, but then you drove back in and as you set a steady pace, slow as it was, Wanda started to feel better about it. “That’s it, baby, there you go… relax for me.”

It was easier to move after she’d taken a deep breath, one Wanda wasn’t aware she was holding in, inhaling and exhaling as you pushed into her again and again. Eventually your hand shifted, angling differently as if you were searching for something; she intended to ask what you were doing, but then your fingertip ran against something deep and Wanda choked on her words. 

You brushed against it lazily, giving the spot enough attention to catch your lover’s back arching, fighting the urge to start wiggling again too early, confirming it was just the place you were looking for. “Do you like it when I touch you there?”

This time when you stopped your hand, Wanda started moving her hips of her own accord, selfishly seeking out what you’d been able to find so easily. Vaguely she wondered if she’d muster up the courage to put her fingers inside herself next time she was on her own, was curious if she asked nicely enough would you show her how to do it. But no words left her mouth. And so your hand stayed motionless.

“Words, baby. Tell me what you like.” Partly just to hear her say it, but also to check in, needing to make sure you weren’t giving her too much too fast. Experienced as you were, you’d never taken anyone’s virginity before; you didn’t know how you’d forgive yourself if Wanda had a bad time because of you. She was all too special for that, whether you wanted to admit your feelings for her or not.

 “I do like your fingers…” Somehow Wanda had drawn you close enough to give you kisses now, her previously unoccupied hands finding their way under your shirt while her lips stayed busy at the hollow of your throat. She didn’t know what she was doing really, had no idea if you even liked to be touched in such a way, but she took your faint moan next to her ear as a yes. “You can add another, if you want.”

“Yeah?” You moved your head just enough to make eye contact, her shy nod making your heart swell. When you pushed back in this time, two digits stretched her open, patient as the first one had been, but Wanda whined at the new full feeling just the same. She was so hot and silky smooth, it felt like heaven around your fingers, Wanda’s walls constricting around you as you finally began inching deeper, “You’re so tight, Wanda, fuck..”

Her legs fell further apart as you inched closer, driving your fingers deeper on every stroke. Now you angled yourself purposefully, pressing into your new discovery until Wanda was gasping and panting. “Can you hear how wet you are? All I needed to do was fill you up a bit and you’ve gone all gushy and submissive, huh?”

A finger pressed to her lips silenced her long enough to force Wanda to listen to the obscene noises of you fucking into her, slick enough to coat your fingers and drip down the curve of her ass; she was sobbing with need by the time your thumb met her abandoned clit again. Wanda didn’t think the naughtiness of this should be affecting her nearly as much as it was, but she was far too gone to care. She felt bad and she loved it, already craved the next time you could make her feel this way. “Oh god, yes… please please-”

“Shh, I’ve got you, princess, go on and let me see you cum again.” It was too close to the words she’d imagined you saying for so long; paired with the coordinated curls of your fingers and rubs over her stuff bud, Wanda was falling all over again. Harder the second time, uninhibited moans and mewls echoing off the walls of her bedroom as her hips jerked and she clung to you. Diligently, you moved with her as she rode each new wave, letting her savor her first real orgasm at the hands of another person. It was amazing really, how beautiful she could look with her face all scrunched, forehead covered in the thinnest sheen of sweat, but the more you looked, the more you realized it was just Wanda you cared about.

No matter what she looked like, how she was, what she’d done or not done, you liked her so much you swore you could feel her tug at your heartstrings. “Such a pretty princess, what a good girl you are…”

Wanda never wanted you to stop talking to her, each new praise sending another aftershock through her oversensitive form. You took your fingers away before any pleasure could turn into pain, but she refused to let you free, even when you tried to get up. “Don’t leave yet.”

“I’m not leaving, I was just going to get you cleaned up.” She mumbled an okay, but still held on for a few minutes and you let her, ignoring the strain being bent over your knees brought to your lower back. You spent your time kissing over whatever bits of her neck and shoulder you could reach until Wanda released you, finally letting you sit up and stretch.

There was only silence as you peeled her wrinkled skirt and soaked underwear from her hips and down her legs, taking them with you to discard in her desk chair before grabbing her current pair of pajama shorts from the top of her dresser where she folded them each morning. The closest sweatshirt was the one she seemed to have permanently borrowed from you and so that returned back to the bed with you. You supposed you could’ve asked to borrow a pair of her sweatpants instead of just shedding your own on the ground and climbing back over to her, but your only thoughts were on how uncomfy yours had become and getting Wanda a new set of her own. 

“Can you sit up for me, sweetheart?” She did, slow as molasses, leaning heavily on your shoulders as soon as you switched her sweater for your hoodie. You were gentle in setting her back down in case she didn’t control her own fall, guiding her head into her pillow to make sure she didn’t hit it on anything else. “It’s not late yet and you’re so tired.”

It was a gentle tease, both of you knowing full well why she felt so spent, but for Wanda who’d never experienced such a sleepy post-sex haze, she didn’t have the willpower to fight something so blissful. “Does that mean cuddling with me is a no for now?”

You laughed at that, lifting her bottom half to let her shorts settle fully in place. “When have I ever said no to that?” Settling next to her was easy, Wanda rolling over until she was cozily plastered to your side, arms and legs wrapping around you like a koala. Smoothing her hair out as she rested her head on your chest, tranquility settled over you both, leaving Wanda to her many thoughts.

For as hyped as it was, Wanda didn’t really feel any different. Relaxed and sated, a pleasurable lingering throb between her legs, yes, but not dissimilar to the person she woke up as this morning. The biggest shift she felt was with you, your gentle coos and endearing massages to her back, hand having snuck under her sweatshirt just to prolong skin to skin contact; you were different to her. Not that you’d ever been rough with her, but there was some new level of intimacy that remained unlabeled, neither of you willing to speak up and address it.

“So..” She didn’t know where to start, what to talk about after having someone buried knuckle deep inside her, “That was something…”

“Certainly was,” Of all things, you weren’t surprised such casualness would come from her lips first; this was Wanda you were dealing with. Sweet, lovely Wanda Maximoff. “Something good? Unless you hated it-”

“No! Not at all, I really really liked it,” Unchanged as she felt, none of it meant Wanda was uninterested in sex, quite the opposite really. Now that the first hurdle was over, she felt freer to test out more; she’d started to believe she’d never get to try it out. Maybe now, with you who was so willing to take her how she is, you’d explore right along with her. “I’d put it in the great category, at least.”

“Oof, just great? What an ego blow,” You faux pouted, sighing dramatically as Wanda clamored atop you. As much as you’d loved seeing your doctor game play out, it meant nothing if Wanda went away unsatisfied, but if her wide grin and rosy cheeks were any indicator, she enjoyed herself just fine and that was a true job well done.

It was her turn to fix you now, tickling your sides until you cracked a smile and kissing your jaw. Wanda hadn’t expected you to be any kind of insecure about your abilities, not when you’d been so patient with her, kind enough to not only indulge her in the sex she desired, but also check in and make sure she was alright. She didn’t think she could fall for you more than she had, but today you’d proven her so very wrong. “Fine, it was more than great. It was the best orgasm I’ve ever had and I can’t wait to do it again. Happy?” 

“Oh? Can’t wait, huh?” The brunette shook her head, hips pressing down against yours suggestively. She was more than aware you hadn’t gotten to cum, didn’t know how to offer that to you, but hopefully if she hinted enough you’d catch on. You squeezed her sides, let her rock slowly back and forth, greedily taking the small amount of friction to soothe your pent up need. There was no way you’d have predicted she’d give any thought to you on her first time, but again, it shouldn’t have shocked you when your new lover was an always caring Wanda. “I thought you were about to take a nap.”

“You said it yourself, it’s early…” Wanda bent until she could rest her elbows on either side of you, rutting her pelvis down to yours more insistently now. After a few moments, you did start guiding her motions, selfishly moving her at the pace that felt best to you. Neglecting to put new underwear on Wanda meant there weren’t many layers between the two of you, both losing yourselves quickly to the heat growing from being pressed together. 

If you’d stayed like that for the rest of the evening, you’d be the happiest student on campus, perhaps just long enough to find your own orgasm. But as it was, you were barely on the precipice of hitting that high when Wanda’s phone chimed from across the room. She jumped away from you as if whoever was calling could see what was happening and you groaned, more needy than irritated, but Wanda was already leaping out of bed.

Only three people tended to call her: you, who was clearly preoccupied at the moment; Pietro, but he always texted first to make sure she wasn’t busy; and her father, who called out of the blue and worried himself sick when Wanda didn’t pick up the phone. As she approached her desk, the picture of her and him together on the day he’d first dropped her off to college lit up the screen and she knew it was him. “Hi, papa! Yes yes, I’m doing perfectly fine…”

You didn’t understand most of the conversation, Wanda flowing in and out of Sokovian as she told him she was okay and easily lied about being engrossed in homework as to why she hadn’t answered the phone immediately. She paced back and forth over the carpet as they discussed something you’d made out to be related to home, the call only ending because Wanda insisted that although she wanted to talk more, she had to get back to her studying. Her face lit up then and you assumed he must’ve given her some praising comment, Wanda’s smile always hopelessly wide when she felt proud of herself. 

Signing off with an I love you too, Wanda hung up and pursed her lips before turning your way with a forlorn look. “What’s up?”

As soon as you sat up, opening her arms to beckon her back over, Wanda made her way to you, settling on her mattress with her legs thrown over your lap. “My dad misses me,” She supposed she really shouldn’t complain, not when she truly did love him so much, but he stressed so much it in turn made her worry about him and if her absence was more of a burden than something for him to be proud of. “I said I’d visit this weekend, but I don’t have a car which means he always has to come pick me up and drive back and I hate making him do that.”

“I’ll drive you.” The words were out of your mouth before you processed them, having offered up your services without Wanda even asking for your help. You didn’t regret saying it; you wanted to see Wanda’s town where she and most everyone you knew grew up, curious about her childhood home Wanda always spoke of so fondly. 

“And make you do the same thing, only twice? No, that’s not fair.” Wanda couldn’t ask you to do that; she really should learn to drive one of these days. Technically she did know how, but she’d never bothered to get her full license; she never had anywhere to go that she couldn’t walk to or get Pietro to drive her. She’d never expected her dad would insist on coming to pick her up to spend time with her so often and she was too polite to tell him it was too much, not that he’d ever listen.

“Well..” You nuzzled into her cheek, wanting to rouse Wanda from her worries and keep her mood light. Besides wanting to explore Westview, a part of you resented having to spend a whole weekend without Wanda so soon and you were loath to admit you’d be bored on your own. “If your dad wouldn’t mind a guest, maybe I could spend the weekend with you?” 

She twisted to face you then, eyes wide with disbelief. No one ever came to her house for her; to ask about Pietro or wonder if the local priest was available for impromptu advice, but never just.. for Wanda. “You want to go home with me… and stay?”

“Unless you think your dad would mind, but otherwise sure, why not. We could leave tomorrow after class and drive back on Sunday, that’s what you’ve done before, right?” So far this school year, Wanda’s only been home once, an uncharacteristic drop from the nearly every weekend she’d gone in the past few years of college. The excuse she’d used was you, her father having heard so much about you from how Wanda cited her plans with you as to why she was busy so often. 

Even so, he was always excited for her, happy his daughter had someone to spend so much time with, and Wanda knew he wouldn’t have any problems getting to finally meet you. Her concern was if you’d run for the hills as soon as you met him and his overbearing ways. “Just… bring nice clothes, okay? If you wear too many t-shirts and ripped jeans, he’ll accuse me of making friends with some girl version of my brother.”

The Glazyev tapes were first made public by Ukraine’s SBU [Security Service] in August 2016, with more recordings revealed during the trial (in absentia) of former Ukrainian President Viktor Yanukovych.  They appear to be intercepted telephone conversations between Sergei Glazyev, a senior adviser to Russian President Vladimir Putin and various other figures, including Konstantin Zatulin, Director of the Russian Institute of CIS Countries who was declared persona non grata in Ukraine back in 2006 for activities linked with seeking Crimea’s secession from Ukraine.

The tapes unfortunately cover only a very small period of time – from 27 February to 3  March 2014.  It is, however, very clear even from the conversations intercepted on those days that Glazyev and Zatulin were “financing” supposedly separatist protests in Crimea, Kharkiv, Odesa and Zaporizhya. The amounts of money mentioned are high enough to mean that this was no private venture on Glazyev’s part and easily enough to ensure a considerable number of paid ‘pro-Russian protesters’.  It is equally evident that certain Ukrainian politicians (Vadim Kolesnichenko; Oleg Tsarev; Viktor Medvedchuk and Serhiy Kivalov), as well as one religious figure (Metropolitan Agafangel from the Orthodox Church under the Moscow Patriarchate) were, at very least, seen as allies.   

On 27 February, for example, Zatulin mentions to Glazyev that he has already spent 25 thousand dollars, and that he needs a further fifty thousand by the next day.  The money seems earmarked not only for Crimea, but for paying people in Kharkiv and Odesa.

Later that day, Zatulin reports that “we have financed Kharkiv, financed Odesa”.  There are ‘applications’ from other regions, he adds, but that he’s put them on hold while the question of finance is resolved.

With regard to Crimea, Zatulin mentions that there are about six thousand people with Russian flags, and a few ‘talking heads’, but that two prominent pro-Russian politicians Sergei Aksyonov and Sergei Tskekov are nowhere to be seen.  Glazyev uses vulgar language, adding: “and we fed them so much”.  In the following conversation, it becomes clear that Glazyev does not support Aksyonov’s supposed ‘election’ as Crimean ‘leader’ on the afternoon of 27 February.

Of those six thousand pro-Russian demonstrators, it is likely that many were the ones brought in by coaches for a counter-demonstration to the 10 thousand-strong demonstration organized by the Mejlis (representative assembly) of the Crimean Tatar People on 26 February.  It was that demonstration which almost certainly preventedv Russia’s plan of carrying off an apparently ‘parliamentary’ coup with pro-Russian politicians forcing through a ‘vote’ to change Crimea’s status.

One of the key ideas that Glazyev pushes during his conversations is that all ‘uprisings’ must appear to be from the local population. This had been the plan in Crimea on 26 February that the Crimean Tatars and other Ukrainians who gathered in support of Ukraine’s unity thwarted. The tapes show that the same attempts were planned in Odesa and Zaporizhya.

Monument to the Haymarket Martyrs, Forest Home Cemetery, Forest Park, Illinois( 1893)     Uncredited and Undated Photograph

It was the judicial murder of the Haymarket Martyrs, radicals and union activists, that brought May Day to be the International Workers Holiday.  Strikes had been held in numerous cities across the United States beginning on May 1, 1886, calling for decent wages and recognition of workers’ unions.  Some of those demonstrations became violent as a result of attempts by police and bosses to suppress them.  On May 4, 1886 in Haymarket Square, Chicago, a demonstration was held to protest the police killing of striking workers at the McCormick Reaper Works the day before.  At that demonstration, a bomb was thrown at cops, probably by a paid provocateur.  The police then rioted, beating the crowd.  Eight prominent labor activists and anarchists were rapidly arrested and charged with murder.  During a rushed trial, seven of the men, some of whom who hadn’t even been present at the demonstration, were convicted of murder, based on largely fabricated evidence or no evidence at all.  Six were sentenced to death and one to 15 years in prison.  Four of those men were hanged and one committed suicide on his way to the gallows.  The two survivors were ultimately pardoned when the murderous farce of the trial was made known.  The Second International declared May Day the International Workers Holiday in 1904, commemorating the General Strike that began in several US cities on May 1, 1886 and which culminated in the violence at Haymarket Square four days later.

Happy May Day, everyone.  Solidarity forever.