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itsclydebitches · 7 months

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Zevlor: An Angsty Character Analysis

Hey, Zevlor simps. Can I interest anyone in 4,000 words about our favorite disaster tiefling? 💀

“We can’t stay, but we’ll be slaughtered if we leave—we’re no fighters.”

Back during my first play-through this is the line that turned Zevlor from another dime-a-dozen, exposition spouting NPC to a character I was legitimately interested in. “We’re no fighters.” My DnD ignorance abounds, but even I could see that wasn’t an accurate statement. Here’s a mountain of a man sporting fancier armor than my level 2 Tav knows exists yet, having wrecked half the goblin hoard with his crossbow and, if you let him, he'll happily turn to punching as a solution to verbal disagreements. Plus, he’s clearly the one giving the orders, so what do you mean you’re not a fighter?

Having explored the Grove a bit I chalked it up to a generalized assessment of the refugees as a whole. They’re mostly kids, civilians, and would-be protectors who only look the part of fighters in cobbled-together armor. One woman is grappling with the guilt of killing someone for the first time, even an enemy. Lakrissa is sure they’re all going to get slaughtered and is willing to put money on that fact. Meanwhile, the couple you meet are more concerned with what pet they’ll get when they somehow, someway, make it to the city. Don't worry about how that'll happen. You learn later that even those like Ronan are small potatoes compared to most of the baddies you’ll face. On paper he looks and sounds like the real deal—dressed in robes, talking up an apprenticeship with the famous Lorroakan—but scenes like the celebration light show and his own fury at needing to be saved, again, highlight how far he still has to go. The point is that Zevlor is right: these aren’t fighters and he at 18 strength, paladin, former commander, is definitely the exception.

However, BG3 is the sort of detail-heavy game where I’d expect them to include that exception in the dialogue. “We can’t stay, but we’ll be slaughtered if we leave—these people aren’t fighters.” Zevlor’s inclusion of himself in this assessment continued to nag at me and it didn’t start to make sense until I delved into his tag here on tumblr, with more patient players than myself posting everything there is to know about the tiefling. (Thanks, all.) Zevlor is fascinating to me in part because he has this contradictory nature, one example of which is that he’s a very talented fighter who desperately doesn’t want to be a fighter anymore.

…but also he totally does.

We overhear in his dialogue to Tilses that Zevlor is adamant about shedding the titles he’s earned through combat: Hellrider, Commander, Sir. He insists that they’re just civilians now and it’s not like he’s being disingenuous here—note that he introduces himself as just “Zevlor” to Tav. Zevlor means what he says to Tilses and we can see that he’s trying to both reinforce his point and lesson the blow by referring to her as “Tilly.” The nickname is a sweet one, hinting at their close bond in just a single word, reminding her that he’s not saying this to hurt her, he cares for her… but the nickname is simultaneously something he never would have used as her commander. The intimacy meant to comfort is also a hard blow to weather. They're now people who use nicknames inappropriate for the hierarchy of battle.

So Zevlor means what he says here, means it enough that Tilses is convinced and drops her use of “Commander,” but there’s definitely a hint of bitterness in his voice. At least, I’ve always heard it. Zevlor is steadfast in his conviction here, even going so far as to say, “I’m done soldiering, Tilly” when discussing what will come next at Baldur’s Gate. Yet for all of that his tone conveys (understandable) anger and disappointment that it’s come to this. Zevlor doesn’t act like someone who truly wants this change, but rather someone who’s been forced to accept it.

Is it outside forces unwillingly influencing him then? Did Avernus truly change things irrevocably? No, not really. At least, not in the way Zevlor likes to claim. Tilses herself states that being a Hellrider is for life; nothing can take away that title. You lost your post? Your whole city? Most of the people under your protection? Doesn’t matter! You’re a Hellrider forever, no matter the circumstances. I can easily picture a time in Zevlor's life where he would have agreed with Tilses wholeheartedly. They are Hellriders, dammit, and so long as there’s one person looking for their help they will wield that title alongside their blades. And right now, Zevlor has a lot more than just one person in need of his assistance.

So it’s not that Avernus truly stripped them of that identity. Nothing can do that. Zevlor is not rejecting titles and planning retirement because the mechanisms of fate are forcing him to.

He’s doing all that because he’s lost confidence in himself.

Even as someone with a shaky understanding of DnD classes, I love the parallel between a broken oath and the rejection of a lifelong title. If Zevlor can fail in his oath—or in his faith entirely, according to the memories stemming from his pod—why-ever would he think that any other ‘permanent’ part of his identity was worth fighting for? If you can loose the very thing you’ve built your entire life around, every important aspect of yourself, tied to your very soul… what’s a bestowed title compared to that? Zevlor doesn’t believe himself worthy of being a Hellrider anymore, but I think that goes deeper than a string of horrific circumstances making him feel incompetent. As an Oathbreaker, Zevlor likely believes that if he couldn’t uphold that, he can’t uphold anything. Calling himself a Hellrider would be a lie. A fiction. A pathetic, dangerous, insulting fiction at that. It’s like calling yourself the “Hero” while continually failing those around you. Sure, others might insist it’s a title you’ve earned, one you will always carry with you, but you don’t believe them anymore and at a certain point calling yourself that feels worse than embracing the title of “Villain." You don’t want to be the villain… but you want to pretend you’re the hero even less. Pretending is exhausting.

We see this struggle in the many ways that Zevlor fails, or almost fails, to uphold the ideals that originally guided him. I use the term “villain” above deliberately because Zevlor is not merely a former hero-type who’s self confidence has been shattered, or who has been reduced to a civilian, or who thinks themselves useless; he’s actively fighting against temptations that, under less stressful situations, he’d never even consider. I don’t think he is a villain, I think he’s a flawed, struggling victim who sees his own, inevitable mistakes as villainous—and the longer that warped perspective continues the easier it is to fall into bad behaviors. This cycle is perfectly summarized in the autobiography Zevlor keeps by his bed:

“When every passer-by thinks you a thief and a heretic, it is deeply tempting to become one.”

We don’t know if this is Zevlor’s autobiography (as far as I’m aware, anyway) but even if it’s not the words have clearly resonated enough for him to keep them nearby. This particular line paints a pretty clear picture of Zevlor’s struggle. If everyone you meet says you’re devil-kin, vermin, or would-be criminal, isn’t it easier to just give them what they want? If you can’t persuade them otherwise, why put in the effort of trying? If he can’t be Faithful to his God, why have faith in anything at all? If he can’t save these people—setback after setback, mistake after mistake—why is he even making the effort?

Zevlor obviously is trying, very, very hard, which is why such thoughts are merely temptations rather than actual, questionable actions. Still, the Grove gives us numerous examples of the precipice he’s balanced on—and the ways Tav can tip him in one direction or another. You can talk Zevlor down from his anger and get him to acknowledge his disgust in nearly sinking to Aradin’s level. You can also let him boil over and punch the human at a time when the last thing anyone needs is more violence. You can convince Zevlor that there are peaceful ways of stopping Kagha's ritual, or you can help him in pursuing the darker temptation to kill her. It’s a “low” thought, but at his own admission he hasn’t been above entertaining it. Zevlor’s requests for help, though always polite and humble, carry a spark of manipulation in them too. He’s not above leveraging your previously selfless good deed to his advantage—"She owes you for saving this grove"—and if you approach him before speaking with Kagha he’ll claim that the ritual will “be trouble—for all of us.” Except, no? Not really? Tav can make it clear that they’re just here for a healer, they’re only passing through, and as a fighter they are not beholden to the Grove’s sanctuary as the teiflings are. It’s not trouble for everyone involved, yet Zevlor frames it as such in the hopes that (unnecessary) self-interest may motivate you if selflessness fails. Finally, if Zevlor dies in your play-through and you use Speak the Dead on him, he will admit to having “plenty” of secrets, none of which he’ll share. Admittedly, this may be the result of cut content, specifically a story-line in which Zevlor knowingly betrays the tieflings rather than being tricked by the Absolute. Still, the game as it stands is the story we have and within it we’re given a man who is both fighting against these dark urges (ha) and has a past riddled with secrets. If Zevlor is anything, it’s blunt when it comes to his own failings, accurate and otherwise. So how terrible must these secrets be that he outright refuses to divulge them when, generally speaking, most corpses speak freely in death?

However, out of all of this the struggle I’m most intrigued by is the one surrounding the gate. Zevlor represents the tieflings: persecuted refugees, vulnerable civilians, people seeking to survive through cooperation, specifically by joining a community. Kagha represents the druids (or at least a vocal subset of them in Halsin’s absence): bigoted individuals, powerful fighters, people seeking to survive by giving in to their fears, specifically by keeping themselves isolated. This is the moral dichotomy of the Grove and it is symbolized through the gate. Zevlor wants to open it to everyone whereas Kagha wants to close it, permanently.

So isn’t it odd that Zevlor is the one ordering it shut?

When the scene first starts Kanon shouts down that no, he won’t open the gate. Zevlor said that no one is allowed in. Notably, he’s saying this to Aradin and his crew, people that the Grove is at least passingly familiar with, given that Halsin left with them to search the temple. It’s also notable that Zevlor isn’t expecting goblins to attack the Grove. He’s shocked that this is suddenly a problem, brought about by Aradin’s decision—“You lead them here?”— and the entire point of staying at the Grove is that it’s at least comparatively safe. Yes, there have been more attacks lately, but Zevlor seems to be relying on the Grove’s relatively unknown location, as well as the fact that goblins are normally disorganized. The safety is only compromised because Aradin brought a hunting party back, so Zevlor has no reason to expect any visitors, let alone ones that would be a threat.

More importantly, he should welcome such visitors even if he did expect them. After all, that’s precisely what the tieflings are: strangers with no ulterior motives other than to survive. Broadly speaking it makes perfect sense why he'd shut the gates. Zevlor’s first priority is to his people, so anything that keeps them safe is, theoretically, a good thing. But through the lens of his specific characterization and this specific, moral dilemma, it’s an awfully hypocritical decision. Based on everything we’ve seen, our party would not have been welcomed by Zevlor if we’d arrived without danger on our heels and a rescue to endear him to us. So his people should be welcomed, trusted, kept safe, given the benefit of the doubt… but Zevlor isn’t necessarily willing to extend that same trust to others. At the end of the day, he and Kagha want a version of the same thing: safety for those they deem are worthy of it.

It’s precisely these flaws and temptations that make Zevlor such a great character to me, even before he’s tricked by the Absolute. The fandom has leaned hard into Zevlor’s self-loathing and let me tell you, I love it (kisses, hugs, and cookies for you all), but canonically I think he has more reason to fear himself than we tend to portray in the H/C fics. I’m not saying he’s a bad person. Rather, it’s precisely because Zevlor is such a good person that he has the capacity to fall so far. It’s his all-consuming desire to protect his family that leads Zevlor to do and consider so much that a paladin would normally balk at. Denying others the safety you’ve been granted. Subtly manipulating others to do your dirty work. Considering murder.

Zevlor is someone torn between doing the Right Thing and the thing he believes will help those under his care survive. Importantly, when we first meet him he considers these to be two separate courses of action. So can you imagine what goes through his head when he first sees Tav saving everyone and doing so righteously? I think it’s integral to Zevlor’s characterization that the game all but forces you to play the Good Guy in that initial encounter. A cut scene starts, you’re thrown into combat immediately afterwards, and unless you plan to start attacking the Grove members alongside the goblins (which the mechanics discourage through the coloring that distinguishes enemies from allies) you will always finish this fight as Zevlor’s hero. Sure, you can be an asshole afterwards and demand payment. You could already be plotting your betrayal and the slaughter of all the refugees. But in this moment you are nothing but a miracle made flesh in his eyes. Right from the start Tav is succeeding in all the ways Zevlor feels like he's failed. You're the hero.

More specifically, you’re an Every-Man Hero. We might have epic backstories for our Tavs, but within confines of the game you’re largely a nobody when not playing an Origin character. How powerful must that have been to witness then? A total stranger, someone who has no ties to the tieflings or even, depending on your class, any sworn reason to help others, putting their life on the line to save what is most precious to Zevlor? I think a lot about the fact that he never asks Wyll to step in and try to change Kagha’s mind. She owes him just as much as she does Tav—Wyll is an equal participant in that fight and, if your shoddy play style is anything like mine, he likely did more damage—and Wyll is clearly invested in the tiefling’s survival, training the kids as he is. Now, obviously Zevlor’s reticence is largely a question of assigned roles (we need to be the one engaging with Kagha because we’re the protagonist/player) but, like Zevlor’s choice to include himself in the Not a Fighter group, it would have been all too easy to explain this away within the narrative. One comment about how Wyll already tried and failed, or how Kagha doesn’t trust Warlocks, or hell, maybe you don’t meet Wyll in the Grove at all. It’s an easy thing to accomplish and though this is edging more into the realm of headcanon than anything else, I can’t help but think that Wyll isn’t the kind of person that Zevlor could turn to for help right now. Because he’s a folk hero. The Blade of Frontiers, known far and wide for his impressive, selfless deeds. Zevlor is struggling so hard to keep the tieflings safe, tempted by all the unsavory solutions that might achieve that, drowning in self-hatred as his past and current failings catch up with him, wanting nothing more than to be his peoples’ protector:

“I would be a paladin again—with a god’s purpose, a god’s power. Everything I needed to protect my people. And all the while, the cult tortured them. They fought, and ran, and died around me, while I imagined myself their savior.”

Three of the things Zevlor mutters while trapped in the pod are “Hellrider… for… life…,” “Trust… in me…,” and “Children… look away… look at me…” He wants to be the protector, the one children look to for reassurance, he wants his words to Tilly to be a lie and he wants a way to prove that he is a Hellrider for life… but he’s not. At least, Zevlor doesn’t believe it. He lost his titles while Wyll still proudly bears his. Wyll trains the children to fight while Zevlor can only get swept up in anger at them being threatened. The people trust Wyll, adore him, he’s the hero and Zevlor… is not. Not anymore.

It’s too painful to approach Wyll and admit all that. That would be a hell of a blow to Zevlor's pride. But Tav? A stranger? A nobody? The Every-man who had no reason to help or reputation pressuring them, saving them anyway? That’s inspiring. Someone like Tav could be the answer and even, perhaps, the proof that Zevlor could redeem himself. Neither of them are folk heroes, untouchable in their assumed perfection. Tav is a living, breathing example of how the flawed, everyday adventurer can be everything Zevlor strives for.

No wonder he won’t shut up about them in the Shadowlands.

All of this is why it’s so tragic that Zevlor wasn’t given a redemption arc. Sure, you can recruit him for the final battle against the Netherbrain, but there’s no quest to change the cast’s opinion of him—or change Zevlor’s opinion of himself. All his content at the end of Act 2 and Act 3 reinforces that self-hatred.

Let’s make a list, shall we?

Nearly every line of his reunion with Tav has Zevlor painting himself in the worst light possible, from “a lie kinder than the truth” to his refusal to join you because he believes he’ll stab you in the back. You cannot convince him of the Absolute’s manipulation and there’s no response to his belief that such horrors start within the person like, “Of course it does! Because we’re all flawed and equally capable of good and evil deeds! That potential doesn’t make you irredeemable, Zevlor, it makes you mortal!!”

He’s utterly failed as his peoples’ champion and he’s also deemed “unworthy” of being a True Soul. Obviously not being chosen by the Absolute is a good thing, but for a man drowning in self-loathing that’s one hell of a complicated rejection.

Nearly all the tieflings hate him now, all those people he’s been sacrificing his soul to keep safe. I found it particularly devastating that this is one of the rare occasions where nailing a persuasion check doesn’t change the person’s mind. There’s at least one tiefling at Moonrise (I’m drawing a blank on her name) who will believe you when you explain how the Absolute influenced Zevlor, but that doesn’t lead to forgiveness.

Zevlor is deemed unimportant on a literal, narrative level. He is very easy to miss in the pods (I nearly did on my first play-through) and the game does incredibly little to dissuade you from that mistake. Putting aside for a moment that obviously an Origin companion is more significant than a minor NPC, compare this to Shadowheart screaming from her own pod, the game making it abundantly clear that this is someone in need of help—someone worth rescuing. She’ll even say later that you could have run past, more concerned with your own survival and the big picture heroics to bother with her. How must it feel then, if Zevlor ever learns that Tav was there and never stopped for him?

If you do miss Zevlor… oh boy. We’ve probably all seen at least a recording of Orin’s so-called gift. There are plenty of characters who can meet untimely and devastating ends, but very few go through this level of horror. Zevlor—after being held captive, remember—is tortured by God’s Favorite Torturer. He is stripped of his personhood and reduced to a mere “message,” a “pet.” Zevlor is further humiliated in death by being literally stripped of his armor—not just vulnerable in his nakedness, but denied the last symbol of his faith, his status, his power—and it’s always struck me that this is the closest we see to him 'enjoying' an intimate moment, this parody in Orin’s painting. Zevlor is one of the NPC’s most in need of physical comfort and instead he’s forced into this torturous mockery of a sex scene. It also hits hard that when Tav first spots his body the narration says that Zevlor “might almost be sleeping.” Undoubtedly this is a man who isn’t taking good care of himself. He needs a good night’s rest, yet this horrifying trick is all he gets.

As if all this weren’t enough, most of your companion are VERY critical of Zevlor while commenting on his demise. It’s one thing for the tieflings to believe the worst given their ignorance and the fact that they are the ones who suffered from Zevlor’s failure, but your company understands the Absolute and the ways that she gets her hooks in people. Still, Astarion calls him a “wet rag” even if he did deserve better than this. Shadowheart wouldn’t have wished this on him either, but she can’t help but slip in a “no matter his failings.” Lae’zel, often the most blunt, straight up says that he was “always destined to fail his people—and to fail us.” Wyll shakes his head and intones that “even good intentions can lead us down deadly paths.” Only Gale and Karlach stick to mourning the dead rather than airing his shortcomings.

When I spoke to my allies before the final battle Zevlor didn’t have a cut scene. It became clear to me later that this must have been a bug in my play-through, but at the time it only reinforced my feelings that his story was incomplete. Looking on Youtube I’ve found recordings of him saying that he is a Hellrider once more and he would “die a proud man if [he] were to die this day”… but that rings as terribly hollow given where we left him. Last we were together, Zevlor was saying in no uncertain terms that he could not be trusted, he would fail again, he was unworthy of forgiveness. Where did this change of heart come from? It makes perfect sense that he would help Tav in this moment—he begs to be of some use after getting free—but not that he would present himself with such confidence. Within the story as it’s been told this feels… fake. Like Zevlor is putting on a mask to fit the mood of this lively, optimistic party. Which, in turn, gives the “I would die a proud man” line a terrifying implication to me. Does Zevlor expect to die this day? Does he intend to? What would persuade him not to lay down his life here and now? His mission is complete. The tieflings are safe—though not by his hand. There's no hero's welcome waiting for him after this battle. They hate him. He hates himself, and by his own admission the one thing that could still make him proud would be to die at Tav’s side, trying to do one last bit of good. If someone said that to me after everything Zevlor has been through I would keep them far away from the front lines.

(I did, for the record lol.)

I’m not saying anything new then when I go, “Larian, PLEASE add more to his story.” Give us a Zevlor side-quest to renew his oath. Let us invite him to our camp. Something to link the broken man mid-game and the confident fighter at the end so that the latter doesn’t feel like an alarm bell with two legs and a tail. I mean yeah, I get hooked on minor characters so 75% of this is simply me wanting more content of a fave, but I also I do legitimately believe that BG3’s story would benefit from tying up loose ends like this.

Zevlor is a fantastic character, someone who contains an astounding amount of complexity for so little screen time. You have to follow up on that complexity though. If he’s meant to be a purely tragic figure, okay, fine, that’s the ending you get with Orin. But one where he joins you with a smile and reclaims a title he's previously rejected with such fervor requires more work in the middle; a through-line that explains how someone with so much self-loathing learns to think of himself as the hero again.

Because it does all come down to Zevlor’s perception of himself. He was always a hero, flaws and all. He always was and always will be a Hellrider.

The UI knows what's up :)

#BG3 #Zevlor #bg3 Zevlor #wow this took forever #someone cry over this wet cat of a tiefling with me #mymetas

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loveisanimaginarydagger3000 · 6 months

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The Babysitter (37)

Meet Me In My Office

MILF Wanda Maximoff X Reader 18+

Summary: In need of money and a way to escape the problems at home, you get a job babysitting two lovely boys named Billy and Tommy Maximoff. What happens when you start to feel things you shouldn't for their mother? Will it bloom into love or leave you heartbroken?

A/N- I would just like to say that there will be some sensitive issues in this story such as alcoholism, homophobia, anxiety as well as more mature content such as smut so, if you continue to read this, please consider this warning.

The Babysitter Master list | General Master List

Chapter 37- W/c 4.7k This chapter is entirely 18+ Smut

Tag list- @natsluttt @cerberus-spectre @dorabledewdroop @bibliophilicbi @hopelesslyfallenninlove @simpform1lfs @get-the-fuck-outta-here @natashaswife4125 @marvelwomen-simp @supercorpstan97 @aliherreraaa @aru-son @the-ox-fan20

Meet Me In My Office

A/N- Updates from now will be really slow regarding this fic as I was posting all the chapters from my AO3/Wattpad onto here and we have reached the final one prewritten. I am a college student with a busy life so apologies for the delays in writing. Enjoy the smut :)

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As soon as the door was quietly and carefully shut behind you, Wanda's body was pressed up against yours, her hands cupping your jaw, tilting your head up to meet her lips in a sensual kiss. You softly moaned into the kiss, the two of you smiling into it as her thumbs stroked your cheeks, her mouth moving against yours languidly as you leaned into her body, revelling in the feeling of her body so close to yours. Your hands glided down her body, resting on her hips, fingering sliding through the belt loops of her jeans to tug her closer to you, a smile playing on your lips as she pulls back, eyes darkening as she lets her gaze scan across your features.

It had been a tiring and eventful week with the twins now home constantly, yourself and Wanda juggling work and caring for the boys which proved harder than the two of you predicted, leaving you to both trudge into bed with nothing more than an innocent goodnight kiss. Now however, you longed to feel her touch, to be driven mad by her and it was becoming abundantly clear that she felt the same way about you.

The kiss that was slow and intimate swiftly built as desire and arousal pooled between your thighs, Wanda's fingers threading through your hair, tugging your head where she wanted as her leg slotted between your thighs, pressing into your core in the most perfect way. A groan left you when she pulled back from the kiss, your hips subtly grinding against her thigh when her teeth bit down on your lower lip gently and dragged it back, eventually releasing it and peering into your eyes with the most seductive look, the green in her eyes replaced with pure hunger.

"Detka," she sighs out sultrily at the shell of your ear, kissing along your jaw to murmur into your ear as she knew how wet her voice made you. "Do you have any idea what you do to me?" she groans lowly, accent wrapping around her words sinfully, your back arching off the wall to press further into her body, hips still slowly grinding against her leg, pleasure building in the pit of your stomach, "I can't get enough of you."

"Fuck Wanda," is all you can managed back in response, the older woman letting her kisses travel down the side of your neck, sucking faintly to leave a brief red mark before licking up a stripe against the column of your throat, smirking when she could feel the vibrations of your groan. "I need you," you practically whimper, not caring how pathetic you must sound, eyes begging her to do something, anything to you as her lips meet yours again, tongue effortlessly sliding into your mouth and swallowing your desperate sounds.

Her hands glide down your body as her tongue moves against yours, the kiss becoming lewd and messy as you mirrored her earlier actions, threading your fingers through her silky locks, keeping her close. You moaned into her mouth in surprise when her hands reached the back of your thighs, lifting you up and walking towards the bed as your legs wrapped instinctively around her waist, both of you smirking into the kiss. Gently, she lowered you onto the soft mattress, your hair sprawling behind you against the sheets as her body towered over you, eyes flickering between your eyes and lips as she lowered her mouth to ghost yours.

"Tell me what you want, Moya Lyubov," she husks out against your lips, nose brushing yours as she teasingly makes you try to chase her lips, smile turning dominant as she watches you part your lips, head tilting to try and catch her lips, eyes hazy with lust.

"You, just you," you sigh back, her leg returning to the spot between your thighs, firmly pressed against your core earning a moan in response, her eyes somehow darkening even more.

At your words, her mouth meets yours once more but this time it's different. It's hot, desperate and passionate but also loving and intimate, her conveying her love for you into it as she pours everything into the kiss, both of you moaning at the intensity of it. Your hands fist into the hem of her shirt, desperately holding her close as you get lost in the sensations of her addictive lips, touch, sounds. Fuck, she was just intoxicating.

Her fingers move to rest on the underside of your jaw, angling your head up for kiss after kiss as you gasp into each other's mouths, lips relentless as they refuse to part, your hips now comfortably grinding unabashedly against her knee, pleasure coursing through your mind.

"That's it Detka," she praises in a pant against you, eyes closed as she moves her kisses to your jaw, nibbling softly against the skin, sending a shiver down your spine as arousal continues to pool between your legs, panties well and truly soaked. "Use my thigh, that's a good girl," her tone a sinful murmur at your ear once more, a pathetic whimper escaping you.

"Wanda- Fuck," you moan out, hiding your face at the crook of her neck, lips attached to any bit of skin you can reach, mouth parting when she pushes her knee firmer against you for you to grind along, a string of desperate moans leaving you. You can hear her soft sighs and low moans as her body moves against yours, your hips frantically moving against her leg as you can feel the pleasure bubbling inside you, your orgasm swiftly approaching at her actions.

When a choked moan escapes you, clit brushing against her perfectly, Wanda moves her hand to your throat, guiding you away from her neck and forcing you to look into her eyes, submission evident in yours as hers radiate pure dominance. Your eyes flutter shut when another wave of pleasure washes through you, body teetering on the edge of your orgasm as her fingers remain applying a slight pressure to your throat, the older woman unable to stop thinking about how you were such a pretty mess for her.

"Please," you whine out, hands moving to her back, nails digging in through her shirt as you hold onto her as if your life depended on it, mouth crashing back to hers to try and muffle your moans as your hips start to lose their rhythm, moving uncontrollably against her.

"Please what?" she teases, knowing exactly what you want her to say.

"Wanda," you groan, fluttering your eyes open and pleading with her to just give you what you want.

"I want you to say it," she rasps out, moving one of her hands down your body to your hips, guiding you along her thigh, another moan being torn from the back of your throat.

"Please can I come?" you whimper, head lolling back against the mattress as you wait for her permission to come, wanting to be good for her. You always wanted to be her good girl.

"Come for me Detka," she whispers, mouth instantly claiming yours to muffle the guttural noise that leaves you, body crashing into a euphoric state as pleasure courses through you, hands clutching at her as your hips continue to rock against her. Wanda eagerly swallows up all the sinful sounds that leave you, her lips moving to your jaw as you struggle to kiss her back, lost for breath as your eyes flutter shut, body riding out the aftershocks of your orgasm.

Her hand moves from your hips to your hair, brushing the stray strands out of the way as your eyes slowly flutter open, her kisses travelling across your face as you smile against her into the next kiss, this once slower as you gradually recover.

"Good girl," she praises once again, smirking at the way your cheeks instantly turn red, an embarrassed noise leaving you, her slowly pushing her body up slightly, moving to straddle your waist, the sight of her on top of you, breasts in your face, swiftly causing the embarrassment to fade away, arousal consuming your body once more.

"So pretty," you mumble, kissing her collar bones as you sit up, fingers moving to the hem of her shirt, pulling on it impatiently as she smirks at your eagerness. Her fingers replace yours, hands tugging off the clothing item, leaving you to be amazed at the sheer beauty of her, the word Aphrodite floating around in your mind. Your hands move to the soft skin at the curve of her hips, still unable to comprehend how beautiful she was as your lips pepper hot, open-mouthed kisses to the top of her breasts, eyes peering up at her.

"You look so fucking hot under me, Detka," she purrs out, fingers threading through your hair and pulling your head back, your fingers inching their way up her back to the clasp of her bra, deftly unclasping it and pulling the red fabric off her. Wanda keeps her eyes on you as your gaze flickers to her exposed chest, an enamoured and lustful expression taking over your face as your hand moves to cup one of her breasts softly, mouth descending on the other.

A soft, sensual sigh escapes her at the feeling of your tongue swirling over her nipple, hand gently squeezing her other breast, warm and wet mouth having pleasure spiking through her body. You groan around her chest when her hips grind against your lap, her hands gliding across your shoulders, nails scratching down your back making you delirious with arousal.

"Fuck," she groans out sultrily, hand shooting up to the back of your head, keeping your mouth at her chest, "Do that again Detka- shit, just like that, right there," she moans, your teeth grazing her sensitive flesh before sucking on it, eyes looking up to watch her reactions.

After switching to the other breast and lavishing it in an equal amount of attention, Wanda tugs your head away from her chest, having had enough of the teasing as she needed to feel your bare skin against hers.

"Off. Now," she mutters against your lips, hands at the clothes you were wearing, her gracefully sliding off your lap to remove her own clothes, not having the patience to undress each other.

Almost immediately, her body is back on top of you, soft skin pressed deliciously against yours, your hands drifting down to her core, eager to please her. Just as your finger was about to slide through her dripping folds, her hand catches yours, fingers interlocking with yours, other hand copying the action with your other hand.

"Lay back for me," she whispers, smirk playing on her lips as she pins your hands above your head, her core resting above yours as you moan when you realise what she's about to do. "Spread your legs a little wider, Detka," she instructs, pressing her core against yours, both of you letting out a lewd noise at the warmth building in your cores.

"Wanda, you feel so good," you moan out, her body lowering, back arching her body into yours as her hips grind against yours, your hand squeezing hers. Her body rocks against yours, dragging all sorts of sinful sounds out of you as well as her, the feeling of your soaking cunt against hers driving the older woman crazy with desire, body chasing her orgasm. "Harder," you whimper out, the tone of your voice making a guttural groan leave Wanda, her lips crashing to yours to muffle the wanton noise that escaped her.

One of her hands releases yours to clutch the sheet near your head, bracing her body up as both of your hips start to stutter, the pleasure too much for the two of you to handle.

"Are you going to come for me again, Detka?" she pants out, tone teasing as she curses in Sokovian under her breath, lips lingering against your cheek as her hips press down harder against you, a whine leaving you. When all you can do in response is whimper, Wanda takes mercy on you, kissing you once more before resting her forehead against yours, "Yeah? Come with me, Moya Lyubov."

Pleasure crashed over the both of you at her words, your bodies grinding and rocking together as your orgasms wracked through you, moans spilling from your lips at the ecstasy you felt. Your fingers tightened against hers, wanting her close as she rests her bodyweight against you, catching her breath as your lips weakly meet her shoulder, exhaustion creeping up on you.

"Stay with me," Wanda whispers in a small chuckle, her fingers brushing over your cheeks as your eyes flutter open, meeting her softened green. "We need to clean up Detka, then we can sleep, I promise," she murmurs ever so softly, encouraging you to let her guide you into the bathroom to quickly clean yourselves up, her hands roaming your naked body innocently, simply giving you the touch you craved and giving into her want to touch you.

"I love you," you mumble against her shoulder as you lean against her, her arms snaking around your waist and pulling you into bed with her, neither of you bothered about pyjamas as you snuggle together. The feeling of her breasts pressing into you makes a small, drowsy smile to play on your lips, the older woman noticing the action as her fingers scratch your scalp softly, your head remaining at her shoulder as your arms wrap around her, fingers sliding up and down her back.

"I love you too," she whispers to your sleeping form as your body is lulled to sleep by her tender actions.

***

A soft chuckle woke you up, the feeling of your pillow beneath you moving gently causing your eyes to reluctantly flutter open, searching for the culprit who woke you up. You expect to see humoured green in front of you but are pleasantly surprised at the sight of Wanda's bare breasts, the annoyed expression fading into a shy smile, face nuzzling back against her chest as it was just so comfortable.

"I have to go to work soon Detka, I'm sorry but you have to move," she murmurs, placing a kiss to the top of your head as you grumble in defiance.

"Just take the day off," you mumble, earning an angelic laugh in response, her body shaking once again under you softly.

"I can't Detka," she apologetically whispers, fingers soothingly scratching your scalp naturally. "But how about this," she says, piquing your interest as you marginally pull away from her chest, looking up at her with tired eyes, "You let me go to work, dressed," her words playful earning a smile from you, "And when the twins go to Pietro's at two, you can meet me in my office," you watch how her eyes sparkle with an indecipherable emotion, your mind curious as to what she had planned. "Oh, and wear that small,black skirt of yours, it will make things a lot easier for me," her tone drops an octave at the end of her words, a small groan leaving you at her suggestive words.

Only seven hours till two...

***

Walking into the tower, you were amazed as always at the stunning architecture of the building Wanda worked in, gaze glued on the fancy interior of the elevator, watching as the floor numbers ticked by. Impatiently, you waited for it to finally reach Wanda's floor, excited and curious as to what she had planned out, her getting dressed in private this morning, something unusual. She loved to tease you in innocent ways like that, having you watch as she slowly pulled on her underwear or bra, eyes always trained on you with a teasing comment on the tip of her tongue, your mind curious as to why she didn't today.

Knocking on her door, you were soon met with a professional 'come in' from the other side of it, your hand eagerly opening the door. Your gaze landed on the figure sat behind the desk, eyes flickering away from her computer to look at you, smile widening as she slowly pushed herself off her chair, hips swaying as she sauntered over to you.

"Hey Detka," she whispers, pecking your lips before locking the door behind you, hands moving to your waist and carefully guiding you backwards towards her desk, your body eventually being pinned between her and the hard surface.

"Hi love," you murmur back in an equally affectionate tone, tilting your head up to steal another tender kiss.

Her eyes slowly take in your outfit, darkening significantly at the skirt you were wearing, gaze lingering on the teasing skin of your exposed thighs, her head snapping back up to meet your curious and excited gaze. Subconsciously, your tongue ran across your bottom lip, wetting it as you waited for her to make the first move, knowing roughly where this was going.

"Before we do anything Detka," she says, her hands resting on the desk beside your body, her taller stature towering over you, "I need to know if you're going to be quiet or if I'm going to have to gag you with something." Her words directly hit your core, cheeks flushing a deep red as her index finger rests under your chin, guiding your head back up to look at her as you momentarily avoided her gaze. "What's it going to be?"

"The gag... I think," you sigh out, hands holding onto her waist, her smirk almost predatory at your response.

"Remember your non-verbal safeword?" she mumbles into a kiss, wanting to feel your lips before she covers your mouth up, not wanting the whole office to hear you screaming her name.

"Tap your arm or thigh three times to stop," you whisper back, indulging in the messy kiss as her body presses into yours, an abrupt moan escaping you at the hard bulge you felt. "Is that..." Your words trail off as Wanda's hands lift you up onto her desk, lifting your skirt up to expose your panties, a visible wet patch already adorning the lace.

She hums in confirmation as her hand reaches over to the drawer of her desk, pulling out an old silk tie and showing it to you, watching your reaction closely as her hips slowly push up into yours, grinding the strap on hidden by her trousers against where you desperately needed her. When you nod, after another kiss of course, she ties it around your mouth and the back of your head, the fabric muffling your words as you test it's ability, the older woman satisfied with it.

"As much as I love your pretty moans Detka, I hope you understand why I'm doing this," she asks, fingers tracing the fabric around your mouth, lips briefly pressing against your temple. "I don't want my co-workers to know how much of a little slut you are for me," her words have you groaning around the tie, eyes fluttering shut as her hands glide down your body, fingers at your inner thighs, the back of them brushing your dripping core. Your reaction spurs Wanda on, her finger sliding your underwear to the side before gathering your arousal, slowly circling your clit to work you up even more.

"You love this, don't you?" she whispers at the shell of your ear, accent prominent as her thumb moves to circle your clit, letting her finger thrust into you, stretching you out and ensuring you were wet enough for the larger toy. "Being under my control, my beautiful girl to ruin," you moan around the black fabric, the noise dampened making Wanda smirk as she curls her finger inside you, warmth pooling in your core.

You muffle a plea around the gag, eyes staring into hers desperately as your hands clutch at her blouse, trying to pull her body closer. She gives in, not knowing how much time she'd have with you, and swiftly pulls the toy out of the restraining clothes, your eyes darkening as she positions it at your entrance, eyes searching yours for any hesitancy. When it's clear that there's none, she slides the toy into you slowly, revelling in the muffled sound of pleasure that escapes you, her hands going to your hips, holding you in place while your hands glide over her shoulders and settle on her back.

The slow pace quickly vanishes, her hips thrusting into you powerfully as she pounds the toy into you, the filthy sounds of your muffled moans, Wanda's sighs and the toy sliding in and out of you filling the room, adding to your arousal at how fucking hot this was. God, you had dreamed about being fucked on her desk but never thought it would happen especially like this. This was dirtier, hotter, more primal than you imagined as she fucked you like it was the last time.

Her hips were relentless as she took you on her desk in an animalistic manner, mouth at your neck, sucking a mark she knows will taint your skin, the thought of everyone knowing you were hers thrilling.

Your nails dig into her back when she angles her hips differently, the strap on hitting your sweet spot with every addictive thrust, Wanda's mouth moving to your ear, letting you hear her laboured breaths and seductive sighs. Her teeth nibble on your ear lobe, earning a groan that turns into a choked moan when one of her hands tighten their grip on your hips, the other moving to circle your clit, hips bucking as she continues to mercilessly fuck you.

"You can take it," she rasps out at your ear at a whimper that leaves you, your orgasm swiftly building at her actions, your mind completely fogged with arousal, body burning with every single one of her touches, arousal coating the toy causing it to make a filthy sound with every snap of her hips. "You're doing so well for me," she praises, biting down on your neck as her kisses descended, your nails digging in harder as your body teeters on the edge of your first orgasm, Wanda knowing the signs of your body as your legs moving to wrap around her waist, trying to pull her closer and deeper.

"Please," you muffle around the tie, her lips parting from the newly formed mark on your neck to meet your desperate gaze, her hand moving from your hips to your neck, applying a firm amount of pressure as your eyes practically roll back.

"Come all over my cock, Detka," she purrs out, knowing what your needy gaze was asking her for, a loud muffled moan reverberating around the room as your head moves to the crook of her neck, body tensing and walls clenching around the toy, pleasure crashing through you as you come on her desk, hands clutching at her for support as wave after wave of euphoria floods through you.

"We're not finished yet," she murmurs into your ear, a low groan leaving you as the toy slips out of you, Wanda moving back to help you off the desk, roughly turning you around and bending you over the desk, a guttural noise escaping you.

Your mind can't comprehend the pure desire you feel, skin on fire as she slides your panties down your legs, lifting your skirt once more and positioning herself at your entrance once again. With one thrust, she's back deep inside you, your hands reaching for the end of her desk for support, one of her hands moving to your hair, making a makeshift ponytail and pulling gently, tugging your head back.

"Fuck," she groans at the sight of you, her core throbbing at what she was doing to you, her eyes trained on how the toy slid in and out of you, her free hand lightly spanking your ass, earning a small groan. "You're mine, aren't you," she pants out, pulling your body up, her chest pressed into your back, lips at your neck, your hands bracing your body upright on the table.

You nod your head at her words, mind spinning as pleasure overrides all your senses, head lolling back against her as your eyes convey your deliriously lustful state, eyes practically black with desire.

"All mine," she murmurs, the base of the toy brushing her clit perfectly with the new position, a low curse leaving her lips and fuck you think that's the hottest thing you've ever heard. Her hand returns to your throat, indulging in both of your fantasies as she applies a little more pressure, a deep groan leaving you as your hips push back against her, your second orgasm about to flood through you.

The feeling of her spanking you once more sends you over the edge unexpectedly, body tensing in her arms as she holds you upright, pressing you further into the desk as you rock against the toy buried deep inside you, a string of muffled moans filling the room. Your orgasm is prolonged by Wanda grinding the toy into you, the base of it rubbing against her clit as she chases her own orgasm, following swiftly after you as her hips soon start to slow.

The two of you remain in that position, leaning into each other and catching your breath as you recover from your powerful orgasms, Wanda gently turning you in her arms and untying your gag, lips instantly claiming yours for a soft, loving kiss.

"You ok Dorogaya?" she whispers, eyes searching yours making your chest fill with love. You adored how she could go from being so rough and dominant to so soft and caring, always making sure you were alright.

"I don't think I can walk," you reply honestly, earning a small chuckle from her, her lips pressing against your temple as she pulls out, helping you support yourself against her desk as she quickly discards the harness and toy in her ensuite to clean and move later before returning to you.

"That good, huh?" she teases, wrapping her arms around you and helping you to the sofa at the side of her large office, sitting with you as she fixes your hair, your body leaning against her side.

"Always that good," you sigh back, unable to comprehend the sheer ecstasy the older woman makes you feel, her arms a place of security as you relax against her.

"How about, after I've checked my emails one last time, we head home and have a nice relaxing bath to recover before the boys get home?" she muses, knowing that you were going to be tired after last night and today, her fingers tracing random patterns at your side, lips meeting your hair, lingering as she waits for an answer.

"That sounds perfect on one condition," you say, turning your head to meet her curious green, her entertaining you and raising one of her brows.

"I get to choose the bath bomb this time," you mutter, her chuckling at your answer, nodding inevitably to your command, always wanting to give you everything and more.

"Of course Detka, you can choose the bath bomb," she replies with a hint of teasing to her tone, not that you minded. "I love you," she whispers before getting up, fixing her outfit and quickly going to her desk as you do the same, waiting for her to finish.

"I love you too," you murmur, her arms soon wrapping around yours, ready to take you home.

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love-belle · 8 months

Text

maahi ve !!!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ in which they're so in love and they make it everyone's problem.

for when you find your forever. ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

social media au // mick schumacher x fem!reader

warnings - language

author's note - this is so short but i HAD to post idc i hope u all liked it <3 more parts of desi!reader soon but before that how u get that girl so yeah !! i love u so much <3

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by mickschumacher, lewishamilton, carmenmmundt and 678,527 others

yourusername maahi ve ( love )

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≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by yourusername, georgerussell63, danielricciardo and 799,627 others

mickschumacher this is my sexie girlfriend and when i look into her eyes i see god

tagged yourusername

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#f1 x reader #f1 x female reader #f1 imagines #social media au #fake instagram imagines #mick schumacher blurb #mick schumacher imagines #mick schumacher imagine #mick schumacher x reader #mick schumacher #mick schumacher x y/n #mick schumacher x you #mick schumacher instagram au

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marigoldenblooms · 2 months

Text

Unica Semper Avis - Chapter 1

Pairing: Cleric!Wanda x Fem!AvianShifter!Reader x MonsterHunter!Natasha

Prompt: Ever since you’ve come of age, you’ve never been able to stop yourself from transforming into a monster. Whenever the sky would dim with a New Moon, you’d ravage the world with a fury unknown by many. Such is the bane existence of your species. This time, however - something was different. Now, you need help. On the feeble doorstep of the so-called ‘Spirit Healer,’ you found yourself both at the mercy of a cleric, and of a monster hunter’s blade. Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

MINORS DNI - 18+

TW/General Tags: No mention of Y/N, slow burn, stranger to lovers (Wanda), enemies to lovers (Natasha), eventual smut (lord have mercy), Swearing, Fantasy violence, occasional descriptions of light body horror during transformation, slight self harm, slight restraint, angst, fluff, will add tags as they appear!

Chapter Warnings: Angst, canon-level violence, use of medieval weapons, body horror description in transformation, magic use, slight dissociation/self harm, restraint, fluff (for five seconds), R is a simp, so is W, N is not here to play, etc.

A/N: I’ve been working on this next chapter ever since the previous. Chapter two is coming along quickly as well! I want to keep a bit of a backlog for my longer fics, so updates will be as frequent as I can manage. The name established in this chapter for R will be used sparingly, but I loved what Missmonsters2 did with Between the Lines when I read it months ago, and thought it’d be pertinent until nicknames/pet names are established (and for as long as I can avoid conversation where names are necessary).

R’s monster form brought to you by bearded vulture inspiration! Feel free to imagine your own version of avian horror to your heart’s content. Enjoy, y’all!

Word Count: 3.1k - Read Length: 11 minutes, 18 seconds. Pictures aren't mine, credit to their owners!

~~~ The healer’s home was nothing short of overwhelming.

Multi-colored knick-knacks were strewn on every surface, perched below gatherings of drying, braided flowers which hung from the rafters. Beneath your feet, woven rugs of alternating sizes dotted the cabin’s cool wooden floors, like islands between a chilled sea of timber. The front door lead further into a sitting room, offering glimpses into a small, quaint looking kitchen, adorned with a single well-worn table and chair. Within that same place, a large pot was held still on the counter by wisps of scarlet magic, another more opaque plume coaxing a wooden spoon to stir whatever was inside.

Paintings hung along every wall, although you could never get a full glance at one, as though they’d subtly shift and change muses whenever you’d look away. The sound of a shutting door would heighten your senses enough to break from the scenery, turning on your heels to face the home’s owner once again. She’d pry at you with a half-smile, and you’d solidify your gaze at the floor before her eyes could have the chance to meet yours.

“What brings you to my home?” She’d question evenly, her words a pleasing rasp- smooth molasses which could easily cloud your senses if you allowed her to. You’d see her form move to the side of you in your peripheral, yet you’d remain still, your stare continuing to bore a hole into her carpet.

Wordlessly, you’d tug at your shawled sleeve to show the back of your arm. Running along the skin’s expanse were thin ridges, pin feathers prickling beneath taut flesh. A light down speckled your skin in odd patches, consolidated mostly on your neck and shoulders for now. Your hair had begun to fleck and grow waxy and silkish, akin to dense ostrich feathers, tousled from your trek to her abode. You’d watch the ground as her shadow would shift around you, a curious tsk showcasing her intrigue.

You wouldn’t see her raised expression, eyebrows furrowed as she’d take your wrist without warning, raising it up so she could see the indentation better in the light. She’d drop your arm as soon as she’d grabbed it, falling limply to your side, and her smooth voice would threaten to carry you off again. “Fascinating..your affliction isn’t something I’ve seen recently.”

“Can you help?” You’d mumble, the few phrases coming to you sounding choked from lack of use, and you could hear the healer’s grunt at your lackluster response. You’d swallow thickly, trying to find the words to explain all that you were, but none arrived. She’d circle around you once more, and before you could flinch away, would capture your chin between her thumb and forefinger, wrenching it to make you look at her- green irises narrowing as you’d shut yours, unwilling to look her in the eye. You’d half expect her grip to be cold like the Matron’s, but her touch’s pleasant warmth was something you almost missed as she’d let go of you, the shuffle of her arms crossing heightened behind your closed eyelids.

“I can’t help a patient I can’t trust,” She’d muse with a teasing lilt, rolling her r’s in a way that made your chest flutter. Was this another symptom of your molt? It had been a long time since you’d been with another and the thought made your heart ache, albeit not more than your bones. “Why won’t you look at me?”

The scoff that came in response to her was almost too easy, opening your eyes after directing your head to the floor again, “Because I am no threat to you.” “And why would I assume that?” She’d retort immediately, and you’d glare into the ground. Why was talking so easy for her? Why couldn’t she understand that you weren’t like her? You’d raise your arm aloft again, the skin burning now as you’d twist the plumage under your flesh for her view. The rage that had been festering in you for days unlocked a torrent of your words, finally finding purchase in your mouth- frustration evident in how each phrase was ripped from your throat. Your larynx would be useless beyond a breathing tool soon, so you better use it now. Your nails clawed at your arms, doubling into yourself, “Because you are human and I am not, healer- is that not something you’re able to understand-?!”

“Relax for me-” she’d grit, and you’d feel your stomach plummet at her words. Something in them begged obedience, and for a second you felt as though you were back in your nightmare. You’d twitch, glance immediately circling the ceiling as something would restrain you- thin tendrils of crimson magic, keeping your arms from flaring out at your sides. As if seeing your frustration, your panic, the healer’s sorcery would calm, soothing both your body and your mind into an unnatural lull. “You’re…using-” you’d begin, yet words would evade you once again, no longer fueled by anger. There was only a different feeling- regret, and uncomfortable stone in your stomach that you shied away from, wanting to cower from its weight. You didn’t like yelling at this woman, even as she cradled you with her witchcraft.

You’d feel her heat again, warm hands placing tentative touches to your shoulders, slowly coaxing your glance to hers. “I’m sorry,” she’d breathe, shallow as you’d feel her palms shake against you, “I didn’t want you… to hurt yourself-” Her irises, blooming with clouds of red, would drain into green as you’d feel her magic loosen around your body like unraveling ropes. You wouldn’t shy away from her this time, panting as her gaze would share her soul with you. She, too, held that stone in her gut. Perhaps she didn’t fear you.

You’d part as her back would stiffen, adding a few feet between the two of you. “What is your name?” She’d ask, and you saw the way her head tilted since you looked at her face. Your words came easier now that you were less tense, muscles losing their rigidity, and yet you didn’t have an answer for her. You still pried into her windows, eyes flicking across the expanse of her garden from the view you could get from her living room, but it was a start. “I met your gaze, healer..I’ve done my part, you first.”

You’d see the way her nose crinkled at your response, flecks of mirth illuminating her expression, a grin finding its place there, “Talking now, are we? I’m Wanda.” “I’m..Margo.” In truth, you hadn’t had a name in years, the few decades you’d been alive focused more on survival than memory, especially when your molts made it difficult to discern who you really were- humanoid or avian. You’d forgotten your birth name ages ago, and it was a blessing that your words left your mouth as cleanly as they did. She’d tut at your response, taking it in as satisfactory, “Sure…Margo. Would you like to sit down?”

Wanda would guide you to her kitchen table without much fanfare, settling you on her single chair. With a focused look and a wave of her hand, however- a duplicate would reveal itself from a cloud of scarlet mist. “Your magic is red?” You’d inquire, tilting your head as you’d seen her do, “It’s a violent color. Why is that?”

“Do you really want to toe that line?” Her phrase were humorous, yet you swear a flash of indignation peppered her visage. You were not going to mess with that line, whatever she meant by that. “No, Wanda.” She smiled at that, her name seemingly pleasing in your mouth. You felt the flutter in your chest again, heart drumming a little faster against your shifting ribcage. If this was a sign of your incoming succession, then you had to finish this fast- to return before you transformed in Wanda’s house. And yet, why was the feeling almost pleasant?

“You said you haven’t seen my ‘affliction’ in a while,” You’d recount, finding her term for your molt unremarkable. You’d offer her a glimpse of your arm again, hesitating to touch the quills beneath. It was always tender before a lunation, and you didn’t want to aggravate the transformation further, “It doesn’t normally happen so soon. In hours before the new moon, maybe- not over days.”

“And what happens after those hours?” She’d coax your arm down with a gentle wave, seeing how your movements grew stiff as your skeleton hollowed out. You shrug, “I transform.” Wanda’s expression would sour, yet curiosity prickled underneath. Why did she look at you like that? “Can you help me? You said you're familiar with my kind.”

“..In truth, I’ve never met someone like you,” She’d murmur, expression bashful, and if the circumstances were different you would’ve taken it as a compliment. Instead, spiked embers of dread seared in your stomach, heart beginning to thrum in your ears. She didn’t know. Could she even help you? Her voice would raise a little louder, “However, if you tell me about yourself, perhaps I could figure it out.” With a twirl of her fingers, two cups of..something floated towards the table. Her gaze was an offer, “Thirsty?”

You’d nod, your throat suddenly dry. The drink was smooth and warm, with a bite of something fresh and crisp. It was much better than your rainwater. Gulping more of it down, you notice how she’d smile at your eagerness, careful not to spill as you’d raise the cup from its saucer. “Cider,” she’d mention, motioning to her mug, “Where are you from?” “My cavern is far from here. About half a day’s walk.” Wanda’s eyebrows would raise. “Cavern? You live in a cave?” Her interest was a delight, and you wanted to keep it for as long as you could. You didn’t answer her question, instead throwing one back at her, “Why do you live far from your town?”

“Bellmoor?” Amusement would blanket Wanda’s expression, snorting as she’d shake her head, twisting in her chair so she could lean forward towards you, “Because I like my peace and quiet. I assume the same for you, Птичка?”

“What does that mean?” You’d ask, and she’d tut again. “Now now, that can be your next question, but it’s my turn.” She’d scrunch her nose at your grumbling acquiesce, and you couldn’t help but smile with her. You liked this game. Wanda rested her hands on her table, and your eyes were caught on the shimmer of her rings as she’d speak, “Can you control your transformation?” That one was easy. “Fuckin’ wish I could...” Wanda’s brows would reach her hairline at your curse, but you wouldn’t give her time to comment as yours would stream from your maw, though it’d stop early, “No Aegypius can. What does..”

“‘Птичка’ mean?” She’d grin, rasping her knuckles on the wooden grain at each syllable, “Little bird, birdie, you have feathers underneath your skin, yes?” You’d send her a taunting look, one that she met in equal measure. You’d smile back at her, “Is that your question?”

Wanda would balk, gotten so caught up in teasing you that her words just tumbled out with no direction. You’d see her cheeks grow pink, clearing her throat with a stuttered breath, and you swear she felt like you did when you felt that flutter. “No, it isn’t-” She’d respond smoothly, but you caught how her eyes shimmered, and you took another sip of cider. You knew why when her words made your mind double-take, “Would you like to stay with me tonight?”

You almost spit out your drink, coughing on it as you’d sputter, blush alighting your face. You felt it warm and you tried to hide it away, your flustered reaction seemingly pleasing Wanda. She certainly didn’t know what that meant to you, “I..you want me to stay with you- I’m going to molt tonight, Wanda.”

“And if I am to help your transformation, then I must see it in person,” She’d respond, never losing her smile. It soothed you, that richness in her tone and that calm in her expression, and you’d feel a new pull in your heart. One you hated.

Your instincts wanted you to ruin her. Wanted her vulnerable as she was, to splinter her bones into shards you didn’t even have to chew.

To take advantage of her weakness, your hunger eating you alive unless you picked her clean, consumed-

You’d swallow, a shaky breath leaving you. Wanda had blinked, and your voice acted quicker than your mind would comprehend, “I don’t want it helped, Wanda. I want it gone.” You’d feel your skin itch at that, and a cold dread filled your gut, like the Matron’s chill held you once again. Your words were a whisper. “But I don’t think my body will let me.”

“All the more reason for you to stay. Do you have anything that helps you calm down?” She’d ask, leaning forward with a gentle lilt. Her hand would’ve come across the table, offering her palm to yours. It was calloused, warm skin juxtaposed with smooth metal, and you took it in yours gratefully. You were starting to really like her company.

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

The hours would’ve floated by you, a subtle bliss filling you as you and Wanda would’ve enjoyed the rest of your evening together. You could feel your body shift by the hour, and yet a part of you didn’t care if you were with her. You’d show her your chains, mentioning their unknown inscription and how they’d keep your form….distracted. You would be kept in the barn once the moonless night had begun, the sky within a period of tranquil dusk. She ghosted her hand across the rim of your shackles, and you were surprised they didn’t burn her like they did you. An Aegypius trait, you supposed.

Wanda had made you stew using that pot from earlier, while you hovered in the vicinity, chopping up carrot and onion into more manageable pieces. The meal was finished after it had boiled for a long time, and it was only when you sat down to enjoy it with her that a blink of movement would catch your eye. The bay windows curved in a beautiful shape that let the last vestiges of light in, and you’d register the sight of silver metal piercing into the glass before you heard it smash.

A figure leapt through its shattered remains, thick cloak blanketing their form to protect them from the glass. Their armor and longsword was polished beautifully, and they would be regal if it wasn’t for their war shout and barred teeth. You could see their face beneath their hood, just before the glint of their weapon as it’d slice down towards your chest.

You’d dodge, rushing backwards until your back hit the other end of the wall. As the longsword would finish its downward arc, Wanda’s magic would cradle its blade, her hands outstretched and bent as if trying to push it up. Her voice was strangled and thin, heard between the thudding of your heartbeat in your ears, “run, Margo- go!”

Turning to bolt, you’d hear the clatter of boots against wood as a rougher hand would grab you by the scruff of your neck. Writhing in their hold, you’d shove your elbow into the ribs of your attacker, before grabbing their hand from your nape to sink your teeth into it. “Fuck, you гриф-” The knight’s heavy breath was audible from behind your back. You’d bite harder, feeling their skin break beneath your jaw as you’d thrash, trying to cleave flesh off. They’d tear their hand from you, kicking your legs with a force that sent you barreling down.

Your head would hit the hardwood floor, and you could hear the ringing in your ears as you’d look up, vision swimming as everything looked double. Your hooded attacker brandished their longsword with two hands above you, although it looked like they had four. Before they could stab the blade downward, Wanda’s hand would lurch out to their neck- pressing the kitchen knife into their throat as her other palm would scratch towards the knight’s eyes, the pair barreling backwards which left you an outside view that made your pupils retract into pinpricks.

The sky was dark, illuminated with bright swaths of stars. Tears pricked at your eyes. The few treetops you saw couldn’t even reach its height, blanketing the world in an awaiting gloom. You knew the moon was out there, but you couldn’t see it. Your mind reeled, thoughts growing famished as you’d stare into its expanse. You licked your lips. The sky offered you reprieve, and who were you to deny its feast?

The wheezing pop of bone into stronger sockets would startle Wanda and her assailant into a tense standoff, your witch pinning the stranger to the floorboards while the knight tried in vain to grasp at their longsword that had been kicked many feet away. Your breath heaved with strength you hadn’t felt before, seizing as the voice that came from you was no more than a guttural hiss. Your skull would reshape, mouth widening into a curved beak, hooking into serrated edges, while your skull would become angular, bird like. Anything but human, you were no longer recognizable. Feathers would blanket the creature’s shifting musculature, tearing from roughened skin as they’d fan into shape. Its arms and legs grow as its fingers would lengthen, bat-like wings creaking before they’d be covered in plumage; ivory white on it’s neck and shoulders, cascading into darker blacks and blues elsewhere. The monster’s feathers wouldn’t remain unpigmented for long, as they’d begin to warm on its skin- sparks flying from where they touched, growing into a burnt umber. The beast would groan as its wings crashed to the floor- bipedalism was no longer an option, the force cracking the wooden boards. Horns would thunder from shaking its monstrous head, the beast’s eyes blinking into pale gold with a crimson ring surrounding them. A black line of feathers ran down the side of its face and to its gaping maw, tufted at its chin. Its feathers had heated into shades of orange, flecked with flame- while cyan speckled where its temperature had reached an apex.

Silence would still the room, the shaky inhale of breath marking the presence of living beings in it’s fray. The demon would blink again, a gnashing sound emanating from inside its cavernous beak. It’d then raise itself on its haunches, spread its twelve meter wingspan (shattering the walls in its wake), and echo a deafening, reverberating call into the night.

The hunt had truly begun. Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

~~~

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inferencesarchives · 1 year

Note

Hello!!:)) can I ask for some Danheng hcs?:))

Dan Heng Relationship Headcanons

dan heng x gn!reader

summary: a collection of my personal hcs for what dan heng would be like if you were in a relationship with him :]

warnings: possibly ooc(?), physical touch, mentions of kissing, mentions of food/drinks

probably hasn't been in a relationship before and will somewhat rely on you to help him through the early stages of it all

gets flustered easily but knows how to hide it in public

kind of awkward when you guys first start your relationship but eventually gets used to having you around :]

most definitely invites u to read with him in the archives

likes drinking coffee with you and listening to you chat

simp likes doing stuff for you and helping you out with anything you need <3

simp buys/gives you stuff that reminds him of you and also always keeps little trinkets you've given him in his pocket at all times

takes you on those cheesy dates from the romance novels because he has very little knowledge on how relationships work but it's ok because he's trying his best <3

likes laying his head in your lap while you run your fingers through his hair after a long day

very clingy when he's tired. will literally just hug you from behind and bury his face into your neck at random when he's exhausted. has fallen asleep like that before

likes when you hug him. or kiss him. or give him any sort of affection. somewhat awkward when reciprocating your kindness but he's doing his best :] really really appreciates you showing him any kind of affection. honestly he appreciates you even staying around him <3

loves cuddling with you. any position. will be big spoon or little spoon, whichever you want :) just likes to hold onto you when you guys are going to bed hehe

tries to get into anything your interested in. oh, you like this videogame? he learns how to play it with you. oh, you like this book? he read the whole thing in one night. loves doing anything with you and loves hearing you talk about your interests <3

brings you your favourite snacks and drinks if you're tired/sick/just not feeling good in general. likes taking care of you <3333

bonus: march teases him whenever she happens to pass by him assembling the little snack tray he's preparing for you hehehehe

a/n: DAN HENG MY BELOVED AAAAAAA <33333 he is perfect he is amazing he is everything TY FOR SENDING THIS REQUEST I LOVED WRITING THIS <33 hopefully writers block will finally go away now weeee

thanks for stopping by!

want to submit a request? see my requesting rules here!

taglist:

want to be tagged? let me know :]

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hisui-dreamer · 6 months

Note

Omg, rinna requests are open ^0^ (and don't worry, you can take as much time as you want) I'd like to request leona with a reader who plays a lot of sports and sucks at all of them 😀 (me. i mean me lmao) Have a great day 💕💕💕💕 AND I SAW YOUR ISEKAI JADE FIC I REFUSE TO SIMP FOR SLIMY EELS. WHY.

the chasing game

Pairing: Leona Kingscholar x gn!reader

Synopsis: Leona's ego is a bit too strong, and oh dear, he thinks you have crush on him

Tags: fluff, misunderstandings (but they're cute), slight pining, leona is a tsundere

Word count: 707

Notes: my best friend and i had a lot of fun with this idea hehe, i hope you'll like it too hehe

Masterlist

Leona thinks you have some ulterior motive at first

why are you trying so hard at spelldrive??? you're not doing that well honestly

he finds no reason whatsoever you'd be so energetic when you're even performing that well

so he starts thinking... maybe you have an ulterior motive??

and somehow, probably because of his big ego he comes to the conclusion that you have a crush on him!!

after all, he is the captain of the spelldrive club

how else would you be able to get his attention?

in his mind, you're just a small little herbivore who's trying to get in his good graces

the smug lion is pretty amused by all this, and he can't say he minds having you around

you being that enthusiastic about playing sports, and the determination to get better no matter how many times you fail, is pretty impressive to him

though he sometimes cringes internally with how bad you're doing

by the time he can't take it, he'll saunter over to you and give you some advice

he'll sound like a jerk doing it, but if you read between the lines, he's giving you good advice

it's probably because he's been studying you for so long

so you listen to his advice, and oh? that shot went pretty well!!

you're jumping around all excited! finally there's some improvement!! maybe there are some sports cells in you after all

you get a bit too excited in thanking him and you throw your arms around him in the heat of the moment

he almost instantly pushes you away, obviously, saying you're sweaty and mumble grumbling

but there's no denying the way his tail is swishing around and the slightest hint of pink on his cheeks it's the sunset he says

from that point on, he'll occasionally join you as you practice, giving you advice and commenting on what you're doing wrong every time he feels like it

it also gives him a pretty good excuse to not actually participate in the sport

then again, he can't say he dislikes playing when you're in the audience

it usually ends up with you gushing over how impressive he was in the game, asking him if you could teach him how to do what he did, and in general just praise all throughout

this all but feeds into his pride, and he has the widest smirk on his face

he gets into an awful mood when you stop showing up for a while though

he becomes even more irritable, and there's more of a murderous aura about him when he's playing against the other guys

it doesn't take long for him to start asking around about where you've gone

epel is more than happy to solve this mystery for him so he'll stop beating people around

though he's pretty amazed by Leona actually putting effort into the games

and excuse me??? you're hanging around in the basketball club now??

little does he know, but you've merely shifted interest from spelldrive to basketball

but in his delusional misunderstood mind, this means you don't have a crush on him anymore

hah. that ended soon enough. he doesn't care at all.

... okay maybe he does actually care a bit

"Oi. Herbivore," Leona calls out to you in the hallway. You turn around and you're faced with his disgruntled expression. "Are ya not comin' to Spelldrive anymore?"

You blink at his question. "Oh! I think so? I got interested in basketball lately haha," you chuckle as you remember the little rivalry Ace started. "You don't mind, do you?"

"Hah. Why'd I mind?" he huffs, but there's something about his voice that makes you feel like he does mind.

"Leona," you close the distance between the two of you. "Would it be okay if I join you for lunch?" His eyes visibly widen at your request.

"I just really like the atmosphere in the garden, but I don't want to interrupt you."

He seems to contemplate it for a moment, emerald eyes shut and eyebrows furrowed. But when he opens his eyes again, there's a certain softness to them.

"Hmph. Do whatever you want." he says, turning around to leave, his tag swishing back and forth once again.

Masterlist

if you liked this post, don't forget to reblog!

#twstnexus #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland leona #disney twisted wonderland #leona kingscholar x reader #leona kingsholar

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edenesth · 4 months

Text

[4:43 AM]

With a faint groan, you rubbed your eyes groggily, realising you had dozed off once more while waiting for Hongjoong to wrap up in his studio – or so he claimed hours ago.

Retrieving your phone to check the time, you sighed, "It's almost five in the morning, captain. Are you close to finishing up?"

Cursing inwardly, your boyfriend turned towards you, wearing a sheepish smile as if just realising the current time, "I'm really sorry, baby. I could have sworn it was only two o'clock just five minutes ago. Just bear with me for a moment longer; I'm saving my progress, and then we can head home."

Perched on the couch behind him, you shot a surprised glance at the generous opening of his shirt. Narrowing your eyes with a hint of suspicion, you crossed your arms over your chest, "Yah, Kim Hongjoong. Are you trying to seduce me?"

He blinked, trying to comprehend what you were referring to until he followed your gaze and looked down at his attire. Only then did he grasp the extent of the undone buttons. After a moment, a smirk played on his lips, his heart swelling with affection as he relished the adorably sleepy expression on your face while you pouted at him.

"Perhaps I am. It looks like I struggle with buttoning my shirt properly. Would you mind doing it for me?" He teased, powering off his PC and moving over to sit beside you. His hands instinctively found yours as he leaned in to whisper in your ear, "Or... would you prefer to undo them all for me instead?"

His suggestive words elicited a gasp from you, and you playfully slapped his chest, "Are you serious? We're in your workplace!"

Grinning, he held your hand against his chest, "So, does that mean if we were at home right now, you would have welcomed this idea wholeheartedly, hm?"

"Y-you—"

Before you could utter anything further, he was already intoxicated by the comforting fragrance of your perfume, leaning in to capture your lips and silence you.

Your eyes widened at his sudden boldness, considering he had always been reserved about public displays of affection, especially at his workplace where colleagues could walk in at any moment. You figured that sleep deprivation must be getting to him, daring him to take such a risk. After a few unsuccessful attempts to push him away, you surrendered, closing your eyes and kissing him back, melting into his embrace.

Maybe you should have trusted your instincts and stopped things before they reached a point of no return.

The next thing you knew, the door to his studio creaked open, and the voice of his producer, Eden, sounded, "Hongjoong-ah, you're still here? Go home already. Your poor girlfriend must be exhausted waiting—"

He stood still at the entrance as both of you jumped apart, "W-well, it looks like she's not too tired, but that's all the more reason to go home, right? Please don't taint the studio."

You buried your face in your hands as your boyfriend's cheeks flushed deep red. He nodded vigorously, "Y-yes, hyung! We're leaving now!"

After Eden left, you shot him a glare, and he scoffed, pulling you onto your feet and into his waiting arms, "Don't give me that look as if you didn't kiss me back just as eagerly."

Your heart raced at his following words, "Come on, let's hurry home. We should probably finish what we started."

"You need sleep, Joong."

"Not until I have you first, baby."

ATEEZ Masterlist

I know I said I was gonna start working on my thesis but GOOD LORD, I could not get producer Joong out of my mind. Also, thank you so much for 1.2k followers, holy crap!

Hope y'all enjoyed this random timestamp lmao as always, thanks for reading and lmk your thoughts! <3

Tag list: @aurasblue @marievllr-abg @itsvxlentine @minghaoslatina @huachengsbestie01 @evidive @weedforthoughtz @minkiflwr @cheolliehugs @ho3-for-yunho @cereal-simp

#edenesth #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #kim hongjoong #ateez hongjoong #ateez timestamps #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong x you #ateez drabbles #hongjoong drabble #hongjoong fluff #ateez fic #ateez imagines

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ghostandsoap · 1 year

Text

Someone Unexpected

John Price x Fem! “Peach” Reader

Tags: Price being a simp. Laswell being a queen.

Word Count: 2.3k

“I plan to be of good service to you, sir.”

It started as a suggestion to Captain Price.

At first, it was a gentle proposal that another member be added to his team. Price declined once, twice, three times. After his third refusal, the suggestion suddenly became a request…and then the request became a demand.

Price fought it, and he fought it hard. He claimed that he didn’t need the manpower. He said that his force was just fine the way that it was. He stated that they didn’t need anyone else.

But it seemed that the harder he protested, the faster he was losing the battle.

John was promised that Kate Laswell would do all the work. She knew who to find, where to find them, and whether or not they were right for the position. Laswell knew Price, and she knew exactly what kind of person was going to meet his expectations…if not go beyond them.

John wasn’t having it. He grumbled and griped about it up until the moment that he sat down in Laswell’s office to discuss her choosing. He was rigid when he walked in, not even attempting to get comfortable when he sat down.

“Alright, Laswell. Who’s the lucky winner?” He groaned not, utterly miserable over the fact that he was going to have to give in to this.

“Come on now, John. That’s not very fair of you, is it?” She asked, furrowing her brows at him.

“I’m always fair,” He shrugged, shifting in the seat he was sitting in across from Laswell. “Am I so wrong for asking who you’ve so generously picked out for me?”

Kate didn’t see any sense in wasting time. She could sit here all day and stall, talking on and on to try and convince John not to be such a hardass about this. Although, Kate would be there forever if she attempted that, and Kate didn’t fancy spending her time trying to chip away at John’s stubborn nature.

She reached into the top drawer in her desk, carefully retrieving a tan colored folder that was thick with papers on the inside. He had no doubt that they were organized and paper clipped into categories. He watched her open the front and quickly scan the first page before closing it again.

“Sergeant [L/N],” Laswell handed over a manila folder with all of the newbie’s personal information inside. “Confident, empathetic, and very intelligent.”

“Empathetic?” John snorted. “Does he come with a bow in his hair?”

“A little empathy wouldn’t kill you to have, Captain.” Kate fired back. “And she is as good as they come. I hand picked her myself.”

Price debated getting up and walking straight out.

Price knew that the world was different than when he was a rookie. More and more women were being employed and deployed to the military. He wasn’t against it per se, it was just that if he had the option, he would choose a man most of the time. In his experience, women tended to be less rough and could be totally unpredictable. Price couldn’t afford that.

“I need someone tougher than my usual pickings. I need someone that I can trust.” He argued with her.

“You can trust her,” Kate said. “She’s valuable, John. She’s skilled in tactical training…both performing it and teaching it. She’s also advanced in first aid and field treatment.”

That could be useful…

“Hm. What else can you tell me about her?” He went on, curious to know more.

“I’ve spent some time with her. She has quite the infectious personality, the kind that lights up a room when she walks in,” Kate said. “She knows when she’s the best in the room.”

So far, there wasn’t much that Kate had said that was selling Price on this woman. All he was hearing was that some innocent, happy-go-lucky gal was about to waltz her way into his team, expecting to run the show.

Price couldn’t handle that. That was so far from what he needed.

“What do they call her?” He asked, wondering what kind of callsign was bestowed upon her.

Kate had a grin on her face, a certain expression that looked as if she were about to seal John Price’s fate.

“Peach.” She answered.

Price almost choked on his own saliva. Kate must’ve been kidding. She had to be kidding.

“Peach?” Price scoffed at such a girlish call sign. “Why do they call her that?”

The smile on Kate’s face was genuine, but had a message behind it that let John know that he was letting his stubbornness shine through. Kate knew exactly the kind of person that would be right for Price’s force. There was no doubt in her mind that the woman she had in mind was perfect.

“She has thick skin and is sweet as can be…” Kate beamed. “Not to mention, she’s a true southern lady.”

Oh no. No no no no.

Price was biting his tongue. He had quite a few words to say about that. This had to be some kind of cruel, tasteless joke.

Not an American. Oh, God – anything but an American.

“Kate…” Price sighed in distress, rubbing his forehead with the palm of his hand.

“John,” She held up her hand before he could say anything else. “One chance. I’m asking you to give her a chance. I wouldn’t have made this arrangement if I didn’t think she was right for your team.”

“And if she’s not?” Price returned.

“Then you can say ‘I told you so’. Just give her a chance. That’s all I’m asking,” She repeated. “She might surprise you.”

Doubt it. Nice try, Laswell.

Neither of them said much after that. Kate had said all she needed to, and she basically kicked John out of her office before he had a chance to share his thoughts. He walked out feeling defeated, as if he had no say or control over his force.

He wasn’t hopeful. Sure, some of the assets and characteristics that Laswell had mentioned could be potentially useful. But Price had encountered potentially useful people in the past, and none of them turned out the way he wanted.

It was out of his hands now, and the least he could do was do exactly what Laswell had requested – give her a chance.

But there was just no way that she was as good as Laswell said. Nobody could have it all. Nobody could impress Captain Price.

For now, all he could do was wait and see.

***

Today was the day.

Price was told that she would be coming in today to get situated before the mission they were heading out for the next morning. He was going with the flow at this point. He was just doing what Laswell told him to avoid getting yelled at.

He was preparing to leave, considering that they were less than 24 hours out from heading to their mission’s destination. Not to mention, he was feeling a twinge of anxiousness to lay eyes on Laswell’s prized pick.

He waited a good while before making his way to make his official introduction. He didn’t want to seem excited about it because he most surely wasn’t.

When his stalling time was used up, he made the journey to the spare bunk room where she would be staying for the night. It wasn’t like she really had time to get settled because she would be packed up and off the next morning.

Her back was towards him when he arrived at the open doorway. She was occupied with rummaging through her pack and she didn’t hear the man’s footsteps approach and stop at her door. He knocked on the frame of the door to make his presence known, which then grabbed her attention.

She turned around at the sound, eyes wide and glittering as she made eye contact with him. His blood ran cold and his muscles went tight all over. He was physically stunned, because she was not what he was expecting. He went to introduce himself, but she identified him and was on it first.

“Captain Price,” She greeted, her southern drawl dripping off each of her words as she reached her hand out to him. “I’m Sergeant [L/N]. But everybody calls me Peach.”

So I’ve heard.

His heart started to patter away in his chest when heard her accent. It was thick and clear, and it fit her like a glove. Her words were spoken with genuine respect and admiration for the man she was speaking to. He almost felt…honored to be spoken to by her.

She wore a smile on her face proudly. It was a glowing kind of look that could bring joy to anyone who witnessed it for themselves. She had a gentle look to her. She didn’t look mean or like she had been hardened by the world. But there was something lingering in her eyes, swimming in the depths of her pupils that let Captain Price know that she had a tough side.

She was beautiful. There was no other way to say it. She was quite easy to look at. He had a hard time looking away from her, like she’d disappear right in front of him if he even dared to glance away.

Her hand was still held out to him, a flicker of confusion flashing over her face. He realized then that he hadn’t said anything. He had only been staring at her and analyzing her mentally…and probably making her think he was off his rocker.

“Sergeant,” He returned the greeting, reaching for her hand to shake it. “Pleasure to meet you.”

Her touch was addicting. The sensation shot up his arm and tingled through his body in a way that made him feel all kinds of fuzzy and warm. It made it hard to retract his hand, and it wasn’t until she practically snatched her hand back that the handshake was broken.

“Laswell has told me a lot about you. She speaks very highly of you, sir.”

Sir.

It felt dirty hearing her say that. Then that made him feel dirty. He wasn’t sure what was wrong with himself all of a sudden. Maybe he was coming down with something…

Get it together, John. Not like you haven’t seen a pretty woman before.

“She seems to think highly of you as well,” Price cleared his throat. “Told me all about you.”

He smacked himself internally for saying it like that. The change in the look on her face was subtle, but enough to let him know that you were thinking that he was a total quack.

“All good things I hope, sir.”

His knees wobbled.

“Certainly.” He nodded.

He suddenly realized that he was out of things to say. He had planned a whole list of questions to scope out what kind of valuable assets that she would be bringing to the table. Now, he couldn’t remember a single one of them. She didn’t seem to mind the silence, but he felt like millions of ants were crawling all over his skin.

I wonder what the rest think of her…

“Have you met Sergeant MacTavish?” Price voiced his question aloud without really meaning to.

“Soap? Yes sir,” She answered. “I’ve also been acquainted with Ghost and Gaz, Captain.”

She was quick. She hadn’t even been here three hours yet. Price was beginning to think that she was several steps ahead of him already.

“Getting on with them then?” He asked, and her head tilted to the side.

“Sorry?”

It occurred to him then that his vocabulary and hers were likely very different. Her accent and dialogue was alien to him, the same way that he assumed his was to her.

“I mean are you getting along with them?” He chuckled.

“Oh! We’re gettin’ along just fine,” She smiled sheepishly. “I plan to be of good service to you, sir.”

He hoped so. He really hoped so.

“Good. Are you all set to go in the morning?”

Is it hot in here? It’s definitely just warm in here, right?

“Ready to go,” She smiled again, and he felt a sweat break out on his forehead. “Is there anything I can do for you, Captain?”

Oh, Christ.

He had to get out of there. He needed to go and take the coldest shower that he could stand. Maybe it would cool him off and slow his heart rate down. He was surprised at himself, because he wasn’t usually so…suggestive.

“I don’t think so, Sergeant. You’re all set,” He withheld from wheezing out an exhale of a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. “I look forward to seeing you, Peach.”

The name vibrated out of his throat and seemed to echo through the air. He liked saying it, and suddenly he was excited to get to say it more in the future.

“Same to you, Captain.”

With that, Price turned on his heel and practically sprinted once he was out of earshot. That was unlike any first encounter he had ever experienced. No one had ever brought him to nearly crumbling like that. It was freaking him out, and he needed quiet time to calm down.

He couldn’t stop thinking about how unexpected this was. How unexpected she was. His hesitation was now more of a curious feeling. He was curious to know how she would do and what she was like in general.

Something was different about her…but he didn’t quite know what it was yet.

Peach had a lot to prove to Captain Price. She knew it, and he knew it too. The good captain wasn’t totally sold on her just yet, but this first encounter was definitely dissolving some of his initial reservations. He could get used to having her around and having her in his life.

Little did he know that she would become a much bigger part of it than he originally anticipated. And for that, he was forever thankful.

Maybe someone unexpected wasn’t so bad after all.

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