#‘oh this nose? the nose gifted to me by the most wonderful woman in the world? the nose that can track down a scent 100km away?

[redriotinggg]

I may be in the minority here but I like to think that Usopp’s appearance (pre and post ts) has never been a source of insecurity for him. I think that Usopp loves his nose because it reminds him of his mom. He loves his brown skin and his curly hair! His thick eyebrows and big lips and round eyes help him make lots of cool expressions when he’s telling a story. Plus, Kaya used to always compliment his long lashes, so he’s come to love those, too. He knows he got hot during his two years on Boin and he owns it. Usopp has a lot of self-esteem issues, but that boy wouldn’t consider himself ugly.

[iamnotoriginalphil]

Teacher's Pet (Agatha Harkness x f!Reader)

Synopsis: Professor Harkness takes on so few students. You're determined to become on. A non-magic AU with professor!Agatha.

Words: 7.4k

Warnings: Praise kink, possessiveness, obsessiveness, drinking, teacher/student relationship, age gap (but all over 18+), smut, fingering (R receiving), oral sex (R receiving), biting, Dom!Agatha, sub!R, power imbalance, unhealthy dynamics

You’d heard the whispers around campus about Professor Harkness’s class. The rumours were passed around like a ghost story told under the cover of night at camp. You stored them, collected each one like a gem, richer for every word you were gifted by the rumour mill. Drunk students would try one up one another at house parties, wanting to share the worst of her and win the competition.

You were fascinated with the legend of her before you ever laid eyes on her.

It was at a faculty party, your history professor extending an invitation to all of his most promising students. You’d shown up, expecting nothing but other old men, ruing the day the students grew so rowdy, passing around stories about their own college days when they showed far more respect to their professors than your lot ever did.

Instead, you’d found her, nursing a glass of red wine in the library, a heavy book open in her palm. She glanced up, piercing blue eyes settling on you with disinterest, and yet you felt like you’d been struck by lightning. You took a deep breath as her eyes left you, going back to the book in her hand, and made your way further into the room.

Your finger trailed over the spines of the book, most leather bound and weighty, older than the mess of paperbacks in your dorm room. Scanning the titles, you realised each one was on World War I. You wrinkled your nose, continuing on.

You knew you should have been trying to network with some of the most eminent professors in the history department, but now you were finding it hard to break free from the woman’s gravity. So you stayed, looking over the books, trying to find something that would suggest your professor wasn’t as boring as you suspected he was. And if you kept sneaking glances at the other woman, then it was an added bonus to your evening. Dark hair and pale skin, red lips curling up at the corner, dressed in clothes that must have cost more than your entire wardrobe combined, she was the most wonderful thing to look at in that room.

She did not pay you any attention.

“Ah, there you are.”

You glanced up, your professor swaggering through the door, a glass of scotch dangling from his fingertips. In the corner of your eye, you saw the woman tilt her head in his direction.

“Oh good. I’m so glad the two of you found each other,” he said.

You looked over at the woman, finding her staring down your professor with a look of absolute disdain. Clasping your hands in front of oyur body, you waited for some kind of explanation. Your professor drew closer, the bounce in his step seemingly suggesting he hadn’t noticed the way the woman was looking at him.

“Agatha, let me introduce you to my best student.”

He scooped you up on his way, the hand on the small of your back directing you towards her. You’d done your best to keep your distance from her, not sure she’d appreciate you interrupting her. Now, propelled towards her, a sense of anticipation mixed with anxiety curdled in your stomach into something you didn’t like.

When he said your name, those blue eyes focused on you. You wouldn’t say there was interest there, but it certainly was something more than the disdain she’d shown him.

“Agatha’s interests lie more in historical folklore surrounding witchcraft,” he told you.

“Oh,” you said, “I was hoping to look at that for my senior thesis.”

“Agatha Harkness,” she said, eyebrow raising, holding a hand out to you.

You grasped it in yours, her warm skin soft where it met your palm. It was like an electric shock went through you from her touch while you tried to fit this view of a woman with the figure of legend you’d been collecting stories on for the last few years at college.

“Don’t you go trying to poach my best student, Agatha,” you professor tutted, “I’m still trying to convince her to instead look at something more modern and practical.”

“You believe another World War I scholar is practical?” she asked, the drawl of her voice letting you know exactly what she thought of that opinion.

“I would say there’s more need for them in the workforce than witches,” he replied, still good-naturedly, but his gaze had hardened.

“We should talk,” she said to you, turning her head back to you, blocking your professor out of the conversation.

“I’d like that,” you said, knowing you sounded breathless and probably too eager, but you weren’t about to miss this opportunity.

She finally let your hand go, fingers stroking softly along the length of your palm. Your lips parted and for just a moment her gaze lingered there before looking back to your professor.

“You may go now,” she told him, not bothering to keep it behind the cover of polite respectability.

He sputtered out some argument. She rolled her eye, placing a hand on the small of your back, so different from when his hand had been there, and led you out of the door. Eyes followed the two of you, most focused on her, a ripple of something going through the rest of the party. She pushed the front door open, leading you into the cool air of the night.

“So,” she said, leaning back against the railing of the porch, “you’re interested in witchcraft, are you?”

“Yes,” you replied, softly, almost embarrassed, and yet certain in your conviction.

“You should know that oaf is taking such an interest in you because you’re such a pretty young thing,” she said, “his last favourite is now positioned somewhere nice like Yale or Cambridge and he keeps taking the credit for putting her there.”

“I have no interest in World War I,” you said, hoping that was answer enough.

“Clever girl.”

The thrill of her praise would sustain you long after the party was over.

“If you’re serious about pursuing witchcraft for your senior thesis, come by my office tomorrow morning with a proposal,” she said.

She maintained eye contact as she took a long sip from her wine, her lipstick leaving a mark on the glass. You couldn’t stop yourself watching her, already under her spell. She passed the glass to you, half drunk, and turned to walked down the steps.

“Don’t disappoint me,” she called over her shoulder before disappearing in the night.

You drained the last of the wine from her glass and left it there on the wooden floor of the porch. You returned home without bothering to take your leave of your professor, knowing he wouldn’t matter by that time tomorrow. You were going to give her the best proposal she’d ever seen, of that you were determined.

She agreed to oversee your senior thesis on historical folklore of witchcraft.

You learnt very quickly that Professor Harness’s demanding nature wasn’t an overblown rumour. She expected excellence from you. Late nights and early mornings, you spent so much time with you nose in your books the outside world stopped feeling real. Your fingers had grown ink stained and your eyes ached from the strain of reading such small type.

Every meeting, she sent you home with a new stack of books, expecting you to be there again in a few days having read them all, ready to discuss every little detail in her office for hours on end. She took up most of your waking hours, and when you did manage to snatch some sleep, she haunted your dreams.

You hadn’t gotten over the way lightning had struck at your first meeting.

Her office had turned into a sanctuary for you. You’d rush in, an armful of books almost tumbling to the floor before you threw them down into one of her chairs and curling up on the sofa she kept flush to the wall under the window. Some days you were there from the moment she arrived until long after the sun set, just reading and taking notes.

The office itself was warm, sometimes overly so, the sun coming through the window at just the right angle to heat the air. Her desk was large, imposing, the perfect symbol for the woman who had become legend around campus. Bookshelves were overflowing with all kinds of books. Cheap paperbacks, hardcovers, leather-bound, in pristine condition and falling apart. Some she’d let you pour over but leave behind at the end of the night, others she sent you off with. All you knew was you wanted the chance to read every single one.

Sharing the space with her was just as nerve inducing as it was the first time. You became so aware of yourself, wanting to impress her. When she’d sit beside you, the sofa cushions dipping until you felt yourself slip towards her, you’d grow so still, trying to not touch her, scared of what that would do to you. Sometimes, she lent forward to look at the page you were reading and her dark hair would brush your skin.

There were times when you thought she might know what you were thinking. The way you felt out of control around her. Your need to impress her. Her gaze would linger just a fraction of a moment longer than was appropriate, assessing every inch of you. Sometimes her fingertips would graze over the skin of your cheek, or she’d grasp your chin, or she’d gently move your hair out of your face. Hours spent together, and you could never tell how she felt about you or your work.

It only made you try harder.

It wasn’t until two months in that your friends decided to take matters into their own hands. You’d just returned from a full day studying in her office when a knock sounded on your door. Stifling a yawn, you pulled the door open.

“Oh, so you are still alive,” you friend said, shoving past you into your tiny dorm room.

“Hello to you too,” you said.

“There’s a party tonight. You’re coming. Don’t even bother arguing. No one has seen you since you started studying with the witch,” she said, picking up a banana on your desk that had begun to turn brown, “seriously, does she keep you chained up or something?”

You weren’t about to dignify that with an answer. Not that the thought of being bound by Professor Harkness was one that you hated. It just wasn’t worth the time explaining that.

“I have so much work I still need to do,” you said.

“You’ve been working too hard. Come on, it’ll be fun. You still remember what fun is like, right?”

In the end, you let her drag you to the party after raiding your wardrobe for something more party appropriate. Standing, clutching the red solo cup full of something that burnt as it went down, you watched the game of ping pong going on.

“I’d be terrified if I had to spend all that time with her,” some guy was saying to you.

“She’s not that scary,” you said, already regretting your decision to come.

“Nah. I heard she made some guy piss himself with just a look,” he said, swaying closer to you.

“She’s not like that,” you said, shaking your head, “sounds like that guy just has poor bladder control.”

“Ha, you’re funny,” he said, leaning closer until his sour breath washed over your face, “wanna come upstairs so you can tell me what she’s really like?”

“No thank you,” you said, shoving him away form you.

“Whatever,” he spat, “frigid bitch.”

“So what’s she actually like?” your friend said, taking the drunk guy’s place when he swung away from you.

“Quiet, exacting, demanding,” you replied, “she expects excellence.”

“Sounds exhausting,” she said.

“No, no, it’s great. I love it. She’s… great,” you said, looking down into your cup, swirling the liquid in it, “she’s kind of brilliant.”

“Careful. You sound like you’re in love with her,” your friend laughed.

“Don’t be stupid,” you snapped.

“Maybe she’s done a spell on you. You know everyone says she’s an actual witch? She’s certainly mean enough,” she said.

“She’s not,” you snapped, “seriously, all those rumours are made up by sad little people who feel inferior whenever they see a smart woman because they know they can’t ever live up to her.”

“She growled like a dog at some guy who cut her off as she was walking,” she said.

“People make up such stupid lies,” you said.

“Someone has video of her insulting some students. It went viral on TikTok,” she said.

“They probably deserved it. She has standards,” you said.

“I’m just saying, be careful with her. Maybe she’s trying to recruit you to her coven, or maybe she’s hoping to sacrifice you in some ritual to get more power,” she said.

“Shut up,” you snapped.

Downing the last of your drink, you crumpled the cup and flung it aside.

“I’m going home. I have too much work to be getting on with for this,” you said.

“Hey, no, come on. I’ll stop talking about her,” she said.

You shook her hand off you.

“I’ll see you around.”

You ignored her as she shouted after you, letting yourself out through the back gate. Curling your arms around your body, you strode off down the sidewalk. The night air held a chill to it, the slow drip of autumn beginning to give way to winter. You tipped your head back to look at the night sky, so dark, the moon just beginning to wax.

You let your feet lead you back towards your dorm building, wandering through the night and the shadows. The air was crisp in your lungs and you let yourself breath in deeply. You should have been home, reading up on the intersect of witch trails with gynophobia in the Renaissance, but instead you had wasted time on a bunch of drunk idiots for nothing.

“You’re out late.”

You startled, whirling around, heart thumping in your chest. Stepping out of the shadows, hands in her pockets, Professor Harkness looked like the devil come to collect your soul. You’d give it willingly if only she asked for it.

“I was at a party,” you said.

“You should be careful,” she said, taking slow steps towards you, “pretty young thing like you all alone at night. Anything could happen.”

The way she smiled made you feel as if she was the wolf and you the sheep, the prey to her predator. You were desperate to let her sink her teeth deeply into you.

“Nothing that interesting happens to me,” you said, voice quiet.

“Come, pet,” she said, hand landing on the small of your back, “I’ll walk you home. Can’t have something happen to you. I’ll feel so much guilt.”

You let her lead you back towards campus, the bright lights beckoning you home. You didn’t ask how she knew where to take you, so focused on the feeling of her hand splayed over your back, the warmth of her skin seeping through your thin shirt and into your skin.

“I suppose I’ve forgotten what it is to be young. I assumed you’d be curled up in bed, reading the texts I gave you,” she said, “of course you’d be out on a Friday night at a party.”

“My friend dragged me with her. Apparently I’ve been missing in action since I started working with you. She said I needed to have fun,” you said.

“I thought we were having fun,” she said, voice a low rumbled against your ear.

“We are. I am,” you said, so quick it brought a smirk to her lips when you turned your face towards her, “I shouldn’t have gone tonight. It was a waste of time.”

“Have you been drinking?” she asked. When you didn’t answer, she lent closer, “I won’t tell anyone if you have.”

“I’m over 21,” you whispered.

“Such a grown up girl,” she said, “I can smell the cheap vodka on you.”

She paused in front of your dorm building, warm light spilling out the entrance. Both hands came up to cup your cheeks, calloused skin scraping against yours, thumb brushing over your cheekbone. She lent forward again, right into your personal space. Her fingertips stroked over your soft skin as she pulled them away before her index finger gently tugged on your lower lip.

“Sweet dreams, kitten,” she whispered before disappearing back into the shadows of the night. If not for your racing heart you might have thought you’d hallucinated the entire thing.

She didn’t mention it when you slunk into her office on Monday, passing you a cup of coffee without a single word, but a raised eyebrow. You took it with grace, curling up on her sofa, opening the book in your lap. When she settled beside you, feet kicked up on her coffee table, you didn’t even look at her out of the corner of your eyes.

Her fingers were soft as they brushed your hair over your shoulder, gently tucking it behind your ear. Lingering on the curve of your jaw, you shivered, dragging your gaze over to her. The corner of her lips pulled up for a fleeting moment.

“Tell me your thoughts.”

You did, the words spilling over your words like secrets, softly spoken in the confessional of her office. You lent back, watching you, legs spread, interest in her blue eyes. Her finger ran along the length of her lip, intent as she watched you talk yourself out. Once you were done, her hand came to cradle the back of your head, nails scraping over your scalp.

“It appears as if your weekend wasn’t totally wasted,” she said.

“No,” you said.

“Good.” Her lips pressed together to repress her smile, “keep reading.”

Her long fingers tapped the book in your lap and she left you alone to your reading. You snuck a glance at her before bowing your head and trying not to think about what this meant.

Nor the way you yearned for more.

From that day, you noticed a change. Her hands would linger on you, her touch growing familiar and yet no less exciting. You stayed later and later, curling up on her sofa, growing comfortable as you waded through history with her. She guided you, shaping your research into something you could be proud of as you poured over books and wrote long paragraphs for her to read. Shared meals and shared drinks, you’d sit on the floor of her office, take out containers scattered over the coffee table. You shrunk further away from your friends, finding their conversations inane and childish, drunken antics no longer fun but puerile as you worked on something far more important. You lost yourself in that room, an addict who needed their fix every day or else you were given over to malaise.

She indulged your need for her attention, her open door policy lasting 24 hours a day. She seemed to enjoy how much you wanted to share the same air as her. Every time you said something, your eyes would turn to her, desperate for her approval which she freely gave. You spent time watching the way her fingers traced over words on the page in front of you, trying not to think about how much you wanted her to do the same thing across your bare skin. Her praise became greater, more frequent, each one hard won for, and each one treasured like the most precious of gifts, hoarding them to revisit every night before you fell asleep.

You hadn’t realised how comfortable you’d grown in her presence until the afternoon you realised you’d fallen asleep on the sofa as you tried to craft the perfect sentence. Your eyelashes fluttered and you were slow to blink your eyes open. Draped in a soft blanket, the warm air heated from the small space heater Professor Harkness had dragged into the office, you glanced around the room. It was darker than you’d remembered, the window showing a night sky while the lamps offered a soft refuge against the dark.

Something tightened around your ankle. You turned your attention towards it. Professor Harkness was sitting on the other end of the sofa, your bare feet resting in her lap. The book in her hand was left unattended as she stared down at you, a confusing expression on her face. Her grip on your ankle tightened again and you offered a lazy smile.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to drop off,” you said, voice rough with sleep.

“I’ve been wearing you out,” she said.

With the softness of sleep making it difficult to school your features, your cheeks heated at the implication. Not that you would have minded. In fact, you wished that was the reason you were so tired.

Her finger trailed along the arch of your foot. You shifted, the touch a tickle. She did it again, smiling down at you before she let you go.

“Sleep, if you have to. You’re no use to me if you’re too tired to function,” she said.

“No, no, I’m okay,” you said, sitting up, the blanket pooling around you.

The thought that she’d placed it over you for your comfort made your head spin. To then sit by you, to welcome any part of you into her personal space as you slept was even worse. Your chest ached and your heart clenched and you wanted to crawl into her lap.

“Perhaps you’re right. We should take a break. I’ve been working you too hard,” she said.

You would let her work you harder if it meant more moments like this.

“Come, pet. I’m taking you to dinner.”

You were helpless as you followed her. She drove, the car feeling so close with the dark night pressing in against the windows. You tried not to watch her, the hands you’d been fantasising about controlling the machine with such power.

The restaurant was nice. Intimate. Small tables and soft lamps offering pools of light, plenty of shadows to hide in. The maître d' seemed to recognise her, leading her to a table at the back. You lowered into your seat, taking note of the candle on the table between the two of you. The entire thing felt like a dream.

“Um, I’m not sure I can afford this place,” you said.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said, waving off your worry, “I’m paying.”

“Oh.” You clasped your hands in your lap, “thank you, Professor.”

“Why do you always call me that?” she asked.

“Call you what?” you asked.

“Professor,” she replied, “I have a name.”

“Sorry. Do you not like it? I was trying to be respectful,” you said, anxiety taking hold of you.

“Agatha is fine,” she said.

“Okay,” you replied, “Agatha.”

Her smile was self satisfied and she lent back in her chair, eyes sweeping over you. You let her drink her fill of you, not sure what she was looking for, but wanting to give it to her. You’d give her anything she asked for.

“I must admit, I wasn’t sure about taking on a student. I usually don’t. But I’m glad I did. You’ve been quite the diligent student,” she said.

“I’m glad you did too,” you said.

“Of course you are, pet,” she said.

Before you could say anything else, the waiter paused by the side of the table. She ordered for you, glancing over as she did so as if ensure you didn’t argue. You weren’t about to. You’d do whatever she wanted as long as it pleased her.

The wine was expensive, full bodied, better than any other you’d had. It stained her lips and you wanted to lick it free from where it clung to her skin. The discussion over dinner was about the things you’d read that day, listening to the way she so easily connected one story to another. Her mastery was awe inspiring. It was easy to ignore the romantic setting and the wine that kept being poured for you as she spoke, her husky voice doing something delicious to you.

It wasn’t until dessert that it all came crashing back into you. The creme brûlée in front of her was beautiful. The spoon cracked the top and she took a bite, slowly pulling the spoon from between her lips. Her eyelids fluttered shut and a low moan reverberated through her chest. Your cheeks heated, thighs pressing together, turning breathless. A slow smile spread over her face and when her eyes opened again they were smouldering.

“You must try this. No other place does one as good,” she said.

“Oh, uh…” You looked down at the tiramisu in front of you.

“Come here, pet.”

She held out a spoon of the creme brûlée towards you. You lent forward, not quite able to believe what was happening. She placed it in your mouth, blue eyes holding yours over the top of the candle’s flame. It felt as if everything was moving in slow motion as she drew the spoon back.

The small noise of pleasure that came from you had her gaze lowering to your lips. Your tongue darted out, chasing the sugar on your lips. Her eyes darkened and she lent closer over the table.

“How’s that, pet?” she asked, husky, a rasp of a voice.

“It’s delicious,” you said, breathless and high pitched, a perfect opposite to her.

“It is, isn’t it?”

You watched in fascination as she scooped up some more, her tongue licking the spoon clean. Your breath hitched. Under the table, her foot gently brushed against your shin. Her blue eyes twinkled with something you wanted to drown in.

“Eat your dessert, kitten,” she said, “then I’ll take you home.”

You did as you were told, not even tasting coffee and cream of your own dessert. You were so focused on watching her devour her’s, indecent in how much pleasure she took from it. You were squirming in your seat as she finished, feeling on fire.

It wasn’t fair. Nothing about this was fair. You wanted her so much and she was just… making it worse.

She seemed not to realise the exact effect she was having on you as she led you out of the restaurant and back into her car. You stared out the window, not needing to be caught staring any more than you already had. It wasn’t until the rumble of the engine cut off that you realised something.

“This isn’t my home,” you said, staring up at the large two story house in front of you.

“No, it’s mine,” she said.

“What?”

You whipped around to stare at her. She wasn’t even looking back, the door open as she stepped out of the car.

“Are you coming or what?” she asked.

You scrambled to follow her, almost tripping over yourself in your haste. You weren’t sure what you expected, reproach for following her into her house or to be welcomed in with warmth. What you weren’t expecting was to follow her into the back where the kitchen was.

“Do you want tea?” she asked.

“Sure,” you replied, “what am I doing here?”

“Having tea,” she said, glancing at you over her shoulder.

“And then?” you asked.

“Going to sleep. I can’t trust you to do that on your own,” she replied, “clearly.”

“I really am sorry about that,” you said.

“Stop apologising,” she snapped.

Your lips formed the word sorry again before you stopped yourself. Instead, you watched her boil the water for the tea. Your confusion was mixing with your yearning, leaving you unable to do anything but wait for her to tell you what was going on. Pouring the water into two mugs, the strings from the teabags resting against the sides, she looked over her shoulder at you again.

“Come on then.”

You followed her with the two mugs of tea into her living room. It was comfortable, almost like a more lived in version of her office. Sitting beside her on the couch, comfortable and well loved, you watched her lean forward and place one mug on the coffee table. She passed the other to you, fingers brushing together, looking at you from under her eyelashes.

“There you go, kitten,” she murmured.

“Thanks.”

You looked down into the cup, steam rising from the surface of the steeping tea. Your fingers fiddled with the string of the teabag. Her hand landed on your thigh, startling you.

“You’re being awfully quiet,” she said.

“I don’t know what I’m going here,” you said, dragging your eyes up to her.

“Do you not want to be here?” she asked.

“No, no I do,” you said, rushing through the words, “it’s just…”

Her hands were gentle as they took the cup from your hands, placing it down beside hers. You could only watch as she swung her leg over yours, settling herself in your lap. Both hands cupped your cheeks, thumb stroking along your cheekbone.

“Agatha,” you whispered.

“Yes, pet?” she asked.

“I want you,” you confessed.

“I know.”

Her lips pressed against yours, scorching as she consumed your very soul. Your hands hovered above her waist, scared that to touch her was to break the moment, that it would make her come to her senses. She kissed you deeper, nails digging into the skin of your cheeks as she tipped your head back. Her tongue swept into your mouth. She was so warm when your hands made contact with her body.

She moaned into your mouth, filthy and hot, making you claw at her. She tasted of the burnt sugar of the creme brûlée and the wine you’d split with her. She kissed deeper still, stealing your breath. You tugged at her shirt, pulling it out of the waistband of her pants. Shoving your hands up, you felt the soft skin of her bare back against your palms, your fingertips, wanting to feel every inch of her.

Her hands slipped into your hair, shoving it out of the way, tugging on it in a way that had you mewling into her mouth. You felt her grin against your lips before she lent back, staring down at you. Her eyes had darkened, her lips kiss swollen, cheeks flushed.

“Do you want to stop?” she asked.

You shook your head before surging up to capture her lips in another kiss. Her fingers tightened in your hair and she made a small noise as your nails ran down her spine. You felt out of control, wanting more from her, the way you always did. There was something about her that drove you crazy, that had always driven you crazy. Even before you’d met her she’d consumed you.

She sat back again, hands slipping from your hair. You watched as her hands crossed over her body, slowly peeling her shirt off her body. You were dumbstruck, watching her with wide eyes and heaving breath. She flung the shirt aside, shaking her hair back from her face.

“Are you going to touch me, pet?” she asked.

“Yeah,” you breathed out.

Your hands slid around her ribcage, feeling the way her skin moved as she inhaled. She was so warm against your palms, real and there with you. You were slow as you trailed your fingers up, brushing the underside of one cloth covered breast. Your eyes darted up to her face, finding her watching you instead of your hands.

“Go on,” she encouraged.

You cupped them, feeling the weight of them in your hands. Leaning forward, your lips brushed over the curve of one then the other, vulnerable skin soft. Your tongue dragged over it, tasting her. She made a small noise, a rumbling in her chest, hands coming up to curl around the back your neck. She pressed you closer.

Reaching around, you released her from her bra, tugging the straps down her arm. Your mouth was on her again, exploring, until your lips wrapped around a nipple. The noise she made was one of approval, back arching towards your mouth. When you sucked, gentle at first, testing the waters, she pressed you closer again. You wanted to please her so badly.

With your hand, you rolled the other nipple between thumb and forefinger. Your name sounded so sweet on her lips, urging you to continue. Her soft sighs and the way her hips rolled against you only made you want more. You wanted to worship at the alter of her body, to take communion from between her legs, to whisper your confessions into her skin. You wanted to drown in her.

Fingers tilted your chin up, your mouth popping free with an indecent noise. She chuckled, pressing her lips to yours again, teeth sinking in to your lower lip until you tasted the coppery tang of blood. You whined, surprised at how much you enjoyed the sensation of the pain mixed with the pleasure.

You made a pained noise as she climbed off your lap, standing half naked in front of you. Your fingertips skated over her skin. Without a word, she pulled you up off the couch and tugged you towards the stairs. You followed, willing to go wherever she wanted, as long as you could keep touching her.

She paused halfway up, turning to grasp your face in her hands, kissing you again like she couldn’t stop herself. You whimpered into her mouth, hands on her bare waist. She dragged you the rest of the way up, pinning you to the wall at the top of the stairs. You groaned, pressing her closer, wanting her everywhere. One leg slotted between yours and the noise you made would have been embarrassing if you weren’t so lost in her. Her thigh pressed against you, just enough pressure to have you grinding down, seeking out more.

“So needy, pet,” she murmured against your lips.

“Want you,” you managed to choke out before her tongue was in your mouth again and you were rolling your hips against her thigh.

“When I fuck you, it won’t be against the wall,” she said.

She tugged you further down the hall, slamming open a door to what you hoped would be your final destination. Her lips were on yours again, possessing you, guiding you where she wanted you. She paused, just long enough to tear your t-shirt from your body, flinging it aside.

Her lips trailed down your neck, latching on at your pulse point. You whined, tipping your head back to give her more access. You felt on fire. Her hands were skating over your bare skin, nails dragging in a delicious way, making you gasp out her name in a plea for more.

Rather than give in and give you instant gratification, she took her time with you. Her hands were slow but sure as she peeled your clothes from your body. It was the same level of precision she used in her work, getting exactly what she wanted. Only this time, you were the thing she wanted.

When she lowered you onto the bed, you were bare before her. Your usual self consciousness was washed away in the tide of your longing for her. Her eyes swept over you, lingering, taking their time to drink you in in your entirety. Her fingers played with your nipples, watching with an academic interest as you arched up, your small whines doing nothing to spur her on.

Holding your eyes, she pressed kisses to your skin, soft and slow, making her way down your body, lingering the closer she got to the apex of your thighs. You trembled, fingers clenching in the comforter.

“You keep your hands right there, pet,” she said, staring up your body.

You nodded, willing to agree to anything she asked of you in that moment.

“Good girl,” she said before her lips pressed to the crease where your hip met your thigh. You inhaled sharply and she grinned. Her teeth sunk in, leaving a dark bruise on your skin as she sucked on it.

She hovered for a moment, her breath ghosting over where you wanted her the most. You pulsed, suspended in the moment before her mouth made contact with you. Her hands curled around your thighs, holding you open for her as her tongue ran through your folds. You cried out, hips bucking up into her mouth.

She chuckled, the vibrations going through you in a way that made you feel like you were being undone. Her tongue teased you again before pressing against your bundle of nerves. You whined, fingers clenching, her name a prayer on your lips. She pinned your hips to the bed, giving your clit a harsh suck. The feeling ricocheted through you, fire curling in your veins, your muscles tightening.

She feasted on you. Relentless, unforgiving, refusing to give you a chance to breathe. She was like a woman possessed, singular in her intent, putting everything into her goal. She was taking you apart, slowly and surely, and all you could hope was that she’d put you back together again when she was done.

Her fingers slid inside of you, so easily it would be embarrassing under other circumstances. They were slow at first, teasing and never giving you quite enough. But then she curled them, pressing into the special place no one but you had managed to find. Your legs trembled.

“I’m so close,” you whimpered.

“No you don’t, pet,” she said, “you don’t come until I say so.”

“But-“ you tried to argue.

“You want to be a good girl for me, don’t you?” she asked, cutting you off, thumb running in slow circles over your clit.

“Yes,” you replied, whiney and desperate.

“Then don’t you dare come without my permission,” she said, face lowering back to your throbbing core.

Her tongue was back on your clit as her fingers continued to stroke inside of you. You trembled, shaking, trying so hard to stave off your oncoming orgasm. Tears pricked in your eyes, fingers clenching tightly on the hold you had on the sheets until it hurt. She kept going, ruthless in what she wanted. She had complete control over you.

It was so close, you could practically taste it. You were straining, doing everything you could not to tip over the edge. She was a master of your body, able to play it to perfection. Her tongue kept dragging over your clit, sucking on it, fingers twisting and curling, dragging out every iota of pleasure your body held.

“Agatha,” you sobbed, “please.”

Blue eyes stared up at you, dark and dangerous.

“Please,” you begged.

Her fingers gave another slow stroke. You whimpered, your entire body on fire, wound tight as you did what you were told. You always did what she told you to do.

“Go on, pet,” she said, “keep your eyes on me and you can come.”

You let out a relieved breath. When you let yourself go, the wave of pleasure crashed into you, wave after wave. She held your gaze the entire time, drinking in the way pleasure contorted your body. The way you cried out her name felt holy, a cry of worship as you stared into her eyes.

When she drew back, she held her hand up, tongue running up her fingers. You reached out, grasping her wrist. She let you pull her hand towards you, your lips sliding down her fingers, lapping your arousal from her skin. Her eyes smouldered as she watched you, a pleased smirk on her lips.

“You are a good girl, aren’t you pet,” she murmured, gently stroking you hair with her other hand. The pulse of pleasure that went through you was bright and intense. You liked being her good girl.

Your tongue swirled over each digit, cleaning her up as best you could. A flicker of fondness passed over her face before she pulled it away from you. Leaning forward, her lips pressed against yours, rough and intense, passionate in ways you hadn’t experienced with anyone else. It made you feel wanted, desired, the way you always felt wanted with her. After all, she’d agreed to take you on for your senior thesis when she so rarely took people on.

“Alright, kitten,” she whispered against your lips, “let’s see how many times I can make you come tonight before you beg me to stop.”

When you awoke in the morning, deliciously sore and definitely sated, you rolled over in the large bed, hands reaching for the warm body you were expecting to find beside you. All you found was cool sheets. Squinting your eyes open, the light was still kept at bay from the drawn curtains, but the room was empty of another person. You sat up, rumpled and unsure.

You slipped out of the bed, tugging your clothes back on but your feet bare. You were slow as you eased the door open, padding out onto the landing you’d paid no attention to the night before. On silent feet, you descended to the lower level of the house, following the sound you could just hear.

Agatha was in the kitchen, her back to you, encased in a flowing silk robe. You blinked, pausing as you drank her in. Her hair, wild and out of control, long fingers tapping on the counter, legs bare where they peeked out the bottom of the robe. She was breathtaking in the morning light.

“You’re staring, kitten,” she said, voice still rough from sleep.

“Sorry,” you said, slipping into the kitchen proper.

She turned her head, glancing at you over her shoulder. Her eyebrows drew together and the corner of her lips turned down.

“Why are you dressed?” she asked, stepping away from the counter, “were you planning on sneaking out in the morning?”

“No, I… I wasn’t sure what was appropriate,” you said.

“Please tell me this wasn’t your first time,” she said.

“Of course not,” you said, “although I suppose it is my first time with my professor,”

She hummed but didn’t give you more of an answer. Anxiety was seeping into your body now.

“I thought you might want me to leave.”

Her eyes snapped back to you, displeasure painting her features.

“Come here.”

You didn’t move.

“I’m not going to ask again, pet,” she said, voice hardened, “come. Here.”

On soft feet you approached her. With sure hands she caught you, fingers pressing into your hips as she held you tightly. Your eyes darted around her face before dragging down. Bare skin met your eyes until the shadow of the robe obscured her from your vision. She was naked under the robe and there was still a part of you that wanted to unwrap her like a present.

“Do you want to leave?” she asked, gaining your attention again.

Your eyes snapped up to hers and you shook your head.

“I thought I’d made it obvious that the only place I want you is with me,” she said, “the only person I want you thinking about is me. The only person I want touching you is me.”

You trembled.

“Do you want that too, kitten?” she asked, drawing closer.

“Yes,” you breathed out.

“Then you’re mine, pet,” she said, her nose skimming along the curve of your jaw.

Her hand squeezed your hips and her lips pressed to the vulnerable skin behind your jaw before she pulled away. Your breath caught and you felt lightheaded. You ached to pull her back to you, to lose yourself in the feeling of her body and her skin and her mouth. Would you ever stop feeling this way with her? You didn’t think so.

“Now, I’ve been thinking. I’ve been pushing you too hard lately. You can have the weekend off,” she said.

“Oh.” You were still trembling from the brush of her lips and her words, “thanks.”

“So you won’t be needing those clothes,” she said, flippant and dismissive, “you certainly won’t be in them long.”

You flushed, cheeks heating. There was a twist to her lips, amusement twinkling in her eyes. You slipped closer to her again, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth.

“Whatever you want, Agatha,” you whispered.

“All I want is you, pet,” she replied.

Turns out, all you wanted was her too.

[ohdearlingwhathappened]

A Pair Made in The Pits

Falling Behind Pt. 3- TFP Megatron x Reader

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3.5

A/n: Thank you all, once again for your patience and understanding on the time it took for this chapter's release. It was hard to find time to write between multiple ER visits and the passing of my dog, but I was finally able to finish it up! I hope you all enjoy, and I would love to hear your thoughts. WC: 7099

And thank you to @callsign-relic for allowing me to commission her beautiful work for my story's cover art! You always make amazing pieces!

Warnings: Torture, cursing, Starscream and Megatron being a dick, and deprecation. If I've missed anything, please let me know

Y/n wasn’t sure as to how one of the Autobots- probably Optimus- had returned her car to her driveway, but she wasn’t complaining. She did, however, inwardly groan over the fact she forgot to turn off her 6am alarm after all of yesterday’s excitement, especially after the awful sleep she had. Y/n’s mind kept her up all night, the voices of anxiety now practically screaming that something was wrong- that something wrong was done. And it wasn’t until she had finally gotten to sleep did it feel that seconds later her alarm was blaring in her ear. 

Getting up, against the wants of her body, Y/n slowly makes her way to her kitchen, debating whether or not she wants coffee or tea to start her morning. Looking in her fridge and seeing a lack of milk, the decision is easily made and she fills her kettle with water and begins preparing the steeper and getting the oolong out of the cabinet. However, before being able to take the first sip, the sound of the rumbling and then resounding hiss of a semi coming to a stop. Taking a look outside her living room window, there sits Optimus, waiting for Y/n to come outside, presumably to go back to the base.

“Shit.” Y/n groans, rubbing the bridge of her nose, wondering if the kids are also being ushered out of the house this early. 

Pouring her tea into a travel tumbler, Y/n scurries around her house to take a quick shower and get changed into a black blouse tucked into a midi, and finishing it off with a pair of booties. She applies some makeup and practically runs out the door, grabbing a random book on the way. 

“... Good morning, Optimus.” The passenger side door pops open and Y/n quickly climbs in and makes herself comfortable. The woman gives an airy laugh while fiddling with her hair, “I didn’t expect you so soon, I had to rush around to get ready.”

“Good morning, Y/n. I apologize- I did not mean to rush you, though it may be best to get back to the base sooner than later.” The cab hums with his response- even if Y/n hadn’t been inside, she was sure she would have felt the baritone vibrations nonetheless. 

The drive back was long and quiet, much like last night. Taking a sip of her tea, Y/n finally looks down at the book, and it takes all of her restraint not to spit it out onto his dashboard. What looks back up at Y/n is a sweaty, shirtless cowboy and the title ‘Ride into My Heart Like a Stallion’. A gag gift given to them by their friend half-way across the country, of which Y/n never intended to touch, let alone read. Y/n couldn’t help but truly consider the pros and cons on whether or not she could just chuck the book, but she knew it would drag up more questions if she just threw the book out the window, so she simply crossed her arms over it and hoped that no one would ask her about it throughout the day. 

“Y/n?”

Snapped out of her thoughts, Y/n looks over to the head unit of the dash, not entirely sure where to look before responding, “Sorry, it seems I was lost in my own thoughts.”

“I was asking if you needed to stop anywhere before heading back to base? We do not have much for humans at this moment.”

“Oh um, no, I’m alright. I have my tea and a book, and I’m sure the children will be able to keep themselves occupied as well. I’m not completely familiar with the boys, but Miko will most assuredly be fine; give that girl a pencil, paper, and something of interest, she’ll be kept busy for a while.” Y/n laughs to herself for a moment, though a worried expression passes over her face, “She’s a creative girl, but I worry about her being lonely. Her host parents aren’t used to her, and she doesn’t really have any friends at the school. I think, despite the rather strange circumstances, that perhaps being with you all may be good for her.”

“You seem to care for them well. Do you have sparklings of your own?’

“Sparkl- oh, Children? No no no. I don’t have any- um- sparklings. Closest thing I hope to get to that is Miko. I haven’t figured out my own grievances in this world, and it wouldn’t feel right to bring life into a world where your own quotemate may be a cruel joke.”

“A quotemate?”

Y/n takes a deep breath through her nose and casts her eyes to the ceiling of Optimus’ cab, trying to come up with a succinct explanation to the complex system that not even humanity has completely figured out, “Well, a quotemate is someone you are connected to. In the simplest of terms, your quotemate is the person who is supposed to protect, love, and stand beside you. And the way you find them is a quote that appears on one of your wrists- hence, ‘quotemate’. There’s a few more details, but that’s the gist of it.”

“We had a similar- but not very common- phenomenon on Cybertron, however, we call our fated ones ‘sparkmates’.”

“It’s a much prettier word than our species’. Why sparkmates?”

“Your kind call them hearts; we call it a Spark. It contains our life force and our memories. And in the case of the ones in which we are destined, they are our other half and thus hold the other half of our spark. Those of our kind who have a sparkmate were encouraged and expected to cherish and hold them dear.” Optimus’ cab is silent for a moment for a moment, “Though, after the start of the war, people began dreading hearing the words engraved on their frame, fearing their other half would be on the other side of the battlefield.”

“...Do you have a sparkmate, Optimus?” Another hum runs through the cab, before turning into the slightest chuckle.

“I do. He’s not the easiest mech to get along with, but I would never have made it as long as I have without him.” The bot’s facial feature may not be present, but Y/n can easily imagine the fond, endearing smile that would have otherwise found itself on the large mech’s lips. “I will be forever grateful for Ratchet’s undying support.”

“Ratchet?!” Once the statement sets in, Y/n’s head whips from the ceiling of the cab to the center dashboard at the revelation.

“You sound surprised.”

“Well, I haven’t spent much time around Ratchet, but he’s not the most- how do I put this- welcoming?”

“I will admit Ratchet is wary about the involvement of you and the children, but he will not cause you harm.”

“OH! Oh no- I- I didn’t mean to- to imply that he- I know Ratchet wouldn’t hurt the children! He just visibly doesn’t seem to like us.” Waving her hands in denial, Y/n scrambles to fix the miswording of her statement, but it doesn’t seem Optimus was too worried about the misunderstanding.

“Give Ratchet time, he will adjust. I have no doubt you both will get along with time.”

“You’re right- after all, we all will be spending much more time with each other. I look forward to getting to know all of you.” She smiles, glad to know Optimus, and likely the rest of them will take good care of the kids and herself. Maybe she would be able to pick Ratchet’s mind at some point for information about the anatomy or history of the Cybertron people.

*       *       *       *       *       *

“WHAT WAS THAT?!” This is not what the young woman had hoped would be, quite literally, crawling around the base, but she couldn’t peel her eyes away from the thing that Ratchet had just squashed, “I hope to hell and back that is not what you people consider some kind of bug!”

“No, Y/n. I’m afraid this may be the effects of dark energon.” Though Optimus’ voice is normally quite dark, Y/n could easily pick up on the deep worry that whatever this ‘dark energon’ brings, means nothing good will come of its arrival in the base. “ Seeing as it has some of the residue Arcee found on Cliffjumper, it would stand to reason that it was what brought both your equipment to life and Cliffjumper back from the dead.”

“It would answer the question as to why Cliffjumper’s life signal came back online, but dark energon, Optimus? It’s such a scarce material- it’s virtually nonexistent. Why would it be on this rubbish planet?”

“May I interject?” Both bots turn their attention to the woman they had evidently forgotten was there- one much more open to the interruption than the other. “Um- may I ask what energon is? I thought you said your people’s Allspark was made of it, so why would it attack Ratchet? ”

At the question, Ratchet scoffs and begins running diagnostics on the squished piece of equipment that previously housed some of this energon stuff. His blatant display of annoyance was no less irritating than it was yesterday, but not only did Y/n not want to start some sort of argument with Optimus’ sparkmate, it also wouldn’t get them anywhere, so she would refrain from mouthing off to the condescending mech. At some point, she was going to have to have a one on one conversation with Ratchet about speech behavior and ways to go about explaining things without making the rest of the room feel as if they’re a massive inconvenience, but now was not the time- no matter how tempting it was to tell him to shove his opinions up his tailpipe. 

“Energon is the lifesource of our people. Dark energon is something that can give life-” Optimus gestures towards the mangled metal, “- but the cost is great. Not much is known about it, as Ratchet stated- dark energon is a rare commodity, but it is not something to underestimate, hence why I believe Megatron is the reason why it has found its way to this planet’s surface.”

Both Y/n and Ratchet look at Optimus, almost in synch, “But why?”

“To conquer this planet by raising an army of the undead.”

“Where would he find that many Cybertronian dead, Optimus? It’s not like Megatron is going to just stumble on a burial ground on this planet.” At least the sass Ratchet displays isn’t always just directed at any human- his leader isn’t even exempt from the proverbial lashings of the team’s medic, though Y/n supposes that may have something to do with them being connected.

Before Optimus could answer, his thoughts are interrupted by the sounds of the rest of the Autobots’ alt-modes. Upon stopping, each kid hops out of their respective guardian, having obviously come from some kind of fun. Looking at her phone, Y/n realizes that it's still a little early in the day, so she is a tad surprised they woke up this early on a Saturday, but she’s glad to see all of them having fun and maybe even bonding with their new companions. Seeing Bulkhead awkwardly handing Miko her electric guitar, she already has a feeling the girl will be putting on at least one show while they are at the base, knowing the acoustics are much too tempting for the girl to not play at least one song. 

“Autobots, remain here. Ratchet and I will be outside of communications range for some time, so I’m putting you in charge.” Optimus give his orders 

“Optimus, with all due respect, playing bodyguard is one thing, babysitting is another.” The sight of Jack scoffing and rolling his eyes at her wording is easy to see- any kid his age wouldn’t like the idea of being babysat, even if it was by an alien robot. The femme crosses her arms before gesturing towards the medic, “Besides, Ratchet hasn’t been in the field since the war.”

“My pistons may be rusty, but my hearing is as sharp as ever!” Ratchet’s call from his computer forces a laugh barely covered by a cough from Y/n, which she quickly mouths a ‘sorry’ when he shoots her a look. 

“For the moment, it is only reconnaissance.” Optimus tries to assure the smaller bot, but both Arcee and Y/n could smell the bullshit from a mile away.

“Then why do I hear an edge in your voice?” 

At her continued questioning, Optimus pauses and furrows his brows, “Arcee, much has changed in the past 24 hours. We must all learn to adapt.” Before she could get another word out, he turns to Ratchet, “Ratchet, bridge us out.”

And with just a few steps, they were gone.

“Okay chief, so, uh, what’s on the activity list?” Jack looks up to his mechanical guardian only to be met with a scowl.

“If I’m not mistaken, Jack, you should have some schoolwork to do. Why don’t we give them a break from whatever activities they treated you to this morning?” Y/n smiles at the kids, trying to give the Autobots a needed time off from their newly appointed roles as guardians. “Miko, you can practice some of your guitar and then start on some of your work, and Raf, I’m not sure of your schoolwork load, but I suggest you start on any work you may have.”

“Yes ma’am.” All three kids say, some more begrudgingly than others, all while setting up for whatever they are to get done.

“Good, I’m going on Patrol. Bee, you’re with me.” Arcee makes her way to the tunnel, ready to go out.

“But Optimus told us to stay here.” Bulkhead brought up the leader’s orders before almost immediately being shot down. 

“When Optimus puts you in charge, you can call the shots.” With that, both Arcee and Bee transform and are down in the tunnel in seconds, leaving the kids, Y/n, and Bulkhead left.

“So, uh, what’s on the activities list?” Bulk turns, seeing Miko plugging in her guitar to the amp, the feedback forcing everyone to cover their ears.

“Band practice, anyone?” After a moment of silence, she turns to the younger boy, “Come on, Raf. You play anything?”

“Um… Keyboard?”

“Laptop and samples-”

Y/n smiles and shakes her head, glad to see the kids are getting along before opening her book and tea thermos, taking a seat near Ratchet’s computer stand so as to not get in the kids’ way. She never planned on reading this kookie book her friend sent her, but it was either the book or be subjected to joining Miko’s makeshift band after an already hectic week.

“Y/n, are you joining?”

“Nah, I’m good with just listening, Miko. You know I prefer listening to you play.” Shooting the girl a smile and thumbs up, she returns to the downright awful writing of this cowboy love story. Y/n has to go to the bookstore at some point to send an equally bad book. Maybe a silly alien romance book- forbidden love. They’ll be rolling on the floor at the concept. 

As the woman chuckles to herself, the familiar green lights from yesterday start blaring, letting them know Agent Fowler had returned. Bulkhead rushed the kids to hide behind his pedes and Y/n didn’t want to risk being seen running over, so she kept her spot under Ratchet’s computer and motioned to the kids to stay quiet just as the elevator door opened.

“Prime? Prime!” Y/n couldn’t see the man, but she could tell that he must still be on the platform, since she could no longer hear his footsteps. Just like yesterday, he did not sound happy.

“Agent Fowler, uh, he’s not here. Nobody’s here! … except me, of course.” The green bot chuckles awkwardly, and Y/n silently groans- this mech is going to get them all caught if his nerves take over. 

“Well, where is he? Wait, let me guess-” as Fowler rants and raves he must have started to move because Bulkhead begins taking steps to keep the kids out of sight. However, his movements and the cable to Miko’s guitar don’t seem to be mixing well, from the way Y/n sees Miko nearly fall, only for the boys to catch her. But the slight fall was enough for the guitar to send sound through the amp, she just hopes that it wasn’t enough to break the man from his tirade.

“Since when are you bots electric?” Fowler questions and Y/n is pleading for whatever deity that may be listening to grant Bulkhead the ability to come up with some kind of lie, but the kids beat him to it.

“Hi. We’re… interns! Earning extra credit in auto shop.” Jack awkwardly smiles, hoping his lie is bought.

“Alright. Let’s move. I’m taking all three of you into federal custody.” Hearing his footfalls on the metal stairs, Y/n makes her way over, picking up a piece of the squashed robot from earlier that Ratchet must have missed. 

“Over my dead body.” She holds up the metal piece like a makeshift bat, more than ready to take a swing.

“Woah there. By the stripes of Uncle Sam’s shorts, ma’am, put the weapon down. I’m just going to take you and these kids to-” Taking a step back, Agent Fowler puts his hands up to show he didn’t mean any harm, only to be cut off by the woman again.

“Nowhere. You are taking these kids nowhere. Optimus has promised protection for these kids and like hell will I allow some random ass man, trusted government agent or not, to touch a hair on these kids’ heads, let alone take them anywhere.” Y/n takes a look behind her, and in seeing the kids looking between Y/n and Fowler apprehensively, she drops the metal to her side, not letting go in case something goes awry, “… I will go with you, if it will get you to leave.”

“What?!” Miko shrieks, coming to hold onto the sleeve of Y/n’s blouse, making her briefly glance back before bringing her attention back to Agent Fowler, ”You can’t go with him! He-”

“Bulkhead, get Miko.”

“Uh I don’t-”

“Get her now, Bulkhead. She is your ward, act like it.” She shoots the metal giant a glare, watching as he finally picks the girl up, not that she went peacefully.

“No! Put me down, Bulk!” Miko thrashes in his hold as Y/n walks towards Fowler.

“Let’s go have a conversation with whomever your boss is, shall we? I’m sure I can convince them that leaving these children in Optimus’ care is the best course of action.” She grins at the man as she passes him on the way to the elevator, a grin that holds a level of malice that makes Fowler nearly let the woman just stay instead of getting in the confined space of his helicopter.

But only nearly.

“And I know that my superiors will have all of you in custody.” He grabs her elbow and finishes leading her up the steps and into the elevator. Both adults could hear Miko screeching in Bulk’s grasp, threats and complaints that turned to pleading the closer Y/n got to that elevator. Y/n didn’t say anything. She didn’t look back. But with every step she took, her heart squeezed with each scream from the girl. It isn’t until they get onto the elevator and the doors close that the tension from her shoulders ease and the breath escapes her. 

“Is that so? I’d say if your superiors are as weak-willed as you, I’ll be back before it’s time for the kids to be back home.” She doesn’t bother looking over at the man, not even as he mumbles something about respect and ‘women and alien robots being the problem with his blood pressure’. 

Before long, the elevator comes to a creaky stop and the doors open to reveal the orange hue of the rock the base is hidden under and a view that, under different circumstances, would be quite gorgeous, especially with the breeze taking away from the baking early fall sun. A few feet away lies the helicopter Agent Fowler presumably arrived in earlier. The reality of the past ten minutes was setting in with each step they took towards the vehicle and while Y/n absolutely would have stood up for those kids again in a heartbeat, maybe she wouldn’t have given herself as collateral quite as quickly. 

“Get comfortable, it’s gonna be a long 5 hour flight.” Tired of his hold on her arm, Y/n pulls herself away before scrambling up into the body of the helicopter, grimacing at her lack of grace. 

“I don’t suppose you’ll be providing in-flight snacks. After all, you seem to have such star spangled hosting skills.” She adjusts herself in the passenger seat, and never in her wildest days would she ever thought she would hope and pray for a vehicle to turn into a giant robot and prevent her from being sent to a government facility, but here she sits- hoping for just that.

“Are you going to be pushing my buttons this entire flight, or will I have an ounce of peace on the way to the Pentagon?” Fowler pulls himself up, lacking his own grace and nearly falling face first into his seat, forcing a snort to come from Y/n.

“Well, you’re more than welcome to send me back to the base.” The suggestion brings out a laugh of Fowler’s own, no other answer needed nor given. Starting up the chopper, he glances over to ensure the straps were done properly before handing a set of headphones to Y/n, before the sound of the blades becomes too loud.

Finally, the vehicle lifts off the ground and the flight to Washington D.C. begins, making Y/n wonder if she could properly time being over one of the larger ‘islands’ of sandstone littering the Nevada desert to jump out of the copter, but deigns it too risky to attempt. While she’s turning over possible solutions in her head, Fowler rings his boss, “Sir, Agent Fowler. We have a situation. I’m en route from the autobot base. I’ll brief you in person.”

Choosing to save her breath, Y/n continues looking out the window of her side of the vehicle, noting the sun ebbing its way closer to being at its highest point. That was one thing she hated about this area, while she found the landscape to be gorgeous, it quickly became boring seeing the exact same hues of orange, yellow, brown, and the occasional reds. It couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes after Fowler informed his boss of his location that the sonar built into the dashboard started beeping with an icon flashing on the screen, getting closer to the center of the sonar’s radius. 

“I am begging you to tell me that is either a big bird or a friend.”

“What in Uncle Sam’s beard-” Looking up from the dashboard, Y/n sees some kind of drone flying right at them and lets out a shout, pushing the steering gear to the side with her foot before the thing coming their way. Luckily, Fowler snaps out of his shock quickly enough to grab the steering before the both of you could go crashing into the canyon side. 

“Watch it!” 

“You watch the fucking drone!” And as if her luck wasn't bad enough, in the next moment, the helicopter jostles, claws of whatever had attacked them now sinking into the roof of the helicopter's cab. Moving in her seat, Y/n looks up to the ceiling and shrieks upon seeing the sharp talons that easily make up the length of her face stuck in the metal above her, forcing the agent to cover his ears. 

With a harsh yank from above, the copter jerks in response and the last thing Y/n remembers is the feeling of the cold, hard glass making a sharp impact with the back of her head, before everything went dark.

*       *       *       *       *       *

The feeling of weightlessness while simultaneously feeling as if something is pulling you down by your ankles is something Y/n can confidently say she's never felt before. That sensation accompanied by the frigid air around her and the pain of having her arms being held twisted uncomfortably in the air made her transition back to consciousness that much more unpleasant. Tension and pain racks her body every step closer she gets to being awake, drawing out a strained hiss from the woman.

“Ooh? Look who's finally decided to join the party.” A scratchy voice drawls from a few feet to her left. Opening her eyes, Y/n is met with two bright, red eyes made all the more piercing with the bot's white dots that must act as pupils. Despite the strain on her throat and body, she lets out an ear-shattering scream and kicks the new mech.

“Ach! Why you little-”

“Where am I?! Who the fuck are you?! Let me down!” Paying little mind to the irritated figure before her, she struggles in her chains, squirming and shaking.

“Awwww the little human wants to be let go?” A sharp talon pricks Y/n's chin and lifts it to bring her eyes back to his, the grin on his face a celebration of his premature victory.

“Yes! Please!”

“How polite. Such a rarity in humans.” He chuckles to himself, obviously thinking his little stab to be funny. “All you have to tell me, dear, is where the Autobot base is. Can you do that for me?”

“Don't tell him anything!” Finally, Fowler speaks up from Y/n's left, shocking her into whipping her head to face him, not having even noticed his presence prior to him yelling.

A silence fills the cold, dark room and Y/n looks back to the mech before her, a desperate look in her eyes, “I'm sorry, what's an autobot?”

The mech wrenches back, his grin twisting into an infuriated scowl. Standing to his full height, he wraps the chains that hold her around his hand and pulls them up and towards him, further twisting her arms until a sickening pop echoes in the room, forcing a scream to rip from her throat. Any kindness, faux or no, had vanished as the bot before her snarls, “What do you mean, you don’t know?!”

Y/n’s breathing is shallow and panicked, the burning sensation surging down her arm and through her shoulder causing her to squeeze shut her eyes. Luckily, it was only her right arm, but there was no time to appreciate that. After a moment, she opens her eyes to see the now-blurry mech leaned down in front of her through the tears building and streaming down her face, she hiccups, “I’m sorry! I don’t know what you’re talking about, I swear!”

“Fine. If you’re going to play like this, I have no choice but to escalate matters.” He brings himself back up to his full height and turns to another bot who presumably is standing guard at the door. “Bring the prod.”

Prod?! If struggling in her chains wouldn’t exasperate her dislocated shoulder, Y/n would be moving every which way in order to find some way to get out of this nightmarish shitshow.

“Please, sir. I don’t know anything about any Auto people! I was picked up by this man after getting lost in the desert.” Tears beginning to subside, Y/n glances at Fowler and then back to Starscream, “I’m sure you’re a reasonable… robot-”

“I am not one of your feeble human machines, I am Starscream! Current second-in-command and future leader of the Decepticons!” The door opens, letting more cold, stale air into the room, and the bot from earlier reenters the room, holding what can only be described as some futuristic bident. Starscream snatches the device from the other Decepticon, “Finally, what took you so long?!”

“I’ll be nice and give you one more opportunity, humans- where is the Autobot base?” Switching his tactics to address Fowler, he leans down to the man and holds the prod up to his chin.

“Sure thing,buddy, right after you eat my star-spangled shorts.” Fowler laughs but is quickly cut short as Starscream activates his prod, a pink electrical current running between the two prongs. Upon pressing it to Agent Fowler’s ribs, the man screams in pain, clutching his own chains in an attempt to ground himself.

“No!”

“As I imagined, energon and human nervous systems don’t mix.” As he keeps the energon-infused prod pressed to Fowler’s skin, his grin only grows. With each press of the instrument, the clothes begin to sear away, allowing the energon access to his bare skin, no doubt doing further damage, if the smell of burning skin is anything to go by.

“Starscream, leave him alone! Please!” Voices in her head plead with her to keep her mouth shut, to no avail. The man is suffering, and while Y/n wasn’t exactly Fowler’s biggest fan for taking her away from the Autobot base, she didn’t want to see the poor man suffer.

And he stops, but only for a moment. The humming of the torture device and the heavy gulps of air Fowler sucks into his lungs at the brief interlude fill the otherwise silent room. Starscream’s eyes flick back and forth, not really focusing on anything. After another moment, he gives a thoughtful hum of his own, “Perhaps you’re right. I may have been going about this all along.”

“Yes! I’m glad you-”

“If what you say is true, that means you’re an innocent human. And what a shame it would be if a, what do you humans call them- “protector of the people” was to allow a civilian to face such methods of… interrogation.” And without another moment’s pause, knives felt as if they were entering Y/n’s bloodstream from where Starscream jabs her, ripping yet another agonizing scream from her throat. 

“Stop it, con! She has nothing to do with any of this.” Fowler barks, jostling his chain to attempt to wriggle out of his constraints.

“Precisely. The faster you tell me where the Autobots are hiding, the sooner I stop hurting our friend here.” Driving the point home he jams the prod back into Y/n’s ribcage, releasing another scream from the woman. Similar to when Fowler was receiving the same “Decepticon hospitality” Y/n’s clothes began to singe away. Fighting the desire to keep her eyes closed, she struggles to look at Fowler and give him the briefest of shaking her head, before letting it hang down, the weight of her own head too much to keep up.

I am not doing this just for you to give it away, Fowler. Don’t fuck this up.

She knew she couldn’t say anything that may give her away, so the hope is that her fellow prisoner could understand to keep his mouth shut, even if she is to suffer for it. The next jolt was to her right arm, as if that arm hadn’t already been pulled from its socket, just at the crook of her elbow. To drive home the fact that he didn’t plan on letting up, Starscream dug the prod in harder against her skin, drawing blood to the surface. He finally retracts the weapon and holds Y/n’s head up with a dagger-like finger on each cheek, turning her to fully face Fowler, not that she could see him very clearly, “Come now, Agent Fowler. I don’t think our friend has much more in her. Haven’t you realized the Autobots have abandoned you? I am the only one you can rely upon now. So, tell me what I want to know, or we’ll see how many more she can take.”

“Please… no more. I’ll tell you,” Fowler breaks eye contact with Y/n, ashamed to give up after she’s done so much to keep quiet. He couldn’t keep sitting back, letting her take the brunt of Starscream’s sadism anymore. It takes so much strength for him to muster the words, “They’re in… secret government base.”

“Fowler… no.”

“Go on.”

Shots being fired were audible from beyond the door across the room. And unless Decepticons practiced their aim in the empty hallways Y/n briefly saw, that means the opposition was aboard. 

That means the Autobots had come to save them. 

“You were saying?” Having also heard the commotion outside, Starscream becomes more antsy, and it shows.

“In the old steel mill… or was it under that carnival funhouse?”

Finally fed up with the disrespect and sass, Starscream frustratedly yells and stabs the prod back into Y/n, the intensity of the voltage much higher than it had been earlier. The shots were louder now, being heard even over Y/n’s screeches. If Fowler wasn’t halfway into unconsciousness, he would have tried to distract the mech as much as he could, but he couldn’t think past staying awake and alive. 

“I’ve had enough of this.” Starscream begins unraveling Y/n from her chains, not trusting the others to keep the Autobots at bay, let alone defeating them. He may not leave this moment the victor, but like hell is he going to lose both hostages. Y/n doesn’t have the strength to fight back after all that had been done, barely even registering that not only is she free from her chains, but she’s also haphazardly being shoved into a cockpit and losing consciousness for the second time that day.

The door to the room opens a moment later, a silent Vehicon just stands in the entryway.

“Well?” He asks, patience draining with every passing second, quickly turning to shock when the Vehicon’s frame drops and both Bulkhead and Bumblebee are poised for blasting whatever stands in the room, immediately shooting the other Vehicon with Starscream. Aiming his arm towards Fowler, Starscream glowers at the interrupting bots, “Not so fast-”

“I wouldn’t.” Arcee taps him from above, having snuck her way in through the ventilation shaft. 

“Oh, but I might.” 

“Where’s Y/n?” Bulkhead keeps his blaster aimed towards Starscream, but with a brief glance around it’s easy to see there is no other organic life, other than Fowler- only chains that now hang empty.

“The other human? She said she didn’t know you, so we… parted ways.”

“NO!” Bulkhead shouts and immediately begins shooting, prompting the other to take fire as well. Starscream can only jump from side to side in order to avoid their gunfire. 

“Apologies, Autobots, but I’m sure you can find her body down below somewhere.” He cackles as he transforms into his alt-mode, and races out of the room, knocking Arcee from the vent and Bulk and Bee into the ground. 

* * * * * *

Y/n wakes up in another dark space- only this time it’s much smaller and warmer; there’s a sway to the room, if you can call it that, but she isn’t sure if the sway is from the nausea overcoming her or if wherever she is is actually moving. The last thing she remembers is a final shock to her body before passing out. Eyes adjusting to the light, it’s easy to determine the surrounding space is the inside of some kind of jet, but instead of the cockpit being parallel to the ground, it’s upturned, like the aircraft would be facing the sky. She was in a Cybertronian- likely Starscream, if the color scheme is anything to go by.

Pressing her hands to the ground, Y/n is quickly reminded of the fact that Starscream had ripped her right arm out of its socket. Looking down, she notices her clothes are burnt and ripped beyond repair- her blouse now adorned with asymmetrical, distressed sleeves that barely go past her elbows and the skirt being a shredded mess, likely from rough handling of Starscream’s razor sharp talons; Taking her foot and stepping on the pathetic scraps of fabric of her skirt, Y/n uses her functional hand and rips a handful of the fabric strips away. Y/n balls the cloths up and puts it in between her teeth as a makeshift mouth guard. The limb now felt numb, but she knows that popping it back in is going to burn; her left hand grasps the right arm’s bicep.

Deep breaths. Deep Breaths, Y/n.

And with an upwards jerk, she feels a brief click in her shoulder, but the limb doesn’t doesn’t stay in place, forcing a deep inhale through her gag.

Relax. You’re not going to be able to reset it if you don’t fucking relax. You just survive until Optimus gets you.

After another few deep breaths, Y/n tries it again and feels a more solid click as she screams, muffled by the burnt fabric in her mouth; letting go, her arm stays in place, though a reignited burn returns to the site of the wound. With her arm taken care of, getting out of this wretched place is next on the to do list. Banging a hand on the glass enclosing her in this dreadful mech’s cockpit, the needles in her throat become even more pronounced as she groans, ”Let me out.”

Nothing changes. His steps are still steady.

“Let me out!”

Again, nothing.

“STAR-”

“STARSCREAM, YOU INCOMPETENT FOOL! I ORDERED YOU TO AWAIT MY COMMAND!”

Upon hearing such a loud fury, Y/n immediately seeks out the most stable part of Starscream’s cockpit and hunkers down. If she has learned anything, it’s that these Decepticons generally deal with disputes through violence, and she doesn’t believe that stops within their own ranks.

“Please, Lord Megatron, I meant no- AGH!” and just like that, Starscream, and Y/n transitively, fly across the room at Megatron’s hand. And though Y/n can’t see him, it did not sound like it took much physical exertion for him to do so. 

“Instead, your mindless agenda resulted in the disabling of my ship and the delay of MY PLANS!” Megatron raises his hand again, more than ready to strike Starscream again.

“My intentions were pure, master. I only wanted you to be rid of Optimus.” Y/n’s world tilts as Megatron brings his foot against Starscream’s head, smashing it into the ground and allowing sparks to fly; she grunts at being thrown from her “safe space” and rolls onto the glass under her that begins cracking under the pressure of Megatron’s foot. She hates crying, but after the third time death threatens to barrel down your door, the stress begins to cap off, and so the weeping begins.

“NO ONE RIDS ME OF OPTIMUS PRIME BUT ME! DO YOU UNDERSTAND? DO-” The sound of Y/n’s wailing, though faint to Megatron’s audials, catches his attention. Lifting Starscream above himself by his throat and turning him enough to get a glimpse into his cockpit, making perfect eye contact with Y/n. Slowly turning Starscream back to face him, Megatron tightens his grasp around his throat and hisses, “Starscream… explain yourself.”

“My lord, She is a friend of the Autobots! I took her as a hostage so we can extract information!” His voice comes out staticy, a sign Megatron may be doing more damage than he should as he continues constricting his grip. 

“You are as stupid as you are a disgrace to the Decepticons. Bring the human out.” Megatron growls his command and releases his throat, sending his second-in-command scrambling to retrieve Y/n, who in turn dodges each grab at her body, thanking the fates for making his cockpit on his back while bi-pedal.

“Stop moving, you-”

“Keep the fuck away from me! I already told you, I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, you walking scrapyard, and me speaking to your troglodyte of a boss isn’t going to change that!” Unfortunately, there’s only so many places for Y/n to run to, and her Yakety sax impression comes to a close when he manages to snag a part of her skirt. Bringing her out on the palm of his hand whilst using his thumb to press her to lie flat on her stomach, he presents her to his master while scowling down at her.

“Why you insolent little-”

“You are wasting my time, Starscream! Is she telling the truth- have you really learned nothing from your own hostage?! Not only have you wasted our resources with your stunt, but you have given the Autobots a reason to storm this ship!”

“No, my liege! They won’t come here to find her- they believe her to be dead.” Starscream allows a shaky smile to creep its way onto his lips, hoping to at least somewhat appease the brute in front of him. Processing what he’s just said, Y/n stops trying to move her way from under the mech’s thumb.

They think I’m dead.

“And what does that leave us with? A soft, useless human who can’t even escape the confines of your servos, let alone provide any kind of productivity for our cause.

No one is coming to save me.

The image of Megatron’s face moving to be right in front of her entire body snaps Y/n out of her spiraling thoughts of lost hope, the heat and humidity coming from his mouth breezes against her, forcing goosebumps to crawl along her arms. The mechanical giant looks her person up and down, then scoffs,

“Worthless scrap.”

The woman bristles as he begins to make his way towards one of the room’s doors. Having noticed Starscream loosening his hold on her back, Y/n stands and snarls at the back of Megatron, “I’m sure you know all about being worthless, wouldn’t you.”

His heavy foot slams to the floor midstep, once relaxed stature stiffened as he slowly turns back towards Y/n and Starscream, in which the latter panickedly looks between the girl in his hand and the mech who has killed other Cybertronians for less. Megatron turns his attention to another mech Y/n had not previously noticed who is practically hidden in the lack of light on this ship- of whom looks back to Megatron. The two stare at one another, as if speaking with each other telepathically.

“Starscream, take that… thing to Knockout for examination.”

Taglist: @the-unhinged-raccoon @hystericalanarchy @mythicallystupid @darkfangx399 @nixblizzard16 @crowleysthings @delectableworm

Let me know if you would like to be added to the list!

[daisybianca]

pairing: lewis hamilton x femalereader

summary: lewis gives you secretly his number. you're hesitant to call him at first, but when you do, things get a little much more interesting.

warnings: sexual activities, cursing words

(a/n): this is the last part! here's part one and part two.

YOU CHUCKLED AS Lewis excused himself to bring some more wine for the two of you.

You got more comfortable on the couch and fixed the silk material of your clothing.

When he came back, he filled your glass and then his.

"What do you do for a living?" He asked before taking his seat next to you once again.

"I'm a journalist." You answered, taking a small sip from the delicious liquid. "A sports journalist."

Lewis' eyes narrowed. "Formula one?"

"Nope," you said. "Basketball."

You noticed that he rolled his eyes. "Pity."

"What? You wanted me interviewing you, sir Lewis Hamilton?"

You caught a glimpse of something in his eyes as he smiled, bitting his lips before talking. "Maybe," he said, drinking from his wine and looking vacantly somewhere behind you. "That'd be very... very torturing." He said, his voice almost barely above a whisper.

"What was that?!" You laughed, your hands flying in the air. "What was that?!" You repeated again.

"Nothing." He said, smiling widely.

You studied his look. "Are you flirting with me?"

"Trying to." He answered, and you noticed that his hands were rested on the couch, just behind the area of your neck and head. "Does it work?" He looked up at you as he took another sip.

You bit your lips and felt that you were inevitably blushing. Looking at your nervous hands, circling the glass, you noticed his lap and the tattoos on the flesh of it.

It was very... very rideable.

"Maybe," you said, then a thought kicked in. "You promised you'd tell me why I was the chosen one at the race. I'm all ears."

Lewis cleared his throat. "You really want me to tell you?"

"If it doesn't involve some kind of a bet, yes, please,"

"A bet?" His nose wrinkled in something that looked like disguist. "Fuck, I'm not that kind of man."

"Tell me, Lewis." Your mind was in a haze, your thoughts blurred by his pretty eyes, so your hand found the soft flesh of his upper arm.

His eyes detected your hand for a brief moment and then smiled.

Lewis discreetly moved his white shirt lower on his body. Maybe to fix it in order not to look wrinkled or... to hide something, maybe?

"I just..." he started. "I saw you. You didn't even look at me at first."

"Yeah, because I was trying to find my best friend who was hooking up with a McLaren mechanic." You explained, and Lewis expression changed into pure curiosity.

"Okay, I presume I don't need to know more about that," he chuckled. "I just--I just genuinely thought to myself for a brief moment that you were the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen."

Your knees weakened, and thank God, you were seated.

"I love it when you're blushing." He grinned and wouldn't take his eyes off your hot face. "It just makes the color of your eyes stand out more."

Silence.

You tried to change the topic. "You never signed my hat, by the way." You said.

"Do you want me to bring a pen? I can sign your hand if you want."

You smiled. "Yeah, whatever."

Lewis left and came back with a pen and a white shirt in his hands. He passed the shirt to you, but you didn't take it at first.

"What's that?" You wondered.

"A pumpkin." He said sarcastically and looked down at you. "What does it look like, love?"

"Oh, no, no." You shook your head negatively. "You're not gifting me one of your shirts."

He laughed and tossed the white material to you. "Why not? It's officially been worn by me."

"And?"

Lewis thought for a brief moment. "You can wear it at home and think about me." His eyes lit up.

"I--I can't accept it, I'm sorry." You tried to give it back to him but he grabbed your wrist.

"Put it on."

"What?" Your eyes narrowed.

He looked you with that intense, dark gaze. "Put it on." He repeated, comanding.

"Why?"

He smiled. "So I can sign it."

You knew where this was going, but you wanted to tease him a little.

"You can sign it unworn as well, you know."

"Yeah, but the shiet wouldn't be stretched enough, and the signature would come out bad-looking." Lewis insisted and passed the shirt to you.

You finally grabbed it. "Fine."

Shoving your hair to one side, you carefully pushed the material around your head and then let it wrap around your curves, covering the pink dress underneath.

You immediately got knocked out by a faniliar cologne. Gosh, this aroma would hunt you forever.

"Looks perfect on you." Lewis said and opened a black marker.

You noticed him biting his lip.

He.

Bit.

His.

Fucking.

Lip.

"Where do you want me to sign it exactly?" He asked, looking at you.

"I don't know." You replied, scanning the shirt for any empty space. "Maybe somewhere free of stamps and letters."

"Hmm..." He looked at your shirt, leaning forward. His eyes were practically on your tits.

"Here," you suggested, signaling to a spot on your chest, near your heart.

Lewis shallowed and looked up to face you. "Are you sure?"

"About what?"

His voice was soft. "Having my hands on you."

You smiled.

That man was literally perfection itself. "No problem. Go on."

He breathed in and then out. Then, his left hand found the area of your shoulder and grabbed it gently for resistance.

You stopped looking at him and knew he had started making the signature when a sharp thing touched your covered flesh.

"Is this okay?" Lewis' voice sounded a few seconds later. "Does it hurt?"

"Jesus, Lewis, it's just a damn marker!" You laughed, but he didn't seem to enjoy your comment.

He was done with the signature, you could tell. He was now writing something on your shirt. Even if you did want to read it, you couldn't. It was upsides down, and Lewis was also covering it up with his free hand as if it were a test and you were about to cheat.

His expressionless beautiful features didn't betray much of his thoughts.

You breathed and hoped that the brave side in you would kick in soon.

"What are you thinking of?" You blurted out before even fully considering what you were about to mouth.

Lewis clicked the marker shut and looked at you. "Nothing."

"Something must have been in your mind whole you were signing the shirt." You explained. "Tell me." You insisted with puppy eyes. "Please?"

He shallowed. Hard. "You want me to tell you the naked truth?"

"What are you scared of?" You eyes narrowed, and you grabbed your phone, opening the camera and reading what was now written on your freshly owned shirt.

His signature.

A heart and...

"With much love, Lewis."

Lewis' lips formed a thin line, and he scratched his almost nonexistent beard. "I'm scared of what might happen after this."

You chuckled, pushing the white clothing off you with a slow movement. "Just tell me, Lewis."

A fee moment of silence passed with Lewis studying you and you fixing your messy hair and dress.

"Honestly, I--" he started.

"Just tell me already!"

"You want me to tell you?" His voice rised dangerously.

"Yes!"

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do!"

"No, you fucking don't, love." He insisted.

"I'm telling you I d--"

Your words were interrupted by his lips crushing hard with yours. Your tongues fought in a messy but also loud battle, and before you knew it, you were on top of him on the couch, your hands around his neck. His his left one was rested on your back, caressing the flesh there before cupping your eyes and giving it a squeeze, while the other was bringing you closer by touching your cheek.

"Lewis, I--" You breathed, trying to create some space between your bodies and faces.

He wouldn't let you go.

"I was thinking about how much I'd like to fuck you in that shirt."

His kiss had left you breathless, but his statement had left you something that wasn't currently in an official dictionary. Something that had just been added to your own vocabulary.

Wetful.

Gosh, is that even a word?

His lap was a great seat, you thought.

Lewis must have sensed your nervousness. "Sorry, I shouldn't have said th--"

"Lewis, grab me the shirt." You commanded, and his dark brown eyes found yours.

He did as he was told.

"Put it on me."

He smirked and did as he was told once again.

You were soaked underneath your underwear, you could tell. He could probably feel it on his lap too.

"Wanna know what I am thinking now?" You asked, breathless as his lips touched your neck and kept teasing and teasing.

He knew when to kiss you, where to kiss you, when to touch you, where to touch you...

This man could make any woman happy.

"Tell me."

"Fuck me in this shirt." You fixed the clothing to cover the area of your thighs. It was large enough to become a dress.

His big hands found your waist and rested there. Then his one hand found your ass and he squeezed it as if he was the owner of it.

"Done." Lewis said.

"Okay, but it won't be pretty." You stopped him just when he started kissing you again. "It might end up having white spots on it after you're done with me."

His fingers touched your lips, and you took the chance to playfully dig your teeth gently on one of them.

"Oh, love... I can give you a hundred of those, and they'd still wouldn't be enough with all those things I'm thinking about doing with you." Lewis smirked, and you took his two fingers in your mouth, savoring the taste of it as if it were a colorful lollipop. "Besides, I assure you that I don't want it to be pretty. I want it to be rough."

His lips collapsed with yours, and you teased, leaning away one last time. "Okay, but do me a favor."

"Anything for you, baby."

You smiled softly. "Keep calling me your love."

[milliesfishes]

billy asking you to marry him please

⋆౨ৎbilly asks you to marry him⋆౨ৎ fem reader x billy the kid

The ring was gold. It had been stowed safely on his mother's finger on the journey by ship to Ireland. Billy had fuzzy memories of her leaning on the railing, salt spray in her eyes, stroking the band and murmuring a prayer for their safe arrival.

Now it was sitting in the palm of his hand, looped on a ribbon so he wouldn't lose it. Tossing and turning in the throes of a fever, his mother had pressed the circlet into his hand, wearily telling him to save it for a special girl.

He liked to think that up in heaven she'd pulled strings to send you his way. She would have loved you, with your easy smile, cheerful nature, and warm eyes. Billy could hardly believe you were real most days, let alone that he got to hold you. It was nothing short of a miracle. A miracle that got him believing in a higher power again.

For all he had suffered, he'd hoped there'd be a good thing at the end of the road to comfort him and tell him what a wonderful job he'd done, that all the misery was over. He found it in your arms, or when you were in his, pressed up against him in the later hours of the day, eyes closed, breathing soft as you slept. The fact that you could find safety in him, a man people fled from when they heard his name, was nearly unbelievable.

You'd taken one step into his life and brightened it beyond what he thought was possible. The world was more beautiful with the knowledge that you were in it. He'd thought people like you were a myth, like the folk tales his mother used to put him to bed with. But here you were, lively and breathing, putting your heart in his hands as though you trusted him not to break it.

It was only logical that he take this next step. As far as he was concerned, there would never be another one for him. Love had burst into him like a firework, colored his vision in an impossible way. Billy didn't know much, but he did know that a woman like you only came around once in a lifetime. And he wanted to grab on and hold you tight while he could.

With this in mind he was walking hand in hand with you, a little bounce in his step as the two of you trekked through tall grass into the nearby forest. You were curiously giddy, wide-eyed as you looked around. "Where're you taking me, Billy?"

"'s a surprise, sweetheart," he chuckled, noting your excitement. His girl was happy no matter the circumstances, and he hoped he'd be adding to it now. Squeezing your hand, he made sure you didn't trip over any rocks studding the dirt, or any sneakily placed tree roots.

Once he saw his landmark, he stopped turning to you. with a smile that made you tilt your head. "Close your eyes, honey."

You did, a little hesitantly. He was touched by the simple act of it. The way you trusted him warmed his heart more than anything else. In a clean motion, Billy swept you up into his arms, one hand bracing under your knees, the other at your waist. Giggling, you said, "Billy-"

"Keep 'em closed!" he insisted, spinning around once to make you laugh again. Billy chuckled too, brightened by your sunshine presence as always. He carried you steadily, ducking under branches to get to where he was going.

Arriving at the spot, Billy carefully helped you stand on your feet, making sure your eyes were still closed. He slid his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder, not wanting to let go of you for even a moment. "Open."

Your gasp was gift enough for him as you realized where you were. A blanket of wildflowers bloomed before your feet, as if they'd been planted in anticipation of this very moment. A rainbow of color was laid across the field, fresh with springtime. Bouncing on your heels, you exclaimed, "It's so beautiful!"

"Pretty flowers for my pretty girl." He nosed against your cheek, pressing a kiss there. "Knew you'd love it."

"I do. Oh, I do." Turning around, you threw your arms around his neck. "You found this spot just for me?"

"Just for you, baby," he grinned as though he'd planted every bloom himself. "C'mere. Got somethin' else to give ya."

Smiling excitedly, you let him pull you deeper into the field as he said, "Just over here baby-woah-!"

You tripped over a stray rock, tumbling into Billy and sending him to the ground. He'd been caught off guard or he would have made sure to hold fast and steady the both of you. Instead, he was sent backwards to the ground, sprawled on his back. Despite his surprise, he made sure to fall under you, so you had a place to land that wasn't the hard earth.

"Oomph," Billy grunted, lifting his head with a wince. He looked down at you, lying sideways across his chest. "You okay, baby?'

Giggling, you nodded, and he couldn't help his smile. Only you would laugh at falling facefirst to the ground. Billy was sure when he looked over you later you'd have a bruise or two. Before he could ask, your eyes widened, and you reached for something on the ground. "Billy...what's this?"

He had to do a double take. Between your fingers was the ring, previously stowed in his pants pocket. It must have fallen out when he fell. Billy cringed at the sight, knowing his grand plan was ruined. When you turned to him for an explanation, he squinted, exhaling through his nose. "It's...you weren't s'posed to see that yet."

"Yet?" Then your face lightened, lips parting slightly. "Oh!"

"Oh," he teased, sitting up and bringing you with him. Billy couldn't help the brief laugh that escaped him at your expression. "Was gonna do it all proper 'n everything."

Your eyes were wide as the centers of daisies. Quickly, you shoved the ring into his hand, covering your eyes with your hands. "I can pretend I didn't see it!"

Laughing again, he reached for your hands. "Don't be hidin', sweetheart. C'mere." Prying your hands from your face, he found a guilty expression.

You pressed your lips together. "I ruined it, I'm sorry."

"Didn't ruin a damn thing," he insisted, pulling you close so you were sitting sideways across his lap. Giving you a reassuring smile, he kissed the side of your head. "This feels more like us anyways, huh?"

"Yeah," you giggled, leaning into his kiss.

"Alright then." Billy gave you a pointed look. "I'm still gonna ask you."

"Ask away," you lifted your chin, smile beaming.

Holding the ring between his fingers, Billy wrapped the other arm around your waist, holding you steady. "I've wanted to marry you for a long time. Ain't nobody who brightens my world just by bein' in it the way you do. I wanna build a life with you at the center. I-" he swallowed. "I want to call you my wife."

You looked as though he'd stripped every star from the sky and strung them on a necklace for you to wear. He smiled, bouncing you once on his thigh playfully. "Will you marry me-?"

"Yes!" You threw your arms around him, sending him backwards into the flowers again. He hugged you tight around the waist, kissing your hair.

"That ain't everythin' I wanted to say," he murmured into your head, and you laughed, watching him slide the ring onto your finger.

Lifting your head and shifting so you laid directly atop his chest, chin resting on your folded arms so you could see your new ring, you murmured, "You've got a long time to tell me."

Leaning in, you kissed him softly, and he muttered against your lips. "Yes I do, Mrs. Bonney."

[musings-of-a-rose]

All of You

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader (eventual wife reader)

Word Count: 2900+

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story. 

Notes: I’m not sure who originally said it, but the wonderful @morallyinept shared this and I had to write it for her! A Boxing Day gift? Is that a thing (said in American)?  Shoutout to @rhoorl for the nickname! This is not beta’d because I’m tired lol

Yeah... I'm not okay. I read a reblog comment which made me chuckle saying this is older, retired Peña who's being slowly overfed by his wife

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**Reader is not described

Main Masterlist

Javier Peña Masterlist

“I’ll be right with you!” I yell over my shoulder as the entry bell dings, boots casually walking across the hard floors of my little corner store bakery. 

I slide the baking pan in my old oven, an antique to most but she works better than most of these modern ones. I set my timer and place it on the counter next to the oven, wiping my hands on my apron as I spin around to address the customer and am momentarily rendered speechless. A man casually peruses my glass display case, all dark hair and dark eyes, a slim frame but the broadest shoulders I’ve seen. His nose is prominent, a mustache that sort of reminds me of Burt Reynolds is neatly trimmed, and he leans down to look closer at something in the case. 

Sexy would not begin to describe this man. 

“Are those coyotas?”

I blink, his voice runs through my brain and makes my body shiver, goosebumps erupting across my arms. 

“Y-yeah. Yes. Coyotas.”

He looks up at me, his eyes wide and round just like a damn puppy and I could get lost in those eyes. 

“Could I have a few?”

“Absolutely. Anything else?”

He finally looks at me, pulling his eyes away from whatever memory the coyotas held and blinks, his eyes scanning down my body, the tingles from before starting back up. 

“S-sir?”

“Huh? Oh. Uh yeah. I’m picking up an order for Chucho? Peña?”

I chuckle. “Chucho. My favorite customer! I have his order right here.” I move to grab a small bag with various pastries inside, making him a to-go cup of cafe con leche to accompany it. 

“Would you like a cup?”

“What? Oh I don’t want to put you out.”

“You’re not. How do you like it?”

“Plain?”

I pour him a black cup of coffee, sliding the lid over it before turning to hand it to him, his fingers brushing against mine as he takes it and I feel my cheeks heat up at the spark that passes between us. 

“Chucho normally comes to say hi.”

“Yeah he’s dealing with farm shit right now. Asked me to come.”

I nod. “And you are?”

“Oh shit! Sorry! I’m Javier. Chucho’s son.” He extends a hand as I say my name but does it too quickly, coffee spilling out of the cup that he had squeezed a little harder than he should have. “Fuck I’m so sorry. Let me help-”

I wave my hand. “I got it. Are you ok? Some of that got on you. Hold still.” I take a clean cloth from my apron pocket and run some water on it, turning back to Javier. I gently take his hand, placing it in mine, trying to ignore the heat that immediately sprung up between my thighs. I dab at his hand, hearing his breath come in short bursts. 

“Am I hurting you?”

“N-no. Not..hurting.”

He looks into my eyes, his pinched together and round and we just stare at each other for several moments, getting lost in the other. Then the bell rings and the spell is broken, Javier jerking his hand back as a woman walks in and I wave to her, letting her know I’d be right over. I grab Chucho’s order and coffee, carefully handing the latter to Javier.

“Wait. I haven’t paid.”

I wave him off. “Don’t worry about it. I got it.”

“No. You deserve payment.”

“Javier, really. It’s ok.” My body braver than I am, I place my hand on his forearm, giving it a little squeeze, offering him a smile. Javier shifts from foot to foot before looking at me and nodding. 

“If you insist.” He hesitates, opening his mouth to say something else but then the door bell jingles again and he closes his mouth, holding up the bag slightly in thanks. 

Javier comes to get his dad’s order every day for the next few months. I’m fairly certain Chucho will have gained some major weight by now, with all the cookies and pastries Javier brings him. But I am not complaining - any chance to see this man, hear him talk. He doesn’t tell me much about the last few years, but I imagine he can’t, not really. His job has so much confidentiality involved but it’s deeper than that. I can see it in his eyes, the hardness, sadness, regret for things he must have had to do to take down an evil man. 

So he asks me about me, where I’m from, how did I get so good at baking, all of it. I tell him how my “abuela” taught me the from moment I could talk, teaching me all the traditions that accompany each pastry. Even though we weren’t blood related, she had been really close with my mom, who reminded her of a daughter she’d lost. Javier listens with rapt attention, asking me questions to learn more as he sips his coffee. 

But one day he doesn’t come in at his normal time in the morning. Instead, Chucho walks in, smiling and giving me a quick hug before making his usual order. 

“No Javier today?” I ask, trying to be nonchalant. Which I guess I’m not because he smirks. 

“Actually, I had business in town today. Javi is mending some things in the barn for me.”

The image of a sweaty Javier fills my mind and I shake my head a little. Focus. 

“Oh. Sounds like hard work.”

There’s that smirk again. “It is. Hey, could you do me a favor? I owed him dinner and I won’t be home in time for that. Poker night at Robert’s house. If I call Rita’s, could you bring it to him?”

“I..me?”

“You close early enough?”

I’d close right now if it meant seeing sweaty Javier pounding nails.

“Y-yeah. I can do that for you.”

He smiles, handing me money for his coffee. “I’ll call Rita’s. Could you get it around 4?”

I pick up his food at Rita’s, ready and waiting for me at 4pm, and follow the directions Chucho had given me out to the Peña farm. I’d be lying to myself if I said I wasn’t nervous, getting to see Javier outside of the walls of my little bakery was something I’d only dreamed of. I figured if he were interested, he would’ve asked me out or something by now. Right?

Taking one last glance in the mirror to adjust my hair, I step out of my car, walking around to open the passenger door and grab the food, his drink secured in my other hand. I hesitate at the front door, mostly because I’m trying not to chicken out but also because my hands are full and my brain is not operating fully. I eventually decide to set his drink down on the arm of the porch chair and knock, waiting several moments. Only, no one comes and the house is quiet. I knock again, wait again, and still nothing. But then I hear a faint clink! Clink! Coming from around back where the barn is and I assume Javier is in there. 

Grabbing up the drink, I take a deep breath and head towards the barn, where I hear some more banging and a couple of swear words. Nervously, I raise my hand to the wood door and knock, despite the door already being open. The pounding stops immediately and then he walks into my vision, Javier, sweaty, no shirt, jeans with some wear on them, and a tool belt slung low on his hips. He’s wiping his hands on a handkerchief as he walks towards me, head cocked to the side but his eyes wide and…nervous?

“Pastelito?” 

I smile, clumsily holding up the food and drink. “Chucho said he was going to Robert’s and wouldn’t be home to get you the dinner he owed you.” Don’t look at his chest, don’t look at his chest. Don’t. Look. 

His eyebrows pinch together in confusion. “Owed me? He doesn’t owe me anything.”

“O-oh. I..he just asked me and I said I’d help. But you look busy, I can take this back if you don’t-”

“No!” He steps closer to me, reaching for the food. “I mean, no. I’ll…thank you, pastelito.” 

I hold out the food and drink, Javier only a couple of steps away. I finally manage to look at him and find him already looking at me, his eyes dark and bright, looking for something in mine. He takes the food, his fingers brushing against mine, only this time he doesn’t move away. His large hands pause over mine for several moments before his fingers start to trace little lines up my forearm, goosebumps pimpling my skin, my heart racing. No longer in control of my brain, my eyes scan down his shirtless chest and back up, heat flaring between my thighs. He grips my forearms, pulling me to him and I drop the food, my hands immediately coming up to touch his chest as he lifts my chin, his lips pressing against mine. Fuck, his lips are soft and he’s so warm, sweaty from his work and all I can think is how I want him to press me into this bale of hay and take me, let me take his worries away. 

One hand slides down my back, the other cradling the back of my head as his tongue pushes gently forward, my lips parting, tongue coming out to meet his. He presses his body against mine, the sweat from his chest getting me wet all over. He walks me backwards until I bump against a beam. He starts to kiss a path down my neck and I gasp, whining a little when he sucks on some spot below my ear. His hands are wandering, sliding across my body, hoisting one of my thighs up on his hip, his stomach pressing in between my thighs and I moan at the feel of it. As he reaches my boobs he stops, pulling his head up so fast I’m dizzy with the motion of it. 

“Javier?”

His eyes are nearly black, his chest heaving, and he shifts slightly where he stands. “I…I can’t.”

Ouch. “Oh. I..you can. If you need permission, you definitely have it.”

“No, it’s just-” He sighs, gently setting my leg back on the floor and stepping away from me and I feel cold despite the heat of the evening, and embarrassed.

“I’ll see you around then,” I have to get out of here before the tears come. But his hand gently closes around my arm, tugging on it lightly until I turn, swallowing hard.

“Paselito, it’s not you. Please, come sit? And I’ll explain?”

I nod, shaking my head to rid myself of the tears. At least for the moment. He sits on a bale of hay and pats the space next to him. I sit, wrapping my arms around myself for some sort of comfort. He looks at me, taking my hand in his and holy shit why are his hands so large?

“Pastelito…I..I normally rush right into the physical. Hell, that’s all I really had for the last 6 years.” He sighs. “But I don’t want to do that with you. I don’t want to rush it. I definitely want to, but I want to date you. Fuck, I sound stupid don’t I?”

“Not at all, Javier. I…I’ll assume this isn’t a line,” Javier chuckles at that. “But I would absolutely love to date you.”

We fuck at the end of the first date and through the remainder of that weekend.

10 years later…

Javier sets his utensils down, chewing the last bit of his dinner before taking a sip from his glass. “You need to stop cooking so well, mi esposa [my wife], or I may not be able to fit through the door.” He rubs at his stomach, softer and slightly more fluffy after a few years of early retirement. 

“Never. I love cooking for my husband. He’s definitely earned it.”

“Yes but soon you may not want me.” He pats his stomach and smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, insecurity brimming behind it.

I set down my fork, pushing my chair back to stand up and walk over to him. His eyes follow my movements and I gesture for him to push his chair back from the table, which he does. I stand between his legs, looking down at him. I place my hand over his, where it rests on his stomach.

“You think I’d find you unattractive because of this?” He shrugs, a non committal answer. 

“Maybe. I am not in the shape I was when we met.”

“Neither am I, Javi.”

“Yes, but you’re gorgeous.”

“So are you.”

He blows air from his lips, looking away from me. Much to his surprise, I decide to straddle him, his arms quickly hooking behind my knees to help hold me. I lean forward, kissing him hard and he kisses me back, his nails digging into my skin. I’m grateful I wore a dress today, especially because there’s less layers between us. I start to move my hips, slowly at first but the heat quickly builds as I grind along his belly, breaking the kiss to gasp. He watches me, eyes wide and dark as I rub myself on this area that causes so much insecurity. 

“Fuck, Javier, you’re so fucking..ngh!” My hands grip his shoulders, digging into his skin. 

“Yes, pastelito, use me. Fuck me how you want. Show me how you feel.” His chest heaves, helping to hold me in place still, but his hands are twitching, wanting to touch me. I speed up, grinding harder and then suddenly I come, his name spilling from my lips as I leave a wet mark on his shirt. Finally, I look down at him smiling, seeing his eyes like a damn puppy. 

“I fucking love your body, Javi. All of it. I could fuck myself on all of YOU!” I scream out the last word as Javier suddenly stands, pushing me up and laying me on the table, somehow pushing dishes out of the way as he did, some of them clattering to the floor, to be picked up later. 

His hands scramble up under my dress, yanking down my soaked panties and pulling them off, groaning when he felt how wet they were. His belt buckle clanks as he undoes it and drops his pants to the floor. He lines up, but I lean up on my arm. 

“Wait.” I reach forward with my other hand and undo some of his buttons, Javi finishing the rest before yanking it off himself. I run my nails down his chest and over his belly, the damp skin there heating me up.

I meet his eyes. “You’re so fucking, hot Javi. I will never stop thinking that.”

He pushes me back down and into me at the same time and I yell his name as he splits me open, his fingers digging into my hips and pulling me towards him as he thrusts, an extra hard jut of his hips when he’s already inside, knowing how that makes me writhe and moan, my entire body like a livewire. He grunts with every thrust of his hips, baring his teeth sometimes with the force of it and all I can do is hold on, my fingers digging into his arms as I moan and yell his name. 

“Yes! Fuck me, Javi!”

His hand moves between my thighs, touching me and my legs twitch. He smirks down at me as I chant his name. “Scream my name, pastelito. Make the neighbors know who I am.”

“Ye-YES! JAVI!” I come hard, yelling his name as he asks, stars in my vision and the sound of wind rushing in my ears, but not loud enough that I don’t hear him, grunting and panting out my name as he spills into me. His forehead touches mine, his nose nuzzling into me for several moments before he sits back up with a different groan, rubbing at his back for a moment before pulling out.  

“Well my back definitely tells me I’m getting older.”

I chuckle, my breathing finally leveling out as Javi extends his hand to me, helping me sit up. He holds it, pressing a kiss to the back of my hand before placing it on his cheek, looking at me.

“So, you said you could fuck yourself on all of me?” His eyebrows are raised questioningly. 

I nod. “Oh yes.”

His eyes darken. “Then show me.”

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[1d1195]

Neighbors Extra IV - Merry Christmas

Read Neighbors here

I wanted to write something for the holidays and they seemed like a worthy couple to do so. I will get back to Dolcezza over the next few days and I'm sorry my posting schedule is off now. I will get that back on track too.

Warnings: fluff, cuteness, Christmassy nonsense (maybe a little angst if you read it the right way)

This isn't super proofread. I'm not sure how my timeline is matching up with the rest of the story but this is their first Xmas together as a couple. Probably before the other Extras I've written but I'm not sure time is really relevant.

~3.1k words

Surely everyone in her life showered Rory with presents. He hoped that her family spoiled her just as much.

But he had a sneaking suspicion that wasn’t the case.

“I hope Santa gets everything on my list,” Rory giggled. Harry watched as the wonderful woman helped Rory write out his list. She wrote out each item carefully, committing it to memory. He signed his name in his large six-year-old print. Once the list was decorated with stickers and glitter (and an extra drawing of the North Pole was slipped in the envelope), she stole a picture of it for her own use and memories. The three of them headed to the store to put the envelope in the North Pole mailbox and get some shopping done.

Harry smiled lazily. This was better than any Christmas he could imagine with his little family—and it had hardly started. He gazed longingly at the love of his life as she meandered down the aisles getting presents for her family, Harry’s family, coworkers, and anyone else she could think of before she would have to find a time to get all those items on Rory’s list. “Think y’ve been pretty good, lad,” Harry smiled. “Don’t you?”

He nodded. “I’ve eaten all my vegetables this year. Even the gross ones,” he wrinkled his nose distastefully. It was the same way she did it which made his heart flutter at the sight. Rory was so much like his mum it hurt in the best way.

Harry chuckled. “Mummy and I appreciate that. S’good for you,” he reminded him.

“Can you help me get Mumma a present?” Rory whispered. He wasn’t very good at it. She turned a bit toward the sound of his little voice ever so slightly. A smirk on her face that Harry didn’t miss. He ignored her attention so he could focus on Rory’s inquiry with hope that maybe the pair of them could surprise her.

As usual, she was very smart and did a lot of her Christmas shopping early in the season—almost as soon as the decorations for Halloween came down, she was out at the store buying gifts.

“Course, lad. What do y’want t’get her?”

“A racecar. So she can play with me,” he explained. It wasn’t a question in Rory’s mind. It was the most obvious choice of gift.

Harry chuckled. “I see. Do y’think Mummy has asked Santa for something else we could get her? Something a little more girly?”

By now she had rounded the corner to the next aisle. Harry and Rory had veered off to look at the racecars. “Mumma doesn’t get presents from Santa,” he shrugged heading to the section of toys that he deemed worthy of Mummy.

Harry frowned at how readily that came from Rory. “Oh? She on the naughty list?” He joked. But he would tease her about that later when they fell asleep. Right as they fell asleep.

Rory giggled. “Mumma isn’t naughty, Harry,” he rolled his eyes.

No. She wasn’t. She was the furthest thing from it. She was perfect. An angel. It was...the best thing that had ever happened to Harry—moving in across the street from someone so lovely. “Then how come she doesn’t get any gifts from Santa?” He was joking of course. Surely there would be a little white lie of how Santa left them at the North Pole or there was a promise of next year there would be double the amount for Mumma.

But he hadn’t anticipated Rory’s response. “Mumma said that she called Santa when I was born. She doesn’t want presents so I can have more. Mumma says that even his magic sleigh has a weight limit.”

Harry thought his heart might break. This was the third Christmas that Rory probably understood. His developmental psychology classes told him that age four is usually when kids start to get the gist of what Christmas is like for them. That meant for the time that they knew one another, she hadn’t gotten Christmas gifts from “Santa.”

It shouldn’t have been such a surprise to him. What else was she supposed to say to Rory? There wasn’t anyone to balance the gifts out so that she had something to open while Rory got new toys and clothes. Harry tried to think of what he got her over the last couple years. It wasn’t anything special because he couldn’t remember.

She was selfless, of course. Especially for Rory. It honestly made him fall more in love with her. Made him want to cry something awful as well. Harry wondered if she minded. Surely everyone in her life showered Rory with presents. He hoped that her family spoiled her just as much.

But he had a sneaking suspicion that wasn’t the case.

“Boys, are we ready to go get some hot chocolate and start decorating?” She called.

Rory quickly handed over the racecar he wanted to get her and pushed it behind Harry’s legs where he could reach to hide it from Mumma. The pair of them smiled like they had just stolen a cookie from the kitchen after she said no. She smirked and met Harry’s gaze with a twinkle in her eyes, herself. “Yes, Mumma,” Rory said hurried to her side. He turned and put a finger to his lips toward Harry. So, he would keep the present a secret. He winked at the little one and caught her gaze once more so he could wink at her too. With a shake of her head, she turned her attention forward toward the checkout.

*

Don’t forget to invite Gemma and your Mum, please.

Harry smiled at his message as he and Gemma walked the aisles of the beauty store. Harry wanted to get her everything her heart desired and more, but wanted to make sure it was right—that required reinforcements.

“Does she use a face roller?”

“A what?”

“Jesus Christ, Harry,” she sighed in exasperation. She threw one in the basket.

“I don’t know, Gem. I don’t think she has a skincare routine. She’s usually making sure Rory gets a bath and goes t’bed.”

Gemma didn’t like that response. “Then we’re going to get her a spa day too after this,” she explained. “And you need to make sure she takes some time to herself every night,” she said knowingly. Harry nodded. He didn’t care about how many stores they were going to. He wanted this to be the Christmas of her dreams and more. He would get her anything and everything. Cost wasn’t a problem. And he was going to make sure she spent an hour to herself every night for the rest of their lives. “Does she ever complain of dry skin? Or that she looks oily?”

“No...” he shrugged again. Maybe he wasn’t paying as close attention as he thought he was to her self-care.

“Does she ever do anything for herself, Harry? Or do you just let her do everything?”

“Gemma. She is a selfless person. S’impossible t’do anything for her,” he resented the idea that he wasn’t doing a good job as her boyfriend. But Gemma wasn’t wrong. It sounded like he was doing a bad job.

“Okay, okay, you’re right,” she nodded in agreement. “Mum is getting her all sorts of clothes for us to split up and give to her,” she tossed three different serums into the little basket. “She wears makeup, right?”

Harry never thought she needed it, but he couldn’t help but be hypnotized by the way she glided the various liquids and powders over her face each morning. She did it quickly—with a six-year-old everything had to be done quickly. But it was like watching an artist as she put stuff on her face and turned even more beautiful than she was without it.

“Yes,” he said confidently feeling like he finally was contributing to this whole escapade.

“Does her stuff look old? Has she ever said anything about getting new makeup?”

He thought about all the brushes and tubes she used each morning. Harry thought all of them looked on the older side. “What’s the one y’dot on y’face? Under y’eyes?”

“Concealer.”

“She said they discontinued the brand, so she keeps putting water in hers.”

“Jesus Christ, that’s sad,” Gemma remarked. “Alright, I’ll get her the kind I liked. She can always return it. Give me your phone.”

Harry handed it over immediately. Gemma examined the picture of the pair of them in his background. A selfie from the symphony. Harry felt himself warm at the sight of her even on his own screen that he looked at no less than thirty times a day. While Gemma did her best to match her skin tone, Harry simply admired how pretty she looked and how even just her picture made him feel an overwhelming amount of love for his little life.

“It’s hard to tell in pictures, but she���s tanner than I am; lucky bitch,” Gemma grumbled. Harry smirked.

“Do you want anything for Christmas?” He asked his sister.

Gemma snorted. “She’s already way ahead of you, Harry,” Gemma smiled. “You’re about a month too late.”

He chuckled shyly. “Sorry, Gem.”

“It’s okay. It’s... really nice you have someone so thoughtful. As thoughtful as you. Maybe even more so just because she does it so early. But... I wouldn’t want you to be with someone less thoughtful. So it’s nice.” Harry agreed fully and smiled even brighter knowing that his sister loved his choice in love as much as he did. “Alright. We’re meeting Mum for lunch and then we are going to the home goods store for stuff she might need around the house... what are you doing about her stocking?”

“Doesn’t some of this stuff go in there?”

“Yeah... but like... you could get her jewelry or something.”

Harry nodded. “Okay... I’ll do that on my own.”

“Harry,” Gemma smiled at her little brother—even though he was a good seven inches taller. “You’re doing great. This is...” she sighed happily. “She’s going to love it.”

Harry felt a sense of pride wash over him even though his cheeks warmed at the praise. He really hoped she would.

*

“Harry?” She whispered in the middle of the night. They had spent an hour setting up Rory’s new roller coaster track after she finished wrapping a few last-minute gifts and pulling the presents from various hiding places—the shed in the backyard, the back of her car, and of course across the street at Harry’s house that had hardly seen anything else Christmas related since he spent all his time with her and Rory.

“Jus’ getting some water, kitten. Go back t’sleep,” he leaned down to kiss her forehead. She didn’t need to be told twice. Her light snores started almost instantly, which boded well for Harry. All her presents were in the back of his car. The transfer had been done late in the day by Gemma while the three of them went to the Christmas Eve fair put on by the local high school. They drank more hot chocolate than Rory could dream about. She worried the sugar would keep him up and prevent them from putting the presents under the tree.

Harry found Rory at the top of the stairs. A ribbon and sign across the way telling Rory not to go down without Mumma and Harry. He was asleep on the floor. A pillow from his room and covered with the blanket she and Rory made one rainy afternoon in November. She helped cut all the little ends while he did his best to tie them together.

Harry smirked and lifted Rory from the floor to bring him back to his bed. “Harry?” Rory murmured.

“Hmm?” He hummed.

“Did Santa come?” He yawned.

“Santa won’t come if y’aren’t in y’bed, lad,” he reminded him.

“I wanted to ask him to give Mumma some of my presents,” he muttered sleepily.

Harry felt his heart warm. “I’ll go write him a note,” he placed Rory on his little mattress, tucked him in, kissed his forehead, and ruffled his hair. “Don’t get out of bed, till morning, Rory. Or Santa won’t come,” he reminded him.

But Rory was already asleep.

*

“Mumma!” Rory’s little voice gasped. Harry’s eyes fluttered open to meet her sleeping figure. Her lips parted as she breathed. Harry reached out and put a hand on her face.

“Hey, beautiful,” Harry whispered and inched forward to place a kiss on her forehead. “S’time t’get up,” he murmured. “Merry Christmas,” he leaned closer to kiss the shell of her ear as he spoke softly to her. Meanwhile, Harry could hear Rory bouncing up and down the little hallway between their rooms and the stairs chanting that it was Christmas and Santa came.

Her lashes fluttered as she woke up, meeting Harry’s beautiful green eyes. “Harry, Santa came!”

He winked at her as she rubbed her eye tiredly. “Yeah, lad?” He smiled at the excitement. “Y’didn’t go down, did you?”

“No way, Jose!”

Harry chuckled. “D’you want t’come give Mummy a Christmas hug?” He asked.

There was a shift in weight on the bed as Rory’s little body flung himself in between the pair of them. “Merry Christmas Mumma,” he giggled and snuggled up to her. She smiled, burying her face in his hair, and squeezing him to her.

“Merry Christmas, love bug,” she sighed sleepily but very content.

“Can we go downstairs?” He was trying to wriggle free.

“I have to brush my teeth and we’ll go right down,” she promised and threw the covers back. “Maybe you should give Harry a Christmas tickle,” she suggested as she left the bed and Rory took her word and tickled Harry well enough to make him squirm and giggle himself.

“You’ll pay for that,” he kissed the side of her face as she exited the bathroom so Harry could brush his teeth too.

Rory was now bouncing with excitement, and she smiled sitting back on the bed while they waited for Harry. “What do you think Santa brought you?” She asked.

“I hope he brought me the roller coaster,” he crossed his fingers on both hands to show her and she mimicked the gesture while Harry returned as quickly as possible.

“Alrighty, I think we can go down now,” she smiled.

Harry grinned and followed behind the two of them. Rory was squealing and laughing as he reached the bottom of the stairs before they did. He hurried to the rollercoaster set and sent the little cart flying down the track while she tilted her head at the pile of presents that seemed to increase in size by at least a half.

“Did you get him more?” She muttered under her breath.

“Mumma!” Rory shouted. “Harry wrote Santa a note for me last night! Santa brought you some presents this year.”

She seemed to freeze in place and Harry put a hand on her lower back. “C’mon, kitten. S’Christmas,” he kissed the top of her head and nudged her toward the sofa so she could sit.

“H-he did, huh?” She looked overwhelmed at the pile of neatly wrapped presents with her name on them. Most were labeled from Santa. A few from Harry and one from Rory—the racecar of course.

“We start with the stockings,” Rory explained to Harry grabbing the one with an H on it and handing it to him. It was filled with little trinkets and items that she painstakingly tied with ribbons and candies that he would undoubtedly end up sharing with Rory until their stomachs hurt.

“Oh...I had a chat with Santa last night,” he recalled sitting beside the poor thing that was struggling to make sense of all the items under their overly decorated tree. “Santa agreed that I could do Mummy’s stocking from now on,” he told Rory.

“Mumma, Harry knows Santa too!” The poor thing was having a meltdown on the inside of her mind. It was clear on her face as she tried to factor in the price of all the presents that were tied nicely with bows and ribbons. Rory handed off her stocking as well and was lucky she didn’t drop it immediately. Lucky that Harry was sitting right beside her to hold it while he placed his beside him. Rory sat himself on the floor with the stocking between his legs. “Can I start?”

She was mute it seemed as she examined all the little items poking out of the top of the oversize sock. “Go ahead, lad,” Harry encouraged and squeezed her thigh. “You too, kitten,” he murmured into her ear.

“You...” she whispered breathlessly, cleared her throat and Harry saw the well of tears filling her eyes. “Santa brought me a lot of stuff,” she murmured while Rory oohed and ahhed over the little things filling his stocking.

“He told me that y’never have t’sacrifice Christmas on behalf of Rory anymore. That was really nice of you t’do it the last few years. But...he wants you t’get whatever y’ever want,” he cupped her cheek while Rory ripped open his bag of M&Ms spilling tens of them across the floor with a little scattering that she ignored because Harry was gazing at her like she was the most special thing on the planet.

Harry really, truly believed she was.

“Yeah?” She smiled, but her eyes were so watery it made him melt.

“Very much so,” he leaned forward and swept his lips across hers briefly so as not to get Rory’s attention to their yucky kissing. “Merry Christmas, m’love.”

“Merry Christmas, Harry,” she leaned toward him, resting against his chest. His arm draped over her while they watched Rory stuff a mouthful of M&Ms between his lips. They continued watching him open each and every present that was selflessly ticked off his list.

“This is the best Christmas ever,” Rory smiled excitedly.

“I think so too, love bug,” she giggled at him.

“Absolutely,” Harry agreed.

“How about a picture, Rory?” She asked grabbing her phone out of the pocket of her leggings. “C’mere,” she handed her phone to Harry and opened her arms for Rory to hop into her embrace. Rory situated himself half on her lap and half on Harry’s. She squeezed closer to Harry while he hold the phone out for a selfie. Rory held his little jar of slime out for the picture and Harry grinned into the camera as she rested her hand on Harry’s leg around Rory’s little body as best she could. “Alright one more,” Harry smirked and leaned toward her to steal a kiss that caused Rory’s face to wrinkle in distaste forever savoring the perfect moment on film.

A Christmas for the history books, for certain.

At least their history books.

--

general taglist: @justlemmeadoreyou @daydreamingofmatilda @sunshinemoonsposts @youdontcaredoyou @tiredinwinter @loving-hazz @likeapplejuicenpeach @straightontilmornin @freedomfireflies @littlenatilda @kathb59 @babegoals @angel-upon @lilfreakjez @mleestiles @ameliaalvarez06 @canyonmoondreams @summertime-pills @daphnesutton @l4rrysh0use @perfectywrong @foreverxholland @lolyouallsuck @buckybarnessimpp @stylesfever @harrysxcarolina @haarrrys @lovrave @st-ev-ie @pandeebearstyles @toosarcastic03 @luvonstyles @tenaciousperfectionunknown

neighbors taglist: @claimingharrystigertattoo @mopeymousey @vmpellie

[bitchywitchyvibes666]

Brains and books

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This was Spencer's favourite time of day, when the library was at its quietest and the sun was casting a gentle glow over the old almost gothic structure. Spencer sat in the furthest corner of the old stone building, away from the few people that lingered in the space that made up the main room, his head bowed slightly to focus on the hardback book that rested against his legs that were clad in pale brown slacks. His attention was completely taken in by the inked words that sat atop pages that were stained with age, it was only when a flash of red flickered past the top of the pages that his attention was finally gifted to something other than ink and paper.

His brown eyes flicking up over the top of the spin of his book, his brows furrowing slightly when he was only face with the endless rows of dark brown that made up the wooden bookshelves that were home to more books than most people could fathom. His head finally lifting so he could take a proper look around him, his eyes traveling between shelves until he landed on a river of crimson that seemed to almost glow in the streams of morning sun that streamed in from the large windows.

The mass of blood coloured hair was attacked to a person, a woman to be more precise, a woman who stood with her head tilted as far back a she could to look at the books that lined the wooden displays. She was short, shorter than average and much shorter than Spencer, if he had to say he'd give an estimate of around 5 foot to maybe 5 one or two.

God he felt creepy as he allowed his eyes to wonder across the landscape that was this stranger, his brown eyes focused on her hair and flicker to the way her pale right hand reached up to push it away from her face every couple of minutes. From the angle he was sitting he couldn't quite see her face, only peaks her small portions of her profile whenever she pushed her hair away before stubborn strands fell back into place.

Her skin was pale, almost too pale, had Spencer wondering if maybe she was sick or had a condition such as anaemia. He could see small flickers of blacks and red on her wrist whenever she moved her hair, tattoo maybe and Spencer couldn't help but wonder of what and if it ha some significant meaning to her. He watched the glint of her ring, that adorned her middle finger with a golden band and a small green gem, as she reached her hand up towards a book on a higher shelf before she paused. Spencer's head tilting ever so slightly to the side as he waited to see why she stopped when suddenly, blue met brown.

Balloon flowers. That's what shade of blue that her eyes reminded him off, he'd seen them once in a book and had been memorised by just how blue the flower naturally was. Her eyes were large but not unsettlingly so, more like a doll rather than a bug like most people would think but her nose was small and sat perfectly straight n the centre of her face. Her cheeks were rounded and slightly chubby but it wasn't unattractive on her, her lips were plump and seemed it be stained a natural red that was shined with what looked like a sticky gloss.

She was attractive, at least to Spencer, even with her rosy cheeks and the slight acne that marked her pale face. She was cute and pretty all at the same time and oh god he was still staring at her. He cleared his throat too hide the awkwardness that filled his veins as he quickly averted his eyes back to his book, trying desperately to focus on that and not the soft foot steps coming his way.

"I'm so sorry but do you think you could help me?"

Those words were spoken in a quiet whisper by his left, the Scottish accent clinging to every word that left gloss stained lips. Spencer could hear his heart beating against his ribs as he lifted his head slowly to look at her, his eyes meeting a set of white teeth sinking into sensitive red flesh as she nervously chewed her lower lip.

"Y-you just....you're taller than me and I'm struggling a bit, I'm so sorry for bothering you"

Spencer could sense the nervous before he heard them, the slight stutter and the way she seemed so genuine in her apology just made her all the cuter in Spencer's mind. He parted his lips as he tried to think of a way to reply, Spencer had never been this distracted by the way someone looked before but if she didn't put even the divine to shame especially up close.

All he could do was nod before he was putting his book down on the oak table in front of him and pulling himself out of the old arm chair he'd found home in while he read. He could still feel her presents as she trailed behind him while he walked towards the book shelf that had been stood in front of. Cherry blossom, that was the scent of her perfume, it was faint but stuck in Spencer's nose like he wanted to suffocate in it.

He cocked his head over his shoulder, waiting for her to tell him what book she had wanted. Of course he had a faint idea due to how long he had watched her but that would be creepy and he wanted to hear her voice again. Spencer would of thought he was having a heart attack if he didn't know any better when she smiled, it lit up her entire face and made the colour of her eyes almost see lighter and god he'd do anything to see it again.

He followed the slender manicured finger a she pointed to the one she had wanted, her nails were painted a pale pink with small bows by the cuticles. She had pointed to an old first addition of Edgar Allen Poe's poems, a book that had feature more of his almost romantic style poems. He could feel the way her eyes trailed over his arm and stayed focused on his hand as he reached up and pulled the book carefully from its home.

Their hands brushed as Spencer turned to fully face her and hand over the book but Spencer kept a slight grip on it as he felt her wrapped around the hardback, his brown eyes staring into hers as her blue eyes met his with confusion.

"Spencer, my name is Spencer...."

[alltheyoungmoons]

The Gift - pt. II

G - WIP - Part I/? - 1k words - ATYD timeline compliant.

“You’re going to help me?” Lily’s pink lips stretched into a wide smile, her hopes restored.

“Of course, anything to make our Moony happy”, Sirius nodded, chivalrously. “So, let’s start with the things you want to avoid? Easier if they’re out of the way.”

“Alright, so: definitely no sweets, chocolate or cigarettes,” she eyed him severely at the latter, but with a smirk “…he’ll get enough of those as is. No more hand-knitted items either, I just don’t have the time, even if I enchanted my needles to do it on their own - and I’ve been gifting him those since second year anyway…” she kept reasoning out loud, keeping track on her fingers. Sirius was nodding along, realising at that moment how long and how well she knew Remus. She probably was the only other person in the world who knew him as well as Sirius did…almost. Sirius relished in the thought that he would always be number one in that regard “…and no more studying supplies! I’m looking for something that will last far beyond school.”

“Ok, that’s a great starting point” Sirius agreed. “So - books are always a safe choice with Moony, but let’s just keep them as a last resort for now, if you really want to impress him. If we don’t figure out anything better.”

“I agree… he really doesn’t need to do any more reading until the end of school!” she chuckled, “I don’t know how he manages, it’s a miracle he’s still got perfect eyesight!” She shook her head fondly. 

Sirius chuckled at that, too, thinking of all the times he caught Remus with his face so buried in a book you’d think he was snogging it. 

“Right? You’d think he’d be half as blind as James at least, by now” he shrugged, smiling, lowering his voice considerably “I guess being a dark creature has his perks after all…did you know he can see in the dark?”

“He cannot!” Her surprise poking through her whisper.

“Oh yes” Sirius nodded. He was now swinging back and forth on the back legs of his chair. “Caught him strolling in the dark many times - the maniac. First time he gave me a right fright, too."

Lily shook her head disbelievingly - for all she knew about Remus, she must’ve never inquired on the extent of his lycanthropy. 

“Speaking of James,“ Lily grinned “have you ever tried his glasses on? He took them off the other day while we-“ her whole face changed to red “Anyway I put them on, and..” She blinked slowly, leaving her facial expression to convey the sheer shock of this discovery. 

“Of course I’ve tried them on!” Honestly, who did the woman think he was. “Once, in first year, we bet who could last longer, me with his glasses or him without. They made me so sick I took them off after a few minutes, but of course he couldn't see I had, so I just waited until he admitted he couldn’t find our dorm room door to go down to breakfast.” 

Lily rolled her apple green eyes, but she was smiling. 

“It’s incredible how thin the lenses are, too,” she mused, “Muggle glasses for such a prescription would be as thick as butterbeer glass bottoms! A kid in my primary school class had them - they made his eyes so small!”

He tried to imagine James with such a contraption on his nose, struggling to hold in his barking laughter - he was terrified of Pince. He was also quite uneasy in libraries still, but Lily’s presence made it much more bearable. 

“So, books aside then…” Lily went back to wondering what to get their friend. “Isn’t there maybe another magical contraption that could work? Like that compass?”

Sirius knew she was asking him because, being the heir to one of the oldest and most traditionalist “Pureblood” clans in the country, he was basically the resident expert in magical paraphernalia. He felt his thoughts starting to race, raking through the images of the countless useless knick-knacks sitting in display cases in Grimmauld Place, Kreacher polishing them with the care reserved for an infant... Though now, being surrounded by books, it was hard to concentrate on any other object - the more he tried to avoid thinking of them, the more it felt they were the key to solving their problem. Surely the library stored some sort of catalogue…? 

“And to think that when I met you, at any mention of reading you’d have squirmed away as if you’d been chased by a Boggart” Sirius had teased the taller boy as they made their way into Flourish & Blotts, that past December, just before- “Yeah” Remus gave him a sly smile “You’ve created a monster.”

Sirius felt as if he was struck by lightning and slammed the front legs of his chair on the floor. He was grinning madly, and Lily was staring at him. Everything had fallen into place.

“Oh spill it, you peeve me so when you act like this!”

Sirius didn’t have time to argue back - not only was this a great idea, better-than-perfect even, but he was sitting across the only other person who could truly understand the impact of it. 

“So you know how dear ol’ Remus is always reading…”

“Yes, we’ve established that, but we said-“

“But when we first met him,” he interrupted “he didn’t. He couldn’t. I know you know about it, you made him that invisible thing in second year.”

“It’s not invisible, it’s transparent.” She corrected. A note of embarrassment then started in her voice “But yeah… I knew about your spell, too. It was dead impressive, still is, to be honest, but he couldn’t use it during the summer, you know.”

He didn’t know, though, he hadn’t thought about that, and of course Remus had never brought it up. Sirius silently cursed his purebloodness. 

“Right, so, if you were able to turn that plastic sheet into a reading aid…”

(He hoped he pronounced “plastic” correctly. He had mispronounced it once and Mary didn’t let him live it down for weeks.)

“…then you could do the same with glass! Glasses!” Lily was beaming, getting the suggestion right away. The girl was truly smart as a whip.

“Reading glasses” Sirius nodded, grinning wildly. He knew, this was going to work. 

[ashesandhackles]

HP Reread - Order of Phoenix (Part 3)

Chapter 25, 26,27,28 - OOTP

Antonin Dolohov murdered the Prewett brothers. He will later kill Remus. He is repeatedly implied to be a very deadly Death Eater, and it is his slashing spell that will hurt Hermione in the climax of OOTP.

Harry feeling horrified and guilty at Bode's death: "How come we didnt recognise the Devil's Snare? We have seen this before, we could have stopped this from happening":(

Hermione deciding to send Skeeter a letter due to the seriousness of the breakout, and how much there is need to change the narrative. lol at her being vague with her plans that makes Ron grumble: "would it kill her to tell us what she is up to?"

Lee being an absolute king in trying to turn Umbridge's decree against her. However, he gets a bleeding hand for his effort and Harry has to recommend him essence of murtlap (an info Lee relays to Fred and George, which helps their products)

Neville improving in DA classes so unnervingly that he is only behind Hermione in mastering the Shield Charm.

LOLLL the entire scene at Puddifoot, where Harry feels like if Roger and his girlfriend kept kissing, he would be expected to compete. And then he looks up to avoid looking at them (or Cho), and cherubs throw confetti in his face.

Harry grabbing the sugar bowl when Cho takes her hand off the table. Harry laughing when he finally understands that Cho is jealous of Hermione. Oh god. The second hand embarrassment is real.

Hermione cornering Rita is such fun. XD I love that she makes use of resources at hand - even if she doesnt think much of the Quibbler herself. (Also, she took Sirius' advice, and kept the meeting in Three broomsticks instead of Hog's Head).

The breakout had gifted Harry a desire to do something, and he talked about the most traumatic night of his life so far to a journalist he did not trust on account of that. This also shows his faith in Hermione's facilitation of his need for justice. These two will be scary in the Ministry together.

also, Hermione knowing that Ginny has been sneaking around with their brooms since she was 6, and her implicit criticism of the way people talk about Ron: "at least my happiness doesnt depend on goalkeeping ability"

"You are banned as long as Umbridge is in the school" - Ginny's association with hope, with future, and comfort.

Angelina not letting Ron resign and Harry giving Ron the space to go to bed and pretend to sleep if he needed to <3

Harry being impressed with Ginny's performance and then going, "I would have been faster tho" the audacity of this boy XD

"An interview? What do you mean?" "I mean a reporter asked me questions and I answered her" and Harry throws the Quibbler at her. LMAO.

Cho apologising to Harry:"The interview was so brave, it made me cry" and Harry wishing that she hadnt cried over it. Ugh, this compellingly messy dynamic.

This is such a hard book for Harry. Being so afraid that you would wake up and look like Voldemort. He bites down to not make any noise during his visions, just because Seamus had recently stopped seeing him as a nutter.

Snape once again projecting on Harry - he brings up the idea that Harry seeing dreams and visions of Voldemort makes him feel "special, important". And Harry reflects it back to him, "No, that's your job, isnt it?" "That is my job." Stop your power struggle with a 15 year old Snape XD

Harry did it! He focused on Snape in between memories, and pushed him back with a protego! And Harry sees Snape memories: that imply a domestic abuse situation in his house (hook nose man shouting at a cowering woman while a boy cried in corner), a clear case of neglect (Snape shooting down flies in a room), and a sense of injured masculinity (a girl laughing at a scrawny boy's attempt to get ona bucking broomstick). Snape pushes Harry back at the last memory, and I wonder if that girl was Lily.

Snape also compliments this, "Well that's an improvement. I dont remember asking you to do a Shield Charm, but it was no doubt, effective."

The lesson end at Trelawney's screaming, Snape runs out and so does Harry. Sneaky parallel.

I really love the description of Trelawney to set the scene. My favorite descripton is her innumerable shawls were coming down from shoulders giving the impression "she is falling apart at the seams."

Dumbledore appointing Firenze is such a power move Imao.

a twinkling red star winked at him - reference to Mars, which consistently shows up in text again and again with Harry. Firenze brings attention to this, and the fact that Harry is directly under it is nice way in text to remind us there is a war coming.

"There are things more important than keeping a job" and Hagrid's hands shake. Because this job has been something he wanted, something his name was cleared for.

We get to know that Marietta's mother has been helping police Hogwarts fires, and Willy Widdershin of the regurgitating toilets was let off after he gave info on Harry.

Percy laughing at Fudge's sarcasm, and Harry for the first time expresses anger towards Percy in his internal monologue. Before he was just shocked and confused.

Kingsley modifiying Marietta's memory, to corroborate with Dumbledore's story. That man is quick. He did it immediately after Dumbledore says they can't prove 6 months worth of meetings.

ooh, it is implied that Fawkes' singing kept the four unconscious on the floor and the moment Fawkes leaves with Dumbledore, they are all awake.

Fred and George sending Montague into Vanishing Cabinet and how Montague gets out (nearly killing himself by Apparating) and gives Malfoy the information needed for the plot of HBP.

Snape the nerd, writing foot long answers. I love how much teenage Snape's body language is entirely different from adult Snape, and how much the adult Snape is a construction. Teenage Snape will lie on grass and scream hexes and swear words at you.

James literally traces and embellishes Lily's initials like a dork lol.

I deep dive into Marauder dynamics in chapter here.

"Wormtail was the only one who didnt laugh" : how cute is it that Remus laughs at his own dry joke XD

There is a strong theme of masculinity in this chapter, and James is making a performance of it with the snitch, with messing up his hair and Harry notices that this is done for the girls by the lake. (Harry wondered why James doesnt tell Wormtail to get a grip, and Sirius does it few seconds later much more unkindlyXD)

The power dynamic of the scene is framed with description of Sirius as "dog who scented a rabbit" and underlines it further by Remus' implicit disapproval (that he avoids by staring into a book, my poor bean) and Peter's anticipation (Sirius line in POA comes to mind about how Peter was drawn to the biggest bully in the playground)

Interesting note about James: he uses household spells like Scourgify for an attack. I can imagine him being similarly creative later in the Order. (it gives me such ideas of Transfiguration being his fav subject)

Interesting to me that even though both James and Sirius are on the scene, it is James Lily is consistently addressing.

Snape attempts a workshop Sectumsempra on James' cheek (clearly not the fully developed version) and James turns around and uses Snape's own spell against him. This moment alone speaks to such history in this dynamic.

Lily's "10 things I hate about you" speech is interesting because she also noticed that he was playing with the snitch (something he had nicked). She was also watching him.

Snape, emasculated by the scene, tries to exert power over one thing he has power over: his friendship with Lily. He uses Lily's otherness in wizarding world to reclaim power in the scene, and Lily throws it back at him by calling him the nickname his bullies call him and commenting on his underpants (therefore his class otherness). Utter dissolution of a friendship.

Lily channels her hurt and frustration at Snape's rejection of her onto James when he tries to help, and does a "10 things I hate about you" speech.

James tries to deal with being rejected publicly by Lily by directing his anger at Snape and threatening to take his pants off, in line with masculinity theme of this chapter.

Harry making Dudley-James associations. He will integrate a more complicated view of his father in later chapters (where he associates James with Ron), but this moment, where Harry rejects hypermasculinity displayed by James (but is keen to not reject James himself), is an important moment of moral growth for Harry.

OOTP - Chapter 29,30, 31, 32,33

Cute trip opening scene when Hermione is drawing up colour coded timetable for the boys (and nagging Harry), Ron brightening at the thought of evenings off and Crookshanks trying to get Harry's attention since he is brooding.

Harry is not only questioning James' morality, he is also questioning Sirius' ('look at what he was like himself') and Remus ('he just let it happen'). Later in the chapter, he wonders - "did he want to be like his father anymore?"

looking at Mrs Weasleys easter eggs, a handsome one with snitches on them makes Harry feel emotional. The way chocolate is tied to comfort + longing and Mrs Weasley functioning as an echo of a home.

lmao the scene where Harry admits he wants to go to Umbridge's office is peak Hermione as mum, Harry as sulky teenager and Ron as Arthur to Hermione's Molly scene.

Harry is so hypervigilant in Snape's class for his taunts, it clearly affects his performance in class. Because Snape is ignoring him, he could whip up a decent E level potion (which ofc Snape shatters).

"He attacked Snape for no good reason - well just because you said you were bored" - the apologetic tone Harry says this in and Sirius' quick "I'm not proud of it" shows how careful they are with each other. It is a big step for Sirius to admit he is not proud of his behaviour (because 2 years before, he all but snarled "served him right"), and this is the influence of Harry's distress. Remus also notes this with a "sideways glance" at him. (Remus also, something he hasn't shied away from admitting, owns his own culpability but is also harsher with himself -"did i ever tell you to lay off him?" and Sirius tries to correct/comfort that with "you made us feel ashamed of ourselves")

Harry knowing Hermione's nagging face lolll ("she fixed Harry with a beady eye and opened her mouth with a determined air") and he just interuppts before she starts lol.

hermione predicting Ron will do well without Fred and George around to watch <3

"Kind of makes you wish we had Norbert back, doesn't it?" yes, Harry. Norbert would be far preferable. I really am not sure why we have a storyline where Dumbledore sends envoys to giants so they can have them as allies (as actual thinking beings with political weight) and then write an entire chapter about how Hagrid is stupid for trying to "civilise" Grawp with English lessons. Why are you writing marginalisation like this, where you validate how "savage" Grawp is? Just a book ago, there is critique on how giants face prejudice via Hagrid and Madame Maxime, but then you're like, "maybe the prejudice has some sort of weight cos giants are brutal actually".

Cant believe we get an entire chapter of this and not Ron's victory over Slytherins and in Quidditch.

More on the giant's rant that I have and my absolute loathing for this Grawp chapter: Hagrid's Tale is one of the few times Hagrid is allowed to act as a competent adult - going with Maxime off country to send envoys to giants. For once, he is not someone the trio constantly has to take care of or save from trouble (it's not something I particularly mind, but I do have a problem here - where there is an additional layer of the fact that Hagrid hasn't had formal education. This entire chapter - he is just made a joke of and it reinforces the prejudices wizarding world shouldnt be having)

I really love the opening scene of Ron basking in the glory of having won the match, and he sits under the very same beech tree rumpling his hair, and Harry grins affectionately at being reminded of his father. It shows that Harry is beginning to integrate parts of his father - from seeing him as Dudley at end of SWM to seeing Ron-like qualities in him.

Cho crying out of temper and kicking her broom away after Gryffindor won the match : what a competitive streak. Love it.

"Hagrid's monster mates" - once again, the narrative needs to pick what giants are meant to be.

Griselda Marchbanks, the one who resigned from Wizengamot in protest against the High Inquistor appointment, is apparently friends with Neville's gran. Daily Prophet snidely said she had links with "subversive goblin groups".

Harold Dingle and his powdered dragon claw and Eddie Carmichael and his brain stimulant trade XD

also ron mothering Hermione asking her to eat a decent meal so she can have good sleep <3

ooh, Hermione wondering if she did justice on Cheering Charms (its the lesson she missed in POA when she lost track of time). I wonder if not attending the actual class makes her feel nervous, and not like she had enough time with the information.

Umbridge's "nasty smile" when she sees Harry's patronus in DADA exam: a hint towards her actual involvement in sending Dementors after Harry.

The confrontation between Hagrid, Umbridge and McGonagall is beautifully written. Really love the atmosphere here with the use of lights from the castle, the hut, the moon over the darkness of the lawn to set up the mood of the scene. The moment McGonagall was lit by the stunning spells sent at her? Eerie.

Harry staring at Parvati's hair while sleep-deprived in history exam cos there was something gold in it. He sure likes shiny hair.

there is a question in history of magic exam about how legislation of wand: whether it better controlled the goblin riots in 18th century. The politics of this is brought up in Deathly Hallows, where griphook brings up how wizards have denied other creatures rights of expanding their magical powers by refusing to share wandlore.

Harry's sheer blinding panic and fear in this chapter hurts to read.

I actually really love how bad the communication is between Harry and Hermione in this chapter. Where, in her desperation to stop him, she calls out his "saving the people thing" in an effort to make him understand that Voldemort's playing into an instinct in Harry, and Harry obviously feels stupid about the way she calls it out and thinks she is criticising it as a an attention seeking thing. It makes him less sympathetic to her appeal that it could be a trap, but the scene anyway ends with him conceding to check with her and recognising her offer to come with him to Umbridge's office as "mark of loyalty."

Kreacher's hands are injured cos he injured Buckbeak. There was a lovely Tumblr post I read about this moment, about how combination of Sirius' indifferent cruelty (towards kreacher) and love (for Buckbeak, Harry) is what pushed him towards the events of his death. It perfectly captures his duality.

The conversation between Snape and Umbridge is hilarious. Snape offering his sympathies to Umbridge in case she wanted to poison Harry ("venoms act too fast to give victims time for truth telling"), the ironic bow before he leaves and telling Crabbe to loosen his hold on Neville because if he suffocates, there will be "lots of tedious paperwork" LOL.

Harry noticing that Hermione was not really crying immediately, and knowing that she is scheming XD These two will be a force in the Ministry. Imagine Harry looking at Hermione trapping someone ina courtroom and being like, "yeah, saw that one a mile away. Sucks to be you buddy."

Man, Hermione is having quite a day. Her inexperience with a plan she is making up as she goes along showed, as well as her putting her foot in her mouth. Umbridge is a threat she has known and assessed well, the centaurs, less so. She will grow from this in DH, when she makes bigger elaborate plans with failsafes on the spot. (For example, the Lovegoods escape)

Ginny being astonished that a herd of centaurs left Harry and Hermione behind - suggesting familiarity with the centaur ways. Interesting character note! (also how her and Luna also clearly pay attention in Care of Magical Creatures, as they both remind the trio of Thestral traits - that they are good for finding places riders are looking for, and Harry and Hermione being covered in blood will lure more of them). I wouldnt have paid attention to this detail without @whinlatter lovely WIP "Beasts".

Chapter 34, 35,36,37,38

Proof of Ron, Hermione and Ginny's loyalty and gutsiness: they are willing to ride an invisible horse for hours in the air to help Harry. (also Luna is so cute, sitting all in side saddle)

Harry thinking the veil had a strange beauty to it, and that he felt a strong inclination to walk through it is an indication of his fascination with death. He isn't the only one: Luna, Neville, Ginny are all similarly entranced. Only Ron and Hermione are not and they drag everyone away.

Sirius' knife, Harry's gift is melted by the Love Room in Department of Mysteries :(

Ginny wanting to watch the bird's progress is so cute. Such a lovely detail - I never noticed this interest in creatures before. But she consistently thinks in terms of animals, she even thought the brains they initially saw were fish. ("his eyes are as green as fresh pickled toad" anyone?)

how interesting that the Prophecy Hall is beyond the room full of Time-Turners.

interesting note of how some prophecies having liquid glow (Harry's felt warm as he touched it) and how some prophecies were blown out like a night bulb. Could indicate that the events they had foretold have come to pass etc.

I love during the entire conversation with Death Eaters, you can feel Harry being hypervigilant. He notices the shifts in Bellatrix speaking and makes decisions - once he speaks Voldemort's name, he holds the prophecy tighter because given that he riled her, he expected an attempt to take it from him. And then of course, he is very "improvise. adapt. overcome" with the plan to smash shelves.

Harry's athleticism shines in these chapters where he is elbowing and ducking around Death Eater attacks, launching himself on top of them, heaving Ron when he is out and flinging him when he needs to help the others, rolling over tables to get to doors quick XD

Neville kicking aside fragments of his father's old wand when he carries Hermione. It's his "I'm gonna be my own person not defined by my father's legacy" moment, a parallel to Harry's own in this book.

I love the tiny detail that Tonks is above on the steps, firing spells down at Bellatrix. The distance she keeps, and the detail of Bellatrix and Andromeda resembling each other to the point they could be mistaken for each other, adds such a layer to this detail.

Sirius and Bellatrix are so caught up in their battle that they dont even notice that Dumbledore had arrived. Speaks to their personal history and intensity of their duel.

Harry's child-like denial is utterly heartbreaking. The way he thinks that Remus doesn't understand because he had heard whispers behind the veil, and surely people are hiding there, and that Sirius is just hiding. It is the most child-like he has been and it breaks my heart.

Remus' voice breaking as he struggled to contain Harry, speaking as though every word caused him pain, or just not being able to look at the veil:(

The moment Harry is angry that Sirius would keep him waiting. It is such a childish, entitled reaction. The boy who never expects anything from his adult figures feels like he has the space to be mad at Sirius for keeping him waiting - and then realises, that Sirius would never keep him waiting. And that's how he knows Sirius is dead.

Harry laughing at Bellatrix right after Sirius' death ("a mad laugh to match her own"): the boy really is his godfather's godson.

Bellatrix loves Voldemort, but also fears Voldemort. The moment he comes - Sirius turns from the mocking "dear cousin" to "Animagus Black." She is super keen to distance herself from Sirius in front of him and it calls to the scene later in Deathly Hallows, where she claims she never laid eyes on Andromeda after she ran away.

"We both know there are other ways of destroying a man. Merely taking your life would not satisfy me, I must admit" - contrast this with Deathly Hallows, where Dumbledore leads Harry away from Voldemort's maimed soul in the limbo. Harry feels pity for it, and even tries to save Voldemort, but Dumbledore is beyond that and this scene conveys it.

"And I'll see Sirius again.." it's not only Harry's love for Sirius that drives Voldemort out of his body, but it is also his very raw desire for death. Something he wishes once again, when he is at his parents' graves. (it is this passive ideation that Hermione grasps at the grave and why Harry's desire for Resurrection Stone terrifies her)

"You've been chasing the wrong man for 12 months, it's time you listened to sense!" Dumbledore's feelings of Sirius' fate are also encapsulated in this line. He claims responsibility for Sirius' fate next chapter, but his anger and guilt at Sirius' death is clear here.

Harry's intense guilt and hatred for himself, where he had never before wished he was someone else so intensely, that he was trapped inside his body and mind. It is this guilt, even though he expresses them this chapter, that he will carry with him in HBP and it will come out in moments like strangling Mundungus for perceived disrespect to Sirius.

"I know how you're feeling Harry" "No you dont" : it is both Harry lashing out his intense self-hatred, but also his feelings of abandonment. In his mind, if Dumbledore understood his feelings, he would not have "abandoned" him through the summer or the year. So this moment of Dumbledore reaching out in solidarity after a year of freezing him out makes Harry angry.

Harry just demolishing his office, and Dumbledore remaining calm and detached through it, until Harry himself matches Dumbledore's tone to let him out. Such a well written scene.

The chapter is good illumination of how Dumbledore's distance/detachment and big picture thinking and how it hurts people: Dumbledore locking Sirius and Harry up (Harry shouting this back at him must be a painful reminder of his time with his sister), Snape not overcoming his feelings ("some wounds run too deep for healing").

"I alone could prevent this, and I alone must be strong" - How Dumbledore rationalises his decisions, the weight of the guilt he carries, the calculations he must make. # war general.

"He saw himself in you before he had ever seen you": Voldemort destroying everyone and everything that reminds him of who he is. Strange likenesses from Voldemort is not a compliment, when he wants to be extraordinary, special and unique.

Harry thinking that if only he had just pulled back the veil, he would have seen Sirius greeting him with a laugh like a bark :(

Dumbledore trying to repair Harry's feelings of abandonment by telling him why he didn't choose Harry as a prefect.

Fred and George sending Ron mountains of Chocolate frog after the Ministry fiasco to express their care, in a book where they were harder on him is <3

Ah, that subtle implication that Harry spent hours by the lake, crying about his godfather until the sunset. :( It is gorgeously subtle writing - him getting up at sunset, and wiping his face on his sleeve.

The way the book twists our innards with Harry opening Sirius' gift. :( and how Harry hopes again, and when the hope shatters, he throws the mirror. But it is the very same mirror shard, Sirius' gift that will enable Dobby to help the trio out of the manor, where Harry would ask for help because he saw a parental figure's eye (Dumbledore).

Luna validating Harry's feeling that they were just lurking out of sight, behind the veil and it is this connection with death and understanding of afterlife that comforts Harry. That he will see Sirius again.

[myths-of-fantasy]

CSOCW Day 3 - Relationships

PLAYER - SISTERLY

“Oh come on, Wolf, we’ve been friends for years!”

Kitu chuckled, twisting the silver ring on her finger around. It was a beautiful ring, a simple silver band with a collection of elegant, sweeping and swirling lines engraved into the surface, the names of her team woven on the inside. She wondered, briefly what Player’s parents had thought when they bought it for her as a birthday gift.

“I know,” it agreed, her lips twitching with amusement, sitting back. A birthday they had never considered they would have. “Which is why I’m insisting that you go to bed. I’m pulling rank on you, pup.”

“You can’t just pull rank when you want me to go to sleep.”

“Yes, I can – I can even play the ultimate card.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Oh wouldn’t I?” Kitu said with a sly grin on her face, deliberately typing loudly on her phone as she spoke aloud. “’Hey Carmen, Player has been up for 19 hours now because of our last caper and now he won’t sleep-’”

“Alright, alright! No need to pull the Red Card!”

“I’m glad we’ve reached an understanding.”

“I hate you.”

“I love you too, Player. Sleep well.”

“... I will. Enjoy the stars, Wolf.”

| | | |

PAPER STAR - HOSTILE

“STOP IT! SOMEONE STOP IT- MAELSTROM-”

For once, the powerful electric shock that exploded through its body, radiating down its nerves trying to tear through its mind, wasn’t enough to even begin to discourage its aggression. The taste of iron flooded its mouth as it sank its teeth deeper into the pale flesh beneath it, the shadows of its fingers shaping into claws, gripping tightly as it released a vicious snarl. The body beneath it thrashed furiously, their legs kicking violently against its stomach, attempting to knock the Beast from her.

It was finally a massive, meaty hand that gripped the back of its neck that stopped it. The Beast was lifted bodily from its target, still howling and slashing with rage, glaring mutinously through vengeful amber eyes.

“Well, at least we know it’s got fury,” Brunt chortled, forcing The Beast to its knees and effortlessly wrestling it back into the cage muzzle it had been wearing when they first showed it off.

The Beast released a frustrated snort from its nose, eyes locking on the bloodied form of one of the latest recruits – Tammy or something. The Wolf didn’t care. It had finally gotten the bitch back for all the harassing origami cranes being thrown at her cheeks and the prodding when she was still too tightly bound to defend itself.

“Let that be a warning to all of you about thinking your actions through,” Professor Maelstrom addressed the class.“If you're going to harass a mad dog, make sure its chain is too short to reach you."

| | | |

ZACK AND IVY - MOTHERLY

"Dude, these are so cool!"

"You didn't have to spend all that money on us, Kitu."

The tall woman rolled her eyes, but a fond smile played at her lips all the same. Zack slipped the racing themed hoodie over his head, diving heart-first into the gifts Kitu had returned with, while his sister watched her out of the corner of her eye, clutching the mechanic's kit in her palms.

"It's fine Ivy. It's more for me than you anyway," she said dismissively. "If I see you fiddling with electric wires without a mask again, I'll have a heart attack."

Ivy's caution turning into a teasing grin, "The gloves were from you too?"

"Those were from Carmen actually, and you better be wearing them."

| | | |

TAMARA FRAISER - MELANCHOLY

"I'm sorry, I just... I don't know what to say," the Chief, Tamara, sighs. She's clutching her coffee, a look of visible discomfort on her face that felt wrong after so long seeing her unflappable. Kitu almost reaches out to comfort her, to put her hand on hers, but she stops herself.

This is a stranger. She hardly knows her.

But that's what hurts the most. The knowledge that in another world, she wouldn't have been. This wouldn't be an uncomfortable getting-to-know-you coffee meeting, each of them trying to find the words to express how the last decade had felt.

"... I'm sorry."

Kitu glances up to see the same feeling of resigned longing in the eyes of the Chief.

"I am so sorry that I never got to be your mom," Tamara whispered.

Kitu offers an equally sad smile.

"And I'm sorry that I never got to be your daughter."

| | | |

CARMEN SANDIEGO - LOVING/DEPENDENT

"Why would you do that?" Ivy half-screeched, half-sobbed, while Kitu swallowed down her reflex to scream as the wound decorating her stomach twisted violently, stinging intently.

"Check Carmen first," she said, instead of answering the question.

"I'm fine, Kitu, I didn't get stabbed in the stomach!" Carmen hissed at her.

"Good," Kitu said matter-of-factly. "I think the knife was poisoned, by the way. This stings more than it should."

"Why?!" Carmen demanded. "I would've been fine!"

"But there was a chance you wouldn't have been. And that's not a world I will stay in long."

Carmen's jaw clicked shut, and it's the tensest wound treatment Kitu has had in a while.

| | | |

SHADOWSAN - COMPLICATED

Entering the living room, Kitu stiffened reflexively, baring its teeth and growling at the sight of the samurai meditating peacefully. As quickly as it started, the growling shut off - he was on their side now, an ally, not an enemy by Carmen's words. Intellectually, it hadn't been his fault - technically, he had given her a choice all those years ago. A choice that she didn't regret, couldn't afford to regret.

Emotionally, she was still that little girl who lost three families and was watching one of their killers carry off the last of it she had, desperate to keep an impulsively made promise to a dying man.

Shadowsan averts his gaze from her as Kitu takes a seat beside him.

Shadowsan uprooted himself - didn't kill Dexter, didn't allow Carmen to be raised into a killer, treated her more gently than the rest of the Faculty. He kept Black Sheep safe enough to become Carmen and then when staying behind was no longer an option, he discarded all he built to follow her.

Carmen was as much his world as she was Kitu's.

And that at least was easy to understand.

---

@carmensandiego-ocweek

[honeyandberryjuice]

A Mutual Agreement

summary: arthur gets super drunk over his romantic woes and finds comfort in the arms of abigail relationship(s): abigail roberts/arthur morgan word count: 2,082 warning(s): 18+, MINORS DNI

author's note: i wrote this in the ungodly hours of 4am, eyes stinging, and the need to impress my bestie with some porn. this is my first lil fanfic piece, please be kind to me ;w; tags: this is set before abigail is with john ok, i am an adamant john x abigail shipper & i'll die on this hill just let me have this please, some praise kink and reward stuff idk, arthur being an idiot (affectionate) & not thinking about the consequences of his actions, mutual drunk fucking, let's not think about what this means, top!arthur morgan

🍯 prefer to read on ao3? 🍯

 The crackling of the fire floats softly up to Arthur’s ears, face warmed both by its heat and the bottle of whiskey in his hand. Over the last couple of days, his nights had followed the same routine— He’d done whatever chores needed doing, argued with whoever stood too close to him, grabbed a crate of alcohol, and sat sullenly by the campfire. For the first few nights, several members of the gang had attempted to come over to him and get to the bottom of his attitude, though his expression and biting words had sent them all on their way with a scowl or injured retort.

 Now, the only one left was Abigail.

 The woman had only been with them for a little while now, shorter than some of the other girls but enough for her to get acquainted with the many members of the camp. Arthur wasn’t one to judge— Everyone had to make their living one way or another, and he was glad she at least had people to look after her now. Whatever she chose to do in her spare time was up to her, and Arthur quite honestly couldn’t care less. He’d hardly looked her way during her time here, most essentially because a particular blonde had been keeping his attention.

 His vision blurred as he looked up at her, eyebrows furrowed. Recently, she’d become slightly more… Present around the men, especially John. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that the woman had developed some sort of attachment for him, for whatever reason. He loved John; the younger man was like a brother to him, but he really was only two cents short of a complete imbecile. Arthur truly believed that he wouldn’t ever learn to appreciate a good thing right before him, even if someone were to hammer it into his forehead to stare at in the mirror every day.

 The brunette sighed, clasping the bridge of his nose as the fire swam in front of him. He’d definitely had too much to drink…

 Soft, cold hands brushed against his arm, and the scent of berries, coffee, and fresh linen enveloped him. It took all of his willpower not to suck it all in like his last breath of air. Instead, he focused on trying not to pass out, reaching out his own hand to brace against the support on his arm. “Thanks, Abigail.” He managed, head pounding. The woman’s hands patted him in response before the warmth of her pressed against the side of his leg. 

 She didn’t respond to him, though she’d evidently come closer for some reason. Arthur guessed that maybe she was trying to look after him, though her hands fidgeted in her lap, and her eyes continued to search the camp. 

 Arthur clicked his tongue, pulling himself back up into a respectable sitting position. “Y’deserve better than that damn idiot.” He spat out. His words sounded bitter, even to his own ears, and Arthur wondered if he was really even talking about John at all.

 “Oh, Arthur. You… You don’t know him like I do. He’s sweet— And, well, he…” The first words she’d spoken since sitting with him at the fire, and they were all to defend the flaky outlaw. It infuriated Arthur to no end.

 His hot-headedness sparked easier next to the blaze warming his body, and the response escaped him angrily in his next breath. “Yeah, I bet he is. That boy’s always had a gift for charm, y’know. But he ain’t ever committed to nothin’ in his damn life. Y’better off not wasting yer time.” Words that hit too close to home, that made his chest squeeze as if a boulder flattened it. He pushed it down into the depths of him.

 There was only silence from the woman. It spread for so long that Arthur almost spoke an apology, though Abigail springing forward and grasping a bottle of whiskey from the crate froze it in his throat. Had he ever seen her drink? He decided he’d be much better off without saying a word, and instead leaned back and concentrated on sobering up a little. His eyes went from watching the fire to watching the black-haired woman, her own attention taken by the burning pit in front of them.

 Some time passed; it wasn’t awkward, or tense, but actually rather pleasant, with the crackling of the fire filling in their lack of conversation. It took a little while, and the opening of a new bottle of whiskey, for Abigail to seem to relax. Arthur noticed with some smugness that her attention no longer searched desperately around the camp, but rather she looked at her hands folded in her lap. After a while, she spoke again. “What happened, Arthur? Y… Y’seemed so content before. Did you…” She trailed off, likely thinking her questions were far too personal to ask.

 Arthur’s vision had unfogged slightly, and he leaned forward to give her more of his attention. His eyes were drooping lazily, though he could see her face clearly, features illuminated by the orange glow of the campfire. He realised, with his breath slightly hitching in his throat, that she really was quite beautiful. The next words didn’t hurt as much as they had in his head, the same ones he’d been berating himself with over the last few days. His voice was hardly audible when he said, “I lost her.”

 Their eyes met, and there was no surprise in hers as she looked at him. Maybe she’d already known about Eliza — women’s intuition and all that — or maybe he really wasn’t as good at hiding secrets as he liked to think.

 Abigail’s gaze softened, and her eyes drifted down to his lips.

 Oh.

  Oh.

 Arthur licked them, his thoughts tumbling away as the heat and the drink and proximity of the woman before him hit him. For a moment, he really took her in— the dark hair that reminded him so much of his first love, of the gentleness and sincerity that mirrored so very closely to the one who owned his heart. The three women became one, morphing into the lovely face barely inches from his own.

 He was kissing her before his thoughts began to make sense again.

 Though once the realisation hit him, it wasn’t followed by immediate regret like he would’ve thought. Abigail’s own lips only met his, and didn’t inch away— Instead, she seemed to be full of the same longing as he was. A mutual agreement of desperately needed comfort. 

 He lifted her into his arms, walking towards an empty tent with pure muscle memory. If anyone walked past them or noticed them, they didn’t speak— But Arthur wouldn’t have cared anyway. He needed this, to feel like he, for just a moment, wasn't a monster. That a blonde woman, the mother of his child, didn’t hate him for leaving her. Even if she wouldn’t even know it was for her own good.

 The frame of the bed hit against his legs and caused the two of them to tumble into it. A breathy laugh escaped Abigail, which only made his ears roar at the sensational sound of it. Her hands pulled at his hair, his clothes, his skin and it took all his effort not to roll his eyes into the back of his head. Abigail’s tongue probed at his lips, and the man could only think of how wonderfully experienced this woman was with her mouth, kissing her back with a moan.

 He pulled off his shirt and her hands rubbed down his chest, causing goosebumps to prickle lovingly against them. Arthur fought back his shiver as her nails scraped against him, his lip catching in his teeth as a shuddering breath escaped him. His cock ached against his pants, so he quickly fixed the problem by unbuckling his belt with one hand, the other reaching to touch the now-naked woman.

 Despite the drink causing Arthur to lose focus, he wanted to make this enjoyable for Abigail, too. The earlier roaming hand found its target, and the next groan came out strangled. She was wet. The cockiness came back, and he whispered, “Y’been waitin’ for this, aintcha?” The dark-haired woman nodded, though the motion wasn’t a good enough answer for him. His fingers caressed the opening, and he teasingly rubbed against her clit, eyes hard. “What was that, sweetheart?”

 “Y-Yes. I have.” Her voice was strained as his teasing intensified, though Arthur didn’t make her wait too long before he rewarded her by pushing his fingers into her pussy. The moan that erupted out of her made his cock twitch, and a throaty chuckle came from him as he relinquished it. He made her make that sound. The man wanted to cause her to make many more.

 Hovering over her, he continued to push his fingers in and out of her, holding onto her thigh with his other hand. He watched her with growing smugness as the delightful little sounds she made grew in both intensity and volume. “Arthur—” Abigail gasped, hands gripping into the sheets, “‘m gonna cum.”

 His name from her lips sounded like music, especially with it so strained with pleasure like it was. The man’s movements grew faster, his grip on her thigh harder. “Cum for me, darlin’,” Arthur responded, tone commanding yet encouraging. His mouth teased lightly against the inside of her thigh, and his teeth grazed her skin, begging her to fall over the edge of her climax.

 It didn’t take long before she was coming apart in his arms, legs shaking. Her breath was hot as he pressed his body into hers again, holding her for a moment. “Good girl,” Arthur’s voice positively purred, before he was standing over again. 

 His hands gripped hard against her hips as he pulled her closer to the edge of the bed, where his hard cock begged to enter her. The man teasingly stroked it against the sensitive area, though he didn’t push into her just yet. Arthur’s eyes pinned her, roaming over her heaving breasts before focusing on her drooping gaze. “Y’ready?”

 Abigail can only nod, body still trembling, before Arthur’s pushes himself inside her. The wet heat of her pussy envelopes him, and a deep and hoarse moan comes from him as he fully enters her. “Fuck, y’feel so good, darlin’.” Another breathy laugh from Abigail causes another ache, and he becomes ever more desperate for a release.

 His thrusts grow in intensity, hands still gripping her hips as he slams into her, over and over. Shivers of pleasure roll down his body, and another strangled groan as her nails begin scraping down his back. They dig into him, stinging deliciously as the pressure in his cock grows. 

 Arthur’s hands move to cup her breasts, the calluses of his fingers causing exquisite friction on her skin. He pinches a nipple lightly between his fingers before he’s leaning down and closing his lips around it. The man’s tongue flicks against the skin hardened with pleasure, his own mirroring hers. He grazes his teeth playfully against the nipple, praising her as her sounds become more frequent, “Louder for me, darlin. I want th’whole camp t’hear ya.”

 He’s pounding into her, harder and harder, the noises from Abigail growing into gasps as another orgasm builds up inside her. Arthur growls out, “Y’such a good girl, takin’ all of me so well. Y’my good lil slut, ain’tchu, sweetheart? Y’want me to fill y’up?”

 The dark-haired woman’s response is whiny as she responds with, “Yes. Oh, god— Fuck—” Her body once more trembles as she cums, pussy pulsating so enticingly around his cock. He can feel his own orgasm upon him as he releases another choked moan.

 Arthur can’t fight the building sensation for long before he’s finishing inside her. Abigail’s legs wrap around him, a vice grip, as his cock twitches with the last of his load, warmth spreading through the woman as he pants against her. His hands are shaking as he brushes a hand through his hair, head leaned back as the pulsing of his orgasm subsides. 

 With a wince, he pulls out of her and tumbles onto the bed beside her. His eyes are heavy as he clasps an arm around her, seeking comfort of a non-sexual kind. Abigail’s fingers trail soothingly against his arm, head against his chest.

 Arthur’s eyes flutter shut before he can think about what he’s just done.

[voiceoffenrisulfr]

Silver & Gold - Chapter Six

CW: all the smut, as always. Photography/videography. Emotions and things. The typical fluffiness.

Prompts fulfilled; ’30. Self-Worth/Self-Love’, @flufftober; ‘I’m Not a Hero, I’m…’, @multifandom-flash Dozen; ‘Camming in Festive Undies’, The Woods Are Lovely, Dark and Deep (@darcylewisbingohq); ‘Traditions’, Winter Wonderland Bingo @seasonaldelightsbingo; ‘Peppering Kissing All Over Their Face’, Winter Wonderland Bingo; ‘Deep Throating’ and ‘Fingering’, @fandom-free-bingo (Frosty Edition).

Lia gives Yoshi one hell of a birthday surprise.

Cards below! Check it out on AO3 here, or below the KR! Dividers by @jiyascepter - aren't they cute? ^.^

I woke early, the golden light creeping through the gap in the curtains curling around small amounts of dust and making them swirl, colours scattering across the metal of my boy’s arms as he snored softly, curled up against my side.

My fingers caressed his hair lightly, a small, contented smile flickering over his parted lips as he pulled me closer unconsciously. “Mmm… S’nice…”

I grinned to myself, kissing his sweet, sleepy forehead, smoothing a few stray strands from his brow tenderly. “Good morning… Birthday boy.”

One eye parted minutely, grey seeking green with a lopsided smile. “Oh… So it is…”

My fingers found his chin, tipping his head up delicately to claim his lips with mine. “Would you like your present, Silver?”

His other eye opened, and he grinned a little wider, the steel depths sparkling with joy. “You’re all the gift I need, Swan. … But yes, please.”

I laughed and kissed his nose, shaking my head fondly as I shimmied from his embrace.

“Wait here.”

I’d once done something not entirely dissimilar, a lifetime ago. But then I’d not been alone – I’d been able to rely on the confidence of others to buoy myself.

And this time…

My fingers toyed with the strap of the camera shyly, then the curve of fur barely dipping over my chest, taking a slow, stabilising breath, smoothing the skirt that barely covered my scantily-clad ass.

I could hear him shifting about in the bed, no doubt impatient to have me return to him, and inhaled once more before opening the door.

I revelled in the way his eyes widened as he took me in, trailing along the sheer stockings, pausing at the hem of the short dress as he swallowed hungrily, before continuing up, following the curve of my waist, his jaw twitching minutely at my breasts barely restrained by the skin-tight garment. “I-I, uh… Hi.”

My lips tipped up in a smile, eyelashes fluttering. “Hey, Silver.” He simply let out a soft, wordless noise in response, and I giggled. “Suave as ever, huh?”

Blinking repeatedly, he shook his head to snap back to attention, emitting a quiet huff of wonder. “You look… Delectable. God, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.”

I blushed as I raised the camera, free hand smoothing my hair shyly. “Well… I thought you want might some... Um, enduring evidence of this..."

The sound that came from his throat was somewhere between a groan and a growl as he gestured me closer, fingers flashing in the golden light. “This is the best birthday I’ve ever had.”

I lay back on the black sheets, staring up at him through my lashes adoringly. He’d taken a little while to gain his confidence, but now he instructed me eagerly, fingers caressing every inch of available skin while he maneuvered me. I giggled as I slowly inched down the zipper that lead between my breasts – feeling, for once, just as beautiful and loved as he told me I was. The way his jaw – and boxers – grew tighter as I exposed the ebony lace barely cupping my breasts made me squirm in delight, and he licked his lips as I tossed the dress at him playfully.

“That’s it, Swan; God, you’re so stunning…” His voice came hushed and reverent as he reached out to grasp my ankle with a grin, eliciting a shriek of delight as he tugged me closer, crimson hair trailing behind me as I laughed. He snapped a few more photos as I giggled, his own smile growing wider. “I like seeing you so happy. I love seeing you so comfortable in your own skin…”

I beamed in response, fingertips brushing the very edge of the partially see-through panties and making his muscles tremble in response. “It’s easier to have a little self-love when you look at me the way you do, Soldier.”

He opened his mouth to reply, but any words he intended to utter died in his throat as I slid my hand slowly into my underwear, back arching as I touched myself gently, my eyes still on his. His crooked grin twitched intermittently, far more focused on my ministrations than his facial expression, his breath hitching audibly when I let out a quiet whine. “Mmm- Y’know, that camera has video functions… How about you put it down and join me?”

Jaw working wordlessly for a second, he blinked in surprise, then grinned once more, his gaze flicking back to my face with mild shyness. “Or… How about I record this first, and then get some footage of you screaming for me, Swan?”

I gulped and nodded eagerly, the idea of him wanting to preserve this for later use instantly amplifying the wetness between my legs. “Yes, Sir…” I sighed happily, back arching a little. “Why don’t you tell me what you want to see, Silver?”

He swallowed again, moving a little closer. “Well… I think you’re wearing too many clothes, for sure…” I sat up slightly with a purr, but his hand found my chest gently, pushing me back. “Oh, I didn’t tell you to stop, my sweet girl.” His fingers curled around the centre of my bra, eyes seeking mine for clarification and grinning when I frantically nodded once more. The pressure was quick and firm, my breasts spilling free as the lace tore in a seemingly-effortless motion, and I moaned quietly, my free hand moving to toy with a nipple enthusiastically. His displays of strength always left me weak and soaked, and this was no exception; my fingers moved a little more firmly over my clit as I panted and writhed, the silver eyes on me driving me closer.

His hand shifted to the lace at my hip, but these, he preserved – he placed the camera gently on the bed, still pointing at me as he tenderly slid down my underwear, trailing kisses along the pale skin of my legs and eliciting a giggle.

By the time he rose again, I had my hand shyly concealing my wetness, and he arched a brow. “You know what I want to see, Swan… Show me that gorgeous pussy?”

The tone of his voice was gentle, and the knowledge that this was firmly a suggestion, a request, and not a command made me tremble and move my fingers aside, legs spreading further as his breath hitched. “You make me so wet, Silver…” I purred, and he groaned quietly, shaking his head as he put the camera down once more.

“Can’t do it. Can’t help myself,” he muttered under his breath. I opened my mouth with a frown, intending to ask what he meant – but his face eagerly pressed against my pussy answered the question, cool fingers brushing over my slit briefly before two slid inside me. I gasped and moaned in surprise and delight, back arching, my hands tangling in this gossamer hair to hold him close to me as his tongue explored my wetness.

“Fuck- God, Yoshitsune, yes,” I whimpered, pressing myself nearer. He groaned against my flesh happily, free hand raising to find my breast and pin my torso effortlessly to the bed as he rolled my nipple exquisitely between his fingers. My entire body felt alight and alive, each nerve singing under his careful strumming into a perfect, irreplaceable symphony.

His fingers curled inside me, and I whined, suddenly shy once more, biting my lip as I glanced down at him. “Y-Yoshi, if you do- I can’t-”

Somehow, despite my stammering, he seemingly understood me, his eyes meeting mine as he raised an eyebrow, deliberately finding my sweet spot once more as he moved his hand a little more firmly inside me. I groaned in delight, back arching to press myself closer as best I could despite the arm along my body, lost in the feeling of his tongue on me, his fingers working me so effortlessly.

The moment I began to spill, he drew his hand back, burying his face more thoroughly between my legs as I jerked and whimpered, letting out a deafening groan of his own as he eagerly lapped up everything I had to offer him.

By the time he looked up at me once more, having trailed his tongue along every inch of my wet pussy with steadfast determination, I was blushing profusely, hand cupped in front of my mouth sheepishly. “I tried to warn you! I-”

He shook his head, moving to pin me, scrubbing a hand over his face to chase away the last of the droplets. “Not a word, little one. That was incredible.” His cock pressed against me lightly, clarifyingly, through the thin cotton of his shorts, but I shook my head, palm finding his damp chest. Panic flashed briefly across his features, and I couldn’t help but giggle fondly, rolling my eyes.

“Calm down, Yoshitsune… I just want to be on my knees first.” He gulped and nodded, rolling quickly, and I smirked as he readjusted the camera when I moved to kneel on the floor eagerly. “Enjoying your birthday present?”

“We might have to make this a tradition,” he murmured, ethereal grey eyes sparkling, hand wrapping tenderly in my hair. I purred, pressing gentle kisses to the outline of his straining length, earning a quiet sigh for my effort as my fingertips wrapped in the waistband of his shorts.

As always, the sight of him leaking and aching – for me – made me tremble with delight. The notion that I never failed to arouse him was something I was still struggling to accept at times, despite the hard evidence before me. I trailed my tongue slowly along his cock, soft, happy sounds slipping from my parted lips, fingers tightening infinitesimally on his hips at the sharp gasp he emitted when I took his tip in my mouth. The grip on my hair stiffed minutely as he shifted forward, and I moaned as best I could around him, taking him slowly. When he brushed the back of my throat, he began to draw back until I held him fast, my hands tight on him as I swallowed around him.

The grunt of pleasure as I took him into my throat made my eyes close with joy, pressing him further into me happily, entirely uncaring about the tears pricking my lash line and the beginnings of a burn in my lungs as they protested the lack of oxygen. He let me sit there for a moment, every inch of him buried inside me, before pulling back with a soft huff of amusement, raising an eyebrow when I inhaled sharply. “Remember to breathe, my sweet girl. I love having my cock in your throat, but it isn’t worth you dying for.”

I drew away just long enough to gasp a little longer, licking my lips where they’d cracked from stretching around him, and looked up at him with a plead in my gaze. “I’d beg to differ myself, but if you say so…” Driving myself back forward, I moaned around him happily as his cock slid back into my throat. My hands tightened on his hips once more, spurring him on as he started to roll his hip more forcefully. Eyes finding his face, I trembled in delight as his flushed, parted lips and the beads of moisture still clinging to scruff along the cut of his jaw, forgetting everything but my love for this man for a heartbeat at the shining depths of my lover’s captivating steel gaze.

He really is my everything.

A low groan snapped me back to the moment, and I dragged my tongue adoringly along the base of his cock, a zing of pleasure sparking through my dripping pussy at his hiss of delight. The steel fingers in my hair guided me back, gentle but firm, and he grinned with adoration and amusement as I pouted when his tip slipped free from my mouth. “Don’t worry, sweet girl… I’m not finished with you yet.”

I blushed shyly as he settled back against the headboard, the camera in one hand, the other extended to me. “Come here, Swan… Come and make yourself feel so, so good…”

My finger entwined with his, a soft purr rumbling in my chest as I straddled his hips. He released his grip on me to hold himself steady as I finally took his length inside me, eyelids fluttering in pleasure, but his gaze never left mine as I whimpered quietly. “That’s it, my gorgeous girl. God, you feel so good… I can’t ever get enough of you…”

Hands finding his shoulders, I leant in to kiss him deeply, settling fully onto his cock and rocking my hips. I heard a distant clatter as he fumbled to put down the camera before his fingers pressed firm against my back, holding me tight to his chest, returning my kiss just as eagerly. All too soon, however, I had to pull back, gasping for breath as I worked myself a little more energetically atop him. “Fuck- Yoshitsune…”

He grasped my hip tight, the metal embrace sure to leave cherished marks, and encouraged my pace, his jaw twitching in pleasure. “Feels good, baby? Having my cock buried inside you like this, letting you take control of me?”

I nodded eagerly, nails scraping hard down his chest as my head fell back, stars sparking behind my vision. “Yes! Oh, god, yes… Please – fuck, I can’t take it, I-I can’t-”

With a low growl, he moved quickly, pinning me to the mattress and tangling a hand in my hair as his hips slammed into mine. I cried out in pleasure as he bit at my throat, free hand snaking between us to caress my clit with earth-shattering precision. “That’s it, Swan. Sing for me. I want you to come for me, sweetheart… Clench that tight, pretty pussy around my cock and scream my name.”

I couldn’t help but obey, the combination of his words, his deep, powerful thrusts and talented touch making my eyes roll back and my vocal chords ache from my deafening moans as I hurtled toward my climax. He fucked me ever harder as his name fell from bitten lips, my hands clutching desperately at his shoulders, seeking some form of purchase – something, anything, to keep me grounded, as my blood turned to stardust.

Ever the gentleman and disciplined soldier, it wasn’t until my cries had died to weak sobs of pleasure, twitching and jerking beneath him, that his hips met mine for a final time, groaning against my throat as he filled me. I purred contentedly when he paused and drew back to meet my eyes, raising a lazy, exhausted hand to caress his cheek, wiping a droplet of sweat from his forehead with a tired smile. “Yoshitsune…”

“Hm?”

I leant up as much as my jellified muscles allowed, pressing my lips to his, gentle but firm. “I love you.”

He laughed quietly – breathless and adoring – and kissed me again, pressing his forehead to mine as he cupped the back of my neck. “I love you too, my Swan. Always.”

We lay together in tangled, sweat-damp sheets, legs entwined, as I drew patterns on his chest with a gentle fingertip. “You’re a superhero.”

Another fond laugh, and his cheek found my hair. “Is that so? Because I can make you scream?”

I could hear the smirk in his voice, and I rolled my eyes fondly, resting my chin on his chest to look up at him with a smile. “No. Well – yes, that’s… Amazing. But no.” I paused for a moment, watching my finger before glancing up again shyly. “You’re… Everything. You’re the reason I’m still here, you know? When you found me, I was… I wasn’t in a good place.” My gaze met his, sincere and steady, hand resting over his heart. “I wouldn’t have lived this life if you hadn’t found your place in it. You’re the reason I wanted anything to do with particular reality I found myself in, and didn’t just let myself… Dissolve. You’re the reason I’m alive, Yoshitsune, my beautiful silver soldier – my soulmate.” My fingertips found his jaw, cupping his face gently and skimming a thumb over his cheekbone with tender affection. “I thought I knew what life was. But… Everything has changed. Oh, how I love you, my sweet boy. Nothing life could throw at me now wouldn’t be worth this. I’d endure the circles of Hell just to look into your eyes.”

The steel swam minutely, and he pulled me closer, peppering gentle kisses over my face as a few of his tears salted my skin. “I’m no hero, Swan. I’m just… Yours.”

“Mine,” I agreed quietly, tangling my hands in his hair again to kiss him softly. “Always.”

“Always, Aurelia.”

[blue-eyed-banshee]

character A blatantly flirting with character B and B is wondering if this is just because of the alcohol *and kinda wishing it isn’t* [ jaina x sylvanas, of course. ]

"Any- anyone ever te-tell you have are the most beautiful human in all of Quel'thalas? Every- every one thinks it, even me."

A fanged smirked made the mage blush slightly.

Jaina had taken Sylvanas to a tavern in her homeland of Kul'tirias. The dock master, Cyrus, had shipped in a special ale for the elf as a welcome gift since they don't get many travellers, certainly not the quel'dorei.

Jaina smiled softly, trying to fight the blush she had from coming to the surface.

"Has she even tried rum before, Jaina?" A man yelled out, and his buddies laughed drunkeningly. The mage rolled her eyes while Sylvanas took another swig of the specialized drink. It was wine, which she usually had when she went out with her rangers.

However, this was no ordinary wine from Quel'thalas. This wine Sylvanas consumed was made specially for her on Jaina's recommendations using the local berries Jaina had Saltheril ship to Kul'tirias just for the occasion.

The bar keep glanced over to the Elven ranger- general.

"Ye think she would like some rum, Jaina?"

All of a sudden, a loud burp was heard from a nearby table of them who was peering at Sylvanas, a mechiveous glint is this eye.

Jaina shook her head in disgust. Then the man at the bar walked over and set a mug of kul'tirian rum in front of Sylvanas. "Complentary o' the men over there." He said, pointing a thumb to the table of loud men, who waved at them.

Oh tides...

Jaina suspected the elf before wouldn't be able to handle any sort of Kul'tirian drink, and that man only ordered order it so the ranger general could further humiliate herself.

Before Jaina could stop the elf from taking the drink, she saw the woman bring the beverage to her lips, but her nose crinkled. "Ugh... strong smell.." She muttered as she took a sip before her ears shot up and then pinned back slightly.

"You don't like it?" Jaina asked, with a slight frown to which Sylvanas saw it in her eyes.

"I-it's strong, but if you like, I'll get used it." The drunken elf said with a sly wink to the mage.

After some more drinks, they walked while Sylvanas staggered in the direction of the Keep.

They walked into an alley way of sorts, stealing glances at each other along the way. Sylvanas wanted to tell the mage her true feelings for her, but she was never good at explaining her emotions to others.

Sylvanas did something Jaina was not expecting, but she was hoping it would happen.

Lips met, which took Jaina by surprise as they back into the wall with Jaina's back against it.

Sylvanas had her arm around Jaina's waist as the elf deepened the kiss, and their tongues met in harmony. It was then that Jaina closed her eyes and relaxed into the slender tough of the elf's body.

She wrapped her leg around the elf, and Sylvanas smirked against the mage's lips and gently bit down on her lower lip as elven fangs turned Jaina on even more as she moaned quietly.

Sylvanas's hands roamed the mage's body with such care and love as she moved onto the crook of her neck and gently bit down while her hands roamed downwards.

Jaina's wrapped both her legs around the ranger's hip with only the wall against her back.

"Dalah'surfal..." Jaina whispered with a breathy moan.

Then she saw stars and she let out a loud moan.

[melanie-ohara]

Like a Broken Sail

Whumpuary2024, Day 15 - Prompt: Hostage

A day in the life of Billie Lurk...

AO3 Here

Billie lowered her hood and lifted the mask away from her head, laying it down on the rocky outcrop where she had perched. From what she knew about the Brigmore Witches, showing her face was less likely to get her skewered if - when - she was caught. It was a risky plan, but Daud had taught her audacity before he'd gone soft and she was sure of her abilities. And this had to be done.

She climbed down to the Brigmore estate slowly. The sun was setting, which gave her the opportunity to make her approach through the grounds with the light behind her, and with the reflection off the water she was sure it would blind any lookouts. The spectral hounds were another matter, but the transversals gifted to her by Daud let her pass by unnoticed. She wondered if she should feel strange about using those abilities against him, but decided she didn't care about that any more. Actually getting inside the mansion was trickier than most of the other rich places she'd infiltrated with the Whalers, but not needing to pass undetected gave the option of just smashing a window and hopping inside. The sound of glass shattering drew attention, but by the time a pair of witches materialised to investigate, Billie was already safely hidden, flat on her stomach and pressed between the top of a tall bookcase and the ceiling. The Witches' transversals looked different to the Whalers' own - somehow more biological, and the very faint scent they left behind was of rose petals rather than ozone. 

"Someone is here, sister," one of them said to the other. Billie hadn't seen any of the coven up close before, but now that she could she noticed that the flowers woven through their clothes seemed to shift and move, changing colour with the light and shadow around them.

"Go and inform Delilah," her companion answered sharply. "I will find the intruder."

"Yes, Breanna." With a soft ripple of darkness, the witch was gone. As quietly as breathing, Billie clicked the ammunition wheel of her wrist launcher around to the half-dose of sleeping poison she had prepared and took careful aim for Breanna's throat. 

"Oh!" Breanna gasped when the dart struck, and reached her hand up to swat the insect she thought had bitten her. Her careless fingers knocked the small vial to the floor and as she turned to look at it, Billie transversed away from her hiding place to appear behind her. The poison wouldn't take effect for a few more seconds, but she wanted to give her orders while her captive was still lucid, so she grabbed her as soon as she had stepped out of the void. She pressed one hand to the back of her head, letting her feel the tip of the bolt readied in her launcher, and then snaked the other around her throat.

"Struggle, scream, attempt a transversal, and die," she hissed into the Witch's ear. 

"Who are you?" Breanna sounded more indignant than afraid, which didn't bode well for her plan. Billie shifted her fingers up a little to force Breanna's head back painfully. 

"Do you understand?"

She felt the moment the poison reached Breanna's mind - the woman slumped slightly in her grip, inadvertantly shoving flower petals up her nose. The dose wasn't strong enough to put her to sleep, but it would make her weak enough to push around without having to worry too much about her powers. She heard her mumble something that sounded like a yes, and considered that good enough.

"I want to speak to your boss," she said. "Take me to Delilah." 

*

Breanna led her on a winding path through the mansion that Billie was sure was designed to get them caught, but her stubborn hand over Breanna's mouth and her thorough and exhausting use of transversals and time manipulation allowed them to pass unseen until they stood at a corner that apparently led to Delilah's studio. There were two women on guard outside, and Billie didn't have the energy left to bypass them. She had hoped to reach the queen bee herself without making her presence known to anyone but her hostage, but her plan didn't depend on it. She took a steadying breath, and then pushed Breanna out in front of her as she stepped around the corner.

"Don't move," she said, keeping her voice low enough that only the guards would hear. 

"'M not," Breanna complained sleepily.

Both of Delilah's guards whipped around to face her, and for a second their hands twitched for the bone swords they wore on the hips. 

"I wouldn't," Billie warned, moving her wrist to show them the bolt she had pressed to their sister's temple. "And a transversal won't take me by surprise. I suggest you open that door for us."

Wordlessly, the Witches looked at each other. Billie fought the urge to lick her lips nervously. If they decided to fight, she wasn't sure she take on both of them and with her spirit already exhausted she probably couldn't escape. In the end, they valued Breanna's life enough to let her pass, and the door swung open. 

"Disturbing me again?" a voice purred from the darkness inside. 

Billie flicked her eyes between the two women on guard as she passed them, daring them to try anything. Despite her confidence, her heart was in her throat until she heard the door slam closed behind her. The stream of light into the room was cut off, and by the time Billie's eyes adjusted, Delilah had prowled around her easel to glare at her like a cat kept away from its mouse. 

"Our intruder," she mused. Her eyes pried at Billie's face as if she was trying to get inside. Billie swallowed her fear and glared back. 

"Billie Lurk," she introduced herself. 

"You obviously know who I am," Delilah said, placing her hands on her hips and relaxing her weight onto her back foot as if she had decided Billie wasn't a threat. At least, not yet. "What have you done to poor darling Breanna?" she asked with a touch of melodrama that failed to hide her genuine concern. Billie yanked on Breanna's throat a little to get her to lift her head. She seemed to see Delilah for the first time, and struggled weakly in Billie's arms to get back to her. 

"Did I pick one you like?" 

Delilah's gaze turned back to Billie's and she felt her stare like a blade to the eye. "I haven't killed you yet because you want something," she said. "You might want to think about ingratiating yourself with me, Billie Lurk."

Billie turned her relieved smile into a self-satisfied smirk. It was something she had a lot of pratice with, living with assassins. "You know Daud?" she asked. 

Delilah's eyes flashed with something Billie was sure was rage. "I know his work," she said. "He recently killed… someone I used to be close with."

There was so much blood on Daud's blade that Billie couldn't even begin to guess which noble or cutthroat or banker Delilah had been consorting with, but it didn't matter: it gave her more leverage, either way.

"He's looking for you," Billie said, "and I've been stalling him."

"Delilah?" Breanna whined. The sleeping poison was starting to wear off, and the Witch's strength was starting to return. Billie could probably handle her even fully awake, but she'd rather not take the chance until she was sure Delilah was on her line and ready to reel in.

"Hush, Breanna," Delilah soothed. It wasn't the dismissive tone of a gang boss to a lackey - more like the reassurance of a lover after a bad dream. Whether genuine or calculated, Billie felt her hostage relax slightly. "Now," Delilah said, turning her attention back to Billie, "why would you do a thing like that?" 

"I can give him to you," Billie said, maybe a little too quickly. Time was running short, and she couldn't afford for Delilah to stall her any longer. "Make sure he's vulnerable."

"And in return?" Delilah asked. She took a step forwards but stopped with her jaw clenched tight when Billie tilted Breanna's head with her wrist launcher. 

"I just want the Whalers," Billie said. "And first refusal, if you want anyone killed in future," she added, when Delilah looked sceptical.

"We do our own dirty work, child," Delilah said, but Billie could tell she was considering it. Or she thought she was, until she realised how horribly she had miscalculated. "Now," Delilah said, and Billie realised it was a signal a half-second too late.

Breanna smashed the back of her head into Billie's nose and dropped to the floor before she could tense her wrist and fire the bolt. It buried itself in a ceiling beam as her arms came up to protect herself while she stumbled back. Her foot met something soft and organic, and then thick tendrils of something that was part plant, part painting grabbed her by the wrists and ankles and yanked her five feet off the ground. She thrashed and struggled, but the creature was resolute. All she could do was watch Delilah and her lackey, and wait for the inevitable execution.

Delilah reached down and helped Breanna back to her feet. 

"I'm quite alright," she insisted, but gripped tightly to Delilah's hand all the same. "Just a little drowsy." 

Delilah tenderly lifted Breanna's chin to look into her eyes, and placed a gentle kiss to her forehead once she was satisfied. And then she turned her ire on Billie.

"You little beast!" she hissed, and as she strode forwards the vines holding her contracted, pulling her limbs further apart. Billie hissed in pain, but Delilah ignored her. "How dare you come into my house and make demands of me ! I should rip you in half!"

"Just a moment, my love," Breanna said, tucking a strand of displaced hair back into place and straightening her flower-ridden jacket. "Perhaps we should consider this."

The grip on her limbs loosened slightly, in time with Delilah unclenching her balled fists. "I'm listening," she said. It was clear to both Billie and Breanna that she'd rather not. 

"The assassin is dangerous. Having an agent working against him could be to our advantage," Breanna said, and Billie had to resist not agreeing out loud. Delilah may well tear off an arm simply for being insolent. 

"This woman put a crossbow to your head," Delilah pointed out. Her voice sounded calm, but her eyes were wild. 

Breanna let out a soft, tinkling laugh that put Billie in mind of all the high society types she really hated. "As would many in our coven, if it meant gaining your attention."

A muscle tensed and untensed in Delilah's jaw, and she said nothing for a long time. Billie tried to make herself seem as small and unimportant as a shadow while she thought, trying to drum up the energy to transverse to the door. If she could make it there, she had a chance of getting out into the hallway. Dying on a blade seemed a more pleasant prospect than death by a painting of a weed. 

"Why give up Daud?" Delilah asked eventually. It was only the hard edge to her tone that made Billie realise she was talking to her again. "And don't try and lie, because I don't need you alive."

"He's weak," Billie answered, but Delilah shook her head.

"Not good enough," she hissed. Her fist balled again and the vines pulled tighter.

"The Whalers need me!" Billie tried, straining to get her voice out of her chest as she felt her muscles strain against the pull of Delilah's creature. The pain made her scream, but Delilah didn't let up. 

"You don't care about them. The truth, Billie Lurk."

The vines tightened further. "He gave me everything!" she howled. "I won't see him die to the City Watch!" 

The vines slackened.

"Interesting," Delilah mused, while Billie gasped for breath. The vines didn't release her, but they were no longer trying to dismember her. "Go on."

Billie shook her head. The admission had saved her life, but this felt more like betraying her mentor than her plan to put a blade through him in the night. "Daud… hauled me out of the gutter when I was at my lowest." Nobody had heard her tell the story before. "Taught me everything I know." She wished she could leave this room without telling the Witches, but if she didn't she'd be leaving in five small boxes. "He's going soft and the Watch are going to get him, some day soon." She looked into Delilah's eyes. "He deserves better."

"A knife in the back from a treasured apprentice?" Breanna asked, raising an eyebrow. 

"It's how every great boss goes out," Billie said. 

Delilah saw the conviction in her eyes. The vines disappeared, and Billie fell to her knees. "I respect your ambition," said Delilah, crossing the room to a drinks cabinet and pouring out two glasses of brandy from a cut glass decanter.

Billie sat up and rubbed her wrist, watching Delilah pass one of the glasses to Breanna and keep the other for herself. Billie couldn't help but smile appreciatively at the power play. 

Breanna took a large gulp, and then swirled the blood red liquid around her glass thoughtfully. "She'll need to be inducted, of course," she said. "To ensure she stays in line."

"I quite agree," Delilah said. She licked a trace of brandy off her lips, passed her glass to Breanna, and stalked forwards until she was standing over Billie. She looked down her nose imperiously at her, and then before Billie had a chance to react her hand shot out and grabbed her chin. She leaned down and claimed Billie's mouth with hers, in a kiss hard and rough that left Billie's lips feeling bruised. When she pulled away, she kept Billie's lower lip between her teeth long enough for her to feel an almost painful tug.

"That wasn't so bad," Billie commented, feeling both a little stunned and a bit cheated. If she'd seen it coming, she would have kissed back. 

Delilah tilted her head. "First the pleasure…" she trailed her hand down to touch her fingers to the back of Billie's palm, "and then the pain ." 

Billie hissed as a sharp stab raced through the back of her hand and tried to pull it away, but Delilah grabbed it before she could and pressed her palm down hard. It felt like being branded - far more painful than the bond she made with Daud - as Delilah's power coursed through her. It was far older, and far more potent, and Billie worried for a moment if this was wise. But she could feel the strength it granted her already, and she wouldn't give that away for anything.

Finally, the burning stopped and Delilah withdrew, leaving Billie panting and sore on the ground. Despite it, she was smiling.

Delilah smiled. "We're going to change things, Billie Lurk."

[rosemaryblossoms]

🎄Gulliver’s Ghost 🎁⭐️

Part one

Taglist: @ewwwabug @a21487246-duya @cookie6666 @zglin @jhjejw @jannevinegarr @freshcinnamonbunnies @froggomurder @corruption01 @loverofwurms @pranita2546z @dead-static-yn @zuozhe42 @r1ng-w0rm

This= Varai’s/ Sad’s/ Melancholy’s dialogue

This= Jeff’s/ Yin’s/ Jolly’s dialogue

This= Dusiao’s/ Yang’s/Merry’s dialogue

This= Gulliver’s dialogue

This= Daryna’s dialogue

This= Aubrey’s dialogue

Loveless biker boys by @ewwwabug

Dusiao by @a21487246-duya

Boozo’s ghost by Martin Walls who inspired me to do this story and created the song Accept your mistakes which I’m going to feature in my post.

I will also do instructions for when to play the song and to stop reading until it’s finished before continuing.

Warning(s)⚠️: Gulliver being a huge jerk, bad work environment, mentions of death of a loved one from a main character even though it didn’t actually happen, abuse, and mentions of body shaming. Long ass post because I literally worked on this in the summer of 2022, Please don’t read this to harm yourself and/or others

It was a snowy Christmas Eve, the snowy breeze sways as the snowflakes come to play.

Usually at this time children are asleep waiting for old Saint Nick to stuff stockings and leave gifts under the tree, most shops are closed for the holidays except for one, the store called Clover green cottage that is owned by Gulliver J. Ebenezer who was so greedy and selfish it one day lead to dire consequences and some special visitors you’ll read about today, so grab your cookies and hot choco (unless you’re lactose intolerant or just don’t like them, pretend it’s something else) and prepare to dive in.

Daryna was jus sweeping around the shop until a pleasant smell caressed her nose, it was the smell of freshly baked Christmas sugar cookies along with hot chocolate with a hint of peppermint bark. The smell basically pulling her towards the source like a cartoon character, her face then planted into a beefy chest and then she fell back and knocked down the massive tip jar, shattering it and letting the money fly.

“Oh my goodness! I’m so terribly sorry sir, I wasn’t paying attention!

“Oh no it’s fine, it’s my fault I was too busy looking around at the wonderful items on display I’m so sorry sweetheart. Are you okay? Are you hurt?

“No I’m fine, again I’m terribly sorry for bumping into you- ”

“DARYNA! What the hell is going on here?”

“I’m so sorry boss I accidentally knocked into the customer and knocked the tip jar down, I’m going to pick it up.”

Gulliver face palms at the scatterbrained woman in front of him, giving her the “you stupid bitch” look and then turning to the handsome white haired man with raven tips with a strained but customer friendly smile.

“ I greatly apologize for my employee’s little mistake, I promise you a 25% off discount for your troubles.”

“And you” he said facing the brunette chubby Ukrainian woman, “ I need to speak to you real quick before you pick up okay?” “Yes sir.” Said Daryna as her little pink lips trembled and hazel eyes filled with fear. The pristine white haired man noticed this as well as the ginger haired man with gradient purple tips and eyes who was around the corner, not too far behind from his friend. They looked at the poor woman with pity, it took them most of their strength to not snap the shit brown haired man’s neck. Before following her boss into the back she told the customers to be careful of the broken glass, both the man and the Ukrainian woman went to the back, entering the employees only room.

“Daryna you stupid bitch you do nothing but embarrass me, you’re lucky that I’m desperate otherwise I would have fired your bitch ass”

“Sir please forgive me, I didn’t mean to bump into him.”

“Sorry! Sorry! Your nothing but sorry! I don’t understand how your husband could ever stand you with your fat ass and ugly mug!” seethed Gulliver who is too angry to process his words.

“ Maybe that’s why your husband is dead, he couldn’t stand your scatterbrained self and hung himself because of it.”

Daryna felt as if she was stabbed many times in her heart, tears starting to flow down her rosy cheeks, she tried to talked but the only thing that came out her mouth was choked sobs, she then looked at her ring, or her mother in law’s ring, her husband couldn’t afford to buy her a proper engagement ring so he offered one of his valuable things, his mamas ring to proposed his undying love for her.

Reference for her ring:

“And one more thing before you go back to work, I’m cutting off your check.”

“P-Please don’t sir!”

“I am.”

“Please sir I beg you! I need to feed my sons!”

“ Maybe if you weren’t so scatterbrained and plump, you could actually get paid more and hired by other big shots!”

Daryna fell to her knees and cried until her lungs gave out, Gulliver then gives her liquid foundation, “Stop that crying and tidy yourself up, you have work to do, now if you excuse me, I going to fix the mess you’ve made.” Little did both the man and woman know there was a man outside their window eavesdropping on them. When they both got back, the mess is gone and there’s a new jar that is filled with the fallen tip money. “You know it’s a good thing my friend Yin here purchased this jar from the shop before, it’s really handy, thanks again Yin.” “No problem Yang.” Beamed the ginger haired man. “Hey you, what’s your name.” “Daryna.” “What a lovely name, can I talk to you over there.” Yin said as he pointed to the hall that’s in the back of the store where the bathrooms and the employees only room is. “Uh sure.?” Daryna then followed him to the hallway.

When they got there, he gently directed her to the bathroom. “Um sir, May I ask why are we in the bathrooms.” “To make sure your boss doesn’t hear our conversation.” “Anyways I have something for you.” Yin than reach for his hoodie pocket and pulled out a $100 and gave it to Daryna. “Oh my goodness! Thank you so much!” “Your welcome little lamb, make sure you hide it from your boss.” Daryna then turned around and unbuttoned her shirt and putted the $100 in her bra by her left boob then buttoned her shirt back up and thanked the ginger haired man once again. “Oh and one more thing.” Jeff Yin then pulled a small medical kit and squatted down, he then put Neosporin and small bandaids on the little cuts on her ankles that she didn’t even knew were there. “Oh! Thank you so much I didn’t even see those.” Yin gave her a small smile before heading out. When they got back, Yin and Yang took their leave. “Daryna?” “Yes boss?” “Why did that man pull you into the back?” “Oh he was just patching up my cuts, see.” Daryna showed her boss her bandaids. “Ok, now go get your shit we are closing.” Daryna wasted no time and packed her shit and ran out the door with the speed of light. Before Gulliver was able to flip the sign to “sorry we’re closed” a feminine man of 5’2 and a 1/2, almost to 5’3 with reddish brown hair walked in with a medium cardboard box with a doodle of different colored stick figures holding hands around the Earth. The man walked up to Gulliver, her hips swaying as he walked, he then gave him her brightest smile. “Hello sir may I help you?” “ Hello sir, merry Christmas, I’m Aubrey and I’m trying to make donations to help the unfortunate so they have better lives and I came here to ask you if you would donate, well if you want to?”

Gulliver then reached into the box and pulled out a wad of cash and took the three $1 out and put it back in the box and put the rest in his pocket. “HEY! WHAT THE HELL MAN!!” “That was for wasting my time, now leave before I call the police, I’m too tired for more bullshit.” The man was about to say some thing but cut himself off, her complete heterochromia eyes sparked a bright but eerie light then he turned around towards the door and looked back at Gulliver. “Go burn in hell old man.” He then left out the store with a sour mood but smiled at the tall purple haired man who looked at him with love in his ruby eyes, the tall purple haired man turned to look at Gulliver’s store then at Gulliver and then gave him the most shit pants scary death glare and mouths out “you’re dead old man” then walk away with his love. Gulliver then flipped the sign and then turned all of the four locks and went to the door that said “Customer and employees keep out!” and took his other key out and unlocked it. He then lock the door with the same amount of locks as well another door on his right, after that he went up the stairs and into his cozy apartment. Gulliver wasted no time to put his sleep wear on and went to his bed.

Reference for his sleepwear:

He closed his eye finally embracing sleep. . .

Ok what the hell was that noise. Gulliver woke up from a small clatter in his living room, he then picked up his hand gun making sure it was full and then left his room to go see what is the commotion that disturbed him from his sleep. Keeping his guard up he walked into the living room only to find it was beautifully decorated by Christmas decorations, this confused the man, he doesn’t celebrate Christmas. . .

He looked around the apartment, keeping his guard up to make sure the intruder doesn’t attack out of no where. There was nobody but him in the apartment. He then came back to the presents, he put his ear on each one to make sure there was no ticking of a bomb. He then hesitantly picked up a blue box with a purple ribbon and on the box were purple worms on a string but without the string. He then slowly opened it, the present then revealed a cute plush of a clown with a jester hat.

The plushie:

He picked it up to feel the soft material, it smelled of raspberry and grape candies and the sent was not too strong so it was pleasant. Then his living room was now a void of darkness and his hand gun was gone. He pinched himself only to find out he wasn’t dreaming. In front of him appeared a door with a clown man with purple hair and a Jester hat with bells. The clown man had a frown on his face and tear drop make up. A fluffy blue worm on a string decorated the silver doorknob. He hesitantly walked forward and opened the door to reveal the same void but there is a giant gift box, the box is white with a pink ribbon for the bow. As Gulliver walked over to the box, he heard sobbing. “Hello?” Then the box lifted only a little bit to reveal a pair of eyes, they were dark voids with pure white light as pupils. The box lifted to reveal a sad clown man. His nose is painted purple and had black tear drop makeup, his bottom lip was bluish black. the bells on his hat wear silver, his outfit basically matched the plushie’s outfit except he has real bells and the colors are blue and purple. He also had worm on a string earrings, the purple on his right and blue on his left. (He also had the the scars Varai have on his face.) the clown man looked at Gulliver, sniffing a bit and rubbing his eyes. “Hey there. . . Um how are you?” The clown man just stared at him basically giving him the 😐 face. Gulliver is not good at comforting people. He never gotten the experience himself

“So do you want to talk about it, also who are you?” “. . .”

“I am the Sad ghost of past experiences, I’m also known as Melancholy, and I’m crying because you’ve stolen and lied.” The clown man’s voice was echoey and with every word he spoke there was a chime of a music box but it didn’t come from the large box in front of him. “I know everything that you’ve done, why did you do those terrible deeds.

Gulliver just stands there trying to find an answer for even his self, he can feel his heart racing.

“No I didn’t?” That’s not the answer Sad wanted and it’s not the answer he wanted either. Melancholy just sighed. (Keep scrolling when the song is done.)

Sad then continued to show Gulliver’s past, and telling him there might be some time left to change and to fix everything and to also get some help that he needs.

Yet Gulliver is too stubborn and confused.

To be continued on Christmas morning.