#I know I repeat words and phrases I like sometimes so gotta stop that

[knaivcs]

Send in some constructive criticism.

Everyone has room for improvement. Go on anon and tell me any issues you notice with my writing and/or muse!

[writing-positivelyexisting]

Giving The Bad Batch Nicknames

The Bad Batch/Reader. Headcanons. | writing-positivelyexisting🫧

Hunter

“Hunter-bear”

The obscurity of ‘bear’ throws him off and he’s definitely going to ask why you said it.

“It rhymes, it’s fitting, and it’s cute. Better than ‘babe’, yeah?”

Despite not knowing where that nickname came from, Hunter eventually grows to love it. It’s so endearing to him that you came up with a nickname just for him.

The little name had grown on him so much that one time you didn’t say it, you just said his name, his heart sank and his eyes looked at you with so much concern and guilt. He thought he had wronged you in some way and didn’t think twice to make it up to you.

Flowers, a night out on the town, a cute dinner, a full body massage, anything you even LOOKED AT with interest he bought for you.

When you asked why the sudden flash of romance, he said, “You didn’t say ‘bear’ after my name and I thought you were upset with me. You always call me ‘Hunter-bear’.” He had the saddest puppy eyes and little frown you seriously thought he would shed a tear or two.

You got a good laugh in that day, realizing this nickname really stuck with him. You explained that you weren’t mad and it was an accident. “But, I might keep making the same mistake if this is what it gets me,” you joked.

Echo

“Echo-bird”

The funny look you got from the man almost took the breath out of you. He seemed so confused and a little annoyed, asking why ‘bird’ was necessary.

“Your name is Echo and some birds are known to repeat back phrases and words. It’s fitting,” you laughed softly.

Echo rolled his eyes and huffed. He thought he was through with the echo-jokes. “Oh great.”Then again … it reminded him of his old team.

The first few times you said it, Echo would look at you with a stern gaze. Kind of like when a mother looks at her child, silently saying “watch it”. However, the more you called him Echo-bird the more he felt his body relax.

Your nickname had become one of the most precious things to him. You always seemed to know when to use it, too. When the mission was stressful, causing his mind to cloud with doubt you’d say his nickname in such a calm, sweet, and soft whisper. Your hands would always touch him when you said it, getting his full attention.

More often, now, each time you’d call him by his nickname he would hug you so close to him. It always put a smile on your face when he’d bury his in your hair or in the little nook of your neck.

What you couldn’t see when he did that is the biggest smile with tears threatening to fall behind his lashes. While it hurt to remember his old squad, it felt so much better to know they never really went away.

Wrecker

“Dear”

It’s simple. It’s sweet. And he absolutely loves it.

Wrecker doesn’t question it. He was all smiles and laughs when you first said it.

He picked you up in a hug, telling you to use that all the time. And you did.

“Wrecker, dear, can you help me for a second?”

“My dear, could you grab that for me?”

It fills the guy with so many butterflies and completely melts his heart. Anytime you called him “dear” he would stop what he was doing to help you.

When you can, you kiss his cheek and say “Thank you, dear.” This is the one that gets you lucky.

“Come here, you!” It would be a very short chase full of laughs and squeals.

Sometimes the other guys will joke around, mimicking your voice and calling him by his nickname when you’re not around just to see him lose his cool for a little. (Even Tech would chime in with a logical jest sometimes).

You only caught them poking fun once and it was the last time you heard the jokes.

“You boys better watch yourselves. Just because you don’t have someone to make you feel all warm and good inside doesn’t mean you gotta poke fun at the one who does.”

Wrecker stood behind you, arms crossed, with the biggest “what she said” look on his face.

The men looked everywhere but you two in shame, muttering apologies.

Tech

“Boyfriend” / “Husband”

This man is IN LOVE with the title.

You said it first when you introduced him to a friend. “This is my boyfriend/husband, Tech.”

It sent a tingle through his body and scratched an itch he didn’t even realize he had. It cracked a smile on his lips and it stayed for the whole day.

He requested that you called him by his title regularly and he would call you by your title, too. It made you giggle but of course you agreed with Tech, who wouldn’t?

“Oh, boyfriend/husband!” “Yes, girlfriend/wife?”

“Boyfriend/Husband, what do you think about this for the Marauder?” “Absolutely brilliant, girlfriend/wife.”

Being called boyfriend/husband made this man feel so important and loved. It was definitely an ego boost for him, but you didn’t mind it.

When you two were alone, doing whatever or nothing, you would touch his face so lovingly and say, “My handsome boyfriend/husband.”

Tech would lean into your touch with the softest of smiles, mimicking your actions. “My beautiful girlfriend/wife.”

Crosshair

“Darling”

A classical nickname. Sleek and dark. It suited him well.

It sent a dangerous shiver down his back when you first said it. Crosshair was quick to whip back around to you, a stern pointer finger in your face.

“Don’t say that.”

You swallowed, feeling maybe he didn’t enjoy being called that but you searched his eyes and found skittish curiosity.

It just wasn’t his normal, but you got him to accept it. Through rigorous perseverance of calling him “darling”.

“Crosshair, darling, could you come here?”

“Stop cleaning your rifle and come to bed, darling.”

The nickname soon became a beaconing and Crosshair would come to your side and assist you with whatever you needed.

At some point, he started using it for you as well. It was always subtle, too. Never using a loud voice, always sounding like a grumble.

“Focus, darling.”

“Here you go, darling.”

And of course, once he was comfortable with it, he started using it as a form of teasing in the bedroom.

I had this thought while on a road trip this past weekend and it’s probably the cutest thing I’ll ever write.

[tearitar]

16, 18, 20 ✨

16. How many fic ideas are you nurturing right now? Share one of them?

Currently... actively... 4! That I've written actual more than 500 words for. One of them is based of Destiny's The Final Shape trailer where Cayde is doing this really wistful monologue and some kind of rabid monster in my brain liked it (as a D1!Cayde enjoyer). I've got a deadline for this one. It's before The Final Shape comes out so that I can post it and say that it isn't supposed to be canon. (Since I think he's currently IN the Traveler and no one prove me wrong, ok.)

18. Do you title your fics before, during, or after the writing process? How do you come up with titles?

There is no rhyme or reason. I've done it before/during/after. Sometimes I will have a placeholder title from a song lyric I was inspired by (and for doc naming). Other times I will look up a fancy word from the dictionary, or make a clever pun.

20. Have you noticed any patterns in your fics? Words/expressions that appear a lot, themes, common settings, etc?

LOL, I hate knowing my own pet phrases/expressions. It really takes me out of rereading my own fic when I notice them. "Steadying breath" is one of them and I've been trying to stop. I know there's more but aaaaaaaaaaaaa it annoys me so bad being aware, LOL.

AS FOR THEMES THOUGH..... I love love love writing about characters confronting themselves, either physically (clone/mirrorverse/future or past self) or metaphorically. Then they gotta kiss themselves -- usually under the guise of a ship (like... oh, you have a crush on X? well in the future we're together and I, the Future You, knows how they kiss!) I will not stop writing those. I've used up every time travel/magic-gone-wrong trick up my sleeves and I have no problems repeating the same old scenario, i am PASSIONATE!!!!!

[hellhound5925]

Cyare Verd *Beloved Warrior*

Chapter Eight

Lunch had been nuhunla (amusing) to say the least. Naturally the boys wanted to learn more curse words - which for the most part they knew…flawlessly - however I encouraged more everyday phrases which they seemed to pick up on quickly. Hardcase thought he would start a food fight with Jesse which naturally Fives inserted himself in the middle of. That ended when Rex finally joined the table and was accidentally hit in the chest by Hardcase who got a stern look. The rest of the table - including myself laughed.

“Are we going to workout after this?” Echo asked Fives.

“Do we have to?” Fives asked.

“Unless you want to get your sheb (ass) handed to you on the battle field I recommend you do.” Chimed in Tup.

“I would never” replied Fives as if he was offended.

“What? Get your sheb beat by some clankers?” Asked Jesse. Fives repeated what he said in a mocking tone. Rex rolled his eyes.

“He didn’t disagree” I said laughing.

“Ouch you know, That really hurts” Fives said mocking me, acting like he had been shock in the chest.

“Not as much as it will when the droids beat your sheb” Rex joked.

It caught me by surprise that Rex had chimed in on picking on Fives. Maybe he was feeling more comfortable with me around? I don’t know, but it made it that much more hilarious coming from him.

“FINE….” Fives finally agreed. “But only if Raven comes with. It’s only fair”

“Do you need her to hold your hand?” Asked Jesse.

“Unfortunately that’s usually my job…” Echo snorts.

“Why is it ‘gang up on Fives’ all the sudden?” Asked Fives.

“It only seems fair you chayalikir (tease/make fun of) everyone else it seems” I say.

“She’s not wrong” say Kix. “I would still like to look at that ankle before you go anywhere” he says turning to me.

“I’m ready when you are. Fives I promise I’ll work out with you sometime” I say getting up to take care of my garbage. Kix follows.

The two of us head out the door to the med bay. When we get there I hop up on he table, take my armor and boot off before pulling up my pant leg.

“How’s it feel?” Asked Kix looking it over.

“Alright, just bruised. I’ve had worse” I say noticing it already bruising a little. He looks up at my and cocks his head before returning back to my ankle.

Kix pulls out a small scanner and data pad. He scans me ankle and looks over at the data pad. “It’s not broken or sprained. Probably just bruised, ice it if it hurts”.

“I told you I’d be fine” I say appreciating his concern. Kix gives me a look. “What?” I ask.

“I get the feeling you be another accident prone one” He says raising an eye brow.

“I have no idea what you are talking about” I smile down at him while he fixes my pant leg. He hums in response.

“You are all clear for duty ma’am” He stands up and salutes me.

I laugh “That’s cute Kix but like I said the other day, I have no rank. No need to be formal”.

“I know but it’s a respect thing. I think the rest of the squad feels the same way” he says.

I put my boot and my shin plate back on before hopping off the table. “So are you coming with?” I asked.

“No I’ve got some inventory to do this afternoon, in case we get called out.” He say.

“Alright, Ret’! (Bye/See you)” I salute him before heading out the door.

I step through the door and practically bump into Rex - again.

“We’ve gotta stop doing this” he laughs.

“I guess so” I say trying to hide the fact I feel myself blushing. “What did you come to check on me or something?” I tease.

“Well yeah actually, I figured Kix was probably overreacting but I wanted to make sure. Risky move you pulled earlier” He says rubbing the back on his neck.

He’s cute when he does that…

“Yeah I’m fine, just a bruise” I smile up a him.

“Good” he says.

“Where are you off to now?” I ask

“Reports, I’ve got reports from our last mission to review before they are submitted” He says. It doesn’t take a Jedi to sense his annoyance.

“Anything I can help with?” I offer.

“That’s very kind of you, but I’m not sure if you have the clearance to look them over” he says looking disappointed.

“Ohhh, I wonder if that’s something Anakin could get for me? Seems like you could use the help, if I’m not over stepping.”

“I can look into it. The GAR seems to be short on help these days” he perks up some.

“In the mean time let me know if there is anything else I can help you with. I’d like to be more useful than being a combat instructor. Plus I have enjoyed my time getting to know each member of the squad”

After thinking for a moment Rex finally says “Actually if you wouldn’t mind Jesse should be inventorying our weapons in the armory if you want to see if he needs anything”.

“Perfect, I will head that way now” I smile at Rex. “Don’t have too much fun” I look behind me at the Captain who seem to be frozen in place. “Was there something else?” I holler back.

“Uh no, I’d better get going” He says before continuing the opposite direction down the hall.

—————————

I catch up with Jesse in the armory, who I don’t think heard me come in as he didn’t even look my direction.

“Me’vaar it gar? (Sitrep)” I asked caning him to spin around. “Rex sent me this way to see if you wanted any help”

“Oh, yeah I could definitely use help. I am inventorying ammo, blaster of different kinds, grenades, droid poppers-“ he starts before I cut him off.

“Droid poppers?” I ask.

“It’s basically an EMP” he says with a smile.

“Oh right that makes sense” I reply.

I kneel down next to the crate Jesse is looking in when he hands me the data pad. “Here, you read from the list, and I’ll make sure we’ve got them. If not, I might have you run over there and grab whatever we need” He says pointing to some of the cages with a variety of weapons.

During this time I get to know Jesse who is quite honestly a combination of Fives and Echo. He’s smart and strategic but also has that childish attitude from time to time. I feel he better knows the time and place for that better than Fives does though.

When we are done I decide I’d head out into Coruscant for a quick bite. It’s not that I haven’t enjoyed my time with the 501st but I need sometime to process my day before heading to bed.

Masterlist

[fouralignments]

For the “get to know your writer” ask game - 3, 13, 20, 27, 74

Describe the creative process of writing a chapter/fic

I get sparks of inspiration. I get bad dry spells as well, so it comes and goes. Often times I make little outlines on my phone with checklist features; to give me a sense where I want the conversation to go and what plot points need to be in there. From there I write, I usually like setting the scene with descrubtion to get my audience emerses. Sometime even though I have an outline, when I'm writing its more about finding where it all goes and letting it develop organicing or trusting my story of what and where it wants to go and where it wants to stop.

Sometimes, I have to step back and look at it from a different angle, for the answer to come to me, but its always been there, I just needed to find it. For example in chapter 7, I had this conversation between Peter and Sabah Nur and I need a transition between the next point because real conversation doesn't follow smoothly.

But when inspiration hits me rather that be from the podcasts that I listen to or film analysis or reading; I rework what they said and put them into the word doc. Sometimes I get ideas and have to write them down in my note section of my phone or even phrases that slip into my mind.

I go back on work on sections or move past trouble areas to work on the next point in the outline and go back and worth between them. Rinse and repeat until I feel its done. But, I have the bad habit of editing as I go and chasing rabbit holes thus increasing my chapter length. I sometimes worry that my audience will not like the length will skip over what I have wrote

Then check to see if everything makes sense. It takes me an entire day to upload, I go into word and type out the summary and whatever else is needed on ao3 and just copy/paste on there.

what’s a common writing tip that you almost always follow?

(It should be noted that I have never EVER taken a creative writing course at the university level) Sometimes your writing has to catch up to your artistic eye.

It has three level:

1: you gotta get your basics down for technical wise like your sentence structure, word choice, using the correct punction etc. Like you gotta know the rules, before you know when break them and bend them when it comes to creative writing.

2: This is best summed up by Glenn Hetrick in the tv show Face Off said multiple. You need to have a reference library of shows, tropes, to see what came before and build on top of it. Understand why tropes, different readings of a show of movie, work the way that they do. Sometimes its better to watch and observe and analysis what went wrong on terrible show than a good one. Just engaging with the text

3: Read shit. Read on topics that you don't know about. Read think pieces.

I took classes on women studies, did survey course on the middle east, read 18 books on semester ranging from populism, poverty, 1954 Guatemalan coup d'état and 28 Mordad coup d'état. First you get exposed to ideas that can inspire you and depending on what your reading word choice, sentence length, I could go on. It helped me greatly better than my previous university did in teaching me how to write. I also started re-reading more writing how to books that I bought sometime back and took their advice seriously. This. helped me develop the language I needed to describe what was in my head. Also the power of the semicolon, run-on sentences I fear you no more!

I have to tell that I use to SUCK at writing, but in the process of having to write short essays and even a couple research papers per semester. It forced me to get better. Really get things down. The professors took the time to tell what I did wrong in papers.

Have you noticed any patterns in your fics? Words/expressions that appear a lot, themes, common settings, etc?

DOMESTIC SHIT

Its been pointed out to me that I write vulnerable moments between the characters rather that be between Erik and Peter, or Erik and Charles, or Peter and Sabah Nur.

What do you mean its not political?

Lots of food porn.

DADS

father-son relationships

For Erik:

I try my best to highlight his Jewish background and even in stories where it isn't apparent.

He does metal art like mystical menagerie of Ziz and leviathan, that do make an appearance in some of my fics.

Give my protective Dadneto any day; he's just so vulnerable around his son. He often sees his mother's eyes in Pietro.

Only Erik calls Peter, Pietro

His beard is called fuzzy. I find Fassy's veiny arms sexy and attractive.

He's very witty and sarcastic, but very worldly.

SHARKS

Yeah yes, Charles swimming with Erik in Shark form!

His singing and breadmaking, just him cooking is described as soulful. As a ritual for both himself and Pietro to help with establishing routine they sing Modeh Ani and Elohai Neshamah for the morning or blessings over food.

For Charles:

I've called his hair fluffy and feather-like mane many of times. He's associated with lavender, which is medicinal as he wants to heal both Erik and Peter but its also calming; also with pastel, lighter grays. His hands are soft and scholarly; I play up that aspect of his character. Shortbread and tea. I associate him with the spring, wildflowers, gardening.

Balancing out Erik in the parenting department. He's very motherly.

For Peter:

I associate him with hummingbirds. When describing his hair I often look up different slivery elements; I was very pleased with the tolkin reference in my Assassin Creed one-shot with Mithril.

Often described using celestial bodies and space, and metals.

He's neurodivergent and he flourishes under a patient teacher like Charles. He is very caring and kind, but suffers badly from self doubt and self esteem issues, a common problem in my fics. However, he doesn't think through things, but he's smart no dumb Peter here. He's trying to figure himself out and who he is.

For En Sabah Nur:

I've tired to my best to ignore or even re-imagine how Sabah Nur looks, so I focus on his eyes because Oscar Isaac has gorgeous eyes. For the character since he compesned with his eyes, voice and hands; I think why a lot of people didn't realize it was him was becuase in post ESN had to be dupped he really changed his voice for the role making it sound old.

I based much of his mannerism off of Oscar Isaac and if you see like him with Pedro Pascal or behind the scenes photos the dude gives good hugs and physical affection.

I also have given the nickname of En Sabah Nur giver of good compliments. Those are his two love languages that he primary uses.

I tired highlighting the milky prophet eyes. layered of his voice

Though surprisingly, I don't write the bite down on his lower lip tick that he has.

Though that may change in the future for the human less blue version in the future.

I am also giving him a fucking hobby, have it planned out, but he enjoy pottery. It turns out that yeah um Ancient Egyptians had pottery wheels. He also has an architect eye. With his powers it would probably help knowing material engineering, metallurgy, and chemistry.

What is your most and least favorite part of writing?

My least favorite part of writing is the first draft and actually getting over the hump of writing enough where I all I want to do is finish it and write glore.

When I am in the zone and the words flow through I feel like I can write for days; I stay up till 1 to 2 o'clock in the morning just being in that moment, while listening to ambient music that helps me get there.

You’ve posted a fic anonymously. How would someone be able to guess that you’d written it?

My descriptive language and just how I write the characters, its very disincentive. See answer above.

[eievuimultimuse]

    HE’S WANTING TO repeat his point that his disappearance wasn’t by choice in response to Mondo’s words. However, the repetition of the word ‘GONE’ does not go unnoticed, and prompts him to stop before he even begins. Superfly’s always been pretty quick to catch onto things, especially when it came to his siblings. It just came with living with the same people for a decade and a half; you pick up on their habits, the way they say things and their different meanings. It was like knowing a whole other language sometimes.

     The point is, he’s caught on that ‘GONE’ has other connotations here. Ones that Mondo evidently doesn’t wish to speak. And as soon as he realizes it, his expression admittedly softens some. “ Oh, “ he says for the second time in the past few minutes. It’s his indication that he’s realized. Y’know, he really didn’t even consider that they’d think he— …well. In hindsight, he supposed it made sense. A normal fly doesn’t have particularly great chances of survival, he supposes.

     “ Yeah, well…I ain’t. So. “ It’s little more than a mumble. He’s uncertain what else to say.  ( Hell, why SHOULD he be the one to say anything ?  If they thought he was ‘GONE,’ then whose fault was that ?  They were the ones that did that to him. )

     Despite the gecko stopping himself, his elder brother still shakes his head at the inquiry. “ NOPE. Congrats on bein’ the first. “ The words drip with sarcasm, phrased like this was just some sort of screwed up game of HIDE AND SEEK. What, did he want a prize for his efforts ?  Responding a little more seriously this time, he adds, “ Let’s be honest with ourselves real quick: ya’ really think you wouldn’t know already if someone else knew I was here ?  Don’t think so. “ This was applicable to family and residents of the city alike; he’s sure if either party knew, no one would ever hear the end of it.

    ‘Did someone hurt you ?’

     He pauses. His expression is perfectly UNREADABLE the moment the question leaves his mouth. Like some sort of veil has immediately shot up to keep his youngest sibling from easily obtaining that truth just by looking at him. Except— the thing is, one already COULD see the truth just by looking at him. If HE was a fly, then TCRI was a goddamn VENUS FLYTRAP, doing whatever it could to keep him there and swallow him whole. They knew he was strong. They knew he would fight tooth and claw for his freedom. They knew that HE WASN’T FUCKING AROUND, so THEY DIDN’T EITHER. They tried their damnedest to BREAK HIM, and it shows. He knows it shows. And he hates it.

    After a beat of silence, he shuts his eyes for a moment and shakes his head. It’s not his answer, so much as it’s just…man. He should KNOW that he’s never going to admit to that. He’s never gonna break the facade that he’s a PILLAR, even as he’s at what may very well be his lowest point.

     “ . . . I gotta go grab my bag, “ he eventually mutters. A change in subject; it betrays him without him realizing. IF THE ANSWER WASN’T ‘YES,’ HE WOULDN’T HAVE TO CHANGE THE SUBJECT.  He’s turning to exit, pausing in the doorway. “ You can go an’ tell ‘em I ain’t DEAD. “‘Or don’t,’ he wants to add, just to be petty. ‘Whichever makes ‘em happy.’ But he won’t. He won’t. He will, however, throw in, “ Them and those damn turtles and their daddy while you’re at it. Spread the word.“ There’s a wave of his hand when he says it; it’d be more exaggerated if it wasn’t subdued by fatigue. After that, he’s exiting the room, intending to go back to where he abandoned his duffle bag. Whether he follows him or doesn't, he doesn't care.

Whatever spark he had fizzled out in the second- but he doesn’t flinch. His brother can get in his face all he wants, but it’s not gonna make him back down. Is this how his other siblings feel all the time? So angry, At everything. Or they were; Still are but, (cmon, he knows better. Count to 5. 1 heart, 2 eyes, 3 fingers on each hand, 4,) and superfly had every right to be just as pissed. Mondo’s in real danger of biting his own tongue off to not just say something dumb, like, ‘you don’t get to tell me boo, I talk the way I want to.’ Or ‘fuck you too, brah. Yeah! I swear now! Because I’m angry and don’t care!’

Wrong. — he does care. That hurts even more.

“No, I don’t know what you wanted because you were gone.” He repeats the words like it means something. He really doesn’t want to say the D-word, might spark some bad juju even if the living proof had just fired back response of his own. He knows better, shouldn’t be provoking a frankly battleworn superfly like this. Makes him wonder if it was just- some kidnapping went wrong. Or some of the boss’ wanted their leverage back. He would’ve had to fight his way out and look at how he’s acting, like he’s still a kid, he’s,

The gecko’s hands start to shake, sensation of tremors up his body. Is this how it felt to be upset and angry all the time? In your whole body like some kind of disease choking everything out? How did they handle it, this is awful, some kind of seasick despite this boat never leaving its grave. “Am- am, I the first then? Has nobody seen you since,” and he stops himself. Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to. “What- what happened, did someone hurt you?” To think the question would’ve been out of any possibility, 6 months ago. His brother always seemed untouchable. He always tried to be. How things changed (because of him,)

[julesclues]

hi boooo! You’re legit my favorite author on here! I love your writing so much 💕 was wondering if you could do one: outer banks JJ getting so drunk at a party and throwing up at the party and getting sick all over JB car going back to the chateau with all the pogues. And like reader (not Girlfriend yet) taking care of him please 🥺 thank you so much!!!! 😍😍😍 I know you’re busy so like take you’re time and if you don’t want to it’s fine too 💕💕

Drunken Confessions

Warnings: excessive and underage drinking, cursing

Pairing: jj maybank x reader

Word count: 2.48k

Summary: JJ drinks a littleee too much at a party, which makes the reader worried about him. So being the great person she is, she decides to take care of him.

a/n: thank you for the kind words in your request! It really means a lot! <3

3 things JJ Maybank loves most in this world: sex, surfing, and booze. Emphasis on the booze because once he started, it was almost impossible to stop him which, was currently the situation at the party you were all at.

It was a normal party, one mixed with tourons and pouges. But a normal party for JJ obviously meant drinking. You always worried about him when he would over do it like he is now. Though you were all used to the underage drinking, it was kind of hard to remember that it still is, technically, illegal.

The music was almost too loud. You could barely hear your friends as they each took turns telling stories about their most embarrassing moment. “Mine’s gotta be in 3rd grade when I was in the talent show for dancing and wound up twirling off stage,” Kie exclaimed, making all of you laugh. Pope went next and then John B and as you went around the circle, you realized JJ was no where to be found. You stood up in worry and searched the party for his unique clothing style and beautiful set of hair. “Where is he?” You ask, making John B tilt his head. “Who?” You roll your eyes and look at him. “Your best friend?” You ask with a laugh. Before John B could answer though, you all heard some yelling in the distance. Turning your head to the sound, your question was answered.

There was JJ. Standing on top of a table. Chugging beer after beer, almost as if he was putting on a show for the cheering audience under him. They were all applauding him as he downed the substance, some of it pouring down his chest, turning his dark blue tee into black. You groaned in annoyance as you and the other pouges ran up to him. You pushed through the crowd and made your way to the front, giving you the perfect view of JJ’s drunken state. You sigh and stick your hand out to him. “JJ!” You yell, but he still continued to pour the drinks down his throat. “Maybank! Hey! Let’s go!” You attempt again, but it’s no use. So, you climb up on the table with him, earning even more cheers from the people below. Maybe they thought you were going to join him.

He finally turns to you and his eyes light up. “Y/n!” He exclaims happily. As much as you loved JJ, in this moment, you were pretty upset. All you wanted was for him to just take care of himself so he wouldn’t do stupid shit like this. “Let’s go J,” you whisper only loud enough for him to hear. You reach out to him but he dodges your touch. “No!” He yells, scanning the people below. “Please J. Come on. Please let’s go home,” you plead, making JJ turn toward you. This time, his eyes were soft and warm, almost as if he had turned sober for a quick moment. “Ugh, fine,” he groans, but secretly doesn’t mind the feeling of your finger tips guiding him off the table and back to the pouges. You ignored the boo’s you heard from the others, but they soon forgot about it. To you, they weren’t worth JJ’s time.

“He’s shit faced,” you state to the other pouges, as JJ leans further into your side. Without you, he might have fallen over. “What’s new?” Pope laughs, making you roll your eyes. You knew that this was normal for JJ and that the pouges took it as a joke, but that doesn’t mean it should’ve been normalized. You always worried about JJ and the fact that the other pouges didn’t, made you upset.

You sigh as you sway awkwardly with JJ, thinking about what to do. “Can we just take him back to John B’s? He can’t be drinking anymore guys,” you plead, as John B nods and grabs his keys to the van. “Let’s go then.” You all start walking to the van, you and JJ a little bit behind due to his wonky walking. “You’re cute,” he laughs in his drunken state, making you smile a bit. JJ flirting with you both sober and drunk wasn’t out of the ordinary, but it never failed to make you blush like a middle schooler. “You too J,” you admit, and he chuckles without saying another word.

You make it to the van where Kie holds the door open for you two to hop into the back. You shove JJ in first, having him sit near the window while you sit in the middle and Kie sits next to you guys. John B starts the van and starts driving, which makes JJ hold his stomach. You’re the only one who notices it. “You okay JJ?” You ask him, but all he does it roll down the window. “I’m gonna throw up,” he mumbles, making your eyes go wide. “Oh no JJ, not in the van please,” John B begs. JJ doesn’t say anything as he sticks his head out the window and starts violently throwing up. All of you groan and laugh, as you rub JJ’s back to soothe him. You repeat the phrases “it’s okay” and “you’re okay” like a mantra.

You felt something on your thigh and looked down to see JJ’s hand. After pulling his head back out the window, he plops down on the soft seat under him and looks at you with a sloppy smile while squeezing your thigh in reassurance. “I’m good,” he laughs, looking around the van. “Good cause if you ever throw up in my van, I’ll kill you,” John B chuckles, making everyone else laugh along.

Finally making it back to John B’s, with JJ getting sick almost every 5 minutes, you limp with him by your side as the pouges rush to get the door open for you two. “Come on,” you grunt, finding it a bit difficult to hold JJ up by yourself. He keeps giggling and laughing while slurring his words. “Get him cleaned up in the bathroom y/n,” Pope says, and you nod. “We’ll get him water and some tylenol but until then, just make sure he doesn’t throw up all over my house,” John B exclaims, making you chuckle and adjust yourself against JJ. “Sure thing John.”

You walk into the bathroom with JJ and plop him down on the toilet seat. He sways back and forth, struggling to keep his eyes open. “Jesus J, your clothes are so dirty,” you whisper with a sigh. “Would you like me to strip then, princess?” You roll your eyes but can’t help but grin at his flirty words. “Shut it Maybank. Let’s just get you cleaned u-“

Your words were interrupted by JJ rushing to get off the toilet seat so he could open it. He instantly started throwing up, gripping the sides of the toilet until his knuckles turned white. You instantly got on your knees and sat behind him, rubbing his back to try and soothe him. “Shit JJ..” you say sympathetically. “I fucking hate when you do this shit.” After a minute or so of throwing up, he sits down on the floor and wipes him mouth. “Come here,” you mumble, coming closer to him with a napkin, but he swats your hand away. “JJ..” you warn. “Y/n just get out of here, okay? I don’t need you taking care of me.” You blink in surprise of his words and how quickly he can switch up. “Instead of being petty JJ, how about you be grateful that someone cares about you!” He scoffs and looks away. “Whatever,” he hiccups. “Why do you even care? It’s not like you’re my girlfriend.” 

You freeze for a minute, trying to pretend like his words didn’t hurt you as much as they did. “You’re an asshole sometimes JJ. Girlfriend or not, I care about you. So stop denying my help and just shut up! God, I don’t even know why I’m fighting with you. You’re obviously so drunk right now. You don’t mean anything you’re saying.” You get up and stick your hand out for him. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed.” He looks at your hand and then up at you. You shoot him a smile and he could swear, drunk or not, that smile would be the death of him one day. 

He hesitantly takes your hand, and you pull him up, having him stumble a bit before regaining his balance. You lead him to his bedroom and plop him down on his bed. You kneel down to take off his shoes for him, but he stops you. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes, looking down to the ground. “For what?” You ask him, sitting down next to him. He feels the bed dip down a bit, which makes him sway a little. “For what I said in the bathroom,” he mumbles. You shake your head and chuckle. “JJ, you’re just drunk. I know you don’t mean any of it.” You were always so patient and understanding when it came to JJ. It was one of the many things he loved about you. That’s what made you so different from the other pouges. 

“Y/n?” He whispers. “Hm?” You ask in the same volume that he had used. “I like you a lot.” You smile and grip his shoulder. “I like you a lot too, JJ.” He shakes his head and lays down on his bed, looking up at the ceiling. “No Y/n,” he sighs, while closing his eyes. “I don’t think you understand. I like you a lot.” You tilt your head for a second in confusion, but instantly look at him wide eyed when you get what he meant. “Wha- JJ? Are you serious?” But he doesn't respond. All you heard from him was his silent snores. You get up from his bed and look down at him, to see he was fast asleep. Your breathing starts to pick up as you pace around the room silently. “Oh my god, oh my god. He didn’t mean that, right? He’s just drunk.. right? My god Y/n, who are you even asking? You’re alone. Right.. okay.” You stop pacing and grab a blanket that’s folded on JJ’s bed and cover him, leaning down to give him a quick kiss on the forehead. “You better have meant what you said JJ, or I’ll kill you.” 

You leave a letter for him and go on your way, hoping he calls you in the morning or is not too sick to remember what he meant. 

Dear JJ, 

It’s your favorite person :) You were pretty drunk last night so the pouges left you some water and medicine while I took care of you. When you wake up, give me a call, okay? We kinda need to talk. And please JJ, try not to get so drunk anymore. You worry me when you do. I care about you. Girlfriend or not. 

Love, Y/n <3

-----

JJ wakes up the next morning with a groan and a pounding headache. He felt like he got hit by a truck. He never drinks this much and he knew it, but for some reason last night was different. He was trying to forget. And apparently it worked because he forgot what he was trying to forget. Bingo. He blinks a couple of times to get his vision from blurry to clear before standing up and stretching. He  looks down at his nightstand and finds a folded piece of paper and instantly recognizes your handwriting. 

He opens the letter and reads it. His eyes go wide when he reads “girlfriend or not.” He starts to wonder what he could’ve possibly said to you last night for you to include that in the letter, but his memory is failing him. Nevertheless, he finds his phone and quickly finds your contact, hesitantly clicking “call.” 

You answer after a couple of rings with a chipper yet out of breath ‘hello.’ 

“Hey Y/n..” he says softly, hearing your pants. “Are you okay?” he asks with a hint of concern in his voice. “Yeah J, I-I’m good. Just surfing. Why don’t you join me? None of the other pouges are here, and I’d like to talk to you, if that’s okay.” You didn’t sound mad or upset, which JJ took into consideration. The last thing he ever wanted was to make you upset. “Sure, yeah. I’m on my way.” 

-----

JJ meets you on the beach about 15 minutes after your phone call. “Hey J!” You say, running up to him with a smile. “How are you feeling?” You ask him, and he just rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “I’m a little out of it but the strangest thing is that I don’t remember anything from last night.” Your face instantly drops and JJ is quick to recognize your disappointment. “Oh..” you sigh, biting the inside of your cheek and looking down. “What’s the matter? Did I say something last night? Y/n whatever I said, I didn’t mean it, okay?” You look back up at JJ with a bit of tears in your eyes. “You said you liked me,” you mumble, making JJ tilt his head. “Of course I like you,” he chuckles. You shake your head, realizing you were mimicking his actions from last night. “No JJ. You said you liked me.” His eyes go wide, immediately realizing what you meant. “Oh.. Y/n, I- I don’t-”

“Did you mean it J?”

“Y/N-”

“Just tell me JJ. Please. Don’t lie to me, okay?”

 JJ looks down for a moment, contemplating on whether or not he should tell the truth to you and potentially ruin the friendship, or lie to you, and ruin the friendship even further. He saw how hurt you look when he said he didn’t remember, so maybe, just maybe, there was a slight chance that you liked him back. 

“I like you Y/n. I do. More than a friend. I didn’t want to tell you while I was shitfaced and with you taking care of me. But I did, and I’m sorry. You deserved a better confession from me. I really do like you Y/n but if you don’t like me back then that’s okay. I ju- are you crying?!”

You wipe the tears away as you chuckle from JJ’s concerned face from you crying. “Of course I am, you idiot!” You exclaim, walking closer to him. “JJ I like you too. So much. I was really hoping you were telling the truth because I don’t think I could watch you have one night stands anymore,” you laugh, and so does he. “So does this mean..” his voice trails off but you knew what he meant. You nod with a smile and he returns it, blinking slowly. 

“Can I kiss you now?”

“Please do.”

[helloalycia]

my patient’s neighbour [one] // wanda maximoff

summary: whilst caring for a new patient of yours, you definitely didn't expect to fall for her cute neighbour, Wanda Maximoff

warning/s: very minor mentions of injuries and death

author's note: okay so firstly, buckle in, folks, this is gonna be like 6 parts long lol. Also, I google translated all the Russian bits so i apologise if they are incorrect! okay, you may enjoy now :)

part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | masterlist | wattpad

"38... 38... 38..."

I scanned the doors to the many apartments in the hall, hoping to find the one that belonged to my newest patient – Anna Pivec. As a nurse, I was always given new patients to visit and tend to until they no longer needed it or chose not to have me around. I'd just been assigned a new patient, Anna, and was excited to meet her.

"38!" I said to myself, spotting the door at the end of the hallway. I knocked on before waiting patiently, hoping she wasn't sleeping or anything. It wasn't too early – 10AM – and she knew I was coming, so finger's crossed.

The door opened to reveal a short, old lady with grey hair and a cane in her hand. I smiled kindly, meeting her cloudy gaze.

"You must be the one my granddaughter is paying to look after me because she can't do it herself," the woman spoke before I could introduce myself. Stepping to the side, she motioned with her cane. "Come on in."

My smile dropped at her abruptness. "I, er, yeah, I guess that's me." As I walked in, I said, "My name is Y/N Y/L/N. The nurse from–"

"Yeah, I know where you're from," she cut me off, closing the door and heading further into her apartment. "They sent me a brochure, milaya."

I followed after her, surprised at how quick she was for an old lady with back and heart problems. She was leading me into the open plan living-room and kitchen.

"I'm sorry – milaya? What does that mean?" I asked politely, hoping I didn't come across as rude.

She waved her hand dismissively, mumbling something to herself in what I think was Russian. Her profile did say she was from Sokovia, so maybe that was it.

"Okay, erm, well, as I said," I changed the subject, figuring she wouldn't give me an answer, "I'm Y/N. I'll be here five times a week and basically be doing anything you need me to do. Of course, I only want you to be comfortable in your own home, so if you ever feel anything but, please let me know."

She hummed in acknowledgement before motioning for me to follow her. I set my bag on the kitchen counter before sitting on the couch as she did so on the recliner. She sighed with content as the pain on her back was eased from taking a seat.

"Tell me about yourself," she said gently.

I smiled with amusement. "That's usually what I ask my patients."

"Do forgive me, milaya," she said, and I made a mental note to bring a Russian-English dictionary with me tomorrow, "but you're a stranger in my home. I'd prefer to know about you before I let you take care of me."

I nodded, slightly impressed. Her profile didn't do her justice. Usually, the elderly I cared for were quick to allow me to do my thing, never really questioning who I was or what my intentions were. I was starting to get the impression that Anna was a strong, stubborn woman in a little old lady's body – definitely not one to mess around with.

"Okay, well, I'm a nurse," I began with the basics, and from there, went into a long ramble about my job, how I got into it, what it consisted of...

Anna was full of questions, taking the time to get to know me and I her. Once I had told her everything I could think to, she told me about her life. How she lived in Sokovia up until she was thirty-five years old and had to flee with her husband and daughter because of the war. She gushed about the both of them, a twinkle in her eye as she recalled their livelihoods like they were still alive. Her husband had unfortunately passed many years ago due to liver problems – "All that drinking, milaya! Us Sokovians are a force to be reckoned with!" – and her daughter had passed in a car accident not long after.

It was a tragic tale, but she didn't let it bring her down. In fact, she seemed grateful to have lived it and I couldn't help but smile as she shared it with me.

I noticed she would speak short phrases in Russian mid-conversation, without realising, which didn't make it easier for me to understand, but I couldn't bring it in myself to interrupt her to ask what they meant because she said it with such sincerity that I figured it reminded her of her home.

After our conversation, I made her lunch and gave her her medication before watching some TV with her and pretty much talking to her once again. She was quite an interesting woman, different to my usual patients, and I was enjoying our time together. After spending the day there, I wished her a good night before leaving.

When I returned the next morning, I let myself in with the key Anna gave me and called out a good morning.

"In here!" an unfamiliar female voice called out.

I furrowed my brows as I took off my jacket and headed into the living-area. Anna was sat in her recliner as usual, but she had a guest sat on her couch. A young woman, possibly my age, with long dark hair and a friendly smile on her lips was sat comfortably; she had a cup of tea in her hands and her legs pulled up on the couch like she lived there.

The stranger and Anna exchanged words in Russian briefly before the former stood up, about to introduce herself.

"Oh, are you her granddaughter?" I asked, putting two and two together. It was the only explanation I could think of for how comfortable she was and the fact that she was also Sokovian (I assumed, anyway).

The girl laughed, her green eyes sparkling as she shook her head. Putting out her hand, she said, "I'm Wanda Maximoff. Anna's neighbour."

Slightly embarrassed by my mistake, I smiled awkwardly and shook her hand. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have– I just thought because you were speaking Russian that–"

"It's fine, no harm no foul," she put me at ease quickly, before taking her seat again. "I've lived next door to Anna for about a year now. Sometimes I keep her company on my days off."

I set my bag on the floor before taking a seat on the couch, leaving a gap between Wanda and I.

"That's nice," I said with a smile before looking to Anna. "How are you feeling this morning, Mrs Pivec?"

She sighed, waving her hand dismissively, before saying something to Wanda in Russian who was listening intently. Nodding her head, Wanda looked to me with amusement.

"What did she say?" I asked, quirking a brow.

"She said she told you to stop calling her Mrs Pivec yesterday," Wanda translated, trying not to laugh.

"Just call me Anna, Y/N," Anna added with a nod. "And I'm fine. Just had breakfast with Wanda here."

"Breakfast," I repeated slowly. "How long ago was that? Just gotta make sure you get your meds."

"Shoot, am I doing your job?" Wanda asked, slightly panicked.

"No, no, you're not." I laughed at the way she scrunched her nose. "I mean, it would help if I could have breakfast with Miss– Anna, so I know when she has her medication. But it's all good."

"Are you sure? I can leave if I'm in the way," Wanda said with a frown.

"No need," I reassured her. "If Anna doesn't mind your presence, it's all good. I'm just here to look after her, clean up, make sure she eats, has her meds."

Wanda looked to Anna, who seemed unbothered by her presence.

"She can stay," Anna said with a shrug. "Makes it feel less like I'm a pet."

I opened my mouth to say something, possibly make her feel better, but I wasn't sure what to say.

"Don't mind her," Wanda reassured, giving Anna a knowing look before shooting me an easygoing smile. "She tends to speak her mind exactly as it is. No filter whatsoever. And very stubborn. You may have noticed."

I cracked a smile, feeling better knowing that it wasn't just me who noticed Anna's unique personality traits.

"Hey, that stubbornness and lack of filter is exactly how I beat my husband and his friends in every poker game back home," Anna said with a playful smirk.

Wanda and I chuckled, before the brunette leaned on the couch comfortably and looked to me.

"We finished breakfast, maybe, ten minutes ago? I made us eggs and toast," she answered my question from earlier.

I hummed before getting up with my bag and heading to the kitchen. Setting my bag on the counter, I grabbed my diary and also Anna's medication from its place on the kitchen counter.

"I'll give you your medicine now, Anna," I told her, already grabbing a glass of water for her.

"Thank you, milaya," she called back, and I spun around, immediately going to get my Russian-English dictionary from my bag. "Wait, I know what that is!" I flicked through the pages and scanned it eagerly. "Milaya... milaya... milaya! Okay, it means... sweetie."

"Sweetie," Wanda said at the same time, and I looked up to see her watching me from behind her cup of tea, trying not to laugh again.

"I guess another perk of your presence is being the translator," I said sheepishly, realising just how eager I was a second ago. "Anna likes to speak Russian a lot, which I'm fine with of course, but..." I waved the dictionary in the air.

"It's funny watching tvoye lichiko, milaya," Anna said with that same mischievous smirk on her face.

I looked down to my dictionary, struggling to pinpoint a single word in her sentence that I could search. It was overwhelming, the words going in one ear and out the other.

"She said it's funny watching your little face, sweetie," Wanda translated upon seeing my frozen state.

I relaxed my shoulders. "Thanks." Then I realised what she said. "Hey!"

Anna laughed as Wanda grinned, and I was suddenly glad she was here. I grabbed Anna's meds with a glass of water before giving them to her. After making sure she swallowed them properly, I put the glass to the side and took a seat on the couch again.

"So, you said you visited Anna on your days off?" I asked Wanda, intrigued by why a neighbour would be so interested in another. It wasn't very common in today's day and age.

"She's almost always here," Anna answered before Wanda could speak. I looked to her as she continued with a grateful smile. "Helps me with everything. Groceries, cleaning, my medication."

"So basically me but unpaid," I joked, and Anna laughed.

"Exactly," she agreed, and I looked to Wanda to see her blushing, eyes avoiding mine.

"That's really sweet," I said gently, earning her attention. "You're a really good neighbour, Wanda."

Wanda ran a hand through her hair. "It's nothing. If anything, I enjoy being here. Anna reminds me of Sokovia and my family and, well, home."

"Oh, so you're Sokovian, too?"

She nodded before smiling playfully. "Did the accent not give it away?"

I hid a smile. "I didn't want to assume. I mean, you could've been Czech. Slovakian. Basically anything else."

"Okay, I'll give you that," she gave in, tilting her head to the side, smile widening.

It was then that I learnt her smile was extremely contagious.

Same as yesterday, my plan was to stay the day with Anna, though this time Wanda also kept her company (and me, too). After lunch, I left the two of them to watch some TV as I excused myself to change Anna's bedsheets in her room, ready for bed tonight.

As I was doing so, I heard the door open and glanced over my shoulder to see Wanda entering the room. I gave her a smile before continuing to replace the pillowcase.

"Here, I can help," she offered, and didn't give me chance to decline as she grabbed the pillow on the other side of the bed and began to change its case.

"You sure? You know it's my job, right?" I teased, looking up at her over the bed between us.

She rolled her eyes playfully. "I'm aware. Just thought I'd make it a bit easier for you."

I chuckled. "Well, I appreciate it... how is Anna?"

"Dozed off," Wanda quipped with an expectant nod. "Same time every day. Like clockwork."

"Huh." I thought back to yesterday and how she ended up taking a nap after lunch, too. "Noted. Thanks."

Wanda smiled before putting the pillowcase on the pillow and puffing it with her hands. I did the same, content with its appearance, before moving to the duvet. Wordlessly, Wanda grabbed one end and began to help me put it on, which I appreciated. The duvet was bigger than I was and definitely a two-person job.

"Hey, can I ask you something?" I spoke out of the blue as we were putting on the duvet cover.

"Go for it," she said encouragingly, glancing sideways.

"Of course, you don't have to answer, but I thought I'd ask since I'm going to be looking after Anna for a while," I gave a little disclaimer, before saying, "She makes a lot of snide remarks about her granddaughter. Do they not get along?"

Wanda sighed quietly. "Her granddaughter doesn't really visit her here. She rarely calls."

"Her daughter's kid?"

"The only one," Wanda confirmed. "She keeps her distance, ever since her mum – Anna's daughter – passed. She just pays for, well, you."

I frowned. "That's sad."

"Yeah," Wanda agreed, breathing out.

The two of us spread the duvet over the double bed before I looked to her with a small smile.

"At least she has you," I pointed out. "It's nice you give up your free time to spend it with her."

"Like I said, it's good for me, too," she reminded me, returning the smile.

"So what do you do when you're not here keeping her company?" I asked curiously, moving to Anna's bedside to clear it up a little.

Wanda hid her smile behind a look of confusion. "Do you not– don't you recognise me?"

I quirked a brow, pausing my actions. "Am I supposed to?"

She snickered, shaking her head, eyes falling to the bed with mild disbelief. "I mean, I guess not. I'm–" She chuckled, looking to my confused face. "I'm one of the Avengers."

I studied her, her words not quite settling in. But when they did, I realised I actually recognised her and she was one of the Avengers.

"Oh my God!" I blurted, the penny finally dropping. "The one with the weird red energy powers! I mean– not weird but– the magic!"

She stifled laughter, nodding her head. Just like her smile, her laughter was contagious, too.

"Yeah, that's me," she confirmed.

I made a weird motion with my free hand, like I'd seen her do on TV when saving the day. "Does Anna know about your y'know?"

Wanda crossed her arms, raising a brow and watching me with a humoured gaze. "Is that supposed to be my powers?"

I stopped making the motion and felt my neck heating up. "I– yeah."

Laughter spilled from her lips yet again, automatically making me smile. I didn't mind that I'd made a fool of myself all of a sudden.

"Anna knows, yes," Wanda said with a bright smile. "She actually recognised me straight away. Much quicker than you. And she's eighty."

Waving my hand to distract from my flushed cheeks, I said, "Pfft, she probably confused you with someone else and played along when you told her who you were."

"Yeah, I'm sure that was it, ty milyy maneken," she retorted with her piercing gaze.

"No fair, my dictionary is in the other room," I said with a pout, and she only laughed even more.

"Guess you'll never know," she teased with a smirk, making me roll my eyes to distract from the way it made me feel when she stared at me like that.

It was much later on when I learnt that she had called me 'a cute dummy'. And that was the beautiful start to Wanda and I's introduction into each other's lives.

—

From then onwards, about eighty percent of the time I would go to care for Anna, Wanda was present, too and I didn't mind one bit. Not only did she keep Anna company, but she made my job a lot easier whilst keeping me company as well.

I was beginning to look forward to seeing her whenever I would open the door. Whether she was cleaning something up, playing board games with Anna or simply having a tidy up around the apartment, she'd always stop what she was doing and help me with whatever was in my hands as she greeted me at the door. It was adorable. She was adorable.

The few times she wasn't present because of work only made me miss her, the apartment feeling emptier than usual. Even Anna agreed, the two of us making up for the lack of the Sokovian girl's presence by distracting ourselves with other activities.

I was convinced Anna was warming up to me as she freely let me care for her without resistance. Obviously, she wouldn't be Anna if she didn't throw funny remarks my way or speak to me in Russian, knowing I didn't understand her, but it was tolerable. And I was liking her, too; she was easily becoming one of the best patients I cared for. There was just so much personality to her that I couldn't help but smile whenever I spoke to her.

One time, I was helping Anna out at her place when Wanda wasn't present. I was leading her into her bed when I decided now was a better time than ever to ask her about her birthday on Sunday, which I knew was then because of her file.

"So, I'll be seeing you in two days next," I told her as I pulled the duvet over her. "And a little birdie told me it's your birthday then. Eighty-one, Anna! That's amazing!"

She smiled but seemed embarrassed that I knew.

"Tell me what you want and I can make it happen," I said promisingly, smiling down at her.

She waved her hand. "I don't want anything, milaya (sweetie). Your presence is enough."

I chuckled. "As sweet as that is, I know everybody wants something for their birthday. Now please, Anna. What can I do to make the day a bit more special?"

She pondered my question momentarily and I waited for her to speak, hoping it was something doable.

"I would love to have a traditional Sokovian meal," she said reluctantly. "It's been a long time."

I breathed out quietly, patting her hand gently. "I can do that, Anna. Don't you worry."

She smiled genuinely, before shooing me away. "Okay, enough sappiness, ty mozhesh' uyti seychas (you can leave now)."

I laughed, standing up and dusting my pants off. I only knew what that phrase meant because she said it almost every time before my shift ended and I left for the day. I knew she didn't mean it as harshly as it sounded.

"I'm going, I'm going," I said, already heading to the door. "I'll see you Sunday, birthday girl."

She groaned quietly, making me grin, before I double checked everything was okay in the living-area and grabbed my stuff to leave.

As easy of a request that it was, I knew absolutely nothing about cooking a traditional Sokovian meal. But I knew of one person who did and instantly headed to Wanda's apartment next door to see if she was home.

With a quick knock, I waited patiently. I wasn't sure if she was even home since she hadn't visited Anna today and she usually did so if she was. When I was beginning to think she wasn't, I told myself I could Google a recipe and put something together, but then the door opened and revealed a tired-looking Wanda.

"Y/N," she said with surprise, but a friendly smile was on her lips nonetheless.

"Hey, I'm so sorry to disturb you this late, but I wanted to ask– wait, what happened to your face?" I stopped speaking and lost my own smile when I noticed the faint scratches and bruises dusting her skin.

"Oh, it's nothing–" she started, raising her hand, fingers wavering over her head, but I cut her off.

"Shit, Wanda, what happened?" I reached out, taking her hand in mine and studying the cast that was around her wrist. Concerned frown on my lips, I glanced up at her. "Are you okay?"

"It's fine, Y/N," she tried to reassure, but I couldn't help it as my worry got the better of me and I studied the cuts on her cheek. "I just came back from a mission. Minor injuries. Honestly."

I let go of her hand, realising I was still holding it, and nodded slightly. "Right..." Realising she must have been exhausted, I awkwardly stepped back and shook my head with realisation. "Sorry, I should go. I didn't mean to bot–"

"You were saying something," she interrupted, nodding encouragingly. "You wanted to ask me something. What is it?"

I paused, nodding. Admittedly, I was still worried about the bruises on her forehead. I knew she was an Avenger and this was probably the norm for her, but to me, it looked like she'd just got mugged. And the irregularity of that worried me.

"Yeah, I was saying," I finally found my words, trying to ignore the way her tired eyes peered at me hopefully. "It's Anna's birthday on Sunday and she wants to have a traditional Sokovian meal to celebrate. The only problem is, I don't know what that is." Wanda cracked a smile as I continued. "Do you, maybe, have a recipe I could use?"

"Of course," she said before motioning for me to follow her. "Come on in."

I followed after her, closing the door behind me, and stopped at the kitchen counter patiently. As she searched for a notebook in her drawer, I subtly glanced around, taking in the inside of Wanda's apartment. I'd never actually been in it before, but the minimal décor was very her. She didn't have many knickknacks and everything on display served a purpose.

"There's some recipes in here," she said, grabbing my attention. She slid the notebook across the counter and leaned forward with a smile. "Take your pick."

I flicked through it briefly, smiling at the notebook filled with recipes, all in Wanda's neat, cursive handwriting.

"Thank you," I said gratefully, looking up and catching her staring.

She perked up, clearing her throat as she nodded in response before looking the other way. Cute.

"Are you working on Sunday?" I asked with a raised brow, before rolling my eyes playfully. "What am I saying? Of course you're not. Not with that wrist."

She chuckled, still avoiding my eyes. "I'm not."

"Well, why don't you come over for her birthday? You can help me cook her a meal. Or rather, I can help you cook it since I'll probably screw it up."

Finally meeting my eyes, she smiled with amusement. "Are you sure?"

I gave her a knowing look, ignoring the butterflies swirling in my stomach as she held my gaze with her intense dark eyes. "Yes, I'm sure. Anna will love to celebrate with you. And..." I pursed my lips, taking a leap of faith and adding, "and I'd love it, too."

Wanda let out a quiet laugh. "You would, would you?"

I straightened up, smile widening. "Yeah, I would."

She tilted her head, studying me with a curious smile. "Well then, I clearly can't say no."

Something stirred in my chest the longer she watched me and I oddly liked it. It was obvious that Wanda was a beautiful girl with a heart of gold, but I guess I hadn't really acknowledged that I may have had feelings for her until now. And I didn't mind one bit.

"Great," I finally found my words, nodding slightly. "I'll see you Sunday."

She mirrored my expression, saying, "See you Sunday," and I knew I couldn't wait until then.

[divinerulerluvr]

Lovers Rock

Where Warren Lipka decides to end your fight with the only way he knew how.

Pairing - Warren Lipka x fem!reader

Words - 2.0k

Warnings - smut, angst, slapping kink, idk it's just very dirty

A/N - I decided to do an angry sex fic today and figured I'll do a Stoned Kit Walker smut sometime over the weekend. So enjoy this filthy smut piece because had fun writing it :)

Inspired by Lovers Rock by TV Girl

- - -

It was around one in the morning on a Wednesday when you were hunched over your desk in your dorm room studying for your test.

A loud knock sounds through your room, causing you to jump. Standing from your chair, you open the door to your dorm room. Warren Lipka stands in your doorway, his lips pulled into a weak smile.

You sigh, looking off to the side as you prepare yourself for the future moments. “Can I come in? Please?” he asks, his voice softer than usual due to the fact you were in a community dorm hall.

Nodding, you let him into your room and close the door behind him. He sits on your bed, looking up to you with his beautiful, puppy dog eyes. You could tell he was tipsy. It had become a sixth sense to you. Detecting when he was drunk or high.

“What did you do this time?” you ask right away, your room still dark and the only light being from your desk lamp. Warren’s head falls and he stays silent. “I didn’t do nothing bad. I just… wanted to see you again. I needed some-some courage, you know?” he says, looking up to meet your gaze.

You cross your arms, feeling bad for having been so hard on him when you last saw him. “You gotta go, Warren. I have to study and I don’t have time for your shit today,”

Warren had been a completely different person lately. He gets drunk way too much, is stoned every hour of the day, rebellious, and plain old stupid.

“Baby, please,” he says, standing from your bed. “I was drunk and didn’t know what I was doing and--”

“That isn’t an excuse for cheating,”

He sighs, running his hand through his hair. “I dropped out of that scholarship,” he says, his voice flat and void of emotion. Your head snaps up, his words setting off an alarm in you. “Dropped out?” you repeat.

Nodding, you groan. “Fucking Warren,” you mumble. “Why did you do that? You’re fucking nineteen. You gotta find something to do with your life. Weed and alcohol won't always be there for you,”

“It was stupid. It’s not my fault I don’t wanna be at college on a fucking sports scholarship,” he rebuttals quickly, his voice rising to match your tone.

“You’re fucking stupid,” you insult. He glares at you briefly before closing his eyes. “I don’t want to contribute to corporate America, Y/n. I’m not a sucker like you. I’m not wasting four years of my life in school. High school was hell enough,”

“A sucker like me?” you echo, your eyebrows raised in question. Warren catches what he was saying and presses his lips together. His silence was patronizing. “Elaborate, please. You always talk about ‘contributing to corporate America’ and yet you’re the biggest contributor I know,”

“How’s that?” he asks, his head tilted in offense.

“You just are. Stop complaining and practice what you preach,” you huff, your voice raising even more as you get heated.

You stare at each other for a moment, the silence slowly cutting away at the words you both just said. “Get out, Warren. I was clear about what I wanted yesterday and I still feel that way,” you say in a quiet voice, your eyes failing to meet his.

He sighs, biting his lower lip. “Y/n, come on,” he tries.

“Get… out,”

Begrudgingly, he walks away from you and towards the door. You sit down on the edge of your bed, your head falling as you rub your dry eyes. Not hearing the door open or close, you instead hear Warren inhale sharply.

“I’m not fucking leaving,” he digs his heels in. Your eyes snap up to look at him, a look of both confusion and anger on your face. “What?” you ask incredulously.

“I’m not leaving because you clearly don’t want me to,”

“So the phrase ‘get out’ now means to be an ass and act like you know me?”

He stares at you for a second, his eyes locked relentlessly on yours. “You don’t want me to leave,” he insists. You roll your eyes, looking away from him. The next thing you know, he has his hand wrapped around your throat as he stares down at you.

“I hate you,” you seethe as he squeezes the sides of your neck. He smirks, chuckling softly. “I hate you more,” he plays along. Using his leverage on your throat, he pushes you back onto your bed.

You gasp, watching him tear off his shirt and undo his belt buckle. You pull your own clothes off as well, stripping until you were in just a bra and panties.

He wore just his boxers as he got on the bed and leaned over you, his lips sloppily meeting yours. You could taste the beer on his lips but you didn’t mind much. The kiss was hot and aggressive which only turned you both on even more.

Your hands go down to his waist but he quickly grabs your wrists, pinning them above you on the bed. His grip hurt but it felt nice. It had been a few days which was a long time in Warren’s world so he was especially riled up.

Using his free hand, he pulls off your underwear in one swift motion. You stay silent, not wanting to boost his ego by moaning, whimpering, or begging. He doesn’t do what he normally would do like tease you with soft touches or kisses and instead jumps straight to fucking you.

Your eyes screw shut as he pushes his dick into your pussy. It hurt since he wasn’t even trying to be nice. But you liked it. Hell, you enjoyed it. The way he was just using you recklessly.

Holding back from making noise, Warren starts snapping his hips back and forth, creating a brutal yet pleasurable pace. Your eyes flutter open as he groans softly, seeing the angelic look on his face that made you not want to hate him.

The way his brows furrowed and how he bit on his lower lip. The lust in his dark eyes and how his hair fell over his face.

Your hands squeeze into fists, his hand still binding your wrists together in a vice-like grip that would definitely leave a mark. A soft moan escaped your lips and you feel a sharp sting on your cheek where he had slapped you.

His hand grips at your jaw, forcing you to look him in the eyes as he fuck you mercilessly. You feel embarrassment flood your body as his eyes meet yours. “Shut up,” he orders darkly. You pathetically nod, biting your tongue.

It was difficult to keep quiet and Warren knew this. That was the whole point. He felt so good inside of you that you were destined to moan at least once.

And that’d just warrant another slap.

The bed creaks with each thrust he makes, the noise an obvious signifier to other kids in the dorm hall of what was going on. Warren liked the noise your bed made. Because he knew that in turn, you were embarrassed by how loud the creaking could get.

Your body shudders, each nerve ending electrified as you relax in an attempt to keep quiet. Warren made noises just to brag about being able to make noise. Soft groans and grunts and whispers of curse words.

“You hate me, huh?” he taunts, his lips grazing your cheek as he leans over you. “Why are you dripping then?”

Your eyes flutter shut, a heavy exhale through your nose being the only sound you could make. He appreciates your reaction, fucking you as hard as he could. Which, to be fair, was pretty hard.

“It’s because you love being used, isn’t that right?” he continues taunting, speaking in rhetorical questions to further agonize her inability to respond.

You were unreasonably wet for him. Being used like this turned you on more than it should. Anything Warren did was hot. Anything he said, anything he suggested. You were willing to do anything if he wanted to. Not because you’re a sucker, but because he’s so good at it.

The hand on your jaw trails down your body, his hot and possessive touch making your skin break out in goosebumps.

He presses a kiss to your jaw, his lips dragging across your warm skin until he reaches your ear. “My sweet, good Y/n,” he whispers teasingly. You let out a weak moan, only earning another sharp slap to your cheek, the opposite cheek from before.

Silencing yourself, you feel your orgasm coming with each thrust Warren made. He could tell, too. By how you began to thrash underneath him. He pulls your bra down, revealing your chest to him.

His lips meet your nipples, the sensation making it even more difficult to stay quiet. Your walls clench around his dick, your orgasm coming quicker than you expected.

“Do you think you deserve to cum?” he antagonizes.

You nod weakly, your breathing heavy as his thumb replaces his mouth on your nipple. “But I thought you hated me? If somebody hates somebody else, they usually don’t want to cum from them,” he counters.

Your skin had become sticky with sweat, Warren’s chest pressed against your only creating a furnace between you two. “I-I don’t hate you,” you try.

His thrusts slow down, edging you off the edge of an orgasm. You groan, looking at Warren who wore a snobby smile. “I said no speaking,” he whispers, his lips grazing yours. You rock your hips slightly, trying to take advantage of how he was still inside of you.

Removing his hand from around your wrists, he snakes his hand under your back and flips you around so he’s laying on the bed and you’re saddling his waist. “Work for it and you can make all the noise you want, pup,”

With a quiet whimper, you start moving your hips back and forth instead of up and down due to how tired you were. “No, no, no. Do it like you mean it,” he corrects by grabbing your hips and guiding your up and down movements.

A cool burn spreads through your thighs as you ride him. Warren removes your bra completely as your head falls back and breathy moans leave your lips.

He watches you ride him with a proud smile, his hands roaming your body freely as you indulge in your own pleasure. You bring yourself to the edge, a wave of pleasure consuming your body as you orgasm.

A moan of relief falls from your lips as you collapse on his chest, your legs feeling like rubber underneath you. You felt bad about not letting him finish so with the little bit of energy you had left, you trailed your lips down his body until you reach his dick.

His head falls back as you start giving him a blow job. His fingers thread through our hair as you bob your head up and down on his dick.

It didn’t take long for him to cum in your mouth. A sharp exhale leaves his lips as he places his finger under your jaw and pulls you from his legs so you’re back on top of him. He pulls your chin down, opening your mouth to see his cum pooling on your tongue.

With a smile of satisfaction, he pushes your mouth closed. “Swallow,”

You obey his order, swallowing his slightly salty cum. He runs his thumb over your lips, pulling your mouth back open to make sure all of his cum was swallowed. When he saw it was, he pulled you off him and into his side.

Resting your head on his shoulder, your hand traces his defined abs. “My parents got a divorce,” he says randomly. You look at him, your brows furrowed in question.

“You wanna stay with me for a bit?” you offer.

“Nah. Spencer and I have some plans we’ve been going over. We’re about to come into a lot of money,” he smirks at you.

You smile thinking it was something good.

It wasn't.

[death---dealer]

Checkered Boards. [ Benny Watts Oneshot.]

I GOTTA DO EVERYTHING MYSELF AND THAT INCLUDES WRITING FICS FOR MYSELF. If you haven’t seen the Queen’s Gambit on Netflix, I totally suggest. Likes and reblogs are totally appreciated. thanks guys! - Miss Em. 

Title: Checkered Board. Pairing: Implied! Benny Watts x Reader. Words: 1, 149.  Rating: K. just some flirty happenings.

-=-

Your eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly as a beam of sunlight came in through the high windows of the hotel lobby. Despite it being sunny it was rather frigid and your blush-striked cheeks surely told of this as you had only stepped inside a few moments ago. Drawing a deep breath in, you felt strangely at home despite being hundreds of miles from it. There was nothing like the smell of a hotel; clean, perhaps too clean but that was never a bad thing, friendly as the faces that you passed on the way to the front desk were smiling with their mouths or with their eyes as an actual smile seemed too friendly to some. Checkered patterns caught your eye to the right. Someone had placed their packed up Chess set on the front desk as they were asked to confirm their identity to get their room. Once you saw that all too familiar pattern, it was spotting up everywhere. There were a few men to the left at a small table, one smoking while the other’s gaze was completely fixated by the board in front of them, deducing, crunching moves within their head before their fingers grasped a pawn and moved. You seemed mesmerized by the board, by the off white and black color of the squares before a voice behind you caught your attention.

“You gonna check in or are ya waiting for---” That voice. That slight Eastern accent that at times seemed a little too good to be true while at other times seemed to fade into oblivion. “(Name).” 

The tone fell slightly flat as he came to a realization. You had only turned your head ever so slightly, not figuring that this person was going to be able to identify you from merely your profile. But, you should have known better. A person who stares at a Chess board all day and loves it no doubt would be able to pick out such details about someone else's face, especially if this someone else had been face to face with him previously. Multiple times. Professionally and to your displeasure as of six months ago, personally.

How foolish, the dirty blond thought to himself, that he didn't recognize you from behind. You did hold yourself in a certain way that was like gravity at times that left him shaking mentally when your fingers would brush against one of his Chess pieces during a game. He shut his eyes and shook his head, repeating once again, “(Name).”

Sighing, you turned towards him completely, plastering a faux smile that he read right through, giving off a shit-eating grin in return. “Didn't expect to see you here---”

“It’s the US Open, Benny.” You murmured, suppressing the need to roll your eyes. His eyebrows rose almost comically at your blunt and straightforward statement.

 Of course it was the US Open. “Just didn't expect to see you, is all. After our last encounter, I was pretty sure you’d fallen off the face of the Earth.” Tilting your lips into an actual smile this time, you clutched your leather suitcase a bit tighter and snipped at him, “When I threatened to shove every pawn of yours up your---” “That’s the time.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Benny boy. I won’t quit Chess until your face is under my foot in defeat.”

“You should know better,” The tall, lanky man swiveled around and stood between you and the front desk, now altering your only out from the conversation. Groaning internally, you looked up at him, his dark eyes staring right back through a wash of eyelashes. “Going into games angry ain’t gonna get you anywhere.”

“Going into games as a flirt...” You retorted and shoved him aside. Fingertips brushed against the silver necklaces around his neck and it took all your willpower not to react to how it felt. Cold… Smooth... “also won’t get you anywhere.”

He held up his finger, “That was only with you and we weren’t even playing.”

Your face fell, mouth opening almost out of offense. 

“You know what I mean. We… weren’t playing in a tournament.” Scoffing, Benny watched intently as you began checking in, handing the front desk attendant your ID for verification. She smiled at you, checked the records before resting your room key on the desk. Grinning, you turned towards Benny.

“We were playing for something a little more intimate, don’t you think?” “Depends what you think is intimate,” Benny said softly, hooking his fingers into the belt loops of his jeans. You glanced down for a second and rolled your eyes again. He wasn’t gaudy. Well, maybe a little bit. Gaudy or confident, but those two things liked to go hand in hand sometimes. “A kiss… is well…”

“Depends,” You repeated his own phrase, picking up your key and scooting away from the desk at a slow pace. How you managed to walk, how your feet picked themselves up was miraculous especially when he followed you. “A kiss can be just a kiss unless there’s more behind it.”

His lips parted as you began trailing up the stairs, getting three steps in as he stayed on the ground level. It seemed like a romantic pose and the question that Benny inquired was uncharacteristic for his cocky attitude. He knew everything, his moves seemed calculated so why did he ask you… “Was there more from me or more from you?”

Tilting your head to the side, you smiled more or less to yourself before turning towards him and dropping down one step so you were nearly face to face. “Take a deep breath.” You whispered to him, “And ask yourself that again. Pretty sure you’ll answer for yourself.”

“There was more from you.”

Even though there was space between the two of you, you could feel your breath hitch in your throat, the mere audacity of that statement leaving you breathless and slightly choked. He was wrong. Benny was rarely so but you knew this confidently. The way that his hands held onto your face, the way that he leaned inwards, the way that his lips formed one sentence. Take a deep breath.“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Benny.” You muttered, turning on the stairs and trailing upwards.

He was left speechless, watching you ascend without quarrel. He fumbled, his hands rolling into balls before relaxing. He stepped upwards once, then twice. Then a couple steps at a time before grabbing your arm. You clenched your jaw, looking at the hand he had on your body. “What-” “Let’s play.”

“For what?” “For who had more in that kiss.” You turned towards him, swallowing hard as you noticed just how close he was and how it must have looked like to others as they went up and down the stairs around you as he had stopped you right in the middle. “Who had more. You or me?”

[singtotheskiies]

uneasy lies the head // five hargreeves x reader

summary: all those years of hunting and plotting and denial were bound to catch up with five sometime—but you’re going to do everything you can to keep the ghosts of the past at bay.

words: 1398

warnings: slight panic/anxiety attack, emotional distress, brief mentions of murder

a/n: surprise, surprise! i’m back at it again with the five fics😎😎 this one’s more of an unplanned, plotless hurt/comfort scenario; hopefully y’all like it okay!! also, please message me with any requests you may have!! these hargreeves deserve loVE, and we need to give it to them!!!!!

✖️✖️✖️

Five is sitting on a couch—your couch, to be more specific.

Nothing else. Just sitting.

But something about the action doesn’t feel right to him.

You’re in the kitchen, humming softly to yourself as you find some snacks for the movie pulled up on the living room screen. Normally, he’d feel a tug at his heart at your sweetness, but tonight—something’s wrong.

His thoughts aren’t going where he wants them to; they’re messy and blocky, colliding with each other. Past failures, faces of victims, and pressures and manipulations are all choosing this exact moment to swirl up from a secret place in his mind where he’s tamped them down all these years. He shakes his head (what good will it do him?), bringing his trembling fingers up to his face to rub at his eyes. As his fingertips reach his rapidly blinking lids, he’s surprised to find that there’s wetness trailing down his cheeks. He ducks his head, suddenly unable to breathe, and his backs of his hands are drowning in salt water (or is it blood?) and he just needs to get up but his legs are lead—

“Five?” Your voice, small, from the doorway.

Again: “Oh, Five.”

Next thing he knows, you’re kneeling in front of him, taking his hands softly in your own and moving them, together, down to his lap. He meets your eyes and stiffens—just for the briefest instant.

And then, years and years of false confidence and murder and trauma and never quite getting there are let loose as he sobs.

✖️✖️✖️

You instantly know that something’s wrong when you see Five motionless on the couch, slumped over with his head in his hands. Dropping the food in your hands on a nearby table, you rush across the room to him, kneeling down in an attempt to see his face. His hands are covering it, and you gently guide his shaking fingers to his lap so that you can see what’s going on.

The green eyes you love so much are brimming with tears as they meet your gaze. Five stiffens for the briefest moment—no doubt a habit from years of refusing to show vulnerability—but then decides against himself and redoubles his sobs.

“Come here, baby,” you whisper, sitting yourself next to him and wrapping his shaking frame in your arms. He weeps into your shoulder quietly, his silent agony broken by the occasional sniffle or ragged breath. After several long moments, you feel his lips moving against your shirt, repeating a phrase you can’t quite make out at first.

Then— “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m s—“

“Shhh,” you tell him. “I’ve got you.” His tears redouble, his words breaking up as they’re replaced with heaving sobs. His body shakes sorrowfully against yours, and your heart breaks as you smooth a hand through his soft, straight hair. The feeling of your fingers seems to ground him—his breathing evens out a bit, and after a while of you stroking his head gently, he lifts his head up from your shoulder. He doesn’t meet your eyes at first, but you put a gentle hand on his cheek and he hesitantly finds your gaze.

“I’m sorry,” he starts, his voice raw.

“No apologies,” you cut in, but his eyes plead with you.

“No, I am sorry. I—I don’t know why this happened, I just—“ His brow furrows again, a few more tears leaking down his cheeks. “All these years of having to be the strong one, having to know what I’m doing at all times, the—the killing—“ He trails off, looking at you with eyes so sad that you feel tears coming to your own.

“I’m just as scared as everyone else,” he continues. “I might know more, technically be older, but—I still feel powerless. Trying to be the voice of reason, knowing all the things I know—that doesn’t keep the nightmares away.” His eyes well up again, and you hold onto his hand a little tighter. “And then there’s you—you don’t deserve to be put through this; you deserve someone who doesn’t have decades of trauma and who hasn’t killed hundreds of people and—“ He breaks down again, too much emotion coursing through him to keep going. You let him cry it out again, waiting until he’s quieted down a bit to start talking.

“Five, I cannot begin to imagine what your life has done to you emotionally. But I can see you in front of me and you’re scared and sad and lost. I can’t undo what’s happened to you, but I can try and help a little right now, okay? Will you let me do that for you?”

He nods, sniffling, his eyes still watering at intervals.

“Do me a favor, okay?” You ask, cupping his cheek in your hand. He leans into your touch, brow furrowing in desperate relief. “We’re not gonna focus on the big, scary fears right now. I’m going to talk to you about little things, so just listen to my voice.” Five nods again, and you smile sweetly at him. He weakly returns the gesture.

“There’s that smile I love so much,” you say, kissing the faint outline of his dimple with as much tenderness as you have in you. He looks at you with so much love that his tear-filled eyes burn a quiet hole in your chest.

“Your eyes are so beautiful, too,” you smile. “They’ve seen so much, but they can still look at me like you are right now.” You press feather-light kisses on each eyelid, feeling his long lashes flutter against your lips as he sighs in contentment.

“Your freckles are so sweet,” you continue, kissing each one on his cheeks. “And I love your forehead, too. The mind inside of it is so incredibly beautiful and complex.” Your lips meet the space between his brows, and he releases a quiet outline of a chuckle as you keep going.

“Don’t even start me on your hair,” you laugh. “Even when you’re a sweaty mess, it still looks perfect. I gotta admire you for that,” you say, bringing a hand up to brush back a few strands that have fallen in his eyes. Five sighs as your fingers touch his skin, and you take a few moments to softly comb through his hair. You know how much he loves it, even if he won’t admit it.

“Your ears and nose are adorable,” you say, kissing them as you speak. A little shudder runs though Five’s body as you whisper in his right ear. It’s always a sensitive spot for him, and you giggle along with him at his reaction. “Your jaw is absolutely stunning,” you continue, pressing your mouth gently to the underside of his smooth, strong face. “I especially love where it meets your neck,” you grin, nosing at the mentioned hollows before placing delicate pecks there. Five lets out a shuddering breath, neck arching to allow you better access. You kiss your way down to his collarbone, running your fingers lightly over the strong line. After giving the area some attention, your fingers move to latch onto his.

“I could talk about your hands for hours,” you say, admiring the firm yet delicate lines of his knuckles and fingers.

“I wish you would,” he whispers mid-wrist kiss, so quietly you can barely hear him.

“Someday I will,” you promise, and as you lavish each knuckle with attention, you marvel at the boy coming undone in front of you. The snarky facade everyone is used to seeing is completely gone, leaving a child, really, who just wants to be loved. The heady power emanating from each soft breath and tiny smile channels itself straight to your heart. Looking upon him, this boy out of time who has chosen your shirt to wet with his tears—you can’t help but feel as though this is exactly where you were meant to be.

You release his hands softly, moving your own to cup his cheeks. Slowly, inevitably, you connect first your foreheads and then your mouths. As your lips fall together, you feel a tear slide from Five’s cheek to yours. Drawing back a fraction, you ask, “What is it, baby?”

Something in you already knows his response, but that doesn’t stop his words from resonating deep, deep within you after he’s spoken them against your mouth.

“Just love you.”

And the air dims down.

[jamilelucato]

Your Embrace

Pairing: Fred Weasley x reader

Requests:

1. @witchglow​ hey love! congratulations on your followers! 🥺💗 can i request fred weasley x reader on which they are on the grimmauld place is not have beds for all so they have to share the bed, then they end up hugging or something like and the other day they wait and are super embarrassed, but in the end the two admit that they can share the bed whenever they want (im sorry if it got confused 😿) thank u, stay safe 💗😼💖

2. @whizbangs-78​ congrats on 1.5k followers!!! could i request a fred weasley x reader with the one bed trope pleaseee??? thank youuu c: also if you're requests for this are closed feel free to ignore thank youu c: congrats on the milestone, again!!

A/N: since the requests were very similar, I decided to combine both of them, hope you two like it! again, I can’t seem to write short fics.

Send a request! ||  Harry Potter Masterlist ||  Musical Hogwarts Series

It was late in the night when Professor McGonagall fetched you and all of the Weasleys to go to Dumbledore so you could all take a Portkey back to Grimmauld Place. The Professor said something had happened with Arthur Weasley; so all of his children, you and Harry were taken away from Hogwarts. 

It wasn’t the protocol getting you to travel too, but since you were awake when Professor McGonagall showed up in a hurry and told you to fetch Ginny, you managed to convince McGonagall that you would’ve to come with the Weasleys.

When finally there, nobody was able to stay still. 

Fred and George were desperately trying to convince someone to take them to St. Mungo’s, even though Sirius repeated that it was not the smartest thing to do. The best was waiting inside of the House of Black even if it was not easy.

You noticed Fred and George weren’t going to let Sirius have a moment of peace — if there could be one at this point — so you requested a tour around the place since it was your first time there.

Reluctantly, Fred and George walked you around the house.

“He’s gonna be alright, come on; you both know it,” you said while walking through some sort of music room — it had a piano at least. “Your dad’s tough.”

George sighed but remained in silence. It was Fred that spoke.

“You can’t be sure of that. ”

You sat down in the piano, running your fingers carelessly over the musical instrument. Thankfully, the sound that came of that wasn’t loud.

“I can’t, you’re right,” you lamented, gulping.

Fred and George stared at themselves — they were in opposite corners of the room — and then they looked down at you in the piano stool.

“Sorry I was rude,” gasped Fred, stepping closer to you.

He was already taller than you, but with you sitting, the difference started to actually hurt your neck.

You shrugged in response. Fred knew you weren’t mad at him, he didn’t need to hear you say it. However, for just a second, he gazed down at you, locked in your eyes. Those moments were happening with more frequency, and that kinda worried him. He was sure he was being too obvious, and you would soon realize you saw him as more than just friends.

But you were too worried about your own obviousness towards fancying Fred to notice he liked you as well.

George looked around the room, trying really hard to not make a sound and interrupt the moment. He knew how much his twin fancied you. He suspected you desired Fred too, but he wasn’t sure yet.

You fake coughed, totally ruining the moment on purpose. Gosh, if Fred finds out I like him, he’ll never talk to me again, you thought, turning to face the piano.

“Do you guys know how to play?” you asked, running your fingers over it once again.

Fred and George exchanged looks before bursting in laughter.

“Do you take us for pianists?” George asked back before laughing again.

You should have paid more attention — they seriously didn’t look like musicians. Even so, you three squizzed yourselves in the one stool and attempted to produce music. Each of the twins sat in one of your sides, and you had to concentrate a lot to act normal with Fred’s proximity. You two were practically breathing the same air. 

George’s here too, you freak, you thought, biting your inner cheek.

At ten past five in the morning, after a dozen attempts to play Für Elise — you three couldn’t even pass the third note —, Mrs Weasley stopped by the house.

As soon as Fred and George heard the doo, they jumped out of the stool.

“ ‘S gotta be mum,” said Fred. All the calm he had gained with playing the piano with you disappeared.

“Let’s see her,” said George and they walked away of the music room without waiting for you.

You sighed, closing the piano fallboard before getting up and heading out. 

Of course, you were worried about their father, but you were also very, very tired. They were sleeping when the Professor fetched them, but you had been wide awake by the fireplace trying to finish a book you were desperate to know the end. Now, you couldn’t care less.

When you got to the kitchen, Ginny, Harry, Ron, Fred and George were around Mrs Wealsey, analyzing every word she had to say.

“We can all go and see him later,” she finished saying. It was probably a phrase that had started before you got downstairs, but there was no need to hear more — if they could go see him, it meant he’d be alright.

Fred turned his face around, looking for you, and when he found your eyes, he pressed his lips together tightly. It was his way of saying he was sorry again because you actually turned out to be correct.

“Oh, y/N, my dear, I didn’t know you were here too,” said Mrs Weasley, interrupting your discreet moment with Fred.

“Yeah,” you said, having no idea of what to say beyond that. It was weird and unexpected your presence there. Not even Hermione was there, and she was always around Ron.

You didn’t spend much time with the whole Weasley family; just Hogwarts time with Fred and George. Sometimes, you’d share trips to Hogsmeade with Ginny, but that was it.

“The more, the merrier!” said Sirius, getting up from his chair with a tender smile.

“Sure hope you think that, Sirius, ‘cause we might stay for Christmas,” said Mrs Weasley, clenching her jaw.

Sirius chuckled. “If you promise to cook.”

“Of course!” smiled Mrs Weasley, and Ginny giggled in the back.

Breakfast was served, and it was weird eating it before having slept, but nobody seemed to care. It wasn’t as good as Hogwarts’ feasts, but you didn’t mind. The fact that you were actually there — headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, organization you only heard Fred and George mention — made the details unimportant.

“You five should sleep after eating,” said Mrs Weasley, who was up behind the chairs where Fred and George were sitting. “We can visit your dad later.”

Fred seemed about to protest when his mom touched his shoulder softly, but it was a clear warning for her son to not complain, and so, Fred shut.

Harry joined some minutes later, after a long conversation with Sirius Black — who was, to you, an honour to meet. You knew that, although the Ministry was painting him as a villain, he could only be pure of heart, so much Harry spoke well of the man.

“Fred, honey, would you mind sharing your bed with George?” asked Mrs Wealsey when she noticed that her boys had finish eating. “There won’t be an extra bed for y/N, I’m afraid.”

Fred snorted, annoyed, and said: “Mum, George can’t sleep still; you know how much he moves around!”

George didn’t even bother being offended — he knew his twin was telling the truth.

Mrs Weasley puckered her forehead, thinking an alternative through. Ginny couldn’t share the bed with you — the youngest Weasley had already gotten upstairs to her bed and was probably deep sleeping right now. Ron was never pleased with sharing, and she would never bother Harry, who was being a dear just help Arthur Weasley being rescued.

“I suppose you and y/N could share it then,” said Mrs Weasley, noticing that was her only option left. She concluded you and Fred would be too tired to try anything under her nose. She was only half right about that, though. “Take my bed that is bigger in the other room, and I take your single.”

George sighed with the thought of sleeping in the same room with his mom like a toddler.

You and Fred, on the other hand, couldn’t stand to look at each other. Every time you tried, you would feel your cheeks turning red, and you would look away.

However, neither of you complained to Mrs Weasley about it, scared to lose an opportunity to be closer to each other. After helping with the dishes, you both headed, side by side, to the mentioned room.

Fred cleared his throat as you lay with your bellies up, taking extreme care not to touch each other.

“Thanks for earlier, with the music and all. It was a great distraction,” Fred said, turning just enough to see your face.

Oh, how gorgeous she is! he thought.

Your hair loose over the pillow, his big hands rested over his abdomen, your faces blushed with the closeness... 

You turned to face Fred before replying. “My mum used to play me songs in our guitar back through the first war,” you said, biting your inside cheek, suddenly embarrassed fo sharing such a personal memory. 

Fred knew that your father had died in the first war, you two had talked about it before. But it was never something that caused you pain — you were much too young when he died. It was the days when growing up, seeing the neighbours’ kids with their fathers and you having only your mom — that was when it started hurting. And that was when your mom started playing music to calm you.

“I find it quite relaxing,” you said.

“I sure was relaxed with you,” Fred said before blushing, ashamed with his unexpected confession. 

You gulped, unsure of what to say or do. You decided it was best to remain silent because Fred probably felt relaxed with all of his friends.

There was nothing left to be said, and Fred really needed to sleep if he wanted to see his father later, so you returned to your first position — facing the ceiling. You never knew, but, without your eyes staring deep into his, he was finally able to fall asleep.

On the other hand, it took you a couple more minutes to travel to the dreamland. Knowing that Fred was closer than ever before made you feel more awake than if you had slept all day. Of course, that was just a false sensation your subconscious tricked you with — soon, you were sleeping too.

“Come on, love birds! Mum wants us to come now!” yelled a voice, pulling the blankets away from you.

“Be more gentle, George,” advised another voice.

“Come on, you two!” shouted the male voice again.

It toom you a couple of seconds to finally open your eyes and take a glimpse of who owned the voices that were disturbing the most peaceful nap you had ever gotten.

Ginny stared at you with a wan smile while George held in one of his hands the cosy blanket that was once over you. But their faces were hiding something, and it was just when George smirked to you that you decided to sit up.

Fred was thinking of doing the exact same thing as you, but he was having more trouble with it since you were practically all over him.

Yeah, that’s right.

The cosiness and warmness didn’t come from the blanket — it came from Fred Weasley.

He was still laying with his belly up, but over his abdomen, you had arranged yourself, in some sort of embrace or hug. So, obviously, you blushed right away — your whole face redder than the Weasleys’ hair.

Fred was blushing too, but since you had hidden your face over your pillow — the exact one you clearly didn’t use to sleep — you weren’t able to see.

“Get out,” he muttered with grinding teeth. George pretended to be angry and walked away, tossing the blanket over the bed with no caution. Ginny took one last glimpse around before whispering for you two to not be late.

Fred sighed before taking the pillow over your head.

“They’re gone,” he said with a sad smile.

“I’m sorry for... well, wherever was that. I probably am a sleepwalker or something; I swear I didn’t place myself over your chest on purpose,” you said, biting your lip and facing him with hope in your eyes — hope that he would believe you were not a maniac.

Fred wished you had done that on purpose because that had been the most comfortable he had ever felt in a bed.

“Don’t worry about it. Sorry about my siblings,” he said, finally getting up. “I’m gonna see my mum and make sure we’re going to St. Mungo’s too.”

“We?” you echoed the word out loud, but he had already left the room, and so, he didn’t hear.

You were planning on going with the Weasleys, sure, but you didn’t know they wanted you there as well. Well, at least Fred did.

You gave Fred a few minutes to get downstairs before you. When you got there, everybody seemed to be waiting just for you.

“Sorry for not waking you up earlier, dear. You both looked so relaxed,” said Mrs Weasley, stepping towards you. She held you by your shoulders. “I prepared both of you sandwiches, so you can eat faster.”

She let your shoulders go and grabbed one sandwich over the table — the second one was already half-eaten by Fred Weasley in the other corner of the kitchen. You were too embarrassed thinking that even Molly saw you hugging Fred in your sleep to say something other than thank you.

“Your trunks are here too,” the woman mentioned, with a small smile. Fred finished his sandwich, so you hurried to finish yours. “Tonks? Mad-Eye?”

With Mrs Weasley calling, both of the mentioned walked in the kitchen and Ginny rushed to Tonks, hugging her tightly.

“Nymphadora?” you asked, almost choking on the last bite. The short pink hair was the essential clue for you to connect the surname to the person. You just didn’t call Tonks Tonks, it was a childish habit, but it was unforgettable.

“Don’t call me...! Hey, it’s you!” exclaimed Tonks, as soon as Ginny freed her and ran to your side, hugging you. “You grew up, Merlin!”

You let out a hearty laugh while struggling to breath. Tonks finally freed you, but still stayed by your side. You knew each other because you were neighbours for a while, and often your mother alone could not take care of you — Nymphadora always offered (for a sickle a day) to babysit.

If it was up for you and Tonks, you’d have stayed the day talking, but Mrs Weasley kindly reminded there was a place you needed to be. 

The trip to St.Mungo’s was, to say the least, embarrassing. Every time Fred would lock eyes with you, your cheeks would turn red, and it felt like everyone knew how you too slept. Together, tightly, legs intertwine... Yeah, you had to fight yourself to not remember those things.

Thankfully, you and Tonks got a minute to talk when the family walked in with Harry to see Arthur Weasley. She told you everything about her job and how she liked to now be a part of the Order. “Sure Dumbledore will ask you to join when you come of age,” she even mentioned with a nudge of shoulders. 

The Weasleys trooped back into the corridor. Tonks glanced at you, but she already knew you weren’t going to come in, so she went in with Mad-Eye and closed the door behind them. Fred raised his eyebrows towards you — he wasn’t seriously expecting you had something to talk with his father, right? — but then George suggested to listen behind the door, and everybody was distracted for a moment.

After that espionage, Harry Potter started acting odd as ever, but definitely not more than you and Fred. Ginny and George would look from Fred to you, and then they would giggle. Somehow, that was making matters worse.

Back at the headquarters, things still weren’t easy.

“Ginny, would you mind sleeping with y/N?” whispered Mrs Weasley in what she hoped was a tone you wouldn’t hear, but you did. You stepped away as quickly as you had stepped in, and turned around, desperately trying not to overhear that conversation.

So Fred asked to not sleep with you again. That was presumable but still unpleasant. 

Ron asked for your help to decorate the house for Christmas, and you accepted gladly, hoping the task would take your mind out of Fred.

Ron was worried about Harry — he seemed to think whatever Harry heard Mad-Eye talk upset him. You agreed and added that Ron should just give Harry some time, without pushing him.

Ginny joined to help, and as soon as Ron went to the back to get a stair, Ginny rushed to your side and elbowed you.

“So, don’t know if you heard, but I told mum I wouldn’t sleep with you,” she said with a smile.

You almost dropped the ornament in your hand.

“Sorry?”

“So you can sleep with Fred again, duh!” she kept the smile on.

“Hm, Ginny, I’m pretty sure your brother doesn’t want that to happen again,” you said, avoiding to look at her happy face. “He asked your mum to change the place I was sleeping in.”

“What? No, y/N! Where did you get that idea? Mum’s the one trying to part you too,” Ginny laughed at your ridiculousness. “She thinks you two are secretly dating and she can’t let ‘Fred make her a grandma so early’.’’

Your eyes widened as you slowly turned to face Ginny, but first making sure no other Weasley was around.

“Her words, not mine,” added Ginny quickly and she burst into laughter staring at your silly face.

“Good Lord. I hope you corrected her about my relationship with Fred,” you sighed, pressing a hand over your heart. “I completely forgot she had gotten a glimpse at us this morning,” you whispered, just to yourself really.

“Why would I correct her? He wants you, you want him. Just a matter of time ’til she’s right” said Ginny and she started running away from you because the face you made was positively scary.

When decorations were up, and Christmas spirit was finally in the house, it was already time for bed again. Fred and George had gotten upstairs before you because you pretended to be really interested in Mrs Weasley’s knitting. The truth was you didn’t want to face Fred again.

You sighed, giving up in your fight. You should face Fred once and for all. Speak the truth, walk away and sleep in the couch downstairs.

But when you got into the room, and you saw his face, you just froze. He was laying on the bed with his belly up and his eyes closed — for a moment, you thought he was sleeping, but then his breathing wouldn’t be completely unregulated.

“Fred?” your voice was too high, and you ended up scaring him. He jumped up, sitting down immediately. “Sorry,” you muttered, sitting down in front of him.

You both breathed hard. Fred seemed to want to say something, but you would never know because you interrupted his half-open mouth with yours.

You kissed him in a rashed and inexperience way, after all, he didn’t expect that. And, honestly, neither did you.

Fred suspected that either you would ignore him forever and pretend that the nap shared in an embrace never happened or that you would hit him and kick him out of the room. Feeling your lips on his was a more fanciful idea than any he has ever had.

It took Fred a little while to get rid of the shock, but when he realized that you were kissing him because you wanted to, he gave in, pulling you by your waist and sitting you over his lap. He smirked in the middle of the kiss, causing you to let a slight giggle out. Your hands went from his cheekbone to his hair, and you played with it with pleasure.

“If I knew the way to your heart was napping with you, I’d have done it sooner,” Fred whispered, breathing hard when your lips were away from his.

You smiled, “you got to my heart way before you slept with me, Fred Weasley.”

He squeezed your waist, pushing you away just enough so he could see your face. You blushed when your eyes met.

“Good to know that,” he smiled too. “ ‘Cause I’ve been thinking all day that you were ignoring me, that you hated me... ”

“I thought you were ignoring me!”

You two giggled at your stupidy.

“Sorry for kissing you out of nowhere,” you sighed, slowly placing your hands on his shoulders.

“You are welcomed to do it anytime you want,” he said, looking down to your lap still over his.

“Like now?” you smirked too. “Because I feel we lost too much time sleeping today...”

“Y/N, I’ve been thinking exactly the same thing,” he susurrated and smirked, pulling you closer to his chest and kissing you harder than before.

And this time was just perfect.

__

Bonus:

“So how was last night?” Ginny asked as soon as you steeped in the kitchen the next morning.

You could have stayed in bed curled in Fred forever — you sure wanted to— but you knew that if Mrs Weasley had any more reason to believe you and Fred were together, nights in the same bed would be over.

And so, doing the things you did last night would be way harder to achieve.

“What you mean?” you asked, grabbing a mug of hot cocoa.

“Please,” Ginny rolled her eyes. “See that look in my brother’s face? Last time I saw him that happy was when he got a new broom.”

You turned your face insignificantly to see Fred, who was sitting at the end of the table, eating some sort of bread with Geoge right next to him.

You frowned slightly to Ginny, who rolled her eyes more time.

“Good Merlin, I won’t be able to be two meters near you two, will I?”

You giggled and tried to hide your smile with the mug. Fred heard the sound of your laugh and instantly turned to your direction. His eyes wandered your whole face, and he fixed them in your mouth. He licked his lips before smiling and blink, and then he turned to his twin as if he was paying attention to George all along.

When your heart started beating again, the rest of the Weasleys and Sirius Black had gotten to the kitchen too.

“Where’s Harry?” Ginny asked Ron, but he shrugged. Harry was going through his own problems. “Well, anyway, pay up, will you, Ronniekins.”

“What?” he looked at Ginny, “wait, what?” he looked at you. “Couldn’t have waited one more night, could you?”

Ginny smiled when Ron tossed her a sickle.

“You guys placed a bet over Fred and me?” you whispered to the red-haired girl.

“Sure I did, and I won,” Ginny smiled while you rolled your eyes. “If it makes you feel any better, Fred lost. He said you would never like him back.”

Your eyes went from Ginny to Fred across the table, and for a minute while you looked at him, you forgot his entire family was there, and you sighed like a girl in love. Well, that was what you were anyway.

When you and Fred finally got time alone, you gave him a sickle.

“You should never have bet against us,” you said, placing the coin in his hand.

“Never doing that again,” he promised with a soft smile before pulling you close one more kiss.

[kayxleeee]

Steve Rogers: The Man Out Of Time (Steve Rogers x Reader!)

Warning: NONE! FLUFFFFFFF Just Sad Steve and a moment of a nosey Romanoff .

A/N: Love this one to death! Still contemplating on if I should make  a second part.

Summary: After the teams attempt to try and stop Ultron and failing horribly, you all find yourselves at the Barton’s Family farm. Steve is shooken up about his vision, and is  reflecting on the life that he will never have. This was a side of Cap you never  really seen before, he had never been this venerable with anyone. He was the one who held the team together and called everyone out on their bullshit. You find yourself consoling him, possibly blossoming a friendship into something more. 

Word Count: 1k+

“Hey you.” You say standing in the doorway of the Barton’s spare bedroom. 

“Hi.” Steve says lowly not looking up at you. He was sitting at the edge of the bed, visibly upset looking down at his already folded hands. 

“What happened out there ?” You say referring to the squabble he and Tony had while breaking down wood for Laura. Steve got pretty pissed very quickly, which was kinda unusual for him, since he has always been the level headed one.

“It was nothing, I’m fine.” He sighs not breaking his focused gaze from his hands.

“Oh yeah, I can totally tell you are Steve. Just a typical ray of sunshine.” You say sarcastically hoping to lighten his mood. 

The situation with Ultron was spiraling out of control, and that witch bitch only made matters  one-hundred percent worse. From the visions, to the ambush, to the media buzz, you weren’t sure if the avengers would even recover. It was obvious that this new mission to stop Ultron was too much for even the strongest of the bunch, which was understandable, but still alarming.

“Come on.” You sigh leaning against the doorframe crossing your arms trying to examine his face. “You can talk to me, you don’t always have to be the most levelheaded one in the room. And plus I won’t leave you alone unless you tell me what’s up.”

“Now that I can believe.” He huffs out a small chuckle looking up at you, then takes a deep breath. “It’s all just a bit overwhelming.” He admits.

“Yeah I know this all may seem like a lot, but Tony meant well by building Ultron. He—“

“That’s—that’s something we can fix.” He says shaking his head. “I wasn’t, I mean I’m not that worried about Ultron because I have faith we will win that fight.” He says this then looks back down at his hands in his lap. “We just gotta figure out how.”

You sigh as you look at him confused hoping that he’d continue and share his thoughts. You were relived that he was ready to fight Ultron, together, and glad he had faith that the team would win; But if it wasn't Tony creating Ultron that bothered him it was something so much bigger. 

It was the vision. 

This made you gravely concerned about what he saw, what could be making him react this way, so solemn and hot headed. You walk all the way into the small farm house bedroom and sit next to him on the full sized bed, putting a hand over his own.

“Steve, talk to me.” You encourage him in a soft voice, giving his hand a squeeze. 

This was all very knew territory, so you were shocked when he looked up at you through glossy eyes, before opening his mouth to speak again.

“I just can’t get it out of my head. I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“About what Steve? The vision? Because that’s what they want, the twins, Ultron, they want us all to be off our game Steve. None of what you saw was real.” You say reassuring him by caressing your thumb over his hands.

“That’s the problem, it wasn’t real...but it- I’m the man out of time.”

“The man out of time?” You question repeating after him. You frown at the dumb catch phrase everyone seemed to use to describe Steve as. “What did you see?”

“I was with… with, her.” He sighs getting up from his position on the bed and walking over to the window. “It’s this, this whole secret life Bartons been living.” He pushed the cream colored curtains aside slightly gazing out the window. “I just wish that things could be different, that maybe I could… be happy like them.”

It dawned on you finally why he was upset. Steve never got the opportunity to live his life, in his time. He was so busy trying to prove himself or be the person everyone else wanted him to be. When he finally got a chance to show what he was made of— well he obviously got he short end of the stick. And now, well he’s so busy saving the world he’s barley even gotten a chance to live it now. He has told you about Peggy once or twice  and how he fell in one with her, but you never thought he’d be so upset now.

“Steve…” You say not necessarily knowing what to say. You get up from the bed and walk over to him putting a hand on his shoulder. You turn your gaze outside the window to see Laura and Clint cuddle up on their yard, watching their children play. 

He lets out a sigh. “That witch, the girl, the vision she gave me. It just felt so real,” He takes a deep breathe and turns to you. “I’ll never have that and the vision, it just made me think of just how much I missed… how much I’m missing.” 

You sigh and decide to pull him into a hug immediately. You couldn't even try to pretend to know what he was going through. He doesn’t hug back right away, but in time he does. He rest his chin on the top of your head  and holds you tight taking a deep breath inhaling shakily as you rub circles around his back. The two of you stay like this for a moment, while you gathered the correct words that you wanted to say, without making him feel worse. You hoped he didn’t mind your silence  and  hoped that maybe he needed this quiet and this closeness, just to feel someone was there with him.

After a few more moments you finally speak still holding on to him.

 “Steve, you’re not a man out of time, I really hate that saying. It literally makes no sense to me because - not the point. What I am trying to say is you have multiple people here in this time who care about you and want to see the best for you,  myself included.” You finally say as you pull away from him slightly so that you were able to get a good look at his face.” I think I’m the one rooting for you the most.”

It was true, you heavily looked up to Steve, and not just because he was taller or because he was the leader... But because he was truly a good man and always had good intentions.  You would follow him into the trenches if he told you to, that's how much you trusted him and this is why it hurt you to see him so distraught. 

 You continue to speak. “I love you Steve, I really do, but your problem is you put the needs of others before your own.” You look at him as he looks at you, his blue eyes peering into your own as the wheels in his head begin to turn. You continue, “Honestly tell me, have you ever asked yourself what you wanted and just let yourself have it?” 

He’s now looking  at you in shock or confusion, either way his eyes were peering hard into yours as he thinks for a moment. 

He frowns and shake his head no, then says, “I guess not… I’ve been so wrapped up in saving the world, I never really got a chance.” He says this with his hands still comfortably wrapped around you.

“Well I think you oughta think about that one mister.” You say giving him a smile and a quick peck on the cheek, about to pull him back in for another hug—

“Oh there you two are.” Natasha says as she peeps her head into the  door way. You both turn to her still very close to one another. Her face goes from flat, too surprised, then back to normal. The two of you let go of each and move apart. You were calm, while Steve looked embarrassed.

“Don't stop on my account love birds.” She says with a smirk.

“ Everything alright Natasha?” Steve says clearing his throat trying to ignore her comment.

The smirk never leaves her face and she shakes her head “Fury is here, meeting in 5.” She says popping her head out just as fast as she popped in.

“Love birds? Jeez you’d think men and women can’t be just friends.” You scoff shaking your head looking at Steve who was turning red.

“Well… that’s Natasha for you.” He says kinda sounding awkward.

You continue, “She’s one to talk, have you seen the eyes her and Banner have been givin each other ? It’s gross.” You laugh.

“Yeah, we better get out there then…” He drifts seeming as if he wants to drop the conversation entirely.

“We should.” You say now feeling uneasy at Steve’s awkwardness, but decide to backtrack quickly before heading out of the room by saying, “ Hey listen, I still want you to think about what you want Steve. Really think about it and then just go for it!” You say emphasizing the word you.

“Thanks for this (Y/n), I think I have somewhat of a idea of what that is now.” He stares at you for a moment more, then looks away. Which surprisingly gave you butterflies because he had never looked at you that way before, it was different.

“Well- that, that  was easy enough.” You fumble on your words before taking a deep breath and gaining your composure. “ Will you share with the class anytime soon?” You say trying to ignore the feeling as your face heats up.

“Maybe later.” He says with a sincere smile. “Sometimes it’s just nice to know I have people here for me.” He shoves his hands in his pocket and nods his head towards the doo. “Let’s go.”

“Of course Steve.” You nod feeling relived, that he was feeling better. You walk towards the door with him close behind. “Maybe we can set you up with a secret farm too.” You chuckle a bit.

“Oh shut up.” He says throwing his head back with a chuckle realizing you were what he needed.

“Do you like goats and stuff?” You laugh.

“(Y/n)!” He chuckles again as you both walk down the hallway into the living room where the meeting was being held.

-

Thoughts, Comments,  or Opinions :)

[rahleeyah]

Hi! I want to tell you I am in awe of your writing. It’s powerful and moving and so true to characters. I’m always curious…what is your writing “process?” If you don’t mind me asking!

Oh this is a great question!!! We haven't had a writing question in a while.

My process is not something I usually think about; when I first saw this question I was about to say something like mostly what I do is I just sit very still and let the words come out. And that's true but not fair; that's only one piece of the puzzle.

The first piece is routine. I write at the same time every day. Weekdays it's first thing when I come home from work, weekends it's first thing when I wake up. Always the same time, always sitting in the same place - on my porch, away from distractions, with fresh air and a glass of water and some smokes. That last part is not recommended.

It is hard to write if I miss a few days. One day is fine, but if I go more than 2-3 (which I don't think I've done since Christmas) I'll be out of step and it'll take a while to get back in the groove. So that's the practical part, is I've got a time and space set aside to write and that makes it easier.

The next piece I guess is where the ideas come from. I rewatch a lot. I find watching helps me keep the character voices, but it also helps me make new connections or find new moments to explore. I'll post thoughts here or share them with friends and the back and forth helps flesh things a lot. Most of the time an idea for a story is like a lightning strike; it feels as if it's come out of nowhere. But it isn't completely organic; I spend a lot of time thinking about ideas. In the shower, in the car, before bed, in snippets on tumblr. You have to cultivate the idea generating part of your brain. Sometimes I'll play with a story in my head for weeks and it won't go anywhere; sometimes the whole thing just appears fully formed in my brain like Jesus air dropped it to me. But you gotta be open to the spirit before the spirit can move you, you know?

So we have a place to write and we have an idea, how do we make a story?

A story is like a road. It is going from point A to point B and we gotta lay the pavers to get there. A story like hov is easy; it's set in canon so there's episodes to draw from, and there's a clear linear progression from not pregnant to pregnant to baby. There's a time frame and there's built in milestones. Something like let's take long way down, madam Jean, for example, is gonna be totally different, bc it isn't set in canon and there is no roadmap to get from strangers to happily ever after.

A lot of the time I don't look at the big picture bc it's overwhelming. It feels insurmountable, if I think about how many chapters it'll take and how much time it'll take. I'm eating this elephant one bite at a time, just like my mama said. So we write the first scene. The first paver that goes down is the Problem.

Not to be all freshman English class but every story is centered on conflict. Those conflicts can be anything; it doesn't have to be a "fight", an actual literally good guy vs bad guy. It just has to be an issue. Liv is pregnant but Elliot is her partner and they're not supposed to sleep together. Lucien works for the police but he's intrigued by the local madam. Eli doesn't know who Liv is and he's worried about his dad. Bernie Stabler shows up unannounced. All of these are Problems.

Once we have a Problem, we can start working on the Solution. We do this one step at a time. We do not rush.

So every day, I read over the last chapter I wrote. Where are we, what's happened, what are the Conflicts, what is the next logical step? How do we address it in one scene?

Lucien saw the madam, and she asked him to look after a pregnant girl. Ok now he has to go back to the brothel in the next chapter. That moves the timeline forward and moves us closer to the end goal, bc while Lucien is looking after the girl he talks to Jean, and we plant the seeds of them falling in love. It also gives us one piece of action to work on, one moment in time to write. I sit down, I write Lucien going to the brothel, I write him examining the girl and talking to Jean, boom there's one scene we're done. We tie those two things together; logical progression of Plot events, and the emotional undercurrent. I like it best when a chapter has both.

Themes come out naturally most of the time. Matrilineal, for example, was just me sitting down to write about Bernie and I used Amanda bc I love an outside pov. But as I was writing I'm thinking you know, Amanda has a complicated relationship with her mom. Shit, so does Liv. And they're both mothers now. And so is Bernie. And the emotional threads come out naturally as a result of who these people are. The piece wasn't gonna be about mothers but then it became obvious that it had to be.

Motifs appear the same way. The first chapter of bury my heart, I used this is love. That wasn't originally intentional, but when I did it the second time I thought there it is, and kept using it, and that's where the gut punch of the final line comes from; the meaning has changed from joy to sorrow and it is only impactful bc of the repetition and our previous connection to it.

I use a lot of imagery, and a lot of it tends to be religious - Jean is very Catholic, and so is Elliot, so for both Blake and svu there's room to play with it there. I like similes, I like metaphors, I like synecdoche - there's a fun one. I like to play with putting words together in different ways but that stuff doesn't happen in the car, or the shower, or on my lunch break; that usually only happens when I'm writing. I have to sit down and be still and let my brain go.

Conflict, themes, motifs, images, characters, these are the ingredients that make a story. And the more you work with them the easier they come. It just takes practice. But one of the best ways to improve is to read. See what's possible. See how other people have put words together. Someone commented once about how sometimes I say a lot with very few words; that is something I picked up from two very different places. Stephen King is great about short, simple, powerful sentences that knock your socks off. And there's a recurring line in my favorite series, the Belgariad, where when things are bad the man character goes to his aunt, who has raised him since he was a baby and is essentially his mother, and she holds him, and everything was all right again. It is a simple, repeated phrase about love, and comfort, and how no matter how terrifying the world can be, love brings healing and hope. There are quotes scattered throughout my work. Olivia quotes Heraclitus to herself in bury my heart; yes I am a classics major but my connection to that quote comes from the film the emperor's club. Inspiration is everywhere; draw on all of it.

This is. Probably more information than you were looking for but once I got started I couldn't stop.

[scuttling]

Tempting

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Latina OFC Sophie Cortes Word Count: 2,392 Tags: 16+, Mature SFW, Pre-relationship, Fantasizing, Accidentally turned on, Mentions of sex Summary: Aaron and Sophie both find themselves... tempted. Collection: Sophie Cortes timeline, 7-12 Months at the BAU (See Masterlist for reading order) Link to AO3 or read below! “Hey, just wanted to hand off my profiles,” Sophie says as she peeks her head into Hotch’s office Wednesday night. “Any idea when the department will catch up to the 21st century and let us do these on the computer?” she asks playfully, and he smiles, rolls his eyes a bit.

“It’s not the department that makes us do these on paper, it’s me. Morgan has been trying to get me to switch to digital, says Garcia can make us a user-friendly system in her sleep.” She crosses her arms, leaning a hip against the doorframe.

“And you’re resistant because…?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. Maybe it’s nostalgia, or because I hate change.”

“As long as it's not because you’ll miss seeing my smiling face at the end of the day, turning in my files,” she says, and though it’s obvious she’s teasing, that kind of is part of the answer.

He doesn’t want to be just a figure in his office, silently collecting completed case files with a ping of his computer. He knows they know his door is always open, but it’s sometimes the excuse of turning in their work that leads them there, gets them in the door, and he thinks it’s important to maintain.

“All joking aside, I think it could really benefit the team. If you wanted a beta tester, I’d be happy to try it out; we can get together once a week for a couple weeks to discuss any bugs or issues we find with the system. The others don’t even need to know; I could do my regular cases during the day, stay later once or twice a week and work them on the computer. I don’t mind the overtime, I’ve got nothing going on.”

“You should go enjoy your life, not spend extra hours holding my hand because I’m resistant to change.”

“I want to, though, if it will help. And I said I don’t mind the overtime.” They stare each other down for a moment; he is the first to cave, sighing and pushing a hand through his hair.

“I’ll talk to Garcia, see if she has capacity to work on the program this week.” Her answering smile is almost blinding, and he feels warmth spread in his chest; he's been feeling that a lot lately, always where Sophie is concerned, but especially when she smiles. “Hey, while I’ve got you, do you mind looking at a case with me? I can’t help feeling that I’m missing something.”

“Sure, of course.” She walks fully into his office, around the desk so she’s looking over his shoulder at the open file. Her hair falls in cascading waves around her face before she gets a chance to tuck a few strands behind her ear, and the smell of her shampoo is... tempting, to say the least.

It’s coconut, and jasmine, maybe, a light, tropical scent that makes him think of palm trees, fresh pineapple, warm sand under his feet… Sophie in a bikini, a tiny thing that shows off her every curve… Sophie curled up next to him in a private cabana, laughing softly in the moonlight… Sophie on a soft bed in a hotel room, her bare skin, even darker from sunbathing, a beautiful contrast to crisp white sheets…

“Have you considered that the second unsub could be a woman? That would explain how the victims are being lured from the mall—a woman probably wouldn’t stop in a parking garage at night for a man, but she would for another woman, if she’s in trouble.” She turns to look at him, and he’s shaken from his fantasy abruptly.

“No, uh, I hadn’t considered that. That closes the gap in my profile. Good thinking.”

“That’s why you keep me around, isn’t it?” He earns another, softer smile, and he thinks about leaning in to kiss her, how easy that would be. It doesn’t take long to shake that thought away, because it’s almost literally insane, but he can’t deny that he had it.

“Something like that. Are you headed home?” She stands fully, and he’s glad, because that means the temptation is gone. It’s not her fault in any way, all his, but he can’t deny it gets worse the closer she is.

“Not home; the girls and I are meeting around the corner for a drink. Will you be finishing up soon?”

“Probably not, but it’s alright. I have nothing going on,” he says, repeating her turn of phrase. He looks down at his work, and she sighs lightly.

“You could have something going on. Come out for a drink with me.”

“And crash your meeting with the girls?” He’s not entirely certain he’d be welcome, or comfortable, but she makes it sound so easy. Like it’s something he could just decide to do, if he wanted.

“Trust me, they won’t mind.”

“It’s a nice offer, thank you. Maybe another time.” She rests a hand on his desk, on top of his case file so he can’t finish filling out the consultation paperwork, and he has to look up and make eye contact with her, which he’s sure is by design. She’s too good at reading him, sometimes. “Definitely another time. I really do appreciate the offer.”

“I’m gonna hold you to it, Hotch. You need a life outside of this place.” She lifts her hand from the desk, places it briefly on his shoulder, and then heads for the door. “Have a good night.”

“You too,” he sighs at her retreating back. His feelings seem to be getting a little too hard to ignore. Their next case doesn’t come until the beginning of the next week. Sophie goes with Hotch to interview a victim’s mother in hopes that they can find the woman who is currently missing before the unsub kills her, but they come up with nothing, which is all they’ve come up with all day.

It’s clear Hotch is not pleased with their progress. He stands outside the car for a moment, looking like he’s trying to compose himself, and he takes off his jacket and throws it in the back seat.

“Damn it,” he hisses when they get back into the car, slamming his hands against the steering wheel; he scrubs a hand through his hair, unbuttons his cuffs, and rolls up his shirt sleeves a bit more angrily than seems strictly necessary. Sophie can’t keep her eyes off of his hands as he pushes the fabric up over his forearms—baring firm muscles covered in thick, dark hair—and when he throws the car into reverse and turns his head, placing his palm on the back of her headrest while he looks behind them, it gets her a little… hot.

It’s nothing new, of course. She has been feeling certain things, where Hotch is concerned—some emotional things, some physical things—for a little while now, if she’s being honest with herself. And she’s usually got the presence of mind to ignore it, or force it to the back of her thoughts, but he caught her off guard and she’s spiraling, now, imagining his hands on either side of her head, on her throat, holding open her thighs. His hands are close all the time, and visible, and the thought of reaching out to touch them is just so… tempting.

She must be making an oh, shit face, because his eyes become more inquisitive, his features a little softer. “What’s wrong?” She’s breathing heavily, and her cheeks feel warm, so she probably looks insane; she just shakes her head and exhales lightly, tries to calm herself.

“Nothing, it’s nothing.” He looks like he absolutely does not believe her, and she curses herself for the hundredth time for choosing to work around a bunch of profilers; they’re always thinking, analyzing, squinting their eyes at you and trying to figure you out, and it can get really irritating.

“I shouldn’t have reacted like that. I’m sorry if I upset you,” he says when he’s done squinting. She almost wants to laugh: he’s worried about upsetting her over a minor curse word while she’s literally hot under the collar for him; her chest feels like it’s on fire, always quick to flush when she’s aroused, and she’s thanking the gods that she chose a crew neck t-shirt today and not a v-neck, or the situation would probably be a lot more awkward.

“You didn’t upset me, Hotch, it’s okay,” she insists, and he breaks eye contact to focus on the road.

They ride in silence the rest of the way to the precinct, but he doesn’t move to exit the vehicle after he takes the keys out of the ignition. “I’m sorry again for my outburst. I shouldn’t have reacted that way, at least not with you in the car.” She sits back in her seat, because this is now about more than her embarrassing moment from before.

“You’re allowed to be human, you know,” she tells him, and when it looks like he’s about to argue, she shakes her head. “I know the bureau likes to discourage it, but being in tune with our emotions and other people’s emotions is what makes us the best at what we do. Don’t apologize for the things you feel.”

“I have to lead by example. It’s the best way to set clear expectations.”

“Telling us your expectations is the best way to set clear expectations. You don’t have to pretend to be emotionless. When you’re angry, be angry.” He frowns, looks at her like what she’s saying makes absolutely no sense.

“When I got angry just now, you were looking at me like you were seeing something about me for the first time. Like you were afraid of me.”

“I wasn’t afraid of you, it’s… it’s nothing. I’d really rather not get into it.” His face softens again, and he’s giving her a look that’s usually reserved for families of victims, which throws her off guard.

“I know that victims of abuse can sometimes have a negative reaction to shouting…”

She wants to groan. He’s being so kind, but if he doesn’t let this go...

“I’m not a victim of abuse, and you didn’t scare me.” He still looks guilty, and if that’s what he thinks happened, and that’s how she made him feel? Well she’s gotta come clean sooner than later. She takes a deep breath. “You turned me on, okay? You were angry, and you rolled up your sleeves, and then you put your hand on the back of my seat and it just… affected me. I can’t believe I’m saying this,” she mutters, covering her face with her hand. Hotch processes that, is still processing that when she removes her fingers from her face. He just looks at her, expression carefully blank.

“Oh. Uh, well. It’s natural; nothing you could have done about it.” She sighs at that, runs a hand through her hair.

“I know, I’m not ashamed of being aroused, or anything, but—we’re working, you’re my boss. The situation is awkward.” He looks at the steering wheel, like he can’t say what he’s going to say directly to her.

“You shouldn’t feel awkward. This kind of thing happens to all of us.” She arches her brow, smiles a little incredulously.

“You’re telling me you, Aaron Hotchner, have been inappropriately turned on on the job before?” He shrugs, nodding.

“Sure, yes.” Her brows rise further into her hairline, not believing him for a second; he sighs at her expression and shakes his head, huffing a laugh. “Okay. You were in my office last week, leaning over my shoulder to look at a case file, and I could smell your shampoo. It’s coconut, right?” She nods, not sure exactly where the story is going, but she feels herself getting hot again, against literally her every wish. “Well, it made me daydream of the vacation I so desperately want: a drink in my hand, sun on my skin, sand beneath my feet… making love late at night with a breeze blowing through the open patio door.”

“Oh.” Her heart is racing, beating so hard she’s almost surprised the sound doesn’t give her away, and her breathing is heavy, and she thinks he’s about to speak again when someone taps on his window abruptly. He rolls it down and Gideon sticks his head in.

“There’s another body, 482 West Hemlock; you two might as well stay in the car and meet us there.”

“Will do,” Hotch replies, and Gideon nods, steps away from the car. If he wonders why they were sitting there unbuckled for so long, he doesn't show it.

They back out of the parking lot sexy-incident-free, and they’ve gone a few blocks before he turns to look at her again. “Are we okay? I hope I didn’t say too much.”

“No, you didn't. We’re okay.” She smiles softly, actively thinking about anything but vacation sex with her boss.

(It’s surprisingly difficult.)

They process the crime scene, gaining some new insight about the unsub, and before long they’re ready for a profile. Sophie opts to ride back to the station with Prentiss under the guise of letting Gideon and Hotch iron out the details, but really she needs to be as far away from him as possible while working the case, or she’s going to lose her mind.

The rest of the day is uneventful, spent poring over pages and pages of cold case files trying to link other murders to the one that occurred earlier that day. They identify at least 15, and when they literally can’t go on for a minute longer, Hotch calls it and they discuss where to go to grab some dinner.

Italian wins, and Sophie gets a big, beautiful bowl of pasta primavera and a glass of white wine, and it’s almost enough to make her forget all about the day until Hotch catches her eye from across the table, smiling at something Morgan said, and her stomach clenches. She smiles lightly, trying to hide it, but she’s not sure she was able to save face in time. She spends the rest of the meal arguing semantics with Reid, something so perfectly normal that it shouldn’t raise anyone’s suspicions.

She feels eyes on her anyway, but she doesn’t look in their direction.

[danddymaro]

Playing with fire | Loki x Reader

Includes Enhanced Reader W/ fire manipulation, and a temper.

Basically Loki Being an Ass

Word Count : 2393

Playing with Fire

She smiled with satisfaction as she continued to clean the counter in small circles, the little powder blue rag leaving the surface with a nice shine that filled her with pride.

All the while, sweet, soft hums of happiness left her as she saw the lovely surface slowly bouncing the sight of what seemed like her reflection.

“You’ve certainly outdone yourself this time (f/n),” she said lowly, grinning at her work with fulfillment, executing joy-filled little claps as a mild cheer that lasted only a few seconds before she went back to work.

Tony walked past the doorway but whirled around as he caught sight of her, tisking at the sight, because, 

how many times has he told her now?

“- I told you, you don't have to do that,” He said with exasperation, pouting down at her as he coolly walked over to her, “ You don't have to pick up a finger here.” He continued, making himself comfortable by leaning his elbows onto the counter, looking at her with tired dark eyes throughout the entire time,

“In fact, even the toile-”

She stopped him by lifting up her hand in a halt sign, the other maintaining the same circular motion,

“I want to,” she said simply, looking over to him with a soft smile that was filled with peace. “It makes me happy,” she added with pleading (e/c) eyes, hoping he’d drop the argument.

“It brings me peace, so please... drop it?” she asked him, giving him the same sweet, begging eyes.

Rolling own his eyes, Stark shrugged, a heavy sigh accompanying the action, “I guess,” He mumbled, displeased nonetheless.

“If you continued to do it after the first few times, I don't know why I keep trying to convince you otherwise,” he added, a halfhearted glare directed at her, “Just don’t overwork yourself,” he pleaded her.

“ - I feel bad enough having you slaving around her,” he murmured with a sheepish upturn of his mouth.

Granted, he appreciated how tenderly she treated their home, but it was to the extent that he felt guilty, almost like he was taking advantage of her.

“Slaving?” she said with a quirked brow, “You have your drinking, and I have my cleaning… yet I’m the one in the wrong?” she said back to him, chuckling all while she shook her head, giggling even more as she saw his expression change at her words, a toothy grin etched onto his face as his eyes were squinted playfully,

“Really Red Hot?” He snickered, watching as she rolled her eyes at the address.

He opened his mouth to speak more when another voice cut through their merriment,

“Ah, Servant Girl,” Loki called out, beckoning the woman to go to him with a lift of his finger, causing her to instantly drop her happy, little expression down south,

“Servant...girl...?” she lowly, all while shooting the man a quick look that dared him to repeat the phrase.

“Yes. servant girl," The long-haired male said in a snobbish manner, “ Did I not just call you?” He questioned her, and by then the little rag in her hand combusted.

‘What is with this guy?’ She wondered while irked.

A seething hot glare was shot directly at the dark-haired prince as she destroyed her little rag, and it gave her all the more reason to be angry.

“Oh no, “ stark muttered, quickly placing a hand to her shoulder, directing her attention from Loki’s lasting gaze and turning her over to him instead,

“ he’s not worth blowing your cap off, just relax,” he advised feeling a cold sweat running down his forehead as his palms that had landed over her shoulders began to grow warmer, indicating that her temperature was rising.

He could feel her body begin to increase in heat, and he had to act fast, taking her mind off of the annoyance that triggered her,

“You don't want to ruin this pretty kitchen do you?” he asked anxiously, sweeping his arm to offer her the grand view of the luxury space.

“Besides...I’m sure he didn’t mean anything by it.” He further explained, hoping that it was the case, but not entirely too certain about it because after all, it was Loki.

-The same Loki that had in the past bated the Hulk out of Banner.

It was then that her ( e/c) eyes swept left and right to the little place she had dubbed her ‘safe space’ and after a good moment of reflection, she closed her eyes tightly, her harsh pants coming down to mellowing breathes that were both inhaled and exhaled through her nostrils.

“There we go, “ Tony said smiling with relief.

She gritted her teeth, “Okay...I’m fine..” She told him, soon releasing a low breath that seemed to make her deflate, her tense muscles with the blow of air.

“You sure?” he asked her, uncertain.

“Yeah,” She responded back with a lax voice, a slow smile beginning to pave way onto her face, “Sorry about that, “ She said sheepishly, her face glowing as she’d calmed to a state where she was easier to reason with.

‘Gotta be nice,’ She told herself. ‘Technically he’s a guest. One who’s not from here,’ She reasoned.

She then turned back to the prince, the same sweet expression present as she approached him, truly hoping he didn’t get the wrong impression of her.

‘I’m not a horrible person, you have to believe me,’ She thought to herself, ‘It’s just...sometimes...I’m too passionate.’ She went on.

‘I’m really sorry,’ She added while releasing a calmed breath, ‘You didn’t know any better,’ She mused, ‘I don’t know what got over me.’ 

“I’m so sorry about that,” She said with humility, nearly close to bowing her head in shame with how embarrassed she was.

“I’m (f/n) (l/n),” She introduced herself, her weary smile easing into a true, amiable grin.

 She then extended her hand out to him, kindly offering it,

“ I’m a part of the A-”

“- Avengers,” He finished for her, “Yes, I know,” He said while grinning at her, the words falling onto her and causing her to freeze, numbness soon overwhelming her as he took her hand.

‘He knows…’ She thought to herself, ‘Which means,’ She then droned on,

 ‘Which means he PURPOSELY called me that,’ She went on, the gears of her brain working at max capacity, coming to the conclusion in a manner of seconds.

 All while her face began to twitch with annoyance, she could see him slowly form a grin of amusement, one she took in with insult,

‘He thinks he’s so cute…’ She went on, soon glaring at him, ‘What’s his damn problem?!’ She added, hearing him chuckle, the sound of his velvety voice producing such an aggravating, yet warm sound that it frazzled her.

‘He’s doing this on purpose,’ She concluded, watching as every twitch of her face made his eyes glow furthermore, the gems married with amusement.

‘He’s trying to… to,’ stopping herself she bit her tongue, not knowing what his true aim was,  

‘What the hell is he even trying to do, get on my damn nerves?!’ She wondered with dismay.

‘So, You think it’s that easy huh?

You think I’m just some hotheaded punk that can’t stay fucking...uuugggggghhhhhhhh!’ She inwardly shrieked, fighting against the nature she assumed he wanted to become a spectator of.

‘I want to just wipe that stupid grin off his face!’ She thought with malice, ‘But if I do, the pretty boy wins,‘ She contemplated, her mind viscously jumbled, and throughout it all, much to her pleasure, she managed to hold herself steady, not letting the fiery strength take over.

“I hope I get to see more of you!” She chirped back, shoving out the words, subconsciously squeezing his hand.

‘- No I don’t,’ She inwardly added, wanting to wring his neck instead.

“I just know we’ll get along,” She then added with the same glee.

‘- I want you acres from me,’ She maundered darkly.

At the first elated peep, Loki’s brows rose, a chuckle escaping him as he eyed the saccharine smile that was in stark contrast to her vicious (e/c) colored eyes that clearly showed disdain, and it only gave him more reason to fuel her flame.

“(f/n) (l/n),” He then said, taking her warm hand in his before laying a little kiss to her first knuckle,

“A pleasure,“ He told her, enjoying the way her face morphed into complete, and utter shock that left her doe-eyed.

She was then left blubbering, her brain nearly fried by the simple action, not knowing how to take it,

‘Wh-who does he… think he is?’ she asked herself, unsure of just how to feel.

‘No one’s ever done that before,’ She thought to herself, ‘But that doesn’t mean i enjoyed it,’ She then added.

‘I just got caught off guard!’ She reasoned.

Tony chuckled lowly, having only seen the other man’s face throughout the entire exchange in greetings, completely missing her annoyed tick as well as her withheld aggression, only catching sight of the glowing enjoyment in the other man's eyes.

“I hope to see more of you,” Loki then added, withdrawing, and leaving her stunned.

‘Why...Why did he even want me in the first place?’ She asked herself, unsure of what had even transpired between them.

“- Looks like Reindeer Games likes you,” Tony then mused aloud, and it did nothing to help her.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The man alternated between bitter and sweet. 

He was charming even when he was a nuisance, and she detested the way he easily tweaked her. 

Anything he did was sure to make heat rise within her, from his annoying pestering that brought her close to combustion, to the sweet, charming second nature that made her face glow.

He pushed her on edge in more ways than one, and it made it all the more frustrating when he went out of his way to bother her, because sometimes she wanted to choke him, and other times,

‘Other times… I just want to...to do things with you that I don't even understand,’ She thought helplessly, having never felt so bothered by another being.

She was grateful to have learned how to properly control her powers to the degree that most of what he threw at her was shot back with sweetness,

‘Kill ‘em with kindness,’ That was the motto that, and until then, she’d followed to a T. 

But, everything had its breaking point, and as the second month rolled by she found hers,

“ Call me servant girl again you little shit,” She sneered, holding up a tightened fist before him, the little ball shaking with the furiousness she felt.

“ Oh? and what will you do, if I do ... little, servant girl?” he said snickering, nearing her with a confident strut, “Are you going to strike me?” He said while grinning, his two hands held behind his back as he leaned towards her, extending his jaw out subtly, all in a manner that dared her to do so,

“ Because I’d just love to see you try,” he said lowly, challenging her, his emerald eyes glowing as he looked down at her.

 Her already accelerated heart jumped at the glance, forcing a gasp out of her, one she was aware he found amusement in by the sly way he continued to tease her.

Her lips then twitched upwards, not in a show of amusement, but instead a nagging annoyance before she swung at him, which, of course, went straight through him.

“My...You're quite hot-headed,” he said while observing her, making her whip around to him with eyes that glowed just as fiercely as his did,

‘ Hot-headed…

Hot-head…’

She repeated the name over and over, detesting it.

The little nickname made her insides bubble, and as she dwelled in the nickname her body erupted into a heap of flames,

“I AM NOT HOTI-HEADED, IM CALM AND SERENE AND A FRUCKING DELIGHT!”

She screeched, launching herself towards him.

“- All of that foul language.." he muttered, his left hand capturing her wrist in a strong grip, soon pulling her to him before he spun her, forcing her back to his chest.

His right hand then gripped her lower jaw, holding it in a manner that made her lips pucker,

“Such a pretty mouth, and yet such ugly words,” he said amused, releasing the same sweet chuckle that made her insides bubble.

“- I hate you so much,” she said lowly, squirming all the while.

It was rare to be captured, much more, held down by someone else while in her current state, and while it scathed her, it touched her in a way that was indescribable,

‘Do you know how many people have run from me?’ She silently asked him, wondering just why he played with her so much, when she could lose control at any moment.

‘Do you know how many people I’ve hurt?’ She then added, shrinking with a touch of sadness at the remembrance, because she never forgot.

‘Because I’m this way…

Because no matter what I do… I always end up burning…’

“I hate you… so much,” She said in a weaker voice, wearing a small smile that held just a touch of fondness,

‘I hate you for being able to handle me...even at my worst.

I hate you for making me feel so small and weak next to you.

I hate always thinking about you.’

A low, sweet chuckle left him, and during then he wore a teasing little smirk she couldn't see, but could vividly imagine, because she had it ingrained in her mind.

“Ah…” He breathed, “ A shame…,” He murmured, “I love to play with your flame.” He admitted. 

“Your heat...” he then uttered, before falling into silence. His hold and presence disappeared all at once, leaving her wide-eyed and surprised, her face burning with embarrassment.

She whipped around, spinning like a curious dog chasing its tail, her eyes searching for the man with wide-eyed innocence.

“I just can’t stand him, “ She murmured, fuming, by then having been subdued into a less agitated state.

‘Because I can’t think of anything but him.

I want him to play with me as much as he wants, shape me in every way I can be molded.

Loki...why are you so unbearable....so unforgettable?’