#Occupied Hex

[casterhex]

smackfire from one of my sketchbooks

[unopenablebox]

still kind of embarrassing that my hand issues mean this shawl basically is the only knitting i've done for an entire calendar year. but if i was going to spend a year with exactly one project i have to say im glad it was this one. this silk is so so soft and satisfying to knit with and the color is perfect and i love lace so much

[pieandflannel]

₊˚⊹♡ body swap pt.3

check out part one | part two

pairing: dean winchester x fem!reader

summary: your and dean’s curiosity gets the best of you, leading to some unholy bedroom tingz

cw: 18+ smut.ᐟ pwp.ᐟ filthy asf.ᐟ sex toy play.ᐟ cowgirl.ᐟ missionary.ᐟ unprotected p in v & creampie [wrap it up silly].ᐟ language.ᐟ teasing/mocking.ᐟ slight praise.ᐟ sub!dean.ᐟ shy!dean.ᐟ not really proof read.ᐟ you’ve been warned.ᐟ

word count: 2347 (this is the most I’ve written on tumblr yet whoop whoop)

julia yaps: a shower is needed after writing this thanks to yall pervy lil fucks (jk i luv uuuu) hope you enjoyyy <3

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“i see curiosity got the best of you… need some help with that?” you offered with a smirk as you stepped closer and closer to the bed. eyeing your own body that dean was occupying. you weren’t going to lie, seeing yourself sprawled out like that, in such a.. pathetic way had you feeling some type of way, was that the dean brain talking? it’s not like you cared at the moment really. right now your main focus was to show dean just how fun the bunny toy can be.

”y/n i can explain..” dean panicked as you walked closer, he knew he did bad by invading your privacy, but you weren’t going to scold him, after all you did play with his dick like ten minutes ago.

“shh it’s okay you don’t need to explain” you sat down on one side of your bed, your fingers lingering above his inner thigh, his breath hitching at the gentle contact.

“give me the toy, come on, don’t be shy” you spoke in a slow and soft but dominant tone. dean with slight hesitation passed the toy over to you, as the vibrator came in contact with your hand, a devilish smirk grew on your face.

you kicked your slippers off and got more comfortable on the bed, “open your legs for me” you commanded and dean surprisingly obeyed, shyly opening his legs enough for you to check out the beauty in between. for the first time you were honestly feeling proud of your own body, shame it had to take a god damn body swap hex for you to open your eyes that you looked like a sex bomb.

“now i’m going to insert it and turn it on, so don’t get startled okay?” you explained to him before circling the tip of the toy around the clit. dean let out a shaky breath, his eyes dilated from arousal.

you slowly slid the tip up and down between the folds, spreading the glistening wetness all around. come on, you had to mess with him a bit, he’s gotta see what it is like to be an owner of a clit. you could tell dean became impatient, his hips bucking up slightly every time the tip got close to the entrance. you couldn’t help but let out a low chuckle. “someone’s needy” you mocked.

“shut up” he spoke back in a mumble.

“now now, that’s no way to talk to someone that wants to help you feel good now is it?” you cooed at him. gently pushing the tip of the toy in the entrance before pulling out, and repeating it until he let out a desperate whine. god teasing him was so fun.

“you really want to try this out don’t you?” you let out a chuckle, honestly a little surprised at dean’s curiosity, but you don’t really blame him. dean looked absolutely pathetic when he gave you the doe eyes and a nod. god he was so breedable like this.

you slowly pushed the toy inside him, he let out a soft whimper as he felt the toy stretch him out. you didn’t wait long after that to switch the toy on, he let out a sharp gasp, gripping the bedsheets. you couldn’t help but smirk at his reaction, so pathetic and breedable for someone that claims to be a big scary hunter.

you gently moved the toy in and out, the bunny ears rubbing the clit in such a way you had him moaning, head tilted back. he definitely flicked the bean before this, there is no way he’s this sensitive simply because. that little whore.

his hips grind against the toy as whimpery moans continued to fly out his mouth, fuck you could feel your dick twitching in your pants at his little reactions. he was squirming around the bed and whining under his breath. how could you not get hard from that right?

“there’s my good boy, you’re doing great” you praised him as you turned the toy onto a higher mode. his legs began to shake, his back arching. “oh god, f-fuck” he moaned, closing his eyes as the pleasure intensified. knuckles turning white from his harsh grip on the bed sheet.

you knew your body well enough to know when you’d get close, so when you felt him getting close, you turned the toy off and stopped pumping.

leaving him on the edge, whining and crying. “oh come on~ please i was so close” he begged, his walls pulsing around the toy.

“oh i know you were, it is my body after all” you chuckled, pulling the toy out and putting it away to the side and casually positioning yourself between his legs.

“but how bout we.. yknow-” you looked down at his swollen clit and lips. your cock was already hard again, restrained in the pjs. “-make this interesting”

dean looked up at you with slight wide eye at your suggestion, but damn he wasn’t going to lie that the offer wasn’t tempting as hell. i mean it’s not like it’ll hurt anyone right? both of you are consenting adults, though in each others bodies, but still, consenting. and curious.

“well if you’re okay with it, so am i” dean replied honestly. you were glad he was on board with this, this situation was lowkey fucked up but at least you were in this together.

he cleared his throat, “um..why don’t you lay down and-“

“you want to ride me?” you interrupted him with a little smirk on your face. dean wasn’t used to being this flustered, but you brought that out of him right now, especially when it was easier while being in his body.

“could you not– j-just shut up… yes, yes okay?” a blush forming on his cheeks as he couldn’t form his answer without stuttering like the shy little girl he currently was.

“just lay down will you?” he mumbled as he pushed you to lay down, your back hitting the mattress. all you could really do was smirk, oh you were so going to enjoy this.

the bulge in your pants was evident, dean couldn’t help but look down at you with a shaky breath. “what’s the matter sweet cheeks? you nervous?” you teased him, resting your hands behind your head with a smug expression, getting a small glare from him.

his fingers hooking at the waistband of your pants and pulling them down, you lift your hips to help him take them off. “this is so weird..” he mumbled, a cute rosey shade on his cheeks.

“only if you make it weird” you shrugged, but you were right. it would only be weird if the both of you decided that it is. but you two have been through some real weird ass shit, so this is literally nothing.

as your pants were off and dick was out, dean’s eyes widened a bit as he had a first class third person view of his dick. you noticed his smug little smirk in the corner of his lips, clearly proud of himself. “i must say, you do have a nice cock” your words make him look up into your eyes.

“you couldn’t help yourself could you?” dean asked with a small amused smirk. you just grinned and shrugged.

he took a deep breath before climbing on top of you, taking your cock and aligning it at his entrance. he looked down into your eyes, looking for any signs of hesitation or doubt. “wait wait wait” you spoke, making him freeze in his tracks. did you change your mind? shit he made it weird didn’t he?

“dean is this your first time having sex?” you jokingly asked him as you passed him the bottle of lube. “even when you’re wet, lube is your friend”

dean let out a relieved sigh, grabbing the bottle and squirting a good amount on your dick, gently lathering it up with his hand. your breath shook at the sudden slow motion of his hand. “feels nice huh?” he asked with a smirk, purposely gripping your cock a bit tighter as he spread the lube all over your shaft. your mouth flew open as you let out a shaky breath. it did feel good, shit it felt great. and you wanted more.

“fuck, just sit on it already” you spoke out in a direct tone. dean chuckled at your impatience but he also couldn’t wait much longer. he positioned you at his entrance yet again, hand sticky with lube, slowly he sank down on your cock.

your toy looking so silly right now comparing to the girthiness of the cock, dean let out a soft moan as his walls stretched out nicely, feeling himself wrap around you. both of you cursed under your breath. the new sensation feeling oddly refreshing.

your hands rested on his waist as you looked up into his eyes, lips parted slightly. you gently started guiding dean’s hips, making him grind and ride you, the wet squelching sounds softly echoing in the room every time he sank back down on your cock. “oh wow..” the both of you managed to say almost in sync.

dean’s pace picking up in no time, both your hips in rhythm with each other. the constant exchange of moans and whimpers could probably be heard from the closed bedroom door. your grip on his hips tightening as he let his hands rest on your chest.

one of your hands found it’s way between his legs, your thumb flicking and circling at the clit, adding the extra something to dean’s experience. he threw his head back as sparks of pleasure rush through his body. “you like that?” you smirked, continuing to play with the clit making him lose his rhythm, thighs starting to shake. “aww too much for lil dean to handle?” you cooed at him.

“alright then, my turn” you spoke before lifting him up with ease and flipping him over, it was so fun having dean’s strength. you wasted no time, towering over him and positioned yourself between his legs, aligning yourself at the entrance and sliding back in with ease.

you rolled your hips slowly, thrusting in and out, firstly trying to figure out a good pace. dean wrapped his arms around your neck, pulling you closer, and kissing you in the heat of the moment, but holy shit was it amazing. you and him kissing as you’re inside of him. man was this fun.

your hips picked up the speed and you had him moaning into your mouth in no time, you on top of him, giving it to him raw. “i- i think i’m close” dean spoke as he pulled away from the kiss for some air. you grabbed him by the hair and tilted his head back, latching your lips onto his neck. “good” you growled against his skin. the animalistic need to mark him up awakening from deep inside you.

dean dug his nails into your back as you started to thrust at a brutal force. his legs wide open which helped you bury yourself balls deep inside him. “i’m close too” you whisper into his ear before biting and kissing his neck teasingly.

“you want me to pull out?” you asked, slightly panting at this point, it was quite a workout for your hips. “it’s your pussy you decide” he replied breathlessly.

“fuck, fine, do you wanna know how it feels to get creampied?” you rephrased the question. at first he was a bit speechless at your offer but he nodded eagerly without much thought. “yes”

his eagerness making you let out a chuckle, your thrusts becoming much more sloppier as you got closer to the edge. you fisted his hair again and gave his neck a lick where you left marks. but be assured, his nails left red marks all across your back, a little exchange you could call it.

your body tensed up and suddenly you felt a huge wave of pleasure crashing over you, leaving you moaning against his skin. you shot your load inside him and continued to pump yourself dry. he followed you right after as he felt the warm cum fill him up. a pretty white ring decorated your shaft every time you pulled out before pushing back in.

both your hips eventually stopped moving, heavy breathing coming from the both of you. you let your forehead rest against his, eyes closed as you came down from your high.

as the both of you catch your breath and open your eyes, you realised you were back in your own body, underneath him. as he was in his. “oh my god, dean we’re back in our bodies” you let out a sigh of relief with a smile.

the spell was broken.

dean looked down at you with a relieved smile himself. “guess all it took to break the spell was to have sex huh?” dean smirked. he sat up, finally back in his body. “see, sex solves everything” he added cockily.

his body still in between your legs, his cock buried deep inside you. the view was beautiful but he had to pull out. his white load leaking out as soon as he does so. “but you gotta admit it was fun” he raised his brow.

you giggled “yeah it was, no wonder guys jerk off so much” your words making him roll his eyes in a playful way.

for a long second there was silence. none of you spoke, just looked into each others eyes. stealing shy smiles.

“okay, why don’t we get you cleaned up?” he offered as he got up from the bed, pulling up his pants and getting some tissues from your nightstand.

“oh and um, nice piercings you got there by the way” dean couldn’t help himself from commenting on them, adding a cocky wink.

“might if i played with them from time to time?” he smirked.

“i fucking knew the first thing you’d do is check out my tits” you shook your head with an amused smile.

this was the last part! hope you enjoyed this mini series (if you can even call it that)

thank you so much for reading! feedback and reblogs are always deeply appreciated <3

tags: @jensino @emeraldcrs @soldiersgirl @jensenacklesballsack @missus-ackles @littlesoulshine @deanswifeyy @slut4jackles @h8aaz @bruisedfig @angelicjackles @losers-clvb @lyarr24 @cowboysandcigarettes @blossomingorchids @bluemerakis @rositaslabyrinth @deanspookiebear @tinas111 @bejeweledinterludes @miss-marmalade @pinksatinpanties @multiversefanfics @cupidzbunny @heartrendercastiel @sunnyteume @mrsanakinwinchesterpoldark @krabog @that-stanford-girlie @pwin098 @twelveyearsofit

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[livingdxadwriter]

Stuck Here Like Me

Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x F!Doctor!Reader

Summary: in the wake of the chaos, you’re there to pick up his broken pieces. Takes place during 1x13 so spoilers if you haven’t seen it yet

Warnings: depiction of explicit themes, death, grief, panic attacks, blood, hospital stuff, ptsd, age gap (reader is 35, Robby is 50) (no smut but yall better love it)

WC: 4.3k Drabble who?

A/N: omg no smutties??? Who possessed me??? Okay well there is smutties, this just isn’t it. I mentioned before that I started writing smutties based on ep 12 but when 13 came out I just had to write a comfort fic. God this man needs to be held and loved so I couldn’t help myself. The smutties based on ep 12 is still on the works. So think of it as an alternative ending to this one. I started writing this last night after I finished ep13 and i cant believe I finished it so fast. Hope you enjoy being traumatized give Noah his Emmy btw

Staying away from the chaos of the ER was the plan for today. As far away as you possibly could. You did this on purpose. Neither of you had worked on this day in years. You didn’t mind that Robby had made other plans. You were even happy that he was keeping his mind occupied with Jake. You would happily stay home and catch up on some well deserved sleep. Ever since you convinced Gloria to give you that pediatric emergency medicine fellowship, you had been doing overtime almost every single shift. You left at the same time as Robby every night, and that was saying a lot.

So when you felt movement beside you, your husband shifting as quietly as possible, you were very suspicious. You stirred and grumbled almost immediately. Much to his attempt of getting out of bed without waking you.

“Michael.” You muttered into your pillow, blindly reaching for your phone beside you. He gritted his teeth, turning his head to find you squinting at your phone. “Why are you getting up at six on your day off?”

“Ah, busted.” You felt his weight sink into the bed as he leaned over you to leave a kiss to your hair. “They’re down an attending this morning. And you know we’re short staffed so.”

You scrunched up your face, huffing softly as you shifted on your back. You gave him a look of apprehension and he leaned down to kiss the expression lines on your forehead.

“Today? Really?” The sleep lingered on your voice as you rubbed your eyes softly. He clicked his tongue but said nothing. You weren’t shy about it. You were an R2 when the pandemic broke out. How you managed to start, and maintain a functioning relationship was still beyond you. Though you guessed you understood each other’s he trauma. And your marriage has been without issues so far, so you guessed it worked out. Still, you weren’t beneath bringing it up, even if he didn’t quite enjoy it. “Michael I really don’t think—“

“It’s fine. I’m fine, really.” He was firm with his words, loving, but firm, like he didn’t want to press the matter further. A sigh of resignation left your chest and you shrugged, shaking your head at him.

“Mkay. Want me to come in with you?” You sighed, stretching out your arms with exhaustion. Robby narrowed his eyes at you and shook his head.

“Nope. You’ve been working what? Thirteen? Fourteen hours straight? Absolutely not. Sleep while you can. You’re going to burn yourself out.” You hated when he lectured you, the age gap between you sometimes becoming painfully obvious. You groaned with annoyance and squeezed your eyes shut. You hated when he was right.

“Fine, whatever.” You pretended to pout, which he found quite amusing. With a soft chuckle he leaned down to press a kiss to your pouty lips. You couldn’t help but giggle. “I swear Gloria is still punishing me for hexing you with my charms. She couldn’t get rid of me so she’s making me suffer.”

“Aren’t you doing overtime willingly?” He tisked at you as he peeled himself from you to finish putting on his scrubs. He knew that if he didn’t leave your side soon he would forget he has actual responsibilities to attend to.

You scoffed at him, shifting to your side again, “I’m being coerced. She insists that my fellowship is an unnecessary expense and that if it hadn’t been for your favoritism I would’ve had to transfer hospitals.”

“It wasn’t favoritism. I was completely objective and unbiased. You really are one of my best doctors.” He reminded you and you laughed into your pillow.

“She doesn’t seem to agree. She makes sure to remind me every time she sees me.” You rolled your eyes, disdain lacing your tongue. Robby found it almost amusing how you didn’t even try to hide your opinions. He always had to hold back a laugh whenever you gave Gloria side eyes when she came strolling down to the ER to get on his case about one thing or another.

“Yeah, well, she’s a pain in my ass too. Don’t take it too personally.”

“I’ll make you coffee and something to eat, hm?” You suggested, figuring you would spend as much time with him as you could before you didn’t see him for the next twelve-plus hours. He shot you an apprehensive glance, eyes narrowed but you were already throwing the blankets off you. “I’m already up. I’ll take a nap when you leave.”

Robby chewed on the inside of his cheek, clicking his tongue as his eyes followed you out of bed. His eyes never left you, more than happy to be reminded that you were parading around in nothing but an old tee and panties. He followed you out of the bedroom with eagerness, more than happy to follow you around until he left.

“Shit, my sweet and amazing wife is making me coffee this morning? And she’s making sure I eat? Aren’t I lucky.” He chuckled, following you to the kitchen. Your giggles filled the air and he was so in love with the sound it made his head spin.

“Don’t forget hot and young too.” You looked over your shoulder and shot him a wink, snorting at the groan he let out at your teasing words. If you had to be reminded that he was older, he had to be reminded that you were younger, too.

“God, I hope you don’t say that shit to other people. Makes me sound like such a creep.” He sighed out, his freckled cheeks dusting red with embarrassment. You loved to tease him about it. Even though you were already thirty when you started dating. You found it amusing how worked up he got about the logistics. You knew it fucked him up for months when you first slept together.

“If it makes you feel better, I tell people I wanted to fuck my attending.” You managed to hold in your laughter until after your words sunk in, you had your back to him as you made him his coffee, but when you heard him mutter ‘Jesus fucking Christ’ behind you, you bursted into giggles. “You love me. Oh! Can you get me the strawberries and blueberries from the fridge? And the Greek yogurt.”

“Yes I do, unfortunately.” He sighed out a long exaggerated breath as he searched around the fridge. You shoot him a glare, which he took with a chuckle.

“Okay, well, you can starve then. I’m not making you shit.” You clicked your tongue, huffing as you crossed your arms over your chest. Robby pouted, trying to stifle a laugh at the matching pout on your lips.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry.” He said in between laughs as he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you to him and he left kisses on your cheek, on your nose, until you broke a smile and giggles left your lips. “You have such a shitty poker face.”

“I do. I can’t resist your old man charms.” You teased, throwing your arms around his neck. He rolled his eyes at you, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips, successfully shutting you right up. You didn’t protest, you were in fact, very pleased with this exchange. God, you wished he would stay home with you. You didn’t want him to go. You were tempted to jump him right then and there. If you pushed him enough he really couldn’t say no to you even if he tried. But you also knew better. So against your better judgement you relented.

“I really have to go hun.” His words left his chest with an edge, his fingers slightly digging into your hips. You slightly threw your head back, grabbing his face as you whined. “Cmon, don’t do that.”

“I really can’t convince you to stay, hm? You’ll have me all to yourself today.” Your words left your lips softly, quietly. You could almost hear the gears turning in his head, his jaw ticking with each string you pulled.

“I’m gonna think with my head and regrettably say no.” An uneven breath left him, much to his dismay. Your offer was so fucking tempting. But he knew better, he definitely wouldn’t hear the end of it if he ended up not showing up.

“Ugh, I like your other head better.” You gave him one last jab to his sanity before you pulled yourself away to resume your previous task. You heard him groan loudly as he reached for his freshly brewed coffee.

“God, you're going to give me a heart attack one of these days.”

Though there was a smile on his face, those soft brown eyes filled with warmth, you knew him well, too well, and you knew there was more hiding behind those eyes, behind the same facade he put up every year. And that sat with you, you carried that worry like a burden, because you didn’t know what truly was going on in his head, what he was thinking. And it made you wish you could just lock him up until the day had passed. But alas, he wasn’t the type of man to hide. Exchanging I love you’s as he walked out the door left you with unease, with anxiety. And you couldn’t shake that feeling.

~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey love. Lemme guess, you’re staying late?” Your teasing words were laced with humor when you picked up the phone. You had managed to get through your day, though you definitely missed your husband. It was around six when he called.

“Yeah, something like that. Uh, fuck. I’m sorry to ask, but could you come in?” He rushed out his words, a sense of urgency edging through his tone even over the phone. The smile on your face quickly fell and you stilled, stammering over your words. “There’s an active shooter at PittFest and I’m down two residents. Please, you know I wouldn’t call if I didn’t have to.”

You were running to your bedroom for the first pair of scrubs you could grab before he was done talking. Your mind was racing with a million questions, but you didn’t have time to ask any of them.

“Fuck me. You really couldn’t stay home today, huh?” You blew out a breath of exasperation as you threw on pieces of clothing like a maniac. You were thankful you had decided to take a shower before getting started on dinner. Guess you would have to settle for takeout tonight, if you even left the hospital at all.

“I wish I had. Look on the bright side though, I missed you so much I had to find a way to get you here with me.” Though his words were playful, nothing about his tone was humorous in the slightest, there was so much edge to his voice it made your heart sink. As if he needed another thing to make today miserable. Today, out of all days, too.

“You could’ve just asked.”

You were on autopilot, walking to the hospital wasn’t even a conscious thought. You and Robby walked there every shift, it was just automatic. Though you were sure your feet walked just a bit faster than usual because you were walking through those doors and rushing downstairs before your brain could even process where your feet had taken you. You were met with the sight of just about the entire ER staff, day and night shift. Your heart pounded against your chest louder and louder by the second. You spotted Robby talking to Dr. Abbott. His eyes trailed in your direction and he could almost feel a sense of relief wash over him when he spotted you. It was automatic, his feet were taking you to him. He met you in the middle and he pulled you into his chest without hesitation.

“Michael.” You offered quietly, pressing the side of your face against his chest, happily accepting his embrace. You felt him press the cheek against the side of his head, a long sigh of relief leaving him.

“I really needed you. Thank you.” He muttered softly, only for your ears to hear. You nodded.

“You should’ve called me sooner. You’re down two residents?” You asked quietly, feeling the way he tensed under your touch at the question. He half nodded, another exasperated sigh leaving his heavy chest.

“Yeah. Collins wasn’t feeling well, so I sent her home, and I had to send Langdon home, too.” You could hear the slightest bit of edge in his voice at that last part. You frowned, pulling back to look at him with confusion.

“Why? What did he do?” You asked with a frown, having the feeling the reason had nothing to do with illness. His jaw tightened, his eyes drifting away from your gaze.

“You don’t want to know.” He shook his head dismissively, but his tone was anything but reassuring. You narrowed your eyes at him, not convinced by his answer. But he didn’t give you more than that. “I’m just glad you’re here.”

You didn’t want to push it, not right now at least, he had enough on his mind. You simply nodded at him, offering him a half smile as he walked you back to where everyone had gathered. You were met with some confused faces, but also welcoming glances of the familiar ones. You figured they were medical students or interns, since you didn’t recognize the new faces. What a day to be your first day, you thought.

“Okay, this is all hands on deck. That’s why I called for some help. For those of you who don’t know, this is one of our best doctors,” Robby looked at you as he introduced you. You felt almost embarrassed, faint heat rushing to your cheeks but you said nothing. “She’s our emergency pedes fellow, so if you need an attending and you can’t find me or Abbott, find her.”

You felt a bit awkward as Robby continued, now explaining the bracelet system and the colors for each area. You could still feel some confused and puzzled eyes on you every once in a while, but you otherwise ignored it. You figured there would be time for proper introductions later.

Robby and Abbott were done saying their final pieces before everyone dispersed in their own directions. You offered Robby a smile as he left to check on triage. This feeling of unease at the imminent doom that awaited you was making you sick, but you knew this is what you had to do. You eventually found Dana, and you were very distraught by the very evident brushing on her face.

“You didn’t have that last night. What happened to you?” You asked her, your tone alarmed, but you managed to keep your voice down. She sighed, like it was a long story that she had no desire to get into at this time.

“An unhappy patient decided to express how displeased he was with our care.” She states, her tone tired. Your eyes widened, your mouth falling open.

“A patient punched you? Are you fucking kidding?” You scoffed in disbelief and she simply nodded, too tired and burned out to do much more. You shook your head. “Maybe Gloria should fire me. Maybe she can hire better security with my salary.”

“Doubt it. She would find a way to claim we still don’t have the budget for it.” She blew out a humorless laugh, also shaking her head.

You opened your mouth to reply but stopped when you heard a string of voices speaking all at once, you knew it was time for the madness. And you had no idea just how much.

~~~~~~~~~~

You don’t know where your head was anymore. You were jumping from patient to patient like it was a marathon. You had managed to tune out most of the noise, focus on where your hands were. You were helping Langdon when you spotted Robby wheeling in a girl and your heart nearly stopped when you saw Jake following him. Robby hadn’t heard from him or his girlfriend since the shooting started and he was frantic, looking for him every time a new patient was wheeled in. He didn’t show it, but you could tell.

“You good here?” You asked Langdon, his panicked expression matching your own when he spotted Jake. He nodded, ushering you to go. You nearly ran across the other side to find Robby doing chest compression on a girl, and Jake was standing there, refusing to leave her side.

“Jake, hey, are you okay?” You asked him, checking him for any severe wounds, but he didn’t seem to be hurt, despite being covered in blood. He didn’t acknowledge you at first, his eyes glued to the girl on the gurney, you assumed this was the girlfriend Robby had told you took his ticket.

“Y-Yeah, I’m okay, just my leg I think. But Leah is really hurt. Is she going to be okay?” He still wasn’t looking at you, not moving either. You gently grabbed his arm as you made eye contact with Robby. You knew that look. You half nodded, trying to usher Jake back. You hadn’t known him super long, his mom and Robby had already been split for a while by the time you came into the picture. But he thought you were cool and you found his relationship with Robby endearing.

“Robby is helping her right now, but you can’t be in here. You need to get that leg checked. I promise I’ll come find you.” You slowly pulled him back as you called for a wheelchair, he wasn’t budging, understandably not wanting to leave his girlfriend. “Jake, please. Robby’s got her but you need to get checked out.”

You managed to join Robby, and it did not look good. You made eye contact with Dana, and you did not like the look she gave you. You took in a deep breath, clearing your throat as you tried to find your voice.

“Where do you want me?”

“Switch with me.” Robby panted, quickly switching places with you. You resumed chest compressions, despite knowing where this would end. You couldn’t stop the bleeding, and you couldn’t transfuse blood fast enough. But you would keep going until he told you to stop. “Stop compressions. Check for carotid.”

You swallowed, pressing your fingers to her neck. You held your breath, perhaps holding yours would allow you to feel even the faintest beat. There was nothing. You sniffled softly and shook your head.

“I can’t feel the carotid.”

“No femoral either.”

You stopped keeping track of how long you were at it. You were at three bags of blood when you stopped compressions, and again you couldn’t feel anything. Robby shook his head.

“Robby.” You protested, knowing this was it. There was nothing else you could possibly do. There just wasn’t enough time. He shook his head again, the denial evident on his face. You exchanged knowing looks with Dana as Abbott spoke, but he couldn’t get through Robby either.

“Push one more bag of O neg, resume compressions.” He insisted, his voice breaking the slightest bit. A shaky breath left your lips and you hesitated for just a second, but you complied nonetheless.

“Abbott is right. The bullet probably tore right through the aorta. I still can’t get a pulse and we can’t give her another bag.” Your own voice was breaking, sweat starting to fall down your forehead and soak your hair. He shook his head at you, checking his own pulse to make sure the machine worked. “Michael—“

“I know, I know. Fuck, just, let me try this. Please. Hold compressions.” His voice was shaky, on the verge of breaking as he avoided your gaze. You breathed out shakily as you stopped and waited. You could hear abnormal beats, coming and going. And then nothing. There was nothing. Robby kept trying, his jaw tight and he squeezed his eyes shut as he desperately tried to find a pulse. Anything. There was nothing. Your eyes found Dana’s and she shook her head at you. Your eyes filled with tears when Robby shook his head. “We’re done.”

Your breath got caught in your chest as you held it, your own eyes fluttering shut as the realization finally dawned on you. When you opened them again your eyes landed on Robby and your heart sank. You swallowed, inhaling sharply before you spoke.

“Do you want me to come with you?” You asked quietly and he quickly shook his head, sniffling softly.

“No. I’ll go. Just.. Can you take her?” He looked at Dana. She nodded. You opened your mouth to speak again but he gave you no time. He was rushing down the hall as you were left with your mouth open, speechless and distraught. Seeing him like this, it reminded you of what today was. And that feeling made you so uneasy it made you nauseous.

You didn’t know how much time had passed. You got pulled from patient to patient until your head started to spin. You didn’t even have time to notice Robby was gone. And nobody could find him. Those words made your stomach drop. You rushed to where Jake was, you found him still on his gurney, crying. You figured he knew.

“Jake…” You said softly, and he didn’t even bother to look at you. “Jake, I'm so sorry. We tried. We really did. But I need you to tell me where Robby is.”

Jake stayed silent for a long while, sniffling quietly, still not looking at you, “I dunno. He took me to see Leah then he kicked me out. He started, like crying and didn’t come back out.”

Your eyes widened, your breath picking up and your chest started to pound. “I promise I will come check on you but please, try to call your mom. She must be really worried.” You offered him a half smile, your lip quivering the slightest bit before you rushed to the pedes room. God this fucking room was cursed.

Your heart was not ready for the sight you would find. You were frantic as you opened the door and you found your loving husband, the love of your life, in a corner with his hands behind his head, shaking. You choked on your own breath as you grabbed the curtain and covered the door before you dropped to your knees in front of your husband. Your own eyes filled with tears at the sight of him like this. It was like he didn’t even process that you were here, he was hyperventilating, choking back sobs into his arms.

“Hey, Michael. It’s okay, baby. You’re okay.” You held back your own tears as you reached to grab his face. He wouldn’t stop, he was sobbing and crying like you had never seen him do. You didn’t know what to do, you had never seen him break down like this. Your own tears had started to fall without even knowing. But you kept talking to him, you grabbed his face, “Michael, hey, you’re okay. I’m here with you. I’m here baby.”

“Did… Did I ever tell you you have the prettiest freckles? They go so well with your eyes. You have the kindest, softest eyes. I’ve been in love with them ever since I met you. I knew that you were it, I knew I wanted to be with you, all the time.” You didn’t know what you were saying, or when you started to cry, too, but you continued, “I’m right here with you, okay? At your lowest, remember, like in our vows? I got you, I promise.”

You didn’t know what clicked in his head, or what wall fell down in his fragmented mind, but he reached for you, a broken sob leaving him as he found refuge in the comfort of your arms. He sobbed into your shoulder and you held him, cradling his head as you shushed him softly, choking back your own tears.

“It’s okay to cry, you know? You can cry. It’s okay. Just breathe with me.” You spoke quietly into his ear, pressing a kiss to his hair. He held you tighter.

“I couldn’t save her. I couldn’t save any of them.” He sniffled into your shoulder, his voice hoarse from emotion. It shattered your heart to hear him like this. You would give absolutely anything to make sure he never felt like this.

“I know.. I know. And I can’t make it hurt less, I wish I could. But it’s okay to grieve and feel like this. Sometimes we need to feel it.” You said softly, breathing softly, each breath you took was slow and steady until his own breath matched yours. You held him there, you let him cry until he couldn’t anymore. You couldn’t even begin to imagine how long he had been holding this in. Years of grief bottled up until he couldn’t take it anymore. “You have saved so many lives. So many people look up to you. I look up to you. And I know you have lost a lot, and that feeling will never go away. But the good you have done doesn’t go away either.”

You lost track of how long you stayed like this. But you didn’t care how long it took. You held him for as long as he needed. You said nothing more as he cried quietly into your shoulder, until he stopped and all that was there was his tight grip on you and his steady breaths in your ear. When he was ready you gently grabbed his face and offered him a sad smile. He closed his eyes as he leaned into your touch, a shaky breath leaving his lips as you gently wiped his cheeks. He opened his eyes to find yours. And as he looked at you, you felt so much sadness seeing the eyes you were so in love with so full of pain. You held his face, your cold rings against his hot skin grounded him. You leaned your forehead against his and stayed just like that. You said nothing. He said nothing. You had nothing to say. You needed this silence. Words weren’t necessary, only grief and sadness was present and that was okay. You would be here to pick up his broken pieces when he was ready.

[agreeewrites]

Baby I'm Yours | B.C.J.

feat. Barty Crouch Jr x blackcat!reader

summary: your new boyfriend Barty tells you he loves you, and you…freak tf out (even though you do, in fact, love him too).

cw: MDNI 18+, smut, established relationship, drinking, you are both possessive and mildly toxic, emotional vulnerability (eugh), love confessions, hurt/comfort, hard kinks, choking

an: can be read as a stand-alone, but hits better as part 2 of this fic

masterlist

Barty's POV

“Oi, Crouch!”

Barty looked up from his sketchbook, propped in his lap to keep him occupied while he waited in the courtyard for you and Evan to get out of Defense Against the Dark Arts. Xeno was running towards him down the corridor, robes flapping wildly in his haste.

Barty could practically smell trouble, and it made his heart kick with excitement.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Xenophi—”

“Cut the shit. Y/n is dueling,” Xeno snapped, grabbing Barty by the collar and dragging him from his perch in one of the stone openings.

“Oh! Is she winning?” Barty asked, falling into a jog beside Xeno.

“Not the point. She's going to get expelled.”

“Like I’d ever let that happen,” Barty chuckled.

They rounded the corner and could hear the shouting before they even reached the classroom. Excitement raced under his skin, and he all but kicked down the door in his haste to get to you.

You were up on a desk, robes discarded, absolutely pummeling Amacus Carrow with hexes. Amacus was hidden behind and overturned desk, lamely tossing expelliarmus over his shoulder.

The students formed a ring around you both, roaring with excitement while the Professor tried desperately to talk you down.

Barty skirted around the edge of the group towards you, finding Evan standing just beneath you, watching with a wild grin.

“She's a fucking menace,” Evan cackled, and Barty had to agree.

A vicious, beautiful little menace.

“What'd he do?” Barty asked, watching you dodge a hex effortlessly and throw one back in the same second. His heart was pounding, affection making his blood race. Saints, his cock was damn near about to rip through his trousers he was so fucking turned on.

“He called you a buffoon. And said your tattoos were ugly,” Evan said, cheering when you hit Amacus’ table so hard with stupify it cracked. “I was going to intervene, but she hit him with a book before I even got a word out.”

Barty was going to faint if anymore blood vacated his brain.

He spun a chair around and stepped up onto the table beside you. “Hello, treasure. Chose violence, did we?” You squeaked in surprise when he looped an arm around your waist, spinning you around and plucking your wand from your fingers.

“Barty!” You protested, trying to grab your wand back. “Give me that!”

Amacus, realizing you were disarmed, popped up from behind his desk.

“Ah, ah,” Barty waggled your wand at the perspiring wretch. “She may have the restraint to avoid Azkaban, but I have no such compunction, Carrow.” He gestured to Amacus’s spindly wand. “Rosier will take that, if you please.”

Evan had appeared beside Carrow, holding out his hand expectantly. Carrow dropped it into Evan's palm, red-faced and sputtering.

“Barty,” you said again, voice pitching lower with agitation.

He pressed an appeasing kiss to the crown of your head, handing you your wand back. “I think you've made your point, love,” he said. “Unless you'd like to make a fugitive out of me.”

You blew a strand of hair from your face, scowling at Amacus as he fled the room with his twin in tow. “I suppose not,” you huffed. “But if he runs his fucking mouth again—”

Barty pecked your lips, unable to resist your sharp tongue for another second. “He's a dead-man walking, hm?”

A smile pulled at the corners of your mouth, and your shoulders finally softened. “Something like that.” You rose up onto your toes and kissed him again, his heart pounding against his ribs like it was trying to burst out of his chest to get to you.

Barty helped you down from the table while the rest of the students filed out, grumbling that their bloodbath was cut short. The Professor tried to step up to you, face purple with indignation, but one glare from Barty had them backing off, throwing their hands up in defeat.

“Are you alright, though? He didn't get you?” Barty tilted your chin up, turning your pretty face to the right, then the left to check for damage.

“Not once,” you smirked, and his chest swelled with pride.

“That's my girl,” he cooed, leaning down to draw you in for another, more heated kiss. He swiped his tongue across your lower lip, tasting your cherry lipgloss, before kissing down your neck, wallowing in the sweetness of your perfume, the warmth of your skin. “S’why I love you so much.”

As soon as it slipped out, he felt you stiffen, withdrawing slightly from him. He hadn't meant to say it, though he'd felt it long before you were official, but he couldn't bring himself to regret it.

He pulled his head back, finding your eyes wide, kiss-stung lips parted in shock. A deer in headlights.

“D-did you just—” you stuttered. He could feel your heart fluttering like a hummingbird under his fingertips. “Y-you love me?”

He smiled, something tender unfurling in his chest. “I do, very much,” he murmured, softening his voice like he was speaking to a frightened animal.

“Bat, I—” you words caught in your throat, and a flicker of hope kindled in his heart. “I have to go.” You turned heel and dashed out of the classroom, nearly taking out Evan and Xeno, who were pretending not to listen by the door.

They grimaced, approaching Barty cautiously.

“Sorry, mate,” Xeno said, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Why?” Barty asked, shouldering your bag that you abandoned in your haste.

“Because she—mate, are you with us?” Evan waved a hand in front of his face.

Barty smacked his hand away. “I’m fine, I knew she wasn't going to say it back,” he shrugged.

Sure, it would have been amazing if you said it back, but you didn't have to say it for him to know it was true. He knew you struggled with big displays of emotion, and he wasn't about to goad you into saying something you weren't ready to.

He knew you felt it. You told him with every kiss, every touch, every gesture, from softly tracing his tattoos while you cuddled, to picking fights in the middle of class to defend his honor. Barty knew the truth, and you'd realize it on your own soon enough.

Xeno and Evan were looking at him like he had three heads.

“So why did you say it?” Evan asked.

“Because I felt it?” Barty didn't understand why they were so confused. He’d always worn his heart on his sleeve with you, and that wasn't about to change just because you were finally together. He knew you liked to have all the cards before you made a decision, and now you did.

“But she like, freaked out,” Xeno said, like Barty couldn't practically read the thoughts flying through your mind. “That doesn't worry you?”

Irritation curled along his spine, sharpening his tongue. “I’ve got it under control, Lovegood,” he bit. “Don't strain yourself pretending to give a fuck.”

“Junior—” Evan started.

“Are we ready for dinner? I'm starved,” Barty chirped, uprooting the conversation, and the seed of doubt it was planting in his mind.

Reader’s POV

You sat curled in your bed, staring at the emerald curtain separating you from the rest of the dorm. Barty's words echoed in your mind, ricocheting painfully against your skull.

I love you so much.

I love you so much.

I love you so much.

With every repetition came the same cycle of feelings: terror, elation, guilt, and terror again. You cared for Barty, Merlin, did you care for Barty. It ate you up inside, all the feelings you had for him. Drove you half-mad most of the time.

He was your favorite person, your comfort and your home. You wanted to be with him all the time, and you never wanted to be with anyone.

But love? It seemed impossible, enormous. You choked on it, drowned under it. And though it sounded so sweet on his lips, you just couldn't say it back, and it was tearing you up inside.

You knew how deeply his abandonment wounds went, how sensitive he was to rejection, and you never ever wanted to hurt him that way again. Especially not when he'd brought nothing but wonder and excitement into your life.

He didn't seem particularly upset, but you'd run off so quickly, you weren't sure how he'd actually taken it. For all you knew, you'd shattered his heart, and he'd never want to see you again.

Oh fuck, what if he was if was going to break up with you?

A fresh wave of terror clutched your heart, and you cuddled your stuffed cat closer, praying you hadn't fucked this up.

“Y/n?” Pandora called gently, peeling open your curtain to peek at you. “Barty’s here. Looking rather…fretful.”

Shit, shit, shit. He was here to dump you. This was it.

You stuffed your kitty under your pillows and pushed yourself into a sitting position, wiping at your tear-streaked cheeks. “Let him in,” you mumbled.

Pandora nodded, stepping back, and Barty’s head poked through, dark brows pulled together in concern.

“Oh, baby,” he sighed, taking in your probably pitiful state. “Can I come in?”

You nodded, scooching over so he could climb into your bed. He immediately enveloped you in his arms, cuddling you into his chest. Cigarette smoke clung to his clothes and hair, mixing with the faded traces of his familiar cologne, and it immediately soothed some of your panic.

He was here, and he didn't hate you.

Barty’s heart thumped steadily under your cheek as he peppered kisses along the crown of your head, his hand slipping under your hoodie, well, technically his hoodie, to brush against your skin. He was unusually quiet, his movements slow and gentle.

After a few minutes of loaded quiet, you couldn't hold your tongue any longer.

“I’m really sorry, B,” you mumbled, tracing the lines of the tattoo on his chest peeking through his half-buttoned shirt.

“For what, tres? You did nothing wrong,” he shushed you, squeezing you tighter.

You sniffled, tears springing to your eyes.

He shifted, turning so you were beneath him and he was looking down at you. “Have you spent the last few hours thinking you did something wrong?” He asked, looking genuinely distressed at the suggestion.

Your lips folded into a tight line, not trusting yourself to speak, and you nodded.

“Treasure, no,” he gasped, cradling your face and kissing away the tear that rolled down your cheek. “My sweet, darling, gorgeous girl, you did absolutely nothing wrong. I didn't say that under the assumption you'd say anything back. I said it because I wanted to, because I—” the words caught in his teeth, like he had to bite them back before they wrangled out of his control once again.

“I'm just not ready,” you whispered, shame turning your guts to stone.

“And that's okay—hey, look at me.” He brushed his nose against yours, the softest nuzzle. When you managed to drag your eyes to his, you found them so sincere, so warm. “It's okay, baby. I promise.” He held his pinky up, the nail painted to match your manicure, and you curled your pinky around his. “I promise,” he repeated, resting his forehead against yours.

You couldn't help the nervous giggle that bubbled out of you, relief making you giddy. “I thought you were here to break up with me,” you admitted, reaching up to stroke the sharp angle of his jaw, carding your fingers through his wild hair.

“You what?!” Barty cried, rearing back in shock. “I’d sooner cut my cock off. Perish the fucking thought this instant. Baby, I’m yours.” He swung his leg over you, pining you beneath him. “You must never think that again, understand?”

“Bat—”

His fingers slipped under your arms, tickling along your ribs and making you squeal, bucking underneath his hold as you tried to escape. He was grinning like a fool, and only stopped when he managed to catch both your wrists to pin your arms over your head. “I've got you now, babygirl,” he purred, leaning down to whisper against your ear. “And guess what?”

“Hm?” You arched into him, the frantic, ticklish energy quickly morphing into something heady, intoxicating. The cloying heat only Barty could stoke in your belly.

“I love you,” he whispered against your pulse, sealing it with a kiss against the tender skin.

You sucked in a quick breath, heart tripping over itself, and you could tell instantly that he caught it, his lips curling into a smile.

“My darling, I love you so much.” He licked a stripe up your throat, the scalding caress of his tongue coaxing an airy whine from your lungs. “My favorite girl.” Kiss. “My most precious treasure.” Kiss. “I’m so in love with you it’s driving me mad—”

“Do you ever stop talking?” You silenced him with a greedy kiss, all teeth and tongue and desperation, elated that he was still yours, that he wanted you, loved you, so deeply. You wanted to devour him whole, never feel, never taste, never know anything but him.

Barty chuckled when you broke the kiss to breathe, releasing your hands so you could grab at his shirt, desperately trying to undo the buttons. He braced his hands against your headboard, letting you paw and take whatever you wanted from beneath him while he watched through lust-fogged eyes.

“You sure act like you love me,” he teased, and you pinched his hip, shooting him a glare.

“I love your dick,” you bit back, palming him through his pants, and finally, he shut the fuck up.

Barty’s POV

The Slytherin common room was raging, flashing green and cloudy with fog, music thumbing through the floor and up Barty's legs.

He was deep in a game of beer pong, absolutely smoking Regulus while a crowd watched on. But mentally, he was plotting his next escape to your dorm, where he'd been periodically bringing you drinks in exchange for kisses while you read your new romance book.

This next time, he’d probably stay with you instead of returning. You were probably starting to feel the effects of both the raunchy writing and the alcohol right about now, and that was a combo he wouldn't dare miss.

Just when he lined up his shot, determined to finish poor Reg off, he spotted you coming down the stairs. Dressed in tattered jeans and a pair of fishnets, one of his Sex Pistols tee's hanging loose on your frame…

He completely whiffed the shot.

He didn't care.

“Treasure!” He cried when you spotted him across the room, and everyone swiveled in surprise.

You sauntered over, a big, melty smile on your face, and threw your arms around his neck.

“Hiii, handsome,” you cooed, pulling him down for a kiss.

He could taste the booze on your breath, syrupy and disorienting. “Made the drinks a little strong, did I?” He chuckled, steadying you with an arm around your waist.

“Whaaat? No, m’fine—Dora!” You suddenly lurched away from him, throwing yourself at your best friend. “I missed you!”

“Hi, love. I missed you more,” Pandora laughed, hugging you back and casting Barty an accusatory glare, though her eyes glittered with amusement.

Barty shrugged and held up two fingers, answering her silent question of how many you'd had.

Pandora's eyes widened and she pointed at herself, then you, then held up two fingers behind your back.

Barty burst out laughing, then cajooled you out of Pandora's arms and back into his. “Baby, have Panda and I both been bringing you drinks?”

You giggled, hiding your face in his chest. “And Evan brought me a shot,” you said.

“He did?!” Barty pretended to be shocked, glancing over at his best friend, who held up his hands in innocence. “So you're right pissed, then.”

You stared up at the ceiling, like you were deeply contemplating this, then slowly lowered your glassy eyes back to his. “Perhaps,” you said carefully, and he snorted a laugh.

Merlin, you were fucking adorable.

“C’mon, Crouch. Game's not over,” Regulus griped.

Barry glanced down at the cups, finding Regulus had sunk two balls while he was distracted. “Guess it's time I catch up,” he hummed, shifting you to his side and taking the two big gulps of stale beer.

You wrinkled your nose in distaste. “I can go get some fresh ones,” you offered, attempting to take a stumbling half-step away from him.

“Nope.” Barty hauled you back into his side, arm bracketed along your lower back. “You're staying right here with me, little lush.”

With you under his arm, he sank his final shot, officially beating Regulus, then whisked you off to the dancefloor to celebrate his victory.

He was in heaven, booze pumping hot and thick in his blood, your body pressed in against his front, writing with abandon to the rock music blaring from the speakers. You looked supremely fuckable, glossed with sweat and starry-eyed, a wild grin on your pretty lips.

He bent down, nosing into your neck while you rolled your hips against his, too drunk to realize what you were doing to him. Or too drunk to care.

“Babygirl, you're killing me,” he purred against your balmy skin, his grip tightening on your hips to stop your movements. “Better stop unless you want me to bend you over the bar right here, right now.”

“Nuh-uhhh,” you whined, spinning in his arms to face him. “M’just dancin’.”

“Sure, sweet thing. And I'm a monk,” he chuckled, watching you press kisses to the inked valley of his sternum, his shirt most of the way unbuttoned by your tricky fingers. You were such an affectionate drunk, but it wasn't often you indulged enough to get drunk in the first place. He groaned when you glanced up at him, round eyes framed by thick lashes, and his cock gave a merciless kick against his trousers.

You grinned, kissing your way up his neck before pecking his lips. The taste of his own sweat on your lips made his mind go dark, lust shredding through the tenuous leash he had himself on.

“Bat,” you murmured, tugging on his chain to get his attention.

“Baby,” he replied, voice rougher than it was moments before.

You kissed him again, tongue dipping past his lips to brush against his before retreating again, taunting him. “Can I tell you a secret?” you whispered.

He nodded, legs locked to keep himself upright.

You cupped your hand around his ear, leaning in close enough that your breath tickled the hair around his ear. “I love you too.”

It was like a bucket of cold water was doused over his head, his heart seizing. Fuck, how amazing the words sounded on your lips, but you were so drunk. Too drunk to know what you were saying, let alone remember it tomorrow.

He knew you loved him, but he didn't want to hear it like this. Not for the first time. He wanted you to say it and mean it, and not need liquid courage to make you feel safe enough to admit it.

“Honey, fuck, I love you so much, but you don't mean that,” he said, gently folding your hands into his and leading you off the dancefloor.

You resisted, pouting. “I do mean it! I love you!”

“Treasure, please—”

“Don’t ‘treasure’ me. I love you, and I'm sorry I didn't say it sooner,” you argued, lips pulling down into a frustrated frown. Then, softer, just for him—“I love you, Barty.”

He winced, like a lance was shoved through his chest. “Stop it, you're drunk,” he said, fighting to keep his voice gentle while he tugged you somewhere quieter.

People were watching, your friends pushing forward to see what the fuss was about, and panic beat like a drum in his head.

“No! Why won't you let me love you?” You yanked your hands out of his hold. “You love me!”

“I do, but you can't—you don't know what your saying, love—” He couldn't the thought of you saying it now and not being able to tomorrow. That maybe you didn't mean it, that you were just telling him what he wanted to hear. False validation hurt far worse than none at all.

“What's going on?” Pandora interjected, stepping between the two of you.

Anger flared hot under Barty's skin. “Fuck off, Pan,” he bit.

“Hey—” Xeno barked.

“Don't fucking start with me, Xe.” Barty stepped up to his friend, ringed fingers curling into a fist. Fucking Xeno, putting doubts in his head…

Evan jumped between them before it escalated further. “Alright, that's enough. This is between Barty and y/n—”

“He upset her!” Pandora argued, her arms wrapped around your shoulders.

“M’fine!” You shot back, jerking out of her arms and nearly sending yourself to the ground.

“You aren't fine,” Barty growled, shoving Evan and Xeno out of the way and catching you before you toppled completely. “You need to go to bed.”

You deflated at his tone, moisture pooling along your lower lashes, and he felt like that biggest ass on the planet. “Why are you so angry with me?” You whispered, and his heart cracked.

“I'm not—fuck, baby. I could never be angry with you.” He pulled you into his chest, wrestling down the hurt churning in his gut. “Let's just get you to bed, yeah? Together?”

You hesitated, contemplating resisting further, but then you nodded, the last of your restraint dissolving from your muscles.

“Barty—” Pandora warned.

“I've got her,” Barty snapped, tightening a possessive arm around your shoulders. “Can you all just fucking trust me for once?”

They all fell quiet, looking back and forth from him to one another. He didn't give them a chance to respond, pushing through the semicircle they made around you and leading you up the stairs.

Neither of you spoke, the silence of your dorm only broken by his shuffling around and your sniffles. He hated himself for making you cry, wanted to tear his hair out and claw off his skin in repentance, but he just couldn't stand hearing you say that and not knowing if you meant it. It was the worst kind of torture.

He helped you into your pajamas and removed your makeup, then tucked you into bed with some water and a hangover cure ready to go on your nightstand.

You snuggled into your pillows, stuffed kitty folded into your chest, and blinked up him with sorrowful eyes. “Will you stay?” You asked, and his heart tried to punch through the wall of his chest.

He sighed. “’Course, love,” he said, pressing a kiss to your temple. He rummaged through your things, finding a pair of his sweatpants, and changed into them before crawling into bed beside you and shutting the curtain.

You nosed into his neck, arms bundled against his chest, and he cushioned your head with his bicep, the other draped over your waist.

“Don't let me ruin this,” you mumbled, voice sleep-addled and sad.

He kissed your forehead, guilt ringing hollow against his ribs. “You couldn't, treasure. You're stuck with me,” he tried to joke, but it was mirthless.

You shook your head, lips brushing along his clavicle, then your breathing deepened, muscles going lax, and you passed out in his arms.

He kissed your head again, nuzzling into your hair, and let his eyes wander to the crack in the curtain, where he knew he'd watch the sunrise in a few hours. Usually, he was able to sleep with you, the warmth and weight of your body soothing his mind enough to let him rest. But he knew there were no dreams waiting for him tonight.

So he'd hold you, and try not to think too hard, and watch the room inevitably fill with light.

Reader's POV

You woke up to an empty bed and a pounding headache, morning sunlight blazing through the gap in your curtain.

“Fuck me,” you groaned, sitting up and grabbing the potion from your bedside table, popping the cork and slamming it back. Immediately, the potion began to work, the sharpness behind your eyes dulling and your stomach settling.

Merlin, how much did you drink last night? You barely remembered anything after dancing with Barty—wait, where was Barty?

You were fairly certain he'd come to bed with you, and found evidence of that in the dented pillow on your left, the smell of his cologne lingering on the fabric.

You remembered him being angry about something, angry with you, but you couldn't remember why, the specific moments slithering through your fingers like silverfish.

You pulled aside your curtain, finding Pandora and Xeno tangled in her bed, Pandora braiding ribbons in her boyfriends platinum waves while he slept.

“Hey,” you croaked.

“Morning, sunshine. You fucked up,” Pandora said, waggling a finger at you.

You groaned, slumping back onto your pillows. “What did I do?”

“Told Barty you loved him. Loudly and in front of everyone.”

Your jaw fell open. No, no, surely you didn't do something so careless? “I couldn't have—”

“You did, and he's losing his mind over it. Been “showering” for about two hours,” Xeno grumbled, shifting a bit on Pandora's chest.

You couldn't believe yourself. That wasn't how Barty deserved to hear that, not after days of patiently waiting for you to pluck up the courage. You had to fix this. Had to make sure he knew the truth, and that it wasn't a drunken mishap, but the truth in your heart.

Throwing your covers off, you slipped out of bed, padding out of the room and sneaking over to the boys dorm.

You bumped into a freshly-showered Evan halfway to the boys bathroom.

“Hey, wait.” He caught you by the wrist. “If you're going in there to hurt him, don't,” he warned, glacial eyes narrowing.

“I'm not, Ev,” you promised.

“Because I like you, y/n. You're the same kind of bitch as me. But if you're fucking with my best mates heart, I'd hate to have to hate you.” He brushed past you, his words hanging heavy in the air.

You tried not to take it personally, Evan and Barty were fiercely protective of each other, but it still stung that he thought you'd intentionally hurt Barty.

Of course you wouldn't, you loved him.

You loved him.

Fuck, you were so stupid.

You pushed into the bathroom, steam thick and tepid. Only one shower was running, gray smoke curling around the gossamer plumes of steam, and the bathroom seemed otherwise deserted.

“Colloportus,” you cast, locking the door behind you. You approached the shower, knocking lightly on the wall. “Bat, you in there?”

An arm shot out from the curtain and yanked you in, pj’s and all.

“Barty!” You crashed into his wet, naked chest, the blast of hot water soaking you.

“Didn't expect you up for hours, drunkard,” he teased, petting the wet hair from your face, but his smile faltered when he noted the absence of yours.

You sputtered a little, trying to regain your resolve despite the shock. “I-I’m really sorry, Barty,” you said, reaching up to cup his face, stroking away the beads of water running down with your thumb. From the red around his eyes, deep purple stains underneath them, it was clear he hadn't slept at all.

“Sorry for what?” He asked, brows drawing together. He was putting on a brave face, but you could tell that you'd hurt him, and it made your heart splinter.

“For telling you the way I did instead of the way I should have.” You brought his hands to the hem of you soaked-through shirt, guiding them to lift it up and over you head, wanting to be as close to him as you could in this moment—no barriers.

“Baby, you don't have to—”

You shimmied your shorts down, the fabric landing with a wet plop on the tile floor. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing your body against his, searing heat blooming everywhere your skin touched. “I want to,” you murmured, drawing him down for a feather-light kiss. “I need to.”

He loosed a shaky exhale, eyes flitting nervously over your face while his hands came to a tentative rest on your hips.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. “Bartemius Crouch Jr., I love you. I love you more than anything. And I’m sorry—”

Barty turned, crushing you against the wall and stealing the last of your apology with a fervid kiss. “I love you more,” he growled, a visceral purr of approval against your ear. “Not so hard, hm?”

You nodded, a pitiful whine plucked from your throat when his fingers prodded between your legs, wasting no time spreading you open and smearing your slick over his palm.

“My brave girl, I'm so proud of you,” he cooed, sinking knuckle deep into your clenching heat, making you keen. “So good f’me, aren't you?”

“I was just so scared,” you whimpered, hips rocking into his hand as he parted your gummy walls, scissoring you open with a second finger.

“I know, honey. I know you better than anyone,” he murmured, a possessive edge sharpening his voice. “I knew you loved me, just like I knew you wanted me months ago. Before even you did, silly little thing.”

“Yes, Barty—fuck,” you moaned.

He curled his fingers, pressing against the spot that made your knees give out, white blooming behind your eyes. He silenced your cries with his mouth, smothering you while he fucked you with his fingers, the lewd squelch of your pussy barely muffled by the thundering water.

“Say it again,” he gruffed, his free hand coming up to wrap around your throat, holding you up by the febrile column.

“I love you,” you gasped, loosing air as his hand tightened, the heat in your belly building higher and higher, near to combusting.

“Again.”

“I luh—” you wheezed, unable to draw enough air to finish the phrase.

“Heart’s beating so hard, treasure. All for me?”

You nodded, head going fuzzy from lack of oxygen and the looming orgasm, putty in his merciless hands.

His eyes were black, obfuscated with lust and providence, a ferality barely tethered.

You were about to break, dragged roughshod to release, when suddenly his hand retreated, leaving you empty. Gutted.

But then he was pushing inside you, splitting you down the center with his thickness, so full you swore you could taste him in your throat. His grip loosened on your neck, allowing you a swig of air as he groaned, rutting savagely into your softness.

“So fucking tight, little cunt’s like a vice,” he grated, lifting your legs for a deeper angle, leaving you suspended and helpless to receive whatever he gave you. “Gonna come for me, baby? Let me fill you to the fucking brim with my love?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you babbled, nails dragging down his shoulders as you desperately tried to hold on while the world fell away.

“Go on, tres. Give it to me. Don't hold back.” He huffed into your neck, his thrusts getting rougher, sloppier as he swelled inside of you.

Your orgasm blasted through you, ripping you apart at the seams, and you sank your teeth into his shoulder, muffling yourself as he fucked you through it.

“Fuck, that's it—fucking take it—” his own release slammed into him, and he bottomed out with a punishing snap. You could feel his cock surging against your ruined pussy, filling you completely, body and soul.

His grip on your relaxed as the strength bled out of him, his lips tracing a path up your throat, finding your lips in a lissome, sodden kiss.

“I love you,” you whispered, tears pooling behind your eyes as the onslaught of feeling dissipated.

“I love you,” he replied, peppering kisses all over your face in the way that never failed to make you smile. He set you gently on your feet, an arm around your waist in case you stumbled. “Are you okay, though? Really?”

You nodded, pecking his cheek as you stepped back under the deliciously warm stream of water. “I'm in love, what could be wrong?”

He grinned, blinding as the sun, and scooped you back up in a toothy, buoyant kiss. “Absolutely nothing, my love. Absolutely nothing at all.”

© agreeewrites 2025. do not copy, translate or claim my writing as your own.

[ghostedgwen]

don't blame me | j.potter [part three]

note : having the worst week of my life but at least I can write ficitonal scenarios about dead gay wizards from the 70s, sigh

warnings :more james potter annoying you, like the usual , holidays with the Potters - yay? , a short moment of angst, jealousy jealousy

����𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝖺 𝖻𝗂𝗀 𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗏𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝖾𝗇𝗀𝖺𝗀𝖾𝖽 𝗆𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖩𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗌 𝖯𝗈𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋 - 𝗁𝖾'𝗌 𝖺𝗌 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗈𝗅𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌𝗇'𝗍 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝗁𝗒 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆 𝗍𝗈 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖻𝗂𝗍. 𝖲𝗈 𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗌 𝗂𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝗒. 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 : 3.6k

Patrols with James Potter had been . . . exhausting.

Weeks of late-night rounds patrolling empty corridors, always with him trailing two steps behind or two inches too close. Always with his voice slinking into the silence like it belonged there, like you were supposed to be comfortable with him. And somehow, he made it his mission to use every moment to chip away at your patience with all the grace of a blunt axe.

Lovely.

He was determined, though. You had to give him that. Determined to get under your skin, to make you smile, to tease you until your eye twitched. His favourite hobby lately was whispering “Wife” every time you reached for your wand. You hadn’t hexed him yet - but not for lack of desire.

Still, despite his relentless antics, there had been moments - rare, fleeting ones - where you forgot to hate him. Where he’d say something unexpectedly kind, or remember something about you he had no business remembering, and it felt like you might be on the edge of. . . something.

You always walked away before you could fall.

And then, mercifully, the holidays arrived. Which meant no more late-night patrols, no more being cornered by James Potter in dimly-lit corridors, and no more having to pretend you weren’t flustered when he said something that made your chest ache.

You’d barely shared any classes with the Gryffindors this term anyway, and now, with the castle slowly emptying for the break, it was easier than ever to avoid him. You packed with care, meticulously folding your robes, grateful for the distance the train ride would provide.

Until, of course, it didn’t.

You’d just spotted your roommates and were about to slip into their compartment when a hand grabbed your wrist.

You barely had time to yelp before James bloody Potter was dragging you away, all boyish charm and zero respect for personal space. Right through the train halls.

“Come along, darling,” he said with a smirk, ignoring how you perked at the designated nickname. “Reserved you a seat in the madhouse.”

“I’m reporting you to the authorities,” you hissed, wriggling uselessly as he tugged you toward the Marauders’ carriage. “Kidnapping is a crime.”

“Betrothed privilege,” he said smugly, as if that were an actual law.

The carriage door slid open, and Sirius Black greeted you with a roguish grin and a dramatic flourish of his hand. “Our lady of misfortune has arrived.”

You gave him a look which he was unfazed by, charming as always. “Get a haircut, Black.”

Remus smiled warmly and offered a casual nod. “Good to see you, ____.”

“Hi, Remus,” you said, already angling toward the empty seat beside him. Safe. Calm. Not James Potter.

If the boys noticed how you called him by first name, they failed to comment.

Peter gave a little wave. “Hey.”

You slid in next to Remus with a grateful sigh, already launching into a discussion about Ancient Runes - anything to keep your thoughts occupied, anything to avoid looking across at James.

Remus was, as ever, a good conversationalist - sharp, observant, gentle. He asked questions about your last essay and even jotted down a mental note when you mentioned a reference book he hadn’t read yet.

And James . . . frowned.

Sirius leaned in close to him, voice low. “You’re glaring, mate.”

“I am not.”

“You are. That’s the face you made when Evans talked to that Ravenclaw bloke - Klove, was it?”

James swatted him. “I’m not jealous.”

“You’re so jealous it’s making me jealous,” Sirius muttered, biting back a laugh as to not let you in on their whispered exchange.

James only responded when you glanced up, mid-sentence with Remus, and he spoke over you without remorse. “So. About the engagement dinner.”

You stiffened at the sudden mention, all words about Ancient Runes falling off your tongue. “What about it?”

“The others’ll be there,” he said casually, gesturing at the boys, Sirius nodding at you. “Whole family’s been invited.”

You groaned, already picturing the social chaos that would ensue and just how you'd be front page on the Daily Prophet.

“My mum doesn’t want to go,” Sirius said cheerfully. “She hates the Potters, obviously. Calls them blood-traitor filth. But it’s two pureblood houses uniting, so she’ll show up to save face. Probably poison the wine, but she’ll be there - the rest of the noble house of Black too.”

You groaned louder, face in your hands. “There really isn’t a way to get out of this?”

Sirius tapped his chin thoughtfully. “You could marry me instead.”

You snorted at his suggestion, like hell you'd marry into his crazy purist family. “If I had to choose between the four of you, I’d pick Remus.”

That earned a low whistle from Sirius and a quiet, pleased hum from Remus. He knew your words held no ground, so he neglected reacting much.

James didn’t say anything. But his jaw clenched, and he looked out the window like it had personally offended him.

The silence lingered until a loud bang shook the carriage.

“Was that . . .?” you asked.

“Dung bombs,” Peter said, grinning - you drank in the boy's mischievous glint that the four of them seemed to have. “Slytherin carriage.”

You stared. “Seriously? You couldn't have let it rest, spirit of Christmas and all that?”

“I told him to set a delay timer,” Remus said with a sigh, there it is. He really isn't the squeaky clean Gryffindor Prefect everyone thought he was, questioning his validity as a Marauder. “Did you?”

“Ten minutes,” Sirius said proudly. “Perfect.”

The door burst open with an angry thunk. Evans.

Her angry green eyes swept the room, nostrils flaring. “Who’s responsible?”

No one spoke. It was a beautifully choreographed silence.

Then her eyes locked on you. He had expected the boys, the moment she caught sight of James through the compartment door - but you were an odd addition.

She briefly remembered the offer James made her over the summer, which she agreed to.

“What’re you doing here?”

You blinked, deciding not to answer that. “We’ve been mostly well-behaved. While I’ve been here.”

You left out the bit where you hadn’t been in the carriage for the first few minutes of the journey, giving them enough window to set up their prank.

Evans narrowed her eyes, but sighed. “I’ll let it slide. Because it’s you. And I don’t think you’d lie to me, ____.”

She turned on her heel and left, hair swinging like a blade behind her. Those gorgeous red locks that one would recognize from a mile away.

Peter leaned in, eyebrows raised. “Think she’s jealous?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Not of me.”

James didn’t laugh. He was staring out the window again, entirely unreadable.

At the station, the boys peeled off one by one.

Sirius gave you a wink and a mock bow before strolling toward his reluctant mother.

Peter mumbled something about his mum hating delays and hurried off. Remus gave you a small, reassuring smile, bidding you a polite goodbye before walking off.

James stayed.

You spotted your parents before they saw you - dressed in their best travel robes, standing beside the Potters as if this were already a done deal. Mrs. Potter was beaming, saying something animated to your mother, who looked politely engaged.

Your father was shaking hands with Mr. Potter like they were discussing ministry business instead of their children’s future.

You gulped.

James came to stand beside you. “Ready?”

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready for this.”

“Too bad. Train’s already stopped,” he said with a grin.

Then, just loud enough to reach only your ears: “Did I mention we’re staying at my place for the whole break?”

You whipped your head around. “What?”

He beamed. “Didn’t you hear? My mum’s idea. Think she wants us to bond.”

Your expression must have betrayed every drop of horror in your soul, because James just kept smiling. You couldn't muster a reply, not even to retort at the shock.

“I’ll save you the room next to mine.”

You groaned.

He offered his arm with mock chivalry, you knew your parents were watching but decided against playing along. “Shall we?”

You didn’t take it, but you didn’t run either. You were already walking toward the wolves. What was one more step?

Next up: The Potters’ home. Preparations. Chaos. And an engagement party you weren’t sure you’d survive without throttling your fiancé.

But for now, you squared your shoulders and forced a smile.

Let the holiday nightmare begin.

Potter Manor was exactly as you remembered it, nevermind it hasn't been long since your last visit. That was the worst part.

The same winding staircase you used to race James up two steps at a time. The same enchanted portraits that used to cheer you on. The oak banister still bore the scratch marks from when you and James attempted to slide down it on a tea tray - and spectacularly failed. And the smell - cinnamon, broom polish, and whatever potion Euphemia Potter always had brewing - hit you like a ghost to the ribs.

It wasn’t unfamiliar. It was haunting.

Because you used to belong here. Before Hogwarts, before the forgetting, before everything fell apart. You used to run barefoot through these halls, laughing with the boy who now called you wife just to see you flinch.

And now you were back.

Not as a friend. Not even as a guest. But as the future daughter-in-law.

Euphemia Potter regarded you with a warm smile the moment you step through the threshold of Potter Manor, as though it’s been years instead of just four months since the last time you were here.

Her arms wrap around you in a motherly hug, and she smells of ginger tea and old parchment, just like always. She beams at you like nothing has changed, like you’re still ten and sleeping over in James Potter’s room with a blanket fort between the beds so you wouldn’t accidentally kick each other in the night.

But everything has changed. More like, nothing has remained the same - not even you did, you grew out of your dirty robes thanks to playing in the mud with James and he's outgrown the little boy that clung to you.

Because now you’re here not as James’s childhood friend, but as his betrothed, and every memory you once thought was yours alone is being dragged out into the light and repackaged for an entirely different future.

The Manor hasn’t changed much - same grand portraits, same ticking grandfather clock in the hall, same scent of cedar and magic in the air. But it feels like something inside you curdled on the walk up the gravel path. Maybe it’s because only you, and your parents, and the Potters remember what this place meant to you once.

James certainly doesn’t. Not in the way you do. Not in the way that matters.

“James, sweetheart, would you be a dear and show her to her room? It’s the same one from the summer,” Euphemia says with an airy smile as she leads your parents and her husband into the drawing room, already slipping into talk of tea and travel and wedding colors.

“Gladly,” James says, far too quickly, turning toward you with that irritating sparkle in his eye. You curse your rotten luck.

You groan under your breath as he falls into step beside you. “Don’t start.”

“What? I haven’t said anything yet,” he replies innocently. “But since you’re clearly in such a cheery mood, I’ll just skip straight to the part where I invite you to sneak into my room later if you get too lonely.”

You don’t even flinch as you mutter, “Try it and I’ll kick you so hard your grandkids will feel it.”

James clutches his heart in mock pain. “Merlin, and here I thought you would be caring to our grandkids!”

You roll your eyes as he pushes open the door to your room - same as last time, same rich emerald curtains and vintage vanity, same bed that used to feel like a dream when you were younger, when this place was magic instead of a distant memory.

“Feel at home, darling,” James sing-songs as he retreats, and you don’t bother with a retort. You’re already shutting the door on him, not minding if it slammed right on his face.

Dinner is practically déjà vu.

The Potters and your family sit at the long mahogany table, wine glasses glinting in the candlelight, laughter echoing too easily around you. Euphemia compliments your dress. Your mother beams with pride every time James says something even mildly charming.

Fleamont asks your father about business, and all of it feels like a play you’re being forced to star in, only you didn't rehearse your lines just yet.

What makes it worse is James, who can’t seem to sit still. Halfway through dinner, you feel it - the subtle nudge of his foot under the table. You glare at him. He grins and taps your ankle again, continuing to dine like he wasn't bothering you through mouthfuls of steak.

You dig your heel into the top of his shoe, he stiffled the groan that threatened to escape him.

“Darling,” your mother says suddenly, drawing your attention -Merlin, that nickname is ruined for you thanks to James. “We were thinking, maybe as part of the engagement party, the two of you could do a little performance. A dance!”

You nearly choke on your pumpkin soup, a fucking dance with James Potter? you'd rather not, he'll surely pull some shit to make you trip.

“It’s not a coming-of-age ceremony,” you blurt, denying the suggestion before it could blossom.

They laugh it off, but James’s brow furrows. “Wait a second - when is your birthday?”

“In two weeks,” you mutter pretending how it didn't sting that he doesn't remember.

Back when you were kids, he'd owl you non-stop the full week leading up to it as he also begged your parents to let you celebrate at the manor.

Euphemia claps her hands, your Mother already caught the idea and was nodding enthusiastically. “Perfect timing, then! The engagement party will be both a celebration of your union and your birthday.”

You smile tightly, your thoughts bitter. Great. Now no one will actually celebrate your birthday. They’ll be too busy celebrating the inevitable.

James goes oddly quiet after that. Which should have been a relief. But instead, it unsettles you. Because if James Potter wasn’t talking, then he was definitely thinking.

And James Potter thinking is a very dangerous thing.

Sleep is an elusive thing that night. You toss and turn, too warm under the thick blankets, your mind racing with everything unsaid. You finally shove off the covers and open your door, planning to sneak into the library or just pace the halls until your thoughts tire out.

Except as soon as you step out, you nearly crash into someone in the dark halls of the Potter Manor.

James.

He blinks at you, hair even messier than usual, shirt wrinkled and collar loose. “You too?”

You consider turning around and shutting yourself back in your room, as if seeing the gears turn in your head - he grabbed your arm.

“Nope. You’re coming with me,” he says before you can escape, already tugging your arm with a firm, familiar grip - man, those Quidditch practices really sculpted him well.

“I was planning to walk alone, thanks,” you say dryly, pulling your arm from him but to no avail as he wouldn't budge.

“Too bad. I’m feeling generous.”

He drags you down the hall, past darkened paintings and sleeping portraits, all the way to the kitchens, where a single house elf pops in to greet him.

“Young master, James - sir - may I - ”

“It’s alright, Winky, I’ve got this one,” James says, waving her off. “Go on, enjoy your break, it's late.”

The elf vanishes with a pop. You bid the familiar elf goodbye which she smiled at.

“Please tell me you’re not about to burn the Manor down trying to make toast,” you mutter, remembering how he'd almost done just that.

“Have a little faith,” he says, already pulling out ingredients and fiddling with the stove. To your surprise, he’s. . . not terrible. He makes sandwiches. Cuts up fruit. Even remembers you like your tea a little sweet - though you doubt he'd actually remembered, it was probably just muscle memory.

You lean against the counter, arms crossed, watching him work.

“We used to do this,” you say quietly, breaking the silence.

He glances at you. “What?”

“Sneak around. Late nights. Kitchens. You always got crumbs in your hair.”

James chuckles, then falters. “Yeah. . . I think I remember that. Vaguely.”

You look away, heart twisting. “Doesn’t matter, it's been years.”

“Hey.”

You don’t answer.

“Hey,” he says again, softer now. “I’m sorry.”

You swallow thickly, still turned toward the wall - scared to show him the expression on your face. You could only guess you looked pathetic.

“It’s not your fault,” you say, despite yourself. You hoped the shake in your resolve did now show in your voice. “We were kids. I guess it just mattered more to me.”

There’s a pause. Then he says, “If we do end up shackled to each other - ”

“Romantic,” you deadpan and he pointedly ignored that.

“ - I’d treat you well,” he finishes. “You’d be the happiest wife in all of Britain. Or at least the most well-fed, I am very rich, you see.”

You turn just in time to see his stupid wink, your tears blinked away and they failed to cascade down much to your delight.

“You’re such an arse.” you tell him but this time, there was no bite to it, a smile even tugging at your lips.

“And yet, here you are, sharing a midnight snack with me. So what does that say about you?”

You snatch a slice of apple from his plate and lob it at his head. He catches it in his mouth with infuriating ease, bloody Quidditch.

You don’t even give him the satisfaction of a goodbye. You slip away before he can see the flush rising up your neck, before he can notice how your heart is pounding in a way it hasn’t since you were ten years old and thought that maybe - just maybe - he’d always remember you.

Maybe not in his head, but his heart.

You were somehow comforted by the talk tonight, he’s starting to try.

Preparations for the engagement party take over the manor in the days that follow. The adults are swept up in an endless flurry of guest lists and menus and floral arrangements, and you and James are pulled apart before you can even properly register it.

You're ushered off to endless dress fittings and hair trials while James is fitted for his formal robes in another wing of the house. It’s necessary, of course. With the wedding scheduled shortly after graduation, this is the only time left to get things sorted.

They were making the best out of your holiday break.

You’re glad for the space. The distance gives your heart time to settle, to remember that this engagement isn’t real - not in the way you once hoped. Meanwhile, James seems disappointed by the lack of time together. He even pouts when he thinks you’re not looking.

You ignore it.

On the day before the engagement party, you spend most of it in rehearsals. A stern but kind dance instructor leads you through the steps again and again, correcting posture, instructing turns.

Your mother watches proudly from the corner, beaming at how lovely you’ll look twirling across the reception floor.

Except you’re not dancing with James. The parents insisted it would be more romantic if you waited until the wedding day to share your first proper dance together.

So instead, you dance with the instructor while your mind drifts to the boy you’ll be expected to smile at all night. The boy whose name you'll take.

Midnight is close by the time you finally collapse into bed, limbs sore and eyelids heavy. You drift off after practise, only to be jolted awake by an abrupt knock on the door.

You stumble up and open it - and there he is.

James stands in the hallway, grinning like a child with a secret. He’s holding a small cake, clumsily decorated but clearly well-meant. The icing is in your favorite colors - ____, and your heart trips at the sloppily-written greeting.

“What - ?”

“I baked it with the elves,” James says proudly. “They were very excited to help, they like you a lot.”

He steps inside without waiting for permission and places the cake on your desk. Then he lights a single candle in the center, making your heart do cartwheels.

Before you can say anything, he begins to sing.

His version of happy birthday is terrible - off-key, full of dramatic vibrato, and entirely too cheeky - but you laugh anyway, despite yourself.

“Happy birthday, ____,” he says softly when he finishes, voice warm and real in a way that makes your chest ache.

You stare at the candle for a moment, you're now of-age. An adult in the eyes of the law.

“Well?” James nudges you. “Make a wish.”

You shake your head but close your eyes anyway, blowing out the flame. When you open them, he’s looking at you in that way again - quiet, unguarded.

“What’d you wish for?” he asks.

“If I tell you, it won’t come true.”

He grins. “It better be something dramatic. Like me getting hexed in the Great Hall.”

You smile, soft and fleeting. For a moment, it feels like you’ve got him back. The boy who used to race you down the hallways of this manor. The one who knew every secret passageway. The one who always remembered your birthday.

And then he leans in.

He’s so close you can see the gold flecks in his eyes. His breath ghosts across your cheek. You almost lean forward -

Almost.

But then you remember. Lily.

You pull away sharply, eyes fixed on the cake.

James blinks, hurt flashing briefly across his face before he masks it with a lopsided grin. “Well. Better try this or the elves might get offended.”

You force a laugh. “The cake better be edible. I’m only trying it because I’m starving.”

“Please. It’s only edible because the elves did ninety percent of the work,” he admits.

You chuckle at that and take a bite. “Sixty percent.”

“Forty,” he argues, taking a bite himself

“Ten.”

You both laugh.

But your heart still aches.

to be continued. . .

part four | masterlist

[arting-block]

𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 | vi x f!reader

❝maybe it was a good thing that she was angry at caitlyn. then she wouldn’t feel so bad, thinking about fucking you.❞

summary: you've seen vi around as a kid. always at arms length, observing from afar. now she's back, angry and bitter after her stunt with the kiramman heir. you see each other once more. this time as an opponent in the pit. or rather vi and reader fuck each other's lights out.

pairing: pitfighter!vi x pitfighter!reader

warnings: ARCANE S2 ACT 2 SPOILERS, SMUT, angst (unhappy ending whoops), porn with too much plot, depictions of violence, reader has tattoos and scars, afab!reader, mentions of alcohol consumption, unhealthy coping mechanisms, boxing being used as foreplay, switch!vi, switch!reader, slight brat taming, oral (vi receiving), biting kink, spit kink, knife kink (if you squint), light bondage, finger fucking, vi is obsessed with your tongue, you're obsessed with her fingers

words: 10.2K

a/n: i've crawled out of the trenches and spat out a smutty fic for my glorious muscle queen. there's some plot in there, but it's mostly just filler to bring out the tension teehee. if there's demand, i'll make a part two, maybe more ;). post divider credit: @cafekitsune

Your body felt cold as the nerves settled in. 

The crowd’s uproar can be heard above you, wild cheers and screaming that blends into nonsense. The thumping of shoes on the ceiling above you syncs with your wild heart. The announcer is amplifying their excitement, spewing out the bets in place. Two thousand golden hexes and five hundred silver cogs for you—Arachnid. You instinctively reached for your shoulder, where the design of your tattoo was exposed. The skin along your back rises as the cheers for you overwhelm the arena. Investors from Zaun come together for their favorite fighter. Yours keeps you on a tight leash, pushing you into each fight to get more, more, more.  

You adjust the bandages around your knuckles. You twist your body, stretching the aching muscles until you’re loosened up. Occupying your time before the gates to the tunnels lift. Your heart races, pounding against your ribs. You’ve been a pit fighter for a little over two years. Before that you were tumbling through the undercity engaging in street brawls for food. Fighting wasn’t new to you, yet you were bouncing off the walls with anxiety. 

You were in relatively good shape to fight. A few days of rest and some shimmer got you back on your feet from your last fight. Black Hog was a beast up close but you managed to put up a good show. Normally you wouldn’t be put up against someone of a different weight class, but you were desperate for money. You won the fight with a broken rib and bruised face. Your investor, Parvata, had a gleam in her eyes that soured your victory. 

“Seems as though the spider likes big game,” she drawled, taking a long drag of her cigar. “We’ll see how well you fare against Gord’s fighters. I hear he’s got a prodigy in his ranks. A girl, ex-enforcer, I hear.”

Gord was talking up a storm about his fighters, but you had a feeling the feud between Parvata and him went deeper. Your stunt with Black Hog proved to her that you had skill. A chance for her to settle the score. 

Parvata didn’t know much about Gord’s prodigy. You, on the other hand, had an inkling of who she was. 

You can’t exactly say you were friends with Vi growing up. Your parents knew Benzo and in turn knew Vander as well. Vi and her friends were often away, either in Piltover or across Zaun to gods know where. Interactions with her were rare and short-lived; cordial and surface-level. You exchanged names, glances, laughs, but you weren’t friends. You’ve heard whispers over the years. Vi getting arrested and going to Stillwater. A few years later she is barreling down Zaun with the Kiramman heir. Now the whispers are saying she’s back in Zaun permanently. Fighting in pits for low wages and shit beer. 

You crack your neck, feeling the bones pop and shift. Was she still the spitfire kid you’d see running through the slums? Does she still have her choppy hair brushed to one side? You roll your shoulders back, flexing the muscles, feeling them tighten under your damp skin. 

Will she even remember you?

More cheers erupt as the announcer lists off your opponent’s bets. One thousand golden hexes and eight hundred silver cogs. You have a feeling that more money would be added at the split second before the fight begins. You force yourself to take a few breaths. Focus. Focus. 

You hear the familiar blare of an alarm. A sharp, loud sound that cuts all noise. Your heart spikes—the start of the show. The walls start to vibrate with the noise of the crowd. 

The announcer taps his mic, bringing the attention of the people eagerly awaiting 

Metal gears whirr and the bright lights of the area spill into the tunnel. 

“Spinning webs of tangled limbs is her name!” the announcer says. “Speed and lethality is her game! Give it up for Piltover’s all-around champion—Arachnid!”

You step into the area with all the masked confidence you can muster. The sounds of the crowd are deafening. Hundreds of people crammed into their seats, pushing against one another to get a clear view of you. In their hands they wave black tickets with a red spider in the middle. The air is thick with sweat and alcohol. You pull on your bandage again, tightening the wrappings around your hand. Light patches of blood are dotted along your knuckles. 

“And now for the whirlwind that took this pit by surprise…” The crowd is at the edge of their seats, the noise is bordering on ear-splitting. “The Iron Fist of Zaun!” the announcer yells. 

The gates across from you start to lift and you see a shadow approaching the pit. Your breath catches in your throat. 

Haunting. Everything about Vi is so unlike what you imagined that your brows rise. Dark hair dye is messily applied to her usually vibrant pink hair. Smudges of black were smeared across her face like she applied it with her eyes closed. Your eyes can’t help but drift along her exposed neck, collarbone, and arms. Tattoos and bandages scattered across her skin. 

Vi’s step falters. A wave of shock passes her face before a narrow look settles into her features. 

The wide-eyed, toothy grinned girl was gone. Her dark lips curled down, her nose scrunches slightly as she takes apart the view of you. Wherever bandages don’t cover, you see an array of purple bruises and silvery scars along the canvas of her skin. The harsh lighting of the pit cuts her muscles in such a way that makes her look carved from marble. 

Your breath catches in your throat at her heavy, predatory gaze. Bright blue eyes never leave your face. 

DING!

The starting bell shocks you out of your nerves. In an instant your anxiety evaporates and an odd thrill overtakes you. Instinctively you raise your hands near your face, letting your arms and legs feel loose as you get into a fighting stance. Vi’s expression is unreadable as she leisurely walks the perimeter of the arena. Her eyes dip towards your body. She lingers on the spot near your exposed stomach, a jagged scar that disappears under your pants. 

You take the opportunity to attack. Vi mirrors your raised hands, expecting you to hit her head on. Instead, you duck at the last minute, colliding your shin to her knee. 

— — —

The bag of coins is hefty, more so than you’re used to. 

Your finger digs through the gold and silver; one thousand and fifty golden hexes; four hundred and fifty-five silver cogs. More than enough to cover rent and food for the next three months. 

You don’t bother with a jacket to shield yourself from the heavy downpour, opting to skip the festivities and head straight back home. Your usual thirty minute commute is delayed by the aches in your hip and abdomen. If you weren’t so well versed in getting hit, Vi’s punches would’ve been lethal. 

Gord had every right to brag about his fighter's prowess. Vi was by far the deadliest opponent you’d ever faced. The aim of the game is the knockout, not to kill, but you know the refs aren’t going to get between two skilled fighters with a lust for blood in their eyes. You were all teeth and nails, more animal than human in that pit. It was hard to get into Vi’s blind spots and even harder to accurately land any good punches. You were backed into defense for most of the fight. Vi probably hoped to tire you out before delivering the finishing blow. 

You can tell if someone fights because they enjoy it. There’s a crazed look in their eyes as they try to trap you into continually dodging or blocking their assault. You fight for survival, even if you have some love for the game. Fighting is what kept you alive all these years. It pays the bills, keeps a roof over your head, clothes on your back, food on the table... 

Vi is clearly using fighting as an outlet. You were just unfortunate enough to be her punching bag. 

In a maneuver that damn near pulled a muscle in your back, you used the wall for momentum to jump on top of Vi. Your legs wrapped securely over her hardened biceps and your arms locked her head. Your chest pressed against the hard planes of her traps.  You could feel the heavy thud of Vi’s heart. Choking someone out wasn’t as near of a spectacle as Parvata would’ve liked, but you won the fight without a concussion. 

The rain poured harder as your shaky hands fumble for your keys. The fight ended an hour ago. You let out a string of curses as you try to find the correct key you needed. Cold air stiffens your fingers and your exhaustion is starting to take over. Or so you tell yourself. 

Sweat, blood, and alcohol. That was what the pit smelled like. Thick and hanging on your tongue like smog. 

Your fingers finally latched onto the right key, jamming it into the lock and forcing your way inside. 

Vi was a furnace. Her back radiates warmth as if to scorch you alive. The imprint of her arms still aches between your thighs. Like the pit, she too smelled of sweat, blood, and alcohol. Bernie’s Brew, the cheap shit from the bar above the arena. But there was a sweet musk to her skin. More intoxicating than any liquor. 

The speed at which you rip your clothes off makes your already overused muscles burn more. There’s an inexplicable urge to scrub your skin raw, erasing the phantom smells of Vi off of your skin. You let the cold water fall onto your heated skin. 

You wondered if Vi could feel the burn of your core on her lower back. 

— — —

It takes one week for Parvata to start hounding your ass about returning to work. 

Pit fighting wasn’t all that you did, though it made you the most money. In between brutal takedowns you would run errands around Zaun for her. Debt collecting. In the sweaty arena, at least there was glory to be had when fighting. In the damp houses of the undercity where everyone is barely scraping enough money to even live, it sours your mood for the entire day. There’s no glory to forcing a single father to cough up his last few golden hexes. Which wouldn’t even make a dent in his debt to Parvata. The sight used to make you feel guilty. After a few years of it though, you’ve gotten used to the angry yelling, the sob stories, the begging for one more week to get more money. 

When you find yourself back into the pit, it wasn’t Vi you were up against. 

You ignore the pang of disappointment and let yourself run loose. All the tension and frustration from your day was unleashed. One of your better performances. A right hook slammed into your jaw and a knee found its way into your ribs. But you delivered a well-placed kick to the side of their neck. The lanky man with snake tattoos fell to the ground with a satisfying thud. 

DING DING DING

The ring of the bell announces you as the winner. You hear the chant of your name, the howls of laughter as Rondo is dragged off the floor still unconscious. 

Tonight’s crowd is exceptionally packed. Friday nights usually are. The harsh lights above you make the masses of people blur into a single entity. Various warbles of words blending together. You don’t know why you scanned the crowd. You don’t know why your eyes immediately drifted to your right, pulled by an unknown magnetic force. But it does. 

First you see a burly man with his arms crossed. His face is hard and his physique is like a brick; rectangular and sturdy. He’s looking at you in curiosity. 

Then you see the dark outline of Vi. Your skin burns when you realize she’s already staring at you. It’s hard to tell what she’s thinking. She doesn’t seem to be particularly impressed by you. Her hands are in her pockets as she holds your intense gaze. The man next to her leans over and whispers in her ear. Her eyes never leave yours as she replies. Their conversation is muddled by the cramped people around them. 

For a second, the smell of the pit mingles with the memory of you pressed against her. Her strong back flexing beneath you as she tries to buck you off. The wild look in her eyes when she realizes what you were doing. Your heart beats faster, and not because of the adrenaline. 

You break the spell between you, stomping into the tunnel and weaving towards the exit. 

— — —

It carries on for a few weeks. 

You can never tell if Gord is pushing Vi to fight more or if Vi willingly puts herself through hell every other day. The Iron Fist of Zaun is always in rotation, more so than any other fighter. It’s gotten to the point where people are betting how long Vi could remain undefeated. You’d assume that Parvata would try to push you to fight her again, just to win the bets against her. She doesn’t. With it, no good pay. 

You find yourself settled in the crowds instead of in the pit itself. You don’t join in on the cheers or booing. Guy after guy, match after match. A few missed punches, a nice fist to the face, and the sharp ding of Gord’s bell. Just when you think that there will be no more matches for the night, Vi comes slaughtering in view. 

You hate how you immediately perk up, watching how she goes for a punch that knocks a metal jaw off of someone. A single punch. In less than a minute the fight is over and the crowd goes crazy. Vi’s sweaty back faces you. Her entire upper back is exposed and you now have a clearer view of the beautiful tattoo that adorns her skin. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips. A cruel, taunting voice whispers that you wish to trace the wet muscle along the inked skin. Smelling her, tasting her—

You were unprepared for Vi to turn around and hone in on your spot in the crowd. As if she knew you were there, watching her from the shadows. You can’t help but observe the steady rise and fall of her sweaty chest. A bead of sweat making a tantalizing trail down her cheek and dropping between the swell of her breasts. Your mouth dries, suddenly parched. 

Something hot and wanting stirs inside of you. Vi must’ve seen it on your face because her usual scorned face shifts to a teasing smirk. 

A referee motions her towards the tunnels and Vi’s gaze momentarily leaves you. The spotlight is stripped away from you and you feel like you can finally breathe. Your clothes feel too warm—too tight along your body. Her gaze alone is a fire and you want to feel its burn. 

You part the crowd, trying to find the familiar door that leads down to the gate tunnels. 

A rough hand shoots out from behind, yanking you towards the exit. 

— — —

In a strange twist of events, Parvata ends up finding use for you outside of the ring. J’kepie’s bloodied body is dragged into the stale office and Parvata drips off the badge on his jacket. She drags you by the collar and jabs the pin into your leather jacket. Her insignia; a mountain range with a star above it. Head debt collector. 

“Consider this your promotion,” she growls, blowing smoke into your face. “Do well and you’ll get double the pay. Triple if you don’t ask questions” 

You know better than to fight her on this. So you nod. 

— — —

An entire month passes before you find yourself back in the pit. 

Debt collecting—you soon realized—was a misleading title. A glorified mercenary. If that bastard were still alive you would use your mechanical webbing to string him out on the lamppost by his neck. A client paid good money for J’kepie’s services, only to fail miserably. You weren’t allowed a day of rest,  swept up in Parvata’s circle. Caught in the webs of political alliances, drug wars, and hush money payments. After weeks of slaving away, you had finally stomped out the last of the client’s enemies. 

Your reward? Thirty-thousand golden hexes and a weekend off. 

You were at your wits end. The money you earned paled in comparison to the headache of cleaning up J’Kepie’s mess. You were constantly relying on yourself to do the work of over twenty people. You didn’t know how Parvata made it this long with such incompetent drones. At least she always kept true to her word. With the money you have saved up, you were able to buy a bigger home with a working shower. Food isn’t a scarcity anymore and your clothes were brand new.

You don’t know why your mind constantly drifts to the smelly arena tucked in the slums of Zaun. It’s not like you particularly loved fighting. It’s something to keep you occupied. Zaun was a vicious cycle of violence; of dirty tricks and guerilla warfare. In the pit, the only rules were to use your fist, your brain, and nothing else. Your only chance to take control of that cycle and make something out of it. 

Between the long days with blood caking your face, your mind wanders. Not to the thrill of the fight or the satisfaction, but to the angry phantom with piercing blue eyes and a warmth that rivaled the sun. She appears in your dreams with rough hands, calloused from years of fighting. Her fingers dance along any exposed skin; tracing your tattoos with the heavy weight of her tongue. Your back would arch, chasing her touch that she would so readily give you. Hoping that she catches your skin with her teeth, marking, biting—

Morning slips into night and your worn shoes carry you from your (somewhat) cushy apartment to the graffitied building that vibrates with music. Parvata doesn’t accompany you or even mentions for you to continue fighting. Too many loose ends to burn off. With her gone, no substantial money will be placed in your favor.  

You didn’t want the money. You were angry; itching to let off steam. To gather up your frustration and let it boil over the surface until there’s nothing left of you. 

At least that’s what you’re hoping for. 

“Sorry kid, all available fights are booked up.” 

You force an inhale, keeping your voice as even as you can. “C’mon, you know I’m one of Parvata’s. One fight that’s all I ask.” 

The old lady doesn’t lift her eyes from her book. Her eyes drift from one side to the next at a snail’s pace. “I know who you are, kid. Seems like you’re without your owner too. Doesn’t budge the fact that all fights are booked. Can’t you read?” She jerks a thumb to the sign next to her. 

NO SLOTS AVAILABLE

Below the sign was a list of the available matches. Your heart spikes at the words, “Iron Fist” being scribbled in for the first match. Her opponent is none other than Rondo. 

Gears start to turn in your head. 

With a final huff, the old lady tugs a metal string, pulling a sheet of metal over her kiosk. Your nails dig into your wrapped palm, trying to keep yourself from punching the glass. If your fist doesn’t connect to someone’s face soon, you are going to end up in Stillwater by midnight. Not even Pavarta would come save your sorry ass. 

“Fifteen minutes before it’s showtime!” the speakers blare out. 

People have already started to make their way inside through the front entrance. Red tickets in their hands, waving them around excitedly. A recurring color you’d see as you pass by. The sounds of music and cheering can be heard inside, enticing you in. 

You were going to fight whether that old bitch likes it or not.

— — —

Going through the crowd of people was going to shave down the limited time you had. There were multiple entries into the building reserved for staff and VIP members. Fighters typically use the main entrance or go through one of the VIP doors if they’re accompanied by their sponsor. Parvata was away doing gods know what and you didn’t want to fumble through sweaty bodies. The shortest route would be sneaking into the kitchen. 

The lock to the kitchen easily clicked open after a few twists of your hooked pin. Fridays means more people to feed so most of the staff were preoccupied enough to not care about you sliding between them. You breeze past chefs and waiters as you make your way through. A bit far removed from the main event, but you still have ten minutes before it starts. On the other side of the kitchen was a discreet door with small red trim on the bottom. No one looked your way as you opened it. 

The air is considerably colder here. You let muscle memory carry you through the damp corridors until the familiar waiting room comes into view. The door to the room opens and a tall man with snakes coiling his neck steps out. You quickly press against the wall, out of sight. 

A gruff voice calls out to the man: “Will you be back in time? Ten minutes is gonna go by real quick.”

“Just gon’ take a piss,” Rondo grunts, flicking the end of his cigarette to the floor. The door slams shut and he retreats further down the hallway.  

You use the shadows to your advantage, following him like a ghost.

— — —

Vi downs the last half of her beer. The third one today.

Her fifth fight this week. By anyone's standards, that’s too little time to recover. A restless night between each match and shit beer won’t do her any good, but she can’t find it within herself to care. Loris does at least. That’s good enough for both of them. The burn the beer leaves behind gives her the buzz she needs to carry on. Not enough to get her shit-face (not yet at least), but just enough for her body to feel loosened up.

To ease the pain Cait had left behind. Even if it’s only temporary. In the early days, all she could see was the dark blue hair and sharp face of Cait hiding between people. Her face lingered, festering the hurt in her chest until all she could do was sob into her pillows at night. She stopped, only because something else was distracting her. Keeping her afloat in the sea of her grief. 

Another ghost of her past. A hazy memory from bygone days. Where Powder was still her sister; Claggor and Mylo were still pains in her ass; Vander would pour her favorite juice after a successful trip. Sometimes Vi would come home to see you perched up on the bar. Your legs would swing on the stool as you talked to one of her friends. She would mostly see you with Ekko, letting him rattle off your ear until he couldn’t breathe. Rarely would she interact with you, let alone talk to you. She never would’ve admitted to it then, but she was intimidated by you. A pretty, shy girl with a bright smile is enough to make anyone fumble over their words. You were her first crush, for years she was haunted by you. She realized that far too late when your parents had died. You drifted from them. From Ekko, Powder, and her (even if you didn’t know it). You kept in touch with Benzo for a while before he too died. 

Vi wasn’t close enough to know where you’d gone. 

Her fondness for you lingered. During her years in Stillwater she thought of your animated conversations. Short-lived as they were, Vi replayed those talks in her head. Your laugh would tease her in dreams. Your soft hands tracing the scars along her body with love and care. Your kisses would be as sweet as your laugh. By the time Cait had busted her out of that dingy cell, the dreams fizzled out until you were just another memory in her mind. 

Cait was different. While you were just a daydream, Cait was something real to Vi. It wasn’t just a simple crush between the two of them. Not love either, but something different. A trust in each other. Someone to count on when the world turns against them. When the end of her gun slammed into Vi’s abdomen, it felt worse than any punch to her face. Cait took the trust between them, ripped it with her teeth, and spat it out without a second thought. When Cait left Zaun, a piece of Vi went along with her. 

Pit fighting seemed like the only natural outlet for Vi. Why not take the only thing she’s good at and use it to distract herself? It seemed like a good plan at the time. Loris didn’t say much about it, but he knew that she was stubborn enough to follow through with or without him. It worked well enough. Loud music and cheers drowning out the pounding of her heart and the whispers of Cait’s voice. 

But then you appeared across from her. A ghost turned real and tangible. The shy girl who would scream at the sight of any bug had grown up to be a fighter. Outwitting her strength in a way that stole her breath—literally. You were deadly, even as Vi had you cornered with whip-fast punches. When you jumped on her back, compressing her body between your legs, her head at the mercy of your arms, Vi’s anger evaporated. In a mere five minutes you did what no other substance could: make her forget about her heartbreak completely. 

Maybe it was a good thing that she was angry at Caitlyn. Then she wouldn’t feel so bad, thinking about fucking you. 

— — —

Vi enters the pit in sync with the announcer. 

Per routine she automatically starts to rake through the crowd. A mesh of excited faces with their mouths open, screaming her name until their throat grows hoarse. Vi would see your face at every match, watching like a hawk. Your visits grew shorter and shorter. A month ago you stopped coming. Still, Vi grazed over the seats, hoping to see you lingering in the shadows. 

When her eyes fail to see you, her shoulders sag imperceptibly. 

“Get ready for the Piltover Boxing Leagues’ middleweight fighter—Rondo!”. 

Her brain short-circuits when you walk to the arena. The crowd goes wild at your appearance, shouting your name in hopes you would look their way. Instead you held Vi’s shocked gaze. Something is different about you. A look of hunger flashes in your eyes, a determination that was absent when you first fought. Vi forgets about Caitlyn’s betrayal; the feeling of her lips pressed against hers; her toned, lithe body molding against Vi’s torso. 

Vi forgets it all when you stand in front of her. It was forever ago when she had that childhood crush on you. All pure, sweet, and innocent. Something else blooms in her body. Not love, trust, or the fleeting whispers of her old crush on you. A different feeling. A steady heat that slowly overtakes her body. A curiosity that nips at her mind. The urge to pick you apart, analyzing everything that makes you tick. To back you against the wall with nowhere to run. 

Vi’s attention was solely on you. Only you. There’s a spackle of blood across your face and a fading bruise near your temple. She raises her hands near face and you do the same. A charged energy ignites between you two and with it comes a newfound passion. A desire to win. 

DING

Your muscles snap into place as you bolt forward. Vi meets you halfway, sending a hard punch straight to your face. 

— — —

The lights above you strain your eyes. A dull ringing is present in your ears and you feel your body involuntarily swaying to the bass of the music. Vi is not much better. She’s breathing considerably harder now with a fresh bruise on her chest. There’s a noticeable strain in her hip from where you’ve kicked. For the better part of five minutes the two of you were locked into a series of punches, kicks, and scratches. Vi’s body was more rock than flesh. You jabbed every sharp corner of your body into her, slowing her down enough to send your elbow to the side of her head. Vi retreats, putting distance between you two. One of Vi’s hand wrappings came undone thanks to your teeth, leaving her bruised knuckles exposed. 

You circle each other, trying to catch your breath. Vi is terrible at guarding vital parts of her body, but she makes up for it in explosive punches and a speed that rivals your own. Your body is tense, threatening to lock up from exhaustion. You keep your fighting stance, watching Vi’s every move in case she tries to pull another fast combo on you. 

You’re starting to understand why people have a passion for this—the fight. Not just showing off cool moves or delighting in beating someone up just for the sake of it. Not for survival or just as a way to let out all the pent up energy in your body. 

For the first time in your life, you’ve met an opponent who is skilled. In most circumstances you are engaged with people who utilize strength or weapons with little regard to finesse. You stood out to Parvata for your ability to out maneuver, outwit, and overcome opponents who otherwise have the bigger advantage. The thrill that came from a fight would wear off and slowly that high became less and less potent. Each fight felt the same as the last. 

Fighting became a chore, a job to do in order to get money. Pavarta signs and you show up. Dull. Repetitive. Redundant. 

Vi was your perfect antithesis. A break in a mind-numbing routine. Where you attack, she finds a way to block. When you falter she’s hot on your heels. You know she remembers you. You can feel it in the way her gaze keeps falling down your body and back up to your face. Even as you’re trying to knock her teeth in. She doesn’t let her familiarity with you cloud her judgement and you find yourself appreciating it. You’re glad to know that with each punch, she truly means it. 

A blink is all it took for Vi to come swinging once more. You twist out of the way and ram your fist into her side. Vi grunts out, elbowing you in the back. The sharp angle of her joint sends a wave of pain. You fall to the ground, barely catching yourself with weak arms. Vi doesn’t give you time to recover. Her steel-toe boot kicks your side, hard enough to make all the air leave your lungs at once. Pain shoots everywhere. 

With a huff you bring your leg out, swiping her ankle until she’s on the ground with you. It’s a struggle to try to get on top of her. Her mouth in a snarl as she tries to fight you off. 

Much of her intimidation comes with her being on two feet. On the ground, however, she’s flailing. 

You force yourself past her arms and settle your weight on her chest. Vi tries to punch your abdomen but you redirect her punch. Your nails dig into the wrapping and undo it. When her other hand tries to land a hit, you take the loose end of her wrapping and bind her wrists together; caught in a web of your doing. You slam her bound arms above her head onto the concrete. The sound is so crisp that the ringing in your ears cease. 

Vi is full-on thrashing beneath you. She jerks and writhes, desperately trying to buck you off of her. It doesn’t work, of course. You lean closer, taking in the messy makeup, the silver nose ring, the small scars across her face. She’s surprised, her mouth parts to let out frustrated huffs. Her once soft blue eyes are overtaken by her dilated pupils.

She stops shifting beneath you and it’s then that you realize that you’re fully seated on top of her breasts. Your core is settled on top of her sternum, the wild pulse no doubt could be felt by her. The heat is all consuming. A sickening shock goes down your spine and with it comes the familiar ache of arousal. Vi’s gaze is no longer surprised or panicked. Hunger is written as clear as day in her darkened eyes. 

The referee runs beside you, slamming his hand on the ground. Once. Twice. 

The final slam declares you the victor. 

DING DING DING

— — —

Vi is no stranger to being roughly handled. Seven years in prison didn’t exactly go by smoothly. Hell, these past few weeks were filled with nothing but split knuckles and a mind-numbing headache. You were all coiled muscle and snapping teeth in the ring. Vi was wholeheartedly expecting to be dragged off to an empty room and be devoured by you.

But you continue to give her more surprises. 

“Let's get you cleaned up,” you say, leading her out of the building. A soft invitation that was so unlike your behavior when fighting. It’s the first time in years since she’s heard you speak. Directly at her, no less. Vi’s brows draw into a furrow and your lips tilt to a smile. “It’s a bit of a walk, but I know your place doesn’t have good heating.” 

The adrenaline from the fight starts to dissipate, and so does the innate want in her body. She can think clearly now.

Vi stops in her tracks, glaring. “Stalkin’ me much?”

“I’ve been fighting in that pit longer than you, Vi.” Her heart flutters with the mention of her name. You continue walking, kicking rocks out of your way. “It doesn’t exactly pay you much. I had two jobs and could barely keep the water running. Plus, you don’t seem to wash out that makeup.”

“I do.” She doesn’t. You give her a smirk to let her know that you see through her bullshit. You tug on her naked wrist. Warm and tender, like she’s a piece of glass. She lets you. 

You greatly understated how much walking there was to your place. Vi doesn’t complain in the slightest, especially if it means talking to you for longer. Occasionally you would point out a new restaurant that opened or a brothel that many Piltover elites would favor. You’re easy to talk to, she concludes. Sometime during the walk, your hands joined together. Wound tightly, swaying in tandem with your steps. She doesn’t deny that you’re an entirely different person, but there’s part of the old you that remains. You’re still talkative. A trait that Vi often finds annoying, but with you it falls under the category of endearing. Your smiles light up your face, as small as they are. 

Your apartment is better than Vi had pictured in her head. Spacious with high windows and modest furniture. It’s cozy, intimate. More so than when Vi entered Caitlyn’s home. In Piltover, Vi is painfully aware that she doesn’t belong. Everything bad in her life traces back to the gilded city with gleaming white buildings and blue skies. No matter how much money you seem to make (which Vi guesses is a lot more than you make it out to be), you’re a Zaunite through and through. 

Maybe the three mile hike through the Lanes was worth it, Vi thinks wryly.  

The lock to your door clicks shut and Vi is fully aware that she’s alone with you. 

You lean against the wall, kicking off your shoes. The perpetual twilight of Zaun makes your body glow. You peel off the jacket with that shiny gold badge, revealing your bruised body. Your tank top is tight along your chest, emphasizing your body in a way that makes Vi’s face darken. Her fingers curl inside of the pockets of her jacket, itching to touch you. 

“Something the matter?” you ask. A genuine question seeing as how Vi’s face is pinched, focused on you. The darkness of the room makes her look angry. 

Before you can open your mouth again, Vi crosses the room until she’s all that you see. Her hands, rough and calloused like you imagined, find the hem of your top. Your breath is caught in your throat, your body jolting at the contact. Her thumb gently follows the skin along your hip bone—the jagged scar that caught her attention all those weeks ago. You feel her trace imprint of your scar, her thumb teasing the edge of your pants where it continues. 

“Been wonderin’ how far this goes,” she murmurs. She flickers up at your face, hesitating just a bit. Waiting for your permission. 

Your face is warm and your smile is full of teeth. “Why don’t you fuck me to find out?” you challenge. 

Vi wastes no time in slotting your bodies together. Your response is immediate. Your hands slide up her abs, trailing upwards until they knot in her dark hair. Vi groans into you, and you take the opportunity to slide your tongue into her mouth. The sound she emits makes your spine tingle. Vi’s warmth is all consuming. Her hands are everywhere—your hips, the small of your back, your ass—mapping out your body’s topography with her eyes closed. She’s eager to have you close, to feel you, claim you. 

A bit too eager with the way she’s pressing against your lips so hard that you think they’ll bruise. But with the way she’s groping your ass you don’t even have the will to care. 

The leather jacket around Vi’s shoulders is pushed away by your hands. Using Vi’s hair as a leash, you tug her head back, forcing her to reveal her neck to you. You latch onto the soft patch of skin just below her jaw. Vi keens, gripping onto your hips like a vice. 

Her skin is still tacky with sweat. The salt dissolves with your open mouth kisses. Your teeth gently nip the hollow of her throat until the vessels beneath her skin breath. A mark; ownership. Vi jolts when she feels your tongue, hot and needy, drag along the column of her neck. If it wasn’t for your tight grip onto her, Vi is certain that her knees would’ve given out right then and there. 

You jerk her back, harder this time. Vi releases her hold on you. Her eyes are glazed over, her eyes dilated once again. You hook a finger onto a loop in her pants and drag her deeper into your apartment. Vi stumbles, trying her best to get her shaky legs to move faster. You barely felt her up and already she’s been reduced to a horny mess. 

Vi is far from inexperienced. She had a rotation of girls in her prison block vying for her attention, begging for a quick fuck in a supply closet or in the showers. She’s no stranger to being touched, to have a tongue slide into her mouth, or being groped. She doesn’t understand why it feels different when it comes to you. Why is she buzzing with excitement when the door to your room squeaks open? Why does her heart skip a beat when you shove her onto your bed? Why the fuck does she let out a pathetic whine when you lift up your tank top, revealing your bare chest to her? 

You crawl on top of her to kiss her again. It’s slower, precise, but equally as firm. Vi knows she’s strong enough to tug you closer, but the way your tongue keeps sliding against her own makes her head foggy. When you pull away, an obvious trail of spit connects you two. With a single hand you pop open the button on her jeans. Cold anticipation fills her. 

“Wanna take my time with you,” you say against her swollen lips. There’s a raw edge to your voice that lets Vi know that you’re desperate for her too. 

A glint of metal catches Vi’s eyes as you pull out a small knife from your pants. With the precision of a surgeon, you slice open the bandages that cover her chest. The muscles of her abdomen flex when your knife cuts a touch too close to her skin. The layers of wrappings fall open like a flower in bloom, revealing her bare torso to you. 

You kiss along her neck once more. Your lips carve a path down to the middle of her sternum. Wet, sloppy, occasionally accompanied by the glide of your tongue. Vi’s hips involuntarily jerk upwards, trying to alleviate the ache of her core. 

“You’re such a—ah—fucking tease,” she huffs. 

You hum against the underside of her breast. “So impatient,” you chide with a gentle nip of her skin. “Not unlike your fighting style.” 

All words of protest die in Vi’s throat when you take a nipple into your mouth. You swirl your tongue around the sensitive bud, watching Vi arch into you. You can’t help but grin at her disheveled state. You palm her other breast, twisting the hardening nipple with your fingers. One of Vi’s hands flies to her mouth, trying to silence the higher pitched gasps and moans. 

You pinch her nipple a little harder. “Cover your mouth again and I’ll stop.”

“It’s embarrassing,” she whines. 

You cup her clothed pussy, digging your hand harshly against the crest of her slit. The moan that escapes Vi is music to your ears. “I’m trying to be nice Vi. I want to hear every noise you make.” You punctuate your words with another roll of your hand. “Can you do that for me baby?”

A few more slides of your hand and Vi gives a weak nod of affirmation. Satisfied, you continue your trail down her torso. You’re a drug. You must be. Your lips alone are undoing her, fanning the flames of her desire in a way that no one else could. With every tender bruise, your tongue gently prods it with a cruel grin. Vi keeps her hands fisted in your sheets, trying to please your demands of hearing her. She’s not used to receiving; being at the mercy of someone during sex. It’s as foreign of a concept to her as living her life in Piltover with an ivory tower and silk clothes. She’s not used to being beaten in a game she’s good at, especially not to the same person. Not with fighting and certainly not through sex. But you managed to do it anyway. 

You’re an enigma to her. Opposite to her in such a way that leaves her aching. Oil and water, yet you find a way to compliment her. Separated by time, but equal when together. Her match in a ring, and her match in bed it seems. 

Vi lifts herself on her forearms, watching you with rapt attention when your mouth leaves her body. You move to her feet, undoing the tight laces of her boots and tossing them onto the floor. Once her other shoe hits the ground with a loud thud, you’ve finally reached the faint trail of hair under her belly button with a soft kiss. Your teeth catch the fly of her zipper and pull it down. The sharp sound made her heart pound faster. You tug onto her pants and underwear, Vi lifting her hips to help you slide them off her body. 

Cold air hits her cunt and she sucks in a breath. Your lips part in awe, seeing the proof of her desire leaking out of her entrance. You settle between her legs, placing your hand on the corded muscle of her thighs to keep her spread for you. You watch her opening clench around nothing, practically begging you to put your mouth on it. Apparently, you were staring a second too long. 

“You gonna watch or are you gonna fuck me?” Vi snaps, already fed up with your prolonged teasing. Her cheeks are flushed as her eyes challenge yours. “Don’t tell me you forgot how to eat pussy.”

Vi grins at your displeased face, happy to see your assured confidence crack just a little. 

You give her a sharp glare, but that only seems to stir a spark of rebellion against your cruel tyranny. You certainly can’t have that. 

So you press your thumb against her puffy clit and watch as her jaw goes slack. 

“Could you repeat that?” you ask with mock innocence. You let your thumb gather some of her slick and gently rub her crest. A wordless gasp leaves Vi as you continue your slow ministrations. “Something the matter, Vi? Spider got your tongue?” Your thumb is pressing against her harder, almost to the point of pain. You shake your head with faux sympathy, clicking your tongue. “Poor thing’s been neglected. I barely touched you and you’re already ruining my sheets. Maybe I should leave you here so I can prevent a mess.” 

A strained noise of protest escapes from Vi. Too caught up in pleasure to see past your obvious bluff.  “Don’t you dare…f-fuck! Don’t you dare stop—shit.”  

“You’re not in the position to be making demands,” you state, emphasized with a light pinch of her clit. Vi bucks her hips into your hand, trying to get as much friction out of you. 

“‘M sorry…won’t do it again—ah—promise!” 

As much as you want to prolong her suffering, you’re too selfish to deprive yourself of good pussy just to prove a point. Next time, you think to yourself. If there will be a next time. You push down that thought, focusing on the growing slick accumulating in your palm. Vi whines when your hand leaves, but quickly swallows any scathing words when she feels your tongue drag along her slit. Kitten licks and kisses along her pussy makes Vi more desperate. But it’s not enough to release the pressure in her core. You continue to tease her even as she’s starting to grow frustrated. You would prod her tight entrance with your tongue, only to retreat a few seconds later. You watch with a grin at Vi’s mounting frustrations, wanting to test her patience with you. 

When you latch onto her clit, sucking it gently, Vi damn near sobs in relief. 

You’re a god. That’s the only explanation. Your saliva holds a magical elixir that sends her nerves ablaze and makes her mind go blank. If this was a ploy to get her to join your cult, she’ll be attending mass every day of the damn week just to experience your mouth on her cunt, no questions asked. Your firm hold on her thighs keeps her from crushing your skull between them. In a few minutes she’s already starting to shake. 

When you add a finger to the mix, Vi is making sounds she never thought capable of. It takes a few tries to find the right spot, but when you do, you’re merciless. Your finger and mouth working in sync to bring her to the height of her pleasure. The pressure between Vi’s legs threatens to snap. Her body winding tighter, tighter, tighter—

Vi chants your name like a prayer. Broken wails that plead for your grace; to give her sweet relief to the pain you had also caused her. “Please, please, please! I can’t…fuck, I need to cum! Please—”

Who are you to deny a beautiful woman’s cries? You add in a second finger, never faltering in your brutal assault. Vi’s pussy clamps down on your fingers—the only warning of her impending descent. 

The pressure explodes outwards. Energy ripples through her body in powerful waves until she’s left shivering. Vi’s back arches off the bed as she cries out your name, her eyes rolling to the back of her skull. Her strong legs wrapping around your head, suffocating you with her body and essence. Cum gushes onto your face and fingers as you continue to fuck her through her orgasm. Only when she parts her legs and starts to jerk her hips away do you stop.

Vi is left shaky, her chest struggling to inhale deeply. Still, she hauls you from her legs and pulls you in for a kiss. She lets out a groan at the taste of her sex on your lips. 

You give her one more peck before pulling away slightly. “Forgotten how to eat pussy, huh?”

The look in Vi’s eyes tells you that she doesn’t regret it one bit. “Worth it to have you prove it to me.” 

“You’re a brat, you know that?” you say, exasperated. 

Vi grabs hold of your waist and rolls you on your back. She doesn’t bother teasing you with nips and open mouth kisses along your body. You were right to call her impatient as she fumbles with your belt. There’s a fire behind those blue eyes of hers, a look of ambition and cunning.  

Before you could question her motives, Vi grabs both of your wrists and mounts on top of you. You feel the clink of your belt as Vi wraps them around your wrists, tying them to your metal headboard. In the span of a few seconds, she manages to secure you to your bed, completely at her mercy. Her slick core rubs against your stomach as you helplessly pull against your restraints. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” you ask. 

Vi’s hand travels appreciatively down your chest, stopping you giving your breasts a squeeze. “Repaying the favor.” She wears the same look as she does in the ring. Halfway between a glare and a look of curiosity. 

Vi shifts off of you, relieving your body of her weight. Instead she settles between your legs, much like how you did before. 

You tilt your chin out, glaring up at her. “You think that you’re in charge now just because you restrained me?” 

“I do, actually.”

You’d be lying if you said you don’t find it incredibly hot to be at the complete mercy of someone like Vi. Still, you hoped to have your streak of conquering Vi to be undefeated, at least for the night. Vi is too busy tracing her fingers along your body, mentally counting all the scars she could see on your body. You try to not let it show that her seeking fingers have an effect on you, however your traitorous skin erupts in goosebumps wherever her finger travels. Vi takes her time visually appreciating her body. She enjoys the feeling of warm flesh beneath her fingers, the subtle shivers whenever she finds a particularly sore spot. 

“So beautiful,” she whispers, almost to herself. “Been wanting this for so long.”

A shallow chuckle escapes you. “Since you saw me in the pit?”

You whimper softly when she kneads the soft mounds of your breasts.  Her brows furrow and her movements falter for a moment. 

“Before that,” she corrects, in a serious tone that shocks you. 

It takes a moment for the implication of her admission to hit you. You almost laughed at the ridiculous notion. You wanted nothing more than to be friends with Vi as kids. But any advance was met with hesitation. She would constantly avoid any prolonged interaction with you. You tried not to take it to heart; she always had a lot on her plate. You assumed she didn’t think you were cool and you’ve learned to make peace with that. Even if Powder constantly assured you that Vi didn't actually hate you…

Oh.

“I just…I thought that…y'know.” 

“Y’know what?” Vi asks. 

You force a steady inhale. “I thought that you didn’t want to be friends with me. I grew up thinking you secretly hated me.” Suddenly the immediate chemistry between you two in the ring starts to make sense. “Why didn’t you say anything sooner? When I saw you again I thought that you wouldn’t remember—”

Vi shuts up your rambling with a kiss. A dizzying, passionate kiss that steals what little air you have left in your lungs. You wrap your legs around Vi’s hips, bringing her closer. She lets you press your pelvises together, groaning in your mouth when you start to move. Her hips move in sync with yours, grinding against your heated core with fervor. 

Vi breaks the kiss but doesn’t stop the movement of her hips. “I thought about you every night since our first fight.” You let out sharp gasps when her hands return to your chest. “When I saw you in the stands, I wanted to drag you to the bathrooms and fuck you against the sink” Her hands finds your hips and presses you down to her pubic bone, hard enough to make you arch into her with a whine. “Let me have you. Even if it’s just for tonight.”

“Do it,” you say, your voice growing hoarse, “take me. I’ll be yours.”

There’s the unspoken meaning behind that declaration. A line that separates you two, once crossed it can have the power to destroy you from the inside out. You don’t seem to realize the weight of what you’re saying. Vi knows her mind is still conflicted on Caitlyn. She can’t bring herself to commit to hating her, but she can’t deny the toll it’s taken on her mind. Poisoning her. With you, the pain recedes, forgotten and pushed away. A distraction. A damn good one. 

When Vi kisses you again, she remembers all of the reasons why she was so drawn to you. You were more than just a pretty girl that she admired from afar. Her antithesis. Should she accept your invitation, wholeheartedly, you will have the power to be a weapon of her undoing. Vi should be scared of that. Not too long ago she poured her heart and bled for someone who ultimately discarded her. 

But then you moan out Vi’s name—breathy and desperate. A longing to rewrite your shared past between each kiss. A call to action. To finally answer one of Vi’s biggest what if? 

Vi runs past that separation between you two. Just for tonight, she promises weakly. 

In her haste to get your pants off your body, she snaps the button of your jeans and yanks the garment off along with your soaked panties. Her fingers run along your slit, teasing your entrance with the pad of her finger. 

“Please!”

Vi slides her middle finger down to the knuckle, curving ever so slightly. You jerk into her hand and Vi knows she’s found your weakest point. It’s like her fingers were made your pussy. She gives an experimental press of her finger, slowly building up a steady pace. Your tough demeanor chipping away bit by bit with each drag of her finger. 

You’re panting heavily. The squelching sound of your wet cunt fills the space between your bodies. Vi sets a moderate pace, enough to elicit moans, but not enough to satisfy. Vi must’ve seen the look on your face. 

“Let me take care of you, baby.” Her hand moves a touch faster, but you’re so wound up that any difference makes you cry out. “That’s it—that’s my girl.”

 A steady ache builds in your core at the name. You pull needlessly against the tight restraints, hoping that one more tug would be enough to free your hands. You want to touch her, to bring her closer to you bodies and fuck you properly. 

Vi laughs at your struggle. “Too much for you? Should I slow down?”

You shake your head vehemently. “More…give—fuck, give me more Vi. Need you…need more of you!”

The moment you feel her lips on yours, you also feel the addition of another finger deep in your cunt. The effect is immediate. Vi could barely kiss you with how loudly you’re moaning; jaw hung open, head thrown back, and your hips furiously meeting her fingers. She grabs your open jaw and forces you to look at her. Vi’s spit hits the back of your throat. When she sees you swallow—mouth closing and throat squeezing—she lets out a string of curses. 

A third finger makes your eyes roll to the back of your skull. Your thighs seize up and your chest tightens. You’re so, so close. You need something more. Just one more push and you’ll fall off the edge. 

As if Vi could read your mind, her hand leaves your face, pressing below your belly button, right where her fingers meet the spot inside of you that makes you see stars. The pressure from her other hand combined with her feverish fucking was enough make you cum—hard. Your body twists in on itself, trying to ride out the pulses of pure feeling. Blinding pleasure rips through your body like lightning, hitting you fast and leaving behind a burn. Your cum rushes out of you like a dam, coating Vi’s fingers. 

“That’s it baby. You’re taking me so well. My good girl,” Vi coos, slowing down in her assault against your cunt. 

It takes a minute to come down from your euphoria. Your body slowly relaxes as Vi eases her fingers out of you. You can’t help but whine at the loss. 

In an executive act of mercy, Vi tugs at the belt restraint, freeing your sore wrists. 

You feel warm. A hot, pulsating nerve that’s been rubbed raw. Never in your life had sex ever been that good. You don’t even think you’re even capable of making yourself cum that hard. Vi collapses beside you, pulling you to her chest. You breathe in the scent of her; sweat, musk, and faint traces of leather. 

“We’ll shower tomorrow,” she mumbles into the side of your head. Exhausted. 

You feel the lull of sleep start to take you too. You bury your face into her neck, letting yourself trace patterns along the muscles of her back. Her strong arms wrap around your body, caging you with her warmth. Her soft, bruised, scarred skin enveloping you. You lay like this for a while, listening to the slow staccato of her heartbeat. Vi’s breath evens out and soon she’s asleep in your arms. It doesn’t take long for you to fall asleep as well. 

— — —

At some point during the night, Vi twists away from you. You only notice when her voice starts to pull you awake. 

“Didn’t…didn’t mean to,” she whispers. Her face is scrunched up, pained. 

You’re unsure what the protocol is for someone having a bad dream. You want to smooth your thumb over her pinched brows, kissing her frown until her imaginary worries go away. But if Vi wakes up, would she talk about it? You’re paralyzed by the decision, you opt to simply stay on your side of the bed. If it gets too much then you’ll wake her. In the meantime, you’ll try to ignore her sleep talking. You only have the weekend off after all. Soon, Parvata will be knocking on your door, demanding for your services. The thought alone makes you exhausted. 

The bed shifts again and this time Vi’s arms find you. This time, your back is pressed against her chest, her lips ghosting over the top of your shoulder. 

“Sorry…” she murmurs into your skin. A longing spelled with each syllable. “Love…I love you.”

You’re frozen. Her arms around your waist feel like dead weight. A sour feeling is felt in your gut; the feeling that whatever comes out of her mouth will haunt you. 

Vi’s mouth moves again. Sounds pressed against your skin, trying to be let out. Then, you hear it. As clear as Piltover’s skies.

“Caitlyn.”

You felt your heart stop in its tracks. It’s the clearest word that came out of her ramblings. With it comes a shock of clarity that makes the room feel ten degrees colder. Caitlyn…why does that name seem familiar?

Kiramman. Caitlyn Kiramman. Vi’s supposed enforcer buddy before she would up in the pits. Responsible for the removal of one of the chem-barons and their followers. Not much is known about what exactly went wrong to have Vi end up back in Zaun. But one thing was clear. 

Vi was using you. To distract herself from the Kiramman heir. It wasn’t a desire to reconnect with you that led her to follow you. Seems as though sex was a better option than shitty liquor. You feel Vi nuzzle against your skin and you fight the urge to recoil from her touch. It’s not like you’ve staked your claim to her. She wasn’t your girlfriend. You didn’t establish any boundaries or attach any labels to what you were. She never accepted your invitation after all—”I’ll be yours”. 

You slowly maneuver your body until you’re facing Vi. She’s still sound asleep. The hard crease in the middle of her brows is gone, looking  more relaxed than you’ve seen her. You shouldn’t feel jealous. Vi isn’t your partner. And now you have confirmation that she most likely never will be. 

So you cling onto her. Pretending that just for tonight, she’s actually yours. 

[thatswhywelovegermany]

Brockenhexen

Brockenhexen (Brocken witches) are fictional figures of folklore, which gather at Walpurgis Night on Mount Brocken, the highest elevation in the Harz mountains. Since the second half of the 17th century, Mount Brocken is regarded as the main convention venue for the witches of Germany. Literary representations of witch gatherings on Mount Brocken by Johannes Praetorius ("Blockes-Berges Verrichtung") and Johann Wolfgang von Goethe ("Faust") popularized the image of the mountain as a magical place and made it a tourist destination with yearly events st Walpurgis Night, alongside with the sale of pertinent souvenirs by the locals. Rock formations near the summit were named Witches' Altar and Devil's Pulpit. The destination was further popularized by Otfried Preußler's "Die kleine Hexe" ("The Little Witch") and the audioplay series Bibi Blocksberg.

Even before Mount Brocken made its way into literature, it was locally regarded as a gathering place for witches, alongside a number of other summits in the area. This belief probably originated from the times of the medieval witch hunts, which lasted until the 17th century. The summit, being a remote and difficult to access place, was often cited as a place where witches could gather unseen and used as an argument of the prosecutors.

Since the 18th century, the summit of Mount Brocken was believed to be an ancient place of pagan rituals. It was alleged that the Saxons, who were forcefulley christianized by Charlemagne, still performed their pagan rites at remote places. When Charlemagne heard reports about these gatherings, he had Christian guards watch over these places. The Saxons, however, dressed up in scary costumes to chase the guards away. The guards then invented stories about witches flying past them as an explanation why they were unable to prevent pagan gatherings. However, recent archeological investigations showed that the summit of Mount Brocken was ever used as a pagan sanctuary.

With the beginning of tourism at Mount Brocken in 1801, the the hosts of the inn at the summit started to detail the old myths of witches on the mountain. They named prominent rock formations and terrain features "witches' dance floor", "witches' pond", and "witches' well". The second innkeeper, Eduard Nehse, was particularly creative, inventing a "witches' washbowl", which kept filling with water on its own. Other places in the Harz mountains followed suit to attract tourists. This way, you find many places named after witches and the devil. Tourism is still an important line of business in the Harz mountains.

Gatherings at Walpurgis Night, celebrated during the night from April 30 to May 1, started even before the first inn was built near the summit. People gathered to recite the Walpurgis Night scene from Johann Wolfgang von Goethe's epic drama Faust. The first innkeeper, Johann Friedrich Christian Gerlach, organized concerts with popular music and handed out broomsticks that guests used to dance. Danish writer and poet Hans Christian Andersen reported about one of these events in 1831.

In 1903, a Walpurgis Association formed to organize a party at Walpurgis Night, which was attended by more than 500 people. However, the owner of the summit, Prince Christian Ernst of Stollberg-Wernigerode, prohibited such activities, so smaller parties were organized at surrounding hotels. From 1908 on, the tourist office of Wernigerode organized the parties, which took place yearly until the end of World War II., with the exception of the years of World War I. During the Third Reich, the Nazis used the Walpurgis Night to spread their own ideology.

After World War II, the summit was occupied by the Soviet Army, so parties were no longer possible there. In the GDR, the evening before May 1 was already occupied with the preparations of the international worker's day for peace snd socialism. The only reminder of the tradition was a tractor named Brocken Witch, which was produced in Nordhausen south of the Harz mountains.

In the West German part of the Harz mountains, Walpurgis parties were still celebrated and quickly spread to the eastern part after the reunification. However, environmental concerns prevented larger gatherings on Mount Brocken. The main event is now taking place on the Witches' Dance Floor near the town of Thale. The tradidion has now spread throughout all of Germany and beyond. There is some criticism that the events primarily focus on entertainment and that the memory of the atrocities committed during the times of the witch hunts is completely missing.

Today, puppets showing Brocken Witches are a popular souvenir. The first known witch-themed souvenirs originate from the time of the first Walpurgis Night celebrations organized by the Wernigerode tourist office. The witches vary greatly in their appearance. There are both old and young, ranging from ugly to beautiful. Their clothing is often patched. Some also wear glasses and slippers, traditionally usually a headscarf, and more recently, a pointed hat.

[theodorenmyth]

Hi could i request a boy of your choice x male reader where after winning a quidditch match there's a celebration party in the common room and everyone starts drinking but the next day chosen boy and reader wake up not really remembering what happened until someone shows them the pictures they took of the two making out in the middle of the party ?

Thank you !

Blurry Nights

Pairings ; Mattheo Riddle x M!Reader

Summary ; After a wild Slytherin victory party, you and Mattheo Riddle wake up with swollen lips, hickeys, and bite marks—without any memory of what happened. Panic sets in when Theodore, Lorenzo, Blaise, and Draco smugly present photo evidence of you and Mattheo shamelessly making out in the middle of the common room. As the horrifying details unfold—including a public challenge to mark each other up—one thing becomes painfully clear: you are never living this down.

A/N ; ok I can just IMAGINE this happening in my head like..

Warnings ; neck biting, making out

word count ; 2k+

The Slytherin common room was MADNESS.

The victory party after your Quidditch match win against Ravenclaw had quickly spiraled into a full-blown alcoholic disaster. Firewhiskey flowed freely, butterbeer was being used in drinking games, and Pansy Parkinson had charmed the ceiling to flash green and silver in a way that made everything feel even more chaotic.

The wooden table in the center of the room had been repurposed into a makeshift dance floor, where a few daring students were swaying drunkenly to the thunderous beat of an enchanted gramophone. Some were moving with questionable coordination, others were straight-up clinging onto their partners for dear life, while a very intoxicated third-year had climbed onto a chair and was attempting a pathetically slow striptease before being hexed by an unimpressed Astoria Greengrass.

On the far end of the room, a group had gathered around for a particularly competitive drinking game involving spinning a wand and taking a shot before being hit with a harmless jinx.

So far, the casualties included a random fifth-year, whose voice had been magically altered to sound like a squeaky house elf. A sixth-year, whose hair was now a violent shade of pink and an unfortunate seventh-year who kept hiccupping bubbles.

Draco Malfoy had taken it upon himself to sit atop one of the armrests, looking thoroughly unimpressed but still sipping something expensive-looking with the bored elegance of someone who was too rich to care. Blaise was beside him, lazily watching the chaos unfold with a smirk, while Theodore and Lorenzo occupied the couch across from where you sat.

And then there was you and Mattheo Riddle.

Sitting comfortably on the worn-out leather couch, you were sandwiched between Mattheo and Blaise Zabini, feeling the lingering adrenaline of the Quidditch win still thrumming in your veins. The half-empty bottle of Firewhiskey on the table between you all was dangerously close to empty.

Blaise, ever the instigator, leaned forward with a smirk. “Tell me, Y/N—how does it feel to be the Quidditch hero of the night?”

You shrugged, grinning. “It was a team effort.”

Mattheo scoffed, nudging you with his knee. “Bullshit. You humiliated their Keeper with that last goal.”

Lorenzo grinned. “That poor bastard never even saw it coming.”

You laughed, the warmth of alcohol making everything feel ten times funnier than it should be. Your head felt light, your limbs loose, and the energy in the room buzzed through your skin. You had been to plenty of Slytherin parties before, but this one? This one felt different.

Theodore took a slow sip of his drink before smirking. “Well, you do deserve to celebrate properly.”

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously. “What does that mean?”

Before Theodore could answer, Draco finally deigned to join the conversation, swirling his drink as he looked at you with a smirk. “It means you should drink more,” he said smoothly, tilting his glass toward you. “After all, it’s not every day you get to be the star of the night.”

Mattheo grinned, slinging an arm around your shoulders. “See? Even Malfoy agrees.”

You rolled your eyes but took another sip from your drink anyway. The Firewhiskey burned down your throat, but instead of unpleasant, it was thrilling, settling in your stomach like liquid courage.

Theodore exchanged a knowing glance with Lorenzo. “You two should really pace yourselves.”

Mattheo waved him off. “We’re fine.”

Blaise smirked, leaning back. “Oh, they are so doomed.”

Lorenzo snickered. “Draco, how long do you give them before they do something recklessly stupid?”

Draco took a slow sip of his drink, considering. “An hour, at most.”

Blaise grinned. “Fifteen minutes, tops.”

You scoffed, feeling indignantly confident in your ability to handle your alcohol. “You guys have no faith in us.”

Theodore snorted. “No, we just know you.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but at that exact moment, Mattheo turned to you, amusement dancing in his dark eyes. “Y/N,” he drawled, voice warm with laughter, “wanna bet we can prove them wrong?”

Lorenzo immediately raised an eyebrow. “I strongly encourage you not to do that.”

But by then, the alcohol was already making decisions for you.

You grinned back at Mattheo, feeling untouchable. “You’re on.”

Draco sighed dramatically. “And there it is.”

Blaise smirked. “This should be fun.”

────────────────

The night blurred after that.

You vaguely remembered finishing your drink—then another. Someone had pulled you and Mattheo into a ridiculous game of Firewhiskey Pong, where Mattheo had somehow managed to sink every single shot while still talking shit to your opponents.

At some point, the couch had become your personal throne—Mattheo pressed up against your side, his head dropping onto your shoulder as he laughed at something you said. His arm had remained around you the entire night, fingers absentmindedly playing with the hem of your shirt, and you might have leaned into him just a little too much.

Then there was more laughter.

More drinks.

Someone dared Mattheo to chug an entire bottle of Firewhiskey.

You were certain you told Lorenzo that he had very nice hair and that he should never cut it.

Blaise had made some kind of snarky comment about how much you and Mattheo were touching each other, to which you had responded by dramatically slinging a leg over Mattheo’s lap and throwing an arm around his shoulders, proclaiming that he was your emotional support Slytherin.

Mattheo had cackled at that, pulling you closer.

And then—

Everything tilted.

The warmth in your chest turned hotter.

There was a flash of movement, the press of something warm against your lips, the feeling of strong hands gripping your waist, pulling you onto someone’s lap—

More heat.

More laughter.

A daring whisper against your ear.

And then—

Nothing.

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

The next morning, you woke up to searing pain in your head and a heavy weight pinning you down.

The pounding in your skull was relentless, a deep, rhythmic ache that made you immediately regret every single drink you had consumed the night before. Your throat was dry, your limbs ached, and your body felt like it had been used as a human bludger.

Groaning, you tried to shift—only to realize that something warm and solid was draped over you.

No, not something.

Someone.

Blinking against the morning light filtering through the dungeon windows, you sluggishly turned your head—

And immediately froze.

Mattheo was practically glued to your side, his leg thrown over yours, an arm wrapped securely around your torso. His face was buried against your neck, his dark curls tickling your jaw, his breath warm against your skin. His entire body was pressed up against yours in a way that was way too intimate for a casual sleepover situation.

Your stomach dropped.

Your lips felt swollen. Your throat was sore. And when you shifted slightly, a sharp sting shot through your skin.

Frowning, you reached up and—

Oh.

Oh, no.

The side of your neck was littered with hickeys. Dark ones. Deep ones. There were also faint indents of teeth marks along your collarbone, and when you lifted your arm, you spotted even more of the same marks trailing down toward your chest.

A sharp, horrified breath escaped you as your other hand shot up to your lips, touching the tender, slightly puffy skin.

Mattheo groaned against you, his voice still raspy with sleep. “Stop moving,” he grumbled. “I’m comfortable.”

“Mattheo.” Your voice was hoarse.

“Mmh?”

You pressed your hand against his face and shoved him off. He groaned dramatically as he rolled onto his back, flopping against the mattress with a loud thud.

“What the fuck,” you croaked, touching your neck again.

Mattheo, now free from sleep’s haze, finally opened his eyes. His gaze was still hazy with exhaustion as he blinked up at the ceiling—until he stretched lazily and his fingers brushed against his own neck.

His entire body stiffened.

You watched as he slowly sat up, brows furrowing, his hand trailing over the marks on his skin.

And then he looked at you.

His gaze dropped from your swollen lips to the bruises on your neck, then to your barely covered chest, where even more marks peeked from beneath your shirt.

You watched his eyes widen—

Then shoot back down to his own body.

His jaw dropped.

“…Why do I feel like we did something incredibly fucking stupid?”

Before you could answer, the door slammed open.

Theodore and Lorenzo waltzed in like they owned the place, looking far too smug for this time of morning. Blaise and Draco trailed in behind them, both of them holding cups of coffee, wearing matching expressions of pure, unfiltered amusement.

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” Theodore drawled, grinning as he leaned against the doorframe.

Mattheo groaned, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Why do I feel like I should be very fucking concerned right now?”

Lorenzo smirked. “Oh, you should be.”

Then, with a dramatic flourish, he pulled out a camera.

Your stomach plummeted.

“Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes,” Theodore corrected, flipping through the photos. “Blaise, do you think they’ll actually survive this?”

Blaise took a casual sip of his coffee. “That depends on whether or not they try to kill us first.”

Mattheo sat up straighter, rubbing his temples. “What the fuck did we do?”

Theodore grinned and turned the camera toward you both. The first picture was harmless—just you and Mattheo sitting together on the couch, clearly tipsy, his arm slung lazily over your shoulder.

The second picture, however, was not harmless.

It was you, straddling Mattheo’s lap, gripping his jaw as you kissed him like your life depended on it. His hands were firmly on your waist, fingers digging in, his rings pressing into your skin.

Your face burned.

Mattheo blinked at the picture. Then at you. Then back at the picture.

“Well.. shit.”

Draco, who had been silent up until now, finally spoke up. “That’s not even the best part.”

Theodore swiped to the next photo. This one showed Mattheo tilting your head, his mouth locked onto your throat, his teeth clearly working on the marks that now covered your skin.

Your jaw dropped.

“Are those fucking bite marks?”

“Oh, you haven’t even seen the worst of it,” Lorenzo said gleefully, swiping again.

This time, it was you returning the favor—mouth pressed against Mattheo’s neck, fingers tangled in his curls as you thoroughly marked him up.

Mattheo ran a hand down his face. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Blaise, still completely unbothered, smirked over his coffee. “You two were practically eating each other alive.”

Mattheo exhaled sharply. “Did everyone see this?”

Draco smirked. “Oh, it wasn’t just seen.”

Theodore flicked his wand—

And suddenly, the entire common room replayed the moving images of your drunken makeout session.

You watched in abject horror as Drunk You pulled Mattheo in so hard he nearly toppled backward. He had retaliated by yanking you onto his lap, gripping your hips as he devoured you.

And then—oh, Merlin, you had actually leaned into his ear and said something.

The real you turned to Theodore, eyes wide. “Wait, what did I say?”

Theodore grinned. “Oh, just this.”

He flicked his wand again, and your own voice echoed through the room.

“Bet you wouldn’t dare mark me up right here in front of everyone, Riddle.”

Mattheo audibly choked.

The real you died inside.

“Oh my fucking GOD,” you groaned, burying your face in your hands.

Draco looked thoroughly entertained. “You challenged him?”

Theodore smirked. “Oh, he accepted.”

Mattheo exhaled sharply. “No wonder my jaw fucking hurts.”

Blaise smirked. “That’s probably from all the biting.”

Lorenzo, still flipping through the photos, casually added, “Oh, and by the way—congrats, Y/N. You officially have the record for ‘Most Aggressive Public Makeout in Slytherin History’.”

Mattheo turned to you, raising an eyebrow. “We beat the record?”

You shot him a glare. “That is NOT the point here, Mattheo!”

Draco shook his head, standing up. “Well, this has been thoroughly entertaining, but I have better things to do.” He smirked as he walked past. “Oh, and if you ever want a framed copy of the photos, let me know.”

Blaise clapped Mattheo on the back. “At least you got some action.”

Mattheo scowled. “Get the fuck out.”

As the door shut, you turned to Mattheo, sighing deeply. “We are never drinking that much again.”

Mattheo tilted his head, considering you. Then, to your absolute horror, he smirked. “I mean… if you really want, we could always—”

You grabbed a pillow and launched it at his face.

Mattheo cackled as he dodged, tackling you back onto the bed.

You were never going to live this down.

[juliet-017]

Kisemes p3 - T.R.

Prefect!academicrival!Tom Riddle x prefect!fem!reader

Minors DNI!

Warnings: Legillimency, asphyxiation via drowning, Tom Riddle being Tom Riddle, degradation, slight praise that's mainly mixed with degradation, slut shaming?, exhibition, begging, exhibition, unprotected p n v, creampie, oral (m!receiving, f!receiving), fingering f!receiving. You are responsible for your own media consumption.

Synopsis: It's been two weeks sense Tom Riddle and yourself have interacted, save for having that now awkward seating in your shared classes. Having taken to living rent free in your mind, you knew there was no getting rid of him once your eyes kept finding him at meals and between classes. Eventually you decided to take it out on a nice walk and rest by the lake.. that is until Tom decides it's time to remind you of just how much you like what he provides.

a/n: finally back after my very mini hiatus! I just had so many ideas and then school work so I had to step back briefly, planning out a nice pace now 🩷

Wc: ~2.2k

Master list

You hated yourself for letting him occupy so much space in your mind. This had to be some cruel trick! There's no other reason for him to do all of this, to have you quite literally wrapped around his fingers.

You cursed yourself forever even going into the library when you did, for not pushing him away and hexing him, for not making a scene during the exam.

You hated that you liked it, that you wanted him to just come around the corner in the middle of the night and take you-

Your head pounded. You blamed it on lack of sleep and caffeine withdrawal. Shaking your head, you came to your senses and looked around at your friends. The great hall was crowded and lively.

“Hm?”

“We asked if you were okay. I mean, you've been so quiet these past weeks, " one of your friends asks, the group settling their eyes on you.

“Yeah, I'm fine. Just a bit tired, that's all.” You murmur, sliding the food around your plate, eyes settling on the Slytherin table once more. You spot him, his posture annoyingly straight, his uniform pressed and pristine.

He raises a brow in amusement as if to acknowledge yet question you. It almost feels mocking. You glare at him before looking back at your food, opting to down the rest of your coffee and excuse yourself, desperately in need to blow off some steam.

The fall air was slightly warmed, spring on the horizon as you watched your breath form clouds whilst exhaling, holding yourself close as you headed towards your favorite spot near the black lake.

**

Conjuring a small blanket you sit near the water's edge, attempting to find good skipping rocks. You think you hear a bristle, a movement in the leaves and drying grass, looking over your shoulders and reaching for your wand only to find nothing.

Relaxing you sit back onto the thin blanket, basking in the weak sun rays, till a calm and even voice disrupts you. “Couldn't keep your eyes off me, could you?” He asks rhetorically.

You flinch, your body tensing as anticipation fills your stomach. “I dunno what you're talking about.” You mutter, pulling at the grass.

“Don't play coy,” Tom replies almost immediately, his tone forcing you to flit your eyes to meet his gaze. “You were thinking about how much you loved it when I fucked you, weren't you? That you wanted it to happen again.”

Your jaw almost drops, but you stammer instead, trying to salvage. “I- what? No. It was just a one-off, and then the exam was something entirely different. I mean I couldn't very well make a scene.”

“Both times if you said no, I'd've stopped.”

“Liar. I was saying that during the exam.” Just like at breakfast a sharp pain hits your head, causing you to groan.

“You didn't already forget I'm a legillimens, did you?” He tsks. “Stupid, stupid, girl. Whatever to do with a slut like you.”

The degrading words make your face heat. “For one, how about leaving me the hell alone?” You phrase the rhetorical suggestion, scoffing and forcing your gaze on the lake. “And for two I'm not a slut.”

Tom leans down just enough to grab your jaw, guiding your gaze up to him, squeezing your chin just slightly. “You act as if I don't know your darker and deeper desires, that I don't know you're soaking through your panties when thinking about what I've done to you.” He purrs, it feels like he's examining every pore of your face before he releases you, standing back at his full height.

“And that's considered being a slut is it not? Just thinking about getting fucked time and time again? Maybe you'd like it even more if I bring someone along next time, hm? Malfoy? Black? Nott? Your choice.”

“Fuck you.” You spat, glaring up at him and standing to full height now.

Tom chuckles. “If that's your way of saying that you want to be done I have no qualms.” He states evenly. “I would expect for this to remain in the past if this is the case.”

You open your mouth briefly before closing it, running your tongue over your teeth, thinking. He's utterly confusing, seeing to be attracted and wanting to fuck you then just retracting like that. You should stop, it'd be the logical thing to do. But he has to have some trick up his sleeve.

“You aren't going off and telling people afterward are you?”

Tom shakes his head. “No.”

With one last sharp nip of your cheek, you comply. “One more time won't hurt-” You start before he cuts you off with a simple command.

“Beg.”

“What?” Your gaze shoots up to him

“You heard me, beg,” Tom repeats himself. “Tell me that you like being fucked by me, tell me how you like this game we're playing.”

“I'm not going to beg that's absurd.” You almost laugh at him, till Tom crosses his arms in an almost impatient manner. “And as for the rest of that garbage, I don't enjoy any of that.”

Tom shrugs. “Fine.” He turns in his heels, pacing away from you.

Shifting your weight you drop your gaze, finding it less humiliating. “Wait- I.. Please? I don't mind it.. Please?”

You hear him hum, out of consideration or exasperation you can't tell. He turns around, looking over at you, lifting your gaze, not bothering an attempt at reading his expression past assuming it's a ‘please what’ look. “Please fuck me.”

“There you go, good pet.” He praises condescendingly, walking back over to you and patting your cheek as if praising a dog prior to putting his hands on your shoulders and giving you a slight push to the grassy ground.

You comply, looking up at him from your new spot on the ground, unsure of how to move forward.

Promptly undoing his belt buckle Tom pulled his trousers and boxers down just enough to let his cock slip out, already semi-hard.

You have half the mind to taunt him, but you bite your tongue for now, hesitant still. The concern of someone seeing rushes through you, but it dissipates when Tom’s impatience gets the better of him, grappling your hair and forcing the head of his cock against your lips.

He doesn't even have to tell you to open before you do, gagging as he hits the back of your throat. “C'Mon, you can take more than that. Be a good slut and open up.” He grunts as he roughly guides your head.

Slacking your jaw, you allow him deeper into your mouth, allowing him to control the pace whilst life sounds fill the air.

Before you know it he's pulled out, not even having cum yet, leaving you to rest on your hands and knees before he takes any further steps.

“Go up to the lakefront.” He instructs, watching you move to get up before clarifying. “Crawl to it.”

You look up at him incredulously, it was easy to pick up on the fact he was one who liked power but he had to be joking.

He reached his hand down, forcefully grabbing your hair. The pull on your hair stung, white-hot pain making you whine. “Are already so fucked out that I'll have to yank you there by your hair?”

“N-no, I can do it.” You whimper, wondering if it sounds as pathetic as you feel.

Once Tom releases his grip on your hair you make quick work, turning and taking a steady pace to the lakeshore, trying to keep it slow and sensual.

Once you reached the water's edge you sat back on your heels, waiting briefly in thought. You complied when he told you to face the water and arch your back. It felt almost mocking when he told you to ‘enjoy the view’, your brain too fuzzy and face too heated to comprehend him stroking your hair as he flipped your skirt up and pulled your panties down.

The oddly gentle movements were quickly contrasted by your head being submerged under the clear lake water, stunned for a few moments as the grainy sand pressed harshly into your cheek, the pressure of his hand on your head not being much help in your predicament.

It would be smart to stay still, and if you were expecting this oil would have, but your panic makes you act otherwise. You writhe, bucking your hips as if to tell him off, only pushing his dick deeper inside of you.

Moaning despite yourself and tensing up you feel your head be lifted, gasping for air, coughing.

“Stupid slut doesn't even know how to hold her breath.” He grunts, pounding in and out of you without a sliver of mercy.

“You're an asshole, Riddle.” You moan out, body contradicting you. “I hate you.”

“Mhm, sure sounds like it.” He hums, giving your ass a harsh slap with his free hand before submerging your head once more.

You had half the mind to take a deep breath and hold it this time, letting him use you. You couldn't help but allow the occasional moan out, air leaving you as water finds its way in.

He lifts you up again quickly, the whiplash making your head spin even more on top of the lack of oxygen. “Fuck squeezing me so tight,” He grunts, barely even giving you any mind as your head submerges once more.

It feels longer this time, but at least you're not letting any air out… right? Worst case the oxygen slowly changes into carbon dioxide, depriving you in a different way.

You wonder if the sex with Tom lasted this long in the library or if being half drowned is making it seem longer, your face scraping up the gravel and sand as he fucks you even harder, pushing down on your lumbar to force you into a prone position.

His hand in your hair slips down to your neck, squeezing there as well while the entire front of your uniform gets soaked. Fluttering your lashes through the water you begin to feel ever more lightheaded than before, silent moans escaping you as you give up, focusing on Tom slowly becoming sloppier with his movements before he stills.

You feel the inside of your cervix painted with hot white, the grip on your neck tight ring momentarily before he pulls out, grabbing you by the arm and pulling you fully out of the water.

As the hair fills your lungs you pant, coughing and rolling onto your side. A simple wave of his wand and Tom somehow clears up your lungs, before you even have time to react he finds a spot between your legs, watching his cum dripping out of you before leaving open-mouthed kisses on your inner thigh.

Working his way up at a painfully slow pace to where you need him most. Bucking your hips, too fucked out to even be polite. He looks up smirking, the look in his eyes just saying how he adores making you such a mess.

It shouldn't make you even wetter. He can see that it does, your cunt glistening with a mixture of your juices and his cum. Flattening his tongue, Tom delivers a painfully slow lick, tasting the mixture.

Next thing you know he's full-on snogging you, drawing whine as he bites your lip, moving down and pecking at your jawline then your neck.

It would take an idiot to not realize he's making a hickey, but you weren't being the brightest today anyway. One hand finding a home in his hair, digging into it, and reveling in the assault on your neck.

He works his way back to your core, slowly licking and sucking as he works at you, keeping your legs spread as your fingers dig into his hair and heat builds in your lower stomach.

You buck your hips against his face, trying to pull him even closer as loud moans escape you.

“Fuck Tom, please.” You moan, not caring how loud it was for once.

“Who do you belong to?” He mutters against your clit, the vibration only making it harder to stay in check.

“You, Tom, you.” You whine, teetering on the edge, your back arching as you try to hold back. Your mind in a haze.

“That's right,” He purrs as he pulls away just enough to pump his fingers in and out of you now, drawing lazy circles on your clit with his thumb. “I own you don't I?”

Nodding frantically you gasp, biting your lip and trying to hold back.

“Cum for me.” He draws before retaining his lips to your clit now.

The second Tom commands it you cum, you don't hesitate, having the sense to cover your mouth as you scream out. Panting you prompt yourself up on your elbows, finding him helping slip your panties back up.

He stares as if he's considering saying something but he doesn't, standing up and casting a charm to clean off his robes before casting the same on you. “Thanks..” You murmur, looking up at him.

“You can thank me properly by pursuing me next time.” He states before you can finish, turning and walking away. You watch him go before flopping back down on the conjured blanket, utterly spent and knowing that you won’t be able to look at the Black Lake the same way anymore.

Tag list: @viperify @nottslove @simp-for-love

[goshtoon]

Jayce Talis Hips

Short Drabble based on certain gif a moot of mine posted a while ago, featuring Jayce Talis councilor era with his fat ass

Jayce Talis x gn!reader (established relationship)

Warnings: suggestive, featuring Jayce Talis ass, featuring Jayce Talis lowkey giving slut, brat!Jayce, sub!Jayce

You wonder if he’s aware of it, hands propped upon his desk, broad back hunched, to catch a better glimpse at the schematics strewn before him.

He notes something down, leaning forward, his behind pertly presented as if on a platter. And he does it again— that slight shake, it’s hypnotic, seeing the focal point of your ever poignant arousal sway left and right, like the pendulum of a clock.

And much like a pendulum it is trance-inducing.

It seems the scientist does it in response to a triumph, at least what he suspects to be one. Each time he seems to have overcome another calculating conundrum he lets out a self satisfied hum, in tandem with the mesmerizing display, his lower body does.

It’s maddening, you press your lips together in concentration as you try your damndest not to nurse your, already sore, lower lip between you teeth.

Akin to Jayce’s muscle memory, your own is no longer under your influence. With your legs pressing against each other, your eyes flitting up to him and down to the block perched upon your lap. You suppress a frustrated sigh, you really wanted finish reading this book.

But now you’ve been stuck on the first page of the last chapter, for a good 15 minutes, leading to it suffering from crinkles, at the haphazardly folded corners, the outlet of your pent up nerves.

A clank and whispered sorry pulls you back to the instigator of your problem.

It makes you wonder if he’s too far in his head, or if you could attempt to bait him. If you must suffer from his mere presence, why shouldn’t he know just how much?

So you give it a start, “What are you thinking for dinner?” you inquire, trying to sound as nonchalantly as possible in your state. Mulling over the leather bound book, as you press it shut.

Jayce huffs, not in frustration but in thought, your query ringing throughout his skull.

“I really liked that place Sky recommended…” he states, casually, over his shoulder, not sparing you a glance just yet.

Your eyes fixated on his backside, as you slowly prop yourself up, placing the unread book atop the, now, abandoned chair.

You hum in thought, gazing at Jayce, watching the muscles in his back shift underneath his, notably tight, cream colored shirt. He tilts his head “Not what you were thinking?”. His voice tinged in wonder, even as his back is turned to you, you, your presence is his sole focus.

“Not really” your heels click across the lab, as you idly take note of all the clutter Viktor had strewn about his own work station. Unsurprised it’s seemingly in a scientists nature to be untidy.

„Anything particular on your mind?“

The wording couldn’t have been more on the nose, because there is something very much particular on your mind.

You’re aching to have him know, know what he does to you. How just small subconscious gestures of his, have you needing him on his knees.

Though you want him to figure it out by himself.

You occupy yourself, picking up a stray cog, turning it over on your fingers, as it reflects the blue hue of the hex-crystal powered machinery before you. Turning your head sideways, from the corner of your eye you see him shift, shooting you a look.

Almost got him hooked.

„I was thinking we could safe the pocket change and get something more local“ Jayce mumbles something underneath his breath, but it’s evident you’ve truly got all of his attention now, as it has him gently prying his gloves off, turning to fully face you.

Leaning against the desk, tapping his notably, ink smudged, chin in thought.

You send him a slight glance over your shoulder.

The display has you smiling to yourself.

„I’m somehow feeling like there’s something, I am missing here“ he mutters, his shining eyes now taking you fully in.

„Well, you are a scientist, figure it out.“

You lilt, gently placing the cog back before sauntering towards your lover. Paralleling his stance, you reach your thumb up to your mouth, pressing your tongue against it.

Jayces eyes follow the display with keen interest, his own tongue darting out to wet his lips.

His half lidded expression soon gets wiped of when your thumb reaches his chin to clean of the ink smudge. The brunette hums lowly in mock displeasure, his eyes falling shut as his eyebrows crinkle, but there’s a very apparent uplift to his lips.

„Are you going to tell me what this is about or am I going to have to beg?“ he whispers, as your warm palm cradles his cheek, him nuzzling into your gentle touch.

„I’m very much not opposed to any begging on your behalf“ you press your lips against the corner of his mouth, ending the affection much to soon, as Jayce tries to chase after your redend lips.

A sharp whine bubbles from his throat, one that has you snorting out a laugh.

„Must you?“ he mumbles, having the look of a kicked puppy as you crowd him against the table. The swell of his prominent arousal already tenting his pants.

„Must I what?“

Another gasp rasps through his chest as you slowly let your hand drift across his hips, mulling your thumb over the hip bone, before moving them to the small of his back.

„I’d like to ask you the very same question“ Jayce’s bottom lip begins visibly trembling, as his pupil widen. His brows draw together, but there’s something about his avoidance of your gaze.

„You knew“ you deduct, he peers at you briefly, his lips drawing together in a small pout.

With the bobbing of his throat, the small droplet of sweat tantalizingly slowly trickling down his exposed neck— the stark look of guilt.

„Councilor Talis were you trying to tease me?“ it comes out with a note of awe, it’s not often Jayce takes this sort of initiative.

Using his title also seems to do something for him, knowing that it holds no weight when he’s with you. He can try to acclaim his superiority as much as possible but it’ll all just melt away with a tilt of your head.

„I wasn’t. I was conducting an experiment“ he choked out, crossing his arms, before peering at your hands drifting down to the enticement of your evening.

„Did it bear any results?“ you mumble, kneading your hands into the muscled yet, pillowed by a nice layer of fat, globes of his ass.

He swallows thickly, letting out harsh puffs of air as his hands rest on your shoulders for purchase. The tenting in his pants more apparent than before, but you barely spare it a glance, much to Jayce’s dismay.

„My partner is undeniably needy“ he exposes his neck as he presses out the words, short breaths slithering out of throat, presenting his canines in the process.

„And my partner is undeniably mouthy today“ you squeeze the fat of his left cheek, raising your brows, watching his jaw slacken. His amber eyes clouding over, as he arches his back into your massaging grip.

„Does that mean no food?“ almost like an excitable dog he tilts his head, his face flushed with sweat pearling at his neck. And those pursed lips, begging to be bitten.

„Well, I would say that all depends on how good you can be“

[bartonomy]

REGULUS BLACK AND THE ART OF LOVING A MADMAN ( WOMAN??)

PAIRING Regulus Black x Crouch!Fem! Reader

SYNOPSIS When you pick a fight with Mulciber (again), get hit with a particularly nasty hex (again), and land yourself in the hospital wing (again), Regulus has to work his usual charm on a professor to clean up your mess. Just another day in his fucking life.

CONTENT WARNING not proofread! ,crouch family slander, reader gets hurt, regulus getting pulled into things, fluff!!

WORD COUNT 1.8k

library.

Regulus Black regretted a lot of decisions in his life.

Most of them involved his family, some of them involved his choice of friends, and at least one of them involved that time Barty had convinced him to try a new spell that had made him vomit slugs for an hour. But on the top among his many regrets, the one that occupied his mind on a near-daily basis and might be the reason why his hair is greying at the ripe age of 16, was the fact that he had somehow, against all logic and reason, fallen in love with you out of all people.

And, unfortunately, the most insane person he had ever met.

“Stop them!” a first year yelled across the courtyard.

Regulus sighed deeply, already rubbing his temples. “Oh, for Merlin’s sake-”

He turned just in time to see you- his oh so lovely, brilliant and slightly deranged girlfriend- launching herself at Mulciber like a particularly homicidal pixie.

“Oh, brilliant,” Regulus muttered.

The duel had looked absolutely pathetic, if he was being honest. Spells were flying. Mulciber’s wand was raised, his face exasperated with anger and annoyance, while you looked totally unbothered, happy even, to be challenged. “You really want to do this, Crouch?”

“You looked at me funny,” you mused, as if that was a reasonable explanation. You showed no sign of actually doing any harm that day,he thinks, much to his surprise.

Merlin's buttocks, I'm getting too used to this mental buffoonery.

As if you could hear his thoughts (well, his steps weren't exactly quiet on the cobble stones), you added, "Care to repeat what you said about me and Barty as well, Mulci?"

Regulus let out a long-suffering sigh. Of course it about Barty. Barty Jr. could get away with murder in front of you, and you would still defend his honor as if he were some kind of noble martyr instead of an absolute menace.

For once, though, he wasn’t involved. He was sitting off to the side, watching the fight unfold with mild interest, completely unaware that his little sister was about to get herself hexed into oblivion on his behalf.

“I didn’t say anything that wasn't the truth, Black,” Mulciber was saying lazily to him. “And you know,” he drawled, twirling his wand between his fingers, “I always wondered how someone as uptight as Barty Sr. managed to spawn not one, but two utter disappointments.”

Regulus felt his girlfriend tense. Beside you, Barty went very still.

Mulciber smirked. “I mean, your brother’s already well on his way to becoming a Ministry disgrace. But you-” He let out a low whistle. “I don’t know if you’re worse because you’re reckless or because you don’t even realize it.”

Regulus sighed. Oh, for Merlin’s sake.

Barty scoffed, looking deeply unbothered. “Well, you would be an expert on family disappointments, Mulciber. How is your Squib cousin, by the way?”

Mulciber’s smirk faltered. His wand snapped up. That was it.

"Sectumsempra!"

You barely dodged it, eyes narrowing. “Alright, you little freak, where the hell did you learn-”

Regulus was already moving, pushing through the gathering crowd of Slytherins who had circled around, waiting for blood. “Protego!” Regulus flicked his wand just in time to deflect the bombarda that was just blasted- your spell, because of course you weren't backing down. No, you were going straight for the kill. “Reggie!” you whined. “I had him!”

“No, you didn’t,” Regulus said flatly.

“Mulciber, you have the nerve to continue this child's play,” Barty Jr. called from the sidelines. He didn’t sound particularly concerned. Mulciber smirked. “the little rat has nothing against me.”

He caught his girlfriend’s eye- “Don’t kill him." you just winked. And then, with a graceful, almost lazy movement, you flicked you wand. “Expelliarmus.”

Mulciber barely dodged. He fired back, sneering- “Stupefy!” You stepped casually aside, as if dodging wasn’t even an effort. “You’re going to have to try harder than that, love.”

Mulciber growled and raised his wand. “Depulso!” You twirled your wand midair defending yourself, as if the interaction was boring you immensely. The force of the impact barely even ruffled your hair.

Barty let out a mocking yawn. “Come on, Mulciber. You hex like a first year.” Mulciber’s face twisted with anger. “At least I have some dignity,” he spat. “Unlike your sister, who has none. It’s pathetic, really. A Crouch playing attack dog for a Black?”

Regulus’s jaw clenched. He looked at his girlfriend, and you were smiling, Not in a nice way. Oh, he was so done for.

You tilted your head, mockingly thoughtful. “You know what’s really pathetic, Mulciber?”Mulciber scowled. “What?”

You only flicked your wand. “Silencio.”

His mouth disappeared, where once his lips were, was now a blank canvas of skin. Mulciber’s eyes widened. He tried to speak- but only muffled words came out.

Barty burst out laughing. “Oh, that’s just cruel, tiger” Mulciber’s face twisted with rage. He furiously swiped his wand to counter the curse- but you didn’t let him. With one smooth, effortless motion, you fired another spell.

“Locomotor Mortis.”*

Mulciber stumbled. His legs went jelly-like, his knees buckling beneath him. Regulus exhaled. “Chéri, are you playing with your food?”

“Obviously.”

Mulciber seethed silently. He furiously gestured with his wand and you deflected the curse midair with zero effort. At this point, he was shaking with fury. His pride- his absolute refusal to lose to a damn Crouch-took over. His eyes flashed and he pointed his wand. A muffled “Confringo!” could be heard as red streaks came blasting towards you.

Regulus’s stomach dropped. The spell hit you square in the shoulder, sending you flying backwards with a sickening crack. “Bloody hell-” Regulus lunged forward, catching you just before you hit the ground.

Your robes were singed, your arm at an unnatural angle that would make a troll wince, and, of course, you were still trying to get back up. “ I swear to my ancestors souls, let me at him, Regulus, before-”

Regulus tightened his grip, pushing you down gently. “You are not dueling with a broken arm.”

You huffed. “I could still win.”

“You could also die,” Regulus snapped. He turned to Mulciber, eyes cold. “Are you quite finished?”

Mulciber raised his hands frantically, gesturing to you and back to barty as if to say 'Hey, she started it!'

Regulus didn’t argue. You had, in fact, started it. But that didn’t make this situation any less infuriating.

“Barty,” he called. “A little help?”

Said boy finally got up from his seat, leisurely strolling over like this wasn’t a life-or-death situation. He peered down at his sister with a critical eye, then shrugged. “You’ll live.”

You groaned. “That’s your concern?”

“You look fine to me,” he said cheerfully. “Besides, I think you got one good hit in." Regulus was going to lose his mind. “You are both insane,” he muttered.

“Thanks,” they said at the same time.

Regulus was already tired. He hadn’t even had breakfast yet. This was supposed to be a normal day. But no, his girlfriend had to pick a fight before 8 AM.

Merlin’s beard, this family was going to be the death of him.

Regulus was not built for this kind of stress. He ran a calloused hand through his pale face, cursing the gods for giving him a reckless bomb of a girlfriend when he once, pathetically, called upon them in his third year.

Meanwhile, Barty- who had been doubled over, laughing at Mulciber from the bed opposite the room, finally spoke, grinning.

“That was brilliant,” he told his sister. “Merlin, I love you. This is why you’re my favorite sibling.”

“You don’t have any other siblings,” Regulus pointed out dryly.

“Exactly!” Barty beamed.

On Godrick's balls, was he tired.

He sat next to your bed, watching as Madam Pomfrey fussed over your arm. The hex had done more than break the bone- it had burned through your sleeve (from your brand new robes, if you might add), leaving angry red scorch marks trailing down your shoulder.

You were delighted by this, and he was flabbergasted.

“I bet it’ll scar,” you said excitedly. “That’s wicked, am I right?”

Regulus pinched the bridge of his nose. “No. It’s not wicked. It’s downright idiotic.”

Madam Pomfrey sighed, already immune to your nonsense. “You’ll be fine by morning, dear. But you’re staying here for now.”

That was fine. That was great, actually. What wasn’t great was the fact that Slughorn was already marching into the room, looking both concerned and exasperated.

Regulus immediately straightened, preparing himself for an hour (more like 10 minutes with the way that mustache of a man rambles) of scolding.

“Miss Crouch,” Slughorn sighed. “Another duel?”

“She started it,” Regulus said quickly, ever the dutiful boyfriend.

His girlfriend shot him a betrayed look. “Regulus!”

Slughorn shook his head. “Detention, I’m afraid.”

Regulus tilted his head, sliding into his usual charming demeanor. “Professor, surely you can’t punish someone who’s already suffered so much.”

Slughorn frowned. “She hexed Mulciber.”

Regulus offered a smile, smooth as silk, looking past the man to the occupied bed with said subject. “And he hexed her back. Quite viciously, I might add. The poor girl nearly lost consciousness in my arms. It was tragic, really.”

His girlfriend scoffed. “I was fine.”

Regulus nudged you sharply under the blanket. “You were barely breathing,” he said dramatically.

Slughorn looked hesitant. Regulus pushed harder.

“I carried her here myself,” he continued, voice just the right amount of pained. “Do you really think she deserves detention after such an ordeal?”

Slughorn sighed, rubbing his temples. “…Very well. But no more dueling.”

Regulus smiled, victorious. “Of course, Professor.” Slughorn gave them one last weary look before leaving.

The second he was gone, you gaped at him “You are actually insane,” you said scandalized and eyes wide.

Regulus smirked. “You’re welcome. Perhaps we can star our mornings not risking our lives and you know, go to the great hall like normal witches, hm?"

You only beamed up to him, leaning back against the pillows. “You love me.”

Regulus exhaled, already exhausted again.

“…Tragically, yes. I do”

[vaszametili]

been thinking about my drifter for so long and finally i was able to draw him... almost for the first time since 2021.... they're growing so fast 🤧🤧

close ups and a few thoughts about him are below!

(sorry for any mistakes I still use my poor knowledge of english in tandem with a translator 😔)

• In Duviri, he wore a mask of Guilt for so long that at some point, thanks to a conceptual embodiment, it literally replaced his face. It was only after Teshin appeared that he remembered what normal people should look like, tore it off his face (bodyhorror intended) and manifested a new one.

• He tried to grow the same magnificent beard as Teshin's, but he only got a thin mustache, which he left. Thrax laughed so hard in that loop that it set a record for the longest undying time. Later, they cut off his head anyway, but the next few spirals were painfully Joyful.

• Since after escaping from Duviri (which he left literally in ruins), he still had no idea what the paradox was or what the hell was going on in the Original System. So he was initially motivated only by a desire to repay the debt to this mysterious Other Side. But later, after getting to know Ordis and finding Lotus, this struggle with Narmer became a personal crusade for freedom. Or another role that he imposed on himself.

• There was too much of a shared past between him and Operator, weighed down by his own feelings of abandonment, envy, unwillingness to let go, and fear of loss. Therefore, he decided nothing better than to push away and run again. For half a year he drifted in search of his place and himself, until the Song sounded on the system. He was the only one of them two who remembered Zariman completely, so he rushed to the ship, knowing that the Operator would be there. The idea of being alone in the main place of their nightmares overcame his own horror of the place. He couldn't let that happen.

• Unlike Ole (Operator), he still does not have a specific name, and some kind of feeling does not allow him to choose a new one for himself. But he really loves the nicknames that others give him with all his heart: names from Ordis, Cavia, Syndicates and even the inhabitants of Duviri firmly occupy a place in his soul, as his personal treasure. "If you give something a name, it means you recognize that it exists" — and judging by how many names The Hex gave to him, he really is seen and recognized.

[heavenlybodies333]

Call me and I’ll come - S.S.

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x you

You should have known better by now.

Should’ve known that getting your feelings hurt was just part of the deal when it came to Sebastian Sallow.

Because he never promised you anything, did he? He never said he was yours, never whispered I love you when his hands were all over you, hot against your skin, when he fucked you like he actually meant it.

Sebastian Sallow was not a good person.

That was fine, though, because neither were you.

Whatever this was between you—this thing—that was built on the kind of pleasure that left bruises and bite marks and bad decisions. It was never meant to be sweet. Never meant to be kind.

And yet, there he was. Playing at chivalry, walking Poppy Sweeting back to her dorm like she was something to be protected. Like she hadn’t spent the past seven years getting under your skin, all sunshine smiles and Holier Than Thou bullshit.

You weren’t sure why you even followed them. Maybe it was the way Poppy's laugh rang through the corridor, soft and sweet, like she wasn’t the most insufferable person on the planet. Maybe it was the way Sebastian looked at her—really looked at her—as if she were saying something worth listening to. The thought made your stomach churn. You had him first. Had him beneath you, above you, inside you. You should’ve been the only thing occupying that wicked little mind of his.

But no. He was escorting her back to her fucking Hufflepuff common room like some noble gentleman. Heart-of-gold-ass-bitch. God, you hated her.

So you had a little fun.

Just a little.

Legilimency was easy when your target was oblivious. You slipped into her mind without so much as a whisper, poking at her thoughts, nudging her attention away from whatever painfully dull story she was telling him. Watching her stumble through sentences, lose her train of thought, look almost dizzy with confusion. Sebastian’s brows furrowed as she trailed off mid-sentence, blinking rapidly.

“You alright?” he asked, concern evident in his tone. That made your teeth grind. So concerned for little Miss Perfect.

Poppy nodded quickly, but she was uneasy now. You could feel her nerves, the confusion settling deep. You kept at it—poking, prying, twisting little intrusive thoughts through the cracks of her consciousness.

Poppy winced, pressing a hand to her temple. “I… I don’t know. I just feel a little—”

You rolled your eyes. Pathetic. You got bored of that real quick. Whispering under your breath you sent a nauseating little hex and she was doubled over, face paling, gagging.

Sebastian stepped back, startled. “Poppy?”

“Uh, I think—I think I need to go lie down,” she groaned, turning away hastily.

You strolled up behind Sebastian just as Poppy stumbled off, pouting mockingly. "Aw, hope she feels better."

You barely kept the smirk off your face as Poppy disappeared into her common room, her face pale as she clutched her stomach. Whatever. She’d be fine. Maybe next time, she’d learn not to bat her pretty little lashes at your Sebastian.

Not that he was yours.

Sebastian turned to you the moment she disappeared, a slow, disbelieving shake of his head. His lips twitched in amusement, but his eyes were anything but.

"Yeah, okay, princess, we’re really gonna pretend?"

You folded your arms, feigning innocence. "Not sure what you mean, Sallow."

"Cut the shit," he scoffed, stepping closer, the scent of fresh pine, something unmistakably him filling the space between you. "The second she started looking like she might kneel over, I knew you were up to something. And then—what? you just coincidentally show up the moment she leaves? Please."

You rolled your eyes. "Please," you mimicked, voice dripping with mockery. "What, am I not allowed to take a little evening stroll?"

Sebastian let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Right. Because you, of all people, just love late-night walks around the Hufflepuff dorms. Admit it, you’re jealous."

That word. Jealous. You bristled at it, anger flashing hot through your veins.

"Of what, exactly?" You sneered. "Little Miss I-Save-Orphaned-Dragons? Please. You think I’m worried about you wasting your time with a boring little goody-two-shoes like her?"

His jaw tensed, and fuck, you loved getting under his skin.

"You’re so full of shit," he muttered, voice dropping an octave. "What was it? You didn’t like seeing me with her? Didn’t like the thought of me walking her back? Maybe—" he took another step closer, and you refused to move back, even as your breath caught in your throat— "maybe you didn’t like knowing she actually enjoys my company without having to spread her legs first."

The words hit like a slap. You felt them crack through your ribs, shatter through your lungs. But you weren’t about to let him see it.

"Wow," you let out a sharp laugh, masking the ache blooming in your chest. "That’s rich, coming from the guy who can’t seem to keep his hands off me."

Sebastian tilted his head, brown eyes dark and unreadable. "Yeah?" he mused, his tone almost taunting. "Maybe I should try. Since it’s not like you’re anything special."

You sucked in a sharp breath.

"Fuck you," you spat.

Sebastian smirked, slow and lazy, his words venomous. "You already did. And if I recall, you come crawling back every single time."

Your vision blurred red. Your nails dug into your palms, the sting barely grounding you. You wanted to hex him. Wanted to make him hurt the way his words made your chest feel like it was caving in.

But instead, you took a step back.

"Go fuck yourself, Sallow."

And then you turned on your heel walking away, fists clenched, heart pounding, body burning with fury and something you weren’t ready to name. Jealousy.

Behind you, Sebastian let out a sharp exhale.

"Unbelievable," he muttered, voice laced with something that almost sounded like regret.

You were drunk when you called him.

Drunk and pissed off and reckless.

You’d heard about it from Imelda—how Sebastian had actually taken Poppy on a date, how he’d sat with her at The Three Broomsticks, bought her a drink, showed her a good time. How they sat together at dinner.

You refused to look at him for the rest of the day. You ignored him in class, in the halls, in the library. You ignored him even when he tried to get your attention, knocking his knee against yours under the desk, whispering your name when the professor wasn’t looking. You ignored him all the way up until tonight.

Right up until the moment you floo-called him from your room.

The moment he picked up, his voice came through the flames, exasperated but familiar. “What do you want?”

“Come over.” You softly demanded.

He sighed. “I’m busy.”

You leaned in, let your voice drop lower, silkier. “Didn’t ask if you were busy, Sallow. I said come over.”

A pause. He wasn’t even pretending to think about it—the sound of him moving, the clink of his belt as he got dressed . “Give me ten.”

You grinned.

Of course he’d come. He always did.

It didn’t matter how much he flirted with Poppy, how much he tried to pretend there was something there. It didn’t matter if she was sweet and kind and everything you weren’t.

Because at the end of the day, when you called—he answered.

Always.

Not even a minute later, there he was, disheveled, eyes swirling with something that looked like relief. His shirt was wrinkled, his tie loosened like he had rushed here.

You smirked. “Didn’t think you’d come.”

He exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair. “You’re such a fucking piece of work, you know that?”

You didn't bother responding as his dark eyes bore into yours. Tilting your head slightly, biting your lip before yanking him inside, fingers wrapped around this tie as the door slammed shut behind him.

Yeah. Poppy Sweeting didn't stand a fucking chance.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

a/n: raw, next question.

ᴅɪᴠɪᴅᴇʀ ᴄʀᴇ��: @ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄꜱ

MASTERLIST

[theresattrpgforthat]

My roommate made a joke about wanting to play a sonic the hedgehog tabletop game. Is there a ttrpg for that?

THEME: Sonic the Hedgehog.

Your roommate is about to be surprised because there isn't just a single Sonic ttrpg. There's at least seven.

Speeding Bullets!, by Princess Grace.

In SPEEDING BULLETS!, you play as three to five intrepid, plucky anthropomorphic animals on a quest to save the day- or end it. It’s up to you, some six-sided dice, and your beloved SO (Shadow Operator) to determine the fate of the world.

SPEEDING BULLETS! is a single-page Lasers and Feelings hack where your stats are FAST! (hero) and GUN! (antihero). You and your friends will create Sonic OCs, randomly assign them backstories like "Dark Warrior's Advent" or "Purification via Ruination" from a table of 326 genders, and put them up against insurmountable odds, Dr. Robotnik, and their own rivals.

Lasers and Feelings games all have the same basic premise: you have one number that represents your abilities in two different stat, in this case, Fast and Gun. Rolling above the number is good for one stat, while rolling below the number is good for the other. Roll your number exactly? Then something special happens.

What Speeding Bullets takes from Sonic is rivalries, a perpetual quest to defeat Dr. Robotnik, and an alternate suggestion for playing as your character's rivals, taking references from Dark Mirror. The game also comes with a Gender Table, a roll-table that appears to reference every Shadow the Hedgehog ending.

Rainbow Runaways, by UkeleleBard.

You are an animal living in a human’s world. The humans have found you, and the military will pursue you with every weapon, vehicle, and trap they have at their disposal. You’ve only got one option. RUN!

Rainbow Runaways was created for the Caltrop Core game jam, and runs on the Caltrop Core engine by Titanomachy. You can play it Solo, or with a GM, with a deck of cards and a 1-3 d4's per player.

The goal is simple: escape the military by reaching the edge of the city. You track this by using a clock with 12 slices. The deck of cards represents the actions of the military as they pursue you. Your character is composed of three stats and three techniques.

All in all, Rainbow Runaways is succinct and to the point. I think one of the benefits of fan games like this is that much of the lore is already assumed to be known by the players, and as a result reading the game book can be much quicker, since you just need to learn the rules.

Edge Hedge Arena (Beta), by ANIM TTRPGS (@anim-ttrpgs).

Throughout all human history, people have been given names. You thought yours was only mean to be used as an identifier, but you were wrong. Your name was chosen carefully, with the conscious (or subconscious) knowledge that one day it would inextricably link you to a champion of immense power who is also a hedgehog. This “game” serves as a set of instructions for revealing this mighty guardian, so they can defend your honor and name in a battle to the freaking death!

Still in the early stages, Edge Hedge Arena is partially a battle game. This is firmly a pvp game, using your weapons, powers and style to give you an advantage in the arena. However, first and foremost, Edge Hedge Arena feels like a bit of a love letter to the Sonic Fandom, more than Sonic itself. When you make a character, you actually have to search for art of a hedgehog OC online!

Chaos & Control, by farmergadda (@farmergadda).

Chaos & Control is a hack of Lasers & Feelings by John Harper, inspired by a similar hack, Steel & Spirit by Occupied Hex. In this game, Players will take on the roles of colorful, cartoony animal people and go on adventures through fantastic locations, facing off against maniacal foes, and looking really cool while doing so.

Another Lasers & Feelings hack, Chaos & Control adds the use of character types to further differentiate your characters, as well as tokens that can be used to trigger powerful moves unique to your character. For the GM, there's a number of roll-tables to help generate locations, problems, badniks, and so much more.

Rings and Running Shoes, by RingsandRunningShoes.

Welcome to Sonic's World - A universe unique and beyond what you know from the SEGA games! Where, inspired by Sonic and other heroes of the franchise, you and your friends will create a team of heroes that will save the world from the forces of evil!

The system is based on PbtA with heavy modification to fit the care-free power fantasy of Sonic's Adventures, but anyone familiar with the core game, should know the basics. On a very surface level the gameplay loop consists of alternating between "Peace and Quiet" and "Stages" sections. During P&Q your group will rest, prepare for the Stage, roleplay and develop your characters.

One of the benefits for PbtA games is playbooks. Playbooks keep most of the information that a player will need to know in one place, allowing you to choose a character type based on vibes, and then make selections within just the options provided to you. It's excellent for minimizing choice paralysis, and it can make teaching the game simpler, as each player has a number of references to the rules that are specific to their character in front of them at all times.

Mobius, by Ioan Davies-John.

Mobius is a fan-made tabletop wargame based on Archie Comics’ 24-year run of Sonic the Hedgehog, allowing you to fight Large Skirmishes in the gone-but-not-forgotten take on Sonic's World!

It features stats for all your favorite heroes and villains, and rules to suit every play-style from hordes of Eggman Robots to squads of elite Freedom Fighters. There’s an ever-evolving plethora of army books and supplements to represent the many factions within the pages of the world’s most way past cool comic!

Mobius is a tactical wargame, focused on moving little guys around on a map and taking down your opponents. There's plenty of minutiae here for folks who love figuring out what strategies work for them, including various extra rules, as well as 14 different factions to choose from. If you're not sure who you can play this with, the designer has a link to their community discord on their Itch page!

If you want something a little different in theme but similar in spirit, you might interested in Davies-John's other sonic game, a naval wargame set in the same universe: Egg Fleet!

Radical Spin, by Will Uhl (@raffitheowl)

Will you beat your evil twins, stop the robot army, and survive the perils of high school?

Radical Spin is a micro-RPG about melodramatic action animals. Hedgehog heroes, will you beat your evil twins, stop the robot army, and survive the perils of high school? Live out your bad fanfic fantasies today!

I don't know much about this game, but based on what I can find out about it, it seems to be designed to shine when you're exploring Sunday Morning Cartoon-style plots. I'm expecting characters with abilities that are larger than life, as well as a fairly simple rule set that's easy to pick up and learn without much trouble.

You might also be interested in...

My Silly Games recommendation post, which has a link to a Sonic game called Spindash!

I've also got a Ko-Fi account where you can leave me a tip if you like what I do!

[sweetestberryofthebunch]

The Wandavision Double Feature Show (Agatha Harkness x Reader)

In a town terrorised by the mind control of a grieving witch, you’re Bella Swan. Well, not entirely, but the look on Agatha’s face when you’d said it like that was too good to miss out on. Still, there was no explanation to it. You weren’t magick, at least you’d never thought you were, but when your entire hometown, including your poor parents, began to play the charades the Scarlet Witch had created, you were completely unaffected. It’s like you’re immune to it, your mind protected by a firm, unwavering shield. Luckily for you, Agatha finds you before the witch behind the Westview Hex does. She offers a simple deal. Her protection in exchange for your loyalty. And, Technicolor or not, how could you ever resist the twinkle of those eyes?

~ a collection of snippets of your time with Agatha during the Westview Hex; Loose on plot, heavy on smut ~

Part I: And … Action!

In this Episode it is the 50s and you are sent out to spy on Wanda for the first time. Agatha realises just how much you aim to please, and decides to have a little fun with that.

Content/Warnings: imbalanced power dynamics, mentions of light choking, r definitely has a praise kink, mommy kink, no smut in this one yet but dw i‘m already three fingers deep into part 2

5k+ words

„Strip.“

„What?“, your mouth fell open, staring at her wide eyed. You were standing in her bedroom, already an insane enough thing to happen within knowing her for less than 48 hours. But hearing her stern voice order you to take off your clothes definitely topped that.

Agatha didn’t even look over her shoulder, unbothered by your confusion as she pushed open the winged doors to the gigantic closet across the room. There had to be a similar magic involved in it like the basement, there was no way a closet this size just fit into the second store of a little suburban house.

She’d brought you here after finding you on the streets, a single, vibrant blob of color in the new, black and white reality of Westview. You’d been shaking, eyes swollen from crying, Why was everything black and white? Why was your apartment suddenly occupied by a random couple you‘d never met before, declaring they had to sell milkshakes from the empty store beneath your studio now, because she had told them too. Why? And why was everyone dressed so differently, so … vintage?

Agatha had been the only bright, carefree face you’d seen after hours of stumbling around lost in town square. She had been just as confused about seeing you, too, but her initial surprise quickly turned into intrigue.

Her house was a safe haven, the first time since you’d woken up in this upside down reality you didn’t feel exposed, didn’t feel like a lab rat under a bright lamp, vulnerable, unable to run.

She‘d made you tea and you‘d sat on her couch, telling her everything that had happened. And, thankfully, she already knew. So you weren’t crazy.

The things she’d told you … witchcraft, magick, hexes and mind control … if you hadn’t seen it for yourself, you wouldn’t have believed it. Slowly, as you listened to her and nodded, you saw the color drain from yourself too, slowly fitting into this new world, this hexed Westview.

„I just don’t understand why“, you‘d eventually confess, and the witch - Agatha was her name - had shrugged.

„We’re going to find out.“ she’d leaned closer to you, hands clasping together underneath her chin as she smirked at you, „The same way we’re going to figure you out.“

Because if all of Westview had been hexed, you should have been too. But you weren’t. And, as you found out after Agatha had assigned you a room in her home she placed a twin sized bed in it with the flick of her wrist (you almost fell over in surprise). You learned from her that she couldn’t read your mind either.

And while you were too busy pouting over the fact she’d tired in the first place, she’d just shrugged it off. Because that lead to one conclusion. You seemed to have some kind of resistance, an immunity to any witchcraft. A shield around your mind, like a camouflaged helmet.

That night, before you’d curled into the new bed, you had made her a promise. Her protection and guidance in this hexed town, in return for your loyalty in her plan.

„What plan?“, you’d asked before retreating to your room, and the bewildered glow in her eyes had sent a shiver down your spine.

„We‘re going to get the Scarlet Witch, and we are going to take this power away from her.“

“Take your clothes off“, Agatha said now, back in her bedroom again, starting to rustle through the racks. The sound pulled you out of your memories, and you immediately felt the heat rising to your head.

„This is a 50s sitcom.“, Agatha explained, „You’re not meeting our lead actress in a graphic tee and jeans.“

When you still made no attempts to strip, she turned around with an exasperated sigh, palm pressing against her forehead. There was a pale dress draped over her arm, the fabric swinging as she raised her hands in a dramatic gesture, pointing at you.

„My Goodness, are you Mormon? Go change in the bathroom if you need to, there’s a robe hanging at the door.“

Finally, you made your way over to the bathroom she gestured towards, only stopping when she called out your name again.

„Honey, turn back around.“

You Stopped and did exactly as she said, turning around with one hand on the door already. A smirk tugged at the corners of her mouth at your compliance, and you felt your stomach twist at the sight.

The witch gave you a long, studious look. Like your face was a canvas she had yet to decide what to paint on. A project she was still mapping out. You shifted from one foot to the other, glancing anywhere but right at her piercing eyes.

„Take everything off. Including piercings“, one more glance at your ears, „Especially piercings.“

„All of them?“, the potential implications of your question only dawned on you when the words had already left your mouth, and you immediately wanted to sink into the ground, „I mean … I don’t-“

„Oh my!“, Agatha let out a low giggle, the amusement on her face undeniable as her eyes slowly wandered down your front, over your chest and lower, to the zipper of your jeans. You felt like your skin was going to burn right off under her gaze. Own eyes fixated on your toes, you didn‘t dare to look up even as the tips of her pumps stepped into view.

„That entirely depends on how much you decide to reveal“, she chuckled. Two fingers hooked underneath your chin, nails digging into your skin just slightly. Her grip was steady but not painful, forcing you to meet her eyes. One of her brows raised up in an almost cocky smirk, observing you like a lioness observed her unassuming prey. Watchful, but aware of her upper hand over the situation. Your breathing stopped, eyes wide, brain unable to form a single sentence. God, you wanted to sink into the ground in embarrassment.

The grin on Agatha‘s face was smug, entirely pleased with your reactions to her.

„Just remember this is a first meeting between two neighbours in the fifties. Maybe let her take you to dinner first.“

Before your brain could muster up an answer, she‘d already let go of you, turning back towards the closet. „Go change“, she called over her shoulder, waving you off, „Take a shower if you need to.“ You decided to ignore the obvious jab and do exactly that.

It turned out that playing dress up for this distorted reality was quite fun. After showering, Agatha had twirled your hair into little curls, letting it dry like that as she led you through each piece of your new attire displayed neatly on the big canopy bed.

With each piece of clothing you‘d slowly feel yourself emerge deeper into the world, feeling less out of place. Agatha had curled and then pinned your hair up, and you had slipped in various undergarments, stockings, and a metal wired bra with cone-like cups that weren’t fitted to your actual chest at all.

„I don’t hate this! I look like Madonna“, you commented, giving the full undergarments a onceover in the mirror.

„Ouch!“

Your hand came up to hold the ear Agatha had flicked with her finger, turning around to stare at her in accusation, „What was that for?“

„Madonna isn’t even a concept yet“, she reminded you, shaking her head at your dramatic reaction to what really had not been that painful at all, „Drop the modern references, you can’t let her know you’re not under the hex!“

You pushed your bottom lip forward into a little pout, remembering the notes she’d made you take on etiquette, culture and speak of the era you were trapped in. “I won’t slip up!“, you promised, „I was just … pointing that out. I‘m lifting up the team spirit!“

„Thank you for the amazing contribution“, Agatha dead panned with a little roll of her eyes, before nodding towards the little chair by the vanity again. She held a small case of some pressed powder in one hand and a big, fluffy brush in the other. „Now sit down, you can lift your spirits later. We’re not even close to being done.“

The checkered dress Agatha had picked out for you was beautiful. Bright shades formed the pattern on the cotton fabric that had you wonder what its actual colors were. The shades of grey that the world had been tinted in since the Hex were brighter than what Agatha was wearing. A part of you wanted to know if she’d dressed you in contrary or complimentary shades. The same part that wanted to see the colors she dressed herself in at all, that wondered if her eyes were blue or green. But, there was no way to know that now, not until the two of you managed to break this hex. So it was time to focus on that.

You had on multiple layers of underskirts, the cone bra, and a corset that was pulling you together from your ribs all the way below your hipbone, and the dress itself came with a little fabric belt held right at the nip of your waist, a few buttons at the front as decoration.

You felt yourself inhale sharply when you felt Agatha‘s delicate fingers tie it together in the back, giving both ends of the belt a little tug. You stumbled backwards, just a single step, but it was enough to suddenly feel her warmth against your back, body brushing against yours. You jumped at the sudden contact, eyes wide as they found hers in the mirror, slowly wandering down your body.

„Relax Darling“, she smiled, one hand adjusting the little bow she’d tied at your back, the other coming up to brush some of the curls she’d so intricately pinned into place back over your shoulder.

She exposed your neck and shoulder, all the way to your collarbones, where she had placed a single necklace with a pale gemstone.

You swore you could see the tip of her tongue dart out, licking her lips mere inches from the shell of your ear.

If you were braver, you’d roll your head to the side, expose more of the silky skin of your neck to her, offer yourself up right then and there. Maybe even beg her to taste your skin just once. Just for the slight chance she might actually do it.

But you weren’t brave like that, you were not even brave enough to meet her eyes right now, despite having no problems staring at the dazzling woman when she didn’t notice. So all you did was swallow hard, eyes fixed on the hands in your lap, covered by a little pair of white gloves.

You didn’t see the way Agatha’s eyes watched your throat move, didn’t notice how her hands ran through your fluffy curls just a little longer than necessary, before pulling away to stand upright behind you, hands coming to rest on your shoulders, giving them a little squeeze.

“We’re done”, she announced, a satisfied little smirk on her stained red lips, admiring the work she’d done on you.

And certainly, you were completely transformed, looked like an entirely different person. The dress fit you surprisingly snug, you wondered if that also was part of her magic, your hair styled almost the exact same way as hers, both of your lips painted dark, both of your cheeks covered in blush. With her hands on your shoulders like that, you almost looked like a vintage photograph, the kind you kept on your bedside table. It made your insides feel like they were boiling.

In the small hall by the front door, your feet slid into little black pumps, polished to shine enough that the light reflected off the matte fabric. You stood back up, rolling your shoulders before taking the plate of freshly baked apple pie from the counter beside you. A small, unassuming gesture. Just a neighbor introducing themselves with a homemade pie. The perfect beginning to any storyline.

Agatha watched you from the door, nodding in approval when you gave a little spin to show off your final look.

“And remember“, she said, matter of factly, „you are just stopping by in town for a little while, staying with Agnes, your … mother in law.”

“Really?” You had to hold back a laugh, giving her a curious look, “that’s the story you made up for us?”

“It’s the fifties, remember”, Agatha replied. Her hand found the small of your back, fingers hooking underneath your belt, pulling you back until you were pressed against her. She was so close, you could feel the words she murmured into your ear, voice low and raspy, “We can always rewrite the plot later.”

You almost dropped the pie right then and there.

Just like that, she had already stepped away from you, letting out a little giggle that sounded a lot more like Agnes again. Her hands found yours, clasping over them, stabilising your grip on the porcelain plate again.

„So I am … married“, the words felt strange on your lips, and you had to hold back a nervous laughter. If this was supposed to work, you’d have to work on your acting skills.

Thankfully, Agatha came to help you out immediately. „To mine and Ralphs Beautiful boy … Bartholomew.“

Now you had to laugh, shaking your head at her. How she was able to just say things like that with a straight face was beyond you. You‘d better catch up to her soon.

„Yes of course“, repeating the story to her, you pushed your tongue into your left cheek.

„My husband Bartholomew, who works in the city.“ Your eyes found hers, and you bit the inside of your cheek. Goodness, even in this black and white reality, you could see the brightness of her eyes. You were longing to see them in color, wanting to know what they looked like when they caught the sun. Focus!

“And your husband Ralph, who is the guy you keep chained up in the basement.“ The look you gave her at that was a mix of concern, uncertainty and a little bit of accusation. The fact that she’d basically just taken over some poor guys house and banished him into the magical dungeon she’d summoned was a bridge you hadn’t yet crossed.

Agatha nodded along as you spoke, a wicked little grin on her lips. „We feed him twice a day, don‘t we? He will be useful later. Until then, he’s gonna be just fine down there.“

Her hands wandered from your hands up to your wrists, clasping around them. You weren’t sure if it was an act of encouragement, or a subtle warning. And you certainly weren’t going to ask. Your skin was already prickling with goosebumps from the touch alone.

Agatha‘s voice was low, the air around her vibrating with power.

„He hasn’t complained since I gave him his Xbox, and they haven’t even invented that out here. It’s best to keep him where he is for now.“ She inched closer, grip on your wrists tightening, effectively pinning you in place. Your breathing stopped.

Her voice had dropped to merely a whisper now, and you swore you could see a single flash of purple in her eyes. The only color you’d seen since all of this had started.

“Ralph is none of your concern, we need him alive and well for later.“, she was so close, you could feel the husk of her words on your face.

“Your job is to be a good little pet and do as I say. Your loyalty for my protection. Understood?“

After swallowing hard, you gave a small but firm nod. „Understood.“

After a few more seconds, she dropped her hands. The mask of Agnes slipped on and off so smoothly, it caught you off guard every time.

„Go now darling, or you’ll be late!” she smiled, and gave you a gentle push towards the front door, opening and holding it for you. As you brushed past her, she gave you a dazzling smile, hand up in a small but enthusiastic wave. Like she was sending you off on your first day of school, not a magical spy mission in a fake reality. Your life truly took a wild turn in the past 48 hours.

“Make Mommy proud!” Agatha chirped, standing by the door, and she was lucky you were already down the stairs. Otherwise you might have tripped and fallen and the whole operation would have ended right there. Your knees felt like jelly, but you straightened your back and rolled your shoulders. It was time to deliver. Most of all, it was time to focus on your mission, and not the way your stomach had just performed a backflip at her words.

As you made your way down the sidewalk, still a little uncomfortable in the pumps Agatha had picked out for you, you held onto the porcelain plate with white knuckles. It truly was a miracle you didn’t break it on the short walk to Wanda’s house.

„Alright“, you murmured to yourself, rolling your shoulders before pressing the doorbell. There was no going back now. „Here goes nothing.“

…

It turned out that you were quite the natural at this whole undercover thing. Wanda certainly made it easy, eager to talk to you, even more eager to try the pie you’d made, eyes rolling back in pleasure at the taste of cinnamon on her tongue.

She was beautiful, so to the point where you almost felt a little intimidated. You didn’t know what you had expected, but it wasn’t a girl this sweet, a few years older than you, her smile was warm and her voice genuine when she thanked you for the pie. You’d just shrugged and told her you appreciated the opportunity to leave the house for a while. At least it would be easier to click with her like this.

The ice broke for sure the moment you offered to help set the table, Wanda clapping her hands together in Delight. The two of you ended up on her couch, legs propped up like school girls on a movie night, plates of pie in hand as she‘d rambled to you about Vision. The girl was whipped.

How much she loved him, how excited they were to move to Westview, how much he already seemed to exceed at his new job. You‘d mostly nodded along, trying to memorise every little detail to repeat back to Agatha later.

It was weird, if it wasn’t for Agatha telling you the truth about the hex, you never would have assumed Wanda to be the one behind it. She seemed so … carefree. And unassuming. But then, eventually she did slip up.

„Enough about us!“, she laughed, „I‘ve been talking your ear off about my husband for over an hour, you must be so bored!“

You shook your head as you finished the last bit of pie and Wanda took your plate to place it on the coffee table. You gave her a grateful little smile.

„It’s fine really“, you replied, hoping people in the 50s would say it like that.

If they didn’t, Wanda seemed to not notice. „Tell me about Bartholomew“, she said instead, „Agnes never mentioned having a son!“

You swallowed, gears in your head turning as you came up with something on the spot.

„Well he lives in the City“, you said, „I mean, we do together. He writes for a tabloid, so he’s always busy. So is Ralph, that‘s why I‘m staying here for a while. He was worried that I was lonely. That Ag- Agnes is too.“

Wanda smiled at that, head tilted slightly to the side. „How very kind of him! He must love you very much.“

You almost choked on nothing at that, quickly busying yourself with a hand in your hair, brushing a lost strand behind your ear. „Well, I mean … I would hope so.“

Wanda eyed you with curiosity, shuffling just the slightest bit closer on the couch. „What is he like?“, she asked just a little quieter than before. Like she wanted to know the real deal now.

„Very different from his mom“, you offered, and feared it sounded more like a question than a statement. However, you took the way Wanda‘s lips curled into a distant smile as a good sign. She was buying every little piece of bullshit you had to barter. Good.

„He uh … It’s a little embarrassing but he started to bald very badly“, you had no idea where and why this had come to you in this moment, but the way Wanda leaned back and put her hands on her hips made you more confident in your story. Any reaction was a good one. If you shared, maybe Wanda would too… After all, all of this was to amuse her, to please the Scarlet Witch.

“We tried every treatment but he keeps losing more hair. He told me not to tell Agnes yet!“

Wanda gave you an almost patronising look. „Well, I would tell him that he doesn’t have to worry about that at all, and that the amount of hair on his head or what his mother thinks doesn’t change the way you feel about him! Vision has no hair at all and I still love him the same!“

There it was!

A slip up in the story. A mistake in production, almost too small for a regular viewer to notice. But you weren’t a regular viewer, you were a spy on a mission looking for cracks in the story.

„But Wanda“, you tilted your head to the side, looking at her with furrowed brows, the perfect face of innocent confusion. „Doesn’t Vision have hair? I saw him leave for work this morning, he drives past the kitchen window every day!“

Wanda‘s big, round doe eyes widened, fumbling to find something to say. You almost felt bad. Almost.

„Well, I mean …“ her gaze left you, darted from the empty plates on the coffee table to the pictures on the wall, which also featured her with a tall man, thin but definitely prominent hair on his head, even a little stubble on his upper lip.

„He’s been balding too.“ she finally said, lamely.

„Hah!“, Agatha shook her head at that, one hand on her hip as she laughed, „Balding my ass! That man is all steel and wires, the human form is merely an illusion!“

She was standing behind you as you sat at her vanity again, in the low light of the nightstand lamps, watching Agatha as she pinned your hair into little rosettes overnight. At the extent of your daily beauty routine, a part of you wished you did have magic like she had, so you could just wake up and wish for perfectly curled hair.

Then again, sitting here, wrapped in your nightgown and the robe she‘d given you as her fingers delicately ran through your hair, precise and yet gentle certainly was a way to spend your night. You couldn’t help but lean into the touch a little more, resisting the urge to wistfully sigh.

Trying your best to recount what you‘d found out earlier today proved a little harder though when she was all over you like this, barely covered by her own nightgown, one sleeve slipped off her shoulder,every little tug and pull on your hair sending a new shiver down your spine.

„So … that was helpful?“, you asked when she’d gone quiet after your story.

„It‘s strong evidence that she didn’t just create an illusion for the guy, but actually reanimated his corpse. If you can call it that. Is it necromancy if the body used is made of panels and electric wire?“

The way she said it, it wasn’t a real question. Her fingers busy pinning the last strand of your hair into place, before carefully wrapping a silk scarf around all her hard work, tying it together at the top of your head much like the one she was already wearing.

„I don’t know“, you answered anyway, flinching when suddenly, you felt her warm palms on your bare shoulders, soft skin resting against yours.

Her eyes found yours in the mirror, and her expression was unreadable to you. „Tell me what happened after she slipped.“

„Not much“, you said, „she … she stared at me really intensely for a moment, but then nothing happened, so I just offered to bring the dirty dishes to the kitchen. She thanked me again and then I left, but she did hug me on the way out. I don’t think she assumes anything about me.“

If the fact Wanda had gotten this comfortable this fast with you bothered Agatha, she didn’t let it show. Her hands on your shoulders began to move a little, eyes still holding your gaze in the reflection as her palms began to rub over your skin, back and forth and back and forth. You felt the hair on your neck rise.

„I …“, you sucked in a sharp breath, her hands wandering upwards, brushing over your neck for just a moment before going back to your shoulders. You felt yourself lean back into her tough almost naturally, like you were guided by some higher power. Like it was second nature, you tilted your head up a little, neck craning. Your legs were shaking underneath the layers of silky fabric you were wearing. You wanted nothing more than her hands back on your neck.

„Agatha“, the sound came out a lot higher, a lot weaker than you‘d intended, and your cheeks turned red in embarrassment.

The woman behind you just smirked, the way your body was reacting to her touch was not lost on her. She leaned over you, ever so slightly closer now. One of her hands stilled on your shoulder, fingertips grazing over the outline of your collarbone. Her other hand wandered back up towards your neck, thumb pressing into the back, stroking over the small baby hairs that flew free there, fingers loosely resting over your throat. She could feel your racing pulse there, feel every breath enter and release from your lungs. And she definitely felt the way you swallowed hard, felt the vibration of the little moan daring to slip out of your mouth.

She leaned down further, until her lips were less than an inch from your ear. „What‘s wrong darling? Cat got your tongue?“

“No“, you mewled, and the feeling of your throat moving against her grip was so delectable, you had to squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, fearing that one look from her might make you explode, „Yes.“

Need was burning under your skin, need for her to press down harder, need for her other hand to wander down lower. You were never more grateful for your new found powers than right now, knowing there was no way she could see the sinful images your mind was producing.

„Are you nervous?“, her tone was teasing, and when you did open your eyes again, she was smirking against the shell of your ear, brow cocked in a smug expression.

„There is no reason for you to be nervous. Not after you did so, so well for me.“ She put a little more emphasis on words than the last. Your hands wrapped tightly around the arm rests of your chair. God, you needed her to have her way with you so badly.

And judging by the look on her face, the curl of her lips, she knew that too.

The grip on your throat tightened, just a little. Her other hand tugged on the loose hair at the back of your neck, forcing you to look up at yourself in the mirror.

She was standing above you, halfway curled into you, holding you in her firm grip. Your cheeks were a bright red, a color quickly spreading across your entire face, creeping down your neck. There was a thin layer of sweat on your brow, and your eyes, goodness, your eyes were wide, fluttered half shut in a flushed gaze, pupils dark.

„You did so good for me today“, Agatha leaned in even closer, her breath ghosting over your cheek. The scent of rosewater and lavender invaded your senses, and if you had been in a position to, you would’ve loved to lean in closer, let the floral scent completely consume you. But you didn’t dare to move. Not with her hands on you like this, not when she was leaning closer, even closer never breaking eye contact in your reflections, dimply illuminated by flickering light bulbs.

And then, you could feel her. Her soft, plump lips pressed against your cheek, just above the corner of your mouth. It was short, feather light and before you knew it she had already pulled away. You instinctively tried to chase after her, but the grip on your throat kept you in place, holding your head exactly where it was as she leaned away, straightening her back. You immediately missed her presence right behind you, feeling cold all of a sudden. Her hand left your throat, giving your cheek one little pet on its way before she fully retreated from you, stepping away, arms crossed. Like she didn’t just almost kiss you, like your whole body wasn’t practically begging for her to come back. You weren’t above actually begging either.

„How about this“, Agatha spoke, matter of factly, „Tomorrow I handle Wanda, and you keep the house in tact. You remember your tasks?“

„Feed Ralph and the bunny“, you recounted, voice hoarse, „Keep everything tidy. Never touch the Dark Hold. Tend to the greenhouse out back, cook dinner. Don’t drive, we’re not allowed to drive without a man in the car. Save a plate for Ralph again, keep an eye out for Wanda‘s house.“

„Very good“, Agatha hummed, turning away from you to eye the bookshelf beside the vanity, fingers curling as she looked for something. You tried to pry your eyes away, but failed horribly.

„Let’s add something new to that list. I‘m gonna give you a list of reading assignments. Some history, some spellbooks, some metaphysics.“ She glanced over her shoulders at you, giving you a wink. „Time to find out more about those curious little powers of yours, don’t you think?“

You nodded, staring back at yourself in the mirror one more time. Whatever your life had come to these past days, no one was ever going to believe that story. But, at least in this story your co-star was Agatha Harkness, and you had a feeling you’d just passed your audition with flying colours.