#and would just rather put her down???? even though shes perfectly healthy????

[freakoutgirl]

Dads exist in this world to piss you off

[waataah]

Jealous/Possesive Sanji plagues my mind<3

✧ sanji vinsmoke x fem!reader ✧

｡･ﾟﾟ･ (nsfw, fem!reader, 18+ only, mdni, 3rd pov) ･ﾟﾟ･｡

content/cw: NSFW, heavy-petting, light-petting, kissing, praise, worship, jealousy, rough play, first-time and sexual themes.

summary: Sanji is quite the gentleman when he needs to be, especially around y/n. But once he sees you having a drink with Zoro can he contain the jealousy within him? Or will the gentleman's act come to an end?

word count: ~2041 words

・❥・Your body is all mine.

“So you and the chef have been dating for a while huh? Never thought that idiot would be able to maintain a relationship with anyone let alone a woman” the green-haired swordsman scoffed.

“Yeah I never thought I would date that perv either… but he grew on me what can I say?” she laughed in response to the other's words.

The two raised a toast and drank their problems away, because even in a perfectly healthy relationship, who doesn't have their own issues? The two gulp down their booze and laugh a bit over the pervy cook.

“You know Zoro I can tell he’s grown on you too y’know? You act like you hate him but everyone knows you're both friends” she laughs. 

“Shut up! Who would be friends with a loser like that idiot?” the green-haired man scoffed.

Y/n didn’t exactly enjoy her boyfriend being talked about like that by her friend but she usually overlooked it since she knew Zoro was typically like that.

While the two continued to chat and drink at the kitchen table, Sanji stood at the door that was slightly ajar. He lit his cigarette and listened to each word his girlfriend and the moss head would say. He felt a pang in his chest and knew he was jealous of the two of them laughing and having a drink with one another. He understood that y/n was his girlfriend but just the sight of his lover and the person he gets along with the least having a laugh still made his blood boil. 

After he heard y/n get up she said, “Well I have to get back for night watch, so same time tomorrow swordsman?”. Sanji quickly left upon hearing those words.

Zoro lifted his glass towards the girl and continued to drink the night away scoffing at the nickname you and the chef loved to call him. However, he did appreciate you occasionally taking over the night watch duty since he's the one who does it often. 

Y/n usually didn’t mind taking up night duty, the Thousand Sunny’s lookout tower was very secluded perfect for when she wanted alone time since she always shared a room with Robin and Nami. The look tower was a perfect place to have silence. But not tonight. 

Once in the tower, the hatch and ladder were closed and locked behind y/n with a cross-armed Sanji standing between her and the entrance.

“Hello, my dear~”.

“Sanji? What are you doing up weren't you asleep?” y/n was a bit shocked by the blonde waiting in the tower.

Sanji paced around the room and looked at all the workout equipment that Zoro had thrown about. He looked upset but y/n really didn’t understand why.

“Well I wanted to get a cup of tea and bring it over to my sweet y/n before heading to bed but it seemed the kitchen was occupied” he looked over with a strained smile. He took a drag from his cigarette and put it out, tossing it to the side not caring where it landed since it was “zoro’s space” after all.

It finally clicked with y/n, Sanji's tone of voice, and him seeing her with Zoro. He was jealous, though she doubted he would admit it. Y/n decided to stand still and wait for her lover to calm himself down. Eventually, he sighed and threw himself back onto the seats that lined the wall of the tower and gritted his teeth together.

“So… would you rather date that swordsman than a perv like me? You even take up guard duty for him every once in awhile…” he said with his head hanging low, he was pretty upset over the conversation he had heard. Sanji could feel his heart squish with pain, he hated being jealous. But he knew that just meant he did love y/n.

Y/n sighed and walked over to her lover, she tilted his chin up and gently placed a kiss on the blonde's lips. Sanji’s body shivered in response, his hand quickly making its way over to y/n’s waist and gripping onto it not wanting to ever let her go. 

“I think I like my pervy cook much more than anybody else” she giggled softly against his lips.

Sanji looked at her and pulled her by the waist to sit on his lap, y/n happily obliged. 

“Why do you take his guard duties?”.

“So I could have some alone time and let the poor guy rest”.

“Why do you drink with him every night?”.

“He’s the only other MAN who would give me slightly more serious life advice than any of the other guys here” y/n sighed. 

“Sure I could ask Robin and Nami but they tease me much more than Zoro, he usually only makes fun of you rather than my problems” y/n laughed.

Sanji let out a small sigh of relief and rubbed y/n’s hips gently with his thumb, it gently making it’s way into her shirt to touch her skin.

“And you swear you prefer me over that moss head?”.

“Whose lap am I sitting on right now?”.

Sanji felt a switch inside of him, the two of you were alone. Everyone was asleep, Zoro probably fell asleep the moment y/n walked out of the kitchen. The two of them hardly ever got alone time, the ship was always busy. Whenever the two of them were alone to share an intimate moment it would always be ruined by Luffy, Franky, and Ussop. But this time it was different, the lights were off and everything was quiet. Just y/n and Sanji’s breath silently echoing throughout the small room.

More of Sanji’s fingers slid up y/n’s shirt earning a small gasp from the woman, Sanji’s eyes never leaving hers. “May I my dear?”.

His words were slightly desperate but calmer, this would be the first time the two could share this type of moment so y/n quickly nodded a ‘yes’ in response. Sanji swiftly pulled his hands up to remove her bra only to find she was not wearing one. 

He halted in his tracks and looked up at y/n, “You were with Zoro… braless…?”.

Y/n laughed nervously and looked anywhere but at the chef, “H-he wasn’t looking… if a-anything he's not interested in-”.

Her little excuse was quickly halted by the blonde as he swiftly took off her top and used his tie to wrap her hands together with no easy way to make them come undone. Sanji’s jealous pangs riled up inside him more causing him to lose all sense of treating their first time sweet and perfect. He had always had an image in his mind of his first time with y/n. Candles, flowers a nice comfy bed and take her sweetly, passionately, and gently. But right now he wasn’t thinking straight. He would take her here in Zoro's gross sweaty gym watch tower and he didn’t mind treating her a bit rough.

It’s not as though he had never seen y/n naked before, some times before breakfast there were times to have some quickies, so he had definitely memorized y/n’s perfect delectable body. Sanji took one of her soft breasts and cupped it in his palm, the other hand keeping a firm grip on the tie restraining her arms.

Sanji let out a small laugh and pulled her by the arms closer to his body, “I would love to praise and cherish your body princess…but knowing that another man could have easily done this to you makes me a bit…upset”.

“So I might just have to leave proof that your body is all mine”.

Y/n was a bit shocked at this new Sanji, she knew that he would get jealous from time to time and start yelling at any other man who laid eyes on her, but this was different.

It was actually kind of hot. 

Y/n blushed at his words but didn’t dare to retaliate, “Go ahead… I won’t stop you”.

This sent Sanji soaring, he let go of Y/n’s tied arms and left gentle kisses against her exposed chest and left his mark all over, easily visible marks that wouldn’t leave much room to wonder. His hands explored her body and gently grasped onto her breast. His head leaned forward and he swirled his tongue around her hard nipples, taking in her sweet flavor. Causing her to moan sweet melodies to his ears.

“Fuck… y/n you are intoxicating my love” he mumbled against her breast.

Her face turned a light shade of red before muttering some words that he wouldn’t even hear. Sanji just made muffled sounds before setting her down on the seat and quickly tugging off her shorts and panties to the side, tossing them somewhere in the room. He left trails of kisses down her thighs and left more marks scattered towards her heat. Once he reached the top he eagerly started to eat at her wetness as she held back her moans of pleasure. He let his free hand wander back up to her breasts and fondled them while pinching her nipples. The muffled screams and moans held back by her lips were only making his cock twitch with anticipation.

“I need you, my love…” it sounded like a statement but he looked up at y/n as if he was asking for permission. She giggled and nodded to him.

After licking up all the juices he could, savoring every last drop he began to tug at his belt and pant button as he finished up his tongue's work. He let a few moments pass before finally setting his pants off to the side and stroking himself while prying away from y/n’s slick wetness. He pumped himself a few times before looking at her once again, but the thoughts of jealousy once again plagued his mind. He without warning thrust into her entrance causing her to gasp out from his length.

She always knew that Sanji was rather large, though it didn’t hit her till he filled up her insides entirely. 

“S-Shit S-Sanji” she muttered out between her moans which she couldn't keep back anymore. Each thrust was harder than the last, Sanji had previously teased her with his long slender fingers telling her she would have to ease into his size one day, but he was relentless. Sanji let out low guttural groans, though he wanted to take his time and admire y/n’s beautiful body, he wanted to make sure no one else could even think of touching his woman. He had to make her his.

Sanji could feel his high ready to come, he gripped onto y/n’s hips with one hand and untied the tie from around her wrist. Y/n felt herself clench tightly around his length and once let free she wrapped her arms around Sanji’s neck and pulled him down into a kiss. The two moaned into each other's mouths, making the kiss sloppy but passionate. Sanji came first, his release was hard and went deep inside y/n’s body, he then pressed his fingers against y/n’s clit rubbing it in circles while she screamed his name. 

“S-Sanji! I’m gonna- I’m gonna cum”.

“Do it, my gorgeous girl… cum on my cock”.

His words tipped her over the edge, she squeezed around him once more and felt her body pulsate and shiver from the pleasures. Y/n panted hardly able to catch her own breath. Sanji sighed in contentment, looking down at the mess he made of y/n. He pulled out of her and watched as his cum dripped from her hole with a sly smile on his face. Hickeys and sweat littered her body, and Sanji admired his work. He gently pulled her back over to him and took off his suit jacket and placed it around her shoulders. The two of them cuddled up, y/n looked down at herself embarrassed, and covered her body with his jacket. 

"There's no way I can hide all of this with my clothes...".

“Now I can say you are officially mine~”.

[goodgirlofglory]

Hiya doll! 👋 Finals month is still in motion, so I’ve been pretty quiet on the asks. But today I was feeling some sort of way, and I wanted to know if you’re open to this request.

“Bucky with a reader who is insecure about her body”

Basically, I see a lot of representation for plus size girlies on tumblr ( and this is no hate to anyone) but I wish there was also more representation for midsize girlies. Also for girls who are on the taller side, I’m talking 5”7 and up. I’m 5”7 myself, and wearing any shoe that gives me extra inches makes me feel like I tower over my friends or others.

Another thing is, if you do write for this ask, I was thinking that even though reader does have a low self-esteem, she puts on a front and seems like she has a majorrrrrr ego or god complex. So maybe, Bucky see through that, gets her down from there, and fucks her in front of a mirror 🫣🥵

And I oop-

Anyways, regardless to everything, have a fantastic day/night and rest of your week! I appreciate you 💜💜💜

Bestie!!!!🦋

I hope your finals went well!🫶🫶🫶

I am soooo sorry this took so long! It needed to sit with me for a while before I felt I could do it justice, and then life happened in the meantime ya'know.

Anyways I so dearly hope you like this🙏🙏 I resonated a lot with your prompt as a midsize girlie myself and channeled some of my own experience into it (though I have sadly never been fucked in front of a mirror by Bucky Barnes)💖

Anyway, hope you're having a good day or night wherever you are, you are a true gem 🫶✨️🫶✨️🫶

(Also can’t wait to hear what you think of this so lmk😘)

Just perfect / One-shot

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x secretlyinsecure!taller!midsize!reader

Word count: 7,8k

Warnings: explicit sexual content, explicit language, SMUT, bathroom sex, fucking in front of a mirror, dom!Bucky, unprotected p in v (be safe my sweet darlings), a split second of oral (f receiving), reader is insecure and has some harmful thoughts about her own body.

Summary: A rather dreadful Christmas party at S.H.I.E.L.D takes a turn for the better (and frankly therapeutical) when Bucky Barnes shows you that your self-deprecating thoughts about your body might not be as objective as you thought.

“Mid,” you muttered to yourself as you looked over your outfit one more time in the mirror, fighting down the nagging notion of not feeling entirely satisfied with the reflection. The little, black dress fit you perfectly, hugging your upper body like a second skin before flaring out in the shimmering, silk fabric of the skirt that reached just below your knees. Appropriate for a work party, while the hidden slit in the side of the skirt was just a little something extra cheeky for those who’d pay attention. You doubted anyone would. It fit your persona as a ruthless man repeller perfectly too. No flashy colors, no risque shapes, no cutouts and not too short. No fun either, but that wasn’t important here. The cleavage even appeared modest with the average size of your breasts. 

“Fucking mandatory Christmas party,” you muttered as you grabbed your bag and left your apartment to head to the Avengers compound for the second time that day. How is it even allowed to make an after hours social event mandatory, you wondered angrily as you got in the waiting cab. You kept adjusting your dress as the city slowly flashed by outside the cab window, second guessing everything about your outfit from the dress to the shoes to the bag to the red lipstick you’d dared yourself to put on, afraid it was too much and too basic at the same time. 

You knew it was ridiculous to feel so self conscious about yourself and your body. For all intents and purposes, you were perfectly and quite uninterestingly average, neither plus size nor skinny. You knew your plus size girlies had a way harder time being judged and disrespected for their size, and you didn’t want to be too skinny either, like malnourished. You were perfectly midsize, eating healthy and exercising for your body's sake, eating chocolate and pasta and drinking beer for your mental health’s sake. You were perfectly. average. midsize.

It was just that, the lack of appreciation and attention over the years has slowly chipped away at your confidence, and then your self-image, and then your self-esteem, to a point that it was difficult to even rouse any positive thoughts about yourself that didn’t feel half-hearted or mandatory for the girlboss-affirmation of the day. 

The one thing you had going for you, the one thing you felt unequivocally confident about, was your job. Working as one of the high level secretaries for Fury himself, you actually had quite the high seat in the house, with clearance, authority and trust from the big man on top himself. It also meant saying no to quite a lot of things and people on a daily basis, to stop people from charging into the director's office in anger, to be authoritative enough to make people listen and actually do whatever orders you delivered on the director’s behalf (and your own sometimes). The job, which you loved and had worked hard to get, was just a tad challenging to splice with a lack of self-image.

So you’ve built a ruthless, badass, girlboss, gatekeep, gaslight persona for yourself, known for being resistant to all flattery, all bribes, all flirting and all begging. Nothing got past you and everyone seemed just a little afraid of you. It was true, you’d garnered the nickname “the other she-hulk” among your peers. And though you embodied this persona like the most natural thing in the world, it was also a front really, for your honest to God lack of confidence in your everything average.

Oh yeah, except for your height, you realized as you got out of the cab at your destination and was hailed over by the other female colleagues in your department waiting outside the compound - the shoes you wore turned out to give you several inches of height on the other girls, even as they also wore stiletto-like heels. In the height department, you were just above average, which did not make you feel any better necessarily. 

Fuck. You looked like their fucking body guard, looming behind them like a giraffe as you made your way inside, them smiling and laughing, you affecting your haughty mask, the one that protected you the best when you were feeling a bit off-kilter. Better to deem everyone here below your interest before they even had a chance to assess you, right?  

The party was nice. They’d somehow managed to make the compound not feel like a concrete bunker, decorating almost every surface with some fabric or other, flashy reds and silvers and greens and blues, giant trees everywhere overloaded with decorations. Maximalism galore.

“It looks like Santa exploded in here,” you joked to your colleagues, receiving a bout of wild laughter in return. It hadn’t really been that funny, but hey, maybe you could be known as the “other deadpool” in the future if you worked hard enough on your comedy. 

As usual, the lovelier girls of your department got swarmed pretty quickly by guys. Recruits, officers, cadets, other secretaries - they all flocked to your group. You didn’t blame them, your colleagues were beautiful, witty, smiling brightly and exuding a sort of light that could only be rivaled by the sun. They were nice to everyone too, unlike you. 

You stayed and chatted for a bit. No one commented on your dress and certainly not the split at the side, and you tried not to let that get to you. This was a work event, after all, it would be inappropriate if they did come on to you or something. Your self-esteem whimpered quietly even so. 

It didn’t take long for the rest to get tipsy, and someone started blasting music somewhere, effectively switching from corporate mingling-mode to drunken tomfoolery-mode. You easily resisted getting dragged to the dancefloor, effecting a disinterested, above-it-all mask as your work friends pouted and dragged your arm in a petulant, though surprisingly endearing way. 

“I’m not debasing myself tonight, thank you very much,” you said, knowing it was harsh but only gaining a playfully scolding look before the whole gang bounced off to dance without you. 

You made your way over to the bar instead. A half-hour or so more and then you could safely leave without breaking any social codes, you thought with relief as you ordered another glass of champagne. 

Turning from the bar, glass in hand, you suddenly bumped into someone, champagne sloshing around the rim, a few drops spilling over your hand. 

“Hey, watch where-” you started, words dying in your mouth as you looked up…and up a broad chest, a thick neck and then came face to face with Bucky Barnes aka the Winter Soldier himself. 

B-big, your brain supplemented eloquently as you stopped speaking all together. 

How was he so tall? Okay, so you knew he was tall, you’d encountered him regularly over the years and had always felt dwarfed by the tree-trunk size of the man, but you were in four inch heels, god damnit, and you still had to crane your neck to look into his eyes. They glinted as he looked down on you, and for a moment you forgot who you were supposed to be and nearly shrank in on yourself, feeling uncharacteristically small. 

“Sorry,” he simply said, giving you a once-over so quick you weren’t sure it’d happened at all, and then he leaned around you to grab a few napkins from the bar. He made quick work of taking the glass from your hand and wiping the stray drops of champagne from it, set it on the bar and then gently took your hand in his and wiped it as well. 

You could only stare in astonishment at the size of his hands, rough and calloused, but with neatly trimmed nails, engulfing yours and being so exquisitely gentle. He put the glass back in your hand and looked down at you with a pleased smile. 

You quickly amassed your indifferent mask, raising a haughty eyebrow at him, and stepped aside so he could order whatever he wanted. He’d at least apologized and cleaned up the mess he (and you together, admittedly) had caused. You supposed it was the best outcome, both for your pride and confidence. You didn’t step far from the bar, sure you would be back soon enough for another glass, and looked out on the burgeoning dance floor in front of you. 

“Why don’t you join?” a deep voice asked from the side. 

Looking over, Bucky had come up to stand at your side, looking out over the crowd as well, whiskey glass in hand. His strong profile was illuminated by the flashing lights of the dance floor, reflected in those baby blue eyes, and his hair was tucked back into a bun at the back of his head. His suit must have been tailored by sorcery or something, because it hugged him in all the right places, press neat and crisp, making him look both perfectly put together and indecently so.   

Okay, so maybe you had a little something of a crush on the guy. He was fine as hell, and always put this old school New York charm on you whenever you met. He was the only one who still tried to charm and flirt with you whenever he came to Fury’s office, and though you put on your unimpressed and uninterested mask, thoroughly shutting him down each time, you secretly appreciated those moments more than you would ever admit out loud. It felt nice that he at least treated you the same as all the other secretaries - he was the only one who still did. 

You raised your eyebrow, securing a bored look even as you wanted to ask with you?

“Not exactly my crowd,” you said instead, taking a swig at your drink. 

“No? Didn’t think you cared about things like that,” he said, smoothly challenging you. 

“Not exactly my music, then,” you said. Arrogance and low energy usually got people to leave you alone when you felt fragile. You turned to give him a fake, sarcastically apologetic smile. 

“Ah, I see. Too bad, would’ve loved to see how wide that split goes while you twirl,” he said, leaning closer to you, and in your shock the mask you’d held on so tight cracked, and you whipped to look at him. He’d noticed it?

You saw the pleased victory shining in his eyes. Cheeky bastard was trying to break you, trying to make you drop the haughty exterior, like he knew you were only putting up a front. And you’d let your mask slip and showed him he was right. And like you suspected he knew, it was the exact sort of thing you deeply, secretly craved someone to do. 

But it wouldn’t be that easy. Bucky could just be fucking with you, or making easy conversation. But he’d noticed the split in your dress, so he must’ve been looking, right? Just a little harder than everybody else. Still, it was out of the question to just drop every defense and wall you had now, in this room, just because of one comment from him. You quickly affected an unimpressed, almost fatigued mask, raising your glass to your lips. 

“Too bad, Barnes, I’ve already had my high school prom,” you said, delivering the line with just the perfect amount of arrogance and judgment. 

You felt his eyes lingering on your face for long moments as you stared into the crowd, refusing to meet his eyes and potentially let more slip. This shit was exhausting enough when people didn’t clock on to your farce. Still, a small part of you didn’t want him to stop looking, to stop showering you in this undivided attention that sizzled like carbonic bubbles on your skin. 

You immediately shut down your disappointment when he left without another word, telling yourself to be proud you didn’t beg or flirt or plead for his attention like everyone else did. You didn’t need anyone but yourself, you needed to remember that. 

The music shifted from some mainstream pop song to some very old jazz, and the sudden shift only had a second to register before Bucky appeared as from thin air, took your glass from you, downed the rest of your drink in one gulp (eyes shining with mischief as you gawked a little at him), ditched the glass on the nearby table and then promptly took you by the hands and hauled you out on the dance floor. 

“W-wait, I -” your words cut off to a little squeal as the soldier wrapped a strong arm around your waist and twirled you so your feet lifted off the ground, the skirt of your dress flying out. Your arms clung around his neck and shoulders as the world spun in a flurry of bright, flickering lights, and your feet didn’t touch the ground for ten solid seconds as Bucky turned and turned. 

When he eventually put you down, his arms didn’t let up much, keeping you firmly tucked to the hard planes of his stomach and chest with a hand that went around your back and held your waist on the other side. 

You schooled your expression down even as nerves and excitement and a fair share of actual, fucking excitement filled you from the unexpected dancing. You actually did like to dance a lot. You looked up and found Bucky’s eyes on your face, glimmering in the bright lights as he easily led you in some old timey couple’s dance that he apparently knew perfectly.

“This music more to your liking?” he asked, challenging and genuine at the same time, and you couldn’t for the life of you understand his angle. Why was he doing this? 

You knew people were watching, even as the dance floor was still full of other dancers making due with their modern dance moves to the old music. And though you did feel kinda nervous being so exposed, you couldn’t very well cut off this dance and leave - that would only make you look even more insecure than you felt.

So you soldiered through, putting on a mildly entertained, smug look and looking Bucky in the eyes. 

“It’s certainly something else,” you said, and watched as his eyes flared over with a sort of playful frustration, shaking his head a little at you, but smiling despite himself. 

“Drop the act, sweetheart,” he said then, low enough for no one else to hear, but it still made you bristle. 

“What act?” you said, making it sound nonchalant and innocent at the same time. “Just because you remember one dance from 70 years ago, I’m supposed to swoon?” you challenged, knowing the words were harsh but goddamnit, he was getting too close. 

A groan escaped him then, one you felt more than heard from the way your bodies were pressed together, and you flushed, not expecting that kind of response. 

He leaned down and murmured in your ear.

“I like it when you’re mean, but I’d like it more if you were honest,” he said, and your breath caught, the physical sensation of his hot breath on your ear distracting you to the point of stumbling a bit on your heels. His arm around your waist didn’t let you so much as twist an ankle, which made you feel even more heated. 

Before you could come up with a retort, Bucky flung you out in a twirl, making your skirt fly around you. He led you perfectly even as he almost threw you around like a ragdoll, and you had to admit you were amazed by how graceful you were even as every move and twist were orchestrated and led by Bucky. The crowd disappeared as you moved to the music, coming back to Bucky, being swung out again, your back to his front at one point, his breath hot on your neck, swinging out again and stepping past each other in swoops only connected by your hand in his. 

You met his eyes and saw the flash over with an intensity that made your skin prickle, with a hunger you could scarcely believe was meant for you, eyes raking over your body, lingering on the leg peaking out through the split in your skirt, your chest heaving in the low cut neckline of your dress, your face flushed and no doubt looking as amazed as you felt on the inside. 

The dance ended in a perfectly timed dip, Bucky holding you down and cradling your neck and the small of your back in capable arms, face so close you could feel his breath fan across your face, smelling of whiskey and spearmint. 

You smiled, couldn’t help it, you hadn’t had this much fun at a work event in years. Bucky’s eyes flitted about your face as he echoed your smile with a brilliant flash of teeth himself. Your heart thudded in your chest, and your eyes flicked down to his lips, those luscious, plump lips and oh holy fuck did you want to kiss him at that moment. A desperation you couldn’t quell seized you by your fucking guts and you positively throbbed. Your smile faltered, and you saw his fall too. Daring to look up into his eyes, you saw the same hunger reflected there, nearly engulfing you in its heat. 

Then the crowd returned, cheering, the music went back to some pop song from last year and reality dumped back in on your head so fast you almost made the mistake of scrambling out of Bucky’s hold. 

No, no, no, way too exposed, this was not how you planned this night…

You were actually proud of the way you managed to slowly extract yourself from Bucky’s arms, give a slow, bored “thank you,” and then calmly leave the room all together to escape to the ladies room. 

You had to admit, they hadn’t neglected the bathrooms in the compound, you thought as you occupied the space alone. They were kinda nice, big and spacious, marble and polished steel making the space comfortable and with an air of luxury compared to the practical, brutalist vibe of the rest of the building. 

You touched up on your lipstick, hands shaking a little from the excursion of the dancing. Okay, you needed to leave, you thought to yourself as you felt your skin still sizzling faintly wherever Bucky’s hands had touched you. Your nerves seemed newly awakened as if from a deep slumber, and it would not do to develop an even deeper crush on him. 

As if summoned, the door to the bathroom opened and Bucky stepped through, eyes finding yours in the mirror immediately. 

“I think you’re supposed to be in the next room over Barnes,” you drawled even as your heart picked up speed. 

He didn’t answer as he slowly crossed the room. 

You couldn’t help shifting in your skin as your body thrummed with an exhausting amount of nervous excitement. His gaze was level,possessing your attention like an iron grip. It was like he saw right through every mask and facade you tried to put on, right in to the very center, the very truth inside you. It lulled you and provoked you at the same time. 

“You’re in the wrong restroom, Barnes,” you said, even harsher, when he was about halfway across to you. He still didn’t answer. 

You spun to face him, anger welling higher. Who did he think he was, coming in here and stripping away the only scraps of protection you had, looking at you like he could read the thoughts as they appeared in your mind?

“I’m exactly where I need to be,” he answered as you glared at him, coming to stop directly in front of you, only inches between you, and the air there sparked with energy you just couldn’t deny you were affected by. 

You scoffed, fighting against the crumbling of your exterior. Fuck, fuck, fuck, you wanted him. Couldn’t deny it, couldn’t help yourself as your muscles ached to reach for him, to press yourself against him and let him wrap his strong, safe arms around you again. To tuck yourself away into him and shut your mind off and just feel taken care of - in any way - by someone other than yourself.

A desperate thought occurred to you; maybe you could do this without losing face. If you went on the offensive, you could still hold control over the situation while still letting whatever was sizzling between you and Bucky explode, you thought a bit desperately as you held his stare, his eyes darkening as the seconds ticked by. Maybe you didn’t have to bare your soul for him in order to get a taste of what you wanted. You could just make it out to be a hookup at a party, something carnal but detached. Give your body to him while still guarding your mind and soul. 

Not giving yourself a moment more to stall, you surged forward, grabbed his neck and kissed him. He wasn’t as surprised as you’d liked by your sudden call to action. In fact, he seemed to come unleashed the moment your lips met his, a grunt sounding in his throat as he instantly wrapped one arm around your waist, his other going into your hair to keep your head firmly put where he wanted it. 

Yes

The kiss was filthy, hot breaths and open mouths and tongue on tongue almost immediately, like a dam of pent up lust had just erupted at that first touch for the both of you. He pushed you back so the marble counter dug into your ass, and plastered himself against you, groaning as your hands moved to map out his back. 

You fumbled to reach for the lapels on his jacket and he let up his hold just long enough for you to wrench his suit jacket off him before both pair of hands went on frantically groping and gripping and touching, and you couldn’t seem to draw breath into your aching lungs for all the burning desire that flooded your body. 

Bucky broke out of your heady kiss, gasping as he leaned his forehead to yours, hands gripping your hip and the back of your neck so tight it almost pinched you, and you relished the feeling. 

“Fuck,” he groaned between pants, and you liked the sound of that very much. 

You gave him a sultry and cocky “mhm” as you kissed him again, nipping at his bottom lip. When you opened your eyes again, he was still looking at you, his stare so fucking intense. 

“You’re beautiful,” he said, and that…was stepping into a territory you were not too keen on. You couldn’t have sentimentality at that moment. You couldn’t control your tiny wince either, trying to move on with another kiss, your hands dragging down the hard planes of his chest to entice him to move along. 

Bucky didn’t grant you that mercy. He apparently saw your wince as well as he saw the split in your skirt, and scrutinized you with a piercing stare as he reiterated between kisses. 

“So gorgeous,” he murmured and you tried your damndest to ignore it, kissing him more intently, hands moving a bit desperately to his belt, but an uncomfortable laughter escaped you either way. 

Bucky stopped your hands, grabbing them and putting them on the counter at your side before cradling your face firmly in his hands. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck, what is he doing, you lamented as you looked everywhere but his eyes. 

“I mean it, you’re a gorgeous woman,” he said and you whined softly, not at all capable of hearing that. Whether out of a misguided sense of pity or because he wanted to get in your panties, you didn’t want him to tell you that shit just to placate you. You were already dying to get fucked, false flattery was of no need. You were practically soaking your panties already just from his kisses and his hands, one warm and one slightly colder, moving over your body like he couldn’t get to all of it quick enough.

“You don’t have to-” you started exasperated, squirming to get away from the intimacy of his proximity, the way he looked at you and the way he was cradling your face. 

“You see, this is what I mean. I think you’re hiding, doll. You don’t realise how fucking amazing you are, and you hide it behind a bitchy face and even bitchier words,” he said.

Words failed you then. The fucking audacity of this man to call you out like that. You were not prepared to be laid out like that, and you didn’t know whether to fight back with teeth and claws or to flee in your humiliation. 

Bucky must have seen your warring thoughts on your face, the simmering rage at being cornered and confronted like this, like an animal frantic with self preservation. 

“You don’t believe me?” he asked, and you could see a fierce competitive glint light on fire in his eyes, pouncing on the challenge.

In a flash, he’d turned you around and you met your own expression in the mirror above the sink. Bucky stepped flush against you again, and nestled the hard bulge in his pants right against your ass. You squirmed and whined a little. You wanted that inside you already. But Bucky held you tightly pinned between himself and the counter, his metal hand coming around to splay on your stomach, shining metal against the black silk fabric, effectively giving you no room to move. His hand was so huge, it covered nearly the whole area between your belly button and the underside of your heaving breasts. He propped his chin on your shoulder and captured your eyes through the reflection in the mirror. 

“You’re exquisite, doll” he whispered, his other hand landing lightly on your waist. This time you saw your own wince of disbelief in the mirror, instantly embarrassed at how revealing you were. Heat bloomed on your cheeks, both from his words and the way his eyes were just eating your body up in the mirror. 

“I’m nothing special,” you heard yourself murmur. 

“Oh, on the contrary, doll, you’re as rare as they come,” Bucky said, flesh hand moving to grab your hips appreciatively. “Swinging these hips all around the compound, your walk so sweet compared to that barking mouth you’ve got on ya,” he said, drawled a bit, his Brooklyn accent coming forth, kneading your hips and pulling you back to grind your ass on his hard bulge. 

Your breath hitched on a gasp, and your heart fluttered in your chest. He’d been watching the way you walked? And he liked it?

His hands came up to cup one of your heaving breasts. 

“Such elegant lines, perfect, round tits,” he murmured into the skin below your ears, and you trembled in his arms as his fingers teased a nipple through the thin fabric of your dress. 

“A neck that’s just begging to be sucked on and marked,” he continued before his lips sealed itself to that sensitive spot right below the hinge of your jaw and you gasped raggedly as sparks flew through your body. 

You were positively high on the novelty of his praise, but you just couldn’t quite believe it. 

“I’ve…a-always just thought I was so average,” you admitted, voice timid, nothing short of a whisper, and you berated yourself for revealing your insecurity so openly, even as Bucky’s lips let go of your skin and he nuzzled the hair behind your ear. 

“God, no,” he sighed, hand coming down to your hip again, guiding you to grind back on his bulge again, and fuck, he was hard, “I don’t get how you could even think that,” he said, and the genuine astonishment in his voice had to be real, or else he was a brilliant fucking actor. 

Your hips had started moving on their own now, steadily grinding between his metal hand on your stomach and the hard cock at your ass, sizzling sparks of heat traveling your body from the friction. You could feel Bucky nodding into the crook of your neck, encouraging and praising at the same time. 

“But I’m…kinda tall…surely y-you’d want someone shorter, m-more petite?” you heard yourself whisper, and you just had to ask him right out, to give voice to those incessant, nagging insecurities. 

He actually laughed then, a breathy chuckle against the exposed skin of your shoulder. 

“Are you kidding? You nearly gave me a heart attack in these heels tonight, baby,” he said easily, calm and honest and straightforward and it was like he wasn't even trying to convince you of anything, he was just speaking honestly. “And when you danced with me? How sexy and smooth and fucking alive you were as you let me spin you? Couldn’t take my fucking eyes of you, fuck, I haven’t been this hard in ages. Plus, you’re just perfect for me to fuck like this. Can’t you feel how perfectly your ass fits against my cock when you grind like that, huh? Can’t have that with a shorter girl, you were made for me, darling,” he said, breath growing puffy and you were almost shaking, both from his words and the blazing fucking heat they stoked.

A needy, whimpering sort of whine escaped you at that. It was perfect, your height to his. Perfect for you to nudge your ass against his pelvis and feel his hot lips and a sliver of tongue on the heated skin of your neck at the same time. 

“Do you believe me, now, sweetheart? Or do you need me to fuck it into you?” he asked then, a teasing lilt to his voice even as it dropped a fucking octave, rumbling over you skin, making you ache. 

You turned your head to graze your lips against his, recognising when he was posing a challenge by now, when his competitive side came out to play. You waited just a few seconds, letting your mingling, ragged breaths fill the silence, before answering, looking him straight in his eyes.

“I don’t believe you,” you whispered against his mouth. 

His reaction was almost instant. His metal hand came up to cradle your throat, pinning you close to him as his flesh hand had the skirt of your dress bunched up around your hips in a split second. His hand was between your legs in the next second, brazen and possessive and you fucking loved it, knees nearly buckling in your stilettos as his warm flesh palm cupped you there. A filthy groan sounded in your ear. 

“Fucking perfect pussy already soaked for me, huh?” he downright growled, fingers moving up and down your clothed slit, feeling just how wet you were through the flimsy fabric of your lace panties. “This pussy aching, huh? Hasn’t been fucked right in ages, I reckon? Some bastard left you feeling like less than just perfect?” he babbled as he began rubbing tight circles on your clit, making you keen at both his words and ministrations, mind floating up to the fucking skies on a cloud of endorphins and arousal. “You give me their names, honey, and I’ll make sure they never bother you again,” he said, dark intentions in an even darker, gruffer voice and you couldn’t stand still for the way you needed him. 

“Fuuuck, please, Bucky,” you whined, grinding your pussy down on his hand, soaking his fingers. 

“That’s right, baby, you take what you deserve, you take what this perfect body deserves,” he encouraged. 

“I need…I need,” you breathed, eyes closing as you rode the sensation of being touched like this, so expertly, too much one second and not enough the next. 

“What do you need, baby? Tell me,” he groaned into the skin of your neck. 

“I need…your…please, your cock,” you whimpered. 

His hands pulled back and gave your pussy a playful little slap, making you jolt and yelp in his arms, and the slight sting felt so fucking good. 

“That’s right,” he said, giving you a few precious seconds to collect your frayed, jumbled, melting mind as he frantically undid his belt and fly, pulling his cock out and pulling your soiled panties to the side to notch his cock at your weeping hole. 

He didn’t give you anymore time to beg before he pushed his hips forward and you both gasped raggedly as his cock slid in, perfectly to the hilt, your pussy sucking him in like it had a mind of its own. His whole frame, massive and rugged as it was, shuddered as he stood there with his cock buried inside you, and you opened your eyes to watch in astonished fascination through the reflection in the mirror as he took a moment to get a hold of himself. One hand flexed its grip around your throat, the other on your hip, grip so tight and you hoped it would leave bruises. 

He didn’t wait long until he started thrusting, pulling out almost completely before thrusting in again, forgoing any buildup and going straight to the main fucking course and you were so ridiculously relieved he wasn’t teasing you anymore. 

His hands let go of you and you fell forward, draping yourself over the counter so you could just feel the way his cock, thick and ridged and so fucking hard, dragged against your walls, yielding nothing as he speared you. 

“Need to see you,” Bucky breathed between pants as he kept fucking you. 

You felt the bodice of your dress loosen and realized he had undone the zipper at the back of your dress, peeling it off your arms and then hauling you the meat of your shoulder to straighten against him again, completely naked from the waist up. 

His hands were on your exposed skin immediately, mapping out your ribcage, squeezing the pouch beneath your belly button and coming up to knead your breasts, pulling on your nipples. He was like a man starved, all the while his cock was steadily pumping into you, pushing you higher and higher, the sounds from where you were joined filtering in through your haze of lust and pleasure like a sinful symphony. 

You opened your eyes to find his in your reflection, pools of incendiary desire following every minute twitch of your face. Your eyes flicked over your own face and saw the crimson flush, the sweat on your brow, hair ruffled, the scrunched up expression and heavy-lidded, drugged eyes. You looked a downright, embarrassing mess, your deepest pleasure so plainly written on your face, exposing you to the point of pain and you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to lean back to hide in the crook of his neck. 

Bucky did not let you. 

“Oh no, no, no, don’t hide from me now, sugar,” he said, one hand coming up to pull your face forward, “look at me,” he ordered and you opened your eyes to his again. 

“See how exquisite you are?” he asked, hips slapping against your ass. “See how beautiful you look, taking my cock?” he asked, watching you watch him in the mirror. “Look at yourself,” he ordered, and you whimpered as you met your own gaze in the mirror again. 

There was an almost lascivious tilt to his voice as he kissed your neck sloppily and murmured. 

“Tell her she looks beautiful,” he said. 

You thrashed as much as you could in your pinned position, the counter digging into your hips, high heeled shoes barely touching the floor. 

“Bucky,” you whined petulantly. There was no way. 

“Say it, darling,” he warned before his hips slowed down to an almost complete stop, and that only made you thrash harder. “Oh, you want to come baby? Then look at yourself in the mirror and say ‘I’m beautiful,” he said, and you gawked at him in disbelief, humiliation and mortification burning hot on your cheeks. 

The hand not holding your face towards the mirror kept exploring your flesh as he waited, pinching and grabbing everywhere like he just couldn’t stop. You looked at yourself in the mirror, took in the simmering fire in your eyes, your lips with its bright red lipstick smeared all over. 

“Come on, darling, don’t you want to come? Won’t you let me make you come?” Bucky asked, spreading kisses down your neck as his eyes burned into your face through the mirror. 

You fought it for as long as you could, didn’t want to play these games, didn’t want to see your own vulnerability on your face as you said something you should believe but didn’t quite. 

Bucky grinded his hips all the way inside you and then stilled completely and your need won. 

“I’m beautiful,” you whispered, breath hitching as you saw the disbelief, the resistance in your own eyes, hating yourself both for saying it and not believing it. 

Bucky groaned in a resolutely pleased manner and started moving his hips again, languidly stroking in and out of your sopping cunt. 

“Again,” came his growled order from behind. 

Your resilience was weaker this time, with the tip of his cock reaching so deep, adding rhythmic pressure to that elusive spot in the deepest nook of your body that had your knees going wobbly. 

“I’m beautiful,” you said again, this time giving a low, timid voice to the words. 

Bucky groaned behind you, hands gripping you tighter as his hips picked up speed. 

“That’s right. Say ‘I’m gorgeous’.”

“I-I’m gorgeous.”

“Say ‘I deserve this’”

“I d-d - oh fuck - I deserve this - ah -”

“Say ‘I’m making Bucky Barnes crazy on a daily basis and I don’t even care enough to acknowledge it,” Bucky husked behind you. 

That made you actually giggle, though it came out more like a stuttering whine.

“I-I didn’t know,” you moaned, breaking your own eye contact in the mirror to look at his face. You honestly didn’t. Sure, you’d established a playful banter over the years, frequently sparking conversation whenever he was at your desk for something concerning Fury or you met in the halls or right after department meetings. But you’d honestly never considered you, just being you, could be driving a man like him crazy. 

Eyes dark as the ocean burned into yours from where his face was propped on your shoulder, mouth nibbling on the side of your neck and your earlobe as his hips kept up a punishing pace. It was becoming hard to string together coherent thoughts, your mind going hazy from the steady punch of his cock. 

He smiled against your skin, nipping it so hard you squealed a little, head swimming from the mix of pain and pleasure. 

“You’re killing me here, doll,” Bucky murmured playfully against your skin, hands moving again, skimming over your skin and kneading your flesh in such an appreciative way it had you blushing, even as you were steadily pounded by his cock, halfnaked in the bathroom at your workplace during a fucking Christmas party. 

It was all a haze, the way you were hurtling towards the precipice of your orgasm, his cock in your pussy, his hot breath on your neck, his hands roaming your body like a starved beast. The smell of his rich, musky cedar cologne and the hint of fresh, male sweat. And his eyes, devouring everything his hands didn’t touch. 

“I-I’m gonna…fuck, Bucky -” you stammered. You were so close. 

“I got you,” Bucky answered breathlessly, his flesh hand moving down between your legs to stroke your clit in fast, tight circles. 

You keened, vision blurring as your muscles seized, teetering on the edge. You faintly registered your own expression in the mirror in front of you, mouth falling open, eyebrows scrunching and a crimson flush high on your cheeks. 

You heard Bucky groaning behind you and trembled at the sound. 

“Fuck, there you go, baby, fuck you’re squeezing me so fucking - tight, god damn -”

And then Bucky was wrenching your face to the side and kissing you. And maybe it was the way his hips stuttered as you moaned into his mouth, or maybe it was the possessiveness with which he pushed his tongue into yours. Maybe it was the way his metal hand gripped you tighter as you started shaking, or maybe it was the sheer desperation in his kiss as he herded you over the edge that truly made you feel beautiful in that moment. Beautiful and blissed out as you spasmed on his cock, hearing his choked grunt as you pulled his orgasm right out of him.

You felt him throb in turn with you, his cum pooling hot deep inside you, the both of you nearly falling off your damn feet as you came together, the kiss disintegrating to a mere sloppy tangle of breaths and tongues.  

As you slowly came down from your high, your mind started whirring. Halfway preparing for Bucky to pull out and leave swiftly. To maybe give you a perfunctory kiss on the cheek, to push the skirt of your dress down over your ass and then make his exit from this very public bathroom. It wasn’t that you thought Bucky was some kind of sleaze, but it would be okay if he left it at that. You were a big girl, you knew people got carried away during a rowdy fuck, and if he left it at this, you would be fine. You told yourself as much, at least…

But Bucky didn’t leave. He didn’t pull out right away, either. Once you could both catch your breath, he reiterated his kiss, slow and thorough and breathtaking all anew. His metal hand firmly secured your face to meet his and his flesh hand gave your clit a few more gentle swirls, and you could feel his smile, fascinated and playful against your mouth as you jolted at the sensation. Whimpering a little at the overstimulation but keeping yourself completely still for it anyway, you were astonished by how sensitive you were and how fucking good it felt to have Bucky teasingly play with you as you basked in the afterglow. 

You squeezed around his cock still lodged inside you, and he gave a little grunt in response. 

“Careful, sugar, or I might get hard again,” he murmured against our lips, rolling his hips gently into your ass. 

“Is…is that supposed to deter me?” you asked, your snarky tone just a little undermined by the way you gasped. 

He groaned at that, low and pleased. 

“I suppose it should…at least until I can get you out of this fucking bathroom and into a bed,” he murmured, and a surge of adrenaline went through you. He wanted to do this again?

A small thought in the back of your mind wondered how it was possible that no one had come in and interrupted you by now, but it was quickly pushed away as Bucky gently pulled himself out of you. You tried to conceal the shiver of arousal that went through you as you felt his cum leak out of you and down the inside of your thighs. 

“Stay like that,” he whispered, removing himself and the fucking furnace of warmth that had been plastered to your back. The cold air hitting your back made you realize just how naked and exposed you were, your dress a scrunched up tangle low on your waist. 

You didn’t have time to become self-conscious though, before Bucky was back, kneeling behind you. Peaking over your shoulder, you were just in time to see him wipe a damp hand towel up your thigh and gently across the puffy, sensitive mess between your legs. You flushed for an entirely new reason now. It was just so…intimate, and sweet and generous and you struggled to handle the care and tenderness with which Bucky thoroughly cleaned both his mess and yours. 

You watched him quietly as he cleaned you up, and then as he seemingly couldn’t help himself from bending forward and kissing your pussy, tongue darting out to swipe a small lick to your still sensitive clit. You yelped, hips bucking away. 

He shushed you gently and kissed your ass cheek soothingly, fitting the admittedly soggy fabric of your panties back over your pussy before getting on his feet again. With gentle hands, he turned you around, and your eyes went wide as you looked down to see his cock still hanging out of his fly, already back to full hardness. 

Bucky followed your shocked expression down and chuckled. 

“Yeah, I know,” he said, hands still cradling your shoulders, moving up to knead the muscle between your shoulders and neck, and you hummed in pleasure, eyes falling close. 

“Does that always happen?” you asked, feeling the soreness in the muscles ease up under Bucky’s dexterous fingers. 

“No,” he answered simply, and you could tell by his tone that it meant something. That it lent itself to everything he’d said about you and the supposed attractiveness you held to him. You kept your eyes closed and bit your lips to keep from smiling too broadly at that. 

Feeling emboldened, you reached for him, hands finding his clothed chest and stroking down until you reached his cock, wrapping a tentative fist around its stiff heat. 

You heard Bucky suck in a breath, and then his hand wrapped around yours, holding it tight as he thrust his hips lightly a few times, pumping his cock gently through your fist. You were ready to go again by the time he gently pried your hand away and groaned like he was being gently tortured. 

You couldn’t help your pout, opening your eyes to find him gazing at your face. 

“I want to take care of you, too,” you complained, and the gentle whine of your tone sounded so small and decidedly submissive, certainly not fitting the badass work persona you’d built. It just suddenly felt so safe to be a bit whiny with him. 

Bucky only stepped closer and cradled your face in his hands. 

“I’ll let you take care of me later, sweet thing, to your heart’s content. For now, tuck me back in and we can get outta here,” he drawled, Brooklyn accent soothing his tone and lulling you to comply, pacified by his promise to let you take care of him soon. 

You did as he said, tucking his hard cock back into his pants and doing up his fly and belt as he watched your face intently, no doubt seeing the way your eyes grew hazy, your breath labored and your face flushing all anew at the way he held you while you handled him. You let your hands linger over his bulge when you were done, dying to take him out again and just do whatever he wanted to make him feel good. 

Soon, you told yourself, soon. 

“Now, I would like to swing you one last time on that dance floor out there, let everyone see that gorgeous leg through that deadly split in your skirt. And then I want everyone to see you leave on my arm, before I take you back to mine and take care of you properly,” Bucky said, voice even and sure and smile so dashing, you couldn’t help but smile back and nod in enthusiastic agreement. 

[alexawynters]

Scarlet Whispers pt 10

Gif not mine, as always

Trigger Warnings: Some gore and violence.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female!Reader

Rating: M. Minors DNI

Masterlist with parts 1-9 here

Chapter Ten

A/N: I Googled the recipe for authentic Hungarian Chicken Paprikash in order to see how difficult it might actually be to make, and as someone who can’t cook but three things, I have to say it looks hella complicated. I’m giving Reader far more credit than I would ever give myself with regards to kitchen skills.. That said it sounds delicious and now I want it :’(  Someone pls feed me. Also I felt super bad that I went so long without posting when I had this just… sitting in my Google Docs, so uh… have another chapter. I only have 12 written so far though so I guess I better get to steppin’. sweats nervously

The pair of you had elected on a movie marathon today, watching the Hobbit series together on the couch when Wanda felt it. That telltale tingle in the back of her mind, signaling that her wards had been tripped. This wasn’t the alarm for a breach, but rather letting her know that someone was at the perimeter attempting to get in. Pearly teeth grit in rage - how dare someone ruin her perfectly good afternoon with you? Everything was coming together, and now someone had the audacity to try and intrude, possibly to try and take you away from her? Wanda couldn’t have that.

Pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, the redhead informed you she needed to check on one of her projects and it might be a while. Your pout was quickly kissed away, Wanda directing you to play the new video game she had gotten you last month. Unintentionally, you had been putting it off - between spending time with Wanda and trying to play all the other video games you had, there hadn’t been much time for it. Excitedly, you agreed, getting the disc ready before putting it in the console, as Wanda stepped away. Sure it would be better with the woman by your side, but you could be patient while she worked on her projects. 

Or at least, you would try to be. Healthy relationships and all, you had to be able to spend time apart, and you certainly spent enough time together even if secretly your selfish heart thought not enough.

Out of your view and satisfied you were preoccupied for the foreseeable future, the witch conjured her battle regalia, and stepped through a portal to the ground's perimeter. From the moment she stepped through, the cause of the alarm became readily apparent - Stephen Strange stood just beyond the barrier looking smarmy as ever.

Wanda was getting really sick of that stupid goatee.

“Stephen,” Wanda said, calmly, “How did you find me?” She asked, but she didn’t truly care, the how didn’t really matter.

”America didn’t sell you out, if that’s what you’re asking. The trail of death and destruction you’d left pointed me in the right direction. It took a while but eventually I found where you've been hiding, as you had to know I would.”

The witch hummed noncommittally. “I’m just trying to get my family back, Stephen. You of all people should understand that. I’ve seen what you have done to try and reunite with Christine. Can you blame me for wanting to be happy? Why do you get to choose the reality we all must live in, but when I try to make a life for myself, I’m labeled a villain?”

Strange knew there was some truth to her words, but he was never one to back down. “The family you had wasn’t real, Wanda. They never wer-”

“They were real to me!” The witch seethed, cutting him off.

“In almost every other universe, we are together and happy. If I have to go through you to make that happen, I will. To you they aren’t real, but to me they are my family, and I would burn every universe for them.” Red eyes blazed in rage, and Stephen had no doubt the Scarlet Witch meant her words.

Nevertheless, the sorcerer had no patience for empathizing with his former colleague. There was an innocent person in her grasp and it was his duty to save them. “You have to let her go, Wanda. You can’t hold her against her will like this.”

A sinister chuckle. “Against her will? Does she look like she’s being held against her will?”

With a flick of her stained fingers, and a hazy one-way portal appeared off to the side of them, showing where you were currently engrossed in playing your new video game: Baldur’s Gate 3. From there the scene changed to the recent dates you both had been going on, and how happy you were spending time together, focusing on just how enamored you looked gazing up at Wanda. Another twitch of ink-tinged digits, and the images were gone.

The sorcerer had to admit you didn’t look unhappy, but that didn’t mean all was as it seemed. He knew there was no way she had come clean to you about everything she had done to get you here. If she had, surely you would have run for the hills by now, or at least attempted to. Things wouldn’t be so rosy for you if he left you in her care, Stephen was certain.

“Be that as it may, this Y/N doesn’t belong with you. You decimated entire universes in your search for her, leaving countless innocents dead in your wake. Does she know that? Does she know that you murdered her parents in this universe?” He asked, knowing full well the answer.

His words stung, Wanda knowing that some part of him was right in this instance. No, she hadn’t told you, and initially she had never intended to. As she had gotten closer to you though, Wanda realized she wanted you to know. Not to hurt you, but to solidify that she would always keep you safe from any harm, no matter who it was. She loved you, truly, and wanted you to know everything about her. However, she couldn’t risk that until she was sure your heart wouldn’t turn away from her with the knowledge she revealed.

“They were abusing her, Stephen! In your infinite wisdom, did you know that? Do you know the life she led before me? I’m not her captor, Strange, I saved her! Here she is happy, and I provide her with everything she could ever want or need. Taking that away from her for the sake of your pitiful morality and duty, that would be the real crime. Y/N deserves to be loved, to be happy, and so do I. Don’t take that from us.”

Strange knew he couldn’t win on logic alone. This would undoubtedly end in another showdown, but he was hoping he could reason with the witch. “It’s not just about rescuing her from your clutches, Wanda. You have caused real harm to the multiverse. Untold suffering, trillions annihilated for your selfish obsession. You have to be stopped, Wanda. What’s to prevent you from killing Y/N when she doesn’t fall in line like you want? What will you do then, toss her body aside like so many other innocent people, tearing through countless more universes to find another copy? When will it stop?”

“I would never hurt her!” the redhead snaps, her magic flaring out in warning. She was blatantly ignoring the fact that not long ago she was chasing you through a forest in the fear and anger that you were leaving her. Even then though, she had never planned to hurt you, certainly not kill you. Only to teach you a lesson. Wanda deeply resented that Stephen thought she would ever purposely hurt you. Not to any lasting degree at any rate. She loved you. You were her everything, the key to her happiness.

The witch took a steadying breath, calming herself. She had to think of you first, and she didn’t want to risk a battle so close to her home with you in it. ���I have no intention of leaving this universe ever again, Stephen. I can’t say that I am sorry for what I did - it has brought me here with Y/N. But we are happy here, and unless someone comes along to threaten my family, I otherwise have no need to ever harm anyone ever again.”

She paused to look Strange in the eyes, trying to convey her sincerity. “Please Stephen, just go. Leave us in peace. This doesn’t have to be a fight. I’m so… tired… of fighting, Strange, but I want to be clear: I will never give up what is mine. I will neutralize any threat to her, or her happiness, and that includes you.”

The sorcerer couldn’t deny that Wanda looked every bit as exhausted as she suggested at this moment. Unfortunately, he still couldn’t allow the greatest threat to the multiverse that’s ever existed to continue free. Stephen believed that Wanda believed she wouldn’t do anything to hurt you, but that didn’t mean that he trusted her temper. Having already proven volatile at best, and if he left her alone with you, there was nothing stopping Wanda from going on the rampage he expected her to, should you step one toe out of line.

With a deep sigh, he looked at the ground, pondering his options, wishing there was another way. “I’m sorry, Wanda. I can’t take that risk. Not with someone as powerful as you. I’ll ask you one last time, let Y/N go, and surrender. This doesn’t have to end in blood.”

The witch tilted her head, studying him. “I’m afraid that’s where you’re wrong, Stephen.”

Purposefully she strode through the barrier to her home, no longer protected by it, able to engage if necessary. “I won’t let you take her from me. I won’t allow anyone to take her from me, ever again. I have grown so much stronger since we last fought. If you insist on your foolish crusade, this will end with your blood.

By now Wanda was mere feet in front of the sorcerer, refusing to back down. “Like you said, Strange. Last chance.” She tilted her head again, and a chill ran down Stephen’s spine at her determined, if slightly unhinged visage.

Strange sighed, moving to take a defensive stance, when suddenly the witch’s arm was protruding from his chest. He let out a surprised grunt. He hadn’t even seen her move, but he could feel the agony radiating throughout his body, proof enough that she had.

With a disgusting squelch, Wanda withdrew her hand, his heart clutched firmly within, still beating. Horror darkened the man’s face as he stared in shock. He hadn’t even seen her move, much less been able to react. How had she gotten so fast? Pain and shock prevented him from even speaking.

“I’m sorry it had to be this way, Stephen, but I told you. If you continued to come for me, it would be the Scarlet Witch you would be dealing with.” With an almost regretful look at his flabbergasted expression, Wanda crushed his heart in her hand before dropping it. What was left of the ruined organ thudded onto the ground at almost the same time his body did.

Wanda turned and began walking back towards the cottage, not looking back as she waved her hand. Red phosphenes surrounded Stephen Strange’s body as it disintegrated into ash. She neglected to take a portal this time, electing instead to take the long way to the house in the hopes the night air would steady her. It didn’t.

Eventually setting foot in your shared home, Wanda cast a glance towards the living room and was relieved to see you were clearly still enthralled with your new game. So engrossed were you, that you failed to notice Wanda, hand and arm covered in blood, as she headed towards the bathroom for a shower. Though she could have cleaned herself instantly with magic, she knew she was in no state of mind to return to you just yet. Despite how unaffected Wanda had made an effort to appear to Strange, her sins were weighing heavily on her heart. Killing someone she had once fought beside was not something she relished. Another death she was going to have to explain to you one day. Since the walk hadn’t done anything to ease her troubled heart and mind, the witch set about taking a shower. It stood to reason you would hear it and not question her continued delay, buying her time to not only clean up but hopefully also clear her head. 

Her shower was longer than usual, with less time spent cleaning than simply existing. Rivulets of water ran down her face as the redhead stood beneath the showerhead, staring sight unseeing at the shower wall. A necessary evil, she told herself. That didn’t make the weight of his death any less burdensome. What was she supposed to have done? Even if she had let him go, eventually he would have come back, the insufferable pest that he was. Likely then with numbers that even the Scarlet Witch might struggle with. She couldn’t have risked that. Risked you. Never again.

Why couldn’t he have just left her well enough alone? Wanda had meant what she said: she had no intention of universe hopping anymore. All she had ever wanted was her family. Now that she had you, she could begin rebuilding that, and you were making such good progress for her. Why would she want to start over with another variant of you, when you were just… so perfect for her? She still missed your Avenger variant, but every day that hole in her heart hurt just a little less. Besides, something about you specifically had a hold on her heart in a way she hadn’t anticipated.

Maybe in the beginning Wanda might.. have gone searching for another if you had not panned out as she expected. Terrible as that was to admit. Instead, from the moment she laid eyes on you before even entering into this universe, she was gripped by you. It was Fate, she was sure of it. And now? She couldn’t bear the thought of losing you. Of ever even trying to find another. Out of the vast multiverse, there was only this version of you. She wanted you as you were, and she refused to let you go or allow any harm to come to you. Even if it meant protecting you from herself.

A shuddering breath was exhaled, and Wanda began slowly rinsing the blood off of her face and out of her hair. She may have left you with a video game to keep yourself entertained, but Wanda knew from experience if she wasn’t there, it wouldn’t be too long before you would come looking. Wanda had become your rock, your favorite person. You could be playing your favorite game of all time, but if Wanda was not present, you wouldn’t have nearly as much fun. It was sort of cute how you would look for her at every opportunity, unable to stand being without her for too long. She felt similarly, and hoped you knew that now.

Finally clean, and deeming herself capable of functioning again, the witch changed into her most comfortable pajamas before mindlessly making her way back to the living room where you were. Absorbed in your game as you were, you only vaguely registered Wanda’s presence returning. You scooted slightly on the couch to make room for her, without ever taking your eyes away from the screen.

“Hey, Wands!” you said, enthusiastically. “How is your project coming along?”

The former hero was not ready to speak just yet, so she simply hummed instead, and leaned against you. She took comfort in your familiar warmth, even if your arms weren’t around her just now, your presence was enough to be soothing.

The lack of a proper response caught your attention. You almost didn’t turn to look at her, being in the midst of a pivotal battle, but you were glad you did. Hazel eyes puffy and tinted pink from crying met yours. Alarmed, you immediately stopped playing, controller forgotten in your lap, the game not even paused. Turning to the older woman, you placed one hand on her arm, the other to her cheek which she leaned in to.

“Wanda? What’s wrong? Has something happened?” 

Oh her precious detka, thought the witch. Always such a big heart, eager to provide comfort and aid. Perhaps if she were to tell you, maybe you would understand. Maybe you would forgive her. As she took in your concerned gaze though, she knew she wasn’t ready to risk it. Not right now. Instead, she shook her head to your question, unwilling to answer it.

“Can we not talk about it right now?” Her Sokovian accent was slightly more pronounced.

Though you were dying of curiosity as to what could bring someone so mighty to tears, you didn’t press. It’s not as if there would be something someone as powerless as you could do anything about whatever it was anyway. All you could do was ask and offer comfort. Wanda would tell you when she was ready. Until then, this was your opportunity to return some of the love and support she had provided you with, and you positively ached to bring that to her. Wordlessly, you pulled her into your arms, leaning back on the couch until she was laying atop your body. Murmuring gentle words of reassurance, you held her close, occasionally running your fingers through her auburn locks.

After a while, you grabbed the remote nearby and turned the tv from your video game to the DVD player. The Dick Van Dyke show began playing softly in the background, and Wanda’s chest bloomed with love for you at your thoughtfulness. She nuzzled further into your embrace, staying that way for the better part of the rest of the day as you both dozed intermittently.

Hours later Wanda slipped into a proper sleep, and once evening had rolled around, you took it upon yourself to cook dinner. Though you hadn’t wanted to part from the witch, she clearly needed the rest, and you wanted to surprise her by making dinner for her. Carefully you rolled her away from your chest and onto the couch instead, placing one of the pillows beneath her head. The only indication she registered any change was the slight, adorable scrunching of her nose. Why was this woman so damn cute?!

The kitchen had never been your chosen domain. Before Wanda, you were more likely to burn a pot of water than actually cook something successfully. Now you were hoping some of her lessons had rubbed off on you as you rummaged through the pantry and fridge trying to locate ingredients. With any luck you would be able to throw together and create something vaguely resembling an edible meal.

It was a pleasant surprise for you to discover that you currently had all the ingredients available to make Chicken Paprikash - Wanda’s favorite meal from her home in Sokovia. Going through her recipe note cards, it didn’t take you long to find it, and soon you were throwing seasonings in a pot along with some onions, tomatoes, peppers, and the chicken. While that was cooking, you prepared the noodles. A little under an hour later, and everything was coming together. You just hoped it wasn’t trash.

The aromatic and savory fragrance must have awoken the redhead because she sleepily padded her way into the kitchen to find her sweet surprise. You couldn’t see her yet, your back to her as you stirred the food while it simmered. Though unable to carry a tune to save your life, you were humming quietly to yourself with your earbuds firmly in place as you focused on making the delicious meal. Precious.

“Are you cooking, detka?” Wanda asked just loud enough to be heard over your music, and you jumped, startled. Blushing you turned to face the witch and grinned sheepishly.

“Uhh.. if you could call it that?” you chuckled, pulling out an earbud. “I just thought since you’re always taking such good care of me, maybe I could return the favor?” Voice lilting upwards almost in a question, hoping you hadn’t overstepped.

Moving to stand next to you and see what you had made, Wanda’s eyes widened as she took in the familiar dish. “Is this chicken paprikash?”

“Haha, yeah uhh.. my attempt at it at least?” You absentmindedly rubbed the back of your neck  - a nervous tick you’re pretty sure you didn’t have as a child until you started watching anime to learn the nuances of facial expressions better. It wasn’t until well into adulthood you learned most people don’t actually do that. Embarrassed, you fought not to slap your own arm, and instead simply lower it like a normal person.

“I hope I didn’t butcher it too badly. I tried to follow the recipe you had on the card since we had all the ingredients, but I can’t speak to the integrity of the dish as I haven’t tasted it yet. Besides, you're the true connoisseur here, so even if it seems okay to me, your superior palate might be able to tell the difference.” The joke rolls easily off your tongue, followed by a quick wink.

To you this was no big deal, you were just trying to be kind. But to Wanda? This was the sweetest thing anybody had ever done for her, and it reminded her almost of when she taught your Avenger variant how to make the dish. The other you had never tried to make it for her in return however, opting simply to learn about the meal while Wanda cooked. Now, looking at the beautiful dinner you had created for her, simply because it was her favorite and might cheer her up, Wanda felt her heart about to burst with affection for you.

Unable to hold back, deft fingers gripped your neck softly, quickly pulling you in for a searing kiss. Pouring all her love, affection, and appreciation into the kiss. You were surprised, but not unhappy with this turn of events. It hadn’t been your goal, per se, a kiss from the woman you were coming to love. However, if she wasn’t melancholic anymore, then you considered your goal accomplished. Your arms came to wrap around her neck, though you were careful to keep the spoon from making contact with her clothing or hair, you had heard her take a shower earlier and didn’t want to ruin that for her.

The kiss simmered into something soft and sweet. Meanwhile your food, unfortunately, was starting to bubble over. Hearing it, the pair of you sprung apart, with you frantically pulling the pot off the eye of the stove, stirring it to return to the intended consistency. Embarrassed and amused, you both burst into giggles at the almost mishap.

“Thank you, Y/N. This is incredibly sweet of you, I-” The redhead pauses, unable to eloquently convey everything she felt in that moment. “Just, thank you.”

The wattage of your smile could have been seen from space; you were so happy. “Of course, Wands! Any time.”

While you turned off the stove, Wanda set the table so you could begin plating your dinner. Jokes and laughter flowed easily between you as you both enjoyed your meal. Wanda, who never doubted your cooking skills, though you are pleasantly surprised, enjoyed that the paprikash is not only edible but rather delicious.

As you and Wanda settled into the domesticity of it all, the witch found her heart becoming light once again. So incredibly kind and thoughtful, you brought her joy, and filled her with hope. She resolved then and there to tell you everything one day. Deserving of that much at the very least, Wanda prayed, hoping, with all her being, that you would forgive her when the truth was finally revealed. For now though she sank into the warmth and comfort you provided, falling for you just a little more with each grin you flashed her way.

A/N 2: I’m not proud of what I had Wanda do in this, but I still have some left-over rage for how Stephen treated Wanda. All she needed was a little empathy, especially from the man who made the call to allow the events with Thanos and the Mind stone to play out as they did, basically letting Vision die. For no good reason. No you can’t convince me he was right. Its lazy plot writing that out of thousands and thousands of possibilities, none of them could have involved sparing Vision, or at least making his death mean something. I’m a Wanda apologist first and foremost, and I will die on this hill. Wanda deserved better, especially from those she called “friends”. Also, I stan women’s wrongs 😛

Taglist: I remembered this time!! @dorabledewdroop

[romione-trope-fest]

Capture My Heart

Title: Capture My Heart

Author: adenei

Trope: Muggle AU

Brief Summary: Work meets play at a work picnic/team bonding event. Hermione gets a little more than she bargained for when a certain redhead is held captive during a healthy team bonding game of Capture the Flag.

WC: 2,541

TW: n/a unless you count excessive forearm mentions

*************

What am I, twelve?

  Hermione paces back and forth in front of the currently unoccupied ‘jail cell.’ Really, it’s a piece of rope tied around a few trees just off the beaten path of the trail that is her team’s home base. Swiping through her phone, she’d rather be anywhere else than playing this stupid game at the stupid company picnic. 

  Don’t they realize she still has a ton of work to get done? Cases never end for a public defender, especially not when certain detectives seem to be a little too good at their job, putting deadbeats who can’t afford their own lawyer behind bars.

It’s not his fault. She should be grateful that there’s someone who actually does their job and takes it seriously, but her workload is screaming otherwise. And since her department refuses to hire an additional person, Hermione will continue to aim all of her resentment at him.

  Now, if only the other side would just capture her team’s flag so they can be done with this God forsaken children’s game. Then she can get back to the office. Yeah, that’d be great.

  Bored out of her mind, Hermione goes back to scrolling the newest set of case files that were emailed to her that morning. It’s the only thing she can do considering she was given the most boring position on her team. Like a group of lawyers and paralegals are going to catch and apprehend a bunch of detectives. And even if they did, what was she going to do? Hold them in contempt? Honestly.

  A rustling from nearby catches her attention, and she locks her phone before shoving it into the back pocket of her jeans. At least the fall weather and smattering of dead leaves on the ground prevents anyone from sneaking around too stealthily. 

  “Oi, Hermione, where are you?” Ernie MacMillan, her desk partner, calls from down the path.

  She rolls her eyes, though no one can see her. “Right here, where you left me, remember? To guard an unoccupied makeshift jail cell.”

  “Hey, not my fault McGonagall forced you to participate. And lucky for you, it won’t be unoccupied anymore.”

  “Yeah, right.” She scoffs. “Like any of you caught one of those egotistical prats.”

  “Hey, I take offense to that!” The second voice makes her freeze, a shiver running up her spine.

  Of all the people, does it have to be him?

  Hermione might not just be resentful of that one particular detective for keeping her overworked. It might also have something to do with the fact that he is extremely attractive, charismatic, and all around swoonworthy. And she’s not the only one who thinks that. He’s also way out of her league given all the single straight women in the county building have a crush on him. 

  And who wouldn’t? With messy waves of striking auburn hair that’s faded on the sides, piercing ice blue eyes that can spot the assailant in any situation, and a lopsided smile that’s not only welcoming but inherently trusting, it’s hard not to be attracted to him. But that’s nothing to Hermione. Sure, he’s easy on the eyes, but it’s his intelligence that turns her on—that and the infuriating way he always rolls his dress shirts up to his elbows, showing off his perfectly sculpted forearms any time he books a criminal. 

  If he ever is single, she assumes it’s never for long. There’s probably a line of women waiting to date him. Not that she’d know or anything. She refuses to delve that deep into his personal life—if for the sole fact it’ll kill the tiny shred of hope she has for something as minimal as getting a drink with him sometime.

  Screw getting a drink with him. You’re about to be left alone in the woods with nothing to do. Take advantage of the situation!

  Oh my god, no. Get it together, Hermione.

  Right. Even as images of potential scenarios flow through her mind, she shakes them out of her head. The last thing she needs is for Ron Weasley to see her drooling over him. Especially since he and Ernie are fast approaching.

  “Well, it certainly wasn’t meant as a compliment,” she retorts, unwilling to let him get under her skin.

  Before the detective can speak again, Ernie cuts in. “Yeah, well, try not to insult him too much. Even holding one hostage increases our chances to win.”

  “I thought jailbreaks were against the rules?” Hermione asks. Not that she cares. She’ll willingly let him go in five minutes just to have her peace and quiet again—if only to daydream about him behind his back.

  Ernie makes a big show of shoving Ron into the makeshift jail cell then looks back at Hermione. “They are. So make sure he stays there.”

  “Or what?” Hermione crosses her arms. “You’ll make me buy coffee for the floor Monday? Sorry, I can’t. I have a full day in court.”

  “Again?” Ernie groans.

  “Yes, which is the reason I’d prefer to be back at the office and not in the woods for a silly picnic to begin with.”

  Ernie grimaces and attempts to placate her, even though they both know it means little to nothing in their field of work. “At least there’s overtime?”

  “I suppose. Though it’d be nice to have a weekend to myself once in a while.” Then Hermione turns to the captor and grumbles. “All thanks to you.” 

  “On that note, I’m going to get back to the rest of the team.” Ernie backs away a few steps, then takes off at a jog.

  Hermione side-eyes the bane of her existence—pointedly as she leans against a tree. Ron holds up his hands in defense. “Hey, don’t blame me for doing my job. You’d think crime rates would start to go down eventually.”

  “Please, Ron,” she chides. “You of all people should know that crime is always going to exist.”

  He saunters—fucking saunters—over to her and props himself against another tree, once again showing off his forearms. Of course he’s still managed to highlight them despite dressing casually with jeans, a heather gray t-shirt, and a dark blue flannel unbuttoned over it. It’s in striking contrast to her jade sweater, jeans, beige peacoat, and brown leather boots.

  Ron looks at her through his light blonde lashes. “So what do you suggest, Hermione? That I not do my job? Turn a blind eye to evidence in an investigation or stop asking key questions during interrogations?” 

  His gaze never falters, and she can’t help but feel like it’s piercing through her, like he’s trying to solve the mystery that she is to him. It’s uncomfortable in all the right ways, sending jolts of energy through her and making her forget where she is and what she’s doing. In all honesty, it’s making her want to jump his bones.

  Which would be completely unprofessional.

  Ugh. This is why she tries to avoid work functions outside the office. It’s much easier to avoid her attraction in that environment. But here, in the woods with the sun shining through the trees and the foliage creating a warm ambience, it’s hard not to let her imagination run wild. It’d be too easy to let herself believe he’s eyeing her with the same want she’s been harboring for over a year.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she forces herself to say. “Just, I don’t know, try a little harder to suggest other lawyers. I’m only one person, and I can only do so much.”

  Ron twists his mouth and cocks his head as he thinks about her suggestion. “I guess I could, but then what excuse would I have to come see you if I’m not delivering cases?”

  His playful demeanor hosts an undertone of seriousness that causes Hermione’s breath to hitch. This time, she’s the one to search his eyes for a deeper meaning, but she’s absolutely terrible at reading people. That’s why she took the public defender position—it was meant to be a stepping stone while she strengthened her abilities to read a jury. Then, she’d be able to go after the job she really wanted. One that would help her do some good in the world. 

  Giving up, she decides to just ask him outright. “Why would you think you need an excuse?”

  “Because detectives don’t usually hang around with attorneys.”

  “Probably because all they do is pile on more work for us.”

  If ‘they’ means Ron and ‘us’ means her, then yes, that would be true.

  “So, you’re saying I could drop in to say hi whenever I feel like it?” Ron raises an eyebrow to accompany his question.

  “If you want, but then people might think we’re friends…”

  He pushes himself off the tree and steps toward the rope separating himself from her. The motion sends an uninvited thrill through her. “Aren’t we?”

  “I figured we were closer to work acquaintances.” 

  She shrugs, attempting to keep things light and breezy while her body is on fire, desperate for her to open herself up to something more. But she won’t. Not yet. Especially when she’s wary of his intentions. After all, the rest of his team is vying for their stupid flag that’s somewhere on the grounds of the park. 

  His hand claps his chest, and he makes a show of stumbling to his knees. “Oh, you wound me, Hermione.”

  “Please, stop being so dramatic.” She lets out an unbecoming snort through her laughter. He grins at her and she rolls her eyes. “This better not be some ploy to distract me in an attempt to get the flag.”

  Ron stands back up and places his hands on his hips, once again flexing his forearms. God, she hates it so much. “Come on, Hermione. If I cared about the game, I wouldn’t have let myself get captured.”

  She bursts into more laughter. “Yeah, right. There’s no way you got captured on purpose. That’s even more suspicious.”

  “Why?” 

  “Because all I’ve listened to this week is how ‘we have to take down Weasley.’ How you’ve ‘single-handedly won the game for the last three years.’ Who’s to say you’re not distracting me just to get closer to your goal?”

  “Maybe my goal isn’t the flag this time.” There’s something about the way he says it that wipes the smile right off her face. 

  “W-what?” she squeaks.

  “Maybe I got captured under the guise of sacrificing myself for a teammate to get closer to the flag when really, I just wanted to spend time with you outside the office.”

  Despite the fact that her heart is positively pounding in her chest, she keeps up her front with an eye roll. “Why?”

  “Because I like you.”

  The words hang between them as she blinks blankly at him. “I—you—” She swallows hard. “You do?”

  Tentatively, he lifts the rope and steps underneath it. The tips of his ears are pink, something she’s noticed every once in a while but never thought anything of it.

  “Uh, yeah. Thought it was obvious.”

  Oh my god, is this actually happening?

  For a moment, she’s completely enraptured by the way he inches closer in an almost tentative matter. But then her mind chooses logic and once again blares the warning signs that this is a game.

  “Not as obvious as ‘no jailbreaks,’” she reminds him.

  He stops and she inwardly kicks herself for ruining the moment—if there’s even a moment to be ruined. But then he grins at her and takes another step forward. “Yeah, well, maybe it’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

  She can hardly believe it. Hope rushes over her again, and it’s all she can do to try and keep it contained. The last thing she needs is for him to see how completely enamored she is with him. Even still, a little giggle escapes her throat as she volleys a quip. “That’s rather bold, don’t you think?”

  “Maybe. But hopefully it’s worth it.” 

  “Why?” She quirks an eyebrow at him, the unknown meaning behind his words suddenly sobering her.

  A million possibilities flood her mind until he offers a sheepish grin and elaborates. “Because maybe I’ve forfeited the game for personal reasons.

  “Personal reasons?” she repeats. 

  “That center around asking you out.” 

  Asking me—holy shit.

  He waits for a beat as Hermione stares, slack-jawed, at him. Then, he adds, “So, uh, any time you want to put me out of my misery and let me know if it was a wise choice would be great.”

  He’s serious. He’s actually serious. Ron Weasley came here with the intention of asking her out. He could have any girl he wanted, yet he’s here, alone with her, detailing his plans of asking her out.

  She wants to savor every moment. Taking her time, Hermione steps closer to him, memorizing the hope in his eyes, the worry on his browline, the way his cheeks are completely red like he’s embarrassed. Then, a smirk forms on her lips. “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  “You technically haven’t asked me anything yet.”

  “Oh. Oh. Well, uh, would you want to grab dinner or something?”

  “Hmm, I don’t know.” Hermione taps her chin. “I’ve got quite the case load right now. I really shouldn’t. Next week is going to be brutal. There’s no possible way I could give up part of my weekend. Unless…well, I suppose I could be persuaded.”

  Even though she’s messing with him, she still finds herself succumbing to his gravitational pull. Because despite it all, the last thing she wants to convey is the possibility that she might say no. Of course, she’d have to question his detective skills if he could ever believe that.

  Thankfully, she doesn’t have to. She’s not quite sure where the brazenness comes from, but she doesn’t resist the pull urging her even closer. Her hand reaches up, sliding the soft fabric of his flannel between her fingers, which invites him into her personal space, and he grasps her hips. 

  For a moment, she forgets that there’s even a game going on, and that they’re at a work function—one she’d very much like to leave right now if at all possible. But first, there’s another thing she’d prefer. And luckily, he doesn’t make her wait.

  His voice is suddenly husky, filled with lust as his eyes flit down to her lips. “I think that can be arranged.”

  She tilts her head up as he leans down. Their first kiss is gentle, tentative, as if he doesn’t believe she’s given him permission. But from the moment their lips meet, the fire within her reignites, and Hermione wants more. Hungrily, she reaches up, fingers combing through his hair, urging even closer and deepens the kiss.

  Ron moans, squeezing her hips as he backs her into the nearest tree, and if she’s not careful, she might just let him do whatever he wants to her right then and there.

  That thought seems to snap her back to her senses, and she breaks away, her eyes taking a moment to catch up to her mind. Though heavy, she forces her eyelids open and meets his gaze. “So, dinner?”

  Ron nods. “Don’t think they’ll miss us if we leave early, do you?”

  “Not a chance.”

[emhasthoughts]

Gertrude and the cat-avatars, pt 3

Summary: A cat with a strange pattern show up that Gertrude can never even think about getting back out. Agnes decides to bring a friend. Mike makes a friend.

A/N: Thanks @dcartcorner and the chatter in the stream that helped me decide on what type of cat Jude would be.

Not beta read, just me, my document and thoughts

Pt 1, Simon, Peter, Elias and Mike / Pt 2, Michael and Helen Distortion, Agnes / Pt 3, You're here! / Pt 4, John, Jane, Maxwell, Manuela / Pt 5, Jon, Martin, Sasha, Tim / Pt 6, Melanie, Daisy, Basira, Georgie / Pt 7, Jared, Gerry, Nikola / Bonus, a visit to the vet / Halloween bonus!

Gertrude rarely thought of getting rid of Annabelle. She was rather sure the cat had something to do with it. Annabelle had wandered into her home and fallen asleep on the armchair. At first glance she would seem like any ordinary cat, dark brown with grey stripes on the stomach and up to the back, though most of the left side was left stripeless. However, as Gertrude looked closer, she realised it was not just an ordinary pattern. In fact, some were way too straight and it all connected in a way that was not natural, as if someone had decided to take some paint and make a bleach-blonde pattern. As Gertrude looked closer she realised what it looked like. A spiderweb. 

Gertrude had named her Annabelle without too much of a second thought. Let her sleep on the sofa that night. Though as she laid awake at night she could not fully tell why she had done any of it. She had no interest in another cat and usually it had taken more than a few hours to decide on a name. Annabelle seemed very happy to just be inside. Though the times she did go outside she would always bring in living spiders that she got protective over. Gertrude was not sure why she let Annabelle live there.

Agnes came by at least once a day for an entire week alone. Getting more and more confident as time went on. Until one day she showed up with a cat next to her. A sphynx cat nearly ginger looking with some form of black mark on one of the legs. Though something told Gertrude that the cat was not actually a sphynx cat, could a cat just lose all the fur? Had it been burnt off in a fire? She was not entirely sure.

Agnes kept coming back and more often than not she had the other cat with her. Gertrude eventually named her Jude, as both seemed to stay for longer. The main problem with it was that Gertrude did not really like Jude and Jude did not seem to like her either. Often hissing if Gertrude spent too much time with Agnes, even if she had simply fallen asleep on her lap. Agnes, however, seemed perfectly happy being around and getting attention from them both. Seemingly ignoring whatever hatred was going on between a human and a cat.

There was one cat that came by once in a while. The first time she saw him he had been laying by her mailbox, ‘saw’ was a rather strong word in that case. His black and fluffy fur melted into the darkness of late November night. He had looked up as Gertrude passed him. All she had been then was bright yellow eyes, blinked, then put his head down to sleep. Or she assumed he went to sleep. 

After that she would mostly see him, well, his eyes. He did not stare at her, just looked up from whatever shadow he melted into and looked very tired to be a cat. Seriously, he did not seem to have a home and even if he did he could sleep all day. No need to look like he went to work all day. Gertrude had been rather happy to just let him be. After all, he seemed quiet and calm, just happy to lay around in the shadows, rather similar to Maxwell when she thought more about it.

In the end Mike had been the one to get the cat inside. It had been a month of living there and Gertrude had tried to let Mike go back out now that he seemed more healthy. But just like her first attempt he came back. This time not alone or with Simon. Gertrude had opened the door and Mike, though smaller than the other, had managed to push the other in. An hour later the cat had made himself comfortable in a corner of the sofa, Mike tucked into his side. Both asleep. Gertrude had a sinking feeling that the other would be staying more inside. 

She had been right as the cat was still in the house a week later. This time curled up on a table, watching Gertrude with the sleepy yellow eyes. She looked between the still unnamed cat and the food she was making and decided to name the cat Oliver. She was not very fond of ‘Olive’ just because he looked similar at the moment.

[taetaespeaks]

The Wife / THV part.3

genre : yandere taehyung, failing marriage, mean and cruel protagonists

summery : you five were the nightmares of teachers back in high school, now adults, your cruel and violent temperament doesn’t seem to have change neither does have the obsession taehyung has for you.

warnings : mean protagonists!!!!, smut, s3xual descriptions, strong language, violence, cruelty from the protagonists themselves. here we have an evil y/n. read at your own risk ! this story is hard and violent do not read if you’re sensitive to those topics.

rate : +18 only minors do not interact

<- masterlist ->

It must have been around two hours since you and Taehyung had started your walk around Bangtan Lake, more precisely, the lake in front of your old high school, the place where you always gathered, you, Taehyung, Jimin, Sa ra and Jeongguk to cause trouble to anyone who dared to cross your fiery teenage eyes. You had to admit that you didn't see the time pass, how could you ? As you were walking to the right of the handsome young man with neatly combed brown hair, eyes dark as night but still shining with a chocolate glow that was Kim Taehyung. You found yourself observing him, his lips perfectly drawn, his moles, every single one of them, as if to learn them by heart, only to realize that you had never forgotten them.

"...and do you remember how we became friends?"

Friends? If you and Taehyung had been just friends it would be a fact known by everyone by now. Anyone with a little common sense would notice the somewhat questionable relationship between the two of you, however, your goal was not to simply create a TV drama romance where the sad wife ends up with the so kind and brave best-friend of her mean husband but rather to give you the life you deserved, even if it meant using the boy with a boxy smile that had an old crush on you. You were tired of being restricted to the cold, unwelcoming wall of the Jeon's house. You dreamed of something else. Of passion. Plus, it wasn't like Jeongguk loved you. Realizing that the time was getting rather longer that it should have during your silence, you began to fake thinking about his question, even though you knew the answer pretty well.

"Well, it's complicated. It's a whole series of meetings. First, there was Jimin-" Your eyes sparkled at the mention of the name of your beloved best friend since childhood. Taehyung's heart sank. He looked away from your sweet face, hoping to calm his jealousy as he watched the cherry blossoms, the blue sky reflecting on the lake, and the daffodils moving elegantly in the wind, but nothing could calm the coldness and anger growing in his heart. Deep down he knew that if he could take you away from Jeongguk, you could never forgive him for separating you from Jimin, he was no fool. The pain of being away from him now when he was perfectly healthy just in another country seemed to be already too much for you, so loosing him ? Nah. "We were very young when we met, in elementary school maybe, you should have seen how small Jimin was! Smaller than me." The role of high duchess scorned now abandoned, you let yourself share your memories with your old companion with a fervor that was rare to you. Very rare. "He came from a rich family too, obviously, mother wouldn't have allowed me to hangout with him if he didn't! He came up to me one day in the playground and since then we were inseparable. For a long time, mother thought about marrying me to Jimin. We didn't have any feelings for each other, of course, but we could have put up with it, found an arrangement, not to live together or whatever... In middle school, we met Sa ra. Not at all the kind of people I'm interested in. Always hanging out in front of the tobacconists like a lost soul. Miserable. Plus, her father's business went bankrupt and her mother was a housewife, but Jimin took a liking to her, somehow. He thought she was funny. So the three of us started hanging out. You and Jeongguk came along later, in high school. You were best friends, weren't you?" Taehyung nodded silently. "Rich and handsome. You were immediately adopted. If Jeongguk was quiet, he was far more cruel and violent than me and Jimin had ever been. Sa ra loved him for that! As for you, you were different."

"How so?"

"Softer, strangely enough. Sometimes I wondered what you were even doing around us." Taehyung smiled grimly but didn't explain the reason for his sudden amusement.

"It's true."

"If it wasn't for my attraction for you, you would never have stayed in the group."

"If you say so."

Taehyung knew very well that in this pack of violent teenagers, you had always been the leader, everyone knew that. If you wanted to get him out of the way, you would have, but he wouldn't allow it. He wouldn't. Just like when he had broken the arms and nose of that little Yoongi jerk who wanted to ask you out for prom. You just didn't know about it even though you thought you knew everything.

"Would it make you so happy to see Jimin again?"

"Of course!" The answer came without delay. "Why?"

"I could arrange that." You smiled, slightly.

"How many things can you arrange for me, Kim Taehyung?"

"As many as you ask me."

"And if I asked you to make love to me in your car right now, would you ?”

•••

Slowly, Taehyung lifted your short dress over your hips to your waist, while, with your chest pressed against the back seats of his porsche you waited for the fateful moment of his touch against your skin. Teahyung was taking his time, watching the curves of your ass standing up to him, his pants suddenly becoming horribly tight.

His long, elegant fingers penetrated you with ease, unholy noises escaping from your soaked cunt, waiting for him, already ready to welcome more of his body. He curled his fingers to reach that spot you loved so much making you moan under him. He repeated his action faster, so fast that the ball of pleasure in your stomach began to be felt so early that it came to surprise you. The wetness already dripping down your inner thighs spoke volumes about your excitement.

"You haven't changed. You still love it so much." Taehyung bit his bottom lip, moaning at the sight of your cunt so docile under his touch.

"Tae, fuck me and stop your bullshit."

He obeyed, he always obeyed.

His pants soon on the floor, joining your light black lace thong, Taehyung played with the tip of his cock at the entrance of your pussy closing and opening on air, begging for attention.

"Tae...please."

He slid into you suddenly, wringing a cry of satisfaction from you that made him cry out in pleasure himself. Unable to control himself, he began his unforgivable thrusts, moving in and out of your soaked cunt to the point that the telltale sounds of your flesh slapping against each other became the only thing you could hear. Your wetness running down your legs, now staining his, your cheek pressed against the aching brass of the seats as Taehyung watched in delight your body lunching forwards at any thrust of his as his huge member was penetrating you mercilessly, soaking itself with all your precious juice. You were driving him truly insane.

•••

The sight of the gate of the huge mansion you were struggling to call home brought you back to harsh reality. Taehyung still hadn't saved you from the life you were leading. Your face changed, coming back to coldness and pure evilness.

"Don't sulk. I'll see you soon."

"Yeah, whatever." You answered coldly, disappointed at the sight of the so depressing facts. "Here, you can keep this." Without looking at him, you dropped your thong, still wet with your fluids in his lap, causing him to smile unhealthily at you. Slamming the car door, you staggered back to the villa where you would surely be alone since Jeongguk was probably still in the office fucking one of his whore.

Taehyung smiled, watching you, bringing your underwear to his nose and smelling you. You were everything he had ever wanted, his greatest dream. How could you believe that he had not yet done anything to provide for you? It was only a matter of time before you were his.

•••

The water in your bath was already getting uncomfortably cold when your phone rang. Sigh. You didn't like being alone, you didn't like being with people. What did you like? Wiping your right hand on the nearest towel, you grabbed your phone from the small table where you put your perfumes and brought it to your ear.

"Jeon y/n."

"Gngngn, Jeon y/n, whatever." A slight smile stretched your lips at the sound of your best friend's voice.

"ChimChim, I'm honored to see that you haven't forgotten about me." You say, eyeing your painted nails with disdain.

"Don't start. Work is unforgiving, but you wouldn’t understand. How could you ? I mean, what, you’re probably in your hot tub, you know the one paid by Daddy Jeoncock, as we speak ?” You swallowed a chuckle.

"What do you want, asshole?"

"What do you mean what do I want? Why didn't you tell me?” Your confused silence seemed to annoy him. "Your dear handsome daddy in law owes the company Kim millions! Millions, you hateful bitch!”

You stood there for a moment, dumbfounded, sitting up in the bath suddenly, almost dropping your phone into the water where the foam had already disappeared.

"What are you talking about, Jimin?"

"I'm sending you the article."

A soft bip announced the receipt of the message and as you plunged into reading the article you almost felt your organs clench inside your body. This was not possible! Impossible!

«…Gi Jeon, the famous Korean businessman is facing prison for swindling and abusing employees as well as defaming Kim's company leader Kim Taehyung, and sexually harassing some of the women working under Kim's company. Several million dollars are at stake...»

Slowly, a smile came to rise on your lips. Taehyung. Then a hysterical laugh, louder by the second.

"Fuck, I leave for a few years and my best friend goes completely insane! I should come back within the month to support you, I mean, do you even you realize ? Mama, Jeongguk is in trouble."

"Oh yeah, right ? I know he is."

<tag list : @gethatcake @multifandombishthatlovekth>

sorry for the late uptade, college work and everything yk :/ waiting for your returns tho &lt;3

[ronancexists]

Hello everyone, and welcome to Day 4 of Ronancetober! I hope y'all have been enjoying everything I've put out so far, because I've got another one coming your way! This one's got a healthy dose of Platonic with a capital P! Stobin, because those two are the best thing that could've happened to Stranger Things aside from Byler and Ronance becoming canon. It's also got a tiny bit of Stonathan as well, but it's only a brief mention. Anyways, here's my submission for day 4, and I hope y'all like it!

Day 4: Kiss

Robin sighed as she glanced up at the clock for what had to be the umpteenth time within the past five minutes.

“Robbie, if you sigh one more time I’m going to chuck this at you,” Steve threatened, looking at his best friend with exasperation written all over his face, the thing he was about to throw being one of the many VHS tapes he was currently putting back on the shelves.

It hadn’t been super busy today, though Keith neglected to do any of the actual work involved with being a manager whenever he worked with one or both of them. She and Steve knew more about the job than he did. The two of them were essentially running the place, but Keith had the official name tag stating he was in charge.

They had managed to convince him that Steve would most definitely muck something up if Robin weren’t there with him to keep an eye on him, which is how they ended up working most, if not all, of their shifts together, without Keith's supervision. It worked out perfectly for the two of them, because that meant neither one of them had to do anything on their own. It didn’t hurt that it gave Robin even more opportunities to poke fun at Steve.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Is my suffering bothering you? I’ll be sure to keep it down in the future.”

Steve rolled his eyes as Robin smiled brightly, her nose crinkling in happiness as it always did when she managed to rile him up.

After doing a quick lap around the store, Robin determined it was safe. She hopped up on the counter, legs swinging back and forth as she watched Steve stack the tapes on the shelves.

“You know,” Steve grunted as he finally reached the top shelf in one of the many isles, placing the tape down as gently as possible. “You could help me instead of just sitting there, watching me do all of the work.”

Robin couldn't help the snort of amusement that escaped as soon as Steve had finished talking. “You’re one to talk. You left me to rewind all those tapes,” she gestured to the ones stacked up in his arms. “So you could have a make-out session with Jonathan in the back room.”

“Shh!” Steve hushed, eyes darting around frantically to search for prying ears.

“Relax, dingus. I already took a lap. I wouldn’t have said anything if we had customers.”

“Well you could warn a guy next time,” he grumbled.

“Such a baby.”

Steve stuck his tongue out at her in response.

“Who are we calling a baby?”

The nineteen-year-old had to stifle his laughter as Robin practically turned into a puddle where she had been sitting at the sight of Nancy. He knew after everything with Vecna that Robin had developed what she deemed was a minor crush on Nancy, though he would label it as infatuation. Regardless, Robin hadn’t been able to stop babbling about the girl, everything about her crush on Vickie simply flying out the window after the events during the school year, where she had gotten to know Nancy from Nancy herself rather than through all of the stories Steve had about her.

Steve couldn’t blame Robin for falling for Nancy even if he wanted to. Hell, he probably understood the enigma that was Nancy Wheeler better than anyone. After all, he had been lucky enough to date her before everything with the Upside Down transpired. He was brave enough to acknowledge that he had hurt Nancy badly, and she was brave enough to acknowledge that she had hurt him as well. The two of them had a long, rough talk about everything that had transpired between them, and they came to the conclusion that they were much better off as friends than they ever were as a couple.

Needless to say, Steve was quite surprised when Nancy had confided in him that she was crushing on Robin, and crushing quite hard on her at that. He’d had to hold in his laughter when she said she couldn’t discern if Robin was into her the same way. He thought it was quite obvious, but he supposed that could be because he knew Robin better than Robin knew herself. Plus, if Nancy was too worried about not making her own crush apparent, he figured that would occupy most of her attention, enough for her not to notice the heart eyes Robin was constantly shooting her way.

He was between a rock and a hard place. On one hand, if he told one girl how the other felt, it could result in them getting together and earn himself a pat on the back. On the other hand, the girl he told could become furious at him for revealing the other's secret, and when the girl he told told the other girl, he’d probably have two very angry, very determined, and very capable of hurting him women gunning for his head. It was a win-lose situation, so he resolved to keep his mouth shut. However, that didn’t mean he couldn’t intervene in other ways.

“Robbie?”

“What’s up, Stevie?”

“Could you grab me the ladder from the back room?”

Robin arched an eyebrow at him, internally pleading for him not to actually be interrupting her lovely conversation with Nancy. Times with the other girl were far and few between, especially since she had begun working almost everyday to save up so she could move the fuck out of this town.

“Please?” He asked, turning the puppy dog eyes and everything. He knew she could never say no to him when he used the puppy dog eyes.

“Ughhhh. Fine,” she grumbled, apologizing to Nancy before turning around and hopping behind the counter, heading for the backroom.

“You should just tell her, ya know,” Steve said as soon as Robin was out of earshot, placing the tapes down on one of the bare shelves and walking towards Nancy.

Nancy scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest defensively.

“I’m serious, Nance. She’s ready to leave everything behind. We’ve defeated Vecna, we got rid of the Upside Down for good. She doesn’t have a reason to stay.” The words unless you give her one remained unspoken, but they both heard it loud and clear.

“I know,” Nancy muttered, her gaze bouncing around everywhere but at Steve, finally landing behind the counter on the door to the backroom, where Robin was.

“Go,” Steve said quietly, squeezing her arm. “I’ll cover up here.”

Nancy grasped his hand in hers. “Wish me luck.”

He nodded, watching as Nancy walked behind the counter. “You won’t need it,” he muttered, a wide grin settling onto his face as he shot a fist in the air, overwhelmed with joy that he had actually done it. Oh, he couldn’t wait to see the look on Jonathan’s face when he told him he'd won their bet.

“Robin?” Nancy called out, unable to hide the quakiness of her voice.

“Nancy, thank goodness. I can’t find this freaking ladder anywhere. Come help me look,” Robin said, turning to look at Nancy when she didn’t get a response. “Hey, is everything ok? You’re looking a bit pale. And you’re trembling too. Oh God, you aren’t sick, are you? Cause if you are, I can get Steve to drive you home. I’ll come over with soup and ice cream and your favorite movies as soon as I’m done with my shift. We can lay in bed and watch them in your room together. Or I don’t have to stay. I can just drop it off for you and—”

Robin was cut off when Nancy rushed forward, pressing their lips together in an urgent and desperate kiss. Nancy pulled away when Robin didn’t reciprocate, dread slowly filling her chest when the taller girl simply stood there, eyes wide and mouth agape. “Shit, I knew this was a bad idea. I’m so sorry, Robin. I understand if you never want to talk to me again. I-I’ll leave you alone,” Nancy said, turning to walk away, stopping when Robin’s hand shot out and grabbed her arm. “Rob, what—”

Robin tugged on Nancy’s arm until the other girl was facing her, a smile threatening to bloom as her eyes shined with happiness. “Did you mean it?”

“What?” Nancy asked, breathless.

“The kiss. Did you mean it?”

“Of course I meant it, Robin. Why—”

Nancy gasped in surprise as Robin brushed their lips together, eyes fluttering shut as Robin’s hands settled on her waist. She moaned when the taller girl pulled on her hips until they were flush against one another. She reached up, tangling her hands in Robin’s hair, loving the feeling of the soft, curly strands between her fingers.

Robin flicked her tongue against the seam of Nancy’s lips, groaning in pure delight as Nancy’s lips parted, allowing her access to the other girl’s mouth. She started walking Nancy backwards until Nancy’s back was pressed against the door, their mouths never parting.

“Rob-Robin,” Nancy whimpered, a strangled groan leaving her lips when Robin broke their kiss off, only to begin trailing kisses down her neck. She tilted her head, grasping Robin’s hair tightly to hold her in place as she nipped and sucked at her pulse point.

“God, Nancy. You smell delicious,” Robin husked in her ear.

“Kiss me,” Nancy panted.

Robin didn’t need to be told twice. The two of them moaned as their mouths met once again, tongues and teeth clashing together in a messy, passionate kiss. Gradually, the kiss slowed down, ending with Robin sucking Nancy’s lower lip into her mouth, releasing it with a pop. She pressed their foreheads together, unable to hide her massive grin as she looked into Nancy’s eyes. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

“Really?” Nancy inquired, her hands splayed across the back of Robin’s neck, thumbs rubbing up and down in a soothing manner. “Me too.”

The taller girl stared at Nancy in disbelief. “Wait, seriously?”

Nancy laughed, eyes sparkling with delight. “Seriously,” she confirmed.

“Wow,” Robin whispered, completely in awe of the woman in front of her. “I can’t believe Nancy Wheeler is into me. Me, of all the people in Hawkins. Please tell me I’m not dreaming.”

“You aren’t dreaming,” Nancy whispered, standing on her tiptoes to press a light kiss to Robin’s lips.

“Nancy Wheeler is into me,” Robin repeated, a dreamy look on her face.

Nancy shook her head in amusement. “You’re such an idiot, Robin Buckley.”

“But I’m your idiot. I mean, if you want me to be. If not, then just let me know so I can begin working on mending my broken heart. Because I don’t think I could handle it if this was just you experimenting or doing it because of a dare or some shit like that.”

“It’s nothing like that. I like you, Robin. More than all of those people I’ve dated in the past.”

“Even Steve?”

“Even Steve,” Nancy confirmed. “In fact, I’d like to ask if you, Robin James Buckley, would do me the honor of being my girlfriend?”

“The honor would be all mine, Nancy Anne Wheeler.”

They sealed the deal with a kiss, as they would with everything from that point forward.

[spicybylerpolls]

Cafe anon is SO REAL for sharing their story. You’re not alone. I think that’s the elephant in the room not just here on spicy byler tumblr, but in any coming-of-age media contexts, so I applaud anon for directly facing the elephant.

And thank you spicybylerpolls for giving us a platform to express our unfiltered thoughts!

I remember they tried to cancel gracie abrams for saying something similar even though she was (a. not that much older than Finn, and b. correct lol). Even to this day people on twitter won’t let her live it down, even though it shouldn’t even matter cause Gracie and Finn are, you know, both legal adults now and within dateable range.

I think in anon’s case, being older than Gracie was at the time, it makes sense that they were especially freaked out by their “less than kosher” thoughts at the time since they were inherently scandalous. But any therapist will tell you not to dwell on your shocking thoughts as they don’t define you. They don’t make you a bad person. They just are what they are, shout out to Ke$ha.

In our world we have lines, and these lines are good cause they protect real-life kids from harm and abuse. I think we can all agree with that! But they weren’t created to protect us from our OWN thoughts. They CAN’T really do so. They don’t have that power. Cause then it becomes a maze of, “Your thoughts are bad and you need to be fixed and re-educated” which isn’t healthy. I feel like a better approach is to reflect and mediate on the potential deeper reasons for things.

In cafe anon’s case, she and her friend noticed something w/out any filters, and then they had to make sense of what they noticed cause it raised their alarm bells. Did it make them a “creep?” I don’t think so. I also feel like a true “creep” wouldn’t freak out. They would just be creepy.

I like the explanation of this not being a case of perving on a 13-year old actor and actually wanting to be with them in a tangible sense, but rather an act of putting yourself in your past teenage shoes. Speaking for myself, I know I constantly have dreams where i’m 14 or 15 again, and maybe even dreaming of someone I used to have a crush on. In my mind, they are still 14. We are both still 14. Is that weird? Some might argue that it is, but is it really? I think it’s normal.

But I also think this is a deeply psychological subject that gets at the heart of what we’re comfortable with, and what we SHOULD be comfortable with, and there’s no doubt it’s controversial. But if you can’t be controversial anonymously on an already anonymous platform, where can you be controversial? Nowhere.

Many are uncomfortable with this convo cause they conduct themselves in such a way that no incorrect thought EVER slips in. The more filters you put in, the less you allow yourself to ruminate and reflect upon all aspects of human psychology, the less familiar anon’s admissions will be. But a part of art, a part of being an artist, is to embrace the gray area, no? Is this a slippery slope? Maybe. But slip n’ slides are also fun.

It doesn’t mean dwelling on it, ofc. It’s wise to stick to age-appropriate crushes. Please don’t misinterpret my words. My point is that it’s totally normal to have thoughts you shouldn’t have from time to time. That’s called being human.

There’s this idea that everyone is a perfectly upstanding citizen and no one ever goes where they shouldn’t in their brain, and if you do you’re a creep and the FBI will knock down on your brain’s door, but that’s silly IMO. I applaud café anon for unpacking her physiological reaction to the photoshoots and then moving on with her life.

Of course, not everyone has the same filtering system or comfort level. Some us needed the clear line of demarcation of S4 byler to think spicily, and some of us have no such filter have no such filter and have always been thinking spicy thoughts about these characters, aged-up ofc!

I think now though, I’m so glad that more and more of us are recognizing the clear sexual innuendos and subtext the Duffers have placed into the show. And I hope we will approach S5 and the potential consummation scene with maturity! The Duffers aren’t creeps for telling this story. And you’re not creepy for noticing it.

Many would say that 13 is too young to use terms like “hot” even if you recognize their potential/recognize their cuteness, and I’d agree. But then the question becomes, where is the line? Lots of us here believe Finn and Noah are “hot” now. But at what point did they become hot, hmm?

Obviously on their 18th birthday and not a second before, you degenerates /s

I think if most of us are being honest, even if we wouldn’t say it out loud, we know that isn’t true. You grow into what you become. It doesn’t happen overnight with a birthday. And no one should be attacked for being honest.

Honesty isn’t a crime.

Thank you sharing your thoughts! There's a lot to unpack here. I agree that no one should be attacked for their honesty. And I agree that those who still try to cancel Gracie Abrams are ridiculous.

[avelera]

Giving Sanctuary Behind-the-Scenes - Calliope & Dream

(With Bonus "What does this mean for Dream and Hob?")

I don't think I have as much to say about Calliope in Giving Sanctuary as I did Destiny, but one little nuance of how I see her and Dream in that fic that may or may not have come through in the prose is that I see her, rather anachronistically, as a career woman.

Was she in love with Dream? Yes, of course. When they got married, both had no doubt that they wanted to be married.

But I think the source of the disconnect for them in Giving Sanctuary, as I interpreted them, was that Calliope saw Dream as one of the few entities she could be with where there'd be no conflict between her role as a Muse and their love.

Dream and Calliope loved collaborating on inspiration and art, who better than the Lord of Dreams to wed for a muse who wants her work to be her life? Theoretically, there should be very little disconnect between when she's working on inspiration and when she and Dream are working together and spending positive time together. Their functions overlap perfectly, right?

But I think whereas for Calliope, Dream was the perfect partner with whom to pursue her first love, art and inspiration, for Dream (though perhaps even he did not understand it fully himself) he saw a partner as someone he could have a personal life with, something he's very rarely allowed to have. He wanted to be with someone who loved him first and their work second, because Dream was so ardent and romantic in his love but so driven by his function I could almost see it that what he's been looking for is a love great enough that it allows him, allows him to allow himself, to put something ahead of his work, someone.

It would be natural for Dream to view the relationship the same way Calliope did, as a perfect work partnership with a side of romance. But perhaps the thing that excited Calliope about the life she could build with Dream, not needing to give up anything, getting to "have it all" was the very thing that Dream began to resent, deep down, perhaps unbeknownst even to him.

And I think that's what Calliope, with her superior emotional intelligence, realized in retrospect once the hurt died down. She was excited to wake up next to Dream because then they could go to work together. He was excited to wake up next to her because he wanted someone to love in his life and he wanted to wake up next to them (metaphorically since he didn't sleep then lol) to have someone he loved in his bed with him, someone who didn't conflict with his work and task, but who he could have as the primary person in his life, someone and something that was his and his alone, one person cursed with the burden of being his entire personal life.

(By the way, this isn't meant to say Dream is justified or correct or anything like that here, he's IMO deeply emotionally in need of help and support, and Calliope recognized that too and she did the healthy thing for her which was part ways when she realized that they couldn't be what the other needed and they'd only make each other miserable the more they tried.)

And, by the way, I'm not sure Hob in every era would approach the relationship as single-mindedly as he does in Giving Sanctuary but the whole point is that he's meeting Dream where he lives, as a grieving father who lost his wife, who has no one "just for him" in his life (Hob does't have anyone, Dream admittedly has a retinue but that's not the same as friends). Hob's actual life mirrors the wasteland of Dream's emotional life since Orpheus, which is why they both feel so seen despite the material differences in their situation.

And, by the way, I think Dream could reach a point where he's not quite so desperately clingy with a lover, he just needs the chance to build a sense of a personal life that is in contrast with his function. So why I see him and Hob as finding one another at this point where what they both desperately want and need most is this "ride or die" love who sees them and makes them the #1 priority in their life and who will never leave them, not even to pursue their own life, it's because they're both hurting a great deal right now. Theoretically, with time and healing, I see Hob and Dream as finally topping off each other's touch starvation and total lack of a person "just for them" in their life and feel more free to pursue their work and interests, while still prioritizing one another at the end of the day.

[kernelbastard]

putting these Slugpup Hungry Games hcs here bc I don't feel like making a new sideblog right now

me and my friend have been obsessed with it the past few days so here's some stuff we came up with. note: the pronouns are not literal, Slugcats don't speak English (slugsign W), they're just how we refer to them (also I have separate headcanons for how Slugcat gender and social roles work but I don't know if any of the Hungry kids ever learned any of that stuff so it's not super relevant)

... also we don't know GladosCat's real Iterator name so we've just been calling her Ambition or Wire Mother interchangeably

anyway. these are for you @peculiurperennial

General

The pups are listed in order of age. Therefore, Bingus is the eldest, while Onion, despite being larger than the others, is the baby of the group.

How much a Slugcat remembers past cycles is determined by age and species, and increases as their brains develop. However, there are exceptions to this pattern, like Fleece.

They were not born of the same litter, although it is possible that they were all raised in the same tribe; either way, none of them (except Onion) remember who they were before being captured, and in the end, it doesn't change that they are siblings now.

They cannot directly speak to each other, nor do they know Slugsign, so their means of communication are very limited. Still, they definitely understand each other better than other pups would, simply because they're so familiar and have had to learn to cooperate in dangerous situations. Bingus and Fleece are the most in-tune with each other's thoughts.

Onion already had a bit of the Rotund gene in her ancestry before modification, which is why she's so much bigger; Rotund Slugcats are very close to standard Terrestrials, and are not considered a separate species by Terrestrial society. That being said, all Slugcats - excluding Purposed Organisms - have enough genetic similarity to produce healthy pups with Terrestrials, so it's not impossible for Bingus and Fleece to also have Carnivore and Aquatic ancestors, just... Unlikely, especially in Fleece's case, as Aquatics are not native to this region.

Subject A-23334, Carnivore type - Bingus

They/Them, "the Prodigy"

Second-clearest memory of past tests and cycles.

The smartest and strongest of the siblings, at least in most ways relevant to testing.

Does not enjoy violence, preferring to solve problems as puzzles rather than fights, but will do what is necessary to help their siblings get through the tests. They're not afraid to take a hit if it means the others are spared.

Considers themself a sort of leader, whether or not this is acknowledged by the others, but it's not a source of pride or self-importance; it is instead a great responsibility, a burden, that feels so heavy it nearly crushes them. They know they are Wire Mother's favorite, and they'll do everything in their power to keep her focused on them rather than the other pups, even if that means they will be left out of escape plans. This facility creates Purposed Organisms, and, under the Iterator's watchful eye, Bingus has lost every part of themself that is not part of this sense of purpose.

Subject B-6587, Aquatic type - Fleece

They/Them, "the Opportunist"

Can remember past testing cycles almost perfectly, but has gaps in their memory.

The quickest and most practical of the siblings, avoiding unnecessary risk whenever possible.

Often acts cold or distant, as if they don't care as much about the others, but really, they keep that emotional distance as a means of protecting themself. They are afraid that if they break down and Wire Mother finds out, she'll do something to "fix" their memory.

Feels deeply isolated from their siblings, except for Bingus, as they both know more than they should. Even then, though, they don't have a clear method of talking about it, and Wire Mother doesn't give them much privacy, anyway, so Fleece can never drop the act for long. Over time, this loneliness has grown into resentment, though they won't let it show to anyone but Bingus, as the misplaced "source" of this anger.

Subject C-6287, Terrestrial type - Jib

He/Him, "the Paragon"

Doesn't remember much, but has held onto enough information to know how bleak the situation is, and retains more of the emotions from past cycles than actual facts.

The kindest and bravest of the siblings, but unfortunately, naïvete has no place in the testing chamber except as a bloody example of failure.

... Isn't actually anywhere near as naïve as Wire Mother thinks he is. He knows he's not the strongest or the fastest, and he's very easy to kill. But he does have one thing the others don't: pure stubbornness. Anyone here seen Everything Everywhere All At Once? He's like Waymond. You know what I'm talking about. "When I choose to see the good side of things, I'm not being naïve. It's strategic and necessary. It's how I've learned to survive through everything." If these kids do get to escape down the line, I hope it's Jib who leads them through it.

This bit isn't as serious, but he reminds me of a shonen protagonist. That's all

Subject D-42346, Rotund type - Onion

She/Her, "the Avenger"

Has little to no memory of past cycles, but does remember her life before capture.

I don't have nearly as much to say about this one, mainly because I'm still trying to figure her out. But I do think it'd be cool if, while Jib represents the things Wire Mother can't control or beat out of him, Onion is more... Well, technically a great success, but maybe too great. She's hard to kill. Eventually, her creator is going to regret that.

kind of ran out of steam at the end there but I'll follow this up in a little while with more details (in the form of Discord screenshots)

[your-local-grubdog]

Together in the Storm Chapter 6: Captain Destiny

Story Summary: Olimar is back home once again, ready to rest and recuperate from everything that had happened. Yet the universe keeps throwing unwanted surprises his way, making rest difficult. He just wants to make his (now rather large) family believe that he’ll be okay. Because he is, for he has to be.

Chapter Summary: Olimar's first time out on a delivery run! Surely nothing bad will happen.

I've decided to put the art within the text like I do on Ao3, instead of at the start. So there is art still!

Read on Ao3 here! Or keep reading down below!

To say Olimar was nervous would be a severe understatement.

The young man, in his early 20s, shook like a leaf as he pulled a spacesuit on. This was it. After months of training to be a mechanic, he was finally getting to go out on a cargo run himself. He was going into space. Space!!! Never in his wildest dreams did he actually think he'd ever get to do this! Hoped, sure, but to actually get to go...

Even if it was only for work, he was excited!

And completely terrified.

Not of space, no. Well, he had a reasonable amount of fear of the cosmos. A healthy amount, given that the sea of stars wasn't exactly perfectly predictable or safe.

What he was afraid of was people. He had no idea what his crew was going to be like. He didn't know too many co-workers or people in general. His wife, Rosie, was pretty much his only friend. His new in-laws were pleasant enough. His old mentor for learning mechanics tolerated him.

That was about it. He didn't know what to expect from these new guys.

Still, he somehow forced his body to move and get over to the ship yard, his small bag of things in tow. In front of a massive ship labeled as the C.S. Kaluga was a small group of other people he silently fell in line with; all of them were Hocotation men of various heights, fur tones, and body shapes. They hardly took any notice of him, simply looking for a second as they focused on their conversation. Olimar stood there awkwardly for several moments, wondering if he was actually where he was supposed to be, when someone else joined them. She was a taller and older woman, with dark brown fur and coily black hair swept to one side. Just below her vitals monitor on the front of her suit were three little golden triangles, denoting her status as the crew's captain.

Everyone else went quiet as they noticed her, turning towards her. She crossed her arms as she looked over the crew. After a few moments she began to speak. "I'm your assigned captain for this run; Captain Destiny. Our task is simple. We gotta stop by a few planets to pick up and drop off shipments. Shouldn't take even a month to do. Now, I respect your time and so won't keep you longer than I need to. You all know your jobs and expected behavior while on other planets. Get on board, choose your rooms, we'll be launching in an hour."

There were a few quiet "Yes ma'am"s before everyone began to board the ship. Olimar was still shaking, though not as badly as he climbed into the ship and looked around for an empty room to call his own. They were all small, having only the bare necessities, but they worked well enough. He eventually settled on one that was closest to where he'd be working most of the time, setting his bag down.

This is it, he thought. I'm finally on a crew.

===

Work was rather dull, actually.

Most of his time he spent in the maintenance crawl spaces, which were dark and cramped and he's cut himself on far more random bits and bobs than he cared to admit. Occasionally he'd be asked to fix some small machine in the upper levels, usually the coffee maker that one of his crew mates (named Daniel) had a habit of breaking somehow. Rarely, he'd be asked to help clean something, which he didn't mind too much.

For the most part, though, he kept to himself. He found it hard to talk to the other crew members; they would quickly ignore him after a few awkward pleasantries. That was fine enough. He's kept to himself before, he could do it again.

When they landed on the first planet, he was tasked to help unload things from the ship. They needed all the muscle they could get to do this as quickly as possible.

Occasionally Captain Destiny would check in on him. She was nice, and actually tried to hold a conversation with him, but she was usually too busy to be reliable. That was fine.

Thus he was, for the most part, a loner within the crew. He did his work quickly and diligently, sometimes even doing more than he needed out of sheer boredom, and no one out right complained about him. He was fine existing on the edge like this.

So he was rather surprised when, one day, Daniel invited him over to a conversation.

Olimar sat silently with a few other crew members, four others to be exact. He didn't remember their names, actually... He only knew Daniel due to how often he broke the coffee machine.

"We just needed your opinion on something, break a tie." Daniel explained. "What do ya think about the Captain?"

Ah, a tie breaker. Yeah, he could do that. "I think she's nice enough, though I also haven't gotten to talk to her much."

"... Okay, and what about Rachel?" He asked after a small pause.

"Ah, s-sorry, I don't know her...?"

"Manager's secretary." One of the other crew members explained. "Ginger, always wearing those tight skirts?"

That made Olimar pause for a few seconds, stomach twisting from anxiety. "H-Haven't spoken to her much, either. She's very polite though."

"Like hell she is, she can't take a compliment." Another one of the guys complained.

What the hell do you consider a "compliment", though? Olimar wondered, shifting around uncomfortably.

"But we're askin' if you think either is hot." Daniel turned to him.

Olimar shifted around more. "Oh, uh... I - I uh- d-don't want to answer."

"Aw, relax, we won't judge."

"Alex might. But Alex's opinions don't matter." One of the others spoke up, laughing as he did.

A third began to growl, presumably Alex. "Oh shut up, asshole."

Olimar stayed quiet for several moments before managing out "I-I'm married, s-so I'd rather not..."

"Oh please, this ain't cheating."

"Not that anyone would know about it out here. Man's gotta do what a man's gotta do."

Now Olimar felt really sick. "I -I said I won't!" He just about snapped, mostly from panic.

"Dude, calm down. Why can't you just let yourself enjoy a pretty lady, hm?"

Daniel just raised his hand slowly. "Now now, he's clearly gotten someone special. Why don't you tell us about her, hmm?"

Olimar stood there silent, stomach twisting. Eventually, he shook his head.

"... No?" Daniel asked, now smirking. "Possessive? We're all just trying to complement some girls is all."

"T-This isn't t-the right way!" Olimar snapped, finally finding his voice. "You're - you're just being creepy about it!"

At that Daniel rolled his eyes. "Oh please, don't be a hypocrite. There's no way in hell you've never wanted this."

Olimar just shook his head.

"Never wanted a woman. Not even your wife?"

Olimar found himself going quiet. "I - I love her very much. She's wonderful, kind and far too patient with me. And - and I'd like kids w-when we're ready."

"... That's it?"

Olimar nodded.

"A bit chaste, don't you think? Have you ever even been in bed with her - with anyone?"

Olimar didn't feel... Real. That was the best way he could put it. He felt horribly sick, yet detached from the world in a way he couldn't describe. "I - I need to go." It didn't sound to him like he was the one talking, but clearly he was.

"Is that why you wouldn't tell us about her? Afraid she'd find a real man-"

Olimar practically pushed him out of the way as he ran out of the room, hyperventilating. As he did, he heard a few not-so hushed whispers. Complaints of him being a kill joy, a prude and... Other comments that really made his stomach churn. He simply chose to walk faster, desperate to get away now.

Good job, idiot. Your one chance to make friends with them and you blew it. But they were creepy anyways. But they'll hate you now, instead of tolerating you. Is that how men are supposed to be? How I'm supposed to be? Gods I hope not but I may be wrong about that, maybe I'm supposed to hope to be right. You could have at least pretended to be interested. Snapping was the right thing to do. You wouldn't want someone talking about you like that either. But now I have enemies and no friends. I want to go home I want to fall into Rose's arms and fade out of existence I want-

Both he and another person yelped a bit as he walked right into them. Panicking hard now, Olimar managed out a quiet (and barely comprehendible) apology, only for his stomach to twist more as he saw who he ran into: Captain Destiny.

"Shit-" she grumbled, picking up the clipboard she had dropped in the process. "That's my bad, I was too focused on these-" she looked up at him then, ears now pinned back. "... You okay, Olimar?"

Olimar just shook, unable to speak. He nodded wearily, though he highly doubted he was convincing.

"It's alright, you can talk to me."

He was quiet for a few more moments before managing out "S-Some of the others are j-just being creepy."

Destiny looked angry now, but she still kept her voice soft. "Are you sure that's all?"

He shuffled awkwardly, uncertain of how much he should share.

"I'm the captain. I need to know what's up so I can stop them."

Oh fuck, they'd hate him even more if that happened. They deserved it, but they'd pin the blame on him for sure. "It's - It's just - a me thing. I j-just don't understand why - why they're like that." He chuckled nervously.

"'Cus they're entitled assholes."

Olimar was quiet for several more moments. Then, "I mean - I don't understand any of it. I've never... N-never found someone..." He groaned then, looking away he dug his nails into his skin. Gods, he didn't have to dump all of this on Destiny.

Yet, she hardly seemed to mind. If anything, she persisted with "You've never found someone attractive."

"... No." He finally admitted. "M-My wife, I adore her. So much. But I j-just... I'm not the way I'm supposed to be, and even trying to do - that - makes me feel sick and-" he dug his nails in deeper, willing himself to shut the fuck up. She didn't need for him to put any more stress on her or over whelm her or anything.

"Hey, you're going to hurt yourself." Destiny grabbed his wrists just long enough to pull them away and keep him from digging his nails in any further. "It's okay, Olimar." She assured him as she let go. "There's nothing wrong with you. I promise. You're just a little different, nothing more. Okay? Whoever tells you otherwise is a fucking dumbass. You're just as you're "supposed" to be."

Olimar wasn't sure what it was. If it was the concern for his safety or the gentle voice or the reassurance that he wasn't born wrong or just that he was fucking exhausted now. All he knew was that he began to shake harder as he broke down into tears.

Destiny gently rubbed his arm a bit. "Hey, go ahead and retire to your room. Okay? I'll clear your schedule. Clean up and get some rest. I'll take care of them."

Olimar nodded shakily, eager to hide and sleep for the rest of the day. He didn't get to take more than two steps before Destiny stopped him again.

"And just remember what I told you. You're not broken."

===

Destiny had a lot on her plate.

Firstly, she walked into the room Olimar had just come out of, thankfully while they were still in the middle of their conversation. Thus, she was able to sufficiently punish them without there being any question of if Olimar told her about them. She highly doubted that being put on the worst work available on board would really teach them much of anything, but it would keep them too separated and too tired to pull that little stunt again.

Then she had to double check inventory, make sure they had only used up the amount of fuel and food they were projected to use within a single day. Then back to the upper decks to check with the navigator and pilot team to ensure everything was still smooth going.

By the time she made it back to check on Olimar, the poor boy had fallen fast asleep.

She had honestly understood him more than she let on, focused more so on making sure he would be okay. She was the same as him - only difference was he also had no interest in marriage or romance.

She'd have to check in on him later, then, just to ensure he'd be alright. Destiny walked away, checking over her paperwork. She wasn't entirely sure why she was so worried about that one in particular, beyond the empathy and pity she felt at him bursting into tears. She supposed he reminded her of her sister, in a way, the two did act quite similarly as far as she could tell.

The thought made her stop walking, leaving her to just stare blankly at the papers in her hands.

So that's how it was going to be, huh?

No matter. She'd just make sure to keep an eye on him. The boy clearly needed support of some kind.

[the-haunted-office]

Smile, It’s the End of the World - Finale - Part II

Thursday... is a bit miffed.

She was all ready, after a long month of slowly, painfully dying, to wrap up this whole ordeal and put it all behind her.

But that all got interrupted by her vengeful angry ghost self from the past, present, and future.

She doesn't understand why Ghostday interfered. Cube had a perfectly sound plan - it would have worked - almost did work! - and she rejected it and disrupted the process and took her soul anyway.

Without her consent!

She never consented to joining her soul with Ghostday's! They had talked about it, yes. Ghostday had laid out the whole process to her, explained how as soon as the last piece of the mist died, she, Thursday would die as well, and as soon as that happened she would take her soul and merge it with hers and the 998 other souls of other Thursdays in order to protect it from being consumed and destroyed by the mist parasite. It seemed to Thursday like a rather straightforward, simple process - a necessary one, even - but then again... so did Cube's.

So yes, she is miffed! Miffed that Ghostday made that choice for her. Her soul is hers! Hers, and no one else's. No one else gets a say in what she does with her soul, how she chooses to use it.

Thursday looks around at all the other Thursdays milling about inside of Ghostday. There are, quite literally, 998 of them. Ghostday is the first. Thursday is the thousandth. There are so many others between them, they may as well be different people.

But... Thursday knows they aren't. They aren't so different. All of the things Ghostday said of her friends, all of her assessments and breakdowns and viewpoints, all of them Thursday understood. Truthfully, she felt nearly the same in those regards that Ghostday described, so close that Thursday couldn't really deny what Ghostday was saying. It was all true enough, especially with how she was feeling when this all began.

Depressed. Lonely. Alone.

No one understood. No one cared. At least she felt like no one did. Everyone was judging her based one what they saw on the surface. Not listening to her. Some straight up disregarding her concerns, as though they meant nothing. Some even betraying her outright...

She really didn't have a reason to want to stay at that point. That was why she wanted to go with Ghostday back through the portal after she died. She was strangely okay with it all the way up until...

Until she fessed up to Maso. Told him what was going on. Seeing his devotion, his tenacity, his willingness to help her no matter what - that inspired her.

And then Stanley Maddison. Telling her she doesn't have to follow the story. She can take her own fate into her own hands.

And Katsuko. Telling her she doesn't hate her or look down on her, she really cares about her.

And Cube. Coming up with a really good plan to help her. Trading away years of his life! Two hundred years of his life to find a cure for her and Cyrus!

And just... all of her friends. Everybody who reached out to her. Sent her messages. Sent her gifts. Came to visit. Came to help. Showed genuine concern for her and her life and her soul and her fate.

How could she feel depressed, and lonely, and alone, and like no one understood or cared after all that? It was impossible.

The situation she's in right now feels impossible too. Being stuck here. Something happened to her when Ghostday struck her with the scythe. Something split inside of her, and now she knows what it is.

Her soul.

Her soul had been cut. Damaged. In order to join it with Ghostday's. She wouldn't have been able to join a whole, healthy soul to her own - only other damaged souls can merge with other damaged souls.

It hurts. It hurts a lot. She knows that the damage wasn't really caused by the scythe itself, but the symbolism behind it - being betrayed. Betrayed by someone she thought she could trust. And she's been through that before, hasn't she? Many times. Many, many, many times - not just in the offices, but before. In her previous life as Christine, Employee #317 of ABC Corp. She's lost many a friend through various acts of betrayal - friends ditching her when she needed them, dropping her when she became the third wheel, telling her to get over things that broke her, abandoning her when she became angry and nearly intolerable after her mother died... All of those things damaged her soul too, didn't they?

But it's not the end. Her story didn't end there. She survived. Sure, she was subsequently attacked and had her soul held hostage by an extraterrestrial parasitic mist inside an office that served as a burial ground, but she survived. She made it this far! And she knows that she can make it again. She can make it further than this.

She's angry. Angry! Ghostday does not have the right to do this to her! She is in charge of herself, the Author of her own Story like Maso said, the ward of her own fate. She, Thursday, Breaker of the Fourth Wall, is not going to stand for this! Or sit down for it, or roll over, or turn over, or do anything else for it but fight back against it.

She starts yelling.

[frostcorpsclub]

A sterile mint room was the epicenter of centuries of careful breeding coming to fruition. Their parents did what was expected of them, so did their grandparents, and their great grandparents, now it was Xavier and Eloise’s turn.

Xavier had thrown his $3000 dollar coat to the ground hours ago, sat in an uncomfortable chair with his sleeves rolled up as though he helped deliver the baby himself. 

He was sweating bullets. They kept the room at near freezing temperatures.

“When are they bringing her back?” he asked no one in particular, making his way over to the new mother.

Her medication had worn out some time ago yet she seemed just as out of it. For a woman who had given birth and had her daughter torn from her almost immediately she seemed to have no opinion on the matter.

She barely looked up when Xavier grabbed her hand, her hand barely squeezed his, her lips barely parted, and what she said was barely spoken. 

“She will be fine. We’re in a hospital.”

"Yeah, you're right, She'll be fine."  He had to keep telling himself that.

He left her side, not that she noticed, and began to pace. 

Back and forth, this continued until the nurse's finally brought their little girl into the room. She was placed into her mothers arms.

Xavier had been holding his breath the entire time they waited for her and now that she was here he could only inhale even further. 

He didn’t quite understand how someone could look at him and think he was worthy of something so precious and fragile. Yet, he knew if anyone tried to take her from him he would rather give them every penny he had in her place.

He had known the entire time Eloise was pregnant that he was going to be a father but it was an entirely different feeling now. 

The nurse stood by for a moment, ready to help them if they needed and to answer any questions they might have. She picked up on the fact that the father was so happy he was on the verge of tears, but the mother was almost a ghost. 

Like she wasn’t really there at all. 

The angel in the pink blanket opened her big blue eyes and looked up at her mother and father, making little burbles and whines as she got used to her lungs not being filled with amniotic fluid. 

“We’ve picked a name-”

Xavier blurted out rather awkwardly, immediately latching onto the nurse as someone who would share in his excitement.

“-Suzette Paisley. Something cute and groovy. She’s gonna be a real troublemaker, just like her Daddy!”

They had warned Eloise about these feelings but the honest truth was that she had them before they even talked about getting pregnant in the first place. 

"She’s so small and weak.” Eloise finally decided to intrude on the conversation, her daughter’s name not something she was concerned with beyond appearances.

“Is she going to live?” She added as an afterthought.

In his excitement it hadn’t even dawned on Xavier to ask why they had kept her from them so long, maybe it was the fact that now he felt like his whole life was one long wait for her. 

He looked at the nurse like he was going to strangle her if she didn’t answer fast enough. His sweat undoing his gelled back hairdo not helping his derangement. 

The nurse made her way over and nodded frantically, looking down at little Suzette with a bright smile. She spoke in a cheerful way that she thought would quell the new mothers fears.

"Oh yes there’s nothing to worry about! She’s perfectly healthy, we just had to make sure.”

She turned from Xavier and Eloise to start talking to the baby.

“Aren’t you a lucky duck, you’re just a small little thing! Maybe you’ll be a model…or a ballerina!”

Xavier had a renewed pride in his posture. He wasn’t going crazy.

“She can be whatever she wants to. She's the most beautiful girl in the entire world. Can I hold her, Elle?" 

He asked, reaching out for her and putting his hand on her head. His fatherly instincts were kicking in and he wanted nothing more than to protect his little girl. 

Part of it was driven by the fact that he was starting to see his wifes complete lack of emotion at their daughter and he was slightly angry at her.

Eloise didn’t even answer his question, she just hoisted the baby up carefully into his arms. As little as she cared for the thing, she wasn’t a monster. 

That was wrong too, she didn’t hate the baby. She hated the idea of it. 

She was rather cute, and she was hers. 

She just didn’t want to look at her, or feed her, or clean her, or raise her. 

So as soon as Xavier took her she rolled over on her side and began to stare blankly at the wall, her breathing shallow as the position wasn’t exactly the most comfortable. He soon felt the nurse’s hand on his back as she led him to a far corner of the room. 

There her expression became a worried one, struggling to keep up her bedside manor as it was clear she didn’t fully believe what she was saying. 

"I wouldn’t worry too much, this happens sometimes. Mothers can get easily overwhelmed and depressed soon after birth. We have a list of numbers we can give you, some resources that might help. I assure you though, she loves this cute little bundle of joy just as much as you do."

Xavier felt more at ease when he was able to hold the baby, he would never think even for a second that Eloise would mistreat her, he just had a feeling.

It took all of his willpower to look away from his Suzette resting peacefully in his arms to make the polite eye contact that was expected of him

“I know, I wouldn’t be too pleased at this big noggin after pushing it out of me either!” He said, tracing little circles on her forehead.

Eloise could hear them both. The nurse was wrong and the new mother knew it well. 

She knew it by the fact that she didn’t care if the nurse was wrong, she didn’t want her to be wrong. She just was.

Elle knew that Suzy was going to be a problem. One she felt she never should have agreed to. 

“Thank you though, that’ll be helpful, I hope it works. Last thing I want is a mother who doesn't want her child." 

He said with a weak laugh, he knew that deep down Elle cared about Suzy but he could see how hard this was affecting her. The way she just laid there, staring at the wall like she just got told her mother died.

It didn't sit right with him. How could he be mad at her at a time like this? She just gave him his new best friend and he couldn’t handle a little attitude? 

The nurse finally left Xavier standing there, the smile on his face slowly turning to a concealed grimace.

He was so desperate. 

Like the nurse, he didn't really believe what he was saying or what he was thinking but he was hopeful and would take any opportunity to fix this.

If Suzy wasn’t going to have a mother he was going to make damn well sure she would have a father.

[jackalsinthekitchen]

pop report #1 (1/7/23)

a glance at the US charts as we dance backwards dazed into a brand new year

The Christmas hangover – that vague viral thing where, still disoriented from January’s quick sideways punch, everyone agrees it’s OK to stay festive for a second – is one of the holiday’s loveliest gifts. That it comes with a mutual agreement not to continue certain seasonal obligations, like stressing over cooking or the exchanging of gifts, makes it all the sweeter. It feels in that stupid fun way like we’re all getting away with something. That, even as the calendar gives us its greatest opportunity to feel fresh and absolved – here you go, a whole new year you haven’t fucked up yet – we’ve still put one over on it, by not moving on from something frivolous.

In any case, I don’t know how long it takes the Billboard elves to tabulate whatever it is they tabulate, so it makes sense that the first week of January on the Hot 100 is very late December, though it purports to depict the most popular songs in the country in the exact first seven days of the month (one of which is still happening as the list is published). Most of the new top ten is residual Christmasness; it’s comforting in its way, like looking outside and seeing that the Statue of Liberty is still there (depending). The democracy reflected by these charts so rarely suggests the cynical things about humanity our leaders often do. We like joyful, familiar, apropos things.

Back in the very earliest album chart days, Bing Crosby’s White Christmas used to take the top slot every December. But then there was a long spell where the biggest sellers around the change of the year weren’t thematic. Yet these days, we basically vote on a Greatest Xmas Hits. We bow down to certain idols with a scary (if often explicable) lack of second thought, and Mariah’s “All I Want for Christmas is You”, #1 this week, is one of the most hallowed. The song is a made-to-order rush, retro and timeless at once, with Carey exuberant and irrepressible and commanding the way she is at her best – which is when she’s having a lot of fun, rather than being allowed to emote as indulgently as the contours of her dexterous voice will accommodate.

In a way, the very way she sings – the willful all-melisma approach – has dated, though that voice is so athletic and flexible it also depends a great deal on how it’s recorded. And of course, when the tempo picks up a certain amount she doesn’t have time to lean into that stuff so aggressively. So you forgive her the single’s intro, which is also impressive and soulful and silly and lovely (or some selection of those things) if you have no beef with it. The song has a bit of that tinny, glitzy sonic profile from a certain era of misguided trends. But it mostly just sounds good – it has a force, a brightness and arresting forward motion, and it glistens when the backup chorus spills out around the effortlessly powerful lead vocal.

#2, Brenda Lee’s reliably sexy “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree”, is from late ’58 – Brenda is the “uh-huh honey” of “Sweet Nothin’s”, so perfectly robbed and repurposed by a pre-fall Kanye for “Bound 2”, and the sheer conceivability that she does indeed say “fuckin’ pie” – she doesn’t, she says pumpkin pie – is tantalizing. The corny backup singers are a sign of the creeping corruption of pop pap into rock ‘n’ roll, but the salacious sax solo counterbalances it with a healthy dose of lusty hostility. This is the best kind of easy listening: a low simmer, pleasant for the lovers and leapers, lonely-hearts and lazyboneses alike. Half a century ago, this was shocking; now it soothes nerves while moving things along in the kitchen.

#3, Bobby Helms’ “Jingle Bell Rock”, is less threatening, but it still has that soupçon of swagger – just enough sultry swing not to ruin the mood the way, say, a sudden switch to the Mormon Tabernacle Choir would. The band is good, especially the guitar, and while the chorus in this case is especially preppy-sounding, if you listen closely, you can tell they’re down to unwind. The message in theholiday trinity occupying win, place and show this week is that we do like even our most sentimental days to rock a little, to shake and move us, to take us on a ride – something other than hitched to poor reined-up horses in the cold for too much money.  We’re here for good times, and whatever the occasion – however we feel about Christianity – we’re ready to dance about, or around, it.

#4 is the ubiquitous “Last Christmas”, another nouveau standard (though I dunno, it’s forty years old). George Michael is an angel now, so we forgive him his sillier capitulations to the epoch at which he peaked. He really made them work – he was alluring and intelligent beyond his haircut, his drum machines, his bolder fashion choices, his partner. The grit and drama he peppers this wounded early valentine with aren’t the instincts of some vapid cherub. He sings like a Freddie Mercury with restraint, ductile and actorly. The holiday song is shockingly universal, even easier to befriend than the love song (both holidays and love reward and cost us), and this song is both kinds!

#5, Burl Ives, “A Holly Jolly Christmas” – we’re verging into corn, but still not there yet. This 1965 smash features a very good acoustic guitar player whose name I can’t find, though I’m admittedly not looking hard enough. Ives’ tone is naturally grandfatherly – unprovocative, but rough enough to go down right. He voices (and looks like) the snowman narrator in the Rankin-Bass Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, an admirably quirky special which I don’t think is very good. I have a small soft spot for the company’s Year Without a Santa Claus, but a much softer spot for the Chuck Jones Grinch and the flawless A Charlie Brown Christmas. I like my Xmas art a little dry, but welcome well-wielded sincerity. I’m no SCROOGE…

#6, “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year”, feels like a bit of a sleeper for a standard. It’s one of those pleasant, detail-rich ones that gets lost among the others, e.g. “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas”, “Mistletoe and Holly”, “Silver Bells”. When it echoed in my mind I thought it was by Frank Sinatra, and it turns out it is in fact a 1963 recording by Boring Frank Sinatra, Andy Williams. The easy-listening flavor of a protracted moment, Andy Williams is best remembered (this is my suggestion) for a joke in one of the peak seasons of The Simpsons where Bart and his friends are on a road trip and bully Nelson violently demands they stop for a Williams concert. That’s the joke. It’s the juxtaposition of the—

One thing you can say for Williams’ (admittedly peppy) song is it increases the relief of #7, “Feliz Navidad”, a cliché that in the wrong mood can certainly exacerbate some ill will. But it’s usually another sugar rush. Jose Feliciano’s lilting acoustic guitar is always welcome at this velocity, and there’s a lot else happening, down to sweet secret strings sneaking through and tickling the corners of a track one might describe as “tastefully lush” if one were being a little kind. Feliciano could be super silly – listen to his live cover of the Doors’ “Light My Fire”, where he briefly imitates an Irish priest for no reason. But he was also witty, seductive, compelling, a delight. And it’s nice when we break the English barrier the littlest damn bit.

(Spotify keeps switching to “Little Saint Nick”, and while I love the Beach Boys, I want to break a plate.)

Smashing through ceilings as ever, veteran juggernaut Taylor Swift bursts through the Christmas barrier at #8 with, talk about presents, my pick hit of the year, “Anti-Hero”. I consider it the shrewdest melody on her new collection of characteristically good ones, as well as her most interesting vocal on an album that could perhaps use more of that. The lyric is the coup, though, one of those simultaneous self-effacement/fuck yous she flirts with; it could be another tiresome kiss-off to the press or an honest, introspective missive to a lover (or a close circle of friends), and it toes that line like an advanced ballet student. Most of us could at some point stand to call ourselves out, and singing that this way makes it a lot easier to swallow.

Nat ‘King’ Cole was the very first artist with a number one on the Billboard album charts, back in 1945, and his presence at #9 in this week’s list of mostly vintage ornaments is a fair honor. His song (Robert Wells and Mel Tormé’s “The Christmas Song”, the chestnuts-roasting-on-an-open-fire one in the unlikely event that you needed a memory jog) is luxurious and not a little amorous, never over-orchestrated and crooned in that masterfully velvety way that earned this ‘King’ his crown. I think it’s also appropriate to herald here the persistent presence and frequent dominance of Black performers in our culture, going to back to the start of these little charts. Though this ten is color-lite – save for the #1 performer, Carey (depending on how Feliciano identifies).

I can also confirm Mr. Cole’s “Deck the Halls” – track 2 on his Christmas album – is a cringey, frosting-suffocated mess. But I should admit, it evoked a similar reaction to the first time I heard #10, Sam Smith and Kim Petras’ “Unholy”, with its campy introductory choir. When someone means such choices sincerely, as Cole seems to with his “Deck the Halls”, it compounds an offense. But when it’s a bold choice in the name of camp, you have to open your heart and mind past a little reflex revulsion. “Unholy” is a treat, a great deal more fun than Smith usually is; they feed off of Petras’ vibrant sense of outrage. Good for the both of them: a landmark statistic (first out trans and nonbinary performers to hit #1) and a car banger.

The next ten hits are Christmas all the way down, save two – including #11, SZA’s slow-sinking “Kill Bill”, one of those downtempo-insistent hits that sticks with you before you understand why it’s hanging in there. Then it’s the often underrated Ariana Grande’s magic faux-soul up “Santa Tell Me”, and two Phil Spector (boo) triumphs for the Ronettes and Darlene Love (yay) respectively, “Sleigh Ride” and “Christmas”, which is the one, you know the one, the one that keeps going “CHRISTMAAAAAAAS” (“snow’s comin’ down…”). Those songs sandwich Kelly Clarkson’s feebler “Underneath the Tree”. Then there’s yuletide stuff from Bing, Nat (“Deck the Halls”, ugh), Dean, and Frank, plus David Guetta’s melodramatic “Blue” mistake.

The lights have already been taken down for the better part of the album chart. I think the SZA is a slow-grower, but America doesn’t – #1 all three of its charting weeks. However good SOS is, it’s nice when a smart and interesting artist who’s hung in there at just over the radar makes this kind of left-field splash, and with a record you can tell she’s really worked on. Next is Taylor, then the celebrated Michael Bublé’s Christmas album, Metro Boomin’s Heroes and Villains, which I’ve only played once (moody, macho hip-hop), a Nat ‘King’ Cole Xmas (so-so), that Drake/21 Savage album that seems sexist, Bad Bunny’s latest blockbuster, a Phil Spector’s Xmas (classic), a Mariah Xmas (classic?), and Vince Guaraldi/Charlie Brown (absolute classic).

Merry Xmas, everybody. Look to the future now – it’s only just begun.

[camila-sunrise]

I love it. I can’t believe this AU isn’t used more often.

The Youngkles, born the same year as Dipper and Mabel. Filbrick and Caryn only have Shermie until he’s almost thirty and SURPRISE! The Pines have a second baby. Neither of them expected or planned this, they were already grandparents, they were looking forward to riding off into the sunset just the two of them. But despite their age, their baby girl was perfectly healthy.

However, it didn’t stop them from screwing her up. Filbrick ruled over his daughter with an iron fist, and Caryn threw herself into her grandchild, virtually ignoring her own daughter. It was no surprise when she ran off at sixteen with her deadbeat boyfriend, leaving behind a note that said good riddance, never to be heard from again. And her parents didn’t spend that much time looking for her.

Until, eight years later, Shermie gets a call from a hospital in Oregon, saying his nephews were just born, and their mother disappeared. They suspected she abandoned them, but she put Shermie down as her emergency contact when she checked into the hospital. He always regretted how things ended with his sister. She was born when his own son was a few years old, so he didn’t have the energy to help his parents with their late-in-life baby. At least, that’s what he told himself at the time. Shermie saw how much she was suffering, how much worse his parents were this time around compared to his own fucked up childhood. He searched for her when she disappeared the first time, but found no trace of her. She could’ve been dead for all he knew.

So when he got the call, he left that same hour. Left his wife a note, packed a bag, and made it to the hospital before sunset. Waiting for him was two little baby boys, twins. The irony of his daughter in law being six month pregnant with twins wasn’t lost on him. It almost felt like fate. “Stanford Filbrick Pines” and “Stanley Carmen Pines”, she cared enough to name them, fill out their birth certificates, and Shermie’s number. He didn’t understand the choice she made of giving her sons the names of their parents, maybe he never would. But he still signed the papers, bought two car seats, a surplus of baby supplies, and took them home.

Sure, he thought the days of changing diapers, midnight feedings, and vomit stained shirts was over. But he vowed to not make the same mistakes his parents did. They had long since passed. So he and his wife raised them, choosing to go by Aunt and Uncle rather than mom and dad. And three months later, their cousins Mabel and Mason are born.

Omg, this is a Mean Girls Day post. Why did write I something so sad???

Bonus thought: even though Stan and Ford would technically be Dipper and Mabel’s first cousins once removed, they earn the honorary titles of Uncle because Shermie raised them. And let’s face it, explaining their actual relationship is way too complicated. It does confuses people that two teen boys are called Uncle by other teens. But that just makes it fun.

It's Mean Girls day and I thought of this during my rewatch.

(Youngkles AU where they all go to the same high school and Pacifica did something so horrible that it causes a meeting for all freshman girls in the gym, and the Stans and Dipper sneak in to support Mabel. This doesn't make any sense at all I just wanted to draw young Stan threatening someone ;-;)

And while we're at it:

Fid McG and the Power of Three (Stan was too embarrassed to go onstage, or put on the gear)