#do you have any idea how infuriating it is

[piastrisun]

the one with the new year’s kiss.

pairings: lando norris + fem fewtrell reader.

summary: after ten months of secretly dating, you and lando find yourselves longing for a simple new year’s kiss but needing a little help to take the risk and make it happen.

genre: fluff.⠀word count: 1.2k.⠀ warning: none.

notes: little scrap inspired by monica and chandler. also, first one shot of the year!!! i hope you enjoy it and i wish you all the best. <3

the room buzzes with excitement as the countdown to midnight approaches. the annual new year’s eve party hosted by your friend group is in full swing, laughter and chatter weaving through the room like confetti in the air. you’re perched near the drinks table, trying to appear as casual as possible, though your heart races every time your eyes dart to lando. he’s across the room, chatting with a group of friends, his smile easy and his laugh infectious. it’s a sight you’ve admired countless times over the past ten months. but tonight, there’s an ache in your chest because, while everyone else sees him as just another friend in the group, to you, he’s so much more.

dating in secret has been both thrilling and exhausting. the stolen moments, quiet conversations, and late-night drives have kept your relationship alive and safe from prying eyes. but here, at this party, you have to act like you’re just another face in the crowd. the longing to kiss him at midnight grows stronger with every glance, but the fear of being caught feels just as heavy.

earlier in the night, keegan caught you sneaking looks at lando. you pulled him aside into the kitchen, your voice quiet and tinged with frustration. “i just want to kiss him at midnight,” you confessed, leaning against the counter. “for once, i want to feel normal, like we don’t have to hide.”

keegan studies you, his brow lifting as a knowing smile spreads across his face. “you really like him, don’t you?”

you nod, feeling your cheeks warm. “i do. but we can’t let max or anyone else find out. you know how he is about me and his friends.”

keegan crosses his arms, considering your words. after a moment, his grin widens. “alright, i’ve got an idea. just trust me, okay?”

“what are you planning?” you ask, your voice sharp with suspicion as you cross your arms. your eyes narrow, scanning his face for any trace of his usual mischief.

he grins, the kind of grin that’s both infuriating and impossible to ignore. “you’ll see,” he says, his tone teasingly cryptic. his eyes glint with something that makes your heart skip—a mix of confidence and playfulness you’ve seen too many times before.

before you can press him further, he winks, a quick, knowing flick of his eyelid that leaves you bristling with curiosity. then, as if on cue, he steps backward into the crowd, melting seamlessly into the hum of the party, leaving you standing there, a mix of intrigue and exasperation swirling inside you.

now, as the minutes tick closer to midnight, your eyes find lando across the room. there’s a flicker of something unspoken in his gaze—a quiet question that mirrors your own longing. it’s a moment you’ve shared countless times in secret, but tonight, it feels heavier. tonight, you both want more.

keegan sidles up to you, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips. “i’ve got this all worked out,” he whispers, leaning close so no one overhears. you can feel the warmth of his breath against your ear. “when the countdown hits, everyone’s going to kiss whoever they’ve been paired with. and guess what? i made sure it’s you and lando.”

your breath catches, and you glance at him in surprise. “keegan, are you serious? what if max—”

“relax,” he interrupts, his tone reassuring. “max is fine with it. he thinks i’m just saving his little sister from kissing some random stranger. besides, it’s new year’s—nobody’s going to question it.”

you glance toward max, your older brother, who is deep in conversation with a few friends. keegan claps a hand on your shoulder. “trust me,” he says with a wink before disappearing back into the crowd.

you glance over at max, who’s laughing with a group of friends, completely unaware. relief mixes with nerves as you turn back to keegan. “you’re sure this will work?”

“positive,” he says with a confident nod. “just enjoy it. you deserve this.”

the minutes tick down, and you feel the anticipation building like a wave ready to crest. the room fills with voices shouting the countdown: “ten! nine!” your stomach twists into knots as lando weaves through the crowd, his eyes locking with yours now.

“seven! six!”

“hey,” he says, stopping in front of you just as the voices drop to “five! four!” his voice is low, a little unsure, but the soft curve of his smile reassures you.

“hey,” you manage to reply, your voice almost drowned out by the cheers as the room erupts in celebration. around you, people kiss their partners, the air filling with laughter and clinking glasses.

when he reaches you, his smile is soft but uncertain, like he’s afraid of overstepping. “keegan’s idea?” he asks, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

you nod, a shy smile tugging at your lips, your heart fluttering in your chest. “yeah. are you okay with this?” the question hangs in the air, tentative, yet filled with quiet anticipation.

his eyes search yours, soft but sure, as he steps closer. “more than okay,” he says, his voice warm and steady, like a promise. there’s a pause, just long enough for the unspoken words to settle between you.

“three! two!”

his hand brushes against yours, the touch sending a jolt of warmth up your arm. “we don’t have to if you’re not comfortable,” he murmurs, he says, his voice barely above a whisper, but his eyes—those warm, familiar eyes—search yours, offering you the choice.

you shake your head, a shy smile tugging at your lips. “no,” you whisper, shaking your head as your heart pounds. “it’s okay, i want to.”

“happy new year!” the room erupts in cheers, but the noise fades as he cups your cheek gently, his thumb brushing against your skin as he leans in. the moment stretches, your heart pounding in your chest, until his lips finally meet yours. it’s soft and sweet, the kind of kiss that speaks of every secret glance, every stolen moment over the past ten months. for a moment, it’s just the two of you. the secret glances, the stolen moments, the quiet confessions—it’s all there, wrapped up in this single, perfect kiss.

when you pull back, your cheeks are warm, your breath a little unsteady. “happy new year, love” he murmurs, his forehead resting lightly against yours.

“happy new year,” you reply, unable to stop the smile spreading across your face.

from the corner of your eye, you catch keegan giving you a sly thumbs-up, his grin wide with satisfaction. max, thankfully, seems none the wiser, too busy cheering with the others. you glance back at lando, his eyes still locked on you, and in this moment, it feels like the rest of the world has fallen away.

lando’s hand slips from your cheek to rest lightly on your waist, pulling you in a little closer. there’s a quiet intensity between you now, a shared understanding that this moment is more than just a kiss at midnight. you feel a weight lift off your chest—the secret you’ve been holding for so long now feels just a little lighter.

“i can’t believe we just did that,” you whisper, your voice soft, but your heart racing.

lando chuckles, his nose brushing gently against yours as he lets out a breath. “you’re telling me. i thought for sure keegan was going to screw it up somehow.”

you laugh softly, the sound warm between you. “i never would’ve guessed he’d pull this off.”

lando’s smile deepens, but there’s something different in it now—something a little more vulnerable, a little more real. “he knows what’s important.” he pauses, his hand still on your waist as his thumb draws slow, soothing circles on your skin. “and he knows we’re more than just friends, doesn’t he?”

you nod slowly, your heart swelling as the realization hits you in full force. “yeah. he’s known for a while now.”

lando’s gaze softens, and his thumb stills against your skin. “good,” he murmurs, voice low and steady. “because i don’t think i can hide this from anyone else for much longer.”

©⠀piastrisun original work. please don’t translate, claim or repost any of my writing, 25’.

[nottswitch]

— if you’ve been naughty, you get…

──────────── 𝐚 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞.─

summary: they say that the way you spend the new year’s night is the way you’re going to spend the whole year. you never took this expression to heart until now.

pairing: theo nott x reader

cw: 18+ smut, enemies to lovers, fingering, rough p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, semi-public sex, degrading/praise, cursing, italian pet names

wc: 2.1k

a/n: getting back to kinkmas at last !! enjoy some etl theodore filth babes <3

navigation ; masterlist ; theo m.list ; kinkmas 2024

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You had absolutely no idea how you ended up at the same party as the guy whose entire goal in life was to make yours as difficult as possible. To be entirely honest, you weren’t any better – your taunting seemed to mirror his in its viciousness, for no apparent reason on both sides. Somewhere, at one point, everything went to shit with you two. At first, it used to cause tensions in the friend group, because you just couldn’t stop constantly bickering and throwing all kinds of insults at each other, but over time, your inexplicable apprehension towards each other became a constant – a very annoying one, but a constant nonetheless.

Pansy promised. She promised that the New Year’s Eve party would stay Theodore Nott-free, he had some prior commitment, blah-blah-blah – irrelevant. Because right now, you were looking straight at his infuriating face as he was pressing you against the wall, his deep ocean eyes you couldn’t admit to finding captivating staring into yours. The sounds of the party were muffled, the beat of the music dully thumping through the narrow corridor, sending faint vibrations through the floor.

“You just couldn’t leave me alone, could you?” you hissed, crossing your arms on your chest in a manner that you hoped would come off as defiant, even though you knew it was a defense – same thing, different flavor.

Theo smirked – the smirk that always made your blood boil, a sign that he was enjoying himself way more than he should have.

“How could I ever leave you alone, tesoro?” he drawled, his voice mocking yet carrying a hint of intensity that you had never heard there before. Then again, with him, you could’ve easily just imagined it. “But if I had to guess, I’d say you can’t stay away from me either. And I wouldn’t be that far off, no?”

You huffed, rolling your eyes at his cockiness – it was in no way a surprise, yet it still made your irritation rise to the very top, bubbling up and threatening to escape in the form of another quip.

“Get your head out of your ass, Nott,” you muttered, raising an eyebrow in a silent challenge.

“Nott?” Theo taunted in response, leaning in just a bit closer – and that tiny little bit made your heart skip a beat, which you found to be a completely uncalled-for reaction. “Last time I checked, I was ‘Theo, please, faster!’.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

You hated the way your cheeks instantly flushed at his reminder – you did not need to remember that night when your entire composure crumbled to pieces, and you ended up in his bed, screaming his name so loud the walls were nearly shaking.

And you felt like you were on the brink of doing it again.

“If you insist,” Theo murmured, his lips now at your ear, nearly brushing against your skin – the bastard knew exactly how to get to you, unfortunately. You gritted your teeth, trying to resist for a fleeting moment, but when his hand slipped onto your waist, you gave up – and in.

“I hate you,” you whispered, roughly grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling him into a heated kiss. Theo didn’t even gasp, which made a nasty thought spark up in your mind – he’d been waiting for this all along, and it probably wouldn’t be too far-fetched to guess that it was the only reason he came to the party in the first place. The kiss was all tongue and teeth, a stark mirror to the contradictory feelings you both shared – biting, rough around the edges, yet at the core of it there was passion that neither of you could bother to deny.

In a matter of seconds, both of Theo’s hands were on your hips, effortlessly lifting you up and wrapping your legs around his waist. Your hands flew up to his shoulders, breaking the self-imposed physical barrier of your arms across your chest and also symbolizing the last bits of your composure withering away. Theo knew – he had to have known – that this would happen, because his palm was at the ready, closing around your breast as soon as it was free to touch. He kneaded the softness of your flesh, his teeth sinking into your bottom lip as his hips started slowly but firmly rocking against you. You felt his hard, already throbbing cock pressing into your clothed pussy, and once again, you were somewhat amused by his ability to get hard in seconds.

“Been like this all night, bambina,” Theo murmured into your mouth, as if hearing your thoughts out loud. So, not in seconds. “The moment I saw you in this dress… Fuck.”

His other hand gripped the hem of your sparkly red dress, lifting it up just enough for it to bunch up at your waist. His eyes flicked down for a moment, a needy growl escaping his mouth as he took in the sight of your fishnets doing a very poor job at covering up the red lace of your panties.

“Wore these for me?” he asked teasingly, although his hoarse voice completely betrayed the fact that he was insanely aroused. His fingers traced the edge of the lace with an almost reverent touch before hooking through the hole of your fishnets and suddenly tearing them apart.

Your eyes widened, not quite expecting the roughness, but you knew you should have – Theo wasn’t known to be a patient man when it came to getting what he carnally desired, and at the moment, the object of that desire was you.

“What the–” you started, but he quickly shut you up with a kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth and swirling around, effectively making you moan. The sound only got louder as you felt his fingers sliding over your panties, savoring the wetness that started to seep through the fabric; he wasn’t the only one with a one track mind since the start of the party – the sight of him in his dark green dress shirt, three buttons at the top undone, caught your eye as soon as he stepped into the room.

“Such a wet little pussy for me, huh?” he whispered breathlessly into your mouth, rubbing a circle over your clothed core before easily slipping underneath – the feeling of your soft, drenched skin made him groan, perfectly matching your own sounds. “Wish I could keep you like this all the time… So fucking pliant…”

And shit, you wouldn’t be able to deny his words even if you tried – you were pliant under his touch, you did turn into melted butter as soon as his index and middle finger slipped inside you, you did clench your thighs around his waist as he started pumping in and out. He was just as pliant, though – you could tell by the way his cock was poking into your inner thigh, straining against the fabric of his trousers. If you had half a mind to look down, you would see a wet spot forming at the front, clear evidence of the fact that he wanted you with the same ever-consuming intensity.

You grew a bit bolder, the pleasure making your brain turn off and forget all about your surroundings or the consequences of your encounter. Your hand traveled down, grabbing Theo’s cock and giving it a firm squeeze, as if to remind him that he was as crazy about you as you were about him. A groan fanned against your ear at the small yet impactful action – a satisfying sound of Theo’s need. His fingers curled inside you before sliding out with a wet pop. The next moment, your juices were being spread all over your lips, mixing with your gloss and creating a strange, sticky texture of sweetness mixed with the tartness of your natural slick. You parted your mouth, letting Theo’s fingers in, your lips wrapping around them and starting to suck, lightly, teasingly, as your hand continued palming his cock.

“Playing with the damn fire, tesoro,” Theo warned in a hiss, taking your hand off of him impatiently. “Naughty, naughty girl.”

In response, you only started sucking more, your head moving back and forth on his fingers. Theo’s eyes were fixed intently on your lips, no doubt imagining them wrapped around something else. He hastily unzipped his trousers with his free hand, pulling them down to the middle of his thighs along with his boxers. His erection sprung free, slapping against his shirt-covered stomach. You glanced down, feeling even more turned on as you drank in the sight of his swollen, throbbing cock, knowing that it would be splitting you open very very soon.

And it did. Oh, gods, it did. With a single thrust, Theo entered, his tip immediately reaching your cervix. You moaned around his fingers, your eyes rolling back at the mixture of pain and pleasure – the feelings he could easily elicit in you, both physically and emotionally.

He wasn’t holding back, not in the slightest – his pace was rough and unrelenting, fucking all his frustrations of the last year into you. Your back was moving up and down against the wall, the heated surface scratching your skin, your high heels digging into the small of his back each time he pounded. He didn’t mind the sting, though, just like you didn’t mind the dull ache of his hand digging into your hip, without a doubt leaving marks. Finally, his fingers left your mouth and grabbed the back of your neck, pulling you into yet another sloppy mess that could be called a kiss.

The combined sounds of your moans almost drowned out the chatter of the party, but still, you could faintly hear the crowd starting to chant the countdown to the New Year. You pulled away, ignoring Theo’s disappointed whine for a second, trying to hold back on your own noises as you listened.

“The count– The countdown,” you shakily breathed out, meeting Theo’s glossed-over eyes with your misty gaze. He groaned and shook his head, a clear indication that he wasn’t going to stop, not until you were both panting and sweating.

“Who gives a fuck?” he asked in the same breathless voice as yours, his cock somehow reaching even deeper spots, as if trying to coax any stray thoughts out of your head. “What, scared you’re not getting a New Year’s kiss?”

His ability to tease you even as he was balls deep inside of you made you want to slap him, hard. You almost did it, if only you had the strength to move your limbs.

“Yeah, wanted to make a wish,” you tried to retort, your words sounding less convincing than you’d like them to be. “To never see your stupid face again.”

“Oh really? And here I was, about to wish for your charming self every day.”

You would have rolled your eyes at his usual mocking, but they ended up rolling for a completely different reason as Theo pounded into you with an especially rough thrust at the ‘three’ sounding from the main party room.

At the ‘two’, one of his hands was on your cheek, his thumb pressing into the tender flesh. His eyes were fixed on yours again, the intensity from before making you question if there was any truth behind his words.

At the ‘one’, your lips were crashing together once again as the orgasm washed over the both of you, accompanied by the fireworks blowing up outside. Red bursts of light coming from the window on the other side of the corridor cast your flickering shadows onto the wall, the beautiful sight in the sky barely registering in your fucked out mind. The only thing you could feel at the moment was the warmth of Theo’s cum slowly starting to trickle down your thighs, staining Theo’s pants in the process.

“You know,” he murmured, hoarse and panting, his dampened forehead resting against yours, “you make really nice sounds when I’m fucking you brainless, tesoro. I’ll make sure they’re the only ones you’re making with me all year long.”

You breathed out a small chuckle, closing your eyes as you started to come down from the high you were both still stuck on.

“Is that a threat or a promise, Theo?”

“Both, baby. Both.”

[midnight--sadness]

The casual racism and homophobia people display when discussing Squid Game will always make me infuriated.

How is it possible to watch a 7-episode long show and not know the names of any of the characters? Are you so devoid of working brain cells that you can't identify an individual after staring at their face for eight hours in a row?

I think it's especially insane when you take into account that this is the second season of the show. How do you not know Gihun's name? He's the protagonist.

Claiming to only know these characters by their numbers is so crazy to me because I have a really difficult time memorizing their player numbers. I know Gihun's and Inho's but everyone else's is a blank.

Or, even worst, knowing them as their most basic trait - pregnant girl, old woman, trans woman, marine guy...

THEY HAVE NAMES!!!!

Hyunju isnt just a trans woman, she is brave and selfless and kind, a leader and a fighter, someone who protects the weakest around her and defends them fiercely. Daeho isnt just an ex marine, hes a man forced into a toxic masculine role by his father, who neverthless display incredible softness in his interactions with others. Geumja isnt just an old woman, she is a kind woman who cares deeply about those around her and would do anything for her son and who shows that you can change and accept others from who they are.

Their names are not difficult to memorize at all, especially if you are watching a show for hours on end.

And mixing up characters from both seasons? Like no, Jungbae wasnt in the game in the first season, that was another man. Neither was Geumja, or Minsu, or literally any other character aside from Gihun.

This definitely isn't my lane because i'm a white woman but it just reinforces the idea that all Asian people, especially East Asian people, look the same when that isn't true. It's just blatant racism and it makes me sick to see it so normalized.

The homophobia is also insane but this is from a different angle because there aren't any opely LGBT+ characters in the show.

Back in season 1, I heavily shipped sangihun, in fact I still do. And the ammount of brain dead morons who were convinced they were brothers is actually insane.

WE SEE EACH OF THEIR MOTHERS!! THEY HAVE DIFFERENT LAST NAMES!!!

How are they brothers? Because Sangwoo calls Gihun "hyung"? It's a cultural tradition, not a matter of actual familial bonds. In the second season Youngmi calls Hyunju "unnie", but we all know they aren't sisters and it never even comes up (although this is probably about transphobia).

And WHY do people insist that Inho is married? He's widowed. Junho literally visits his wife's grave. I know he says during the game that his wife is alive (sick but alive) but he's lying to get Gihun's sympathy.

I don't understand how its possible that someone can pay so little attention to a show to the point where they don't retain any of the plot points.

Or, even worst, people saying that Gihun and Inho are brothers... HOW??? Are you really so homophobic that you can't see two men being shipped without convincing yourself that they are brothers despite complete lack of canon evidence?

It pisses me off so bad and its so rampant, especially on TikTok, where just proudly announce that they are so brain dead they don't even know the name of the protagonist of the show they are watching.

[claramelooo]

CRIMSON REVERIE

Guys, appreciate Clarita here cuz I'm having to read abt quantum physics again just to write for you ahahah

Love language: acts of disruption hehehe

Enjoy it <3

Pairing: Dark!Witch Wanda x Fem Reader

MINORS DO NOT MUST INTERACT

Summary: The witch inside Wanda can't help but feel the spark in you.

Read here: Prologue | ENVY | MULTIVERSAL ANCHOR | FUEL

Spark

Working with Wanda Maximoff was an emotionally crafted torment. From the moment you stepped through the office doors until the instant you left, exhausted, she made it her mission to remind you that she was in control.

"You're late," she'd say, even when you arrived five minutes early. "Is this the level of commitment you think is acceptable?"

Or: "Is this the best you can do?" as she reviewed your painstakingly polished work with disdain.

Every word, every look heavy with contempt, felt like a needle piercing your skin. You wanted to scream, to throw the stack of reports in her face, and leave for good. But you couldn’t. Your future career depended on this job, so you swallowed your pride, suppressed the anger, and allowed her to push you to the limit.

But there was something else. Something that irritated you even more than her brutal demeanor. The look. That look.

Wanda had a habit of watching you with an intensity that felt almost predatory, her eyes trailing every inch of your body as if she were deciphering a riddle only you held the answer to. Sometimes, it was so overwhelming that heat rose to your face, but at the same time, there was something... addictive.

You hated how your body responded to that gaze. You hated how your heart raced when she drew near, how the idea of defying her both thrilled and terrified you. It infuriated you that her mere presence could elicit such a visceral reaction.

That day, everything seemed to reach a breaking point.

"I need these reports revised in an hour," Wanda said, not even looking at you as she placed a thick stack of papers in front of you. "And by revised, I mean flawless. If I find a single mistake, we’ll have a very serious conversation."

You stared at the pile, then at her. "An hour? Do you have any idea how much work that takes?"

She raised her gaze, her face a mask of icy authority. "Do you have any objections?"

You opened your mouth to retort but decided it wasn’t worth it. You pulled the papers closer and began to work.

The clock seemed to work against you, the pressure suffocating. When you handed the reports in, your head throbbed, and your fingers ached from typing.

Wanda reviewed everything in silence, her eyes scanning each line. Then, with a dramatic sigh, she looked at you.

"This," she said, spinning the report with her fingers and pointing to a specific phrase, "is unacceptable."

You leaned in to see what she was pointing at. There it was: a single word in the middle of a sentence—comfortable.

"Comfortable?" Wanda repeated, as if the word itself were a personal insult. "You're describing a scenario of critical analysis and use comfortable to characterize the impact of a strategic decision?"

You blinked, confused and already exhausted. "Well, it was meant to demonstrate—"

"It doesn’t matter what it was meant to demonstrate," Wanda cut in, her voice cold as ice. "What matters is that your choice was... inadequate."

She slid the report back to you, not even bothering to disguise her impatience. "Redo it. And this time, choose words that actually make sense."

You grabbed the papers, your fingers gripping the edges so tightly you nearly tore them. It was the third time redoing the same work, each time over a detail only she seemed to find relevant.

Wanda walked back to her desk, leaving you alone with your wounded pride and mounting frustration. You worked quickly but carefully, then handed the reports back. She read them in silence, her eyes moving over each line until another exasperated sigh escaped her lips.

"Again," she said, spinning the papers back in your direction. "Here, you used significant in a way that sounds redundant. Redo it."

That was it. You’d had enough.

"Maybe you should just do it yourself, professor," you snapped, dripping with sarcasm.

The silence that followed was deafening. Wanda looked up, her eyes glinting with something between fury and fascination.

"Repeat that," she commanded, every syllable laced with crushing authority.

Your heart raced, but you forced yourself to keep your chin up. " I think you heard exacly what I said." Your pride seemed to override your sense of self-preservation. "Surely, your hearing is still intact."

Wanda stood slowly, walking toward you with deliberate steps, every movement radiating power. When she stopped in front of you, she leaned down just enough for your eyes to meet.

The office was silent, the tension so thick you could almost touch it. Wanda’s gaze bore into yours, like knives cutting through the walls you tried to put up. Then, she smiled.

It wasn’t a warm smile. Nor one of pleasure. It was calculated, a smile that said she knew exactly how much power she held over you—and how easily she could unravel you with a single word.

"If I were you," she said, her voice low and dangerously controlled, "I would choose my next words very carefully, dekta."

That word echoed in your mind like distant thunder. Dekta. She said it so casually, as if it were something small, trivial. But you knew it wasn’t.

It was Russian; you knew that much. Since meeting Wanda, the language had piqued your curiosity, but not enough to delve deeper. Now, however, you felt the weight of that small word each time she uttered it, the way it made your heart tremble. It wasn’t just a nickname—it was possessive, electric, and it made your skin tingle in ways you hated to admit.

And beneath the glacial control Wanda displayed, something wild roared inside her. Each word that escaped her lips felt like a spark, igniting a fire she couldn’t—or wouldn’t—extinguish.

It was fascinating—and exasperating—how young you were. So young. Almost pure, but with a spark of fire she wanted to extinguish and reignite at the same time. The witch inside her whispered constantly, like a hypnotic song, insisting that you were a rare prize, something that needed to be claimed, molded, possessed.

Your heart was beating so fast you thought you might faint. But at the same time, there was something incredibly thrilling about that exchange, something you didn’t want to admit even to yourself.

That was when you realized: you didn’t know if you hated Wanda Maximoff or if you wanted to kiss her right there.

And that thought terrified you.

The silence in the office was palpable—only broken by the rhythmic tapping of Wanda’s nails against the wooden desk. You sat across from her, hands resting on your lap, but your eyes boldly challenged hers, glowing with an intensity that contradicted the shy image you projected.

“You’re so smart,” Wanda began, her voice low and dangerous. “And you really think it’s acceptable to turn in work... of this quality?” She slid the paper across the desk.

You ignored the flicker of warmth in your chest at her direct compliment.

You hesitated for a second, trying to gauge the intensity of the situation before responding. “I thought the content was what mattered. But it seems the presentation is what impresses you, professor.”

Her eyes narrowed, and for a moment, you could almost swear you saw a flicker of surprise painted red in her gaze. It didn’t last long. The surprise quickly gave way to something darker, a careful calculation that seemed to weigh each of your words as if they were pieces in a game she had already won.

“Are you saying my evaluation is superficial?” she asked, her voice controlled but charged with a force that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

“That’s not exactly what I meant,” you replied, leaning slightly forward. “I just think your expectations are... unrealistic.”

The silence that followed was unbearable. Then Wanda laughed. It wasn’t a genuine laugh but a short, cold sound that seemed to mock your attempt to stand up to her.

“Unrealistic expectations?” she repeated, rising to her feet. Each step she took toward you felt calculated, as if she were marking her territory. When she stopped behind you, the heat of her presence was almost tangible. “Do you know what I think?”

You swallowed hard but maintained your composure. “No, but I imagine you’re going to tell me.”

She leaned closer, her voice just near your ear. “I think you’re petulant. A stubborn little girl with a sharp tongue who likes to test limits to see how far she can go before someone tames her and puts her exactly where she belongs.”

“And where would that be?” your whisper was hoarse, almost painful from the tension you felt between your thighs.

Wanda laughed again, a softer sound this time, almost indulgent. Leaning closer until her lips were nearly touching your ear, she replied, “Right beneath me, looking up at me with those doe eyes, begging for my mercy.”

Your heart raced. You could feel each beat like a drum in your ears, but you managed a short laugh, more to mask your nervousness. “If that’s what you think, maybe you need to watch me more closely, professor.”

That’s when something shifted. For a brief instant, you saw something in Wanda’s eyes. It wasn’t just anger or disdain but an indecipherable glimmer, almost dangerous. Fascination? Interest? It was impossible to say, but it stirred something in you that left you unsettled.

“Closely?” She repeated, as if tasting the word. Returning to her chair, she crossed her legs with controlled elegance and rested her chin on her hand. “Interesting. Perhaps I should. After all, you seem to have a lot to learn about respect and discipline.”

The tension between you was stifling. Every word seemed laden with hidden layers, messages no one dared to decipher. “And you seem to enjoy talking about it,” you replied, trying to regain some control. But there was a tremor in your voice, a small hesitation Wanda surely didn’t miss.

The smile she gave you was devastating. There was nothing friendly about it—only a dark pleasure in seeing you falter. “Be careful with your words, darling. You might not like what happens if you keep provoking me.”

You knew she was in control. But what intrigued you the most was how she seemed to be fighting something within herself. You couldn’t ignore the subtle glow starting to form in her hands, tiny red sparks dancing in sync with her uneven breathing. Wanda quickly clenched her fists, as if trying to extinguish it, but the glimpse was enough to awaken something in you.

What was that? Power? Anger? Or something deeper, something visceral she didn’t want to reveal? Your curiosity was piqued, a spark igniting somewhere inside you. Perhaps it was dangerous, but for the first time, you wanted to understand what lay behind the absolute control Wanda so insisted on displaying.

Her fingers tightened into fists at her sides, and a crimson glow began to appear in her eyes. She realized too late that red sparks were dancing at her fingertips, small flickers of long-dormant power now awakened by you.

“You...” Her voice was a low growl, laden with something more primal than words could express. “You really don’t know what you’re doing, do you?”

Heat radiated from her body, and Wanda had to fight the overwhelming urge to let her powers fully manifest. She wanted—God, how she wanted—to wrap those hands around your neck, not to hurt, but to feel control, to see you bend under her.

But she knew she couldn’t. Not here.

Wanda took a step back, trying to regain control. She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath, but all she saw was your expression: defiant yet vulnerable. So maddeningly perfect.

“You think you’re clever, don’t you?” she finally broke the silence, her voice low and loaded. “You think your sharp words and rebellious attitude will get you anywhere?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. The intensity of her gaze left you frozen in place, and the small part of you that dared to confront her was now silent.

“You irritate me,” Wanda continued, her voice a dangerous mix of frustration and something darker, something she herself didn’t want to admit. “And at the same time...”

She stopped, swallowing the words before they escaped. No. She wasn’t going to give you that satisfaction.

But what she couldn’t hide, what was as clear as the red glow still flickering in her eyes, was that there was something about you that called to her, that provoked her in a way no one ever had before.

You were a spark. A wildfire. A slow, inevitable destruction.

And Wanda knew, deep down, that she couldn’t extinguish you.

She stared at you for another moment, her crimson eyes still glowing. “Leave,” she ordered, her voice firm but not as steady as before. “Now!”

You obeyed, but each step toward the door felt like it led you deeper into a maze you knew you couldn’t escape. As you left, the sound of Wanda’s controlled breathing still echoed in your mind.

Inside the office, alone, Wanda finally allowed herself to relax. But as she looked at her hands, still trembling with residual energy, she knew the truth: there was something about you she couldn’t ignore. Something that pulled her to a place she wasn’t sure she wanted to explore.

“She’ll be my ruin,” Wanda murmured, the red glow finally fading. “And God help me, because I want it more than anything.”

[...]

One more night, when you would go to sleep with your thoughts fixed on one another. The night was an escape for both of you, though neither of you truly understood why. When your eyes closed, the world around you dissolved, and there you were.

The setting was simple: a kitchen bathed in the warm light of sunset streaming through open windows. The sound of children’s laughter echoed in the background, and the air was filled with the aroma of something delicious baking in the oven. You sat on the couch in the living room, a serene smile on your lips as you cradled a small, green-eyed baby.

Seline.

You had never seen her before in real life, but in the dream, she was yours, and it made sense in an inexplicable way. She was warm against your chest, nursing with a strong, satisfied rhythm. Every movement she made was familiar, natural, as if it were a moment you had always known.

In the corner of the room, Wanda stood. Her figure was a blend of strength and gentleness as she used her powers to stir a pot on the stove. The red glow danced in her hands, and she seemed calm, almost happy. From time to time, she glanced away from her task to look at you.

Wanda watched you from afar, her eyes capturing the serenity on your face as you held the little one. The scene was so intimate, so natural, that it made something inside her tighten. She didn’t understand how, but she knew she had lived this moment before.

It was always the same scene, the same dream, yet each night it felt more real, more alive.

“Are you comfortable, my love?” Wanda asked with a tenderness that made both your hearts ache.

Your smile was her answer, but you confirmed it with a simple, “Yes.” It wasn’t just a response; it was an absolute truth, and Wanda felt it deep in her chest.

As she knelt by your side, her touch was both reverent and familiar. Her fingers, still warm from her magic, skillfully worked to ease any tension you might have felt. It was an act of care that transcended the moment—it was a promise.

“You make it look so easy,” Wanda murmured, her eyes fixed on Seline, who nestled against you with complete trust.

“Because with you here, everything is.” Your answer was simple but laden with something Wanda couldn’t quite name.

These moments always ended the same way: Wanda leaned in to place a kiss on your forehead, her fingers brushing your skin with the lingering warmth of her magic. Yet there was something in her gaze, something deep and unwavering, as if she were looking at a home she had both lost and found at the same time.

Wanda woke with a jolt.

Reality hit her like a cold bucket of water. The room she was in wasn’t the house from the dream. It was the bedroom of this universe, shared with Vision, but as empty as a cavern.

She closed her eyes, pressing her fingers to her temples. What was that? Why did she keep reliving this scene with you, someone she could barely tolerate in real life?

It was impossible. Wasn’t it?

But the more nights passed, the more Wanda was convinced there was something between you that defied the laws of time and space. Something that transcended multiverses, as if you were two pieces of a cosmic puzzle, always destined to meet, yet doomed to lose one another.

And somewhere within her, a certainty grew: these dreams weren’t mere figments of her imagination. They were fragments of something greater, something her soul recognized even if her mind denied it.

But the truth was more complicated. Wanda knew she didn’t hate you.

At the same time, you woke up.

Your chest rose and fell rapidly, your heart pounding. There was Seline again, a name that seemed to echo within you like a forgotten memory. And Wanda... The gentleness in her eyes, the careful touch, the way she seemed so at ease in that dream world...

You hated yourself for it. Hated that a woman like her could leave you so vulnerable, so desperate for something you didn’t understand.

Back at the office the next day, Wanda was different.

The shell of the unshakable, cruel woman seemed cracked. Her eyes lingered on you for too long, something indefinable passing through her gaze. And her powers, long thought dormant, began to peek through the cracks.

Every time you spoke, every time she grew irritated by your presence, the red glow threatened to surface.

And Wanda didn’t know if it terrified her... or excited her.

The soft light of the setting sun filtered through the window, reflecting off perfectly arranged bookshelves and furniture that exuded authority. You sat across from her, your posture a mix of defiance and nervousness.

Today, something was different.

Wanda didn’t speak much, but her eyes… they were sharp, as if peeling back layers, analyzing every part of you. She had prepared a stack of reports and exercises, each more complex and tedious than the last.

“I want you to review all of this in one hour,” Wanda said, her voice low and cutting.

“All of this?” you replied, raising an eyebrow. “You want me to do alone in an hour what your students do in a week?”

“Yes,” Wanda answered simply, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms. “Unless it’s too much for you.”

You gritted your teeth, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing you hesitate. Picking up the first sheet, you began to work, but the questions were deliberately vague, almost impossible to solve.

“This doesn’t make sense,” you muttered, more to yourself than to her.

Wanda looked up, her fingers tapping on the desk. “What was that?”

“This,” you said, holding up the sheet. “The question is poorly written. It doesn’t make sense. Not even the brightest professor could solve it.”

The corner of Wanda’s mouth twitched into a faint smile. “Perhaps the problem isn’t the question but the person answering it.”

Blood rushed to your face. You knew she was provoking you, testing how far she could push you. But you were tired of it too.

“With all due respect, professor,” you began, your tone sour, “if you’re trying to humiliate me, maybe you should try harder. This isn’t difficult; it’s just poorly done.”

Wanda’s eyes narrowed. The room seemed to grow warmer.

“Repeat that,” she said, her voice so calm it was chilling.

You hesitated, but her gaze dared you, as if saying you wouldn’t have the courage.

“I said,” you continued, your voice trembling, “that maybe... maybe you should—”

Before you could finish, something in the room shifted. The air around you seemed to vibrate, as if charged with electricity. The temperature truly rose, and a red glow began to emanate from Wanda’s hands, now resting on the desk.

Her eyes... They glowed in a way that seemed impossible.

Time stretched thin, like a taut wire on the verge of snapping. You stared at Wanda, the scarlet glow dancing around her hands like something alive, pulsing. Sparks floated in the air, illuminating the room with a supernatural crimson light, almost hypnotic.

You told yourself you should be afraid, but fear never came. What replaced it was a deep, unsettling curiosity. Powers? Was this real? It seemed impossible, yet there she was, almost divine in her presence, her eyes burning like stars with an intensity that made you forget to breathe.

Wanda seemed less human in that moment — more like something beyond flesh and bone, beyond anything you could comprehend. And yet, you couldn’t look away. Her beauty, already disarming before, now seemed amplified. It was as if the power radiating from her was an extension of everything that made her irresistible.

“Perhaps I should what?” Wanda asked, her voice dripping with irony and danger.

You froze. The red glow intensified, forming tiny sparks floating in the air. Papers on the desk began to slide on their own, and the bookshelves groaned, as if adjusting to an invisible weight.

“I…” you tried to speak, but your voice faltered.

Wanda rose slowly, every movement deliberate, her eyes locked onto yours. The crimson aura around her was mesmerizing and terrifying all at once.

“Why does she challenge us like this? Doesn’t she know what she’s playing with?” A darker, more instinctual voice echoed in Wanda’s mind. End it now. Show her who’s stronger.

But then, a quieter voice, almost a whisper, countered. What if that’s what she wants? What if she isn’t just challenging us, but trying to reach us?

Wanda’s eyes flickered as she struggled to maintain control, red energy pulsing around her hands. You, so small and yet somehow imposing, stood frozen in place. Your bravery was foolish, but there was something in the way you looked at her — as if you saw beyond the raw power, beyond the unshakable façade.

“Why do you keep testing my limits, detka?” Wanda asked, her voice low but sharp as a blade. “Don’t you see how this could end up hurting you?”

You didn’t know what to say. Fear and adrenaline mixed inside you, but there was something else… something darker, more intimate. You were fascinated by her, by the power she exuded with every fiber of her being.

“I… don’t know,” you finally murmured.

“She doesn’t understand,” the cruel voice insisted. "She doesn’t know what she’s risking."

"She knows exactly what she’s doing," the gentler voice argued. "She’s seeing what no one else sees."

“Don’t know?” Wanda repeated, stepping closer. The red energy around her seemed alive, pulsing with each beat of her heart. “Maybe I should teach you not to meddle with things you don’t understand.”

Suddenly, the crimson glow burst in a flash that illuminated the entire room. The walls vibrated, and you instinctively shrank into your chair, shielding your face with your arms.

When the light dimmed, the office was a mess. Papers were scattered everywhere, books had fallen from the shelves, and Wanda’s desk bore a deep scorch mark.

You looked at her, your heart pounding in your chest. Wanda was still there, but something about her seemed different. More alive. More dangerous.

She was breathing heavily, as if she’d just run a marathon. For a moment, her eyes met yours, and there was something there that left you speechless.

“Get out,” Wanda finally said, her voice low but filled with an authority that brooked no argument. “Now!”

You stared at her figure, and she looked like a goddess — the incandescent red glow surrounding her gave her a unique aura, leaving you captivated.

With clenched fists and inexplicable courage, you answered, “No.”

The word echoed through the office, charged with a boldness you didn’t know you possessed. Wanda stopped in her tracks, her bright red eyes fixed on you. For a brief moment, the world seemed to freeze.

“She’s crazy,” the dark voice commented.

“Or extremely brave,” the other voice countered.

Wanda tilted her head slightly, a faint, almost imperceptible smile forming on her lips. She took a slow, deliberate step forward, the energy around her dimming but not disappearing.

The glow around her intensified, almost blinding, and the air in the room grew dense and suffocating. She looked like a storm about to break, every muscle in her body tense, as if on the verge of destroying everything around her.

“Do you have any idea what you just said?” Wanda asked, her voice low and dangerous, like the rumble of distant thunder.

You swallowed hard, but something inside you refused to yield. “I do.”

Wanda’s gaze narrowed, and the red glow around her flickered, like an unstable flame. She stepped closer, and you had to fight the instinct to back away.

She stopped inches from you, the heat of her magic almost tangible. Her eyes were like portals — intense and deep — and for a moment, you felt completely vulnerable under her gaze.

“She’s fascinating,” the gentle voice whispered in Wanda’s mind.

“She’s dangerous,” the cruel voice replied.

“Then why do you keep staying?” Wanda murmured, her voice laced with both threat and genuine curiosity.

You took a deep breath, your heart pounding, but you held her gaze. “Because deep down, I think you want me to.”

That answer hit Wanda like a wave. The voices in her mind fell silent, and she took a slight step back, the red glow around her diminishing even further. She turned her back to you, her hands trembling slightly.

“She saw beyond us,” Wanda thought, confused. "She saw something even we don’t understand."

At last, Wanda spoke, her voice softer, almost broken. “You have no idea what you’re saying.”

But the smile you gave in response was full of a certainty that disarmed her completely. “I think you don’t either.”

“You’re just an insolent girl,” Wanda said, her voice laced with disdain and something else you couldn’t quite identify. “You have no idea what you’re doing or who you’re dealing with.”

“Maybe not,” you answered, lifting your chin defiantly. “But you don’t seem to know who I am either. Or what I’m capable of enduring.”

The red glow intensified, casting her face in an ominous light. You could feel her anger, palpable like a wave of heat, but there was something else — a sort of fascination that seemed to disturb her as much as it did you.

“You’re playing with fire, little girl,” Wanda said, her voice low, but full of promise.

“Maybe,” you retorted, your own voice steadier than you expected. “But it definitely seems like you are too.”

For a moment, Wanda was silent, simply staring at you. The glow around her began to fade, but her eyes still burned with an intensity that made you tremble.

“You have no idea what you’re asking for,” Wanda murmured, more to herself than to you.

“Then show me,” you challenged, the words escaping before you could stop them.

Wanda took another step, now so close that you could feel her warmth, the soft scent of something sweet and spicy that seemed uniquely hers. The red glow around her disappeared completely, but the intensity in her eyes remained.

She tilted her head, a dark smile forming on her lips. “You’re really not afraid of me, are you?”

“Should I be?”

Wanda let out a short, humorless laugh. “Oh, you should. But something tells me you don’t learn until you feel it firsthand.”

Before you could process what was happening, Wanda raised her hand—not to touch you, but as if she were trying to summon something. Her eyes glowed intensely for a brief moment, but nothing happened. The power seemed to dissipate into the air before reaching you.

She frowned, confused, and tried again. Nothing.

“Interesting,” you remarked, trying to hide the tremor in your voice. “Seems like I’m not as easy to control as the others.”

Her irritation was evident, but there was something else in her eyes—a mix of fascination and frustration that made your heart race.

“You’re insufferable!” Wanda muttered, her voice laced with disdain but also a strange warmth that sent a shiver down your spine.

“And you’re a tyrant,” you shot back, knowing you were treading dangerous ground.

“A tyrant?” she repeated, letting out a quiet laugh. “If I were, you’d already be begging for mercy.”

“Maybe I want you to make me beg,” you replied without thinking.

Wanda fell silent, just staring at you. The red glow returned to her eyes for a moment, but she quickly suppressed it.

“I already told you to leave,” she said again, but this time her voice carried something deeper, more intimate.

You let out a small growl of frustration—like a puppy—and Wanda found it... endearing.

“And I said no!” You stepped closer to her. “I want to help... I’m pretty sure it’s not normal to see a woman throwing red energy balls around.”

As you rambled on, Wanda noticed something in your eyes that made her power waver, even weaken.

Wanda arched an eyebrow, the crimson glow fading momentarily, replaced by a sharp, cynical look. “Red energy balls?”

“Yes, red energy balls,” you retorted, crossing your arms. “That’s not exactly a typical classroom occurrence, is it?”

Wanda didn’t respond immediately. She leaned against her desk, arms crossed, as if assessing you. Despite her casual posture, her eyes dissected every movement, every nuance of your voice.

“And what do you suggest we do, little know-it-all?” she asked at last, her words dripping with sarcasm.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, holding her gaze with a determination that seemed to irritate her even more. “But pretending it’s not happening won’t solve anything.”

Silence filled the room again, and Wanda realized she was holding her breath. You weren’t backing down, and that unsettled her—not because you were annoying, but because she liked it. More than she should.

“You’re so irritating,” Wanda finally said, her voice low and controlled, as if trying to convince herself.

“You’ve already said that. Repeating yourself today, aren’t you?” you quipped back.

Her eyes flared red again, a flash of intense crimson that made the air around her heat up. “Watch your mouth, brat,” Wanda warned, her voice taking on a dangerous tone.

But you didn’t back away. Instead, you leaned in slightly, as if testing her limits. “Or what? You’ll throw another red energy ball at me?”

Wanda let out a short, humorless laugh, but something in her gaze faltered. It wasn’t fear or anger—something darker, more unspoken.

“You really have no idea what I am, do you?” she asked, a mix of exasperation and admiration in her tone.

“I’m waiting for you to explain.”

Wanda narrowed her eyes, tilting her head slightly as if weighing how much you really wanted to know. There was something in your defiant tone, in your unwavering gaze, that made her almost... trust. But trust wasn’t something Wanda Maximoff offered freely.

She sighed deeply, walking slowly toward her desk. Stopping beside it, she placed a firm hand on the wooden surface as her eyes wandered, searching for the right words to begin.

“I’m... more than I seem,” she started, her tone serious. “Much more.”

Her eyes locked on yours again, scrutinizing you, as if deciding whether to reveal what she was about to say.

“There’s a name some people have given me,” she continued, her fingers twitching slightly against the desk. “A name that, in other worlds, carries more weight than you can imagine. Scarlet Witch.”

You blinked, confused but intrigued. “Scarlet Witch? That sounds... conceptual.”

Wanda let out another short, humorless laugh. “It’s not just conceptual. It’s a prophecy. A myth. Something I never wanted, but somehow, I was forced to accept.”

“And what does it mean?” you asked, taking a small step forward.

“It means I’m a Nexus Being,” Wanda replied, her eyes beginning to glow faintly red again. “A unique entity across the multiverse. Someone with the power to alter realities, to shape the very fabric of time and space. But that... that power shouldn’t exist here.”

“Why not?” you asked, feeling a chill run down your spine as her tone darkened.

“Because in this universe, I wasn’t supposed to have powers,” Wanda admitted, her voice carrying a mix of anger and frustration. “I was meant to be an ordinary woman. A teacher. A mother. A wife.”

She paused, her gaze piercing.

“But something changed,” she continued, her voice growing rougher. “Something awakened in me. And I’m almost certain you’re part of it.”

Your heart raced, but you fought to keep your composure. “Me? What did I do?”

“It’s not what you did,” Wanda replied, stepping closer. “It’s what you are. Your presence here... it’s like a catalyst. Every time you challenge me, every time you confront me, it’s as if something inside me is trying to break free.”

“And what exactly is trying to emerge?” you asked, your voice quieter than you expected.

Wanda leaned in slightly, her eyes glowing with that burning red again. “The power. The control. The Scarlet Witch herself.”

She took a step back, distancing herself from you as if trying to regain control.

“In other worlds,” she began again, her voice calmer but still tense, “I was a figure of destruction. I did... unforgivable things. I manipulated entire realities. Created a perfect world for myself, where I had everything I wanted. But it all fell apart.”

You could tell she was speaking about something deeply personal, something that haunted her.

“And then, I was confronted. By other heroes. By people who believed they knew best. In the end, I had to undo everything. I had to destroy what I loved most.”

“What?” you asked, feeling a tightness in your chest.

“My children,” Wanda said simply, her voice trembling slightly. “Tommy and Billy. They were real to me. But not to the rest of the world. So I lost them. And I’ve lived with that ever since.”

You stayed silent, unsure of what to say.

“And now, here I am,” Wanda continued, her voice hardening again. “Trying to be something I’m not. Trying to be normal. But you... you’re making that impossible.”

“I don’t understand,” you finally said, your voice hesitant. “What did I do?”

“You challenge me,” Wanda replied, her eyes glowing again. “You force me to confront things I’d rather forget, because I can’t make you forget—I can’t manipulate you. And now... now, I’m not sure if I can control this anymore.”

The air around her began to vibrate, charged with energy.

“You should be afraid of me,” Wanda said, her voice low but intense. “Because if I lose control again, I don’t know what might happen.”

But you, with that stubbornness that seemed to both irritate and fascinate her, stepped forward and replied:

“Maybe I’m not afraid because I see something in you that you don’t see. Maybe I see someone who still has a choice. Someone who can be more than this... Scarlet Witch.”

Wanda remained silent, her eyes glowing with something that seemed like a mixture of admiration and frustration. And, for the first time, she didn’t know how to respond.

She stood frozen, your words echoing in her mind, reverberating in a way she couldn’t ignore. She felt your persistent gaze on her, but she couldn’t meet it. She needed to maintain control, to step back from the internal abyss that seemed to open every time you were near.

“Go, girl,” she finally said, her voice quieter than she intended, tinged with both farewell and warning. “And tell no one.”

You hesitated for a moment but eventually obeyed. The sound of the door closing behind you left Wanda alone in the room, the silence filling the empty space around her. But inside her, there was no silence.

She pressed her hands against the desk, her knuckles turning white from the effort.

“You’re losing control,” a seductive, low voice whispered in her mind. Wanda knew exactly what it was. It wasn’t someone from outside—it was a part of herself, a side she had buried long ago.

“No. I’m in control,” Wanda replied softly, as if trying to convince herself.

“You call this control?” the voice mocked, a soft laugh resonating in her mind. “Look at you. Trembling. Afraid. That girl got to you in a way no one else ever has, hasn’t she? Do you really think you can resist this? Resist me?”

Wanda stepped away from the desk, walking to the office window, trying to find a fixed point on the horizon to anchor her thoughts. But there was no escape.

The Scarlet Witch was there, inside her, drawing closer, growing stronger.

“I am you,” the voice continued, this time more primal, almost animalistic. “And you know you want me back. Stop fighting what we are. What we can be.”

“I don’t want you,” Wanda replied, closing her eyes tightly.

“Liar.” The voice was a whisper, but it seemed to fill the entire space around her. “You feel it, Wanda. The power. The freedom. You’ve never been more alive than when I was in control. And now, that girl... she’s the spark. She’s calling us back.”

Wanda took a deep breath, but it didn’t calm her. Her hands were trembling, and the air around her felt electrified. She knew her powers were awakening again, harder and harder to contain.

“Stop fighting me,” the Scarlet Witch insisted. “Accept who you are. Who we are. You know I’m right.”

“No,” Wanda murmured, but her voice sounded weak, almost pleading.

“You’re afraid,” the voice observed, amused. “But not of me. You’re afraid that deep down, you like this. That you need this. The freedom, the power, the intensity. And, most of all... her.”

Wanda opened her eyes, now glowing with a threatening red light. She stepped away from the window, walking to the center of the office as if she needed to move to escape the storm brewing inside her.

“She’s not part of this,” Wanda said aloud, as if trying to assert her authority over the voice within.

“Oh, she’s everything,” the Scarlet Witch replied, a light laugh escaping her. “She’s the key. Every time she challenges you, every time she gets closer... you feel it, don’t you? The heat, the energy, the desire.”

“Shut up!” Wanda shouted, her voice reverberating through the office. A wave of red energy pulsed around her, the furniture trembling under the force of her power.

The silence returned, but Wanda knew it wouldn’t last. The Scarlet Witch was there, waiting, like a predator patiently circling its prey.

Wanda sank into the chair, pressing her hands against her temples. She needed to think, needed to find a way to regain control. But the dilemma remained: the more she fought the Scarlet Witch, the more she felt herself slipping into her.

And deep down, what scared her most was the possibility that maybe—just maybe—she didn’t want to fight anymore.

[...]

The Sanctum Sanctorum was quieter than usual. The air was filled with the occasional sound of pages turning and the rustling of the Sorcerer Supreme’s cloak as he inspected a series of ancient artifacts spread across a table. At the center, the Eye of Agamotto glowed faintly, pulsing in shades of green and gold as Strange carefully traced a line between dimensions on a holographic map of the multiverse.

“Finally,” he murmured to himself, his fingers tightening around the artifact. His expression was more tense than usual, a shadow of worry flickering in his eyes.

Wong entered the room, carrying a hefty grimoire. “You found her?”

Strange nodded, his demeanor grave. “Yes. The Scarlet Witch is hiding in a universe we can barely access. She’s weakened, but she’s still dangerous. If she regains her strength, she could become a threat worse than before.”

Wong crossed his arms, his expression wary. “And how exactly do you plan to capture her? I doubt she’ll come willingly if we call.”

Strange gave a brief, humorless smile. “I don’t plan to capture her. I know someone who can.”

~*~

Mommy is coming back!!!

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[carmen-berzattos]

Why is it that everytime I speak about my experience of the war in Iraq as a civilian and a CHILD, some veteran who served there absolutely must come and opine to me about it? Like shut up shut the fuck up no one cares what you think this isn't about you, have some fucking respect

[jackfrostimposter]

genuinely why is there so much misinformation about the guardians of childhood book series?

[dykedvonte]

If Ulysses has a million haters, then I'm one of them. If Ulysses has one hater, then I'm THAT ONE. If Ulysses has no haters, that means I'm dead. If the world is with Ulysses than I’m against the world.

[perilegs]

what's the worst audio i can use for an edit? i was thinking of jerma singing ohh the treachery but i want options

[mirdaniaa]

Day 2 of migraine AND on my period AND mercury retrograde shadow period, these conditions are positively untenable

[ssaalexblake]

that this website decided to give me the fucking dash update while i am drunk is both hilarious and infuriating like did you Have to do this to me Right Now??????

[izzy-b-hands]

Everyone who worked on the Reagans (2020) owes me money for having watched this. Yes, I did it as a hate watch to make fun of the Reagans. Yes, it's free on Plex (I would never pay money to watch anything abt these fuckers lol.) Yes, they still owe me money for this.

It's...so bad. Comedic at moments they clearly did NOT intend to be funny jfadkjfdsakf, trying to make the audience feel So Bad for the poor Reagans; poor Nancy who has such a hard life she has to abuse her children and those she works with while insisting she deserves more money to do shit like decorate the white house (she asks for a million at one point like. girl. the house can't possibly need that much of a glow up, it's the fucking white house), poor Ron for *checks episode plot line notes* existing and making decisions that affect his own life and have consequences that he is aware of when he makes said decisions. I could go on; the urge to live blog this from where I am rn in watching it is So Strong but. I will not for the sake of anyone reading my blog fkldsjaflaj

Anyway, fuck the Reagans, and fuck this show for trying to gloss over all the fucked up shit they did to the US and her citizens, as well as to their children and the various other ppl around them.

[hayatheauthor]

20 Flirty Remarks to Build Romantic Tension Without Being Overbearing

Feeling stuck trying to give your characters a good flirty one-liner that doesn't sound cringe/overdone? Here are 20 ideas/dialogue prompts for you (that I may or may not have stolen from my own books): 

“I must warn you: you have a dangerous effect on my heart rate.” / "You have no idea what you're doing to my heart right now."

"If I said I wasn’t thinking about you, I’d be lying. And I’m a terrible liar."

"You know, I could get lost in those eyes, but I'd probably trip over my words trying to find my way back." (could also double as description/inner monologue).

“I can’t tell if you’re really charming or if I’m just easily charmed.”

“You have a knack for making me forget what I was going to say. It’s kind of impressive/infuriating.”

“I think you owe me a drink. When I saw you, I dropped mine.”

“I’ve been trying to find the perfect excuse to hang out, but I keep forgetting everything when I’m around you.”

“I bet you get away with a lot of trouble with that smile.”

“You must be a magician because every time you walk in, everyone else disappears.” (The right character could pull it off I swear)

"I’ve been trying to think of something clever to say, but all my brain can come up with is how much I want to (kiss) you."

"I saw that little glance—you’re not as sneaky as you think."

"How do you manage to make even the most mundane things sound exciting?"

"You do this cute thing with your hands when you’re nervous, you know?"

“One more word, and I might just have to kiss you.”

"Finally, there's that pretty smile of yours. I've been waiting for it all day."

"You keep staring—should I be flattered?" / "Keep looking at me like that and I might start thinking you have a crush on me."

"Do you have any idea how fun it is to watch you try to keep a straight face?"

"I’m pretty sure you could charm the socks off anyone, but I’d like to keep mine on for now."

"If laughter is the best medicine, then I’m pretty sure you’re my favorite doctor."

"Is it bad that I kind of like the way you’re trying to mess with me?"

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks? 

Check out the rest of Quillology with Haya; a blog dedicated to writing and publishing tips for authors! Instagram Tiktok

[curryshesus]

jeon jungkook fics that own my mind, body, heart, and soul

in other words, this is a collection of my favorite jk fics on tumblr! if you enjoyed any of these fics as much as i did, pls remember to support the authors by interacting with their post. part 2 | other bts members

➺ bitchin - by @kinktae

summary: the 80s were a time of choices. which perm was right for you? what color neon would you wear next? none of these choices, however, were more questionable than a certain deal you made with jeon jungkook.

➺ idealizations concerning real life relations - by @venusiangguk

summary: jungkook loves to be loved, but he doesn’t love in return.

➺ hotter than hell - by @chateautae

summary: jungkook, lucifer and king of hell, has been cast out of the crimson underworld for a reason he’s unsure of. embarking on his journey for the answer should’ve been easy, if it weren’t for you, the human that nurses his wounded body in her home, and accidentally witnesses the truth of his identity. kickstarting a hellish adventure with the devil himself, you discover lucifer is the most infuriating company ever; and jungkook finds out that maybe his answer to returning home lies within his annoying human confidant.

➺ jump then fall (into you) - by @writtenwhalien

summary: bringing Jungkook along as your date to your ex’s lavish cruise wedding seemed like a perfect idea at first — all of your family and close friends together, nothing can go wrong… then Jungkook’s ex shows up and all of a sudden you’re in a years long relationship with him. You don’t mind though, really, how hard can sharing a cabin and pretending to be deeply in love with your best friend really be?

➺ too late to dream - by @kookslastbutton

summary: You did it. You married your college professor. You even bought a house together. Against all odds, everything had fallen into place. But after two years of marriage, you begin feeling something was missing. You want a baby but your husband can’t say the same.

➺ the forgotten spaces- by @oddinary4bts

summary: you've been dancing on the same dance crew since your teenage years, and you finally have an important role in it. It feels like life is taunting you when your rival comes back after disappearing for a year, ready to tease you every chance he gets. Will the teasing turn into more, or are you going to take him down with you?

➺ when the end comes - by @oddinary4bts

summary: Seven years after you've started dating Jungkook, long distance creates a wedge in your relationship. When the only solution seems to be breaking up, you go your separate ways even though love still lives in the two of you. Will you find a way back together, or has the end come for you and Jeon Jungkook? **sequel to the forgotten spaces

➺ falling - by @starshapedkookie

summary: soulmate (noun): a person who is bound to another through the strongest level of emotional and physical connection. one is given a name on the body upon 18 years of age and any transgressions against the laws of soul-bonding will not occur without harm.

➺ love alive - by @jamaisjoons

summary: a year after you and jungkook break up, the two of you meet at your brother’s party.

➺ changes in between - by @taegularities

summary: Becoming the roommate of Jeon Jungkook is the biggest change you’ve ever gotten thrown into - but little do you know that the addition of another man will bring even further turbulence into your (love) life.

➺ falling skies - by @fortunexkookie

summary: Jeon Jiyeon was your childhood best friend; her brother, Jungkook, was something else entirely. You used to be friends, but then he had gone from endearingly frustrating dumb boy to card-carrying fuckboy so fast it had given you whiplash.

Despite the teasing and fighting, Jiyeon realized how Jungkook felt about you long before he did - it was a twin thing - and if you were her sun, and he was her moon, then she just wished she could show you how he reflected your light.

➺ sugarplum elegy - by @bymoonchild

summary: You know no bounds nor depth with Jungkook. While your fuck buddy loves sleeping in your bed and doing laundry for you with his favourite fabric softener, you are in love with a mysterious honeyed, velvety voice on Soundcloud. All’s fine, until you find out that the voice that metaphors your heart to a sweet sugarplum melody actually belongs to the boy who has been taking up a special spot in your bed and in your heart, strumming at your heartstrings all this while. Or, Jungkook has one braincell, but it’s heart-shaped.

➺ an abundance of mondays - by @diortae

summary: "why the fuck would it be easy? you’re disgustingly in love with your best friend. of course it’s complicated.” he pauses to roll his eyes, as if he hasn’t just laid out the most secret parts of you here in the middle of the campus dining hall.

➺ five dates - by @kpopfanfictrash

summary: “Ten dates,” he nods, smile tugging at his lips. “Ten dates, to decide if you want this – want me – or want me to go. Ten dates to get to know me. Ten dates,” he says, oddly soft, “to fall in love with me.” Which then becomes five.

➺ here comes the bride, all dressed in pride - by @hansolmates

summary: You and your cousin Doyeon have had beef with each other since the sandbox. When she plucks the last straw, you decide to end your long-simmering fight by claiming that you and her ex—Jeon Jungkook, are now boyfriend and girlfriend

➺ if i told you - by @gukyi

summary: in order to pay for university, jeon jungkook decides to market his most valuable asset to the wealthy socialites of campus: himself. donning a suit and tie, tousled hair, and glasses (to look smarter), he becomes every rich daughter’s dream: the perfect boyfriend to bring to balls, dinners, and business gatherings. all while you watch from the sidelines, only able to dream of having that much money to buy yourself what you really want: him.

[slytherinslut0]

SLYTHERINSLUT0’S RIDDLEMAS

dec 17th. tom riddle — overstim, cockwarming.

RIDDLEMAS MASTERLIST. I 2024

summary: cockwarming as a punishment? clit stim cockwarming as a punishment? tom would think so.

warnings: 18+, SMUT MDNI, cockwarming, ft. tom’s mythical clit magic that i force into almost everyone of my fics for him, overstimulation, begging, sharp tongue banter, slight praise, tom is an infuriating bastard like always, dom!tom, slight part 2 from this.

also, thank you to my beautiful @cotttagecorewhore for the idea 🤍

He's a master of multitasking, you've learned in the passing months. Multitasking and complete self-possession, something you can see as he writes, without a break—as you sit perched in his lap, thighs on either side of his.

He's not writing anything of any particular importance—some letter, an order, some instruction for something. All of it is of little consequence to you, so you focus on the act of it instead—the way he holds the quill, the way it moves across the page in neat, angular script. He does it like it's something that requires no effort, not even a moment of thought, and you wonder if writing to him is as easy as breathing.

It's so easy to love you, you think, until your brain goes back to focusing on the feeling of him. His scent. His breath. His length buried inside you. His free hand not letting you move.

Him.

"That's a filthy habit," he murmurs, and you realize you've been biting your lip, watching his hand work across the page. "You’re breaking the skin."

"Can't help it," you grumble, and to make a point, you start biting your lip again. "I chew my lip when I'm impatient. I'm impatient right now."

He makes a sound that's somewhere between a huff and a sigh at that—and you can feel his attention shift from the page to look up at you for a moment—

"Patience, you've never had. Your only flaw, I'd say." He says, languidly taking in the sight of you before shifting his eyes back to his work. “That, and the penchant for damaging your skin."

You roll your eyes. You know he sees it.

"I didn't realize you were an expert in dermatology.”

You can feel the vibrations in his chest as he laughs—a low breathless chuckle, and you can't stop yourself from shuddering.

"It's more because I don't want to taste blood when I kiss you."

When I kiss you.

You’ll never tire of words like that, and it’s the simplicity in which he says them that makes half your brain immediately short circuit.

Because it’s moments like this—and there are many of them—where you have to remind yourself to breathe, and it's almost embarrassing how easily he has that effect on you, how he can still make you dizzy from a single offhanded comment.

"I don't recall you complaining before."

You're trying very hard to make your voice sound nonchalant now, and you think you're doing a fairly good job of it, but you can feel the way your hips try to wiggle against him involuntarily, the way your hands tighten on his shoulders, digging your nails into his sweater.

He can feel it, he can definitely feel it.

"I'm not complaining now," he says, the smirk still in his voice. "Just stating my preference."

"I have a preference for you not writing right now," you toss back, and you sound whinier than you intended. "You're torturing me."

"Torture implies you're not enjoying it at all," he murmurs, his eyes never leaving the page. "And I can feel how much you're enjoying it."

You can't stop yourself from shuddering again, as if half of your nerve endings are suddenly connected to him, and you bury your face in his neck.

"You're insufferable," you murmur, feeling the soft wool of his sweater against your face. "Can you feel how much I'm wishing to hex you, too?"

"I can," he replies, before his hips cant up a fraction—just the tiniest shift—pressing his throbbing dick up a little deeper into you, making you bite your lip again, and you're almost certain he's done it just so you'll react. "I far prefer the former, however."

You make an indignant sound at that, but it comes out all breathless and a little high-pitched—and it’s then that you decide to give up your attempts at sounding dignified.

"You and your fucking preferences." You hiss, half muffled against his shoulder.

"I'm nothing if not consistent," he says, and you think he actually sounds more distracted now, as if he's more focused on the wiggling of your hips against him then he is his writing. And then— "if you want something, you know you could just ask for it."

You lift your head from his shoulder at that, just so he can see the glare you're giving him now.

"I won't beg for you." You retort, and you realize halfway through that it's not quite as biting as you intended—it's hard to be biting when you can't seem to stop shuddering—when you feel so fucking full of him. "Not after this."

"I didn't say you had to beg," he whispers, and you realize his quill has stopped moving on the page. "I said you had to ask."

It takes every ounce of willpower you have to keep from rocking your hips against him again—you're not sure how much of this you're willing to take.

"And you'd actually indulge me?" You cock a suspicious eyebrow. "If I just, asked for it?"

Now his eyes have left the page completely—quill dropping from his hand as he brings it to your chin, gripping it gently, tilting your head up so he can look you in the face now. You know you're flushed—you can feel the heat crawling over your skin, your neck, probably to your ears, too.

"When have I ever denied you?" He wets his lips as he says it. "As long as you ask nicely."

"I always ask nicely," you mutter, but the effect is lost somewhat when, in your attempt to regain a semblance of control, his hips shift and his dick twitches inside you again. "Jesus—Tom, just fuck me. I can't—"

There's an instant when you think the corners of his eyes crinkle in satisfaction when you say that, and he knows just how undone you feel because he's the one who's gotten you there, and that's why he likes to take his time, because it gets you like this—

"That wasn't nicely," he tuts, tilting your head up a little further. "That was greedy. Selfish."

And there's a hitch in your breath when he says it, because as much as it rankles you to be called that, you know he's right—

"Please," you whine, slick walls clenching tight around him—craving the friction. "Please please please..."

You hoped you’d catch a hitch in his breath at that, something that shows you’re getting somewhere—but he just smiles—and it's a slow, almost cruel smile as his hand slips down to your throat, thumb running over the skin of your neck.

"Much better," he coos, and god it's so condescending you’re back to mentally hexing him. "For your efforts."

And the second he says that—you feel his magic swirling and massaging over your clit.

"Oh god," you manage, half a gasp and half a moan, your eyes squeezed shut. "Oh my god—"

It feels both instantaneous and instant—the wave of pleasure that washes through you at the exact time that the hand around your throat tightens. Another gasp gets stuck in your throat and you want to rock against him but he's holding you in place, and you have to settle for clinging on to his shoulders, clawing at him—

"Eyes open," he rasps, and you do, with an effort, the look on his face almost sinful when you manage to open them—his eyes darkened, watching you intently. "Just like that. Good. No moving."

That simple word—good—does way more to you then it has any right to, and you watch his face as the realization of how much you liked it shows there too.

"Don't be cruel," you whine again, your nails still biting into his shoulders because it's all you have, the only way to anchor yourself. "Tom—fuck—please—"

You see the way a muscle in his jaw clenches for a second—just a second—as if he's biting back a reaction.

"Relax," his hand slips to the back of your head, pulling you to rest your face against his shoulder as he goes back to writing. "I'm almost done here."

You want to make some biting comeback but you can't even think, let alone speak—the pleasure is already at a fever pitch that's almost too much, to the point where you feel like you're trembling, your muscles taut, your thighs clenching, your nails raking desperately up the wool of his sweater.

"Almost?" You manage between gasps as the sensation heightens and you can practically feel your climax prowling near. "You—you said you'd—give me what I want if I asked—"

"You're right," he's hardly focused, as if he can't be bothered in the slightest by your frantic state on his lap. "But I didn't say I'd give it to you now, did I?"

"You bastard," you gasp, your head lolling against the crook of his neck. "You're a fucking—mmffff—god—"

"Poor thing," he responds, all faux-pity as he runs a hand through your hair. "So helpless she's calling me a god."

You roll your eyes with a groan, while he just keeps writing—you can feel yourself trying to rock against him again as the pleasure is building and building and you can't find a balance—

"Tom," you gasp out, but you're not even sure what you're asking for, all you know is that it's him—it’s him and him and him. "Tom—I'm going to—you're going to make me—"

A shudder goes through him at that, barely perceptible, the smallest jerk that you're not sure anyone else would notice but you're so aware of his body and his responses that you'd never miss it—

"Go on." He urges, quietly. "I won't stop you."

You think it's probably the tone in which he says it—half pitying, half condescending—that does you in, and all you can do is bite down on his shoulder, hard, and then you're cumming, almost violently—as if something inside you snaps all at once and you're shaking with it, clawing at him, gasping for air, trying in vain not to make a sound because his dorm is not warded off yet and you're certain the rest of the school would hear if you screamed—

"Mfffff—"

You're clenching, walls fluttering around him as he lets you bite down on his shoulder as hard as you want—the shudder that goes through him at the feeling of your teeth on his skin doesn't go unnoticed, and you wonder if he likes it, if he wants you to mark him just as bad as you want to leave your claim.

"Alright," he purrs when you go limp against him, half slumped over his lap. "Alright. Relax. Good."

You feel utterly boneless and breathless against him, like you've been completely drained out of everything, still shaking a little—he's done this to you in a matter of a few minutes and you feel humiliated by the ease in which he manages it, the control—

"I hate you," you murmur breathlessly, wincing as you feel him—huge and solid, buried inside you—twitch. "Fuck, I hate you."

There’s a low, breathless hum that those words pull from him—and you feel him tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear, before his hand goes back to your throat, tilting your head back up.

"Don't lie," he murmurs, mouthing at your jaw. "You don't."

You're half tempted to argue otherwise, or give him some sort of biting response—but at the feeling of his mouth against your neck, you feel a fresh burst of heat flare up again and you can't seem to fight it—

"No," you breathe out, and you sound almost delirious with it now, too far gone to pretend you have any semblance of control. "I d-don't."

"That's what I thought," he hums, you can feel that smirk on your skin and you hate it and you love it simultaneously, and you wonder how it's possible to feel this many things at once. "You've always been a terrible liar."

Your lips part in response to that, but before you can get words out, he's shifting to resume his writing, and the magic on your clit starts back up again—

"Fuck! Y-you can't be serious," you manage through a mewl, because you're sure you don't have anything left to give—there's no way you can feel it again, much less so soon. "You can't just—"

"I'm not done yet," he replies, simply. "That means you aren't either."

It's almost infuriating, how simple he makes it sound, as if you don't have any say in it, as if he's going to just pull another orgasm out of you the way you'd pull a tissue out of a box—and you want to hate him for it, only you're already going back to being desperate, all your nerve endings on fire again, your fingers clenching uselessly against the dark wool—

"Tommmm" you whine, clenching around him as he twitches inside you, as the stimulation on your clit grows stronger—making your hips jerk, making you lift yourself about an inch up his shaft—just enough to make him groan—

"Fuck."

His fingers immediately fist in your hair, jerking your head back—and you love it, yet hate it, making you hate that you love it—and he makes a low, guttural sound against your neck, almost a growl.

"If you keep that up," you think it might actually be a threat now, because it’s snarled through barred teeth. "I will never finish this."

"That's—that's sort of the point," you gasp out. "I don't care if you don't finish it—I fucking need you—now—"

He makes that guttural sound against your neck again, almost as if he's biting it back—as if he needs the restraint to resist just throwing you onto the desk and having you there—

"Patience," he growls, but you can hear how breathless he is too, now, how affected he is—and that thought makes you feel insane all over again. "You think you deserve to be fucked after what you did? Hm? Slipping me that potion—tying me up—"

"Yes—yes I do—" you don't care that the sound that comes out of your mouth is most definitely a moan, that it's completely pitiful how desperate you are now—you want him, and nothing else matters. "It was just a little potion, it didn't even last that long, you were just mad I made you—"

He shakes his head, telling you without words to shut up.

"Careful," his hand slips from your hair to cover your mouth. "Don't want you to go talking yourself into trouble," his hand tightens a fraction when you try to bite at. "You might end up getting what you don't want."

He shifts under you, making you gasp against his palm, your nails biting into his shoulder as the magic on your clit twirls and swirls with just a little more intensity, enough for you to undeniably feel it—and Tom jerks his hips up into you, just enough for you to feel that, too—

You shake, forcing the words from under his palm. "Tom, please—"

It's not a whine, now—it's a keening, an almost broken sort of plea—but it's as if he doesn't hear it, or maybe he just doesn’t care, because he's continuing to speak in that low, growly rumble against your neck that's just as torturous as everything else.

"You're going to be quiet. You're going to take it," he asserts, and your eyes nearly roll back at the sheer heat of it. "Until I believe you’re deserving of more."

You have no idea if you're nodding or trying to protest, you don't even know which one you want to do because both options sound impossible to you—and you're almost hyperventilating now, the intensity almost too much and not enough all at once—you're desperate, you're aching, you're needy, and then you're falling over the edge—second orgasm shredding through you like lightening—

Oh—fucking hell—

It wrings itself out of you, violent and all consuming, but you can't make a sound—can't do anything except bite down on Tom's hand and clench your eyes shut as you fall apart—your thighs shaking, every muscle taut, your nails clawing desperately at his shoulder.

And he's murmuring things against your neck that you can't make out, holding you against him through it, making you take it in the most exquisite kind of torture—and god, you're certain he must be smiling, you're certain he loves having you like this, a broken mess on his lap, unable to speak, only whimper as he pulls his hand away with a "good girl", and urges your head to rest against his shoulder again as he resumes writing.

For the next solid minute, you still can't speak, just gasp for breath—clinging to him helplessly in the aftershock of it.

"That was two," he says, his hand trailing lazily up and down your spine. "You're in for a long night."

You want to whimper at that, because you're not sure if you can take anything more—

"How many," you manage to breathe out, your voice rasping. "How many more."

"As many as you can take," his voice is so matter-of-fact you know the bastard is smirking. "And possibly a few more after that.”

[sugarlywhispers]

b.katsuki x reader (fem) | quirkless!reader, prohero!dynamight

a.n; I'M IN LOVE WITH THIS IDEA OKAY? I HAVE HAD IT IN MY DRAFTS FOR LIKE A YEAR ALREADY AND I NEED YA'LL TO RANT WITH ME ABOUT THISSSS<3 it's mostly enemies to lovers💕

BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG

"For the love of–... I'M COMING!"

It's Sunday morning. You have been expecting this day to wake up maybe mid-morning, with the gentle warm breeze coming from your open window; have an exquisite brunch that you have been planning and craving since Friday; maybe watch an episode or two of your favorite show before preparing a full spa day, with a long and refreshing bath included. That's how you have planned your Sunday to go.

But no… Apparently, someone's intention was to ruin the whole day for you while their knocks on your door were persistent and annoying at 6 freaking a.m.

You don't think about what you're wearing before stumbling towards the door, with the loud BANGS still sounding. You think of your poor neighbors next door and their newborn baby.

"This little shit," you protest, completely annoyed with this person knocking on your door like someone has died. "Someone better be dead or else…" You open the door in one strong pull and huff utterly annoyed when you encounter the person behind.

Vermillion eyes collide with yours, the intense hate and annoyance so palpable in the air it almost cuts you both.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

He tchs, rolling his eyes at you. The bile travels up through your esophagus, and you want to spit at him.

"Save the greetings, if you know what a decent greeting means… Well, considering how well you just did it, I doubt you fuckin’ know…"

The muscle at your temple twitches so hard, you believe he is actually able to see it. That would explain his upcoming smirk.

"The fuck do you want?" You repeat, not even caring or taking the time to follow this banter with him. You would normally do it, come back at him with a snarky response that would probably hurt his ego and he would answer back making you even angrier, and yada yada, nothing new to this ‘hate x hate’ relationship you had with this man in front of you. But today is not a day you planned on dealing with Bakugou-annoying ass-Katsuki.

He looks down at his hands, his fingers fidgeting a bit with the buttons on his all-black suit jacket you just now noticed he is wearing. Interesting; he never uses formal suits like this one if it isn't for a Hero Gala, and that was only once a year. Or that one time you remember he had to apologize to citizens through a TV interview with Deku because of a villain attack in Hokkaido they couldn't quite contain on time and caused a lot of material damage. You shake your head coming back to the present. Pro Hero Dynamight, a.k.a. Bakugou-annoying ass-Katsuki is standing right at your door, looking a bit nervous while playing with the buttons of his jacket, furrowing his eyebrows like he is angry even at the air he breathes.

You could have expected anything from this unpredictable man who infuriated you almost twenty-four hours a day, the seven days of the whole week. However, you were not expecting at all the words that come from his mouth after he looks up again and his eyes lock with yours.

"Fucking marry me."

Your eyes open wide. And the only thing you think of doing is punching him. And you do.

Your hands close in tight fists, and before saying anything, you punch his shoulder as strongly as you can with one. You know for sure your small and useless fist won't do any damage to this hulk of a man, but the meaning behind it it's what matters.

He simply looks at you in disbelief. "Ouch?" He smirks. He fucking smirks at you, and this time you punch his stomach, which does make him grunt and hover a bit in pain.

You attempt to close the door right at his face, but he suddenly pushes it with his hand and makes you waver a bit back, holding yourself on the door handle. He stands straight again, retrieving his hand from the door when he realizes he used more force than intended to prevent you from closing the door.

"I- umm- Shit, sorry, I didn't-..." 

You raise a hand to stop him from talking.

"Just fucking tell me what you want, so I can go back to bed and not see your ugly face for the rest of my day."

You watch in satisfaction how his face contours into full rage. And this time you smirk. 

"I fucking hate you…" He spits, and you bat your lashes at him while smiling.

"Ah, the feeling is mutual, baby."

Bakugou takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and holding himself on the door frame with strength. You're sure his hand shape will print on it, and you get more annoyed –if that's possible, but you have already learned that when Bakugou was involved, the anger was immeasurable– thinking that you will have to hire someone to fix that.

"I fucking hate you," he repeats through his teeth with his eyes still closed, but then he opens them, and his entire face changes into something you never expected to see. He looks at you, begging, "But I need you to marry me."

You look… perplexed. Again, never in your life have you ever come across the thought that those words would ever come from the man in front of you, much less towards you.

You open your mouth to say something, but the neighbor from the apartment in front of yours opens his door, standing there with his arms crossed and looking menacingly.

"Everything okay, Y/N?" His deep baritone voice asks. Bakugou turns his head and when he sees him, stands straight, head held high and you can imagine the type of defying expression on his face.

You roll your eyes. Men.

"Yes, Arisu, everything is fine. He's… a… friend," the word stung your tongue because you couldn't consider Bakugou that, even though you shared the same group of friends. But it wouldn't have been good having these two fight over something you still didn't understand what was happening; the thought of who of these two hulk men would win still was entertaining to think about. Your money was on Arisu, of course.

"Alrigh’," Arisu says, looking at Bakugou up and down before retrieving himself back into his apartment.

"The fuck this fucking extra-..." You stop Bakugou from turning and going towards Arisu by holding his arm and pulling him towards you.

"Stop it. Come inside," you demand, pulling him as he watches your hand around his bicep, "before any of my neighbors file a complaint against me thanks to your fucking loud mouth."

Bakugou grunts at your words as he lets you pull him inside. When you close the door and turn to him, you realize how big he looks in your small apartment, where there is barely space between the living room and the kitchen and two doors, one leads to your bedroom and the other to the bathroom. You want to laugh at how uncomfortable he looks.

You take a deep breath, scratching your forehead to regain a bit of patience –which was non-existent whenever Bakugou was around.

"Okay, now, explain to me what the hell is wrong with you."

"Nothing is wrong with me. More like what's wrong with you and this small thing you call apartment… When did you-..."

"Bakugou! I didn't invite you in for you to start insulting my living space!" You say more exasperated by every second he is in there. "Tell me what the hell happened to you! Why did you come here, almost tearing down the door of my place at 6 in the fucking morning, annoying even my neighbors, and then you fucking propose out of nowhere!"

His lips are held in a tight line as he watches you almost yell at him, hands opening and closing anxiously. There is silence for a couple of minutes before he says, "My father died."

You gasp, taking a step back. Wow. That's something you were not expecting at all. You get now why the black suit. And now that you look at him better, his eyes look glassy and reddish –probably thanks to how much he's holding himself back from showing any other emotion that isn't anger. And that's… sad.

Your arms immediately hug yourself, one hand settling over your chest. "I- I'm sorry…"

"Don't be," he turns a bit to the left, facing the kitchen to avoid looking at you. "Fucker was a right pain in the ass."

You choke on the laugh that almost escapes you at his words, and after you clear your throat you murmur, "Sorry." He looks at you a bit amused, the right corner of his mouth lifted a bit at your reaction.

You sigh again after a few seconds of silence, "Bakugou, what does that have to do with you asking me to-...”

"My great-grandparents are-were the funders and CEOs of TCA Technologies Corp.," your eyes open wide at the name of the prestigious company that had been ground-breaking in the creation and use of robots, before being the number one seller of technology materials to support heroes. They were high class in society, civilians and heroes. "Yeah, that's the face every extra makes," he smirks when you stick your tongue out at him.

He then looks at you up and down and immediately looks away, clearing his throat in a clear gesture of shyness. You frown confused.

"Fucking go put some clothes on."

That's when you remember you had no pants, no bra, and an old shirt that barely covered your panties. Fuck. You almost run towards your room to get changed. All of this had to be a dream… or a nightmare.

Your Sunday was entirely ruined. You know that for sure.

After you change to decent, more covered clothing, leggings and a big shirt that almost reached your knees –it is Sunday, dammit, and the hell you are gonna dress up for Bakugou Katsuki– you walk again towards the living room where you left said asshole waiting for you there. He is now sitting on your couch, his suit jacket lying over the back of it. His elbows are resting over his knees, his hands holding his head. You have never encountered a tired Bakugou, yet here he is. Looking beaten and down.

He looks up at you when he hears you approach him; his eyes are more reddish than before, kind of like when you want to cry but don't let yourself do it. That made you feel bad for thinking about him as an asshole.

"What took you so long, short-legs? Whatever you wear, you'll still stink and look ugly on it."

Nope. He is and will always be a stupid asshole.

You roll your eyes grunting as you let yourself fall on the couch, as far away from him as you can on that three-people couch, crossing your legs under you.

"Spit it out, asshole. What's all this about?"

He sighs, "My father inherited it all after my grandfather died. His whole life had been that stupid company, his and my mother's. I don't give a fuck about it, but the old hack insists that I- ow!"

You pinch him on the shoulder this time, knowing very well that if you had punched him he wouldn't have felt anything. But pinching… he did feel that.

"What the fuck was that for?!"

"Don't call your mom like that, idiot!"

"Fucking piss off, you know shit! The old hack is an old hack, she deserves the title."

You shake your head in disagreement but decide to leave that topic there considering how affected he looks by it.

"The old hack said," he simply repeats that to spite you, and you really want to punch him, "that I need to step up and be fucking CEO of that bullshit, or…"

He looks at you, and you gulp, kind of understanding where this is going.

"Or get married." You finish the sentence, crossing your arms over your chest, "But why? Those two options are completely different from one another."

"The sky will fucking fall the day I understand any-fucking-thing that comes out of her mouth. She's nuts!" He protests, arms exaggerating his words as he opens them wide, evidently showing how much stress he has, before laying back on the couch, head resting over the back of it where his jacket is. He sighs long and deeply before talking again, "My great-grandmother had a strong Quirk, but she decided to stay at home instead of being a Hero. Those were other times, ya'know?"

"I know History of Heroes, Bakugou. I'm not stupid."

He looks at you again, this time genuinely surprised, "I, umm, thought you-..."

"Have you ever thought that despite not having a Quirk, I know about heroes?"

He tchs, "No wonder why you and shitty Deku are such shitty nerds."

You roll your eyes for the eleventh time that morning, "Get to the point, shitty asshole."

Bakugou scoffs, clearly holding back a retort to answer back, then he continues, "I'm the first in generations with a strong, hero-level Quirk. Most of my family had decided to live as civilians, building this stupid company from generation to generation."

"Oh, and you are the first actual Hero in the family. You are the first one to choose differently…"

He nods in response, "It almost gave my grandfather a heart attack. Ever since my Quirk woke up, I knew what I wanted," he looks back at you, and for the first time, you admit to yourself that you're curious of knowing what he wants, what goes through his head, so you nod allowing him to continue, "I want to be a Number One Hero. I want to kick villains' asses as much and as hard as I can for as long as my stupid aging bones allow me to."

The intensity in his eyes and conviction in every word he spoke made you feel his passion. And that was… new.

"But to be that, I can't afford to waste time in falling in love and all that bullshit…"

"Then say no to your mom and the company," you offer as a solution. He snorts letting his head fall back against the couch.

"You know shit…" He shakes his head, "There's a requirement in every hero company, it says that a familiar, or a spouse if the hero is married, has to validate your mental sanity alongside a doctor to keep working as a Hero."

"I… didn't know that."

"Of course not, short-legs. You're not a hero, why would you know?"

"So, if I… If we get married-..." he nods in confirmation even before you say the words. But he says them.

"The old hag won't have to validate my status as Hero anymore, and she won't have anything to hold me back from sending her and the company to hell."

You looked serious at him, "Bakugou, you and I don't like each other. You hate me and I hate you. And you want to put your Hero status in my hands by marrying me?" You say in disbelief, almost anxious about the whole meaning of this. You stand up and walk from one side to the other as you keep talking, "Why? Because your inner kid is in rebellious tantrum mode and does not want to take the responsibility to-..."

"Shut the fuck up! You. Know. Shit!" He also stood up, shortening the distance between you two in the small living room.

"Then tell me! Explain it to me! Cause to me you only sound like a spoiled brat who doesn't want his veggies for lunch."

He looks you right in the eye, hands almost trembling in fists beside his body, and then he drops the bomb.

"My mother killed my grandfather."

You recoil a step back, "What?"

He sighs, hands and fingers running through his hair, clearly uncomfortable, "I-... There is no proof, no solid proof about it. I just- I know it was her." Again, the conviction in his eyes made you believe him. "My mother wanted the money, the luxury life being with my dad could bring her. But my dad had a brother, an older brother."

"Had?"

Bakugou simply shakes his head, "The idiot got himself in between a shooting from two villain groups. He was shot only once, and it killed him. A fucking looser…" 

You try, you really tried not to smile but failed miserably. "You are the idiot," you say fighting back the chuckle.

He smiles back, "No, I got shot several times, I even got thrown at and through walls, and I'm very much fucking alive. I'm no weak ass looser as him."

You can't stop laughing, Bakugou definitely is an idiot.

He waits until you're done laughing before continuing, "Even then, my grandfather didn't think my dad was capable of handling the company and all it meant, so he was thinking about giving it to one of his nephews. That's when, I fuckin’ know, my mother took matters into her own hands. I'm an only child. If I say no…"

"The company has to go to another familiar..." Everything washes clear now in your head, “And your mom won't allow that to happen. So she’ll lie and say you aren’t sane enough to keep working as a hero,” Bakugou keeps nodding, confirming everything you’re saying.

“That way, I’m obligated to work at the company.”

Your hand travels from your forehead and brushes your hair back. “She wouldn’t that… She’s your mom, Bakugou...”

“Haven’t you heard a fucking thing I said? She fucking killed my grandfather so the company was legally inherited by my father! Therefore, she could hold all the rights, all the stupid money! My father was a fucking dimwit who believed every-fucking-thing my mother said. She controlled him as she pleased.”

You gasp as another realization hits you, “That’s why you are an asshole to her…”

“She can fool anyone, but not me.” He declares, standing tall and proud. “I have never played her game, and I fuckin’ never will.”

You hug yourself once more, taking some minutes to assimilate all the confessions he just dropped on you. Everything feels like a script of a freaking movie or something. And there are too many questions you want to ask. But there’s only one thing you mostly don’t understand and you need the answer to.

So you look back at him, head tilting up a bit due to the height difference between you, and ask, “Why me?”

Bakugou does not hesitate in his answer. 

“You’re strong, despite not having a Quirk. And smart. You don’t let anyone dictate what you can or cannot do,” he takes a step closer, his eyes never leaving yours, “You have never backed down from a discussion, with me or anyone else. You don’t let anybody step on you, holding tight to your convictions and beliefs.”

You visibly gulp, feeling a little warmth in your cheeks that makes you want to look elsewhere, but you don't. You hold the connection between your eyes like dear life. And he smiles, the left corner of his mouth raising a bit.

“You have a fuckin’ strong character, you won't even shy down from me,” you suddenly feel the back of his index finger caress the right side of your jaw, where lays an old scar he perfectly recognized.

It was the scar he accidentally left when you were younger, stupider. He had picked a fight with another newbie hero –another asshole in your opinion– who kept talking shit about his other newbie hero friends. Bakugou had snapped when the guy mocked the word “whore” towards you. You have tried to separate them, earning yourself a punch on the right side of your face by this same man that has touched the reminder of that old memory.

“But above all that…” It’s his turn to gulp, eyes going up and down through your face. Is he… Is he looking at your lips? “You are kind. You care about everyone. You always try to solve everything for everyone –that’s fuckin’ annoying actually.”

You open your mouth to swear at him, stupid asshole; but he doesn’t give you time to say anything. “What I’m trying to fuckin’ say is–” he takes a deep breath, “You are… good. A good person. And you… You understand m- us.”

Was he going to say ‘me’? By ‘us’, you know he means heroes.

Your parents had been heroes before they died. Unfortunately, you were born Quirkless, so the dream of following your parents' path was decided the same day you were welcomed into this world. You have already made peace with this idea, it didn’t hurt like it used to when you were young. Despite not having a Quirk, you specialized in Quirk and training analysis, which granted you a job that most Hero Agencies wanted you for. Hence also how now your group of friends involved all heroes.

However, one thing is working with them, working with Bakugou Katsuki, a.k.a. Pro Hero Dynamight, who was the biggest pain in your ass you have ever had since the day you met him. Another completely different is actually marrying the pain in your ass.

You sigh, “I don’t–...”

“What? You want me to fuckin’ beg? ‘Cause I fuckin’ will…” Bakugou takes a step back and literally kneels before you. You protest, grabbing his forearm and pulling him back up, but he doesn’t let you move him even a millimeter. “What do you want? Whatever you want is yours. We can even sign a dam contract if you so want, I don’t fuckin’ care what it is. Whatever you want, it’s yours.”

“This is not a fucking joke, Bakugou. You are asking me to marry you. What if I have a boyfriend? You didn’t even fucking ask!”

His eyes open wide, surprised. “Do you?”

You roll your eyes, releasing an exasperated sigh. “No! I don’t!”

“Then, what are you bitching about?”

You groan. “I’m bitching about the fact that I don’t know why would you put a whole big deal on me when we hate each other!”

“I trust you.”

It’s a short answer, his expression is even so neutral and sure that leaves you perplexed. Surprised at how easily he said those words.

“We don’t like each other…”

“I don’t need to like you to trust you, idiot.” It feels like he’s mocking you, but one look into his eyes and what he is saying actually feels right. He is completely sure of what he is saying. “I would even fuckin’ trust you with my life.”

He already does. Every day, at work.

Still, you can’t pass the opportunity to piss him off. “Wow. That’s deep, buddy.”

“Fuck you.”

Mission accomplished.

You laugh gently, looking at him still kneeling on the floor of your living room. The sight in itself is a miracle. A sight you won't get to see ever again from this man. But it’s not the image of his kneeling position that makes you take the decision.

It’s his eyes.

They are screaming, desperately begging for you to help him. And, damn it, he is right; you always are at the disposal of everyone when they need your help. Fuck! It is actually very annoying –but you will never admit that out loud, especially not to him.

You close your eyes, head tilting back, and take a long, deep breath.

You are so going to regret this.

“Fine, I’ll do it.”

Bakugou Katsuki immediately stands up and practically throws himself at you, his whole hulk of a body surrounding you in what you have never thought would ever happen between you two: a hug.

Are you though?

[seilon]

wow ok that’s the quickest I’ve ever had my application thrown out. super cool