#i get it you're trying to use offensive language to make a point but its

[cinemastyles-backup]

Summary: Y/n meets Harry at a frat party and it goes.. well?

Warnings: SMUT18+, strong language, weed smoking, alcohol consumption, unprotected sex, oral (both), hair pulling, choking, etc. just filth

My original CinemaStyles-blog has been terminated, so I created a new one.

"Come on, y/n. Its not everyday that we get invited to the one and only Alpha Pi Kappa." My best friend, Margo says as she pulls on my arm, "Come on. Please." She gets down besides me and sticks out her lip, "Please?"

I sigh, "Isn't their dumbass leader Harry?"

She raises her eye brows and smirks, "Yes it is."

I roll my eyes, "No."

"No? How could you say no to .." she gets on her phone and taps before flipping it around towards me, "This." Her screen shows Harry, shirtless, at the beach with his other numbskull buddies.

I smirk slightly and shake my head, "Yeah he's hot. Okay, I'll give him that, but if you're not a popular girl or super hot like him, he won't think twice about you."

"That's why we get hot! Now come on." She stands up and opens the closet, "Pick something. My selection of party wear is way better than yours.. no offense."

I laugh knowing she's right.

"Okay fine." I sigh and get up from my bed, "Oh. This little black dress is cute. I think it'll go good with those red heels I have."

She nods vigorously, "Yes yes yes!"

— — —

My heels clack against the road as we quickly cross with a group of people - all going to the same place we are.

I wrap my arms around myself trying to contain everything. My boobs are about to bust out of this dress.

The music is so loud I can hear it from down the street.

There's people hanging around outside, someone is behind held up doing a keg stand and the bystanders are chanting "Chug! Chug! Chug!"

I chuckle and look around for Margo.

"Hey." She comes up behind me, "Ready? Harry is inside. I wanna get a good look at him." She winks at me and heads for the steps.

I follow after her. She stops as we get inside, looking around in awe. "This is awesome! I'm going to get us a drink!" She yells over the music bumping.

I nod and walk over to a non crowded corner.

My eyes scan the room.

No, I'm not looking for Harry per say, but if he come into my line of vision, I wouldn't mind it. I only ever spoke to him once and he seemed higher than a kite. He bumped into me and didn't even apologize.

Asshole.

Margo comes up to me and hands me a solo cup containing a mystery beverage, "What is this?"

"I don't know, I told the guy making the drinks to make me something good." She goes to drink her concoction but I stop her, "Did you watch him make these? He didn't spike them did he?"

"Oh my god, Thea. Stop worrying so much. Just shut up and drink." She chugs her drink and throws her cup on the floor, "You're not done? Come on, I want to dance!"

I sigh and swirl the liquid around before downing it.

"Oh my god." I try not to gag, "That was so gross."

She grabs my hand, "Come on. Harry is over here. Let's give him a show." She drags me through the crowd of people, planting us directly in the middle.

She starts to move her body against mine. Her hands sliding down my sides. I slowly start to get into it, my hands dragging across hers, turning around to face her.

"He's watching." I see her lips mouth. She points to the left of us and there stands Harry with a bunch of guys and girl, his arm slung over the one red head.

I clench my jaw at the site.

Is it because I hate him? Is it because I'm jealous?

Honestly, I have no idea.

I look away from him but I can feel his stare on me. I bite my lip and start to get into dancing with Margo more. I turn her around and grab her hips as she grinds back onto me.

I flip my hair and slide my hand down her back, glancing over at Harry who now is standing up straight with his arms crossed.

I turn Margo around and I do to her what she did to me. When I look back, Harry's gone.

"Mind if I cut in?" A tall blonde asks slipping between us, "Sure." I smile slightly but that fades as he chooses to dance with Margo.

I stand there, looking around to see if anyone wants to dance with me. I quickly move off the dance floor and go back to my corner. My insecurities fighting their way to the surface.

I shouldn't have worn this dress. I should have just stayed home. I shouldn't be here.

"Hey pretty lady." A guy slams into the wall next to me, "What are y-ou doing all alone?" I lean away from him, "Too drunk. Nope." I go to walk away but he grabs my wrist and pulls me to him.

I yank my wrists but his grip is too tight for me to break free, "Don't be like that, baby." He leans in to try and kiss me but is shoved and he bounces off the wall onto the floor.

"She said no."

I look up to see Harry standing there. He looks over at me, "I told them not to let this shit head in anymore." He looks down at 'shit head' and moves his arm with his shoe, "Get out."

The guy gets up quickly and stumbles towards the door.

Harry looks over at me, "You alright?" I nod, "Um, yeah. I'm good." He nods, "You smoke?"

"Smoke what?" I ask, my innocence really showing.

He laughs and nods towards the stairs, "Come on." He starts to walk away and my legs automatically follow him.

As I follow him, I watch as his arm flexes with each grab of the railing. I think to myself how it would feel gripping my hair as I-

I'm lost in my thoughts that I didn't realize he stopped, "Oops. Sorry." I mumble as I step back from him.

"You're good. Here." He point to a door, "Come on." He opens the door and lets me walk in first. There's two guys sitting in low lounge chairs across from each other.

"What's up, Styles?" The one says holding out the, what I'm guessing is a blunt. Harry takes it and brings it up to his lips. I watch him as he slowly exhales the smoke.

My eyes go to the floor as he looks over at me, "This is y/n." I look up at the guys and hold my hand up, "Hi."

"This is Zayn and this is Louis." Harry walks over and plops down onto the third lounger, "Come here." I slowly walk over to him and he holds his hand out, "Sit."

"On your lap?" I whisper to him. He smirks and nods, "Only if you want to." I nod once before sliding onto his legs. He wraps an arm around my back to support me and lays the other one over my thighs.

"This party is getting boring." He states as he takes the blunt from, I think Louis.

"Yeah, that's why we're up here." Zayn laughs, "Too many people. I'm over it."

Louis agrees, "Totally. So y/n, you go to school here?" I turn my head to look at him and nod with a smile, "Yeah."

Harry nudges me and I look over and down at his hand. Between his ring covered fingers is the blunt with a line of smoke coming from it, "Want a hit?"

I slowly reach up and take the object into my own fingers and bring it up to my lips.

"Now you might cou-"

I cut Harry off with a vicious cough. I bring my arm up and cover my mouth with my elbow, "Oh god." I place my hand on my chest and calm down.

"Here love." Louis sets a water bottle into Harry's hand, "You ever smoke before?"

I shake my head, slightly embarrassed.

"Well congratulations, we just took your stoner virginity." Zayn smiles as he take a hit, "Welcome to the club."

I smile and look down at the blunt before taking another hit. This time I don't cough.

"Hold it for a few seconds before exhaling." Harry says watching me, "It'll feel so good." He lightly squeezes my thigh and I swallow anxiously.

I start to feel dizzy almost, but it's a good kind of dizzy.

"Do you guys do this all the time?" I giggle, "This is awesome."

"She's feeling good." Louis chuckles, "Oh to be a new stoner and not have to smoke so much."

I zone out of their conversation and turn my head to look at Harry. He has his head tilted back as he takes another hit. He opens his eyes and I smile at him when he looks at me.

He reaches up and grabs my chin, pulling me to him. His lips brush against mine, "Open and inhale." He says while holding in his breathe.

I do as he says and he exhales the smoke into my mouth. I hold it for a few seconds before exhaling the excess.

"Now that, my dear, is called shotgunning." Louis says proudly, "That's one of my favorite thing to do."

I keep my eyes on Harry as he brings the blunt to my lips. I wrap my lips around and close my eyes as I feel the smoke hit my throat. I tilt my head back and look down at Harry with a smirk.

He stay still but parts his lips, indicating he wants me to come to him. I lean down and press my lips to his before I lean back and blow the smoke into his mouth.

He shakes his head slightly with a smirk. His hand slides up and down my back and I feel it leave for a split second before it's right back to where it was.

"We're going to be right back." Zayn and Louis get up and leave the room.

"How do you feel?" Harry whispers lowly, "You look like you feel good."

I bite my lip at his words and nod slowly, "Why don't you find out." I shock myself with how confident I sounded just now, but I'm going to roll with it.

I shift so I'm straddling him, "That's why you brought me up here isn't it?" He raise show eye brows and tilts his head, "One of the reasons."

"Oh, okay. So why don't we just focus on the one reason now, and we can worry about the other ones after, yeah?" I watch as his lips curl into a smile and his perfect teeth pull his bottom lip between them.

Without another word spoken, he grabs the back of my neck and pulls me towards him, his lips attacking mine. I let out a slight whimper as his teeth sink down into my lip.

"You like that?" He asks lowly.

"Mhm." I lean back in and continue making out with him. His hands push my dress up and hie slips his fingers into the band of my panties, "These are mine now."

I nod and help him get them off. He stuff them into his pocket before his hand goes back to in between my legs, "Fuck. You're soaked already."

"I kept thinking about you." I whimper as he plays with my clit.

"Thinking about what?" He asks, watching my face twitch with pleasure, "Tell me and I'll give you more."

"You. Your cock." I gasp as he slides a finger up and down my slit, feeling how wet I am for him.

"What about my cock?" He circles around my opening and goes back to my clit, repeating the action until I answer.

"How good you'd feel in my pussy. My throat. Everywhere." I moan and tilt my head back as he slips a finger in, his rings pushing against my skin.

"Your throat huh? Are you giving me permission?" He brings a hand up and rubs his thumb over my lips and chin, "I'd love to fuck that gorgeous mouth of yours."

I wrap my lips around his thumb and nod as I look into his eyes.

His lips part as I suck and grind my hips on his hand.

"You dirty girl, fucking yourself on my fingers." He leans up and nips my chin, "I'll give you something better here in a little bit, hmm." He plants kisses along my jaw as he slips in another finger.

I moan and arch my back, pushing my hips down onto his fingers more, "Harry." I whimper gripping his shoulders, "I want more."

Without any hesitation, he gets a third inside me and I moan louder, "Fuck." He smirks and lets me grind on his hand, watching me.

"That's it, that's a good girl. You gunna cum for me? I can feel you tightening around my fingers." He whispers into my ear, "Be a good girl and cum for me."

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Harry." I reach down to grab his wrist, rocking my hips a little fast, "I'm gunna cum, oh fuck."

I tighten my thighs and throw my head back with a loud gasp. He tilts my head back to him and kisses me as I come down from my high, "You wanna taste yourself?"

I nod and stick my tongue out. He pulls his fingers out of my pussy slowly and brings them up, "Look at how wet you are, fuck." He inspects them and then lays them on my tongue.

I wrap my lips around them, sucking and swirling my tongue to get every part of his fingers I can.

He moan as he watches my actions, "You're so hot." He pulls his fingers out, "Let me fuck that mouth, baby."

I get off of him and he stands up, taking off his clothes, leaving him naked in front of me. His body is perfectly chiseled and his tattoos make it a thousand times better.

"Take your dress off, I need to see all of you." He starts to pump his cock as I slip out of my dress. I go to take my heel off but he stops me, "Leave 'em on."

I nod and get into my knees, "Fuck I can't wait to feel you gag on my cock." He says as he walks over to me. I look up at him and gently place my hands on his thighs.

"If I get to rough just tap me." He brushes my hair back and holds it into a ponytail. He brushes his cock against my lips and I open, tasting his leaking precum on my tongue.

He moans at the licks of my tongue, "Fuck." I start to bob my head before I push myself all the way down onto him, getting my breathing under control fairly quick.

He tightens his grip on my hair and starts to thrust in and out of my mouth, moaning and cursing with each thrust.

I can feel my eyes start to water and I blink, causing tears to fall down my cheeks. He pulls out and brings me up to my feet. He wipes away my tears and my smile at him, "Don't worry. They're good tears."

He smirks and kisses me again, backing me up until my legs hit the bed, the kiss getting hotter by the second.

"How do you want me to fuck you?" He whispers as he kisses down my neck and chest. He lays me back and kisses down my stomach and over my hips. He looks up at me, waiting for an answer.

I look down at him, "Hard and fast. Don't take it easy on me."

He smirks at my words and spreads my legs, "You're dripping for me, baby. Fuck." He leans in and licks a strip up my pussy and sucks on my clit. I gasp and arch my back off the bed, "Oh fuck."

He grips my hips to keep them on the bed and starts attacking my opening with his tongue. I reach down and tangle my fingers into his curly hair, pulling as he starts to vigorously eat me out.

"H-Harry.." I whimper and gasp as I can feel him bringing me towards my second orgasm of the night, "please don't stop. Please don't stop." I chant over and over, "fuck."

I let out a pleasured scream as Harry continues to eat me out through my high.

He pulls away and crawls up my tired body. He kisses me, shoving his tongue against mine so I can taste myself on him.

"Don't you taste good baby?" He groans as he slides his cock against my wet pussy, "I can't wait to feel inside of you."

I pull him closer to me and continue to kiss him.

The kiss is broken by both of us gasping as he slides into me, bottoming out right away.

"Oh shit. You're so fucking tight and wet, fuck." He curses in a deep groan.

"Fuck Harry I need you to move, please fuck me." I beg desperately.

He sits up, gripping my hips so hard his rings will leave bruises. He pins my hips down and starts to thrusts, not giving me a moment to prepare.

I let out a pleasured scream.

"That's if baby. Let everyone know how good I make you feel." He groans, "Fuck. Let your friend know that I'm fucking you instead of her."

I completely forgot about Margo, but I really don't care right now either.

"Harry. Harry. Fuck, Harry." I moan loudly, desperately trying to grip the sheets for leverage, "Fuckfuckfuck." I arch my back off the bed and moan.

"God damn. You're incredible." He praises, "Fuck."

He brings his thumb to my clit, viciously rubbing circles onto it.

I cum again, clenching around him as I arch and twist my body off the, now, sweaty sheets.

"Mm, fuck." Harry pulls out and I can feel his string of cum land on my stomach, "Shitshitshit." He pants quickly, "Fuck."

I lay there breathing heavy with my eyes closed for a few minutes until Harry comes back and wipes off the cum.

He plops down next to me and looks over at me as he brings one arm up behind his head, "Come here." He extends his free arm, inviting me to lay with him.

"You good?" He asks still breathing kinda heavy. I nod, "Oh yeah. I'm good."

He rubs my arm with his hand and I lay there listening to him breathe, "So how do you know who I am?"

He chuckles, "I've known who you are since the day I ran into you by accident."

I smile, "Really?"

"Yeah, I was so caught of guard by how pretty you were I panicked and all I could get out was-"

"Watch where you're going." I say with him.

He laughs, "Ha. Yeah. Exactly. You remember that?" I nod, "You really don't forget when Harry Styles bumps into you and doesn't apologize even though it's his fault." I giggle and poke his chest.

"Yeah. Yeah, sorry about that." He kisses my head and pulls me closer to him. "This probably isn't the best time, but would you want to go on a date with me?"

I smirk and look up at him, "Only if you roll another blunt for us."

He smiles and nods, "Deal."

——

Likes and reblogs are majorly appreciated and don’t forget to hit follow!

[thecoolerliauditore]

It might be a point of priviledge on my part, but I haven't really noticed the colorism.... situation? Does it qualify as a problem? Before. Like. C!Scar is very much white to me but he's just tan like a surfer dude to me. He's a california dude and spends a lot of time in the sun. Maybe he has a hispanic grandpa, who knows.

I guess it is a good thing to stay mindful about. Even if it does scare me away a little from drawing poc characters because I as a white cracker don't wanna misrepresent ethnicities

So this ask is interesting to me and I want to make it very clear here that I'm not trying to make fun of anon, as much as point out some things here that I find worth pulling apart:

(it might help to read this reblog)

One is that while this may not be a direct response to my post, I remember making doubly sure when I made it that I made it as clear as possible I didn't want to frame it as a "fandom issue" as much as a consequence of colorism that I've noticed pop up in a fandom context.

I think culturally we're so fixated on making ourselves perfectly inoffensive, that pointing out any implication of any "-ism" in our art comes with an expectation that it's always going to be followed up with a rallying for "fixing" it or a shaming for it existing in the first place, that it may be having the opposite effect where people no longer want to discuss or interact with these things in the long run at all. As you have mentioned with the discouragement of drawing non-white characters.

This is an attitude that I find. A little troubling of recent, one of the few times I blocked someone over a fandom take was when I found a very passive aggressively worded post telling beginner artists to not share their Bigb art if they don't know how to draw black people well enough. That is ludicrous to me, how good is good enough? How will you ever get feedback if your art never sees the light of day? Why are you actively discouraging people from celebrating a black creator? etc.

It's interesting to me that every other hallmark of beginner artists are seen as endearing if not a little "cringe" but struggling with certain ethnic features that have been historically left out of or portrayed offensively in media for years is seen as some sort of moral failing on the artist's part.

So to answer your question of "does it qualify as a problem?" I answer: that's up for you to decide. I'm simply pointing out a trend I've noticed and hinting at its roots in colorism.

Second is the description of Scar, specifically "maybe he has a hispanic grandpa" because I'm not sure if you're aware, anon, but that is more or less Bdubs' genetic makeup if we believe what he says in that one stream clip and his Assyrian roots are the entire reason people take Bdubs whitewashing much more seriously than Joel/Skizz/Scar whitewashing.

It's partially what I hinted at in the original post as well, that Skizz for example is White by modern standards (probably. afaik) but his skintone is visibly more olive irl, hence why I believe the language we use for race is flawed in general.

So the questions I'm proposing are: why is it offensive to whitewash Bdubs, but not Skizz, when the only big difference between the two is 1. a pfp and 2. OUR views on what "counts" as white (not theirs, as demonstrated by Bdubs himself and his mid-stream race crisis)? Does whiteness make one immune to the effects of colorism? What is "whiteness", how do we define it? Does that definition change when it comes to interpreting characters?

These are all questions that I believe are unnecessary, but good to ponder.

For those uninitiated though, I think it might be better for now to simply draw as you see fit and look into the concept of white guilt, as well as its counter-productivity when it comes to working towards racial harmony. And please, for the love of god, keep making imperfect art.

[damnfandomproblems]

Okay, it may be time for another one of these sort of inbox reply compilation posts, regarding the same post Problem #5168 and the ensuing reply exchange.

One more reply from the OP of #5168, responding to this ask:

Being passive aggressive and acting superior is ALSO rude. Therefore, since it was done in reply to my submission, i have every right to swear and tell that person where they can shove it. Im not trying to say you cant give me what i give you. Swear at me too if you want. Idgaf. I just refuse to be told how to speak. People wanna act like they no longer take me seriously because i swear, but decide to argue with me and tell me they dont like that i swear. Make it make sense. idk why I'm being singled out lol. Maybe because I'm actually responding to it. Hardly do i ever curse at people. I didnt call anyone a bitch or use any particularly offensive language or anything. All my cursing in my submission was used to express my anger with the exception of telling vague people to fuck off. I swore only 8 times. Yet the first anon that submission got acted like it was truly difficult for their pure, swearword free mind to read. Like seriously how does cursing and being angry make something "hard to read"? They must have a hard time reading everything here. Honestly i think they should look to read somewhere else because this blog is all about people's problems. Everyone's angry about something or another. Ig my submission was just tooo angry for people. Guess i crossed a line by being angry and cursing in my submission. Its such a stupid thing to argue about too cuz most of these people agree to some extent but for some reason they just cant handle me being upset? I can't wrap my head around why they care so damned much about whether or not an argument has swearwords or not. There's literally no need for me to censor myself here.

And a few others' replies, regarding this exchange.

Anon:

My dude, you're accusing others of missing the point, yet in your very first paragraph you're already going on about "professionalism" when that's not what anyone else was talking about. You're putting words in their mouths.

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Anon:

This is becoming such a strange conversation... Even if someone is being passive aggressive and or a dick to you, stooping to their level and then some by telling them to shove a post up their ass is just childish. Secondly, are you willingly ignoring how that anon pointed out that nobody cared if you responded "professionally", it was about just doing the bare minimum? "Professional" is a pretty wild word to use, nobody was suggesting you have to sound like you're working as a bank teller. Maybe the other anon pulled something out of their ass but where did "professional" come from but your own ass...? I don't know, just reading this whole thing is just perplexing me. ^^;;;

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Anon:

Can the two people arguing through the askbox get a room already

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Anon:

So this whole "fuck" debacle is happening, and I can't stop laughing because all I can think of is this scene: https://youtu.be/PmCLeTqD4hY?feature=shared&t=44

(It is a YouTube link to a clip from the South Park Movie)

[cattaliatayuun]

Alright back to fluff for the soul. Yes I write two things and two things ever (fluff and angst), and no, none of them are ever substantial beyond quick one shots XD If it ain't broke, don't fix it!

FFXIV Write Day 25- Perpetuity

No warnings except for like. Borderline candy sweet fluff, I guess. Cavity achingly sweet on occasion but yeah Zero connection to MSQ. Feat. mine and my boyfriend's WoLs :3

---

"Li,-"

"Not my name."

A quick laugh escaped Dev at how quickly he was cut off. He leaned back on the couch, peering over its back to look across the lounge at Cattalia.

They'd slowly been making progress on decorating this room, and despite it still being partially empty, it was already feeling like home. A square of couches on one side for a sitting area, a piano and some awaiting empty space on the other, with a simple bar between them, tucked against wall.

Awash in the warm glow of the chandelier overhead, Cattalia flipped through a furniture catalog, eyeing the empty space next to the piano in hopes that something might jump out at her-- metaphorically speaking.

"What! All the Scions get to call you Tali, but I'm not allowed my own nickname for you?" Dev complains, feigning offense despite the wide smirk on his face. Cattalia scoffs, turning to raise a teasing brow back at him, barely managing to stifle a laugh as she saw his upside-down face half hanging over the back of the couch.

"That includes you, y'know. Besides-" She closes the book, hands resting on her hips with a huff. "You have an entire language of words to pick from, couldn't you pick your own pet name?"

Dev vanishes from Cattalia's sight, slumping longways onto the couch with a long, dramatic sigh.

"I did! Two letters, from our alphabet, as they appear in your name!" He protests, gesturing widely enough that Cattalia could glimpse his hands moving from the other side of the couch. She rolls her eyes, tossing her catalog onto the presently empty bar and resting her forearms on the top of the couch, leaning forward and feigning annoyance as she sighed.

"Remind me again, why I married you?" She teased, the necklace she kept her wedding ring on hanging between them like it new it was a relevant set piece. Dev grinned, one arm wrapping around her neck, the other tugging on her arm with slowly increasing force.

"Because you love me?~" He suggested innocently, still trying to pull her over the couch. Cattalia snickered, a teasing smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

"Ah, yes, because you never leave me alone. How could I forget." She retorted with a roll of her eyes, before sighing and giving in, rolling shoulder first over the back of the couch, and into Dev's gleefully awaiting arms. He was quick to catch her, and wasted no time nestling her into a comfortable position to snuggle.

"Now why would I ever do that when it would mean parting from you?" He beamed, holding her close and gently nuzzling his forehead against hers. Cattalia's ears fluttered happily, unable to wipe the smile from her face even as she continued.

"You're not helping your case." She returned flatly, raising her brows at Dev expectantly. Seeing such a scene from the outside, one might even suspect that he was the clingy one, but nothing could be further from the truth.

"You don't seem too upset with your circumstances." Dev remarked casually, running a hand through Cattalia's hair with a teasing raise of his brow.

"Oh I'm just seething-" She started to retort, attempting to shift slightly so she could use her arms to further emphasize her point, but Dev only hugged her tighter, smirk widening in the process.

"In fact, I believe you went so far as to marry me about it, isn't that right? Mine in perpetuity and all that?" He continued with a confident wave of his hand. Cattalia groaned, facepalming into his chest for lack of other options.

"That is not what that means!" She counters, slightly muffled by Dev's shirt but still very audibly frustrated by his misuse of words.

"I'm not hearing a no my beloved~" He teased, unaffected by her attempts to change the topic of conversation.

"You're impossible." She finally relented, looking back up at him with a reluctantly fond sigh.

"Oh come on, stick the landing! Is it really so hard to say?" Dev nudged her with his arm, brows raised expectantly, still waiting to hear the words she'd been so carefully avoiding.

"You've asked me plenty of questions by now, how could I possibly know which answer you're looking for?" Cattalia dodged again, feigning ignorance with a shrug and roll of her head, before she looked back to Dev to see him in full carboy pout mode. Her act dropped, narrowing her eyes at him momentarily before breaking under his expert coercion.

"Alright, alright..." She relented, and Dev's pout quickly lit up into an eager smile again. Cattalia's expression softened, leaning into his chest with a light chuckle.

"I love you too, my knight."

---

I am only mildly embarassed to be posting this, which is better than I thought it'd be tbh, so I'll take it as a win. And in the case this is vaguely incomprehensible, you have my deepest apologies, but I had to add a few mild in jokes or else I wouldn't have done it justice XD Thanks for reading! 💙

[bugwolfsstuff]

Wine Child Chp 2

Percy: I don't go on a picnic.

I figured after fighting gods, monsters and titans since I was twelve and fighting in a war, the fates would let me chill out and have a semi-ordinary life for a while. I personally think I deserve some semblance of a vacation.

Unfortunately, the fates seem to disagree with that.

So here I am, instead of being on my way to go out on a nice romantic picnic with my girlfriend, Annabeth (gods, I love saying that); I'm at the archery range staring at Chiron having a casual conversation with the goddess of youth, Hebe about how our camp director, and the god of wine, Mr D ticked her off.

Did I mention that she's holding a very alive-looking, violently squirming gym bag?

"Well, it's a funny story, really." She said, which meant in god language: It was very much not funny, but you better laugh or I vaporize you. "Dio had said some extremely offensive words to me about youth, and I simply couldn't let that slide. So, I decided to teach him a lesson about the value of youth."

She twirled the gym bag in her hand as she talked, pulling it up by the straps and tipping it upside down like a very angry yoyo.

Whatever was in the bag really didn't like that, which to be fair, I'd be pretty cranky if some goddess shoved me in a gym bag and then started playing with the bag like a yoyo.

"What I didn't account for was how whiney he was. So then I thought, hmm, where was the best place where he could learn to appreciate youth? Nowhere else but summer camp!" 

The bag, like me, did not like that idea and started to squirm more violently. I shifted my weight uneasily, my hand instinctively reaching for Riptide. I have a feeling one way or another, that bag was gonna be opened.

I glanced at Annabeth, who also was staring at the bag with piercing grey eyes like she was trying to see through it. Is X-ray vision an Athena power?

Lucky — rather unlucky — for us we didn't have to wait long to find out.

"Welp, I must love you and leave you, demigods!" Hebe said, unzipping the bag and disappearing laughing.

As soon as the bag unzipped, I uncapped Riptide, ready to fight whatever cranky monster tumbled out of it.

Yeah, that did not happen.

Instead of a cranky, snarling monster, a lump of curly, black, untamed hair fell out of the bag and before anyone could react, flung itself at the closest person.

Which happened to be me. Because it's always me. I swear I have a giant sign only visible to monsters and gods that says:

Please attack Percy. We don't like his face.

"No more monsters!" It shrieked, trying to impale me with a sword that was way too big for it. Which, first of all, rude. You're already shrieking and trying to impale me with a sword; you don't need to insult my appearance as well.

I sidestepped out of its way, causing it to stumble as it tried to regain its balance. I had a good look at it now.

It wasn't an it at all.

It was a kid, a little girl that looked no older than 8. She had weirdly familiar purple eyes that looked like they saw something horrifying. The sword she was holding was far too big for her, and she stumbled as she waved the sword at the crowd wildly.

"Get away!" She screamed, stumbling as she swung her sword at an Ares kid who dared get too close. "No more!".

She looked barely 8 years old and downright terrified, and the Ares kids trying to surround her and take the sword weren't helping. In fact, they were making it a lot worse.

Then something worse happened.

The girl caught sight of something, "you!" she yelled, pointing at me before charging. Abandoning her sword on the grass to...run faster. Oh great.

"Hey!" I put my hands up in surrender, "I'm not gonna hurt you!" 

She either didn't hear me or just ignored me and continued charging. "Hey!" I said again, taking a step back as she got in kicking distance....for her to kick me, not the other way around, I'm not kicking the little girl.

Surprisingly, it turned out she wasn't going for me.

I stumbled as she shoved past me with too much strength a child her age should have. 

She headed straight for Will Solace, a son of Apollo and before any of us could react, she delivered a swift kick to his crotch, causing him to double over in pain.

Every guy in the camp simultaneously winced, and there was a chorus of oohs and ouches.

Even as Will doubled over in pain on the floor, the girl wasn't finished. She yelled extremely colourful Greek insults and accusations that didn't make much sense to me.

"You were supposed to protect us! You were supposed to care!" She screamed, pummeling him with her tiny fists.

"Woah! Hey! Calm down!" I yelled, rushing over to pull her off him. I tried my best to hold her back, but it was like trying to wrangle a wildcat. She continued to struggle against me, her eyes blazing with fury as she yelled at Will. 

"You! Kourotrophos! You should have protected us! You should have protected me from her! I prayed for you!" 

I don't know what a Kourotrophos is, but she said it with so much venom I almost expected her to start spitting acid at him. She also put emphasis on her, like it was the worst word she could think of. Which, from the kind of swears she was throwing at him, would have to be horrible.

And what did she mean that she prayed for Will? What did she pray for: 

Dear god of crotch kicking, please guide my foot and make Will Solace wish he was never born.

"Let me go!" she shrieked, clawing at my arms furiously as she tried to escape. Will soon recovered and scrambled away into the crowd.

"No, we're not monsters. We're—ow!" Ever been bitten by a demigod? It freaking hurts, and from the feel of it on my arm; this one had sharp teeth.

Annabeth rushed over, her expression unreadable. "Let him go, Percy!" she said firmly.

Now, if anyone else told me to release the feral screaming, biting, scratching child into a crowd of people after she has already injured one. I would be seriously questioning their mental state. 

But this was Annabeth. And when Annabeth tells you to do something, you do it. No questions asked. She probably had a plan, and if she didn't?

Well, the situation would have been hopeless anyway, and at that point, any idea would have been helpful.

So, I reluctantly put the child down.

She didn't attack, probably all tuckered out from using my arm as a scratching post and a chew toy. Instead, she stumbled, shivering slightly. Annabeth kneeled to her level. Which I personally would not be doing; that kid looked like she'd go for the eyes.

"Monsters!" the kid wailed.

"No." Annabeth promised, using her gentle 'I am completely harmless, and you can trust me' voice. That is usually reserved for young campers and Hades' dog Cerberus that one time. It was always weird hearing Annabeth change so quickly. "It's all right. We're not going to hurt you."

The kid trembled, all the wildness draining out of her. She had dark eyebags under her eyes, a deep cut on her cheek that looked slightly infected, and her limbs were stick thin like she hadn't eaten in days. How the Hades she had enough energy to swing that sword, attack Will, and use me as a chew toy and scratching post, all while screaming her lungs off, was beyond me.

"Monsters?" she whispered, her eyes swivelling to look at the still-growing crowd around us.

I could understand her hesitation. The Mist could even fool demigods like us and make a Chimera look like a Chihuahua (not that Chihuahuas weren't already little monsters), and the fact that she'd been shoved into a bag and then cornered by Ares kids probably wasn't giving her a good first impression of us.

"No, not monsters," Annabeth said, "We're...." She hesitated. The kid might not know what demigods even were. That happened alot. Kids these days clearly never watched Hercules (the Disney show, not the guy). "...Well, it's hard to explain, but we fight monsters just like you."

"You're like me?" The kid asked, still suspicious, but she sounded slightly hopeful, too.

"Yes," I promised, and the kid scowled at me with her big purple eyes. I was slightly afraid she was going to kick me, too. There was something familiar about her scowl, though, like I've seen it before. "Why were you in Hebe's bag?"

Her scowl deepened, but thankfully she didn't kick me, "I don't know. I just woke up."

Maybe that's why she was so murderous; I'd be cranky, too if someone woke me up from a nap by shoving me in a bag and dumping me in a Summer Camp without a word.

In fact, that kinda sounds exactly like something that would happen to me.

"I'm Annabeth, and that's Percy," Annabeth said, "You can trust us. We have a friend, Chiron. He can help you."

Speaking of Chiron, where did he go? He was there when Hebe opened the bag. Did he just go to the Big House to play Pinochle with Mr D and leave us to deal with little Miss Crotch-Kicker on our own?

The little girl nodded, "Okay...I'll go with you."

"So..." I whispered to Annabeth, "Any clue who little Miss Crotch-Kicker is?" I figured if anyone knew who this kid was, it was Annabeth. 

"I have a vague idea, but I need proof first." She replied cryptically

"Wanna share with the class your idea?"

"Not yet."

"You know I can hear you, right?" The kid crossed her arms and scowled at us, keeping her distance at the back of the group. She had been silent the entire walk.

Annabeth and I sheepishly apologized. The last thing we needed was to upset the already untrusting and wild kid.

We walked in awkward silence until we got to the Big House.

Chiron was alone on the porch. Mr D was nowhere in sight. Which was good. Because if I have to listen to his sarcasm while dealing with this situation. I'm setting the kid on him.

The little girl stopped the moment she saw Chiron.

"Kentauros! Monster!" She shrieked, and I was afraid that was her form of a battle cry.

Chiron smiled at her kindly, "Yes, Dionysus, I am a kentauroi, but you have nothing to worry about. I'm not like my brothers."

"What—?" 

Then I saw how tense the kid suddenly got.

'Dio said some extremely offensive words about youth, so I decided to teach him a lesson about the value of youth,' Hebe had said.

That's where I recognized the kid's scowl. That's why her purple eyes were so familiar. That's why Mr D wasn't with Chiron.

This kid was the Wine Dude himself.

"H..how do you know my name?" Dionysus said, already on guard. Which was fair, she—or he? Why was Mr D a girl?

Chiron just smiled at them, "We have a lot to talk about inside." Then he turned to us, "Percy, Annabeth, will you please alert the rest of the head counsellours and tell them there is to be a very important meeting."

Annabeth nodded, frowning, "Come on, Percy."

I sighed and followed her.

I guess we arent going on our picnic any time soon.

-----

Chapter one on tumblr

And thats the last chapter of this I will be posting here. When i post the third chapter it will be going on Ao3

[gren-arlio]

Could you not insert yourself in translation and translator conversations when all you do is machine translation? It's really disrespectful to those who spend time actually bothering to learn languages to properly translate content faithfully, especially when you've been caught wanting to a call a character you don't like a "bitch" in your "translation". MTL also can't really properly read grammatical contexts in certain languages correctly. It's really not a good look when you could be doing better by spending more time learning

Well, this wasn't exactly the thing I expected to see on Puyo Day.

You have a point to an extent. Yeah, MTL doesn't exactly...get some things right, no doubt about that. It's bound to make mistakes. Take me completely misunderstanding the Bottling mechanic. That's on me. You're also right on spending more time properly learning the language, I can see how it's disrespectful to people who are learning. I'll admit I'm wrong there.

The thing is: I'm doing this to learn as well. The info itself, while not perfectly accurate, still pertains fairly well to the game. I can admit that what I'm doing isn't perfect at all. I'm no professional, I'm a 17 year old kid who does this in his spare time. The bitch thing? Yeah its not good, but it was legimately my first time doing it, having not much clue where to begin since I was by myself. Even I admit it looks bad, lot of my early translations suck.

And even then, I don't just put it in a machine and call it a day. I do edit a lot of the lines since the machine doesn't make it make much sense, isn't grammatically right, or doesn't have the context. I'm still editing a lot of the works, trying to add characters' personalities since the thing makes it stale. The machine is flawed, but I realize that and improve on it. I'm not great at Japanese myself, so I'm learning it via this.

With the mistakes I make, I still get corrected from people who do know, and I learn from it. It's a learning experience for me. And those people don't really see my work as "disrespectful" from the times I've spoken to them. The Bottling Mechanic mess up was corrected pretty quickly since I was told by someone who does really good translations, and they didn't take offense to it, and me using a machine to help me out.

I won't be removing myself from the talks. Im doing this to learn, as well as just doing it to have fun. Nevertheless, happy Puyo Day to you.

[kristyvscrochet]

We need to talk about the term Crochet Girlie bc it's important.

A lot of people who crochet use the term crochet girlie to talk about themselves and others. I think this is mostly because there is no cute, easy way to call yourself a crocheter or to identify ourselves as a group with a common interest and hobby.

Crochet is a French term, so using English grammar to modify it into an identity (crochet -> crocheter) is just clunky. While it still works perfectly fine, we still started using crochet girlie. As English speakers on the internet we define ourselves using short hand, in group language.

So what gives? Why are we calling ourselves crochet girlies instead of crocheters or simply saying "I crochet"? Almost none of us are "girls" with nearly everyone who crochets being a late teen or adult woman.

Well, consider these 2 interactions.

"What do you do for fun?" "I am a runner."

vs.

"What do you do for fun?" "I go on runs."

When you're able to answer a question with "I am a"... I am a runner I'm a graphic designer I'm a mother... you're giving your conversation partner an insight into what you do in your day AND your relationship with that activity-- how you identify with it. 'Going for runs' is fundamentally different than 'being a runner'.

Being a runner implies a long history of running, that you have in depth knowledge and a lot of experience, that you enjoy it and schedule activities around it, and that it's an important part of your life. This type of answer is a lot more illuminating, personal, and quite frankly more interesting. It tells your conversation partner who you are as a person and what your values are.

It's really natural, especially as women who are socialized to create and value more intimate connections, to want to answer a question about yourself with an "I am a" statement. Think of every female empowerment pop song ever. They rely heavily on "I am a" statement lyrics and it works. We WANT to have an identity like that.

Combine this need for an easily stated, one word identity with a societal obsession with youthful femininity and you get the term crochet girlie.

The popularity of the _____ girl (that girl, tomato girl, clean girl) or girl _____ (girl dinner, girl walks) language is a symptom of our societal obsession with youthful femininity in general, but that's a broader conversation. Crochet girlie is a bit different than those other examples, as I'll get into. Every ____ Girl trend is designed to be accessible to anyone, easily relatable, and easily emulated.

I'm not trying to say that the term crochet girlie is bad or shouldn't be used anymore. WE as individual crocheters should keep using it. As I have explained, we want and need to make "I am a" statements about ourselves. For a lot of teenagers just 2 or 3 years into their crochet journey, its an incredibly accurate and endearing term. It's cute if a friend calls me a crochet girlie. It's not cute if that's how people think of people who crochet.

Crochet girlie (specifically the term girlie) is inherently juvenile. It is a cute, friendly term that isn't offensive or abrasive. And I've got a huge problem with it.

The point I really want to make is that the term shouldn't be used to describe the community of people on the internet who crochet as a hobby and post about it online, gender inclusivity issues aside.

In my opinion, the public perception of the craft cannot be "I buy my silly little yarn and sit down with my tiny little hook and I do crochet girlie things." Quite frankly I find this humiliating.

Years of practice. Hundreds of hours of work. Thousands of hours worth of knowledge and experience that have been passed down mother to daughter over centuries can't be boiled down to "crochet girlie." Again, its fine if my friend calls me that. It's humiliating if that's in the headline of an article.

See this article calling crochet "knitting's funky little sister." Between DMs and comments on an Instagram post, this language is fun, familiar, and accurate. From a national news outlet, this is downright disrespectful. I truly don't think we should tolerate giant corporations using our friendly, personal language that we use to describe each other as content to put ads on, but that ultimately does nothing to spread interest in learning the craft. Imagine how offensive an article describing ballet as "hip hop's slowmo tip toeing cousin," would come across. A statement like that shows no respect to the history, dedication, and talent within the art form. It actively belittles interest.

So why is crochet getting the trendy ____ girl treatment? And why does it matter?

Firstly...

Society has always undermined the interests, hobbies and work of women. In an effort to strip us of our power and prestige, society will continue to associate what we do for fun as childish, passing interests.

And secondly...

The algorithm has no soul and cannot distinguish fleeting fashion micro-trends chased for clout from genuine human interest.

And it matters because crochet is a genuine human interest.

After all, crochet isn't just a fashion trend, new video game, or something that you can buy. It can never be marketed and sold back to us. It will always belong to us and, more importantly, be defined by us. A yarn store will never be a crochet store, just a blank slate for us to use to create what we want.

Crochet girlie is a symptom of a misunderstanding of why the craft is popular, why 10 second videos of it get 6 million views, why thousands of new crocheters have flocked to craft in the past 4 or 5 years. But again, I'm not asking you NOT to use the term crochet girlie.

What I'm really asking you to do is demand the respect you deserve from news outlets, brands, and corporate accounts. I want you to value the work that you put into your craft. I want you to feel proud to carry the knowledge of generations of women before you in your head and on your fingertips. I want you to feel like the master and expert of an art form (well, eventually).

I don't want you to just accept that your skill is viewed as a frivolous modifier. I don't want you to internalize the dismissive conversation around crochet at large. I don't want you to view corporate media as an accurate reflection of the crochet community.

This challenge doesn't exist for women alone, all people who crochet should be respected in the same way for their skill. You do have to acknowledge this craft exists and persists because of women, which is why businesses are flippantly trying to sell it back to us without any looking any deeper. They don't know what genuine human interest even is and they don't care.

I encourage you to call out overly familiar language by brands and corporations, especially news outlets. I want you to confront them with the deep and rich history of crochet and the level of dedication and commitment it takes to be a part of this history. Even learning how to chain for the very first time can take hours. It's not a passing trend.

Crochet is not another aesthetic that just anyone can buy, take a pic in, then leave at goodwill in pursuit of the next trend. It is not something that can be capitalized on or exploited for money, unlike old trends like e-girl, it girl, clean girl, that girl. Crochet simply can't be bought or sold.

It is a learned skill. It takes hundreds of hours to just become competent. Respectable, talented people use this skill to create works of art. And how dare anyone try to characterize crochet as anything less.

[papirouge]

I'm the anon that sent you the message about hating the term PoC. Yeah, I pretty much agreee with everything you say. I don't believe much in POC solidarity because our struggles are very different between each other, and trying to paint everything as us vs whites does not really work. Perhaps for americans it does, since they have a very diverse population, but it's more difficult when talking about other countries.

Like latin americans do not have the best relationships between each other, they might share language but have very different cultures. Like the other day I was reading about this cartoon named "Oye primos" that was going to premiere and it was made by a second gen latina, where she looked to represent her growing up in a latin community in the USA, but she was clowned by pretty much every latino leaving outside of America. First, because the name of the cartoon is gramatically wrong (it should be "OIGAN primos, not OYE primos), second, because she used the word "LATINX", which latinos hate, and third, because she named the town the characters live in "Terremoto (Earthquake) Heights" or something like that (people though it was offensive because Mexico and Chile have suffered through a lot of earthquakes). And there's other stuff, like people saying the animation is ugly (very calart) and so on. Some people even started praising Los Casagrande, a spin off of The Loud House with a main mexican family thats not even made by latinos, but its considered far superior.

Sorry, I got a little carried away with that, what I wanted to say it's that its pretty common for latinos to kinda tear each other up, but they unite if they want to clown a "gringo" or something (and yes, they pointed out that the author basically being a 2nd gen makes her a gringa... I guess). Plus a lot of latinos dont like anything that looks "woke", and they considered that show does, so it was doomed from the start. The creator of the show felt pretty overwhelmed by the negative reception, received a lot of backlash and it apparently affected her a lot. I feel pretty bad for her actually.

And yeah, argentinians are actually pretty white, not only because a lot of italians and germans migrated there (if you ever read the names of their national soccer team, you'll notice many names are of italian origin), but because they're at the very south. Chile is also pretty white. But yeah, argentinians have always been pinned as being pretty arrogant and full of themselves, so it doesnt surprise me that they feel they're superior because their team is white. I remember that argentinians and fans of Messi in general were clowning Mbappe for allegedly being in a relationship with a transwoman, so they invented some pretty homophobic chants... soccer fans be like that

Ugh, this got so long,... I was gonna mention asians and their own issues too, but i think it's enough. I did wanted to ask you something though: is France a racist country?? How has your experience being impacted by being black?

Don't be sorry anon, I love these loooong asks where I get to know more my followers 🧡

It's pretty ironic you're talking about Asians because in one of my post where I'm talking about White conservative weaponizing minorities against each other somehow triggered A LOT of people. I even got a comment saying "put the reblogs back I have to give my perspective as someone with Asian/japanese ancestry" and I got like..... "Hm no?" LMAO This girl REALLY thought her opinion was remotely relevant when this was my perspective as Black person and I am not interested about some random Asian take on that issue. Sis really thought my post was a diss against Asians success (I mean every single person who interacted with that post had a negative IQ and entirely missed the post that's why I muted the reblogs) and got like "the cOnsErVatiVes aRe jUst acKnoLedgiNg oUr sUcCesS uwu"...... There's no wonder East Asians are looked down as White people's cucks 💀 IDK, if my community was being weaponized by racist scrotes to dogpile on other I wouldn't go uwuwhy do you mean?uwu about it. How can people have so little self awareness? ...That's why I don't believe in POC and that some communities will actually be more than willing this silence us. Sis really tried to all lives matter my take and I have no patience for that.

And soccer is brain disease tbh. Case in point : the racist Argentinians players dragging Mbappé... Which is a shame bc Messi and him seem to be very cool. Fans are the worst. I think I realized how racist these people were when they said ANTOINE GRIEZMANN (France NT player) wasn't White enough just because his mom was...... Portuguese (when his dad is German)💀

Imagine thinking this man is not White enough when them Argentians be looking like tragic mulattos themselves 💀💀 HE'S LITERALLY THE ARYAN PROTOTYPE 💀💀his name is ANTOINE. THAT'S THE WHITEST FRENCHIEST NAME EVER!! NEVER IN MY LIFE DID I MEET SOMEONE CALLED ANTOINE THAT WASN'T WHIIIIITE 💀💀💀💀

Argentinians living up their nazi heritage ; Portugal ain't white enough lmao...

What's funny with Latins is that they have this thinly veiled superiority complex with Black people.....but highkey are envious of the cultural impact of Black culture worldwide. Latin culture has a load of influence on music, but its impact is not as multifaceted as Black culture (beside music, fashion, hairstyles, make up, slang, etc.). I saw some Latins seethe about Black Panther and the hype the Black community was having from this movie, and Black twitter, in its usual shadiness got like "hmmm don't you have Rio? 🤔" LMAOOOO (it was before Encanto though)

And is France racist? hm... I mean, it's a European country 🥴🥴 but it's definitely one of the least racist one for sure. Non french netizens will do the most about how islamophobic France is, but Islam isn't a race so the problem our country has with Islam isn't much related to race. Because of colonization, France has many territories oversea where its natives are Black, so France is inherently already multiracial, and that's something that many French people acknowledge. I feel like french are more worried about culture than race (ln many aspects, I, as a Christian Black woman, have to bear much less prejudice than a Muslim male, for example). That's why our country is very defensive against Islam (which comes with a whole cultural set) rather than race.

We consider assimilation as a staple and reject self IDing communities (whether they might be sexual, racial, religious). Any stats trying to quantity race, religion or sexuality are ILLEGAL, here. That's why when I see foreign rightoids be like "France is already 25% Muslim!! #greatreplacement" I just know they are full of shit, because such stats are technically illegal...

To give you an example, France leader of the far-FAR right is a Jew...(Eric Zemmour) and a significant amount of people from North Africa/muslim are in the (far) right too.. (many of them change their names to make them sound more french/less Arab such as Jean Messiha lmao)

France itself is a mixed nation between Romans invader and Galicians (basically France indigenous) also some viking mingling in the north(?) That's why french people can be very phenotypically diverse. If you look Griezman (France North type) and Kenji Girac (Southern France type - he's also a gypsy) who are both White french while looking quite different.

Unfortunately nationalism is on the rise, there's an actual revival of neo Nazi (which is hilarious bc France has been invaded/defeated by Nazi and that actual self respecting French rightoids hate Nazism because of that 💀) so I feel like France is getting less sale for foreigners/non Whites. I think France is the best place to live in Europe if you're afraid of racism but yeah, it's getting quite heated here....

[trickstarbrave]

williammdalton replied to your post: williammdalton replied to your post: ...

My point is that there are horrible people on both sides. Sourpunchgay comes to mind, but I point them out specifically because it would sound ridiculous if everyone went around shouting “wow, the gays sure are hateful. Look what this hamtaro-looking-mofo said.” Actually I might of seen something like that but it was called out

yeah except this is repeated behaviors that make asexuals and aromantics feel unsafe in the greater community????? and im a hypersexual aromantic talking about how absolutely fucked up it is and how disgusted i am????????? ‘aspec community’ dont even bother with casually including aromantics unless you’re going to openly condemn the shit i just showed you. 

the issue isnt “OH THE ACE COMMUNITY IS SO MUCH WORSE NO BAD PEOPLE EXIST ANYWHERE ELSE” its the fact that this shit is hardly ever addressed because you all FLAT OUT SAY IT NEVER HAPPENS AND THEN BACKTRACK EVERY TIME SOMEONE SHOWS YOU ITS AN ACTUAL PROBLEM. WHICH YOU LITERALLY HAVE JUST DONE. 

its a huge problem not me ‘strawmanning’ ace tumblr. its not me saying ‘uwu nothing bad happens everywhere else’. its me, a hypersexual aromantic being told im tired of being ‘shallow’ for being sexual at all. im tired of being told my relationships arent as ‘pure’ or that im ‘being aphobic’ to my ace partner for talking about any sexual thing with him and im tired of this giant crusade against a sex disorder while the ace community continues, again and again, to use ‘hypersexual’ in demeaning ways only to be accused of exaggeration and lying when i point it out, because its easier to do that than actually acknowledge a problem and address it. it becomes an issue when you refuse to address it. saying ‘every community has issues’ isnt a solution. its an excuse. how is “well we’re just as bad as every other community ha ha!” make you look any better??? it just shows you don’t care about actually making a safer community so long as you think you can get away with it and deflect criticism 

as for ‘calling out hateful ~gays~’ as you put it yeah that also gets done. i have met many ppl disgusted w other exclusionists and refuse to call themselves exclusionists from the lying (discoursezilla condemning child porn and incest porn despite MAKING AND SHARING IT ON THEIR MAIN) and outrightstupid and hateful banter and i dont say “uwu this is strawmanning i dont see it happen dont demonize an entire community” i call those people out too bc i wont tolerate it. 

[amatchinwater]

Hello!! Can I request an Eddie x male reader fic, where the reader is a vampire👀?!?🩸🩸

You sure can!! Sorry it took so long! I apparently couldn't just start it with him being a vampire, my gremlin brain demanded to write how it happened too. So, this is kind of a rewrite of the end of 4x06, 4x07, and some of 4x08 No vol 2 spoilers!!

Leave the Bat Biting to Ozzy | Eddie Munson x male reader

Summary: You were the other half of Steve's co-captain for the swim team, so it made perfect sense to you to dive into Lover's Lake in search for the gate to the Upside Down with him...much to Eddie's disapproval. Once you bite the tail of one of the demobats and can't spit out all of its blood, you start to feel weird...sucks to wake up next to your best friend that you're in love with trying to bite his neck and drink his blood. Good thing Eddie is more than okay with it, though.

Warnings: 18+ (just in case) blood, violence, demobats, protective Eddie, language, blood drinking, light angst (due to fighting demobats and reader getting anxiety about possibly hurting Eddie) but honestly it's more fluffy than anything, drug use

Words: 4035

a/n: I hope you like it, love! It kind of ran away from me. Requests are still open, send one if you'd like, my loves 💚

Masterlist

Not my gif!! Credit to creator!!

“No,” Eddie shakes his head, trying to push your shoulders to make you sit back down in the boat. “Absolutely not,” he says, pointing at Steve, “Harrington’s got this just fine.” 

“Eddie,” you groan, rubbing the frustration from your furrowed brows, “if I can help-”

“I’m sure you can,” he nods, eyes wide, “but I don’t really care. I’m not letting you risk your life.” Eddie cocks his head at the indignant grunt, “no offense, Steve.” He just rolls his eyes, taking his shirt off and pelting your best friend in the face with it. “I deserved that.” Throwing the shirt into the bottom of the boat, Eddie puts a cigarette between his lips.

Robin promptly yanks it out and throws it in the water, “gross. Eddie, we really don’t have the time to argue about this right now. If he can help Steve find the gate faster and he’s willing to do so, there’s not much you can do to stop him.” 

“Don’t forget,” you stand, taking your shirt off as well, handing it to Eddie rather than hitting him in the face with it. Though you kind of want to. But he was just denied nicotine, you’re not about to tick him off on top of whatever protective streak he has going right now. “I was co-captain of the swim team with Steve. If anyone else here is fit for the task, it’s me.” 

“Just-” Eddie shifts in his seat, clutching your shirt in his hand. His discomfort is heartwarming, really. Makes the massive crush you harbor for him throb in your chest. “Be careful, please,” his brown eyes widen their worry for you. 

Unable to resist the tease, you ruffle his hair, “‘course,” you grin when he swats your hand away. You notice Nancy giving Steve much the same interaction you and Eddie just had. And you know for a fact that she’s not over him. You have eyeballs and aren’t stupid either. But Eddie’s just your best friend and watched two people die painfully to Vecna. He probably just doesn’t want to lose his best friend in the same way. “See you in a bit,” you take a deep breath, nodding at Steve.

“Let’s go,” Harrington adjusts the bagged flashlight in his hand and dives in. 

You share one last look with Eddie, the metalhead looking heavily conflicted before you follow Steve. The water is like icicles stabbing every inch of your skin. But you can’t let it stop you, following the soft golden light ahead of Steve’s fluffy hair. Reaching the bottom of Lover’s Lake, your lungs begin to make it known that they’d very much like fresh oxygen inside of them soon. You push on with the other boy, finding a trail of fish bones. 

Steve looks uncomfortable and anxiety sours your stomach too. Swimming through the murky water, your vision turns red. You and Steve push on until you find a split in the earth. Glowing scarlett with what looks like veins around it. This has to be the gate. When Harrington tries to inspect it further with the flashlight, you too reach out without really thinking it through. Not only does the bagged light get sucked in, but a giant black tendril pops out of it, wrapping around your wrist, yanking you through the portal. 

You scream, the last of your air bubbling out into the water before you're sucked through. Sputtering the rank water from your mouth, coughing as you’re dragged through the Upside Down. It’s been a long time since you’ve had to be here and you had hoped you’d never have to be again. Without your shirt on, the skin of your back stings with scrapes as you’re brutally pulled along the ground. You try to pry the vine off of your wrist, but it's got you in a vice grip. 

“Oh shit,” you grunt, coming up to a fallen tree. You smack into it; hard. There’s at least three bruised, if not broken ribs and your shoulder screams in pain. But you stopped. Long enough to dig the vine into the sharp wood, freeing your hand. 

But you’re far from safe. A high pitched, menacing shriek fills your ears and you see bats flying your way. Nowhere to run, definitely nowhere to hide, you reach for a branch at your feet. Swinging the wood, one of the bats with very sharp teeth goes flying away from you. Just as you make to swing at another, one wraps its tail around your neck and you’re slammed to the ground again, gasping for air. Lungs burning and no prying of your hands gets the bat off of you. As if being choked to death by a fucking demon bat…demobat?- you don’t care enough to think about that right now- two more swarm around you, sinking their teeth into your sides.

Screaming in agony, you thrash around, trying your best to buck them off of you. Wildly waving your hands to smack at them and the one strangling you. Your sides are killing you, it hurts so fucking bad. All you can do is scream, hoping that someone is coming. That Steve was able to get through or get the rest of them to come help. 

“Y/N!” Eddie yells and the bat around your neck is stabbed in the face repeatedly, Nancy and Robin trying to beat away the ones eating you. “I’ve got you,” he says, the two of you working to get the tail off. The slimy cord lifts enough for you to bite a chunk out of it, gagging around the rancid blood in your mouth. 

It hurts it enough to make it release you and that’s all you really care about, the girls having killed the other two. Everything hurts, rolling on your side you groan, spitting the blood you didn't accidentally swallow from your mouth. You feel a hand cup the side of your face, lifting your head for you. Struggling to keep your eyes open through the pain, blinking heavily, you see a positively distraught Eddie, trying to look you over. 

“This is why I didn’t want you to do this,” he chastises. But you see the concern in his eyes. Eddie sounds hysterical, “told you you were risking your life, that this was dangerous,” his bloodshot eyes filling with tears. “You’re hurt,” his gaze drops to your torso. Any other time, you’d probably feel a little embarrassed about his focus on your bare chest. You’re in too much pain for anything to matter right now. “That’s a lot of blood,” Eddie’s face pales. 

“You don’t say,” you deadpan, coughing out a laugh. 

Steve drops to his knees beside you once the other bats have gone, “we can’t stay here.” He looks towards the portal and several bats have surrounded it, screeching in warning. “Looks like we can’t leave either.” 

Eddie cups the side of your face, thumb brushing the skin softly, “can you walk?” 

Taking a deep breath, you nod, feeling the pain subside to a manageable burn. But you grunt and grit your teeth, even standing up with the help of both boys pulls at your wounds. Flaring a white hot pain in your sides, you slump into Eddie’s arm, taking calculated breaths, “I’m okay.” You nod, trying to convince not only them, but yourself. “I’m okay,” you repeat. 

“Bullshit,” Eddie remarks, wrapping his arm around your back to help you follow the group towards the woods. “I will carry you if I have to, sweetheart.” 

Despite the blood loss in your torso, your cheeks burn with a blush at the name. Not the first time he’s called you that, but he just saved your life. You’re allowed a moment to be taken aback that your best friend that you’re head over heels for is not only calling you a pet name, but doing his best to take care of you. 

—

A unanimous decision to go to Nancy’s house for guns was made while Eddie and Robin helped patch your wounds. Robin babbling about rabies the whole time, surprisingly keeping you in good spirits. You’re grateful for your friends, but you really want to lay down. Your head is throbbing like crazy and you can feel your heartbeat in the wounds on your stomach and sides. It’s not fun. Far from pretty. And it makes you nauseous. Not even sitting on the one loveseat in the Wheeler’s house not covered in Vecna’s vines next to Eddie is making the room stop spinning. 

He’s holding you close, rubbing his fingers along your arm and it’s almost enough to get you to fall asleep. Almost. The constant thunder and bright red light keeps you right at the edge. “I’m sorry,” you mumble. 

Eddie turns his head, his chin resting atop your head, “what are you possibly sorry for?”

“I didn’t heed your warning,” you grunt, an attempt at a laugh. Your limbs feel disconnected. Like they’ve fallen asleep. The repulsive scent from the wet tendrils surrounding the house seeps into your nostrils, furthering your desire to vomit. Everything feels too intense.  

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he kisses the crown of your head, holding you tighter, “I’m not mad at you. Worried, for sure. But I’m not mad. I’m just glad you’re more or less okay. Once they figure something out with Dustin, I’m taking you home and we’ll take care of those bites. The bleeding seemed to stop on its own, so I don’t think you need stitches or anything.”

“Thanks Eds,” you mutter tiredly, nuzzling into his neck. Not caring enough to try and hide your feelings at the moment. You’re in pain and he’s been the main source of comfort and safety for you for years. 

—

Using bikes to get to Eddie’s trailer is the fastest and smartest option. You fully agree with that. Wholeheartedly. The actual act of doing it? You’re even closer to throwing up than you were before. Clutching to Eddie’s back while he pedals you both down the road. Every bump in the pavement has your stomach churning, demanding whatever remnants still inside be released. The throbbing in your head has reached an aggravating peak. A migraine on crack. Even in the darkness of the Upside Down, it still feels too bright whenever the red lightning crackles through the sky. 

You cling tighter, pinching your eyes closed, “how much farther?” You grit out, carefully inhaling the scent of Eddie into your nose. More intoxicating than it’s ever been before. It’s almost making you dizzy on top of everything else. Salivating to the point of if you don’t swallow fast enough, you’d drool all over his shoulder. 

“Just a couple blocks,” Eddie’s hand pats yours and you quickly twist your fingers until they’re entwined. He squeezes your hand and you’re sighing softly at the lifeline offered. “Hang on for me a little longer, sweetheart.” 

“Is he okay?” Robin asks, keeping up with Eddie’s pedaling. “He looks a little green.”

“Rob?” You ask.

“Yeah?”

“Shut up,” you huff softly. Voices are almost too loud. Your stomach won’t stop its incessant churning. And now, your fucking teeth and gums hurt. Whatever bullshit this is, you’d kindly like it to stop. Every smell entering your nose is more intense than the last, only adding to the cocktail of discomfort.  

“Shutting up,” she replies as you feel the bike turn.

The ride is even bumpier after that, like you’ve gone off road. Squinting an eye open, you see your assumptions are correct as Eddie’s trailer comes into view. “Eds,” your head lolls from fuzziness on his shoulder when he stops the bicycle. “Eds, I don’t think I can walk.”

“I got you,” Steve’s by your side, helping you stand long enough for Eddie to get off the bike. 

The moment he’s off the bike, he doesn’t care to stop it from falling to the ground, opting to scoop his arms under your legs and lifting you into his arms. “A shower and bed is just moments away,” he tucks your head into his neck, heading into his alternate home. 

You must have fallen asleep, because you’re jolted awake an unknown amount of time later, “mhmm, wha-” is all you’re able to articulate. 

“I need you to go to Steve for a minute,” Eddie tells you. 

When you open your eyes you see an opening in his ceiling much like at the bottom of Lover’s Lake. Dustin, Erica, Lucas, Max, Robin and Nancy looking at you upside down from Eddie’s actual living room. A few blankets have been tied together to make a climbing rope. Your eyes widen, “I can’t climb right now,” you sound frantic, clinging to Eddie’s vest. 

“I know, I know,” he’s quick to rub your back in sweet, reassuring strokes. “I’m gonna give you to Steve and climb through. He’s going to help you through the gate and I’ll be right there to catch you. You trust me?” You stare at him skeptically, but nod just the same, knowing this is the only way you’ll be able to get home. “See you on the other side,” Eddie kisses your forehead, placing you in Steve’s open arms. 

Your stomach does a sickening somersault watching Eddie climb the blankets and be sucked through, crashing into the waiting bed. You hadn’t even noticed you were shaking in Steve’s arms, until he’s holding you tighter in more of a hug. “We’ll be as careful as we can, okay? You know he’d never let anything happen to you.” 

Steve’s words of reassurance help only just. Carefully, he stands on a chair with you still in his arms, Eddie standing on the bed on the other side, arms open wide for you. Grabbing the blanket, you hold yourself steady while Steve gently pushes you through. The moment your hands are in Eddie’s you’re sucked through, crashing on top of your best friend and onto the mattress. You scream out in pain, sides feeling like they’re tearing back open. 

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Eddie hugs you close for a moment, allowing you the time to calm down from the pain. “Come on,” he carefully moves you so he can get up and scoop you right back into his arms. “You guys good?” He asks the group, Steve falling onto the mattress behind you. They must nod or give him some affirming answer, because he says, “good, I’m gonna help him clean up and get him to bed.” 

“Should you guys really stay here with an open portal in your living room?” Dustin asks.

“My house is empty,” Steve offers, “I have a spare room and everything. Pack a bag of what you’d need. Henderson’s right, you’re not staying here.” 

“Not like we have a car here,” Eddie cuts in.

“I can take my mom’s keys,” Max suggests. “We rode here on our bikes, Steve can drive you guys home.” 

You’re already shaking your head, “I don’t think I can handle a car ride right now. Just let me take a shower and rest for a bit. Then we can figure out where to go.”

“Fine,” Steve sighs, “but we’re staying here with you guys.” 

“Fine.” 

—

Eddie gingerly helped you into the bathroom, turning around when you’d taken your boxers off. He’d left you a towel and a change of his clothes, saying he’d wait for you in his room to give you some time to yourself. 

It was sweet, but also not. Every time you closed your eyes you saw those fuckign bats feasting on your stomach. It must just hurt more than the actual damage, because the wounds aren’t as deep as you’d expected. You clean them with peroxide nonetheless and change into the clothes Eddie gave you. Your favorite faded Guns N’ Roses shirt of his and soft plaid pajama pants. Meeting him in his room, you can’t help the small laugh at the sight waiting for you.

Eddie propped against his headboard, lighting a joint, a steaming cup of tea tucked on the windowsill beside his bed. “Did you make me tea?” You ask, sitting beside him, taking a careful sip of the warm liquid. Chamomile floods your senses, warming you from the inside out. 

“I smoke and sell pot,” he takes a hit off the joint, offering it to you which you gladly take. Hitting it generously, hoping it will make the pain go away and help you sleep for a bit. “You really think I wouldn’t have other natural kinds of sedatives? Come on now, you know me better than that.” 

You chuckle softly to yourself, glad that you can do so without irritating your wounds. “Thank you,” you smile into your mug, polishing off the last of the drink. Setting the mug back on the sill, you settle into his bed, pulling the covers over your shoulder. “I’m glad we’re out of there.”

Snuffing out the roach, Eddie curls up beside you, pulling you into his chest, “me too. Thought I’d lost you,” his voice is above a whisper, lips moving against your forehead when he speaks. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you. Anyone, I can lose anyone…but not you. I can’t lose you, sweetheart.” 

You cling to him harder, sniffling into his chest, the harsh reality that he’s right slamming into you. “I’m right here, Eds. You saved me,” nuzzling your nose into his shirt, you sigh. 

“And I’d do it again,” Eddie assures you, tracing lines along your back and your heavy lids finally close. “I love you,” he says quietly. Something else he’s said countless times, but even in your tired state you can hear that it sounds different than it ever has. 

But you’re far too tired to not only think about what it means or to even say it back. Falling asleep in Eddie’s arms like it’s any other night you’ve stayed over. 

—

“H-hey, uh, sw-sweet- shit,” Eddie groans, sounding almost like a moan. “Sweetheart, what are you d-doing?” He asks, pulling your shoulders gently. “Not that I-I’m complaining. Oh my g-" his hips buck into yours, “I just- fuck.” 

It’s the movement that makes you realize that you’re no longer asleep. Rather unconsciously licking and sucking on his neck. The sound of his heartbeat thrumming away in your ears like the world’s most beautiful drumline. His smell invades your nostrils, taking over every sense you have. Intoxicating and sweet, you bite at his neck in earnest, moaning when you taste a droplet of his blood on your tongue. 

The taste earns your stomach a hearty growl and your eyes snap open and you jolt away. Startling yourself when in your haste, you’re suddenly on the other side of his room, staring at a wide-eyed, hard and thoroughly confused Eddie on his bed. Your gums are on fire and you can see the artery pulsating in his neck even from here. What the fuck is going on? You try to back away, confused and ashamed of yourself for having hurt him. You don’t even register that not only do your sides not hurt, but you feel better than you ever have. 

“Sweetheart,” Eddie’s up on his feet, carefully walking over to you, arms out like he doesn’t want to startle you. 

Too bad, you back away again, hitting his wall, “d-don’t,” you stammer. You have no idea what’s happening. All you do know is that you can still taste his blood on your tongue and you want more. So much fucking more. It makes your teeth ache and your stomach twist in hunger. You’re not stupid, you’ve read enough comics and seen enough horror movies. Foolish of you to think that in a town like Hawkins, Upside Down bats wouldn’t turn someone into a vampire if they survived. Or swallowed their blood. “I don’t want to hurt you,” you say, holding your hand out in hopes of stopping his advances. 

It doesn’t. 

Eddie’s inches away from you, reaching out to cup your face, examining your features. “Holy shit,” his eyes widen, thumb pulling back your top lip. “Y-you have fangs. And your eyes are red.” 

Your stomach nearly falls out of your ass. “Eddie,” your eyes burn with tears, “tell me this is a joke. That I’m still sleeping.”

His finger comes up to where you’d nipped him before, a pin prick of blood resting on the pad, “sorry, babe, I don’t think it is.” Panic sets in, heaving your chest with painful breaths as the room spins. “Whoa, whoa, hey, it’s okay,” Eddie crouches to the floor as you slide down the wall, “you’re okay. You’re still alive. Just a cool ass vampire now. I mean, that’s fucking sick, right?” 

“How is that cool?” You look at him dumbfounded. “Vampires feed on blood, Eddie. Blood! I didn’t even know what I was doing. I could’ve hurt you,” your own eyes turn to saucers, your hand covering your horrified expression, “I-I could’ve killed you!” 

“Baby,” he pulls your hand away, cupping your face again, “you couldn’t hurt me. I know you. You’d never,” Eddie’s voice is so sweet and calm, settling your nerves. “We’ll figure it out, okay? But for now,” all you can do is watch as he moves his hair from his neck, tilting his head to the side in offering, “you need to eat. I’m not going to let you die because you’re fucking stubborn.” 

“No,” you vehemently shake your head, ripping out of his hands and stumbling to his bed. Your hunger turns your limbs to jelly. 

Eddie’s quick to catch you before you fall over, arms wrapping around you, turning you to face him. “I’m offering it, babe,” he smiles at you, “if anyone is going to feed you, it’s going to be me.” He finds the way you look at him like he’s grown an extra head hilarious, his chuckle vibrating through you. “It’s what we do for the ones we love, right? Take care of them however we can.”

“I-”

“So, if my best friend,” he brings your chests flush, “the guy I’m absolutely in love with is now a vampire who needs blood to survive,” Eddie shrugs. “It’s a no brainer, really.”

You don’t get to comment on his words, though you feel your heart clench at the admission that he shares your feelings. Because he’s cupping the back of your head, guiding your aching fangs to his offered neck. Instinct takes over once you smell his blood again and you sink your teeth into Eddie’s flesh. His fingers grip your hip hard, letting out a moan from the feeling. His blood is the best thing you’ve ever tasted in your life, tangy, but so fucking sweet. 

Addicting. 

“Sweetheart,” he whispers, pulling at the strands at the back of your head. 

Removing your fangs from his neck, you lick the wound clean, watching in wonder as the two small holes heal. “Sorry,” you avert your eyes, not ready to look at him. Afraid he’ll be upset with you for drinking too much. 

“It’s okay, Eddie says, gripping your chin to make you meet his gaze, “it was your first time. I’m sure you’ll learn how to not take too much. I’ll be fine,” he smiles warmly at you, lovingly. “Do you feel a little better now?” You nod. “Good,” Eddie looks at your mouth, dragging his gaze back to your eyes, “your eyes are back to normal again.” It’s an offhand comment before he’s locked on your lips again, “hey, sweetheart?” You hum in response, breath caught in your chest. “You didn't really tell me to fuck off when I told you I loved you. So…Can I kiss you now?” 

You smile, chuckling through your nose, “that's because I love you too, Eddie.” 

His lips brush yours softly. A featherlight touch. But then you both inhale sharply, crashing your mouths together. It’s feverish. Groaning into each other, hands grabbing whatever they can. Tongues and teeth clashing until you’re dizzy and gasping for air. 

“It’s about time you admit it, Munson,” Robin’s voice yanks you apart. But she’s smiling at the two of you, “Steve you owe me twenty bucks,” she yells over her shoulder, making you and Eddie laugh. “So…a vampire?”

[mocharadio]

Go to Sleep, Idiot.

Now Playing(Title): Go to Sleep, Idiot.

Song Artists(Characters): Albedo x gn!reader

Genre: Slight Angst/Comfort, Mutual Pining

Remix(Au): Modern Au, College Au (somewhat vague)

Lyrics(Summary): You're tired, but you won't go to sleep unless Albedo does too. Feelings get acknowledged, much to your discontent (or not?)

Explicit?(Warnings): no beta we die like Albedo's sleep schedule, reader is emotionally detached, they/he used for Albedo, ooc(?), mentions of Bulimia (an eating disorder) on the readers end

A/N: yes this was rushed, yes this is manifesting for Albedo to come home. I'm writing this at 2 am by the way lol /srs

also this is the first time I've wrote anything besides headcanons in a while so like please bare with me </3 English ain't my first language either so..yikes.

Feel free to criticize! Please like and reblog ^^

It's 3 a.m.

3 in the fucking morning.

So why isn't he in bed?

"Dude, Albedo, it's getting so late it's.....no longer late. Why haven't you gone to sleep yet?" You lean against the wall just a few steps away from your bedroom, peeking into the living area where Albedo was. They can feel the glare you're giving him, but choose not to comment regardless. "Ah, so you're ignoring me now. I see." you sigh. You walk over and plop yourself on the couch next to him, looking over his shoulder. They don't bother giving you a second glance, they're aware of your overbearing but very much enjoyable presence. He opens his mouth to say something but shuts it immediately to scribble something down. You lay your head on his shoulder, waiting for them to respond at some point. You know he will, he always does; they never ignore you without a reason. Luckily for Albedo, you're too tired to notice the hitch in his breath when your head makes contact with him. They're not used to this much.....affection? Does it even count as affection? Especially from the likes of you. No offense, you just tend to be very...distant. Glancing over his shoulder, he allows themself to relax for a moment and lean their head against yours. "I.....need to finish the rest of these notes. I'll be done in a few." he finally replied. "Uh-huh, sure you will. I know how you work, 'Bedo. If I don't stop you now you'll be at it till its time for your first class." Normally they'd just shrug it off if you scolded them. It's a normal occurrence for the two of you. Albedo reprimands you for your unhealthy eating habits (what are they, your mom?) and you reprimand him for his shit sleep schedule. Somethings....different this time though, they can feel it. You let out a small groan due to exhaustion and lean forward to rest your elbows against the coffee table. "I'm not sleeping until you do, period." you scoff. Albedo finally turns to face you, not even attempting to hide the dark circles under his eyes. They tilt their head to the side, as if they were trying to study you, analyze you, like an experiment. Hoping that they'd get their way.

And you weren't having any of it.

"Alright, that's it. Let's get you to bed pretty boy." You stand up and try to drag him off the couch, only to find yourself flung back on top of it. Son a bitch pulled you down. "You've gotta be fuckin-" they slap your hand over your mouth and give you a side eye to cut you off, before inhaling and saying those words you didn't even realize you never wanted to hear till now. "What's wrong? You haven't been acting like yourself lately. You still scold me as usual but it lacks a certain...energy. Have you not been eating well? Not sleeping, maybe? Did I..... do something wrong?"

That. That right there.

Truth be told you were doing pretty well, actually. Your grades are doing better than ever, as of recently you weren't gorging and then starving yourself for days on end (hell, you'd say this is the longest time you've gone without relapsing), everything was A-Ok! Except for the fact that you're in love with your roommate! Shocker!

You didn't and still don't have the heart to tell them about your feelings, it could ruin everything, but you knew it would come to this. You can't keep hiding your feelings forever, you know it would start showing at some point.

You just never thought it would be like this, never thought he would ever think that he was the problem and not you, but at the end of the day you're still too much of a pussy to admit your feelings.

"Y- Where did you even get that from? No, you didn't do anything wrong 'Bedo-"

"Then why are you so distant towards me. We used to be so close." Ouch. That fucking hurts. Especially because you know they're right. You thought it would be okay to open up for once, to let someone in, but as soon as you realized your...romantic predicament, you just shut him out all over again.

You hurt him, and this is another reason why you can't tell him how you feel. You don't deserve them, you don't deserve to love or be loved by them.

At least, that's what you think. Albedo sees it in an entirely different light though.

They adore you. They love you so much it hurts them sometimes, because they don't know how to show it. He tries, he really does; in lingering touches, soft gazes, their vulnerability. A kind of vulnerability only you're allowed to see. So where did they go wrong?

It's silent, and tense. Neither of you move or speak for a good five minutes. What's even left to say? You can't bring yourself to deny it, cause you know he'll want a reason, a reason that you just can't give him. Not now.

Finally, Albedo scoots closer to you, hand resting on top of yours. They tilt your head to meet your gaze, half-lidded eyes focusing intently on your lips. You act like you don't see it, there's no point in getting your hopes up, not for someone you don't deserve. You decide to break the silence, shifting the focus onto him.

"Bedo. Have you been overworking yourself just because you think you did something wrong?" You know you're right when you see a slight flinch, before he turns away. "You still didn't answer whether or not I did do something wrong...I did, didn't I?"

Your heart shatters when you hear his voice crack, you can't keep going on like this. If you didn't deserve them before, you definitely don't now. You need to fix it, you know you do. So you try.

"No, you didn't."

Part of you thinks you can get out of this without having to expose that part of you, the part that feels something for him. The part of you that's vulnerable, weak. "Then why?"

You realize there really is not easy way to get out of this. You can't bring yourself to say the words, you might fall apart if you do. So you kiss them instead. It's short, but it sends the message. You let your free hand cup his cheek as you pull away, avoiding his gaze in fear of what he might do, what they might say, and that fear only grows bigger when he just says "Oh."

It dissipates when they lean in for more, returning the kiss they didn't have enough time to process beforehand. This time, you both pull away, and he rests his forehead against yours.

"I see. Well, I'm glad I didn't do anything wrong but....maybe just tell me next time?"

Of course he would.

"Like you're one to talk" you grumble. You would wipe that shit-eating grin off his face right now if it wasn't so cute. They turn back around to continue typing their notes, but you just close the computer. Laying back on the couch, you pull him closer until he's laying on top of you, face on your chest and his arms wrapped around your waist.

"I'll help you finish it later. Go to sleep, idiot." Ah, yes. Your lovely word choice. They know there's nothing but genuine concern and fondness though, so he lets it slide. "Mhm. Thank you."

You both let out a sigh of relief, before drifting off to sleep.

[byakkomaruu]

head-canons [sfw/nsfw] - brahms heelshire

nsfw head-canons below the cut.

gender-neutral reader; no pronouns used.

warnings - swearing, switch!brahms, hinted predator play(?), somnophilia, voyeurism (typical), hinted phone sex(?), sadism, hinted bondage, choking, begging, lingerie, brahms is rough and borderline violent at times(?), size kink, hinted shower sex.

__________________________________________

i. after revealing himself to you, he doesn't often use the child voice. it's usually to taunt you when he gets bored and feels like leading you through a goose chase through the heelshire estate. sometimes he uses it to make you laugh, or just because brahms is a little shit.

ii. if he doesn't ask for a kiss goodnight (or just kisses in general), something is wrong and there is a disturbance in the force.

iii. despite his colossal stature, he moves around the manor very quietly. life in the walls taught him the language of silence. it's very hard to hear his footsteps. since you won't always hear him coming, expect to be spooked often, even if he doesn't mean to scare you.

iv. he hates malcolm. sure, malcolm is the one that brings the food, but brahms is very clingy, and he obviously can't be with you when the grocery boy is around. if malcolm is here, brahms is most definitely watching. he refuses to leave you alone with malcolm, even though the other man means purely business.

v. he would definitely eat stuff like nutella or marshmallow fluff straight from their jars. very few condiments of those kinds don't have sloppy excavation lines from brahms taking a fork or spoon through them. ice cream is absolutely included, but that one's a given.

vi. brahms hangs onto his mask like a lifeline. once every blue moon will he take it off around you. he trusts you, sure, but the porcelain face brings him comfort.

vii. if he cut your hair in your sleep before revealing himself to you, he will try to return it to you at one point, like a cat bringing a dead rodent to its owner as a little present. you obviously won't take it back, but the gesture is nice... right?

viii. he would let you do anything to him; he absolutely adores you. wanna paint his nails? sure, but make sure he actually lets them dry. wanna cut or style his hair? he won't like sitting still for long periods of time but play with his hair a little bit and he's sold!

ix. when he wants to be alone, for whatever reason, he will retreat back to the catacombs of the manor. however, he won't be completely gone: if you call out to him, he will make himself known by knocking on the walls to let you know he's still around. he's never too far behind.

x. he loves helping you cook. he won't often involve himself in chores unless you ask for his help, but in the kitchen, he's always there, grasping at various things and wondering how he can help you with whatever you're making. his two main motivators: you and fresh, warm meals-- he will never go back to cold or microwaved leftovers again. beware, though: he will lick the spoon and taste everything, whether it tastes good or not. he has yet to learn his lesson after he tried to eat a spoonful of straight cocoa powder.

xi. speaking of food, he hates spicy things. if you're eating super spicy stuff, brahms will look at you like you're the crazy one. he will never understand how on god's green earth you can tolerate it. it's one of the few kinds of foods that brahms despises. alongside pickles. he hates pickles as well and i don't accept criticism.

xii. brahms is really intelligent. probably smarter than you, no offense. he's definitely not patient enough for things like puzzles or math equations, though. he'll only really do stuff like that if you're there with him; he doesn't care about whatever it is, he's just clingy as shit.

xiii. there's no hiding spots for you, no little nooks or places you can put things so brahms won't find them. he'll find them eventually.

xiv. brahms is a very light sleeper. there's no sneaking away from him, especially if he's sleeping in bed with you. if you toss and turn, he'll grab you and hold you close so he can actually get some rest (also, he's one of those freaks that sleeps on his back, live with it).

xv. if you like to dance to a song you listen to, try getting brahms to join in! you'll have to lead him around by holding his hands and pulling him along. he has no idea what the fuck you're doing, and he isn't the biggest fan of your taste in music, he's just following you along while he watches you sway and swing to the rhythm. his movements as he follows you are very awkward and bashful-- yes, he will step on your shoes, and it will hurt like a bitch --but he's got the spirit! :D

xvi. he has a massive size kink (no pun intended). standing well over six feet tall, he very much enjoys towering over you, even if he's not the one in control. however, there's a voice in his head that tells him how fragile your neck must be.

xvii. please god do not think he has poor hygiene just because he borderline had no choice. he doesn't mind showers or baths but would gladly them with you. he won't keep his hands to himself, though, fair warning.

xviii. he hates teasing of any sort. if you crack open a dictionary to find the definition for the word impatient, brahms' picture only isn't there because he was too short-tempered to deal with turning it in. if pissing him off is something you want to do, tie him down somewhere and give him a show! listen, he's a voyeur at heart, but he hates being forced to sit and watch when he is right there next to you.

xix. want some exercise? play hide and seek or let brahms chase you through the manor! it's a great thrill for him. most of the time, he will beat you though, and he always insists on a reward for his victory (hint hint, wink wink, nudge nudge).

xx. sometimes after sex, mostly when he plays the dominant role at the time, he'll steal your underwear. yeah, he doesn't need to since you're his now and you can just give them to him if he asks, but what's the fun in that? he does return them... eventually.

xxi. another big kink of his is somno, for either of you. when he wakes you up with his face between your legs, he'll start apologizing to you once he realizes you're awake, telling you that he couldn't resist and that he's sorry for disturbing your slumber, but he won't stop unless you make him. if you wake him by, for example, sucking his cock, you have until he fully wakes up to have your fun: he takes it as an invitation.

xxii. good lord do not let malcolm call you, brahms will most definitely pull some shit. or do! brahms will pitch a fit if you really need to talk to malcolm, and if you chase the masked man off so you can speak with the grocery boy, he'll make sure you can't walk afterwards. yeah, good luck talking to malcolm if your voice is raspy and weak. :D

xxiii. kisses. everywhere. he especially loves marking up your neck, legs, and wrists. as much as he wants to, he knows he can't leave anything in a place you can't hide it (fuck you, malcolm).

xxiv. toys are definitely on the table. at first, he hated them almost as much as malcolm-- how dare you even consider a plastic device over him --but when you introduce them to him, he changes his mind completely. get him a few for himself, he'd definitely enjoy them when he can't get ahold of you.

xxv. if you're into choking, good news!: the first time he ever choked you, he got really into it. his hand was exploring your chest as he fucked you against your mattress, and when you grabbed his wrist and moved his hand up to grab your throat, you could hear an alarmed gasp from beneath his porcelain mask. you almost passed out and you had to let him know when to stop so he doesn't actually hurt you, but he is so ungodly into choking you if you introduce it to him.

xxvi. the first time he ever fucked you was his first. he's not stupid or clueless; he just hasn't interacted with anyone face-to-face aside for his parents in twenty years. when he first put his cock inside you, he was very quickly thrown into an internal battle between pounding into you without giving you a chance to breathe or stopping to give himself a chance to savor this feeling to keep himself from cumming too quickly. you created a monster, good luck!

xxvii. brahms' sex drive is so ungodly high; it isn't even funny. he is so down to fuck 24/7 it is mental. it is also incredibly easy to get him hard, too, take notes. this motherfucker needs a leash and a muzzle to behave, good lord.

xxviii. if you think you're able to masturbate alone, you're dead wrong, brahms is most likely watching you in silence (he's a voyeur at heart, everyone). the moment he hears you cry out his name, it's game over: he also thinks of this as an invitation. the first time you moaned his name while masturbating, you heard him stumble from inside the wall across from your bed.

xxix. eye contact during sexual acts is your best friend with brahms. with him in charge, it empowers him, makes him grin like a madman beneath the mask and tighten his hold on you. with you in charge, the longer you hold eye contact the more he crumbles. he will never ever be the first to turn his gaze from yours.

xxx. lingerie is well appreciated in brahms' eyes, but the moment he sees you, he'll pounce like an animal. he won't admire you for too long. he'll try to rip it off of you, too (he has done so several times), so it's best to leave more expensive clothing items for a time when he can't tear it up-- or just be quick about taking it off.

[doberbutts]

trans men and trans women cannot enter cis manhood, our issues are not 'men's issues', none are. They are other axis of oppression that men experience, filtered through their manhood. The association with transness, womanhood, and afab experiences intrinsically links us as targets of misogyny. when are we gonna stop trying to pretend our ASAB doesnt impact anything; even when coercively assigned, its kind of important. The fear of acknowledging sex, like at all, is getting ridiculous that yall thinking like MRAs, instead of acknowledging targeted misogyny and transphobia, filtered through your manhood, not stemming from it.

I'm gunna be real here: it feels very condescending to have someone link the definition of "coercively" in my inbox while I know that the phrase "coercively assigned sex at birth" is an intersex phrase, not a transgender one, and I've been very, very loud about my discovery that I'm intersex. It feels wrong to have someone be that patronizing about a phrase people like me came up with, to clumsily explain why they think I'm wrong.

Anyway.

When I was being taught how to be transgender by an older trans woman who called herself transsexual, the theory at the time was that trans men are actually included in discussions of transmisogyny because we are oppressed by a unique intersection of transphobia and misogyny that trans women do not face, just as trans women are oppressed by a unique intersection of transphobia and misogyny that trans men do not face.

Somewhere along the way, it became unacceptable to say that trans men face misogyny. "If you say you experience misogyny you're misgendering yourself" "if you're a man you can't experience misogyny" "trans men were never girls or women so they have never experienced misogyny" are bad and incorrect takes, but they are takes often repeated at us when we discuss our issues nonetheless.

Somewhere along the way, it became unacceptable to say that trans mascs face transmisogyny. We're exempt from ever feeling any sort of effect from it, because we're men and men don't experience misogyny so it's "just transphobia". The rise of TME and TMA labelling split everyone into two groups; TMA people were just trans women, trans fems, and maybe very feminine cis men who toed the gender line a bit. TME was everyone else. Don't look too hard at the cis black athletes getting kicked out of sports for having high testosterone levels due to concern trolling about ~evil predatory trans women athletes~. Don't look too hard at butches getting kicked out of bathrooms. Don't look too hard at trans mascs getting denied abortions. That's "just transphobia". There's no misogyny happening here. And if it is it's just misogyny and transphobia and not transmisogyny despite that being the literal definition of the word.

So if we're not allowed to call it transmisogyny which my transgender ass was taught to do by a transsexual woman, and we're not allowed to call it misogyny because we're men, and it seems that "just transphobia" isn't accurate language to describe our experiences with how society treats us, we're gunna make our own words to talk about it. That's how language works. At some point you've gotta accept that telling people their language is bad while doing absolutely nothing to resolve the actual problem being discussed is tone policing, which solves nothing and helps no one.

And it's honestly pretty offensive to repeatedly call people who are talking about trying to lower rape statistics and suicide rates the same as people who have been proven to be extremely violent, especially so to come into a black New Englander's ask box so close after the Buffalo shooting and expect me to take kindly to you comparing me to a racist that deliberately killed multiple people sharing my skin tone because he's sad he can't get his dick wet. How dare you, actually. We have done nothing to you by talking about our problems and trying to work out support networks to get trans mascs in bad situations the help they desperately need. Uplifting our own is not the same as choosing to become mass murderers writing manifestos. I shouldn't even need to explain why that's a fucked up thing to say.

[sevs-corner]

One Piece's WWHI Series (Isekai Ver.)

2.) What would happen if the others heard you speak your native language? (Part 2)

~Previously~

After gathering the lost sheeps, the crew got to drinking with Whitebeard and Red-haired pirates. Apparently, the yonkos met on this island and decided to catch up with each other.

Which leads the lass to this particular…predicament.

"Are you sure you want to join a kid's game?" the girls asks, quite concerned by the way how the two yonkos are acting.

"Yeah! Start explainin' kiddo!"

"It's been quite some time since we had a friendly game, right red hair?!" The two laughed with arms strewn across each other shoulders.

The girl sighs but does as he says anyways, "okay, so it's called 'Patintero.' Basically, there are two teams," she points towards the group split between the two captains. "One is on offense, while the other is on defense."

"The defense team stands on these lines," she taps her foot on the white taped ground which were laid in a rectangle with line intersecting the sidelines in the middle creating squares. "Rule is that the person in charge of this one line cannot step out of it nor cross onto other lines." The girl hops onto one side of the rectangle and opens up her arms. "And all the offense team have to do is pass the defense team!"

"Sounds too easy," Zoro commented with a smirk, ready to pound Sanji to the floor.

"But!" the girl added with a finger twirling, "no going out of any of the lines or you are out!"

She chuckles at their groans, seemingly catching onto 90% of most of their plan.

"No Devil Fruits or weapons either then?" Shanks pouted and the girl ruthelessly nodded with a glare.

"Of course! We're playing it the OG- classic way," she huffed before whistling. "Get to your places, we're gonna start!"

The offense team was consisted of Whitebeard, Ace, Luffy, Zoro, Robin, Nami, and, Usopp; while on the other team, Shanks, Sanji, Franky, Chopper, Brook, Marco, and Thatch were on defense. It quite hilarious sight to see, two yonkos facing off against each other right outside the bar.

"No Haki by the way!" The girl whispers to the red headed captain who pouts in response.

"Why not!"

"Because it'll give your team an unfair advantage," Benn rolls his eyes and the girl couldn't help but giggle. She did try to invite the first mate to the game but he explained that he had to watch his captain instead.

"Unfair- shmair- everything's fair game as a pirate!"

"Correlation?"

"Me!"

Dead panning, she proceeded to turn around and signal to the others.

"Ready!"

"Are you just gonna ignore me?!

"Set!"

"Kiddo… :("

The girl glanced at the captain's puppy eyes, and she couldn't help but feel bad. That's why…

"Go!" she shouts with a grin.

"Heartless!"

The girl merely cackles, walking away from the ensuing chaos to narrate the whole game.

"Zoro goes in for a slide- but oh no!" The girl watched as he gets clotheslined by Franky who simply stretched his arm to one side of the rectangle to another. Blowing the whistle, she shouts a "foul!" "What?!" She points at his extended arm with an arched brow, "you used a weapon." "That’s my arm!" "You are considered a weapon," she whistles, "you're out." The cyborg stands there in shock, his jaw hitting floor and Sanji couldn’t help but sympathetically pat his shoulders. "Wouldn't that be unfair?" Marco frowned, "It is part of his body and its not like he can remove it." The girl thought about it for a second before snapping her fingers. "You're back in Franky." He shouts out in glee and the girl could see- at the corner of her eye- Zoro grumble at her call and she couldn't help but let out a cough of a laugh in her fist. "Oi! Wasn't that foul play?!" Zoro complains. "Just make sure you don't use any of your body modification Franky." The girl reminds, to which the cyborg threw her a thumbs up. "Did she really just ignore me?" "I know how you feel."  

"YOU'RE ON THE OTHER TEAM."  

"Though, you have to agree that we're definitely on the same team against her."

"Ah…Right."

AFTERMATH:

For the girl to be dying on the ground right now was a sight they we're not surprised to see.

Despite officiating the whole game- as well as narrating it- she couldn't help but choke on her spit when Whitebeard would simply get caught right by the crown jewels, or Ace and Luffy would try to initiate their plan but because of the zero coordination they have with each other (they argues the whole time on who could finish first) they flailed like flying fishes.

Although, Shanks ended up winning despite Nami, Robin, and Usopp being able to get through.

Did they use Zoro as bait multiple times?

Yes.

Without hesitation.

Every time.

"Fuck all of you." Zoro grumbles, dusting out the dirt that was stuck on his shirt as the three just shrugged.

"You just have to be as good as Captain Usopp to win like me, Zoro!"

"Ha?"

"EEP!!"

"Pucha- we need a round two here!"

"NO!"

"yes!"

"SHUT IT SHANKS."  

[jjkpls]

the wishlist (m) - 6 (final)

“Was it worth it?”

> genre : smut, angst, fluff

> pairing : jeon jungkook x reader (f)

> words : 15k (ugh sorry)

> content/warnings : back at it again w/ the bff2l; one sided love, LOTS of pining; sextoys talk and use; explicit language; explicit description of sex; phonesex; masturbation (f); dirtytalk; alcohol drinking; dubcon exhibitionism; ambiguous infidelity

previous - masterlist

There's a lot of forgetting to get done. It wasn't the plan to get drunk. Maybe you should have known better than to confide the slightest about your heart and its aching to your two girlfriends. Because they don't have much of a solution to present you with. You meant to ask of them to divert your mind, make you laugh, feed you so much you'd fall into a food coma and wouldn't be able to think about anything else but sleep. Eventually, share their own dramas of the moment (they always have some) to get you so invested in their shits you wouldn't be thinking about your own.

You made the mistake of sharing, with probably too much preponderance in your tone, that Jungkook was back with his girlfriend.

Without any context clues -they didn't even know that he was single for approximately four days-, they knew. You're not that complicated to read when it comes to him. Only he seems to not get it.

You still remember the first time they found you out. They had a sense that something was up with this kid, that there couldn't just be a platonic, decade-old friendship based on nothing spicier than the tteokbokki you'd cook for him every now and then.

They only started believing, with utter incredulity, that it was true when they saw you, and him, and his girlfriend. All at the same time, sitting around the same table, there was no doubt left. No reason to believe that there's something unsaid existing. They saw your eyes though. The shine they gain whenever you'd be looking at him, laughing hard with all his teeth out, and the glassy look they took on whenever they'd catch a gesture, a touch that was meant only for Jiyeun.

You've never really gone into details. You've never ranted over the feelings, over him, everything that made him the one person for you. They saw you cry over him though, one drunken night, and it was enough to make them understand how deep you were in.

And perhaps it's your fault, that you wouldn't sort of train them to be the better friends they wish to be to you. They don't know what to say, what to do to console you. You don't even know what you need. Really, all you know, it's that you didn't feel able enough to take care of your tormented heart and mind alone tonight.

You are to blame if they dragged you to this bar, with the music too loud and the people too numerous, bumping their hips to yours attempting to coarse you into dancing. You hate every second of it. Every element that was supposed to distract you, help you forget, feel better, served as annoying distractions. You could picture yourself, dipped in a scorching hot bath, with a bowl of ice cream, weeping your eyes out like in the most cliche, most dramatic breaking down of your life. And it felt right, in your mind anyway, a thousand times better than this.

"Here!" Like the good girl that you are, you accept the shots. Min sets one in each of your hand and stares over the rim of her own glass, expecting. You roll your eyes. Swallow them down in one go and she yells, arms in the air, jumping like the night has just been made.

At least, she's entertained. Dancing her life away, kind of wilding out with too much energy, having to apologize every few seconds for knocking someone with an elbow or slapping another with her ponytail.

"Look, who's here!"

Your heart skips a beat then. Until you follow Mary's finger who's pointing rudely at Park Jimin. Park Jimin as in Jeon Jungkook's Park Jimin, one of his closest friends. He's dressed in all black, tight leather pants clawing to his legs, silk shirt half unbuttoned, perched on heeled Chelsea boots, dark black hair gelled back.

For a second, you worry, stupidly, if your friend is not going to appear, emerging from the thick crowd, carrying a drink, catching your eyes in the room. That's another thing you wouldn't need right now: seeing him. When you're in this weird state of sadness, guiltiness, of hopelessness and confusion. You'd probably be a mean bitch again. He doesn't deserve that.

For some time, you're just watching Jimin, being Jimin, dancing languorously, flashing smiles and winks so naturally; making everyone uncomfortable just because he's so attractive and so talented at catching people's attention and making them want him. It's just Jimin, hoeing out, as always. No Jungkook ever appears next to him. And while you sort of spy on him, there are the two dumb bitches next to you, drooling over him. Commenting about his ass, the way he moves his hips and how tight he seems to be in his pants.

"You should have fallen for him, dude!" It's the pinch to your arm that drags you back to the conversation, lets you know that you're the one Min is addressing. "What?" Your brain is already a bit slow. You haven't eaten much before leaving, drunk not much but too fast and forming intelligible sentences, translating your thoughts in their entirety is not a task easily doable at the moment. You meant to say something about how ridiculous they sound. About how it doesn't make any sense. About Jungkook and the things you feel for him, and the way you fell and how even when you suffer, like in this instance, you wouldn't change your heart because it's him, and only him, has been and might as well always be.

Why would you fall for Park Jimin?

"Jimin, you'd just ask him to fuck you and he'll do it."

"You can see he's a very generous slut."

It makes you wince. They're being fucking weird. Obnoxious, in their way of ogling him and quite disgusting talking about him. There's a smirk on the corner of Jimin's mouth and you wonder if maybe he's noticed them and is enjoying it. They don't mean to be offensive, you suppose, but they're still rude as hell.

"Useless Jungkook could never!"

Either you knock your friend out with your newly filled up glass or you drink it and attempt to swallow along your rage and that strange feeling that the open shirt Jimin is wearing has raised in you.

"Don't you wanna try him?" The question is absurd. You don't try people in general. But you'd never, ever, even think about trying someone as close as he is to Jungkook.

What the actual fuck?

"Fine! Don't give me those eyes!" Your brain and face connection is not that great at the moment that you'd know precisely what Mary is referring to. Soon after frowning and pouting through a sip of her drink, she's leaving, straight for the less crowded part of the bar, where people are dancing, where Jimin is showing off.

She needs less than thirty seconds to have him wrapped around her. Min is howling at your side like it's such an exploit. You don't want to bad mouth on your friend but it is, indeed, Jimin. Manwhore Jimin. And just like that, just because she walked in his vicinity, whispered something quickly to him, maybe just a simple greeting and a reminder of who she is, your friend, in case he couldn't make her out, and he's holding her tight, dancing, more like grinding against her, to her greatest pleasure, face buried in her hair, he seems to be uttering things directly in her ear. You catch her fingers reaching for the wide opening of his shirt, brushing against that tattoo you know to be there under his breast but have never gotten to really decipher, and he's leaving kisses on her shoulders. The next thing you see is his wide, wolf-like grin, now aiming straight at you.

You startle, almost let your glass shatter to the ground from the surprise. That seems to make him laugh. He waves a hand quickly your way and for some reasons, it sends a sudden flaming flush to your cheeks. That guy is such a cunt-tease, he's awful. No wonder people talk so crudely about him.

"I need to get plastered." You mumble, probably not loud enough for Min, whose arm you're dragging along on your way to the bar, to hear.

You may have thought, for a split second, of a fantasy. You may have reshaped the scene taking place in front of you to make it more suitable to you, to make it as self-indulgent as you could. With you replacing Mary, with Jungkook replacing Jimin. She made it seem so easy and for the briefest of moments, it felt like it was realisable. As if the only step missing, the only thing making it not real yet, is the first step, the one Mary took by just walking up to him and asking him to dance, maybe for you to be his for a while.

Then Jimin looked over, with his dark eyes and pretty luscious lips, his very sexy aura and everything that makes him him, and it all felt down to the ground. That's ridiculous.

That would never work.

Maybe hot men with the most endearing hearts that you really desire are not to be seduced by you. It just wouldn't happen. Jungkook would never, as she said. What a shame.

You should have fallen for someone easier like Jimin. He's not one person's man, that's for sure, but at least, he would have been great at pretending to be yours for a moment.

Now you really need to get drunk.

There's pure guilt boiling in the pit of your stomach. Because you've never denied your feelings for Jungkook. He deserves them. He deserves to be loved by everyone. Deeply and passionately. And no matter how true, how pure, how intense those feelings are, he never owes to reciprocate, does he? And here you are, greedy stupid little you, sad and angry because of course, he couldn't love you back like that. Not when there's fucking Jiyeun in the way. Jiyeun or any fucking one else, right?

He's not making it easy for you. Everything he does is making your life harder. As if it wasn't enough on its own already.

Everything he does.

Like buying you these fucking toys you need a science degree to operate.

Sort of.

Maybe you don't need a science degree. Maybe a sober head would be enough to make a toy you've never used before function.

You don't have that at the moment. You're in your favourite pyjamas - an extra-large, greyed by time tee-shirt you stole from Jungkook back in high school - and panties - because it sounded like way too much effort to find shorts or joggings and slip them on. You've managed, somehow, you don't even remember doing it, to make your bed all cosy and welcoming, a perfect backrest made of your fluffiest pillows.

The little toy, this orange thing, sort of shaped like a fat bunny, a big, rounded body with two straight little ears, pointed upwards. It's supposed to be fully charged. It's been disinfected. It's just waiting for you to use.

Except it's the last one Jungkook had bought for you, you didn't get to use it yet, to even turn it on once, nor read its instructions. And here you are, past two am, trying, with your sloppy brain, your blurry eyes, and your impatient cunt, to understand how it works. There's an app linked to it. This much you got from the big, unmissable QR code occupying the first page of the three-page long manual that your eyes won't read.

You picked up your phone, went through the violent burning of your eyes when the screen lit up too close to your face, scanned the code, installed the app and here you are, stuck.

The app won't let you turn the fucking toy on. There's a message that keeps coming up every time you try to link the app to the toy. But the message is written in grey, on white, and you can't see shit and you don't have the patience to decrypt it. Maybe if you close it, and try running it again, and try scanning the code again, and just click on the button that appears under the message, whatever it says, maybe it'll work.

Except it doesn't. After a certain number of times (keeping up with the counting is another thing you can't do well right now) the app keeps on being a bitch. Keeps being difficult and reluctant, and unwilling to let you fucking get off and go to sleep.

You're on the verge of tears.

Why would it be so fucking difficult to make a fucking sex toy work?

Why?

You're so annoyed and impatient and angry now and it's all Jungkook's fault anyway.

You can't try to go to sleep, no matter how tipsy you are, because your brain is filled up with this asshole and won't let you alone. You can't fuck yourself to sleep because the toy you've picked - and for totally irrational reasons you feel like you can not switch to another one - won't let you and it's his. His fucking present. Fucking poisoned gift.

He makes everything worse. Everything difficult. And the more your eyes fill up with frustration tears, the more you're reminded that he's also the answer. He's the worst and the best part of your existence.

Of course, you'd call him.

"I could be sleeping." His voice is light and clear. He wasn't any close to be asleep. He's probably gaming or something. You're so thankful for his voice, the lovely thing, the comforting thing, that you don't even get mad at his aforehand teasing.

"Jungkook-" It's not a call of his name. It's a whine, almost a lament at this point. Tiny high tone, overly dragged vowels. Something like Juunggooo, and he must recognize the tone straight away because he starts laughing in your ear. You bite on your bottom lip hard, almost draw blood, squeeze your fist over your heart, as if it could help it handle it better.

You love him, you love him, you love him.

"Went out with the girls?" You hum as an answer. "Had a little too much fun, sweatheart?"

"No fun at all."

He's laughing again. His sly, mocking chuckle. He's too himself for you to get mad at him. He's too cute when he sounds boyish and happy like that.

"No fun?" He's having fun, it's hearable. It might be because you sound like a dumb, whiny kid. "Why is that?"

"Just cause." He hums like he understands. You hear mockery in it. He sounds a bit distant. As if he's not totally paying attention, as if you're really a four-year-old kid rambling some non-sense after school and their parent just barely pretends to be interested. "Junggooo, I'm trying to have my fun now but your thing is being mean to me."

"What thing?" He's definitely doing something else. He speaks a bit slow, you can picture his gaze far from you. And of course, it'd be, he couldn't even see you even if he tried. It's still vexing. He really doesn't want you to have him all for yourself. Why not fucking Jimin?

"The orange bunny you got me." You explain patiently, pouting a bit. You try your best not to have your vexation be too loud but it's hard. "I tried the app but it won't let me."

"The orange-" You hear it when the gears click. He even gasps a bit. You kind of brought it up out of nowhere when you accommodated him with your constant complains and fights pretty much each time he wanted to talk about this subject. And here you are, opening up a conversation on one of them. You kind of get where the shock is coming from. "Oh, the Gala thing." He even knows its name. "What- How isn't it working?"

"The app says I'm too drunk to use it." You quetch, glaring at the toy laying flat on its back next to you. The asshole.

"The app says what?"

"Jeon Jungkook! Are you even listening to me?" Hysteria was to be expected. Because here you are sad and drunk and horny and highly frustrated and it seems he keeps making you repeat everything. And of course, he would because he can't give you his undivided attention now, can he? Because he's not a generous slut like Park Jimin, he's a useless prick. And if he keeps being one, and he keeps upsetting you, you promise to yourself, as an act of self-love and self-respect, you'll tell him he should be better, he should be more like Park Jimin.

"I am, baby, but I'm confused."

Except he doesn't need any bettering, does he?

It's like he's heard your thoughts. Like somehow, even with the distance separating your two apartments, he's been able to read them directly on the lines of your heart. He knows what you need, the soft and gentle and tender Jungkook who takes care of you, the one that doesn't show often, especially now that you don't really go out and get pissed off drunk together, now that you don't expose the sad episodes you might have to him in fear of being precisely confronted to this perfect torture. Maybe he heard your mind calling Park Jimin's name too many times and he tries to ensure his position. You almost tell him not to bother. That it was just a taunt, it's always him, just him, will ever be.

"What does the message say?"

"That I'm too drunk and stupid to use it."

"I don't think that's what's written, baby."

"But-" You're seriously going to cry in a second. You don't even know from what. The app really succeeded in hurting your feelings by not working for you and he keeps calling you baby, it makes your whole inside boil and scorch like a puddle of lava. "It's invisible letters, how am I supposed to read exactly?"

"If you can't read maybe you should just go to bed for now, hm? Figure it out tomorrow."

"No, now." Full brat mode is on. You know if only he was sitting next to you, you would have raised a hand to pinch him right on the back of his upper arm -where it really stings. It works usually. You don't hurt him, the guy is basically made of muscles, he's the kind of work out junkie that's enjoying the pain. He wouldn't fucking mind your tiny attempt of an attack, no matter the amount of anger and frustration powering it.

By telephone though, it's even harder to make him do something. Possibly undoable. The only weapon that you have is your annoying screeching voice. "You fix it! You bought this shitty thing so you fix it."

"I forgot how rude you get when you're drunk." He's still making fun of you. Not taking you that seriously.

"Jungkook, I'm seriously going to cry." The worst part is that you mean it. If regular menaces won't do, surely affection blackmailing should be more effective.

"Don't cry, it's fine. I'll check. Don't hang up."

As if. You did not plan on hanging up. Ever. You've decided.

It's too nice, cuddled up in your bed, with his voice, smooth and soft, saying words that you really like, like baby, in your ear. You've decided this moment won't ever stop.

"Junggoo-"

"One second, baby." You don't have one fucking second. You don't have any fucking second to spare him. When he's made you horny and lonely and longing for so fucking long. Why would you spare him any more? He takes too long. The time he takes, you prophet, will precisely be the time your vagina will need to dry out entirely.

Even his soft voice calling you baby won't serve to make you wet again.

That's a lie.

It makes you groan. Asshole, asshole, asshole.

"Oh." Your ears perk up. He's back with you, his voice closer than before, it seems, when he starts explaining, a hint of guilt shadowing his tone. "Sorry, it's my fault."

"Of course, it is." You mumble, face deep in your pillows. "Jungkook! Everything's your fault, always." You're probably being unfair. Or maybe not. Is he responsible for making you fall for him or are you to blame for doing so? Turns out, it doesn't really matter, because he doesn't even pay attention to the blatant, telling, honest truth you've just spurred.

"When I received the package I tried it once."

"Tried?" Did he really? The cute little bunny-shaped thing you'd dismissed earlier, cursed at and threw daggers at suddenly looks different to you. You want to pick it up and maybe place a kiss on the top.

"Wait- Not like that! I didn't actually try it! I don't have a fucking clit, what-"

"You just said that!"

"I meant, I tried turning it on and linking it with the app, just to see how it worked. Like the options on the app."

"Oh." Makes more sense.

"Anyway, it's not working for you because I used my email with it and you can only have one." So many words. God. "I have to invite you. Or delete my account and then you make one with your QR code."

You turn into the whiniest, most irritating little thing then. Just a jumble of dramatic cries, something almost sorrowful because your issue appears impossible to deal with. It's not that complicated. He explained it. Too many words, too much thinking, too much paying attention, too much to do and too much delay. How does he expect you to do it when you can't even read the invisible font of the app?

"Fucking invite me then."

"Watch your mouth." It makes you roll your eyes. It's not the first time he says that. He says with this menacing growl at the end. Like he means it. Like he's really threatening you. But no matter how far you go, no matter how many times you curse at him, he never acts on it. You want to tell him, you almost do, to stop promising you things he won't ever give you. There's a ping coming from your phone. With a bit of a struggle, you manage to put the speakers on, so that he doesn't leave too far whilst you take a look at the message. A link to click on. Not that hard, it's bright blue, unmissable. It leads you back to the bitchy app.

Now it's all nice to you. It lets you enter, presents even a picture of your own toy, congratulates you for being linked to it and to Jungkook's account. Of course, it would. Now that it knows you're friends, now that he's in the thing, this bitch of an app is being nice.

There are a lot of symbols, every-fucking-where. Some wavier than others. One is shaped like a music note. Some are just little constellations of dots. You click somewhere, just to try and see if anything happens and it does.

Suddenly, the bunny is brought to life and starts purring furiously on the bed. It startles you, looks a bit intimidating. It sounds angry and complicated with all of these fucking options. At least the other toys he's gotten for you had at most two buttons, one to turn it on and off, and the other one to regulate the three levels of intensity.

You might actually need a science degree to use that. Simply to adjust it so it's not attacking you when you turn it on.

You press another button. The setting changes instantly. It starts vibrating in a jerkier way instead of one straight line of frequency.

Tentatively, you grab it, sort of unimpressed and dubious as to the way this would feel good on you. You've already grown grudges against it. It needs to impress you, prove to you that it's worthy of the effort and of you even bringing it to your precious temple.

It sucks at convincing you. You've brought it to your panties and tee covered crotch, pressed it there, waiting, and it doesn't do much. It vibrates. Weirdly. It stops and goes again, in a pattern you don't understand and it doesn't do much for you. Doesn't turn you on, doesn't make you wet. Doesn't stimulate in any positive way.

You reach for your phone with one hand, trying to keep the other one holding it against you, and it's here that the whole thing fucks up for the last time you can tolerate.

How are you supposed to fucking do that?

Don't they understand that? The people that make those fucking things? That they're going to be used mostly by single people, with a single pair of hands? How are you supposed to manage holding it up where you need it, whilst simultaneously, hold your phone up (everyone fucking knows holding a phone up with one hand, and tap on the fucking screen, especially laid in bed, is impossible and the worst fucking idea one could have - except if getting a black eye is the project) and control the intricate dashboard.

"For fuck's sake!"

"What is it?" Jungkook is sighing heavily in your room. And for a second, you're startled almost off of your own bed. You managed to forget he was even still here, on the other line, apparently waiting patiently for- for what exactly? Maybe for you to wish him goodnight and hang up. You literally forgot he was here. You were about to get yourself off -if only this shitty thing wasn't so shitty- whilst he was still here on the phone.

Why doesn't it mortify you?

"How am I supposed to use my phone and the thing at the same time? Why- How? Jungkook!"

"Stop saying my name like that!" You don't ask because you know exactly how you're saying it. There's no proper balance in your tone tonight. Either you're whining his name like a desperate brat, either you're pestering it like a disappointed, aggravated mom.

"I'm going to cry." You say again, lying this time. You've already started. It's not a lot yet. Just a puddle of tears, in each of your eyes that are just about to spill, and the prickling sensation at the tip of your nose, the latter has already starting sniffling uncontrollably.

"Why?" He sighs again. This time, it's gentler. He might have just found the key to the secret safe holding the very last drops of indulgence he hides deep inside his kind heart. "Baby, the app is really for couples."

"But I'm not a couple, I just wanna cum."

"Y/N-" He chokes on your name. "There are buttons on the toy for you to use. You don't have to use your phone, okay?"

"You're lying."

"Why would I be lying? Look! There are fucking buttons."

There are, indeed. But they suck, you think. You do try them. Pressing on them while you stretch your arms out to keep the bunny's ears close to your covered clit. It's so much work. You don't get it. The buttons are hard to press on, when you manage to activate the little monster, it just jabs against your centre, falls over from your hand. You hate the jerking motion, try to change it because clearly, it won't do. It doesn't work. The buttons suck, the toy sucks and Jungkook is cursing at you instead of helping.

"What do you want me to do? Baby, I'm- Just go to bed."

You hate that he's telling you to go to bed, again. He's probably right. You're being a pain, an embarrassing one at that. You can't just go yet, though. First of all, the very reason you called in the first place, for him to make it so you can fuck yourself to sleep, has not been effectively resolved. And on top of that, the very resolution you took earlier, the one of never hanging up, of never drawing a period to this moment, won't let you.

"This one sucks ass."

"It doesn't." He sounds calm, a bit quiet, tone low and collected. You wonder if he'd dropped whatever he was doing, whatever distraction and laid in bed like you, to listen and talk to you only. That would be nice. You're annoying as hell, poor him, he deserves better, but you're thankful for him.

"It's stabbing, how can it be nice?"

"You just- I don't even know why I'm arguing with you. You're drunk."

"Am not, you are."

He scoffs, doesn't bother insisting. He exhales deeply. You sigh as deep. Your lids are heavy. Your brain is fuming too. Your head feels fuzzy. You could sleep right now. You might make a terrible night. You might have nightmares. You might wake up in a few hours, hot and very bothered, frustrated and on edge. There's a little ping messing with an edge of your eyebrow. You know it'll grow into a headache soon.

"Junggoo..." You whimper as if he could help you. As if he's the key to this headache, to lock it away, along with the rest of your tormented feelings.

"You're tired, baby." He comments. You would bite if you were in front of him. He really wants to send you to bed. "Just go to sleep."

You should. Given that you need a good five minutes to find the energy to open your mouth and mumble, "Don't wanna."

"Then what is it that you want?"

"Told you."

"Hm?" You're not saying it again. You could fall asleep right now. With his slow breathing in your ear. It sounds so lovely. Feels like you've never been this nicely enveloped. It's like those ASMR or lo-fi music compilation videos on YouTube. The ones with the short scene, often animated, playing on the screen. It's instant peace, instant chill, purely quiet, greatly pleasant. You love these sceneries. You even have a few printed on your wall. They are great to look at and try to project in, because it seems you could never create this feeling, this atmosphere in real life.

But you've reached it. Now. The perfect peaceful land. With the perfect soundtrack coming through your phone. You're comfy and warm, it's almost as if he was actually there with you, wrapped behind you, stroking your hair. God, you wish he was there stroking your hair and kissing the top of your head. But he's not here. And why? He should be here. If he can be on the phone with you, when he used to come over to make sure the blanket is nicely tucked under your chin, why can't he be here? Life's so unfair.

"What was that?" He's probably referring to the big loud thump, throwing his toy to the ground made. It's not its fault. Even if it hurt your feelings, it's not responsible for him not being yours. Or maybe it is. He wouldn't give you toys if he were yours. He wouldn't need them. That's probably why Jiyeun doesn't like them. Because she wants him to be all that's pleasuring her. The lucky lucky bitch.

"Your stupid toy."

"Don't- do you know how much it cost?"

"Never told you to buy it."

"Sure, but don't break it! I promise it's good. You can't-"

"It stabbed me!" You accuse, petty.

"You- are insufferable." He sounds about done. Except he's not because he seems to want to prove you wrong, still. The toy on the ground starts shaking back to life. Curiously, you roll on your belly, throw a glance to the ground. It's stirring, moving around slowly, getting closer to you as if it's trying to hop back up on the bed. "Pick it up."

You do as you're told. It's vrooming lightly, quieter than you expected. You can hardly feel it in your palm. The movement more noticeable from the timid sound than by the intensity.

"Oh. It's nice now." Maybe it does have a conscience. It's being all sweet and mellow because the remote is in Jeon Jungkook, international heartthrob's hands.

"See?"

It's really gentle. It turns cute. With its bright orangy-red shade, its two cute ears and its belly, a bit domed to allow a better grip.

Your hand has a mind of its own. If he were to ask about it, to demand an explanation, even when you'll come later, and wonder mad and revolted and half dying of embarrassment, what the fuck came over you, you'd blame it all on your hand. The appendix and its own personal free will are bringing the thing back to your crotch. "You can switch the intensity, it was just at the highest before." You're hardly aware of Jungkook still talking in your ear. The phone on speaker is still laying on the pillow next to you and he's selling it to you, while demonstrating, as if he's signed a sponsorship with the brand. It could be funny but you don't really care, more curious about The Gala and finally getting to know it.

Soon enough you realize that two layers of clothing, no matter how thin, are too much. You lift the hem of his tee, exposing your panties and the lines of your mound, showing through the tissue. It makes sense then, the shape of the thing. It has those two straight ears, or poles, with enough space in between, to tuck your clit comfortably. If you'd like. And you're not sure it won the privilege just yet.

For now, it'll have it but still over your panties. They're so flimsy that really the fitting isn't too far from its initial conceptualized use. "And the modes- see," It's jerky again. It goes for a couple of beats very quick short pulses and then there's a long, monotone one until the pulses come back again. You don't like that one. It's gentler than the one from earlier, that tried to attack your clit with an angry strong beating though. "You can just switch. If you don't like the fast pulses, you don't have to use it. You just try it out." You guess he's right. You just have to try it, tame it. Learn its functions and let it learn you. Probably. Sounds like a lot of work though. The other ones were really straight forward. Good, excellent for some - special shout out to the clit hoover, which is not actually vacuuming but blowing air, which made you cum so fast and so hard in the very first two minutes of trying it. You'd turn it on and it'd do the job. Next to your ear, rambling like a radio you'd forget to turn off in another room, Jungkook is explaining how there are dozens of preset patterns and an infinite amount of slots for personal creations.

It's okay. Sounds like it would do the job. You can already tell how you'll use it if you ever decide to give it a second chance after tonight. Pressed tight against your button, turned a bit higher, in a very basic, very classic constant monotone vibration.

He's switched it to another stabbing like pulsing, very fast and aggressive, you can tell they meant to imitate the pattern of a good pounding but it does little to nothing to your excitation. Really all it does is make your eyebrows frown and your premise of a headache is back. "Hate that one."

"Change it." Kindly, he complies. Another one. You can't really identify it. Maybe a slower thrusting. It's better than the last one simply because it doesn't nearly hurt. Doesn't do much good either. But maybe it's not doing much over your panties though therefore curiously, with eyebrows furrowed now in concentration, you lift the waistband up with a finger and slip the bunny under it. Tentatively, you try to set it nicely where it should be resting, your clit out in the open, hugged tightly by the two ears replacing your lips. It's kinda nice. Barely though.

"So is-"

"Wait, turn it up a bit. I can't even tell what that's doing." You mumble maybe a tiny bit petty, a bit bad faith remaining from the bad impression the toy gave you. It's not that you want to hate because you've decided you would. It's more intricate than that. You're too tipsy to even try and explain that though.

"That one is-" After a while, doesn't do much. The higher setting, you suspect he hasn't gotten up a lot, hardly helps. It does vibrate but it doesn't seem to reach enough, your clit hardly feels anything. Your electrical toothbrush from your horny teenage years used to do a better job at being a vibrator -and this even over your jeans.

You're this close to throwing it to the ground again and give up on it, once and for all. Jungkook would need to understand. It's not because he spent a lot on it, it's not because that strange lady he keeps mentioning insisted on its good, that you are forced to appreciate it. You don't see the fucking point of this one. It does look cute and expensive but is pretty much useless. No one needs a pretty, expensive but awful friend.

"It sucks."

For a few seconds, he doesn't say anything. You consider that he might have even hung up. But then, in the quiet, his voice too serious for him not to have taken what you said personally breaks out. "You're mean."

"I think- I think it's a good opportunity to decide- uh..." The toy is still active in your panties, under your palm. The realization slowed your process of thought for a second but the bigger conclusion that it brings is that really, it sucks. So bad you even forgot it was still on -and it's not you being too drunk to have a fully, 360 awareness of your body, honestly. "To decide collectively that you need, you have to stop buying me those."

"They're not all bad! You loved the other ones!" He accuses, apparently not up for the collective decision. You are probably made of confusion at this point. How many more does he feel the need to get you? Is it that great, that gigantic, that tragic of a frustration that he developed by his girlfriend not liking these that he feels the need to bury you alive with thousands of those? The secretive shelf at the bottom of your dresser already holds little to no place left for another pretty box. And as to the satin bag you use to store the toys themselves, in your bedside table's drawer, you can't even close it anymore.

"When have I ever said that? We talked about one, I said it's fine."

"That's not what you said." Honestly, right now, you have no idea what you said. You know that you didn't find great easiness in talking about them. You've never mentioned any and he never did either, apart from the very first one. You did say something positive about it, you think you can recall. "I don't listen to you anyway because I know how bad of a liar you are."

"Well great. Blatantly admitting you don't care about my feelings-"

He bursts out in laughter. You might be a little bit of a drama queen right now. The hand that is not holding the bunny against your mound -for reasons you don't care to address to yourself, probably for you being so lazy that it feels more like an effort to change your hand's doing, take out and put away the toy, rather than just leave it there quiet and not really bothering- did reach for your chest, in a very theatrical embodiment of an offence.

"That's not what I said, you brat."

"That's what I heard though."

"I said I don't trust your mouth when the rest of you is saying something else entirely." You roll your eyes. Hopefully loud enough for him to hear it on his side of the call. "It's my new passion." He starts, giggling like an idiot. "I won't stop for as long as orgasms will look this good on you."

Oh. My God.

Is he allowed to say that? Is he allowed to say shit like that with the most calm you've ever heard anyone speak with? Like it's normal. Like it's a simple fact. Like the word orgasm in itself isn't so foreign in his mouth. Somehow he makes it sound incredible, so delicious you feel the first proper impulse to your pussy.

"You've never seen it." You counter, uneasy, feeling somehow unbalanced and unprepared against what is probably a simple conversation to him but a real personal attack with too great of weapons to you.

"I've seen the aftermath. I told you already." You wish he'd be more explicit. His words are confusing. They're not telling enough. They can be so much, they might not mean anything. He speaks softly, tranquilly, almost whispers in your ear. It's simply late. It's more appropriate, it feels, to speak quietly like that. It's one of those midnight talks.

He wouldn't know whenever he is seducing you. He's doing it constantly without meaning to. It's just him being himself and you being too weak for him. How could you make out his intentions now?

"You really-" The toy twitches in your hand. He clicked on the switch button of his app again. You're not sure why. From the way he speaks, he might not even have realised. He might be playing with the thing, mindlessly, the way he does when he picks at the skin of his fingers when he talks. He must be because he's still in his own head, talking while the thing, the barely interesting thing, turns into something else. Entirely. It's a wave-like pattern. Growing from pure stillness to a slow, growing vibration that ends in an intense climax. You gasp. He doesn't seem to hear. "You really don't want me to get you any more?"

The second wave hits. "Oh- God."

"I mean- I thought, we were- that it was okay." The sensation is incredible. For some reasons, a technology you don't fucking understand, you wouldn't fucking understand now, every single build hits insanely hard. Each time as intense if not better. You're so close to moaning. If you haven't really taken a second to realize what you were doing, actually using the toy with him on the phone, without him even knowing, somehow you know you need to remain quiet. You can't moan out loud. You sigh loud though. You have to. "I swear with you it's so hard to tell-" It's so hard to keep quiet and the realization brings a grin to your face. You're not that vocal usually. Sometimes you are, with some of the surprisingly good sessions Jungkook's presents have been offering you. But it was conscious. It was you enjoying, wanting to build a bigger pleasure, make it more sensational, it turned you on a bit, you had to admit, to hear yourself. The pleasure the toy is bringing you right now is indescribable. The more you leave it pressed to your clit, the more you feel the heat grow. You know it's already too much. You hiss and sigh, and have to bite back moans each time the high top of the wave comes. It's too much and feels like not enough.

The greedy you would want the final hit of the wave to last longer than those very few seconds. Long enough to bring you there, make you fall over the top of the hill. But it's a teasing setting. Probably programmed specifically for overstimulation. You squirm and bite back whines each time it comes, flinch and have to fight to not tear the ears away because you know the sensation is a lot to handle, too much stimulation, yet you're already addicted, unable to act on the very fair, logical, and sensible decision you should make. You shouldn't even be pleasuring yourself with him on the fucking phone.

"Are you okay?"

Jungkook asks, after having stopped talking altogether for a minute too long but it's not like you were really in any state of mind to acknowledge it.

You don't think he's noticed yet. From the noise, hopefully little, that you were making, at most, he should be able to hear some sort of short breathing, for all you know, he might think nausea is visiting from all the alcohol you've consumed and you're heaving, on the verge of throwing up.

"You're not feeling well, Y/N?" It's his concerned tone. The serious one. The one he uses whenever there's no skip button to the conversation. Usually, it leads to him coming over to take care of you like he's your mother. Which sounds great in theory but doesn't always apply wonderfully in practice.

Sometimes you don't want him to see you looking green and gross from fever sweat; sometimes you just want to be alone and recover on your own without having him watching so dramatically concerned over your shoulder. And now, you wouldn't want him to burst in with your hand still in your panties, a sweaty, bothered, horny mess for him to be left shocked and possibly disgusted by. Maybe disgusted is a big word. Or maybe it's not. How inappropriate is it to masturbate with an unknowing friend on the other end of your phone? Is it even legal?

"I'm fi-fine, Jungkook." You lie through gritted teeth. You can't possibly be fine. You've put yourself in the worst situation and you still don't do shit to get out of it. Something is very much wrong with you.

The logical thing to do, the sensible one, would be to either end the conversation, hang up and then eventually finish yourself; or else, take the thing out of your panties, possibly throw it the further away from you and keep the conversation on if that's what you wish to do.

It would certainly not be to ask for him to turn up the setting because you now really much want to come.

"You don't sound fine."

"But I am."

"How much did you drink?"

"Not that much, Guk." He makes you frown, almost rips a curse out of you. Because all this serious talk is diverting you from your pleasure. It's not like you're going to have fucking alcohol poisoning. You didn't drink that much, honestly. The drinks were not even that heavy, except for the two disgusting shots your friend forced in your hands. "Seriously, I'm good." The building up pleasure has brought a new awareness to your brain, and honestly, you feel way more alert than before. You're far from drunk, no matter how much your behaviour seems to contradict that. You're good. You'd be perfect if he'd shut up or if he'd start half seducing you as he does. Maybe he could talk about your nipples again and what you should do with them.

He did say that. Now that you come to think of it. On top of buying you those toys, he did guide you as to what to do with some of them, how you could use them. They were not his direct advice, they were the lady's but still, he felt the importance to share them with you.

"If you are then just answer the question, how much?"

"Okay in a sec but can you turn up the toy's intensity, please?"

"Turn what?" You almost bark then. The whistling f of a very practical, very useful word you shouldn't yell at him rings to your own ear but you're strong enough to hold back. "Ah the thing, yeah, sure." What a sweetheart. A bit slow, but lovely. Your whole body contracts violently when the newly powered wave hits, the beginning of a moan escaping because it's so good, it's almost painful. "I had like two shots of-" Ah. "Something. I don't know what it was, just-" Fuck. "Gross as- uh." Holy shit, that's good.

You can't believe you've judged this intricate, revolutionary technology so bad before. "And then, like, a martini or two, barely and- and-" You're so fucking close. Each time feels like the final ascension except you get back to square one whenever the vibration drops back to stillness too quick to your liking. It's pure torture. And having to make a fucking list of your consumption that's so far back in your brain right now, especially when you know that it's pointless, is not helping.

"Wait-"

"Jungkook-" You don't know if you're begging him to stop thinking now, not get to the conclusion his logical train of thoughts is trying to lead him to, or if you're begging him to help you cum, maybe be nice to the bunny which only seems to be kind to him and make him make you cum.

"Why did you ask me to turn the thing up?" He already knows the answer. You can hear in his tone that he already knows. And frankly, he's a dumb ass for not realizing sooner. "No, you're joking. You wouldn't- not when I'm talking to you."

"When if not then?" Maybe frustration has brought you some bravery, or maybe pleasure has burned the very last remaining functioning cells of your brain.

"Uh?"

It's probably gone too far now. It still feels like he owns the key to the phenomenal orgasm you can smell coming. If you were to hang up now, you wouldn't even know how to make this shitty thing work. And it's not enough. Still.

Shit.

You're definitely wailing in a second now. The next sound you mean to conceal is a sob. Why can't you reach it? And how can you be so hyper-focused on it, it doesn't seem to matter what's going on with Jungkook.

You've gone crazy. Or perhaps you're drunker than you thought yourself to be. The last wave hits differently. It's straight-up overstimulation when you haven't even come once yet. Doesn't feel very nice but at least, it's the push you need to finally lift it up a bit, make a pause and eventually show some consideration to Jungkook.

"So you've been arguing with me, saying it sucks when really you were-"

"It did suck before you changed the setting." You assert again. Because nagging is the thing you're most talented at doing, apparently.

Silence ensues. In the defeating quiet you realize even the discreet humming of the toy has stopped. He's turned it off.

Something akin to shame is finally showing the tip of its nose. It's been fucking late to the party, you note with a growing, you know to become, devastating mortification. Exhaustion and tipsiness are keeping your conscience quite numb but you don't give a chance to sober-you who'll wake up tomorrow with this awful incident engraved in her memory.

Why can't he say something? Essentially, it's his fault. It's always his fault. He makes you feel things you shouldn't and make you do things you wouldn't. You can't think properly. You're being fucking chaotic and he's responsible for that. Even you know it's reaching. You're not that petty and mean.

In a whisper, dipped in sincerity and shame, you apologize. "Sorry, Jungkook."

"For what?" Because he can't let you off the hook that easily, can he?

"Are you seriously going to make me say it? You know why!" Here comes angry-you again. Getting mad and rude for no rational reasons, and here, awfully unfairly. He really deserves better.

"No, I-" You may have broken him. Jungkook has never been the most eloquent person. Between lisping and stuttering and stopping mid-sentence to let you complete for him his missing words, he's never been the best at talking. But even for him, even knowing his history, you find him pretty affected. Possibly all messed up. There's not even the hint of sensible thought. A void filled with "uh" and "tsk" and lips smacking and hums, it's like he's ceased to function. Maybe if you just hang up and from then on, just pretend it's never happened, both of you can get away with the situation. It's an option.

"Jungkook, seriously, I'm sorry. Let's say it was a fucking, uh, drunk lapse of judgment on my part and- yeah, never mention it again."

"Yeah, okay." He whispers after a while. He sounds really shaken up. "But it's fine, I'm not mad, I'm just-"

"Bamboozled?" You suggest, heart constricted, not ready to joke yet but so desperate to obtain at least a smile from him to prove yourself that it's okay and you didn't fuck it up too bad.

"Bamboozled, indeed." He chuckles, a bit breathless on the phone. You can't help the big sigh that escapes you when relief rushes through you. He doesn't sound too upset with you. "I'm really not mad, I just wouldn't have- I wouldn't have expected this, from you."

Of course not. It makes you cringe. You bury your face in your pillow and release the most intense quiet cry you could manage.

"Sorry." You say again, quiet. Your eyes are prickly. This night is such a mess. You can't make out how you're feeling. It's like your reactions and your reflections all come to their own rhythm, inappropriately, unmatching each other's and certainly unmatching the current situation.

"Stop. And don't-" If you're decomposing yourself progressively, at least, he seems to be getting back to his senses. Voice clearer and more present. "You sound so upset now. Are you embarrassed?" It's a smile you hear in his words. You don't have the right to be mad at him but honestly, you would have hit him in the ribs if he were in front of you.

"Is it even necessary to ask?" You grumble face half suffocating still in the pillow. Oh, here's another solution. Suffocating yourself to death.

"I think so. I mean I bought them and I turned it on for you, I should have- I couldn't have known but I should have. It's fine honestly."

"It's not."

Stop pretending, you fucking liar. Even if he acts quite calm, nonchalant, you can hear a very slight difference to his usual tone. He's not sincerely, honestly, a hundred per cent okay and chill with the situation. He's faking casualness but he's not entirely it.

"It is."

"It's not. I'm just gonna die, Jeon." That makes him laugh even though you're only half-joking. You don't know if it's possible to die from embarrassment. One thing is for sure, if it's possible, you won't survive the night.

"No, you're not, baby. It's fine." Jeon Jungkook is the sweetest, needless to say. You should hang up. Apologize again, hang up and pray for him to forgive you and eventually forget all about it. But you remain on the phone because you're so desperate for his approbation and his love and any sign of reassurance from him. And he's giving it to you. When he could probably have a little rest of his own. If it's awkward for you, you can't even imagine for him. But he accepts to stay and reassures you. What a cutie. "Did you cum?"

You choke on your own saliva. More than taken aback, actually shocked. How dares he?

Or can you say that? Can you act offended when you've just done what you did? In any case, how are you even supposed to answer that question?

"You- It's just that I turned it off and we- I was just wondering if you did..." That sounds about right. That sounds like Jungkook being curious and wording this curiosity without necessarily anticipating how you'd take it. It must be part of his plan, his 'let's be the closest, let's share everything' plan he mentioned a few months back. You're not ready, won't ever be if that's what it'll look like.

You are the problem. Apparently, you can get yourself off when the poor boy is on the phone with you unbeknownst, but you still have a hard time talking about sex with him. "...because it sounds awful if you did not."

And it is. It is horrible. You'd imagine that after getting caught, feeling so embarrassed and guilty, your cunt wouldn't still be quivering and begging for you to pay attention to it again. But you've taken it so far. Made it discover new incredible sensations of course it'd still be obsessed with it and with the climax the toy teased it with.

You groan in your pillow again. Not sure how he'll interpret it. Not sure how you want him to interpret it. Should you just talk to him? He could hang up too. If really he didn't want to partake in this mess he could hang up, he could talk about anything else.

"Listen, you don't ever have to be embarrassed with me, you know that." That's reaching. You want to tell him that he can't ever say that to someone, he can't ever become anyone's mat to wipe their dirty shoes on. He should be the one feeling awkward, being mad at you, except he reassures you again. "And when you just proceed on getting yourself off while I was talking- worrying about your fucking health..." He snorts before he can finish. "How dare you act coy with me!" He's just laughing too hard now, contributing wholeheartedly to the burning flush on your cheeks. Well, you deserved it.

"Is that it? You're going to bring this up each time you'd want something from me?" You sound so upset, even to your own ears. It results in his laughter dying down pretty quickly.

"I think so, yeah." You don't add anything. You don't want to be rude. Still hope for any kind of magic word you don't even know that he could mutter to you and that'll help cure your heart and soul. Therefore you can't tell him goodbye and hang up. You wait for him to do it. Except he doesn't. It's late as fuck too. He might be working later today. Why isn't he hanging up? "If I'm talking about it, you should know that it's fine. I don't mind." An asshole and a cutie. "You okay, babe?"

The simple hum you tried to aim for turns into half of a whimper half of a moan. You're not okay. Any part of your being won't let you lie and pretend.

"Do you want me to turn it on?" For fuck's sake. "I'll hang up and leave it on so you just- it'll turn itself off when there's no battery left anyway."

"Jungkook." Your stern voice is a threat. It doesn't have to be further explained, he gets it.

"What?" He sounds aggravated. You can imagine him raising his hands to the skies, upset and losing patience as he's only trying to make it better for you and oh women are so complicated. Something like that. "Oh my God. Just get yourself off and feel better after."

"You don't tell me what to do." Childish but there's not much left of your brain. "Well, you don't even fucking know what to do with yourself right now. Am I right or am I right?" He whisper-yells back at you. Very mean.

"Asshole." It's a tiny whisper under your breath but you're certain he hears it even if he completely ignores it.

"Listen, since you can't even- how old are you, seriously?"

"Fuck you." Barely louder. You definitely know he's heard this time, but still, he decides to dismiss it. He's always been more productive than you.

"I'll turn it on and hang up. You take care of yourself like a big girl, alright?" He probably believes that you can't get yourself to ask for what you want aka a wild night with the fucking toy you can't get to work yourself. But it's not actually the case. Honestly. Now all you can think about -besides the whole very humiliating moment when he caught you in the act- is the way it kept torturing you, bringing you very high but never enough. It started to hurt at the end, brought impatient frustrated tears to your eyes. You don't even think you could finish with it.

Maybe it's inappropriate to seriously consider it. Maybe you won't ever learn your lesson.

Before you even get to word your refusal, the thing is on. It's on the same devilish setting as earlier. The merciless wave. Fuck.

"Don't! It's not- it won't even make me cum, stop it!"

"What? Why not?"

"I don't know the setting is weird." You start explaining through the thicker pout to have ever existed. You're really considering having him solve your climax. You've gone crazy.

"What's wrong with it? Tell me, I'll put on one you like."

Fuck.

You are doomed.

What are you supposed to do with a guy like this?

"I don't think there is." You can hear the frustration from his end before he even says a word. It's written in the stars that in a second he's going to bring it all up, the part when you got off and pester that you can't still be complaining about the fucking toy. "No, I mean it's- the one I liked, the last one you clicked on, it's like-" Fuck, you're really doing this. "A wave. You know? It grows crescendo but it always stops right before- right when it's really good. And I just couldn't- because the good part doesn't last long enough and, yeah."

"Wait, let me look." He sounds a bit further away from you then. He's logged back into the app, you can tell. And with his tiny "hm" and his "so...", he sounds the way he does when your computer is being difficult and he's trying to fix it because you won't pay a professional to do it when you have this nerd populating your entourage. "Ah. You want the high moment to last longer?" "Yes." You can picture him nod to himself, frowning his eyebrows and sucking his lips in the way he does when he's super focused.

"Like that?" You wouldn't know because the toy is lost somewhere, you can hear it but not see it. You ask him to wait for a second and it stops altogether. Doesn't make it easier to find it but it wasn't lost that far. Once you have it in your hand, you gulp, ashamed, not sure if you could ever play with this thing again. But the other guy on the phone doesn't seem to have his motivation falters. You're not the one telling him to try again, on his own, he executes.

It's hard to tell in your hand, the vibrating ears hugged tightly in your palm, if it's going to be satisfactory enough. If it's precisely the thing that was missing from earlier. It follows the pattern you asked him though. Still to a growing intense high that lasts for approximately a good ten seconds rather than the lame 2 seconds from earlier.

"I think so..."

"Okay then. You... mute yourself and then- Uh, no. I should mute myself so- or we both mute ourselves?" He's not really with you anymore. Lost in his own head amongst those seemingly very difficult questions. You don't even get where he's trying to get at. Wasn't he supposed to hang up?

"Why would you stay?"

"It's just- it's me doing it. There's no setting for what you want, it's me doing it. I have to draw the frequency on my phone."

"There's an option for that?"

"Yes. There's even one to have it follow audio!" He points out with way too much enthusiasm. He might have really found a new passion.

"Sounds like high tech."

"Yep."

"Sounds expensive as hell."

He laughs in the mic, snorts even before he brushes it off. Quite frankly, no matter what you'd have to say to him, he'd always do as he wishes. If spending ridiculous amounts of money on ridiculous things for ridiculous you is what he wants to do, he won't let anyone, not even you, tell him not to.

You don't know what to say, he's not saying anything either. He suggested something quite insane: he'd stay. While his finger would be drawing shapes on his screen to actively give you your pleasure, he'd stay on the phone with you. Maybe it's a bit hypocritical or ironical, how it sounds crazy to you now while ten minutes ago, you had no problem doing it without him knowing. That's probably the main issue here, him knowing. That changes everything.

"But if you stay-"

"We can't both mute ourselves because I won't hear if you ask me to change something or- so you, you just stay like that and I'll mute myself."

"Jungkook, you muting yourself won't change my awareness of you being here."

"But maybe you'll forget about it?"

"Jungkook."

"What?" He sounds contrite then. Like an upset child who's being argued with. He's trying so hard but you make it so difficult, it seems.

There's just one thing holding you back. Until now you couldn't quite pinpoint it. And it's hard to resolve an issue you can't name.

But it just hit you. His way of insisting while making it seem like he does it for you only, to help you out and doesn't necessarily find his part in the cake.

"Do you want to?"

"Uh?"

"You sound like- I don't know what you sound like. You're confusing. If you're just trying to give me a hand and solely that then hang up and I'll just- whatever."

"Oh."

"Of course, it makes no sense for you to do this for me and stay if you don't want to, I mean." He takes forever to answer. For a second, you even peek at your screen wondering if he didn't simply quit the conversation.

It's really all you need to know. If somehow, to some extent, he wants you or at least, wants to partake in this genuinely. You don't want it if it's just a bro hand. You can hardly live with what you've done if he's utterly uninterested. But if he does want it, even a little bit, you might be wrong but you feel like everything would turn out to be fine.

"It's not that hard of a question." You try again because it almost feels like he's forgotten you from how long he's remained silent. He had put you on the spot, in this very conversation too, so many times, you have the right to do the same to him, at least once. "Do you want to stay?"

He cracks up. It's the very hard kind of laughter. With the boyish chuckles, mixed with the squeaky intakes of air. The one that always brings a smile to your face and usually drags you along the fit.

You have no idea what it means right now. It's probably the least appropriate time for it to show up. Therefore instead of making you smile it only reinforces the headache slowly growing at your temple.

"Aah." He starts by exhaling longly. You can hear the grin fixed on his face. "Yes." Your heart trips in your rib cage. You should have guessed it but you couldn't have imagined this answer. And him laughing to tears like a fucking deranged infant doesn't help. "Shit, sorry." He apologized when the remnant of what sounds definitely like a giggle resonates in through the phone.

"What's so funny, Guk?" Your words don't match your tone. You're high under pressure, unsure of what's actually going on. Jungkook is not cruel, you've known him long enough to know that he wouldn't deliberately hurt you, wouldn't mess with you so bad, for so long, even for a great laugh. Still, you can't be convinced that he's sincere. Seriously, how could you? The dude won't stop fucking laughing.

"Nothing, I'm just- I didn't realize until you asked me the question that I wanted to." Oh. "I'm an idiot."

"Welp." Could have told you sooner but I thought you knew.

"Mean. And, uh," It sounds like he's tossing and turning in bed again. You bet he's just gotten the exact same position as before. He's like those cats that turn around in circles again and again until they settle for the initial spot. When he starts talking again, his voice is hardly a whisper, you assume he's holding the mic very close to his mouth. "I should ask you too. Do you want to?"

"I wouldn't ask if I didn't want it, moron." Patience has run thin. Now that you're reassured you don't have to be ashamed and embarrassed anymore, you can simply be annoyed as you get with him.

Honestly, you're still feeling abashed but he doesn't need to know that.

"Quit being mean. It's not my fault I'm slow." He says, faking deep pity and it does make you snort. "Okay, well..."

"Well, indeed."

"You're making this awkward!" You roll your eyes. Feels like you can sort this out. If you do take out the very blatant, scorching awkwardness, it's a very regular interaction between you. Sounds like any other day except in a second he's going to press a finger to his phone in hopes to make you cum.

"Your whole existence is awkward."

"Shut up. Let's just fucking start." He groans as if you're the one belating the initial step –you are but so is he.

"I don't have the fucking remote." He tells you to shut up again, and this time, when you hear him hum to himself when he's opening the app, there's a recognizable brushing noise falling directly in your ear.

"You put your earbuds on."

He doesn't answer but you're sure he's registered the question.

Fine.

If he doesn't want to give you an answer you'll just make up your own. Don't you put earbuds on to hear better? Just saying.

"Put the thing on."

"Oh my God, Jungkook-" You take back your own admission. He's the one, solely, all alone, making it painfully awkward. Sounding like a newly pubescent teen trying to initiate sex. "Could you be any smoother?"

"But-" He sighs. "Do you want me to?" How do you ask your best friend you've may have been in love with for officially a couple of months to please act like an ideal lover even if it's just very short-termed? He sounds willing. But asking is the most difficult part. "I can be- or do whatever you want, I just don't know-"

"I like it when you call me baby." Your whole face is scrunched up in a perfect picture of your intense embarrassment. Formalities need to get fucking out of the way and it's precisely what you've just tried to do. But holy shit, it's painfully embarrassing.

"Oh. Do you now?"

Here comes the smirk. Can't see it. Can hear it clearly. It's pretty much louder than his words even.

You want to tell him to forget it all. That it's not going to work if each fucking second he makes you feel like he's going to be using whatever you say or whatever you do against you later on. You decide to demonstrate exemplary patience, reminding yourself that he's not cruel. Admittedly.

Perhaps you're the idiot and it's all your fault. Because you've just admitted (without him even asking) that you like (and into these circumstances, that it turns you on) to have him call you baby. Thing that he does already every time he starts coddling you.

"Okay then." He startles you, clearing his throat. You wonder if he's as anxious as you are, or at least, a tiny bit nervous. For the most part, he doesn't seem like it. Then again, he's quite good at pretending.

It shows soon after when he starts again, this time with the gentle, soft voice he hardly ever uses with you. There's a tiny newcomer, a certain edge that gives it some firmness and that enchants you. That's exactly what you wanted him to be. "Put it on, babe."

You nod wordlessly, omitting that he can't see you and do as told. Slipping the toy under the waistband of your panties, guiding the ears aside your clit. There's a very faint buzzing coming from them. You barely feel it and you suppose it's just there to have you accommodate better.

"Are you still dressed?"

"It's just my panties and a big shirt." Your shirt you'd add if you had a bit more courage. You hope he's going to let you keep it.

"Take your panties off." The part of you who's his best friend wants to nag, tell him that maybe he should have asked that before demanding you place the toy on your cunt but you feel generous and merciful, and also desperate and tired of your orgasm being stalled for so long. "Are they soaked from earlier?" Okay, this shit's going to be hard. There's no coming back. Strangely, it's just now that it's really hitting you. Even if it's going well, there is no way, you'll ever forget his velvety smooth whisper saying those words. There's no way you're helpless cunt ever forgets.

They are, by the way. You don't even get how you've been able to keep them on and ignore the uncomfortable stickiness for this long. Just sliding them along your thighs feels disagreeable.

"Y/N." Sounds like you're getting scolded. And even if you particularly like the way he just said your name, with that same peculiar edge from earlier, a little sharper then, how are you supposed to answer that? "What did you say earlier? That it can't only be for you, is that right?"

"Yes." You admit sheepishly because now you're definitely getting scolded. It brings flush on your only newly temperate cheeks and you don't even hate it.

"Then I'll give you everything, I told you I would but I'll need you to give me some back. Can you do that?" He sounds so strict, how can you like it so much? You can literally feel the electricity along your spine, sliding down to go faint in the hot mess between your thighs and that's ridiculous. You hate being talked to that way, usually, probably because it's never him doing it. Jeon Jungkook might be your ultimate kink. And somehow, he figured it all out. That whatever he'd do would fit you perfectly well. Also, he might be turning like that because undeniably, you're a brat. "Can you?" He insists again because whilst you've been busy trying not to hyperventilate, he's been waiting for one answer.

"Yes. Yes, I can. Sorry."

"Don't apologize, it's fine." You should want to bite him. Why insist so much if it's to end up leaving you off the hook so easily? You know though, for a fact, awfully bothersome to your ego, that if he were in front of you presently, you'd give him puppy eyes and batting lashes, sad pouty lips and probably tend your neck to invite him to gently pat your hair. "Tell me, are your panties soaked?" "I think I ruined them..."

"You did, didn't you?" He's laughing a bit, kind of full of himself for some reasons. Maybe he knows that it's mainly his fault they ended up this way. Maybe he knows they are not the only pair fallen victim to simply the thought of him. "Was it worth it?"

"You're taking care of me so I'd say yes." A chortle. A purr that you interpret into something you like a lot. It sounds like he's taken your response for exactly what you wished him to. A tease. He makes your belly churns and twists, turns your nerves from your heart to your noggins haywire. The least he can allow you to do, the least you'd like to do, is for him to be affected by you.

It starts with a gentle buzzing. It's nothing much. Nothing at all, you'd say if you'd let your greediness and impatience talk. There's something else doing it for you, for now. Jungkook's breath, sort of heavy, slow, rocking you with warmth. Knowing he's here and here to please you; you're laid in bed, naked from the waist down, wet and about to make it all better thanks to him; the picture itself makes it all for you.

"How is it?" Jungkook asks after some time. It's been silent. You haven't said much, in fact, you haven't said anything yet. Not that ready to demand more, and not feeling enough for moans or whimpers or whatever to be stolen from you.

"Boring." You admit. "S'not what you were supposed to give me." Through a thick pout, you deplore.

It doesn't work. He doesn't care. He doesn't fucking care when he's playing exactly the role you've implicitly asked him to play. "Have you said please, even once?" You hate that he's virtually pinning you down with exactly what turns you on.

"I- Probably." You haven't said much. You haven't been so explicit, so telling simply because you couldn't, but surely, you said please. Didn't you?

"Not probably. You did not. And on top of that, you're complaining." He's figured out exactly what you wanted, what you needed. Therefore, as naturally as it came for him, you fit it your own role easily.

"I'm not complaining. I was just- pointing it out. Sorry."

"You can apologize a lot but you can't even say please. Not once." Well, fuck. You never thought that he could be mean. Awfully mean. You wished, when you let your mind wander there one too many time, a bit too deep, that he'd be like that. Sweet and soft and tender the way he is, always, but also, bad, kind of harsh. "Ask kindly, once."

"Jungkook-"

"I'll give you everything you want. Just once."

"Please, Jungkook." You know he's satisfied with what you offer him because you don't have to wait another second for him to give you precisely what you were waiting for. It's timid, follows the crescendo built you were looking for except it's not intense. It's the first step however it's incredibly effective. It feels as good as the first time. "Plea-please." Manifestly, it is the secret word, the passcode to your pleasure because the intensity you're craving for finally reaches you. It does in an electrifying peak, that lasts long, just like you asked, it's so good, the feeling so perfectly indulgent to your needs, maybe even too much, you squirm, part the little ears from your clit, hissing. "Shit, Jungkook!"

"Too much, baby?" The hypocrite, with his concerned tone, doesn't even take a break from activating the vibration, from keeping on building the intensiveness. You can tell it's he too, him really doing it live, as in it's not absolutely regular, the built sometimes takes longer, sometimes the volume stronger, other times weaker. It's undeniable, every minute of it feels different from the next, you can't even omit for a second that it's him doing it. And he's doing it so well.

"Per- fect, just- sensitive." You moan out. Back arching, right leg twitching. The next brush is particularly nice, goes so far you believe you might come on the spot. Now you definitely can't hold back even if you wanted to. The sounds that come out of your mouth, foreign to your own ears, are not even yours. They come straight from your body, straight from an excess of pleasure you try to deal with, to handle, when you clearly can't. You're alone, and it's you ultimately controlling the power on your own body, you can pull out, even slightly, every time it comes hard and strong and you ought to twitch uncomfortably. You wonder how it'd be if he were here with you. If he forgot just for a while that you were his best friend, the girl who used to be older and taller and has turned, with the years, into this tiny little thing because he just kept on growing and growing, sprouting like a fucking redwood, and now feels like he needs to protect and care for you. If he were there, and he could forget that, you bet, his present voice, heated, scorching, is telling you this, that probably, he'd hold you down, crush your body with his, hand pressing your thighs down and apart, and force you to take the pleasure in its entirety. You imagine him merciless, slipping sweet words in your ear, while he'd have you literally scream from overstimulation.

And then his voice, the perfectly alluring thing, concludes to let you know it won't happen like that. His voice will make you come.

"You sound so good." Especially, if he keeps saying shit like that, with this tone, soft yet strong and highly, terribly affected. He's breathing hot and heavy in your ears. Is he touching himself?

"Please, Jungkook." You implore, vainly, hips slowly grinding against the toy, pressed by your palm on your sensitive centre.

"Especially begging, 'sound so, so good." He's not touching himself. He sounds bothered, but not enough, he doesn't stutter like you do, his voice doesn't jump and dip, stops momentarily like yours does. Shit, you wished he would play with his cock. Fuck, you want to play with his cock. So fucking bad.

"Y-you like it?" You ask, not because you're curious to know, he's said it already, but because you won't ever get tired of hearing him say it, in all those different ways.

"I do, baby. I love hearing you." You can't help the curse that leaves your lips a bit harsh. You're so close. So so close. Eyes filled up to the brim, tip of your nose wet. How many times have you thought, already, that you were seriously going to fall over? "You gonna cum?"

"I can't-" You sob, whine. There's a tear spilling from your right eye. "It's too much." So attentive to your every word, the intensity drops drastically. It still buzzes, discreet, way more tolerable. Ironically, if you can now bear it, you know it's not enough to lead you to your climax either. "Help me, make me cum, Guk."

"Use your fingers." He's been nice, essentially, you can only be good to him. Without even having to think about it, you dip your fingers in the mess that is your cunt. Two fingers slip in between your lips too easily, you could add a third if only there wasn't the bunny taking a bit too much room, and your fingers were longer, and your hips not so twitchy. If Jungkook was here, if only he was here, he'd fit his two fingers and it'd be enough. You bet it'd be enough. You bet his pretty, long, tattooed fingers would stretch you so well and make you come in a heartbeat. "Fuck yourself with them."

It's so gratifying. Having him humming in your ear encouragements and compliments. He's sweet, sweet, sweet. Excellent with his voice. Fuck, he must be unreal with his fingers, with his mouth, with his fat cock.

Diligently, you drag your fingers in and out, it's only mildly agreeable when you're sopping wet, almost gaping. Until he draws on his phone the same magnificent pattern from before.

You wish it'd last longer. It's precisely what you needed, the ideal combination. Along with his words.

You know if you come he'd have to stop. He'll stop calling you baby, stop saying how sexy you are, use all those nasty words he never does and talking like that, with this voice, with this heat in his tone. It's a bothering thought at the back of your mind you have to actively push away.

There's nothing you can do when harshly, yet with a please, he demands you to cum.

You can feel your cunt, wide open from both your spread legs and the excitation, getting wet, growing soaked. You can actually feel it as it happens before you explode. Clenching violently around your fingers, spilling all over them, you might squeak and scream and moan his name continuously, you barely hear yourself through your ringing ears.

"Fuck, Jungkook..." You sigh. Laying there, boneless, hand dripping up to your wrist. He's chuckling. "Fuck."

"Feeling better?" You hmm in response. Words sound like too much effort right now. Your brain is working slow. Extremely slowly. There's a multitude of thoughts forming though, germinating from a strange ground.

One, in particular, does, enlarging ridiculously much next to the others. You could enjoy this luck. You could just bathe in the lovely, perfect haze. Accept that the sky is perfectly blue without a cloud, with even a rainbow somewhere. Maybe a double rainbow even.

There's a very, very dark, very, very large cloud invading your perfect sky though. And because tears, of another kind, have already located your eyes, the new ones fit in, mixing up with them and taking over them with utter ease. What the fuck have you done?

"Jungkook, I'm so sorry-" You start with a tremble in the voice. There's a fat lump in your throat.

"Why? What's going on, baby?" He's sweet as honey, back to his usual self, worried, and you're horrible.

"Your- I didn't even think about her and-" There's a sob bubbling out of your mouth. "It's not me. I didn't mean to-"

"What are you talking about?"

"Jiyeun." The taste in your mouth when you say her name, is unbearable. You know full fucking well you shouldn't say her name. You shouldn't be allowed to. How dare you. Spoil it when you spent way too long virtually getting in this guy's, who's someone else's boyfriend, pants.

"Dumbass." It makes you choke on your own sobs. "It's over. With her, I mean. We broke up." Ah. You want to ask a billion questions. Starting with "again?". Soon followed up by a "why didn't you say anything, dickhead?". You spent the whole fucking night, getting shit faced and spiritually crying in the club over a couple that does not even exist anymore. Then you'd ask for how long they are planning to be over. "For good, this time." You're barely drying up your fat crocodile tears when he calls you an idiot again, says something about how he's not that kind of guy and you should know it.

Feels better. The thunderstorm is gone.

Alcohol and horniness and hardcore loving are such a terrible combo you need to avoid.

"Cuddles." Tiredly, half-dead, but still alive enough to be greedy, to feel sensible, skinned and want him to give you more. "Come cuddle." He's late to answer, delays it as if you don't desperately need his response.

It's terribly quiet and still. The dark of the night seems even more sombre. He can fix everything if only he'd give you the answer you desire.

"You sure?"

"Always." You say, maybe too honest. He doesn't seem to mind, agrees with a snort.

"Alright."

He appears in front of you in the blink of an eye. Literally. That blink does last longer than usual. The orgasm may have crushed you. You close your eyes and when you open them back up, he's here. Standing in the doorframe of your bedroom, dressed in all black and oversized, as usual. You look up, eyes squinted, bothered by the light coming from the hallway. He's staring. Gaze brushing, from your head to your toes, seemingly slowing down when they reach your naked thighs.

"What?" You mumble, embarrassed, one hand sliding down just to make sure the hem of the shirt is covering your crotch. You didn't even put your panties back on. You may or may not have wiped yourself clean enough with the wet wipes wisely sitting on your bedside table -you thought about it really hard but you can’t remember if you actually did it.

"You never mentioned it was my t-shirt you were wearing." You shrug. You'd have a better come back if you weren't so tired and if it wasn't simply true. "Would have been nice to know." He says, kneeling down next to your bed. The latter is low, mattress barely raised from the ground and even when he's crouching down, he's hovering above you, looking down on you. "Easier to picture." He adds quieter the closest he comes to you. It's enough words to know who he is at the moment. In what form, what version of your Jeon Jungkook, has come to visit. It's the gentle one. The one whose voice doesn't raise, doesn't feel as animated as his usual one when he spends his time being a clown to make everyone laughs. The one that made you fall, the first time. Not exactly the one you had on the phone with you earlier and even if you like him, if you adore him in fact, you feel sort of uneasy, worried. He might be gone forever, this one.

Unless it is him. His hands reach forward, large and warm, they lie on your thighs. The fingers brush up a bit, to the hem of his shirt, and they stop there. He looks up from them, straight in your eyes, smiles, digs the tips in the meat of your thighs before he lifts you up, aiming for the border of your bed.

God. You hope it'll happen again. But differently. More in-depth. He'd be less dressed, he would manhandle you, before he'd do some unnamable things to you. But another day. One when you're not almost dead. When you feel hornier and less soft and desperate for direct comfort to your swollen heart. It could be tomorrow when you wake up. If he's up for it. Please God, make it so he's up for it.

Jungkook hops on the bed behind you, huffs comfortably, holding your cover by a corner to bring it up and over the two of you. He fits behind you too naturally for it to be the first time. He doesn't seem to mind that you're so underdressed, compared to the other times, that you still have some remnant of your orgasm on you, that it's different. His arm sliding around you, holding a bit too tight, pressing you a tiny bit too hard, you're still hot from earlier. It's perfect though. You don't want him to move an inch and you hope, the hand that's wrapped on his forearm, makes him understand.

"M'not too clingy?" His own cheek pressed hard to your own, he asks, which is weird. How could he still wonder? He's never ever been too clingy. Even when you were kids and he followed you around before even asking if he could, he wasn't too clingy. The closest, the better. You deny with a uh-uh. He calls out for your name when you're fighting to keep your eyelids open. It's the most comfortable, the warmest you've ever felt. Like a cocoon of pure love and adoration. On top of it, there's his hard arms around you, his hard thigh pushing against yours, his crotch -with the feel of his member, slightly stiff- glued to your butt, and his chest, as hard as the rest, holding your back up like a strong wall. "I promise I didn't plan the whole toys thingy for that."

"For what?" Sleepily, you wonder, actually confused from exhaustion. To cuddle with you? Like you haven't in so, so long. Why would he try to apologize for it? "To use them with you."

"What a shame." You don't think he can understand. Diction is not something you care for at the moment. The hard laugh bubbling in his chest, rumbling, shaking your whole, lets you know he did, in fact, get it.

"You're so-" He starts but the thought dies way too soon for you to even try and complete it yourself. "I'll have a billion questions for you tomorrow."

"No." You whine. Because he's fucking up everything. If he believes you'll say it all to him, there's no way you can. There's no way you will. He chuckles.

Doesn't seem to be taking you seriously.

"Yes. And you'll answer every single one of them." He gives a sweet but pressing kiss to your neck.

"No."

"I adore you." Fucking hell. "I broke up with Jiyeun because I adore you too much. I realized I want to spend all my time and energy on my best friend." You don't even know what he means. You can't even hold your eyelids open now, you can't even keep your hand on his arm, it being too heavy and sleep having taken over most of your body.

You bet he's saying that just because he's guessed it. He's figured you all out and the asshole doesn't mind playing with your soft heart. He knows he'll get anything from you if he's this good. Hopefully, tomorrow, he'll have forgotten about his little interrogation because you're not sure you'll be able to lie. For now, he's holding you way too close for you to care. Whatever. May it last forever, this feeling.

A/N: DON’T HATE ME OKAY?! i know i have an issue with angst and endings, for some reasons, i don’t want to hurt my characters but i can’t get myself to write an actual fully happy, non-ambiguous conclusion, and i’m really sorry for it lmao.

i sincerely hope you enjoyed the last part of The Wishlist! Thank you immensely for anyone who’s followed along, please let me know your thoughts, i really really want to know :)

for now, i’m sending you lots of love and kisses, take good care of yourself and others, see ya very very soon :]

tag list: @safi4x​ @kai-kai-bookshelf​ @somewhereinthestarss​ @hsinmyheart​ @moonchild1​ @monvieesdaebak @pasteljoonie​ @fangirls94​ @jinsalpaca​ @ggukkieland​

[randomshyperson]

The Scarlet Witch Prophecy - Chapter 13 - The Sixth Year (Part Three)

My dear friend @abimess, I keep stealing your gifs and making updates without telling you. I hope you never get tired of it.

Summary: As the youngest daughter of Howard Stark, you have ordinary expectations for your years at Hogwarts. Little do you know what adventures await you when your destiny is intertwined with the legendary Scarlet Witch.

Warnings: +16. Adaptation of the Harry Potter Saga, Magical Thematic, Prophecies, Mentions of Violence, Torture and dark magic, Language (swearing and minor/major offenses), manipulation of will, Underage kissing, insinuation of smut with minors, Smut (overage), descriptions of death, aggression, obscurity, angst, fluffy, soulmates analogies. || Chapter Warnings: Magical torture with minors, cursing, angst, ptsd, derogatory thoughts and behavior, dark magic.

Chapter Words: 8.486 K

A/N> Yes, I've gone for a month without warning anyone, and yes that might go on, but at least i'm near ending this (I'm already writing chapter 21). Once I'm finished, I'll just programe tumblr to upload them all for me because i'm lazy. I hope anyone like this yet, i don't even know what i'm doing anymore. Good reading!

Series Masterlist ||  Read on AO3 || All Works Masterlist

Chapter 13 - Part XIII - The Sixth Year (Part Three)

Gossip really starts to irritate you when you go to lunch after potions.

"You want to say something to me, girl?" You charge impatiently when you hear the giggles behind you again, coming from a group of students sitting at Ravenclaw's table.

The group turns around with wry smiles on their faces, and you notice the editions of the Daily Prophet in the hand of one of the boys. It is Hope Summers, your classmate, who speaks first:

"We're just sharing some theories, Stark." She says in a provocative tone. "Some of us find it an interesting coincidence that just now that Mephisto is back, you and Maximoff are losing control of magic."

You frown.

"What are you talking about?" you ask in surprise, referring to Wanda, but Hope thinks you want her to keep mocking you.

"It's just suspicious that no one knows what happened to you in that dungeon, or at the ministry of magic." Hope counters. "And now you two are blowing things up, and we have a dark wizard on the loose."

"Fuck you, Summmers." You curse as you stand up, leaving the girl in shock at your aggressiveness.

The same auror from the first day stands in front of you as you try to approach Slytherin's table.

"Students must respect..."

But you interrupted his speech with a loud shove that sent him staggering backwards, and drew the immediate attention of several people.

You were seeing red by now, the man's wry smile only making you more irritated.

He drew his wand, but so did you. And the room held its breath.

"Put your wand away, Miss Stark." Warned the auror angrily, but you didn't.

Wanda stood up as she noticed the confusion, rushing to reach you, but the auror put his arm in her way.

"Now, miss." He warned again, and you grunted in irritation.

"Get your hands off her." You retorted, feeling your body fever with hatred.

"Stark." The man said, his arm reaching down to push Wanda back, and you exploded.

You didn't even finish thinking about the spell, the magic exploding out of your wand.

The auror masterfully blocked it, and you dropped your wand to jump on top of him.

It was a confusion of shoving, other bigger students pulling you away from the man and he away from you.

" Never fucking touch her again!" You warned snorting in anger, Thor Odinson stopping you from jumping on the man's neck.

"I just pushed her away from the line of fire, you crazy bitch!" The auror retorted indignantly and angrily. "Go to the headmaster's office now!"

"Fuck you!"

Thor pulled you out of the hall as the crowd of students whistled in celebration, excited about the whole fight. The auror was too busy dissipating everyone to follow you.

"Hey, hothead, calm down." The blonde warned as he released the grip of you by the courtyard. You grunted angrily, wishing you could break something.

"Fuck this school, fuck that asshole." You complained aloud, as Thor looked at you curiously.

"You have quite a rage, Stark." He comments, and you grumble in irritation.

But Wanda catches up with you the next moment, and she looks even angrier than you.

"What the hell was that?" she asks and you roll your eyes, running your hands through your hair.

"I think you are going to be fine for now on." Thor comments, smiling at the thank you Wanda says to him before leaving you two alone.

"So?" Wanda insists, arms crossed. You bite the inside of your cheek as you look at her.

"What do you want me to say?" You retort angrily.

"You just started a fight for no reason! Again!" She accuses. "Only this time it was with a wizard who could kill you. I want to know what's going on!"

"I don't know, Wanda!" You exclaim angrily. "Why does everyone expect me to have answers? I don't know! Do you understand that? It feels like I'm going to explode in frustration any second, neither you or Gamora seem to get it. I don't understand what's happening to me!"

"Because you won't talk to us!" She shouts back, just as annoyed as you are. "You're pushing everyone away! Even me! We can't help you if you don't talk to us!"

You grunt impatiently, turning around. There was a strange throbbing in the back of your head, a strange whisper. Like a voice telling you that no one was telling you the truth, that your friends expected too much of you, that Wanda didn't care...

This last thought made you sob. Wanda softened her expression immediately, taking a step toward you and touching your shoulder, but you pulled away from her touch as if burned, wiping your tears away quickly.

"Leave me alone, Wanda." You mutter between teeth. She hesitates, raising her hand toward you again.

"Please."

"I need some time from you." You insist, pushing her hand away, and walking away.

A part of your brain is begging you to go back and make things right, but there is a cloud of anger and irritation that keeps you walking.

//-//-//-//-//

You roll over in bed in discomfort.

Nightmares. Again.

It has only been five days since you had your fight with Wanda, and you are getting worse every day.

With Summers' teasing, you end up noticing other things too.

How the school really found the theory that you and Wanda were somehow related to Mephisto, because the minister had covered up what happened in the dungeons and in the ministry, and everybody thought it was strange that two students were showing an increase in magical potential with the return of a dark wizard.

Unlike you, who were failing considerably in any simple execution of spells, Wanda was demonstrating exceptional abilities. Kaecilius was more than willing to make her the face of progress at Hogwarts, you heard the gossip about bringing in reporters to share the news of the new direction.

You know that the only reason Wanda hasn't come after you yet was because you're running away from her like the plague.

And you couldn't even explain why.

You were also blocking out your real health condition from her. Just like you two practiced during the summer.

Besides hiding this from Wanda, you have kept your friends away too, isolating yourself from everyone else in search of a little rest, only succeeding in taking a nap when you are running away between classes.

And the detentions with Kaecilius keep increasing as you skip classes.

You begin to consider learning to write with a different hand, just so the bruise has time to heal, but at this point you don't even care about the scar anymore.

"You really must like pain." Loki teases wryly as you sit in an empty room, waiting for the aurors' shift change again after your detention.

You don't ask him what he's doing on that floor again, and he doesn't ask why you haven't spoken to your friends in two weeks.

"Sure, that must be it." You joke back, massaging your injured hand.

He assumes a pensive expression for a second.

"Are you sure you haven't been cursed by someone?" He asks, causing you to frown in shock and confusion.

"Excuse me?"

He gives a little chuckle, settling himself better against the wall.

"Everyone's been talking about you being sick." He says. "I heard some of the Ravenclaw people theorize that you became a werewolf over the summer."

You laugh helplessly, massaging your temples lightly.

"I guarantee that's not it." You say making Loki smile.

"If you are sick for no reason, it could be a curse." He says. "I wouldn't be surprised, the way things are."

"But how do I find out if I've been cursed?"

Loki takes a thoughtful stance.

"I don't know." He says. "But I'm sure you can learn that in the no longer reserved session of the library."

You laugh at the joke, but soon you both return to silence. When that hallway's shift ends, Loki sighs, getting up and helping you to stand.

"Still can't perform spells?" He asks, already drawing his wand.

"Only if I want to blow things up." You scoff making him laugh.

"Fine, I'll enchant you." He says. When you are transparent, he looks at you with an amused expression. "See you next Saturday, troublemaker?

"Don't worry, I plan on skipping DADA, maybe I'll be here tomorrow." You retort in the same tone before turning to leave.

//-////-//-//-//-//

It takes three more days for Wanda to finally corner you.

You are skipping class in an empty room on the seventh floor, trying to doze off, and almost fall out of your chair with fright when the door opens and Wanda comes in, looking annoyed.

You grunt impatiently, without lifting your face from the desk.

"I told you I needed time." You complain, but tense up when you notice the tears in her eyes as she moves closer to sit at the table next to yours.

" You want to break up with me?" She asks in a whisper and you raise your head immediately, feeling your chest tighten.

"What? What are you talking about?"

Wanda gives a humorless laugh at your expression. "Why are you acting like this is an absurd idea? You've disappeared. You've been avoiding me, not even talking to me anymore."

You shake your head quickly, feeling the urge to cry.

"I don't want to break up with you." You say. "I..I would never want to be away from you."

"You just said you need time away from me." Wanda retorts with annoyance, and you feel your stomach clench as she sighs. "I don't know what's going on with us. And I miss you, but you won't let me near you."

You are exhausted. So you cry.

You rest your head on your arms, and let your sobs fill the silence, hoping that the tears will take this bad feeling away.

It's Wanda's gentle touch on your back that helps.

"Babe, tell me what's wrong." She whispers to you, her tone concerned.

It takes many minutes for you to calm down. But when you do, Wanda holds your hand, kneeling on the floor beside the chair you are in.

"I can't do magic." You breathlessly tell her from crying, "And I can't sleep. I've been sick for weeks, and I'm angry all the time. Healer Cho doesn't know what's wrong with me, but everyone at school seems to have a theory about it. I think I'm going to suffocate, Wanda. I'm messing everything up. Between us, between my family, and at school." You sob as you finish and Wanda shakes her head, her hand coming up to your cheek.

"Don't say that." She urges. "You didn't ruin anything. Hey, look at me. I love you. Your sisters love you, your friends love you. We'll figure out what's going on."

Wanda hugs you tight, and you sob, shaking.

You want to believe her words, so you push the intrusive thoughts away, and believe it.

//-//-//-//

Wanda takes you to a door in that same floor you two were before, but you have never seen that door until that moment.

And you are very surprised to realize that it is a bedroom.

"How...?" You ask confused as she closes the it.

"Welcome to the Room of Requirement." She says with a smile, pulling you by the hand around. "We hold our Avengers meetings here." She counters and you frown.

"In a bedroom? Interesting choice." You comment and she giggles.

"No, my love." She says. "That's how this room works. It is charmed to meet your needs. That's why I asked you to come in first."

"Oh, that's pretty cool." You say looking around. Wanda smiles at you, and then you both reach the bed. "The room thinks I have to sleep?"

"I do too." Wanda retorts, pushing your shoulders gently for you to sit on the bed. "Go on, nice dreams."

You hesitate. "You gonna leave me here alone?"

Wanda denies with her head, pointing to the chair that probably just magically appeared next to the bed. You frown.

"Can't you sleep in the bed with me?"

She giggles. "We don't have much time for you to sleep. If I lie down, you'll want to kiss me. So I'll be sitting in that armchair, studying as I should." She explains seriously, and you pout.

"Stupid rules." You grumble moving your hands up to her waist. "Lie down with me."

"Babe..."

"Please."

Wanda sighs, then nods. You smile, quickly removing your shoes as she does the same. You quickly adjust yourself on the bed, opening your arms for her to lie on top of you, and she gives a little giggle before doing so.

"Are you cozy, sweetheart?" You murmur against her hair, and Wanda squeezes her arms around you.

"Yeah, your boobs are good pillows." She teases, making you laugh with reddened cheeks.

Your eyes begin to heavy quickly, fatigue catching up with your body relaxed by the comfort of the moment.

"Go to sleep, babe." Wanda whispers. "I'll be here when you wake up."

You smile with your eyes closed, surrendering.

It's the best sleep you've had in weeks.

The problem is that as soon as you start to wake up again, you are feeling sick.

You touch the emptiness in the bed, mumbling softly. When you open your eyes you find Wanda sitting in the armchair, the darkhold in her lap.

"Damn it, Wanda, this book again." You complain in a hoarse voice, but she just sighs.

"Why the attitude?"

"I hate that book." You grumble sitting up in bed, massaging your face lightly. "Why do you keep reading it anyway?"

"It's interesting." She says, closing the item to look at you. "Agatha really told me a lot, but there are also things I didn't know."

"For example?"

Wanda bites her lips, appraising you.

"Scarlet witches are forged, for instance." She says and you frown in confusion. Wanda sighs. "Many powerful witches, born scarlet witches, never got to fulfill their destiny because the forging didn't happen."

You straighten your clothes uncomfortably, pensively.

"What exactly does that mean?"

"What the headmistress did last year was my forging." She clarifies and you swallow dryly, feeling your stomach turn. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" you ask confused.

"Everything." She says upset. "I know we've talked about this, but it seems like all I do is cause you problems. With the bond, and with the forge. If Agatha didn't want my powers, she wouldn't have taken you to the dungeon and you wouldn't have suffered."

You poke at the knot of your tie, feeling yourself suffocate slightly. Wanda is speaking, you blink to focus on her words.

"I'm sorry, could you say that again?" You ask out of breath, sweating. You blink to find Wanda's concerned gaze on you.

"Babe, what's wrong?" She asks worriedly, her hands around your face.

You feel your head spin, and everything goes dark before you can answer.

//-//-//-//

You smell the scent of grass when you wake up.

Then you blink in confusion, getting used to your surroundings to realize that you are in what looks like a ward bed.

"Hey, all right, take it easy getting up, Miss Stark." Asked Professor Strange with one hand on her shoulder. In the other he held a potion that you imagined he had given you.

"W-what happened?" you mumbled confusedly, sitting up in bed. Only now did you notice Professor Munroe and Wanda standing in front of the bed, both with worried expressions.

"You passed out, but you're better now I imagine." Stephen explained gently, but you were still feeling very weak.

"Professor, she simply blacked out." Wanda commented in a tearful voice. " Don't you have any idea what's wrong?"

Stephen sighed, and then pointed at the chair, the darkhold.

"Where did you get that book?" He asked, and Wanda frowned, taking a step toward the chair in a defensive posture.

"What does that have to do with my question?" she retorted dryly, and Stephen looked at you one last time before standing up.

"There's a reason it's called the Book of the Damned, Miss Maximoff." He says."It damns its readers."

"That's ridiculous." Wanda retorted, crossing her arms. "I've been reading it for weeks and nothing has happened."

"Not with you."

Wanda hesitates, widening her eyes. And then she takes a step back, swallowing her cry as she reaches out to grab the book and hand it to Stephen.

She turns her gaze back to you, and lets the tears fall.

"I am truly sorry." She says with a mixture of guilt and shame before turning to leave the room.

You call out to her about three times, but she leaves and you don't have the strength to go after her.

"Damn, couldn't I have said that in a different way?" You complain angrily to Stephen, who just sighs, exchanging a look with Professor Munroe. "How come you two are here anyway?"

"It was Wanda." Professor Ororo replies. "She asked the room for someone trustworthy to help her with you. Then there was a door opening in the potions room. Stephen was there with me, and we both came."

"Great." You mutter annoyed, thinking about how you are going to talk to Wanda and convince her that you were not angry with her. "Would either of you happen to know how to make me better now?"

"Sure." Stephen comments by raising the book in the air, and with a wave of his hand, the item dissolves into several pieces until it is gone. "I didn't destroy it, if that's what you're thinking. I just put it away, to prevent something like that from happening again."

"Congratulations." You grumble wryly as you straighten up in bed, the same migraine from before is now weaker, but it's still there.

"You know, you had a better attitude when you didn't have a magical doom on your spirit." Stephen complains, causing you to frown, but Professor Ororo gives a chuckle.

"Thanks professor." You comment wryly, making him laugh. He sits back down beside your bed, and pulls out of the cover a small notebook.

"Now that Miss Maximoff has stopped reading the book, I suppose you will get better." Stephen says, making you sigh.

"You suppose? That's encouraging." You say moving to stand up.

"Where are you going, Miss Stark? You need to rest." Warn the professor, but you ignore him, and ignore the weakness in your body as well.

"What I need, Strange, is for people to stop lying to me."

"No one is lying, Miss Stark." Professor Ororo states next. "We really don't know the extent of the magic the darkhold carries."

"And why is that I imagine?" You sneer. "Because someone omitted the truth from you, and it's been passed down for generations, isn't it? Well, that's over now. Because we've finally studied everything in this place, including a book that condemns anyone who reads it." You exclaim impatiently, stooping down to put on your shoes. "If you two will excuse me, I'll figure out how to get better on my own. But first I'm going to explain to my girlfriend that none of this is her fault."

Ororo and Stephen are silent, but you wouldn't have been paying attention to anything they said anyway.

Soon you are up and out of the requirement room looking for Wanda.

//-//-//-//

She seems to have disappeared from the castle, so you must concentrate to use your instincts.

The hardest part is dodging the aurors, but you finally reach the astronomy tower.

You're a little out of breath from the run, but it's the image of Wanda standing on the edge, the sunlight in her hair that leaves you breathless.

"Hi." You say in a low tone, your hands in your pockets as you approach. She startles slightly, wiping away tears as she keeps her gaze forward.

"What do you want here?" she asks in a husky voice. You sigh.

"That you stop hating yourself and listen to me." You say and she lets out a short laugh.

"And what do you think you can say?" She questions turning her body toward you. "All I do is hurt you."

You shake your head, but Wanda lets out a tearful laugh.

"No you don't understand." She says. "Since I met you, you have only brought me good things. Affection, happiness, hope. You've been that kind warm feeling that I need on my worst days. Hell, you're even the memory for me to cast a patronus." She confesses with emotion, her face wet with tears. "But me? All I bring you is pain and suffering. And now I even bring sickness. This is wrong, I hurt you. You need to see this, and understand that we can no longer happen."

"Don't say that." You ask, reaching up to touch her face, wipe away her tears. "That's not true, Wanda. I love you, you make me..."

"Stop it." She interrupts with a sob. "Don't make it any harder than it already is."

"Please, Wanda, listen to me." You plead, resting your forehead on hers, your hands on her cheeks. "You make me happy, you are the only thing that makes me happy, I love you, please..."

Wanda kisses you hard, and you respond with the same intensity, both of you gasping into each other's mouths.

But then she is pulling away, thrusting you farther apart.

"I'm sorry." She cries, taking a step back. "We're over."

And she's running away again, and this time you don't go after her.

//-//-//-//-//

Without Darkhold's being consumed, you really start to improve in terms of physical health.

The only problem is the emotional ditch you find yourself in.

Gamora, Nebula and Mantis find you, again in the Room of Requirement, skipping class.

"My god this is worse than last time." Gamora remarks as she looks around at the mess of junk food and pillows. The room had been transformed into a "comfortable place", which basically had the appearance of a living room, with several soft armchairs, and lots of unhealthy food. "Why did you guys break up this time?"

"Please don't talk to me." You grumbled, your voice coming out muffled because you were lying on two soft puffs, your face buried in the pillow, your hand inside a bag of muggles snacks.

"I bet you five bucks they'll be back together before the end of the month." Nebula commented and you sniffled against your pillow, hearing a noise that sounded like Gamora hitting her sister.

"We talked to Wanda." Mantis said. "And with Professor Stephen, too. We're sorry about everything, but have you decided you're not going to study anymore?"

"I don't care about school." You grumble against the pillow. "Leave me alone, I want to cry."

Nebula gives a short laugh, and Gamora elbows her.

"Stop hitting me, you crazy." Nebula complains loudly, moving away from her sister to approach you, taking the bag of snacks you have, and making you complain softly. "And you stop being such a drama queen. Aren't you two like soul mates or some shit? It's just a fight, you'll work it out. You're acting like you've never broken up before."

"Your sensitivity is admirable." Gamora scoffs, pushing her sister away to sit next to you, stroking your back until you look up at her. "Do you want to talk about what happened?"

You feel the urge to cry arise again. "Wanda thinks she is bad for me." You say. "And she doesn't want to be with me anymore, and I want to die."

You start crying again, stuffing your face into the pillow as Gamora strokes your hair.

"How did this happen anyway?" Nebula asks, confused, chewing on salty snacks."You barely slept at home over the summer to be with her, and now you guys are breaking up. It's hard to keep up with this relationship."

"Merlin, Nebula shut up." Gamora asks impatiently, and her sister raises her hands in surrender with an ironic expression. You want to scream against your pillow, but all you do is try to control your crying.

"You can't keep disappearing, sweetheart." Gamora says as she runs her hands through your hair, trying to calm you down. "Kaecilius has already noticed. He's trying to figure out where you're going, and eventually he'll figure it out since you can't stay here forever."

"Maybe I can." You mumble making Gamora laugh softly.

"Come on, I'm sure you miss a decent meal." She says. "Why don't you join us for lunch?"

"I can't sit at your table."

"Who said anything about a table?"

This is how you end up on the edge of the great lake, at a picnic.

Mantis gets several dishes from the house elves, and since lunch is a free social hour, nobody seems to mind that you are eating outside.

Your sisters are not the only students who, over time, have learned ways around school rules.

You grumble slightly as you feel the sun on your face, but lie back on the grass, closing your eyes.

Your mind wanders back to last summer immediately, the memories of Wanda, and you feel horrible. You just want her back. And then you swallow the urge to cry again to accept the juice Mantis offers you.

"We wanted to tell you that we've found a way to help you, too." Gamora says after a moment, causing you to raise your eyebrow. "About the darkhold, and the eternal damnation thing."

"Light topic." You sneer, throwing your arm over your face. The day is hot. "I appreciate the help, of course."

Gamora giggles. "Merlin, I had forgotten how grumpy you get when you're upset."

"I'm not upset, Gamora." You retort angrily. "I'm frustrated."

"Sexually." Nebula sneers, making you grunt in anger, but Mantis holds back a laugh.

"What's your problem with my feelings lately?" You accuse the girl with irritation.

"Not everything is about you, you know." She retorts and you sit up quickly, looking at her with a raised eyebrow.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Nebula laughs, rolling her eyes. "In case you haven't noticed, there's a war going on." She says. "We're all stressed and scared. And the three of us have been in the same classes as you, having to watch the same things. But you only have time for Wanda. And now you've broken up, again, because there's some mortal danger, again, that she's caused for you. So, I don't know, but maybe she is right to break up. Ever since you guys started dating everything has been about her, and the trouble she causes!"

"Fuck you, Nebula!" You exclaim angrily, advancing against the girl in front of you. Gamora and Mantis quickly separate you.

"Hey, what's wrong with you?" Gamora shoves you. "Were you really going to hit her?"

"Fuck this." You curse angrily, taking a step away. "I didn't ask any of you to come after me. I don't need you. I just need Wanda. Fucking leave me alone."

You turn back to the castle, cursing the wild on your way.

//-//-//-//

Loki is the only friend you have now.

You wouldn't call him a friend exactly.

Kaecilius has put you in detention for three days a week, including Saturday, but mostly you just clean the castle. But when he takes you to the seventh floor, and makes you scrape sentences against your own skin, you don't worry about being alone anymore, because Loki is always on that floor.

It takes a week for you to tell him about the requirement room.

" You could have mentioned it earlier, we would have stuck around here." He comments without sounding upset.

Soon it doesn't take long for you two to start seeing each other even when you're not in detention.

You are not surprised that Loki also skips classes, he has always been quite mischievous, but the reason is different from yours.

He knew dark magic. Much more than you or your classmates. And he has no interest in practicing it in class.

"It's stupid." He comments as you are sitting in the armchairs. "Most people will never have the courage or willpower to cast a death curse. It's useless to learn."

"Is that the only reason you don't agree with the teaching at Hogwarts now?" You ask in surprise, setting up the chessboard for yourself as Loki shrugs his shoulders.

"I feel like you're judging me, Hufflepuff." He sneers but you smile, rolling your eyes.

"Honestly, I don't give a damn."

And you really didn't care.

Wanda was avoiding you in the halls, and you were doing the same with your friends and family.

When Iron delivered the mail to the Slytherin table, including Nebula's birthday presents, you wanted to throw up, but all you did was walk away from the Hufflepuff table toward the requirement room.

Without the darkhold, you didn't feel sick, but the anger didn't go away.

Your magic hadn't stabilized, and you were failing at everything, but you couldn't bring yourself to worry about it.

Erik wrote to you, commenting on the importance of you and Wanda practicing magical balancing together, and you burned the letter while crying on the carpet.

And at this rate, time went by.

It was almost the middle of the school year when things started to take a turn for the worse at Hogwarts, and in the wizarding war as well.

Mephisto is getting stronger, and the order is losing. And Kaecillius must be under some pressure from the ministry, maybe for answers from organizations like the Avengers, which are forbidden, because his detentions get too horrible.

It is Saturday again, and you drag yourself to the room where you are supposed to fulfill your detention, but unlike the other days, Kaecillius locks the door.

You only notice because he seems tense and distracted, and there is no feather or book.

"Professor, what will my punishment be today?" You ask confused, and he is nodding to the center of the room as he stands in front of the desk, a few feet from you.

"Miss Stark, today I want to ask some questions and I expect honesty." He declines as he turns to you.

You hiss softly, putting your hands in your pockets.

"Shoot."

Kaecillius doesn't even mind your lack of formality, looking at you with an impassive face.

"What is Mephisto's location?"

You choke in surprise and disbelief. "Excuse me? Why do you think I know that?"

"The ministry has reason enough to suspect that the Order of the Avengers is nothing more than a cover for the death walkers.Your brother, whom I had suspected of being part of that order of delinquents, is no longer at Hogwarts, but you will have to serve." He speaks and with each word you become more outraged. "Now answer me, where is Mephisto?"

" Did you just fucking call my brother a delinquent?" You mutter incredulously. "I have no idea where Mephisto is, what's your problem?"

But you widen your eyes when the professor draws his wand, and you barely have time to swallow dry before the spell hits you in the chest.

It's the cruciatus curse. You know the second it hits you. The sharp pain fills every cell in your body and you scream, not having the strength to stand or with your eyes open, hugging yourself.

"We must not tell lies, Miss Stark." Kaecillius says as soon as he stops enchanting you, the pain disappears in the same instant, but you continue to tremble.

In complete shock and fear, you sob.

"I will ask you again, where is Mephisto?"

You let the tears flow, and shake your head. "I don't know, professor."

Kaecillius lets out a sigh of disappointment. "Some cases are more difficult than others." He comments somberly, taking a step toward her. "Did you know that the record for enduring the Cruciatus curse before madness is six hours? Incredible, isn't it? It happened during the first war, with a muggleborn. You're a half-blood, maybe you can take longer"

He has a devilish grin as he finishes, and you clench your jaw at the threat.

"I don't know where Mephisto is." You repeat, but the professor points his wand at you again.

"My bet is seven hours."

And then the pain returns.

You don't know how long you stay in that room.

But it is long enough for your consciousness to begin to fade. The pain gets so severe that it gradually fades away. You begin to gasp breathlessly, not even able to scream anymore.

Someone help me. Please, help me. Help me. Wanda.

Between the tears you see the floor of the room, and between a twinge of pain, a red light. And everything is dark again.

//-//-//

“Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Warcraft and Wizard is arrested in flagrant by aurors from the ministry of magic this week, full coverage on page..."

You blink confusedly, your eyes getting used to the clarity, while the headline of the Daily Prophet was the first thing your vision caught.

And then you shifted in bed, realizing that you were in a hospital room , and whoever was reading next to you put the paper down when they heard you, and you could behold the curious look on your brother's face.

"Tony?" you whispered confused, and he smiled as he stood up quickly, the newspaper forgotten on the armchair.

"Hey, how are you feeling?" He asked as his hand reached for the loose strands of hair on your face and put them back. "You scared the hell out of me."

"What happened?"

"What's the last thing you remember?"

You thought, and then sighed, closing your eyes for a moment.

"Kaecilius."

Tony bit his lip nervously before speaking.

"I'm sorry." He said, lowering his hand to his own. "I came here as soon as I got the howler from Professor Strange, but honestly, I didn't even need it, because all the newspapers are talking about it."

"What...?" You started in confusion, but Tony hurried to explain.

"Wanda found you, Y/N." He told. "She, well, wasn't exactly happy about the whole thing. I think she lost control. Kaecilius is lucky to be alive if you ask me. She almost destroyed the seventh floor, it was a huge mess. And then the aurors interfered, and soon there were reporters everywhere. I guess now everyone knows she's a scarlet witch."

You widened your eyes, straightening to sit up and grumbling a little in pain. Tony looked at you with concern, asking you to take it easy, but you were already asking about Wanda.

"She's at the ministry of magic." He clarified. "Kaecilius is going on trial for torturing a student, and she will answer for putting everyone in danger."

" What?" you ask incredulously, and Tony sighs.

"Yeah I know it's unfair." He says. "But the minister of magic seems to be looking everywhere for people to blame for his lack of control. The problem is how much of that information will get to Mephisto. The whole ministry seems to be full of walkers."

You ran your hand across your face, frustrated.

"I'm so tired, Tony." You confess in a whisper. "It feels like everything is falling apart around me, and things are only getting worse."

Tony squeezes your hand. "I'm sorry, I really am. This whole situation sucks, and I wanted to help you. I'm trying, sister. I haven't been talking to you as much as I should, but I didn't want you to think you're alone. I'm working on breaking the bond. To free you and Wanda from the prophecy, and the wizarding world from dangers like Mephisto. I'm sorry I haven't been by your side."

You swallow your cry, and nod, trying to smile at Tony. He reaches up to hug you, and you gasp softly, taking a few seconds to relax and let the tears flow.

When you calm down, Tony tells you that he is going to get a Mediwizards to check your situation.

You lie down again, sighing softly. The memories come back with full force, and you choke softly, feeling your body tremble.

It's as if you can feel the curse again, sense the pain on your skin. Opening your eyes and shaking the memories away, you swallow dryly and reach for the glass of water on the nightstand.

You just want Wanda by your side telling you that everything is going to be okay.

//-//-//-//-//

You stay under observation for two days.

Doctor Hank makes a joke about you enjoying St.Mungus more than you should since you keep coming back, but Tony doesn't laugh.

Then you' re going back to Hogwarts by train, because the doctor thinks you shouldn't use magical means of transportation for a few days, and it's weird to take the empty express, but as soon as you arrive at the station, Gamora and Nebula are waiting for you with boxes of candy bought in Hogsmeade, and tight hugs.

You are not surprised by the stares you receive from the other students, but you ignore them as your sisters escort you around the castle to the Hufflepuff communal hall.

"Did you get to talk to Wanda?" Gamora asks as soon as you sit down on your bed, sighing with exhaustion from the train ride. The mention of the other sorceress' name doesn't help.

"Not yet." You say. "And I wouldn't be surprised to hear that she's ignoring me."

Nebula exchanges a look with her sister before sitting down on Mantis' bed, who is hugging her knees and looking at you.

"Honestly, I just want to finish this year without any more problems." You confess as you take off your jacket. And there is a moment of silence before you swallow dryly. "I also wanted to apologize to you guys."

Gamora frowns slightly, but says nothing. You take a deep breath.

"I know I was under the influence of an evil book, but that was still no excuse for treating you guys like that." You begin. "Tony told me about how things are in the wizarding world. Everyone is going through something, and it was selfish of me to think that only my problems matter. I'm sorry."

"Really, Y/N, it's okay." Nebula says, surprising you a bit. "We were all stressed, and well, I think an evil book is a pretty fair excuse." She jokes, making you smile. "Maybe things will get a little better now that Strange is the director."

"Oh, that's right" You comment just then remembering the things Tony updated you on while you were at St.Mungus. Like Kaecillius' resignation, and the position being passed on to Professor Stephen. "But honestly, I won't be at peace until I hear from Wanda."

"The trial isn't until Friday. And the way things are going, we won't get any news until it's over." Gamora warned as she sat down on the bed next to you. "I think the Maximoffs are probably too busy to write."

"What do you think will happen to Wanda?" You ask as you tug at the loose strands of the comforter. Mantis sighs lightly.

"I don't have a good feeling about things, Y/N." She confesses and you frown in concern. "And the stars never lie."

"Thank you, Mantis." You mock softly, and Gamora runs her hands through her hair.

"Let's not be pessimistic, okay?" she says. "Maybe the predictions are about, I don't know, the school finals? It doesn't mean something bad is really going to happen."

You grumble unhappily, grabbing a pillow and sinking your face into it. Gamora strokes your back.

"I'm sure things will work out, Y/N." She says. "Wanda will write as soon as she can."

"Do you guys think Kaecilius will be sent to Azkaban?" Nebula asks next, making you raise your head curiously.

"I wouldn't be so sure." You grumble. "I was actually surprised that he was put on trial at all."

"Well, with the whole mess that happened, it was bound to happen." Gamora said. "More than half the school became aware that he used the cruciatus curse on you, and then the daily prophet. And I didn't even know they were in the castle."

"It was because of Wanda really, wasn't it?" Mantis added. "Kaecillius caused his own ruin. He called the journalists to show what he called progress and decided to torture a student while they were in the castle. Then Wanda destroyed the entire floor and the next morning his arrest was all over the pages."

"I'm just really outraged to know that if no one had seen it, he would probably still be at Hogwarts." Gamora says angrily, and you sigh, agreeing as well as the others.

"Well, you must be hungry, shall we go to the great hall? It's almost dinner time." Gamora comments next, pulling you by the hand. You grumble softly, but agree, and soon you are leaving the communal hall to join the rest of the students.

//-//-//-//-//

You are tapping your fingers gently against the desk as you wait for the History of Magic class to begin.

It is Friday, finally.

You have barely slept because of anxiety about news of Wanda's trial.

Things at Hogwarts have changed a lot this week, all because of Strange's administration.

He restored the old classes, banned the teaching of dark magic, the scandal at the Daily Prophet being enough of an argument that the Minister of Magic no longer had a defense over this kind of teaching at Hogwarts. The restricted session of the library was also put back, and the seventh floor was off-limits because of the destruction Wanda caused, and you unfortunately lost access to the Requirement room.

Mantis was writing what looked like a lunar calendar for the divination class while Professor Okoye didn't arrive, and you started whistling distractedly.

And then Thor Odinson was poking you in the back to get your attention, and you turned around in your chair.

"Hi, Stark, what's up?"

"Fine." You grumbled suspiciously. "Can I help you with something?"

Thor looked almost unsure. "I was just wondering if you know of anything going on with Loki."

You frowned. "Excuse me?"

"I mean if you know if he's sick or something." He explains. "We had a fight, and well, he's not talking to me. And I've noticed that you guys have been kind of close lately, and I was curious if you knew anything and..."

"No, Thor, I'm sorry." You interrupt with a sigh. "Maybe you should ask him that."

Thor assumes a sad expression. "I would, but he's ignoring me. I think it might be about our mother."

You make a confused expression, and Thor looks surprised.

"Our mother, she...died earlier this year, Y/N." Thor counters, and you widen your eyes. "Our family is a name of reference against Mephisto. With the war, the walkers came to our home. She was there while we were here, and Dad was at the ministry."

"I'm so sorry, Thor." You whisper to him, still shocked by the information. He shrugged.

"I thought Loki told you."

"We don't talk about things like that, I guess." You say. "Sorry, I wish I knew how to help you."

"No, it's okay." Thor says with a sad smile. "You being his friend this year is more than enough. I don't like seeing him all alone out here."

You nod lightly, settling into your chair as you notice the teacher entering the room.

Mantis exchanges a look of understanding with you, having overheard the conversation even if accidentally, but she says nothing, and soon you are hearing about the witch hunt in the United States, and you try to focus on that rather than curiosity about how Wanda's trial is going or Loki's current emotional state.

//-//-/-//-//-//

As soon as lunchtime begins, you join the Slytherin table, where some of the students have placed a radio on the table, equally with other students from the other houses, to listen to the trial.

You are not surprised that a student's trial is such an interesting topic for everyone, but after the school started talking about Wanda being a scarlet witch, and the theories circulating around the halls, it was to be expected.

So you sit back while biting your fingertips and listening.

"And now directly from the Ministry of Magic, the trial of seventeen-year-old witch Wanda Maximoff, daughter of legendary witch Erik L-"

Your attention is slightly diverted from the narrative when loud laughter catches your ears.

They are Gryffindor and Slytherin students, exchanging coins. You don't need to hear the conversation to know they are gambling about the trial, the mean laughter and glances in the direction of you and your sisters are enough.

And as if she could feel your growing fury, Gamora touches your shoulder gently.

"Just ignore them, Y/N." She urges and you clench your jaw. " Everything is going to be okay with Wanda."

"I hope you're right, Gamora." You grumble, turning your attention back to the radio.

The narration of the newspaper is generic, and you discover that the audience has been closed off to the reporters.

You take a deep breath, concentrating.

No strange feeling, so Wanda is safe.

You wonder if Erik and Pietro are by her side during the whole thing.

It is only at the end of lunchtime that you have the result.

"It's amazing how things unfold in the ministry this afternoon." Counted the reporter with almost excitement. "After a unanimous vote, the witch Wanda Maximoff was found guilty of endangering her fellow students by not registering as a scarlet witch to the ministry of magic, after it was proven that her father, the sorcerer Erik Lehnsherr knew of her condition, as well as the affiliation with the criminal, Agatha Harkness was also mentioned. The ministry finally decided on Wanda Maximoff's expulsion from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizarding"

You felt your stomach plummet.

And everything became a little muffled around you, a soft whistle in your ear. You think Gamora and Nebula were calling for you, but you were getting up, feeling the room getting too small.

Stumbling out, you loosened the knot of your tie, finally stopping in the courtyard as you leaned your body against a pillar.

Wanda had been expelled from Hogwarts, publicly exposed as a Scarlet Witch, and tried as a criminal. You wondered if they would break her wand. Banned wizards led horrible lives.

Your sisters and friends caught up with you quickly, and you let them hug you.

In a few minutes Director Strange is catching up with you as well, and you release Gamora's grip to talk to him.

"Professor, I need to..."

"You cannot leave Hogwarts, Miss Stark." He interrupts with a wave of his hands and you frown in confusion, ready to protest but he is already speaking. "Tony sent a patronus as soon as the results came out, he already figured you'd want to see Miss Maximoff. The ministry is a mess, and Wanda will be staying with her father there for the minister's final decisions. You should stay here, where you are safe."

"That's not fair!" You squawk angrily. "Wanda needs me, I must-"

"She needs you to be safe." He interrupts again seriously, and then lowers his tone slightly as he notices the curious looks of the surrounding students. "Be rational, Miss Stark. Now that the Wizarding community knows the nature of Wanda's powers, how long before Mephisto has enough information and discovers your identity as protector."

You swallow dryly, clenching your fists begrudgingly. Stephen is right. You look away, and he sighs, placing his hand on your shoulder.

"Wanda will be fine, even without her NEWTS, she is an extraordinary witch." He says. "And the year is coming to an end, soon you will be able to see her again."

"She needs me now." You grumble annoyed, turning away from the professor's touch. He looks at you for a moment and then clears his throat.

"I'll see what I can do, Miss Stark." He says."In the meantime, focus on your studies, and be careful."

You frown at Stephen's words, but he is already turning and leaving before you can ask.

As you turn to your friends, Gamora has a worried look on her face.

"Are you okay?" She asks, and you sigh, agreeing to hug her again as you mumble no.

"I can feel how upset she is, Gamora." You grumble against your sister's shirt, wishing you could hug Wanda now. Gamora squeezes you against her arms, and you thank her for her intention even if it isn't enough.

The next few days are like a blur for you.

Many letters arrive, as do many editions of the Daily Prophet.

When the picture of the day Wanda's wand was broken comes out on the front page and you see her tired face, you have to run out of the common room to keep from crying in front of your colleagues.

Everyone writes to you, even Carol, everyone but the Maximoffs.

It is frustrating, and honestly, it breaks your heart in many ways.

The news of a Scarlet Witch after a century is almost as bombastic as Mephisto's return, and you're not surprised that many of your colleagues would start to comment on the possibility of Wanda working with him or against him.

It's overwhelming how everyone talks about her, but all you can feel is how much you miss her around the castle, around you.

You couldn't even remember that your magic is stable, and with everything that has happened, you haven't had time to figure out how to fix things.

Stephen tried to help, but he didn't know what was going on. At least the theoretical part of magic you were able to master, and you hoped to get at least an acceptable score in some subjects.

Only almost a week and a half after the trial, Professor Strange interrupts the potions class to talk to you.

Ignoring the curious stares and whispers of your classmates, you ask Professor Munroe to excuse you, and leave the room.

"What is wrong, professor?" You ask curiously as you close the door, watching Stephen with his hands in his pockets.The dungeons feel emptier without the ministry aurors around the castle.

"Saturday, in the Astronomy tower, nine-thirteen at night." He says as he hands you a small gold key, causing you to frown in confusion. "You will have exactly one hour, Miss Stark. Not a second more."

You stare at the object in your hand, and understand. A portal key. To Wanda.

"Thank you, Professor." You say, and Stephen nods before leaving.

You turn back to potions, the object in your pocket. You could barely contain your anxiety.

//-//-//-//-//-//-//

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A/F/N> Place your bets for my next comeback (a week, a month or tomorrow?). If I delete the blog, and you're in love with this story for some reason I don't know about because there are so many better things to read, know that I'll post everything on AO3 if I ever do.