#i was like only halfway through and was like ah. am tired. what should i rest. oh i know. my eyes.

[beacon-lamp]

gooooood morning beacon! how are u?

good evening alui i am doing well i just ate an entire crumbl cookie (big cookie. probably not advisable to eat one in a single sitting) to balance out the fact that i had to stay late for work and also i fell off the treadmill this morning so i can check that one off the human experiences to try list. i emerged unscathed except for a massive bruise to both my ego and left shin.

hope ur having a good thursday/friday urself!! :D

[occamstfs]

What You Really Want

Milo mouths off about a man dating his long time crush before immediately learning the lesson that he should be less trusting of strange voices promising to fulfill his desires

Pretty standard straight to gay himbo/jockification! It will also be my final story for some time I believe, so I do hope you enjoy! -Occam

“It’s no fair that they literally have it all.” Like many a ‘nice guy’ Milo has spent an inordinate amount of time skulking social media and disparaging more physically gifted men as he stumbles across them. The root of his despair is not difficult to ascertain, his eyes burning with envy make quite clear the inner monologue of ‘girls always date assholes.’ He sneers as he comes across the most recent post of his friend and crush, Juliet. The jealous man of course knows next to nothing about the character of James, the jock-type now dating her, but judging by the gleaming smirk and the bulky arms of a killer hanging from his shoulders, the judgemental dweeb has more than enough evidence to speculate.

Delving into his memories, Milo’s face burns with embarrassment as he recalls mentioning his crush to Juliet, ‘Oh!’ her bright eyes shift uncomfortably and her cheeks begin to blush enough to match the pink tint she threw on this morning. Milo’s fist clenches as she almost giggles in her discomfort, ‘sorry Milo I guess- Well, I guess I just thought you were gay?’ After this Milo played it cool, he thinks. Hand scratching the back of his head as he asserts his straight identity and the two go on to have a meal far more quiet and awkward than usual. When new-boyfriend James comes to pick up Juliet, Milo forces a smile before staring daggers at his back as the pair walk away. 

This brings us to the present hate scrolling session in which Milo is more than absorbed. Lips curl into a sneer as he traces the impossible to ignore curves of this must-be dullard’s defined body. Milo scoffs as he sees the litany of women that must make up the man’s dating history. “Bet they won’t even last a week, ha! I mean judging by how much the douche spends in the gym I bet he’s just using her as a beard anyway.”

With this final rather homophobic assertion, the nerd’s phone flashes before going dark, “What the-” before he has to determine whatever caused this, he goes stiff as a strange voice resounds through his head. ‘Tired of all the big boys getting what they want, hmm?’ Immediately concerned he’s lost his mind, Milo gets to powering back on his phone to call for help. ‘Now now, Milo. Do not worry your little head. I am here to help. Would you not like the chance to be just like them?’ Just like them. Envy burns through his veins greater than anything. Sensing this immediately, whatever this voice is seizes upon his clearly fragile psyche, its laughter steely and alien, ‘Ah ha ha. I thought so.’

Dropping his phone once more, Milo tries to drill the voice, “Wh- what are you exactly. Are you a dem- hm, an angel?” The voice answers almost before he even finishes the thought, ‘It matters not what I am. All that matters are your desires. Now. Do you wish to be all you desire, all this James embodies? All that he is in your head.” Miles gulps and almost starts drooling at the idea, just like James. Women at his fingertips whenever he wants, a body sculpted by the gods while keeping a far better mind than that oaf could ever afford. With next to no hesitation or forethought, Milo nods and the world goes dark.

When he awakens the poorly mannered man finds it’s the next day. His phone rests in his hand and when opened he finds it zoomed in on a picture of James’ meaty bicep. Milo rolls his eyes and tosses his phone aside before going to stand. Making it halfway up he grunts in pain as he only then discovers morning wood more pressing and turgid than he’s ever encountered. Falling back down he clutches at the pain in his crotch from his cock being forcibly yanked by his underwear. Hands now grasping it he gasps as he finds it filling them far more than it has any right to. 

Well now, while they’re already down there he might as well have some fun right? After briefly struggling to get his waistband over his swollen package his mouth falls open in shock as he’s finally able to appraise the almost unrecognizable cock hanging from his crotch. It’s like none he’s seen before, not that he generally observes dicks of course. Far more impressive than he imagined a dick could be. His fingertips can scarcely meet his palm when he tries to grasp it, and as he begins rubbing it it feels leagues more sensitive than it has before now, as if nerve endings are multiplying. Looking to his awaiting phone he sees the photo of James and what’s her name as he begins masturbating outright.

Seeing a bulge in James’ strained pants he grunts as he returns to stare at his own suddenly substantial cock. More like him. The already thicker rod strains as he reflexively humps into his hand, forcing his grip wider as it expands to simply need more room. The new veins painting the length of his nascent ten inch dick surge higher up its length as he swears he can see them pulse and bulge with each racing heartbeat. Beneath his thrusting hands, bouncing as his hips continue to forcefully thrust with more strength than he has, his balls similarly grow heavier, larger as they send hormones flowing through him enough to metamorphosize and, more immediately, cause pre to stream and coat his fingers. 

Milo leans his head back as he is bursting with a need for release greater than he can understand. He shifts his jaw as it twinges with the pleasure of growth, widening and strengthening into one fit for titan. Below his newly defined chin, his neck thickens and moans grow deeper as an Adam's apple bulges out of his throat. Hearing his voice echo deeper throughout his bedroom, his heady pleasure comes to a head as he is struck with the bizarre urge to lick the pre off his fingers. Before he’s able to acquire or express shock and disgust, his eyes blast open and he is again staring at the image of James, more like- and he blows his load.

The moment of release may as well have shut him down once more, pleasure overloads him like a flashbang as every inch of his body feels at once. Drool drips from his plumper lips as his mind is fried and his hips continue to thrust without any input or awareness, sending stains across his wall and splattering into his darker hair as it begins to pull shorter and tint darker. Eyebrows thicken and cover more of his forehead as his brow hangs lower over his eyes staining brown and growing duller.

His whole form tenses as he finally achieves release, staring at the image of his, uh, competition. Arms flex as his hands crack wider, fingers stretch longer, skin grows rougher. For the first time in his life definition appears on his arms, biceps and triceps compete for which can increase faster, which can catch more eyes, which can rival those alluring arms of James. Beneath shoulders packing on weight are pits that darken with curls now thicker, a deeper brown nearing black as the forest strives to prevent any light from breaking the canopy. Similarly they moisten with the masculine heady musk that they are perfectly designed to disseminate, powerful enough to allure any twink towards his dick, or uh, huh.

Milo moans as this seemingly intrusive thought makes itself at home in his morphing psyche. Barely returning to sentience enough to realize the stray gay thought, he arches his back and stretches as if he were waking up. Mindlessly he wipes the cum staining his larger hands on the new dark treasure trail as it itches and slowly inches up from pubes unshaved. Feeling the hint of an Adonis belt he sits up with a shock, the feeling of something he has long envied bringing back his awareness.

Despite the obvious differences it takes far too long for him to be aware of, to truly notice what has become of him. He struggles to make sense of the effort it takes to move his new larger limbs. He grabs at his new hair and sucks drool through his teeth as he tries to understand how it’s changed texture and color so totally, did he dye it and forget or what? The gears in his mind slowly turn as his fingers move to scratch an itch under his arms, struggling through the dank jungle of curls. Thoughtlessly he brings his sweat-wet fingers to his nose and grimaces. “Fuck man, I smell like an, uh, like a, unnh-” he moans quietly as he’s unable to even finish the sentence, instead an image of James forces its way to the front of his mind and two now-malnourished brain cells spark together and strain to form a thought.

“Oh fuck I’m turning into a imbe-, an uh imbekle? Ugh, an uh- a dumb jock.” Milo bites his lips and flexes an arm to try and assuage his nerves, to get his attention focused on anything but his anxieties. Fortunately to this end, seeing his bulging biceps he feels his larger cock begin to stir. Some semblance of rationality knows ceding to his wanting package is probably what led to this encroaching fog over his mind. His skin begins to prickle as all-around it grows more sensitive. Beyond these skin deep sensations it also seems as if darker hairs are beginning to spread out wherever his follicles will allow.

Seeing hair beginning to prickle his chest and blanket his legs his mind produces images of hairy men he has leered at through the years. His neck twitches as whatever dregs of the pathetic skirtchaser he once was rise up and try to combat his new predilections. He’s straight, he’s always been straight. Right? His mouth goes dry as he tries to remember ever having dated a woman in the past. Barring that, only just able to recall that something is happening to him, only just able to remember that he is transforming into some alien self, Milo tries to produce an image of what he used to look like. And he cannot.

His mouth falls open as it often does whenever he struggles to produce a thought, making it almost his default state. Mouth-breathing mouth ajar he fully experiences the thick air of his bedroom as it fills with his new musk. The room around him begins to dissolve and reform into surroundings that reinforce who he is now, that prove this is who he has always been. Clean pressed laundry dirty and shift into unwashed gym clothes that help cloud the room with his stink. Posters of whatever movies and video games he enjoys corrupt into images celebrating the impressive male form, all distinctly stained from the years of hanging on Milo’s bedroom walls. He hears clanking outside of his bedroom as bookshelves collapse and reform into weights heavier than he would be able to lift.

Milo stumbles to his larger feet and ignores the hefty weight of his balls and cock bobbing in the air as he drags himself out of his bedroom to find a mirror. He leaves sweaty footprints larger than any shoes he owns on the tile of the bathroom as he bumbles in. Leaning over the sink his lips quiver as he sees a razor clogged with hair darker than he feels he should have. Sooner than the doubts arrive they vacate as a thick, stubbled beard rapidly bursts onto his face. Looking up he smirks as he sees a thick mustache surges over his upper lip, looking just like the ones he appreciates,  just like he has always been into. His eye twitches and he grunts as his hair retracts once more into something far more intentional and stylish. At the same time pecs suddenly bulge larger and hang lower as Milo leans heavier over the bathroom sink. 

His eyes glaze over as complex thoughts once more become too elusive in the face of his rising lusts. Muscles bulge larger as his back and legs creak, stretching him taller as thighs and shoulders widen and continue putting on mass. Feet spread like fins on the floor as his hands widen and sweatily slide on the ceramic sink. His mouth continues to water as he inspects all these increasingly masculine changes and his cock continues to throb. Milo bites his lip as new sensations arise from his cock once more, this time the change is apparent as his foreskin regrows, making his cock look even thicker as its head grows hooded and he struggles not to immediately break into masturbation at the powerful image of his own seductive form.

Milo’s barely functioning mind struggles to argue for any reason to not just return to the immeasurable delights of gratifying his all-encompassing urges. He stays his hands for a moment before the greatest horror yet rears its head. A monologue begins in his mind that is not his own, that cannot be his own. Dull laughter echoes through his increasingly vacant mind as a voice even slower and deeper than that which sounds from his new vocal chords, “Yooo broo come onnnnn. Give up, give in. This is what you wanted, ‘s what we wanted huhuhuh.”

He feels a pressure in his balls as they almost churn with the otherworldly need that seemingly always flows through him. He can’t help but imagine the men he’s going to bed with his new endowment, how many cocks he’s going to take in his new powerful ass. Drool trickles from his lips through the dense black stubble that coats his face denser with each second, with each breath. Spit continues down the length of his more defined face before dripping onto weighty, similarly furred pecs. His heavier hands slowly creep towards the hardening cock standing tall and long from the jungle of pubes. Before he’s able to assist his thrusting hips however, his lusty haze is interrupted by his phone chiming. His mind immediately thinks it must be James which fills him with conflicting emotions of rage and giddiness. “Ohh bro maybe he’s inviting us over. It’s been toooo long since we fucked huhuh-”

Milo pointedly tries to ignore his hairier, bulkier reflection as he stumbles out of the bathroom to check his phone. Unfortunately he catches a glimpse which makes it all the more difficult to ignore the throbbing weight dripping, almost pouring, pre onto the floor. Despite it all he stands strong, quieting this other voice as it urgently tries to convince him to give in before he’s able to pick up his phone. In a final act of resistance, or perhaps impotence, he has the lofty idea of calling for help before his mind goes completely blank and, seeing the notification, he instinctually goes to his messages to find who texted him. It’s Juliet! 

First his heart flutters before he’s absolutely confused at the sensation. She’s just his bestie? Weird. He shakes off whatever that was and gets on to reading the message, “heyy girlie- which of these do you want me to post? Oh ya and lmao, are you and james cool if I do the last one?” At the mention of James his pulse again races and there are butterflies in his stomach far more powerful than whatever bizarre feelings he had but moments ago. No time to dwell, Milo starts swiping through the images sent. They’re a photoset of their little group outing to a halloween party last week, the trio, Milo, James and Jules dressed up as a group, as X-men! Respectively dressed as Wolverine, Cyclops and Jean Grey.

He smirks as he starts chubbing up again thinking of how easily he was able to pass as the hairy beast. His eyes then return to see James’ bubble butt in trademark spandex, which only makes it harder to not lose control then and there, moaning as he imagines playing with that ass. Holding to whatever well of willpower remains within him Milo holds strong and keeps his hands above waist level. Finally he gets to the specific image Juliet mentioned, one of him and James messily making out on the dance floor. James yanks at the hairy Milo’s hair, visor half hanging off as Milo reciprocates by shoving his hand into James’ pants. Fuck that’s hot.

Without even touching his needy cock, without any pleading from the new voice in his head, without a single chance to hold back. Simply from seeing the steamy image of him and James, Milo’s mind is overrun with memories and desires of the new man he is. The man he ever was and always will be. And for the second time today, but not the last, he loses control. Cum splatters against his phone as his mind goes blank anew with rushing pleasure. Painting himself once more with his most-used utensil he laughs dumbly as he realizes how swiftly he just came. Almost with pathetic haste, though now he’s quite unfamiliar with any sense of shame. The voice that only just wormed its way into his head spills from his mouth as it fully and forevermore wrests control as the true Milo.

“Huhuhuh guess I should work on my hair trigger,” He grunts as he looks at his phone and texts back some variation of ‘girl that’s porn you can’t post that!!!’ he turns his mind where it goes more often than anywhere in his new life. He wonders what James is doing and immediately texts him. Waiting for a reply Milo heads off to the gym to get a pump in before presumably going to meet him, not worrying about cleaning up or covering his scent. The gym’s for smelling like a man right? He certainly wouldn’t mind if everyone else followed his lead huhuh. Milo bites his lip trying to ignore his hardening cock as he makes his way out of the apartment clad in too-tight, stained gym clothes. 

Before he even makes it out the complex he gets a text from James and promptly changes course. Immediately Milo’s racing down the street to his lover’s apartment. Cock already snaking down his shorts and creating a stain at its nadir, Milo hopes he can keep his needy cock at bay until he makes it. Thinking of the alternative work out he’s to enjoy in bed with James, Milo struggles to not moan obscenely as he waddles as quickly as he can into the lobby of James’ building. Heart racing with excitement he can’t wait to see James in person. Jittery with nerves, it feels like he’s going to meet the man for the first time. Hah! Milo promptly ignores the idea and starts to get some stretching in before their session. Trying to practice mindfulness with a mind thicker than mud he quickly finds himself possessed with memories of their countless times fucking in the past. Easy enough as the pair have been doing so for years. Still nerves assail him as his cock continues to strain his shorts. As the elevator doors click open he smirks as he was able to make it this far without blowing his third load of the day. His cock throbs with anticipation for its release soon to come, and impatiently awaits each and every similar session to follow.

[slvt4em1lyprenti2s]

Forbidden Love: Chapter 1 Next Chapter

Shy?

Masterlist

Criminal Minds Masterlist Emily Prentiss Masterlist

Summary: Professor!Emily x fem!student reader, what happens when profesor prentiss and the reader finally give into their feelings?

Word count: 1.5k

TW: Making out, I think that’s it?

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x female reader

A/N: Should I make this a series? Idk it might be fun!

Studying behavioural profiling is, well, different. It’s like science, criminology and psychology and smooshed into one subject. But the best thing about it, you ask? The teacher. Emily Prentiss is the most divine woman to ever step foot on this earth and no one can tell me otherwise. The way she strides along the front of the lecture all, her raven hair that falls in front of her face when she bends down to click something on her laptop, her eyes that always seem to find mine in a room full of students, her veiny hands that brush over mine when giving back a test. Ugh god, I swear I’m falling in love with this woman. 

It’s 7:45 am on a Wednesday and I’m walking across campus so I can get to lesson a little early to touch up my notes from my other class with Agent Morgan and to go over my- okay I’m bullshtting I just want to see Emily. And to be honest, I think I’m one of her more favourite students so I think she doesn’t mind me being early. 

I push open the door to the lecture hall and start walking down the steps, laptop bag slung over my shoulder that contained notebooks, pens, pencils etc, all the essentials. In my hand I held a travel coffee mug with my favourite hot chocolate in it because I wasn’t too partial to coffee. As I reach the front row I notice that Professor Prentiss has been following me with her eyes and watching the sway of my hips as I walked in. ”Morning Professor.” I try to say as if her eyes all over me weren’t causing a blush to creep up my neck. I took a quick check behind me finding out I was the only one in the room. 

“Hi, y/n. How are you today?” She asked her eyes staring into mine, genuinely curious.

”Good thank you, tired but good, what about you?” I smile as she chuckles lightly at my comment.

“Just about the same as you darling.” She replies with a smirk on her face seeing my face instantly bloom with red at the pet name. I shuffle my bag slightly before she says “I was out on a case for the last two or so days and I, only just, made it back in time to teach you guys. Lucky me hey? The only reason I’m even slightly okay with having to wake up at the ass crack of dawn is because of students like you. You actually listen and care, god knows that kind of work ethic is rare these days.” Emily looks exhausted and about ready to jump into bed at any second but the words that she said seem to cloud my head so I don’t pay much attention to her disheveled state. 

Students like me? What does that even mean? Well, she explained what it meant but I still wasn’t convinced. Nonetheless I responded “Yeah, it really is. All the people in this class want to be profilers or something along the lines of such and yet none of them take their education seriously. I want to throw something at them every time they talk over you. I might actually do it one day, it's so annoying!” She smiles fondly at my words making a cage of butterflies escape into my stomach and I smile back. 

“Now, I can’t have you throwing things at people, can I now sweetheart? That’ll get you kicked off the course. And I don’t think you want that, I certainly don’t want that, and besides don’t worry about the others. You’re doing amazing ah, that reminds me can you stay behind at the end? I just want to speak to you about your grade on our most recent exam. It’s nothing bad, I promise. You’ve done exceptionally well, in fact so well that I want to talk to you about further opportunities you have open to you.” She places her hand on my shoulder as we now stand face to face, she got up halfway through talking to lean on the front of her desk. I smile and subconsciously lean into her touch. The remains of the blush from the pet names yet again lingers but I say a small “Thank you Professor.” 

At that moment the door to the lecture hall swings open revealing another student in their own little world unaware of the building tension in the room. I give her one last smile and go make my way to a seat in the front row. I get out my laptop and notebook and start writing the dates and titles. I could feel eyes on me the whole time, I look up and lock eyes with Emily, finding her already looking at me. She sent me a wink and glanced back down at whatever she was working on. A crimson flush invaded my face and I returned my eyes to my page.

After the lesson I packed up slower than normal so that I’d be able to stay behind a little longer than she probably ment. I put my laptop in my bag and zip it up and grab my now empty hot chocolate. I walk up to Profesor Prentiss’ desk and find she’s already looking at me, again. 

“You know, you should stop staring at me so much. People might get the wrong idea.” I say, suddenly feeling confident, a teasing smirk on my lips. 

“What if I want them to get the wrong idea? What if I want them to think you’re mine?” I quickly shut up at that remark, all my confidence suddenly disappeared and I turned into putty. Heat rose to my cheeks and my head dipped to avoid her piercing gaze, it wasn’t mean, more admiration. But, any look from Emily Prentiss is intense. “Cat got your tongue honey?” She had a shit eating grin on her face as she saw me nod slowly. 

“Anyway, your grade! Okay you scared the highest in the class, and you got full marks. This isn’t anything new for you I'm sure, you’re a bright young woman. But, scoring this high in a test this hard, it opens doors for you. So, I’m here to offer you a chance to shadow me and the team for a week to see how we handle cases and what the job entails really. I also wanted to let you know that if you have any interest in joining the team I would accept you in a heartbeat. You’re a brilliant profiler.” Yet again for what feels like the millionth time today, heat rises to my cheeks. She stalks the way round her desk and stands in front of it. 

“That sounds amazing, oh my god, really?” A smile broke out on my face immediately. She looked pleased at my reaction and took a step closer. 

“Yeah of course really, why would I joke?” She laughed softly. I muttered a small ‘true’ and kept shamelessly checking her out as she still came closer to me and lowered her lips down to my ear and whispered, “Do I make you nervous darling? Is that why you get all shy whenever I’m around?” I nodded again while looking down, her hand found my chin and tilted it up. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.” I felt a strange tingling in my lower stomach as she said that. 

I looked her in the eye and she bought me closer. “Is this okay?” she muttered, her breath fanning across my face due to the proximity. 

“Yes.” I breathed out. That was all the confirmation she needed to softly press her lips to mine. She held me like I might break at any minute, so tentative and caring it made my heart flutter. My hands found their way around my waist and I pulled her closer. She moved us around so now I was the one against the desk as she deepened the kiss, her tongue moving into my mouth. I instantly let her take control of the kiss and press her hips against mine. A small whine left my lips and I lent into her arms which were on my hips. 

She pulled away and looked into my eyes before whispering, just to me even though there was no one else there, “I don’t want this to just be a fling, just to make that clear.” I smiled wide and pecked her lips once more. 

“Neither do I.” She pulled me in again and we kissed with smiles on both of our faces. We knew we would have to be a secret for a while obviously but it didn’t stop me from fantasising about what was to come.

[kissmechallenge]

kobymeppo oneshot. late night thoughts.

"…Luffy"

Helmeppo tried not to wince as Koby said his name. He fidgeted with his hands, attempting to listen to what Koby was saying. But, the other boy's words were starting to sound like TV static over his own racing heartbeat.

"Helmeppo?"

He snapped back to reality. "Oh. Yes?"

"Sorry, you just seemed so out of it." Koby said awkwardly, clearly a bit buzzed from the alcohol they were sharing.

Helmeppo silently thanked the heavens that his face was already flushed from drinking. He picked up the bottle and took a small sip. "I suppose," he murmured, feeling embarrassed.

The two remained silent for a minute before Koby spoke again.

"Do you think he'll be okay?"

"Hmm?" Helmeppo quickly replied, turning to face him.

"Ah, sorry, I mean Luffy. Do you think he'll make it through the Grand Line?" Koby said bashfully, looking down at his hands.

Helmeppo shrugged slightly. "Sure."

Helmeppo found it difficult to ignore the fact that Koby brought up Luffy in nearly every conversation they had. Even more challenging was trying to overlook the underlying tone in his voice when he did so. He didn’t know what exactly the tone was but the sinking feeling in his gut told him he wouldn’t like it.

The night seemed to drag on… the drinking had long since finished and the two were peacefully sitting on the deck looking up at the big night sky. It was quiet, only their breath’s and the waves breaking the hush of the dusk. Koby’s eyes were glossy as he looked up and Helmeppo could tell he had drifted off into his own world. He looked his fellow cadet up and down… eyes lingering on the gap between their hands.

Realizing this, he sighed quietly and ran a hand through his blonde hair, pinching himself on the back of his neck. “Get a hold of yourself.” He scolded himself. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a small notebook and a pen.

Journaling was a hobby he had picked up since joining the Marines, he was hesitant at first but had come to find word vomiting his emotions was the best way to deal with stress. Right now he had a lot to write about.

How to begin this. Well. The thoughts have come back. I tried to ignore it. I really did. But I notice how I tense up everytime he says Luffy's name, I just get so... jealous.

Maybe I'm reading into things but, Koby has to like him right? Like I'm not crazy am I? I feel crazy. I'm crazy about him. Ugh. I really have to give it up. Why would he like me of all people hah.

It's really not funny.

But to me, he's like the North Star.

He closed the book and set it down beside him. His racing heart was beginning to slow as he took a deep breath.

“You getting tired?” A voice suddenly asked.

Helmeppo’s head snapped up and he saw Koby staring at him with a polite smile on his face. Helmeppo glanced away. “Uh, yeah. Pretty worn out.”

“What were you writing?”

“Nothing.” Helmeppo stuttered defensively, tilting his head up.

Koby let out a noise that was halfway between a laugh and a sigh. “I should’ve expected that reaction.” He said, dusting off his uniform as stood up. “We should do this again.” He added.

“Y-yeah. We’re friends now so… whatever.” Helmeppo replied, feeling his heart in his throat. Koby nodded and began to walk towards the cadet’s sleeping quarters. Suddenly he paused and turned,

“Show me your writing next time, okay? I’m curious.” He said quietly then quickly left the deck.

“Not a chance,” Helmeppo said under his breath with a soft smile. He grabbed his notebook, ripped out the latest page, and tossed it overboard. The crumpled paper landed gently on the surface of the water, then, in an instant, disappeared into the navy blue abyss.

author's notes: My first Kobymeppo fic! Ever! I also haven't written in like 3 months so this is kind of shit. Headcanon that since Helmeppo hasn't really ever had a friend he can't tell Koby is just genuinely concerned for Luffy. Silly silly boy.

[blackjackkent]

We do get some more chat with Jaheira and Minsc before sleepz though!

"I think you might have made a terrible, terrible mistake. Chasing rumor halfway around the city and back. Crossing the Guild, wading through filth, defying the one creature upon whom your very life depends. All for a madman and his rodent."

"The Absolute threatens thousands - the entire Coast - and still you risked much to help one man. I should berate you, but... I can only say thank you."

"Your reasons were your own, but whether you meant for it or not, your fight is our fight. Both of us. To the very end."

Aw. <3 Jaheira is so fkn great, and look at the big grin Hector gets when she says she's with him to the end:

He really likes both Jaheira and Minsc a LOT to be honest. Jaheira reminds him a little of some of some of the older monks at the monastery (well, older when he was a young man; he was just starting to become one of those older monks himself when the nautiloid hit); she's wise and experienced and does not wear her heart on her sleeve, but she's also very kind, clearly feels things deeply under the surface, and believes strongly in the work that they are doing. And Minsc is... well, Minsc. I think on some level he reminds Hector of Karlach - intense balls-to-the-wall fighter with tremendous energy and a kind heart - and he would clearly put himself between any of them and danger in a heartbeat.

No matter what Jaheira says... it was worth it to help them both.

Amusingly, one of the dialogue options here is "Hm. None of that was a thank you," but like. It literally was? She literally said the words "thank you" two lines ago. XD

Instead, Hector just teases her gently - as I've noticed he's now done several times; it's not entirely characteristic of him, and speaks to the fact that he feels very comfortable with her and the sort of person that she is.

"Don't go getting sentimental on me, Harper," he says with a slight smile.

She laughs, and to his surprise he does hear a hint of a catch in it, a slight tremble that hints of tears. It is honestly rather touching; all of a sudden there is nothing of the frustration that came out earlier in the conversations, none of the sardonic deprecation or fear for the road ahead. She is tired; they have reached the end of the day and Minsc is safe - for all that he should never have been in danger in the first place, she has been worried for him for so many months... and now it is done, and he is safe. He is not another friend she has had to see into the ground.

"Ah," she says ruefully. "Those misty eyes are just age. Yes, I feel myself growing older as we stand here. So... lead the way. We are yours to command."

The message is clear; whatever tangled cocktail of emotions she is feeling at present, it is none of his business and she does not want to talk about it. He can certainly relate to that. But the understanding is between them, all the same.

-----

"Fine lodgings you have found, my friend! Boo is already in negotiations with the guardian spirits of this place. In Baldur's Gate, they are likely to be rat-formed and eager to charge rent. But Boo shall secure safe slumber for all! Now - what do you need of Minsc?"

I love him, your honor.

I also love the mental image this conjures of Boo sitting up guard and judo-chopping any rats that try to crawl out of the sewers.

"I'd like to know a little more about you."

"There is more than a little to know, I think. I am huge!"

Lots of fun back-and-forth to be had here. Annoyingly it's one of those conversations where I can't ask all the questions at once, so I had to reload a number of times to get everything. I'm not going to write all of it out, but some highlights:

He told Hector about Rashemen, described the "telthors, guardian spirits of every root, rock, and tree. Here in the Sleeping Lands, they are silent, but in the far north, they know how to speak still."

Apparently he went back to Rashemen for a while after BG2 (yay, my fic was unintentionally correct XD ); the "Iron Lord" there told him that his dajemma was done and he should work for the lord, but Minsc disagreed because Dynaheir was dead and he felt his dajemma could never be over. The Iron Lord felt disrespected, challenged him to a fight, and lost (obviously), at which point the Council of Witches told him he should probably get out of Dodge.

He did mention Aerie too! Hector commented that he seemed to toss the Wychlaran title around pretty freely between Dynaheir and Jaheira, and he answered: "You suggest that Minsc uses the term lightly? Simply leaps from Dynaheir to Jaheira, with no caring for the custom itself? An unworthy thought - and WRONG! In between there was also Aerie, my second witch. She needed a protector, and Boo suggested that it might as well be Minsc. And when she went her own way, Minsc and Boo set to thinking - there is power in the wychlaran bond. Far too much to be wasted on weeping. To use that power to serve the living does not sully the dead - it honors them." The way this is phrased seems like it could be read to imply that Aerie is also dead, but she is definitely not. However, it does concur with the assumption I made in the previous post, that Aerie basically was doing her own thing with Caden and no longer needed a protector and set Minsc free, more or less.

Hector pointed out, very carefully, that when Minsc described why Jaheira should be his new witch, he seemed to be just describing... friendship. Minsc thought over that for a minute... "Hm. So. Duty, camaraderie, help in troubled times - what I call the bond of a wychlaran, you simply call... friendship? I think I understand your meaning. Then Jaheira is my wychlaran. And so are you! You are my wychlaran! And Wyll is my wychlaran. And Astarion is my wychlaran! And Gale is my wychlaran! And Shadowheart is my wychlaran! And Halsin is my wychlaran! And Karlach is my wychlaran-- or, no, Karlach is a berserker, so... perhaps Minsc is *her* wychlaran? My thanks to you, wychlaran. You have given me much to think on - and should some enemy blow knock it loose again, Boo shall remind me." LOL. Minsc is not a subtle man but I honestly think he's fucking with Hector just a smidge here. (Or at least, to be honest, I hope he is; Minsc knows what a friend is, and his relationships with Dynaheir and Aerie are significant to him on a different level. The BG3 writers are doing fantastic with Minsc for the most part but this line, while funny, doesn't really play well for me exactly.) That said, I think Hector has a point that Minsc latching onto Jaheira specifically this way is him taking her friendship and trying to make it into this other important thing that he is missing, because he doesn't know how to handle being without a witch entirely. (Probably also a BIT of coping mechanism for having been teleported forward in time a hundred years, even though he doesn't actively claim he's bothered by it.)

Hector asked if Minsc knew anything about what deal Roah was striking with the false Jaheira and the Stone Loard; Minsc had no clue, unsurprisingly. Boo then piped up with quite a lot of agitated squeaking, which Minsc interpreted to mean that Boo thought he should open his mind up via the tadpole so that Hector could view his memories and perhaps understand elements that Minsc didn't. Minsc was clearly uncomfortable with the idea, though, and Hector isn't keen to use the worm more than strictly necessary, so he just told Minsc they'd find another way.

Hector asked about Boo and Minsc told Boo to explain himself. Boo squeaked. "Clear enough?" asked Minsc. XD Hector asked a little further and Minsc told roughly the story I was already aware of; he received a head wound from bandits and Boo showed up as he recovered. It is neither clear nor, I think, meant to be whether or not Minsc actually understands him. (Though I'm curious to see whether we are able to Speak With Animals with Boo on my druid playthrough. XD )

He talked a little about his experience getting turned into a statue. (Hector mentioned that Jaheira had told him about it; not sure if I missed a dialogue somewhere or that was supposed to have happened off-screen). He doesn't seem to know much about why it happened; just that he was ambushed while doing "cleanup" work in the city's underbelly and then woke up in the Wide a hundred years later when someone cleared the petrification.

And finally, some longer bits actually worth writing out -

Caden references! He cheerfully told Hector about fighting alongside "the Bhaalspawn" ("Gorion's Ward," etc... he has a NAME, Minsc! XD ) and fighting off evil. Hector, whose only exposure to a Bhaalist is Orin, was kind of skeptical: "How did you come to trust the spawn of such an evil god?" Kind of fun to see how the dialogue dances around making any specific assertions about the past game player character. In this case, Minsc goes off on a tangent: "A curious question. Are a child and his father always alike? Take Minsc! He does not have a clear memory of the face of his father, but he does remember tugging on the thick, red whiskers that sprang from his chin. A beard for the ages! Boo could have nestled there happily through even the harshest of Rashemen winters. Now - look closely at Minsc, and what do you see?" Hector, patiently, grinning in spite of himself: "You don't have a beard." "Correct! There are more whiskers on Boo's tiny face than on the mighty chin of Minsc! If Minsc did not inherit the flaming red hair of his mother, or the bushy red beard of his father, why would the spawn of Bhaal inherit his wickedness." Hector looks kind of impressed. "That's... surprisingly insightful." Minsc grins brightly. "I have many more thoughts about beards to share! I did not know you cared to hear them!"

-----

"I'd like to know your thoughts on our companions."

"You hear that, Boo? Your keen skills of observation have not gone unnoticed! Our friend wishes to consult your wisdom."

Hector blinks a few times rapidly but rolls with it. (Yet again he is quite like Caden in some ways. XD ) "Yes, Boo, I'd love to hear your opinions."

"So small is Boo that he is often mistaken for a pinecone, and many secrets are spoken in h is hearing! He will tell what he knows - but Minsc of course will translate."

Astarion first: "Oh, the pale scoundrel has his charms, it cannot be denied. But my friend, it gives me no pleasure to tell you - Astarion is not what he claims to be. Just last night, Minsc was dressing one of his many heroic wounds in camp when Astarion stumbled upon the scene. I tell you, he grew pale as death itself. He licked his lips and trembled so violently that Minsc thought he might faint on the spot! The truth is painful but undeniable. Astarion... is a coward. How can he fight the battles to come when he grows soft at the first sight of blood?"

[LOUD SQUEAKING FROM BOO] "...Just one moment." [MORE SQUEAKING] "You are sure? And you could not have told me this before?" [SQUEAKING] "...Minsc may be mistaken. Boo presents compelling evidence that Astarion may in fact be a vampire."

Hector finds himself once again fighting the urge to grin; this seems to be his default state when dealing with Minsc. "I know. But don't worry, he largely gets by on rats."

"Minsc has met many vampires and never one whose smile did not hide treacherous teeth. But... as you say. It is good that we do not have any friends who could ever be mistaken for a rat, eh Boo? If the sun can bear to look upon Astarion's monstrous face, then so can Minsc and Boo! For now, at least."

(Wonder if he is thinking about Hexxat and their battle with her in the crypts of Athkatla, so many years ago...)

Wyll next: "Ah, the great Blade of Frontiers! A fine name. Minsc has no idea what it means, but it suits young Wyll's air of mystery well. It is good to know the city did not go unprotected while I wore pigeon droppings on the Wide. Jaheira did her part, of course, but she prefers to scowl from the shadows. The city needs a name. A face! Preferably a furry companion, too!" [LOUD SQUEAK FROM BOO]

"He has a companion, all right," Hector says dryly. "Her name is Mizora."

"Mizora. This is... some manner of exotic bird?"

"Close. A cambion, bound to him by an infernal pact."

"What? Wyll, the Blade of Frontiers of whom I heard, is no man to deal with devils!" [SQUEAKING] "Ahhh, Boo speaks sense as ever. There is goodness in Wyll; we have seen it! If there be a devil on his shoulder, then Minsc and Boo will sit astride the other! He will not be long in coming back to himself, I think."

Gale: "I do not wish to speak of the wizard." [SQUEAK] "I could not have said it better myself."

"Gale's great - what's your problem with him?"

"He came to me one night with a little book of mischief, full of words and their meanings. 'Posterior,' he says. 'Can you say posterior?' I refused! Minsc does not need to know the language of wizards!"

Hector, swallowing yet another smile: "Posterior isn't wizard-talk. It's another word for butt."

"It is an inferior word! Far too long to use in a battle cry, which is where a butt belongs! Gale would do better to educate himself in the ways of sword and steel than to throw these pointy words at Minsc. Ah - yes, Gale also owns a cat! A cat with wings! That is most unnerving for poor Boo!"

"You should give him a break - he's only trying to help."

"Never! If he is not careful, Boo will shred his books and use them as bedding!"

And finally, Halsin: "Who is Halsin?"

"The elven druid."

"Oh, the tiny puny elf with leaves in his hair and dirt under his fingernails. His name is Halitosin? How very unfortunate."

"Halsin," says Hector patiently.

"That is what I said."

"You're both giant hulking do-gooders; I thought you'd get along."

"Pah. Minsc saw the druid chasing himself in circles and sniffing his own butt last night! He has spent too long as a wolf and not enough as a man." [LOUD SQUEAKING FROM BOO] "NO, BOO! THE DRUID DID NOT BEAT MINSC AT THE ARM-WRESTLING! IT WAS NOT A FAIR MATCH, AND HE TURNED INTO AN OWLBEAR HALFWAY THROUGH, AND THERE WAS GREASE ON THE TREE STUMP!"

XD

-----

"When our minds mingled, I saw some... strange things."

"Oh? The mind of Minsc is a simple place. Of what strangeness do you speak?"

Narrator: The memories resurface, a lifetime of battles blurring into one. The single constant is Minsc, launching into the fray no matter the foe - be they god, monster, or man. It seems just the barest glimpse of what the man before you has ssen and done, but enough to know that he has no right to still be alive."

"Ah! Wait! That look in your eyes - I know exactly what visions of Minsc you have seen, to cause you such wonder..."

"My pants! Thrice-laced in the Rashemaar style, so that a berserker might split skulls without fear of splitting britches too. They *are* fiendishly complex, but fear not for Minsc! With training, he has learned to master the many little knots."

"Never mind your pants," Hector says firmly. "You've walked between planes, fought gods!"

"Well, as have you, no? Do not forget that when you gaze into Minsc, Minsc also gazes into you! We both fight evil, wherever it is found. The who and where are less important than the hamsters you meet along the way. On this matter of sharing memories - I see no reason for us to worry at one another's worms. If there is more we wish to know, we can simply... ask, no?"

Hector is very okay with this; he does not want to use the tadpole at all if he can help it. "Of course. A warrior speaks their mind, instead of reading others."

"Exactly so! If I must peer into the mind of my enemy, I use an axe. For friends, there is ale. No, my friend. If you fear you have a question that Minsc cannot answer, then you can simply ask Boo!"

I repeat: I love him, your honor.

[konoa-t]

GranEssex Live Konoa Reaction (part 1)

Henlo I am deciding to do a live reading of @kachikirby ‘s series GranEssex Chronicles

I’m gonna try and go through the entire series, starting with the first book, “Wings of Beginning”

This is my first full-on live blogging(?) post, so idk if theres any way I should be doing it but f*ck it we ball

Anyway there’s a lot of text so behind a cut it goes!

(SPOILER WARNING cuz i’ll also be talking about what goes down in the book to give context for my ramblings)

Chapter 1

Note: Gonna try to use punctuation for now but this will probably disintegrate as time goes on (me hate punctuation on tumblr blog ooga booga). Also this live blog is pretty summary-heavy, but I’ll try to tone that down in future posts.

I’ve technically read up until chapter 4, but I’m gonna go ahead and backtrack to look over the previous chapters again and give my reaction on those :D it would feel weird to just start it halfway through anyway. The chapter opens up with Kurabe (if u don’t know who that is you should probably go check out Kachi’s account) going on a mission to eliminate a criminal group only to see that everyone’s just been absolutely bodied by some blue toddler with a stick. Kurabe’s like, “hey I need to take u in for questioning” and the kid is like “nuh uh” and tries clubbing her to death, but obviously Kurabe is stronger so she just blocks him. Even though I was only, like, two sentences in, my attention was already grabbed; I was very excited to see what happened next :D Anyway, Kurabe gets one of her swords knocked out of her hand by the kid, and she’s just like “ah.” But then she teleports behind him and chops him in the back of the head with her hand, causing the kid to faint. I was kinda surprised that she just knocked him out like that, but I guess it makes sense because she had a job to do lmao. Anyway she gets back to her ship and Mercury is there and, upon seeing the child, is just like “HUH”. Kurabe says that he’s fine and only has minor injuries, so she goes to her room to patch him up a little. She wondered why someone would leave their kid on a planet with so much criminal activity, and I honestly agreed because I was just as confused 💀 who leaves a whole toddler on the planetary equivalent of Detroit??? Insane, bro. So anyway she cleans him up and after he wakes up, Kurabe says good morning to him and the kid just immediately goes

Anyway, Kurabe tells him to calm down and asks his name, to which the child responds, “Meta.” It was pretty much implied from the start that this was Meta Knight, but I was still like “OOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH ITS HIM” Anyway cue Meta being suspicious of Kurabe and Kurabe trying her best to calm him down. I’m watching this whole interaction go down and honestly wondering if Meta’s just gonna straight up maul Kurabe, but thankfully he doesn’t. Kurabe’s maternal urges start taking over and she offers to raise Meta- err, I meannn… train him (because I can’t imagine it would be good to send him back to space Detroit 💀) and Meta asks if he can stay on her ship forever. Kurabe is like “yeah sure” and then after talking, she helps show him around his new room and then they sit down and have a meal together. The image of Meta playing with the spaghetti was really cute :D Meta makes mention of Kurabe’s sword and Kurabe tells him that she’d train him. However, she did warn him that he training was so intense that students have quit or even DIED because of it (which is…. Scary /not neg). He agrees to the training. Meta then got kinda tired so he went to go to sleep, and as Kurabe was tucking him in, he grabs onto her and they end up falling asleep together :DD Overall this was a very cute chapter and it does a great job of grabbing the attention.

[happyccino]

i only made it about halfway through the rwrb movie before i had to concede it was every bit as cringey as i'd feared it would be and i genuinely couldn't handle any more of it

like even wayyyyyy way back when i first knew it was going to be a movie and we didn't have casting news or anything yet, i already figured that taking the emotional slowburn that plays out over 400 pages and cutting it down into a 90-120 minute movie was gonna. well. suck. i've recently accepted that i largely dislike movies bc everything happens too fast, especially wrt romance. and yep this boiled down alex & henry's relationship to warp speed montage moments before they are In Love and ughhhh it's just boring and bland and makes me wish i could hack am*zon and put a watermark over the whole movie that says "JUST READ THE FUCKING BOOK" (not that the book is like a+ but it's adorable and a lot of fun and it's a comfort book in a way the movie could never ever be a comfort movie)

THEY CUT JUNE ENTIRELY?? AND CUT OUT THE FACT THAT ALEX'S PARENTS ARE DIVORCED? IT'S A KING INSTEAD OF A QUEEN OF ENGLAND???? just. blegh. so many weird changes like that that i knew i should expect bc book-to-screen adaptions almost always have to be so inexplicably WEIRD but i still hate it all. i'm sure the latter two were changed to make it somehow more widely appealing?? or some dumb shit like that?? which uh. the kind of people who would watch a movie with explicit gay sex would not care that the president is a divorcee and the homophobic ruler of england is a woman. MOST OF US ALREADY READ THE BOOK. and literally why cut june out entirely. alex lost a whole sister. the fuck.

i also hated that they made alex's reasons for "hating" henry so one-note and petty, though i guess more-so i hated how short and trivial the whole cupboard talk was. like yeah the first meeting was awful and justifiable enough to hold a grudge, but that whole cupboard talk had been The Turning Point so shaving it down so much just made everything else about their relationship ring false and blah.

the politics were bland, the dialogue was bland, the acting was bland, i'm sorry everything was just. bleeeeeegh. i mean even the best bits of dialogue they kept from the book were ruined bc i'm sorry but i really do not at all like the actors they chose for alex and henry. the way they read the texts and emails was like they were high school bullies reading the gay kid's messages out loud to the class it all just sounded. mocking and cold and WEIRD.

i only made it to the part where alex comes out to his mom and i tried to be happy about the whole "the b isn't silent" thing but it was just another in a collection of dialogue that was all tired, overused lines. (though to be fair to the movie and critical of myself, that isn't the kind of line that makes it to mainstream much, if ever. it just still feels like a really lazy line. idk. i was just sick to death of the dialogue by that point so what should've been a nice line to hear just didn't land for me at all. all the political dialogue was so hackneyed i was just like "why do you all hate uma thurman so much" lol poor woman had nothing to work with with those lines)

another book that tragically does not survive the to-screen adaption. ah well. i think i will palate cleanse with some go2 before i pass out

[exhaustedsandwhich]

Wrote this at 3 am. Couldn't sleep so I let the fish tank spill

I’m tired. So tired. Everything. Everyone. I’ve been so tired for so long I have forgotten the feeling of relief, of being unburdened, of being… me. Everything I do, everything I feel - they all feel forced, artificial, as if I only do them, feel them because I am obligated to. 

I am definitely losing my mind. If not for the couple people that keeps me grounded. Hell, one of them does not even know I exist. I function solely on delusions of what could be. On Fantasies. It is literally one of the only things keeping me somewhat afloat. 

Ludicrous dreams, crazy plans. None of which may ever come true. What is hope but a waxing strip made with superglue. The more it settles, the more one believes, the more painful reality becomes. 

What am I doing? Why do I aim so high when everyone tells me that I do not have enough propellant? The launch was fantastic, beyond planned but as I ascend through the atmosphere more and more fuel gets used. I try to conserve some. Using the most I can while using the minimum and yet everyone tells me I do not have enough. They tell me I should try harder. I should’ve managed my fuel better. Is it my fault that I do not have control over my fuel consumption? Is it my fault that I tried my really best during my early and vulnerable years that I now need sustenance? Why is it that everyone tells me that I do not deserve the rest? Why is it that everyone tells me to try harder when my sights are beyond the stars? 

Now, in the middle of my journey, sick and exhausted. I lay here, staring at the darkness of the void, calling for me to join it. To become one with it. I have tried to open the hatch on more than one occasion. I have thought about what it may mean for me, what it may feel for me to finally open it and relish in the embrace of the void. As much as it pains me, I could not open it by myself. If someone were to do it for me, I would gladly welcome the abyss but as it stands right now, I am too weak to open it. 

My brain is revolting. Giving in to the temptation of hope. It statistically knows the chances of even nearing my destination barely exist and yet that chance is so incomprehensible that it has opted to accept that it may be feasible. I regret to say that even my mind is tempted, convinced that there is a possibility. Of course there is a possibility of anything, but that is besides the point. My brain and mind has decided to let life run its course on me. To see how far I will travel until I run out of fuel. To see me ultimately stop, not even halfway to my intended destination. Maybe then I will finally be strong enough to open the hatch on my own.

I don't even know why I am writing this. Under no circumstances that I have any intention of sharing this to the general public but here I am, writing. 

I am exhausted, tired, delusional, crazy, insane that my brain flicks to her when I think these words as myself. As if she could fix me. My own fantasies, my own delusions fuelling my hope fuelling my obsession. 

Ah yes, obsession. It wasn’t until relatively recently that I discovered my obsessive tendency. I want something, I will stop at nothing to get it, unless of course, the obsession ebbs away into disinterest. Right now, my obsession is not just a mere obsession. I know deep inside me that I will do anything for her. I will stop at nothing for her. 

I feel like Joe Goldberg with that last paragraph, but right now, I couldn’t give a shit. I am and will live my life as I see fit. I am tired of defending, of holding the shield and I feel that she is more than capable of doing it for me. To shield me from the rest of the world. To care for me, to be there for me. In turn I will be there for her when she needs it. I will do anything I can to comfort her, to make her happy.

I am exhausted. 

[scuttling]

(Not So) Casual Friday

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 4,456 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Dad Bod Hotch (it's not a main component but he very much has the tummy here), Pining, Accidentally admitting attraction, Embarrassment, A little angst, Oral sex, Protected sex Summary: Your best friend Derek finds out about your feelings for Hotch and teases you mercilessly. You can manage it, though, until the first ever Casual Friday, when Hotch shows up to work in a black polo and jeans and you kind of ruin everything. Or maybe you don't? *Requested by anon Link to A03 or read below! “Okay, girlie, today’s the day,” Derek says when you set your bag and coffee cup on your desk on Monday morning. You shoot your best friend a tired smile and wonder for the—you’ve worked at the BAU for almost two years, so it’s probably the 500th time—for the 500th time why he has to be such a morning person when you would prefer not to have a conversation until at least 10 AM.

“Today’s the day for what?” you sigh, asking out of obligation, because it’s obvious that’s what he’s waiting for; he smiles, picks up your coffee and hands it to you, which must mean you sound bitchy. You take a grateful sip, close your eyes and exhale through your nose.

“For you to admit to me that you’re in love with Hotch.”

You spit out your coffee—only all over yourself, which is great, wouldn’t want to inconvenience Derek at all—and then cough so hard he has to thump on your back to help clear your airway.

It draws some attention; Hotch comes out of his office, takes a look at the two of you and probably regrets hiring the both of you, then walks down the stairs to make sure you’re okay.

“What happened? You’re wet,” he says a bit gruffly, looking at the coffee all over your chest and sleeves. You glare over at Derek, who’s clearly trying not to laugh.

“Derek made me spill my coffee.” You grab a handful of tissues off your desk and pat at the wet spot, trying to soak up the worst of it, but it’s not salvageable. You’ll have to change your shirt.

“And then you… choked on it?” Hotch asks, to clarify. Derek does laugh at that; the things Hotch is saying happen to have dual meanings, slightly sexual, and now that Derek knows—thinks he knows—about your thing for Hotch, it’s clear he finds it all so hilarious. He’s a twelve year old boy in a grown man’s body.

“Okay, I didn’t spill, I spit,” you correct, looking up at them, and Derek makes an exaggerated face of disapproval.

“Should have swallowed,” he says, trying to sound serious, and you shoot him an irritated look and reach out to slap him in the chest. Asshole.

“Do you need help getting cleaned up?” Hotch’s expression is kind, sweet, but you’d sooner die than have him blot coffee off of your boobs. It would be mortifying, especially in front of Derek.

“No, no, I think I’m okay. Thanks,” you add with a soft smile, and then you reach up and pull your sweater over your head, unzip your go bag, and search for another top.

For some reason, Hotch has a coughing fit scarily similar to the one you just had, and you turn to pat his back like Derek did for you.

“Are you alright?” you ask, looking up into his face, and he nods despite his watering eyes.

“Fine,” he croaks, and he leaves as quickly as he came. You sigh, because it’s not even nine and your day has already been so weird.

You’re wearing a tank top, and thankfully the coffee didn’t get through to that layer, so it’s quick and easy to throw another lightweight sweater over top of it; you ball up the wet one, shove it in the dirty clothes portion of your bag, zip it up and stash it under your desk. Derek looks like he’s having the best day of his life.

“You realize you just undressed in front of Hotch,” he says with a tone you don’t appreciate. You roll your eyes.

“I did not. I had a tank top on underneath.” You almost always wear an undershirt, because you’ve been a cop long enough to know that sometimes your clothes get torn or messed up in the line of duty, and you’re not trying to offer a free show while taking down an unsub. Derek wiggles his eyebrows, points at your chest.

“Yeah, one that put those little boobies on display. His eyes bulged out of his head like a cartoon character.” This time, you punch him in the arm, hard. It’s too goddamn early for this.

“Can you please shut up already? I don’t have a thing for Hotch.”

“Ah, I didn’t say you had a thing, I said you’re in love with him. And I have evidence; lots of it.” You tip your head back, groan, wondering what you did to deserve a best friend who is also such a pain in the ass, and it’s that moment that Hotch chooses to rejoin you; he looks a little flushed, probably from the coughing earlier.

“Uh. We have a case; I know not everyone is here yet, but you can head up to the briefing room, I’ll grab the others when they arrive.”

“Sure thing, sir,” you say easily, grabbing your tablet and what’s left of your coffee; you gesture for Derek and he follows, laughing and shaking his head. “Okay, what is it now? I’m so glad you find me entertaining today.”

“‘Sure thing, sir,’” he says with a high, breathy voice you assume is supposed to mimic yours. “You want his dick so bad.” You narrow your eyes at him as you head upstairs.

“Uh, because I was being respectful? I know that’s a foreign concept for you, the world’s biggest asshole, but you don’t have to read anything into it.” You take your usual seats at the table, pull up the note-taking app on your tablet, and Derek sits back, crosses his arms behind his head.

“Well you’re not calling me ‘sir’, and I’m the sexiest piece in the office, so it’s hard not to read into it.” You look over at him, elbow on the table, chin in the palm of your hand.

“Sexy is subjective, and you don’t do it for me, sorry to break it to you.” He scoffs, laughs, and you laugh too because you both know you see each other as brother and sister, buddies, and fellow former cops, and absolutely nothing else.

“Yeah, I get it, only Hotch does it for you; he’s not my type, but I can see how a young lady like yourself could be drawn to his brooding exterior.”

“I’m not drawn to his exterior!” you practically growl, and then you’re joined by Spencer and JJ.

“Good morning. What’s going on with you two?” JJ asks, loading up the monitors for the debriefing, her eyebrows raised.

“She’s in love with Hotch,” Derek says completely nonchalantly, and you rest your head on the table, on top of your forearms, and sigh.

“She’s what?” JJ’s whole face lights up, and you seriously regret everything.

“I’m not in love with anybody!” you mumble against your arms, and then you sit up, because you’re clearly going to have to defend yourself. “And I’d appreciate it if you quit saying that I am.”

“I told you I have evidence,” Derek reminds you, leaning back in his chair a little. One swift kick would have him toppling ass over tea kettle, but you’re too nice, even when he’s actively trying to ruin your life. “Shall I go over it while we wait?”

“I’ll be an objective third party,” Spencer says with a brief smile, and you sigh, wave your hand toward Derek.

“Alright, let’s hear it. I’m sure I have a perfectly reasonable explanation for whatever evidence you might think you have.” He grins like this is the moment he’s been waiting for, and you feel a little stupid for encouraging this.

“For one, you always look at him. When I’m delivering a profile, I notice you watching the locals, making sure they understand what we’re going over, since you're the queen of analyzing the micro expressions. But when Hotch is delivering a profile, your eyes are on him the whole time. Same goes for discussing theories on the jet; anyone else, and you’ve got your face in your tablet, scribbling notes, but you always look at him when he speaks.”

Your cheeks get hot. He’s a captivating speaker, is all, with that deep, velvety voice, and you can learn a lot from him, so you pay attention. That’s just being smart.

“Second, you tense when he gets close to you: not like you don’t want him to touch you, but like you’re halfway to jumping him already and trying to control it. I could probably put my hand in your pocket and you wouldn't even flinch, but if he leans over you to point at something you look like you’re about to cream your pants.”

“I have seen that, actually,” JJ offers, and you look over at her, betrayed. Sure, you get a whiff of his clean, crisp cologne, or feel the heat of him at your back, and your body reacts, reminds you that this is your boss and you’re at work and you can’t get turned on by the way he smells, but that’s actually a good thing, not an indicator of feelings or anything.

“Third, there’s something up with you and the gray suits. I can literally tell that he’s wearing one before I even see him, all because of the look on your face. It’s like you’re drunk on the gray suit.”

“Okay, that’s not true,” you say with a roll of your eyes—the gray suits are god tier, but there’s no way you’re that obvious—but it’s Spencer who speaks up, this time.

“You know, I have noticed that. Your pupils tend to be more dilated when his suit is gray or blue than when it’s black.” Fuck. You sigh.

“He barely ever wears the blue. It looks so good on him,” you murmur, and then you snap your eyes shut, cover your face with your hands. “Fuck. This is so embarrassing.”

“To be fair, we are profilers,” Derek says, leaning in to pat your back. “But also to be fair, he’s been a profiler longer than any of us, so if we know, he definitely knows.”

“Not helping, Derek,” you grind out, and then you’re joined by the rest of the team. Penelope takes the seat next to you, leans in with a worried tone of voice.

“Is everything okay?”

“She’s having a small crisis, but she’ll be fine,” JJ says with a smile, and you don’t miss the way Hotch looks you over when she says it, concern in his eyes. “Alright, so we’re headed to Arkansas…”

Later that morning, when you’ve been given your instructions—yours are heading to the crime scene with Emily and Derek—Hotch pulls you out into the hall, rests a gentle hand on your arm.

“Are you alright? JJ mentioned you were having a crisis earlier. This is the first time I’ve been able to get you alone, and I wanted to check on you.” You take a deep breath, look up at him, so handsome in a black suit, white shirt, green tie—he almost never wears a green tie, and you absently think it brings out the more golden tones of his eyes—and smile softly.

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s really nothing. Personal stuff, and I’m dealing with it.” If by ‘dealing with it’ you mean you’ve been repressing it, shoving it down day in and day out until your feelings are choking you, then yeah, you’re dealing with it. “Thanks for checking, though, that’s kind of you.”

“Of course. I’m here to help in any way I can, if you need me.” Good god, do you need him, emotionally, physically, but that’s fantasy, and this, what he’s offering, is rooted in reality. Good things do happen, but not to you.

“Thanks.” Your voice is weak to your own ears, and he swallows, nods; you see Derek hovering by the door, waiting for you, and you pull away to join him, plastering a smile on your face. You don’t talk about it again until Friday, and at that point it’s extremely unavoidable.

It’s Casual Friday, newly implemented by the bureau as a way to boost morale, and while it doesn’t really excite you, because you’re fairly casual anyway, others take full advantage of it. Others, including Hotch.

He shows up to work wearing a black polo and dark jeans, his usual watch. It’s easily the most simplistic, basic outfit a man could decide to wear on Casual Friday, but this isn’t just a man, it’s Aaron fucking Hotchner, and so naturally, you lose your damn mind.

It wouldn’t be so bad if the damn polo didn’t fit him perfectly, tight across his shoulders and chest and the little tummy he has that makes you want to be under him so badly, your stomachs pressed together while he thrusts inside you, holding you tightly, his strong thighs working against yours…

“Hello, are you alive in there?” Emily asks, waving her hand in front of your face; the two of you, along with Derek, are in Penelope’s office for lunch while Rossi, Reid, and JJ are out of the office for a seminar. You blink, shake away your thoughts and hope and pray they don’t come back—but they’ll come back, they always do.

“She’s just short circuiting because of Hotch’s Casual Friday look,” Morgan says with a wink, sitting backward in his seat. “She’s been drooling so much I’ve had to follow her around with a mop to clean up after her.” You push your wheeled chair away from them with a groan, needing space and air and, potentially, a brain transplant. You’ve gotten nothing done all day long.

“Can you blame me? The man comes in here everyday, buttoned up tight, looking incredible in a suit and tie, and then he shows up in that black polo, all snug and hot and delicious, and you expect me not to freak out? You guys are lucky I didn’t pass out.” You’re met with silence, and you blink, confused, at your friends, but they’re all just kind of staring with looks of barely concealed humor. “What? It’s not like it’s a secret that I want to climb him like a tree.”

“Pretty sure it was a secret to him,” Penelope says, looking shocked, and you whip around in your chair to see Hotch standing in the doorway, wide-eyed and a little flushed.

“Oh my god. I’m so sorry. I, uh—” He raises a hand, waves you off.

“It’s okay. No harm done; thank you, for the, uh. Compliment.” He steps forward, hands a manila folder to Penelope. “Thanks for taking care of these,” he says softly, and then, unsurprisingly, he gets the hell out of there. You wish you could disappear off the face of the Earth.

“Fuck, holy fuck,” you mutter when he’s gone, leaning forward with your head in your hands. “That’s it, I’m quitting. It’s been nice knowing you guys.”

“Okay, don’t be dramatic,” Derek says, and you look up to glare at him; he’s the one that started all this in the first place. You were fine, feelings tamped down and suppressed, until he brought it up and then told everyone you know.

“Don’t tell me not to be dramatic, Derek! This is all your fault. You never respect my boundaries, you never know when to just let me be, you always have to pick and pick until you wear me down. Maybe I had a reason for wanting to keep my feelings private, did you ever think of that?”

“I know you're upset,” Emily begins softly, because there’s some pretty thick tension between you and Derek now, but you stand up, push your chair across the room, and shake your head.

“I’m not upset, I’m fucking humiliated. I’m going home; let him know I’m sick, will you?” You exhale deeply, storm upstairs and grab your stuff and drive home with tears in your eyes. You’ve never been so embarrassed in your life, and add that to the absolute heartbreak you’re feeling? You’re just happy you make it to your apartment, so you can break down with cheesecake and a sappy, romantic comedy with a happy ending: those perfect, fictional worlds are pretty much the only place one is guaranteed. You are, as planned, hunkered down on the sofa in your softest pajamas, watching You’ve Got Mail and eating the center out of an entire cheesecake with a spoon when there’s a knock at your door. You groan, pick up your cheesecake tin, and walk over to it, fully expecting it to be Derek come to beg for forgiveness for ruining your life, so it’s no surprise you drop your dessert on the floor when it’s actually Hotch on the other side.

He looks down at the tin, then up at your face, cracks the barest hint of a smile.

“I thought you were sick; I brought soup,” he says, holding up a paper bag, and your heart thumps in your chest. You wipe a hand over your face, because you haven’t been exactly neat in your heartache cheesecake consumption, and then you kick the tin across the floor and invite him in, closing the door behind him.

“I thought it was obvious that I wasn’t actually sick, just… really embarrassed,” you say when he turns back to look at you. “I can’t believe you heard all that stuff I said… I’m really sorry I made you uncomfortable.” You take the bag from his hand and invite him to follow you into the kitchen, where you set it on the counter, lean against it. He comes close, but not so close you can’t function, which is good; your comfy pajamas are shorts and a loose tank top, so you feel a little exposed already.

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable,” he says softly, and you frown, must have heard him wrong. He presses his fingertips against the counter, as if for support. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable. It was… unexpected,” he explains, “very unexpected, but I’m not uncomfortable.”

You flush hot, and you can feel the bad decision part of your brain switching on, warning bells ringing in your head.

Whatever you do next has the potential to be extremely stupid, and you would like to avoid that at all costs; you love your job, after all, despite how physically and emotionally exhausting it can be, and you love your team. Time to think with your upstairs brain only.

“That makes me feel a little better,” you say truthfully, and despite the pep talk you just gave yourself, you move closer to him like there’s an invisible magnetic force between you; you would imagine a guy like Hotch would step back, keep his distance, but he only cranes his neck a little so he can look down at you more easily.

God, he’s tall. And he smells good, and his face is perfect, and that goddamn polo...

“Good, I’m glad. I don’t want you to feel bad about this. I’m not uncomfortable, it’s not… it’s not unwanted.” You swallow audibly, looking up at him, wondering if he knows what he’s saying, what it sounds like.

“It’s not?” you ask, and it comes out breathy; he takes a small step closer to you, brushes his fingers over your arm, peers into your eyes.

“No, it’s not. I’ve been thinking of you, too; I know you know you’re beautiful, but you’re also so smart, and strong-willed, and a force to be reckoned with. I’m proud to have you on my team, and I’d be proud… to have you climb me like a tree.” He smiles again, just the barest hint of one, and you put your arms around him and pull him closer for a kiss.

One long, slow, perfect kiss turns into another, then another, and he presses your back against the counter, his hands on your face and your hands on his thick waist; you hum into the kiss, revel in the feel of his lips on yours, his tongue sweeping past them, and when you pull back for air it feels like there’s only one question that needs to be asked.

“Bedroom?” you breathe, and he nods, and you take his hand and pull him in that direction, pausing to kiss him several times before you get there. “You don’t happen to have a condom, do you?” you ask, breathless, guiding him to the bed, and he frowns, shakes his head.

“I didn’t want to seem presumptuous.” You grin at that, lean forward and kiss him, your fingers in his hair.

“I find it so hot that you even say presumptuous. I might have one here somewhere.” You open your nightstand, move around books and toys until you find a couple; you flip them over, checking to see if they’re expired, and offer him a couple options. “They’re still good, surprisingly. You can, uh. Choose the one that would work best.”

He looks them over, picks one and hands back the rest, and you throw them back in the drawer and slide into his lap, wrap your arms around his shoulders.

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” he says, holding your waist as you look down at him, completely in awe that this is happening. “But I want to clarify: if you’re looking for something casual, I don’t think we should go any further.” You inhale softly, surprised by his straightforwardness, and you lean in, kiss him slowly.

“I don’t want casual. I want to be with you.” His eyes are so brilliant, dark in the dim light of your bedroom, and he nods, presses his lips to yours and slides his hands beneath your top, guides it over your head. Then they move to your shorts, slipping them gently off your hips, and you stand so he can push them to the ground.

You’re both breathing heavily, a little rough, and you step between his legs, kiss him again, run your hands down his chest, closing your eyes with a sigh because you finally get to feel him after a year of just imagining what it would be like. After a beat, you open your eyes, look into his, smile.

“Really grateful for Casual Friday,” you whisper. “Otherwise you might never have found out I’m kind of in love with you.” You ease the polo over his head, drop it on the ground and encourage him to stand so you can take off his pants; he does, but before you can drop to your knees as planned, he takes your face in his hands, presses one soft kiss against your mouth.

“I’m more than kind of in love with you.” Oh, if that isn’t the greatest sentence your ears have ever heard… You wrap your arms around his neck, kiss a little more, forgetting that you planned to finish undressing him; when you remember, you make quick work of it, then have him lay back against the bed and settle between his legs.

You put your mouth on him because you want to, more than anything, and his hand drops to your hair, caressing you while you suck slowly, deeply, holding him with one hand and pressing against his stomach with the other. His moans are soft and gorgeous, his body tense beneath your hand, and you’d do this all night, but he murmurs your name, coaxes you up, puts his hands on your back as you settle against him.

“You’re so incredible. I never would have imagined I’d get this, get you,” he breathes, skimming his hands over your sides and hips, and you kiss softly, steamy and sweet.

“Me neither.” You lean up, make space for him to roll on the condom, and then press him inside; your breath hitches, and so does his, and you lay on top of him, chest to chest, stomach to stomach, arms around each other tightly while you move. “Hmm. Aaron,” you sigh, hair falling around him, and he groans, digs his fingertips into your hips.

“Sounds so perfect coming out of your mouth.” You smile, but it slips away when he surges up to kiss you, leans up so he’s sitting with you in his lap. He slides a broad hand up your back, wraps it around the nape of your neck, and pumps his hips up as you sink down, eliciting a series of soft, eager moans from the both of you.

“Feels like I’ve waited so long; I’ve never wanted someone as badly as I wanted you,” you tell him, chest heaving, and he brings you to him for a kiss, something a little rougher, less refined. He’s getting close.

“Never. You make me feel so much.” You reach back against his leg for support, work harder to bring him off, and when he comes he crushes his mouth against yours, delicious and more uncontrolled than you’ve ever seen him. He chants your name, so soft and sweet rolling off of his tongue, and then gets you on your back so he can press deeply inside.

You feel so incredibly full, panting beneath him, your hands on his waist and your feet on the backs of his thighs; his perfect face is inches from yours, all shallow breaths and decadent, passionate kisses, and when you climax you pull him closer, sigh, unravel completely in his embrace.

Maybe good things do happen after all. You hold each other and talk for a while, after a quick pitstop to the restroom, and then your stomach growls—understandably, since the only thing to fill it since lunch was that stupid cheesecake—and Hotch orders takeout on his phone from bed; god bless technology.

There’s a knock at the door twenty minutes later, and you know that’s quick for your favorite Thai place, but you’re not complaining because you’re officially starving. He offers to grab it, throws on his boxers and heads for the living room; after a few minutes, you wonder what’s taking so long, pull on your robe and go to check on him.

Hotch is talking to Derek, who is standing in your living room with a piece of cheesecake and a shit eating grin.

“I came with a peace offering, but now I think I’ll wait for a, ‘Thank you, Derek,’” he says, and you roll your eyes, stalk over and take the cheesecake out of his hands. You give it to Hotch, lean up to kiss Derek on the cheek, and push him toward the door.

“Thank you, Derek. Go away, Derek,” you say with a smile of your own, and he raises his palms and retreats down the hall, laughing as he goes.

This is just one more thing he’ll tease you mercilessly about, but this time the benefits outweigh the costs. Taglist ❤️: @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner

[eloquent-vowel]

I have had a few bucky x read fic ideas bouncing around in my head and i cant write! So here is one,

Sam find a person who stairs and doesnt talk a whole lot because they uses ✨telepathy ✨. So Sam think they would be a good fit for Bucky, but he doesn’t know they have that power he just thinks they are mute. Then there is a thing where the reader is telling Buck how it works and they if they have something to connect them together like an object *reader motions to dog tags* they can have an unbreakable mind link. Then they fall in love or something. This is dumb, thank you for coming to my TedTalk

Hey! Thank you so much for this request, it wasn't dumb at all. I really enjoyed writing this. I may have gotten a bit carried away, this may sit close to 4000 words but we vibe. I hope this is what you had in mind! Please enjoy! <3

Click here for my masterlist of other fics and check in my bio for requests if anyone wishes to ask!

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Bucky had been enjoying a moments peace, he loved working with Sam but sometimes all he wanted was to put his feet up, put on some vinyl and enjoy a good cup of coffee all while reading a brilliant book. He had been trying to get into Game of Thrones lately, on Sam’s insistence, and he had been enjoying it. With the crackles of Glenn Miller from the turntable he missed the clunky footsteps coming up the stairs.

The sight that greeted Sam needed to be photographed. Bucky was lounging back on his ‘old man armchair’ feet up, hair in a towel, in a bathrobe, coffee in hand and facemask on, this was definitely one for the family album.

At the sound of the phone shutter Bucky practically launched himself out of the chair.

“Oh, you are never gonna live this one down old boy, it’s going to haunt you.” Sam almost cackled evilly as he began to email the photo to himself- he had learnt the hard way that Bucky was very proficient at breaking phones.

“You better not upload that photo anywhere, Wilson, I have a reputation to uphold.”

“Pfft, reputation, that’s funny.”

Bucky scoffed as he stood up, placing his book carefully on the side table, “Big scary super soldier, people hardly run-in fear from a guy in a bathrobe.”

“I disagree, a man in a bathrobe is definitely something you should run from. AH NOPE!” Sam jumped backwards, on top of a nearby chair, as Bucky lunged for the phone, towel turban falling off in the process. “You are not breaking this phone as well.”

“Fine. But you gotta promise not to post that anywhere.” Bucky huffed.

“I won’t.”

“Good.”

“As long as- “

“Oh no, I’m not doing anything for you.”

“Think of it as payment for the last phone you broke and insurance for this picture.”

There was silence for a moment as the two friends eyed each other up. Sam raised his eyebrows, Bucky’s eyes narrowed. It was an intense staring match between a guy in a bathrobe and a precariously balanced man. A clock ticked.

“Fine.” Bucky conceded. “What do you want?”

“For you to come to a meeting.”

“The families of Veterans ones?”

“Yeah.” Sam slowly started climbing down from the chair. “And before you get your old man pants in a twist, I’m not trying to force you to talk or anything, kinda.”

“Kinda?” Suspicion laced through Bucky’s voice.

“You know sign language, right?”

“Which kind?”

“American? I think?”

“Yeah, I know ASL, might be a bit rusty but I’m sure it still holds up. Why do you ask?”

Sam shifted slightly on his feet, “There’s this person, they come in every week and listen. I tried to talk to them, but they communicate through sign language, and I don’t have anyone there to talk with them.” He cast his eyes to the floor, “I feel bad. They were brave enough to come to the group only to basically be ignored ‘because we didn’t plan well enough.”

Bucky smiled, face mask crinkling around his smile lines, “You could have just asked me to Sam. You didn’t have to blackmail me into this, of course I’ll help. When’s the next meeting?”

“This evening. You gonna be ready or do you need some more ‘me’ time.”

Bucky simply chuckled at Sam’s teasing tone, patted his shoulder making sure to squeeze just a bit too hard before retreating to his room.

“I’ll be there, Wilson, and I will look so much younger than you!”

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It was frustrating to you, going along to these meetings and not being able to communicate. You could always speak into someone’s mind but all that usually accomplished was a very paranoid person. But just listening to other’s stories really helped the grief from losing someone so close to you. You related to most of the people there and even though they didn’t understand you a lot of the time, you were always made to feel welcome- with friendly pats on the back and the odd tissue thrown your way.

You bustled into the familiar building with a new sense of excitement as Sam had promised to bring a translator for you this week. It was finally time to say your thanks to some of the people there and finally let the group know about your brother, so that it wasn’t only you that remembered him.

You all but ran through the hallways until you caught sight of a familiar smiling man. Sam was facing you, talking animatedly to another man, the strangers back was to you. He was tall, broad shouldered and dressed in a vintage looking leather jacket and rather well fitted trousers. Now the debate was: does the tailoring make the ass, or does the ass make the tailoring. You were halfway through the arguments on either side when Sam shouting your name disrupted the intense debating in your mind. You blushed at being caught, then blushed some more when you caught sight of the stranger’s face. Twinkling blue eyes under a deep-set brow should have made him intimidating, but he was smiling, and his face was dazzling. There was an immediate fluttering in your stomach.

“Hey, I’m Bucky.” Dear lord even his voice was nice, what made you smile even more was the fact that he signed as he spoke. Well, Sam certainly knew how to pick them well. “Sam introduced me; said you wanted an interpreter.”

You nodded as you signed back, “Nice to meet you, thank you for helping out.”

“No problem, Sam has told me a bit about you.”

“Good things I hope.”

“Okay I recognise my own name, you two better not be conspiring against me.” Sam piped up, to be honest you had forgotten about him for a moment.

Bucky laughed, and it sent a little thrill down you, he really was adorable.

“No worries, Wilson, just letting them know all your dirty little secrets.”

“Right, you two get in there, before you make me sleep with one eye open.”

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You and Bucky caught each other’s eye, his eyes were twinkling with mischief, and you couldn’t help the smile that overtook you. You had a feeling that the two of you would get on just fine.

The meeting passed easily. Bucky translated your signs and you finally felt like you could actually take part in these meetings. Everyone listened intently when you spoke of your brother and when you had thanked the whole group for being so open to you a couple of people shed a tear. By the end of the meeting though you were tired and very accepting of Bucky’s offer to walk you home.

It was a lot of side glances and hidden smiles and you walked side by side. Drawn to each other under the moonlit sky, it was nice to just be in the presence of someone who had such a kind aura. You spent the walk trying to work up the confidence to sign something, anything but nothing came to mind and Bucky seemed quite content to just walk in comfortable silence.

You soon reached your home, you turned to Bucky with a smile on your face and signed,

“Thanks for today, Bucky. You were really helpful.”

“No problem.” He signed back,

You hesitated slightly before signing, “Would you be happy to have a coffee with me, tomorrow?”

Bucky went a little red in the face, and chuckled, “I would love to, I know a nice place, real cosy. I’ll text you the details.”

“You know how to text?”

“Hey! I get enough stick from Sam, don’t need you getting on my case too. I’ll have you know that I am very adaptable.”

“Sure, Sure.” You smiled at his flustered tone. “I’ll wait for your text then, have a good evening.”

“You too.”

The two of you stared slightly awkwardly at each other, neither wanting to be the first to turn around. You shuffled your feet away slowing, smiling awkwardly once more at Bucky before turning. You heard his footsteps start to fade away as you walked towards your home. You were but three steps to the door when a large figure in a hoodie slammed into you, you raised your arms instinctively to block them when you noticed your shoulder was lighter. The bastard had stolen your bag.

You immediately took chase, chasing around the corner you just walked down but they were fast, faster then you at least. As you rounded the corner you caught sight of Bucky walking ahead. The thief wouldn’t stand a change against him. Without a second thought you cast your thoughts towards Bucky,

“Bucky! Thief! My Bag! Behind you!”

You saw Bucky flinch slightly then turn bewildered, his eyes widening when he saw you hurting towards him, chasing the hooded figure. He caught on and launched after the thief as well, with barely any effort he knocked the thief to the ground, grabbed your bag and whipped out his phone to call the cops.

Well, that was hot.

You took your bag back, immediately checking that you brother’s lucky coin was in the zippy pocket, to your relief it was still there. You looked up to see Bucky staring at you with a very puzzled look on his face. You sighed before casting your thoughts to his head once more,

“I’ll explain later.”

Bucky let out a strange, decompressed noise of shock, it made you giggle. The two of you waited in silence until the police came and took the thief away. The police car had barely driven away when he turned to you.

“Did you just, talk in my head? Or did my conscious just suddenly get really loud.”

“I did. Hi. Sorry about that.”

He waved his hands dismissively. “Believe it or not, not the weirdest thing I’ve encountered.”

“Well, that’s reassuring.”

There was an awkward silence.

“So,” You started, resorting back to sign language, it felt less invasive, “Still down for coffee?”

Bucky smiled, “One hundred percent. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Bye Bucky. Thanks for getting my bag back.”

“No problem, see ya.”

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The coffee shop that Bucky invited you to, was tucked away, it was the kind of place that you would stumble over on accident. With a simple door and a big window out the front, that lead soft orange light filter out onto the alley. There was the faint sound of jazz leaking out of the building, you smirked. It was such an old fashioned place, of course this was where Bucky frequented.

The bell tinkled slightly as you entered the café, where you were greeted with the smell of fresh coffee and baked goods. You caught sight of Bucky’s broad shoulders sitting in the corner, and you made your way over to him, smiling at the barista as you passed.

As if sensing you, Bucky turned to smile and wave. He was dressed in casual clothes like last time, but this time his hair was loose around his shoulders. You smiled back before settling into the seat opposite him.

His hands moved hesitantly as he signed, “What would you like? I can recommend their hot chocolate, its very warming/”

“Hot chocolate it is.”

You could tell he wanted to ask you a million questions but to his credit he walked slowly to get the drinks, he even took his time carefully carrying the tray of drinks back to your table. He placed a delicious looking hot chocolate in front of you. You watched as he took a sip.

5, 4, 3, 2, 1-

“So,” Here we go, “What is it you can do, you can speak in peoples’ heads, can you,” He lowered his voice and leaned in, “Can you read people’s minds?”

You giggled slightly, his eyes were basically sparkling, he was definitely nerding out about this.

You set the hot chocolate down before casting your thoughts to his head, “I can speak in peoples heads relatively easily, it’s how I talk most of the time to people I know. I guess you could call it Telepathy.”

Bucky’s eyes were as wide as saucers, “So you can’t read thoughts, only… speak them?”

“I like to call it casting, makes me feel like a sorcerer. I can read thoughts, but it takes a lot of energy. I used to be able to talk with my brother from across the house. That usually requires some kind of connection.”

“Oh, so like a blood or family connection? Do you have to know the person very well?”

“That certainly helps but it’s not always necessary. If I have a personal object that belongs to that person, something I can hold and connect to them it isn’t hard to make a two-way connection. Especially if that person is willing to open their mind.”

Bucky seemed to be caught in thought for a second. “So, if I were to give you something of mine, we could both talk in our… heads?”

“Well yes, but Bucky we have only just met. Letting me into your head is a lot. I try not to pry but sometimes I’ve found that thoughts just burst through. Let’s get to know each other a before that happens.”

Bucky smiled at you before speaking and signing, “You’re right. Let’s get to know one another. I find you fascinating.”

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It happened on the fifth date. Bucky was just walking you home after a lovely dinner at a small Italian that he claimed he went to back in the 40s. Just outside your door, under the glow of a lamppost he turned to you and took a deep breath before speaking.

“I know this may be a lot, but I wanted to give you these.” He reached around his neck and pulled off something silver. You gasped slightly as he held out his dog tags, immaculately preserved after all these years.

“Are you sure, Bucky? This is a lot.”

“I know and if you aren’t comfortable with it then just let me know but I want to give them to you.”

“You know what this means Bucky?”

“Yeah, I know, I just figured that you’re already in my head all the time anyways, just can’t seem to get you out of it.”

“You cheeseball.” You smirked at him before taking the dog tags and placing them around your neck. You gripped the cold metal for a moment, concentrating on the man in front of you. Taking everything, you knew about him and stretching out a connection, like a hand reaching out to clasp another.

“Testing, Testing, Testing, one two, one two, can my Telepathic partner hear me?”

You laughed, “Yes I can Bucky, you big dork.”

Bucky whooped out loud before sweeping you up in a big hug. The two of you laughing under the lamp light. His joy was infectious, and you couldn’t fight the smile off your face.

“Oh, we are going to have so much fun messing with Sam.”

“You’re evil.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Of course, the two of you made a pact not to tell Sam until he worked it out, which wouldn’t be anytime soon according to Bucky. It led to some very memorable moments and Sam refusing to play any form of card or board game with either of you because you always managed to win, somehow. Not to mention all the times you had spoken in eery unison around him.

“I swear, its like you two can read each other’s minds sometimes.” Sam threw his hands up in frustration at another lost game of charades.

You smirked at Bucky across the room, “Should you tell him, or shall I?”

“I think he’s been through enough, I got it.”

Bucky cleared his throat, “We can.”

Sam whipped around to face Bucky, a look of sheer disbelief on his face, “Seriously Bucky-boy, if you think I believe that after all-

“Hello Sam.” You cast your thoughts to him, in the creepiest old lady voice you could muster.

Sam yelped, before turning accusingly at you, “You better be joking around with me right now, I am not dealing with any kind of ghosts in this house.”

“Sorry! Surprise I’m telepathic!”

“You’re serious.”

You nodded.

Sam put his head in his hands and sighed, “Not the weirdest thing ever. Wait, does this mean you have been cheating this entire time.”

You both looked guiltily at one another.

“You owe me. That poker night, void.”

You both laughed, “We’ll have a fair rematch this time Sam.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

It had been close to a year since you had made it official with Bucky and you were now much more comfortable around one another. He no longer just dropped you off at the lamppost but cam inside with you. You had spent many lovely mornings together sharing glances over steaming cups of coffee. Fighting each other for who got to spread their legs out on the couch, there wasn’t really a loser though as it usually ended up in sofa cuddles for both of you, while watching a film.

Life was pretty great, you thought, as you smiled down at the sleeping Bucky beside you. Finally reaching over to turn off the lamp and put your book down, you were finally reading the hobbit at Bucky’s insistence. As you clicked off the light beside you and settled down you noticed the faster than usual breathing coming from beside you.

“Bucky?”

You reached out, thinking he was awake but instead as you opened up your connection you caught flashes of night terrors. You were falling indefinitely, snow all around you, and in the distance, there were cries of pain, people pleading for their lives, there was gunfire and explosions. You gasped and took off the dog tags. You only gave yourself a moment to breathe before trying to shake Bucky awake. When it became clear that he wasn’t stirring you steadied yourself and settled your hands on his temples. You didn’t care you tired this would make you, you just wanted Bucky to stop suffering. You focused, offering out that hand of connection again, this time picturing it in the shape of a fist and, although it wasn’t subtle, you tried to shake Bucky’s brain awake. You forced your way into his dreams, punching through the dark fog that clouded his thoughts and almost screamed at him.

“Bucky! Bucky wake up! You’re dreaming my dear!”

Bucky woke up with a start. Tears flowing down his face, he stared at you blue eyes shining. No one spoke as he pulled you into his arms. You just breathed together for a moment, counting the breaths and the spaces in between. When he finally pulled back, you saw his eyes flicker with concern before lifting a hand to gently wipe under your nose, it came back red with blood.

“You, okay?”

You smiled sadly, reaching out to put the dog tags back on.

“I should be asking you that.”

“But you’re bleeding.”

“Occupational hazard.” You tried to subtly get rid of any of the extra blood. “That was pretty intense. Wanna talk?”

Bucky looked down to the sheets and shook his head. You smiled at him, tilting his head to yours.

“That’s fine, want me to go? Or would you like to cuddle for a bit?”

Bucky didn’t talk again, just pulled you gently down to the bed once more. Snuggling himself under your chin, resting his head on your chest. You felt his arms draw tightly against your waist. You pressed your lips into his hair.

“May I help you go to sleep? Keep the bad thoughts at bay for at least one night.”

You felt Bucky nod and let out a little sleepy hum of agreement. You closed your eyes, focused on your connection setting up a golden wall against the dark fog at the corners of his mind and settled into a deep sleep.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

You woke to the smell of fresh coffee and the clinking of cups.

“Morning.” You opened your eyes at Bucky’s voice and took the offered cup greedily. Your mind still felt hazy from the energy you used last night.

You felt the bed dip beside you as Bucky sat and sipped at his cup as well, hair a bit of a mess from bed. He had evidently only just woken up as well.

He took a breath, “I had some pretty interesting dreams, sweetheart.”

You stiffened, “Good ones I hope.”

“Don’t worry, they were good. If a little strange.”

“Strange?”

“I was watching myself most of the time.”

You snorted into the coffee, “Sounds creepy”

There was a slight chuckle, “Nah, I was watching myself build a home, a family- “

“Oh God Bucky.” You snapped your eyes to his, you knew what had happened. “I am so sorry my dreams must have stuck in your head.”

“Those were your dreams?”

“Yeah, its only happened once before but when the connection between two people is very strong, it can happen- I call it bleeding. Perhaps we should- “

“If the next words out of your mouth are take a break, I will spill your coffee.” You clutched your cup closer to your chest, “Truthfully, those were some of the beset dreams I have every had. I really loved them.”

You looked back up at him, hesitantly “You did?”

“And I love you.”

“Huh

There was silence as you stared at him in shock. His face as nothing but adoration as the sunlight filtered over his face.

“I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you too.”

Coffee cups were cast aside as you both collided. Giggling and joking, radiating happiness as the two of you shared the sweetest kiss. Your feelings merging together, amplifying one another until they shone brighter than the sun.

[luxaofhesperides]

stealing clothes

college au ft. domestic joongdok. i am so predictable.

also on ao3.

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.

.

Kim Dokja is extremely lucky to have Yoo Joonghyuk as his roommate. Not just because Yoo Joonghyuk is the campus heartthrob and Kim Dokja is the one who gets to see him everyday, and not because Yoo Joonghyuk is the perfect house husband, cleaning and cooking because he banned Kim Dokja from doing both. 

While both those things are nice, the best part about having Yoo Joonghyuk as his roommate is stealing his shirts. 

Not to do anything weird! They’re just… comfortable.

He even got permission! For the first few, at least. 

It all starts because Yoo Joonghyuk was going to throw out perfectly good shirts that have been worn and washed enough to become soft, the type of softness that even the most high quality shirts can’t capture. They weren’t dirty, or torn, just old. So Kim Dokja protests this and tries to get Yoo Joonghyuk to keep them, only for him to scowl and throw the shirts at him.

“You keep them then,” he said, then left. And Kim Dokja did. 

He’s well aware that wearing his hot roommate’s shirts might be (is) weird, so he only wears them on long nights when he needs some extra comfort to get him through his last assignments, or when Yoo Joonghyuk isn’t home. He never wears them when Yoo Joonghyuk might see. He’d rather die. 

And because his wonderful roommate is out for the night, no doubt at a party celebrating his latest gaming tournament win, Kim Dokja is settled in for a long night of reading, curled up on the couch in one of Yoo Joonghyuk’s old shirts. It’s long enough to reach down past his thighs, so he doesn’t bother wearing pants, and a blanket over his shoulders helps with the chill his exposed collarbones bring. 

The apartment is quiet, most people out or sleeping, and the latest update of his favorite web novel is a long one. And should he get hungry, there’s dinner in the fridge, courtesy of Yoo Joonghyuk who is very determined to get Kim Dokja eating more regularly. 

It’s been too long since he was able to be so relaxed and comfortable. No urgent deadlines, no projects to stress about, no tests in the near future hanging over his head like a guillotine. 

He’s so comfortable that halfway through the chapter he’s reading, Kim Dokja begins nodding off. The living room is gradually getting darker as the sun begins to set, and he sees no reason why he shouldn’t take a nap; his sleep schedule is fucked anyways, a little rest won’t hurt him at all.

The sound of the door opening rouses him. 

Distantly, Kim Dokja hears a lock click and a heavy sigh, but half-awake, he can’t be sure if it’s real or part of a dream. 

He opens sleep-heavy eyes to a dark living room; he must have been sleeping for a few hours, long enough for the sun to fully set and the moon to shine brightly. His entire body feels heavy and slow. 

Slowly, Kim Dokja sits up, the blanket falling off his shoulders to pool around his hips. He stretches his arms up above his head, arching his spine a bit, drawing out the stretch as he shakes off the last of his nap. 

Behind him, someone chokes. 

Startled, Kim Dokja drops his arms and turns to see Yoo Joonghyuk standing in front of the hallway, staring at him with wide eyes. He’s… shirtless. Kim Dokja quickly looks away. 

“When did you get back?” he asks, trying to break the strange tension that suddenly fills the apartment.

Yoo Joonghyuk is silent for a few moments before Kim Dokja hears him step closer. “Just a few minutes ago. I thought you were asleep.”

“I was. Is it late?”

The light turns on suddenly and Kim Dokja winces, blinking to clear the spots from his vision. 

“It’s only nine.” 

Huh. He wasn’t asleep for too long then. He feels the couch dip and looks up to see Yoo Joonghyuk sitting right next to him instead of anywhere else on their rather large couch. He’s staring at Kim Dokja’s chest, which makes him shift uncomfortably. 

He glances down to see what has Yoo Joonghyuk’s attention. There’s no stains or anything…

Then his heart stops for a solid minute. He’s wearing Yoo Joonghyuk’s shirt. And Yoo Joonghyuk knows it’s his old shirt because it’s way too big for Kim Dokja! 

Please don’t bring it up, Kim Dokja mentally begs, trying to send the plea into Yoo Joonghyuk’s head. 

“Isn’t that one of my old shirts?” he asks. Telepathy has failed. Kim Dokja changes to Plan B which is Fake His Death And Start A New Life. 

“Uh. Yeah. You gave it to me,” Kim Dokja answers, hoping Yoo Joonghyuk won’t think he’s weird and kick him out. He’s not willing to give up the best roommate he’s ever had! He just can’t go back to living with the worst people in existence, who treat him horribly and steal his things. He just can’t. 

“I’ve never seen you wear them,” Yoo Joonghyuk says instead of demanding that Kim Dokja move out. 

“I don’t wear them often.”

Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes dart farther down. “You’re also not wearing pants.”

Kim Dokja pulls the blanket over his legs and tries to pretend Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t just say that. “Well, you’re not wearing a shirt! You’re only wearing…” he trails off, finally letting himself look at Yoo Joonghyuk. Those sweatpants look familiar. They look just like the ones he thought he lost months ago. “...Isn’t that mine?”

“...Our laundry must have gotten mixed up.”

That’s a lie. Yoo Joonghyuk is not one to mix up their laundry. They’ve never accidentally taken each other’s clothes. 

Kim Dokja smiles and Yoo Joonghyuk looks away, his ears turning red. “Joonghyuk-ah,” he says sweetly in a way that Yoo Joonghyuk knows is a threat.

“I don’t see why I can’t have some of your clothes if you have mine.”

“My clothes don’t fit you! And besides, isn’t it strange for us to be sharing clothes?”

“No. You should wear my clothes more often. You look good in them.”

Kim Dokja has no response to that. He freezes, then ducks his head, trying to hide his quickly warming cheeks. 

Yoo Joonghyuk, the bastard that he is, doesn’t let Kim Dokja hide. He wraps an arm around Kim Dokja’s waist and pulls him closer, hard enough to send him falling against his side. “Stop being so shy and wear my shirts while I’m around.”

“Shut up. Aren’t you supposed to be at a party?”

“I got bored and left early. I prefer being here with you.”

“Don’t think sweet talking is going to make me forget about you stealing my sweatpants.”

“Oh?” Yoo Joonghyuk runs a large hand down Kim Dokja’s spine, making him shiver. “What should I do then?”

“Nothing!” Kim Dokja hits his chest, but makes no moves to put any space between them. He is not going to be thinking about why. “Anyways, aren’t you tired? You should go to sleep since you spent hours at that tournament. Congratulations on another win, by the way.”

Smiling, Yoo Joonghyuk leans closer, forcing Kim Dokja to bend back a bit, putting more of his weight on Yoo Joonghyuk’s arm. “You were watching?”

“I always watch when you compete. What’s the point of having a popular gamer for a roommate if I can’t brag about him?”

Without another word, Yoo Joonghyuk collapses on top of him, crushing him against the couch.

“Hey!” Kim Dokja flails, then smacks Yoo Joonghyuk’s shoulder. “What’s that for!”

“You’re right, I am tired.”

“Then go to bed!” 

Yoo Joonghyuk tightens his grip on Kim Dokja’s waist, then nuzzles into his neck. The feeling of his hair brushing against his neck makes Kim Dokja shiver, not quite tickling him but just enough to have the sensation send sparks down his spine. 

He sighs softly, and feeling it against his skin brings a deep blush to Kim Dokja’s cheeks. “I’d prefer to stay here for the night,” Yoo Joonghyuk says. Kim Dokja grumbles about being squished beneath the heavy weight of his body, but ultimately decides to indulge himself and stay. 

They stay like that, sleeping on the couch, all through the night. They both wake with stiff necks in the morning, but Kim Dokja doesn’t mind at all when it lets him stay in Yoo Joonghyuk’s embrace a little longer.

Things change after that. 

Kim Dokja wouldn’t call them friends, per se. Not before That Night. Roommates, yes. Acquaintances who get along well, yes. Friends? No. 

But now, he’s not too sure what to call their relationship. They live together so they have to spend some time together, but school keeps them both busy and Kim Dokja often spends his time at the library with Han Sooyoung and Yoo Sangah while Yoo Joonghyuk streams and goes to tournaments. 

It’s more accurate to say they exist in the same space, than to say that they spend time together. 

They get along well enough, which is why they’ve renewed their lease together for another year, but somehow, after That Night Yoo Joonghyuk is suddenly… sticky.

He’s constantly making food for them. More so than before. He asks for Kim Dokja’s preferences instead of just silently handing him a plate?

Kim Dokja stares at the box of pasta in his hands. He doesn’t understand why he’s grocery shopping with Yoo Joonghyuk, but he’s gone with it for too long and can’t ask any questions now.

“Did you want pasta?” Yoo Joonghyuk asks, appearing behind him without warning. Kim Dokja jumps a little, then glares at him, annoyed by how amused he looks.

“I don’t know. Maybe. I can just buy instant noodles.”

Scowling, Yoo Joonghyuk grabs the box of pasta from his hands and adds it to the cart. “Absolutely not. I’ll make noodles for you later.”

“You can make noodles from scratch?”

“It’s not hard.”

Kim Dokja would marry Yoo Joonghyuk right that very second if asked. He also doesn’t understand why Yoo Joonghyuk is suddenly spoiling him, but he’s not going to question a good thing. He’s going to get as much as he can out of this, because who knows when it will end?

So he bumps his hip against Yoo Joonghyuk’s with a smile as they walk down the aisle, and asks, “Can we get ice cream?”

Yoo Joonghyuk does not answer for a long minute, then glances at Kim Dokja’s hopeful expression and sighs. “Fine.”

He really is getting spoiled.

Kim Dokja fully intends to use this knowledge for evil.

Another thing that’s changed: clothes. 

Since Kim Dokja didn’t complain enough about his sweatpants being stolen before he fell asleep, Yoo Joonghyuk decided he could just take Kim Dokja’s most comfortable sweatpants and wear them whenever he wants. So what if he looks really good! They’re still Kim Dokja’s and he will hold this grudge for as long as he needs to. 

He intends to steal more of Yoo Joonghyuk’s shirts as revenge, except he doesn’t need to steal anything. Because Yoo Joonghyuk just leaves his shirts in Kim Dokja’s room. So he wears them and tries not to get flustered when Yoo Joonghyuk stares at him each time he walks out of his room wearing something Yoo Joonghyuk left him. 

It’s a losing battle.

On the bright side, he no longer has to hide it. It’s still embarrassing, but he’s getting more and more used to lounging in the living room in Yoo Joonghyuk’s shirts. 

The hungry look Yoo Joonghyuk gives him is also nice to see. 

Kim Dokja may be the king of denial, but even he can’t lie to himself with how obvious Yoo Joonghyuk is being. Nor can he pretend that he isn’t doing this for that exact reason, or spending more time at the apartment to be with him. 

They’re both pushing in little ways, but it’s not enough for him to be willing to push their relationship out of the cloud of ambiguity its currently in. 

Before he knows it, half his closet is Yoo Joonghyuk’s clothes, and he has to go to Yoo Joonghyuk’s room to grab a pair of sweatpants to study in because all of them got stolen. The rude bastard really has no shame. 

“Why don’t we just keep our clothes in the same room?” Yoo Joonghyuk suggests after Kim Dokja complains to him about this. 

“Whose room?”

“Mine. Just take all your things into my room. I’ll make space for you.”

And so Kim Dokja suddenly finds himself sharing a room with Yoo Joonghyuk. And then sharing a bed. And then waking up with him to his absurdly early alarm. 

They’re not dating, and he says as much to Han Sooyoung when talking about this; she just rolls her eyes and calls him and idiot for not realizing what’s going on. 

She has absolutely no room to talk, being in a friends-with-benefits relationship with Yoo Sangah instead of just asking her out on a date like normal people would. 

They’re not dating, but Kim Dokja leans into him when they watch a movie together after rejecting a party invite. They’re not dating, but Yoo Joonghyuk kisses his cheek each morning before he gets up to make breakfast. They’re not dating, but Kim Dokja will settle into Yoo Joonghyuk’s lap while wearing nothing but one of his shirts to finish a reading for one of his classes. 

They’re not dating, but he certainly wants to. 

However, Kim Dokja would sooner pass away then actually talk about his feelings, so he bottles it up, greedily hoards all the affection he gets from Yoo Joonghyuk, and hopes he makes his move soon because Kim Dokja is starting to get impatient.

In the meantime, he’ll steal another shirt and pretend he didn’t do it on purpose just to get Yoo Joonghyuk to look at him. 

[jennagrinsoverml]

ML Fic Recs - Love...Square? Hectagon? Octogon??

Happy Friday! I’m back with yet another rec list! As usual, I’m trying to rec fics you might not have read before, going off of AO3 kudos. You can find my other rec lists on my blog at #jennarecsml

If you enjoy these, please reblog so more readers can find these awesome fics!

The love square is already a crazy concept, but now with the addition of Aspik and Multimouse -- well, there are even more fun crazy dynamics for writers to play with. And I love every bit of it! So, here are some of my favourites that play with the expanded love square.

this love is a tangled web by @bugabisous

When Ladybug and Chat Noir decided that they should switch things around with their temporary miraculous holders in order to throw Hawkmoth off, they couldn't have predicted the tangled web they would weave.

Series. Snekmouse? Well, it’s the equivalent in that they know each other’s identities but of course don’t know that the other knows. It’s even more fun with them using different miraculouses, giving us Dragon!Adrien and Snake!Marinette. Plus there’s some multichat content early on, which is a nice precursor to the way Adrien falls for Marinette in this new dynamic. Absolutely great identity shenanigans in this one.

Bad Week by @ominousunflower

Adrien's long and horrible week ends with a stinging rejection--until he sneaks out as Aspik and runs into an unexpected face.

“Hey!” a voice yells from behind him. “What are you doing—I—I mean, who are you?”

Aspik whirls around and finds himself face-to-face with…Multimouse?

With a frown, Multimouse glances at the jump rope wrapped around her waist. Untying it, she grips one end and weakly whips it toward Aspik. It flops on the ground in front of him like a wet noodle.

“AH,” she says. It somehow sounds like a question. “Um. An akuma?”

One-shot. Snekmouse! And then we get actual Aspik/Multimouse! It starts with Marinette trying to ask Adrien out on a date, only for it to go horribly wrong when she sees that he’s upset and takes it back and Adrien takes it as a rejection and concludes she would only go out with him out of pity. I feel bad for him but also it’s HILARIOUS. 

Me, My Best Friend, and Her Cat by @ladyofthenoodle

Ladybugs aren't known for being particularly sneaky. Good thing this Ladybug has a fox in her corner, watching her back.

(And giving Ladybug's love life a nudge along the way. Maybe more than a nudge. In Alya's defense, Ladybug can use all the help she could get.)

Multi-chapter. Multichat (as well as Ladynoir and Adrienette). This is a beautiful Marinette & Alya friendship piece where Alya figures out her secret identity early on and helps her. And honestly it’s worth reading just for that alone. But it also plays with the love square in really fun ways (Alya’s a ladynoir shipper over adrienette), with some quality multichat content.

"I have a plan." by @emsylcatac

Marinette probably should have thought twice before joining the fight as Multimouse instead of Ladybug.

Alya, suited up as Rena Rouge, wished she knew where on earth Ladybug and Chat Noir were when they needed them.

And Adrien really, really wished the two heroines would just leave him alone so he could transform.

One-shot. Adrimouse! Okay, this one is already pretty tumblr famous thanks to the amazing comic that preceded it. But I’m still going to rec it! Because Adrien and Multimouse flirting is amazing, the dynamics are fantastic with Rena Rouge in the mix, and it’s freaking hilarious!

For You (I’d Break All The Rules) by snugglebuttkitten

MultiMouse finds herself visiting Adrien Agreste on a Nightly Basis

One-shot. Adrimouse! There’s some great hurt/comfort here, and also a sweet and slow developing relationship. This is just really cute and I love the dynamic and it’s worth a read!

Second Chance Number 12,496 by @11jj11

Adrien, now wielding the Snake Miraculous as Aspik, has been stuck in his time loop of Second Chances for weeks now trying to save Ladybug, and he just needs a moment to rest.

Set during Desperada.

One-shot. Laspik! I think we were all gutted by Desperada, and this absolutely has a bit of that gut punch, but also I love the hurt/comfort here (although the hurt is amplified by the fact that he’s only like halfway through all the cycles, like DUDE.) 

The One Where Marinette Knows Who Ladybug Is by bifieri

Chat Noir wants to bring back Multimouse. Ladybug doesn't. A little white lie told to keep him off her tail lands the two at odds- and Ladybug closer to finding out her Kitty's identity than she'd prefer

fair warning I wrote this at 3 am and didn't edit it at all so it's very much trash but I just had to make this idea reality

Two-shot. Multichat. This one plays with the ridiculousness of all the lies these two needs to tell in order to protect their identities, and it’s ridiculous and fun and, as always with these kinds of identity shenanigans, leads to a reveal.

But What About Multimouse? by @trainsinanime

Ladybug and Chat Noir discuss his favourite topic: Bringing back Multimouse.

One-shot. Multichat. It works out well that Chat’s favourite topic is bringing back Multimouse because Chat talking about bringing back Multimouse is my favourite trope! Ladybug is such a tease in this and I absolutely love it. It feels so in-character and they’re so playful and it’s just fun!

Enough by @apopcornkernel

Adrien feels inferior when he notices a difference between how Ladybug treats Adrien/Aspik compared to Chat Noir.

One-shot. Laspik. This one is kind of angsty, but it doesn’t stay that way. I don’t want to give away too much, but the ending kinda punched me in the face and I desperately wish there was more.

The following fic is amazing and absolutely worth reading, but does feature sexual content, so minors beware.

I Dream of Mousey by @lyramae-archer

Chat is tired. More tired than ever before. How is a cat supposed to get some sleep when there’s a beautiful mouse in all of his dreams? A story in which Adrien gets some revelation on the love of his life. For MultiMouse Appreciation Week 2020.

Rated M. Multi-chapter. Multichat! Chat goes a little crazy with thoughts of Multimouse, and it’s gorgeous and hot af. @lyramae-archer does an excellent job of characterizing how Adrien starts to fall for Marinette after her stint as Multimouse, and boy does he fall hard. Add in some steamy dreams and an identity reveal and WOW. 

[moonlight404-translates]

A3! Izumida Azamida | SR - Caressed by the Spring Breeze | Translation

Special thanks to RL for providing the backstage! (´｡• ᵕ •｡`)

--------------------------

Disclaimer: Neither English nor Japanese is my native language, but I did my best with the translation. If you find any mistakes, feel free to tell me. By the way, Director’s name will be Izumi.

Cleaning Professional / 1

Izumi: (The sound of sweeping I’m hearing has to be from the head priest. I should greet him…) Azami: Director? Izumi: Azami-kun? Why are you cleaning the temple precincts? Azami: The head priest complained about being wide and giving too much work, so I thought of helping at least sweeping it. Azami: Since I was free, I wanted to return the favor for taking care of us. Izumi: Oh, I see. Then, I will give you a hand. Azami: Are you sure? Izumi: Yes, I am! I’m going to take this broom here. Azami: Thanks. Then, I leave you that part over there, Director. Izumi: Mhm. Understood. Izumi: Anyway, these precincts are pretty wide. How much have you swept, Azami-kun? Azami: I’d say I’m around halfway through. Izumi: You’ve swept half of it?!  Wasn’t it too much work for you alone? Azami: It’s not that extraordinary. I’ve done that much at home. Izumi: Ah, that’s right. Your house has an ample garden. Izumi: So you’re good at sweeping because of it? Azami: Yeah, I guess. I always wanted to finish it quickly, so I figured out efficient methods while sweeping. Izumi: Heh, and what are those? Azami: Don’t gather the trash only in one place, do it in small bunches and then throw it. It’s faster, and your chances to fail will decrease. Izumi: That makes sense… I can see how the side Azami-kun cleaned is now pretty clean. Azami: Yeah. I researched others more, but that’s the main one. Izumi: Thank you! I’ll try out the method you just explained to me.

Izumi: I think we’ll finish after gathering these fallen leaves. Azami: We did it faster than I thought it’d take. Thanks, Director. Izumi: I did nothing. It was all thanks to the method you explained to me. Head Priest: Look at you, how fast. Are you already over? You’re surprisingly skilled at it. Azami: Yeah, it was because Director helped me. Izumi: Most of it was Azami-kun’s work. He had already finished more than half of it when I came. Head Priest: No, but you seriously made it pretty clean. Thank you for sweeping every corner. Azami: It wasn’t much what we did. Izumi: You’ve been taking care of us, so we will clean it again if you ask us to. I’m going to help next time as well. Head Priest: …Are you sure I can? In that case, I would like to take your word and ask you one more favor if it’s not much trouble… Azami: ? Izumi: What will it be?

Cleaning Professional / 2

Izumi: (So the favor was cleaning the temple garden in another part of the precincts. I wouldn’t have guessed it…) Azami: Two areas do make you tired. Head Priest: Oh my, you’ve saved me. These are to show my gratitude: a bit of tea with dangos. Be welcome to eat them. Izumi: Thank you. Head Priest: By the way, your name is Azami-kun, isn’t it? Your cleaning abilities are truly remarkable. Azami: Well, that’s because I’ve swept the garden since I was a kid. Head Priest: If you don’t mind, would you… consider inheriting this temple? Azami: What?! Izumi: (Azami-kun as the next head priest of the temple?!)

Choose 1: That might work… 

Izumi: That might work. Azami: No, it won’t! Izumi: I-It was just a joke. Izumi: Ahm, but still… Azami-kun is still a student. Those sudden words might trouble him… Head Priest: I can understand that. And yet, I don’t think there’s any harm in choosing a career path early on. 

Choose 2: That might be…

Izumi: That might not be possible. Azami-kun is a precious member of our theater troupe. Azami: It’s kinda embarrassing hearing you say it dead serious. Izumi: But, it’s the truth. Izumi: In any case, suddenly luring him away might trouble us as well… Head Priest: I’m not luring him away from you. I’m still in active functions here, so he can keep being at your troupe.

Head Priest: Then, how does it sound; would you positively consider it? Izumi: (The head priest is unexpectedly pushy…) Azami: Ah… I’m sorry, but I’m in my family business. So it’s more like I can’t inherit this in the first place. Head Priest: …So that’s the reason. Head Priest: As unfortunate as it is, there’s nothing we can do about it if you are in your family business. Head Priest: Well then, I have some work to do. Please feel free to stay longer. Izumi: …It surprised me when he suddenly mentioned wanting you to inherit the temple. Azami: In the first place, I’m part of a Yakuza family. I can’t inherit a temple. Azami: Besides, was he going to scout me only for being skilled at cleaning? Izumi: The head priest was quite pleased with you, Azami-kun. Azami: Even so, I ain’t interested in being the head priest. Azami: …I want to concentrate on the troupe and makeup now. Izumi: Azami-kun… Azami: …Plus, I don’t wanna shave my head. Izumi: (Yep, that’s an Azami-like reason…)

[red-archivist]

Not quite part of the liveblog but, lil post-092 hc fic :3

~~ 

As he leaves Elias’ office, Jon’s feet automatically take him down the stairs leading to the archives.

  It is a habit that his long absence hasn’t managed to break but he stops himself from walking straight into his own office.

To do so, he would have to pass the open space where the assistants work, and call him a coward but he just isn’t quite ready to see the state that Elias’ little reveal has left the others in.

  He retreats to the breakroom instead, keeping the lights off and taking a moment to take a few steadying breaths in the cool darkness.

As soon as he stops moving, the injuries he has been ignoring loudly make themselves known.

The constant ache of his burned hand provides a low steady hum of contrast to the staccato pulse of his throbbing throat.

He needs to clean them both up in order to avoid infection, and if he doesn’t want some concerned passer-by to call an ambulance on him when he leaves, he will have to bandage his neck as well.

He walks to the nearest press and begins rooting around for the first aid kit. It doesn’t seem to be where he last saw it months ago and a stumbling search in the dim light reveals nothing to him.

Jon is about to give up and just try to give himself a bit of a rinse in the sink when suddenly the door creaks open, and the lights click on behind him.

He whirls around with his heart in his bloody throat expecting something to pounce on him. Perhaps it is Tim come to take his weary anger out on him? Or Daisy aiming to finish what she started? Or maybe Elias with some other unsolvable puzzle to dump into his lap?

The fright only lasts an instant however, when he sees who is standing in the doorway looking even more surprised to see him.

“Martin,” He sighs with relief.

Martin’s mouth opens and closes a few times before he manages to find his voice.

“Uh, h-hi?”

“…Hi. Did you- Ah. W-Was the first aid kit moved?” Jon points to the mess he has made of the open presses.

Martin jumps in place before rushing forward.

“Oh! Uh, y-yeah, sorry!”

He crouches down to pull the kit out from under the sink and when Jon raises a questioning eyebrow, he shrugs meekly.

“Melanie moved it,” He says, “She said we all had to be able to reach it in an emergency.”

“Right.”

He takes the box from Martin with just one hand, keeping the bandaged one away from his body at an angle so it won’t bump into anything.

  It’s a heavy, clunky thing and hoisting it onto the counter makes his joints sting. Ignoring the pain, he flips the latch and starts rummaging through it. A thin roll of bandages, antiseptic cream, gauze and dressing are placed in a pile on the counter as he mentally goes through the half-remembered steps of cleaning an open wound.

Just as Jon starts to unravel the hand bandage, the side of his face burns with awareness. He looks over to find Martin staring at him.

  His gaze lingers on his hand, taking in the old bandages and his cracked nails, both still caked in grave dirt. Jon does his best not to squirm under the scrutiny.

 When Martin’s eyes dart to the mound of medical supplies Jon is compiling, he also realises he is taking up most of the counter space.

“Am I… in your way?” He asks, about to sweep it all to the side.

Martin starts, as if he just remembered where he was and stammers as he turns away from him

“N-No! Sorry, sorry!”

He fusses with the kettle, taking out mugs as it boils, and does not face Jon again.

Jon is glad for the privacy. He doesn’t want to look at his own hand any longer than he has to, no-one else needs to see it.

As he peels the rest of the dirty wrappings off, they catch on his ruined skin and he can’t quite hold back a pained hiss. The burn is still dreadful to see, blistered like bubbling wax and so red it’s almost black. It weeps a clear discharge, making the whole thing reek a fluid, animal smell.

  He rinses it off in the sink, pats it awkwardly dry, smears the whole thing in antiseptic cream and clumsily wraps it up again. It’s a messy, slow process and he barely remembers to clean his other hand as well.

Martin stays stock still as he works, standing guard over two brewing mugs and, as he glances at him, Jon can practically see the questions he wants to ask in the stiff line of his shoulders.

  Jon feels both grateful and guilty that Martin holds his tongue. He owes him answers but his mouth is so tired of talking.

Tentatively, he starts prodding at the cut on his neck. It is long but shallow, already clotting. He can feel the skin around it is tender with a blossoming bruise. Daisy wanted it to hurt.

Jon pries his mind away from that thought. If he thinks about how close he came to dying today, he won’t be able to keep himself standing, nevermind clean up.

He just needs to get through the next few steps, and then he can go back to Georgie’s, lay down somewhere quiet and try not to have a complete breakdown. Laying out gauze and dressing, he wets a clean tea towel. He is halfway to raising it to his neck before he realises his mistake.

“Damn.”

“…Jon?”

Martin is peering over his shoulder at him, concern drawn in deep lines around his face.

Jon blinks back at him. He had almost forgotten he was there.

“I… uh,” He waves the tea towel, “I need two hands, should have done this first.”

He is going to ruin the clean wrappings on his hand. He will either have to do them again or wait to get back to the house and hope Georgie won’t be too pissed off to help him. Clucking his tongue, he weighs up his options.

“Um… Do you…” Martin’s soft voice cuts across his thoughts, “I mean, I can… i-if you want?”

“What?” Jon turns and sees him holding out a hand for the tea towel, “Oh.”

“O-O-Only if you, y’know, you’re comfortable with…”

  Jon stares at him for a moment and regrets flickers across Martin’s face. He starts to draw his hand back.

“Uh, yes, no, I mean, I-I appreciate…” Jon stammers, “You don’t have to. I-I don’t want to interrupt… what you’re doing…”

The sheepishness fades from Martin as he chuckles slightly.

“I just came in to get a bit of a break from everyone else, really,” He immediately winces, “God, that sounded bad, didn’t it?”

“No… no, I understand.”

  Martin smiles slightly and Jon’s feels his lips twitch upward in response.

“So, uh,” Martin holds his hand out again and Jon passes him the towel, “Might be easier to sit.”

“Right.”

Jon brings the gauze and dressing to the rickety coffee table while Martin wrings out the towel in the sink. They sit facing each other, and Martin scoots close enough that their knees brush.

“Can you lift your chin?” He asks, “And please tell me if I hurt you?”

Jon raises his head and stares into the yellowing florescent light embedded in the ceiling as Martin starts delicately dabbing at the cut.

It stings, of course. He can feel the edges of the wound prickle with pain as the meagre scabbing that covered them is wiped away. He hopes he isn’t letting it show on his face.

It is a little uncomfortable, letting someone else touch his neck. Especially someone he hasn’t seen for over two months. He peers at Martin out of the corner of his eye.

  He looks exhausted. There are heavy bags under his eyes and the light from above washes him out terribly, making him seem even paler than usual. His hair has grown a bit, more from neglect than choice. His fringe droops over the frame of his glasses.

Guilt bites at the back of Jon’s mind. Without him here, he is almost certain Martin has been doing the lion’s share of the work in the archives. Melanie is only new to the position and Tim… Jon is doubtful Tim has been working at all.

  Martin mumbles a pre-emptive apology as he moves the towel slowly over the cut. His touch is soft but steady, gentle in a way that is completely alien to Jon.

Martin’s gaze is focused on Jon’s neck, intent on washing away every speck of pain scrawled onto it. Instead of the sting of the wound, Jon feels something in his chest ache.

He can’t remember the last time anyone was this careful with him. That thought, more than the pinch of physical pain, makes his eyes water.

He blinks rapidly and rattles his brain for anything that will keep his mind off of how tender Martin’s touch is.

His mouth runs ahead of his head and he tries not to swallow too hard as he speaks.

“Martin… ah…”

“Sorry, am I pressing too hard?” The pressure on his throat eases slightly and Jon wills himself not to chase after it.

“No, no, I just, ah, I wanted to-” Jon bites his tongue in his haste to speak, “H-H-Have you been getting on alright?”

The pressure disappears entirely as Martin reels back to gawk at him, his mouth hanging open in shock. Jon might be offended at his surprise if he wasn’t too busy kicking himself.

He keeps babbling before Martin even has a chance to respond.

“God, that’s stupid- stupid question, of course you’re not-!” He sighs, “Just- Ignore me. Apologies.”

He looks back up to the breakroom lights, his face burning hot.

Martin chuckles.

Jon dares to glance at him.

The surprise has faded into something softer, a not-quite-there smile lingering on his lips.

“Yeah…” He agrees quietly, “That… is pretty stupid.”

“Well-! Pardon me for asking,” Jon snaps.

Martin’s smile grows.

“I’ve… I’ve got a pretty stupid answer for it though?”

“Uh,” Jon leans forward in his seat, “Yes?”

“Despite um, well, all of it…” Martin swings a hand around the room, “It’s… It’s really good to see you, Jon.”

He stares.

  It’s Martin’s turn to try and hide from the scrutiny. Jon watches with fascination as he starts to turn a blotchy red.

He doesn’t understand. The last time they spoke, Jon gave him nothing but a weak apology after suspecting him of murder and invading his privacy for months. Martin should be angry at him, or maybe even afraid. Jon doesn’t want him to be, but he would understand if he were.

Instead, Martin sits in front of him with a shy smile and soft hands, helping him, missing him. Jon can’t possibly understand that.

He opens his mouth without any clue as to what to say.

“That… doesn’t actually answer my question?” He says weakly.

Martin laughs. Not a chuckle or a giggle but a full-throated belly laugh. It is a sound Jon has never heard from him before. His face feels even warmer.

As soon as he calms down, Martin shakes his head before delicately placing his fingertips on Jon’s chin and tilting his head upward.

“I guess not.”

He finishes cleaning and dressing the wound in silence. When he presses the dressing against the cut to make sure its smooth, Jon can’t help but shudder.

A frown crosses Martin’s brow.

“Don’t suppose I can convince you to see a doctor about this?”

“You suppose correct,” Jon sighs.

Martin clucks his tongue but doesn’t push him any further.

Jon is overcome with the sudden desire to sit in this chair for the remainder of the afternoon, resting in Martin’s half-joking disapproval with their kneecaps just about touching.

He is also keenly aware that that desire isn’t something he can afford to indulge in.

With a weary groan, he hauls himself upright.

  “I… appreciate the help.”

Grabbing the now-stained tea towel, he turns away to toss it in the sink.

“O-Oh, uh, sure, anytime,” Martin says automatically, “Well, n-no, not anytime- I didn’t mean- I don’t want you to get hurt again or a-anything!”

“It’s fine, Martin, I know what you meant.”

He puts the first aid kit back under the sink and pats his pockets to make sure he has all the things he came in with. It’s not much.

“Right, I won’t be back today, but I’ll be in the office tomorrow.”

“You’d better not be!” Martin exclaims, suddenly loud.

Jon blinks at him.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’re hurt! You need rest!” Martin squeaks indignantly, “Proper rest, Jon not just a half-day off!”

“I- Wh- You can’t stop me coming to work!”

“I bloody well can!”

Jon boggles as a memory suddenly strikes him full-force. He had tried coming back to the archives early after Prentiss’ attack as well, hadn’t he? Martin had practically carried out of the building. At the time, it was just another reason for Jon to be suspicious of him. Now, he can see it for what it was.

  Martin cared.

  He still cares, whether that care takes the form of washing his wounds or scolding him for his poor work-life balance. It’s not a feeling Jon is familiar with.

Martin still sits at the coffee table, arms crossed over his chest, colour high in his cheeks. With a wistful smile, Jon decides to let him have his way. It’s paltry thanks for his ministrations, but it is all Jon has.

“Alright.”

Martin’s glare vanishes under his shock.

“Alright?”

Jon nods.

  “Alright. I’ll rest.”

“Oh! Oh. …Good!”

“It’s what, Friday now?” Jon says, “Maybe I’ll even take the weekend off.”

“Wow, let’s not go overboard,” Martin grumbles.

Jon snorts, hiding his laughter behind his bandaged hand. Martin smiles brightly and somehow, gets even redder.

“I’ll see you Monday.”

“Y-Yeah.”

Jon heads for the door. His feet are like lead weights and he already knows he is going to have to stop himself from napping on the tube. He can sleep properly once he is back at Georgie’s. It might even be nice to rest, for once.

He pauses in the doorway, glancing back.

Martin has stood up, his arms still crossed even as he flicks a hand up.

“See you.”

As he stares at him, Jon’s chest aches again. He is overcome with the urge to speak, as if that will ease it.

“For what it is worth… It is really good to see you too.”

Martin’s face goes slack with a look as soft and tender as his hand was on Jon’s throat. It makes the ache worse.

Jon turns away without another word, knocks once on the doorframe and walks away.

  As he heads for the stairs, his hand still throbs, and his neck still stings but it is the hurt in his heart that distracts him. The sound of Martin’s laughter echoes in his head and Jon thinks that this particular pain is one he doesn’t mind keeping.

[randomshyperson]

The Scarlet Witch Prophecy - Chapter 10 - The Fifth Year (Part Four)

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: Dark magic, violence, magical torture.

A/N> I really hope i don't put this fic into another hiatus, but i got a feeling i will. The only I can promise is to finish it. Hope you all like this chapter.

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

Part X - The Fifth Year (Part Four)

You walk beside Headmistress Harkness in silence, deeper into the dungeons of the castle.

She leads you to a wooden door, and then you enter a large stone room, which you imagine to be an office for the study of ancient runes, as you notice the symbols around the room, carved into the rocks and the corners of the walls.

"Professor, what did we come here for?" You ask with your arms folded across your chest, feeling your body shiver slightly at the creepy atmosphere in the room.

"I am going to help you reach your true potential, Miss Stark." She declares simply and waves her wand.

You feel your body being pushed until you are in the center of the room, your arms uncrossing and stretching out at your body's side, but soon there are thick iron chains conjured around your ankles and wrists.

Letting out a surprised exclamation, you look at Harkness in fear, but she is muttering softly, and walking around while touching the runes with her wand, and the symbols light up a purple glow one by one.

"Professor, what's going on?" You question trying to struggle against the chains, which seem to get tighter with each movement. You let out a grunt of pain.

"Stop fighting." She orders as she turns to you, her gaze assessing your face. "It's almost time, it will be painful if you resist."

"What are you talking about?"

But Agatha didn't answer and walked back behind you. You deduced that she was touching the runes on the walls at your back, because you could hear the rustling on the rocks, and then she came back into your field of vision.

She rummaged through her pockets, and pulled out a small watch.

"Now, now, you're almost late." She remarks, and looks back at you with a little smile. "I bet Erik asked about Pietro."

You frowned, but Agatha looked away, moving to the cabinet in the corner of the room. She returned with four candles in her hands, and deposited them around you.

You watched her use her wand to make the candles stand perfectly still in the four corners, and then light itself. You felt your heart race. Agatha was going to do a ritual with you. Of what exactly you had no idea. And judging by the events, it couldn't be good.

"Professor..."

"Quiet." She interrupts earnestly, one finger raised in the air while she looks back at the clock. You wriggle uncomfortably, and it takes only a moment for Agatha to let out a sigh and turn to you. "Let's get started."

You were about to ask again, but Agatha raises her wand toward you and mutters words you don't recognize.

Your vision dims for a second and then you think you are having another vision, but you cannot understand exactly what it is.

It looks like the nightmares you had with Mephisto, but everything is quieter. You can only hear your own footsteps, but it is as if you were walking on water.

The shelves in the ministry are completely empty, and the image is dull.

This time you are not looking for something. You are calling out to someone.

You walk and you walk, and then you come to the center of a room. And you choke when you see yourself.

But your face is completely bloodied, and you are whimpering in pain.

"I found you." The voice is Mephisto's, but you don't see him anywhere. Your bruised self is dying, and you begin to feel desperate, but when you try to scream for help, what comes out are the words. "Where is it? Find it for me!"

"I don't know." Your self whines. "And if I did know I wouldn't tell you."

"Filthy half-blood!" The voice that is your accuses, and then there is a red light and your bruised self screams in pain. It is the cruciatus curse, and it only stops after a moment. "I have no time for your lies. I'll end it at once."

You gasp and are back in Agatha's room, falling to your knees.

"What was that?" You manage to ask as you try to calm your breathing, grumbling in pain as you realize that the sudden movement has made the chains hurt your wrists.

"That was just what it took to get Wanda away from the castle." Agatha replies as she lowers her wand. You frown in confusion, but the woman is getting closer. She makes a motion with her hands and you feel a sharp pain on the tip of your forehead, and you grumble.

A little blood trickles down her face, but it doesn't hurt that much, and you figure it's just a small cut. Ancient runes are not your specialty, but it's not hard to imagine that she just drew one on your skin.

"What do you want from me, professor?" You ask half breathlessly, feeling your body weak. Agatha is muttering some incantations, and you feel as if your energy is slowly being drained away.

When she stops, you can barely keep your eyes open.

"Now we will wait a little while, dear." She says as she kneels in front of the candled square she created. "Wanda needs time to get to the ministry."

You shook your head, feeling your vision go blurry and your mouth go dry. Agatha sighed before she stood up, and you were surprised that she brought you water.

"I don't want you to collapse now, we're not even halfway through it." She declared as she forced the small bottle against your lips. You grumbled, but she held your chin tightly and forced you to drink.

It wasn't water, but it didn't taste bad.

"There you go, drink it all." She guided and only when the item was empty she pulled away. With a flick of her fingers, the bottle disappeared and you gasped as you felt a wave of heat pass through your entire body.

It was a potion of vigor, and although confused and frightened, you had no physical discomfort.

"What did you do to me?" You questioned between teeth. Agatha moved around the room, grabbing one of the books from the bookshelf. She muttered something about making sure she was doing everything right, before she stopped standing in front of you.

"Isn't it obvious, my dear?" She retorted with debauchery. "And I thought you would be smarter, but perhaps the hat was wrong."

Agatha crouched down again, and put the book down on the floor in front of you. You looked down to notice that it was open on a page that contained a map of England.

Before you could ask, she was forcing your head down, and you grunted in pain. When your blood dripped onto the paper, she let go.

"Thank you, dear." She declared without looking at you. "Now let's find out how close they are."

You gasp in surprise when your blood moves on the paper, circling around the lines of the map. Agatha makes a noise with her mouth in contentment.

"Ah, judging by the speed, I'm sure they used the thestrals." She comments. "I suppose Miss Quinn joined the quest in the end."

You look at the professor with confusion, but she is already raising her fingers to your forehead.

"Let's take a peek." She declaims, and you feel your skin burn where she touches it. Your vision dims for a second before you see the sky.

You are mounted on something, and you look around to see all your friends mounted on thestrals, flying beside you. You want to ask what is going on, but soon realize that you are just watching.

"Are we far away?" Gamora asks beside you.

"No! Just a few more minutes." It is Tony who answers from the front horse. He looks upset, all of them do in fact.

You want to shout to ask, but your vision dims and you are back on your feet.

Agatha lets out an impatient sigh as you pant in pain, trying to understand exactly what is going on.

"It's a pity." She mumbles to herself and you force yourself to ask.

"What is it?"

"Mephisto takes no prisoners, Miss Stark." She replies. "I hadn't expected your friends to interfere, it's really a pity. Perhaps you should already pick out a dress for the memorial ceremony."

"What are you talking about?"

"In reality it's your fault of course." She declares with a mischievous giggle and you stare at her in confusion. Agatha sighs humorously, as if what she is telling you is obvious. "Silly girl, the cloak of course! The legendary invisibility cloak that you lent to your dear brother."

"What?"

Agatha rolled her eyes.

"It's not funny when you don't know what I'm talking about." She commented impatiently and leaned against one of the pillars of the hall, her arms crossed. "But I think we have time until they reach the ministry, so let's talk a little."

You think the effect of the potion is wearing off too quickly, but you force yourself to keep your gaze on Agatha.

"The story is much simpler than you might imagine, of course." She begins. "I needed to find a way to help Wanda unleash her power completely, and you were the solution to all my problems." She says with a nostalgic chuckle, and you look at her wide-eyed.

Your vision is darkening again, and Agatha notices by your tired expression, so she lets out a laughing exclamation and moves around the room. When she returns, there is a wooden compartment in her arms, which she lays on the floor. You notice the dozens of small glass jars, and she forces you to drink another one.

"Dear, Dear, there you go. There's no reason to look so pale, you just need a little encouragement." She smiles at her own pun, and you move your head to push her touch away, making her laugh before turning away.

"Where was I? "Oh yes, in the beginning." She asks rhetorically, her posture amused. "I'm going to assume that Erik told you about the nature of Wanda's powers, dear, it would be sad to know that he didn't after so much."

"He did." You grumble and Agatha smiles.

"Oh, great." She says. "Well, of course he said what I told him, of course. But he couldn't know everything. He wouldn't approve of my methods. As a father and as a wizard I suppose."

You sighed lightly, your body was shaking, like a fever, but the potion was keeping you pain-free.

"Professor..."

"Don't interrupt!" She cuts off quickly, but her tone is amused. "What an education you've been giving at Hufflepuff, my goodness. Maybe the hat should have sent you to Gryffindor, you would have learned better about manners."

You clenched your jaw and Agatha giggled a little before continuing.

"I told Erik that you two should stay apart, and he bought that story like the fool he always was." She comments with amusement and you feel your stomach sink.

"Was it you?"

"Don't make that face, honey." She says. "I couldn't risk you getting in my way."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Agatha sighs impatiently.

"Your bond, Miss Stark!" she retorts as if it were obvious, "I needed to shape Wanda's progress according to my agenda. If you were around her, you could develop the bond and your abilities would be a problem."

You looked at her with confusion and Agatha took another look at the map before looking back at you.

"They are arriving, shall we take another peek?"

"Tell me what you want to say!" You ask, but the witch just ignores you while touching your forehead again. You gasp in pain, but this vision is quicker.

You see a dark concrete, and a tall door. And then Agatha brings you back.

"Great, they're at the ministry." She mumbles as she releases you, you gasp helplessly, your head weighing down. But Agatha brings another vial of potion to your lips. "This is going to get a lot worse before it gets better I'm sorry to say, Miss."

You motion for her to take the bottle from your lips, but she insists that you drink it all and only backs away when you do.

"What do you know about my bond with Wanda?" You question next, feeling the elixir kick in again.

"Everything." She states simply and you look at her. "How it was made, how to break it and how to improve it."

Agatha draws her wand toward you again and you widen your eyes.

"Let's make sure she remembers why she''s there, dear." She speaks before bewitching you.

You watch yourself being tortured again, but now the shelves are full.

When you return, you fall flat on your face on the floor.

Agatha approaches with a grimace, pulling your hair to make you look at her again, and you grunt in pain.

"Do you need another potion or can you stay awake?" She asks.

"Fuck you."

Agatha laughed and let go of your hair, you managed to keep your head away from the floor by millimeters.

"I'm being so nice and you so badly behaved."

"You chained me to the ground." You retort with indignation.

Agatha rolls her eyes, crossing her arms as she leans against the pillar again.

"This is only to keep you from disappearing." She comments causing you to raise your eyebrows. "Oh, right, I forgot that you have no idea what I'm talking about."

You grumble in pain, but don't interrupt.

"As I was saying, I know all about your magical bonding, dear." She says. "It took some time, but I managed to figure it all out. And that's exactly why I kept you away from Wanda this year."

"Why?"

"Because I want Wanda's magic for myself, of course."

You let out an exclamation of surprise and anger, but before you could say anything else, your body tensed all at once, and you felt your heart soar as if it were racing.

"W-what's happening?" You muttered in confusion, feeling the adrenaline wake up your senses. Agatha looked at you intently, moving away from the pillar to look at you more closely. She touched the side of your faces, assessing you.

"You can feel the danger she is in can't you?" She asked with fascination in her voice and gaze. You gasped, feeling the room getting smaller. "It is absolutely magnificent to witness such power."

"What did you do?" you ask with difficulty. "Where is Wanda?"

Agatha laughs as she walks away. She moves around the room again and you think she is going to go back to her original position, but she makes a motion with her hands and floats in the air. She sits down with her legs crossed and stands at the same height as you.

"Sorry, Miss Stark." She says with her palms up and lying in the air. "We've reached the part where it's going to become very painful."

The candles around you float at head height, and the flames light up, but they are blue. You also notice the runes glowing on the walls.

"Please." You plead but Agatha doesn't answer you, all she says are words in a language you don't recognize.

When she falls silent, you wait for the pain to come, but all is quiet.

"It's done." She announces with a sigh.

"What's done?"

"Now she can become a scarlet witch for good."

"Professor what..."

But your voice dies in your throat as you feel a sharp pang in your chest and gasp breathlessly. A whistle hissing in your ear, and a sharp pain takes over your entire body in the next second.

You don't need much to deduce that Wanda is suffering.

"Stop it!" You beg as you hug your own body, feeling your skin burn. "Please stop hurting her!"

"Focus, Stark." You hear Agatha's voice in your head. It's hard to push through the pain to pay attention.

"Let me go!" You plead but you have the impression that it is only in your thoughts. You know that your body is screaming in pain. "Let me save her! Wanda!"

"Pay attention, girl!" It's Agatha again. "You never needed to be with her to protect her. Concentrate. Don't let her get hurt."

Agatha's sentence echoes in your head for many minutes, until her voice replaces the pain.

You open your eyes, but cannot see the room. There is a golden light all around you, and it takes a moment to realize that it is your hands and eyes that are glowing.

"What?" you gasp in confusion but your body is shaking again and you can taste blood in your mouth.

"Not yet, honey." Agatha says and you realize she is still in the room. You blink, trying to see her, but all you can see is the light. You can barely feel the chains, but they are still on your wrists. "Just a little longer. He needs to use the curse."

"Professor, what's going on?" You try but there is no answer. The pain returns and your body hangs forward, but you rest your hands on the floor, panting. "Please help me."

"Help yourself." Says the woman. "What will make the pain stop?"

"Wanda." The answer escapes in a sigh and you can barely keep your eyes open.

"Then go to her."

And then your vision dims.

You think you are falling into a portal key, because it feels the same. But you land before reaching the ground.

Everything is muffled, and you look around to see spell lights.

You see your friends dueling wizards you don't recognize, in a place you know as the Ministry of Magic.

You know because it is like your childhood memories, on the rare occasions when you were with Tony and your father in search of some package.

But it's empty now, except for the wizards fighting.

Your friends are losing, you know by the way the masked men are surrounding everyone in the corner.

But you're not looking for that.

Your attention is on the girl in the center, the bright red light surrounding her hands.

Your body immediately relaxes at the sight of her, and you walk on.

Wanda is also struggling. Her energy escapes from her hand towards the black-clad sorcerer, who has a devilish grin on his face, but who seems pleased to see so much power.

You lift your hand to touch her face, and then the sound returns.

The effect of your touch on Wanda's skin is immediate.

Her magic explodes in her hands, creating a force field that pushes Mephisto and the walkers meters away.

The leader lets out a laugh as he falls backwards, while his followers stare at the scene with confusion, surprised by the sudden blow.

Wanda falls to her knees, and you stoop down to the level of her face, raising your hands to your face.

"Wanda? Can you hear me?" You call out, but it is as you thought, she cannot. Neither she can see you. But something makes you believe she can feel you. You sigh watching her try to pull herself together.

Mephisto stands up and waves for his followers to stand still.

Wanda stands in front of her friends. You swallow dryly, and stand beside her.

"Your protector is here, isn't he?" The man questions with a murderous look on his face. "I can feel it."

"Where is she?" Wanda asks angrily, but the wizard continues to smile.

"Do you really think I would risk exposure to steal your girlfriend from the castle, Miss Maximoff?" The wizard retorts. "You are as foolish as your father."

Wanda raises her hands again. You feel your body tingle.

"I won't ask again." She says and Mephisto's gaze flashes with irritation.

"It is I who will not repeat myself, miss." He strikes back and points his wand toward Wanda in a quick motion. You see the green light approaching in slow motion, and your feet are already moving forward.

The Death Curse hits you in the chest, but all you feel is the tingling in the back of your head, and all they see, is a golden light.

"This is getting embarrassing for you." Wanda teases the wizard, and you want to smile, but you are feeling your connection grow weak, the atmosphere begins to glaze over.

"I've had enough of games." Mephisto speaks impatiently, and moves his wand toward the fountain in the center in the hallway. Water pours out of the marble and rises to the ceiling, forming a three-headed serpent. "I'll just drown your friends and eliminate a few names from the list of blood traitors."

"No!" Wanda says as she throws an energy ball at the sorcerer, but he deflects it with ease. The water Hydra moves and Wanda attacks again.

You think the water will reach your friends, but the ministry's Floo powder fireplaces are lighting up and the order's wizards are coming out of there.

Mephisto's smile fades. His followers begin to duel, and he forms a shield to stop Wanda's attacks while turning to look at the incoming aurors, as you watch Hydra's enchantment being controlled and undone.

It is satisfying to see Mephisto choke in surprise as the rest of the Ministry officials begin to Apparate and use the floo powder net to arrive on the scene.

You see the expression of pure shock when the Minister of Magic sees the sorcerer, before Mephisto apparates and disappears.

There is an immediate commotion afterwards, the aurors of the order preventing the walkers from fleeing and the rest of the officials looking on at the scene of the fight with confusion.

The atmosphere is getting stuffy again, so you turn to Wanda again, and she has tears in her eyes as she looks around.

Erik reaches her within the next minute.

"Darling!" He says hugging her with concern, but Wanda sobs and he pulls away looking into her eyes. "What happened?"

"I couldn't find her, papa." She cries. "I looked everywhere."

Erik shakes his head.

"Wanda, Miss Stark is safe." He assures you and you frown. "It was a false vision dear, she was never here."

Wanda gasps in confusion, you want to touch her but can barely keep yourself watching.

"But i saw..."

"I know dear, but it wasn't true." Erik interrupts, "Let's go back to the castle, I'll tell you everything. But breathe, okay, she's safe."

Wanda nods, and you feel her exhaustion invade your body immediately. The aurors of the order help your friends, and you watch Erik help Wanda walk to the fireplaces, and the realization that she is safe is enough for you to surrender to the darkness.

//-////-////-////-////-////-////-////-////-////-////-//

You know something is different the moment you open your eyes.

Maybe the way all the sounds invade your ears at once, and you grumble, trying to figure out if you have a headache or just reject the sudden gain in consciousness.

There is no pain, though, you notice.

There is only softness and lightness.

You blink a few times, and understand that you are lying on a bed. Straightening up, you eventually identify the room. It is an infirmary, but it is not Hogwarts. You frown in confusion, and straighten to sit up.

It looks like a hospital room, and there are other beds a few meters away, but they are empty. You also notice the "get well soon" balloons and the gift wrappings and food baskets on top of the cabinet at the end of the bed.

When you notice the sleeping figure in the armchair next to you, you gasp in surprise.

"Wanda!" You call out with a mixture of shock and relief.

The girl opens her eyes sleepily and then widens them when she realizes that you are looking at her curiously, babbling about what had happened and if she was okay. All Wanda does is let out a tearful laugh and jump at you, her arms around your neck as she hugs you tightly.

"Hey, is everything okay?" You ask fearfully, letting your arms encircle her waist and pulling her into bed with you. Wanda buries her face in your neck, and you want to close your eyes to enjoy the feeling of having her so close, but you are too curious to know about everything. "Wanda?"

"Fuck I was so worried." She sighs against your skin before pulling away, and you frown, looking into her watery eyes. You reach out to caress her face and she smiles as she leans into your touch, one hand rising to yours on her cheek.

"What happened?" You ask and she shakes her head slightly.

"A lot." She says. "But everyone is fine. You...merlin...you're here."

Wanda rests her forehead against yours and you both close your eyes.

"Where else would I be?"

She doesn't answer, just presses your lips together in a sweet but firm kiss. You feel your whole body shiver all at once, and gasp in surprise.

Wanda pulls away with a sigh and hugs you again, and you decide to give yourself over to the feeling, inhaling her perfume as you bury your face in her hair and feel your whole body relax all at once.

"Finally!" Your brother's voice startles you slightly, but you don't have much time to absorb his sudden presence in the room, because soon all your friends are entering as well, and Wanda is breaking the embrace so that your brothers will hug you and then your friends.

As soon as you hug everyone, and receive pats on the shoulder and questions about how you are feeling from the adults, you intertwine your hand with Wanda, who remains sitting next to you on the bed. The feeling brings you an instant sense of safety.

"Can someone tell me how I got here now?" You ask just as Carol Danvers turns away from you and stands next to Erik and Fury, who are in the corner next to Mantis and Harley, all squeezed around your bed.

"What's the last thing you remember, YN?" It is Tony who asks and you frown.

"The room with Professor Harkness, I think." You say feeling your stomach turn. Wanda's touch tightens a little, and you appreciate the sensation. Many flashes pass through your mind at once, and you use your free hand to massage your forehead lightly. "I think I remember a spell... Professor!" You exclaim suddenly looking at Erik, remembering the schoolmistress's words. "Agatha, she was the one who planned everything... the ministry, the prophecy! She knew everything and...!"

"Calm down, miss Stark." The professor interrupts with a nod. "We already know about what happened in the dungeon."

"Oh, okay." You mumble clumsily. "H-how did I get out of there?"

Erik exchanges a look with Wanda before turning back to you.

"Your last memory, Miss Stark, what would it be? Do you only remember talking to Agatha?"

"If you call torture talking." You mumble clumsily, and Wanda squeezes your hand hard, making you bite your tongue. "Hey." You say to her, but she doesn't let go of the grip. She says nothing, and you sigh. "Yes, professor. I just remember being within the spell. And then I woke up here."

Erik clears his throat and you think this is the time he's going to ask everyone to leave, but he hasn't.

"Well, then we have to update you on some important things, miss." He says as he puts his hands in his pockets. "I believe Doctor McCoy would prefer to talk to you first however, and he is looking at this small crowd with a certain disapproval."

You frown at the phrase, but there is a man dressed in aqua green approaching the bed and beckoning your friends to stand back. It's the healer in charge, you read the little plaque with the name "Doctor Hank McCoy" on the coat as he asks everyone not to be so on top of you.

"Good morning, Miss Stark, it's very good to see you awake at last. How are you feeling?" He asks as you approach, you squeeze Wanda's hand as soon as she makes mention of getting up. She gets a slight flush on her cheeks, but ignores the doctor's gaze and continues sitting next to you. Hank realizing that the witch won't move away, decides to approach you from the other side of the bed, a metal stethoscope in position on his neck and hands.

"I'm fine." You say with a smile.

"Let's make sure you are." He says as he places the object against your chest. "Take a deep breath, please."

The check is quick, and a little awkward as everyone is looking at you. Doctor Hank grabs a wooden clipboard as soon as he's finished.

"You've recovered almost completely, that's impressive." He comments sounding pleased and you look at him curiously.

"Was I sick?"

Hank gives a little laugh and then frowns, realizing that you really were curious. He clears his throat.

"Are you experiencing memory loss?" He asks looking at you intently. You swallow dryly, pulling away slightly as you feel the blue orbs analyzing you so intently. "It's a common symptom for this type of magical occurrence, of course, though it's a more recurring one in patients who have experienced the cruciatus curse."

"Doctor?"

Hank straightens his body again, putting his hands in his pockets.

"What is your last memory of the ritual, miss?"

"Ritual?" You ask confused.

"The bonding ritual, Miss Stark." He clarifies. "Your family members explained to the team that you were in the custody of a dark witch and went through a level five rated magical binding ritual against your will."

"I..."

"Doctor McCoy, please." Erik interrupts with an embarrassed smile. "We haven't had a chance to talk to her about everything. Perhaps some less technical language."

"Oh, yes, of course." Hank agreed with a smile, and his posture became much friendlier. "What exactly do you remember, Miss?"

"Only to be caught in a spell doctor." You reply. "My professor, she used some runes on the walls and tried to keep me trapped. It was... quite unpleasant if you ask me." You recount feeling really uncomfortable. "I didn't really understand what happened."

"Don't worry, we know what happened." Hank says. "From a medical point of view at least." He jokes and Erik smiles, but you are too nervous to do so. "Sorry, but the room is too crowded. Why don't you all wait outside while I talk to Miss Stark?"

Your friends let out a disgruntled exclamation together, but Carol and Fury are already pushing everyone out.

"She can stay, right?" you ask quickly and Doctor Hank gives a chuckle.

"I wouldn't try to keep you and Miss Maximoff apart anymore in any manner at all." He comments and you look at him with confusion.

Erik also stays in the room, standing at the end of the bed. Wanda strokes your hand with her thumb as the doctor speaks again, and you want to pay attention to his words rather than her touch, but it is a difficult task.

Hank sits on the edge at the height of your knee.

"You have undergone a magical bonding ritual, Miss Stark." He begins. "More precisely, through a kind of spell to strengthen a magical bond that already exists in you. In this case, your bond with Miss Maximoff."

The doctor adjusts his glasses slightly as soon as you nod in understanding.

"That kind of spell is very dangerous by itself, Miss." He says. "But it is even more so when done without the consent of those involved."

Hank gropes his pockets and then takes out his own wand, extending it into the air with a smooth motion. You watch intently as two golden figures resembling two people appear in front of you.

He also draws a thread connecting them at chest height.

"What we know about natural protective magical bonds, Miss, is that they act as a string of energy between the bodies of the witches who are connected." He narrates as he signals the golden magical wave with his finger. "That string stretches, and bends, and can only be broken in three ways. With the length of the magic contract, the withdrawal of the spell, or the death of one of the witches. And in this third, if the witch to whom the link refers, dies before the other, the other will suffer the same fate, since the link remains intact."

"Doctor, I don't mean to be disrespectful, but I already knew that information." You comment clumsily, but the adults don't seem annoyed, they just giggle. You are surprised to realize that you know Wanda thought it was funny even without looking at her.

"Yeah, yeah, sorry, I'm getting there." He hits back with a chuckle. Hank makes another motion with his wand, and this time, an energy rune appears between the figures in the center of the link, and you frown as you recognize the image.

"It looks like the one Professor Harkness drew on the floor." You comment.

"It's exactly the same." Hank says. "This is rune needed for the power release spell. Ancient magic, very powerful." He counters. "It was common for witches to use this kind of spell in the wild, before magic societies were fully formed, since no one learned how to grow their own power through study and practice. Other methods were used before the schools of magic existed."

"What did she do to me, doctor?" You ask fearfully, understanding where the conversation was going. Doctor Hank exchanged a look with Professor Erik.

"Well, Mrs. Harkness wanted to rush things, I believe." He says. "You see, magical connections are very unstable magics, Miss. Especially if done between living things." He adds and moves his wand again. The rune multiplies and lands on the chest of each of the figures. "The ritual that Agatha performed served to stimulate the full magical potency of your connection all at once."

"But what does that mean?"

"It means that after that night, she merged your magic and Miss Maximoff's magic as one." Hank clarified and you frowned, trying to understand exactly what that signified. Seeing your expression, Professor Erik cleared his throat and approached the side of the bed, close to Wanda.

"What will happen now, Miss Stark, will be the peak of a magical bond." He says with a worried look, and you look at him curiously. "You two will both present new powers, and you will need to learn how to control all of them."

You ran your fingers lightly through your hair, sighing.

"You still haven't told me how I ended up here." You grumbled slightly impatiently. The teacher hesitated, but then told you.

"Agatha underestimated the power of your bond with Wanda." He said and you were about to question what that meant when he spoke again. "The ritual served to potentiate the Scarlet Witch's magic, using your body as a bridge for contact, since through the connection between you, she was able to force Wanda's magic to evolve."

You looked at Wanda, but she was looking at your hands entwined together.

"Is everything okay with you?" You asked her immediately, and she raised her eyes to you. Nodding in agreement, she gave you a shy smile. You wished you were alone with her.

"Agatha wanted to use the bond just to stimulate Wanda's magic to its full potential, and she knew she could use your magical bond to do that." The professor then added. "But, I don't know if you remember, Miss Stark, as we talked about earlier in the year, there are limits to what the human body can handle. Just like you, Wanda didn't even come of age yet. Her magic simply wasn't ready."

"And that's when the magical bond between you two interrupted the spell." The doctor added and you widened your eyes slightly. He waved his wand so that the illusion of the figures shattered. "You see, Miss, you have a protective bond with Miss Maximoff. The minute the spell became strong enough to injure her, your magic merged with hers, and all was restrained. The ritual was immediately interrupted."

"You may not remember, but Agatha took you to the ministry." Erik said next and grimaced slightly. "Well, not exactly brought, but projected you. She was the one who set up the visions in Wanda's head so that she would see you wounded and fight Mephisto again. All the danger she was going through triggered the bond. And then she could project your consciousness to Wanda, giving her the power to face Mephisto in a duel."

"I don't remember that." You mutter, scratching the back of your neck lightly.

"Don't worry." Hank adds. "It was a very intensive magical exhaustion, I'm sure your memories will gradually come back. If not, Miss Maximoff can help you." He jokes and you frown in confusion, but the doctor is already getting up. "Well, I need to check on other patients, I'll come visit you later. Try to eat something before I get back, okay? You should still be here for a few days, until we're sure you're fully recovered."

You thanked the doctor before he left. Erik cleared his throat.

"Do you have any other questions?"

"Many sir." You say making him laugh lightly. But then you sigh. "But I wanted to stay with Wanda for a while."

Erik nods in understanding, and exchanges a look with his daughter before turning to leave.

You straighten to lie down and look at Wanda and she mimics your movement, but looks up at the ceiling.

"Wanda?" You call out and wait for her to turn her face toward you. A sense of lightness and assurance immediately invades your chest at having the green orbs stare at you. "How do you feel?"

She gives you a short smile, and straightens up to turn her whole body toward you. It's uncomfortable to hold your hands like this, so she lets go, but raises her fingers to your face, tracing your features.

"I feel different." She confesses. Every touch of her fingers is warm and comforting. "What about you?"

"Different too." You reply, resisting the urge to close your eyes. "But a good different."

Wanda smiles, shaking her head in agreement. You are silent for a moment, Wanda using her thumb to caress your cheek tenderly, and you let your gaze on her mouth.

"Why were you almost crying when I woke up?" You ask next, and her body tenses before she sighs. You look into her eyes, waiting.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to worry you." She mumbles and you shake your head, bringing your faces closer together. Wanda sighs and brings her hand to the back of your neck as you press your foreheads together. "I can't talk about it."

"Show me then." You ask and she closes her eyes just before you close yours.

The visions hit you in the next second.

You see the false memories Agatha implanted in her, they were images of you being tortured in the ministry, your screams echoing among the corridors. You feel Wanda's desperation, her helplessness, the way her heart squeezed and the despair at every door she opened in the ministry and could not find you.

You gasp when you see the duel with Mephisto again, feeling your own touch in Wanda's magic, the way she had never felt so powerful, every cell vibrating.

A surprised sigh escapes when you see Wanda being carried back to the castle, as she feels her whole body tired but cannot close her eyes without hearing from you. You feel her tears when Professor Erik lets her see the state of the dungeon where Agatha imprisoned you, and the yearning when she sees your blood on the chains and on the floor.

The anger when her father tries to send her to sleep, and she insists on going to the hospital with your family, and the way her body shakes when she sees you on a stretcher unconscious.

Your own image scares you. The deep wounds on your wrists and ankles, made by the iron chains you have broken. The rune cut on your forehead, bright and red, and the blood that dripped down your nose, ears and mouth.

You feel the way Pietro's tight embrace, or his words of affirmation, assuring her that the healers will heal you, helps Wanda relax, but you also see how it's not enough. How all Wanda needs is for you to be at her side.

The feeling of fear and insecurity that lingers in Wanda's chest during the days she lies beside you in bed, waiting for you to wake up. Unsuccessful in sensing your thoughts even when she tries to sneak up on you during the nurses' shift change.

And then the sense of relief when seeing you open your eyes.

You gasp out the memories, feeling yours and Wanda's tears too.

"Oh, my love, I'm so sorry." You ask in a hoarse voice. "I should have woken up sooner."

Wanda lets out a tearful laugh, shaking her head.

"It's okay." She assures. "I'm just glad you did."

You smile, bringing your fingers together to take a strand of hair from Wanda's eyes and place it behind her ears.

"I will always be by your side, Wanda." You say. "I promise."

Wanda sighs, opening her eyes again. You use your thumb to wipe away the tears that have trickled down her face.

There is a moment of silence, and then your heart soars at her words.

"I know about the prophecy."

You look away before looking at her again.

"I'm sorry." You say. "I should have told you."

"Yes, you should have." She retorts seriously, but she doesn't sound angry. "But it's over now. And now everyone knows."

You widen your eyes, and probably sensing the way you've grown anxious, Wanda firms the touch of her hand on the side on your neck, murmuring lightly.

"Don't worry, eventually everyone would find out." She says and you swallow dryly.

"H-how did they know?"

"That's why Mephisto was in the Ministry." She explains. "He was looking for the prophecy in the mystery department. Steve found it first."

You swallowed dryly and Wanda continued to tell.

"I think he hesitated to tell Tony for a moment." She says. "But then he did. And then everyone knew. My father told the order as soon as you were admitted."

"How did Tony take it?" you asked fearfully and Wanda sighed.

"Better than I did if you ask me." She grumbled and you smiled shyly. "He only calmed down when they poured some potion for him. And well, I broke Dad's nose so it didn't really go down too well."

"Wow, you did what?" you ask in surprise, and Wanda grumbles, tucking her head into her pillow. You giggle, digging into her hair with your fingers. "I want to see that one."

Wanda chuckles against the cotton before looking back at you. She shows you the memory next. Everyone around the St.Mungus waiting room when Steve arrives accompanied by Erik and he tells everyone the truth. You see Tony squirming and being calmed down by two nurses, and you can feel Wanda's irritation and indignation as she looks at the "I was doing the right thing" expression her father has on his face. And how the feeling explodes in her chest when he comes to say he was trying to keep her safe and she just punches him in the face.

You gasp out of the memory with an impressed laugh, moving from the image of Erik with a bloody nose to Wanda with flushed cheeks, impacted by the way your laughter makes her heart soar.

"I can't believe you punched your father in the face." You tease with amusement and Wanda laughs lightly, reaching out to rest her arm on your waist. Her hand caresses your back gently.

"If he hadn't kept us apart none of this would have happened." She mumbles bitterly and you sigh.

"He thought he was helping." You retort but Wanda just hums. You let out an exclamation next as you remember something. "Wanda, you didn't tell me you were having nightmares! Are they still happening?"

Wanda sighs, denying with her head.

"No, not since the ministry." She says. "Papa hasn't figured out what they are, and now we can't count on Professor Harkness to help us find out. But since I fought Mephisto at the ministry, they've stopped."

"Why didn't you tell me about them?"

"Because they were about you." She retorts as if it's obvious. "I didn't want to worry you anymore. Not when all I do is cause you problems."

The confession catches you completely off guard. And Wanda's guilty tone breaks your heart. She is looking down at the sheet and you let out an incredulous laugh.

"That's so very far from the truth, my dear." You say as you catch her chin between your fingers, and make her look at you gently. "You have no idea how good you do me, do you Wanda?"

"I..."

"It' s okay, now I can show you." You interrupt with a shy smile, bringing your lips together in a gentle kiss.

Everything feels more intense now. It's a simple touch, but it warms your whole body. You leave your fingers at the nape of her neck as you slide your tongue against hers, and you both sigh with the touch.

It feels so good to kiss Wanda, it warms your whole body from head to toe, but remembering that you are in a hospital bed, just as a familiar warmth begins to form at the tip of your stomach when Wanda's hand squeezes the fabric of your shirt and her tongue moves against yours slowly, you sigh as you break the kiss.

You smile at the image of Wanda's swollen lips and ajar, dark eyes.

"Why did you stop?" she asks breathlessly, her voice husky. You raise your eyebrows in amusement.

"Baby, our families and friends are in the next room." You clarify and Wanda mumbles, coming closer to rest her forehead on yours. Her hand squeezed the fabric before adorning your t-shirt, her fingers on your skin making you shiver slightly. "Behave."

Wanda giggles mischievously, pecking your lips before moving away. You feel your body relax completely as you gaze into her emerald eyes, but the moment is broken when your friends are back in the room.

Ignoring the hissing and the giggles, you tuck yourself into bed so that Wanda can snuggle up next to you.

Things are going to be different now, you know. But something tells you that as long as you have Wanda's hand in yours, you'll be fine.

//-//-//-//-//-////-//-//-//-//-////-//-//-//-//-//

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[translations-by-aiimee]

The Husky and His White Cat Shizun - Chapter 11

Original Title:  二哈和他的白猫师尊

Genres: Drama, Romance, Tragedy, Xianxia, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 11 - This Venerable One Wants His Family to be Happy

"Yes, it's me!" Madam Chen sobbed, "But I didn't write this spiritual tablet! How could I curse my child? I—"

"You wouldn't have written it while you were awake, but not necessarily while you were asleep."

Chu Wanning said. He raised his hand, picked up the spiritual tablet, spiritual energy pouring out of his palm. Suddenly, a distant and piercing scream erupted from the spiritual tablet, followed by a stream of blood gurgling out of it.

The sharp gleam in Chu Wanning's eyes was bitterly cold, and he harshly said: "The arrogance of this creature; it dares to make trouble!"

Because of the great spiritual power in his palm, the writing on the tablet was forced to retreat little by little amid the screams, becoming fainter until it finally disappeared completely. Chu Wanning's slender and cold white fingers clenched and the whole tablet shattered!!

The Chen family looked stunned from behind him. Not just the Chen family, even Shi Mei was stunned.

He couldn't help sighing: "That's amazing."

Mo Ran also couldn't help but sigh inside; he really was so powerful.

Chu Waning turned his handsome and clear face sideways. There was no expression on his face, only a few spots of blood splashed on the side of his cheek. He raised his hand and carefully examined the bloodstains remaining on his fingertips. He said to the Chen family: "All of you will stay in the courtyard today, don't go anywhere."

At this point, none of them dared disobey and they quickly agreed: "Okay! Okay! Whatever you say!"

Chu Wanning strode out of the temple, unconcerned with wiping away the blood on his face. He gestured at Madam Chen: "Especially you, don't fall asleep. To keep that thing out of your body, even if you get tired, you need to stay awake."

"Yes. . . yes yes!" Madam Chen replied repeatedly. With tears in her tears, she asked in disbelief, "Daoist Master, my son. . . is. . . is he alright?"

"He's fine for now."

Madam Chen was startled: "For now? Not always? Then, how can I save my son's life?"

Chu Wanning said: "Catch the demon."

Mrs. Chen was very anxious and couldn't help but be a little rude. She couldn't care less about being polite and asked urgently: "When does the Daoist master plan to catch it?"

"Immediately."

Chu Wanning said. He glanced at the Chen family and asked: "Who knows where the red coffin was dug? Come and lead the way."

The eldest son’s daughter-in-law was named Yao. Even though she was a woman, she was tall and looked somewhat good-looking Although her face was filled with fear, she was calmer than the others. She spoke up: "My late husband and I picked out the land. I know the location. I'll lead you there."

The three of them followed Chen Yao all the way north and soon arrived at the land the Chen family had bought.

Martial law had been set up there, and there are no one around. The dark hills were overgrown with trees, not a single sound of insects or birds singing.

Climbing up the mountainside, the view widened over the scene. Chen Yao said: "The three Daoist masters are here."

The place where the red coffin was dug out still had a tombstone stuck over it. Mo Ran laughed: "What's this broken stone supposed to be used for? It looks like an amateur put it there. Move it."

Chen Yao was a little flustered: "The gentleman in the town said that the evil creature is being suppressed by it and can't get out."

Mo Ran chuckled: "He must be really capable."

". . ." Chen Yao said, "Move, move, move!"

Chu Wanning remarked icily: "No need." After he said that, he raised his hand, and golden light glowed from his fingertips. Tianwen listened to his command and appeared in his palm. As soon as he flicked the willow vine, the headstone instantly shattered into pieces! Chu Wanning walked over expressionlessly. He stood on the pile of ruins, raised his palm again, and said in a deep voice: "What are you doing hiding in there? Get up!"

There was a strange noise underneath the earth, and suddenly, a 12-foot-high thick wooden coffin broke out of the ground. The sand and mud rained down and dust was flying everywhere.

Shi Mei exclaimed in surprise: "This coffin is surrounded by such evil energy!"

Chu Wanning said: "Stand back."

After that, with a backhand draw, Tianwen slashed across the welded red coffin. Golden sparks shot in all directions. After a few moments of silence, the coffin lid exploded with a bang. The billowing smoke dispersed and the thing inside it was revealed.

Lying in the coffin was a naked man with a straight nose and a handsome face. If it weren't for his pale skin, he would look like he was simply sleeping.

Mo Ran's eyes flicked down to what was under the man's waist: covering his eyes and said: "Oh, don't wear skimpy pants, you skunk."

Shi Mei: ". . ."

Chu Wanning: ". . ."

Chen Yao cried out: "Husband!" She moved forward to rush towards the coffin. Chu Wanning stretched out his hand to stop her. He raised an eyebrow and asked: "This is your husband?"

"Yes! It's my husband!" Chen Yao was devastated. "Why would he be here? He was already buried in the ancestral grave. He was also wearing much nicer funeral clothes. How could he. . ."

Halfway through speaking, the woman began to weep, pounding her chest, "How could this happen! How tragic - so awful! Husband. . . Husband!!"

Shi Mei sighed: "Madam Chen, please keep it together."

Chu Wanning and Mo Ran didn't pay attention to the crying woman. Chu Wanning was not good at comforting people, while Mo Burning was totally compassionless. They stared at the body in the coffin.

Since Mo Ran had lived through this in a previous life, nothing unfolding was a surprise to him, but he still needed to put on an appearance, so he touched his chin thoughtfully: "Shizun, something's wrong with the corpse."

Chu Wanning: "I know."

". . ."

What he had said was exactly what Chu Wanning had said during this conversation in his previous life. In this life, he wanted to use it to shock Chu Wanning. He did well, and yet he only threw out a simple "I know" as a result.

Shouldn't a shizun encourage his disciple to speak his mind and give him praise and reward??

Mo Ran pretended that he hadn't heard him say "I know", and continued: "This corpse has no signs of decay. It's been more than half a month since the accident. Based on the current climate, it should have festered and rotted. A layer of fluids should have built up in the coffin. That's the first strange thing."

Chu Wanning gave him a cold glare with a look of "Are you done fooling around?": ". . ."

"Secondly." Mo Ran was unmoved, continuing to recite Chu Wanning's words from the previous life to solve the puzzle. "Before the coffin was opened, the evil energy around the red coffin was dense, but after it was opened, it dissipated. And there's a minimal evil aura around the corpse, which is also very abnormal."

Chu Wanning: ". . ."

"Thirdly, did you find that from the moment the coffin was opened, there was a sweet smell in the air?"

The scent was so delicate, if you don't pay attention, you wouldn't notice it at all. When Mo Ran pointed it out, Shi Mei and Chen Yao realized that there really was a faint sweetness in the air.

Shi Mei: "Indeed."

Chen Yao's face changed when she smelled it, "This scent. . ."

Shi Mei: "Madam Chen, what's the matter?"

Chen Yao’s scared voice changed: "This scent is my mother-in-law's hundred butterfly fragrance powder!"

No one spoke for a while. The prophetic sign in the ancestral hall that read "Master Yang, Chen Sunshi" appeared in front of him again.

Shi Mei asked: ". . . Could Madam Chen really have done this?"

Mo Ran: "It doesn't look like that."

Chu Wanning: "No."

The two spoke almost at the same time and glanced at each other after speaking. Chu Wanning's face didn't waver: "You speak."

Mo Ran said nonchalantly: "As far as I know, the Chen family made a fortune and relied on the old lady's hundred butterfly fragrance powder. Although the powder's formula is a secret, the finished product isn't difficult to get. Five or six of ten girls in Caidie Town use this fragrance. Not only that, but we investigated before we came here. Mr. Chen himself seems to like his mother's butterfly fragrance powder very much, and he often mixes it in his bathwater so it’s not strange that he has this smell on his body, the strange thing is. . ."

He said, turning his head again to the naked man in the coffin.

"This person has been dead for half a month, and this fragrance smells like it was just applied. Am I right, Shizun?"

Chu Wanning: ". . ."

"Just praise me if I'm right."

Chu Wanning: "Mmm."

Mo Ran laughed: "What a waste of words."

He didn't have a chance to laugh again. Suddenly, his robe flew to the side, Chu Wanning pulled him back a few feet, the golden light of Tianwen in his hand was shining, dancing like flames.

"Watch out."

The smell of the butterfly fragrance powder in the air suddenly grew stronger. As the scent drifted away, a white mist appeared between the grass and trees, which began to diffuse at an alarming speed. Instantly, it turned the entire mountainside into a sea of ​​mist, and all of a sudden, he couldn't even see the hand in front of his face!

Mo Ran's heart lurched.

An illusionary world appeared.

"Ah!!!" In the thick fog, the first thing that rang out was Chen Yao's screams, "Daoist Master, help—"

Before she finished the last word, everything went silent.

Chu Wanning's fingertips lit up with a blue gleam, and he slapped a tracking spell onto Mo Ran's forehead: "Be careful, I'll check it out."

After he spoke, he followed the voice and quickly disappeared into the thick fog.

Mo Ran touched his forehead and chuckled in a low voice: "Well, even the position of the spell is exactly the same as in my previous life. Chu Wanning, you really haven't changed a bit."

The fog came quickly and dispersed just as fast. It didn't take long for the fog to disappear without a trace. However, the scene in front of him was even more surprising than the fog. Mo Ran was really shocked, at least he was in his last life.

After the fog cleared, the originally desolate and overgrown mountainside had disappeared.

Instead, there was a vast and elegant garden, pavilions, waterfalls, curved corridors, rocky gardens and jade trees, and pebble paths as far as the eye could see.

Mo Ran took a look at the surroundings and immediately wanted to roll around in joy.

This rogue hooligan spent all day thinking about this illusion. In his previous life, they were similarly lost in it. First, Mo Ran ran into Shi Mei, and under the compulsion of the illusion, he kissed the other for the first and only time in his life.

It's a pity that Shi Mei was terribly frightened when it happened. He let go of Mo Ran, turned and ran away. He wasn't given the chance to take a second bite of the swan before it was taken off his plate, which was really unfortunate.

After the illusion was broken, Shi Mei never brought it up. The kiss in the illusion was treated as if it hadn't happened, and no one mentioned it again. Sometimes when he dreamt at night, Mo Ran wondered if he was obsessing too deeply over something he imagined.

But whether he imagined it or not, Mo Ran licked his lips. He thought this time he definitely wouldn't let Shi Mei run away from him that easy! One kiss wasn't enough!

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