#maybe work and going to that demonstration tomorrow will help me get better

[darkdragon768]

I hate to be in this kinda mood where I'm not up for anything. Games? No. Videos? No. Drawing? No. Food? No. Sleep? No.

What's missing? What am I craving?

[befuddled-calico-whump]

Total $hit$how: Roses for the Knuckles

in which Hunter doesn't always listen

cw: referenced violence, adult language, implied abuse

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“You'll each get one hour. Nowhere near enough time for anything real, but it should serve its purpose.”

Everyone was in the room with the mats, where they should've been running through their morning training. Obstacle courses or fighting or some shit, but instead of doing what they were supposed to, Sahota was following muscle girl's dumb idea.

Hunter knew what its 'purpose' was. Proving them all wrong, demonstrating that he was better than them for the hundredth time. Why was he even gonna bother? Why not just tell them no and be done with it? Why not just do what Vic wanted?

He didn't know what the big deal was anyway. Muscle girl had been in the army or some shit, so hadn't she already killed people? And fucking Manak didn't seem like he gave a shit about anyone else, so why did he care? Hunter didn't care. It wasn't like he knew Finley anyway, and he could just forget about the whole matter after she was dead and they had what they wanted.

If he would’ve told Vic about this last night during their training session, maybe he could’ve put a stop to this bullshit, but the ancient law of snitches get stitches kept his mouth shut. It wasn’t that big a deal anyway. Just a waste of time.

Hunter slouched as Sahota droned on and on about the rules, body and face rigid as he addressed the group. Like a fucking statue.

“I want each of you to come up with some arbitrary information that you want from me, and then I want you to try to extract it. You are permitted to do anything, so long as I can recover from it by tomorrow.”

Whatever that meant. It had been two days since he'd got his face beat in, and he already seemed just fine.

Muscle girl raised her hand. “What's the point?”

“I’ve been in the business for a while,” Sahota replied. “I know a good technique when I see one. If you manage to impress me, you win. I'll let you do it your way.” He thumbed at the scabbed-over cut running through his lip. “But don’t count on it.”

Some of the rest threw in their own questions, but Hunter tuned them out, pinching the skin of a knuckle between two fingernails until flowers started blooming there. No one would want to hear his side of the argument, his ‘we should listen to Vic, not Sahota’. If they didn't hate him already, he'd bet they definitely hated him after the video, after he was the only one who didn't want to go save their asshole trainer. But he'd been right, Vic had been right. Sahota got back just fine, not the slightest shift in his stupid slate-gray color unless you counted the bruises on his face.

He was right, but it seemed like no one wanted to look at him anymore. Not that they had in the first place, but it seemed more on-purpose now. Manak had been just as icy as ever when they'd worked together on the list, a task mostly completed in bitter silence. Hunter hadn't helped much, just kinda leaned back in his chair and looked for new patterns, distracting himself from the red ribbon of irritation that started coiling around the other man as soon as Sahota told them to work together.

And whatever, he didn't care. He didn't need Manak to like him, or Sahota, or muscle girl, or even… even the big guy. No, he didn't need them, not when he had Vic on his side, not when Vic wanted him to stay.

“Cavan, why don't you start us off?” Sahota said, and muscle girl straightened, her neutral blue brightening.

Cavan. Cavan, Cavan, Cavan, he’d try to remember it, but sometimes names were hard.

“I want the rest of you training. Spar for the first hour, then branch off into individual skills.” He gave Cavan a curt nod, and she followed him out, leaving a fading trail of blue behind. Hunter couldn’t tell if she was excited or nervous, and didn’t really care.

Beside him, the big guy let out a heavy sigh. “So… sparring?”

“Dibs on Jericho,” makeup guy said quickly, sidestepping towards the big guy and slipping an arm through the crook of his elbow.

Jericho, Jericho.

That left him with Manak. Whatever. Smug little richboy wasn’t that great with his fists, and Hunter wouldn’t mind breaking his stupid snobby nose. The big guy—Jericho—seemed to catch a whiff of Hunter’s plan though, a brighter flash that was probably alarm arcing through his purple.

“Actually, I think I’ll fight Harbor,” he said, shaking himself free of makeup guy, who put on a pouty expression. Hunter scowled up at him, squaring his shoulders.

“Yeah? What if I don’t wanna fight you?” he challenged, scanning the big guy’s—Jericho, it’s Jericho, fucking dumbass—silhouette for a shift in his color. The purple didn’t change.

“Do you not want to?” A little smile crossed his face. “You’re pretty good. I just want to see what you’ve got.”

Hunter scrunched his nose. He was good, but he knew what was really happening. Just the b–Jericho trying to save Manak’s ass. Whatever. Whatever, a fight was a fight. Training was training and he didn't need to be liked. He didn't need to be chosen for him, not by them.

“Fine.” He lifted his fists. Roses for the knuckles. “Fight me.”

~~~

The first hour went fast. Sparring always went fast, at least for Hunter. Maybe ‘cause it was something he was actually good at. Muscle girl (Cavan) came strolling back in near the end of the matches, and makeup guy (Benny?) took her place. From the dull in her blue, Hunter guessed she hadn't been successful. He coulda told her that.

Jericho spent the next hour looking over the folder with her and Manak, so Hunter spent his time wandering and practicing with patterns.

Find a pen, find a tool, find one of those screws that has an X on top, until makeup guy came back and Manak replaced him and his head was pounding.

He ignored the oncoming migraine.

I want you to come back after.

The next hour passed, the headache dug blunt teeth into his skull, and then it was Hunter's turn.

~~~

Sahota was sitting comfy when he entered, bound in place by ropes that wound around his wrists and the arms of the chair he was planted in. No sign of any blooming colors in his slate-gray, no hint of an expression on his bruise-mottled face.

Like an oil slick, he thought. Guess it's your turn to wear it.

The three who'd gone before him hadn't done shit by the looks of it. If anything, Sahota looked bored. Hunter could change that.

“So what,” he said, lingering in the doorway with his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets. “Do I just start?”

“What information are you pretending to be after?” Sahota asked, hardly shifting in his seat. Hunter wished he'd slouch, or sneeze, or yawn, or do something a normal human would do. 

“I dunno,” he said, eyes darting away from the stiff slate shape of him, looking for anything shinier. “Your birthday or whatever.”

“Creative bunch.”

Hunter scowled, pulling his hands from his pockets and pinching a fresh cut that cracked through the back of his hand like a line in a broken plate. A little shower of rose petals started pouring from it in reply. “Can I hit you?”

“Do it.” Sahota rolled his neck, shrugging his shoulders like he was prepping himself for the first blow. “Is that your plan for Finley?”

“I don't have a plan for Finley,” Hunter said. “I didn’t ask to do this. You can just kill her for all I care.” That's what Vic had said to do. Why was Sahota of all people trying something different? He was in the spy shit too, shouldn’t he know better? Didn't he want to follow Vic?

The trainer’s gray sat plain and stony as Hunter talked, not the slightest flash of surprise, or approval, or even just being pissed off that he didn’t want to play along popping up.

“Are you going to participate?” he asked in a flat voice. “Or should I have you send for Davis?”

He'd like that, wouldn't he? Hunter leaving, giving up, going away. What would he think, if he knew that Vic wanted him here, if he knew that maybe, maybe Vic liked him better?

“I’ll play the stupid game,” Hunter said, rubbing his knuckles. “Just wanted you to know that it’s stupid.” A pattern had begun to swirl around them, starting out small and starry and distorting into silvery splatters. They might’ve been a warning, but Hunter didn’t know for what. That Sahota would get pissed and try to beat him up? That he’d try and kick him off the team? Fat chance, not when Vic was here to say otherwise.

“What’s your birthday?” he muttered. Sahota replied with a silent stare, his stupid gray color unchanging, his stupid expression stony and blank. Fuckin' statue.

Hunter hit him. Not hard, or anything. A little backhanded stroke across the face that didn't draw the slightest ripple through Sahota's gray. The back of his hand stung with the blow. Roses.

Sahota planted the even stare on him again, like he was challenging him, saying, ‘is that all you got?’

Hunter’s upper lip pulled back into a snarl. “When’s your birthday?” he said again, practically spitting the words out. The splattering silver whirled around him like a tornado. He tried not to look at it. He didn’t need his headache getting any worse.

Sahota still didn’t answer, so Hunter popped him across the other cheek.

“Do you really think this will get you anywhere?”

“You think I’d fucking know that?” Hunter snapped. “I’m not a psycho like you. I never tortured anyone.”

That seemed to have an effect, the gray getting a few shades darker in the middle of Sahota’s chest. Hunter’s mouth tipped up in a grin.

“S’wrong?” he said, circling the chair in an unhurried stride. “Don't like being called out on it?”

But just as fast, the gray was gone, and Sahota was quiet again. Of fucking course.

“When's your birthday?” Hunter said, this time leaning over the trainer's shoulder to hiss it into his ear.

“You’re sloppy,” Sahota replied, not seeming to care when Hunter popped him in the jaw. Barely even a grimace.

Sloppy. Just like he'd said when they fought the first time. Well who was the one getting hit? Sahota was sloppy, for letting the rest of the team have their way when an easier solution was right in front of them.

“When's your birthday?”

“Is that all you have to say? Does your entire plan revolve around asking the same question on repeat?”

“I told you, I don't have a fucking plan,” Hunter snapped, hitting him a little harder than he'd meant to. Closed fist tangling with the bruises on his cheek, reopening the cut that cracked his knuckles, rose petals.

That got a little gasp from Sahota. A blinking wince that made Hunter hesitate, his fist dropping to swing at his side.

I'm sorry. He wasn't. Sahota asked to do this, Sahota said he could hit him. He could take punches, they could both take punches, it was no big deal.

“I want to listen to Vic,” he said in a small voice. “I want to just… just kill her. If that's the easy way.”

Sahota's eyes narrowed. “You've never killed anyone.”

“Don't pretend you know me,” Hunter said, his voice rising again. “You don't know shit.”

He had, probably. He'd never actually watched them die, but he'd been in enough gunfights and brawls and shit that he'd probably killed someone. “I don't care, anyway,” he said, taking a half step backwards. The silver-spatter pattern swirled faster now, dizzy and bright. “Vic knows best, so if he says that's what we should do…”

“Vic doesn't always know best,” Sahota said. “Not for you.”

There it was. Hunter scowled, scanning the trainer's shape, seeing no sign of the jealous black cracks that had come crawling out of his throat before. Not like that meant shit. Maybe they weren't jealousy. He didn't know fuckall about what they could be because he didn't know fuckall about Sahota.

“What do you know about what's best?” he grumbled. Maybe he should've gone to Vic about this bright idea after all. Maybe this had all been a ploy to trick Hunter into going against Vic’s idea, to highlight him as a problem, to make him another outsider.

“I know this isn't the life you want," Sahota replied. "Finish this job and get out, or you'll end up wishing you had.”

Had Vic told him about the plan? About letting him stay? Was he just spouting this bullshit because he couldn't stand the thought of Hunter sticking around?

“You don't know what I want,” Hunter spat. “There’s nothing else for me. There's nothing else to want.”

Sahota grimaced. His gray was starting to darken at the center again, spreading like black clouds. “Harbor—”

“You want me to get out?” Hunter cut him off. “Fucking fine, I'll get out. Already said this was stupid.”

The green, the burning of chlorine in his nose hit him before he could turn around. Vic.

“Done already?” the handler asked in a voice that was danger-quiet. Like if Hunter answered wrong there'd be trouble. He'd heard it before. With teachers at school, with his dad at home, with Rex and the syndicate. 

He froze. Sometimes the best answer was silence.

“I heard you're running them through an impromptu training exercise, Sahota,” Vic said, and Hunter realized the tone wasn't for him. He felt the tension seep away from his shoulders; vines unwinding and hanging there like deadweight limbs.

“Quite an interesting lesson plan today.”

“It's a demonstration, sir.” Sahota’s eyes dropped. “Proof that interrogation doesn't work the way they think.”

“Oh? Do you not think my word is proof enough for them?”

“I didn't mean that.”

Vic clicked his tongue. “I was under the impression that today's training was meant to be a little more standardized. Was that a lie?”

“No, I… it seemed like something too small to bother you with. Once they failed, we'd move on. Nothing would change.”

“So you'd rather keep it from me.”

“No, sir.”

Vic let out a little hm, letting silence sit prickly in the room for what was probably a full minute before he spoke again. “I do apologize for interrupting.”

Sahota didn't lift his gaze. Or even say anything.

“It's fine,” Hunter put in. “This is a waste of time anyway. Right? We should just—”

“No no, it's not my place to swoop in and change the curriculum for the day,” Vic said, letting out a small sigh. “I'm sure it's exactly as beneficial as you say, Sahota.”

Hunter didn't know why the change in his tone wasn't letting him relax, why the splatters in the air were turning razored at the edges, why some anxious color was starting to squeeze him again.

“In fact, why don't I watch the rest of the lesson? It's interrogation, right? You're letting them ask you questions?”

“Yes, sir,” Sahota said in a flat voice. 

“Wonderful. Hunter?”

“Yeah?”

“Carry on.”

Hunter shook his hands loose, nervous energy bundling up in his fingers, tiny vines tangling between them like thread. Sticky and annoying. Vic wanted to watch? But what if he fucked it up? What if he wasn't good enough? 

“When's your birthday?” he asked, his tone emptier than it had been before. Sahota didn't answer, just like before. Hunter hit him, not like before. This time he was careful to aim for even, unbruised color, to pull back on the blow.

He turned back to face Vic, feet shuffling him away from the man in the chair. “That's what I've been doing, Vi—sir. Pretty much just that.” Nothing to see here, no reason to watch, to find faults.

Vic chuckled. “And this is your idea of an interrogation?”

Hunter shrugged, letting out a quiet, “guess so.” Vic couldn't blame him for being bad at it, right? He'd never done this before, so it wasn't his fault, right? All he had to go off of was movies and the bloodied remains of Rex’s discarded rivals, and at the time he was too busy hoping it would never be him dead on the cement to memorize the fucking injuries.

“Here.” His handler stood, laying a hand on his shoulder, gently guiding him so he was standing in front of Sahota again.

Silent, stony, Sahota.

“Let me help you out.” Vic pressed something into his hand. Cold metal, warmed by fingerprints. He didn't want to glance down, but it was from Vic, so he made himself look, eyes confirming the shape that he held. Brass knuckles.

A thought sped through his mind as he looked at them, wondering whether Vic just always had the weapon with him, or if he'd packed it for the occasion, if he knew this would be the outcome before he'd even stepped into the room.

“Try them on.”

Metal slipped past his fingertips to circle his knuckles, the shiny brown quickly choked out by dull green vines. Vic patted him on the shoulder.

“Looks good on you.”

Something pleasant zipped through Hunter at the words, but it felt wrong, out of place

“Go on, Hunter. Hit him again. And this time, don't hold back.” Vic squeezed his shoulder. “Let's show you what a real interrogation can look like.”

Hunter clenched his fist around the metal that enclosed them, letting it pinch the skin on the inside of his fingers. Hit him again, hit him with a weapon, hurt him, why did Vic want him to hurt him? Weren't he and Sahota partners?

“Vic…”

“What are you waiting for?” The handler leaned in, hands on his shoulders, lips on his ear. “Show me you can handle this much. Show me you belong here.”

Hunter tried to steady himself with an inhale, but the chlorine smell was choking him and the room was all dizzy from the spinning silver. He kept upright, locking his gaze on the man in the chair who sat stiff-backed. Unflinching.

He didn't want to hit him, he didn't want to hit him again, he hadn't even wanted to watch him get hit on the video two days ago but it was what Vic wanted.

The black cracks were back, branching out from the pit of Sahota's throat as they met eyes, and Hunter knew then that it wasn't hatred. It wasn't annoyance, or even jealousy.

It was fear.

~~~

@theonewithallthefixations , @violets-whumperflies , @whump-me , @pirefyrelight , @soheavyaburden , @snakebites-and-ink , @whumpsday , @kixngiggles , @echo-goes-aaa

[thewillofdeez]

50/50: A Shanks/OC (and Beckman/OC) Romance - Chapter 5: Strength and Love

Summary: A twenty year journey of friendship, love, and heartache between Shanks and the woman he loves.

Chapter 5 word count: 6746 (another long one, sorry!)

Notes: Enter: baby Luffy! And some romance (finally).

The last part of this chapter required me to learn the names of different parts of a sailing ship. So in order to make it easier for you to visualize, I made a diagram which you can find here.

Enjoy! The story will be in Foosha Village for 1-2 more chapters.

I also finally got a job after 9 months of unemployment, and so am going to do my damndest to get this and my other WIPs done or close to it before I start!

The celebration of Shanks and Riley’s reconciliation went on well into the night, but Riley excused herself from the party around eleven o’clock - she had to be up early tomorrow, after all. She was grateful when Shanks snuck into her room less than an hour later and wrapped his arms around her, planting a kiss on her shoulder and falling asleep behind her in a matter of minutes.

At the party, she and Shanks had been back to their old selves, affectionate, laughing, and once again comfortable in each other’s presence. Shanks and Snake had let her know that they’d be looking for a nearby island to settle down in while she trained, somewhere quiet and out of the way where they could dock for about a year. He felt she’d have better resources at her disposal on land, and it would allow the crew to focus on training her with less interference from Marines or other pirates. Here in the East Blue, the calmest of the seas, they’d find something in no time.  Riley had expressed concern about how the rest of the crew would feel about being on land for so long. “Don’t worry about it,” Shanks had said with a sly grin “I’ll tell them to think of it as an extended vacation for everyone except you.”

The next morning, Riley rose from her bed, careful not to disturb Shanks who grunted and rolled over when she removed herself from his grasp. Energy was coursing through her body. She was finally going to get what she wanted. She was finally going to be stronger, a fighter. Maybe not on the same level as some of the guys who had been doing it for years, but that’s not something she cared about. She cared that she was getting to do it at all. 

Riley dressed and readied herself for the morning, donning comfortable, workout-friendly clothes, then made her way to the mess hall. Beckman was already there, as were Lucky and some of the kitchen crew. Beckman placed a plate overflowing with bacon, eggs, and sausage in front of her, the single piece of toast on the side almost looking out of place. Riley’s eyes widened - he wanted her to eat all of this? What?

“If you wanna get stronger, you need more fuel for your body. You eat like a bird.”

“Actually, birds eat quite a lot. Ya know, so they can fly,” she responded with a smirk.

“Then you eat like something that doesn’t eat a lot. Chow down, get some protein in you.”

Over breakfast, Beckman filled Riley in on what his plan for her would be over the next four months. When she was full to bursting with meat and eggs, Beckman took pity and helped her finish the last few slices of bacon. They then made their way to the upper deck to begin Riley’s training.

They began with stretching, then moved onto conditioning exercises. Beckman would tell her what they were going to do, demonstrate good form, and give her a number of reps to work on, noting where her body strength was good and where it needed work as he got an idea of what her baseline capabilities were. Her legs were decently strong, and her core wasn’t bad. Improving her upper body strength was going to take a hell of a lot of work, though, he mused as he watched her struggle to get a quarter of the way into a pull-up.

By the time most of the crew was making their way onto the deck to begin their duties for the day, the two had finished up their workout.

“So,” Beckman asked, “How do you feel?”

“I feel great, actually!” Riley responded, the endorphin rush making her feel light and energized.

Beckman chuckled and lit up a cigarette. “Give it time. You’re gonna be in the most pain you’ve ever felt in your life tomorrow morning. I’ll give you the day off to let your body rest, then we’ll resume the day after.”

“What?!” Riley objected, “But we just got started! I don’t want to take a day off already.”

“Trust me, you’re gonna need it.”

And Beckman was right. The next morning, Riley awoke and tried to make her way out of bed - key word being tried. Every muscle in her body was sore and stiff and required incredible effort to move. Just getting dressed was an ordeal.

Riley slowly made her way to the mess hall, where Shanks, Beckman, and the senior officers were gathered around their usual table. She braced her hands against the edge of the table and slowly lowered herself into a seat next to Shanks, her face grimacing at the burn in her thighs. The surrounding men couldn’t help but laugh.

“So glad you guys find my anguish amusing,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Awww Rye, we’re not laughing at your pain!” said Yasopp.

“I am!” said Shanks. Riley swatted him swiftly, then winced at the movement.

“It’ll get better, Riley. Promise,” Beckman said, pushing a plate in her direction. More meat and eggs, and that lonely piece of toast, the sole carb amidst a mountain of protein.

“By the way, we think we’ve found a good place to dock for a while,” said Snake, unfurling a map before Riley. “We’re approaching Dawn Island, home of the Goa Kingdom. There’s a small village on the outskirts of the city. It’s quiet and out of the way, and hopefully the people there won’t give us any trouble. We should be there by this evening.”

Riley examined the map, noting the small windmill drawings surrounding Foosha Village on the southeast side of the island.

“Sounds perfect,” she said. After breakfast, she slowly lifted herself from her seat, wincing in pain. “I’m going to go take a very long, very hot bath.”

That evening, just as predicted, the crew arrived on Dawn Island. Standing on the deck as the crew worked around her to furl the sails, Riley noticed the townspeople stopping to stare at their imposing ship, by far the largest at the docks. Some people ushered their children into their houses, while others closed and locked their shutters. She figured they probably didn’t get a ton of pirates around here, and couldn’t blame them for being scared.

The crew stepped off the ship and walked through the town, led by Shanks, Beckman, and Riley, seeking out a place for dinner and drinks. Riley was still in pain, and desperately craved a beer. 

As it always was with the Red Hair Pirates, landing on a new island was cause for celebration. So was leaving the island, and just about any day in between where they could find an excuse to do so. Shanks, at Riley’s insistence, had instituted a rule several years before after she’d had one too many instances of being unable to sleep off her own hangover because everyone else was also hungover and wanted her to help them: no partying without a cause for celebration. Unfortunately for Riley, Shanks accepted just about anything as a cause for celebration, and he exploited this loophole constantly. He’d made it up to her by instructing the crew to get their own water and painkillers from the med bay if Riley was also too hungover to assist.

Finding a small pub called Party’s Bar, the crew filed in. The green-haired woman behind the bar had a shocked look on her face - whether it was because there were now 60 people crowding into the small building or because they were pirates, she wasn’t sure. 

Riley approached the bar with a smile. “Don’t worry,” she said, “We’re not here to cause trouble, just have some food and a few drinks, and I promise we’re paying customers. Are you able to accommodate so many?”

The barkeeper was taken aback for a second, then nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, of course! Please, make yourselves comfortable.” If what the female pirate said was true, she was set to make more money in a single night than she had in ages. She ran to the kitchen and ordered the whole crew to come out, distribute menus, and begin pouring drinks. She was grateful for the timing of the shipment of rum and beer they’d just received that day, and made a note to put in another order tomorrow.

The barkeeper introduced herself as Makino. Riley, Shanks, and Beckman introduced themselves and the rest of the officers as the drinks began to flow and the smell of cooking food permeated the bar. Makino was surprised that these pirates, as opposed to others who had visited her bar, or, more commonly, some of the fouler bands of mountain bandits, were actually quite kind and fun, if a bit rowdy. She found their red-haired captain to be particularly charming, and blushed as he flirted with her.

As dinner died down and the drinking began in earnest, Riley found herself deep in conversation with Makino. She always pounced on any opportunity to talk to another woman.

“So it’s just you and 59 men?” Makino had asked, amazed.

“Yup,” Riley replied, taking a sip of her beer. “We’ve yet to find any other women who want to join, but I’m still holding out hope.”

“She tolerates us,” Beckman said with a smile.

“Honestly, they’re not a bad group of guys,” Riley said, wrapping an arm affectionately around Beckman’s waist. His arm rested around her shoulders in return. “I’ve met much worse men who aren’t pirates. I mean, sure, they’re loud and gross and –”

“Devastatingly handsome,” Shanks cut in, bringing his face close to Riley’s with a smolder. “Sexy. Muscular. Well-end–” Riley placed her hand on his face and pushed him away.

“Most of them aren’t bad,” she continued. “This guy, however, needs to be kept on a leash. And perhaps a muzzle.”

Makino giggled and poured them another round.

“Stop it, old man, let me GO!” The crew turned towards the commotion as a small child burst into the bar, an older man in tow. “I wanna see the pirates!”

The small boy with a mop of thick, black hair ran towards the bar.

“Luffy, get out of here!” Makino admonished. “You can’t be in here so much past your bedtime!”

Shanks laughed and lowered himself to his knees, closer to the boy’s level.

“Hey there, kiddo. What’s your name?”

“Luffy,” the child responded, a finger up his nose.

“Nice to meet ya, Luffy. I’m Shanks, and this is my crew, the Red Hair Pirates. Say hi to the kid, boys!”

“Hi, Luffy!” the crew responded in unison, raising their mugs.

Luffy burst into a fit of giggles. The older man who had been pursuing the boy stormed in and grabbed him by the arm. “Luffy, if your grandfather knew you were in a bar with pirates at six years old he’d have my head! Come on, let’s go!” He then turned to Shanks. “And as for you, I don’t take too kindly to pirates in my village, but I also won’t turn you away as long as you don’t cause any trouble.”

“Don’t worry about it, sir," Shanks responded in his most diplomatic voice, "We’re not here to cause trouble, just to take a nice long rest. I promise, you’ll barely notice we’re here.”

The older man, who they later learned was Woop Slap, the village’s mayor, narrowed his eyes at Shanks but accepted his response. He turned and dragged Luffy from the bar.

“Bye Shanks! Bye Red Hair Pirates!” the boy cried. “See ya tomorrow!”

The crew laughed and waved as they left.

“He’s a sweet kid,” Makino said. 

“No parents, I take it?” asked Beckman.

“Not to my knowledge,” she replied. “He does have a grandfather who’s a Vice Admiral with the Navy. He’s not around a lot so we all sort of take care of Luffy as a community. If he bothers you, just let me know.”

Shanks only laughed in response.

Over the next months, the crew grew quite comfortable in the small village. Riley was approaching the end of her four months of training with Beckman, Luffy became a common presence among the crew (much to the mayor’s dismay), and the Red Hair Pirates were a normal sight at the bar and around town. True to Shanks’s word, they didn’t cause any trouble, and the townspeople began growing used to their presence. They did have a way of endearing themselves to others, Riley found herself musing one day as she watched a few crew members help a family in town fix a broken window. Luffy swore he had nothing to do with it.

At Party’s Bar one evening, Riley sat at a table with Bonk, Snake, and Limejuice, but found her eyes wandering towards the bar. Shanks was flirting with Makino, who was loving his attention and returning it in kind. She knew they’d become something of an item over the last few weeks - how could she not, her bedroom was right next to Shanks’s and the man had never been known for being a quiet lover. They did appear to be keeping the relationship somewhat quiet, however, and she wasn’t sure if it was for Makino’s sake or Shanks’s. He’d never been one to hide his lovers or help them sneak quietly off the ship, so either he was trying to protect the barkeeper’s reputation or there was something different about this relationship. Riley wasn’t sure which, but she was grateful for the nights he stayed at Makino’s, for no other reason than she enjoyed her sleep, and it made keeping her own secret a little easier. 

Shanks had always been a flirt and was constantly the center of female attention. She’d seen him leave bars with dozens of women in their time together, but this one seemed different somehow. Perhaps it was the increasingly long-term nature of their situation, or it could be something else.

Of course, Riley had had a number of situationships of her own over the years. The life of a pirate wasn’t built to be relationship-friendly, and so they all needed to enjoy what they could when they got it, and there was no judgment amongst the crew over whatever that was. Riley allowed her mind to wander, remembering some of those men from over the years.

First, there had been the swordsman friend of Shanks’s, Mihawk, back in the early days of the crew. She had found the golden-eyed man to be irresistibly charming, despite his otherwise cold exterior, and he’d found himself quite taken with her in turn. It became the closest thing to a loving, serious relationship Riley had ever had - Mihawk had only intended to hitch a ride with the Red Hair Pirates until they reached his destination, but what should have been a few weeks wound up being the better part of a year, with much of the man’s time being spent either clashing steel with Shanks or in Riley’s bed. Eventually, though, they’d had to part ways. Mihawk wasn’t interested in joining Shanks’s crew (though Shanks had tried to convince him more than once), and Riley wasn’t interested in leaving the crew to travel with Mihawk. The split was painful for the both of them, but it was amicable, and when their paths occasionally crossed over the years, they’d still have some fun together.

Then there was Marco, the captain of Whitebeard’s first division and the crew’s doctor. Whenever the Red Hair Pirates and the Whitebeard Pirates met, Riley never knew what she was going to get. Whitebeard and Gold Roger had been bitter rivals, but also held immense respect for each other. Shanks’s relationship with the enormous man was much the same - though they often steered clear of each other’s path, occasionally situations would bring them together. Sometimes it was tense, and Shanks received his now-signature three scars over his left eye from Marshall Teach on one particularly rough occasion. (Incidentally, Yasopp had thought his captain’s new scars were so cool that he had immediately re-designed the crew’s jolly roger.) But sometimes it wasn’t and the two crews were able to intermingle peacefully.

Riley had always enjoyed her occasional interactions with Marco - she didn’t get to meet other doctors very often, and so jumped at the opportunity to trade stories and knowledge with one whenever she could, even if they were technically an enemy. Marco was intelligent and funny, and she could talk to him for hours when given the chance. One night aboard the Moby Dick as the two crews mingled, Riley and Marco had sat together talking animatedly over their shared interest in medicine and exchanging stories of their crews. As the night grew later and their bodies inched closer together, Marco eventually captured her lips in a kiss, which Riley returned with enthusiasm.

“My room?” he’d said, to which Riley nodded, a sly grin on her face. As Marco grabbed her by the hand and led her into the ship, she could hear Whitebeard’s thunderous laugh.

Then there was Beckman. She had never intended to start anything with Beckman, it had just sort of happened. The two had always been close, and the time they spent training together every day brought them even closer. Perhaps there was something about the way he’d touch her gently, correcting her form, or how proud he looked of her when she pushed herself to her limits. When she’d successfully completed her first pull-up, he’d brought her a beer to chug in celebration, then promptly made her do nine more.

Riley knew Beckman had been thrilled with her progress so far, and could see it in the way he looked at her. But it wasn’t just pride, there was something else there, too. And one day on the beach as he held her feet down and coached her through a set of sit-ups, he couldn’t help but kiss her as she brought her body up towards her knees. Riley had been quite shocked at first, but quickly returned the kiss, looping her arms behind his neck and dragging him back down with her, his body over top of hers.

And that was how it began. With Makino keeping Shanks occupied and their location seemingly safe, he hadn’t been joining her to sleep as much. Instead, Beckman had taken his place in her room, or her in his as the case sometimes was. It was just sex, at least at this point, and the two didn’t feel the need to announce it to the crew, so they kept it quiet. But they also felt a little guilty about their secret, especially when it came to Shanks.

On the other side of the bar, as his crewmates chatted boisterously, Beckman found himself musing over much the same kind of thing Riley was. He watched her with a smile on his face as she laughed at a stupid joke Bonk had made. He really, really liked seeing her laugh. Beckman was sort of terrified of the way he was beginning to feel about her. He’d been with a lot of women, but never like this.

The issue was Shanks. Not that he thought the captain would have a problem with his second in command and doctor being in a relationship on principle, but there was an unspoken question. Or, more accurately, a question Beckman had tried to broach with Shanks before but had been shot down: he still wasn’t sure where Shanks stood on having feelings for Riley. He knew his captain well enough to know that it was probably more than platonic, but all Shanks had ever done was avoid or deny it. And now that Beckman found himself developing feelings for Riley, he wasn’t sure what to do with that. And Shanks was spending quite a lot of time with Makino, so did he even still harbor feelings for Riley at all, or had he moved on? It was getting complicated, and he desperately wanted to figure it out, if only Shanks would just be fucking honest with him.

Deciding to step outside for a cigarette, Beckman caught Riley’s eye and nodded in the direction of the door. She understood and excused herself from the table, grabbing her drink and following him onto the porch. The night was warm and still, and the lights in the houses along the street began slowly switching off as the residents of Foosha Village turned in for the night.

Riley leaned over the railing, drink in her hand, and Beckman settled in next to her, his lighter illuminating his face for just a moment.

“You think we should tell Shanks about us, don’t you?” Riley said.

Beckman nodded. “I do. I don’t like keeping secrets, even if they’re harmless. He’s our best friend, and our captain, and he should know if two of his senior officers are…doing what we’re doing. But I also think we need to figure out what us is first.”

Riley knew he was right. They knew they were friends. They knew the sex was amazing. But they also knew that there was something much, much more there. “What do you want us to be?”

Beckman exhaled smoke into the air, then turned to look at her. “Long-term, I don’t know. But I do know you’re more to me than a friend at this point. A lot more.”

Riley couldn’t stop the grin that split her face. “I feel the same, Beck.”

Beckman smiled and grabbed her hand, bringing it up to plant a gentle kiss on it. “Don’t think this means I’m gonna go easy on you in training” he said with a mischievous grin. “If anything, I’m just gonna push you harder.”

Riley laughed. “I’d expect nothing less. Let me close out our tabs and we’ll get out of here?”

“Yeah, I’d like that. And hey, do you mind if I’m the one to talk to Shanks? I got a few other things to bring up to him as well.”

“Not at all. Tomorrow?”

Beckman nodded. “Tomorrow.”

Riley disappeared into the bar and returned a few minutes later. She grabbed Beckman’s hand, and the two walked back to the ship, together.

The next morning Beckman found Shanks drinking his coffee on the upper deck and went to join him. Much of the crew wasn’t up yet, and he’d decided to give Riley the day off from training as he’d kept her up awfully late the night before. “‘Morning, cap.”

“Beck,” Shanks acknowledged with a smile.

For a moment the two stood in silence, the sun creeping over the horizon. “Shanks, I need to talk to you about something.”

“Is it about you and Riley?” Shanks replied with a knowing grin. Beckman was taken aback. Shanks laughed. “Come on, man, your rooms are right next to mine. You really think I didn’t know?”

Beckman blushed a little. “We’ve…been trying to keep quiet. I’ve got the bite marks on my shoulder as proof.”

“Nahh, it’s not about noise,” Shanks assured him. “I can hear sometimes, sure, but mostly I’ve just seen you sneaking in and out of each other’s rooms.”

“I’m sorry, Shanks. We didn’t want to keep it from you any more. We both felt bad about it honestly, and thought you needed to know, especially now that it’s becoming….something else.”

“You’re in love with her,” Shanks said softly.

Beckman sighed, a smile crossing his features. “Yeah, I am. And I think she loves me too.”

Shanks patted his friend affectionately on the back. “I’m happy for you, man. And for Riley. Can’t say I didn’t see it coming.”

“So you’re okay with it? I mean, from a captain’s perspective?”

“Of course!” Shanks said, almost offended at the implication. “Beck, I trust you both more than anyone else in the world. I know you’d never do anything to jeopardize your positions on this crew and your relationship with each other as friends and crewmates. And yeah, you technically have authority over her, which has the potential to get dicey, but I’m here to help with that if it ever becomes an issue. And look, if it works out, great. If it doesn’t, I know you’ll both handle it appropriately and things would eventually go back to normal. That’s not a concern for me at all.”

Beckman remained silent as relief washed over him. Shanks knew. He was okay with it. Hell, he was downright supportive. Now for the hard part.

“Shanks, I’m gonna ask you something and I need you to answer me honestly this time. Not just as your second in command but as your friend. Okay?” Shanks nodded. He knew what was coming. “Do you have feelings for Riley?”

Shanks let out a sigh. The time for denying and avoiding was over. “It’s complicated, Beck. The simple answer is yes. To some extent, at least. I won’t deny that the feelings I have for her are more than just friendship.”

“Then I’m gonna call it off with her,” Beckman said decisively. “I love her, but if you have feelings for her too I’m not gonna do anything that will cause problems between us.”

“Beck, no, just….just listen,” Shanks replied quickly. “The complex answer is that I would never act on those feelings. I know she doesn’t feel the same, and even if she did I’m her captain. We couldn’t be anything, and I have no intention of ever pursuing her. At least, not unless I knew she wanted me to. Which she doesn’t and probably never will.”

“And Makino?”

Shanks huffed out a laugh. “I like her. A lot, actually. I wouldn’t say it’s love for either of us, but it’s been…really, really nice. She and I both agree that this is a temporary thing, and we’re enjoying our time together while it lasts. Honestly, I think having her around has really helped with the whole ‘unrequited feelings’ thing. She knows that too.”

“And what about after? When we leave here for good? Do you think it’ll be a problem?”

“Nah. I’ve been silently pining over Riley for like a year now. It’s just a state of being at this point, and I’ll get over it in time. I want her to be happy and I want you to be happy. If you’re happy together, then I’m happy for you.” Shanks looked a little sad, but Beckman knew he was being honest.

Beckman sighed. That was about the answer he expected. He couldn’t deny he felt a little weird, being with the woman his best friend also harbored feelings for, even if Shanks claimed to be okay with it. But Beckman trusted Shanks at his word, and knew Shanks would never jeopardize their friendship.

“Got it. Thank you, Shanks.” He clapped the younger man on the shoulder, then turned and walked away.

“Hey,” Shanks said, grabbing his attention. Beckman turned. “You take care of her, okay? Make her happy.”

Beckman smiled. “I will.”

Just a few months later, Riley was about ready to finish the first phase of her training, getting stronger with her now-open boyfriend Beckman. The crew had taken the news of their relationship well, and she was thrilled to not be sneaking around anymore.

Of course, Beckman couldn’t consider her training complete without testing her. He took the role of her trainer seriously, and before he could allow her to move onto hand-to-hand combat, he had to make sure she was not only strong enough, but was able to use the skills he had taught her. Their training hadn’t just been about physical strength, though that was certainly a key component. But it also involved balance, agility, and being able to think quickly on her feet. He’d designed her training keeping in mind the numerous unlikely physical dangers he’d found himself in over his years of piracy: being chased by wild animals, dodging arrows, climbing rock cliffs, and so on. In order to make sure she was adequately prepared, he’d tried to factor in a variety of challenges without having to actually shoot at her with arrows. 

The best way to do that, he figured, was to make her use her skills in facing one of her biggest fears: heights. Beckman knew Riley had always been terrified of heights, but the fact was that being comfortable in high places would one day come in handy for her, if not be outright necessary for her survival. So he came up with a plan.

On the last morning of this phase of her training, Beckman brought Riley onto the upper deck. She was surprised that not only was the whole crew there, but a number of people from town had gathered on the docks below. Luffy had a place of honor with Shanks on the captain’s chair. Whatever was going on, she was sure it was a big deal.

“You ready?” Beckman asked.

“I think so?” Riley replied, looking around. “What’s going on?”

“It’s your final test.”

Riley grinned. “You didn’t tell me there would be a test. I didn’t even study.”

Beckman leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Not that kind of test. It’s a test of your strength and skill.”

“All right then. What are we doing?”

Beckman looked up, and Riley followed his gaze. “We’re gonna climb it.”

Riley did a double take. “You mean the ship?”

“Yup,” he said with a grin. “First we’ll take the rope net up the main mast. Once we reach the middle crow’s nest you’ll have to climb the rest of the way with just your body strength and a belt for support. Then from the upper crow’s nest, you’re going to jump to the yard of the top mizzen sail. You’ll climb halfway down the ropes, jump onto the lateen, and run up the rig.”

“And then?” she asked, her voice shaky. “How do we get down?”

Beckman only grinned. “You’ll see. Ready?”

“Beck, I don’t–”

“Hey,” he cut her off, placing a comforting hand on her face. “Trust me. I’d never let anything bad happen to you, and I wouldn’t have you do this if I didn’t think you could handle it. I’ll be with you the whole time. Okay?”

Riley smiled and leaned into his touch. “Okay.”

“Then let’s get started. You wanna go first, or should I?”

“I’ll start, at least for now.” Riley brought herself to the rope netting leading up the main mast. This part she could do. She’d been on them before. Never all the way up, sure, but this part she could do.

She took a deep breath and began the climb. A series of whoops and cheers broke out from the crowd below, and echoes of “You can do it, Riley!” Riley smiled and took the first step onto the rope net. One hand up and one foot up, then the other side. She kept her eyes on the crow’s nest above her, and before she knew it, she had reached the platform. That wasn’t so bad, she thought. A few minutes later, Beckman joined her.

“Good job, darlin',” he said, bending down to give her a kiss.

“Can I get one of those after every part?” Riley said with a grin.

“If it’ll help,” Beckman replied. “But you gotta earn it. Here,” he handed her a wide leather strap, with the ends wrapped in string for a better grip. “We’ve done this on trees before. Get the strap around the mast, high as you can go. Jump and get your legs around the mast as much as possible, using your legs to put pressure on it. Get yourself steady, move the strap up, and repeat. It’s about twenty-five or thirty feet to the top.”

Twenty-five or thirty feet from where she was, meaning it was about sixty feet from the top of the mast to the deck. She’d possibly survive that fall if she needed to, if she didn’t break her spine on the crow’s nest on the way down. Bracing the strap around the mast, she began the climb. Move the strap up, pull her body up, wrap her legs, and repeat. She found that as long as she kept looking up, she was fine, though she couldn’t deny she was aware of the ever-increasing height. The wind was stronger up here than it was on the deck, and it whipped through her hair, which she really wished she had thought to pull back.

She didn’t know how long it took, but she made it. Riley took the opportunity to look out over the sea before her, as well as at the town below, seeing dozens of people on the ground as well as the pirates on deck cheering. She couldn’t deny their support felt good. Looking out to sea, she saw that it was really quite lovely from up here. She allowed herself to enjoy the view as she waited for Beckman, not wanting to think about the next obstacle.

Beckman’s head poked up through the bottom of the crow’s nest a minute later. She offered him a hand and helped him up, and he took the opportunity to pull her into a kiss. “Two down, three to go,” he said.

“Three? The jump, running up the lateen….then what?”

Beckman only smiled. “Do you want me to go first?”

Riley looked out towards the mizzen mast, then brought her gaze to the deck below. It was a long drop.

"Yeah," she said, her voice small with fear. "Please."

Beckman grabbed one of the ropes for support and stepped up onto the edge of the crow's nest. "Remember when we did this up in the mountains over that crevasse? Bring all of your weight into your feet and bend your knees, then release it into your upper body and jump, stretching your legs wide. Just focus on me, okay?" Beckman then did exactly that, leaping widely and landing in a crouching position on the sail's yard. He moved to the side towards the crow’s nest to allow her room to land. Riley had remembered that crevasse, all right. It was barely three-quarters the length of what Beckman was asking her to do now.

Riley gripped the rope and took a shaky step up, balancing herself on the edge of the crow's nest. In attempting to look at her feet's positioning, she looked down. Below her she saw Shanks with a soft smile on his face, and Luffy perched on his lap, neither of them seeming particularly concerned about her falling on them. "YOU GOT THIS, RILEY!" Luffy called up to her. I got this.

Riley bent her knees and forced all of her energy into her legs. She met Beckman's eyes on the other side. Focus on him, she thought. Springing up from the crow's nest, she leapt, legs spread wide. It couldn't have possibly taken more than a few seconds, but for Riley the time she spent in mid-air with no support to speak of and the deck so far below her felt like forever. But it was getting closer. She saw Beckman. She saw the yard. She was going to make it.

The goal was so close, and her stomach dropped as she realized her feet were dipping below the top of the sail. Reaching out an arm, she managed to grasp the yard with one hand. She felt her body collide with the furled sail as her fingers gripped the rounded wooden support with every ounce of energy she had. It was probably fortunate that she was too scared to notice the crowd's gasp.

Beckman walked towards her, balancing so easily on the narrow purchase it was almost annoying.

"Beck, help me up," she said, trying to extend her other arm towards him.

Beckman, the man who supposedly loved her, crossed his arms. "Nope. You can do it."

Riley's fingers were slowly slipping, the sweat on them causing her to lose friction.

"Beckman, I'm not fucking kidding, please, help me!"

He crouched down to be closer to her. "Riley. Remember what I said. There's nothing I'm asking you to do that I'm not confident you can handle. Trust yourself." He pushed a loose chunk of hair behind her ear, then rose and walked back towards the crow’s nest.

Trust myself. Okay. Step one, get a better grip. The furled sail pressed against her, but she could use its folds and ropes for support. She brought a leg up into the folds of the sail, then boosted her body up, allowing her to grab onto the support and loop her arms and legs around it, like a right side up sloth.

Okay. I did it. Now to stand up. Riley slowly brought herself to all fours, carefully placing her hands and knees on the narrow beam. She slowly rose to a kneeling position, then standing. The wind was strong, and she instinctively bent her knees for stability, bringing her body weight into her legs. The crowd below let out its biggest cheer yet. She looked up to see Beckman beaming at her, his hand extended. She walked towards him and he brought her in for a kiss.

"Great job, baby. I knew you could do it," he said with a smile.

"I'm probably going to be very, very angry at you later," she replied, her heart pounding in her chest.

Beckman chuckled. "I'll take that risk. Come on, we're almost done."

He guided her around the crow’s nest and together they descended the rope net about two-thirds down the mast until the lateen was a short leap away.

"I'll go first," he said, "Remember, you need to run. Knees bent, feet facing slightly outward. Back straight, don't look at your feet so much that you lean forward." With one more quick kiss, he leapt from the ropes and onto the support, then made his way leisurely up the rig. When he reached the far end, he stopped and turned towards her, waiting.

Compared to what she just did, this would be easy. Riley turned so her back was to the ropes, then made the leap onto the beam. Both feet landed and she swayed back and forth for a moment, catching her balance. The crowd on the ship and in the town was going wild at this point. Looking towards land, it seemed almost the whole town had turned out for the show. She could even see Makino and Woop Slap in the crowd, cheering her on. She allowed the cheers of encouragement to wash over her. This was it. She was going to make it. 

Getting her feet and knees into position, Riley began to run up the steep angle of the rig. She reached Beckman in a matter of seconds, and he brought her close, lifting her off the beam and kissing her passionately.

"That wasn't so bad, huh?" he said.

"Compared to jumping onto the mizzen sail and almost dying? Easy."

Beckman chuckled. "We're almost done. Ready?"

She still wasn’t sure what she was supposed to be ready for, but at this point it didn’t really matter, did it? "Ready."

Beckman released her from his grip, then turned away and walked to the edge of the rig. When he leapt into the water below, she had to laugh.

Riley brought herself to the edge. It had to be at least seventy-five feet to the water. If she landed wrong, it could easily kill or paralyze her. She watched as Beckman swam out of the way, and she found herself remembering when they first met, his body soaked and with a half-dead Shanks in one arm. What a long way they'd come. Six years ago, she never would have thought this would be where they were, not in her wildest dreams.

She'd come this far. She couldn't back out now. Riley shut her eyes tightly and held her nose shut with two fingers…then she leapt, pointing her toes to break the water's surface pressure. The cold water shocked her as her body submerged deeper and deeper, before releasing its hold and allowing her to swim to the top. Breaking the surface, she pushed her wet hair out of her face with both hands and looked around for Beckman. He swam up to her and brought her in for a long, wet kiss.

"I love you, Riley," he said. "I'm so proud of you."

Riley laughed and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

"I love you too, Beck."

Previous - Chapter 4: Rescue and Reconciliation

Next - Coming soon

[currentlyfckingurmom]

Her Song part 8

"Don't be, Momma. I was just about to tell Scarlett and Florence how you're a stripper!" Oh god.

Scarlett and Florence abruptly look at me wide-eyed, and I laugh nervously. "I'm not- she doesn't even know what a stripper is."

"Yes I do. A stripper is a person who acts or dances in a seductive manner and gradually removes their clothing piece by piece, especially to the accompaniment of music. I looked it up," Syd states with a shrug.

"Oh god," I mumble to myself. "I'm not a stripper. I just, um..." I look to Ash for help, but she looks like she's about to piss herself laughing.

"Syd just means that...yeah, I got nothing. Sorry boss," Ash fails to give an excuse.

Sighing, I say "I was a stripper. I am not anymore." They nod, and Florence briefly rakes her eyes down my body, raising an eyebrow and smirking slightly. What the fuck. "Not that there's any shame in being a stripper," I quickly add. Maybe a little too quickly.

It gets uncomfortably quiet very fast, but luckily Ash 'saves' it. "Yeah, it just means that Y/N is very good with a pole. And lap dances." I slap my hand against my face and pray for someone to please make it stop. "Actually, I'm sure she'd be willing to show you guys," Ash adds.

"No, no I wouldn't. I mean I wouldn't be opposed to it, but I- no I'm not going to show you," I ramble, making it so much worse.

"What a shame, I'm sure Flo would love a demonstration," Scarlett says, smirking.

Florence blushes vibrantly and stumbles over her words, quickly averting her eyes from mine.

"Momma, are you sure they aren't your girlfriends?"

"Sydney, I swear to god I am going to sell you if you don't stop," I warn her, feeling like I am going to cry from embarrassment.

"Aw, don't sell her. She brings in nice tips," Ash says.

"Yeah, Mom. I bring in nice tips," the demon child sasses, blowing a raspberry at me.

"As...interesting as this has been, we should really get going," Scarlett says, trying not to laugh.

"Yes, but I'll see you tomorrow," Florence adds, looking directly at me. I smile lightly and nod, waving goodbye as they get up and leave.

Once they're gone, I groan loudly and drop my head against the counter. Syd scooches across the counter and lays her head on top of mine, mumbling "Sorry, Momma. Didn't mean to upset you."

"You didn't upset me, baby. I'm just...some parts of my past are better kept private, okay?"

"Okay."

"That was funny as shit though," Ash snorts, bursting out in laughter.

"Ash said shit!" Syd yells.

"So did you!" I yell back.

Chaos. My life is chaos.

Later that night, around eight o'clock, Ash is long gone and Syd is asleep in front of the TV while I clean up. I don't expect to get anymore customers tonight, but the bell above the door rings. I look up, and Florence is walking in, briefly looking over to Syd before shooting me a crooked smile and asking "Can we talk?"

"Yeah, of course," I say with furrowed eyebrows, motioning for her to sit next to me at the counter. She sits down and I ask "What's up?"

"Um, I just wanna apologize for earlier. I know that it was none of our business, and you probably didn't want us to know all that-"

"Flo," I cut her off, laughing. "It doesn't bother me, really. Sometimes kids just talk a lot. It's no big deal. I mean, my past employment is not exactly something I advertise, but I'm not really ashamed of it, either. I did what I had to do to support my kid. And it got me here, so..."

"Do you mind me asking why, uh, why you-"

"Why I danced for horny men?" I finish for her. "Syd is...I love her with all my heart and she's the best thing that's ever happened to me, but I didn't- I didn't exactly conceive her willingly. Then I was on my own at sixteen years old, so I moved here and worked at a small diner until she was about two months old. I just didn't have enough money, so I walked into a club and they hired me at seventeen. I did dance most of my childhood, so I guess it was just a good fit. I got better at it, and two years later I had enough money to quit and open this place up," I explain, gesturing to the shop around us.

"That's..." Florence swallows thickly and looks down at the counter. "I'm really sorry you had to deal with all that on your own."

"I'm not," I say with a smile, looking over at Syd. "I do the best I can, and I may not be the best mother, but I've done everything I can for that girl. I just want her to be happy, and I've gotten us to a good place."

"That's amazing, Y/N. Truly." I smile and blink away the tears that had misted over my eyes, holding eye contact with Florence. She looks down at my lips, her breath catching in her throat before she turns away from me.

"So you've made up with your dad since then?" she asks. I send her a questioning look and she says, "You were talking to him on the phone earlier."

"Oh...yeah, I guess," I answer shortly. As much as I like Florence, I don't know her well enough to get into all of that.

"Right, well, I should head home. It's getting late."

"Hey, wait, are you walking home?" I ask.

"Yes, why?"

"Let me give you a ride. It's not safe to walk alone at night."

"I can just call an Uber."

"Don't be ridiculous. We won't get any more customers tonight, anyway," I state, standing up to get Syd. She's sound asleep, and her face is scrunched up the way it does when she has a headache, so I just pick her up instead of waking her.

I carry her to the doors and gesture with my head for Florence to follow, turning out the lights and locking the doors. "It's the blue Subaru," I tell Florence, pointing to the 2018 WRX parked on the street. I buckle Syd up and hop in the front. Florence gives me directions as I drive, and we quickly arrive at her apartment complex.

"Thank you for driving me, Y/N. You're very sweet."

"Anytime, Florence."

She leans over, kissing my cheek before getting out of the car and walking inside the building. I can feel myself blushing and internally scold myself. Boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend. She. Has. A. Boyfriend.

"Iris" by the Goo Goo Dolls comes on the radio and I scoff, glaring at the stereo system. "Don't mock me."

~

"And I'd give up forever to touch you 'cause I know that you'd feel me somehow. You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be and I don't wanna go home right now."

[justanechoflower-ddlc]

Monika:Well, yes, I was the one behind the club, that isn’t exactly a personality trait? And it isn’t really a secret, everyone knows about that now, ehehe… Well, everyone in the club, anyway. If we still wanted it to be secret, we wouldn’t have told you all now. In fact, the only reason I didn’t tell you all earlier was because I was still in the Debate Club! But, here I am!

Sayori:This is why we should try our best these next few days, more than ever! We want her to stay in the club! After all, a club needs FOUR members, so if we don’t get FOUR members by the end of this semester…

>#Weren’t YOU the one who wanted us to change background variables? We can EASILY excuse making it three, Sayori! At least, we have a much better chance with that than corporations magically not partaking in overly greedy practices!

>#Well yes, we could… except that I told everyone if we DID find a way for that to happen, I’d have one of the school’s admin faculty people tell all of this himself, so that way we know it’s for real… and, well, they don’t actually EXIST, because it’s just us, so… I wouldn’t be able to actually talk to them… ehehe…

>#Sayori, seriously?! You should have known that anything involving direct interactions with background entities doesn’t work well, and not even SAID that to the others!

Sayori:Sure, we do all graduate this year, but we want it to still exist

Monika:Also, I’m not one of the people with a poem, you were already told it was just the other three. I’m not sure how learning about me is going to help with the game. You’re right the others could help.

Monika:Also, about Yuri, I think you just so happened to hit on something she found interesting… plus you’ve already demonstrated how many books you’ve really read. Before the questions, she hasn’t really talked much at all, you know? I think you just landed on the perfect combination to trigger that. 

Sayori:Hehe, you COULD call me experimental! And wow, Monika, I think that was a perfect read on Yuri! It’s almost like you’ve already known her before or something! You’re right, she only acts that way on thing with an immersive element, one with a lot of thought put into it! Whether it be fantastical situations, or ones exploring human nature or the human condition… I do wonder if Yuri being president would have made this a philosophy club? Actually, what WOULD you do, Yuri?

Yuri:W-Well, philosophy is a rather interesting topic, that is just one of the many interesting things literature can explore. So it would probably still be a literature club.

Monika:Ahaha.. well, look, I already mentioned how in the part of the club meeting that wasn’t question time, she spoke the least, and the only time she jumped in when she wasn’t a part of it was to correct the number of people that you said joined…

Natsuki:Just you wait until you actually SEE my cupcakes! If I knew you two were coming, I would’ve baked them today! Tomorrow, everyone’s getting cupcakes! Two each Then you’ll see! 

Natsuki:And that means just two, Sayori! If I catch you taking other members’ cupcakes again, I’m gonna-

Sayori:Everyone! It’s time for us to share poems! Well, except for Monika and Buttercup, they didn’t know about this, so they probably didn’t write any! Maybe we’ll get to see poems from them tomorrow! Remember, though, this time, we’ll all just put drop them on the table at the same time so Buttercup can try to guess who made what! After that’s over, we’ll discuss our poems like normal!

———————————-

(The initial plan was for me to actually make a poem in the style of each of the three, but I wasn’t able to get any ideas that matched them, except for Sayori’s. So… have some poems from the actual game, that maybe happened later in the timeline than they did originally because of Sayori doing things differently than Monika? Sayori’s is not from the original game, though, I made that one. Coincidentally, she’s also the one where just repeating a poem from an earlier iteration wouldn’t have really worked anyways, since she remembers the previous iterations/runs.)

(Also, keep in mind the poems were written before Sayori and the others knew Monika was coming back, and that they’d get a new visitor. So, if any of them are about, say, the Literature Club itself…)

————————————

Shining Stars

The night goes on, with the end far out of sight Leaving darkness and clouds for all of the night But up in the sky is a glimmer of shine Stars that shine brightly, to keep it all fine

I add some fuel to keep the fire burning To send the clouds away, keep the stars bright More, and more, to keep it bright To keep the light around, in the long night

It feels like days, the sun still hasn’t returned The brightest of the stars, that turns night into day The trees start to dwindle, one by one Will the day ever come before they all run out?

——————————————-

Ghost Under The Light

The tendrils of my hair illuminate beneath the amber glow. Bathing. It must be this one. The last remaining streetlight to have withstood the test of time. The last yet to be replaced by the sickening blue-green of the future. I bathe. Calm; breathing air of the present but living in the past. The light flickers. I flicker back.

———————————————

Amy Likes Spiders

You know what I heard about Amy? Amy likes spiders. Icky, wriggly, hairy, ugly spiders! That's why I'm not friends with her. Amy has a cute singing voice. I heard her singing my favorite love song. Every time she sang the chorus, my heart would pound to the rhythm of the words. But she likes spiders. That's why I'm not friends with her. One time, I hurt my leg really bad. Amy helped me up and took me to the nurse. I tried not to let her touch me. She likes spiders, so her hands are probably gross. That's why I'm not friends with her. Amy has a lot of friends. I always see her talking to people. She probably talks about spiders. What if her friends start to like spiders too? That's why I'm not friends with her. It doesn't matter if she has other hobbies. It doesn't matter if she keeps it private. It doesn't matter if it doesn't hurt anyone. It's gross. She's gross. The world is better off without spider lovers. And I'm gonna tell everyone.

——————————————

(If you want to try and guess who made what, now’s your chance! Although it’ll probably be really easy if you’re familiar with the game’s poems, since two of them are straight from the game, so the other one can be worked out through process of elimination. Flowey wouldn’t have that method though, since he presumably didn’t even know the game existed, let alone play it! He really does need to try and see which poem matches their personality the best! But really, what I say below kind of gives it away. Good thing Flowey can’t see this, hehe…)

(Amy Likes Spiders actually does have a specific reason to be here, though, besides a vague “I couldn’t make a Natsuki poem and hey she just made it later this time because no Monika?” It’s actually more specific. Monika judging Natsuki for her manga at first didn’t happen in this iteration, since she wasn’t a part of the game at all, and Sayori bringing Natsuki the club earlier in the timeline means the scene from the Side Stories involving Natsuki’s old “friends” wouldn’t have happened.)

(Yes, I’m aware the Side Stories are “what if there was no epiphany”, but I don’t think mainline Monika would have prevented those “friends” from doing what they did, not in the first iteration, and Amy Likes Spiders couldn’t have came from nowhere! But, while those wouldn’t have happened, we know the festival must have went really badly, to justify not even ONE extra club member joining. And well, one of the things that happened is someone who was NOT a fan of manga found the manga in the clubroom’s closet… and, you might be able to imagine what the result of that was. And so, Amy Likes Spiders was written after the festival this time instead of before.)

(Sayori’s poem is a sort of spiritual successor to “Bottles” and “Sunshine” at the same time. All her poems have shared a common theme, so it wasn’t hard to work out how it might have changed for her current situation.)

(Yuri’s… Well, I’ll just say I haven’t reached her level of metaphor yet. Her attempts at being intellectual with her poems have mostly resulted in me not being able to keep up… and I’m the one using things from the actual Ren’Py language to extrapolate how the console is used for things other than deleting! Combine that with her taste for surrealism, and, well… it’s no wonder Natsuki usually can’t understand them!)

(I just picked the poem that’s NOT about a certain issue Monika made worse, since in this iteration she didn’t make it worse, so things would have never gotten to the point where Yuri would feel the need to write a poem about it.)

(Oh, and Sayori messing up the chance for a club to have fewer than four members? Even I don’t know if it was a genuine accident, or on purpose as a part of the plan to get Monika to join, figuring Monika was surely going to leave Undertale’s world eventually! She did something similar to get MC to join in the actual game, but sometimes she does actually just make mistakes like this… She seems like she wouldn’t do THAT on purpose since, what if Monika DOESN’T join, and how happy would Monika be with it if THIS is why she joined? Then again… that didn’t stop her with MC, and they CAN just restart the game, so the club is in no actual danger of having to disband, which Sayori conveniently failed to mention… It could really go either way! Maybe it was even just to get the others to want Monika in more! She’s really been hyping Monika up in other ways, after all… Or maybe this is all so she has a reason to call for a celebration after Monika joins since the club is “saved”! You really can’t know with Sayori a lot of the time!)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Flowey: After all, you don't know them well either and should participate in this activity as well! It'd be a shame if we excluded you.

[3ammonologue]

notes on meltdown april 11

Meltdown 

Bipolar

Dance 

Bij 

Mom brought up

Fine conversation

But then triggered me 

For the squandered opportunity/life regret chance

Biggest heartbreak of my life

Mom brought up she saw her with gray hair dancing on ig 

Started face hit upstairs and then went downstairs and screamed etc. 

Came downstairs and screamed into pillow in guest room

But then I looked at bs’ instagram and she posted about a dance workshop with various international students

Makes me want to kill myself 

Looked at her new upgraded website and there is an edu section

My website is still up but obsolete 

Even before this in the afternoon

I was doing my 15 min cardio (made it to 5) and I was thinking after I get better then I will message them abt classes again

Seeing her ig/posts/website/students/bahama student etc/ 

Made me feel sick to my stomach 

Anxiety

Did face hitting and shrieking (and recorded it)

Did search history for Odissi (176ish) and deleted it from my search history. Did same for Bharatanatyam (but should write about the shijith show)….

Then searched 2nd chance things

Then showered 

in shower started thinking about my suicide note!!

Will shower again

Earlier in afternoon took .5 Xanax

Then took 1 Xanax and showered 

My heart is still beeating fast 

I was supposed to finish the website work today but idk now my meltdown!! I have to finish it !! Maybe I should stay up 

Don’t know what else to do to calm down besides scream/shower/xanax….need to start running from now on

Need to calm down

I already started dreaming in the shower about asking sr.la about the email and advice/re

Already dreaming in the shower abt my choreo (was thinking I will listen to the Tarana music rn but not sure if it will help or depress…will try for 2 min and see) 

Going to read the 2nd chance articles now 

Now came into the dark med room with headphones 

Need to calm down and then work

Need to unfollow ballet accounts too on ig 

Shouldn’t have looked her up…there is a reason I unfollowed…

Looking for bipolar calm down YouTube music 

Meeting with boss tomorrow 1pm 

Meeting with therapist tomorrow 2pm 

Listening to BV Tarana now 3 min…

…well I knew in the first 1 min that it wouldn’t improve me…but I listened to the whole thing….I can see my choreo in my mind’s eye….

Now my heart is feeling anxiety 

Plan: 

Listen to binaural for 10 min and skim the articles

Try to work for 15 min….more if I can concentrate 

I’m twitching again 

Feel like slapping myself 

——

What can I do — srla 

Neuro followed by 1 year of physical injuries

All I could think in the hospital 

Sometimes dance makes me happy — kalkika stutee vibes around

— biggest regret of my life 

——————

“f you’re afraid of appearing needy, there’s a strong likelihood you’re scared about the prospect of this relationship ending.”

 “I've been thinking about what happened and I've come up with three reasons why I want to give this another shot. Let me share them with you

People can learn from their mistakes—and when you give them a second opportunity, you allow them to demonstrate this. It's practical and saves emotional energy. You gave your mechanic the job of fixing a defective valve and now it's broken again.Aug 2, 2016

Choose A Good Time To Apologize

Create Specific Plan For Improvement

don’t just tell managers that you will improve, tell them how

Getting a second chance is a matter of trust

—— 

5 min over but still skimming

——

I know that I have no right to ask you for a second chance, but I promise that I have addressed the source of the problem and that I am taking the following steps to correct it and ensure that it never happens again

Be early: TBe concise in describing your situation:Be specific in what you are asking forPut the onus on yourself:Be willing to take an incomplete for the course:

Thank your professor for their time in considering your request:

——

Don’t really think this all helped me

Its 9:15 now

My usual get in bed time frame…

I wanted to work from 7pm-11pm today

But now I guess I will give myself 30 min (10 min intervals) between now and 3.5 hrs and then a relaxation between before going to bed at 1am

https://imgur.com/a/SgzTQGL

----- update: 

Its 11:19 and I didn’t do a single line on the work doc

[theauthorinblue]

For an example: The earliest draft I still have of the story (I think it’s 3rd technically) I started writing vs the most recent one

So, what’s your power?” asked Mrs. Brittleburn. I whispered it to her and also that I didn’t want everyone to know. Mrs. Brittleburn then whispered “I’m sorry, but we can’t do anything. We have curtains, but on the inside of the glass, which would either be pushed open or destroyed by your power, as is with objects. We need every last one of them for something or someone. You could turn around and face the wall, if that would make you feel better.” “Okay.” I said. Then I turned around and readied my power. Then I...I exploded.

I turned around again. Everyone in the audience had a shocked, deer-in-the-headlights look. I understood. My friends would tell me when they first saw (if they were okay with being near me. Not everyone is. Actually, most people are not.) that they were really surprised that was me. And not only was it me, but I feel the most relaxed while or right after exploding. It’s a surprisingly good stress reliever.

Versus

I’m called to the front of the room by the teacher, Mrs. Robinson. I go up nervously; Laurel and Dragonfly, as well as everyone else from my class, are watching. Several people whisper behind me as I walk up and I suddenly get warm. That’s bad, that’s very bad. It’s not the worst thing, as it’s not a definite thing to happen only because I’m going to set myself off, but it’s the first sign and I’m in a room full of people. “Welcome to Winchester High School, Cinnamon. How do you like it here so far?”

“It— it’s pretty good, I guess. I don’t know, I’ve been here for two days, I’m not really familiar with this place yet.”

“That’s alright. So what’s your power?”

“Uh… umm... I’d rather not say. Can I do this in private? Is that an option here?”

“I’m sorry, but since I’m the only teacher here, I have to keep an eye on them as well as do this, so I can’t, I’m sorry. But you can just whisper it to me or something if you don’t wish to tell the class.”

“Okay.”

I do, and she nods. “Ah. I’m sorry. You’ll be in that room, dear.” She points to a rectangular room with double glass doors and bunker-like walls. It was about 15 x 10 square feet.

“Is… is that glass—“

“Yes. You’ll be fine, honey.”

“Um, okay.” I walk into the room, close the first door behind me, then open the second. I can see the class staring at me out of the corner of my eye, but the room makes everything silent. A large x made of duct tape marks the center of the room, which is made of barren and unforgiving solid steel. The floor is the same way. I walk up to the x and stand on it.

“Okay–“ Mrs. Robinson’s voice comes out of nowhere and I jump back. “Oh! Sorry to scare you, there’s an intercom up by the ceiling. Anyway, just please demonstrate your power at whatever level you believe to be reasonable.”

“Okay...” I walk back to the x and shut my eyes. I don’t want to watch their reactions. I bring the warmth to the front of my attention, and pull my ability through me. The sparks pop up and down my spine. I get warmer, then freeze. I relax just a bit.

And then I explode.

The shockwave reverberates around the room, rumbling the walls and shaking the glass. It looks like it’s going to break, but it doesn’t. I’m slightly more relaxed; exploding always made me feel at least a bit more relaxed. I dare to look at the reactions. My classmates are staring at me, eyes wide and mouths agape. Some turn and whisper to one another. Others’ fearful stares turn to hate. I suddenly wish I was anywhere else. Away from the eyes, away from the whispers that would surely be rumors of a dangerous exploding girl by tomorrow morning. Maybe it would help their fear if I just disappeared on the spot. It would sure help mine.

And this was like two years ago I last worked on this. I’m even better now. You really do just need to keep at it. And as long as you love writing, it’s worth it in the end

I think the most heartbreaking thing is…writing does take practice. You’re probably not going to be at your best when you start out. The worst part about writing is that you’re going to be very shaky and probably pretty bad before you can get pretty good. Writing, like all forms of art, takes practice and discipline and willingness to try and keep going, no matter how difficult it may seem. And it can suck! We all know that! Creative ruts and writers block are tough but inevitable aspects of the process of writing. But just know that if you’re not satisfied with your work now, it only means that you’re going to be even better in the future. One day you’ll be able to look back at your work and go, “wow this kinda sucks, but that just means that I’ve gotten better now!” Writing takes time. You’re not gonna get good overnight. So keep going! Keep pushing! You only get better from here :)

[btsqualityy]

Blood On The Dance Floor: Chapter 3

Hoseok x Reader

Genre/Rate: 18+, established relationship, thriller, fatal attraction!AU (kind of, but with major changes), smut, angst, and fluff. 

Summary: Bora has a realization, you surprise Hobi at work, and you finally meet Bora.

Warnings: None to note.

WC: 1.1K

Author’s Note: Continuing my yearly tradition of posting something on my birthday lol! I know this part is kind of short but I hope you guys enjoy it!

“I need a fucking drink,” Hobi muttered to himself as he looked up onto the stage, where the members of HYBE’s most popular male and female group were standing. It was the first week in December now, and the year end shows were already beginning. In addition to working with HYBE’s newest boy group who were now freshly debuted, Hobi was put in charge of choregraphing a few unit stages as well. Hobi being Hobi, he loved the challenge but god damn it, he felt like he was going to lose his mind. 

“Hobi, what do you want to do?” Bora wondered from his side and Hobi glanced over at her before taking a deep breath. 

“I guess we’ll show it to them again,” he replied before walking up the steps to the stage with Bora following right behind him, and every member of the two respective groups settled their gazes on Hobi as he began to talk to them. 

“I know this can feel a little awkward, doing a dance as sensual as the one we’re having you guys do to Sway With Me, but you all have to loosen up a little bit,” Hobi told them. “Here, get together with your partner and we’ll go over the movements again. Bora, demonstrate for the women please.” 

“Yes Sir,” Bora nodded her head, moving to stand a few paces away from Hobi so that they were both visible to the groups. 

“And 5, 6, 7, 8,” Hobi counted them off, leading the groups through a medium paced version of the choreography. The couples were still too stuff with each other though, their arms not even completely around each other as they danced. 

“No, no, no, no,” Hobi groaned. “This just isn’t working.”

“Tell me about it,” one of the male idols mumbled. 

“Maybe we should take a short break,” Bora suggested. “Let the choreography marinate in their minds a little bit, you know?”

“We don’t have time for that. The show is tomorrow,” Hobi reminded her. After thinking for a few seconds, a lightbulb went off in Hobi’s head and he snapped his fingers in victory. “Bora, come here.”

“Ok,” she said confusedly before moving to stand right next to him. 

“Bora-ssi and I are going to demonstrate the choreography for you guys, so that you can have a tangible sense of what we need from you tomorrow night during the show,” Hobi explained. Turning to face her, Hobi held his hands out and Bora placed her own into them, letting him wrap her arms around his neck before he settled his hands on her waist and pulled her closer to his body. 

“And 5, 6, 7, 8,” Hobi counted off again, following the music that was still dancing as he led Bora in a tango. The two of them went through the movements effortlessly, their limbs seemingly an extension of each other’s as they did the entire song. 

As they danced, they also kept an intense eye contact with each other. For Hobi, this was just an example of how he wanted the idols to do it the next night; for Bora, however, it felt like the spark to something special. 

She had never realized how deep and beautiful his brown eyes were and now that she had looked into them, she didn’t know if she’d ever be able to look away from them again. 

“And that’s how it’s done!” Hobi smiled once the song ended, and the group of idols all applauded for their mini performance. “Now, let’s all try that again.” The music began again and the couples went through the choreography a few more times, getting better and better each time that the song restarted. 

Although she knew she should’ve been paying attention to the idols, Bora couldn’t help but to keep her gaze on Hobi. Watching him put such passion into his job impressed her, and she couldn’t help but to notice how his muscles bulged underneath his fitted sweatshirt.

“Alright, let’s break for today!” Hobi announced. “We meet here, bright and early, at 9am for rehearsals!” All of the idols bowed to both Hobi and Bora before beginning to filter off stage, and Hobi was about to do the same until he heard someone shout his name.

“Hey, Jung!” Hobi turned around then, a wide grin on his face when he saw you standing in front of the stage.

“Y/N, hi!” He greeted you happily, walking to the edge of the stage and bending down, pressing a firm kiss to your lips. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, I was bored at home so I decided to come visit you,” you responded. “I hope it’s not a bad time.”

“Not at all,” he assured you. “We actually just ended for the day. Here, I’ll introduce you to everyone.” Hobi grabbed you by your hand then, introducing you to all of the crew members, a few other choreographers, and even a few idols that were still sticking around for VCR shoots. 

“Ah, I almost forgot,” Hobi chuckled as he led you down the steps from the stage, where Bora was gathering up her things. “Y/N, this is my assistant choreographer Bora. Bora, this is my wife Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you,” you smiled as you extended your hand towards her and you noticed the slight hesitation she had in placing her hand in yours, as well as the small grimace that she was obviously trying to conceal with a smile. 

“Nice to meet you as well,” Bora replied. “Hobi showed me a photo of you but I have to say, it doesn’t do you justice.”

“Well, thank you,” you nodded towards her. “You’re quite the looker yourself. I hope Hobi hasn’t been working you too hard. I know he has a hard time knowing when to slow down. ”

“Oh no, he hasn’t thrown anything at me so far that I couldn’t handle,” Bora replied with a smile and you couldn’t help but to raise an eyebrow at her choice of words. 

“Hobi, we should get going now if we want to make it to our favorite restaurant for dinner,” you told him and he nodded his head. 

“You’re right. See you tomorrow Bora,” Hobi said. 

“Bright and early,” Bora grinned. 

“It was nice meeting you Bina,” you said. 

“It’s Bora.”

“Excuse me?”

“My name,” Bora deadpanned. “It’s Bora, not Bina.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you bowed lightly towards her. “My honest mistake.”

“See you later Bora,” Hobi repeated before placing his hand on the small of your back and starting to lead you out of the building. “Bina? Really Y/N-ah?”

“Whatever,” you muttered. “You better keep an eye out for her.” Hobi just rolled his eyes, wrapping one arm around your waist as the two of you walked out of the building. Unbeknownst to the both of you, Bora watched the both of you the entire time, her stomach turning at the sight of Hobi’s arm around you. 

“Fucking bitch,” she muttered underneath her breath before gathering her own things and leaving the building. 

[scuttling]

Long Time Coming

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 6,664 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Dad Bod Hotch, Oblivious Hotch, Flirting, Reader has a few one night stands, Semi-public sex, Unprotected sex, Blow jobs/Face fucking, Hairpulling, Fingering, Praise and degradation, Dirty talk, Accidental reveal of feelings, TW blood/cut Summary: You have been in lust (and love) with Aaron for a while, but his new look sends you off the deep end, and it's enough to make you do some pretty crazy things. *Inspired by @ssamorganhotchner and these three pics. Link to A03 or read below! You are fresh off yet another unsuccessful first date when Aaron wears the new suit. You, Emily, JJ, and Penelope are standing by the coffee maker, complaining about the pitfalls of online dating and how people are never they way they seem when you actually meet in person; you have the carafe in your hand, filling your mug, and when he walks in, face in a case file, his pants so tight you can make out his hips and thighs as clearly as if he were naked… You kind of lose your shit. And your grip.

The carafe shatters when it hits the tile floor, spraying shards of glass and hot coffee everywhere; Emily gasps, Penelope jumps back to avoid the splatter, JJ runs for a broom, and you just stand there, staring at Aaron—at his tight slacks, at his belt, at his shirt, tucked neatly inside, then at his dangling tie, and finally, his worried face.

“Are you alright?” he asks, because you have literally not moved a muscle since he arrived; your boots are covered in coffee—you are thankful you dressed casually today and aren’t wearing heels, or you’d be in a lot of pain—and your heart is racing, but otherwise you feel frozen, unable to move or look away.

You’ve wanted Aaron for a long time, and everyone knows it but him. It’s part of the reason you’re smothering yourself with online hookups and blind dates and one night stands: because he is off limits, and you’re desperately horny for him, and you need to have him fucked out of your mind one way or another.

The new suit further complicates things.

“Fine,” you say after a few more seconds, and JJ comes back with the broom and dustpan, so you bend down to help her clean up your mess. It wasn’t your brightest idea, because you are now at eye level with the tight crotch of his pants, and all you can think of is working the zipper open, pulling him carefully past the fly, sucking him off until those big hands slip into your hair and tug roughly when he comes.

God. You’re going to have to go on another bad date. Or ten.

“New suit?” Penelope asks conversationally, as if you aren’t having a sexual crisis about it three feet away. “Looks good, boss.” Aaron runs his hand down his body self-consciously, but all you see are thick fingers and stomach and hnnngg…

JJ pinches the back of your arm hard, makes a face that screams get it together!!, and you take a deep breath.

“I took some of my old ones in for alterations and the salesman convinced me they were severely outdated. Do you like this style better?”

For some reason, it feels like he’s looking right at you, and you nod, dreamy-eyed, sweep your tongue over your lips.

“Better,” you rasp, and Emily and Penelope agree, probably to take the emphasis off of your slack mouth and dopey one-word answers. You try to help JJ clean up, picking up the larger pieces of glass and dropping them into the dustpan despite her protests—because you are very unfocused, shouldn’t be messing with sharp objects—and when you cut your finger on a piece, she just sighs. Such a mom.

You wince, and Aaron frowns, comes toward you, putting you not only at dick height, but a manageable dick distance, if you were so inclined; really, it’s more if he were so inclined, because you are actually fully prepared to swallow his load right here in front of your friends—all he’d have to do would be snap his fingers and point to his crotch, and the FBI would be suing you for mental distress and using the money to pay for therapy for Emily, Penelope, and JJ.

“Let’s get this cleaned up,” he says, snapping you out of your very elaborate fantasy (typically your fantasies don’t involve court costs, but this is Aaron, so anything is possible.) He wraps his hand around your injured finger and pulls you up to standing with the other, and you just follow along as he leads you over to the sink, turns on the tap to let the water run over your cut. The way you’re looking up at him like he’s the best thing you’ve ever seen has to be painfully obvious, but he just reaches over for the first aid kit, takes out a bandage, and wraps it carefully around the tip of your finger. You sigh.

It may have started out as lust, but you’re pretty sure you’re also in love.

You have got to find a way to get him to notice you as more than just an agent, a teammate, a friend, and so: Operation ‘Get Hotch Out Of His Tight Pants’ begins. You fill the girls in on your master plan, and they fill in Derek and Spencer just so there are more people to laugh at you when you crash and burn, probably. But you’ve got a plan, will be pulling out all the stops, so you might not fail horribly after all. Hopefully.

God, you absolutely cannot fail. You can’t go out with another software engineer with the personality of a peanut or another investment banker who thinks buying you an appetizer means you owe him a blow job in the front seat of his Tesla. You will go fucking insane.

Today’s plan is T for tits, because yours are pretty awesome and almost no one who is attracted to women can resist them. You wear your usual white button down top, but you leave the top two buttons undone, and you add a red, lacy bra for a little additional temptation.

“Here are those consults you asked for,” you say after knocking lightly on the doorframe; Aaron waves you inside. You set them down on his desk, then glance over the open folder in front of him, make a curious noise. “What are you working on up here?”

You walk around his desk, so you’re standing next to him, and lean forward to look over the case file with one hand on the back of his chair and the other pressed against the desk. If he would look over, he would see right down your top, your breasts high and smushed together thanks to the lacy push up… but he looks straight down at the file, taps his pen against it.

“Murders in Detroit. I don’t think we’ll go—they look like mob hits to me, so I’m going to refer the case to Organized Crime.” You hum, turn the file toward you and lean in a little closer, letting your hair spill over your shoulder, the neck of your blouse fall open. Boobs and perfume are usually a one-two punch that is capable of bringing any man to his knees, and while he does turn to look at you, it feels entirely too respectful for your liking. You sigh softly, give up for today, and turn the file back.

“Well you know best, boss. Any time I don’t have to go to Detroit is alright by me.” You flash him a smile, and he reciprocates, and you head back downstairs for a cup of coffee and maybe a stale shame pastry.

The team looks up at you when you approach, and you shake your head.

“No luck,” you mutter, and Derek laughs, crosses his arms over his chest.

“Maybe you’re not very good at flirting. What did you do?” You roll your eyes—your flirting is not the problem, it’s Aaron’s morals and manners or whatever—and walk over to Spencer’s desk, demonstrate with him what you did to Aaron; you put your hand on the back of his chair, toss your hair over your shoulder, lean in, and Spencer swallows hard, licks his lips, and looks abruptly down at his hands. That reaction, you would have gladly taken.

Derek clears his throat, and so does Emily. Hmm.

“I’m good at flirting,” you say, straightening up; Spencer is blushing, and it’s super cute, so you pat him lightly on the head. “Maybe he’s an ass man. I’ll wear a skirt tomorrow and we’ll see if that gets the job done.”

“Good idea,” Derek says, and when you walk past him, he gives you a once over that makes you feel pretty damn good. “In the meantime, why don’t you come and demonstrate on me?”

There’s no denying he is one of the finest men you’ve ever seen in your life, and earlier on in your career you might have taken him up on it—it would have to be better than Marty McTesla, that’s a given—but you know he’s mostly teasing, even if there is a thin layer of actual desire beneath it all. You just fluff your hair and take your seat and mentally flip through your closet to try to come up with an outfit Aaron can’t refuse. You decide on a pencil skirt, because that’s got to be every boss's fantasy, right? You have one you never wear to the office because it’s a little sexy, tight on your hips and ass, with a zipper up the back that you can open a little and use to your advantage. When you walk into the bullpen that morning, JJ whistles, and you grin, do a little twirl.

“Thank you, thank you. This has to work, right?” You turn to face Emily, then turn away from Emily, butt right in her face. “Emily? This will work, right?”

“That’s... definitely going to work,” she murmurs, tapping the cap of her pen against her teeth, and you have to admit you have a good feeling about this one. For as great as breasts are, your ass is your best asset, and if the open top and red bra didn’t work, this has to be your ticket to some sweet, dirty loving, it just has to.

You all head up for the morning meeting, filing into the briefing room, and you give Aaron a soft greeting and a smile just like every day, and then offer to help him pass out whatever stack of papers he’s holding in his hands—fire drills and emergency protocol, or something boring like that. He accepts the help, and you take the fliers, but instead of walking around and handing them to each member of the team like he would, you bend over the table, reach across, and drop the pages in front of everyone.

JJ is the furthest away, and you practically have to climb onto the table to reach her; you grin and wink when she takes the papers out of your hand, and she shakes her head like you’re too much, but when you stand back up to hand Aaron the extras, he doesn’t seem the slightest bit interested.

He thanks you for your help, and you take your seat and listen to him go on about emergency exits and fire extinguishers and seriously start to contemplate moving to Europe to start a new life, or something else equally dramatic.

Because you don’t give up easily, you orchestrate one more attempt to get him to show some interest in you. You know he usually goes downstairs to the cafeteria for lunch, and that the elevator is a jam-packed nightmare because the main stairwell is currently under construction (which is probably why you needed to go over safety protocol, now that you think about it; shutting down the stairwell seems very unsafe.) You usually pack your lunch, but you can go buy an overpriced salad for the sake of your sex drive, so you wait for the elevator when he does, making small talk about your mornings until it dings and arrives on your floor.

He tries to let you in first, gentleman that he is, but that won’t work with your plan, so you insist, earning eye rolls from the other passengers on the elevator. You give Amy from Forensic Accounting a dirty look and then step in after him, lean back against him because there’s really no fucking room to even take a breath.

He’s taller than you, but with heels on your ass still fits pretty nicely against his thighs; a little too nicely, you think, as you get wet just from standing near him in the elevator, the heat of his body through your skirt. You really are a mess.

There are two more floors to go before the cafeteria, and no one gets off, but more people manage to cram into the elevator, which means you press more tightly against him to make room. Someone bumps into you roughly, which makes you unsteady on your feet; Aaron puts his hands low on your hips to keep you from wobbling, and your eyes literally roll back in your head, but he just leans in to mutter, “sorry” into your ear. You say nothing, because you’d probably moan if you opened your mouth, but you shake your head so he knows it’s not a problem.

When everyone gets off downstairs, you hurry to the restroom and don’t look back, turn on the faucet and splash some cold water against your overheated neck and chest. So much for that plan. All you managed to do was work yourself up into a fury.

While you’re in line to pay for your overpriced salad, you open up your dating app and secure yourself drinks with a hot lawyer for tonight. Seduction is clearly not working with Aaron, he’s clearly not interested, and you have to find a way to move on before you have a spontaneous workplace orgasm and get fired from the job you love—all of his tight new suits have been dark so far, but if he shows up in gray, you’re not going to have the will to survive anymore. You have to plan for the worst.

The lawyer is nice enough, but he’s too short, too thin; it’s hard to imagine Aaron’s body weight on top of you when he’s fucking you, but you’re nothing if not resourceful, so you move your hands to his head of thick, dark hair and focus on that—that, and his hot breath against your throat when he comes a little too soon and mutters “sorry” into your ear.

“It’s okay,” you pant, reaching between you to rub your clit. You close your eyes, tip your head back, clench around him; you imagine it’s Aaron inside you instead, and bury your face in his shoulder when you come.

He’s willing to stay, but you explain why it’s better if he leaves, and then you fall back into bed, fumble for your vibrator, and get off again so you’re not too distracted by reality to really enjoy your fantasy.

It’s a little twisted, but it is what it is. You’re standing in the breakroom a few days later, swiping through the dating app and bullshitting with Derek and Penelope, when this guy pops up on your screen. He’s not your usual type, younger and blonder than you prefer these days, a pilot, but something about his profile makes you pause; when it hits you, you blow out a breath and look up at your friends.

“So you guys know Operation ‘Get Hotch Out Of His Tight Pants’ is officially dead in the water,” you begin, and they nod, “and now I’m focusing my energy on trying to get over him. I went on a date with a guy that kind of looked like him, and that didn’t really help, but what if…” You turn your screen to face them; Derek nods like it might be crazy enough to work, but Penelope grimaces.

“No, I don’t think that’s going to work. It might actually be crossing a line,” she says with a frown, and you look to Derek for his input.

“It’s more of a coincidence than anything, right? It’s not like he’s unattractive and this is the only reason you’re going out with him. He’s a good looking guy,” he admits, and you’re really grateful he’s willing to help you rationalize this probably terrible idea into a potentially decent idea.

You send the pilot a message, and he wants to meet up; he suggests a bar near the both of you, and you know it’s risky, but you tell him you happen to make a great gin and tonic and that you have everything you need at home, if he’d like to meet you there instead.

He does, and you don’t even make him that drink, just take off his clothes, get him into your bed.

“That’s right, babe—wanna hear you lose it for me. Say my name, gorgeous,” he groans, fingers digging into your hips as he fucks you from behind, and you close your eyes, fist your hands in the sheets, and give him what he wants.

“Oh, fuck, Aaron. Fuck me harder.” His thrusts are already rough and punishing, but this is the best you’ve felt in a really long time, so you’re eager, desperate for more. “Yeah, Aaron, just like that.”

“Tell me my big cock feels so good in your pussy.” He slaps your ass, and you moan involuntarily, press back against him, panting.

“Your big cock feels so good, Aaron, so good in my pussy. Fuck me, Aaron, destroy me.” He grunts, tenses, and moves his hands to your shoulders, slamming your body tight against his as he comes. “Yes, don’t stop, Aaron, don’t stop,” you plead, hips working together, and when he smacks your ass again you come gasping his name, collapsing against the bed with a breathless sigh.

You feel a lot dirtier than you expected you would, even though it was kind of awesome, and ultimately Penelope was right; it was fun while it lasted, but it didn’t do a damn thing to help you forget about the only Aaron you actually want in your bed. Monday morning, Aaron comes into the office wearing a tight navy suit with a striped white shirt and a navy tie, and you follow him with your eyes from the glass double doors all the way up to his office, mouth open a little. Your eyes get heavy and your breathing picks up, which is the dumbest biological reaction to a man’s ass you’ve ever had—but god, it’s a perfect ass—and JJ has to actually lightly slap your cheek to get you to snap the fuck out of it.

“Are you horny right now?” she asks, a little grossed out. “I can’t handle you.”

“I know you guys all call him a tightass, but I mean, if the pants fit… and god, do they fit.” You pick up a case file and fan yourself with it. “He’s so fucking hot. What am I supposed to do? Getting railed by fake Aaron didn’t do shit; I think I might actually have to transfer.”

“You’re not transferring. You just have to get over it.”

“Are you kidding? She’s like a cat in heat when he’s around,” Derek says with a smirk. “I think I’m getting horny just because she’s horny.”

“Okay, so why can’t I have that effect on him?” you ask with your arms open. “Do you think it’s the pheromones? Maybe they’re incompatible. Smell me—does it turn you on?” you ask Spencer, presenting your neck, and he looks like a deer in the headlights, then leans in to sniff you.

“Uh… you smell nice?” he says with a shrug and a half smile. “I think it’s just your perfume, though.”

“Put your face near her boobs,” Derek says, and Spencer starts to lean in again. “I think the pheromones are stronger there.” He pauses about halfway to your chest.

“Actually, they’re stronger near the genitals, but I don’t think that’s appropriate.”

“What’s going on down there?” You freeze and then turn to look up at Aaron’s office, where he leans against the doorframe; Spencer stands up comically fast, and you take a step back, clearing your throat. Aaron’s scowling—it’s really sexy and it’s making your heart beat in your stupid, traitor pussy—and then he sighs visibly. “We have a case, come on.”

The case is only a half hour away, so you drive, which is horrible, because you are with Aaron and Derek, and Derek lets you sit in the front just to watch you squirm.

It gets bad before you even pull out of the parking garage, because Aaron puts his hand on the back of your headrest to look behind him and reverse the SUV, and you look over at his body—his stomach, his lap, his thighs—and then quickly face forward when he puts the car into drive. You’re flushed, breathing heavily, and when he looks you over quizzically, asks if you’re alright, you just clear your throat and nod.

“Allergies,” Derek supplies from the back, and you mentally thank him for the save, but you kind of also want to smack him for putting you in this position in the first place.

You’re practically turned on the entire ride, even as you go over the details of the case, because his legs are spread and your eyes keep moving to his crotch; at one point, you think you notice his already unfairly tight pants getting a little tighter, but it’s just a trick of light.

By the time you arrive at the precinct, you are more than ready for fresh air, to put some distance between yourself and Aaron. You’re out of the car almost as soon as he turns off the engine, which probably looks weird as hell, but for your sanity you can’t give it too much thought.

The head detective and a junior detective give you a run down on the case while the other half of your team meets with officers at the crime scene. The head detective, a tall, handsome man in his forties, is looking at you like you’re a juicy steak and he hasn’t eaten in months; Derek notices, turns to you with a raised eyebrow and mouths ‘pheromones,’ Aaron is clearly unhappy about the detective’s lack of professionalism, and you couldn’t really care less about the attention. You just want to do your job and go home and touch yourself to thoughts of your boss… as one does.

The local police already have a board made up, so the three of you travel to speak with some witnesses, head back to the precinct, work the tip lines. Aaron seems to be looking at you more than usual, and when you get up to stretch your legs, he’s right behind you, following you out into the hall.

“Are you sure you're alright today?” he asks with a serious expression, hands on his hips. Your mouth waters. “You’ve been acting a little strange.”

“Stranger than normal?” You try to smile, to lighten the mood, but as oblivious as he’s been about everything else, he’s always been able to tell when you try to hide your emotions with humor.

“The last couple weeks? Yes.” He moves a little closer, and you try your best not to let it affect you—or at least not to let it show when it does. “You know by now that you can come to me anytime, for anything.” He doesn’t present it as a question, but it’s clear on his face that he’s looking for an answer.

“I know. I’m going through something… stupid,” you say with a shrug. “Something I should be able to handle, but it’s harder than I imagined.” He frowns, flicks his eyes over your face.

“Let me help you.”

“You can’t; trust me, you can’t,” you say, pleading with your voice, begging him to drop it. “I’ll get through it.” You shut your eyes briefly, exhale, and he reaches down to take one of your hands in his.

“Are you in trouble?” This is the most intimately he’s ever touched you, and it’s not just your body that sings; you know you’re in love with him, have been for a while, but focusing on the horny feelings is easier. It makes it feel like you have less to lose.

“No, it’s nothing like that. I just need some time. Thank you.” You squeeze his hand, and then Derek pokes his head into the hall behind him.

“We got a tip about the unsub barricading a house downtown; the detective is mobilizing SWAT,” he says; when he glances down at your hands, you pull yours softly out of Aaron’s grasp.

“What do you want us to do, boss?” you ask, effectively ending your conversation, and he tells you to get suited up with comms and Kevlar so the three of you can head to the new scene. Aaron is, unsurprisingly, a complete badass, storming the house along with SWAT, you at his side; it’s his way of reminding you that he trusts you, that it can and should go both ways—he is so perfectly predictable, reassuring with gestures over words even in a situation like this one. It does nothing to help you stop wanting him.

He’s a little rough with the unsub (and that doesn’t help either,) looks ruffled and kind of pissed when you climb in the SUV to head back to the precinct. Spencer, JJ, and Emily meet you there, and you take the opportunity to vent about how indescribably good Aaron has looked all day—Spencer bows out of the conversation early, but JJ and Emily are kind enough to listen to your insane, horny ramblings.

“He’s just so hot—he always has been, but the new suits? They’re so tight, and his shirts show off his tummy, and his pants show off his thighs… You guys will never understand the things I want to do to him.”

“Okay, he’s handsome enough, but you’re nasty about it—I can’t handle you,” JJ says, not for the first time. You groan in response.

“How can you say that? Have you fucking seen him? I’m not supposed to think nasty thoughts when he walks around looking like that?”

You feel yourself getting a little out of hand, and Emily and JJ look like they’re trying to shut you up, but you can’t stop yourself. It’s like the floodgates have opened.

“He’s never going to know what I want to do to him… what I want him to do to me. I tried so hard, and he didn’t even look at me. All I wanted to do was get on my knees for him and grab his ass so he could fuck my throat as hard as fucking possible—is that so much to ask for?” You pause, but neither of them say anything, just look scandalized. “I guess I’m going to have to name my vibrator Hotch now, since that’s clearly the closest I’ll ever get to him giving me an orgasm.”

“Do you really mean that?”

You jump a fucking foot, spin around, almost knocking Emily and JJ over in the process; Aaron is in front of you, his brow furrowed, arms crossed over his vest (he hasn’t taken that thing off yet? You threw yours on the table like the minute you got back), and your mouth opens and your eyes close at the same time.

Oh fucking fuck.

“We’re gonna… go,” Emily says awkwardly, and you open your eyes abruptly when Aaron speaks again.

“No, we’re going to go; come with me,” he tells you, and he turns and heads down the hall; you look back at Emily and JJ, swallow hard, and follow him, your heart beating fast.

He steps into a small room with a copy machine, table, shelves of paper and envelopes and other supplies, and closes the door behind you, engages the lock. You are torn between being very worried he’s going to fire you and super turned on, because this is definitely a fantasy you’ve had before.

“Aaron,” you begin, running a hand through your hair. “I’m sorry. I think it was the adrenaline; it makes me run my mouth and I can’t stop it, you know that.” He’s facing away from you, his hands on his hips again, and you can see the way his body moves when he sighs.

“Did you mean it, though?” When he turns to look at you, he doesn’t look angry, he looks… nervous. “Do you want me?” His reaction is unexpected—not great, but not necessarily bad—and you bite your lip, nod.

“Yeah. So fucking bad. And I’m sorry—” That’s as far into your apology as you get before his mouth is on yours, his hands on your face, lips pressing against you for a rough, eager kiss. Your hands move to his waist, pulling him closer by the vest, and he lifts you up onto the table, tugs down the v-neck of your t-shirt, mouths at your throat.

“You think I didn’t look at you?” he says when he pulls away for a breath, tipping your chin down so you’ll look into his eyes. “You think I didn’t see that lacy red bra, your perfect ass bent over in the tight skirt? You think I didn’t feel it pressed against me in the elevator, that I didn’t want to push that skirt up and sink inside you and take you there in front of everyone?”

You moan, chest heaving, twist your fingers in his hair and pull him in for another kiss, dripping and trembling at his admission.

“I would have let you,” you murmur against his lips, and there’s no doubt in your mind that you would have, if that’s what he’d wanted. “I would let you do anything: not just let you, but I’d want it, beg for it. I meant what I said—I’d get on my knees for you, anytime, anywhere, do whatever you want me to do. I want to be yours.”

He catches your mouth in another rough kiss, then puts his hands on your waist, guides you off the table, and flips open his belt, the fly of his pants.

“Oh god. What are you doing?” you ask, and he slides down his zipper, pulls you with him until his back hits the door.

“I’m giving you what you asked for,” he rasps, staring into your eyes, his gaze smoldering. It’s so fucking hot your pussy clenches.

You lick your lips, drop to your knees on the tile floor so hard it hurts, tug his pants open and pull out his thick, hard, veiny cock.

Your dreams and fantasies did not do it justice.

“Fuck. Thank you,” you mumble, looking up at him, and he wraps his hands in your hair, pulls tightly. You moan just from that and the heft of him in your hand. “Thank you.”

“Shh.” He scrapes his fingers over your scalp, hums as you start stroking him, licking the head. “Don’t thank me—I should be thanking you, beautiful, perfect girl. In what world do I get this?” There are lots of things you want to say to that, but you’ve waited long enough, will have to say them later.

You lick your lips, collect lots of saliva, and take him into your mouth, get your hands on his ass and dig your nails in. Aaron groans, tightens his fingers in your hair, and when you look up at him it feels like a fever dream, like it’s not real but a delicious figment of your imagination.

For a minute or two, you stroke him with a tight, wet mouth, and it’s got you aching between your legs, but he’s supposed to be fucking your throat, technically, if he’s giving you what you asked for. You pull off, tell him that, and he tugs your head back roughly, guides you back onto his cock and starts thrusting into your mouth, earning vibrating moans around it.

“God, you’re so perfect. How long have you been thinking about this? How long have you touched yourself to the thought of me fucking your pretty face?” He picks up the pace, pushes deeper when he sees you can handle it, and you squeeze his ass, feel your eyelids flutter as he uses your mouth, pulls your hair. “Are you a whore for me?” he grinds out, and the moan that rips from your throat is inhuman, embarrassing, and absolutely accurate. “Yes you are, baby, yes you are. My pretty whore, on your knees, mouth stretched wide and filled with cock.”

You’ve never been so turned on from a blow job, but this is Aaron, hot and dirty and forceful, everything you imagined and more. You squeeze him tighter, encourage rougher treatment, and he presses his hands against the back for your head, slams his dick in so deep it aches; you don’t gag, but it’s a near thing, and when he pulls you off you gasp for breath and whimper at the loss at the same time.

“Enough of that, baby. You were perfect, so good for me, almost choking on my cock, but I bet your pussy is wet and aching. Do you want me inside it?”

“Holy—yes, fuck, please. Please,” you breathe, and he helps you to your feet and then pushes you against the door, gets your pants down. His rough treatment has you whining, gripping the hair on the back of his head, and you kick off your boots and socks so you can step out of your pants completely. “Keep all this on,” you tell him, pants and shirt and tie and Kevlar vest and all, and he nods, kisses you deeply, presses two fingers inside you.

“Fuck,” he groans when you receive him easily, soft and wet and open, and he uses his free hand to sweep down your top, slipping the buttons loose so he can get a better view of your tits and black lace bra that’s holding them. “So beautiful, and finally mine,” he mutters against your throat, and you whine, let your head fall back against the door, and give in to the pleasure of his thick fingers moving inside you.

“Finally mine,” you murmur, tugging his hair, slamming down against his hand, and when you come it’s like a miracle; you cry out, clamp down, and wrap your free hand around his bicep and squeeze until you’re lightheaded, dazed, desperate for another.

You kiss, deep and passionate and filthy, and Aaron slides his fingers into your mouth, pumps them a few times, then kisses you again.

“Good girl. Are you ready for my cock now?” You pant, gasp, and nod your head, and he pushes your shirt off your shoulders, lifts your legs so you’ll wrap them around his waist, and pushes inside you. You both moan, kiss, moan again, and then you wrap your arms around his broad back, hook your fingers in his vest, and hold on while he pounds your body roughly against the door.

“Oh, Aaron, fuck. Yeah. Want you to slam your body against mine; want to feel it, want to feel all of you.” He looks into your eyes, breathing hard, fucks up into you, hands on your ass, his hips and torso pinning you in place.

“Sweet, pretty, slutty girl,” he pants, spreading you open and shoving himself inside your pussy. “You tried tempting me, and oh, did it work. I might not have shown it…” He ducks in to kiss the base of your throat and you cling tighter, rock against his hips. “But it worked. You dressed like a whore just for me, just so I’d notice you; do you I know went home and stroked my cock and came with your name on my lips?”

“Holy shit. That’s so hot.” You move a hand to his hair again, can’t not thread your fingers there now that it’s allowed. “Could have fucked me like this then. Could have come in my pussy, not your hand.”

“We’ll make up for lost time,” he promises, and he thrusts up with his whole body, so you can feel it pressed against yours—shoulders, chest, stomach, all the very best parts of him. “I’m not too much for you? Can you take it?”

“Perfect for me,” you gasp, holding tightly to his vest at his shoulder and his shirt at his hip, bouncing into his thrusts. “So perfect, want you. I can take it. I can take it, Aaron.” Your mouths meet for a messy, hot kiss, lots of tongue, and you groan. “Give it to me, give it all to me.”

He bends his knees a little more, fucks you so rough and hard your mouth falls open and all you can do is whimper, clutch him, gracelessly kiss back when he presses his lips to yours.

He comes first, holds tightly to your hip and pumps inside you, fills you and then some, so it drips out while he’s still inside. It feels sinful, even after everything, and with a few rough drags of his palm over your lace covered nipple, you tighten and grip him and gasp out his name.

You both slow, and then he turns you, leans back against the door for a little relief after holding you up for so long. He nuzzles into your hair, and you bury your face in his neck, and you kiss soft and sweet until you’re feeling stable enough to hop out of his arms and put your clothes back on. He rights his as well, and when you’re both put together he wraps you up in a hug, kisses you, holds you with soft hands on your cheeks.

“I really have waited so long for this.” He brushes his lips over yours, and you sigh. “You never indicated… I was trying to be professional. Then out of nowhere you were leaning over my desk and bending over the table, and I was a little blown away.” You nod, can see that, pull him down for a kiss.

“It’s the goddamn suits,” you say with a half smile, and he gives you a curious look. “Your new, better fitting suits? They fit you so fucking well it’s almost illegal; I’m thinking of pursuing charges against your tailor for reckless endangerment on behalf of my libido, and the coffee carafe, and my poor, worn out vibrator.” He chuckles, hugs you closer, squeezes you so tightly against his body you almost pass out from all the good things you feel.

“Maybe we can strike a deal,” he murmurs, pushing your hair back behind your ear, and you bite your lip, nod.

“Yeah, I’m sure you’ll think of something you can do to make it worth my while.” After a little more hugging and kissing, the two of you figure it’s time to emerge from the supply closet; you don’t see your team anywhere, which surprises you, but when you get to your phone and pull up your texts, it all makes sense.

Derek: Congrats on the sex. The four of us headed home because no one wants to ride with the two of you and your pheromones.

Emily: Yay, you did it!! Drinks on me next time we go out!

JJ: You guys are loud; don’t make a habit of that.

Penelope: I hear congrats are in order! And by hear, I don’t mean hear. There’s NOT an audio clip or anything, so don’t worry about that!!

Spencer: Emily took an audio clip. Is it normal for girls to enjoy being called a whore? You don’t have to answer that.

You take a very deep breath, give him the gist of the messages—you’re on your own, they heard at least part of it, there is some potentially damning evidence that needs to be destroyed—and you leave the precinct to head home in a better mood than you’ve been in in a very long time.

Aaron takes you out for a late dinner, and he spends the night at your place, falls asleep warm and solid and very naked in the middle of your bed.

Taglist ❤️: @thaddeusly @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed @averyhotchner

[strawberrywritingfiction]

Golf Outing

Tom Holland x Reader

Word Count: 1.5k 

Synopsis: Invited by he and his family, you go golfing with Tom

^^^

       You were sat at the dinner table among the Holland family members. Having met the twins, Harry and Sam through friends, and having had brief interactions with Tom, the eldest- You were invited as more or less a family friend. At least, the boys’ parents were interested in you, and in the exchanges you’d had with the boys through work and mutual connections. Plus, you thought you were a relatively pleasing house guest. Nothing abnormal about it, you thought.

“You play any golf Y/n?” Harry asked you, amidst the dinner conversations.

The rest of the boys’ heads snapped up at the question posed by Harry, most of the bunch being avid golfers and all.

“Well, sort of. But I’m nowhere up to the boys’ level.” You said with a laugh.

“You should join us for a round Y/n, we’re having a go at the nearby course tomorrow,” Tom said with a smile.

“Yeah, just a casual one, for extra practice.” Sam chimed in.

“I really couldn’t. Can’t even remember the last time I held a club - I’d have to practice in advance to get remotely close to being able to play you all.”

“Nonsense,” said Dom, “We’d love to have you join- and you wouldn’t even have to play if you’re not up for it. You can just have a few hits at the range down there, If you’d like.”

Finding it difficult to say no, and feeling Tom’s gaze held on you, you impulsively agreed to join.

This brought you to where you were now- driving mid afternoon on a Sunday, having just been to a sports store trying to pick up an appropriate looking golf outfit that fit the course’s, ‘formal attire requirement.’ Along with purchasing various balls and tees. Thankfully though, you hand a spare set of clubs at home.

Upon arriving, you met the boys in cheerful spirits, clad in their golf attire. Prepped and ready for play. So, you and the Holland clan got out on the green quickly. First hole, and your driver shot was unmistakably crap. You were glad the boys hadn’t winced at the horrible shot. You tried to play off the embarrassment with conversation between hits when being driven in the cart. The boys had 2 carts out. You sat alongside Harry and Sam in one. Tom in the other with their dad.

1st shot on the second hole though, and it was equally as bad as your previous. But luckily, the boys were distracted and missed the poorly executed swing. Finally after arriving at the beginning of the third hole, however, you stepped up to the tee, and hesitated.

“Listen guys, I think I’ll step out on this one- maybe head back, or tag along for the rest, but I think I’m out on playing. Don’t want to hold you guys back,” you said with a light chuckle. You definitely had the highest score of the bunch, and you were aware that the boys were just being polite, waiting for you to hit your past chipping shots and putts, as you were moving at a slower speed than the rest of them. Then again, they could practically be pros.

“You’re not holding us back, this is all good fun, so there’s no worries if you do continue. Otherwise, one of the boys can step out of the game and join you up in the cart, to go back to the front.” Dom said, looking to his sons. The twins made no effort to offer, which was fair, as they were in front with the lowest scores. But, to your surprise, Tom offered.

“I’d be happy to, I’ve been playing a shit game anyway,” Tom said with a laugh, placing his club back in his bag and hoisting it on his shoulder, “Only, I’d be willing to play with you on the rest of the holes for practice, If you’d be up for it. I’d... I’d Like to help improve your game.”

“My game?”

“Yeah, I think with some slight improvements to that swing of yours, you could be looking decent.”

You scoffed, “You sure? I don’t think you’ve noticed, but if you continue on with just me, you’ll be here for another few hours.”

“Time well spent.” Tom said with a smile.

The rest of the boys wished you well as they drove off to continue playing, leaving you and Tom with the remaining cart.

“Right well, you have a go first.”

“Alright,” you said, fishing through your bag for a wood club.

Interrupting as you removed one from it’s bag, Tom said, “Er- hold on, let me check.”

He too dug through your clubs before picking another one- “I reckon this one here’s a good fit,” he said, handing it to you.

“Ok then, I trust you,” You said, stepping up to the tee, “you got any other tips Holland?”

“Maybe. Give me a practice swing and we’ll take it from there,” he said, stepping back from your side.

You did as you were told, and Tom kindly gave you his input.

“Right well- this arm,” he said motioning to his own, “you’ve gotta keep that straight even on impact, no getting flimsy elbows before making contact with the ball there.”

You were trying to correct yourself, copying his directions, but upon your confusion, Tom walked up behind you to help demonstrate. “Okay so this arm,” he started, his hands gripping both of your own from behind, “You’ve gotta keep it like this through your back swing,” he said, drawing your arms back behind your shoulder. You couldn’t help but loose brief focus as he gave his directions soft spoken from behind.

He stepped back to examine your practice swing, “right that looks better, but uh- may I.”

“Go for it,” You said.

“Right, so-“ he placed his hands on either side of your hips “-you wanna kind of turn your body this direction, and move the opposite knee forward as you do.” You did just as you were told.

After the few tips, and Tom was satisfied with your practice technique and form, you took the swing, proving to have a much better result.

“See? That’s so much better! Your swing will be looking like Tiger Woods’ in no time, I bet it,”

You laughed, “All thanks to you Coach.”

Next, Tom stepped up to take his own swing. You watched, and to no surprise his form was practically perfect, landing him a nice spot on the green. You complimented his swing as the two of you hopped in the cart to head over to the next ball.

You drove the cart, and the cart rides throughout the day gave the two of you an opportunity to talk. Also, on each hole Tom continued to give you tips. You admired that he was so patient, and never got frustrated with you, or exasperated if you didn’t happen to pick up his directions quickly. He claimed you significantly improved by the end of the day. Surely enough though, by the time you got out of the course, the rest of the Holland’s had left, and it was practically dark.

The two of you carried your clubs to the car park, utterly exhausted. What was meant to be casual, fun and quick, felt as if it were never-ending.

“You got a ride Tom? You asked.

“Shit, well- no, really. Harry and Sam must have taken my car back to our shared apartment,”

“I’m happy to drop you off- least I can do. You practically gave me lessons for free today, forfeited your game too.”

“Nah, It was good fun, and I’d prefer to have forfeited than to have lost another game to those twats this month,” he chuckled.

The two of you continued to chat, and on the car ride home you both stopped for some takeout at a drive-through, seeing as now it was dark and neither of you had had anything for dinner.

You thanked Tom again once whilst dropping him off, “I’d love to do this again, actually,” he said, fumbling with the strap of his bag of clubs slung over his shoulder.

“I don’t think I’m up to anymore golf for a while,” You said, with an awkward laugh.

“Well, we won’t do golf again then,” he smiled, “maybe just a dinner.”

“Sounds good,” you agreed. Saying good night, you left to head home and upon arriving, you immediately began to receive messages from the rest of the boys.

* Sam H - Already, he won’t shut up about you 😐 9:37 pm.

* Harry H - 10 bucks said he’d be too much of a wuss to ask you out before the end of tonight and I lost 🙄 9:41 pm.

^^^

[randomshyperson]

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

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

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

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

Chapter Words: 8.486 K

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You frown.

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

"It's just suspicious that no one knows what happened to you in that dungeon, or at the ministry of magic." Hope counters. "And now you two are blowing things up, and we have a dark wizard on the loose."

"Fuck you, Summmers." You curse as you stand up, leaving the girl in shock at your aggressiveness.

The same auror from the first day stands in front of you as you try to approach Slytherin's table.

"Students must respect..."

But you interrupted his speech with a loud shove that sent him staggering backwards, and drew the immediate attention of several people.

You were seeing red by now, the man's wry smile only making you more irritated.

He drew his wand, but so did you. And the room held its breath.

"Put your wand away, Miss Stark." Warned the auror angrily, but you didn't.

Wanda stood up as she noticed the confusion, rushing to reach you, but the auror put his arm in her way.

"Now, miss." He warned again, and you grunted in irritation.

"Get your hands off her." You retorted, feeling your body fever with hatred.

"Stark." The man said, his arm reaching down to push Wanda back, and you exploded.

You didn't even finish thinking about the spell, the magic exploding out of your wand.

The auror masterfully blocked it, and you dropped your wand to jump on top of him.

It was a confusion of shoving, other bigger students pulling you away from the man and he away from you.

" Never fucking touch her again!" You warned snorting in anger, Thor Odinson stopping you from jumping on the man's neck.

"I just pushed her away from the line of fire, you crazy bitch!" The auror retorted indignantly and angrily. "Go to the headmaster's office now!"

"Fuck you!"

Thor pulled you out of the hall as the crowd of students whistled in celebration, excited about the whole fight. The auror was too busy dissipating everyone to follow you.

"Hey, hothead, calm down." The blonde warned as he released the grip of you by the courtyard. You grunted angrily, wishing you could break something.

"Fuck this school, fuck that asshole." You complained aloud, as Thor looked at you curiously.

"You have quite a rage, Stark." He comments, and you grumble in irritation.

But Wanda catches up with you the next moment, and she looks even angrier than you.

"What the hell was that?" she asks and you roll your eyes, running your hands through your hair.

"I think you are going to be fine for now on." Thor comments, smiling at the thank you Wanda says to him before leaving you two alone.

"So?" Wanda insists, arms crossed. You bite the inside of your cheek as you look at her.

"What do you want me to say?" You retort angrily.

"You just started a fight for no reason! Again!" She accuses. "Only this time it was with a wizard who could kill you. I want to know what's going on!"

"I don't know, Wanda!" You exclaim angrily. "Why does everyone expect me to have answers? I don't know! Do you understand that? It feels like I'm going to explode in frustration any second, neither you or Gamora seem to get it. I don't understand what's happening to me!"

"Because you won't talk to us!" She shouts back, just as annoyed as you are. "You're pushing everyone away! Even me! We can't help you if you don't talk to us!"

You grunt impatiently, turning around. There was a strange throbbing in the back of your head, a strange whisper. Like a voice telling you that no one was telling you the truth, that your friends expected too much of you, that Wanda didn't care...

This last thought made you sob. Wanda softened her expression immediately, taking a step toward you and touching your shoulder, but you pulled away from her touch as if burned, wiping your tears away quickly.

"Leave me alone, Wanda." You mutter between teeth. She hesitates, raising her hand toward you again.

"Please."

"I need some time from you." You insist, pushing her hand away, and walking away.

A part of your brain is begging you to go back and make things right, but there is a cloud of anger and irritation that keeps you walking.

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

You roll over in bed in discomfort.

Nightmares. Again.

It has only been five days since you had your fight with Wanda, and you are getting worse every day.

With Summers' teasing, you end up noticing other things too.

How the school really found the theory that you and Wanda were somehow related to Mephisto, because the minister had covered up what happened in the dungeons and in the ministry, and everybody thought it was strange that two students were showing an increase in magical potential with the return of a dark wizard.

Unlike you, who were failing considerably in any simple execution of spells, Wanda was demonstrating exceptional abilities. Kaecilius was more than willing to make her the face of progress at Hogwarts, you heard the gossip about bringing in reporters to share the news of the new direction.

You know that the only reason Wanda hasn't come after you yet was because you're running away from her like the plague.

And you couldn't even explain why.

You were also blocking out your real health condition from her. Just like you two practiced during the summer.

Besides hiding this from Wanda, you have kept your friends away too, isolating yourself from everyone else in search of a little rest, only succeeding in taking a nap when you are running away between classes.

And the detentions with Kaecilius keep increasing as you skip classes.

You begin to consider learning to write with a different hand, just so the bruise has time to heal, but at this point you don't even care about the scar anymore.

"You really must like pain." Loki teases wryly as you sit in an empty room, waiting for the aurors' shift change again after your detention.

You don't ask him what he's doing on that floor again, and he doesn't ask why you haven't spoken to your friends in two weeks.

"Sure, that must be it." You joke back, massaging your injured hand.

He assumes a pensive expression for a second.

"Are you sure you haven't been cursed by someone?" He asks, causing you to frown in shock and confusion.

"Excuse me?"

He gives a little chuckle, settling himself better against the wall.

"Everyone's been talking about you being sick." He says. "I heard some of the Ravenclaw people theorize that you became a werewolf over the summer."

You laugh helplessly, massaging your temples lightly.

"I guarantee that's not it." You say making Loki smile.

"If you are sick for no reason, it could be a curse." He says. "I wouldn't be surprised, the way things are."

"But how do I find out if I've been cursed?"

Loki takes a thoughtful stance.

"I don't know." He says. "But I'm sure you can learn that in the no longer reserved session of the library."

You laugh at the joke, but soon you both return to silence. When that hallway's shift ends, Loki sighs, getting up and helping you to stand.

"Still can't perform spells?" He asks, already drawing his wand.

"Only if I want to blow things up." You scoff making him laugh.

"Fine, I'll enchant you." He says. When you are transparent, he looks at you with an amused expression. "See you next Saturday, troublemaker?

"Don't worry, I plan on skipping DADA, maybe I'll be here tomorrow." You retort in the same tone before turning to leave.

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

It takes three more days for Wanda to finally corner you.

You are skipping class in an empty room on the seventh floor, trying to doze off, and almost fall out of your chair with fright when the door opens and Wanda comes in, looking annoyed.

You grunt impatiently, without lifting your face from the desk.

"I told you I needed time." You complain, but tense up when you notice the tears in her eyes as she moves closer to sit at the table next to yours.

" You want to break up with me?" She asks in a whisper and you raise your head immediately, feeling your chest tighten.

"What? What are you talking about?"

Wanda gives a humorless laugh at your expression. "Why are you acting like this is an absurd idea? You've disappeared. You've been avoiding me, not even talking to me anymore."

You shake your head quickly, feeling the urge to cry.

"I don't want to break up with you." You say. "I..I would never want to be away from you."

"You just said you need time away from me." Wanda retorts with annoyance, and you feel your stomach clench as she sighs. "I don't know what's going on with us. And I miss you, but you won't let me near you."

You are exhausted. So you cry.

You rest your head on your arms, and let your sobs fill the silence, hoping that the tears will take this bad feeling away.

It's Wanda's gentle touch on your back that helps.

"Babe, tell me what's wrong." She whispers to you, her tone concerned.

It takes many minutes for you to calm down. But when you do, Wanda holds your hand, kneeling on the floor beside the chair you are in.

"I can't do magic." You breathlessly tell her from crying, "And I can't sleep. I've been sick for weeks, and I'm angry all the time. Healer Cho doesn't know what's wrong with me, but everyone at school seems to have a theory about it. I think I'm going to suffocate, Wanda. I'm messing everything up. Between us, between my family, and at school." You sob as you finish and Wanda shakes her head, her hand coming up to your cheek.

"Don't say that." She urges. "You didn't ruin anything. Hey, look at me. I love you. Your sisters love you, your friends love you. We'll figure out what's going on."

Wanda hugs you tight, and you sob, shaking.

You want to believe her words, so you push the intrusive thoughts away, and believe it.

//-//-//-//

Wanda takes you to a door in that same floor you two were before, but you have never seen that door until that moment.

And you are very surprised to realize that it is a bedroom.

"How...?" You ask confused as she closes the it.

"Welcome to the Room of Requirement." She says with a smile, pulling you by the hand around. "We hold our Avengers meetings here." She counters and you frown.

"In a bedroom? Interesting choice." You comment and she giggles.

"No, my love." She says. "That's how this room works. It is charmed to meet your needs. That's why I asked you to come in first."

"Oh, that's pretty cool." You say looking around. Wanda smiles at you, and then you both reach the bed. "The room thinks I have to sleep?"

"I do too." Wanda retorts, pushing your shoulders gently for you to sit on the bed. "Go on, nice dreams."

You hesitate. "You gonna leave me here alone?"

Wanda denies with her head, pointing to the chair that probably just magically appeared next to the bed. You frown.

"Can't you sleep in the bed with me?"

She giggles. "We don't have much time for you to sleep. If I lie down, you'll want to kiss me. So I'll be sitting in that armchair, studying as I should." She explains seriously, and you pout.

"Stupid rules." You grumble moving your hands up to her waist. "Lie down with me."

"Babe..."

"Please."

Wanda sighs, then nods. You smile, quickly removing your shoes as she does the same. You quickly adjust yourself on the bed, opening your arms for her to lie on top of you, and she gives a little giggle before doing so.

"Are you cozy, sweetheart?" You murmur against her hair, and Wanda squeezes her arms around you.

"Yeah, your boobs are good pillows." She teases, making you laugh with reddened cheeks.

Your eyes begin to heavy quickly, fatigue catching up with your body relaxed by the comfort of the moment.

"Go to sleep, babe." Wanda whispers. "I'll be here when you wake up."

You smile with your eyes closed, surrendering.

It's the best sleep you've had in weeks.

The problem is that as soon as you start to wake up again, you are feeling sick.

You touch the emptiness in the bed, mumbling softly. When you open your eyes you find Wanda sitting in the armchair, the darkhold in her lap.

"Damn it, Wanda, this book again." You complain in a hoarse voice, but she just sighs.

"Why the attitude?"

"I hate that book." You grumble sitting up in bed, massaging your face lightly. "Why do you keep reading it anyway?"

"It's interesting." She says, closing the item to look at you. "Agatha really told me a lot, but there are also things I didn't know."

"For example?"

Wanda bites her lips, appraising you.

"Scarlet witches are forged, for instance." She says and you frown in confusion. Wanda sighs. "Many powerful witches, born scarlet witches, never got to fulfill their destiny because the forging didn't happen."

You straighten your clothes uncomfortably, pensively.

"What exactly does that mean?"

"What the headmistress did last year was my forging." She clarifies and you swallow dryly, feeling your stomach turn. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" you ask confused.

"Everything." She says upset. "I know we've talked about this, but it seems like all I do is cause you problems. With the bond, and with the forge. If Agatha didn't want my powers, she wouldn't have taken you to the dungeon and you wouldn't have suffered."

You poke at the knot of your tie, feeling yourself suffocate slightly. Wanda is speaking, you blink to focus on her words.

"I'm sorry, could you say that again?" You ask out of breath, sweating. You blink to find Wanda's concerned gaze on you.

"Babe, what's wrong?" She asks worriedly, her hands around your face.

You feel your head spin, and everything goes dark before you can answer.

//-//-//-//

You smell the scent of grass when you wake up.

Then you blink in confusion, getting used to your surroundings to realize that you are in what looks like a ward bed.

"Hey, all right, take it easy getting up, Miss Stark." Asked Professor Strange with one hand on her shoulder. In the other he held a potion that you imagined he had given you.

"W-what happened?" you mumbled confusedly, sitting up in bed. Only now did you notice Professor Munroe and Wanda standing in front of the bed, both with worried expressions.

"You passed out, but you're better now I imagine." Stephen explained gently, but you were still feeling very weak.

"Professor, she simply blacked out." Wanda commented in a tearful voice. " Don't you have any idea what's wrong?"

Stephen sighed, and then pointed at the chair, the darkhold.

"Where did you get that book?" He asked, and Wanda frowned, taking a step toward the chair in a defensive posture.

"What does that have to do with my question?" she retorted dryly, and Stephen looked at you one last time before standing up.

"There's a reason it's called the Book of the Damned, Miss Maximoff." He says."It damns its readers."

"That's ridiculous." Wanda retorted, crossing her arms. "I've been reading it for weeks and nothing has happened."

"Not with you."

Wanda hesitates, widening her eyes. And then she takes a step back, swallowing her cry as she reaches out to grab the book and hand it to Stephen.

She turns her gaze back to you, and lets the tears fall.

"I am truly sorry." She says with a mixture of guilt and shame before turning to leave the room.

You call out to her about three times, but she leaves and you don't have the strength to go after her.

"Damn, couldn't I have said that in a different way?" You complain angrily to Stephen, who just sighs, exchanging a look with Professor Munroe. "How come you two are here anyway?"

"It was Wanda." Professor Ororo replies. "She asked the room for someone trustworthy to help her with you. Then there was a door opening in the potions room. Stephen was there with me, and we both came."

"Great." You mutter annoyed, thinking about how you are going to talk to Wanda and convince her that you were not angry with her. "Would either of you happen to know how to make me better now?"

"Sure." Stephen comments by raising the book in the air, and with a wave of his hand, the item dissolves into several pieces until it is gone. "I didn't destroy it, if that's what you're thinking. I just put it away, to prevent something like that from happening again."

"Congratulations." You grumble wryly as you straighten up in bed, the same migraine from before is now weaker, but it's still there.

"You know, you had a better attitude when you didn't have a magical doom on your spirit." Stephen complains, causing you to frown, but Professor Ororo gives a chuckle.

"Thanks professor." You comment wryly, making him laugh. He sits back down beside your bed, and pulls out of the cover a small notebook.

"Now that Miss Maximoff has stopped reading the book, I suppose you will get better." Stephen says, making you sigh.

"You suppose? That's encouraging." You say moving to stand up.

"Where are you going, Miss Stark? You need to rest." Warn the professor, but you ignore him, and ignore the weakness in your body as well.

"What I need, Strange, is for people to stop lying to me."

"No one is lying, Miss Stark." Professor Ororo states next. "We really don't know the extent of the magic the darkhold carries."

"And why is that I imagine?" You sneer. "Because someone omitted the truth from you, and it's been passed down for generations, isn't it? Well, that's over now. Because we've finally studied everything in this place, including a book that condemns anyone who reads it." You exclaim impatiently, stooping down to put on your shoes. "If you two will excuse me, I'll figure out how to get better on my own. But first I'm going to explain to my girlfriend that none of this is her fault."

Ororo and Stephen are silent, but you wouldn't have been paying attention to anything they said anyway.

Soon you are up and out of the requirement room looking for Wanda.

//-//-//-//

She seems to have disappeared from the castle, so you must concentrate to use your instincts.

The hardest part is dodging the aurors, but you finally reach the astronomy tower.

You're a little out of breath from the run, but it's the image of Wanda standing on the edge, the sunlight in her hair that leaves you breathless.

"Hi." You say in a low tone, your hands in your pockets as you approach. She startles slightly, wiping away tears as she keeps her gaze forward.

"What do you want here?" she asks in a husky voice. You sigh.

"That you stop hating yourself and listen to me." You say and she lets out a short laugh.

"And what do you think you can say?" She questions turning her body toward you. "All I do is hurt you."

You shake your head, but Wanda lets out a tearful laugh.

"No you don't understand." She says. "Since I met you, you have only brought me good things. Affection, happiness, hope. You've been that kind warm feeling that I need on my worst days. Hell, you're even the memory for me to cast a patronus." She confesses with emotion, her face wet with tears. "But me? All I bring you is pain and suffering. And now I even bring sickness. This is wrong, I hurt you. You need to see this, and understand that we can no longer happen."

"Don't say that." You ask, reaching up to touch her face, wipe away her tears. "That's not true, Wanda. I love you, you make me..."

"Stop it." She interrupts with a sob. "Don't make it any harder than it already is."

"Please, Wanda, listen to me." You plead, resting your forehead on hers, your hands on her cheeks. "You make me happy, you are the only thing that makes me happy, I love you, please..."

Wanda kisses you hard, and you respond with the same intensity, both of you gasping into each other's mouths.

But then she is pulling away, thrusting you farther apart.

"I'm sorry." She cries, taking a step back. "We're over."

And she's running away again, and this time you don't go after her.

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

Without Darkhold's being consumed, you really start to improve in terms of physical health.

The only problem is the emotional ditch you find yourself in.

Gamora, Nebula and Mantis find you, again in the Room of Requirement, skipping class.

"My god this is worse than last time." Gamora remarks as she looks around at the mess of junk food and pillows. The room had been transformed into a "comfortable place", which basically had the appearance of a living room, with several soft armchairs, and lots of unhealthy food. "Why did you guys break up this time?"

"Please don't talk to me." You grumbled, your voice coming out muffled because you were lying on two soft puffs, your face buried in the pillow, your hand inside a bag of muggles snacks.

"I bet you five bucks they'll be back together before the end of the month." Nebula commented and you sniffled against your pillow, hearing a noise that sounded like Gamora hitting her sister.

"We talked to Wanda." Mantis said. "And with Professor Stephen, too. We're sorry about everything, but have you decided you're not going to study anymore?"

"I don't care about school." You grumble against the pillow. "Leave me alone, I want to cry."

Nebula gives a short laugh, and Gamora elbows her.

"Stop hitting me, you crazy." Nebula complains loudly, moving away from her sister to approach you, taking the bag of snacks you have, and making you complain softly. "And you stop being such a drama queen. Aren't you two like soul mates or some shit? It's just a fight, you'll work it out. You're acting like you've never broken up before."

"Your sensitivity is admirable." Gamora scoffs, pushing her sister away to sit next to you, stroking your back until you look up at her. "Do you want to talk about what happened?"

You feel the urge to cry arise again. "Wanda thinks she is bad for me." You say. "And she doesn't want to be with me anymore, and I want to die."

You start crying again, stuffing your face into the pillow as Gamora strokes your hair.

"How did this happen anyway?" Nebula asks, confused, chewing on salty snacks."You barely slept at home over the summer to be with her, and now you guys are breaking up. It's hard to keep up with this relationship."

"Merlin, Nebula shut up." Gamora asks impatiently, and her sister raises her hands in surrender with an ironic expression. You want to scream against your pillow, but all you do is try to control your crying.

"You can't keep disappearing, sweetheart." Gamora says as she runs her hands through your hair, trying to calm you down. "Kaecilius has already noticed. He's trying to figure out where you're going, and eventually he'll figure it out since you can't stay here forever."

"Maybe I can." You mumble making Gamora laugh softly.

"Come on, I'm sure you miss a decent meal." She says. "Why don't you join us for lunch?"

"I can't sit at your table."

"Who said anything about a table?"

This is how you end up on the edge of the great lake, at a picnic.

Mantis gets several dishes from the house elves, and since lunch is a free social hour, nobody seems to mind that you are eating outside.

Your sisters are not the only students who, over time, have learned ways around school rules.

You grumble slightly as you feel the sun on your face, but lie back on the grass, closing your eyes.

Your mind wanders back to last summer immediately, the memories of Wanda, and you feel horrible. You just want her back. And then you swallow the urge to cry again to accept the juice Mantis offers you.

"We wanted to tell you that we've found a way to help you, too." Gamora says after a moment, causing you to raise your eyebrow. "About the darkhold, and the eternal damnation thing."

"Light topic." You sneer, throwing your arm over your face. The day is hot. "I appreciate the help, of course."

Gamora giggles. "Merlin, I had forgotten how grumpy you get when you're upset."

"I'm not upset, Gamora." You retort angrily. "I'm frustrated."

"Sexually." Nebula sneers, making you grunt in anger, but Mantis holds back a laugh.

"What's your problem with my feelings lately?" You accuse the girl with irritation.

"Not everything is about you, you know." She retorts and you sit up quickly, looking at her with a raised eyebrow.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Nebula laughs, rolling her eyes. "In case you haven't noticed, there's a war going on." She says. "We're all stressed and scared. And the three of us have been in the same classes as you, having to watch the same things. But you only have time for Wanda. And now you've broken up, again, because there's some mortal danger, again, that she's caused for you. So, I don't know, but maybe she is right to break up. Ever since you guys started dating everything has been about her, and the trouble she causes!"

"Fuck you, Nebula!" You exclaim angrily, advancing against the girl in front of you. Gamora and Mantis quickly separate you.

"Hey, what's wrong with you?" Gamora shoves you. "Were you really going to hit her?"

"Fuck this." You curse angrily, taking a step away. "I didn't ask any of you to come after me. I don't need you. I just need Wanda. Fucking leave me alone."

You turn back to the castle, cursing the wild on your way.

//-//-//-//

Loki is the only friend you have now.

You wouldn't call him a friend exactly.

Kaecilius has put you in detention for three days a week, including Saturday, but mostly you just clean the castle. But when he takes you to the seventh floor, and makes you scrape sentences against your own skin, you don't worry about being alone anymore, because Loki is always on that floor.

It takes a week for you to tell him about the requirement room.

" You could have mentioned it earlier, we would have stuck around here." He comments without sounding upset.

Soon it doesn't take long for you two to start seeing each other even when you're not in detention.

You are not surprised that Loki also skips classes, he has always been quite mischievous, but the reason is different from yours.

He knew dark magic. Much more than you or your classmates. And he has no interest in practicing it in class.

"It's stupid." He comments as you are sitting in the armchairs. "Most people will never have the courage or willpower to cast a death curse. It's useless to learn."

"Is that the only reason you don't agree with the teaching at Hogwarts now?" You ask in surprise, setting up the chessboard for yourself as Loki shrugs his shoulders.

"I feel like you're judging me, Hufflepuff." He sneers but you smile, rolling your eyes.

"Honestly, I don't give a damn."

And you really didn't care.

Wanda was avoiding you in the halls, and you were doing the same with your friends and family.

When Iron delivered the mail to the Slytherin table, including Nebula's birthday presents, you wanted to throw up, but all you did was walk away from the Hufflepuff table toward the requirement room.

Without the darkhold, you didn't feel sick, but the anger didn't go away.

Your magic hadn't stabilized, and you were failing at everything, but you couldn't bring yourself to worry about it.

Erik wrote to you, commenting on the importance of you and Wanda practicing magical balancing together, and you burned the letter while crying on the carpet.

And at this rate, time went by.

It was almost the middle of the school year when things started to take a turn for the worse at Hogwarts, and in the wizarding war as well.

Mephisto is getting stronger, and the order is losing. And Kaecillius must be under some pressure from the ministry, maybe for answers from organizations like the Avengers, which are forbidden, because his detentions get too horrible.

It is Saturday again, and you drag yourself to the room where you are supposed to fulfill your detention, but unlike the other days, Kaecillius locks the door.

You only notice because he seems tense and distracted, and there is no feather or book.

"Professor, what will my punishment be today?" You ask confused, and he is nodding to the center of the room as he stands in front of the desk, a few feet from you.

"Miss Stark, today I want to ask some questions and I expect honesty." He declines as he turns to you.

You hiss softly, putting your hands in your pockets.

"Shoot."

Kaecillius doesn't even mind your lack of formality, looking at you with an impassive face.

"What is Mephisto's location?"

You choke in surprise and disbelief. "Excuse me? Why do you think I know that?"

"The ministry has reason enough to suspect that the Order of the Avengers is nothing more than a cover for the death walkers.Your brother, whom I had suspected of being part of that order of delinquents, is no longer at Hogwarts, but you will have to serve." He speaks and with each word you become more outraged. "Now answer me, where is Mephisto?"

" Did you just fucking call my brother a delinquent?" You mutter incredulously. "I have no idea where Mephisto is, what's your problem?"

But you widen your eyes when the professor draws his wand, and you barely have time to swallow dry before the spell hits you in the chest.

It's the cruciatus curse. You know the second it hits you. The sharp pain fills every cell in your body and you scream, not having the strength to stand or with your eyes open, hugging yourself.

"We must not tell lies, Miss Stark." Kaecillius says as soon as he stops enchanting you, the pain disappears in the same instant, but you continue to tremble.

In complete shock and fear, you sob.

"I will ask you again, where is Mephisto?"

You let the tears flow, and shake your head. "I don't know, professor."

Kaecillius lets out a sigh of disappointment. "Some cases are more difficult than others." He comments somberly, taking a step toward her. "Did you know that the record for enduring the Cruciatus curse before madness is six hours? Incredible, isn't it? It happened during the first war, with a muggleborn. You're a half-blood, maybe you can take longer"

He has a devilish grin as he finishes, and you clench your jaw at the threat.

"I don't know where Mephisto is." You repeat, but the professor points his wand at you again.

"My bet is seven hours."

And then the pain returns.

You don't know how long you stay in that room.

But it is long enough for your consciousness to begin to fade. The pain gets so severe that it gradually fades away. You begin to gasp breathlessly, not even able to scream anymore.

Someone help me. Please, help me. Help me. Wanda.

Between the tears you see the floor of the room, and between a twinge of pain, a red light. And everything is dark again.

//-//-//

“Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Warcraft and Wizard is arrested in flagrant by aurors from the ministry of magic this week, full coverage on page..."

You blink confusedly, your eyes getting used to the clarity, while the headline of the Daily Prophet was the first thing your vision caught.

And then you shifted in bed, realizing that you were in a hospital room , and whoever was reading next to you put the paper down when they heard you, and you could behold the curious look on your brother's face.

"Tony?" you whispered confused, and he smiled as he stood up quickly, the newspaper forgotten on the armchair.

"Hey, how are you feeling?" He asked as his hand reached for the loose strands of hair on your face and put them back. "You scared the hell out of me."

"What happened?"

"What's the last thing you remember?"

You thought, and then sighed, closing your eyes for a moment.

"Kaecilius."

Tony bit his lip nervously before speaking.

"I'm sorry." He said, lowering his hand to his own. "I came here as soon as I got the howler from Professor Strange, but honestly, I didn't even need it, because all the newspapers are talking about it."

"What...?" You started in confusion, but Tony hurried to explain.

"Wanda found you, Y/N." He told. "She, well, wasn't exactly happy about the whole thing. I think she lost control. Kaecilius is lucky to be alive if you ask me. She almost destroyed the seventh floor, it was a huge mess. And then the aurors interfered, and soon there were reporters everywhere. I guess now everyone knows she's a scarlet witch."

You widened your eyes, straightening to sit up and grumbling a little in pain. Tony looked at you with concern, asking you to take it easy, but you were already asking about Wanda.

"She's at the ministry of magic." He clarified. "Kaecilius is going on trial for torturing a student, and she will answer for putting everyone in danger."

" What?" you ask incredulously, and Tony sighs.

"Yeah I know it's unfair." He says. "But the minister of magic seems to be looking everywhere for people to blame for his lack of control. The problem is how much of that information will get to Mephisto. The whole ministry seems to be full of walkers."

You ran your hand across your face, frustrated.

"I'm so tired, Tony." You confess in a whisper. "It feels like everything is falling apart around me, and things are only getting worse."

Tony squeezes your hand. "I'm sorry, I really am. This whole situation sucks, and I wanted to help you. I'm trying, sister. I haven't been talking to you as much as I should, but I didn't want you to think you're alone. I'm working on breaking the bond. To free you and Wanda from the prophecy, and the wizarding world from dangers like Mephisto. I'm sorry I haven't been by your side."

You swallow your cry, and nod, trying to smile at Tony. He reaches up to hug you, and you gasp softly, taking a few seconds to relax and let the tears flow.

When you calm down, Tony tells you that he is going to get a Mediwizards to check your situation.

You lie down again, sighing softly. The memories come back with full force, and you choke softly, feeling your body tremble.

It's as if you can feel the curse again, sense the pain on your skin. Opening your eyes and shaking the memories away, you swallow dryly and reach for the glass of water on the nightstand.

You just want Wanda by your side telling you that everything is going to be okay.

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

You stay under observation for two days.

Doctor Hank makes a joke about you enjoying St.Mungus more than you should since you keep coming back, but Tony doesn't laugh.

Then you' re going back to Hogwarts by train, because the doctor thinks you shouldn't use magical means of transportation for a few days, and it's weird to take the empty express, but as soon as you arrive at the station, Gamora and Nebula are waiting for you with boxes of candy bought in Hogsmeade, and tight hugs.

You are not surprised by the stares you receive from the other students, but you ignore them as your sisters escort you around the castle to the Hufflepuff communal hall.

"Did you get to talk to Wanda?" Gamora asks as soon as you sit down on your bed, sighing with exhaustion from the train ride. The mention of the other sorceress' name doesn't help.

"Not yet." You say. "And I wouldn't be surprised to hear that she's ignoring me."

Nebula exchanges a look with her sister before sitting down on Mantis' bed, who is hugging her knees and looking at you.

"Honestly, I just want to finish this year without any more problems." You confess as you take off your jacket. And there is a moment of silence before you swallow dryly. "I also wanted to apologize to you guys."

Gamora frowns slightly, but says nothing. You take a deep breath.

"I know I was under the influence of an evil book, but that was still no excuse for treating you guys like that." You begin. "Tony told me about how things are in the wizarding world. Everyone is going through something, and it was selfish of me to think that only my problems matter. I'm sorry."

"Really, Y/N, it's okay." Nebula says, surprising you a bit. "We were all stressed, and well, I think an evil book is a pretty fair excuse." She jokes, making you smile. "Maybe things will get a little better now that Strange is the director."

"Oh, that's right" You comment just then remembering the things Tony updated you on while you were at St.Mungus. Like Kaecillius' resignation, and the position being passed on to Professor Stephen. "But honestly, I won't be at peace until I hear from Wanda."

"The trial isn't until Friday. And the way things are going, we won't get any news until it's over." Gamora warned as she sat down on the bed next to you. "I think the Maximoffs are probably too busy to write."

"What do you think will happen to Wanda?" You ask as you tug at the loose strands of the comforter. Mantis sighs lightly.

"I don't have a good feeling about things, Y/N." She confesses and you frown in concern. "And the stars never lie."

"Thank you, Mantis." You mock softly, and Gamora runs her hands through her hair.

"Let's not be pessimistic, okay?" she says. "Maybe the predictions are about, I don't know, the school finals? It doesn't mean something bad is really going to happen."

You grumble unhappily, grabbing a pillow and sinking your face into it. Gamora strokes your back.

"I'm sure things will work out, Y/N." She says. "Wanda will write as soon as she can."

"Do you guys think Kaecilius will be sent to Azkaban?" Nebula asks next, making you raise your head curiously.

"I wouldn't be so sure." You grumble. "I was actually surprised that he was put on trial at all."

"Well, with the whole mess that happened, it was bound to happen." Gamora said. "More than half the school became aware that he used the cruciatus curse on you, and then the daily prophet. And I didn't even know they were in the castle."

"It was because of Wanda really, wasn't it?" Mantis added. "Kaecillius caused his own ruin. He called the journalists to show what he called progress and decided to torture a student while they were in the castle. Then Wanda destroyed the entire floor and the next morning his arrest was all over the pages."

"I'm just really outraged to know that if no one had seen it, he would probably still be at Hogwarts." Gamora says angrily, and you sigh, agreeing as well as the others.

"Well, you must be hungry, shall we go to the great hall? It's almost dinner time." Gamora comments next, pulling you by the hand. You grumble softly, but agree, and soon you are leaving the communal hall to join the rest of the students.

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

You are tapping your fingers gently against the desk as you wait for the History of Magic class to begin.

It is Friday, finally.

You have barely slept because of anxiety about news of Wanda's trial.

Things at Hogwarts have changed a lot this week, all because of Strange's administration.

He restored the old classes, banned the teaching of dark magic, the scandal at the Daily Prophet being enough of an argument that the Minister of Magic no longer had a defense over this kind of teaching at Hogwarts. The restricted session of the library was also put back, and the seventh floor was off-limits because of the destruction Wanda caused, and you unfortunately lost access to the Requirement room.

Mantis was writing what looked like a lunar calendar for the divination class while Professor Okoye didn't arrive, and you started whistling distractedly.

And then Thor Odinson was poking you in the back to get your attention, and you turned around in your chair.

"Hi, Stark, what's up?"

"Fine." You grumbled suspiciously. "Can I help you with something?"

Thor looked almost unsure. "I was just wondering if you know of anything going on with Loki."

You frowned. "Excuse me?"

"I mean if you know if he's sick or something." He explains. "We had a fight, and well, he's not talking to me. And I've noticed that you guys have been kind of close lately, and I was curious if you knew anything and..."

"No, Thor, I'm sorry." You interrupt with a sigh. "Maybe you should ask him that."

Thor assumes a sad expression. "I would, but he's ignoring me. I think it might be about our mother."

You make a confused expression, and Thor looks surprised.

"Our mother, she...died earlier this year, Y/N." Thor counters, and you widen your eyes. "Our family is a name of reference against Mephisto. With the war, the walkers came to our home. She was there while we were here, and Dad was at the ministry."

"I'm so sorry, Thor." You whisper to him, still shocked by the information. He shrugged.

"I thought Loki told you."

"We don't talk about things like that, I guess." You say. "Sorry, I wish I knew how to help you."

"No, it's okay." Thor says with a sad smile. "You being his friend this year is more than enough. I don't like seeing him all alone out here."

You nod lightly, settling into your chair as you notice the teacher entering the room.

Mantis exchanges a look of understanding with you, having overheard the conversation even if accidentally, but she says nothing, and soon you are hearing about the witch hunt in the United States, and you try to focus on that rather than curiosity about how Wanda's trial is going or Loki's current emotional state.

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

As soon as lunchtime begins, you join the Slytherin table, where some of the students have placed a radio on the table, equally with other students from the other houses, to listen to the trial.

You are not surprised that a student's trial is such an interesting topic for everyone, but after the school started talking about Wanda being a scarlet witch, and the theories circulating around the halls, it was to be expected.

So you sit back while biting your fingertips and listening.

"And now directly from the Ministry of Magic, the trial of seventeen-year-old witch Wanda Maximoff, daughter of legendary witch Erik L-"

Your attention is slightly diverted from the narrative when loud laughter catches your ears.

They are Gryffindor and Slytherin students, exchanging coins. You don't need to hear the conversation to know they are gambling about the trial, the mean laughter and glances in the direction of you and your sisters are enough.

And as if she could feel your growing fury, Gamora touches your shoulder gently.

"Just ignore them, Y/N." She urges and you clench your jaw. " Everything is going to be okay with Wanda."

"I hope you're right, Gamora." You grumble, turning your attention back to the radio.

The narration of the newspaper is generic, and you discover that the audience has been closed off to the reporters.

You take a deep breath, concentrating.

No strange feeling, so Wanda is safe.

You wonder if Erik and Pietro are by her side during the whole thing.

It is only at the end of lunchtime that you have the result.

"It's amazing how things unfold in the ministry this afternoon." Counted the reporter with almost excitement. "After a unanimous vote, the witch Wanda Maximoff was found guilty of endangering her fellow students by not registering as a scarlet witch to the ministry of magic, after it was proven that her father, the sorcerer Erik Lehnsherr knew of her condition, as well as the affiliation with the criminal, Agatha Harkness was also mentioned. The ministry finally decided on Wanda Maximoff's expulsion from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizarding"

You felt your stomach plummet.

And everything became a little muffled around you, a soft whistle in your ear. You think Gamora and Nebula were calling for you, but you were getting up, feeling the room getting too small.

Stumbling out, you loosened the knot of your tie, finally stopping in the courtyard as you leaned your body against a pillar.

Wanda had been expelled from Hogwarts, publicly exposed as a Scarlet Witch, and tried as a criminal. You wondered if they would break her wand. Banned wizards led horrible lives.

Your sisters and friends caught up with you quickly, and you let them hug you.

In a few minutes Director Strange is catching up with you as well, and you release Gamora's grip to talk to him.

"Professor, I need to..."

"You cannot leave Hogwarts, Miss Stark." He interrupts with a wave of his hands and you frown in confusion, ready to protest but he is already speaking. "Tony sent a patronus as soon as the results came out, he already figured you'd want to see Miss Maximoff. The ministry is a mess, and Wanda will be staying with her father there for the minister's final decisions. You should stay here, where you are safe."

"That's not fair!" You squawk angrily. "Wanda needs me, I must-"

"She needs you to be safe." He interrupts again seriously, and then lowers his tone slightly as he notices the curious looks of the surrounding students. "Be rational, Miss Stark. Now that the Wizarding community knows the nature of Wanda's powers, how long before Mephisto has enough information and discovers your identity as protector."

You swallow dryly, clenching your fists begrudgingly. Stephen is right. You look away, and he sighs, placing his hand on your shoulder.

"Wanda will be fine, even without her NEWTS, she is an extraordinary witch." He says. "And the year is coming to an end, soon you will be able to see her again."

"She needs me now." You grumble annoyed, turning away from the professor's touch. He looks at you for a moment and then clears his throat.

"I'll see what I can do, Miss Stark." He says."In the meantime, focus on your studies, and be careful."

You frown at Stephen's words, but he is already turning and leaving before you can ask.

As you turn to your friends, Gamora has a worried look on her face.

"Are you okay?" She asks, and you sigh, agreeing to hug her again as you mumble no.

"I can feel how upset she is, Gamora." You grumble against your sister's shirt, wishing you could hug Wanda now. Gamora squeezes you against her arms, and you thank her for her intention even if it isn't enough.

The next few days are like a blur for you.

Many letters arrive, as do many editions of the Daily Prophet.

When the picture of the day Wanda's wand was broken comes out on the front page and you see her tired face, you have to run out of the common room to keep from crying in front of your colleagues.

Everyone writes to you, even Carol, everyone but the Maximoffs.

It is frustrating, and honestly, it breaks your heart in many ways.

The news of a Scarlet Witch after a century is almost as bombastic as Mephisto's return, and you're not surprised that many of your colleagues would start to comment on the possibility of Wanda working with him or against him.

It's overwhelming how everyone talks about her, but all you can feel is how much you miss her around the castle, around you.

You couldn't even remember that your magic is stable, and with everything that has happened, you haven't had time to figure out how to fix things.

Stephen tried to help, but he didn't know what was going on. At least the theoretical part of magic you were able to master, and you hoped to get at least an acceptable score in some subjects.

Only almost a week and a half after the trial, Professor Strange interrupts the potions class to talk to you.

Ignoring the curious stares and whispers of your classmates, you ask Professor Munroe to excuse you, and leave the room.

"What is wrong, professor?" You ask curiously as you close the door, watching Stephen with his hands in his pockets.The dungeons feel emptier without the ministry aurors around the castle.

"Saturday, in the Astronomy tower, nine-thirteen at night." He says as he hands you a small gold key, causing you to frown in confusion. "You will have exactly one hour, Miss Stark. Not a second more."

You stare at the object in your hand, and understand. A portal key. To Wanda.

"Thank you, Professor." You say, and Stephen nods before leaving.

You turn back to potions, the object in your pocket. You could barely contain your anxiety.

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

Tag list> @imapotatao / @aimezvousbrahms/ @ensorcellme/ @helloalycia || @mionemymind / @abimess / @stephanieromanoff / @yourtaletotell / @tomy5girls / @justagaypanicking / @thegayw1tch / @idek-5 // @myperfectlovepoem // @helloalycia // @ENSORCELLME // @AIMEZVOUSBRAHMS // @drpepperobsessed // @sighsam // @olsensnpm // @sxfwap // @table57 // @madamevirgo // @causeitswhatjesuswouldfreakingdo // @emptysince18x // @xastrydx || @yuhloversxx || @ymzki-haruki || @wouldirunofftheworldsomeday || @lostandsearching || @lezzzbehonesthere || @musicinourlips || @chaekhan || @diaryoflife || @nervoustrack || @aquamarinescarlet || @cristin-rjd || @idamaemann || @fortunatelynerdylight || @iliketozoneout || @blackwow34 // @tiny--freak || @spongebobtentacles || @cyberbonesworld ||

A/F/N> Place your bets for my next comeback (a week, a month or tomorrow?). If I delete the blog, and you're in love with this story for some reason I don't know about because there are so many better things to read, know that I'll post everything on AO3 if I ever do.

[windblooms]

Hi!! Could you do headcanons of Diluc, Kayea, Childe and Zhongli with a s/o who is touch starved but is too shy to intimate physical affection please? Thank you!💙

decided to answer the two of these in the same ask since they have similar personalities for the reader, and they evolved into scenarios.  hopefully what i’ve written is all right!

edit: to the second anon, i’m sorry, i don’t know how people write more than 500 characters in asks. ㅠㅠ  is it maybe a submission . . . ?

childe:

as a very perceptive individual, childe would pick up on your hesitations relatively soon, however won’t say anything about them outright.  

while he may ask you if something’s wrong whenever you reach out, but self-consciously pull away, or when you’re on the verge of words but can’t bring yourself to speak, he won’t pry into your meekness. 

he knows that some people prefer to keep things to themselves or away from others – he’s a prime example of this himself.  so he doesn’t want to push you, but will continue to keep mental tabs on when you shrink away, or backtrack after you sound as if you’re going to ask him something.

if the trend continues for a while, he’ll eventually sit down to talk with you about it.  he’ll discuss with you patiently, not wanting to invade past things you might not want to share just yet, but he still tries to find the cause of your hesitancies so he can better understand you.

“there’s something bothering you, isn’t there?” he leans forward across the table, and rests his chin on his hand.  “you can tell me, you know.  i’ll try and help you with it.”

as you take your time to answer, he grows increasingly concerned, but still wears a poker face to not influence you as well.  across the table, he’ll slowly reach out his hand as a means of comfort, and clasp yours when you don’t pull away.

you begin to speak about your uncertainties, and childe listens intently.  ah, so that was it – now that you mention it, the two of you don’t hold hands much, or really touch each other.  he had assumed that’s how you preferred it, little to no physical touch.  but now that you’ve explained why you’ve concealed those wishes . . . 

“i’d be more than willing to hold you.”  childe’s words are soft, and he manages a small smile to encourage you.  as soon as your face flushes, though, he can tell that there’s something else you want to say.  so he pauses, expectant, but you still seem nervous.

he takes a gander and speaks.  “we can start off slow, if you want . . .  actually, anything you want, you can tell me.  you don’t have to worry about being embarrassed.”

from there, the two of you work out what you want.  you both agree to take it slow, since this will be a first for you; small touches against each other’s fingers as reassurance, and taps against his shoulder when you’re too nervous to outright ask for his attention.  he also has something of his own to suggest:

“there’s some custom that mondstadtians have,” childe ponders aloud suddenly.  “hm – something about tapping three times, meaning ‘i love you’?”

at his notion, you become bashful, and look down towards your lap.  you know where he’s going with this, and at your reaction, the snezhnayan chuckles, unfolding his hands from atop each other to squeeze yours in demonstration.

“one, two, three.  it’s just gonna be between us, all right?”

diluc:

diluc is arguably one of the most emotionally reserved characters in all of mondstadt.  sure, he’s got a sense of dry humor and wit whenever he feels snarky enough, but when it comes to personal sentiments?  he keeps them behind lock and key, with the exception of passive aggression.

if you’re self-conscious about asking for affection, such as when you’re about to reach out to tap at his hand yet pull back at the last instant, you find him looking at you expectatntly, his notorious half-lidded gaze fixated on you.  if there’s something you want, you’ll ask for it is his mentality, since he assumes that the two of you are both comfortable enough in your relationship to do so.  and relationships are built around trust.  so why are you hesitating?

that is to say, he doesn’t stare at you until you crack.  after a few seconds, he’ll look away, and resume whatever he was doing beforehand.  if it were anyone else, he’d most likely ask them verbally what they want, since there’s no use in prolonging the time, and he’s an impatient man. 

he makes a conscious effort to be more gentle with you.  he can’t quite tell if you appreciate it though especially in these scenarios, since you always chew at your lip and refrain from looking at him afterwards.

diluc will only allude to these instances.  he’ll ask “is there something you need?” or “is something the matter?”  he has no experience with physical affection of any sort, at least since his father all those years ago.  so he’d be quite lost with your circumstance; he doesn’t know at all what you want unless you make a verbal indication as to what it is. 

one day, in the privacy of his office, he senses your fingers just near his forearm.  diluc looks over in time to see you clasp his coat rather shakily, but your hold is there nonetheless.  much like usual, he’ll peer at you with a half-lidded gaze, although this time he addresses how skittish you appear. 

“something the matter?” he’ll say as per usual, but this time he isn’t vague; he’s referring to your sudden committance to reaching out as opposed to pulling away.

“ . . . just wanted to hold you.”  your confession is a mere whisper, but your boyfriend still hears it.  the two of you sit in silence for a bit, before he turns his body and puts his hand on the side of your head, pressing gently so that you lean flush against his arm. 

you’re speechless, however the circumstance doesn’t need words anymore.  content with you hugging his arm, and now understanding your wants, diluc continues to work as you drift asleep against him.  while there’s still a ways to go, as he’s sure that this isn’t the only desire you have, it’s surely a start.

kaeya:

the astute captain that he is, kaeya can hone into your desires with relative ease.

before you can retract your hand after reaching out, he’s already grasped it in his own.  you’re caught off-guard, not expecting his agility, but his grip isn’t firm or unpleasant; it’s gentle, as if he’s caring for glass.

he lowers his face so that the two of you are eye-level.  “no need to be shy.  it’s just us.”  kaeya’s reassurance is playful at first, until your contemplative silence queues him in on the severity of your timidness.

he’s concerned: is there something serious that’s bothering you?  he’d just assumed that you wanted to hold hands, or lean on each other.  for how long it takes you to speak, he’s thinking the worst: is a coworker bothering you?  are you ill with a fever?  kaeya’s eyebrows furrow, and he immediately speaks again.  “what’s wrong, precious?  tell me, please.”

looking up at him, you realize that he has the wrong impression.  tenderly enveloping your cheek with his hands, rubbing your skin with his thumbs, you sink into the affection – but he’s got the wrong idea.  

“i-it’s fine,” you begin, and he blinks rapidly.  “just . . . wanted to, uh,” you nudge further into his hands, and squeeze his arms gently, “ . . . touch you.”

ah.  your meekness makes sense now, although considering your personality, his initial guesses probably wouldn’t have been far off.  nevertheless, kaeya indulges you, even if you both continue the circumstance in silence.  it’s evident that you’ve been holding back this request for a while, and as much as he loves to tease and would like to in this moment, he doesn’t believe now is an appropriate time.

so, kaeya continues to stroke your face, soothing away your nerves.  his other hand clasps yours in your lap, giving you the time and affection you crave.  

he finds your vulnerability endearing, but there’s guilt on his conscience: why have you been nervous to approach him about this, and why did he not pick up on it sooner?  not that he expects you to come for him for everything – kaeya just theorizes that there must be some reason as to why you appear so touch-starved, and he’s thinking the worst about such a reason.

“feeling better?”  he inquires, still cradling your face, and he pulls you into a hug.  his warmth is reassuring to you – the security that you’ve longed for.  if this is what affection feels like, you’re not sure that you’d ever want to pull away.

“yeah.”  hesitantly, you lift your face from his chest, but your arms remain around his waist.  your boyfriend grins slightly, and ruffles your hair, pushing your bangs aside so he can kiss your forehead.

“tell me about it.  we can figure this out together.” 

zhongli:

about three weeks into your relationship is when zhongli receives questions from hu tao: “hey, you and y/n don’t touch each other at all.  i know you’re ‘professional’ and stuff, but jeez – not even hand-holding?  thought it’d get more exciting at this point.”

and while he initially thought of her remarks as rude – your relationship isn’t any of her business – it did prompt him to consider her words.

specifically, she’s right: while he’s generally busy at wangsheng, he strives to make time for you whenever possible.  and in that time, never once have either of you touched each other.  he’s never minded, since he’s admittedly gone without it for so long and is used to life without it – but it’s the modern age, and isn’t it customary for liyuens to . . . ?

so he takes it upon himself to ask you over dinner.  he’s made bamboo shoot soup for you tonight, and as you sit across the table from him, finishing the dish, he speaks so candidly it nearly makes you choke on your last bite.

“would you like to hold hands in the market tomorrow?”

“what?”

zhongli makes a strange face.  he knows you heard him, so why do you also look startled, and are averting your eyes?

he repeats himself nonetheless, and while you do answer him this time, it’s by mumbling under your breath.

“ – odd question,” is how you start, and your boyfriend folds his hands underneath his face, yet doesn’t rest his chin.  “um, sure.  yeah, sure . . . ”

you most definitely do not sound sure, but it’s in a way that further perplexes him.  you look . . . thrilled now?  he can see that you’re refraining from smiling – the corners of your mouth flutter – but why?  zhongli doesn’t recall saying anything that would be good news . . .

“is something the matter?” the archon supplies instead, to which you shake your head.  your hands are in your lap.

“ah, no.  what you said just came out of no where.”  an unconcealed smile from you now, and zhongli finds himself relaxing.  if you’re certain, that’s all he cares about.

he stands up, and prepares to take your dish to the kitchen.  before though, he makes sure to bring you up to your feet, and intertwines his fingers with yours.

“may i kiss you?”  he asks, suddenly, unexpectedly.  he sees you nod, the slight pressing of your lips together, and gives them a quick peck before retreating; zhongli can still taste the slight bamboo left over.

when the two of you draw away, there’s a noticeable flush on your cheeks.  once more, you seem giddy, however this time he doesn’t have to ask why.

“i’ve never done this before.”  there’s trepidation in your voice that causes his brows to furrow slightly.  “so . . . it’s all right if we start out slow, right?”

“of course,” zhongli doesn’t hesitate to respond.  you could mean so many things, and he isn’t sure which you’re referring to: initiating physicality with him, or maybe that you’ve never had a partner before . . . ?  but he doesn't dwell on that.  “your comfort is what matters.”

in the market the next day, zhongli finds comfort in the slight tugs on his coat sleeve from your fingers, and the smile that beams on your visage.

[formlesschromatic]

"You say it so casually," Panoramia says. "I'm familiar with slitting throats like you are with helping plants grow. In almost every situation, it's the best way I can contribute." "Do you ever wish-" Panoramia cuts herself off. But it's a fair question. "I wasn't born a Dame. If I didn't have magic, I'd be in a thatch hut on a tiny farm, probably on my fifth or sixth child right now, unless a plague or a famine or some roaming terror from Sylvania had carried me off." That's the easy part of the question, but it's not what she was asking. What if you weren't of the Grey? "I love Ulgu, but I probably would have loved any other Wind if I'd ended up elsewhere. The duties of the Grey Order are possibly the heaviest - except maybe Shyish." A nod of accord from all. Nobody envied the Amethyst Order. "I'd probably be happy amongst the Gold," you say, nodding at Maximilian. "Just before my Magister examination, I realized I could be happy if all I focused on was learning all I could - as long as I had someone else write my papers for me." You nod to Esbern and Seija. "And the Amber... I've spent a lot of days on the back of my Shadowhorse, and I've found the wild can be addictive. If I had thinking company instead of magic in the shape of a horse, I might want to spend my entire life there." Finally, to Panoramia again. "As for Jade... I visited your College, once. It was beautiful. It would be nice if the products of my work was the same." You pause as your mind flits through the other options. Bright Order Mathilde? Likely even more at home on a battlefield than you are already. Celestial and Light Order, though... no thanks. But you know better not to say those parts out loud. "But look." You wave a hand at bulk of Karag Nar, stretching high above you. "Karag Nar. In the past thousand years, the only humans to ever know that name would have been a handful of Dwarven history obsessives at the University of Altdorf. Now it's looking like humans are going to be living in it. Karak Eight Peaks won't be a historical footnote, it will be a home for Dwarves and for Halflings and for men. The throats I slit yesterday were ugly, but the better tomorrow they've bought is beautiful." Your mind goes back seven years, to the first time your actions had resulted in blood. "We deal death to the corrupt to prevent the suffering of the innocent."

seeing characters justify being who they are is always a fun way peek into them

Three thousand years ago the ancestors of the Empire had barely migrated, but every wrong done to Karak Eight Peaks had been recorded in exhausting detail, as demonstrated by the series of mighty tomes hauled over by the Dwarven attendants. The most venerable of the Longbeards begins to leaf through at the High King's instruction, who then turns his attention to King Belegar. "If you can keep the fight going until a Throng gets there, we may be able to double the harvest of avenged Grudges. How long can your foothold last?" "How long can yours?" King Belegar responds, and you fight to keep your expression neutral. The moment stretches as the two stare obstinately at each other. "The East Gate is taken and fortified. Karag Nar is completely cleared, Karag Lhune has only a colony of spiders that are deciding whether to starve or be shot until it is the same, and both are fortified against any intruders from below. The Citadel is taken, and the caldera has been burned clear and by the time I return there will be enough artillery mounted that anything foolish enough to show itself will die. Kvinn-Wyr is infested by feral trolls, as much an obstacle to our enemies as it is to us, and that flank too is being fortified. Karak Azul's Throng has reached us and King Kazador has sworn to me that each one will die before he lets his people be cut off again. Karak Norn is selling us war machines on credit. Karak Izor sent colonizers three months ago. Barak Varr is already counting their profits. There are manlings building houses. There are Halflings building houses. As far as I can see, Karak Eight Peaks has a brighter future than any Hold east of Black Fire Pass." He points at the Book, which stopped having its pages flipped as the Elder turned to watch. "That Karak is three thousand years dead. If the one that exists today holds no interest to you, I have no business here."

so glad that a civil war never happened, and that the tensions were eventually defused. a small part of me did kinda want to watch one happen tho, it would be pretty dang dramatic

okay starting another Divided loyalties readthrough. going to post stray thoughts and comments here reacting to it.

Better clean the… whatever that was… off you, because it's time for the ceremony. Thankfully your normal grey robes count as formal dress, because otherwise you wouldn't have a thing to wear.

there are many benefits to being a wizard

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Guest Side Story

Fandom: The Falcon and the Winter Soldier Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Sarah Wilson Rating: T Word Count: 3214

Summary: Sam told Bucky not to flirt with Sarah. But this is her house, so Bucky's pretty sure she makes the rules.

Bucky’s missed white lies. Ones that don’t hurt anybody.

“Is that cigarette smoke I smell on your coat, James Barnes?” “No, Ma. ’Course not.”

“And you’re sure this dame knows it’s my arm she’ll be on?” “Sure, Steve. She’s been after me to fix the two of you up for weeks.”

Stuff like that.

Past few years, Bucky’s either been transparent or a brick wall, all lies or all truth. Which one he loses more sleep over just depended on the day. The most human thing, he’s learning, is to work with a little of both: fact and fiction. Give something here, hold something back there. Lying doesn’t have to be mean-spirited and telling the truth doesn’t have to make him feel hollow and guilty. Maybe you can only realize this kinda thing when you find your way home, even if the home isn’t yours.

Bucky’s standing in the kitchen listening to Cass teach him how to fish. It’s purely theoretical, no gear involved, just the overexaggerated motion of Cass’s arm as he mimes casting. Laughing, Bucky lightly grabs the boy’s elbow before it can collide with the refrigerator on an especially big swing. Cass downsizes his demonstration without pausing the excited flow of his instructions.

AJ catches Bucky’s eye; from the look on his face, he’s beginning to suspect that Bucky might already know how to fish. While Cass is focused hard on his hands pretending to show how to fit live bait onto a hook, Bucky smiles at AJ over the smaller boy’s head and raises a finger to his lips. White lies. Let Cass believe he’s the expert.

When Cass is winding down, Bucky moves around him with a grin, carrying an empty plate to the sink.

“I got it!” AJ declares, whisking it from Bucky’s hand and pumping a squirt of dish soap in the center while his other hand runs the hot water.

Cass slotted the Pop-Tarts the plate lately held into the toaster for him (no better end-of-the-day snack, Bucky was told) and now AJ’s cleaning up. They’re a hospitable family, all day long. No phoniness, no insincere offers of help that they’re hoping Bucky won’t take them up on. He actually had to race the kids to the shed to store a toolbox earlier. On the boat, Bucky has room to put in the effort for the Wilsons, but inside the walls of their home he’s not allowed to do a damn thing because he’s a guest. Per square foot of property, he doesn’t think he’s ever been treated this well in someone else’s house.

“Fine,” Bucky concedes, “but I’m doing all the dishes tomorrow—breakfast, lunch, and dinner. And don’t get up early to drink a glass of orange juice and try to wash it before I’m awake, ’cause I’ll be listening.”

The boys giggle and Bucky leans against the counter, hovering while AJ hands the plate off for Cass to wipe dry and pretending not to listen to Sam and Sarah talking in the next room.

…But there isn’t a full wall separating the kitchen from the living room and Sam knows Bucky’s hearing’s good, right? He doesn’t think they’re discussing anything that private and if Sam’s annoyed with him later for what he supposes Bucky might’ve heard, Bucky’ll just offer up another white lie and swear he couldn’t hear a thing. And Sarah… Sarah wouldn’t think any worse of him if she knew. Bucky imagines she’d have a lot of compassion for his frequent urge to give Sam a hard time just for the hell of it. He flicks a quick glance over his shoulder, just to see her, and concentrates on what they’re saying, giving himself vague permission because he overheard his name.

“This was your idea,” Sarah’s saying. “You brought the stray cat home, just like when we were kids.”

“Don’t compare him to something cute,” Sam complains. Bucky’s mouth tenses to keep his smile from spreading too far.

“He is a guest in my home, Sam, and he’s more than earned it after the work he’s been putting in with the boat.”

“And what about the work you’ve been putting in watching him do that work?”

“Sam. Grow up.” Sarah’s voice is playful and Bucky almost turns, wondering what her expression looks like.

“So you’ve just been appreciating his skill with a wrench and some sandpaper,” Sam says skeptically.

“If I’m also appreciating his shoulders in that shirt— if—” she emphasizes when Sam tries to interrupt, “—it’s nobody’s business but mine.”

“Ok, you definitely can’t have him sleeping on the couch.”

“What do you think I’m gonna do? Try to sneak him to my bedroom after lights out? With you listening, trying to catch us? Uh uh. Your sister is a grown woman with two children, a home, and a boat she couldn’t manage to sell, and she can lust where she damn well pleases.”

Bucky snorts out a laugh and AJ gives him a funny look. Kid’s too perceptive.

“He’s tricky,” Sam lectures. “You can’t see it, but I do. I’ve been around him a hell of a lot more. You think he smiles like that at everybody? If he smiles at me at all, I gotta assume he just looked up and saw a meteor hurtling towards where we’re standing and is only smiling because we’ve got seconds to live and I won’t be able to tell anybody.”

“You are hilarious.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You’re telling me your friend is charming. That’s what you’re describing. Don’t I deserve to be charmed? Where else is he gonna sleep, huh? With you? In one of the boys’ little beds while they share the other one? Because I know you’re not suggesting we skip the pretense and put him right in with me.”

Sam lets out a noise of obvious frustration.

“Time to intervene,” Bucky tells Cass and AJ, leaving them to swap confused shrugs in the kitchen as he saunters into the living room.

“Hey,” Sam greets stonily, arms crossed over his chest.

Just for fun, Bucky decides to be all the friendlier.

“It’s so great of you to put me up. Thanks, Sarah. This beats a hotel by a mile.”

“Our gourmet kitchen does offer an impressive range of sugary cereal,” she jokes. “I might even cook you boys a special breakfast tomorrow before you head back to the dock.”

Bucky’s grin widens.

“Oh yeah? I wouldn’t wanna—”

“No, it’s no trouble—”

“Well, that would be—”

“Both of you stop it,” Sam orders.

“Sam, go outside,” Sarah orders right back. “Play some tag with your nephews.”

“Sarah, I’m beat. We’ve been working on that boat all day.”

“Mhmm, you and the rest of the neighbourhood. You worked all day and you come home and there’s still two kids to entertain. But guess what?” She smiles deviously at her brother and throws a few fake punches at his stomach. “You’re Sam Wilson, the Falcon! Looks like you’re special after all. Me and Bucky here know you’ve still got some gas in the tank. Go on.”

Sam looks fairly planted to the spot as he glares from his sister to Bucky, but he eventually moves with a lurching step.

“I’m gonna be right outside,” he warns.

Bucky sidesteps out of his path and says nothing, though it’s hard to resist the instinct to egg him on.

“We’re gonna have a super-secret discussion about which towels he can use,” Sarah goads at her brother’s back.

Sam ignores her, corralling his nephews in the kitchen and guiding them out the door into the fading daylight with a hand on each of their narrow backs.

“Great kids,” Bucky observes.

Sarah nods, watching her family disappear, then turns to him.

“We’re not really gonna talk about towels.”

“No?”

Bucky’s eyebrows rise in surprise and delighted anticipation until Sarah grabs a folded blanket off the back of the couch and passes it to him.

“We’re making up the couch.”

“Oh.”

This is ok too. Actually, really nice, standing next to Sarah and unfolding the blanket as she stuffs a pillow into a clean case. Her eyes find his already on her and he swears he almost blushes; he’s been smoothing out the same crease in this blanket for a good thirty seconds with no result, just watching her easy movements, the way she flips her braids back when they fall forward over her shoulder.

“I hope you’re comfortable,” she says, lingering once they’re done.

“I woulda slept on the floor. A closet, even, like Harry Potter.”

“You read Harry Potter? Don’t tell the boys—they’ll be bugging you to play wizards with them.”

Bucky laughs and shakes his head.

“Nah, I just watched the movie.”

“Which one?”

“There’s more than one?”

“You really better not bring it up then,” Sarah advises. “They’d try to tell you everything at once.”

“Yeah, wouldn’t want to get in out of my depth.”

It feels like a significant look they exchange after his words. Bucky wants it to be—he thinks he does—but he feels awkward, romantically clumsy. Heartstrings tied together like shoelaces, waiting to trip him up. He’s been telling himself she’s only being kind, but after eavesdropping on her conversation with Sam, he knows she’s interested. In his shoulders at the very minimum. Was that right? His shoulders? Just in case, Bucky does his best to square them. Can’t hurt.

He’s fucking ecstatic when Sarah does glance down briefly, her gaze returning to his face with something flustered in it. Sure, she’s a mom and she runs a business, but it’s like she told Sam: she deserves to be charmed. Bucky’s not entirely sure he’s doing it right though.

“So,” she says, “Sam was just being a pain when he tried to convince me you can’t sleep on the couch because you’ve got a bad back, right?”

Bucky sighs but keeps smiling. It’s natural in her presence.

“I’d say that’s him making old-man jokes about me.”

“I apologize for my brother and his bad manners.”

“Ah, he’s not totally wrong,” he concedes, perching on the arm of the couch. “These last few birthdays have required more candles than you could fit on a cake.”

“Then you just have to get yourself a bigger cake.”

Bucky laughs.

“I guess optimism’s pretty much a family trait?”

“We work at it. They say you need to take the good with the bad, but they don’t tell you that means creating the good out of nothing a lot of the time, if you want any at all. The Wilsons worked that out some time ago, so we mostly do alright.”

“It’s a good feeling to be around,” he tells Sarah earnestly. Clearing his throat, he gets to his feet. “Feels good, being around you.”

“We’re… I’m happy you could stay with us.”

The light’s softened in the room and her voice has gone with it. Bucky shifts on his feet.

“It’s a pleasure to be here,” he assures her.

Sarah’s eyelashes flutter when she looks from his mouth to his eyes. Probably too try-hard to bite his lip now. God, Sam thinks Bucky’s so suave with Sarah, but it feels like he’s only got one move and it’s fucking smiling. Some Casanova he is. Sarah, meanwhile, is beautiful and authoritative and generous and moving closer to toss the pillow he’ll rest his head on tonight onto the couch.

“Anything else you need to be comfortable?” she asks, gaze slipping from one of his eyes to the other. “Another pillow? Pajamas?”

“I’ve got some, but…”

“But?”

Sarah gives him a questioning look and Bucky starts summoning the courage to make a move. He’ll touch her waist—no, take her hand. He’ll cup her sweet face so there’s no doubt what he means.

“But,” he picks up, “if I get cold in the night…”

There’s longing in her eyes, Bucky knows it, but Sam bangs in the screen door right then, one nephew squealing where he’s been slung over Sam’s shoulder.

“Well,” Sam announces loudly to the house at large, “that’s it! No more gas in the tank! Everybody get to bed!”

Sarah appears sorry as she steps back. Bucky almost reaches out to pull her in, to take another shot with another lousy line. Shit, he’s bad at this.

“There are more blankets in the hall closet,” she says, and slips away.

“Thank you,” he calls after her.

Sam walks past, Cass still dangling upside-down over his back while AJ runs ahead, and watches Bucky like a hawk (or some other bird of prey) as he digs through his overnight bag. What’s Sam expecting him to pull out? A strip of condoms? Bucky extracts a green toothbrush and holds it up with an expression of fake wonder. Sam rolls his eyes and heads off down the hall.

They are going to bed early, barely 9pm. That’s probably late for the kids though. Bucky’s pleasantly weary after a day outdoors, more working than talking, feeling like part of something as the Wilsons’ community came together to repair the boat. Seeing Sarah throughout. Flashing Bucky a smile while she spoke to a neighbour, grasping his outstretched hand to let him help her aboard so she could see their progress, checking Sam’s work like she’s his foreman while Bucky grinned and watched the siblings good-naturedly pick at each other. Sam was probably out like a light and Bucky should be too.

He’s not.

He can’t get to sleep right away, but it’s peaceful to lie here on the couch, on his back, while the house gets dark and darker. Sarah left the nearest window cracked for him and a gentle breeze washes in with the chirp of insects. Bucky’s already looking forward to being woken by the sun streaming through in the morning. It’d be good to get from now to daylight in a single stretch of sleep; that’s what he fantasizes about while he lies on his back: no nightmares. His head’s propped up by the pillow he tells himself smells like Sarah, though it probably just smells like her laundry soap.

It’s hard to put his finger on what’s missing, why he can’t fall asleep, until he hears the soft shuffle of footsteps on carpet. They’re too close together to be Sam’s—either hesitant or made by child-sized feet. Bucky cranes his neck around, expecting to see someone walk past on their way to the kitchen for a glass of water. His gaze roams over nothing for a minute, then he slumps back as the footsteps retreat. Maybe it was Sam after all, getting up to look in on his nephews or something. It’s the sorta thing Bucky would do if he were an uncle; he’d treasure the time with those kids, try to remember everything about his visit so he could hang on to it when he found himself half a world away, in Berlin or Riga or Madripoor.

He’s settling, trapping the blanket against his chest with a heavy hand, when he hears the footsteps approach again. Then back away seconds later. Slowly, Bucky starts to smile to himself. It’s Sarah. Can only be her. She’s either trying to psych herself up to come in here and talk to him and failing, or trying to resist venturing down the hall and succeeding.

On her next attempt, she gets closer, and Bucky sits up, kicking the blanket aside, and drops his feet to the floor in anticipation of her rounding the corner. He’s nervously gripping the couch cushion on either side of his knees when she does.

“You sneaking past Sam?” he asks quietly.

Sarah jumps, pressing a hand to her chest.

“You scared me. I wasn’t sure you’d be awake.”

Bucky shrugs, dreamily fixated on her smile. One of her neighbours turns on their porchlight and now Sarah can probably see his smile too.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he says.

“Shoot. Did you need something else?”

Kinda funny how she’s pretending she was coming out here for another reason and is just making a detour for him. He knows better, but he’s got enough remnants of being a gentleman not to call her out on it.

“Nah. It’s nothing to do with you.” Bucky stares at her a few seconds and changes his mind. “You know what? Actually, it is you.”

“What is?” Sarah asks with a hushed, confused laugh.

“The reason I can’t get to sleep. Sarah…”

But she smiles and does what he did to the boys earlier—holds a finger to her lips.

With the confidence of a woman at ease in her own home and her own body, she steps forward. She wore a yellow t-shirt today, but the one she wears now is pale pink. It’s loose and worn and reveals the strong, elegant curve of her shoulder when she moves and it slips. Gazing up at her, Bucky shifts until he feels the back of the couch. His hands hover in the air as Sarah digs one knee, then the other, into the cushion on either side of him. She lowers herself onto his thighs.

Moving slow like the hour, deep like the black sky, Bucky runs his hands up her back.

Sarah’s palms land on his shoulders and, smiling, she confesses to him, “I like these.”

He’s smirking when she ducks her head to kiss him.

Now that he has her here—on his lap, in his arms—Bucky forgets every way he wanted to touch her earlier. How he was gonna woo her with tender contact applied just right. Well, thank god for Sarah. She sets the pace of the kiss and, when his hands go still at her upper back, reaches around to bring one of them back down to her waist. He can feel that there’s no bra beneath her shirt.

“Rusty,” he breathes when their mouths slide apart.

“You were on that old boat all day,” she reminds him. “You know I’ve got patience for rusty.”

Still, Bucky wants to do a little better, prove that maybe he’s what she had in mind when she decided he was worth smiling at. He cradles Sarah closer, pulling her in, dipping his fingers into the valley of her spine when she arches into him. They kiss firmer, then faster. At her quick nod of encouragement, he moves his hands to her hips. Lower.

“Sarah?” Sam slurs sleepily from down the hall. “You outta bed?”

Sarah presses a hand to Bucky’s chest and pushes off his lap, other hand over her mouth to muffle her laughter. He chuckles too.

“As the Falcon, timing is one of his greatest strengths.”

“And as his sister,” Sarah counters, “it gets on my last nerve.”

“Well, I didn’t wanna say that, but…” Bucky grins.

“Sarah?” Sam calls out again.

She sighs.

“Is he trying to wake the boys?” She takes a step away from the couch, wearing a regretful smile. “I better go.”

Bucky catches himself before he can blurt out I’ll miss you. Overeager fool.

“See you in the morning?” Sarah checks, something shy about her now, but not in a bad way. Cautiously hopeful, Bucky thinks. He’s been feeling that way himself.

He gives her one more smile for the road.

“You bet.”

[nothing-but-haikyuu]

Late Night Tea

Reader: F Character: Atsumu Miya Rating: G Summary: It was warm this time of year, the heat of summer had set across Tokyo and with the Olympics on the horizon Atsumu was more excited than ever. It seemed as the days ticked by, he was getting less and less sleep. Up all night with anxiety about the start of the event. Warning: Fluff Ask Box: Open | Check Out ThreadytoGoDesign | Join me on Patreon 

It was warm this time of year, the heat of summer had set across Tokyo and with the Olympics on the horizon Atsumu was more excited than ever. It seemed as the days ticked by, he was getting less and less sleep. Up all night with anxiety about the start of the event.

This wasn’t just a game, this was a demonstration to the world that Japan could be the best at volleyball. Show the true prowess of the team, and specifically Atsumu himself as a player and as a setter.

  “Two more days baby!” He chirped at around midnight, two more days till the Olympics started. And Atsumu was acting like a kid counting down Christmas, it was almost cute if it wasn’t a struggle to get him to settle down enough to go to bed. 

You were sitting in the nook by the window and sipping your last cup of sleepy time tea before bed, “Tsumu.” You smiled, “I know, but you won’t be able to play properly if you’re up all night.” 

He sighed and sat by your feet that were resting across the nook, he rubbed your knee and said, “I know, I know. It’s just hard to sleep when I know in such a short amount of time I’ll be playing in the Olympics!” 

You reached out for him and touched his arm, “But will you even be able to stand on the court if you’re constantly trying to stay awake. You need to be awake, baby.” 

  “I can’t sleep, honey.” He chuckled, “Too exciting.” 

  “Then why don’t you try to drink some tea. It’s supposed to calm you down enough to sleep, which should help. There’s still some hot water in the kettle, go get some.” You patted his arm and smiled, “Go, c’mon.”

He chuckled and got up, heading to the kitchen to get some tea. He put the tea bag in, put it in the MSBY Black Jackals themed mug and put the leftover hot water in it. He returned to you and sat at the very edge of the nook by your feet and placed the mug on the side table on top of a coaster. 

  “Feels like the days are so slow yet so fast. It’s killing me, babe. I wanna play.” He sighed. 

  “You will, Tsum Tsum. Soon enough you’ll be facing Argentina and starting the series off with a bang.” You put your cup on the floor beside you and reached out for your boyfriend.

  “i’m gonna be an Olympic athlete.” He said, “Wow.” 

  “I know, and Osamu, your mom and I will be cheering.” You smiled, “Mostly for Sakusa but I guess you too.” You said playfully.

He rolled his eyes in return, “Thanks, babe. Real supportive.” 

You laughed, “We’ll be cheering you on, honey. I promise. We managed to get tickets to two games, and the rest we’ll be watching together with Kita. Remember he’s literally coming in to town with his partner and staying with us so we can all watch you play.”

  “I know! I know! Just what if I mess up.” he sighed, “What if you stop being proud of me. Leave me for some Argentinan athlete and run away.” 

  “MIya Atsumu.” You said as you squeezed his arm, “That is the stupidest thing you’ve ever said.” 

He sighed, “I know, but it’s not like I’m not used to people leaving.” He picked up the mug and took a careful sip of it, “My dad and everything.” 

You sighed, “Atsumu, you’re better than your dad. You always have been. And I’m never leaving, if Japan gets out the first round we’re still going to have a future together. Marriage, a proper home, a family. Even a cat.”

His shoulders drop as he took another sip, “I know. It’s just scary, I’m excited and scared.” 

You leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, “Atsumu, I promise on my life. We were always be together. And we’re gonna win this, take hold the gold. And I’ll be the happiest future wife in the world.”

He smiled a little, “Okay, okay.” He rubbed his thumb across the lip of the mug, “I was thinking, maybe after the Olympics. When everything is done and it’s back to MSBY. Maybe we can go ring shopping.” 

  “I thought rings were supposed to be a surprise.”

  “I want you there with me. It’ll be a ring you can wear with pride.” He smiled and he looked to you, “You have to wear it for the rest of your life.” His smile grew into a toothy grin, “So it better be nice.”

You laughed, “Okay, okay. Enough ring talk, let’s get through one life altering situation right now.” You kissed him and smiled against his cheek, “Olympics then marriage.” 

  “Alright. Alright.” He laughed lightly, “But you better be ready for it.” He reached out and played with your ring finger lightly, “I’m thinking something timeless, not too flashy. You’ve never been too flashy.”

You smiled and pulled him in for another kiss, “Then just buy the ring yourself. You’re already on track.”

He winked “Maybe I will.” Then sipped more of his tea, “I guess you better be on yer toes. Mrs. Miya is happening soon.”

You chuckled, “I guess marrying Osamu wouldn’t be so bad.” You shrugged playfully.

He rolled his eyes, “Brat. I think this tea is starting to work.” He yawned lightly, “This shit is good.”Then took another sip. 

  “I told you, soothes the mind, body and soul. Now, finish up. Enough marriage talk, tomorrow is early morning training.” You kissed him one last time, “We can talk about marriage after you play, and yes we’ll go ring shopping.”

Atsumu smiled against the rim of the cup. Even though he discussed plans with you, he had a plan on his own. And it all started with the ring box he kept in his sock drawer and a promise of winning gold in the coming weeks. You were going to be Mrs. Miya sooner than you thought. 

[running-with-kn1ves]

I had an idea of ​​yandere... And if yandere and the reader were in a relationship, of course in this relationship yandere manipulated with his sweet words the reader is even dependent on him, but yandere has to work to pay his bills and with that he has friends he trusts and who sees the relationship between yandere and the reader is very toxic and with that they try to show that this type of relationship is not healthy and good for both of them. Then something unusual happens and if yandere has a kind of clarity and agrees with his friends, maybe it's better to end this kind of relationship and he (yandere) seeks psychiatric help...

After some time the reader got his independence and new friends, without yandere's presence she got a normal life again... But over time, it was good for the reader, the opposite was yandere, where he looked terrible physically and mentally and as a person addicted in an hour he will succumb again to his addiction (the reader), mainly from spending so much time away of the reader, since they are no longer lovers... How long will it take for Yandere to get back to his beloved? Perhaps to compensate and demonstrate his faithful love for his beloved, he sacrifices his friend and perhaps the psychologist...

((Of course, you decide how this story develops, maybe if you can demonstrate what their relationship is like before they split and then , when they return)

TW: Obsessive/possessive behaviors, stalking, kidnapping, Stockholm syndrome, brainwashing, yandere themes

Shawty you ALWAYS SEND ME THESE AMAZING PROMPTS AND I 💕💕💕🤚 girl this sounds like so much fun. Honestly I feel like it'd have to be a full fledged story rather than just a teensy one-shot!

I feel like it'd have to come from some reinforcement from his darling for him to officially break it off. Thered have to be some mutual suffering-- perhaps darling is developing a type of situational depression or they've become so miserable that everyday just ends in a fight. No ones happy, and it's just a gut wrenching situation all around. Friends and family see this behavior, hell they've noticed the messed up behavior beforehand. But this constant strife has brought them to finally saying something about it. And despite the tries for couples therapy and a bit of time apart, nothing seems to work. And so, he let's them go.

Maybe it's a few years down the line, or maybe it's only months. He'll grow to miss the warm sheets and the loud humming of their voice. Grow to miss the image of his sweet lover resting on the couch as he comes home from work. He'll attend support groups for grief, addiction, obsession. But none of them seem to work. Something about his love felt different. As if he really wasn't as crazy as all these other people, just...in love. And so in order to curb the withdrawls he feels after being away for so long, he'll begin to stalk them. It'll be so reminiscent of the beginning of their previous relationship: him, looking through their window, while they brush their hair and get ready for a day of work tomorrow.

His darling will be just as clueless as before. And things seem to go well for them, until they find themselves in that basement once again. The brainwashing and Stockholm syndrome of before had washed off. They remember the bad days, and the ones that weren't so bad; they were all enough to make darling want to stay far away from him. But he won't let them go this time. Even if it contains the fighting and screaming and scratching just as before, it's not like he hasn't dealt with it. He'd rather take such misery over the hollow emptiness of being alone.

He's tired of lying there without another body next to him, even if this one is struggling. Darling will have been so happy beforehand-- finally, they had managed to escape, to be let go from their captor. But now, they were merely dragged back in to suffer the same fate once more.