#n his accent is SO thick and hes lit so left n knows what hes on abt

[princemick]

god I love pub owners and their attitudes sometimes

[heartthrobin]

the hate game (1)

oliver wood x female!reader

wc: 13.3k

warnings: enemies to lovers, so damn much pining, set in poa, timeline is a bit wonky, limited use of y/n, super grumpy!oliver, oliver's scottish accent (it's a warning in itself), alcohol consumption, super! duper! cheesy! (sorry not sorry)

an: just survived the worst two weeks of my life, but the fic is finally here! this fic was originally a full 50 chapter fic i had planned for wattpad like three years ago but i found my draft for it recently and decided it needed a revival. so enjoy it, and don't forget to comment and repost to support your favourite writers :)

summary: the only thing more grating than Oliver's foul moods and his permanent scowl, has to be the fact that he's so damn pretty. you fucking hate him for it.

part two/final part

Movies, as is their premise, glamourise plenty of things - high school, politics, tiny Greek islands - but none more than the classic sucker-punch.

The teeth-crunching, blood-spitting moment where skin meets skin in a satisfying thump that sends an unsuspecting victim to the floor. Music plays and the hero grins, grabbing the girl round the waist: dipping low to kiss her.

What’s consistently (conveniently) left out is how bloody painful it is to be on the sending end of that fist.

The first, and only, time you’d ever punched someone was in second year.

It had seemed like a great idea in the moment, quickly succeeded by the mind-numbing pain that shot up your arm where knuckle met face.

You’d aimed for his jaw, but as it turns out: in addition to painful, punching someone wasn’t a particularly accurate sport for a beginner and your slippery skin found a round-tipped nose instead.

A collective gasp and a month’s worth of detention waited for you on the other side of your act of rage.

And sure, while afternoons in Snape’s classroom every Friday sucked: it was all worth it.

Every purple knuckle that throbbed with the slightest brush, the points lost to Hufflepuff, the pages and pages of Hogwarts Does Not Condon Physical Violence you’d been forced to write was worth seeing the trickle of blood running down from Oliver Wood’s nose.

To see that smug fucking look wiped clean from his face. To watch how he doubled over in pain, grappling onto his friend for balance.

“Tyler fancying you? Any bloke would rather snog a goblin.”

His little comment had earned him a broken nose.

It had been the start of a five year long feud.

It’s the reason - now - why the ground is racing up to meet you, the nose of your broomstick pressed down towards it and wind whipping so hard against your face it draws tears. You knock into the ground, catching yourself on wobbly legs. A few feet away, Oliver Wood has done the same.

He’s marching towards you with the same ferocity that’s curdling in your chest:

“Tha’s blatching and you know it!” His accent is ringing, thick and blistering with heat like it always is when he talks to you. At you, rather.

The accusation is crystal clear, and loud despite the echoing din of the quidditch stands above. From the field where you're parked, you can hear the chatter and the cheers and the boos all conglomerating into a fuzzy uproar.

There’s still twelve brooms floating in the air, spewing irritated shouts from players in both yellow and red:

Just let it go, Wood!

Come on, Cap, can we just finish the match please!

You promptly ignore them. Oliver follows suit.

“What?” You scoff, face hot as a kettle on a lit stove. “As if Laurel and Hardy haven’t been elbowing my girls all game!”

It goes without saying that you’re referring to Gryffindor’s red-head twin-set of beaters.

“Bullshit.” He seethes, it’s purposefully quiet enough that McGonagall’s approaching figure doesn’t pick it up.

She, unlike yourself, is less patient and knobby vein-webbed hands come out to knock you both against your chests: widening the gap to a safe enough distance between the opposing captains.

“You two are exhausting.” And she sounds it too. Her glasses tremble at the edge of her nose, sun shining down on her aged face. "If one more match this season is interrupted because you two can't control your tempers, you will both be stripped of captainship and you will not fly until you graduate. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

But Oliver isn't looking at her. His eyes are focused on yours over her cloaked shoulder.

He's taking the predictable route of not replying first.

"Crystal clear, Professor." You resign to speaking first, skewing a grin at his anger-sewn face.

It’s another long boring moment before he cuts his gaze from yours, kicks up a patch of grass and grits through his teeth.

“Yes, professor.”

As can be imagined, things between you and Oliver Wood have been tense since the day he’d hobbled up to the hospital wing with a palm over his face and blood dripping down over his already red tie.

But with age, came ferocity, and what started as passing glares in the corridor melted into anger-drowned faces and sharp words flung with intent to scar.

Things got infinitely worse when you were elected captain of the Hufflepuff quidditch team in the same year Oliver was made captain for Gryffindor. It stoked the already sizzling embers that made moments around him warm and stuffy and hard to breathe.

The murky history swirled with what should be friendly competition, instead frothing into a bubbling pot of annoyed teammates and exasperated teachers and more sessions of detention than you would have ever had if you'd never met the son of a bitch that is Oliver Wood.

It's what puts you in situations like the ones you find yourself in the middle of before you even know how you got yourself there.

"You two," Professor Burbage had never held you in particularly high favour. It was just your luck that Oliver received the same courtesy. "One more word out of either of you and I will be seeing both of you this afternoon for detention in my classroom."

It was even unluckier that she'd sat you two barely three wizards away from one another and one fly-away comment had blown out into another heat-filled exchange. It always does.

"But professor--" you try.

"Right then. I'll see you both at five o' clock."

Oliver sighs, hands running up over his head between chestnut locks: "Fucking perfect. Thanks, big-mouth."

"Would you like to make it two days, Mr Wood?"

He huffs like an angry dog, tightening the grip on his writing-feather but says nothing else.

The end of the lesson doesn't come soon enough and when it does, Oliver is first out of his seat. You're grateful for it.

Cherry bumps you in the shoulder where she throws her bag over it. "You just can't help yourself, can you?"

You grin, despite the sunken feeling hollowing your chest with the acknowledgment that you're gonna be spending yet another afternoon at the mercy of an under-paid staff member alongside the hothead that was the Gryffindor captain.

"Come on, that wasn't my fault and you know it."

Her tight red curls dance when she shakes her head. They match her blood red tie. "Somehow it never is."

To your dismay, but not surprise, Enzo shares Cherry's views when he waltzes into step beside you in the corridor between Muggle Studies and Divination. His arm drapes over your shoulders and his tall frame shakes when he laughs.

"You know," his voice is thick and gravelly. "You two are gonna have to fuck it out eventually."

You roll your eyes, shoving him off you with a chuckle. The sentiment isn't anything new. "Oh, shut up."

The day folds blurrily between classes and lunch and greenhouse visits that by the time you look up it's just about five o clock.

Burbage's office door stares down at you.

The corridor is ghostly all the way behind you and it's emptiness means it's easy to make out Oliver's heavy footsteps down the stone floor. They're not slow, in an arrogant strut, neither quick like he has somewhere to be.

He trudges. Like the weight of the world is strapping him to invisible pins in the floor. It's easy to figure that your existence doesn't lighten his load any.

You don't turn. He simply falls into place beside you, keeping a good foot distance between your tightened shoulders.

The door opens.

Charity Burbage is insufferable in the way that she forces you and Oliver to sit almost on top of each other behind a scratched up desk where she can watch you under the curtain of her ratty blond hair.

You inch the chair dramatically away from Oliver's.

She's set a stack of pages by him and a wet stamp. "Stamp these and sign the date."

Additionally, she's dropped a stack of envelopes under your nose. "Tuck and seal. When you're done, you can leave."

You eye the papers. There must be hundreds.

To Whom It May Concern,

Hogwarts would like to remind all parents and guardians that the third-years will require prior permission before being allowed to visit the nearby village of Hogsmeade--

You jump when Oliver's elbow knocks yours (more violently than what was really necessary). He holds the first page out to you silently, face dripping with impatience.

When you take the page, his thumb brushes yours.

The paper is delicate in your fingers where you fold it. You tuck and seal, and by the time you've set it aside Oliver is offering the next page to you again.

His thumb brushes yours for a second time.

You find that it does for every letter that's passed on.

It's hard not to watch him out the corner of your eye. Oliver has this dark brown, nearly black, hair that's thick and almost too long and untamed all over. It's matched by bushy eyebrows and speckled freckles over the bridge of his nose.

If you didn't hate him as much as you did, you might think he was pretty. You might think that anyway.

Time stretches until the sun is setting the classroom afire with golden light and it's boredom that causes it, or possibly a desire to hear his voice at such tight quarters, but you speak.

"You know," it's soft enough that Burbage doesn't look up from her Witch Weekly magazine. "Even if - in some act of God - Scotland qualifies for the semi-finals, Luxembourg is gonna flatten them. I mean, think about it unemotionally, Wood: they have Luca Schmit as seeker. It's really a no brainer--"

"Are y’really just stupid or are you purposefully trynna start another argument?" His gaze flickers up to eye Burbage's desk warily, she still doesn't react.

Maybe it's both. After all, the subject of the Quidditch World Cup had been what put you both there in the first place.

You shrug, unfazed by his scathing remark.

"I'm just trying to make conversation."

"Well don't."

His hand brushes yours again.

-

Every second Friday, generally at the tail-end of lunch, Hooch's grey barn owl swoops low over your head and drops a smaller-than-average white envelope right into your mashed potatoes. Cherry yelps in surprise every time.

Then you watch the bird drop the same over the Gryffindor, Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables.

Good afternoon,

Reminder of Captain's meeting this afternoon in my office. Six o' clock, don't be late.

Regards,

Madam Hooch.

The letter says the same thing it has since you became captain and it's a wonder you still take the effort to break the seal on the envelope.

But come six o' clock, you're traipsing towards the west end of the castle. Lavender streaks caress the sky under the last impression of sunlight through the ornate stone arch of the corridor windows and an autumn chill creeps up your arms where your sweater isn't thick enough.

Hooch's office is in a quiet alcove, nearly impossible to find if you didn't know where to look, and the lamps are lit. Beyond the door, you can hear voices: you grin.

The door creaks noisily where you push it open. Inside it's cramped and cluttered with shelves of quidditch equipment - broken brooms, punctured quaffles and loose kits draping every open surface - but it's warm and smells like leather and is maybe your favourite little room in the whole castle.

The quidditch legend herself, Rolanda Hooch, has her legs kicked up on her desk and the boys are standing ahead of it locked in animated chatter.

She's laughing at something they said, and smiles when you enter.

"Sorry I'm late, coach."

It's nothing new and she waves you in with a smile. "Come in, poppet."

"Merlin," Marcus' shoulder finds yours and the force of the bump nearly sends you off your feet. "You'd be late to your own funeral hey, Puffers?"

You laugh, shoving him back with as much force as you can muster against the giant brute that is Slytherin captain Marcus Flint. It barely nudges him but he barks out a laugh, rough like tractor tires over crumbly concrete.

"I'm worth the wait." You quip back, leaning around Marcus to wink at Roger Davies. "Isn't that right, Rodger?"

He flirts back, "Always, sweetheart."

Roger is the antithesis of Marcus: all pale skin, blue eyes and short blonde hair. Easy on the eyes.

Oliver lingers just behind him, the tallest of the captains. You catch his eye, face slipping into something more serious, and nod. "Hey, Wood."

He nods in return, curt like how a ministry wizard's might be.

"Right," Hooch sits up straight in her high-back chair. "There are just a couple things we need to get through tonight, we won't be long."

The dynamic between the captains would be easy, if not for Oliver.

You're the only girl and that made for tough beginnings. Marcus is naturally brash and brutish, but - as you found - easy to impress with a couple showy tricks on the broom. A single promise to show him how to pull off a Woollongong Shimmy had him eating out your hand: the favour of a couple Slytherins was generally hard to buy and invaluable to a plushy Hufflepuff such as yourself.

Roger popped out the womb with a wink at the nurse. Impeccably charming and impossibly negotiable. Beyond being slightly dim, it was hard to say a bad thing about the Ravenclaw captain

On the other hand, Oliver was … well, Oliver.

Hooch tapped the sharp end of a writing feather rhythmically at a spot on her desk, eyes roving her clipboard.

"Next week we're doing a clean up of the supply room down by the pitch. I've set you each up on days, the whole team needs to be down to help unless they're excused by a teacher: I want a written letter."

She offers a piece of parchment without looking up.

"As you all know, it's the Slytherin versus Ravenclaw game next week."

You bump your elbow to Marcus'. He looks down and grins a mouthful of crooked teeth before turning to Roger. "Ready, pretty boy?"

Roger rolls crystal blue eyes, but he's smiling too. "Bring it on, tough-shit."

"Oy," Hooch interrupts them with a cool sigh, "The last thing, you all submitted your autumn practice requests for the pitch: Roger, Marcus, you have the days you want--"

They nod. Your shoulders stiffen.

"--Oliver, Y/n. You both want Wednesday afternoons. Monday afternoon is open, I'll let you two decide between each other who is gonna move their practice. I want a decision before tomorrow night."

Marcus is sniggering under his breath. The edges of your mouth sink into a frown, of course he wants the same day as me.

You can feel the heat of Oliver's eyes on the side of your face. You don't indulge him, keeping your gaze settled on Hooch's face.

"We'll figure it out, coach."

"Unlikely." Roger's quip is barely a whisper but you catch it.

"Alright." Hooch doesn't. "You're dismissed, go get some dinner kids."

The office door bounces back off the stone wall where Marcus tosses it carelessly open, echoing all the way down the empty corridor.

Frosty air chases over your face and the boys start down towards the Great Hall. Roger is complaining about a potions essay he hasn't started and Marcus is shrugging him off with a suggestion that includes something along the vein of blackmailing a sixth year into doing it for him but you can't focus long enough to follow.

"Oliver." Irritation is prickling at the surface of your skin. It flares into an almost rash when he stops walking, glancing over his shoulder with an unconcerned expression. "Who's giving Wednesday up?"

His arms fold against his chest. You're working extremely hard not to look down where his biceps stretch the seams on his Hogwarts jumper. "Well, you obviously."

Marcus barks another laugh, he calls down the corridor: "We'll see you kids at dinner."

"Yeah, don't kill each other! It's only practice!"

You huff in disbelief, unconcerned with the running commentary.

"Uh," you mirror Oliver by folding your own arms. "no it's not. Come on, we can negotiate like civil people can't we?"

Thick caterpillar eyebrows disappear beyond the overgrowth hiding his forehead. "Negotiate? I'm the one who wasted three hours of my life in detention last week thanks to your big fat mouth. Wednesday is mine."

"That was a joint effort, twat." You can feel where your throat is flush with rising anger. It wires your jaw tight. "Are you really so bloody difficult that we can't even come to a simple agreement?"

"Difficult?" His arms have shifted from his chest to perch against his hips. "Just because I'm not giving you what you want? Cry me a fucking river, darling. Sorry Puffers, but I'm not your precious Marcus or Roger. I'm not gonna fold just cause you bat yer pretty little eyelashes at me."

Pretty?

You blink in surprise. It's brushed quickly aside for more pressing matters. Your hands scrunch into fists at your side:

"Well. I'm not giving it up. I want Wednesday."

"Neither am I."

"Fuck you."

"In your dreams."

-

Oliver collapses loudly into the open spot at the Gryffindor dining table. His callousness knocks Archie's goblet of pumpkin juice across the shiny wooden surface between dishes of sausages and peas and roast potatoes.

"Bloody hell, what's got you in a mood?" He's patting down the table with a serviette, transforming it into a orange lump under his palm.

Shaking his head, as if it would joggle the thought of you loose, Oliver stabs a chicken drumstick from the top of a nearby pile with his fork. He doesn't respond.

"Wait, let me guess." Archie presses the elbows of his red jumper into the still wet surface beside his plate. "Something to do with your little Hufflepuff sweetheart?"

Oliver grunted around a mouthful, looking annoyed. "Not mine and not a sweetheart. A fucking brat."

Archie seems to find something funny, leaning back on the bench with a haughty laugh. "Right. What she do this time?"

"Wants the pitch the same day as me for practice." He's mumbling around a mouthful of chicken, tipping forward to shove a spoon teetering with peas alongside it. "Refuses to give in, despite the fact that she put me in detention last week with Burbage."

Shifting to the edge of his seat, Archie leans around Oliver's frame to find your figure across the Hall at the yellow-lined table. He nods, seemingly finding you. "Yeah, she don't look too happy either."

"I don't care."

Oliver is trying very hard not to give into the itch to look back.

"Whatever," Archie's gaze finds his again. "in better news ... I spoke to the twins just before dinner. They're still on for tomorrow."

He's twitching in his seat, eyebrows dancing and grinning around his words like a kid who's found a matchbox.

Right. The twins.

Specifically, Daisy and Delilah Dawson: two Ravenclaw sisters a year below Oliver.

They're peng, Archie had reasoned, you need a little fling to get your mind off quidditch. You're too strung up, mate.

And sure, they were, but Oliver had more important things to do than gallivant across Hogsmeade attached to the hip of some sixth year who just wants to earn her I Kissed The Quidditch Captain! badge.

He'd groaned and whined and glowered at the prospect. Was it petulant? Naturally, but spending five sickles on subpar hot chocolate and making false conversation with some Ravenclaw was a waste of precious time in Oliver's humble opinion.

His priorities are, as they've always been, crystal clear in his mind.

1. Win Gryffindor the Quidditch Cup 2. Refer to point (1)

There was little wiggle room for the introduction of girls into any spot on that list.

You're the only one who came almost close to the tight list. Only because if there had to be a third priority, "shove winning the cup in Hufflepuff's face" might just crack it. He thought about you significantly more than any other girl in the castle and maybe that might mean something if he thought about too long about it, but fortunately, he refused to.

Regardless, Archie was adamant and more than a little pathetic when he mentioned that Daisy only agreed to see him if he had a date for Delilah. It was all settled very quickly.

And it's in this show of loyalty to his dearest friend that Oliver finds himself walking the cobblestone path down into Hogsmeade on a crisp Saturday morning.

The little village is bustling with students - it normally is - and the crowd has him knocking shoulders with Delilah who's walking in step beside him.

He's uncomfortable to find that she's staring dreamily up at the underside of his jaw.

On Oliver's other side: Archie is talking Daisy's ear off, making another pitiful attempt at holding her hand. He doesn't quite manage it and Oliver can't tell whether it's because she genuinely doesn't notice or she just can't be arsed.

"So," Delilah's voice is light and sweet. Delicate. "You mentioned that you take Arithmancy? I've heard it's tough."

Oliver nods airily. "Yeah ... yeah, it's difficult."

He tightens his jacket closer over his frame. The wind is whipping between their bodies and he thinks that maybe she didn't hear him over it's howling if her confused expression is anything to go by. He finds he's not bothered enough to repeat it.

The entrance of Madam Puddifoot's comes into view at the end of the walkway.

Oliver’s relieved. It's freezing out here and maybe he'll be more in the mood for flirtatious conversation once he's gotten some food in his stomach (Archie had insisted they skip breakfast: we have to order something to eat, so we can sit longer).

There's a jingle of a bell overhead when Archie pushes the door open, standing awkwardly aside to let the ladies in first.

Inside the shop, it's more than busy: powdery blue walls barely visible beyond the sea of Hogwarts couples crammed around tiny circle tables and waiters in red uniform knocking the back of their chairs with wobbling trays.

There's music coming from ... somewhere, it sounds like The Weird Sisters and at the sound, Oliver can't imagine how this morning could possibly go any worse.

Oh wait, yes he can.

You could be sitting at a table right by the door across a too-small-table knocking knees with some Slytherin prick. Like you are right there right now.

Delilah tugs on his wrist, it's gentle and he almost doesn't feel where he's being lead between tables towards an open booth across the room. He falls unceremoniously down against the torn leather, eyes never leaving your table.

You haven't noticed his presence, he knows because your lips are stretching around a giggle he can't hear but can already imagine. You don't smile around him, that's for sure.

Oliver's stomach is frothing and bubbling and he's trying really hard to tune back in where Archie's knocking a menu into his hand.

Of course you're there. To ruin his mood and his day, because you're just bloody perfect at it.

"So, am I seeing you girls at the Quidditch match on Saturday?" Archie's voice carries somewhere over his head.

Delilah laughs. Or maybe it's Daisy, Oliver doesn't look.

"Maybe," she says, "Depends if Oliver's gonna be there. You're gonna be there, right?"

He feels a hand nudge at his forearm. Definitely Delilah.

His gaze floats back over the table to offer a fraction of eye contact, he nods. "Oh, uh ... yeah. Sure, definitely."

Archie saves him by speaking again and your table finds Oliver's attention just in time for him to watch the boy sitting across from you swipe away a smudge of hot chocolate over your cheek. You smile, looking bashful and a little bit flushed.

A suffocating, searing heat rushes from the soles of Oliver's feet up between his every organ and over every tendril of hair on his head. His jaw tightens.

Of course he recognises the pratt across you.

Ryo Yoshida.

Every girl in the castle's wet dream, if the rumours he's heard are anything to go by. With his fucking sleek black hair and his Japanese accent that had witches flocking to him in the dozens.

He doesn't wonder why you're here with him.

Oliver is a proud man, but even he could admit that you're beautiful. Albeit reluctantly.

With your wide wet eyes that make him a little sick in a way that turns his stomach warm and the way you do your hair and those fucking dangly earrings that clink when you loose your cool on him.

That's without even mentioning the sound of your laugh - the one he only ever overhears - and your legs in the school uniform skirt and the way you look when you're diving on your broom under the light of a sunny day.

Alright, maybe he couldn't admit to all of it ... but you were okay.

Okay enough to crack a date with Ryo Yoshida or any other schmuck in the castle if you wanted.

"Anything good to eat here, Oliver?"

He pretends he doesn't hear her at first, but the kick at his shin under the table is harder to ignore.

Archie is glaring at him across the table. Dude, don't fuck this up for me.

Oliver's eyes find Delilah. She's scooted up close under his elbow and, to be fair to the poor girl, she was pretty too. Red lipstick smeared across her smiling lips, painted nails edging closer to his arm and perfectly styled hair sitting over her shoulder.

He nods, reaching for the menu: "Yeah. Actually, last time I had the Merlin Meal and it was pretty good."

She perks up, cherry red smile widening at his reply. "Oh, I thought that looked good!"

Training his eyes on the menu, Oliver wills himself not to look back at you. You're already souring his mood and you haven't even said a bloody word.

It's just what you do. What you do to him: infuriating him with the threat of an argument around any and every corner.

The waiter comes by and Oliver finds himself generous enough to gift Delilah with an arm draped over the back of her seat. She giggles and he pretends he doesn't notice when she mouths something that looked suspiciously like 'he's so hot' to her sister across the table.

Archie seems pleased too. Daisy has granted him, finally, her hand and his arm bends at an awkward angle to maintain the grip in hers under the table. He's positively beaming.

But despite Oliver’s best efforts to stay engaged, he still catches himself - only when it's too late - and his eyes are already glued to watching the way your jeans are hugging your thighs where you shift in your seat.

Your table is sat by the door. The chime of the bell calls for his gaze every time it tolls and every time he finds you let off a violent shiver in your seat as the autumn crisp rolls over your shoulders.

The door shuts again and you still.

Oliver can feel where the tips of his ears are burning red and his bones are itching: Ryo’s black suede coat is hanging over the back of his chair.

You’re still talking - hands rubbing together, fighting for warmth - he’s leaned over with his chin in palm to listen and his jacket sits unused behind his shoulders while you fucking shiver in the breeze.

It’s pathetic, really. He’s not sure whether he’s referring to himself or you: but Oliver is still looking and you’re still shaking like a leaf and he’s halfway to flipping tables to get to you and just give you his own fucking coat so you’ll stop shaking and stop annoying him—

“Oliver was just telling me about wanting to join the Hogwarts Choir.” He turns again to find Archie waiting with an expectant face, it's laced in a little bit of smugness: caught you. "Weren't you, mate?"

When he looks back you’re gone.

There's a short pile of sickles abandoned on the table and he hopes that Ryo at least had the good sense to pay for your drink after forcing you to sit in the freezing cold.

He shakes the thought off. Who cares.

In fact, he hopes you catch a cold.

-

The day passes like swimming through molasses: slow and sticky and exhausting.

It's nearly seven when Oliver presses a sympathy kiss into Delilah's cheek - Daisy allows for no such thing from Archie - and the two sisters skip off down the west wing corridor with a wiggle of their fingers over their shoulders at the boys.

"I think that went well." Archie's grinning, hands on his hip and glasses edging down his brown nose.

It's the first thing that genuinely brings a jolt of life out of Oliver all day. He teeters back on his heels, hands gripping his stomach where he laughs. Laughs like a madman.

"I think you need to get yer fucking head checked, mate."

The tail end of his outburst is simmering down, now barely a breathy chuckle, when a voice washes over him from down the other end of the corridor. "Wood!"

He'd recognise that voice anywhere. From the dead of sleep or the depth of the ocean.

He's slow when he turns on his heel, the remnants of his smile dripping all the way off the edge of his jaw until he's nearly frowning.

You're jogging, scarf bouncing at your shoulder with the movement, and coming to a stop right under his chin.

"What?"

There's a sharp edge to his tone - there always is - but he really hopes you haven't noticed how the syllable wobbled at the end. Now that you're right beneath his frame and not across the room, it's harder to ignore the lashes kissing at the corner of your eyes. You're wearing lip gloss and he knows it's for Ryo.

His stomach is churning and your face is twisting into something he is struggling to recognise.

"I--" your hands wring, eyes flickering behind to where Archie's watching curiously (you wave awkwardly). "You ... you can have Wednesday."

It's not what Oliver is anticipating. He almost takes a full step back in surprise.

"Why?"

Your eyes roll in a comfortably familiar way, "Because Hooch wants an answer tonight and one of us had to be the bigger person."

His brow tightens, eyes roving down the stitching of your sweater. It's cute. He's quiet.

"You not gonna argue?" You throw your words quickly, snatching them back before he can answer: "Perfect. I'll send her an owl before bed."

You're marching back down the corridor before he has chance to say anything else and he's watching your retreating figure with the hope - that he’s not gonna address - you’re not going to cozy up somewhere in the Slytherin dorm room.

“Well.” Archie’s running a hand over his thick black curls. “That was unexpected.”

Oliver huffs. “It’s been a weird day.”

-

An uneasy air has settled over Hogwarts.

It came in like a storm front, drifting in on the wind that dropped the article at the door of the castle. 

The same copy of The Daily Prophet has been doing the rounds between dormitories and class rooms all week: Sirius Black, Azkaban’s most infamous prisoner and recent escapee, has been sighted in Dufftown by an astute Muggle, The Daily Prophet reports. 

Dufftown. A barely twenty minute ride by carriage from Hogwarts bridge. 

It’s got the castle on edge, it’s got you on edge. Creeping around the castle like Sirius Black is gonna jump out from around any corner. 

Dumbledore stationing dementors at the edges of the castle was the tipping point for the cold drip of trickling fear in your chest that's become easy to ignore in daylight - when Cherry and Enzo are flittering around you between classes - but in moments like these, like now, when you’re on the tail end of a quidditch practice, grow like a poisonous black vine up around every nerve in your body. A Monday night, the team’s kit weighing heavy in your arms - broomstick tucked precariously in the bend of one elbow - and following the siren call of the dormitory showers. 

You’d promised the team you’d get them to the house elves before the upcoming match on Saturday. The match against Gryffindor. 

But for tonight, they’re gonna live in a pile at the end of your bed. 

You’re exhausted: calves burning, sweat sticking loose hairs to your forehead and probably smelling like wet socks and broomstick polish. 

The touch of night is suffocating the flicker of the corridor lamps. It’s long past the recently set curfew and you know that if McGonagall finds you out you’re likely in deep enough trouble to get you off Saturday’s match roster. 

Despite the prospect, you don’t dwell on it. You find you’re more worried about escaped Azkaban convicts: the echo of your own footsteps setting you further on edge. 

You’ve craned your neck over your shoulder enough times to form a knot there. Each time you’re relieved to find that Sirius Black hasn’t crept up behind you. 

Suddenly, the squeak of your boots against the stone floor are un-alone. 

Someone is marching and right in your direction. Your heart bangs wildly on the inside of your ribcage - blood turning to an icy slurry in your veins, but you don’t move. 

The corner is sharp when the figure turns into the corridor you stand and the scream is halfway out your throat when your eyes find his face. 

Absent is the matted black hair and sunken eyes you’re anticipating. Instead, warm brown rings reflect the fire of the lit torches. 

Your broomstick clutters to the floor, warm relief flooding down to your fingertips. “Fucking hell, Wood.” 

He looks just as surprised as you. Only for a moment, though, before his gaze is tightening in annoyance again. 

“I thought you were Sirius Black.“ 

“Well that’s stupid isn’t it.” 

You huff, shifting the weight of the team’s robes precariously between your arms: squatting to try scoop up your broomstick off the floor again. You’re halfway successful when it clatters loudly back against the stone floor. 

“What are you even doin’ out here so late? You know curfew is passed, don’t you?” His voice curls with something that might be mistaken for concern if you didn’t know who you were talking to. 

“I could ask you the same thing.” 

You’re reaching down again. A robe on the top of the pile slips off, landing beside the broomstick. 

“Aye right. Whatever, goodnight.” 

He’s brushing past you. 

In a movement neither of you anticipated, driven by the fear shooting up your spine again, your hand finds his wrist. “Wait—“ 

Oliver freezes: eyes dropping to where you’re connected. You rip your hand back, as if scalded. 

“I …” the words mash and wrestle at the back of your throat. “Could …”

You glance down the darkened corridor awaiting you in the journey back to your dorm before meeting his face again. It’s unreadable. 

His brow scrunches. “Yes?"

"Could you want me to walk my common room?” 

Embarrassment sears at your cheeks. On a normal day, you’d sooner go dancing naked under the Whomping Willow before asking Oliver Wood a favour but that was before the image of Sirius Black swum behind your eyes everywhere you looked. 

Oliver would be fairly useless if faced with the criminal, naturally, but at least you wouldn’t die alone. 

“Please?” Your voice is quiet and you think it’s the gentlest word you’ve ever said to him. 

There’s a long stretch of quiet. His eyes flicker between your face and the broomstick on the floor. It’s quickly stretching past the blurring boundaries of an appropriate time for consideration. 

You’re practically melting in embarrassment now, electing to make the decision for him. 

“Never mind.” You squat again, successful this time in sticking the broomstick back under your arm. The dropped robe is more difficult but you manage to replace it. “Forget I asked.” 

Oliver’s moving before you’re stood straight up again. He’s reaching for your broomstick, you instinctively yank it back but he sticks you with a firm look and his thumb is unexpectedly soft where it caresses over your knuckle wrapped around the handle. 

Your grip loosens and he perches the broomstick over his shoulder with ease. He surprises you again by taking half the load of laundry in your arms into his own. 

“C’mon, before someone catches us out here. I’m not doing any more detention because of you.” 

He’s already three feet ahead when blood rushes down to your legs, prompting them to chase after his figure. The movement is easier, lightened by Oliver’s surprise act of kindness. 

You fall into step beside him, half-tempted to comment on his willingness to share your burden, but knowing him, one wrong word and he’d dump it all back into your arms. 

It’s quiet. 

You don’t make a move to talk and Oliver doesn’t look your way. It dawns on you that Gryffindor dormitory is in the other direction and you’re still deciding whether to feel guilty or flattered over the fact when Oliver speaks. 

“Why’re you out here alone?” 

You look, met with the side of his face: it’s still like he hadn’t said anything at all. There’s a tugging instinct to snap at him. 

Why do you care? 

But his tone is perceptibly gentle enough that you think maybe, just this once, it won’t end in an argument. You test the tepid waters. 

“Uh …” your head knocks sideways, tilted as you speak. “I let the team come up early while I sorted the quaffles in the sports closet by the pitch. Didn’t want them walking up in the dark.” 

You’re tempted to mention that it was his team last week that left it in such a mess. You don’t. 

"And now you’re walking in the dark yourself? Smart move, princess."

Your breath hitches. 

It’s not the first time he’s called you that. Princess. A couple times over the years, usually in the heat of a spiraling argument, but never so benign. While still ungentle, the tone is soft enough that it rings in your ears.

You choose not to succumb to the antagonization of his reply. Humming, you shrug. "Rather me than them."

His eyes flicker, almost barely, to the high apple of your cheek. You notice in the corner of your eye how his jaw twitches, like he wants to say something. 

He seemingly decides otherwise because he focuses his eyes ahead of him and stays silent. 

The overhanging ceiling art is sloping down, air going sticky with the scents of the kitchen the further you go: it’s the trademark of the approaching Hufflepuff common room. 

Another two turns and it will be the end of your little journey with Oliver Wood.

"‘M surprised Ryo didn’t walk you up."

You're more surprised than you've been since finding him, eyes widening in confusion. He grants you another look out the side of his eye.

"How do you know about that?"

Oliver shrugs, shifting your broomstick to the other shoulder.

"The whole world saw your little date down at Madam Puddifoot's the other day."

Of course. Word travels faster through seventh year than a new Firebolt.

"Yeah. Well." You hum. "That's not gonna be happening again anytime soon.” 

It had all been good and well. The rush of having Ryo Yoshida, Hogwart's most eligible bachelor, ask you out and - to be fair - the date had been fine. Ryo was funny and made good conversation but nothing near thrilling enough to daydream over and you'd allowed yourself to brush over a couple red flags because of it, until Cherry came bursting into your dormitory less than a day after your date relaying how he'd caught her between classes to ask her out to the same spot.

"Why's that?"

You're confused now, why Oliver cares or how he'd become curious enough to actually ask. You're even more confused as to why you decide to answer him. You shrug, "He asked Cherry out the very next day. She said no, obviously, but that was enough to let the whole thing go."

You expect him to say something malicious, quip something spiteful about What you did you think would happen? You're nowhere near in his league.

He doesn't.

"He's an idiot."

Not for the first time in the last five minutes, you're not sure what to say. You think this is the longest a conversation has gone without an argument. You sigh, "Yeah."

The stack-up of barrels comes into view. You dig into you the deep pocket on the inside of your robe, emerging with your wand.

Oliver stops, eyes flickering between the barrels and his shining black boots.

You step ahead, tapping the barrels in the rhythm that's become second-nature and the entryway opens.

Turning to him, you offer out an arm and he sets the robes back into your hands. The awkwardness is stifling. He leans forward, tucking the broomstick under your arm, hand wavering to make sure it doesn't fall again. The gesture makes the hold in your knees wobbly.

He nods. "Right. Goodnight."

You nod back, so quickly that you hear your earrings jingle. "Yeah, g'night."

Oliver turns, marching back the way you came and you watch him: biting your bottom lip so hard you're half expecting to draw blood.

"Thank you!" It leaps from your mouth before you have you moment to let it marinate on your tongue. You wince immediately.

He pauses, turning halfway on his heel. He smiles, it's not wide enough for teeth, but definitely wide enough to have your heart falling through your stomach. He nods again and then he's gone.

-

Saturday arrives gloomy and dripping.

It makes for good quidditch conditions, but the chill in the air is still hard to ignore when you step out into mushy grass under stadium lights. The roar of the crowd nearly deafens you, but it'll only take a couple minutes in the air for it to burn down to a soft hum.

In the middle of the stadium floor: Hooch is standing with a whistle to her lips, her figure blurred by the drizzle. Oliver stands beside her, and behind you, your team is clambering onto their brooms and rising into the air with the freshly washed kit over their backs.

You go to walk, but the icy glance Oliver is sending your way convinces you into a jog. He's always impatient before a game, itchy, antsy.

"On time as usual." Hooch hums when you land beside her.

"Got the whole bloody school waiting on her." Oliver mutters but Hooch shrugs him off, pulling the game coin out from inside her robes.

"Perfect." She positions it so we can see, "Gryffindor?"

Oliver straightens out, chest swelling: "Heads."

Hooch nods and before you can suck in another breath, the coin is in the air. She catches it with a skilled hand, flipping and revealing it to the set of captains.

"Hufflepuff, first ball!" She shouts loud enough that the floating players can hear. They nod, some groaning.

The coach turns back on the captains, "I want a fair game kids, no fighting."

"Me and Ollie? Fight?" You smile, "Never, coach."

Oliver rolls his eyes. "Yes, coach."

Suddenly you're above the pitch, sucking in breaths of wet air and struck with that familiar feeling like you could conquer the world on just your broomstick.

The quaffle flies and you stoop to catch it, twisting around Alicia Spinnet to snatch the ball before she's even noticed you're there.

Rain pelts on heads and the game goes on.

Oliver is shouting like a madman from his place in front of the goals behind you - you’ve long learnt to drown it out. He does it half to annoy his own team and half to distract yours. 

You're spinning, flying, swooping and - as you predicted - the crowd has become a distant call, a blurring sight of yellow and red.

An hour passes and the game is already halfway into the next when there's a rise in the crowd. It's not the normal yells and whoops and hollers, but you still don't look up: you're calling over to Jane and Wyatt, your beaters.

“Get between the twins, and stay there!” 

Below, Harry Potter and your own seeker, Cedric Diggory, are flying in circles around each other. The call of Cedric's name is on the tip of your tongue when there’s another ripple of sound off the crowd and this one draws your eyes. It’s there for a second before you find the army of figures descending on the pitch. 

Your breath catches in your throat, freezing solid so you can’t swallow. 

The dementors are even more ghostly this close. You'd never seen so many.

A darkness is permeating the air, the sight of the supporters in the stand dissipating into black. They’re floating in from every corner, drifting at a pace that’s too fast for you to make a move in any direction. 

There’s a scream and your gaze finds the body falling through the sky: it’s Harry.

The ground is racing up to meet him and adrenaline drives your hand to tip your broom, to chase after his quickly disappearing shape when a blurry figure blocks your way. 

Someone yells your name but you don’t hear it. 

You’d never imagined examining a dementor, much less this up close, but even if you had: nothing your imagination could conjure up would ever come close to the harrowing darkness of its empty eye-sockets. 

Its silhouette spreads over every corner of your vision, black like night and blocking the view of the sky. Your nose is so close you could tip forward and meet it's silken cloak.

A cold washes over your body like you've never felt, like you're freezing over: ice creeping up your fingertips, shoulders and face.

Your brain looses all grip on thought, replaced with a seeping dread. It barely acknowledges where a scabbed, decomposing hand is reaching out to you.

Charcoal fingertips brush your cheek when you're tugged back, all the way off your broomstick.

There's not even a last coherent thought to panic when you're engulfed in a warm chest, a hand stabilising around your waist onto a new broomstick. It dips and the green grass is reaching up to you.

The new heat engulfs you through to your bones. You grasp blindly for the expanse of a thick veined neck, wrapping yourself around him.

Digging your face into his shoulder, it takes one glance at the scarlet robes to know who it is. Oliver's panting, one hand holding you against him while the other steers the broomstick down to the floor.

You're trembling, no thought occupying any space beyond Oliver, Oliver, Oliver, Oliver--

"What the bloody hell were you thinking?"

The voice is distant, said against your temple but echoing as if from the end of a long corridor. You don't register where hot tears are wetting your cheeks, erupting over your face without being called.

His words prompt you closer: a tight arm furling over his shoulders and wrapping around him like a vine around an old tree.

"O-Oliver ..."

The hand over your waist tightens. "Sh ... it's fine. You're fine."

The broomstick lands shakily, Oliver's boots squelching into muddy grass. You barely realise you're back on ground when another hand is tugging you off, but you cling tighter to the sweaty red neck: shaking your wet face against his well-pressed robes.

"C'mon, princess ..." His calloused hands pry you from him, gently like you're a piece of china sitting on the very edge of a high shelf. "It's Pomfrey, she's gonna look after you."

You think you feel a kiss press into your hairline before you're being scooped up into a new set of arms. Madam Pomfrey is warm too, smelling like antiseptic and maple syrup.

There's another swell of noise erupting from the supporters above and you're being lead away.

Oliver watches your figure, slumped against the school nurse until you've disappeared into the medical tent.

His heart is going wild, slamming against the walls of his ribcage. Beside him his hands are shaking and he's sucking in thick gulps of air, he finds it still isn't enough oxygen.

There's another splatter where Angelina has landed a few feet behind him. She's panting too, tugging on the edge of his robes and pointing up into the sky.

"Wood!" She's frantic, "They won, Cedric caught the snitch!"

His mouth is dry when he swallows. Rain catches in his eye when he looks up, half the Hufflepuff team is no longer in the sky and the Gryffindors are all on their way down.

"I ..." feeling is returning to his fingertips, "is ... where's Harry?"

Angelina points in the direction of the medical tent. Above, the pitch is engulfed in a bright white light and Oliver catches the wispy end of a shining phoenix chasing between disappearing Dementors. It's a patronus. Dumbledore's, Oliver figures somewhere in his muddy brain.

"Is everyone else okay?"

Angelina nods. Her eyes flicker to the medical tent then back at him. "Is she?"

The image returns to him: the mass of darkness engulfing your figure in the sky. The terror that ripped through him like he was being torn apart from the inside, the whistle of the wind that stung over his ears and how it blocked out his mutterings of please, please, please--

He shakes his head. "She's too tough for her own good. She'll ... she'll be fine."

But it comes out like he's trying to convince himself more than Angelina.

-

Oliver doesn't see you for a few days.

Two, to be exact, and his skin itches the entire time. A deep itch, like it's coming from his bones.

It's only on Monday evening at dinner, with the Hufflepuff table whooping, that you come strolling back into the light of his eyes.

Your head is down, flushed with all the attention, and when you sit, kids are rising from their seats to tackle you into side hugs. He can tell you're embarrassed but he can't gather himself enough to care: the warm rush of relief flooding his stomach so much so that if he dared open his mouth it would all come rushing out.

You look fine. All limbs attached and smiling, it settles him.

He doesn't snap at Archie when he knocks his shoulder with a "you're staring" and his dinner suddenly looks more appetising when he peels his eyes off your figure down to his plate. He finds that he doesn't care as much as he usually does where Enzo's lanky arm is strung over your shoulder.

The week passes in a flurry.

While you share several classes, Oliver doesn't share a single word with you. It's hard not to notice that you're working very hard not to interact with him.

In Muggle Studies, you arrive late and keep your nose tucked deep into the pages of a textbook he knows you couldn't care less about. You're up and out of the classroom before he's even zipped up his bag. It's the same in Potions and Arithmacy.

While going days without talking to each other is not unusual, this time he can tell it’s on purpose. He pretends that he doesn't care.

The rain has cleared and when Friday arrives the sunset is red and orange and purple, granting Oliver with a rare enchanting view out his bedroom window where it's setting behind the East tower.

It's in this quiet, peaceful moment that Archie comes bouncing in with some news of a party happening in the Ravenclaw dormitory.

He's indifferent but Archie is nothing if not convincing.

"Come on, dude. You're literally a hermit crab." He sighs, falling back against his own poster bed across Oliver's. "There will be girls."

"There's girls everywhere, Arch."

His eyebrows wiggle, "And alcohol."

It takes a bit more pestering and the Weasley twins rushing in after him with the same news (and a far less patient approach) to get him up off his bed.

He digs in his cupboard for the last pair of clean jeans and a somewhat suitable purple jumper, tugging them on with a grumble, before he's being dragged by both arms - a twin on each side - across the castle to the West tower wherein resides the Ravenclaw population.

The common room is bustling with seventh years, he recognises them from all houses, and a table set up to the side with some trays of food. He's barely made himself comfortable when Katie Bell is shoving a red solo cup into his hand:

"It's Angelina's brew." She informs him.

He can believe that. The liquid is strong, burning down his throat followed by the barely there after-taste of pumpkin juice. Oliver downs the whole thing in one go.

The music swells louder and he's three cups of Angelina's concoction deep when you come tumbling through the entrance portal.

You're drunk yourself, he can tell by the way you're giggling and half leaning on Cherry Stretton. Bumping through people, not passing without leaning back to apologise to them tipsily, you head straight into the arms of Angelina and Alicia Spinnet. They smile in surprise, engulfing you in their arms.

Despite his and your long-held rivalry, it had done nothing to stop the rest of his team from sweetening up to you. The twins called you their favourite yellow tie at regular intervals and the girls found you nothing less than endearing. Oliver could lie and say he hated it.

Instead, he wrestles his way to where Katie is situated with more to drink, filling his cup and downing it.

-

The room is twisting in a flurry of colours and faces and it's the lightest you've felt in almost a week. You giggle against Enzo, his dreads tucked safely back in a bun while Cedric sets a Dragon-Barrel Brandy shot on fire and hands it carefully over.

Enzo's head knocks back, slipping the burning liquid down his throat with a wince. There's a cheer at his accomplishment, and suddenly Cedric's knocking your elbow: "you're next, Cap!"

After the match-gone-wrong, Madam Pomfrey had held you down in the infirmary until Monday morning. You were fed copious amounts of chocolate - in the form of bars and drinks and cakes and ice creams. By Saturday night you were - surely a couple kilograms heavier - and feeling fine, but Pomfrey was nothing if not paranoid:

"That was no light ordeal you went through, dear. I'm not letting you out of my sight until I'm happy with you."

In all honesty, you'd prefer if the whole school forgot it ever happened.

If Pomfrey didn't fret and your friends didn't come by every meal time and your team stopped sending you get better! letters and nobody mentioned it ever again.

More than anyone, you wished Oliver would forget. The ordeal, or maybe just you as a person.

You'd made a stupid decision under the heat of stadium lights and the influence of racing adrenaline, trying to chase for Harry, and he'd made a stupider decision coming to save you from yourself.

When it got quiet in the infirmary past dusk and Harry's shadowy figure was long since snoring in the bed across yours, you could feel Oliver's touch. Could feel it's strong hold wrapped around your waist and the voice against you the back of your neck and the lips at your temple.

You never reminisced long: for with his touch came the writhing, scalding fear burrowing a hole in your chest.

He could tease you, he will tease you.

Oliver had saved you from the clutches of a dementor moments from your soul being sucked out your body and you'd cried in his chest the whole time, refused to let him go in front of the whole school. It was a mortification you would never live down. And if Oliver decided he was going to use it against you, even once, you were sure you'd melt into the floor in shame.

It's what's made the Firewhiskey and Lemon squash concoction Cherry had handed you back in her room so easy to toss back. It stung and steam rose out your mouth where you'd panted for air. There was another ... and another, they went down the same.

The walk across the castle to reach the Ravenclaw Tower had been wobbly and you'd laughed with your friends loud enough to wake up the whole castle you're sure, but it dissolved the fear that clung to your bones. The fear that he was here, lingering between the people in the crowded blue common room.

Now the liquor is fading. Numbing to a dull buzz and you decline Cedric's offer at a burning shot, thinking about how proud you'll be of yourself when you wake up tomorrow morning in bed rather than wrapped around a toilet seat and hauling up guts into the bowl.

The party, not unlike yourself, is dimming.

Students are crawling away into all corners, each with their own excuse. I have a potions essay to do or No, dude, I'm too drunk for this or Flint wants us down at the pitch for drills at eight tomorrow morning, I gotta head to bed.

The crowd, though thinning, is beginning to clump into respective circles across the room. You glance annoyed at the fireplace where the flames crack merrily. Even with your short skirt and thin satin top, the heat of the common room is stifling.

Enzo is on his fourth burning shot, it's lost it's appeal to the crowd but he seems undeterred, knocking Cedric in the shoulder with the empty shot glass motioning: another! You yawn, playing mindlessly with the ruffled sleeve of your shirt.

"Oh no," A harsh tug at your hand draws you from the lure of sleep that's fogging your mind. "The night is young, no yawning!"

Cherry has your wrist in her grip, Enzo's in the other. He blinks blearily down at his friends.

"Huh?"

"Come on," Cherry's brown eyes roll far back in her head. "Fred says they're starting Seven Minutes In Heaven. Let's go join--"

"Seven minutes--?" you laugh between words, "Cher, are you mad?"

She whines, pouting like a kicked dog. "It'll be fun. Besides, when last did you have a good fucking snog? Too long, I say!"

Somehow, you're not only convinced across the room into a spot onto the floor in a circle of a couple others, but a drink has ended up in your hand and its contents quickly down your gullet.

For the nerves, you assure yourself.

Before you know it, Angelina - who's conveniently settled beside you - is topping up your plastic cup with a nearly empty bottle of Daisyroot Draught. "This is the good stuff. Katie stashed it in, her sister works at a brewery."

You smile nervously, nod, and take a tentative sip. The pre-existing buzz in your head convinces you it's not so bad.

In the circle is a couple Gryffindors you recognise, some giggling Slytherin girls, a Ravenclaw you can't name and three members of your quidditch team. There's an open spot on the side you don't take note of.

That is until Archie Kumar is steering a grumpy, visibly drunk Oliver Wood into the open place and collapsing beside him.

Your breath catches in your throat, heart sinking into your stomach like a stone. You're halfway off the floor, suddenly desperate for the loo, when Cherry - on your left side - drags you back down to the floor.

Maybe it's Katie's sister's brew, but you tumble too easily back onto your bum.

"Relax. Just don't look at him, okay?"

You suck in another breath, eyes trained on the white moon outline sewn into the rug. "Yeah ... okay."

It doesn't hold long and when you find the Gryffindor captain again, his gaze is trained on your face. It's stone cold. You gasp quietly and look away.

"Right!" George Weasley is on his feet, setting an empty Firewhisky bottle into the centre. "Who's first?"

Alicia shuffles forward on her knees, the first of the group to move, and the bottle goes spinning. It lands on the Ravenclaw boy. He grins and she does too: Fred wolf-whistles when they stand.

The "heaven" in question is a tall oak cabinet leaning against the back wall of the common room. The pair disappear into its depths and conversation rises again as the circle waits.

You sip your drink in large gulps, trying to hold conversation with Angelina against Oliver's hot gaze that's burning a hole through the side of your face. It's difficult: the Gryffindor girl is so drunk that she's talking with her eyes closed.

Seven minutes later, there's a chorus of "time's up!", Alicia and the boy emerge another ten seconds later. They're rearranging their clothes and Alicia is as scarlet as her quidditch robes. The boy is grinning like the cat who caught the canary. You're suddenly struck with the violent urge to throw up.

The game goes on like that, round after round. Lee Jordan and Jane Emmet (your beater), Katie and Wyatt (your other beater), Cherry and a pretty Slytherin girl you don't know - she's especially chuffed when she returns, red lipstick smeared over her chin.

You're working very hard not to look at Oliver, much less think about him, but it's proving difficult. Every time the bottle takes its spin, your stomach churns.

It had occurred to you during the time that Alicia and that boy were in the closet that there was a very real chance that Oliver could be called up when one of those pretty Slytherins take their turn at the bottle. The thought had made you down the last of your drink and immediately want to vomit it all back up into your cup.

The image of their slender arms curling around his criminally wide-set shoulders, Oliver pushing them back against the inside wall of the grand closet. Would he make noise? Would he sigh or groan against their lips or whisper something about how beautiful they looked tonight in their ears--

"Ollie, you're up mate."

You can't remember who said it, but the words stripped your gaze off Angelina and straight into the pooling brown eyes you'd been avoiding all week long.

He sighed, grumbling under his breath and only with a less-than-gentle nudge from Archie, did he lean up on thighs that flexed unfairly -- bloody hell, stop it! -- and wrap his hand over the neck of the bottle: it went spinning.

The only sound you could hear was the twist of the glass against the woven rug and the hum of your own blood rushing past your ears. It stopped.

"No fucking ways." Enzo cracked from two people down.

A hand landed on your shoulder, shaking you half off your arse: Angelina. "You're up, babe! Go!"

The bottle was pointing irrefutably at your little spot in the circle.

Oliver's face was as white as you'd ever seen it when you dared look up.

"I-I'm not going in with him--" It was the first thing that came to your mind and went spluttering out your mouth.

George was laughing so hard that he'd fallen all the way onto his back. The roar of the group was ear-splitting.

"There's no ways I'm going in with her!"

"Let's end this feud once and for all," Katie bellowed over their heads. "Captain versus captain!"

You're being knocked from all sides, hands crawling under your arms and lifting you off the floor. Across the circle, Oliver is experiencing the same and before you know it: the wooden doors of the cabinet are creaking open.

"Go on!" Lee's finger is piercing your side.

Oliver is beside you but you won't look. You take one last look over your shoulder at Cherry back on the floor, she does nothing but offer a sympathetic shrug and mouths "sorry, dear".

Your hand reaches before Oliver's, flinging the door open with maybe a little too much force. It bangs against the wall behind it.

"Let's get this over with." You mumble, only half concerned that he heard you.

You slouch climbing in, the top is low and the space is even more cramped than what you assumed. To your surprise, Oliver is stepping in after you. He takes his turn at slamming the door, shutting it this time.

It's dark inside, but not enough that you can't see. Light is peaking in through the cracks and he's leaned back against the opposite wall to you.

In the narrow space, your legs are twisting around each other to stand: his one knee situated between yours. In the dimness, he folds his arms and you notice for the first time the jumper he's wearing. The purple one, you recognise it as the one he's had for years. Time has taken its toll where the jumper is clinging to life around his frame, Oliver having grown at least three times wider while the jumper has remained the same size.

"Go on, Wood, give her a kiss!"

The voice is unrecognisable but it knocks your tongue back into your mouth where you'd been ogling at his torso.

His arms are folded, proffering you with a glare that could cut through steel. He makes no visible sign that he'd heard the shout at all. You mirror him, folding your own arms.

"I'm not kissing you."

His head cocks. "Oh, so you're talking to me now?"

You suck in a sharp breath. It's not the response you're anticipating. "What?"

"So we're playing dumb?" He leans just a fraction closer. You can smell the linger of alcohol on his breath, but it doesn't work hard enough to drown out the smell of peppermint that follows him around. "Doesn't suit you, princess."

"I'm not playing anything. I don't know what you're talking about." You double down. It's probably not sustainable but the heat of his body almost against yours and the thrum of liquor in your blood makes the decision for you.

"Y've been avoiding me all week."

"I haven't"

"You're a bad liar."

You swallow hard. Embarrassment is rising again, making your head spin. Oliver's chest is puffed up in anger, you can tell because you've had five years to learn the look like the back of your hand. Except, now - as it has been for a longer time than you care to admit - it's harder to focus on the waves of fury reflecting off of him when his face is just so ... beautiful. Nose scrunched and lips pulled tight into a grimace.

It's what makes you change tactics, you think.

"So what if I was? Why does it matter?"

His arms unfold, eyes rolling so far that his head knocks back against the wood of the cupboard.

"Why?" you press, "Did you miss me, Wood?"

"Maybe I did."

He's looking at you again. For what feels like the hundredth time just tonight, your breath escapes you in a rush and your lungs struggle to grasp back at it. Your face softens without meaning to.

You blink at him.

"You did?" It's a whisper.

His arms are still folded but something clement passes like a shadow over his features.

"No."

His face betrays his words, eyes soft and lip daring to curl up at the edge.

The air in the tight space goes cold. Or maybe it's your blood. It's more likely the look on Oliver's face: like he hasn't just turned your organs to slush. You're all the way sober now.

"I'm not kissing you." You repeat dumbly, but it's gentle.

Merlin, you want to kiss him so fucking badly.

"You mentioned." He's almost, almost, smiling. It's gentle too.

The space between you falls quiet. You're suddenly overly focused on the brush of his knee between yours. His swirling brown eyes catch on the split of light creeping in past the hinge on the door.

It stays like that until your voice creeps nervously out. "I was embarrassed. Am, I am embarrassed."

A thick brow tightens in confusion. "Why?"

You huff, almost annoyed. Your eyes train on a dark spot by your intertwined feet. "Come on, Wood."

"What, about the match?" The alcohol thickens his accent.

Your silence seems to answer his question. The apples of your cheeks are warming again.

"What was I supposed to do, leave you to have you bloody soul sucked out yer body?" His voice is rising, "No, princess, I'm not apologising for that."

It's an outpour that you're not expecting. Oliver's clearly in the mood to shock and surprise tonight.

Your lips tighten around the words that are all fighting for the spot at the tip of your tongue. Silence reigns while they argue, he's still watching you with exasperation set into the lines of his face.

"Princess." You settle.

His expression twists again. "What?"

"You always call me that. Why?" It's a question that you buried long ago. But his proximity, in conjunction with the night you've had, unearths it.

It's his turn to look surprised. He grumbles some indiscernable Scottish blabber before-- "It's because y'are a princess. Spoilt and bratty. Always gets her way."

There's no malice to his response, you find. It draws a chuckle from the depths of your chest.

"Aye, right." You mimic his accent and his quip, one he's used many times at you.

He laughs. It's not a sound you hear often and it's setting your whole nervous system alight like a tangled bunch of christmas lights. His whole body's shaking with it, head resting back against the wood again, and you really do think you might grab him and kiss him -- when the door flies open again: seeping his whole body in yellow light.

Alicia's standing at the opening, grin wide as night is wide and clearly expectant on catching you with your tongues down each other's throats.

If she'd given you another three seconds she just might have.

"Oh." She slumps in disappointment, looking back over her shoulder and shaking her head to the expectant crowd. They groan collectively. "Well, love birds, your time is up."

You'd almost forgotten where you were. Oliver clears his throat, the ghost of his laugh impossible to find on his face, and clambers over your legs out into the common room again. He doesn't pass without brushing his hand over yours.

-

It's nearly three in the morning when Enzo finally lets up.

His long legs are sprawled across the midnight blue couch in the middle of the common room. Fiona, a lovely Ravenclaw girl you'd met just tonight, shrugs at you: "Don't stress it. He can crash here tonight."

The party is long since dead. Seven Minutes In Heaven had looped another three rounds before everyone had gotten their chance in the dusty cupboard and began to grumble in boredom.

You'd avoided Oliver's eyes the whole time again, sure that if you looked he'd be able to read the fondness on your face.

It wasn't long after that the last of the students dissolved in the direction of their respective bedrooms. With your dear friend in good hands with the Ravenclaws, you loop your arm with Cherry - knocking against her side towards the portal.

You've barely pushed it ajar when she breaks off you, "Hold on, I need to get my Transfig notes from Jacob!"

"Cher, it's three in the morning?"

Alcohol is directing her legs in the opposite direction clumsily, "I'll wake him. If I fail another quiz, Mcgee's gonna have my arse."

She's gone before she catches your call: "I'll find you outside!"

The portal creaks where you shove it open again. The corridor is dimly lit and colder than the common room and a shiver chases up your exposed legs.

"Bloody hell." You run a hand over your forearms.

It's quiet too, and empty besides the Gryffindor captain leaning against the stone wall closest to the entrance you've just emerged from.

"Merlin," your eyes find his. "Not you again."

The flush over your cheeks is warding off the chill.

Oliver shrugs. "Me again."

An awkward silence permeates. Against better judgement, you shuffle forward, leaning against the wall beside him. He doesn't react, arms folded and staring into the inky abyss of the corridor leading out to the rest of the castle.

"Why're you out here?" You ask, tucking your hands between your back and the wall.

"Archie." He huffs out, voice wrapped in annoyance. "He's in there with Penelope. I gave him ten minutes."

Ah, Penelope Clearwater. She'd joined the game in the last round. A good thing too because Oliver's friend was looking more crestfallen as the bottle spun again and again, surpassing him each time. Penelope had taken the last turn, ending up with her hair in every direction and Archie's spectacles leaning half off his face when they emerged from the cupboard.

"You?"

The eddy of average conversation is strange, but you find you like it.

"Cherry." You hum. "Something about quiz notes."

He drops his head back against the wall.

"That what they calling it now?"

It startles you, head tilting to stare up at the side of his face with a grin: "oh, Wood’s got jokes now? I didn’t know it was possible for you to make a joke."

His eyes flutter shut, a twinkle of laughter bubbling out of his frame. Tucking his head down to his chest, he shrugs against his own light chuckle. "I have them. I just don’t share them with you."

You giggle back at him. "Right. Well then you better stop smiling there, someone might walk past and think we’re friends."

He shakes his head, the sound of his snicker fading but leaving behind the imprint of a smile. "Nobody’s gonna think that."

You lean back again, eyes drifting over the low ceiling. Quiet falls again - not uncomfortable - and you let it linger for a moment. A thought tugs on a loose string in your mind, not a new one, but one you’ve carefully buried over time.

It comes falling out your mouth. "You ever think about how it might be ... if things were different?"

The question grants you a look out the side of his eye. "Different?"

"Y’know," you shrug, the very last remains of alcohol are ebbing and unsureness is replacing where it stood. "If we … we had—"

"If you hadn’t suckered me in the bloody nose?" His words are unexpectedly fond.

You laugh at him, "If you hadn’t deserved to be suckered in the bloody nose."

He draws in a long breath, not answering. It prompts you.

"We could have been friends." You whisper, more to your chest than to him really.

But he hears it. "We would never be friends."

It stings sharper than it should. Your shoulders go stiff and the corners of your eyes sting inexplicably, turning the corridor blurry. A dying fire revives in your chest, blistering the cave, reminding you why Oliver Wood has been nothing but a stake in your side since you were thirteen years old.

"Of course. How stupid of me, for a minute I forgot what an absolute arsehole you are." You push off the wall, intent in going to dig out Cherry from the depths of the Ravenclaw dormitory. "Goodnight, Wood."

An arm wraps around your waist, not unlike it'd done a week ago in the air of the quidditch pitch, lurching you into him until you're pressed back against the cool stone of the corridor wall.

Oliver looms over you, crouched so that your nose bumps against his. "Don't sulk, princess."

It all happens at once: his hands grab onto the fat of your hips, digging in there like he really does hate you, and lips crash against yours like maybe he doesn't at all.

He stays there, unmoving for a second that feels a year long.

Where the inside of your brain had been buzzing with runaway threads of thought, ribbons streaking out in all directions: they disappear in a sizzling light. Oliver Wood is kissing me.

You melt against him, tipping up onto your toes and latch onto muscled shoulders. He seemingly takes that as his cue, pressing you closer against his body with his arm - lifting you half off the wall.

He tastes like the remnants of Firewhisky and pumpkin juice, the flavour setting every nerve ending in your body on fire. Lips soft but persistent while his hands grip onto you like you'd dissolve into dust if he didn't.

It's aggressive, but familiar in that way. Oliver is nothing if not hot-blooded and his touch, darting between your hips and your face is turning you tipsy again.

"If you want a friend," It's muffled when he speaks, punctuating his words with hot wet kisses, "go be friends with Ryo."

It's only in this moment, with his desperation mirroring in the glimpses of sugar brown irises you catch where he's fluttering his eyes over your face, that it dawns on you.

"Jealous much?"

He growls lowly and it makes you giggle against him, your hands slithering up into the hairs at the base of his neck. Oliver shakes his head against you, still huffing in disbelief.

"Shut up." It's accent-heavy and bleeds a hole through the bottom of your stomach. "You're such a fucking brat."

"And you're a fucking prick."

He huffs lowly, you press harder to him: solidifying the sentiment. Somehow the bickering makes it all sweeter, like you're dissolving cotton candy against your tongue where his swoops over it.

You'd just about forgotten where you were when a creak echoes down the corridor. Halfway to ignoring it in favour of Oliver's touch, your situation dawns on you in the same moment it does him.

Like you'd both licked the end of a live wire, you and Oliver jolt back a foot, hands diving to your respective sides.

Cherry is standing against the light of the common room behind her, a lanky Archie parked beside her. Their eyes are wide and Cherry's hand is against her jaw in shock.

"Oh my god." She mumbles against it.

Blood is rushing to your face and out the corner of your eye, Oliver is running a hand over the hair that's sticking in all directions from the influence of your fingers.

Cherry is laughing breathily, eyes still wide and white in surprise. "Oh my god."

Archie's eyes are flickering between you and Oliver.

"Sorry to interrupt." He says, a smirk curling onto his features.

It jumpstarts your entire system. You step forward, grabbing Cherry by the arm.

"Well," you nod at Archie and at Oliver, not daring to meet his eyes, "goodnight then."

You march with fervour, half-dragging her in the direction of the Hufflepuff common room until your figure disappears behind the next corridor.

Oliver stands with his hands hanging at his side dumbly. He swipes a finger of his bottom lip, still tasting the strawberry lip gloss you'd left there.

"Can't say I didn't see this coming, mate." A hand claps over his shoulder.

He groans, running both hands over his face, and Archie shakes him lightly.

"So ... how was it?"

With another groan, Oliver shoves Archie's hand off of him. "Bloody hell, Arch."

Archie throws his head of curly black hair back, laughing so loud it bounces off the wall. "That good, huh?"

(part two/final part)

-

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[lily-lovelyy]

Little Bee

Warnings: Kidnapping, slight Stockholm syndrome, cursing, depictions of violence, slight smut.

"mmm..." You groan, your head spinning. Your mouth was almost cotton dry, your tongue darting past your lips to lick them.

Groggily, you look around. You were in a dark cabin, only lit by the tall, stone fireplace adjacent to you. You were laid out on a couch, warm fur blankets draped over you.

As you sat up, you look around more, confused as to how you got here. The last you remember, you were getting ready to go to bed in your own, meek apartment.

You wander over to the door of the cabin, wiggling the knob, and soon pulling on it when it wouldn't open, and in that moment the panic finally settled. You felt around, trying to find a light switch but finding none.

"H-hello?" You called, perhaps a stupid thing but you needed to know if you were alone, maybe you were dreaming?

After a few silent moments, some floorboards started to creak, and as a door opened you whipped your head to your left, a tall and shadowed figure appearing.

"Ah, Kleine Biene, you're awake!" The thick German accented voice came, and you eased a little. "Konig?" You asked and a sound of agreement came.

Finally he stepped into the dim glow of the fireplace, and you saw him as he stood tall...almost menacingly. "Konig where...where am I?" You asked gently, walking towards him hesitantly.

"My cabin, Kleine Biene. I bought it years ago, a safehouse of sorts." He nodded, his face unreadable due to the mask. "Yes but how did I get here...the last thing I remember was being in my bed at my home." You stammer, confusion clouding your judgement.

Konig sighed and crossed his bulky arms over the large expanse of his chest. "Well I suppose I cannot keep it from you for so much longer, but I brought you here, Kleine Biene. To keep you safe from the outside world." He spoke, and fear struck your heart.

"W-what?" You laughed "No, Konig. That's not a funny joke." You laughed nervously again. Konig only stood there, silent. And that's when you realized he was completely serious.

"What? No Konig, no no, I-i have to get home. I'm fucking serious this is not funny Konig!" You gasped, backing up slightly. He held his hands out, his voice becoming stern. "No, you are to stay here. With me." He said, stalking towards you slowly.

And suddenly, you ran. You bolted to the door, barely making it a foot before Konigs arms wrapped around your waist and he lifted you, tossing over his shoulder with not even a grunt of exertion.

He clicked his tongue in disappointment, you could feel him shaking his head at you. "Böses Mädchen." He grunted, as you beat on his chest, not even making the large Austrian flinch.

Finally, he threw you down onto a huge bed, covered with fur blankets. "N-no!" You shrieked as Konig grabbed your wrists, securing them both with a zip tie to the wooden posts of his bedframe, and then moving to your feet.

As his face got closer to your foot, it jerked out, hitting him in the jaw. He grunted and pulled back, and you struggled against the restraints, praying somehow you could get free. He laughed simply, and held your legs down, quickly tying them to the bed.

"Now, now Kleine Biene. That is not way to treat someone is it?" He sighed, moving now to hover over you. His eyes bored into yours, and you whimpered in fear. You pleaded with him to let you go.

"Shhh, you're safe with me Kleine. I will never let anyone hurt you, promise." He said, his eyes smiling down at you. His hands trailed down your legs, and your legs shook.

You'd always been attracted to Konig, he had been your sweet, charming neighbor before this. You'd always saw him jogging shirtless in the early mornings, or doing housework in the evenings. And him in his military gear made you almost lose your mind with need. And now you had regretted not being more weary of him.

"Please Konig..let me go," you pleaded "I'll do anything!" He chuckled at your feeble plea "You will soon learn to love it here, with me. Maybe if you are good I can give you a...reward...yes?" He chuckled deeply, his fingers circling the inside of your thighs

"Don't worry, Kleine Biene, you are safe here....I promise."

[44unique]

you know the party's over, when you're standin in an empty space alone

lando norris x franco colapinto

summary: after a tough race at the italian gp, lando finds solace in a chance encounter with franco. what begins as a simple conversation turns into an unexpected night of connection.

warnings: suggestive content

word count: 789

a/n: this is my first work pls dont jude me, also i dont shipp them i just saw on twt that someone wanted an story so here it is 😭 english is not my first language

----------

It was the after-party following the Italian Grand Prix, and Charles was drunk, celebrating with his entire team. On the other hand, Lando sat alone in a dimly lit corner of the club, holding a glass of vodka coke. He had finished P3 in the race, but to him, it felt worse than ending up in P20. Thoughts of everything he did wrong plagued him, overshadowing the podium finish. He knew he was the only driver with a real shot at the championship, and the weight of that responsibility exhausted him.

Lando was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t notice someone approaching until a voice snapped him out of his daydream.

"Este pibe está re ido, boludo," said a voice with a thick Argentine accent, loud enough to pull Lando back to reality.

"Huh? What?" Lando replied, blinking up at the newcomer. It was Franco, the new Williams driver.

"I was calling you, but you seemed pretty lost in whatever’s on your mind. I’ll leave you alone," Franco said, starting to turn away.

"No, Franco, wait," Lando called after him. "Please, stay. I was just thinking about today’s race, but I’ll get over it."

Franco hesitated but then smiled. "You did really well today, Lando."

"Not well enough," Lando muttered, shaking his head. "I needed that P1. But whatever, I don’t want to think about it anymore. What about you? Why are you talking to the lonely guy in the corner? You should be celebrating—you had an excellent race."

Franco chuckled softly. "Thanks, mate. But I don’t really get along with the others yet. You’re literally the only one who’s spoken to me about something other than work."

They chatted for a while, the conversation flowing easily between them. Lando found himself relaxing for the first time that evening, but eventually, his exhaustion caught up with him.

"It was really nice talking to you, Franco, but I’m tired and not really in the mood to stay here much longer."

"Oh, don’t worry," Franco said, standing up. "If you want, we can leave together. We’re staying at the same hotel, right?"

"Are you sure? It’s not that late. You could keep celebrating. I don’t want to drag you away."

"Believe me, it’s okay. I had a great time with you anyway," Franco replied, his smile widening.

Lando felt his cheeks warm at Franco’s words. He thought Franco was really cute, and the idea of spending more time with him was surprisingly appealing. Eventually, they both left the club together, stepping out into the cool night air.

When they arrived at the hotel, Lando was only thinking about collapsing onto the king-sized bed and getting the best sleep of his life. But Franco had other plans.

As they stood in the elevator, comfortable silence between them, Franco broke it. "What if you come to my room? The atmosphere is different, and I brought some liquor from Argentina."

"I... I don’t know. I had other plans," Lando began, but he hesitated.

"No, you’re right," Franco said, quickly backpedaling. "You’re tired. I’ll just drink alone."

Lando watched the way Franco’s shoulders slumped slightly, and before he could stop himself, he found himself saying, "You know what... maybe I could stay. But only for a short time."

Franco’s face lit up with a smile. "Eso, dale, vení."

The "short time" Lando had promised turned into hours. They drank, laughed, and talked about everything, sprawled on the floor of Franco’s hotel room. When the laughter finally died down, they found themselves lying side by side, staring into each other’s eyes.

Without realizing it, they started to drift closer, and before either of them knew what was happening, they kissed. It started soft but quickly became more heated, hands tangling in each other’s hair. But suddenly, Franco pulled back, panic flashing across his face.

"Yo—I’m—I’m so sorry, Lando. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I’m just... just really drunk. This won’t happen ever again."

Lando blinked, his mind spinning. "You think I kissed you back just because? Let’s be real."

Franco froze, his breath catching. "What—what do you mean?"

"What do I mean?" Lando repeated, his voice firm. "Franco, I wanted to kiss you. Now do you get it?"

Franco stared at him, wide-eyed, and then, without another word, he leaned in again. The tension between them broke as they melted into another kiss, this one even more intense than the last. They barely made it to Franco’s bed, where the night took on a new and unexpected course.

At the end, Lando did get to lay on that king-sized bed and had the best sleep of his life, with the only difference being the half-naked young man sleeping beside him.

[writing--whore]

Taking Control

Pairing: Steven Grant x Reader and Marc Spector x Reader

Summary: You always dominate your boyfriend, Steven, but you're curious to know what it's like to be dominated... you're curious to know what it's like to be dominated by Marc.

Word count: 750

Warnings: d/s, edging, cockwarming, handcuffs

A/N: Okay so I started this agesss ago and never finished it. Idk if anyone would still be interested in reading it now. Idk how alive the Moonknight fandom is anymore. If enough people are interested, I would love to finish this story now I'm out of my writing slump

A beautiful whimper left Steven’s mouth as you slid his dick up and down your folds. You’d been edging him for at least 15 minutes by now, his arms handcuffed to the bedposts, outstretched and vulnerable. You loved seeing him this way, so desperate for you that he was leaking precum like crazy, but too submissive to even complain. 

You delved your head down to capture his lips in a passionate kiss. He met you with equal fervour, greedy to accept everything you offered him. Your hand raked through his thick mop of hair and pulled his head back to expose his neck so your lips could roam lower. There was no need but you tugged harder, eliciting another whimper. You bit and sucked hard at his neck, in all the spots that you knew would drive him crazy. 

But… For as much as you were enjoying yourself, you weren’t quite sure where to go from there. You’d dommed Steven pretty much every day since you’d been together. And you had to admit you were curious to give up control for once. 

Your hips came to a stop. 

“Are you alright?” He asked.

You had voiced your curiosity to be dominated earlier on in the relationship. Steven had tried to dom you, and you had to commend him for giving it his all, but his heart wasn’t in it. He could never stop being so gentle and careful with you. You loved him for it but you craved more. 

You confessed that Marc’s personality - a polar opposite to your boyfriend’s - was intriguing. And after a long discussion, Steven had agreed that he was happy for you to experiment with Marc. 

Marc had required very little convincing. His attraction to you was no secret, flirting with you at every opportunity. In fact, you’d say he seemed jealous that Steven had you all to himself. 

“Yes, I’m feeling great.” You pressed a kiss to his cheek to reassure him and then averted your gaze as you tried to find the right words. “I… I was just wondering… are you still okay with me trying things out with Marc?” 

“Oh. Yeah… Yeah, of course.”

Your face lit up and you pressed another kiss to his lips. “Thank you, Steven.” 

A smile played across his face, slowly morphing into a smirk. His eyes languidly roamed across your naked form. 

“You finally decided to see what you’ve been missing out on?” That gruff, American accent sent shivers through you. 

He flexed his arms in the handcuffs. Never in a million years would he willingly be tied up in the bedroom. It was an embarrassment. 

“I seriously suggest you get me out of these.” 

Marc - usually so commanding and in control - was now at your mercy, his cock twitching at full attention. Suddenly, you were overcome with the desire to see Marc beg. 

Staring calmly into his dark eyes, your hips started up their motions again, slowly gliding your folds along his length. You even decided to take it one step further, you sunk down onto his cock. Your eyelids fluttered with heavy lust at the feeling of his considerable girth stretching you out. And then you just stayed there. 

A low groan escaped his throat as his head rocked back into the pillows. Marc’s dick was left feeling painfully sensitive after all the teasing you’d put Steven through. Not to mention your naked vision was absolutely glorious. He needed friction, he needed to fuck you. He needed it like a man starved. 

“You’re gonna regret this, princess.”

“Oh really?” 

You were the picture of smug as you rocked your hips to the tiniest degree. His fullness inside of you felt fucking incredible, and you could only imagine how excruciating the teasing felt for him. 

Marc growled and his hands made fists, tugging hard at the cuffs. 

You laughed at his futility. “I’m not going to move until you beg me, Marc Spector. I can do this all night.” 

Hands turned to fists and his arms strained, veins popping to attention. Metal clinked and you didn’t even have time to process that he’d broken the handcuffs before his fingers were curling around your waist and you were being flipped over to be beneath him.

Fear was quick to replace your cocky demeanour. Your eyes flashed wide open and your mouth hung slightly ajar - with shallow breaths of air escaping your lips. You went completely still, frozen like a bunny beneath the claws of a fox. 

"I told you I'd make you regret it."

[loveesiren]

𝖲𝗍𝖺𝗋𝖽𝗎𝗌𝗍 (𝖯𝗍. 2)

Disclaimer: I absolutely fucking hate this chapter but atleast it gives some background I guess. I'm sorry I made ya'll wait three weeks 😭 Also, I'm using the Sturniolo's as characters, in no way shape or form am I trying to convey that this is who they actually are.

Synopsis: Y/n finds out her best friends might not actually be the friends she thinks.

Warnings: Language, attempted SA (not from the triplets), scars, heroin use, police

Word Count: 2.7k+

I made my way down the dimly lit street. I was freezing and pissed off and high out of my mind off whatever my asshole date had given me. I met some loser named Marcus on Instagram and met him in downtown Boston to hangout. We took some pills and drove around but when I wouldn’t put out, he kicked me to the curb. 

So here I was, walking in the ghetto streets of Boston at 2am. No sixteen year old should be out here in this area, especially at this hour, but I thought I was invincible. My only mistake was not charging my phone before I left. The only person who knew where I was was Alahna. Everyone else assumed I was spending the night at Alahna’s and I made her swear not to tell anyone. My parents would ground me for the rest of my life and Chris, well, Chris just worried. A lot. He was my best friend after all. 

I clutched my purse close to my body, keeping my head down and avoiding eye contact with anyone that was out at this hour. I noticed what looked like a gas station a couple blocks ahead so I picked up the pace, hoping they would have a place I could charge my phone or atleast a phone I could use to call a taxi.

I heard whistling nearby and I froze. “Well good evenin’, darlin’!” A man shouted out and I prayed to God he wasn’t talking to me. I continued walking, quicker now but it wasn’t long before I heard footsteps catching up with me. Two large men surrounded me and I froze once again. “Don’t ya know it’s rude to ignore a man when he’s talkin’ to ya’?” 

His southern accent was thick and they both smelled of cheap booze and cigarettes. “What do you want?” I ask nervously, cowering under their dark stares. 

“You look a little too nice to be from around these parts. Where ya off to at this hour? Maybe me and my friend here could help ya out,” the man smirked. “For a small fee, of course.”

“If it’s money you want, just take it!” I yelled, thrusting my purse at the man and trying to push past him but his goon was quick to grab me. “Let me go!”

“Oh I don’t think so, Princess. We wanna have some fun.” The men let out a haunting laughter and I could feel the tears welling in my eyes. I should have just fucked that stupid boy. I should have just stayed home. 

I began thrashing around as hard as I could, desperately trying to squirm my way out of the mans’ tightening grip. “HELP!” I screamed out. “PLEASE! HELP!” 

Before I could get another word out a blunt object struck me across my head and I collapsed to the ground in a dizzy heap. I tried to feel where I’d been hit but my vision was blurred. I could feel a wetness running down the side of my face and landing on the concrete below. I let out an agonizing scream before consciousness completely escaped me.

“Y/n? Y/n? Y/n?” A familiar voice repeating my name in the darkness. 

“Chris?” I attempted. I couldn’t feel my lips.

“Y/n, wake up!”

I opened my eyes and drew in a sharp breath, realizing quickly that my lungs were desperate for air. I clutched my chest as I fought to catch my breath.

“You’re okay, sweetheart. Just breathe.” Chris’s soothing voice was like music to my ears 

“Fuck, what happened?” I ask after finally steadying my breathing. 

“You were screaming in your sleep.” Chris said. “Did you have the nightmare again?”

I sighed, remembering that God awful night. “Yeah, I think so…” I touched the scar on my head. It was almost three inches long, sitting partially on my forehead but most of it was covered by my hair thankfully. I looked over at Chris, he was looking down, twiddling his thumbs and biting his lip. He hated remembering that night. But I owed my life to him. 

I crawled into his lap and wrapped my arms around him. I felt him let out a sigh of relief as he snaked his arms around my waist and squeezed me tight. I know how much anxiety he got about my safety after finding me like he did. 

What I didn’t know that night was how amazing my friends truly were. Alahna had been tracking my phone the whole night to make sure I was safe and when she realized I was no longer moving by vehicle and instead walking in some sketchy part of downtown Boston, she immediately called Chris and his brothers. Alahna tracked my phone all the way up until it died and then Matt drove up and down the streets of the area I was in. When Chris saw the two guys picking up my limp, bleeding body in an attempt to get me out of my dress, he jumped from his brothers’ moving vehicle without warning to save me. Luckily he had back up. Matt drove up onto the sidewalk towards the men, scaring them off.

I mean, I don’t remember any of this since I was bleeding out and unconscious. But it’s the story I’ve been told. I do faintly remember Chris’s panicked voice calling out my name. I tried desperately to respond to him but I’m not sure if any words made it past my lips. 

Since then Chris has definitely been a little overprotective. But I can’t blame him. I’m grateful to him. To Matt, Nick, and Alahna too. If it wasn’t for them I would’ve been raped and most likely dead. Unfortunately, the men who did it were never caught. I tried my best to give a description but the drugs mixed with fear and partial memory loss from my head injury wasn’t enough information for the cops to find them. So the second I turned eighteen and graduated highschool, I was ready to pick up my life and move across the country. Luckily, Chris, Matt, and Nick were blowing up on Youtube and agreed that Los Angeles would be a great place to further their career. So we all left to start a new life.

“I love you.” I told Chris.

“I love you too, Y/n. Are you feeling okay? You were pretty drunk last night.”

I pulled back to look at him with a guilty smirk. “Yeah…sorry about that..”

He gave me a warm smile. “No biggie.”

I looked down at his hand that was now resting on my knee, noticing it was wrapped in a blood soaked bandage. “Fuck Chris! What happened to your hand?!”

“Nothing, don’t worry about it.” He said, attempting to hide his hand.

I could feel the frown forming on my face. “It was my fault…wasn’t it?”

“No! No, sweetheart. It’s not your fault.”

“Yes it is. It always is.” I said, climbing off of him and off the bed entirely. “I always do something to fuck up and worry you and you can’t just let me ruin your fun all the time, Chris!”

“What do you mean? You didn’t ruin anything.” He said, standing up to meet me.

I worked on changing out of Chris’s clothes and into some of my own I had laying around his room. “I just…I just can’t have you worrying about me all the time. When we go out I want you to have fun, let loose, meet girls…” the words tasted bitter on my tongue. Chris almost winced at the sound of them. “I don’t need you to spend all your time and energy taking care of me, okay?”

Chris grinded his jaw, visibly frustrated. “You know I can’t just not do that, Y/n.”

“But why not, Chris?”

“Because you almost died!” His voice was angry now. No, not angry. Hurt. Scared. I could see tears threatening to spill from his eyes. “I-I just can’t let that happen again. I’ll never forgive myself for letting it happen in the first place.”

“Chris…” My heart broke. How could he ever think that was his fault? “You didn’t let anything happen. I was the one who snuck out and didn’t tell anyone. I was a stupid kid and I learned a hard lesson. None of it was ever your fault.”

“But-”

“No buts!” I interrupted him. “It wasn’t your fault. Period. And I owe you my life for saving me that night. But you don’t need to waste yours looking after me. It was seven years ago. We’re adults now. We deserve to be happy and have fun, yeah?”

Chris nodded hesitantly. I could tell he didn’t want to but I hated the idea of him spending all his time focused on my safety and missing out on experiences that could make him truly happy. 

“Good. Let’s go get some grub.” I say, offering him a soft smile. He attempts to smile back but the sadness remains in his eyes.

Chris followed me upstairs to the kitchen. “Morning boys!” I greet Matt and Nick.

“How the hell are you so chipper?” Matt asks. “You were absolutely faced last night!”

“She got it all out of her system in our front yard.” Nick chimed in, giving me a fake smile. 

“Yeah…sorry about that…” I say, scratching my head. 

“Your dress is good as new too, Princess.” Matt adds, motioning to your gold dress hanging from the door to the laundry.

I cringed at the Princess. But decided to ignore it.

“You guys are the bestttt!” I whine, giving them both timid hugs in hopes they’ll forgive me.

“Yeah, yeah. We know.” Nick says, hugging me back. “Here, eat up. We’re going to another party tonight.”

I sit down and nibble on some of the bacon Nick had made. 

Chris sat down beside me, quieter than usual but his brothers don’t seem to notice as they go about their morning banter. 

The knock on the door surprised us all. The four of us rarely got up before noon. Why we were today is beyond me but our friends wouldn’t have shown up at this hour either. 

We all looked at eachother with confusion before Nick went downstairs to open the door. I heard a brief back and forth but couldn’t make out exactly what was being said. Nick made his way back up the stairs and two cops followed him. My stomach dropped. 

I stood up out of my seat, instinctively putting myself in front of Chris. “Christopher Sturniolo?” The larger officer said. 

“Yeah?” Chris asked, stepping out from behind me. Nick, Matt and I all held our breath.

“You’re under arrest for the assault and battery of a Mr. Cameron Jacobs.”

“What?!”  My voice came out as a squeak. “Assault and battery?! It wasn’t Chris! You’re mistaken.”

“Christopher Sturniolo. The Youtuber? We’re well aware of who he is.” The cop said. Chris stepped forward and the second cop pulled out his handcuffs. I couldn’t believe Chris was just submitting to this. “There have been videos uploaded among various social media platforms of the assault.”

I was at a loss for words. Chris and I had been in trouble before but never charged with something like this.

“Well, we can just bail him out right?” Matt asked.

“Bond won’t be set until Monday morning after he sees the judge. Until then, he will remain in custody.”

I watched as Chris put his hands behind his back. Still in his wife beater and pajama pants he wore to bed. He bit his lip and looked at me with remorseful eyes but remained quiet. I could feel tears welling up in my own eyes. I walked up to him and wrapped my arms around his neck tightly. “I’m so sorry.”

“Shhh,” He hummed into my neck, unable to hug me back. “I love you.” He mumbled before the piece of shit cop pulled him away from me. 

The other cop handed Nick his card and I watched as they manhandled Chris down the stairs and out the door. It was like the world was moving in slow motion. My best friend was just ripped away from me in a matter of minutes and I felt so lost, like a part of me was missing.

I palmed my face, wiping the tears away from my eyes before I fished for my phone in my pocket. I opened Instagram and searched Chris Sturniolo. The video from last night was all that came up. I clicked on the first one and watched it. I saw myself leaning on Madi’s shoulder in the background, unaware of the events taking place. I saw Chris snapping and wailing on the dude I almost went home with. 

A sob escaped my lips. I was so grateful to Chris for getting me out of that situation but it landed him in jail. If I wasn’t such a mess he wouldn’t fucking be there…

“Okay, so I have some money saved up. I think first thing Monday morning we should-”

“Y/n enough!” Matt yelled. I stopped talking and looked at him with confusion.

“What do you mean? We have to get him out…”

“Yeah! We-” He said, motioning to himself and Nick. “do need to get him out. We need to call our parents. We need to figure out a plan.”

“Matt…” Nick started.

“No! I’m sick of all the shit she drags Chris into!” Matt said before taking a few steps towards me. “All you do is cause him problems. Put him in situations he doesn’t want to be in because he feels like he has to take care of you. You’re the reason Chris did drugs. You’re the reason Chris snuck out. You’re the reason Chris fucked up! He would be so much better off without you! And now look what you’ve done?! He’s in fucking jail cuz you wanted to be a slut!”

I slapped Matt hard across the face. I didn’t mean to. It was just a reaction. He took a deep breath, as did I. He turned to look at me, his blue eyes staring daggers into mine. “Get out.” He said. 

I bit back tears and turned on my heel, running down the steps and out the front door to my car. As soon as I was locked inside my car a screamed at the top of my lungs. Letting every single emotion out. I thought they were my friends. I grew up with them. They were like brothers to me. If Matt and Nick felt this way then Chris probably did too. I’ve overstayed my welcome in their lives…

I started my car and sped off down the street. I drove the ten minutes to my apartment complex. It was nowhere near as nice as the Triplets but it worked for me. 

I made my way up the stairs, ready to drown myself in a bottle of vodka and rot on my couch but I ran into Danny on my way up.

“Princessss,” He dragged on. “What’s got you so upset?”

That fucking nickname made my blood boil.

“Fuck off, Danny.” I said, walking past him. 

“The Sturniolo kid again?” He chuckled, taking a long drag of his cigarette. I swallowed. Just thinking of Chris made me sick. “Ya know those pretty boys will always break your heart, honey.” 

“You’re a loser, Danny.” I said before heading up the steps once again. 

“I have some product! If you’re interested!” 

I paused again. I swore to Chris I’d never use hard shit again. But did Chris really care? With the way his brothers treated me today, it couldn’t have come from nowhere. I grew up with them and rarely had an issue. But if his brothers hated me that much then maybe Chris did too…

-

It doesn’t take a whole army to convince an addict to go back. The war you fight is in your mind and when you have no soldiers on your side, joining the enemy may be the best choice.

So here I sit, with a needle full of heroin pumped into my bloodstream, feeling the best I’ve felt in years. 

Chris who?

Tags: @strniohoeee @daisysturniolo. @justangelheree @flowerxbunnie @recklesssturniolo @lustfulslxt @mangosrar @bluesturniolo333 @christinarowie332 @kenzieiskoolaid @sturniolopepsi @mattenthusiast @ilovecrazymen @sturnphilia @poopydroopt

[ghostofthemost141]

Vanilla

Pairing: Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Reader, Third POV, no use of (Y/N)

Word Count: 3,142

Themes: Some Angst and Fluff, Some Suggestive Talk so !18+!, brief talks of Domestic Violence from an ex

About: You mourn the absence of your boyfriend while he is on a long mission.

Notes: Preface warning, I am still getting used to writing both British and Scottish into my fics so it ain't gonna be the best lmao but I am trying! Nickname for you here is Bonnie cause why not. Also let me know if you prefer First or Third POV for the fics. Hope you enjoy my first Soap x reader!

The warm vanilla scent engulfed into the living room almost instantly after you lit the candle. It was your favorite scent ever and it reminded you so much of your loved one. When you and Johnny first started going out, Johnny had some kind of strong vanilla scented cologne on. So anytime you smelled vanilla, it instantly made you think of him. You would always light a candle every time you missed Johnny. And while you shedded a few tears mourning his missing absence in y’alls home, the vanilla scent would enter your nostrils and comfort you. You missed him dearly tonight. You last heard from him early this morning. It was nearing five this morning when your phone rang. Luckily you were a light sleeper and instantly woke up to it, rushing to answer it. 

“Johnny?” You tiredly spoke into the phone. 

“In da flesh. Well almost.” Johnny jokes. 

You smiled to yourself, hearing his strong accent on the other side of the phone. 

“Sorry it’s early, Bonnie.” Johnny apologized, feeling bad for waking you up. 

“Don’t you ever apologize for waking me up, Johnny. You know I will always take the opportunity to talk to ya.” You reassured him, “when are you coming home?” 

“‘Opefully soon, my love. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay, Johnny. Just missin’ ya is all.” 

“Oh really?” 

You could hear the smirk from his side. 

“Why? You don’t miss me?” 

“Aye. You ‘ave no idea, Bonnie. Some days are harder than others, if you catch me drift.” Johnny whispered that last part. 

You knew exactly what he meant by that. 

“Aw you poor thing.” You say with a chuckle and Johnny did the same. 

“Oi, you were the one who sent me tha’ pic of ya.” 

He got you there. While he was on long missions, you liked to go out, buy a new underwear set, and send him a picture of you in it. In your defense, it was something for Johnny to look forward to when he got home. 

“Well did you like it or not?” 

“Steamin; Jesus of course I did. You’re so gorgeous Bonnie, but you can’t be teasin’ me like dat.” Johnny told you, making you blush a little. 

Even though Johnny and you have been together for a couple of years now, his little charms and flirts still get you red in the face to this day. There was just something about him. It’s how you met. 

“I often think about how fate brought us together.” 

“Oh yeah? ‘Ow so?” Johnny asked. 

~

As you retold it to Johnny, you couldn’t help but feel grateful with what happened. You were at the bar one night with your ex boyfriend. You didn’t care for going out to bars but you did it for your ex. That night, he was being more of an asshole than usual. Talking you down, ignoring you, flirting with other girls, and just being overall shitty. He left you by yourself to go talk to another girl that across the bar. As soon as he had left, you broke down in tears. You wanted to leave him, but he was a big manipulator and even scared you a little bit. You hung your head low to avoid unwanted attention and to avoid being embarrassed, but of course that ended being the opposite. 

“Aye, you okay there, lass?” 

A thick Scottish accent spoke to you. This was the first time anyone has ever approached you when your ex would wander off to do whatever with some chick he met. You wiped your tears and turned to where you heard the Scottish accent. Your heart started racing once you made eye contact with his bright blue eyes. They were so bright that they could light up a pitch dark room. The second thing you noticed about him was the mohawk that was on the top of his head. You hadn’t seen one of those haircuts in years. 

“I thought they left those in the 80s.” You softly joked, making the Scottish man laugh. 

“Oi, don’t dish the ‘hawk till you try it.” The man laughed, running his fingers through it. 

You laugh in response, clearly getting the vibe that he is a jokester. 

“What’s a pretty lad like youself doing crying at a bar at this hour?” The man asked. 

Right away you could tell he was asking out of genuineness and not trying to hit on you, despite having a hard time understanding what he was saying. 

“My boyfriend being an asshole.” 

“That bloat that walked away to flirt with another woman?” 

You nodded, confirming that it was indeed him. 

“Bloody wanker he is.” 

You couldn’t help but snort at the insult the Scottish man spoke. 

“I’m sorry I don’t mean to laugh.” You apologize to the man, hoping he didn’t find any kind of offense. 

“Whatever makes you show that pretty smile of yours, lass.” 

~

You could hear Johnny chuckling over the phone at your bad impression of him. Normally he would be mad at anyone that mocked his accent, but he didn’t mind that you did it. The rest of the phone call was just you both messing with each other until Johnny had to go. 

“I’ll be home soon, ya?” 

“Okay Johnny. I love you.” 

“I love you too. My Bonnie.” 

You hated hearing that droning beeping noise that came after he hung up. You just wanted him by your side again. You and Johnny have been together for three years now and while you don’t want to rush him, you really, really wanted to tie the knot with him, especially in his line of work. Even though he reassures me that he is fine and while he does sometimes come home with injuries he didn’t leave home with, it just scares you to death that instead of Johnny coming home, it will be his comrade Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, telling you that Johnny was KIA. You know that he does a great job in what he does and he is one of the greatest fighters out there, but you just wanted him. Little did you know that right now in this very moment that Johnny was in fact in town. You just didn’t know it yet. 

“Yeah, that one right ‘here.” Johnny spoke to the counter person. 

The person behind the counter grabbed the piece Johnny pointed out and made sure it was the right one. Johnny had never bluntly asked you what you liked, just observed you enough to know what you liked and didn’t like. He’d rather do that than ruin the surprise he had waiting for you. He still had a few more stops to make before he could make it home to you. 

Back at home, you were doing the dishes when you heard your phone peep. You quickly dried your hands to see what it was. It was a text from Johnny. You opened it up to see it was a landscape photo of the mountains. You figured he took it to show you, for you had a fond love for beautiful landscapes. 

“You on a stakeout? Beautiful picture.” You text him back, not expecting a response back. 

“Not as beautiful as you, Bonnie. But yes I am. I had to snap that for you real quick.” Johnny quickly texted back, lying through the phone screen. 

His plan was going according to plan, he just had to keep up with the lie a little while longer. You smiled at his text, totally believing what he was saying. He was completely blindslinding you, but in a good way. As the potent vanilla scent grew stronger, so did your emotions. You really missed Johnny, more than ever. You know he loves his job, but you secretly wished he didn’t have it. If he didn’t have that military job, y’all would be able to spend all the time in world with each other, do renovations around the place, and even start a family together. You both have talked about children and Johnny is always over the moon when that topic gets brought up. It just would be hard with the job he has right now. Of course, you care about his feelings so you never would say that outloud. It was selfish to think that way. He does lots of good for the world and makes sure you’re safe at home. But some days, you would prefer if the world was burning down in flames but you two be together. Just the two of you against the world. 

“I miss you, Johnny. I miss you so much that I could cry. I miss your warmth in our bed and everytime I smell vanilla, it makes me think of you. I just wish you were home right now.” 

You knew he wouldn’t be able to respond right away but you just had to get your feelings out there. You could feel the tears start rushing down your face as the message was delivered. You sat your phone down, held yourself and sat on the floor. You’ve never felt this sad in a long, long time. The last time was when your ex boyfriend hit you to the point of falling on the ground. Johnny immediately came to your rescue upon hearing your screams over the phone. Johnny could’ve killed your ex that day, but he didn’t. He only didn’t because he wanted to be with you and he can’t do that if he is in jail, even though ‘the bloody wanker deserves it.’ Meanwhile, while at the florist shop, Johnny saw your text and felt his heart break a little reading it. He understood your pain and how you felt. Little did he know what he had planned for you at this very moment. 

“I know, love and I am sorry. But I promise when I come back home, things will be different. I can’t talk right now, but I promise it will be.” 

Johnny hit send and placed his phone in his pocket, to quickly hurry home to you. You read the text the second your phone dinged. You wondered what Johnny meant by that. Your head was racing of what he could mean, but none of it made sense. Not wanting to bother him anymore, you just read it and shut your phone off. You did your calming breaths that Johnny would make you do when you were overwhelmed or upset. It works like a charm every single time. 

“You’re okay, Bonnie, you’re okay.” You spoke to yourself with the nickname Johnny gifted you. 

You might as well change your name legally to Bonnie for he seems to call you that one more than your real name but you didn’t mind it. Not one bit. You decided instead of sitting down and moping around, you would get up and knit and craft some gloves for Johnny to wear. During missions, you have taken up on the art of crafting and then indulged into stuff Johnny could wear that would be appropriate for work, but also have a piece of you and home with him at all times. Last time, you were able to make some socks that had Scotland’s flag colors on it. He loved them so much and he was wearing them when he left home a month ago. You just hoped they brought him some kind comfort like they did to you when he wore them. You got all of your crafts together, got onto the living room couch with some wine, and turned on the tv to you and Johnny’s favorite show: Masterchef. You had no idea the Scottish man had a niche for cooking competitions, let alone cooking in general but he did and he loved cooking with you especially. 

“Now why in the fuck would you combine goat cheese with apple pie filling? Sounds disgusting.” Johnny commented at one of the contestants. 

You giggled in response, half paying attention to the TV due to you crafting something. 

“You should enter in the show if you think you're better than everyone else.” You remarked. 

“Bloody hell, no I could never. All them females be flirting with me nonstop. It gets so tirin’ telling people you’re taken ya know?” 

You rolled your eyes at Johnny’s comment. 

“Just keep boosting your ego, MacTavish.” You retort back in a joking matter. 

You were currently rewatching an old season, for you don’t like to watch anything new without Johnny. He always insists that you can, as long as you don’t spoil anything, but watching shows was y’alls thing that y’all can’t do separately. You were measuring out leather that would match Johnny’s hand measurements and cutting them out, putting them to the side. The wine you had on the tableside next to you was a Saint Marc Merlot that Johnny got you when he was last stationed in his home country. It's a delicious wine but you only had it every once in a while since it was a wine you can only buy in Scotland. Johnny has promised you that one day he will take you up to his home country one day. He swears you will love it. And you cannot wait for that day to come. Johnny has never broken a promise to you so you know it will happen soon. The vanilla candle you lit earlier was burning down low so you knew you were going to have to blow it out soon. Don’t want to burn the house down before Johnny gets back. Finding a good stopping point, you sat the leather gloves down to the side and walked up to the candle. You hesitated on blowing it out. You know you have to, but that lingering, lonely feeling came back to mind. The vanilla scent comforts you yet hurts you cause it makes you think of Johnny. You loved him so much that it hurts. But he said things would be different when he came home and you can only hope it’s the thing you’ve been secretly wanting to happen. But again, you never would say that outloud. Feeling content with yourself, you leaned, sucked a deep breath in, and-

*KNOCKKNOCK*

You quickly leaned back and stared at your front door. You weren’t expecting anyone and Johnny certainly didn’t tell you he would be coming home. Unless it’s…

No. 

No, don't think that way. Just see who it is right now. For all you know it could be the damn mail delivery driver. You gathered up your emotions and walked to the front door, swinging it open. 

“Hello, my love.” 

Johnny was standing there at your front door, holding a bouquet of flowers, with a gift bag hanging off of his arm. Your heart started racing and the tears fell down your face. You did not expect the love of your life to be standing there at your doorway. You were totally surprised. 

“Johnny, you absolute cunt.” You cursed at him as you wrapped your arms around him, squeezing him into a hug and your tears staining his chest. 

Johnny laughed at you cursing at him, even though that meant you were just really happy to see him. 

“My sweet, sweet Bonnie. You really did miss meh.” Johnny said, placing a kiss on the top of your head. 

Without hesitation, you placed a deep kiss on his lips. Johnny kissed back and even snuck a nibble on your bottom lip. 

“You jerk.” 

“Aye! You’re the one whose been teasin’ me to hell and back.” Johnny remarked, referring to the picture you sent of yourself to him. 

You giggled innocently, just happy he was here in the flesh. 

“Come in.” You led Johnny inside and shut the front door behind him. 

“What’s all this?” You referenced the stuff he was holding. 

“I can’t surprise me lady?” 

“Of course you can, you know me.” You say. 

Johnny handed you the bouquet of flowers, which was a mix of all of your favorite flowers. You turned around and walked to the kitchen to find a vase to put the flowers in. From the kitchen, the living room was blocked from view but you figured Johnny was just relaxing after coming home from his mission. 

“How was your leave?” You ask. 

“Aye, could’ve been better but Simon was actually in a decent mood the whole time.” Johnny spoke back to you. 

Johnny has told you enough about Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley to know that he prefers working alone and yet he and Johnny work so well together and seem to be getting closer with each mission they have together. While you know Johnny loves you and always loves spending time with you, you are happy to hear that Johnny is starting to get a close guy friend. 

“That’s good, that’s good.” You say as you put the flowers into the vase full of water you had. 

You then sat the vase of flowers in the kitchen window so it could get some sun, turned around and headed back into the living room to find Johnny down on his knees, holding something in his hand. 

“J-Johnny.” You stuttered out, completely shocked by the sight you were seeing unfold in front of you. 

“My sweet. You are the most beautiful, most kind, most carin’ lass I have ever been with in my life. I know that I want to spend the rest of me life with you. So now, I gotta ask,” Johnny started as he opened up the little box he had in his hand to reveal a beautiful ring, “will you marry me?” 

The pent up tears and emotions finally came out, but for a different reason. Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish was asking you to marry him. 

“Oh my god..” You croaked out, barely able to get your ‘Yes’ out. 

“Soo, is that a yes?” 

“Yes, of course you damn idiot.” You said as you jumped onto him, hugging him tightly. 

Johnny fell onto the ground on his back, while keeping hold of the ring, and holding you tightly. 

“I love you, Johnny.” 

“I love ya too, Bonnie.” Johnny said it back, “there’s another thing too.” 

“W-What?” You ask, pulling back. 

“We will finally be able to start the life that you want.” 

“You..You mean?” 

“I am a retired man, love.” 

You squealed in excitement as you hugged Johnny tightly once more, happy to hear what he told you. This was truly the start of your new life together. 

“I can’t wait to be a MacTavish.” 

“And I can’t wait till I make you mine forever.” Johnny said. 

“You already do that in bed.” You remark, making Johnny’s face flush red. 

“Away ‘n bile your head.” Johnny joked, planting a kiss on your lips. 

This was truly the fantasy fairytale love life that people have written about for many many years and it’s all thanks to Johnny MacTavish. 

END

[exquisiteserotonin]

Stargazin'

I'm just gonna go out and say it: it's Friday and we're feral

Rating: E is for Explicit - 18+ only 🔞MDNI🔞

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader (no use of y/n)

Word count: ~1.9K

Summary: An unexpected suprise is waiting for you when you get home. Will these two crazy kids ever admit that they're crazy for each other?

Warnings: Oral sex (m!receiving) PiV sex, riding, cheesy jokes (it's Dieter, come on!) --- like I've said before, my fic is not for youngsters, please do not engage if you are not 18+

A/N: This all came about after seeing a certain person with a sparkly accessory.

Divider by @cafekitsune

And as always so much love for my magical sluts at the Juice Collective! @basicoccult @imalrightllama @legendary-pink-dot @pink-whiskey-woman @sparklefarts38 @redhotkitchen @youandmeand5bucks @arcanefox207

“You’ve been over at that guy’s house almost every day last week,” Alex said through the Bluetooth speaker in your car. “What was his name again? The one who lives across the street from El Rey.”  

“Pedro,” you responded with a giggle, thinking about how his thick cock filled you, “I mean he’s a good fuck.” 

“Sounds like it’s getting pretty serious.”

“Eh,” you replied, suddenly feeling almost guilty at having anything negative to say about getting fucked on a regular basis. 

“Uh oh, did your red flag radar go off?” 

“There’s just something a little shady there,” you added as you clicked your tongue against your teeth, “and called me old fashioned, but I like my fuck buddies to be transparent.”

“You mean like Di---,” she started as you took a right turn uphill towards your street.

“Don’t start!” you said, your voice darting out like an arrow. “Hey, I’m almost by my house, I’ll call you later.” 

You ended the call as you turned into the driveway of your beachy bungalow. The bright afternoon sun danced against the rhythmic sway of the shade trees in your front yard. An instant feeling of calm met you once you unlocked and walked through the front door of your home. The mix of the golden light, the warm neutrals of your decor, and your beloved plants placed with intention alongside windows and in the corners of each room all came together as your personal sanctuary. 

Muscle memory led you to your bedroom and your feeling of peace left you with a gasp at the sight before you. 

“Howdy.” 

Dieter greeted you with a low, flirty growl as he affected a Texas drawl. He lay in your king size bed, naked, with his legs sprawled out, a sparkly, silver cowboy hat covered his cock, like a glimmering bow atop a present. His hands were resting behind his head as he looked at you with a libidinous smirk shining through his stubble which had grown longer since last you saw him. As much as you fought against it, you found yourself biting your bottom lip.

“What do you have under that hat, cowboy?” 

Dieter pushed himself up by the elbows, accentuating the broadness of his shoulders. The sunlight that floated in through the blinds lit his golden skin with a perfect combination of light and shadow. A heat grew inside you as you marveled at how it defined the obvious muscles that had emerged since you had last seen him. 

Fuck, he’s been working out. 

“Well ma’am,” Dieter continued, his accent was so sweet it was as though he’d dipped his tongue in tupelo honey, “why don’t you mosey on over here and find out?”

It was like he was pulling you into some kind of metaphysical trance as he leaned up one inch more, emphasizing his belly. Though noticeably slimmer, it remained endearingly soft.

With wicked intentionality, he adjusted the shimmering hat and bucked his hips. Every movement he made had your skin tingling from each strand of hair on your head through every inch of your body to your toes. The worst thing about him knowing you so well was that he knew exactly what to do to drive you absolutely insane. And with one more wink and a scrunch of his nose, he beckoned you to him. 

“You’re a fucking menace,” you said, trying to hide your smile. 

“C’mere and I’ll show you just how much of a menace I can be,” he hissed, his tongue taking a small peek from behind his smile.

It was hard for you to imagine who might deny Dieter, knowing that there was an 8-inch cock waiting for you underneath that obnoxiously loud, silver cowboy hat. Whoever that might be, it certainly wasn’t you. 

You had discarded all but your bralette and panties as you began to crawl on the bed towards him. The muscles in his calves were solid and defined, you noticed, as you knelt between his spread legs massaging your hands up their length. The hairs on them tingled with a wave of raised goosebumps at your touch. With one hand you removed the only physical accessory that prevented him from being bare and unfurled for you. 

“You know what they say,” Dieter tempted you with a roll of his tongue, “save a horse, ride a cowboy.” 

A loud, warm laugh echoed from the depths of your belly. Any other man would have been threatened and immediately lost his hard on from your laughter, but not Dieter. You took the hat off his dick placing atop your head as he laughed with you. His chest and belly rumbled, his laugh echoing out wildly and boisterously with yours while his cock still twitched. Reaching for his forearms and pulling him towards you, you interlaced your fingers in his. The smile you wore on your face before you kissed him was so big that your cheeks hurt. 

“Well cowboy, I’m going to ride this cock,” you hushed him as you lowered your lips to his glistening cock, “but first…”

Gripping him first with a gentle hold of your right hand, you pulled back his foreskin and caressed your lips and circled your tongue against the smooth skin of his cock. A gasp escaped him at your initial touch. A smile slowly formed on your lips before you wrapped them around the tip, pressing a broad stroke of your tongue to the center of the head of his cock. His body shuddered with a few strong pulls of him into your mouth.

“Shit, you’re…so good,” he groaned, placing a hand gently to your hair. 

At that motion you moved your lips down the length of his shaft. Your lips savored each ridge and vein as he throbbed against you. You took as much of him as you could into your mouth to the back of your throat. You hollowed your cheeks to take more of him in, at least, as much you could before finding the perfect rhythm of your lips moving up and down to fuck him with your mouth. 

“Fuck, I’ve missed you,” he said with the tiniest whimper. 

A low, muffled moan vibrated from the back of your throat to his cock, making him moan out for you again and again. The feeling of him shaking for you and the way he sighed and moaned in desperation as you sucked him off had a special way of making you want him even more. As you delighted in the taste of him, your pussy clenched as your sex slipped from you to coat your panties. As you massaged his balls, you focused your mouth back to the head of his delectable cock, sucking until he gripped the sheets. 

“Stop, stop---don’t want to come yet!” He groaned through sighs and gasps. “Need to fuck you.” 

“No…,” you purred as you slipped off your panties and pulled your bralette off over your head, “I need to fuck you.”

“Well come on then,” Dieter tempted, scrunching his nose with a playful snarl, “ride it like you stole it.” 

You hadn’t even sunk over him, and your pussy was already pulsing with need. The anticipation coursed through you as you crawled over his defined thighs, feeling the muscles in his quads flex as you lowered yourself onto him with an unrestrained moan. With a slow, deep roll of your hips you began to grind yourself on his cock. With each wave of movement, you felt how hard you kept him and how every controlled gesticulation you made stirred the most intense delight in your folds. Your sex glided from your pussy onto his cock as you swayed your hips into him faster and faster. He clutched at the pillow beneath his head, bouncing his hips up for you as you rode him. His herculean hands reached for your waist, massaging your hips as you continued to bounce on him, feeling every inch as he thrust up into you. The head of his cock hit you in the most exquisite way, leaving you shuddering against his hips. Your approaching climax began to light up nearly every nerve in your body like a switchboard. His hands journeyed to your breasts, grasping them, kneading them until his fingers found your nipples to pinch and flick at them like the strings on a fiddle. 

“Ahh, Dieter, fuck!” you cried, your nipples tingling at his touch.

Holding the silver cowboy hat to your head with one hand, you leaned back against his left thigh until you began to gently massage his balls with the other. A long, low moan left his pouty lips, and he gave one strong thrust upwards, making you yelp out in ecstasy. As Dieter propped himself up towards you, you leaned forward to grind your pelvis into the base of his cock. Every nerve ending in your clit simmered with electricity from the motion. Perspiration glistened over your skin as you began rocking into one another. You knew each other’s bodies so well that you moved in unison. With them, you created the perfect rhythm until your hearts raced faster and faster and your breaths became ragged at your approaching climax. 

“Shit---I’m---I’m gonna come this way,” he moaned, his hips thrust deeper into you as you continued to grind onto him. 

“Me too!” Your words came out like a blur as you felt the perfection of your pussy starting to quake around his cock.

His pace was unbridled and rough as he began to lose himself in you, his large hands gripping your ass. The way your pussy vibrated against him sent waves of pleasure that rippled over every inch of your body until you felt them all the way to your head while you cried out his name in exaltation. 

The cowboy hat fell from your head as he gave you one, last powerful thrust. He stilled and then emptied himself into you, letting out a raspy moan that melted into ardent whimpers. For a few moments you let your breath come down to a natural pace while you held each other in ethereal bliss. Your lips pressed against his forehead as he nuzzled against you, his lips and nose kissing and caressing your neck and shoulders.

Both of you sighed as you climbed off him to collapse next to him in bed.

“Jesus, that was amazing!” You exclaimed as you kissed him. 

Your fingers played with the brim of the glittery cowboy hat before looking up at him to see the goofiest, post-coital grin spreading onto his handsome face. 

“I’m taking it, you got this on set as a joke?” you asked in reference to the Western movie he’d been away filming. 

Dieter confirmed it with a nod, unable to get rid of the smile beneath his mustache. Rolling over to his side, he propped himself up on one elbow. His eyes traversed the curves of your body followed closely by his fingers. The caress so soon after your orgasm sent shivers straight to your still throbbing pussy. 

“Just think, now you can tell everyone you’ve rode a stallion and a cowboy.” 

His cheeks were rosy and tight with stifled laughter. You rolled your eyes as you turned to face him, shaking your head with a low chuckle. Everything in that perfect moment - the silly cowboy hat, the bad jokes, and goofy smiles were so classically Dieter. 

“You’re a dork,” you teased, pressing a small peck to his aquiline nose. “Welcome home.” 

[fayetape]

Flame by Fayetape - Chapter 2: The Games

Finnick Odair x Reader

Word count: 1446

CW: Early Sexualization of Finnick, angst, death, very minor gore.

Summary of series: Reader and Finnick met when they were very young. They experience the horrors of Panem together as they grow up. Throughout the years they fight for a happy ending. Whatever that may look like… Angst/Fluff/Smut/Series/Minimal use of Y/N!

Authors note: Time jump coming next chapter!! Thank you guys for reading my first ever series :) Open to kind & constructive criticism. Hope u enjoy -Faye

Hugging her knees into her chest she sat on the hardwood floors of her living room watching the light move through the gossamer curtains. She watched the light move like ocean waves towards her and away. Tomorrow was Finnick's games. Sixty fifth fucking annual hunger games. The more she thought about it the angrier she grew. She could physically feel herself moving through the stages of grief rapidly. Denial. Anger. Angry at the capitol. Angry at the crowd. Nobody volunteered for him. Angry at Finnick. He left her. She knew it was stupid, he couldn’t help it. Bargaining and depression. Acceptance. Finnick was going to die. She was going to be alone again.

Her mother turned on the TV. An old boxy television with a blurred screen. It glitched and flashed black and white static before making out a blurry figure of the one and only Caesar Flickerman. She watched as he danced around the stage happily. Sparkling blue hair moving across the screen. It pissed her off even more. Seeing someone so happy interviewing these people as they’re being put to death. Seeing these people act so cocky as if they’re going to win. She knew at least a handful of them would get their hands on Finnick in some way. She was seething. A district three girl walked on stage wearing a chrome and bright teal accented dress. She looked as ridiculous as the announcer lady at the reaping. Y/N rolled her eyes. The girl bragged about how intelligent she is and how she came from a rich family. She would get a good amount of sponsors. Caesar kissed her hand and sent her off stage before announcing,

“Next up! Finnick Odair!” he laughed, “Come out here, boy!”

Finnick walked confidently out onto the stage putting his hand up to give a quick wave to the audience before sitting down.

“So Finnick, what makes you think you can win the games?” he asked without introduction.

“Think?” Finnick laughed, “Caesar I KNOW I can win the games. It's more about how I decide to win.”

This confidence was so unlike him. He had always been secure in himself, but not like this. Must have been a front.

“And how's that?” Caesar asked.

“Well it would be stupid of me to give that away now wouldn’t it? Let’s just say I have a couple tricks up my sleeve.”

Caesar grabbed a hold on Finnick’s sleeve. He was dressed in what looked to be a sailor or pirate look. Long, flowy white shirt and pants with a thick brown corset belt separating the two fabrics. He was wrapped in heavy fisherman's rope that looked crystalized, like it had been in the ocean too long.

“Oh and how we would love to see what’s up these sleeves!” Caesar flirted.

Disgusting. She could tell Finnick was uneasy, reading his microexpressions. Finnick just laughed.

“Well Finnick, we already know you have a good shot at winning. What’s the first thing you’re doing as soon as you get home?”

Her eyes lit up. Home.

“Well first, I’m gonna do the victory tour of course. Then I’ll see my friends and family. Maybe I’ll buy them all a new house with all the money I’ll earn.”

“You really are confident in your win, Odair!”

“Why wouldn’t I be? I’ve spent my childhood training for these games. Even if I didn’t get reaped I was going to volunteer anyway.”

The crowd gasped.

“Volunteer?”

“I’m here to win Caesar. Whatever it takes. I’m good with weapons, archery, in hand to hand, good in water-”

Caesar cut him off, “Are you good in bed?” He chuckled, “Only kidding of course. We’ll wait until you’re eighteen.”

What the hell?

Finnick just smiled, “Well I’ll look forward to it.” Finnick looked out at the crowd and winked.

“Finnick Odair everyone!”

The crowd cheered. What the hell was that? He exited the stage with a sly smile. That wasn’t like him at all. Why was Caesar being so… suggestive?

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Her mother woke her up early to get ready to go to the town. Mandatory watch day. She cried and clung to her bed. Denial. Bargaining. Anger. Depression. She sat up. Feet dangling off the foot of her bed. She threw on a light blue plaid day dress. Observing closely she could see light tea colored stains splattered on the hem of the skirt. Another day where she and Finnick explored the fields. She looked down sadly and headed outside. Once again bypassing her mother. Walking towards the field filled her with so much emotion. Anger. Depression. Anger. She started running towards the field as if she would start to fly. But she didn’t. Once out of breath she collapsed onto the dirt, hugging her knees into her chest once again, breathing heavily. The view of the horizon was blurred from the tears welling in her eyes. She aggressively tore out the roots of grass surrounding her, making quiet ripping sounds and marking her hands with green. Putting a hand over her own mouth she screamed a muffled cry. She sat for a few more minutes staring out in the distance before heading back to town. Her mother caught her half way towards the screening. She didn’t question her, knowing how much pain this poor girl must be in. They took their seats. Old lawn chairs and some fancier recliners. Peacekeepers lined the town. After what felt like forever, the games began.

The camera panned around the arena. First thing she noticed was Finnick. He was dressed in all black. Plain black t shirt, plain black cargos. She recognized the outfit from his limited wardrobe. The arena could have been beautiful if it didn’t have the implications of a bloodbath. Rocky, forested mountains that drop down to a rocky beach. Mountain mist coated the surface of the trees. The tributes were lined in a circle near the cliff’s edge.

And in 5

4

3

2

1… The tributes all raced towards the center to get ahold of all sorts of deadly weapons and survival kits. Finnick sprinted towards the center and grabbed a backpack and a spear, fighting off a dark haired boy from district 8. She couldn’t watch the gore. All she wanted to know was if he was alive. She kept her eyes gazing at the side of the screen so not to witness the destruction while not looking down.

=-=-=-=-=-=

The cannons sounded out the tributes dead. Seven. Finnick had found a hole deep in the woods. He stacked leaves and rocks on top of his makeshift fort to keep himself hidden as he rested for the night. During the first few days he managed to fight off five tributes that earned him a gash across his nose and cheek. It’s been four days already. His sponsors have spoiled him with expensive gifts from french bread to designer medicine. He never wanted for anything. He was quite comfortable. The other tributes haven’t realized how deadly he had been. They seem to be more concerned with the older career packs. This gave him an advantage like no other. He took on the role of being a deadly force hidden in plain sight. Finnick wasn’t one to make allies. He knew that he would form an attachment. He recognized that he could lose sponsors if he gave up his “tough-guy act” and the loss of sponsors could be fatal for him.

He was one of the last alive. Day six he woke up to an expensive gift from one of his sponsors. A trident. It was one of the prettiest things he’d ever seen in person. Prettier than any jewel at the market or pearl he had caught. He couldn’t imagine what it must have cost. He tried not to think about it. Day eight he traveled to the top of the rocky mountain near the cliff side. Over the days he had weaved a net out of vines that he held up with tree branches. Weaving the net almost made him feel at home, sitting on the pier teaching the locals how to braid a fisher line. There were four tributes left including himself. He planned to lure the rest onto the cliff, capture them in his net and use his shiny new gift to finish them off. He used himself as bait, standing on the cliff pretending to be oblivious to his surroundings. Then they fall into the net where they meet their death. He tried not to think about death. He tried not to think about guilt. In a matter of hours, Finnick Odair was crowned the youngest victor of the Hunger Games.

[filthy-khajiit]

I would like to preface this fic a bit.

{ ☆ Butcher x Fem!Reader ☆ }

The character, kinda made to be like me, personality wise. I don't relate the the aggressive girls in fics. I'm a 30 year old mom, I cook, I clean and I take care of people, and I wanted the fic to reflect that. This is also my first ever The Boys fic. I used to write supernatural fan fiction way back in the day, and I haven't written anything fully in SUCH a long time.

This is all fluffy and what not, only a smidgen of action. Romantic themes, but no smut. Smut free. Was feeling down and I just needed the comfy stuff. Ya know? 💚

Also keep in mind, I was half alive writing and editing this, haven't slept in two days and I'm losing my mind as I'm trying to type this. So this shit has been so lazily and sleepily written because it was for cozy times. Feel me? Alright cool. Thanks 💚 ~ F. Khajiit

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

♧ Chapter 1: The Job Offer

💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚

Y/N Y/L/N had always considered herself an ordinary woman. At thirty years old, she had settled into a quiet routine of solitude, her life marked by the steady cadence of uneventful days and peaceful nights. She worked a series of menial jobs, each as uninspiring as the last, but they paid the bills and kept her modest apartment in Queens running.

One chilly afternoon, Y/N came across a help-wanted ad that piqued her curiosity. It was vague, mentioning only the need for someone to keep a "base" clean. The address was in an obscure part of the city, one she wasn’t familiar with, but something about the anonymity of the ad intrigued her. With a shrug and a hopeful heart, she dialed the number listed and scheduled an interview for the next day.

When she arrived at the nondescript warehouse, she was greeted by a large, bald man with a stern expression. His name was Mother's Milk, though he insisted she just call him MM. He led her inside without much fanfare, explaining the job’s responsibilities in a matter-of-fact tone.

"You'll be cleaning up around here," MM said as they walked through the dimly lit hallways. "It's a bit of a mess most of the time, but we need someone who can handle it. Think you can manage?"

Y/N nodded, her eyes wide as she took in the cluttered surroundings. "I can manage," she said confidently.

◇ Chapter 2: Meeting the Team

Y/N’s first week on the job was a whirlwind of dusting, mopping, and organizing. She quickly realized that this was no ordinary cleaning gig. The base, as it turned out, belonged to a group called The Boys, and they were involved in something far more dangerous than she could have imagined.

Her initial encounters with the team were brief and formal. MM was the most approachable, often giving her a nod or a few words of encouragement. Frenchie, with his charming smile and thick accent, always had a kind word for her, though his frequent absences left her curious about his activities. Then there was Kimiko, silent but fierce, whose mere presence commanded respect.

And then there was William Butcher.

Y/N’s first impression of Butcher was a whirlwind of intensity. He stormed into the base one evening, his voice echoing through the halls as he barked orders and swore in his distinctive Cockney accent. At first, Y/N tried to keep her distance, intimidated by his aggressive demeanor. But as days turned into weeks, she found herself drawn to him in ways she couldn’t quite understand.

♡ Chapter 3: The First Encounter

One evening, Y/N was scrubbing the floor in the main room when Butcher walked in. She could feel his eyes on her, a prickling sensation that made her heart race. She glanced up to find him watching her intently.

"Oi, you missed a spot," he said gruffly, pointing to a corner she had yet to clean.

Y/N flushed, hastily moving to correct her oversight. "Sorry," she mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper.

Butcher smirked, a rare expression that softened his otherwise harsh features. "Don't worry about it, love. You're doin' fine."

His words, though casual, sent a thrill through her. She ducked her head, hiding her smile as she resumed her work. From that moment on, she kept herself looking forward to their brief interactions, cherishing the rare moments when Butcher’s gruff exterior seemed to crack, revealing glimpses of the man beneath.

♤ Chapter 4: Compassionate Care

As time went on, Y/N began to take on more responsibilities around the base. She noticed that the team often came back injured from their missions, and her natural inclination to help kicked in. She started tending to their wounds, offering a gentle touch and a reassuring smile.

One night, Butcher staggered in, blood seeping through his shirt from a nasty gash on his side. Y/N hurried to his side, her concern overriding her usual shyness.

"Let me help you," she said firmly, guiding him to a chair.

Butcher grumbled but didn’t resist as she carefully cleaned and bandaged the wound. Her hands were steady, her touch soothing, and for once, he allowed himself to relax under her care.

"You're too kind for this lot," he muttered, his voice softer than she’d ever heard it.

Y/N met his gaze, her y/e/c eyes filled with determination. "Someone has to be," she replied quietly.

《》 Chapter 5: Hallucinations and Heartbeats

Butcher’s nightmares were a well-kept secret, but Y/N had inadvertently stumbled upon them one late night. She found him in the kitchen, arguing with a man who wasn’t there.

"Joe, I told you to sod off!" Butcher growled, his eyes wild and unfocused.

Y/N froze, unsure of what to do. She had heard the others mention Butcher’s hallucinations in hushed tones, but seeing it firsthand was jarring.

"You can't keep ignoring me, Butcher," the apparition said, his voice dripping with condescension. Joe Kessler, the figment of Butcher’s fractured mind, was a tall, lean man with an eerie presence. He leaned against the counter, his eyes locked on Butcher. "You know I'm right. You're losing your edge."

"Shut up," Butcher spat, his hands clenching into fists. "You don't know a damn thing."

Kessler smirked, his gaze drifting over to where Y/N stood frozen in the doorway. "Ah, who's this then? Little miss housekeeper? She's a looker, ain't she? Bet she doesn’t know the real you."

Butcher’s eyes snapped to Y/N, a flicker of panic crossing his features. "Y/N, go back to bed," he ordered, his voice rough and desperate.

Y/N took a hesitant step forward, her concern for Butcher outweighing her fear. "Butcher, who are you talking to?"

Kessler laughed, a cold, mocking sound. "She can’t see me, Butcher. I'm just in your head, remember? But that doesn’t mean she isn’t real. Look at her, all soft and sweet. Bet she has no idea what she's gotten herself into."

"Shut up, Joe!" Butcher roared, slamming his fist on the counter. The noise echoed through the kitchen, making Y/N jump.

She took another step forward, her y/e/c eyes wide with concern. "Butcher, please, talk to me. What's going on?"

Butcher’s shoulders sagged, the fight draining out of him. He looked at Y/N, his expression a mix of frustration and vulnerability. "It's nothin', just... go back to bed."

Kessler shook his head, his eyes gleaming with malicious amusement. "You think she’ll stay after she sees you like this? You're deluding yourself, Butcher."

Y/N hesitated, then reached out to touch Butcher’s arm. "If you ever need to talk, I'm here," she said softly, her voice steady despite the fear in her eyes.

Butcher stared at her for a long moment, something unreadable in his eyes. Then he nodded, a curt gesture, and walked away, leaving Y/N standing alone in the dimly lit kitchen, her heart aching for the man she was beginning to understand.

☆ Chapter 6: Growing Closer

Despite Butcher’s abrasive exterior, Y/N found herself growing closer to him. She saw the way he softened around her, the way his tough facade cracked just a little when they were alone. She started to notice the small things: the way his heartbeat quickened when she was near, the way he lingered in the same room longer than necessary.

One evening, as they sat in the common room, Butcher glanced at her with an intensity that made her breath catch.

"Why are you still here?" he asked abruptly.

Y/N frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Why do you stay? This place, this life... it's dangerous."

She shrugged, meeting his gaze. "I stay because I care about all of you. And because I want to help."

Butcher's expression softened, and for a moment, he looked vulnerable. "This ain't right fer someone like you, love."

Y/N smiled. "Maybe. But I'm here, and I like it, so I'm not leaving. Unless you fire me, I guess." She glanced away, feeling a bit self-conscious about her rambling.

¤ Chapter 7: The Kidnapping

It was a quiet evening at the base, the kind that Y/N had come to appreciate amidst the chaos that often surrounded The Boys. She was in the kitchen, preparing a simple meal, when Butcher walked in. He leaned against the doorway, watching her with a rare softness in his eyes.

"Smells good," he remarked, his Cockney accent adding a rough edge to the compliment.

Y/N smiled, a warm feeling spreading through her chest. "Thought you might be hungry," she said, her tone light. "Sit down, it'll be ready in a minute."

Butcher nodded and took a seat at the small table, his eyes never leaving her. There was a comfort in the routine, a sense of normalcy that was hard to come by in their line of work. But that peace was shattered when Homelander appeared.

He strode into the room with an air of casual arrogance, his presence instantly changing the atmosphere. Butcher stiffened, his jaw clenching as he stood up, positioning himself protectively between  Y/N and Homelander.

"What do you want, you bloody wanker?" Butcher snarled, his fists clenching at his sides.

Homelander ignored him at first, his attention seemingly on some trivial aspect of the kitchen. But then, he paused, tilting his head as if listening intently. His eyes flicked to Y/N, and a slow, predatory smile spread across his face.

"Well, this is interesting," Homelander drawled, his gaze shifting back to Butcher. "You know, Butcher, your heart is racing. And it only started when I looked at her."

Butcher’s expression darkened, and he took a step forward. "Leave her out of this, you psycho."

Homelander's smile widened. "Ah, but why would I do that? It's so rare to find something that gets under your skin. And this... this is fascinating."

Before anyone could react, Homelander moved. In the blink of an eye, he was standing next to Y/N, his hand gripping her arm tightly. She gasped, fear flashing in her y/e/c eyes as she looked to Butcher.

"Don't you dare hurt her," Butcher growled, his voice shaking with barely controlled rage.

Homelander chuckled, lifting Y/N slightly off the ground as if she weighed nothing. "Oh, I won't hurt her. Much. But I do think it’s time for a little field trip."

Y/N struggled, her heart pounding in her chest. "Butcher," she whimpered, her voice a desperate plea.

Butcher took a step forward, his eyes locked on Homelander. "Put her down. Now."

Homelander tilted his head, as if considering the request. Then he shook his head, a mocking glint in his eyes. "No, I think I'll take her with me. Just to see how far you're willing to go for her."

With that, Homelander shot up through the ceiling, taking Y/N with him. The last thing she saw was Butcher’s anguished face, a look of helpless fury etched into his features.

○ Chapter 8: Butcher’s Rage

Y/N was gone, something inside him snapped. He tore through the base, his heart a thunderous roar in his chest.

"That bloody bastard took her!" he shouted, his voice breaking with fury.

The team scrambled to form a plan, but Butcher was a man possessed. He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t function without the thought of Y/N driving him forward.

"We'll get her back," MM said firmly, gripping Butcher's shoulder. "We'll get her back."

□ Chapter 9: The Rescue

The rescue mission was a blur of violence and chaos. Butcher led the charge, his sole focus on finding Y/N. When he finally burst into the room where Homelander held her, he saw red.

Homelander laughed, a cold, mocking sound. "Ah, Butcher. I was wondering when you'd show up."

Butcher didn’t waste time with words. He attacked, a fury of fists and rage. The fight was brutal, but with the team’s help, they managed to drive Homelander away.

Y/N, bound and bruised, looked up as Butcher approached. Tears filled her eyes as he knelt beside her, his hands trembling as he untied her.

"Are you okay? Love?" he asked, his voice rough with emotion.

She nodded, collapsing into his arms. "I knew you'd come."

Butcher held her tightly, his heart pounding against her chest. "I'll always come for ya, Y/N. Always."

■ Chapter 10: A New Beginning

The aftermath of the rescue brought a new understanding between Y/N and Butcher. They didn’t need words to express what had grown between them. The bond forged in fire and blood was unbreakable.

Butcher’s hallucinations didn’t disappear, but Y/N’s presence brought him a measure of peace. She was his light in the darkness, and he would do anything to protect her.

One evening, they sat together in the dimly lit common room. Butcher’s fingers traced the delicate lines of Y/N’s hand, his touch surprisingly gentle for a man who so often embodied fury.

“Dunno how you put up wif all this madness, love,” Butcher murmured, his gray-green eyes searching hers. “Most people would’ve legged it by now.”

Y/N smiled, her green eyes meeting his. “I chose this, Butcher. I chose you.”

He snorted, a rough sound that was more affectionate than derisive. “Still, can’t figure out why. I’m a right bastard, and vis life... it ain’t exactly easy.”

She squeezed his hand, her expression unwavering. “Because I see you, the real you. And you’re worth it.”

Butcher stared at her for a long moment, his eyes a mix of confusion and somethin' deeper, somethin' that scared 'em more than he’d ever admit. “Never fought I'd see fe day I'd meet someone like you in fis 'ellhole.”

Y/N leaned closer, resting her head against his shoulder. “But here we are.”

He wrapped an arm around her, holding her close. “Here we are,” he echoed, his voice a low rumble. “Don’t think I’ll ever understand it, but I ain’t complainin’.”

They sat in comfortable silence, the weight of their experiences hanging between them. Butcher knew he wasn’t an easy man to love, but he felt something he hadn’t in a long time: hope.

“You ever need anyfin’, Y/N,” he said quietly, his voice almost a whisper. “Anyfin at all, you come to me. Don’t matter what it is.”

She nodded, feeling the sincerity in his words. “I know, Butcher. I know.”

He kissed the top of her head, a rare gesture of tenderness. “Good. ‘Cause I’m not lettin’ you go, not ever. You’re stuck wif me now, like it or not.”

Y/N chuckled softly. “I think I can handle that.”

[bbgyghost]

Birthday-Night(Ghost/Simon x Y/N )

Simon Riley x y/n !CM! WSFW, Smut, one night stand, unprotected sex, overstimulation, dirty talk,… let me know if I missed something y’all

“Ughhh…F-Fuck keep going d-don’t stop” I moaned as Simon continued thrusting his dog tags dangled in my face yet i didn’t care. I gripped the bed sheets beside me as his thrusts became more faster and urgent. “Such a tight little pussy” Simon chuckled as he reached down rubbing my swollen cunt.—- now I bet your asking how in the hell did you get into this situation now that’s a good question let me start from the beginning…

“Girll come on it’s your 21 birthday we bout to get lit” Ari my childhood bestie yelled as I finally got out of the shower wrapping my body and soaked hair in a towel as I walked through our apartment to my room “yea yea I know it’s just you know i just got out of a relationship with mark.. I’m just emotional not ready” i replied with a sigh as i closed my room door an put in so underwear as i started to rummage through my closet for some clothes “Y/N come on you can’t cry forever it’s been weeks girly” Ari sighed as she walked into my bedroom and plopped down in my bed “it was a 2 year relationship Ari I can’t just drop that” i replied as I grabbed a hoodie from my closet “Y/N get your ass up and let’s go to a club a bar shit let’s go and watch to the movie like come on your becoming a boomer what happened to my little happy slut” Ari replied as she slammed her head back on my bed “ariiii why do I need to go out it’s just a birthday it’s nothing special” i replied

An hour later I was all dressed up in one of ari’s bright red short leather dress that clung to my curves as I pulled it down my thighs “Ari this is too short my ass In nearly hanging out” i replied as I pulled the dress down “that’s the point girl we going to get you laid pookie” ari chuckled as she handed my some black heels as I slid on some fishnets and pulled my dress back down before sliding into the heel “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this” i sighed as I combed my Afro back into a ponytail with a large puff ball “sit down so I can put you on some makeup” Ari giggled excitedly “only eyeshadow and lips stick” I sighed as I hated putting on makeup and yet by time we left the apartment I have on a full face of makeup earrings and a tight ass outfit

“I could kill you for this Ari” i replied as I sat in the passenger seat of Ari’s car “come on you look like a total baddie I’ll be surprised if you don’t get laid but don’t worry I’ll lay you if you don’t” Ari giggled as she drove us to one of the local clubs

“Ughhh I told you it would be packed it’s a Friday night” i replied to Ari as this was our third time driving around the parking lot looking for a park “just get out and go in without me I’ll park down the street and walk” Ari replied as I got out of the car pulling my dress down and grabbed my purse “don’t take too long” i replied as i walked up the stairs to the club as some random man whistled at me and i flicked him off and walked in walked through the loud crowd of dancing people as i made my way to the bar and sat down crossing my legs “let me get a double shot of vodka on ice” i replied as I pulled out a crisp $20 bill and handed it to the bartender that stared at me like I was some angel “I’m sorry what did you say ma’am” the bartender replied as a tall man with a skull mask pulled over his nose repeatedly “a double shot and vodka now stop staring at the lady titts and do your damn job” he replied in a thick British accent and his voice is incredibly deep as the bartender nodded and quickly got me my drink “ahh thank you” i giggled as I turned towards the man “don’t worry about it names Simon you?” Simon replied as he turned to look at me. His gaze lingered over my body before he looked back up at me “Y/N nice to meet you simon” I smiled as he chuckled “I like they way you say my name” Simon replied as another man walked up “ghost we are heading back to the base” the man replied as I titled my head “ghost?” I giggled as Simon scoffed “this is soap” Simon replied as I giggled “Did you say Soap? what a weird combo i like it” I laughed “My name is Johnny, but you can call me Soap.” he chuckled as nodded at Simon in walked away “so what’s a pretty woman like you doing here by yourself” Simon replied as he took a sip of his whiskey “ah no no I’m not alone my friend is probably somewhere on the dance floor” I chuckled as I glanced over at the dance floor seeing Ari grinding up against some random man as i looked back at Simon who was staring at my legs as he looked like he was in a trance “Simon” I giggled as I waved my hand in front of his face “ahh my bad love” Simon chuckled as he drunk the rest of his whiskey “i don’t remember telling you but your indeed a gorgeous woman” he said as he stared at me “ah thank you I don’t get complaints often” I chuckled “you don’t damn these men must be blind” simon laugh “i don’t think so they just stare nowadays” I giggled as I drunk the rest of my drink waving the bartender for another…

Time passes rather quickly as I found myself dancing with Simon his large hands had a rather good grip on my hips as I danced back onto him “love if you keep moving your hips like that I’ll have to take you home with me” Simon chuckled as I turned around “i don’t think I’d mind that” I giggled as I was already tipsy as I wrapped my arms around Simons neck as I whispered into his ear “actually you should take me home” i replied as I kissed his neck. Simon pulled back his “love i don’t think you understand what your getting yourself into” he replied as I giggled “maybe I do maybe i don’t, who cares” I laughed as Simon’s hands slowly slid down from my waist to my ass gripping me as he pulled me closer “do you stay close love” Simon asked as he stared down into my eyes “umm probably 5 or 6 miles away so somewhat close” i replied as he chuckled and I giggled “I think it’ll be better if we go an have some alone time~” Simon whispered into my ear as I bit me lip

Next I knew it I was in the back of some Uber making out with this tall 6’6 man that looked like he could throw me like a empty bottle if he wanted to as the car pulled up to a military base and I looked at Simon confused as he picked me up with ease throwing me over his shoulder as he held my dress down in the back so I wouldn’t flash anyone as he walked into the base walking past men as i looked around giggling “where are you taking me Simon” I asked as he chuckled “to my bedroom love” “your in the military” I asked as I wiggled my hips “yes I am why else would i be here” he laughed as he gripped my ass which made me let out quiet moan “don’t do that” i replied as Simon stated to walk faster towards his room and quickly opened the door before walking in and locking it behind him as he had no problem quickly getting me out of that tight ass dress as I laid on his bed in my underwear fishnets and heels i couldn’t see his expression tho i could see the lust in his eyes as he glared at me like I was his pray “S-Simon” I called out as he slowly got down on his knees kissing his way up my thigh as he ripped my fishnets looking me in my eyes as he pulled off my thongs as I was nearly soaking wet “your so fucking wet” Simon chuckled as he slid his finger through my apex before he dips a finger into me, a gasp leaving my lips. He wraps his other hand around my thigh, pushing it down on my stomach so he could hold me still as soft whimpers leaves my lips in a sweet symphony that he’s clearly loving He’s curling his fingers right into the sweet spot inside of me that makes me to start to Squirming under him as he dragging his tongue over my mound, flicking up my clit making me moan loudly “fuck Simon If-if you do that I’ll-“ I gasped as he added another finger and I propped my on my elbows so i could look down at him “w-wait” I gasped as my legs started to tremble “let go love let me bring you pleasure” Simon groaned against my clit.

In a matter of minutes Simon had me orgasm hard as I squealed my eyes rolling back as I tried to closed my thighs yet Simon wasn’t having it as he held my legs open “that’s my good girl” he chuckled as he lifted his head and looked at me his lips and chin soaked in my arousal as I was breathing heavily “Fuck your good at that” I chuckled as he pull his finger out of me and put them into his mouth sucking my arousal off of them as someone knocked on the door “ghost I need to talk to you” captain price voice came through the door

As Simon cussed under his breath “I’m a little busy is it important captain” Simon asked as he started to kiss my body his lips latch onto my nipple as I covered my mouth not wanting to get caught “yes it’s somewhat important” captain price replied as I accidentally let a small moan out yet Simon didn’t stop “ghost you don’t have anyone in your room do you” captain price asked as my heart stopped for a second “yea I do” Simon replied calmly as he didn’t stop sucking on my nipple “well son we’ll talk in the morning” captain price replied with a chuckle as I heard him walking away “S-sorry” i replied as Simon pulled off his shirt “it’s ok love don’t worry about that just focus one and the pleasure your about to receive” he chuckled as he dropped his pants and his fat length stood at attention as my mouth dropped as the size of this man’s junk “that’s not going to fit” i replied as Simon spit on his hand and rubbed it on his tip “I’ll make it fit sweetheart just relax for me” he replied as he rubbed his tip against my entrance a couple times before thrusting it in all at once as I moaned my eyes watering as Simon kissed my neck “shhh it’s all over now it’ll only hurt for a minute” he replied

I mean I’ve had sex before yet it was nothing compared to this. It all felt so foreign it felt so good the way he slowly trusted into me holding my legs open it was all too much as I felt that knot in my stomach and I knew i wouldn’t last long “please fuckk it’s so good~” I moaned as wrapping my arms around Simons neck “your so fuckin tight” he chuckled as he kissed my cheek as he sped up his thrust the sound of skin on skin mixed with my moans filled the room as I wrapped my legs around Simon’s waist as i came close to orgasming again “fu-ck….please go harder” i wined as simon laughed “your such a desperate slut” he replied as he kissed my neck leaving a trail of hot kisses “it’s so go-od” i whimpered as my head dropped back his arms on the sides of my head “fuck..I’m close love” Simon moaned as he’s hip’s started to speed up until we both came together yet that was only the beginning

“Ughhh…F-Fuck keep going d-don’t stop” I moaned as Simon continued thrusting his dog tags dangled in my face yet i didn’t care. I gripped the bed sheets beside me as his thrusts became more faster and urgent. “Such a tight little pussy” Simon chuckled as he reached down rubbing my swollen bundle of nerves that made me squirm underneath him this was like the forth round and I was already way past my limit as we both were soaked in sweat and arousal “I’m going to knock your little pussy up ok baby” Simon groaned as he pushed both of my knees up to my chest so he could thrust deeper into me “it’s too much I can’t” I moaned nearly in tears “just a little more love you can take it” Simon replied as I climaxed and he rode my orgasm out before he spilled himself deep inside me “fuck-..” Simon moaned before he leaned down kissing me as i could taste my own arousal on his tongue as he slowly started to trust into me again “NO more” i replied as Simon laughed “ok ok I won’t push you anymore” he replied as he laid down next to me showering me in kisses before getting up and putting on his clothes as he grabbed a towel and poured some cold water on it as he wiped me clean. The sensation of the cold towel on my hot skin nearly made me orgasm again and Simon just laughed before kissing my thighs “your so fuckin hot ya know” he replied as I turned away “n-no more ok” i replied as he continued to kiss up my thigh to my stomach up my chest to my chin “sorry i can’t help it when there’s such a sexy woman in my bed” he chuckled as he finished cleaning me up sliding on one of his shirts and laying me down next to him on his bed as I snuggled up next to him “hey Simon how old are you” I boldly ask as I laid on his chest “37 why” he replied as my eyes widened “what don’t tell me your like 18 or some shit love” Simon sighed “no no I’m 21 i just didn’t expect you to be in your thirties when you look like this and the way your-” I clearly my throat as Simon laughed “well I’ll take that as a compliment love” he chuckled as we cuddled together through the night yet when Simon woke up i had already gotten up and slipped out of the base leaving behind my EarPods “oh you little-” Simon chuckled as he picked up my EarPods “damn i miss her already” Simon said out loud

[downwiththeficness]

Shadow and Veil-Chapter Three

Summary: Eva Moore’s life was a carefully constructed fiction. Every day, she did exactly what her mother in law, her husband, and his best friend expected of her. No mistakes. And, that was going pretty well for Eva right up until a huge complication literally tried to run her over. Now, she’s faced with trying to keep the pieces of her life from falling apart while attempting (and failing) to keep her feelings for her husband’s new business partner at bay.

A/N: This fic is a sister-fic to A Need So Great and A Need Unleashed. You do not need to have read ANSG or ANU to read this fic, but there are Easter eggs from those fics in Shadow and Veil for readers with keen eyes.  This fic is explicit for canon-compliant blood, gore, violence, and sex. As such, it is intended for an adult audience, only. A/B/O dynamics come with their own warning. Anyone under the age of 18 should not interact with this work. I do not consent to reposting this work to other platforms. Reblog only to Tumblr.  

Word Count: ~3000

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“You’re sure the appetizers will be out exactly fifteen minutes after start time?”

The chef, to his credit, just barely kept from rolling his eyes. For the last half hour, Eva had been grilling him over the menu, the wine pairings, the timing for each dish and cocktail. It all had to be perfect, right down to the shape of the little cheese puffs.

“Ma’am,” said the cook, his accent thick and Southern, “This ain’t the first dinner I’ve made for you. My staff know your expectations and we will meet them.”

Chastened by the soft censure, Eva gave a firm nod, “Thank you. I should never have doubted you.”

He huffed, as if he didn’t quite believe her, “Okay. ‘Scuse me, ma’am. I have a dinner to make.”

“Yes,” she replied, turning from him, “Of course.”

With nothing left to do, no more final details to work out, Eva climbed the stairs again and made her way to her room. The dress she picked out for the occasion was laid on her bed. Black with a bit of slink to be interesting but still demure enough to not make waves with their guests.

Like the food, Eva had to be perfect. Not a single hair could be out of place. Josh was counting on the goodwill of several very important people tonight and Eva would not be the reason he didn’t receive that goodwill.

She dressed meticulously. Parted and curled her hair. Applied a soft, smokey shadow to her eyes and a neutral lipstick to her mouth. Around her neck, she wore the string of pearls Josh’s mother gave her as a wedding gift.

When she was finished, Eva stared at her reflection in the full length mirror by the door. She didn’t look like herself. Black was too severe a color for Eva, and the column of the dress made her look more tall than she already was. Maybe she shouldn’t wear the heels.

Eva was going to wear the heels.

Stepping into them, she ran her hands down the material of her dress to smooth away any wrinkles. On her way back out into the hall, she spritzed a little perfume on her neck and wrists.

Downstairs, Eva double checked that the candles were lit in The Lounge and that the liquor decanters on the bar were full. She smiled with pride as she carefully centered the gin Josh’s senator friend liked among them. Next to the liquor, several glasses twinkled in the candlelight. She looked at each one in turn to make sure they were spotless.

The doorbell rang.

Show time.

Forty-five minutes later, all of their guests were sitting at the dining room table. The soup course was just being served in Josh’s best china. Silverware embossed with a large, ornate ‘m’ was clinking against it in syncopated rhythms. From around the rooms came compliments on the food and the table setting.

Josh sat at the head of the table, Eva to his right. Across from her, his mother was speaking with a district attorney. Eva listened absently, nodding at all the right moments and making little noises of confirmation whenever the woman made a point.

Myra Moore came of age during The Great Depression, but no one would ever know it if they looked at her. Though tasteful, her clothing and jewelry screamed money. From the designer dress and blazer combo to the diamonds glinting her her ears, Myra looked every bit the rich, suburban housewife that she was.

Josh’s dad died before he and Eva met, but she imagined living with Myra was the primary reason Mr. Everett Moore kicked the bucket early, lucky man. It was possible that Eva hated Myra more than she hated Josh. The woman was always picking at her, criticizing her hair, her nails, her hemlines, her shoes. There was no detail that Myra missed.

Every holiday, Eva was presented with a gift she didn’t want and couldn’t get rid of without risking offending Josh’s second favorite person. It was how they ended up with that absolutely hideous coat rack decorated in some kind of rodent (weasels?) near the front door.

“Of course,” Myra said with a pretentious lilt in her tone, “there’s no sense in reasoning with the little delinquents. I say throw them in jail and let them rot.”

Eva took a sip of wine to keep herself from noting aloud that Myra’s own son could be considered a ‘delinquent.’ She’d long since given up on Myra ever figuring out how much of a hypocrite she was. Over the years, watching her go on and on at dinners and luncheons became a kind of entertainment for Eva. It made the tedium of making small talk with people she barely liked easier.

The only other balm to her boredom was sitting to Eva’s left. Bobbi Lynn, the senator’s wife, glanced sidelong at Eva with a smile. They couldn’t risk being too friendly at these events, but Eva always felt better with Bobbi Lynn there.

Myra, like always, caught Eva looking at Bobbi Lynn. She leaned away from the table so one of the staff could take away her bowl and set down the main course, “I heard there was a new tenant in your building, Senator.”

Eva found her attention focusing on Bobbi Lynn’s husband as he talked about someone renting out the entire top floor of their building. Her brows lifted in surprise. They lived in an expensive neighborhood and that apartment had been vacant for several months due to the landlord raising the rent after the last tenant left.

Bobbi Lynn leaned forward, as if sharing a secret, “I saw some of the furniture being moved in—very modern, very high end.”

Her husband harrumphed, “New money, I hear.”

New money.

Only people who never knew what it was like to grow up poor talked about others like that. Eva was surrounded by people with trust funds already set up for their children, preparing the next generation to inherit wealth. She was only like them in the way her life was a superficial act of showing the world that she was rich without being so gauche as to announce it aloud.

Technically, she wasn’t rich. Josh was. And, it wasn’t due to his very successful medical practice. Not that it would matter one little bit to their guests. Every single one of them had some kind of skeleton in the closet. The senator, himself, had a gambling habit that left him with enough debt that his wife took it upon herself to pick up a side business. These skeletons were what made partnering with them so beneficial—mutually assured destruction. If Josh went down, they went down with him.

“I don’t care who they are,” Bobbi Lynn said, “I’m just glad they’re quiet. Not a peep out of them, day or night.”

Eva smirked, “Are you sure someone actually lives there?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Bobbi Lynn replied, touching Eva’s arm, “I saw him myself.”

“Him?”

Smiling widely, Bobbi Lynn spoke lowly to Eva, close enough that the others might struggle to hear, “Yes, saw him coming in from a run two days ago. Very handsome.”

Eva’s mouth opened, the girlish ‘oh’ dying on her lips as she made a connection that almost stopped her heart. The new tenant in their building was Di—Mr. Jimenez. Which meant that Josh’s under the table dealings would be further connected to their senator-friend who kept them out of hot water with the Feds.

“I’m sure he is,” Eva said, when she found her words again.

Bobbi Lynn winked at her and returned to her meal. The conversation turned, directed expertly by Myra—to a local charity auction taking place in a few weeks. Josh had donated a vacation package to California, which he spent a solid five minutes bragging about. Good price. Excellent service.

After dinner, the group retired to The Lounge and Eva fluttered around the room to keep glasses full. She barely spoke more than a few words to anyone, which was okay with her. There were a limited number of topics that she was well versed enough to talk about with this crowd and most of them bored her to death. She’d rather stand behind the bar and mix cocktails while the other mingled.

It was during this activity that Myra approached the bar and set her empty glass down. Eva took it wordlessly and began to make Myra’s preferred drink—a martini with three olives and just a splash of olive juice.

“I see you went with Chef Leroux again.”

Glancing up, Eva replied with a low sound of confirmation.

“He really outdid himself this time. Those cream puffs were very light.”

Eva poured a measure of vodka into a shaker, “Yes, they were. I thought the circuit judge was going to be here and I’ve been told they are his favorite.”

Myra leaned on the bar, her eyes casting about the room, “Well, he gave his regrets this afternoon. Some kind of clerical error he needed to take care of. It was far too late to change the seating arrangements, but I don’t think anyone noticed the empty chair.”

If they had, most of them would be far too polite to say so.

Taking a large ice cube, Eva cracked it into a shaker full of vodka, vermouth, and olive juice, “I don’t think anyone would hold his absence against us. As he is so fond of saying, the hand of justice waits for no one.”

Cutting her an unhappy look, Myra changed the subject, “I see you’re wearing the dress I got for you.”

Eva nodded as she shook the cocktail to chill it.

“It looks a little too tight,” she continued, “Have you gained weight?”

She hadn’t, but Eva new better than to argue, “I suppose its the cut of the dress.”

Myra lifted a brows and her mouth pursed, but she didn’t say anything. After pouring the cocktail into Myra’s glass, Eva handed it over to Myra with a small, polite smile. Her mother in law picked it up, gave Eva another dissatisfied look, and walked away. She didn’t approach again for the rest of the night.

As the guests were leaving, Eva stood on the front porch and made sure they all got safely into a car. Not a single one was driving—five chauffeurs lined up in shiny black vehicles in their driveway. Bobbi Lynn was the last to say goodbye, kissing Eva’s cheek and shrugging her fur up onto her shoulders.

“I’ll see you at lunch at the end of the month?”

Eva nodded, “I’ll be there.”

With a final smile, Bobbi Lynn sauntered away. Eva watched her wobble a little bit in her heels until she almost fell into the backseat of the car. She could hear Bobbi Lynn’s laugh from the porch. Could hear how the senator joined her.

Theirs was a happy marriage. Bobbi Lynn got all the freedom of being a woman married to a man who was married to his work. The relationship flourished with the length of their routine separation. Eva envied them.

With no one else to see safely off into the night, Eva turned and went back inside the house, catching the switch for the porch light on her way. Josh was just coming from the The Lounge, his suit jacket folded over one arm and a drink in his hand.

His sandy blond hair was flopping over his forehead from where he’d run his hands over it throughout the night. Blue eyes that turned grey when it rained were dancing with glee. His strong jawline and high cheekbones made looking at him all to easy. Handsome. Rich. Outwardly amiable. It was all of these things that made marrying him a choice Eva was happy to make despite the fact that she was too young to make that kind of decision.

Everyone was kind of stupid at fourteen. Eva had been especially stupid, as it turned out.

“Good party?” she asked as Josh approached.

He stalled at the stairs, “Yes. I think we made headway with the distributor. Shouldn’t have a problem getting out next batch out quickly.”

Eva nodded and folded her hands in front of her, “That’s good. I’ll make sure the invoice is expedited.”

He smiled, “Excellent.” Then, “Well, I’m heading to bed.”

She nodded again, “Okay.”

All pleasantry fell from her face as she watched him climb the stairs. He was going to bed and she would spend the next two hours cleaning up after him and his guests. She’d done the best she could while pouring drinks, cleaning as she went, but The Lounge was still a mess of ashtrays and cocktail napkins.

At least Chef Leroux would make sure the kitchen was spotless. She could hear him ordering his staff about, calling for the leftovers to be wrapped and put in the fridge.

Kicking off her heels, Eva went to the linen closet and pulled out the vacuum. Heavy and unwieldy, she dragged the thing down that hall and into The Lounge. Setting it aside for later, Eva picked up the trash can she kept behind the bar and began to pick up the clutter.

Having finished that, she went back to the closet and grabbed a roll of paper towels and cleaner so that she could wipe down the tables and bar. The routine was meditative, something that she did after each party—either directly after the guests left (if she was invited) or early the next morning (if she wasn’t).

When every surface was clean and every piece of trash was picked up, Eva vacuumed the room from the sliding glass door at the far end to the entryway of the hall. Then, she put away her supplied and tied off the trash bag. Carrying it out to the garage, Eva tossed it into the large trash bin sitting near the door.

On the way back, she stopped in the kitchen.

Leroux looked up from where he was sliding his knives into a carrying case, “Mrs. Moore. We have just finished.”

Eva smiled at him, “Thank you. It was a lovely dinner.”

He returned the smile, lips spreading beneath his mustache, “Any time. You call if you have another party.”

“I always do.”

Leroux and his staff left the house in an orderly line, exiting the back way past the pool. Eva made sure they got into the company van before she closed the fence and walked back into the house. Then, because she wouldn’t be able to sleep if she didn’t, Eva went to the kitchen and double checked Chef Leroux’s work.

The dishwasher was running, but there were still dishes in the sink waiting. Eva turned on the water and methodically washed each one, placing them on a towel to dry. Having completed that task, she wiped down the sink and counters, then dried her hands on a fresh towel that she hung over the handle of the oven.

Turning, she let out a strangled yelp as she caught sight of Alexei standing on the other side of the kitchen island.

He laughed, “Guess I missed the party.”

Hand to her heart, Eva caught her breath, “You did.”

Alexei put his hands in his pockets as he said, “Can’t say that I regret it.”

She didn’t have anything to say to that. And, likewise, couldn’t think of any words that might extricate her from this conversation so that she could get to bed.

He tilted his head to the side, “That’s not a commentary on your skills as a hostess, Birdie.”

Ah, the old nickname.

It started after her wedding day, not long after that first beating. Josh would move and she would startle. It was a reflex that she couldn’t control. Eva startled so often that Josh began to call her a little bird, which had turned into ‘Birdie’. Alexei picked it up from him and that had been that.

“I didn’t take offense.”

It was true. She hadn’t. Most of the planning for the event was the work of Myra. Eva got to choose little details like the table cloth (as long as it was a neutral color) and the food (as long as it wasn’t too spicy).

Alexei’s smile held, “Of course not.” Then, “Looks like it ended a while ago. Why are you still up?”

The question was said in a soft, even tone. If there was anything behind it, Eva couldn’t tell.

“I had some cleaning up to do.”

“Ah,” he breathed, “I never understood why Josh wouldn’t hire a maid.”

Why would he spare the expense when he has a wife at home to clean up after him?

“You know him better than I do,” she replied. “If you don’t understand it, I certainly wouldn’t be able to.”

Alexei nodded and it was then that she noticed that there was blood on the collar of his shirt. Little flecks of red. As she looked further, she saw that they splashed from the sleeve of his left arm up and over his right shoulder. As if someone had spit at him. Someone who no longer had all their teeth.

“I should really get to bed,” Eva announced, her voice tight.

Again, he nodded, “I’ll help myself to the guest room, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind,” she murmured, “I’m sure Josh won’t, either.”

She had to walk past him to get to the hall. Eva kept her eyes on her feet, her hands picking up the hem of her dress so that she didn’t trip. Clearing the door, Eva scurried to the stairs.

From behind her, Alexei called out, “Sleep tight, Birdie.”

[fluffysilver]

Flufftober Day 4 - Cinderella Moment

(A/N: This takes place a few days after the fall of the Praetorium)

Horika-re’s tail flicked as he studied himself in the mirror, running a comb over his hair and smoothing the fine hairs on his ears. His hair had grown out a bit while he had been so busy in the last few weeks, though it seemed like longer. A lifetime, really, though it had been less than a year since Hydaelyn had laid her blessing on him. Life had changed so much.  A year ago he had been just another adventurer training with the thaumaturges in Ul’dah. Now… he was going to a feast celebrating the downfall of the Garleans, as the guest of honor. As the Warrior of Light. 

That was something he was still getting used to. Rika wasn’t even sure he deserved it. Yes, he bore the Blessing of Light, but without the Grand Companies and the Scions and his Free Company and Garlond Ironworks, as well as a healthy dose of luck, he would be dead right now. He could feel the soft thrum of the crystals against his soul; six crystals, one for each element. Y’shtola couldn’t remember reading of a time when someone held more than one Crystal of Light. Why him? Hydaelyn hadn’t deigned to answer that question. 

He sighed and picked up his formal hat, settling it on his head. Well, at least he wouldn’t stand out too badly, and likely no one would know what he looked like anyway. The formal Black Mage robes covered him from neck to toes in thick fabric, the large brim and eyepatch on the hat covering most of his face - the rest was shielded by the high collar of his coat. He picked up his new Black Mage staff and headed for the door. 

When he stepped out of his private room in the Free Company, he could see that the others were already there, dressed for the feast. While he might be the main guest of honor, the entire squad that had gone in with him were also to be feted today, and honored for their acts of heroism in destroying the Ultima Weapon. 

Wadjet looked up from the book on her lap, blinked, and groaned. “You’re not wearing that!” She was in a delicate gown of shell pink that left one shoulder bare, her hair done up in an elaborate updo. “Honestly, Riki, that looks terrible.” 

“It’s the formal robes of a black mage,” Rika objected. “It’s not my fault that this is the best outfit that I have.” 

She rolled her eyes and slid from her seat. “Well you’re not going like that. We’ll be laughed out of the hall.” 

“Let me deal with it.” Ekaterina told her, pushing herself to her feet. The White Mage was in a silken confection of white with red accents in the Kugani style, calling back to the traditional colours while making it unique, her white hair flowing smoothly down her back and accented with red flowers. She studied him, arms crossed. “Yes, I think we can do a lot better than this. Twelve, one wouldn’t even know you were in there, Rika. It could be anyone. Get in your room and strip; I’ll be back in a minute.” 

He blinked after her. “Wait, what are you doing?” 

“Going to the market, I’ll be back in a bit. If that’s the best you have, you really need to refresh your wardrobe!” With that she was out the door and gone. 

“You don’t have to…” He broke off as the door closed behind her, then looked at his sister. “It’s not that bad. It’s not like I’m coming in rags.” Which was all that had been left of his last set of black mage robes after the Praetorium and the fight with Lahabrea. 

“You’re a person of importance now, big brother.” Wadjet reached over and plucked off his hat. “You need to look it. Generic robes just won’t do. Now go get undressed. Or do I need to call Davien to help?” she asked with a grin. 

Rika gave her a look for that, even as his cheeks warmed. “Don’t be ridiculous. I just hope Ekat doesn’t go overboard.” 

“I think you can trust her.” Wadjet shuffled him off to his room. 

----

Davien absently brushed his hands over the sleek jerkin he wore, brushing off imaginary dust and straightening his shaded glasses. He’d splurged a little on a new outfit for the feast; worked leather jerkin in dark purple and black, black leather pants, polished boots and fingerless gloves. Despite this being a peaceful occasion, he openly wore his ninja blades at his hips. He might technically be one of the guests of honor, but he was also taking on the task of Rika’s bodyguard - this was the sort of occasion where people would lower their guard and any spies still working for the Garleans could take advantage of that to get a little revenge on the person of the Warrior of Light. Damned if he was letting anyone get the chance to stick a knife in Rika’s back, especially since he was still recovering from the fight with Lahabrea. Which was why he had come ahead of the others, to check out the feasting hall for hidden cubbies and unpleasant surprises. This was Ul’dah, after all, and while he trusted General Rahban and the Flames, he wouldn’t trust the Brass Blades as far as he could throw the aetheryte crystal spinning in front of him. 

Despite his paranoia he hadn’t found anything, so he’d come to greet the others as they arrived in the city. Adventurers flickered into being in a steady stream, chattering excitedly about the news and the feast; Davien hovered around the entrance, watching, until he spotted the first of the Free Company arriving in the form of his sister and her girlfriend. He smiled with faint approval as Chyndra looked around, then touched her linkpearl and he heard her give the others the go-ahead to come through. It was nice to see he wasn’t the only one taking Rika’s security seriously - he wondered if Rika even realized it. 

As much as he loved Rika, the other Miqo’te could be terribly naive in some ways. Not weak, no… He actually trusted people first; it was something Davien loved about him. That, and the incredible strength it took to be like that - to be open and trusting. His natural warmth and nature made him want to reach out and accept everyone, rather than eyeing them with cynicism, like Davien himself did. But that did mean a higher chance of getting screwed over. 

Moments later, the rest of the Free Company teleported in. Davien’s glaze darted over Neferseti, Wadjet, Ekat and Raythe before landing on Rika. His eyes widened faintly as he looked his fiancee up and down, as his tail swished with appreciation. Someone had clearly sat Rika down to dress him up, because he didn’t remember that outfit in his closet. A deep red-purple silk brocade coat, tailored to flatter his surprisingly sleek - for a mage - chest and waist, then flaring out to fall to the back of his knees, open at the front to reveal the black silk pants under the coat. Off-white silk peeked out from under his coat sleeves and spilled in soft frills around the edges of the collar. Black silk gloves and polished dress boots finished off the look, accessorized with a gold earring that glinted in the light of the aetheryte crystal. Rika looked up and caught his eye, then blushed faintly and looked down as he caught his balance. “Hi.” 

“Hi. You look good.” Davien murmured. Closer up, he could see subtle cosmetics that highlighted Rika’s eyes. “Wadjet?” 

“Ekat.” Rika laughed a little, ducking his head. “They said my black mage robes wouldn’t suit.” 

Davien chuckled. “Well, they did a good job. You look very elegant. I’m sure that everyone will be impressed.” 

The faint blush deepened on Rika’s cheeks. “I have no idea what this is going to be like. I don’t go to parties - and if I do go, I find a corner and stay as long as socially acceptable before leaving.”  

“You’re such a wallflower. Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.” Davien took his hand and lead him towards the hall where people were gathering for the celebration. 

Rika followed, though it was with nervous fluttering in his stomach. He wished Ekat had at least let him wear a hat to hide behind. Still, it shouldn’t be so bad, right? Once the toasts or whatever were over with, surely the politicking would begin and leave him out of it. He wasn’t naive enough to not realize what would actually be taking place during a social gathering of the rich and elite. 

The hall was off the inner circle of Ul’dah, a tall and richly decorated stone room. The colourful hangings and gold brightened up the beige sandstone that formed the walls, and arched high overhead. Lights hung down to illuminate the room with a warm glow, picking up the exotic outfits of the adventurers milling around the tables heaped with spiced food and drink. The notables hadn’t arrived yet, he noticed - he couldn’t see the colours of any of the Grand Companies except the Immortal Flames forming a shadowy blue ring against the walls. 

A fussy Lalafell in the Sultana’s servant’s uniform with a tabard over it bustled up to the group as they paused at the doorway to take in the sight. “Ah, you’re here,” he said, and looked them over. “You are the Warrior of Light and his company, correct?” 

Rika nodded once - that seemed to be all that was needed. 

“Follow me please. We have a retiring room for you to wait to be presented.” He turned and bustled off, clearly expecting them to follow. 

Retiring room? Presented? Rika might not have moved if Davien hadn’t tugged him along. He could hear Wadjet tittering behind him with excitement and picture her practically bouncing along. He wanted to vanish through the floor. “What does he mean, presented?” he hissed to Davien in an undertone. 

His lover’s ears flickered. “You’re the guest of honor, love. It’s expected.” 

“They might even make a toast just for you, Riki!” Wadjet added with a happy chirp. 

“I don’t think you’re helping,” Chyndra noted. “It’ll be fine, Rika. No one is going to expect you to make a speech. Just stand there, look wise and wave when you’re introduced. Then stand there while everyone claps. Then you can go sit down and eat.” 

Eat. Right. With the state his stomach was in, he wasn’t going to chance eating when it might all come right back up. 

“They are only people, honorable elder brother. Here to give you the honor that you so richly deserve after the events in the Praetorium.” 

“That was a group effort.” He kept telling people that, but it never seemed to stick. 

When they entered the ‘retiring room’, a smaller chamber decorated much like the grand hall but with a series of comfortable overstuffed couches instead of the tables and chairs set up for the feast, they found that they weren’t the first ones here. The Scions rose as the free company entered. 

“So you made it,” Alphanaud greeted. The young Elezen crossed his arms and nodded. “Yes, that should do nicely. Hopefully this will remind people that they’re indebted to us, and to you in particular.” 

That was Alphanaud, political to the bone. Rika just nodded as the other Scion gathered around him, much less formally. Only Thancred was missing, but then he probably would feel even more awkward than Rika would, after having been possessed by Lahabrea. “How is Thancred?” he asked Y’shtola. 

“He is recovering well,” the conjurer told him, looking him over. “How are you feeling? You took even more damage than he did during your fight with Lahabrea.” 

“I’m all right. I’ve not been casting anything, to let my aether recover.” 

“I’m so pleased to hear that.” Minfillia gave Rika a warm smile. “I’m also happy that you especially will be getting the recognition you deserve. No one else could have done what you did, Rika. Don’t ever think otherwise. Mother Hydaelyn must be very proud of you.” 

“Thanks,” he murmured. “But I never could have done it without you.” He looked around at the gathered Scions and Free Company. Despite his nervousness he couldn’t help a warm smile of his own, one tinged with gratitude, seeing their return smiles. A year ago he never would have expected to be surrounded by friends and family like this. “All of you. Without you all, and the Ironworks, and the Grand Companies as well, this day would never have come. Thank you, for everything.” 

Davien squeezed his shoulder lightly, shaking his head, as Yda gave a little cheer and Papalymo gave a satisfied smile. Then his ear twitched as he heard a stir outside. “Looks like we’re up,” he murmured and kissed Rika’s temple. “Don’t forget to smile,” he murmured, then looked up as their evident escort showed up at the door.

“The Scions first please, in good order,” he commanded, and waved for them to follow him. Minfillia took the lead, with Alphanaud and Y’shtola behind her, and Yda and Papalymo after that, bringing up the rear. Outside, Rika could hear the stirring now that Davien had picked up, and a strong voice announcing the rulers of Gridania and Limsa Lominsa, and then the Sultana herself. The stirring stopped, and then footsteps before he heard not the herald, but Nanamo’s voice. 

“Welcome all,” she announced - Rika could picture her perched up on Raubahn’s arm, high above the tables and chairs to clearly be seen and heard. “I, Nanama Ul Namo, seventeenth in the line of Ul, do welcome you all to this feast in honor of the defeat of the Ultima Weapon and the beginning of the Seventh Astral Era!” Claps and cheers echoed her words briefly before dying down. 

“Though the success of Operation Archon is due to many people all working together, including the Grand Companies of our esteemed guests the Elder Seedseer Kan-E-Senna and Chief Admiral Merlwyb Bloefhiswyn, surely our beloved Eorzea would have been lost without the unflagging aid of our guests of honor. Gentle ladies and sirs, pray welcome the Scions of the Seventh Dawn!” 

More cheering and clapping. Rika took a deep breath as the herald appeared again and waved for them to follow him. They walked behind a series of pillars and up a set of shallow steps to an archway. Inside, they could see the high table where the Scions were now being seated by the rulers of the city-states and of course the Syndicate, the ruling council of Ul’dah. Rika recognized the eldest of the brothers that ran the Thaumaturge’s Guild there as well as the rest of the guiildmasters in the city, and a few from other cities. Below that high platform the rest of the hall was filled with tables, where the other guests had been seated. A few seats on the high platform were still empty; evidently they were eating at the high table as well. Rika took a deep breath as the clapping died down. 

“As many of you know,” Nanamo continued once she had silence once again, “...though the planning and the execution of Operation Archon depended on many of us, the greatest danger was undertaken by a brave group of adventurers, who penetrated the castrum itself to defeat take down the defenses of the Praetorium and then to find and destroy the Ultima Weapon itself. Though their peril was the greatest, they did not flag in their mission, and by their bravery was the Ultima Weapon defeated! Tonight we gather to honor them; Shadowborne Free Company!” 

“Not you,” the herald hissed as Rika went to move. His eyes widened faintly as panic started to coil through him. Davien squeezed his hand. 

“It’ll be okay,” his lover murmured, and let go to lead the rest of the Free Company out onto the stage. They paused as the clapping and cheers went up again, waving - and in some cases, bouncing, nothing could dampen Wadjet’s exuberance - to the gathered notables. 

Rika knew what was coming next and he was going to absolutely faint out there, he knew it. Right now he’d much rather go fight Ifrit again than step out on that stage. He caught Davien’s eye as his fiancee was seated; the ninja gave him a commiserating smile and an encouraging nod. 

“And last, though not least in our regard nor in our heart, raise your voices in welcome,” Nanamo announced. “For once again we have a champion to bear our prayers and inspire our fight against any who would seek to bring down our beloved land! Behold, Horika-Re Etienne, Champion of Eorzea and the Warrior of Light!” 

Rika nearly did faint, but that was because he stopped breathing. Somehow, he could not have said how, he managed to walk forward, pausing in the archway as the roar and clapping of the guests washed over him like a physical wind. After a belated moment he remembered what Davien and Chyndra had said, and managed what he hoped was a smile, raising a hand and waving to the people. He couldn’t even make out individual faces; it was all a blur of colour and sound. His ears flicked back as the cheer redoubled, and nearly stumbled when the herald nudged him towards the only empty seat at the high table. The cheering nearly pushed him into it; he sat down and finally let out an explosive breath as spots danced before his eyes. 

“See, I knew you could do it,” Davien murmured, reaching under the table and squeezing his hand. “Breathe, love. You don’t want to faint at another party do you?” 

Rika gulped in air and let out a half laugh, reminded by Davien’s words about the time he’d had an Echo vision right in the middle of Raubahn’s story of the Battle of Carteneau. “No, we don’t want that,” he managed, as the cheers finally died down and Nanamo ordered the feast to begin. Thank the Twelve that was over. The rest of this should be easy, right?   

[21witnokidz]

IN THE GHETTO

Chapter 9

Warnings: Angst, Almost rape, long chapter

“You all got the plan?”

You, Arthur, Hosea, and Bill were getting ready to rob a mansion. Everyone who lived in the mansion were gone. Dutch even decided to tag along when he heard how big the house was.

Fuck you were excited. Everyone was here and ready to cause trouble.

Hosea pulled Arthur aside.

“Please look after Y/N. Make sure nothing happens”

“Hey what do ya think I’ve been doing all this time?”

You all, one by one, sneaked through the back doors. Arthur insisted he stay in front of you. You hadn’t killed anyone yet but you had surely shot someone. You looked through drawers and chests. Boxes underneath beds and everything. They had so much jewelry you were gonna sell some and keep some for yourself.

“Y/N lookie”

Arthur called out

He was holding a fancy hat.

“Oh this is a nice hat but I want something a rough cowboy would wear”

You two started looking through the closet. Arthur pulled out a fancy suit and began to throw it on. You found a nice dress and slipped it on. You two looked at each other in the mirror and started laughing.

Arthur put on a few rings and hooked your arms with his.

“Yes my name is Arthur Morgan of the royal family and this is my duchess Y/N the fourteenth”

Arthur said in a silly British accent.

“Oh my dear darling shall we go for some tea?”

“Oh yes we shall”

Dutch knocked on the door and opened it only to find you and Arthur goofing off.

“When you two are finished we’re gonna be going back to the camp. You’ll be alright here?”

“Yes yes go on Sir Dutch leave us be”

You said still with your fake accent.

He just had a confused look on his face but decided it was best he’d not ask so he closed the door and left.

“We’ve got this whole mansion to ourselves now Y/N! Who knows what trouble we could get up to”

Arthur said in his thick southern drawl as he crept up to you putting his arms around your waist.

“Arthur I’m not gonna fuck you right now!”

Arthur had a disappointed look on his face.

“We gotta do it in the master bedroom first”

Arthur’s face lit up and he grabbed your hand and booked it to the master bedroom. There he threw you on the bed and got rid of that dress. Although he was struggling with his suit he got it off eventually. He kissed you and even though y’all had no condoms he had gotten used to the pull out method.

“Sex in a rich man’s house. Can’t get any better than this!”

As you two did your thing you couldn’t even hear the front door opening. In walked a group of goons. About 4 of them. Not like your type of goons but real nasty ones.

“See I told you this house was empty. Let’s hurry before they come back”

As one of the goons walked up the stairs he could hear the noises and the things Arthur was doing to you in the master bedroom. He kicked open the door and startled both of you.

“Ohhh lookie here. We got two lovers enjoying each other. Hey… hey I know you! You’re that dancer girl from the other town! And you’re that boy she was with. Now that I think about it when I left that saloon I had 10 dollars missing from my pocket. Wanna tell me how that happened?”

You were frozen but Arthur was alert the whole time.

“Y/N run!”

You thought about how your mother told you to run when she got killed and you like to think you not listening to her is what made you survive. But that was a year ago. You’ve changed. As soon as he told you to run you bolted out the door not caring you were naked.

The goon tried to catch you but you slipped out the doorway and all his other goons came upstairs to try and see what was going on. All of them went into the room where Arthur was in but one of them saw you and ran after you.

You ran into the room where your gun was but before you could grab it the goon tackled you to the ground.

“That was some show you put on back in that saloon. How bout you give me another one? You’re a little whore ain’t ya? Or how’s about I make you and your little boyfriend fuck each other while we watch and we’ll kill ya afterwards. You done fucked up for stealing our money and now yer gonna pay”

The goon pulled his pants down and rubbed his dick on your ass and you’ve never felt more disgusted in your life. You reached as hard as you could for your gun but just couldn’t reach.

You scratched the goons neck and he pulled away in pain. You lunged forward and grabbed the gun and the goon ran towards you. You shut your eyes and squeezed the trigger.

BANG

You felt his body fall on top of you and you opened your eyes and pushed him off quickly.

Arthur ran into the room half naked, covered in blood with no shirt on looking all over. His eyes finally found you and you were naked, covered in blood, and crying. He then saw the dead body next to you surrounded in blood.

“Oh my god Y/N”

He got down and hugged you.

“It’s ok. You’re ok”

You shook in his arms and he grabbed the cover from the bed and wiped the blood off of you.

“Arthur he- was gonna- he pulled his pants down”

“But he didn’t!.. But he didn’t”

Arthur pulled back and grabbed your hands.

“You killed him. It’s over. You protected yourself”

He picked your clothes up and gave them to you to help you put them on. You guys rode back to the camp and you immediately ran into your tent.

“What happened? What took so long?”

Bessie asked

Arthur ignored her and followed you.

“Y/N-“

“WHYD YOU ASK ME TO DO THAT STUPID LITTLE STRIP TEASE? YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MAN CALLED ME? HE CALLED ME A WHORE! A WHORE!”

“Y/N I’m sorry-“

“Just get out”

Arthur walked out and went into the woods to clear his mind.

“I’ll go talk to him”

Dutch followed him

Arthur knew Dutch was following him so he decided to quicken his steps and walk faster.

“You need to tell me what happened back there son”

“Just leave it alone Dutch”

“You can’t just ignore it”

“Dutch I swear to god I’m not in the mood”

“You gotta say something-”

Arthur turned around and snapped

“IT WAS ALL MY FAULT!! If I hadn’t asked her to do that stupid strip tease back then none of this would’ve happened. If we never stayed behind to be childish instead going with y’all back to camp everything would be fine! Y/N was about to get seriously hurt and it’s all because of me! I’m supposed to protect her! Make her feel safe! Me!”

Dutch had never seen Arthur cry before so he knew this was serious.

Arthur was breathing hard at this point,  pretty much hyperventilating. He grabbed his hair and started pulling at it. He fell to his knees and started punching the ground till his knuckles bled.

“Arthur stop!”

He didn’t listen and kept going.

Dutch grabbed his hands and pulled him into a hug. He’d never done that before. Arthur was full on sobbing, wetting Dutch’s shirt.

“I wanted to marry her. Now I can’t do that because… I’m not worthy”

“Now you listen to me Arthur. You two are gonna get through this. Believe me. I know it seems impossible now but if you truly love each other you’ll get through this”

“No Dutch I’m worthless. She’s not gonna love me after this”

“That’s not true”

“I’m never gonna be good enough for her Dutch.”

“Arthur! What would you think Y/N would say if she heard this?”

“She’d agree with me and call me trash”

“If you truly think that then maybe you really aren’t good enough for her”

“Dutch… I just wanna make everything right”

“And you will you just need time”

Arthur hugged Dutch.

“No matter what happens. You stay with me through thick and thin okay? You’re like a- a father to me. I mean that”

“I know son. I know”

-

It was the next day and Hosea decided to stay with you while Dutch, Arthur, and Bill went out. Arthur begged Hosea to stay but he insisted he’d leave.

“You know Y/N maybe this wouldn’t of happened if you would stop wearing such revealing clothes like I told you”

Bessie said

You stayed quiet not wanting to yell at this woman. Not for her sake but for Hosea’s.

“Maybe you should just stop going out with the boys and stay here with me instead of going out there. You can now see it’s not safe for girls”

God Bessie used to be so nice. What the hell happened?

“Besides, bein a gunslinger is not ladylike”

“What do you want from me!? You want me to be a lady blah blah blah. I’m doing the best I can and you’re the only one who has a problem with it!”

You got up and stormed over to the men’s shaving area and took some clippers and chopped off a piece of your hair.

“There! That good enough for you!”

You chopped another piece off and another. Soon all you hair was buzzed down but not completely bald.

“Now I look like a boy. Will that finally shut you up”

Bessie just stared at you which caused you to break down.

“Don’t you think I know it’s hard being a girl? I know being a boy is easy especially when you’re in a gang like this. I don’t wanna be a boy but I don’t wanna be ‘ladylike’ or whatever it’s called. I’m just doing the best I can”

Hosea came around to see what all the commotion was to only to see your hair on the ground.

“Oh my god”

“I’m fine Hosea. It’ll grow back. You can call it woman hysteria or whatever but this is what I want”

You went through Arthur’s stuff to put on some of his clothes and walked back out to present yourself to Bessie.

“Well?”

“If that’s what you want Y/N”

She got up and walked away.

Hosea cleared his throat

“Well I guess we should start calling you (boy version of your name)”

You just stared at him.

“I’m sorry”

You heard the boys get back from there whereabouts and saw the shock on Arthur’s face. It made you want to cry. He got off and walked towards you. He just stared at you and smiled.

“I love it”

He had a hat in his hands. A rough cowboy hat.

“I think it’d look better with this though”

He put the hat on you and adjusted it to make sure it fit. He then swiped the rim and flicked it up.

You slowly put your arms around Arthur and buried your face in his chest, closing him in a hug. Arthur’s ring was burning heavy in his pocket but he decided now wasn’t the time.

“Y/N we found out who those men were and we might know how to find the man with the piggie birthmark”

Dutch spoke up. You looked at him and listened attentively.

“They’re apart of a gang called the O’Driscolls”

[crystalcow]

𝑂𝑛𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑒 //𝑇𝑒𝑐ℎ𝑛𝑜𝑏𝑙𝑎𝑑𝑒//

Masterlist

Technoblade x reader !c !sbi AU // Wilbur soot x reader

Warnings: where a teenage Wilbur tries to flirt with his brothers lover

Pronouns: they/them

╳°»｡ ∾･⁙･ ღ ➵ ⁘ ➵ ღ ･⁙･∾ ｡«°╳

Techno grinned looking up from his phone, a small smile playing on the pink haired males lips. “What’s got you so giddy?” Tommy teased, the eight year old looking up from the tv.

“Hm, nothin’. Hey dad Y/ns, coming over in a bit!” He shouted to Phil in the kitchen. “Alright, ask them if they’re staying for dinner,” He nodded going back to the phone screen.

“Ew it’s like your inlove with them, disgusting really.” Tommy grimaced, his accent thick as techno picked up one of the pillows, throwing it at the kid. “What’s this about Y/n?” Wilbur asked passing through, Philza sending him a glare.

The older man gave his son a disapproving look, knowing exactly what he was thinking. “Wilbur,” “What I’m just wondering when our friends coming by!” He replied grabbing an apple from the bowl.

All four of the males attentions directed to the doorbell, the loud ring signifying they were here. As Techno was ready to get up, Tommy bolted to the door ready to greet their guest.

“Hey Toms, where’s your brother buddy?” Y/n asked crouching down to the shorter boy. “Hi N/n! Forget about techno, come look at my new game!” The loud child boomed, grabbing their hand.

“Tommy leave Y/n alone..” Phil grumbled pulling him away before taking notice of them, “Hey Y/n, Techs in the living room.” They smiled at the older man, waving hello to Wilbur before greeting their boyfriend on the couch.

They sat down leaning closer into Techno, the duo greeting one another with a small kiss. “Wanna head up to my room?” He asked as they nodded, Phil shouting to keep the door open.

Wilbur gawked as the two left up the stairs, leaning against the counter love struck. “You’ve gotta get over your little crush mate’ that’s your brothers lover. Plus if he found out I’d only have two sons.” Phil patted Wills shoulders, grabbing his keys and calling out for Tommy.

“Have you even seen them tho dad, it’s like the things I write in my songs. Just isn’t fair..” The small blonde laughed at his brothers misery, “You mean those e-girls your always singing about? Your such a looser,” “Watch that!”

He had just flipped off the child in response, scrolling through old texts in agony. You were able to hear the soft laughs coming from upstairs and the sounds of the movie playing.

Wilbur brought his beanie down over his face, continuing to slump in the kitchen once Phil left with Tommy to the market. “One sec, I’m just gonna grab some water.” Y/ns voice heard from the top of the stairs.

Once they made it down the stairs, they spotted Wilbur staring at them. “Hey Will, wheres Tommy and them?” They asked reaching in the cabinets.

“I think they just went out to the market. So uh, you and Techno huh.” He awkwardly attempted to make conversation, failing to notice how Y/ns face lit up at the mention of Techno.

They hummed as the water streamed down into the glass cup, “We’re watching a movie right now! I somehow managed to get him to watch a romantic comedy.” They chuckled taking a sip of the drink.

“You know if you ever wanted, we could like erm.. Watch movies together, you’re a very beautiful person you know.” The teenager managed to stumble out, placing a hand on Y/ns shoulder.

They had tensed up upon the males touch, looking back and forth from the stairs and to his hand. “Oh thank you, you’re a very nice friend!” They smiled, trying to shrug off Wilburs hand.

“Shame isn’t it?” He sighed backing the both of them to the wall, “What do you mean Will..” “That your hanging out with Techno right now, maybe just tell him your coming with me!”

The air went cold in the Minecraft household, as they both stood silent. A mix of discomfort and blindness, the simple things obsession may bring..

“I don’t think that’s a very good idea, I’m going to head back up now.” Wilbur pouted, running his hand along their arm as a failed attempt of flirting.

“Wilbur back away from my lover before I shoot you.” Technos monotone voice rung from the stairway, as he held a bow with a tipped arrow.

Wilbur moved back putting his hands up as the pink haired male moved closer to his partner, wrapping a protective arm around Y/n.

“Lets go to the bookstore, there might be a sale.” They suggested leaning closer to Techno. “Erm Uh yeah.” The flustered male grabbed his coat as the two exited the house, leaving a confused Wilbur.

“I’m sorry, he just started talking and I thought it would be a normal conversation and all.” Techno quickly hushed them up by placing a quick kiss onto their forehead. “I should’ve noticed before that my idiot brother has a crush on you.”

“But the one I love is you.”

“Wait what l-love?”

╳°»｡ ∾･⁙･ ღ ➵ ⁘ ➵ ღ ･⁙･∾ ｡«°╳

I’m not the proudest of this, but it’s something I guess. Finally some techno content tho lol

As always! Request and ask anything and ask if you want to be on a taglist!

[nothinghcppens]

bad liar - pietro maximoff

masterlist

pair: pietro maximoff x female!reader

summary: y/n is the new addition to the avengers, she was introduced to tony stark by nick fury who had heard of her special abilities after she was seen saving a building of people from an attack. when she gets introduced to the team she is taken in immediately, but others seem to not be as keen to get to know her.

warnings: swearing, mentions of trauma

“right, y/n.” tony stark said to you as he led you up the stairs of the avengers tower, “there’s going to be a lot of people here, it might be overwhelming. try not to freak out.”

“i promise you i’ll be fine, it’s them i’m worried about. have you told them what’s wrong with me?” you replied, following behind him. he stopped outside a large foggy glass door.

“there’s nothing wrong with you. these guys are the freaks.” he joked with a slight grin. you rolled your eyes and shook your head. the bearded man, who you had already began to enjoy the company of, placed his hand on your shoulder. “come on kid, let’s make a good first impression.” he pushed open the door and walked in, you stepping in behind him.

the room went silent as the large group of people looked at you. they were sat on the two sofas, a few on the floor. you immediately recognised a few of them, steve rogers and natasha romanoff stood out amongst the crowd, you saw them on the news all the time.

“okay losers, meet y/n y/l/n. she’s our new recruit.” he announced as he clapped his hands together. they all stood up and approached you, you’re eyes widening. you’re eyes scanned the group, now seeing clint barton and sam wilson. standing at the back of the group were a brunette girl and a blonde boy and floating slightly to the left was a red man with a mysterious glowing gem in his head.

“you probably already know steve, natasha, clint and sam.” tony said, gesturing towards them.

“yep, you’re pretty famous round these parts.” you explained, causing laughter from each of them.

“nice to meet you, y/n.” steve greeted, putting out his hand for you to shake.

you glanced at tony before taking his hand and shaking it lightly. “very... formal.” you noted with a grin.

“he’s very traditional.” tony commented, his smile copying yours.

“who’s the red dude?” you asked. the group let out a collective chuckle.

“vision, but the red dude works too.” he said, lowering himself to the ground.

“at the back we have the twins. come on you two, introduce yourselves.” tony called. the two pushed their way to the front, the girl with a smile on her face.

“i’m wanda, very excited to be working with you.” she said. you smiled and looked to the scowling boy next to wanda.

“pietro.” he stated. he was wearing a pair of grey sweatpants and a tight fitting t-shirt that accentuated his arms and chest. he was very attractive.

“well, can’t please everyone.” you commented, noting his cold demeanour.

they all eventually made their way to the couches again, everyone wanting to get to know you. tony had gave you a coffee and you sat on the carpet with your back against the sofa. wanda and nat joined you on the floor and the rest sat on the leather sofas.

“so, y/n.” nat started, glancing around at the team. “what’s your special talent?”

“i thought you told them?!” you exclaimed at tony.

“i didn’t say that!” he replied, chuckling. you groaned and stood up, ready to showcase your “special talent”.

“i need a volunteer.” you announced with a smirk, “or multiple.” confused looks were shared between the team. “fine. i’ll choose. wanda, steve and mr grumpy over there.” you said, pointing at pietro. he seemed to clearly not like you, so why not annoy him a little.

the three of them stood up and you led them to a clear space in the room. “who wants to go first?” you asked. tony leant back on the char as steve stepped forward, ready for the show. “go on then captain, give me your best shot.” you teased, throwing your arms up in a fighting stance.

a smile grew on his face and he went to throw a punch with his ‘super solider strength’ but you caught his arm and spun him around, pulling his arm behind him. you felt his strength flow through you as you ‘copied’ his powers. your knee flew up and hit his back, causing him to grunt and fall to the floor.

“okay so what? you can fight, there’s plenty of people like that here.” pietro commented with a scoff. his sokovian accent was thick but his english was fantastic.

“fine then, speedy. your turn.” you stated and steve stood up and laughed. “sorry captain, someone had to go first.” he retreated back to the group, taking his seat again. you took a step to the side, now standing in front of pietro who was glaring you down. you beckoned him with your hands and he cracked his neck before starting in a run towards you. you focused your mind on him and you mimicked his powers, running away at his pace. you ended up behind him and he stopped, confused. he turned around and you saw his eyebrows furrow. he ran towards you again but you sped towards him and grabbed his wrist from behind him, preventing him from moving any further.

“what the fuck?” he cursed, looking at you with anger in his eyes.

“aw what? mad that you aren’t the only fast one anymore?” you taunted, a dramatic pout on your face. he scoffed and ripped his hand from your grip, stomping back to the team. “i don’t think he likes me very much.” you could see tony’s amused face from where he sat, he sent you a wink and you turned to face wanda who was buzzing with excitement.

“is he always like that?” you asked, gesturing towards the blonde boy.

“only when he feels intimidated.” she replied, her accent similar to her brother’s.

“you ready?” you questioned.

“always.” she said, her hands glowing red.

you concentrated on her, absorbing her abilities. your hands began to glow the same red as hers and you flicked your hand towards her, lifting her from the floor. she retaliated by thrusting her hand at you, causing you to be thrown against the wall. you pushed yourself up and tossed her across the room where she landed at the team.

“ta-dah!” you said with a dramatic curtsy.

“copying people’s abilities. i like you kid.” sam announced, standing up and helping wanda get to her feet. he walked over to you and clapped his hand on your shoulder, “i think this calls for a celebration. after y/n gets settled in, let’s crack open the drinks!” everyone cheered in agreement.

“we’ll take you to your room.” nat explained with wanda at her side. you were shown to your room where all your belongings had been brought up.

your two new friends helped you choose an outfit for the night and sat with you while you got ready.

“don’t you two need to get ready?” you asked as you applied a thin layer of lip gloss.

“we don’t need to rush, steve and pietro take longer than everyone combined to get ready.” nat replied with a laugh.

———

the bar area of the tower was lit dimly and was filled with people you had never seen before along with your new team members. music played softly over the chatter of people around the room. you were wearing a black slip dress and heels, getting dressed up wasn’t something you got to do enough. you spot steve, sam and pietro at the bar, fixing your dress you made your way over to them.

“good evening boys.” you greeted, sliding in beside steve. he was wearing a blue button up shirt, sam a white shirt and black suit jacket and pietro was wearing a black shirt a few buttons undone, tucked into black trousers. his platinum blonde hair and bright blue eyes stood out against his dark attire. if he wasn’t such a moody brat, you’d maybe appreciate how attractive he was.

“hello, y/n.” sam said with a large smile.

“you look lovely, y/n.” steve complimented.

“thank you cap, shame you’re just a few hundred years too old for me.” you joked, placing your hand on his shoulder. the two let out a laugh and you looked at pietro, his eyes trained on you.

“hey grumpy, enjoying your night?” you asked with your eyebrows raised.

he rolled his eyes, “i was.”

you let out a gasp of shock, placing your hand on your chest. “i’m not entirely sure what i did to piss you off so much, pietro, but can’t you just reign it in for one night? i mean this is my night after all.”

he huffed in response. “is it because i embarrassed you earlier?” you taunted.

“no it’s because i don’t trust you.” he spat.

“ding ding ding! there it is!” you exclaimed. sam cleared his throat, signalling to steve that they should probably leave.

“we’ll go get you a drink kid, don’t go too hard on him.” he said, walking away. steve followed behind him.

“so, why don’t you trust me?” you questioned, leaning against the bar.

“i don’t trust many people.” he explained, taking a sip from his drink. he sat it on the bar before looking back at you.

“what about all them?” you asked, gesturing to the room. you took his glass in your hand and took a sip, seeing his looks of protest. “what? i don’t think they’re actually getting me a drink, they’re just not wanting to stand they’re awkwardly.”

“they saved my life.” he replied.

“so for you to trust me i need to save your life?” you said, turning to face him.

“yup.” he stated, popping the ‘p’. he took his glass back from your hand.

“oh come on.” you groaned, “there’s nothing else i can do? i mean we’re even matching outfits tonight! i think that means we are immediately friends.”

he looked between the two of you, his eyes glancing up and down your body. “he so we are.” he chuckled.

“see! you’re already warming up to me.” you teased, taking his glass again and gulping down the drink.

“you wish.” he replied. you scoffed and gave him the glass back.

“so, what’s sokovia like?” you asked, trying to get to know the mysterious man.

“well now, nonexistent. but from what i remember it was... home. i mean, i only got to experience it for a short amount of time before hydra took us.” he explained.

you sighed, “i heard about that. that sucks. well if it makes you feel any better after my parents found out about my abilities, they locked me up and stopped me from leaving so i couldn’t hurt anyone.”

“really?” he questioned.

“yup.” you replied, mocking the same way he answered earlier. “wow look at us, trauma-bonding. i’m telling you, warming up to me!” you said in a sing-song voice.

“oh shut up.” he laughed.

“is that a laugh i hear brother?” wanda called as she approached them, followed by other members of the team.

“wow kid, you really know how to get people to like you.” tony said.

“i can’t help it. i’m just so charming.” you replied.

the team stayed with you for a long time, everyone talking and laughing. an hour or so passed and everyone had made their way to the couches they found themselves on not long ago. this time you were sat on the couch instead of the floor, the cool leather against your legs. you were sat in the middle of sam and pietro, enjoying watching the team tell stories of their battles. they eventually made their way to the topic of the battle of sokovia that they hid recently been through. you felt pietro tense next to you- he clearly didn’t enjoy hearing about his near-death experience.

“hey, do you want to get some fresh air?” you whispered into his ear. he nodded slightly and you stood up, reaching your hand out for him to grab. you helped him to his feet and announced that you were going to get drinks.

you led him out of the warm room and up to your room which was equipped with a balcony. you pushed open the glass doors and felt the cold, fresh air fill your lungs.

“much better.” you stated, leaning on the railing. “are you okay?” you asked, feeling pietro’s presence behind you.

“i am now. i’m just not ready to talk about it yet.” he explained, “thank you.” he muttered.

“what was that?” you queried, looking over your shoulder at him.

“nothing.” he replied.

“no. i heard a thank you!” you declared.

“nope. you did not!” he exclaimed, his eyes filled with mischief.

“you’re a bad liar.”

———

since the night of the party, you and pietro have been inseparable. you guys train together, eat meals together and you introduced him to all your favourite films. the rest of the team were sick of seeing you guys with each other. no one could get a minute alone with either of you.

“i can’t believe you hated me when i first arrived.” you said, throwing a piece of popcorn at his hair. you two had been watching the maze runner films, as per your request, and were midway through the scorch trials.

“seriously? it’s been 6 months and you’re still not letting that go?” he joked, throwing it back at you.

“nope. you hated me. just because i ran faster than you.” you bit, a sly grin growing on your face.

“you did not! how dare you y/n!” he growled.

“i did! but since you’re too proud to admit it, let’s try again.” you suggested. he raised his eyebrows.

“are you sure you want to test me, princessa?” he questioned, his nickname for you that had become a recent thing. you absolutely adored it when he spoke sokovian. you adored many things about him, his cheeky comebacks, his sarcastic humour, his laugh, his eyes, okay so a lot of things. you had been pushing down any possible feelings towards him, there was no way he felt the same for you.

“oh i do.” you replied, placing the bowl of popcorn on the table, pausing the film and standing up. he followed suit and walked closely behind you as you led him outside.

“what’re you two up to?” cap asked when you walked past him.

“proving to him that i’m faster.” you answered.

“my money’s on y/n!” clint shouted from the floor above.

“same!” chorused nat, sam and tony.

“wanda?” pietro asked.

“same!” she said, peering over the railing. you let out a large laugh as you saw his shocked expression.

you walked out to the courtyard, the sun beating down on your face. pietro stopped very close behind you, his breath hot on your neck.

“you ready?” he mumbled into your ear. his voice sent a shiver down your spine.

you cleared your throat, “yup.” taking a deep breath you turned around to face him. he was a lot closer than you thought. his blue eyes seemed even more beautiful in the sun. you took his wrist in your hand and felt power flow through you. there are many ways that you could copy people’s powers, most of the time when they are in front of you and are about to use their powers on you, you can just imitate their abilities. but you could also touch them and copy them that way.

“to the bench?” you asked, letting go of him.

“sounds good.” he replied, taking his place next to you,

steve and sam were stood at the door, watching intently at the interaction.

“count us down steve?” you called over your shoulder.

“3...2...” he began.

“you know piet,” you said, looking at him,.

“1!” steve shouted.

“you have really beautiful eyes.” you added as you broke into a fast sprint, blue light trails following behind you. you heard his startled gasp before he ran after you. your plan to distract him had clearly worked and you got a head start. you stopped at the bench and plopped yourself down, a second before pietro.

“you cheated!” he complained.

“no, i played smart.” you protested. you stood up to walk away for dramatic effect but pietro appeared in front of you with a gush of wind.

“no. you cheated.” he said, taking a step closer.

“i didn’t.” you replied, “steve! sure i didn’t cheat?”

“don’t bring me into this kid!” he called back, him and sam leaving you guys alone.

“see, even cap thinks you cheated.” pietro stated.

“i can’t help that you got distracted by my charm.” you teased.

he groaned and suddenly bent down and scooped you up, over his shoulder. “pietro maximoff put me down!” you squealed, hitting your hands off his back. he ignored your protests and ran around, whistling a faint tune.

“piet please!” you begged, laughter straining your voice. he stopped and threw you off his shoulder but before you landed on the ground you grabbed his t-shirt and pulled him down with you. you landed on the grass with a thud and a wheeze as he landed on top of you. he went limp and let all of his weight lie on you.

“get off me!” you shouted, laughing heavily.

“i’m quite comfortable actually.” he said. his voice was muffled from his head being nestled in the crook of your neck. his breath tickled your neck. you brought your hands up and placed them in his hair, tugging him up so he could look at you.

“piet i’m going to kill you. get. up.” you growled. his signature smirk grew on his face, clearly trying to annoy you. your eyes fell to his lips but you blinked quickly and met his eyes. his smile grew even wider, he noticed your glance.

“looks like you’re going to have to kill me. i’m not moving.” he replied.

“god i hate you.” you sighed, rolling your eyes.

“no you don’t.” you said, pushing himself up on his arms so he was now hovering above you.

“yes i do.” you protested, folding your arms across your chest.

“i really don’t think you do.” he replied, lowering himself closer to you slightly.

you forced a frown on to your face and glared up at him, “fuck off.” you muttered.

he gasped, “fuck off? that’s not very nice.”

“you’re not very nice.” you retaliated.

“ouch.” he said, the smile still present on his face.

“can you get up now?” you asked.

“fine.” he replied, getting up and taking your hand. he pulled you up harshly and you crashed into his chest.

“you are pushing my limits today maximoff.” you said, pushing yourself free from his grip. but it’s never that easy with pietro, he grabbed your wrist. “what the fuck is wrong with-“

he stopped you from finishing your sentence by pulling you in and pressing his lips against yours. you immediately melted at his touch. his hands moved to your waist and yours moved round the back of his neck, into his hair. he pulled you closer, you felt his rough stubble brush against your face. you both pulled back, breathing deeply.

“still hate me?” he whispered.

“yup.” you breathed. you let out a laugh.

“now you’re the bad liar.” he said.

“tony! i’ll take that $20!” you heard sam shout. you both looked up to see him standing on a balcony.

“he made the first move? really?!” tony replied. he jogged out next to sam.

“proud of you speedy!” sam called.

“you better watch it bird man, i can be up there and you’ll be over the edge faster than you can blink!”