#on the other hand it's objectively ridiculous

[sigweiner]

⌁₊˚ Shiver ˚₊⌁ {P1}

Pairing: Jinx x Fem!/Gnc!/Reader

Word Count: 6.5k

Summary: There's a dance party for Isha. Jinx blows stuff up and you end up taking her (virginity) virtue. Also this has quite a bit of your bg story.

Warnings!: fluff, smut, swearing, angst, t06!c relationship, substance use, mentions of dark ses and physical stuff.

a/n: Arcane literally altered my brain chemistry so I had to put this out. Also English is not my first language, sorry for the weird punctuation and sentences. Minors and creeps dni.

{P2}

“You know what we need?!” Jinx exclaims with a wild look on her face, completely out of the blue. “A dance partaaaay!!!” She shouts excitedly, throwing her pale arms in the air and spinning on her stool chair, blue braids swirling around her and all.

She had been working on Fishbones for a while, quietly talking to herself here and there as usual, when she suddenly announced her idea to everyone present. Isha jumped up from where she was sitting on the floor, seeming very excited by the prospect of dancing around to strobe lights and loud music. You rolled your eyes unimpressed, asking yourself how the hell was she planning to pull that off since none of you could be seen in public. You were supposed to be dead, Jinx was a wanted criminal and Isha… well she was an easy target for being associated with Piltover’s number one enemy.

It's been three months since you have failed - somewhat intentionally - a mission assigned to you by your mother after you fucked up majorly with a job she gave you. A job that involved escorting the head of a highly respected and ridiculously rich family from Piltover. Madam Margot though, is one of the last remaining chem barons, and she only really held the title of your mother because she gave birth to you. The relationship between you two was downright abusive and toxic while she raised you to be the epitome of perfection – perfect posture, perfect manners, perfect body, absolutely submissive, extremely feminine and pleasant. Not to mention the extensive training for you to become the best courtesan at the Rapturewalk, so there would be no one you wouldn’t be able to pleasure.

The cruel irony of life though was you were the complete opposite of all that. Poor posture, disregard for manners, chubby, defiant and full of masculine energy. So you suffered greatly, mostly by her hands but also by any object she could grab around to discipline you. You had to learn to compartmentalise yourself and your feelings to survive but you reached your breaking point when you met Jinx, basically. You were supposed to capture her and kill Sevika in the process but you ended up in a human sized cage in her hideout. You could have done it, finished the mission successfully and returned to your mother seeking her praise and approval, but that would never happen anyway, she was too much of a narcissist to give you that satisfaction.

Margot did sponsor all your implants and shimmer “treatments” though, so you could turn into a living walking weapon, her weapon, which is the only thing you’re really grateful for other than receiving training to become a blade master which was also a requirement because you needed to learn how to defend yourself, she always encouraged you in that regard. So you became Shiv, choosing this alias to represent your "chemgoth assassin who wears too much leather and harnesses" personality. It would be pathetic if it wasn’t your entire existence, or maybe it is but you try not to think too much about it. But anyway, back to your more recent reality: a very empathetic little girl took a liking to you while you were caged and convinced Jinx to take you in, since she believed you didn't represent any real danger to them. So here you are in yet another dysfunctional “family”, though you rather this a thousand times than go back to Margot.

“What are you talking about? We can't go out in public, Jinx.” You say with an unamused scowl on your face.

“Hah! Don't be stupid, trinket! We're having the party right here.” She flaunts her arms flamboyantly referring to the space around her. Isha jumps up and down, unable to contain her excitement. “Now, I'll take care of the music and lights, Isha will take care of decoration and Trinket…” She points her wrench at you, making a dramatic pause. “Will take care of food and drinks.” She finishes with a smirk so you scoff.

“Why do I get the hardest task?” You ask rolling your eyes at her but already knowing the answer.

“Consider it a small payback for trying to capture me.” She replies through gritted teeth. “Plus you're a really good thief, I'm sure you can get your hands on some top shelf stuff for us.” She adds nonchalantly, reminding you why she still keeps you around.

“I'm not a thief.” You say stubbornly, the complement going over your head.

“Great! It's settled then, let's get to work!” She jumps off her stool and starts rummaging through a bunch of crates full of messy junk.

You cross your arms over your chest and sink further into the couch. You had no intention to start on your assigned task anytime soon. And who does she think she is anyway to order you around like that? What a stupid idea, a dance party. Sure that would make little Isha so happy. She often got bored sitting around the hideout with nothing to do other than tinker with unfinished bombs and draw on any surface she could find. But dancing and parties are really not your thing, you’re more a moping around in the dark kind of person which makes you realise you might be a little too depressed actually.

So you start brainstorming places to raid where you know there's a good stash of food and drinks and you immediately think of your mother's warehouse. But that was definitely a bad idea, since there would be a small probability you could get caught by the Vyx or be seen around, although you're pretty sure you could get in and out without any effort, since you know the place like the back of your hand. Plus thinking about the kind of food your mother had laying around made you salivate, not to mention the booze, that could definitely cheer you up.

Jinx suddenly plops down on the couch next to you interrupting your thought process by man spreading in those distracting tiny shorts and thigh high socks. You avert your gaze quickly and try to ignore her presence altogether but your hormones get the best of you. Did she have to walk around in so little clothing? Doesn’t she get cold or something? Although the shimmer probably altered a lot of sensations for her but this was just maddening. She nudges your leg with her boot lightly, refusing to be ignored.

“You know opting out of the party is not an option for you, right Trinket?” She says in a surprisingly calm voice and smirks when you glance at her sideways.

“Whatever.” You scoff, continuing to look anywhere but at her stupidly attractive grin.

“So where are you planning to snatch the goods?” she ignores your dismissive tone while playing with the ends of one of her braids. 

“Maybe… my mother's warehouse. But that's a dumb idea.” You reply pointedly. Jinx suddenly gasps and gets closer to you.

“That's a perfect idea, Trinket! Margot has stuff the Pilts eat, dude. You have to get it for us, it's gonna be epic!” She grabs at the traps of your harness that hugs your collarbones and shakes you slightly. 

“Get off!” You push her hands away with an aggravated look on your face but she just laughs at your reaction. “I'm not putting myself in that kind of danger for your stupid party.” You tell her sternly, but it lacks any real bite.

Jinx feigns a surprised look of insult and reclines back on the couch spreading her slender legs even further. “Don't be selfish, Trinket! This party is for that kid over there, who by the way, has never tasted anything like what people on the other side of the bridge have. So stop being an insufferable brat and get going!” she moves to shove you off the couch but you manage to dodge her swiftly. 

In a second you're standing in front of her, arms firmly crossed against your chest. “Fine. But just so you know I'm only doing this for her, not for you.” You let out with more anger than you intended to. There's a flash of hurt on her features before she manages to mask it so you hold her gaze a second longer before turning around and vanishing from sight.

If you were being honest with yourself you had to admit that this little rendezvous Jinx sent you on made you feel alive. Sure, the safety of the hideout brought you immense emotional comfort, even though the blue haired girl could get under your skin most of the time. But this, the adrenaline of the mission, the possibility of getting caught or even running into your mother, is simply thrilling. And you love the simple things in life.

So you are selfish after all. The motivation behind your actions, completely forgotten by you. You learn the patterns of the guards, patiently designing your path through isles of containers then you proceed to move swiftly and blend in with the shadows. You lockpick your way into a large container in seconds and your double bladed dagger cuts through the mesh nets that are covering large crates filled with aliments. 

You stash as much as you can on a makeshift bag you brought with you and when you start to tie it across your chest and back, you sense movement behind you. You move so fast your own brain can’t recognise who you suddenly have caught by putting your dagger under their throat and tightly securing one of their arms on their back. The person is wearing a hooded cloak but you get a whiff of a familiar scent coming off of them and immediately recognise the intruder.

“Gee, didn't know you were this kinky.” Jinx says putting her free arm up in redemption. You release her from your grip and push her away. She turns around with a big grin on her face.

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” You whisper harshly but she gives you a look of feigned innocence.

“I came to help you carry stuff.” She says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Her hands lower to rest on her hips and she winks at you. Damn her.

“Shh, you're going to alert the Vyx.” You reprimand her. She just rolls her eyes and turns around to steal more food from the open crates. 

You stare at her back in complete disbelief as she collects honey, chocolate, sugar, candy, meat and all the soda cans she could fit in her backpack. How in the hell did she manage to get over here without you noticing? She must've followed you, or more likely stalked you all the way over here. It is understandable that she wouldn't trust you and wanted to keep an eye on you to make sure you wouldn't run from her, but this was just a whole nother level of mania.

“I wasn't gonna run, y’know.” You say quietly. She stops what she's doing but doesn't look at you.

“I know.” She replies in the same quiet manner. “But you're so much fun to follow around, I can't help it.” She turns sideways to look at you with her signature wicked grin that you love to hate. God, sometimes you wish you could kiss it off her face.

You scoff, but look away. “More like stalking.” You mumble under your breath. “Let's go, there's a round of guards coming this way.” You warn her.

“Fineee.” She drags her response. “But I'm leaving your mother a gift, ya know, in exchange for her generosity and letting us take all this stuff.” She giggles mischievously at the confused look on your face. “15 seconds, let's go!” She warns, then runs past you.

You hear the familiar ticking of one of her monkey bombs and your eyes widen. Shit, why does she always have to make an event out of everything? Your body moves faster than your brain yet again, and you manage to see a pink colored flash of light moving alongside you, bolting to the exit. A few seconds later you hear as well as feel the blast in the not so far distance. And chaos ensues.

Back at Jinx’s hideout, the only sound that can be heard is of the girls laughing while Jinx reenacts in the most flamboyant way possible what happened an hour ago. You lay lazily on the couch, your head propped on one of the armrests, trying really hard not to stress over the consequences today's recklessness will bring. You should've known better. Of course Jinx would follow you and try to explode something just for the fun of it. Also she never did get back at your mother for sending you on a mission to try and capture her so you kind of have to admit she had the right to do so. You cover your face with one arm and try your best not to let anxiety take over. After a brief while, you hear someone approaching and by the heavy sounds of boots on the metal ground, you know Jinx is coming to bother you, again.

“Not right now Jinx.” You warn her, but the last thing you could expect is her climbing on top of you and casually straddling your legs. You look at her incredulously, your gaze jumping all over her body and her face. “What the hell-” You start to say, but she cuts you off.

“Cheer up Trinket! We're about to have the time of our lives!” She lets out one of her outrageous laughs and starts tickling your sides with her slim fingers. “Isha help me out here!” She shouts for the child to come join in on torturing you.

“Stop! You're insane!” You try to hold her hands on a tight grip but Isha is already climbing on top of you too. “Traitor! I thought you were on my side!” You try to shout with bravado but the tickling gets to you making you giggle uncontrollably.

“Raise hell!” Jinx commands and manages to free her hands from your grip. You all end up falling to the floor when in an attempt to escape you throw yourself off the couch.

Everyone is laughing now at your utter defeat, tears coming down your face, all worries and anxiety forgotten momentarily. The girls stop attacking you and you try to steady your breathing, giggles dying down slowly. Isha throws her little arms around you and lays on your torso with a big smile on her face. Following the small girl’s action, Jinx also places her body on top of both of you, though her face is close next to yours. You can smell the intoxicating scent of her hair and you can feel her breathing tickling your ear.

“Guess you're not so tough after all.” She whispers into your ear and you have to suppress a shiver that threatens to course through your body. 

“Alright, alright you got me. Now let me breathe please.” You admit defeat and the girls start pulling off of you. Isha gestures for the party to start so Jinx gets up and offers you a hand. You hesitate before taking it and she puts more force than needed to pull you up so you end up flushed against her, faces inches from each other, her hand swiftly finding the small of your back to steady you.

“Time to shake those ol’ bones of yours.” She whispers. You can't help but stare at her plum colored lips as they move. She smirks and you sigh, pulling away from her. You let out a shaky “right” and walk past her to join Isha by the work station. 

The lights are turned off and Isha's doodles glow in the dark of the hideout, making everything fluorescent. Jinx turns on colorful strobe lights, and music starts to blast through a gramophone speaker, giving life to an improvised dance floor. Before everyone starts dancing though, Jinx covers Isha's eyes as you walk over a makeshift table covered with a cloth. Jinx counts to three and you lift off the cloth to reveal a banquet to a very excited Isha, who wastes no time and dives right in.

You pour yourself a cup of a lightweight liquor, not intending to get wildly drunk tonight, or any night for that matter when you're around Jinx. You fear you won't be able to hold back your annoying crush on her if you don't stay sober. Surprisingly (or not really), Jinx doesn't drink alcohol, preferring a sugary soda instead. She is the first to start dancing, followed by Isha who has her mouth full of chocolate. You don't remember ever seeing her this happy ever since you met her, even though that wasn't that long ago.

You start bopping your head nonchalantly, lingering by the table, just watching the girls having fun with a dopey grin on your face. You decide all of that ordeal earlier was worth it because of this moment. Jinx twirls Isha around once and they giggle happily jumping up and down to the rhythm of a rock song. Your eyes catch Jinx’s gaze for a second and she starts strutting over to you.

“This is a dance party, Trinket! You need to dance!” She leans close to your face. Your stupid heart skips a beat but you manage to steady it. “C’mon! Just pretend like it's a club!” She shouts through the music. 

“I'm not a good dancer!” You retort. She gives you an unimpressed look and then you feel tiny hands pull on your own. Isha is guiding you to the middle of the dance floor so you can dance together.

Is there anything you wouldn't do for this little girl? You can't think of anything as you start moving a little unsure of how you're supposed to do this. Isha's energy is contagious so you can't help but let yourself be free as well. Jinx appears next to you after a moment and hands you a chocolate covered strawberry, munching on another one herself. You take it and savour the sweet contrast of flavours in your mouth, Gods it's been a while since you had food like this. 

You catch Jinx licking chocolate off the tip of her thumb and you're suddenly hypnotised. You wish it was you licking the sweet off of her, or the other way around would be great too. Her lips curl into that god awful smirk so you look away, thinking the liquor is already getting to your head. Isha grabs your hand and makes you twirl her around just like Jinx did so you concentrate on the small child again, happy to oblige.

After a while of just the three of you jumping around, mimicking an assortment of animals and you and Jinx singing loudly to popular songs together, you decide to take a break, sitting down by the floor with a chicken thigh on one hand and half of your cup of happy juice on the other. The girls join shortly after, eating like they haven't seen food for months. And to be quite honest, food was really scarce in the hideout since you couldn't be going out often to steal meals, so yeah, they probably haven't eaten this well in a while.

You don't let yourself dwell on the hardships of everyday life for long though, the girls are already finding a way to entertain you. This time they play with the remains of their food, making funny faces. Jinx pretends to be a vampire by sticking chicken bones under her upper lip as if they were her fangs. Isha uses the bones as horns on top of her head. You just laugh wholeheartedly at their creativity but don’t join in on the food play. After eating as much as you could though, it was time to get back to the dance floor.

A more sultry song starts playing and Jinx really gets into it. Swaying her hips effortlessly to the beat like she knew the exact moves to it. You were yet again mesmerised by her, slowing down your movements almost to a halt, just moving your body side to side. Jinx locks eyes with you, pupils completely blown by the lack of light, probably. She starts moving closer but this time for some reason you couldn't look away.

“If you think I'm pretty, lay your hands on me.” She mouths the lyrics once she is standing in front of you. Your hand lifts magnetically towards her hip, but you hesitate pulling it away slightly. “I know you can’t stop thinking ‘bout it.” She sings again, taunting you. Your head feels hazy in the best way possible when she moves even closer to you, but your body knows exactly what to do.

You rest your hand on the hip she has covered with powder blue clouds, and her skin feels electric. She wastes no time laying her hands on you though, running her fingers almost reverently through the tender skin of one of your arms. Jinx checks you out shamelessly, pink spinel eyes coursing through your body with hunger. You feel a shiver course through your spine when her hand travels from your shoulder to the back of your neck, holding you there steadily so you find yourself frozen under her spell, unable to think any coherent thoughts when she has her hands on you like this.

Jinx takes your free hand and guides it to lay on her waist, making you feel the sensual sway of her body. You swallow hard and her eyes follow the motion, making her carom her skinny fingers through your choker necklace and towards your shoulder, before brushing a strand of your hair behind it. This time you can’t help but shiver when the tips of her fingers graze the skin of your neck in the process. She puts her hand on your waist right after, guiding you to sway like her, but it's hard to do anything when your body feels like it's on fire. She giggles at your apparent lack of coordination, seemingly oblivious to the real effect she has on you.

You snap out of it when fireworks suddenly burst out of nowhere illuminating the space pink and blue. The song changes and you both hesitantly remove your hands from each other. You try to hide the scorching heat creeping up your face by grabbing your cup and downing the last remains of your drink. Jinx moves away from you to start spinning aimlessly around with Isha, who seems hell bent on making herself dizzy just for fun.

“Careful, you’re gonna get sic-” You don’t get to finish your sentence because Isha throws up all over the floor, making a mess. Jinx lets out a surprised laugh and the kid hugs herself for a moment, looking embarrassed, before her mouth turns into a frown and tears start pooling around her eyes.

“Hey, hey. It’s okay kid, don’t worry about it, let’s get you cleaned up.” You’re immediately by her side, cradling her head and wiping at the tears falling down her face. You take her hand and start guiding her to the “bathroom” right outside the hideout.  

“Ugh fine, I’ll clean up the mess!” Jinx shouts from a distance. You glance back at her and give your best apologetical smile before disappearing out of sight.

Later that night, you’re at the top of a nextdoor building trying to get some fresh air, or as fresh of an air as Zaun can provide. Your legs dangle on the edge of the long forgotten structure as you watch the distant glow of the progress city. Jinx was putting Isha to bed as she always does every night, and you didn’t want to intrude on their little ritual, besides your head was still swirling a bit with the effects of the alcohol you had earlier, making your mind keep going back to the dance you shared with the wild girl.

This was getting out of your control, which scared you shitless. You knew for certain Jinx wasn’t the kind of girl who falls in love, or she doesn’t seem to be, so she would never reciprocate your little infatuation with her, which in your opinion is childish at best. You sigh heavily, thinking back on how her skin felt under your touch, and about her damn barely there clothes, and about how her tattoos adorn her body perfectly.

“Slow down or your head is gonna explode.” You hear Jinx’s playful voice behind you. “Y’know, from all the thinking you’re doing.” She continues. You turn sideways to glance at her, and unfortunately she still looks wildly tempting. You scoff, turning away.

“Get yourself a mirror, will you?” You banter back. She giggles and plops herself down next to you so close your thighs are touching, making you tense up.

“Aw Trinket, you’re no fun! Just when I thought you were starting to loosen up a little.” She purrs her last words, propping her forearm on your shoulder, face close to yours.

“My name is Shiv, y’know.” Your voice trembles, nerves betraying you. She lifts her eyebrows and smirks at you.

“Is that so Y/N?” She whispers, her warm breath brushing the side of your face. Your eyes widen slightly, how the hell does she know that? But you quickly recover.

“Been digging up my dirt, huh?” You say casually. She smiles sweetly and moves so her head is resting on your shoulder.

“Heh yeaah, I might have…” She chuckles, watching the city ahead. You stay silent, because of course she has. You think it’s only fair since you know everything about her past too, about Powder. You take a deep breath catching a whiff of her scent, rusty with hints of something sweet you can't quite identify. It nearly drives you insane.

“Sooo… you think I’m pretty, huh?” She interrupts your internal turmoil only to cause a full blown panic in you. You tense up when she lifts her head to look at you.

“Stop fucking around, Jinx.” You warn her but it comes out more like a plea. You chance a furtive look at her and regret it immediately since she has that damn knowing smirk on her face.

“I’m not. I um… liked the way you touched me.” She says almost shily, slowly placing her hand on top of yours and squeezing it lightly. You honest to god do not know what to do with that information. You glance at your hands together and back at her face, trying to figure out what is going on here.

She’s just trying to rile you up as usual, right? There’s nothing more to this than her trying to toy with you, right? That’s what you are to her, a trinket, right? She probably just wants to use you to satisfy her needs and then throw you away, right? You can admit she is hitting on you but it’s not like she has other options, right? She just needs a quick fuck to make her forget all her problems momentarily and let off some steam, right?

Maybe then she would stop randomly blowing shit up and stop talking to herself like there are invisible people around. Maybe you should give in, perhaps this would do you good as well. But what about afterwards? How could you move on knowing how it feels when your bodies are tangled together? Or the taste of her on your tongue? Or the sounds she makes when she reaches her peak? You don’t think you could ever get over that, it would definitely break you.

“Y’know for someone who’s so quick and swift, you’re surprisingly slow witted.” She brings your attention back to her making you frown before biting your lower lip, a decision forming within you.

“What do you want from me Jinx?” You ask her seriously. The look on your face letting her know you are definitely not messing around.

“I want… you, silly.” She says tentatively, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. The tenderness of the gesture almost made you flinch, fuck you can’t deal with softness.

You lunge forward, grabbing the back of her head as you slam your lips together in a desperate kiss. She lets out a surprised 'umph' sound but kisses you back, throwing her arms around your neck. You brush your tongue on her lower lip before deepening the kiss, and Gods she tastes so sweet somehow, you can’t help but let out a low moan against her mouth. That seems to spur her on because she sinks her fingers on the back of your head, massaging your scalp making your eyes flutter.

One of your hands paws at her chest while the other grabs her waist roughly, pulling her towards you. The salacious nature of your kiss makes you both let out breathy moans, increasing the heat that threatens to burn your insides. You two part momentarily so you can push at her shoulder making her lay down on the rough concrete floor. You move so you’re hovering above her and you can’t help but admire the mess you’ve made of her. Kiss swollen lips, chest heaving trying to catch her breath, her pretty lipstick all smeared around her mouth.

Jinx rests her arms on the floor beside her head, and swallows harshly waiting for your next move. You straddle her hips before lowering down your upper body to kiss her again, hands raking through her sides, appreciating the feeling of her firm waist. Then they travel up her stomach right around the time your tongues swirl together, making her squirm underneath you.

You let go of her mouth to lavish her neck with kisses and bruises, biting down at her pulse point hungrily. She lets out small whimpers and quiet moans at what you’re doing to her neck, and when you move your hands to pull up her bralette above her chest, she gasps and arches her back towards you. You start kissing a path down her collarbone, towards her chest, tasting the salt on her skin. One of your hands pinches her left nipple making her moan loudly.

You take the opportunity to soothe the pink areola with your tongue but bite lightly at it soon after. Jinx is a squirming mess underneath you, hands balled into fists beside her head. You take her wrists and guide them to wrap around your shoulders, making her suddenly remember how to use her hands. You huff a chuckle and kiss her hard again, her fingers tangling on your hair.

You paw at her right breast only to be surprised by a feeling of metal lodged in her nipple. You break the kiss to get a better look at it and you spot a silver piercing on her boob, Gods as if she couldn’t get any hotter. You raise an eyebrow at her but she only guides your head towards it, so you waste no time on lavishing her nipple with attention. The sounds coming out of her, a delicious tune to your ears.

You rake your free hand down her side until you reach the hem of her shorts and she bucks her hips upwards. Her thighs are tightly clasped together which is unacceptable, so you snake your hand on the back of her thigh to pull it around your hip. She lifts her other leg and snakes it around you without coercion and you finally let go of her breast with a pop. You lower your hips on her crotch, giving it a tentative grind to watch her reaction, and she rewards you with an obscene moan. Jinx holds your back tightly and claws at it every time you roll your hips into hers.

“Should I stop?” You realise she hasn't said anything ever since you pounced on her like a feral cat. And even though this was supposed to be strictly physical, you couldn't help but check-in on her.

She frantically shakes her head no, desperation crossing her face. “Please don't.” She down right begs and cradles your face, beckoning you towards her lips. You chuckle but kiss her lewdly anyway.

You rest your weight on an elbow and maneuver your free hand to skillfully unclasp the buckle of her tiny shorts, snaking your hand inside to find no other barriers to her saturated heat. You both moan at the sensation of your lithe digits caressing her folds. She was so wet and soft under your touch but you wasted no time on this heavenly feeling before teasing her swollen bud and sinking a finger inside of her. She cries out with a hiss so you freeze your movements studying her face for any signs of pain. This confuses you a bit, since you assumed she was quite experienced at this. But she is so tight, which doesn't add up.

“Does it hurt?” You ask quietly. Her eyes are clasped shut and there's a frown between her eyebrows. Her mouth agape panting slightly. She lays a hand on your wrist and guides you to start moving again.

“S-slow…” She manages to say between whimpers. You acquiesce and start rubbing her engorged clit with your thumb as you slowly start pumping inside of her.

“You feel so fucking good, Jinx.” You whisper against her cheek, peppering kisses all over her face, before reaching her lips, kissing her sweetly.

You can feel her relax a bit, the distraction seemingly working to ease her into pleasure. You start moving a little faster, burying your finger deeper and try to find the spot that will make her eyes roll. She cradles the nape of your neck, and scratches her nails there making you shiver. You try to maneuver your fingers inside her shorts to add another one but the piece of cloth made it hard to pull that off. You ask her to hold on before giving her a quick peck on the lips, then you carefully pull your hand from inside her. She whines and pouts but you reassure her you'll be quick.

You sit on your knees to the side of her and start pulling off her shorts down her legs so she lifts up her hips to help you get rid of it. You also take off her boots in the process leaving her only in her thigh high socks. A breeze swifts by making her shiver, or was it the weight of your gaze admiring her comely body? You graze your fingers reverently through the cloud tattoo adorning her waist before laying down next to her and pulling her close towards you. One arm snaking around her shoulders and the other lifting her leg to rest over your hip.

Jinx cradles your face with her hands again, ghosting her lips on yours before kissing you softly. You caress her thigh before sneaking your hand up to grab her ass, making her gasp into your mouth. You finally move your hand to her throbbing core, massaging her salient clit, which you noticed was a lot larger than the average you have seen in your lifetime. The way it responds to your ministrations, like it has a mind of its own, pulls wetness from your own body. You feel her bury her face on the crook of her neck trying desperately to muffle her loud moans.

“Don't try to hold back, I wanna hear you princess.” You whisper in her ear, the pet name escaping you before you could stop yourself. She lifts up her head and looks at you through half lidded eyes, hazy with pleasure.

You’re cradling her on one arm when you tease two fingers on her entrance, giving her the time to stop you if she wants to. But she just grinds on your fingers making them slip in a bit, her legs already starting to tremble. You carefully push your lithe digits inside of her again, waiting for a brief moment so she can adjust to the stretch before picking up the pace. The combination of your fingers inside of her and the palm of your hand brushing her clit is enough to make her reach her climax, dripping fluid all over your hand. You slow down your movements, helping her ride her high until she gently pushes your hand away.

You wipe it off on your own clothes before you embrace her, making soft patterns on her bare back. She takes a moment to steady her breathing then pulls you in for a sloppy kiss. You smile at her eagerness but her hands start to roam your body so you have to stop her. This has gone far enough and you don't want anyone touching you like this, especially because of what happened 5 months ago with the rich Piltover dude. Even if the person who's touching you is Jinx, you can't do this, not right now. She looks at you with a confused frown on her face.

“But it's your turn toots.” She tries to explain but you're already untangling yourself from her.

“You should head back inside, Jinx. It's getting cold.” You say sitting up, not looking at her. You gather her clothes and hand it back to her. “Don't worry about me.” You say ending the conversation.

You're a coward, you don't dare to look at her because you know the look of hurt on her face will break you. Damn your self control, you don't know why you thought this was a good idea. You think you deserve to suffer for treating her like this. But this is what she wanted, right? Just a quick fuck to forget her problems. So you gave it to her, you tell yourself it doesn't have to be more than that even though your heart is beating so fast inside your rib cage it hurts. You hear her putting her clothes back on quickly as she sniffles, wiping away under her nose with her forearm. You just sit on the ground with your head low.

“Did I… do something wrong?” She asks with a shaky voice. You swallow hard.

“No, you were perfect.” You say honestly. And that was part of the problem wasn't it?

“Then why won't y-” She starts to protest but you cut her off.

“You got what you wanted didn't you? Now leave me alone.” The harshness of your words cut through the night like one of your sharp blades.

She just stands beside you, stunned probably or pissed off, you didn't dare to look her way to find out. You just wanted her gone or for her to force you to look at her and tell the truth, you didn't know which option was worse really. She finally turns away and storms off the roof but not before kicking an innocent piece of scrap metal that was on her way. You wince and bury your face in your hands, putting pressure on your eyes as if that could prevent the tears from coming. What a mess you’ve made, it's all your fault.

Dividers by @bernardsbendystraws and @cafekitsune.

[moonlight-joy]

Facedown

Fandom: Kraven the hunter

Summary: Sergei Kravinoff tests your survival instincts by throwing you into a dark forest after a wrong choice in his high-stakes game. Using the lessons he taught you, you navigate traps, fear, and the relentless pursuit of the master hunter himself. This is not just about survival but proving yourself as his equal, capable of standing beside him in his dangerous world.

Pairing: Reader/Sergei Kravinoff

The fire crackled in the hearth as Sergei loomed over you, his broad frame casting a shadow that danced with the flickering light. His eyes, sharp and unyielding, bore into yours, the intensity in them unmistakable. You could feel the weight of his gaze, the challenge in his stance, and you knew better than to underestimate the moment. Sergei Kravinoff didn’t play games lightly, and when he did, the stakes were always high.

“Pick the wrong one,” he said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble, “and face the consequence.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you looked at the array of items he’d set before you on the polished wooden table. They were trophies of his hunt: a sleek black dagger with an intricately carved hilt, a small vial filled with an iridescent liquid, a coil of braided rope, and a bone charm etched with strange symbols. Each item seemed innocuous on its own, but you knew Sergei well enough to understand that appearances were deceiving. One of these would be your salvation; the others would lead you somewhere far less desirable.

You glanced up at him, trying to gauge his mood. He stood with arms crossed, his expression unreadable, though the corner of his mouth twitched slightly—a hint of amusement, perhaps? Or was it a warning? Sergei thrived on control, on the thrill of the hunt, and right now, you were his focus. His prey.

“This is ridiculous,” you said, though your voice wavered slightly. “You’re expecting me to just guess?”

Sergei leaned forward, resting his hands on the table, his face now mere inches from yours. The firelight highlighted the sharp lines of his jaw, the scar that ran along his cheekbone, and the predatory gleam in his eyes.

“Guessing is for the weak,” he said. “Use your instincts. Show me you’ve learned something.”

Learned something. The words echoed in your mind, and you felt a flash of irritation. He’d spent months teaching you, molding you into someone who could match his intensity, his sharpness. This was another one of his tests, designed to push you, to prove yourself worthy of standing beside him. And yet, he always seemed to hold the upper hand, dangling victory just out of reach.

You studied the objects again, forcing yourself to ignore the growing tension in the room. Each choice seemed equally viable, and equally dangerous. The dagger gleamed wickedly, its edge whispering promises of protection—or destruction. The vial’s contents shimmered like liquid moonlight, ethereal and otherworldly. The rope was unassuming, almost mundane, but you knew Sergei never brought anything ordinary into his games. And the charm… it exuded a strange, almost palpable energy, as though it were alive.

“Tick-tock,” Sergei murmured, his voice teasing but with an undeniable edge. “Time waits for no one, little one.”

You shot him a glare, but it only made his grin widen. Damn him. You inhaled deeply, trying to focus, to think like he would. Sergei was meticulous, always calculating. He wouldn’t make this an impossible task. There had to be a clue, something that pointed you in the right direction. But what?

Your mind raced, replaying the lessons he’d drilled into you. Trust your instincts. Pay attention to the details. Nothing is ever what it seems.

Your eyes flicked over the objects again, and something caught your attention: the charm. The etchings on its surface weren’t random; they formed a pattern, one you recognized from the books Sergei had insisted you study. It was a hunter’s rune, a symbol of guidance and protection. But was it the answer? Or was it a trap, placed there precisely to lure you in?

“Five seconds,” Sergei said, his voice cutting through your thoughts like a blade. “Four.”

Panic flared in your chest, but you tamped it down. No, you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you falter. You reached out, your hand hovering over the charm. The energy emanating from it was almost tangible, a hum that seemed to resonate with something deep inside you. Was it the right choice? It felt right, but…

“Three,” Sergei counted, his tone dark and unyielding.

You hesitated, your hand trembling slightly as it hovered over the charm. Then, with a surge of determination, you snatched it up, clutching it tightly in your palm. The moment you did, the hum intensified, vibrating through your entire body. For a split second, you thought you’d made the right choice.

And then the world tilted.

You gasped as the air around you seemed to shift, the room dissolving into a blur of shadows and light. The charm grew hot in your hand, searing your skin, and you instinctively dropped it. When your vision cleared, you found yourself no longer in the cozy confines of Sergei’s cabin. Instead, you stood in a dense forest, the trees towering overhead, their branches weaving a canopy that blocked out the moonlight.

“Wrong choice,” Sergei’s voice echoed from somewhere behind you, and you whirled around to find him leaning casually against a tree. He was no longer the man who’d been lounging by the fire moments ago. Now, he was the hunter, his presence commanding and dangerous. He held a spear in one hand, the weapon’s tip glinting ominously.

“You said to trust my instincts,” you said, frustration bubbling to the surface. “The charm felt—”

“Ah,” Sergei interrupted, pushing off the tree and stalking toward you. “But did you think? Or did you simply act on impulse?”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he held up a hand, silencing you. “No excuses,” he said. “Now, you face the consequence.”

Your heart pounded as Sergei circled you, his movements slow and deliberate, like a predator sizing up its prey. Despite the fear clawing at the edges of your mind, you forced yourself to stand tall, to meet his gaze head-on. He respected strength, and you’d be damned if you let him see you crumble.

“And what exactly is the consequence?” you asked, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside.

His grin returned, sharp and dangerous. “Survival,” he said simply. “Out here, there is no fire to keep you warm, no walls to protect you. You will rely on what I’ve taught you—or you will fall.”

The weight of his words settled over you, and you realized this wasn’t just a punishment. It was another test. Sergei didn’t do anything without a purpose, and this… this was his way of pushing you to your limits.

“Fine,” you said, squaring your shoulders. “But don’t expect me to make it easy for you, either.”

His laughter echoed through the forest, rich and full of approval. “That’s the spirit,” he said. “But remember, little one… the hunter always has the advantage.”

Before you could respond, Sergei turned and disappeared into the shadows, his movements so silent and swift that it was as though he’d never been there at all. You were alone now, surrounded by the unfamiliar sounds of the forest, your breath visible in the cold night air.

Your mind raced as you tried to formulate a plan. Sergei would be watching, waiting, testing. Every choice you made from this point on would be crucial. Failure wasn’t an option—not because of the consequences he’d hinted at, but because you refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you fail.

You started walking, your senses on high alert. The forest was alive with the sounds of rustling leaves and distant animal calls, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that Sergei was close, tracking your every move. You’d seen him hunt before, watched him move through the wilderness with an ease that bordered on supernatural. If you wanted to survive this, you’d have to think like him.

Use the environment, you reminded yourself, recalling one of his many lessons. Adapt. Improvise.

You scanned the area, noting the uneven terrain, the low-hanging branches, the patches of dense undergrowth. Slowly, an idea began to form. If Sergei wanted to play the hunter, you’d give him a challenge worth his time.

You moved carefully, gathering supplies as you went: a sturdy branch that could serve as a makeshift weapon, vines to create traps, stones to mark your path. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. As you worked, you felt a sense of determination take root. Sergei might be the greatest hunter in the world, but you weren’t going down without a fight.

Hours passed, or maybe it was minutes—time seemed to blur in the oppressive darkness of the forest. You’d set your traps and created a rudimentary shelter, though you doubted you’d get much use out of it. Sergei wasn’t the kind to wait for you to get comfortable.

Your instincts proved correct. The sound of a twig snapping nearby sent your heart racing, and you spun around, your makeshift weapon at the ready. The shadows shifted, and Sergei emerged, his movements as fluid as a panther’s. He held no weapon now, but his presence alone was enough to make your pulse quicken.

“Not bad,” he said, his voice carrying a note of genuine approval. “But do you truly believe these traps will stop me?”

“No,” you admitted, gripping the branch tightly. “But they’ll slow you down.”

He chuckled, a deep, resonant sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “We’ll see,” he said, taking a step closer. “Show me what you’ve learned, little one. Prove to me that you are worthy of standing beside the hunter.”

And with that, the game began in earnest. Sergei lunged, and you moved to meet him, your instincts kicking in as you fought to hold your ground. Every move, every decision was a test, a lesson, a challenge. And though you were exhausted, though your body ached and your mind screamed for rest, you refused to give up.

Because with Sergei, survival wasn’t just about winning. It was about proving that you belonged in his world, not as prey, but as an equal.

Please support my work with like and comment

[tired-truffle]

Before We Lost It All

A Viktorxfem!reader fic

Chapter Word Count: 2.5k

Tag list: @im-just-a-simp-le-whore @potatointhedirt @dedicated2viktor

"We make each other alive. Does it matter if it hurts?" - Ingmar Bergman

A/N: This takes place in chapter 9 of Muj Milacek during the scene where you convince Viktor to take a break from working and get some much-needed rest - in your bed, of course.

Masterlist

He’d let you sucker him into resting with those big, pleading eyes that plucked at his heartstrings. He was worrying you, he knew this, but he’d never been very good at accepting help. With his declining health and your visions of his death hanging over his head, he’d been growing increasingly desperate. And desperate times called for desperate measures - like sleeping in the same bed as the girl he’d been in love with for seven whole years.

If only you’d stop laughing at him.

"Is there something you find humorous about my attire, Milá?" He fixed you with what he hoped was a lovingly exasperated glare. At that point, he was too exhausted to tell.

"I'm sorry." You continued to giggle, undercutting your apology, though he found the sound pleasing enough to forgive you. "I'm overtired and I really wasn't expecting them to be that ill-fitting."

Viktor huffed at you, rolling his eyes with a small smile. He was well aware he looked ridiculous, the oversized shirt drowned his thin torso in fabric, but the pants barely reached past his knees. They had to be children’s pants, why you had them was beyond his understanding. To make matters worse, you were standing there in nothing but a large shirt that reached your upper thighs, your legs illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the window, and he assumed underwear beneath. You were gorgeous, and he was…feeling rather silly. Though he found it difficult to care all that much when you smiled so sweetly at him, the corners of your eyes crinkled with mirth.

"You can have the bed,” you offered when you’d managed to stop giggling. “I'll take the couch."

"I'm not stealing your bed, Miláček, it is plenty big enough for the both of us." Viktor pulled back the covers, slipping in. "And I will not subject you to that couch for any longer than necessary. I swear they made it with knives instead of springs."

He had insisted this both out of genuine concern for your back after sleeping on such an object, and out of his selfish want to sleep beside you. Could a dying man not be granted this one wish?

You hesitated, and for a moment he worried he’d overstepped your boundaries. But he wasn’t left waiting for long. You made your way to the bedside, shy but not necessarily timid.

"If you insist," you said, turning off the bedside lamp. "But you better not warm up your frigid toes on me."

"No promises."

The mattress dipped as you climbed into bed beside him, laying down with your hands curled tight against your chest. You were facing him, your chin tilted to meet his gaze.

This felt dangerously intimate. He was in bed with the woman he secretly loved - well, secret to you, Viktor was pretty sure everyone else knew. If he asked you to come closer, would you understand then? If he placed a soft kiss on the crown of your head, his hands cradling your back, would he need to say it? But he couldn’t voice his request, couldn’t find the words to ask for that which he longed for most.

He’d been a fool to think he could sleep with you so close yet not within his grasp. To lay beside you like his skin didn’t prickle with the need to be pressed completely against you was its own kind of torture.

"Does it hurt?" You broke the silence, your head turning to face him in the dark.

He was too tired to try to deny it, and you’d see through his lie anyway. "Yes," he answered plainly.

"Can I try something?" you asked, your tone even.

Curious and unable to deny such a simple request, he nodded. You reached forward, placing your hand against his chest and sending a bolt of excitement running through him. Your palm was soft and warm through his shirt, your heart beating quickly in your veins and tapping lightly against him. He lay still, his gaze fixed on you, giving you space to make the next move.

You closed your eyes, forcing your breathing to even out, your nose crinkling adorably in the low moonlight as you concentrated.

Nothing happened.

"Can I get closer?" you asked, and he appreciated your asking for permission - always polite and giving him the agency to choose. 

He opened his arms, motioning for you to snuggle in. Slowly, you scooted closer until the top of your head was just below his chin, feeling the gentle rise and fall of your chest against his as you breathed. Your ear rested against his chest, one hand pressed against his chest while you placed the other on his back, over the back brace he’d been too tired to take off. He’d regret that tomorrow when his skin itched and his spine ached, but now he could focus on little else except the feeling of you curled up in his arms. Slipping an arm under your neck, he rested the other over your waist, drawing lazy circles on the small of your back. Viktor didn’t want to think about anything that didn’t involve you, nor how difficult it was going to be to pull himself away when the time came.

This wasn’t the first time you’d insisted he take a much-needed break from his work. Years ago you'd dragged him to a street fair in Piltover when he’d become so worn down by reports that he didn’t know where he ended and the equations began. He'd grumbled at first, but your infectious enthusiasm had won him over. You'd shared sticky cotton candy, the sweetness on your lips making him ache to taste them. When fireworks exploded overhead, he'd been captivated not by the display, but by the light reflected in your eyes.

Viktor's heart swelled with a bittersweet ache. He loved you - wholly, desperately, irrevocably. You were the sun to his withering form, the spark that kept his passion for progress alive even as his body failed him. He longed to confess, to pour out seven years of pent-up devotion. But fear held him back - fear of rejection, of complicating your friendship, of leaving you heartbroken when his time inevitably ran out.

So instead, he held you close in the darkness, committing every detail to memory. The soft whisper of your breath against his neck. The delicate curve of your spine beneath his fingertips. The subtle scent of your shampoo, floral and comforting. He etched it all into his mind, a perfect moment to carry with him always, no matter what the future held.

Viktor felt a sudden warmth emanate from your palm, spreading through his chest like rays of sunlight. A faint blue glow pulsed beneath your skin, illuminating the creases of your hand.

As your magic seeped into him, Viktor was struck by an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. The sensation was wistfully familiar, like a half-remembered dream or a long-lost memory struggling to surface. It felt like coming home after years away, like slipping into a warm bath after trudging through a blizzard. He couldn't place why it felt so natural, so right, but he found himself sinking into the comfort of it nonetheless.

The magic flowed through him, a soothing current that sought out every ache and pain. It pooled in his joints, easing the constant throbbing in his hip and knee. It traced along his spine, melting away the tension that had become a constant companion. Even the persistent headache that had taken up residence behind his eyes began to recede.

As the pain ebbed away, replaced by a numbing coolness, Viktor felt his body truly relax for the first time in years. His muscles unknotted, his breathing deepened, and the ever-present furrow between his brows smoothed out. He let out a long, shuddering sigh, filled with relief and contentment.

"Miláček," he whispered hoarsely, his voice heavy with sleep, "you truly are a wonder."

You didn't respond, your eyes still closed in concentration, but he felt your magic pulse in response to his voice. The blue glow intensified, casting soft shadows across your features. Viktor found himself enthralled at the sight, overcome by your beauty, wishing he could run his fingers down your jaw before capturing your lips in a kiss.

As the pain receded further, Viktor found his mind clearing. Ideas and solutions that had been just out of reach now crystallized with startling clarity. It was as if your magic had not only soothed his body, but sharpened his intellect as well. He wanted to leap out of bed and rush to his workbench, to capture these fleeting inspirations before they could slip away.

But the warmth of your body against his and the blissful absence of pain kept him rooted in place. For once, Viktor allowed himself to simply exist in the moment, free from the constant drive to work, to improve, to race against his own mortality. He tightened his arms around you, pulling you closer as you nestled in, pressing your face against his neck.

Viktor fought against the encroaching darkness, desperate to savour every second of this closeness, but exhaustion tugged insistently at the edges of his consciousness.

Within minutes, he was sound asleep.

Viktor drifted slowly into consciousness, his mind still blissfully foggy with sleep. Without thinking, he tightened his arms around the warm body pressed against him, pulling you closer. He nuzzled into your hair, breathing in your familiar scent. For a moment, everything was perfect.

Then awareness hit him like a bucket of ice water.

His eyes flew open as he realized where his hands were. One had slipped beneath your shirt during the night, splayed across the bare skin between your shoulder blades. If he moved it even slightly higher, he'd expose…Viktor's breath caught in his throat. He couldn't bring himself to complete that thought.

"Yeah, I noticed that too," you said, alerting him that you were awake.

He became acutely aware of every point of contact between your bodies. Your leg was slotted between his, your thigh pressed dangerously close to his groin. Your breath tickled his collarbone, your lips mere centimetres from his skin.

Viktor squeezed his eyes shut, willing away the temptation. You trusted him, had opened your home and your bed to him without hesitation. He refused to betray that trust, no matter how much his body screamed for more contact.

But oh, how he ached to explore further. To trace the curve of your spine, to map every inch of your skin with reverent touches. To wake you with gentle kisses and whispered confessions of love.

But that wasn’t for him.

"My apologies, Milá, that was not my intention," he said apologetically, reluctantly pulling his arm away and tugging your shirt down for you. It was the least he could do.

Returning his arm to your now clothed waist, his finger traced smooth patterns along your back. He swallowed his gasp of surprise when you buried your face in the crook of his neck.

"It's okay,” your words vibrated against his shoulder, “I don't mind."

He hummed a soft acknowledgement and was pleased when you made no move to disentangle yourself. The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a golden glow on the peaceful bubble. Nature's symphony of birdsong and distant traffic provided a gentle soundtrack as he let himself slowly wake up. As the fog of sleep lifted, Viktor became acutely aware of the pain creeping back into his body, the ache in his joints and the tightness of his back. Still, his head felt clearer than it had in months, the persistent headache reduced to a dull throb rather than the usual stabbing agony. He felt…rested. Truly rested, in a way he hadn't experienced in years.

Much too soon, your alarm clock shattered the serene atmosphere and worsened his headache.

You groaned as you slowly peeled yourself off of him and Viktor resisted the urge to grab your hips and pull you back into his arms. With a sigh, you slapped the top of the alarm clock aimlessly, finally hitting the off button and ending its incessant beeping.

Flopping onto your back, you turned to look at him, a soft, warm smile spreading across your face. The morning light caught in your tousled hair, creating a halo effect that made you look almost ethereal. Your eyes, still heavy-lidded with sleep, held a tenderness that made his heart stutter in his chest.

By the Gods, you were beautiful. Not in the polished, artificial way of Piltover's elite, but in a way that was uniquely, breathtakingly you. It was beyond his ability to describe, so he didn’t try.

Viktor's fingers twitched with the desire to trace the curve of your jaw, to tangle in your hair and draw you close. He imagined pressing his forehead against yours, breathing the same air, whispering all the words he'd kept locked away for so long.

But he couldn't. He wouldn't risk ruining this, whatever this was between you. So instead, he returned your smile with a small one of his own, hoping it conveyed even a fraction of the warmth he felt.

“You look like you slept well,” you teased, your smile tilting into a lopsided grin.

"You say that like it’s a good thing but it seems more like an insult to me." He patted at his hair, an attempt to flatten it that was doomed to fail from the beginning.

You giggled, a wonderous sound he would never tire of hearing, and sat up in bed. Before he had time to avert his gave, you’d stretched your arms over your head and you squeezed your eyes shut. Did you realize how your thin shirt plastered itself against your body, giving him a clear view of all your soft curves?

He cleared his throat, finding great interest in staring at the wall across the room, ignoring the blush that tinted his cheeks. Out of the corner of his vision, he saw your blush match his when you realized exactly what had just happened.

"I'm going to get ready," you announced shakily. With a quick swivel, you got out of bed and picked your clothes out of the closet, all while keeping your back to Viktor. Not that he minded, necessarily, but there was something about your reddened cheeks that captivated him entirely. "I'll meet you in the lab with breakfast?"

"Grab me a sweet milk and carrot muffin if they have it?"

“I’ll do my best!”

As you fled to the bathroom, Viktor found his voice once more. "Thank you, Mila." You turned back around to peek at him from around the door, adorable in your embarrassment. "I feel much better, you were right after all."

You smiled softly at him. "You should come back tonight," you said before hastily adding, "but only if you want to, of course."

He wanted nothing more, but did you? He swung his legs over the side of the bed, the sunlight streaming through the window illuminating his soft brown hair. "Are you sure? I don’t wish to impose any more than I already have."

You shook your head. “I don’t like sleeping alone, you’re not the only one who benefits.”

He smiled, bright and unburdened. Why had he doubted you? It seemed silly now when you regarded him with such bashful hope. You cared for him as he cared for you, didn’t you? “Then I suppose we have a deal.”

A/N: Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed the second Viktor's POV <3 Sadly, the arcane hyperfixation has left me, but when it comes back, I'm sure you'll definitely see more of these two! For now, I must let the writing demons out in my Dragon Age fic - time to terrorize another fandom!

[act2drama]

I truly was not expecting this post to become an in-depth discussion/analysis of Harry Kershaw’s acting and improv choices but I’m certainly not complaining…

I don’t have much to add to things at this point except for saying that as much as we all love to mock his failures (which are often undeniably spectacular), it's very easy for us to forget/ignore that a frankly surprising number of those failures are down to other people, whether it's Jon-Oscar pausing or misunderstanding something or just choosing to pick on Harry in that moment, or something like Delta Von Tassel (which was largely forced on him both by the initial audience suggestion and the fact that clearly no one else in the cast was going to do it) - even the initial "failure" of Delta where Jon started getting at Harry for forgetting the name of Niall's character was simply Harry continuing the running gag from the start of the show that occurred due to Mike forgetting the name first - or someone else picking up on a little mistake and running with it - as is what happened with the whole peacock penis thing. In fact, 'From Russia With Gloves' is quite probably the only instance of a series of truly spectacular failures where said failures are entirely down to Harry and Harry alone.

The other thing I noticed on my most recent MMNI binge (and it ties into @gcballet's previous comments about Harry appearing to be the one most willing to take bigger risks) is that the MMNI cast individually all have very clear indicators of having reached a breaking point with the silliness - either through increasingly blatant corpsing, directly or indirectly questioning the direction the thing is going in, or just pulling a very obvious "WTF" expression, (or, for the ultimate, Dave in the latest run just flopping on the floor) - and when these breaking points are reached, the silliness is at least attempted to be reined in or twisted round to make some kind of narrative sense even without any prompting from Oscar/Emmy. Harry, on the other hand, will pretty much go with anything that's thrown at him - yes, he'll start corpsing if it gets ridiculous enough but he'll generally still just go with whatever's been set up for him without much argument; I think Croydonosaurus and the list of "non-branded products" is the only real exception to this, where Harry's the only one trying to get the scene back on track, which is why Jonathan immediately calls it out as being hypocritical. Josh is the same way (in terms of just going with anything and everything that comes up) which is why I think he's the other "non-core" cast member that tends to stand out in people's heads and garner a lot of attention.

I think especially when you compare that improv style of almost taking "yes, and..." to its extreme and just accepting and going with anything and everything that's thrown at you with little to no pushback with the approach of, say, Lauren or Charlie (and I don't mean this in a derogatory way towards them either because it's just different styles of something that is objectively difficult to do well) who are more willing to call out and, for lack of a better word, "argue" against things getting too out of hand and will fight more to keep things both on track and making some kind of relative sense, it becomes even more clear exactly how Harry manages to end up with an array of moments ranging from "pure genius" to "lost his goddamn mind". And I wasn't kidding in the initial post when I said that sometimes the things he'll come out with will be the best things in the show. I know we always come back to the box in the 'Ashopalypse' trilogy but that truly was a frankly genius move...

Rewatching 'Hull School Musical' and am currently wondering exactly how I missed this absolute gem of a line the first time:

The thing I love about Harry Kershaw in MMNI is that occasionally he'll come out with something that's pure genius (and possibly the best thing in the entire movie for that show) that kind of slips by relatively unnoticed and then the rest of the time it's just...Delta Von Tassel and Christmas Bonanza Boy...

[ozzyfromthecafeteria]

being plural is all fun and games until you all have things you want to purchase but all have little to no money of our own to spend…

[sheliesshattered]

sewing the first ~5' long over-bust seam to attach the new center front panel to the existing dress: smooth, stress-free, perfect result, required a mildly obnoxious number of pins but otherwise a dream

re-sewing the ~1/2" I accidentally unpicked between one of the center back panels and a side back panel: I have given up after trying to sew it no less than five times, after the fabric managed to misbehave in at least five completely different ways

[twodotsknowwhy]

Should I be concerned that this morning, my alarm went off the same time it always does and for a solid 30 seconds, I couldn't remember why my alarm was going off so early?

[bazelgeuce]

I can't sleep :(

Rant in tags it's long

[ihopeinevergetsoberr]

academic rivals request! viktor x fem!reader, nsfw

request: @4-leafed pls... if u have time pls write a viktor x reader that r both geniuses at the academy but very much toe the line of rivalry and sexual tension...i love competitive smart people that fall in love when the rivalry becomes respect ... and they FREAK IT!!! possibly in a lab ! up to you : 3c

i liked this request so much that i ended up writing a decent-ish one-shot….

update: i wrote a part 2 because it was highly requested! you can read it here :)

rating: explicit

word count: 3,5k

warnings: academic rivals. LOTS of dialogue and bickering. dubious science because i skipped it in school, had to do some basic chemistry revision to write this pornographic catastrophe, so please pat me on the back. rough sex? rough… foreplay, that’s for sure. dirty talk, if you can call bickering that. penetration. reader tries to slap viktor, spits in his mouth and he cums in his pants. normally, i only write vanilla stuff, so i have no idea how it turned out THIS kinky (at least for me okay). not proofread (yet). nsfw under the cut:

—

“How do you take your coffee?”

His voice betrays the feeble intention of civility, fusing that polite inquiry into a hiss—a phonetical torture you didn’t even know could occur before. So much for killing you with kindness. Outstaging quips by desecrating courtesies. 

“I don’t care,” you mutter on autopilot. Can’t let him in on any personal preferences, no matter how insignificant. “Just don’t put arsenic in it.” 

Viktor scoffs. Puts the kettle away and peers at you over his shoulder, all wretchedly complacent. 

“So the rest of the periodic table is welcome, I presume?” 

Viktor. The local Nikola Tesla knock-off. Never a moment of peace with him; and the fierce taste of competition grows coppery in your mouth whenever he’s in your sight—the most handsome trigger of your cheek-biting reflex.

His name is an insult on your lips and you want to taste it. Chew it, crush it with your teeth and spit right out, preferably aiming for those poignant eyes seeking you in every classroom—so eager to light up with objection the second your opinion differs from his. 

Always the first prick to disparage your input. A never-resting generator of all the meticulous ways to denounce your projects. 

“If I may.” 

Sickeningly polite, too. With that lithe finger pointing in the air— so irritatingly comical. He may not, but there isn’t a chance he’ll shut up, now, is there?

And so he’d clear his throat, straightening his tie in that ridiculously solemn fashion. As if stepping on a pedestal to deliver a life-changing speech—not some shallow nitpicking regarding your circuit breakers. All eyes on him while his kept staring only into your soul. Special treatment, if you will. 

You will not.

“Using magnetic frames is careless,” he’d state. With his hand imposingly pointing to the blueprint on your slide. “Copper coils may oxidize. Not to mention the overheating. I would use thermoplastics. They’re significantly more efficient. And heat-resistant.”

Oh please. Like someone here gives a shit about what you’d use. 

But you can’t say that. Not in a room full of professors. And, judging from the countless nods of approval, the shits were, in fact, being given. 

“Too risky,” you oppose. “Thermoplastics often degrade at high temperatures. Electric insulation is not worth the damage of releasing hydrocarbons. I assumed that you’d be aware of that, Viktor. But I suppose that was an omission on my part.” 

More nods of approval, now in your favour. Here it goes again—the ever-lasting spectacle of hatred. Elegant, when entertaining the audience. Anything but discreet, in private. A perpetually drawn game of chess. By repetition, not agreement. Both of you refuse to retreat until checkmate. 

Oh yes, the sentiment was mutual. You and Viktor were notorious for tearing at each other's throats. The things you’d sacrifice to make that more than a mere metaphor, though. To pull him by that neat tie to sweet asphyxiation and hear him rasp for mercy with eyes full of pathetic condemnation. And he dreamed of that, too. His cane was itching to give you a smack—to paint your behind a plum so deep you’ll have troubles sitting without wincing. When it came to making metaphors literal, he’d pick being the pain in your ass.

However, your mentors couldn’t care less about the rivalry. The Collegiate Inventors Competition was coming up. And who could possibly make better candidates than two greatest minds of the engineering department, with academic excellence so accurately neck and neck that both of your names now occupy the honorary first place in every ranking table? 

That’s how you ended up with your sentence—three weeks of after-hours cooperation in the lab with the incorrigible bastard himself, a quarter of which you’d already successfully wasted on pointless bickering. Well, not without achieving some common grounds. The choice of prototype landed on one of your personal ambitions—a wearable exoskeleton for post-surgery rehabilitation, with plenty of robotics involved. Endorsed by Viktor, for once. The greater good must have swallowed even his dispute. Off to a nice start, if someone were to ask you.

However, the first issues struck early: on the very stage of development. Viktor volunteered for modelling: meaning, the framework would be custom, to accommodate his spine specifically. An object lesson for everyone involved, it would seem—but only in an ideal world. Which, considering what you had at hand (acrimony, bitterness, an entire picky bit of gall), was filtered out by default.

Now, five gruesome days and who’s-even-counting-anymore restarts later, you’re nowhere near close to at least a draft, yet borderline keen on murdering each other. And you’re certain the latter is approaching. He did just contemplate putting arsenic in your cup, after all. 

Viktor stirs the coffee. Watches his reflection smudge in the dark, whirly water, shooting you an askance glance from beneath thick brows when you start stirring yours—the spoon clanking a tad too loud, as if you were doing it on purpose. Which, you undoubtedly were. 

“Stop that,” he groans, almost leaping out of his chair. Heavy, disturbed gaze meets your cheeky simper. “You don’t have to stir it so thoroughly. It’s not like you take it with sugar anyway.”

“Of course.” You shrug. “I don’t drink slop.”

“Oh, I figured. There’s nothing sweet about you, so why would your coffee be any different?”

“There’s plenty of sweetness about me. I simply don’t squander it on entitled pricks.” 

That finally grounds him. And you’re giddy for the way his sturdy hand grips the cup so hard that it almost shatters into his palm, knuckles growing pale enough to match the porcelain. More so when you take a loud, languid sip, feigning innocence. Fully wallowing in his darling, defeated speechlessness. 

“Excuse you,” he mutters. “Entitled?!” 

“So you agree with the ‘prick’ part?” 

“Yes, and I take great pride in it. You may mark me flustered.” 

“Don’t forget to bust in your pants.”

Viktor sneers: chapped lip twitching, scowl growing defensive. Lanky legs untangle as he rises to his feet, towering above you in an angry lean on his cane—long frame transforming into your personal, scrawny menace, pissed exhale sharp and nasal above your head. And you admit to looking small beneath him—all hunched shoulders, weak smile finally tumbling lopsided. 

“Don’t you dare call me entitled,” he demands—and means it. It’s palpable in the way he twists the handle of his cane, the squeaky sound violently scratching your brain. “I sweated blood to achieve my privileges in this establishment.”

You huff, rolling your eyes. “So did I, and yet you keep ordering me around as if I’m some braindead apprentice. We’re counterparts, Viktor. You’re supposed to be mindful of my perspective.”

“I never see you being mindful of mine,” he counters.

And, well. You can’t argue with that. 

Your coffee break continued in avoidant silence, but the ambience simply reeked of hostility—stifling enough to make you leave the lab feet first. The deadline’s chokehold besieging your neck wasn’t of any help, either—you had to submit the draft for approval by Sunday. And, so far, you haven’t even agreed on the design plan. 

You shoot Viktor a reluctant glance. Pensive, he sat slouched over his parchment, emitting pure peril. Like his shoulder blades might stab you if you attempt a single tap, belligerently peeking through the thin shirt. You tucked your lip under your teeth, chewing hard, tongue running over every small, neurotic wound inside your mouth. Fruitless negotiations held a special spot amongst your least favourite endeavours, but this conundrum called for a desperate measure.

“Viktor.” You winced at how chocked up it came out. He noticed that, too—because of course he did—turning in his chair to nod at you, ever so shit-eatingly. Lancing eyes scrutinised their way up to your face. What an affront. 

“Yes?” Always chiding in that condescending tone of his. Hissy ‘s’ echoed in the lab, gnawing at your nerves. 

“We have to submit something by the end of this week. Let’s at least decide on the blueprint.” 

“Fine.” He shrugged, returning to his sketch. “We’re going with mine.” 

“No!” You snapped. “We’re coming up with a new one. Together.” 

Viktor hummed in mock consideration. The strand of hair he’s been twirling unraveled, claiming more attention than you deemed him worthy of. Sighing, he lazily reached for your graph, frowning as his eyes started skimming over the scribbles. You made your way to the desk, claiming a spot behind his shoulder. That required a tacit truce. 

“You really want to wield… hydraulic actuators?” He winced, looking up at you. Had your breath hitching at that respectful attempt, the effort prominent in the very way he uttered those words—as if struggling to filter out swear ones. 

“Yes,” you mustered. “For high power.” 

“But they’re so heavy.”  

“Well, what would you use?” 

He chuckled—rich and malicious. Flipped the page and finally averted those curious eyes, arching a bushy brow. 

“I thought no one gave a… crap about what I’d use.” 

Oh, well. It felt nice while it lasted. 

“How did you even—“

“You ought to be more discreet with your vitriol,” he retorted. “I’ll let you know that I’m a decent lip-reader.” 

“Then don’t stare at my mouth next time. What would you use, Viktor?” 

Now that left you both startled. His fingers stilled above the diagram, flexing in disbelief, hollow cheeks hued a puzzled rouge as you almost chomped your tongue off, showing an embarrassed curse back into the depth of your throat. 

“Ahem. Electric motors,” he chanted, pretending to overlook the slip-up. And for once, you were grateful for his tact. 

“I see. Well, er… put that down, please.” 

He instantly complied, fetching a pen. Left you to reflect on your misery to the rhythmic sound of his scrawling, pressing a sweaty palm to his forehead. 

“Right.” He sighed. “What about the power supply?”

“Rechargeable batteries?” You suggested weakly. “Lithium-ion.”

“Very well. Frame?”

“Something durable. Titanium?” 

“Absolutely not,” he scoffed, pushing the notes away. “Why must you always insist on using the heaviest equipment?”

“I don’t know, corrosion resistance?” You muttered back, hovering over him. “Biocompatibility?”

“That’s perfectly manageable with carbon fiber!”

“So it shatters after the tiniest bump? Bravo, Viktor, how ingenious.” 

He lurches forward—rigid breath quivering over yours. Close enough to crush that thick skull with your forehead—if only you ventured, that is. But, alas, you’re not as brave just yet. Some brief eye-stabbing is about all you’re good for. 

“Fine,” he agrees, pulling away. “We’ll use aluminium alloys. Corrosion resistant and easy to machine. No one wins. Does that suffice?” 

“Yes. Now will you finally let me take your measurements for the sketch?”

He doesn’t answer—at least not verbally. Merely stands up and nods to the measuring tape, face still heavily contorted with displeasure. But you don’t oblige just yet. How can you, when Viktor’s fingers suddenly reach for his collar, fumbling with the button? And—oh no—now they’re sliding lower, reiterating once, twice, thrice, until his chest (flushed, but that might just be wishful thinking) is fully peeking out, teasing the smooth scrap of ivory skin. 

“What… are you doing?” You mumble, utterly startled. 

“…Undressing?” He says matter-of-factly, looking up at you so askance as if you’d just asked him if the sky is blue. One more ministration and the shirt is neatly folded next to the parchment—waiting for you to be through with the measurements to be slid back on his bony shoulders. 

“That, I can tell,” you mumble. “Why did you undress?”

Viktor’s gaze daggers into you again. “Don’t tell me you were actually intending to measure me clothed? Can you not comprehend precision?”

“Precision?”

“The prototype is expected to cling to me. I don’t see how that’s achievable with my shirt on— I assumed that was rather obvious.”

“Shut the fuck up.” 

“Ah, sweet civility. I even started worrying that other entitled pricks must’ve depleted your decorum, but it seems like you saved some up for me after all. I’m flattered, really—“ 

You don’t even register when it happens.

Next thing you see is Viktor seizing your wrist—sternly yanking your slap off his face before it gets the chance to land there in a flared handprint. Nothing but pure rage and prickliness—right where his short nails are lancing your skin, engraving an ugly bracelet you’ll wear for hours.

Well, maybe there is something else. Something inexplicable, and tremendous—deep in the way your eyes keep drifting south—where his pants sling low on defined hips, and the pretty trail of dark hair runs from navel to waistband—no doubt circling exactly what you manage to make out in the convex slope of his crotch. And you want to slap him for that, too—sonorous, and frenetic. Going in again with full force, but his force always turns out to be fuller—and in an instance he firmly twists your arm, pinning it behind your back—pale face barely five inches away from your flushed one. 

What happens next is beyond any explanations. Later, he’ll blame it on inertia—that stupid urge to maintain the speed, to stay in motion with your messy antics until some external force stops him—a simple need to claim you before the inevitable collision.

But there’s no inertia in escalation. In the way his free hand grabs you by the nape and clashes agape mouths together, teeth bumping hard enough to make you consider booking a dentist appointment later. Not a sign of inertia when you grab him, either—a little clumsy through the sharp pain in your twisted arm—bold fingers raking his scalp in a vengeful tug on his hair. 

And it’s more than a kiss. If anything, it looks like you’re trying to eat him—tongue out and thrusting into his throat so fiercely that he gags on it, almost tearing up. Now you know what sheer desperation sounds like, and it’s grunting against your mouth, suddenly pitching to a pathetic moan when you grab a handful of chestnut hair and pull so hard that his eyes roll back, lean frame shaking under your violent approach. You use that startled momentum to try and pry your arm free, but he still keeps it in place. 

“You’re hurting me!” You hiss, attacking his neck—the very one you always shamefully admitted to finding the sexiest any man can possess, and your teeth roughly pinch at his voice box, coaxing another whine. 

“Good.” He groans with spite. “I hope I am.” 

And yet, he releases your aching arm, trading it for a calculated squeeze of your waist. But the audacity overshadows his little mercy. You instantly use the unrestrained privileges to force a finger into his mouth—astounded at the way he instantly opens up, almost mockingly pliant. More so when you spit on his tongue, sparing no shame—as if trying to rile him up beyond recognition. Grinning, when your saliva dribbles down his chin. 

“Ah.” He huffs, instantly licking up the remnants. “Thank you. Ever so disrespectful.”

“You haven’t earned my respect,” you lie, nudging him towards the chair. Not even bothering to wait until he lands, impatient hands already messing with his belt—so treacherously earnest as you shake, unfastening the buckle, and the bastard chuckles at that, looking down at your eager work. 

“That’s a new low, then,” murmurs coyly, helping you into his lap, heavy head leisurely thrown back. “Sleeping with someone you don’t respect.” 

“Fuck you.” 

“Oh yes. You’re about to.” 

You glare at him from under heavy lids, but the anger refuses to linger—not when he stares back full of indignant awe, so clearly basking in your attention. With his cock half-springing out of undone pants, shamelessly twitching against your palm. And not a single breath was hitched to conceal his excitement. 

“Must you always be so insufferable?” You reproach, pushing his hair back—too domestic for your own liking, and yet it doesn’t feel unfitting. Especially when he leans into your hand, welcoming your touch on his sweaty forehead—like he wanted you to feel it fever up with want.

“No.” He shakes his head. “But if it can grant me this, I’ll triple the effort.” 

“What happened to new lows? You don’t have a fraction of respect for me, either.”

“You’re right.” He shrugs. “Fractions could never encapsulate my tribute to you.”

And his hand slipped under your skirt, shakily crawling home—precisely where you’d never confess to needing him a mere minute ago. But the sentiment did a decent job at diluting your rancour. There came no protest when he introduced two long fingers into your underwear, openly gasping at the evident dampness. And you allowed him that with no regrets. Moreover, you helpfully sank yourself knuckle deep, wincing at the brief burn, arms wrapping around his neck as he sweetly looked up, seeking your  permission. Which was instantly found in the pretty moan you spilled into his mouth, slick tongues back at their futile attempts to strangle each other. 

However, your patience was running thin. As much as you wanted to indulge in proper foreplay, whatever masochistic dance he exposed you to had you in agony ever since it started—and it was getting unbearable to ignore the ache, no matter how bad Viktor  craved to postpone the main course. 

Your thighs clenched hard as you crouched above him, fingers wrapping around the hilt to awkwardly line the tip up with your cunt—the slick sound of it slowly sliding down suddenly igniting some tender bashfulness. Like you didn’t just spit in his mouth with a vile smirk. Like he never had to confine you from slapping him in the face. 

That stretch felt different from the one after his fingers. Significantly richer, it made you whine—a pitiful sound reverberating against his skin as you held on tighter and allowed him to bottom out, savouring every little crevice inside you. Raw, yet neither of you seemed to care—that concern was pushed alongside your underwear, then forgotten altogether when your walls clenched him, offering tight bliss. 

“Move,” you demanded, grabbing him by the chin. Viktor rasped something back, but you didn’t catch it—already too busy tongue-fucking his pretty neck, turning your teeth into sharp tools ready to stain it mauve with bites. 

And he complied again. One hand trembled on your hip while the other crawled between your legs—first missing your clit in the chaotic pace of thrusts, then finding it again as it grazed his fingertips. So cheeky when he dared to pinch it, avenging every pull on his hair. Though, he couldn’t gloat in your wince. Not when it clearly was one of the pleasured kind. 

But you didn’t feel like letting him regain composure. You already missed his husky groans—ached to test what else fucking you could make him mutter. Fogy gaze found his face again, softening at the sight—all wet forehead full of concentrated creases and thin lips bitten to bloodless paleness. 

You took over. Let him lean back and rest as you roughly rode him into the chair—and for that he gave you a grateful moan, the insistent thumb toying with your clit never stopping even for an instant. Good with his hands, and he knew it—proudly grinned when you struggled to keep going, taut legs treacherously giving up astride him. 

That didn’t please you in the slightest. You wanted him to be close, too: slid a hand up his chest and angrily tugged at one nipple—chortling when his mouth dropped in a stunned gasp. Bewildered, but he didn’t mind it—amber eyes squeezed shut when his head lolled, and you finally got his lovely moans back—raspier than before, ravenous enough to make your head spin. 

You could already feel it, pulsing somewhere deep within. Blurry vision couldn’t make him out anymore, the lab smudging into a mess of weird shapes—you were about to cum, hard, and Viktor threatened to follow suit any second—his thumb failing to hold steady, and yet the pressure was still there, courtlesly helping you chase that sweet relief. Such a gentleman. 

“Close,” you chanted. “So, so close.” 

“I know,” he answered, choking on a groan. “Me too.” 

And you melted, almost crushing him with your weight. Quivering in a spasm so intense that it had him struggling to keep moving, and yet he was mindful of the risk—used the last fractions of his brain capacity to gently nudge you off his cock and pump it fast and hectic. Cumming in one endlessly thick rope, with a moan so vocal that it reached you even through the layers of foggy, ear-buzzing aftermath. Had you shuddering when you clung off his shoulder, glassy eyes wide with trembling astonishment. You stared at him through the approaching wave of disbelief. 

No signs of regret so far, or maybe it was simply still forming—for now, you silently admired not a snarky bastard, but a pretty, fucked out boy beneath you. 

“Oh, would you look at that.” Viktor chuckled, sheepishly looking down. “I didn’t forget.”

“What?” You mumbled in confusion, following his gaze.

And when it finally caught your attention—sticky and relentlessly staining his pants—you slammed a hand over your mouth, muffling the hysterical laughter. 

“And here I thought I finally fucked your remarkable memory out.”

“Oh, by no means. As, eh… intense as that was, that misery of mine is not going anywhere. However,” he trailed off, his hand skittishly moving towards yours, “sex clearly proved beneficial for our… dynamic.”

You smile, sliding your palm into his warm grasp. 

“Can it ensure us enough civility to win the competition?”

And Viktor scoffs, coyly looking you in the eye. 

“Why should we limit it to just that?” 

[ikkyfics]

Divination

James Potter x f!reader

Summary: "You two have a intertwined future," the teacher says, her enigmatic smile deepening. "I see a boy... He'll wear glasses, like his father."

Warnings: just fluffy - a lovestruck and embarrassed James

Masterlist - Realization

The scent of incense hangs heavy in the stifling Divination classroom, where the heat wraps around you like an invisible cloak. The dim light of scattered candles in ancient holders gives the room a mysterious air, and thick velvet curtains block out any sign of the outside world. You’re seated beside James Potter, and between the two of you, at the center of the round table, a crystal ball rests silently, surrounded by a tattered book of Divination with yellowed pages.

It’s been at least half an hour since you both started staring at the crystal ball, unable to see anything at all. Frustrated, James was the first to give up, throwing himself into the far more entertaining task of making up ridiculous stories about the future he “saw” in the cloudy surface of the object.

“There! It’s as clear as day,” he says, dramatically pointing at the crystal ball with a mischievous grin. “You’re going to be the first professional Quidditch player to bring a hippogriff onto the field. And I’ll, uh… obviously become the greatest dragon tamer the world has ever seen.”

You burst into laughter, trying to keep a straight face as he gestures like he’s actually wrangling an invisible dragon. “Didn’t know your vision included being mauled by your own dragon,” you tease, and he chuckles, pushing his glasses up as he attempts to look offended.

You’re still laughing when you notice the professor’s presence beside your table. She seems to materialize out of the shadows, her intense gaze flicking between you and James. Your laughter dies in your throat, and James straightens in his chair, still with a trace of a grin on his lips.

“Enjoying yourselves, I see,” the professor says, her low voice reverberating in the quiet space. She leans slightly forward, observing the crystal ball for a few seconds before turning her gaze back to you. The pause is long, almost uncomfortable, and when she finally speaks, the room seems to hold its breath along with you.

“You two have an intertwined future,” she says, her enigmatic smile deepening. Her fingers brush lightly against your shoulder, a gesture almost maternal. “I see a boy… He’ll wear glasses, like his father.”

The silence that follows is deafening. It feels as though the entire world has frozen in that instant, the weight of her words hitting you like a gust of icy wind. When you finally summon the courage to glance at James, he’s already looking at you, his eyes wide, his expression a mix of surprise, embarrassment, and something else you can’t quite place.

“Well… that was… interesting,” he says at last, breaking the silence with a voice deeper than usual. He attempts to laugh, but it comes out nervous, and his hand automatically moves to his neck, ruffling his already messy hair.

“Interesting is one word for it,” you murmur, trying to keep your voice steady. But your heart is pounding so fast it feels impossible he can’t hear it.

For a moment that feels like an eternity, you hold each other’s gaze. James’s look is intense, almost unsettling, as though he’s trying to decipher something, like the future the professor mentioned is now written on your face.

“Our son, huh?” he finally says, his voice barely a whisper. He tries to smile, but it’s a hesitant one, laden with something that might be fear or anticipation. “Hope he gets your good sense. Two of me would be a disaster.”

You laugh, despite the tension, and the sound seems to ease the air between you. “And I hope he doesn’t inherit your knack for getting into trouble.”

He laughs too, and for a brief moment, everything feels normal again. But then the silence returns. James averts his gaze, staring at the crystal ball as if, suddenly, it’s the most fascinating thing in the world. You do the same, fixing your eyes on the open Divination book in front of you, though you can’t read a single word.

And then, at the same time:

“I was thinking that—” “Do you think she—”

The words overlap, making both of you stop instantly. You look at each other, startled, before James starts to laugh nervously. You can’t help but laugh too, covering your mouth with your hand as you feel heat rising to your cheeks.

“Sorry,” he says, still chuckling, his eyes sparkling behind his glasses. “You go first.”

“No, you go,” you reply, the smile still playing on your lips.

“Alright, then.” He takes a deep breath, as if preparing for something big, but when he speaks, his voice comes out softer than you expected. “Do you think… she was serious?”

You hesitate, biting your lip as you consider the question. “I don’t know. She seems so certain about everything, but… maybe it’s just one of those things she says to make an impression, you know?”

James nods, but his smile is small, almost uncertain. “Yeah, probably. I mean, she did say Peter would marry a Merpeople, didn’t she?”

You laugh again, the memory easing some of the tension. “And that Sirius would become Minister for Magic. He nearly cried from laughing so hard.”

“Yeah, that does put things in perspective.” He laughs too, but the silence that follows feels different this time. It’s not uncomfortable, but full of unspoken thoughts that seem to hang in the air between you.

“But what if…?” you begin, your voice so quiet you can’t believe you said it out loud.

James looks at you, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if he’s trying to figure out what you mean. “What if…?” he repeats, leaving the question hanging, and you feel your heart race.

“Oh, forget it,” you say quickly, laughing nervously. “It’s just the professor and her absurd prophecies. No reason to take it seriously.”

“Yeah, of course,” he agrees, but something in his voice makes you think he’s not entirely convinced.

The silence returns, and you can’t help but let your mind wander. A little boy with James’s messy hair and a pair of glasses slipping down his nose comes to mind, and without meaning to, you smile. The image is so sweet it almost makes your heart ache.

“What are you smiling at?” James asks, and you realize he’s looking at you again, his head tilted slightly.

“Nothing,” you respond far too quickly, feeling heat rise to your face.

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” he presses, his eyes gleaming with curiosity.

“It’s just…” You hesitate, but James’s smile is encouraging, even if he doesn’t realize it. “I was thinking about what she said. About… a boy. And I was imagining… he’d look just like you, with messy hair and those glasses.”

James blinks, as though your words caught him completely off guard, and you feel the urgent need to fill the silence before it gets awkward. “Not that I think that’s going to happen! It’s just… well, the idea is funny, isn’t it?”

“It’s…” he starts, but then stops, rubbing the back of his neck as he looks away. When he speaks again, his voice is almost a murmur: “I think I’d… maybe I’d prefer a girl. Who looked like you.”

Time seems to stop. You’re sure your heart skips a beat, and the silence that follows is so thick you could cut it with a knife.

James’s eyes widen as if he’s just realized what he said. “I mean—” he begins, his voice an octave higher. “Not that… that’s not what I meant! I just… ah, never mind.”

A smile tugs at the corners of your lips, and it’s impossible to hold it back. “A girl who looks like me, huh?” you tease, and his embarrassment is so endearing you almost forget your own.

“Alright, you win,” he says, throwing his hands up in surrender, but the smile he tries to hide says more than any words could. “I think the professor got to us. We’re officially losing it.”

“Yeah,” you agree, laughing, but inside, you know something has changed. Because, as absurd as it might seem, the idea of a shared future with James doesn’t feel so impossible anymore.

[imastoryteller]

The Paradoxical Character: 19 Unique Trait Pairings

Here’s a list of 19 wildly unusual, highly contrasting trait pairs that blend quirky or fantastical attributes. These could make for delightfully strange, otherworldly, or surreal characters:

Immensely Patient & Chronically Forgetful Character Idea: They can wait for years without complaint but never remember why they started waiting in the first place. Their endless patience is undercut by the confusion of purpose, creating an aura of timeless mystery.

Unbearably Charming & Involuntarily Invisible Character Idea: This character has charisma in spades but is cursed to flicker out of sight randomly. Their allure is magnetic, but people constantly forget they were even there, adding to their mystique and frustration.

Perpetually Cheerful & Pathologically Suspicious Character Idea: They radiate sunshine and kindness yet believe everyone is secretly plotting against them. Their optimism is baffling, considering they’re convinced of hidden dangers everywhere.

Mind-Reading Empath & Emotionally Oblivious Character Idea: Able to feel others’ emotions intensely, yet baffled by their own, this character has no clue how they themselves feel. They’re highly attuned to everyone else but entirely alienated from their own heart.

Limitless Curiosity & Existentially Terrified Character Idea: Endlessly fascinated by every detail of the universe, yet they’re constantly haunted by the fear of the universe itself. Every new discovery brings wonder and intense dread, creating a fascinating internal tug-of-war.

Brilliant Strategist & Hopelessly Absent-Minded Character Idea: A tactical genius who can plan a perfect heist, yet constantly forgets their own plan halfway through. They’re sought after for their brilliance but just as likely to wander off mid-operation.

Supernaturally Persuasive & Pathologically Indecisive Character Idea: They could talk anyone into anything—if only they could decide what they wanted to say. Their powers of persuasion are legendary, but they take forever to make a single choice.

Ancient Wisdom & Childlike Innocence Character Idea: Despite being impossibly old and wise, they approach every situation with the wonder of a child. They’re both sage and novice, baffling people who come seeking advice but receive only wonder-filled observations.

Obscure Knowledge Hoarder & Shameless Gossip Character Idea: They know every forgotten fact of history yet can’t keep a secret to save their life. This character’s deep knowledge clashes hilariously with their loose tongue, turning historical mysteries into idle chatter.

Zen-like Tranquility & Quick to Panic Character Idea: Usually the calmest person in any room, until anything unusual happens, at which point they’re the first to run. People turn to them for peace until their sudden freakouts reveal a hidden, hilarious irony.

Hyper-Logical Thinker & Ridiculously Superstitious Character Idea: Obsessed with logical consistency yet terrified of stepping on cracks or upsetting minor spirits. Their rationality makes them a master problem-solver, but they’re comically fearful of common superstitions.

Effortlessly Graceful & Magically Clumsy Character Idea: They’re naturally elegant in all they do, but objects randomly fly out of their hands or shatter in their presence. They’re revered for poise but cursed by chaos, creating an aura of unpredictable charm.

Telepathically Intuitive & Immensely Gullible Character Idea: Able to sense the unspoken thoughts of others, but easily duped by the most obvious lies. They sense everyone’s hidden motives but constantly believe in harmless nonsense.

Exceptionally Knowledgeable & Epically Lazy Character Idea: They’ve accumulated endless knowledge from books but refuse to do anything with it. They could save the world but prefer napping and observing others fumble around in ignorance.

Magnet for Coincidences & Cynically Skeptical Character Idea: The most absurd things constantly happen around them, yet they refuse to believe in coincidences. This character is a walking contradiction of fate and disbelief, surrounded by odd events they disdain.

Hyper-Attentive Listener & Mute Character Idea: They pick up every nuance of conversation and are incredibly insightful, but they can’t respond out loud. People find comfort in their presence but struggle to understand their silence and deep gaze.

Radiantly Optimistic & Obsessed with Disaster Preparedness Character Idea: Always smiling and convinced things will work out, yet constantly building bunkers and storing supplies. Their sunny outlook is shadowed by an apocalyptic readiness that baffles everyone.

Unbreakable Memory & Instantly Distracted Character Idea: They remember every moment of their life in perfect detail but are so easily distracted that they rarely finish sentences. They’re a walking history book if only they’d stay focused long enough to share it.

Boundless Energy & Always Asleep Character Idea: They have an endless zest for life and could do anything—if they could just stay awake. People are drawn to their energy, but they frequently fall asleep mid-sentence, leaving everyone in suspense.

[gay-dorito-dust]

I’d die for you.

Viktor:

‘I’d die for you.’

‘Please don’t.’ He says almost pleading with you to reconsider after hearing you say such a thing, to be willing to trade off your own life for his own that was already on borrowed time, so wouldn’t your sacrifice be a waste if he was bound to die regardless?

He came from the undercity where loss was an constant occurrence and survival was the norm. So the idea of loosing you wasn’t one he’d warmly welcome nor want to endure as he’d only bury himself deep within his work, going to such lengths with the off chance that he could theoretically bring you back from the cold embrace of death,

‘You’ve got so much ahead of you Viktor.’ You countered. ‘So much to do to achieve your goal of helping others!’ You add.

Viktor moves to look at you from his workplace with a raised brow. ‘And so you automatically think your life is forfeit in comparison because of this?’ He asks as if to show you just how ridiculous it was to just throw your life away because you believed his dreams for the future outweighed the worth of that of your own life.

You stayed quiet as you could see the disbelief clear within his amber eyes as he grabbed his cane and made his way over to you to hold your hand in his long, slender and calloused ones as they caress the back of your knuckles. ‘For it’s not. No life is more important than the others solely based on what the person can give to others.’ Viktor tells you as sits himself down next to you.

‘Our lives are of equal value and I’d would much rather you’d live for me instead.’ He says with a small smile. ‘Do you think you can do that for me?’ He then asks softly, intertwining your fingers together. You smiled back at him. ‘I can sure try as long as you do too.’ You replied and Viktor let out a sigh of relief, squeezing your hand in thanks.

‘Then we shall live for each other.’ Viktor said but little did you know that he’d be lying and he wasn’t going to be staying very soon.

Ekko:

‘I’d gladly die for you.’

‘No, you wont.’ Those words might’ve come out more harsher than Ekko wanted but he wasn’t about to let you joke about trading your life for his own. He just wouldn’t.

Even now the idea of you being the self sacrificial hero made him feel slightly sick to his stomach. He was the one who should be protecting you, protecting everybody really and once his mind was made up Ekko was more or less an immovable object, never yielding and never budging from his ideals for nothing.

So to say he wasn’t liking the idea of you dying on him was an understatement. He didn’t like it for a plethora of reasons as he’s already lost enough people close to his heart, he wasn’t willing to have you be amongst them, painted on the mural by his own hand as he feels the guilt and grief eat away at his heart. ‘Promise me you won’t be reckless the next time we’re out on a mission.’ He gives you his pinky, something you two did when you were being serious about things.

‘Ekko-‘

‘Promise me you won’t.’ Ekko cuts you off in desperation, his eyes wide and his breathing becoming rapid and uneven the longer you didn’t immediately link pinkies with him like you usually did, it had him feeling as though his heart had dropped to his stomach. ‘I don’t want to loose another person I love.’ He adds and you interlock your pinkies with him before being pulled into his strong embrace where he buried his face into yours neck, not wanting to let go of you after hearing that statement leave your mouth.

‘I’m not ready to say goodbye to you just yet.’ He whispered into your neck, grip tightening on you as he feels you rub his back soothingly. Ekko wasn’t ready for the day he’d have to say goodbye to you and so until that day he’ll keep protecting you until he couldn’t anymore, for he’d rather see you move on forward without him, but if he knew you as well as he did then you would just be equally as stubborn to see him live another day.

So he’ll just keep ahold of you like this everyday when you were alone just to remind himself that you were still here and here you will stay.

Silco (young) :

‘I’d die for you.’

‘Don’t say such things, haven’t we suffered enough?’ He’d say as he has you by your shoulders, his grip tightening in tandem with the idea of possibly loosing you to all sorts of things, whether it’d be Zaun or the corrupt enforcers from topside. Silco wasn’t exactly willing to lose the greatest thing that had ever happened to him.

It was a day he’d never wish to see pass him by as he didn’t know what he would do should he find you dead in the rubble from a something that was purposely intended for him, he’d blame himself and be left to seek solitude in the darkness and shadows should that ever be the case.

‘But it’s true.’ You’d reply.

Silco grits his teeth at your stubbornness but it was one of your defining traits that he deeply adored. ‘Well I’m not going to allow it.’ He retorted. ‘I won’t allow you to hastily throw your life away just because you felt like being a hero.’ He practically spat out the last part as though it were poison. Hero what the hell has being a hero ever done for anyone? Nothing that’s what and Silco would refused you at every time you got like this, not once liking the implications it left within his head.

‘Not a hero, just someone who cares enough about another person to be willing to see them keep living, even if it means dying in the process.’ You defended yourself, crossing your arms over your chest as you continued to look him in the eyes to prove your words true, but you didn’t need to do that for Silco knew well enough you were a person of your word, never once going back on it when you probably should’ve.

‘Heroes don’t exist in Zaun.’ Silco said as he rests his head against yours, looking you in the eyes. ‘So don’t try and be the first for I don’t want to be the one to make your mural. Don’t make me have to leave you behind. Don’t make me mourn for what we could’ve had.’ He pleads with you as you gently hold his face and caress his cheeks, allowing him the chance to rest his eyes and drink you in through your touch.

He didn’t like the idea of you dying before him, not one bit, so he’ll try and make sure that you survive together long enough to see the betterment of Zaun.

[iceonneo]

f/ck ban ; l.hc

haechan x fem! reader summary : putting your boyfriend on a f/ck ban, but he can't take it anymore. warnings : [ smut ] swear words, fingering, nipple play, kisses.

❦₊࿐

y/n : so i was thinking..

hyuck : miss maam what are you thinking of this time

y/n : what if i put us on a sex ban😁 you specifically haech i swear to god i cant feel my legs half the time

hyuck : 🫨🫨🫨 wow i take that back u rlly need to stop thinking sometimes where is this even coming from??

y/n : coming from my vagina that hasnt breathed at ALL

hyuck : right that same pussy thats wet for me every night. i wonder what happens to the breathing then😅

y/n : ur not making sense rn

hyuck : wow my girlfriend hates me should i just go kms rn or what😂😂 pls tell me this is a joke🤥

y/n : 😐hyuck pls im serious

hyuck : oh yeah? alright i see how it is. lets see who lasts the longestbecause i can alr see you on your knees for me and im not even hard

y/n : ?? lol okayyyy

❦₊࿐

"this is ridiculous!"

your fingers slid around the transparent vessel lifting it into the air. "nope, babe, it's for your own good."

"i don't think this hard ass untouched floating dick is of any fucking good." haechan huffed. he stood on the other side of the counter watching his girlfriend gulp down a glass of water with his hands on his hips.

currently, this was day 03 of the ban and lee haechan was on the verge of pulling his hair out and going full out insane.

you gulp the water down eyeing him for a few seconds before your gaze dropped to the bulge in his pants. a small smile cracked on your features as you snorted lightly.

the way he stood with his hands on his hips and a arrogant frustrated expression on his face with his nose flaring like some roadside auntie. a rather loud laugh escaped your lips this time, "what happened to me being the first to dip? hyuck, you're too cute."

"you say that one more time im going to come right here." he eyed you as you made your way towards him.

you reached him, quickly placing one of your palms on the side of his face. haechan sighed melting into your touch. he closed his eyes letting the weight of his head nestle into your hands.

you let your other arm drop down and roam. the surface of your knuckles brushed against his clothed boner making the boy suck in a deep breath. you watched his face. the way his eyes and brows contracted as you let your thumb brush against his balls, a little too harshly this time.

a small smile played on your lips. "baby, you said you weren't even gonna be hard."

"i swear to god please fist me right now." he said through slightly gritted teeth as he thrusted his groin towards your palm. desperate, needy, horny, sex blinded.

letting your fingers brush against his length once more you swiftly grabbed his right wrist instead.

haechan opened his eyes, a confused expression painted over his features. you lifted his hand that you were holding up. "use this."

❦₊࿐

the movie playing on the tv was where your attention was at, despite the boy snuggled beside and his hands thrown all over your body.

your focus on the screen disappearing slowly as haechan rubbed circles into your belly.

now was when realization hit how close the guy had gotten. from sitting adjacent to you over the single seat, sulking, to directly spawning beside you out of nowhere.

too lazy to even object, you just let him do as he wished.

"baby" he murmured into your ears. his voice sultry and velvety, tickling your ear lobes.

"hm?"

the boy sat up staring straight into your eyes, "im seriously not kidding. this shit is starting to hurt now." you sighed.

"it's hardly been two day-" "three." he corrected.

haechan pinched his brows fake exaggerating, "almost 72 hours without pussy oh theres no difference between me and a stranded fish on a desert right now ."

"what?" you chuckled into your palms, leaning against him ignoring his protests. your hair tickling his face but he didn't care, burying his head further into your nape.

"babe pleaseeeeeeeeeeeee" he whined into your ears, swing an arm around your ribs bringing you closer onto him as the other hand sneakily entered your sweatpants.

"haech, im too ti-"

words stumbled into each other and fell into a bottomless pit within you as you felt his middle finger dive into your core.

instead of a nag came out a moan as he joined his index finger along.

haechan left a trail of kisses on your neck as you leaned against him.

oh, fuck this damn ban.

your back was pressed against his chest, hardly any distance remaining. the two of his fingers rubbed against your cunt- not fast, but slow. slow and powerfully.

"mmh"

and your top was gone in no time.

"told ya." haechan smirked, his other arm advancing towards your bra as he didnt bother unhooking. he grabbed the fabric from the between pulling it down as your boobs popped out. before you know it, his fingers were over the nipples. kneading the flesh slowly, occasionally pinching the bud.

filthy: is a suitable word to describe the view.

practically sitting on only one of his thighs with his hands under your pants. your head dipped behind onto his shoulders. bra awkwardly hanging below the bouncing boobs that perked and shaked with every single sensation.

your moans were breaking with the fast friction against your clitoris and oh they were worthy enough to have the neighbors complaining. "uh- ummyeah yeah, yeah just like tha- oh fuck. ah- ah, baby you're too goodddo- oh!"

"you like this baby?" he smirked. "what was all about the ban now?" his fingers practically abused your shining bud, kneading it down with his fingers. "thats right, this pussy of yours is mine, just mine. im never gonna make you think of that shit ever again."

and there it was, that familiar feeling you yearned to feel. the knot that had formed in your abdomen was begging to snap.

"fuck, hy- uck, faster, baby please."

three fingers in.

at this point, you had lost control of your body. laying almost lifelessly against your boyfriend who fucked you stupid.

his warm hand groping your tit while his fingers toying with your nipple. on the other hand, well literally, the other hand was busy gliding across your perfectly wet and swollen folds. his fingers slowly tracing lower and lower until they met the entrance of your hole.

with a quick kiss on your neck, he inserted his fingers in as you gasped. he pulled them out quickly enough, not even letting you savor the feeling of it. your eyes turned wide, glancing back at him. a whiney call of his name rolled of your tongue.

he smirked lightly before turning you around. swiftly tossing your body against the couch as he climbed on top. both of his arms against your head and that arrogant smirk of his still visible on his face.

"what?" you chuckled, slightly amused by how he wouldn't stop making that face.

"what about the fuck ban?" he questioned.

you raised your brows, "hyuck, seriously?"

the boy retracted his arms and sat up on your groin. his arms folded against his chest while he gazed you down. the visible clothed boner of his was sitting above your hole and you bit your cheeks from inside refusing to let any sign of pleasure show.

"i mean," he made a thinking face, "you sounded pretty serious about it."

"oh yeah?" you snickered while he only nodded. propping yourself against your elbows you sighed.

"well, i guess you're right then." dragging one of your arms from over to your chest down to where the bra hanged, you gripped it, in an attempt to wear it back before the grip on your wrist stopped you.

"I'm kidding." haechan said, locking his gaze on yours noticing your raised brows. "you know i am."

a glint of the slightest ire flicking in your orbs and without a wait, his lips were on yours.

his weight completely dropped upon you. his pressed body against yours pushed out a moan from within. letting your fingers glide down from his nape to his scalp, feeling the heat of his mouth against yours and you couldn't wish to be anywhere else. every detail slowly etched in your mind as you counted down to when his tongue would swipe at your mouth, when his hands would meet your waist and when his sighs would start erupting. you knew him too good.

"ba- hby." he pulled out, drowsy eyes locked on yours. "you know, right?"

you pulled your fingers out of his locks that were now messy, locking them against his neck instead. "hm?"

"sex or no sex, i want you nevertheless. a few nights without feeling your pussy wouldn't mend my love for you, in any way. ever."

"yes sir." a smile spread against your lips as you held in a laugh. he looked way too cute right now.

"but right now, I've been watching you skip around this damn house half naked almost for the entire day." his gaze hardened before dropping down on the floor.

"like that-" he pointed with his eyes to where your short tank top lay, thrown away. "thats literally like 2 threads and the crappiest piece of fabric glued together and it covers nothing- fuck!"

at this point you couldn't hold it in inside as your boisterous laugh bubbled and erupted out of you, echoing almost. "hy- hyuck you're so-" and you were laughing again.

the boy only deadpanned at you from on top as your body vibrated beneath him from the laughter. "Im serious. my dick has been solid rock since the morning."

"be honest you were doing this on purpose, weren't you?" haechan asked with a brow raised and arms folded against his chest. he got off you, sitting on the couch staring at you who was wiping away the tears from laughter that threatened to spill. his mouth was quirked to a small cute smile right before his gaze dropped down to your boobs and the wet patch on your sweats. the tug in his dick almost sent him to mars.

you pulled your fingers against your cheeks, pretending to think. "hmmmm... no."

"no?" he chuckled.

"nope." you whispered.

haechan slid his hands under your thighs pulling you over his lap, straddling him.

"liar."

let's just say the night was long, the neighbors might or might not have knocked on your doors the next morning and oh, also, fuck this damn ban.

an original iceonneo work.

divider creds : sxmmerberries

[mariasont]

My Assistant - A.H

a/n: im a little addicted to bimbo reader rn if you can't tell lmao

masterlist

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader

summary: you can't reach a book so hotch helps you out

warnings: none? fluff, reader climbing a fucking book shelf and for what

wc: 0.8k

"Oh, biscuits!" 

It was a ridiculous thing to say, but frankly you didn't care. You were on your tiptoes, chest flush against a bookshelf. Spencer had asked for a book for the case they were working, and naturally, it was nestled on the top shelf.

Balancing precariously on your stilettos, you stretched as tall as you possibly could, your fingers skimming the spine that was an inch too far away.

You shifted your weight back onto your heels, planting your hands firmly on your hips as you considered the stubborn object just out of reach. Sure, Spencer would grab the book without hesitation if asked, and he'd do so with a smile, but you really liked feeling useful.

For over a year, you've been the one at Mr. Hotchner's beck and call--fetching coffee, filing papers, and attending to, basically, his every need (not the one you wanted though). To others, it might seem trivial, but you really liked it. Well, you really liked him. 

At first, you were intimidated--how could you not? He had a reputation. You heard the stories--a man who never smiled, his ever-serious nature, and Penelope's not so family friendly description of his sternness was enough to unsettle anyone.

But you considered his reputed severity to just be part of his charm, he was far from the figure others painted him as. He was a good boss, always fair, never once raising his voice at you or demanding too much. In your eyes, he was perfect. You might be biased. 

The idea of climbing the shelf was a gamble, especially in these shoes, and it seemed almost certain to end with a less-than-elegant fall. Still, you couldn't resist the challenge and hoisted yourself up anyway, the shelf wobbling perilously as you did so. 

You pressed on, climbing higher, the wood's groans of protest falling on deaf ears. If this was how you were going down, so be it.

"Almost there," you muttered to yourself, straining every muscle in your arm, you were sure.

And just as you almost had the book, your balance faltered and then found new footing, the sensation of falling dissipating. In its place, you found your ass delicately perched, nearly seated on someone's broad shoulder.

You honestly didn't even need to look to know who it was--embarrassingly enough--you had basically memorized the feeling of Hotch's hands. Though they had never been wrapped around your legs like they were now. His grip was warm and strong, sparking a wave of electricity that rippled through your whole body.

"Got it!" you cried out, your victory fist pump nearly launching you from Hotch's shoulder. But his hold on your thighs clamped tighter, securing you in place. "Thanks, sir."

You angled your head downward, locking gazes with Hotch--his eyes a rich blend of ember and molten chocolate that you really liked looking at.

His eyebrows were arched in a silent question on his well-defined face as if he really couldn't believe what you were doing. 

"Careful," Hotch murmured, his hands lowering you to the ground. There was a fleeting brush against your ass, surely accidental, yet it sparked a flurry of butterflies swirling in the pit of your stomach. "In the future, just ask. I wouldn't want you hurt over something as trivial as a book."

"Oh, don't you worry about me, sir. I'm like, practically a pro at rock climbing when I'm not here." you said, letting out a bubbly giggle.

He regarded you with a look that was equal parts amusement and disbelief, clearly not convinced.

"Okay, not really, but wouldn't that be cool?"

"Well, rock climber or not, let's keep those feet on the ground, please," Hotch remarked, the slightest quirk of his mouth suggesting a suppressed smile. "It's less of a fall from there."

"Sure thing, sir!" you beamed, popping off a silly salute, noting his struggle not to roll his eyes. "But I did get the book, so it all worked out in the end, right?"

With a gentle nudge on your lower back, Hotch directed you towards the conference room.

"Yes, it did, but for future reference, Spencer's height makes him more capable of reaching those books himself."

You couldn't help the blush that colored your face, and you managed a flustered smile.

"Well, I mean, it is what I get paid to do, sir."

"No, you get paid to do my bidding, not Spencer's," he teases, giving a gentle squeeze to your side.

Your laughter rang out, a bit too high, a bit too bright, as his touch sent a delightful vertigo spiraling through you. 

"Well, yeah, okay, that's fair. But it's been pretty light on the to-do list from you today."

"And you're complaining about that?"

With the conference room in sight, you pretended to lock your lips and throw away the key.

A rare laugh rumbled through his chest, and you felt your knees buckle, you were sure you could have melted into a puddle right there and then. It was such a beautiful sound, and you desperately wanted to become familiar with it.

Spencer emerged from the conference room, his eyes landing on the book in your hands. "Is that The Selfish Gene?"

Hotch took the book from you, handing it to Spencer with a firm look. "Reid, I'd appreciate it if you didn't recruit my assistant for your library runs."

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna

[cruel-seduction]

The common room was unusually quiet, with only the faint crackling of the fire filling the space. Mattheo lay stretched out on the couch, his head resting on your lap. His dark curls spilled over your thighs, and his eyes were half-lidded, basking in the serenity of the moment. Your fingers absentmindedly threaded through his hair as you flipped through a book with your other hand.

"So," Mattheo murmured, breaking the silence, "how are the brats doing?"

You glanced down at him, raising your eyebrows. "You mean our classmates I tutor after class because the professor asked me to ?"

"Yeah, those brats." His lips curved into a lazy grin.

"They’re fine, I suppose. Some of them might actually pass their exams if they stopped doodling in the margins of their notes."

Mattheo chuckled, the sound low and warm. His hand reached up to trace idle patterns on your knee. “Lucky for them, they have you. I’m sure they’d be completely hopeless otherwise.”

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Riddle," you teased, shaking your head.

"Nowhere, huh?" He smirked, tilting his head to look up at you. “I find that hard to believe.”

A thought popped into your head, making you grin mischievously. “You know, I half-expected you to say something ridiculous like, ‘You’re mine,’ when I mentioned them.”

His brows knitted together, confusion flickering across his face. “Why the hell would I say that?”

You let out a laugh, the sound making his heart skip a beat. “I don’t know! It’s something I’ve read in books. The brooding, fight-prone love interest always declares ownership like it’s some grand romantic gesture.”

Mattheo sat up slightly, propping himself on his elbows, his face a mixture of incredulity and amusement. “Baby, what kind of trashy novels are you reading?”

You swatted his arm playfully, but he caught your wrist, tugging you down closer so his face was inches from yours. His dark eyes gleamed with something tender yet unshakably serious.

“You’re not some object to be owned, Baby. You’re a goddess, and goddesses don’t get claimed—they get worshipped. And trust me, you deserve all the worship in the world.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you tried to look away, but his free hand cupped your jaw, guiding your gaze back to him. “Don’t shy away from compliments, love. You know I mean it.”

After a moment, you softened, the grin returning to your lips. “Alright, fine. But answer me this—what if you saw me talking to another guy? Wouldn’t that bother you, even a little?”

Mattheo blinked at the question, then leaned back against your lap with a sigh. “To be honest? Yeah, it’d bother me,” he admitted, his voice steady, “but that doesn’t mean I’d lose my mind over it.”

"Really?"

“Yeah I would lose my mind but,” His hand moved to rest on your thigh, his thumb stroking small circles. “It’s not your fault if some idiot thinks he can shoot his shot. I can’t blame you for being amazing, can I? Besides, I trust you—with my life, actually. If you’re talking to some guy, I know you’re doing it because you have a reason, not because you’re interested in him. It’s never your fault with me. You can kill me and I would still think that you had your reason for that.”

You felt a warmth bloom in your chest at his words. “You’re surprisingly rational for someone who picks fights in corridors.”

Mattheo laughed, the sound deep and rich. “Fair point. But trust me, love, when it comes to you, I’ve got nothing but faith.”

divider by @anitalenia

[entitled-fangirl]

Peculiar. (P3)

Cregan Stark x seer!reader

Summary: A seemingly absurd vision of the reader's comes true. She hopes the North reacts well.

Warnings: talks of trapped marriage, pregnancy, visions, nightmares, miscommunications

Masterlist

Prequel, P1, P2

.....................................................

Cregan woke up as he normally did.

Y/n lay peacefully in their shared bed, the sight of her getting a good night's sleep rare, even more rare now that she was with child. And Cregan would do anything not to disturb it. 

He gently sat up, studying the way her nose twitched a bit when he shifted the blankets. With a careful touch, he had managed to get himself from the bed and began to dress. He couldn't dress in everything. That would take too long and risk waking her, so he threw on a tunic and breeches, trying his boots and throwing his cloak over his shoulder to put on once away from earshot.

He tiptoed to the door, opening it and inwardly cringing at the creak it made.

"Cregan?" 

He groaned and turned around. His wife laid in bed still, her eyes absolutely dazed with sleep but still set on him. He sighed softly, "Forgive me, sweet girl. I did not mean to wake you."

She ran a hand through what hair was not tangled against her pillow before moving to sit up. It was a difficult task now that she had life growing inside her, but she managed. Her hands rubbed at her eyes to pry the sleep away. "Where are you going?"

"To break fast. Sleep, and I'll have it brought to you later."

She shook her head. "I'll join you," her groggy voice echoed. 

"No, lovely. You need your sleep."

"Do you not want me to join you?" 

He couldn't take the glossy look in her eyes. "You were sleeping so well. But if you want to join me, I'll never complain."

"I wouldn't be able to sleep knowing you weren't beside me," she said as she moved to the edge of the bed.

Cregan stepped to her side immediately, his instincts kicking in to help her stand. He grabbed one of her biceps, his other hand going around her waist.

"You were muttering, you know," he quietly said. "In your sleep."

She hummed. "Sorry, my love."

He shook his head as he pulled a cloak over her shoulders. "Don't be. It's alright. I just wish to know what you were dreaming of."

It was common that her visions came in the dead of night when all in the castle laid fast asleep. 

When she opened her mouth to object, he began again. "I know you try to forget them, but this one sounded important. Please try."

One of his hands caressed at the back of her neck, intertwining his fingers into her hair and gently massaging. 

"There was fire," she whispered. There was a dull look in her eyes that clearly said whatever she saw was not pleasant. 

"Fire, aye. What else?" He asked, trying carefully to not pressure her. 

"A Northern fire will sweep over the house, and rain will sweep over the land of the… the…" She paused. "I can't remember what animal."

He was so close to getting his answer. "C'mon. Think, sweet girl. What animal? Did you see it?"

She nodded. "Antlers and…" She sighed. "I just remember the orange. Surrounded in orange."

Cregan's blood ran cold. "A black moose surrounded in orange?" He asked softly, as if he didn't want the answer.

A curt nod.

"Fuck." He kissed the top of her head. "Let us break fast. Then I fear I have work ahead of me."

…

The men of Cregan's council dared to scoff at the idea. 

"There is never rain in the Hornwood. To even suggest such a thing is ridiculous," one of the lords huffed.

Cregan's fist clenched. "Watch your tone. You speak of my wife in your talk of ridiculous suggestions."

"He's right, though." Another pointed out, "Fire and rain? House Hornwood? How are you so sure?"

"She saw it. The house sigil. It's no coincidence."

"I see lots of things in my sleep, my lord," one of them chided.

"Have you seen house sigils in your dreams before you even knew they existed?" Cregan growled. "She knows nothing of House Hornwood."

The men quieted down. "How are you so sure it will happen soon?"

Cregan shrugged. "I'm not."

"I'll send a raven to the Lord, but I doubt he listens."

…

Whispers sounded across Winterfell. A ridiculous dream of the destruction of a noble house. Such gossip.

Cregan, if he even noticed, didn't let it bother him. He was quick to control his anger. He took care of disrespect, but gossip? He didn't take so personally.

His pregnant wife on the other hand?

She became an absolute wreck.

She refused to leave their room without his company. She claimed the stares and gawks haunted her more than the visions. And Cregan saw to it.

He accompanied her to every meal, even pausing his work to take her to walk through Winterfell to ensure her and the child's health. 

One of these walks led them through the courtyard where a councilman's wife had grown quite confident. Cregan had turned for only a moment. Dropped her hand for only a moment.

"Makes sense that he just does your bidding. You're a mess otherwise."

Y/n's head shot up. "What?"

"I said," the women repeated. "You're carrying his child, so of course he'll do whatever you want. He can't handle the thought of you doing something drastic."

"That's not…" she tried to defend, but her voice trailed off. 

"Admit it, my lady. He's terrified of the drastic measures you take to keep him next to you. Going along and making stories. Makes me sick." She spit at the pregnant woman's feet and walked off.

Y/n was at a loss for words. She felt her heart wrench with guilt and pity and overall, self consciousness. 

Maybe there was truth to her words. 

Cregan returned not long after. He immediately noted that something was wrong. "Ready to go back indoors?"

"Very much."

…

That night, she woke up in a panic. Cregan's heavy arm was wrapped around her, his hand placed on the side of her swollen stomach. She wanted to get up. To walk. To do anything. But she couldn't disturb him. 

With the self consciousness settling in, she decided that she wouldn't bother him with these supposed visions anymore. 

No matter how pleasant or horrid.

She rubbed at her stomach until her eyelids grew heavy once again, and she fell back asleep.

Unaware of Cregan's open eyes.

…

The next morning, he decided to politely bring it up as they ate in their chambers.

"Sleep well, then?" He broke the silence.

She took a small bite and nodded. "Pleasant as usual," she muttered.

He tilted his head.

That's all it took.

That's all it took for take back every word. He knew her in and out, and she knew it.

"It was awful. I feel so plagued," she sniffled.

He brushed a stray hair behind her ear. "Tell me," he comforted like he always did.

She shook her head. "I won't."

"Why not?"

Her eyes were haunted. "I'm tired of being the bad news."

A soft noise came from his throat at her confession. "You're not."

"I am."

"You are not," he insisted firmer this time.

"I predict death and destruction every night. Every day. I'm tired of it."

"MY LORD!" A voice interrupted from down the corridor. 

Cregan jumped up and ran to the door, knowing his wife didn't wish to see visitors. "What?"

"A letter, my lord. The Hornwoods. The fire," the servant whispered.

His eyes widened and he ripped the letter open.

A fire had started in the castle, but due to Cregan's letter from a few weeks prior, they had moved all important historical documents to a safe location. 

And true to the letter, a heavy rain poured over the castle, putting it out after a few hours. 

Truly remarkable indeed.

He looked back at his wife. "Tell me of your vision, my love." He reread the letter. "The future lies in your mind."

…

The next day, he had talked her into leaving the chambers. 

Upon entering the courtyard, everyone fell silent. No one said a word, and the awkwardness was almost unbearable. 

Until finally a man approached them. He got down on his knee. "My Lord and Lady Stark."

Y/n stepped away, but Cregan placed a heavy hand to her lower back, keeping her in her place next to him.

Slowly the people began to chatter, some approaching and speaking to the couple. Praises, and gratitude.

At every chance, Cregan mentioned his wife's attention to her detailed dreams.

How it was because of her. 

"May your child be blessed with your gifts," one of them chipped up.

Cregan's lips pulled into a huge grin, pure ecstasy radiating though him. "She's seen our child. In her dreams. A visionary lies in her womb!"

Cheers sounded throughout the courtyard and her self consciousness faded.

For once, she didn't feel ashamed.

After all, how could she when Cregan smiled so brightly?

......................................

Taglist: @twinkletwinklenotastar, @kidd3ath,@yujyujj, @misswynters, @cosmosnkaz, @sithapprentice, @kaniromi, @lovemesomevesey, @its-jackie-bb, @8812-342, @thorins-queen-of-erebor, @kingdomzeldaquest @nyxbranwenn, @callsignwidow, @a1lexh-blog, @alyssa-dayne, @ethereal-athalia, @ashovertheriver, @lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom, @dozcan123, @wangjiangelangel, @kamitargaryen, @aegonswife, @lv7867, @helpmedecideaname, @cherryheairt

A/n: updating my tag list if anyone wants to hop on!