#yelling at the screen about the mistakes everyone is making

[sowhatsthesituation]

OK, I know as viewers we know that Frankie made the right decision with the Seer power, but I feel like her choice didn't make a lot of sense if you look at it from her perspective

If Charlotte is the one you trust the most, why are you using your Seer power to confirm it instead of using it to catch a traitor? From the way she's putting it, she seems pretty confident that Charlotte is a faithful

If I was in her shoes, I would pick one of the others, since I would rather try catch a traitor than prove someone is a faithful.

Also kinda unrelated, but this isn't going to end well for either of them. They're both going to accuse each other of being traitors, so the best move for the other faithfuls is to just vote them both out since they can't confirm who is the traitor.

[cr4yolaas]

second best — iwaizumi hajime

part 2 here !

notes: based off of second best by laufey <3 hope u enjoy!

tags: fluff → angst, timeskip, insecurity / jealousy (reader), losing feelings (iwaizumi), swearing, best friend oikawa, arguments / yelling, iwaizumi is mean and delusional

it was a tuesday. school had ended a handful of hours ago, and you had no homework. the sun was setting quicker than it regularly did, coating your bedroom in a warm gold and casting rays of light upon your shoulders. hajime sat beside you, his laptop propped up on your table.

he bit his nails frantically (a habit you had always scolded him for) and repeatedly reloaded the page. “why won’t it just load…” he groaned, his brows furrowed and a scowl embedded on his lips. albeit his angered expression, he was more frightened than anything. that you knew.

“be patient, haji. you’re gonna break the keys,” you quipped, despite being just as anxious as him.

a new screen appeared with the eighty ninth refresh. in bold letters, congratulations! splayed itself onto hajime’s laptop, followed by an unnecessarily long message detailing his next steps. before you could react, the boy had thrown himself onto you, his arms tightening around your frame as he sobbed uncontrollably. his joy radiated.

“you- you did it!” you exclaimed, returning his hug. you nearly laughed at his face — tear-soaked, distraught, a far cry from the stoicism he wore. “i’m so proud of you, haji.”

he stumbled over his words as he struggled to regain his composure. the amalgamation of emotion was evident on his features; glee engraved itself on his cheeks, shock poured out of his eyes, excitement spilled from the cracks between his teeth. not once did he let go of you, as if fearful that he would face a different reality if he did so. “i know i’m going to be super far away, but- but promise me you’ll wait for me. please.” hajime held both of your hands in his. “i’ll make you proud, and then i’ll come back. okay?”

you beamed at him. “okay. i promise.”

hajime’s head rested on your shoulder, his grip on his store-bought onigiri loose — a tell-tale sign of his exhaustion.

the large LED clock on the wall read 5 am. he had stressed that he get to the airport as early as possible, seemingly prepared for the journey, and yet, here he lay, slumped against a plastic chair.

you took the food out of his hand and packed it into his carry-on, careful not to disturb his rest. he arose regardless. “shit,” he mumbled, clearly riddled with sleep. “what time is it?”

“you still have two hours until your flight, hajime,” you laughed. “relax. i wouldn’t let you be late.”

he muttered a lighthearted insult that didn’t quite make sense and leaned against you once more. a warm silence washed over you both before he spoke again. “i’m scared,” he whispered.

you didn’t look at him, in fear that you would get too emotional. instead, you fidgeted with his hand, your thumb ghosting over his calloused skin. “scared of what?”

“everything.”

“you know that’s not an answer, dumbass.”

he sighed. “i’m going to be leaving you all alone. not just you, but everyone i know. everything i know. and, who knows — what if things don’t go as planned?”

you hummed softly before responding, “that’s how growth is, haji. if you stay here, it’s unlikely that you’ll reach anything new. but if you go there — the college you’ve been dreaming about for ages — you’ll find new heights to reach. and i’ll be here for all of it. well, not physically, but you understand.”

hajime began to tremble against you. muffled cries escaped his lips, his grip on your hand tightening as the announcement for him to depart rung over the speakers. “i’m sorry, my love. i’ll come back for you, pinky promise.”

you finally looked at him — a mistake on your part. his anguish made your heart ache, and you began to mirror him almost instantly.

you helped him stand up and carry his bags to the line before placing a delicate kiss to his lips. “be safe, ha-“

hajime pulled you towards him and pressed his lips to yours, however, with far more desperation. the thud of his bag against the floor seemed to echo as his hands gripped your sides. he pulled away, his face comically tearful, before muttering an “i love you” against your forehead.

you waved him off as he boarded the plane, your heart sinking to the depths of your lungs, restricting your ability to breathe as you started to sob into your arms.

“so, this is my dorm…” a deep voice rung out from your phone. “all of my roommates are out right now, so i have the whole place to myself. anyways, look- i brought some of our polaroids and hung them above my desk.” hajime flipped his camera and slowly panned it across his wall, demonstrating various photographs hanging from a shelf.

“it’s super cute, haji. what else is there?”

he continued to show you around the living area and the kitchen, his excitement evident despite your inability to actually see his face.

while it was the midst of a bright afternoon where he was, sleep was creeping up on you, as you had stayed up late into the night to wait for this call. it had been several months since he had officially begun classes at UCI, but adjusting was reasonably difficult, giving him no time to sufficiently update you. but now, he had carved a little space into his schedule to “spend time with you” (as he called it).

“oh, by the way — i ran into ushijima wakatoshi here, y’know, the really tall one from shiratorizawa. it was pretty interesting. i didn’t really expect to see him there.” he continued to ramble on while you listened as intently as you could with your phone propped up on your table. your eyes were growing heavier, the words fading in and out. hajime’s exclamation roused you from your near slumber. “wait, it’s super late there right now, isn’t it? i’m so sorry, baby, i completely forgot. you’re probably really tired. umm, i’m not sure if i have time to call you tomorrow, but i’ll try my best.”

you mumbled softly, “it’s alright, i think i’m busy tomorrow anyways. i’ll see you soon.”

hajime smiled. “yes, i’ll see you soon.”

over the next couple of months, hajime had made time to keep in contact with you — between classes, during his part-time job, as he ate dinner — he was always sure to integrate you into his schedule.

you would be lying if you said you weren’t a little anxious.

oikawa laid across your bedroom floor, his glare etching holes into the ceiling. “he’s head-over-heels for you. i’m being serious! he has absolutely no reason to cheat, or anything of the sort. and if he did, i’d beat him up, obviously.” he spoke dramatically, as if what he was stating was common sense. and yet, you still found yourself worrisome.

“i guess, but- i’m sure it’s exhausting for him. he already works hard enough, so i can’t imagine how it is trying to balance his life over there with our relationship.” the brunette groaned at your fretting and launched himself up, his face now pointed towards yours.

his brows were tightly knit as he ranted, “if you were him, you would do anything you could to keep the relationship alive, wouldn’t you? because you’re so painstakingly, heartbreakingly, devastatingly in love with him, right? well, i’m telling you that’s what he’s doing right now! get your head on straight. you two were like, meant to be! so enough of your yapping!” despite his feigned anger, oikawa couldn’t wrap his head around your insecurities. did you not see how smitten hajime was? how, when your name was so much as mentioned in conversation, he became the liveliest person in the room, akin to a child talking about their favorite show? none of that changed, regardless of the distance. he wished you realized that.

you frowned. “sorry, i just- ugh.” you groaned into your palms, exasperated with your own worries. “it’s so stupid. i feel so stupid.”

your friend’s demeanor switched, and instead of aggressively reassuring you, he rubbed a gentle hand over your back. “he’s so, so, so in love with you. i promise.”

a month after that interaction, oikawa asked you to hang out with him — supposedly, the plan was to watch a movie since “no one else wanted to watch it with him,” and eat right after. however, this was not the road to the theater.

“tell me where we’re going, or i’m going to call the police on you for kidnapping me,” you half-joked.

“no!! it’s a surprise — and if i were really kidnapping you, would i let you keep your phone?”

feeding into your concerns, oikawa pulled into the airport parking lot, his movement growing increasingly frantic. “hurry!” he shouted at you while pulling you through the crowd.

at last, he stopped before a gate, the bold arrivals sign hanging above you both. “just wait,” he spoke, his eagerness clear.

as if on cue, a strong pair of arms wrapped themselves around you both, rendering you short-breathed. “haji?” you spoke on instinct.

“i- i’m home. i’m home, guys.” he beamed up at both of you with a smile that you had longed to see for what felt like centuries. oikawa was cast to the side as hajime threw himself onto you, seemingly unaware of the click of his friend’s camera from just a few feet away. “i missed you so much, baby, you don’t understand.” he peppered kisses across your face, painting you with a longing so heavy it weighed your whole body down.

“i missed you too, haji.”

oikawa drove you both to your apartment before leaving a gift for hajime and a smile for you. the moon sung into the wind and left you shivering, resulting in your boyfriend ushering you into the house.

“i didn’t prepare anything, i’m sorry,” you ranted. “oikawa didn’t tell me — he told me we were going to the movies. what a liar. i was kind of excited for it too.”

hajime laughed before walking around your home. he seemed to inspect every corner with a heart full of love and a face drenched with yearning, his dried fingertips ghosting over the furniture. “it’s so cozy in here. when did you move in?”

you hummed while looking into the pantry. “after my first year, they allowed me to live off campus. it’s really convenient. i’d say it’s like, a five minute walk to the station?” as you rambled, hajime wrapped his arms around you once more. “hey, i’m making you dinner. you didn’t eat yet, right?” he shook his head against your neck.

“i really, really, missed you,” he whispered against your skin before pulling away. “what are you making?”

you smiled up at him, a sight he had been waiting to see in person. “your favorite, of course.”

hajime told you he’d be over for the next month, as he was on spring break. the first week was spent celebrating with his friends and family — to begin, a party with his former team spent at a local restaurant.

“so,” oikawa begun, his face dusted pink as he held a bottle in his hand. “what have you been up to while you left us, iwa-chan?” the nickname made the man grimace, the memories it carried making him cringe. nonetheless, he continued.

“well, i’ve been training under this one trainer i’ve always looked up to. he’s taught me quite a bit, and i’m learning a lot every day. he works with the university’s varsity team, which is super awesome, and he used to play here in japan,” hajime ranted. “and i even met ushiwaka — super crazy, i know. it was like he was following me. oh, and- i’ve also met a few people there from my classes there that are super cool. look.” he pulled out his phone and showed a picture to the table, featuring him amongst a small group of friends. within them, one stood out the most. matsukawa was the first to call it out.

“holy shit, who’s that? the one on the right? she’s so pretty,” he spoke with slurred words, his face burning up with alcohol. the rest of the table leaned in to get a good view, murmurs of agreement ringing about. hajime looked beside him to see you stagnant, a slight furrow to your brow and an uncomfortable expression etched onto your face. he thumbed your hand under the table as if to provide you with solace.

“she’s in the same major as me, and she also came from japan. we met during class, and she introduced me to her friend group. it’s pretty cool, though — supposedly, she’s an understudy for an international team’s trainer,” he explained, noises of awe washing over the group. your face only grew more bitter.

you knew it was foolish to be jealous over something so minuscule. he was allowed to have friends — you weren’t so selfish as to rob him of that. but knowing that he was in the presence of someone so much greater than you made your head ache more than you had hoped. seeing him praise her so openly was akin to him piercing your ribcage. it was childish. you dared not to express such feelings to him.

when you got home, hajime splayed himself onto your bed without changing, his hand subconsciously gripping onto the hem of your sleeve as he drifted into sleep. you did not close your eyes as swiftly.

instead, you sat up, tracing the features on your boyfriend’s face and observing each intricacy. you did not want to lose this — to lose him. to think of such a thing frightened you; to experience it would be far worse. but would you blame him, if he chose the lustrous world across the sea over the dull life you presented to him?

you decided that you wouldn’t, for you knew the answer deep down.

“hajime,” you began. you poked at your food apprehensively. “you’re leaving next week, right?”

he swallowed a large bite before responding, “mm, yeah, possibly.”

“possibly?”

“well- you know the girl from my group at college? the one i showed you all at the dinner table. she’s been offered to attend an actual game with the coach that’s training her and asked if i wanted to come along. i think it’s a super great opportunity,” he explained with a careless tone about him. contrary to that, you were coated with dread.

your movements halted altogether. “…yes, that’s a wonderful opportunity hajime! it’s just-“ you stumbled over your speech, fearful of saying the wrong thing. you promised yourself not to be childish, and yet, you longed to be selfish just a little longer. “can you really not stay any longer?”

hajime sighed, and your chest ached with guilt. “i could, but- you know this is a chance that doesn’t come by very often, if at all. this could be the step that brings me to where i need to be.”

you picked at the skin of your fingers under the table. he was right. you knew he was. but it hurt to witness it; to witness him willingly choose another thing over you.

your greed got the best of you. “haji, you told me to wait for you. i waited for so, so long. but it feels like- it just feels like all that waiting was for nothing. it feels like you’re slipping out of my fingers already.” he groaned softly, just barely enough for you to hear, and ran a hear through his hair. “i’m sorry, i know it’s selfish, but can’t you just- why not stay a little longer? please?”

he carried his dishes to the sink, a heavy air hanging around him. “if you know it’s selfish, why do you keep pushing for it? you know this is something beyond important to me. i worked so hard to get here, to get so close to my dream. i don’t understand why i should turn down something that could very well be the turning point.”

you followed suit, desperate to mend the conversation you started. he was growing irritated, and it terrified you. you wished not to say anything too abrasive, but he seemingly did not have that restraint. “i’m not telling you to turn it down, haji. i just want to spend a little more time with you before i can’t have you for another- i don’t know, another year? maybe more? i- i’m sorry, i just-“

“stop. just- stop. i know you’re upset, but i need you to understand that i’d be even more upset if i missed this opportunity. why don’t you get it?”

“i do get it, i promise, but-“

“then act like it! because to me, it just seems like you don’t want me to go at all! if it were any other person than her who invited me, you wouldn’t have said anything! but because you’re so goddamned selfish, you keep fighting to keep me here, even though you’re the one who told me going overseas was the best thing i could do for myself! you- fuck! you told me this was how i’d reach new heights. and i’m showing you that i’m getting there, and i’m trying so hard to become someone you can be proud of, that everyone can be proud of, and it just feels like you’re shutting all of that down!” white-hot tears were flowing from his eyes as he yelled, his consciousness not picking up on your protective stance and your own tear-drenched cheeks and the apologies spilling from your lips. “fuck- i’m gonna pack my shit now. i’m sorry i yelled, but i’m leaving tomorrow. goodnight.”

you could not process him leaving for the bedroom door behind you, and you could not process the shutting of the door and the shuffling of his belongings. all you could do was fall to the floor and curl in on yourself, ashamed for creating the commotion you swore not to stir.

when you awoke the next morning, the other side of the bed was cold and folded neatly. the house was empty.

you stumbled out into the kitchen, looking around for any remnant of hajime — a note, a picture, a gift, anything, only to turn up empty-handed and instead bearing a pained heart. “haji?” you mumbled into the air with a watery voice. “haji, where are you?”

your body knew of his whereabouts before your mind did, causing you to kneel to the ground and sob. your whimpers were reminiscent of a dog crying for its owner, or a child whining for its parent.

he had left without so much as a goodbye. perhaps if you had been less demanding, less adamant that he stay just a little bit longer with you, he would have kissed you at his departure or left you something to remember him with. but the house was empty, just as it was before he arrived.

on the morning of his departure, long before the sun had crawled up onto the horizon, hajime went to oikawa’s place. he knocked on the door thrice before a disheveled man let him in. hajime apologized for his intrusion.

“why do you have your bags? why are you leaving so soon?” oikawa interrogated his friend before he could speak.

the other man scratched the back of his neck. “well, uh, i’m leaving early. that girl from my college, she offered to bring me with her to a training experience with her coach. i really wanna go.”

“what?” oikawa exclaimed dramatically, his eyes bulging out of his head. “did you- did you even explain this to them? what did they say?”

“i think i worded it wrong… they didn’t take very, uh, kindly to it, i guess. well- no, wait, they did, but i think i responded wrong. i just- i don’t know.”

the brunette scoffed before pacing around the living room with a burst of energy. “god, reasonably so! if i were them, hearing that you were ditching me for the person you haven’t stopped talking about this whole damn visit, i’d be furious! are you- are you insane?”

hajime shot up from his seat defensively. he looked at his friend with exasperation. “look, do you realize how important this is to me? why wouldn’t i go?” in response, oikawa stopped in his pacing. he rubbed his forehead in irritation, his gaze fixated to the floor.

“iwaizumi,” he spoke sternly. the formal tone brought the man to a halt. “you have to be honest with yourself. you haven’t seen your lover in like, forever, and you’re leaving them behind once again for a girl who just so happens to have connections-“

“connections that could get me places!”

“shut up! let me finish!” oikawa slammed his hands onto the table. “you have been lying to them this whole trip. they have been so kind as to wait for you, no matter how long it’d take. they stayed up night after night to call you and make sure you were doing well, to make sure you had eaten, to make sure you were still there. but you come here, and to me, it seems that all you want is what’s over there. i know these goals are important to you, and that you want to achieve them more anything. but have you never considered that maybe, just maybe, your own partner has been longing for you just as much?”

hajime could only scoff, so blinded by his aspirations that he could not bear to absorb oikawa’s words. “it’s selfish.”

“then maybe you should just leave. it’d be far more heartbreaking for them to stick with someone who can’t even appreciate them to an equal degree.”

weeks after his disappearance, hajime had yet to speak to you. he no longer called nor texted. evidently, you were an obstacle to his desires.

however, after a drunk night spent with oikawa, you received a text from his contact — one you couldn’t bear to delete.

can we call?

you scrambled up from the couch, oikawa jolting at your action. “what? what is it?” he peered over at the message, and in an instant, dread displayed itself onto his face. “are you gonna answer?”

you knew it’d be stupid to do so — he had left you without a word for dreams that were greater than you, and left you to pick up the pieces of a relationship that had consumed your very being for so long. but it was undeniably tempting.

after long deliberation, you nodded and opened the notification. oikawa watched anxiously.

“hello? this is, um- is this-”

“yes. it’s me,” you answered shakily. silently, you put the call on speaker.

“oh, great! i mean, uh- okay, hold on.” you could hear him breathe in before speaking again. “i know it was horribly wrong of me to leave without any contact. i just wanted to apologize for that, for everything. for not giving you what you deserved and needed at the time. i just- can we just talk for a bit?”

you slumped back onto the couch and oikawa followed after you. you weren’t in the right state of mind — the copious amount of alcohol you drank clouded your functionality, and yet, you knew that this chance wouldn’t ever come by again — it was foolish. “of course,” you responded. “how have you been?”

you both listened half-intently as he rambled on about his current life — how he was now working with a new coach, how he was getting closer to graduating, how he was planning on going to the japan national team as soon as he got the chance. he failed to leave out the mention of his girlfriend — his new girlfriend — thus exposing him and leaving you distraught.

stupidly, you were not angry. he seemed so excited; he was building a life that seemed to be getting better every day. who were you to oppose that? oikawa shook his head disapprovingly at your lack of response.

“anyways, um, how are you?” hajime asked. he sounded so youthful — it hurt far more than it should have.

you struggled to swallow your tears as you spoke. “i- i’m doing okay. i just, uh, got a new job, ‘nd i- sorry, i’m-“

his concern hurt more than anything. “are you alright? is everything okay?”

“i’m sorry, it’s- it’s really late here right now, and i’m exhausted. can we, um- can we speak another time?” you sniffled through your words, desperately hanging onto the last bits of a conversation you knew you were not strong enough to withstand.

“oh, okay, sure. sorry to bother you so late in the night. and, um, i… i’m sorry. for everything. really, i am. uh, sleep well.” he hung up before you could say anything more, leaving you to sob in oikawa’s arms as he unleashed a handful of tears himself, as if sharing your anguish.

to you, iwaizumi hajime was everything. to him, you were too far behind to keep up — you were his second best.

[hogwartsfirebolt]

the game’s the game

“What was going through your mind when you spotted the Snitch?”

Two camera shutters go off like lighting, but Draco doesn’t blink. It’s almost the end of the season, and he’s done a press conference every week. He’s used to them.

“Fucking finally,” he answers, and the journalists all laugh. They think he’s joking, and he can already imagine the articles they’ll publish tomorrow pronouncing him cheeky and funny, but he means it wholeheartedly. Six hours in the sky, drenched all the way through his pants in rainwater, and facing the very best player in the league? He had half a mind to jump off his broom if only to have the game end somehow.

“This is the second time you face PU and well, Harry Potter, this season,” says another reporter, a young, pretty woman with her hair pinned up and a reverent tone when she speaks Potter’s name. Like everyone. “Are you expecting to encounter him at this year’s Cup? And if so, how does that make you feel?”

Draco breathes out hard through his nose. Across the room from him, sitting at his own table against the wall opposite, Potter’s doing his own press conference. He’s wearing a hat backwards, the light blue of his team hoodie contrasting with his golden-warm skin tone. He has a hand to his chin, rubbing his short beard in thought at some question he’s being asked. Probably about just how sweet it had been to snatch that Snitch right from under Draco’s nose. He’s earnest and so gorgeous Draco can’t stand the sight of him.

“The game is the game,” Harry’s voice carries, clear and chesty, deeply masculine as he says his favorite little quote that means absolutely nothing and that fans have been yelling and tattooing on their bodies the whole season. “We don’t take any victory for granted. Coach has been running us to the ground, she won’t stop until we have that trophy in Puddlemere, and we’re doing our best to make her proud.”

“Oh, I’m certain we’ll face them at the Cup,” is what Draco answers at last. “Honestly? I think no other team comes even close. We’ll face them, and then we’ll bring the Cup home to Appleby. As Potter himself likes to say, the game is the game.”

All the cameras around him go off, the sound of Quick-Quills scrabbling and the reporters’ scandalized gasps at his use of Potter’s quote. He grins, puts his olive green Arrows cap on and stands to leave. He needs a fucking shower.

Later on, he’s sprawled on his hotel room couch, drying his hair with a towel and watching a replay of the game on the enormous television, making mental notes about his own flying, his mistakes, the times he dove too soon or hovered too low. When the screen follows the blue jersey with POTTER 7 emblazoned across the back, he looks closely, trying to spot mistakes but knowing he won’t find any. Potter’s probably the best flier of the century, and Draco loves Quidditch too much to lie to himself about that.

He’s admiring one of Potter’s physics-defying feints when there’s a knock on his door. Immediately, his heart takes up a gallop, and he has to press a hand to the center of his chest with a frown.

“Calm the fuck down, Malfoy,” he mutters. It’s a disproportionate reaction and he’s irritated with himself for it. It’s not as though it’s the first time. Or the tenth.

He pauses the game with a flick of his wand and makes his way to the door, through the archway that separates the TV room from the kitchenette. A quick look at the archway across the suite to make sure the bedroom is as he left it, and he’s at the door, taking a deep breath.

Potter’s grin is huge when Draco opens. He’s foregone all his team outwear, and is now in a familiar, worn leather jacket and a black sweater. His hair is wet, as though he rushed after his shower so he could get here quicker. Draco opens his mouth to say something, but before he figures out what, Harry pushes inside, turns around and presses him against the door, big hands gentle on Draco’s waist. Draco’s heart hasn’t gotten the “this isn’t the first or tenth time this happens,” memo, and is still running a marathon inside his chest, so he says nothing.

There’s a plastic bag in Potter’s hands. Dinner, probably, he usually brings dinner when they meet after a game. His wide smile reveals white teeth, a crooked canine that Draco knows is a baby tooth that never loosened. Round, stylish glasses cover the most intoxicating green eyes Draco has ever seen, and they’re shining with tonight’s victory. And Draco might be — definitely is — the world’s sorest loser, but he’s also the world’s biggest slut for Quidditch excellence, and he has it right here, holding him against his hotel room door.

“The game is the game?” Harry asks, amused, already leaning in, the hand on Draco’s waist moving to wrap the whole way around him and pull him close.

“Just some stupid phrase I’ve heard from a dickhead,” Draco answers, but the words hold the shape of a smile and are uttered right into a kiss there at the end.

It’s always a race at the start. They're both high from the game, still in that mindset, and it’s a competition to see who can undress quicker, who can make the other harder, who can earn the first moan and coax the first orgasm of the night. But after that first one, after Draco’s jaw aches dully and Potter is softening between his legs, everything slows down a little. Potter helps him up and they share the tacos Potter brought, watching the last minutes of the game they played earlier with Draco’s legs up on Potter’s lap, where he’s massaging his knees, his quads, making sure he’s not achy from kneeling for him.

“I really fucked that one up,” Potter comments. His tiny self on the screen just pulled out of an impossible dive at what looks like a 90 degree angle. He sounds earnest, which is the only reason Draco isn’t kicking him right in his beautiful face.

“I hate you so much. Only you would call that a fuck up.”

Potter hums, his massaging hands moving from Draco’s calf to his heel, his thumb pressing into his sole. On the screen, tiny Draco swerves a Bludger aimed to his head, and his teammate Owen is flying to him to make sure he’s alright.

“That guy is so into you,” Potter points out.

“I know. We fucked all through rookie year.”

Potter turns to look at him so fast it must hurt his neck. Draco raises an eyebrow, confused at the strong reaction.

“What?”

“I — I don’t know,” Potter says, suddenly sheepish. His hands haven’t stopped moving over Draco’s foot. Potter’s skin is dark, but Draco can still make out the blush spreading across his cheekbones. “Isn’t it weird? He’s a teammate.”

There’s something he’s not saying. It’s evident in the way he bites his bottom lip, in the way he obviously wants to look away but is too ridiculously brave to actually do it. Draco’s heart thumps inside his chest, so hard he’s sure it must be audible to Harry too.

They’ve never named this thing between them. The first time they did it, after the quarter finals one year before, with Potter’s ill advised kiss that ended with them fucking in the showers of the stadium after Potter had wiped the damn dust with Draco on the pitch, they agreed to keep it quiet, and that was the last they discussed of it. It’s going on fourteen months since then, and they’ve done it at least once a month, when the league brings them to nearby towns, and sometimes when it doesn’t and they take a quick midnight Portkey to each other to blow off some steam.

Draco had never in his life been as well-fucked as he’s been this past year, and he definitely doesn’t want to lose it. Potter’s always been honest and open with him, vocal in bed about how much he wants him, filthy in his occasional text messages when they’re apart, but he’s never given any indication that he wants anything other than exactly what they have.

“It’s not weird,” Draco says slowly, unsure of what to think of this exchange. “We stopped a while ago. I was clear that I didn’t want — that I’d rather we stayed friends and teammates, without any complications.”

“Right,” Potter says. He sounds relieved, and Draco feels like he’s three steps behind the conversation they’re having. He’s about to ask, but Potter’s fingers on his calf smooth over an old knot and he groans instead, letting his head fall back onto the couch cushion.

“That feels great,” he says, and Potter repeats the motion.

“Yeah. I think you pulled it when you made that X turn.”

The turn he made to try to beat him to the Snitch, he doesn’t say. How he had enough awareness to know Draco attempted it while diving for the Snitch himself is beyond comprehension, but Draco has long accepted that Potter is simply insane about the game. He notices everything, considers everything, takes every risk. If he weren’t a player himself, Draco knows he would be following Puddlemere and Harry wherever they played for the entire season, wearing a pale blue jersey with the number 7 on it.

“Probably,” Draco says, closing his eyes and groaning again when Harry keeps pressing the same point. After a moment, he feels something softer brushing his calf, and opens his eyes to find Harry bent over his leg, kissing a path up towards his knee. He can’t help the embarrassing little sound he makes, and Harry’s laugh is a puff against his skin as he keeps moving up, breath warm on the wet trail of his kisses up Draco’s thigh. In the background, the presenters are going crazy over a feint Harry pulled, the sound of the audience carrying all through the stadium and out of the TV speakers.

Harry has made his way high up and is kissing Draco’s birthmark, a brown, apple-sized beauty mark an inch below his groin when he lifts his head to ask, “Why didn’t you want to?”

Draco can’t believe he’s using his mouth to speak at that moment. He licks his lips, trying to make sense of the question.

“What? What are you even — ?” He tries to sit up a little, but Harry moves over him instead so they’re eye-level without Draco having to move at all.

“With Caddell. Why didn’t you want to keep seeing him?”

“Owen? Why the fuck are we talking about —,” Draco lets his head drop down onto the cushions again, a sigh punched out of him. Harry takes pity and leans forward to kiss him, lips soft over Draco’s, knowing exactly how to coax his kisses out of him the way he likes best.

“I just want to know,” Harry whispers against his lips. He’s breathless just from touching Draco, from rubbing his legs, from kissing him. Fuck, this is insane.

“I like him, but it wasn’t very exciting.” Draco says. He closes his eyes as Harry begins to kiss down his neck, and tries to really think about it, because he’s not even sure himself. “I wasn’t willing to risk our teamwork when what we had wasn’t even that … electric. I don’t know. This sounds insane.”

Harry shakes his head, his beard rubbing against Draco’s collarbone. “It doesn’t. I get it.” He bites on the delicate skin connecting neck and shoulder, licks a path down his chest. “I get electric.”

“Fuck yes you do,” Draco says, nonsensical, but he feels he can’t be blamed when Harry is brushing his lips over his nipples, broad hands moving around Draco’s body to secure a grip over his ass.

“Is this?” Harry asks, mouth nearing the V of Draco’s hips, the edge of the trail of hair leading to his crotch. “Electric?”

Draco swears, fingers running through Harry’s hair and finding a grip, hard. “If you don’t put your mouth on me right now I swear I — yes.”

He spreads his thighs to accommodate Harry between them, one hand gripping Harry’s hair and the other curled around the cushion over his head. It is electric, the way Harry knows exactly which buttons to push, sliding a finger inside him while keeping him on his tongue. He’s a prodigy in this too, the star player who knows every move in the playbook that is Draco’s body.

It feels like no time at all, no effort at all before Harry is pulling back, dragging Draco closer by the waist and working himself inside. The feel of it, the sound of them together, the look into Harry’s open gaze, his sweat dripping onto Draco’s chest and his hands underneath Draco’s back, holding him, pulling him onto him, have Draco nearing release almost too fast for his liking, but the night is young and it’s been so long that he lets himself go, a cord snapping in his core, eyes open as he watches Harry watch him come apart.

“Come on,” he says once he’s come down, lifting his hips, shifting his weight onto his shoulders. “Show me what you got, Potter.”

Harry groans and leans forward, kisses Draco’s jaw and his neck, and drives his hips faster. Draco wraps his arms around Harry’s back, moves with him as much as he can in the tight embrace, and remains close as Harry meets his own peak and tumbles down the edge.

They lie together for a couple minutes afterwards, panting into each other’s skins, basking in the afterglow.

“Some pro-athletes. We have the stamina of two eighteen year old virgins,” Draco mutters into Harry’s hair after a while, and feels Harry’s chest rumble with his laughter. The room is cast in the warm glow of the foot-lamp that stands beside the sofa they just fucked in, exactly like two eighteen year old virgins having the chance to touch for the first time in their lives.

Harry always goes boneless and slow after a good lay, so Draco eases him off his body with tenderness, a gentle hand to Harry’s chest, followed by a kiss.

“Let's go to bed, yeah?” He whispers.

Harry groans. “I don’t want to move.”

“That’s too bad, because I’m exhausted and I’m going to bed. Some idiot drove me to the ground on the pitch today.”

He stands up and shakes out his legs, testing the soreness of his muscles. There’ll be an ache tomorrow, but nothing he can’t handle.

Despite his complaint, Harry is already standing up too, coming up behind Draco, a hand finding its way to the flat of his belly, his forehead on Draco’s shoulder as though he can’t bear not to touch him for even a second.

“Bed it is,” he declares against the skin of Draco’s shoulder, sounding halfway asleep already. Draco huffs a laugh and pulls him towards the bedroom, pausing at the kitchenette to grab two glasses of water that he watches Harry drink in three gulps, a couple drops sliding down the sides of his mouth, into his beard and down his neck, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

“What?” He asks when he catches Draco watching him, and Draco shakes his head and pulls him to bed. He’s so handsome it’s genuinely upsetting sometimes. Draco thinks he’d throw a tantrum about it daily if it weren’t for the fact that he gets to touch him.

They try their best, but they don’t manage a second round before their eyes fall shut, tucked into each other like two hands cupped under a stream of water, tumbling into a satisfied, exhausted sleep.

Harry wakes him with a kiss before daybreak, the last of the night chilling the room and puckering Draco’s skin.

“Do you have to go already?” Draco asks, one eye still closed and a hand curled possessively around Harry’s bicep, not entirely on purpose.

Harry shakes his head, kisses him again with a gentleness that is meant to go nowhere but extend this kiss, warm and sweet.

“I thought we could talk.”

Draco is nodding before fully grasping the meaning, but even once he does he’s not tempted to back away. Must be the night, still cocooning them, must be Harry’s arms around him that are making him brave, but he’s not nervous anymore, not now that he’s remembered what they’re like, together.

“It is electric,” he says, suspecting that’s what Harry wants to talk about. “It’s always electric with you.”

The smile blooms slowly, lighting up Harry’s face from within, his beautiful eyes, unhidden this early in the morning, his glasses still on the bedside table. Harry sits up a little, clears his throat. It seems like he’s been gearing up for this, he’s squaring his shoulders the way he does before trying a dangerous feint, before performing a play that will have Draco biting dust. This insane, wonder of an athlete. Draco forces himself to shake the last of the sleep away, to focus on him, on what he wants to say.

“I know that … so many of us want you,” Harry starts. “On your team, on mine, the whole league, actually. But I —”

He looks like he’s stating an absolute truth, like he has irrefutable proof, and Draco is taken aback. He knows some of the guys find him attractive, but that’s not the same as being wanted. He shakes his head. “What? Where did you get that?”

“I’ve talked about it with the guys, but that’s not the point,” he adds hurriedly when he sees his eyes widen. Draco hasn’t said a word to anyone, not out of shame, but out of sureness that they were sneaking around, that they were making it a point to hide. Apparently, he was wrong. Harry continues, “What I want to say is … I know we’ve not agreed on anything, that you’re free to want others, be with whoever you want to be with. I thought that you knew where I stood, that if you weren’t saying anything it was because you didn’t want the same thing I did, but it’s been brought to my attention that if I’ve not made an honest offer, I can’t assume you’re saying no.”

Draco’s heart is hammering inside his chest, inside his throat. He doesn’t want to jump to conclusions, but if he’s right, it seems Harry is saying …

“I don’t want this to be a once a month thing. I want to bring you home, I want you to meet my family, and I want the guys to know that I’m saying no to all the people they set me up with because I’m taken and completely uninterested in anyone else. Are you … is that something you want, too? I know you might have better offers, but I – ”

The covers crinkle under Draco’s knees as he sits up, throws a leg over Harry’s body so he can fully sit on his lap and brings him forward by the neck.

“You beautiful idiot. What could be a better offer? Why would I care about any other offers when I have the best one right here?”

They’re kissing, and Harry’s gasping, and Draco’s frenzied heart pounds against his sternum. He nods into the kiss, feels dizzy with how much he wants what’s being offered. Fuck. There’s nothing he wants more.

Harry pulls back a little, whispers: “Does this mean we’re — ?”

“Yes, fuck. It’s — The game’s the game.”

“What — That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Shut up. It’s your quote.”

Then they’re laughing into a new kiss, and it’s not the first, or even the tenth time they’re together like this, but Draco’s heart still goes crazy for this man, for his unlimited talent, his openness, his electric company. Quarter finals are coming up, then semis, then they might meet again on the pitch and Draco might lose and throw a strop and want to tear the hair out of his head over the beautiful Quidditch Harry plays, and then they’ll get to go home and celebrate a victory. No matter who takes the trophy. That’ll be the game.

Read On Ao3

[ginnsbaker]

All Of Your Pieces (8 - The Other Side)

Chapter Summary: After a drone attempts to eliminate her in her own home, Wanda emerges from the Hex to give Hayward's team their only warning. You, on the other hand, is left to figure things out on your own. Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 3.2k+ | Chapter Tags/Warnings: None

A/N: I know what we've established in the previous chapters, so hold onto your seats. Merry Christmas to those who celebrate! // More author's notes here.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

They reach the Command Center just in time to see Hayward’s plan laid bare: eliminate Wanda Maximoff. It’s not surprising—they’d suspected as much after days camped outside the anomaly—but now it’s undeniable. Hayward wasn’t stalling or hesitating; he was waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

The operation is set to launch in sixty seconds. Too little time to stop it, even with a former Avenger in the room. Clint doesn’t believe for a second that Hayward’s plan will succeed—Wanda isn’t just powerful, she’s impossibly powerful—but he knows letting this play out unchecked will only make things worse. If they don’t intervene, the attack will escalate, pushing Wanda further into anger and fear, and the walls of her Hex will only grow stronger.

“What the hell is this?” Monica demands, pushing past agents to get closer.

On the screens, live drone footage hovers ominously above Wanda's house within the Hex.

Hayward barely glances at her. “We're taking a proactive approach.”

Clint shakes his head, a wry smile playing on his lips. “He’s about to poke a bear with a stick, and we’re all gonna feel it.”

“Hayward!” Monica yells, catching the attention of everyone in the room, but Hayward pays her no heed.

Darcy, meanwhile, frantically taps her tablet then sighs in frustration. “I can’t override the launch. He’s locked everyone out.”

Jimmy heads toward the console center, but suddenly two agents step in front of him, hands resting on their holstered guns.

“Maybe we can warn Wanda?” Darcy surmises.

“There’s no time,” Clint says grimly. 

On the monitors, they see Wanda stepping out of her home, carrying a bag of garbage to the curb. The drone's camera zooms in, locking its target.  You follow her outside, noticing the drone immediately. 

“Wanda?” you murmur, looking up at the night sky where the drone's signal lights blink like distant stars. “What is that?”

“Y/N, get back inside,” Wanda says in that low, dangerous tone—familiar somehow, even though you can't recall ever hearing it before. Instinctively, you feel the urge to protect her, even though between the two of you, you're the one more likely to get hurt in situations like this.

Outside, they watch in shock as you step in front of your wife, despite her urging you to flee back inside the house. Panic surges through Monica in particular, realizing the potential casualties might not be just one, but two. And who knows how powerful the missile inside that drone is? There are kids sleeping soundly in your home, for God's sake!

“She's not a threat! You're making a huge mistake—”

“Take the shot,” Hayward commands the drone control team.

“Hayward, please!” Monica implores, her plea causing the operator's hand to waver, hesitating for just a fraction of a second. “Look, she's not alone! You're putting civilians at risk—”

That hesitation shreds the last of Hayward's patience. “Take the shot now!” he bellows.

“No!” Monica shouts, lunging forward, but agents hold her back.

Clint also rushes forward, but more agents block his path.

On the screens, a blinding flash of light erupts, then everything turns to static. Around the room, faces turn white as everyone exchanges uneasy looks, silently wondering if they've just caused a catastrophe. The Command Center is dead silent, charged with a nameless fear that grips everyone like a vise.

Then, an agent strides in, panic etched across his face. “Sir, we've got a breach.”

Clint exchanges a look with Monica. “She's coming,” he says quietly.

—

It all happened too fast.

One moment, you’re standing beside Wanda, braced for whatever threat the drone overhead might bring. Then, in the blink of an eye, everything changes.

You’re alone, standing in front of your house.

“Wanda!” you cry out. Panic clenches your chest like a vice as your eyes dart wildly across the empty street. She has to be around here somewhere. She has to be safe.

You race back inside the house, but you’re careful not to make too much noise this time and wake up the twins upstairs. The house is still. Dinner is still spread across the counter, the kitchen light still glowing, but there’s no trace of your wife.

Rushing back outside, you scan the street, looking for any sign of movement. A few houses down, you spot Agnes in her front yard and—weirdly enough—watering her plants like it’s any other night.

You jog over. “Agnes, have you seen Wanda?”

She looks up, startled, then smiles. “Oh, hey! Haven’t seen her. Everything alright?”

“I don’t know,” you say, trying to keep the trepidation out of your voice. “She was just here, and now she’s gone.”

Agnes cocks her head, her smile fixed in place, unfazed, like the world around her isn’t fraying at the edges. Like this—all of this—is perfectly normal. You thought you could handle it, that you’d made peace with the strangeness of everything, but right now, it’s making your skin crawl.

“I’m sure she’s fine, dear. You know Wanda—always off doing something,” Agnes says, light and casual, like she’s commenting on the weather.

“Yeah, I guess,” you mumble, though the assurance does little to ease your mind as your eyes continue to frantically wander, hoping against hope that Wanda might suddenly step out from one of them, smiling like none of this ever happened.

But she doesn’t.

You start walking back toward the house. She’s fine. She’s fine. She’s not fine. The rhythm builds and builds inside you like boiling water, until the panic buzzing at the base of your skull becomes impossible to ignore.

At the driveway, you stop. For one long, stretched-out moment, you hesitate. Then instinct takes over.

Your hand digs into your pocket, fingers curling around the cold metal of your car keys. You’re already moving, already yanking open the car door before you’ve fully decided what you’re going to do.

Just as you’re about to climb in, Agnes appears, moving faster than you’ve ever seen her move before, her cardigan flapping around her like wings.

“Where are you going?” she demands, breathless.

“I'm going to look for my wife.”

Agnes frowns. “Look for her where?”

“I don't know,” you sigh, one hand braced on the car door, the other gripping the keys tight enough to leave imprints on your palm. “But I'll scour the ends of this town if I have to.”

—

At the southern boundary of Westview, Hayward's men are already assembled, a line of armed agents standing at attention with their weapons trained on the elusive barrier of the Hex. The alarms continue to blare. They don’t know what’s coming, but they’re all on the front lines, waiting to find out.

Clint hangs back, his expression grim as he waits for Wanda. He hadn’t expected the girl they’d practically adopted from Sokovia to still carry so much darkness—a side of her that rears its head through the cracks when she’s at her lowest. 

He can't stop questioning why you ever chose to let Wanda believe you’re dead.  But he figures that’s your burden to bear. His own regret is not being there for Wanda after Tony’s funeral. With Vision also gone, he feels he should have stayed closer.

Part of him can’t shake the feeling that he’s failed her somehow.

For Clint, it had been five long years of grieving for the family he thought he’d lost forever. Once he was reunited with them, all he wanted was to put his Avenger days behind him and catch up on lost time, which he did. But when he heard about Wanda's situation in New Jersey, he couldn't just stay away. Steve and Nat would’ve done the same.

The barrier sparks like a live wire as a shadow begins to materialize behind it. Moments later, everyone watches with bated breath as Wanda Maximoff steps through, dragging the drone behind her with one hand. She strides ominously forward, indifferent to the dozen infrared lasers trained on her body.

“Is this yours?” Wanda yells. Without waiting for an answer, she flings the drone, sending it crashing down toward Hayward's feet. It skids across the coarse grass, stopping just short of him.

“The missile was just a precaution,” Hayward says coolly. “You can hardly blame us, Wanda.”

“Oh, I think I can.”

Clint chooses this moment to reveal himself among the crowds. He’s not sure whether it will placate Wanda or anger her further, but he knows he has to try—not for their benefit, but for hers.

“Wanda,” he calls out gently. 

“Clint,” Wanda breathes out, taken aback. For a second, she looks stunned, as if the thought of someone from her old circle stepping in hadn't crossed her mind. They know her, understand her motives—or at least, they should. “So they sent you, too?”

“No one sent me,” he assures her, taking another careful step closer. “I came because I was worried about you.”

“Funny way of showing it,” she scoffs, nodding toward the agents with their weapons drawn.

Monica steps out from behind one of the vehicles, hands raised in a placating gesture. “Wanda."

Recognition dawns on Wanda’s face, her lips curling into a half-amused, half-impressed smile. After how forcefully she ejected Monica from Westview, she hadn't expected her to come back.

“You’re still here,” she mutters warily.

“Please, let’s just talk,” Monica urges. 

“Not interested.”

“We want to help you through this, Wanda,” Clint tries.

Wanda lets out a hollow laugh. “Help me? Like you helped me after everything was taken from me?” After the funeral, they all went their own way—back to work, back to their families. And Wanda had—

She had no one to go back to. 

“I’m sorry,” Clint murmurs, his eyes dropping to the ground. “I should've been there. I'm sorry.”

Wanda purses her lips. “Sorry doesn't bring them back.”

Monica walks up to Clint’s side. “I know what it's like to lose someone. To feel that emptiness.”

Wanda’s voice becomes a cold whisper. “You don't know anything about me.”

Clint stops for a moment, the implication of her words just occuring to him. “Wait. Them?”

Wanda doesn’t answer him. With a simple wave of her hand, Hayward’s snipers, who had their sights on her, suddenly swivel their rifles toward him instead. He instantly throws up his hands in surrender.

“This will be your only warning,” Wanda says coldly. “Stay out of my home.”

“Wait!” Clint tries again, but it’s too late. Wanda has already turned away. 

Hayward's arms stay in the air, a stricken look on his face as he orders his men to stand down, but not a single one of them listens. They only manage to snap out of it the moment the Hex re-absorbs Wanda Maximoff.

—

You do exactly what you told Agnes you'd do and drive toward the edge of town.

As you go, things start getting…weirder. The farther you get from the center, the stranger things become. People are outside their homes, but they're not moving. A woman hangs laundry on a line, her arms frozen mid-air. A kid stands with a basketball, paused in the act of dribbling. They are like living statues.

“What the hell is going on?” you mutter under your breath, your knuckles white against the steering wheel. You ease the car to a stop by the curb, with only the sound of the running engine the other sign of life aside from you. 

Cautiously, you approach the frozen figures for closer inspection. They're not just still—they're vacant. Their eyes stare straight ahead, unfocused and glassy, like mannequins propped up in a storefront window. You wave a hand in front of a man's face, but he doesn't blink.

Stumbling back, fear rises in you. “Wanda!”

But there's no answer. There’s only your own labored breathing. No birds soar overhead, no butterflies flit through the gardens—none of the life you’re accustomed to near your home. There’s not even a whisper of wind. It feels like the air’s been sucked out of the place.

You get back in the car and keep driving. Houses thin out, streets get emptier. Soon, you're at the town's edge. That's when you see it—a faint shimmer in the void ahead. It ripples subtly, like a mirage or heat haze.

Frowning, you park and walk toward the strange phenomenon. As you go nearer, you see sparks dancing through a grid-like pattern. Reaching out cautiously, you touch it, and a jolt runs up your arm. It’s not painful, but it’s definitely not welcoming either. 

“What the hell is this?” you whisper.

Without fully thinking it through, you decide to push forward. There's resistance at first, like walking through thick mud, but suddenly you break through.

On the other side, the world is completely different.

—

Wanda returns home, closing the door softly behind her and letting out a quiet sigh.

She sinks onto the couch, burying her face in her hands. The sheer force of the urge she'd felt—to just wipe them all out, to eliminate any threat to her family—left her shaken. It wasn't like her, or at least she didn't think it was. She knows if that drone had reached you before she intervened, she would have pulled the trigger. The darkness that surged up inside her scared her. Is this who she's becoming? Perhaps being a bit hardened is necessary if it means keeping you and the boys safe. After all, being innocuous only ever stripped away everything she held dear.

She tries to shake it off, taking a deep breath as she makes her way upstairs. First things first: check on the twins. Pushing open their bedroom door, she finds them fast asleep, the steady rise and fall of their chests bringing her a small measure of peace. They're safe.

But as she moves through the house, calling your name, she realizes you're nowhere to be found. Trying to keep her cool, she steps outside, only to find the neighborhood just as empty and silent.

Except for Agnes, who's out watering her garden at a very unusual hour.

“Agnes?” Wanda calls out as she walks over.

Agnes looks up, a friendly smile on her face. “Hey, neighbor! Can’t sleep either?”

“Have you seen Y/N?”

Agnes hums, thinking it over. “Actually, I did see her earlier.”

“You did? When? Where did she go?”

“Just a little while ago,” Agnes replies casually. “She mentioned she was heading to the edge of town to look for you.”

Color drains from Wanda's face. “She went to the boundary?”

“Yes, she seemed quite determined—”

Without waiting for Agnes to finish, Wanda turns abruptly. She rises off the ground, levitating effortlessly. She doesn't care if Agnes sees her powers or if anyone else is watching. The only thing that matters now is getting to you before it’s too late.

“Please be okay,” she murmurs under her breath, repeating it like a mantra, synced to the frantic beating of her heart.

—

Dozens of people in black uniforms, faces smudged with exhaustion, stand scattered across a patchwork base of canvas tents, armored vehicles, and machinery that doesn’t belong in a small town like Westview. They freeze when they see you—every single one of them—like you’re a ghost that wandered in from the wrong side of reality.

“T-There’s another breach!” someone yells.

You just stand there, blinking at the sea of wide eyes staring back at you. “Who are you people? What’s going on?”

No one answers. They just watch.

And then it starts.

A sensation creeps over your skin, wrong in a way that defies language. Static under your fingernails, pins and needles crawling up your veins.  You glance down. Your hands are flaking away, little particles peeling off like you’re made of burnt paper.

“What the—?”

Your vision tilts. The sky feels too far away, the ground too close. The disintegration spreads—up your arms, across your chest. You hear someone shouting in the distance.

“Someone help her! She’s clearly dying!”

“Hold your ground!”

Then, through the noise, you hear it. “Y/N!” your name being called by the same voice you caught in Wanda’s broken radio.

You reach out blindly, trying to grab onto something as you continue to come apart, but your knees buckle, and you hit the ground. 

It feels like you're dying.

But why? Why is this happening?

Seconds later, you can't even hold yourself up anymore. You collapse onto all fours, watching helplessly as pieces of you start to drift away like dust in the wind.

“Wanda…” you whisper, and then everything around you goes dark.

—

Wanda senses it first—a noticeable diminishment of your presence where it used to be strong, as if a part of her is fading away with it. A sense of dread fills her as she looks toward the edge of town. From her vantage point above Westview, she spots your car abandoned near the boundary with its headlights still on.

“No,” she breathes, her eyes turning red as she tries to search for you past the invisible barrier.

Desperation propels her forward as she flies toward you, the wind whipping through her hair. But no matter how fast she moves, she feels you slipping away, bit by bit. 

That’s when she spots you, lying on the ground, crumbling the way she did five years ago.

“No, no, no,” Wanda cries, pushing herself to go faster. But deep down, she knows she won't reach you in time.

She stops mid-air. There's only one thing left to do. Closing her eyes, she gathers every ounce of her power. Scarlet energy crackles around her hands, growing brighter and more powerful. With a fierce cry, she releases it, sending a surge of magic outward.

The Hex trembles and then starts to expand, pushing outward. Houses, trees, streets—all get swallowed as the boundary moves to encompass more area. The strain is immense, but she doesn't care. All that matters is pulling you back, keeping you within the safe confines of the world she's created. Tears blur her vision, but she keeps her focus, watching as the red glow envelops your car, hoping it's not too late.

“Come back to me,” Wanda murmurs, willing the Hex to bring you home.

—

“Where are you going?” Monica calls after Clint, chasing him down as he strides toward his truck. Behind them, the team is scattered, hollow-eyed and dazed—they just watched you stumble out of the Hex, your body coming apart like sand slipping through an hourglass. Morale isn’t just low; it’s subterranean. Hayward's back at the S.W.O.R.D. base, probably scheming his next move, but right now, everyone’s flailing in the dark.

Clint digs through his pockets for his keys. “There’s something I need to check out,” he mutters.

“Like what? Does it have to do with… whatever that was?” Monica asks, her voice strained. “With Darcy gone into the Hex, Jimmy and I are—honestly, I don’t even know what we’re supposed to do.”

“I can’t explain yet. Not until I know for sure,” he says, avoiding her gaze. He's racked with a hit of guilt for leaving Monica in the lurch, especially when she and Jimmy are already scraping by without Darcy.

But he swears he’s leaving for a reason.

Monica nods, her face drawn. “Are you coming back?”

Clint exhales, long and slow. “I was hoping this would clear up fast. But it doesn’t look good. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Be careful out there,” she says, her voice quieter now.

“You too. Stay sharp.”

Before Monica can head back to camp, Clint beeps his truck, pulling her attention back. She turns, looking over her shoulder and waits.

“Deep down, Wanda’s a good person, you know?” Clint says, unsure of his point but feeling compelled to speak up for Wanda.

Monica gives him a small, tired smile before walking away.

[prettypinkporkchop]

Hellooo, I've been live laugh loving your writing, so I decided to make a request.

Could I request a paul lahote x reader where the reader is dealing with a stalker but decides not to tell him about it because she doesn't want to worry him. But eventually, he notices that she's been really freaked out and paranoid so he confronts her about it and she breaks down and tells him so he and the rest of the pack helped her deal with the stalker.

(if your request aren't open, just ignore their same if you just don't feel like writing this)

English isn't my first language, so sorry about any spelling mistakes

Sorry, not sorry

Going out with Kim was a great idea! Until he found you. Who is he? You see him in the distance everywhere you go. You're getting random texts. You're too scared to tell Paul. What will happen? You don't know if he's human or not! Most likely, he is. The way he texts is too human-like.

"Babe." Paul snaps you out of your thoughts. "Hm?" You look up at him. You are sitting at the dinner table at Sam and Emily's. "I asked if you want me to make you a plate." He raises an eyebrow and then grabs your upper arm. "Is everything okay?" He leans down and whispers. You nod and smile at him. You feel terrible for lying.

Jared and Embry are side eyeing you guys. You feel your phone buzz in your pocket. You hesitate but pull it out and turn on the screen.

Unknown: the rez is beautiful! But not as beautiful as you. What does Paul or fuck boy call you? 'Babygirl' right? Haha.

You physically cringe but start to breathe heavy and look around, just moving your eyes. They are slightly wide.

Unknown: your eyes past me up, babygirl. Look again.

You look around again and begin to panic. Everyone in the pack at the table notices. "Y-you okay?" Quil asks. Jacob touches your arm. Paul and Emily in the kitchen making plates turn to you. "I'm okay." Your eyes wander again. Behind a tree, a tall figure stands there. You gasp and jump out of the chair. Paul rushes beside you, pulling you into him. "You're gonna talk to me. Now!" He demands. The pack stands up and rushes at the door, looking around outside. You start to cry against his chest and then lift your face up. "Remember when me and Kim had that girls' night?" He nods and glares his eyes. His jaw tenses. "Ever since then, there's been this stalker. I have no idea who he is. He gets closer and closer day by day. I saw him in the trees!" You yelled to the pack who are surrounded at the door. They quickly run outside. Paul starts fuming. If wolves started burning up smoke in anger, he would have been. Sam grabs Paul's shoulder. "We don't know If he's human or not. We can't phase in front of him. We just use our strength against him. Calm." He gently speaks to Paul.

He shoves Sam's hand off of his shoulder and runs outside. Sam follows him, and Emily grabs your arms. "I think we should call Charlie Swan." She suggests. "If the boys can't find him, we should." You nod your head.

You start to hear noises, which makes you jump up and run to the window. Jacob is holding his arms back, and Paul is screaming at him, punching him over and over. His face is bloody. Paul lifts his arm back, making a fist. His muscles flex back. His toned arms became more prominent. He swings again. You can't help but smile at your family and soulmate. You just know you are safe.

Soon, the pack comes back inside. You stand in behind where Paul takes his seat. Paul has a satisfied look on his face as he turns to face you. "Sorry." He smirks and then turns back around, mumbling, "Not sorry."

After all of that, you and Paul go home. He sighs and sits on the bed. You sit at your vanity, taking off your jewelry, pulling down your hair, and getting ready for a shower.

"You know, it pisses me off. You didn't tell me two weeks ago. You have to be honest with me." He speaks. Your heart breaks, and you look down, still at your vanity. "I know. I feel awful. I just - I didn't know what to do. This has never happened to me before." You turn around and face him. Your eyes get watery. "I was scared to worry you. I didn't think it'd get this bad." You watch his face. He still seems mad. He stands up and hovers over you. "Part of being soulmates is being honest, baby girl." You cower a little bit, but know he's not going to raise his voice or hurt you. "I'm so sorry. I'll do better." You sniffle. He sighs and pulls your head into his stomach, and strokes your hair. "It's okay. I love you." He kisses the top of your head. "I love you, too." You smile against him. You pull away and look up at him. "I need to shower." He smiles at you and then lifts you up to your feet. "Can I join you?" He smirks. You roll his eyes and kiss his lips softly. "I guess." You mumble while giggling.

[purplephantomwolf]

Love in Motion

Chapter Three

Synopsis: You are a normal college student until you get a wrong number text.

Note: This is not an accurate portrayal of how the real people in this act. I do not know them personally, so I will not be portraying them accurately.

Previous chapter: Chapter Two

Masterlist

I AM REWRITING THIS FROM AN OC STORY. IF I MISS ANYTHING, PLEASE LET ME KNOW SO I CAN FIX IT! THIS IS CHAPTER 3 OF 5 OF ALREADY WRITTEN CHAPTERS.

April 9, 2022 12 AM

You yawn as you sit down in front of the tv to watch qualifying. You’ve got Luke and you’re’s chat open to send him messages about qualifying as it happens. Nothing happens for the first 16 minutes until I see Latifi’s car go spinning around.

You: OH MY GOD!!! What happened to Latifi?!

You watch as you see Lance Stroll’s car come up on screen.

You: He got tangled up with Lance Stroll??

You watch the replay and see Stroll turn into Latifi. You hear his radio, blaming Latifi for the accident.

You: Lance Stroll. How could he even think it was Latifi’s fault at all?? Outrageous.

For the next 15 minutes, I stew in my anger at Stroll for blaming Latifi.

You: There’s just no way he can blame Latifi for this. He clearly saw him in his mirrors!

You: And now Alex has a problem with his car! Williams is just not having a good day, damn.

Q2 goes by without any crashes, and by the time Q3 rolls around, you are fighting to keep your eyes open. They flutter close for a second before you hear the commentators yell. Your eyes fly open to see Fernando Alonso go into the barrier. “Oh my god!” You gasp, covering my mouth.

You: Fernando crashed too! He lost the hydraulics!

You: This is so sad.

After 12 minutes, Q3 gets going again. You yawn as qualifying comes to close. You grin as you see Lando finish P4.

You: Wooo! Lando starts P4! Let’s go Lando!

You shut off your tv once Max, Checo, and Charles start getting interviewed. You quickly crawl into bed and pass out.

******************************************************************************

Lando’s POV

My performance coach, Jon, hands me my phone. “It kept going off during qualifying,” he says, eyes knit in confusion.

“Thanks, Jon,” I say, unlocking it. I grin when I see eight messages from Y/n. Jon’s eyebrows raise at my grin. “A friend was messaging me,” I answer his unspoken question. I go to our chat and read all of Y/n’s messages. I smile when I read her excited text about me starting P4. I shoot her back a message, hoping she’s still awake.

Me: Yeah! The McLaren team is super happy for him.

I wait for a minute, but don’t get a response back. I internally pout, sad that Y/n didn’t respond. “Time to head to the media pen,” my press officer, Charlotte, says, appearing next to me.

“Alright, alright. I’m coming,” I grumble, following her. I follow Charlotte to the media and stand in front of the first media team.

******************************************************************************

April 9, 2022 11 pm

Your POV

You curl up on the couch as the cars finish the formation lap. You have your chat to Luke open so you can message him. The first lap goes quietly until Carlos spins.

You: OH! Carlos spins! He’s stuck in the gravel! Oh my!

Your eyebrows knit as you see Lance come into the pit for a second time under the safety car. “Interesting strategy to try to go to the end on one set of hard tires,” you mumble. You yawn as the safety car comes back into the pits and the race picks up again. You gasp as you see Sebastian go through the gravel, letting out a happy sigh when he doesn’t get beached.

You: What happened to Sebastian?? Why did he need to stop?

You: And there’s debris?? What happened?

You: OH NO! He hit the wall!

You: I’m not a big fan of one of the announcers. He’s just hating on Aston Martin and everyone who keeps making a mistake.

The safety car comes out again and after some laps under it, racing gets back under way. You groan when a stewards message pops up on my screen. “These are never fun to read,” you say.

You: How does Mick, Yuki, and Pierre all have safety car infringement investigations? How do you infringe on the safety car?

You: Also, what happened to Max?? Why did he need to stop the car??

You: His car is on fire! Thank god they told him to stop the car.

You groan as another safety car period starts. “I just want to sleep,” you whine. The safety car only lasts two laps before racing starts again. “Oh thank goodness,” you sigh. Nothing else exciting happens during the rest of the race, leaving you to fight sleep. You wake up more when you hear that they’re on the last lap. You glance over at the order and grin when you see Lando finishing P5.

You: Lando got P5! Let’s gooooo! And Daniel got P6!

You: But now it is time for me to pass out, so good night, Luke!

You shut off the tv after the podium ceremony. You crawl into bed, falling asleep quickly.

******************************************************************************

Lando’s POV

I slump down on the chair in my drivers room. I grab my phone, hoping for messages from Y/n. I grin when I see a string of messages from her. I read through them before replying.

Me: Which announcer is it? And McLaren is very happy with the results. Have a good night, Y/n.

I’m still grinning when Daniel barges into the room. “Hey, we’re going out for drinks, you want to join?” He asks. He stops and squints at me. “Why are you grinning like a maniac?” He questions me.

“Just happy with our results,” I shrug. He hums, still squinting, like he doesn’t believe me.

“Well, we’re going out at 10 pm, if you want to join us,” Daniel says, before leaving the room. I decide to get ready to go back to the hotel to get ready for the night out.

******************************************************************************

2 am

I’m sitting at the club next to Carlos, sipping on a drink, when my phone vibrates on the table. Y/n’s name flashes on the screen and I grin. “Who’s Y/n?” Carlos asks, looking from my phone to me. “Why are you grinning so big? Do you have a secret girlfriend?!” He gasps.

“No, she’s not my girlfriend. She’s just a friend I made earlier this week,” I explain.

“But you like her?” He digs for more information.

“Lando likes who?” Max asks, as he slides into the booth, Daniel following him. The three of them are staring intently at me, awaiting my answer.

“I don’t like her,” I deny.

“Your smile when she sent you a message says otherwise,” Carlos points to my smile.

“Oh! Is she the reason you were grinning like a maniac in your driver's room today?!” Daniel asks.

“What? No! Maybe. Yes, yes she was,” I admit. They raise their eyebrows. Max gestures for me to continue. “Okay, so I ‘met’ her earlier this week,” I start, putting met in air quotes, “I was given the wrong number at a club earlier this week and it happened to be her number that I was given.”

“You believe it’s actually a girl? Not someone lying to you?” Carlos questions.

“Yes, I believe her,” I’m quick to defend myself and Y/n.

“So, tell us about her!” Daniel exclaims, leaning forward.

“Well, she’s a college student in the United States, studying software engineering. She’d rather be a photographer though,” I start. “She’s a fan of mine, but this is her first season of being a fan. Her dream race is either Silverstone or COTA. She, uh, she doesn’t know she’s talking to me. She thinks she’s talking to some guy named Luke who’s an event manager for McLaren,” I admit.

All three pairs of eyebrows raise at the last statement. “Dude, she’s going to be pissed when she finds out she’s talking to you. Girls don’t like being lied to,” Max says.

“I know, I know. I just like talking to her, and I lied about who I was before I thought about it. But it’s going so well, so it’s too late to back out now,” I sigh. The three of them shake their heads at me. I gasp, realizing I’ve forgotten to respond to Y/n I grab my phone to respond.

Y/n: Good morning, Luke!

Y/n: The commentator I don’t like is Will Buxton I think? I just hated how he was hating on everyone.

Me: Good morning, Y/n. I can see why you’d dislike that.

I glance up to see Max, Carlos, and Daniel all staring intently at me. “What?” I ask, confused.

“You just seem happy texting her,” Carlos says.

“I am. She’s a fun person to talk to,” I agree. I look down as my phone vibrates again.

Y/n: Yeah. So how was your day?

Me: It was good! I’m out celebrating the good results from today.

Y/n: Oh fun! I’ll leave you be then!

Me: No! Don’t go! I’ve been out for four hours already, so I’m heading home soon anyways.

Y/n: Alright!

I yawn, trying to convince the guys I’m tired. “I’m going to head out, I’m tired. Have a good night,” I say. I get a chorus of good nights from them, before I leave. I hail a cab and head back to the hotel, while talking to Y/n.

Me: Did you sleep well?

Y/n: I did! I assume you’re heading to bed soon though?

Me: Yeah, I’m heading back to the hotel now, so in like 30 minutes I’ll be asleep.

Y/n: Okay, sounds good! Are the clubs fun?

Me: They can be, depending on who and where you go. I tend to go with my close friends, so they’re fun.

Y/n: Alright, that sounds fun.

Me: Yeah.

Me: So, what’s your plan for today?

Y/n: Well, do some homework, look for some jobs, play some video games.

Me: That sounds like fun! Well, the video games part does.

Y/n: It should be!

I let myself into the hotel room, yawning as I get ready for bed.

Me: I’ve made it back to the hotel and I’m exhausted so I’m going to head to bed. Have a good day, Y/n.

Y/n: Okay! Have a good night, Luke.

I set my phone down on the nightstand and climb into bed, falling asleep quickly.

Next chapter: Chapter Four

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

Permanent tag list:

@sol3chu

@faithshouseofchaos

Story tag list:

@anotherapollokid

[barcalover86]

Hey!! Could you do something about reader and gavi watching the barça matches at home? I think it would be so funny to watch a match with him, he’d yell at the screen all the time like if they could listen to him hahaha and specially now that barça is not on their greatest days i feel he’d get so pissed, poor boy

Game night

"When will the game start?" you asked while being in a big hurry.

You were waiting for the popcorn to be done while you were also making some orange juice, knowing that Pablo loves it.

"5-6 minutes." he replied.

Your hands were starting to hurt. Making your own juice wasn't easy and it took about 8 oranges so that it could be enough for you.

Or that is what you thought.

After all your hard work, it wasn't enough, and you had no oranges left now.

Gavi still had to take care of his diet, not being allowed to eat or drink sugar.

You sighed sadly, pouring the liquid into a bigger glass.

After some shouts that came from your boyfriend's mouth telling you that the game began, the popcorn was finally ready.

Thank God it was enough for both of you.

When you were done, you took the food, the water, and the juice, and immediately came to the living room, already seeing Gavi up with his hands on his head.

"What happened??" you asked confused while putting everything on the table.

"Not even 2 minutes since the game started, and they already scored a goal!"

You looked at the TV just to be shocked by how fast the other team scored.

"That's tought."

Gavi groaned in annoyance, sad that he couldn't be on the field to help his team when they needed him the most.

When he looked at the table, he had a sweet pout on his face.

"That's why it took you so long?" his tone was soft, being sad that he is unavailable for some months and that you have to take care of him.

"I'm sorry, I tried to hurry up-"

"No, I should be the one to apologise here, love. You are my girl and I should take care of you.." he interrupted you.

"You take care of me, Pablo. But right now, it's my turn, so shut up, and let's watch this game, okay?"

He smiled at you and kissed your lips shortly, but sweet.

The game was really stressful and Gavi just couldn't stay in place.

He would walk around the room, making all kinds of faces when Barca was missing or losing the ball.

When half the game ended, he tiredly hugged you, telling you how hard it is to watch his favourite football team lose.

"I just want to be on the field, y/n."

"I know, but you have to recover so that you can go there and help them win. Until there, your support is enough, love."

"Enough? They can't even pass the ball cause they lose it!"

You laughed at how his eyebrows were moving, making his face funnier.

You kissed his forehead, hugging him tighter.

The game continued and Barca wasn't getting better than the other half.

Gavi was like a couch at home, yelling at everyone for their mistakes. You were also disappointed that the team wasn't doing much and you couldn't figure it out why they are so bad .

Of course, Pablo had a big impact on the team, but De Jong and Pedri were back.

After what seemed like hours, at 89', Cancelo finally scored a goal, making it 1-1.

Still disappointing, especially since they weren't playing with a big team, but 1 point rather than 0 was a bit better.

You looked at your boyfriend who was stressing out.

"Maybe they can win. It'll be just luck at how bad they played today, anyway."

But they didn't.

Right after the players went to the locker room, Gavi took his phone and started to text everyone on the team.

You were laughing, looking at how serious he was.

He groaned before kissing you, and drinking the water that was on the table, leaving the orange juice just for you.

Oh and how angry he was when the players were taking interviews after.

"Only excuses" he rolled his eyes, making you chuckle.

Oh, how you love this boy.

[maxiemclaren]

Comforting Logan after the Miami Gp

Comforting Logan

Logan Sargent x reader

a/n First Fic

After placing last for his home race to say he was on edge the night before was an understatement. Returning to your hotel room you tried to reassure him that race day would be better, “Logan I’m telling you it's not your fa-” you falter what you're about to say when he looks at you like someone just accused him of murder, a rage filled energy falling over the hotel room. “Not my fault? NOT MY FAULT!? ARE YOU BLIND!? This is my home race and I couldn’t even have a good qualifying. Seriously y/n, P20 is not where I wanted to be.” You looked at him with sympathy slowly moving towards him, he took a step back and apprehension flickers across his eyes. “I’m not saying that you WANTED to start at P20 but sometimes we have shit qualifyings Logan '' Using his full name to hopefully knock some sense into the boy. He looks down feeling regret that he lashed out at you for just trying to help. “Want to head to bed? I’ll give you extra cuddles” You say while walking towards the room.

Watching the race was nerve-racking. You knew that no matter how hard he would fight for a points position he would still be a little grumpy. So here you were in the garage watching him navigate his way through, your eyes were practically glued to the screen until lap 28 when you needed to go to the bathroom from all the water you drank because of the heat and humidity. When all of a sudden you hear that contact was made between two cars, praying whoever it was is okay. You felt your heart drop when you saw that it was Kevin and Logan, a bubble of anger started to rise within you. You started yelling “ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND KEVIN!?” Everyone in the garage turned to look at you with a look of ‘is she okay’ You looked at the replay and it seemed to look like Kevin was pushing past and Logan didn’t see him, granted there was not enough space for two cars in that corner. You know he's going to be so upset that he wasn’t able to continue the race so you head to the drivers room and wait.

He opens the door and sees you and immediately approaches and engulfed you into a hug, quite sobs escape him. You squeeze him tighter and let him release all his emotion, you reassure him “You did what you could my love, you made me so proud today. Hell, you make me proud everyday when you step out of the car unharmed and I get to go home with you.” His sobs just grew louder as he kept murmuring “I just wanted to show them I deserve a spot and chance here, my home race my family is going to be so upset with me. I’m a fucking disappointment” He spits out. Grabbing him by the face your eyes bore into his “You listen to me Logan Hunter Sargent, you are by far not a disappointment. What happened was unfair and frankly not right, Kevin has been all over the place this weekend. You are not to blame for his mistakes” He sniffles and nods his head “I guess so, Kevin has been pretty wild” he manages to chuckle out, slowly calming down. Giving him one last hug before media duties and debriefs, you smack his ass to make him laugh. “Ouch y/n my ass” You laugh “I’m serious though, you making it through a race or anytime you just step in the car, I’m proud of you and will continue to be proud of you even if you have to retire the car.” Heat rising to the back of his neck and ears he looks at you with admiration and love. “Thank you my love, that means the world to me. We will get them next time”

[slayfics]

Explosive Tendencies a slow burn fan fiction about the readers developing relationship with Katsuki Bakugo.

Chapter Twenty-Four: Katsuki gets his provisional licenses.

Chapter links

You tossed and turned in bed, unable to get comfortable or fall asleep. You turned to your side and gazed at the stuffed bear Katsuki had given you- or more like shoved into your arms.

Your mind raced with regret. You should have spoken up and agreed with Eijiro that you wanted to say good night to Katsuki alone but- you couldn't help but feel nervous and overwhelmed.

Why didn't Katsuki say anything?

You let out an exhausted sigh and grabbed your phone. Unlocking your phone and staring at the text thread between you and Katsuki, you contemplated something to say. You typed out a sentence, decided it sounded stupid, and deleted it.

Then to your surprise as you were trying to think of something else to say, you saw three dots appear on the screen indicating Katsuki was typing as well. You set your phone down and decided to wait for his message before you sent one. 

You felt your eyes get heavy as you patiently waited- and before you knew it you had dozed off to sleep.

As soon as you came back to consciousness you reached for your phone to see if Katsuki ever sent a message but- your phone had no notifications from him.

Could it be that he was also struggling with what to say? Or maybe the three dots you saw were a mistake.

Either way, it was too late now. Katsuki was at his last supplemental class for his provisional licenses by now. You put your phone down disappointingly and got ready for the day.

Later in the common room, your classmates talked about Shoto and Katsuki taking their final class.

"They will pass, won't they?" Kyoka asked.

"Oh yeah- Bakugo may be a jerk, but he's been doing really good lately," Toru said.

"Maybe I'll make a cake while we're all waiting," Rikido suggested.

"Yeah, we could have a little surprise party for them," Momo encouraged.

The rest of your classmates agreed excitedly.

You shuffled uncomfortably on the couch, "I don't know- something tells me Bakugo would hate that," you spoke. While your classmates did have good intentions- you knew it would just be a reminder to Katsuki that he had fallen behind everyone.

"Bakugo is always a grouch no matter what! Besides they both worked hard and I'm sure Todoroki would appreciate it," Toru countered. 

Being outnumbered by your classmate's enthusiasm, you decided to go along with the plan.

When Shoto and Katsuki returned to the dorms, everyone turned off the lights in anticipation of surprising them.  

The two boys walked in confused by the vacant common room.

"Did we have a blackout or something? Katsuki asked.

"Maybe everyone else left the dorms?" Shoto suggested.

Your classmates then turned on the lights and popped some party streamers causing Shoto and Katsuki to jump in surprise.  

You stood timidly in the back of the group as you watched Rikido present the cake to the two boys.

"That thing is massive!" Katsuki barked his face in a scowl from surprise.

You rolled your eyes as multiple of your classmates fawned over Shoto. Then just as you had predicted Katsuki yelled in a rage at Izuku who attempted to praise him.

"Congrats! Now we can do hero work together! It'll be great, Kacchan!" Izuku sang.

"What do you think you're better than me 'cause you got your license first!?" Katsuki yelled.

"No no! That's not what I meant!" Izuku cried out as Katsuki continued to yell.

You made your way to get cake as the squabble continued. Eventually, Eijiro worked his way over to Katsuki and got him to relax. You eyed the situation as you kept to yourself. You knew Katsuki hated big crowds and too much attention- so you decided not to add to it.

Plus, with the awkward way things left off between you- you weren't sure what the right thing to say was.

It didn't take long for Katsuki to make a swift exit as soon as he could sneak away. You noticed him walk out the front door and shut it quickly behind him.

He must be super overwhelmed to go outside in the cold you realized. The cold was something he hated more than parties. Although he probably thought he couldn't sneak his way all the way to his dorm without someone noticing and trying to make him stay.

You took a deep breath and mustered up the courage to go outside and check on him.

You slipped out the door trying not to make a scene and avoid anyone following you.

Katsuki was sitting on the steps outside the door, "What do you want?" he barked before turning around, "Oh- it's you," he said glancing at you slightly and then resting his cheek back in his palm.

"You ok?" You asked.

"Hah!? Of course, I'm ok!" He yelled.

You sighed and sat next to him, "I just know you aren't a fan of parties and a lot of attention. I told them you would hate it," you spoke.

Katsuki let out a huff, "Yeah well- I get that they were trying to be nice. But... I'm just tired," he said.

"That's understandable, I'm sure it was a long day for you. It must be nice to be all done with those supplemental classes though," you said trying to lighten his mood.

Katsuki grunted in agreement his gaze still away from you, "Yeah glad to be done with that bull shit. It did have its moments thought," He spoke.

"Oh yeah? Like what?" You asked.

"Guess I never finished telling you," Katsuki said, a laugh escaping him. You smiled at his mood finally shifting. "During that test where we had to work with kids- the damn brats started calling Todoroki, Five Winnies," he said bursting out laughing.

"Those kids have better nicknames than you," You laughed with him until the short moment of laughter subsided and you both fell into an awkward silence once more.

"Hey um- I'm sorry about yesterday." You finally had the courage to say.

"Hu?" He murmured and looked at you for the first time of the night,

"After the festival when Kirishima tried to leave," You reminded him.

"Yeah, I know what you're talking about. But- what are you sorry about?" He asked, his eyes looking at you curiously.

"I uh- I just should have said something," You responded.

"Yeah? And what should you have said?" He questioned.

You felt yourself freeze. You hadn't expected him to pressure you into clarifying.

"I uh- I don't know-," You began to stammer. No matter how many times you replayed that scene in your head you couldn't bring yourself to tell Katsuki in-person what you would have liked to say.

You would have liked to thank Kirishima for giving you both privacy and then-

"Ugh," Katsuki grunted bringing you out of your thoughts, his face scrunching up back into his usual scowl. "Stop being such a damn coward and tell me how you feel already!" He barked.

Your face flushed at his words- had Katsuki noticed your crush on him this whole time??

"Come on, you think I'm stupid?! I always catch you watching me during training, you- snuck out to come find me when I was kidnapped, and you practically begged to come see me when I was on house arrest- and, at the summer camp... You were going to tell me you thought I was attractive, right? So just- ugh," he grunted in frustration again. "Look- I- I don't hate being around you like I do everyone else ok- and I know you feel whatever this is between us too, right?" 

You nodded shyly completely overwhelmed by his outburst of emotions.

"Good so just- let me kiss you yeah?" He proposed.

Your whole body trembled as your eyes scanned his for any sign that this was a joke. You had imagined scenarios like this playing out between you two so many times that it was hard to believe what was happening now was real.

"You- you do want that right?" he asked again, beginning to get impatient with your lack of response.

You nodded eagerly, unable to form any words.

"Tch- don't be so damn nervous, like I said- I... I like you too," he said, then awkwardly scooted closer to you.

You hadn't seen this expression on Katsuki's face before- was it nervousness? You never once saw him nervous in any sparring or training but- this seemed to be uncharted territory for him.

"Just- don't move ok," he said sternly as his hand shook, placing his finger under your chin and guiding your lips to his.

Katsuki rested his lips on yours, his touch shattered any doubts you had about this being real. The simple gesture transformed what was a friendship into something more meaningful and answered all your questions about how your classmate felt about you.

The blissful moment was over too soon, and your eyes locked on to his as he pulled away- the look on your face full of emotion.

"What?" Katsuki said, his face blushing as he looked away from you.

"Uh- nothing-... that was- that was nice..." you said looking away to hide your own blush.

"Tch- well... you better have enjoyed it because that's all you get," He barked.

"You're kidding right?" You said playfully scooting even closer to him.

"Hey careful brat," he said squirming at your closeness. "Look- I'm... not good at this stuff so... let me go at my own pace, alright?" He requested.

"Ok Bakugo," you agreed.

Katsuki winced, "I just kissed you- there's no need to be so formal with me anymore," He spoke.

"Oh- ok Katsuki," you said blushing once more.

"We should probably go back inside to that dumb party before someone comes looking for us," he said standing up.

You followed his lead standing up but as he was about to reach for the door you called out to him, "Hey Baku-... Katsuki?"

"What?" He asked, turning around.

You reached out and grabbed his hand interlacing your fingers with his.

Katsuki's face was taken over by another blush as he gazed at both your hands. Handholding was a small gesture- but walking back inside to the rest of your classmates like this was a big step. His nose scrunched up as he contemplated the consequences.  

You second-guessed yourself and tried to pull your hand away, "It's ok if that's too much," you said.

"No-," he said tightening his grip on your hand, refusing to let you pull away. "It's fine- I don't give a damn about any of those extras anyway. It doesn't make a difference to me if they... know about us- Come on let's just go- it's cold as fuck out here," he said swinging the door open with his other hand.

As if on some silent cue, the whole inside of the common room went silent as your classmate's heads turned to take in the sight of you and Katsuki holding hands.

"Ohhh~ does this mean it's official now~?" Mina sang, bringing her hands together with a huge grin on her face.

"YES FINALLY!" Eijiro yelled.

"WHAT?!" Denki exclaimed. "No way Kacchan gets a girlfriend before me!"

Your face flushed as you looked away from the prying eyes of your classmates.

"SHUT THE HELL UP!! ALL OF YOU! THE NEXT PERSON TO SAY A WORD GET'S THEIR FACE BLASTED YOU HEAR ME!?!" Katsuki yelled, the pupils disappearing from his eyes with rage.

Although your classmates were bursting at the seams trying to hold in laughter and comments, they respected Katsuki's wishes and said nothing else about your newfound relationship

Over time, with the privacy from your classmates, Katsuki slowly became more affectionate with you in his own way, and you both continued to learn how to navigate your relationship through all the stresses of working towards being pro heroes. Taking it one step at a time.

Thank you to everyone who supported this series! I appreciate all of you and I hope you’ve enjoyed it!

Tags: @anon-mouse223 @unofficialmuilover @maddietries @sikuthealien @queenpiranhadon @melrs21 @poemzcheng @kazuumii @bakunianadecorazon @ur-crusty-uncle @reads-stuff-quietly @chixkadee @perfectsukii @faetoraa @fem-weeb @nagicats @lees-chaotic-brain @maelibo @zanarkandskylines @abadbitchblogs @deluluforcarlos55

[xerocares]

Happy New Years !!

Daisuke x gn!reader

Warnings: Cringe and taken from my oc x canon of Daisuke, so um… there might be some mistakes.

No specific pronouns used!!

The group was huddled in the lounge, surrounding the wide screen. They’d gotten in line up with an Earth satellite, and there for was able to sync in with the ball drop in NYC, even though it sounded absurd.

But in the end, everyone was crowded in the semi-small room, spread into small groups. Even with the small crew, everyone seemed to take up the space well, Curly and Anya talking by the table, where a board game was strewn across, Swansea standing near the big screen, watching the happy faces in Times Square, and Jimmy sulking in a corner. Surprisingly, Daisuke was caught up in a conversation with someone, he was just chilling on the couch, next to you.

You were focused on playing with the bracelet Daisuke had made for you, trying to figure out what the charms on it meant. You weren’t exactly sure if it was an ill intended present, but you’d enjoyed it, and Daisuke seemed to be nice, so you’d allowed yourself to accept it. You also just didn’t want to be rude. But in any cases, you didn’t register Daisuke beside you, who decided to speak up.

“So, you got a resolution?”

Even then, it took you a moment to realise Daisuke was talking to you.

“Wha- me?”

“Yes??”

Daisuke smiled at you, chuckling. Damn, you could be oblivious when tired. You decided to not look at Daisuke when responding, maybe to hope he stops trying to talk to you. Maybe then Daisuke would get out of your head.

“Oh- no, I don’t think so,”

“What?! You have to have one!-“

Daisuke gasped in surprise, turning his body to fully face you. Guess you weren’t getting out of this one.

“I can’t think of one,”

You responded, looking at Daisuke, a blank expression splayed on your face. Daisuke paused, then leaned forward with a smile.

“Then think real hard! I bet if you put time into it you’d know-“

“Why do you wanna know so badly?”

You raised an eyebrow, looking directly into Daisuke’s eyes. That was a mistake. You had to fight the flush that came to your face when the dark chocolate eyes met with his, in which your flush nearly won.

Daisuke paused tho, his fight with the flush having been won in the flush’s favour being obvious due to the dark pink that rose to his cheeks. He stumbled over his words, seemingly embarrassed, knocking your eye contact away as he looked to the tv as an escape.

“I-just- well, I don’t know-“

His voice was becoming meek, which to many would’ve sounded pathetic, especially himself.

“I- uh- I just-“

Now you felt bad.

“I-“

“-I guess I could be kinder,”

You cut off Daisuke from his attempt at saving his integrity, turning to look at the tv as well. Daisuke sighed inwardly, turning his now red cheeks to you in a smile. Then you looked back to him.

“What about you?”

Daisuke wasn’t expecting that. He looked off for a moment, then turned back to you, a smug smile placed on his face.

“To get closer to people I care about,”

You smiled at that, and turned your attention to Curly, who was now rallying up everyone. 20 seconds left on the clock. Daisuke stood from the sofa, and held a hand out to you. With slight hesitation, you grabbed Daisuke’s hand and stood from the couch. You walked to the huddle of people, looking towards Curly.

“It’s nearly the New Year everyone!! Let’s make sure this next year is exceptional!”

He yelled, making some closer to him cover their ears. Not always adept to the situation, but his heart was in the right place. Then, someone yelled,

“Ten seconds!!”

You looked to the glowing tv, watching the count down start. You saw from the corner of your eye, Daisuke, who was shuffling a bit closer, presumably to see the screen better. Which was odd, cause he was extremely tall, he could see fine.

“Nine”

Everyone yelled,

“Eight”

“Seven”

“Six”

The crew was huddling into their smaller groups, slinging arms over shoulders, and smiling to each other.

“Five”

“Four”

Daisuke was moving closer, even slinging his own arm over your shoulders.

“Three”

He was too close. This wasn’t normal.

“Two”

He wasn’t looking at the screen. He was looking at you.

“One”

Then, it happened, a wheel of squeals, phrases elusive to ‘Happy New Year’ echoed through the room, and New Years kisses shared shown on screen. New Years kisses, you’d completely forgotten about them. You then felt your face get moved by a nimble hand, and your face flushed. Now you knew why Daisuke was so close.

The kiss lasted for more than a few seconds, and by the end, you’d moved your body to face Daisuke’s and hand your hands on the other’s cheeks. When you drew apart, you both were dazzled for a moment, before quickly moving away to each other in embarrassment, giving apologies.

[moralesmilesanhour]

if you believe in me - 01

summary: You and Miles decide to make it official. Kind of. wc: 763 warnings: none a/n: I love setting my characters up for failure <3

next

Miles hadn't texted you at all since the kiss, but not for lack of trying.

He would begin to type out a message:

"hi".

No, too empty. Perhaps a bit creepy. 

Backspace.

"hey :)"

Would you expect him to use smiley faces? No, it felt too different to how he spoke in real life. Backspace.

Maybe he should rip a page out of his classmates' playbook. It always seemed to work for them when he peered over at their screens.

"wyd?"

He frowned at his phone in bewilderment. Why would he ask that all of a sudden with no context? 

Backspace. 

"Hey, Y/N! Just checking in to see how you're doing."

Miles mentally cursed himself when he realized how much the text sounded like an email.

He flopped down onto his bed in defeat, and checked his digital alarm clock. 7:30 pm. He had been sitting there for an entire half hour and could hardly get a greeting out, probably leaving you to wonder why the boy who had literally kissed you last week couldn’t be bothered to send a text. 

Miles knew that today would be special when his phone alarm actually woke him up - and from a dreamless sleep, at that. Normally the sun would practically blind him after the curtains were thrown open by his mother, yelling frantically about how he was going to be late in half an hour. The sky was miraculously just turning a periwinkle blue outside, and the possibility of actually getting breakfast seemed within reach for once.

Miles squinted to read the menu above him. Ordering a spicy beef patty before 8 in the morning sounded like a poor dietary decision, so he went with a bacon egg and cheese sandwich like everyone else. As soon as he backed up from the counter, he made the mistake of glancing to his right at the fridge containing drinks on the other side of the bodega, and his stomach dropped.

Your jacket was instantly recognizable, even from a mile away.

Miles threw on his hoodie and shuffled over to the aisle behind him, where he pretended to be preoccupied with a container of instant coffee while trying to keep his face covered. When he saw movement in his periphery, he ducked his head and inched his way towards the freezer that contained his prized can of Arizona tea. He was about to reach for the handle, just inches away from success, when your voice stopped him:

“Morales?!? Where the hell have you been?”

Fuck.

“Hey,” Miles gave you a tight smile as he turned slowly to face you. “How…how are you?”

“I’m good,” you nodded, before lightly smacking him in the arm. “Haven’t heard from you in a minute, though. Why I ain’t catch you in class?”

The boy shrugged. “I dunno. Still in the same seat every day. Maybe you just missed me.”

As he said this, Miles recalled seeing you in the cafeteria while making his way upstairs  the other day and ducking behind a trash can before your eyes could meet. You having gone back to your regular seat in AP Calc made avoidance even easier; he could simply time when he went over to his seat, a small crowd of students providing ample cover.

“Chopped cheese!” a man called out from the front, interrupting his thoughts.

“That’s me,” you said with a grin. 

“”Bacon egg and cheese!”

“And that’s me,” Miles replied as he spun around to retrieve his order, making sure to leave room for you to pass behind him after grabbing your sandwich.

Once outside, he realized that you were staring at him. Not just in passing, but expectantly. Was he meant to do something?

“What?” he asked, eyebrow raised.

“You like me, right?”

“I-um…yeah,” Miles’ eyes darted away from your face. “I don’t think I’d kiss anybody I didn’t like.”

“Don’t get smart with me, you didn’t text me at all afterwards. I was starting to get the wrong impression!”

He snorted, “Well, now you’ve got the right one.”

“Sooo…” you tilted your head. “Does that mean we’re like, a thing now?”

He tensed at the suggestion. ‘A thing’. You’d think it was obvious what that meant, but what did it really mean in tenth grade? Sit at home and kiss a lot? 

But your smile began to falter the longer he took, and the sight stung him.

“I guess we are,” Miles finally replied. He looked down. “What are you doing?”

“Holding your hand, duh!”

He let you intertwine your fingers with his, tentatively squeezing them in return.

[jintaka-hane]

The Cooking Contest

Masterlist | Img src

Summary: Killer loves cooking. And when he sees that the chef he admires is organizing a cooking contest at the port where they are docked, he asks Kid to participate. How will our beloved crew react to the possible outcomes of the event? Word count: 2000 Notes: protecting each other; friendship; don't insult my friend thing; very short tempered captain; violence off screen; chef and culinary degradation. Warning: All my stories are written entirely in Spanish and then translated into English, so I apologize for any mistakes I might make.

"Fuck," the first mate muttered, wiping away the torrent of sweat running down his neck as he stirred the sauce sticking to the skillet.

The kitchen was absolute chaos. The air was thick with a mix of strong and pungent smells; the counters were dirty and covered with scraps from all sorts of vegetables; and a group of cooks hurried to finish their dishes, frantically running back and forth, bumping into each other to the deafening concert of knives clattering against cutting boards.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” the blonde’s attention snapped to the pot, quickly lowering the heat as the water bubbled over with a hiss.

A condescending chuckle drifted behind him, and he didn’t need to turn around to know it came from the arrogant chef. He could picture him in his pristine, buttoned-up white uniform, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, casting a disapproving scowl at the contestants.

*****

"Kid" was all Killer had said the day before as he stared at the poster on the wall, the reason he now found himself caught up in such a compromising situation.

The redhead approached him, and his eyes scanned the printed letters from top to bottom.

The Magnificent Culinary Contest of G. Clamsey.

His painted lips stretched into an impossible grin. He was just about to bark out a laugh, raising his hand to slap his friend on the back, when he saw that Killer was actually serious. Kid swallowed his laughter, coughing and clearing his throat to regain his composure. Then he frowned, trying to keep a straight face as he looked back at the poster with forced concentration.

"You serious?" he simply asked when he finished.

Killer's blue eyes remained glued to the printed image of the smiling chef.

“Kil,” Kid ran a hand through his fiery hair, “I don’t know if we have time for—”

"You said we’d be here for a few days," Killer cut in, shifting his mask toward him.

"Yeah, I know, but we’ve got—"

"The prize is a set of the best quality pans and pots…"

Kid fidgeted, awkwardly adjusting his goggles over his forehead. "Since when do we need new pans, Kil? You know we can get—"

"There’s also a prize in berries… It’d be a chance to win some honest money for once."

“Honest…” His words were abruptly choked off by a sarcastic snort, disbelief written across his face. “Kil, PLEASE.”

“Kid…” Killer’s voice faltered, but he continued in his effort to open up to his captain. “Gorgon Clamsey is… he’s a big deal in South Blue. This…” He hesitated, slightly embarrassed. “It’s important to me.”

Eustass Kid looked at his friend, studying him with narrowed eyes for a few long seconds.

The captain was known for being impatient, proud, and scornful of everything he deemed uninteresting. Yet when it came to his friends, he was willing to set the world ablaze if they asked him to. He would do anything for them. So if his best friend wanted to compete in some ridiculous cooking contest run by a chef with an even more ridiculous name, then so be it.

"GUYS, STOP!" he yelled at his crew, raising his hand with a signal for them to gather. "We’re going to win a fucking cooking contest!"

*****

The competition had no more than twelve participants and was held in a small harbor tavern, the simplicity of the venue suggesting it had been organized on the spur of the moment, probably out of boredom on the part of the acclaimed chef.

Everyone in town was invited to come in, admire the dishes, and listen to the chef’s verdict with a beer in hand. And the Kid Pirates, along with about thirty others, had gathered there, drinking and chatting as they waited for the contestants to finish their plates.

When the kitchen doors finally swung open a line of cooks emerged, each one looking more frazzled than the last. Killer trudged forward, gripping his dish tightly and scanning the room for his friends.

Through the small crowd he spotted Bubblegum, Hip, and Heat, all grinning and giving him overly enthusiastic thumbs-ups. Further away, Kid leaned against the wall, arms crossed and his oversized coat draped over his shoulders. And in the back of the room, Wire flirted shamelessly with two girls, cornering them between his body and the wall.

Killer shook his head in an attempt to signal them that there was no chance of victory. He was a decent cook. And had genuinely thought he might stand a chance. But the pressure of cooking against the clock in a chaotic kitchen where everyone tripped over each other had put him on edge, resulting in a dish he wasn’t proud of.

Sighing, he headed toward his assigned table, placed his dish down and waited for the judgment of his admired chef.

Gorgon Clamsey approached the tables with his face twisted in disgust. With a flourish of his hand, he urged the first contestant to unveil her dish by lifting the cloche, and she revealed a plate of beef meatballs in sauce with peas.

“Disastrous presentation,” the chef muttered. He pulled a small fork from the pocket of his uniform and cut into the meat with a grimace. As he brought it to his lips he hesitated, barely allowing the tip of his tongue to make contact before pulling away in revulsion. 

“What is this, a joke?” he scoffed. “Lacks salt, the meat’s texture is atrocious, and the peas… I’ve seen better dishes served in Impel Down’s cafeteria!”

The contestant tried to stay composed, but after several seconds of enduring the chef's icy glare, ended up burying her face in her hands, choking out, “I’m a fraud!” before running from the tavern.

Killer swallowed hard behind his mask.

“You got this, Kil!” Hip shouted, cupping her hands around her mouth.

“Kiiiiller, Kiiiiller,” Bubblegum, Heat, and Quincy chanted in unison, their arms slung over each other’s shoulders.

The chef seemed unperturbed by the cheers, and moved from one dish to the next, ruthlessly criticizing the work of the unlucky contestants.

"If this is your idea of cooking, you should seriously consider a different career."

"This isn’t cooking; it’s a culinary crime scene!"

"It's as if you’ve taken all the worst flavors and combined them into one plate."

One by one, he shattered the dreams and hopes of each of the miserable cooks, leaving behind him a trail of disappointed faces. Kid watched from a distance with feigned disinterest, letting out scornful chuckles when his criticisms were especially cruel. But when the man reached the table where Killer nervously presented his plate, his smile faded.

“You may remove the cloche,” Clamsey ordered, his tone flat and devoid of interest.

Killer lifted the lid, and a cloud of steam escaped, revealing his dish to the chef’s piercing scrutiny. Before them lay a plate of spaghetti with Bolognese sauce.

The pasta had been lovingly handmade and cut to perfection, and the sauce had been carefully prepared with fresh tomatoes and slices of garlic, all mingled with slightly caramelized minced meat. A delicate sprig of parsley was carefully placed on the edge of the plate, garnishing the whole with elegance.

“Ts,” Clamsey chuckled condescendingly. “I don’t even know why I bother…”

The chef picked up the plate and brought it to his nose for a sniff as his gaze bored into the uneasy first mate’s mask. He set the plate down on the table, retrieved his small fork, and twirled a bit of pasta before lifting it to his mouth. Silence fell over the tavern, and Killer shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“Congratulations…” the chef began, and for a brief moment, Killer’s chest puffed out with pride, “... you’ve successfully turned a simple recipe into a complete catastrophe!”

The grins on the faces of the Kid Pirates vanished.

Clamsey slammed the fork onto the table and pointed a finger at Killer with all the authority of a judge. “The sauce is so overcooked, it should be in the obituary section!”

“EH, YOU JERK!” Hop shouted. “Don’t you dare mess with our Killer!”

The chef paid no attention to her outburst. “Did you learn to cook in a dumpster?”

Killer didn’t defend himself. The deep respect he felt for Gorgon Clamsey held him back. And the lack of pride in his dish made him believe that all the insults were entirely deserved. 

“I-I…” he stammered, looking more defeated by the second. But his words were cut short when Clamsey grabbed a napkin and smacked it against his chest.

"I wouldn’t serve this slop to my dog, and I’m pretty sure he’d refuse it too!"

A roar tore through the room, and everyone turned to see Eustass Captain Kid charging forward, his face twisted into a fierce snarl aimed directly at the chef. Striding with furious intent, he ripped off his massive red coat and hurled it to Hop as he stormed past, his seething gaze locked on his target. The crowd scrambled to get out of his way, terrified of being caught in the blast zone of his fury.

As he closed the distance between himself and Clamsey, he lifted his massive metal arm high into the air. The chef turned, visibly annoyed, and sized him up with a dismissive scowl.

"And who the hell are you, crippl—argggGG!" Clamsey’s words strangled in his throat as a cold, iron grip closed around his neck, cutting off the rest of his question.

Some people in the room gasped.

Others screamed.

The Kid Pirates grinned.

Eustass Kid yanked the chef by the neck and dragged him toward the exit. Clamsey’s eyes bulged in horror, feet kicking helplessly in the air as his hands clawed desperately at Kid’s iron grip, trying to pry loose the unyielding fingers. When they reached the door, Kid lifted a muddy boot and kicked it open with a violent thud, and the two men disappeared into the night, leaving the crowd in stunned silence.

Howls, screams, and metallic bangs could be heard from the other side of the door, causing people to cover their mouths in terror.

“He’s going to kill him!” a woman shouted.

But no one moved.

The crashes continued, mixed with pitiful whimpers and the heavy thud of something hitting the ground, until they slowly diminished and faded into silence.

The door crashed open with another kick, and Eustass Kid bursted back in, looking like a wild animal. His face and clothes were smeared with a grim mix of mud and blood, and his chest heaved with ragged breaths. His eyes, bright and sharp against the grime coating his skin, scanned the silent room, and with a low growl he stomped through the tavern, leaving a trail of muck and tension in his wake.

“He’s alive,” he muttered as he brushed past Wire, who remained obliviously flirtatious with the two girls.

The captain grabbed a chair, dragged it across the floor until he reached Killer, and then dropped his full weight into it.

“Give me a fork,” he grumbled as he leaned over the plate of pasta.

“Kid…” Killer replied, staring at him in bewilderment through the holes of his mask. “You don’t have to—”

“I’m fuckin' hungry. Hand me a damn fork or I’ll eat it with my hands.”

Killer fumbled through the front pocket of his apron and pulled out a fork. Kid snatched it, practically stabbing the pasta with it.

“Mmmh,” he stuffed a huge forkful of spaghetti into his mouth, tomato sauce splattering all over his already dirty face.

Killer swallowed hard and bit his lip, trying to hold himself together. But the sight of Kid voraciously devouring his plate made warm tears spill down his concealed cheeks. Kid kept eating, stabbing the fork into the pasta with increasing ferocity, while Killer fought to suppress the sobs that threatened to escape beneath his mask. When Kid finished, he leaned back in his chair and tossed the fork onto the empty plate with a loud clatter.

“The best damn pasta in the whole freakin’ world, Kil” he said, wiping his mouth on his forearm as he stood up.

The blond held the empty plate in his hands and stared at it, unable to stop his shoulders from shaking.

“We're outta here, guys!!” Kid shouted to his crew, gesturing toward the shiny set of pans and pots waiting for the winning contestant. “And grab all those fucking new pans for Kil!”

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

Taglist: @fanaticsnail @armiliadawn @pandora-writes-one-piece @i-am-vita @eustasscapitankid @nocturnalrorobin @daydreamer-in-training <3

[lee-laurent]

Don't Go Breakin' My Heart - Luke Hughes

Summary: Luke gets his heart broken

content: children, angst, mentions of breakups, kissing, makeouts, mention of sex but no smut, mentions of using sex to cope with emotions, crying, oc x ex!john marino

wc: 4.6k

notes: PART 7!!! i want to thank everyone that still loves this series :) it means the world to me that there are ppl that enjoy my writing!! anywho... this one is a doozy. it was originally longer, but i've decided to split it into two parts! enjoy!!

Tori felt like shit. She felt like locking herself in her room and never talking to anyone ever again. But she's a mother and sadly that is no longer an option. So instead, she sat on the floor next to Riley's drawing table and helped him colour some pictures.

"What's this one?" she asked, pointing to one of the scribbles on his piece of paper.

"Mama and Dada."

Tori just nodded, letting her emotions get to her before she could tell her son how great his picture was. But Riley didn't seem to care, grabbing his red crayon and scribbling away on his picture of "Dada."

"What colour is that, Ri?"

"Red! Like 'ockey!"

"It is! It's red just like Dada's jersey. You're so smart, baba," she ruffled his hair, trying to stay in the moment.

"Pwetty?"

"Yes! All the colours are so pretty!"

Riley beamed at the praise, his attention fully on his artwork.

"Are you gonna give it to Dada?"

"Yes! Pwsent."

"A present? Wow, you're so nice, Ri-Ri."

Riley's face scrunched up in concentration, the crayon pressed against the page. Her heart ached with love for her son, but also the weight of everything that had happened since she met Luke. The kiss with John kept replaying in her mind, making it almost impossible to focus on the bonding moment they were sharing. She wished she could back and erase what had happened, especially the guilt clawing at the inside of her chest.

"More?" Riley asked, holding up the picture to show her.

"It's perfect, Riley. Dada's gonna love it."

He grabbed another crayon, blue this time, and added more lines to his creation. Tori watched, feeling like she was watching her life unravel in slow motion. How was she going to explain this to Luke? How was she going to keep everything from falling apart? Maybe she would take Riley and move back to Pittsburgh.

But as she watched Riley, so happy and innocent, she knew she had to be strong. Riley would be heartbroken if they went to Pittsburgh and he couldn't see his dad. She couldn't let her mistakes ruin everything, especially not for her baby. She had to fix this, to make things right with Luke, even if it meant facing the consequences of her actions.

"Dada's gonna be so happy with his present," she murmured, more to herself than Riley. She just hoped that, somehow, they could all get through this without ending up more broken than before.

She took a deep breath, "How about we add some yellow?"

Riley's eyes lit up, and he eagerly took the crayon from his mom. Tori watched with pride as he added more colour. She knew that no matter what happened with Luke, her priority was Riley's happiness.

When Riley finished his masterpiece, he looked up at her with a grin. "Done, Mama!"

"It's beautiful, Ri-Ri! Dada's gonna be so proud of you!" she pressed a kiss to his forehead.

Riley carefully set the drawing back down on the table, grabbing a new piece of paper. Tori's phone buzzed and she reached to pick it up. Her heart skipped a beat when she noticed it was "Luke <3" flashing across the screen. This was it--the moment she'd been dreading.

"Luke?" she answered, her voice unsteady.

"Hey, Tori. Can we talk?"

Tori swallowed hard, glancing at Riley, who was already starting a new drawing. "Yeah, we can talk. Can you come over?"

There was a pause before Luke answered. "I'll be there in 15."

She looked down at Riley again as Luke hung up. She knew that no matter what happened, she'd shield Riley from it. Not allow herself to yell with him in the room. Riley was her first priority. Always.

~~

When the doorbell rang, Tori jumped, her heart racing. She opened the door to Luke, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Hey."

"Hi," she closed the door behind him, her stomach twisting.

Luke took a glance around the room, his eyes landing on Riley, who was still engrossed in making another drawing. "How's he doing?"

"He's... good. Been working on some art," she replied, her voice tight.

Luke managed a small smile as he walked over to Riley. "Hey, buddy," he greeted, ruffling the toddler's hair. "What're you drawing?"

Riley looked up, his face lighting up at the sight of Luke. "Look 'Uke! Pwsent for Dada!"

Luke's smile faltered for just a moment, but he was quick to recover. "Wow! That's awesome, Ri! I'm sure he'll love it!"

Tori didn't miss the slight change in Luke's demeanor, the way he tried to keep things light for Riley's sake. It only made her feel worse.

"Can we talk?" Luke asked, nodding his head towards the kitchen.

"Of course."

Luke shoved his hands in his pockets, his gaze fixed on the tile of the floor. "I've been distant lately," he began, "And I know you've noticed. I'm sorry, Victoria."

Tori bit her lip, waiting for him to continue.

"I've been trying to figure out if I can handle all of... all of this. Being with you, being in Riley's life, dealing with everything that comes with it," he finally met her eyes. "I didn't want to just jump in without being sure, but I didn't know how to tell you without making you feel like I wasn't committed."

She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes, but she blinked them back, determined to stay strong. "I wish you would've talked to me about it," she whispered. "We could've figured it out together."

"I know," he admitted, taking a step closer to her. "I was scared, Vic. Scared of messing things up, of not being good enough for you or Riley. But I'm here now, and I want to make it right."

"Luke, there's something I need to tell you too," she started, her voice trembling. "Something happened... with John."

Luke's expression shifted, the colour draining from his face as he processed her words. "What do you mean, 'something happened?'"

"We kissed. It was a mistake, Luke, I swear. I didn't mean for it to happen, and I regret it so much."

Luke stared at her, shock and hurt written all over his face. He turned away, running a hand through his hair as he tried to process her words. The silence between them was deafening, and Tori felt like she was suffocating under the tension.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

Tori wiped at her eyes, her voice breaking as she replied, "I was scared too, Luke. I didn't want to lose you, and I didn't know how to make it right. But I had to be honest with you, even if it means..."

"Even if it means we don't make it through this?" he finished for her, his voice rough with emotion.

She nodded, heart shattering at the thought. "I don't want to lose you, Luke. But I understand if you need time... or if you can't-"

Luke cut her off, backing out of the kitchen. "I don't know what this means for us, Tori. But I need time. A lot of time. I just..."

"I get it. I, uh, I'll talk to you when you're ready."

Luke just nodded, holding back his tears as he exited the apartment. His mind filled with so many thoughts that he forgot to say 'bye' to the toddler who was waving at him as he left.

Tori felt her world crumbling around her. Luke's reaction, while deserved, was devastating. And she knew she needed to sort these feelings out soon. But how would she do that with Riley needing her constant attention?

She picked up her phone, her fingers hovering over the call button next to John's name. She didn't want to tell him what had happened with Luke--not yet, at least. But she needed the space to breathe, to think.

"Hey, V," John's voice came through the line, sounding surprised. "Everything okay?"

"I was wondering if you could come by and take Riley for a little while. I just... I need some time."

"Of course," he replied without hesitation. "Be there soon."

When John arrived, Riley ran up to him excitedly, holding up the drawing he'd made. "'Ook, Dada! Pwsent!"

John's face lit up with a genuine smile as he knelt down to admire the work. "Wow, bud! This is amazing! Thank you!"

As John lifted Riley into his arms, Tori could see how much Riley adored his father. Seeing them together only made her decisions more difficult. She couldn't ruin Riley's happiness, but what about her happiness?

"Ready to go, big guy?"

Riley nodded, clinging to his father.

"John, can I talk you for a second before you go?"

John shifted his attention to Tori, sensing the seriousness in her voice. "Ri, why don't you get your backpack?"

Riley ran off to his room to find his little backpack, probably filling it with toys in the process.

"What's up, Tori?"

Without thinking, Tori stepped forward and kissed him. It was a desperate, searching kiss, one that held all her confusion and longing she couldn't put into words. She needed to know if there was anything left there, anything worth throwing away for Luke.

John was momentarily taken aback, but then he responded, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her closer. The kiss deepened, and for a moment, everything else faded away--the pain, the guilt, the confusion.

When they finally pulled apart, Tori stared at him, breathles and conflicted. "I... I just needed to know."

"And did it help? Did it make things clearer for you?" he held her face in his hands, staring right into her eyes.

She fixed her gaze to the floor, "I'm not sure."

"I'll take Ri for as long as you need. Just let me know."

He turned to go to Riley's room when she grapped his wrist, turning him around.

"Stay," her voice trembled.

John hesitated, searching her eyes for a clue to the turmoil inside her mind. The words Tori wanted to say were stuck in her throat. The last thing she wanted was to lead him on, to make promises she wasn't sure she could keep, but the thought of being alone now felt unbearable.

"Please," she whispered. "Just for a little bit."

He nodded, gently squeezing her hand. "Okay, I'll stay."

Tori released his wrist, leading him to the living room, the air thick with unspoken words.

"Ri will be okay playing in his room for a bit."

John nodded, his eyes never leaving her. "Tori, you don't have to explain anything right now. I'm here for you, whenever you need."

His words only made her feel more conflicted. How could she sit here, next to the father of her child, after what had just happened with her boyfriend? Was he even her boyfriend anymore? And yet, here was John, offering her support without asking for anything in return.

"I don't know what I'm doing," she admitted. "Everything's messed up, and I'm making it worse."

John reached out, intertwining their fingers. "You're doing the best you can. None of this is easy, and it's okay to feel lost."

Tori turned her head away, not wanting John to see her cry, but he gently cupped her cheek, turning her face back towards him.

"Don't hide from me, V," he said softly. "I've seen you at your best and your worst. You don't have to pretend with me."

That broke her. The tears she'd been trying to hold in, spilled over. She let out a shaky breath, letting everything crash down on her. John pulled her into his arms, holding her close as she cried, his hand rubbing soothing circles on her back.

"I'm scared, John. I don't want to lose Riley, or you, or Luke."

John pressed a kiss to the top of her head, "You're not going to lose Riley, V. And as for me... I'll always be here for you, no matter what."

She clung to him, still feeling guilty. She didn't know how long they'd sat there cuddling, but eventually, her tears began to subside, leaving her feeling drained but a little more at peace.

"Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me. You're the mother of my only child, Tori. I'm here to help you figure out everything."

"I just... I need time to think. To decide what's best for me and Riley."

"And you've got that time. Look I don't know what's got you feeling like this. But you're not alone."

"Can we... just sit here for a while? I don't want to be alone right now."

"Of course."

Tori rested her head on John's chest, feeling the tension slowly leave her body. She had no idea what the future held for her and Luke; but, for now she let herself find comfort in John's embrace, knowing that for at least for this moment, she wasn't alone.

~~

The next morning, John felt a sense of unease as he left Tori's apartment. The night had been filled with emotional turmoil, but he had stayed with Tori, because she needed someone, and he didn't want her to feel alone. They hadn't crossed any lines after that kiss, but the fact that he'd spent the night at her place could easily be misunderstood--especially by one Mr. Luke Hughes.

John shook off the thought as he got into his car, trying to focus on the day ahead. Practice. He'd already texted Lindy to let him know he was running late, but he wasn't looking forward to facing the guys in the locker room, especially not Luke.

When he finally walked into the Devils' locker room, he could feel the eyes of his teammates on him. John wasn't one to shy away from attention, but today felt different. There was an air of suspicion, that hung over the room.

Morning, Sleeping Beauty," Nico called out with a grin, breaking the silence.

John smirked, trying to play it cool. "Yeah, yeah, I know I'm late. Don't worry, I'll make it up on the ice."

"Where were you, Marino?" Jack chimed in, not letting it go. "You usually don't roll in this late unless something's up."

John hesitated for a moment, glancing around the room. He knew there was no easy way to say it, but lying would only make things worse. "I, uh... I spent the night at Tori's."

The room went quiet. It was the kind of quiet that made you feel like everyone was waiting for something to happen.

Luke, had been tying his skates, suddenly froze. His eyes snapped up to meet John's, and the fury in them was unmistakable. He shot to his feet, fists clenched at his sides. "What did you just say?"

John held up his hands, trying to diffuse the situation before it escalated. "Luke, it's not what you think-"

But Luke wasn't having it. He crossed the room in a few quick strides, shoving John hard in the chest. "You spent the night at her place? Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Luke, calm down," Jack interjected, stepping in between them, but Luke was too far gone.

"No, Jack, stay out of this!" Luke snapped, his voice raw with anger. "You think you can just waltz in here and tell me you spent the night with Tori after everything that's happened? What the hell were you thinking, John?"

John's jaw tightened. He understood Luke's reaction, but the accusation still stung. "I wasn't trying to hurt you, Luke. She needed someone, and I was there. That's all."

Luke wasn't buying it. His breathing was heavy, and his fists still clenched. "Bullshit! You've been trying to get back with hers since the moment I showed up. And now you're just... what? Moving in on her because I wasn't there?"

"That's not what happened, and you know it!" John spat back, his own temper flaring now. "I'm Riley's dad, Luke. I was trying to help her out!"

"By staying the night?" Luke's voice was full of sarcasm and disbelief. "You knew we were having issues, and you used it to your advantage. You've always been a selfish prick!"

John's patience snapped. "And you think you're any better? You've been so focused on your own doubts that you've pushed her right back to me. So maybe you should look in the mirror before blaming me for everything!"

Luke lunged at him, and the locker room erupted into chaos. Their teammates rushed to pull them apart, Jack and Nico holding Luke back while Dougie and Dawson grabbed John.

"Enough!" Nico shouted, trying to get control of the situation. "This isn't the place for this shit!"

But Luke wasn't listening. He was seething, his eyes locked on John. "You're dead to me, Marino. Stay the hell away from me, and stay the hell away from Tori!"

John, breathing heavily, didn't reply. The tension between them could've been cut by a knife, and it was clear it wasn't going to be resolved easily.

Lindy walked in just as the chaos was settling down, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene. "What the hell is going on in here?" he barked.

"Nothing, coach," Nico quickly covered, trying to defuse the situation before it got any worse. "Just a little disagreement. We'll handle it."

Lindy didn't look convinced, but he nodded curtly. "Handle it fast. We've got practice in five. And I don't want any of this shit spilling onto the ice."

He walked out, but everyone knew this wasn't over. Not by a long shot.

~~

John wasn't sure why he decided to go to Tori's after practice. Maybe it was because he wanted to see Riley or maybe it was because he felt the need to protect his family after his dispute with Luke. His emotions were running high and he felt an intense urge to be with Riley, to connect with the one person in his life who brought him genuine joy amid the chaos.

When he walked in, Tori was in the kitchen, trying to distract herself with mundane chores. She looked up, surprised but grateful to see him.

"Hey."

"Hey. Riley's in his room. Playing dinosaurs I think. He'd love to see you."

John opened the door, finding Riley sitting in the middle of the floor, surrounded by plastic dinosaurs.

"DADA!" he scrambled to his feet, running over to John and throwing his arms around his legs.

"Hey, buddy!" his heart swelled with love for his son. "What're you up to?"

"Pwaying! "Oo pway, Dada?"

"Of course I do," John replied, joining Riley on the floor.

"Dino 'venture!"

"Oh are they going on a dino adventure?"

"Yes! Dino 'venture!"

"Rawr!" John growled playfully.

"RAWR!"

"Wow! You're a scary dinosaur, Ri!"

"No! No scawy! Just Wiley."

"Oh thank goodness it's you, Riley! I thought there was a scary dinosaur in my Riley's room!"

They continued to play dinos, Riley making sure his dad knew that he didn't need to be scared and that they were just toys. The weight of the world was lifted off John's shoulders as he spent time with his son. Riley's laughter lifted his spirits instantly and reminded him of how much he loved his son.

Tori watched from the doorway for a few minutes. Seeing the genuine joy John brought into Riley's life stirred something in Tori. It was a stark reminder of why she had fallen for John in the first place--his effortless love and his ability to bring light into her life during rough times.

After a couple hours of playing, Riley was starting to yawn. John helped him get his pjs on as Tori prepped his bottle. Tori watched as they read dino books together as Riley began to drift off. John tucked him in, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

"Night, Ri-Ri. I love you," he whispered, going to join Tori in the living room.

"Thank you for coming by tonight. Riley loves spending time with you," she grinned, setting her book down on the coffee table.

"I needed it too. More than you know," he grinned, reaching out to hold her hand.

"John…" she started, "I don't know what to do anymore. Everything feels like a mess."

"I know, V. But right now, all I want is to be here for you. For both of you."

Tori's facade crumbled. She had been holding back her feelings, trying to figure out her emotions. But now, with John so close (and after seeing him bond with Riley), it was hard to resist the pull. She leaned into him, and he wrapped his arms around her, drawing her close.

They shared a kiss filled with the desperation and longing they both felt. It deepened quickly, and before either of them knew it, they were laying on the couch making out. Tori's hands in John's hair and John's wrapped about her waist.

John was the first to stop, helping Tori up as he led them to her bedroom. Their kisses growing more fervent. They fell back onto the bed together, and for the first time in a long time, Tori took her shirt off and laid back with John hovering over her. His touch was both comforting and electrifying, filled with a sense of familiarity. And Tori was surprised to say that making love felt like they were mending all the broken pieces between them.

Afterward, they lay together in silence, Tori's head resting on John's chest, her leg thrown over his. She couldn't deny the connection that they shared. They both knew that fucking didn't solve their problems, but in that moment, they felt connected in a way they hadn't since they found out they were having a baby together. And for now, this was the only way Tori knew how to bring that feeling back.

~~

Tori woke up the next morning, the warmth of John's body next to hers. The night had been a whirlwind of emotions, but now, as sunlight filtered through the curtains, she found a sense of peace. Her thoughts ran to Riley, who was still asleep in his room.

She slipped out of bed quitely, not wanting to disturb John. As she made her way to Riley's room, she was greeted by the sight of her son snuggled under his hockey-themed blanket, his Winnie the Pooh clutched in his arms, his face peaceful and serene.

She gently shook him awake, knowing that he wouldn't be able to nap later if he slept in, leaving her with an irritable nightmare.

"Good morning, baby," she whispered, brushing some hair from his face.

"Mornin', Mama," his tiny hands reaching up for a hug.

Tori lifted him from his crib and carried him to the kitchen. She was eager to start the day, to make it as perfect as possible. The dream she had been chasing for so long seemed to be within reach. John and Riley together felt like she'd finally gotten the ideal family she had always envisioned.

She set Riley up with breakfast, watching as he happily dug into his cheerios and sliced strawberry. Tori busied herself preparing a fresh pot of coffee, her mind racing with thoughts of the future. She imagined what her life could look like as a picture-perfect family, with John and Riley by her side. It felt right. It felt like she'd always wanted it to be since she first found out about Riley's existence.

John joined them in the kitchen, his presence bringing normalcy and comfort with it. He kissed Tori on the cheek, wrapping his arms around her waist.

"Morning, big guy."

"Mornin', Dada!" Riley exclaimed.

They enjoyed breakfast together, and Tori couldn't help but revel in the warmth and closeness of their family unit. It was like a dream come true. Riley's little giggles and John's easy banter made her feel more relaxed than she had in ages. She was living the life she's always dreamed of.

As she showered, she imagined their future. Family picnics, holidays together, and cozy evenings spent at home. The idea of a perfect family with John seemed so tangible that it was hard to consider anything else. The dream was intoxicating.

In the midst of her euphoria of spending a day at home with her family, the idea of reaching out to Luke didn't come to mind once. The idea of confronting the complexities of their relationship seemed distant compared to the joy she was feeling with her boys.

That evening as she sat on the couch with John, his arms wrapped around her waist, Riley playing happily with his cars, she felt so much fulfillment. She was determined to hold onto this feeling, no matter what the future tried to throw her way.

~~

Luke sat in the dark of his bedroom, the only light coming from the TV across from his bed. A show was playing, but he wasn't paying attention, zoning out and losing focus every couple minutes. The rage he had felt in the locker room had gone down and now was just a flicker in his chest. He felt more betrayal and confusion now than anger.

How could Tori do that? How could John, someone he used to see as a teammate he could look up to, stab him in the back? Spend the night with his girlfriend? Luke thought over every moment he'd spent with Tori and Riley, wondering it was all just a lie.

He felt betrayed by both Tori and John. Tori, who he had fallen for deeply and quickly, had kissed another man. And not just any man, her ex-boyfriend, the father of her child--while Luke was trying to figure out if he even belonged in her life. And John, a teammate and supposed friend, had gone behind his back. It felt like the rug had been pulled from under him, and he was left flailing his arms as he lost his balance.

Luke had always prided himself on keeping his cool, not being as quick to temper as his brothers, but this? This was too much. The frustration of trying to fit into this ready-made family, the doubts he had about being there for both Riley and Tori, and now this-- it all came crashing down on him. And he didn't know how to process it.

Jack knocked on his door, letting himself in without waiting for an answer. "Hey man. You okay?"

Luke shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. His throat was tight with the effort of holding back tears and keeping his composure.

"I get it. This sucks. It's messed up. But you gotta keep your head, okay? Don't let Marino and Tori mess with you. You need to focus on you and what you want."

"What I want?" Luke managed, his voice hoarse. "What I want is to go back to when things were simple. Before all this... this bullshit."

"I know. But you can't. You've got to deal with it now. What do you want to do? Do you still want to be with her?"

Luke's heart ached at the question. He wanted to be with Tori; that much was clear. He was in love with her. But how could he be with someone who kissed another man--her ex, no less-- while they were still trying to figure things out? Could he trust her again? Would things ever be the same?

"I don't know, Jack. I don't know if I can do this."

Jack just nodded, offering silent support to his brother. Luke was at a crossroads, and he had no idea which direction to take.

For now, all he knew was that he needed more space-- from Tori, from John, from everyone. He needed time to think, to process, and to figure out what the hell he was going to do next.

[gejo333]

Do Not Disturb!

Miguel O’Hara x Spider! Reader One-shot

Summary: What happens when a group of young mischievous spiders interrupt a private session between Y/n and Miguel.

18+ Very light mention of smut.

I decided to post something short since I’m a bit delayed on the first chapter! But I promise chapter one of “El Destino” will be out tomorrow!

Sorry if there are any grammatical mistakes💕

____________________________________________

After having a long day on a mission, all Miguel wanted to do was rest in his quarters with you. However, being the leader of spider society didn’t give him a lot of time off.

His eyes tiredly scanned over multiple different screens of multiple different universes, making sure no anomalies popped up. However, a small alarm went off, indicating that a dog from Earth-2157 appeared in Earth-3708.

He didn’t bother going on these menial missions, instead he would ask a spider who can easily fix the mistake.

“Lyla, what Spiders are available to go on a small mission?” Past 10 at HQ many Spiders had already gone back to their universes.

“What?” Miguel asked annoyed by the AI’s sudden laughter.

“Only Hobie, Gwen, Miles, or Pavitr are available still.” Said Lyla as she tried to stop laughing.

“Dios mío.” Miguel sighed in frustration, rubbing his temples to stop an oncoming headache. Those four were the most irritating spiders across the universes. “I don’t care chose any of them.”

Miguel heard light footsteps from behind before feeling arms wrap around his waist. Miguel turned around to face his beloved spider.

“I thought you went to bed early mi amor?” Miguel wrapped his arms around the smaller spider as he placed his lips to yours for a quick sweet kiss.

“I was going to. But the bed is comfier when your in it with me.” The smaller spider wrapped their arms around his neck having to reach up on your tippy toes to do the small gesture.

“I wish I could. But I need to stay here a little longer.” He left another kiss on your lips staying a little longer not wanting it to end. You sadly parted from his lips, needing air when a grin came to your face. You move to his desk and sit on it, spreading your legs slightly as a tease.

“Maybe a small break will help relax you, mhm?” You saw his once tired eyes ignite with excitement and lust as he moved in front of you.

He position his hips in between you, forcing your legs to spread wider. You felt the bump of his erection against you as he pulled you in closer wrapping your arms around his neck, bringing his lips to yours.

You suddenly felt his claws in your thighs making you gasp and allowing his tongue to explore your mouth.

Small moans escaped your lips as you felt his hips moving, grinding his erection against you.

“I want you inside me Papi.” You whispered into his ear. A groan leaves your lips as you feel his erection grow from hearing his nickname.

“Sí, mi amor.” Miguel breathed out. He was about to lower his pants when he hears movement and a forced cough from behind.

In embarrassment, you quickly stand from the desk and stand a few feet from Miguel. Everyone knew you two were a couple, but the thought of being caught made you bright red.

“Sorry to come at a bad time mate.” Said a laughing Hobie.

“What are you four doing here?” Miguel growled. Of course he gets cock-blocked by these four idiots.

“We wanted to say the mission was done. And ask if there were more missions to go on.” Said Gwen whose face was also red from catching the boss and you in action.

“You interrupted me to say that?!” Miguel began to grow furious at their sorry excuse for the disruption.

“If I were you, I would run before he decides to chase you.” You whisper to them.

“Right.” Said Miles as they began back away slowly so to not get Miguel’s attention during his rant. Unfortunately, Pavitr made a noise catching Miguel’s attention who looked like he was about to murder them.

“Run!” Yelled Hobie as the four sprinted out followed by a furious Miguel.

____________________________________________

Translations

Dios Mio= My god!

Mi amor= my love

Hope you enjoyed this short one-shot!

[jianhue]

Information about William !! (Moral Orel oc)

Stuff you should know !

1. My English is HORRIBLE. I don't have the greatest vocabulary so most of my sentences are repetitive

2. His information might change over time.

3. Uhh idk if this needs any warning but there is some topics about trauma and stuff so watch out for that

4. This is written informally lol

5. I made this around midnight, there's some mistakes

Text form:

Basic information:

Name: William Boltspin

Age: 36

Occupation: Psychologist

Height: 5’11

Habits: over analysing people’s small gestures, thinking out loud, tripping on nothing when nervous, fidgeting, freezing when in put into a tight spot

Hobbies: Reading, watching stuff go down

Introduction:

Will is introduced as a new person in town. He recently moved in, and since nobody was willing to show him around, Orel did. But in a typical Moral Orel episode, something happens. In the good will of Orel, he shared a little too much. This kind of scared Will out, but he still stayed in the town. Mostly because he was fascinated by how the town was old-school. At first, he got along with the townspeople, but they soon realised they had different principles and ideals.

Seeing how he wasn't really attending the daily sermons, Orel took it upon himself to invite him to church. Will isn't really the type to go to church daily, but seeing how everyone was going and how eager Orel was to get him to attend the sermons, he started attending daily too. After an episode focusing on his move, he became a typical side character, only showing up on screen for a few scenes or just in the background.

Show appearances:

During season 1, aside from his little worries and complaints about the children in town having too much freedom, Will is seen acting fairly normal. He's been seen in church, walking to the doctor’s office, etc. Most of his appearance is just him passing by; sometimes he gives out advice that is a bit too vague.

In season 2, his concerns grow, and he starts to disagree with some of the other characters. He doesn’t get along with Reverend Putty much, but he does tolerate him. Will offers to babysit some of the children, mostly doughy or shapey. It’s mostly because he sees signs of neglect. Unfortunately, he does have work of his own, so he isn’t always there for them.

Upon learning about his profession, some started to doubt his faith. He still attends church even with people talking about him, and his only reason is because of Orel. Will does try to correct the behaviour of some people, but when he gets a bad response (which happens every time), he takes it back. Sometimes, mostly by accident, he does the same thing he criticises people for. Telling people not to yell in front of children or to not show any bad behaviour they can pick up.

He still bonds and gives some proper advice to Orel, but makes sure to keep him at arm's length. He’s afraid of being dragged into the things Orel does. But in an episode, he finally had the courage to join Orel. He follows him around and secretly does things so they avoid trouble. But of course, trouble does happen. Before Orel was taken to Clay’s study room, they made eye contact. Will felt responsible since he was an adult and he was around Orel the whole time. Even though he felt immense guilt, he was still too afraid to intervene. He mouthed the words “I’m sorry, Orel.” In the end, he became a bystander. Something he wished he never would be.

Season 3 is where Will’s mental health starts to deteriorate. He feels guilty for being so hypocritical. Feeling responsible for kids he isn’t even related to has taken a toll on him. Other adults also started to vent out their problems to him at the bar, hoping for some advice from Will.

His last scene is Orel finding him sitting at an alley next to Forghetty’s Bar. Will was drunk and cried to Orel about everything he hated, even calling Clay a bastard right in front of him. After that furious rant he calmed down and started muttering about how he “didn’t want to be like this” and that he’s sorry for being such a horrible person, a bystander, a hypocrite, a coward, a person he can’t rely on. He picks up his glasses and apologises before realising who he was dumping all his problems to. It was Orel. A child. He remembers his promise to himself, never burden a child with your problems. Not even as an accident. Not knowing what to do, he just froze and cried.

After that scene, Will would be seen avoiding children. He’s seen more often in the bar, mostly in the background or puking at the corner.

Upbringing:

As a kid, Will would be told to turn a blind eye to things that were not his business. Around his teenage years, he would witness a violent crime, but instead of helping, he just pretended he didn’t see anything and walked away. The person would later be found dead. Will couldn’t take it; he felt extreme guilt, blaming himself for not saving them or even just calling the police.

His mother also had violent outbursts, venting her problems to her son. He felt responsible for her, so he just took everything. Beatings, berating, everything. Will basically took care of her. His mother was a very judgmental woman, whispering to him about people around his neighbourhood. Will gaslights himself to think that it’s just his mother’s way of showing concern and affection. When he finished college, his mother passed away. He never actually bothered to find his father because his mother told him, “It’s not worth finding that bastard of a man." Will just followed what his mother said. But in the end, his own mother’s last words were, “I fucking hate that face of yours. You’re a spitting image of that fucking bastard.”

He already knew his mother actually hated him. He just denied it. But hearing it straight from her just made him lose it. Will swore to never treat a child like his mother did to him.

[ppleasexanny]

the puzzle's new pieces in the wake of jigsaw's death, a new killer emerges, mimicking his twisted games

warnings: blood, suicide, death (lmk if i forgot about anything) wc: 1.4k

the entire country is abuzz with fear over the return of “jigsaw,” a notorious serial killer whose reign of terror was thought to have ended with his death. yet, despite the original jigsaw's demise, the killings persist, leaving the people of new jersey gripped in paranoia. everyone is scared, the whole new jersey state is talking only about this topic. 

“it’s just stupid, meg!” you shout to your friend and co-worker. “some old guy kills people because they ‘don’t appreciate’ their lives, then he dies, his accomplice amanda dies—and somehow the murders still keep happening! we don’t even know who’s behind it!” you fling the papers in your hands across meg’s bed, frustration boiling over.  

meg sighs heavily, exasperation creeping into her voice. “he’s not killing people. they’re killing themselves.” she swivels in her chair to face you, the exhaustion plain on her face. “the whole ‘jigsaw mantra’? it’s about making them face their own guilt or whatever. anyway…” she spins back toward her desk, rifling through documents. “john kramer was in contact with amanda. we know that. amanda was in a relationship with matthew sturniolo. we should talk to him in the morning.”  

“yeah, we’ll do that.” you return to the documents and photos strewn across the room, letting the silence settle for a moment before a thought strikes.  

“play the tape again.”  

⸝⸝

another victim of john’s traps wakes up in a small, cold and dimly lit room, chained to the floor. above them, suspended from the ceiling, is a massive, razor-sharp pendulum with a blade that swings back and forth. the victim is positioned directly in its path, but they are not immediately in danger. in front of them is a large, heavy metal door, locked shut with a complex mechanism. they are so confused, frightened, their breath gets more rapid and before they know it, tears run down their cheeks.  

“help! someone help me! please!” they yell, hoping that someone will hear them, but they know that no one is going to come here and save them.  

suddenly, a mechanical whir echoed through the room causing them to look in the direction of the sound. a small tv flickered on, and the image of a puppet with hollow eyes and a chilling grin appeared. then, the voice spoke.  

"hello thomas. you are here because of the choices you’ve made. choices that haunt you, that weigh on you. you thought you could run from them, but now, there’s no escape.  

a pendulum, sharp and unforgiving, swings above you. each swing is a reminder—reminder of your past, your mistakes, and the consequences of them. you are chained to the floor, but your freedom lies behind a door. a door that you can only unlock if you confront what you have done.  

in front of you, you’ll find several objects. each one holds a piece of your past. only one holds the key to your escape. you must choose carefully. the wrong choice will not only keep you trapped—it will cost you your life.  

the key to the door is within a steel block. it can only be freed by burning the right object. but beware... time is running out. the pendulum swings closer with each second you waste. if you don't act soon, it will end your story.  

live or die, thomas.  

make your choice.”  

the screen went dark as the pendulum began to swing faster. thomas’s eyes darted to the small pile of items scattered before him: an old photograph of a woman holding a baby, a screwdriver and a set of car keys. his breath caught in his throat. each object was a shard of his life, broken and fragmented.  

the photo. the photo of his loving and kind wife, who tried her best to make thomas happy, chained to the bed’s leg. next to her was their daughter, who had to listen to them yelling at each other every evening, also chained to the bed.  

the screwdriver that he used to unscrew a nail from a pencil sharpener and hurt himself with the blade.  

the car keys reminded him of hitting a stranger while driving.

his mind raced. “what do i do? which one?” he stared at the items, his hands trembling. the pendulum swung closer, its blade slicing the air with a whooshing sound. he had to burn the right object to release the corrosive liquid and free the key, but what was the right choice?  

his heart screamed for him to grab the car keys. that accident had started it all. it was his deepest regret. he seized the keys and threw them into the furnace nearby. the heat surged, flames licking at the metal, but... nothing. no liquid dripped, no key emerged.  

the pendulum inched closer.  

thomas’s screams filled the room as he fumbled for another object. the photograph. he grabbed it with shaking hands, hesitating for a moment as he looked at the faces in it—his wife and child. he clenched his jaw and shoved it into the fire.  

the furnace hissed. this time, a dark liquid oozed out, burning through the steel block. the key fell onto the floor with a clang, but the pendulum was already dangerously close. its blade sliced the air just inches from his chest.  

with a final surge of adrenaline, thomas grabbed the key and reached for the lock on his chains. his fingers fumbled, slick with sweat and trembling. the lock clicked open, and he scrambled to his feet, but he wasn’t fast enough.  

the pendulum swung down, its sharp edge catching him in the back. the man gasped, the pain blinding, as it sliced deeper with each pass. he collapsed, blood pooling around him. his vision blurred as he stared at the open door just a few feet away, freedom tantalizingly close yet forever out of reach.  

his last thoughts were of the photograph, the faces he’d burned away, and the life he could never reclaim.  

the pendulum swung one final time.  

⸝⸝

“it doesn’t sound like jigsaw at all.” meg spoke up as she stared at the puppet on the screen. “a voice changer,” you said with no emotion in your voice as you bit on your pen, completely zooned out. finally, meg took her eyes off of the screen, tilting her head in your direction. “someone tried to sound like jigsaw, so they used a voice changer. send it to jasmine.”  

meg nodded and clicked a few keys on her laptop, sending the recording to jasmine, the department's forensic audio analyst. she leaned back in her chair, her eyes narrowed in thought. "if someone’s impersonating jigsaw, it’s not just about the traps. they want people to believe it’s him. that means whoever this is-"  

"-is obsessed," you finished for her. "or trying to use the fear of jigsaw to cover their own agenda." you exhaled sharply and leaned back against the wall. "this isn’t just about making people appreciate life. this is… something else entirely."  

meg gestured to the case files scattered across her desk. "we’ve got a connection between kramer and amanda. if we’re chasing leads, matthew sturniolo’s our best shot. kramer groomed amanda; who’s to say amanda didn’t groom someone else before she died?"  

the thought made your stomach churn. the idea of this violence being passed down like some twisted legacy was almost too much to bear. "what do we even ask him? 'did your dead girlfriend turn you into a serial killer?' he won’t talk to us unless we’ve got something solid."  

"that’s why we play nice at first," meg said. "let’s see what he says when we bring up amanda."  

before you could respond, meg’s phone buzzed on the desk. a text from jasmine:  

“you got it”  

“i’ll send the results tomorrow”  

"jasmine’s on it," meg said, showing meg the message. "if the voice changer gives us anything—an accent, background noise, whatever—we might have a starting point."  

meg glanced at the clock. "it’s late. let’s get some sleep and visit sturniolo first thing. whoever’s behind this, they’re escalating. if we don’t move fast, there’s going to be another victim."  

you nodded, gathering up the files. "escalating or not, they’re sloppy. whoever this is doesn’t have kramer’s precision. that might be their undoing."