#until you burn out and quit or switch to another firm or something

[h0neyfreak]

***

[obaewankenobis]

born to die (pt 2) ; finnick odair

pairing: finnick odair/reader (afab but pronouns not/rarely used, no use of y/n)

part one: found here

word count: 5.3k

summary: you and finnick both struggle with your feelings as the capitol's expectations aims to tear you apart.

warnings: typical hunger games warnings (violence, death, sex trafficking, etc). oral (f receiving), mentions of throwing up, sliiiight alcohol abuse, semi-public sex but not really, angst, but fluffy towards the end. the smut is very minimal in this one sorry guys </3 18+ only, minors dni!

How hard could it be, going back to hating someone? Apparently, it wasn’t as easy as flipping a switch like you’d originally thought. And apparently, it was even harder when you realized you never truly hated the person in the first place.

But that wouldn’t stop you from trying. No, you seemed to take every flutter of your heart and every catch of your breath as a challenge, furious your body was betraying you whenever you thought of him for too long.

It had been a week since you’d even seen a glimpse of Finnick, a week of remembering how gentle his lips felt against your neck, how perfectly they molded with your own. A week of being tortured by dreams of the firm grasp on your hips, of his fingers digging into your thighs and traveling up at a tantalizing pace. You’d dream of his mouth on the shell of your ear, his breath hot and warming your insides as your name escaped his lips in a beautiful melody reserved only for you.

And each morning you woke with a frustrated groan, your fingers splaying across the empty sheets beside you, reaching for him and feeling nothing. And each morning you would ignore the hurt rising in your throat upon the discovery of his absence, and redirect it into burning anger, until now, a week later, you were blazing with the fury of a thousand suns.

It was fine, I didn’t have time to sit in bed and worry about the likes of Finnick Odair. You tried (in vain) to convince yourself of this, having heard from somewhere you couldn’t remember that if you repeated something enough times with enough force, your brain would soon accept it as reality. Like reverse psychology, or whatever…

So far, that strategy wasn’t working, and you were growing desperate for release. You were so eager to get him off your mind you tried to act like it wasn’t the worst thing in the world when your services were requested by the son of some Capitol elite, because then you’d have someone else to channel your loathing into instead of Finnick, who didn’t quite deserve the anger he was currently being bombarded with in your mind.

It was some stupid Capitol party to celebrate 50 years of President Snow’s leadership. God, if you could choose something to celebrate, that would be below the very last thing on your list.

Immediately your skin began to crawl as you realized you were still the talk of the Capitol, having won your games so recently, and that you’d be put in another outfit so revealing, so you could be gawked at like a museum display.

Fuck this. If you had to be paraded around as a sex symbol for the Capitol, there was no way in hell you were doing it sober this time, escort or not.

You allowed your stylists to do what they pleased, yanking your hair and slicking it back so tightly you thought you’d be bald upon taking it out, sipping, or rather chugging, a bottle of expensive champagne you’d ordered just before they’d arrived.

Your face painted a pretty picture, the picture the Capitol wanted, coated with thick brushes of makeup to erase the tear stains permanently etched into your cheeks, lips brushed with a deep red color to cover up the dryness cracking them. Made completely out of pearls with heavier ropes placed strategically around your chest and hips, this dress was just as risque, if not more, than the one you’d worn last time.

While of course you hated how little the dress covered because it was gross and blatantly sexual, you hated even more how certain parts of your body were on display. The parts that made it obvious you had been reaping the benefits of the Capitol: your glossy hair, your radiant skin, the healthy amount of muscle and fat; they were all reminders that you were being pampered up here, enjoying Capitol delicacies, while the majority of Panem was on the brink of starvation.

Despite being from one of the wealthier Districts, you had noticed how the tributes from the other Districts were. How sallow their skin was, how their eyes appeared sunken into their skulls, how their bones were so brittle it took little effort to snap—

You downed another glass of champagne.

You hated it, you felt disgusting, but there was nothing you could say as a member of your prep team dotted tiny pearls in your hair to complete the outfit. It was all a facade, all something to squash your true feelings down and present you as somewhat of a robot, incapable of real human emotion.

That was the point, you realized. They didn’t view you as a person, they viewed you as a toy to be played with. At least the champagne seemed to be doing its job, you thought with a happy sigh as a numbing buzz overtook you, lowering your inhibitions. If only you could feel like this all the time, so relaxed and unguarded.

Your inability to sleep had only gotten worse in Finnick’s absence; he’d been there so soon after it’d all gone downhill that your mind had immediately gotten used to the feeling of having him beside you, comforting you. You’d take back every kiss, every bite, every moan you’d shared to have him back, dancing his fingers along your skin in soothing patterns.

“It’s time to go,” a girl from the prep team said quietly, yanking you out of your thoughts— what was her name? You were too tipsy to try and remember, so all you did was nod and follow her out the door. Some part of you, the emotional part that wouldn’t listen to the rest, wondered briefly if Finnick would be there as well.

The party was so much more fun this time. You were blushing at the flirtations thrown your way, giggling at every poorly made joke, and even trying to impersonate the distinct Capitol accent with your “date”. He was handsome, sure, but in a weird, i’m-from-the-capitol-so-i-have-pompoms-on-my-suit-and-wear-gold-lipstick kind of way, and you were certain had you stopped several glasses ago, you wouldn’t be finding his jokes half as funny. 

But the alternative was remembering at the end of the night, you’d be forced to go home and pretend it was Finnick’s hands roaming your body or pressing his lips against your own. You stumbled your way over to the table serving various kinds of alcohol, from fruity cocktails to straight liquor, and poured a generous amount into your already half-full cup. You were so focused on not spilling anything that you didn’t notice someone coming up behind you until two strong hands wrapped around your wrists, gently but firmly prying the bottle from your hand and setting your glass down on the table.

“Easy there, sweetheart. Don’t you think you’ve had enough to drink tonight? I mean, I could see you stumbling around from across the room.”

Oh, fuck this, you would know that voice anywhere, though it had morphed into the seductive purr he put on whenever he was playing the role of the Capitol Darling. You whirled around and out of the cage of his arms, the backs of your thighs hitting the table behind you and letting out a yelp as your heels disagreed with the swiftness of your movements; You would’ve been on the ground had Finnick not steadied you with a hand curled around your waist. But you wouldn’t thank him for that. You wouldn’t admit how his innocent touch shot sparks through your body, and you certainly wouldn’t admit how gorgeous he looked.

Because fuck him for being dressed so much more modestly than you, and fuck him for looking so good in what his stylists had put him in — loose trousers and a simple white knit top with a deep vee stopping above his navel. The style of the shirt was something you would see around District 4, and his hair looked as if he’d just come from the ocean, with a salt kissed ruffle that messed with his waves and gave him a perfect disheveled look that would make you swoon, if you still cared about what he looked like.

Which you didn’t, because he’d made it perfectly clear the moment he’d left you last week that he didn’t care either.

He looked at you expectantly, raising an eyebrow and you realized you’d been caught staring, which only served to make you more furious. “You don’t need to babysit me,” you shrugged his hand off, “Just… leave me alone, Finnick.”

“I’m just looking out for you,” the amusement in his tone at your anger only made your blood boil.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” you began, trying and failing to keep your voice from rising into a shrill whine, “I don’t want to see you! I want you to leave me alone and—”

“Can we talk?” He blurted out, his voice so timid it stopped you in your tracks. “You sound upset, and you’ve avoided me all week, after we...”

“Avoided you?” Your laugh was dry and humorless. “Are you serious? You left me, Finnick! I was doing you a favor!”

“By not talking to me? We finally— I finally think that maybe, maybe I wasn’t so crazy, that maybe you liked m—” His eyes widened and he realized he’d said too much, too loud, because people were starting to get irritated by the two of you blocking the liquor table. “Can you just come with me?” You stared back at him blankly, which only caused him to break out in a genuine grin. “Come on, don’t make me beg. Although if last time was any indication, I’m sure you’d like to see me on my—”

With a flustered shriek to cut him off, you grabbed his hand and tugged him into the most private space you could find, a small alcove in one of the many winding hallways of the mansion.

“Do you regret it?” Is the first thing that comes out of his mouth once he’s sure the two of you are alone. All playfulness has drained from his features, like the facade he’d been putting up can disappear now that he’s away from the prying eyes of the Capitol. You stared at him in disbelief, like what he’s said is crazy. He doesn’t give you the chance to respond before he continues. “Because I don’t. You needed me, and I…” He swallowed harshly, like what he was about to say next didn’t sit right in his throat, “I don’t want you to think that what we did changes anything.”

Despite knowing he meant well, those were precisely the words you didn’t want to hear. How could he not see how confusing it was? To say he didn’t regret it, but to also say it didn’t change anything, all in one sentence. 

“No, of course I don’t, that’s not…” I’ve dreamed of you far too often since I was fourteen, seemed like an inappropriate response, but you found yourself something entirely different. “Then why did you leave?”

You wanted to cringe at how small and pathetic you sounded asking such a question. Your gaze dropped to the floor, but it was too late, you couldn’t reach in the air and snatch the words back.

“You said you didn’t want it to mean anything. I was trying to make it easier for you.” He said that at the same time strong fingers grasped your chin, tender but with purpose, forcing you to meet his gaze. Just by looking at him straight on, you were frightened by the vulnerability you felt, like you’d been stripped raw of any protection you’d wrapped yourself in; no secrets could be kept now. And it didn’t help that you were so close you could count the individual eyelashes framing his eyes; the proximity made you quite flustered and incapable of forming coherent thoughts.

You were yet again consumed by neverending thoughts of Finnick Odair, thoughts that had been berating you all week in the back of your mind now coming to the forefront in full force.

How could you respond to that? It was you who’d asked for nothing more than a distraction, you who had made it clear sleeping together didn’t have to mean anything. But it wasn’t because you didn’t like him, oh no it was quite the opposite: you probably liked him a little too much to do anything casual with him. If you were to have Finnick more than once, you wanted all of him, not whatever bits and pieces he dangled in front of you. Because you didn’t know much, but you knew a few things.

One: You wanted to kiss him. Badly. 

Two: If you acted on that impulse, there was the chance you’d never get to tell him how you truly felt, and you’d be stuck in a painful purgatory of having parts of him but not all.

Finnick seemed to be warring his own internal battle as his eyes shot from your lips back up, and back down, and back up, until—

“Can we talk later?” You asked so suddenly, much to your own surprise as well as his. “I just… there’s not a lot of time here, and it’s not very private, and there are so many things I’d rather be doing…”

His gaze darkened at that, taking another step forward until your chest was flush against his, your back hitting the stone wall behind you. He dipped his head down to reply in a low voice that sent shivers up and down your spine, “Yeah? Care to tell me what you think is a better use of our time, sweetheart?”

“I’d rather show you.” This is a bad idea, the rational part of you screamed, and it was probably right. It was probably an awful, terrible, horrible, idea, but the moment his lips met yours, nothing else seemed to matter.

The way he kissed you needed to be studied, you thought. The way his nose nudged against yours and he quickly angled his head slightly more to the right until he fit just right against your profile. The way his hands immediately went to your waist, fingers finding their way under the many strings of pearls that dressed you, all so he could touch as much of you as possible. You were suddenly jealous of anyone who’d had the pleasure of being in your position before you, because how on Earth could the way you feel be shared by anyone? 

That thought only spurred on a newfound desire to make you different than everyone else, to make him feel the way you did, that no one else could even come close to the way he felt when he was with you.

His tongue glided along the seam of your lips, searching for permission as the two of you continued to trade kiss after bruising kiss. Each one shoved you further down a rabbit hole until you were certain there was no coming back from this, even if it went no further than kissing.

You broke away for a moment, not having the courage to look up, and moved your lips down to his neck, noticing with fleeting disappointment how the marks you’d made last week had faded from his skin.

His hands, which had remained innocently on your waist, were beginning to creep down to the (very short) hemline of your dress, fingers teasing their way past the heavy ropes of pearls that fell against your upper thigh. Your breath began to quicken at the reminder of what his fingers had done to you last time they were so close, and you hoped he wouldn’t notice the subtle clench of your thighs as his fingers continued their exploration.

Very unceremoniously he suddenly dropped to his knees in front of you, and you immediately tried — in vain — to tug him back up to a standing position, your eyes darting wildly from one end of the long corridor to the other.

“Finnick, we can’t, there are people…”

“Do you trust me?” He asked suddenly. His pupils had been completely blown out, staring at you with such hunger you nodded your head immediately; whether you actually did or it was just your lust-addled brain you weren’t sure. “Then we’ll be fine. Just stay quiet for me, okay?”

“Okay—” you broke your promise as soon as his fingers tugged at the thin material of your panties, letting out a gasp when his mouth came in contact with what had been left uncovered.

The sensation of his hot breath on you left as quickly as it came, when Finnick quickly leaned back to fix you with a warning glance. “Shhh,” he reminded you before he returned to your core, throwing a leg over his shoulder and forcing you to brace yourself against the wall behind you to keep you upright. One hand shot to dig itself in the depths of his hair as he continued his ministrations with his tongue, the other clamping around your mouth and muffling the soft moans emitted from your lips.

Finnick seemed to be enjoying your struggle of keeping silent, each sound that passed too quietly from your lips only encouraging him to plunge his tongue further at a faster pace, his nose nudging your clit and only increasing your pleasure. 

It felt good because he knew what he was doing, sure, but it felt even better knowing it was his tongue licking you, his hands wandering around your legs, his body pressing you against the wall.

It made all the horrible fantasies that had haunted you this past week seem like nothing in comparison to the real thing, which was all you truly wanted. You just wanted him. Everywhere, all the time.

And not just in the position you two were in now, as euphoric as his tongue felt, flicking and sucking at your core. You wanted the other things too. You wanted to wake up in his arms, watching the sunlight spill in from the window and illuminate his tan skin and bronzy hair. You wanted to fall asleep curled into his side, knowing that while you were asleep, he would protect you.

Still worried someone would walk in on the two of you at any given moment, you tried not to allow yourself to look down at Finnick too much (or perhaps you were scared if you acknowledged it was Finnick pleasuring you, putting a face to all the emotions he was bringing to you, you would truly be a goner).

“You were driving me fucking crazy in this dress,” Your back automatically arched in search of his mouth as he removed it to speak, tugging at the strands of pearls doing a poor job of covering the curves of your body. “Fucking insane.”

“Finnick,” you breathed, almost crying out when he resumed his indulgence of you and added pressure to your clit with his thumb, the pressure coiled inside you rising to new heights. “You’re so good, so good—”

And just when everything was building, just when you were about to cry out to the sky, not caring if anyone saw, he stopped and quickly stood up.

“Hey—” you quickly realized this wasn’t a teasing pause, evident by the sound of your name echoing against the walls of the hallway.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his shirt, he fixed your underwear and shoved your dress back down all in one swift motion, just as your “date” turned the corner and walked — or rather stumbled — towards you. Oh, fuck.

With a wince, you took several steps away from Finnick, just in time for your lovely Capitol date to finally make his way to you, throwing an arm around your shoulders and pulling you close to him.

He was drunk, drunker than you had ever been (you were sure of that by how strongly he reeked of liquor), barely being able to stand even with leaning his full weight on you. “There you are, beautiful,” he slurred, his hand creeping from your shoulder downward. “Let’s get out of here.”

At least he (you didn’t remember his name) was so out of it he didn’t even seem to notice Finnick breathing heavily beside you, or the bulge in his pants that was poorly hidden by the dark color.

How could you go from feeling so euphoric to so repulsed, all in less than a minute? With a regretful glance in Finnick’s direction, you noticed how he stared right through you as if you weren’t even there. His jaw was clenched and his posture was rigid, but those were things only people who knew what he looked like relaxed would pick up on. To anyone passing by he looked unbothered, indifferent, as you were led away from him.

It was in the brief moment when his eye finally caught your own that the two of you hadn’t gotten to talking, and you had no idea where you stood with him. Would it be appropriate to just knock on his door the next day, or schedule a meeting through his Avox? Or was your interruption the universe’s way of telling you to stop pursuing it and leave him alone?

All those thoughts eddied from your mind the moment you stepped in the car that would escort you and your Capitol date home, when he decided then would be the best time to throw up, narrowly avoiding your pretty pearl shoes. With a little yelp of disgust, you jumped back, avoiding being caught as he continued to empty copious amounts of liquor that once resided in his stomach. 

Fuck my life, you thought with a groan as the smell invaded your senses, thankful that most of it had been done outside the car. With a wary glance his way you saw him leaning back against the window, clearly trying to recover from how much he’d drank throughout the night.

It wasn’t as bad as you thought it was going to be, only because he passed out before the two of you went any further than a sloppy kiss that made your stomach curl.

However wrong it seemed, you tried to imagine it was Finnick instead, but everything just felt off. This man’s hands were cold and rough against your skin, nothing like the steady, soft hands you were trying to imagine; his lips were wet and uncoordinated, unlike the delicate whispers of affection Finnick would bestow upon you in the form of warm, confident press of his lips against yours.

Yet again you felt slimy and used and disgusted, unwilling to even try to process what had just happened. So you did what any normal person would do in this situation: drink. While some part of your brain knew this was an unhealthy coping mechanism, the part of you that wanted to forget the night, forget your circumstances, won over, and soon you were tipsy enough and making your way up to the rooftop.

You let the ice of the wind hit you square in the face, hoping that if you withstood it enough, it would jar you out of the nightmare you were in. Time seemed to stretch and you were certain you’d been there all night, but in reality, judging by the lack of alcohol induced dizziness, it was probably an hour.

“Knew I’d find you here.” You knew who it was immediately, goosebumps rising on the back of your neck at the sound of his voice. “I thought I told you there was a forcefield already.”

The eeriest sense of deja vu overtook you, enough to rip you from your thoughts and turn around, trying to balance yourself by staring at the unmoving figure in front of you. 

“Hello to you too, Finnick,” you greeted in a flat tone, the mere sight of him draining whatever alcohol in your system remained. 

Your chest began to feel tight as you took in his appearance, your face flushing when he looked you up and down. He’d changed from his party attire into pajamas, and there was a tiredness to his eyes that made you blurt out, why are you still awake, at the same time he blurted out, have you been drinking?

“A little,” you admitted, and waited for him to answer yours.

There was a moment when the only sound was the faint blaring of car horns in the distance and the soft rumble of tires against pavement, city sounds that faded into nothing as the wind whistled in your ears. His gaze immediately shot to the floor, shoving his hands in his pockets and kicking at invisible pebbles by his feet. You suddenly felt embarrassed, because he’d probably had a much worse night than you had, and of course he couldn’t sleep because of that—

“I was waiting for you.” Oh. That was not what you were expecting, and clearly, it showed in your face because he rushed to continue, thinking he’d said something wrong, “I just… we never got to finishing our conversation earlier, and didn’t know if you were safe, and I know how hard it can be to fall asleep after…”

You walked over to him until you were inches apart, tilting your head ever so slightly in an attempt to catch his eye, which had returned to the floor.

“Can you look at me?” Your voice was barely above a whisper as your hand reached out, wanting to press against the planes of his chest and feel him, but refraining. Your hands simply hovered in the air, a mark of uncertainty, until Finnick made his decision. In a quick motion he’d reached out, wrapping his hand around yours and tugging it until you made contact with his chest, relishing in the security it brought you. The way you could feel his heartbeat, a steady beat of absolute certainty, that reminded you he was here, and he was real. His hand remained over yours, too, like he too sought comfort in the physicality of your hand.

“Last week…” he begins, and all you want to do is cut him off with a kiss, tell him you don’t care if he left, that he’s here now and that’s all that matters. But you don’t; you let him continue, and pretty quickly you’re grateful for that decision. “I lied. After you said it didn’t mean anything, I said okay,” he paused, like what he was about to say next was lodged in his throat, “But it’s not okay, not really. I… I want it to mean something.”

“Finnick, you know I—” You began softly, so softly, but he pressed on.

“No, please just… let me say this, okay?” He tightened his grip on your hand like he was worried you’d heard enough and would leave him. All you could do was nod silently, urging him to continue. “You mean more to me than I let on— so much more. I can’t pretend like this past week hasn’t killed me. I just… I needed you to know that—”

“Finnick,” you tried, but he couldn’t stop talking, like he wasn’t getting his point across.

“And I know it’s complicated—”

“Finnick,” you said again, a little louder and more earnest, but still, he continued.

“—and I don’t want you to think you’re obligated to feel the same—”

His lips, warm and soft and right, met yours as you cut him off with a kiss. It took less than a fraction of a second before he reciprocated, surging forward and wrapping his arms around your waist to tug you closer. Your hands found their place interlocked behind his neck, the soft hairs at the nape of his neck reminding you that it was him.

You kissed him with such fervor you thought your lips would fall right off, desperately trying to convey every unspoken word in your mind; Every point of tension between the two of you melted completely until you pulled back, breathless. 

“I’ve been a liar, too,” was the first thing that came out of your mouth, so quietly he was sure he’d misheard you. “It meant so much to me, Finnick, I… I just didn’t know what to do with all of it, I guess.”

His lips were swollen and red, and his eyes were glassy as he gazed down at you; every time his chest heaved it brushed yours. “I want you,” he breathed out, and while at first you thought it might be something purely carnal, he quickly corrected himself, “I always… I’ve always… tried to ignore it, but now I can’t…” he trailed off, struggling to find the right words, the right way to express himself without fucking up. “I can’t ignore it. I want to fix this, fix us, I want…”

You’d rarely seen him like this; struggling to say the right thing. Normally the words flowed through the air smoothly like a summer breeze, his point sliding across so easily, like honey. So to see him stumbling over his words, cheeks flushed red with embarrassment, you tried to urge him to continue.

“I think about you,” he confessed abruptly. “All the time, it drives me crazy. I want to be with you, all the time.”

And you wanted that, too. You wanted to do stupid, mundane tasks with him. You wanted to do things like dry the dishes as he washed them, like argue over whose turn it was to take out the trash, like wake up and brush your teeth side by side, grinning at each other in the mirror.

So you said it as simply as you could. “Me too.”

The grin you broke out into was so wide your cheeks would soon start hurting, but you didn’t care. The elation in your chest was blooming, expanding until the warmth of it reached all the way to your fingertips, your toes, the top of your head. Every part of you felt giddy, like a schoolgirl who’d just had her first kiss on the playground.

This time, it was he who kissed you, capturing your lips with his own with such intensity you gasped. Kissing him now felt like something entirely different, like your entire world had been gray, and his lips on yours opened you up to a vibrant array of colors that nearly blinded you.

Your hands found their way back to behind his neck, his hands finding purchase on your hips and drawing you closer, wanting to feel every inch after being deprived of all of you for so long. It wasn’t just your body you were giving him this time, but your heart as well.

Before you knew it, he’d hoisted you up and you immediately wrapped your legs around his torso, craving the surface of his body just as he was with you. The kisses continued, though never going any further as he walked back to his room — thankfully he was on the top floor, making the journey quite quick. Your back hit the mattress as he continued his kisses, moving his way down and giving special attention to the spots he knew you loved on your neck, your shoulder, behind your ear.

“I don’t— I don’t want to do anything tonight,” he finally pulled back. “I just want to be with you.”

You nodded almost instantly, happy to just be with him, the kissing slowing down as the two of you grew more tired. He must’ve thought you were asleep when he called your name softly and received no response. You were in a haze of in between, too tired to respond but aware enough to know what he was doing as his fingers ghosted over your back and began to draw again. 

Finally, before sleep came crashing down on him, his fingers said what his mouth could not: I love you.

And when you blinked your eyes open the next morning you were face to face with a sleeping Finnick — he’d stayed this time.

Your lips brushed his cheek ever so lightly as you whispered it back.

a/n: thank you guys so much for waiting!! i wrote this instead of studying for my finals cause i'm silly like that. anyways i reallyyyy struggled w this one and wasn't sure where i wanted this story to go. i thought it was an okay conclusion but lmk if you guys want more! feel free to send in any requests you might have, i write for mostttt of the hunger games characters (especially finnick <3)!

tag: @justtrying2getby , @tqmqkii , @s-j320 , @imaegonstargaryenswife0 , @s-trawberryv-eins , @ruxjules

[frozenjokes]

Rage Room (I’m Loving A Losing Battle, But I Can’t Quite Seem To Let Go)

in which aromantic scar finally tells his friends what’s been happening between him and Grian, and how he processes the space between them

“It’s just- not fair!” Scar smashed the bottle against the tile floor, the glass pelting the ankles of his reinforced pants.

Bdubs clapped behind him, though stopped when Scar turned around, visibly not in the mood. Admittedly he knew he was shooting low when he went on, but Scar didn’t care, “And I’m kind of pissed off about Etho! If the roles were switched, I would be there, and he said he’d be here last time he missed.”

“Oi,” Cleo cut in, about as unamused as Scar figured they’d be. “No friendly fire.”

“Is it really friendly fire if he’s not here.” Scar huffed, but Cleo knew better than to take his words at face value, and shut him up with a firm glare.

“And you better start talking before I make you pay for all of this.” Her words were rugged, but Scar knew she didn’t mean it, and he could take as much time as he needed. But really, if he was taking shots at Bdubs, he probably should cut to the chase. This was why they were here. This was why they had all made this pact in the first place.

“Grian is.” Scar started, stilted, “Sorry, Bdubs. I shouldn’t have said that. Grian won’t talk to me anymore. He doesn’t- want to talk to me.”

“What?” Bdubs said, eyes flying open, and yeah, no one here was really caught up with his whole.. situation. Anything that felt close to Mumbo he tended to avoid, and basically everything about Grian in the past weeks was Mumbo adjacent.. and also a little sensitive. Not something he was eager to talk about. Scar was more than a little pent up, and based on the expressions of concern across Cleo and Bdubs’ faces, it must have been pretty obvious. “Weren’t you guys hanging out nearly everyday for- I don’t know, it’s been a month at least, right? Did something happen? Hasn’t Grian been driving you around everywhere, too? You’ve sure been asking me a lot less.”

“Yeah. We were.” Scar spoke stiffly, picking up another empty bottle and spinning it in his hands. He chucked it at the wall, aiming at the newly set up targets Cleo had implemented a couple weeks ago. A good choice. Fit with the theme of the axe throwing/rage room combo. The bottle shattered near the bullseye, unsurprising, given their whole friend group had pretty tight aim. Still satisfying. “Until he went and fell in love with me.”

The memories burned like open wounds, like red, angry flesh, like sunburns on your eyelids, like the stinging smell of bleach. Cleo said something, some sort of assent, but Scar didn’t hear it, smashing two more bottles for release, though he didn’t feel any less like his ribs had been torn from his chest, hanging limply on hooks, dripping on his face from his place on the cold ground, bleeding out, dying, but never quickly enough.

“I don’t like labels, alright, you all know this, but Grian says aromantic, and that works for now, because I don’t love him like he loves me and that’s fine. That’s fine! That. Is. Fine.” Scar took a bat, needing something bigger, needing more release, and the old TV would work just fine, “And you know how I feel about dating. I like it. I like to get to know strangers, I like to feel things out, and I like to be close! But you know who I don’t like to date?” The question wasn’t meant to be answered. Scar swung his bat, splitting the TV screen with a satisfying crack. “Friends. Good friends. Friends that mean a lot, friends that I can’t afford to lose when everything goes to shit.”

Scar hit the TV a couple more times, physically battling away distress, “I was so afraid when he brought it up- dating. I was so afraid. I couldn’t just date Grian, because it would end and I would lose him and maybe he’d say we could still be friends and I would say yes! Yes, please, please can we still be friends, and he would say that’s okay, and then two weeks later he’d slam me with a message about ‘needing space’ and ‘not wanting to talk for a while’ and suddenly, suddenly my heart’s being ripped out of my chest and stomped on, but it would be fine, right? It would be fine, because after he’s taken his time, we could be friends again, and things could return to normal. No!” The TV was hardly satisfying to hit anymore, reduced to shattered glass and warped plastic under Scar’s assault.

“It never just. Goes back to normal. You try, and you try and you try, but they just can’t do it, they just can’t love you anymore, and suddenly your best friend is slipping away and there’s fucking nothing you can do about it. Because you dated them. Because you took things ‘to the next level,’ because you made something volatile without even knowing, and the next thing you know, it’s blown up in your face, and you’ve been completely blindsided again.” Scar’s arms shook, and gently, from behind, Cleo laid a hand on his shoulder, sliding down his arm to take the bat he was gripping so tightly. Scar let go when they touched his hands, but his teeth remained locked, grinding near painfully.

“Deep breaths, Scar. Breathe with me. Let me count for you,” and Cleo did, counting to five and back again, forcing Scar to take a step back. Scar wasn’t someone who particularly valued meditation or breathing; it was often too difficult to focus, especially alone, and he was easily frustrated knowing how he should be feeling, but Cleo had a way of grounding him, and when Bdubs was doing the same exercises at his side, Scar didn’t feel so stupid. And it did help. Fives minutes to breathe really did wonders sometimes; it was a shame Scar couldn’t quite manage to utilize the tool as effectively when he was alone. Not that he ever remembered to try.

And now it was quiet, and Scar was so vulnerable, and there was no more anger to hide behind, because it was all just sadness, stiff and aching so impossibly deep.

“I thought if we didn’t.. date.. I thought things could just be normal. That nothing would change. But every awful thing just got expedited- he doesn’t want to see me, he doesn’t want to talk to me- he needs space, he said he needed space, but I know what that means now.” Scar had to sit down, and Bdubs joined him, Cleo standing close by. “I feel so helpless. And it didn’t even matter. I just wish I knew so badly, so I could have said yes, so at least we might have had a chance before it all went to shit. I could keep my friend a little bit longer. I wish I understood how he felt. I wish I felt what he felt. Maybe it wouldn’t be so hard.” Scar let his head drop to his hands, voice muffled under his palms, “I just kinda hate myself sometimes.”

Cleo put a hand on his shoulder, a question of touch, and one that Scar accepted with closed eyes. “It would still be hard, Scar. I can promise you that. If this isn’t what you want to hear right now, then you can let me know, but I have to think Grian and your other exes of the past who you haven’t kept in contact with were and are just as torn up as you. Maybe they need to let go for themselves, but I can tell you from personal experience, that doesn’t make it hurt any less. It doesn’t make you miss them any less.”

“But when people leave me, it’s always because in some way, their lives would be better without me,” Scar felt like wailing, but in reality, his speech was far more soft, “And my life is always worse. It’s always worse. Like I’m just a plague on my friends, and I have no idea how to fix myself to keep this from happening.”

Bdubs squeezed his hand to get his attention, and Scar knew what was coming, he just couldn’t love himself right now.

“There’s nothing to fix, Scar. You’re one of the most delightful people I know, and I mean that. The way you navigate the world is inspiring.”

“Just doesn’t feel like it right now.”

“It doesn’t have to,” Cleo said, something faraway about the words, “You just should know, that’s all. How we feel.”

“I just wish I was normal.”

“I don’t,” Bdubs snorted, something so passionately reactionary, Cleo laughed, and Bdubs himself looked a bit surprised by his own words, then a tad embarrassed, “I mean, come on. You’re a complete monster, and I love it. I love how comfortable you are about touch, I love how physical you are, and I love how normal you make it feel. Sometimes I want to fall asleep on my friends’ shoulder, or hold hands, or just be held, you know? And no one does it like you, Scar, no one. I think everyone ought to take a couple pages from your book.”

Scar wasn’t quite sure what to do with that, but it wasn’t the type of thing you argued about. You just had to accept it. In all honesty, having people to love him when he couldn’t manage it himself felt indescribably secure. Like a heated blanket wrapped tightly over his shoulders when he was so, so cold. But he couldn’t acknowledge it either, not when he couldn’t breathe the words. So he let it hang, hoping he’d remember to say something later. He knew he would. For now, Scar dodged around the words, stuck in his own raw truth.

“I don’t want to go through this again.”

“I know,” Cleo kept their hand on his shoulder, and Scar wanted to cry.

“And I- Okay, so I can’t really talk about this.. NDAs and such, but I was working on something with someone- something cool, all three of us, Grian included. And at the same time Grian.. cut contact.. I haven’t been able to reach this other uh- colleague, and I don’t know what happened! I don’t know anything, and I have no way of contacting this other guy, and Grian doesn’t know either, and I was so excited, but it just feels like everything is falling apart around me. And- and don’t be mean about the other guy, please, it’s not his fault.” Cleo looked quite skeptical about that, but a pleading look from Scar was enough to get her to leave well enough alone, “I just wish I knew why. Or if he was coming back. Might not have been able to communicate that anyway though, there’s a bit of a language barrier.”

“Can’t use google translate?” Bdubs asked, and Scar couldn’t stop the bitter laugh that escaped his throat.

“Hadn’t thought of that,” he mumbled, which was enough to get Bdubs to let it go. Cleo didn’t look happy, but she didn’t push either.

“That fucking sucks,” she said instead, and Scar laughed in earnest, along with Bdubs, the entire air feeling just a little bit lighter.

“It does,” Scar sighed, resting a cheek on his fist, “Guess I have to find something new to throw myself into. I just really wanted this. I really wanted this.”

There was a long silence, Scar having nothing else to say, and his friends in a similar boat. There wasn’t much to say. They knew. Scar knew they understood. But there was nothing anyone could do. Nothing that could make this any less horrible. But Bdubs did perk up after a minute, catching Scar and Cleo’s attention

“We could go skiing!” Bdubs suggested, to a chorus of groans from Scar and Cleo. Bdubs huffed, affronted as he crossed his arms, “You two need to live a little. Even if you suck, you’re both exhausted by the end of the day, which would do Scar some good in my opinion, and I know you’d be able to take the time off for an impromptu trip.”

“I don’t even think you like skiing,” Cleo rolled their eyes, a laugh under her voice, “You went on one trail ride in those mountains and it changed your life, that’s what. There are no wild horses out there, Bdubs, the guide lied to you.”

“She did not lie! There are horses, and they’re going to see me and know.”

“Know.. what, exactly?” Scar teased, and Bdubs puffed up, as if this was the most blasphemous question Scar could have asked.

“They will just know. And anyway, Etho believes there’s horses out there too, he does, and he wants to see them just as much.”

“Pretty sure Etho is also fucking with you,” Cleo said, smug, and Bdubs gasped.

“Never!” But something stopped him from ranting on; a short pause, a bit of uncertainty. A guilty glance in Scar’s direction. “I’m really sorry he’s not here. I told him- I don’t know. He said something came up last minute and wouldn’t explain. I’m not happy with him either- quite frankly, I’m embarrassed.”

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” Scar rubbed his neck, frowning, “It doesn’t really bother me much, Bdubs. I don’t want you to feel bad.”

“It’s fine if it bothers you! It bothers me! And you’re right, he’s not here, so I think a little friendly fire is well deserved,” Bdubs paused, eying one of the few bottles that were left, “May I?”

“Be my guest.”

Bdubs snatched at a bottle, flipping it in his hand, nearly dropping it trying to look cool, then whipping it at the target across the room, the entire thing smashing right on the bullseye.

“Oh, score!” Scar smiled, and Bdubs pumped his fist.

“Yes! You know, I already feel better. This is great, Cleo, have I told you this is great?”

Cleo looked pleased, exactly the cat who got the cream, “You have. And I know. So how about you boys throw back a couple beers to replace these bottles, and we do a little axe throwing.”

“Are you paying?” Scar asked, hopeful, innocent, but Cleo snorted, shaking her head.

“Uh, no. Don’t let that hold you back, though.”

“Oh, come on,” Bdubs whined, but not without his signature grin, “What’s the point of free rage room therapy hour if it’s not all free?”

“I’m not going to make you pay for the axe throwing either, and that is not included in our little deal, so the least you can do is drink.”

“You can’t make us pay to axe throw with you because we all know you’re going to whoop our asses,” Scar shot back in fake accusation, but Cleo shrugged, a crooked smile across her lips.

“You have fun.”

“I do,” Bdubs assented, earning a sharp jab from Scar’s elbow.

“We don’t! Unless you buy us each a beer, then we do.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Okay fine,” Scar sighed, fully intending on a large tip regardless, since despite her sharp tongue, Cleo would still refuse any sort of compensation for an outing like this, “But you also have to drink.”

Cleo scoffed, the smile never leaving their face. “Who do you think I am?”

***

It was fun. Of course it was fun. Scar lost pretty miserably in nearly every round, though that could be accurately attributed to the fact he was more than a little tipsy, and Bdubs, always spying an opportunity to get an edge, took full advantage. Though, to his credit, Bdubs was having a great day in general, overtaking Cleo in score multiple times, and even winning one or two games. A feat, even against an inebriated Cleo, which, in all honesty, was pretty much the only way Scar or Bdubs could ever surpass her. Etho.. It was safe to say Etho had little talent for the sport. Didn’t matter how much instruction he got, he was nothing short of miserable every time all four of them got together to play. Actually, out of the four of them, Etho was probably the only person who improved when he was drunk, which was always hilarious to see. You’ve never seen a fire lit under someone’s ass like you did when Etho managed to squeak ahead of Bdubs or Scar, the cackling of Cleo only furthering their panic.

Scar did wish Etho was here. He wished he wasn’t so flakey sometimes.

Regardless, when they were done, Bdubs was only two steps away from sober and plenty able to drive. Scar was relieved to have to ride, and even more so that he hadn’t brought his own car in the first place. It was a nice drive home, anything but quiet, and really, just what Scar needed. The less time he spent alone with his own thoughts, the better. Though, after such a nice evening, tonight was going to be a little easier.

Thanking Bdubs for the ride, Scar stepped out onto the cobblestones once they reached his apartment, taking a deep breath before going inside. It was okay. He was going to be okay.

But there was one little habit he had developed, a little something he couldn’t quite shake despite knowing it wasn’t doing him many favors. It had only been a week since Mumbo had disappeared, but Scar refused to miss it if the mermaid ever did return- he couldn’t, even if Grian wouldn’t be in the picture anymore. This still meant something. Scar wasn’t about to give it up so easily.

The trail cams were still open on his monitors when he sat at his desk. Of course they were. Scar never closed them.

So there he sat, chin in his hands, eyes glazed as he watched every angle of that little cove. The trees, waving gently in the breeze. The sand, shifting ever so slightly in the presence of bugs and crabs. But mostly he watched the water. Scar never stopped watching the water.

[thesoulesscollection]

Under The Sun (Thsc Fic)

I've been wanting to write something for my dear Oc, Choc but I never got the chance to until now. Here I wanted to expand on him as a character while exploring his relationships. This one-shot revolved his interactions with Mr. Macbeth. Hope everyone enjoys reading this. It came out better than I thought.

Combat boots hit the dirt ground with a thud and the heat waves of a summer day sends him to a slight stumble. 

“Careful there, big guy” Soon in his tired haze stricken with a mild case of a heatstroke, he hears a chipper voice lull him out. “You don't want to trip over your two left feet and get a face full of the dirt below, would you?” 

Macbeth switches his drowsy attention from straight ahead over to the source. Naturally loud, booming and smooth. Sure knows how to captivate someone in one shameless easy going swoop. Intensely scolding heat rises in his broad chest up to his face with his ears getting the brunt of it, turning a bright scarlet red. He coughs in his hand then uses it after to brush aside the beads of collected sweat from his bare head. 

“It'll be very embarrassing for you, won't it?” 

It would indeed be quite the harsh fall. As the ground below was a good foot distance from where he stood on the train and it's made out from rough dirt and jagged rocks. All it would take is one single awkward misstep on those steep metal stairs to ensure Macbeth let the earth swallow him up. 

Alone he handled it well as he went to dust off the grime, ignoring the blistering pain that surfaced around his likely scratched face and trudge along as if it's nothing. However that wasn't the case here and now. If it happened in front of another soul, anyone else, he likely would be a little flustered, yes on the matter as he aggressively swore them to secrecy. 

This he couldn't hide from. Not so easily. The other man at his side was built differently, he is eagle eyed and observant. Ready to pick on the details and tear them apart. 

“Need to hold my hand to steady yourself for a sec?” He's reluctant. A hand, bandaged, is held out to him waiting for his response. Eyes flicker between the hand to the ground then back, trailing up the arm. Once the bandages stop at the elbow he notices the bare skin is a distinct charcoal color with the faint veins a light gold color. It wasn't any of his business to begin with but Macbeth had been worried about that fact with his oldest friend. The thin material protected him from serious damage, and he should know however there came the underlying fear it won't be enough. He wasn't the only one in the clan who shared a similar intuition when it came to that fact despite the man generally being a goofy guy nobody can sincerely hate. 

Why would they?

“I'm all set here” Respectfully he kept his drooping gaze set firmly to the ground, afraid it may trail further to somewhere he couldn't explain. “Thank you though”  

“Ain't going to kill you” 

Where the hand pulls away, Macbeth drags a stilted breath. Awkward tension could be cut down by a dull knife. The hand returns again with a vengeance, grabs onto his wrist to the point it begins to hurt. Yet he didn't make an attempt in tugging free. 

“Look at me” It orders him, firm, no room for an argument. Although it wasn't like Macbeth would've won anyways. He listens, steadies his slumped posture and looks up. “Good boy. I hope you do know I'm looking out for you as a friend” The unintentional pet name spoken in a whisper doesn't go unnoticed by him. Warmth uncomfortably settled in his gut. 

What he sees staring back at him does him no favors. Golden eyes with hints of vibrant orange and reds swirling together are locked onto his dull gray. As if staring at the blazing sun up in the sky up close and personal that left Macbeth in awe, he couldn't look away from. Until it burns a gaping hole into his soul. 

“I know, Choc. I know” 

A part of him nuzzled deep in his own psyche suddenly feels very inadequate compared to his friend. Where he wasn't anything special to look twice at, really, described to be dull, too rashly hot headed acting before thought and he wasn't necessarily good with either his words or feelings. Classic socially inept, cold shut in. 

Then came along Choc, a social butterfly able to light up the mood who back in the day was considered conventionally attractive, had people draping off his every word. Still was in Macbeth's eyes, only in a different way, even when long years amongst fraught sickness clearly wore down his friend. As he can look past the plentiful amount of gruesome scars on the man, across his sun kissed face, past his gold row of sharp teeth, and his unnatural skinny body, it just adds on to ruggish charm. Macbeth then scanned him from head to toe, at one time there were firm muscles laid ever so nicely on the man that had melted away to skin and bones over the years. 

“Then you should know better, right?” Choc responds in an even tone and Macbeth feels worse. He isn't intending to worry him. This isn't what he meant to do. 

“Don't need you guilting me, I know” 

“I'm not. You of all people should know that. As your closest friend. I can worry” 

Today was a stressful day as it is, being the train conductor holding both all the Toppats’ most prized possessions and the majority of their members. It was his assigned priority to travel back and forth from one port to another for the clan. So he's built to stay set on a tight schedule that he held high expectations and standards which he's behind on. However he is thankful they got to one small port despite the delay in a reasonable time frame. So he doesn't need this right now. 

Really, didn't need it as Choc's hands cupped his tentatively in utmost care and led the way. 

“Don't get time in the world for this, y’know that right?” Half-heartedly Macbeth pleads, from his free hand, fingers pinch the bridge of his flat nose, his gruff voice gains an octave then he dryly swallows. 

A chuckle bursts out of Choc, shrugging, with a twinkle in his eyes, walking a few feet from the train through a path of bushes, “Dontcha worry. I do think we can squeeze in a couple minutes and relax, yes?” Choc lazily went to suggest though they knew it wasn't a choice, more an order. 

“The others won't like it. The chief surely won't” 

“They'll survive,” Choc scoffs, a hint of hidden agitation seeps in. “Maybe not the chief in his haughtiness with that gloriously pretentious stick shoved so far up his ass”  

“Choc” 

Soon the man in question stops in his tracks in front two trees, looking behind his shoulder at Macbeth, an unreadable expression on his face until he softens and discreetly rolls his eyes. “It's true, isn't it? Someone's gonna get real tired of it soon and do something about that”

Nobody should ever be brazen to detest the chief, his diligent reign brought the clan to new heights they haven't seen in a while, at least Macbeth thought so. 

“He's under a lot of pressure” Macbeth adds in defense to the chief's name. 

“Shouldn't be having the title and power then if he can't handle it. The cracks under the so called pressure is starting to reveal itself”  

While Macbeth squirms, swaying on one foot to the other, Choc walks to a tree, presses a hand on the bark, lowering carefully to the ground. Macbeth manages to take a spare glance around, he notices they were alone, together at the train's head, and not a thing or person is there to interfere. 

Woods surrounded them, as naturally thickly settled and so the colorfully painted autumn leaves above provide a decent amount of shade for whoever rests below. 

“At least in my opinion. Though let's not talk now on it. We're here to relax” 

Still holding hands it was until Choc let go Macbeth missed the soothingly comforting contact. What he would do to touch them again, worse is he wanted a better feel, and so the familiar overbearing sensation returns in his gut. 

“For a few minutes, okay” Once he finds his voice Macbeth speaks, “And I have to leave. Get back to work” 

“Sure. Sure, workaholic you. Beats me for wanting what's best” Leaned up against the tree Choc lightly jokes, scoots off to the side giving his friend room to sit. So with a grunt, he plops on the dirt next to the man, his hat laid off to the sideline. 

“Hmm” 

Macbeth hums, head back laying on the itchy wood behind him, eyes clamped shut, thin lips pursed with his large, calloused hands folded on his chest, and legs stretched out. 

Relaxation never came to him. An unheard-of  after thought. Yet this time around somehow it was different. There's a cool breeze nipping his cheeks, so having someone's presence for example, Choc's sets him at ease. Maybe it was the stress doing this, or all the pent up tension building inside kicking the wind out of his lungs. 

He didn't know how long it was sitting there until he snapped awake covered in a cold sweat. A tingling itch burns underneath his skin near his heart. Reassured immediately when beside him Choc remained, sat cross legged, hands at his side, and staring up at the sky, and he didn't miss how peaceful his friend looked right now. 

Rather he was mesmerized by the sight. The way the sun hits in all the right angles Choc shines a radiant glow. Once again the eyes are what took the cake, so captivating he is immersed and can't look away. At one point he opens his mouth but shuts it. 

Then he catches the hand grazing across his own; he may or may not have deliberately put them aside. Long, boney fingers wrapped in tinted gauze barely touch his thick, stubby digits. Even with the bandages on, they were so elegant compared to his that's missing a few. 

Temptation struck him. 

Slowly inching towards the man's hands he hopes isn't too noticeable. Macbeth wasn't the type to ask for much anyways. A simple man with the most basic needs and the way Choc feels under his touch is addictive. What was a need turned to a strong craving unable to be explained in words. Hand holding won't do, he imagined his curious touch traveling up the man's arm to his chest, and down his waist. 

How big his hands would be wrapped around the man, so slender, waist nicely cinched in by the corset vest. Push the sweet jester to the dirt ground, not caring if they got messy in the process as they return to the station. 

“Whatcha starin’ at?” 

Macbeth is startled out by his daydreams and snaps his attention to the man who returned an odd look at him.  

“Caught you staring” Tilting his head in to a certain degree that's not known possible to a man Choc merely laughs, “Handsome, I get it” 

A hefty shove amongst his friend's laughter later, Macbeth coldly replies, “Wasn't directed at you so don't get your head aired up, pal” 

Can't help to watch the shit eating grin falter while the wrapped up hand inches away. 

“Sure. You say that like you believe it's true as fact” Choc's smile returned just as quick, all knowing yet kept silent. 

“Watch it before I wipe the smugness off you”

“Oooh I'm so scared” 

Shambling back on his feet, Macbeth knew his time was up, hearing faint voices coming in the distance. In the corner of his eyes was Choc, usually teasingly persistent, resigned himself. Macbeth suddenly felt bad as he had to leave, turning around with the words on his tongue, however it died as Choc lazily waves him off. 

“Took enough of your time. I'll see you later” 

Nodding Macbeth, stiff, shambles on the trail to the train, turning his head slightly watching the figure disappear from his sight. 

[anki-of-beleriand]

A Heart Made of Glass ch.2

Summary: Ten years ago you left Wanda and the Avengers to heal your broken heart. You never stopped being a hero, just as you never stopped being in love with her. But life had to go on.

Now, after all that time, she is back and with her is a young woman needing help and an enemy that may not be as afraid as Wanda to lay a claim on you.

Pairings: Wanda Maximoff x Powered!F!Reader - Scarlet Witch x PoweredF!Reader - Past Wanda Maximoff x Vision

Warnings: Angst, drama, mentions of cheating, fluff, violence, smut, Switch!Reader, internalize homophobia, hurt, comfort, Wanda being a complete mess, anger management issues, jealousy, Requited/Unrequited love, idiots in love, swearing, mentions of alcohol. Slow burn. More tags as the story progess.

Author's Note: This story is a continuation of Dirty Little Secret I was really surprised at the response I got for the story, I did all the tags you guys ask for but if I forgot someone please do not hesitate to tell me. Thank you for the support., you don't know how much it means to me all of this comments, likes, regblogs, I'm so happy you guys like the story.

The weight of memories can be quite overwhelming and Wanda and R are going to face this soon enough. This chapter will have some old memories, and some thinking America does in regards to this world and her previous one. Just the begining of a confrontation between Wanda and R. This chapter is long, so do tell me if you prefer them short, or any other request.

Please, do remember English is no my mother tongue so forgive my grammar, spelling and funny mistakes.

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14 - Chapter 15 - Chapter 16 - Chapter 17 - Epilogue

Chapter 2

The weight of memories

“Wanda.”

It was a name you hoped to never pronounce ever again.

You still remembered the last time your spoke it out loud and it was the day your heart broke into a million pieces, and your soul was shattered and submerged in darkness for a very long time. Yelena stood by your side, her eyes opening wide in realisation while her gun lifted slightly firm on her hand while her eyes sought out Natasha who was standing at the other end of the hall furrowing her brows while she had her attention on you.

The tension was palpable around the house, you could not take your eyes off of Wanda while the young witch couldn’t stop looking at you. She stood frozen in time and space, her eyes taking into your figure that filled out your young adult body into a more mature one. Your hair around your shoulders with a side bang and an undercut made you looked beautiful, and Wanda felt her heart ached at the memories seeing you brought to her mind.

“Y/N.”

Your name sounded like a prayer, and you hated the fact her voice deeper and raspier, sent shivers down your back. You straightened up getting your emotions under control, your whole body tensing up while Yelena stepped forward in a protective gesture. Wanda scowled at this, though she didn’t dare to say or do nothing as she waited for you to do something.

“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do.” Yelena broke the silence lifting her gun to Wanda. “Do I shot her or we’re going to keep gaping at one another until we get tired?”

You clenched your jaw, finally breaking the spell those green eyes had you in. Wanda dropped her hand pressing her lips together, Natasha stepped forward until her eyes found yours and she knew something must be done before you did something you would regret.

"Putain qu'est-ce qu'elle fout ici?" The accent rolled out of your lips, strong and icy, breaking Wanda just a little when you walked past her without even looking back.

Natasha shrugged tearing her eyes away from you to Wanda, “n'a pas eu l'occasion de la battre. Et tu n'as pas pris tes téléphones avec toi.”

didn’t get a chance to beat it out of her. And you didn’t take your phones with you.”

Yelena winced just remembering that had been her fault, she followed you closed behind enjoying the broken stare from Wanda while shooting curious glances to America who had been watching everything with big, shocked eyes. You stood side by side with Natasha, knowing Wanda had her eyes on you probably wondering when you learned French, wondering if you and Natasha had spent a lot of time together. No, she probably didn’t even care about that, she probably was coming over to ask for a favour.

Your fists clenched while your body trembled and your lungs filled with air. You needed to get out of there, you needed to run…

"Y/N…" This time around there was a pleadingly tone behind your name, Wanda stepped forward until your blackened eyes met hers and she clamped her mouth shut.

You tried to hold onto your powers while everything came crashing down on you, at that moment you knew that Wanda was still someone that could affect you greatly and that made you hated yourself and her all over again.

"Don't."  You said through gritted teeth. "Just don't."

And then you disappeared into the kitchen with Yelena following closed behind, her eyes glaring directly at Wanda while her gun rested comfortably on her hand. Wanda felt her lower lip quivered; her eyes filled with tears when something inside her broke with piecing through her very soul. America stood there not understanding your anger but feeling wounded by your indifference, trying to remember herself that you were not the one she had known once…

This Y/N Y/L/N was so…so broken, so…not you. Not the woman she had met, not the one she had…

America dared to look at Wanda who had silent tears on her cheeks, her eyes gleaming with confusion and sadness while her whole body seemed to hold her back.

Natasha pursed her lips shaking her head, “I try to warn you, Wanda. You need to leave.”

“I can’t.” Wanda all but whispered, she lowered her eyes to the ground trembling while trying to hold onto her sanity. “I need to…I need her…”

As soon as those words left her mouth she cringed, Natasha made her way to her in a second and the young witch felt for the very first time the fear Natasha stirred on her targets. There was nothing kind or goofy, or even mischievous in the way she was staring down at Wanda, not on the cold smile adorning those red lips.

“You need to take care of your words, Wanda. And you will need to think better as to how you want to approach this because you are not wanted in here. Not now, not ever.” Natasha threatened lowly. “This time around, I won’t let you break her the way you did once. So, better watch what you say or get lost, Maximoff.”

There was a loud bang coming from the kitchen, Natasha sighed turning around making her way to the noise leaving Wanda and America alone. America never thought that finding you would turn out to be such a disaster, that the wounds were so deep that this really seemed like a bad idea.

The young woman didn’t know where it came from, not why she was so inclined to do so but soon she had her arms wrapped around Wanda trying to offer a comfort neither one of them felt at the moment. Wanda stood frozen for a moment before returning the embrace, comfort washing over her at having America there. It was familiar, yet so different from her boys, but it worked just the same.

"I'm not sure what happened but…" America trailed off. "Everything is so mess up in this place, we don't need them. There must be another way."

Wanda tried to smile, she tried to explain to America there wasn't any other way and that actually, even if it hurt, she kind of deserved the treatment. 

"I didn't know Y/N was such an ass in this universe…" America started talking without thinking.

"I'm pretty sure I have the same ass in all universes." Your voice startled her and Wanda that soon had her face lifted to yours, her green eyes gleaming with the unshed tears and the regret she had carried with her ever since that fateful day.

America straightened up facing you with defiance in her stance, you raised a single eyebrow observing the young woman the same way she seemed to be doing. America could see the traces of the you she had come to know and love, yet there was a deep sadness and anger that she was not familiar with. America’s dark eyes drifted to Yelena and Natasha, both women standing by your side.

You couldn’t help the curving of your lips, this young woman whoever she was held power alright, but also an attitude born out of her teenage years than anything else. You held her eyes for a moment before directing them to Wanda, the witch stood there a simple shadow of the woman full of confidence you had known once.

Wanda’s life had not been easy, and you…you wished you could have ease that pain away.

Weak.

“I don’t remember you being this much of an asshole back in another place,” America stated making a face. “At least, not with Wanda.”

You lifted an eyebrow at that, your eyes narrowing slightly. 

"Another place?" You pursed your lips tilting your head to the side, Natasha nodded curtly and you smirked. “Another universe…I think you have travelled all the way to Norway for nothing, kid. If you’re looking answers about the possibility of multiverse travelling you should go to Tony, Bruce and even Hank. I know nothing about other lives, other universes…other Wanda.”

Wanda winced slightly lowering her gaze before taking a deep breath, she should have planned this meeting better because right now she was losing control of what she came to ask for. Of what she needed with urgency. America scowled at your words, she was about to speak when a hand placed itself on her shoulder and Wanda stepped forward.

“We don’t need to know about this kind of travels, America knows more than they do.” Wanda hated the trembling in her voice, she cleared her throat while trying to speak ignoring your glare and that of Natasha and Yelena.

“We have come all the way to Norway because America needs protection.” This time around Wanda was proud to find her voice, firmer and demanding, trying to take the strength she needed to face you and this conversation. “Someone out there, someone extremely powerful, is looking to take her powers…”

Wanda trailed off when her eyes caught the trembling shadows around you, she clenched her eyes shut knowing she had said the wrong thing.

“After ten years, you come here to my house…to ask for my help?” There was a hint of hurt in your voice, and you hated the fact that a part of you was hoping this meeting would have a different goal.

But of course, Wanda Maximoff would have never dare to look you out if it wasn’t for the fact she needed your help. She had tried it before, and that resulted in you fighting Steve and cutting ties with him until Thanos. The only difference was this time around she came personally instead of sending someone on her behalf.

Wanda stirred wanting nothing more than to turn around and leave, but she held her ground stepping forward locking your eyes with hers.

“Not me, Y/N, her.” Wanda said pointing towards America. “She really needs our help.”

America scoffed at those words; she knew they were coming all the way to Norway looking for you because your special ability would help them cloak their presence. But she was not about to beg, and she most certainly didn’t like the fact Wanda was so affected by this meeting, that her voice held a hint of pleadingly in there. America had been hopeful when she heard your name back in Kamar-Taj, and now…it hurt. It hurt seeing this variant of yourself. So hurt and so bitter.  

Wanda clenched her jaw, her eyes flashing angrily when Natasha came closer to you with her hand placed tenderly on your lower back. You straightened up concealing your real thoughts about the whole situation, you were not about to give Wanda the satisfaction of reading how you were really feeling.

America huffed stepping forward, her fists clenched tightly at her sides while she couldn’t help the tears forming in her eyes.

“We don’t need their help, Wanda.” Here she turned to the redhead that was directing her eyes to America. “It is quite obvious we’re not welcome, and I thought Y/N would be a real hero in this place. But we don’t deserve this treatment, you don’t deserve it!”

“You should watch your mouth, kid.” This time around it was Yelena the one who spoke. “It’s quite obvious your dear Wanda has not told you the whole story. But I’m pretty sure I can fill in the blank spaces and I’m pretty sure there is still a tape…”

This time around you and Wanda winced at the mention of a tape, Natasha shook her head but Yelena was not over. She stepped forward sending a withering glance at Wanda.

“You dare coming here after everything, as if nothing had happened.”

“I’m not…I know I have no right…”

“Then, you should leave.” Yelena stood protectively right in front of you, and you couldn’t help but smile at the gesture.

“Look here, blondie.” America started ignoring the angered gesture by Yelena, “this is between me and her.”

This time around America pointed a finger at you, you stood there glancing around and analysing the situation with Natasha standing closed by. The words from the young woman, America, had made you curious. Other worlds. Other universe. If this was the truth then, what had happened? America seemed to know you, the other you.

They had come for protection, but even if Natasha hated to admit it, Wanda was a powerful witch. Then, what kind of protection?

America seemed hurt, as if you had hurt her personally.

I didn't know Y/N was such an ass in this universe

The tension in your body intensified, Natasha frowned but opted to stand back knowing you were about to decide the right course of action for this situation. You stood forward, your hand on Yelena’s shoulder to stop the bickering going on between her and America. Wanda tried to place her arms to her side, her eyes gleaming strangely as they went to you.

You locked your eyes with hers, and for a moment it was as if you had never stopped looking into those eyes. The memories of the past came rushing in, and once more, you felt the lack of air around you. You broke the stare with a scowl, then your eyes were on America and the young woman lifted her face in defiance.

“Tell me, kid, what would my other variant do in such a predicament as this one?” You hated yourself for the question, because even if you didn’t show it, even if no one else knew what you were thinking, you had already decided what to do.

America furrowed her brows, and you shot her a defiant glare. The young woman thought about the answer, she checked you out slowly while thinking about the you from Supreme's world. How she had loved Wanda beyond anything and anyone America had seen before. How she would be ready to make Wanda happy, to be there for her and the twins. They were the reason why Y/N breathed and woke up every morning. If there was something America was sure of, was that true love, being in love with someone should be like Wanda and Y/N's relationship.

"She would do anything for her. Without a doubt." America replied simply, with honesty, and for some reason when she saw your face and dare to read your eyes she thought perhaps this was the most obvious answer and something you weren’t ready to hear yet.

You stood frozen for a long time, your eyes on America knowing full well Wanda had her eyes on you. You pressed your lips together, lifting your stare to Wanda then going back to America. 

"Make yourself at home, then." You waved your hand turning your back to Wanda and America, "There are empty rooms down the hall leading to the yard."

You crossed eyes with Natasha, knowing full well she would give you shit for this. Yelena pursed her lips following you, giving Wanda one last dirty stare. 

The living room was left in an uncomfortable silence, Natasha tried to conceal her emotions not liking one bit what just happened. Her green eyes went from America to Wanda, the young witch tried to follow you but soon Natasha stood in her way. The tension now was accompanied by the electric charged that was Wanda’s magic.

"Let me show you the place, then. Since apparently you're staying." There was no warm in her voice, and her eyes were as hard as steel.

Wanda clenched her jaw, before trying to control her anger.

“Natasha…”

The Black Widow lifted a hand shaking her head, “you still don’t get it, do you Wanda?”

At this Wanda stiffened, her eyes lost down the hall where you had disappeared with the blond-haired woman. The world around Wanda shook in ways she thought she would never live again; she hesitated before facing Natasha and the other woman gave her an angered stare.

“You don’t have any right to be here, to demand help…to wait for her to do your biding. Not anymore.” Natasha stepped back showing the other hall with her hand. “You’re staying here because regardless of how you broke her, she is still Y/N. Let me show you your room, and that of your protégé. Tomorrow would be another day.”

Wanda opened her mouth to protest but a hand closing around hers stopped her, she tilted her head to see America shaking her head. With a heavy sigh, Wanda nodded not without giving the empty hall one last lingering glance before turning around.

This meeting had been a complete disaster, America felt a deep, dark void in her chest as she saw the people she had loved once crumbled right in front of her. Whatever had happened in this world, it had certainly left scars that had not heal correctly.

America glanced around herself, the pictures and the house itself was a mirror of who you were. And even if there was anger there, if there was pain and everything seemed fucked up at the moment, America had seen the pictures. There was no need for you to keep so many of them with Wanda smiling by your side.

With a plan already forming in her head, America decided it was time for her to repay those who had protected her at some point. To stop being a burden, and start being a hero.

Like you.

Like Wanda.

______________________________________________________________

Night was already falling around the land.

The cold breeze pushed you down for a moment until you reached the valley right in front of your home, the memories you had tried to bury deep inside your soul came right in rushing with everything you had denied yourself for a long time.

At that moment you wished you had taken Wong’s advice and do the memory spell.

Perhaps, like that, you wouldn’t remember her.

Perhaps like that you didn’t have to remember at some point you were happy with her.

You didn’t have to remember how happy you had been to discover it was a secret only you and her shared. It was exciting, it was a game in the midst of such childish love…until…everything crumbled.

Wanda and you were playing a dangerous game, you knew that. You sensed it the moment Wanda reacted adverse to the idea of being out in public, the moment she justified her nights in your bed as curiosity. After three years of relationship, these kinds of comments should have been your warning, this should be enough to let you know something bad was about to happen.

This is what people do in High school and College, right? It’s the same, just…amongst superheroes, there is nothing else in here, you’re my best friend…we’re experimenting.

You had never experimented; you knew you like girls in Kindergarten though at that time you didn’t even know what romantic love was. You just knew that when you grew up you wanted to marry Laura because she was cute, and you like the ponytails she usually wore and she was your best friend in the whole school.

When you reached 12 and discovered your powers, you knew you wanted to marry Natasha Romanoff because she was not only the most beautiful woman you had ever seen, but she was also kind and a bad ass. Besides, she wasn’t as old as she pretended to be, so you still had hoped. 

By the time you became an Avenger, Natasha had become your older sister. And while a part of you would always think fondly of her as your first real crush, it was a line you would never cross. 

Then, came Wanda.

And that was when you knew real love. The romantic kind. The forever kind. The one so many people write about, or sing songs about…she was…Gods, she was everything.

But she wasn’t ready to face her own feelings, who she was and what she was feeling. Wanda spoke of how wrong it was, how normal she was…how while it felt nice, it was nothing more than an experiment amongst friends. And when you tried to confront her, well… She pushed and pushed until it was almost impossible for you to reach out to her, all the while pulling you to her leading you on and on until you were like a lost puppy…

Until you found her with Vision, and then she just broke your heart.

It was a nice game, but it was time to grow up. You could keep playing, but Wanda needed to think about herself, her future and what she really wanted. What was expected of her. A normal life

Normal.

Did you really think this was going to last? Wanda wanted a family, a husband, a dog, kids, a suburban life. She wanted to be a housewife and be NORMAL. The way her fucking sitcoms told her life should be. The way many had told her it should be.

She broke your heart; she destroyed your soul…she messed up with you so bad that you couldn’t bring yourself to fight anymore. You couldn’t touch another without thinking about her. You couldn’t look at anyone else the same way you looked at her…in the middle of all of that, you were a fucking romantic. You believed in the magic of love; you were so fucking naive.

You left the Avengers a couple of days after finding out about her and Vision.

You helped both sides in the Civil War but signed the Sokovia Accords.

You pretended to have a normal life as a teacher in a forgotten city in Norway, while working for both Fury and Tony. Ross never suspected a thing; he never saw right through the house you bought, how you had worked around a big underground rail only for enhanced superheroes wanting to get lost in the world. Because Wanda might have broken a lot of things in you, but she never took away from you your will to do good. To be a hero.

You became a cover. Fury and Maria would come by from time to time and the operation to locate heroes around the world started, as well as the reconstruction of the new Shield. Then, came Natasha with a blond-haired Widow: Yelena. And much like Natasha she became the little sister you didn’t have. You extend your help to them, becoming a step home for those Widows they rescue along the way.

All the while, Wanda lived her perfect normal life on the run, with a machine, pretending that what they had was nothing more than an experiment. Fighting to get the normality she always sought out, sometimes you got news about her and some others…you just begged to not hear anything at all.

Then, Thanos came and you joined the fight.

You were a hero after all, but it was late and you got there in time to see Wanda crying over the dead body of Vision moments before disappearing. A part of you died that day, and another part came back when she appeared on the battlefield after the second snap. 

When the fight was over, and the funeral came by…You couldn't even look at her without remembering all the pain you had gone through because of her. You decided not saying nothing was better than trying to say something. A part of you was happy and relieved she was alive, that she was well…even if it wasn’t with you.

And then, those fucking tapes…her happily ever after trapped in a world of her own…

She took away your dream. The dream you had for her and not even once did she mention you, never once did she…remember you the way you had done all these years. How was it possible for Wanda to forget you when you couldn’t let go? How dare she to use your dream, the future you had dreamt like that?

Yelena jerked back startled as you let out a scream born out of your soul. The earth under you trembled and the blackness that was your power exploded in a single ray of black towards the sky. 

You clenched your fists thinking that after all this time Wanda Maximoff meant nothing to you. That you had got over her…that you weren’t in love with her anymore.

The tears rolled down your cheeks like rivers, and you fell to your knees letting Yelena wrapped her arms around you. 

“I can kill her; it would look like an accident.” Yelena whispered in comfort, you let out a sloppy laugh shaking your head.

“It’s not worth it, Lena.” You said softly hugging the other woman tightly to you. “I just wished it didn’t hurt; you know? It’s not supposed to hurt anymore…I was supposed to be over her.”

“I can kill her and make it look like an accident.” Natasha came in, her voice deathly serious. 

Yelena and you crossed stares and soon your tears transformed into laughter and you and Yelena fell to the ground under the confused glance from Natasha. You let go laughing, shaking your head while holding onto Yelena.

“You guys…you really are sisters in everything but blood.”

“What’s so funny?” Natasha clicked her tongue impatiently, kicking Yelena playfully while her own eyes gleamed with mirth. “Come on! I wanna know!”

“It’s just…I proposed the same.” Yelena said sitting down still laughing, “I could make it look like an accident.”

“That’s why I love you guys,” You said, offering a real smile. “I wish we could have been lesbians together; it would be so much easier.”

“You’re an idiot.” Natasha rolled her eyes though she decided to sit beside you and Yelena.

“I don’t think you could keep up with us.” Yelena made a face when you wriggle your eyebrows.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Yelena shivered pushing her hand to you, your laughter filled the valley and the pain diminished some in the company of them. You wiped away the tears on your face, you knew Natasha had her eyes on you and she was waiting for you to say something.

“I guess we will need to hear what they have to say.” You finally said, Yelena frowned but when she was about to protest she found Natasha shaking her head.

“I can ask, she is not the only one with Strange’s phone number on speed dial.” Natasha put her phone from her pocket. “I’m more concerned about the teen. Who is she? What is that about the other you? The dimension?”

You made a sound of agreement, “it sounds far-fetched though…”

You couldn’t shake the words of America when you confronted her back at the house. 

"She would do anything for her. Without a doubt."

Yes, you would have done anything for Wanda. Anything. You even bought the ring she wanted, the housed she dream of…the happily ever after…

“A talking raccoon, a talking tree and a bunch of space idiots tell us this is not impossible.” Natasha replied sardonically. “I know. I’ll speak with him. Don’t do anything stupid.”

You waved your hand at her falling on your back, Yelena pursed her lips still frowning. 

“What is it?” You asked and Yelena shrugged a smirk forming on her lips, one you know pretty well.

“Wanna get waste?” 

You snorted while sitting up, “god, I thought you never ask, let’s go.”

______________________________________________________________

You and Yelena disappeared the rest of the night.

The local bar welcomed you with open arms, and you and Yelena drunk and played around until snow started falling, and the drive back home became far too dangerous. Something you really didn’t care; it gave you the time to think about what had happened in the last couple of hours and organize your thoughts surrounding Wanda.

You knew you couldn’t run forever, sooner or later you would have to face the woman that held your heart in her very hands. You just never thought it would be her the one coming to you, of course, she was here only because she needed it your help. There was nothing else in there, and you hated yourself for daring to hope there could ever be.

The outside world was frozen, you shook your head knowing the snow wouldn’t stop falling anytime soon. Winter was already there and soon the snowstorms would become almost impossible to navigate.  You glanced at Yelena who was mumbling drunkenly at your side, your lips drawn in an amused smile as you decided to get out of the car and take Yelena with you. The house was in complete darkness, and you just hope Natasha was nowhere to be seen or she was going to kill you both.

“Okay, Lena, just…that’s it, take one step at a time.”

"You deserve better," hr words were slurred, filled with emotion as she tried to focus her stare on you. “You’re a nice looking, functional member of society…plus you’re hot.”

You chuckled while opening the door of your home, the lights were off and there was no noise but that of your footsteps and Yelena's talk. 

"Thank you, Lena coming from you is a compliment." 

"I meant it… that… that bitch! The nerveee…" you held back your grin when Yelena tried to straighten up and walk alone. "I'll teach her…" 

"Okay, Little Widow, we're going to lay down, there would be time to teach her a lesson." 

You held the blond woman helping her to the sofa, Yelena frowned, placing a hand in your neck. The movement made you look back at her, and this time around Yelena looked almost sober. 

"You deserve better, you deserve to be happy… but you only want her. It's not fair."

The air left your lungs, a cold shiver went right through your spine at those words. Then Yelena laid down, closing her eyes and you were left pondering these words. It took but a few moments before you went right into the closet to grab some covers, you put them on Yelena scowling still at those words. The truth behind them… 

"So, you guys have fun?" 

You turned around startled having missed the young woman standing by the threshold, America stood there with a glass full of water on her hand. She was glancing at you with curiosity and you have to wonder if perhaps she had heard Yelena’s confession.

"What are you doing so early?" You asked making your way towards her while studying the young woman for a moment. "I thought you kids sleep in until midday."

You went past her, knowing the young woman was following you back into the kitchen. There was a heavy silence filling the place, you were a little unsure about the young woman standing right there, about her words and her claims of being a traveller from another world. About what she had said the day before, those words echoed inside your head, haunting you.

"First of all, I'm not a kid." She was highly offended, you snorted but let her continue. "Second, not all of us sleep in, we don't have the luxury sometimes. And third…" 

America trailed off looking away from your knowing smirk. 

"Third?"  You pressed; the young woman huffed looking away. 

"I just… I couldn't sleep."

You observed the slump on her shoulders, the haunted glint in her eyes and the tension on her lips. You supposed everyone carried on their demons when they were trusted powers they could not understand. And America was looking like a young girl that had been trusted with something she barely knew how to control. Why had they come to you? Why now? 

"Well, since you're here, we may as well make breakfast." You placed your hands on the counter. "Wanna help me out?" 

America perked up at the mention of food, she nodded tentatively still wary of you. She was getting used to this new idea of you, to this new hostility she had never associated with you; America had to remember not all your variants would look the same, even though she was quite certain of what she had said to you the day before. You would have done whatever it took to make sure Wanda was alright.

You had been working around the ingredients for the breakfast, the weight of those dark eyes following you around with curiosity and nostalgia. 

“Very well, do you like pancakes?” You asked out of the blue offering a tired smile to the young woman who merely nodded her head quite surprised at the questions. “Perfect! Then, let’s start, help me with a bowl over there.”

America hesitated for a moment but soon she started following around your instructions while contributing to the making of the breakfast. You were completely focused in the process, from time to time you would whistle a melody that America was not familiar with, but it made her nerves soothe over. There was a sense of familiarity in the whole scene, and soon America found herself yearning for you…for that banter…

"You can ask me, you know?" Seeing the look of confusion in your eyes, America rolled hers. "About the other worlds, about you."

"What makes you think I wanna know?" You couldn't help but ask with some curiosity. 

Were you curious? Yes, of course. After the comment she made the day before, you were really curious to know how your life was in other universes. Were you really happy? Was Wanda less of a coward? Did she break your heart the same way she did there or was that only reserved for the you of this universe?

America shifted slightly, narrowing her eyes she came closer to you shrugging. 

"Once they find out, everyone is curious about their variants." She explained furrowing her brows. "Everyone but you and Wanda."

You tensed at the mention of the other woman, your hands busying themselves with the mixture and the pans on the stove. 

"I'm not fancying knowing I'm the same in another universe." Your replied was quite simple, your eyes trying to keep at bay how you really felt about the whole thing. 

"Things are different, and you are not the same." America replied, shrugging. "You seem happier there."

You stopped what you were doing for a moment, your heart beating fast while the question you wanted to ask danced around your mind. With a stubbornness that had helped you out so far, you continued making the breakfast stopping any stupid question from leaving your lips. 

"I am? Shocking, I guess the butterfly didn't flap the right way on this side of the universe." 

America crunched up her nose, her hand stretching out to get a taste of what you were doing. You patted her hand shaking your head. Your lips curling slightly when you saw America licking her fingers in approval. 

And even if you told yourself you wouldn't ask, that you didn't need to know the question left your mouth before you could censor yourself again. 

"Are we… I mean," You trailed off clenching your jaw before speaking again. "Are they happy there?" 

America pondered the question, her eyes on you for such a long time that you thought she wouldn't answer. 

“You mean you and Wanda?” She asked testing the waters, you snorted shrugging never looking back to America. The teen pursed her lips for a moment thinking about her answer, “They are, they’re …really happy. It’s difficult to imagine…”

“It didn’t work out here?” You retorted, for the very first time America realised there was a huge portion of the story she didn’t know and that, whatever it was, had made you sad. Bitter.

“I guess…is different in every world.” She replied shrugging, it was not supposed to be comforting but it was a reassurance that not everything was done and said just because it happened in another time, in another space. 

“I guess it is.” You worked around the plates and the trays filling them with food, the smell filling up your senses while you tried to forget what America had just revealed. 

“You can be happy still, you know?” America was not really sure why she was saying this, she didn’t owe this people much and yet it felt right. As if this was something she should say, as if she knew you need to hear that. 

“Too late, kiddo. It’s too late in this part of the universe.” You turned to her, trusting a huge tray filled with two plates with pancakes, fruit, tea and syrup. “Now, be a darling and take this to your friend.”

America glanced at the tray with open eyes, everything had been so neatly arranged and the effort you put on the food was quite noticeable. You pretended to be working on something else, you tried to forgo the fact you served breakfast for America because your first instinct was to serve breakfast for Wanda. The way she used to like it.

“Aren’t you going to eat too?” America scrunched up her nose, but you offered a terse smile shaking your head.

“I will take a bath first, you go and make sure your…friend is ready. Today we will speak of the reason you’re here.”

You left before America could say something else, the air you didn’t know you were holding left your lungs slowly as you approached your room. What you really needed was a drink, and a bath. Nothing else.

______________________________________________________________

The morning in this part of the world was grey. It was cold. And it was perfect for how she felt at the moment.

The storm happening right outside her window told her they would not leave the protective walls of the house anytime soon. For a moment, Wanda wondered if you had come back before the storm began, if perhaps you were stranded with the milf Yelena had been talking about. If you were with someone else… 

This whole mess was so unfair. 

Her life had been one mistake after the other, one regret after the other… 

Wanda Maximoff had lost everything she loved. Ever since she was a young girl, it seemed as if her life had been written under a curse line of unfortunate events, of everlasting loses that broke her heart and soul little by little. The powers some thought were a gift had always been a curse, the mark of a monster that cursed everything she touched. 

That was her.

The Scarlet Witch.

Wilder of chaos magic. Like her life.

A tear slid down her cheek, her green eyes contemplating the mountains stretching right before her window. The sound of a river nearby, and the silence in the house was enough to make her get lost in her memories, in her thoughts. The whispers at the back of her mind, the screams of her children asking for help, the last words of Vision just before he left definitely. 

She rested against the window, sitting down on the sofa with her legs to her chest, sleep had not come the night before or the one before that. Once again, she had been thrust into a mission in which her intentions were anything but pure, and she had to face a past she could not forget. Someone she could not…she shouldn’t…

There was a knock at her door, Wanda furrowed her brows just noticing morning had arrived and it was probably Natasha or America wanting to talk to her. With a heavy sigh, Wanda stood up making her way to the door. She was highly shocked the moment she opened the door and saw America balancing a tray that was full and heavy for her to keep steady. 

“I wouldn't mind if you help me?” America smiled sheepishly; it took a second before Wanda went to help the young girl grabbing the drinks in her hand while directing them to the table inside her room. 

America followed her, closing the door behind her biting her lower lip in concentration. Wanda followed her with her eyes until she had settled everything on the table and sat down ready to dig in her own plate. Wanda hesitated for a moment, her body trembling under the sudden intrusion to her time alone, but her eyes softened when she saw the young woman getting settled while fixing everything for the both of them to have a nice breakfast. 

“Did you do all of these?” Wanda finally asked, sitting down in front of the young woman, she tilted her head, watching the form of the pancakes, the syrup, the fruit…everything was familiar. 

“Eh, no, I mean I helped some but…Y/N did all the cooking.” America shrugged, making a sound of pleasure when tasting the pancakes. “And she is good at this stuff! You should taste them, I think she put…”

“...Peanut butter.” Wanda whispered, her eyes dropping to the pancakes. “She…I don’t know how she does it, but she puts peanut butter and…jelly.”

America opened her eyes in realisation, not wanting to disrupt the moment she just continued eating silently while making sure to observe Wanda carefully. The woman in front of her was so different from how Strange had described her, without a doubt América knew she was powerful and that she was capable of great things. But right now she was looking defeated, tired and so miserable America soon realized she had not asked about this. About her and this world, she hadn't had the time while running and fighting for her life…but perhaps, now that they were in hiding could be a good time to get to know this Wanda. To get to know you and understand why the both of you insist on being apart from one another. 

The weight of everything Wanda had lived up until that point came rushing in, her mind a mixture of regrets and thoughts, emotions she longed to forget. 

"Are you okay?" America finally asked, placing the fork on the table, her eyes worrying over Wanda who offered a grimace. 

"I am, we should eat." Wanda sat down going through the motions playing with the food on her plate. 

The young woman sitting in front of her didn't know how to proceed. She wished there was a way to help, that there was something she could do but in all the time she had spent travelling through the multiverse she hardly got more than a couple of days interaction before she moved on. 

"I thought she hated you." America broke the silence, her eyes glancing at Wanda who stiffened at those words. 

Wanda nodded, taking a bite from her food. 

"She does." Wanda confirmed and the words were painful to even pronounce. 

America furrowed her brows, "then why did we come here? I mean, you are powerful as it is and well… with Strange helping out…it's just… you seem really sad, and she was really mean to you. Yet she comes and makes your favourite breakfast. This is really confusing."

Wanda offered a smile at those words; she could see the young woman meant every word with just a hint of concern and indignation on Wanda's behalf. Wanda sighed leaning back in the chair. 

"We need her help, she is not only powerful but the only person I trust more than myself." Wanda felt dirty as those words rolled out if her mouth. "And she has her reason… We have our reason for this. The breakfast is just… breakfast. Nothing else, nothing more."

America didn't really understand, but it was evident whatever was going on around them was enough to create such a breech between them. Which was sad… they really were meant for each other. 

"You two were really happy, you know?" America whispered returning her attention to her food. "At least, that's how it looked like in the other universe…" 

Wanda cocked her head looking away from America to hide her tears. 

"It's too late in this part of the universe, America." Wanda whispered, standing up and moving to the bathroom. 

America sat there finishing her pancake with a frown and musing over her two morning conversations that day. Everyone seemed so adamant that it was too late, but was it? What if there was a chance…?

With some determination, America decided she would play the game this time around she would make sure to make a difference before her powers took her to another place or her invisible hunter caught up with her. 

______________________________________________________________

You let out a groan when the hot water hit your skin. The water rushed down your body, with your eyes closed you tried to shake away the memory of Wanda's eyes, how sad and empty they looked, how defeated she appeared. Life had not been kind to her. 

You wished you could hate her, that she didn't make you feel half the things you were experiencing at the moment. How you wished you could go to her, wrapped your arms around her and tell her everything was going to be fine. 

The shampoo washed away slowly as you massage your scalp, it was too late and the only thing that would come out of that was more pain and you certainly didn't need more of that. It was hard as it was trying to ignore her at Caps funeral, or on the battlefield in the fight against Thanos… 

It was hard trying to just not go to her when she needed help. And now here she was, at your doorstep asking for help. 

You looked at yourself in the mirror, and your eyes were hiding away the sorrow the memories of Wanda brought. You wished you really hate her, that it wasn't so easy for her to get what she wanted from you. 

But you could never see her like this. Sad defeated… without a purpose. Lost. 

"God, I'm such a fucking idiot."

"I won't discuss that." Natasha was leaning in against the threshold, you glanced at her through the mirror holding back a smile. 

"You know? For shit like this is that everyone thinks we have something?" 

You fixed the towel around your body; Natasha rolled her eyes pointing to the door of your room. 

"Sorry, you left the door open and I could hear you mopping from the other side of the house."

"I wasn't mopping." You replied defensively. 

Natasha snorted falling on your bed, you moved around the room getting dressed while the assassin glared at the ceiling. 

"You're going to help her."

"I am" 

"Even though you don't know what you're getting into." It was a statement; Natasha couldn't hold the reproach from her tone. 

You put a shirt on scratching the back of your neck while leaning against the wall. 

"This is what we do, isn't it? Save the day? Help others?" You held Natasha's glare, both of you knew if Wanda came to you looking the way she did you would do anything for her. 

"I don't want you to get hurt, malysh." The old nickname made you smile. "I was there the first time, remember?" 

Natasha only called you kid when she was really worried about you. You stepped back from the wall laying right beside Natasha. 

"I won't I… I won’t say seeing here didn't shake me up but…" You shrugged. "I can't… either way, it is not as if something would happen, Wanda made it quite clear the last time we spoke."

Natasha hesitated remembering all those times in which she would work or talk to Wanda, the many times the witch asked for you trying to get as much information as she could. The times Natasha had seen her cry or play with the pendant you had given her once. That whenever she saw her with Vision there was something so… wrong, something so force that made her think Wanda was just trying to live what she was supposed to. 

Natasha really wanted to tell you that you were special, that whether Maximoff admitted it or not… she was in love with you.  Always had been. 

She didn't say anything, though. You didn't need a glimpse of hope in your heart, not that kind of hope anyway. Last time the break-up had almost destroyed you, and Natasha was not about to let that happen again. 

"I talked to Strange." Natasha changed the topic returning her stare to the ceiling. "This is seriously the most fuck up thing I've heard in a while."

"I'm going to tell Rocket you said that and he is going to feel offended."

You chuckled standing up to look for your pants. There was a knock on the door, you turned around waiting Yelena but a shiver went through uour body when your eyes found those of Wanda. 

"Uh, sorry I just…" she trailed off, her eyes travelling down your legs to your hips and then to your torso and face, her cheeks turning red just as she turned sharply to the bed where Natasha was resting the weight of her upper body on her elbows. 

"You just…?" You broke the silence seeing the change in Wanda's face, the blush leaving her features as a cold, upset stare settle in. "Can I finish getting dress or you gonna talk, Little Witch?" 

The nickname rolled out of your mouth as easily as breathing. Wanda opened her eyes at this, her lips twitched up but whatever traces of smile were halted when her eyes fell on the bed, on Natasha then on you. You held yourself opening your eyes before scowling, Wanda made a nervous movement with her hands before stepping back. 

"It can wait…" The door closed behind her but the tension was quite palpable. 

Natasha turned around giving you a half smile. 

"For shit like this is that people think we fuck."

You let out a snort, shaking your head. Your mind fixed on the expression in Wanda's eyes, the blush and the way her eyes had moved, checking you up. 

"You were talking about Strange?" 

Natasha sat down narrowing her eyes at you, "So we're going to ignore what just happened?" 

You turned to glare at her, Natasha rolled her eyes nodding. 

"Very well, there was an attack on New York, a creature following a girl."

"America." Natasha nodded

"The creature was being controlled by something else, something that could cast a special kind of magic, so they asked Wanda for help."

You put a hand on your chin, it was strange the whole situation. 

"He told me to ask America about the multiverse and said she could explain it better. But long story short, she is not from this world and she doesn't know how to control her powers… whatever or whoever is looking for her…" 

"It's doing it because of her ability.".

"Seems that way." Natasha stood up making her way to the door. "Whatever you do, please… be careful."

"I will." Natasha nodded but before she left you caught up with her wrapping your arms around her. 

The woman tensed for a moment caught off guard before she settled into the embrace. 

"Thank you for everything."

Natasha softened smiling at your words, "No need to, Malysha. Now let's go I'm dying to see what Wanda is going to do and said."

You walked down the corridor leading to your living room, your heart aching inside your heart knowing full well that even with all the pain she had gone through America was right. She would do anything for Wanda, after all this time, she would do it.

But first, she would need to hear the whole story.

______________________________________________________________

Wanda rested her weight against the window, her eyes following the patterns of the twirls of wind and snow dancing in front of her. She hadn’t had a single moment of peace ever since…since forever; Wanda left the world five years ago in a single snap and everything around her changed completely, by the time she was back Vision was long dead and she was alone.

She didn’t even have the time to mourn his death, to think about herself or her own life. She didn’t even have the time to think about…about the things she discovered.

It had been right after the funeral.

The Avengers compound had been empty, not many had returned to such a place after the Blip. The place was empty, almost empty. The voice of Friday had followed Wanda all through the compound, the AI spoke to her about the future of the building and how Tony had started a new plan of reconstruction of the Avengers.

Without meaning to, and really without thinking about it she ended up in your room.

Your former room.

Nothing much had changed inside it.

Tony had a thing for keeping your stuff the way you left it if you ever wanted to go back, you never did but Wanda knew Tony and Natasha had kept the place spotless. From time to time, when the world became too much, and Wanda didn’t know what to do she came here, with time she lost your smell but at least she held onto some of your things.

That day, she didn’t mean to do nothing much but rest.

She took a bath and went to look for some of your old clothes, something she hadn’t dared to do before that moment for fear of anyone discovering she had been there. That she had the need to be there just to hold onto something that had been completely yours.

The walk-in wardrobe was big enough to keep several items, most of them you had taken with you, some others were either forgotten or left intentionally. Wanda felt the weight of the world on her shoulders, moving through the motions she almost fell down on a box she had never noticed before.

It was a small chest.

Made of oak and steel.

Wanda furrowed her brows lifting the object while weighing it in her hands, she picked up one of your old t-shirts and went to your old bed. She put on some clothes before settling on the bed, her curiosity gotten the best of her while with a flicker of her hand the chest clicked open.

The contents on the box broke Wanda completely.

It made her realise whatever she felt for you, was still there. Always there, fresh, and ready to be reignited again.

Inside she found a map, a blueprint and a squared box made of blue velvety material.

Her hands trembled.

Her world crumbled under her then she saw the map when she read the blueprint…when she discovered the ring.

To grow old with. A dog because she always wanted one. A cat because I always wanted one. And two kids…because we want a big family.

That day she had taken everything with her, grabbed the closest car and drove to the town. Westview. And, she couldn’t take it anymore, she gave in until her sorrow and loneliness and regret were too much and she ran away the same way she had done so ten years ago.

The sound of laughter and arguing brought her back to reality.

She lowered her gaze trying to shake away the influx of memories that were threatening to overwhelm her once more. Wanda turned around to see America holding back her laughter, while Yelena tried to understand what had happened while Natasha seemed to be scowling at you. For a brief moment your eyes crossed, Wanda looked away, her hand closing tightly around the ring she had carried with her since that day.

“I can’t believe you left her on the sofa!” Natasha leaned in to help Yelena up, the other Widow glared at you but you merely smiled at her.

“She was wasted, and she needed to rest. It wasn't as if she messed up anything.” You commented, shrugging. “She threw up before we got here.”

“It’s not fair I’m feeling this awful and you’re not.” Yelena drawled her glare intensified when you chuckled approaching America.

“You see? That happens when you take the challenge to outdrink everyone at the bar.” You tried to explain to an amused America. “You don’t do that if you don’t wanna feel like that.”

Natasha rolled her eyes, Yelena straightened up narrowing her eyes at you.

“I thought you guys were going to drink away and forget this meeting.” America raised a brow at you then at Yelena, your smile dropped and this time around Yelena did smirk her eyes went directly to Wanda.

“You see, kid. I went there to drink, but she went there to make up with a hot milf.” Yelena saw with growing satisfaction the glint of hurt crossing Wanda’s green eyes.

You stiffened shaking your head in disbelief, though there was a hint of a smile on your lips. 

“You’re just envious because I got a kiss.”

“As if…

“Okay, you two, stop it.” Natasha sent a scowl to Yelena pointing to the other side of the house. “You, take a bath, have something to eat and we will wait for you in the conference room. And you, stop stalling.”

You winced nodding your head, your attention went from America who seemed highly amused still to Wanda who had her eyes on some spot outside the window.

“Very well, then let me show you around.” 

The house had been an abandoned cot when you first saw it. It was far enough from everyone that you could keep running away from your past, but still close enough to action that you could go around and assist those who needed you. It took you some time, and help but in the end you built up an operations base to help those who were in serious need of help after the Sokovia Accords. The lighthouse had been a great addition, and you had enjoyed working around the place until it became what it was at the moment.

A new beginning.

The house had two levels, the one everyone knew and the one where the main action used to happen. You walked ahead of Wanda, America by your side while Natasha followed you three close behind. 

"It was difficult at the beginning; I have to work around security and for that I have to make some sacrifices." It was quite evident by your tone of voice that the topic had been painful. 

America scrunched her nose, "what do you mean?" 

"Well, I'm good with programming, Tony taught me well." You puffed out your chest, it was one of the things you were most proud of. "But I am not infallible, Vision however had enough in his system to help around the network."

"What?" 

Wanda jerked around with a frown in place, her eyes wide open in disbelief. You turned around, confused at her reaction. 

"Vision helped with the system." You repeated tilting your head, "you didn't know?" 

Wanda stood there with disbelief filling up her mind, Vision had never mentioned you. Not even after she begged him to find out news about you, whatever information she got of you and your whereabouts had been through Clint and Steve. 

"He never… I…" Wanda started but you just resumed your walking towards the closest door shrugging. 

"If I had been important, perhaps he would have mentioned me." There was a hint of bitterness in your voice, America observed yours and Wanda's reaction while filing away this new piece of information. 

"You are important." Wanda whispered with an unreadable expression on her. 

You snorted, opening the door and letting them go inside. 

"Of course, I am, you told me yourself, Wanda." Your voice cold and emotionless made Wanda winced. "You came here because you need to use me again, this time around though without any tricks, or misleads."

And with that you entered the conference room moving past Wanda, a heavy weight on your heart and a mind filled with regrets and yearning, that day promised to be a long one. 

______________________________________________________________

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Please, tell me if I forgot anyone.

[tommyspeakycap]

Please could you write one with Grealish where you’re a Chelsea fan so refuse to wear a Villa shirt with his name on, and for bants Mount gets you a Chelsea shirt with his name and Jack gets all pouty?

omg I love this idea!! gets very smutty at the end ;) enjoy!

Villa Boy

A love for Chelsea had been something you adapted and grew to into as a young girl. Your dad was never entirely sure how to bond with his only daughter and your mother told him just to include you in what he loved. And so came your season pass with a little lanyard that still hung proudly in your childhood room right next to a shirt mounted in a glass photo frame with Frank Lampard's signature scrawled along the eight on the back.

It was actually how you met Jack in the first place, which is the only one single reason that he has for liking your club affiliation. Otherwise, it was one of the most annoying things in his world. It was often a source of teasing and taunting, you saying your team was better than his and him swaggering home and gloating for weeks when Aston Villa take a win over Chelsea. It was the bane of his life that he couldn't get you into that claret and blue. Not even to sleep in or wear around the house, you just would not dare put it on.

"I would feel my dad's shame emanate through the walls, maybe it would kill him. And then I'd lose every morsel of self respect I have, so not a chance." You'd snort, not even giving him a window for more persuasion.

His England shirt? that was fair game. You'd wear that with pride, to the shops, round the house, walking the dog and especially at his games but there was just absolutely no chance of getting you into his Villa shirt.

Though Jack may never admit it, it was one of his biggest wants. Seeing you in his England short was nothing short revolutionary - he'd said. It only made him want to see you in the Villa shirt more. That was his childhood club, getting to captain that was one of his biggest achievements and while he knew you were absolutely proud of him. You were the most proud and encouraging person in his life and there were no ifs buts or maybes in that.

But my god he knew you'd look fit in that claret and blue.

No matter how much it annoyed him, he wouldn't get you out of the darker blue home jersey of your favourite club no matter what he did. It was something he had come to accept over the course of your relationship, it was by and large fine.

Until that jersey said someone else's name across the back.

"Awh come on!" He yelps, mouth dropped open as you emerge into the kitchen with your toothbrush hanging out your mouth and only one shoe on. Jack knows you slept in because he switched off your alarm last night in hopes you'd miss the game, but Jack dropped a bowl when he tripped over the dog and woke you up anyway.

You going to the Villa v Chelsea game in a Chelsea shirt was bad enough, but now he's just clocked something that's sent his mind firing a mile a minute.

MOUNT

19

Not a fucking chance.

"Oi, you!" He calls out, throwing himself off the chair at the kitchen island, his feet fumbling over one another to get after you as quickly as possible. "What's up, Jack?" You hum innocently, a sweet smile playing on your lips as you stand in the doorway shoving on your other shoe. "Is something the matter?"

Jack gawks, opening and closing his mouth awaiting words to find his frazzled brain. "Yes!" He squeaks, a tone you'd never heard from a man before, let along your very deep voiced man. "There's no way that you're- what are you doing? Come back." He groans, his feet shuffling after you as you walk back through the house to find your car keys. "We're going to be late if you don't hurry up." You note sweetly, Jack drops his jaw. "We're not going anywhere until-"

"Hi Mason, yeah I got it. Fits like glove actually. Yeah, we're just leaving now. I'll meet you in the car park."

Jack's face was literally priceless. His agape, eye's wild, brows furrowed. A pout settles itself firmly into his lips the second he sits in the car with his arms folded over his chest like a toddler. You have to physically stifle a laugh at him as you beam the entire drive to Villa Park.

"M' gonna burn that." He states. You cast him a glance out the corner of your eye as you pull into the players parking. A snigger escapes despite your very best efforts and Jack resumes his frontward glare at the dashboard with his lips in a firm line. "Gonna win this game, burn that shirt and knock Mount flat."

You know he's not being serious about Mason. He's very fond of the player when they're on the same side. But you had become very close friends with him through the mutual love for the club he plays at and Jack absolutely despised that. He wasn't the kind to be bothered by your friends even to a moderate degree and even here he trusted you, he just fucking hated the concept of another club and another mans name over your back. It ticked him right off.

You know this very well. You knew what you were getting into the second Mason handed you that dark blue shirt. It was all fun and games really. You loved the club but you only wore the Mount shirt to get under Jack's skin. You thought it might even throw off his game a little.

The second he stormed onto the pitch and scored a goal 5 minutes into the game, you figured that might not be the case.

Every opportunity, every goal, every opening and every single tackle, Jack turned to you. He turned to you with fire in those brown eyes, sending you a cheeky wink. His passion, the very serious look etched onto his features and the way he was looking at you was fuelling a very different kind of fire in you.

Jack played the whole 90 minutes and he took Mason Mount down at every single given opportunity in a careful way that just evaded him getting a yellow card. He finished hot, sweaty and with a man of the match trophy for 2 goals and one assist with a majority of the game spent with the ball at his feet.

The 3 nil win should have been a lot more disappointing that it was, but he just looked so fucking good. The sweat stuck his hair to his temples, his muscles tight and protruding through exertion as he walks off the field after shaking every hand.

You're standing just outside the tunnel with Mason and John McGinn standing with you, talking about the match mostly. John makes a joke about you wearing that top more often, seems to be a good luck charm for Villa even if it's the opposing team. Mason scoffs and says; "More like an angry boyfriend wants to murder me charm."

That's when Jack appears and John barely gets his mouth open to greet him before Jack shoulders through the two footballers. His mouth finds your immediately. Hot, passionate, fiery and filled with his dominance.

He pulls back and grabs onto your hand tightly with his back to the two midfielders. Jack twists his body round with a daggering glare.

"Nobody," Jack growls, "fucks around with girl."

His tone, deep and gravelly, only serves to dampen your panties further in a way that makes your clench your legs together.

Jack's done with pouting, the teasing can resume later. For now, he's dragging you by the hand to a darkened conference room. Hiking you up his body before setting you on the table that sits at a miraculously perfect height that places you right against his bulge.

He wastes no time whatsoever ripping down your leggings and panties, his fingers finding you immediately to swirl pressured motions around your sensitive clit. "Ahh, who's got you moaning like that baby?" He rumbles, words vibrating through your lips.

"You Jack, oh god, you!" You pant as his fingers leave you feeling empty and needy. Jack easily tugs down his shorts and pulls himself out of his boxers to line up with your entrance. His victory sex is hot always, but usually there was a dry spell after a Villa v Chelsea game, so it had never been this hot.

"And who am I?" He grunts, pushing himself into you to hear your shuddering squeak of pleasure. He lays you down over the table, hands following you under your shirt to carefully and tentatively swirl his fingers over your nipples from under your bra. "Oh god, Jack," you move your hands to the hem of the blue shirt to lift it over your head, but Jack's hands stop them before you have the chance.

"No, no, no," he chastises with a smirk, "Want to fuck you in their colours," He continues to thrust roughly into you with each heavy breath, mouth and squeak that escapes you only spurring him on. "Want to fuck you with his name on your back, baby. Remind you who you belong to."

You shudder in pleasure with the feeling of his lips attaching to your neck, letting out a shaky, heavy breath as he snakes a hand down between you to swirl those circles around your more pleasureful spot once again. He knows the intricate details of your body better than any man ever has and he always ensures he uses it to his advantage, but nothing like today. His lips on the sweet spot of your neck, hitting and stretching you perfect between your legs with masterful work of his fingers pushing you closer and closer with each second that passed.

"Fuck , I'm so close-"

"Who's making you feel so good, baby?" He pants, skin slapping and heavy breathing echoing around the room. "You, Jack. You!"

"Not a Chelsea boy eh?" He grunts, teeth nibbling down over your collarbone. "Not a Chelsea boy baby is it?" He reiterates, pairing the movements of his hand only until you snap open your eyes again, "No Jack, it's all you. not a- oh god!"

Jack breathes a chuckle into your ear with an appreciative hum to follow.

"Yeah, Villa Captain isn't it? You're screaming out for a Villa boy, ain't ya?" He coaxes, edging you further and further as he speeds up to a pace he's never quite hit you with before. The adrenaline of the match, the irritation of that blue jersey and the passion for the win colliding to give him an energy he's never yet had. Watching your eyes roll beneath him wearing that stupid blue entices him on, only makes him want to pleasure you more if even possible. "Yes! Yes, I am, oh god just don't stop."

"Go on then," he encourages, voice deep in your ear. "Come undone for the Villa Captain baby."

He didn't have to tell you twice, that was for sure. The sight of your eyes fluttering, the feeling of you clenching around him with a steam of, "Fuck yes Jack!" sends him tumbling over the edge of his orgasm right after you, a strangle cry out of your name as it wracks through him.

When he lays down beside you in the table that very surpassingly withstood the pace of your antics, you're both breathless and shining with sweat. Your legs feel like jelly as you still throb from the pleasure. Jack turns his head to you with a lazy smirk, brushing some hair off your forehead as you turn to look at him.

"Well, I certainly do love a Villa boy."

[glowingbadger]

Okay, so I had a thought for our dear fox boy, Kurama.... Imagine, "trying" to tease him by going down on him only to suddenly switch it up and go down on you instead, especially when you least expect it as revenge. You're on the phone with your best friend and suddenly he's there between your legs, but you can't say anything or let your friend know.

Oh-hoo, a most excellent concept, friend- and actually plays into a couple things I've written about Kurama before too, so I guess I should have seen this coming xD

Also this all just reminded me that I HAVE to do some sketches of the YYH boys in late 90's fashion. Ugh, what absolute icons.

Kurama (YYH) x AFAB Reader

NSFW 18+ v

Kurama's hair splays out across the pillow, making him look for all the world like a lounging ingenue in a romantic painting. Still, those emerald eyes level on you with a sharp cunning that tells you clearly where you stand. He wears a subdued smile that someone who didn't know him might find pleasant, charming- but you know what the grin of a fox spirit really means.

"Feeling rather bold today, aren't you?" he says, his tone light and conversational, even as your hands run down his chest and the toned contours of his abdomen from atop his clothing.

"Well, it doesn't seem fair for you to call the shots all the time," you reply from your position straddling his hips. You like to think you sound the part of the confident seductress, but your heart leaps every time you meet Kurama's calculated gaze. You may be in the "dominant" position, but you know you haven't nearly tamed him. For now, you'll just have to try to push him a bit further.

You kiss a slow and deliberate path down the center of his torso, undoing the buttons of his shirt one-by-one, and revelling in the feeling of firm muscle shifting and flexing at your touch. Kurama lets out an openly pleasured sigh, and doesn't shy away in the slightest as your hands reach the front of his jeans. With a playful little hum, you run your hand up along the bulge of his stiffening cock beneath layers of fabric. Very subtly, his hips shift up towards your touch, and you bite at your lip as your eyes flicker up to his yet unreadable expression.

"You must be much more sensitive than you let on, Kurama," you tease, tracing his length with a single finger, "You're already this hard, after all."

Just as you'd started to feel sure of having the upper hand, he props himself up on an elbow to observe you between his thighs. One hand reaches down to caress your cheek, ending at your chin, where his thumb runs the curve of your lower lip.

"Of course I am," he replies bluntly, "It's only natural when I desire you so ardently. Besides," he goes on, his grin curling into a smirk, "If your aim is retribution for all that I've done to you, then I imagine I have quite a thrilling evening to look forward to."

So much for flustering him, or even just getting him to act a little bit shy. Your cheeks burn hot, and you mumble,

"Should have tied you up. And gagged you, while we're at it."

"Hm. Perhaps you should have," Kurama replies casually.

This bastard. Is it really this impossible to gain the slightest bit of ground on him?

Impatient for results, you undo the front of his jeans, and tug them down with his boxers, freeing his impressive member from its confines. Kurama continues to watch you comfortably as you take the base of his cock in hand and slowly drag your tongue up the underside of his shaft. You can feel it twitching and swelling in your hand, hardening to its full size before too long. Frankly, you've half a mind to climb onto his lap and ride him then and there. He does so love to tease you- the chance to have him now without the usual exercise of restraint is undeniably tempting. For the time being, you satisfy yourself with gently licking and kissing his twitching manhood, letting the warmth of your breath and fleeting touches gently stimulate him.

He is clearly enjoying himself; aside from the soft murmurs of pleasure he grants you as your tongue circles the crown of his cock, his direct gaze hasn't wavered for even a moment. Still propped up above you, he absently strokes your hair in one hand as half-lidded eyes watch your attempts to provoke him.

"You mean to tease me, I see..." he says softly, his tone only hinting at his amusement. Even better concealed is the heady arousal building at his core- his desire to break this arrogant facade you've put on, to see you crumble back into obedience at his hands.

And as if by divine providence, his opportunity arrives.

The phone at the bedside table rings, and you pause to glance up at Kurama. Only the glint in his eye hints at his plan at first- but then, as you watch in disbelief, he picks up the phone before it's finished its third ring. He sits upright as he greets your friend on the line, and your body feels hot and cold all at once.

"Hm? Oh, yes- right here, in fact. One moment."

Kurama meets your eyes with a smirk and offers the phone to you with his hand cupped over the receiver. Your face is burning red, and you grumble near inaudibly,

"No fair!"

He gives a short laugh, tucking away his still-hard cock and then fixing his clothing with his free hand as he says,

"I apologize if I have ever given you the impression that I am 'fair' by nature." All at once, he catches you around the waist and pulls you down onto your back on the bed. You resist crying out in surprise, if only because when you look up at him and see the smouldering heat in his eyes, your breath catches in your chest. Then, without a word, he hands the phone to you. Biting nervously at your lower lip, you take it from him, clear your throat, and say,

"He-hey! How's it going?"

Your friend immediately launches into an excited ramble about the finale of a show she's been following obsessively for the last year and a half. Honestly, you should have expected this call- stupid of you to think you'd have the evening free with the finale airing. As she goes on about how "so many of her predictions were dead-on," Kuramas hands run indulgently down the contours of your body. Your heart races, and you can't help tensing, arching up against him just a little. Then, he's working your pants down off your hips, and you give him a pleading look that he meets like a stone wall.

"-- I mean, can you believe it?! It's like, exactly what I said would happen!!"

"Yeah, that's, uh," you struggle to keep up, but your eyes are fixed on Kurama lowering himself between your bared legs, "that's pretty wild..."

With a placade grin on his face, he kisses a trail down the inside curve of your thigh, his touches delicate and yet unreserved. Your eyelids flutter half-shut, but you force yourself to- more or less -follow the thread of your friend's rant. That is, until you feel the sting of Kurama's teeth at the soft flesh far up the inner curve of your thigh. He sucks a dark love-bite to your skin- one that you know will remind you of his presence there for days to come. Still, you manage to camouflage your gasp of shock and pleasure into a sudden cough.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, totally! Sorry, don't mind me- go on!" you babble out your reply in a hurry, knowing you won't be able to trust your voice when Kurama continues this torment. He chuckles silently behind his hand, and you pout uselessly at him. Rather than acknowledge this, he refocuses on his task as the phone rant continues. You do your best to keep a consistent stream of "Oh, yeah?" and "Wow, crazy!", all while elegant fingers spread your lower lips and warm breath teases your over-sensitive body. Then, without warning, his tongue glides firm across your aching clit. Your thighs twitch in around his head and you arch up from the bed.

"Woa--! That's... incredible!" you translate the gasp you desperately want to let out into a perhaps overly-enthusiastic reply. Fortunately, your friend is too caught up in her finale recap to police her own excitement, let alone yours. Still wearing that cocky smirk, Kurama pushes his hair back behind his ears, then returns to tease your clit with the tip of his tongue.

He doesn't let up after this, and frankly, your impulses are torn. Part of you wants to be as subtle as possible, to silently endure the slow, luxurious movements of his lips and tongue pulsing against your cunt and stiffened clit. Another part of you- the part you're fighting to subdue -wants to grab onto that silky red hair and grind against him, to rush yourself to your climax and to spare yourself further torture. But you and Kurama both know you won't be able to keep quiet if you do. So you fuss anxiously with the phone's tangled cord, shifting and squirming on the bed beneath him and biting back pleasured gasps and whimpers.

Your legs are trembling around him and you're positively soaked with your arousal and his saliva. Leaning back on the pillow, you scrunch your eyes closed and take a deep breath.

"Oh- you remember that one voice actor I told you about?"

"Yeah, uh," you struggle to pull your thoughts together, but Kurama nudges the flat of his tongue rhythmically against your clit, and your body is begging for release, "This show... was his first big on-screen thing, right?" you manage to choke out. As though pleased by your performance, your lover gives a soft hum that sends his breath fluttering over your vulnerable skin, then presses more firmly into you. His skillful tongue teases your entrance for a moment, rubbing into you while your muscles tighten, instinctively longing for friction, for something inside, for something to cling to. You're panting silently, biting at your finger to keep quiet while your friend tells you all about her latest celebrity crush.

So close. You're so dangerously close to the rush of your climax. But you hold on, every inch of your body aching with need and restraint. Kurama can obviously sense the desperate state you're in, and you know that he's savoring it. And yet, when you glance down to watch the erotic movements of his mouth, the way his eyes devour you, the way his hands grip at your hips- you realize that you don't have it in you to care about your pride anymore.

"Anyway, they're airing an interview with the cast soon, so I gotta go so I don't miss it."

The words are a beacon of hope, and while your friend apologizes for cutting out so suddenly, you assure her again and again that you don't mind.

"Really, you should... go- uh, go enjoy the thing!"

Kurama's lips seal around your clit and the dearly sensitive surrounding flesh. His tongue flicks across the hard little bundle over and over, his hands firm at your hips, holding you strictly in place. He's not holding back anymore. Your eyes roll back and your body burns, but you keep yourself silent. Just a little longer. Don't let him make you cum- not yet. He feels too good- and you know he wouldn't care if you screamed his name for your friend or anyone else to hear.

"Oh, also, we should totally grab coffee or something soon!"

"Yeah- that sounds really good-!" your back arcs up from the sheets.

"Cool! I'll call again soon, byeeee!"

You hear the click of the receiver on the other end. Your arms go limp, dropping the phone to the floor. Kurama leans over you, pushing himself against you while his tongue works your clit and you gasp aloud for him.

"Kurama! Ohhh... Oh, God- I'm-!"

A tingling, sparkling wave of pleasure explodes from your core and rushes across the surface of your skin. You can't remember the last time you came this hard, and you imagine Kurama can feel what he's doing to you. Your taste coats his tongue, one shaky hand weaves your fingers through his hair as your hips buck towards him. With one last desperate cry of his name, you relax back onto the bed, your boneless limbs making you feel like a puddle of mindless bliss.

Panting, practically gasping for breath, your unfocused eyes gaze up at the ceiling as the last tremors of your climax pass through you.

"Haa... Mm, Kurama..." you whimper out as he places one last kiss to your now soaked folds.

He crawls up atop you, and a gentle hand turns your face to him. His smile is warm and openly affectionate, and he caresses your cheek like a groom at the altar. Looking at him now, it's hard to imagine he's the same man who just put you through that unique form of torture. You're still catching your breath, and when he kisses you with all the tenderness in the world, you can hardly even reciprocate.

"Well done, my love," he says at last, "Do you think you can continue to behave for me tonight?"

Some distant part of your mind realizes that you've been manipulated- that he's utterly dismantled your attempt at dominance. You should be frustrated. You should try to regain the upper hand and show him that he doesn't always gets to be in control. Instead, your half-lidded eyes meet him and you murmur,

"Yes... I'll be good..."

[shorkbrian]

I love your yan Hizashi and Aizawa teamup fic so much! I love how shy the reader is and how daddy Aizawa is, and then Hizashi comes home - damn! Thinking about that shower ending 🥰🥰🥰

shower sex just hit different bro.

(What to expect - shower sex lol, NSFW, no penetration, just some clit rubbing and hand jobs. Noncon, dubcon, soft domestic stuff too lol)

Like just Aizawa dragging you into the bathroom, Hizashi already in the shower, completely unaware of your presence as he whistles out a jaunty tune.

Aizawa strips you down, pushes you towards the shower before taking off his own clothes. He guides you inside, and you flinch when the water starts hitting your skin, far hotter than what you were used to.

“Oh shit, didn’t know we were gonna have a party!” Hizashi sings as he turns around, eyes twinkling as he looks you up and down.

You’re tempted to hide your body with your hands, the blond’s eyes sweeping shamelessly over your skin, the man grinning when he makes eye contact with you again.

But Aizawa doesn’t give you that option, softly gripping your elbows and pushing you forward a bit more so he can step in completely, shutting the foggy shower door behind him.

“Be gentle ‘Zashi, I haven’t done anything with her yet.”

You assumed the dark-haired man meant “done anything sexual”. He’d touched you quite a few times, hands stroking through your hair, quickly scrubbing you down in the shower, sitting close in bed as he read a book, one hand around your shoulders as he kept you from bolting.

“Oh.... Sho, how could you resist? She’s so beautiful.” Hizashi breathed, hands fluttering up to your face, stroking over your cheeks as the water burned your skin raw.

“I wanted to wait until you got home.” Shouta shrugged, although the tone in his voice indicated that he would rather have not.

His self control was admirable.

Hizashi had less control, hands immediately dropping to grope at your chest, squeezing gently, pulling.

“God, you’re amazing Sho, I wouldn’ta been able to hold back. Look at her, all sweet and ripe.”

Shouta merely hummed, pressing himself firm to your back to stop you from backing away from his husbands’s fondling. His chest was warm against your back, and you could feel his length quickly chubbing up against your ass, excited by the meek little noises of protest falling from your lips.

A pinch to your nipple had you cry out, hands flying to Hizashi’s wrists, pulling them away from your chest.

“Ah, sorry honey, was just feeling’ ya.”

“I told you to be gentle.” Shouta admonishes, wrapping his arms loosely around your shoulders, pulling you protectively towards his body, until there was no room between the two of you.

Hizashi pouted, backing into the spray of water to rinse out his hair, blonde tresses cascading like silk down his back. He was pretty, while the man behind you had rugged looks.

Shouta seemed to share the same thought, because he began slowly rubbing up and down your sides, pressing a kiss underneath your ear that made you shiver before murmuring “Doesn’t he look nice? He’s so beautiful, long hair, long legs....”

He trailed off as he pressed more kisses to your neck, slowly traveling down. One of his hands crept across your stomach, and you keened in discomfort, trying to move away from his touch, but his other hand grabbed hold of your hip, keeping you still.

“You aren’t so bad yourself, mr. mountain man.” Hizashi winked at his lover, before turning around to scrub at his face, hiding his bobbing erection from view.

The man behind you huffed out a low laugh, and then his fingers were slipping between your folds, making you squeal and buck your hips.

Having someone else touch you was entirely different from doing it yourself. You didn’t know the rhythm of his hands, where he’d touch you next, how much force he’d use, if he’d rub, or pinch, or tap.

The heat built up in your stomach so fast that you almost fainted. You came seconds later, knees buckling beneath you with a provocative moan.

“Holy shit, she’s sensitive.” Aizawa kept you standing, leaning you back against his sturdy body as your thoughts swirled loosely in your mind.

It was so intense, you missed Hizashi turning back to the two of you quickly, eyes widening. “Did she just cum? Just from your fingers?”

“I didn’t even get them inside.”

“Holy shit.” Hizashi echoed his husband’s earlier statement, stepping towards the both of you.

At the feel of his long, slender fingers taking the place of Aizawa’s shorter, stubby digits, you cried out, squirming desperately to escape the sensation of too much.

Thankfully, the blond relented. He reached around your body, gripping his husband’s thick length with a kiss over your shoulder with Aizawa, rubbing him slowly.

As you made sense of the world again, you could feel his wrist, how it jostled against the small of your back as he jerked Shouta off, making the dark haired man moan in your ear before capturing Hizashi’s lips in another passionate kiss.

You felt out of place, inserted between the two men, interrupting their private life, such an intimate moment.

Hizashi seemed to notice your discomfort, drawing back slightly so he could find one of your hands in his own.

“Doing so nice honey, bet Shouta made you feel so good. Wanna make me feel good too?”

You really didn’t, but you didn’t know what else to do except let his hand guide your around his cock, jumping when the blond hissed.

“Oh fuck, her hands’r so much smaller than yours.” He told his husband, reaching for another kiss.

“Mm, wonder what it’d feel like to have both of of you strokin’ me off.”

“Don’t be greedy-” Aizawa huffed, easily rocking his hips forward, signaling to his husband that he wanted more attention on his cock, a tighter grip, a faster pace.

Hizashi grinned lazily, letting out a drunken chuckle before speeding up his movements, Aizawa groaning at the stimulation and dropping his head forward onto your shoulder.

The blond’s hand was still on your own, gripping it tightly as he guided it up and down his shaft, the angle awkward and stiff.

But apparently it was doing something for him, because he was moaning breathily. The sound set Shouta off, because he began bucking against his husband’s hand, and subsequently your ass, grunting quietly as he neared his end.

“A bit faster ‘Zashi... ah, there we go. Making him feel good down there?” He directed the question towards you, breath puffing against your shoulder blades as you were jostled from the force of his thrusts into his husband’s hand.

“She’s doing real good, gonna-gonna cum soon.” Hizashi sounded strained, also reaching his climax as he humped against your hand.

And then they were done, cum sprayed over your lower back, dripping steadily down towards your ass, sliding grossly between your cheeks. There was cum on your front too, coating your hand, wet against your stomach.

Hizashi panted for a second, before moving to the side, letting the spray from the showered wash away the evidence of his pleasure, releasing your hand.

“Jesus, you’re amazing hon’, can’t wait to see what else you can do.” A wink was thrown your way, and Aizawa snorted from behind you as he regained his bearings.

“Calm down ‘Zashi, she’s overwhelmed.” And you were, struggling not to let your breath run away, quicken and choke you until you couldn’t draw air into your lungs. This was all happening so fast, and you couldn’t stop it, didn’t know how.

“You’re alright (Y/N).” Aizawa’s voice was soothing, deep and melodic as he shuffled away from your back, moving to your side so he could reach for the soap and a loofah.

“Okay, okay-” Hizashi held up his hands, grabbing the soap for Aizawa while the dark-haired man grabbed the loofah. “-just gettin’ excited, can’t believe our girl is actually here.”

They washed you together, wiping you down gently, careful of oversensitive skin and the tears beginning to brim in your eyes. Hizashi’s hands were quick to get distracted, trying to slip between your legs before Aizawa quickly slapped them away, giving his husband a warning look. Hizashi responded by playfully sticking out his tongue.

“I just can’t help it, she’s just so cute! And I didn’t get to see her when she came, Sho, you shoulda told me it was happening!” The man whined, putting the soap back on the shelf as they finished washing you up.

Aizawa snorted, rolling his eyes as he helped you rinse off. “You’re just an insatiable bastard, we can fool around after we get her taken care of.”

The blond grinned, checking to make sure everyone was thoroughly clean before he switched off the water, hurrying to grab towels. “Fuckin’ sweet! Here, catch-”

A towel was thrown your way as Aizawa helped you step out of the shower, but it was caught by the man behind you before you could blink. He immediately wrapped it around your body, before catching another towel Hizashi threw his way, slinging it around his hips.

“You gonna tell us about America? How did your stomach handle the food?”

Their conversation turned into a gentle drone of background noise as you were dried off, Hizashi’s hands taking over from your own to rub you down while he chatted with his husband.

You were guided into soft shorts, Hizashi holding them for you while you stepped in, Aizawa pulling an oversized shirt over your head.

They set you on the bed while they similarly dressed, and you sat there quietly, lost in your head, dazed, confused, too stressed and scared to do much but stare blankly at the floor.

It was warm when they tucked you into bed, nestled between them. They were still talking, voices soft and fading to whispers as you closed your eyes, silent and overwhelmed. 

Maybe some sleep would help you feel better, and less like the ground was crumbling from beneath your feet.

[brattata]

Windows

Crossposted from my AO3 account, if it seems familiar. Mature content below, so minors please DNI!

Joseph's been putting a lot of work into your real estate business, and it's really starting to pay off. You wanted to congratulate him by christening his fancy new desk in his fancy new office, but things don't go according to your plan.

Joseph Joestar x AFAB reader (no female pronouns used, but reader wears feminine clothing)

CW: Semi-public sex, exhibitionism/voyeurism, creampie, Joseph says “cunt” one (1) time 

“It’s impressive,” you admit, leaning in for an almost-kiss.

Instead of closing the distance, Joseph grabs your hands and pulls you up from the couch excitedly, leading you over to the far wall. “You haven’t seen the best part yet,” he teases. “Watch this.”

He reaches up to press a subtly disguised switch, and it becomes apparent that the “wall” is actually a massive floor-to-ceiling window, slowly revealed from behind the dark wood paneling.

“Wow,” you whisper, pressing your hand to the cool glass. Beyond it is the Manhattan skyline, breathtaking from 15 stories up. The brightness of the city obscures most of the stars, but the thousands of twinkling lights and glowing windows are beautiful in their own way. There are people behind some of those windows, you think – working late, or maybe enjoying time with their families. Maybe taking in the view with the person they love most, the way you are now.

Joseph hums a kiss into your hair, wrapping his arms around you from behind. His comforting weight against your back and impish smile reflected in the glass make you feel so warm inside, your heart could burst.

Until one of his hands slips beneath your skirt.

“JoJo!” you gasp, grabbing his wrist. “What are you doing?”

“Oh come on, don’t be coy!” he laughs. “The champagne, the perfume…that skirt, with no nylons underneath.” His smirk is undeniably sexy, but that only makes you more annoyed. “You didn’t come here for a tour of the new office.”

“No, I wanted to celebrate with you!” You pause. “In your new chair, or maybe on top of your new desk. But not in front of a window, Joseph!”

“Why not?” he asks, almost sounding genuinely perplexed.

“Someone could see!”

“Who?” he laughs again. “It’s late. No one’s watching. Even if they were, they would be too far away to see our faces.” Now he’s trailing kisses down the back of your neck, shameless as ever in exploiting your weaknesses. “And besides, I think you like an audience.”

“I-JoJo, what-,” you splutter, scandalized and yet burning at his accusation.

“I noticed last summer at Grandma Erina’s,” he replies, letting his lips brush against your nape. “When Smokey walked in on us. You remember, right?”

How could you forget? Even now, the memory has your insides twisting with a complicated emotion you can’t quite place. Like embarrassment but sharper, hotter. Exciting.

“I’d never seen you make that face before. Not to mention the way you held onto me…and well, held onto me.” Joseph pauses from tormenting your neck to flash you a dirty little grin. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since.”

“O-oh, Joseph, I’m. I don’t know,” you trail off. Immediately his chin comes to rest on top of your head, one arm draped around your shoulders and the other curling soothingly around your waist.

“I’ll do whatever you want me to, baby,” he murmurs. “I only want to make you feel good.”

You take a moment, studying your feelings and Joseph’s gentle (but hopeful) expression. Then you unfasten your skirt.

Immediately Joseph lets go of you with a little whoop and a fist pump before tearing into his shirt and tie.

“God, you’re lucky you’re handsome,” you scold him good-naturedly, giggling a bit at his childishness. You kick the skirt away, opting to leave your kitten heels on. Next comes your blouse, which you unbutton slowly for Joseph’s benefit. His shirt is gone, along with his belt. He palms himself lazily over unbuttoned pants, watching your fingers work.

“Don’t forget heroic, a genius, and—“ his bragging is cut short by a low whistle as your bra is revealed, a delicate little number formed of translucent lace. Once you let the blouse fall he can fully appreciate the matching panties, cupping your ass nicely but leaving very little to the imagination. “Baby, you did come dressed to celebrate.”

When you reach back to undo the bra clasp Joseph stops you, lips back on your neck and hands rubbing your shoulders. Instead you tug the cups down until your breasts spill out, earning you a hissed “Niiice” before his hands quickly replace the lace. The contrast is delicious – warm, calloused flesh on one side, smooth and cool metal on the other. Both options have your nipples pebbling almost instantly, Joseph kneading your tits with reverence as if this is a rare treat rather than something he gets to do almost every day.

It is kind of a special occasion.

Before long his right hand drifts down your stomach, slipping deftly into your underwear. You’re so slick he can barely keep a finger on your clit, forcing a whine from you and a low groan from him. “Holy shit, you’re wet! The thought of putting on a show for some strangers gets you this worked up?”

“N-no, I’m excited for you, JoJo,” you coo, hips undulating along with his fingers. “It feels so good when you touch me.”

“Hmm, seems like I barely need to touch you at all,” he replies, back to his smug grin. With little warning he slips one finger inside you, then two, then three. There’s the tiniest sting, but you take them all easily. “See? You’re already ready for me.” It’s hard to argue when his strong, thick fingers are knuckle deep inside you and your pussy is still aching for more. “Since you want it so badly, guess it’s time to stop playing around and have some real fun.” The fingers are gone. “Bend over, baby.”

With a shaky sigh you do as you’re told, bracing your hands against the window and sliding your legs apart. You can’t resist wiggling your hips a little, asking for a playful swat from Joseph’s right hand. His left hand is suddenly gripping your ass, thumb spreading your lower lips open even wider and sweeping the gusset of your panties aside. You hear a zipper and rustling fabric, but instead of his cock, it’s a puff of warm air that caresses your pussy, followed by a firm stroke of his tongue.

“Oh, fuck!” you wail, leaning your forehead against the glass.

“Not until you beg for it, my love,” Joseph chuckles. “I can eat this sweet pussy all night! Make you come until you’re crying for my cock!”

“JoJo!” you moan, desperately. You want to ask what’s gotten into him, but he’s sucking hard on your clit and you can barely hold a thought. He’s always been vocal during sex, but his babbling is usually sweet, not this demanding or…filthy. You love your adorably enthusiastic Joseph, but this version is also thrilling, and it makes you wonder if you’re not the only one excited by imagining eyes on the other side of the window. He’s slurping your pussy so loudly you know it’s deliberate, groaning like you’re the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted.

And for another reason, you realize, when you look at your reflections and see him vigorously stroking his cock. It’s the sight that carries you over the edge: Joseph kneeling with his face buried between your legs, so turned on that he can’t help but touch himself. You come with a strangled squeal, and Joseph gives your clit an affectionate peck as if to say “good job.” He’s gripping the base of his cock so hard it looks painful.

“Fuck me, JoJo,” you gasp. “Please, please fuck me.”

“Whatever you want, baby.”

You rest for a bit against the window while Joseph stands and adjusts his grip on your hips. Now there are two thumbs spreading you open completely, which you might protest as embarrassing if you weren’t turned on beyond all pretense. You suck in a breath when the head of his cock finally kisses your opening, only for him to stop before taking the plunge.

“Look at that. It’s show time after all.” Blearily, you lift your head to see a silhouette in one of the windows in the office building across from you. Whoever it is has dimmed their lights so you can’t see much other than a vague shape, but it’s easy to imagine a strange pair of eyes staring into yours as Joseph sinks deep with one thrust.

The sudden stretch and the arousal have you coming again, softly this time, an aftershock of the pleasure you got from Joseph’s tongue. He leans his weight against your ass and holds still, luxuriating in the way you ripple around him, like you want him even deeper. “Fuck, this is good! We should’ve done this sooner!”

“Yeah,” you agree dreamily, grinding back against Joseph while you wait for him to move. He pulls back and thrusts hard, making your palms squeak against the glass.

“Maybe-“ he grunts, “maybe we should try it again on Monday morning. I’ll brace you against the doorway of my office, just like this, and we can show everyone that sexy face you’re making. Show them how hard I make you come.”

“But I don’t want them to see,” you murmur back. “Those things, I only want to show them to you, JoJo.”

“S-shit,” he gasps. “Fuck, you’re so hot. So beautiful!” He has a hand around your breast again, lips, tongue, and teeth trailing across your neck and shoulders just the way you like. He presses his face next to yours and gently tilts your chin up, making you look out the window again. “It looks like our new friend agrees.”

Across from you, the silhouette’s arm is moving back and forth. You can’t really see what’s happening, but you know.

“You’re so sexy, you’ve got him jerking off in the middle of his office,” Joseph laughs breathily. He slips two fingers between your parted lips, stroking your tongue in time with his thrusts. “Who could blame him? Watching those gorgeous tits bouncing above that pretty lace. Imagining his cock is the one pounding out your hot little cunt.”

You stiffen up a bit at the vulgarity and Joseph kisses your temple, asking with his eyes if what he said was okay. “Yes, yes, fuck,” you moan around his fingers, bracing against the glass to shove yourself into his cock, demanding deeper, harder, more. Joseph tilts his head to kiss you hungrily. His wet fingers go straight to your clit where they rub and pinch until you’re whimpering into his mouth, near tears.

“He can’t even hear how wet you are,” Joseph continues. “So wet you’re dripping all over the nice new carpet.”

You laugh a little at that. “As if you’re not desperate to make an even bigger mess, JoJo,” you tease back, lips touching as you pant into each other’s mouths. “Will you clean me up, baby? After you make a mess of me?”

“Fuck yes,” Joseph groans. “I’ll do anything, anything!”

“Come for me. Come inside me. I need it so badly, JoJo.” Whether it’s a plea or a command, Joseph can’t help but obey. He presses his face between your shoulder blades and one lightly Hamon-charged fingertip to your clit, and you’re thrown off the cliff of a breathless, whiteout orgasm. It feels like every muscle in your body is clenching for Joseph’s cock. He’s scorching hot and huge inside you as he fills you up, and you wring him for every last drop. He slowly pulls out and helps you right yourself, turning your back to the window as he leans down for a kiss.

“That was amazing. I love you.” Before you can return the words he’s already sinking to his knees, nudging your legs apart so he can fit between them.

“Joseph, I’m tired,” you demur, stroking his sweaty bangs away from his forehead.

“But I still need to clean up,” he insists. When he grins at you like that, you can’t say no. “I’ll go slow, baby, I promise.”

He starts with your inner thighs, looking very pleased with himself when he gets a few giggles out of you from the ticklish sensation. When his mouth finally reaches your center it is slow and soothing. He’s not trying to force another orgasm from you – just enjoying you, caring for you, showing his love. You don’t come by the time he’s finished, but you don’t need to. You just want him to hold you, so he does.

When you reach the couch he plops down on it, keeping you cradled in his lap. He takes off both of your shoes and stretches out on his back (as much as he can), draping you across his front. He’s warm, and you can feel his heartbeat beneath your cheek, and even though you know you’re going to be ungodly sore tomorrow, right now everything feels perfect.

“Thank you,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to the center of his chest.

“Anytime, baby,” he chuckles warmly. He smiles up at you, looking happy but not as content as you feel.

“Is everything okay?” you ask, a little worried. “It was good for you, wasn't it? Not…weird?”

“Of course, it was great for me! Don’t look at me like that!” He reaches for your cheek, rubbing at the corner of your frown. “I was just, ah,” he clears his throat, adjusting your position so that you’re more beside him than on top of him. On the way down, your leg brushes what is unmistakably a semi-erection already straining against his briefs. “I was just thinking about what you said earlier, about ‘celebrating’ on my desk.”

“Absolutely not,” you groan, nuzzling against his shoulder, eyes already closed.

“Your next line is: ‘Maybe tomorrow, JoJo!’”

“Nice try.”

[boxofbadaddiction]

The Trouble With Parenthood

Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW. Swearing. Small moment of Daddy Kink. Sexual References and Depictions of Sex.

Requested

Fred and Y/n's relationship had always involved a very healthy sex life. Like...very healthy, okay they couldn't keep their hands off each other. It'd been like that when they'd begun dating and continued through their marriage - if anything it'd gotten worse once they'd put that ring on one another's finger.

So as you could imagine, an abrupt stopper in their regular love making had left the couple feeling rather...frustrated.

This 'stopper's name was Cassidy. 'Cassi' for short.

As it is for every parent, the day she were born had been the happiest day of Fred and Y/ns life. She was the perfect daughter from the moment she'd been born. Happy, healthy and not at all fussy. However, recently she had become quite clingy.

Not that it had bothered her parents. Honestly, they'd found it endearing how much she wanted to spend time with them...in the beginning anyway. But it is safe to say that the couple were in desperate need of some "Mummy and Daddy Time." Because, as Fred so delicately put it; his 'balls have never been so blue'. A comment which would have been much more amusing to y/n if she were not so pent up herself.

Though this sexless patch of their relationship was not due to their lack of trying mind you.

They'd seemingly tried everything, for a moment to themselves. But these days with the small issue of 'monsters in the closet', Cassi had settled herself in bed between her parents to sleep most nights, so that ruled out sex before bed. Of course there was always fleeting moments in the bathroom...until Cassi learned how to reach the door handles. Now no room was safe from intrusions.

Feeling rather adventurous y/n had even set up a long lunch at work one day with the intent on surprising Fred at the shop. It was nearly a success...until an unsuspecting George wandered into the otherwise occupied back Office. He was mortified to say the least.

They'd tried setting up a 'date night' arrangement; but after Fred mistakenly let slip his current predicament to George, and their little incident at work, they were shit out of luck for a babysitter as his brother found the whole situation were just 'too fucking funny'.

Which brings us to tonight.

Y/n trudged into her and Freds bedroom after a very long day at work and an extra long goodnight to their daughter down the hall - which involved more than the usual amount of bedtime stories being shared.

Stepping through the door she were met with the very tired body of Fred sprawled across their bed. She couldn't help but chuckle at the sight; he were laid with one arm slung across his eyes, as the other rested on his stomach and one knee were raised - swaying lazily in place.

Closing the door behind her y/n rest her weight back against the hardwood letting out a heavy breath.

"Is she down?" Fred asked at the sound of her entering the room. "Mmm, finally." She replied, pushing her body from the door she began to ready herself for bed, mentally crossing her fingers, hopeful for some decent rest tonight.

She kicked off her shoes and let her hair loose from it's tie before stripping to just her knickers and finding one of Freds old shirts, she had taken to sleeping in, and throwing it on.

"Leave the shirt off" Freds voice came as a tired groan from his place on the bed. His words caused y/n to turn her head, seeing his arm now rested slightly higher on his forehead as he watched her. He was grinning, tongue pressing against his cheek, clearly enjoying the view.

Y/n licked her lips, pulling her bottom lip through her teeth as his stare burned hot on her skin. She raised a teasing brow as she slowly began to glide a hand up her side and over the soft fabric of the t-shirt she'd thrown on. Fingers delicately caressed the space between her breasts until a single finger came to lazily play with the shirts collar. Tugging just enough to expose the tops of her cleavage. Running her finger slowly back and forth across the collars seam she approached the bedside.

The arm Fred had slung across his face moved, fingers furrowing through his fiery locks, to prop his head further on the pillow for a better view of the stunning woman before him. He smirked, inhaling deeply, in amusement; thoroughly enjoying her little show for him.

"Don't go teasing me, love. Its been a long few weeks." His tone was firm but playful, the same one that never failed to turn y/ns knees weak and have her thighs rubbing together. Tonight was no different. If anything it were worse from their lack of intimacy as of late.

Smiling sweetly in place beside the mattress she ran both hands up from her knees, along her exposed thighs to lift the shirts sides. Fred shifted in place, supporting himself onto his elbow his eyes hungrily traced her fingers movements as they hooked below the waistband of her underwear and pulled them off.

Tauntingly she dangled the lace garment from her forefinger before throwing it at his chest playfully.

Unable to restrain himself a moment longer he simultaneously discarded her panties to the opposite side of the room and with his other hand grasped her hip, roughly pulling her onto the bed below him. He kissed her passionately as a hand raked up the inside of her thigh, ghosting over the skin to rest on her waist.

Y/n smiled into the kiss; both hands tangling in his hair as she shifted beneath him so he were resting comfortably between her legs. As the tension began to build y/n aided Fred in shedding layers of his clothing; left in his singlet and briefs. His erection felt pressing against her core through the thin material. Y/ns hand came down to eagerly palm at his bulge when-

"DAAADDYYYY!" Cassi's voice called beggingly from her room.

Fred groaned in frustration, head falling to the crook of his wife's neck as he mumbled something inaudibly, though it sounded undoubtedly along the lines of 'For Merlin's sake, not now'.

"Go to bed, Baby!" He yelled over his shoulder, "Daddy's busy." He spoke the last words to y/n in a lustful tone. Admiring her flustered appearance, he moved to kiss her again as-

"DAAADDYYY!!"

"Godrick, what'd I do to deserve this?" He grumbled causing y/n to giggle. "Go to her." She nudged, "I'll still be here when you get back." Fred sat back onto his knees, pointing a stern finger as he spoke "Don't fall asleep." "I won't." Y/n replied as he got off the bed and made his way to the door.

"Can't guarantee I won't start without you though."

Fred turned back, watching from just outside the door as a wicked grin settled across her features. "Don't you dare." He warned taking a step back toward the room.

Y/n raised her brow; challenging his dominance. One hand delicately played with her exposed collar bone as her other crept down her body, disappearing between her thighs.

Her back arched as she ran fingers through her slick folds, a soft moan filling the room. Fred made another move back towards the bedroom, hand clutching the door frame as he-

"DADDY!!!" Another call from their daughter. He peered back down the hall, eyeing her bedroom door which were slightly ajar. "Daddy?" Y/n spoke in a low sultry tone, deliberately trying to rile him up.

Fred frustratidly ran a hand over his eyes, facing quite the personal dilemma. Groaning loudly he shook his head, seemingly shaking the sense and strength into himself as he marched down the hallway in a huff. Y/n was unable to restrain the laughter that erupted from her chest at his reaction.

While Fred tended to their daughter y/n took the moment to get comfortable. Lighting a candle and fluffing the pillows below her head to find the best position for when her husband returns in any second...

Any minute now. He's probably just reading her a quick story to get her settled.

Maybe she should just start without him?

That was the last thought to cross her mind before she found herself waking from a sleep she hadn't meant to fall into. Fred had laid down beside her. "Oh, so you are coming back to bed?" Y/n asked sarcastically, voice groggy. "Mmm. Told you not to fall asleep." He quipped, tucking himself in next to her side. One arm snuck beneath her shoulder blades, pulling her into him, as the other wrapped around her waist. "I wouldn't have, had you'd been back sooner." Y/n nestled in against his chest as she felt him place a kiss to her head.

"Had to read her a story. Then one turned to two; two to three and soon enough I realised I'd been conned by a 4 year old. She's a brat...just like her Mother." The couple chuckled before falling quickly off to sleep.

Y/n was the first to wake the next morning. Smiling giddily at the disheveled appearance of her partner as well as the similar position of her daughter down the hall, she decided to ready breakfast as the two slept.

She were half way through her pancake batter when Fred's strong arms wrapped her in a tight embrace. His hands lightly squeezed at her sides as he kissed the exposed skin of her neck.

"Morning" he mumbled against her skin. "Smells good."

"I woke up with such a craving so just thought I'd start cooking, while you two obviously decided you'd sleep all day." She chuckled to which Fred hummed in response. "I wasn't talking about the food."

Reaching one arm past hers Fred switched off the stove and move the pan from its burner. "Hey! What are yo-"

Y/n didn't have a chance to finish her sentence as she was quickly spun to face her lover. Pushed flush into the cold counter as his lips connected with hers. She moaned contently into the kiss as she felt his hands run below her ass and she was then hoisted onto the counter top beside the stove.

"I'm not hungry for that." His expression was stern and his voice low. Roughly pulling her legs apart his hands hooked the underside of her knees, pulling to bring her to the edge of the bench.

Her lips were brought back to his as a hand grasped the nape of her neck and he stepped between her legs which wrapped eagerly around his waist.

Their movements were passionate and quickly becoming more heated; soon finding themselves fucking roughly on the kitchen bench their only thoughts set on each other.

With every hard thrust from Fred y/ns head and shoulders were being pushed against the cabinetry, whilst Fred buried his head in her neck biting softly on the bare skin to keep himself relatively quiet.

"God, Fred I'm close." Y/n moaned.

A groan came deep from within Fred's throat in response which sent chills through his lovers body. He pulled back and brought a hand to grasp her chin kissing her. His thrusts slowed as he relished in the feeling of her tongue against his as-

"Mummy?" a tired voice spoke from the other side of the room. "Fuck!" Fred breathed through gritted teeth as he pulled out and covered himself. Y/n jumped down from the bench flattening the shirts ends to cover herself as well. "Yeah, Sweetie?" She asked hurriedly trying to sound as normal as possible. "What are you doing?" "Nothing baby, Daddy and I are just cooking breakfast." She eyed Fred somewhat panicked as he leant over the island bench of their flat, in attempt to hide a certain problem- "ah, That's right." He nodded a hand coming over his mouth to restrain the shocked laughter threatening to spill out.

"Why were you on the bench? You told me we weren't allowed to sit on the bench."

"That's right, I'm sorry baby I shouldn't have been up there. Won't happen again."

Fred's head snapped over his shoulder to peer at y/n with furrowed brows, "it won't?" He questioned. He'd been quite enjoying their little indiscretion until the unexpected appearance of their daughter, he would gladly throw her atop the counter again in a heartbeat.

Y/ns eyes widen, lips forming a thin line in a statement which helped realisation dawn on her partner. "Oh, yep. Won't happen again." He smiled innocently to Cassi. "Princess, why don't you go grab the mail from the front then we can start breakfast." He winked as she excitedly skipped to the front door.

He looked back to his wife who was rubbing forcibly at her eyes. Chuckling as he placed both hands to her hips, a guesture which brought her attention back to him. "God, she's going to be traumatised when she's older if she ever realises." "Pay back for being a cock block." Fred laughed as Y/n slapped him with the spatula she'd been using earlier.

"Sad thing is; that's the closest we've gotten in weeks to...ya know." "Not close enough." Fred grumbled placing a quick kiss to her lips. "Let's eat. I'm starving."

Y/n let out a sharp breath, watching as she noticed Cassi bound into the room and sit up patiently at the table, mail placed neatly in front of her as she traced the lettering on the envelopes.

"I'm not hungry for that." Y/n whispered into Fred's ear, looking back up to him with big eyes before an evil smile came across her face and she reached out to palm him gently.

Fred's head fell back and he inhaled sharply, clenching his jaw before letting out a heavy breath. Until his own sly grin crept across his lips and he was smiling back down to his wife.

"Hey, Princess." He called over his shoulder, not breaking eye contact with Y/n "What do you say about a sleep over at Grandma and Grandpa's tonight?"

[wizkiddx]

work with me

this is for @worldoftom 'lolbrosgetsicktoo' challenge event thing - go check it out bcos lots of much better writers have got involved too✨! I'm v new to these things but I tried :) the prompt was: 'would you quit whining and just get in the bath' . (also look at me acc posting sort of regularly, who'd of thought?!?!)

warnings: sickness / fever (more dramatic than it needs to be) / LOTS of medical inaccuracies

summary: when tom doesn't take advice and ends up very ill, very far from home, there's one person whose stuck dealing with it

“Please Tom… I need you to work with me!”

It wasn’t his fault he was being a complete nightmare, though your patience was wearing off somewhat.

For context, you were in Morocco, where he had been filming part of his next film, which only made trying to take care of him that bit harder.

Everyone got ill sometimes. It wasn’t his fault.

That was the mantra ringing through your head, even if you had a more challenging time believing it. Tom wasn’t stupid, as much as he liked to joke about it. HOWEVER, what he was less good at was heeding warnings. He was a white boy in Morrocco; the health and safety briefing had literally been aimed at him. Had he taken the advice not to eat any dodgy looking meats at the market?

Of course not; that’d be boring.

Everyone else was fine. You’d all sampled Morroccos culture without giving yourselves the worst case of food poisoning you’d ever witnessed. But not Tom - possibly one of the only ‘indispensable’ people on the set. If you, or one of the minor characters, or even the director, had got ill - the show could continue.

When you’d been rudely awoken by your phone going off, you’d known instantly. It was as if you’d told him not to take a bite out of the weird burger once you were away from the eager view of the street vendor. Sure enough, with bleary eyes, you hissed at the brightness of the phone screen before seeing ‘Tom H’ on the screen.

“Y/n?” His voice was croaky, but just from the single call of your name, it was clear he was feeling sorry for himself.

“Are you okay? It’s late T.”

“Um I… can you come over? You…you might need the key I’m - um- in the bathroom.”

As his stylist, it technically wasn’t part of your job description to also be mother when he was sick, but (unfortunately for you) after the 3 years working side by side with him - you were also friends.

Which you were almost regretting by the second time rinsing the toilet bowl clean after he’d evacuated what seemed to be the majority of his vital organs into it. Honestly, it was impressive how he managed to keep going.

That had been at around 4 in the morning- the doctor had been called at 8, coinciding beautifully with his 5th toilet extravaganza. Once the doctor had confirmed your original, if completely unqualified, diagnosis of food poisoning - you hadn’t been able to bite your tongue. Perhaps an ‘i told you so’ might’ve slipped past your lips, but Tom was a bit too out of it to argue back.

You’d been given firm advice from the doctor - he said little sips of water, rest and control his temperature. It all had seen pretty simple - though the action? Not so much.

It wasn’t his fault, yet Tom was not super compliant. You and Harry had both been taking turns in practically forcing him to take sips of water, having to turn off ‘modern family’ till he did. The blackmail had put you both in his bad book.

Honestly, thank the lord Harry was here too. You’d woken him up at seven, begging for help and since then, you’d tagged teamed. While one was looking after Tom, the other was phoning the director, the doctor, and the crew to inform them of the current situation.

Again, of all people. Why’d it have to be Tom?

Mainly because you knew how mortifying he found this. He didn’t like people fussing over him, never had. He liked to work hard, liked to make people happy - definitely didn’t like to feel a burden. Perhaps what made him feel ten times worse was that he knew he was inconveniencing the whole production team massively.

And yes, as you’d unhelpfully reminded him, it was ‘his fault’.

The lavish hotel room, big bathroom and pretty efficient AC still didn’t manage to mask the pungent in-the-back-of-your-throat smell from the bathroom. At the doctor’s advice, who had been a little concerned at Toms fever, Harry had cranked the AC on high. It had forced you to steal one of Tom’s big hoodies and a pair of joggers- you hadn’t left his room since he first called you, still wearing your tiny pyjama shorts and an old tee.

“Please turn the air con off.” His little voice whined from where he was lying, huddled up under the covers. Perched on the other side of the double bed, but over the covers with your laptop on his lap, you could actually feel him shivering with the chills. It felt like you were torturing the poor boy.

“T you know I can’t. It’ll make your fever worse.” The way he looked up at you, like a little Labrador that you were refusing to pet, actually pained your heart.

Okay, so yes it was his fault, but you weren’t mad, you just felt so awful for him.

“Please I’ll- I’ll pay you more.” His voice was hoarse; though he denied a sore throat, it sounded like the constant sickness was burning his windpipe.

“Tommm” you pouted, sticking your bottom lip out “I don’t want your money, want you to get better.”

Apparently giving up, brown eyes shot you the filthiest look in disappointment, rolling to face away from you. You thought he was giving you the silent treatment in a huff, but instead, he was praying on the weaker one.

“Harry, I’ll buy you that set of golf clubs-“

“NO!” You had to interrupt before Harry would say yes - because from the way his younger brother shot up from the arm chair, he was about to. Scowling eyes slowly focused back on you in annoyance, making you huff - shutting the laptop and kneeling on the bed to face him. After pressing the back of your palm to his forehead, which was scorching hot, you sighed. “I know you feel shitty and I’m so so sorry but I’m trying to make you better. So shut up, drink this and go to sleep!”

Like a child scorned, you received another death glare however, then he complied, taking a sip of the water you offered before lying back - huddling even tighter.

And it had been relatively peaceful for a few hours; Tom seemed to be getting some sleep - even if he was tossing and turning. Eventually, a prescription that the doctor had requested worked its way through the system, Harry getting a text to say he could go pick it up. The nearest pharmacy was probably a 30 minute drive from the hotel, so he left as soon as.

This left you alone with Tom, where the situation only descended into more chaos.

Almost as soon as Harry had left, Tom had stirred with a grunt. All it took was one look at his face for you to know. Both of you leapt up and flew into the toilet, Tom once again getting very familiar with the Moroccan toilet bowl.

This time though, when he had leant backwards, he’d sort of lost control and flopped most the way - you catching him before he could hit his head on the tiled floor.

“Woah, easy there!” It wasn’t like he’d passed out, but the look in his eye as he slumped into your lap… he wasn’t all there either. “Hey Tom… you with me? Tom?”

Lazily he blinked up at you, not really replying except for groans of half-formed words.

Deciding this had all got a bit direr, you almost sprinted back into the room, grabbing your phone and returning. He was still on the floor, his thumb and first finger pressing into each eye - groaning again.

“Hey Tom? I’m gonna call the doctor you need anything?” He whined in response, stopping only when you stroked his sweaty hair back, most of your attention on dialling the correct number.

The solution he’d given wasn’t pretty: Tom’s fever was too high hence why he was all woozy and groany. Until the doctor could get over with the stronger medications, you needed to lower his temperature in other ways or take him to hospital. He’d absolutely hate hospital, but the other choice? Boy, was he not going to like it either.

Ignoring Tom’s croaked question of what you were doing, you busied yourself switching on the bath taps. You let the water run until it was the right (very mild) temperate, then turned back to Tom, who’d managed to work himself up to sit against the sink unit.

“The doctor says you need it.” His brain was foggy, his mind was slow but your tone told him enough to know something was wrong with the bath. “Just take your clothes off and then I’ll help you-“

“Absolutely fucking not.” Good. He was still with it enough to argue.

“I am just as uncomfortable as you are Tom, but we both know you can’t stand up without fainting, so you are going to need my help.”

“Y/n!”

“Keep your boxers on and it’s just like a fitting! I’ve seen you have those before!”

It was clear as day just how emasculated he felt, especially because he knew you were right. Sitting up at this current moment was a push; there was no way he was getting in the bath without some help. Defeatedly he nodded, but gave you a piercing look to turn around before he started wiggling himself out of the flannel pyjama trousers and light cotton t-shirt. Most confusingly, he still felt freezing cold, yet he had long since learned not to argue with you - especially when your justification came from the advice of a doctor.

Your cue to turn around came in the form of an extra angry-sounding grunt- the look you got when you did wasn’t much better either. It was a weird contrast, though, having someone who physically appeared so indestructible (a superhero for crying out loud); to have been absolutely beaten to a pulp by a few mouth fulls of weird meat. You had seen his bare torso before, although it still wasn’t something easy to get used to - making you clench your teeth together just slightly. A very welcome view.

Perhaps you looked just a little too long at the man who was technically your boss, hunched angrily on the floor in nothing but his calvins - another grunt shaking you out of it. By now, the bath was almost full and you hurried to shut off the water, feeling your cheeks heat up as you cursed silently to yourself.

“Okay come on, gimme your arm.” Begrudgingly Tom followed your request, slinging his arm heavily over your shoulder as you crouched beside him. As strong as he looked, you knew right now he felt powerlessly weak - all that muscle was just going to be almost dead weight.

Now it was your turn to grunt and groan as you pulled Tom up to stand, him focusing on blinking away the headrush he got.

“Come on T work with me here.” Getting him to the side of the bath wasn’t too difficult, the issue came when he stepped with one foot into the bath and yelped, instantly withdrawing as if it was a literal ice bath.

The sudden movement had you both losing balance, ending with Tom sitting on the edge of the bath and you leaning over him, in between his legs, and slapping your hand on the wall opposite purely so you both didn’t end up in the bath.

“Tom!”

“It’s like ice water!”

“Its lukewarm like the doctor said!”

“It is not its from the fucking arctic!”

“Oh for god sake!” Exasperated, you paced up and down the bathroom shaking your head at his ridiculousness. This was ALL. HIS. FAULT.

You came back to him with an ultimatum.

“It’s this or the doctor said I had to drag your ass to hospital.”

“Nooooooo.” The 25 year old seemed to convert into a whiny three year old again.

“Those are the two options. So will you PLEASE quit complaining and get in the bath.”

Keeping up the toddler persona, Tom huffed but reluctantly nodded in agreement - you had come up trumps. It didn’t stop him yelping when you helped to lower him in. His breath was shaky, as a response to the ‘cold’, but he was firming it. At least when you felt his forehead after a couple of minutes, it certainly seemed as though the fever was starting to ease off .

“You can go if you want.” His voice was murmured and as you looked up at him, he did his very best to avoid your gaze.

“Not a chance, if you drown on my watch, Nikki will never forgive me.” At the very least he seemed to appreciate your joke, scoffing a little with a small nod. “If you don’t want me here I get it. As soon as Harry’s back, I’ll swap with him.”

“No! It’s not that its… I’m just an ass when I’m ill.”

“A self aware ass, though.” Again he chuckled a little, as you folded your arms on the edge of the porcelain tub, resting your head lying to one side. “You had me pretty scared there for a moment, you know?”

He nodded a little, creating a wave of ripples in the water which you watched to avoid his gaze - which you knew was tracing all your features inquisitively.

“Hey it’s in the job description, always a bit dramatic... I’m sorry though I should never of called you- don’t know why I didn’t just get Harry.” In response you tutted, taking a moment to lean up and push his sweaty curls back a bit.

Just because you could, it was allowed in this moment.

“’m glad you did.”

“Yeh me too” He sighed, eyes fluttering shut in the easy silence of the bathroom. You kept a vigilant eye on him for the next 20 minutes, checking the temperature of his forehead using the back of your hand, whilst he seemed to finally get a bit of proper restbite, appearing like the worst had passed. You had no idea what was taking Harry so long; in fact it was the doctor that arrived first- who you ran to let in (not wanting to leave Tom asleep in the bath one bit).

Whilst the doctor did all his checks, taking his temperature properly this time, satisfied that it was much more manageable. He still wanted to set him up with some oral rehydration rescue packs to get his hydration status a bit better and give some anti-sickness tablets and antipyretics.

Having actually been getting some rest before all the prodding and poking, Tom was back to being a grumbling dick - now not wanting to leave the bath (the irony was real - making you roll your eyes). Once again, he appeared embarrassed to have you see him like this, so you left the doctor to help him get out and changed- instead going down to reception to get a fresh set of sheets, as he’d done a pretty impressive job of sweating through the old ones.

Even if tired and grumpy, when Tom exited the bathroom, he looked much better - he was walking himself without the doctor’s help. Which honestly was such a relief because when he had passed out on you, you genuinely were terrified. Thankfully the doctor stayed for the next 20 or so minutes, which was just when Harry returned with a bag of medications - which were now wholly redundant, given the doctor had already supplied everything.

“What happened?” Harry asked you in a hushed voice, whilst Tom was distracted with getting his medications. Recounting the story of Tom pretty much passing out, Harry grimaced for you, then launching over to give you a tight hug.

“Are you okay?” That was a novel idea, you hadn’t really thought about yourself at all - but honestly, you were a bit shaken, having been running on adrenalin for most of the night.

“I-uhm… yeh I think so… just-just was a bit scared, I guess? Felt bad too because he didn’t want me there but-“

“I can promise you Y/n, he did want you there. Just probably embarrassed he wasn’t all manly and that…” With a nod, you smiled softly at the frizzy-haired boy.

Whilst working with Tom, it also meant getting pretty close to his younger brother. The two Hollands were almost attached at the hip, which you were very much okay with.

It was weird though... your relationships were completely different. Harry was just your brother, through and through. He wound you up like a sibling but also knew you as if he had your whole life. With Tom… it wasn’t that. Arguably, you were closer to Tom, but on a different level. It was more exciting, more nerve-wracking and heartwarming all at the same time. Honestly, you couldn’t get your head around it properly.

“Hey, you’re probably shattered. Why don’t you go back to your room and get some sleep? I got it in here.” You knew Hary was trying to offer something nice, and now all the excitement had worn off, you were unbelievably shattered. But you didn’t like the idea of not being there, as a just in case.

“Uhm, I think I might just stay, you know?” And he did, with a deliberate, knowing smile, he nodded.

He knew you were worried. He knew Tom had really really scared you. He also knew how much you cared about his brother.

Just like how Harry knew Tom wanted you there, even if he felt embarrassed. Well, anyone would- when you are passing out half-naked in front of the one person that really matters.

It was just at this point that the doctor was done, giving Harry instructions about the rest of the day, when you made a beeline for the bed. Tom was propped up against the headboard, still with a pale sullen look and tired eyes, but a bit less clammy and more human. He cracked a smile as you crawled up onto the other side of the bed, kneeling next to him.

“How’re you doin’?”

“All drugged up, just feel fucking exhausted.” Instinctively you reached up to feel his forehead, really appreciating the fact it felt almost normal.

“Join the club mate, I had a 5am wake up call too.” You almost whispered, intending to make Tom laugh, but instead only getting a pout.

“I am sorry, a-are you going to go back to your room?”

“Nah” Tom’s eyes didn’t light up, except the fact that they very much did. “Can’t trust you not to get into trouble while I’m gone Holland.”

“Thanks.” He laughed weakly before shimmying down on the bed, so he was much more comfortable. “And thankyou, I-I’m sorry I’m a dickhead and made your life-“

“Shut up Tom!” Laughing, you lightly slapped his arm, also leaning down on the bed, so you were lying facing him. “You’re all feverish; go to sleep before you say something stupid.”

There was a long pause, Tom just gazing deep into your eyes, because he was pretty sure what he was thinking was nothing to do with the dodgy unidentified meat he’d had the evening before.

“What... like asking you out?”

…..

“Maybe that wouldn’t be so stupid.”

~~~~im really not sure how I feel about this one, let me know what you thought ;) ~~~~

tagging: @lovehollandy12 @hallecarey1 @crossyourpeter@hollandfanficlove

[novawrts]

7-letter word

Riven x Fairy Reader

Request: “a Riven one where they’ve been friends for a while and constantly flirt and everyone is going insane about it because why the hell aren’t they together yet? And then a near threatening situation with maybe a burned one or something similar makes them confess finally.”

A/N: Requested by @oneflewoverthenewtmasnest. I hope you will like it! Also, English isn’t my first language so I apologize in advance for any grammar/spelling mistakes.

Warning: None.

“Good morning to the most beautiful Fairy and to the most beautiful Fairy only,” there were only two reactions possible at Riven’s words: Sky and Stella’s one which consisted of rolling exaggeratedly their eyes, or yours, smiling. “Good morning to you too handsome,” you greeted him, waiting for Doris to heat up the water of your tea in the cafeteria queue. “I’ve got this,” he said to you while grabbing your tray and his once done. “Is it me or does it look worse than last year?” You stated, looking at everyone food as you sat at a table in the middle of the dining hall. “Well… We still can go to my room if you want a satisfying breakfast, you know,” you couldn’t help but chuckle at his words unlike Stella who pushed her food away with disgust before even touching it. “Thank you, Riven, for spoiling my appetite.”

As it went on, Sky pointed it out that classes will start soon and if the boys wanted to stop by their dorm beforehand they better had to go now. “See you later at practice?” Riven asked, hands buried in the pockets of his leather jacket. “Sure. I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” with that confirmation he got up from the bench and leaned towards you, his greyish green eyes locked on yours. “While I will miss that face until then,” he winked at you and straightened up as you rested your chin in the palm of your hand, watching him left with his best friend.

Riven had a grin plastered on his lips something that had certainly not escaped the notice of the other Specialist. “What’s your excuse for not dating her again?” Sky wondered, more amused than actually confused by the current situation. “We’re friends mate,” and his answer could have been unquestionable if it wasn't for the clench of his jaw when he had slightly turn his head your way. By the time his gaze shifted back to you, your attention was on a relatively fed up Stella. “Why aren’t you acting on it yet exactly?” The Light Fairy snapped, leaving you quite befuddled. “Acting on what?” Her shoulders went down as she sighed loudly at your question. “On the constant flirting since year one!” She shouted like it was the most obvious of things. “We are friends Stel.”

Friends. A 7-letter word that you and Riven have put a lot of efforts into to describe your relationship, much to Sky and Stella dismay. It had been a while now that you had lost count of the number of attempts to make you confessed possible feelings for each other. Both supposedly contented with the simplicity of at least one thing in your respective lives. Therefore, brushing off the conversation whenever they brought it back had become an art that you had learn to master even better than magic or a sword.

This sunny afternoon probably being one of the last, you put the shortcut to the training ground aside. It was when you heard it, when you heard them, in the greenhouse. “They are still students,” the voice, you were sure, belonged to Professor Harvey your Botany teacher. “They are Specialists, they have duties,” Mister Silva pointed out before hissing in pain. His recent infection surely didn’t get any better. “It’s a Burned One we’re talking about. Look what it did to the Solarians, to you Saul,” you frowned and thought, they couldn’t possibly wanted to send the Specialists to the barrier. “We have to prepare them, Ben,” the firmness of Headmistress Dowling made your heart sank, of course they were considering it.

“There you are,” Riven said happily after jumping off the elevated stand where him and Sky had started to warm up. “Sorry, I’ve been held back,” you had never lie to him before and in some way it wasn’t fully a lie, or at least it was what you convinced yourself of. After all, you had been held back, even it was by eavesdropping three authority figures of Alfea. “Alright, listen up everybody!” You hadn't noticed that Mister Silva had arrived, and despite the anger you felt towards him right now, you were glad he was here to prevent an imminent questioning from Riven. “You better go.”

You rarely seen him that good out there. He always was the best for you, no matter how many times Sky beat him, but today it didn’t happen even once. Surely it wasn’t thanks to your cheering. On other circumstances you would have be ecstatic but your mind kept creating scenarios in which they chose students to hunt down the Burned One with the battalion and Riven was always on the list. Despite the smiles you offered him throughout practice he perfectly could tell you were not your usual self.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” He asked you the very second you reached out the waterfall near the Stone Circle, the place where you were spending time together since your first year. Your favourite spot. “I’ve heard something. That’s why I was late,” and so you recounted every words to Riven, shared every schemes possible. Your fear and your disappointment too. Now you understood why he hated being here. “We should have stay in the shack we found this summer and locked ourselves in,” he muttered, head down. “I’m serious Riv,” you protested over of the disconcerting calm he was showing. “So am I! Everybody plays pretend in this damn school and I don’t want to anymore! Not with you,” he paused for a moment, gesturing his arms in defeat. “I mean... Will it that bad? Us.”

You had stayed silence until he get down the rock he stood on to reduce the distance between you. You had a hard time realizing what Riven just told you. It wasn’t another one of your stupid dreams. It wasn’t Sky or Stella playing matchmakers. It was your friend, your friend you had always love, who was finally opening up to you about his feelings. “No. No, it wouldn’t be that bad,” you whispered while resting your hands on his shoulders. Your eyes switching between his and his lips as he put his forehead against yours, just to lean his face further to kiss you.

[oonajaeadira]

Long Fall Into Oblivion (Ezra x reader)

(header by sirtadcooper - check out the whole beautiful set here.)

Rating: Mature. 

Pairing: Ezra (post-Prospect film) x f!reader

Warnings: Non-explicit sex. Some swears maybe (think there’s a f*ck in there somewhere, my GOODNESS). A lot of gooey, syrupy, soft fluffety fluff. Author attempts at writing Ezra dialogue. A lot of chewy prose.

A/N: I can’t believe I’m posting this, but here goes. I love Ezra. He is a man of questionable morality and an insufferable tongue and I really shouldn’t. But I really do. I just wanted to give him a try. I’ve softened him up here, putting a few years on him so maybe he’s fluffed up some since the events in the film. Also I just ignored the fade or assumed that aurelac mining was still happening because scarcity/demand. Doesn’t matter. Just wanted to go exploring.

Summary: You take a job as an aurelac prospecting trainee and Ezra shows you the ropes. You’re gonna fall in love with him. That’s it. That’s the whole thing.

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MASTERLIST

________________

Bakhroma is one of the smallest gas giants in the sector, but as you stand on the surface of the Green Moon, it dominates the entire horizon, pulling your focus, threatening to engulf everything around it. You almost feel sorry for the lush moon as you walk through its undergrowth, so gentle and full of beauty, destined many years after you’re gone to give its life to her.

A moon is an orbiting admirer, and what is an orbit but a long fall to oblivion?

There’s a painful, sour ache in your heart as you walk back to the camp in twilight, watching the back of Ezra’s helmet bob along in front of you. You’d spent two days digging that claim only to find the weakest aurelac nest you’ve seen yet, only three viable nodes. You’d dug through one of them by accident and completely melted another like an incompetent fool. Kevva’s ass, you were such a disappointment. Three months in the Green and you still can’t cut a blister out properly. Not even once.

Ezra’s shoulders are wide and tense, his one hand splayed out as he walks, running over the tops of the tall ferns, catching one every now and then only to rip the top away, twirl it between his gloved fingers and toss it impatiently aside.

The other two members of your team headed out on a sling this morning, another two will be arriving in a few days. And you wonder if Ez regrets just not cutting his losses and leaving with them, or at least sending you back in exchange for another kip.

You think about shifting through the comm channels, hoping that he’s chattering away in one of them, switched without your knowledge, but it’s a lost cause. You can hear him breathing on the channel between you. It’s not often Ezra has nothing to say.

________________

You thought your father was leaving you an inheritance. It’s not the reason you took care of him through his illness, but you’d dropped everything to be back home with him through his final months. In a way, it was a blessing, a reason to quit the Dasha factory and the terrible working conditions there, come back home and focus on your dad, relive good memories, just spend time. The reconnection lifted your heart, but his death sank it low again. When you learned he had nothing to leave you but a small house and some old vehicles, you sold what you could and traded in the rest.

Then you had nothing. No family, no job, little savings, questionable future. It almost broke your spirit. But the last few months with your father rekindled your love of him as he told you about his years in the Fringe, mining and prospecting. And your heart had said, “what the hell, let’s try that.” So you listened.

It took some time to track down the right inroads, but you were able to find some ads for prospecting teams, in particular those who were willing to take on members in training for a re-distributed cut. With all provisions included--other than suit and gear, which your father’s inheritance neatly covered--it seemed like just as good of a deal as any, and an adventure to boot.

But the reality was, every team you met with was full of hardened men, and while you were not a soft Central woman, you also weren’t overly versed in weaponry and didn’t know if you could defend yourself out in the Fringe against attack if things got crusty.

You were just about ready to admit defeat when you walked into yet another conference bunker and found your match. The first thing you noticed was that he was standing when you arrived, waiting for you politely rather than manspread at the table. Second were his eyes. Deep, brown, and sad. Maybe sad was the wrong word, certainly it seemed by the lines in his face, possibly by the missing arm, that he’d seen enough sadness, but toward you, it read more as concern. You wouldn’t know it until later when he confessed his feelings about this first meeting, but he was worried you wouldn’t choose him. Ezra had a hell of a time hiring partners. He may have been one of the longest-working aurelac diggers out there, but young kippers saw his greying beard and seasoned diggers saw his lacking arm and they all tended to turn around and walk out before he even said hello. So he’d tried to put himself out there as a trainer, show that he had something more to offer.

It didn’t hurt his feelings when you admitted to him later that those qualities were exactly why you chose him. He seemed the opposite of threatening. And his eyes were bright when he smiled at you. With his thrumming baritone and his Fringe twang and his mixed deck of mosaic words, he had a way of speaking that felt like a fluffy blanket curling around you, your brain vibrating with comfort at every new monologue. He was eccentric and perhaps a little jarringly rough in his humor at times, but there was something about him that you trusted immediately, even though you’d come to learn later you probably shouldn’t have if you were being overly cautious.

Not that your judgement ever came to detriment. Not that he ever proved you wrong that way. Not when it came to you. But the man was dangerous when he had to be in a way you hadn’t initially picked up on.

________________

You hadn’t been out in the Green two weeks before you looked up from the bottom of a dig hole to see Ezra standing over you with a thrower.

“You get down and you stay down, understand?”

“Ez? What--”

“I said stay down! Do not make me waste words on mere repetition!” The fuzzy blanket of his voice replaced suddenly by a snarling, snapping brush wolf, a quick change hitting you like a slap in the ear.

There’d been pops and whizzes as shots rang through and you did as your trainer said, face down, the view of your visor giving you nothing but dirt. Your helmet was a chorus of quick breathing from both of you and sweat rolled down your neck as you begged the eyes of Kevva to look down upon your partner. When the crossfire faded, you’d heard Ezra stalk away. Then there were a couple more shots. Then more footsteps returning.

“You are permitted to stand, trinket. All is well as it can be for us. But not so much for our dearly departed friends.” These words were as soothing as much as his previous ones had burned, and he simply went back to working at the dig at hand as if he’d just come back from taking a leak. It wasn’t until you left the site that evening that you tramped past two rotting raiders, gaudily outfitted with broken face shields, left to let the Green take them.

Ezra whistled as he stepped over them, stopping only to harvest their filters and munition rods, which he tossed your way to stow in your pack, and then continued lazily down the path toward camp. Just another day on the job. 

He may be a little peculiar and not someone to trifle with, he may have just killed two people without remorse or further comment, but his lack of reassuring words told you that this was just part of the deal. You wear the suit, you use the air scrubber in the tent, you follow the landing pod instructions as written, and you defend yourself against those who wish to harm you. Survival by any and all means is paramount, mundane, and something he has no qualms with on any level.

There was something deep down inside of you that instinctually pulled you to follow him, not just down the literal path before you, but whatever path Ezra chose to wander.

________________

Before you’d left the station with him, he’d taken you to a thrower range to gauge your skill which was decent in theory, but dismal compared with what he could do. No matter, he still patiently taught you how to properly clean and charge a weapon and the best way to breathe and pull the trigger; “like you’re taking hold of a man’s...well... Just go easy and firm.” He suggested you should come and practice every day before lift off and then hope to Kevva that you didn’t have to rely too heavily on it.

“If I find myself in a coffin of my own suit, then feel free to defend yourself as a final means of preservation. Otherwise, when it comes down to shots fired, best to let me do the dirty work. Might as well keep the blood where the blood has been.”

You’d been a little nervous about sharing a freighter pod alone with him, but Ezra was...well, not so much a gentleman as just a comfortable soul. 

He always waited until you were hungry to eat, thinking it rude to eat alone in front of you. He never moved around the pod while you were sleeping, content to keep still with a book in his cot. And if you couldn’t sleep, he was always willing to read to you from whatever impossibly dense old world classic he was digging through for the umpteenth time, letting his voice come up from the deeps and pull you gently under. If you asked permission to turn on the radio, he’d ask you “why Isn’t it on yet, woman,” quietly tolerating your taste in harsh and gleeful babblecore pshcyopop. In the later days of the journey, he’d even come to dance with you from time to time, although both of you were dismal at it and ended up with you in a fit of giggles. It was a sure-fire way to cure a case of the pouts you carried through from the morning fitness sessions when he beat you at pushups. Again.

When it came to privacy in the tight space, he had a habit of turning away without having to be asked or stopping his stream of talk when you went to change clothes, just happily chattering away until you called the all clear. Although he was not squeamish about his own state of undress, should you happen to catch it by accident. While he was respectful of your privacy, he seemed to need none of his own, but neither did he flaunt anything. You might look up from studying the flight manual to notice he was changing into a fresh pair of compression pants, tugging them on haphazardly with one hand, more concerned with telling you the overwhelmingly disgusting manufacturing process of Bits Bars than his own ass hanging out where you might see it. At least he always changed facing away from you which was a kindness.

Until it wasn’t.

After you realized you’d fallen quietly in love with him--a sudden, soft moment on the Green--then you’d admit only privately to yourself that you wouldn’t mind if you accidentally saw a little more than the occasional shirtless attire he might wear around the tent.

But in the pod, the only part of him that had caught your curiosity was his stump, and you’d known Ezra intensely enough over the past couple of weeks where you knew he wouldn’t take offense. Especially if you asked him the right way.

“Will you tell me a story, Ezra?”

“I feel that it is my duty to do so whether you ask me to or not. Shall I choose, or is there something in particular you would like to hear?”

He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, propped up against his cot, going through his kit, cleaning his gear. You waited until he noticed your lack of answer and looked up to meet your eyes. When he saw that you had put your manual down and were focusing all your quiet attention on him, he stopped his busy work. 

When Ezra gives you his attention, it is absolute. When he knows you seriously need something from him, that becomes his immediate main priority and all else can wait. It’s only gotten more intense since that day, but there is a trust that resides between you when you look into his eyes, gathering your words as he waits patiently every time to hear whatever you’re going to request of him. There’s always hope there in his big browns, always something specific he’s waiting for you to ask, and every day you get a little bit closer to understanding what it might be. But until then, any question is a welcome one, any query is met with his wish to provide.

“Will you tell me how you lost your arm?”

At first you thought you may have gone too far, that maybe you insulted him, as his eyebrows peaked together and he looked down at his hand. But then, “That is a tale that may cause you some consternation, trinket. The Green is dangerous and unforgiving, and there were times I may not have been a man worthy of fair opinion.”

“My father was a prospector, you know. I’ve heard stories. Have you ever killed anyone?”

He clicked his tongue and screwed up an eye, causing the thin white scar on his cheek to twist. Then he sighed and returned to your locked gaze. “To be honest, I have. Though I have never done so with pleasure, I have killed in defense and out of desperation, and it was out of dispatching a man in this way that I came to lose the second favorite of all my appendages.”

“Second favorite?”

“Well, it depends what you classify as a limb.” He huffed a small laugh, a spark in his eye, trying to diffuse the harsh subject in his own way.

His leaning into baseness never bothered you. There was something earthy about it, gritty and rough, but never lewd. You rewarded his crassness with a smile. “Do you plan on killing me out in the Green?”

“I would hope my murdering days are behind me, and if they are not, you would see me aim a thrower at everyone but you in the course of my spree. You are under my tutelage, and for that, I owe you a duty of care. That is my word by Kevva.”

“Then tell me the story. I like your stories. I promise not to judge now-Ezra by then-Ezra.”

A dimple formed on his cheek, a punctuation mark framing the approaching anecdote on his lips. “Then I will declare myself absolved of any sin heretofore and regale you with a clean and grateful heart.”

________________

You can see the tent through the trees and you realize with some horror that it’s just you and Ezra for the next few nights. If he’s angry with you, and this is how he is when he’s upset, the silence will be unbearable.

Even that little girl he helped out here years ago was probably more capable than you. You feel so lost in this moment, and it’s only made worse by his silence. You fumble with your communicator and hit the mute just in time to choke on a sob.

This isn’t like you. You’re not one to cry when things get rough. You hardly shed a tear when your father died. But the thought of that just brings another sob and as acting as your own psychologist you realize that you are experiencing some displaced sorrow, the odd need to please the leading male in your life, the one that’s walking ahead of you, away from you. If he’d just turn around and throw you his worn weary smile, if he’d just start up a conversation you’d know that there was hope for you, you’d know you didn’t give up everything to be here in a job you couldn’t hack.

You gotta stop this. Or it’s going to be an uncomfortable night.

Shake it off.

Once you enter the tent, the usual dance happens. Ezra reaches up to turn on the air scrubber and you unhook his filter tube from his helmet. When he turns to you, you pull open the zipper cover on his suit and start his zip for him before lifting his helmet up and off. He can pull the zip the rest of the way, but you generally pull the left collar down for him so he can get his arm out. He’s on his own from there as you turn to fuss with your own gear. 

________________

You remember it starting easily enough. He was telling you a story about the breeding habits of the Tokovian Musk Owl and you could see he was having trouble with his suit zipper, yanking at it and trying to look down at it even though it was under his chin and his helmet. Without another hand to keep the fabric taut, the zip didn’t want to release, so you simply batted his hand away and started it for him. He didn’t even stop his yammering, just threw in a “thank you” somewhere in between “could hear them screeching” and “for a fuck.” He’d right out asked you the day before if you wouldn’t mind disengaging the filter tube just because it was delicate and he didn’t want to mangle the expensive part trying to pop it out one-handed day after day. And while he could manage the helmet fine enough, his prominent nose thanked you for a smoother removal for sure. 

It wasn’t the only routine dance you’d concocted. 

There was the harness dance.

While dig days were excruciating, you always looked forward to helping him attach the harness for his prosthesis--a kind of rigid pole attached to a shovel so you didn’t have to do all the hard digging alone. There were a couple of straps that came around his torso with multiple latches and you’d come to really enjoy wrapping your arms around him to fit the straps on. Sure, you could do the job just as easily from behind, but if you embraced him at the front, he’d usually raise his arm and let it come to rest around your shoulders while you worked. If you let yourself dream, it would be easy to imagine that he might be pressing you into him just a little bit.

And there was the harvesting dance.

On a dig, you were the one to mix the fazer and Ezra did the pour. He fished the sack, you cut the cord. You sliced the outer casing and held it open while he did the extraction. And with the flesh-covered stone, he told you every time to “hold it like you love it” so he could cut away the slippery blister before cleaning the gemstone.

It was a beautiful harmony. And the only way it worked. Because once on every dig he urged you to do a solo extraction, and on every dig, you pierced the blister and lost that stone. And on every dig, he squeezed your shoulder and told you it was a wondrous try, that he was proud of you, and there would always be another turn. There was no sarcasm, no pity, just a warm smile and ceaseless optimism even though you just lost both of you thousands in pay.

These were the first touches, these shoulder squeezes that ran down your arm on the let-go. Sometimes he would just reach out and grab onto you like a pole to help himself up, or he might stumble off balance on uneven ground and without the counterweight of his right arm he’d throw his hand out onto you to steady himself. He wasn’t beyond lightly touching the small of your back to encourage you down a path or to take your next try at a gem pull. 

This was all part of something you’ve secretly named the left-handed-lover’s dance. Basically, that you keep on his left whenever you can in case he needs your help or has the inclination to reach for you. It started out as just trying to be a good partner. Then it became a passing hope that it was more than just a friendly bond. But you were both here to do a job. He was here to teach you to be an independent prospector and you were here to assist and learn. That was evident at the end of the day; once you were both in the tent and out of the suits he never touched you, never so much as bumped into you or grazed your hand in passing an item or clapped you on the arm after a good joke. 

But out in the field all zipped in and helmets on, there was nothing more natural than his gentle hand guiding you or reaching for your assistance, including the day you realized you loved him.

________________

Before you can turn away to strip off your own coverings, Ezra catches your arm, spinning your face into the light. You try to shake him off, not wanting him to catch your eyes puffy from crying and your cheeks still streaked with tears, but his grip is not so gentle now and he yanks you back around to his stormy glare, chin up, brows low. His intensity paralyzes you, rendering you unable to continue your struggle when he catches your eyes with his.

When Ezra gives you his attention, it is absolute.

His gaze travels back and forth between your eyes, waiting for an explanation, a minute so stringent it breaks you down, dissolves you into the tears you’d tried so hard to hide.

“I’m sorry, Ezra. I really am trying... I don’t know why I’m such a scuffer at this and I know it would only be right to release you from the contract and tell you to send me back but I don’t want you to, I really wanna stay, I really wanna learn and I’m so, so sorry.”

Your words have an immediate effect, softening him, pulling his glare into concern and wonder, his lips parting just the tiniest bit in surprise.

“This is the reason for your heavy mood? You think I am provoked by your proficiency in the field?” 

“I crusted up good today and it seems like you’re not happy about it. Just...know that it means so much to me that...I don’t wanna let you down.”

“Oh, trinket, no.” An incredulous huff jumps out of him and his grip on your arm loosens, becomes a splayed warm support behind your shoulder, moving in soothing patterns and you’re instantly relieved that your assumptions were wrong. “You have done no harm in my book. It is not an easy thing to deliver a gem of this ilk into the world unscathed. Your opportunities have been few and scattered and it takes many sticks before a lover becomes a lothario.” He knows the crass humor will make you laugh, knows what to say to lighten your heart, to get you to soften, and bring you into his intimate, conspiratorial mood. “To be perfectly honest, I am selfish to an unrighteous degree, for every gem you burn keeps me in value to you. A worthy sacrifice to guarantee you mightn’t be so quick in your need to fly away from me until your training’s complete.”

This causes a hitch in your breath as you see the welcome turn the conversation he’s taking and you follow the path he’s making for you. “I don’t want to leave you, Ez.”

A smile creeps up one side of his mouth. “Well then I am a happy man. A bargain is struck! Partners it is.”

“Partners it is.”

A moment hangs between you as he rubs his thumb in slow circles on your shoulder. There’s that look in his eye again, the one where he’s waiting for you to ask the question he wants to hear from you. So close now.

Still, you’re unsure. “I guess I’m lucky I found the one person who wants an incompetent partner.”

“No, I do not, nor is it what I have and I must express my objection to your self-debasement. This work is not for the shiny, and you have not once complained about taking on the meat of the digging or the crawl of my schedule.”  His hand comes to your helmet shield and he rakes his thumb across it as if he ached to wipe away one of your staleing tears. “Those bright eyes of yours got a penchant for spotting deposits more skillfully than I could ever manage and that’s not something that can be taught; that’s talent, girl. The blistering?” He shrugs. “Even I can’t manage that without the steady help of your fine hands. You may think that your blunders in education are causing us some financial ruin, but our fortunes are creamy. I assure you, we can afford it.”

That look is still there. He’s waiting. “There’s some ‘us’ and ‘we’ in there, Ez.” Your hands drift to his sides, taking fistfuls of his compression suit top, willing him closer.

The edges of his eyes take on the crinkle you’ve come to find so much comfort in. “So there is.”

You’re almost there. You know what he wants. “Why were you so quiet on the walk back?” 

“Because for the next few days we are alone here and I have a mind full of questions I do not know how to ask you.”

“Then let me go first.” A yearning happiness settles in his brown eyes; finally. Finally you’ve found out what it is he needs you to request of him. “If I take this helmet off, are you going to kiss me, Ez?”

His eyes close in contentment and he nods, “Yes. Yes, little jewel. Yes I am, that and more. I hope I have inferred correctly that it is your wish that I do so, because I am in free fall. I feel my orbit ending and my pull to you is complete.”

_______________

“A moon is an orbiting admirer, and what is an orbit but a long fall to oblivion?”

Speculating days were some of your favorite times, just wading through the brush and looking for the telltale signs and shoots of an underlying deposit. Sometimes you came upon nests of strange groundling insects or flowers that only grew in secret. There were treasures underfoot on this poisonous moon, but if you remembered to look up as well, you might find some dangerous beauties there too. 

On that day--the one where you finally understood your heart--you’d looked up to find that you were on a cliffside overlooking a valley, the canopy a million different hues of green, the gas giant looming over half the sky in a big pink and orange semi-circle. There was a fallen log that served as a perfect seat for the perfect view and you knew Ezra wouldn’t mind if you stole a few moments to sit and to take it in. It’s just the kind of thing he’d appreciate. And you were proven right when he came up behind you, putting a hand on your shoulder to steady himself as he swung one leg then the other over the log, finding a perch next to you, spouting pretty words through the channel link--soft and low--about moons and orbits and obilvions.

“That glowing beauty is Bakhroma. She is quiet and fierce, made up of the unfathomable and the unknowable, always within sight, but out of reach and untouchable unless one would trade the honor with great sacrifice. She reflects the light that is given to her with a patience that is heretofore untold. And the Green Moon upon which we ride follows where she goes like a lovesick fool, spinning around her in a heady kind of adoration, full of secret treasures buried deep down that will ultimately one day belong to her, falling incrementally over eons until he finally loses himself in her, all his glories gladly forfeit to her welcome and inevitable embrace. Alone but together, seemingly eternal, pulled as one by the laws of a mysterious universe.”

The void that came after those words was filled with the beating of your heart, and you were sure he could hear it through the channel.

When he’d landed there beside you, you’d registered how his hand slid off your shoulder, diagonally down across your back, coming to rest at your waist, his arm draped lightly around you. Natural. Easy. Everything was warm--the colors of the sky, the care with which he kept you close as if to better hear the honey sweetness in his prose, the fire burning in your lungs and neck.

Ezra probably didn’t know that you spoke a little Vayok.

Bakh being the Vayok word for adornment. Ornament, Gem. Roma was a modifier, a diminutive. Small. Dear.

Bakhroma. Sentimental bauble. A little jewel.

In other words, a trinket.

All you wanted to do was sit down to take in the view of an entire world for a few moments, but by the time Ezra took your hand and helped you to your feet, all you saw was him.

________________

The helmet is barely off before his lips are sealed to yours in a press of greed. Even if he can’t form words when he kisses you, he can’t help but express his deep relief in a heartbreaking moan. It’s a fight to release yourself from the suit when he keeps pulling you against him and every time you try to get some space between you to work the zipper, he chuckles into your mouth, enjoying the tease and the struggle. It’s simultaneously frustrating and thrilling and you give in for a few moments just to give him what he seems to want so desperately right now.

Ezra kisses like a man starved for air, long, hard, and full of need, peeling his lips away only to come back for another breath of you until his initial want is slaked and he slows, allows for more time between his taking, his mouth starting to mumble against yours, praising you with pet names, telling you how perfect you are to him, how long he’s “fought against my more dubious natures to respect your womanly virtues and take them only when you could see in me a man worth bestowing them on.”

You’re able to use his weakness for monologuing to turn around in his vice-like embrace, finally freeing yourself of the suit and he takes the opportunity to drawl more pretty words in your ear, warning you that “I’m afraid I have been enamored of you overly long and may be extra eager in my attentions. So you just say the word if you need a slow down, gentle one, and I will do my best to comply. Although I will admit it will be a difficult endeavor indeed as I feel I am entering your atmosphere and nothing might quell this burn but finding some drowning place to land.”

Your first impression of him was of a man whose age and temperament and body would not be able to overpower you.

Your first impression was wrong.

Of course, it helps that you are willing.

It doesn’t take long for him to strip you down, and then himself. To kiss you down onto the floor. To find exactly where you like to be touched most and how long it takes for you to break from it. He has so many words for you, so many praises to sing about every part of you that is round or soft or wet, comparing you to things that are sweet and plush or celestial and holy. And when you take his favorite limb in hand--as wondrous as the rest of his body--and guide it to its fit, he plunders and harvests all you have to give him, filing you with himself, for as long as you call for it, as long as you let him. He loves you like he speaks to you: rough and drawn out, full of beautiful tangents and meandering plotlines, but in the end it is beautiful and fulfilling; you may be just a little bit confused how you got to the ending, but you’re completely in awe.

When you lay breathing heavy, staring but not seeing the ceiling of the tent, your consciousness seemingly lifted to see through it to the stars, to the glowing face of Bakhroma, you run hands through rough-chopped hair on a head laying on your chest. He’s listening to your heartbeat, waiting for it to slow down so he can start again. The air is thick--even the air scrubber can’t keep up with all your humidity--and there’s a halo around each bulb of the string lights just barely illuminating the darkness.

“How long, Ez?”

“Hm?”

“How long have you been waiting for that.”

“Most likely since the day you walked into my interview. I am a man of simple wants and you had all the right parts for my preferences.”

“For real, Ez.”

He tipped his head up to find you. “What you ask has many true answers, and I stand by the first. I have no qualms telling you of my weakness for a pretty succulence and a kind smile the likes of which you possess. But if you are asking when I knew I would have it, well, that may have been the first day you danced. Or when you asked me to read you to sleep. Or when I understood I wouldn’t let those bastard raiders get near enough to take their turn at your qualities when I had not had them myself. Or when you finally saw me as a viable person to drape your affections on; maybe it was that day too.”

“When I finally saw you as....”

“I have read many tomes and verses but none so full of beautiful passages as your face that day on the cliff. There is a difference of knowing and being. I knew the feel of your pull that day, but found I’d been in orbit all along.”

How he can live this way, twist everything into a tossed away poem...it should be exhausting. Yet you feed off it. You breathe it like air.

After another long cycle of frenzied entanglement and violent euphoria, you ask Ezra if he’d like to move to a cot, maybe get some sleep. “I’m not sure if I’ll be able to walk to the dig tomorrow morning,” you confess.

“No need to worry about tomorrow,” he says, wapping his arm around you and dragging you back to him, grumbling into your ear. “We are the only prospectors in this sector and the aurelac will wait. Until our new compatriots arrive, we are officially on hiatus. Recreational mining only. Restricted to the confines of this tent. By order of your supervisor. In the interest of more precious treasures. And I intend to strike it rich.”

“Well. I’m here to assist. And learn.”

“When it comes to this dig, trinket, you are more than competent. I am no longer your trainer. Partners it is.”

“Partners it is.”

The new contract is struck, signed and sealed in kissing and in touch and a long, slow fall into inevitable oblivion.

[onmyyan]

Hi its me again. I love your writing and the fact that there isn't as much abuse like there is in others. It reminds me of old yandere stories were it was genuine lovesickness. Anyway, how do you think jjba yanderes would react to a darling that is taller and more muscular than them by quite a bit. You can do whoever you like I don't mind.

A/N: Omg ily🥺 it means a lot you said all that because I really love this genre it’s my comfort trope anyway thank you for the request n I hope ya like it!! Kira should be a trigger warning in an of itself but dw he’s just weird, not mean. Mentions of his past ‘girlfriends’, a curse word or two, lil suggestive in someplace’s Mista murks a few people, tw//gun violence

Characters: Pt2 Joseph, Josuke, Kira, Mista

Joseph was used to looking down on people, standing at a proud 6’5” he was literally and figuratively knocked on his ass when he’d first laid eyes on you, his immediate thought was you were a forgotten pillarman coming from nowhere to get revenge for your masters only to quickly realize you were just a stallion. You were strong enough to put him on his back after one too many cheeky comments. Unafraid to speak your mind and keep him in check, You would stare down at him with that mind melting smirk, all too aware of his frustrations, you assumed he was just being a man, ashamed to be outclassed by someone other than himself, oh honey how wrong you were. You enjoyed teasing the behemoth of a man as no one else really could, at least not as well as you did, throughout your little jabs and snark he always had a retort, a response on the tip of his tongue, eager to do this dance of yours until one of you broke, to you he was a way too cocky dangerously self assured pretty boy who was entertainingly easy to rile up, but to Joseph, you were his everything. Someone he could proudly take home to Granny Erina once he’d finally tamed you. He had a plan, a three step plan to steal your heart just as you’d done his, and this little game of who could annoy the other the most was just step 1. “It’s been fun JoJo but you’re gonna have to find someone else to bother.” You’d jokingly said one day out of the blue, an odd friendship had formed through the month you’d been in town and it felt wrong to leave without notice, an act of kindness you’d learn to regret. “Is this one of your famous jokes (Y/n)? Not so funny to play with a mans heart like that I nearly believed you.” He finished with a scoff, his signature smirk not reaching his eyes. “It’s true Joseph, my flight leaves tomorrow, I didn’t wanna leave without saying goodbye, because as much as we fuck around you’re pretty fun to hang out with.” Your sincerity almost made him feel bad about rushing the next few steps of his plan, he’d have to cram months of planning into a night but he’d accomplished more with less time on his side. He huffed, his grin stretched wide across his handsome features. “Then we outta make tonight count eh?” A thick arm was tossed around your neck, you had to bend awkwardly for this to be possible much to your amusement. “Okay you weirdo, whatever you say.” You let him lead you around town with a grin, unaware you’d be missing that plane, and any other one you tried to take without him.

Josuke watched you eat with the dopiest grin on his face, he’d spent an extra hour in the mirror this morning in preparation for your first official date! Well you didn’t exactly know it it was a date and Okayasu was eating rather messily beside you two but still! You’d actually agreed to come to Toni’s with him! You’d been an enigma since you transferred to the bizarre town, choosing to keep to yourself, and despite the intimidating height and mass you possessed, he saw through your act in seconds. There was a huge softie under all that muscle, he’d watched you enough to know this as a fact, you were a gem and he was intent on showing you his appreciation and adoration for the rest of his days, a vow he’d silently taken the day you’d stolen his heart, the moment was brief in reality but it lasted forever in his mind, you smiled at him in passing, he could feel time slow down, everyone around you faded in the background, a backdrop to the beginning of your story. He could imagine telling your kids how you’d met, something about the way you’d stare down at him, eyes sharp and attentive, like you truly listened when people spoke, your laugh was loud when it was real and every time he heard it he felt 10 years added to his lifespan. At the same time that icky feeling at another person making you laugh was conflicting, he’d never been in love before but he suddenly understood why his mom had never given up on his dad, love was weird but he wouldn’t give it up for anything. You’d accidentally snapped your chopsticks laughing too hard at a joke he’d tossed out, your face scrunched in embarrassment before chuckling at yourself and switching to a fork, his stand came out on its own, pocketing the shards to fix later, a new item for his ever growing collection, what a cute little memento from your first date! His thoughts swirled happily with the stories you’d be telling your kids. Thankfully neither of you noticed his little pickpocket moment, dangerous plans forming as he stared at you with those misleadingly soft puppy dog eyes.

Kira could die in this moment, happily I might add, as your firm but soft hand was wrapped oh so deliciously around his throat threatening to crush it with ease at the slightest movement. He’d been watching you for a while now, the longest he’d ever spent on someone he didn’t plan to kill, it become sort of hobby he’d picked up recently, the morally upsetting activity bringing peace to his day to day, usually he used his stand to carefully observe your routine, eager to learn all he could about his future spouses likes and desires, but he was getting greedy. Of course he could always introduce himself but he resisted, knowing there was a time and place to get exactly what he wanted. He liked to think he knew everything about you by now, your favorite color, how you liked your coffee, your love for cats, but he didn’t anticipate this. You were much more observant than he’d given you credit for, while you couldn’t see his stand you could sense yourself being watched, and seeing the large blonde lurking indiscriminately in the crowds throughout the day was enough to set you off. So you trailed off into the less crowded parts of town quickly entering an alleyway, he followed in pure confusion only to be roughly slammed into the wall, his stand came out on reflex but simply stared at his attacker, it seemed almost confused as what to do. “Why the hell are you following me pretty boy?” His eyes rolled to the back of his head at the feel of your fingers tightening, god he’d never felt this rush of exhilaration, none of his past ‘girlfriends’ could pull such an illicit reaction from him with a simple touch. When he didn’t answer you simply scoffed and tossed him aside like it was nothing. You left with a threat to stay out of your sight, yet all he could do was smile, the faint imprint of your fingers burned in his skin deliciously, how lucky could one man get?

Mista observed you with hungry eyes. His stare was unapologetically locked on your form. He made no intention to hide his attraction for you. The day you’d joined Buccarati’s crew was the day his world flipped. He assumed his new teammate would be no one to fuck with based on what Bruno told him about your stand, but when you walked in? Needing to bend down slightly just to enter the doorway had him sweating in his seat. He didn’t know what to say as he watched you happily interact with his fellow teammates, immediately you blended with the group, but all that was running through his mind were all the fun things you could do with those muscles. He usually stayed silent around you, not out of dislike as one would assume from his piercing gaze, but fear of accidentally voicing one of those nasty thoughts kept him quiet. You didn’t seem to mind though, always including him in the conversation, you even understood his very valid fear of that dreaded number! How could god plop such a perfect person in his lap and expect him to not do anything about it? Alas, Bruno had specifically told them not to make you uncomfortable with any flirting so he bit his tongue. Your aura was calming, a contrast to your powerful stand, speaking of, he couldn’t get his under control. Whenever they could Sex Pistols was out and all over you. They climbed and clamored for your attention, thankfully you didn’t seem to mind, always entertained their antics when you could, even giving each one a small peck when they wouldn’t let you leave for a mission without Mista, to say he was done for was an understatement, it took one mission going foul for his resistance to snap. His stand moved faster than it ever had, piercing the skulls of the idiots who brought you pain. He left the last one slowly bleeding out kneeling down to wipe the matted hair from your forehead, “You okay baby? Don’t worry honey I’ll make the bastard hurt.” He spoke not breaking eye contact, his hand pointed behind him, grip steady as he unloaded in the poor fool who thought it was a good idea to make you bleed, the wound was small, not even deep enough to trouble Giorno but that didn’t matter to Guido, any slight against you was disrespecting the future parent of his children, and what kind of man would he be if he didn’t defend your honor?

[searidings]

Kara moving in with her best bud Lena for Reasons (maybe her apartment is temporarily fucked up?) and now Lena has to watch her exercise/weight-lift/do yoga in a sports bra in her apartment

It’s already been a capital D type of Day, full of misogynistic potential investors and minor workplace explosions, when Lena opens her front door to the sight of Kara Danvers in a perfect-form downward facing dog on her living room floor.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” she mutters, dropping her keys noisily onto the kitchen counter and making a beeline for the booze cupboard.

“Did you say something?” Kara asks angelically, transitioning smoothly into a cobra that very delightfully and extremely unhelpfully causes her biceps to flex like a Greek goddess. Her eyes, bluer than ever against the vast expanses of smooth golden skin on display above the sinfully tight cerulean sports bra she’s wearing, flutter angelically. She beams beatifically up at Lena from her yoga mat as if there’s any possibility her superhearing didn’t pick up on Lena’s words. As if she isn’t just trying to make Lena repeat herself for her own amusement.

“What are you even doing?” Lena asks a little more sharply than she intends, jaw clenched as she wills herself not to so much as glance in the direction of Kara’s exposed abs. She treats herself to a heavy pour of scotch, pauses to consider, then adds some more. “It’s not like you need to exercise. Like, at all.”

“Surely I get to indulge in whichever recreational activities I choose in my own home,” Kara replies cheerily, avoiding Lena’s carried-home-after-a-shitty-day snark with practiced ease.

“You gave up that privilege when you moved into my home instead,” Lena deadpans, Kara’s irrepressible affability in the face of her own bad moods beginning to chip away at her steely CEO armour. “That’s what you get for letting a flea-infested mongrel into your apartment—”

“Hey, Toto couldn’t help having fleas—”

“And not only that, letting it all over your couch, your bed—”

“He was cold! He just wanted to snuggle—”

Lena shudders. “You snuggled with that monstrous thing? I hope to god you burned the clothes you were wearing. And maybe the whole couch too.”

“Toto was not a thing, he fit perfectly on my—”

“And isn’t Toto usually the name of a small dog?” Lena asks incredulously, throwing back the scotch in one smooth swallow and pouring herself another. “That beast was almost taller than you!”

“Being a lap dog isn’t about size, Lena. It’s a state of mind.”

“A state of mind that’s meant your entire apartment has had to be fumigated. Twice.”

“And I’d do it again,” Kara says resolutely, pushing up into a high plank and inadvertently flexing her shoulders in a way that has Lena’s fingers slipping around the tumbler in her grasp. “Toto was homeless. He needed someone to take him in and love him, and I did.”

She drops to her knees and pushes back into child’s pose, tilting her chin up to gaze at Lena from between her extended arms. “Just like you’ve done with me.”

And Lena curses Kara and every one of her ancestors right back to the dawn of time for how endearing she is in this moment. For how physiologically incapable Lena is of maintaining her façade of annoyance in the face of those earnest eyes. God, when had she gotten so fucking soft?

But any thoughts of the blonde as cute or adorable evaporate into thin air as Kara pushes back up into downward dog, lifting one leg straight above her in a graceful arch. Her forearms flex as long fingers grip into the soft mat and Lena chokes a little on her next sip of scotch, eyes unfortunately, deliciously glued to the jut of Kara’s hipbone through her yoga pants and the toned lines of her tightened thighs.

“Seriously though,” Lena manages, turning away from the sight and congratulating herself on the fact that her voice is only slightly higher than normal. “Why do you even bother? It’s not going to tone you up any. Not that you need it,” she mutters into her scotch glass, tipping out the dregs of the bottle and reaching into the cupboard for a fresh one.

When she turns back to face the living room Kara’s cheeks are flushed, almost as if she’s blushing. Or maybe all the blood is just rushing to her stupid, unfairly attractive head.

“Yoga is about more than just muscle tone, Lena,” the blonde says disapprovingly, her gaze fixed on her mat. “It’s a mind-body connection. Mindfulness. Inner peace. It’s doing wonderful things for my stress levels.”

“It’s doing terrible things for mine,” Lena mutters, knowing Kara will hear her but finding herself increasingly uncaring as the scotch warming her throat begins to course hot through her veins.

“Then maybe you should get down here and join me,” Kara murmurs, voice low as she switches legs.

The blonde’s tone is practically a purr and Lena chokes for real this time, spluttering out the scotch attempting to find its forever home inside her lungs. Kara is behind her in a second, hand hot through the thin material of Lena’s blouse as she rubs gentle circles between her shoulder blades.

The offending appendage doesn’t withdraw, however, even once Lena’s regained full use of her airways and is wiping the tears from her eyes. In fact, it’s joined by a friend, and both of Kara’s hands slip up and over her shoulders quite without Lena’s permission, fingers kneading into the tight muscle.

“Wow, you are tense,” Kara murmurs, thumbs doing something absolutely sinful to the knots in Lena’s neck. The blonde steps closer, bracketing Lena against the cool marble of the kitchen island with her hips and it takes every single shred of self-control Lena possesses not to sag back into the hot body hovering against the length of her own.

Lena shuts her eyes and bites down on her lower lip, hard. Anything to keep from focusing on the warmth radiating off Kara’s oh God partially clothed body like a furnace.

Long dextrous fingers dig delicious into the tense set of Lena’s shoulders and she barely manages to hold back the breathy sounds of pleasure she’s fairly certain she should not be making at her best friend’s touch. Kara, if anything, seems spurred on by Lena’s restraint, fingers slipping inside the collar of Lena’s blouse to press firmly against her bare skin and oh God Lena is not going to survive this.

In fact, she can actively feel herself giving in to the pull, to Kara’s ineffable magnetism. She sways backwards just slightly, and Lena swears she’s not the only one who sucks in a sharp breath when their bodies fully connect. The frame pressed to her back is warm and firm and God, Kara is solid against her in a way that has all the blood in Lena’s body migrating south with pinpoint precision.

“Are you sure you don’t want to join me?” Kara whispers, her breath ghosting the shell of Lena’s ear and making her shiver. “I could walk you through some asanas. Might help loosen you up.”

Jesus fuck.

“Nope!” Lena squeaks, cheeks aflame, pushing away from Kara and snagging the bottle of scotch on the way to her bedroom. “I’m gonna go take a shower. Enjoy your practice.”

The quiet sounds of Kara’s chuckles follow her all the way down the hall.

Lena spends the first five minutes of her shower staring unseeing at the tiled wall, mind blank but for the image of Kara’s washboard abs over the waistband of her yoga pants, the firm press of her body against Lena’s back.

The second five minutes is spent in intense silent conversation with herself, administering an internal pep talk worthy of a high school spirit rally and trying to convince her racing heart to resume its regular rhythm.

The third interval consists of Lena shampooing her hair in mounting despair, trying desperately to foresee a way of surviving the next three days of cohabitation until Kara’s apartment is deemed safe and fume-free if the blonde is going to insist on doing distracting activities and wearing distracting sports bras and just generally being distracting the whole time.

It’s only by minute sixteen of Lena’s long indulgent shower that a plan begins to form in her mind. She steps out onto the bathmat, appraising the various towels slung over the heated rail until she finds one fit for purpose. Tucks it snug round her body and pulls her dripping curls over one shoulder before making her way back out to the living room.

She can pinpoint the exact moment the blonde notices her entrance because the quiet room is suddenly filled with a rubbery tearing sound as Kara, on her hands and knees for a spine stretch, rips the mat beneath her hands clean in two.

Lena bites her lip to hold back a smirk, watching as blue eyes track slowly up the expanse of her bare legs, unimpeded by the towel that only barely reaches to mid-thigh, and then up to follow the droplets of water tracking their way down Lena’s chest until they disappear into the soft fabric.

Kara’s mouth is hanging open, arms and legs splayed wide where they rest on either side of the torn mat, and Lena relishes the thrill of victory that zips up her spine like a firecracker. Two can play at this game, that’s for sure.

“I was going to ask if you were ready to order takeout for dinner,” Lena says, letting her own voice drop low as she quirks an eyebrow. Her gaze falls pointedly to the sad remains of Kara’s yoga mat and this time she can’t hold back her smirk. “But it seems your mind-body connection might still need some work. I’ll leave you to it.”

Satisfied, she turns on her heel and saunters back to the bedroom, Kara’s eyes glued to her swinging hips like a physical weight on her body.

Cheeks pink, heart pounding, she drops onto her bedspread as a heady combination of relief and pleasure courses through her veins. Lena hasn’t had a roommate since boarding school but maybe this cohabitation – temporary as it may be – will end up having a few unanticipated perks.

[messrmoonyy]

same anon here that asked for the remus returning thing, sorry for the confusion i meant like after he gets back but they aren’t back together yet and there are those few days we’re dora is kinda cold and distant just to protect herself and remus is doing whatever he can :)

My girl Dora ain’t no doormat, no way was she letting him get away with treating her like that and just forgive him immediately. Remus did some grovelling for sure.

Pairing: Remus lupin x Nymphadora Tonks

Warnings: none

You can find all my other writing on my masterlist and remember my ask box is always open, I love any and all requests so please do send them my way!

Tonks woke up to the sound of quiet clattering, a scent of sausages and bacon and eggs. Fresh pastries and pumpkin juice. She opened one eye but the bedroom door was closed still, the other side of the bed as cold as it had been for the last month and a half. Ever since Remus had returned to her he’d been sleeping on the sofa, still trying to even come to terms with being able to look at him in the eye. Never mind sleep beside him. She had said she’d sleep on the sofa at first. It was his home after all, who was she to make him sleep on the sofa in his own home? But he’d insisted she take the bed.

She had deliberated moving to her parents. She knew that would be the eventual outcome anyway, they weren’t exactly in the position for her to just waltz into st Mungos to give birth. But the thought of staying with her mother fussing for longer than necessary wasnt all that appealing. So she had stayed put and waited for Remus. And now he was on the sofa until she finally shifted the last of her hurt.

She still loved him, of course she did. But she couldn’t shake the purely painful feeling of betrayal. He had come back so she guessed she should have been relieved. But it was the fact that he had ran in the first place. The fight had been bitter, his words stinging her like acid, biting at her, beating her down until she felt completely worthless. She’d never heard him say such things. She didn’t know he had it in him. He’d always been such a gentle soul, she’d only heard him raise his voice once or twice. But everyone has a breaking point, everyone snaps. And he had. At her.

She’d never known he could muster words so cruel. Didn’t know his usually gentle face could twist into such hatred. Didn’t know he could look at as if he could barely stand to be within ten feet of her, when he so often only looked at her with adoration.

He’d come back quite literally begging for her forgiveness, down on his knees and finding every and any word he could to try and prove how sorry he was. She had let him back because she loved him. Because she was carrying their child. But she hadn’t forgiven him. And she wasn’t about to anytime soon she guessed. No matter how hard he was trying to win her back around.

He kept leaving her gifts, there was a constant supply of fresh flowers for her every morning. She had ignored them at first, leaving them on the kitchen counter to wilt and die. He’d started placing them in a vase now. Sometimes it was breakfast- like it seemed to be that morning from the smell. Fresh pastries on the pillow when she went to bed, chocolate frogs in her sock drawer, copies of the quibbler because she liked the comic pages, the list was never ending. She couldn’t lie that she liked his grovelling, it was really the least he could do after all he’d said to her. And she felt she deserved to have him pay for what he’d done.

She sat up in bed and sighed to herself, glancing over at the small box beside the bed that held her wedding ring. She’d thrown it in his face the night he’d left her, it landing somewhere at their feet in the front garden. She’d not even been sure on where it had landed. It had appeared on her pillow a few days after Remus had come back and she wondered if he’d actually taken it with him when he ran. Or if he’d just searched for it when he returned. She’d shoved it in the box and not touched it since. She wished she could’ve gone back to the wedding day. He’d been so happy. She’d been so happy. Her mother would’ve hated the wedding, but that had made almost a little more enjoyable. It wasn’t even the slightest part traditional.

A tiny church in what felt like the coldest part of Scotland going. Some strangers they’d met a few hours before in a local pub as witnesses, no big crowds of guests. No fancy white dress. She’d worn her boots and the nicest dress she could find in her wardrobe back home. Her bouquet had been some flowers nicked from someone’s front garden, one of which she’d pinned to Remus. It wasn’t perfect in anyone else’s eyes, but it was to her. To him. They’d shared their own vows, been bound together by magic and love and hope. They’d danced all night, stayed up until the sun rose sat up on a cliff over looking the sea. And of course the stumbled walk back to their B&B over the pub, the event that had inevitably created the tiny person residing inside her now. And that was that.

But the Remus that had shouted at her, told her that they had no choice but to her rid of the abomination they had created… that didn’t feel like the Remus she had married. She didn’t recognise that man. That wasn’t her Remus. That wasn’t the man she loved, had married, had given up everything for. He was a stranger to her.

She got dressed then, not wanting to fall into the hole of longing for Remus again and put herself in a bad mood, before leaving the bedroom. Remus was stood in the kitchen and smiling at her as she opened the bedroom door. The bedroom was the only place in the house that offered her privacy, the rest being tiny and open plan. She spent most of her time in there just lately and thankfully for her, he often left her to it. The bedroom being almost out of bounds to him. He hadn’t stepped foot in there since coming back.

“ good morning Dora “ he greeted quietly and she shook her head at him, raising a hand and pointing at his face.

“ no. I told you already. You don’t get to call me that now “ he looked down at the floor for a moment and nodded. He looked like a kicked puppy but she told herself she didn’t care. He deserved to hurt like she had. He did.

“ right. I’m sorry. Tonks “ he cleared his throat awkwardly and gestured to the table “ I. I have breakfast for you. I have to nip out to the Weasleys for a while but there’s more food in the fridge for you if that isn’t to your liking “ she sniffed and turned her head away from the table. She didn’t know why but his kindness just made her mad. Like a switch flicked inside of her.

“ and you’ll return this time? Or planning another week away? “ he sighed and ran a hand through his hair “ need another chat with Harry so you? Listen to a child’s advice but not your own wife right? “

“ Dora ple- “

“ no! “ she hadn’t completely intended to shout but she had. She closed her eyes, balling her hair into fists and tried to get rid of her sudden lack of calm. She could feel angry tears burning behind her eyelids and she blamed her messed up hormones. She refused to cry in front of him again. Refused to show the hurt he was still causing her weeks after her left “ just. Just go the Weasleys. Go on “ he hesitated for a moment and gave a small nod.

He knew better than to argue with her now. Knew it would get him no where.

“ just. Please make sure you eat something. It’s not good for the b- “

“ don’t stand there and pretend you care “ she snapped “ don’t “

“ Tonks I do. I do care I have apologised I don’t know what else I- “

“ if you cared you wouldn’t have left “ there was silence then. So quiet it was almost painful. But she felt like twisting the knife, plunging it deeper and drawing out as much agony as she could. She wanted him to hurt like she had, to feel the pieces of his heart shatter inside his chest, splinter his lungs so it felt as though no air could reach him. Make him feel how she had “ I am only here because unfortunately for me. You are the father of my baby. I don’t care how much you apologise. I will never forgive you Remus Lupin. Never “

The words burnt her own throat as she spoke them, and regret seeped into her chest. But she stayed firm. Refused to cry. Refused to feel guilty. He deserved it.

She had clearly struck a nerve. His eyes swam with pain, his hands hanging limply at his side. Defeated. Hurt. She’d won that round.

“ I don’t know how many time I can apologise “ he said weakly “ I know it’ll never come close to repairing what I did but- “

“ please. Just go to the Weasleys “ she said with a sigh and turned away from him as her tears finally fell. She didn’t want him to see. She closed her eyes. gripping onto the kitchen counter so her knuckles turned white. She heard movement behind her and the front door opening.

“ please make sure you eat “ he said softly before the front door closed and she dropped down to her knees, letting her tears run freely. Her body wracked with sobs

————————-

When Remus had been on the sofa for 2 months, and Tonks was finally starting to pass the phase of just looking a little fat, to actually looking pregnant, nearing her 4th month. She had started to become a little more forgiving. She had started to sit with him at breakfast again, didn’t shut down every single conversation he tried to start with her, sat beside him when he read by the fire in the evenings. Though she always left a fair space between them.

She found she’d started to miss him greatly. Trying to deal with how much her body was changing on her own wasn’t exactly the most fun thing. Remus was still piling her with as much affection as he could, even though she still wasn’t particularly receptive to it. But she had to admire his determination.

“ Nymphadora. I was wondering if I could have a word “ she turned to face him as she toed off her boots, having only just gotten home from a trip to see her parents “ please. If you would “ she hung up her jacket and nodded, walking over to him as he gestured towards the table where a small yellow gift bag was sat.

She sat down at the small table, it had an old copy of the prophet folded up under one leg to stop it from wobbling, but it still moved slightly when she picked up the gift bag.

“ you can’t buy my forgiveness “ she stated, not looking inside the bag “ I told you that already Remus. I can’t be bought “ he gave a small nod, clasping his hands tighter.

“ yes. I know. I do. Just- please “ he nodded towards the bag and she hesitated but sighed before pulling at the ribbon and pulling out the tissue paper. She froze when her figures fell upon a soft cotton and she realised what was in the bag. She pulled it out, dropping the bag to the floor “ I wasn’t- I wasn’t sure on the size or- it’s like Hufflepuff, you see? Of course I couldn’t get an official one. It was a muggle shop and I had to be quite quick I didn’t want to risk anything. I mean I had options of course but- “

“ Remus “ she cut him off. It was a babygrow. It was a pastel green with a badger embroidered on the chest. It was the first piece of clothing their child had. She hadn’t exactly had the best of opportunities to go shopping down Diagon alley for some herself.

“ Dora “ he tried her nickname again for the first time in weeks and this time she didn’t chastise him for it “ I know I’ll never be able to take back what I said. But as I told you when I returned. I had time to think. And these past months I’ve been thinking too “ he reached out gingerly for her hand and when she didn’t pull away he gently took it in both of his “ all I ever wanted was a normal life. A normal family. And now… now I have that chance. With the woman I love and. And our child “

“ and what if he’s not… ‘ Normal ‘. If he’s different. I’d hes half werewolf. Or full. Or. In between “ she was getting a little tense with her words again and she tried her best to remain calm. She was finally getting a truthful and meaningful opinion from Remus on the matter. She should be thankful for that. Even with the betrayal still poking the back of her mind occasionally.

“ then I’ll love him all the same. He’ll be could be born with four legs and 5 arms, two heads. No magic at all. I’d still love him. Because we made him Nymphadora. You and I. And I…. I never thought I’d get that. I never believed I’d be a father. A husband. Now I have that opportunity and I see how much of a fool I was to try and throw that away “ he squeezed her hand gently, his thumb rubbing circles over her knuckles in a soothing way. She knew him well enough to know when he was lying to her. And he wasn’t now.

“ let’s deal with the possible moon situation before we worry about any extra limbs shall we? “ she said with a small smile and watched as he seemed to relax every muscle in his body, his worries that she wouldn’t accept his apologies slipping away “ I won’t forgot what you said to me. And to him “ she placed her free hand on her stomach as she spoke “ but you’re his dad. Nothing is going to change that. And the world really fucked up right now. Like. Really. And so we have to protect him. Love him more than we can even think about “ Remus nodded.

She refused to let the world ruin her baby, refused to let him be warped into a life of terror and fear. Of feeling outcast and alone like his father had. Remus stood up then and knelt down in front of her.

“ I love you Nymphadora. And I love him… or her “ she smiled slightly as he placed a gentle hand over hers that was still cradling her bump. Remus’ acceptance suddenly made it feel all the more real. In just 4 months they’d have a baby. A real one. Screaming and crying and laughing. A most innocent thing born into a world on the brink of disaster. And somehow her and Remus had to keep him safe. And kind. And loved. They weren’t exactly the most functional of couples so it was no doubt that their family wouldn’t be either. But they’d make it work. They would.

Werewolf or not.

—————————————-

It was another week after that that she finally caved. The talk had most definitely been the turning point. And she’d kissed him again that evening for the first time in months. Was actually letting him touch her again without recoiling. Though he was still on the sofa.

Though December had well and truly arrived. The cold weather setting her into an almost constant chill, the old cottage not offering much in terms insulation. And she missed having him wrapped around her. He was always warm. And didn’t complain when her cold hands found there way under his shirt in the night to warm up. She also just missed him. Just him. Her Remus. The man she’d fallen in love with. She wanted him back beside her, his slow breaths on her neck in the night, his legs tangled with hers. Even the way his facial hair scratched at her when they kissed. She just missed him.

So it was almost no surprise to her when she found herself slipping out of bed, the coldness of the stone floor seeping through her socks and chilling her already numb feet some more. She opened the bedroom door slowly to see if he was awake or not.

He was in the armchair, a book on his lap. Clearly having not planned to sleep there, he’d have a sore neck in the morning that was for certain. She grabbed the blanket from the back of the sofa and silently walked over to him. The fire was crackling in the hearth, immediately warming her up. She moved the book careful not to lose his page, before climbing into his lap in its place. She wrapped the blanket around them, bring her legs up and resting her head on his chest. One more month gone and she didn’t think she’d be able to manage that. She wasn’t the tallest or biggest of people. So her bump was still pretty small. But she loved it all the same.

Remus stirred slightly and made a small noise of confusion to wake up and find Dora on his lap. He opened his eyes fully, his eyelids heavy with sleep.

" Dora? "

" go back to sleep " she whispered and felt him give a small nod as his hand tentatively wrapped around her, like he was still unsure if he was allowed to touch her or not. She snuggled in a little closer to him as if to say it was okay and he fully wrapped around her, pulling the blanket up to her chin. It felt right to be in his arms like that again. They’d snuggled on the sofa the day before. But not as… intimate as this. It felt normal again. Like she belonged there.

" why did you- "

" I was just cold " she cut him off, ignoring the way his raspy sleep filled voice made her melt. She was trying to show that she was still just that little bit mad at him. But she couldn’t deny that she missed him. That yes she was still hurt, that she might always been. But nothing could compare to the amount that of love she had for him. Still. Even after all he’d done. No one would ever come close to the way she felt for Remus Lupin.

" right " She lifted her head for a moment to find he was already looking at her. And she couldn't help herself. Because time was precious now. And she was wasting it being angry all these months later. She slipped a hand up to cup his face before pulling him in to kiss her. He seemed a little surprised at first, his lips frozen for a moment before they opened to capture her own. But she didn't blame him because she was too. She hadn’t planned for that night to be that night she let go of the final part holding her back.

" this isn't me forgiving you " she said against his lips once they pulled apart. Half joking. Half not.

" I know " he seemed quite truthful with that. Like he understood her thinking. Maybe he did.

" good "

" good " she kissed him again and found herself shifting in his lap, slipping a leg either side of him. Because she was mad at him, she was really. But she loved him more. Missed him more. Needed him more. And soon she was unbuttoning his trousers and bunching up her sweatshirt- that was actually his- around her waist, rolling her hips against him until she was panting out his name, gripping the back of the armchair so hard she was surprised she didn’t splinter the wooden frame.

They stayed on the armchair even after Remus had cleaned them up, trying to keep the warmth of the fire in her body, trying to share Remus’ own body heat.

" Remus " she said when she was certain he was just dropping off, her head against his chest. Heading his heart beating felt like home. The familiar sound she had so often fallen asleep to. Comforting.

" I know. This isn't you forgiving me " he mumbled, hurt tinging his words.

" actually I was going to say that I love you "

" oh. Oh right... I love you too. You know I do " his arms tightened slightly around her and she let herself calm to the sound of his heart. She waited again until she felt him slackening with sleep to speak again, a slight mischief in her tone.

" oh and Remus? This isn't me forgiving you "