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layce2015 · 1 year

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Supernatural (Dean Winchester x Female!Reader)

Something Wicked

Masterlist

"Yeah. You probably missed something, that's what." Dean said as we roared down the highway. "Dude, I ran LexisNexis, local police reports, newspapers, I couldn't find a single red flag." Sam exclaims.

"Are you sure you got the coordinates right?" I asked Dean as I leaned forward against their seat. "Yeah, I double checked. It's Fitchburg, Wisconson. Dad wouldn't have sent us coordinates if it wasn't important, guys." Dean said, angrily. "Well I'm telling you, I looked and all I could find was a big steamy pile of nothing. If Dad's sending us hunting for something, I don't know what." Sam said, frustrated.

"Well maybe he's going to meet us there." Dean said, shrugging. "Yeah. Cause he's been so easy to find up to this point." Sam remarked, rolling his eyes. "You're a real smart ass you know that?" Dean spat and the two brothers glare at each other before Dean looks back at the road. "Don't worry I'm sure there's something in Fitchburg worth killing." Dean said.

"Yeah? What makes you so sure?" Sam asked him. "Cause I'm the oldest, which means I'm always right." Dean said and I let a laugh. "No it doesn't." Sam said, shaking his head. "It totally does." Dean said as he glances at Sam then looks back at the road with a little grin.

In Fitchburg, Sam and I were leaning against the Impala staring at the playground when Dean crosses to the road to us, holding a drink carrier with three coffees. "Well...the waitress thinks the local freemasons are up to something sneaky but other than that no one's heard about anything freaky going on." Dean said as he hands us our coffee.

"Dean, you got the time?" Sam asked Dean, who looks at his watch. "Ten after Four. Why?" He asked and Sam and I nod towards the deserted playground, which only had one child playing and climbing. "What's wrong with this picture." I said and Dean looks the playground over.

"School's out isn't it?" Dean asked. "Yeah. So where is everybody?" I asked and Sam nods. "This place should be crawling with kids right now." Sam said just as a woman sits on a park bench, reading a magazine. Dean and I approach her.

"Sure is quiet out here." Dean said to her. "Yeah, it's a shame." She said and we give her a curious look. "Why's that?" I asked her. "You know, kids getting sick, it's a terrible thing." She replied.

"How many?" Dean asked her. "Just five or six but serious, hospital serious. A lot of parents are getting pretty anxious. They think it's catching." The woman said then the three of us watch the little girl playing by herself.

"Dude. Dude I am not using this ID." Sam growls as we enter the hospital and come up to the receptionist desk after we changed clothes. "Why not?" Dean asked. "Cause it says bikini inspector on it!" Sam exclaims and Dean and I start to smile. "Don't worry she won't look that close all right? Hell, she won't even ask to see it. It's all about confidence, Sammy." Dean said then he spins Sam to face the desk and he and I keep walking.

"Hi. I'm Doctor Jerry Caplin, Centers for Disease Control." Sam said to the woman behind the desk while Dean and I watch him. "Can I see some ID?" She asked and Dean and I start to snigger. Sam throws us a dirty look before he looks back at the woman. "Yeah of course." He said and quickly flashes his ID to her then retracted it.

"Now could you direct me to the pediatrics ward please?" He asked her. "Okay well, just go down that hall, turn left and up the stairs." She said and Sam turns and approaches us, glaring at our smiles. "See. I told you it would work." Dean said as Sam shakes his head, irritably. "Follow me. It's upstairs." He grumbles and we walk down the corridor.

We walked down a few steps and I was about to turn to Dean when I noticed that he wasn't there. I turn and see Dean was staring inside of a room. "Dean!" I shouted and he jumps slightly then follows us.

"Well, thanks for seeing us, Dr. Hydecker." I said as the boys and I walked down the corridor with the Doctor. "Well I'm glad you guys are here. I was just about to call CDC myself. How'd you find out anyways?" Hydecker asked us. "Oh some GP, I forget his name, he called Atlanta and, uh, he must've beat you to the punch." Dean explains, quickly, and Hydecker nods.

"So you say you got six cases so far?" Sam asked him. "Yeah, five weeks. At first we thought it was garden variety bacterial pneumonia. Not that newsworthy. But now..." Hydecker before he trails off. "Now what?" I asked him. "The kids aren't responding to antibiotics. Their white cell counts keep going down. Their immune systems just aren't doing their job. It's like their bodies are...wearing out." Hydecker said as a nurse comes up to him.

"Excuse me, Dr Hydecker." She said as she hands him some forms to look over and sign. "You ever see anything like this before?" Sam asked him. "Never this severe." Hydecker said. "And the way it spreads...that's a new one for me." The nurse said as she looks up at us.

"What do you mean?" I asked them. "It works its way through families. But only the children, one sibling after another." The nurse said and the boys and I share a glance for a moment.

"You mind if we interview a few of the kids?" Dean asked her. "They're not conscious." The nurse said. "None of them?" Sam asked, shocked. "No." The nurse said, shaking her head.

"Can we, uh, can we talk to the parents?" I asked them. "Well, if you think it'll help." Hydecker said and I nod. "Yeah. Who was your most recent admission?" Dean asked him.

Minutes later, the boys and I stood in front of a man, who was sitting in a chair against the wall, asking him questions. "I should get back to my girls." The man said. "We understand that, and we really appreciate you talking to us. Now you say Mary is the oldest?" Sam asked. "Thirteen." The man replied.

"Ok. And she came down with it first, right? And then..." I said and the man nods. "Bethany, the next night." He adds. "Within 24 hours?" I asked him. "I guess. Look, I, uh, I already went through all this with the doctor." The man said to us and we nod as Dean holds up a hand to him.

"Just a few more questions if you don't mind. How do you think they caught pneumonia? Were they out in the cold, anything like that?" Dean asked. "No. We think it was an open window." The man replied. "Both times?" Dean asked him. "The first time, I, I don't really remember but the second time for sure. And I know I closed it before I put Bethany to bed." The man said.

"So you think she opened it?" Sam asked him. "It's a second story window with a ledge. No one else could've." The man replied.

"You know this might not be anything supernatural. It might just be pneumonia." Sam said as we walked down the corridor of the hospital. "Maybe. Or maybe something opened that window. I don't know man, look, Dad sent us down down here for a reason. I think we might be barking up the right tree." Dean said.

"I'll tell you one thing." Sam mutters. "What?" Dean and I asked him. "That guy we just talked to? I'm betting it'll be a while before he goes home." Sam said, giving us a knowing look.

We break into that man's house and check Bethany's room with the EMF. "You got anything over there?" I asked Dean as he holds his device out. "Nah, nothing." Dean replied. "Yeah, me neither." Sam said as we keep checking until I move to the window and noticed something odd on the windowsill.

"Hey boys?" I said. "Yeah." They said as I stare at the windowsill closer and see a handprint that had rotted into the wood. "You were right, Dean. It's not pneumonia." I said as they come over and see it as well.

"It's rotted. What the hell leaves a handprint like that?" Sam asked as Dean stares at it, intently.

Flashback

*3rd Person POV*

Dean, who was around ten years old, was staring at a photo of a handprint when John and (father's name) come out of the bedroom, loading their sawn off. "All right. You know the drill, Dean. Anybody calls, you don't pick up. If it's me or (father's name), we'll ring once, then call back. You got that?" John said to Dean, who nods.

"Mm-hmm. Only answer the phone unless it rings once first." Dean repeated. "Come on, dude, look alive. This stuff is important." John said to him, firmly. "I know, it's just...we've gone over it like a million times and you know I'm not stupid." Dean said to his dad. "I know you're not, but it only takes one mistake, you got that?" John said to Dean, firmly.

"John, go easy on him. He's a smart boy, he can handle it." (Father's name) said to John, who stares at him. (Father's name) raises an eyebrow at John before they gather their weapons.

"All right, if we're not back Sunday night...?" John asked Dean. "Call Pastor Jim." Dean said to him. "Lock the doors, the windows, close the shades. Most important...." John said. "Watch out for Sammy and (y/n)." Dean said and they look over at Sam and (y/n), both of them sprawled on the couch, watching cartoons on TV. "I know." Dean said to the men as they nod.

"All right. If something tries to bust in?" John asked. "Shoot first, ask questions later." Dean replied and John smiles and places a hand on his shoulder. "That's my man." John said as (father's name) looks at his young daughter.

"(Y/n)." He calls and the young girl, with two ponytails, gets up and walks over to her dad. "Now, I'm gonna be gone for a few days, okay? You stay here and be a good girl." He said to her as he kneels down to her. "Yes, daddy." (Y/n) said. "Dean's in charge, so listen to him and don't give him too much of a hard time." (Father's name) said, smirking, as the girl nods.

"And you help out any way you can, alright?" He said. "Yes, daddy." (Y/n) said and her father smiles. "That's my girl." He said then he goes and kisses the top of her head. He stands up and turns to John, nods at him and the two men walk out of the motel room and, immediately, Dean goes to the door and locks it.

Present Day

*(y/n)'s POV*

"I know why Dad sent us here. He's faced this thing before. He wants us to finish the job." Dean said to us as he stares at the handprint, looking a bit sick.

"So what the hell is a shtriga?" Sam asked Dean after we pull up to a motel office and get out of the car. "It's...kinda like a witch I think. I don't know much about 'em." Dean replied. "Well I've never heard of it. And it's not in Dad's journal." Sam said.

"Dad and (father's name) hunted one in Fort Douglas, Wisconsin, about 16, 17 years ago. You two were there. You guys don't remember?" Dean asked. "No." Sam said. "Vaguely." I said as I think. "And I guess Dad caught wind of the things in Fitzburg now and kicked us the coordinates." Dean said.

"So wait, this...Shtriga. You think it's the same one our Dads hunted before?" I asked Dean. "Yeah, maybe." Dean said, shrugging. "But if Dad and (father's name) went after it why is it still breathing air?" Sam asked Dean. "Cause it got away." Dean replied, simply.

"Got away?" Sam and I asked as I start to think that this is very odd. My dad and John always made sure when they were hunting monsters, they made sure it would never come back. "Yeah, guys, it happens." Dean said, frustrated. "Not very often." Sam points out. "Yeah, especially if my dad was helping." I said to Dean. "Well I don't know what to tell ya, maybe our Dads didn't have their wheaties that morning." Dean said.

"What else do you remember?" I asked Dean. "Nothin'. I was a kid all right?" Dean said, defensively, before he goes into the office. Sam gives me a look and I shrug and follow Dean into the office as a young boy around ten or twelve years old comes up to the desk.

"Two queens." Dean said to the boy. The boy looks out the door and towards Sam then sniggers. "Yeah I'll bet." He mutters. "What'd you say?" Dean asked him and the boy looks up at him, smiling, and I raise an eyebrow at this.

"Nice car!" He said then I come up to Dean and pull out my card. "Hey, honey...you forgot your card." I said to him, sweetly. He looks at me, slightly confused, but I smiled at him and he caught on what I was doing and takes my card. "Thanks, sweetheart. What would I do without you?" He asked me and my smile widens. "Probably spontaneously combust." I said and Dean chuckles then he leans down and kissed my cheek.

My heart leapt for joy once his lips touched my cheek. He pulls back and I look down, in embarrassment, then looked over at the boy, who had a look of shock on his face.

Then a woman enters the building, smiling at all of us. "Hi." She greets. "Hi." Dean and I greet. "Checking in?" She asked. "Yeah." Dean said then the woman turns to the boy. "Ahh, do me a favor, go get your brother some dinner." She said to him. "I'm helping a guest!" The boy exclaims.

She gives him a look and he grimaces and turns to go. The boy looks at us and scoffs before he turns to the back. "Will that be cash or credit?" The woman asked as she goes to the computer. "You take MasterCard?" Dean asked and she nods. "Perfect. Here you go." Dean said and he glances at me and I nod then he hands my card to the woman.

Then Dean stares ahead and I follow his gaze to see the boy pouring a glass of milk for a younger boy.

Flashback

*3rd Person POV*

Sam and (y/n) were sitting at the table as Dean pours them a glass of milk. "When's Dad gonna get back?" Sam asked Dean as he grabs a pot from the stove. "Tomorrow." Dean replied. "When?" Sam asked as Dean brings the pot over and pours the contents into Sam's bowl and then (y/n)'s bowl. "I dunno. He and (father's name) usually come in late though. Now eat your dinner." Dean said to the young kids.

"I'm sick of scabetti-ohs." Sam whines as (y/n) begins to dig into her dinner. "Well -- You're the one who wanted 'em!" Dean said, slightly annoyed. "I want lucky charms!" Sam said. "There's no more lucky charms." Dean said.

"I saw the box!" Sam argues as (y/n) looks between the boys, she always hated it when they argued like this. "Okay, maybe there is but there's only enough for one bowl and I haven't had any yet." Dean said and Sam gives puppy dog eyes.

Dean sighs then grabs Sam's bowl. "I'll take it if he won't finish it." (Y/n) said just as Dean was about to go to the trash. Dean turns to her. "You sure?" He asked her and she nods. Dean goes and pours the contents out of Sam's bowl into her bowl then places Sam's bowl in the sink. He grabs the cereal box and thumps it on the table instead.

Sam reaches into the box and grabs the toy then holds it out to Dean. "D'you want the prize?" Sam asked him, smiling.

Present Day

*(y/n)'s POV*

"Sir?" The woman said as she holds out the card to Dean, who seemed like he was lost in his thoughts. "I'll take it." I said as I take the card and elbow Dean. "Sorry. Uh...Thanks." Dean said, once he comes back to reality.

Later, the boys and I were sitting in the motel room while Sam was looking at his laptop. "Well, you were right. Heh. It wasn't very easy to find but you were right. Shtriga is a kind of witch. They're Albanian, but legends about them trace back to Ancient Rome. They feed off spiritus vitae." Sam explains.

"Spiri-what?" Dean and I asked, confused. "Vitae. It's Latin, translates to breath of life. Kinda like your life force or essence." Sam explains. "Didn't the doctor say the kids' bodies were wearing out?" I asked Sam. "It's a thought. you know she takes your vitality maybe your immunity goes to hell, pneumonia takes hold. Anyway, shtrigas can feed off anyone but they prefer..." Sam said but then Dean and I finished his sentence.

"Children." We said and Sam nods.

"Yeah. Probably because they have stronger life force. And get this. Shtrigas are ...invulnerable to all weapons devised by God and man." Sam explains. "No, that's not right. She's vulnerable when she feeds." Dean said and Sam and I give him a curious look.

"What?" We said, confused "If you catch her when she's eating you can blast her with consecrated wrought iron. Ahhh... buckshots or rounds I think." Dean said. "How do you know that?" I asked him. "Dad told me. I remember." He said. "Oh." I said.

"So uh, anything else Dad might have mentioned?" Sam asked Dean. "Nope, that's it." Dean replied but Sam and I keep staring at him. The way Dean was talking it sounded like he knew more than he was letting on, which is odd for Dean.

"What?" Dean asked us. "Nothing." Sam and I said before Sam continues. "Okay. So, assuming we can kill it when it eats we still gotta find the thing first, which ain't gonna be a cakewalk. Shtrigas take on a human disguise when they're not hunting." Sam said.

"What kinda human disguise?" Dean asked him. "Historically, something innocuous. Could be anything, but it's usually a feeble old woman, which might be how the witches as old crones legend got started." Sam said then Sam crosses the room. "Hang on." He said.

"What?" Sam and I asked as Dean grabs a map. "Check this out. I marked down all the addresses of the victims. Now these are the houses that have been hit so far, and dead center?" Dean points out and my jaw drops. "The hospital." I said and Dean nods.

"The hospital. Now when we were there I saw a patient, an old woman." Dean said as he turns to us. "An old person huh?" Sam asked. "Yeah." Dean said. "In a hospital? Phew." I said, shaking my head and sniggering. "Better call the Coast Guard, Sam." I said and Sam laughs. "Well listen, smart-ass, she had an inverted cross hanging on her wall." Dean said and Sam and I look over at Dean, serious. "Well, why didn't you say so." I said as Dean raises an eyebrow at me.

That night, we come down the hallway of the hospital, but we quickly duck back when we see Dr Hydecker. "Good night Dr Hydecker." A nurse said. "See you tomorrow, Betty." Hydecker said. "Try to get some sleep." The nurse said.

The boys and I hide until Hydecker passes, then we continue on to the old woman's room. We open the door and sneak in, Dean taking the front and Sam and I hanging back, guns drawn.

The woman was in her wheelchair facing toward the corner. She seemed to be sleeping. Dean slowly leans in closer and closer to her face until she turns her head and yells. "Who the hell are you?!"

Dean freaks and leaping back against a wall cabinet, pulling his gun up. "Who's there? You trying to steal my stuff?" She asked then she grumbles to herself. "They're always stealing around here."

Sam turns the light on and I come up to her other side to see she has cataracts. "No! Ah, ma'am, we're maintenance. We're sorry. We thought you were sleeping." Sam said to her. "Ahhh, nonsense. I was sleeping with my peepers open." She said then she laughs and gestures at the wall.

"And fix that crucifix, would ya? I've asked four damn times already!" She exclaims. Dean, still looking slightly freaked out, jogs the crucifix and it swings the right way up.

#fandom #fanfic #fan fiction #reader insert #x reader #supernatural #dean winchester #dean winchester x you #dean x you #supernatural dean #supernatural fanfic series #supernatural fandom #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester imagine #dean x reader #dean winchester x female!reader #dean winchester x reader #tv show fandom #tv shows

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darshy · 1 year

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(oak tree)

this is not completed!! i have been working on this off and on for a while, but now i’m sick of it. i may continue if people actually like it ((not edited!!))

With the sun kissing your exposed shoulders, you haul chunks of wood into your metal bucket. The hand-made wrist brace you wear does not help your sprained wrist in the slightest. Carrying heavy objects is such a pain.

As you groan and huff, your little brother screams from behind you. “Olive is here! Olive!!” You spin your head around, ignoring the cracking your neck emits. Your brother is smiling with his arms stretched out above his head. “Olive” stands behind an old oak tree. Your chest tightens.

“Get over here.” You snap at your brother. Either he doesn’t hear you or he ignores you because he doesn’t come, so you drop your bucket filled with wood to snatch him up. “Why ain’t ya listening to me?” You whisper and place him on your hip. Your brother continues to watch “Olive” with a big, gummy smile. You frown before your eyes find the boy “Olive” yourself, except no one is there.

It’s just the big, old, oak tree.

“He’s talkin’ about that boy Olive again.” Your father remarks. He’s holding a newspaper to his face as if he can read, but he can’t. Not one person in your family can read. No one has ever gone to school.

Unless you count Melissa, your brand new step-mom. She’s a pretty, former city girl. She acts all kind and wise but your stomach always gets sickly around her. The perfume she wears is too sweet and she’s always smiling.

Like now. Cherry cheeks and pale skin. Her hands are soft and gentle as she sets them on your shoulders. Your bare shoulders, where her fingernails can dig into your flesh.

You want to throw up.

“I’ve heard that too, Henry.” Melissa says. “I’ve only seen Olive once. I don’t know if he’s even a boy.” She makes it sound like a joke, and somehow, some way, your father smiles back.

Your father never smiles, not since your mother left.

Damned witch, you think and you grit your teeth so you won’t spit in her face.

You sit on a fallen tree trunk and chug some water. Your muscles twitch in pain. It’s hard labour, but you’ve always done it—at least since you were eight. You now work the fields and tend to the cattle. There’s something new every day so it’s not boring, but there’s a want inside of you. A want of exploration. An education. Friends.

Well, there’s that stranger boy that comes around sometimes. Your brother first spotted him and called him Olive because of his hair colour. “Olive” stood behind the oak tree which is a mile from your house. It’s where you and your brother would play.

Would play, because Melissa told you to grow up. She smiled after that and kissed you on the cheek.

Your stomach churns before you drink more water.

The sun is still out, the animals are crying—you always have work. So you stand and wipe the dirt off your clothes. It’s been a habit since Melissa began nagging you about your hygiene. “Clean freak.” You mutter in a quiet rebellion.

Heading back to work, you glance at the oak tree. Surprisingly, “Olive” is standing there. You’re closer to the tree than you were yesterday, so the boy appears to have a larger build.

Dirt is caked on his skin and he has scars lining his biceps.

You cringe.

“What are you doin’ here?” You ask, trying to ignore your pounding heart. As always, he doesn’t say anything, only staring you down. Your face turns taut. “This isn’t your property. Get out of here before we shoot ya.”

You expect him to run for the hills, but he takes a step forward, no longer hiding behind the thick bole of the tree.

Heart now racing, you pull out a switchblade your father gave to you. It’s light and fast but would probably break upon impact. It was in case you encountered a wild animal.

It was never meant for a human.

“I said get!” You yell. Your hands are shaking and your eyebrows twitch.

The boy looks on, but he begins to back away, a frown growing on his lip.

You scramble back to the house once he’s out of sight, tears bubbling in your eyes. Your poor lungs beg for air when you hike the mile to your safety.

Slamming open the front door, you collapse onto the dirty mat inside.

Melissa immediately comes to your aid. “What happened?” she asks, “What did you do?”

“Did you take care of those animals?”

Your head spins as you shake your head.

All you manage to do is throw up.

“I’m going to town.. would you like to come with me?” Your ears buzzed as soon as you heard “town.”

Going to town was a foreign thing, as your family didn’t have access to a car, and you had everything you needed at home. At least, that’s what your father says.

That’s why you’re giddy once you see the large buildings. Your heart is racing once you spot street lamps and crowds of people. People of all kinds—young, old, black and white. You chew on your lips once you and Melissa get into a red streetcar.

It’s all so exhilarating and exotic.

It’s the high you wanted.

But once Melissa’s arms are full, and the sunlight is dimming bit by bit, you realize it’s nearly time to go home. You frown at the rocky path you must take and walk as slowly as you can.

School children walk the streets together, bright smiles and big book bags. You feel envy growling inside you. They can read and write, probably speak more than one language.

Before you turn your head forward to head into the forest, Melissa speaks up.

“Do you want to go to school?”

You spot her arms trembling from the weight of the items.

“No.”

School makes you weak.

“Oh, alright. Let’s go home then.” She smiles, beginning to walk.

Just as you turn around, you see that stranger boy, “Olive,” in that bundle of students. He’s looking at you.

#22 #yandere ushijima #x reader #yandere haikyuu #male reader #gn reader

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nalanzu · 1 year

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Do you remember Weiss Kreuz?

Of course not. No one remembers this show. (This statement, like the show itself, is hyperbole.) For reasons inexplicable to everyone, myself included, I am revisiting it, looking at it now with the perspective of another 20 years of adult life plus a career in health care.

The pilot’s POV character is a one-off victim of the week, to whom we’re introduced as she banters with her boyfriend about being too devoted to her work (this is saved from toxicity only because the boyfriend is clearly teasing and because she clearly enjoys it). We are also introduced to a group of psychotic acrobatic assassins who do things like lick axes and get vital clues to fulfill their contract by looking at the front page of a newspaper. These villains have no skill.

We’re introduced to our heroes as if they’re celebrities, locally famous for being smoking hot and nothing else. (We’re going to have to refer to the promotional materials and the reactions of the crowed for the hotness, because the animation is, uh. It’s lacking.)

Omi, by the way, is smug AF as he tells a woman who has just lost her romantic partner to cheer up by way of a flower. What the actual fuck, Omi, that was remarkably insensitive. A van full of reporters fell on her boyfriend from on top of a bridge, and you want to tell her to just get over it??? (Knowing what I know about Omi, this is very on brand, but it does make him seem like a dick.)

I somehow forgot that their handler wears socks with her sandals, which is also extremely what the fuck and I don’t care how 1997 it was. I did, however, remember the basement rec room/assassin briefing center, which is exactly as batshit insane as the phrase florist assassins.

The story proceeds with the flimsiest of plot contrivances, in which the allegedly intelligent POV character, Michiru, proceeds with what would be a paper-thin investigative story (the people in the van must have died because they were on to a secret and we can figure out what it is! - this is Adam West Batman logic) except that it is being fed to her by one of the idiot villains.

Honestly, one hopes she would not be this naive if she weren’t blinded by grief, but given what I recall from the writing in the rest of the series, this is not the case. Part of how you can tell that much of this was written by men is that the woman agrees to go to a remote location with a man she has barely met with zero precautions, by the way.

What Michiru should find equally suspicious is that her local florists are all in this remote cabin, also with a stupidly flimsy excuse (Yohji is trying to explain to two women he’s dating that he’s not cheating on them and Michiru got the note by mistake).

Incidentally, it bothers me a lot that the remote mountain cabin is under a foot of snow but everyone in town was wearing short skirts and light clothing. Are there rental cabins on Mt. Fuji? Is that where they’re supposed to be? We’re just going to go with it and ignore inconvenient things like geography.

We’ve also been introduced to Ken (cheerful) and Aya (cranky). By the way. And then Weiss very obviously leaves Michiru and her buddy alone in the cabin, where Michiru manages to break into the encrypted disk she somehow had the presence of mind to squirrel away from the crime scene of a van falling off an overpass and crushing her boyfriend right in front of her eyes.

The villains reveal themselves. Michiru is terrified. Weiss dramatically shows up and murders them all to death in a slightly extended fight sequence showcasing their We Don’t Use Guns variety pack of weapons (sword, wire, wolverine claws, and darts). Michiru, having cruelly been used as bait, is left to wake up alone in a cabin full of corpses.

Yohji, by the way, at one point chastises the villains for making a girl cry. Buddy, YOU ARE USING HER AS BAIT. You’re not covering yourself with glory here.

The corpses are also strung up with Yohji’s wire and Omi’s darts are still stuck in at least once corpse. I’m in health care, not law enforcement, but the word evidence comes to mind. Repeatedly. And loudly.

On the up side, Michiru does have the disk with the damning information that the journalists were killed to get (something something energy council politician and illegal nuclear power, idk). So that’s pretty great. But Weiss not only used her as bait, they high-tailed it out of there and let her call them to tell them about the horrifying experience. I. What.

The level of detail paid to plot beyond Look At The Hot Assassins In Leather Clothes is, um. It’s minimal. Granted, this is the pilot, and the amount of exposition is limited, but Michiru is absolutely not reacting reasonably to anything other than being upset that her boyfriend is dead and the villain’s manipulation of her is so clumsy that it’s hard to believe it’s being played straight. I know this is not exactly aimed at a discerning or an adult audience, but damn. I don’t remember the writing being quite this bad.

Damn good voice acting, though.

#weiss kreuz #deconstruction #analysis

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allthewritem0ves · 2 years

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Episode Three: A Grinchy Story

The next morning, the group awoke to find themselves at the Whoville airport. Well, almost everyone in the group, that is. Sam and Gluntz were still snoozing away, both leaning on each other. Pam didn’t want to disturb the two, but they’d probably stay asleep until the plane made its return to Glurfsburg.

She leans forward to shake Sam’s shoulder. “Psst. Sam. Wake up.”

Sam’s eyes flutter open and he straightens up. He rubs

the sleep out of his eyes, yawns and stretches. Gluntz almost face planted on the seat due to Sam no longer supporting her, but the sudden dropping of her head jolted her awake.

“Are we there already?”, Sam asked, his voice still sounding tired.

“Yep. Check it out”, Pam told him, pointing out the window.

Sam and Gluntz smiled at the sight before them. Whoville was a pretty little town built on a hill. It had several brown brick buildings circling every level of the hill with a street running over bridges, which the town seemed to have at least twenty of, if not more. It also appeared that every single house was decorated with at least two hundred bruckles worth of ornaments and tinsel. Further out west, in the flatter region, were more smaller and humbler houses. To the north was a mountain with a footpath leading to a door at the very top.

Even though it couldn’t have been later than seven in the morning, all the Whos were out and about, roaming the streets, either heading to work, running errands or spreading Christmas cheer.

“Wow!”, Sam said, his eyes shimmering with childlike whimsy.

“It’s beautiful”, Gluntz said.

——

Ah, Whoville

A place of Christmas cheer

Their spirit was so high

You’d never known that the Grinch still lived here

But our group stepped off the plane

And barely got to say a sentence of three

When a man in a black suit said…

“Good morning, folks. The mayor has asked to see you. Please come with me.”

Guy looked at the rest with a confused expression. “Is everything all right?”

“Everything’s fine. Just follow me.”

Sam leaned forward and asked, “You didn’t find anything wrong in our bags, right? Because if anyone asks, it’s not mine.”

The man in the suit lowered his head and chuckled to himself. “No, Sam-I-Am. The mayor just asked for an audience with you.”

It all seemed so fast

They’d just walked into the port

Were they in trouble?

Or do the Whos want them to…

You know what? I’m not gonna say that word.

No one else said anything as they followed the man. Pam insisted that no one else say anything, lest they get in trouble. Once outside, they were confronted by the mayor herself.

“Hello and welcome to Whoville. I’m Mayor McGerkle.”

The first one to say anything was Pam. “Hello, Miss Mayor, I’m—”

“I know who you are, Pam-I-Am”, she interrupted. “In fact, I know all of you.”

The group all made suspicious looks at each other.

“How do you know us?”, Michellee asked.

McGerkle held out her hand. One of her bodyguards placed a newspaper in it. She showed them the front page. It was printed from Who.S.A. Today three months ago with the headline: “Unlikely Heroes Bring End To Age Old Feud” with their respective headshots in the adjacent column, said column contained the lengthy interview with the Dookess.

“Oh, that”, Michellee said with an edge of relief in her voice. “Guess you all heard about that too.”

“Are you kidding me? You were all the rage six months ago. It’s not often we get heroes in our town. Well, except for him.” She pointed at the mountain that sat just outside of town. They took a glance at it.

“Who’s in there?”, E.B. asked.

“Why, the Grinch, of course”, McGerkle said matter-of-factly.

“The Grinch?”, Looka asked, just as confused.

McGerkle laughs, turns to her closest bodyguard and remarks with her thumb pointed at the group, “They don’t know about the Grinch.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, Miss Mayor”, Guy said with a bit of sarcasm and an eye roll.

“Umm, I know who he is”, Gluntz says.

“Ah! Thank goodness, someone’s aware”, McGerkle said. “Perhaps you could enlighten the rest of your friends, young lady?”

“With pleasure.” Gluntz steps out in front of everyone and begins to explain. “About a year ago, the lovely citizens of Whoville awoke on Christmas morning to find their homes had been broken into during the night.”

“Just like we did yesterday”, E.B. says.

“Yeah. Exactly like that”, Guy said pointing his finger for emphasis.

Gluntz continued, “Despite the robberies, everyone still had their Christmas spirit and sang around the tree in the town center. But, as it turned out, the Grinch was the one who stole their Christmas. Everyone knew how much he loathed the holidays, but never thought he would act on it. Then, just before he tossed their stuff off of Mt. Crumpit, the Whos singing reminded him of what Christmas was really about, so he returned their things, apologized for the theft and became loved throughout the town.”

“Well that’s all at once”, Looka remarks.

“Yeah. Seems like your average ‘true meaning of Christmas’ story to me. But this has to be my favorite telling of it”, Gluntz finishes.

McGerkle motions her hand toward Gluntz as if saying “There you go.” “Now you know. But, goodness gracious me, where are my manners? I came here to let you know that I’ve reserved the penthouse suite in the hotel for you all, free of charge.”

“Really?”, Gluntz asks, filling with excitement. In fact, most of them were. Guy was feeling a smidge suspicious at how quickly they got the attention of the mayor.

“Of course. I’m also offering you a ride to the hotel in my limo. Should you want to, at least.”

It seemed like a good offer

They had to admit

But Guy kept his suspicions in the back of his mind

He didn’t want the mayor to think he was full of…

(…)

Oh, my goodness! I can’t believe that was almost written in the story!

——

Everyone was seated in the mayor’s limousine, which seemed, oddly enough, bigger on the inside than it did on the outside. She even had large thermoses of hot chocolate to the side. They all helped themselves to a cup, but, unfortunately for Guy, the limo hit a bump in the road and his hot chocolate splashed all over himself.

“Ahhh!”, he bellowed out.

“Oh, my goodness!”, McGerkle exclaimed, quickly grabbing a towel from a drawer under her seat. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Am-I! A thousand apologies!”

Guy pats the towel on his chest. “It’s fine.” As he sops up the liquid on his lap this time, he comments to himself, “Thank Seuss I wasn’t holding Junior.”

Speaking of whom, upon hearing his name, the baby began mumbling, “M-…M-…”

Michellee quickly puts her cup down and picks up her son, “Were you gonna say something, Junior?” Her eyes were trembling with tears ready to fall. This had everyone’s attention now.

“What’s going on?”, Mayor McGerkle asks.

“We think my little brother’s about to say his first word”, E.B. explains.

But instead, Junior just laughed. It was a cute laugh, no doubt about that, but he still didn’t say anything.

“Oh, well. Maybe next time”, Michellee says, putting him back in his carrier.

As they continued to drive through the streets of Whoville, Looka and E.B. stared out the window.

“You know? I’d like to explore this town too”, Looka said.

E.B. smiled and looked at him. “I was thinking the same thing.”

——

Before long, they arrived at the hotel. Mayor McGerkle led them to the front desk and said, “The penthouse suite, my treat.”

“Sure thing, Miss Mayor”, the clerk said with a chipper tone. He hands her two sets of room keys, which she then hands off to the octet.

“Here you are. The suite’s on the top floor at the end of the hall.”

“Thank you, Mayor McGerkle. And thanks for the ride too”, Pam says.

“And again, I’m so sorry about the spill, Guy.”

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“Good. I’ll just leave you all to it.” She walks out of the lobby and back into her limo.

They then take an elevator to the top floor. Thankfully, unlike the elevators in either Glurfsburg or Upper Yipville, there aren’t any half-floors to slow things down. By comparison, the ride barely scratched twenty seconds.

Their suite was unlike any room any of them (except perhaps either Pam or Looka) stayed in before. It had its own kitchen with an island in the center, a billiard table, a washer and dryer, a large flatscreen TV, and four bedrooms (one large, one medium and two small).

“Holy Snuvz, this place is enormous!”, Sam exclaimed.

“And high class”, Looka added.

Then Guy gets everyone’s attention. “Okay, now we gotta assign rooms. Michellee, Junior and I’ll take the large bedroom at the end there. Sam, Gluntz, you two’ll take the medium one.”

“Hold on”, Pam busts in. She directs this question to Sam and Gluntz. “Since there’s an extra bed in the medium room, do you mind if I take that one?”

Sam shrugs. “Is that all right?”, he asks Gluntz. She nods. “That’s a yes from both of us.”

Guy continues, “Well, for your information, I was about to suggest that anyway. But I’m glad you have that settled.” He finishes with, “E.B., Looka, you two take the last two rooms.”

——

As everyone was unpacking

In each of their own rooms

Guy began to tell Michellee

All about the mayor he presumes

“She seemed pretty nice to me”, Michellee said.

“Yes, but the last time a politician was nice to me, I was tasked with making a bomb”, retorted Guy.

“Hmm”, Michellee hummed. “That’s true. But McGerkle knows all about that, and Whoville doesn’t seem to be at war with another nation right now. Seriously, Guy, you need to relax. We’re here to have fun, remember?” She puts her hands on his shoulders.

Guy nods. “You’re right. But it’s still too early to let my guard down. Not only that, I’d really like to give whoever took out stuff a piece of my mind-”. He was interrupted when Michellee suddenly kissed him.

“Sorry. You just seemed tense to me”, she said.

Guy smiled and took Michellee’s hand.

“It’s okay. I needed that.”

——

Let’s get away from those two for a while

For Gluntz and Sam

Are having a moment as well

Under the watchful eye of Pam

After placing all their clothes in their respective bureaus, Sam’s group all sat on their beds, he and Gluntz sharing one. With no prompting, Gluntz turned and asked, “What do you think the baby will be?”

“What do I think?”. Sam thought for a good moment and decided, “A girl.”

Gluntz smiled at him. “I think so too. But I’ll still be happy even if we have a boy.”

“Whatever you have”, Pam rang out, “I wanna be the first one to meet my grandbaby.”

Sam leaned up and said, “Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll be sure of that.” He then holds Gluntz’s hand in his and kisses her on the cheek. This warmed Gluntz’s heart and she leaned against Sam’s shoulder. He puts an arm around her while still holding her hand with the other one.

——

When everyone was done unpacking, they all sat in the living room, not really knowing what to do when there was a knock at the door. E.B. was the one to answer it. Standing in the doorway was a woman dressed in a purple sweater and had a pink headband in her blonde hair. Next to her was a little girl, presumably her daughter since she had the same shade of blonde hair, which she had been cut into a bobcut except for the two vertical braids sticking up like antennae tied at the ends with red bows and she was dressed in a pink coat.

“Hello”, E.B. said.

“Hello, young lady, and welcome to Whoville”, the woman said.

“Thanks. How may I help you?”

“Oh, right. Introductions. I’m Donna Lou Who and this is my daughter Cindy.”

“Pleased to meet you two. I’m E.B. Would you come in and meet everyone else?”

“That is why we’re here.”

E.B. led them from through the hall and to the living room. “Everyone”, she said in a semi-shout. They were all looking at their newly arrived guests. E.B. continued, “This is Donna and Cindy Lou Who. They’ve come to welcome us to Whoville.”

“I guess you remember us from the papers too?”, Guy asks.

“Partly. I was sledding down hill when I saw you all getting out of the mayor’s limo. I recognized you all and I really wanted to meet you. Thankfully, I heard the mayor say something about the penthouse suite and I told my mom and here we are”, Cindy explained, punctuating said explanation with a grin.

Pam mutters to herself, “She’s got a little spy in her.”

“What was that?”, Donna asked.

“Nothing. Just a little self amusement.” She chuckles awkwardly. “Where are my manners?” She walks over to shake hands. “Name’s Pam-I-Am. Pleased to meet you.”

“You as well.”

“I am Sam. Sam-I-Am”, he said, happily greeting the two ladies.

Then one by one, everyone else said their names.

“My name’s Guy.”

“Michellee.”

“Gluntz.”

“Looka.”

When Cindy stared into Looka’s eyes, she felt butterflies in her stomach.

“Why does that affect everybody?”, Looka asked, half flattered, half annoyed.

“What do you mean? Your eyes are very soulful”, E.B. said, walking next to him and talking his hand in hers.

Then there was another knock at the door. E.B. was about to answer it again, but Sam said, “I’ll take this one.”

Upon answering it, Sam was greeted by a large bearded man, dressed in a red Christmas sweater, a green hat and blue pants held up with yellow suspenders.

“Hello!” The man was so loud with his greeting, it could probably be heard in Meepville. “My name’s Bricklebaum and I welcome you to Whoville!”

Sam was pleased to meet someone with as much enthusiasm as him. “Hello, Bricklebaum! I am Sam. Sam-I-Am.”

“Could you please keep it down over there?”, Michellee asked from the living room. “I don’t want the baby to wake up.”

“Oh. Sorry, Michellee”, Sam said. “Won’t you come in?”, he asked Bricklebaum.

When they got to the living room with everyone else, Bricklebaum suddenly rang out, “Donna! Cindy! I made it!”

Cindy laughs and says, “Yeah. We heard.”

Bricklebaum looks at everyone else in the room. “So you people were the ones that ended the butter battle?”

Sam removed his hat and did a really hammy bow. “That we are!”

“Cool!”

More introductions were shared

With their loud but friendly guest

And the girl and her mother

All of whom seemed the best

Over the next half hour

Our gang explained their plight

And getaway to Whoville

To make things right

Donna, Bricklebaum and Cindy

Listened with open ears

Then offered some help

In placating the loss of their Christmas souvenirs

“You really want to help us?”, Guy asks, feeling a sudden wave of excitement.

“Of course. And I know the perfect person to do it”, Bricklebaum said. “My neighbor and best friend in the whole world, Mr. Grinch.”

When Guy heard Bricklebaum describe the Grinch that way, it reminded him of how Sam would introduce himself in relation to Guy back when they were relocating Mr. Jenkins. He almost slipped into a flashback, but he quickly caught himself, remembering the offer for help.

“Do you think he’ll be able to help us?”

“Wouldn’t hurt to try, would it?”

Then Pam stepped forward, pulling the solenoid out of her pocket. “I’m sure he can help us figure this out.”

“What is that?”, Cindy asked.

“A solenoid. Apparently the idiots who robbed their house dropped this in the snow. Now, I don’t know if it was an accident or intentional, but I think it just might help us figure out who’s behind this.”

Cindy palmed her hockey stick in one hand. “They better hope that they don’t come by me.”

“Oh no, young lady. That’s too dangerous”, Donna said.

“Come on, Mom. You know I was just kidding.”

Upon hearing her concern for her daughter’s safety, Michellee, like Guy before her, felt a hit of nostalgia in her heart. She also wanted to recommend a pair of friendship bracelets, but 1) Cindy wasn’t her child to worry about and 2) she lost them back in Meepville three years ago.

But in the meantime, Pam was carrying on her talk about the solenoid. “Do you really think that Grinch could help us?”

“Without a doubt”, Bricklebaum said.

“In that case, I’d like to ask him.”

“Me too!”, Guy exclaimed, sounding almost as full of glee as when he worked in the Zookian Institute of Technology. “You know, inventor to inventor.”

“Even better!”

“I’ll go too”, Michellee said. She turns to Sam and asks, “Sam, do you think you can keep an eye on the kids?”

“Sure.”

“That reminds me”, Bricklebaum said. “Who’s watching Buster and Bean right now?”, he asked Donna.

“My mother”, she answered.

“Who are Buster and Bean?”, E.B. asked.

“My little brothers”, Cindy told her.

“How funny. I have a little brother too.”

“Aww! Where is he?”

“In the bedroom, sleeping.”

“What’s his name?”

“Guy Jr.”

“Well, I hope to see him when he wakes up.”

With their younger brothers

And protective mothers as bonding points

E.B. and Cindy pretty much

Became friends upon these anti-disjoints

“You know, I was wondering. Cindy, could you give me and Looka a tour of the town? We were discussing it earlier and were hoping to get around to it.”

“I’d love to. I can also get my friends to come too.”

Having heard all of this, Gluntz then says, “I guess that leaves Sam and me to watch just Junior while everyone’s out?”

“I guess so”, Sam answered. “You sure you guys won’t need a chaperone while you’re exploring?” He asked the girls.

“Oh, please. Everyone here is so nice, it makes me wonder why we have a jail”, Cindy remarks.

#green eggs and ham #the grinch #guy am i #sam i am #eb #michellee #gluntz #pam i am #looka #donna lou who #cindy lou who #bricklebaum #mayor mcgerkle #oc #philip trousers #snerz #fanfic

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waitimcomingtoo · 4 years

Text

Dummy

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Synopsis: Peter is the only one of the Avengers who doesn’t tease you for being a little slow

Masterlist

Now you weren’t exactly dumb.

You were just a little slow.

When you joined the Avengers last year, the team learned pretty quickly that your mind moved at a different pace than everyone else. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing and it didn’t keep you from doing your job, it just meant you were the butt of most of the jokes. Every time one of your blunders happened, your intelligence would be mocked in some way. You knew it was all in good fun, but it hurt to it feelings every now and then. The only person who never poked fun at you was Peter. And for that reason, he was your favorite on the team.

“How are there 23 minutes left in this movie and I still don’t know any of the characters names?” Steve wondered as you all sat in the couch in Stark Towers, watching a movie on a particularly rainy afternoon.

“I think the main kids name is Phoenix. That’s all I got though.” Sam shook his head, just as confused as Steve.

“The dogs name is Benson.” Bucky mumbled quietly.

“Who names their kid Phoenix?” Peter wondered out loud as he shoveled popcorn into his mouth. The two of you were tucked into the corner of the couch, sharing a blanket and bowl of popcorn. You looked at him like he was crazy when you heard his question.

“Ummm, Joaquin Phoenix’s parents.” You scoffed and rolled your eyes. You turned your attention back to the movie as a silence settled in the room. You felt everyone’s eyes on you after a minute and looked around to see everyone staring at you with a dumbfounded expression.

“What?” You asked shyly, shrinking down a little in your seat in discomfort.

“That’s his last name.” Sam stated, chuckling a little under his breath. You realized your mistake and felt your face heat up.

“Oh.” You mumbled, your voice getting drowned out as the rest of the Avengers laughed at your expense.

“Did she really just say that?” Nat looked at the group with a playful smile. Everyone, excluding Peter, nodded as their laughter died down.

“Oh my God.” Steve chuckled. “That’s so stupid.”

There was that word again.

He didn’t mean it maliciously. Steve was the kinda of guy who ushered spiders into a magazine so he could let them outside. And yet, it still stung when he said that word.

Stupid.

You smiled sheepishly and tried to focus on the movie, snuggling closer to Peters side until it ended. You were fully aware that he was the only one who didn’t laugh, and you loved him that.

And maybe you loved him for a few other reasons too.

“Alright. Who has money for the subway?” Sam asked the group as he patted his empty pockets. You were on another late night trip to get cookies from a specific shop in Times Square, leaving without Tony’s knowledge. Everyones hands went to their pockets and collectively made a face.

“Not me.” Rhodey shrugged.

“I don’t have any.” Bruce added.

“I don’t even have pockets.” Nat realized.

“I have gum.” Peter proudly produced a silver wrapper from his pocket. “Oh wait, it’s just a wrapper.”

“You’re telling me we’re earth’s mightiest heroes and we’re broke?” Sam shook his head is disdain.

“I gave my last dollar to a guy in the subway for playing music.” Peter defended himself.

“What was he playing?” You asked him as you tiredly leaned against his arm.

“A mandolin.” Peter answered, making your face scrunch up.

“That’s a language.” You laughed at him slightly, feeling empowered by having the upper hand. Everyone looked at you and a few of them snorted.

“Mandarin is a language.” Bruce said gently, not wanting to embarrass you further. “Not mandolin.”

“What?” You blinked in confusion and looked to Peter for answers.

“A mandolin is an instrument, dummy.” Sam chortled. You smiled tightly as the group laughed at your mistake, looking down to hide your blush.

“Oh. Sorry. My bad.” You laughed shyly as you tucked your hair behind your ear and pretending to read a nearby sign.

“That’s okay.” Peter spoke up in your defense. “They sound really similar. Plus like, French, French Horn. Who knows what’s going on?”

“Yeah.” Bucky said softly. “Or like, bra’s aren’t pointy anymore.”

Bruce nodded like it made perfect sense and Sam just shook his head as he texted.

“What?” You whispered to Peter, not knowing what he meant.

“He’s from the 1920s. He’s still adjusting.” Peter whispered to you out of the corner of his mouth before looking at Bucky. “That’s the spirit. Kind of.”

“FRIDAY is sending a car.” Sam informed the group. “This is never happening again. The cookies aren’t that good.”

“They’re pretty good.” Rhodey shrugged, but wanting the late Nate tradition to end. Sam looked at him for a moment before breaking into a smile.

“Hell yeah they are. Let’s do this again tomorrow.”

Bruce found you in the lab the next day with a pin between your teeth and a pencil behind your ear. Papers with drawings of suits were scattered around the table as you measured a piece of black fabric.

“What are you doing?” Bruce wondered as he took a seat across from you. You glanced up at him before marking a dot on the fabric.

“Mr. Stark asked me to help him with the new suits. I’m trying to make a fabric template for Nat’s gloves.” You told him as you smoothed the fabric out.

“Is it hard?” He asked, watching you intently as you worked.

“Not really.” You shrugged and took a step back to examine your work. “Okay. How many holes do we need? 1,2,3,4,5.” You counted your fingers. “Okay. Five holes.”

You sat back down and put five dots where her fingers would be to mark where you had to cut. You heard a slight chuckle from Bruce and looked up at him curiously.

“Did you just count your fingers?” He asked slowly, wanting to make sure he saw what he thought he had. “To know how many fingers Nat has?”

Your face burned when you realized how dumb you looked, in front of a scientific genius no less.

“Oh, Uh, yeah.” You stammered, feeling very insecure with him watching you now. You moved slower than before and second guessed moves you’d already made a hundred times. Bruce sensed your discomfort and got out of his seat, tapping the table twice as he thought.

“Have you ever heard the expression “the lights are on but nobody’s home’?” He asked you and you were grateful he changed the subject.

“Yeah, I think I have.” You smiled, proud of yourself for knowing something.

“It reminds me of you.” Bruce said so politely that you didn’t realize it was an insult at first. He left the lab to find Tony, leaving you feeling embarrassed and a little hurt. Everyone knew Bruce could hurt you ten times worse with his words than the Hulk could with his fists, you’d just never been his target before. You slumped down in your seat and continued making the gloves, your mood significantly dampened from before he came in the room.

You walked into the kitchen the next morning, sleepily rubbing your eyes. You pressed a chaste kiss on Peters shoulder as you passed him, also more affectionate to your best friend when you were half asleep. You smiled at Rhodey, who was seated at the bar and skimming through a newspaper.

“Did you eat yet?” You asked him through a yawn as you got out yogurt and fruit for yourself.

“No. I needed my coffee first.” He smiled sleepily at you and held up his mug.

“Oh, you mean your sugar with a spoonful of coffee?” You teased him. “Yeah, it’s good you got that out of the way.”

“I prefer it this way. The sugar wakes me up.” Peter defended his drink as he took a sip.

“That’s what the caffeine is supposed to do, mi amor.” You laughed as you ruffled his bed head ridden hair. He was about to make a comeback when his stomach rumbles loudly.

“Someone’s hungry.” You remarked. “Do you want eggs?”

“No thanks.” Peter shook his head. “I can’t eat eggs alone.”

“Well I’m here. And Rhodey’s right there, so you’re not alone.” You told him. “And I can grab Steve and Bucky. They’re just in the other room.”

Rhodey looked up from his newspaper with raised eyebrows and looked at Peter. Peter set his mug down and made a face at Rhodey that told him not to say anything. You looked between the two of them in confusion as you wondered what was going on.

“I meant alone as in without toast, sweetness.” Peter said gently, not wanting you to feel dumb for misunderstanding. “But I am glad you’re here.”

“Oh.” You faked a smile and shrugged like it was no big deal. Peter had handled the situation with ease and you didn’t feel as embarrassed as you normally would. That is until…

“You know, Y/n, it’s a good thing you’re pretty.” Rhodey nodded before going back to his newspaper. You froze with your spoonful of yogurt midway to your mouth and looked at him. He didn’t actually call you dumb, but it was implied. You looked at Peter to see if he was thinking the same thing, but his face had nothing but kindness on it.

“You are pretty.” He agreed with Rhodey. “But you’re a lot of other things too.”

You cracked a smile and rubbed his back for a moment in appreciation.

“Thanks Peter.” You said softly and went back to your breakfast. Not wanting to worry him, you ignored the way Rhodey’s comment made you feel and tried to push it from your mind. But no hard you tried to focus on other things, you had one thought prodding at the back of your head.

You were dumb.

A week went by without anyone poking fun at your intelligence. You had a sneaking suspicion Peter had something to do with the lack of comments, but you said nothing. It was nice to have a break from all the teasing and it made hanging out with the team more enjoyable. You all lingered around the kitchen one day, eating all different kinds of lunch when Tony came in the room.

“Eat up, funky bunch.” He clapped his hands. “We have a mission in Alaska to train for and I need all hands on deck. Cap, do you think you can teach Peter that spinny thingy you do?”

“I can try.” Steve looked at Peter and nodded.

“Great. I’m getting a manicure. I’ll be back around noon.” Tony informed you all.

“Wait, I thought you said all hands on deck.” You tilted your head at him.

“I did. Which I why I have to make sure my hands look the best.” Tony waved flirtatiously, wiggling his fingers around like a teenage girl. He smirked as his action was met with some eye rolls and a few chuckles before leaving the room.

“I can’t believe we’re going to Alaska.” Peter nudged you excitedly and you smiled with glee.

“Is Alaska the same as the North Pole? Or am I thinking of Antarctica?” Sam wondered out loud.

“No. The North Pole is all the way at the top. Alaska is below California. Like by Texas.” You said confidently, proud that you knew information that someone else didn’t. Your pride quickly dissipated when you saw the teams faces twist in amusement.

“Wait a minute.” Steve looked at you like you were joking. You shrugged, letting him know you weren’t. Sam burst out laughing and clapped his hands as the rest of the team began to laugh.

“Absolutely not.” Sam grinned as he wiped a tear from his eye.

“Yes it is.” You insisted. “Look at any US map. It’s on the bottom by Hawaii.”

You were getting angry now. You knew you were right this time and they were still teasing you.

“No.” Bucky shook his head is dismissal. “No.”

“Alaska is below California on every map I’ve ever seen. You’re telling me I’m wrong?” You our your hand on your hip and stared at them.

“100%. I am 100% telling you you’re wrong.” Sam said between his laughter. Peter came to your side and showed you a picture of a map on his phone.

“Alaska is US territory but it’s not connected to the rest of the states. They just put it below California on maps to show it’s a part of the US. Thats not actually where it’s located.” He said quietly. You looked at the map for a few seconds before you realized he was right. And if he was right…

You were wrong.

“Oh.” You smiled apologetically and averted your eyes. “Oops.”

You turned around and pretending to clean up the kitchen to hide your searing blush. Your fingers clenched around your sponge when you heard the teasing laughter from behind you.

“Sometimes I wonder how you made it out of high school.” Steve joked as he threw out the crusts of his sandwich. The comment stung you and you began to scrub the counter faster so you could leave the room sooner. Peter could see your shoulders tense and put a reassuring hand on your back. You gave him a tight lipped smiled before putting your dish in the sink.

“I’m still wondering how she made it out of first grade.” Nat teased you and she poked your side.

“I can’t believe she made it out of the womb in the first place with nobody telling her where to go.” Sam said, making everyone laugh loudly. You abruptly threw a dish in the sink, making everyone go silent. You tuned around slowly and faked a smile.

“Haha. Yeah.” You forced a laugh. “I’ll catch you guys later.”

You swiftly left the room before anyone could catch your tears. You felt stupid for even getting upset over it, but their words hurt. Feeling like you were always the dumbest person in the room was taking a toll on you, especially when you weren’t the only one who felt that way. Peter watched you leave with sympathetic eyes, feeling his own frustration bubble at the sound of the team laughing at you. He thought they had listened the first time he told them to stop making fun of you, but they clearly hadn’t. After seeing the pained look on your face, Peter made a decision.

It was never going to happen again.

“Ugh. I’m never gonna get this right.” Peter groaned as he messed up the move Steve was trying to teach him once again.

“You’re getting too much inside your head. Just let it happen naturally.” Steve instructed as he resumed his stance. Peter tried the move again, wiping out and landing on his side with a thud. You watched him out of the corner of your eye as you spared with Nat.

“I can’t.” Peter got up and rubbed his arm. “I can’t do it.”

Steve nodded, like he was accepting Peters defeat. You stopped sparing and looked at Peter.

“Yes you can. Come on, Peter.” You encouraged him. “Everyone told Van Gogh that he couldn’t be an artist because he only had one ear but he did it anyway.”

The room feel silent, as it often did when you spoke, and everyone looked down.

“Oh dear Lord.” Rhodey sighed and hung his head and he snickered. You could see everyone else fighting back laughter or cracking a smile, yet saying nothing.

“What?” You crossed your arms in annoyance, looming to Peter for help.

“He chopped his ear off after becoming an artist.” Peter said kindly. “He wasn’t born without one.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but Tony beat you to it.

“Speaking of ears, do you think of you shone a light in one of Y/n’s ears, it would come out the other ear?” Tony quipped, making everyone laugh. The tips of your ears burned as that feeling of stupidity sunk in again. You undid the Velcro on your boxing gloves and pretended to wipe sweat from your face as you rushed to the bin where the gloves went. You kept your back to the group and pretending to be putting your gloves away when you were really concealing your pained expression.

“Yes.” Nat jeered. “Yes I do.”

Your shoulders slumped with exhaustion as you turned around, making every effort to keep your face neutral. Your face didn’t give away any signs of sadness, but your knuckles turning white from how hard you were gripping the bin gave your true feelings away. Peter noticed this and felt his jaw clench. If you weren’t gonna tell them to stop, he was.

“Leave her alone, guys.” He commanded the crowd before looking at you. “Thanks for the encouragement, Y/n. I’m gonna keep trying.”

“It’s fine.” You nodded curtly. “I’m gonna hit the showers. I’ll see you guys at dinner.”

You walked out of the gym, pausing in place when you heard Sams voice.

“Hit the showers?” He laughed. “We just started.”

“Shhh. Don’t confuse the poor girl any further.” Bruce joked back. You looked back at the gym with your eyebrows knit together, taking a quiet step closer to hear what they were saying about you without you there.

“She’s probably like, ‘whats this magic closet that makes rain?’” Rhodey imitated your voice, making you sound as dense as possible.

“Knock it off guys. It’s not funny.” Peter snapped, but the teasing continued.

“Or like, ‘this shampoo says it adds volume, but I used it and I can’t hear any louder than before’.” Tony mocked you, skipping around a little like a child. Your face contorted in misery as they made fun of you. You knew who they really were, and they were good people. They didn’t intend to hurt your feelings, they were only joking around like they did with everyone. Steve was teased all the time for his old fashioned dialect and no one lets Tony live down the kimono incident. Still, all their insults and mockery cut you like a knife.

“Ahh, I love that girl.” Nat shook her head with a smile. “She’s so dumb.”

“She may be slow, but she’s entertaining as hell.” Sam nodded in agreement.

“I said knock it off.” Peter repeated, getting a reaction this time.

“Aw. Peters mad because we’re teasing his girlfriend.” Nat pouted and pinched Peters cheek. She quickly realized how wholesome she was being and punched Bucky in the face to maintain her lethal assassin persona.

“She’s not my girlfriend.” Peter grumbled. Now that you were out of the room, he was the next target.

“He’s right. Hey, maybe that’s why you guys haven’t gotten together yet.” Rhodey shrugged. “She’s too stupid to realize you’re in love with her.”

That was all you had to hear. You ran towards your with tears running down your face. Thanks to Peters advanced heating, he heard every heavy footstep.

“Okay. Maybe she is a little slow.” Peter shook his head in disdain at the team. “But you guys are idiots.”

You were quiet the entire way to Alaska, keeping to yourself and silently looking out the window. Peter attempted to talk to you once or twice, but he could tell you wanted to be alone. The Avengers completed the mission within a few hours with minor damage to the area. Peter focused on his job but found himself looking for you every now and then, being as you usually stayed together during missions. He didn’t see you anywhere and assumed you were doing your own thing on the other side of the field. He heart rest assured when he saw you boarding the jet, still looking reserved and aloof from the rest of the team. You took a seat by the window and rested your chin on your hand, looking out at the bleak landscape in front of you as the jet took off. Peter didn’t engage in small talk with the rest of the team and wistfully stared at you instead, silently willing you to cheer up.

“I think that went pretty well.” Rhodey nodded and the team agreed. “But where were you the whole time, Y/n? Picking daisies?”

Peter held his breath as you slowly turned around. You gave Rhodey a frigid smile and shook your head.

“We came during a blizzard so I used my powers to create a heated force field around the area we were in to prevent frostbite and give you guys and easier time seeing in the snow. We were also at a higher altitude than any of us are used to so I kept the air pressure to sea level standard.” You said simply. “And I assumed there would be smoke from the battle so I rounded up the nearby animals and made a separate for field around them to protect their lungs.”

The room went silent, something you were used to at this point. But instead of everyone falling silent because they were laughing at you, they were impressed.

“Oh.” Rhodey blinked in surprise, not expecting the answer he was given.

“I also picked this flower.” You smiled proudly as you produced a Forget Me Not from your lap. Peter couldn’t keep the grin from breaking through on his face. You were the center of attention once again, but in a good way this time. Everyone was pleasantly surprised with what you had done and it showed.

“I didn’t think about the altitude.” Nat realized.

“I had no idea there was a blizzard.” Steve added, looking dumbfounded.

“Because I kept you from knowing.” You shrugged. “I wanted you guys to focus on the mission.”

“I mean, I knew. I just didn’t tell you guys because I was so distracted by my buffed and polished nails.” Tony twiddled his fingers again, showing off his freshly manicured nails. You all laughed, breaking the tension in the jet.

“Well look at that.” Sam looked impressed. “Y/n knew something we didn’t.”

It was almost a compliment, but it still made you feel insecure. You didn’t want it to be this mind boggling every time you did something useful.

“Thanks, Y/n. That was really smart.” Peter said softly as he patted your knee. You put your hand over his and squeezed it. It was the first time someone called your smart, and it made you feel good.

“It was really smart.” Sam said skeptically. He stared at you for a moment before poking your side.

“What are you doing?” You swatted his hand away.

“Just making sure you’re still in there.” He eyed you suspiciously. Peter could sense the attention was making you uncomfortable and changed the subject.

“Are we almost home?” He asked Tony before peering out the window. The flight was a little over 7 hours on a normal plane, but the Stark jet was much quicker. The flight would only take a few hours, but Peter was not known for being patient.

“Yes, Peter. We are almost back at the tower. You can get your diaper changed and your bottle as soon as we get back.” Tony sassed him, making him shrink in his seat. Your body language had completely changed and your were now sitting straight, facing the group. Peter was glad you were feeling better and didn’t even mind Tony’s comment.

“Guys, let’s be civil. We’re all tired. We all want to get home.” You said calmly. “Let’s just focus on how pretty the sky looks tonight. Isn’t is pretty, Peter?”

He gazed at your profile as you looked out the window at the stars, admiring how pretty you looked from the side.

“Yeah. It’s beautiful.” He conceded without ever taking his eyes off you. You shot him a smile before looking straight ahead at the dashboard.

“Wow, the moon is huge!” You pointed time a large yellow crescent that could be seen through the window.

“That’s literally the reflection of my banana on the windshield.” Tony deadpanned. He may have been right, but it still looked pretty.

“Should we make a wish?” You asked Peter, ignoring Tony’s comment.

“On the banana?” He asked.

“Yes.” You nodded. “On the banana.”

“Why?” Rhodey asked. “It’s not like people wish on the moon.”

“It feels like we should.” You said with confidence.

“Yep. She’s still in there.” Sam chuckled. And just like that, your confidence receded.

“I hate it here.” Bucky sighed heavily and tuned out of the conversation.

“It must be so peaceful being you, Y/n.” Tony remarked.

“Why do you say that?” You wondered.

“Because instead of thinking about your problems and mistrials, you simply don’t think at all.” Tony said suavely. In only a better for minutes, you’d gone from being the hero to the laughing stock of the group. The sly comments and taunting laughter made you feel like you should stop opening your mouth entirely. You faked a smile and turned back towards the window, tuning out the rest of the way home. Peter chewed his lip as he stared at you, feeling useless to helping you out. The team just wouldn’t let up, no matter how many times he told them to stop. Knowing you weren’t in the mood to talk, he scooted closer to you and put a comforting hand on your back. You smiled warmly at him and rested your head on his shoulder, listening to him point out the constellations the whole way home.

The next day, you and Peter were sitting in the balcony, working on some new gadgets for Mr. Stark when Peter made a startling discovery.

“Where’s my right web shooter?” Peter stood up in a panic when he realized it was missing. “I left it right here.”

“Maybe a bird carried it off.” You shrugged as you twisted a tiny screw into Peters left web shooter.

“I’m being serious, Y/n.” Peter stated. “Mr. Stark is going to kill me and turn me into a decorative rug if I lost it.”

“I’m being serious too. We live in New York and I see birds around here all the time.” You told him as you continued your work. “And you know the pigeons here are feral. A bird probably stole it to pay for his child support.”

Peter usually entertained your antics and joined in with his own batch of sarcasm, but he wasn’t in the mood. His web shooter was missing and their were actual stakes involved. Without his web shooter, he couldn’t be Spiderman. And without Spider-Man, he couldn’t be an Avenger.

“Can you be serious for once?“ Peter whined, picking up everything on the table to look under it.

“I’m just saying it’s possible, Peter. You never know.” You insisted as you put your screw driver down to help him look. You began looking in the flower pots on the windowsill that you and Peter had planted. Peter stopped his search for a moment, growing angry with you for wasting time. He didn’t know if you were joking around or genuine believed his web shooter was in the flower pots, but it made him frustrated nonetheless. A combination of his lack of sleep and stress over losing the webshooter manifested into a moment of unchecked rage.

“No, it’s not possible.” He snapped. “A bird didn’t steal my web shooter. God, do you have to be so stupid?”

The word hung in the air for a moment, settling in to the both of you. Peters eyes immediately softened, feeling instant regret for what he had said. You stopped trifling through the plants and slowly turned around.

“What?” You asked quietly. Peter tightened his lips into a line and tried to justify what he had said.

“I try to defend you but you make it so hard. Can you help me out a little here and not be so…” He trailed off when he realized he had only made it worse. Your face hardened and you looked disappointed in Peter, which killed him. He would have preferred anger or even sadness, but the disappointment killed him.

“So what?” You shrugged. “Finish your sentence Peter.”

“I didn’t mean that.”

“No, really, go ahead.” You stated coldly. “You got this far. So what, Peter?”

He looked at you for a moment, getting that feeling of wishing you could turn back time just a few seconds to fix a mistake.

“So dumb all the time.” He finished his sentence with an unsteady voice. Your face scrunched up in a pained expression as you sucked in and let out a shaky breath.

“You were the only one who never called me that.” You whimpered before moving past him and going inside. Peter watched you through the open balcony doors as you disappeared into the hallway with a heavy heart. His mouth was open to apologize, but you were long gone. He’d seen you being ridiculed so many times already, and now he was the one doing it. All that talk about it never happening again, only for him to be the reason it happened. Peter couldn’t live with himself for another minute without you knowing how sorry he was. He took a step towards the doorway until he heard a pigeon land on the table. He watched it curiously for a moment as it pecked at the screwdriver you had been using before picking it up with its beak. It flew over to the edge and began to walk along the railing, still keeping the screwdriver in his mouth. Peter followed the pigeon, walking all the way down the balcony to find a large nest in the corner. He watched as it dropped the screwdriver into its nest, right next to his web shooter.

“Holy shit. A bird stole my web shooter.” Peter said in disbelief. Peter watched as baby pigeons poked out from inside the web shooter to greet the other pigeon.

“Holy shit. A bird stole my web shooter for his kids.” Peters eyes widened even more than they already were. Realized struck him and his shoulders slumped.

“She was right.” He mumbled, angry at himself more than ever. “I yelled at her and she was right.”

Peter wasted no time in rescuing his web shooter from the birds, offering them a nice biodegradable coffee cup in its place, and ran to the kitchen to make you a peace offering. He knocked softly on your door and didn’t wait for an answer before going in.

“I made you this cup of tea as an apology.” Peter stiffly held out a mug with an awkward smile on his face. You looked at Peter from your bed, eyes puffy like you had been crying. You stared at each other for a long time, you with a death glare and Peter with his awkward smile. Neither of you said a word as Peter continued to hold out the mug. After two full minute of silence, a bead of sweat ran down Peters face as he looked around nervously, never breaking his smile. You let out an angry sigh and decided to throw him a bone, crossing the room to accept his mug. You looked into the cup for a moment before looking back at Peter.

“This is empty.” You deadpanned.

“I don’t know how to make tea.” Peter whispered, never breaking eye contact.

“I’ve seen you make it.” You snapped.

“I forgot how to do it.” Peters eyes shifted nervously to the side.

“Bucky was in the kitchen, wasn’t he?”

“I know he hates me.” Peter talked over you as you groaned. “I know he does.”

“Just go away.” You tried to close the door but he kept it open.

“No.” Peter said firmly. “I came in here to apologize.”

“You see this?” You held up the mug for a Peter to see. “It’s my cup of care. And look at that” ,you dumped the cup over, “it’s empty.”

Peter stared at your demonstration with raised eyebrows, surprised that you were still able to be sarcastic when he hurt you. Peter took the mug from your hands and set it on the ground before slowly looking up at your face.

“You’re not stupid.” He said softly with all the sincerity his heart could give. You scoffed and folded your arms, looking to the side when you felt tears sting your eyes.

“Yes I am.” You said like you fully believed it, which was Peters worse fear. “Everyone says so. Even you.”

It hit Peter like a sheet of glass when you looked at him like that.

Like he was someone you didn’t want around.

“I didn’t mean to say that.” Peter apologized. “That is not how I feel. At all.”

“Don’t act like you’ve never thought about saying that before.” You laughed sadly. “Everyone on the team calls me dumb. It was only a matter of time before you did it too.”

“I didn’t mean it.” Peter repeated. “I don’t think you’re stupid.”

“Bullshit.” You snapped. “You’re so full of bullshit.”

“I’m not full of bullshit.” He whined like a child and gave you puppy dog eyes. “I’m full of regret.”

You chewed the inside of your cheek as he gave you his best pout, willing you to forgive him. Finally, you caved and cracked a smile.

“I hate you.” You stamped your foot and hung your head, frustrated with yourself for not being able to stay mad at him. Peter opened his arms and you walked into them, arms still folded angrily. You bumped your forehead against his shoulder before moving to rest your chin on it as he wrapped his arms around you. Peter nestled against your hair and sighed, happy that you had forgiven him but still saddened that he had hurt you in the first place. He could see the pile of used tissues on your bed and it killed him to know he made you cry.

“I didn’t mean to call you that. I really didn’t.” He said softly. “I’m the one who’s been trying to stop people from saying that.”

“But they still do it.” You sniffled. “Everyday I get called dumb or stupid or scalene.”

“I think it’s obtuse, not scalene.” Peter reluctantly corrected you. You pulled away and little and let Peter wipe the tears from your face.

“Maybe they’re right.” You shrugged and looked Peter in the eyes. “Maybe I am dumb.”

Peter kept your face between his hands, staring at you for a moment before sighing.

“I once sneezed so many times in a row that I peed my pants.” Peter deadpanned. “I was 17.”

“What?” You chuckled as you wiped your nose.

“I saw Bucky try to take a piece of toast out of the toaster with his metal arm and electrocute himself.” He continued. “And I constantly see Tony bumping into glass doors.”

“I don’t understand.” You squinted your eyes, but sure what point he was trying to make.

“Steve still picks up the phone and asks for the operator. Nat leaves her curling iron plugged in all the time. I do not think Sam knows the address of where we live and I’m pretty sure Rhodey can’t do laundry. He gets all his stuff dry cleaned, even his socks.”

“Why are you telling me all of this?” You asked.

“Because were all dumb.” Peter concluded. “We all do and say dumb things. You don’t know where Alaska is and no one in this tower can read analog clocks. If we’re all dumb, then maybe none of us are dumb. Or we all are. Who cares?” Peter shrugged, making you laugh. “And you were right. A bird did carry off my web shooter. So no, you’re no dumb. Or stupid. Or obtuse. You’re, uh, you- you…” Peter looked down at he fumbled over his words.

“I’m what?” You raised an eyebrow. You could finish his sentence last time, but this time you were lost.

“You’re…” Peter tampered off again, staring at your confused expression for a moment before pulling you into a kiss. Your hands clenched into a fist and slowly uncurled as you relaxed into the kiss. Peter pulled away too soon and let his eyes flutter open. They met yours and you shared a moment of hesitation, not knowing what happened rest next.

“I’m gonna be honest lovey, I didn’t really have an ending to that sentence.” Peter chris joes softly, his breath fanning your face. “That was mainly improv.”

“You’re pretty good at improv, Parker.” You cracked a smile and wrapped your arms around his neck.

“I did a little bit of theater in high school.” He shrugged smugly, making you giggle.

“Mmm. I severely don’t want to hear about that.” You teased before kissing him again.

“Oh, I think you do.” Peter remarked. “Because I once went to the bathroom during intermission with my mic still on and the entire audience heard me peeing.”

“Oh my God.” You laughed. “You’re so stupid.”

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randomshyperson · 3 years

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The Scarlet Witch Prophecy - The Fourth Year (Part I) - Chapter 04

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

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

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

Chapter Words: 9.832K

Authors note: In this one I start to explore more of the magical bond between reader and wanda, and well, it will be very much about that from this one on. I need to know if you all prefer longer (and more detailed) chapters about the reader's years at hogwarts like this one (which has been divided into three parts) or if you prefer the pace of the first three chapters (with only the relevant events of the whole year). Enjoy your reading.

//-// x //-// //-// x //-//

It's very different having Nebula and Gamora at home.

You were used to having only Tony and Jarvis, and occasionally your father, but now that you have your friends sleeping in the next two rooms, you always have someone your own age to talk to and laugh about the same things.

It took a while for things to normalize, especially the first week. Thanos was furious about the letter that Gamora sent him, saying that they would live with you now. He showed up in the yard of your house the next day, and you have never seen your father so enraged.

They talked for many minutes, and then Thanos demanded to speak to his daughters. Nebula was trembling as she walked out the door, but your father stayed by their side during the entire conversation.

When they went back inside, Thanos left. Two days later, your father signed the adoption papers.

You were surprised when you discovered that Nebula was as passionate about magical mechanics as Tony, so it didn't take long for it to become commonplace for her to disappear into the basement of the house along with your brother, both of them wrapped up in some strange invention. You and Gamora usually spent most of your time in the backyard, she reading some Arithmanian stuff you didn't understand, while you played quidditch, or the two of you tended the garden. Mantis also came to visit you in the summer, and Groot was the size of a small dog now.

You exchanged many letters with Wanda during the vacations. And when Iron brought another one of them a little after dinner, on the antepenultimate week of vacation while you and Gamora were in your room talking about the coming year, she acquired a mischievous look on her face.

"What do you guys talk about so much?" She teased as you took the letter from Iron's beak. You shrugged, feeling your face heat up, and thought it better to look at the paper in your hands than Gamora's face.

“I don’t know,. Everything i think”. You answer.

Gamora is silent as you read the letter. You smile, because it is as if you hear Wanda's voice in the words you read.

"Can I ask you something?" Gamora speaks next, you make a noise with the little one in agreement, without taking your eyes off the paper. "Have you ever kissed anyone?

"What?" you ask in surprise, raising your eyes to her. "N-no."

Gamora's arms are crossed and she's sitting on the bed, and she raises her eyebrow in disbelief.

"Is that so?" She asks and you swallow dryly, confirming. Her expression softens. "I'm only saying that because a lot of people start dating in third grade."

You close the letter in your hands, placing it on the shelf beside you. Ignoring how the subject makes your stomach flip with nervousness, you rest your hands on your knee.

"Do you think we'll start dating too?" You ask shyly, and Gamora smiles, shrugging.

"Who knows?" She retorts. "I never thought about that either. But I do know that Pietro kissed Monica on the mouth after our leave vacation inside a cabin on the Hogwarts express."

"Are you for real?" You asked in surprise. "How did you find out about that?"

"Quill wrote to me last night." She says. "I forgot to tell you."

"Wow." You say.

"Yeah." She agrees. "Peter told me that Pietro turned red as a tomato, but kept smiling. I thought Wanda would tell you that."

You bit your tongue to avoid mentioning that you and Wanda don't talk about such things, and cleared your throat before shrugging.

"Maybe Pietro didn't say anything to her." You say. "I probably won't tell Tony when I have my first kiss."

"You're probably right." Gamora said casually. "But you're going to tell me, right? When you kiss someone, you need to tell me how to do it."

You laughed, walking over to Gamora.

"I promise I will." You say extending your pinky to her. She looks at you confused, "It's a pinky promise, haven't you ever sworn like that?"

"That's muggles' stuff." She comments with a smile, and you laugh.

"Yeah, my dad probably learned it from my mom." You say using your other hand to take Gamora's hand. "Come on, you put your finger like this, and then we swear."

Gamora laughed as she followed your commands, and then you repeated the promise. After you yawned, she bade you goodnight and went to her room.

You fought the urge to reread Wanda's letter, and threw yourself on the bed, not understanding why your brain was replaying Gamora's questions in your mind and you kept thinking of Wanda afterwards.

//-//

The Quidditch World Cup is happening this year, and you can hardly contain yourself with excitement.

You had been to the event a few times when you were younger, but now that you actually played quidditch it was a very different feeling.

Your favorite team was the Guardians of the Galaxy, who had played for England for many years, and were also your father's favorite team. Tony stopped liking them the first year, saying that they were losing too many games, but you knew it was because Steve Rogers was rooting for the Brooklyn Soldiers team and Tony was trying to impress him.

All your friends will be at the event, including many thousands of other witches from all over the world.

You have to wake up at dawn in order not to miss the time of the portal keys that have been scattered around the country by the Ministry of Magic, to prevent wizards from being seen disappearing into inappropriate places that could expose the magical world.

When you came down to the kitchen, everyone was already having breakfast. Your father kissed your forehead as he walked past you, a mug of coffee in one hand and a newspaper in the other.

"Finally awake, sleepyhead." Teased Tony when he saw you, you just yawned.

"Are we leaving already?" You asked sleepily, grabbing some toast.

"Yes, dear." Her father replied looking at his watch. "Get ready soon, or we'll miss the schedule."

You grumble in agreement, hurrying to get back to your room and take a shower.

When you are ready, and stretching as you walk to the outside of the house, Gamora joins you, a backpack on her back resembling yours.

"I can't wait to see the foreign wizards." She comments excitedly making you smile. Gamora didn't like the sport, and was far more excited to see the witches from the rest of the world than to watch the match.

"I bet there's going to be some Ilvermorny people's stall." You say as you catch up with your father, who was waiting next to Tony and Nebula. Jarvis waves goodbye to you from the doorway, and you begin walking toward the trail beyond the mansion grounds. "They are so show-offy."

Gamora laughs.

"I've never met anyone from the United States." She counters. "But some witches from Japan have been to my house."

You know that the mention of home or Thanos makes Gamora very uncomfortable, so you try to skirt around the subject.

"I guess Nurse Cho was from Mahoutokoro, huh?" You comment, and Gamora shrugs. "Thor had mentioned that during a class, I think."

"I wonder if the other schools are cool like Hogwarts?" She asks, and you smile.

"No place is like Hogwarts."

Gamora laughs, but agrees. You walk in silence for a few more minutes, and it is only when you reach an empty area that you stop.

"Here we are, people." Your father says next, slightly tired from the exercise. He waves for everyone to form a circle as he checks his watch. "Two minutes to go, children. Stand in position please."

There is a small cloth boot in the center of the circle, and you are not the least bit surprised because you know that portal keys are usually the most mundane things you can think of.

You all reach down and touch the boot with your fingertips. You smile at Tony who looks up at you. Two minutes later, you feel a tug, and everything spins around you. Taking a deep breath, you focus on controlling yourself as you are falling into the portal key. And then you land on the ground.

"Here we are." Your father says smiling beside you. You look to the side to see Gamora helping Nebula to stand up properly, as she had remarked that she gets a little queasy with this kind of magic. Tony throws an arm around your shoulders next.

"Ready to see the guardians lose, kid?" He teases causing you to let out a humorless laugh.

"You wish." You grumble pushing Tony lightly, who lets go as he laughs.

And then you start walking again, until you come to a place considerably noisier than where you were before.

The ministry seemed to have bypassed an area with low chains, and you notice the magical aura around the metal, signaling that everything was magically hidden.

There is a wizard in uniform at the entrance, and he collects the tickets before letting you pass into the hut area.

There are many tents of the most varied characteristics. You laugh in surprise when your gaze catches a conjuration exactly like a vacation castle, but much smaller in size. As you walk through the crowd, your father asks everyone to hold hands so as not to get lost as he guides you to the area where you would be staying.

Your father has rented a tent in a more private area of the place, and there are hardly any witches where you are. You like the silence, but you miss how much more fun the other place seems.

"The Rogers and the Barnes should be here by now I imagine." Your father comments as he waves his wand to open the cabin. You enter the room next, it is like a small winter home inside, very cozy.

"Yes, dad." Tony replies throwing his backpack on one of the couches. "I wrote Steve last night."

Howard grumbles in agreement, walking to the kitchen. You place your backpack on the floor next.

"Daddy, can I go look for Wanda and Pietro?" You ask and your father laughs, denying it.

"You didn't eat anything before you left, honey." He says turning around. "Eat something and then you can go look for them."

You grumble, but agree. While you are making some eggs, Steve's family arrives.

"Howard, you outdo yourself every year, my friend." Joseph Rogers comments as he enters the cabin. Your father smiles cheerfully as he hugs him in greeting, then greets Sarah, Steve's mother, with a kiss on the cheek. He ruffles Steve's hair and pats his arm, repeating the same gesture to Bucky, who follows behind.

" Is your father not here, James?" Howard asks next, and Bucky clears his throat.

"No, sir." He replies. "Since my sisters can't come, he took them to a music event in the muggle world. If you want my opinion, rock concerts are as cool as quidditch."

The comment makes Howard laugh in agreement, but Steve's family doesn't seem to understand very well.

Soon they were all around the room, talking animatedly about the most varied subjects. You exchanged a complicit look with Gamora and Nebula, and you took advantage of your father being involved in a conversation with Joseph to leave the cabin.

"Do you have any idea where Professor Lehnsherr has placed the tents?" Gamora asks you once you are outside and you look around.

"No." You reply. "Wanda just wrote that she and Pietro were going to be here too, but I don't even know if it's Magneto that's bringing them."

"We're just left to look then." Nebula concludes and you nod in agreement, starting to walk.

You walk back to the common tent area, looking around.

Gamora and Nebula are easily distracted by the amount of interesting things to see, and almost lose track of you when some witches from the Salem Institute hand them some exchange pamphlets.

It is only at the food stall that you finally find who you were looking for.

"My god, is that...?" You hear Gamora exclaim next to you in surprise. You know she was talking about Professor Lehnsherr, who is wearing jeans and a T-shirt and sunglasses and looks very well, and has a completely different posture than he usually has in class, but you are not looking at him anymore.

Your stomach is restless because you are looking at Wanda, wearing a black skirt with knee socks and boots, and a red jacket. She looks beautiful, and you are blushing.

Gamora waves to them from a distance, and it is Pietro who notices you guys first, waving back cheerfully while nudging Wanda on the shoulder. She blinks in confusion and then smiles when she sees you.

You think your legs have turned to jelly, but you continue walking toward her.

"It's so good to see you girls" Pietro exclaims happily as he hugs Gamora.

"Hi, Wanda." You greet with a half-hearted smile, but Wanda's face lights up and she jumps at you, hugging you tight, and making your heart soar. "It's good to see you too." You whisper humorously against her hair, and Wanda releases you with a reddened face, smiling widely.

"I missed you." She says to you shyly making you look away clumsily, but before you can add anything else, Pietro is greeting you as well, and Wanda does the same with your sisters.

"Hello everyone." Said a male voice next, and you stared at Professor Erik awkwardly. He didn't seem bothered by being approached by any of you, however, a hot dog in his hands.

"Hello, Professor Lehnsherr." You and your sisters said in unison, but the man had an almost friendly expression.

"Don't worry about being formal while we're here, girls." He says. "We're just sorcerers in here, looking for a little cheap entertainment."

You and Gamora exchange a look, not knowing exactly what to say next. Professor Erik sighs, and then looks at his children.

"You can go spend some time with the Starks, twins." He says making his kids let out excited exclamations. "Be back by the start time of the match, please. I don't want to lose sight of you in a place with so many people of unreliable origin."

You don't quite understand what "unreliable origin" means, but you don't question it, excited to spend some time with the Maximoffs.

After Erik gives them a few galleons to buy whatever snacks they want, you walk back to the cabin.

//-//

You spent the whole afternoon with all your friends in the cabin, playing magical games, practicing simple spells, and trying to guess the outcome of the match. When the first warning alarm sounded, you all let out a chorus of excitement.

You ran to your room, looking for the cheerleader accessories you had obtained, while ignoring the teasing Tony was throwing at you about the opponent team's sure victory.

He and the Rogers were all wearing blue and white scarves, bracelets and hats, which represented the colors of the Brooklyn Soldiers.

Your father was wearing a big red jacket with the symbol of a gold star, the team's mark. You gave him one of the buttons you brought.

Pietro was also rooting for the Soldiers, along with Nebula and Bucky, so you didn't try to lend any of your accessories to them.

Wanda was in the room when you put a blue scarf with gold accents around her neck.

"For you to support the team." You commented excitedly, without any idea that Wanda's flushed face was because the scarf smelled like you.

"Thanks." She said shyly, and you just nodded, holding some bottons on her shirt.

Gamora borrowed one of the hats you brought.

When you walked towards the stadium area, all the other spectators were leaving their tents and tents and going in the same direction, so the crowd was even bigger. You did your best not to get lost.

Once inside the iron structure, you felt someone nudge your shoulder.

"Pietro and I need to find Dad." Wanda said and you waved, but then frowned, nodding back.

"I think he found you first." You comment while watching Erik look at you as he enters the same iron corridor. He looks at your family and friends next for a moment, his expression serious. "See you after the game, right?"

"Of course." Wanda smiles before touching your arm lightly. You still feel the touch many moments later.

//-//

The match is absolutely incredible. It is even better because the guardians win with a remarkable difference when catcher Jean Gray captures the Snitch after the second half, the stadium vibrating in celebration.

It's a complete mess after that. There are fireworks, and a lot of noise. Even though they lost the match, all the Brooklyn Soldiers fans are so impressed with the incredible match that they join the celebrations.

You stumble out of the stadium between laughter, Gamora's arm around your shoulders as she laughs at the dance that your father and Joseph are doing on the way back.

Fans of the Guardians continued to light the celebratory fireworks, and there was a huge fireworks scarlet dragon streaking through the skies above your heads.

Your dad and the Rogers family go back to the cabin while you stay outside with Bucky and your friends, wanting to enjoy the rest of the fireworks display. You also want to see Wanda again.

"The Guardians are very excited, aren't they?" Bucky comments with a laugh, noticing an increase in the volume of the crowd's screams. You laugh and you look at the sky again.

When you blink, there is an explosion noise in the distance, so muffled by the other sounds that it makes you confused. Your friends don't seem to have heard, and you step forward, watching the crowd closely.

You see a lot of people laughing, and dancing, and it takes a minute for you to also notice those who are running.

"Guys." You call in confusion, and Gamora who was closest to you turns around with curiosity. "I think there is something wrong."

Another explosion occurs and this time everyone listens. The crowd in front seems to gradually realize that there is something wrong going on. And then the firework dragon in the sky is fading, considerably dimming the lighting.

Your father came out of the hut the next moment, a concerned look on his face, and the wand in his hands.

You feel a panic rising in the pit of your stomach when people start running and screaming, and you notice spells being cast from a distance. You were thinking it might be some kind of cheering team fight, but the possibility is completely ruled out when you notice the masked men in the crowd.

"Get your things now." Order your father out loud and then you are all moving back to the cabin, picking up all your belongings quickly. You hold the backpack tightly against your shoulders when you go out again, complete chaos around you. Your father, Joseph and Sarah lead you among the people, shouting that you need to get back to the portkey. You gasp in surprise when you feel a twinge behind your eyes, and you are struck by a vision of a forest. This little delay is enough to make you stay behind and lose sight of your family.

But you are not looking for them anyway. Your feet are spinning in the opposite position, and you are pushing people to run. You need to find Wanda.

//-//

You end up at the end of the camp, the tents far behind you. The sound of confusion drowned out by the distance. Feeling a new stab of pain in the head, your knees give way and your body lowers, while you raise your hands to your face, immediately being hit by a vision. This time you see a shadow of a tall figure, perhaps a man, standing in front of you. There is a metallic taste of blood in your mouth, and you want to get away, but there is something holding you back. When you blink, you're back the end of the camp.

You don't understand what's going on, and there is a feeling of hopelessness and helplessness in your chest, but you keep walking, crossing the magical chain and moving into the forest. You fall to the ground on your knees a moment later, intense pain all over your body. Gasping, you look up, only to see a green light form in the sky.

At first you thought it might be fireworks, but it was magic. The symbol of a hydra conjured in the clouds was beginning to move, and your entire body weighed.

You looked down, and your eyes caught a figure in the woods. It was a man, but he was too far away and you couldn't see his face. He had his wand raised to the sky, clearly being responsible for conjuring it up. Your head started to spin in pain, and you rested your hands on the ground to try to normalize your breathing, and then the man looked at you.

You felt your heart race when he started walking towards you, but then there were screams and footsteps, and he ran. A moment later, your father was kneeling beside you.

"Darling! Are you okay?" He asked worriedly raising his hands to your face looking for bruises. You sighed, still in pain. Only when the aurors of the ministry of magic raised their wands to the sky and made the mark disappear, you feel your body relieve immediately.

"I saw a man." You confessed breathlessly, and your father looked at you with confusion. But the wizards of the ministries seemed quite interested.

"Where, child?" Asked one of the aurors, you gasped slightly, feeling your body tremble a little.

"He went in that direction." You say pointing. "He was the one who conjured."

The woman nodded in understanding, and left after whistling for the rest of the Aurors to follow her. Your father helped you to stand.

"Honey, listen to me carefully." He said in a mixture of concern and seriousness. "Don't tell anyone about this."

“What, daddy? I don't.."

"Honey, please." He interrupts by stroking your cheeks with his thumb. “I will explain everything to you, I promise. But this needs to stay between us. You can't tell anyone what you saw in the sky.”

You swallow dry, but agree. Your dad doesn't let go of your hand all the way back to the portkey, and when you rejoin your friends again, you lie and say you just got lost in the food stall area after he gives a little grip on your fingers.

//-//

Your father doesn't explain anything to you.

When you return home, he receives urgent howlers from the ministry, and then he returns to the ministry of magic.

You are walking around the kitchen, outraged that you were prevented from looking for Wanda on your way out of the stadium and you have no idea if she is okay.

"What if the Maximoffs have a phone?" You grumble to yourself, but then you remember that you don't even have the number. You press your hands to your face, trying to calm yourself down. Wanda was fine. She had to be.

Gamora and Nebula are sitting on the couch, discussing something with each other, looking concerned. Tony locked himself in the room after Howard refused to tell him what was going on.

You don't understand why you have this horrible feeling in your chest, and you can't stop wondering if Wanda is okay, and then you support your hands on the table, trying to normalize your breathing and stop yourself from crying.

"Hey, breathe." You are almost startled by the voice at your side. Gamora touches your back tenderly, and you shake your head, feeling the tears flow. "She's fine, you need to breathe."

"You don't know that." You snap out of breath, and then Gamora puts her hand on your shoulder, asking you to look at her.

“We met Erik on the way out while you got lost. They left before you came back. ” She tells and you blink confused. “Wanda is safe. Breathe."

You gasp, and then your body relaxes as if a weight has been lifted off your back. Gamora looks at you with a mixture of concern and confusion, but you sigh, hugging her in appreciation.

"Thank you." You whisper against her hair. "I should have asked."

When you let go, she still looks at you with concern.

"Yeah, I know." She says assessing her face. "You should have asked how anyone else would do it."

You frown, not understanding what she is saying. But she still looks at you, suspicious.

“It looks like you were barely listening to us when your dad brought you back. And then I find you like that, and one word is enough to get you back to normal. ”

"What do you mean, Gamora?"

"I'm worried about you." She says. "I don't know what it is, but there is something strange about the way Wanda affects you."

You change the weight of your feet, uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation.

"What are you talking about?"

"She's talking about you not being able to bewitch Wanda." Nebula adds by getting up and walking over to you. You blink confused, ready to say that story was too old, but the girl is not intimidated. "She's talking about the way you behave around her."

"I don `t…"

"It's not just about liking someone." Nebula interrupts and you feel your cheeks heat up. "Gamora thought it was because you are in love, but that seems like something else."

Something in your stomach falls. You gasp in surprise.

"I'm not i-in love!" You exclaim with a racing heart. "I'm not…"

Gamora sighs impatiently, messing with hair. And trying to calm you down, she puts her hands on your shoulders next.

"Listen to me, okay?" She asks. "There's something weird about the way you care about Wanda. We don't know what it is, but you need to admit that you can see that too."

Facing your friend back, it takes a moment while you think of your words, for you to speak again.

"I saw a mark in the sky." You confess, deciding to disobey your father. Gamora blinks in confusion, and you clear your throat before you clear up everything that happened. Her hands fall off your shoulders when she opens her eyes wide for your confessions.

"Are you sure it was a hydra?" Nebula asks seriously and you wave.

"Do you know what that means?" You ask, and the girls exchange a look, but before they say it, you hear another voice.

"It is the Mephisto mark."

You get scared of Tony coming down the stairs, his gaze on you as he walks over to where you are. He folds his arms when he reaches you.

"Which means death walkers are back."

"Tony ..."

"You said you saw a wizard." He interrupts seriously. "Do you have any idea who it is?"

"No." You embarrassingly deny it, feeling your stomach sink with the look Tony is giving you. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You are the one who's been weird." He replies. "I'm just trying to understand what's going on."

"What did you mean by that?"

"What did you see in your head?" He counters with another question and you start to get angry at the way he is behaving, but tell him anyway. Tony sighs impatiently, turning in the opposite direction. He circles the room for a few moments before speaking again. “Daddy is never going to let us get involved in this. Especially now that you are having visions in your head. ”

"I still haven't told him about it." You grumble and Tony looks at you in surprise.

"Then don't say anything."

"What?" You exclaim with a frown in confusion. "What you mean? I need to say. I have to find out what it is. ”

Tony laughed incredulously.

"You still don't get it, do you?" he retorted. "Dad won't tell us anything. He didn't tell us about being an Auror, or about being friends with Professor Lehnsherr. He didn't even bother to try to understand why you can't bewitch Wanda!" Tony squirms angrily, and you shrink your body to the pitch of his voice. But he sighs, running his hands through his hair, and softening his expression. "I'm sorry, I'm not angry with you. It's just... I don't like being lied to."

You looked away, feeling tired. All this talk was making your head hurt, and the previous events had affected you more than you would like to admit.

"I don't know what we can do about this." You say. "I don't understand what's going on, and Dad would be the first person I would ask something, but he's not willing to help us. I feel like I'm at a dead end."

Tony lifts his arm to your shoulder, trying to reassure you.

"Hey, don't be so concerned about it." He says. "I'll find out what I can, and well, we're going back to Hogwarts next week. You and Wanda can try to figure out what this connection is about, while I try to figure out what's going on at the ministry."

You nod in agreement and Tony smiles, hugging you briefly. You hope that despite everything, you will have a quiet year at Hogwarts.

//-//

The Maximoffs are not on board the Hogwarts express.

You are in the same cabin as your friends, squeezed in because not everyone can fit in there, and you take several turns with Peter and Darcy in turn to sit down, while you are spread out in the corridor.

"No sign of Wanda, huh?" Gamora asked as she saw you looking around the hallway for the tenth time while you were standing outside the cabin, listening to Mantis tell you about her summer from inside.

"No." You reply. "I talked to her Slytherin colleagues, but none of them were very happy to tell me anything. Wanda didn't say anything in her last letter."

"Maybe she will arrive in a flying car, I hear they are popular." She jokes, making you laugh briefly. You can't ignore the nervous feeling in your stomach, and you sigh. Gamora places her hands on your shoulders. "Let's find something to distract you, okay? How about some explosive snap?"

//-//

Laughing at Quill's joke about the last statement in the Daily Prophet, as you walked off the train with the rest of your friends toward the castle.

A chorus of excitement coming from some students ahead of you caught your and your friends' attention, who looked in the direction curiously.

"Is that a ship?" You heard someone ask as they pointed in the direction of the lake.

There was a large old ship, right in the center, coming toward the castle. Everyone looked on excitedly.

"Students, please continue toward the castle!" Drax loudly commanded the crowd, and the students exchanged nervous whispers, all extremely curious to know who was coming to the castle. You swapped a glance with Gamora before following the crowd.

//-//

Already seated at the Hufflepuff table, you startled slightly when Mantis touched your hand.

"Calm down, you're making it snow." She asked gently. You shook your head, realizing the cloud you had accidentally conjured up above you. You had been so nervous the last few minutes, which only got worse when your gaze failed to find Wanda at the Slytherin table, and to no avail was the look of reassurance Gamora threw at you when she said she would ask her colleagues about her over dinner. As soon as you sat down at the Hufflepuff table, you played with your wand between your fingers, and before you knew it, it was snowing.

"Sorry about that." You mumble clumsily, putting your wand back away. Mantis is not angry, her look is one of concern.

"I'm sure everything is fine with Wanda." Mantis says to you, and you sigh, running your hand through your hair.

"I think so too." You say. "I just don't know why I can't stop thinking about it."

"Y/N..."

You lost your attention completely on Mantis as your gaze reached the door of the hall just as you noticed the figures entering. Wanda and Pietro, walking hurriedly to the Slytherin table, being two of the last students to enter the hall before the door closed. You made mention of getting up, but Mantis held you by the shoulders.

You were about to complain, but she pointed in the direction of the teachers' table, and you rolled your eyes, because the welcoming speech was about to begin. Your gaze remained on Wanda, but she was looking straight ahead. The only good thing was that the feeling of worry in you diminished considerably now that you were seeing her.

"[...] and I am proud to tell you that a very special event will take place at Hogwarts this year: the Triwizard Tournament!"

You are startled slightly when Headmistress Harkness' words reach your ears at the same moment that the main hall explodes in hubbub. You lose sight of Wanda because people are moving excitedly, and Mantis is nudging you to look forward.

It is only now that you notice the large stone globet and the blue flame displayed in front of the bench. You blink in surprise, feeling your face flush because you spent all the minutes of the speech staring at Wanda without realizing it.

Then the principal speaks again.

"Of course, the ministry has determined rules for the safety of the students." She recounts. "No student under the age of seventeen will be allowed to participate in the tournament, in addition to the dueling rules..."

The principal's speech was drowned out by the chorus of protests from the younger students, especially those in the fifth and sixth grades. You raised your eyebrow slightly, because you noticed that your brother was one of the boys who was shouting in annoyance.

Agatha then made a stern expression, clearly annoyed at having been interrupted, and it took only a few moments for the hall to become completely silent, and for her to smile again.

"Note that the other participating schools will be staying with us this year." She continues her speech. "Please welcome the students from Durmstrang Institute."

The doors to the main hall opened again, and a small crowd of students wearing thick winter coats entered. A tall, shabby-looking man with a scar over his right eye was at the front, guiding the students.

"Agatha!" Greeted the man with open arms as he reached the headmistress. Agatha smiled as she hugged him, and you tried to get a look at the new folks, as did the rest of the school, who were looking excitedly at the crowd. You let out a surprised exclamation when you recognized one of the faces. Your classmates also seemed to realize who it was, because many whistles and comments were heard.

"That's Jean Grey, isn't it?" Peter Parker asked sitting next to you. When you confirmed it, he widened his eyes. "Wow, I didn't know she was still in school."

"She's the youngest catcher of the century, Parker." You commented with a smile.

"She's very pretty, isn't she?" He retorted, and you made a noise of agreement.

The students reached the front of the hall next.

"It's good to have you here, Yondu." Said the headmistress. "How was the trip?"

"Wet and noisy, woman!" Rebutted the man humorously. He didn't seem too excited to greet any other teachers, focused only on the woman in front of him. Agatha looked at the students next.

"Please feel free to join any of the empty seats, all the houses were honored to accommodate you." She warned the students, but they only moved after Yondu waved lightly at them.

You bit the inside of your cheek, noting that almost everyone sat down at the Slytherin table. Yondu joined the students next, not failing to take a good look at the goblet before sitting down.

Agatha looked down the hall again.

"Let us also welcome our honored guests from Beauxbatons."

The students at Beauxbatons' institute seemed nicer the first moment you saw them, but as soon as you noticed the way their cloaks were bewitched to land gracefully on the floor as they moved, you figured they must be the kind of people who wouldn't be happy with Hogwarts' cleaning schedule.

The principal of Beauxbatons was a tall, stout woman, very beautiful. She had a crown on her head, and you wondered if the people of Beauxbatons were royalty in some way.

"Ovette, it is an honor to have you with us." She greeted Principal Agatha, but unlike before, her smile was cold, almost fake. The other woman didn't seem happy to be there either, but returned the greeting in the same formality.

The Beauxbatons students sat down at Gryffindor's table, and you giggled when Quill grimaced at you from his table as one of the boys sat down next to him.

Suddenly you felt very hungry. And dinner didn't disappoint.

"I think you'd better wait to talk to Wanda tomorrow," Mantis remarked next to you as soon as you finished eating. You frowned, looking at her.

"Why?"

"Professor Lehnsherr has been staring at the Slytherin table like he's going to cast a good behavior spell at them the entire dinner." She counters as she looks at the teachers' table. You look just in time to catch Erik with a stern look toward the students who were talking loudly on the end before he went back to eating his potato salad.

"Maybe he just expects better behavior while we have guests here." You comments, glancing back to the Slytherin table. Wanda's gaze has not searched for yours all dinner, and you are starting to get annoyed by this.

"If you're going to risk it, I suggest you do it before curfew." Mantis quips as she looks down at her own lap. Groot is trying to steal her piece of chicken, and she smiles as she hands him a loaf of bread.

You look around. All the students are sitting at their respective house tables, and despite the loud buzz of conversation, no one is standing. You know that if you stood up, and walked to the other side of the room, everyone would look at you. Sighing in annoyance, you rest your face on your hand and your elbow on the table, giving up on talking to Wanda during dinner.

When dessert arrives, you become distracted.

//-//

Your best idea is to catch up with Wanda at the end of dinner, but you frown when she doesn't get up from the table along with the other students. The next moment, Professor Erik is joining her, and the crowd of Hufflepuff students pushing you out makes you lose sight of her.

You mumble softly to yourself when you have to go back to the dormitory, and Mantis gives you a short smile, equally annoyed by your nervousness.

//=//

You tried to sleep. Maybe at some point you did.

After you went back to the dorm with everyone else, put on your pajamas and turned off the lights, you think you fell asleep almost immediately. But there was no rest.

The minute you fell asleep, you were somewhere else, fully conscious.

It looked like a graveyard, and there was a lot of smog. You turned over, feeling breathless, and saw a red light, maybe it was a spell. The next moment you woke up, panting, opening your eyes and immediately sitting up in bed. Surprised at the amount of sweat on your shirt, you frowned.

The dormitory was completely dark, and everyone was sleeping around you. You felt thirsty, and as you tried to understand exactly what you had dreamed, you left the room.

The rest of the common room was also empty, and you sighed as an idea crossed your mind. Biting your lips, you shook your head. No, you were not going to sneak through the dormitory into the Slytherin hall, because that was absolutely against all the rules, and more importantly, it would be weird.

Ignoring the sudden urgency you felt to follow your idea, you forced yourself back to your dormitory, hoping that you would be able to sleep again.

//-//

The next day, you had no need to look for Wanda, because she found you first.

As soon as you left for breakfast, accompanied by Mantis, you gasped in surprise as you felt some jump on you just before the entrance to the main hall.

"I missed you." Wanda sighed as she wrapped her arms around your neck. Some students looked at you curiously, but you didn't mind, circling Wanda's waist to return the hug.

"I missed you too." You retorted by hiding your face in her neck, feeling your whole body relax with the scent of her perfume.

But a sound of someone clearing their throat broke the moment, and Wanda turned away from you, her cheeks flushed.

"You saw each other last week." Pietro teased with a slight frown on his forehead. He didn't press the matter, however, greeting you afterwards.

You made your way to the Slytherin table, your newly awakened friends looking sleepy as they lazily enjoyed their breakfast.

After greeting everyone, you sat down next to Gamora, who was looking at the daily prophet.

"Not a word about what happened in the Quidditch world cup" She commented indignantly. The group shared the same reaction. "All the news is about the triwizard tournament being held at Hogwarts."

"Maybe they don't want to cause a panic." Quill then reasoned. You knew that he, as well as Mantis, only knew about what happened in the cup because of the letters you and Gamora sent.

"It just seems like they are hiding the truth." Gamora retorts without taking her gaze off the paper. You glance at the figures moving around before turning your attention back to your coffee.

"Clearly corrupt wizarding ministry matters aside, is anyone here going to try to sign up for the tournament?" Quill asked next, causing you to frown as Nebula and Gamora gave a giggle.

"No one here is of age." You comment with confusion, but Quill gives a wry chuckle.

"You Hufflepuff people are adorable." He teases making you laugh. He stretches his arms out to Pietro and Monica's shoulders next as he is sitting between them. "My Gryffindor buddies have found the perfect solution to solve this problem."

You look at the three of them curiously. Gamora rolls her eyes, and turns her attention back to the cereal.

"Let me guess, aging potion?" Nebula then suggests, and Quill lets out an impressed exclamation.

"Look at you Nebula, who would have guessed? I'll make a troublemaker out of you yet." He jokes, but Nebula just raises her middle finger at him, making the rest of the table laugh.

You are slightly distracted because Wanda asked you to pass the jelly to her and your fingers brushed against each other, and you had to keep it together, unaware because the sensation spread a tingle across your skin, so you are startled when Quill lets out an excited exclamation next.

"I just remembered!" He says. "I didn't complain enough about the cancellation of the Quidditch cup between the houses. I was sure Gryffindor would win this year."

Wanda lets out a wry chuckle, and Quill makes a mocking face at her, tossing a piece of bread in her direction.

You like to see your friends like that, playing with each other. The next moment, Mantis asks how Quill intends to get past the goblet spells to put his name on it, and the boy spends the next few minutes arguing that the aging spell is enough to break the enchantment, and your friends seem happy to argue with him about it.

//-//

You're not sure how you're going to tell Wanda that you need to talk to her about the events of the vacations, and the cup, and well, your connection to her, so you ignore the suggestive look Gamora throws at you after coffee and decide to put it off for as long as you can.

Your classes seem to have gotten even harder and more boring, but you struggle. It's even trickier to pay attention when the whole school is excited about the triwizard tournament, and there' a lot of noise between and during the classes, after a while, the teachers give up on calming the moods.

Without Quidditch, you have free periods, and you use this time to spend with your friends, either playing witch chess or explosive snap, or even getting some practice with your broom.

The foreign students get more comfortable as time goes on. You would think that they would be sleeping in one of the dormitories, but they are staying on the ships and in the carriages that they have come on.

The only times you got a glimpse of Beauxbatons' carriages was on the way to the class on the Tract of Magical Creatures, and you weren't the only one trying to get a better look, but the guardian Drax was quick to scare off any curious people who got too close.

With three weeks of classes, the atmosphere at Hogwarts had changed a lot. You knew it was because the date for choosing champions was approaching, and everyone seemed to be holding their breath about it.

Pietro and Quill actually proceeded with the idea of trying to fool the goblet with an aging potion. You and the girls joined them in the room where the magic object had been placed, and witnessed them try. And fail miserably. Wanda was worried that Pietro had been hurt when he was thrown across the room trying to get through the protective circle, but as soon as she saw his aged face, she laughed, and all the girls followed her.

Pietro and Quill were annoyed for three seconds before they began to laugh as well.

You fell silent the next moment, however, because Jean Grey entered the room accompanied by Headmaster Youndu, both of whom looked at you all reproachfully.

Jean placed a piece of parchment in the flame, and you all watched with some admiration as the goblet accepted her inscription.

The small admiring smile you had on your lip completely disappeared when Jean looked at Wanda on her way out, her gaze flashing in a way that made your stomach turn the wrong way.

When Pietro started talking about how amazing it was to have a famous player at school, you didn't feel excited about the idea anymore.

//-//

After your double period of potions on Thursday the last week of September, you could practically catch the anxious tension of your classmates in the air.

At dinner that night, the school champions would be chosen and even you, who were more concerned about the lack of news from home and the way Tony was clearly avoiding your presence, were curious to know who would be chosen.

The Goblet of Fire had been moved to the center of the main hall and you joined the Hufflepuff table with Mantis, noticing the warning look that Headmistress Okoye cast at anyone who was not behaving in the most chivalrous manner possible, but you didn't remark on it, noticing the wizards wearing formal attire at the teachers' table, probably being employees of the Ministry of Magic and reporters for the Daily Prophet.

A characteristic buzz was going on among the students, but the room fell silent as the students from the other schools entered the hall together with their principals.

When Headmistress Agatha began the selection ceremony, everyone seemed to hold their breath.

"[...] Tonight the goblet will choose the one who is worthy to represent their schools in the triwizard tournament. The ceremony of choice begins now." She gracefully presents, wand in hand. Agatha touches the tip of the goblet next, and the flame on the top changes to red briefly, expelling a piece of parchment through the air. Agatha catches the item between her fingers. "The champion of Durmstrang is Jean Grey."

The room erupts in applause and tears of celebration. You clap happily too, completely forgetting about that day in the hall. You knew that Jean had become quite popular among the Hogwarts gossips, especially since she is already a celebrity, so the reaction of your classmates was not a surprise to you.

You and the rest of the students watched as she accepted the parchment from Agatha before greeting the ministry wizards, and then walked into the small door behind the teachers' desk. As she left, everyone was silent again.

Principal Harkness repeated the wand movement on the goblet, and the flames turned blue again. She paused briefly before announcing the next champion.

"Beauxbatons' champion is Maria Hill!"

You watch a very elegant girl get up from one of the front seats and walk in the same direction as Jean amidst the applause. The commotion is a little less than Grey's, but you know that it is only because Grey was famous.

A moment later it is the turn of the Hogwarts champion, and you are much more excited for this.

Agatha also seems more excited about this, a small smile escaping her lips before she repeats the wand movement.

When the parchment falls into her hands, she reads it aloud.

"The champion of Hogwarts..." She begins and her expression falls, her frown frowning. The brief suspense only makes everyone even more anxious. "Wanda Maximoff."

The crowd's reaction is remarkably different from the other champions; the hall explodes into a buzz of accusations of cheating, pointing out that Wanda was underage, and even snide remarks about a Slytherin representing the school, but you were barely listening. A wave of preoccupation takes over your body completely, and you look around the table for Wanda, but she is already standing up, her chin held high despite all the negative comments. She accepts the parchment Agatha hands her and heads in the same direction as the other champions.

Harkness makes another movement with her wand and the flame from the goblet goes out. In the next second she is leaving the room, being escorted by the other directors and the ministry officials to the Hall of Champions. As soon as the door closes, the hall explodes in agitated hubbub, and many people stand up.

As the teachers call for calm, especially for the Gryffindor students who accuse the Slytherin of cheating, you and Mantis stand up and join your friends.

"I can't believe that just happened." Gamora comments as soon as you reach her, as impressed as she is concerned.

Your gaze searches for Pietro however, and he looks upset.

"Comrade, your sister is the champion of Hogwarts! She managed to do what we were trying to! Why the long face?" Quill asked his friend excited and confused, but when he went to hug Pietro, he pulled away, an angry grimace on his face.

"I can't believe Wanda kept this from me." He grumbled, you and your friends looked at him in surprise.

"Come on Pietro, maybe she didn't think it would work and didn't want to say anything." Quill suggested but the boy shook his head.

"No you don't get it." He retorts. "She absolutely could not have risked doing something like that."

And then he turns away, and heads for the teachers' table. You and your friends are left with puzzled expressions, but upon noticing that he looked like he was going to be talking to his father for quite some time, you return to your conversation.

"I can't believe Wanda didn't tell anyone about putting in the name on the goblet, that's incredible." Quill adds. Nebula begins to argue how dangerous it was for someone without enough magical acquaintance to be in such an ordeal, and your stomach does a turn. You walk away from the conversation, heading toward the group of Tony's friends who were standing a few feet away from you.

"Hey, your friend just caused a stir around here." Tony jokes as soon as you reach him.

"I noticed it." You retort as you spot Professor Strange separating with a spell a student who jumped on top of another. "Everyone is talking about how dangerous it is for her to participate, can you tell me anything good about it?"

Tony laughs at the desperation in your voice.

"I figure eternal glory and the thousand-gallon prize is the good part." He teases, and you run your hands through your hair, trying to ignore the urge to go into that little room and find out if Wanda is okay. Tony assumes a serious expression next, and lowers his tone, not that it was necessary, since everyone seems wrapped up in their own conversations. "You also find it strange that this happens after what happened at the cup, don't you?" He asks and you nod. Tony sighs. "Maybe this is a good time for you to talk to Wanda, little sis. About how you feel about her. And well, maybe as you help her practice for the tournament, you guys can figure out what that connection means."

You nod, feeling your cheeks warm. It was still strange how all your friends knew about the way you cared for Wanda.

You wanted to ask Tony if he had found out anything since you last talked properly, but Professor Strange ordered everyone back to their dormitories the next moment, and after Tony messed up your hair, you turned and headed toward the Hufflepuff students who were leaving the hall.

//-//

There was no way you could sleep without talking to Wanda, so you risked an detention by sneaking out of the dorm after curfew. Mantis grumbled at you to be careful before turning over in her sleepy state, making you laugh softly.

You used a simple invisibility spell on yourself, not so strong that you were completely invisible, but enough to blend into the shadows of the castle as you descended back into the dungeons. Hogwarts was, yes, very scary at that time.

The board at the entrance was sleeping, and after removing the invisibility spell, you poked it with your wand to wake it up.

"What, what is that?" Complained the irritated painting, looking around and acquiring an angry expression when he noticed you.

"I'm sorry. Keep your voice down please." You asked. "I need to get inside."

The painting looked at you suspiciously.

"I have seen you here before, but you are not from the honorable house of Slytherin."

"That is not your problem, Mr. Talos." You retort impatiently. "Just let me in. The password is Polyjuice Potion."

"Your friends will get in trouble if they keep sharing their password with you." Warned the painting before moving, giving you passage to enter.

"Thank you, Mr.Talos." You said with slight irony, walking into the dormitory.

You bit the inside of your cheek as you looked around at the empty environment. You were used to the place, but it was still creepy when poorly lit like this.

"We don't like intruders." Spoke a voice in the corner of the room, making you jump in fright.

"Damn, Nat, you scared the hell out of me." You complained, putting your hand to your chest and feeling your heart racing. The girl giggled, closing the book in her hand and standing up in your direction.

"Why are you here?" she asked with her arms crossed.

You gave her a lopsided smile.

"I came to check on Wanda, of course."

Nat narrowed her eyes at you.

"Why?"

"Why?" you retort after a short laugh. "Because she has just been chosen for the deadliest competition in the wizarding world, and everyone in this place wants to remind me of it!" You exclaim, and can't stop yourself. "I heard a girl say in the hallway that the tournament was banned for the number of deaths! Did you know that? Yeah, neither did I. And well, I can't sleep, because I keep thinking that something like that might happen to Wanda. And when I think about it, I can't breathe and I..."

"Stark, breathe!" Natasha interrupts you with concern, placing her hands on your shoulders. You gasp slightly, realizing that your eyes are filled with tears as you notice your vision blurring. You sigh, trying to normalize your breathing as you force a smile and wipe your face. "God, what was that all about?"

"It was nothing." You grumble. "I'm just worried."

Natasha doesn't buy your excuse, though.

"Tony told me about what happened in the cup." She says as she lowers her arms. You look at her in surprise. "He also told me about how connected to Wanda you have been feeling. I just didn't imagine that you would almost have a little tantrum at the possibility of her getting hurt."

You feel your cheeks flush, looking away to your shoes.

"I didn't have a tantrum."

"Nearly." She teases, but you don't laugh, feeling your stomach churn. Nat looks at you seriously next. "Wanda's not here."

You raise your head in surprise.

"What? Why?"

"I don't know." She replies. "Believe me, you weren't the only one who tried to talk to her. The whole dorm was wanting to know how she tricked the goblet, but no one has seen her since the selection."

You feel your heart soar, and seeing the way you react, Nat raises a hand to your arm again.

"Hey, try not to think about it so much." She says. "Maybe she's with her father. I imagine it's been quite a commotion that a minor has swindled the goblet, and the ministry must be trying to decide what to do. She must be in the teachers' dormitory, she is still a child after all."

"Wanda is already fifteen." You grumble.

"Yes, and I'm sixteen. We're all kids, Y/N." She retorts. "I don't think Professor Lehnsherr was going to leave his daughter alone at such a time."

You sigh, nodding in agreement.

"Try to get some sleep, will you?" Nat asks next. "I'm sure Wanda will talk to you tomorrow. And well, I think she's going to need her best friend to not sleep through the conversation."

"Wanda said I'm her best friend?"

Nat laughs at the way you talk, probably sounding like a lovesick puppy.

"God, you two are a disaster." She comments before waving you toward the exit. You bid her goodnight and thank her before walking back to your dorm.

//-//

#wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagines #wandaxyou #wanda x you #wanda x yn #wanda maximoff x yn #wanda maximoff x you #wandaxreader #wandamaximoff x reader #wandamaximoff x you #wandamaximoffxreader #The Scarlet Witch Prophecy #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen x you #marvel imagines

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sometimesbeforeitgetsbetter · 3 years

Text

Off the Record | Stiles Stilinski

Pairing: Stiles Stilinski x reader

Summary: High school in Beacon Hills, as told through the eyes of one inquisitive journalist who has a knack at getting on Stiles Stilinski's nerves.

Warnings: idk there's like a couple curse words lmao. also, spoilers? if you haven't finished teen wolf I guess??

Word count: 8,227

A/N: hi hi this is my first fic I'm posting on Tumblr (not to say that this is my first fic ever...anyway)! before you start, I just wanna say that there's a couple things that might be off from the show but please just ignore them. like I think it's bs Lydia brings Stiles back and not Scott in 6b so I righted that wrong. but I hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think of it! thanks for reading!!

All my life I’ve wondered why people didn’t question what happens in Beacon Hills.

It’s no secret that our town is unusual, but when odd things seemed to happen, people would just turn a blind eye and go about their business.

I, on the other hand, couldn’t let it go. I was inquisitive by nature, and my mom never knew how to answer my questions.

Why do we have so many animal attacks?

What happened to the people that disappeared in the Preserve?

Why did his eyes glow like that?

That last question almost caused my mom to get me a therapist – which probably would’ve helped me regardless – but she just continued to answer with her usual responses.

They just feel threatened by us, dear.

They’re in a better place now.

I’m sure it was nothing – you probably just saw some reflection in his eyes.

But no matter what she told me, I wasn’t satisfied. I knew there was something bigger going on, something my mom couldn’t explain, but I wasn’t sure what. As I got older, however, I realized that if I kept voicing my concerns, I’d be seen as the local crazy person – which, at the time, was the title reserved for my neighbor, Donna Romano, who always went to Town Hall meetings to complain about how some supernatural creatures were traumatizing her dogs every time she took them out at night to urinate.

Out of fear of sounding like Donna, I kept my suspicions to myself. I observed the strange actions of those around me and kept note of the bizarre events that happened in town. I found that it was something I was good at – observing. Always watching, but never voicing my opinions. Eventually, it got the best of me because I grew really quiet at school. But I didn’t mind. I liked being a wallflower.

One day in the fifth grade I saw my mom reading the Beacon Chronicle and I had an epiphany – journalists investigate weird, inexplicable events, so I should be a journalist. Reading the news became my favorite pastime, and by sixth grade I decided I would join the high school newspaper, The Daily Beacon, when I became a freshman. I figured maybe it would give me an outlet to investigate the odd occurrences in the town without looking like a lunatic.

But in sixth grade, I noticed that some of the odd things had stopped happening. There were less animal attacks and disappearances from the Preserve. Some people had even left town, including the last of the Hales, whose house had burned down that same year.

I didn’t give up hope though. I kept my head down and waited for things to get weird again. In the meantime, I wrote for enjoyment. In eighth grade I started shadowing a girl named Anna that was a part of the Daily Beacon, and I started writing articles – album reviews, movie reviews, school news.

Everything was going smoothly until my sophomore year of high school. Suddenly the weird things were happening, and I was sure that there was one person that was at the epicenter of it all – Scott McCall.

“...Angela, you’re covering the new faculty; Thomas, you’ve got the new Vegan Support Group club some juniors just created; and y/n, you’re covering lacrosse try-outs,” said Andrew, the editor-in-chief of the Daily Beacon.

I groaned slightly. “Andrew, couldn’t I write something a little bit more...my style? Like what about the one freshman class that boycotted their summer reading and is facing suspension?”

He gave me a slight look. “y/n, you know how important this lacrosse piece is. You know what that sport means to the school. You should be glad I’m giving you this opportunity,” he scolded. “Besides, Marlene is covering that class and is already interviewing their teacher.”

I nodded slowly and tried to refrain from rolling my eyes. I knew that Andrew meant well – he had been like an older brother to me ever since my freshman year – and he was right about the importance of lacrosse. I stayed quiet until he dismissed us, then mentally prepared myself to spend my afternoon watching some jocks exude machismo on a field.

When my last class was over, I walked over to the lacrosse field and found myself a spot on the top of the bleachers. It gave me an excellent vantage point – until a couple girls sat down right in front of me. The redhead I recognized to be Lydia Martin, the school’s resident popular girl. We’d been in class together all our lives, but I couldn’t remember a time she ever talked to me. I’m sure she didn’t even know I existed, just like the majority of the other people in our grade. The other girl, however, I didn’t recognize. I found out her name was Allison by overhearing their conversation. She was new and must have just moved to Beacon Hills.

The shrill sound of Coach’s whistle knocked me out of my thoughts. Tryouts started, and I watched as Scott McCall, a boy from my grade, was nearly knocked out by a lacrosse ball to the face. I winced but wrote down the event in the notebook I had out for documentation.

The next ball that went Scott’s way didn’t hit his face though. He managed to catch it in his goalie net. I couldn’t help but be a bit surprised – like Lydia, I’d known of Scott my whole life though he probably didn’t know me at all. But that meant I knew he was an asthmatic that wasn’t particularly skilled at sports.

“He’s actually pretty good,” I mumbled to myself as Scott continued to catch every ball that came his way.

I didn’t realize how loud I must’ve said it though because at my remark Allison turned around. “I was just thinking the same thing,” she said, obviously surprised. “Do you know him?”

I shook my head and quickly turned my attention to my notebook to write down the surprising turn of events. “Are you writing about this for the school newspaper?” I looked back up at Allison’s question. She was paying attention to me?

“Um, yeah, I am. I’d rather not write about sports, but here I am,” I joked lightly.

She let out a beautiful laugh at my statement. “Well, I’m glad you’re here. I’m Allison, and you are…?”

“y/n,” I answered. “Nice to meet you, Allison.” Suddenly the crowd roared, and I remembered why I was there. Allison, too, smiled and turned her attention back to the game. Lydia hadn’t said a word, but she was focused on watching Scott absolutely demolish Jackson Highmore, who, in my opinion, needed to be knocked down a few pegs anyway.

The more I watched Scott though, I got this weird feeling. He was good – too good. I tried to ignore my feelings and just focus on writing notes for the ridiculous lacrosse piece, which would include the headline: “Sophomore Scott McCall shines at lacrosse tryouts and becomes team co-captain.” But deep down I knew there was something up with him.

A few days later, I was sitting behind Stiles Stilinski, Scott’s best friend, in English class. Even though I’d had nearly all of my classes with him, we never talked. It originally was because I had a minor crush on him and was afraid I’d pass out if I spoke to him, but eventually it just morphed into me not speaking to many people and being convinced he didn’t know of my existence anyway.

But this one day, I was committed to speaking with him. I had to know what was going on, and if there was one person that knew anything about Scott’s new-found lacrosse talent, it was Stiles.

“Hey, Stiles,” I spoke up from behind him.

The brunette turned around, slightly confused but with that soft smile on his face. “Oh, hey, y/n. What’s up?”

I swear my heart stopped beating for a second. He knew my name? He knew who I was? I shook myself out of my thoughts before I went down the rabbit hole of the implications of him knowing me.

“Oh, nothing much. I’m just writing a piece about lacrosse tryouts for the school newspaper and I was just wondering if you had anything to say about it,” I explained.

He tilted his head slightly and shifted in his seat to more fully face me. “Um, yeah sure. I think it’s going to be a great season, especially since we’ve gotten some new leadership. My boy Scott’s co-captain now, so those Devenford Prep guys won’t know what hit them!”

“Speaking of Scott, when did he get so good at lacrosse? Would you say it’s natural talent?” I pressed a bit, hoping he’d say something that would give me a hint as to what was going on.

Stiles’ eyes squinted a little, and his head tilted slightly again. He seemed to be at a loss for words, which was unusual for the fast-talking, sarcastic boy, but he quickly recovered. “It’s definitely...natural...talent. He’s been working extra hard recently to hone his talent and skills so he could bring his A-game to this year’s tryouts.” When he finished speaking, he looked pleased with himself, and I could tell he had let out a small sigh of relief.

What are you hiding?

Though I didn’t know it yet, at that moment my rivalry with Stiles Stilinski began. He and Scott were hiding something, and I was going to find out what it was.

“You’re telling me that a girl is in a coma after the school winter formal and you don’t want me to write a story about it?”

Andrew leaned against the desk and crossed his arms. “It’s not that I don’t want you to write it. I just think it’s a tense time right now. The administration is receiving a lot of flack right now because of the winter formal fiasco, and Ms. Blanchard told me that we may want to avoid stirring the pot right now,” he explained. “That is not to say that we abandon our journalistic integrity and commitment to informing the student body, but we just may want to be sensitive to our environment right now.”

I trusted Ms. Blanchard, the faculty sponsor of the Daily Beacon, but not reporting on Lydia’s comatose state felt wrong. She was well-known at school, and students deserved to know the facts of her situation and how it had happened.Well, maybe I was lying to myself by saying that the real reason I wanted to pursue the story wasn’t the fact that something inexplicable had happened at the dance and I had to figure out what it was.

Andrew could sense my disappointment. “Look, maybe for now you can start collecting information and sources, and I’ll talk to Ms. Blanchard. Maybe she can advise us on how best to proceed.”

I threw my arms around Andrew in a quick hug. “Yes, thank you! I promise I’ll be sensitive when asking sources. I know how difficult this must be for the people close to her.”

“I know you will,” he said, chuckling lightly.

With a smile plastered on my face – perhaps a little inappropriately considering the topic I was excited to cover – I left the small newspaper office in search of my first source: Stiles Stilinski. He had been Lydia’s date to the dance, so surely he must know what happened to her, right? “No, I don’t know what happened,” Stiles angrily responded when I cornered him at his locker. “We were separated for a bit because she went looking for someone. When I went looking for her I–” he stopped suddenly, as if choosing his words carefully. He wouldn’t meet my eyes as he spoke.

“The next thing I know, she was at the hospital in a coma. They told me Jackson had found her out on the field when I went to check on her at the hospital,” he explained.

Something wasn’t adding up. “Ok, but where were you the rest of that time? You didn’t go looking for her when you didn’t see her for a while? What about when she had already been checked into the hospital?”

“What is this – an investigation?” Stiles shouted as he slammed his locker shut. I took a step back, eyes wide at the sudden display of aggression. Maybe I pushed too hard, I thought. Stiles rubbed a hand over his face and took a deep breath. “Sorry, I….I didn’t mean it like that. There’s just a lot going on, and my dad has been up my ass about those details too. To be honest, I can’t tell you where I was. The time just flew by and all of a sudden I’d realized I hadn’t seen Lydia for a couple hours. I wish I had been there for her, but there’s nothing I can do for her now other than check up on her.”

Running a hand over his buzzed head, he shot me a forced smile and said “good luck with your article” before walking away.

I was at a loss for words, trying to put the pieces together in my head. Surely he couldn’t have had a part in Lydia’s injury? There’s no way. But his defensiveness was off-putting–

“Hey, y/n!” I was snapped out of my thoughts by Allison approaching me from behind. “What were you talking to Stiles about?”

“Huh? Oh, um, I was just asking him about…” I remembered that the funeral for Allison’s aunt was happening and didn’t want to mention the additional stress of her best friend being comatose, so I opted for a white lie. “Biology homework. I wasn’t really paying attention in class today.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize you two were friends,” she said as she leant against the lockers.

I shook my head violently. “We’re not.” I’d grown too close to Allison for her to not pick up on my feelings though.

“You say that now, but–”

“I have to get to class. See you at lunch, Ally!”

Other things that year were weird, but none warranted any further investigation via newspaper article. Sure, I was wondering about Erica Reyes’ sudden transformation into the ultimate baddie, the mysterious deaths of a mechanic and Isaac Lahey’s dad, numerous paralyzations at the Jungle, and a death of someone at a secret rave, but Andrew thought it would be best for the Chronicle and Ledger to cover those bigger events. In fact, the only other unnatural event that happened that I had to cover for the newspaper was Stiles’ unbelievable winning streak at the lacrosse championship. I would have quoted him after the game, but I really didn’t want to speak to him and anyway, he had disappeared for a bit right after the team won.

I could tell that things were happening, but it was all hidden from public view. I even noticed Allison’s behavior fluctuating. The arrival of her grandfather shook things up, and while he gave me a bad feeling, I couldn’t exactly figure out why. Lydia was more troubled than usual after coming back from the hospital even though she tried to act normally. Jackson was going through something and was more angry and aggressive than usual, but I wasn’t close enough to him to ask him if he was okay.

Over the summer, I spent a surprising amount of time with Lydia. Allison spent her summer in France, but she asked me to keep an eye on Lydia to make sure she was okay, especially since Jackson had moved to London during the summer break. I was surprised how much I enjoyed spending time with the redhead, and we hung out when I wasn’t working at my internship at The Beacon Chronicle, which my mom had convinced me to apply for after she noticed how irritated I was that I couldn’t pursue some of the stories I wanted.

By the time Allison came back before the start of school, it felt like Lydia and I had been best friends for the longest time.

“So, Allison, have you talked to Scott at all this summer?” I asked when I was sitting in the backseat of Lydia’s car, Allison in the passenger seat.

She shook her head. “No, I think I still need some time. He...hides things from me and I don’t know if I can trust him.”

I nodded my head, understanding the feeling. I still couldn’t place my finger on what had happened between them or what Scott was involved in. Though I comforted her when I found out they broke up, I didn’t really know why they’d done it.

“What about you, y/n? Have you talked to Stiles at all?” Allison asked, looking back at me in the backseat.

“Why the hell would I talk to Stiles?” I questioned, confused.

She and Lydia shared a small look that I couldn’t decipher before she shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know, but you guys are more similar than you may think. I don’t know why you guys act like you don’t like each other though.”

The car rolled to a stop at the stop light, and all of a sudden I noticed a familiar baby blue jeep approach next to us. “Speak of the devil,” I mumbled. Lydia and Allison didn’t notice Stiles staring and waving at first, but when they did the car was filled with awkward tension.

The next events were a blur: Lydia running the red light, both cars stopping in the middle of the road, and a deer running straight towards us, nearing killing me in the gap between the front seats. We were shaken, and the boys ran towards us when they saw what happened.

“Are you okay?” Stiles asked Lydia, but he kept looking at me. I nodded slightly and he turned his full attention back to Lydia.

“What was wrong with it?” Allison asked as Scott got closer to the deer.

“It was scared,” he explained. “No, terrified.”

Things got progressively weirder after that. On the first day of school, I interviewed our new English teacher, Ms. Blake. She was nice enough, but it was unfortunate that her class was the one that a whole flock of birds decided to burst through the classroom windows. By the time the police arrived, I was already drafting up a story in my brain: Why are the animals acting weird in Beacon Hills?

I had overheard Stiles talking to Scott about the deer’s weird behavior and the number of deer-related incidents in California, so I swallowed my pride so that I could talk to him and maybe get some stats and information on the whole situation.

I walked up to him when he was sitting alone, texting on his phone. “Hey, Stiles.” “y/n? What’s wrong?” He had genuine concern written on his face.

“I overheard you and Scott talking about deer-related incidents earlier,” I noticed how he tensed up at my statement, “and I was wondering if you could help me with a piece I’m writing? It seems like you know all the stats, so maybe...you could write it with me?” It pained me to finish that sentence, but I figured it might be easier to figure out what was going on if he was helping – especially if he already had inside information.

I think for the first time in his life, the talkative boy was speechless. “I understand if you don’t want to or you’re busy–” I said quickly, trying to give him a way out.

“Yeah, sure.”

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t caught off guard by his response. “W-what?”

He smirked slightly. “Yeah, sure. I’ll help you out with your article, y/n. Collaborate with you, if you will. We can work on it at my house tomorrow afternoon if you want.”

Nodding and agreeing with the plan, I left the chaotic English classroom.

The next afternoon, I felt like I was walking into the lion’s den. Going to Stiles’ house felt foreign, but what was even stranger was seeing him in casual clothes in a comfortable environment.

He answered the door wearing some sweats and a t-shirt, looking more comfortable and confident than I’d ever seen him. “Hey, y/n. Come on in,” he greeted.

I thanked him awkwardly, and we walked to his dining room table to get set up. “Sorry, I need to go grab my notes from my room. Be back in a sec,” Stiles said before leaving me alone in his dining room.

After a moment of silence, Sheriff Stilinski walked in wearing his uniform. “Oh, y/n! What are you doing here?” He had seen me a couple weeks ago in the police station when I was requesting documents for a story for the Chronicle. Though journalists and cops don’t often have a jovial relationship, he said that he liked me because of my commitment to the truth and respectful nature.

“Hey, Sheriff. I’m writing a piece about the animals acting weird, you know, with the deer accident and bird incident, and Stiles said he’d help me since he has a bunch of statistics on deer related car accidents.”

“Stiles is helping you? Well, I’ll be damned.” When he saw the confusion on my face, he rushed to explain himself. “No, not like that. It’s just, you’re all organized and focused, and Stiles is….Stiles.”

I was laughing heartily when the boy himself walked back into the room. “What’s going on, Daddy-o?”

“Nothing, son. Just catching up with y/n here. I’ve got to get to work, but you’re welcome anytime, y/n.” He said before patting Stiles on the shoulder and heading off to work.

Stiles looked over at me oddly when he placed his notes on the table and sat next to me. “Since when are you all buddy-buddy with my dad?”

Shrugging, I said, “Ever since we started grabbing beer every Thursday night while you’re at lacrosse practice.” His jaw dropped slightly, and I laughed again. “No, idiot. We’ve just interacted a lot because of my internship. Now, can we get started on the article?”

After the article was published, my next assignment was writing about the track meet a couple weeks later. I found out Allison and Lydia were riding together to the meet, so I tagged along.

Both girls were extremely tense the whole ride, seemingly concerned about something going on in the bus. We were only a few cars behind the bus full of track runners (and lacrosse players who were forced to attend the meet), but the stand-still traffic was a force to be reckoned with.

“Do you think we’re too close?” Allison asked.

“Honey, if you were any closer I think you’d mount the bus,” Lydia said sarcastically. She got a call from Stiles and looked over at Allison. “Hey, Stiles,” she dragged out the ‘hey,’ tension obvious in her voice.

She listened to what he was saying, something clearly wrong. “What do you mean he’s not–” she stopped when she remembered I was in the car, “healing?” She finished the question quietly, probably hoping I wouldn’t hear.

Healing? Is he injured?

“Yeah, ok, just find a way to get Coach to stop. We’ll meet you there.” She hung up and told Allison to pull off at the next stop.

When we got to the rest stop, I could see everyone hurrying to get off the bus. Allison parked the car, and we quickly went to the bathroom where I saw Scott nearly passed out on the floor. “Oh my god, is he okay?”

“Yeah, y/n. He’s fine. At least, he will be,” Stiles responded. He positioned his body in front of me a little bit as if he was trying to block my view of Scott.

I gently pushed him aside so I could see and was shocked to see black blood coming from the injured boy. “What the hell is going on? Why is his blood black?” I ran forward to get closer, kneeling next to Allison.

“It’s nothing. We just need to stitch him up and he’ll be fine.”

“Stiles, don’t fucking lie to me. I can see that he’s obviously not fine.”

“He’s right,” Allison said quietly. “We need to stitch him up. I need something to stitch him together with.” She looked around before remembering something in her bag.

I shook my head. “We need to tell Coach. Take him to a hospital or something.”

“No!” All three of them yelled at me.

It was quiet for a moment, all of us deciding where to go from here. “Just…” Stiles started, “please go and make sure the bus doesn’t leave without us. We’ll handle this.” I got up and slowly made my way to the door.

As I reached for the door, a hand grabbed my wrist. “y/n,” Stiles said, “it’ll make sense someday. Just trust us for now. Trust me,” he pleaded quietly out of earshot of the girls and Scott.

“I do,” I replied quietly, not meeting his eyes, before pulling my hand from his grasp and leaving the bathroom.

That night, we all had to stay at the Motel Glen Capri because of the postponed meet. I didn’t like its energy, and neither did Lydia. “A lot can happen in one night,” she said.

Though it was supposed to be two to a room, I convinced Coach to let me room with Allison and Lydia. Admittedly, Coach didn’t need much convincing because I was saving the school money by doing so. Once we got our room key, we went up to our room on the second floor.

“I’m going to go get a snack from the machine,” I told Lydia once Allison was in the shower.

She nodded. “Sounds good. I’m going to the lobby. There must be something we can do about these towels that reek of nicotine.”

Grabbing a couple one’s from my wallet, I made my way down the hall to the vending machine where I ran into Boyd and Stiles. As I approached, I could hear Stiles trying to talk to an unresponsive Boyd, who subsequently punched a hole through the glass of the machine, grab his snack that the machine refused to give him, and walk away.

“What the hell was that?” I asked Stiles as I walked up next to him.

He shrugged. “I don’t really know, to be honest.” He reached into the machine to grab his snack and tossed one to me as well.

When I got back to my room, a shaken Allison and Lydia were hurriedly talking about something. “Oh, y/n! You’re back. You won’t believe what just happened…” Allison started

She recounted the story of Scott’s bizarre behavior in the bathroom, and Lydia filled me in on the counter that they have at the front desk. “Can you imagine having a counter for the number of suicides that take place in your hotel? Crazy,” Lydia said. Taking her phone out, she sent a quick text to Stiles telling him that we all needed to talk.

We met him in the hallway a couple minutes later. “What was the text for?” Stiles asked when he saw our little gathering.

“There’s something going on with all the…” she looked over at me before continuing, “guys. You know, Scott, Boyd, Isaac, probably Ethan too.” I tried to connect the dots between all of them, but I didn’t really know what they all had in common. Scott and Isaac were both on the lacrosse team, but from what I could tell they didn’t have a particular fondness for each other or Ethan.

“I think someone’s going to die tonight,” Lydia said decisively.

“Why do you think that?” I asked, but it seemed like I was the only one questioning her line of reason.

She shook her head slowly. “I just...have a feeling.” After a moment of silence, she told us about hearing something from the room next to ours through the vent, so we decided to investigate it. Room 217 seemed empty and locked, but all of a sudden we heard the sound of a saw from behind the door.

Stiles busted the door open, and we opened it to find Ethan turning the saw on himself. “Ethan, stop!” I yelled as we ran into the room. Stiles started wrestling him for the saw, but luckily Lydia saw where it was plugged into the wall and unplugged it.

The next thing that happened was completely unexpected to me. Ethan grew fangs and claws, his eyes blazing red. What the fu–

Allison and Lydia rushed forward, wrestling his claws away from his torso where he had been planning on slashing himself. In the struggle he fell on the space heater, which apparently brought him out of whatever state he was in. He ran out of the room soon after. When we tried to question him about what he was doing, he couldn’t answer us. He had been out of control, and it made Allison realize we were forgetting someone.

“Where’s Scott?” She asked suddenly. When no one could answer, we all decided to split up – I’d go with Allison to look for Scott while Stiles and Lydia went to find Boyd and Isaac.

Scott wasn’t in his room. Allison and I ran all over the motel, looking in every crevice. At last, we decided to check the school bus, and that’s where we saw him. Standing drenched in gasoline, a flare lit up in his hand.

“Scott…” I approached quietly, careful to not make any sudden movements.

It was then that Stiles and Lydia joined us. I watched as Stiles walked into the gasoline, my breath catching in my throat as he nearly sacrificed himself. Scott was talking, but I didn’t really understand what it meant. He said that his life was better before the bite.

Stiles eventually talked Scott down, but the flare rolled into the gasoline. Luckily, Lydia was able to make sure we had all gotten out of the way. I’d ended up next to Stiles on the ground, and though we made eye contact, no words were spoken.

We spent the night in the bus because none of us could bear the thought of spending another second in that cursed place. Coach woke us up in the morning, definitely thinking the worst about what we may have gotten ourselves into, but whatever he was thinking wouldn’t possibly compare to reality. What was reality? I couldn’t have really told you at that point. I didn’t understand what we’d just lived through.

Before the other students started loading onto the bus, Stiles slid into the empty space next to me. “y/n, you know that all of this,” he made a grand gesture to Scott and the others as well as the motel, “is off the record. You can’t tell anyone about this. About what happened.” I held eye contact with him for a moment before nodding. “I wouldn’t tell anyone. To be honest, I don’t even really know what I would tell people, but I wouldn’t.” He nodded, a sad smile on his face as he looked down and fidgeted with his hands. “But Stiles,” I said as he looked back up at me. “Please help me understand it all. You can trust me, I promise, I just want to understand. I want to help.”

With a deep sigh, Stiles nodded once more. “Okay. I’ll tell you everything.”

When Stiles said he’d fill me in on everything, I didn’t realize he meant everything. I couldn’t believe how oblivious I had been to everything that had happened in the past year. Sure, I knew something weird was going on, but how was I supposed to know it was supernatural?

Finding out that my little corner of the world, little old Beacon Hills, California, had werewolves (and a kanima, pack of alphas, and whatever the hell a Darach was) was a lot to process. It was unbelievable, but Stiles helped me believe it.

I could tell that he didn’t fully trust me though. There was something in the way he looked at me that told me he was wondering when I would be done with my source acquisition and I’d write the next big exposé: Supernatural Beacon Hills: How Werewolves Have Been Hiding In Plain Sight. I didn’t know how to assure him that I was on their side and wouldn’t expose their secrets.

As the year progressed, things simultaneously made more sense and less sense. To defeat the Darach, we had to perform a sacrifice for the parents that had abducted, and Deaton – the veterinarian that had taken care of every family pet we’d ever had – told me I had to hold Stiles down during it. He said we had some sort of connection, but I guess that’s what mutual loathing does to people.

In the end, we won. We beat the Darach, the alpha of the alphas Deucalion left, and Scott became an alpha himself. But it was still just the beginning.

The sacrifice did something to Scott, Stiles, and Allison that we didn’t fully understand. Deaton said they left a door open, which only made it harder for Stiles to trust me because he could barely trust himself.

Knowing about the supernatural didn’t preclude my other responsibilities though. I still wrote for the Daily Beacon, much to Stiles’ displeasure, but I enjoyed it. So, on the first day of school I interviewed our newest faculty member – Mr. Yukimura. He and his family had just moved from New York, and his daughter Kira was in our grade. She was nice, but shy, so I invited her to have lunch with us.

Surprisingly, Kira jumped right into the conversation at lunch by mentioning bardo, the Buddhist concept of being in an in-between state.

After lunch, I caught up with Allison to walk to our next class. “Hey, Allison, could I ask you a favor?”

“Of course! What’s up?”

“Well, I don’t really know how to ask this but...I need help learning to defend myself, I guess? It’s just that I’m going to be helping you guys now, and I actually want to be helpful, so I want to protect myself so you guys don’t have to worry about me,” I admitted.

Allison smiled softly. “I’d love to help.” I returned her smile, suddenly giddy, yet nervous. “But, I think you should know that my...aim...has been off since the sacrifice.”

I could hear the disappointment in her voice. “Nonsense, I’m sure that you’re still the best shot in this school.” She shook her head. “It’s never been this bad.”

Touching her arm lightly, I gave her a reassuring smile. “We’ll figure it out together.”

A few days later, I was surprised when I was paid a visit by both Scott and Stiles while I was sitting in the library. “To what do I owe this pleasure, boys?”

“We need your help.” I perked up at Scott’s statement. “We’re trying to solve the Tate case, you know, the one where Malia Tate disappeared all those years ago after that car accident, and we could use your help tracking her down.” He looked over at Stiles and nudged him with his elbow.

“And, you can write a piece about it. Not including all the details, if what we think happened is true, but you can still write something factual,” Stiles said, still displeased that I was writing for the newspaper.

To annoy Stiles, I acted like I was really thinking about it for a minute, but then laughed lightly. “Yeah, I’ll help you guys. Where do we start?”

Pull yourself together, y/n. You’re a journalist. You’re supposed to report on tragedy all the time. Be objective.

I took a deep breath and wrote the first line for what would be the cover story of the next Daily Beacon issue.

Junior Allison Argent, 17, died in an unfortunate carjacking incident last fall.

Before I could write any more, I got a phone call from Stiles.

Oh, thank god. “Stiles?”

“Do you want to come with us to Mexico?” He blurted out.

I couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled from my chest. “What? Mexico? Why? When–”

“Tomorrow.”

“Stiles, are you insane? Even if I wanted to, there’s no way my parents would ever let me go.”

“We’re all telling our parents we’re going camping, if that helps at all,” he said with what seemed like a hint of disappointment in his voice.

I was quiet for a minute, but my mind was already made up. “Why? And who exactly is going?”

“Scott, Lydia, Kira, Malia, and I have to visit some hunters and see what they know about Derek being missing.”

As soon as he mentioned Malia, my mouth started curling into a frown. It’s not that I disliked the werecoyote, it’s just that she and Stiles had been pretty full on since they hooked up at Eichen and started dating. I wasn’t jealous – though I’m sure Lydia would argue otherwise since she’s convinced I like him or something – just...weirded out by their relationship.

I sighed. “I want to help, but I really can’t tomorrow. School starts back up in a couple days, and I need to finish this elegy for Allison and come up with a bunch of assignments for the staff writers…” I trailed off, thinking about all that I had to do before the coming week.

“Oh yeah, I forgot. Ms. Editor-in-chief over here has a life outside of us,” Stiles joked.

Andrew graduated at the end of last year and left his glittering empire to me, though suddenly I felt overwhelmed at the prospect of running a newspaper while being way too involved in the town’s supernatural endeavors. It didn’t bother me last semester, but after Allison…

“I’ll just see you guys when you get back, okay?” I told Stiles. He made an unintelligible noise of agreement. “And try not to let anyone get killed.” “Yes, mom,” Stiles said sarcastically. I could almost hear the smirk in his voice.

When the pack got back, I was surprised by the events that had taken place. “What do you mean it’s a young version of Derek?”

A few days later, I had to cover the spring lacrosse tryouts. Though I wanted to assign it to someone else, I had to do it myself because everyone was busy with the assignments I had given them.

To my surprise, a new freshman, Liam Dunbar, showed everyone up at tryouts – even Scott. I took note of how he seemed almost athletically superior to everyone, and I wondered if he was supernatural.

“He’s human, I’m sure of it,” Scott said as he came up next to where I was sitting on the bleachers, scaring me out of my mind in the process.

“Jeez, Scott. A little warning next time would be nice. But how do you know?”

He shrugged. “I can just tell. He’s just a really great athlete.”

“He’s going to be a great pain in my ass, I can tell,” Stiles said, sidling up next to Scott.

I took note of their reactions, writing down Scott’s comment – about being a great athlete, not human – to consider while writing my piece.

“Oh no, don’t tell me you’re writing a story about him,” Stiles groaned.

“You know I have to write one about the tryouts, and he just happens to be the star player of today,” I told him. “Sorry, Scott.”

Scott waved me off, but Stiles was still upset about the situation. “No, don’t give him the ego boost! He’s already a little shit, and an article about him would make it worse.”

Taking a break from my note-taking, I looked over at the brown-haired boy. “Stiles, have you even talked to him?”

He looked at a loss for words. “N-not really...but I can see his arrogance from a mile away!”

I rolled my eyes. “Well then, if you’d excuse me, I’m going to write up a fantastic story about a talented up-and-coming lacrosse player.”

The article became the next issue’s front page, but I almost wished I hadn’t given him as much attention when Scott turned him into his beta.

The rest of the year didn’t go as planned either, but isn’t junior year supposed to be everyone’s worst year?

As much as I liked helping out with the supernatural problems Scott and the rest of the pack were having, it was hard knowing about what was going on and not being able to write about it, especially when all of the mysterious killings started up. We eventually found out about the deadpool, but I could write about a kill list of Beacon Hills’ resident supernaturals, could I?

At the end of the year, I finally had to make the trip to Mexico with the rest of the pack. “Stiles, I’m going. You can’t stop me!” I attempted to open the passenger door of the jeep when he reached out and shut it from behind me.

“No, it’s going to be dangerous. We don’t even really know what we’re facing,” he tried reasoning with me. “I can protect myself,” I said, thinking of the training that Allison had given me. “Besides, I can’t just sit by and wait for you guys to come back. I need to try helping Scott.”

Realizing that I wasn’t going to back down, Stiles removed his hand from the side of the door and opened it for me. I nodded a quick thanks as I hopped into the vehicle.

I wasn’t expecting to fight Scott that day, but we all did in order to return him from his Berserker form. At the end of the fight, I had a few cuts and bruises, but nothing I couldn’t deal with.

As Derek drove away with Braedan, I could feel that things were changing. “I can’t write about any of this, can I?” I asked somewhat jokingly.

“Off the record,” Stiles replied from where he stood next to me.

“Stiles, what’s wrong?”

“Oh thank god, you remember me!” He said as he grabbed my hands. He’d been running down the hall frantically when I saw him.

I looked at him with concern on my face. “Yeah, of course I remember you? Why wouldn’t I–”

“y/n, it’s the Hunt. The Ghost Riders. I saw them, and now they’re coming for me.” He was breathing heavily, eyes sweeping the surroundings for signs of the Ghost Riders. His eyes locked on something to his left, but when I looked, I couldn’t see anything. “They’re here. We have to go,” he said, pulling me towards the parking lot. We got into his jeep, but he didn’t start the car. “Stiles, what are you doing?”

“It’s too late.” I could see the look of grief on his face. “No, don’t say that. It’s not–”

“It’s the truth,” he cut me off, turning to look at me. “Promise me you won’t forget.”

I shook my head. “I won’t. But Stiles, I can’t do this without you,” I could feel a tear escaping my eye and slipping down my cheek, my emotions getting the better of me.

Stiles reached forward and wiped the tear away before placing his hand on my cheek. “What do you mean? You’re one of the smartest, most inquisitive people I know. If I had to trust anyone to find a way to stop the Ghost Riders, it would be you.”

I couldn’t help but smile at his honesty. “Yeah right. Lydia will probably figure it out before me.”

He shook his head. “You can do it. I trust you.” I could tell there was more he wanted to say, but he turned to look at something through the window over his shoulder. “Can I tell you something? Off the record.”

I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped my mouth. “Yes, of course. What is it?”

He took a deep breath. “I don’t hate you. I know it may seem like I’ve never trusted you or that I don’t care about you, but it’s actually the opposite. I...really really like you,” he admitted.

I was stunned. Stiles likes me? He was searching my face for any indication of feelings as I sat there silently.

“Oh, shit,” Stiles mumbled. “Ok, forget I said that. Well, you won’t need to forget when you forget me in a minute–”

I cut off his rambling by placing my lips on his. They were warm and familiar, as if they were made for mine. “I like you too,” I mumbled when I disconnected, my eyes still closed from the interaction.

But when I opened them, I was alone in the baby blue jeep.

All semester, I’d felt that something was missing, but I couldn’t figure out what it was. Or who it was.

But after months of searching for it, we finally figured it out. Lydia had gone into a banshee trance to discover the word “Stiles,” and it brought back vague memories for me when I heard it. The feeling of soft flannel. A sarcastic laugh. Red string around my finger. A hefty wooden baseball bat.

The collection of memories made sense when we all finally got our memories back and remembered the person we were missing from our lives.

We traced the trail of clues to the sewers, where Scott tried to bring back Stiles because of their brotherly love for one another. I thought it would work, but the portal closed and Stiles hadn’t appeared. Come on, Stiles. Where are you?

We had to fight the Ghost Riders off, making sure they didn’t turn our beloved Beacon Hills into another ghost town. I’d run into the high school, looking for something to use as a weapon when I ran into someone in the hall. A tall, brown-haired figure wearing a flannel shirt. “Stiles?”

He turned, and smiles emerged on both of our faces. I broke into a run again, right into his arms. “I can’t believe you’re here. You’re really here.” I mumbled, the sound muffled against his shirt.

“I knew you could do it,” he said.

I pulled back slightly and looked up at his face, suddenly nervous. “That night in the jeep...did you hear what I told you before you disappeared?”

A soft smile rested on his face. “Of course I did. It was the one thing that kept me going, especially when I was stuck with Peter.”

“Peter Hale? Why the hell were you with Peter Hale?”

Stiles shook his head. “We can go over that later. For now, there’s one thing I’ve been wanting to do.” I was a little confused, but I understood once he leaned in and connected our lips.

This is what I’d been missing, and I was never going to let it go again.

I watched from afar as Stiles gave his trusty baseball bat to Mason, who didn’t seem to appreciate the hunk of wood.

“Have you told him yet?” Lydia asked as she appeared next to me.

I shook my head. “We haven’t really had time to talk about that stuff. I think he doesn’t really want to think about it just yet and what that might mean for us.”

She nudged me with her elbow, silently telling me to go over there and talk to him. Rolling my eyes, I walked towards the familiar blue jeep and familiar mess of brown hair.

Liam and Mason had already walked away, and Scott and Stiles were standing and talking at the jeep’s trunk. “Hey, y/n. I’m just heading out, but I’ll see you guys later,” Scott said as I came up and Stiles threw his arm around me.

We waved as Scott left, and Stiles pulled me closer. “Hey,” he said, looking down at me with an affectionate expression.

I pulled him over so we could sit in the open trunk. “We need to talk.” I could see the panic flare up in his eyes.

“Oh, um, okay? Is everything okay?”

Chuckling lightly, I nodded. “Yeah, we just haven’t talked about college at all,” I explained.

His head dropped. “Yeah, I know. I just don’t want it to ruin what we have here, and I don’t even know what life will be like outside of Beacon Hills, and I feel like we just got together and now–”

“Stiles,” I cut him off. “I’m going to GW too.”

His eyes widened at my confession. “You...you’re going to GW?”

I nodded, a small smile on my lips. “I committed a while ago. I’m going to study journalism there.”

I watched as a smile spread across his face. Then, it was replaced by a quick smirk. “Oh great, you’re following me there, huh? I just can’t seem to get rid of you.”

I shrugged. “What can I say? I’m going to need someone to give me the inside scoop on the FBI’s antics.”

He looked pensive for a moment. “I think what you’re describing is illegal.”

“Not if it’s in the public’s interest. But maybe it just needs to be off the record,” I admitted. Stiles laughed. “Oh, it’s definitely going to be off the record.”

#stiles stilinski #teen wolf #stiles stilinski fic #stiles stilinski x reader #scott mccall #lydia martin #allison argent #hot take: scott should have brought back stiles in 6b not lydia #teen wolf fanfiction #stiles stilinski imagine #stiles stilinski one shot #dylan obrien #isaac lahey #dylan o'brien

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hogwartsfirebolt · 3 years

Text

A ticket to ruin (or Do Not, under Any Circumstance, agree to pretend you're dating your boss, oh my god)

It’s becoming increasingly clear that I’ve made a mistake, though it would be inaccurate to say I didn’t see it coming. As remarkably skilled as I am at self-deception, this particular lie is outrageous even for me.

And maybe I chose this, but what was the alternative? There was nothing else to be done.

That’s also a lie. I did not have to. I agreed freely, of my own volition, and was not coerced, even if Harry’s pleading eyes and lovely smile made it feel inevitable. He’s my boss, but it was me who said yes.

It feels as though the newspaper burns through my fingertips when I pick it up at the corner shop after breakfast. The lady selling it squints at me, possibly recognizing me from that godawful photograph that’s been everywhere today, the one that looks like every single one of my dreams and is, consequently, my worst nightmare.

“Potter’s new beau?” The headline reads. It could be worse. It is worse, online. When I checked this morning, Twitter was saying “Potter caught snogging a member of his crew,” which is at least true, and it was also saying, “Potter in love?” which is without the shadow of a doubt the worst thing I have ever read in my life.

If life has taught me anything, it’s that everyone buys their own ticket to ruin.

With the newspaper tucked underneath my arm, I make my way into the office, taking time to school my features into something that doesn’t feel like I’m wearing my heart all over my face, but it’s useless, when the whole world knows.

And, oh god, I don’t want to, but I take a peek at that photo again and grit my teeth so I don’t let out the shriek crawling up my throat. Shame and I, we go way back, made acquaintances when I was very young, but somehow this feels like every humiliating experience in my life thrown into a jar, shaken, and let out to swarm my chest.

The Photograph. “Potter’s new beau?” the headline screams. Harry, with his distinct hair, the leather jacket, the self-assured stance. And me by his side, shockingly pale, gazing up at him in what can only be described as motherfucking adoration. I look elated at having his attention on me, I look smitten.

If he’s seen this, Harry must be thinking I’m the actor of the goddamn century. He’s lucky he doesn’t have to live with the knowledge of what I was feeling in the moment depicted in The Photograph. Lucky he doesn’t know that, when he said, “I can see a pap, come here, let me kiss you,” my heart leapt, somersaulted, cartwheeled, backflipped, did a handstand with swinging feet.

The second picture shows the actual kiss, but thank god for small mercies, because my back is to the camera. I don’t know what I looked like at that moment, and I definitely never want to find out.

I fold the newspaper again when I step out of the elevator and into the open floor of the Harry Potter Management Offices. As soon as the Juniors spot me, the entire floor goes dead silent. I can practically read the he’s fucking our star as a collective speech bubble above their heads, and wish fervently for death as I make my way to the very back of the office, into Harry’s favorite meeting room.

He’s there, of course, and looks up with a smile so blinding I have to stop myself from stepping back from it.

“Morning, D, have you seen this?” He points at the different newspapers and magazines he’s laid out on the table, sounding supremely amused. “It worked, huh? This one’s my favorite.” He picks up an article with The Photo covering the entire front page, and a headline that says Potter, the heartbreaker, back in the game.

I clear my throat to avoid screaming.

“Yes, it worked.”

“This should get the label off my back for a bit, at least until the deal is settled and I’m back at the studio to record No Dwelling.” He stops, locks eyes with me, and I’m taken back to that moment one week ago, when he asked for the favor, and then, upon getting an I’m only your assistant for an answer, said I was one of the people he trusted the most in the world. “Do you think we can go out again today? Maybe for drinks in Soho? Paps always hang around that new bar, Fuel.”

I swallow. “I’m not sure I’m free.”

“Well, are you?”

Of course I am free for him, all my time is for him. I still take out my cell phone and make a show of checking my calendar before nodding. “We can go after your photo shoot for the Hermès fragrance. That’s at four.”

“Ah crap, I’d forgotten about that.” He makes a face, pursing the lips I know the feel of against mine and runs a hand through the hair I know the texture of against my fingers.

It’s been four days. I’ve made the worst mistake of my life.

“Let’s cancel,” he whispers, leaning close to conspire. I want to pull away; I want to lean so much closer that I disappear into him.

“We’ve canceled twice,” I murmur somehow, though I have no conscious idea of where I’ve left my voice, and if I’m answering it’s only out of three years of practice at having this heart attack of a man next to me every waking moment. His eyes shine, as they do every time he’s playing instigator with me.

“Come on, Draco, let’s go to the market. We can buy sandwiches, get our picture taken while we hold hands or something.”

I’ve been given a deadline to correct my public image, Harry said that fateful day, I promised the label that I could prove that the girl who claims she’s having my baby is a scam, but I don’t know how to.

He said, I think if we pretend we’ve been dating for a long time, that could distract them and give me an alibi. Will you do it? Please say you’ll do it.

He is the most convincing man I know, a force of nature made up of ridiculous good looks and charm that should be punishable by law. I didn’t even think to say no, even though the self-preservation alarms were going off in my head, saying, you absolute fucking idiot, you can’t do this, you’re in love with him.

But here I am, doing it, and he wants to play hooky as if we were in school.

He must see something in my face because his splits into the earth-shattering grin that throws entire stadiums into a frenzy when he flashes it in the middle of a show. “Awesome, text the representative, and let’s go.”

Still, I try. “What makes you think I’ll do that?”

“I want you to?” It’s not even a question, with that smug cock of his eyebrow. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

I’ve always known I’m buying my own ticket to ruin. With Harry, it almost doesn’t matter the outcome. Every second spent near him makes me burn bright with a light-soaked joy that seems pulled right out of a poetry book.

It’s worth it, the ruin. Even if I get one kiss, even if it’s for the cameras, even if I’m only ever his assistant, even if it never happens again. It’s him, and it’s worth it.

I text the representative.

This is my gift to @peachpety for the Wheel of Drarry Exhange. My dear peach 🍑💖, I had so much fun creating this for you, I really hope you enjoy it!!! Infinite thanks to @fw00shy for the beta and the convo about celebs ✨

#drarry #drarry fic #draco malfoy #harry potter #mine #mywriting #wheel of drarry mini exchange

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spooky-nerd · 3 years

Text

I Wrote an MSR Christmas Fic in September, Sorry

Christmas comes but once a year, or so he’s been told. Which means that he has 364 days (at least) to strategize. And yet, he never quite manages to be able to escape it.

He’s come close a small handful of times. A mere brush with victory followed by crushing defeat. In 1971 he was hospitalized with appendicitis on December 24. Unfortunately, the hospital gave out little teddy bears with santa hats that year to all of the children. In 1994, he tried lying low in his apartment, but Mrs. Sanders from across the hall had dropped off a fruitcake wrapped in red and green paper with a ridiculously frilled bow. The fruitcake had tasted horrible, but then that had been comforting, because he has never had a fruitcake that didn’t taste horrible and would find the very idea to be unsettling to say the least.

Twice he has nearly managed to avoid Christmas altogether. An almost impossible feat, and a coveted one amongst those who bemoan the holiday like he does.

He is not a grinch, as some would suspect, and his heart is not withered and cold. He does not have a propensity for stealing presents from under trees, and he has never once uttered the words “bah, humbug!”. He just does not care for Christmas.

This had come as a shock to Scully during their first year of partnership. She had whisked into the office on December 23rd in a cloud of merriment, smelling like peppermint and humming festively. “So, what are your Christmas plans?” she had asked innocently.

“Well, I’ll probably microwave some popcorn and watch Plan 9 From Outer Space,” he had said in complete seriousness. In spite of his delivery, she had laughed. Probably at the absurdity of it, which likely was obvious to outside observers, he had realized then. And yet, his world-weary soul had lacked the energy to care.

“You’re serious?” She had dropped the smile, and in its place was that frown of disappointment that he was rapidly becoming acquainted with. For some reason, he had felt a bit sheepish.

“Yeah, I’ve just never been one for the holidays.”

“But Mulder, it’s Christmas,” she had said, her incredulity ratcheting up impossibly higher.

“Oh I know, Scully. Trust me, I know. 104.9 started playing Christmas music in October. My building super put up tinsel in all the hallways on November 1st. I’ve been visually assaulted by this holiday on every street corner since the day after Black Friday. I know it’s Christmas. I just don’t really care.” He had shrugged, in case the rant came off a little too harsh. Not that Scully was easily intimidated. He was quickly beginning to learn that too.

She had shrugged, already poised to drop the subject. “Alright. Enjoy your popcorn, then.”

He had smiled. “Thanks, Scully.”

She had paused, turned back to him. He had gotten a whiff of peppermint again, and wondered if it was a new holiday perfume, or just the everyday magic of her. “You know, November 1st is a little early for tinsel.”

Looking back, it is possible that he had begun to fall in love with her then.

* * *

In the four years that Scully has been his partner, he has discovered that she has exactly one flaw: she loves Christmas. The music, the food, the gifts, the decorations, she eats them all up with a little festively-adorned spoon. At his request, she had refrained from stringing lights up in the office, but in exchange, he is forced to accept one Christmas gift from her each year.

Of course, he isn’t a monster, so every year, he buys her a present, too. Usually something quite ridiculous and useless. Their second Christmas together, he had bought her a mug depicting the entire cast of General Hospital. “It made me think of you,” he had said, to which she had raised an eyebrow and smiled, sliding her own present across the desk to him with false demureness. He had given her a suspicious look and ripped into the gift with exaggerated zeal, just to make her laugh. With delight he had pulled out a tie with little green aliens and flying saucers.

“Scully,” he had said, completely smitten. She had smiled and shrugged. He had decided that is was possible he didn’t hate gift exchanges as much as he had previously thought.

* * *

On December 23rd, 1997, he walks into the office and she is not there. It is not a surprise to him, but it is a blow nonetheless. She should be here, bringing him hot chocolate in addition to his morning coffee, placing a gift on his desk wrapped in ribbon so clinquant and overwhelmingly jubilant that it makes his eyes hurt. She should be here, making him dislike the holiday less and less with each passing moment. And if she can’t be here, he should be there with her. He calls Skinner and tells him he is taking a personal day. He does not explain further but he does not need to.

“Okay. Tell her I said Merry Christmas,” Skinner says.

“Thank you, sir. I will.”

* * *

Within an hour, he is at her doorstep with a hazardously overstuffed plastic grocery bag, a six-foot spruce that is growing heavier by the minute, and a gift wrapped in paper that had been sparkly at one time but has now transferred all of its glitter onto his coat.

It takes her a worryingly long time to answer the door. But she does eventually, looking completely drained, a sweater wrapped around her thin frame. She is cold all the time now and she never complains but it has not escaped his notice. She looks exhausted, but it stops his breath how beautiful she is all the same.

She is surprised to see him. Even more shocked by the one-man window display he has become.

“Mulder? What are you doing?” Confusion, but also a smile in her voice that he can see glittering in her eyes, too.

“I thought I’d bring the party to you, Scully.” He is still a little out of breath, but he smiles, and finally she laughs, melodic and joyful. She lets him in.

* * *

With the muted tones of Bing Crosby playing smooth and unobtrusive underneath, he makes them hot chocolate, dons a Santa hat, and gets to work decorating her tree. She sits on the end of her couch nearest him and opens up the little boxes of colorful Christmas ornaments, handing them to him one-by-one with delicate care. He gets tangled more than once in the Christmas lights, each time extricating himself in a flurry of limbs and curses. It’s worth it to hear her laugh. He wants to close his eyes and listen to the sound and pretend everything is okay.

When he is finished, she holds out her hands wordlessly and he helps her stand up. He wraps an arm around her and they lean against one another, admiring the finished tree. He wonders if she knows it means so much more to him than just a nice gesture. Her grip tightens around him in a brief hug.

“Mulder,” she says softly. “I don’t even know what to say. You really didn’t have to do all this.”

They are quiet for a moment. Bing Crosby sings that it’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas. He finds that he agrees.

“I wanted to, Scully. I wanted to be here. The office doesn’t feel right without you,” he says. “Besides, you would’ve done the same.”

She huffs a small laugh. “You hate Christmas.”

“No I don’t.” She looks up at him and he meets her gaze. “I don’t.”

* * *

Exactly one year later, she is safe and whole and mulling over a file, tapping an absent beat on their desk with her pencil. He bounds into the office, over-laden with a diverse assortment of ridiculous Christmas paraphernalia. He dumps it all on the floor in an unceremonious heap, shakes the snow out of his hair, and tosses her a goofy smile.

“Hey, Scully,” he says, out of breath. “Wanna help me deck the halls?”

When they are finished, the office has never looked more unprofessional. They couldn’t be prouder of themselves. Before she leaves for the night, she gives him his gift and a kiss on the cheek. Also very unprofessional, as is the alarming rate at which his heart is beating. It’s just about the only thing he can think about over the holidays, and that in itself brings clarity.

* * *

Her hand is icy where it settles atop his on the steering wheel. He risks only a brief glance in her direction. ‘It’s really coming down out there,’ he had said obligatorily about thirty minutes earlier, squinting into the critical sliver of light their headlights were slashing through the dark flurries of snow.

“Let’s stop for the night,” she says. He nods and gets off at the next exit without question.

They find a motel down a nearly deserted back road that makes them both touch the concealed weapons at their hips just for comfort. The attendant wordlessly accepts their cash and slides them a key.

“You know what’s messed up?” he says as he flops onto the bed after a cursory inspection for suspicious stains.

“What?” she says, rooting through her bag for their toothbrushes.

“I don’t even know where we are.”

She sighs, a weary sound that he has gotten used to hearing in the months they’ve been on the road. Almost four months now.

“We are somewhere in the southern part of Kentucky. That’s all I know.”

“Scully,” he begins, the word absolutely riddled with guilt.

“Mulder, stop. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be.” They’ve had this small scrap of conversation several times. He keeps waiting for her response to change but it never does.

Silence except for her continued rummaging. Then, a triumphant “Aha!”

He peeks out from under the arm slung across his face. “What-“ He stops at the sight of her wearing a santa hat and holding a lumpy package wrapped in newspaper and held together with duct tape. She smiles and inclines her head triumphantly. The hat tilts adorably and the little pompom falls in front of her face. He laughs in spite of everything. In the spirit of the season, she joins him.

“Merry Christmas, Mulder.”

He shakes his head, in awe once again. “I love you.”

* * *

In an unremarkable house, in an unremarkable room, in an unremarkable chair sits a man. He is unremarkable in some ways and remarkable in others. He is holding in his hand a two-inch long replica of a Louisville Slugger that has been made into a keychain. A gas station trinket, unremarkable in some ways and remarkable in others. He turns it over in his hands and cannot help the smile that spreads across his face. It takes him back to a motel on a snowy night in southeastern Kentucky, and he has a mind to stay there awhile.

She walks in at that moment, wearing the most hideous sweater he has ever seen. After a moment of stunned silence he lets out a loud gut laugh. She smiles, spreading her hands in a silent ‘ta-da’. The sweater is red and green, and knit into it are alternating rows of Christmas trees, presents, wreaths, some colorful blobs that inexplicably might be potted ferns, and a pair of kissing reindeer, both of which have antlers.

“You look horrible,” he says, still chuckling. “I love it.”

“I found it at a Goodwill.”

“An ironic name for a store that would sell such an act of violence.”

She laughs. “I’m thinking of adding it to my regular rotation. I could get you one, too, and then we could match.”

“Well, people in town already think we’re crazy. Maybe it’s time to start leaning into it.”

She heads to the kitchen to make the hot chocolate, and he puts his hand in his pocket for the thousandth time that day, touching the small box like he’s afraid it will disappear. While she putters around the kitchen, he stares at the winking lights of their Christmas tree and gathers his thoughts.

Within minutes she is back with two steaming mugs filled much too full, sloshing dangerously. She sips a little out of both of them, burns her tongue, and hands him his. The mugs are hot. She pulls her sleeves up until only the tips of her fingers are peeking out and holds the mug that way. He watches the entire scene, completely enamored.

She throws herself onto the couch with a sigh and it is a Christmas miracle that she does not spill any of the hot chocolate on that horrendously festive sweater. He settles down next to her and sips gingerly from his mug, contemplating the mystery of those reindeer.

“Is it a misunderstanding of deer anatomy or a political statement, do you think?” she says, clearly reading his mind. He makes a mental note to open up an unofficial investigation into how she keeps being able to do that.

“All I know is it’s my favorite thing you’ve ever worn.”

“Aww. Thanks.”

“I am curious about those potted ferns, though.”

“Is that what they are?”

They wait there together, sipping and talking about everything and nothing until the hour whittles down to nil and the clock strikes midnight, Christmas Day. He puts an arm around her shoulders and marvels at the way her head fits so perfectly in the crook of his neck. He presses a kiss onto the top of her head.

“Merry Christmas, Scully.” He whispers it like a treasured secret.

She turns to kiss him. “Merry Christmas,” she whispers back. Then she is up, grabbing his presents. She is eager for him to see one of them, and has been carrying the secret of what it is around with her for weeks. She hands it to him first, and he makes a show of opening it agonizingly slowly. She rolls her eyes and shoves him gently until he picks up the pace.

“Oh wow, Scully,” he says softly when he pulls the tissue paper aside to reveal a vintage restored Polaroid camera. “Thank you. This…wow.” He runs a hand over the glossy surface appreciatively, and then points it at her. “Say cheese.”

Within moments, the photo of her completely unprepared and squinting painfully at the sudden flash develops.

“Ugh,” she giggles.

“I’m keeping it.” He slips it into his pocket before she can snatch it away. His knuckles bump the small box, and he swallows the sudden lump in his throat. “Okay, now it’s your turn.”

He retrieves the gift from under the tree and watches her open it. “Oh, Mulder,” she says, pulling the typewriter out of its box. He’d had to place an anonymous ad in the paper for that one. They had decided at the beginning of their life on the run that they would use only the most basic technology, which meant burner phones and nondigital alternatives. “It’s beautiful.”

It is. It’s an Underwood, glossy white, impeccably maintained. He’d paid a small fortune to a very old man for this one. They had met in a public park. He had paid in cash. The man had brought it in an old shoebox inside a brown paper grocery sack. The whole transaction had felt vaguely illegal. The man had looked at least 100.

“Thank you.” She gives him a hug. She smells like hot chocolate and peppermint. It reminds him of a Christmas many years ago. A conversation about why he didn’t like Christmas. Oh how things have changed.

“Actually, there’s one more thing,” he says when she pulls away. She raises an eyebrow. She hates to be outdone, especially on Christmas. Incredulity turns into disbelief when he pulls out the small box.

“Mulder,” she whispers. Her eyes fill with unshed tears when he gets on his knee in front of her, and if he’s going to make it through this, he cannot look at her.

“Scully, I-“ his voice catches immediately. He clears his throat. “I know that the past few years have been…well there’s no words for it. You are the only thing that has gotten me through. You’ve been there Scully, since the beginning you’ve been there and I- I can’t imagine my life without you. I want so much more for you. You deserve so much more, and I…I wish that I could give you more. But this is all I have to offer, Scully. This is everything I have. I want to grow old with you and, and love you and support you and laugh with you until the end of time. I promise to be faithful. I promise to have your back and to be there for you always.” He takes a shaky breath. “Dana Katherine Scully, will you marry me?”

He looks into her eyes, and he sees everything there. The love and devotion that had started small and fragile and had grown into something ineffably strong. He cannot imagine a life without this woman. Bing Crosby’s voice floats quietly over from the record player, singing about having a merry little Christmas. He wants a life with her, a thousand more little Christmases just like this one, filled to the brim with ridiculous, garish holiday cheer. She takes a deep breath, the words that will determine their future poised on the tip of her tongue.

“Yes. Of course I will.”

- - - - - - - -

Note: Btw, I wasn’t lying about that sweater

#txf fic #msr #the x files fanfic #the x files #Fox Mulder #Dana Scully #txf fanfic #msr fanfic #christmas fic #x files fanfic #mine

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chudleycanonficfest · 3 years

Text

Nobody Compares

Day 22, Story #1 is by @arianatwycross

Title: Nobody compares Author/Artist: arianatwycross.tumblr.com Pairing: Ron Weasley/Hermione Granger Prompt: In Vino Veritas (under the influence) Rating: T Trigger Warning(s) (if any): n/a

Hermione admits to kissing Ron, brags about him to Sarah and her friends. They don’t believe her because she’s acting so out of character.

Ron comes up from behind her and kisses her neck.

Her friends gasp loudly and she smiles at their shocked expressions. She doesn’t give them time to question her properly, instead she spins around and places her hands on his chest.

He’s smiling down at her, his eyes a little glassy from the alcohol. He bends down to whisper something in her ear and Hermione can’t help but bite her lip and nod back.

Hermione wasn’t surprised that Ron got signed young. He had the sort of edge a football player needs in the modern world, the passion to do more while simultaneously keeping a smart head, his humour, his witty but sensible remarks about teammates and competitors. She wasn’t surprised when he got picked for the first team, the team he grew up supporting, watching on TV and following in magazines.

She was surprised however, at how easily it was for them to drift apart. She always thought that they would be able to overcome issues like time zones and schedules, but she was wrong. Hermione graduated University with a first in Law, and was on her way to study her Master’s in London and Ron was upping his training and committing to the first team at Manchester United.

At the beginning they emailed and texted frequently, while Hermione was still settling into her Bachelor’s degree and Ron was still playing for the Under 23’s. But in Hermione’s second year, her course load increased and she had barely had time to even watch a single tv show. Ron tried his best to see her on his weekends off, but in the end Hermione convinced him it wasn’t worth it. The conversations over email and phone started to dwindle to monthly, then every few months and then finally they stopped altogether.

Hermione did mourn their friendship for a long time. She blamed herself mostly, she knew she was the one that had a bit more freedom to call him when she could. Ron was too busy dealing with training schedules and away games to think about calling his best friend from secondary school.

It had been four years since she had seen Ron. She still thought about him at times, how could she not when he was one of the most famous football players in the country? Sometimes she saw him in the sports section of the newspaper or saw him on the TV. She was a self-proclaimed Manchester United fan and so she saw him play every game on the TV. Her friends had no idea they were best friends just a few years ago, they had no idea that he was Hermione’s first love. No one knew that, not even Ron.

So when she walked into the pub down the street one Friday night, and found him standing at the bar she froze. Every muscle in her body just stopped, only her heart thumped heavily in her chest. There he was, back leaning against the bar, red hair still cut short, shoulders a little bit broader, arms definitely more toned, the same cheeky grin plastered on his face. Her heart flipped and cracked all at the same time.

She hadn’t seen him for four years and on a random Friday night she runs into him? She quickly looked at Sarah next to her, glaring at her as if she had planned this. Sarah of course, did not. Sarah had no idea that Hermione was friends with the famous Ron Weasley.

“Oh my god, is that Ron Weasley? Doesn’t he play for Man U Hermione? You support them don’t you?”

Hermione just stared at Ron, her eyes drinking in the mannerisms she hadn’t seen in years. The cross of his arms across his body, the tilt of his smirk as he listened to his mates next to him.

“Hermione?’

“Right, yeah that’s him”

“Shall we say hello?”

“No!” Hermione quickly interjects and steers Sarah away from the bar and towards a booth on the opposite side. She can still see him from where she sits but he can’t see her without turning around.

Sarah gives Hermione a bewildered look.

“Bit of a fangirl are we?” Sarah asks.

Sarah works with Hermione, the two of them only just starting to hang out outside of work. She doesn’t know much about the smart solicitor yet, just that Sarah has a boyfriend that works at the bank and that she enjoys a large glass of pinot noir a bit too much.

She’s nice, and smart and the two of them get along really well. But Hermione wasn’t about to go blab about how the man at the bar was the love of her life between the ages of 15-21.

“No, just I’m way too awkward to say hello” She mutters, “Shall I grab us some drinks?”

Sarah nods and rattles off her order. Hermione makes sure she goes to the furthest side of the bar to where Ron leans. He’s still looking in the opposite direction so she calms down a little, lets her muscles relax and breathes steadier so her heart doesn’t go into overdrive.

She orders her drinks and while she waits she watches Ron. He’s wearing a plain white t-shirt and jeans. She watches the smooth muscles in his back tense as he talks, he’s still as mesmerizing as the day she last saw him.

She drinks another three glasses of wine before Sarah calls the rest of her friends, begging for them to join them at the pub. The pub has grown loud and rowdy, the drinks have been flowing and the heat has made everyone boisterous and excitable. Ron has relocated to a table with his mates, a pint in his hand, the group of them laughing loudly and Hermione feels herself being pulled towards him.

Sarah waits at the table for their friends while Hermione goes to order them another round. The alcohol is now freely flowing in her veins, so she doesn’t realise who’s next to her before it’s too late. He stands tall, his elbows resting on the sticky bar. She tenses, her entire body feels inflamed.

“Mione?”

She might just cry.

She looks up and finds Ron staring at her in shock. His blue eyes wide and his mouth wide open. She laughs.

“Hey” she replies, smiling at him.

Ron instantly smiles back and before she knows it he’s grabbing her into a hug and engulfing her with his scent.

He smells exactly the same, she thinks.

“Fucking hell, I can’t believe its you!” he says, pulling back and cupping her face with his large palms.

She freezes at such an intimate touch but he doesn’t seem to realise.

“You look good” she says, watching as his eyes also scanned her face.

“You look stunning” he replies openly, making Hermione laugh again. He drops his hands.

“How long has it been?” he asks. He’s shaking his head now, still in shock at seeing her.

“Four years?”

“Fucking hell, I’ve missed you” he says quietly.

“Yeah, I’ve missed you too”

They smile at each other. Hermione grabs the wine glass in front of her as the bartender makes Sarah’s drink. Her entire body is shaking.

“Are you here with someone?” he asks.

She points out Sarah, who is now sitting with three other girls. Girls that Hermione hardly knows.

“Sarah, I work with her. It looks like her friends just showed up” Hermione gives Ron a tight smile.

“Oh well do you have time to chat?”

“Yeah, let me just give this to Sarah and let her know” she holds up Sarah’s wine glass and Ron gives her a smile. Such a familiar smile that Hermione can’t help but smile back, her jaw hurts already.

She walks over to the table, tells Sarah that she’s just bumped into an old friend and will be back soon. Sarah’s friends greet Hermione kindly but don’t complain.

Then Hermione finds herself sitting at a table in the corner of the pub with Ron Weasley.

She can’t quite believe it. She’s 24 and sitting across a table with her childhood best friend. He looks exactly the same but completely different. She feels exactly the same as she usually does when with him. The old feelings are bubbling up and overwhelming her. How can feelings from four years ago still be so strong?

They end up chatting for hours, the drinks fueling her excitement at seeing him, the alcohol probably fueling another type of feeling that she probably shouldn’t encourage. They talk about their families, their friends, football and her job. She’s giggling and laughing and then Ron’s telling her he’s sorry.

“I’m so sorry we feel out of touch. I still think about you all the time” he admits. He’s been drinking beers and she can tell he’s slightly tipsy by the redness of his cheeks.

“Me too, I guess life just happened” she murmurs.

He nods sullenly.

“I watch all of your games” she admits bravely. She blames the wine, she’s never normally this forward.

“You do?”

“Of course I do,” she smiles at his bewildered look. His blue eyes wide and searching hers for the catch.

“You’re great”

He laughs modestly.

“I ask my mum about you every time I go home” he admits and she blushes furiously.

“Really?”

“Yeah, that’s probably embarrassing but I think I’ve drunk too much to care.” He laughs and she laughs with him. His laugh is so contagious and familiar, a warmth that she had never found in anyone else.

“I’ve heard all about your big job in the city and your nice apartment,” he admits.

“My mum still talks to your mum so I guess I’m not surprised. Does she also tell your mum that I haven’t had a proper boyfriend in years and that I need to get a move on?” she laughs.

Ron smiles tightly and she watches as his eyes scan her face and settle on her lips.

“So still no boyfriend?”

“Nope. What about you? Have you found a hot model to marry yet?”

He screws his nose up and Hermione laughs.

“No way, models are too much trouble. But no, no girlfriend. I was seeing a girl last year but it didn’t work out”

Hermione’s heart flips. She doesn’t want to imagine Ron with another girl, falling in love with another girl.

“That’s a shame” she mutters, hands grasping the stem of the cool wine glass.

“Not really”

She looks up and finds him staring down into his beer.

“Why?”

He ignores her question and instead looks at her, catching her eyes with his.

“Do you think everyone has that one person they compare everyone to?”

The question surprises her, so much that she opens her mouth to answer but finds that she has nothing to say. Or at least, the words don’t seem to form. Instead she can only say one word.

“Who?”

His eyes widen but he looks down at the table and smiles.

“Well, you of course”

Hermione feels like she’s dreaming, like the alcohol running through her body has numbed her and she is just playing out a fantastic scenario in her drunken brain.

“What?” she gulps.

Ron nods as if he’s agreeing to something in his head.

“You were my best friend and you’re gorgeous, of course I fancied you” they don’t break their eye contact, it seems too important, too life-changing of a conversation to not look at each other.

“No you didn’t!” she scoffs, thinking of an 18-year old Ron fancying smart-ass, frizzy-haired Hermione.

“Oh come on Mione! You’re beautiful, smart and funny! I was always flirting with you!”

She tries to remember a time when he might have been flirting but she can’t, all she can remember is her 18 year old self watching him play football, the way he moved when he sprinted, his laugh when he scored, the way he hugged her when they celebrated.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” she gulps.

“You just got into Uni and you needed to focus. You were always stressing about how important your first year was and then when I called you, I felt like I was distracting you and I knew how important it all was for you so I just stopped calling” he had his hands running through his hair now, settling on his neck and squeezing.

It was too much for her, to think that she was the reason Ron stopped talking to her. All she could think about was disappointing him, choosing her degree over his friendship, over something more. She stood up frantically and mumbled something about needing air. She heard Ron say something as she walked off but the air was suffocating her, the crowds were too much, the alcohol was making her feel slightly nauseous.

She shoved open the front door to the pub and pushed through the small crowd out the front. She found a quiet corner near the car park, gulped in the fresh summer air and breathed.

She couldn’t believe that Ron had fancied her this whole time, that he wanted to talk to her and that he didn’t just feel obliged to talk to her after school. He liked her and she liked him. She spent years watching him play football, happy that he had moved on, trying not to think about the time they had missed.

“Mione?”

Hermione looked up to find Ron standing idly a few meters ahead of her.

“Ron,” she sighed.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

She didn’t consciously walk towards him, it just happened, like the sight of him spurred something in her , made her gravitate towards him. She was inches from him when she stopped and she looked up, her heart warming at the familiar blue eyes and the freckles on his cheeks. So familiar and so him.

“I missed you so much” is all she can say, and she feels her heart filling at the way he smiles back at her.

“I missed you too”

“I’m probably a little drunk but can I kiss you?” she says, the words tumbling from her mouth before she can catch them and swallow them whole.

He smiles brightly and takes her jaw in his hands, his palms back to where they belong.

He leans down and kisses her deeply. His lips are soft beneath hers. She wraps her hands around his neck and her fingers lace between his hair, something she had only dreamt of doing.

She tugs at his hair and he responds by slipping his tongue into her mouth, she moans as their tongues tangle and their breaths deepen. She’s feeling dizzy and she knows it’s not from the wine, it’s from being this close to Ron. It’s from all the pent up feelings she’s had buried for years, for the disappointment she had felt, the deep sadness from him not being in her life.

They pull apart and Ron kisses the corner of her mouth, her jaw, her cheek.

“Mione?”

“Yeah?” she murmurs, still breathless.

“Please tell me you have time to see me”

The desperation in his voice breaks her, she grabs his face and kisses him fiercely.

“Ron, I’m not letting you go this time”

He smiles as he kisses her this time, and they laugh in between kisses.

He asks if he can take her home and she delightfully finds out that he lives nearby, just a 20 minute walk from her own house. He explains that he’s actually been transferred to Arsenal and he moved to London just a few weeks ago. He seems happy about the change and Hermione can’t help but grin proudly as he tells her about the transfer and his new apartment. She feels like this is all too good to be true, that he’s now close by, he’s here and with her.

She goes back inside the pub to say goodbye to Sarah, he pulls her in for another kiss before they enter the pub. He also says goodbye to his mates and she feels feverish as she wanders over to the crowded table. Sarah squeals when she appears and Hermione notes how intoxicated everyone is and smiles. Sarah’s friend, Ashleigh asks if Hermione knows Ron Weasley and Hermione nods, not stopping the huge smile that graces her face when she hears his name. Sarah squeals again at Hermione’s blush and Hermione ends up gushing when Sarah asks if they snogged.

She revels in the faces of Sarah and her friends when Ron kisses her neck, and she lets his lips spread heat over her entire body.

“We have a lot of catching up to do Miss Granger.”

#chudley canon fest #hp canon pairings #romione #ron x hermione

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lifewithdavefarts · 3 years

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DaveFarts - Episode 13 “When She Finally Leaves” [Episode List] Dana spends the whole day at Dave’s place. When the girl leaves, Tim, who’s now Dave’s roommate, finds out how much gas a man can hold in just to not look gross in front of a girl.

When She Finally Leaves

In the last few weeks I’ve been spending more and more nights at Dave’s place, whether because I needed a place to work, write my essays, or simply to spend some quality time watching bad films and drinking beer. It was Dave himself to ask me to “marry him” (as he jokingly put it), basically becoming official roommates, which also meant dividing our tasks and obviously splitting the rent.

And honestly we were having a great time. We both had jobs, fortunately, which were not much but they did pay taxes for now and it was overall a great experience. Friend or not, Dave is an excellent roommate, being pretty good at cooking and organising chores; the same could be said for me actually, though in some cases we have our own preferences; for example Dave prefers cooking (the fact that I’m bad at it it’s purely coincidental) so we agreed I’ll be the one doing the dishes.

We also had our buds crashing over what is now *our* place a couple of times, which resulted in more bad films and beer, or even nerd stuff such as gaming together. Of course however, the person who most often came over is obviously Dana, Dave’s girlfriend. She’s pretty cool though we don’t really hang out with her when Dave’s not around, though as I said she’s pretty easy-going.

Tonight we’ve been watching a trash movie. Yes, the three of us. Don’t worry, I was a welcome addition today. Dave would usually just tell me to leave for a few hours if sex was on the table (sometimes literally on the table, the one where we eat our food…) as we respect each others enough to just be straightforward whenever we needed some privacy. Tonight however it was just chilling like three friends hanging out together (knowing however that Dave would just give me a signal should things get more heated up you know).

We were in the living room. I was on an armchair, working on my laptop, despite the poor wi-fi. On the long wide couch beside me, Dave and Dana chilling and watching the movie with more attention than me, my bud’s left arm around his girlfriend, sometimes making remarks on how bad it was. We all had a can of beer, because of course we did.

The couple brought some takeouts for dinner, some fast-food a few blocks from here (Dana’s idea, actually, which we were both thankful for). Dave, chilling next to Dana, was wearing his signature casual outfit: a grey shirt and pair of dark blue loose jeans, details that my gay-ass eyes immediately noticed and more than once stared at.

“Oh wow the helicopter just blew up I’m speechless.” Dave said, sarcastically.

“A Subversive Masterpiece: that’s what they were going for when they wrote this.” Dana added, and they both chuckled.

I also did my fair share of sarcastic remarks though work got most of my attention, even though it was nothing urgent, just me trying to get some stuff done as fast as possible.

“Did the shark just wink at him?” my bro commented.

“They’re best friends now.” his girlfriend explained. What a great film.

After 15 more minutes the movie ended with the three of us clapping at a shot of a man and a shark exchanging a look of gratitude to each other, as the Sun set into the never-ending ocean. Drugs played a big role into the making of this move I’m 100% sure.

“Well, that was enlightening, but I gotta head back home. The Uber’s almost here.” Dana said, as she got up and reached for her purse and some other stuff.

“You’re really sure about that? Come on, stay here for the night.” Dave suggested. “I taught Tim to play dead. We can throw food at him.” he then joked.

“I can also bring you the newspaper upstairs, tomorrow morning.” I played along.

Dana chuckled in response. “I’m sure you’ll win the next contest you two, but I gotta wake up super early tomorrow.”

The couple walked towards the front door. The entrance was next to the living room, a few steps behind the couch. Dave and I sometimes darkly joked that any assassin could easily ambush us because whenever we’re on the couch anyone could sneak into the house behind us, with enough care (we then prefer to drink about it).

“Call me when you get home.” Dave said and the two shared a quick kiss.

In the meantime I moved on the bigger (and more comfortable) couch, more or less in Dana’s spot, as I also have better wi-fi reception there. I left my laptop on the small table in front of me because apparently all of my laptops have to be shitty and take some time to even the most basic stuff. As I inspected the wi-fi icon flashing on the screen, I heard Dave shutting the door and walking back to the couch. After a few steps his tall figure was already towering over me.

“Yeah the reception is pretty bad lately.” he commented, and then collapsed next to me.

Only a few seconds and he already had that well-known smirk drawn on his face; he then quickly adjusted his position. He completely laid down, extended his demin-clad legs, with his left one resting on the back of the couch, ending right behind my neck. In a moment, Dave ended up showing off his loose, almost-sagging jeans-clad ass directly next to me, as his legs trapped me into a gentle yet strong grip. Seeing both that “wall” made of jeans and my bro’s smirk at the same time was a sight I never truly got used to. He was just lying there, next to me, with his ass pointed at me, as if it was one big prank, even though he knew exactly how much I enjoyed that.

“Bro you’re ready?” he asked, still sporting that smirk.

When even Dave goes as far as asking me if I’m ready, then I knew that the fart was going to be gargantuan. And I realized why: Dana has been with us and my bro the entire day, so it’s possible that Dave just held all of his gas in for hours. We all experienced this, then when the girl leaves, men get to “relax”. Other than that, Dave had tons of beer and junk food. I stared at that denim butt, for the first time almost scared of what my bud was capable of; I knew a fart was coming, and I knew it was going to be big.

But what Dave said next really once again confirmed how chill he is around me.

“Believe me: you might want to get closer for this one.” he said, laughing a bit.

He sported weirdly reassuring smile, Dave’s millionth attempt at saying “It’s ok, Tim.” as he probably noticed now nervous I became when he assumed that pose.

The teasing bastard then went full bully on me and simply reached for my head with his long right arm and gently pulled me down, as if I was bowing to that still silent denim-clad ass. I just heard him laugh like an idiot, as it usually happens. Despite my head being down and in front of that ass, I could still see Dave’s face and that smirk. He raised his eyebrows and half-closed his eyes as he started pushing, but he didn’t need to put all that effort into ripping that blast.

It’s like the fart was barely contained in the first place: it immediately exploded with a loud sound right into my face. Dave closed his eyes and kept his smirk as the blast probably surprised him as well. It was low-pitched and dry, a completely natural gas-eruption that sounded like an engine. The stench was unbearable, a mixture of beer and junk food, surprise to no one.

While farting, Dave adjusted his position as bit, spreading his legs bit more, with my face getting almost planted into that denim-clad butt as he effortlessly kept ripping that immense flatulence. Hours and hours of gas being erupted as if I was in front of a dormant volcano that just woke up. And I feared that “hours” was what he was going for ‘cause after 20 seconds the fart didn’t even lose power.

Dave still had this smirk drawn on his face and occasionally stared down at me as he completely destroyed my face and nose with his incredible farting skills, skills that constantly let me speechless, fetish or not. He was the fart master, a showoff with a manly talent that I could only bow to and endure in the hop-

“Sorry, I forgot my house keys.”

The fart immediately stopped and it all went silent: It was Dana.

Dave turned his head to his girlfriend, greeting her with the stupidest smile you can think of.

“Oh stay there no worries, they’re right here.” I heard Dana say as she reached for keys, probably hanging right next to the door, my face still almost planted in my friend’s denim ass. That felt surreal.

I completely froze (not that I could move) but I knew that she couldn’t see me (just like I couldn’t see her) as I was lying down. All she could see from where she was standing was Dave’s head and his right leg resting on the back of the couch, since the entrance was behind our couch.

I was terrified, while Dave was doing his best not laugh like an idiot.

“What’s so funny?” Dana asked, laughing a bit herself, definitely noticing her boyfriend being weird.

My teasing bro quickly glanced down at me, almost losing it (and still holding holding the fart in, which didn’t stop the smell from burning my nostrils).

“N-nothing’” he stuttered. That’s it, he was gonna laugh like an idiot.

“Okay” I heard Dana, not really convinced of the boyfriend’s answer though.

There was a moment of awkward silence and then we heard a car honk, thank goodness.

“Oh… it’s my Uber. Bye!” the girl said, quickly leaving the house and shutting the door behind her.

Another moment of silence followed, Dave still staring at the entrance. I was shaking, I was legitimately scared that someone was gonna find out, which was weird given the hotness I was experiencing in that moment, even without the fart being ripped.

“Ok… where were we?” Dave asked, turning back to me, with a smirk. “Oh yeah!”

And he effortlessly resumed farting, just as loud, proud and powerful as it was before the interruption, directly into my face. The terror I experienced moments before was blown away by that incredibly blast and me being rock-hard, as it usually happens when Dave showoffs his gassy talent around me, or on me.

Dozens of seconds passed and at this point Dave just played along. He nodded at me, faking a serious expression, as if he was listening to something actually interesting instead of his own loud fart still going on strong; after about ten more seconds he checked the time on his wrist-watch and acted surprised, then stared down at me as if he wanted to say “damn that is long!”. We both however actually lost the track of time and he simply relaxed as if I wasn’t even in front of his ass, all while the fart was still being blasted in my face.

Dave then reached for my head again and gently pushed it inches closer to his roaring ass, and I felt the vibrations of his rip all over my face: it was literally an earthquake.

How long was it lasting? More than 1 minute perhaps? How much gas can a man hold in? Dave certainly was pushing for a record. All I knew is that I felt privileged witnessing that, even though I was beyond being a mere witness since no particle of gas missed my eyes and nostrils.

However (finally, actually), the fart seemingly started to lose power, the once-continuous sound starting to “stutter” and turning more into a fast series of loud farts, fired back-to-back. The show (because that’s what it was: a show) ended with a loud, 5 seconds blast, and Dave’s laughter.

I slowly got up, sweaty, my nose burning, with a startled look to which my bro reacted with another immature cackle. I was now sitting next to him as I was before, and looked back at my bud, who in the meantime re-adjusted his pose. He was still lying down, still kind of showing off his loose-sagging ass, but in a less “menacing” way: now he was just chilling.

“When’s Dana coming over again?” I joked. I mustered all the courage I had left to say that. I was impressed by the fact that I could still speak considering that all of my blood probably flooded my boner at that point.

Dave laughed at that lame joke, thank goodness. “As if I need Dana to blast you like this.”

He raised one leg, again showing off his sagging denim ass in my direction. He quickly sucked some air in and after a few moments and weird noises a loud 6 seconds fart erupted. For his standards, that’s basically a weak one.

My friend just casually joking and bragging about facefarting me and then farting on command to prove it made me lose it, as I felt my boner… dampening. He didn’t notice it but he knew that I had a hard-on, that’s for sure.

I didn’t want to just rush into the bathroom so I just stared at my laptop, still on the table, in front of me: the wi-fi signal was stronger than ever. I jokingly like to think that Dave’s blast was so powerful it actually influenced the signal somehow and improved it.

I turned to my bud, still lying on his side of the couch, just checking his phone and being… casually hot.

“Thanks man.” I said, not for the wi-fi though.

He lowered his phone, revealing a blank reaction “Really?” he said, rolling his eyes, with a bored expression. “Stop being cringe and do the dishes.”

Fuck, I totally forgot about those. We had takeout food but we still used some of our dishes. I immediately got up and rushed to the kitchen, hoping that Dave was distracted by his phone enough to not notice by boner through my sweatpants.

Once in the kitchen, a place that wasn’t tainted by Dave’s gas, my nostrils could still feel my bro’s fart-stench. That’s how soaked up in his gas I was. Even my ears needed some time to adjust to the silence, now that I didn’t have a deafening fart being ripped right into my skull.

And I just knew that this wasn’t the last time this was gonna happen. I’m Dave’s roommate, and being roomies means we have to divide our tasks: he’s the farter, I’m the sniffer.

End of Episode 13

#fart story #eproctophilia #fartkink #davefarts2 #gayfart #malefarts

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eyelessfaces · 3 years

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Hiiii! Could i request some possessive jealous Sherlock where a guy comes in for a case he wants to pitch to sherlock, john, and y/n, and y/n recognizes him as her ex! :)) Bonus points if it took y/n forever to get over this particular ex and once she sees him again shes hit with all those feels😩❤️

Threat

sherlock x reader

hello! thank you for your request :) I hope you'll like it, don't forget to give me some feedback!

word count: 1328

It was another day sitting at home, another day without a case in sight.

Not having cases disturbed Sherlock the most - but it actually made it worse for everyone around him.

Bored Sherlock had two moods only: he was either like a child high on sugar, always moving around and not being able to stop, or was just sprawled on his armchair, complaining about how bored he was and how boredom didn’t fit geniuses like him and how it made his brain itchy to not use it at its full capacities.

He occasionally shoot the wall too, what caused you to almost die multiple times, because he could of course do it during the day when you took your shower aswell as at night at three.

Right now, it was the second option. He was laying on his armchair, his head jerked on the back of it, facing the ceiling. He had been whining for what seemed to be hours.

“Why can’t anyone get murdered ?!” he shouted before instantly getting up.

“Just so you can get a case ?” John frowned.

“Exactly ! They’re so selfish. You don’t understand how bored I am right now.”

“Oh Sherlock I promise you we can.” you sighed, not bothering to look up from your book.

He frowned.

“Why’d you look so fed up ?” he asked squinting.

You put your book down and took a deep breath. “I don’t know, maybe because you’ve been whining for hours just because you’re bored ?! Stop acting like a child and get a hobby that doesn’t involve someone dying !” you said standing up in front of him.

“It’s not my fault my high intelligence can’t take doing ordinary stupid things like you-”

“Sherlock, a client downstairs !” Mrs Hudson came in. Sherlock’s face lit up. “Oh- am I interrupting something ?”

“Oh no you’re doing god’s work, they were starting a fight. Bring the client in” John said smiling at her.

Mrs Hudson nodded and left to go downstairs, and you turned to give Sherlock a death glare before leaving the living room to head to your shared bedroom, upset the man had just openly insulted your intelligence.

—

It had been ten minutes since you had locked yourself in the bedroom. But you felt kinda dumb because you realized you had forgotten your book, leaving you with nothing to do.

You just planneed to go back and snatch the book, and immediately go back to the bedroom. You were still upset by Sherlock’s remark, and you didn’t want to wander in the same room as him right now.

You crossed the kitchen, spotting your book. But after looking around at the scene, you couldn’t believe your eyes and you just froze there.

The client looked at you, before raising his eyebrows in surprise.

“Y/N ! You alright ? What are you doing here ?” he asked, sounding rather happy to see you.

“Anthony…?” you stuttered, feeling your cheeks rising hot.

Sherlock glared furtively at you, not quite comprehending what had just happened. You looked back at the other man, still definitely shocked. It was unsuspected to see him here, sat on your couch in your flat with your boyfriend sitting three feet across him.

“Hum yeah I’m fine. I guess. Yeah” you said still not moving from your spot, between the kitchen and the living room. You were feeling kind of overwhelmed and the atmosphere felt really heavy but awkward at the same time.

“What’s… Going on ?” John asked turning around, his look wandering from the client to you.

“Well, meet my, uh, ex. The last one. Made me cry a lot” you said chuckling awkwardly, trying to defuse the tension.

Sherlock quickly looked at your ex, and you knew the situation was getting complicated.

It took you really long to get over him, and you were obviously really in love with Sherlock but seeing that man again brought back many memories you’d never be able to forget.

These feelings towards Anthony weren’t love or attraction or whatever; it was just nostalgia, but it hit hard enough for you to freeze and to not be able to do anything right now.

Sherlock looked back at you, and you weren’t able to decrypt his body language. You didn’t know if he was concerned, confused or angry.

Maybe another perk of having a low IQ, not being able to deduce anything from anyone in a really short amount of time just by looking at them.

You decided to cut the scene short, definitely embarrassed enough.

“I gotta go… back. Bye.” you blurted out.

“Message me again sometime ?” Anthony suggested.

“I doubt this will be necessary” Sherlock said out of nowhere. “Mind if we get back to the case ?” he continued.

Anthony looked back at him. “Sure.”

You left the room, going back to your bedroom, still with no book, and you felt even more dumb.

—

“And this is why I need your help.” Anthony finished, done with pitching the consulting detective and his doctor.

Sherlock sighed.

“Well thank you. We are not taking the case. You can leave”

John glared at him, raising his eyebrows in incomprehension.

On the contrary but for the same reason, Anthony frowned, thinking the consulting detective would definitely take the case.

“Alright, and why that ?” he asked with a chuckle, offended his request was being declined.

“I will not elaborate.” Sherlock said standing from his armchair, grabbing the client’s coat and handing it to him.

“You serious mate ?!” Anthony said, starting to get angry.

“Leave.” Sherlock hissed, looking at him dead in the eye.

The man stood up from the couch, disappointed. He snatched his coat from Sherlock’s hands and left, closing the door behind him.

The consulting detective sat back in his armchair, followed by his bestfriend’s gaze.

“Why didn’t you take that bloody case ! You’ve been hanging there without one for days and now that someone comes up with something you’re just declining it ?!” John threw at his bestfriend, who was hiding behind the newspaper he had already read.

“The man is a threat.”

“What ?” John asked.

“Yes. A threat.”

“To ?”

“Me.”

“Sherlock what do you mean” John asked sighing.

“What I mean is” he threw the newspaper to the side and stood up. “My girlfriend’s ex came here and expected me to take his case after he offered her to get in touch again. She looked nervous and overwhelmed which means she’s not sure of what she should do with him. Plus he looked like… an arse.” he hissed, heading to the kitchen.

John chuckled and shook his head in despair.

“So you are like… jealous ?” he said trying to stay serious, even thought he couldn’t help but smile a little.

Sherlock turned to his bestfriend and frowned.

“Me ? No. How ?” he asked looking confused. “Do you want tea ?” he said, trying to avoid the subject.

“Sherlock I cannot deduce people like you do but I definitely know you are being jealous right now. Oh god, he’s acting human” John chuckled once more.

“Oh John please” he rolled his eyes.

He put the kettle to boil and looked back at John.

“Am I wrong ? If you weren’t jealous you would have taken the case.”

“Whatever”

Sherlock left the kitchen and opened the bedroom door.

“Fancy some tea ?” he asked you.

You turned around, surprised to see him that soon, as you thought he was working on his case.

“Sure, but aren’t you supposed to be on a case ?” you asked.

“Declined it. I’ll find a better one”

You sighed and stood up from the bed.

“This is because of me isn’t it”

“No it’s not. Don’t worry about this” he smiled slightly.

You smiled back and placed yourself in front of him.

“I love you Sherlock. Very much. Don’t ever question it because of some random guy coming in for a case”

He laughed and put back a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“I know.” he said before kissing your lips tenderly. “I love you too”

#sherlock #sherlock x reader #sherlock imagine #sherlock x y/n #sherlock x you #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock preference #sherlock holmes #bbc sherlock

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isthisthingeven0n · 4 years

Text

volunteering at its finest : s.r

spencer ‘volunteers’ to babysit henry whilst you and the girls have a needed girls night, except the night lasts a lot longer than any of you anticipated (2.2k)

* also i have an etsy shop where i sell some criminal minds tote bags and prints. if you wanna check it out i’ll leave the link here (i’ve also got a labour day sale happening rn til the 8th!) *

“Please do not tell me you’ve forgotten about girls night that I’ve had in my calendar for the last five weeks?” Penelope focuses on JJ through the monitor who slowly lowers her phone before glancing over to you.

“I, I didn’t forget,” JJ starts, causing both you and Emily to hold your laughs as she tries to ease her way out.

“You don’t sound so sure, J.” You comment, quickly feeling a rolled-up newspaper swatting your arm as you head towards the jet.

“It’s not that I forgot, it’s just the first time Will has been away in months and it just slipped my mind.” JJ tries to reason as you board the jet before you sit down opposite her and Emily, awaiting the wrath of Penelope Garcia once you return to base.

“What slipped your mind?” Spencer pitches in as he sits down beside you, a bright smile crossing his lips as you lean against him. “Hey,” He mutters to you, and JJ glances to Emily, still shocked that the pair of you owned up to your feelings six months ago after pining over one another for two years.

Patting Spencer’s arm lightly, you shrug it off. “Just girls night tonight.” You begin to explain, noticing Spencer furrowing his eyebrows together. “What?”

“I thought we were going to watch the Doctor Who marathon tonight?” He questions quietly, watching as a look of guilt consumes your expression.

“That was this today?” You weakly ask back as Spencer simply nods. “Oh, Spence,” You mutter, but Emily kindly butts in to save your ass once again.

“What if you watched it at JJ’s,” Emily begins, and you focus on her with a raised brow. “babysitting Henry?”

JJ scoffs lightly. “Spence, you’ve never babysat on your own before.” She looks over to the Godfather of her son, one of her best friends who could talk his way out of most things, but babysitting is another level.

“What? I could easily do it.” Spencer states proudly, forcing himself to sit taller in his seat as Rossi glances over, lowering the case file from his view. “I’ve watched Home Alone with Y/n, I know exactly what not to do. And I’ve read sixteen books on parenting.” He quickly adds, and Emily quips an eyebrow to you.

“I didn’t know that.” You mutter under your breath, just as JJ laughs playfully at Spencer’s antics.

“Just let the kid babysit, he clearly wants to.” Rossi pitches in, and Spencer smiles brightly at Rossi’s reassurance.

“Think of girls night.” Emily chuckles, and JJ looks over to you with concern before focusing back to Spencer, nodding to the proposition. “It’ll only be a couple of hours.” Emily quickly adds, and Spencer grins brightly.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” Spencer nudges your side as JJ shakes her head, wondering what she’s about to let lose.

***

“I still can’t get over the fact Spence offered,” Penelope states as she brings over your drinks to the table, placing them down as you eye Emily who shrugs her shoulders.

“Spencer is a good guy like that,” Emily snickers, and you nudge her playfully before sipping your drink.

As you swallow, you can’t help but cough and widen your eyes to Penelope who happily downs her cocktail. “Shit, Pen, what is in this? Battery acid?” You remark, sniffing it as JJ sips hers, quickly having the same reaction.

“No,” Penelope shakes her head as a scoff leaves her lips. “but it is called ‘Poison Ivy.’”

You raise an eyebrow, clearly intrigued as Emily downs the last of her previous drink, slamming the glass down before heading back to the bar. “Anyone want another one? I saw there’s a deal on certain drinks.” Emily calls out, not giving any of you a chance to answer before she disappears to the bar.

“God, if Spencer was here he’d happily list off some facts about the DC character Poison Ivy.” You sigh, wondering how he’s managing with little Henry.

“I’m sure he’s doing fine, Y/n.” Penelope reaches out, and you nod. “How’re you holding up Jayj?”

Turning your head, you see JJ finishing off the remainder of your drink as she places it next to her empty glass.

“What?” JJ slurs, lifting her head up as her eyes cloud over.

“Yeah, I think JJ has past worried and is in denial.” You mutter to Penelope who wisely nods in agreement.

Emily quickly returns with more drinks which JJ gladly accepts. “So, Y/n,” Emily rests her elbows on the table, focusing directly on you as you swallow the lump in your throat. “when are you going to tell us about the good Doctor huh?” She jokes and you laugh lightly, taking one of the four shots.

Placing the empty shot glass down, you wince as the burn descends down your throat. “Maybe after four more of these,” You cough, and Emily signals to the bartender to bring a few more rounds.

“Come on, we gotta get into the taxi,” Penelope tries her best to take charge as you help JJ to her feet along with Emily who is as much help as Spencer with his gun.

“Pen, can you take Emily? I’ll help JJ.” Despite still being drunk, you can focus on Penelope long enough to see only two of her as she nods and a blur of colour crosses your vision.

JJ’s head hits your shoulder, and you hear her hum. “Y/n?” JJ slurs and you hold her head up as you reach the exit to the bar, seeing the taxi feet away.

“It’s okay, J, the taxi isn’t far.” You rub her arm as she shakes her head and quickly darts out of your arms and hauls her body against a wall as she vomits violently.

“God, least I’m not that bad.” Emily laughs, unaware of who is being sick until JJ lifts herself back up, swaying back into your direction as she wipes her face. “Oh, hey JJ.” Emily waves as JJ groans loudly before climbing into the taxi after you.

“Where to ladies?” The driver speaks up as the doors are finally closed, and Penelope fastens her seatbelt in beside the driver.

You completely zone out as Penelope gives the driver her address, and miss the ringing of your phone. Little do you know, that missed call would become the first of many throughout the rest of the night - not that you’d know until sunrise.

“Thank you, Craig!” Penelope waves the driver off as you laugh hysterically with Emily about something Spencer once did during a date he organised.

“He just, he was so sweet, but got it so wrong,” You wipe your eyes as tears fall whilst Penelope helps JJ up the stairs as you and Emily trail behind. “I just didn’t have the heart to tell him I had no interest in seeing Twilight, only Robert Pattinson.” You sigh, remembering how excited he was to take you to the cinema to see something not only in English but current.

“Spencer means well, I think his big ol’ brain gets in the way sometimes.” Emily comments as you reach Penelope’s apartment, barely having the chance to take it all in before you’re given a wine glass that’s being filled.

“Oh, Pen I can’t.” You whine, feeling a headache already in the works, but Penelope Garcia is not one to take no for an answer- especially on girls night.

“Let me ask you, ladies,” Penelope starts, and now you wish you just kept quiet. “when was our last girls night?”

Penelope watches as you all exchange glances, no one knowing the answer. “Like, a year ago?” Emily guesses, receiving a quick scoff from Penelope.

“Two and a half years ago.” Penelope states. “We’ve had team nights out, but not a girls night.” She adds as Emily collapses onto the sofa whilst maintaining a full glass of wine. “So, I’m making up for lost time,” Penelope lifts her glass up as she looks around at the three of you, just about hanging in there. “to the ladies of the BAU.”

With a cheer, your night carries on with more laughter and embarrassing memories whilst Spencer is having less of an enjoyable evening with his godson.

“Y/n, this is the tenth message I’ve left you after leaving fifteen to JJ, five to Emily and twenty-six to Garcia. You better not have died on me as I’ve rung every hospital in the district and have had Kevin hack Garcia’s phone to find her location.” Spencer sighs as he paces around the living room whilst Henry remains sound asleep in his bed.

Part of Spencer knows he’s being irrational, but it isn’t like you to not even answer a text let alone a phone call. He’s so used to you being on hand whenever- especially with the line of work you both do. So when you don’t answer, he can’t help but allow his mind to spiral into the dark depths of misfortune.

Glancing out of the window, Spencer could tell without looking at a clock it was almost sunrise. Approximately 5:37 in the morning and you along with the others were nowhere to be seen.

With a small sigh, Spencer dials your number once more, only to hear movement outside of JJ’s house and he tenses.

Reaching over into his satchel, Spencer grabs his gun as he hides by the living room door, hearing movement of the front door opening as hushed voices sound throughout the hallway.

“God, he’s going to hate me, isn’t he?” You wince at the thought of Spencer scolding you for not getting back to him after you reviewed the dozens of messages and voicemails when you woke up twenty minutes ago.

JJ wraps her arms around you, bringing you into a hug but also to stabilise herself to stop the room spinning. “Spencer couldn’t possibly hate you, Y/n.” She assures you, seeing Spencer peer his head out from the corner of the living room and lower his gun. “That boy loves you more than you realise.”

Pulling away from JJ’s embrace, you sigh deeply into your hands. “I love him J, I just worry sometimes.” You mutter, unaware of Spencer standing behind you as his heart sinks.

“You should tell him, Y/n.” JJ motions and you tense up, silently swearing before you turn around to face your rather tired looking boyfriend. “I’ll go check on Henry.” JJ mutters, quickly passing you both and heads up the stairs with caution.

“I could never hate you, Y/n.” Spencer starts, “I was just worried about you and your safety.” He explains as he reaches out, resting his hand on your upper arm. “Did you have fun?”

A small laugh leaves your lips as you nod. “Yeah,” You chuckle, focusing on the tired look in his hazel eyes. “I, I love you Spence.” You tell him as you fall into his arms, exhaustion beginning to take over your body as Spencer’s chuckle vibrates against your body.

“I love you too, Y/n. Come on, you need to get some sleep.” Spencer guides you to the living room and you fall down with ease onto the couch. “Did you know the human body requires at least-”

Holding a finger up to Spencer, he pauses. “Spence, as much as I adore you and your facts, they are the last thing I need right now.”

“Alright,” Spencer gives in as he pulls a blanket over you, ignoring the smudged and dried mascara beneath your eyes and the lingering smell of cocktails on your clothing. “I’ll see you in an hour.” He mutters as he wanders out to make some coffee, knowing you’d need it once you woke back up.

“This is hell.” You state as you heavily lean against the railing alongside the girls whilst voices cheer around you, including Spencer. “I blame you, Pen.”

Penelope merely groans as she pushes her sunglasses further up her face.

“A couple of hours! No big deal!” Spencer emphasises as you roll your eyes, burying your face in your hands once again as he carries on cheering for the runners as they pass you all by in a blur. “You weren’t home until sunrise!”

“Why are you yelling.” JJ comments flatly whilst Derek glances over, holding his laugh in as he keeps Jack on his shoulders.

“Make him stop.” Emily adds, and you nudge your boyfriend as he stops waving his flag frantically and focuses on you.

“Next time, I’m either joining you in babysitting or you’re joining girls night.” You tell Spencer who smiles down at you before wrapping an arm around you, holding you close as you weakly smile through the pain of your hangover.

“Deal.” Spencer leans down, kissing you softly before the cheers of your team increase as Hotch reaches the finish line. “Come on, I think breakfast is in order.” Spencer guides you away from the railing as you rely on him heavily as the girls follow behind.

“Girls night happens every two years for a reason, I take it, baby girl?” Derek jokes as Penelope shushes him as you all gather around to celebrate Hotch’s achievement and block out the blur that last night has left on your memories.

“What happens on girls night, stays on girls night.” Penelope simply states, refusing to say anymore as you walk ahead with Spencer, discussing more about his latest read, ‘Parenting 101.’

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shegatsby · 3 years

Text

Fire on Ice

Summary; Tom Hiddleston is a vicious mob boss who is looking for his father’s killer, his reputation is depending on it and he won’t give up until he finds that man, and you my sweet little Y/N is the weirdest and the best thing that happened to him all his life.

Genre; Romance, mob, gangs, slow-burn,

Pairings; Tom Hiddleston x F!Reader

Words; 2.327K

Warnings; None.

A/N; Sorry for any typos and I’m sorry for the delay but I was on a vacation and I got my first Covid shot, my arm hurts uwu. Enjoy, I hope you guys like it. Text me if I forgot to tag you luv.

TAG LIST IS OPEN!

Chapter Nine

All the air left your lungs, he was your dad who was suppose to be dead. ‘’Dad?’’ you asked not believing. He opened his arms with a sad smile, it was welcoming but you weren’t able to walk towards him, something kept you at your place. His arms fell to his sides, ‘’I suppose you’re right.’’ He said silently, ‘’Why am I here?’’ you managed to ask, head high. ‘’You should rest first, we can talk tomorrow.’’

‘’I demand answers!’’ your voice was icy cold yet a rage was lying underneath. ‘’Help her to her room.’’ Your father said to a man who was standing at the corner of the large room, he walked towards you, he was tall and looked scary, you were tired, all the adrenalin left your body and you were shaking, ‘’We will talk tomorrow.’’ He reassured you with a tight smile, before you decided to follow this man you gave your father a look, wished he knew what you felt and then you left.

As soon as you were left alone in your new room you locked the door and found your phone, Tom left you missed calls and text messages. You didn’t know what to do, your heart told you to call him and ask him to pick you up but on the other hand you found your dad, alive and wanting to explain everything to you. You had to wait at least for tomorrow, you had to learn everything before you could make a decision about Tom. Leaving him at the parking lot was a cold thing to do, you sat on the queen sized bed holding your phone and it started ringing, it was Tom. You declined the call –wishing you didn’t have to- and turned off your phone. He had to wait and so did you.

The Next Morning

It was early when a woman knocked on your door, she was working here in the house –you guessed- ‘’Breakfast is ready ma’am. Your father expects you to eat with him.’’ You kindly smiled and left the queen sized bed, turned on your phone and sighed deeply, Tom didn’t stop calling you and texting you all night. You left your phone under your pillow.

Your room had a bathroom, everything was shiny and perfect, you couldn’t help but be in awe, at least your dad was rich but you wondered where the money comes from, everything was perfect… too perfect. After taking a quick shower and finding nice clothes you went out, your father was at the back yard of this huge house, reading a newspaper and drinking his coffee, when he saw you walk in he put down the paper and smiled, ‘’Morning honey.’’

‘’And just like that we’re suppose to be cool?’’ you gazed upon the table with four chairs, you didn’t know if he ate like this every day because the table looked like a 5 star hotel’s buffet. ‘’Please, sit.’’ Your father ignored your sarcastic remark, you were hungry and you thought that the food probably not poisoned so you sat, far away from him. ‘’Prove me that you are my dad.’’ You still had doubts, he took a sip from his coffee and pulled out some pictures of him and your mother and the pictures of you when you were a baby. He told you the love story of your mother and him and when it came to him disappearing he stopped, ‘’Oh no, I’m loving the drama dad, keep going.’’ If looks could kill his head would be blown up right now.

‘’I had to leave you two because… if we’re going to talk about this you should know that I had to leave because of your boyfriend’s father. Out of all people in this city you had to be with him Y/N! He is dangerous and should be eliminated.’’ You could see the anger rising in his eyes, ‘’I cannot believe you sent your men or whatever to follow me!’’ you raised your voice, ‘’What do you want from me and my boyfriend?!’’

‘’Y/N, I,’’ he was struggling to express himself, you thought that maybe all his life he never had to express his actions to anyone, not even your mother. ‘’I had to kill his father.’’

You felt like a bucket of ice cold water was poured to your body, your mouth a gap, eyes focused on him. He averted his gaze, ‘’I killed my best friend. There isn’t a day goes by without me thinking about that cursed moment. Ad now, his son wants revenge, as he should. I’m afraid that he might do something to you when he learns that I killed his father. He doesn’t know it yet.’’

This man just came into your life –rather you were dragged into his- and dropped a bomb at your feet, on top of that you were dating a man whose father was murdered by your biological father. It was too much to handle, ‘’You demanded answers and you received them. Do you really think he came into your life because of fate? You are my daughter you must be clever. He must have learned our connection and came after you.’’

Your body felt numb, there was a buzzing sound in your head, ‘’H- how?’’ you managed to whisper, ‘’He does illegal business like me and he has his men who can find him anything he wants. Now, finish your breakfast, we’re leaving this country.’’ A bomb after another bomb, you had to play smart and get out of here to learn the truth but how? You had no idea of what Tom is capable of when he learns the truth, what if he takes you as a hostage? What if he kills you to send a message to your father? Blood for blood right? Even though these seemed unlikely there must be at least 5% chance that he might go mad and do something harmful, something that cannot be undone. ‘’Where?’’

‘’I’m thinking Europe. What do you say? If you want to visit a country then we can go there.’’ He was talking as if this was a mundane conversation that you two have every day. ‘’I can’t drop everything and flee. I still don’t trust you, I have my job and my friends-‘’ he cut you off with a stern voice, ‘’You work at a bar and your only friend is your roommate. I should have taken you in years ago, no daughter of mine should live in conditions like that.’’ His slender neck was tense, cutting a bacon with a swift motion of his long fingers, he looked like he despised your life. ‘’It’s my life, I get to choose how to live it.’’ It seemed as if he couldn’t hear you, ‘’Your bags are packed last night.’’

The woman who came into your room earlier also came to the back yard with your phone, ‘’That’s my phone!’’

She gave it to your father, ‘’What are you doing?!’’

Your father looked at the screen, ‘’Poor lad,’’ he probably saw the messages and missed calls, ‘’we will be leaving shortly. Finish your breakfast.’’

Your father stood up to leave you alone,

‘’London!’’ you blurted out, he stopped and turned to face you, ‘’I have always wanted to visit London.’’ If he could make plans so could you.

‘’Perfect.’’ He said with a wide smile, ‘’We’re going to London.’’ Not knowing your true intentions.

Tom Hiddleston was a mess, he couldn’t sleep all night and now he was on the floor of his office, his face in his hands. At first he saw you as a job, something to accomplish to find the truth so he thought it would be easy but now that you are gone and he can’t even hear your sweet voice… The maddening silence was enough. He bolted to his feet, when he saw his reflection on the shiny table he cursed at himself, he thought you were just being close friends and now that he realized he is in love with you he promised to find you. He never liked defeat and giving up so his next mission was to call his friend Benedict and tell him what happened, Benedict was good at finding things, including people.

When you arrived at London you were greeted by a grey atmosphere and wind, it was a cold day. You remembered your conversations with Tom, he always talked about London, his home land, as if it’s a paradise but without him this place felt like a cold dungeon. You could only watch what was happening, your father has a private plane, you were served food and drinks in the plane, later you landed and a group of his workers came to pick you up. From what you heard your father bought a house. No I’m sorry mansion for both of you. His illegal job made him a ruthless rich man and the way he treated people was as if they’re just here to serve him, like their entire existence depends on it.

Your father still had your phone so you were trying to remember Tom’s phone number. You never thought remembering few numbers could be this hard and it felt like your life depending on it because honestly your father was a dangerous man and Tom showed you nothing but kindness over the months you were with him. You trusted Tom more than you trusted your biological father and it says a lot.

The mansion your father bought had 6 bedrooms and 8 bathrooms, indoor swimming pool, spa and entertainments room. This was bigger than Tom’s penthouse, bigger than any house you have ever seen. The outside walls were pure white, it had a huge garden with chairs and a barbecue place. You were so tired from the journey that you only observed the house but made no comment, you were in awe,

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=errT-_IvDVg (this is the house)

your bedroom was upstairs, a man brought your bags to your room and left, and then silence. You never thought silence can be so deafening, the windows opened to a balcony, you could see the vast forest’s green. You couldn’t help but fall in love with this place –even though you were here by force- after experiencing the toxic city life in New York this could be healthy for you. You took a shower and laid on your queen sized bed with smooth sheets and pillow, the house was silent and you drifted to sleep, your last thought was Tom and you saw him in your dream.

In the dream he was in a dark room, looking defeated and when you saw him you ran to him. He opened his arms wide, in the dream you felt like you are actually giving him a tight hug. Your happiness didn’t last long because Tom pulled out a knife and stabbed you in the back, you woke up in sweat and your brain was alert, you remembered his phone number and wrote it on a paper. It was 3 at night and you couldn’t go back to sleep, your fingers holding the paper tightly, you left your bed.

It was cold but you walked to your balcony to see the stars, silent yet beautiful night. All the lights were out so you figured everyone in the house, servants and your father were sleeping. Could this be a chance to give your boyfriend Tom a phone call? There was a white table on the corner of the room with notebooks, pens and a telephone. You walked inside and stood still on the center of the room. You tried to listen if there was any sound coming from downstairs but there was none. Your heart beating fast in your rib cage, what if what your father said was true? What if Tom just used you to get to him? There was only one way to find out.

You walked to the table, picked up the receiver. After dialing the numbers and waiting for him to pick up felt like a life time. The phone rang for 3 times and he answered.

‘’Hello?’’

As soon as you heard his deep voice your entire body went numb, you had to hold the edge of the table so that you won’t fall.

‘’Tom?’’ you asked, just wanted to be sure because it felt like a dream. You heard him move when he heard your voice.

‘’Y/N? Is that you? Where are you?!’’ the panic in his voice gave you hope.

‘’Tom, I’m so sorry for leaving you at that parking lot. I should’ve told you, please forgive me.’’ Your voice was shaking.

‘’Are you okay? Did someone do something to you?! Tell me and I’ll kill them all.’’ He was concerned for your safety, another hope.

‘’No, I’m fine. I don’t have much time but I’m in London.’’ You weren’t sure if you should tell him but you couldn’t stop yourself. ‘’My father whom I thought passed away years ago actually is alive and he brought me here. Listen,’’ you stopped for a second, thinking. And then you thought enough is enough, ‘’there are things I can’t say on the phone but please find me.’’ You started to hear footsteps coming to your room, ‘’What are you talking about. Where in London?’’ Tom was furious and he wanted you to give him the exact directions, ‘’I have to go, I love you.’’ And you hang up the phone, jumped to your bed.

Tom found himself saying I love you back to the his phone, you couldn’t hear him but he knew you already know. Now that he learned you were in London he had no business staying in this pile of shit they call New York. He was coming to get you without knowing that the truth he has been seeking for years will make him question his actions, and his entire goal to finish his assignment.

Thank you for reading. Don’t forget to give a like and share a comment, I love reading your comments. :)

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not-me-simping-for-blasty · 3 years

Text

I Melt With You - Bakugou Katsuki

All Parts:

Part 3:

“Okay, so that’s about it.” You smile brightly, pressing a band-aid into the boy’s skin. “Thanks for being so brave for me!”

“Mhm. I’m the bravest!”

The child before you beams, all teeth gaps and kicking legs as he bounces in his seat. You’d just given him a few routine vaccinations, and true to your praise, he had been very brave about it. All he’d done was sit there, holding his breath until his face went red, and trying not to grimace. It reminded you of someone else you’d recently treated- someone else who was currently blazoned in all his snarling glory on the little boy’s shirt.

“Oh, I’m sure! Just like Dynamite!” You agree enthusiastically, gesturing to his clothes. You turn your head, catching his mother’s eye from where she sits next to him. “Isn’t that right, mom?”

“Oh, not if I can help it.” She smiles something a little exhausted, but ultimately fond as her son starts making explosion noises. “Not if I can help it.”

If you’re being completely honest, you sort of agree with her. Just a little bit- actually, on second thought a lot.

“If that’s everything and you have no other concerns for me, then we’re about done here.” You say gently. “Do you know where you’re going? I can point you toward reception again if you need it.”

“No, we’re alright, thank you!”

You nod, holding the door open for them as they leave.

When the door closes, and you’re swept back up into silence, you can’t help but think of that interaction as just more proof- more proof that no matter where you were, no matter what you were doing, you absolutely could not escape Bakugou.

When you weren’t actively thinking about him, then you were seeing his face everywhere. He was on television, and he was on the cover of newspapers, and as evidenced, he was printed in perfect grumbling, snarling accuracy on children’s t-shirts. It didn’t help either that every day brought another civilian who was saved by him, and every night brought another small-time criminal who was beat to hell by his fists. You swore he was responsible for a solid 70% of all of your hospital’s traffic- it was pure insanity when you really started paying attention.

You quickly come to realize that Bakugou is a plague; and a horrifyingly effective one at that. You’re not sure how you never noticed it before.

Still, you can’t help but find yourself worrying a little bit. When you think of him, all you can see is his face covered in blood, the pallid hue of his skin under the hospital’s sterile lighting, and the deep-set bags under his eyes. You remember the way he practically fell asleep, laid out and injured on a hospital table. The way he was drifting while you were digging a needle and thread through his skin.

Thinking back on it always makes you a bit sick. No one who wasn’t absolutely exhausted would ever fall asleep in a hospital- especially not in the middle of being sewn up. When you match that to the anger and terror you’d felt, that very first night you’d ever met him, it doesn’t paint a pretty picture. You come to realize that even if Bakugou was an asshole to you, you still wouldn’t wish that kind of mental torture on anybody.

Your rest of your week goes by quickly after that, and by the time Saturday rolls around, you’ve gathered quite a few bones to pick with him. It seemed the amount of criminals you were patching up was only increasing, and their injuries were only getting worse too. Each passing day only brings more lowly criminals and thieves flooding into your hospital, all covered in the same scorch marks, broken bones, and dark bruising. It was overkill, plain and simple, and you knew exactly who the culprit was.

You began to think that, even if it was Bakugou’s job, he really shouldn’t have been digging graves for people who were just stealing purses. There was a massive difference between a super villain and a petty thief, but he didn’t seem to understand that. Dynamite punished everybody just the same. You saw that first hand.

Still, you try to shake off those lingering frustrations. You were on your way to take out his stitches, and you didn’t want to accidently bring them up. Bakugou only mildly tolerated you the last time around, but you were sure that generosity would cease the moment you criticized anything about him. True to his quirk, Bakugou had proven himself to be a teetering powder keg- just a little bit of friction, and he’d explode on the spot.

“On your way to help his majesty?” Your superior remarks, smiling sardonically as you pass her. “Good luck, I’ll be praying for you! Try your best to come back with your head still intact, yeah?”

You nod, smiling uneasily, but your stomach turns a little bit.

That had been another reoccurring theme that week- jokes about how your impending doom was imminent. Apparently, Bakugou had been making a name for himself for years now- a name that was a lot less loved by your hospital then it was the rest of the outside world. You’d been hearing horror stories for days now; tale after twisted tale of nurses and doctors getting chewed up and spit out by his bad temper. It always read as a little strange to you though; in every story you’d heard, he was either hardly injured or on his death bed- no in-between whatsoever. You figure that it didn’t really matter though, the result was always the same. Relentless, explosive anger.

Which you sort of begun to think you were in for, when you opened the door to his scowling face.

“Hey!” You greet unsurely, trying to walk into the room with a confidence you didn’t really feel. Moving past him, you rinse your hands, drying them and then slipping on a pair of latex gloves. You then pull the medical cart over to him, taking out the blood pressure cuff. Just like his last visit. “You ready to get those stitches removed?”

“Yeah. Obviously. Why the fuck else would I waste my time here? Witch.”

Yep. There it is- just what the other nurses and staff were warning you about. His attitude.

“Oh. Okay, so I see we are still using that nickname. Great.” You mutter wrapping the cuff around his arm. You fall back, crossing your arms as you wait to jot down his vitals. There’s angry tension rolling off of him, and you smile uneasily, trying to discharge it with a subject change. “On an entirely different note, though, I did want to congratulate you.”

Bakugou just scoffs, turning up his nose. A beat passes and then he folds, minutely nodding at you to continue.

“You’re not covered in any blood this time! Congrats!” You say breezily, unwrapping the cuff from around his arm. “Guess the third time really is the charm for us, huh?”

Bakugou just looks away, hardly even acknowledging you as he rolls his eyes. You think you see his lip twitch though- just a bit, and it only lasts half a second, but you count it as a success.

“So, any worries about the stitches? You been cleaning them as instructed?” You ask, gently taking his forearm in your hands. You remove the bandages and gauze with feather-light touches. “Wow, you must’ve been. They look pretty good to me.”

When you look up at him, he’s got that same prideful smirk you’d seen before; it doesn’t distract you from his condition though. His skin somehow looks paler than before, skin purple and darkened under his eyes. You see the cut on his head, still hardly healed and scabbed over. He’s overworking himself, but you didn’t need to have any medical background to see that.

“Obviously they look good. You think I’m fuckin’ stupid?” He says.

“No, but I really did think you would’ve exacerbated them by now. Especially with all the hero work you’ve been doing. Which, believe me, I know is a lot.”

“What- you stalking me now or somethin’?”

“Not exactly. Me or somebody else here always end up treating all those people you save.” You tell him, setting his arm down on the empty surface of the medical cart. You try to keep your voice light, keep it entirely void of anything accusatory, but you can’t help your next words. “And every person you beat into the ground.”

Bakugou’s eye twitches when you look at him. He breathes deep, eyebrows creasing.

“Oi- somethin’ you wanna fuckin’ say to me?” He utters, eyes glinting like blistering wildfire. He leans forward, flipping his palm up towards you as it begins to crackle. “Better choose your next words real fuckin’ carefully.”

It’s his tone that catches you off-guard.

You knew it was a stupid move, your comment, but the pure poison in his response surprises you anyway. His voice is dark and angry, smoldering like a low heat as he stares you down. The words are vicious thing, a gripping threat that drips from his mouth, seeming to bite back around his teeth as he speaks it. It makes you shrink. You think that it would probably make even the strongest people shrink.

“No. It’s- I wasn’t. I’m sorry.” You apologize professionally, pasting on your best appeasing smile even as you fight off the anxiety. There’s nothing left to do but try to defuse the situation- so you turn away from him, busying yourself with grabbing a discard tray and your stitching kit. “It’s really wasn’t my business. Shouldn’t have said anything. Sorry.”

Bakugou just huffs at that, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. He somehow looks even more annoyed than before and you don’t know what he wants from you. Doesn’t he know how intimidating he is? Why does he even bother acting surprised when people fold for him? Especially if he chooses to address them like that?

You wish you were the sort of person who could stand up to him- the sort of person who could put him in his place. After all, there was no room for arrogance in a hospital, and you’d always thought egotism to be a selfish waste of valuable time. But, even so, you just couldn’t be that person this time. There was a lot you could power though, but you’d never seen hot-and-cold anger like his before. He wasn’t like any of your other difficult patients- none of their threats ever sounded like promises.

There’s tense silence as you start removing the stitches, only the sound of your scissors and Bakugou’s own breaths. You try to keep your hands steady, try to keep focused, but you’re finding it hard to keep still under his intense gaze. You feel he’s looking right through you again, waiting for any excuse to blow up again.

You’re almost done removing them entirely when he huffs, rolling his eyes as he shifts uncomfortably.

“You’re so fucking sensitive, you know. It’s pathetic.”

You stiffen.

There’s a lot you’re willing to put up with- being underappreciated and overworked was pretty much your entire job after all- but Bakugou was really wearing on you. He wasn’t the first patient to insult you, and his comment was far from the worst thing you’d ever been told; but it’s something in the way he spits the insult. Sly and challenging like he knows something you don’t. It makes you look up at him, and all you see are his sharp canines. His smirk and the way he looks down on you.

He’s picking a fight, but there’s no threat. He’s testing you.

It makes your blood boil.

“If you don’t like me, and the way I do my work,” You bite out, staring right back and speaking through own clenched teeth. “Then you shouldn’t have asked for me. No one made you come back.”

“I told you, witch. No cutting corners. You put the fuckers in my arm, you take them the fuck out.”

“Why are you fighting with me?” You ask, swallowing as you try not to shy away from his glare. “I told you last time, if this works better for you silent, then just say that.”

He flares his nostrils at that, setting his jaw. When he goes silent, you go back to snipping away his stitches. At this point, you just wanted to finish as quickly as possible.

“Silent is fuckin’ boring.” He grits, flexing his fingers. It makes the skin on his forearm shift, throwing off your work. When you look at him in frustration, you can see he did it on purpose. “It’s wimp shit.”

“Pardon?”

“I said-” He leans in close, voice low and venomous. It feels like he’s trying to paralyze you with his stare alone, sitting up straight until he’s glaring down at you. “Silence is boring. You’re fucking boring.”

You’d had a long day- you’d had a very long day and he was being extremely rude and your patience was wearing thin hours ago. That’s why you let him break your careful composure- at least, that’s what you tell yourself.

“Oh yeah, I’m boring?” You ask in frustration, entire face warming in fury. “I’m boring? Really! At least I don’t spend my entire day blowing things up and beating people half to death!”

Bakugou blinks. He blinks, sucks a breath, and then you watch his smirk crawl slow and sure across the entirety of his face. He got you. He got you to break, and he won, and he knows it.

He knows it and he settles back on his good hand, leaning away to get a better look at your flustered face. He cocks his head to the side, studying and analytical for a moment. He nods.

“There. We’re fuckin’ even.”

“Excuse me?”

“Even. You shouldn’t have fuckin’ pried around in my head and not expected me to pry in yours.”

“That’s what this is about?” You sigh incredulously, putting your scissors down on the medical cart. “Really? You’re still on that- how- how does this even tell you what’s in my head? You’re just insulting me. It doesn’t!”

“It does.”

“It doesn’t.”

“Then why are you so fuckin’ pissed right now? Hah?” He squints his eyes, voice smooth and dripping with arrogance. “It’s cause I’m right. You’re so fuckin’ boring when you play nice all the time.”

“Play nice? What the hell are you even on about? You don’t know me.”

“I know that you piss me the hell off bein’ fake. If I fuckin’ irritate you then say so. Don’t put on your fuckin’ kid gloves and try and be professional. It’s weak.”

“No. It’s how I keep my job. Which you know, you wouldn’t understand, because you literally pick fights for a living!” You huff, pushing the medical cart off to the side and stepping back from him. “Actually- you know what, no. I’m done with this. This conversation. Your stitches are out, and you can leave since you obviously can’t stand me and would rather be anywhere but here.”

You watch him flare his nostrils again, a snarl ripping from his mouth. He slams his closed fist down on the hospital bed, eyes like blazing conflagration. Bakugou looks pissed, but more than anything he looks vulnerable. Worn raw.

“I can’t.” He grits.

“Yes! You actually can! Just walk out! Literally just walk out an-’

“God, you’re so fucking dense! I can’t leave without figuring out how the fuck you do it!”

“Do what?” You nearly scream, your owns hands beginning to clench into fists.

“I need to know.” He repeats again, hopping off the hospital bed.

His feet hit the ground, steps like rolling thunder as he nears, broad shoulders and muscular arms casting an intimidating shadow. Bakugou looks like an angry bull storming toward you. Like he’ll obliterate you given even half the chance.

“Take your fucking gloves off.”

You’re scared now, eyes darting over to the door. You knew nobody was doing rounds in the luxury wing right now, and sound didn’t pass through walls that were made to ensure silence. Heart racing in your chest, you size him up, try to think of a way to escape but he’s so close to you and he’s built like a linebacker and-

“Jesus christ. Not like that. Fuckin’ idiot.” He growls, hand pinching the bridge of his nose. He stops a few feet in front of you, sneering. “You’re not my fuckin’ type, so don’t flatter yourself. Now, grow the fuck up and take them off before I do it for you.”

You’re not sure what makes you listen, maybe it’s fear, maybe it’s something else, but either way you listen. You pull a glove off, just barely dropping it on the counter before Bakugou speaks again.

“I’m gonna touch your hand- but do not use your quirk. Don’t even think about using it. Just fucking stand there. And don’t freak the fuck out and put up a fight about it. You’re just gonna waste time.”

You nod, hand shaking as you extend it. Bakugou seems to roll his eyes at that, but he surges forward anyways, fingers meeting yours.

You feel it almost immediately. Your heart speeds up, but just slightly, beginning beat against your chest where it had just barely been grazing it before. You breathe deep, close you eyes, focus in on the buzzing of your skin- the way your bones sing of subtle fire. It’s barely there but it feels like warmth. Reminds you of that night, with Bakugou, when you were burning alive. Reminds you of how your bones felt too large and your skin felt too small and there somehow wasn’t enough room in the entire world to hold the weight of your rage.

“You ambient fucking bitch.” Bakugou swears under his breath. When you look at him, he’s fluttering his own eyes open, dropping your hand like it burned him.

Then he steps back and you’re gasping for air. It’s not entirely back again- but it’s reminiscent. There’s an inkling of that bone-deep exhaustion. That weariness that so often stole the air from you lungs and the ground beneath your feet.

“Your quirk. It’s ambient. Through your skin.”

You shrink back even more, blinking owlishly up at him.

“What? You didn’t fucking know? Jesus, how clueless are you?”

“It’s-I-” You drop your head, running a hand through your hair. “I never- I always wear gloves. Always. And long sleeves. Since I was little. Never wanted to take the chance- how did you even know.”

Bakugou seems to turn his nose up at your question. He steps back, further and farther until his back hits the hospital bed. There’s distance but somehow he keeps the air just as charged, averting his eyes when he speaks next.

“Went to sleep. A week ago. When I saw you-”

“What? Bakugou that doesn’t- you’re not-”

“If you’d let me fuckin’ finish,” He glares down at you again, trying to beat you into submission with eye-contact alone. It works and you fall silent, holding your breath as he resumes. “You put me to sleep. Then and three months ago. I haven’t slept peacefully like that in fuckin’ years. So obviously you used your quirk on me. It’s easy. A fuckin’ moron could’ve figured it out.”

“No- but I didn’t touch you! Well, the first time, yeah, I did, but not a week ago. I was wearing gloves and I-”

“When I told you to do the splint over, the sleeve of your coat rode up.” He grits out, cheeks slightly flushing as he averts his eyes. “Then I almost fell asleep. Not like the first time, but still. Asleep. So obviously it’s your fuckin’ skin.”

Suddenly, the ground is ripped out from under you.

Your entire life you’d always been tired. Day in and day out, constantly dragging your feet like you could never get enough sleep. Like there wasn’t enough hours in the day for you to live and be rested.

Was it your quirk this entire time? Were you somehow ambiently draining people of their pain- even if you just accidentally brushed their skin with yours?

You don’t know how you never realized it. How you never put two and two together.

You’d spent your entire life purposefully using your quirk to help people- had then sacrificed days and weeks of your life afterwards tucked away in bed and sleeping off the exhaustion. When you used your power on purpose, depending on the severity of someone’s pain, it would debilitate you. But you still did it- over and over and over again because you wanted to help people. Because you knew you could and that became the only reason you needed.

You’d always just assumed your constant exhaustion to be aftershocks of how often you used your quirk- you never even considered the possibility that it was something you were doing unintentionally. That you were draining yourself with every hug and handshake and high-five that should’ve made you feel better.

You’d always sort of disliked being touched. Somehow always walked away with your skin prickling uncomfortably for as long as you could remember. You just never knew why until now.

“Oi- I thought I told you not to freak the fuck out.”

“It’s- how the hell am I not supposed to freak out about this?” You gasp, hands braced behind you on the counter. “I didn’t know! My entire life! And you met me like, what, twice and you figured it out and- Are you falling asleep right now?”

In your spiral Bakugou had somehow ended back up on the hospital bed. He was still sat up, but his shoulders were completely slumped over and his eyes were half-lidded. He looked completely drained of all previous anger, swaying slightly as he blinked himself back to perfect alertness.

“Yeah. Probably.” He grumbles. “It’s your fuckin’ fault.”

“You barely touched me! How the hell is-”

“Don’t ask me, you fuckin’ leech.” He yawns, hand closed into a fist as he rubs at his eyes. “You’re the one with the stupid goddamn quirk. Not me.”

“That’s- sorry. I didn’t know. Holy shit,” You curl arms around your stomach, eyes widening. “Have I been doing this shit to everyone? My entire life?”

Bakugou groans. Audibly. Loudly.

“You’re the stupidest goddamn idiot on the face of the planet. Swear to fuck, I don’t get paid enough for this shit.”

“You’re not helping!” You exclaim. “It was rhetorical question! Excuse me for freaking out right now- I’m sure you’d freak out too if you suddenly found out you were osmosis-ing people’s emotions your entire life!”

“Heh.”

“God, and just what the hell are you laughing about? This isn’t funny!”

“Osmosis.” He reiterates, mouth drawn up into a shit-eating grin. “Change your quirk name. To osmosis. Alleviate is shitty and stupid and it makes you sound fucking dumb.”

You bristle again, suddenly shaking any and all tiredness, rounding on him as you seethe.

“You- you are a goddamn asshole! You know that?” You start, stopping just a few feet in front of him. “You come in here, and insult me. Call me boring! In my own fuckin’ workplace! While I’m literally taking your stitches out! And then you tell me how my quirk works- somehow have the audacity to be fucking right about it, and now you’re insulting me? Again?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re just sitting there, completely fine, smiling like there’s something funny! This isn’t funny! I’m not funny! This is my life- which you literally have been bulldozing through for months now- are you falling asleep? Again? No! No! Not in my- wake the fuck up! Asshole!”

You’re snapping in his face, just inches away from his eyes, and Bakugou hardly even blinks. He just sits still, calm and sated as you seethe just inches away from him. You huff in absolute hatred and that finally shocks some life into him. He smiles. Tiny and barely-there, but he smiles.

“See, not so nice anymore. Knew you weren’t. Fuckin’ liar.”

You want to scream. You want to tear your hair out and maybe take Bakugou’s too, and scratch and claw until you’re bathing in all the rage you’d accidentally stolen from him. You can’t though- you can’t because suddenly the sun starts to set. It falls behind the horizon line, seeping the gold from his skin and drowning him in sterile, white, artificial pallid-ness. His skin goes translucent and the only color in the entirety of his image are the bags under his eyes. Well, the bags under his eyes and the stark red of the barely-healed slice on his forehead.

You curse your own heart. Nearly collapse under the weight of your own sympathy. Bakugou was an asshole, an absolute, irredeemable dick, and you still wanted to heal him. Help him. Somehow. Miraculously.

So then you’re centering yourself, rubbing a hand down your face to soothe your wound-up features.

“God, you actually do look pretty bad.” You say, all attempts at grace and keeping it professional completely gone. “You really weren’t kidding about needing to sleep, huh?”

“No shit. Leech.”

“Oh. Yeah. Sure. That’s fine. Trade one mean nickname for another- I mean, hey, at least this one’s accurate right?”

Bakugou does actually exhale a laugh at that remark, limbs a flurry of chaotic movement when he throws himself back on the bed. His head hits the pillow and it’s only seconds before he’s shutting his eyes.

“So, what, you’re just, like, sleeping now?” You ask, rolling your eyes.

“Yeah.”

“You can’t.”

“I can.”

“This is a hospital, Bakugou.”

“Yeah. Whatever.” He mumbles, yawning into his hand. “‘m fuckin’ Dynamite. I’ll do whatever the hell I want.”

“I’m sorry- do you, do you actually think you can ego your way out of rules? Seriously? You can’t sleep here! Not unless you’re critically injured and need like, round-the-clock care.”

He stills, breath evening and you think he’s fallen asleep. Then he’s lazily bringing a hand up, pointing it loosely at his head.

“I’m critically fuckin’ injured.”

“No- you’re not. That’s a cut and it’s already healing and-”

“I need round-the-clock care.”

“Oh my god, are you kidding me?”

“No.” He grunts, flopping as he turns away from you. Then he’s facing the wall, nuzzling into the pillow. “I’m tired.”

“It’s-” You start, but then you’re once again falling victim to your own empathy. One look at his translucent skin is all it takes. “Fine. You know what? I don’t give a shit. Do what you want, I guess. Nobody else is using these rooms.”

“Okay. Leave.”

“Excuse me?”

“Get the fuck out.” He slurs, cheek pressed up against the pillow as his eyes flutter beneath his eyelids. “Bein’ too loud. Leave.”

“Fine. Enjoy your sleep. Jerk.”

“Leech.”

You nearly punch him in frustration- until you realize that would probably only relax him more; because apparently this really is Bakugou’s world and you were the unlucky one just living in it.

He’s out before you’re even finished packing up. You’re wiping down all the surfaces either of you had touched, just about to leave, when he starts snoring. It’s a soft, almost kitten-like sound, just barely audible over your own breathing. It pisses you off. Boils your blood in your veins because it’s so goddamn humanizing even when he acts like the anti-christ with an even worse temper. It’s stupidly endearing and ridiculously sobering and incredibly, incredibly irritating.

That stupid sound is why you double back upon leaving the room. Why you’re suddenly choosing to reverse instead of moving forward, why you’re suddenly reaching into the cupboard instead of shutting the door behind you.

When you carefully unfold the blanket, settling it gently over his sleeping form, there’s only one thing on your mind.

Fuck being an empath.

--/--

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