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the-haunted-office · 8 months

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Rules

⭐ General

DON’T PANIC!

This is multi-fandom blog, but some primary influences you may find are The Stanley Parable, The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, and the works of Stephen King, as well as anything horror. I routinely poke fun at tropes, themes, and other elements of storytelling while attempting to introduce elements of horror.

My blog is part roleplay blog, part writing blog.

For the writing part of my blog, anybody is welcome to follow. I welcome anybody who finds themself interested in my muses and the little world I've built for them. If you want to read along and send in asks and anything like that, that's all fine and I am happy to have you.

For the roleplaying part of my blog, it is Private and Mutuals Only - this means that we must be mutuals to roleplay together. You are welcome to follow me first, but I will check out your blog to make sure we are a good fit before I decide to follow you back. If I choose not to interact with you, please don’t take it personally. I have my reasons for being private, and I choose to be private so I can keep my rping space fun and comfortable for myself. Please don’t let that stop you from inquiring, though! Odds are if you’re 27+ and open to rping crossovers and with OCs, I’ll rp with you.

That said, I prefer to rp with folks closer to my own age, and so to interact you must be at least 27 years of age. If you are under 27, I'm sorry, this is purely for my own comfort and isn't anything against you personally. I do have partners who I interact with who are under 27, but I we've been interacting since before I put the age minimum in place.

I’m not a terribly strict person, so things on this blog will probably not be terribly strict either! I’m just here to have fun. Mostly I don’t take things too seriously - so most things will be lighthearted and will trend on the silly side. I do love to write dark humor, though, so there will probably be some of that. Anything that is a serious trigger, I will try to tag appropriately (I sometimes forget though, so please forgive me! Please message me if I miss something in this regard and I will fix it).

I’ll interact with muses from pretty much any fandom. The only caveat is that if your muse is from a fandom I am unfamiliar with, I may need some information from you in order to understand things better. Otherwise, bring in your little ponies and your stubborn test subjects and your space-exploration team! And, oh yes, your OC’s and self-inserts. Bring them all!

The only fandom I will NOT interact with is Harry Potter. No offense meant to those who have HP muses, but I just cannot support HP or its fandom in any capacity.

There are at least two ways to play here! You can send your muse through “The Story” and have one of my Narrators narrate for your muse. Or we can just interact. Whichever you like. Most of the time these days it’s normal interactions, but my muses love to narrate stories so they’d be happy to do so.

Please note: This blog contains dark themes such as depression, anxiety, death, horror, and occasional gore. HOWEVER! I will include content warnings (such as “cw death”, “cw images of horror”, etc.) and usually include anything particularly graphic or descriptive under a cut. A good deal of the stuff I roleplay here is silly humor, and I don’t intend on including anything particularly horrific in RP threads without discussing it with you first. If you have any questions, please reach out to me! It is very important to me that I don’t make you uncomfortable or mistakenly set off any triggers.

⭐ The Mun

I, the Mun, am in my 30s.

I am also a mother to a nine-year-old and I babysit my baby nephew during the week. Sometimes I get very busy, but I do try to stay as active as I can.

I go by the name of Thursday! My muse Thursday started off as a self-insert but she broke away from me and ran off into the sunset. She decided to keep my name, but we are both completely different people.

I rp only on Tumblr. While I am comfortable with chatting and plotting on Discord, I am uncomfortable with roleplaying on Discord. This goes for one-on-one rp's, private servers, small servers, large servers, just any rping on Discord. I prefer to keep all roleplaying to Tumblr, please.

Please also remember that Mun ≠ Muse. The thoughts, words, actions, feelings, and opinions of my muses are their own - not mine.

⭐ NO METAGAMING

This means using your personal real-life knowledge to influence your character’s decisions. It honestly takes the fun out of roleplaying for someone’s muse to “know” everything and always make the “right” decision because of it, especially if it’s to manufacture or kindle a relationship or manipulate things in your favor.

PLEASE NOTE: The exception to this is if we agree to breaking the fourth wall (due to the nature of The Stanley Parable or another fandom) or crack threads. Information obtained via ask memes is okay! I'm also okay with muses who can read minds or who are super intelligent and geniuses at reading others - I just need to know about this before we start a thread.

⭐ NO GODMODDING

This means assuming the actions of my muse or actively controlling my muse. If it’s something small like opening a door, that’s okay, but assuming my muse will go along with every action your muse is saying/doing without protest is unacceptable.

⭐ Harm towards muses

If your muse is about to get into a situation where they can be hurt or killed, I will reach out to you first before I reply to our thread. I will never harm your muse without permission first, so please extend that same courtesy to me.

PLEASE NOTE: Some of my muses are more dangerous and violent than others - and a couple of them are intentionally overpowered. If you are uncomfortable interacting with these muses, please let me know!

⭐ Replies

I try to reply within 1-3 days, but sometimes I get busy and can’t keep to that time frame. However, if it has been a week or longer, please feel free to reach out to me. I may have overlooked your reply or didn’t get the notification. Some threads are easier for me to reply to than others and so those may take longer, but I will answer as soon as I can!

On the flip side of the things, I will never ask or remind you about a reply, thread, plot, or anything like that - regardless of how long it's been - unless we have discussed that you want me to.

I understand that roleplaying is a hobby, so if at any time for any reason you want to drop a thread or anything, that's fine. You don't need to tell me. I do ask, though, that if something in thread has made you uncomfortable, that you do please tell me so that I can correct myself going forward. I understand that I can't force you to do this, but your comfort is important to me and I'd really like to make sure I don't accidentally cross any boundaries going forward.

For the most part I will roughly match length for length, although sometimes my post lengths will run longer or shorter. I don't expect anyone to match the length of my longer replies, but please give me enough to work with. A couple of short paragraphs with some dialogue and descriptions should be enough. Most importantly, please remember the all-important "yes, and-" aspect of roleplaying. If there isn't enough for me to work with, then I will likely drop the thread.

⭐ Shipping

While I do enjoy shipping, it is not the main focus of my blog. If your primary interest in roleplaying is shipping and you want to ship right off the bat, then it might be best for you to seek interactions elsewhere - this isn't anything against you or shipping, it's just that I'd rather us both be up front about it and not waste each other's time.

That said, if you're here for all other kinds of interactions and you get an idea for a ship or one starts to develop between our muses, I'm all for it!

My blog is multiship. That means that my that all of muses may be shipped with more than one character and from different verses, AUs, or even in the same verse.

I prefer to ship with chemistry.

I also prefer to let things develop naturally through rp threads, but I am always open to hearing your thoughts and ideas if you have a ship in mind. I'm perfectly willing to work towards a ship via plotting if the chemistry is there. I will always be 100% honest about whether or not I think the ship dynamic would work.

My muses want to get to know your muse and form bonds with them, but more often than not this takes time. Ships with my muses tend to be slow burn and don't happen within a thread or two. If you are looking for expedient ships, then ships with my muses aren't for you. If you're willing to take the time and patience to get to know my muses, then let's ship!

Also, please don’t ship with my muses just to collect ships or if you don’t intend on ever developing the ship with my muse. I have had too many people want to ship and then never do anything and it’s very frustrating.

Please be mindful of my muse’s ages when interacting with them! I will not allow Anons or ANYONE who is a minor to interact romantically and/or sexually with them, even in jest. It’s inappropriate and makes me uncomfortable.

⭐ Plotting

I am open to plotting! Usually I let things unfold as they go, but I do occasionally have plots running and little situations for my muses to get into. If you want to be involved or want my muses to be involved with your plots, feel free to ask!

If it's a plot that I am running on my blog and you have chosen to have your muses involved, please understand that I will keep the plot running at my pace. Others may be involved as well and aside from that I'd like to keep my overarching plots moving at the pace that I set for them.

If it's a plot we have going between us and our muses that we have worked on together, then I am happy to take things at whatever pace you like. I'll reply as you are available whether it's days or weeks or months out. I won't ask you about replies or dropped threads or anything like that unless we've discussed that you want me to.

Please do not feel obligated to participate in my plots. Also, if we are plotting and I pitch a plot to you and you don’t want to go with it, you are welcome to tell me no and we'll move on.

⭐ Trigger warnings/content warnings

I will tag the following items as indicated below. They’ll be tagged as CW - for example: CW blood. If you have any particular triggers, squicks, or things that make you feel uncomfortable, please tell me so that I may add it to this list and remember to tag them for you!

animal cruelty animal death animal injuries blood body horror death dermatology (talk of pimples, blackheads, cysts, etc.) eye horror gore horror (generally speaking, this will be used for posts that include particularly frightening content like you’d expect to see in a horror movie/book/etc.) infidelity mind control pet death pregnancy religion (posts including things such as demons, ouija boards, etc.) self harm self harm mention (used if self harm is mentioned as a past thing or muses talking about it) slugs snails snakes (pictures of) suicide suicide mention (used if suicide is mentioned as a past thing or muses talking about it) terminal illness

Suggestive content will just be tagged as suggestive.

⭐ Stuff I am NOT comfortable with roleplaying

Smut. I am not really into rping smutty stuff. Suggestive or dirty humor, implying things, flirting, mentioning it, saying it happened, asking questions about my muses’ sex life, and suchlike is all fine - just nothing overly explicit, please. I don’t mind other people rping smut and following those who do; I am just uncomfortable rping it myself. If in any case an rp starts going in that direction, I’ll have it fade to black or skip ahead.

Excessive violence towards children. It’s okay if it’s part of a muse’s past, and in threads I am also okay with some angst and general childhood things like skinned knees and the like. But I am not comfortable rping actual threads where there is excessive harm being done towards children.

Toxic/abusive relationships, especially ones being handled like it’s romantic or sexy. I don’t find abuse romantic and I will not portray it that way. If you do, that’s fine, I’d just prefer not to be a part of it. Thank you.

⭐ Stuff I am comfortable with

Violence? Sure. Blood and gore, let the viscera ooze forth. Cursing? Fuck yeah! Crude humor? Of course! General horror - definitely!

⭐ Blocking

I don't block people easily, except in cases of racism, homophobia, transphobia, misogyny, pedophilia, etc. If I have an issue, I will come talk to you about it first and give warnings prior to blocking. I much prefer to talk about things and try to work things out before blocking.

If I find you’ve blocked me, though, then I will also block you so your blog doesn’t keep coming up as a suggested blog.

I ask that if you truly don’t want to rp or talk ooc with me anymore, please hard block me instead of soft blocking. Tumblr has a glitch that randomly makes you unfollow people sometimes, so if you soft block me I’ll assume it was the glitch and follow you again. Hard blocking will communicate to me that you don’t wish to interact any further with me at all and I’ll get the message.

And finally...

⭐ Communication

This is a big one for me.

I do my best not to cross anyone's boundaries, but I am not a perfect person and I will make mistakes, as we all do. It’s important to me that if you have any issues with anything that you please tell me, so that I can do better going forward. It doesn’t matter how big or small - please bring it to my attention. Don’t let it fester. It is always better to talk about it than to try to shrug it off. I will do the same - if I have any issues, I will bring them to your attention.

If at any time you want to stop writing together, I understand. Sometimes muses fall out and even mun chemistry can go sour or you lose interest for one reason or another. All I ask is that if you truly don’t wish to rp together anymore, please let’s decide to peacefully part ways. Please don’t force yourself to keep replying to me out of a sense of obligation. I would rather us go our separate ways than for you to feel obligated to reply to me when you aren’t into it anymore.

If all of that sounds good to you, go ahead and drop your muse into my ask box! Or shoot me a PM. I can even write up a starter for you. However you’d like to start!

#rules #new post with the same rules for better formatting! x3

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callme-whatyoulike · 10 months

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stole this from @64yrsold cause she said i could, and I've never done an official icebreaker or anything of that sort (mostly cause i keep forgetting this blog exists, it's not my main one 😅)

are you named after anyone? nope! my middle name is one of my great aunt's names, but my parents didn't name me after her or anything, that's just coincidence (also Lin is actually my middle name, i just use it for internet-using purposes. so i guess whoever reads this now knows my great aunt's name lol)

when was the last time you cried? last night babeyyy ✌🏻😘

do you have kids? noo. I'm shooting for cool aunt status

do you use sarcasm a lot? no, why would i do that? (sarcasm)

what sports do you play/have you played? i was in cheerleading in second grade, if that counts for anything. definitely have never been a sports gal. i was a total theater kid, though not the type you'd expect. no acting and singing for me, i liked hiding behind curtains and moving and sorting props (i miss crew a lot actually :,)

what's the first thing you notice about people? their hair, for sure

what's your eye color? blue, technically. but I've been told that they can look very green at times.

scary movies or happy endings? happy endings always

any special talents? i nervously laugh at everything. if that counts for anything.

where were you born? I'm so sorry y'all, I'm from the US (please forgive me and my foolish american ways)

what are your hobbies? writing, of course. although i don't finish about 9/10 projects. i collect all sorts of things (records, cds, rocks, funko pops, books, stickers, etc.) i love doing puzzles. making overly specific playlists. oh, and making lists

do you have any pets? i have a dog...and five cats (i still live with my parents guys, this isn't my fault. i do love them all very much, though)

how tall are you? not very 😑

favorite subject? while i did like english (I'm literally majoring in it), my favorite subject was always art :)

dream job? i literally have no idea, i believe in dreaming of a job that can support my lifestyle, not a specific job in itself, i have all the time in the world to figure it out, i am but a child (i am 19 lol)

I'm just doing this for fun, so anybody who sees this can do it. tag me if you want. love ya byeee :)

#whatyoulike

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jungk0oksthighs · 2 years

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i get asked a lot about my tag list, so i’m writing this post to link *somewhere* on my blog

i do not have a tag list! for any of my series, any of my oneshots, any of my uploads etc. nor will i be making a tag list for my work! i’m very sorry if this disappoints you! but here’s why:

all my writing is minors dni, 18+ content! i don’t want to accidentally tag underage readers in any of the mature themes i write about. not everybody on here is transparent about their age unfortunately, and not having a tag list gives me peace of mind that i’m not actively giving minors access to such inappropriate content. it’s not just about the smut either (though i do write a lot of smut oops)

but some of my work touches on themes such as: addiction, ab0rtion, toxic relationship dynamics be it between family or romantic partners. death, revenge porn, infertility, terminal illness and that’s just to name a few!

as a content creator i feel it’s my responsibility to limit the interactions this work has with minors, because absorbing such content at a young age can be very damaging to their overall mental health and well-being and that is not what i’m about!

as a content creator i want to write about these topics and start the conversations that need to be discussed more. i want to shine a light on these ‘taboo’ subjects. i want to include realism into my stories and not all of that means sunshine and rainbows unfortunately, ofc like any writer i do have my limits to what i’m comfortable with writing. i will never ever write anything non-con, with a r4pe narrative and there are other themes i’ll never deem appropriate enough to discuss within fiction.

anyways i’m sorry for the tangent, but this is why i don’t have a tag list! the last thing i want to do is put myself and my writing out there without giving it appropriate warnings and an age rating, everything i write is 18+, everything. and while i know unfortunately minors do stumble across this blog and my fics (just to reiterate i am a minors dni blog if I see any reblogs from a minor they do get soft blocked) i have no desire to actively promote my work to the wrong audience. i’m very sorry if this upsets anybody but the people who share my mindset about tag lists will get it 100%

i understand it can be frustrating checking for updates as opposed to being notified but a tag list is just something i’m not willing to make. this is NO DISRESPECT to authors and other cc’s who have tag lists by the way, if they’re comfortable having a tag list that’s their choice and i respect that. but for my own sanity & peace of mind i do not have one

if you stuck around long enough to read there’s here’s a gold star ⭐️ i’m very sorry i wasn’t planning on this being so long haha, thank u guys i really do hope u understand 💜💜💜💜

#taglist

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agent-cupcake · 1 year

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I’m usually fine reading really messed up stuff but something about Cry Foul hit too close to home. It’s exquisitely written, as is everything else you write, and the subtlety of Sylvain’s coercive behavior felt shockingly realistic.

On the one hand, it was deeply upsetting because of how accurately it portrays the feelings evoked by sexual abuse. On the other, thank you for not romanticizing such dark subject material. It’s an incredible story, and I hope to god you’re not writing from experience.

This isn't quite what you said, but I am very sorry if it upset you. If there are more specific warnings you would like added or things in the future you would like tagged, please let me know, I don't want my stories to blindside anyone. It's, of course, incredibly flattering that you think I was able to properly convey his manipulative behavior and the dynamic there, but I understand what a tricky line that is with dark subject matter when there's the duel (and perhaps dissonant) purpose of horrifying and arousing the reader. As to your last point, I am beyond the days of writing copefic or anything based on my own life so, uh, yeah, no worries there. I find the psychological aspect incredibly intriguing and enjoy exploring how somebody could wind up in a situation like that in a strictly detached, fantasy way. I do not, and wouldn't want anybody who reads my stories to, have a negative personal interaction with what I write, you know? BUT, anyway, thank you for this! I'm absolutely floored by the reaction I've gotten to this story.

#personal

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buckys-metal-arm · 2 years

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Alright, look. Because of the truly exorbitant amount of Bucky/Sebastian Stan content I put on this blog I'm gonna make one post re: the most recent controversy because I feel it important to do so. Just bc I like him and the character he plays in the MCU does NOT mean I think he's immune to criticism. That said, reblogs and replies are turned off because I'm saying my one piece on the matter and have been having a string of real, genuine good days recently which even on meds doesn't happen often and I don't owe a single one of you on either side of this my mental health over a subject matter I really just don't want in my head any longer than it needs to be in there tbh

Also I'm doing this in bullet points bc that makes sense in my head and also am on mobile so can't put a read more on here so I'm sorry in advance for the wall of text. Without any further ado, let's unpack this.

Full disclosure: I am a 23 year old individual who did watch the series not knowing until after that it was made without Pamela's consent, only watched it bc Seb was in it, and was only tangentially aware of who the titular characters were (like I knew Baywatch and Motley Crüe and had heard Pamela's name before but like I knew nothing about any of it). I was born like 2 years after everything with the tape in question went down and really knew nothing about the situation with it. Thats not me trying to defend anything, I'm just laying everything out ahead of what I'm about to say.

So like most people at this point I read his insta post and I personally, GENUINELY think he did write it with the best of intentions. I don't think he was trying to be outwardly malicious or drag Pamela into it or invite harassment of her or anyone tbh. And like, dude got nominated for an Emmy, odds are he probably wrote it the midst of or coming off of a lot of excitement and probably wasn't thinking clearly. God knows I wouldn't be if I was in that situation

HOWEVER

This is NOT me excusing it as "well we all say dumb shit sometimes". Because that would be bad imo. Actors are not infallible or immune to criticism just because I like them imo. I'm currently going through a similar thing with my feelings on John Mulaney but that's a rant for another day and another blog.

Like I said, I don't think his intentions were anything other than good, and that he was trying to be genuine

That said I am a firm believer in the idea the Road to Hell is paved with good intentions, and that when you are a part of that you do need to own up to it.

His tagging Pamela (and Tommy for that matter, but for different reasons) was definitely a bad move, and the post overall read as extremely tone deaf. Like. Royally so.

And I definitely think the response to it, while a little harsh in some cases, isn't undeserved. What he said was a bad take and really poorly worded, and he needs to be called out

And I do hope he addresses it and apologizes in a meaningful way and does some introspection. But also I know there is a crowd that no matter what he does they'll say it's not good enough because there always is.

And that's NOT me saying every time a celebrity apologizes and people say it's not good enough it's undeserved (if I had a nickel for every Notes App Apology™️ one has made that was DEFINITELY not enough I could pay off my student loans)

And it's a valid take, people can do what they want. I don't expect to sway anybody.

But also I dunno. I don't think he's exempt or immune from criticism because he's famous or my celebrity crush or anything like that and I do think he needs to be held accountable for what he said and needs to address the backlash

But also he is a human being and human beings fuck up sometimes.

Both of these things can be true and not cancel out the other imo.

I do think the 'if you still support him you support abusers and seb needs to be blacklisted in Hollywood' takes are a little fuckin much honestly

But also the fans who are just sweeping this under the rug and dismissing it as 'everyone hating for no reason' also need to take a long hard look at it because what he said is kinda messed up seeing as he was talking about consent and exploitation whilst profiting off of a show made without consent about a victim of exploitation is Not Great

And like. You can like someone and acknowledge that they did a shit thing. These 2 things can coexist.

But also this isn't me trying to be some faux intellectual claiming moral superiority because I'm in the gray area or anything

I'm a Literally a 23 year old barely out of college person on the internet with limited life experience who likes the MCU and majored in theatre, I'm not going to pretend I'm some final authority or expert on this

I'm just one (1) person saying I see both sides but also maybe both sides need to calm down a bit

I know I'm just a drop in the ocean of discourse and I'm fine with that

Basically tl;dr: I think what Sebastian said and that he tagged Pamela was messed up and Hope he apologizes in a meaningful way but also know that means different things to different people, I am the farthest thing from an authority figure on the situation and just decided I wanted to say at least something based on the content of my blog.

I'm never sure how to end of of these but this is the end

#sebastian stan #pam and tommy #controversy tw #this is the one post i am making on this subjecy #my replies and rbs are turned off because im not getting involved. ive said my piece and thats all youre getting #kindly respect my wishes and leave me the hell alone about it #also im a marvel sideblog with like 10 followers your anon hate will gain 0 traction if you send it 🤷‍♂️#seb stan

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scuttling · 3 years

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(Not So) Casual Friday

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 4,456 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Dad Bod Hotch (it's not a main component but he very much has the tummy here), Pining, Accidentally admitting attraction, Embarrassment, A little angst, Oral sex, Protected sex Summary: Your best friend Derek finds out about your feelings for Hotch and teases you mercilessly. You can manage it, though, until the first ever Casual Friday, when Hotch shows up to work in a black polo and jeans and you kind of ruin everything. Or maybe you don't? *Requested by anon Link to A03 or read below! “Okay, girlie, today’s the day,” Derek says when you set your bag and coffee cup on your desk on Monday morning. You shoot your best friend a tired smile and wonder for the—you’ve worked at the BAU for almost two years, so it’s probably the 500th time—for the 500th time why he has to be such a morning person when you would prefer not to have a conversation until at least 10 AM.

“Today’s the day for what?” you sigh, asking out of obligation, because it’s obvious that’s what he’s waiting for; he smiles, picks up your coffee and hands it to you, which must mean you sound bitchy. You take a grateful sip, close your eyes and exhale through your nose.

“For you to admit to me that you’re in love with Hotch.”

You spit out your coffee—only all over yourself, which is great, wouldn’t want to inconvenience Derek at all—and then cough so hard he has to thump on your back to help clear your airway.

It draws some attention; Hotch comes out of his office, takes a look at the two of you and probably regrets hiring the both of you, then walks down the stairs to make sure you’re okay.

“What happened? You’re wet,” he says a bit gruffly, looking at the coffee all over your chest and sleeves. You glare over at Derek, who’s clearly trying not to laugh.

“Derek made me spill my coffee.” You grab a handful of tissues off your desk and pat at the wet spot, trying to soak up the worst of it, but it’s not salvageable. You’ll have to change your shirt.

“And then you… choked on it?” Hotch asks, to clarify. Derek does laugh at that; the things Hotch is saying happen to have dual meanings, slightly sexual, and now that Derek knows—thinks he knows—about your thing for Hotch, it’s clear he finds it all so hilarious. He’s a twelve year old boy in a grown man’s body.

“Okay, I didn’t spill, I spit,” you correct, looking up at them, and Derek makes an exaggerated face of disapproval.

“Should have swallowed,” he says, trying to sound serious, and you shoot him an irritated look and reach out to slap him in the chest. Asshole.

“Do you need help getting cleaned up?” Hotch’s expression is kind, sweet, but you’d sooner die than have him blot coffee off of your boobs. It would be mortifying, especially in front of Derek.

“No, no, I think I’m okay. Thanks,” you add with a soft smile, and then you reach up and pull your sweater over your head, unzip your go bag, and search for another top.

For some reason, Hotch has a coughing fit scarily similar to the one you just had, and you turn to pat his back like Derek did for you.

“Are you alright?” you ask, looking up into his face, and he nods despite his watering eyes.

“Fine,” he croaks, and he leaves as quickly as he came. You sigh, because it’s not even nine and your day has already been so weird.

You’re wearing a tank top, and thankfully the coffee didn’t get through to that layer, so it’s quick and easy to throw another lightweight sweater over top of it; you ball up the wet one, shove it in the dirty clothes portion of your bag, zip it up and stash it under your desk. Derek looks like he’s having the best day of his life.

“You realize you just undressed in front of Hotch,” he says with a tone you don’t appreciate. You roll your eyes.

“I did not. I had a tank top on underneath.” You almost always wear an undershirt, because you’ve been a cop long enough to know that sometimes your clothes get torn or messed up in the line of duty, and you’re not trying to offer a free show while taking down an unsub. Derek wiggles his eyebrows, points at your chest.

“Yeah, one that put those little boobies on display. His eyes bulged out of his head like a cartoon character.” This time, you punch him in the arm, hard. It’s too goddamn early for this.

“Can you please shut up already? I don’t have a thing for Hotch.”

“Ah, I didn’t say you had a thing, I said you’re in love with him. And I have evidence; lots of it.” You tip your head back, groan, wondering what you did to deserve a best friend who is also such a pain in the ass, and it’s that moment that Hotch chooses to rejoin you; he looks a little flushed, probably from the coughing earlier.

“Uh. We have a case; I know not everyone is here yet, but you can head up to the briefing room, I’ll grab the others when they arrive.”

“Sure thing, sir,” you say easily, grabbing your tablet and what’s left of your coffee; you gesture for Derek and he follows, laughing and shaking his head. “Okay, what is it now? I’m so glad you find me entertaining today.”

“‘Sure thing, sir,’” he says with a high, breathy voice you assume is supposed to mimic yours. “You want his dick so bad.” You narrow your eyes at him as you head upstairs.

“Uh, because I was being respectful? I know that’s a foreign concept for you, the world’s biggest asshole, but you don’t have to read anything into it.” You take your usual seats at the table, pull up the note-taking app on your tablet, and Derek sits back, crosses his arms behind his head.

“Well you’re not calling me ‘sir’, and I’m the sexiest piece in the office, so it’s hard not to read into it.” You look over at him, elbow on the table, chin in the palm of your hand.

“Sexy is subjective, and you don’t do it for me, sorry to break it to you.” He scoffs, laughs, and you laugh too because you both know you see each other as brother and sister, buddies, and fellow former cops, and absolutely nothing else.

“Yeah, I get it, only Hotch does it for you; he’s not my type, but I can see how a young lady like yourself could be drawn to his brooding exterior.”

“I’m not drawn to his exterior!” you practically growl, and then you’re joined by Spencer and JJ.

“Good morning. What’s going on with you two?” JJ asks, loading up the monitors for the debriefing, her eyebrows raised.

“She’s in love with Hotch,” Derek says completely nonchalantly, and you rest your head on the table, on top of your forearms, and sigh.

“She’s what?” JJ’s whole face lights up, and you seriously regret everything.

“I’m not in love with anybody!” you mumble against your arms, and then you sit up, because you’re clearly going to have to defend yourself. “And I’d appreciate it if you quit saying that I am.”

“I told you I have evidence,” Derek reminds you, leaning back in his chair a little. One swift kick would have him toppling ass over tea kettle, but you’re too nice, even when he’s actively trying to ruin your life. “Shall I go over it while we wait?”

“I’ll be an objective third party,” Spencer says with a brief smile, and you sigh, wave your hand toward Derek.

“Alright, let’s hear it. I’m sure I have a perfectly reasonable explanation for whatever evidence you might think you have.” He grins like this is the moment he’s been waiting for, and you feel a little stupid for encouraging this.

“For one, you always look at him. When I’m delivering a profile, I notice you watching the locals, making sure they understand what we’re going over, since you're the queen of analyzing the micro expressions. But when Hotch is delivering a profile, your eyes are on him the whole time. Same goes for discussing theories on the jet; anyone else, and you’ve got your face in your tablet, scribbling notes, but you always look at him when he speaks.”

Your cheeks get hot. He’s a captivating speaker, is all, with that deep, velvety voice, and you can learn a lot from him, so you pay attention. That’s just being smart.

“Second, you tense when he gets close to you: not like you don’t want him to touch you, but like you’re halfway to jumping him already and trying to control it. I could probably put my hand in your pocket and you wouldn't even flinch, but if he leans over you to point at something you look like you’re about to cream your pants.”

“I have seen that, actually,” JJ offers, and you look over at her, betrayed. Sure, you get a whiff of his clean, crisp cologne, or feel the heat of him at your back, and your body reacts, reminds you that this is your boss and you’re at work and you can’t get turned on by the way he smells, but that’s actually a good thing, not an indicator of feelings or anything.

“Third, there’s something up with you and the gray suits. I can literally tell that he’s wearing one before I even see him, all because of the look on your face. It’s like you’re drunk on the gray suit.”

“Okay, that’s not true,” you say with a roll of your eyes—the gray suits are god tier, but there’s no way you’re that obvious—but it’s Spencer who speaks up, this time.

“You know, I have noticed that. Your pupils tend to be more dilated when his suit is gray or blue than when it’s black.” Fuck. You sigh.

“He barely ever wears the blue. It looks so good on him,” you murmur, and then you snap your eyes shut, cover your face with your hands. “Fuck. This is so embarrassing.”

“To be fair, we are profilers,” Derek says, leaning in to pat your back. “But also to be fair, he’s been a profiler longer than any of us, so if we know, he definitely knows.”

“Not helping, Derek,” you grind out, and then you’re joined by the rest of the team. Penelope takes the seat next to you, leans in with a worried tone of voice.

“Is everything okay?”

“She’s having a small crisis, but she’ll be fine,” JJ says with a smile, and you don’t miss the way Hotch looks you over when she says it, concern in his eyes. “Alright, so we’re headed to Arkansas…”

Later that morning, when you’ve been given your instructions—yours are heading to the crime scene with Emily and Derek—Hotch pulls you out into the hall, rests a gentle hand on your arm.

“Are you alright? JJ mentioned you were having a crisis earlier. This is the first time I’ve been able to get you alone, and I wanted to check on you.” You take a deep breath, look up at him, so handsome in a black suit, white shirt, green tie—he almost never wears a green tie, and you absently think it brings out the more golden tones of his eyes—and smile softly.

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s really nothing. Personal stuff, and I’m dealing with it.” If by ‘dealing with it’ you mean you’ve been repressing it, shoving it down day in and day out until your feelings are choking you, then yeah, you’re dealing with it. “Thanks for checking, though, that’s kind of you.”

“Of course. I’m here to help in any way I can, if you need me.” Good god, do you need him, emotionally, physically, but that’s fantasy, and this, what he’s offering, is rooted in reality. Good things do happen, but not to you.

“Thanks.” Your voice is weak to your own ears, and he swallows, nods; you see Derek hovering by the door, waiting for you, and you pull away to join him, plastering a smile on your face. You don’t talk about it again until Friday, and at that point it’s extremely unavoidable.

It’s Casual Friday, newly implemented by the bureau as a way to boost morale, and while it doesn’t really excite you, because you’re fairly casual anyway, others take full advantage of it. Others, including Hotch.

He shows up to work wearing a black polo and dark jeans, his usual watch. It’s easily the most simplistic, basic outfit a man could decide to wear on Casual Friday, but this isn’t just a man, it’s Aaron fucking Hotchner, and so naturally, you lose your damn mind.

It wouldn’t be so bad if the damn polo didn’t fit him perfectly, tight across his shoulders and chest and the little tummy he has that makes you want to be under him so badly, your stomachs pressed together while he thrusts inside you, holding you tightly, his strong thighs working against yours…

“Hello, are you alive in there?” Emily asks, waving her hand in front of your face; the two of you, along with Derek, are in Penelope’s office for lunch while Rossi, Reid, and JJ are out of the office for a seminar. You blink, shake away your thoughts and hope and pray they don’t come back—but they’ll come back, they always do.

“She’s just short circuiting because of Hotch’s Casual Friday look,” Morgan says with a wink, sitting backward in his seat. “She’s been drooling so much I’ve had to follow her around with a mop to clean up after her.” You push your wheeled chair away from them with a groan, needing space and air and, potentially, a brain transplant. You’ve gotten nothing done all day long.

“Can you blame me? The man comes in here everyday, buttoned up tight, looking incredible in a suit and tie, and then he shows up in that black polo, all snug and hot and delicious, and you expect me not to freak out? You guys are lucky I didn’t pass out.” You’re met with silence, and you blink, confused, at your friends, but they’re all just kind of staring with looks of barely concealed humor. “What? It’s not like it’s a secret that I want to climb him like a tree.”

“Pretty sure it was a secret to him,” Penelope says, looking shocked, and you whip around in your chair to see Hotch standing in the doorway, wide-eyed and a little flushed.

“Oh my god. I’m so sorry. I, uh—” He raises a hand, waves you off.

“It’s okay. No harm done; thank you, for the, uh. Compliment.” He steps forward, hands a manila folder to Penelope. “Thanks for taking care of these,” he says softly, and then, unsurprisingly, he gets the hell out of there. You wish you could disappear off the face of the Earth.

“Fuck, holy fuck,” you mutter when he’s gone, leaning forward with your head in your hands. “That’s it, I’m quitting. It’s been nice knowing you guys.”

“Okay, don’t be dramatic,” Derek says, and you look up to glare at him; he’s the one that started all this in the first place. You were fine, feelings tamped down and suppressed, until he brought it up and then told everyone you know.

“Don’t tell me not to be dramatic, Derek! This is all your fault. You never respect my boundaries, you never know when to just let me be, you always have to pick and pick until you wear me down. Maybe I had a reason for wanting to keep my feelings private, did you ever think of that?”

“I know you're upset,” Emily begins softly, because there’s some pretty thick tension between you and Derek now, but you stand up, push your chair across the room, and shake your head.

“I’m not upset, I’m fucking humiliated. I’m going home; let him know I’m sick, will you?” You exhale deeply, storm upstairs and grab your stuff and drive home with tears in your eyes. You’ve never been so embarrassed in your life, and add that to the absolute heartbreak you’re feeling? You’re just happy you make it to your apartment, so you can break down with cheesecake and a sappy, romantic comedy with a happy ending: those perfect, fictional worlds are pretty much the only place one is guaranteed. You are, as planned, hunkered down on the sofa in your softest pajamas, watching You’ve Got Mail and eating the center out of an entire cheesecake with a spoon when there’s a knock at your door. You groan, pick up your cheesecake tin, and walk over to it, fully expecting it to be Derek come to beg for forgiveness for ruining your life, so it’s no surprise you drop your dessert on the floor when it’s actually Hotch on the other side.

He looks down at the tin, then up at your face, cracks the barest hint of a smile.

“I thought you were sick; I brought soup,” he says, holding up a paper bag, and your heart thumps in your chest. You wipe a hand over your face, because you haven’t been exactly neat in your heartache cheesecake consumption, and then you kick the tin across the floor and invite him in, closing the door behind him.

“I thought it was obvious that I wasn’t actually sick, just… really embarrassed,” you say when he turns back to look at you. “I can’t believe you heard all that stuff I said… I’m really sorry I made you uncomfortable.” You take the bag from his hand and invite him to follow you into the kitchen, where you set it on the counter, lean against it. He comes close, but not so close you can’t function, which is good; your comfy pajamas are shorts and a loose tank top, so you feel a little exposed already.

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable,” he says softly, and you frown, must have heard him wrong. He presses his fingertips against the counter, as if for support. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable. It was… unexpected,” he explains, “very unexpected, but I’m not uncomfortable.”

You flush hot, and you can feel the bad decision part of your brain switching on, warning bells ringing in your head.

Whatever you do next has the potential to be extremely stupid, and you would like to avoid that at all costs; you love your job, after all, despite how physically and emotionally exhausting it can be, and you love your team. Time to think with your upstairs brain only.

“That makes me feel a little better,” you say truthfully, and despite the pep talk you just gave yourself, you move closer to him like there’s an invisible magnetic force between you; you would imagine a guy like Hotch would step back, keep his distance, but he only cranes his neck a little so he can look down at you more easily.

God, he’s tall. And he smells good, and his face is perfect, and that goddamn polo...

“Good, I’m glad. I don’t want you to feel bad about this. I’m not uncomfortable, it’s not… it’s not unwanted.” You swallow audibly, looking up at him, wondering if he knows what he’s saying, what it sounds like.

“It’s not?” you ask, and it comes out breathy; he takes a small step closer to you, brushes his fingers over your arm, peers into your eyes.

“No, it’s not. I’ve been thinking of you, too; I know you know you’re beautiful, but you’re also so smart, and strong-willed, and a force to be reckoned with. I’m proud to have you on my team, and I’d be proud… to have you climb me like a tree.” He smiles again, just the barest hint of one, and you put your arms around him and pull him closer for a kiss.

One long, slow, perfect kiss turns into another, then another, and he presses your back against the counter, his hands on your face and your hands on his thick waist; you hum into the kiss, revel in the feel of his lips on yours, his tongue sweeping past them, and when you pull back for air it feels like there’s only one question that needs to be asked.

“Bedroom?” you breathe, and he nods, and you take his hand and pull him in that direction, pausing to kiss him several times before you get there. “You don’t happen to have a condom, do you?” you ask, breathless, guiding him to the bed, and he frowns, shakes his head.

“I didn’t want to seem presumptuous.” You grin at that, lean forward and kiss him, your fingers in his hair.

“I find it so hot that you even say presumptuous. I might have one here somewhere.” You open your nightstand, move around books and toys until you find a couple; you flip them over, checking to see if they’re expired, and offer him a couple options. “They’re still good, surprisingly. You can, uh. Choose the one that would work best.”

He looks them over, picks one and hands back the rest, and you throw them back in the drawer and slide into his lap, wrap your arms around his shoulders.

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” he says, holding your waist as you look down at him, completely in awe that this is happening. “But I want to clarify: if you’re looking for something casual, I don’t think we should go any further.” You inhale softly, surprised by his straightforwardness, and you lean in, kiss him slowly.

“I don’t want casual. I want to be with you.” His eyes are so brilliant, dark in the dim light of your bedroom, and he nods, presses his lips to yours and slides his hands beneath your top, guides it over your head. Then they move to your shorts, slipping them gently off your hips, and you stand so he can push them to the ground.

You’re both breathing heavily, a little rough, and you step between his legs, kiss him again, run your hands down his chest, closing your eyes with a sigh because you finally get to feel him after a year of just imagining what it would be like. After a beat, you open your eyes, look into his, smile.

“Really grateful for Casual Friday,” you whisper. “Otherwise you might never have found out I’m kind of in love with you.” You ease the polo over his head, drop it on the ground and encourage him to stand so you can take off his pants; he does, but before you can drop to your knees as planned, he takes your face in his hands, presses one soft kiss against your mouth.

“I’m more than kind of in love with you.” Oh, if that isn’t the greatest sentence your ears have ever heard… You wrap your arms around his neck, kiss a little more, forgetting that you planned to finish undressing him; when you remember, you make quick work of it, then have him lay back against the bed and settle between his legs.

You put your mouth on him because you want to, more than anything, and his hand drops to your hair, caressing you while you suck slowly, deeply, holding him with one hand and pressing against his stomach with the other. His moans are soft and gorgeous, his body tense beneath your hand, and you’d do this all night, but he murmurs your name, coaxes you up, puts his hands on your back as you settle against him.

“You’re so incredible. I never would have imagined I’d get this, get you,” he breathes, skimming his hands over your sides and hips, and you kiss softly, steamy and sweet.

“Me neither.” You lean up, make space for him to roll on the condom, and then press him inside; your breath hitches, and so does his, and you lay on top of him, chest to chest, stomach to stomach, arms around each other tightly while you move. “Hmm. Aaron,” you sigh, hair falling around him, and he groans, digs his fingertips into your hips.

“Sounds so perfect coming out of your mouth.” You smile, but it slips away when he surges up to kiss you, leans up so he’s sitting with you in his lap. He slides a broad hand up your back, wraps it around the nape of your neck, and pumps his hips up as you sink down, eliciting a series of soft, eager moans from the both of you.

“Feels like I’ve waited so long; I’ve never wanted someone as badly as I wanted you,” you tell him, chest heaving, and he brings you to him for a kiss, something a little rougher, less refined. He’s getting close.

“Never. You make me feel so much.” You reach back against his leg for support, work harder to bring him off, and when he comes he crushes his mouth against yours, delicious and more uncontrolled than you’ve ever seen him. He chants your name, so soft and sweet rolling off of his tongue, and then gets you on your back so he can press deeply inside.

You feel so incredibly full, panting beneath him, your hands on his waist and your feet on the backs of his thighs; his perfect face is inches from yours, all shallow breaths and decadent, passionate kisses, and when you climax you pull him closer, sigh, unravel completely in his embrace.

Maybe good things do happen after all. You hold each other and talk for a while, after a quick pitstop to the restroom, and then your stomach growls—understandably, since the only thing to fill it since lunch was that stupid cheesecake—and Hotch orders takeout on his phone from bed; god bless technology.

There’s a knock at the door twenty minutes later, and you know that’s quick for your favorite Thai place, but you’re not complaining because you’re officially starving. He offers to grab it, throws on his boxers and heads for the living room; after a few minutes, you wonder what’s taking so long, pull on your robe and go to check on him.

Hotch is talking to Derek, who is standing in your living room with a piece of cheesecake and a shit eating grin.

“I came with a peace offering, but now I think I’ll wait for a, ‘Thank you, Derek,’” he says, and you roll your eyes, stalk over and take the cheesecake out of his hands. You give it to Hotch, lean up to kiss Derek on the cheek, and push him toward the door.

“Thank you, Derek. Go away, Derek,” you say with a smile of your own, and he raises his palms and retreats down the hall, laughing as he goes.

This is just one more thing he’ll tease you mercilessly about, but this time the benefits outweigh the costs. Taglist ❤️: @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #hotch x female reader #hotch x reader #ask answered #anon #prompt #dad bod hotch

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damn-stark · 3 years

Text

To new friends

Chapter 6 of Different Light

A/N- So I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this before, but I am going to have some events from the books in this series, just to add more angst and more fun. So if you read parts that don’t show up in the movie, it’s becaue it’s either what I wrote, or something that happened in the books 👍🏽 hope you guys like the chapter and don’t be afraid to leave your thoughts!

Warning- Angst, SLOWBURN.

Pairing- Harry Potter x Malfoy!reader, Fred Weasley x Malfoy!reader

(Let me know if you want to be tagged)

————

As the blissful daze of the Yule ball night passed, the last few free days passed swiftly, taking the memory of Fred’s kiss on your lips with it. Leaving nothing behind but the mental memory of such a delightful moment.

Albeit it was also a moment that wasn’t talked about any day after, classes started again and days would get busier for both Fred and you. Of course you didn’t want to force him into talking about it, you wanted the topic to come out, just effortlessly. Fred treated you kinder; that’s something you noticed, he was way more touchy than before. Usually before when you would sit next to each other, there was no contact whatsoever—sure your arms, or thighs brushed against each other’s, but that was it.

Now when Fred sat next to you in the great hall, or really anywhere else, he would place his hand on top of yours, or hook his pinky fingers with yours; sometimes he would place his arm on top the seat you were sitting on, but that was about it. Fred didn’t try and repeat what happened that night, or try and gloat about it. He simply just didn’t talk about it.

Which led you to think; what did he intend with that kiss?

You want to ask him, but then again you fear the answer he could give.

It’s not like you could ask George. One, because he was Fred’s twin brother and two, you didn’t want to put George in that position. It’d be better if he wasn’t in the middle, things would just flow much easier that way.

You still wanted help, but from who? Narcissa? You could specifically leave Fred’s name out and just ask for advice, but as you further thought about it, asking your mother wasn’t the best option; yet.

That left you with the lingering question of, who then?

“Y/N.”

At the sound of the small, sweet voice calling to you, you’re thrown from your train of thought and left to look over your shoulder and notice, Hermione Granger, striding towards you. At first you don’t know what to do, you’re actually utterly confused on what to do and why she has called you. But realization hits you as she finally falls by your side and offers you a small sweet smile—you had helped her that night of the Yule ball. She said words you’d never forget.

Regardless you didn’t really think you helping her that night was enough for her to reach out to you now. Maybe just simple “hellos” when you passed by the halls, but you didn’t think she’d actually call your name and hurry to reach you. That gesture was still so unfamiliar and new to you.

You smile and greet her however, regardless of how your thoughts churn. “Hello.”

“I saw you pass just now and thought it’d be nice to walk with you to Arithmancy.” Hermione explained kindly. “Is that alright with you?”

Of course!

You smile shyly and nod. “Yeah that's alright.” You feel your cheeks burn and a need to just walk in silence, but you also were desperate to make friends who weren’t just Fred and George—“I never got the chance to ask, did you enjoy the Yule ball? Before everything went down I mean.”

Hermione smiles wider and nods. “Yes it was absolutely great. I had a lot of fun. What about you? Fred mentioned he was going with you, how was that?”

“Oh well,” you smile shyly at the memory of that night. “It was amazing, Fred was a good partner.”

A new thought then invades your mind—you could ask her for help. Even ask her if she heard anything Fred mentioned of that night. After all they were part of the same house. She’s got to know a thing or two, right?

“Do—”

“Fred said you were a great partner too,” Hermione mentions as if she has read your mind. “He said he enjoyed that night with you.”

At the sound of her comment, you feel your cheeks burn increasingly hotter. You’re left stunned for a moment, left giddy and speechless, left trying to collect your thoughts and like you could explode from the inside—you had heard him say he enjoyed that night, but hearing that he had said that to other people just made it seem even more special. The knowledge of what he said made you smile wider. It made you want to know more.“Did he say anything else?” You turn your head to look at her and you see her shake her head.

“No, I’m sorry. He and his friends moved away before I could hear more.”

You hum softly and assure her. “It’s okay, thank you for telling me what he said though.”

Hermione just smiles as response before she changes the subject, not giving you the chance to ask for her help in your still troubled dilema. “What are you reading?”

You look down to the Daily Prophet in your hand and shrug. With all your running thoughts, you didn’t have time to read what you had in your hand. “I don’t know, I haven’t had time to read what,” you lift the newspaper and scoff, “Rita Skeeter wrote it, probably just rubbish anyway.”

Just as you’re about to shove it in between your books, Hermione stops you before snatching the paper from your hand. “Wait, what does this evil witch have to say now.”

Out of new grown curiosity, you look over her shoulder as she begins to read the paper outloud; “DUMBLEDORE'S GIANT MISTAKE

Albus Dumbledore, eccentric Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, has never been afraid to make controversial staff appointments, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. In September of this year, he hired Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody, the notoriously jinx-happy ex-Auror, to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, a decision that caused many raised eyebrows at the Ministry of Magic, given Moody's well-known habit of attacking anybody who makes a sudden movement in his presence. Mad-Eye Moody, however, looks responsible and kindly when set beside the part-human Dumbledore employs to teach Care of Magical Creatures.

Rubeus Hagrid, who admits to being expelled from Hogwarts in his third year, has enjoyed the position of gamekeeper at the school ever since, a job secured for him by Dumbledore. Last year, however, Hagrid used his mysterious influence over the headmaster to secure the additional post of Care of Magical Creatures teacher, over the heads of many better-qualified candidates.

An alarmingly large and ferocious-looking man, Hagrid has been using his newfound authority to terrify the students in his care with a succession of horrific creatures. While Dumbledore turns a blind eye, Hagrid has maimed several pupils during a series of lessons that many admit to being "very frightening."

'I was attacked by a hippogriff, and my friend Vincent Crabbe got a bad bite off a flobberworm," says Draco Malfoy, a fourth-year student. "We all hate Hagrid, but we're just too scared to say anything—”

Your eyes widen at the sound of your brother's name and anything else read after that just tunes out. The news of Hagrid being a half giant doesn’t even bug you, or register in your mind as someone dangerous (because he wasn’t). All you focused on was what lies your, weasel of a little brother had to say. It makes your furious, feel steam come out of your ears and feel your fists shake. The news on the paper even makes Hermione upset; albeit her reasons differed from yours.

Clearly—“how-how did she find out!” Before you could give your opinion, Hermione quietly seemed to ramble to herself, only raising her voice at specific points. “Maybe she heard him telling Madame Maxine at the ball—but no, they would have seen her, she’s not even...” her voice goes quiet again and you’re left looking at her bewildered and still taken back yourself. As well as intrigued by what she had to say. Surprised by her suddenly asking you a probing question. “Did you see Rita Skeeter that day of the ball?”

You blink out of surprise, but manage to shake your head. “No, I didn’t. But maybe she was hiding in some bushes, like an odd-ball.”

Hermione bites her lip and shrugs before giving an opinion herself. “Maybe she has some type of invisibility cloak?”

You shrug, “maybe. I mean to get such a scoop on people, she’s got to have something up her sleeve.”

Hermione's eyes narrow and she seems to go into deep thinking before she comes up with a suggestion that surprised you even more. “We should try and figure it out. You’re smart, I’m sure if we got together, we’d figure it out.”

You scoff lightheartedly and stop before entering your intended class. “Why the need to get the scoop on her?”

“Because,” Hermione blurted passionately, “it’s not the first time she’s done something like this. Mysteriously getting news on people. She’s wicked and needs to be stopped.”

You smirk at her fiery spirit and can’t help but give in without much need of further convincing. “Alright, I’ll help. It sounds like fun.”

——

The day of the second game came and you couldn’t be dreading this one more. It was too cold and what was the point of having an audience? The players were going to be underwater and if they somehow have a way for you and the rest of the students to look in the depths of the lake without having to go in along with the players, then what was the point?

You were just going to unnecessarily freeze to basically watch players dive.

“ANY BETS! ANY BETS!”

“PLACE YOUR BETS!” George and Fred shouted in a booming voice to the passing students.

Yet with all you’re complaining, here you were, still teamed up with the twins trying to take bets from students.

“THREE LADS!”

“ONE LADY!”

“FOUR ARE GOING DOWN!”

You would’ve joined into their tactics, but you didn’t feel like screaming, so instead you held onto the box for them, watching them as you moved up and the students moved down towards the boats. Stopping only when their sister shoved past them and stopped to remark their rude persuading screams. “Don’t be so mean.”

The twins and you looked back to Ginny and you couldn’t help but agree, but the twins on the other hand turned back around and continued screaming to try and convince others to place bets. Stopping only minutes before the last boat could leave the dock.

“Finally,” you groan as you close the box and shove it in George’s hands. “I thought we’d never finish.”

Fred scoffs, “come on, you’ve got to admit that doing this makes the games more fun.”

“Hardly.” You retort as you shove your hands in your jackets pockets, “freezing to watch water is something I would hardly call fun.”

“You’re in luck then.” George assures you, “the game should be an hour long.”

You groan one last time before you reach the boats, looking to Fred as he pointed for you to get on first. “Ladies first.” He smirks before he follows after you, waiting lastly for George to go on before the person driving the boat began its short trip to the already packed and rowdy stands.

Luckily not having to wait too long for the game to start and beginning to watch with much more anticipation and stress than you intended after you watched Harry clumsily fall into the lake. While Draco, who was two people away from you laughed and pointed at Harry’s clumsy fall, causing you to shoot him a side glare. One he didn’t catch, but you meant with a burning dedication. He only shut up when Harry shot up after his worrying fall into the water, causing an uproar from the students rooting for his win. Albeit seconds after he splashed in, everyone, including yourself were filled with stomach twisting anticipation for anyone’s resurface from the water with their special lost thing.

You were also left with waiting, and endless waiting, growing colder as time ticked.

“Cold?” Fred asked you.

You looked to him and shivered slightly at the feeling of the bitter wind hitting your face. “what do you think?”

A half, smug smile tugged on his lips and he shrugs. “No, I don’t think you are.”

“Then there's your answer.” You cross your arms over your chest and look out to the lake, feeling your shoulders jump slightly moments later when Fred wrapped his arm around your shoulders and pulled you closer to him.

“Better?”

You feel your cheeks burn and your heart skip a beat. It’s hard to think of what to say at the flustered feeling you got at the interaction, but you somehow manage to respond. Albeit stammering and sounding like you were terrified. “Y-yes, much better.”

You didn’t see but Fred grinned at your response. Choosing to stay quiet for the remainder of the game until the first contestant surfaced from the water; Cedric Diggory and Cho—you clapped, but didn’t feel much excitement like others did. Instead you felt as if your stomach twisted tighter knowing that the game was close to over and Harry hadn’t surfaced yet.

Krum and...Hermione surfaced and you clapped excitedly for her, but you were still left with the increasing worrying, glancing repeatedly at the time and waiting as others did. Hearing whispers and the excitement for the game dwindled the more time passed and Harry showed no sign.

The worry now surrounding the crowd was replaced by short relief when Ron and a little girl surfaced, but that was short lived since Harry’s presence was lacking. It made you part from Fred’s side and grip onto the railing to look down into the water to watch and wait—and yes he was just a boy you hardly knew, hardly talked to and just thought of as cute and nice, a bit clumsy and dorky, but...you couldn’t help but worry and—

Before you could get deeper into your thoughts, Harry Potter shot up from the water and finally relieved the worry and stress that had grown increasingly higher those past few minutes. Making you push yourself off the railing to finally clap and cheer, turning to celebrate the win with the twins for a brief moment before you’re interrupted by Dumbledore's booming voice. “Attention! The winner is Mr. Diggory!”

The crowd for Cedric erupted with claps and cheering for him and his win. All them were forced to quiet down though as Dumbledore continued. “Who showed the need to command of the bubble head charm. However seeing as Mr.Potter would have finished first, should it not been for his determination to rescue not only Mr. Weasley, but the others as well, we’ve agreed to award him second place! For outstanding moral fiber!”

Again the crowd erupted into a roaring cheering, causing the twins to five each other and you in a form to celebrate. Ignoring as Draco, bitterly stormed off after the announcement of his rival's achievement. While the three didn’t waste a second for the twins and you to push through the crowd to walk down to where Harry, and the other contestants and the people they saved were.

The twins rushed first, greeting Harry with loud congratulating cheers and a tight hug that they backed from after feeling Harry all wet; letting them turn to their brother and in their own foolish way, worry over his well-being. Letting you be face to face with Harry and instantly feel a hotter heat crawl onto your face before and while you found the words to talk to him.

“That was amazing Harry! You did great!” You grinned, stepping into wrap your arms around him, but stopping as you took in his soaked figure.

“Yeah,” Harry nodded, “I wouldn’t, I’m soaked.” A timid and wobbly smile tugged on his lips and he continued. “Thank you though, y/n.”

You offer him another warm smile and last lingering stare before you rip your eyes away and turn your attention to Herimone next to him.

——

“Right on, all that moral fiber, eh?” George teased Harry as he walked onto the deck.

“That’s great.” Fred chuckled.

You smirk and tag along with the teasing. “All that moral fiber.”

“Blimey, even if you go wrong it turns out right.” Ron voiced with a slight smile.

“Well done, moral fiber.” Fred teased before lightly pushing Harry and then walking off with his brothers, Hermione and you, leaving Harry behind.

You wanted to look back, but before you could Fred’s hand on your arm interrupted your attempts before you could accomplish them. “So, y/n, I was thinking,” he began to say in a soft voice that was rare for him to speak in and off putting for you to hear. “How about we go to Hogsmeade together?”

You blink and begin to fall behind from the group, parting your lips to speak, but coming out with nothing but a breath of air. Proceeding to instead gently rub your arm nervously and letting your eyes flicker from the ground to Fred before managing to speak just as nervously. “Like George, you and I?”

Fred chuckles and shakes his head. “No you goof, just you and I.”

Your cheeks burn again and you giggle and whisper, “oh,” before smiling warmly and nodding. “Sure I like the sound of that, when?”

Fred shrugged, trying to hide his cocky smile. “I’ll let you know, alright?”

You nod, “okay.” Before you both catch up to the group you had been with, picking up your pace smoothly, so you could catch up with a grinning Hermione that already knew by the smile on Fred and your faces what had gone on.

In that moment letting a thought begin to unroll in the back of your mind. Not one having to do with Fred, nor George or Harry. But about Hermione. Odd thing especially after getting asked out by Fred, but it was a thought that just grew; even if Hermione and you had just started talking and a friendship was beginning to develop. It still felt refreshing, assuring and exciting that you had someone else as a friend. Someone who could relate to you in other ways Fred, or George couldn’t. You felt happy that you were beginning to be her friend, that she viewed you like hers and not like the other girls would in Durmstrang. She viewed you like a friend now. She viewed you differently.

——

“HARRY POTTER IN A BURNING LOVE TRIANGLE

A boy like no other, perhaps - yet a boy suffering all the usual pangs of adolescence, writes Rita Skeeter. Deprived of love since the tragic demise of his parents, fourteen-year-old Harry Potter thought he had found solace in his steady girlfriend at Hogwarts, Muggle-born Hermione Granger. Little did he know that he would suffer through a trouble bigger than any he has faced, choosing who to love and who to leave behind broken hearted.

In the recent events of the Triwizard tournament, Harry has been spotted in the arms of new transfer student to Hogwarts, Y/N Malfoy. At first it had seemed that it was nothing but platonic, but their affectionate embrace and caring and lovable words told us otherwise. Yet as loving as they are, Harry is still caught in the middle between Herimone Granger, who is not innocent as she portrays to be.

Miss Granger, a plain but ambitious girl, seems to have a taste for famous wizards that Harry alone cannot satisfy. Since the arrival at Hogwarts of Viktor Krum, Bulgarian Seeker and hero of the last World Quidditch Cup, Miss Granger has been toying with both boys' affections. Krum, who is openly smitten with the devious Miss Granger, has already invited her to visit him in Bulgaria over the summer holidays, and insists that he has "never felt this way about any other girl."

However, it might not be Miss Granger's doubtful natural charms that have captured these unfortunate boys' interest.

"She's really ugly," says Pansy Parkinson, a pretty and vivacious fourth-year student, "but she'd be well up to making a Love Potion, she's quite brainy. I think that's how she's doing it."

Love Potions are, of course, banned at Hogwarts, and no doubt Albus Dumbledore will want to investigate these claims. In the meantime, Harry Potters well-wishers must hope that he opens his eyes and sets his heart upon his Slytherin lover.

No. No. No. This can’t be happening. No. Your father...your mother….your father. He’s going to kill you before disowning you. No. This isn’t what you wanted. Even if it was false information when it came to your part of the paper, it was still going to get to your parents before you had the chance to explain. You’ve done good to hide the truth of your friendships from them when Draco snitches, but this...this can ruin everything and take you back to Durmstrang.

“If that’s the best Rita can do, she’s losing her touch,” Herimone says, beginning to giggle and causing you to snap your head from the paper to look at her with a perplexed, widened gaze. “What a pile of old rubbish.” She proceeds to take the paper from your hands and throws the paper into an empty chair. The action leaving you shocked and speechless—wasn’t she worried to?

On how Rita Skeeter found out about the obvious private conversation that went on between her and Krum? Why wasn’t she worried like you?

“Why-why are you so calm?” You manage to ask with your perplexed and widened gaze.

Hermione looks over to a group of Slytherins to see if they’d be upset by the article. Hermione gave them a sarcastic smile and a wave, and turned back to pretend to focus on the parchment in front of the both of you to finally talk without giving your question an answer. “There’s something funny though, how could Rita Skeeter have known?” Her face went red and she pressed her quil to her chin. “How did she know Viktor asked me to visit him in the summer?”

You shrug and push your worry aside for now, “maybe someone’s her spy?”

Herimone shakes her head, “no, couldn’t be, he pulled me away from the judges after we got our blankets and we were in a spot surrounded by his friends. They’d never do anything to Viktor.” Her face grew increasingly more red and her eyebrows furrowed deeper as she mindlessly pressed her quil on the parchment now. “But how could Rita have heard. She wasn’t there...or was she? Maybe she’s got an invisibility cloak?”

“Perhaps,” you muse along with her, “but there were too many people on that platform, someone would have bumped into her and found her out.” You tap your fingers on the tabletop as you begin to brainstorm a possibility, muttering to Hermione as you did so. “What exactly happened after Krum and you got out of the water?”

Herimone began to explain every exact detail of the events after Krum got her out of the water. Every single detail from climbing onto the platform, to mentioning that Krum flicked a beetle off her wet hair and lastly the moment you had finally come along.

“Hmm,” you rest your elbow on the table and rest your head on your hand as you continue to think and throw out ideas that came to your mind. “Well there wasn’t much room for her to hide at all. She couldn’t be under the water, and it’s doubtful she used polyjuice.”

“You’re right.” Hermione agrees.

At a incoming thought you begin to snicker, “maybe she temporarily transformed into your towel.”

Suddenly Hermione shoots up and her eyes gleam with what seems to be excitement. She steps towards you and manages to pull you off your chair to hold your hands in hers and basically shout out. “I’ve got it!”

“Hermione Granger and Miss Malfoy, please be quiet unless you both want detention!” The professor scolds you, making Herimone quietly apologize before she pulls you back to your seat and continues quietly. Disregarding the warning you both had just gotten.

“She couldn’t have turned into a towel, or risked using polyjuice, but she could have transformed into something else. Something smaller and easy to blend in and be disregarded by any person.”

You blink in astonishment by her quick thinking and fast investigating skills. You don’t say anything, just listen completely mesmerized.

“Rita Skeeter was the beetle in my hair,” Herimone whispers in a loud excited whisper, “of course I thought nothing of it before because it was just a bug, but now it all makes sense; how she can catch all the scoop and hide without without being seen. She’s an animagus.”

You smirk and squeeze in your own thoughts. “Probably an unregistered one too, or else Dumblrdore would have taken extra precautions to keep her off the castle grounds.”

“Yes!” Hermione exclaims with a joyful and yet mischievous grin, “she kept her secret well until now. I’m going to make sure that she doesn’t have another chance to spread any more cruel, dishonest stories.”

“What do you mean?” You gasp with a deeply puzzled and slightly fearful face.

“I’m going to make sure she doesn’t write any more stories from here until the tournament ends. I’m going to catch Rita.” She explains in a loud whisper once again with a dangerous mischievous look still painted in her eyes. “Do you want to catch her with me?”

“I,” you pause to think before you have the chance to abruptly answer. Beginning to go over the fact in your head, that Rita didn’t also make a lie about Hermione, but one about you. One that could cost you heavily. And the days before Herimone asked about helping her, you were down to pair up with Hermione because you didn’t want to lose a friend. Now you were doing it because, well you didn’t want to lose a friend and two, you had motivation of your own.

A smirk creeps onto your face and you meet Herimone’s gaze to share that same dangerous mischievous gaze. “I’m going to catch Rita with you.”

Even if you knew you were still going to get hell from your parents….especially your father.

Tagged- @peter-laufeyson , @swiftlymoniquesblog , @spideyyypeter , @gsvshsjsbs, @accio-prozac , @cherriesanwine , @kokomaesadie , @april-14-blog , @prettypinkpeachh , @pest-ill-ence , @ilovespideyyy

#Harry Potter #harry potter and the goblet of fire #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter x malfoy!reader #fred weasley x malfoy!reader #fred weasley fanfiction #harry potter x reader #harry potter imagines #harry potter imagine #harry potter x you #harry potter x y/n #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagines #different light #Draco #Herimone granger #Malfoy!reader #angst #SLOWBURN

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tinyboxxtink · 3 years

Text

"Black Magic" *Part 11*

Ooops I MAY have lied before....

More angst comin 'atcha babes.

I'm sorry. We're getting there, I promise. I just love watching you cryyyyy!!!

I'm just kidding I love you all please don't stop reading my stuff.

(fun fact these are Raul's actual hands! It's from a LOF promo. THE FINGIES THO)

Tag List

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So weird note here it won't let me edit this post on my computer for some reason to add the link to the new chapter and it looks stupid in the app but whatever....I hate this place sometimes. 🤨

You went the next day straight to Rafael’s office, but when you walked into the DA’s building, it was empty. What the hell was happening? Has the whole world gone nuts?

Before you turned to leave, one of the other assistant’s came out of the public bathroom.

“Hey YN, didn’t you get fired?”

“No-- Yes-- It’s a long story,”

“Well either way, I thought for sure you'd be the first one over to the church,” She chuckled.

“I'm sorry, what?” You felt your heart stop.

“The church? Where your subject of obsession is getting married?”

“I'm sorry, WHAT?”

“People talk, Y/N. Word is you’re obsessed with Barba, screaming at him and his fiancée like an unhinged psycho,” She tried not to laugh at you.

“I…” You began to have another panic attack.

“He can't ..how did she...he CAN'T….” You started hyperventilating.

“Ooookay I'm gonna leave you here for your mental breakdown. She scoffed and walked out. You immediately bolted out behind her, dialing Maria’s number, thanking God she gave it to you the other day.

“Hola?”

"Maria he's….he's getting married,” You gasped for air.

“Y/N? What are you talking about?”

“Rafael….he’s getting…” You tried to breathe. “He’s getting married, RIGHT NOW.”

“That doesn’t make sense, Raffi would never rush into something so--”

“You said it yourself Maria, that’s NOT Rafael,”

“You’re right. Well if there’s any trace of my Raffi, there’s only one church he’d get married at. I’ll text you the address and meet you there.”

“Okay…” You started to cry as you caught your breath.

“Hey, mija don’t give up yet, it’s not over!” Maria assured you.

“Okay…” You breathed, and hung up the phone.

-----

At the church you and Maria dashed around to find the groomsman room. You found it and Maria guarded the door.

You busted in without knocking to see Rafael straightening his tie, his tuxedo jacket hung on the mirror. He turned and stared at you in confusion.

“I...I’m sorry sweetie, are you lost?” He had concerns in his eyes. Concern for a ‘stranger’. You hoped it was because he knew you deep down, but you also knew Rafael was just a wonderful man who cared for all.

“You can't marry her Rafael” You said breathlessly, tired from running around the church.

“I’m sorry, what?” He half laughed, grabbing his jacket to put it on. You put a hand up to stop him.

“Because you don't love her,”

“I don't? Really?” He gave you an amused smile.

“No! She's using some kind of spell on you.” You cried.

“...Okay, is this some kind of prank? Is this Carisi’s idea of a joke?” Rafael continued to laugh, looking down the hall to see if Carisi was waiting to yell “GOTCHA COUNSELOR!”

“No, look you have to believe me. She’s been giving you an elixir that makes you think you’re in love with her.”

“...Um, okay seriously, this isn’t funny anymore sweetie,” He stopped laughing.

“I’m not kidding!” You stomped your foot,

“Look honey I’m-- I’m sorry, you must be confused. Did you come here with someone or--?” He put on a patronizing voice.

“I’m not some mental patient Rafael, l'm Y/N! Don’t you remember me? Look at me!” You stepped in front of the mirror.

“....No, I can’t say that I do. Really sweetie you need to--”

“STOP calling me sweetie. STOP patronizing me, and fucking LISTEN to me!!!!”

“...Okay, fine. Then I’m sorry you crazy person, but get the hell out of my dressing room,” He turned serious.

“No! Look listen to me Rafael, you don’t love Liv. She has you under some kind of bat crap crazy concoction of spells to keep you under her control!”

“Okay you’re ACTUALLY insane, how the hell did you get in here?”

“I came with Maria,”

“Maria? How do you know Maria? Oh did MARIA put you up to this?! God I know she was pissed I told her not to come, but to send a mental patient--”

“I’m not a fucking mental patient!” You yelled.

“And I’M not under some kind of bizarre spell,” He yelled back.

“Ok then….why do you think you feel stronger and stronger about Olivia every day?” You asked.

“Are you kidding me? Um sweetheart that's what you call being in love. You fall more and more everyday.” he scoffed.

“Not like that and you know it.” You challenged. “It doesn’t feel like that, I know it doesn’t. I KNOW you find it weird,”

“You don’t know anything about me. I love Liv and--”

“Then why are you doing this SO fast?” You cut him off.

“Excuse me?”

“You barely proposed to her a few days ago-- which by the way, NOT your idea,” You rolled your eyes.

“Wow...you are really...are you stalking me or something?” He narrowed his eyes.

“No, but I know you. You wouldn’t just rush into something like this,” You told him.

“It’s not rushing, honey. We’ve known each other for YEARS,” He scoffed with a laugh.

“Then why? Why now? Why is it SO urgent that you get married RIGHT now?!” You stomped your foot.

“BECUASE I LOVE HER YOU FUCKING PSYCHO!!” He screamed in your face angrily.

“No, you don’t! You didn’t take her to Maria, you didn’t take her to your special place. But you took me,” You didn't back down, you matched his volume as tears lined your eyes.

“And why would I do that? Because I was in love with you? Did I just forget an entire relationship with someone I’ve never met?” He was still yelling.

“No I--” You looked down in shame.

“You what?” He crossed his arms.

“.....I used it first,” You said softly.

“Excuse me?“

“I used it first, okay?” You said tears in your eyes. “I used an enhancement spell on you that made you fall in love with me for a day,”

“Ohhhh I SEE,” he chuckled mockingly. “So what you’re really saying is Olivia is playing your game, just better?”

“NO!” You screamed. “No, the stuff I used only enhanced stuff you already felt. Hers FABRICATED them. And I only used them for ONE DAY, because I love you enough to not want to keep you for myself if it’s not real,”

“But you just claimed it was real,” he pointed out.

“I didn’t know that at the time-- LOOK,” You grabbed his hands. “The only thing that matters is that Olivia is trapping you,”

“With magic.” He looked at you again with amusement.

“Yeah…” You didn’t like this.

“That I assume she got from you?” He nodded at you.

“No she used black magic, I used good magic,”

“Oh right right, the good magic that manipulates feelings. Of course,” He nodded sarcastically.

“Dammit Rafael I’m telling you the truth! I know the real you is there, deep down somewhere. I know he is and I know how he feels about me.

“Right...look you need to let this insane crush of yours go, lady. I don’t know how you know who I am, but I have zero clue who you are,”

“That's not true. I know that's not true,”

“Oh really?” He laughed sarcastically.

“You look like a penguin,” You simply said.

“I'm sorry, what?” He continued to laugh mockingly.

“You look like a penguin,” You looked into his eyes, trying to distract him so you could pour the vial you had in your bra into his coffee next to the mirror.

So now you're just resulting to insulting me? Look you--- Oh my god what the FUCK are you doing?!” He grabbed your hand before you reached the cup. He held it and stared wide eyed at the pink vial.

“What the FUCK is wrong with you? Did...Did some criminals send you? The Diablos have pretty girls doing their dirty work for them?”

“What? No--”

“Ohhh wait,” He became sarcastic again. “So you try and counteract ‘Evil’ Olivia’s ‘magic’ with your own ‘good’ magic, is that it?”

“...I mean--”

“Alright I was tolerating you before, but if you don’t leave RIGHT now, I’m going to call security.” He swiped the vial from you and smashed it on the ground.

“NO!!!!” You dropped to your knees in devastation. That was the one thing-- the ONE thing, besides--- Well, there was no fucking way you were getting anywhere near his lips at this point. You racked your brain, trying to think of something, anything.

“....Your middle name is Eduardo,” You said softly, still on your knees.

“...What did you just say?” Rafael’s face went from amused to shock.

“Your middle name is Eduardo. You tell everybody that it's Antonio but really it's Eduardo. You don't want anybody to know your real middle name because it’s your father’s name,”

“How did you--” He tried to ask but you weren’t done.

“Eduardo used to beat you and because of that you hate him and you don't want anything to be associated with him.” You stood up, not breaking eye contact.

“....How the hell… “ He looked at you. “...You DID use magic didn’t you?” Rafael gasped.

“Yes but I--”

“You used magic to read my mind didn’t you? You used it to manipulate me and try and use my deepest secret into trying to make me think I loved you." He looked at you in disgust.

"No, it's not--" You tried to explain, but Rafael wouldn't stop.

"...That we had this perfect day together, that-- that what I bared my soul to you because I was so safe with you? So IN LOVE with you?" He spat.

"You ARE!!!!" You were crying now.

“Alright that’s it I’m calling security….” He muttered angrily.

“No! Wait, Rafael please...just….just look into my eyes,” you begged. Maybe if he stared at you, he’d remember that day when you held him and planted that memory. You went to grab his hands but he pushed you away from him.

“Get the hell away from me you psycho! SECURITY!” He moved past you and opened the door. “SECURITY!”

“No! Rafael! Please, oh god please, please PLEASE you have to remember. Remember I told you about my Broadway dream, just like yours” He was looking down the hall for a security guard, you were still yelling at him.

“Stop it.” He tried ignoring your words while looking both ways down the halls.

“...And and I told you about how my parents died and you said that you used to play and dance and sing at your abuela’s house because it was the only place you felt safe--”

“STOP IT!” He threw his hands over his ears.

“And then you told me that it wasn't until you met me that you felt that safe again. With ME!!!!” You were sobbing now, trying to get him to remember.

“SHUT UP!!!!!” He screamed, his eyes flashed a bright neon purple. Suddenly two men grabbed either of your arms and started dragging you away.

“Look, Rafael--” You fought the security guards.

"What?" Rafael held up his hand for the guards to stop and let you talk.

"Just answer me this: Even if, EVEN IF you think that I-- I used some mind control and 'took' that memory from you-- have you told Liv?"

"Told Liv what?"

"That story, that memory. Your real middle name!" You felt fresh tears falling, and you swear you saw the purple fade for a moment in Rafael's eyes.

"...Of course I have--" He shook his head with a sarcastic laugh.

"No you haven't. I know you haven't, because I straight up ASKED her what your middle name was, and she said it was Antonio," You smirked at him.

"Well, that's because I haven't had a chance to tell her--"

"You can lie to me all you want Rafael, but you need to really ask yourself why haven't you told her? In the YEARS that you've been 'in love'? Why have you never felt safe enough with her to tell her your deepest darkest shame? Does that sound like 'true love' to you? Does that even compute with what you THINK you feel about her?"

Rafael eyes darted back and forth, purple and blue swirled around violently as he took in your words. But he fought them, and shook it out of his head.

"Whatever, stop trying to play mind games with me you witch," He waved his hands for the guards to take you away, but you added one last thing:

“I’m going to go to your favorite spot in the city, the one place you go to when you’ve had a really long day or a bad day in court. If you go there, and I’m there-- you’ll know I’m telling the truth.”

“Yeah, OKAY. He rolled his eyes. “I’ll be busy getting married, psychopath,” He nodded for the men to drag you out but you broke free and walked out yourself, at least you’d have dignity.

You walked out of the church and broke down in tears. Both Maria and Chloe were waiting for you, they ran to hug you as you fell down sobbing.

“Aw honey, oh baby--” Maria held you while you cried.

“We--We have to go,” You tried to get yourself under control.

“Go? Go Where?” Chloe looked at you confused.

“Central Park,” You simply said.

You had to believe in your love now. That’s all you had left.

#rafael barba #rafael barba imagine #rafael barba x you #rafael barba x reader #black magic #law and order svu #law and order svu fanfiction

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dwaynepride · 4 years

Text

better off running wild

summary: college au. reader is supposed to be tutoring tony, but things get carried away.

words: 3,360

warnings: make out session

tags: @stanathanxoox @pageofultron @jrenn10 @andreasworlsboring101 @dressed-up-just-like-z1ggy @ms-allenbrown @ikbenplant @dylpickles1267 @diaryofafan17 @specialagentlokitty

There’s just something you’ve always hated about jocks.

Most of them were alright, admittedly. Those who mostly kept to their own giant friend circles and didn’t pay you much attention. There’s even a basketball player in one of your classes who gave you part of his lunch during lecture, which was pretty cool.

But the sentiment of disliking jocks, while cliche, is never so prominent than on Wednesday afternoons.

“Hurry up, Slowpoke. I got practice at four.” Tony’s broad chest is pressing against your shoulder, pushing himself into your space. All it earns him is an elbow to the gut, and the sound of him grunting is strangely satisfying.

“I can only write so fast,” you snap back to him. With a huff, you continue to scribble your name down on the library’s guest sheet. Once upon a time, you had a peacefully available Wednesday afternoon schedule. Sometimes, you’d go to the coffee shop to study and work. Other times, you might just head back to your dorm and catch a quick nap.

Nowadays, because Professor Gibbs decided you were the best for the job, you get to hang out in the library tutoring Tony DiNozzo.

As if the Professor couldn't have paired you off with anybody less annoying, less eager to actually learn, or any more inclined not to run off at the mouth about his favorite movie that you’ve never even heard of before. And sure, Tony was hot. Jaw-droppingly gorgeous with big shoulders and a great smile and nice hair and somehow, that all just made him even more annoying because he knew he was a 12 out of 10.

Case in point, when you finally step away so he could sign his name, Tony smiled and winked. Probably a reflex for him to flirt with anything that moved or whatever. You’ve been dealing with it for weeks.

So with a cross huff, you turn and walk off in the direction of your usual table.

The table is located at the very back of the library - a stuffy little corner nobody came around or even acknowledged and it’s worked wonders for Tony’s attention span. Out among the other tables, he just got too distracted - flagging down and talking to whichever one of a thousand friends he has, or attempting to chat up some poor girl who was trying to study.

It’s sad, really, that you have to tuck him away in some dusty corner for Tony to focus, but it's where you are now.

By the time Tony shows up, you have all the books and papers laid out on the table for the tutoring session. “Did you do the homework last night?” You ask him without even looking up.

He’s quiet for a moment, slowly making his way around you to his own seat. “I did some of it,” Tony answers eventually.

“Some?”

“Yeah. I had a party to go to. Couldn’t finish it.”

Tony plops down in his chair, tilts his head up, and puts on that familiar glamorizing smile - probably hoping it would keep you from scolding him. Maybe before, that smile might’ve weakened you a bit. Not now, though. Not after dealing with his bullshit for nearly two months every single Wednesday afternoon.

You sit with a deadpan frown. “So a party is more important than your grades, huh?”

Tony blinks and shrugs. “Well, this party was. You really should come along to one, sometime. Have some actual fun.”

This isn’t the first time Tony had tried persuading you into attending one of his dumb parties. Or even wanted to drag you along to his football games under the guise of it being fun and ‘the college experience.’ There was even a time where he called you in the middle of the night and asked if you wanted to go get drinks with him. As if you hadn’t been cramming all night for an exam.

Frustrating and irresponsible. How Tony DiNozzo even got into this school, you’ll never understand.

“Let’s just work, okay? The test is this Friday and I doubt you’re prepared.”

He shrugs and, shockingly, doesn’t argue. And for the next hour or so, you talk him through his half-finished homework. But this was probably the most frustrating aspect about tutoring Tony - he wasn’t stupid. Not by a long shot. He understood the work and actually got the questions right, if he tried. He could easily pass the class on his own.

Yet, you’re left tutoring him.

Once the homework is done, Tony slams his book shut with a smug smile. “Alright, Teach, I’m done. Am I free to go?”

You shake your head and bend over to reach for something in your backpack. “Not yet,” you answer him. “I went by Professor Gibbs’ office yesterday and picked something up that will help you on the test.”

Taking out a small packet of papers, you place it in front of Tony. He studies it, eyebrows furrowed together, until you speak up. “It’s a practice test for the exam. I was thinking you could take it, I’ll grade it, and we’ll see what you need to work on.”

Immediately, Tony lets out a loud groan - much too loud for a library, but really, you two were so far removed from everybody else that you doubt anybody even heard. Still, you glance around at the dusty bookshelves before roughly shoving Tony’s shoulder. “Don’t be a baby! I’m trying to help you pass this fucking class. Do I have to remind you that if you fail, you don’t get to play football? I’m doing you a favor by tutoring you - the least you can do is try.”

The rant just spilled out without anything to keep it back. Maybe Tony’s antics had slowly chipped away at your patience.

And for once, he was quiet. Tony blinks his surprise at your tone, his gaze drops, and then he nods. “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry, I’ll do the test.” Resigned, he pulls the packet closer and starts working. Really working.

You’re left in shock that you just won so easily. Usually, Tony attempts to shrug you off, or he changes the subject, or just tries to flirt his way out. Seeing him actually working - trying - is a strange sight to see.

As the minutes tick by, you try to keep yourself busy as Tony works. Go on your phone, do some reading, go to the bathroom. But in the end, your focus just keeps shifting back to Tony - his eyes sharp with focus, and the furrow of his brow showcases just how much he’s paying attention to the practice test.

But it’s not all you notice.

And….alright, you aren’t blind. You’re well aware that Tony looks good; how else does he get so many dates? You notice the way his jaw clenches tight. Every once in a while, he takes a deep breath and his whole body moves and you’re reminded of just how big his shoulders are. He must be one hell of a football player - not that you’d know. You’ve never gone to his games.

He’s got a cute nose, as well. Not that you’d ever tell him that.

And suddenly, before you could realize you were staring, Tony’s eyes meet yours. Flustered, you look away - but even out of the corner of your eye, his smirk is visible. “I’m done,” he says, handing over the packet.

But as you go to take it, Tony pulls it just out of your reach. So you look back to him, and he’s watching you in that annoying Tony DiNozzo way. Like he’s finally figured you out. “I want a wager, though,” he continues.

“A wager,” you repeat.

“Yup. If I pass, I get to kiss you. Is that a deal?”

Kiss?

The word barely makes sense to you, right now. You’re left blinking and scoffing - a buffer to try to make sense of Tony’s words until finally, you can come up with actual words to say. “What if you failed?” Oh yes, brilliant; act like you’re going to go along with his stupid wager. That’s what you want.

Tony’s smirk widens. “If I failed, I’ll walk back to my dorm in my underwear,” he announces. “Either way, you win.”

You ignore the sudden onslaught of butterflies and yank the packet out of his hands. “Fine. Deal. Maybe if I’m lucky, it'll be raining when we leave.”

Tony simply hums, unbothered by your insinuation that he’ll lose. And as you start grading the practice test, you can feel his eyes on you. It’s hard to focus and with a rush of heat, you realize that he must’ve felt you staring at him before. And your staring had been a complete accident - Tony is purposefully watching you. And you just pray that he doesn’t notice the new flush of your skin.

Instead, you force yourself to focus on Tony’s test. Something easier for you to understand.

7) When did the Minoan Civilization end?

Tony’s answer: The Bronze Age Collapse.

Okay, that one is correct. Fair enough, it’s not even that hard of a question. Next one:

8) The City of Rome was founded in:

Okay, he’s got to get this one wrong. In all the time you’ve been tutoring Tony, there was one kind of date you knew he was terrible with, and it was the historical kind.

His answer: 753 BC.

Damn.

And it just kept going on like that. More correct answers than incorrect. Even when you finished grading his test, you didn’t want to look up and face him and admit that he totally passed the practice exam with flying colors. That would also mean confessing that he won his stupid little wager.

“How’d I do?” He eventually asks. And his voice is low; very different from his annoyingly loud and boisterous self that you can’t help but look up.

He’s watching you carefully, like you have his undivided attention. It’s a little unnerving, but at the same time, maybe a little exhilarating. And you don’t even have the mind to wonder why.

And it takes a moment to remember how to speak. “You passed,” you tell him, matching his soft tone. Perhaps if Tony were acting normal, you would’ve added on a teasing comment. Something about him getting a good score against all the odds, or maybe comparing him to the second coming of Albert Einstein. Then Tony would say something equally stupid and he’d leave because he has his precious football practice.

None of that happens - this is uncharted territory.

He hums again, slow and purposeful, as if he’s thinking. And you notice him lean over just a little, on the very outskirts of what’s considered your own personal space. You catch a whiff of his scent and almost catch yourself leaning away from him.

Is this why Tony is so popular? Because he has his own gravitational pull? That must be it.

“Looks like I won the wager,” he says with a smirk pulling on his lips. “I believe you owe me a kiss.”

His words make you hesitate. Was he serious? Tony DiNozzo: football star, annoying heart throb, everybody’s friend….actually wanted to kiss you? It has to be some kind of dumb joke. A sick prank. Something to tell his friends later on that he scammed you into kissing him and all he had to do was stop playing dumb.

Immediately, it becomes easier to lean away from Tony. To break out of the spell that his eyes had somehow cast onto you. His expression changes, but you ignore it. “Did you plan this?”

“Plan what?”

“Making a stupid bet to get me to kiss you. It’s a joke, isn’t it? A prank that you and your dumb football buddies thought up? Well, it’s not very damn funny.”

You don’t even attempt to hide the anger in your voice. Tony’s eyebrows furrow together, looking confused but you ignore him to start hurriedly gathering your stuff up. You’ll just have to go to Professor Gibbs tomorrow and ask him to assign a new tutor for Tony - if he even needs one. Seems like he can manage himself just fine.

You’re stuffing a textbook into your bag while Tony juggles with his words. “What? Hey- hold on, it’s wasn’t a joke or anything-”

“Right. And you just want me to kiss you.”

“What if I do?”

Immediately, your eyes whip back around to face Tony. The way he straightens up does offer a tiny bit of satisfaction, admittedly. “You don’t, Tony. And that’s fine, I don’t really care. I’m sure you can find someone else to kiss if you really wanted to,” you tell him blatantly.

“I know I can,” fucking typical, “but I want it to be you.”

Slowly, you cease packing up your things. The next time you look at Tony, you really look at him. He looks serious enough; though, you’re not even sure if you’ve ever seen a serious Tony DiNozzo. But you reckon this might be it. And if he’s being serious, maybe he’s being honest.

“Did you even really need a tutor?”

He shrugs, and a smirk falls on his lips. Not condescending, but almost like your question amused him. You’re not sure which is worse. “Maybe not. But hey, you make history a whole lot more interesting,” he answers, voice smooth and sounding like the regular Tony that you know.

It makes you scoff lightly. Eyes breaking away, but he tilts his head to keep the contact. “Listen, you don’t have to kiss me if you don’t want to. But I think you do. And I know I want to, so…”

You finally stop and think about things. The way he lured you into tutoring him was very....clever, in a way. Putting himself in your domain instead of dragging you kicking and screaming into his. Tony is definitely a lot smarter than he lets on, and it leaves you wondering how the hell you let him get the edge on you, like this.

But he was also right - you did want to kiss him. Desperately. And you didn’t even really know it until just now. Looking at him, your eyes drop down to his smirking lips. And as he starts to lean in closer, you don’t pull away like last time. Once again, you’re caught up in his gravity. Being pulled in helplessly, as if he’s a massive blackhole in the middle of your solar system.

Tony’s close now, so you fight to grab onto any sense of logical thought. “Tony,” you murmur out his name. He hums in response. “I don’t wanna turn out like all your other dates. You show ‘em a good time, and then never call them again.” You watch his eyes flicker up in surprise. “I know about all that.”

He hesitates, and then huffs in amusement. “‘Course I’ll call you. Gonna need help on that final exam, aren’t I?”

Another dumb joke, but you’re not too focused on dissecting the implications of his words. He’s so close, you can smell his cologne. It’s a little strong but also dizzying and once his warm breath wafts over your lips, you can’t help but let your eyes fall shut. A silent invitation that Tony gladly accepts.

His lips are warm and wet against yours, and they feel like fireworks.

Yes, the thought of Tony’s many dates and flings had made you a little wary. But right now, you’re thankful for each and every one of them. The way Tony kisses...it just melts the world away. No more dusty bookshelves or crappy library lights. No hushed laughter from a group of girls that you’ve been hearing for the past hour. This corner of the library is a tiny world that only you and Tony inhabit, if for a short time.

He’s steadily stoking a fire in your stomach, even if he doesn’t know it. It gets stronger when Tony hums against your lips and raises a hand to fit along your cheek - his palm is big and warm and the feel of it nearly makes you shiver.

And then Tony laughs, and you wonder if you really did shiver.

But the detour was brief - he goes right back to kissing you good. Sucking on your bottom lip for a moment, stops, and then waits for you to want more from him. You don’t even know when your fingers found their way into his hair, but Tony groans a bit. The sound of him goes straight to the pit of your gut.

His lips are relentless. Barely giving you a chance to breathe and by the time you notice his hand has vanished from your cheek, your lungs are aching slightly. And before you can wonder too much, the hand is suddenly on your thigh.

The touch was unexpected. Shocking, even, but definitely not unpleasant. His hand is large and strong and when he squeezes the flesh of your thigh, you can’t help but moan just a little against Tony’s mouth. The moan, of course, was completely accidental and it sends a hot wave up into your face because you know he heard that.

But he seemed to like it. Tony’s grinning, and his hand squeezes your thigh again. Maybe it wasn’t all too embarrassing. “I like the way you sound,” he rumbles out. When he comes in to kiss you again, his hands slowly slides up. Just an inch, but it feels like a mile and you’re trying really hard not to start writhing under his touch. “Like the way you taste, too.”

Fuck, he can’t be talking right now. Not when his kisses and his touches are already doing so much to turn your body into putty in his hands. Everything’s hot and burning when he moves his fingers up another half-inch, dangerously close to the sensitive part of your inner thigh.

By now, you’re nearly panting. Fingers gripping Tony’s forearm so tight, you’re surprised it hasn’t hurt him. What’s worse, you don’t even know why you’re holding onto him or what you want him to do: stop, or keep going. Evidently, Tony’s in the same boat. Because he leans in real close, his breath wafting over your ear. “What’re you thinking? Wanna see how quiet you can be?” He asks, voice lowered to a harsh whisper.

You force your brain to start working, and you try to decide. You really, really try. But the choice is stolen from you.

“Hey, this is a library. Get some space between you two!”

Of fucking course the librarian picks this time to come around to this desolate little corner.

Instantly, you shove Tony away, eyes dropping away from him and the librarian. “Sorry,” Tony says, not sounding particularly apologetic. Eventually, the librarian walks off. And his entire focus is back on you. And for a moment, you wonder if he's about to start up where he left off. Or maybe ask if you’d want to go back to his dorm. You don’t even know what your answer would be - yes? No? Can you have both at once?

“Tony-”

“I got practice,” he cuts in. His smile is back as he leans in for another quick kiss. But Tony doesn’t back away too fast. He stays, and when he speaks, his breath is on your lips once again - something so small, but already so addicting. “You really should come to one of my parties sometime. I think you’d have a lot of fun.”

With that, he straightens up, picks his backpack off the ground, and walks off. Once he’s disappeared behind the bookshelves, you’re left alone at the table. Surrounded by books and papers and still finding it hard to breathe.

Were you still going to ask Professor Gibbs for a new tutor? Maybe not.

Was your decision entirely influenced by Tony and his lips and the warm imprint of his hand on your thigh? It’s possible.

But as you continue to gather up your supplies - hands shaky and legs a little wobbly - you can’t stop thinking about what might have happened if the librarian hadn’t walked up when he did.

#ncis imagine #ncis x reader #tony dinozzo imagine #tony dinozzo x reader

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